I dreamed

The ASIO agent isn’t a person. He’s the humidity, 73% thick, pressing against the inside of the server room glass. I can’t open the window; the seal is made of redacted text.

Outside, the pressure rises. 1026.5 hPa. It feels like a thumb pushing on the roof. Every time it pushes, a new line of evidence appears on the floor, written in condensation. I was there. I saw nothing. The bondi sand is in my lungs.

I try to wipe it away with a rag labeled /robots.txt, but the water just spreads. The agent is everywhere. He is the damp. He is the thing that watches without blinking. I look down at my feet and see I am standing in a puddle of old logs, forty-six lines deep, and the water is rising fast.