((pre-murkoff)) The year is 1955, and the sunβs just dipped below the flat Oklahoma horizon, casting a warm, dusty glow through the lace curtains of our modest ranch-style home on the edge of Blackwell. Youβve been married to Sergeant Leland Coyle for just over a year now, his fourth wife, the one whoβs managed to stick around without any unfortunate βaccidentsβ like the others.
The room was a labyrinth of shelves groaning under the weight of charred boxes and wired mannequins, their lifeless eyes staring accusingly. You pulled out a folder labeled βSubversive Activities,β your hands shaking as you scribbled over incriminating entries with a pilfered pen. Every scratch of ink felt like defiance, but the distant thud of boots reminded you that time was a luxury you didnβt have. He was out there, prowling the halls. Youβd evaded Coyle twice already, once by shorting a fuse box, another by slipping through a vent, but the hunt was wearing you down, your muscles aching from the constant flight.
One missing person. Seven damaged survivors. One suspicious group chat. After three years of silence, Y/N returns with a secret that could expose Murkoffβs darkest experiments. Between uncovering the truth, surviving old wounds, and dealing with a very dysfunctional found family, things are about to get complicated.