#echo recordings

[The screen flickers to life and there is the freckled face of a young college student. Red hair trimmed short and eyebrows drawn together as he squints up at something off screen.]

How do you know---there’s the light!

[The young man sits back in his chair, now properly framed as he smiles shyly.]

Hello there. My name’s Timothy. I’m new to the program, and this is my first...video diary? No---it’s not a diary, but my instructor said we have to keep recordings of all of our work so we’d better get used to a camera and talking at nothing. So that’s why I’m doing this log!

[Though his nerves are evident the guy is enthusiastic in his explanation.]

It’s finally happening though! I made it to college and I’m going to finally get the training I need. I’ll do well, I know I will, and I’ll make Mo---Kris  proud. She said I should do something easier than programming...she's probably just worried though, it’s not that she doesn’t believe in me. This isn’t something everyone can do, but I know my brain is wired for this. Figuratively. Not literally. I don’t think I could ever stomach some of those cybernetic surgeries.

[His expression turned down and his light complexion lost a bit more color.]

I’ll admit there are a lot of students with those implants. Th-the upperclassmen were trying to scare us at orientation and told us that they’ll install the cybernetics themselves early in the year. It’s the only way we would ever hope to afford it and make it in the field they said. But I wasn’t afraid! There are professors with all of their eyes and ears and no glowing parts, so being human isn’t going to stop me.

[His voice started to crack near the end of the impromptu self-motivational speech and he interrupted himself to clear his throat.]

Ah sorry, carried away. Not that it matters---who’s going to see these aside from me right? I’ve got to remember not to ramble for my professional recordings though. The...yeah, the ones I make for my projects. Don’t need to give everyone a reason to laugh at me.

[Laughing awkwardly himself, the man leaned back in his chair. There are a few moments of silence as he stares up at the ceiling. When he looks back to the camera he’s focused again.]

New people Timothy, new peers. This is a chance to reinvent yourself! Who knows, maybe I’ll be able to look back at this and shock myself at how uncool I used to be. Because starting today I’m changing my future. 

[He leaned forward in his chair again, starting to reach, but hesitating.]

Uh...how do you end these things. See you next time? No it has to be professional. Timothy Lawrence signing off? No that’s just lame. I’ll work on it.

The time stamp suggests that the recording isn't long. Tim is well into his scarring process, with the wound itself looking raw in the playback. He isn't looking at the camera today, instead staring off to the side with a balled fist pressed to his mouth. His undamaged eye is watery, the burned one covered this time by a patch.

The way his shoulders tremble it's obvious he's fighting tears. Something finally shakes him from the trance, and he starts the introduction for the recording. "I-I--this is uh, subject zero zero one, Jack Doppelgänger Alpha. Location, quarantine. Day...day--" The double's voice had started to climb in pitch as his whole body shook.

Before he could finish the introduction he was crying. Right there in front of the small camera he turned in his chair and pressed a hand over his eyes as he sobbed. "It hurts...I don't want to wake up anymore it hurts. Deeper they keep saying, deeper deeper, deeper!"

The image breaks, static, and Tim's crying is digitized for a moment before the picture settles again. "They still won't-won't tell me why. I've seen th-the new doubles and they're all holo disguises. So why me? Why scar me?"

He keeps crying, but after the initial outburst they're more controlled bursts of sobs and hiccups. High pitched whines when he fights back more tears, but when he can't hold it back he shudders and curls up further in his chair.

When his voice comes out of the speakers again it's hoarse and pinched when he fights back sobs. "I want to go home. I want--please, just let me go. I want to see Mom. Please."

Distortion on the screen again. The image almost seems to freeze up as it skews, but the doppelgänger's distorted pleas still come through.

"I miss he͢r ̀s̢o m̢uĮ'm͝ t̀i͟r̨e͟d of̀ b͡eing ̵t̡r̷apped̕.pped. s̶ó͢m͘͏̕e̡̧ò͏n̴̡e ̧p̸͜l̸e̷a͢͟s̢͞ȩp͘l̶ȩá̧s̴̢̧e-̕-"

The static and distortion finally gives way to a black screen. The time stamp in the corner is blinking, before the picture suddenly blinks back into place. Timothy is sitting there, eyes red and cheeks wet now, but it looks like he's had a chance to calm down. The timer is ticking by as if nothing had happened. "Sorry...sorry. It's been a long day. Night. Whatever it is." A hand was dragged through the bed mussed hair. No reason to straighten it apparently. "I need to get out of this room. It's getting to me again--I'll try tomorrow. Fuck..." A little bit of blood ran out from the scar where he'd agitated the burn, but it went ignored as he stared at something off camera. "Yeah...I'll go for a walk tomorrow..."

The entire screen is black save for two pairs of white dots. Spaced evenly apart and uninterrupted, unblinking. Perhaps some pixels were dead in the screen, but no amount of tweaking or even changing devices move the round spots. So the ECHO recording plays on, with the time stamp counting down every millisecond in the corner to assure the watch that the video is indeed playing.

The only noise that puts the speakers to work is the rhythmic beep…beep…beep of Timothy’s heart monitor in the background. Damn thing must be broken—the doppelgänger was the only one who could set these recordings up so someone had to have knocked the desk when they were moving him back into his room. Yet those spots are hypnotizing, unwavering, and entice your curiosity.

A few tense minutes of nothing changing, of setting a comfortable rhythm of watching the white spots and the heart monitor filling in the ambiance.

Then the beeps start to pick up pace. It’s a gradual increase, but it’s jarring enough to draw you out of the lull. You blink—did those dots move? No, still four unmoving white dots all in a line.

Distortion on the screen, just a flicker, and suddenly you notice the color is shifting on those dots. As the heart monitor’s beeping climbs at an alarming rate you notice the white turning to red. The distortion gets worse, those are getting brighter, you think you see a flash of a grin and—!

Flatline. You watch the screen and the two pairs of now bright red spots on the screen. They continue to stare right back…and then close, slowly. The sound cuts before there’s any indication of Timothy’s revival. The kid couldn’t die there, there were more recordings after, but the sound dissolves into static and the screen starts to glitch.

It had to be broken, corrupted…

Until there’s a high pitched shriek that echoes out from the the speakers and the image bursts into clarity. A message spelled out just for you.