The sound of the notepad falling onto the tiled floor was not particularly loud, but perhaps because the room was so profoundly silent, it still startled the others, causing them to turn their heads. What entered their sight was the utterly terrified demeanor of that researcher. Following his line of sight, the other individuals also looked over, their gazes ultimately coming to a halt upon the two-way tempered glass that was currently veiled by a faint, hazy layer of condensation.
On the surface of the glass, there were words.
Naturally, this was not the result of their group arbitrarily scribbling upon it, nor did it appear to be some optical illusion reflected from any piece of equipment. Those were the strokes of letters written by someone's fingertip, the lines quite firm and rounded, situated on the completely opposite side of the glass panel.
It was from the inside of the containment cell.
