Broadcast No. 394"

[Tape 1: The 

Akram was just an ordinary guy, staying up late, watching old VHS tapes he found in his late grandfather’s apartment. Most were useless, but one stood out—a tape with no title, just the number "394" written in shaky handwriting.

Curious, he inserted the tape and pressed play.

The screen flickered with eerie static, as if the footage was ancient or deliberately corrupted. Then, a dimly lit figure appeared—a man sitting in front of a camera, his head lowered. His voice was distorted, as if broadcasting from another world:

"If you're watching this… it means the time has come."

A cold shiver ran down Akram’s spine. This wasn’t just an old tape. The man was staring directly at him, speaking to him personally.

"Do not listen to the voices from the screens… Do not look at the moon… And never turn off the lights."

Suddenly, the screen cut to black. Silence.

Then, something new appeared—a live broadcast. But it wasn’t from the tape. It was from inside his own apartment.

And at the center of the frame sat a man.

Him.

---

[Tape 2: The Reflection]

Akram’s body froze. He darted his eyes around the room, but there were no cameras, no movement—only the voice from the screen, his own voice, but warped and inhuman:

"You opened it… Now, there’s no turning back."

Then, the broadcast changed.

It was still his apartment… but something was wrong. The windows no longer showed the city. Instead, they looked out into a black void, filled with colossal, unblinking eyes staring from the darkness.

The air became heavier. Something had shifted.

---

[Tape 3: The Transformation]

The next night wasn’t normal.

News reports spoke of strange frequencies hijacking all broadcasts. Screens flickered with symbols beyond human understanding. And the sky… was no longer the sky.

In a leaked transmission, a video played—an empty street, a lone man walking… but his shadow moved differently.

Then it attacked him.

Akram’s world was collapsing. The city itself was changing. Figures emerged from the darkness—twisted human forms, bending at impossible angles, whispering in voices that did not belong to them.

And from the distance, explosions. Battles. People wielding swords and ancient weapons, as if they had stepped out of forgotten history.

That’s when Akram finally understood.

This wasn’t an invasion. This wasn’t the end of the world.

This was the real world—hidden from humanity all along.