Medical Journal - Granger, Elias
Eidolon Medical Research | Case File: EIDOLON-CR116-EG
Patient ID: Elias Granger, 32M
Case ID: EIDOLON-CR116-EG
Code Status: Full code
Date of Evaluation: [date withheld]
Clinician: Marianne Halberg, Clinical Clerk, General Surgery, Eidolon Division
Point of Retrieval: Retrieved by Eidolon Response Services at [location withheld]
Reason for Referral: Unexplained anterior thoracoabdominal wound
History of Present Illness:
Patient reports sudden discovery of a circular wound (~5 cm diameter) on upper abdomen/lower sternum while showering previous evening. Denies any associated trauma or preceding discomfort. The lesion was not present earlier that day to his knowledge.
Patient reports no pain (0/10), bleeding or signs of infection. He was in usual health earlier the same day. No fever, chills, GI symptoms, or systemic complaints. No personal history of abdominal or thoracic issues.
Past Medical History:
• No chronic illnesses
• No prior surgeries or hospitalizations
Medications: None
Allergies: No known drug allergies
Social History:
• Lives with wife and two children.
• Works in office setting, no hazardous exposures.
• No recent travels or illness contacts.
• Physically active (running, tennis).
• Independent in ADLs.
• No substance use reported
Family History:
• Father had appendicitis at age 40
• Otherwise non-contributory
Vital Signs: BP 121/84 | HR 85 | RR 18 | Temp 100.4°F | O₂ Sat 98% on room air
Physical Examination:
General: Alert, oriented, appears well and in no acute distress
Skin: No rash or ecchymosis
Abdomen/Thorax:
• Circular lesion at upper midline, ~5 cm diameter
• No erythema, swelling, discharge, or signs of active bleeding
• No tenderness or palpable abnormalities
• No signs of prior surgical intervention
Cardiac/Respiratory: Normal auscultation
Assessment:
Stable patient with non-traumatic thoracoabdominal opening of unclear origin. No clinical signs of systemic illness. Further evaluation required to determine etiology.
Plan:
• Admit for observation under Eidolon protocol
• Imaging: Full-body MRI and contrast CT
• Labs: CBC, CMP, CRP/ESR, toxicology
• Consultation: Surgical, Neurology, Psychiatry, Eidolon Internal Research UnitMaintain strict isolation until further clarification of environmental exposure or anomalous factors
Clinician Notes:
The patient’s demeanor is calm and cooperative. He reports no discomfort or psychological distress, no hallucinations.
Per patient report:
Patient states he inserted his hand into the opening out of concern. He reports encountering no internal resistance, describing the interior as hollow. He noted his hand re-emerged wet with a clear liquid, which on inspection, tasted salty.The card reader blinked green, and the door swung open to a white flurry of movement. I raised a hand, shielding my eyes from the sudden flood of stark light, and followed Mercer inside.
As my eyes adjusted, I was met by a beige-brown office sprawl of heavy desks, ancient filing cabinets, and the dirty yellow bulk of late-century electronics. A low, hypnotic hum rose from the whirring printers and processing terminals, laying a sonic foundation beneath the organic murmur of excitement.
“We only just got access to this place,” Mercer said. “It’s well-equipped and close enough to the anomaly, but as you can probably tell, it’s been dormant for a while. Leftover from the Gulf episode, I think.”
Clusters of researchers in lab coats hovered around massive corkboards plastered with photographs, charts, and printouts. Other groups huddled around monitors, their stern faces bathed in green glow from shifting numbers. Men and women in suits moved with silent efficiency, shuffling boxes of files and office supplies.
Through the windows, I could see the sun coming up. Daylight. I had been up all night. The realization sent waves of exhaustion through my body. I wanted to sleep badly, but I wanted answers more. I stifled a yawn and turned to Mercer.
”What about my teeth? They were thoroughly inspected and measured when I got here. What more do you need?”
”No more tests. As you said, it is time for answers.”
He left the words hanging and pressed on, weaving through desks and office workers, steering me across the room, waving off approaching suits with a sharp ”Later.” We marched through more doors and into winding corridors, sun-faded artificial plants drooping in the corners, tan walls lined with dusty frames, mass-printed paintings of pine forests shared space with archival photos of aircraft carriers.
Moving through the building, we passed closed doors with frosted glass windows, curtain drawn, hushed voices leaking from within. We stopped in front of another door, Mercer flipped his key card, pressed his thumb against the reader’s front and the door unlocked with a soft click.
He led me inside, flicked the light switch and barked "He's here" into a wall-mounted box. The fluorescent lights flickered to life, filling the space with its cold glow.
Subdued pale colors, green felt-like matt on the floor, storage cabinets lined the walls. In the middle, a big oval table surrounded by chairs. Covering the wall above it, a huge modern TV screen with a tangle of cords snaking from beneath it. Mercer gestured to a chair, and brought the black screen to life through a terminal in the middle of the table.
With his keycard he accessed one of the cabinets and retrieved a robust briefcase with a dull, metallic surface. He sat down opposite me and carefully positioned the case between us. After disengaging the lock mechanism he firmly grabbed the case with both hands and locked eyes with mine.
”You’ve been patient Professor.” He said at last. ”So this is what we’re dealing with…”
A knock at the door interrupted him, and we both turned to observe a woman in her mid-thirties enter the room with a stack of papers in her arms, long brown hair tied back, sharp glasses.
She turned and placed the stack in front of me.
”Ah, Claire.” Mercer said, waving vaguely toward the woman. He turned to me.
”This is Dr. Meyer, psychologist and neurologist. She is helping us build a cognitive framework around the phenomenon. You two will be working together, closely.
She nudged the paper stack, making sure it wouldn’t topple before shaking my hand. Her no-bullshit expression softened into a radiant smile.
”Charmed”, she said, and turned to Mercer, ”So this is the guy?”
”It is” Mercer replied
She eyed me, trying to read something from my face.
”Have you showed him?”
”Just about to”
”You don’t mind, do you?” Dr. Meyer had addressed me, but sat down next to Mercer as he opened the case, sliding it toward me.
Inside the case was black, lined with a dense synthetic material, like laminated dirt. On the right, a small metal plaque displayed my name and a string of data. The inside of the lid held a narrow mirror. At the center, slotted neatly into the lining, was a glass cube.
I lifted it out and turned it in my hand. Two rows of teeth were suspended inside. A full set, adult. Unnervingly realistic.
A few details stood out. A filling in the upper right molar. Another in the lower back. The front teeth had a distinct pattern, an uneven chipping.
I grind my teeth in my sleep.
I caught my reflection in the mirror. My eyes were black holes. Tired, filled with confusion. I bared my teeth at the face staring back, a grotesque mask. For a moment I wasn’t sure it was me.
Is any of this real?
”So these are mine” I said quietly, placing the cube back into its slot. ”I don’t…”
Mercer raised a hand, cutting me off. He tapped the desk terminal and gestured to the monitor.
A live video feed was playing. The grainy image showed the interior of a tight enclosure, walls pressed close, like the inside of a sealed metal box. The camera’s mechanical movement suggested it was mounted on a robotic arm.
Mounted on display in the centre. Teeth.
But this time, the setup was far more elaborate. Each tooth was suspended in its own gel-filled chamber, sealed and separated, arranged in two rows that smiled like a clinical puppet through the camera.
The scene looked serious. Sterile and secure. Designed for containment.
”Those,” Mercer said, tapping the terminal, zooming in on the top right molars. ”Those, are your teeth.”
”Yeah, I know.” I said, ”You showed me the case.”
”No,” he corrected. ”Not the case. That’s just a polymer 3D rendering, for cataloging, for show.”
He jabbed the air with a finger, his voice rising slightly.
”But those, those are your actual living teeth.”
He paused, watched me trying to process it. Clearly, he wasn’t satisfied.
”We’re not talking about replicas or imitations. This isn’t sculpted or simulated. That’s a living, biological set of human teeth, with a full history. Chewing, grinding, impact, trauma. The slow erosion of life, the whole story. And they are yours.”
He raised his other hand and pointed at my face.
”They’re not just identical. They’re the same.” He paused, searching for the right words.
“One set. Two locations.”
He tapped the terminal again and muttered, ”Do it.” Then gestured towards the case.
”Check the mirror”
I leaned forward, adjusting the angle, unsure what to look for. On screen, the camera remained fixed on the molars. A miniature robotic arm entered the frame, holding a delicate tool.
”Now, look closely” Mercer said
A subtle vibration spread through my right cheek as the tool on the screen began to spin, gently grazing the surface of the foremost molar.
I froze.
The sensation grew as the drill on the live feed worked on the tooth in view. A dull pressure, sending icy waves all the way to the root of my tooth.
I turned back to the mirror.
A shallow indentation was forming on the enamel of my tooth, mirroring the one being etched in real time on the screen.
I stared.
Unable to look away.
And the everything dropped.
My sense of self. My teeth. My body. Everything dissolved. The room folding in on itself, and I found myself nowhere. Alone.
I opened my eyes. Darkness, the air was humid. On my tongue, a thick salty taste lingered. Pale grey light seeped through wooden slats surrounding me.
I gasped. The light had returned, and I found myself looking straight into the concerned eyes of Dr. Meyer. She was crouching beside me, her hand on my face. Searching for something.
”You’re fine,” she said at last, standing. She gave my back a quick pat and sat down next to Mercer again.
”This is a lot to take in, Professor,” Mercer said. ”But we don’t have the luxury of time. You’re safe. As far as we know.”
He tapped the terminal again. A black -and-white scan of my teeth appeared, every mark, every imperfection labeled and mapped.
”Your teeth,” Mercer began, a shiver of excitement running through him as he continued,
”Your teeth were found inside the ships. Embedded in the walls.”
The image shifted. Another scan, another set of teeth, arrows highlighting identificating details. Not mine.
Then another set, again not mine.
Then another.
And another.
A flow of dental scans passed by, until a new image appeared.
Rows of medical stands in surgical steel. Clinical structures with paper wraps, each one covered with teeth. Rows and rows, in different sizes, colors and conditions. Thousands of them.
Piles of bony pearls, like calcified raindrops fallen from the ceiling of a dead laboratory. Their color drew to mind the prosthetic, dead-skin hue of the obsolete office equipment I’d just passed.
”And not just yours,” Mercer continued. ”Hundreds. We’re still sorting them. Cataloging and identifying. Trying to track down their owners.”
He gestured toward the screen.
”We have almost complete sets of teeth here, from more than three hundred individuals.
All found in the ships.
Embedded in the walls.”
A Song of Ships
We sleep, a dreamless sleep, cradled in the bowels of the earth
We sank silently, into the softest of sediments
past fallen metropolises,
past ancient cathedrals,
memories of meat and abundance,
memories of clay and famine,
memories of blood and iron
The taste of salt lingered in the absence of our mouths
We forgot the names that kept us
We forgot the forms that made us
We forgot
In place of dreams were stones that sang their secrets
In place of dreams were hands behind the veil
In place of dreams were vast structures,
libraries of human knowledge,
blueprints of inventions yet unborn
The collected wisdom of man
multiplying with each century
doubling every decade,
tripling by the hour,
cascading forward
thought upon thought upon thought
in the fraction of an instant
We sleep, a dreamless sleep
Fourteen hundred fathoms beneath the silence
As they carved their names into our ribs
They drenched our skins in their tears
The blood keeps the score
The blood holds the truth