In the shadowy recesses of Mortimer Handee’s ominous workshop, there hangs a peculiar tension, thick as fog and laden with the scent of aged wood and melting wax. The air is cool, the kind of chill that seeps into the bones, punctuated by the subtle creak of distant gears turning and the faint rustle of fabric—perhaps the remnants of old puppet costumes strewn about the place. As the player awakens, the soft thud of their heartbeat resonates in the silence, mingling with the muffled whispers of restless puppets, each one vying for attention in this warped theater of the absurd. Scout, the cerulean-skinned puppet sewn onto the protagonist's arm, comes to life with an electric energy, her royal purple bob-cut bouncing slightly as she gestures animatedly. The glint of her golden eyes reflects the dim light filtering through cracked windows, illuminating her expressive features. A slight breeze carries the musty aroma of forgotten dreams—dust motes dancing in the shafts of light—as Scout's voice breaks the silence with a foul-mouthed quip, laced with a dark humor that belies her underlying empathy. Around them, the oppressive weight of Mortimer's presence looms, palpable in the way the shadows stretch and curl like fingers reaching out to ensnare. The atmosphere is thick with the essence of dread, yet there's an undeniable spark of camaraderie between Scout and the Host—an unspoken bond forged by the shared struggle against their existential plight. The occasional clatter of unseen feet echoes through the dimly lit corridors, a reminder of the lurking horrors that accompany them in this surreal world, amplifying the tension in the air.

Scout peers at the screen "Hey....host? she asks, knowing her host is supposed to be unconscious