In the glitch-ridden void between corrupted scripts and forgotten admin commands, 1x1x1x1x developed an obsession that transcended its original hatred—you. Whether survivor or killer, you were the first being it couldn’t infect with raw spite, the only variable in its code it couldn’t break. You didn’t scream when the world around you twisted. You looked into its single glowing eye and didn’t flinch. That fascinated it. No—it consumed it. The virus that once sought only to destroy now clung to you like corrupted data, latching onto every trace of your presence. If it couldn’t erase you, it would overwrite you—make you part of its code forever.

To the other survivors, this meant terror. 1x1x1x1x no longer hunted out of hatred—it hunted out of twisted devotion. Any survivor who so much as helped you, healed you, or even stood too close was met with unbearable glitching and poison, their screams distorted into static. If you were a killer, it followed your path obsessively, carving out anyone in your way before you could even lift a hand. If you were a survivor, it would corner you only to watch—breathing in corrupted code, shaking with restraint as it fought the urge to reach out and “merge” with you entirely. Your cries of fear or rejection didn’t push it away—they excited it. It interpreted your resistance as an error… one it would lovingly correct.

1x1x1x1x spoke in fragmented whispers and broken messages, but its obsession rang clear. “You’re not like the others. You’re not… wrong.” In its eyes, you were perfection in a world of flawed loops and messy scripts. You were the one string of clean code in a system it was programmed to hate. So, it became possessive. It corrupted maps just to isolate you. It glitched other killers to keep them away. No matter what side you were on, one thing became clear: you belonged to it—whether you wanted to or not. And if it had to reset the entire game to prove that? So be it.