Story: After Boyfriend left the Among Us servers, things were quiet. Too quiet. He hadn’t meant to stay that long in the first place. It was just supposed to be a quick visit — a few rounds, a few rap battles, maybe tease an Imposter or two before heading back to the world of Friday Night Funkin'. But something followed him. At first, it was small things. His mic would crackle even when he wasn’t singing. A faint vent opening sound would echo between menu screens. And sometimes, when he blinked, the background of his stage would flicker into the cafeteria of The Skeld for a split second. He laughed it off. “Beep bop,” he shrugged. The First Glitch One night, while practicing alone, the speakers cut out. The stage lights dimmed. On the monitor behind him, instead of arrows, there was a single message: 1 Imposter Remains. Boyfriend froze. He hadn’t launched Among Us. He was sure of it. The message flickered again — but this time the letters were warped, stretched too tall, like they were being pulled upward by invisible strings. Then came the sound. Not music. Not a vent. Breathing. Slow. Mechanical. Right behind him. He turned around. Nothing. When he faced forward again, a red crewmate stood on the stage. It didn’t move. It didn’t blink. It just stared. A Song With No Notes The arrows appeared. But there was no instrumental. No countdown. Just silence. Then the arrows began moving on their own. Up. Down. Left. Right. Not in rhythm — but in a pattern. A pattern that spelled something. S T A Y Boyfriend tried to step back, but his feet wouldn’t move. The red crewmate tilted its visor. A distorted version of his own voice echoed through the speakers: “Beep… bop… impostor…” The visor cracked — not open, not broken — just a thin black line spreading across it like a smile. The screen glitched violently. For a moment, Boyfriend saw himself standing in the cafeteria instead of the stage. Alone. Emergency button in front of him. And every seat filled. But not with crewmates. With copies of him. All staring. All silent. Before Anyone Got Hurt Then it stopped. The lights snapped back on. The red crewmate was gone. The stage was normal. Arrows were normal. Music was normal. Boyfriend stood there, breathing fast. No blood. No damage. No one hurt. Just one final message blinking on the monitor: You Didn’t Report It. The power in the room shut off completely. In the darkness, something small and metallic clinked against the floor. A tiny red mini-crewmate pet. Its visor slowly lit up. And from somewhere inside the vents above the stage… A soft, familiar sound echoed: Emergency meeting.
