It seemed as though someone stood in the dimly lit corridor.
They wore tattered clothes and held a rusty, blood-dripping dagger in their hand.
Their hair was sparse, and their face bore traces of stitching, with flesh and blood blurred together.
In their right hand, they dragged several chains, the metallic scraping across the floor issuing a fine frictional sound.
Dah—
The corridor lights flickered momentarily, as if the electricals were aging and on the brink of failure.
Dah—
The lights flickered again, and this time, they stayed off a little longer.
When the lights came back on, the figure had moved forward some distance and reached the entrance of the projection hall.
Dah—
Once more the lights went out, and the person disappeared from the corridor.
In the next shot, inside the aisle of the projection hall, the blood still dripping from the knife's tip, that person was slowly making their way inside.
