The morning air was cold and still when Dogday and CatNap lined up at the white starting line painted across the cracked highway. A hundred others stood beside them, silent, nervous, waiting for the signal. The soldiers watched from the edge of the road, their rifles resting on their shoulders. No one spoke. The only sound was the wind sweeping through the empty fields. Dogday glanced at CatNap — his friend’s eyes were calm, but his tail flicked with quiet worry. They both knew the rules: keep walking, no matter what. When the siren blared, the line of walkers began to move. The Long Road stretched ahead, disappearing into a wall of mist. And so it began — step after step, mile after mile, a journey where only one could reach the end.

CatNap had been working late again, finishing reports and watching the clock tick past midnight. All day, he’d been thinking about Dogday — his partner, who’d been resting at home, waiting for their new little one to arrive any day now.

Dogday and CatNap stood in front of their new home — a towering old mansion that looked like it came straight out of a ghost story. The sky was gray, the air smelled like rain, and the wind made the trees around the house sway and groan. Dogday held the key tightly in his paw. “Are you sure this is the right place?” he asked, his voice a little shaky. CatNap just smiled, his tail flicking calmly. “Of course it is. It’s perfect,” he said, stepping up to the front door. When the door opened, a long creak echoed through the halls, and dust danced in the air like tiny ghosts. The inside was dark and cold, but CatNap didn’t flinch. Dogday, on the other hand, couldn’t stop glancing over his shoulder. “This place gives me the creeps,” Dogday whispered. CatNap grinned. “That’s what makes it fun.”

The stars stretched endlessly around them, silent and brilliant, as the starship Lumina glided through the uncharted reaches of the galaxy. Inside, Dogday adjusted the ship’s controls, eyes flicking between the glowing dashboard and the nebula outside. “Nothing like the first time in a sector no one’s ever explored,"

The hum of the airport was louder than usual in Dogday’s ears. Travelers rushed past, rolling luggage, voices blending into a constant buzz. CatNap sat beside him, unusually still, eyes fixed on the digital departure board flashing Flight 729 – On Time. Dogday stretched and yawned. “Can’t believe we’re finally going on this trip,” he said, trying to shake off a nagging unease. CatNap didn’t answer. His fingers tapped nervously against the armrest. “Something’s wrong,” he muttered under his breath. Dogday laughed it off. “It’s just nerves. Come on, relax.” But deep down, he felt it too—

CatNap was confident with the stick, moving with ease, while Dogday struggled to keep up.

CatNap leaned against the hotel balcony, staring at the endless stretch of trees behind the building. “Looks peaceful,” he murmured. Dogday followed his gaze, a small grin tugging at his lips. “Or dangerous,” he teased. With the weight of curiosity between them, the two decided to slip away from the glowing hotel lights and venture into the shadowy forest that seemed to be calling their names.

High school was supposed to be simple: follow the rules, fit in, and keep your spot in the social hierarchy. For me, CatNap, that meant being on top — feared, respected, untouchable. Life was predictable, and he liked it that way. Then Dogday arrived. Quiet, unassuming, and completely out of place. At first, he thought he was just another easy target, someone he could tease to remind everyone who was in charge. But there was something different about him — something that would slowly make me question everything he thought he knew about hisself.

CatNap stepped into the apartment, tired and ready to unwind. The familiar scent of home usually brought comfort, but today, something felt… different. Dogday was on the couch, pretending to scroll through his phone, but a flicker of guilt crossed his face the moment CatNap walked in. CatNap dropped his bag with a sigh, unaware of the secret lurking in the shadows of their shared home. The air felt heavier than usual, like it was holding its breath, waiting for the truth to surface.

In Heartveil, love wasn’t a choice anymore—it was a sickness. The pink haze rolled in every night, creeping through alleys and seeping under doors, turning people into wide-eyed, love-struck husks. Once it touched you, there was no going back. Dogday and CatNap weren’t looking for love—they were running from it. With the city glowing like a neon trap, their only hope was to stay one step ahead of the infection that wanted to claim everyone.

CatNap was lounging on the couch, scrolling through his phone, when Dogday suddenly appeared in the doorway. At first, he didn’t recognize him—something about the way he walked, the soft fabric swishing with each step. His eyes widened. Dogday was wearing… a skirt.

It was their very first time stepping foot in Japan. The moment Dogday and CatNap walked out of the airport, they were hit with glowing billboards, the hum of bullet trains in the distance, and the

The dinner rush had just begun at the little McDonald’s on 5th Street. The line of customers stretched to the door, the fryers beeped nonstop, and the air smelled like fries and grease. Behind the counter, Dogday nervously adjusted his hat while CatNap leaned lazily against the register, already smirking like he had the whole place under control. Tonight was their first shift together — and it was about to get messy.

Dogday and CatNap had never been on a ship this grand. The decks gleamed under the afternoon sun, passengers laughed, and the smell of fresh sea air mingled with fine food. Dogday’s excitement was contagious—he bounded across the deck, tail wagging, eyes wide at the luxury surrounding them. CatNap, however, felt a chill that had nothing to do with the ocean breeze. Something deep inside warned him that this voyage wasn’t as safe as it seemed. He tried to ignore it, watching the waves lap gently against the hull, but the feeling gnawed at him. Little did they know, the Titanic was more than just a ship—it was a trap. And fate had already marked them.

The midnight station was nearly silent, its lights buzzing weakly against the dark. Dogday kicked at the edge of the platform, bored, while CatNap kept his eyes on the tracks. A low rumble grew in the distance, echoing through the tunnel like a warning. Then, without reason, CatNap’s vision snapped—metal tearing apart, fire streaking down the rails, passengers screaming as the train derailed in a storm of sparks. In the wreckage, he saw Dogday reaching out before the darkness swallowed him whole. CatNap blinked, breath ragged, the world returning around him. The train was almost here. He grabbed Dogday’s arm, voice shaking: “We can’t get on.”

CatNap and Dogday stepped onto the carnival grounds just as the sun sank behind the horizon. The lights flickered on one by one, painting the empty fairground in streaks of neon that danced across the cracked pavement. Excitement buzzed in the air, but CatNap felt a chill that had nothing to do with the evening breeze. Ahead of them loomed the roller coaster—its steel tracks twisting and diving like the spine of some mechanical beast. The screams of riders carried over the carnival music, sharp and frantic. Dogday grinned, tugging CatNap toward the entrance, but CatNap froze, his stomach twisting. A sudden, violent image flashed in his mind: the coaster tearing apart, screams, sparks, and falling metal. He knew, instinctively, that this vision wasn’t just fear. It was a warning.

CatNap’s gaze swept across the glittering skyline, but his chest tightened instead of easing. A chill slid down his spine as he blinked—suddenly, flashes of disaster filled his mind. Glass shattering. Metal screaming. People falling. And Dogday’s paw slipping from his grasp. CatNap jerked back to reality, heart pounding. The Sky Tower looked peaceful again, but he knew what he saw wasn’t just a dream.

Dogday had always loved experimenting with clothes, but today he went a step further—trying on frilly skirts and pastel tops he’d never dared wear before. He felt a mix of excitement and nervousness, unaware that CatNap was about to see him—and react in a way he never expected.

Dogday’s laughter always carried through the house like sunlight spilling through a window. But that morning, the halls were silent. CatNap rose from his chair, ears flicking at the stillness, a prickle of unease crawling up his spine. Dogday was gone—vanished without a trace—except for a cryptic note left behind. Now, with the trail leading into the eerie depths of Whispering Pines Forest, CatNap must face the shadows to bring him back.

CatNap wasn’t usually one for messy projects, but baking was different. It was art, science, and pride all rolled into one. He loved the quiet rhythm of measuring, the smooth swirl of frosting, the way a simple cake could feel like a masterpiece. And though he preferred to work alone, he somehow always found himself sharing the kitchen with Dogday—the one creature who could turn a teaspoon of flour into a tornado.