[ WP ] Your immortality serum had a hidden downside . Your body stops aging , but sleep erases all memories since taking the serum . To combat this , you film a video diary and spend time cutting the whole thing into a 2 hour highlight reel to watch when you wake up . Narrate said reel 120 years later .

I wake to the sound of knocking. 
 
 I do n't recognize the bed. 
 
 I do n't recognize the room. 
 
 `` It's okay, Mr. Benson,'' says a voice outside the room. `` Just your usual food delivery. I'll leave it on the doorstep. Have a good day.'' 
 
 There's a thump and some steps and then everything is silent. 
 
 Where am I? 
 
 I crawl out of bed. The floor is smooth and warm. It feels unnatural somehow. The walls are gray and spotted. No decorations. There's a kitchen just outside the bedroom. Everything is chrome and clean. This ca n't be my apartment. I could never afford something like this... 
 
 I move to the door and find a digital screen, filled with crisp images of what I assume must be the other side of the door. The steps are wide and sloped. There's a plastic bin sitting just there. I open the door and retrieve the bin. It's full of fresh food. The name is mine. The address is unfamiliar. 
 
 What do I remember? 
 
 *The serum*. 
 
 I took the serum. I remember that. But that does n't explain anything else. I took the serum and then... 
 
 I look back at the plastic bin of food. Delivery details are stamped on the top in semi-transparent ink. 
 
 *Shipped 2203.08.15* 
 
 Is that... is that the *date*? I stand up, whirling through the apartment, looking for a calendar, for a phone, for a TV, for *anything* that can confirm the date. There's nothing. Except there, on the counter - there's a remote control and small slip of paper. 
 
 `` Press the white button, then the P button. Then watch.'' 
 
 The handwriting looks like mine. I'm too disoriented to be apprehensive. I grab the remote and push the buttons. 
 
 A panel slides off the opposite wall. There's a large, thin screen there. It pops blue, then crystallizes into an image of my face. I recognize the room I'm in. It's Gwen's apartment in The Heights. I even recognize the Pier One `` tribal mask'' on the wall behind me. 
 
 `` Howdy, stranger,'' I say, smiling, leaning into the camera, head twitching like it always does when I'm trying to act casual. `` Let's start with the obvious - it *works*.'' 
 
 Christ. *Christ*. So the date is right? My heart starts racing. 
 
 `` At least, I'm *pretty* sure it works. It did n't kill me at any rate. It's only been ten days, so it's hard to be certain, but based on the tests I've been running, it certainly looks like we're looking at 100 percent regeneration of cells. Not to gross you out, but I've tested this pretty thoroughly and yes - it all grows back.'' 
 
 I look down at my hands. They do n't look any different than I remember. Nothing about me looks different. That should be proof enough, but it still does n't feel real. 
 
 `` The problem,'' says the me in the video, `` is my memory. It's... I ca n't seem to retain new memories since I took the serum. I have n't been able to figure out why. There have been some other changes, too, but nothing seems related to the memory problem. That's why I'm making this video. I guess I'm gon na have to start each day with a little tutorial about the day before... and *all* the days before. I think that's it for now. I'm keeping detailed notes. Gwen can tell you anything else important. I'll just... keep adding to this video every day until I figure it out.'' 
 
 The image clicks, white to black to white, and there I am again. 
 
 `` May 6, 2061. No changes. Uh...'' 
 
 There's a long pause. 
 
 `` Gwen's not here,'' the old me says, rubbing his eyes. `` And I do n't know why. I woke up in her apartment and she's... just not here. I'm worried we got into a fight. I did n't write anything down, so I do n't know... 
 
 `` It's frustrating. I know it is. I ask her things and I can *tell* I've already asked her so many times, she just wants to scream. So... I'll add an update once I get in touch with her. Okay.'' 
 
 The next scene is me back in the lab, talking through a stack of findings. No mention of Gwen. 
 
 The next update is from five months later. No Gwen. As far as I can tell, she's never mentioned again. 
 
 There's fame. There's wealth. The serum *does* work and it is valuable, but the FDA wo n't approve it because of the memory loss issue. No one else is allowed to even try it. But I somehow still write a book. There are speaking engagements. More books. A movie. The serum starts to fade away. Suddenly I'm not even a scientist anymore, just `` The Immortal Man.'' 
 
 There's another knock on the door. 
 
 `` Sorry, Mr. Benson.'' This time it's a female voice. `` You have to sign for these.'' 
 
 I check the monitor. It's a delivery woman with a small box. 
 
 I open the door. She hands me the box and holds out a digital registry. I ask for the stylus so I can sign. She shakes her head. 
 
 `` Thumbprint,'' she says, taking my hand and gently pressing it down on the corner of the screen. Her hands are soft. She smiles. 
 
 `` I'm sorry,'' I say. `` I do n't seem to be good at remembering things.'' 
 
 `` I know,'' she says. `` I think you just need someone watching after you.'' She looks up at me and I flush. 
 
 `` All set. Have a good day, Mr. Benson.'' She looks back very briefly as she climbs into the back of the driver-less truck. 
 
 `` Thanks,'' I mumble, stepping back into the house. The video is still playing, but it occurs to me that I need to do something about my food delivery. I can start the video over from the beginning if I miss anything. 
 
 The refrigerator has about a million bells and whistles, but still functions the way I expect a refrigerator to function. I pull the food out of the box and put it all away as best as I can. I'm left with wrappings, so I go hunting for a trash can and find one near the hallway. Just as I'm about to dump the trash, I see something at the bottom - shattered bits of black plastic and glass. I decide not to worry about it and lay the wrappings on top. 
 
 In the video, I'm explaining some war that happened and how they may have used the serum on soldiers. There was a trial and everything. It looks like a scandal that spanned a decade at least, but it's hard to get the scope of it, because my updates are all about *me* and how I had n't seen a dime from the military. 
 
 There's a woman, too. For some reason, she's never really named in the videos, but she's there. She wanders into frame from time to time, and steals a kiss. At one point I can clearly see that I'm wearing a wedding band. There's a photo of the two of us on the wall. 
 
 It had n't before occurred to me, but in order for these videos to have been truly beneficial, I would need to make one every day. They would have built, one on top of the other. Thousands and thousands of hours of me narrating the moments that came before... 
 
 But that's not what *this* video is. This is a highlight reel. This is a selected narrative. Did *I* make this video? And if so, why? Where are the originals. 
 
 The woman disappears. I never see her get old. Her name is never spoken. She just never appears again. The wedding band disappears, too. 
 
 I spend years as a novelty. There's still money coming in. There's still interest, though flagging. The immortal soldiers - if they ever existed - do n't seem to exist any more. There's just me. The only immortal. That's worth a spot of the talk show circuit. That's worth a cameo. That's still *something*. Just not very much. 
 
 I hardly say anything about the world at large. At some point I'm living in this very house, but hardly going anywhere. Some days I act as though I'll solve the memory problem. Most days I do n't say much of anything at all. 
 
 In one entry I'm very happy. 
 
 In the next, I'm frantic. 
 
 `` So that's all you need to know,'' I say. I look sweaty. Pale. My hand trembles in the corner of the frame. `` Make sure you take the pills I've ordered. I think those will help quite a lot. And that's it. Goodbye.'' 
 
 No more. The screen is blank. The room is quiet. 
 
 And there are so many gaps. I'm angry at myself for leaving so much out. It's like I've punished myself, but I do n't know why or what for. I'm certain I can figure out how to edit the video - or at least I'm hopeful - but it suddenly feels imperative that I make a new video. I need tomorrow's me to do better. I need all of my tomorrow's to do better. Be precise. Stop leaving out details. 
 
 So I go hunting for the camera. And I realize where it is. 
 
 In pieces, at the bottom of the trash. 
 
 *How old was that last video? * How long ago did I break the camera... and why did n't I replace it? Why did I stop making videos? 
 
 Why was my only instruction to myself to remember to take those pills? 
 
 *What* pills? 
 
 Then I remember the box and how it rattled when I walked with it. I tear it open and there are bottles of pills. No labels, but I recognize a code printed inside the package. 
 
 Sleeping pills. Strong ones. 
 
 What am I missing? Why sleeping pills? 
 
 The deliveries. I check the monitor. There's no car outside. A garage? I start to wander through the house. It's bigger than I would have expected. Big and empty. No pictures. No mementos. Empty, dusty rooms. I find a garage. No car. Just boxes of old stuff, but its something, so I start tearing them open. Copies of my book. Stacks of old reports. Clothing. 
 
 Clothing. 
 
 Women's clothing. 
 
 I do n't think any of it belonged to Gwen. The style is too different. It's not familiar at all. And there's a lot of it. Maybe... maybe too much for just one person... 
 
 What am I missing? Whose clothes are these? 
 
 I go back through the house. There's nothing. No signs of anyone else. Hardly any signs of *me*. 
 
 But there's a basement. I did n't notice it before. There's a basement. I hover at the edge of the threshold. There's a smell down there... tangy, and damp, and *vile*... 
 
 It could be anything. It could be *anything*. 
 
 I do n't know why I'm so afraid. 
 
 What happened to Gwen? 
 
 What happened to that *woman*... was I married? 
 
 What was that feeling I had when the delivery woman flirted with me? Excitement, yes. Anticipation, yes. But... what *kind* of anticipation? 
 
 I step back from the open doorway, closing the door. 
 
 `` Tomorrow,'' I say to no one at all, walking back to the box of pills. `` I'll sort it all out tomorrow.''
