EVENTS ARE BEGINNING TO RUN TOGETHER WITH MULTIPLE FILES TAKING PLACE ON THE SAME DAY. IT CAN BE ASSUMED THAT THE DATE IS, CURRENTLY, OCTOBER THE TWENTY-SECOND.

  --File 060: All Shall Atone--

  The video begins without much pomp or circumstance. It can be inferred that both Emma and Blaine returned to the rest of the group, relayed their discoveries, and now are gathered- sans Alex- outside the bedroom door that once belonged to Mrs. Matilda Grantham.

  It is not immediately clear if they have retrieved the letter from the previous room in which they found the legs belonging to Jake's mother.

  Emma: "So who wants to open the door first?"

  Blaine: "I think it'd better be me."

  Bartosz: "Oh, yeah? Why's that?"

  Blaine: "They don't want me dead."

  Anders: "Will you chill the fuck out, Jakub?"

  Bartosz: "You think I got this fuckin' far by chilling out? Like hell."

  Blaine: "Stand back. Anders- watch Emma."

  Anders: "Be careful, kid. You're putting a lot of weight on that assumption of yours."

  Blaine: "It's not an assumption."

  Bartosz: "Because that's real fuckin' trustworthy."

  Blaine: "Look, are you prepared or not?"

  Bartosz's only answer is to grimly heft up a can of whatever hairspray he purchased previously and a lighter.

  Bartosz: "I'd really rather not set this place a-fuckin-blaze, but if we need it, I've got it."

  Blaine: "Good. Wait for my signal."

  Blaine hands the camera to Emma, who is gently pushed behind Anders. She puts in the effort to raise the camera so it peers over the shoulder of Anders as Blaine prepares himself, before he begins applying serious pressure to the door. It still takes several very long, tense seconds before the door begins to seriously budge; at once, massive maggots that are, as Blaine so elegantly phrased it, "as big as his face", begin dropping heavily and wetly onto the hallway floor. As per usual, they begin making an eager beeline for Emma, only to be met with vicious- and horrifically wet- stomps from both Bartosz and Anders.

  The door is still opening as this continues; a maggot plops onto Blaine's shoulder, but as he predicted, it slides directly off of him, making no motion to harm him. If they're planning on harming Emma, it's unclear, but they still continue to make a direct line for her. For several tense seconds filled with nothing but the overly-loud squelching of bursting maggots, the camera is unevenly held, presumably due to Emma trying to dodge the horrifying bugs, as well as the deep-seeded fear now associated with them.

  It is only when no more are immediately forthcoming- and the carpets are thoroughly soaked through with pasty white bug guts- that the camera raises to show that Blaine has gotten the door open. He is standing in mute horror as he stares beyond, and Emma moves quickly to get the camera into position, almost as if it is more important to her for the camera to see things than it is for anyone else to see it.

  Emma: "Holy fucking hell..."

  The expletive hangs heavy in the air, pregnant with the horror of what lies beyond. Neither Anders nor Bartosz say anything.

  The room is alive with the deep thrumming of flies that have not yet lifted off to greet them. They sit on top of every surface, buzzing in a strange contentedness. Very little of the room is actually visible, apart from the wall just above the bed, on which the torso of Matilda Grantham has been pinned; it is only clear that it is the torso due to the shaping beneath a floral dress that hangs limply off of it, surprisingly prim and looking as fresh as the day it was likely put on.

  It is very, very clear what is wished of them, because painted on the wall above the clothed torso is the words, "RETURN HER TO HER FORM".

  Bartosz: "Is this... is this fucking necessary? Do they have to toy with us?"

  Blaine: "Yes."

  Bartosz: "Don't sound so fuckin' sure, kid."

  Anders: "Quit it. What exactly are we supposed to do?"

  Blaine: "Exactly what it says. Look- there are hooks on the wall. We need to bring all of the body parts in here and hang them all together."

  Emma: "Is it just me, or is the torso... moving?"

  They all fall silent, and Emma zooms in with the camera. The dress near the center of the sternum appears to occasionally be moving, dipping and expanding. It is less like breathing and more like something trying to escape.

  Blaine: "Lovely. We're all going to be sleeping on the couches downstairs, aren't we?"

  Bartosz: "If you want to sleep up here, be my fucking guest. They'll probably leave you alone."

  Emma: "I don't see a note in here... and we still haven't read the other one."

  Anders: "Look, I'd rather be done with this shit before nightfall, yeah? It's already starting to get dark, and I really, really hate this place."

  Blaine: "Seconded. Come on. Let's get this over with. Who wants to get the head?"

  Bartosz: "I did it once, I'll do it again."

  Anders: "I'll get the legs, I guess..."

  Emma stands back, and she and Blaine wait silently in the hallway as Bartosz heads stiffly and tensely back down the stairs, Anders in the immediate opposite direction down the hall. Her only motion during this- apart from flinching when Anders makes noises of disgust- are to reach out and gently squeeze a mostly unresponsive Blaine's shoulder. There is bitterness in his face, but it softens when he glances in her direction, smoothing out.

  Bartosz returns quickly, looking somewhat ill as he holds forth the head of Matilda Grantham. Her mouth is gaping now, eyes still pointing in somewhat wrong directions, and she is still horribly gray. Emma shrinks away quickly, but makes a sound of distress when a moment later, Anders hurriedly walks down the hallway, looking almost as ashen as Mrs. Grantham's head as he holds a leg in each hand.

  Anders: "I've got to- to go back for the hands. Fuck, this is the weirdest shit I have ever had to do, and I'm a homicide detective."

  Bartosz: "You wanna fuckin' trade?"

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  Anders doesn't answer, placing the legs on the floor and hurriedly walking back to the room. A moment later, he returns with the arms, looking like he's about to be sick.

  Emma: "I can-"

  Anders: "Don't. I've got it."

  Emma doesn't offer again, and backs up against the wall as both Anders and Bartosz join Blaine on either side.

  Blaine, however, doesn't move, staring into the room for a moment.

  Bartosz: "Kid, I bet you're just lovin' me standing here with this broad's head in my hands, but if you don't move out of the fuckin' way and let me through-"

  Blaine: "Give me a second. It can't be you. I- I have to do it."

  They all realize as one that it does have to be him. He is flexing his hands, and takes a moment to put one foot over the threshold of the door. The floor is covered so completely with flies that it should be impossible to do without stepping on hundreds of the horrible things, but as his foot nears the floor, the flies all immediately move away. He lands on a perfectly empty space of carpeting.

  Bartosz: "Great."

  Blaine: "You can complain, or you can try it. Give me the arms, first."

  Bartosz: "That was on fuckin' purpose."

  Blaine: "Again, complain, or do it yourself. You're not the one who's got to pin body parts up on a wall in front of whatever the hell is going on with her torso."

  No one says anything as Blaine accepts the arms from Anders, blanching as his skin comes into contact with hers. The second he touches the arms, both hands immediately close into fists, making Anders leap back in horror. Blaine nearly drops them, the blood draining out of his face, but he manages to maintain his hold on the limbs before turning back into the room and stepping forward.

  The flies all make way for him as he walks with pointed care across the room, the arms held as tightly as he dares in his fingers. As he steps further into the room, however, the buzzing of the flies suddenly begins to rise and fall in a familiar fashion. Indeed, after a moment, Emma suddenly starts.

  Emma: "The flies- they're talking. They're doing that thing Grantham does to communicate."

  She's right. There is a word being sounded out clumsily through the buzzing: ATONE.

  Anders: "You're doing great, kid."

  Blaine doesn't answer. The word continues to rise and fall with continued awkwardness as he approaches the bed, steps up very carefully, and then turns to face the now-pulsating torso.

  Ashen with fear, Blaine leans forward to place one arm on a hook. Immediately the hand opens and the palm twists heavenward in some sort of horrible approximation of prayer or exultation. When Blaine places the other arm, it performs the same motion.

  Tense and sweating, Blaine steps down and crosses back, accepting the legs from Anders. The flies are now doing better at relaying the spoken language through their buzzing, and the words are changing, becoming more complex: ATONE FOR SINS.

  Blaine: "I fucking hate this, I want you all to know this."

  Emma: "I could try-"

  Emma's attempt to offer help is shut down by a resounding "no" from Blaine, Anders, and Bartosz, all at once.

  Blaine reaches the bed, steps up once more, and places the legs on the cleverly placed hooks. The torso begins to pulsate more violently, and this time, he scrambles off the bed, his expression twisted and complex.

  Emma: "Blaine, are you sure you don't want-"

  Blaine: "Just give me the head, Bartosz."

  Bartosz silently holds it up; when Blaine grabs the head of curling hair, the eyes suddenly roll forward, and fresh blood- an impossibility- begins to pour from the tear ducts. Blaine blanches again, and both Anders and Bartosz take involuntary steps back, but Emma steps forward now, presumably to try to take the head from him. Blaine shoots her a look, before turning back into the room. Again, the buzzing has evolved: ALL SINNERS WILL ATONE FOR THEIR CRIMES.

  Blaine says nothing as he crosses the room and, jerkily, places the head on the last hook before scrambling away as quickly as he can.

  Just as well, because not a moment later, the chest of the torso bursts open, and flies and maggots pour out of the cavity, ripping straight through the fabric. The flies coalesce and collect in the room in front of Blaine just as he tries to flee and take the form of none other than Jake Grantham himself, in all of his hive mind formation.

  Grantham: "Hello, Blaine."

  Silence falls. The buzzing of the room immediately drops to a near inaudible hum, presumably in connection to the "hive" of flies. Blaine is staring at Grantham's form in a state of frozen fear; Grantham seems hardly bothered by the presence of either Anders or Bartosz. When the latter steps forward with the can and lighter, Blaine suddenly comes around and shakes his head, raising a hand to stop Bartosz's attack.

  Blaine: "The hell do you want?"

  Grantham: "I should be asking you that. This is my home."

  He has become infinitely more skilled in the art of speaking through the buzzing of flies. His words are not difficult to decipher, though they are somewhat drawn out.

  Blaine: "What is the point of this?"

  Grantham: "To show you what you could do."

  A pin dropping could be heard in the silence that follows this.

  Blaine: "I'm... I'm sorry?"

  Grantham: "Look at them, boy. Look at them. They'll never trust you, and you know it. You work so hard to prove yourself time and again, but the moment anyone finds out what you had to do- what we all HAD to do- they turn on you."

  Blaine's face screws up in anger.

  Blaine: "Don't act like you fucking know me."

  Grantham: "You want answers? We are your answers, boy."

  Emma: "Let me get this straight."

  Grantham turns at the sound of Emma's somewhat pitchy voice, but there is discernible rage that causes some shaking in her words.

  Emma: "You offer him power to do- what, exactly? Kill people? Why? What's the fucking point? He's trying to prove himself, and you want him to turn around and just throw that all away?"

  But Grantham laughs. It's not a nice sound, and is instead a horrible, nasty grating of flies, the buzzing swelling with awkward timing; everyone flinches automatically from it.

  Grantham: "You don't understand. You can't understand. To give in and become what all the world expected of you- it feels good. You turn around and you tell them, 'Well, you made me this way'. And then you give them exactly what they predicted, and they're not the ones laughing anymore, are they? They're dead."

  Anders: "Blaine. Don't listen to them. You know I trust you."

  Grantham: "Does he, though? You know he quietly worries, boy. He always did. And you know what it is I speak of: the desire to show them all what suffering actually feels like. And you can."

  Emma: "Oh, please, that's the stupidest-"

  Grantham: "Of course it's stupid to you! You don't understand, in your perfect home with your loving parents, your perfectly easy way of making friends! You, who exemplifies the normalcy that we so desperately crave and can never, ever, ever have!"

  The outburst is enraged, and Grantham's fly form whirls toward her. The shape writhes with agitated insects; where eyes should be are gaping holes, and maggots wriggle out of them, dropping onto the floor like disgusting teardrops.

  Grantham: "You represent all the world that was somehow chosen. The favored. You complain about your mild little problems day in and day out, and you pretend you understand suffering- what do you know?! What do any of you know?!"

  Bartosz: "Yeah. Because I know nothin' about suffering. Watching my friends and colleagues all kill themselves over your fucking asshattery- that's not suffering, is it?"

  Anders: "And her being followed by a video game that spews forth homicidal insects, that's definitely not suffering, is it?"

  Grantham: "Again, you miss the point. This is to show you suffering. Now you begin to understand what I went through- what he went through- for years, while no one did anything!"

  He whirls back around to Blaine, who is frozen like a statue in the room, expression unreadable.

  Grantham: "How many calls were made? CPS visits? Neighbors knocking? No one ever did anything. A friend taught you self-defense, but that's the bare minimum, isn't it? Why didn't anyone do anything? And now they all want to pretend like it made you 'better'. Made you 'stronger'. It's your cross to bear, isn't it, boy?"

  Blaine says nothing, and Emma steps forward- but the flies all begin to buzz near her feet, and she steps falteringly back, distressed at her inability to reach Blaine.

  Grantham: "You know you're like us, boy. You know you understand what we went through. You know what it felt like to finally dish it out- it felt invigorating."

  Blaine says nothing again, and the only sound is the horrible buzzing of the flies as Grantham laughs again.

  Grantham: "Soon. Read the clues, little girl, and you'll get the last of your answers tomorrow- and then you can find us. We wait for you- welcome you."

  He spreads his arms of flies wide in welcoming toward a still staring Blaine.

  Grantham: "You will join us soon. You always do, boy."

  And then as one, all the flies in the room suddenly burst upward and into the vortex that is the figure of Jake Grantham; the window in the room explodes outward, taking the frame with it, and all of the flies exit the room as one horrible cloud of horror.

  Blaine stands stock still in the room, staring at nothing. On the bed behind him, once covered with flies, is a conspicuous sheet of paper. Emma steps over the threshold first and moves toward him. She tosses the camera onto the bed, and just within frame, she grabs him in a hug that he doesn't immediately return. In the silence, she says so softly that only audio editing picked it up, "I trust you."

  By the time anyone moves again, it is only so Emma can reach over, pick up the camera, and turn it off.

  --END TRANSMISSION--