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As the timer hit 0:07, a sound began. It wasn't static; it was the rhythmic, metallic "clack-clack" of an old typewriter. A line of text burned into the center of the frame, frame by frame:

In the silence of his apartment, the only thing Elias could hear was the soft, digital "ding" of a new notification. He looked down at his phone. 7712_1080p.mp4 is ready for viewing. 7712_720p.mp4

He didn't want to look. He remembered the text on the screen. But the "clack-clack" started again, not from his speakers this time, but from the darkness behind him. As the timer hit 0:07, a sound began

He paused the video, his heart hammering against his ribs. In the reflection of his monitor, he saw the door to his office—the door he always kept shut—was slightly ajar. A sliver of light from the hallway spilled in, flickering with the exact same stuttering rhythm as the light in the video. He looked down at his phone

Elias felt a sudden, sharp chill. He lived on the 7th floor, in apartment 712.