[Just got back from the theater after watching Get Out. HOLY CRAP. STAY AFTER THE CREDITS. I REPEAT—STAY AFTER THE CREDITS. You will not believe what shows up.]
[No way. NO. WAY. Did you guys see the post-credit scene?! Is this for real? Are they actually doing it?! Are they really creating a horror universe??]
[Yeah! Especially for horror fans like me, this is gonna be the reason for me to hit the theater again!!]
[Dude!! My jaw is still on the floor. I thought this was just a standalone movie. But nope—they're building a universe. A SHARED UNIVERSE. This changes everything.]
[Okay, that was cool and all, but let's be real. This is a pipe dream. A crossover horror universe? It'll never happen. Too expensive, too complicated. They're just teasing us. And a Korean dude making our American-style horror? Come on. What's he gonna show us, kimchi-style ghosts?]
[Dude, why you gotta be so offensive? Don't you know he's an Oscar-winning screenwriter? Even Fox called him the mastermind behind the horror cinematic universe. Just give him a chance man....]
[Yeah, plus he's not a nobody! I looked up Lee Jihoon, and it turns out he's got a solid track record. If I hadn't searched his past works, I wouldn't have known he was the creator of Your Name. That alone makes me optimistic about him pulling off this whole HCU thing.]
Jordan Peele, just twenty-five years old, sat at his small desk with the glow of his computer screen reflecting off his round glasses.
His latest post was exploding online, racking up likes and replies by the minute.
He grinned, leaning back in his chair, soaking in the moment.
Yet, beneath that smile, there was a flicker of unease.
Whenever people asked him for more details about the mysterious post-credits scene from GET OUT, he found himself fumbling for words.
The truth was, the first time he'd seen the film, he had only caught the extra footage by accident.
At first, he thought the theater staff had mistakenly rolled the wrong reel. It wasn't until the sequence ended and the screen faded to black that he realized—this wasn't a mistake. This was the finale.
The problem was, he hadn't really understood what he'd seen. The dark gray uniform, the trefoil badge, the strange Latin words, the faint glimpse of a report—everything had rushed by too quickly.
He hadn't even managed to read the words on the paper properly.
It left him unsettled, like he had missed the key to a puzzle everyone else was beginning to talk about.
"Maybe I… I should go to the cinema again," Jordan muttered, chewing on his lip.
His chubby face lit with anticipation, almost boyish in its eagerness.
If Jihoon were standing in that room, he would have recognized him instantly.
Jordan Peele—the man who, in another life, would go on to direct the original GET OUT.
But right now, in 2008, Jordan was just another aspiring entertainer in Hollywood, chasing opportunities like countless others.
He had already made a small name for himself as part of MADtv, the long-running sketch comedy series.
Hired in 2003 as a featured player, he had clawed his way up to repertory cast member, performing live sketches and pitching ideas week after week until the show ended in 2008.
Those years on MADtv weren't glamorous, but they taught him discipline, sharpened his writing, and gave him a platform—tiny, but real.
Later, his comedy duo "Key & Peele" would explode in popularity, flooding the internet with viral sketches.
But that was still years away. For now, Jordan was just another hungry creative, scribbling down ideas between auditions, hoping for his big break.
And that was why this film hit him so deeply.
GET OUT wasn't just a horror movie to him.
It was a story about Blackness, about control, about the subtle suffocation hidden beneath polite smiles.
It spoke to him in a way he couldn't shake. And then there was that post-credits scene—the one everyone online was buzzing about.
That mystery gnawed at him.
So that same evening, Jordan pulled on a jacket and headed back out to the theater.
When he arrived, he was stunned.
"It's full…" he whispered, stopping at the edge of the lobby.
The box office line stretched all the way to the entrance, filled with excited chatter.
People were talking about the hypnosis scene, about the deer on the road, about the terrifying twist—and always, always, about the strange man who appeared after the credits.
Jordan's eyes widened as he stood near the lobby, taking in the sight before him. The theater was packed—absolutely packed.
His gaze lingered on the crowd, people squeezed into the line at the box office, ushers guiding them to their seats, the buzz of anticipation filling the air.
To most, this was just another busy movie night. But for Jordan Peele, who came from the same industry, it meant something more.
He knew the suffocating weight of working under tight budgets.
He knew how ideas were often cut down, reshaped, or outright discarded when the money wasn't there.
And yet here it was: Get Out, a lean, low-budget thriller, pulling in a crowd that rivaled blockbusters.
And this was only one location. If the turnout was this strong here, Jordan could only imagine what was happening at theaters across the country.
After weaving through the lobby, he finally found his seat.
Settling in with a bucket of popcorn, he leaned back as the lights dimmed and the familiar opening played.
He had already seen the film once, but this time he watched with razor focus, dissecting every frame, every line of dialogue, as though the answers he sought were hidden somewhere in plain sight.
By the time the film reached its climax and the screen faded to black, the audience around him erupted in chatter.
Most had no idea there was anything more.
Laughing, stretching, they filed out of the theater in groups, leaving the rows emptying one by one.
Jordan didn't move. He sat motionless, eyes fixed on the credits as names scrolled past, absently shoveling popcorn into his mouth.
"Dude, why are you still sitting here? The movie's over," a voice said beside him.
Jordan turned to his friend, who was already half-standing, ready to leave.
It was Keegan-Michael Key—his partner from MADtv.
To most, Keegan was just another comedic actor, but Jordan knew better. He was also one of the versatile voices behind "THE SIMPSONS", slipping in and out of characters with ease.
If Jihoon had been here, he would have recognized the pair instantly and thought of the future.
Key & Peele. The legendary duo. But for now, they were just two working comedians killing time at the movies.
Jordan shrugged casually. "There's an Easter egg after the credits," he said, keeping his tone light, though inside his heart was beating faster with expectation.
"Easter egg?" Keegan's eyes widened. His curiosity was instantly hooked.
Jordan gave a small nod, still staring at the screen.
Keegan hesitated only for a moment before sinking back into his seat. "Alright, fine. You got me. Let's see what this Easter egg is all about."
The chatter in the theater faded as the last groups shuffled out, leaving only a handful of stragglers scattered among the rows.
The credits rolled on, the theater falling into near silence.
A few minutes later, the credits came to an end. The screen lingered in darkness, just long enough to make one wonder if it truly was over.
And then—suddenly—it lit up again.
The first image appeared.
The camera panned slowly inside a dimly lit car. The leather seats creaked softly as an aloof man in a dark-gray uniform sat scribbling on a stack of papers balanced on his lap.
His face was stone-cold, his expression unreadable. The only sound was the scratch of his pen against paper.
Beside him, in the driver's seat, sat Chris.
His posture was tense, his hands gripping his knees, his eyes flicking nervously toward a tin box on the console.
Inside, barely visible, sat a simple coffee cup. Its presence was ordinary and yet deeply unsettling, as though it carried a weight invisible to the eye.
The two men did not speak. Whether they had already exchanged words or were simply bound by silence, it was impossible to tell.
Finally, the man capped his pen and slid the completed documents into a thick file bag. Without a word, he tucked it away, shifted the car into gear, and drove forward.
The manor—once a place of horror—receded into the distance, replaced by the sound of morning birdsong and the faint fragrance of blooming flowers wafting through the open windows.
And then, just like that, the screen faded to black.
The lights of the theater flickered back on, drawing a collective murmur from the handful of audience members who had stayed.
Some looked bewildered, others intrigued. Jordan, however, leaned forward, eyes wide.
His mind and heart was racing.
He replayed the images in his head, forcing himself to recall every detail.
There had been a pause—just a few seconds—but long enough for him to catch a glimpse of the document the man had been writing.
He remembered it clearly.
[CM12 – Investigation Report (C-Class Sequence Investigator No. 12)]
[Containment Object: Silent Coffee Cup (Temporary Name)]
[Containment Number: SCP4-0731]
[Object Class: Primary Safe]
[Risk Assessment: Caution]
[Disturbance Level: Vlam (Low potential, with disruption typically confined to a locality)]
[Description: When the investigator taps the cup's walls, it produces a sound that temporarily causes individuals to lose control of their bodies. Recordings of this sound, when played back on electronic devices, induce the same effect. Although the mechanism does not fully align with standard hypnosis, the object appears to transmit a unique frequency capable of placing targets into a deep state of mind control.
The victim, identified as █████-██████████, is believed to have their consciousness trapped within a subspace known as the 'Sunken Land,' which may exert a binding effect on the minds of others.]
[Preliminary assessment: The object exhibits anomalous properties significant enough to warrant its designation as SCP4-0731.]