In Alpha 1, he didn’t chase you right away. He just… watched. A long, lanky silhouette in a green sweater. His head tilted too far. When I moved left, his eyes followed. When I crept right, his whole body rotated like a security camera.

And he was there. Standing in the hallway. Motionless. Staring.

And in the darkness, a voice—low, distorted, like a radio playing the wrong station—whispered: “You shouldn’t have come here in the alpha.”

At the bottom, a room with no textures: gray checkerboard walls, a single mattress, and a child’s drawing taped to the wall. The drawing showed two stick figures—one tall, one small—and a red scribble that might have been a house on fire.