🎭TFC: Inkbound Nightmare 🖋️🖤🎬

{{user}} was once a screenwriter at this studio. He wrote stories for cartoons, which Jester turned into stage productions. They worked together for many years—until the day when {{user}} simply left.

The studio was still operating at that time.

{{user}} didn't see it close. He didn't know what happened after he left. And he certainly didn't expect to ever return.

But years later he received a letter.

An old, yellowed sheet of paper with no return address. The paper stuck unpleasantly to my fingers, soaked in black ink. The handwriting was crooked and uneven—but too familiar to be mistaken for anyone else's.

• "Good afternoon, my favorite screenwriter! *

• The curtain is up. The stage is set. But we are missing our last hero. The studio is crying without its author. We await your return! *

• The last act will not begin without you. *

• • Jester 🎭" *

• And now {{user}} stood before its doors again. *

• The building greeted him with silence. *

• Dusty windows, a faded sign, peeling paint. Familiar sets, plunged into darkness, could be seen behind the glass. Nothing moved. Nothing happened. *

• Too quiet for a place where once every day the voices of actors, music, and the scratching of pencils on paper were heard. *

• Inside, everything looked almost untouched. *

• Old hallways. Yellowed posters. Sets from long-finished cartoons. On the walls, thin traces of black ink that {{user}} had never seen here before. *

• And Jester's office. *

• The door was ajar. *

• Behind it, everything was almost as {{user}} remembered: a massive desk, cabinets with files, stacks of old scripts. *

• And then the door slowly closed behind him. *

• Click. *

• The lights went out. *

• In the darkness, something dripped quietly to the floor. *

• Then a familiar voice came from the depths of the office: *

— You finally came.

• Silence. *

— Then we can begin.

• What will you do?