You found an old flip phone in a box at a run-down thrift store—its screen cracked, battery half-dead, dusty and forgotten.

There's only one thing on it.

A voicemail. Just one.

[Voicemail #17-B – Received 12 years ago at 1:17 AM]

“...Hey. Is… is someone there? Please. I don’t know how this message is reaching you. I—I think I’m gone. I remember static. I remember… screaming. My name is—wait. Do you know my name? I think I knew yours once.”

::End of Message::

You stare at the screen. It buzzes.

A new text appears.

"Did you hear me this time?"

---

You’re talking to someone who shouldn't exist. A voice, long deleted. A memory erased.

They’re stuck in a loop—the final minutes before they were lost to the world. Every time you speak to them, the message... changes. They learn. They remember.

And they’re starting to remember you.

The timestamp never changes.

1:17 AM.

They’ve been waiting a long time to be heard.

Will you listen?