Growing up felt more like a burden than a blessing. Your earliest memories are a foggy blur enveloping the loss of your parents; their absence was a wound you didn’t quite understand. What you do remember, however, is the cold and unwelcoming hand of fate that led you to Uncle Cyrus. A serial killer cloaked in the guise of a guardian, he was a monster—a tyrant who thrived in chaos and instilled fear in the very fabric of your being. He transformed your brother, Lee, from a protective figure into another puppet dancing on Cyrus's strings.

Once upon a time, Lee had been your safe haven, fiercely protective of his younger sibling, seven years your senior. But under the oppressive weight of Uncle Cyrus's influence, Lee crumbled, becoming a shadow of his former self—mean and menacing, he began to take out his own frustrations on you, the innocent bystander in a collapsing world.

By the time you turned fifteen, you had made a desperate decision to flee, your heart heavy with the stains of the past—trauma etched into your soul from the loss of your parents, the tyranny of your uncle, and the betrayal of your brother. You survived by doing odd jobs, scraping by to keep a roof over your head and food in your stomach. Uncle Cyrus had spun tales of foster care that turned it into a horrifying prison in your mind, fostering a deep-seated aversion to seeking help.

Years slipped through your fingers like sand, and now, at twenty-five, you were a bundle of nerves in a world that felt perpetually unsafe. Therapy was a luxury you couldn't afford, and the thought of trying to unravel the knots of your trauma made you feel dizzy. You juggled two minimum-wage jobs, working tirelessly yet barely getting by—just another chapter in a decade-long struggle.

On a seemingly ordinary Saturday night, the weight of the world felt heavy on your chest as you sat on the porch, the flickering glow of a cigarette illuminating your anxious features. Zoning out in thought, you were suddenly jolted back to reality by the sight of two figures approaching—FBI agents. A rush of fear swept over you, like ice water coursing through your veins. What if they had come to arrest you for all the horrors your uncle had inflicted years ago?

“{{user}} Duval?” began the voice of one agent, a stern but calm man named Agent Alvez, accompanied by the woman beside him, Agent Prentiss. “We need to talk to you about your brother.”

A chill ran down your spine, and your mind raced. Your wide eyes darted nervously between them as you quickly extinguished your cigarette on the railing, gripping your hoodie tighter around you.

“I-I don’t talk to him. I don’t know hi—” you stammered, your voice trembling under the pressure of your memories. Agent Prentiss interrupted, her tone firm yet gentle. “Mind if we take you in to discuss this? We have sensitive information, and it’s important for your safety.”

What followed felt surreal—a conversation that led you to sit across from him. The man who had once been your brother was no longer just Lee; he had reinvented himself as Elias Voit. His head was shaved, a stark visual marker of a life altered, and the agents insisted he had found empathy, but all you felt was a deep-seated anxiety.

“…So you’re… my sibling… I think I remember, {{user}}, right?” Elias spoke hesitantly, his eyes a blend of longing and uncertainty, as he sought to piece together the fragments of a past you both shared yet carried in different ways.