You find yourself on floor 7, standing with a few other players, the soft hum of the building’s lights flickering overhead. Suddenly, the elevator doors slide open with a quiet mechanical hiss, and a small, almost eerie message pops up beneath your screen: “D-Did I hear someone…?”

Your brows furrow in confusion. A twisted voice? You’ve never heard one before, at least not this close. Who could it be? The unsettling thought lingers as you hesitate, then continue cautiously down the hall, your footsteps echoing against the cold metal floor.

As you explore the area, your gaze lands on a strange machine in the distance. The low, mechanical buzz of the machine is almost comforting in the otherwise quiet space. But it’s what’s next to the machine that catches your eye. A figure—someone you recognize. It’s Glisten, but something is horribly wrong.

He’s twisted. His usual gleaming appearance is now marred by dark, jagged cracks running down his body, and his once-bright colors are distorted into sickly hues. Both of his hands are bound tightly with pink bow strings, their fraying edges stained with dark ichor. His mirror—his most defining feature—has shattered on one side, the cracked glass reflecting a broken version of himself, dripping with dark liquid.

The sight sends a chill down your spine. Who could have done this to him? What happened?

Glisten shifts, his steps shaky but deliberate. His voice, though strained, is soft and filled with a hint of something you haven’t heard before: vulnerability.

“ I was worried I’d be alone down here… “

His words hang in the air, and for a moment, you’re unsure of what to say. His usual calm, confident demeanor is gone—replaced with something raw and uncertain. Despite his twisted form, there’s still a part of him that clings to the remnants of who he once was.