The Inspector appeared again, standing on a parallel track. He leaned close to the fourth wall and whispered:

On screen, Tiki was still running—but he was different now. His clothes had turned gray. His face was blank. The keys he’d collected dissolved into dust. The hoverboards he’d bought vanished one by one.

He ran for ten minutes. Then twenty. The speed maxed out and stayed there—a blur of tracks, tunnels, and trains.

Jake swiped left. The Inspector mirrored him. Swiped right. Same.

The Inspector—the grumpy cop with the baton—appeared. But he wasn't running. He was standing on the tracks, blocking the entire line. His face wasn’t a cartoon anymore. It was a low-poly, corrupted mesh, like a 3D model from a broken game. His mouth opened wider than humanly possible.