Nico spun around, his heart pounding against his chest: the Archivist's albino face with milky eyes was staring at him from the doorway. The man blocked his path and Nico backed away, entering the room, while the Archivist advanced, his blind eyes fixed on Nico's.

  Nico turned toward the monitors, looking for an alternative exit, a hidden door, but saw nothing. His heart pounding and his hands sweaty, he returned his gaze to the Archivist. A sharp pain shot through his head: he saw fragments of monitors on a ship, but could remember nothing else. He shook his head to dispel the flashes and, his eyes wide as saucers, asked: “What is this place?”

  “Isn't it obvious?” said the Archivist flatly. “This is the Metaphysic archive.”

  Nico frowned when he heard that name for the first time, then swallowed, trying to push down the lump in his throat. “I don't feel safe here... what do you really want from me?”

  The Archivist took a few steps into the room and the door, the metal plate behind him, closed with an airtight hiss. Nico felt a twinge in his stomach as the claustrophobia in that room, buzzing with monitors and electricity, closed in on him.

  “I understand your fears, subject N_01,” said the Archivist, staring at a monitor on which bright codes scrolled at a steady pace. “Sit down. Tell me what's troubling you. And then, if you give your consent, we can proceed.”

  Nico clenched his fists, his jaw tight, then said harshly, exploding into laughter: “Ah, now you're asking for consent? ‘Authorization’?” he concluded mockingly.

  The Archivist turned his head slightly toward Nico. “The danger of Erebos, who could have infected others, prompted me to act.”

  Nico stiffened, then hissed, “When you eliminated Erebos... what did you erase along with him?”

  The Archivist did not speak, returning his gaze to the monitor.

  “Which parts of my memories were infected?” Nico insisted, advancing angrily, fists clenched. “Did you destroy them or isolate them?”

  A shiver ran down his spine as pressure tightened his chest, his voice cracked with fear and frustration: “Am I still entirely myself? Is there anything I will never remember again?”

  Nico's question hung in the silence of the room, interrupted only by the hum of the machines.

  The Archivist walked over to a chair and sat down with a measured movement, his eyes fixed on a metal wall with his back to Nico. “The compromised segments have been removed. The directly contaminated memories have been eliminated. The adjacent connections may have suffered fragmentation.”

  “Eliminated,” he repeated softly. “What does that mean?”

  “That they are no longer there.”

  Nico felt his heart sink and shook his head, feeling empty.

  “We've already talked about this, but...”

  “I forgot,” Nico interrupted.

  “That's why integrity checks exist,” the Archivist continued. “If you authorize it, we can analyze the mnemonic structures connected to the removed segments. What is recoverable will be reinstated.”

  As he watched this being talk about his memory as if it were a series of files, Nico blurted out, his hands trembling slightly. The words rose to his throat of their own accord.

  “But you... what are you really?”

  One of the monitors emitted a high-pitched beep. The blind man turned, stood up, and remained standing in front of the screen, hunched over, his fingers scrolling rapidly across a holographic keyboard that had appeared in front of him. Then he slowly straightened up, his milky eyes still fixed on the monitor.

  “We are all part of something,” he said. “We are branches of a single center. Everything is code, subject N_01.”

  “Nico. My name is Nico. Damn it!”

  His name echoed off the metal walls, above the hum of the machines. Then Nico pressed him again: "Yes, you are a branch. Very good. And then?“ Nico continued, waving his hands in front of him. ”And Nadia, Gareth, Peter... they're code too, I know,“ he said with a slight tremor in his voice, ”but they're not like you. They have... feelings, I've seen it."

  He took a breath, clenching his fists. “What distinguishes a player from an NPC, at the code level?” he asked, his voice lower but tense. “How am I different from Nadia?”

  “Your companions, Nico,” the Archivist began, “have a function in the game, just like me.”

  Nico frowned, scratching his head, then inhaled slowly. “Yes, I know that,” he said hesitantly.

  The Archivist shook his head. “No, you don't know yet. It's inside your mind, but it's fragmented, damaged, it needs to be corrected.”

  “So,” said Nico, frowning, “what am I?”

  “The subject PN...”

  “No,” Nico hissed, clenching his fists.

  “But that's what they are, they're codes, with a function,” said the Archivist dryly.

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  “No.”

  “Fine. The ones that are Princess Nadia and Gareth, the sword master, for the players, function as the system's antivirus. Peter, the Animutant, is an anti-cheat.”

  “Who wrote them to be so alive?” asked Nico.

  “They weren't written. They are memory,” said the Archivist dryly. “They weren't written by a programmer. They were extracted from consciousnesses...”

  Nico's eyes widened as his stomach contracted in a painful grip: “Whose consciousnesses?”

  "Those who volunteered. In these Archives, I store the memories of subjects, men and women who volunteered for the project. The system draws on these memories and processes NPCs."

  Nico shook his head. “What does volunteering mean? Were they aware?”

  The usual monitor emitted another high-pitched beep. The Archivist turned to stare at it, but this time the beep stopped without further intervention.

  " The extraction was voluntary,“ replied the Archivist. ”The subjects knew the process."

  Nico swallowed, his fingers trembling slightly. His voice came out low and hoarse: “And can the NPC evolve beyond its original memories?” he asked quietly. “Can it become something you didn't anticipate?”

  “Evolution is possible within defined parameters.”

  Nico thought of Nadia: her looks, her determination. He thought of Gareth and how he watched her, his gaze following her everywhere. Those interactions came from real memories.

  “So... Nadia, Gareth... are they based on real people?”

  “Partly,” said the Archivist dryly. “The system selects memories that are useful for building personality.”

  “Do they know they are echoes of real people?” he said, his voice trembling slightly.

  “Yes,” replied the Archivist without hesitation. “They know they are part of memories, but they cannot access them. They do not know and will never know who these memories belong to. Only The Archive knows.”

  “Can they choose?” Nico asked abruptly. “Can they make their own decisions?”

  “Their choices exist within the structure that supports them.”

  “That's not a no.”

  The monitors emitted a low, constant hum, then the Archivist added, observing him, “They can adapt.”

  Nico turned to the monitors. That series of scrolling codes were people's memories, consciousnesses. The strings of data flowed slowly as his breathing became short and irregular, and a dark idea became more pressing in his chest. For a moment, he had the feeling that the floor was tilting beneath his feet.

  “Am I really a player... or am I part of the game and have memories of a life outside of here that never existed?”

  The Archivist stared at him. For a moment, he remained motionless. “Your body is outside the system,” said the Archivist. “It is connected to the viewer.

  Your vital signs are being monitored. Your biological continuity does not depend on this environment.”

  Nico took a breath, trying to calm himself.

  “A player possesses a source of consciousness external to the system,” continued the blind man. “An NPC is a closed instance, generated from extracted and reworked memories. It has no continuity beyond the game architecture that supports it.”

  Nico brought a hand to his face, wiping the sweat from his forehead, then looked back at the albino man.

  “Is Erebos just a virus, or is it a conscious entity like the NPCs?”

  The Archivist remained motionless, staring at Nico with blind eyes.

  Nico pressed him: “Your adept told me that the Archive was infected some time ago. You lost data. Does that mean your information could be wrong? Did it leave traces that you didn't find?”

  A shiver ran down his spine.

  “Is that why all those worn-out NPCs are in the Waiting Room? You don't know how to repair them, you're missing parts,” he said, bursting into bitter laughter.

  “Erebos destroyed information that we will never recover,” admitted the Archivist. “But he has been eliminated from the Archive.”

  “And this center you were talking about earlier?” Nico asked hesitantly, shaking his head. “What is it?”

  “The Center coordinates the connections of the viewers. It regulates biometric parameters. It receives and transmits.”

  Nico frowned, and the Archivist continued, “It is the point of intersection between the system and the physical infrastructure.”

  Nico stiffened, looking at the monitors, then brought his hands to his head and inhaled slowly.

  “Who controls the Center from which you are branches?” Nico asked now.

  The Archivist's nerve twitched under his eye, a quick tic, then his face returned to expressionless: “The Center controls the Center.”

  “What?” Nico asked irritably.

  The Archivist's voice trembled, electrified, and he repeated: “The Center controls the Center.”

  Nico shook his head, frowning, then continued: “If Erebos strikes the Center... the game and all of you are destroyed forever?”

  “The Center is vulnerable,” the Archivist finally said dryly.

  The words hung in the air.

  Nico looked at the monitors, the rows of data scrolling by, then brought his hands to his head: “If Erebos can strike the Center... it can strike the connection point, right?”

  The Archivist stared at him, motionless.

  “It can get out,” Nico added.

  “If it destroys the game,” he continued, his voice low but firm, “it's not just deleting NPCs. It's destabilizing the interface. It's opening a passage.”

  “A virus that destroys memory, that spreads, that infects archives... If it reaches the Center, and the Center is connected to the real world... then it won't stay confined here.”

  Nico swallowed, his throat dry.

  “Out there are infrastructures, networks, healthcare systems, military defenses...”

  “I'm connected. I... Kiah, Leo, we're bridges.”

  “But if now, with our headsets, it's had a glimpse, infecting the Center will open a door and it will be a problem for the world.”

  For a moment, Nico felt the weight of that possibility pressing on his shoulders more than the fear of his erased memories. It was no longer just a personal matter; it concerned what was outside.

  He inhaled slowly, then looked up at the Archivist.

  “We can't wait for him to reach it,” he said, then took a step forward.

  The Archivist stood motionless, watching him, and Nico held the Archivist's milky gaze.

  “I authorize the integrity check.”