Take 2

Jin had spent years on sets just like this one—huge, sprawling, and filled with enough fake sand and painted ruins to pass for the most ancient battlefield. The desert scene they were filming today was no different. He had a small role, as he always did: a nameless soldier rushing into battle, only to be knocked down in the chaos.

"Action!" The director's voice broke through the hot air.

Jin stepped forward, gripping the wooden spear like he'd done in countless takes before. His movements were practiced, mechanical. His sole job was to be part of the background, to blend into the fight. No one ever saw him—not the director, not the audience. He was invisible.

The battle around him was loud, chaotic—a dozen extras fighting with wooden swords, the sound of hooves pounding the sand, war cries filling the air. The set, as artificial as it was, made the battle seem real. The desert sky above was painted with shades of orange and yellow, adding a golden hue to the endless dunes. The smell of the hot, dry air was thick with the scent of old props and dust.

Jin moved in sync with the others, his steps timed perfectly. But no matter how hard he tried, no matter how precise his movements were, it always felt the same. He was just an extra. Nothing more. He fought, he fell, and he repeated it. Over and over.

"Cut!" The shout came, and the chaos ceased. Extras lowered their weapons, the battle stopping in an instant. Crew members rushed in to adjust the lights, the cameras, and props.

Jin stood there, waiting. The dry heat seemed to hang heavier now, and the stillness of the scene was suffocating. His muscles ached from the repeated action, but this was his life—waiting, doing his job, fading into the background. He was used to it.

But then something changed.

The air around him grew still, too still. The wind died down, and for a moment, the set seemed to hold its breath. Jin glanced around. No one else seemed to notice. The sand, which had been kicked up during the action, settled strangely, almost as if it were being drawn toward something unseen.

Then, the ground trembled beneath his feet.

At first, he thought it was just part of the scene, a planned effect. But the tremor wasn't right. The sand shifted in odd ways, rising up like it had a mind of its own, swirling in unnatural patterns. Jin's heart skipped a beat. Something was wrong.

He took a cautious step backward, his eyes scanning the area. The set—the fake ruins, the backdrop of painted mountains—began to flicker, like a glitch in a computer program. For a moment, he thought his vision had blurred, but the distortion only worsened.

The wind began to howl, a sharp, biting gust that cut through him. His skin prickled. This wasn't part of the scene. This wasn't normal.

Before he could react, the world seemed to tear itself apart. The set vanished in an instant, the battlefield gone as if it had never existed. The sand under his feet was real now, not fake, and the air was suffocatingly hot. There were no crew members, no cameras. Just endless desert stretching in all directions.

Jin's breath caught in his throat as he looked around in shock. The battle, the fight—it was gone. The set was gone. Everything had disappeared. He wasn't acting anymore.

This wasn't a film.

This was real.

Jin stumbled, trying to make sense of the world around him. The sand was rough beneath his boots, and the silence was oppressive. There were no familiar sounds—no crew members talking, no camera rolls. Just the endless wind and the harsh, unrelenting sun above.

He looked out into the distance, where the horizon seemed to bend unnaturally, and in the far distance, he thought he saw something move—something enormous. But the vision was hazy, like a mirage.

Panic began to rise in his chest, but he forced himself to take slow, controlled breaths. He had to focus. He couldn't lose himself to fear.

This wasn't just a bad take. This wasn't part of the scene.

He was trapped.

And no one knew where he was.