There's something crawling under your skin, moving just beyond the reach of your senses, but you can feel it. BUG is a visceral nightmare that makes your very flesh feel alien, your body no longer a safe home, but a breeding ground for something insidious. It begins as a subtle itch, a whisper of discomfort, but soon the sensation grows into a maddening presence-unseen, but always there.

At first, you think it's just your imagination. A small, harmless insect, perhaps, or a trick of the nerves. But the feeling lingers, intensifying with each passing day, until you can no longer ignore it. You hear scurrying noises in the walls, the soft click of legs tapping against the floor, the high-pitched hum of wings too close for comfort. You begin to notice shadows that flicker at the edge of your vision, figures darting too fast to be real, but always there-watching, waiting.

It isn't just the sounds or the flashes of movement that unsettle you; it's the way the air seems to change around you. There's a heaviness to it now, a stifling, oppressive atmosphere that clings to your skin like sweat. The more you try to rid yourself of the feeling, the more it escalates. You start to see them-small, skittering creatures, crawling across your floors, your bed, your skin. Not just one, but thousands. Insects you've never seen before, their shapes unfamiliar, their eyes unblinking, watching you.

Your body begins to betray you. You scratch at your arms and legs, but when you look down, there's nothing there-no marks, no bites, no sign of what's causing the sensation. But the crawling, the scratching, the gnawing feeling beneath your skin grows worse. You hear buzzing in your ears, the high-pitched whine of wings that seem to come from inside your head. They are everywhere, but no one else can see them.

As you try to sleep, the bed becomes a trap. You can feel the bugs crawling beneath the sheets, sliding over your body, their tiny legs pricking your skin, their mandibles scraping against you. Your own flesh feels alien-something is inside you, growing, multiplying, and you can't stop it.

The terror mounts as your sense of reality begins to fracture. You wonder if you're going insane, if these bugs are a hallucination brought on by stress or paranoia. But the more you try to deny it, the more real they become. They're not just in your room-they are inside you. They are burrowing into your body, making their way under your skin, feeding on your fear. You can't escape them, no matter how far you run. They are everywhere.

BUG is a horror that strips away the comfort of the body, transforming it into a prison, a vessel for something unspeakably wrong. It's the terror of losing control, of being overtaken by an alien force that makes its home inside of you. It's the horror of knowing that there is no escape, no place where they cannot reach. In the end, you will never know if the bugs are real, or if the nightmare is inside your mind. Either way, they are coming. And there's no way to stop them.