For three days, Elias did not open the file.
He also did not leave his office, except for mandatory 8-hour "rest" periods in his habitation module. He slept fitfully, his dreams filled with looping corridors and the smell of ozone.
Instead of tackling Asset-119, he did what he did best: he organized. He put in requisitions through the sterile, amber-colored terminal on his desk. He requested Site-04's full archival protocols, the complete schematics of the Low-Threat wing, and the personnel files of every researcher who had ever been assigned to Asset-119.
Most of his requests were stamped with an immediate
ACCESS DENIED - ZERO-COMMAND EYES ONLY
But some went through.
He learned that his office, #R-144, had belonged to Dr. Aris. The terminal he was using was Aris's old terminal. He learned that three researchers before Aris had also been assigned to Asset-119. Two were transferred to "long-term psychological care," and one had "retired" (a term Elias was learning was a clean, bureaucratic word for vanished).
And then there was Aris. The man who seemed perfectly fine. The man who ate nutrient paste with gusto and warned him about infohazards. The man whose own handwriting degenerated into madness.
Elias stared at the file on his desk. ASSET-119. It sat there, inert, a physical object. But the file wasn't the Asset. The file was just the report. The real thing was locked away, floors below him, in a room Elias couldn't even access.
This was Keva's test. She hadn't just given him a dangerous assignment; she had given him a broken one. The only primary source—Dr. Aris—was clearly compromised, yet was simultaneously walking around as his supervisor.
The seagull flies over the...
Elias flinched, shutting his eyes. Aris's warning about the infohazard. A poem that could kill you. An idea that could infect you like a virus.
He looked at the file. I have forgotten how to read.
What if Aris wasn't driven mad in the traditional sense? What if he was infected? What if Asset-119 was a conceptual virus, and Aris was now "Patient Zero," still walking the halls?
Elias had to assume Aris was a compromised source. He couldn't trust his warnings, his smile, or his seemingly helpful advice. He was alone.
He finally opened the file again. He wasn't just an archivist. He was a detective. And the victim was reality itself.
He took a blank notepad—a physical, paper one, which he had to specially requisition—and drew a line down the middle.
On one side, he wrote: WHAT I KNOW (OBJECTIVE). On the other: WHAT I AM TOLD (POTENTIAL HAZARD).
Under WHAT I KNOW:
Asset-119 is a book.
It is kept in a containment cell.
It is handled by robotic arms.
Four researchers, including Aris, were compromised by it.
Elias Thorne is now assigned to it.
Under WHAT I AM TOLD:
"It makes you forget concepts." (From the file)
Aris's final note: "I have forgotten how to read." (A contradiction? How could he write that if he couldn't read?)
Aris (Compromised) is my supervisor.
Infohazards are real.
He looked at the contradiction. I have forgotten how to read. You couldn't write that if it were true. It wasn't a statement of fact. It was a statement of fear. It was the last coherent thought of a mind as it fell apart.
Or... was it a warning? A clue?
Elias decided, then and there, that he would not study the Asset. Not yet. That was like trying to understand a bomb by hitting it with a hammer.
He would study the containment.
"An archivist doesn't just catalog the book," he whispered to his empty office. "He catalogs the box it came in, the dust on the lid, and the room it's stored in."
He pulled up the containment protocols on his terminal.
Asset-119: Containment Chamber C-22
He submitted a new request. Not to see the Asset. Not to read the file.
"REQUEST: Full, unedited, 24/7 video and audio logs for Containment Chamber C-22 for the past 90 days. For archival cross-referencing."
He expected another immediate denial. Instead, the screen blinked and returned:
REQUEST APPROVED. ACCESS GRANTED - LEVEL 2 (VISUAL/AUDIO ONLY) Elias blinked. Keva... she had approved it. She wanted him to look.
A new window opened on his screen. It was a live feed of a grey, concrete room. In the exact center, on a steel pedestal, sat the book. Asset-119.
It was exactly as described. A thick, leather-bound book. It looked unremarkable.
The feed was silent. Elias put on his headset, turning the audio gain all the way up. He heard only the faint hum of the air recyclers.
"Okay," Elias said, pulling his notepad closer. "Let's watch."
He opened a second window: the video log from 90 days ago. He hit "play."
He watched the empty room. For hours.
The video file was compressed. He could fast-forward. He watched days click by in a blur. Nothing. Just an empty room, a book, and the hum.
Wait.
He rewound. Day 34. 04:17 AM.
A figure. A person, in a bright orange jumpsuit, was shoved into the room by two ART guards. The guards didn't enter; they pushed the man in and sealed the heavy steel door.
A Sanctioned Recruit.
Elias felt his stomach tighten. This wasn't research. This was a feeding.
The man (his ID tag was D-9912) panicked. He banged on the door. He shouted. He screamed for hours. Elias watched, his jaw clenched.
After about six hours, D-9912, exhausted and hoarse, finally noticed the book.
He approached it. He was probably bored. Lonely. Desperate for any stimulation. He sat down on the floor and looked at it. He didn't touch it.
For two days, he just... sat there. The Institution sent in nutrient paste through a slot. The man ate, slept on the concrete, and stared at the book.
On Day 36, at 14:02 PM, he touched it.
He just... reached out and laid his hand on the leather cover.
Elias watched, holding his breath. He was looking for a flash of light, a sound, anything.
Nothing happened.
The man sat there, his hand on the book, for a full minute. Then he pulled his hand back. He looked at his hand, then at the book. He seemed fine.
He stood up, walked to a corner of the room, and sat down.
Elias watched him. An hour passed. D-9912 sat. He seemed... calm. Too calm.
Then, D-9912 tried to stand up. And he fell over.
He tried to get to his feet, but he was fumbling, as if he didn't know how his legs worked. He crawled, then stopped. He looked at his own shoes, a look of profound, terrified confusion on his face.
Elias's blood ran cold. He forgot how to walk.
No... it was worse. The man was unlacing his shoes. He was struggling with the laces. He was trying to tie them, but his fingers were just... fumbling.
He forgot how to tie his shoes.
Aris's file was right. It wasn't just memory. It was concepts.
The man, D-9912, sat on the floor, weeping silently, trying and failing to tie a simple knot.
Elias watched for another hour, his stomach churning, before he fast-forwarded.
The man's decline was rapid. Within 24 hours, he had forgotten how to use the nutrient paste slot. Within 30 hours, he had forgotten how to speak, issuing only guttural moans. Within 48 hours, he was catatonic.
On Day 39, the ART team returned, wearing full biohazard gear. They dragged the man's inert body out.
Elias slammed the window shut. He ripped off his headset and ran to the small sink in his office, retching. Nothing came up; he hadn't eaten.
He splashed cold water on his face, staring at his own reflection in the polished steel mirror. His eyes were wide with terror.
This wasn't research. This was... this was monstrous. Keva hadn't just approved his request; she had forced him to watch an execution. She was testing his stomach.
He now understood the "Conceal" part. They were hiding this, not just from the world, but from themselves.
He sat back down at his terminal, his hands shaking. He looked at the live feed. The book was still there. Innocent.
He had his answer. The file was correct. Physical contact was the vector. The result was conceptual erasure.
But Aris... Aris's notes were different. I have forgotten how to read. That was a high-level concept. Tying your shoes was a low-level motor function. The progression was wrong.
And then, a new thought, sharp and cold as an icicle.
Aris never touched the book. The file said he used robotic arms.
Elias pulled up the footage of Aris's last day.
He watched Aris, in a shielded observation room, using robotic arms to turn the pages of the book. Aris was studying the inside.
But the pages... the pages were blank. Elias had seen the footage. They were blank.
Elias watched Aris's face on the video feed. The researcher was leaning forward, his eyes wide, as if he was reading the most fascinating story in the world. He was even... smiling.
He was reading something.
Elias froze.
The pages weren't blank. They were conceptually blank. They were an infohazard. The camera, a non-sentient machine, couldn't "see" the infohazard, so it just recorded blank pages.
Aris hadn't been driven mad. He had been poisoned. He had read the poem. He had looked at the seagull.
Elias looked at his own terminal. He was staring at a live feed of an infohazard. A loaded gun.
He slammed his fist on the "disconnect" button. The screen went black.
He was breathing hard. He was safe. The camera feed acted as a filter. It only showed the physical book, not the idea of the book.
But Aris had been reading it. How?
Elias pulled up the schematics. Aris wasn't looking through a camera. He was looking through an "Observation Porthole, Triple-Shielded Glass."
The glass... the glass wasn't enough.
Elias looked at his own office. He looked at the empty desk. The file.
This wasn't an assignment. It was a test.
No. It was a trap.
Keva hadn't given him this assignment because he was a good archivist. She had given it to him to see if he was smart enough not to look. To see if he would do what Aris did: get curious, find a way to look at the pages, and get himself erased.
Elias had a new hypothesis.
Asset-119 wasn't a book. It was two Assets in one.
A Physical Hazard (The Cover): Touch it, and you lose motor concepts (walking, tying shoes).
An Infohazard (The Pages): Read it, and you lose mental concepts (language, reading, self-identity).
And Dr. Aris... the man walking the halls... he hadn't been driven mad. He had been cured.
Elias pulled up the medical files. Dr. Aris was admitted for "Amnestic Fugue" and "released 30 days later." After being "cured," he was promoted to Senior Researcher.
He wasn't compromised. He was re-programmed. The Institution had let him get infected, then "fixed" him, and now he was a loyal, smiling component.
Elias looked at his notepad. He picked up his pen and, on the "WHAT I AM TOLD" side, he crossed out Aris's name.
He moved it to the "WHAT I KNOW" side.
And under it, he wrote one word.
Enemy.