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But I know what it will be called.

A small boy sat there. He couldn’t have been more than nine. His hair was neatly combed, his shoes polished. But his face was blank. Not scared. Not happy. Empty, like a house after the furniture has been removed.

A flicker. The boy’s left eye twitched. The camera shuddered, as if the operator had flinched.

His voice was too deep. Too old. It filled the room through the TV speakers like black water.

Then, the boy spoke.