Chapter 2: Anomalous Data

Chapter 2: Anomalous Data

Sleep was a luxury Alex could no longer afford. Every time he closed his eyes, he saw the cold, judgmental stare of Professor Alexander Finch, heard the crisp pronouncement: You are a rounding error. The golden trophy sat on his floor, a solid, immutable fact in a world that was starting to feel distressingly fluid. He had shoved it under his bed, but he could still feel its presence, a cold spot in the room, a five-pound anchor tethering him to madness.

He needed proof. Not the subjective proof of his own memory, which now felt fragile and suspect, but hard, objective data. The kind of data he understood, the kind that built his digital world: zeroes and ones, immutable records stored on secure servers.

His first stop was the university’s digital library archives. The fluorescent lights of the 24-hour computer lab hummed, casting a sterile, bluish glare on the rows of empty terminals. It was 3 a.m., and the only other soul was a student slumped over a keyboard two rows down, fast asleep. The silence felt heavy, watchful.

With trembling fingers, he navigated to the archive of university news and publications. His search query felt absurd as he typed it: “International Collegiate Programming Contest.” He scrolled back three years, his heart thudding a frantic rhythm against his ribs. He just needed to see the real winners. To see a list of names that wasn't his. That would prove the trophy was a prank, a hallucination, anything but real.

A digitized copy of the university’s monthly newsletter appeared on screen. The headline read: “University Team Claims Top Honors in Global Programming Showdown.”

Alex clicked the link. A low-resolution photo loaded, showing three beaming students holding a familiar golden trophy. In the center was a younger-looking version of himself. He looked sharper, more focused, a flicker of Finch’s confidence in his eyes. He didn’t remember the photo. He didn’t remember the suit jacket he was wearing. He didn’t remember his teammates, a stern-looking woman and a lanky guy with glasses.

Beneath the photo, the caption read: “Team lead Alexander Miller with teammates Priya Sharma and Kevin Chen.”

“No,” Alex whispered, the sound swallowed by the hum of the computers. He frantically scanned the article. It praised his “innovative approach to heuristic algorithms” and quoted him on the importance of “logical elegance.” They were words he might think, but would never have the confidence to say to a reporter. It was Finch’s voice, Finch’s achievement, stamped onto his life with the university’s official seal.

Panic began to set in, a cold, creeping tide. This wasn’t just a dream bleeding into reality; it was a hostile takeover. His past was being actively rewritten.

He needed more data. More proof.

Stumbling out of his chair, he practically ran from the library, the sterile quiet suddenly feeling suffocating. Back in the cluttered safety of his dorm, he ripped open his laptop and slammed his password into the university’s student portal. His hands were shaking so badly he had to type it three times.

He navigated to his academic transcript, the one document that was the objective summary of his entire university career. He knew his grades by heart. They were a testament to his apathy: a smattering of As in subjects that came easily, a sea of Bs and B-minuses in everything that required actual work.

He scrolled down to his second year. Introduction to Quantum Mechanics. He remembered that class vividly. He’d been fascinated by the theory but bored by the math, scraping by with a B-minus after bombing the final. It was one of the specific failures Finch had thrown in his face.

On the screen, next to the course title, was a single, glaring letter: A+.

His breath hitched. He clicked on the course details. A small note from the professor was attached to the final grade: “Mr. Miller, your final paper challenging the conventional interpretation of the observer effect was not only audacious but brilliantly argued. One of the finest undergraduate papers I have ever had the privilege to read. A+.”

He had never written that paper. He’d turned in a half-assed essay on Schrödinger’s cat thirty minutes before the deadline. This wasn’t just a changed grade; it was an entirely different history, complete with fabricated accomplishments and counterfeit praise. His life wasn’t his own. He was living in a corrupted file, bits of his data being overwritten by a cleaner, more efficient version.

As he stared, dumbfounded, at the screen, a notification pinged in the corner. A new email. His blood went cold. He was almost too afraid to look. He clicked open his university email client, his gaze fixed on the newest message in his inbox.

The sender was listed only as [email protected]. The subject line was a single, cryptic phrase: Notice of Correction.

His hands froze over the trackpad. This was it. The confirmation. He wasn't going crazy. He was being hunted. He forced himself to open the email. The body contained no greeting, no sign-off, just three lines of stark, terrifying text.

Anomaly detected in timeline designation AX-774. Subject: Miller, Alexander. Classification: Rounding Error. Correction protocol initiated. Please stand by.

Rounding Error.

The words from his dream, now stark and official in the sterile font of an email. It was a system message. A cosmic error log. He was a bug in the code of reality, and some unseen, methodical program was in the process of deleting him.

Just as the full weight of that realization crashed down on him, another email pinged. This one was from the Dean of Graduate Studies at MIT.

Subject: Congratulations on Your Fellowship Acceptance!

Dear Mr. Miller,

On behalf of the faculty of the Department of Electrical Engineering and Computer Science, I am absolutely delighted to formally welcome you to the von Neumann Fellowship program for the upcoming academic year. Your groundbreaking undergraduate work, particularly your paper on non-linear quantum observation, has generated considerable excitement here. We have never before offered this fellowship to a candidate still completing their undergraduate degree, but your profile is, in a word, perfect.

Alex read the words, but they didn’t make sense. He’d never applied to MIT. He’d never even dreamed of it. It was Finch’s path. Finch’s ambition. Finch’s perfect life, and it was arriving piece by piece, an inheritance he never asked for and didn’t want.

He slammed his laptop shut, the click echoing in the sudden silence of his room. He was trapped. The physical world was changing around him, and the digital world—his world—was being used as the weapon. Every objective measure of his existence was being systematically erased and replaced. He looked at his own hands, half-expecting them to flicker and fade. He was a ghost, haunting the edges of a life that was no longer his. And the Auditor was just getting started.