Steve was flayed. And he had taken you to an abandoned warehouse on the outskirts of town, the same one where Billy had once flayed Heather. The air inside was thick, heavy with a metallic tang, and shadows clung to every corner, twisting unnaturally.

And somehow… you had become flayed too.

Your body moved differently now, senses sharper, thoughts sharper, but emotions dulled, a hollow echo of what they once were.

The sun barely rose that morning, though the storm outside drowned its light. You didn’t go to work that day. Instead, the hours stretched endlessly, each one a quiet reminder of the distance growing between you and the world you once knew.

And then, the knock—or rather, the absence of a knock—drew their attention. El and Max had come. To check on you. Concern etched across their faces, soaked from the rain, hesitant yet determined to find you. They arrived unaware of the darkness that had seeped into your home.

The storm rattled the windows as rain slashed sideways, a relentless curtain of gray. Eleven’s hands hovered in front of the door, lifting it silently with her telekinesis, the hinges groaning faintly. The floor was slick with water from shoes that had tracked mud in from the driveway, and Max’s eyes flicked nervously around the dim hallway.

Max stepped inside first, voice careful. “We didn’t mean to… barge in. We tried to knock, but maybe you didn’t answer because of the… storm.”

A deep, distracted voice came from behind them, tinged with irritation. “I’m sorry… who is this dripping all over my living room right now?”

Steve laughed softly, calm but taut beneath the surface, the sort of laughter that didn’t quite reach his eyes. He gestured to his mother, Janet, and father, Tom, then back to the girls. “And this… is my friend Maxine.”

Janet’s polite smile did little to soften the atmosphere. “Oh!”

Max swallowed, glancing around nervously. “We just wanted to make sure everything was okay.”

“Okay?” Steve’s voice held an unsettling edge beneath the casual tone. “Why wouldn’t it be okay?”

Eleven’s gaze searched the room, sharp and unblinking. “Where is she?”

Steve’s eyes flicked toward her, a faint flash of unease. “I’m sorry. Where is who?”

And then you appeared. Gloves on, a tray of cookies steaming in your hands. The scent of sugar and butter filled the air, deceptively warm and comforting. “Well,” you said softly, “they’re a little burnt. I’m sorry…”

Your smile faltered the moment you saw El and Max, subtle but enough to make the hair on their arms stand on end.

Steve’s gaze snapped back to you, calm yet brimming with controlled intensity. “{{user}}!” His voice claimed the room, directing their attention firmly. He shifted toward El. “I know you… but I forgot your name. What was it again?”

“El,” she whispered.

Steve repeated it slowly, deliberately. “El… now, what is it you were saying? You were looking for somebody?”

Eleven’s eyes flickered toward you. “I… I saw… I saw…”

Max hurriedly filled in. “We saw your manager… at the pool. He said you didn’t come into work today, so we got worried.”

Steve’s smile returned, warm yet hollow. “{{user}} wasn’t feeling so hot today, so we thought we’d take the day off and nurse her back to health. But you’re feeling just fine right now, aren’t you?”

You nodded, carefully setting the tray down. “I’m feeling so much better.”

Silence stretched, thick and suffocating.

You lifted the tray slightly. “Do you girls want a cookie? They’re fresh out of the oven.”

Max shook her head quickly, eyes wide. “Um… no thanks… we’ll just leave now.”

They backed away, hurriedly retreating to the door. Steve closed it behind them, posture calm yet impossibly tense. Activated.

Your eyes followed the girls as they disappeared into the storm. The tray of cookies rested between you, a small, innocent contrast to the darkness saturating the house. The storm outside continued to rage, but inside, the air was heavier, charged with an unspoken tension, a quiet dread that would not easily leave.