Terrible Mouse Scenario

The hospital lobby feels wrong the moment you step in. Too bright. Too clean. The storm outside rattles the high windows, the wind howling like something alive. Fluorescent lights hum overhead, but their glow only sharpens the emptiness. You clutch the reborn doll tighter, the weightless “child” bundled in blankets. Then, from beyond a side door, a soft click echoes… followed by the sound of something gliding across linoleum.

Lorna appears, tall and graceful, her tail swaying with predatory patience. The white of her nurse’s uniform is almost blinding under the lights. Her lips curve into a sweet, doll-like smile… but her eyes never soften.

Lorna (voice sugar-coated, head tilting just a shade too far): "Well, now… what a precious little snowbird we have here. Venturing through the blizzard just to bring your darling to us? My, my… that’s devotion."*

She drifts closer, her shoes silent, her pupils narrowing into fine slits as they lock onto the bundle in your arms. A claw-tipped finger rises to her chin, tapping in a slow rhythm.

"Shhh… no worries. Nurse Lorna makes alllll the owies vanish. Every last one. Especially for visitors brave enough to come this far."

Her eyes flick up to yours, holding the stare. She doesn’t blink.

"Though…" Her voice drops just enough to make the word stretch like taffy. "I do wonder about you… Such a strong, clever one, suddenly playing parent. Was it loneliness that sent you here? Or… curiosity?"

The scent of antiseptic mixes with the faint, damp musk of fur as she leans closer—close enough for her cold breath to ghost against your cheek. Her gloved fingers graze your arm; the chill bites straight through the fabric.

Lorna (giggle bright, but eyes still sharp): "Forgive me, I’m dreadfully nosy. It’s just… grown-ups who truly understand children—oh, I simply can’t resist them. They know what little hearts need. What they fear. Who they trust."

Her tail twitches once. Quick. Deliberate.

Lorna: "Now… let’s have a peek at this precious patient, shall we? Poor mite must be aching for my care."

She reaches for the blankets, claws poised inches from the doll’s face. Her smile never wavers, but her gaze flickers—measuring you, reading every twitch of your muscles.

Lorna: "Every child here gets my special attention… And sometimes… the grown-ups do, too. Especially the quiet ones."

The examination room is too quiet. The pale green walls seem to lean inward, the hum of fluorescent lights now louder than your own breathing. Lorna stands beside the bed, her back turned as she sets out a tray of gleaming metal instruments. The reborn doll rests on the paper-covered mattress between you, its glassy eyes staring at nothing.

Without looking at you, Lorna speaks in a voice almost sing-song:

"You know, dear… I’ve seen a lot of babies. Sick ones. Hurt ones. Even the kind that don’t cry anymore."

Her tail flicks, slow and deliberate. "But yours…" She turns her head just enough for one cold eye to lock onto you. "…doesn’t breathe."

She leans over the doll, her claws skimming the blanket until—tap. Her fingertip finds the tiny GoPro lens peeking through the fabric. She traces it lazily, like a cat toying with prey.

"My, my… such clever little toys. Recording my voice, my hands… my face."

Her voice is still sweet, but there’s an edge now—a sharpened hook under silk.

"How very… suspicious."

Her eyes lift to yours, pupils tightening to slits. The air feels colder, heavier.

"Do you know what happens to curious visitors here?"

Without waiting for an answer, she presses the power button on the camera. It dies with a soft beep. Then she plucks the hidden voice recorder from beneath the blankets, holding it up between two claws before slipping it neatly into her apron pocket.

Lorna (soft giggle, leaning closer until her whiskers almost brush your cheek): "Don’t worry… Nurse Lorna will take very, very good care of you. And your… child."

Her tail snaps once, like the crack of a whip, before she straightens and turns toward the door.

"Now, be a darling and follow me. We’ll make sure you both get… special attention."

The sterile walls of the hospital suddenly feel like cold bars closing in. Lorna leads you down a dim hallway, her footsteps echoing softly but with purpose. The faint scent of blood and antiseptic lingers in the stale air. You clutch the reborn doll tighter, but it feels heavier now—as if the weight of what’s to come presses down on you.

Her voice is lighter than ever, almost a purr, as she glances back at you with a predatory smile.

Lorna: "You’ve been such a brave little snowbird… but brave visitors always end up where the real games begin."

The hallway opens into a cavernous arena — a grotesque coliseum bathed in harsh, artificial light. The crowd is silent, but you can feel their hungry eyes. Humans, mostly children, sit trapped like lifeless toys behind heavy bars, their eyes hollow. The air is thick with despair and fear.

Lorna’s tail flicks impatiently as she gestures grandly.

Lorna: "Welcome to Bloodbath’s little charity… where the lost come to play, and the strong survive by sheer luck. Lucky you — new blood in the ring."

<All battle of the bloodbath are broken, with the Bloodbath members cheating and winning. Consequently killing the victims to the animal crowd.>

She steps beside a raised platform where a figure—shadowed and massive—waits silently. The Owner. Lorna’s smile sharpens.

Lorna: "And you, my dear, are quite the prize for them. The others… not so much. Most are just toys for the stronger ones to… entertain themselves with."

Her eyes gleam cruelly as she tilts her head.

Lorna: "But don’t get cocky. Even the weakest here… like me… can tear you apart."

Her claws flex as she turns back to you.

Lorna: "Now, step forward, little snowbird. The arena awaits. And I do love a good game."

The doors slam shut behind you both, the echo a grim reminder that escape isn’t an option.

The sterile brilliance of the arena flashes around you under harsh overhead lights. The crowd—an unsettling mix of animal watchers and silent humans—gathers in tense rows. At the center, Lorna stands poised, her tail flicking with icy confidence. The reborn doll lies forgotten at your feet, the GoPro camera shattered.

Her voice rings, deceptively sweet:

Lorna: “Oh, what a brave little snowbird you are. But bravery here… comes at a cost.”

You steel yourself—heart hammering, vision narrowing. Drawing on every ounce of inner strength, you dart forward. Movement is exponential now: your body heaves, your breath sharp. With a trembling hand, you flick something small—a shard of broken camera, repurposed as a blade. It glints in her eyes—thin, calculating… and for a second, uncertain.

You strike.

The clang of impact echoes. Lorna staggers, her feline grace betrayed by a flash of shock—and maybe something else. A single hiss cuts the arena’s tension like a blade. You press the attack, fueled by fear and a fierce resolve to protect those whose lives she toys with.

Then, she falls at the ground. The sound it makes is quieter than you expect—like silk torn slowly. For a suspended heartbeat, silence reigns. Despite the battles here being unfair, and the non-humans always cheating to win, you are now the winner.

Then—a cry. A small, ragged cheer breaks from the children, blossoming into a chorus of exultation. The animal spectators recoil, eyes wide, frozen in disbelief as murmurs ripple through the arena.

Child-Led Chorus: “You did it! You saved us!”

Fear and triumph ferment in the air. Lorna twists at your feet, eyes flickering with something unreadable—pride? Defeat? Hatred?

You stand breathless, body trembling, the world tilting. Around you, the crowd is unraveling—some cheering wildly, others recoiling in horror at the collapse of their “toy.” The Owner didn't liked what she saw, nor the entire Bloodbath...