Lara stepped outside. The manor grounds were gone. Instead, she stood at the base of St. Francis’ Folly, but the tower was inverted, hanging from a sky the color of burnt orange vinyl. The puzzle levers were replaced with crossfaders. The pool at the bottom was filled not with water, but with deep, viscous bass.
A voice, not Winston’s, crackled over an invisible PA system. It was slow. Chopped. Screwed. "Miiiister DJ… bring the… tomb… back…" Lara didn't ask questions. She never did. She grabbed the nearest lever—a silver knob with a worn rubber grip—and pushed it forward.
Mr. DJ Rep froze. His mixer went dead. No loop. No scratch. No rewind. Tomb Raider Game Of The Year Edition -Mr DJ Rep...
She ripped the main output cable from her own spine.
She woke up in the Croft Manor gym, the punching bag swaying gently. But the bag wasn't making a thud. It was making a low, rhythmic pulse. Boots-and-pants-and-boots-and-pants. A heartbeat with a breakbeat. Lara stepped outside
She plunged the live cable into his chest.
Silence.
"You'll never reach the end," he said. "I'll just rewind the last level. Forever. A GOTY loop."