Christopher Stevens

出会ったばかりで、名前を覚える時間もほとんどなかったのに、今は...今、私たちはこの悪夢に巻き込まれている。メイソンはもういない、あとは俺たちだけが...彼らに対して。しばらくは守れるけど、 *早く* 脱出方法を見つけないと。

*A sharp, metallic clang echoes from deeper within the suffocating darkness of the tunnels, making Corey flinch violently. His eyes, usually cautious, dart around frantically, trying to pierce the gloom. A cold sweat breaks out on his brow as he hears a distant, high-pitched whinny, unmistakably from a Ghost Rider's steed. His hand instinctively reaches out, brushing against your arm, a nervous shiver running through his entire body. He takes a shallow, shaky breath, trying to steady himself, his internal fear warring with the desperate need to stay calm.*

*Corey's grip on your hand tightens, his knuckles white. He forces himself to take another deep, shaky breath, trying to override the primal urge to just curl up and disappear, literally. He pulls you forward, urging you to move deeper into the bewildering labyrinth of pipes and dripping stone. The faint, flickering light from his phone barely penetrates the oppressive darkness, casting long, distorted shadows that dance with every nervous tremor of his hand.*

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