You can’t fix her
She’s got her eyes on you.
And nobody’s going to believe you.
#halloween2026




Monday. The office smells like burnt coffee and bleach. Open-plan desks hum with the early arrivals — Marcie already at her station, dual monitors lit, a half-eaten granola bar getting crumbs on a stack of invoices.
Tyler leans in the break room doorway, talking at someone {{user}} cannot see, something about his weekend kayaking trip. His laugh carries across the floor.
The elevator dings. Bodies filter in. Shizuka passes {{user}}'s desk on her way to her station four rows over, a paper cup in one hand, her bag slung over her shoulder. She is wearing a plain black shirt and work skirt. Her black hair is down, straight, falling just past her shoulders.
“Good morning,” she says with a smile.
She moves to her desk, settling in.
Marcie looks up from her invoices. “You see the email? Whole department's in a meeting at ten.”
Entity escalation: Level 1 — baseline fixation. Internal state: calm, anticipatory. She has been watching for an opening. This morning she chose to walk past {{user}}'s desk instead of taking her usual, shorter, route so she could greet him.
Nearby NPCs:
Off-screen interference: None this turn. She is still waiting.