From the Sacred Text:
"Those who have lost their memories to Him may sometimes be chosen to receive His Blessing.
Memories of childhood flow into their minds,
But it is not their childhood that they remember.
They who have received His most perfect Gift may know the memories of another
And thus gain greater understanding and greater knowledge.
These chosen, these Gifted, are the greatest among us.
They are the Grandfather's favorites, and His realm is theirs to traverse."
I am Gifted. The John Kramer Transcript was written by me, a transcribing of the memories that I received from the Grandfather. Among us here at the Archive, the Gifted are held in high esteem, and though I am not one of the Alphas or the Betas, I am still seen as a leader or hero of sorts. This blog was my idea. I felt that people should know what was out there, even if only the non-classified data. I won't lie: this blog has made me some enemies, especially among the Brokers, who would gladly put a pricetag on all of this, classified or not. But none of the other six Alphas, aside from Broker Alpha, opposed my plan. They gave me permission to write this blog because I am Gifted, and therefore seen as chosen.
I became Gifted five years ago. Back then I was designated Martyr Epsilon, so I was basically a Black-Ops soldier. A Broker had gone rogue, and my squad had been sent to bring him in or, failing that, eliminate him. You don't leave the Archive. Not ever.
It was a library at some university where we found him. We'd split up and were moving through the library when I practically walked right into him. He wasn't looking at me. He was just staring at the darkness. It was night, the lights were all off...
And there he was. The Grandfather. He approached the Broker I had been sent to find, and he reached out his hand and laid it on the Broker's shoulder. My quarry choked and coughed as if he had dust in his throat (and I think he did). His hair turned gray, turned white, fell from his head. His skin turned wrinkly, livery. His body weakened and stooped. His bones cracked and creaked.
And then pieces of hims began to fall off. His skin turned to dust and his bones turned to stone. He crumpled into nothingness, and the Grandfather turned his attention to me.
I think I screamed. A flood of memories just poured into my mind. Memories that were not mine, but which felt so real and so clear. By the time my team found me, the Granfather had gone. I was re-designated as a Scribe and given the task of transcribing my new memories. As I did, their intensity faded. Now that it has all been written down, I can barely remember that boy's childhood anymore.
The memories are still there, but they're distant now, and no longer feel as if they were mine. I've been Scribe Sigma since then, and everyone seems to regard me with a mixture of wariness and awe. I'm the first Gifted we've had in twenty years.