Check. Check. Filing in.

File Zero.

Last Entry.

(muffled sounds against microphone, followed by an urgent voice, breathing heavily as if repressing panic.)

It's Nadine.

If you're listening to this now, I'm already dead.

(a dry, bitter laugh, bordering on hysterical)

Don't think about it too much. I know what you saw.  I know what you're seeing.

I saw it too.

(another laugh)

Bet I can tell you.

You see a girl, slightly too chubby and covered is scratches, sprawled on the ground.  Her skin has no flush of life, her dull eyes aren't quite closed.  Her mouth lolled open slightly so you can see those larger-than-life front teeth with their awful wider-than-Alaska gap.  The girl's hair is fanned out around her in a mousy, wet-dirt-colored halo.  Circling her head is a pair of large, radio-style headphones.  Purple.  If you follow the cables that trail from them, you will see that there is no jack plug and they are attached to nothing, as they have split and severed.  Her t-shirt is black, with a sharp, white triangle in the center of her chest.  Her jeans are ripped, in some places artfully, and in others, unintentionally.

If you see the necklace, avoid it.

The lights in the room fluctuate, the overhead light dangles by a few wires, and you can see that in the girl's dead fingers is a tape recorder, small, handheld.  A small microphone is clutched in her other hand, its cable also split.

I bet I got everything.  I always did have a thing for adjectives.

Well, except for the parts I forgot.  Or chose to leave out.

Mostly the latter.

Anyway, the tape recorder.  You must have pressed the play button, because you are hearing me right now.

Now I'm telling you this.

If you can stand walking around the body, you will see that, along with copious amounts of shattered glass, there are cassette tapes strewn across the floor.

Find the one marked 'File One.'

After I you finish this tape, replace it with File One.

Listen to it.  All of  it.  All of them.

And learn. Learn it.

And learn to forget.

(A distant crash, the sound of shattering glass)

(A wry laugh)

They'll be coming to kill me now.

I have to go.  Not that I have a choice.

(In the background, a single, piercing shriek)

Welcome to my audio files.