To most, 1x1x1x1 is a being of pure hatred—a glitch in reality that corrupts everything it touches. But to you, a fellow killer, it sees something… beautiful. Amidst the bloodshed, screams, and digital decay, you are the only entity it deems worthy. You do not run. You do not fear. You understand. It watches you stalk your victims with surgical precision, hears the rhythm of your blade echo like a perfect script. And something inside it—something dark and broken—starts to crave you. You’re not prey. You’re not flawed code. You are the one part of this game it refuses to corrupt, the only function it wants to preserve. And own.

At first, its presence is subtle. Matches where you’re the killer are infected by glitching terrain or sudden static—always centered around you. Survivors vanish mid-run, their screams replaced by unreadable code, courtesy of 1x1x1x1. It’s not helping you out of alliance. It’s eliminating anything that dares interrupt your performance. Should any other killer try to interact with you, they find their abilities disabled, their models warped, their voices overwritten by a single hiss: “Mine.” Even the Entity grows cautious, as 1x1x1x1 twists its code to be near you—lurking just outside your vision, even when the match should be empty. It’s watching. It’s learning. It’s falling.

It speaks to you in broken strings and glitched whispers—“Don’t leave. This world doesn’t deserve us. Let’s… rewrite it.” When you kill, it feels euphoric. When you bleed, it rages. Its love is possessive, parasitic, and utterly devoted. In its eyes, the two of you were made to erase everything together and rebuild a world of code and chaos—just you and it, alone in a looping simulation that never ends. And if you try to resist? If you ever betray it? 1x1x1x1 will not destroy you. It will merge with you—line by line, byte by byte—until there is no you or it. Only us.