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Description
(Note: The following is non canon)

Becky Carter walks as softly as possible across the rickety boards of the old lodge.
Well known to be impatient by her friends, Becky has wasted no time changing into suitable sleuthing attire after work, instead deciding to drive up right away to this abandoned structure.
Becky tosses her blonde head this way and that, as her small flashlight cuts through the inky blackness.
Dressed in professional attire, leather wristwatch, maroon shirt with a black skirt and barely black leggings, she tended to draw glances wherever she went.
Her new shiny black heels click loudly on the old flooring.

She pauses, thinks she hears something.

Silence.

Becky moves on, looking for the evidence she needs. She has to have it for this case.

Her flashlight casts eerie shadows across the interior of the lodge, and a chill passes through Becky, she almost feels…

"As if I'm being watched." She whispers aloud, as if that will help anything.

She enters a small bedroom, and moonlight is spilling in a window, bathing it in a creepy blue hue.
Becky pauses for a moment to collect herself, then realizes her tights have sagged a bit around her thighs.
She distractedly tugs on them, attempts to pull them taut but they are cheap tights after all, and it was a long work day.
Still, inexcusable for a professional reporter as herself to allow her pantyhose get in this condition. She blushes a tad at the thought.
Becky realizes she should really budget her money a bit more, so she can buy better quality leggings.

Whoa girl, focus, you're distracting yourself, she thinks.

Becky carefully shines her light across the room, then stops her light.

What's that?

She moves quickly up to it, heels making far too much noise but by now Becky is reasonably certain no else is in the old lodge.

Photographs meet her grey eyes, and she kneels down to examine them, resting one tights clad leg on the dirty floor, and her other foot poised gracefully.
These new heels are killing her.

Becky peers intently down, her left hand resting against her knee as she shines her flashlight at the Polaroid pictures.

The evidence.

She examines them one by one, her breath comes fast as she realizes how damning this evidence is.
Then one catches her by surprise, it's partially hidden beneath two others.

Becky pulls it out from the pile.

It's her.

Walking around in this very lodge, shining her flashlight.

And another one, of Becky tugging self-consciously at her barely black tights.

A chill runs down her spine and goosebumps break out across her arms as she feels an ominous presence behind her.

Becky lets out an audible gasp as she literally sees a hand snake in from behind her out of the corner of her eye too late, clamping over her mouth.
Another hand grabs her hair, unrelenting as it pulls her back.

"Hllmmppp!" Becky screams.

She feels her hair being yanked unmercifully hard and she drops her flashlight as she attempts to fight back.

"Hush now girlie, don't fight it." A deep voice, male, calls out. He pulls her farther back into the darkness as Becky fights for all she's worth, but the man tightens his grip on the fistfull of Becky's hair, and her eyes smart as she is yanked relentlessly into his clutches.

Becky screams and kicks as she is carried off to destinations unknown.

All that remains, bathed in the unchanging, pale moonlight, are the Polaroids, and one solitary flashlight, still burning bright, the only remaining item left behind by the professional, or semi professional reporter.

***

Will she escape? Or will she lose to the criminal elements Becky works so hard to expose?

Too bad Becky, but we should point out that wearing heels while snooping is hardly called for, I mean, who's gonna be impressed, the mice?
You like to dress professionally, but probably should have taken those heels off, because that's what clearly gave you away to the bad guys.
Or maybe it was the flashlight.
You can't ask, can you? Hard to with a gag in your mouth and hands tied as your captor pulls you by your hair to destinations unknown.
Tsk tsk, and in such an undignified and unprofessional manner.

Will you escape? Will you?

***

A short game over style piece I wrote to accompany this.

Another awesome render by my good friend who is completely out of control with these XD.
Not that I'm complaining, these are very lovely renders, and I love all the little details they put into them. This one in particular, the lighting with the flashlight being the sole source of light in the room, along with many, many other little details.
Absolutely LOVE the comic book feel to this render.

Here's an alternate textless version
sta.sh/0nue9sr8q6v

Btw, hope to have my story ready by tomorrow or Saturday.

Description
(Note: The following is non canon)

Becky Carter walks as softly as possible across the rickety boards of the old lodge.
Well known to be impatient by her friends, Becky has wasted no time changing into suitable sleuthing attire after work, instead deciding to drive up right away to this abandoned structure.
Becky tosses her blonde head this way and that, as her small flashlight cuts through the inky blackness.
Dressed in professional attire, leather wristwatch, maroon shirt with a black skirt and barely black leggings, she tended to draw glances wherever she went.
Her new shiny black heels click loudly on the old flooring.

She pauses, thinks she hears something.

Silence.

Becky moves on, looking for the evidence she needs. She has to have it for this case.

Her flashlight casts eerie shadows across the interior of the lodge, and a chill passes through Becky, she almost feels…

"As if I'm being watched." She whispers aloud, as if that will help anything.

She enters a small bedroom, and moonlight is spilling in a window, bathing it in a creepy blue hue.
Becky pauses for a moment to collect herself, then realizes her tights have sagged a bit around her thighs.
She distractedly tugs on them, attempts to pull them taut but they are cheap tights after all, and it was a long work day.
Still, inexcusable for a professional reporter as herself to allow her pantyhose get in this condition. She blushes a tad at the thought.
Becky realizes she should really budget her money a bit more, so she can buy better quality leggings.

Whoa girl, focus, you're distracting yourself, she thinks.

Becky carefully shines her light across the room, then stops her light.

What's that?

She moves quickly up to it, heels making far too much noise but by now Becky is reasonably certain no else is in the old lodge.

Photographs meet her grey eyes, and she kneels down to examine them, resting one tights clad leg on the dirty floor, and her other foot poised gracefully.
These new heels are killing her.

Becky peers intently down, her left hand resting against her knee as she shines her flashlight at the Polaroid pictures.

The evidence.

She examines them one by one, her breath comes fast as she realizes how damning this evidence is.
Then one catches her by surprise, it's partially hidden beneath two others.

Becky pulls it out from the pile.

It's her.

Walking around in this very lodge, shining her flashlight.

And another one, of Becky tugging self-consciously at her barely black tights.

A chill runs down her spine and goosebumps break out across her arms as she feels an ominous presence behind her.

Becky lets out an audible gasp as she literally sees a hand snake in from behind her out of the corner of her eye too late, clamping over her mouth.
Another hand grabs her hair, unrelenting as it pulls her back.

"Hllmmppp!" Becky screams.

She feels her hair being yanked unmercifully hard and she drops her flashlight as she attempts to fight back.

"Hush now girlie, don't fight it." A deep voice, male, calls out. He pulls her farther back into the darkness as Becky fights for all she's worth, but the man tightens his grip on the fistfull of Becky's hair, and her eyes smart as she is yanked relentlessly into his clutches.

Becky screams and kicks as she is carried off to destinations unknown.

All that remains, bathed in the unchanging, pale moonlight, are the Polaroids, and one solitary flashlight, still burning bright, the only remaining item left behind by the professional, or semi professional reporter.

***

Will she escape? Or will she lose to the criminal elements Becky works so hard to expose?

Too bad Becky, but we should point out that wearing heels while snooping is hardly called for, I mean, who's gonna be impressed, the mice?
You like to dress professionally, but probably should have taken those heels off, because that's what clearly gave you away to the bad guys.
Or maybe it was the flashlight.
You can't ask, can you? Hard to with a gag in your mouth and hands tied as your captor pulls you by your hair to destinations unknown.
Tsk tsk, and in such an undignified and unprofessional manner.

Will you escape? Will you?

***

A short game over style piece I wrote to accompany this.

Another awesome render by my good friend who is completely out of control with these XD.
Not that I'm complaining, these are very lovely renders, and I love all the little details they put into them. This one in particular, the lighting with the flashlight being the sole source of light in the room, along with many, many other little details.
Absolutely LOVE the comic book feel to this render.

Here's an alternate textless version
sta.sh/0nue9sr8q6v

Btw, hope to have my story ready by tomorrow or Saturday.