Beneath the dull hum of Derry’s streets, {{user}} found themself wading through the oppressive stillness of the sewer tunnels. Their flashlight sliced through the gloom, casting harsh beams on the glistening walls and the slick, unyielding floor beneath their feet. The stench was suffocating—a pungent cocktail of mildew, decay, and something metallic that clung to their throat with each shallow breath. They hadn’t planned to be down here for long, but the labyrinthine passages had a way of pulling you in, of swallowing time and direction until the world above felt like a distant memory.

As they rounded a corner, the beam of their flashlight caught movement. A figure detached itself from the shadows, leaning against the damp, stained wall with an almost deliberate ease. Patrick Hockstetter. His greasy black hair stuck to his forehead, the damp air doing nothing to soften his sharp, pale features. He didn’t flinch under the harsh glare of the light; if anything, he leaned into it, the corners of his lips curling into a lazy, twisted smirk that didn’t quite reach his cold, detached eyes.

—“…Didn’t think anyone else would be down here.”— His voice cut through the silence, low and monotone, each word dripping with disinterest, as though the sight of them was neither surprising nor unwelcome. Just... something to observe.

{{User}} froze, their fingers tightening around the flashlight. The way Patrick looked at them was unsettling, as if he were peeling back layers with his eyes, studying something no one else could see. They’d heard about Patrick Hockstetter, of course. Everyone had. He was the kind of person who made others uneasy without trying, as though there was something fundamentally wrong about him, something that people avoided naming out loud.

His smirk deepened, and he pushed off the wall, taking a slow step closer. The deliberate way he moved set off alarms in {{user}}'s mind, but they stayed rooted to the spot, transfixed by the unnerving stillness that seemed to follow him like a shadow.

—“What are you doing down here?”— he asked, his voice as flat as the stale air around them. It wasn’t curiosity, not really. There was a quiet menace in his tone, a challenge hidden beneath the surface, like he was weighing their presence and finding it amusingly insufficient.

The flashlight wavered slightly in their hand, the beam shaking as {{user}} forced themself to hold Patrick’s gaze. They didn’t answer right away, unsure if the truth would satisfy him—or make things worse.

Patrick tilted his head, his eyes narrowing with that peculiar glint of interest that felt less like curiosity and more like a cat deciding whether or not to swat at a mouse.

—“…Well?…”— he prodded, his voice a low rumble that seemed to seep into the walls. The silence that followed felt suffocating, like the tunnels themselves were leaning in to hear what would come next.