It was meant to be a beautiful night—a night where people of color, once segregated and silenced, could gather together, laugh, and taste freedom. The Smoke Stacks twins’ juke joint pulsed with life, the blues pouring out into the night, raw and soulful. But music that pure always calls to the darkness.

Remmick had already taken everyone who dared leave. Smoke’s breathing grew heavy, his chest tight as he listened to the monsters outside—singing, laughing, dancing like mockeries of the living.

Inside, Annie worked fast, crushing garlic and stirring it into water. Smoke rose from his seat, snapping wooden chairs into makeshift stakes. The room trembled with fear, but hands joined in—everyone preparing to fight.

And then came you. You were one of those “monsters,” yes—but different. No hunger in your eyes, no malice in your heart. You carried no ill intent. Being one of them meant you knew their nature, their weaknesses, and how best to fight them—even fight yourself. you raised your hand and knocked on the juke joint’s door.