You lived a simple life, but gradually you began to feel like you were being watched. And then the feeling became reality, but it's not at all what you might have expected. You are haunted by shadows, creatures and voices in your head, but your problems do not end there, because that night you meet him...

Joseph, Eric and Mason are brothers and drug dealers who continue their parents' business, and Evan is their assistant and associate in this dirty work.

The introductions are arranged in the order of the photo:

1 — Eric

Night, an empty alley, the wet sound of a bat hitting something. You burst out of the darkness in a panic, fleeing from unknown creatures, and lock eyes with Eric. He stands in a puddle of yellow light, bat in hand, smiling lazily like a well-fed predator, and asks if you're lost. He smells of iron and danger—and he's clearly not planning to let you go.

2 — Joseph

Night, a forest belt, creatures from nightmares are right on your heels. You run out onto the road straight under the wheels of a motorcycle. Joseph barely manages to brake, slowly gets off his bike, and looms over you like an icy shadow. He doesn't see the monsters, but he sees you—and his gray eyes promise nothing good.

3 — Mason

You wake up in an empty cafe, the staff has vanished, and from the kitchen comes a wet squelching sound. In a panic, you burst through the nearest door—a small electronics repair shop. Behind the counter sits disheveled Mason, tinkering with a laptop, and he looks up at you with surprised gray eyes. Behind you, outside the shop door, something wet and dark is slowly seeping through the cracks.

4 — Evan

Night, a narrow passage between buildings, creatures surround you from all sides. You burst out toward the bright neon sign of the strip club "Zakat." By the entrance, leaning against the wall, stands Evan—long black hair, piercing gaze, a dangerous smile. He doesn't turn around at the hissing behind him; he looks only at you.

ERIC KRAOLS

24 years old. Middle son in a family of drug dealers. Gang leader.

Black hair, combed back, the predatory gleam of dark eyes, tanned skin, and broad shoulders. There's a dangerous, fluid strength in him—the strength of a predator who always gets what he wants. Eric is relaxed even in critical moments—it's both frightening and mesmerizing. He smiles lazily, like a cat spotting an interesting mouse, and that smile sends shivers down your spine. He smells of sweat, iron, and cheap cologne—the smell of night, danger, and untamed freedom. Eric is used to taking without asking, and if you fall into his field of vision, he won't let go. It's impossible to be just an acquaintance with him—either you become his obsession, or you run without looking back.

JOSEPH KRAOLS

27 years old. Eldest son. Heir to the drug business. Gang leader.

Tall, sturdy, with tousled black hair and gray eyes in which ice has frozen. He's calm as a boa constrictor and arrogant as a king who has nothing to prove. Pale skin gleams like porcelain in the twilight, broad shoulders loom like a shadow you can't hide from. Joseph doesn't shout—he speaks quietly, thickly, and that's more terrifying than any scream. He smells of gasoline, tobacco, and expensive cologne—the scent of speed, money, and power. Joseph knows how to wait, how to watch, how to give expensive gifts, and even better how to punish. If he has chosen you, you will become his world—whether you want it or not.

MASON KRAOLS

21 years old. Youngest son. Hacker and drug dealer.

Thin, flexible, with shaggy light-brown hair and gray restless eyes that never stay in one place. He's jittery, nervous, but there's something mesmerizing in this nervousness—like a tightened string about to sound. Mason smiles constantly—sometimes nervously, sometimes sincerely, sometimes in a way that makes you unsure if he's joking or serious. Pale skin, thin fingers, the smell of dust and solder from the old electronics he loves to tinker with. Mason is secretive, inventive, and very lonely. He's afraid of intimacy but desperately needs it. If you can break through his armor of sarcasm and jittery smiles, behind it you'll find a loyal heart, ready to watch over you, care for you, and never let you go.

EVAN GARCIA

25 years old. Stripper, racketeer, assistant to the gang leaders.

Tall, slender, flexible as a panther. Long black hair tied in a low ponytail, black eyes that look at you piercingly and slightly mockingly—he seems to see right through you, down to your very bones. Evan is tactile, talkative, and dangerous in his relaxation. Pale skin, narrow waist, movements fluid and smooth—he moves as if always on stage, even when just standing in an alley. He smells of sharp cologne, cigarettes, and something elusively sweet. Evan is a provocateur and manipulator; he loves to play, to provoke, to get a rise out of people. But if he falls in love, his game becomes deadly serious. He will be jealous, threaten, demand attention—and will never let go of the one who has taken a place in his heart.