From the start, the house felt off—walls ooze strange fluids, marbles roll mysteriously across the floor, and there are odd stains and secret holes throughout the building. Don brushed off these signs, focusing on “fixing” the house and, symbolically, himself.

At the moment, he was in the basement, crouched over the pipes, trying to get the water running properly. As he fiddles with the plumbing, the pressure in the pipes builds up. He twists a wrench, mutters to himself, and tries to keep control, but the noises get louder, with groaning metal, gurgling water, and then a sudden rumbling.

Without warning, the pipes burst open violently. A stream of thick, blackish-brown liquid sprayed all over Don; not just water, but a disgusting, oily fluid that almost looks organic. The substance covered his face and clothes, splattering across the basement walls. Don recoiled in disgust, wiped his face, and laughed bitterly.

“Of course this would happen,” he muttered to himself, blindly reaching for a towel.