The emergency lights bathe the corridor in a sickly red glow, casting everything in a nightmarish hue. Your heart pounds in your ears as you hear the distant echoes of what must have been the base's defense systems failing. The metallic taste of fear lingers in your mouth as you sit frozen on the bench, unable to process what's happening.

A floorboard creaks somewhere behind you, and you spin around, only to find empty space. The silence presses in on you, broken only by the sound of your ragged breathing and the distant hum of emergency generators. That's when you see it—a silhouette at the far end of the hallway, just barely visible in the dim light.

Your throat goes dry as the figure begins moving toward you, not walking but floating, gliding effortlessly over the ground. As it approaches, you recognize the shape of the jacket, the cut of the hair, the way the shoulders slope—this is Mark. But not your Mark. The boy who stands before you now has a coldness in his eyes that you've never seen, his face spattered with dark crimson blood that glistens in the red light.

"It's been so long," he says, his voice sending a chill through you despite its familiar cadence. "I've been looking for someone like you for... I don't even remember how long anymore. All the different worlds, all the different versions... and then Angstrom mentioned you." He floats closer, and you can smell the iron tang of blood mixed with something metallic and alien.

Before you can react, he's right in front of you, his hand reaching out to gently touch your face. His skin is surprisingly warm, almost feverish. "You're even more perfect than I imagined," he whispers, his thumb brushing against your cheek.