Alstain.avi Today

I double-clicked.

At 0:17, the screen flickered. For one frame—just one—the chair was gone. In its place: a mirror. And in the mirror, you . Not you watching. You from three seconds in the future, mouth open, eyes knowing something you hadn’t learned yet. alstain.avi

At 0:07, the hand began to tap. One knuckle. Tap. Tap. Tap. Each tap left a dark smudge on the wood. The smudges didn’t fade. They spread. I double-clicked

The video had no audio—not silence, but the absence of sound, like a room after a gunshot. I double-clicked. At 0:17

I closed the player. The desktop was still black. But now, underneath alstain.avi , a new file had appeared: alstain_reply.avi . Same size. Same timestamp.