Or so they said.

Leo screamed and slammed the spacebar. The video paused. The man—his double—froze in mid-turn, one eye white and blind, the other a perfect, staring replica of Leo’s own brown iris.

The film cut to the cabin. A single man, his back to the camera, sat at a wooden table. He was scribbling in a logbook. The audio was a hiss of tape static, but Leo could hear the man whispering. He turned up the volume.

He hadn’t clicked share. But the file was out there now. Traveling through fiber optics and satellite links. Finding other dark rooms. Other curious eyes.