Archi’s Diary – Episode 7

Welcome to the next episode of Archi’s Diary, a weekly entry in my favorite amnesiac’s journal as he tries to adjust to a world he doesn’t remember. Still going strong with the placeholder image for now but should change soon.

Episode 7 – February 2016placeholder image

Good things are not happening.

I’m thinking about leaving this place very soon, to strike out on my own and get some perspective. I managed to get a proper long coat, a modern duster, and a few travel items that aren’t too conspicuous for Steve to question. I don’t trust him anymore. All the support, the connection we made last week, has evaporated on my side, and any potential trust in Inger has ceased.


It started at the dinner last week where Steve and Inger had a few too many glasses of wine and persisted in calling me Anthony. The entire night. Even after I mentioned that it wasn’t my name. I don’t know, maybe it is? I don’t remember. Maybe I am this Anthony person, but if so, why would they tell me differently? They looked saddened, maybe even disappointed, like had I done something wrong when I pointed it out.

After dinner I went out to get some fresh air and to see Willy. We spoke about the memory stick and the associated challenges, diverged into encryption and then human behavior. He mentioned that breakthroughs in code breaking during WWII weren’t just about investigating encryption and applied mathematics, but also into human behavior. People are generally lazy and conceited. Most of the time we do things in a way that requires the least amount of effort, plus we often think no one else thinks like we do. So they made breakthroughs by guessing how soldiers in the field might think and feel and then tested for it.

Note to self: This Bletchley Park place sounds amazing, must go there to learn more.

But before he could continue, Inger and Steve showed up at Willy’s place in the meadows. Not at his home address which is a matter of public record (I mean how many people are named Willy or William in a village of less than 200 hundred people), but at our moon watching spot (it has less light pollution and more favorable weather), and acted as if they were just “happened to be in the area”. They left after a short while but it got me thinking. Am I being followed? What if I’m bugged? What if they put a tracker in one of my molars or under my skin, have my bio-signature on file and designated a satellite to spy on me?

Let’s be rational here. You don’t need some invasive bodily procedure or magic technology to keep track of people. You could just as well use a smartphone. Simple and straightforward. Like ‘Here’s a free toy for Archi, “don’t ever leave home without it”, which begs the question; can they listen in? Are they listening now? I mean, the device is in my bag most of the time, and we usually leave it in the car, so me and Willy have a modicum of privacy; but what about at home? It stays in the bag from now on. This is all so goddamn weird. It feels like the diary entry last week came true. A bit too close for comfort.

Anyway, after Steve and Inger left, we spoke about the prevalence of certain passwords or phrases, patterns that most people think of, that are used for email and social media accounts. How people often use the same password across several different services. Why would you do that? That’s like putting all your digital eggs in one basket and hoping the thief only takes the one. If this is true, then people really are stupid. Or at least conceited. He suggested trying a few of the most commonly used passwords. Apparently there are lists online. Why would a person use a password that is on a list of often used passwords?

In any case, this situation is horrible. I might be watched. I might be someone else, however that works. I feel anxiety all the time and have had a few small panic attacks. I’m scared, and the only person I feel can be trusted I’ve only known for 5 weeks.

I need to leave this place. I need to go. Soon.

End of episode 7. Share, like and follow for weekly updates. Thank you for reading.

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