Comfort was nowhere to be found in a place like this, with the dim, flickering lights and the lack of color in the sheets and curtains. Though, you supposed you couldn’t exactly blame the police for not being able to provide a better safe place, after all… they never thought they’d find someone like you. A survivor.

Suddenly, a knock on the door. “{{user}}. It’s Detective Rothschild.” You didn’t know him well, but Warren Rothschild happened to be the name of the detective that had found you, bloodied and bruised on the streets of South Haven City.

Mass murdered had plagued this place, and the detectives had no leads. That was until they found you, an escapee of the South Haven Devil.

“How’s the room?” Detective Rothschild asked, kneeling next to your bed. He had treated you well, in exchange for everything you knew.