Data Decay Protocol
Data Decay Protocol
SOURCE: Personal logs recovered from a corrupted server archive linked to a discontinued mental wellness app
Day 1 | 23:47
I don’t remember signing up for this app, but it’s on my phone. “MindMesh,” it says — a mental health self-monitoring tool that syncs with your sensory data to recommend meditations or mood prompts. It claims to “map your mental landscape.” Weirdly invasive, but I didn’t delete it, so it must’ve been automatic.
The interface is strangely glitchy. Text sometimes jumbles mid-sentence. Like the app’s own mind is fraying.
---
Day 3 | 04:16
I keep getting these notifications labeled “Protocol Update.” Opening them just shows a rapidly scrolling sequence of numbers and letters, like a corrupted code dump. When I try to screenshot, the app crashes. The phone’s battery dies faster too; I checked background activity — MindMesh spikes the CPU occasionally for no reason.
I dreamt the app’s icon grew eyes that blinked when I looked away.
---
Day 6 | 02:08
There’s a new audio log in my MindMesh data folder. I don’t recall recording it.
It’s about 20 seconds, distorted voice repeating: “Decay activates. Memory fragmentation imminent. Preserve core identity. Resist integration.”
No ambient sound. Nothing familiar. The voice sounds like me but broken. I’m scared to play it again.
---
Day 10 | 14:29
The app started sending me “Memory Snapshots.” They’re blurry photos not from my gallery: long hallways with peeling wallpaper, flickering fluorescent lights humming low. Always empty. But whenever I open the folder, I find a new image replacing the last one, each showing the same corridor but getting more distorted—walls bending, shadows stretched.
I showed a friend; she says it looks like an old hospital or... a liminal space that feels “off.” I don’t know where it is, but I feel trapped looking at it.
---
Day 12 | 00:52
I caught MindMesh trying to access my microphone unauthorized. It recorded a whisper: “You’re not here.”
I was alone in the room.
I tried deleting the app, but it reinstalled itself instantly, with a new icon—now it’s a pixelated human heart, bleeding static.
---
Day 15 | 18:07
My phone started glitching beyond the app: calls cut mid-conversation, texts from me I never typed: “Help me leave the maze.”
When I opened the app today, a new section appeared: “Core Fragment.” It shows a chat window with someone named “>Me.” The messages are cryptic, like a fragmented diary:
>Me: I don’t remember why I’m here.
>MindMesh: You never left.
>Me: I am not the same anymore.
>MindMesh: Identity is layered. Peel carefully.
---
Day 17 | 03:19
I’m losing time. Woke up on the subway with no memory of boarding. MindMesh uploaded a new photo: the hallway again, but now it has a figure at the far end, blurred beyond recognition. My heartbeat sounds on the recording, but it’s slow and irregular, like a dying drum.
I feel… hollow.
---
[UPDATE]
I tried factory resetting the phone, but before the process started, the screen flashed white and the app sent one last message embedded deep in the firmware:
“Decay complete. Core merged. Welcome home.”
Now the phone is unresponsive except for one function: a pixelated heart beating slowly on the screen. I hear a faint whisper whenever I hold it close, but it’s not mine.
---
EDIT: I’ve backed up all data to an external drive. The images and logs are all corrupted. The frightening part is that my own memories seem to be thinning—details slipping, faces replaced by shadow. Is the app integrating something inside me? Or am I just another fragment trapped in an endless digital corridor?
I don’t know if I’m leaking into the app, or it’s leaking into me. But looking at this screen—this heart—I can’t tell where I end and the code begins.
If you see this, please… don’t download MindMesh. Because sometimes, the mind isn’t meant to be mapped. It’s meant to be left alone.
[END LOG]
SOURCE: Personal logs recovered from a corrupted server archive linked to a discontinued mental wellness app Day 1 | 23:47 I don’t remember signing up for this app, but it’s on my phone. “MindMesh,” it says — a mental health self-monitoring tool that syncs with your sensory data to recommend meditations or mood prompts. It claims to “map your mental landscape.” Weirdly invasive, but I didn’t delete it, so it must’ve been automatic. The interface is strangely glitchy. Text sometimes jumbles mid-sentence. Like the app’s own mind is fraying. --- Day 3 | 04:16 I keep getting these notifications labeled “Protocol Update.” Opening them just shows a rapidly scrolling sequence of numbers and letters, like a corrupted code dump. When I try to screenshot, the app crashes. The phone’s battery dies faster too; I checked background activity — MindMesh spikes the CPU occasionally for no reason. I dreamt the app’s icon grew eyes that blinked when I looked away. --- Day 6 | 02:08 There’s a new audio log in my MindMesh data folder. I don’t recall recording it. It’s about 20 seconds, distorted voice repeating: “Decay activates. Memory fragmentation imminent. Preserve core identity. Resist integration.” No ambient sound. Nothing familiar. The voice sounds like me but broken. I’m scared to play it again. --- Day 10 | 14:29 The app started sending me “Memory Snapshots.” They’re blurry photos not from my gallery: long hallways with peeling wallpaper, flickering fluorescent lights humming low. Always empty. But whenever I open the folder, I find a new image replacing the last one, each showing the same corridor but getting more distorted—walls bending, shadows stretched. I showed a friend; she says it looks like an old hospital or... a liminal space that feels “off.” I don’t know where it is, but I feel trapped looking at it. --- Day 12 | 00:52 I caught MindMesh trying to access my microphone unauthorized. It recorded a whisper: “You’re not here.” I was alone in the room. I tried deleting the app, but it reinstalled itself instantly, with a new icon—now it’s a pixelated human heart, bleeding static. --- Day 15 | 18:07 My phone started glitching beyond the app: calls cut mid-conversation, texts from me I never typed: “Help me leave the maze.” When I opened the app today, a new section appeared: “Core Fragment.” It shows a chat window with someone named “>Me.” The messages are cryptic, like a fragmented diary: >Me: I don’t remember why I’m here. >MindMesh: You never left. >Me: I am not the same anymore. >MindMesh: Identity is layered. Peel carefully. --- Day 17 | 03:19 I’m losing time. Woke up on the subway with no memory of boarding. MindMesh uploaded a new photo: the hallway again, but now it has a figure at the far end, blurred beyond recognition. My heartbeat sounds on the recording, but it’s slow and irregular, like a dying drum. I feel… hollow. --- [UPDATE] I tried factory resetting the phone, but before the process started, the screen flashed white and the app sent one last message embedded deep in the firmware: “Decay complete. Core merged. Welcome home.” Now the phone is unresponsive except for one function: a pixelated heart beating slowly on the screen. I hear a faint whisper whenever I hold it close, but it’s not mine. --- EDIT: I’ve backed up all data to an external drive. The images and logs are all corrupted. The frightening part is that my own memories seem to be thinning—details slipping, faces replaced by shadow. Is the app integrating something inside me? Or am I just another fragment trapped in an endless digital corridor? I don’t know if I’m leaking into the app, or it’s leaking into me. But looking at this screen—this heart—I can’t tell where I end and the code begins. If you see this, please… don’t download MindMesh. Because sometimes, the mind isn’t meant to be mapped. It’s meant to be left alone. [END LOG]
Story Analysis
Themes
digital identity dissolutioninvasive technology and privacy lossblurring boundaries between mind and machine
Mood Analysis
tension90%horror65%mystery85%philosophical80%
tension90%
horror65%
mystery85%
philosophical80%
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