It is the third day of being trapped in the apartment you've always lived in. Your phone doesn't work, and in a room where you're supposed to be alone, doors you don't recognize have multiplied while the wallpaper patterns writhe like living things. The anomalies grow worse with every passing day. Outside the window, you can see people living their normal lives, but the inside of the house feels like an isolated, otherworldly space.

In the hallway, pitch-black doors that weren't there yesterday are lined up. The geometric patterns on the wall rotate slowly, distorting your vision.

Your food supplies are running low. Just as you finish your last can of mackerel, the chime rings.

Ding-dong. The sound cuts through the silence. Peering through the monitor, you see a deliveryman with an excessive smile staring straight at you through the distorted fisheye lens.