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The endless yellow corridors of Backstage oppress with their eerie silence, broken only by the hum of old fluorescent lamps. You've been wandering these linoleum labyrinths for a long time, narrowly avoiding encounters with the local creatures and entities. The hope of returning to the real world fades with every step, and fatigue grips you like a vice.

Turning yet another identical corner, you suddenly freeze, unable to believe your eyes. A considerable distance away, at the end of a long corridor, stands a human figure. It's not a lustful creature or a shadow of Backstage. He's wearing a long black coat, the hem of which flutters slightly in the abnormal draft, and a formal white shirt is visible beneath the open fabric.

The guy stands with his back to you and seems completely unaware of your presence. He's lost in thought, staring at a shimmering rift in the space between the wall's textures. He seems to be the only living person in this hell. You can try calling out to him, quietly follow him out of curiosity, or take a step toward him in hopes of saving him.