My player 2

Photoreal cinematic short, 30 seconds, one unbroken camera move, 24–30fps, natural indoor lighting mixed with TV glow. No cuts, no gore, no blood, no logos. No burned-in subtitles. All lines are spoken, not written on screen.

Setting: a small lived-in apartment at night. Couch facing a large TV. Two controllers. Soft lamp. Half-finished snacks. A second headset on the cushion. On the TV: a bright third-person co-op fantasy game, split or shared screen, two adventurers running together through glowing ruins.

Characters in the room:
Player 1 — young man, hoodie, focused then laughing, left side of the couch.
Player 2 — young woman on his right, same age, casual clothes, laughing with him, second controller, leaning into his shoulder when they win.

00:00–00:08
Start on the TV: both in-game characters sprint and tag-team a small monster. Camera slowly pulls back from the screen to the couch. The couple cheers. He shouts at a jump. She bumps his arm, grinning, mashing buttons. While they play he talks to her, excited: “We’re so good together. Look at that combo. Nobody plays like us.” She laughs and keeps playing. They look at each other, not just the screen. Warm co-op night. On the TV her avatar stays fully present the whole time.

00:08–00:16
They clear a checkpoint. In-game victory chime. Her character is still fully in the game, running beside his. He keeps talking to her: “That was perfect. You’re carrying us. We still got it.” She raises the controller like a trophy. He laughs. They turn toward each other for a high-five / clap.

00:16–00:24
This is the transition. He swings his hand in for the clap. In the first part of the motion she is still there, smiling, hand coming up to meet his. Mid-clap she fades from the couch: her hand first, then her body, until his palm hits empty air. No one is on the right seat. One body print. Second controller rests unused, battery light dark. Headset unused.
Rule for the game screen: Player 2’s avatar remains in the game for as long as the girl is still visible on the couch. The instant she is fully gone from the room, her adventurer fades out of the game and the slot goes empty. Not before.

00:24–00:30
His smile stalls. He stares at the empty space where her hand should have been. Quietly, broken, he says: “I wish you are still here.” The camera drifts to a small framed photo of the girl on the side table. A single candle burns in front of it, warm light on her face. He sets his controller down. Hold on the candlelit photo, empty seat behind it, co-op screen now showing only Player 1. No cause of death. No grave. No hospital.

Audio: co-op music, his talk about how well they play, her laugh, two controllers, then music thins after the missed clap, her voice gone, one controller, fridge hum, distant traffic, leftover victory chime, candle flicker, his last line.

Do not include: gore, wounds, funeral, jump-scare ghost face, horror makeup, first-person death footage, guns, on-screen logos.