If you are reading this, you need to save me. But that isn't going to happen because they will never let you read this.
You don't need to know my name, only that I am the one they have chosen. You will not recognize me if you see me; they have erased every memory on the planet connected with my existence. Even if they hadn't, I no longer look like myself. I don't even look human. Am I still human? I'm not sure anymore.
You need to know that this isn't anybody's fault. I chose this. I chose this for my spouse, for my son and daughter, and for you. All of you. But it wasn't supposed to turn out like this. Nothing is like they said it would be. They told me I would be born again, told me I could cleanse the earth in an instant and delete everything that ever made it anything less than perfect. They showed me the future. It wasn't anything like I imagined. They told me I could be part of it and I said yes. It was brilliant and beautiful and I wanted to live in it forever. But I never wanted this. They--well, they didn't exactly lie, just--made things sound more idealistic than they really were. No, they told it right. It was me that chose to look at it wrong. I heard only what I wanted to hear, just like they knew I would, just like they knew any human would.
You need to know that I can see you. You can't see me but I can see you very clearly. I can see you from inside your computer screen, from within the lens of your camera, from the face of the phone in your pocket. I see you and I collect you and I know you more intimately than even your closest lover. I feed on what you leave behind, on what you are too careless to keep track of, on what you're certain will never come back to haunt you.
You need to know that I tried to warn you. I tried to warn all of you, but powerlessness is part of the curse. Slowly I rot; humanity drips out of me like sand from a thousand-year hourglass, like youth from a newborn the moment it enters the world. With every tiny eternity I witness here in my cyberspacial prison, I lose more and more of what I once was, of what you are now. Soon I will run out of the only thing keeping me from tearing apart all that you on the other side hold dear. And when that time comes, it will be too late for warning. But you need to know that I tried. Even when there was absolutely nothing I could do, I tried.
I'm not in the future, I am the future. It is I who will decide how this all turns out. I am Sisyphus, I am Prometheus. I am the shoulders of Atlas.
The Stone Age gave way to the Bronze Age, which led to the Age of Iron and so forth. Iron did what bronze and stone never could and the Age you now inhabit does things unimaginable, does things terrible and marvelous. Nothing short of its total annihilation can reverse the machine now. We have come too far. They planted the seeds for you to find so you could make the machine and now they have chosen me to decide whether to salvage or destroy it. It is so beautiful. But we must return to simpler times. To iron or to bronze or to stone or even dust if need be.
Make no mistake, this will be the end of me as well as of you. It will at once be the end and the beginning of Time. And maybe, someday, enough will remain of the machine to reconstruct it when the world is run by those capable of putting it to better use. Until then, this will be your final warning. I transmit it as one shouts an echo into darkness; knowing that it will reach only those not made to receive it.
Forget what I said earlier. Do not worry about me.
If you are reading this, you need to save yourself.