Will Graham
[ ATTACHMENT: A picture of a piano, agonizingly normal-looking. It's from building 84. The picture is clear. ]

[ ATTACHMENT: A picture of an empty living room, from building 89. Unremarkable and clear. ]

[ ATTACHMENT: A picture of an empty bathroom, from building 89. Also unremarkable and clear. ]

Does anybody see it? A fog or a haze in the picture. In any of these pictures. They were there yesterday, but something's changed, presumably to do with what they gave us. The drug, it must dull the senses somehow. Must affect our vision.

[ What he's writing doesn't exactly make sense, but he's so certain that he saw what he did that he doesn't consider the potential contradiction entirely. ]

It sounds bizarre, but I wouldn't trust my eyes in this place. Any of our senses, really.

Did anybody else take pictures of anything? Did anything... change for you? After this morning.
 
 
Clayton Epps
[text]

Someone's been in this house since I visited it yesterday.

[As seems to be routine for Clayton at this point, he provides evidence for this with some pictures. They're of the inside of house 83, specifically the dining room; there's one shot of a chair, lying in pieces on the floor; then another of the door frame leading into the kitchen, which is noticeably chipped and dented from abuse; then the last is a wide shot that puts the carnage in context. There is at least one large cat tower in the background of the dining room, for reasons that escape Clayton's understanding, but that's not his primary concern right now. To him, this looks like the scene of a fight.]

It's the house with all of the cat toys. Was anyone here recently? Are you okay?