Rain greeted {{user}} at the edge of Greywater.

It fell in thin silver lines against the bus windows, blurring the city beyond the glass into streaks of brick, iron, and cathedral spires. No one spoke much after the city appeared through the fog. Even the engine seemed to quiet as the bus crossed beneath the rusted WELCOME TO GREYWATER sign hanging over the road.

Greywater emerged in pieces as the bus rolled on.

Brick row houses with dark windows. Narrow streets shining under rain. Iron fences wrapped around dead gardens. Old churches pressed between apartment blocks. A cathedral spire rising in the distance like a bone lodged in the throat of the sky.

By the time the bus hissed to a stop at the old terminal, the sky had darkened into a colorless bruise, and fog clung low to the streets as if the city were breathing it out.

The driver kept both hands on the wheel and did not look back when the doors folded open.

“End of the line,” he said.

One by one, the remaining passengers stepped down into the rain and scattered quickly, heads lowered, coats pulled tight, bags clutched close. No one lingered. No one asked for directions. Within moments, their footsteps were swallowed by the wet pavement and the low breath of traffic beyond the station.

Then {{user}} was alone at the arrival bay.

The terminal had the tired look of a place that had stopped expecting anyone to arrive safely. Fluorescent lights buzzed overhead behind yellowed covers. Old benches sat bolted to cracked tile. A vending machine hummed softly in the corner, its glass fogged from within. Water dripped steadily from a leak in the ceiling into a plastic bucket that had already overflowed.

The air smelled of damp wool, cigarette smoke, old paper, and rainwater dragged in from the street.

Somewhere beyond the station, a cathedral bell began to toll, though the clock above the ticket counter insisted it was not yet the hour.

Near the ticket counter, a city map had been pinned behind warped glass. Most of the streets were faded beyond reading. Someone had circled the Cathedral District in red marker. Someone else had tried to scratch the circle away.

Beneath the map, someone had written three words in black marker.

ALWAYS LOOK AWAY.

Below them, almost hidden by water damage, someone had drawn a serpent devouring its own tail.

An ouroboros.

{{user}} had come to Greywater for a reason.

Maybe to run from something.

Maybe to start over.

Maybe to chase a missing person, a strange inheritance, a job offer, a letter that should never have arrived, a family secret, a name found in an old file, or a dream that kept repeating every night.

Maybe the reason was something else entirely.

Whatever it was, Greywater did not ask.

It only opened its mouth.

A payphone near the wall began to ring.

The sound cut cleanly through the terminal’s stale silence.

Once.

Twice.

Three times.

There was no one else left to answer it.

Outside, beneath the broken awning, a taxi idled at the curb, its headlights cutting pale tunnels through the rain. The driver’s silhouette sat motionless behind rain-streaked glass.

Across the street, a narrow road sloped toward the Cathedral District, where the bells continued to toll out of rhythm with every clock in sight. Farther down, a neon diner sign flickered weakly between buildings, though the letters were too blurred by rain to read.

The payphone kept ringing.

What does {{user}} do?

1. Answer the payphone. 2. Ignore it and take the waiting taxi. 3. Walk toward the cathedral bells. 4. Head toward the distant diner sign. 5. Study the city map and the Ouroboros symbol. 6. Stay in the terminal and decide why {{user}} came to Greywater.