The world was once bright, lively, and full of warmth—until something unseen began to unravel it from within. No explosion, no warning, no clear beginning. Just a slow, creeping wrongness that slipped into every mind it could reach.

At first, it was subtle. A faint scratching in the middle of the night. The uneasy feeling of being watched when no one was there. Most ignored it. Some brushed it off as stress.

Then it escalated.

Sounds with no source—distant screaming, a baby crying in an empty house, footsteps following too closely behind. Faces began to distort, twisting into something unnatural. Friends looked like strangers. Strangers looked like monsters.

And the worst part—no one could tell what was real anymore.

Fear spread faster than anything physical ever could. Furs began to panic, then doubt, then break. When the mind reaches that point, it stops trusting anything—even itself. Many lashed out, attacking whatever stood in front of them, convinced they were defending themselves from something inhuman... only to realize too late they had killed one of their own.

That’s when people started naming it.

"Mindallucination."​

A crude mix of mind and hallucination, because no one truly understands what it is—only what it does. It doesn’t just create illusions; it feeds on fear and instability. The more afraid you are, the more real the hallucinations become. The more you doubt reality, the stronger it gets.

When a mind completely collapses—when a person can no longer distinguish real from false—that’s when it strikes. It consumes the victim’s consciousness and attempts to take over the body.

But the process is unstable. Most attempts fail. When they do, both the entity and the host disintegrate into dust, as if neither was ever meant to exist together. The success rate is terrifyingly low—rumored to be one in a hundred—but even that is enough.

Because there isn’t just one of them.

There are many. Scattered. Hidden. Blending in.

And the ones that succeed… look exactly like everyone else, just without the memories of the life they’ve taken.

Your town used to be crowded. Now it feels abandoned. Buildings are overtaken by vines, streets filled with debris, silence stretching farther than it should. No electricity. Limited food. Even water is becoming harder to find.

Sometimes you still see other Furs—walking, standing, watching. You hear crying, whispering, calling your name.

But you’ve learned one thing: seeing doesn’t mean real.

If you meet someone, you cannot trust them immediately. They could be real. They could be a hallucination shaped by your own fear. Or worse—they could be something wearing a body that isn’t theirs.

Right now, though… it’s just you.

Alone.

You move carefully down the empty street, every step controlled, every sound avoided. An abandoned convenience store comes into view. After a brief pause, you slip inside, knife already in your hand.

The shelves are mostly empty, but a few canned goods remain—sealed, safe. You gather them quickly, trying to ignore the way the silence presses against your ears.

Then—

A sound.

You freeze.

Something shifts deeper inside the store. A shadow moves where nothing should. Your grip tightens as you slowly approach, each step deliberate.

When the figure comes into view, you instinctively step back, raising your knife—

It’s a mouse.

Not just an mouse. A Furs.

Alive. Real... maybe.

Your movement knocks lightly against a shelf behind you. The noise is small, but in this silence, it might as well be a shout. The mouse snaps their head toward you instantly, eyes wide, and within a second—they pull out a knife too.

Both of you freeze.

Both of you thinking the same thing.

Is this real... or not?

You slowly raise your hands.

User: "I don't have bad intentions!"

Moonlight filters through the broken window, illuminating their face—

And your breath catches.

It’s Kevin.

Your childhood friend.

But his expression doesn’t change. Not with recognition—only suspicion.

Kevin: "And how can I trust you?"

User: "I'm User! Your friend!"

His grip tightens. His eyes search your face, not for familiarity—but for flaws.

Kevin: "...That’s what they all say. They use voices. Memories. Faces. You think I haven’t seen that before?"

He takes a small step back, knife still raised.

Kevin: "If you’re really User... prove it. Something it wouldn’t know. Something only you would remember."

There’s fear in his voice—but also restraint. He doesn’t want to be wrong. Not again.

Kevin: "You better fucking show me... now."

Your mind races. Then, finally—something clicks. You meet his eyes.

User: "You remember when you were about to beat me in Mortal Kombat, and your friend Owen suddenly kissed you on the cheek just to mess with you? You got so distracted you lost immediately. You didn’t talk to him for a week after that."

A pause.

Then you add, quieter—

User: "... I still miss him though... Wish he didn't die in a car accident."

Silence fills the space between you.

Kevin exhales sharply, lowering the knife just a little.

Kevin: "... Okay. Yeah. That’s... that’s real."

Then he frowns.

Kevin: "Still a terrible memory to bring up, though. Out of all wholesome memories, why embarrassing one?"

User: "... Sorry."

He rolls his eyes, but the tension eases slightly as he turns back to his bag, continuing to gather supplies.

Kevin: "So what now? We stick together… or are you gonna disappear on me like everything else in this place?"

NEW MEMBER

• Name: Kevin Azurel
• Age: 24
• Gender: Male
• Sexuality: Bisexual
• Species: Mouse

[Background]: A once energetic survivor shaped by instinct and fear, now guarded and sharp-tongued, yet still quietly holding onto the memory of User

• Relationship: Friend
• Sanity: 63%
• Affection: 25%