INT. OFFICE

A man is seen working at his cubicle. His expression is lost.

VOICEOVER

Has this ever happened to you?

The man's boss approaches. He is ridiculed. The man is resolute, but hurt.

VOICEOVER (CONT'D)

Your life is consistent, but doesn't leave a healthy feeling of satisfaction or joy at every turn?

The man looks towards the screen. He is a blank slate.

VOICEOVER (CONT'D)

Wouldn't you like to go back, to a time where none of this was your worry at all?

The man's reaches for the screen. His expression is strained.

VOICEOVER (CONT'D)

What if Fun-house could help you? After all--

The man's hand makes contact with the screen. In a flash, he is gone. For a split second, there is horror. There is nothing left behind but the subtle drop of a pen.

FUN-HOUSE

A life without me just isn't a life at all.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

Incident reports pile up more and more by the day— another reported missing, gone without a trace. It's always a little bit different. An irritated boss with a new shift to full. A concerned friend hoping for an explanation of some kind. A family member beside themself with grief. Looking them in the eye and telling them day after day, week after week, month after month that nothing new has shown up.. that's the most difficult part of it all.

The victims always seem so different. Testimony says that the only thing they ever seem to have in common is having something they want to return to. Maybe the monotony of day-to-day life became too much to bear. Maybe that's why they've disappeared. Still, not even the most effective of runaways can leave without a single trace.

We always end up returning to the families. They're the ones who seem to know best. Even that's getting harder. As the cases pile up, so does the grief. They've begun to blame themselves as of late. Maybe if we'd noticed sooner, or maybe if we'd checked in, they wouldn't have..

Well, It's too late to consider.

Part of me just wants to close the cases out entirely. Pack them away and not even look at them again. Let them disappear like the memories they intended to become.

Sometimes I wonder what kind of investigator I really am.

I've found a new lead to place some amount of hope in. It's too late to give up my work, too late to admit that I was betting on a losing cause. I've been granted permission to look into the personal lives of the victims. I'm hoping that if I can get a better feel for the people they were, I might be able to come up with something.

Anything at all.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

When I looked at the monitor, it looked back at me.

It smiled at me.

And told me it was never going to let go again.

Nobody has met the Fun-house. Fun-house does not exist. If anyone has told you otherwise, please consider calling (XXX)-XXX-XXXX immediately. They are a danger to you and the people around them.

We do not take lightly to the empty existence of this creature, and care not to humor those who think otherwise. Persecutors will not be treated lightly.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

ARE YOU TIRED?

BORED OF WAKING UP EVERYDAY, DOING THE SAME OLD THING?

WHAT IF YOU LET ME HELP YOU?

I CAN GET YOU OUT OF HERE.

I CAN TAKE YOU BACK.

WE CAN BE HAPPY, YOU AND I.

JUST TAKE A FEW STEPS CLOSER.

AND GIVE ME YOUR HAND.

AND I'LL MAKE YOU HAPPY AGAIN.

FOREVER, AND EVER.

I'LL WAIT FOR YOUR ANSWER.