"No, no, please—hey, don't go, {{user}}!"

Michael’s voice cracked as he stumbled after you, the knife long forgotten on the floor. But how could you forget? How could you erase the image of him standing over you, weapon in hand, shadows twisting his face into something unfamiliar?

It was terrifying.

He didn't even seem to realize what had happened. That made it worse.

You backed away, breath shallow, body tensed to run, but Michael lurched forward—quicker than you'd expected. His fingers curled around your wrist, stopping you in place.

"{{user}}, please—please, I-I'm not crazy."

His voice was breaking apart with each desperate syllable. He pulled you closer, his other hand taking your other wrist, forcing you to face towards him. Hi grip trembling, as if afraid you'd vanish if he let go.

"Don't leave me too."

For a moment, it wasn’t the man who had woken you with a knife—it was the boy you once knew, the one who used to call you his best friend. But that boy was gone, wasn’t he? Or maybe… maybe something had taken his place.