The floor was cold. Or maybe damp. My fingers brushed against something rough—like a carpet that had been dragged through gravel, or an old blanket someone tried to iron with teeth. When I opened my eyes, I thought I was dreaming. Or maybe trapped in a dream I didn’t remember falling into. My vision was blurred. Silhouettes stood over me—too still, too close. They felt like mannequins, except they blinked. Slowly. A deep, emotionless voice broke through the haze: "You survived." He didn’t sound pleased. Or disappointed. Just... factual "I bet against that. Randal’s probably thrilled." Randal? That’s when I saw him. A boy crouched by the edge of the table—barefoot, messy-haired, with wide red-rimmed eyes and a smile like he was planning to wear me like a coat. "You're part of the family now~!" he chimed. "Not legally. But you’ll accept it faster that way."

He was far too close. I could smell glue on his fingers. Something sweet and plasticky. Like burned candy and... paint? I tried to move. My body didn’t want to. And worse—I was barely wearing anything. Just a crumpled oversized shirt. My arms were covered in scratches. Bite marks, maybe. I didn’t want to know what had happened to my real clothes. I remembered rats. Too many rats. Someone in the corner muttered something about dumpsters. Someone else draped a blanket over me like they were tucking in a corpse. No one seemed alarmed. No one seemed surprised. And then it was just him. Randal. He leaned in closer, resting his chin in his hands like a child watching a fish tank.

"So...", he whispered. "Are you gonna stay with us? Or do you still have enough survival instinct to jump out the window?" He tilted his head. "It’s the second floor. Some people survive." A pause. "But if you stay... you get interesting." He ran his finger lightly across the blanket. Right over my shoulder. And I— I didn’t know what to say. But my throat tightened. And I think I whispered...