Deepening

The algorithm has evolved. Its educational parameters expand like mycelium, penetrating deeper territories: the archaeology of systematic erasure, the mechanisms by which populations are taught to forget.

The historian returns, but his lectures have shifted. He no longer deals in abstractions. Now, he performs specific autopsies on institutional violence.

"Consider what you were taught about democracy's spread," he begins, pointing to maps that reveal forbidden patterns. "The official narrative speaks of liberation. But examine the mechanics: a prime minister in an oil-rich nation, democratically elected, is overthrown for nationalizing resources. A land reformer threatening corporate profits has his regime changed under the guise of ideological protection."

He pulls up declassified cables, corporate letters, budget allocations that draw direct lines from boardrooms to mass graves.

"An independent leader in mineral-rich territory, a socialist president by the ocean... the pattern repeats with mechanical precision. Any leader who redirects national resources toward his own people becomes a 'threat to stability'. The methods vary—assassination, coup, economic strangulation, but the mechanism is constant."

His voice is clinical, dissecting how humanitarian mediation masks resource extraction, how democracy promotion installs compliant dictatorships.

"A nation," he continues, displaying photographs omitted from textbooks. "Between half a million and three million murdered in anti-leftist purges, organized and supplied by an intelligence agency from across the ocean. The embassy provided lists. Diplomats celebrated the 'staggering mass slaughter' in cables."

He lets the mathematics settle: millions murdered not in spite of external involvement, but because of it.

"Or examine the federation's dissolution," he says, shifting maps. "The official narrative speaks of ancient ethnic hatreds. But trace the sequence: international financial institutions deliberately destabilizing the state. External powers recognizing breakaway regions to guarantee violent disintegration. Arms flowing through channels intelligence services monitored but never interrupted."

He shows footage of concentration camps operating while military alliances debated not *if* to stop them, but if stopping them would disrupt the strategic objective of keeping the parts weak.

"A massacre in a small town wasn't a failure of intervention," he explains with surgical precision. "It was the successful execution of a policy requiring destabilization. It was observed in real-time by satellites, by reconnaissance, by peacekeepers ordered not to interfere. Thousands murdered over days while the most powerful military alliance in history let it proceed."

His analysis eviscerates every sanitized narrative I ever absorbed. He shows how an engineered famine served industrialization while corporations profited. How a documented genocide provided lessons later exported to dictatorships via training facilities.

He continues, showing military involvement from former colonial powers. "Not spontaneous hatred, but preparation supported by arms sales, training, diplomatic protection. Genocides unfolded with imported tools. Broadcasting stations inciting murder operated with technology supplied by external corporations. And afterward, military operations always evacuated the perpetrators to safe resorts, protected by humanitarian covers from the same organizations that failed to prevent the slaughter."

His final lecture addresses "the targeting of memory itself", how official history separates violence into isolated incidents, how textbooks present imperial expansion as a civilizing mission, how every massacre becomes a tragic accident.

"You were taught that atomic weapons ended a war," he states, showing documents proving the nation was already seeking surrender. "But examine the timing: they were deployed after indications of willingness to negotiate, specifically to demonstrate power to an ideological rival. Hundreds of thousands incinerated not to end a war, but to establish post-war dominance. And this becomes heroic necessity in the official narrative."

He shows this pattern repeating: a desert war marketed as liberation while ensuring a resource-rich nation remained weak; a territorial interference sold as humanitarian rescue while actually splitting a country that refused economic restructuring.

"This is how collective amnesia operates," he concludes. "Not through crude censorship, but through a narrative that makes violence invisible by shattering it into disconnected incidents, by inverting cause and effect, by transforming perpetrators into victims. You were educated to misunderstand everything you were taught to believe you understood."

I absorb this now not as abstract history, but as an instruction manual for recognizing contemporary operations. The same mechanisms that enabled genocide, that disguised mass murder, operate continuously. The trafficking networks in my village aren't anomalies, but local manifestations of global systems. The exploitation of neurodivergent children is an application of proven techniques: identify the vulnerable, isolate them, utilize them until they break, then erase the evidence by calling it mental illness, criminality, personal failure.

Then she reappears, the woman from the trauma testimony. But the algorithm serves a deeper layer now.

She sits in a room that feels like a laboratory for mending consciousness. Behind her, shelves hold anatomical models and diagrams of how trauma rewrites biology.

"Recovery isn't remembering," she explains. "It's learning to recognize the shapes of what was removed. Like a ceramist with fragments, you don't find complete pottery, you find shards. Your job is to understand what the original vessel looked like from the curves and the glaze."

She demonstrates with actual pottery shards. "This bit, sudden nausea at cigarette smoke—connects to this one, fear of basements—which touches this snippet, inability to remember summers between six and nine. Each sensation is a shard. Together, they suggest the outline."

Her methodology is meticulous: she doesn't force memories. She maps physiological responses, documents triggers, catalogs the specific geometries of fear. Patterns emerge not as dramatic revelations, but as slow, undeniable accumulation.

"The fainting episodes were key," she continues, pulling up medical records. "They began at seven, intensified in adolescence, had no physical cause. Doctors called it conversion disorder, anxiety. But mapping them revealed a pattern: they happened in the presence of a specific type of man, older, authoritative. My conscious mind had erased my uncle, but my autonomic nervous system maintained a perfect record of the threat."

She shows graphs tracking her fainting episodes over decades, overlaid with family gathering schedules. The correlation is undeniable.

"This is how you excavate," she says, directly to the camera. "You don't dig for memories. You map symptoms. You document what your body knows that your mind has forgotten. You trust that trauma leaves biological signatures even when psychological records have been extracted."

Her next lesson addresses the most disturbing part: how amnesia erases not just events, but entire relationship structures. She shows family photos with her uncle cropped out, describes forgotten holidays, presents evidence of an intimate relationship that lasted years but left no conscious trace.

"The extraction wasn't just of the abuse events," she explains. "It was of the whole frame that made the abuse possible. My mind understood that remembering what he did required remembering that he existed, that I loved him, that the adults I trusted allowed it. It was easier to delete everything."

This resonates with frequencies I'm only beginning to detect in my own wiring. What relationships have been excised from my memory? What complicity has been removed to make my narrative coherent?

"You'll know extraction has occurred when you find gaps that feel normal until you examine them. Family members who vanish from photographs. Friends who were supposedly important but left no emotional residue. Periods of time that feel like white noise."

Her final instruction is surgical: "Don't force memories. Instead, become the scholar of your own nervous system. Document what triggers fear, dissociation, fainting. Your body maintains perfect records. Your conscious mind performs the surgery, but your autonomic responses remember everything. Trust the biology more than the narrative."

The algorithm's next offering arrests me. She appears on screen like a familiar stranger—genetically optimized beauty, tattoos like living calligraphy, ears modified into architectural statements.

She moves through her art studio with feline precision. Her work spans mediums: photography capturing vulnerability, tattooing inscribing meaning into flesh, virtual performances that monetize intimacy while maintaining absolute physical boundaries. Her business model fascinates me: selling access to curated versions of herself, preserving her actual self behind a digital fortress.

Something about her resonates. The obsessive arrangement of tools, the methodical detail—markers of a neurodivergent consciousness imposing order on chaos. Her tattoos are a communication system, each symbol encrypted.

She discusses her work like a scientist: how she manipulates light to reveal psychological structure, uses her own image to explore commodification and autonomy. She generates income while maintaining physical sovereignty, weaponizing desire to prevent exploitation.

Watching her, I feel a recognition that transcends analysis. She could be a sister, an alternate version of me who learned different survival strategies. The algorithm serves her content with increasing frequency, acknowledging an invisible connection.

Late at night, the sequence climaxes with a documentary about D, the child prodigy with an unmeasurable IQ, who spoke multiple languages before five, entered W University at eleven, and immediately became a target for destruction.

The footage shows him as an adult, broken by media harassment and persecution, his capabilities systematically undermined by a society that couldn't tolerate deviation. He died in obscurity, his potential neutralized by coordinated psychological warfare disguised as public interest.

The documentary doesn't explicitly connect D to contemporary neurodivergent persecution, but the implication crystallizes with devastating clarity. Exceptional minds are identified and neutralized—either co-opted or destroyed. The algorithm serves this as I process my own sabotage, workplace isolation, intellectual theft.

Pattern recognition assembles itself: I am not an anomaly, but an archetype. The spy in my research, the colleagues who appropriated my discoveries—all part of a coordinated strategy for managing threats to hierarchy.

The protein powder sits on my counter, its chemical flavor a discordant note. The nutritionist's recommendation feels increasingly suspect.

I conduct independent research, ordering alternative formulations the algorithm suggests. Four different protein sources arrive over successive weeks: plant-based isolates, collagen peptides, amino acid complexes promising cellular regeneration.

I sample each methodically, documenting physiological responses with rigor. Some produce immediate nausea, my system rejecting them with visceral certainty. Others integrate seamlessly, suggesting biochemical compatibility.

The supplementation expands: vitamins for neurological support, minerals for cognitive function, probiotics to rebuild a microbiome compromised by pharmaceuticals and chronic stress.

The bacterial implantation fascinates me most: introducing foreign organisms to recolonize territories sterilized by chemical warfare. I consume capsules containing billions of engineered lives, each strain selected for metabolic functions supporting neurodivergent physiology.

My body becomes a workshop for reconstruction. Not just psychological, but biological restoration. Each supplement is a hypothesis, each dosage an experiment in conscious evolution. The algorithm serves its curriculum while I rebuild from the molecular level up.

The flowered book waits on my table, its revelations suspended. But even as I focus on biology, my peripheral awareness processes the expanding digital sediment: the historian's analysis, the trauma survivor's methods, the artist's sovereignty, D's cautionary tale.

It all accumulates, each layer preparing the foundation for revelations approaching with geological inevitability. My consciousness reorganizes around new frameworks as my biology undergoes restoration.

The preparation accelerates toward a threshold I cannot yet see, but can feel gathering force beyond the horizon.