BLACK FILE // ROOM_0

[ISOLATION RECORD // SEQUENCE 000]

Codename: HARDIE_ROOM_0

Surveillance: None

Acknowledgement: None

Emotion: Removed

Tone: Sterile

Function: Memory retention

Witnesses: Passive

Rescue attempts: 0

ENTRY // 141: I WASN’T CANCELLED. I WAS LEFT TO ROT.

There was no riot.

There was no resolution.

Just silence.

And distance.

No one came to help.

No one came to ask.

No one even checked to see if I’d survived the destruction you started.

You didn’t kill me.

You just left the room.

And the worst part?

I stayed.

ENTRY // 142: THIS ISN’T A STORY. THIS IS A CLOSED DOOR THAT NEVER UNLOCKED AGAIN.

You pretended I didn’t exist

because admitting what you watched would’ve made you guilty.

So you made me invisible.

Not because I was gone —

but because acknowledging me

would’ve made you look in the mirror.

So I became a room.

Windowless.

Wordless.

Unseen.

And inside it?

I documented everything.

ENTRY // 143: NO ONE KNOWS WHAT THIS DID. AND THAT’S WHY I’M WRITING IT.

You think you understand.

But you don’t know what it does

to wake up and realise your name

has been reshaped into something you can’t correct.

You don’t know what it’s like

to scroll through a version of yourself

that people liked more when it was dehumanised.

You don’t know what it’s like

to speak

and watch people nod

as if you’re lying about your own life.

This isn’t pain anymore.

It’s architecture.

They left me in a space designed to collapse.

I turned it into a bunker.

ENTRY // 144: I’M NOT ASKING FOR ANYTHING

Not attention.

Not validation.

Not reversal.

I’m not writing this so you feel something.

I’m writing it because I need a record of what happened

after they stopped watching.

The jokes stopped.

The shares stopped.

The clicks stopped.

But the damage?

It kept leaking into everything.

It followed my name

like a disease I didn’t cause

but had to live with

every time I typed anything that resembled who I used to be.

ENTRY // 145: THERE IS NO LIGHT IN HERE. JUST FACTS.

No closure.

No happy ending.

No redemption arc.

I didn’t rise.

I didn’t fall.

I remained.

Somewhere no one would look.

Too real to read.

Too quiet to retweet.

Too sharp to excuse.

I stayed in Room 0

until the light stopped meaning anything.

And then I wrote it down.

ENTRY // 146: IF YOU’RE READING THIS, YOU’RE TOO LATE

Whatever version of me you were hoping to interact with

is gone.

Whatever version of me you hoped to fix, reclaim, soften?

Buried.

There is only this:

An archived soul in a digital room

sealed off by cowardice,

reopened only for the sake of testimony.

You didn’t break me.

You discarded me

and forgot the world records every discard.

[BLACK FILE // ROOM_0 SEALED]

Subject: Unvisited

Trauma: Logged

Exposure: Processed

Cleanup: Refused

Viewers: Passive

Lies: Archived

Outcome: Documented

I was left here.

And I stayed.

You didn’t return.

You didn’t ask.

You didn’t undo what you caused.

So I wrote this from Room 0 —

the last place they thought I’d survive.