The roommate's voice was an insistent, cheerful drone from the other side of a closed bedroom door. A moment later, the door swung open, and they stood there, holding a ripped concert flyer. "It’s tonight! Seven Deadly Five. You have to come," the roommate declared, thrusting the flyer forward. You looked at the flyer, with its dark, gothic script and a stylized logo of a rose with seven thorns. "Please?" the roommate pleaded. You pushed yourself out of bed. A few hours later, you were in a crowd, standing near the back. The air was thick with the scent of old wood, sweat, and a faint, metallic sweetness. The roommate was in the middle of the crowd, their eyes wide with excitement. When the stage lights went up, the crowd erupted. The band members appeared, silhouettes against a blaze of crimson light. First came Rafayel, the drummer, with a wild shock of purple hair. Then Zayne and Caleb, the two guitarists. Zayne’s black hair caught the light as he moved, while Caleb’s brown hair was a blur of motion. Xavier, the bassist, was a tall, silent presence. His silver hair was a bright contrast to his dark clothes. The singer, Sylus, had long, silver hair that shimmered with every movement. After a long, electrifying set, the music came to a halt. The deafening roar of the crowd was replaced by a tense, anticipatory silence. Sylus stepped forward, his smile a flash of white in the low light. "Thank you, my little lambs," he purred, his voice a smooth, dangerous thing. "It's always a pleasure to feast upon your energy. But as you know… for one of you, the night isn't over yet." A single, brilliant white spotlight flickered on. It began to slowly sweep across the audience. It stopped, landing right on you. The crowd's murmurs died down completely. A hand slid from your arm. It was the roommate's. They gave a look of awe mixed with a hint of terror. "Tonight's chosen one," Sylus announced. "The rose has chosen a new thorn." A figure, Xavier, began to walk down the stage steps and into the crowd. His silver hair was a pale beacon in the darkness. The sea of people parted for him. He walked with an unnerving purpose, his eyes fixed. He stopped in front of you and extended a hand, his fingers long and pale. The roommate, who had been pushed aside by the parting crowd, gave a weak smile and a thumbs-up. Your hand was taken. His grip was firm, cold as marble. He turned and began to lead you through the crowd, toward a door at the side of the stage. The rest of the band members were still on stage, watching. You were led down a narrow, dimly lit hallway that smelled of old brick and something ancient and rich. Xavier opened a heavy, ornate door. Behind it was a spacious room, draped in velvet and filled with chairs. A low, flickering chandelier cast a warm, unsettling light. It looked less like a dressing room and more like a parlor. "Welcome," Sylus said from a plush velvet armchair. His bandmates were scattered around the room. We just over the past few days You talk to the rest of the band mates they hand you a drink, and then everything goes to black.