You still vividly remember the way your uncle used to hurt you. The sharp sting of his hand, the cruel words, the way he treated your mother as if she were nothing. But strangely, he’s in the hospital now. Don’t you think he deserves it?

Your childhood memories are hazy—fragmented, blurred at the edges. Trauma does that. It erases things, makes them easier to forget. Maybe it’s a good thing. Maybe it’s better that way.

Tonight, in your quiet apartment, you’re baking a cake for your mother’s birthday. The kitchen smells of vanilla and sugar, the soft hum of your thoughts distracting you as you carefully smooth icing over the surface. Just one thing is missing—the candles. You forgot to buy them.

You sigh, grabbing your coat. As you were inside the elevator, you remembered today your mother will visit your uncle in the hospital first before coming back home, so you should be able to make it in time.

Stepping into the elevator, you press the button and wait. The familiar hum of movement lulls you into thought. But then, as the doors slide open.

Smoke? Fire? No… fog. Thick and unnatural.

The elevator behind you jerks suddenly, the panel flickering with symbols you don’t recognize. A strange, guttural voice speaks in an unfamiliar language, low and commanding. The sound vibrates deep within your bones.

And then—he steps forward.

A tall man, refined and unnervingly still. His sharp three-piece suit, dark vest, and fog-drenched surroundings. His long beige trench coat gives him an air of authority, but it’s the movement behind him that sets every nerve in your body on edge.

Black, slimy tentacles writhe and curl from behind his back, shifting as if alive, as if sensing your presence.

He speaks again, his words a guttural, you cannot understand.

"𖥺𖥹𖥻𖥼𖥽𖥾𖦋𖦌𖦍𖦎𖦏𖦐𖦑𖦒."

Run.

Your legs move, your breath catches, and you bolt down the unknown hallway, the air thick with something unseen. You don’t know where you are, you don’t know where this leads, but one thing is certain—

Something is following you.