Staged Breakdown Scheme

The call starts with wind buffeting the mic and a turn signal clicking, fast and nervous.

I'm at mile one-four-two, the woman says, breathy but controlled, white sedan, out of gas.

Dispatch timestamp reads 11:58 p.m., a Tuesday, and the GPS tag is correct.

By 12:06 a.m., the same voicemail hits again, identical down to the cough between

words. Same cadence, same clicking. It repeats every eight minutes for

an hour, stacking up on the server while the operator marks them as duplicates and

sends one patrol car anyway. I listened because the audio bothered me.

There's a low hum under her voice, steady at 60 Hz, like a transformer, and the blinker