But then I go deeper. The system’s memory is a labyrinth of corrupted files and fragmented data. I run a deep-repair script. It finds one intact file. A single hour of footage. Date stamp: 2009-12-14. 2:00 PM to 3:00 PM.

The loading dock looks different then. Cleaner. A pallet of denim jeans wrapped in plastic. A forklift idling. A man in a canvas jacket, clipboard in hand. He’s counting inventory. His name is Earl. I know this because he’s talking to himself. The audio is scratchy, but the Gen-3 had a decent mic.

I should call the police. That is the protocol. That is the sane, lawful thing to do.

Even then, the answer felt insufficient. Which one was which? Did the camera have a name? Did it know it had a serial number, like a prisoner knew his digits?

But then I look at the camera again. The smoked plastic bubble. The faded stencil. I realize, with a cold wash of nausea, that it is still watching. The red light inside is not a status LED. It is the recording light. It has been recording me this whole time. Me, kneeling on the dusty concrete, my face reflected dimly in its curved lens.

Number - Security Eye Serial

But then I go deeper. The system’s memory is a labyrinth of corrupted files and fragmented data. I run a deep-repair script. It finds one intact file. A single hour of footage. Date stamp: 2009-12-14. 2:00 PM to 3:00 PM.

The loading dock looks different then. Cleaner. A pallet of denim jeans wrapped in plastic. A forklift idling. A man in a canvas jacket, clipboard in hand. He’s counting inventory. His name is Earl. I know this because he’s talking to himself. The audio is scratchy, but the Gen-3 had a decent mic.

I should call the police. That is the protocol. That is the sane, lawful thing to do.

Even then, the answer felt insufficient. Which one was which? Did the camera have a name? Did it know it had a serial number, like a prisoner knew his digits?

But then I look at the camera again. The smoked plastic bubble. The faded stencil. I realize, with a cold wash of nausea, that it is still watching. The red light inside is not a status LED. It is the recording light. It has been recording me this whole time. Me, kneeling on the dusty concrete, my face reflected dimly in its curved lens.