The immensely powerful magnetic pull from the large camera lens in the corner of the monochrome room continued to wrench Arya's body away, dragging him mercilessly across the cold wooden floor. He summoned his final remnants of strength to claw at the floorboards, his fingers bleeding, his breathing coming in desperate gasps, yet his resistance was entirely in vain against the undeniable supernatural force.

The gleaming brass lens barrel now loomed directly before him, wide open like the mouth of a dark abyss ready to swallow the essence of his soul to the last drop.

"No... please... don't do this..." Arya whimpered in a voice so raspy, choked within his throat. Tears streamed profusely, wetting his pale face right before his vision was locked completely by the illumination glowing from within the lens.

Within the center of that optical viewfinder, all his fear, agony, and despair converged into a single sharp focal point.

And at the second the young man surrendered entirely to the destiny claiming his physical form...

CLICK.

The final shutter snapped loudly, shattering the eternal silence within that monochrome world.

Instantly, the entire screen of the universe around him plunged into absolute darkness.

No more red safelight glow. No more monochrome world. No more pain in his fingers. Space and time collapsed in the blink of an eye, wrapping everything in the absolute, freezing gloom of night.

Several seconds passed in a dense hush.

A moment later, the narrative loop turned back to the beginning—transcending dimensions of time within an endless circle (an eternal loop).

The atmosphere transformed into a warm, bright room. The sharp aroma of developer chemicals and acid fixer returned to fill the air. The sound of water dripping from the sink faucet echoed soothingly—drip... drip... drip...—signifying that the underground laboratory had come back to life.

Upon the clean wash table in the corner of the room, beneath a brilliant flood of light, rested a freshly printed portrait just developed to perfection.

The 8x10-inch photographic sheet displayed a sight that successfully froze the blood of anyone gazing upon it. Inside the glass frame of the old photo studio, the figure of a young man in a green jacket—Arya Pratama—remained trapped forever inside the frame, standing rigidly with an expression staring blankly ahead.

Yet what was most horrifying about this new portrait was their togetherness: Arya Pratama stood rigidly side by side with Grandfather Haris and five other prior victims, wearing their respective clothing from the past, smiling stiffly with the exact same hollow gaze.

The climax of that ultimate plot twist cruelly upended the entire narrative: the unification of the subjects' destinies was complete, proving that no exit from this studio had ever existed. Grandfather Haris was no creator, but a prior captive; and now, Arya had joined that eternal catalog.

And from behind that photograph, a cold realization crept inward to recognize an even more terrifying truth: that this film roll, this story, and this record of terror had now changed hands.

Whoever—or whatever reader holding this film roll and reading every single page of this story to the end—has now officially become the eighth subject dragged inside the circle of the curse.

The underground laboratory suddenly grew dead silent, as though holding its breath.

And in the empty corner of the studio room, within the darkness slowly creeping closer toward the screen...

An old polaroid camera creaked automatically in a mysterious fashion, aiming its lens straight toward the reader, and snapped instantly with a final, blindingly bright flash of white light.

-The End-