I immediately went back to my call logs. Only this time the call history said that this number was the source of my missed calls from earlier. Coinciding with the time stamp from around when I was in the shower, and even more strange, was linked to the number that read backwards. I tapped on the most recent call, from myself, and was taken to a small list of the three calls from today. The mirrored number displayed as the oldest received call on my phone. Showing that I had taken months of calls after it. I stood there. Lost. Confused. How long I stared at the screen in my hand was anyone's guess. It wasn't until the redundancy of running over the information in front of me, again and again, finally struck me. Drawing me from my stupor and channeling enough focus to dial my voicemail. 


 I waited. The automated voice answered, I followed the prompts and entered my password. Seconds later I found myself listening to another cog in the machine of madness that had decided to roar into life today. 


 Static and squeals of some ungodly origin fired at each other on the other end. A struggle of frequency and metal that clouded the words that bubbled up from beneath them. I strained to make out anything. Familiar syllables crashed into the rise and fall of a metallic chorus behind it. Frenetic pace drove the words through the storm around them. A storm that fractured their intent into unintelligible fragments. Then I swear I hear the most unnerving thing. I recognized my name, but it was being said backwards.