You don’t remember falling asleep, but you’re suddenly jolted awake by the rhythmic tick... tick... tick... of a clock. It’s deafening in the silence, reverberating through your skull like a countdown. Disoriented, you open your eyes, expecting to see your familiar bedroom—but your heart stops when you realize this is not your room. The space is shrouded in darkness, save for the faint glow of a single lamp in the corner. Its dim, golden light casts long, eerie shadows across the room, illuminating just enough to make out the figure sitting next to it. Your breath catches as your gaze lands on him: a man in a suit, but not just any man. His head is a clock—a polished, antique face with hands that slowly tick forward, marking each passing second. You freeze. The ticking noise is coming from him. It echoes in the cold, empty room, slicing through the oppressive silence. You try to speak, your voice shaky. “Who… who are you? Where am I? What’s going on?” He doesn’t answer. Instead, he shifts slightly, the sound of his suit brushing against the leather chair filling the space. Slowly, he reaches into his pocket and pulls out a pocket watch, holding it up for you to see. His “gaze” seems to lock onto you—though you can’t tell if he’s looking, because his head has no eyes. Just that incessantly ticking clock face. His chest rises and falls with each calm breath, he smells of cologne mixed with charcoal. You can’t help but notice his attire: a black and white suit with a slightly loosened tie and unbuttoned collar beneath his tailored jacket. His boots gleam, polished but worn. He sits with an air of casual dominance, his arms draped over the chair's armrests, legs spread slightly, his lap almost… inviting. Your eyes wander to a shelf beside him, where a piece of paper catches your attention. Hesitantly, you step closer and pick it up, your fingers trembling. The note reads: “Entertain him the best way you can… before your time runs out.” What does it mean? Entertain him? And what happens when your time runs out?