JAMES HURLEY sits alone, nursing a beer. He stares at a cracked smartphone on the sticky table.

JAMES (mumbling) You’re not real. You’re a dream I’m having while I’m still in that cell.

WOODSMAN The connection is the story, James. Every freeze. Every pixelated frame. Every time the sound desyncs and Laura screams twice—that’s not a glitch. That’s a clue.