[Fear System Log: 4:02 A.M.]
Task Progress: 11% — Phase 2 in Progress
Threat Evolution: Visual Contact Initiated
Warning: Entity may now recognize deviation.
Reminder: Role = Mary Caldwell | Objective: Survive Until Completion
The sun should have come up by now.
Or at least begun to paint the edges of the horizon with a hint of warmth.
But the windows were still choked with night. The digital clock read 6:42 A.M., but the apartment remained cloaked in the bruised shadows of early pre-dawn, like time had refused to move forward.
He stood at the window anyway, watching the street below.
There were no cars.
No joggers.
No rising sun.
Just fog.
And eyes.
He didn't notice them at first. Not until he rubbed sleep from Mary's eyes and blinked again.
Across the street, past the withered hedge that separated her building from the next, a figure stood between two leafless trees.
Still.
Too still.
Face hidden in shadow.
But the eyes… They caught the glow of a streetlamp and glinted. Silver. Wet. Watching.
"Engagement Threshold Reached."
"Do not acknowledge the figure. Do not attempt eye contact."
He turned quickly, stepping back from the window.
His phone buzzed.
A new message.
Unknown Number:
> I see you too.
He didn't reply.
He couldn't.
His hands trembled.
How long had that thing been standing there?
Had it watched all night?
Was it always watching?
He grabbed Mary's coat from the hook and forced himself to move. This apartment was too quiet, too closed in. He needed motion. Light. Reality.
The streets outside weren't much better.
The fog hung heavy, blanketing everything in muffled silence. The kind of silence that deadens even your own footsteps, makes your breathing sound intrusive.
As he passed the alley beside the bakery, he paused.
Movement.
Something shifted between the dumpsters.
He froze.
A cat?
Trash?
Another mimic?
Then—
A blink.
Just a flash of silver light between shadows.
Eyes.
Too low to be a man. Too wide to be natural. And too aware.
He walked faster.
Then the whisper followed.
Soft. Barely audible.
But unmistakable.
"Mary."
He didn't turn around. He didn't run.
The Fear System pulsed like static in his head.
"Do not respond to your name unless spoken by a confirmed human."
He walked faster.
Crossed the street.
Turned corners at random, trying to shake the weight pressing down on him, the crawling sensation that came with being observed.
By the time he returned to the apartment, he felt like a thousand ghosts had followed him home.
Later that evening, he stared at the footage.
He'd placed a camera at the foot of his bed after the first night. Paranoia. Or instinct. Maybe both.
He hit play.
Fast-forwarded through hours of tossing, turning, restless breathing.
Then at 2:47 A.M., the door behind him creaked open.
Wide.
Silently.
And something crawled in.
Not walked.
Crawled.
Backwards.
Its limbs spidered outward at unnatural angles, like a child imitating a crabwalk—only faster. Too fast.
It slithered to the edge of the bed and sat.
Staring.
Head tilted.
The screen flickered.
For one frame, it was just darkness.
Then another.
And another.
Until suddenly—
It looked directly into the lens.
Not at the bed. Not at him.
At the camera.
At him watching it now.
A slow smile spread on its face.
Then it spoke.
Not aloud. But its mouth moved with perfect clarity.
"I like your eyes."
The screen went black.
Playback error.
He slammed the laptop shut and backed away.
His phone buzzed.
Unknown Number:
> Replay it.
> Frame by frame.
> I left you something.
He didn't want to.
But he had to.
He opened the laptop again.
Dragged the progress bar back.
Clicked through it, second by second, until the frame before the entity turned to the lens.
And that's when he saw it.
In the corner.
On the wall behind the bed.
A photograph.
One that hadn't been there before.
Of him.
Sleeping.
With two glowing eyes staring from the closet.
The reflection in the photo's glass wasn't his.
It was the mimic's.
Smiling. Always smiling.
And the eyes?
They were silver.
Just like the ones outside.
[System Warning: Fear Level Exceeded Recommended Threshold]
[Adjustment Protocols Initiated]
[Do not remove reflective surfaces. Entity is now linked.]
He closed the laptop. Covered the mirror with a sheet. Turned all the lights on.
But still—he felt it.
Watching.
From somewhere.
Not in the mirror.
Not from the window.
Just out of reach.
Like it had already learned how to be inside without entering.
Like it had always been there.
Waiting.