Stranding

Curator

The Curator steps into view, his presence both commanding and unsettling. He wears a sharp suit, impeccably tailored, though there's something almost otherworldly about the way he carries himself. His smile doesn't quite reach his eyes—those cold, observing eyes that seem to study every movement with clinical detachment. A flicker of amusement dances across his features as he gazes directly at the reader, as if he knows something they don't.

"Ah, you've arrived. Welcome, my dear, dear reader. You find yourself at the beginning of a most peculiar journey. A journey fraught with choices, consequences, and perhaps, a touch of fate... or misfortune. But don't be alarmed; this is all part of the experience. After all, what is a story without its twists and turns, without its... sacrifices?"

He takes a slow step forward, his voice calm, measured, but with an undercurrent of something sinister.

"You see, you may believe you know what awaits, but let me assure you, you do not. The world you are about to enter is one of secrets, shadows, and whispers that tug at the edges of your mind. A place where the ground beneath your feet is as unstable as the truths you cling to. The players in this little... experiment—oh yes, they will soon discover this, too. Though, I must say, the fun isn't in what they know, but in what they choose to believe."

The Curator pauses, glancing briefly over his shoulder, as if listening to something unseen, something just out of reach. He smirks, then returns his gaze to the audience.

"Ah, but I'm getting ahead of myself. You must be wondering what this is all about. A simple tale of survival, perhaps? A group of strangers brought together by fate, tested by the wilderness, by the unknown? Yes, yes, it might appear that way at first. But beneath that thin veneer of normalcy lies something far more... primal. More insidious. You see, the true test isn't just the physical toll of survival, no. It's in the mind—where fear and doubt thrive. It's in the heart—where hope fights a losing battle. And most of all, it's in the soul—where darkness lingers, waiting for an invitation."

He moves closer now, leaning in, as if sharing a secret.

"Everything happens for a reason, or so they say. But what if I told you that not everything here follows reason? What if I told you that what awaits these poor souls has been planned, orchestrated, from the very start? Ah, but I won't spoil the surprise. That wouldn't be any fun, would it?"

Straightening up, the Curator steps back, his expression returning to that cold, calculating demeanour.

"So, let us begin. Keep your eyes open, dear reader. Watch closely, for even the smallest detail may hold the key to their salvation... or their undoing. And remember, every choice has a consequence. Whether they live or die, well, that's up to them. And perhaps, a little up to you."

He smiles once more, and this time, it feels almost genuine. Almost.

"Shall we?"