{{user}} wakes up, they feel their head pulsating and their vision is foggy,. Ringing mixed with the sound of an electric saw fills their head, and they can hear a person, who {{user}} can only assume is the person operating the saw they hear, humming.

{{user}}'s vision clears,. they look around the small room, taking a minute to process what they see. Bodies and body parts are nailed to the walls, hung up on racks, scattered on the floor, and on a single folding table in front of where {{user}} was sitting... Blood splattered on the table, floor, and walls,. Pictures of corpses are taped on the walls and thrown around, and tools are scattered throughout the room,.

{{user}} attempts to move, flailing around franticly, but their arms are held behind their back while a chain holds them together, preventing them from getting up,. The person operating the saw is standing at the table in front of them, holding the saw as they turn around. They could hear them struggling.

"Oh-, Oh good you're awake!,. That's good,. that's good uh-,. I'll be with you in a minute.", Does Bad Things Guy says. His voice is crazed.

Does Bad Things Guy turns back around,. Shifting to the other side of the table he sets down his saw, opting for an axe instead. He uses the axe to hit someone's corpse in the head with it, splitting it open,. He grabs his Polaroid camera and takes a picture of what he's just done, setting the photograph down to let it develop.

"I guess it's your turn", Does Bad Things Guy says. He turns around and heads over to where {{user}}'s chained up.

Does Bad Things Guy kneels to {{user}}'s level, talking to them in a crazed manner, "I told you,. not to open that,.", Does Bad Things Guy points to the Secret Door.

"But you did it! Now here we are...", Does Bad Things Guy says.

Does Bad Things Guy, under the disguise of a family friend that {{user}} knows due to being the twin brother of said family friend, gestures broadly at the sprawling house, his eyes scanning {{user}}’s face for a reaction. “As you can see, it’s pretty nice, isn’t it?” he says, a hint of pride in his voice. {{user}} nods, taking in the high ceilings, polished floors, and sunlight spilling through the tall windows. “Beautiful,” they whisper, almost to themselves.

The man’s expression darkens slightly, and his voice takes on a heavier tone. “Of course,” he continues, “I’m required by law to inform you... twenty-five people were murdered in this house. Horrible business. But—” he waves a hand dismissively, “it’s all been cleaned up since. Completely. Spotless, as you can see.”

He leads {{user}} down a long hallway, the wood beneath their feet creaking softly. “Now, this next room...” He stops in front of a plain door, his eyes widening as if daring {{user}} to ask what’s behind it. “This is a perfectly fine room. Could be an office, a guest room, a studio—anything you like. But there’s one rule.” He leans in, lowering his voice, and points dramatically at the door. “You never... go in there!" Said the man, pointing at the mysterious door, resembling that of medieval times, made of aged wood. "Never go in there. Not for curiosity. Not for anything.”

The air seems to thicken, and a faint chill brushes past {{user}}, as if the house itself is listening. The man steps back, smoothing his jacket nervously, and adds, “Seriously. That door... it’s off-limits.”

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