All six subjects in Cohort F experienced acute loss of effective cognitive and behavioral control requiring clinical intervention.
Events occurred while subjects were in non-overlapping environments, engaged in distinct activities, and without shared procedural triggers.
Across subjects, episodes were characterized by:
- fixed or unfocused gaze with reduced environmental tracking
- involuntary, low-frequency vocalizations (cadence varied by subject)
- marked reduction or absence of voluntary motor initiation
- autonomic instability (tachycardia in four subjects, hypotonia in two)
- preserved vital function with impaired executive mediation
Severity and duration varied by subject. One subject exhibited near-complete unresponsiveness.
EEG telemetry captured aberrant high-frequency oscillatory activity during episodes.
While oscillatory signatures were phenomenologically similar, onset timing and phase characteristics were non-identical and showed no evidence of inter-subject entrainment.
No concurrent firmware faults, latency anomalies, or integrity violations were detected at or preceding individual onsets.
Five subjects regained responsiveness within 9–22 minutes.
All five demonstrate ongoing derealization symptoms, delayed response initiation, and impaired decisional throughput at time of report.
One subject remains in a sustained non-interactive condition characterized by wakeful unresponsiveness and absence of goal-directed behavior.
The clustered emergence of similar decompensation events within a narrow time window is consistent with shared exposure duration and load progression, not coordinated or communicative failure.
Clinical features do not align with known dissociative, seizure-related, or stress-induced syndromes.
Findings indicate a common failure mode manifesting independently across subjects once individual tolerance thresholds are exceeded.
BioPsion’s preliminary attribution to firmware malfunction is not supported by telemetry review.
- Immediate suspension of Cohort F participation
- Temporary halt on further enrollment pending threshold analysis
- Forensic review of longitudinal cognitive load accumulation across cohorts
— Filed: 02-09-2131
— End Report B/031-2
Rem stared at the amber status floating in the dim of his locker. The screaming in his nerves had dulled to a throb, a constant, rhythmic reminder of how close he had come to tearing himself apart. He lay on the floor, the Ring of Pane cool against his finger, his breathing ragged.
He had won. He had forced the system to bend. He was Level 4 again.
"Right," he whispered, his voice cracking. He pulled himself up and pulled the strap of his satchel with his foot, sliding it over until he could reach it.
He reached into his satchel with a trembling hand, his fingers brushing past several other potions, searching for the one he wanted. He dug deeper, finding the flask.
Restoration Potion (Level 4)
He popped the cork with his thumb. The smell hit him instantly—sharp, like licorice, with a metallic undertone that promised potency. He didn't hesitate. He tilted his head back and downed it.
The liquid rushed through him, not settling in his stomach but seeming to evaporate into his bloodstream instantly. He arched his back, a gasp tearing from his throat as the potion went to work. It wasn't the quick burn of a healing potion, but the slow tide of a long burn; this was ongoing repair. He felt it in his bones, his muscles, his spine snapping into alignment with sickening pops. The heat flushed through his marrow, burning out the fatigue, the deep ache of the level crush, the lingering phantom weight of the essence he had shed.
Ten seconds later, he lay panting on the stone, sweating profusely, but the pain was gone. All that was left was the persistent heat of the restoration potion, reminding him it was still at work to fix up small tears, microcracks, and any other issues.
He flexed his merge domain. It materialized in place silently, back to his level four size. He felt the roiling current of nausea as he thought about merging and quickly dismissed his merge field before it worsened.
"Okay," he said, sitting up. The world felt sharper. "Back to work."
He looked at the ring.
It was unassuming for a Legendary item. A simple band of dark metal, unadorned, absorbing the dim light of the room rather than reflecting it.
"Paronomastic," Rem muttered.
Unlawfully taken from Royal Road, this story should be reported if seen on Amazon.
He stood up, brushing the dust from his pants. The locker was silent, Iru’s amber eyes swiveled to watch him, without comment. He held his hand out, staring at the empty air in front of him.
"A pane," he said. "A window."
He focused on the intent. If it worked like the want, you just needed to push some essence towards the ring, combined with your intent. The ring hummed against his skin, a vibratory response that felt more like a warning than a greeting. He visualized a frame. A simple vertical line in the air.
He moved his finger.
"Ah!" Rem hissed, jerking his hand back.
His finger burned. For a moment when he moved his finger he saw the line, a thin illuminated line traced in the air, but then the ring warmed and sizzled and he lost his concentration.
He looked at his hand, his arm. There was no mark. No burn.
Rem grit his teeth and tried again. The ring sparked, the line formed, a simple orange line the color of fire, he traced a line in the air, not retreating when the burning started again. And it did start. His finger burned – it was all he could do to convince himself that he wasn’t destroying his hand, but despite the obvious pain, the feeling of his finger burning to a crisp, his hand looked perfectly normal.
He pushed on, tracing a square, or tried to. The longer the line he traced the more pain he felt, the burn spread to his hand, and beyond.
He gritted his teeth and moved fast.
By the time he’d nearly completed tracing a small square his entire arm was burning. The pain hit him in a continuous, searing wave, like dragging his hand through boiling water. His muscles locked, trying to pull away, but he forced the motion, terrified that if he stopped, the cost would be paid for nothing. He thought he smelled smoke, sweat poured from his hairline, dripping onto the floor. And then the square was complete.
The pain stopped. Rem watched the orange square hang there a moment before fading.
"Payment," Rem realized, rubbing his arm. The pain was fading, but the memory of it lingered. "You pay for the Pane with Pain."
It was literal. Crude.
"Puns," he breathed. “Whoever made this ring was a bit twisted."
Rem thought back to what the description said. Stepping across the room Rem prepared himself, and sent his intent towards where he felt his essence lived deep inside him, commanding it toward the ring.
The square popped back into view. It hung in the air, right before him, an imperfect rectangle barely big enough to reach into. He looked over at the other side of the room where he drew it. Nothing. Just this square here in front of him.
Rem leaned down and looked through it. Through the square, he saw... the locker, but closer, as though…
He reached out with his hand. He pushed his fingers toward the floating square.
The moment his fingertips brushed the surface, the sensation changed. It wasn't glass. It wasn't air. It was a threshold.
He pushed his hand through.
It vanished into the square – and as it did the full pain hit him again. The burning flesh, the melting of fat, without seeing his finger his mind imagined the damage, the char, the burnt remains of his previous hand. He pulled his hand out of the square.
The pain receded. His hand was uninjured. After just seconds it was as though there had never been pain at all.
He clenched his jaw and braced himself for the pain, then pushed his hand into the square.
From his perspective, his hand simply cut off at the wrist. He wiggled his fingers. He couldn't see them on the other side of the square. Fire lanced up his arm threatening to make him sick. He ignored it. Tried to.
He looked around. Where was his hand?
There. Where he drew the original pane, his hand floated, moving when he moved.
"Spatial window," Rem whispered.
He looked back at the square. He pulled his hand back. It reappeared at his wrist. The pain faded.
Rem held his burnt arm until the pain of it faded entirely.
He took a breath. "Okay. Let's try... grabbing something."
He reached through again. He targeted a core on a shelf not far from the window. He grabbed it and pulled it back. The pain was immediate. There was no getting used to it. It was like lighting your hand on fire every time you pushed into the square. And that pain quickly spread to your arm.
Rem opened his hand and looked at the core. He’d reached through the pane and retrieved it.
He looked up at the innocent little square. It was fading now, the light dimming.
“Neat, but…,” Rem sighed. “Not fun.”
He looked at his Duplication Box sitting on the bench. It was bulky. To pass it through something, he’d need a square at least shoulder-width wide. That was three times the perimeter he had just drawn.
"Let’s try," he said.
He waited for the throb in his arm to subside to a dull ache. He drank a mouthful of water. He centered himself.
He pushed his intent inside towards where he felt his essence pool, and pointed his finger and waited for the spark of orange. He started the line.
Up. The fire reached his shoulder before he even got to the top of the line.
Right. The scream tore out of him instantly. It stopped being a burn. The heat climbed inward, deeper than skin. His vision whitened at the edges.
He completed the top line.
His knees buckled. He fell forward, his hand still tracing the air, driven by sheer stubborn refusal to waste the agony.
Left. He was sobbing now, dry, hitching breaths. His arm was ash and charred bone, but the nerves never relented. His muscles spasmed. His whole body shook.
He connected the line. Tried to. Couldn’t raise his hand even another finger span, he crumpled to the ground the magic of the ring fading. The room going black around him.
He awoke later, the memory of pain immediate and fresh. He sat up and shook his head.
Failure.
—
He couldn't use it to transport big items, but he could use it for useful small items. He could use it for things he didn’t want to keep on his person. Things he shouldn’t have.
He could use it to reach places no one else could.
"Useful," Rem decided. "But mean."
He had his level. He had his ring. He had the knowledge of the time dilation. Somewhat.
This had been the longest day of his life and it still wasn’t over.
Rem felt hollow as he went through the motions of the rest of the day’s work. Selling Potions. Buying supplies. Duplicating everything he was low on.
By the time he took the rail home he was exhausted. He was excited. The next few days were going to change everything.
“One step at a time,” he told himself. But already his mind was racing ahead. He walked from the rail to the lift and from there to his unit. The people and drones blurred into the background as he passed them.
As exciting as the idea of it was, he paused, his hand hovering above the door to his home.
Thomas’ words echoed in his head.
“You should leave.”
“You don’t have to put up with this anymore.”
He could. Maybe he should. What was tying him there? His mother would be fine without him. His sister would be fine. Selling level four potions was twice as profitable as level three. He could afford to move. Maybe even to Babylon.
He pushed inside, the dark familiar hallway greeting him.
It felt different. Less safe. Less inviting.
Empty. He shrugged off the feeling and quickly fell into his bed, falling asleep.