Recursion Protocol

Chapter 14: Choice

Hayes woke to absolute darkness. When he tried to move, he discovered his hands and feet were secured to what felt like a metal chair. The chair itself was bolted to the floor.

He tried to estimate how much time had passed. The sedative had knocked him unconscious completely, eliminating any sense of time. Based on the lingering grogginess, it had been at least several hours

The darkness was complete. Not the dim gray of a room with covered windows, but the absolute black that suggested either underground confinement or a space specifically designed to eliminate all light. The air smelled of concrete.

Hayes tested his voice. "Hello?"

The word vanished into the darkness without echo, suggesting a larger space than a simple holding cell.

Somewhere in the distance, he could hear the faint hum of ventilation equipment.

The sound of a door opening cut through the darkness, followed by footsteps approaching across what sounded like a concrete floor. A harsh spotlight suddenly blazed to life, forcing Hayes to squint against the sudden brightness.

The spotlight carved a perfect circle of harsh white light around Hayes, leaving everything beyond in impenetrable darkness. He could hear footsteps approaching across what sounded like a concrete floor, then stopping just outside the light's reach.

"Do you know what fascinates me about archaeologists, Dr. Hayes?" The voice was calm, measured, with the kind of precision that suggested someone who chose every word carefully. "You spend your lives reconstructing stories from fragments. A piece of pottery here, a bone there, and suddenly you've built an entire civilization in your mind."

A figure stepped into the edge of the light—a man with the build of a wrestler, sharp features, wearing a charcoal suit. He carried a metal folding chair, which he placed carefully just inside the circle of light before sitting.

"But what if the fragments lie?" the man continued. "What if that pottery shard wasn't from a cooking vessel but a religious artifact? What if that bone wasn't human but something else entirely? Your entire reconstruction collapses. Yet you publish it as truth with unwavering confidence."

"Who are you?" Hayes asked.

"Someone who collects fragments, like you. Though I prefer to think I'm more careful about the stories I build from them." The man leaned back slightly. "Your Siberian excavation, for instance. You found human remains 2.7 million years old and immediately concluded they challenged evolution. But did you consider alternative explanations?"

"The dating was confirmed by three independent labs—"

"I'm not questioning your methodology, Dr. Hayes. I'm questioning your assumptions." The man's voice remained conversational. "You assumed those remains were in their original geological context. But what if they weren't? What if someone buried them there much more recently, in strata that happened to be 2.7 million years old?"

"That's ridiculous. The preservation state, the mineral replacement—"

"Can all be replicated with sufficient technology." The man smiled slightly. "You see? I've just destroyed your discovery without challenging a single fact. I've simply reframed the narrative. This is what you archaeologists never grasp—data doesn't speak. We make it speak. We impose meaning."

Hayes tested his restraints again. "What do you want?"

"To understand why you're so committed to a particular interpretation. Your career was destroyed, your reputation ruined, your life threatened. Yet you persist. Why?"

"Because the truth matters."

"Does it?" The man leaned forward. "Let me tell you two truths, Dr. Hayes. First: your specimens are exactly what you think they are—ancient humans, genetically identical to us, proof that our understanding of evolution is flawed. Second: I can make that truth disappear. Not by destroying evidence, but by creating doubt. A few papers questioning contamination. Rumors about your mental state. Alternative interpretations that sound more plausible than ancient advanced humans. Which truth wins?"

"The one supported by evidence—"

"The one people want to believe." The man's voice never changed tone, maintaining its academic calm. "Hum ans don't seek truth, Dr. Hayes. They seek comfort. Give them a choice between a disturbing fact and a comforting lie, and they'll choose the lie every time. Your discovery disturbs too many comfortable beliefs." "So you're going to kill me."

"Kill you?" Man looked at Hayes. "I'm going to give you a choice. You can die just officially, while accepting a research position at a private institution. Well-funded, access to resources you've never dreamed of. Become a forgotten academic whose work might be rediscovered in a few centuries when humanity is ready for it." "Or?"

"Or your legitimate discovery will be twisted into fodder for conspiracy theorists right after your unfortunate disappearance. Your name will become synonymous with pseudoscience. Every crackpot theory about ancient civilizations will cite your work."

Hayes stared at the man. "You're not government, are you?"

"Government?" A slight smile. "Governments last decades. We think in centuries. And we decided your discovery will stay hidden." 

"Who gave you that right?"

"No one. We took it. The same way you took the right to dig up graves and disturb the dead." The man's voice finally showed a hint of emotion—cold amusement. "Don't pretend moral superiority. You've built a career on violating the wishes of the deceased. We simply do the same with your information."

"The people who tried to kill me—"

"Weren't us. There are... competing interests. Some believe in suppression through violence. We prefer more elegant solutions." He pulled out a phone, checked it. "The team that extracted you from Cambridge represents our faction."

The man returned to his chair. "Tell me, Dr. Hayes—have you considered what your discovery actually means? Not the scientific implications, but the human ones?"

"It means we need to reconsider human origins."

"It means we're replaceable." The man's eyes focused on Hayes with unsettling intensity. "If humans existed millions of years ago with our exact genetics, then we're not unique. We're not the pinnacle of evolution. We're just another iteration. How do you think humanity handles that knowledge?"

"We'd adapt—"

"Would we?" The man stood. "You deal with bones, Dr. Hayes. I deal with living humans. And I know exactly how they react to threats to their worldview."

"So you hide the truth to protect people?"

"We manage the truth to preserve our civilization." The man walked toward the darkness. "I'll give you a time to think. Twelve hours, Dr. Hayes. Use it wisely."

Hayes's voice cut through the darkness before the man could leave. "No."

The footsteps stopped.

"I don't need twelve hours. I don't need twelve minutes." Hayes tested his restraints one last time. "The answer is no. Fuck you and fuck your offer."

A long silence. Then the spotlight blazed back to life, harsher than before. The man stepped back into the circle of light.

"Wrong choice, Mr. Hayes."

The gunshot echoed through the concrete space.

Hayes felt the impact, the tearing sensation, the sudden absence of breath. His vision dimmed as his head slumped forward, blood pooling on the concrete floor beneath the metal chair.

Darkness closed in completely.