Rebel 99.4 FM
Rebel 99.4 FM internet Australia Listen Live Radios Quality and uninterrupted publication.
Your comments are important to us.
Address: 4/168 Siganto Drive, Helensvale, 4212
Telephone: +61 07 5665 6600
Thought it might be something in the Ether, but nothing else is missing. Now, I’m thinking that someone got into my life record and erased her. Send her back to me. I was going to ask you the same thing. Mine’s gone. The moment I saw her… now just a black hole. Not just me. Ten other people in the street that day now have edits in their record. The moments they looked at her… random strangers. She must have built an algorithm. Automatically searches for her and erases any trace it finds. Blacks her out and leaves a gap. None of the people in the street significant enough in their life to warrant a proper cover-up. And anyone who is significant has a nasty habit of dying. Hard to erase their memories without erasing them. Handful of people smart enough to do this. Generally too smart to go on a killing spree. Unless the gifted mind is a sick one. They do a surveillance search? With what? We don’t have a face anymore. . We don’t have a name, a face… no idea where she is. Yeah. We got exactly nothing. Hungry? I’m good. You have arrived. Hey. Hi, Sal. It’s late. I know. Tomorrow’s his birthday. You think I don’t know that? Ten. Please stop. He’s gone. He would have been ten. You got to stop doing this, to yourself and to me. Doing what? I’m keeping his memory alive. What’s wrong with that? The memory’s not going anywhere. By the looks of it, neither are you. Sal. Does he have to be on the call every time we talk? Conrad, I’m not going to keep her long, it’s just… I know… but you can’t keep calling all hours. She’s not your wife anymore. It’s his birthday. Kristen. Are you drunk? You’re swaying. Not drunk. I’m tired. I’ve been working… I haven’t had a drink for days. Show me the last ten minutes of your record. You know what? I’ve got to go. Help! Please, kill me. Don’t hurt her, please. Don’t, please. No! Mind’s Eye hijacked. Both of them. The thing is, sir, the perp’s POV… I can’t identify it. It’s got no signature. No shit. First responder. I was in the neighborhood, sir. Where is everyone? On their way. Who else is here? Housekeeper. She was downstairs. She’s back in her room. She’s a mess. I spoke to her. Ma’am, can you describe the visitor? Long, brown hair… Twenty-five? I only saw her for a second. Just us and her in the house now? That’s one hell of a rat. There’s four of us in the house. One of us is being shy. Jam your transmitter. Ah, . Please, kill me. Don’t hurt her, please. Don’t, please. No! Lesbian couple. Neither was out. One… daughter of a prominent Christian right senator up for re-election. In the last week, the women had themselves removed from each other’s lives. For appearances, no easy task. Dating for a year. We’re starting to get a picture of our hacker even though we don’t have a picture. Lives in the Ether. Makes her living covering up sub-crime not detected automatically. Secrets, affairs, non-violent white-collar so-called “victimless crime.” She’s a master editor who cuts together a believable alibi to replace the unwanted act in the record. Most of all, she erases herself. And now, her clients are getting erased. Why bother to meet the client? If she can do it remote. She doesn’t want a lot of back-and-forth communication, leave a trail, get intercepted. Wants to be paid in the only currency that can’t be hacked. Cash. Remember cash? And here I was thinking she was all about the personal touch. She might be. Trace markers are unregistered, but match. Suggests she might have been intimate with her victims. Is that what this is? No one gets to kiss and tell? Wouldn’t be the first. Seems like every customer she takes to bed ends up DOA. And this girl has more than one way to kill you. Last night, when I was chasing her… …that’s where it starts. She changes what I see. The stairs… the stretch. They look normal. Not to me. It’s an optical illusion. Which later disappears from my record. And it doesn’t end there. At this moment… I’m seeing… a train at the platform. A train that isn’t there. I swear to God. Real one could have killed me. Placing a moving image… over a record in real time… It’s possible. How the do we stop this ? We do what every one of the victims did before they were killed. We hire her. I’ll be the bait. I go undercover. The girl likes big shots. I make it look like I work in a brokerage house. Get phony friends, family, fiancée, profile history. All my online activity looks like I made a success of my life. A month, all to give us enough material to stretch over my law enforcement career. My new life’s just going to look a little repetitive to anyone who looks back. Lester’s got to be in on it. He’s a freelance contractor. He should be safe. Once I look legit, I do something the new me wants to erase. KRYSTAL , Escort Thanks. Drink? I don’t drink. What do you do? Yes. Thank you. Naturally, I do what any guilty boyfriend does after having with a hooker, I call my fiancée. Next day, I get scared my girlfriend is going to ask to see my records so I try to contact our hacker. Same dark Ether bulletin boards used by the other victims. We know her M.O.