POV from the rear back window seat of a moving car at night. The viewer looking back through the rear window. The interior of the car is dimly lit by dashboard glow and passing reflections, but everything outside is pitch black — except for one thing. Behind the vehicle, on a narrow, cracked rural road, an old, decaying car is following. Its headlights burn too bright and too cold, flooding the road with harsh, unnatural light. The car’s body is rusted, dented, like something abandoned for decades and brought back to life. Its grille is wide and grim, its square headlights staring like dead eyes. The windshield is too dark — no driver can be seen. The car holds perfectly steady on the faded yellow line, as if guided by something precise and inhuman. There’s no visible shaking, no hesitation, no sound — just its quiet, unstoppable approach. The surrounding road is empty, surrounded by void. No trees, no sky, no escape — just darkness pressing in from all sides. The rear window frames the scene like a prison. The perspective is tight, slightly tilted, as if the viewer turned around quickly and froze in place, phone in hand, filming what they were never meant to see. A cold panic settles in. This isn’t just someone following. It’s coming for you. (DRK, v8s,)