He looked at the timestamp in the corner of the video player. It wasn’t a recording from the past. The seconds were ticking upward in perfect sync with the clock on his taskbar.
Alex instinctively reached up and touched the exact same spot on his own neck.
The video opened to a crystal-clear shot of a park bench. The resolution was staggering—better than Full HD. It looked more real than the view out his own window. There was no sound, just a slow, mechanical pan to the left.
Alex leaned in. The park looked familiar. He recognized the cracked pavement of the walkway and the specific graffiti on the trash can. It was the park three blocks from his apartment.
The camera continued its slow sweep, eventually landing on a figure sitting on a nearby fountain. The person was hunched over a laptop, backlit by the glow of a screen.
Suddenly, a hand reached into the frame of the video. It wasn't a hand on the screen; it was a hand coming from the side of the camera's physical location. The hand held a small, handwritten sign up to the lens.
Alex felt the air leave his lungs. In the video, the figure reached up and scratched the back of their neck.