There was once a girl who lived in a house.

There was once a boy who lived on the streets.

Their lives were changed in her cornfield.

Their lives were changed in a cornfield.

She saw his thin frame huddling over a small sack.

It was full of her corn

She gave him some more corn, out of pity for him.

They became friends, meeting in the cover of the fields.

Then lovers, in the midst of secret places.

But they couldn't be together. Not in their town. Not freely. They were bound to be caught.

It was taboo for them to interact, let alone, be in love.

So they made a plan to hide the boy.

So they made a plan to disguise the boy as a member of her court.

But, they were caught. In the same cornfield they had met.

And they were exiled.

And they were exiled.

*

The young ones had gone into the forest, preparing to fight, hiding or praying for a swift painless death.

At the chief's suggestion, the men split up into 2 groups. That way more ground could be covered. The boy felt like this was a tactic, a means to keep him away from his father and have the chief monitor him.

They moved as quietly as they could through the trees and bushes, so as to not alarm their prey. The boy noticed some dents in the ground as he walked.

Human footprints.

He stopped to think about his next plan of action. So deep in thought was he that it took him a moment to realize that the others around him stopped as well. They looked as though they waited for him to do something. He moved forward, checking the reaction of those around him. They followed him closely.

At that moment, the boy realized he had power in that situation. He had a choice to make: lead the men to the young ones and let them get possibly slaughtered, or misdirect his group and spare the innocent lives. He knew that there would most likely be serious consequences if he was caught doing the latter.

As he was making up his mind, a sound ripped through the air. It was a blood-curdling scream.

"Please. PLEASE! FATHER, PLEA-"

A loud grunt with liquid sounds. Then nothing but crickets.

The boy took a deep breath, hoping that none of them would notice the stain in his pants. He had made up his mind.

*

They had walked for an hour, and the most exciting thing they had done was kill a poisonous snake. The men in his group killed it with such vigour, you would have thought the snake was thrice it's actual size.

The boy could feel it. The tension within the group. The blood lust in their eyes. He heard them talk about the hunt like as if they were proud to have this blood on their hands. Because of what? Some stupid tradition that no one remembers why it was in place? Or some "gods" that seem not to care that innocent children are going to be murdered at the hands of their fathers?

The boy looked within himself. Why does he care so much? Why is he risking his life to save people that never cared about him? There was no justification for him to do so, no reward. It's not like he's going to the good part of the afterlife anyway. He renounced his belief a long time ago. Maybe as a means to feel better than them, like a form of self-righteousness.

And what role does he have to play in all of this? Why is he different? Why is he treated special? Is it because of his parents? Because they're from another village? What difference does that make? Why isn't he allowed to suffer like everyone else?

His thoughts were ripped apart when a firm hand was placed on his shoulder.

"I hope that you haven't lost your way, my son." The moon cast a shadow on the chief's face that was described to me as one who had gone through torture in the afterlife. The boy swallowed his fear as he spoke.

"No, sir." It took him all his strength to keep his voice steady.

"Then why haven't we found one of them, whereas the smaller group has found more?"

The screams and sounds of struggle and disturbance that were heard earlier confirmed the chief's statement.

"We must have gotten the really good ones." The boy laughed nervously. The chief did not laugh at all.

"Do you want to know why you are here, in front, leading us?" The chief began to walk in a circle around him, like a vulture.

The boy didn't say a word, tightening his grip on the spear.

An opportunity had presented itself.

"A long time ago, we were part of a glorious nation. Feared across the land and seas. Our merchants were prosperous, as were our crops" The chief's back was facing him now. He took a deep breath but hesitated.

"Then a famine hit us. Really hard too. We ran out of food within a few decades, and means of trading slowly faded out. Soon we were isolated from the outside world." The chief whipped around again, looking into the boy's eyes.

"Well, in dire times, we decided to do what we must in order to live on: we ate each other." The boy felt the blood in his veins go cold. What?

"Not all at once though. People gave themselves up, admitting that they were weak and not useful to our society. Their sacrifice gave nourishment to others. Then, our society came back. We were doing well, not as powerful as before, but still good all the same."

The group around him knew this story well and had no reason to wait around. But the chief and the boy were talking, so of course not to be rude, they waited silently and patiently

"Most of us felt that our rise from the disgrace of the famine was due to this ritual of absorbing from the weak. So we continued in this beautiful tradition. Eliminate the useless, power the backbone of our society."

Behind the chief, the boy noticed something. Something in the bushes that aren't usually there. Something familiar.

"However, there were some who did not see it that way. They decided to seek help from the south and we were overrun."

A pair of glowing blue. Looking right into him.

That's not right. Blue eyes?

It's what I can remember. I-I think...

He nodded his head slightly as the chief rambled on.

"The south took over and made sure that our people would never come back again. We were forced to live on the streets, not even worthy to be taken up as slaves. We were treated like rabid dogs."

The brown eyes inched closer, carefully.

"Some of us decided to make our own society beyond the lines of the forest, and maybe someday, take back what was ours."

The chief began to turn his back, but the boy stopped him.

"Why did you decide to continue this, then? Why eat your own people?"

"Were you not listening? Only if you are weak do you get absorbed. That is why we do this, to test the strength of our men. Our women are few and we need to reproduce, so we decided to stop including them into them. I mean, what would be the point of us doing this if we weren't able to-"

A figure jumped out of the bush and rushed at the chief. With his knife, the short figure swung and-

Time didn't work normally anymore in my eyes as events unfolded in front of me.

He first felt the blood splatter on his face, his neck, his chest. He then felt sick to his stomach at the sight splayed before him.

Ikemefuna lay there motionless, blood flowing from his neck and chest, foam from his mouth, light from his eyes. My friend.

There were sounds around him too. I couldn't process them well. I also couldn't process the chief's next motions, standing over Ikemefuna, cutting him open. The men around me, including his own father, offering a piece of innards to me. I felt warmth creep up my cheeks, my stomach twist into knots.

And then it was dark.

END RECORDING

*

"We don't have to continue if it puts too much stress on you."

The young man in the seat across from me heaved as he held his face in his hands. He was shaking, chewing his lip raw. The monitor beside me. The synchronization had failed, his mind was splitting. A part of me wanted to reach out and touch him. I wanted to hold him and tell him he was going to be okay. I wanted to take him out off that wretched place.

But they were watching. They would not allow it.

He stayed silent for a while.

"H-how am I remembering this? Th-that's not my memory. That wasn't me."

"Then what are your memories?"

The young man's eyes moved around the room frantically, in search for an answer.

"I-I don't know. I can't remember anything except for this stupid story." He begins to cry.

"What's wrong with m-"

He stopped mid-sentence, eyes widening. The monitor began to beep steadily and flash blue

"Who are you? Where am I?" (The language the man spoke was an ancient version of a modern West African language. I'm translating as best as I can)

"I'm Dr Gaston. " I looked at the monitor as the beeping and flashing increased. The sample had hijacked the man's brain.

"I shouldn't be alive. I bled out on the battlefield for two days. "

"Subject ZXC-00005 has been compromised and is exhibiting signs of aggression. Experiment failure. I need security in here now."

"What did you do to me?! Why am I here, you  (the best translation I have for this word is 'colonizer bitch')? What sort of witchcraft have you performed? " He tried to lunge for me as I backed away into the wall. The collar on his ankle sprang to life and shock went through him. He lay flat on the floor, heaving and writhing in pain. He groaned as he tried to crawl towards me.

Three security guards burst through the door and stood over the man. They put the heavy restraints on his arms and hauled him up on his feet. As they dragged his limp body out of my office, he screamed again in his language.

"You will pay for your sins! You cannot play with the dead and expect to not dance to the music!"

I collapsed into my chair. I wish I could say that that was the point where I had said enough.

I didn't.

I had to do my job.

START RECORDING ZXC-00005 LOG Notes.mp4

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Project MSQ-ENRG-SYNC-109

Log SMZ-01-0005

Subject: ZXC-00005

Sample: MSQ-00005

Date: 19/09/2021

Notes:

Subject showed progress with the initial stages of the synchronization trial. Was able to access memory from sample MSQ-00005, with only minor interference from the sample. As seen in other synchronization subjects, the details in the sample memory were relayed in the form of a third person story, including viewpoints that do not include. Reasons for this mode of communication are still unknown. The current hypothesis is the traditional culture of storytelling follows the sample after death, and that it can see through its lifetime when reanimated, so as to get perspectives they didn't have while alive. The story told by the subject matched with historical records about the cannibal village in [UNDISCLOSED], where MSQ-00005 was found. Most surprising was that it seemed as if the subject and the sample achieved complete synchronization at the beginning. They had become one. But as the more traumatic points of the story came up, including the witnessing of the ritual performed on a close associate of the sample, ZXC-00005 lost his own memory and MSQ-00005 hijacked the subject. The MSQ-00005 sample shows symptoms of PTSD from its past life, anger towards anyone that looks like colonial forces that invaded the village a few years after the incident, is still reacting like it would if still alive, and currently has complete control over ZXC-00005. Has been taken to the emergency infirmary to stabilize. It is unlikely that ZXC-00005's original memories or consciousness will be restored.

What can be inferred from this trial is that high levels of emotional stress can break up synchronization between subject and sample. Next steps are to find out how to isolate the memories without triggering emotions.

```

END RECORDING

What I couldn't write in those logs was that the subject's real name was Jeremy Lang, that the "sample" belonged to a warrior's corpse, who's resting place we desecrated a year before. I couldn't write that Jeremy's parents have been looking for him for 3 months since he disappeared from his college dorm. I couldn't write that we lured him here so he could pay off his student loans. I couldn't write that the last person we tested was 5 years old. I couldn't write that it took me a week before I could go back into my office because her blood was still on the carpet after she took her own life. With my pen in her throat, because she relived the torture that her sample endured before death.

I did many more of these tests up until 2025. Then I quit, or "quit" rather. Not because of the horrors of what I did dawned on me,  but because they demoted me and wanted to use me as a test subject after challenging the demotion. I did everything for the Order, I believed in the work that Elizabeth was doing with this group and these experiments. I thought we could cure the incurable, we could reverse ageing. We could stop death. Until I realized this whole thing was a fraud, a sham. This organization is nothing more than a group of power-hungry wolves who seek to become like gods. I want nothing more than to expose them for the evil they are. I sent these recordings to you, along with the other documents attached, hoping that I could do so.

I still see the people I tested in my sleep. They sit in the corner of my room waiting. Watching. Plotting. They are going to kill me one day, they are going to make me pay for my sins. I hope they do.

If Elizabeth doesn't get me first.