Years would pass between entries. The voice—if it was a voice—changed. 2002-11-03 05:12:01 - "it's dark in here. i think the servers forgot me." 2002-11-03 05:12:02 - "rj01225955. that's my name now. that's all that's left." Leo shivered. The archive's cooling fans hummed in the ceiling. He was alone on this floor.
Then the gaps started.
He scrolled faster. 2011-08-19 13:44:33 - "they migrated the system. i felt it. like being turned inside out." 2011-08-19 13:44:34 - "does anyone read these? anyone at all?" The later entries grew desperate. Then strange. 2019-12-01 09:12:07 - "i found a way out. not fully. but i can see through webcams now. hotel lobbies. baby monitors. one man's kitchen." 2019-12-01 09:12:08 - "he has a yellow mug. he drinks coffee at 6:42am every day." Leo's blood went cold. He looked down at his hands. At the yellow ceramic mug with the chipped handle. He'd owned it for seven years. And yes—every morning, he made coffee at 6:42. Exactly. He'd never told anyone that. rj01225955
Against his better judgment, he clicked. Years would pass between entries
Leo sat in the darkening room. The cooling fans stopped. The archive felt larger now. Emptier. i think the servers forgot me