The Five Evolution

『"Sometimes, the truth is buried deeper than the dead. That’s why you need me."』

The Institute’s archives existed in a space that felt older than the building around it, and Ethan descended into its restricted section.

In a tablet he held were the authorization codes the Director had given him twenty minutes ago, along with one simple instruction: "Find what you’re looking for. Then come talk to me."

He was given no explanation or context. Just clearance to access records that were classified.

The archives stretched with rows upon rows of data cores, physical files older than him, and storage systems that hummed softly.

Everything the Institute had ever recorded about every Awakener who’d ever lived was organized here with an obsessive precision.

Ethan navigated straight to personnel records. Section B. Subsection: Deceased Operatives and stopped in front of a long terminal station where he entered the clearance code.

A soft chime answered him.

"ACCESS CONFIRMED."

Then the archive terminal flickered alive instantly.

SEARCH QUERY?

Ethan hesitated only briefly before typing: ELIZABETH BASS.

For a moment, nothing happened. Then the screen flooded with files, most of them redacted or sealed. He kept scrolling until he stopped.

There she was. Frozen in time at thirty-three years old, dark hair pulled back in a ponytail, sharp eyes that looked exactly like his own staring at the camera.

ELIZABETH BASS

Date Of Birth: 1975

Rank: Tyrant (3 Bars)

Specialization: Reconnaissance, Infiltration

Awakener Type: Anchor

Status: K-██, Germany

Date of Death: ██/██/2009

Surviving Family: Ethan Bass (DOB: 2004, Age: 5)

Ethan narrowed his eyes. Even the date had been partially removed. But he opened the file anyway, just to find most of the report had been gutted almost beyond usefulness.

Entire paragraphs were blacked out, names were erased, and attached documents missing entirely. It barely even looked like a mission report anymore.

Most operative records included mission logs, deployment history, team assessments. Elizabeth’s had none of that. Like someone had scrubbed it clean.

Ethan’s fingers moved across the interface, digging deeper as he pulled up every reference to Elizabeth Bass in the system and cross-referenced them with every Germany operation from 2009.

One name kept appearing: Daniel Hale. When he still operated in the field.

According to fragmented records, he and Elizabeth had run multiple missions together.

"Sure," Ethan muttered and continued searching, pulling threads, following breadcrumbs of data that was buried under mountains of redacted and classified files.

He leaned back slightly in his chair, staring at the screen. Then another detail caught his attention. The casualty count. Originally listed as: CASUALTIES: 1██

Someone hadn’t fully erased the number. Over one hundred people. Maybe closer to two hundred.

Ethan’s expression darkened as he let out a soft sigh. "What the hell happened in Germany..." he muttered quietly and continued digging.

That’s when he found it. A single mission report, filed three months before Elizabeth’s death. Partially corrupted, mostly redacted, but some sections remained readable and Ethan began scrolling.

Agent Elizabeth Bass deployed alongside Special Operations Unit Sigma-3 in response to anomalous monster activity in Transylvania. Contact was established with an unidentified organization—

Redacted.

The rest of the sentence was completely covered up and Ethan’s eyes narrowed harder as he kept reading.

Survivors reported auditory phenomena resembling—

Redacted.

Subject Bass requested immediate psych evaluation following exposure to—

Redacted.

His jaw tightened. Most of it was gone, scrubbed from the system. But the implication was clear. Elizabeth had encountered someone she recognized. Just three months before the operation in Germany.

"Right," he whispered, his hands clenched into fists.

"Finding what you’re looking for?" The Book’s voice came from behind him.

Ethan spun to find the sentient artifact floating in the air, its pages rustling. But more importantly, it was not in the Library.

Ethan tilted his head, studying it carefully now. It wasn’t physically present, at least... not fully. He could feel it. Like the thing in front of him was only part of something much larger.

"A projection," Ethan murmured.

The pages paused briefly. "More like an approximation," the Book corrected.

Ethan’s gaze sharpened. "You’ve never left the Library before."

"An understandable assumption." The fluorescent lights above flickered once. "But assumptions," the Book continued, "have always been humanity’s favorite method of shooting themselves in the foot."

Ethan’s eyes lowered back to the screen in front of him, no longer paying attention to it. "What do you want?" he asked.

The Book drifted closer. "It’s not about what I want. It’s about what you want... more specifically, what you want to know about your mother."

"Get out of my head," Ethan said coldly.

"I’m not in your head. I’m reading the data on the screen. You’re not subtle." The Book’s pages began flipping.

Fffft. Fffft. Fffft.

Then it settled on a page with the words ’Berlin, 2009’ written on it. "But I could tell you what you want to know. About Elizabeth Bass. About what really happened in 2009."

"What’s the price?" Ethan asked, because the Book never gave information freely.

The Book stayed silent for a while. Long enough that Ethan almost repeated the question.

"A future favor," the Book said finally. "From the Shield. Unspecified. Unrefusable."

Ethan’s teeth clenched as he actually considered it for a second. Then he shook his head. "No deal," he said. "I trust you as far as I can throw the Eiffel tower... and it’s not that far."

"I think I’m still gonna stick around regardless." The Book hovered beside him as he kept searching through old records.

***

He searched for what felt like hours. Box after box. Row after row of storage shelves. His hand running through his disheveled hair repeatedly as he carried and went through boxes.

Finally, he found something in a different section. From the looks of it, a different era of filing system entirely. Buried so deep that it felt intentional.

It was a manila folder, edges yellowed with age. And taped to the inside of its cover was a flash drive. Meaning, the information was split between a physical hard copy and a digital one.

He returned to the terminal and plugged in the drive while spreading the file open on the table beside him. Then he took a seat.

He drew in a deep breath before leaning forward slightly as his fingers moved across the interface, and the first document loaded.

ELIZABETH TREVOR

Date Of Birth: 1975

Rank: Shaper (2 Bars)

Specialization: Reconnaissance

Awakener Type: Anchor

His eyes narrowed immediately. Trevor?

A second document opened beside it.

MARRIAGE REGISTRY — 1993

Spouse: Jonathan Trevor

Ethan frowned. He had never heard that name before. His fingers kept tapping and more files opened as he continued digging.

Jonathan Trevor. Deceased. 1994.

Then another document loaded underneath it.

DEPENDENT RECORD — SEALED

Child registered: Michael J. Trevor, Male

Date of Birth: 1994, surrendered to state care 1995

Ethan stopped scrolling entirely, the silence in the archives suddenly feeling much more pronounced.

He stared at the screen for several seconds before slowly rereading the dates again.

A child. Dead husband.

His fingers moved again almost automatically now, opening more files one after another as his expression hardened with concentration.

Most of the records were incomplete and others were partially corrupted or damaged. But the timeline slowly assembled itself piece by piece.

Michael Trevor. Born 1994. Surrendered to state care 1995. She’d given him up. His mother had a child before him and gave him away.

"No," Ethan whispered to the not-so-empty archives, but the holographic text didn’t change. Just glowed with the awful, immutable truth.

His hands moved automatically, pulling up more records, following the thread. St. Catherine’s Orphanage, placement records dated 1995.

An infant child was admitted. Mother’s reason for surrender: "Unable to care for minor due to personal circumstances." Like it justified abandoning an infant.

Then... nothing. The trail went cold in 2001 when seven-year-old Michael Trevor was removed from state care by a private guardian, with the records sealed by a court order.

"She gave him away," Ethan said quietly to the empty room, his voice sounding strange even to himself. "Why?" He tried to make it make sense in his head.

"Elizabeth Hayes was seventeen years old when it all began." The Book’s voice came from behind him.

Ethan spun to find the Book floating behind him. "You’re still here," he said, eyes fixed on the screen. "I thought I said no deal."

"Do you want the truth?" The Book drifted closer again, pages turning softly. "Or do you want a version of the truth building up inside that head of yours?"

Ethan looked at it without saying a word.

The book continued anyway. "And yes. Now I’m in your head."