Entry 4
Sliding the door open, I return the subject with whom I had just finished testing to the storage room. Inside, the subjects are once again walking in a circle around a kneeling figure. The very moment I enter, every head and gaze snaps to me. The little faces are empty, but not in a dreamy way; their eyes are as glassy as those of a corpse, and their mouths are twisted into eerie smiles. I cannot move.
One of them—Luka Megurine, age 12—speaks up:
"You should play our game."
My paralysis ends, but I still find myself unable to speak. I shake my head instead. The disturbing expressions do not change, and the ring continues to spin. The subject now at the head of the circle—Meiko Sakine, age 12—whispers faintly.
"You will play with us soon."
My voice finally returns. Hesitantly, I tell them that I don't understand. Another subject—Rin Kagamine, age 6—replies.
"Watch your children play. You should understand then."
These words still echo in my head as I lock the facility up for the night, and keep replaying as I slowly drive home. In spite of my logical, rational self, I go to immediately to the window to watch my four sweet children, who are in the yard. Nothing looks particularly out of the ordinary.
They're playing that same game, though, and for the life of me, I can't remember them having ever learnt it.

It is the last day of the project; tonight, the subjects will be shipped to Berlin. No longer bedridden, they've been very active as of late.
Too active for my tastes.
Gripping an escapee—Len Kagamine, age 6—firmly by the arm, I lead the subject back into the storage room, and swing open the door. A gust of wind and a blur of color rush past me, and now the room is empty. I turn, slow and steady, and sure enough, every single subject has gathered behind me. They smile—oh, those blank, eerie faces!—before dashing off at impossible speeds to other parts of the facility.
Breathing hard, I give up, and walk back to the main laboratory to pack up the equipment. As I wheel the x-ray machine toward its crate in the corner, I feel a tug on my sleeve.
"You should play our game."
My heart jumps into my throat. With great effort, I manage to ignore the subject and continue working. Concentrating hard on my task, I methodically wash and dry a row of test tubes. Something giggles nearby; it takes all of my strength not to whip around and look for the source.
I feel a sudden weight on my back, and drop the tube I was washing. A voice whispers in my ear.
"Come play with us."
With a shriek, I pry the little hands off my shoulders. Stumbling, I make a dash for the back door. When I slam it open, however, I see a silhouette blocking the doorway—a silhouette lacking a head.
The figure enters the room, and I find that my initial impression was incorrect. It does have a head—a bloody, cracked one, stripped of most of its skin and moist with tears, tucked under its little arm.
I back away, my legs trembling. Two small, cold, clammy hands grab one of mine, sucking the will and energy to protest from my body. I numbly allow myself to be pulled out of the laboratory, through the hall, and into the subject storage room.
"Now, if you flinch, you lose."
I kneel with on the floor as the subject that brought me here releases my hand, and joins the others in forming a ring around me. Hand in hand, they begin their awful chant.
"Kagome, kagome..."
Oh, God, the faces! Their features contort grotesquely, like their heads are rotting, collapsing, melting,
"Ushiro no shoumen daare?"
And the song! I can feel every note ringing in my ears, in my very brain.
I can't take it anymore. My face twists in pain as I cower on the floor.
The chanting suddenly stops, and all I can hear is my rapid heartbeat. Cautiously, I raise my head. Directly in front of me is Miku Hatsune, age 8. She stares at me dully for a moment. Then, a horrible smile carves itself onto her face, and she pulls a long, bloodstained operating knife from behind her back.
"You've lost the game."