The ambient sounds grew more disturbing.

Tonight, the lab feels colder, the shadows deeper. I just finished another session with the Temporal Acoustic Capture device, and the sounds I heard... they were chilling.
When I put on the headphones, the static gave way to a distant hum, followed by voices. A woman's voice, filled with dread, whispered, “It’s all gone... everything we built... gone.” Her sobs were heart-wrenching, accompanied by murmured prayers and names called out in desperation.
The ambient sounds grew more disturbing: clashing metal, roaring fires, and a persistent, eerie beeping. But the children’s cries were the most haunting. One small voice trembled, “Mommy, where are you?” It echoed in my mind long after the session ended.
The ethical weight of our work presses heavily on me. Are we meant to intervene or merely observe? The scientist in me seeks understanding, but the human in me is horrified by the suffering we uncover. These aren’t just sounds; they are the voices of real people, living through future horrors.
As I write this, the echoes haunt me. That little girl’s voice, the woman’s despair, the relentless destruction-they linger. Tomorrow, we continue, but tonight I question if we’re ready to bear the weight of the future’s sorrows. In our quest for knowledge, we may have opened a door to something far darker than we anticipated.