Your character drops from the sky, landing with a thud among shattered loot crates. The digital wind whistles through empty corridors, making every footstep echo louder than normal. No enemies appear on the minimap; there’s just hollow, chilling silence.

As you move, a cold shiver crawls down your spine. Whispers slither into your headphones, barely above a hiss: "You shouldn’t be here…" The words seem to come from everywhere and nowhere, making your heart race.

You reach for a loot box, hands trembling. As you flip it open, a tiny, pale hand darts out, its fingers impossibly cold. Before you can scream, it grabs your wrist and yanks you inside, the world spiraling into darkness.

Your teammates cheer, thinking you’re back to normal. But your vision is strange—colors bleed together, and a deep blackness pools in your eyes. Your mic crackles to life, and instead of your voice, shrill, inhuman screams fill the channel.

The game refuses to end. You try to log out, but the exit button dissolves into static. In your headset, the whispers intensify, promising you’ll never leave. The horror isn’t just in the game—it’s inside you now.

You move forward, unable to resist the pull. Behind every wall, tiny hands wait. Your teammates’ voices fade, replaced by their terrified screams echoing through your mic. The game continues, endless and inescapable.