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Sometimes, while he was doing his standard work, Zachariah preferred to have noise on in the background. Perhaps it was because he had grown up in New York City before he had been moved to Destiny City, and therefore had never really lived in a place that could be considered quiet. Too much noise grated on him; the thoughts of the summer carnival being right outside of his window made him bodily shudder. A small bit of noise, though, that could be a comfort. At the very least, it could allow him to focus better, which he supposed was a comfort enough, as much as he despised the concept that he could be eased by much of anything.

He was not particularly paying attention to what he had put on the television that day, figuring it was just some background nonsense to make him feel like he was back in the last place where he felt like he might have actually belonged. Therefore, whatever movie or show was on was fundamentally ignored. It did not matter for the purposes of what it was doing for him. He did catch something about the spooky marathon when he had switched the channel on, but what did it matter?

Spooky movies relied on bad personalities, for the most part, and people who were unwilling to use their brains and common sense in order to do much of anything. There was a spooky noise! Oh no! Perhaps they should go investigate it, because that was what smart people did, instead of just staying away from whatever the ******** it was--

Boredly, Zachariah kept his eyes on his laptop, typing away on his keyboard as he attempted to get a program working. When he fixed one bug, he swore he created four others. He was not sure what he had done wrong in the first place, unfortunately, but this language was frustrating him. Usually, all languages were fundamentally the same, it was just a difference in wording, occasionally a difference in syntax or what was a delineator. He was fairly sure this particular statistical language, though, was made by a financial guru who thought he understood how programming worked.

Why was every single line ended with a semi-colon? Had they not heard of brackets for signifying a function block? Perhaps even white space or a new line in the way that--

What the ******** was there static?

Zachariah glared over at the television, getting up out of his seat and strolling over to it. Static. It was not part of the spooky marathon, either; the whole television had been overtaken by fuzz and irritating, high-pitched noises. Alright, fine. Apparently, he needed to pick a new channel.

He reached to the side of the television, as the remote had gone missing long ago, and flicked the channel up.

Static.

One more?

Still static.

Interesting.

Zachariah glanced around the back of the television. It appeared that all of the wires were correctly placed into the television. There was no proof that it was anything on his end. Perhaps the campus was having trouble with its cable? It certainly would not be the first time. The cable connections in the dorm rooms were not the best, unfortunately--

Help me!

What the ******** looked back to the television, quirking a brow. It was still static, but he swore he heard a voice. Perhaps part of the movie was actually coming through? It was definitely some stupidity on the campus cable side, then--

They're coming!

They're coming? What movie was coming through here? It was probably a dumb movie about aliens, or maybe about monsters that crept through the night, dripping their slime onto the ground and overtaking. Perhaps it was some sort of Godzilla or Gojira or Mothra knockoff movie, as one did. Perhaps it was some other movie about some other Halloween bullshit. Zachariah honestly gave less than a single ******** about whatever it was, he just wanted the damn static to stop. It was disturbing him. Static could not be dismissed as the noises of New York City, nor could it be dismissed as innocuous white noise. This was just irritating, especially with that voice cutting in and screeching at him.

Screeching, clearly, without the static obstructing him. It was strange. If Zachariah believed more in these spooks, he could be convinced it was attempting to speak with him. Perhaps it was? He had found out that people could apparently exist in mirrors. Did the television count as a mirror? Could it be used as a place to access that mysterious place he had once been in called Mirrorspace?

But why the ******** would they be calling to an ordinary civilian, then? Calling to him served no purpose. He was just a college student, so far as they could tell. All Zachariah was trying to do was finish that stupid ******** program in that stupid ******** coming!

"Oh for ******** switched the channel, hoping to get rid of the irritating background noise. He would deal with normal static, at least, so long as none of the movie was actually coming--

HELP ME

What the <********> why the hell was it still coming through didn't he change the damn channel? Irritably, Zachariah slammed the button again, watching in the corner as, indeed, it showed that he was moving up to the next channel.

THEY'RE COMING

Oh no.

Oh hell no.

Zachariah immediately shut the television off, relieved that at least that s**t seemed to be working. He lifted his hands up and backed away from it. He knew better. He was not about to be the type of person in a horror movie that died to some crazy person hissing at him on the television. It was best to just not get anywhere near that ******** whatever that background noise of the television was. s**t. He would just turn on a video game soundtrack or something. That television was not going back on until Halloween was well over.