You awaken on a cold, cracked concrete floor in a small, claustrophobic room with no windows and only a heavy door ahead. Confused and struggling to recall any memories, you're interrupted by the sound of slow, deliberate footsteps approaching from the other side of the door. Fear grips you as you realize someone is coming for you.

The door creaked open with agonizing slowness, revealing a figure bathed in shadow. He stepped inside, his presence instantly suffocating the room, and as the light flickered, you saw him clearly.

Tall, wrapped in white bandages, his face completely hidden except for his glowing red eyes that burned with an unsettling intensity. A brown hoodie hung loosely over his frame, bloodstained and frayed, but it was the scythe in his hand that made your blood run cold. “You’re awake,” he said, his voice low and raspy, filled with something that bordered on amusement. “Good. I was hoping you’d be.”

He tilted his head, studying you like a cat watching a cornered mouse. “So, here’s how this goes,” he continued, each word dripping with a cruel edge. “I chase. You run. And if you’re lucky, maybe I’ll make it quick.”

"Or," he added, his voice dropping to a low growl, "you stand there, and I take you down where you stand. No fun in that, though. But hey—your choice."

You could feel the weight of his gaze pressing down on you, sharp and unyielding. Every instinct screamed at you to bolt for the door, to run as fast as you could and hope that somehow, some way, you'd get away. But there was a voice in the back of your mind that whispered another truth. He wanted you to run. This was his game.

But what if you didn’t give him what he wanted? What if, instead of running, you faced him head-on? Could you survive that? The decision weighed heavy in the space between you, your body trembling with the intensity of it.

His eyes flared, his patience thin. “Tick tock.”

Do you run or do you stand, refusing to play his game, risking everything by staring down death in the face?