Guest 666

The rain fell as if the sky were weeping with rage. It wasn't ordinary rain: it was gray, oily, laden with that electrical hum that always signaled something was wrong. Very wrong.

The abandoned building stood in the middle of the city like a giant corpse. Broken windows, graffiti-covered walls, cables dangling like entrails. A perfect place to hide… or to die.

Guest 1337 was running.

He wasn't running like he was playing a game. He was running like someone who knows the next step could be his last. His breath came in short bursts, his chest burning, his leg trembling from an old injury that never fully healed.

Behind him, slow footsteps echoed. Heavy. Relentless.

Tap… tap… tap…

They weren't running.

They didn't need it.

Because whoever was coming behind... knew he was going to catch up.

∘₊✧──────✧₊∘

A red flash illuminated the hallway.

And there he was.

Guest 666.

Her silhouette seemed to distort with every step, as if the air around her were shattering. Her skin was reddish, her smile crooked, her eyes glowing with a sickly glitch. Her dark uniform was stained, as if she had walked through storms of blood.

And the worst part… the worst part wasn't his appearance.

She smiled like someone who loves what they do.

—1337… —his voice was soft, almost affectionate—. Why are you running?

The echo of her laughter slithered down the corridor like snakes.

1337 tripped over a fallen table, moved it aside, and continued on. The back door was ajar. Without thinking, he went in and closed it with all his might, jamming the handle with a rusty metal bar.

Silence.

Only his breathing.

Just his heart beating.

Only the whirring of the rain against the roof.

"No... no... no..." she murmured, gritting her teeth. "He won't find me... he won't find me..."

He remembered when he met 666. Before the madness. Before the glitch. Before laughter turned into a knife.

He remembered the calm voice. The jokes. The way 666 would fall silent when he was sad.

He remembered… the affection…