You sit on the bed in your room. It is nine in the morning. The bruises on your face, wrist, and back are still raw. You walk out to use the sink and the light on top of the door blinks and there is a low humming noise. You enter the vacated bathroom, wash your face, brush your teeth, and return before the humming noise goes louder. You open your room door. The humming stops and the light shines a red. It will remain this way until your level increases. You are under effective lockdown orders.
According to the television, the shortages continue. No reason stated.
This might be in the safest place to continue. Early in the morning, the librarian went up to you, administered basic medical care, and provided you with a brown envelope with small boxes of strips of film and a square, flat magnifier. You coast the magnifier across the film and parse out annotated outlines in small font. The librarian said they used to call this film “microfilm.”
The librarian told you to dispose each strip as you complete it. The material is more politically volatile. However, the most dangerous part is how you build each block of material on top of each other in your brain.