Witness Foundation Scientist Report – Log Entry (Confidential)
File No: ARG-004-2113
Date: [Redacted]
Subject: Anomaly Containment and Analysis – Subject: [Redacted]
Location: Site-17, Argus Foundation Research Facility
Lead Scientist: [Redacted]
Classification: Top Secret – Level 5 Clearance Required
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What was housed a boy was now a girl in his place.
We don't know when the change happened.
Maybe it never did.
Maybe we were wrong from the start—about the shape of the threat.
About who—or what—we had buried.
All I know is this:
I was there when the chamber broke.
They told us it was dormant. That whatever was sealed inside had gone too deep to stir.
That it wasn't conscious. That it wasn't dreaming.
They lied.
Or maybe they just didn't understand what they'd buried.
The first sign wasn't an alarm—it was silence.
A pressure drop so sudden it felt like the building itself forgot how to breathe.
The lights didn't flicker. They dimmed, like they were bracing for something they couldn't stop.
I reached the viewing hall alone. The others turned back.
I didn't.
I should've. I should've waited for containment.
But I had to see.
The glass was glowing—veined with threads of darkness that pulsed like arteries.
The containment gel inside had started to ripple—not from movement, but from fear.
And then it happened.
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Not an explosion. A surrender.
The chamber didn't break. It... yielded.
Unfolding like it had lost the will to contain her.
The glass bowed, almost gently.
And she stepped out.
The Girl.
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Dripping. Pale. Hair hanging in strands like shadows.
Eyes open and impossibly old. Not blinking. Not... afraid.
She looked small. Fragile, even.
But there was nothing soft about the way she moved.
There was no confusion. No pain.
Only the terrible calm of someone who remembered the end.
She didn't stumble.
Didn't hesitate.
She walked forward like gravity had given her permission.
I didn't have a sword.
I was trained with a scalpel.
We were the precision. The surgeons of chaos.
Where others cut wide, we made incisions—quick, clean, irreversible.
My hand reached for the hilt on instinct.
But the Taiji inside me… froze.
Not from fear. From reverence.
It didn't rise to meet her.
It knelt.
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I have never felt my Taiji bow before.
She didn't look at me.
Didn't acknowledge the alarms, the chaos, the bodies behind locked doors.
She walked past as if the world were merely a curtain being drawn aside.
She wasn't a monster.
Not a god.
Monsters can be fought.
Gods can be worshipped.
No.
She was the threshold.
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She was a decision.
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A question.
And all of us—the world itself—were the answer she had come to measure.