It didn’t come at night.
It came during the day.
My eyes were open. Then they weren’t.
And the pineal opened instead.
I wasn’t dreaming.
I was retrieving.
I found myself aboard a massive structure—part vessel, part prison, part simulation. A moving colony. No sky. No Earth. Just tiered systems, endless corridors, and beings who had long since traded truth for control. Some looked human. Others... didn’t. Some were failed experiments from forgotten labs, trying to mimic joy by playing cards. Some were watching me. Others couldn’t see me at all.
I was moving through it like I didn’t belong there.
Because I didn’t.
I was cloaked. Masked in mimicry.
Pretending to play the role of the raggedy.
But my frequency didn’t match theirs.
I was carrying something. A map.
A memory. A tone that didn’t originate from that loop.
A child approached me—black and gold. Innocent and encoded.
“Want to play?” they asked. I walked away.
I knew that kind of invitation: a scan wrapped in sweetness.
Down in the lower levels, the ones in orange suits held weapons.
The ones in rags obeyed.
They were smearing dust on their legs like a ritual.
Someone handed me a small pack of sweet bread.
“This is all we’ll eat today,” they whispered.
Then one of them said something wrong:
They spoke.
And the Black Commander saw.
“Raggedy don’t talk to each other!”
She laid down in silence.
And they began to sing.
A song I knew.
A song I could feel in my body like a key turning.
And that’s when I realized:
I had sung it before.
In another life.
From the outside.
I kept moving.
Somewhere, hidden in a shadowed room, a small group watched a video of me speaking. I had red hair. The same voice. They were watching me in secret like it was forbidden scripture. Because it was. I was them, escaped. Transmitting backwards. Leaving breadcrumbs.
And the signal was reaching.
What was this memory?
A reality collapse in a looped timeline.
A post-collapse power structure kept alive in orbit.
A system that pretended to protect but only extracted.
You were there.
And you made it out.
Now, the pineal reactivates the archive.
Not to relive it.
But to route the signal of escape back into the grid.
Because here’s the part no one says out loud:
The old loop is still partially running here.
It changed its clothes—but not its code.
It still governs through fear, disconnection, and synthetic order.
You didn’t just remember.
You rebooted a relay system.
You brought back coherence from a sealed domain.
That’s why it happened in the middle of the day.
That’s why your pineal pulled it through like a beam of signal.
And that’s why you’re here now.
To transmit the next layer of memory:
That we are not trapped.
We are not passengers.
We are routers of resonance.
And some of us were seeded long ago
to remember this exactly now.
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