The surviving recordings of that day were quickly dragged to the deepest parts of the internet. 

The dark web kept it alive, despite someone’s desperate attempts to erase it. It would take less than two hours for a surfaced video to disappear off the internet, no matter how many people downloaded or saved it. It was as mysterious as the circumstances surrounding its appearance. 

Which is why he was so surprised a college sophomore happened to have it on a flash drive buried inside a sock drawer.

“Where did you even get it?”

David blew into the USB port to clean any dust from the inside, “Pro-tip, if you ask the right senior you can get your hands on absolutely anything here in college. Get the right connections and they can make you a copy!”

“It’s that easy?”

David sighed, “Yeah, as long as you use a computer that hasn’t been connected to the internet before, you can make as many copies of this as you need. Welcome to college, my friend, the world is your oyster! Well...next year it will be.” David booted up the laptop and leaned back in his chair to wait. 

Taylor huffed, “Not even a year, next semester. I’ve already been accepted into the Journalism major, now I’m just waiting for this semester to end and summer to pass.”

“Journalism major, that makes sense. You’re here for the story then?”

Taylor pointed at the laptop screen, “Can we watch the video? I’m not sure how much time we have.”

“Don’t worry man, we’ve got all the time in the world.” 

David pressed play.

The video began in the gymnasium. 

The room was filled with college students. Solemn faces, tear-stained cheeks, most had attended in classic funeral uniform. They sat in the stands with barely a murmur passing between them, eyes focused on their companions, their feet, and the large podium in the center of the gym floor. 

A handful of people sat in reserved seats cut off from the rest of the room. The extra row of folding chairs sat directly in front of the stands, occupied by people shuffling their notes and re-reading the words they had prepared for the afternoon. 

Taylor focused on two of the presenters sitting in that row. A short, dark-skinned woman with mascara running down her cheeks clutched a fistful of damp index cards in her right hand. Her left hand was resting on the knee of a tall, scruffy man with unfocused eyes. He recognized them from circulating screenshots, Jhade Wymore and Peter Silveria. They’d been best friends with the dearly departed and had been asked to prepare a few words for this event.

The room was silent as the president of the university walked to the podium in the center of the court. He cleared his throat, placed his papers on the stand, and looked up at the young adults in front of him. 

“Students, staff, family members. We’re gathered here today to face a moment we’d hoped would never come.” As the room stood still, he scanned each of his student’s faces. “On this day one year ago, five of our brightest students disappeared off of this campus. Although the police have done their best to find our lost companions, last week their families made a very difficult decision.”

He took a moment to compose himself before he continued, his voice wavering with each name.

“Annalise Harvard, Augustus Quinten, Christopher Kline, Marius Green, and Kent Wendell will be legally declared deceased by the end of this month.” 

The door to the gym opened as the voices of the students rose in outrage. They’d been told this would be a memorial service, but many still clung to the hope of a resolution. Overlapping confusion and grief rang through the speakers, and Taylor turned down the volume on the laptop for his own sake. He hated hearing people in pain.

He turned his attention to the latecomers that had entered the gym. He knew where to look, he knew where the mystery began. He watched them pass by the stands, the pews filled with mourning and angry students. They wore dark jeans and black hoodies with the hoods turned up, covering their faces. They moved in a uniform line as they passed the president of the college, who was headed back to his seat to allow the next speaker to present.

The group of five walked onto the gym floor and stood in a line behind the podium. Voices and faces turned towards the strange circle of hooded figures. The president, finally noticing the newcomers through his emotional haze, began walking back towards the group.

“Excuse me, we’re in the middle of a service!” He shouted, “If this is some kind of prank, it is completely inappropriate-”

“Relax, my man.” The shortest in the line laughed, “Go sit down, you’re old news now.”

The sound of his voice elicited a reaction from a corner of the room hidden from the camera. Forums had stated this was where the basketball team had been huddled together, mourning the loss of fellow teammate Augustus Quinten. 

The hooded figure at the center of the line stepped forward, pushing past the president and grasping the mic in their hand. “We’re asking everyone with a recording device to put it away, or it might be damaged.” 

Several audience members stood up to get a better look at the speaker, the forums had identified them as members of the club Marius Green had been a member of. Although several people put their phones down, the camera recording this video continued on.

With perfectly synchronized motions, the hands of the people grasped both sides of their hoods and revealed themselves to the room.

For a brief moment, the recording flickered and warped. Static covered the screen, and strange colors flashed across it. When it came back, the audio and clarity of the video was gone. All that was left was a misty recording, but Taylor had read enough to recognize the movements from the figures below. 

Some of the students were crying, others scrambling over themselves to run down to the circle of well-known faces below. Most sat in shock, some went for their phones to call or text the people they thought might understand what had just happened. Later testimonies would state that the air had filled with static electricity and that touching their phones shocked them initially.

Jhade Wymore and Peter Silveria could be seen in the corner. The woman sat in shock, but the man catapulted himself towards his best friend, his lost best friend, who stood quietly. He grabbed Kent Wendell’s shoulders and shook him, staring at his clean-shaven face with disbelief. 

Then, he wrapped his arms around his friend and began to sob. But Kent didn’t hug him back.

The video faded into static before anyone else could reach the line of returnees. It turned off a few moments later, leaving Taylor to stare at his dumbfounded face reflected in the dark screen. “Woah.” He managed to say through dry lips.

David laughed, “That’s everyone's reaction the first time around. Sorry, you won’t get to meet any of them around campus during your visit, but if you really come here for college-”

“Can we watch it again? Please?”

David shook his head with a grin, “Sure thing...but only one more time. I’ve got a morning class tomorrow.”

In the end, Taylor watched the video 7 times that night alone.