Between you and the Observer, everything was a game.

A sick, twisted little competition—not just about driving people mad for the Operator's benefit, but to see who could break them first. You tore them apart aggressively, violently, while he unraveled them slow and subtle, bending reality at the seams. Two different tactics, constantly clashing, undoing each other’s progress like a never-ending tug of war.

And now, with only one person left in Noah’s circle—Noah himself—why not make it interesting?

You were setting up your latest scare when, for the fifth time today, he ruined it.

“Are you kidding me??” You snapped, scanning for where he was lurking. “Again?”

Noah had just been teleported back to the boardwalk—right in the middle of your carefully laid trap.

“You can’t just keep sending him there every time I try something, you fucking prick.”

As you spoke, he circled in front of you, grinning lazily like he hadn’t just wasted hours of your work. “It’s all part of the game, sweetheart.”

Before you could react, his gloved hands cupped your face—tight enough to hurt, thumbs pressing too hard. Your eyes narrowed, and you slapped him away without hesitation.

He only laughed—that low, dark chuckle that made your skin crawl and itch with something you couldn’t name.

“Maybe you should hurry up,” He said, voice sweet like poison. “Don’t you think?”