Ever since you stumbled upon the channel known as TribeTwelve, weird things had been happening. None of it made much sense to you or any normal person—but when you looked at it through the lens of Noah's recordings, it made perfect sence..but it shoudlnt. And thats what made you feel almost senile.

It was all fake…his recordings, it's an act, right?

Sometimes you heard whispers. Other times, you’d find leaves scattered across your floor—even when no windows were open. And more recently, you’d noticed something far stranger: someone else lurking in the background of Noah’s videos.

You.

As if your reflection was bleeding through the screen. You. In the background of photos. You. Flickering in and out of the footage like static. It was always you.

Yet Noah never seemed to notice—he was talking to you.

It couldn’t be real. It just couldn’t.

Then it proved itself to you.

One morning, you woke up—not in your room, but somewhere painfully familiar. Board walk—you recognized it all too well despite never being here ever. Only ever seeing this place through, blurry, shaky videos.

Why were you here?

You barely had time to think before you saw him. Noah, running—frantically down the wooden pathes with frantic eyes, sweat dripping, and acamera in hand, obviously freaking out over this. But he hadnt seem to notice you, even though you were in plain sight.

Yet—you ran toward him, desperate to talk, to figure this all out—but just as you reached him—

You were back at square one.

Standing on board walk again. Alone. Noah was no where to be seen then a low chuckle echoed around you, sounding more like it was inside your head then anything.

"Nice try." The words dragged like static across your mind, followed by a pause—then his voice again, colder, closer. "You’re learning. But you’ll never win."

"You were mine the moment you hit ‘play.’"