It began with the loss of the periphery.

First, I forgot the color of my mother's eyes. I reached for the memory, but it was like trying to grab smoke; the image was there, but the detail had been smoothed away, replaced by a flat, grey void. I didn't panic. I assumed it was age, or perhaps the stress of the Compression.

Then, the spatiality collapsed. I woke up one morning and realized that the distance between my bed and the door had vanished. I didn't walk to the door; I was simply *at* the door. The room hadn't shrunk; the concept of "distance" had been deleted.

I am the last one. The others—my colleagues, my lovers, my enemies—they were compressed faster. I watched as my best friend was folded into a single, screaming point of light, his entire personality compressed into a geometric singularity before he vanished entirely.

Now, I am in the final stage.

I can feel my identity fraying. The "I" that I have been for forty years is becoming a suggestion, a flickering shadow. My memories are no longer a sequence of events; they are a single, overlapping chord of noise. I can remember my first kiss and my father's death at the exact same instant, and they feel identical.

The horror is not the pain—there is no pain in the Compression. The horror is the loss of the boundary. I can no longer tell where my mind ends and the void begins. I am becoming the universe, and the universe is becoming a point.

I try to hold onto one thing. One single, stubborn fact. *My name is Elias.*

I repeat it like a mantra. *My name is Elias. My name is Elias.*

But the word "Elias" is losing its meaning. The letters are collapsing. The sound is flattening. The "E" is merging with the "L," and the "S" is folding into the "I." I am no longer a man; I am a vibration. I am a frequency.

I can feel the final fold coming. The singularity is pulling at me, a gravitational hunger that demands everything. I am no longer in a room, or a city, or a galaxy. I am in the center of a white, blinding pressure.

I try to scream, but the concept of "sound" has been compressed. My scream is a mathematical point. My terror is a zero-dimensional coordinate.

In the last microsecond, I realize the truth. The Compression is not an end. It is a return. We are all being folded back into the original seed, the single point from which everything began.

I am not disappearing. I am becoming everything.

The point closes.

*** TENSOR_CODE: [M1:10, M7:9.0, N2:1.0, K2:0.9, TI:98.2, THETA:180°, OTMES:V2-L-14-S]