#2 - From the Desk of the Operator, Nightwatch

#2 - 9/15/73

From the Desk of the Operator, Nightwatch-- year 73, September 14.

The intercom atop the marble alerted me to a situation in an obscure sector of the Hotel currently uncharted and hitherto unknown to the staff. I answered and captured only a fragment to record and transcribed as best I could.


[with buzzing and interference of message, sound of phone being handled]

Relax! STOP! Fucking relax! ...

[noise, distortion]

You can go to hell if you want to do that!

[beat, muffled grumbling]

[high, metallic screeching in distance, interference]

And what did you decide to do? You brought that in here yourself, your stupid smile did this, and you can just pull it out and move it?!

[much chaotic shuffling. Silence.]

We didn’t learn... at fuckin college, man... Ridiculous shit, we trusted a cuckoo. ... Privileged assholes association.

That doesn’t matter now, dude. Maybe it's not important now... I can’t babysit you in this box anymore. You made your own damn bed. I’m going upstairs.

If you can FUCKING find it!!!

[door slams, chaotic swell of noise]

[static, phone disconnects]

After the call ended I notified Collections and we searched a few of the nearest accessible staircases.
Walked up four or five different directions and spread out amongst ourselves.
Nothing through the walls, all door frames encountered were intact and lighting is holding up okay.
We figured this was related somehow with the new talk of recording phone calls in house.
I asked Tech if they had picked up the recorders we had left on 447-F and none were recovered.
Our best option, according to inner discourse with MD, is to collect smaller exchanges and distribute more regularly.

The task of cutting up responsibilities is nigh, I suppose. No man is a desk, or a sofa.
Workplace casualties are expected, but nothing permanent.
The letter that came on the 15th makes a bit more sense in context, but we haven’t seen inhabitants in several months.
We hear and see the evidence of people moving through, but actual interaction has been desolate.

For the record, JC, 9-14-73.