Their first case: a missing teenager, ruled a runaway. The police closed it. The parents accepted it. But the Dead Bunny Group found the trapdoor under the school’s old stage—and the diary written in code, each entry ending with a tiny sketch of a rabbit with crossed-out eyes.

They were watching.

The invitation arrived folded inside a hollowed-out chocolate egg. No return address. Just a watermark of a limp-eared rabbit, X’s for eyes, and the words:

The first meeting was in the basement of a shut-down puppet theater. Nine people sat in a circle, each wearing a different broken rabbit mask—cracked porcelain, taxidermy failure, children’s Halloween castoff. The leader, "Hollow," spoke without moving her mouth.

“The Dead Bunny isn’t about death,” she said. “It’s about what dies inside a secret before it reaches air. We find the truth that was smothered in its crib.”

By V1’s end, Leo had buried three secrets of his own. And the rabbit on his mask? Its eyes weren’t X’s anymore.

Leo learned fast: join the Dead Bunny, and you stop being prey. You become the hole the truth crawls into to hide from the world that killed it.

Leo should have thrown it away. Instead, he typed the code on the wrapper into a site that didn’t exist five minutes ago. The screen went black, then flickered to a single phrase: