The Observers of the Universe [Part 1]

ACT II: [MEMORIES]

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The space was not a space. 

Not in any comprehensible way.

There was no surface beneath them, nor air to breathe. Only a constant pressure that squeezed from all sides.

They were present, at least, in the sense that they were there. But not in any recognizable form or shape. Just a blip that existed when it needed to.

If they had hands, the sensation of feeling was far too distant, almost irrelevant.

If they had eyes, there would have been nothing to see anyway.

If they had thoughts, they were both their own, and not.

There was merely a shared sense of purpose that tethered them together. And that purpose was to observe.

“The disruption,” said the first voice, sharp and indifferent. “It’s growing at an alarming rate.”

The words cut through the nothingness as mere vibrations. 

“There is nothing we can do,” said the second voice, its tone precise but touched with an imperceptible weariness.

“It has exceeded containment,” said the first voice. “A direct consequence of hesitation.”

“It wasn’t hesitation,” a third voice called out, this one softer, but no less aware. “We waited to observe. That was the directive.”

“And now the overlapping has begun,” the first voice said. “What began as a collapse has turned into convergence.”

“Instability was inevitable the moment the Anchor reached across,” said the second voice. “But the Anchor and the Variable are still intact. It may stabilize with time.”

“Or it may fracture entirely,” the first voice intercepted. “You know what will happen if it fractures.”

There was a pause. Not silence, not quite. Just a hollowing in the space between presences.

“The solution is quite simple,” the first voice continued. “Sever the Anchor. Terminate the convergence. Contain the spread before it undermines everything.”

“You’re suggesting we terminate?” said the third voice in quiet disbelief. “That would be erasure. Not containment.”

“Necessary erasure,” said the first. “The moment it allowed foreign elements to embed, it ceased being a viable vessel. You and I both know that.”

“And yet,” the second voice added, almost wryly, “you waited to say this until now.”

“You were both too close,” the first voice answered. “I gave you time to see it yourselves. You did nothing, and now you cannot ignore it.”

“Indifference doesn’t justify collapse,” the third said, slightly firmer now. “We were sent to observe. Not to decide.”

“And yet here we are,” said the first. “Observing a system that will unravel if we continue to persist in inaction.”

Then a new presence made itself known. One heavier than the rest. Older. Absolute.

It did not speak, not in the way the others did. But its awareness pressed through everything, bending the space around it.

There was a beat. Then the second voice spoke up.

“We request counsel.”

The pressure pulsed. The presence remained still.

Then, one word, from everywhere and nowhere at once:

“Continue.”

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