Whistleblower

I got you fam:

First contact:

Apologies for sending this out of the blue.

I found your name on a tech blog where you were asking about a certain company. I got your email from that post.

You’re a reporter yeah? You can keep me anonymous? Protect me? I have a story and I need to tell someone.

I work there.

Response:

I’ve been experiencing some strange things lately, and it all started with an accident I was in. I live in Boston. A car clipped me last week near my apartment. I hit my head pretty hard on the curb.

I signed so many agreements when I started work THERE, many of them are about not disclosing information about my job or what I see because it’s an ultra high-security research and development lab. You jump through so many high tech hoops to get hired. You have to take these weird video assessments with all these disturbing images… they track your eyes and scan your brain activity to see if you’re trustworthy, willing to be compliant… Weird, next level stuff. But I passed it all. I don’t remember too much else, and that’s the thing.

After the accident everything changed. A paramedic was checking me out and I started realizing I had two sets of memories. They wanted to take me to the hospital but I was beyond freaked. My employer wants to know about things like this immediately. But what I was remembering, and that I was remembering it now, scared the hell out of me.

I realized that when I leave there I don’t forget what I saw, but on the shuttle ride back to the city it all starts feeling unimportant. Like remembering a time you stopped to tie your shoes. It’s there but doesn’t feel like it matters. Something you’d never tell someone. Does that make sense?

But now my memories are conflicting. Not only am I starting to remember things, but I’m also realizing that my life here in Boston, my apartment, my driver’s license… it all feels familiar, but not.

I think they’ve done something to me. Maybe to everybody there. I think they have projects like this. I’m not sure. It’s like trying to remember parts of a dream.

You probably think I’m crazy. And maybe there is something wrong with me. But I don’t know who else to tell. And if they’re doing this to other people, something has to be done. I feel like I’ve been stolen from myself. The weird thing… I fell asleep with my laptop in bed and when I woke up the next morning the blog where I found your post was pulled up. But I don’t remember searching for it. I was too scared to put in the company’s name. But there it was, waiting for me. I took it as a sign to find you.

All I know right now is that I’m working on one particular project which isn’t active right now so I’ve had most of the week off. But they want me back on Monday because they’re ramping it up again.

I’m scared. Scared they’ll know about the accident and that I didn’t tell them. Scared they already know even though I’ve taken precautions to make sure they can’t track this to me. Scared of what I’ll see when I go back, and what I’ll remember when I leave. If I can leave.

HA. This all sounds so insane. When you asked about the company, did you imagine in a million years that this would be the response you’d get?

First round of questions:

Follow-up:

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