Speaker 1: Hullo. I'm welcomed stories all the time. Glad you are here.
Let's get into it. A slick of condensation ran down
the glass doors, catching the blue buzz from the sign above,
sittelene athletic letters blinking one letter for ever on the
verge of dying. The lights in the lobby bled out
into the street, pale and clammy, cutting riced hand heel
shapes in the dock. It was late, later than I
wanted to be AnyWho but my own bed out here
on a Tuesday night for a story no one else wanted.
Mila was already pacing inside jim bag, thumping off a
thigh with each lap, past the juice ridge. She saw
me through the glass and beckoned fast relief, breaking her
word lopsided face inside. The silence was wrong. The usual
synthpop led up from sealing mounted speakers, but softer, as
though under water. The welcome desk was empty. Even the
complimentary tal stan looked abandoned. Some one had knocked to
stack on to the floor and not bothered to pick
it up. He got here quick, Mila said, Foys pitched
high and twisted the cord of her headphones around her finger.
Kid's handwriting inked on her jim bags tag mil a vee.
She led me deeper, squash court, echoes bouncing and a
vented ceilings. The stink of sanitizer and lemon wiped normally
bracing hung heavy. Here is anyone else here? I asked,
clutching my recorder in my pocket but not turning it on.
I'd learned people climbed up around electronics, and Mila already
looked ready to sprint for the emergency acrep. Officially, No, Raj,
let me in. He's cool, she said, nodding toward the
glass and staff office shadows moved behind a crack blind.
Let's go to the women's locker room. It's safer there,
or I feel safe. For God, this sounds crazy. We
push past rows of treatmills, red zeeros flickering on their displays.
In the locker hole, only a maintenance cart and a
yellow wet floor warning sign kept as company. She stopped
at a navy locker, two hundred thirty six gold numbers
scared by keys and stickers. Mila glanced both ways and
then pulled folded white envelope from between two protein shake
of bottles in the middle shelf. She handed it over.
I found this last week Jamie's handwriting. I would swear
she always wrote hurries like that. See scald on cheap
copy paper. Chris put creased. You almost understand, don't you?
That was it? No signature, But with the Jays and
M's culling up like she've written Jamie and erased it.
Did you talk about what understand? I mott. My own
voice sounded too loud in the closed air. I didn't.
I mean, I talked to Jamie, but I didn't. But
it's like I keep having these conversations with her, but
only the same snivets. Like she'll ask, how was your weekend?
And before I answer, she's moved to a different topic,
then circles back eyes later, but says exactly the same.
The other trainers don't notice, or they act like it's fine.
Then last Thursday, Jamie's just gone, no warning, no goodbye,
Rag said she quit, but everyone started making stuff up.
She got a job at the Rick Center, or went
back to school, or got married. No one can agree.
She flopped onto the bench, gripping her knees. I know
it's stupid. I know I sound paranoid, but you get
it right, when thing's just repeat. Lifting the note I
tried to sound usual and in the days before she
disappeared to anything else, creepiness, arguments, threats. I wished, it's
not like a crime show, it's just normal. Button murreed,
pic a treadmill you always use, And suddenly someone else
is there forgetting why you came back, half for getting water.
The ceiling lights flickered. I saw my own backy face
in the mirror, hair tied up from habit, underdressed, and
already sweating through my jacket. Somewhere across the building, a
weight dropped and me the jerk opright. I brought you
because nobody else would write it up, She whispered, for
a suddenly metallic. I don't want to be here alone
any more. I took the envelope in my notebook and stood.
We both paused, half expecting someone to enter, fill the space,
break the spell. But it was just two of us,
the anonymous echo of far away music and Jamie everywhere
except in person. Outside traffic murmured on the avenue, but
inside time skipped, paused, and now let mel A Lee.
I started writing about strange local mysteries for two reasons
boredom and a tendency to ask the wrong questions in
the wrong places. I lived alone above a thrift store
in a studio more narrow than wide. My laptop was
ten years old and made a noise like a dying
bed whenever I exported audio, but it kept the rent
barely covered. Local podcasts and blogs paid an exposure, or,
if you were lucky, a twenty two dollars paper transferre
claimed as a gift. Most nights I swore I was done. Now,
this isn't what I came to the city to do.
No nobody listens except Mila and the guy who emails
corrections about crosswork signals. But each time something would cross
my inbox, I swung back to it. I have been
legend about the subway catcombs, a woman who found her
own obituary in the morning paper. Now, Mila. I used
to love city jims, the microcosm, all those bodies and
goals and routines sticking along in parallel. I'd start slow,
sit on and operate back by the window ear Frounsen
with nothing playing, just to absorb the rhythm. After the
first week, everyone smiled at you, even if you still
couldn't get your niece to stop popping. I signed up
because Jamie had to face that made everyone less self conscious.
The care in a frizzy bun muscle tank with paint stains.
Grin like. She knew how every day would turn out,
but didn't feel the need to spoil it. She ran
a Monday morning boot camp. First sweaty racked a crew Miela,
the couple who pre coordinated their sock stripes. Mister Alvarro,
retired cop slow breastrock in the pool, never missed birthday,
and Sam at the front desk. Yoga mats and towels
are mold in sequence. The same player is slooping every
twelve days, and the whole way outside smelling always of
dryer sheets and someone's cuffed ropes. My usual routine dashing
at six thirty five, swipe my bat at yellow membership
card with high to Jamie and Miller claimed the ellipical
beneath the crack window let out tension in forty minute chunks.
Watched the couple giggle when one missed a step. Jamie
would circulate with her easy voice, going too hard to
day save some for next week. He gave high fives
to anyone who wanted her eyes never missed you in
the mirror. It was easy, always predictable. Some regulars never
said a word, but jobbed in time with the treadmill row,
stepping off together for water, or checking the wall clock
at seven fifty sharp. The only off moments, if I
really thought back, were people freezing halfway through usat blank stare,
like their mind rebooted, then picking up right where they
left off. It felt like city fatigu cocafeine hangover. Once
in a while some one would say, didn't I just
do the circuit and laugh, shaking it off. Among regulars
there was a kind of unspoken trust. Share tips about
knee braces, seeker coats in the stretching airb lu mats, free,
the mutual sound proof cocoon of headphones, Sam at the desk,
crack jokes about prouteine powder flavor so bad that to
dare not a snack, and Jamie at a ritual of
calling out last call for the showers, always at the
same time, every day. Now with Jamie Gaun, the bright
surface of the jim felt like a mask watching me
a fidget with a loose red on her leggings, replaying
her story, I noticed myself slipping into her worry, feeling
that loose, snacking scents, like thread pulled in the wrong direction.
It was after ten p m. By the time I
left me in the locker room. Her face folded up small,
asking me again, promise you won't just tell me its stress,
And I gave her the only promise I could. I'd
ride it up, but I'd also look, really look. Maybe,
I told myself there was nothing to find. But back home,
sprawled on my stiff mattress, in the blue glow of
my screen, I circle the words and the note again.
You almost understand almost what was missing. Wednesday, I went
back to Cideine in the afternoon, pretending it was a
normal reporting visit. The difference at two thirty instead of
six thirty was dark daytime meant more alike, the place sharp,
cornered and clinical instead of soft and secretive. Still, I
drifted pass clusters at the hydration station, same brands of
water bottles lined up in a row, three with identical
stick is reading stronger every diy in different handwriting on
the mats. Three pairs of nearly identical jim shoes rested
beneath three different women. At the free weights trainer gave
the same motivational speech to two different clients, word for work,
pausing in the same spot to swig orin sports drink.
Pulling out the note again, I scanned the lines. You
almost understand, don't you, The loop jay, the grave tick
on the why Jamie's style unmistakable? Maybe coincidence if you
wanted to believe it. Near the squat rack, the young
couple Roll and Cat laughed at a whisper joke, both
glancing at their watches. Two minutes later I heard Cat
laugh exactly the same louder at the very same joke,
eyes wide and searching the bit about don't drop it
on your foot, your insurance will cover that either. Two fast,
two rehearsed a back track to the stretching zone. Pulled
up my old notes from the previous week. A message
from mister Alverro. Did you ever have that thing where
you're in the suner and someone keeps asking the same
question over and over? Weird? I'd brushed off. Then now
I copied it to the top of my file. Mielah
was right about one thing. Repetition was everywhere. If you
really observed in not just the thump of feet, but phrases, movements,
routines run on a loop. I caught a whiff of
cleaning spray and peeked into the woman's locker. On Mela's phone,
a jym app showed her checked and for Tuesday, but
not Monday, even though she insisted she'd come both days.
I keep thinking I did a class twice, like am
living the same hour again. I try to remember who
taught stretching on Friday. Cant there are days missing from
my phone, my reminders, my playlist history all blank. I
looked at her, and for a moment she did seem amored,
like a swimmer lost halfway to the wall. I split
my next few days between odd IROs at the gym
morning as the sun cut across Foggate Street, mid day
and late night, always just enough people to ward off
our pried creepiness, but the same handful coming and going
again and again, meal, rolling cat mister Alvera. Sometimes they'd
changed shoes for headbunds. Sometimes it was only their expression
that shifted. I started to note more change and clothes
in the same people, and began mocking times in my notebook.
Blue Tank at eight forty five, Gray Et eleven twenty two,
then back and blue. By closing, I tried to strike
up casual conversations with stuff Sam, the front desk guy,
fiddled with something on his computer and only half listened Jamie.
She's fine, She's just on vacation. She'll be back soon.
He checked the calendar, tapping his fingers, but a muscle
in his jaw was taut. When I pressed him about
changing schedules, he blinked, what, nothing's changed. New trainers sometimes,
but people always come back. He looked at my notepad, fidgeted.
I got it at checked the towel shipment. I caught
another trainer in the hallway and asked gently, did Jamie
really get a job at the Rick Center or was
it family stuff? The trainers smiled barely flicker. Oh, she
switched to another branch. It happens she wanted something different.
The store was never lined up. Each staff person had
an answer, but none of them matched. Worse yet, some
stared at me for two long before answering, as if
measuring which script to pick midweek. I punched my own
number into the chick and kiosk, purely by hat the
scanner to flash my name, and then for a split second,
I watched at list two attendancies, one at a forty
nine p m. Tuesday impossible, I was eating rain in
a home and another at six thirty seven a m.
Normal beoufkemp time. The first vounished. A moment later the
slot replaced by a normal welcome. I stared quickly glanced
at the desk, but no one was watching. Mielah meanwhile,
was circling the drain. She showed me screenshots of missing
classes from her calendar, then reappearing. Text forords with Jamie
were gone entirely. Some reminders on her fitness at pop
up ire was late, sometimes earlier in triplicate. More worrying,
she typed out the list of trainer names and locker combinations,
only to watch half the names gray out as if raised.
I watched her scroll through, frustration etched on her knuckles,
her voice dropping to a wild whisper. Am I losing it?
As this a breakdown, because I swear I know what
happened yesterday, except I can't prove it. It came to
a head on Thursday morning, just before sunrise, A woman
in a blue zip up stormed up to the front desk,
vibrating with fury. Someone is using my locker. I put
my stuff there every day, but now the combination doesn't work,
and someone's jacket is hanging there. Who is my number?
Sam blinked at her head bobbing as though under order checking.
Are you sure it's the right number, He tapped slowly
on a cracked iPad. No record for that locker. Sorry,
that's not possible. I put my things there every day,
my old texts, even say locker two hundred two now gone.
Her anger tipped close to terrors, I lingered as she
stormed out, leaving behind the thick, sticky air of confusion humilation.
The stat's face is tightened again, A visible winds as
the woman's footsteps faded. That moment, I decided, if there
was evidence, it would be in the security tapes of
the Jim's gursly digital record. I called an old acquaintance, Jewels,
who used her install security systems and liked to puzzle
almost as much as a paycheck. After some dealer level wrangling,
she agreed to meet me at noon, just as the
sunlight knifeton. We huddled in the utility closet. The surveillance
gave a humming with the love firm of hard drives.
Just fifteen minutes, Jewels grumbled, holding up a USB bridge.
You owe me seriously. We scanned for footage by time
step threeks, then in microsteps, I flagged the moments with
the repeated arrivals and to patches, fast forwarding as regular
as clocked in and out. Juels cursed softly, a look
see here, She paused the feed, Ohl entered, pressed his
ID to the scanner, and walked to the locker room.
Twelve minutes later, there he was again, same close, same gait,
same scan But where was the twelve minutes in between?
It wasn't visible. The feed looped over itself. We scrabbed
forward in another clip, cat walked, passed, vanished behind the
hallway to the pool, then, forty seconds later, rented the
gym in new clothes, her face slacken, glassy eyed the
system date on the frame, jetted and rolled backward, then
surged forward again another tape. Something fuzzed than half sick
about the play back. Faces flickered or blurred, like a
bad transition effect, sometimes seeming to morph midstry for an instant.
Jamie's outline flickered into another person's body just a few frames,
then snapped back. Is a corrupted video, I whispered. Juel
shook her head slightly spooked. Could be or it's someone
screwing with the system intentionally. This isn't normal And for
the loggin's that. She rotated the screen to show the
staff data system half these check ins are missing. Duplicate
it or love? Impossible time, same name, same face, two
places at once. I snapped stills and shot shakerphone video
heart fast. Mielah, when I texted her about it, said
a three word answer, you see it. Back in the lobby,
tension ramped up like a tightening wire. The staff syed
that blinking, slightly desperate look when I ask questions, now,
didn't we just talk about this rajmater pushing paperwork across
the desk, hand writing looping uncertainly? You ok, eh, I asked,
Loo fine tired? Every one's tired, Jamie, I don't remember
when she left, he said, Then suddenly, wait, didn't you
ask me that? Yesterday? At midnight on Friday, I returned
to the Jim for a final stakecout. Mielah insisted on
coming along vibrating with exhaustion, but too anxious to sleep,
her jim pasture in her hand, palm as mule videoed ape.
Anything weird, she whispered, Just in case I forget. We
hovered in the corner behind the smothy bar, lights down
to half the jim empty except for single regular man
in a pro icy tech shirt doing slow, graceless lunges
by the stretching zone. At twelve forty one, he stopped,
checked his watch. I could see the exact golden band
reflecting in the glass, then moved towards the staff hallway
by the office. I snapped three pictures as he turned
a corner and vanished into the unlit back corridor. Three
minutes later, miel elbowed me hard look from the far
end of the locker row. The same man emerged or
his exact wind, same hair, same shirt, but now wearing
different shoes, jim bag strapped over his shoulder. He avoided
our eyes entirely and proceeded directly to the exit, moving
silently except for the squeak of his souls. His face
reflected in the window, blank, unreadable and somehow multiple. For
just half a second I thought I saw Jamie's eyes,
peering from beneath his eyebrows, and then it was gone.
Miller nearly choked. I he that was him, right, but
also not him. We stood motionless as he left through
the glass doors. The ac hummed. The city outside was
black and bustling and otterly indifferent. I wrote in my
note book, handshaking, end of day, impossible faces, duplicate bodice, time, stumps,
broken stuff, repeating lines, Mela's notes, Jamie's looping signature, everywhere
and nowhere. None of it felt like enough. But nothing
about this was nearly or almost any more. The world
was tilting, and I was sliding, with only Meala's pale,
urgent worry to anchor me in the Genesum shifting mirror.
But nothing about this was nearly or almost any more.
The world was tilting, and I was sliding with only
a Meala's pale, urgent worry to anchor me in the
Gennesium shifting mirror. That night, I dreamed of voices with
Jamie's laughter spliced into stranger's mouths. I heard the phrase
you almost understand, but the tone was different each time, flat, pleading, triumphant, mechanical.
I work at dawn with my phones do not disturb,
darringly lifted, as though some one had toggled it off
to leave a sliver of static in my sleep. I
thumbed through notifications. Two new identical marketing emails from sidel
And arrived at two thirteene, and both the med Both
vanished when tapped the centerfield read no, replied siddil and
athletic calm, but one subject line flickered momentarily you almost
hear welcome back, before reverting to a generic offer about
a referral code. I texted Mila, habit now, first thing,
She replied instantly. I didn't sleep. I'm going in a seven.
Want to come then a minute later? Sorry, meant to
say eight. Eight is better. I sat staring at the
message thumb, hovering like a coin teetering on an edge.
I didn't know which I was real for either of us,
but I said yes. I dressed from the pile by
my bed, joanned a granola bar in my mouth, and
moved through the city on auto pilot. The morning was
dulled by a low fog sound carrying oddly everything tinted
with the residue of old neon and exhaust at Citylene.
The street felt wrong, more cause than usual, for just
after sun up a line of them with windows steamed
and idling as if waiting for some permission to park.
I patted over the sidewalks patchy, I smudged my reflection
in the window and paused inside. The atrium was fully lit,
music bouncing at the high volume. The front desk was
man again, sam face shining with a tight force smile.
I waved my cart. He barely glanced up, muttered, welcomed back,
and pressed the keel. A scanner with a strange sequence pause,
palm hovering. The display flashed twice my full name than
just my so name, then reverted, ready for the next scan.
Though there was nobody behind me. Mela waited by the
stretching mats, her energy locked in frantic gesture, God, look
at this seas clutching upon she showed me or Jim
app her own face as the thumbnail picture, then below
two check ins for that morning, six fifty eight a m.
And seven three a AM. I only just got here.
Unless I'm a ghost, I tried to make light. If
you're a ghost, you're the only one with corporal sponsorship.
A heart she breathed, Just keep watching. Watch them across
the floor A tracker roll and cat, dressed for once
in mismatch gear, him in a bright orange hoodie, her
in a plain black tea. Both moved with restless, jerky energy,
repeatedly glancing at the clock, sometimes at each other, mostly
anywhere else. As Mela and I circled through the weight racks,
I kept count There was mister Alvara, of course, but
I saw him twice within five minutes, once at the
pool entrance, caressing his swim cap, then almost immediately emerging
from the opposite hallway, till fresh around his neck. A
trick of architecture, I shadowed the sideline's check mirrors, no trick.
A class of three women stretched in puffec symmetry on
the yoga mats, bent forward, stood and out of sing
for a second, each one off behalf a beat, then
suddenly realigned their water bottles, same brand, same sticker, different
colored caps were lined evenly a foot apart by the lockers.
A man in a sleeveless tea was rooting through his bag.
Miler nudged me, he's new, right, but I was sure
I'd seen him the week before in a gray shirt,
different shoes, unless my memory was lying. I caught myself
wandering to Jamie's old spot near the front and invisible
expectations she'd emerged with her whistle and clipboard. The air
here was colder, the smell of eucalyptus from the spray
bottle was too clean, like something scrubbed. And were written.
Meil caught my stare, I feel like I'm looping. I
said I'd come at seven, then texted eight. But I
swear I was here already, just now with you, but before.
Maybe we're both tired, I said, but neither of us
believed it. Music clip for a second, then rebooted mid chorus,
some pop hit, then an older song from Jamie's become
playlist up with an audible scape, as though the speakers started.
Sam at the front desk stared of making the coffee run.
I heard him Joe cloudly, if I ever quit, you'll
have to beg me back. No more caffeine lines for you.
His voice was too flat. Two women at the counter
tittered in unison too perfectly. Meelah shivered, I don't want
to go to work. I don't want to leave. What
if when I leave uns here again. I checked my
own jim map. It had logged me out. I tried
to reset my password. I received the reset link, clicked,
and the screen went white. When it returned, my profole
had changed. The display photo was a decade old, my
oldest address beneath my name. It shouldn't have been possible.
I blinked at Mielah. I think her. From the hallway,
the man in the tech shirt walked out of carrying
two identical Douffel bags. As he did, his face flickered
in the edge of a sunlight being crossing the glass,
one than another, then a blur of features settling on
a neutral mask. He walked past, nodding but blank eide.
Mielah stopped breathing for a second. Did you see yet,
I whispered. We sat there for another hour. Nothing intoward happened,
Yet nothing relaxed Meelas started and stopped talking. People came
and went in patent so close to their previous cells
that the differences wrong shoes as too wide a limp
that vadis stood out. At eight fifteen, Jamie's signature appeared
on the whiteboard near the class schedule hallooping gas a
note reading, remember to hydrate Jamie. I finger my notebook,
compared the letters the same every time Milis said, do
you want to see the other notes? She hadn't mentioned
more than one before wordless. I nodded. She led me
back to the women's locker, hands trembling, avoiding glances from
beneath a stack of backup chin clothes. She produced two
more slitch of white paper, folded to the exact size
and shape as before. The first one read you almost understand,
don't you? Handwriting slanting left, wider loops, but the same phrase.
Second on firmer stock, almost a business note, crud almost there.
Don't get distracted this time the styles cash, the as
peeked up shop, the os uneven. I found the second
one under my come last Saturday meal, whispered. The third
was inside my shoes. Three times, three different hands. But
it's Jamie or someone trying to be I held them
altogether a spectrum of mimicry deliberate was some multiplicity of
her cloned frattured signature ercushion made physical. Do you think
Jennie's gone mail whispered at, squeezing tears from her voice,
or or what I croaked that's some one's replacing her,
or I am, She whispered, crossed the locker room. The
distant PA system droned the time is now eight thirty
classes beginning ten minutes. It was Jamie's voice, Tinney stretched,
laid over all static. I tried the staff, lying on
my phone straight to on list. I tried Jamie Saal
dead air, then a clip voice male recording, not herrors.
My chest tightened. I checked my own record, the digital
log of visits, the usual neat streak of dates. Then
last week, two full days missing. I'd have remembered skipping.
I was obsessive, never missed a Tuesday. It made me
feel like my own skin was unreliable, like my mind
and tell skip frames. We forced ourselves to walk back
to the main lobby, clutching our bags. On the way out,
I saw Cat emerged from the bathroom, pulling on a
different jacket than she'd worn twenty minutes ago. She saw
me see her as spun fasts, almost spilling a protein shake.
I got outside, called on my cheeks and forced the
air into my lungs. Miila stood on the curb. We
need to do something real, not just photos. To get
the logs. Get a video something okay, I said, naming
it a love for the first time. Stake out to night.
Everything phones can catch, we do. Someone's messing with us.
I barely got through work that day. Where's blurred? Everything
I type reminded me of those perfectly repeated Jim Frasers,
as if the paragraphs inside me were also only simulations.
By the time afternoon came, I'd watched the security fritage
from the morning and angle at a time, pausing on weirdness,
Cat's double exit, the man with the bags, Jamie's signature,
each sequence replaying, blurring at the edges. I scribbled pieces
at the time, and on my wall with sticky notes.
Jamie quitor left. No one agrees Meela loops, missing days,
duplicate check inns, me double attendants, old profile, erase messages, others,
faces flicker, people, repeat actions, digital logs, glitch underneath in
my worst handwriting. Not a system bug intentional. When Neil
arrived just before midnight, she looked hollow at dark circles
under her Eyes's voice soft and taut. She carried a
bat of go Pro and knew Jim's socks, as if
having these things would anchor her to herself. We hid
ourselves in classic role breaking fashion, pressed behind a row
of treadmill displays, with the blinds half rawn. Light from
the street just leaking over the floor. The new overnight
desk staff, a wiry gun named Drawery, who I'd never
seen before, wasn't paying attention, lost in his phone, the
building itself deeply asleep. We whispered Ready, she nodded, checking
her phone battery compulsively. I'd set mine to a play mode, convinced,
even by imaginary science, the recording directly with zero interference
might catch something truer. One twenty eight m. The gym
should be dead, but it was. A single maintenance cleaner
worked behind the desk, pushing a card whistling tunelessly. Three
regulars wandered on opposite sides of the cardiozone, never looking up.
Everything else was silence and to cut with a whir
of treadmills. Melat and I kept count mark faces. Watched
the clock. Twenty minutes. Then something shifted to the cleaner's route.
Weset had caught starting from the same squat, as if
no time had passed. Jury signed into the desk computer,
but the work comfee displayed a screen name twice in
two windows at once a glitch or impossibility. At two
a m. Mela squeezed my wrist watch from the glass reflection.
The entrance door shimmer then opened for no one. The
security camera panned auto tracking nothing visible. A tank code flickered,
and the screen mounted above the door racing forward and back.
By the minute, A group class listing flashed on to
the digital board in the lobby. Mind and body flowed
jamis lash two a m slash room on the sign
auto cleared. I took out my own phone, snapped a
foot all blank. The board in the image was frozen
on the previous day's schedule. Meelah whispered, do you feel
that like like someone's watching us from the wires? A
cold spot bloomed under my collar. I think something's feeding
on our routines. Two seventeen a m. The regulars in
the gym stopped mid stride and stood staring at the
TV mounted above the juice Boss screensaver rotating through old
staff bires. For it be too long, Everyone was still.
Then the screens flickered. Jamie' staff photo appeared oddly retext stured.
Her feature stretched smele wrong as not quite symmetrical. The
maintenance woman rebegan her route, passing us, whistling again precisely
the same tune at the same decibel, if possible. I
checked my watch. My own digital face looked wrong. Hand
circling too fast, then ticked normally. We crept along the
far wall, close to the utility closet. I held my
phone ready and Miler turned on the GoPro. We dotted
our eyes at the staff office, which was glassed, mostly
empty except for a desk lamp in some manilla folders.
I whispered to distract him, I'll check the office. She nodded,
heart pounding and walked up to Jewry, asking something about towels,
holding his gaze. I snuck into the staff office. The
mess was strange, surface tidy, but drawers half open, folders
lined up but empty. On the desktop. The computer wasn't locked.
Any email chain half written subject re Jamie dyde access
I hovered reading fasts Jamie can't access file's post change?
Is there a new key? Well, Jennie, please call me.
Attached spurdsheet labeled client iterations night with dozens of rows
Smith Carlo slash one point three slash two point one
slash two point two, alvarro meet all slash one point one,
slash one point two, slash two point zero slash two
point two. A column marked stable, most marked y yes,
but several lines flickered, cycling from ys to in progress,
then back. I printed single page, hands slick with sweat,
and tugged it in my jacket. Back out. Mielah had
redirected Jory, who watched the security feeds distractedly as I
emerged beside her. Did you get anything, she mold. I nodded,
showed her the print out once we ducked into the
locker hall. They're tracking versions of people iterations, like test groups,
software builts. She mav the curs memory at that's why
we can't trust our own locks. I hold on. She
duck to her old locker, yanked it open under the bench,
taped to the metal a new envelope, this one not
in Jamie's hand, but a blocky mechanical scroll. Do not
trust the schedule. I took a shaky video of inside
of the locker. The note the shadows slanting in the
numbers on the neighboring lockers. Two hundred eleven two hundred thirteen,
then Skip two hundred eighteen jumped out of sequence. The
sound system whined, speakers emitting a short, high pitch burst
across the gym. Lights flickered. Jeory flinch then seemed to
forget what he was doing, blinking repeatedly at his screen.
Meal turned to me. I think Jimmie didn't quit. I
think something happened to her here, or maybe she did this.
My phone vibrated, alarm set but it read one E
or left, even though sunrise was three hours away. My
hand shook. Meal scrawled a note to herself on her wrist,
meeting exit three, then held it up. If I forget you,
drag me out. Deal a deal. I glanced at the
wall clock. The hand spun not digital, half past nothing,
It an old notice. Staff changed passwords weekly. We were
treated the last half hour to the vending machines, hunched
side by side, guard up. The gym's energy shifted again, regularly,
clustered at one end, all tying shoes in synchrony. The
man from earlier appeared, face shadowed, moving in time, not
quite human, not quite wrong. I see Jamie in his eyes.
Mielah whispered, But it's like a fun house mirror, multiple
exposures from the lad speakers. Jamie's voice beamed out again,
Welcome night, team, You're almost done. Don't get distracted and
cut short as if spliced. I flicked through my hastily
assembled file on my phone, new digital evidence filling my
cloud folder, video glitch phile, print out of klient iteration,
screenshots of log outs, looping emails. I felt like I
was assembling a case for a trial that couldn't be
held in this well. You feel different, Mel asked. I
can't tell what's memory and what's repetition now, she shouddered,
maybe that's what it wants, that doubt. She reached to
squeezed my arm, then pulled away, as if catching herself
in a mirror and fearing she wouldn't find the same
girl in the reflection. The light and the gin flickered again,
longer this time. The machines all powered down in a
slow way, of the juice barcullo darkening. For one strange instant,
the entire staff, three people, all different heights, emerged together
from the locker room, double silhouettees slomming behind them just
for a second before snapping to normal. The group paused
by the front desk, murmuring together as if on cue.
Their voices rose over each other, matching cadence fragments of speech.
Or Jamie said that who should be back soon, noted
it happens, you know, life changes, Then silence. One of
them looked up at the security camera, as if seeing
us covering behind the treadmills. In the playback, not live.
If throming Onunlys drenched the room, I stiffened for the
first time. The thought hit not just repetition but oxtration,
not a slip but a script. The clock read three
zero dead on. Mielah, still gripping her bag, as darting, nodded,
time to go. We made for the exit, forcing casualness.
Jory barely looked up, but his mouth soundlessly formed the
word of good night. The front doors groaned, open air
sharp on our faces. Outside freedom tastes clinical, anti septic.
I dragged Meal two full blocks before either of us
relaxed our shoulders. She exhaled in a shudder. I think
we need outside help, I nodded, brain in a red fog.
You're crashing at mine tonight, just in case. We tramped
up three flights to my walker. Inside the wall felt
nearly real, drab, with exhaustion and clattering pipes. I bolted
the deadlock. Miela shot me a tiet grateful smile and
collapsed onto my tiny love seat. After I printed everything,
paper felt honest. We taped the schedule, the iteration, lock,
the glitch, green shots, three versions of Jamie's note, and
Miela's new warning on to my wall. We're missing something, big,
I muttered, staring at the evidence. Jamie tried to warn someone,
but not the cops, just us regulars, like she thought
the experiment was still ongoing even after she left Mealli
yanked her herod into her bun I keep here, and
Jamie's sid the same cheesy speech over and over. Ye
decide who you want to be every day, But it's
like she was teaching that to herself. I caught movement
on my phone. The front camera's led blinking hall. I
triggeredself video by accident, but in the replay, my face
split for a blinkovlaid with Mela's expression, then settled. I shuddered.
Let's sleep before we both see things. Milis noorded, flipping
a throw blanket over her knees. If I get up
and start repeating things, slap me or fill me for
your podcast. I forced a week laugh. We crash, brittle
as glass, half waiting for the dawn to decide who
we'd awaken. As next, I dreamed, the gym empty, all
lights on, and Jamie's face everywhere. A thousand versions reflected
back at me, some all, some new, some with my hair,
some with Mila's laugh, and in every mirror at the
words you almost understand. The morning light tried to force
its way through to grime on my apartment window, settling
over us as we hunched at the kitchenette, the air
trembling with the left of adrenaline from the night I'd
barely slept, even with Milis snoring in fitful snatches between talking.
In her sleep, I'd watched her mouth form the words
almost there more than once, her hand and consciously tracing
the shape of a jay and the couch cushen. My
own heart hadn't slowed since we'd forced open the doors
of cit a line. I boiled water for tea. The
whistle shrill too loud. Mila finched awake. I was darting
while like she expected the room to flicker and displace us.
All that papers stuck across my wall, the scatter of
test print outs, Jamie's notes, meelis scribbled remind as looked
suddenly small, like scraps of a puzzle written in Chalcolm water.
Miela's voice was thin raw. Was it always like that?
I mean, do you think it's been happening to us
for weeks? For just this time? I kept writing the
night sequence on repeats, the doubled faces, the iteration log,
the signature cycling through style and imitation. I watched my
own hands for any slipper movement out of sink a loop.
I don't know, but if it started with Jamie, she
left us away in we ate cold cereal, neither tasting it.
I checked my email, not for responses, but for clues,
va PR messages, automated reminders, everything just a shade off.
Two new un read emails from Jamie trainus at in
my inbooks timestump for the same minute. I hovered but
didn't open them. The sender's address was malformed to jam
if he had suttle and athletic half digits, half name.
I marked them unread, screenshot and all after she pawed
through the evidence for the third time, Miller returned to
the most basic fear. If we're already mixed up, what
if we're just extra Coppice is like versions gun one.
I shook, cur gentle, but real. We're the ones asking
the question. Coppas, don't start revolts. You're real, I'm real.
Whatever's going on, the systems still responding. We got those messages,
found the notes, crashed the patterns, and we're going to
get through this in the open, not behind glass. She nodded,
but her hand kept fussing with the edge of my
worn kitchen towel, and tiny precise movements like she was
checking for tears. We hadn't talked about leaving the city.
We both knew it wasn't an option. Whatever had started
in the gym had followed us to our phones, our notes,
our memory. If we left, it would come with us.
I started putting the day together in tasks, get fresh footage,
try to access whatever iturations ment in the context of
stuffy maales, confront the manager on site. Before the story
slipped out of my grip, my phone buzzed too loud.
Calendar notification Sideline Athletic two zero p M scheduled consult
with Jamie. I'd never said it. Mila saw the screen.
She paled. If you go on coming, I won't lie
you walking alone. We agreed on one thing. The truth
was rooted in the Jim's digital system, the failed security
and the manager who kept stowmalling every question. That and
the single unreadable artifact in the iteration print out a
column at the far right labeled face triggered only a
scattering of check marks. Jamie's row was blank and all entry.
I tried to dial Jamie once at the kitchen table.
This time there was no dead air, but a stutter
of silence, and then the looping audio. The user you
are trying to reach as almost available. Please try again.
The catant was Jamie's, but distorted as though sampled, and
the layered atop itself. Meal, let the phone drop on
to the table. We have to break it open, find
Jamie's fair safe. Whatever happens. We left for Cideline and
ire before the appointment notification. There were more people on
the avenue than I was used for at mid day,
all moving with purpose. Hees forward, blurring in the mirrors
by the store fronts. An's of joggers passed in triplicate.
A pair of twins laughed matching strides. The city felt
like a too was playing out a script. When we
reached the gym, it looked newly sanitized, fronk closswise and
freshly recut flies for next month's classes pasted by the door. Inside.
The light was too bright. Sam was gone instead. The manager,
missus Miller, stood behind the desk with a clipboard face
lined by new worry hay drawn too tight, muff pressed
into a controlled smile. We swiped in the scanner beap twice,
two green lights flickering, then stayed red for a beat
too long before lessing us pass. Missus Miller's voice was
measured clinical, Good morning, Can I help you with something?
Her eyes never stayed quite scented on our faces, dancing
between us and the glowing computer screen. I cut straight
to the point. We need to speak to you privately.
It's about Jamie and the weird gaps in the system,
the duplicate entries, the looping messages. We know about the experiment,
whatever it is, running on top of the normal gym schedule,
and we have proof. I showed her the printed ooration
lock the screenshot of the check and anomaly the notes.
For a moment, Missess Miller's face stilled, the lines by
her mouth deepened, Then she shook her head finally with
citing cit a line believes in an individualized fitness journey.
Jamie is on sabbatical. If you have technical issues, I'm
happy to file a support ticket. I doubled down. That's
not what your system says. We've seen the duplicate records,
the client itteration spreadsheet, the video of freeds that glitch
and over lad Jamie left us warnings. We're not asking,
were telling. If you don't help, we'll go to the
press or the board. Miller couldn't contain herself. I want
to know. I need to know why thy different notes
and three kinds of handwriting. I'll say I almost understand.
Was Jamie trecking us or you manipulating us? Just tell
us the truth? The cess Miller's hands tightened on the clipboard.
Our voicemail smiled cracked just at the edges. Jamie. Jamie
wanted to help. She always wanted everyone to see themselves.
She thought she thought she was in control, but she wasn't.
The system. Her voice clamp shut. She blinked rapidly. Is
there anything else I can help you with? To day?
Another staff member drifted in from a sade door, face
too pale, eyes, moving too quick. Our polo shirt was
buttoned wrong, hair messy, as if she dressed in the dark.
She stared at us and then at her own hands.
They're trembling. Aye, I don't remember coming in. I don't
remember what day it is, She coughed, then whispered. Jamie said,
if you ever feel loss, find the faercafe oppressed? Is
it still here? Where? Her voice was thin, shivering locker Jamie's.
She said, to keep it seal, do not trust, please,
glancing at Miller with fear, Just take it. Miller didn't
stop us as was courted past the main desk, tension
buzzing like an exposed live line. Every screen in the
lobby showed the city Line homepage, but the smiling faces
looked wrong, the background looping in jerky jumps. Jamie's face
hovered in the staff carousel two vivid expression, brittle with strain.
The locker rooms echoed with late morning bustle, towels tossed aside,
hair doars, running phones, chirping and silencing yet the sund
felt calmed the rhythm wrong. Every other person seemed to
avoid our eyes, heads down, tracks, repeating, whole conversations, running,
and cycles just out of ear. Shut. Jamie's old locker
one hundred twenty two sat between two out of orders signed.
The lock was warped but not secured. Milan nelt, her
hands shaking too much to twist the knob. I knelt
with her breathing measured. After a few false starts, the
door popped open with a loud metallic clam. There taped
to the underside of the top shelf a small black
USB drive, a red stick across the top do not trust.
Next to it a blue sticky note with the word
fails a fopen safe mode Jaye. I slid the drive
into a shielded patch. Meal had insisted on bringing Paranoid,
but right then we heard footsteps quick and multiplied a
jeet of echoes with only a single staff shadow in
the mirror. I stowed, facing the hall no one. Milla
scraped the print out flat, forced her breath steady. What
now we open it? I said, more confidence than I felt.
We docked into the group class room, locking the door.
Hot rate climbing. I pulled up my laptop, fingers thick
from nerves. I copied the USB contents until blank, encrypted drive,
just in case it tried to phone home. Mila watched
the door hand white knuckled. The files were not assortment
video snippets, half second wedcom captures, sun clips, encrypted locks,
or read me with only safe mode disabls never trust,
nothing connected. How to found there was a single video
folder watch me. I clicked Mela, leaning over my shoulder
the first clip. Jamie bags under her eyes, face haggard
in the greenish light of the old staff office. She
spoke in a quick, nervous whisper test lock if you
find this iteration t fail. I thought patented repetition with
enough digital prompts could help people change their routines. But
the system nearly sink schedules, automated chickens, it loops people,
fragment's memory, it committee trigerc cues and music notifications, even
locker combinations. Aye. I tried to reset the baseline, but
the system's got bad. Coppies now overlapping. I tried to
stop it, but Mella said the board wanted more date A.
The gym is not safe. I am not me. She
looked directly into the lens. I sprimming Meela. If you're watching,
ire persistent, Never trust the schedule. If you ever see
me again, don't believe I'm mean unless I can see
what you told me last summer. You decide who you
want to be every day. Get out, don't try to
fix it. Just escape the feedbackloop. I know that doesn't
make sense, but please don't look from me. The second
file showed raw camera catchures distorted by digital break of
people entering the gym, their faces flickering, sometimes shifting across frames,
overlays of digital names and stat sheets appearing in green
at the bottom of the screen. Name miela ey to
two point two, name of our eight o one point one,
blank entries, sometimes repeating, sometimes skipping ahead. Audiophiles, the recognizable Jimpa.
Jamie's voice splies, stretched, slipping hues, classes begin intent, don't
for debt, hydration, his memory a version with every third
word missing, another reversed and layered each time. The word
understand repeated until it felt like a digital tick. A
batch of logs attendants records with corrupted fields, text reading
critical overflow, unique I decollision, revert to lust stable. Milah
pressed her hand to her mouth, breathing hard. In the corner,
a locker clanged open, empty, closing with a nervous thunk.
Nobody inside. We watched another video, A hidden camer angle
just so showed Jamie leaning into Miller's office, arguing in
quick strain bursts. You said limited data, no personal preference overrides.
Now I'm seeing Miller's voice of screen Lobo sharp. He
agreed to the launch, the want adaptive learning identity merge
is just a phase. He can't step away now, Jamie.
It's breaking people. They're repeating. I see them leaping myself too.
Last night I left and the system texted me welcome back.
I don't know what's real any more. Miller's reply, you're
creating the problem by resisting complyiant things settled. Doubt replicates
the errors. A rumbull rattled the ceiling. We looked up
the building, vibration running under our feet. Another video played
Jamie staring into her Wakeham voice hushed the world behind her, flickering.
If this any version of me left, Tell me, La,
it's not paranoia. If you see your own words written
by a stranger ron, don't check the lock escape isn't
in the files, don't trust the system. I'm sorry. The
camera cut out. I stared at Milah. She looked tracked.
What do we do now? She hissed. I tried to think,
what could any of this mean? Operationally? The Jim's system, membership, data,
class schedules, even the digital music and lighting all run
on and adaptive. Bacan Jamie designed Lady superseded by the
board foe wellness tracking privacy had never really existed, But
this was leaping the rails. Could they have advanced system
control manipulating wakes, routines, perception vi queues, the environmental nudges
direct day to override Jamie's damming phrased ran in my ears,
identity murgers just a phase? Was there a way to
reset to break? A live experiment now running autonomously echoing
versions of us inside a rotting feedback loop. The sun
system cut sharply rebooted. Then Jamie's voice spliced until nye
emanated through the walls. He almost almost almost understand. The
lockers rattled as if in a rising wind. The windows
by the pool danced with a ripple of reflected faces,
not one matching the living, real flesh in the room.
On instinct, we bundled the USB, stuffed the laptop and
notes in my bag, and headed for the hole. The
gym was suddenly emptier. Every regular seamed on repeat, walking
the edge of the same routine cat and roll, talking
soundlessly near the elliptical Mister Ovarro again at the pool doors,
half disappeared in chatter. It felt staged, like extras waiting
for their cue. Meela gripped my hand. Why if we
don't leave? What if we just keep coming back? A
rush of people entered the gym all at once, streaming
through the doors heads down. Badgers swept in a steady click,
as though rehearsing for an open night. Their identities blurred
in the window reflections. Three mealis, two of varrows, A
Jamie there then not each caught midturn too late. I
saw Miller moving behind us staff tagging a line, walking
in stately lockstep. The lights dimmed, then flickered up fall,
then snapped off for three seconds before surging back brighter
than noon. Jamie's face. A stretched projection flickered across the
info screens, coasting over the instructor schedules, her name signed
under every glass. The air in the gym was full,
all at once. I saw it pressed against my ears.
Every speaker spat lay it with Jamie's voice. He decided
who decide? To decide? Who you want to be? Every day?
Every day. The crowd froze, hands at their sides. Meali
stepped back into me, gasping. A dozen heads turned simultaneously,
eyes glassy faces and anchored flickering with half familiar expressions.
A single tone began to drawn somewhere between a fire
alarm and a flat line, and ekg rising falling a
signal buried in the white nose. Miller's voice rang out,
live and strong. This is not a drill. Return to
your routines. All routines are safe. Deviations will be corrected.
But it was too late. The system had already folded
in on itsself, cycling through bugs, replaying classes that could
never finish, names and faces tumbling in the blue glow
of the new machineer digital iroboros. I turned to my phone,
searching for any out control, any master upload overrided admin panel.
There a hidden developer login. The last line of Jamie's
rem floated up in my mind safe mode disables network trust,
nothing connected. How I'd found I thumbed the option and
a safe mode. It demanded a coat. I typed you
decide who you want to be every day. The screen
went black, then flash fear a safe trigger were set
all sessions. I hammered, wy as hope and dread Worren
Milis sized my elbow the fire alarm. That's real, Pullet
force everyone out, make the loop break another surge. Jeremy,
a trainer I barely knew approach, faced on arms and
steadfolded like a manequin. He opened his mouth, but nothing
real came out, only a slave loop of Jamie's old instructions.
Every speaker in the ceiling now spat that phrase. Pit
shifted deeper and deeper. He almost almost almost almost all
around us. The walls flickered, the video displays in the
windows showing a cascade of attendants, logs, profile images, digital faces,
jittering with corruption. Jamie's sheep kept popping up, stretching, then splitting. Ah,
I yelled, dragging meal across the floor, ducking under a
frozen cluster of regulars. We slammed into the wall by
the side exit. The red fire box clowing. Mila raised
her fist, hesitated as the PA grew impossibly loud. Thence
mashed the glass with a small dumbell from the rack
hand blooded. The alarm screened to life, drowning out Jimmy's
looping commands. Every eye in the gin snapped open, as
if waking from a trance. Bodis jerked, glancing at each
other in wild panic or confusion. I yanked the door
open and pulled Mill after me, sprinting into the back corridor,
as a mass of patrons and staff searched toward every exit, crying,
some silent. The screens blaze, lines of coat images flickering
faster than the eye, one final image held to Jamie's face,
mouth moving, watching, watching us, I was sure not just
a recording. We bolted through the service corridor, every foot
of jitterby adrenaline, stumbling past crates, mops. The only real
things left in the staff hall the echo of voices,
some reel, some digital, some Jamie ricochet til I couldn't
tell what belonged to him. Outside, at last, panting in
the street, the fire alarm still howling, ambulance lights already turning,
the fog red. Milah leaned into me, sobbing my phone
and vibrated one more time in blunt persh notification, just
a faded logo of Jimmie smiling face static eating at
the edges the building behind a seat, windows filling with
faces and silhouettes, and frantic disarray, some pressing hands to
the glass as if lost, some gazing blankly ahead, a
few with expressions of awakening horror. The first responders poured in.
We stumbled to the fog, cour up people streaming into
the street and babbing confusion. I was doune quiet beside me,
made a white blood from her knuckles, then clutched the
battered USB drive like it was a relic. Emergency crews flooded, Sizzilyn,
herding clients with clipboards, shouting questions, moving everyone through blue
tarps and blinking lights. Words spread fast from the panic crowd.
People froze, everyone stopped at once. The music wouldn't turn off.
Someone's face on every screen, moving talking. She said my
name inside the gem. Lights flickered and died. The pier
system gave one last shrill loop, thank you see soon,
then silence, as abrupt as a screen bitten off. We
drifted home with the rest finger prints still burning in
our pockets. The following week, local news ran a fast
movid story viral outbreak of city line made the rounds,
then got buried. A health code notice appeared in the doors.
Rumors plumed over drinks at every city bar. I heard
a guy lived a whole week in the gym's schedule.
Never slept that there was a voice in the system
talking about rossettes. Nobody official wann detect journalists snooping. The
GINNSAP wiped itself from our phones by the third morning,
uninstalled were no longer supported near the Millinor. I found
comfort in the explanations. The USB files had self grabbed
it by Wednesday, shrinking down to static, then winking out entirely.
Local cop shrugged at our screenshots. System are hackers, you
know how it is. I arranged a meeting with a
friend at public Health. She canceled last minute, then texted
all good, check and complete in a tone I couldn't read.
As human words spread among the old regulars, least messages
from cat frantic and then gone. Mister olvera silent but
presented as single support group meet up, shaking and confused
glasses propped and steadily on a rapidly aging face. Miela
and I clung to the most basic support system, morning
check In's simple paper routines, shop by notes on our wrists,
anything to anchor us. Still, I never felt right again
once I woke to find a sheet of neat square
paper on my counter. You almost understand my own handwriting
were a poor imitation. I couldn't tell a chill deeper
than fear passed through me, but I left the note
in touch, just so it would not travel. People from
the Gint scattered, some found new routines, new places, or
none at all. Sometimes I passed them in the street
and caught myself turning for just a second, expecting their
faces to split, multiply, or fade. But the city kept running,
silent and efficient. Life moved on as it does unbroken
tracks in imperfect memory. From time to time, I checked
Sideline's old site law offline. The only trace a cast
image of Jamie smiling, the caption reading find your next time.
A digital shadow burned into my laptop's memory. Never quite race,
try as I might. One afternoon, shadowless and tied, I
walked through a new gym in the city's north. I
swept my card, went to change. In the quiet of
the locker room, I placed my back down and breathed, deep, pulse,
finally come, until I saw the pale glint of a
nokaudmo on the shadows. Propped under the shelf, I hesitated,
hand frozen above the black zipper, heart roaring in my throat.
I picked it up, feeling its weight. On one side,
the old cityl End logo, faint and familiar. On the other,
a message in Jamie's careful hand, thank you for participating,
See you soon. I tucked it back, slow and sure,
and watched the lights flicker once twice, then steady, the
world round me clicking into place. For a moment, I listened,
the whirl of the HVAC, the soft buzz of distant voices,
the thumb of feet in the hallway, Everything as it
should be, or close enough. Then I left the locker behind.
Then I left the locker behind. It wasn't relief. I
stepped into the corridors, humming light. A few train of
passed by, the sneaks quaking, and I watched for anything amiss.
A young man in a green jacket eyed his phone,
as if skimming coat. My name was still in the
member screen at the desk, but only once, and I
held my card type, daring the scanner to flicker. Nothing did,
just the low static churn of air, the signature sent
of old rubber and lemon disinfectant. Outside, Mila waited, hunched
against a pillow when tangling her hair. I gave her
the smallest knot no sign, no signal, just that I
was out. She straightened up, gazed, darting behind me. Did
ye see anything? I shook my head carefully, just a note,
same as before. Her breath sid from her chest. Let's go.
We walked down down, every step, measured, acting, practiced. After
so much repetition, city line was caught in by city tape.
Now windows blank, every trace of the old routine barricaded,
jet hast it. People gathered a press, maybe three or
four news vans, curious fits of onlookers. Some one was
handing out pamphlets, laughing too loud. I didn't stop at home.
Milla made tea in silence. She dropped the teep again,
watched the string spiral and settle, Then finally book, Do
you ever? She gestured vaguely, upward, fingers trembling, or feel
like you are about to run into some one you
never met but know. Every time I passed a mirror,
I said, and she finally laughed for real, this time
a sound scraper. Rough By fatigue, we took to isolating
our day with sharper calendars and paper lists. My wall
boar stretched of masking tape each day, slashed bold with
my initials. When finished, Miela set fone alarms, not just
with times, but with little phrases. You were here to
day one of one who remember breakfast. She pressed the
star sticker on her wrist. The trucks of children. We
half joked, but we slept. But the city didn't settle.
There were calls for wellness audits, digital psychologists, and the
morning news debates about agorific fitness ads and schedule loops.
Nobody mentioned Jamie. Nobody mentioned memory. Three times in two
weeks I caught a face in the street, some one
from the old gent maybe or a neighbor who walked
the same dog at the same ire. Each time a
brace for the flicker. Each time the face hell. But
I looked away fast, not wanting to see the scene.
The digital wash over everything was the worst. My new
jim apps sent her settling. I never asked for the
screen named glitched one's flushing welcome back Jamie for a
second two long before growing back to guest. I deleted it,
scrolled that tam on my wrist walked a different block home.
Meelah called panic, threading her throat. My phone lit up
at three fifteen. Wasn't even charging, no reason. All my
alarm sai Jimmy's voice. I deleted them. I wrote a
real post it. I'm fine. We almost managed to believe it.
We had to try. Then. One evening, two men from
Cizilyne's corporate division appeared at Mila's door just before sunset.
I was there half way through dinner. MESSI kitchen light
set dim. They wore boxy suits, Badger smooth and polish,
perfectly identical tie knots. Just here for a brief one
This follow up one said, voice modulated as if piped
from a bluetooth speaker. Mielah shot me a look mad,
do not answer this eveyed her answer as the way
tech wraps checked checklists. Have you experienced any undesirable repetition
any blank time or are you able to confirm your
unique member, I d we are so as if bored downplaying,
and the pair eventually offered a customer care gift card,
a pale echo of the old city Line logo, and left.
Their faces seemed to dissolve as the door shut, their
words already receding from memory. We triple checked the apartment
that night and plugged everything. Digital phones powered down, laptop
stowed under my pillow. I kept that battered USB, even
though it read empty media now when plugged Meelas gribbled
in the back of her hand, tell me something only
I would know tomorrow. The bed. She felt that safe
as any place coat. For days the city spun. Groups
of us met quietly in board rooms. Some people remembered everything,
others nothing. Kat shrank into herself as glassy, as if
every attempt to anchor her memory only dampened more of it.
Old blinked through group meetings, repeating I only come here tuesdays,
more to himself than to us. Mister Ovara broke down
in tears at one lunch, whispering he'd met himself in
the mirror and didn't know which was true. As slowly
can meaning life catching at itself. The consequences came in layers.
Cideleine's parent company issued blame. His press releases says some
error limited in back. You're data safe. Local podcasts flared
and fizzled, teeth dulled by lack of proof. Data privacy
advocates crote. City officials demurred, but people moved away. Won
by one new Gym's New Towns. This date sale outside
Jamie's old building was a quiet, crowded scene. Her things
scattered for pennies. Her face never returned to the city's
public images like a name carefully as doubt of history,
but you almost understand, sometimes appeared in bath room stalls
and subway ads before being scrubbed. I kept working at
Strange Iris, convinced I'd heard the per speaker roaring in nothing,
just a fragment of Jamie's laugh, just a what note
of the hydrate chime? Sometimes my own face in the
whole mirror lag just a split second behind my body.
We clung to the paper rituals, made each other recite
day to details. My favorite colors green is of Tuesday, iate, granolla,
not toast this morning a here is to day's date.
Here is a joke. Only you would know, Mila said.
Even if we're just echoing ourselves, at least the echoes
ring true. She painted a bright stripe up our hallway door,
blood orange and crooker. So every night ended with the
mark she'd made. Knew each day, but everything digital rippled.
A new interface from a bank flashed a fragment of
the city Annie Eye, an email bounce, then redelivered a
timestamp two weeks prior from another address from the future,
See you soon, it signed off. Not quite a threat,
not quite a promise. One night, Mita ran over rains,
fluttering the window, shivering in a coat, not quite hers.
It happened again. The class schedule at the new place
that flashed my name for spin class at two different times,
same day, and the instructor I thought I knew her,
but she called me iteration three. We rode the subway
until Los Call, as if moving prevented the well from
settling into a new groove. The train light shimmered, refusing
to flicker, but the faces around us went in and
out of sinking the car reflections. You think it's really over,
she whispered, No, I said, too honest, But I think
we broke the worst of the loop. Jamie said, escape
isn't in the files. Maybe it's just in seeing things
don't have to be perfect copies. She watched the city
blow by, the wet glass, cast in our ghosts, and
every knee on late window. After that we got sharper less,
afraid of confrontation. We called remaining connections, old trainers, desk
staff fired or moved on. Most brushed us off, said
to some dade bog, some hacker. Scam cities always got
its glitches. One voice, the night cleaner, remembered everything and
blamed herself. I thought I was making the same rounds
every shift. I never thought it was me repeating or
something else watching, she cried, then hel nap. The gym's
closure faded from the news, the sight dropped from listings,
The eyres were set to zero. The logan always kicked
you to a page marked maintenance. One evening, a stray
dog barked under my window, sharp and living, an insistent
Mila and I washed to circle the block, convinced for
a second we'd seen that saint dart that same circle
over and over. Then the owner called the animal bounced up,
and the moment broke. From time to time, I'd still
check under my pillow for notes I hadn't written. Sometimes
there was one you almost understand. Sometimes the paper was blank.
Once my hand slip signing my own name for a beat,
the jay looped, thee peaked a style too reminiscent of Jimmie's.
I left the page in the recycling, hands and steady.
The last confrontation was the smallest. Miela and I together
in the city park on a day, bright and cloudless,
a community. While his fair pulsing intents around the green,
some one was handing out fly as a breathe fit.
Next level, you all digital, old, tailored, smiling too wide,
wearing a badge with a stylized jim loger. The tagline
in tiny type eurutine perfected. We stared at it, then
at each other. Milah folded the paper in quarters with slow,
deliberate precision. Delete it real version, she whispered, then tossed
it in the recycling. I watched events stuff hover around
the check and I pat its orsetting screens, fiddling with
glitches in the crowd, A woman huffed by a familiar
angle to her face and echo. Maybe I wanted to
believe it wasn't Jamie or aversion or stranger's sliding into
the groove of the next experiment. I checked my pocket,
no new notes. I looked up at the sky, the
color of clin coat on a blank background, and let
myself breathe. We went home that night. After Milah left,
I made my own tea, burn the bag marked to
his date in thick black marker. I felt a chill
in my palm, a hesitation before I signed the calendar,
but the day held. I left all the lights on
just in case. Closing paragraph and that is the end.
Thank you for listening, and I will see you in
the next one.