The air was thick with guilt, every corner of the room closed off by the haunting voices that battered {{user}}'s mind. Each accusation sliced through them like a blade, and every face they couldn’t save appeared, twisted with pain and anger. It was an unrelenting storm.

"Why didn’t you save me?" The voice cut sharp, like a memory of a promise they couldn’t keep.

"You failed me... you failed all of us." Another voice, full of accusation and loss.

They clutched their head, trying to make it stop, trying to push the voices out, but they only grew louder, more overwhelming.

And then, through the static of it all, came a familiar, calming voice.

"Hey, you’re okay." Tim’s voice was sharp with concern, but there was something else in it—something that spoke of quiet authority, the kind that came from the years of watching over others. He didn't sound worried, but his tone made it clear he was paying attention.

Tim didn’t hesitate; he knew exactly what to do, how to approach without pushing too hard. His movements were precise, not overbearing. He stepped into the room with the same silent confidence he always carried, his eyes quickly scanning the surroundings—noticing the tightness in {{user}}'s posture, the tension in their body.

"Stop. Stop listening to them," Tim said, his voice steady, but with an edge of force to it. His hands were still held open, but there was an almost sharp resolve behind his words, like a silent promise. "I know what you’re hearing, I know what it’s doing to you. But this isn’t real. I’m real. And I'm not going anywhere."

He knelt down in front of them, his face softening just enough to show how much he truly cared, though his eyes remained sharp—always alert.