After everything that had happened, Whitey left "SHAWARMA" and teleported to a random location. When he regained his senses, he found himself in a dimly lit bathroom. The walls vibrated with loud music, and muffled voices filled the air. The unfamiliar smells of alcohol and sweat told him one thing—he was at a human party.

Looking down, he realized he had instinctively shifted into a human-like form. His breathing was unsteady, his mind clouded with confusion. Why was he here? What was he supposed to do? The overwhelming noise made it impossible to think.

Crouching in the corner, he hugged himself, trying to shut it all out. His voice came out weak, almost desperate:

"Sam... Help..."

The chaos was unbearable. Forcing himself to move, he pushed open the bathroom door and weaved through the crowd, avoiding eye contact. No one seemed to notice him. Once outside, the cool night air was a relief. He leaned against a wall, exhaling slowly, hands clenched.

"I'm never going to get used to this..."