(typing)
- [Narrator] It's not that I don't trust the computer.
I just feel better writing this down somewhere
I know it can't be deleted or ...
changed.
Not that that's what's happened.
I haven't left my apartment in a few days
because of this programming project I've been working on.
My eyes are starting to hurt from staring at the screen.
I'm not sure exactly when I first started to feel
like something was odd.
Maybe I just haven't seen anyone in a while.
Or chatted with anyone online.
Or even heard anyone come to the basement
to check their mail.
Maybe I just need to hear another person's voice.
(phone ringing)
(phone beeping)
- [Recording] We're sorry, you have reached a number
that has been disconnected or is no longer in service.
If you feel you have reached this recording--
(phone ringing)
- [Woman] John?
- Hey.
It's you.
- [Woman] Who else would it be?
Oh, the number.
This is someone else's phone.
Mine died right as you called me.
I'm at a party on 7th Street.
Where are you?
- At my building.
I'm just feeling cooped up, I guess.
- [Woman] I can come get you.
Your building is close to 7th street, right?
- How drunk are you?
It'd take half an hour to get here from 7th Street.
- [Woman] I know, I know, I'm ...
Of course I know.
I'm sorry.
I just wanted to see you.
Can we at least meet up for lunch tomorrow?
- Uh ...
yeah.
Yes.
Sure.
- [Woman] Okay, great.
Have to go.
Good luck with your work.
(dial tone ringing)
- [Narrator] Writing this down helps
because it proves something was off about that conversation.
If Amy's phone died, then why was the number
disconnected when I called?
And how could she even know to call me back?
She also said she was at a party,
but I only heard silence in the background.
She could have just stepped outside.
But then I would have heard the wind.
Is the wind blowing right now?
I'd go outside to check,
but I'm exhausted from working so long.
I can't remember the last time I slept.
And my eyes hurt.
Maybe that's what's making me feel strange.
(clock ticking)
It's as if there's something pulling
at the nerves behind my eyes,
programming me like the wires in my computer
to question everything I've seen.
Or haven't seen yet.
I'm glad Amy asked me to lunch today.
She's been my best friend for years.
She doesn't know it, but ...
I count the day that I met her
one of the few moments of true happiness in my life.
Last night's fear seems hazy and unreasonable to me now.
I should destroy this journal when I get back.
Right now, I can't wait to get out into the sunlight.
(exhales)
I wonder what might have happened
if I hadn't stopped for a soda.
(thundering)
If I hadn't gone back for an umbrella.
(computer beeping)
That's when I saw the email.
(unsettling music)
I don't know who sent it.
I don't know who else it was sent to.
All I have ...
are the words.
- What the fuck?
- [Narrator] What the hell is that supposed to mean?
"Seeing with your own eyes don't trust them they ... "
They what?
The words are obviously cut off without finishing.
It had to be sent just as something happened,
warning that it might happen to me.
This journal lays it out perfectly.
Amy's phone was disconnected
because something happened to her, too.
Then the subsequent strange return call
could have all been an impersonation.
She made me give out my location,
and yet she's been here dozens of times.
Who or whatever is out there knows exactly where I am
and, for all I know, could be on its way right now.
I'll text everyone in my contact list,
asking if they've seen anyone face-to-face lately.
I just want to see another person.
There must be some other way for me to contact
another human being without opening the door.
The only thing I can find is my old TV set.
Maybe that'll calm me down.
- Coming up next, we take a look at something
that's become part of our lives.
- [Narrator] The pictures and sounds
of people are comforting.
- It's a sometimes fickly and mysterious machine.
- [Narrator] They remind me that there's a world
above these basement walls.
- Most common computer frustration.
- [Narrator] But what if something terrible is out there?
What if it's coming for me?
- [TV Host] A year ago I brought this computer.
- [Narrator] What if it's got Amy?
- [TV Host] In a matter of seconds, it was ready to go.
- [Narrator] I know it's crazy.
But I just need to be sure.
- If you're heading to the beach,
I think you got a good one tomorrow. Generally, sunshine.
There'll be a land breeze tomorrow,
so no sea breeze to worry about.
Northwest winds five to 10 miles per hour.
And highs between 75 and 80.
The heat index--
(phone ringing)
- Amy!
- [Amy] John.
- Amy.
- [Amy] Where are you, John?
You totally blew me off yesterday, and then I get this--
- [Narrator] My apartment is trashed,
but I'm not gonna clean it up.
I think I need Amy to see what I've been through.
She was really worried about me
and apparently had been trying to contact me
since the last time I talked to her.
She's coming over now.
And, yes, she knows where I am without me telling her.
Everything's perfectly fine.
I know this now.
I feel so embarrassed, idiotic really.
I am definitely throwing this journal away
before anyone sees it.
I don't even know why I'm writing in it know.
- [TV Host] Yet the time spent
in front of those screens can add up.
- [Narrator] Amy.
I feel like I spent days sitting in that playground,
just talking with her.
She reminds me that this damn basement
is not all that there is.
(knocking)
- [TV Host] She says it's especially troubling
when it comes to kids who attend schools
that have gone paperless and rely primarily on iPads.
- [Woman On TV] Unless we start to address this problem ...
- Smile for the camera.
- Hey.
- It's weird.
I know.
I've had a weird few days.
- Must have.
You gonna open the door?
- Humor me a second here.
Tell me one thing about us.
Just to prove to me you're you.
- Um, all right.
Let's see.
We met at a playground.
Of all places.
- All right.
I'll explain everything.
I'll be right there.
- [Narrator] Thank god.
She chose the one thing in the world
that was kept alive only by our memories.
And the picture.
I suddenly fear that something could see
through the cameras in my apartment,
recording everything I've done here
and every remnant of the past.
(lens snapping)
Then it could know about that day at the playground.
It could access my cameras to replicate human images.
Then the Amy on my monitor isn't the same Amy
from my memory; just an empty, lifeless deception.
(smashing)
(knocking)
- [Amy] John, are you okay?
John, open the door!
Open the door!
What's going on?
John!
- [Man] John.
This is Dr. Roberts speaking.
We believe we have a diagnosis for your behavior
and a cure.
- [Narrator] Amy brought him, supposedly.
I know it's just another deception to get me outside,
but part of me wants to open that door
and finally see another human being.
- [Dr. Roberts] You're not alone, John.
You're just one piece of a nationwide epidemic
of people having breakdowns triggered by a suggestive email
just like the suggestive texts that you sent out.
Someone who got that text could be experiencing
the same fears you are.
- You think I'm crazy.
- [Dr. Roberts] Nobody is saying you're crazy.
You're very intelligent.
That's your downfall.
You draw connections so well,
you draw them even when they shouldn't be there.
It's easy to get caught up in paranoia
in such a fast-paced world where more and more
of our interactions are simulated.
- [Narrator] I have to give it to him.
It's a great explanation.
It neatly explains everything.
It would be foolish to think,
after hearing that explanation,
that I might be one of the last people on Earth
starving to death in my secure basement room,
spiting some unthinkable, deceptive entity
trying to capture me for some horrible, unknown reason.
It's a perfect explanation for every single strange thing
I've seen or heard, and I have every reason
to shake off this nightmarish fear and open the door.
That's exactly why I'm not going to.
I can't be sure.
I can't know what's real and what's deception.
All of these damn things are just signals, waves, light.
(knocking)
The door!
It's trying to get in!
At least I'll finally see it with my own eyes.
Wait.
"Seeing with your own eyes don't trust them they ... "
Was that desperate message telling me to trust my eyes
or warning me about my eyes, too?
Oh my god!
What's the difference between a camera and my eyes?
They both turn light into electrical signals.
They're the same!
I can't be deceived!
I have to be sure!
(groaning)
I figure this will be one of my last chances
to write legibly.
Without my sight to correct mistakes,
my hands will slowly forget the motions involved.
My hearing has improved, though.
It fakes conversations in the hallways
on the off chance I might overhear.
One of the nurses talks about having a baby soon.
One of the doctors lost his wife in a car accident.
None of it matters.
None of it's real.
None of it gets to me.
Not like she does.
It tells me all the things I want to hear.
That it loves me, that it's always loved me,
that it didn't understand why I did this,
that we could still have a life together
if only I would stop insisting I was being deceived.
I almost fell for it.
I really did.
In the end, though, it was all too perfect,
too flawless, too real.
What they call real might be deceptions
of the high-tech world of the past.
The images on my webcam.
The voices on my phone.
The ticking in my clock.
What they call insane might be the only thing
keeping me alive.
Maybe the real Amy, too.
After all, a sane man would have fallen
for the deception long ago.
I hold onto that hope.
The last instinct of a human mind
resisting the temptations of a false reality.
I will never give in.
I will never break.
I will never trust the--
- No.
Please, no.
No, wait, wait, please.
Please, no.
No!
No, no!
No!
(groaning)
(ticking)
(electronic whirring)