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It is late at night. Muffled sounds and suppressed screams can be heard from the prop room, which should be empty at this hour.

In a dark corner, the faceless faces of mannequins are illuminated by flashing lights.

Tippi cowers into a sofa, hugging a cushion tightly. The knife-wielding killer laughs maniacally, whose blade reflecting the bright white lights. In the very next instant—

EEK—

EEK—

What a classic! That one's one of my favorites. It may be a small-budget production from thirty years ago, but it stands up perfectly well to today's films!

Phew... watching horror movies really does help let off steam. I feel better already. Thanks for the invitation, Tip.

Like, doesn't it feel better to just scream it all out? I know you didn't mean to interrupt the shoot. You were just on edge.

Yeah. I wouldn't say it's solved my issues... but at least I can forget about them for tonight. What are we watching next?

I've got everything. Horror night has just begun!

Hey, why so serious, Molly? You didn't like the movie?

I was just thinking...

That knife looked a little too thin. I think it'd have had more impact with a more intricate design, like blood grooves on the sides of the blade.

All work and no play makes Molly a dull girl! Turn off that work-brain already! Have you been spending too much time with Shelly?

Mrrow~

Hey there, mystery lady. Whatcha doing here?

The beautiful creature gets between the two girls, stretches, and sits in front of the sofa.

Clever girl. Looks like she really likes us, Molly. You wanna watch a movie together? But it'll be scary, so don't say I didn't warn you.

Hm? Whose terminal was that? Molly?

Not mine.

Sorry... I've got to go.

She looked really pale. Do you think Miss Stone is pissed at her about what happened today?

Let's try to be there for her tomorrow too. She looks really tired.

Yeah.

Alright, fasten your seatbelt, it's going to be a bumpy movie night! This one won Best Design. The background, props, and weapons are all really cool.

The screen lights begin flashing again, immersing the two girls in another horror story. Neither of them notice that Miss.Christine is nowhere to be seen.

Shelly? I thought you were watching movies with Tip. What's the rush?

The overly friendly man notices that Shelly is clutching her terminal in her right hand.

Ah, I see... a sudden invitation to a date?

Well, try not to look so grim when you're there. I'm sure he'd rather see a smile.

It's none of your business.

Your lips are trembling. You're cold. Or maybe afraid?

You poor thing, you're still shaken about Dalton's accident, aren't you? Just like me.

Don't worry, with you as coordinator, I'm sure everything will go just fine. Come on, let me give you a hug. You could use the warmth.

What do you mean, 'just like me'?

I couldn't hear an ounce of fear in that trashy pick-up line.

Have you completely forgotten what happened five years ago?

Well, I haven't, because I'm not heartless like you. Don't forget: you're not free from blame for that accident either.

The light abruptly turns on in the office on the second floor.

On one desk, the papers are tidily filed away in folders, with hardly any sign of use.

On the other, notices are scattered all over, covered in editing marks as though the writer is troubled by something.

A tall figure searches around the desks, making not a single sound with his lithe and nimble motions.

Here.

The shredder has been used recently.

Lucian opens the waste bin, and picks up several strips of shredded paper that feel different from the others, different from the printing paper normally used by the film crew.

'Trimounts University'... 'Environmental Monitoring'... signed... 'Greta'.

The 'unusual document' that Shelly mentioned.

He feels a slight push on his shoulder, seemingly in affirmation, but there is no one else in the room.

Welcome back, Miss.Christine.

You've been taking more walks lately. Did something here catch your eye?

This place is more interesting than expected.

Indeed. I've discovered something unexpected myself.

Don't overthink this, Shelly... You're only here to see who's playing this sick joke.

You saw that number become invalid with your own eyes. It... it can't be...

Shelly tries her best to calm down. The fear and anxiety she had briefly forgotten while watching the movie now takes over again.

'Go to the warehouse and atone for your sins.'

The terminal's screen glows in the quiet warehouse, showing the name of the sender. A name that is familiar, yet impossible—'Laura'.

Who's there?!

Stop playing games. I know I'm not hearing things this time! What the hell do you want from me?

What do you know?!

There is no answer. The darkness swallows all sound in the old warehouse.

She hears the tiny buzzing of electricity. A light suddenly comes on above a distant shelf.

As eerie as it is enticing, Shelly cannot help but walk toward it.

Shelly.

Laura... is that you?

Once again, Shelly starts trembling. She cannot tell if the sound came from deep within the warehouse, or from inside her own head.

She walks forward in a daze. It is as if she has returned to that set five years ago, where the tragedy occurred.

Shelly! I just got another scene and I need the wire rig. Can you prepare it for me?

Arrogant... cocky... proud... how dare you, a fresh face in Wrankwood...

Mr. Dalton said the director signed off on it...

Dalton, still a star at the time, wanted to teach you a lesson, but you thought he was helping you... Are you happy with how it turned out?

Is he not here yet? I've spent hours up in this rig. My knees and elbows are probably bleeding by now... Can you please ask them for me, Shelly?

I'm just a coordinator. All I can do is prepare the equipment and the rig. Make sure they're... safe...

Well, did you?

Shelly arrives before the shelf. The light shines upon a black dust bag. She knows what is inside.

Don't open it, Shelly. Don't.

Inside is an old wire rig set. The hook and tether are badly worn, and the harness is frayed.

There are dark spots on the black cloth.

Laura's blood.

No! You can't possibly know!

You're just a hallucination! You can't be alive! Right... pain... I brought a pen...

Ngh—

...How pathetic.

Why are you still there... Why didn't it work?!

Was the incident five years ago an accident... or a murder?

An accident... it was an accident! It was a tragic accident that only happened because Dalton held a grudge against you!

Then why didn't you check my rig?

I...

Why?

Because I hated you!

I hated your selfishness and arrogance! I hated that you made a mess out of the shooting schedule, and affected everyone with your unreasonable demands!

I was happy when Dalton decided to teach you a lesson! I was checking the wire rig as usual, and noticed it was due for replacement.

Then, a little thought crossed my mind. What if an accident happened, and you were gone forever...?

Wouldn't that be... even better...?

Still in a trance, a hand pushes Shelly over. She hears the sound of coolant flowing through the pipes, and frost cracking beneath her.

She realizes that she had stumbled into the cold storage at the end of the warehouse.

But what can she do? Bang on the door? Shout? She has no strength left to struggle.

The fear is gone. She feels completely relaxed.

Death has answered all her questions.