The dim archive room smelled of mildew and dust, like an old book that had never been opened. The overhead lamp flickered incessantly, a cheap horror prop ready to die at the most dramatic moment.
I faced Ye Chen across the table. His smile was even less reliable than the broken light.
"You really want to know the true purpose of the Shadow Dossier?" he said, words like a pyramid scheme pitch. "Fair warning: you might regret it—like when you invested in that virtual currency."
I raised an eyebrow. "Cut the suspense, Ye Chen. I've seen too many conspiracies. Besides world-ending plans, what could possibly make me regret?"
"Ah, you underestimate human imagination," he said, shaking the black leather dossier. Its cracked cover looked like dried, chapped lips, chewing the air.
He lowered his voice, yet it sounded like a street vendor hawking fake antiques:
"This thing isn't just a secret file, nor the ramblings of some madman. It's… software. Specifically, a patch to upgrade the human mind's operating system."
I blinked, suspicious I'd misheard. "You're saying this dusty paper dossier is a 'mind patch'? Did you mix cyberpunk with a metaphysical screenplay?"
Ye Chen spread his hands. "Believe it or not. Anyone who reads the dossier has their cognitive framework updated. It rewrites perception—fear, desire, pain, hope—all transformed into quantifiable, tradeable data."
"Sounds like capitalism already did that," I interjected dryly.
Ye Chen applauded my wit. "Exactly. But the dossier is the ultimate version. No ads, no politicians, no influencers. Once fully deployed, everyone's thoughts will align automatically. Rebellion, hesitation, doubt—gone. People will boot up like updated smartphones, uniform settings across the board."
I laughed, like a man about to face the executioner. "Wonderful. So I won't worry about rent anymore—since even anxiety is uninstalled."
"Yes," Ye Chen said, his blue eyes glinting in the dim light. "Anxiety, dreams, ambition, rebellion—compressed into clean lines of code. Humans become perfect machines. No self, but highly efficient. The dossier is the new world charter—not by law, but by mental instruction."
Silence left only my heartbeat. I wondered if that heartbeat was now in the dossier's "deletable files."
"And you, Ye Chen?" I squinted. "Telling me all this… why? Aren't you its guardian? Or do you just want to watch me squirm between fear and indifference?"
Ye Chen laughed, like a madman holding a sparkler. "I guard it, but I don't trust it. I just… think you should know. After all, we're friends, right? Friends share little world-destroying secrets."
"Heartwarming," I sighed. "Want me to reciprocate? Maybe I tell you I've been thinking—beat you up first, then decide whether to trust you."
"That depends if you have the life to finish that plan," he replied softly, voice like a knife scraping metal.
The lamp flickered violently, then died. The archive room plunged into darkness.
In the blackness, I heard Ye Chen's soft laughter. It seemed to come from the walls, the floor, even my own mind.
"Now you know the full scope," he said. "So the real choice begins: let humanity continue self-destruction, or reset them all into obedient puppets? Either way, someone has to press the switch."
I didn't answer. I realized—the switch might already be in my hand. And I never signed any terms of service.