The Next Day
December the Seventeenth
The Day Before
December the Fifteenth

December the Sixteenth

From didn’t just find a room full of screens.
It was a room full of screens that were on.
He thought himself stupid for not realizing the cameras were all pointing somewhere—that they weren’t all to be seen in a place like this. That they weren’t all obviously pointed out at them all so that someone, something, could watch them?
Why else have cameras?

A room full of screens, all pointed towards a single, deserted chair. The flashing monitors were spread out in a half-circle, all of them on and showing different parts of the facility—some still black and empty, some they still hadn’t found yet. He saw Triplet and Crimson and Wayside walking around together, gesturing towards a shelf with some darkened objects on it From couldn’t see. He saw Glass and many others, he saw them all, flickering in and out of view, walking out of frame and into frame.
The cameras covered the board and the halls they knew, the warehouses, and the hidden pathways they had just found. However, there were none in the Up Above, From noticed.
And it was silent. He revelled, almost cried at the fact that his ears didn’t hum, didn’t scratch him, didn’t make him want to crawl under a blanket. He felt at peace, watching all the others waltz around without him, while he could finally stand, and without disturbance, just watch.

He didn’t want to call anyone in. He didn’t want to tell them what he had found. This was his only chance at being alone without any sound at all, and he wasn’t going to give it up already.
He looked at the chair. It was big—bigger than any chair he’d ever seen. Bigger than anything that made sense for them to sit in. If he sat there he’d take up about half of it, and leaning back he wouldn’t touch until he was almost lying down. He walked over to it and pushed at it, then turned and sat.
It felt wrong. Every tingle in his body rose, crying out, his back broke to a sweat and he rose up in panic, scattering away from the thing.
It hadn’t changed at all. It was still. There were no one else. Yet, there was something about it that made him terrified. He felt an ominous presence spread out from it, as if it was owned by someone who wanted to hurt him—as if the chair itself was that someone. He felt watched, even though he was in the only room that didn’t have a camera pointing at it.

He realized whoever this was must be gone—if not indefinitely, then for a while—otherwise they’d know. Wouldn’t they?
If someone was in here, wouldn’t they pay attention to them all? And help? The alternative was too horrible to think of.
Who would just set up a ton of cameras and do nothing with them? And who would do that in their home?
From felt the uncertainty creep up on him, like the Silence hoarded him in place—and he ran out of there as fast as he could.



See the other days here.




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