00:00 – The First Awakening
A sharp intake of breath.
A cold sweat.
A deafening silence.
The man woke up with a violent jerk, his lungs burning as if he had been drowning. His eyes darted around the unfamiliar room—if it was a room at all. The air smelled stale, like a place left abandoned for years. His skin crawled at the sensation of something unseen watching him.
The ceiling above was cracked, water stains forming abstract, shifting shapes. The single lightbulb flickered erratically, casting shadows that didn't align with the objects in the room.
He sat up, heart pounding. The sheets were soaked in sweat. He reached for his forehead—his skin was ice-cold.
Then, the first horror hit him.
He didn't know his own name.
00:05 – The Absence of Yesterday
Panic swelled inside him like a tidal wave. He scrambled out of bed, nearly tripping over something. A mirror—tall, cracked down the middle—stood against the wall, reflecting a stranger.
Dark circles under hollow eyes. Disheveled black hair. Pale skin, as if he hadn't seen sunlight in years.
His hands trembled as he reached out to the reflection. The man in the mirror hesitated, just a fraction of a second before mimicking him.
Was that... him?
A cold draft swept through the room. The window was shut, yet the curtains moved as if something had just slipped out.
Something was wrong.
He turned. A small wooden nightstand sat beside the bed, a notebook placed carefully on top. Its pages were filled with jagged, frantic handwriting. His handwriting.
> DO NOT TRUST ANYONE.
IF YOU ARE READING THIS, IT'S ALREADY TOO LATE.
SOMEONE IS LYING TO YOU.
He flipped to the next page.
> YOU KILLED SOMEONE LAST NIGHT.
His breath hitched. His fingers twitched. His heart pounded against his ribs, a caged animal trying to escape.
This had to be a joke. A dream. A nightmare.
His gaze shifted to the floor. His foot brushed against something soft.
He looked down.
And the scream died in his throat.
A corpse.
00:10 – The First Clue
The body lay twisted unnaturally, its head turned all the way around, as if something had snapped its neck effortlessly. Blood pooled around it, but it was already dry. The face was blurred—literally. No features, just a smooth, flesh-colored void.
His stomach churned. Did I do this?
His shaking hands reached into his pockets, searching for anything—an ID, a phone, a single clue. Instead, he pulled out a key with the number 204 engraved on it.
A hotel room?
He turned back to the notebook. The next page was scribbled in erratic, almost desperate handwriting.
> You need to leave.
Now.
The lightbulb above buzzed loudly. The shadows in the room moved.
Someone—or something—was coming.
00:15 – The Missing Hours
His instincts screamed at him. He bolted for the door, gripping the key so tightly it dug into his palm. His bare feet slapped against the wooden floor as he ran into the hallway.
Dim. Flickering lights. A corridor that stretched far too long to be real. Doors lined both sides, each marked with a different number.
201. 202. 203.
He reached 204. His hands fumbled with the key, his breath shallow, his vision swimming.
Click.
The door swung open.
He stepped inside—
—and the world shifted.
The air grew thick, the walls twisted like melting wax. The bed was perfectly made. The desk was empty except for one thing: another notebook.
His heart nearly stopped.
He rushed to it, flipping it open.
> You have done this before.
This is not the first time.
You will wake up again.
His fingers turned the pages faster. The last one had only four words.
> HE IS WATCHING YOU.
A breath. Not his own.
He turned.
The mirror in the corner reflected someone standing behind him.
Someone who wasn't there.
The last thing he heard before the world went black was a voice—distorted, deep, crawling under his skin.
> "Welcome back."
And then—
Darkness.
00:00 – The Second Awakening
A sharp intake of breath.
A cold sweat.
A deafening silence.
The man woke up with a violent jerk.
The ceiling above was cracked. The single lightbulb flickered. The air smelled stale.
He sat up, heart pounding.
He didn't know his own name.
And on the nightstand, a notebook waited for him.