The audio cut to static, then a low piano chord—the real Confessions Part 2 instrumental. But before the vocals could start, Marcus’s screen went black. Reflected in the monitor, he saw his own terrified face—and behind him, a silhouette that wasn’t there a second ago.

The silhouette whispered, in perfect Usher’s tone: “These are my confessions. And now… they’re yours.”

He never played it. He couldn’t. Because every time he reached for the CD, his own reflection would mouth the words before he could: “Watch this.”

Silence. Then a soft exhale—not Usher’s voice. A woman’s whisper, staticky, like an old voicemail: “You shouldn’t have downloaded this.”