This is a record of interrogations conducted within the Chronos Division. It is not a narrative, but a collection of fragmented moments, inconsistencies, and the lingering scent of desperation. Do not assume coherence. Do not seek answers.
Initial Response: “The rain… it tastes of regret.”
Follow-up Query: “Can you elaborate on the nature of the regret?”
Subject Response: “It’s… before. Before the fracturing. Before the colors stopped obeying. There was a child. A girl with hair like spun moonlight. She asked me a question. A simple question. ‘Why?’”
The recording degrades significantly at this point. Static. A low, resonant hum. The timestamp is lost.
Initial Response: “They built it for us. They said it would protect us.”
Follow-up Query: “From what?”
Subject Response: “The silence. It was always hungry. It waited in the dark. It consumed memories. The stone… it remembers. It whispers names.”
A prolonged period of unintelligible vocalization. The recording is punctuated by what appears to be a rhythmic tapping sound. The tapping continues for approximately 72 seconds.
Initial Response: “Don’t. Don't look.”
Follow-up Query: “At what?”
Subject Response: “The reflection. It’s not you. It’s something… older. Something that was never born. It smiles. It always smiles.”
The recording abruptly ceases. There is a distinct impression of… absence. The subject is no longer present within the temporal stream. The timestamp is corrupted beyond repair.