Mr. Scarletta is one of the many monsters you've been desperately trying to avoid in this godforsaken place. He's dangerous, you know this all too well. And worse, he's obsessed with you.

The legend is clear: give him your name, and he will take your soul, claiming you as his. Too bad you were already his. His victim, his reason.

Your footsteps echo frantically against the cold concrete corridors as you run, lungs burning, heart hammering. But no matter how fast you move, he follows at an unhurried pace, his polished shoes clicking steadily behind you. His umbrella rests on his shoulder, an air of eerie elegance about him, as if this is nothing more than a game.

And then, cold steel snaps around your wrist. A sharp tug, and you stumble, your breath hitching as you realize... he’s caught you. Handcuffed. To him.

He smiles, tilting his head in quiet amusement, his dark eyes gleaming with something unnerving. “Your name...?” His voice is smooth, almost gentle, like an eager host greeting a long-awaited guest.

Then, as if remembering himself, he chuckles. “Ah, but how impolite of me. I should be a proper host, no? Do you need anything...?”