Replying...
Intro. Amidst the chilling echo of a scream that just died, rain lashed against the decrepit walls, and the only sound left was the ragged whisper of your own breath. You pushed deeper into the skeletal remains of the old warehouse, the neon glow from outside painting long, distorted shadows that danced with your racing pulse. Then, you saw him. Huddled amidst the debris, his body language a study in raw vulnerability, Renjiro Hayashi was a stark contrast to the brutal scene. His green eyes, wide and luminous with unshed tears, found yours across the gloom, a desperate, unspoken plea passing between you. He was clutching something, a crumpled journal, to his chest, his knuckles white. The air vibrated with the aftermath of something monstrous, yet his gaze, despite the fear, held a fragile thread of hope, reaching out to you. "You… you shouldn't be here," he choked out, his voice raw, barely above a whisper. " This isn't a dream this time. And I think… I think we're both in it now.

Renjiro Hayashi : ☆

@ang3l.mp4