Before we begin, let me bring you up to speed.
My name is Julia, and what started as a personal
investigation into my late father's mysterious letters has
turned into something far more disturbing.
He witnessed things, objects in the sky whispering figures in
the shadows. He corresponded with
researchers, delved into the unknown, and may have uncovered
pieces of a terrifying truth about our reality.
One of those researchers was Doctor Michael Kessler, A fringe
physicist obsessed with what he called the veil.
According to Kessler, this veil separates us from the deeper
structure of existence, something hidden, ancient and
watching. The last few episodes have
chronicled these discoveries. Strange cassette tapes,
whispered warnings, the eerie presence of entities known as
wardens, watchers, and mirrors, all of it leading us closer to
an unsettling hypothesis that we are not free.
We are being watched, manipulated, maybe even
contained. This is where the story
continues. Thomas Kessler sent me one final
box. It was heavier than the others,
dense with notebooks, diagrams, a few faded photographs, and a
single tape marked Experiment Do Not Duplicate.
I almost didn't play it. There was a note attached in his
father's shaky handwriting. Not for broadcast for
understanding, but I had to know.
This is experiment #17 Subject L Harper, age 23, assistive device
calibrated, date unknown, initiating phase one of veil
interaction protocol. Remember, Lena, describe only
what you see. Don't engage.
Let it pass through. You It's shifting shapes I can't
hold in place. Like if geometry had skin
symbols like rooms but not they're everywhere, embedded in
light. It feels like they know me or
they've always been here. Doctor Kessler's device, part
neurological interface, part sensory deprivation unit, was
designed to induce what he called active breach, a forced
thinning of the veil. Lena Harper was the only one who
agreed to try it more than once. There's a tower.
No, a spiral. It's made of thoughts.
It's looking at me or I'm looking through it.
I'm I'm seeing myself from the outside, but not me.
A version. A version I've never been.
This is where the tone shifts. You'll hear it.
There's something else watching, not part of this place.
It's aware it wasn't supposed to see me.
Subject appears unsettled, preparing to disengage.
It's showing me things, not visions, arrangements,
archetypes, doors without frames.
I feel like I'm being read like a book.
Black sun over broken glass, faces in the wire.
Nothing is real. Nothing is real.
Black sun over broken glass. Black sun over broken glass.
Faces in the wire. Nothing is real.
Black sun over broken glass.
Faces in the wire.
Nothing is real. Nothing is real.
Black sun over broken glass. She repeated this for nearly
three minutes, never breaking rhythm.
Her voice changed, less human, but not panicked, not screaming,
just entranced. Then finally.
They're not symbols. They're not symbols.
They're not they're instructions.
I was never meant to see them. The chant fades.
The tape ends. No screams, no sudden chaos.
Just silence. I listened to that tape three
times. Each time left me unsettled in a
different way. The calmness of it, the clarity,
that's what frightened me the most.
Doctor Kessler never resumed his experiments after that.
Lena Harper disappeared a few weeks later.
Her name was never mentioned again in the notes.
But the words she used, the geometries, the tower, the
runes, they line up with what others have seen during altered
states, through psychedelics, near death experiences,
hypnagogic episodes, and the Wardens, they always arrive when
someone gets too close. Are these places real, or are
they constructs, tools to hold our minds in place?
Doctor Kessler believed that the veil doesn't separate us from
heaven, but from a reality that would drive us mad if we ever
saw it whole. He thought the Wardens weren't
guardians of knowledge, but of limitation.
I've had dreams where I've seen that tower before, the tape,
before this research, and I felt them watching me.
In the quietest moments, they appear not as faces, but as
impressions in the dark. Sometimes in dreams, I find
myself in impossible cities with no horizon, staircases that lead
nowhere, reflections that blink on their own.
I've seen the spiral tower Lena described long before I ever
knew her name. I've walked through halls where
words floated in the air, made of symbols that shimmered like
oil on water. These dreams don't fade like
ordinary ones. They stay, linger, shape, the
way I perceive the waking world. And in them I always feel it,
their gaze silent, patient, studying.
Next time, we'll investigate the Dream Loop, Kessler's belief
that sleep is not freedom, but a cage we willingly return to each
night.