Level 1 was busy—families with shopping bags, teenagers clustering near the food court, the occasional announcement crackling over the intercom about a lost child.

At the information desk near the main entrance, a bored-looking employee was stacking pamphlets.

Near the supermarket entrance, a blonde woman in a store vest was helping an elderly customer load groceries into a cart.

Everything was normal.

Then, at the east entrance, the doors slid open—and someone stumbled through.

<Narrator>: The man was maybe in his late forties. His skin was red, raw, blistered—like he'd been scalded. Patches of it were peeling, glistening wet under the mall lights.

<Narrator>: He took two steps inside. Then he crumpled to his knees, one hand braced against the tile floor, the other clutching his chest.