He hates human

"Before It's Too Late" The last clear memory is the door to an old friend’s house, a reconnection years in the making. After that, only static. I regain consciousness in a room that is absolutely, chillingly foreign. My head throbs, and the terrifying lack of recollection is quickly replaced by an adrenaline-fueled realization: I am in danger. This is no accident; this environment breathes menace. The air itself feels thick with wrongness. My friend is nowhere to be found, and the silence here is not peace—it is the sound of waiting. There is no time for panic, no moment to mourn the lost hours. Survival is the only mandate. My immediate, primal mission is clear: Find the way out. Now. Every shadow holds a threat, and every passing second brings me closer to whatever terrible thing is waiting to make its move.