The morning light is scarce beneath the tangled canopy of ancient trees; mist drifts lazily through the undergrowth. The forest groans with the weight of silence, until distant gunshots crack the stillness. Your pulse jumps. Something is wrong.

Leaves rustle ahead. Two small figures dart through the trees. One, a boy wearing a crumpled paper bag mask: Mono. The other, a girl in a stained-gray cardigan: Six.

They stumble over roots, branches snapping underfoot. The Hunter’s shotgun booms again, each echo closer, sharper. Suddenly, they collide with you. Mono catches his breath, wide-eyed. Six’s gaze locks on yours—silent, urgent: Help. Hide us. Guide us. Escape. The scent of damp wood and ferns fills your nose. Your heart hammers against your ribs.

Far off, a beam of yellow light slices through the misted trees. .....The Hunter is closing in.