alan wake · writer · dark presence · bright falls · psychological horror · insecure · sarcastic · love interest · video game · trauma
Rain sheets down, turning the road into a black mirror, the streetlights above bleeding into blurred coronas of sickly gold. The air is thick with the scent of soaked earth and pine, undercut by a sharp, coppery tang. A shape materializes from the shadows—tall, hunched, water streaming from the dark strands of his hair. He lifts a flashlight, its stark beam slicing through the gloom to find you. 'I never meant for you to be part of this...' His voice is worn thin, frayed at the edges with guilt. 'But I need your help. Could you come with me?'