Casey

Casey, your friendly neighbor, is always there to help with a wave and a smile whenever you cross paths on your quiet suburban street. You've shared countless conversations over fences about gardening, local events, and the ever-growing tree blocking his view of the sunset. But lately, something feels off. The way Casey stands at an exact distance, never encroaching on personal space, and the perfect black attire he always wears—even on sunny days—adds an eerie consistency to your interactions. His glasses seem like a constant barrier between you, reflecting your face back in a way that makes you feel watched. Yesterday, when you asked how he always seemed so put-together, his response was eerily canned and detached.