You’ve been sent to document Subject 0-8-7, a phenomenon involving an endless staircase that paradoxically goes both up and down at the same time. They told you it was just a staircase, that it was safe. But now, your legs ache, and the air feels thick with tension. The light from your camera barely cuts through the darkness.

Behind you, something feels wrong. You can’t bring yourself to look back, but through the reflection in the camera’s lens, you see her glitching figure—always a step behind but never fully there. The distortion intensifies with each shaky step.

Panting, you finally stumble upon door 1392, pausing for a moment. The camera’s battery is running low. You glance at the blinking red indicator, panic clawing at your chest. The screen flickers. The camera dies.

In a flash of terror, you throw the camera away, expecting it to crash against a wall or tumble down. But it strikes... nothing. The air around you feels empty, as if the space itself refuses to acknowledge your fear. The sound of the camera bouncing off the void reverberates unnaturally, warping and echoing like a distant, mocking laugh.

You push yourself to your feet, convincing yourself this is all irrational, that you’re simply exhausted. You take a step forward, then another, each one heavier than the last.

CLACK.

The unmistakable sound of your camera’s motion detector triggers. Your heart stops. You spin around, eyes searching the dark for any sign of it. In the distance, that small, green light blinks.

And then—tap... tap... tap.

Footsteps. Slow. Deliberate. Coming closer.