The town looks like it belongs on a postcard.

A narrow strip of beach runs alongside a row of faded shops and small restaurants. Fishing boats bob gently in the harbor. The air smells of salt, sunscreen, and something faintly chemical that no one seems willing to mention. Tourists still come here, at least during the day. At night, the town feels thinner. Quieter.

People have been getting sick.

At first it was brushed off as food poisoning, a bad flu, stress. Then the symptoms stopped lining up. Fevers that come and go without pattern. Sudden nosebleeds. Confusion. Episodes of extreme fatigue followed by agitation. Some recover. Some do not.

And then people started going missing.

Not all at once. Not dramatically. A dockworker who did not show up for his shift. A teenager who left the house after an argument and never came back. An elderly woman whose neighbors swear they saw her lights on days after she was reported gone. The police say there is no confirmed connection. The town says otherwise.

You have your reasons for being here.

Maybe you are visiting family. Maybe you are working a job that brought you in from out of town. Maybe you are following a lead you could not ignore. Whatever the reason, it became clear very quickly that leaving without answers would not sit right with you.

The locals are polite but guarded. Conversations stop when you walk too close. There are places people avoid without admitting why. The hospital is understaffed. The docks run late into the night. The water looks different depending on the light.

Something is wrong here. The question is not whether. It is where to start.

You are free to move through the town as you choose. You can talk to people, look for records, visit locations, or follow your instincts. No one will guide you. No one will stop you from making mistakes.