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Dark, flickering shadows cascade into the corners of a long, desolate hallway

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“Please… Stop this—”

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At the end of the hallway, a dim, pulsating light illuminates the silhouette of a man. He trembles, as if in the grip of some unseen terror, and a sharp glare flashes from a shard of glass clutched tightly in his hand.

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“How long has it been? How many times—”

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The steady, rhythmic sounds of feet on metal vibrate through the air, like the ticking of a metronome.

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The man backs up into the light, steadying the blade in his hands. His face is exhausted and haggard, half-covered by unkempt hair, and his eyes are wild with fear and desperation.

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A figure slowly emerges from the shadow, stopping ere it came into the light.

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The footsteps cease.

“I understand how you feel… I really do, but—”

The man's voice quavered at first, but as he spoke, it grew more measured and calm.

“Did you really think it would be without end?”

A wry smile stretched across his face, directed at the unmoving shadow before him.

“I know you’ve heard this countless times, I’ll say it again: it’s not authentic.”

As if by some unseen force, the man's demeanor shifted dramatically, going from one of terror to one of collected poise in the blink of an eye.

“It’s not real.”

The focus of the man's blade changed direction, now pointed at his own throat.

“I won’t be the last.”

The smell of blood quickly filled the space following the sound of a heavy thud. A pool of deep red liquid began to form around the motionless figure, staining the floor beneath them.

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As the darkness envelops the scene, the light dims and the footsteps grow ever fainter.

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Shadows swallow the corpse, quickly consuming it.