The footage shows a dark forest filtered in grainy and drab monochrome, with the camera shaking and shifting in step with the owner's footsteps. After a second of walking, a familiar voice speaks.
"Damn, this place is giving me the creeps," Deuce mutters to himself. "I saw a kid run this way just now. Was I seeing things…?"
Leaves rustle offscreen. The camera turns swiftly to a bundle of shrubbery. Deuce lets out a chuckle. "Must've been a rabbit. Perhaps a white rabbit can come and take me out of here."
The footage cuts to a new shot of the forest. Trees and shrubs are scattered differently, but the lack of distinguishing features in the environment make it redundant. "Day… Goddammit, I lost track. Must be weeks–or months–by now." Deuce's voice is strained, cracking with each word. "I hope Mom is doing alright. My phone died so I haven't been able to call her."
His hands fumble with his pockets offscreen, and he takes out a utility knife. "If I mark some of these trees…" Lifting the knife to his non-dominant hand, he cuts a thin slit onto the palm, releasing a stream of red blood from beneath the skin. He presses his bloodied hand against the tree, creating a red mark on the otherwise monochrome scenery. "…then I can find my way back."
Cut to a new scene. On the ground lies a rabbit, its white fur coated red from its own blood. The carcass still looks fresh. "I finally found that damn white rabbit. But it seems someone else got to it first." Deuce looks down at his blood-rusted blade. "Come to think of it, when was the last time I ate or slept? I've forgotten what it feels like to be hungry or tired or anything."
He looks at his free hand. Marred by cuts and covered in blisters and bruises, it has become a grotesque parody of what it once was. "What the hell is this place?" he suddenly yells. "Every tree I mark, every rabbit I follow, no matter what I do, I just keep running in circles. When will it end?"
Offscreen, a small object falls with a soft thud. The object rolls to the corner of his vision, round and bright red. He picks it up and inspects it. "An apple?" he says softly. He looks up.
Gone is the forest. Instead, rows of apple trees stand before him, adorned with bright red dots. But upon closer inspection, he realizes something abnormal: the trees are leafless and corpse-like in contrast to their ripe and juicy fruit. He blinks, and the scene changes to a small country home, dilapidated and barren. Strange markings burn bright red on the planks of the home, most notably the magic circle scrawled on the entrance.