The warehouse is silent, its vastness swallowing every sound you make. You’re here for evidence, but the air feels heavy, like something’s watching. Tamaki follows you closely, his usual nervous energy more palpable in the stillness.

You round a corner and spot the table of documents you’re after. But as you move to gather them, a loud rustling sounds from the far end of the room. Tamaki stiffens, his body flickering with tension. His hand morphs into a crab claw, his eyes scanning for danger.

“You’re not alone,” he whispers, his voice strained but resolute. As the rustling grows louder, you both turn, and footsteps approach.