I wore my work badge and fancy new Welcome to Nevada T-shirt for my first full day at the Footage Farm. Even after the margaritas, I was fresh-brained because I’d stopped at two. Genesis would’ve been proud of my self-control.

One summer in high school I thought, hey, I love movies. Why don’t I work at a movie theater? Which is like saying you should work at a butcher shop because you love animals. You see the ugly stuff that kind of ruins everything. I figured I’d sell tickets and shoot the shit with other movie buffs and sneak into theaters when things got slow. The only job I’d been able to get at the theater was as a morning janitor, so I cleaned dirty toilets and swept empty theaters with a leaf-blower—pushing old popcorn, and wadded napkins, and the occasional used condom out from between the rows of seats. Nothing ever turns out how you really want it.

I figured I was volunteering to watch sexy science experiments or a mystery unfold like grainy night footage of a rare mountain cat. Really, I was there to feel all the joy and creativity evaporate from my skin doing an office job, watching a security feed that might have been of a dentist’s exam room. That at least would’ve had blood once in a while. I burned through the day with half-assed reports, like tech asked the Envisioner a series of eight questions and seemed happy with the results. Instant coffee dissolved at the bottom of a chipped mug in the kitchenette where I escaped to kill time under the buzzing overhead lights. I know it’s obnoxious of me, but sitting at a desk all day long and filling out reports felt like slow death. I’d be in the Footage Farm forever, now, sitting in the dark like a calf waiting to be turned into veal. I almost wanted to take my chances with the heat stroke trying to hoof it over to Vegas so I could hop a mag-train home. Until I saw Figueiredo’s face.

I loaded up one of the files in my queue and the first frame was a close-up of his eyes. I knew they were his because they were mine. I slammed the spacebar key, pausing the playback while my pulse tried to burst out of my ears. I just couldn’t deal with seeing my face plastered over someone else, not at least until the others in the Footage Farm around me trickled away for the night and I could hyperventilate in peace. And I heard the voice whisper across the back of my neck like the bleached air coming out of the vents. This is what you need to see. This is why you’re here.

I waited until I was alone and hit play.

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