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Taking another sip of coffee, you sit down in the worn leather [[chair]] and stare at your [[desk]]. The dark office is lit by the overbearing light pouring in from the hallway. It was a gift from your mother for landing your first career-job. An antique, 1980-something executive-style office chair. The leather a far cry from the maintained condition it was in when she first rolled it into the guestroom you used to call home. Cracked and broken, you’ve done your best to keep it around. The faux-wood armrests replaced with plastic while the chair itself has been further modified for durability and stability.
At every job since, you’ve found a way to have this chair at your desk. The most recent excuse was scoliosis.
[[BACK|Start]]
The desk was stained and barely visible under layers of technical manuals and various tools. An under desk keyboard tray peeked out from the shadows. You take another sip of coffee then set it down.
Dull, orange light fades to life and fills the room with a simulated morning glow. Around noon, the lights would be a vibrant blue and in the evening, they change to a pinkish-blue. Normally [[Rick]] works alone in the morning, then you arrive mid-afternoon and work late into the night.
You catch your head bobbing a few times, jerking yourself awake into an upright position. With a sigh you finally give up on being awake, resting your head in your hand until you [[drift off]].
A greasy, hairy, forty-something techie from Oklahoma. He moved to Texas when biotech forensics was still in its infancy. He’s one of the few people that remembers when reassembling implants or using braincases wasn’t standard procedure.
Mid-day when you’re in the same office, you can hear his heavy breaths and angry podcasts over any music you play. Thankfully he called in sick after spending last night reviewing endless dashcam footage.
[[BACK|desk]] Sinking back into the chair, you allow sleep paralysis to creep through you. Carrying you into REM sleep. The chair turns as your head slumps. An arm falls off the chair’s armrest.
[[“Hey!”]]
The shrill twang in Jones' voice startles you awake. The jump sends your dangling hand into the underside of your desk. You turn to face the door, rubbing your hand in pain.
[[“Ow, fuck! What is it?”]]
“You, uh, busy today? I know Rick is out sick.” Jones asks, leaning his wiry frame in the doorway with a forearm.
[[“Just a little. What is it?”|obj]]
[[“No, what’s up?”|obj]]
His eyes glance at Rick’s desk as he pushes himself off the door frame with a middle-aged sigh, clicked his tongue, then begins:
“Well, one of Harris’ officers was chasing a perp who decided to take a swan dive while jumping between two buildings and trying to evade capture.” He sits on the edge of Rick’s desk, then continues, “Thankfully, he had one of those memory implants. Now this perp was a lead in a developing case, so anything you find you report it to him or me. Actually, just compile everything once you’re done and send it our way.”
[[“Ok, but I’ve got another thing I need to do before I can hop on your task-”|obj2]]Jones raises his hand to interrupt, then speaks while letting it guide his words. “Hey, sorry about this, but this takes precedence. It’s urgent. We need you to get this done ASAP. Before you leave today. Put that other shit on the back burner.”
[[“Alright then. I’ll go pick the device up and start looking.”|pick up]]
[[“Don’t we need a warrant for that?”|warrant]]
Jones shook his head. “Don’t worry about it. Harris should come around soon with the box for you. Just get set up and ready for it.”
You turn back to your desk while Jones lifts himself off Rick's desk and steps out the office. He stops for a moment, leaning his head into the office.
“I can’t tell you much, just look for anything ok? Anything suspicious or criminal. We need a comprehensive report.”
[["Alright."|Act1 end]]Jones let out a deep sigh. “Jesus, of course we got a fuckin warrant. Do you really think we’d do this without one? Look, just sit tight and get ready for Harris when he comes by with the box. Ok?”
[[“So what specific things am I looking for?”|looking]]
“Well I can’t tell you much, but look for anything ok? We need a comprehensive report.” Jones remarked as he walked out the door.
[["Alright."|Act1 end]]You rub your eyes and, after another sip of coffee, feel as ready for the day as you can get before 11:45.
After a hard tug, the plastic panel mounted under the desk pops into motion. The track is still bent from when your [[mother]] passed a year ago, the click from its wheels a daily reminder.
The panel [[slides out]].
You were a contractor with the department for a year when it happened.
“Sally? Sally Hirshel?” You turned to see a uniformed officer in the doorway, his face bathed in blue light.
The officer spoke with a mournful tone and shifting body language, clearly uncomfortable with the news he had to share. You later found out he wasn’t even there when it happened.
“It’s your mom,” His shaky voice began, “Your mother was…she was in a head-on collision with a suspect. We had used a [[Striker]], so there wasn’t anything we could have done. I’m, uh, told it was instantaneous.”
You silently turned back to your desk. To your work. Kept your eyes and hands deep in whatever piece of technology on your desk. Processing his words.
“Look, I’m sorry.” He continued. Just standing there, awaiting a response. “If, uh, if it’s any consolation we caught the guy…” In hindsight he was probably nervously rambling, but in that moment he was the worst person on earth.
Your hands shake. A drop of water splashes against a servo. Fists slam against the slide-out panel.
“Did you even fucking stop to think before you used it? Or were you too busy trying to play the good guy? You helped kill someone today. You murdered a parent just to make an arrest. I hope you remember that.”
He nodded in agreement, sniffled, and quickly left the room.
[[BACK|Act1 end]]The mounted panel slides into view, a plastic slab with a built-in tablet dock. You pull the department-issued tablet out of your bag, log in, then connect it to the dock which activates the desk’s holographic monitor. It flashes to life as the tablet switches to act as a keyboard and touchpad.
The monitor’s desktop flies in from all directions, each icon finding its place. You glance through the [[weather and emails]] as you sit and wait for more information.
A vehicle mounted EMP pulse device.
The military found the devices vital in combat situations, so when the company that developed them announced a new model, law enforcement agencies were quick to purchase and mount them to anything they could. The manufacturer went on record saying the Striker was designed for military use only but was more than willing to sell it to whomever could afford it.
These ‘early adopters’ quickly discovered the device’s narrow area of effect wasn’t so narrow. Any car (or other electronic device) within its 600-meter radius was disabled. Most police departments immediately stopped using them. However, some departments and most highway patrol agencies thought the benefit outweighed the danger and kept them around. It only took one fleeing suspect shifting to neutral to show how dangerous it was.
[[BACK|mother]]Scrolling through the emails, you find nothing new. The weather is equally disappointing: partly cloudy and 62, with a high of 97 and a low of 59.
[[There's a knock on the office door.]]MemStim DevKit v1.87.05b
MODEL: GM15
SERIAL: VA903-2UHC-J5MV
OWNER: ☐☐☐☐☐☐☐☐MemStim rootkit v1.87.05b
MODEL: GM15
SERIAL: VA903-2HUC6-HMNA5-557F
OWNER: ☐☐☐☐☐☐☐☐☐☐☐☐☐☐☐☐☐☐☐☐
/home
/sdcard > recordings > list
/backups > password required
/history > empty
/sys > /dev > bug report; display password; enable guardian mode
/sys > /user > about device; link cloud service; change password<div class="glitch" data-text="Static fuzz. Corrupted files blend together in a mess of incoherent images datamoshed together in a raging ocean of color.">Static fuzz. Corrupted files blend together in a mess of incoherent images datamoshed together in a raging ocean of color.</div>
<<return "BACK">>Harris peeks his shaggy head through the door. “Hey, Sal. How’s it going? I’ve got a delivery for you.” You chuckle a bit as he steps in the room, raising the case like he was delivering a pizza. He tries to put on a show of things but moves in slow motion with a somber air.
[[“It’s going. Care to tell me what’s going on?”]]
[[“I’m fine. You okay?”]]
description here
scrub forwards -moves backwards maybe
dial in -expants the memory
scrub forwardsHarris sighs, setting the case on your desk along with some [[photos|pics2]].
“Honestly, I know as much as you do.”
You look up at him. “I was told it was a shooting. Do you know who was involved?”
“Ok, maybe I know a bit more than you do.” Harris begins, “No one’s telling me who yet, but the perp had some weird arm rig. Damn thing’s a hunting bow. He started firing arrows at the officer when they attempted to arrest them.”
[[“Wow.”|caseBegin]]
Harris grimaces and sets the case down along with some [[photos|pics1]].
“I’m ok. This shooting hasn’t made it to the press yet and everyone seems to be scrambling to get the facts before anything is announced. It just seems weird. It’s always weird. I’ll never get used to it.” He stares at the floor, trails off.
You sigh and return the grimace, [[“I see.”|caseBegin]]
“Yep. They say the guy could be a connection to a bigger case. Let me know if you find anything.”
[[“Alright.”|begin2]]And there it is. Despite handling around three of these, it never gets easier to think about. A steel case no bigger than a shoebox. You know what’s inside.
Whenever a body with biomechanical implants comes in, the medical examiner performs an autopsy and makes a report. The implants are then removed, hooked up, and sealed in an air-tight box, which is sent to cyber forensics. Occasionally the implant is handed over clean so experts can scrutinize it for any physical evidence. Usually though, someone in the department will plug the device into a suite of tools, use the backdoor, and spend the next few days staring at diagnostic data.
Or, in the case of the brain case you were given, indicative of a [[MemStim|MSexplain]] implant, plug in an [[Observer|obsExplain]] and determine if the person recorded anything of note.
A body covered by a tarp lay on a table another, smaller table next to it. A prosthetic arm splayed out across it, still connected to its owner.
The arm was a normal mechanized prosthetic until it exploded at the forearm into a mess of metallic panels, steel rods, wire, and pulleys. The hand was in a similar state, fingers misshapen and out of place. The arm has the appearance of a limb twisted into a new shape.
[[BACK|“I’m fine. You okay?”]]A body covered by a tarp lay on a table another, smaller table next to it. A prosthetic arm splayed out across it, still connected to its owner.
The arm was a normal mechanized prosthetic until it exploded at the forearm into a mess of metallic panels, steel rods, wire, and pulleys. The hand was in a similar state, fingers misshapen and out of place. The arm has the appearance of a limb twisted into a new shape.
[[BACK|“It’s going. Care to tell me what’s going on?”]]MemStim is the Kleenex of memory implants, devices used to augment or supplant the memory of its user. Initially used for dementia patients, has since been adopted for veterans with TBI.
[[BACK|begin2]]The Observer is a pair of devices: a modified VR headset for audiovisual along with tactile feedback, and a custom pad that allows users to navigate the backend and explore recordings.
Its use is a bit controversial, though proponents point to a case where it helped free an innocent person. Still, you always feel a little dirty [[hooking everything up]].
The box to the pad. The pad to the headset. The headset to everything else.
Making sure your coffee is out of the way, you slip on the headset.
Your fingers fumble with the pad, eventually finding the braille labels and resting in their starting positions. One hand near the navigation keys, the other on the dials.
You [[power]] everything on.The software boots and established a direct connection to the implant. After a moment, the implant’s software recognizes your authorization code, grating you access.
The implant boots into a system [[menu|mn1]].
/root
/[[internal|int1]]
/[[backups|bk1]]
/[[history|mn1]]
/[[system|sys1]]
<<run UIBar.unstow()>>/[[...|mn1]]
/[[recordings|rec1]]/[[...|mn1]]
<<if $password is true>>The software prompts you for a passcode. You type in the one you found in the settings, which pulls up a series of backed up files.
/0089
/0008
/0135
/0003
/1208
<<else>>The software prompts you for a passcode.
<</if>>/[[...|mn1]]
/[[user|us1]]
/[[dev|dv1]]/[[...|int1]]
/[[0001|MEM1]]
/[[0002|corrupted file]]
/<<linkappend "0003">> - MISSING FILE<</linkappend>>
/[[0005|MEM5]]
/[[0037|MEM7]]
/[[0111|corrupted file]]
/<<linkappend "0015">> - MISSING FILE<</linkappend>>
/[[0173|MEM23]]
/[[0216|MEM16]]
The toolkit only pulls up a partial list of files. It will probably take a few hours for it to load everything. You decide to work with what you have now
/<<return "...">>
The standard user settings are just information about the device, an option to link a third-party cloud service, and other typical settings./<<return "...">>
The Observer allows access to the developer settings, which are a little more interesting. Bug reports offer nothing of consequence while Guardian Mode has been disabled.
There are two other options:
/<<linkappend "display password">>
The password is displayed. You make a mental note of it.
<</linkappend>>
/<<linkappend "factory reset">>
A prompt displays, asking if you want to [[continue]].
<</linkappend>>"But how will I turn it on? How will I know it's even on?" They asked, trying to get a look at movement on the [[monitor]] teetering on the doctor's small desk. Their voice rang out with a hint of worry. The [[doctor]] looked at him with a smirk "It's already on."
"Wait, how long has it been on?"
The doctor replied, "I just turned it on. Technically the device itself has been on since the surgery, but I wanted to wait until your follow-up to activate recording and storage.
"So it's recording? Now? What was it doing before? Why do you have control over it?"
"Woah, slow down. [[Let's see]]..." The doctor leaned back in his chair and glanced at the monitor behind him. His eyes darted around the screen, checking readouts and time stamps, based on the reflection of his glasses.
[[BACK|rec1]]
<<set $password to false>>
<<set $huntMem to false>>
<<set $name to false>>
<<set $SO to false>>It goes against your better judgement, but you erase the entire implant. You know if you don’t, they’ll find someone else willing to do what they want, no questions asked.
You rip off the headset, gather your things, and walk out.
You can’t be a part of this anymore.
-THE END-It was an old, worn-out thin-panel display with a stuck-on privacy filter, so it only reflected the dingy beige room from where the person was sitting.
<<return "BACK">>The doctor was a burly man in his mid-60s. His age, along with his graying beard suggested wisdom. His eyes were stern, tired, and sympathetic; cognizant of what his patients go through. Possibly a vet himself.
A quick search revealed him as Dr. Lamar Johnson, 58.
<<return "BACK">>The remote was smaller than your average phone with a square screen and an array of blank buttons below it. The person pushed the power button atop the device and the screen and buttons lit up. A MemStim logo appeared before fading out. The screen prompted them to create a pin, then faded into a home screen with various menus.
<<return "BACK">>It was unsettlingly drab, probably not someone's permanent office. Even through the playback, you can feel the heavy, stale air and stressful mood.
<<return "BACK">>In bed...eyes nearly closed covered up to the neck in a dark room. The television an animated blur in the distance.
A person next to them. Too close to identify. Asleep. Their snoring a warm presence in their ear, matching the temperature of the orange glow of the light they left on. What's on the television is noisy and sporadic but doesn’t stir them. The other person is wrapped around their left arm. Wrapped around their torso. The pressure is calming, sedative effect.
You realize you've [[synced]] with the braincase.
The other person snorts and stirs. The eyes close. The kiss is a singularity. Everything fades out of focus. Ceases to exist. Ceases to matter. Only them.
You feel everything in a sudden jolt of emotion and thought. Its jarring. The sync.
You decide it's time for [[a break|break1]].
It's only happened a few times before. Some higher-end recall implants do their best to capture everything. Emotions, touch, thought. MemStim implants are typically colder, only focusing on what's seen and heard. More medical.
The technology is roughly the same, a patent-hog licenses it out to manufactures who then improve and modify the original design as needed. So even though MemStim brand units are locked down, glitches or jailbreaking can open it up to do anything the user wants.
<<return "BACK">>
You back out of the toolkit, letting the feedback system slowly disconnect, then slide off the headset. You hadn’t found anything yet, but there was still so much more to sift through. You walk out of the room to grab lunch, bumping into [[Harris]] on the way.“Turn dammit!” screamed the shaggy old [[old man]].
The person’s head tilted as they struggled to maintain control of the car across the intersection. “I know. I know, stop yelling dad.” They said in annoyance.
“I get that you’re relearning to drive, but- just stop ok?” The car jerked to a halt on the other side of the corner. “The hell did you learn to drive like that?” the old man demanded as him and the person crossed paths in front of the car while switching places.
The person sunk into the passenger seat and stared out the window, head in their hand. “It’s just going to take some getting used to. I need to keep at it.”
“Could you at least take a look at the couch when we get back?”
“We’ll see.”
The old man frowned. ”Son…you should see if the VA has a return policy on that [[arm]].”
[[BACK|rec1]]The file opened in dark blur, followed by flashes of color.
The person looked out the window at a [[child]] playing in the snow. Probably one of the last real winters recorded in the area from a few years ago. The wintery mix wasn't as powdery as pure snow, more like a brittle clay the child molded into a crude snowman.
The view turned back to the room. A messy apartment bedroom. Makeshift desk on the floor. A shape on the bed shifted and rolled over.
"Come back to bed, Hun." A broken, pixelated form called with a distorted voice. The memory faded out.
Either the fall damaged more than the housing, or someone wanted the bedridden shape wiped from their memory
[[BACK|rec1]]
<<set $SO to true>>A prosthetic hand brushed past their face as they drew the bow back. The string groaned under the weight as the bow swayed. The person adjusted their focus between the arrow and the target, struggling to align the two. The bow wobbled. The prosthetic hand made an alarming, mechanical ‘click’ as the string slipped from its grasp and slammed into the person's [[face]].
The person winces, nearly throwing the bow at their feet, instead setting it on a nearby rack. They look at their arrow, jutting out of the target wall near the floor.
The old man sets his arrow down and puts a hand on the person's shoulder. "Whoa son, can’t expect to be where you were right off the bat."
"Yeah...” They respond, popping their prosthetic’s fingers back into place, “just feels like this thing has been falling apart since I got home.”
“Give it time. You’re getting used to it, and if it’s falling apart get ‘em to fix it.”
The person snorts, “Yeah, that’ll take another six to eighteen months.”
[[BACK|rec1]]Maybe it was the lighting, but that didn't look like the arm from the photos.
<<return "BACK">>A facial scan oly returns a single photo pulled from an abandoned social media profile.
Samuel Alden Rowe, age unknown. Former plumber.
<<return "BACK">>The Observer's feedback system tells the nerves along your cheek to ignite in sharp, burning pain.
<<return "BACK">>The child was completely bundled up, no discernable features.
A glitched haze framed them and blended with the precipitation reflecting the afternoon sun.
“Hey Sal, how is it going with the evidence I gave you?”
“Slow, nothing so far. Just came to grab a snack before I got back to it. Hopefully any relevant points in time aren’t too corrupted for anything relevant to be found for…whatever this is.”
“Alright, alright.” His response is automatic, distracted. “That’s cool...Be sure to let me or Jones know if you find anything, yeah?”
[[“Sure Harris. I’ll send you an email.”|email1]]
[["What do you have me working on?"|going on]]
“No!” He said nervously. “Don’t...Don’t email. Just write up a report, but don’t send it. We don’t need a paper trail yet.”
You don’t have time to deal with his bullshit right now, you have [[lunch]] to eat.He puts his hands up in defensive reassurance, “I will tell you later, promise. Just don’t email or file it. It's important that you don’t make a trail just yet.”
You don’t have time to deal with his bullshit right now, you have [[lunch]] to eat.You devour your leftovers and head back to your desk and the [[braincase.]]
You slip on the headset and reactivate the [[toolkit.|rec2]]You load into the directory of recordings, a new assortment present.
/...
/[[0157|dream1]]
/[[0222|trade days]]
/[[0089|corrupted file]]
/[[0341|enc1]]
/<<linkappend "0341 - copy">> - MISSING FILE<</linkappend>>
/0746
/[[0816|MSedit]]
/[[0890|huntNew]]
/<<linkappend "0950">> - MISSING FILE<</linkappend>>
/[[975|making1]]
/[[1000|huntMEM]]
<<run UIBar.unstow()>>
<<if $huntMem is true>> [[Take a Break|brk2]] <</if>>He puts his hands up in defensive reassurance, “I will tell you later, promise. Just don’t email or file it. It's important that you don’t make a trail just yet.”
You don’t have time to deal with his bullshit right now, you have [[lunch]] to eat.The transition from store to outdoors was harsh and bright. <<if $name is true>>Corey<<else>>The person<</if>> walked down the parting lot, bags of groceries in their hand. They look around, trying to remember where they parked.
“Hey!” someone shouted over the cacophony of shopping carts and car horns. <<if $name is true>>Corey<<else>>The person<</if>> turns to see a [[short man]] in jeans and a loose camo shirt running towards him with a shopping cart full of bags. He pulls the cart behind <<if $name is true>>Corey<<else>>the person<</if>>’s car then storms over to them. “Hey, don’t you ever fucking dare cut me off in line again, ok?”
<<if $name is true>>Corey<<else>>The person<</if>> shook their head and took a deep breath, gesturing at the man's cart. “I got there like a minute before you did, and you had no business being in the speedy checkout line. You had, like, 30 items!” The man [[shook a finger]] at them.
[[BACK|rec2]]Water. Cold. Shallow. It gently crashes against their feet.
The sky is a bright, lifeless blue turning into water at the horizon.
Walking with a [[woman]]. Her pace begins to slow. They are ahead of her now.
There is a swing set in the distance. They run to reach it.
The further from her, the deeper into the water they fall. It’s neck deep
They turn back, trying to reach her.
But she's already fallen through.
That was strange...usually MemStim can’t record dreams.
[[BACK|rec2]]
“What is it again?” <<if $name is true>>Corey<<else>>The person<</if>> said with a smirk reflected in the mounted phone on the car’s dashboard. The road ahead of them was a barren mess of patchy asphalt, flanked by fields, empty buildings, and the occasional gas station.
“It’s...rare.” responded the [[woman|lili]] in the passenger seat, staring out the window.
“Yeah…but a rare what?”
She sighed and gave them an annoyed look, clearly tired of the jokes. “I don’t care if you think it's funny, we're going out there to get it. Don’t worry, you may find something out there yourself.”
“Ok, ok...” <<if $name is true>>Corey<<else>>The person<</if>> said, the jovial smirk fading from their face. “It's just I don’t want to see you waste your time and money on a hobby you don’t get anything out of.”
"Fulfillment. That's what I get out of it. Not everything needs to be monetized." She looked at <<if $name is true>>Corey<<else>>The person<</if>> with chuckle, "But this time I’m pretty sure I can find some weirdo who wants to buy an action figure that smells like decades-old soda."
<<if $name is true>>Corey<<else>>The person<</if>> glanced at her. "Ha! So you agree it's a weird toy."
The car [[continues]] down the empty stretch of road, skyline sinking in the rear-view mirror. They exchange small talk, but that eventually fades. Music takes its place.
[[BACK|rec2]]
The arrow comes to rest in the smoothed joint between thumb and the remaining sliver of palm. They clip the nock onto the taut string and gripped it firmly with their real hand, drawing the arrow back.
<<if $name is true>>Corey's<<else>>The person's<</if>> breathing began to slow. The deer was in their sight. The draw distance was shorter than expected, and they fought the urge to pull back farther or compensate for the perceived low weight of the shorter draw. It was in fact a greater weight than they were used to, but the pulleys made it seem weightless.
The deer takes a bite of grass, lifting its head to chew. The field was empty. Dead trees scattered about. Bushes and forest lined the perimeter. Nothing else Then it saw them. Their eyes locked.
It accepted its [[fate]].
[[BACK|rec2]]Another recollection. <<if $name is true>>Corey<<else>>The person<</if>>, as a child, they’re in the woods, holding a kid’s bow. Their father walking beside them, towering over the child. They’re holding hands. It’s early morning.
“Son,” he tells the child, “you know your momma loves you, right?” A bird calls out in the distance. ”She-she loves all of us.”
<<if $name is true>>Corey<<else>>The person<</if>> looks up. Their father looks solemn. “Yeah…” <<if $name is true>>Corey<<else>> the person<</if>> looks back at the ground, tall grass wet with dew.
“She’s…just having a hard time right now, ok? She still loves you…even if she doesn’t know it. Just know she loved you, ok?”
“I know, dad. Why couldn’t I go with Lili and Aunt Nicole to see her? Can we go see her tomorrow?”
Samuel freezes. You can feel him start to tremble through <<if $name is true>>Corey's<<else>>the person's<</if>> hand. He begins to speak but catches himself and regains some composure with a deep breath. Samuel’s voice is weak when he manages to find words.
“Naw, let’s-let’s focus on today Focus on this. We can go see her tomorrow, ok?”
[[BACK|rec2]]
<<set $huntMem to true>>A blurry mess of chunky pixels and messy audio. <<if $name is true>>Corey<<else>>The person<</if>> lays on a plush couch, next to them a [[person]] sits on the floor, typing away at an old, needlessly thick [[laptop]].
<<if $name is true>>Corey<<else>>The person<</if>> chuckled at the absurdity of it, but worried that it might be true. "You really believe other people look at the memories this thing records?"
"Oh, can and do. Governments, marketing companies, employers...information is valuable, no matter what it is or who it’s from" remarked the figure. Unease washed over <<if $name is true>>Corey<<else>> the person<</if>> at their response.
"And this stops that? You aren't at risk of making me head explode from voiding the warranty are you?" They started at the shadow of a fan spinning along the popcorn ceiling, trying to calm themselves.
"Yeah, it will keep your memories ‘yours.’ Keep the VA from snooping to try and deny you benefits, yadda yadda. And nothing in that thing would explode, if anything it'd melt. I’ll let you know, though…this ain’t gonna stop Observer."
<<if $name is true>>Corey<<else>>The person<</if>> shuddered at the thought of melted plastic coating their brain like a chocolate shell. "Melt? What do you mean it’ll melt? What’s Observer?" The figure looks up from the laptop and turns toward <<if $name is true>>Corey<<else>> the person<</if>>. You can make out a hint of beard. "You let them shove that shit in your head, but you don’t know about Observer? Ok, so…" He then launches into a detailed [[origin]] of the Observer toolkit.
[["Whoa."]]
[[BACK|rec2]]<div class="glitch" data-text="Their breathing is audible through a respirator as they wave a paint sprayer over the bare wood. With each pass, the empty vanity grows darker.">The mechanical squeal of the screw gun pushes a wood screw through a finished leg, implanting itself into the main body of the vanity.</div>
<div class="glitch" data-text="Their breathing is audible through a respirator as they wave a paint sprayer over the bare wood. With each pass, the empty vanity grows darker.">The mechanical squeal of the screw gun pushes a wood screw through a finished leg, implanting itself into the main body of the vanity.</div>
<div class="glitch" data-text="Their breathing is audible through a respirator as they wave a paint sprayer over the bare wood. With each pass, the empty vanity grows darker.">The mechanical squeal of the screw gun pushes a wood screw through a finished leg, implanting itself into the main body of the vanity.</div>
[[BACK|rec2]]Her face is too vague to identify. Too many partial matches
<<return "BACK">>You disconnect from the device. Your eyes hurt. You take some time to stretch and grab a candy bar from a vending machine in the break room. You have some questions.
You walk into Jones' office. He’s face-down in his computer, glancing up only to identify who walked into the room. “Yes?”
[["So Harris said to not make a record of this."|clarification1]]
[["Can I get some clarification here?"|clarification1]]
Their face was obscured, either by clothing or makeup meant to disrupt facial recognition.
<<return "BACK">>You can’t make anything out through the artifacting present. This must be a recording of a recollection, something MemStim isn’t typically capable of. The fidelity of these take a serious dip in quality as the MemStim isn't meant to be a full-fedged brain scanner.
<<return "BACK">>
The software was originally used for testing memory implants while they were in development and initial clinical trials. It was never meant for anything beyond those stages. However, a build of it leaked online where it was further refined by hackers until it was erased from most of the internet. The FBI adopted it for their own use and licensed it to law enforcement agencies.
These versions of the Observer allow users to search facial recognition databases and digitally enhance sections of a recording.
<<return "BACK">>"Yeah," the figure says, turning back to the screen, "don’t get tangled with the police. You’re pretty much a walking surveillance camera."
<<if $name is true>>Corey<<else>>The person<</if>> breathes out, trying to calm themselves. "So like, they could theoretically be watching us have this conversation?"
"Yup"
They chuckle. "Well, hey there police. First thing, I do not consent to having this Observer thing used on me as evidence."
The figure at the laptop called out. "Don’t work like that. Installation is consent. Unless you’re awake enough to opt out during your surgery."
<<if $name is true>>Corey's<<else>>The person's<</if>> eyes widened. "Hell I wish they told me that."
They raise a finger in <<if $name is true>>Corey's<<else>>the person's<</if>> direction. "That’s the point."
<<if $name is true>>Corey<<else>>The person<</if>> shakes their head and rolls their eyes. "Uh, anyway. Just to let you know, whatever the reason for you to be prying like this…I didn’t do it. I hope you’re having a good day as well. Not the assholes with a badge, but the technician currently watching my life play out like its VOD."
"You creepy!" Shouts the figure at the laptop.
[[BACK|rec2]]
Facial scans found a match through social media: Lilian Glory Rowe, 32. Samuel Rowe is her father, aged 57. Her mother, Alison Frida Rowe, died from Alzheimer’s complications at age 43.
Lilian has one sibling, named Corey. Corey was recently discharged from the army after a combat injury and uses they/them pronouns across most of their social media. They have a hobby restoring old furniture and, as of two months ago, were accepting commissions.
According to her social media, Lilian works as a receptionist and has a side gig selling antique toys, which she also collects as a hobby.
<<return "BACK">>
<<if $name is true>>Corey<<else>> the person<</if>>
<<set $name to true>>
An hour of driving later they pull into a full lot. A trade days. Shacks, stands, tables, and booths filled with assorted clutter. People were everywhere. Families meander about, occasionally chasing after their kids. Smoke fills the air from food stands cooking quick bites for anyone willing to pay for it.
The two siblings exit the car and begin wading through the crowd.
"Thanks again for driving. And sorry to hear about you and [[@$^$%; __=.]]"
“Of course! What was I going to do, have you take the bus?” They reply, ignoring her other comment.
A few [[objects]] seem to catch their eye as they follow their sister to a distant stall.
[[BACK|rec2]]A name replaced with static nonsense. You imagine it could be someone they didn’t want to keep record of for any number of reasons.
<<if $SO is true>>Or it could have something to do with that edited person from an earlier memory.<</if>>
<<return "BACK">>
A worn vanity missing one leg.
A desk with some missing or broken pieces.
Some shelving that could easily be converted into a desk.
<<return "BACK">>Fingers loosened on the string. The feedback software sent electrical shocks through a connected nervous system. Pain.
There was half a second delay from the arrow leaving the string to the moment it struck the deer through the head, sending it tumbling to the ground. The string snapped back into place as the extra string was recoiled into a spool just behind <<if $name is true>>Corey's<<else>>the person's<</if>> wrist, the mini cams locking into position.
<<if $name is true>>Corey<<else>>The person<</if>> was still recovering from the pain caused by the string. It was the sensation of having a bowstring slap your forearm but internalized and constant for two minutes.
"Damn son," Samuel exclaimed, "you knocked the poor thing off its feet!" Their father patted them on the [[back]].
[[BACK|rec2]]"Yeah, there's a little more kick than I expected I’m just glad it didn’t suffer." They began moving towards the animal.
"Those VA prosthetics are crazy nowadays. When I was younger, it was just plastic parts, nothing fancy. Knew an electrician that had to get a bionic hand. Definitely nothing as cool as yours.” He was rambling, <<if $name is true>>Corey<<else>>the person<</if>> wasn’t paying attention.
They were looking over the deer. The arrow was shiny from passing almost entirely through the animal's skull. Most of the shaft was jutting out of the exit wound pointing towards the tree line, an indicator of its upwards trajectory. Any accomplishment they felt in the moment eroded into remorse. Being in nature, being outside felt comforting. The meditative calm of the outdoors still had an allure. But the empty, mechanical act of taking an animal’s life for dinner now took on a reflective quality. Reflecting on how fleeting life is and taking one isn’t a frivolous act. Something to avoid.
“Son, you okay?”
“Yeah…just not sure I’m feeling this anymore.”
[[BACK|rec2]]The facial scan couldn’t positively ID the man. Their ball cap and sunglasses obscured most of their features. Too many partial matches.
<<return "BACK">>“Just…fuck you!” The man walked off to grab his cart. He turned back to <<if $name is true>>Corey<<else>>the person<</if>>. “Fuck you shithead, you nearly toppled my cart running into the line. Next time respect the law.”
<<if $name is true>>Corey<<else>>The person<</if>> cocked their head, confused. “The law?” They continued, holding their prosthetic up and pointing at it. “Bitch, I lost an arm for this country. You respect me AND that 10 items or less sign.”
The man violently lets go of his cart and gets in <<if $name is true>>Corey<<else>>the person<</if>>’s face, and says with a serious, quiet tone, “And you're gonna lose a lot more than that if you don’t respect me next time. 'bitch.’ Got that?”
It caught <<if $name is true>>Corey<<else>>The person<</if>> off guard and hit them with a wave of dread at the delivery. The man backs away then takes off after his cart, which had started rolling down the lot.
[[BACK|rec2]]Double-click this passage to edit it."Yeah that's fine...", he replied not paying attention.
[["So no trail?"|clar2]]
[["I'd like some clarification."|clar2]]Jones finally looks at you. "Sorry, was in the middle of something. Yeah, no. Harris doesn’t know what he’s talking about. Make a report, email it to me. I'm not sure what Harris meant by 'no trail' but make an actual report of your findings. I don’t need missing paperwork ruining a case."
You nod and start to leave the room, Jones holds up a hand.
"And Sal, keep Harris in the dark about what you find. Okay? Don't need him causing a mess."
[["Ok. Sure."|nxt]]
Back at your office, Harris is sitting in Rick’s chair, playing on his phone. He sees you and quickly puts it in his pocket as he stands up.
"Hey Sal."
[["What is it?"|epic]]
[["Whatever you want, I'm busy."|busy]]
"Not much, just seeing if you made any progress."
You sigh and give a half hearted reply, "It’s going."
He nods. "That's cool, any new evidence?"
[["I'll let you know when I'm done."|blow off]]
[["I just spoke to Jones who said to make a report, so what's the deal?"|question]]
Harris leans back and puts his hands up at his side. "Woah, easy. I'm just here to see how the search is going."
You sigh and give a half hearted reply, "It’s going."
He nods. "That's cool, any new evidence?"
[["I'll let you know when I'm done."|blow off]]
[["I just spoke to Jones who said to make a report, so what's the deal?"|question]]"Alright, good luck Sal!" Harris says with a thumbs-up. You walk around each other as Harris leaves and you make your way to your desk.
You restart the [[Observer|rec3]]His eyes widen.
"He what?! Shit, ok, I'm gonna level with you. This perp you're playing peeping tom with, he’s part of some internal investigation. I'm not sure who's all involved, but you can’t make a report. They'll just pick it apart, delete it, and fabricate a new one."
[["What the hell are you talking about?"|reveal1]]
/...
/[[1546|dream3]]
/[[1599|sisTalk]]
/[[1689|corrupted file]]
/[[2068|making2]]
/<<linkappend "2810">> - MISSING FILE<</linkappend>>
/<<linkappend "2845">> - MISSING FILE<</linkappend>>
/<<linkappend "2950">> - MISSING FILE<</linkappend>>
/[[3075|pirate]]
/<<linkappend "3115">> - MISSING FILE<</linkappend>>
/[[5167|encounter]]
/[[5168|corrupted file]]
/[[5169|corrupted file]]
/[[5170|corrupted file]]
<<run UIBar.unstow()>>"Dammit sally, listen! There’s some bad eggs here, but that doesn’t spoil the bunch. I don't want the wrong people getting hurt."
You raise a finger. "I think you mean-"
"Look! It doesn’t matter what I meant, just...just don’t file the report before I see it. Please. I don’t want this to reflect poorly on the whole department. I'm going to try to find out what I can."
"Ok..." You [[begin.|rev2]]
"I don't know what you guys have me on, but whatever. Look. Yeah you're above me, but Jones is above us both. You don’t get to dictate how I do my job."
Harris pursed his lips. After a moment, he nodded in agreement. "Ok, fine. Just let me know."
You walk around each other as Harris leaves and you make your way to your desk.
You restart the [[Observer|rec3]]Cold, empty waiting area. An arena of benches, counters, and banks of fuzzy CRT screens. Brick and concrete. The screens flicker with names that echo across the lobby, shouted out by unseen nurses. A bullet rips through a bench, sounds from a warzone fade into focus.
The person runs for cover, but the bullets persist. They explode through a door and find themselves in an operating room. [[They are also on the operating table]].
Someone in full surgical gear approaches them. The surgeon screams at them to volunteer for research. Urging them to sign so they can start surgery. So they can get any treatment.
The person knocks the clipboard from their hand and rushes out the door. The lobby is now full of people.
Their name appears on the screen: Corey Ellis Rowe.
This must be another dream.
[[BACK|rec3]]The phone rang for a few minutes before it connected. Corey lay on a couch in what looked like some’s living room.
Lili’s voice was on the other end of the line. “Hey Corey.”
“Hey sis...so you doing ok?”
“Yeah, why? what do you want?”
Corey snorted, “Well fuck. ok, sorry I asked.”
Lili sighed on the other end. “No, I mean what's [[going on?]]”
[[BACK|rec3]]<div class="glitch" data-text="The chop saw echoes through the backyard. ">The mechanical squeal of the screw gun pushes a wood screw through a piece of lumber.</div>
[[BACK|rec3]]"Whoa." A figure uttered, scrolling through files on a computer.
"I told you it was going to be worth it."
"Yeah, but. I didnt think you could get away with it."
"I mean, have you seen the price for the boxed set lately?"
"What about-"
"Special features? They're all there. And fan edits for some of the movies, mostly cleaning up te pacing and continuity."
[[BACK|rec3]]Corey hits the lock button on the key fob and continues walking down the concrete parking garage.
A few minutes later a cop car slowly pulls behind them and flashes their lights. Corey shakes their head and stops. A short, bald cop steps out with a hand on their gun.
“Hey man, lose your car?”
Corey stayed calm. “No. I just parked a bit ago. Headed to lunch.”
The cop smirked. “uh-huh. What you doing with that arm, champ?”
[[“What?”]]
The person’s face has too many partial matches to be useful.
<<return "BACK">>There was a surge of nervousness as they heard the question. “Well, you know how I managed to get a bit of an upgrade? My arm?”
“Yeah, dad was raving about it, said you helped him make seven hundred bucks a few weeks ago.”
Ugh, he knows he can't be selling that meat.
“I know, I know. So... your arm?”
[[“I can't afford it.”]]
[[BACK|rec3]]“W-what about the hospital? Don't they cover that kind of thing?” Lili asked, audibly upset.
Corey laughed. “They, uh, they said they'd only cover the original one. That this new limb isn't a necessity.”
“Wow, that's fucked up, especially since the one they gave you was some secondhand junk.”
“Yeah,” Corey responded, “I'm pretty sure it was legitimately used.”
“So... how much do you need?”
[[“Three hundred...”]]
[[BACK|rec3]]There was a pause. “Wow, ok. Um. Aaron & I can lend you some to help with it, nothing near that much, but it's something.”
A bit of joy fluttered up from Corey’s nervous stomach. “Thanks. If you know anyone that needs furniture, repairs, or whatever just send them my way.”
“Will they take it back?”
“I don't think so, I worked out a payment plan with them, I just need to keep up with it. I'm staying with dad in the meantime, try to save some money. I’m not showing signs of TBI, so VA lowered my percentage. Fucking anything to wash their hands of me I guess.”
Corey breathed deep. “Sorry, not trying to drop everything on you. I know you got your own to worry about”
“It's ok, sometimes you need to vent.”
[[BACK|rec3]]
The cop grumbles. “Look, we can drop the act, there’s been some break-ins lately, at this garage, and you look like you could do some damage with the military-grade arm you got.”
“Look, I just got here- “
“Lemme see some id.”
“Why did you stop me?”
The cop begins walking over. “I already told you. ID.”
Corey shakes their head. “No, you said you- “
“ID.”
Corey hands them their [[ID]].
The cop backs away, keeping one hand free while he looks at the id. “You're a long way from home.”
“It's not a crime to be in the city, or public property.” Corey responds, trying not to sound aggressive.
The cop grimaces. “I see...well, sir, I'm gonna fine you for trespassing this time.”
Corey puts their arms out and shrugs. “Trespassing? Seriously? Are you even a real cop? Where’s your partner at?”
The cops hand tenses over his hip “What do you mean by that? “His posture morphs into an aggressive stance.
Corey, shocked at the sudden mood shift, glances at the nearest cover. The closest exit. Flight or fight begins to creep through their system. They look back at the cop. They put their hands up.
“I... I mean exactly what I asked. I thought cops traveled in pairs.”
“Look kid, you've got at least two cameras on your ass. I don’t know what you think you're going to pull, but I wouldn't try it.” A hand is on his gun.
Corey’s head cocks to the side. "I’m not trying anything. Wait, do I [[know]] you?
The cop laughs, trying to act tough. “Yeah, I'm your worst nightmare. Now don’t move.”
“No, seriously. Have we met?”
“Shut up! The cop screams, “Don’t you fucking move. I'm going to run your ID. Don’t even dare.”
The cop’s tone triggers a memory. “Oh yeah! The supermarket. You threatened me. You said you were going to kill me, let’s get that on the record.”
The cop popped his head out the open door. “Shut the fuck up [[chromey]]! Don’t try to lie your way out of this shit.”Corey laughs at the absurdity of this situation. The weird, moronic attempt at an insult.
The officer sits down in his car, radios in for something, then inserts the ID into his computer. He taps his hand on the dashboard and readjusts his rear-view mirror. A sneer twists onto his face as he scratches his chest and steps out of his car. Stomping towards the person.
“Ok, get out of here. Don’t come back.” He barks, handing the ID back.
Corey takes their ID, stress building but the adrenaline starts to fade. “Thanks. What's your badge number by the way?”
The cop quickly spins around and walks back to his car. “None of your damn business.”
Corey snorts then turns to walk away. “Wow, ok. You have a day then too.”
[[POP]]
[[BACK|early out]]The bullet ricochets off Corey’s prosthetic and into the nearby concrete pillar. The force spun them around in time to see the cop bring their gun up to properly aim a second shot. Corey quickly regains their footing and runs behind the large pillar.
[[POP|pop2]]
[[BACK|early out]]The round pierces the pillar as Corey sprints for the stairwell door.
[[POP|pop3]]
[[BACK|early out]]The bullet rips through their leg, throwing them off balance. They stagger right.
POP
The bullet shatters their shoulder blade and you feel the sharp, burning pain tearing at your back. This fourth shot spins their tumbling body around and bends them around the concrete barrier. Over it. The last thing you see is a clear sky at noon. Buildings reaching up to grab it.
You [[yank]] the headset off before the impact. You don’t want to know that feeling.[[Look it up]]
[[Ask Jones]]
[[Ask Harris]]A quick search reveals Clyde Howard Purcell, 41, a recent transfer from Fairview. You decide to [[ask Harris|Ask Harris]] about it.You stop by Jones's desk, but hes out. Your next stop is to [[ask Harris|Ask Harris]].You find him at his desk. Staring at his phone. He doesn't bother turning the [[screen]] off when you walk up.
"hey, Harris, so I've got a uniformed officer I'm trying to find"
"Hes not here today." replies Harris with a somber tone.
[["Oh?"]]It's a text chat with someone, but you can't make it out. You can't read upside down text.
<<return "BACK">>He puts his hand over his mouth. “Yeah. I guess you found that footage, right? Tell me. Just be honest: did he do it? He was being attacked, right?”
[[“You'll see it in the report.”|report1]]
[[“Why don't you look at the dash footage.”|footage]]
His head sinks lower into his hand, which now rests on his forehead.
“Alright. Alright. I can wait...just. He’s such a good guy, ya know? He just can’t...he’s not capable of this.”
[[“You'll see the report, don’t worry.”|report2]]
”Yeah, that's why we brought the braincase to you. His dashcam was looking in a different direction.. Not even sure he realized it. It was too noisy to hear anything as well.” He raises a finger. “And before you ask, the body cam was a blurry mess with the same audio issues. I really wish we'd get some new equipment.”
“Weird.”
“What's weird, Sal?”
[[“You'll see it in the report, don’t worry.”|report2]]
“Thanks, Sal.”
Back at your desk. Door closed. Your nerves are still surging from the experience. You decide to call rick, but it goes straight to voicemail. Fucking rick.
It's time. You compose a new email, some generic subject line. Add Jones as the recipient, CC Harris, then BCC your personal, private email account. The one you use for things like this. Your whistleblower email.
You begin your [[report:|reportBegin]]Was there any evidence of illegal activity?
[[Yes|y1]]
[[No|n1]]Was there footage of them committing this activity?
[[Yes|y2]]
[[No|y2]]Was there footage of them committing this activity?
[[N/A|n2]]Were any of these crimes felonies?
[[Yes|y3]]
[[No|n3]]Were any of these crimes felonies?
[[N/A|n3]]Which party is at fault for the incident, in your opinion?
[[The police department|n4]]
[[The Suspect|y4]]
Which party is at fault for the incident, in your opinion?
[[The police department|n4]]
You make an honest report. The officer was in the wrong throughout the situation, and the previous encounter with the victim makes it look like retaliation.
You add these comments to the end of your report and [[send]] it.You know they will doctor it anyway, so you fill it out the way they were probably hoping for. It will keep you off the radar long enough to get out of the city.
You add a comment about Officer Purcell ultimately being the one who escalated the situation.
You [[send]] the report.
Today is the day.
You can finally hand it all over. It's the clearest evidence you've found. It may not bring a department down, but everything should lead to a few investigations.
You'll have to move, leave tonight. You've essentially transferred everything over to your own MemStim unit, but you back up the actual files to an encrypted drive. you email the report and make a printed copy for their records.
You can call in sick tomorrow, then request vacation for next week. Say you got a new contract. Something. Anything.
You can’t stay here.
-The End-You rip off the headset without shutting the program down, the feedback sensor abruptly disconnects sending a jolt through your body with a sudden rush of pain and adrenaline. The audio change punches your eardrums.
You know that officer looks familiar. You remember seeing the [[badge number]] on the recording.The feedback sensor abruptly disconnects sending a jolt through your body with a sudden rush of pain and adrenaline. The audio change punches your eardrums.
You know that officer looks familiar. You remember seeing the [[badge number]] on the recording."Yes, it is currently recording." The doctor took a shallow breath before continuing. "Before it was just in standby mode. And I currently have control so I can show you how everything works. Then only you will have control."
The person shrugged and tossed their hands up, gesturing the open fingers towards the doctor. "Why not just send me home with the manual?"
"Yeah," the doctor began with smacked lips, "when these first came through, that's what exactly we did. But most folks didn't even look at the cover. Now we make this walk-through the first memory it records."
He grabbed a thin, rectangular [[remote]] and handed it to the person. The person looked it over as the doctor [[continued]].
[[BACK|rec1]]"This hub device allows you to back up memories, for freeing-up space on the device, connect to your preferred cloud service, we recommend sticking with the secure default, and it has a journaling feature so you can collect your thoughts and have them in a centralized location for reference."
The person quickly glanced around the [[room]] then finally settled their gaze on the floor, fear in their voice. "And this'll help, if things take a turn?"
The doctor's shadow shifts, they lean in sympathetically. Their voice is serious yet positive, "It should. We've seen positive things from our other vets with [[TBI]]. It's the best thing that's happened to some of them."
[[BACK|rec1]]"Huh...ok." The person continues, "So what if I'm clear and don't need it. What happens then?"
"Well...you uh now have a photographic memory. Well, except for anything you've experienced before today." The doctor says with a chuckle.
"Does it record recollections?
"It shouldn't. Though I've heard of weird glitches during playback where it can potentially capture things like that. But that depends on how your brain works."
The person's head cocked to the side, "What do you mean by that?"
"It depends on how you think or imagine things. Meaning do you have an inner monologue? Do you think visually or in text? How vivid are your dreams? Those kinds of things."
[[BACK|rec1]]