[LOG-041] STILL HERE

===================[ TERMINAL ACCESS GRANTED]================

>> USER ID: SPACECHASER

>> NODE: PERSPECTIVE

>> LOCATION: DEEP PERIMETER // ISOLATION RING: RED

>> SYSTEM TIME: 2295.127 // 21:44 GST

>> LOG TYPE: PERSONAL ENTRY

>> ENTRY #: 041

>> FILE NAME: STILL_HERE.LOG

>> AUTHORIZATION: RED VEIN

>> ENCRYPTION: LOCALIZED SHARDLOCK

>> STATUS: MANUAL OVERRIDE INITIATED

>> ——— Begin Log ———

Something’s wrong with the light in here. Not flickering. That would be fine. Flickering means the bulb is dying. Predictable decay. But this… pulses. Like it’s breathing. Like it knows I’m watching. Every third blink it hangs too long, like it’s waiting for me to blink with it.

No network contact for 79 days. Might be more. My calendar scrambled itself sometime last week—dates folding over each other, timestamp logs repeating, messages duplicating with minor, almost imperceptible changes. I found one that said “Don't look behind you.” I don’t remember typing it. I checked the log metadata. It’s from my user ID. Time stamped during REM cycle.

The dome’s sealed, but I hear something walking outside. No oxygen out there. Nothing with lungs should be making that noise. But I hear it—gravel shifting under weight. The slow, deliberate scrape of movement. Never runs. Never hurries. It’s like it knows I’m not going anywhere.

I sleep in 40-minute intervals now. Can’t push it longer. Last time I did, I dreamed of something tall and smooth-skinned crouched over my terminal, typing this. When I woke up, there were prints on the glass—long, thin. Not human. Not mine. I cleaned them. They came back two nights later. Same placement. Same number. Smelled like iron and rot.

Rations are low. Water’s fine but tastes off, like static. Like it’s carrying sound that hasn’t been spoken yet. I hold it in my mouth sometimes and just listen. Today I heard my mother’s voice say, “You’re not the only one left. Just the only one who remembers.”

Found a file on the mainframe I didn’t put there. Titled “MEAT.” Just that. No extension. No contents. Just a file. I deleted it. It came back. I deleted it again. It laughed. Not through speakers. Through the walls.

I don’t trust the fire anymore. Last night I lit one outside, like usual. Watched it burn. But it burned too clean. No smoke. No smell. Just flame. I stepped back and it leaned toward me. Fire isn’t supposed to lean.

I’ve stopped using my own name in here. It doesn’t sound right when I say it out loud. Feels like a mouth full of pins. I caught a reflection of myself in the viewport this morning. It blinked when I didn’t.

I don’t know if I’m writing these to remember or to warn. Something’s wearing me. That’s the best I can explain it. Like I’m a coat and it’s trying me on for size. Doesn’t quite fit yet, but it’s learning. Adapting. I hear it typing sometimes when I’m not at the console. Says it's updating the logs.

If you find this, don’t come looking.
The light is watching.
The fire is listening.
And something in the dark is learning to smile.

>> ——— End Log ———

>> LOG SAVED: /CORE/MEMLOG/041/STILL_HERE.LOG

>> ARCHIVE STATUS: SHARDED REDLOCK (NON-NETWORKED)

>> MIRROR NODE SYNC: FAILED (NODE 02 OFFLINE)

>> NEXT ENTRY WINDOW: UNKNOWN

>> TERMINAL STANDBY MODE INITIATED...

>> >> >