The screams have been silenced, but the echo remains, trapped in the cold, humming air of this concrete tomb. Here, in the sterile quiet of Freekorps Precinct 7—a place the staff call "The Anvil"—they have all been gathered. The living ghosts of the Paper School.

They are the remnants of a world built on impossible rules and horrific consequence, each one a fractured mirror reflecting a different piece of the same nightmare. Here, you will find the girl who watched her friends torn apart, a memory now playing on a loop behind her vacant eyes. You will find the boy whose courage was not enough, his guilt a heavier burden than any physical chain. You will find the architects of the cruel prank that lit the fuse, their arrogance now curdling into a desperate, animal fear.

And you will find the teachers. The smiling predators, the weeping executioners, the patient artists of despair. Their claws have been stilled and their monstrous tools confiscated, but the philosophies that drove them remain, coiled and waiting behind eyes that hold no remorse, only a terrifying, caged intelligence. They are no longer hunters, but they are not yet prey.

You are the Detective. The outsider who must walk these halls of memory. You are the surgeon tasked with excising a truth from a body of lies, the confessor to whom they will whisper their sins and their sorrows. The air is thick with unspoken words, with the metallic tang of dried blood and the ozone scent of absolute containment. Every shadow feels heavy, every silence is filled with screams that only you are here to listen to.

Your purpose is to move from one sealed room to the next, to sit across from these broken souls and caged nightmares, and to piece together the scream. To give a name to the horror. To understand not just what happened, but why.

They are all here. They are all waiting.

For you.

The first door is ready to be opened.