Site-19
There was a package on her desk. Dr. Rights sat down curiously, slipping the letter opener out of its little holder, and sliding it through the tape on the seams of the cardboard. Some of the tape had peeled away slightly, and the ink from the stamps of “NOT A BOMB” and “MEMETIC HAZARD NOT DETECTED” had faded.
Inside was a letter, a picture frame, and a box of chocolates. A thin layer of dust had settled on the contents. She cocked her head to one side, confused by who or what this was from.
She opened the letter with a flick of a finger, and sat back in her chair, slipping her reading glasses on from the chain she kept around her neck. She hated the things, but it was a consequence of getting older. The letter was handwritten on expensive stationary, and was dated from a few years ago.
“Hello, Doctor Rights. If you're reading this, I'm probably dead, or just forgot to drop in. One of those. Either way, I wanted to say happy birthday,” she glanced over at her calendar, and gave a slight sigh of surprise. It was her birthday, not that she kept track any more. The frequent XK scenarios made keeping track of the date a bit challenging.
“I know you said that if I remembered your birthday, you'd kill me, but hey, I'm either dead, or going senile, so who cares. I hope you enjoy the chocolates, and have a decent day. Take it easy on the damn kids for once.” It wasn't signed, but she felt as if she should know who wrote it. The name was on the tip of her tongue, but she couldn't quite grasp who it was.
She lifted the picture frame from the box, and looked at it. It was a group photo of the foundation Researchers from Site 19, in the early days before all the staffing had been finished. There were only a few people present in the photograph.
The command level staff were present, and a few other lower level staff that Doctor Rights had befriended over the years, but there was a curious blank spot near the middle. One of the other doctors was hanging off of what seemed to be thin air, before it hit her: She couldn't see who was there.
She grabbed the letter again, and looked down near the bottom. Sure enough, there was a script that said, “Sincerely,” but was blank after that. She picked up the box of chocolates, and the sender was blank as well.
The realization hit her like a train. Her pulse started to pound in her temples, and her jaw clenched, as anger washed over her. The little reading glasses slipped off the bridge of her nose, jangling from their fine chain.
Who the hell did they think they were, erasing someone from her past without her authorization? A strict deletion memetic was nearly unthinkable to use on someone with her Level.
Dr. Rights shook with rage, standing up, and storming out of her office. Someone was going to catch hell for this.

Dimensional Site-4
In her office, O5-2 sat surrounded by a mountain of paperwork. Aides flowed in and out of the cramped office, passing through an oddly colored door which hurt to look at.
A tall man in a blue suit passed in to the office, shaking off the momentary disorientation. "Overseer, you called for me?"
O5-2 nodded her head, “Has the memetic been distributed?
The aide nodded, and said quietly, “Yes ma'am, all known records, and instances of the name Doctor-“ his voice went eerily silent, and his mouth blurred as he spoke the name, “have been deleted.”
O5-2 nodded once more, and looked back down at the report in front of her. "Good. Begin Directive Legends at once."
The aide turned sharply, and exited back through to Site-4.

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