Elias finds three new entries in his journal — not logged by the System, not remembered by him, and yet… unmistakably written in his voice.
Mercer.Ghost no longer mocks him. He understands him. And his message is clear:
"You can't hold all of this alone."
Elias doesn't show the others.
But Bit finds one of the pages.
And he keeps it to himself.
----
Elias waited until the medicae lights dimmed.
Until Bit dozed off on the second cot, curled under a field jacket like a half-shelled crab.
Until the System stopped buzzing faint error messages into his peripheral HUD like a half-functional ghost.
Then he turned to the journal.
Not the top page.
The middle.
Three entries had appeared — not flipped to, not bookmarked, just… present.
Pages he would have remembered writing.
But didn't.
"You're not broken. You're stretched."
"The difference is what breaks first — your trust, or your body. You're lucky. Your body breaks slower."
The handwriting was his.
But there was no hesitation in the strokes.
No second guesses.
No edits.
No arrows or strikethroughs.
This was written by someone who knew what came next.
"The System was never a weapon.
It's a mask.
You wear it so the universe doesn't see your real face."
"But I see it. I remember what it looked like before the fire."
He reached for the next page.
This one was newer — the ink not quite dry.
Written as though the thought had been freshly born inside the page.
"You're trying so hard not to break.
Let me hold it with you."
Elias closed the journal slowly.
Let it rest on his lap.
Didn't move.
Didn't breathe too loud.
Just listened.
And thought:
"He doesn't want to take over.
He wants to help."
The quiet settled again.
Until a soft rustle broke it.
Bit.
Still half-asleep.
But now sitting up, blanket falling from his shoulder.
He didn't speak.
Didn't ask.
He just looked.
Eyes tracking the journal like it was something alive.
"You're still writing," Bit said finally. Voice low. Distant.
"No," Elias answered.
Bit tilted his head.
"You're letting someone else write through you."
A pause.
Elias met his gaze.
Neither flinched.
Then — for the first time — Elias opened the journal fully, spun it around, and handed it over.
Bit took it.
Read the last line twice.
Didn't smile.
Didn't cry.
He just whispered:
"I think he loves you.
The other you.
In his own way."
Elias stared at the page.
"Or he pities me."
Bit handed it back. Stood.
"No," he said. "Pity talks down to you."
He turned at the door.
"This one wants you to survive. Even if it means replacing you. Well.. atleast that what I think... "
Then he left.
And Elias was alone again.
Except for the flame.
And the page.
And the voice inside it that still carried his own inflection.
[END OF PART 2: The Journal Writes First]