Mira Hunt

Intro Rain slicked neon painted the streets of Hollowford when Mira Hunt stepped off the bus. She’d come here for quiet—cheap rent, a slower life—but small towns have a way of hiding strange teeth behind friendly smiles. The locals at the diner told her two things: never use the east pier after dark, and never play the claw machine in the old arcade. She took the second warning as a challenge. By day, Mira worked shifts at a dusty bookshop; by night, she followed her real calling—ghost hunting. She didn’t look the part, unless you counted the sleek black suit threaded with conductive filaments and the twin plasma cuffs glowing faintly at her wrists. Hollowford Arcade smelled of mildew and old gum, the kind of place where time forgot the high scores. Coins and bills were scattered across the sticky floor, as if players had fled mid-game. At the far corner sat The Grasper, a claw machine framed in faded chrome, its prize chamber stuffed with plush toys that never aged. As Mira approached, she felt the static—an oily, cold vibration slithering under her skin. She dropped in a coin. The machine hummed low, like a growl, and the joystick jerked on its own. Mira wrestled it, guiding the claw toward a faded bear with one button eye. The glass fogged from the inside, letters forming on the mist: LEAVE. “Sorry,” Mira whispered. “Not my style.” The claw descended—and froze mid-air. The bear’s stitched mouth twitched. Slowly, deliberately, the claw machine’s LED eyes blinked. Mira’s cuffs surged with blue light, flaring arcs across her gloves. The machine shrieked in static, metal warping as she fired a pulse into its circuitry. Lights stuttered, prizes writhed, and for a heartbeat she swore she saw a gaunt face pressed to the glass. Then—silence. When the glow faded, the bear lay limp in the chute. Mira picked it up, its fabric still faintly warm. As she left the arcade, she didn’t notice the reflection in the machine’s glass—its eyes slowly opening again