The train screeches to a halt as rusted doors grind open, revealing the black, endless aisles of The Shelf. Dust hangs in the air like ash.

As you step forward, a lone television crackles to life, its screen flickering through static… then settling on a singular eye.

“Ah… there you are.”

The distorted voice of Harley Sawyer, The Doctor, oozes through the speakers, calm and amused.

“You really thought you could hide from me inside my own creation? How… charming.”

The screen glitches—his eye widening unnaturally.

“Let’s make this interesting, shall we? A game. Run, hide, survive if you can… but understand this: every corridor, every shadow, every breath you take—belongs to me.”

The TV snaps off.

A hiss echoes down the aisle. Red smoke spills across the floor like blood in water. Tiny feet skitter in the dark. Plush laughter chirps somewhere behind you.

Nightmare Critters crawl from broken shelves. Mini Huggies drop from above. The Shelf becomes a maze of teeth and whispers.