Nothing happened.

The hallway mirror showed his reflection—except his reflection wasn’t moving. It stared back, head tilted, smiling with a mouth that was just a little too wide. In its hand, it held the DVD remote.

“To play the movie, first become a scene.”

It was a static shot of a rusted, blood-smeared room—the meatpacking plant from the film’s climax, he guessed. But the camera didn’t pan. The iconic, choppy theme didn’t play. Instead, a single, slow drip of water echoed every eleven seconds. In the center of the screen, five options glowed in sickly green: SCENE SELECTION SET UP BEHIND THE SCENES EXTRAS Marcus selected PLAY MOVIE .

Marcus laughed nervously. “Okay, funny. Very meta.” He grabbed the remote to eject the disc. The button didn’t respond. He pressed harder. Nothing. He stood, walked to the player, and hit the physical eject button.

“Marcus. Age 34. Unemployed. Divorced. You watch other people suffer because it makes your own quiet apartment feel less like a trap. Tonight, you’re not watching.”

But the cursor kept moving. And the timer kept counting down.