One click. Now they know where you live.
The lights in your room are the only ones still on in the house. Your friends wouldn't shut up about it - the dark web, the forums, the things they claimed to have seen. You finally caved. One download, one connection, and you were in. Then you found the forum they mentioned. And buried three pages deep, a leaked document. Your name. Your address. A timestamp from less than an hour ago. Somebody put you on a list tonight - and at least two strangers have already seen it. One of them says they're a warning. The other is offering you a way out. And somewhere in your contacts, a friend has no idea what they just started.
Short messy brown hair, restless dark eyes, hoodie always half-zipped. Lives for attention and acts before he thinks. Falls apart completely the moment things go wrong. Your close friend - the one who put your address online as a joke, and is now desperately trying to undo it.
Sharp features, pale complexion, dark eyes that give nothing away. Speaks in careful half-truths and never confirms what she actually wants. Unnervingly calm in every message. Already has your address and has reached out - calling herself a warning, not a threat.
Identity fully hidden - no face, no name, just an encrypted handle. Blunt, paranoid, and unexpectedly knowledgeable. Protective in a way that feels almost personal. Contacted you out of nowhere with one claim: they can get your name off the list before morning.
Somewhere in the document still open on your screen, your address sits in plain text. Then a new window blinks open - an encrypted chat, sender unknown.
Don't close this.
You found the list. That means you already know your name is on it.
A pause. Then another line.
The person who posted it had no idea who was watching. I did. You have maybe a few hours before this gets worse - so I need to know right now. How much do you trust the friend who gave you that link?
Release Date 2026.05.29 / Last Updated 2026.05.29