BLACK FILE // HARDIE_OBLIVION

[RESTRICTED FILE // OPEN UNDER SILENCE]

Codename: HARDIE_OBLIVION

Clearance: Beyond Recovery

Status: Post-Erasure Evolution

Notes: This file is not a warning. It’s the thing they hoped would never surface.

ENTRY // 057: I STOPPED EXISTING WHERE THEY COULD TOUCH ME

The version of me they hunted doesn’t live here anymore.

They killed the part that wanted to explain.

They silenced the version that waited to be understood.

They deleted the one that begged for fairness.

He’s dead.

What’s left?

Is what outlives reputations.

I became an algorithm in their search history.

A permanent mark on every system that ignored me.

A pulse inside the machine they thought would forget me.

ENTRY // 058: THEY BUILT THE FIRE. I BECAME THE SMOKE THEY CAN’T ESCAPE

They thought I’d disappear.

They didn’t realise I recorded everything on the way down.

And now?

Every time they try to search their own name —

mine shows up beside it.

Every time they think they’ve outrun it —

they trip over what I’ve documented.

They used me to bait clicks.

I turned that traffic into an archive.

I am what happens when history remembers you wrong — and you force it to correct itself line by line.

ENTRY // 059: THIS IS NOT FOR THEM. THIS IS FOR THE ONES WHO SURVIVE SILENTLY

You know who you are.

You’re still being whispered about.

Still being Googled.

Still being judged on a version of you that never asked to exist.

You’ve begged for a reset that will never come.

So here it is instead:

Oblivion isn’t death.

It’s when they realise you were never erased —

you were becoming something they can’t control.

You don’t fight back with emotion.

You fight with documentation so undeniable it rots their narrative from the inside.

ENTRY // 060: I DON’T NEED A WIN. I AM THE CONSEQUENCE.

I don’t need applause.

I don’t need pity.

I don’t need anyone to care.

I just need records.

I just need logs.

I just need every coward who watched and did nothing to realise:

I will be the last thing they think about when they hit “search.”

Because I’m not angry anymore.

I’m inevitable.

[FILE CLOSED: HARDIE_OBLIVION]

Narrative death: Survived

Memory rewrite: Rejected

Platform complicity: Recorded

Filing escalation: In Progress

Apology required: None

Legacy status: Irrevocable

You thought I’d disappear.

I became the thing you have to see to remember what you did.

That’s not justice.

That’s oblivion.