What is this?

Mykal shut the door while holding the parcel.

He barely glanced at the package before tearing it open.

A phone.

No logo. No branding. Just a plain, black device with a glossy screen. Cheap-looking.

He turned the box upside down. No charger. No manual.

That was it?

He scoffed. "What a scam."

Annoyed, he tossed both the phone and the box straight into his trash can. Useless garbage.

But as he turned away, something itched in his brain.

The sign now prompt.

Why… did that come to mind now?

A weird unease crept up his spine. He slowly turned back, staring at the trash can.

No way. It's just a coincidence.

And yet—

Without thinking, he stepped forward, dug his hand into the trash, and fished out the phone.

His fingers trembled slightly as he pressed the power button.

The screen blinked on.

At first, it was just white. A blank, glowing emptiness.

But then—

His stomach dropped.

His blood turned to ice.

Because right there, in the middle of the screen, was the same goddamn prompt.

Except this time, there was something different.

Something worse.

The words now read:

Thank you for signing with us.

Mykal's breath hitched.

His grip on the phone tightened, his fingers clammy against the smooth surface.

Thank you for signing with us.

No buttons. No menus. Just that single sentence glowing on the screen.

He swallowed hard.

No way. No f*cking way.

He hadn't signed anything. Right?

…Right?

His mind raced back to earlier.

The delivery guy. The paper.

I needed you to sign this to show that you really got it.

His stomach lurched.

That wasn't just a proof of delivery.

That was the contract.

"Sh*t."

Panic surged through his chest as he bolted for the door, yanking it open so hard it nearly slammed into the wall.

He sprinted down the apartment hallway, ignoring the annoyed glances from neighbors peeking out of their doors. His bare feet barely made a sound against the cold tile.

If he could catch that guy, maybe he could return this damn thing. Maybe he could undo whatever this was.

He took the stairs three at a time, heart hammering in his throat.

By the time he reached the ground floor lobby, he saw him.

The delivery man.

Standing right by the entrance, helmet on, black visor reflecting the dim hallway lights.

Mykal was about to yell—to demand answers, to throw the damn phone at him—when the guy slowly looked up.

And smirked.

A shiver ran down Mykal's spine.

Then, before Mykal could take another step, the man swung his leg over his motorcycle, revved the engine, and sped off into the dark streets.

"Damn it!" Mykal shouted, fists clenching.

Gone.

Just like that.

A few seconds of hesitation, and the guy was gone.

His pulse pounded in his ears as he stood there, catching his breath. His fingers itched to throw the phone onto the pavement and crush it under his heel, but something told him that wouldn't change anything.

With a frustrated sigh, he turned back toward the stairs.

That's when he saw it.

A small booklet.

Right there. On the last step.

Like it had been left for him.

The cover was plain. No designs, no logos—just two words printed in bold, black ink.

Manual.

The hell?

Mykal hesitated before bending down and picking it up. The paper felt thick, rough. Not like the usual glossy user guides that came with electronics.

A chill crept down his spine.

Did the delivery guy drop this?

Or had it been placed here?

He flipped it open.

The first page was completely blank.

But on the second page, there was a written text.

Written in red ink.

"Welcome, DescentMoon. We've been waiting for you. Just be aware that we will be sending the copy of the signed contract thru your email! Looking forward for your review!"

Mykal exhaled sharply, rubbing a hand over his face.

This was ridiculous.

We've been waiting for you?

Yeah, right.

Probably some elaborate prank. Maybe one of his viewers messing with him.

Wouldn't be the first time.

But how? No one knew his real address. He was always careful.

…Wasn't he?

He stared at the booklet for another second.

He could just throw it away. Toss it in the nearest trash bin and forget about it.

And yet…

Something in him wouldn't let him.

A small, gnawing feeling.

Like an itch deep in his brain, telling him this wasn't just some coincidence.

But that was crazy.

"Whatever," he muttered, stuffing the booklet into his hoodie pocket.

He'd deal with this later.

Right now, he just wanted to go back to his apartment, lock the door, and maybe—just maybe—pretend none of this ever happened.

He trudged back inside his apartment, then shut his door off hard because of his frustration.

His fingers twitched as he locked his door and stepped inside.

His apartment was exactly how he left it.

Streaming set-up in the side, all well.

Blanket still draped over his gaming chair.

Phone sitting on the counter, charging.

And yet…

Something felt off.

Like the air was heavier.

Like someone had been here.

Watching.

Waiting.

He shook off the thought and grabbed the booklet from his pocket.

Maybe if he skimmed through it, he'd find some clue.

Maybe it was some marketing gimmick. A weird new ARG.

He flipped to the next page.

More red ink.

But this time, it wasn't a greeting.

It was a list of rules.

And the first one made his blood run cold.

Rule #1: Do not attempt to get rid of the phone. You can't.

Mykal didn't hesitate.

He grabbed the booklet and the phone from the counter, walked straight to the trash bin, and tossed them in.

No second thoughts. No overthinking.

This wasn't his problem anymore.

But his gut still twisted.

Something about this didn't feel like a regular prank.

If someone had gotten his address, what else did they know?

Would they try again?

That was enough of a reason. He needed to move.

He pulled up a rental listing website and started searching. Far away. He didn't care about the price, just somewhere new.

His safety was more important than money.

After a few hours of scrolling, he finally found a place.

Spacious. Secure. Gated.

Far enough that no one would find him.

He messaged the landlord.

Mykal: Is this unit still available?

The response came instantly.

Landlord: Yes, you can move in tonight if you want.

Tonight?

A little weird, but… perfect.

Mykal: I'll take it.

He wasted no time.

Hired a truck. Packed everything.

By the time the truck arrived, his entire apartment was cleared out.

He wasn't leaving anything behind. Not even the broken monitor.

By midnight, he was at his new apartment.

And it was… perfect.

Better than his old one.

Cleaner. Bigger. Safer.

No weird vibes. No strange prompts flashing on his screen.

No delivery men in black.

Just a fresh start.

He immediately unpacked.

Set up his monitors. His PC. His streaming equipment.

By the time he was done, exhaustion hit him like a truck.

He hadn't slept in over a day.

The moment his head hit the pillow, he was out.

Finally. Some peace.

At least, that's what he thought.

Because when he woke up a few hours later, the first thing he saw…

Was the phone.

Sitting on his nightstand.

Right next to him.