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Ben Coupland
Signal-Archive
SIGNAL ARCHIVE // [[TRANSMISSION LOG]]
Season 01 - The Opening * TRM-SO1-001 // Transmission 001 // "The Closet" * TRM-SO1-002 // Transmission 002 // "Enjoy Your Journey" * TRM-SO1-003 // Transmission 003 // "Black & White" * TRM-SO1-004 // Transmission 004 // "Casserole" * TRM-SO1-005 // Transmission 005 // "No One Came" * TRM-SO1-006 // Transmission 006 // "Static" * TRM-SO1-007 // Transmission
Signal-Archive
[SIGNAL ARCHIVE]
== ARCHIVE FILE: [SIGNAL ARCHIVE // [HOME]] == CLASSIFICATION: [Public] ACCESS LEVEL: [O1 // Observer] CREATED BY: [mnemonic.714] FILE STATUS: [Active] You are now inside the Signal Archive. Analyst presence: [registered] This archive holds the complete record of all transmissions collectively designated [THE HIDDEN GAME]. We log and review every recovered source feed,
Hidden-Game
Transmission 020 // “In Name Only”
Amelia stood before the Grand Central Library, but it was nothing like the place she’d left. The steel and glass facade still rose into the sky, but its surface was fractured and scarred. Deep cracks spiderwebbed across the grand arches, climbing the columns that had once inspired awe. Now
Hidden-Game
Transmission 019 // “The Weight of Water”
Amelia didn’t want to go inside. She stood outside the gate on Sycamore Lane, rain tapping against her hood, and told herself she was just catching her breath. Just letting the bus ride settle. Just giving herself a minute before she had to face the house, the silence, the
Hidden-Game
Transmission 018 // “The View From Floor Fifteen”
The blinds were closed, shielding the room and its occupants from the night beyond the window. Thin slivers of streetlamp light slipped through the gaps in the slats, carving restless shadows across the parquet floor. Neville Browning perched on the edge of a leather chair, his weight barely denting the
Hidden-Game
Transmission 017 // "Insert Coin To Continue"
The fresh air hit like an ice bucket—sudden, sharp and overwhelming—as Amelia stepped back out into the world. Autumn’s bite dragged her back to a reality that looked very much the same but had been fundamentally altered underneath. It had been daylight when they arrived at Helpmann’
Hidden-Game
Transmission 016 // “The Arborist’s Confession”
Sir Richard Helpmann sat behind a large, ornate desk. Its dark surface gleamed like still water. At its center, a banker’s lamp rose from a solid brass base. Light pooled beneath the emerald green shade, illuminating the pages of a leather-bound journal that rested on the desk below—the
Hidden-Game
Transmission 015 // “Polished Hinges”
School didn’t feel like school anymore. It felt like something else. The canteen still buzzed with gossip and chatter. The teachers still wore their paper-thin smiles. Bryony and her crew prowled the halls looking for easy prey. Nothing had changed. It was the same as it ever was. But
Hidden-Game
Transmission 014 // “Wait. Stop. Danger. Run.”
The crowd spilled from the Grand Central Library, drawn back to their lives like a tide receding from the shore, gradually revealing the gilded skeleton of the atrium beneath. The cavernous space—a mosaic of glass panes, bound by dark iron beams—held its silence the way a shell swallows
Hidden-Game
Transmission 013 // “The Bridge”
The stage shimmered beneath precision lighting, its polished surface catching glints of different colors, like restless echoes trapped beneath stained glass. Amelia leaned back in her seat, but found no comfort there. Beside her, Marv was practically vibrating. Every finger tap, every fidget told the same story: his idol was
Hidden-Game
Transmission 012 // "Amazing Grace”
As Amelia left the house, she bent to tie her sneakers. Her gaze lifted, catching herself in the mirror. The face in the glass was hers. The jaw, the cheekbones, the lines she had lived in all her life. But now she saw something else. Her mother surfaced first: hazel-grey