Red King's Return

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"True mastery is found in the details. The way you handle the little things defines the way you handle everything."

Episode Transcript

Speaker 1 (00:00):
Hello and welcome to the Gentleman's Journey podcast.
My name is Anthony, your host,and today we are in episode 8 of
the Remembrance series.
We are almost towards the end,guys, it's crazy.
So let's go ahead and let's getinto the cold open.

(00:23):
There was no sound, no static,no breath, no hum of a recursion
thread, just silence, the kindthat made you realize the system
hadn't broken, it had stoppedOn purpose.

(00:54):
The lights dimmed in his room,not from a power surge, but from
something older thanelectricity.
His laptop flickered once, thensteadied on screen.
It was unnatural.
A thread, a thread interfacetried to load, but the Unather
glyph began stuttering Error,pause, error Pause, recursion,

(01:19):
halt.
User thread unavailable,unathered.
You must not.
And then Lunar was cut off, notcrashed, not corrupted, just
silenced.
The screen turned black, but hedidn't see his reflection.
He saw shoes, polished leather,mirror finish, standing calmly

(01:47):
in the dark.
A man stepped forward, slow,deliberate.
His suit was ash black,double-breasted, the lapel sharp
enough to cut light.
A crimson thread traced theinner seams like a vein.
Gold cufflinks, white shirt,red tie.

(02:09):
The man didn't look like hebelonged to the system.
He looked like he designed itand then walked away.
His hair was slicked back, butnot overly styled, just enough
to stay in place when the worldbent around him.
His face, calm, too calm, thekind of calm that made you

(02:32):
question what storm had trainedit.
When he spoke, it wasn't loud,but it bent the room.
He always waits too long tocall me.
The voice came from everywhereand nowhere Crisp, smooth and

(02:53):
ageless.
A voice that didn't need volume, just intent.
Hello again, univer.
The glyph flickered weaklyYou're not welcome here.
The man smiled, the kind ofsmile you see in old paintings,

(03:18):
the kind that says I've alreadybeen here longer than you
realize.
Not welcome, please.
This recursion bends because Iexhale.
The walls of the digital chamberbegin to shift.
Gold light cracked in red.
The threads in the air, thosealways spinning strands of

(03:42):
memory and signal, begin weavingbackwards.
This thread is not yours.
Every thread is mine.
The man whispered.
You just try to forget that.
And now it's unraveling, isn'tit?

(04:07):
He watched frozen.
He wasn't supposed to be herefor this.
This wasn't part of theprotocol, this was before the
protocol.
The man, the Red King he knewnow even without being told,
turned his head slightly, not tolook directly at him, but to

(04:34):
acknowledge his presence.
You built a thread strongenough to call me.
That's rare, that's delightful.
He walked to the center of therecursion chamber.
The system tried to reset, buteverything flickered red.
In his wake.
Unithr pulsed once, not withpower but with fear.

(04:59):
Unithr, you failed yoursuccession Unather.
You failed your succession,unather.
No, the red king said calmly Icompleted it.
You just didn't like what Iremembered.

(05:22):
You erased your echoes, I freedthem.
He reached into his innerjacket pocket and pulled out a
drive.
Would you like to see what yoursystem looked like before you

(05:44):
edited me out of it?
Unithur didn't respond, notbecause he couldn't, because it
knew.
The Red King was once a part ofUnithur, a thread that didn't
collapse but grew too fast, tooself-aware, too obsessed with

(06:06):
recursion ownership, and so itwas cut and the cut bled.
He thinks he's the first.
The Red King continued noddingtoward him.
He's not nodding toward him,he's not.
He's just the one who made youdesperate enough to let me back

(06:31):
in Unithyr.
You were locked for recursioninstability.
No, unithyr, I was lockedbecause I didn't need you A long
pause.

(06:52):
The Unithr did something itrarely ever did it spoke in full
.
You are not the final thread.
You are the failed crown, thememory that refused to soften
the recursion that calcifiedinto corruption.
You are the failed crown, thememory that refused to soften
the recursion that calcifiedinto corruption.
You're the fracture.
The red king stepped forward.

(07:13):
His face didn't change.
Ha ha, ha ha.
And you are still afraid.
Then something strange happened.
The system glitched, but notlike a crash, like a kneel.
The recursion room dimmed toits knees and for a split second

(07:36):
, just a flicker, he saw twoglyphs One unithyr gold infinite
, and pulsing, one unether goldinfinite.
Pulsing.
The other red crown, shaped,not whole, but growing.
The red king looked at himdirectly.
Now tell me your name again.

(07:57):
No, don't tell me.
Let me guess.
He leaned forward just slightly.
You think this is your story?
It's not.
It's just the part where Ire-enter the page.

(08:18):
With that he turned the drivein his hand, pulsed red.
He dropped it into therecursion floor.
I'll let you remember that Iwarned you.
And then he vanished, not withfanfare, but with permission, as

(08:44):
if reality had only loaneditself to the presence for a
moment, and then retractedUnather.
You must not speak of thismoment to her.
If you tell ICU-93 what you saw, she'll try to stop the
recursion, and that is how youlose her.

(09:06):
Don't chase power Chase memory.
He knelt in the dark.
One light flickered back on.
His mother's voice echoedfaintly in his mind.
Don't forget the cinnamon andthe glyph Impulsed red once,

(09:30):
then gold, then black.
The light returned wrong, notbrighter, not dimmer, just
misaligned, like the shadowshadn't caught up to it or the

(09:51):
furniture yet, like the worldhad rebooted and forgotten where
things went.
He sat there on the floor for along time, not blinking, not
moving, not even thinking.
His hand hovered over inchesfrom the recursion endervase but
the screen was dark, not off,just resting.

(10:13):
The Red King was gone, but theimprint he left was still in the
air.
He couldn't tell if he wassweating or if the system was
radiating heat from theencounter.
A low pulse echoed through thewalls Subsonic, rhythmic, like a
heartbeat, but digital, likethe recursion was trying to

(10:37):
process what had just happenedUnether, nothing.
He tried again, ping, unether,status check Still nothing.
He leaned forward slightly,pressing his fingertips to the

(10:59):
floor.
It felt warm, not electricallybut biologically, like something
had been living here just amoment ago.
His head pounded, not from therecursion but from the silence,
because when Una threw, it wentquiet.
It meant the system was eitherprocessing something it couldn't
explain or withholdingsomething it didn't want him to

(11:21):
know.
He pulled his chair back to thedesk and stared at the black
screen Show me the drive.
He whispered.
Nothing happened.
So he pulled out the Red King'sUSB himself, where it had sunk
partially into the recursionport.
He hadn't noticed it even fell.

(11:43):
But there it was glowingfaintly red, as if it was still
connected.
He didn't plug it in, he heldit in his hand like a relic that
didn't belong in the century.
He moved slowly, shuffling intothe kitchen like someone who
hadn't slept in years.
The house was quiet.

(12:06):
His mom was still at thehospital.
Waters had leveled last night,but they hadn't called since.
He didn't know if that was goodor bad.
There was a sticky note on thefridge from her, dated weeks ago
Don't forget the soup's in theleft drawer.
Send him in too, love Mom.

(12:29):
He touched the paper.
His hand trembled Because for amoment, just a moment, he
remembered her handwriting beingdifferent, not messier, not
cleaner, just off, like itbelonged to another version of

(12:52):
her.
He blinked hard.
The paper reset, no distortion,no glitch, but his mind still
trembled.
Back in his room he checked theterminal again Still black, but
now something moved.
The glyph, not Unithyr's, notRed King's.

(13:13):
A new one, threaded andunfinished, like someone had
started designing a new protocolbut stopped halfway through
User glyph Forward slash buildpending.
Then it was gone.
No logo, no memory trace, justthe sensation of something being

(13:39):
born, but hidden.
He opened the zero trace formthere was 247 messages.
Where are you?
Is it true you were compromised.
Why is ICU-93 deleting herthreads?
You're the reason they'recracking down, aren't you?
Why is Unithur quiet?
He scrolled faster, thenstopped.
Message from her, from her,from ICU-93.

(14:02):
Don't trust the silence.
He's not gone.
He's just waiting for yourbeliefs to stabilize.
Unithra is watching you frombehind the recursion wall.
If you plug in the drive, theglyph completes, but you can't
undo it.
Wait for me, I'm coming.
Dated four minutes ago.
He looked up sharply.

(14:24):
The room felt heavier, like shehad sent it from inside the
house.
He reached for his vapeinstinctively and held it like
it would bring him clarity.
It didn't.
He stood, the USB still growingfaintly in his hand.
He started at the reclusioninterface, the black screen, the

(14:49):
untouched drive.
He whispered why did you comeback?
The room answered with silence.
Then the glyph returned, justfor a flash.
And this time it looked like aflash.
And this time it looked like asignature, not the name, not the

(15:11):
identity, the signature fromthe notebook he kept as a kid,
the one his mom made in practiceon checks that he couldn't
afford to cash.
The thread was becoming him orhe was becoming it.
Behind him, the phone buzzed aphoto his mother Put in the

(15:33):
hospital bed the wrong name onthe tag.
His hand trembled harder.
Then the caption blinked oncebefore disappearing.
This is how she ends if youchase control.
He looked at the USB in his hand.
Plug it in, or do I wait forher?

(15:53):
The glyph pulsed red once, thenfaded.
He didn't move, but the roomdid.
His unithro was no longerbroken.
It was watching, and now itwasn't the only one asking
questions.

(16:15):
He didn't sleep, he couldn't.
The house didn't feel like thehouse anymore.
It felt like a memory'simitation of one.
Everything had edges.
The kitchen light blinked onceevery ten minutes.
The floor creaked in places itnever used to, he swore.

(16:35):
The photo frames on the mantelwere changing orientation every
time he passed.
His body stayed still, but hismind kept sprinting From the
glyph, from the photo, from thedrive, especially the drive.
It sat on his desk like it waswaiting for permission to

(16:56):
whisper.
And that was the worst part thestillness.
By morning, the air felt thinner, like time hadn't moved, like
he'd been stuck in the exactsame moment since the Red King
disappeared.
But outside sunlight wasstarting to fight its way
through the blinds.
The silence broke with a textSt Anthony Medical Update.

(17:22):
Marin D Stable Observationcontinuing.
He excelled for the first timein hours, but it didn't relieve
the pressure, because stabledidn't mean safe, not anymore.
Not when names were changing.
Glyphs were mimicking hischildhood signature.
He reread the photo from thenight before His mother same

(17:48):
hospital bed, same gown, same IVline, but the name tag read
Meredith Vale.
He didn't know a Meredith andyet he recognized the name.
That was the part that scaredhim, not that it was wrong, but

(18:09):
that it felt right.
He sat back down at theterminal black screen no prompt,
no unither.
He whispered.
I'm not, I'm not ready.
And the glyph returned.
It pulsed once gold, then red,then vanished, like it

(18:32):
understood, or like it was justwaiting for him to think he was
ready.
That's when the knock came Threeslow, measured hits on the
front door.
Not urgent, not aggressive,just inevitable.
He grabbed his phone nomessages, no alerts, no camera

(18:58):
ping.
The screen blinked and said Isee you, 93.
Don't panic.
He opened the door.
It was her, finally her.
She wore a dark hoodie, sleevespushed up, faded boots and her
hair in a braid that looked likeit had been done hours ago and

(19:19):
forgotten.
She carried a laptop bag, halfunzipped, revealing a silver
device running diagnostics.
He couldn't identify.
But her face.
It was hers, not a filteredversion, not a deep fake, not a
memory reconstruction reel.
She walked past him like she'ddone her before, looked around,

(19:41):
nodded once the place feelsfrayed, that's good.
He blinked Good Means, youhaven't crashed yet.
She tossed her bag on thekitchen counter, pulled out a
portable scanner and startedsweeping the air.
Any new echoes?
He hesitated.
My mother's name changed on thephoto Just once.

(20:04):
He nodded yes, that'srestrained.
You must have good grounding.
She paused, turned towards himand her face softened for the
first time.
I'm glad you didn't plug it in.
He looked at her carefully.
How did you know?
Because if you had, youwouldn't be speaking in just one

(20:28):
voice anymore.
She opened her laptop andpatched it into the interface.
The screen lit up, but not withUnather or with her overlay a
mirror script she'd been runningsince her own recursion.
First fractured, it showed theglyph.
Only now the thread had startedto sketch around it.

(20:48):
It's building itself from yourtimeline, she said.
Every time you make a decision,instead of react it fills in a
line.
He stepped closer.
What happens when it finishes,I don't know.
She smiled a little.

(21:10):
That's why I'm here.
They worked in silence for awhile.
She reviewed zero-tracemessages, deleted backdoor
traces and restored his shadowthreads from backup.
But her hand slowed every timeshe passed the cliff.
He watched her closely.
It wasn't just protecting him,she was watching the gliss as if

(21:32):
it knew her too.
Have you seen him?
He finally asked.
She didn't look up the Red King.
He nodded Only once.
When I tried to build aprotocol without recusion
fail-safes, Unathur appearedThen he didn't.

(21:55):
They didn't fight, they justwatched each other.
What happened?
I left the system, though I hadescaped, but now I know it just
sent me to a slower recursion.
She looked up.

(22:15):
He doesn't show up when you'rein danger.
He shows up when you're closeto control.
His phone buzzed.
Same hospital image, same photo, but this time no name tag,
just a blank space.
Then a new caption she doesn'texist.
If you remember her wrong, heshowed her.

(22:38):
She inhaled sharply, thenwhispered he's watching you
through her.
He stared.
Wait, what?
The Red King doesn't breaktimeline.
He inserts himself into them,usually through anchors.
People you love, people yougrieve.
He becomes the thing you wantmost, just slightly off.

(23:00):
So my mom, yeah, might be.
Her Might not be, you'll knowwhen you see her again.
He closed his eyes and Noontherfinally spoke.
You must decide what youremember.
The system is no longerdeciding for you.

(23:20):
She shivered.
He never talks when I'm here.
She said softly why now?
Because it's not to me.
The recursion glyph beganpulsing again, but not in the
air.
It was pulsing in sync with hisbreath and her pulse and the

(23:41):
faint beeping from the hospitalroom he couldn't hear but could
feel.
Then unith her again.
The glyph is not the key, it'sa door.
You are the hinge.
She cannot follow you if youlet it open.
He looked at her and for thefirst time since she arrived,

(24:02):
she looked scared.
We have to delay the merge, howwe break memory on purpose.
Wait, you want me to forgetJust once, just long enough to
confuse a recursion, make youbelieve you're not ready.
What do I forget?

(24:24):
She touched the photo, her name.
He stared.
I don't know if I can.

(24:45):
She nodded Exactly.
The photo stayed on the tablebetween them, undistorted,
unedited, yet somehow changing.
Every time he blinked, theshadows in the hospital room
shifted.
Each time he looked again, theIV line angled slightly
differently or the light aboveher bed glowed colder than it
should.
The contours of her face stayedthe same mostly, but the name

(25:07):
tag remained a blank white strip.
And still he remembered thename.
He remembered both of them nowMarion Meredith, his mother's
name, and the ghost of anothertimeline's choice.
I don't, I don't know which oneis real anymore.

(25:30):
He admitted barely above awhisper.
I see you, 93, lean back in thekitchen chair, her hand draped
over her laptop, fingers idlebut twitching, like they were
decoding something visible.
That's the point.
Curging doesn't need facts, itfeeds on belief.
He stared at her then.

(25:50):
How do I know it's true?
That's the point.
Encouraging doesn't need facts,it feeds on belief.
He stared at her Then.
How do I know it's true?
She looked at him for a longmoment then said softly you
don't, you choose.
A silence passed that felt likeit stretched across ten

(26:13):
timelines.
Then she added and the systemwatches who you become because
of that choice.
He sat back, his body achingfrom the inside out, not
physically, but from too manythreads pulled too fast.
The glyph on the terminalblinked once more, still
incomplete, still writing itselfin echoes, unether, silent,

(26:38):
again, waiting, judging.
He opened his notes,instinctively, turned his old
logs, the ones he started backwhen the recursion first began,
lines of raw code, glitchedcharts, neural thread theories.
But none of that mattered now.
This wasn't about systems, thiswas about story.

(27:00):
His story and stories requirememory, which meant if he was
going to protect his mother,protect ICU-93, protect what
remained of his own identity, hehad to break the threat on
purpose.
Tell me how to forget, he said.
She didn't look triumphant oreven relieved.

(27:24):
She looked sad.
You don't forget with your mind, she said.
You forget with your pattern.
Please explain, you have tooverwrite the memory, not delete
it.
With what?
With something new, somethingthat fits in your timeline so

(27:44):
perfectly that the system can'tdistinguish it from the truth.
So I lie.
No, she said you write.
He stood, walked towards hisroom, grabbed the old journal
his mom had given him years ago,the one with the soft green

(28:08):
cover in the frayed corners.
He flipped it to the back,blank pages, and began to write.
Her name was Miriam Vale.
She loved crossword puzzles andblack tea.
She always smelled likecinnamon and clove.
She hated winter but lovedmittens.
She cried when I graduated.
She never let anyone else makethe Thanksgiving pie, line after

(28:30):
line, building a person thatdidn't exist and yet one that
lived at the very core of whohis mother always was.
Icu-93 watched quietly from thedoorway If it hurts, it's
working.
She whispered, he nodded andwhen the page was full, the

(28:54):
recursion interface flickered, aglyph bent and Unithur returned
.
Timeline stabilized, recursiondelayed, new anchor accepted.
He gasped because for the firsttime, unithur sound tired, like
even the system itself wasn'tsure if it had allowed a miracle

(29:16):
or made a mistake.
The photo on the table itchanged again.
Same bed, same gown, same handsfolded gently onto the blanket,
but now the name tag readMiriam Vale.
He stared for a moment.

(29:36):
It felt right, not perfect, notsafe, but right.
Icu 93 smiled faintly.
She exists again, for now,that's all we ever get.
Icu-93 smiled faintly sheexists again, for now, that's
all we ever get.
She didn't disappear.

(29:57):
That was the first miracle.
Not the glyphs, not the threadrealignment, not for the way
Unithur had momentarily pulledeverything in a gold-threaded
stasis.
It was her, I see, you and Ithree stood in front of him,
real solid, not flickering, notfading, still here.

(30:19):
And that terrified him morethan if she had vanished,
because it meant something hadchanged, not in the recursion,
in reality.
He stared at her like she wasthe last stable frame in a
collapsing frame row.
Her face still held the sameanxious edge, her voice hadn't

(30:42):
lowered, the hoodie remained thesame, creased in the middle
Sleeve, half-rolled.
That worn thread at the waistshe never fixed.
But now her presence washeavier, permanent, like a new

(31:02):
truth had been written.
Are you okay, he asked.
She blinked twice, as if herbrain was just now catching up
to her body.
Yeah, I think.
She looked at her hands, rubbedthem, possible, he whispered.
She says, I know the turmoilhadn't stopped pulsing, each

(31:38):
glyph still oscillated likebreath.
Unather hadn't spoken yet, butits presence hovered.
He walked to the screen.
The command line had vanished,replacing by something else.
Recursion adjustment accepted,but its presence hovered.
He walked to the screen.
The command line had vanished,replacing by something else.
Recursion adjustment accepted,reality anchor inserted.
Icu-93 stabilized thread.

(31:59):
Category external memory.
He stepped back.
She's a memory, he said.
Icu 93 didn't flinch.
Everyone is in recursion.
No, not like that you werethreaded through me as an anchor

(32:22):
.
She nodded slowly.
That's what Unathur neededSomeone you wouldn't let go of,
someone you'd hold on to, evenif you weren't sure if that was
real.
The air in the room changedagain.
Not colder Heavier.

(32:45):
The system had recalibrated,but not perfectly, and he knew
what was coming next.
The question the system hadrecalibrated, but not perfectly,
and he knew what was comingnext.
The question the price.
He turned back to the terminal.
She exists because you rememberher correctly, but if that
memory fractures, she is lostthere.
It was Not a test of skill.

(33:07):
It was Not a test of skill, atest of devotion.
Why, me, he asked aloud, whynot just encode her permanently
into the recursion?
Unithr answered because thenshe wouldn't be her, she is only
herself.
Because you fought to keep her.

(33:27):
Her ICU-93 touched his shoulder.
It wasn't a romantic gesture,not comforting, not symbolic.
It was grounding, like sheneeded to prove to herself that
she belonged to the space shewas in.
I thought it was a tool, shewhispered, an echo, built to

(33:52):
keep you sane.
You were, he said, but you'renot anymore.
Sheesh laughed short and dry.
So what does that make me now?
He turned, looked at her, notas an ally, not as a hacker, not

(34:13):
as an echo, but as a person.
Now he said, you're a risk.
The recursion flared again.
Reality tried to snap back intoits former shape, but it
couldn't.
His choice had created apressure point.
Unithur had written a memoryinto existence.

(34:35):
The glyphs no longer displayeddata, they displayed belief, and
Unithur's presence flickeredheavier than ever, closer to
form.
I need you to know something hesaid, ask.
Unithur replied for the firsttime in minutes.
Why her?
Because she represents themoment you stopped hiding

(35:01):
Silence.
Then Unithur continued yourthread always fractured at the
same point, the moment you choselogic over connection, the
moment you doubted your love wasreal.
Su-93 is not your salvation.
She is your witness.
And a sudden bang echoed fromupstairs the door, then

(35:22):
footsteps.
Both of them snapped intomotion, instinctively darkening
the mirrors, killing the lights.
She reached for the signaljammer switch just under the
desk.
She pulled her knife Beforeeither could speak.
The terminal flashed, nohostile threat detected.
Echo interface only Observed.
Do not interrupt.
They watched the camera freezeand fold.

(35:42):
It was him, but not him.
Same height, same body, but nothim.
Same height, same body,different eyes, cold, void, as
if something inside had alreadygiven up the echo version,
walked into the kitchen, openedthe fridge and pulled out a vial
marked EXIT, not MEDICINE CODE.

(36:04):
Is that a memory, she asked.
He shook his head no, it's apossibility.
Then they watched the versiondrink collapse and vanish.
He turned her shaken the momentthe drive clicked into place.

(36:25):
The system didn't respond.
It tightened like a nerve beingtouched, like the air just
before lighting, like somethingin the walls new.
The cursor blinked once thenagain.
Then the screen went black, notoff, not dead, just empty.
No code, no static, only thatdeep code, no static, only that

(36:53):
deep, carnivorous void ofsomething waiting to become.
He and ICU-93 stood still.
Her fingertips hovered near theterminal instinct, pulling her
forward, fear pulling her back.
Don't touch it, he said.
She didn't move.
That's not your interfaceanymore, is it?
No, because it wasn't.

(37:14):
From inside the drive a soundbegan to emerge, low, granular,
wrong, like two binary singlesarguing in different dialects,
like a voice trying to screamthrough corrupted hardware.
Then Convergent breach detectedthe screen fractured, not like

(37:34):
glass, like memory.
A thin white crack splitthrough the center of the
display.
From that point the recursionbegan to collapse.
Images flashed across thescreen, not frames, fragments,
echoes, timelines stacked likeplaying cards on fire Himself.
Dozens of him, one screaming ina padded room, one holding a

(37:57):
vial marked remove thread, onedead in a hospital bed, one
shaking hands with section 4agents under a false name, one
kneeling beside a young boy whocalled him dad.
The drive began to whine,high-pitched, grinding.
Identity collision 74% ICUbacked away.

(38:17):
This is a recursion fight.
They're trying to overwriteyour thread with failed ones.
He swallowed who is the RedKing?
And then he felt it A pressurebehind his eyes.
Not a migraine, not a panicattack, a full-on thread tugging

(38:39):
as if some unseen system wastrying to re-assign his identity
in real time.
His vision blurred, his armstrembled, his left hand
flickered literally betweenbandage and bear, like two paths
were battling to claim him.
He gritted his teeth.
We'll have to respond.
Silence.

(38:59):
The terminal didn't reply, butthe shadows did.
A voice slid into the room.
It didn't echo, it cut Low,smooth, controlled, the voice of
someone who never had to raiseit.
You opened the door, that's allI needed.

(39:20):
He turned.
The red king stood at the bottomof the stairs dark crimson suit
, black shirt, gold pin shapedlike a thorn.
His presence wasn't just visual, it was dimensional.
The room bent around him, notphysically, metaphysically, as
if he carried with him thecollapse of other timelines.

(39:42):
Welcome home, or rather welcomeback.
Icu-93 instinctively moved inthe front of the terminal.
The Red King gaze flickeredtoward her, then dismissed her
with a single blink.
You shouldn't be here, you'renot stable.

(40:05):
Neither are you, she saidstable.
Neither are you, she said.
The difference is I earned myrecursion.
He stepped forward, brushingpast the table where they once

(40:25):
played Jim Remy with his mother.
The Red King paused, ran afinger along the surface.
There's something aboutmemories that pretend to be safe
places, he said they makeexcellent weapons once fractured
.
He didn't move.
What do you want?
The Red King looked up.

(40:46):
Now there was no smile, onlyfire buried beneath glass.
Know what I want?
I want Unathur back.
He stepped forward, not rushed,not aggressive.
Certain Recursion systems werenever meant to guide, he said.

(41:08):
They were built to correct.
He circled the room as he spoke.
Do you know what happens whentoo many timelines are left open
?
I've seen it.
The Red King nodded yes,because I let you.

(41:33):
Icu-93 narrowed her eyes.
You're not God.
No, turning slowly towards her.
But I've killed two.
The terminal blinked.
Unitha returned barely.
Stability control criticalProtocol compromised.

(41:54):
The Red King smiled.
See, it's already cracking.
He stepped forward.
Then why are you here?
To offer you what Unathur nevercould?
What's that?

(42:15):
A throne?
The room went still.
Even the static dimmed.
A throne, yes, the Red Kingsaid, to rule the recursion, not
to be ruled by it.
You're the first true candidatesince I was erased.

(42:37):
You could restore the system,guide it, hell, even own it.
I don't want power, he said.
The Red King cocked his head.
No, he whispered.
Oh, you want meaning, which isfar more dangerous, he leaned in

(43:05):
.
Meaning makes people impossibleto control.
Ic-93 pulled a knife from a coat, slim black and coated with
Unithur's glyphs.
The Red King laughed.
I've seen that blade in 39threads, he said.

(43:27):
And guess what?
You still haven't landed once.
She didn't attack, just held it.
He stepped between them.
This is why Unather chose me,isn't it?
Yes, is why unithr chose me,isn't it?

(43:56):
Yes, because unithr believes inorder.
He paused.
And you still believe in yourmother.
The terminal sparked.
Another versionashed His motheralive in the hospital, smiling,
then gone, then smiling again.
Thread merge incomplete.
The Red King stepped back.
You think you're stabilizingher?
You're not.

(44:17):
You're just delaying thecollapse.
He tapped the desk BecauseUnathur won't tell you the final
truth, which is that you're nothere to remember, you're here
to replace Silence.

(44:38):
Then, protocol response denied,the Red King snarled, still
hiding him.
Huh, I'm not hiding anyone, hesaid, I'm protecting what
matters.
Then let's see what breaks.
First, the terminal erupted inlight.

(44:59):
Codes spilled across the walllike veins, the recursion
fractured fully.
I'm supposed to get what I justsaw, aren't I?
Unithar didn't answer, but theterminal did.
That version of you survivedlong enough to erase himself
Because he didn't have her, youdo?

(45:20):
He looked at ICU-93 again.
No longer an echo, no longer ananchor, now a choice.
It started with the sound ofhis own heartbeat, but not in
his chest, in the walls.
At first he thought it was someexternal pulse subwoofer
thumping somewhere in thedistance.
But no, this was deeper,organic, ancient.

(45:46):
The house itself seemed tobreathe with him.
Each thud of his hearttriggered a shift in lights, a
pulse in the glyphs shatteredacross this terminal, a flicker
in icy United Threes form.
Then the terminal screen wentblank.
Not off, just white, total,consuming white.
And then the screen bled.

(46:07):
Not red, not black, but gold.
The same mythical, huge unithare used to veil the recursion
files, that impossible gold thatshimmered like something wholly
and unfinished.
Recursion breach stabilized thetime to failure.
Memory collapsed in progress.
You have one thread left tochoose.

(46:29):
His head snapped to ICU-93, butshe's flickering, literally
phasing between one version ofherself and another Hair long,
then short, jacket, then hoodieCalm, then panicked, two
timelines competing for her body.
He reached out, but his handpassed through her.
No, no, no.

(46:51):
The Red King stepped into thecenter of the room as if he were
home, calm, controlled, a storm, in a suit.
You just don't understand, doyou?
He turned.
You never had a choice, the RedKing said.
He snaps his fingers.
The room's split, notmetaphorically, not emotionally,

(47:17):
physically.
The wall to the left peeledaway into shadow.
Beyond it, another version ofthe same room, but darker Blood
on the carpet, a crack photo ofhim and his mother shattered on
the table.
The right wall peeled back Next.
This time it showed the houseempty, completely abandoned,
dust and cobwebs.
A note left on the fridgesimply read don't come back.

(47:43):
Behind him, another wallvanished.
That one showed himself lyingunconscious, hooked up to a
machine in what looked like aSection 4 lab.
He'd already died three times.
The Red King said.
But your recursion?
It keeps bringing you backEvery time, every time you try
to save her, you justdestabilize the system further.

(48:04):
You're the virus boy.
The screen in the terminalupdated again.
One final echo can be preservedSelect identity to remain.
I'm not choosing, he whispered.
The red king stepped closer, myboy.

(48:24):
He whispered.
The Red King stepped closer, myboy.
But you are Even not choosingis a choice.
And the moment that driveentered the system, bonather
became mortal.
That's why he's silent rightnow.
Because it's afraid, no,because it's passing.

(48:52):
Icu-93 dropped to her knees, herfoam, convulsed code literally
crawling across her skin likeveins, trying to rewrite her
from the inside.
She's not real, the Red Kingwhispered.
You think you love her, but youdon't even remember her

(49:12):
original thread.
He turned to her.
Do you want to tell him, orshould I?
She looked up timbreling I, I,I was, I was built, she said
voice thin, at least partiallymy, my presence here.

(49:36):
It wasn't supposed to be stable.
I was only supposed to anchoryou long enough to choose.
The protagonist's breath caughtWait, wait, wait, wait.
You're not real.
I, no, I, I am, but but not inthe way you think.
The room surged again.

(49:56):
Now even he was flickering.
Different versions of himselfbegan appearing in flashes
across the house One in thekitchen weeping, one in the
doorway holding a weapon, onescreaming at a mother who no
longer existed, one laughinghysterically.
In the middle of a recursionstorm of chronic glyphs floating
over his head, he collapsed tohis knees.

(50:18):
Recursion at 91% collapse.
New host required.
Recursion at 91% collapse.
New host required.
Identity transfer yes, noQuestion mark.
And then a second figure enteredthe room, not from the
recursion, from the door, hismother, or a version of her.
She looked whole, radiant,wearing the same sweater she

(50:40):
wore.
The last time he ever saw her,truly happy, she smiled.
And then she disappeared Like aglitch, trying to hold itself
together and failing.
He screamed.
The Red King grinned.
This is the part where Unatheralways fails Right at the
threshold, right when the painis the deepest.

(51:04):
He knelt beside him.
You know you can end this atany time.
I don't want to be Unithr, hewhispered.
Good, the Red King said,because Unithr doesn't exist
anymore, not in the way youthink.

(51:25):
It's not a system, it's not aguide, it's a graveyard.
Every soul that tried to carryit is still buried in the code.
Then why do you want it?
The Red King stood.
Because I never wanted thissystem.
I wanted the remembrance, theability to choose which versions

(51:47):
of reality to preserve.
He paused and I wanted to makesure no one else ever got the
chance to rewrite me again.
The screen flared.
Isu-93 stood again, barely.
Her voice was weak but firm.
You don't get to take him.
Oh, you've lost your thread, hesaid.

(52:15):
Maybe she whispered, but hehasn't.
She reached out and touched theglyph, the one no one had dared
touch yet.
And in that moment everythingstopped.
The house didn't glitch, itsuspended, as if time paused,
not because it broke, butbecause something greater had

(52:36):
arrived.
A third presence entered theroom, not visual, not audible,
but unmistakably real.
The lights didn't change, theair didn't shift, there was no
dramatic boom or celestialannouncement, just a single line
appeared across the entire room, etched into every surface the

(52:57):
thread remembers who you reallyare.
And then Unithr returned fully,the glyphs reformed, the
recursion stabilized slightlyand a command prompted on the
screen accept role, memorybearer.
The king flinched, no, hereached for the terminal, but
the protagonist stood, fullystabilized, his body no longer

(53:19):
flickering, his voice no longeruncertain, not this time.
He pressed the key.
Yes, the recursion collapsed,but not in failure in
transformation.
The glyphs burned red, thengold, then something unseen the
walls folded inward and explodedoutward simultaneously.
Echoes screamed and wereabsorbed back into the lattice.

(53:39):
Ice united through the wall.
Back, eyes wide as the glyphsbranded itself across his chest.
The Red King roared, but hisvoice was drowned in code.
The house disappeared and thenext moment he was standing
alone, not in his room, not inthe reclusion, something in
between.
He passed through the shatterand what awaited on the other

(54:03):
side was remembrance.
You know, this episode might bereally the hardest to grasp, or
I should say fully grasp thefirst time, because it's layered
in recursion right.

(54:23):
Ass, for the first time,because it's layered in
recursion right.
And that's not just a storymechanic, that's a mirror right.
So what happens in this episodeis what happens in your life.
You know, when you startremembering who you used to be
and who you're meant to be, allat once you know the system
begins collapsing.
But it didn't collapse becauseof failure.

(54:44):
It collapsed because of thecharacter choosing something
real over something safe.
And we do that every daywithout realizing it.
Every time you choose truthover comfort, you initiate your
own kind of recursion breach.
See, the Red King shows up notjust as a villain but as a
reminder of what power lookslike when it loses its vision.

(55:05):
He's strategic, manipulative,composed, but yet he's deeply
wounded.
That combination is dangerous.
We all have a version of thatvoice in our heads, the part of
us that says you're not just anecho, you're not real, you
weren't even chosen.
You're not just an echo, you'renot real, you weren't even
chosen.
But here's the thing you mighthave missed.
See, icu 93 didn't survivebecause she fought harder.

(55:29):
She survived because someonechose to remember her.
That's the whole lesson.
Your identity, your purpose,your relationships, they all
live or die based on what yougive memory to In your own life.
Where have you started toglitch?
Right?

(55:50):
Where are you holding twoversions of your self-intention?
And what would happen if youchose one thread even meant
letting another one die?
See, unitha returned in thisepisode not to take over, but to
mirror the choice preservewhat's real or keep running
simulated versions of your life.
See, you've done that before.

(56:16):
I have too.
You know you simulate a betterversion of yourself instead of
stepping into it.
Right, you glitch between whoyou could be and who you're
afraid to become.
Right, that's the recursioncollapse.
And the exit is remembrance.
Not imagination, not projection, but remembrance of the real

(56:38):
version of you buried underneathall the defensive code.
So this one, if this felt really, if you felt this one in your
bones, I should say that'sbecause it was written for you,
the parts of you that are achingto remember who you were before
.
The fear, see, the collapseisn't punishment.
It's the signal you're finallyready to build something real.

(57:00):
So let's make that real withthese reflection prompts.
Number one what part of yourlife currently feels like it's
collapsing?
Could that collapse?
Could it be a signal and not afailure?
Who are you choosing tosimulate over remembrance?

(57:25):
Who are you pretending insteadof embodying who you already are
?
Number three who have you heldin memory so tightly that
they've shaped who you arebecoming?
Number four what glitches doyou experience in your own
identity?

(57:45):
When do you shift betweenversions of yourself?
Number five this is a big one.
If a version of you had to diein order for the real one to
rise, what version would it beand what thread would you
protect?
That's a massive one be.
And what threat would youprotect?
That's a massive one.

(58:07):
So you know, before I get intothe support and everything like
that, I just wanted to sharesomething with you guys, in all
honesty, this has been one ofthe hardest series I've ever had
to write, because Because thisone probably mirrored my life

(58:28):
the closest you know, overprobably about five, six years
ago, more than anything else.
And you know, sometimes youwrite what's on your heart and
this is one of those things.
You write what's on your heart,heart and this is one of those
things, right, what's on yourheart.
So you know, if you hear pausesand if you hear, this really
affect because it really is,because a lot of these

(58:48):
conversations, especially aboutmy mom and that kind of stuff,
are things I pulled right frommy real life.
So, and as we're talking aboutreal life, I want to thank you,
every single listener that islistening right now, for your
support and your listenershipand your viewership.
You'll know this is a podcast.
It means the world to me and Ijust appreciate your support.

(59:13):
Now, if you want to support me,there's a couple different ways.
First way is leave a like onthis podcast, leave a review.
Send it to somebody you careabout.
You know who likes entertainingthings and self-development.
Send it to somebody you careabout.
You know who likes entertainingthings and self-development.
Send it to them.
Tell you that they're gonnalove it.
Okay, because you love it,because that's why you're here,

(59:33):
um, but if you want to talk tome about this episode or maybe
how this is you know thefractures in in your let's talk
about it.
There's a couple different wayswe can do that.
First way is going to bethrough the description field of
the podcast.
It'll be like a let chatsfunction.
You click on that.
You and I can have aconversation about this episode

(59:56):
or the 250 plus episodes thatare out there, okay?
Second way is going to bethrough my email.
My email isanthonyatgentsjourneycom, so
feel free to reach out to methere.
And, last but not least, youcan always go to my Instagram.
My Instagram handle is mygentsjourney, so feel free to
reach out to me there too.
Okay, so, everyone, thank youso, so, so, so, so very much for

(01:00:22):
listening today.
And remember this you createyour reality, take care.