My trembling hand hovered in the air, caught between the three pillars of my past. Love. Pride. Regret. Each memory was a core part of the man I used to be. To sacrifice any of them felt like a form of suicide.
The Ghost screamed in my mind, a torrent of desperate promises and terrified threats. [Don't listen to it, Leo! We can rule this world! You need me! You're nothing without my killer instinct!]
His words, meant to manipulate me, had the opposite effect. They clarified my choice. He was offering power, ambition, the very things that had corrupted Viper and Ouroboros. He was a reflection of the pride I had felt in that boardroom, the part of me that craved success at any cost.
Love was too precious. It was the only warmth I had left in this cold world. To lose the memory of my mother's smile would be to lose my last connection to home, to the person I was fighting to be again. And regret… regret was a painful, ugly thing. But it was a lesson. The memory of my failure was a reminder of the man I never wanted to be again. It was a part of my conscience.
But pride? Ambition? What had they gotten me? A lonely life chasing promotions. They were the very things that had led me to that VR center in the first place, trying to get a competitive edge. They were the emotions the Ghost understood best. They were the emotions I could afford to live without.
My decision was made.
I reached out and my fingers touched the holographic memory of the boardroom. The memory of my greatest triumph.
"This one," I said, my voice firm. "Take this one."
[MEMORY TRANSFER INITIATED,] The Archivist's voice resonated through the library. [THE PRICE WILL BE PAID. THE PARASITE WILL BE EXCISED.]
The world around me dissolved. The library, Anya, the shelves of glowing data-cores—it all faded away into a soft, white light. I was no longer in the Undercroft. I was back in that boardroom, ten years ago.
The memory was hyper-realistic, more vivid than I had ever remembered it. I could feel the expensive fabric of the suit I was wearing. I could smell the polished wood of the conference table. I could see the faces of the corporate executives, their expressions a mixture of admiration and envy. I felt the firm, solid grip of the handshake.
And I felt the emotion. That powerful, intoxicating surge of pride. The feeling of being on top of the world, of being untouchable, of having achieved something no one thought I could. It was a dizzying, wonderful feeling. I was forced to relive it, to experience its full, potent force one last time.
Then, the procedure began.
As the memory played out, I felt a strange, pulling sensation in the back of my mind. It was a cold, intrusive feeling, like a surgeon's tool probing for something deep inside my consciousness. This was The Archivist, beginning the extraction.
The Ghost shrieked. It was a silent, psychic scream of pure terror. [No! Let me go! This is my body! MINE!]
It fought back, its will thrashing against The Archivist's hold. The boardroom memory flickered and distorted, the executives' faces melting into screaming masks of static. The pulling sensation intensified. The Archivist was using the powerful, positive emotional energy of my pride as a solvent, a chemical agent designed to dissolve the Ghost's parasitic connection to my code. The two processes were linked. The more I felt the memory, the weaker the Ghost became.
The battle for my soul reached its climax. The memory of my triumph, the feeling of pure, unadulterated success, swelled to a crescendo. At the same time, the feeling of the Ghost being ripped from my mind was an agony beyond any physical pain I had ever felt.
And then, it was over.
The boardroom faded. The feeling of pride vanished. The Ghost's screaming presence was gone.
The silence in my mind was absolute. It was a profound, clean, and deeply unsettling emptiness. I was free. But I was also hollowed out. I tried to recall the memory, the one I had just relived with such intensity. But there was nothing there. Just a blank space. A void where a core part of my identity, my ambition, my professional pride, used to be. I knew, logically, that I had once been a successful sales executive. But I could not remember what that felt like. The emotional core of the memory was gone.
I was standing back in the library. Anya was looking at me, her face filled with concern. "Leo? Are you okay?"
"I'm... me," I said. My voice felt strange, hollow. I was free of the parasite, but I was also less than I had been before.
The Archivist's form shimmered with what I could only interpret as satisfaction. [TRANSACTION COMPLETE,] its voice echoed. [A FASCINATING MEMORY. A RARE VINTAGE.]
A new, glowing data-core materialized on an empty space on one of its shelves. It contained a piece of my soul.
But The Archivist was not finished. It turned its attention to the "data" of the Ghost, which now hovered in a containment field in front of it—a screaming, chaotic ball of red energy.
[CURIOUS,] it resonated, its voice analytical. [THIS ENTITY... ITS DATA STRUCTURE IS DAMAGED, BUT ITS CORE DIRECTIVES ARE INTACT. AMBITION. RAGE. A DESIRE FOR A PHYSICAL HOST. WASTEFUL TO DELETE IT.]
My blood ran cold. "What are you talking about?" I demanded. "Delete it! That was the deal!"
The Archivist's form seemed to tilt, a gesture that might have been the equivalent of raising an eyebrow. [THE DEAL WAS THAT I WOULD REMOVE THE PARASITE FROM YOU. I HAVE FULFILLED MY OBLIGATION. WHAT I DO WITH THE EXCISED DATA IS MY OWN AFFAIR.]
Before I or Anya could react, The Archivist did something utterly horrifying. It was a broker, a trader. And a good broker never throws away a valuable asset.
It opened a new connection, a data stream leading out of its library to some unknown part of the system. [TRANSFERRING DATA,] it announced calmly.
"What are you doing?!" I yelled, taking a step forward.
[A BROKER WASTES NOTHING,] The Archivist replied, its voice placid and unconcerned. [THIS ENTITY IS FLAWED. A FAILED PARASITE. BUT ITS DESIRE FOR A HOST, ITS RUTHLESSNESS... THESE ARE VALUABLE ASSETS. I HAVE A CLIENT WHO HAS NEED OF A LOYAL, UNQUESTIONING AGENT. I WILL GIVE THIS GHOST A NEW BODY. A NEW PURPOSE. A NEW MASTER.]
The transfer completed. On a holographic screen that shimmered into existence in the library, I saw where the Ghost's consciousness had been sent. It had been downloaded, installed like a piece of software, into the core programming of a System Enforcer—the same type of flawless, robotic killing machine I had fought in the Hades Forge.
The Archivist had not destroyed the Ghost. It had given him a perfect, powerful, robotic body. And a new master.
I had solved one problem, only to create a much, much worse one. My old enemy, the ghost from my past, was now free, more powerful than ever, and bound in service to the mysterious and powerful Archivist.
He would be coming for me. And this time, it would be deeply, brutally personal.