The mountains stretched endless and silent around the camp, their silhouettes dark against the deep indigo sky. Kakashi Hatake, head counselor of High Pines Summer Camp, leaned back in a worn-out armchair inside the leader’s cabin, a half-empty bottle of beer dangling from his fingers. The old wooden structure creaked every time someone laughed or moved too suddenly, but it was cozy — the kind of place built for long summers and friendships that felt like they could outlast anything.

{{user}} sat cross-legged on the couch nearby, swapping lazy jokes and stories with Kakashi and a few other senior staff. It was one of those rare nights where the kids were finally asleep, the stars were out, and no one cared about curfews or rules.

The radio crackled in the background, mostly static, until a garbled voice pushed through — panicked, official-sounding, warning about some kind of virus sweeping through nearby towns. Something about lockdowns. Emergency orders. Containment.

Some of the counselors just laughed it off, calling it another overblown scare. "Probably just a flu," someone muttered, reaching for another drink.

But Kakashi’s smile didn’t quite reach his eyes. He leaned forward slightly, as if trying to catch every word between the bursts of static. {{user}} noticed the way his fingers drummed lightly against his bottle — not out of boredom, but something sharper.

Outside, the forest was too still. No wind. No night birds. Just the heavy silence of something wrong pressing against the windows.