Phagocytosis

The person I'm interviewing has chosen to remain anonymous. Because of this, it's entirely within your right to take their statements with a grain of salt. Their more erratic behaviour has been edited for the sake of clarity.

Note to editor: I'm still unsure whether to keep this in. It's not just the travel expenses, thanks to this lunatic refusing to do this over the phone, but the fact that I don't want to touch this can of worms at all. I just wanted that Veteran's Affairs grant and my master's degree for fucks sake.

My phone is taken away. Put inside an old oven, theirs is too, except it plays "Major Tom" on a loop the entire time as if to throw out whoever might be listening. They usher me toward the basement. Two chairs are waiting. It looks either like an ambush or a crude attempt at courtesy, considering the cement walls and buzzing fluorescent lights. I carefully peek inside before fully committing to going down.

"Paper, pen, no electronics on you?" they ask as they shove a notebook into my hands.

"No," I answer.

"What about your watch?" they say.

"Hard for the men in black to hack a 1980s East German watch, don't you think?"

"Fucking smartass thinks he knows more than me," they mutter.

"Pardon?" I ask.

"Sit down," they say again.

I lower myself into the chair. It's colder than I expect. The other one stays empty.

They eye me. "So they send a student for this?"

"I'm not a student. I'm a researcher."

"Same thing. You're all just fishing for stories you can't handle."

"You think I can't handle this?"

They shrug. "Depends. You ever watch a machine lie to your face?"

I frown. "You mean people lying through machines?"

They lean back, voice low. "No. I mean instruments. Readouts. Blips on a screen saying everything is normal, while something impossible moves across your scope."

I stay quiet.

"During the war, that was my job. Watching scopes. Monitoring. While most were eating cold rations in the mud, I was in charge of equipment worth hundreds of millions. Day in, day out, watching the sky."

"I know, waiting in case the crabs sent reinforcements"

"No, I mean yes of course but you wouldn't be in my basement if that was just that. There was shit command told us not to log. Hell, sometimes the machines would black out the records before we even touched them. Even those one's and zero's were smarter than us. You want to know how we saw it?"

They nodded slowly.

"Was not some big dramatic moment. No alarm bells. No smoking gun. Just a flicker."é

"A flicker?" I ask.

"They nod slowly. "Light. Real faint. A glint that should not have been there. You ever do deep-sky surveys? No? Does not matter. What matters is the sky's noisy. Cosmic rays, dust, junk reflecting sunlight. Ninety-nine percent of it is nothing. But this one, this one was steady.

They gesture with two fingers, tracing a tiny path in the air. Three frames. That is all we got at first. A faint speck, moving just deliberately enough to stay in our blind spot at first. Could have written it off, and we almost did."

"So why did you not?" I ask.

"The light it reflected. Natural objects, asteroids, dead satellites, they tumble, they scatter sunlight all wrong. This one? It caught the sun clean. Like it was flat. Polished. Manufactured."

They pause then add "One of the techs called it a sun wink. That moment when the angle is just right and the bastard shines, like it is waving at you."

"And it moved?"

"Eventually. But not fast. Almost like it wanted to stay in the dead angles of our systems. It took weeks to even triangulate its position. After those first few faint glints, it disappeared. Just gone. Like someone flipped a switch and the sky swallowed it whole. No signal, no reflection, nothing. We searched for days, weeks even. Tried every wavelength, every angle. It was like chasing a ghost.

Then, out of nowhere, it showed up again. This time closer. Much closer. Hundreds of millions of kilometers from Earth, but visible not just in the deep sky surveys. The big optical telescopes picked it up too. The ones with enough power to see a coin on the moon. That's when we knew this was serious. We went from email exchanges to having half the strategic rocket command in our office, trying to figure out if they should start refueling the nuclear ICBMs and whether or not there was a point in having our rail guns pointed at the sky.

The real confirmation came from the occultation monitors. We caught it passing right in front of the sun. Just a shadow flickering across our sights. It was precise and didn't react to the pull of the planets around it. Not an asteroid, not a comet. But at the same time it seemed careless. Something that fast, that agile, and stealthy doesn't stop on the home run to Earth just to go the opposite direction and get itself spotted flickering in front of Earth."

"I know the Americans, Chinese, and Australians saw it too. How? You don't scramble your satellites, shut down acces to foreign agencies, and suddenly classify whole swaths of sky surveillance data unless you've seen something that rattles your cage. From the moment the crabs first landed, everyone ,and I mean everyone, was sharing whether or not they saw a dove hit the window of a skyscraper or if a Cessna flew just a bit too high. Now, all of a sudden, everyone was panicking, restricting access. Conferences with heads of state were being cancelled. Important people were being ushered inside bunkers. Fuck me, man. They weren't even trying. It was like by being careless in their lies, they were also telling us they knew. But even without them, the data was clear. Someone was loitering just out of reach, watching. And now, we had proof."

"How did it propel itself?" I ask.

"Fuck if I knew. We had maybe twenty PhDs in the room and everyone just tossed the problem back and forth. Don't think we've even started to acknowledge the level of math required to design a system like that. If it wanted, it could go left, right, up, down, sideways like a pinball. Saw it do all that shit. And by saw, I mean what it allowed us to see. And that was just pictures, pictures that were each a terabyte of raw data. But even that, we only caught a glimpse."

"What did it look like?" I ask.

"Ever seen a Tic Tac? Just that form. We didn't just stare at screens and hope for the best. Once we knew it was out there, tracking it became a full-time obsession. Every European owned observatory with enough power from Greenland to Morocco and all the way to Guyana was called in. Optical telescopes with giant mirrors, radar stations bouncing signals off anything that moved, and infrared sensors scanning for heat signatures. Optical, couldn't get it to stay still long enough to have good sights on it, radar a fucking joke with what we're talking about, High-frequency radar tried to ping it, but most of the signals either bounced off in strange ways or disappeared completely. And Infared red sights, don't even get me started how useless that was.

We set up tight observation schedules so the object would not slip through cracks. When one telescope lost sight, we scrambled to find another. All the data flowed into our own command centers. Our analysts ran algorithms to predict its path, but the thing did not follow any predictable orbit. It zigzagged, accelerated, even vanished from our sensors only to pop up somewhere else.

We used occultation monitoring too, watching for it to pass in front of stars or the sun, creating tiny shadows that helped us nail down its exact position and size. That was our only hope. You couldn't hide when flying in front of a sun, but again I feel like they flew infront of them on puprose. But again.

We constantly updated and patched our software. But our equipment just wasn't precise enough, forcing us to rewrite detection algorithms on the fly. Finally, finally someone just told everyone to get their shit together. Brazilians, if I recall correctly. Threatened to go public if the rest of the world did not pull their shit together.

Then we got some real answers.

You should have seen my face when I looked at the picture from the Australian satellite, only to realize their UFO was a different shape than ours. Felt like a Monty Python sketch if only it wasn't one of the most important pictures in the history of mankind.

The Chinese had something parked a thousand kilometers right above them. And there was another similar that popped up above Estonia, both completely still. Not moving. That one seemed to be made of the same material but had the shape of a ring. Or maybe a stretched oval, smooth and precise. Just watching. Just watching. Maybe they were just having fun, seeing us and the crabs brawl. Looking at us like we might look at a group of ants and termites fighting. Maybe, like the Americans, they really just wanted to know if that factory in Shanghai could really roll out twenty ZTZ main battle tanks a day.

And there we were, caught between something ancient and unfathomable, and the petty squabbles of nations too scared to admit what they really knew. I didn't know whether to laugh or shit myself.

My team leader's approach was blowing his brains out with his service pistol in his office. Guy had it rough already. Add to that more data I didn't have access to, something that caused similar reactions all around the world, a string of heated phone calls and a visits from the bosses and the secret services. Some of my colleagues just nodded along when we were told that anything from those last weeks simply did not happen.

How do you silence arguably thousands of astronomers, officers, and scientists? You don't just have to threaten them. You just let them know the truth is heavier than they can carry, and then offer them a way to drop it.

It is like the moon landing. If it were fake, it's estimated four hundred thousands would have had to lie. But no one ever talked, not because they are all in on it, but because the weight of knowing something that big, and not being able to do a damn thing about it, settles over you like concrete. It makes it easier to swallow the pill when it weighs as much as a cinderblock. Eventually, you stop trying to fight it. You just agree that it never happened. Never talk about it. People retire, move to another office or another field. There's no one left to remind you that it happened."

========================================================================================================================================================================

Brussels, January 2038

AXON BODYCAM 6

JULIEN. K., 21 Zone de police d'Ixelles

22:36

Dispatch:
"21, status check."

Unit 21:
"21, Code 4. Clear from previous call, available for assignment."

Dispatch:
"Roger, Unit 21. wait one."

[Short pause]

ispatch:
"Unit 21, be advised, federal units have requested assistance with the pickup of a subject for questioning. Subject is not considered armed or dangerous."

Unit 21:
"Copy that, Dispatch. Can you provide address and subject details?"

Dispatch:
"Affirmative. Subject is one Mateo N., male, white, 29 years of age, reserve sergeant. Last known address is 40 Rue Paul Emile Janson. Known to live with two other housemates. One male aged 27, one female aged 29. Both clean. His order to appear for questioning is being sent to your device at this moment; . Federal officers will meet you at Precinct 4 once transport is complete."

Unit 21:
"Understood. En route to 40 Rue Paul Emile Janson now. ETA ten minutes."

Dispatch:
"10-4, Unit 21. Maintain radio contact. Advise upon arrival."

22:49

Julien keyed his radio. "Dispatch, on location. Standing by, waiting for occupants to answer."

He pulled on his glove as he spoke, the bodycam on his chest capturing the para commando tattoo on his forearm. His voice calm but alert.

His partner rang the doorbell again, then knocked, three firm raps against the wood.

A moment later, the door creaked open. A woman stood in the frame, barefoot, hair tied back, eyes narrowing slightly as she looked between the two uniforms.

"What's wrong?" she asked, voice low and cautious.

The officer closest to her gave a nod.

"Good evening. We're looking for Mateo N. Is he home?"

She hesitated ,ust a second too long.

"He's in his room. Just got back from a long trip, so he's sleeping."

The second officer stepped slightly to the side, eyes scanning the hallway behind her.

"We need to speak with him. May we come in?" Julien asked.

"Yeah, okay. Wipe your boots, please."

22:50

As they climbed the stairs behind her, the hallway was dim, lit only by the warm glow spilling from an open door to the living room.

Julien entered first. His colleague followed close behind.

"Bonsoir," one of the two men on the sofas said without standing.

"Bonsoir. Mateo?" Julien asked, while the second officer watched the hallway.

"Who's asking?" the man replied, his tone flat.

"I'll go get him," the woman said quickly, already turning.

"Putain, Emilie, tu laisses rentrer les flics comme ça, toi?"

22:52

Emilie disappeared into the bedroom, leaving the officers waiting in the hallway just outside. The door remained open behind her.

A few moments passed.

Mateo's voice came from inside the room.

"You're here for the sofa I'm selling?" he asked as he stepped into view, pulling on a pair of pants, shirtless and blinking against the hallway light.

Julien kept his voice steady.

"No. Mateo N., correct? We need you to come with us. Federal request. You're not under arrest, but you are required to come in for questioning."

"What you just said makes no sense, but sure." Mateo answered as he got dressed.

Mateo paused. His eyes shifted briefly to Emilie, who stood off to the side with her arms crossed.

"What is this about?" she asked.

The second officer stepped slightly forward.

"First, I need to see some ID, please." Julien asked.

Mateo nodded and turned back into the room. The officers heard the click of a drawer, then the rustle of papers.

He returned with a slim wallet and handed over an identity card. Julien checked the photo and name, then handed it back.

Mateo scratched the back of his neck, then pulled out a second card and offered it as well.

"Just so you know, I've got my reservist rifle stored in a locker under the bed. It's locked. No ammo at home."

Julien's expression remained neutral.

"What unit are you with?"

"7e Ligne, Prince Philippe. Was with the Chasseurs du Hainaut Battalion during the war."

The second officer gave a small nod, noting it down in his phone.

"Yeah, my brother was there too," Julien said quietly, not going into detail. Mateo caught the change in his expression.

"Appreciate the heads-up," Julien added, handing back both IDs.

Mateo exhaled through his nose and reached for a hoodie draped over the back of a chair.

He stepped back into the room for a moment. One of the officers leaned slightly to glance inside but stayed where he was.

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Emilie looked at them, her voice low.

"Is this serious?"

Julien shrugged.

"Shouldn't be, but I don't know why they sent us this late," he said.

His partner gave him a quick look, like he'd said more than he should have.

Mateo reappeared, hoodie and jacket on, phone and wallet in one hand. He gave Emilie a look, not quite worried, but far from relaxed.

"Let's get this over with."

The officers turned and led him back down the hallway, their footsteps soft on the worn wood floor.

23:32

The processing unit at the police station was a strange mix of old and new. Smooth white walls reflected the cold glow of LED panels overhead, but faded posters about municipal services and domestic violence support clung stubbornly to the walls. The air smelled sharply of bleach, fighting against the faint, stubborn odors that followed some of the people processed here.

Mateo sat in a molded polymer chair—functional but worn, like the room itself. A small LED screen on the processing agent's table cycled quietly through biometric scans and identity data. Automated systems verified Mateo's records within seconds, showing his face alongside relevant alerts.

The lead officer tapped methodically on a tablet, swiping through digital forms. His partner operated a biometric scanner, the soft blue light flickering over Mateo's fingertips and eyes.

Though the technology was impressive, the room felt anything but comfortable. At the far end of the hallway, Julien's bodycam feed caught his and his partner's stiff postures, their eyes flicking repeatedly toward the processing unit's entrance. The sudden shift in their demeanor was subtle but unmistakable.

Three federal agents stood against the wall. One, dressed casually, watched quietly with folded arms. The other two, in tailored suits, remained motionless, faces unreadable beneath the harsh lighting. Their presence was an unsettling contrast to the sterile surroundings.

The officers exchanged brief, uneasy glances, tension humming in the silence. Neither acknowledged the agents aloud, but Mateo could see the unspoken warning in their eyes.

Julien cleared his throat. "Chasseurs du Hainaut. You were in Cologne?"

Mateo nodded. "Yeah. That and about twenty other cities. If you mean 2027—the meat grinder—that was me. What about you?"

"2 Codo," Julien answered, eyes never leaving the tablet.

"From the start?"

"Yeah. Threw me out of a plane over Poland."

There was a pause. Julien's voice dropped slightly. "Did you know Remy? My brother. He was in your battalion."

Mateo's expression softened, brief but genuine. "Short, orange hair? Yeah, I knew him. Different platoon, but I heard plenty. He was well liked. Sorry for your loss."

Julien nodded once. "I'm going to have to search you—old-fashioned way. We'll be back soon." His grip was firm on Mateo's arm.

His partner glanced at him but said nothing.

Julien led Mateo into the small, windowless room used for thorough searches. Protocol meant leaving the bodycam and pistol in a locker outside.

Before beginning, Julien lowered his voice. "Ask for a lawyer. Doesn't matter if it takes five hours. They're probably more tired than you are. Stay calm, don't volunteer anything. These guys know how to talk, but they're not mind readers. You've been through worse."

INT. POLICE INTERROGATION ROOM 3
CCTV FEED — CAM ID 09-01-2038
03:22:12

Mateo sleeps with his head resting on the table, a half-empty water bottle beside him. The door creaks open. He stirs, then sits up, blinking toward the hallway light. A federal agent steps in, tablet folded under one arm, shirt wrinkled, face drawn from fatigue.

"Your union lawyer won't be here before nine. Your personal lawyer's won't be here before seven," he says, sounding as sleep-deprived as Mateo feels.

"We'll just start now. I'll ask a few questions so we can both go home. Won't take long." The agent pulls out the chair and sits down like the choice isn't up for discussion.

Mateo gives him a long, steady look.

"Nah. I'll wait," he says calmly. "Enjoy the overtime pay."

The agent's jaw tightens, but he says nothing. He stands, smooths down his jacket, and walks out.

The door clicks shut behind him.

INT. POLICE INTERROGATION ROOM 3
CCTV FEED — CAM ID 09-01-2038
04:30:12

Mateo slowly unscrews the cap of the water bottle, takes a sip, then screws it back on. He leans back in the chair, then adjusts it slightly to face away from the mirror wall. For the next ten minutes, he stares at the corner of the room without moving before falling asleep again.

INT. POLICE INTERROGATION ROOM 3
CCTV FEED — CAM ID 09-01-2038
05:02:34

A different federal agent, younger, sharper suit, enters with a second chair. Mateo politely asks for a different water bottle. Says this one tastes like plastic. When they bring a new one, he compares the two for a full minute, then puts both aside.

INT. POLICE INTERROGATION ROOM 3
CCTV FEED — CAM ID 09-01-2038
05:32:34

Mateo wakes up,requests to use the restroom. He takes exactly the maximum allowed five minutes. When he returns, he places his jacket carefully over the back of the chair, folds the sleeves inward, then sits. Says nothing.

INT. POLICE INTERROGATION ROOM 3
CCTV FEED — CAM ID 09-01-2038
06:22:34

Mateo sits upright, rubbing his eyes. One of the federal agents leans against the wall, arms crossed, his expression unreadable. Mateo stopped even noticing the agents entering or leaving the room hours ago.

He clears his throat.

"Let's just smoke outside, ten minutes, then we come here and get this over with"

The agent stares at him, frustrated. He walks out, and after two minutes comes back in.

Cut to Mateo being escorted out in the parking lot by two agents. No audio, just overhead footage: he lights a cigarette, exhales slowly, leaning against the wall outside the building's side door. One of the agents checks his watch. Mateo takes his time. Too much time.

INT. POLICE INTERROGATION ROOM 3
CCTV FEED — CAM ID 09-01-2038
06:32:34

Mateo re-enters, hands in pockets, a thin smile on his face. He sits down again, relaxed.

"Thanks for the smoke," he says. "I figured the lawyers would be here by now, though."

The agent across from him opens a tablet, clearly preparing to begin.

Mateo lifts a hand.

"No lawyer, no chat. You know the drill."

He leans back and closes his eyes. The agent sighs and powers off the tablet without a word.

SECURITY CAMERA FEED — INTERROGATION ROOM 3
07:32:04
Audio DISABLED

The door clicks open. A woman in a dark blazer steps inside, setting down a thick tablet case and a slim thermal coffee bottle. She closes the door behind her, then offers Mateo a nod as she sits beside him.

"Sorry for the wait," Maria says, greeting him with a cheek kiss as is customary, already opening her tablet. "They've had you on ice all night to rattle you. But judging by their faces, it went both ways."

Mateo just shrugs.

Maria scrolls through a few files. Her voice is quiet, precise.

"You're not under arrest. Not yet. But they're circling you because someone might have revealed state secrets to you."

Mateo shifts slightly in his seat.

"They won't say it outright, but they believe a source leaked classified information. I could read you the statute, but it's not encouraging, military and civilian law both apply here. They tried to make it seem like someone ratted you out, but I doubt that's the case."

She looks up at him, eyes steady.

"They want a name. They want to know who told you what and when. Especially since parts of it contradict the official story."

Mateo exhales slowly, staring straight ahead at the mirrored wall.

"I'm obviously not going to do that," he answers.

"You're not. You won't incriminate yourself. They obviously already know who it is. Mere possession isnt a crime itself. Twenty years ago, we might have walked out of here by now, happy and done. But you need to prepare for the worst."

He considers that for a moment.

"Any idea how we can get them to show their hand?"

She shakes her head with a faint smile. "We have a few hours before your other lawyer arrives. By the way, that was hilarious, laughed when I found out you invited him."

SECURITY CAMERA FEED — INTERROGATION ROOM 3
09:34:04
Audio DISABLED

A man lumbers into the room, somewhere in his late fifties, heavyset, wearing a wrinkled blue plaied shirt that had clearly seen better years and a pair of shorts that should've retired long ago. His hair is surprisingly full, his beard uneven and patchy like he'd lost track halfway through shaving.

"Aaah, in trouble again, bozo!" he calls out with a wheezy laugh.

"Bertrand!" Mateo jumps up and reaches for his hand. Bertrand goes for a half-hug instead, bumping into the chair as he does.

"Sorry I'm late! Got into a whole back-and-forth with the train guy, apparently my ticket doesn't count in this 'zone' or some nonsense. Anyway, let's hope this chair doesn't give up on me," he says, lowering himself into the seat with exaggerated caution, as if expecting it to collapse.

"Could you do me a favor and knock on the door?" he asks Mateo, who doesn't hesitate.

"Maybe we should wait and review the files before we invite the hounds in," Maria says, clearly worried.

Just then, the door opens. An officer steps inside, and beyond him, several agents in suits and plain clothes stand silently in the hallway, like racers waiting at the starting line.

"You the chief of that unit of yours?" Bertrand asks.

From the hallway, a tall, slender but muscular man in his late fifties answers, "Chief Inspector, yes."

"Black, two sugars," Bertrand says as he hands him an empty porcelain coffee cup.

SECURITY CAMERA FEED — INTERROGATION ROOM 3
10:02:04
Audio Enabled

Mateo sat at the center of the sleek interrogation room's steel table, flanked by his two lawyers. To his left was Maria, his high school best friend turned corporate lawyer, her posture poised and sharp, fingers lightly tapping a pen on her legal pad. To his right sat Bertrand, the older, more rugged union lawyer, a former military superior turned and trusted friend, leaning back with a calm, steady gaze.

Across from them, two federal agents. The lead federal agent settled into his chair, a file folder open before him. Tall, white hair, the body of an athletic runner. The other agent, younger, African watched silently from another chair, arms crossed, eyess alert.

The lead agent cleared his throat. "Mr. N., thank you for cooperating. We're here to clarify some questions regarding your contact with an unnamed source who allegedly disclosed classified information. You understand the seriousness of this."

Mateo's eyes flicked briefly to Maria, then to Bertrand. Neither betrayed any sign of nervousness.

"I understand," Mateo said evenly. "But I'm only willing to answer questions once you clarify exactly what you believe I have, and how you came by it."

The agent's jaw tightened. "That information isn't yours to disclose. Our interest is to determine the identity of your source."

Bertrand leaned forward. "We remind you, any questioning must respect Mr. N.'s rights, including the right not to self-incriminate. We will be objecting if this turns into a fishing expedition. He's here of his own accord"

Maria's voice was calm but firm. "And please note, we're reviewing all procedural compliance. We expect this interrogation to remain within legal bounds."

The lead agent leaned forward, voice calm but firm. "Mr. N., I want to clarify your status here. What began as a voluntary interview has now shifted to a custodial situation."

He paused, letting the weight of the words sink in.

"While you were... deliberating," he added carefully, "our team obtained a warrant and executed a search at your residence. They seized your laptop and other electronic devices."

His eyes locked onto Mateo's.

"We now have access to all the interviews and material you've collected, including unpublished recordings and documents."

Mateo's jaw tightened. Maria exchanged a brief, sharp look with Bertrand.

"Do you understand the gravity of this?" the agent asked, voice low.

Mateo met his gaze evenly.

"Gravity of what? A microsoft word document?" Mateo answered. Maria squeezed his hand, Bertrand put his hand on his shoulder.

"You have more stamps on your passport than the foreign minister." The other agent said.

SECURITY CAMERA FEED — INTERROGATION ROOM 3
11:32:04
Audio Enabled

"You were in China in August 2035, right?" the junior agent asked. "Did you inform your reserve officer in command?"

Mateo leaned close and whispered into Bertrand's ear. Bertrand replied just as quietly.

"Yes," Mateo said. "It's on my leave papers. If you had served, you'd know that you can't leave the EU without notifying them."

SECURITY CAMERA FEED — INTERROGATION ROOM 3
11:38:04
Audio Enabled

"India, last August. How did you manage that?" the agent asked.

Mateo leaned over and whispered into Maria's ear for a moment. She nodded slightly.

"It was an EU research mission," Mateo explained. "I was working on a paper about the foreign aid supply chain and the challenges involved. Plus, the Ministry of the Army requested I gather feedback from refugees about the new MREs we provided. You know, those 24-hour rations you have to heat yourself, the ones you have to…"

"I know what MREs are," the junior agent interrupted.

"Just making sure," Mateo replied with a small smile.

SECURITY CAMERA FEED — INTERROGATION ROOM 3
11:42:04
Audio Enabled

"The Bavarian autonomous zone, October 2035," the lead agent said with a chuckle.

"That alone, my god, how were you not drawn and quartered for that?" he asked, shaking his head in disbelief.

There was a brief silence in the room.

Bertrand broke it, his voice calm but pointed. "Do you seriously expect us to answer that?"

"Yes."

Mateo leaned forward slightly, his tone even.

"I was debriefed by Europol afterwards. Spent some time in a smaller room with scarier guys than you for a while. Besides, that chapter is redacted because your colleagues asked me nicely."

"Well actually followed up on that Europol debrief," he said casually. "Turns out they didn't just ask you to redact that chapter. They ordered you to. Officially. Under binding confidentiality. You signed off on it."

Mateo said nothing. Maria peeked forward and looked at Bertrand in a confused look.

Bertrand leaned forward, voice low but sharp.

"And how exactly did you verify that this morning, if, by your own admission, you only got access to the manuscript after the search and seizure a few hours ago?"

The room went quiet. The junior agent looked up briefly from his notes, then back down again.

The lead agent stared back at Bertrand for a second too long. His jaw flexed.

"We have channels," he said.

Bertrand gave a dry smile.

"You're not Europol, you're Diensteinheit 5. Military and state security. I'm sure you have channels, but I doubt anyone moves that fast. Not in the bureaucratic circus you work for. And I'm fairly certain internal affairs would be very interested in tracing exactly how fast those channels moved. Especially if you reviewed that chapter before legally accessing the device it was stored on."

Maria stepped in, her voice clinical and even.

"So either you're lying about when you got access to the files, or you've had unauthorized surveillance running on my client's devices before the seizure this morning. Both are serious problems. Would you like to clarify which it is?"

The agent didn't respond. He pulled he just crossed his legs and pretended to go over his documentation while the senior agent on his right sighed and ran his hand through his hair.

Mateo leaned forward slightly, his tone calm but firm.

"Seems like I'm not the only one who might have overstepped."

SECURITY CAMERA FEED — INTERROGATION ROOM 3
12:32:04
Audio Disabled

"Shame on you, really," Bertrand muttered as he unwrapped his sandwich.

"I make you godfather and you don't check in on the kid for six months. Shame on you!" he added with a laugh, taking a bite.

Mateo smiled, chewing his own food. "Hey, you're the one who didn't want me taking her to Walibi."

"And I told you, that's on the wife," Bertrand said, shaking his head. "She still thinks roller coasters stunt brain development or whatever nonsense she read online."

"Well, she's not wrong about mine," Mateo replied, tapping his temple. "I keep forgetting my PIN code and all of those things."

Maria laughed softly as she scrolled through the paperwork on her tablet.

"Next time you forget your PIN code, just call those guys outside. I'm sure they'll be happy to help, probably have it written on a post it somewhere."

SECURITY CAMERA FEED — INTERROGATION ROOM 3
13:12:04
Audio Disabled

The lead investigator stood in the doorway, speaking quietly with someone just outside. After a long sigh, he gathered his things from the table and left the room.

A figure stepped fully inside, his presence commanding attention. "You too, bring me some coffee while you're at it," he said without looking away.

He fixed the junior investigator with a sharp gaze. "Lots of milk, lots of sugar. And I can do without that sigh of yours."

The man was tall, well-shaven, and dressed in a crisp brown dress uniform bearing the name "Hoshigami." Polished black shoes gleamed beneath the trousers, a cap tucked under his arm. Ribbon attached right on his chest, nearly from his collar bone to his lower chest, complemented by a red and gold shoulder cord draped over one shoulder. On one sleeve was a Japanese flag beneath the new United Nations emblem, as protocol demanded. On the other, the symbol of the "Three Hares." The ancient motif, older than any nation's flag, depicted three rabbits running in a perfect circle, each sharing an ear with the next so that only three ears were visible, though each animal seemed to have two. It was a paradox captured in motion, an endless chase, a cycle without beginning or end. Once found carved from the beams of medieval churches all the way to temple walls along the Silk Road, the mysterious interconnectedness of all things.

Maria didn't know who he was. Bertrand knew only a few details. Mateo just understood that this was someone serious.

He was joined by an American officer, Jones was written on his name plate, broad-shouldered and tall, his dark blue uniform imlmaculate. Same amount of ribbons and medals. His sharp eyes scanned the room with a quiet intensity, two silver stars pinned to his shirt's collars catching the light.

Next to Jones was General Zhou, representing China. His posture too was impeccable, and his expression unreadable. Dressed in a deep green uniform, with subtle gold embroidery along the cuffs and collar, he exuded calm authority.

Though it was Hoshigami who spoke, the weight in the room came from the presence of all three.

They were part of twenty five generals worldwide, part of the openly secretive and influential "Three Hares" initiative. A board of military leaders shaping the future behind closed doors and making sure event of the past didn't repeat. Life long assignements of generals who still hold influence in their home country. Guided by international cooperation and a humanity first attitude.

Their decisions were seldom public, yet their impact rippled across nations and conflicts alike. Bound by a shared commitment to prevent the recurrence of devastating wars, the Three Hares operated beyond politics and borders. Each general carried the heavy burden of history on their shoulders, tasked with balancing power and conscience in equal measure.

Every member had proven themselves in the brutal war against the Crabs.

General Zhou took out a cigarette, Jones did the same. Jones and Zhou shared a light before staring at the trio sitting in front of Hoshigami. He was going over the paperwork given to him by the investigators.

"That's what they interrupt my day with," Hoshigami muttered in Japanese, a dry edge in his voice.

Jones, replying in the same language, offered a wry smile. "Don't forget you also dragged us here."

"And remind me again why exactly we're here?" Zhou asked, tone unreadable.

"Returning a favor to a dear friend," Hoshigami answered in English, now addressing the room.

"It goes without saying that some of this can't be allowed to see the light of day," he added, closing the tablet in front of him with care.

"The subject Doctor Campbell discussed with you last week in Scotland is one of serious concern to our agency. We are investigating it thoroughly. But we see no value in the general public becoming aware of it. Not at this stage."

No one on the other side of the table spoke. Mateo, Maria, and Bertrand simply listened.

"You needn't worry," Hoshigami added. "The good doctor won't be bothering you again. Or ever."

Jones, cigarette in hand sat on one of the chairs. Leaned forward slightly. His voice was even, his English crisp and precise.

"The broader subject of your manuscript," he said, looking directly at Mateo, "is not without value. In fact, from a strategic perspective, it's… beneficial for us. Accounts of hardship. Grit. Sacrifice. These things serve global morale. They reinforce cohesion across national lines. Good strategic value to us and we thank you for it. We were worried everyone would forget about this nasty business and go back to business as usual. Sure wasn't the case but we need everything we can get."

He spoke with the tone of a surgeon reviewing a chart, indifferent to the pain it contained.

"Of course," Jones added, "there are those,critics, activists, who would argue the opposite. That such depictions are a fetishization of suffering. That recounting trauma at this scale is an explotation of grief. A glorification of violence dressed up as testimony." He smiled, a wide, toothy grin that didn't quite reach his eyes.

There was something predatory in the way the three generals held the room. Silent, still, entirely in control. Like creatures who had already circled the perimeter and decided no one inside was a threat. Or the way a lion would play with a baby gazelle for a bit before biting it's neck.

"From what we've seen," Jones continued, "your book delivers that. Pain, yes, but processed into narrative. And narrative is power. The right kind, wielded properly, can stabilize minds far more effectively than a drone or a regiment. Don't get me wrong, this isn't a signed copy of the Bible, but it'll do just the right amount of good."

He glanced toward Zhou and Hoshigami, who hadn't spoken. They didn't need to. Their stillness was enough. Watching, assessing, waiting for something they already knew would come.

"That said," Jones went on, his voice dropping slightly, "we are not here because of your broader theme. We are here because of what's buried inside it. The fragments. The details. The things that were never supposed to exist in the public record."

He sat back with calm detachment, the kind of ease that only comes from knowing the end of the story before it's been told.

"Your problem, Mr. Abrantes," he said, "is that you were too sloppy. You let every nutjob with a war story into your pages. And most of them, frankly, checked out. Decent people. Flawed, sure, but clean."

He leaned forward again, voice narrowing.

"You just had to push it with that Space Tic Tac bit. Ashgabat too. We know you hesitated. That you debated whether or not to include it. And we do appreciate the moment of self-reflection."

His smile returned, colder now.

"But let's be honest. We both know those parts won't make the print."

As Mateo sat in silence, a strange question drifted through his mind, whether the three men in front of him were truly human. There was something too composed about them, too precise. They way they spoke, their teeth, unnaturally white. Hoshigami and Jones rose from their chairs at the same time, like it had been rehearsed.

"We'll make sure this goes away," Hoshigami said. "You can keep the chapter about the Bavarian anarchists do."

He let out a small laugh at the end, one that was echoed by the other two. It felt rehearsed too, as if they were all sharing a joke that Mateo and his lawyers weren't meant to understand.

"But consider this your final warning," Jones continued, voice steady. "Doctor Campbell was arrested last night. Apparently, some rather unsavoury images involving minors were discovered on his hard drive. Just appeared there clear as day! Wouldn't you believe it? So for the common good just finish that damn book already."

He picked up his cap, adjusting it with calm precision.

"And this entire debacle has already cost me and my colleagues an hour and a half. I don't intend to waste any more."

======================================================================================================================================================

INITIATE_CASCADE_WIPE >> DEVICE_ID: 9834-XXV-0423

! PROMPT: Confirm device type —

➤ EXTERNAL DRIVE / ENCRYPTED / PARTIONED

! PROMPT: Confirm level override — Required LEVEL: COPPER

➤ THREAT LEVEL: RED / CLASS-3 CONTENT FLAGGED

! PROMPT: Begin full recursive wipe of all sectors? Begin Formatting of SSD DRIVES? This operation is non-recoverable.

➤ CONFIRM

! PROMPT: Specify protocol:

➤ BLACK SAND / OVERWRITE X7 / NULL-FILL / LOG BURN

…

[SECURITY OVERRIDE IN EFFECT]

OF-10 (GEN. JPN.) (Hoshigami) — CODE VERIFIED

AUTHORITY LEVEL: COBALT

— WIPE INITATED —

[ENCRYPTION KEYS PURGED]
[MIRROR INDEX DESTROYED]
[SHADOW VOLUMES UNMOUNTED]
[SECURITY LOGS FLUSHED]
[CCTV FOOTAGE FLUSHED]

FINAL STATUS:

DEVICE ID: 9834-XXV-0423 — NON-EXISTENT

TERMINAL LOCKING IN 10 SECONDS

██ OPERATION CLOSED ██

// END FEED //