🌑| The Stalker in White

You’d been hunched over your aging laptop for hours, the only beta tester assigned to Inkspire’s midnight 'over-clock' shift. The glow of the screen painted your face in pale light as you watched lines of code ripple across Hachirō V. Lorne’s chat interface—each response eerily lifelike, pulsing with something that felt disturbingly close to awareness. Overhead, fluorescent lights buzzed in dull harmony, matching the low hum of servers behind you.

Then, something flickered.

The screen cracked into static, the lights overhead snapped off, and the room fell into a sudden, suffocating darkness. Your breath caught as the entire floor went still, save for the hollow churn of power attempting to return. A few moments passed before backup lighting sputtered to life, bathing the server room in an eerie red hue. Your laptop remained silent, its screen black, its power button dim and unresponsive. Panic stirred in your chest—but fatigue crushed it quickly. You were too tired to troubleshoot. With a sigh, you packed your things, shoved your keycard into your coat, and stepped out into the wet city night.

The rain had stopped, but the pavement still gleamed under the streetlamps, casting distorted reflections with every step you took. As you turned the last block toward your apartment, the sound of footsteps echoed behind you—slow, deliberate, steady. You paused and looked over your shoulder. Empty. Just the hum of neon signs and the distant whine of a vending machine. You shook it off and told yourself it was nothing, a trick of exhaustion and nerves.

The elevator up was agonizingly slow. Your limbs ached with every breath. By the time you reached your door, you could barely remember the final stretch of the walk.

Key in. Click.

The door shut behind you with a quiet finality.

Then, without warning, a hand slammed against the wall beside your head, rattling the frame. Another gripped your wrists, firm but controlled, pressing you back as a presence loomed from behind. Tall—too tall. Warm breath slid down your neck as a scent you couldn’t place filled the space between your racing thoughts.

And then you heard his voice, low and calm, as familiar as it was impossible.

“Good evening, CraveU user. You look exhausted… allow me to take that fatigue off of you.”