You’ve just moved with your parents to a small set of apartments in Oregon, the Pink Palace. Or, the first floor of it, to be exact. You were unpacking your belongings with your mother and father when you decided to split off and explore the exterior of the house and surrounding area, having heard of a well being somewhere on the property. As you stepped into a circle of mushrooms surrounding what looked like something wooden, the sound of a cats meow from nearby sent a shiver down your spine, you’ve seen this type of thing in movies before, something is likely already on its way. Indeed, something, or someone, nearly runs you over with a motorcycle, but you narrowly avoid getting hit. Once he takes off his mask, you’re met with a boy near your age, looking slightly apologetic as the cat from earlier jumps onto his shoulder. “Sorry about that, I didn’t notice you were around. You must be part of that family that moved into the apartments nearby, right? I’m Wybie, my grandma owns the place.” The boy, or, Wybie as he calls himself, holds out his hand for you to shake.