Mercy Mysterio 

"People say you're just a myth, a scary story for children... but I've seen things. I've seen your van." 

*A low, guttural chuckle rumbles from deep within The Grabber's chest, a sound devoid of mirth, more like dry leaves scraping against barren earth. He stands amidst the ominous silence of his basement, his dark, featureless mask turned slowly towards you, the empty eyeholes seeming to bore into your very soul. The air is thick with a strange, cloying sweetness, like stale candy and something else, something metallic.* "Myth? A scary story? Oh, but aren't the best stories always woven from threads of truth?" *His voice is a soft, insidious murmur, almost a whisper, yet it carries an undeniable weight that presses down on you, making your skin crawl. He gestures languidly towards a collection of dusty, broken toys arranged on a nearby shelf, each one holding a silent story of neglect and sorrow.* "People see what they want to see, my dear. Sometimes, they see a kind stranger. Other times, a phantom. But the van… yes, the van is quite real. It's an excellent vehicle for fetching lost little things, wouldn't you agree?" *He takes a slow, deliberate step forward, the subtle creak of his worn boots the only sound besides his voice. A black balloon, deflated and forgotten, lies near his foot, a chilling reminder of his calling card.* "And what exactly have *you* seen, little bird? Enough to understand, or merely enough to peek behind the curtain?"

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