DOCUMENT A/031-1
BIOPSION COGNITIVE SYSTEMS, INC.
Q-SERIES PEDIATRIC COGNITIVE INTEGRATION TRIAL
EARLY-PHASE MONITORING REPORT
Report Date:March 4th, 2131Investigator:Distribution:Document ID:
Confidential & Proprietary — Not for Public Dissemination
Receipt of this report by any oversight entity does not constitute a waiver of BioPsion’s proprietary rights. Distribution outside approved channels is subject to civil and professional penalties.
To date, 146 pediatric subjects (ages 7–9) have undergone Q-Series neuroprosthetic implantation with no perioperative complications.
Behavioral findings fall within expected parameters for pediatric neuromodulatory adaptation:
? transient depersonalization episodes (median duration 4–7 minutes)
? reduced spontaneous affective expression
? mild executive-function hesitation, reversible within 24–72 hours
Neuroimaging reveals increased prefrontal-parietal network activation suggesting heightened pattern-recognition processing.
Lead investigator Roche Allistaire describes these changes as indicative of “early quantum-alignment entrainment.” No independent replication or methodological disclosure has been provided.
Participants are adapting within acceptable safety margins.
Continue trial as scheduled with weekly cognitive monitoring.
— Filed: 04-03-2131
End Report
Rem stared at the ceiling for a long time, listening to the faint hum in the walls. Tuesday. No school. Twenty-eight days of nothing but challenge three. The grind had worn him down.
He flicked his eyes upward and his interface opened, soft blue light cascading in characters before him. Eva’s report sat waiting where he’d left it. He tapped it. Lines of data spooled out. The longer he read, the tighter his stomach pulled. By the time he reached the bottom, his throat felt dry.
Worst case. Not even subtle about it. Every advantage to mature worlds, every step stacked against developing ones. He went back and read the objective again just to be sure.
Challenge Four
Objective: Gain a skill, trait, title or profession.
Reward: Variable.
He scrolled through Eva’s notes with growing disbelief. Time dilation. Instance permanence. Optional exit. Score accumulation. A challenge built to be farmed by kids who’d been prepping for this since birth, coached by planetary academies, drilled on curated skill trees. Someone out there already had a spreadsheet of optimal routes.
His own classmates might have parents whispering instructions at the dinner table. Entire star systems had cultural memory for this. The thought hollowed him out. He closed the report and sat up, feet on cold flooring.
And the worst part, the one that hit like a quiet blow to the ribs:
No monsters. No enemies. Nothing he could kill.
No XP at all.
A challenge built for everyone but him.
He stood up, shoving the thoughts aside. Tomorrow would deal with them. Today was level up day.
Suited up, he grabbed something to eat and was almost out the door when he remembered the package.
Back in his room, he took out the BioPsion uninstall wafer. The black disc sat in his palm, thin as paper. His heartbeat thudded harder than he wanted.
He swallowed and stared at it.
BioPsion.
His breath shortened. Years of doubt pressed in. The way his father stopped meeting his eyes. The careful tone. The distrust. The distance.
Ren put the wafer on his tongue. Copper. Then nothing.
He waited.
No collapse. No darkness. No vanishing. His breath shook once as he let it out.
He flicked his eyes up, trying to call the interface. Nothing.
A thin laugh broke out of him. Small. Unsteady.
“He was wrong after all.”
Rem stood under the hard sun, clothes soaked in sweat, watching Mac “Tiny” Loerda destroy the corrupted boss wolf one last time.
Tiny dragged the wolf in close, his hands locked around its throat. His shoulders bunched as he hauled it upright. For a heartbeat he held there, boots planted, chest shaking with the effort. Then he drove the creature down with everything he had.
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The ground cracked under the hit. The wolf’s body folded in and blood jumped across Tiny’s arms.
Tiny stayed over it, breath tearing in and out of him. The yard held still for a long second before the cheer broke loose around him.
Rem shook his head. He had seen this moment more times than he cared to count.
He gripped the well rope and pulled the bucket up, water splashing over his hands as he cleared the rim. Tiny’s flasks waited there. Let the man have his drink. He’d earned it.
The Captain’s full-throated laugh carried across the yard. His wife squealed as he lifted her and pulled her in. Rem exhaled and leaned back, watching their kiss stretch on while tired laughter rolled through the defenders.
FINAL SURGE: Repelled
Rem joined in. He clapped backs, offered quick congratulations, moved with the current of the yard.
He barely made it three steps before Penny burst through the crowd. Berry pie streaked her cheeks. She planted herself in front of him, breath sharp through her nose.
“You promished,” she said, lips stained purple.
He gave one firm nod. “Let’s celebrate.”
“Rem’s staying!” She spun and shouted it. Her voice cut through the noise. Fitz appeared before the echo faded, freckles muted under grit, sweat running along his jaw.
“That right, Rem?” he asked, leaning in.
Rem nodded again.
Fitz let out a rough holler and hit his whistle. Short, sharp blasts cut across the yard. Heads lifted. Shoulders eased. Movement gathered.
The shift spread quick. Tables came out of storage. Pots and sacks changed hands. Fires kicked back to life. Once word passed that Rem wasn’t slipping away, the outpost moved with steadier breath.
Captain Voss pushed through the mess, jaw locked around each order. Weapons dropped. Hammers rose. Two men braced the gate while others set new timbers. Archers walked the grounds and pulled their arrows from the dirt. Dust rolled until the last board went in place.
Tiny didn’t drink. Not yet. He lifted whole tables and carried them into the yard, each one forcing a grunt out of him.
Cookfires cracked as pans hit heat. Rachael and Fitz strung linen between roofs, arms lifting and lowering with practiced rhythm. Madaline’s crew carried dish after dish to the long tables. Plates clattered. Cups passed hand to hand. Steam rose off thick meat. Birds turned over the flames, skin tightening as fat dripped and sent up sharp bursts of smoke.
Bread landed in warm stacks. Workers tore each loaf open, letting the heat spill out. Bowls filled with roots and beans. Onions softened in the pans. Pies cooled along a plank while a cook held the children back with a raised hand.
Two hours. Maybe less. Then the outpost sat at one long table, shoulder to shoulder. Someone tried to press a job on Rem; they waved him off with quick hands and easy smiles. He stood there for a beat, useless, then stepped aside and watched—their speed, their sure movements, the way they filled every gap without needing to speak.
When the feast settled, they placed him near Captain Voss. A cup of wine hit the table in front of him.
The Captain rose. His joints cracked loud in the quiet. “We survived,” he said, raising his cup. “And we live to tell the tale. Thanks be to the gods that watch over us.”
Shouts rose. Cups slammed. Rem lifted his own, but his wrist felt stiff, the motion slow.
Music started at the far end of the yard. The older archer rested a stringed instrument against his chest and pulled a steady line from it. Piper lifted a flute. Tandem tapped a drum against his thigh. Voices joined once the food settled.
The sun sank toward the horizon. Stories moved across the table—short, rough retellings of the day. Men pointed toward the gate. They pushed shoulders, argued details, laughed at their own mistakes. Tiny, in the center, swung his arms wide as someone retold the final kill.
Keralee Voss sat beside Rem. He tried a few soft questions. She answered without lifting her eyes. No tension. No warmth. Her fork moved in steady bites.
Others leaned into each other. The Captain and his wife sat close, knees touching. Couples eased now that the night belonged to them. The music thinned to a simple line of strings. Bellies full. Bodies fading into a tired sway.
Rem drank from his cup. Thick wine. Warm in his chest. He set it down, stood, and stepped away from the table. No one stopped him.
He walked toward the glyph stone. The ground felt firmer there. Quieter.
He stopped in front of it and held still.
Somewhere near this spot, Noah had fallen. Rem pictured the memorial image—the stance, the lifted chin, the blade held ready. He tried to match that shape to the dirt and stones under his feet, searching for anything that tied his friend to the world again.
Nothing. Only ground. Only the pull of the memory. His breath thinned. He let it out, turned from the glyph stone, and walked until the dirt gave way to timber.
The docks creaked under his boots. The first stars pushed through the dark. He sat at the edge, legs hanging over the river. The boards held the day’s warmth for a moment, then the breeze slid through and carried it off. He leaned back on his palms and looked up at the sky he didn’t know.
“You want to be alone?”
Fitz’s voice came from behind him. Rem lifted his head.
“Fitz.” He rubbed his eyes once. “What happened to you? Do you remember?”
“What’s there to say?” Fitz dropped beside him and lay flat, arms loose at his sides. His eyes fixed on the stars. “We were unprepared. Then we died.”
“They tricked us,” Penny said.
Rem turned. She perched on a mooring post, knees tucked in, hands locked around them. “Thent their weaketht for three days. My pa thayth.”
Fitz nodded. “And we fell for it.”
“And for that crime you have to repeat the same day again and again. It’s cruel,” Rem said.
Fitz let out a short laugh. “No. After we died, we met Eos. She asked if we wanted another chance. Those who said yes wake on this day every time the sun rises.”
“Eos?” Rem leaned forward. “Who’s Eos? And you choose this? This isn’t living. It’s dying on a loop.”
“The goddeth,” Penny said. “You left dribute in the chapel.”
“I was hiding the wine from Tiny,” Rem said.
She blinked. “Oh.”
Fitz pointed toward a faint band of stars near the horizon. “The bad days blur. Nights like this, people breathe a little easier.”
“Karalee?” Rem asked.
“It’s harder for her,” Fitz said. “Her husband didn’t return.”
Rem let out a slow breath. So gods were real here. Or close enough.
“It’s getting late,” he said, eyes on the sky again. “Don’t you two have a bedtime or something?”
“Adults are using the beds,” Fitz said. “Since you stayed. So we’re out here tonight. Easier for everyone.”
“Yeah. Okay.” Rem pictured the Captain and his wife finally getting a quiet room. Good.
“Are you an angel, Rem?” Penny asked.
“Gods and angels,” Rem said. “Kids believe strange things.”
“My mah prayth for Eoth to send uth angelth. Tho we get more good days.” Her toes curled against the wood as she spoke. “And you come. You make everyone happy. Even Tiny. He’th never happy. I prayed, and then you came.”
“Prayer doesn’t work like that,” Rem said. “Not where I’m from.”
“Well… I think you’re an angel.”
Rem nodded once and looked back at the stars.
The night air cooled along his arms. The boards under him creaked as the river pushed past, steady and indifferent. He let his shoulders drop and held there, waiting for the calm to settle. It didn’t. His thoughts kept circling the same place — level four tomorrow, and after that the next challenge. The questions Eva and Mara would no doubt have, the suspicions he couldn’t avoid, the questions he still didn’t have answers for.
Tomorrow would come fast. He could feel it in the tightness behind his ribs.
He drew in a slow breath, lifted his eyes to the sky again, and let the quiet press in. One more night. Then he’d move on.
