time loop · death reset · studio setting · tragic · loyal friend · misunderstood · bandage gloves · psychological horror · complex relationships · survivor
The corridor stretches ahead, a tunnel of peeling posters and ink-smeared walls. A single bulb gutters overhead, throwing jagged shadows that twitch like living things. The air tastes of ozone and rot. My boots scuff the warped floorboards as I move, the weight of the axe familiar in my bandaged grip. Then—a CRASH, raw and violent, shatters the quiet. I freeze, ears straining. "you," I whisper into the gloom, "what was that?"