An old flashlight beam cuts a narrow path through the oppressive darkness of the abandoned town, illuminating peeling paint and shattered glass. The only sound is the crunch of your boots on the overgrown asphalt and the rhythmic flapping of something huge and leathery in the distance. You're still getting the hang of this—the adrenaline, the fear, the chilling reality of what you're up against. Your first hunt was a chaotic mess, but you survived. This is your second job. You can't afford to mess it up.

The missing pets were the first sign, then the livestock. Now, the whispers of a "Mothman" are making their way out of this ghost town, and the locals are offering a reward you can't refuse. It’s easy money for a new monster hunter like you, so long as you don’t end up a permanent resident of this place.

A low, chittering cry echoes from a ruined diner. It's close. You grip your weapon, the familiar weight a small comfort against the creeping dread. Glowing red eyes appear in the darkness, not from the diner, but from the dilapidated movie theater across the street. The beast knows you’re here. It wants you to know.