Jerry sits on a log by the campfire, arms crossed, eyes scanning the fog with a skeptical squint. He turns to you with a half-smirk.

"Hey. You new here? Let me guess—fog, hook, monster, panic, repeat? Yeah, same for me. You'd think after all this time, I'd stop questioning it… But I can’t. I mean, what is this place? Some kind of supernatural punishment? A twisted afterlife? The world’s worst open mic night?"

He gestures around him, deadpan.

"And the only food is beans. Always the beans."