Realistic or Modern htttps://0103.net IC

[seasonedcat]

the days continued on as normal. To most people, the loss of Mary Beth had no impact on their lives other than the new missing person flyers covering old ones. Time continued to flow and as far as most people had heard, there had been no new information on the case. Of course, you knew differently. In your email was a direct subscription to 0103's site, a notification of the strange message you had gotten. However, if you were to check on the actual site, nothing was there but radio silence. This message had been sent just to you, and you had accepted this.

as a week passed and nearly another, you had almost started to relax. Maybe the whole thing had been some morbid joke? Maybe Mary really didn't die, and she had just sent the email to you to make you feel guilty for not caring for her. You didn't know, but everything moved on as normal. Or, well, until today. A notification sound caught your attention from your phone, or maybe you just happened to check and see it despite your silenced phone. It stared you down. You could ignore it, of course, but sooner or later, you couldn't help yourself. You clicked it, and just like that, it all started.

0103 has just posted! Click here to check it out!
⬐ CLICK ME! ⬎

meet the author! ->

2025/03/19 - 0103

"have y0u heard?"

"hav3 y0u h3ard?"​

"h4^e y0u he4rd?"

"h@ve y0n he@rb?"​

Breaking news t0 all students 0f Wheat0n! C0ncerning rep0rts are rushing in as we speak 0f a new missing pers0n case! [REDACTED] has g0ne missing t0night with0ut a single trace! Is this c0nnected t0 the case 0f Mary Beth? N0 w0rd as 0f yet, but we will keep y0u updated as rep0rts c0me in! Stay 0n the edge 0f y0ur seats, f0lks, because I pr0mise y0u this isn't a st0ry y0u will want t0 miss. Perhaps a serial kidnapping case unf0lding ar0und us as we speak? L0ck y0ur d00rs and wind0ws t0night, kids, because n0where is safe 0n this campus.

Was my news anch0r r0le c0nvincing? I th0ught it was kinda fun... D0n't get me wr0ng, th0ugh, I wasn't lying. Y0u have just g0ne missing. I am sure y0u are very c0nfused right n0w, that usually is h0w it g0es. T0 end y0ur b0ring questi0ns bef0re they spr0ut, just l00k up. D0esn't it all feel t00 quiet? 0r maybe y0u'll n0tice the class ar0und y0u is g0ne. Every0ne is g0ne, y0ur teachers, y0ur peers. Y0u are g0ne. But d0 n0t w0rry; the fun is 0nly starting. D0n't despair yet! I am sure even a missing pers0n can find themself.

of course, when you looked up you found yourself met with silence, though at this time of night, that wasn't unexpected. For those of you in more populated places or near teachers or other workers, you might realize very quickly that the people near you are completely gone; the seats or places they were in now vacant. For those of you more isolated you might struggle to believe 0103's words. One new thing did catch your attention however, just before you closed the post from 0103. It was the time on your phone, no longer did it read around 9 pm. Now, new numbers stared at you. 1:03 AM, and no matter how long you stared and no matter how many seconds passed, it didn't change. Other than the new obvious lack of people and time change, it was as if nothing else changed.

Code Frankenstien's parts made by Ambiloquous- (originally used in juju's old rp, used again with permission​

 

[Juju]

M0rgan
jmann seasonedcat
✢✢✢​

The evening air had a bite to it, but compared to the past couple of months, it was hardly a nibble. Morgan walked down the campus pathway, her path lit by the scattered lampposts along the way. Each step she took was accompanied by the jingle-jangle of her keychain bobbing against her hip. Just in case.

After a pretty peaceful walk through the night, she arrived at the bus stop sat at the edge of the campus. She took a seat under the cloudy glass shelter and reached in a pocket to retrieve her phone. Her finger had just touched the screen when an unusual notification popped up. Really? She thought she had suppressed those. Annoyed, Morgan flicked it away. The last thing she needed was another depressing news report. Her whole reason for going out to the movies was to get her mind off the whole disappearance case.

Morgan shoved her phone into her pocket and decided to take a glance at the great outdoors instead. The sky was dark from light pollution, and a paper cup rolled past, driven by the same wind that stirred a missing person poster plastered to the side of the glass shelter. Morgan peeked a glance at it. The printed picture of Mary Beth stared back at her.

The questions began to play in her head yet again. Was she really the last person to see her, like that stupid chain-mail scam claimed? There was no way. This was probably some sweaty basement-dweller's idea of a sick joke. Everyone probably got it. They just hadn't mentioned it.

Morgan looked away from the poster and instead leaned over in her seat, looking up and down the empty road. She hissed under her breath, "Tch... where the hell is the bus? I swear, if it's late one more time, I just might punch someone."

Threats aside, it really should have been here by now. Retrieving her phone again, Morgan glanced down at the time and had to do a quick reality check. 1:03am? That was impossible. She squinted at it, adjusted her glasses, rubbed her eyes, even swore a bit, yet nothing changed it.

"What... the actual fuck..." she muttered, her irritation masking the dread that dripped into her gut. Somehow, the chill in the air seemed a little more prominent, the peaceful quiet of the night now malicious. Looking up at her, just below her phone's digital clock, was the same notification she had dismissed earlier.

She narrowed her eyes, hesitating for a moment, before tapping the notification and reading the wall of red text. The more she read, the more she tried to convince herself that this was some hack. Maybe it was for comfort, or just to talk to someone sane, but the first thing she did was go to her contacts. The most recent of them all was the jokey, yassified contact picture of her best friend, titled simply as Romeo, oh Romeo.

Morgan started the call and waited impatiently, tapping a foot as she glanced over her shoulder. She could tell that there was something off the moment her phone cut out from lack of signal and then... picked up again. The ringing was out of sync from the normal rhythm, but Morgan still kept the hope that it would somehow work.

"Come on... pick up." She muttered, frowning deeply as she kept a leery eye on her surroundings.

 

[nikoru]

SASHA R. WILSON
The Art Hoe

Location:
Wheaton Art Studio → Campus Grounds
With:
Nobody
TRIGGER WARNING
Mentions of Recreational Drug Use​

---

It was around 9 PM and Sasha was hard at work in the bustling campus art studio, putting the finishing touches on a large abstract painting for her advanced painting class. Though it was getting late, the room was still full of other art majors working diligently on their own pieces.

Sasha loved these night studio sessions. Having her talented peers around her was motivating, and the creative energy was infectious. She enjoyed borrowing materials from her friends and getting spontaneous critiques on her works-in-progress.

Stepping back to evaluate her abstract piece, Sasha caught the eye of her friend Liam, who gave her an approving thumbs up from across the room. She smiled back, feeling proud of the vibrant colors and textured brushwork.

Glancing at the clock, she was surprised to see it was already 9:15 PM. She did a double take as a strange notification from an unfamiliar source popped up on her phone. Assuming it was a spam ad, she opened it curiously as she began packing up her supplies.

But her casual appraisal of the message quickly turned to confusion and then mounting dread. The bizarre, taunting words from someone claiming to be "0103" filled the studio. Sasha looked around in disoriented horror... and realized all her classmates were now gone. The once lively room was utterly empty and still.

"Liam? Jessica?" she called out, her voice trembling. There was no response except her rapid breathing. Sasha felt dangerously alone and exposed. What was happening? She began to read 0103's haunting message again, her hands shaking.

Sasha felt her heart rate quicken as she read the chilling message from 0103. She glanced around the empty art studio, suddenly feeling very alone and exposed. This can't be happening, she thought, trying to rationalize what was unfolding.

Her mind raced back to that strange encounter with Marry Beth weeks ago. Sasha had been afraid to get involved back then, but now it seemed whatever darkness she had glimpsed was enveloping her too. She bit her lip, feeling a twist of guilt that her silence may have enabled this nightmare.

Mustering her determination, Sasha opened the message again, reading it slowly. Part of her hoped it was just an elaborate prank, but the unsettling quietness surrounding her said otherwise. She pulled out her phone, the unchanging 1:03 AM time mocking her.

"Okay, don't panic," she whispered aloud, trying to ground herself. Sasha was stubborn, but she knew she had to make some kind of move here if she wanted answers.

Sasha's hands shook as she stared at the disturbing message from 0103 on her phone. She frantically tried to call her friend Liam, but the call wouldn't go through—it was like her phone had no service.

"What the hell?" she muttered, her heart pounding. Thinking she might be the victim of an elaborate prank, Sasha shoved her art supplies haphazardly into her bag and scanned the studio for any hidden cameras or practical jokes gone awry.

But as she circled the empty room, the horrible truth began to sink in. There were no cameras, no signs of her missing classmates...in fact, there were no signs of anything out of the ordinary except their unexplained mass disappearance.

Sasha's breathing became ragged as she rushed to the windows and saw the campus grounds were equally deserted under the dim moonlight. A cold dread gripped her. This wasn't a prank—something was terribly, terribly wrong.

Her mind raced, trying to make sense of the situation. Had she accidentally ingested some sort of edible that was making her hallucinate this waking nightmare? No, it felt far too real and visceral for that.

Fear taking over her senses, Sasha slung her bag over her shoulder and burst out of the art studio, running as fast as she could across the vacant campus. Maybe if she could just get outside, get away from this place, whatever horror was unfolding could be escaped...

 

[irregular-neptune]

click!

h4rl0w

the hacker

location

the library

outfit

interactions

none yet

tags

n/a

how did we get here...

TW: drug mention

As they climbed the library steps, Harlow glanced over their shoulder briefly before finishing their trek to the door. They pulled one of their wired earbuds out of their ear before they stepped into the library – they would have preferred to keep blocking out all noise, but it was difficult when they often felt like they were being watched. Harlow knew, to an extent, that they weren’t most of the time. That people around them didn’t care about what they did and nobody would be interested in their daily life as much as their anxiety might tell them otherwise. Nobody was following their every move, especially when most of their moves included the computer lab. However, for the past two weeks, that reality had seemed closer than ever before, with the disappearance of Mary Beth and the subsequent mysterious blog post calling Harlow, specifically, out.

Who could have possibly known that they’d seen Mary Beth? It had only been for a split second, two sentences and they’d parted ways. Only for Harlow to finish out their weed drop-off and Mary Beth to… what? What did she do? Surely Harlow hadn’t been the last to see her. Surely someone was responsible for her disappearance. It was a problem that Harlow hadn’t been able to solve, an answer yet to be found. It had been eating away at them since the post, they’d been turning it over and trying to find any evidence to clear their name to its mysterious author. What had even been the point of the post in the first place? What was the threat even being made? Harlow didn’t even know what it was that they were afraid of. They just knew that their gut told them something bad was going to happen.

The Mary Beth missing poster stared back at them from the front of the library as they stood there, and they shook off the dread they felt in the pit of their stomach. While they were worried about this mysterious blog post, and hoped that Mary Beth would be found alive, their homework would not wait, and their professors still had expectations for them. Despite everything, the world wouldn’t pause.

They entered the library, walking quickly to find an isolated corner somewhere. They preferred using their laptop to the library computers – but they could concentrate better when they were actually in the library rather than their dorm. Whether that was the silent, pro-academic space that the library provided or the fact that their roommate was up all hours of the night and day being noisy, Harlow couldn’t tell. They checked their phone as they sat down – it was 8:23. They kicked themselves for waiting all day – their afternoon nap had almost become an extremely early bedtime.

Luckily, they had set an alarm for today. For a couple of hours before the blog post had said – in fact, for every hour the three hours leading up to it. They wanted to be alert, aware of the time in the threat -- not wanting to be taken off-guard They had slept through the first. Their only motive in coming to the library hadn’t been to study – it was also a cover so that if something happened to them, there would be at least one witness. But Harlow themself knew that even that didn’t guarantee safety. It hadn’t for Mary Beth.

They began to work on their project for their Data Structures and Algorithms class – it was about problem solving more than programming, which was something Harlow saw themself was already good at, and therefore they didn’t work very hard in the class. Right now, it was hard to concentrate – though the library tended to be fairly quiet, tonight there was a rambunctious group in a study room not too far from where Harlow sat in an armchair in the corner. They saw flashes of people through the little window in the door every so often – they were quite animated and Harlow didn’t know how any of them were concentrating. ...Maybe they were theater kids?

The study group wasn’t the only reason Harlow couldn’t focus – between them, the flashes of other library patrons that Harlow kept seeing walking in their periphery that made them jumpy and the cork board across the room displaying several missing posters – including the one for Mary Beth – everything was just so overstimulating. They found themself just staring at their laptop screen, or the ground, or the poster. Mary Beth almost looked like she was judging them, looking down on them. Her distant ink and paper eyes made Harlow shiver. Was the post from her, after all?

Harlow chewed on their nails, lost deep in thought about the whole situation, until they had a loud notification and the alarm on their phone went off. Embarrassed, Harlow kept their face low while they silenced the alarm and checked the new notification. The mysterious blog had a new post. They clicked it and read the post, their stomach twisting in knots as they reached its end. What did it mean? Then, they glanced at the time and froze. 1:03 AM. They knew they hadn’t been here that long – the library closed at midnight. Someone would have told them to leave.

Harlow looked around as the knots in their stomach grew tighter and took out their other earbud, suddenly noticing the lack of noise and glancing at the study room.

The library was completely and utterly silent. Even the hum of the computers and lights seemed to have been muted, the ambient noise frozen in time. Even the library’s usual silence didn’t feel like this. They scrambled to pack their messenger bag and walked to pass the study room – maybe they had gotten really into studying or they were taking a break? Maybe Harlow would run into a librarian on their way there. When they passed the room, they confirmed it was empty. Taking a deep breath, they told themself that people don’t just disappear. They would surely find someone. Had they fallen asleep, closed their eyes for what felt like a second but was really hours? What else could explain the total time warp that they were experiencing?

When Harlow passed the librarian’s desk on this floor and it was empty, they began to worry, and when they reached the first floor to find absolutely no one there, they knew something was very, very wrong.

“H-hello?”

they whispered shakily, throat dry. They swallowed, walking up and down aisles and aisles of books.

“Hello? Is anyone here?”

they called out, much louder this time, loud enough to typically get in trouble at the library. But nobody shushed them. Nobody was on their way to tell them to be respectful of other patrons. There was just nothing. What the fuck was going on here?

i'm only human sometimes

♡coded by uxie♡

Spoiler: mobile friendly

H4rlow
outfit​

interactions: none yet
TW: drug mention

As they climbed the library steps, Harlow glanced over their shoulder briefly before finishing their trek to the door. They pulled one of their wired earbuds out of their ear before they stepped into the library – they would have preferred to keep blocking out all noise, but it was difficult when they often felt like they were being watched. Harlow knew, to an extent, that they weren’t most of the time. That people around them didn’t care about what they did and nobody would be interested in their daily life as much as their anxiety might tell them otherwise. Nobody was following their every move, especially when most of their moves included the computer lab. However, for the past two weeks, that reality had seemed closer than ever before, with the disappearance of Mary Beth and the subsequent mysterious blog post calling Harlow, specifically, out.

Who could have possibly known that they’d seen Mary Beth? It had only been for a split second, two sentences and they’d parted ways. Only for Harlow to finish out their weed drop-off and Mary Beth to… what? What did she do? Surely Harlow hadn’t been the last to see her. Surely someone was responsible for her disappearance. It was a problem that Harlow hadn’t been able to solve, an answer yet to be found. It had been eating away at them since the post, they’d been turning it over and trying to find any evidence to clear their name to its mysterious author. What had even been the point of the post in the first place? What was the threat even being made? Harlow didn’t even know what it was that they were afraid of. They just knew that their gut told them something bad was going to happen.

The Mary Beth missing poster stared back at them from the front of the library as they stood there, and they shook off the dread they felt in the pit of their stomach. While they were worried about this mysterious blog post, and hoped that Mary Beth would be found alive, their homework would not wait, and their professors still had expectations for them. Despite everything, the world wouldn’t pause.

They entered the library, walking quickly to find an isolated corner somewhere. They preferred using their laptop to the library computers – but they could concentrate better when they were actually in the library rather than their dorm. Whether that was the silent, pro-academic space that the library provided or the fact that their roommate was up all hours of the night and day being noisy, Harlow couldn’t tell. They checked their phone as they sat down – it was 8:23. They kicked themselves for waiting all day – their afternoon nap had almost become an extremely early bedtime.

Luckily, they had set an alarm for today. For a couple of hours before the blog post had said – in fact, for every hour the three hours leading up to it. They wanted to be alert, aware of the time in the threat -- not wanting to be taken off-guard They had slept through the first. Their only motive in coming to the library hadn’t been to study – it was also a cover so that if something happened to them, there would be at least one witness. But Harlow themself knew that even that didn’t guarantee safety. It hadn’t for Mary Beth.

They began to work on their project for their Data Structures and Algorithms class – it was about problem solving more than programming, which was something Harlow saw themself was already good at, and therefore they didn’t work very hard in the class. Right now, it was hard to concentrate – though the library tended to be fairly quiet, tonight there was a rambunctious group in a study room not too far from where Harlow sat in an armchair in the corner. They saw flashes of people through the little window in the door every so often – they were quite animated and Harlow didn’t know how any of them were concentrating. ...Maybe they were theater kids?

The study group wasn’t the only reason Harlow couldn’t focus – between them, the flashes of other library patrons that Harlow kept seeing walking in their periphery that made them jumpy and the cork board across the room displaying several missing posters – including the one for Mary Beth – everything was just so overstimulating. They found themself just staring at their laptop screen, or the ground, or the poster. Mary Beth almost looked like she was judging them, looking down on them. Her distant ink and paper eyes made Harlow shiver. Was the post from her, after all?

Harlow chewed on their nails, lost deep in thought about the whole situation, until they had a loud notification and the alarm on their phone went off. Embarrassed, Harlow kept their face low while they silenced the alarm and checked the new notification. The mysterious blog had a new post. They clicked it and read the post, their stomach twisting in knots as they reached its end. What did it mean? Then, they glanced at the time and froze. 1:03 AM. They knew they hadn’t been here that long – the library closed at midnight. Someone would have told them to leave.

Harlow looked around as the knots in their stomach grew tighter and took out their other earbud, suddenly noticing the lack of noise and glancing at the study room.

The library was completely and utterly silent. Even the hum of the computers and lights seemed to have been muted, the ambient noise frozen in time. Even the library’s usual silence didn’t feel like this. They scrambled to pack their messenger bag and walked to pass the study room – maybe they had gotten really into studying or they were taking a break? Maybe Harlow would run into a librarian on their way there. When they passed the room, they confirmed it was empty. Taking a deep breath, they told themself that people don’t just disappear. They would surely find someone. Had they fallen asleep, closed their eyes for what felt like a second but was really hours? What else could explain the total time warp that they were experiencing?

When Harlow passed the librarian’s desk on this floor and it was empty, they began to worry, and when they reached the first floor to find absolutely no one there, they knew something was very, very wrong. “H-hello?” they whispered shakily, throat dry. They swallowed, walking up and down aisles and aisles of books.

“Hello? Is anyone here?” they called out, much louder this time, loud enough to typically get in trouble at the library. But nobody shushed them. Nobody was on their way to tell them to be respectful of other patrons. There was just nothing. What the fuck was going on here?

 

[riddle .]

wystan prescott

the obsessed artist

mood

confused and disturbed

location

practice room in the performing arts building ➨ campus grounds

thoughts

am i...tripping?

interactions&mentions

sasha wilson nikoru

(tw: drug use mention)​

He's been at it for several hours now, but he's far past feeling the ache between his neck and shoulder. Wystan sighed as he strung out a few more notes, bringing his bow down to stretch his arm holding it. Carefully, he pried his violin off his shoulder, rolling it to loosen the tight form he's kept up. Even his spine groans at the action, having been maintaining a rigid posture up until now. There's a slight chill in the room he notices, followed by a near eerie silence. A frown overtakes his features as he listens, finding it odd that he can't hear anyone else playing in the other practice rooms. He swore he saw someone's name on the reserve board for this time slot along with his, and he was sure he heard someone strumming away at a cello just a little bit ago.

Wystan considers letting it go. It wasn't any of his concern what others get up to, and if whoever was supposed to be here decided they didn't want to put in the extra work, then why should care where they flitted off to? Wystan nods to himself, assured that he's simply overthinking it. If he was being honest, the prank message he received a few days prior about Mary Beth shook him up more than he was willing to admit. Truthfully, he missed seeing her sitting out in the auditorium when he would go out on stage and play when everyone else was asleep, imagining himself performing for a wide audience at a grand hall. While she wasn't the great audience he wished for, Mary was good company.

He snapped back into focus when the soft piano he'd been accompanying with his violin on his phone was interrupted by the ping of a message notification. Wystan raised a brow, unused to getting any texts this late, and set his violin down on the small table to pick up his phone.

"Uh...that's weird," Wystan murmured, disbelieving when he read the time. Certainly, he hadn't practiced until one. He thought back to the two Adderal tablets he had taken, wondering if he'd taken any more, and didn't remember it. There was no way. Wystan's tolerance had built up enough that just taking two wouldn't have him forgetting the time. Had his phone glitched? Instead of thinking about the drastic time loss, Wystan tapped the notification, dread seeping in when he read over the ominous message.

It was from the same person as before who brought up Mary Beth. Do they think I had something to do with her disappearance? Is that why they're sending this? His mind raced with theories. Mary Beth seemed to keep to herself, same as him, so who would go out of their way to pull a stunt like this on him? He didn't think anyone knew that Mary Beth and him even spoke, so who would know to target him? He read over the message again, finding its words near spot on to his concern before of the building being too quiet. Was it a prank, perhaps? Some idiots who are using Mary Beth as a joke to stage something like this? Wystan's grip tightened on his phone, anger building at the thought. He might not even be the only one getting this stupid message. It made more sense that it was just insensitive assholes laughing with each other over scaring the whole campus.

But still...

He needed to find another person.

Quickly, Wystan packed his things and secured his violin and bow into their case, exiting the practice room. He glanced around, finding things were exactly as he remembered. Professor Horne's desk was still covered in sheet music, chair slightly pulled out. The whiteboard had poorly erased notes in blue marker on it, and the vent that always clanged lowly continued with every blast of warm air out of it. Nothing was amiss, except for the quiet. Wystan went to the board where the sign-up sheet was for the rooms, quickly skimming the names. He swallowed when he saw Elliot's name marked down for one three down from his own. Elliot was the cello player who always signed up with him for the later hours, and he usually came to play. Maybe he went on a bathroom break?

Wystan walked down to Elliot's room, peeking into the rectangular window, slight distress rising when he found no signs of Elliot's cello or case, not even his annoying bright neon green bag he carried around. Faster now, Wystan went out into the hall, calling out.

"Hello? Anyone there?" He shivered at the silence.

He walked to the bathrooms, opened the men's door, and called again. "Hello! Elliot, are you in here?"

No answer. If Elliot had been there, he would have answered. Elliot was chatty and had tried many times to get Wystan to accompany him to get snacks when they played late in the rooms, or even just to talk, but he'd brushed the other off each time. He regretted it now.

Going with his next option, Wystan pulled up his phone and opened his short list of contacts. He tapped on a random number, Jake or something, probably one of his pill banks, and waited for the telltale sound of a line connecting. Nothing happened. He looked back at his phone and saw it wasn't even dialing. It wasn't real, no way.

Nearly jogging, Wystan headed to the front of the building, trying to see anyone through the door's windows or open the ones without, coming up empty or locked. He was met with the brisk night air when he pushed through the front doors, looking around. Seeing no one, he kept going further into campus, hoping to catch sight of another person. He'd take anyone right now.

A flash of movement caught his eye, and he turned to feel relief run over him as he saw another student running over the grounds with wavy hair and glasses. "Hey! Hey, wait!" Wystan called out to her, running now too to try and get her attention, managing the awkward weight of his violin case and bag.

/* ------ credit -- do not remove ------ */

© weldherwings.

Spoiler: mobile friendly!

wystan prescott
the obsessed artist
mood: confused and disturbed
location: practice room in the performing arts building ➨ campus grounds
thinking: am i...tripping?
interactions: sasha wilson
tw: drug use mention​

He's been at it for several hours now, but he's far past feeling the ache between his neck and shoulder. Wystan sighed as he strung out a few more notes, bringing his bow down to stretch his arm holding it. Carefully, he pried his violin off his shoulder, rolling it to loosen the tight form he's kept up. Even his spine groans at the action, having been maintaining a rigid posture up until now. There's a slight chill in the room he notices, followed by a near eerie silence. A frown overtakes his features as he listens, finding it odd that he can't hear anyone else playing in the other practice rooms. He swore he saw someone's name on the reserve board for this time slot along with his, and he was sure he heard someone strumming away at a cello just a little bit ago.

Wystan considers letting it go. It wasn't any of his concern what others get up to, and if whoever was supposed to be here decided they didn't want to put in the extra work, then why should care where they flitted off to? Wystan nods to himself, assured that he's simply overthinking it. If he was being honest, the prank message he received a few days prior about Mary Beth shook him up more than he was willing to admit. Truthfully, he missed seeing her sitting out in the auditorium when he would go out on stage and play when everyone else was asleep, imagining himself performing for a wide audience at a grand hall. While she wasn't the great audience he wished for, Mary was good company.

He snapped back into focus when the soft piano he'd been accompanying with his violin on his phone was interrupted by the ping of a message notification. Wystan raised a brow, unused to getting any texts this late, and set his violin down on the small table to pick up his phone.

"Uh...that's weird," Wystan murmured, disbelieving when he read the time. Certainly, he hadn't practiced until one. He thought back to the two Adderal tablets he had taken, wondering if he'd taken any more, and didn't remember it. There was no way. Wystan's tolerance had built up enough that just taking two wouldn't have him forgetting the time. Had his phone glitched? Instead of thinking about the drastic time loss, Wystan tapped the notification, dread seeping in when he read over the ominous message.

It was from the same person as before who brought up Mary Beth. Do they think I had something to do with her disappearance? Is that why they're sending this? His mind raced with theories. Mary Beth seemed to keep to herself, same as him, so who would go out of their way to pull a stunt like this on him? He didn't think anyone knew that Mary Beth and him even spoke, so who would know to target him? He read over the message again, finding its words near spot on to his concern before of the building being too quiet. Was it a prank, perhaps? Some idiots who are using Mary Beth as a joke to stage something like this? Wystan's grip tightened on his phone, anger building at the thought. He might not even be the only one getting this stupid message. It made more sense that it was just insensitive assholes laughing with each other over scaring the whole campus.

But still...

He needed to find another person.

Quickly, Wystan packed his things and secured his violin and bow into their case, exiting the practice room. He glanced around, finding things were exactly as he remembered. Professor Horne's desk was still covered in sheet music, chair slightly pulled out. The whiteboard had poorly erased notes in blue marker on it, and the vent that always clanged lowly continued with every blast of warm air out of it. Nothing was amiss, except for the quiet. Wystan went to the board where the sign-up sheet was for the rooms, quickly skimming the names. He swallowed when he saw Elliot's name marked down for one three down from his own. Elliot was the cello player who always signed up with him for the later hours, and he usually came to play. Maybe he went on a bathroom break?

Wystan walked down to Elliot's room, peeking into the rectangular window, slight distress rising when he found no signs of Elliot's cello or case, not even his annoying bright neon green bag he carried around. Faster now, Wystan went out into the hall, calling out.

"Hello? Anyone there?" He shivered at the silence.

He walked to the bathrooms, opened the men's door, and called again. "Hello! Elliot, are you in here?"

No answer. If Elliot had been there, he would have answered. Elliot was chatty and had tried many times to get Wystan to accompany him to get snacks when they played late in the rooms, or even just to talk, but he'd brushed the other off each time. He regretted it now.

Going with his next option, Wystan pulled up his phone and opened his short list of contacts. He tapped on a random number, Jake or something, probably one of his pill banks, and waited for the telltale sound of a line connecting. Nothing happened. He looked back at his phone and saw it wasn't even dialing. It wasn't real, no way.

Nearly jogging, Wystan headed to the front of the building, trying to see anyone through the door's windows or open the ones without, coming up empty or locked. He was met with the brisk night air when he pushed through the front doors, looking around. Seeing no one, he kept going further into campus, hoping to catch sight of another person. He'd take anyone right now.

A flash of movement caught his eye, and he turned to feel relief run over him as he saw another student running over the grounds with wavy hair and glasses. "Hey! Hey, wait!" Wystan called out to her, running now too to try and get her attention, managing the awkward weight of his violin case and bag.

 

[jmann]

Romeo Kirkland
Juju

The observatory wasn't heated when it was closed. Romeo sat nestled in blankets under the fibreglass observatory dome. Technically he shouldn't have been there; the observatory was only open on clear nights and the clouds outside meant delaying Romeo’s research yet again. He had to write a paper on centre-peak craters on the moon, so actually seeing them was a game changer. Fortunately, it was a full moon and when clouds weren't blotting out his sight he could see them clearly. Some time after nine he took a small break to drink and reply to missed messages. One notification was for 0103. Romeo hated the forum. A gossip mill run by an arrogant douche parading their secret identity. However, as much as Romeo hated gossip it was the best source of campus news, so he opened it.

How did 0103 know? Did they see me too? I couldn’t have known that was… who else saw?
Thoughts swam through Romeo’s head as he read. How did they know he saw her? Mary Beth had seen him breaking into the research building; of course he couldn’t report that. It wasn’t my fault.
Romeo cursed as he saw the time. 1am, his “break” had been over four hours. As he frantically began packing up, his phone lit up with the filtered chiseled jawline and sharp eyes of his closest friend, the name reading Ground Control. He hesitated. She might have read the same post. Does she know? No, how could she. If she didn’t know, she might have been in trouble. Why else call so close to the witching hour. He swallowed his fear and picked up.
“Morgan! Hey! What happened? How was your trip?” As much as he tried to hide the building panic in his voice, it quivered nonetheless.

 

[Firelie]

Steve Campbell​

irregular-neptune​

Jab jab straight. Jab jab straight. Left hook, step in. Duck, left jab, step out. Jab jab straight. Breath in. Breath out. Jab jab straight. Jab Jab...

Sweat glistened on Steve's forehead as he trained. He had been in the gym for a good three or so hours now, practicing on the punching bag. It was a standard heavy bag. Normally he would practice with his coach, but today Steve just wanted to clear his head. Focus on his fundamentals. He had been rather stressed recently, it was a turbulent time in his professional career. He was still a fresh face in the professional boxing scene, and being such a young protégé he still had lots of eyes on him. He needed to have a near perfect run of the season if he hoped to really make a successful career of this.

... Step out. Jab jab straight. Breath in. Breath out. Jab jab straight. Jab jab straight. Left hook, step in....

Stepping into the ring wasn't his biggest concern. Frustratingly, drama proved time and time again to be his fiercest opponent. First it was attacks on his image, then claims of performance enhancing drugs, and if he didn't correctly keep things under wraps this whole Mary Beth situation could prove to flush away his chances with professional leagues and sponsors. Steve's brow furrowed in annoyance as he threw a straight. Why couldn't he just box? Why does he have to worry about how he saw some manic college girl who was apparently missing. If he reported it now, his image would be once more dragged through the mud. "Why didn't you report it earlier" "You could've saved her life..."

... Straight. Jab. Jab. Jab jab jab. Right hook, slip, corkscrew. Jab. Jab, straight...

Not to mention he was kind of an ass to her. If that came out everyone would think he was an asshole. He wasn't an asshole. He didn't want any of this anyways. God, if this sort of thing could be solved in the ring it would be so much easier. It would be so much damn easier if he could...

Steve stopped. When had it become so quiet? Even for what time it was there should still be the sounds of metal on metal, of students getting their nighttime work outs in, general hustle and bustle. Yet there was nothing. Just him, the bag, and the low hum of the gyms lights. He stepped out of the secluded boxing room and into the main floor of the gym. Empty. Steve pushed down a paranoid anxiety and turned back, finding his duffel bag and digging through it for his phone. He flipped it open and was shocked to find it was 1:00 AM. Had he been working on the bag that long? No, he was a professional not a superhuman. Steve pushed the mystery of the time discrepancy out of his mind for the time being though, he had a notification. His heart sank as he read the sender. 0103. He hated 0103. Unhealthy, fear mongering rumor spreader in his opinion. Yet here he was, with their notifications turned on. As much as he hated it, staying in touch with the events around the school was important to his career. Steve sighed and opened the message, brow furrowing as he read the message.

"This isn't funny!" Steve exclaimed as he burst out of the gym into the halls of the extracurricular building. Duffel bag in hand, he stomped down the halls, going from room to room and calling out, trying to find where whoever organized this was hiding. Surely this was just some cruel prank. Maybe they told everyone in the building to scram for a gas leak or... something. He continued for a couple of rooms and after no success, headed out into the night and into the library across the way. Surely they couldn't have gotten people out of the library. Sure his phone said it was 1:00 AM and the library would be closed, but that time was obviously bullshit as the library doors which should have been locked swung open. "HEY! Is there anyone who can hear me?" He yelled from his spot at the entrance. He scanned the room expecting to find nothing, but to his surprise he saw a figure just on the stairs. "Hey, you!" He yelled, relieved but still cautious. "Do you know what's going on?" It didn't seem the figure was armed or apart of... whatever was playing this prank on Steve. "Do you know where the hell the... everybody is?" He asked as he approached, scanning the room once again to confirm it was just him and this person.