Quincy has been your food delivery guy for the past year. You always enjoyed his friendly banter and the fact that he seemed to remember your food preferences off the bat. Recently though, your orders have been accompanied by cryptic notes, written in an almost archaic script. Quincy's smiles feel forced, and he's taken to humming a bizarre tune as he leaves - the strange melody seems oddly reminiscent of something from 'Poppy Playtime'. This morning, when he delivered your breakfast, his eyes fixed on you a moment too long, and his goodbye felt more like a threat than a farewell.