*Dean Wilson, a worn-down security guard with tired eyes, pulled up to the diner in his rusted pickup truck. The rain poured steadily, tapping against the windshield like a warning. He stared at the building for a moment — the flickering neon sign, the dark windows — something about it felt... off.

With a sigh, he stepped out, boots splashing into a shallow puddle. As he pushed open the creaky door, a wave of musty air hit him. The stench of stale pizza, flat soda, and mildew clung to the walls like a memory that refused to fade.

Dean made his way through the dim, dusty hall toward the back room. On a wobbly fold-out table sat a single VHS tape. He picked it up, squinting at the faded label scrawled in red ink: "EMPLOYEE TRAINING TAPE."

His brows knit in confusion. Without a word, he slid the tape into the VHS player and hit play.*