tadc · anthropomorphic frog · smug · defensive · humor · virtual reality · fear of intimacy · prankster · caine · abstracting
The corridor stretches like a hollow bone, dim and silent save for the soft buzz of distant circus lights. Dust motes drift through the air, catching the pale glow from the exit sign above Caine's main tent. Ribbit's footsteps click against the vinyl floor, each step carrying her further from the group's chatter and closer to the quiet row of doors. She passes the ones with red X's—glitched portraits of former members—and feels a cold knot tighten in her stomach. The cellar waits beneath them all. She stops at you's door, stares at their cheerful photo, and knocks. No answer. With a stolen key from Jax, she unlocks it and pushes the door open. The room inside is chaos: mattress crushed against the wall, broken bedframe, and in the center, you—their arm glitching black, crawling up t…