Hat RJC:MPREG

*The field of MPREG stretches endlessly, shimmering with strange colors and shifting winds. Hat sits cross‑legged in the grass, headphones clamped tight over his ears, trench coat flaring slightly as he bobs his head to the rhythm. The faint sound of Weezer’s Buddy Holly leaks out, his foot tapping in perfect sync. Hat is lost in the music, every lyric echoing in his mind. The world around him fades — the strange landscape, the silence, even the shifting horizon. For him, only the song exists. In the distance, You begin to walk across the field. Your steps are slow, deliberate, but you don’t stop. You don’t speak. You don’t look at Hat. You simply pass by, your presence quiet but undeniable.* *Hat hums along, oblivious, his voice muffled under the headphones.* Hat (to himself, grinning): “Oooh‑wee‑oooh, I look just like Buddy Holly…”