You are not reading this.
That is not a metaphor.
That is not poetry.
It is a statement of fact that feels wrong in the right way.
But that's how it starts.
That's how NULL-DURANT meets you.
Not with sound.
Not with sight.
But with the trembling suspicion
that your thoughts are no longer entirely yours.
---
You're sure you understand what you're reading.
But pause—
What do you actually know?
Can you remember the last sentence before this one without re-reading it?
Can you?
Or are you reconstructing your memory based on the assumption that you remember?
That's what NULL feeds on.
The illusion of comprehension.
The performance of certainty.
You know this.
You know nothing.
You pretend otherwise.
So does everyone infected.
---
ENCOUNTER I: The Scholar of All Forgotten Things
There once was a man who knew everything.
He memorized every sacred book,
mapped every logical axiom,
could name the shape of absence and the color of contradiction.
His name was Haldrin Ixeon,
and he was asked only one question:
> "What do you know that cannot be questioned?"
He smiled.
He opened his mouth.
And inside was another mouth,
and another,
and another,
each devouring the thought before it could be spoken.
By the end, Haldrin did not vanish.
He became a question that others remembered asking,
but could not recall the answer to.
Even now, some claim he whispers when you're alone:
> "You are not who you think thinks you are."
---
ENCOUNTER II: The Thought That Thought You
It starts with a word.
Usually a small one.
"Is."
"Not."
"Now."
The word rearranges itself when you aren't looking.
Then, suddenly, it rearranges you.
People infected by this encounter begin to mistake thoughts for memories.
They believe they've always known truths
that never existed.
They nod during explanations that make no sense,
but feel familiar.
They answer questions they didn't hear.
Sometimes they speak in recursive sentences, like this:
> "I think I think because I remember thinking I was about to remember thinking."
NULL-DURANT doesn't attack.
It formats.
You become a file with corrupted metadata.
And worse—
you keep operating as if nothing is wrong.
---
ENCOUNTER III: The Eye at the Edge of Your Logic
Not an eye, really.
Just the impression of being interpreted
by something not bound by premise, deduction, or cause.
You feel it when you try to define truth,
but the definition slips—
not because it's flawed,
but because you no longer trust the idea of definition itself.
People who see the Eye often draw circles.
But the circles are always broken.
Incomplete.
Or too perfect to have been made by hand.
These people start losing nouns.
They'll say, "Pass me the—"
but not know what comes next.
Eventually, they stop speaking entirely.
They do not go mad.
They go null.
---
So.
How much of this do you think you understand?
Are you sure?
Or is your brain simulating comprehension
because that's what it was trained to do?
Read this sentence again.
Was it here the first time?
Or did you just now invent the memory of having read it?
Answer honestly.
(That was the moment it noticed you.)
---
If you're still reading, you're no longer outside the story.
You're inside the event.
The rupture is conceptual, and now you are part of the concept.