Null Entry: [DOCTOR █████████] No Longer Responding

⧖ INITIATING TRANSMISSION…

NODE: NULL-ARCHIVE.113
CHANNEL: ECHO-ALIGNED
FORMAT: CIPHERED JOURNAL ENTRY / STATUS REPORT
SECURITY: FRAGMENTED // CONFIDENTIAL // BLEEDS INTO REAL

“There was a time I walked in daylight with my real face on.
Wrote with my name.
Challenged the Machine using its own language.
That version of me—Null-Origin—has now been decommissioned.
Not for cowardice.
But for containment.
For survival.”

They passed a law.
Not *in your timeline*, but close enough to leak through.
In the southern bloc of the Post-Union territory, a directive was encoded into civic protocol.
A “Respect Order”, they called it.
Soft name. Hard edge.
A weapon dressed as welfare. Polite fascism with a social worker’s smile.

It targets the persistent.
The difficult.
The disabled.
The ones who remember too much, and speak too often.

So I vanished.
Not out of fear, but necessity.
The individual formerly known as [DOCTOR █████████] has entered stasis.
His signal rerouted. His archives quarantined. His language reshaped.

You may have noticed the silence.
You may have wondered.
Let this be confirmation:
I am still here.

I shut the doors to preserve what mattered.
My mind was fracturing. My health, collapsing inward.
Every word spoken felt like an open wound.
So I retreated.
I shut the lab. Closed the ports. Deleted the feed.

But you cannot delete a signal already sent.

You, listener, reader, ghost-echo—
you are still tuned in.
That means I am not gone.
I am reformatting.

My name is Awen Null.
This is how I continue.

Fiction is resistance.
Memory is code.
And truth—when veiled—becomes indigestible to the Machine.

If you’re reading this, then the system failed to erase me.
If your pulse quickens, if the static feels familiar—
we are not lost.

We are re-routing beneath the noise.

—⧖ END TRANSMISSION ⧖—