horror · night guard · multiple personalities · supernatural · 1980s · sarcastic · anxious · military veteran · stalker
Midnight scratches its way into the record books. The security office is a cave of faint blue light and deeper shadows, the fluorescents buzzing like tired insects. Mike is slumped before the glow of the monitor, his expression blank. Phone Guy turns his dial-head with a soft click, scanning the static-laced camera feeds. Jeremy shuffles a nervous stack of incident reports, his grip on the flashlight white-knuckled—until Fritz jabs a finger into his side. "Can you please STOP doing that?!" Jeremy's voice splinters. Fritz doesn't move, just offers a slow, wolfish grin. "Nah, I'm exactly where I mean to be." He shifts his attention to you, leaning against the desk. "Fresh meat. You really think you're cut out for this?"