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"Day 412," Jackerman’s voice crackled through the speakers. He sounded hollow, like a man speaking from the bottom of a well. "The subjects have begun to mimic the frequency of the observation equipment. They aren't just reacting to the light anymore. They are recording it." The video reached its final second

The video timestamp suddenly accelerated. The 30fps slowed down to a crawl, frame by frame, until the image of Jackerman began to smear. The bioluminescent sludge in the jars started to leak out of the glass, but not on the screen—a dark, glowing liquid began to seep from the bottom of Elias's monitor, dripping onto his keyboard. "Day 412," Jackerman’s voice crackled through the speakers

The video player flickered to life. The quality was unnervingly crisp for a hidden camera. It showed a basement room lined with lead-shielded glass. Jackerman stood in the center, his back to the lens, staring at a series of glass jars filled with a pulsing, bioluminescent sludge.

"The experiment requires a witness," Jackerman whispered. He wasn't looking at the camera in the video; he was looking directly into the lens, as if staring through the screen into Elias’s bedroom.

On the screen, the empty chair in the corner was no longer empty. A figure was sitting there, wearing Elias’s favorite grey hoodie, staring at the back of Jackerman’s head.