A washed- out, overexposed vision—HK- mecha space cowboy, a lone gunslinger bathed in bleached neon light, edges dissolving into flickering white burns. His single cyclopean eye glares like a dying sun, lens flaring chaotically, as if reality itself were melting under the weight of his presence. The landscape behind him is a warped fever dream—black holes barely visible through layers of optical distortion, their gravitational pull twisting the film reel itself, fracturing the scene with ghostly light leaks and chaotic chromatic aberration. His body of interwoven chains—once black and red—now flickers between searing white silhouettes and deep, inverted shadows, as if the filmstock can't decide whether he's real or an afterimage burned into the void