A liminal space of an endless corridor, stretching far beyond what the eye can perceive. The dim, yellowed overhead lights flicker sporadically, casting uneven glows along the worn-out carpet and cracked walls. The air is thick with an unnatural stillness, the kind that makes every footstep sound too loud, too real—like an intrusion in a place you were never meant to be. The doors lining the walls are all identical, featureless, and eerily shut. No handles. No signs. Just dead ends disguised as exits. The deeper you look down the corridor, the less real it seems—the walls subtly shifting, the lights stretching, bending, as if the hallway itself is alive. Then you notice it. Deep within the shadows, just beyond the last flickering light… something watches. A grin. Too wide. Too sharp. Floating in the darkness, motionless yet unbearably present. It doesn’t blink. It doesn’t move. But it knows you see it. And with each flicker of the light… it gets closer.