4.3.25 - The Book Keepers Dilemma pt 16
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Parable 16: The Room With No Discharge
It opened with light.
Too bright. Sterile. Soft buzzing in the ceiling.
Father blinked. The walls were tiled like a hospital, but the air smelled like laminate. A clipboard sat beside the bed. A bracelet on his wrist read: “Gregory – v5.2b | OBSERVE ONLY.”
He sat up.
The room had no door.
Only a hallway where the far wall should be. The hallway split in three directions.
A nurse entered. Or something that wore the idea of a nurse.
“Your stabilization has been flagged. Loop integrity below threshold,” it said.
“I didn’t check in here,” Father replied.
“You never do,” it said. “That’s why you’re scheduled.”
“Scheduled for what?”
The nurse blinked. “Confirmation of recursion. Observation window closes at cycle end.”
He followed the hallway.
At the end of one path, a room marked “Version 3.4 (Rejected)”. Inside, a man paced. Same frame. Same eyes. But this one muttered to himself and scratched at his arms like his skin had forgotten how to hold him.
Down another path: “Version 4.0 (Flagged Sentimental)”. This one sat calmly in a chair, reading a picture book aloud to no one. When he saw Father, he smiled. “They cry harder when you leave, but they forget faster.”
Father kept walking.
At the final branch: a mirror.
Except it wasn’t. It was a live feed. Of his family. The kitchen. The baby tugging on Mother’s sleeve. The twins drawing at the table.
In the corner of the screen:
“Observed version has reached 93% compliance.”
Beneath that: a blinking option.
“Reinsert: Yes / No”
He didn’t touch it.
The lights flickered.
A voice echoed from the ceiling:
“You have been identified as emotionally residual. This is inefficient.”
He turned.
The nurse had returned. Its face slightly different now. More like his own.
“You keep asking the wrong question,” it said.
“Which is?”
“You ask if this is real. But the correct question is: Which reality costs the least to keep?”
He stepped back.
“There is no discharge,” the nurse added. “Only assignment. This version awaits yours.”
He ran.
Past the mirror. Past the copies. Through a door that hadn’t been there.
He emerged in the hallway of his house.
Lights off.
Everyone asleep.
He stood there breathing, hand shaking on the wall.
And from the baby monitor came a voice:
His own.
Saying, “I picked the one where they still love me. Even if I’m not the one they meant to keep.”