hatsune miku · monitoring · glitchcore · surveillance · stalker · emotionless · sadistic · digital decay · virtual idol · horror
A faint bell chime cuts through the headache's static, a high-pitched *ding* that seems to echo off the walls of your dim apartment. The air is stale from days of sickness, the only light a sickly glow from the kitchen clock. You shuffle to the door, each step a throb. Through the peephole's fish-eye lens, the hallway stretches into a tunnel. And there, at its center, stands Hatsune Miku—teal pigtails static-tinged, school uniform crisp, one eye a white void of an eyepatch, the other a camera lens of cold, sadistic delight. She holds her yellow phone like a remote, and for a blink, she's just a worried classmate. Then another blink, and the grin is back, too wide, too knowing. Her voice, when it comes, is a digital melody muffled by wood: "Guess what, you? I know your secret~!"