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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]
== 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,
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
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
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
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’
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
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
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
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
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
Hidden-Game
Transmission 011 // "The Threshold”
The ceiling stretched out above her—flat, colorless, and striped with shadows. Amelia lay motionless, eyes open. Her bedroom was silent, but her thoughts were not. She wasn’t sure if she’d slept. It felt like she’d been lying here for hours—one of those long, weightless nights
Hidden-Game
Transmission 010 // "Carthis”
The next day, the world carried on as it always did. Lessons drifted past in a blur. The teacher’s voices sounded distant and muffled, as if they were trapped behind glass. Pens scraped. Chairs shifted. Nothing had changed, but somehow everything had. Amelia stood outside the school gates, her
Hidden-Game
Transmission 009 // “Still”
Amelia didn’t move. Not a breath, not a blink. Her eyes fixed on the photo, the weight of it slamming into her chest. Her parents looked back at her. Faces she hadn’t seen in more than a decade. Not since the night the police dragged her out of
Hidden-Game
Transmission 008 // “84>0”
Marv leaned back in the chair, exhaling through his teeth. “Well, I’ll be damned,” he murmured. “The spare key still works.” Amelia hovered behind him, her weight rooted to the floor. The laptop’s screen was all black aside from a single white cursor, pulsing—awaiting a command. Marv’
Hidden-Game
Transmission 007 // “The Spare Key”
Amelia broke the silence first. “What are your ideas, Marv?” He didn’t miss a beat. “We start simple—with EverLink. If Helpmann is a name, we’ll find it there. Then we’ll know we’re on the right track.” Marv leaned in, angling his mouth toward the laptop’
Hidden-Game
Transmission 006 // “Static”
The air was thick with static, the charged hush before a lightning strike. Marv leaned over the table, fingers tapping an uneven rhythm into the wood. Across from him, Amelia stared down at the book—jaw tight, fists balled—as if the numbers might solve themselves if she held them
Hidden-Game
Transmission 005 // “No One Came”
Silence had settled over the bedroom. Amelia sat cross-legged on the quilt, a notebook balanced on her knee. Marv sprawled beside her, one foot tapping the bedpost like a metronome. Textbooks lay open between them, pages twitching in the breeze from the cracked window as if trying to turn themselves.
Hidden-Game
Transmission 004 // “Casserole”
Sycamore Lane stood still in the hush of early evening, the sky above deepening into soft bruises of twilight. The street was empty. Light spilled through curtained windows, bleeding gently into the dark. Autumn pressed in close, threading woodsmoke and damp moss through the cool air. The trees that lined
Hidden-Game
Transmission 003 // “Black & White”
The bell pierced the soft murmur of Miss Nelson’s art studio, like a morning alarm through a dream. Amelia gathered her pencils and charcoals, eyes trailing after Marv as he peeled off toward the tech lab. His grin was loose and lazy, but blazed at full-beam. His sneakers barely
Hidden-Game
Transmission 002 // “Enjoy Your Journey”
Amelia moved through the morning the way she always did. Brush teeth. Shower. Get dressed. Blow-dry. The noise of the hairdryer filled her head. She half-closed her eyes and let herself sink into it, the hollow roar chasing the last fragments of the dream away. Her hair hung loose at
Hidden-Game
Transmission 001 // “The Closet”
This was where the dark lived. The only place in the house she never went. The closet in her parents’ room. She used to stand in the hallway and look at it. Thumb in her mouth. Waiting for the door to move. Certain something was waiting inside. Now she was