For over the next three days, the house descends into a somber stillness, broken only by the occasional scrape of a chair or the tweak sounds of the tile floors. Each of the teens retreats into their own world of paranoia and isolation, barely exchanging glances, let alone words. The once awkward but functional group dynamic has splintered under the weight of invisible pressure. Whatever sinister manipulation SEED has unleashed on them, it is working.

None of them sleep.

The nights are haunted by whispers, eerily familiar voices murmuring accusations. The words-sometimes clear, sometimes distorted-come from nowhere and everywhere. Each teen hears their fellow roommates' voices accusing them of killing Keith, weaving fragmented, false narratives of motive and opportunity.

The words sometimes familiar to each being terrorized but through a mash of voices...

"You did it."

"You murdered him!"

"You killed Keith!"

"Monster!"

"Killer!"

"Liar!"

"Will you go after us next?"

By the time the whispers fade each morning, they leave behind a residue of doubt and fear, corrosive and inescapable. The false suggestive thoughts have led the teens to shown signs of confusion, disorientation, anxiety, heightened stress, and growing signs of distrustfulness towards one another.

During these troubling days, a paranoid hysteria has spread. Austin, Lynne and Maddie are each having slight migraines. Henry has been having digestive issues. Sam has been the one having the worst sleeping issues, developing insomnia, afraid of going to sleep.

On the eighteenth overall day, Henry stumbles to the laptop, his body trembling with exhaustion. His normally composed demeanor is shattered, his eyes sunken and bloodshot. He types with unsteady fingers, each keystroke a desperate plea:

Subject: Crazy House!

Hey Spock, things are getting bad. These past few days have sucked. Man, I don't know why, but my roommates are pushing me to hurt myself because I killed Keith. Not the audience. It's the very same people I'm around, who want me to hurt myself. I can't do that. I'M NO KILLER!! NOT ME!!! Help me! I haven't talked to them going into four days. I pray on any hope of optimism. I don't know how much I can take this. Please, the outsiders need to do something quick. PLEASE!!! Hoping this isn't for the last time.

-Data out

As the message sends, Henry presses his hands hard on his temples, massaging away the dull ache that has settled behind his eyes. But the whispers start again, faint at first, then louder, overlapping in a maddening cacophony. He clenches his fists, trying to drown them out.

He rushes to the bathroom, where Sam is already standing at the mirror, her reflection grim. Dark circles mar her pale complexion, and her damp hair clings to her forehead. She splashes cold water on her face, whispering to herself to snap out of it.

Henry barges in, his hand flying to his mouth as he leans over the toilet and vomits violently. Sam spins around, her expression contorting in disgust. "Seriously? Right in front of me? That's disgusting, Henry."

Her voice cuts through the fog in his mind, and for the first time in days, he registers someone speaking directly to him. His paranoia flares. He straightens up, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand.

"What did you just say to me?"

Sam crosses her arms, her tone sharp. "I said it's disgusting."

Henry's voice rises, accusing. "You're trying to make me hurt myself, aren't you? Admit it! You want me to think I'm the killer. I'm not falling for it, Sam."

Sam's eyes narrow, her patience fraying. "What are you talking about? I'm not saying that-you're the one trying to pin this on me."

The tension between them snaps taut as they glare at each other. Neither notices Austin and Lynne emerging from their rooms, their expressions just as strained. The whispers have taken root in all of them, festering like a disease.

Austin's voice breaks the standstill. "What's going on out here?"

Henry spins to face him, his paranoia spilling over. "Oh, now you're here to back her up? Figures. You've all been against me since day one."

Austin's brows furrow, his temper rising. "Back her up? I've been hearing you all accusing me! Don't think I've forgotten that."

Lynne, rubbing her temples, steps forward hesitantly. "Can we just stop? This is exactly what they want... whoever's doing this."

Sam's laugh is sharp, humorless. "Whoever's doing this? You mean one of us. Isn't that what you've all been whispering in my ear?"

Their voices rise in a chaotic tangle of accusations and defenses until a piercing scream cuts through the noise.

"Ahhhh!!"

All four teens freeze, their heads snapping toward Maddie's room. Without thinking, they rush to her door and fling it open.

Maddie sits on the floor, her back against the bed. Her left arm is wrapped in her right hand, blood seeping through her fingers. Some type of sharp object, tipped with her blood, lays a couple of yards away from her. She looks up at them with wild, tear-filled eyes.

"Stay back! Don't come any closer!"

Sam is the first to recover, her voice shaking. "What happened? Did someone...?" She trails off, her gaze darting between the others.

Maddie shakes her head frantically. "No one did this. I... I did it. Because of you. Because you're all pushing me to... to..." Her words dissolve into sobs.

Lynne runs to the kitchen, returning moments later with a towel. She tosses it toward Maddie, keeping her distance to avoid provoking her further. "Wrap this around your arm," she says gently.

Maddie hesitates, then grabs the towel, pressing it to the wound. Her hands shake as she ties it in place.

Henry's voice is hoarse. "This is getting out of hand. We need real help. Bandages, stitches... something."

Sam nods, already heading for the bathroom. She flings open the cabinets, searching desperately. Toothbrushes. Toothpaste. Soaps. Deodorants. But no gauze, no antiseptic, no medical supplies of any kind. Her heart sinks.

As the whispers creep back into her mind, louder and more insistent than before, Sam slams the cabinet door shut. For a moment, she just stands there, gripping the edge of the sink, staring at her reflection. Then, with trembling hands, she pushes away and steps back into the Central Room.

"There's nothing!" She hollers in a freaked out reaction. "No medicine. No bandages. Nothing."

Her words hang in the air, heavy with the realization that Mother and SEED has stripped them of even the most basic means of care. Maddie's sobs grow quieter, but her fear remains etched in her face, a reflection of the despair gripping all of them.

In their dispiriting time, the teens exchange glances, each one weighed down by the knowledge that their paranoia is no longer just a whisper in their minds. It's seeping into their reality, and there is no escape.