The Blank Channel

One green indicator after another came alive, as if a hand somewhere far away had just woken the room up. Static cracked through the speaker, then a broken voice emerged. “...if you’re hearing this, then I’ve already failed...” Mara went cold. It was Ben Quinn’s voice. Or rather, Ben from thirty years ago. “The device under the tower isn’t the transmitter,” the recording said. “It’s the collector. It gathers every future that gets spoken, altered, or deleted. Don’t let Evan get the archive boxes. Don’t let him learn the static entity has started copying voices. It will use whoever you trust most.” The recording hit a rough cough, like someone in the room had been hurt.