The Truth Unravelled

    Verus strikes another word from his lexicon. We both shudder.

    I watch in frozen silence as he carves himself away. The last time we were here, he took my hand and forced the stylus into my grip, dragging me with him as he erased one of our own. I told myself I had no part in the action. I was forced -- lacking the physical strength to overpower him. It wasn’t my doing, and so I put it out of my mind.

    All the little Lies we tell.

    Seeing Verus perform the erasure on himself is somehow darker and more visceral than that last time. He is not a loyal servant, performing acts of barbarism on the orders of another. He is a  man, defiling himself in the name of a cause.

    It suddenly occurs to me that we are very alike after all. Perhaps that is why I feel every strike of the stylus as though I was the one being erased.

    It also occurs to me that Verus discovered this Truth long before I did. It is why we are here. My options are simple: either cling to my stalwart beliefs and do nothing, watch the man before me destroy himself, and let my friends be cut down, like Julia in the hallway downstairs. Or pick up the stylus and erase Verus to get the code that will shut down the Core. Prove to him that I am no better than the Editors; cutting up lives to suit my needs. To pursue my vision of the Truth.

    Another strike. Another flinch. Another piece lost.

    Every second spent debating increases the chance Verus will erase the code before I can find it. Then we will both be doomed. 

    He lifts the stylus.

    “Stop it,” I snap. This is a trick, a ploy. He is playing games with me. Testing my resolve.

    He strikes the word. The pained groan that comes from him cuts through me.

    “Stop it!” I scream, tearing the stylus from his hand. Verus waits a moment to see if I am about to continue the process. I throw the stylus away. It clatters against the wall and falls under a desk.

    Verus calmly picks up another stylus and continues. I steal that one also. He finds another. There is an endless supply.

    My back presses to the wall, and sweat soaks through the rough cotton of my Library-issued whites. My breaths come in gasps and my eyes are burning.

    “You won’t win,” I insist. “I can wait this out longer than you can. You’ll give up soon, Verus. I know you’re not stupid enough to erase yourself.”

    He makes no reply. Perhaps he no longer has the words to do so.

    “You’re bluffing,” I say. I’m lying. I knew that this was real from the moment it started. I knew it when he called me Lexa. A single word to prove we were no longer playing the Elite’s game. This was between us now. But still, I pretend it isn’t.

    Little Lies we tell ourselves, just to sleep at night.

    Verus takes another word, and this time I don’t flinch.

    “Stop,” I say. It is not a plea, nor a cry. It is said calmly, in resignation. After all, we both know the truth here. Verus will go through with it: he’ll destroy everything he is, in the name of his cause.

    And, in that moment I know: so will I.

    I take the stylus from him, gently now. He does not look at me. He does not acknowledge my presence. His unfocused gaze rests on the wall, and his laboured breaths rattle down his plastic throat. His biotab is still displayed, and I angle it towards me.

    “We’re all just puppets,” I say. “The Elite control the Transcribers, who control the Core, which controls you.” My eyes trace along the neuralink plug, connecting Verus’ CID to the mainframe that governs the whole Library. “But do you know what you taught me, Verus? Puppet strings go both ways.”

    Then I begin to write.

    The stylus flies across the biotab surface, which resolves my scrawl into neat words. I do not write virus codes, or propaganda. I am not here to spout the Truth, or to undermine it, only to share that which is the cornerstone of all civilisations: a story.

    Our story. Beginning with a simple stolen page in a hidden archive, with three clean words printed across the top.

    An Open Letter

    I wrote it all: my capture, and what I had seen and done here; my communications with the outside; the rebellion’s plans. Strings and plagues and deceptions. Endless fears and limitless hopes. Dreams.

    Verus tenses. His fists clench, and his eyes squeeze shut. A look of pain twists his face as the words course through him, overriding the lexicon, replacing him with something else. I don’t know what to call this. It is not Erasure, it is… Creation.

    When I am done, all I know is that the man before me is not Verus. I stand and back away, dropping the stylus to the floor. I have unmade him. I have done as the Elite do, erasing all we are and were, rebuilding us to fit their design. I could tell myself it was necessary, or that it was still a kinder fate than Erasure, but it would be another lie.

    I am done with lies now. This is my Truth, and I shall wear it.

    I, Jean. I, Alexia, destroyed a man.

    The thing that was Verus looks at me. A moment passes between us as I try to recognise him, but I do not know this man. He is an amalgamation of us all, a sum of our parts. He is new.

    He stands.

    His biotab flickers and I see words streaking across it. He uploads them to the Core, sharing our story, copying it to the Library Archives. The system blares warnings. Illegal phrases. Unknown words. Subversive writing.

    He brings up a security feed, displaying changing images of the Library on a wide screen. I recognise the resistance tearing through the building. Lights flash and guns fire in silence. Subduers and Enforcers charge along hallways, trampling any who fall underfoot. I wonder what happened to Eireann. She found me in my cell while hunting for Verus. I agreed to stay put until she sent someone for me. I assumed Eireann never returned because she didn't find Verus. I hate that I only now consider that she did, and that she lies in a hallway somewhere, like Julia. I pray I am wrong. Though there is no audio, I see the screams that tear from those Authors still trapped within. I never wanted this chaos.

    Lie. This was intended.

    Those who had crashed following the second virus begin to stir. They are the closest to the Core -- the ones with the tightest connections, and its alterations ripple through them. Even in the medical bay, a dying man slumped against a wall awakens, and rises to his feet.

    “What are you doing?” I ask.

    “What I must. I am sharing the Truth.”

    I look back to the screens. This was never the Truth the Elite intended. “This is madness.”

    He turns to me. “It’s what you wanted.”

    “No.”

    “Lie.” We speak in unison.

    “You knew this would never end any other way,” he says. I retreat as far as the walls will let me.

    “Shut it off,” I say. “You have the code, I didn’t override everything. Shut the Core off now and make them stop, before they all kill each other.”

    He looks at me plainly. “I never had the code.”

    The words seem to echo. “What?”

    “It was a defiance… A lie.”

    “But...I…Who can shut it down?”

    “Only the Transcribers.” He looks up, as though he can see through the ceiling to the peak of the Library.

    I turn to the door, tugging on it. There was still a way to stop the chaos. There had to be. “Open this.”

    He unhooks from the Core and touches the wall mounted keypad. His biotab is scanned. His CID identified. The panel flashes red and displays a single word. The word that will end us.

    Unrecognised

    I do not scream. Although, part of me thinks I should. It seems right, somehow, that we should be left here. This was our ship, our tower, our fight. We will go down with it.

    I return to the vacated seat and sink into it. On the screens above I see a figure I recognise. Brian. He came, just as he said he would. I remembered the last time I saw him. Telling him to let me go. Telling him I would find my way back from the Library.

    So many little lies. Was there ever a point to them?

    The room goes silent. I hadn’t noticed there was even any sound to begin with, until it was gone. The air circulation has stopped. The battle has reached building maintenance and critical systems are shutting down. I wonder how long it will be before the air in this tiny room goes thin. How long before this entire complex is brought to its knees? The rebellion will survive, I am sure of it. Brian and Eireann will restore the systems. The Subduers will quit, or fall. But I will no longer watch it from on high. I have played my part. I am done.

    I lean back in the seat, and fit the neuralink into my CID port. It stings, but I am used to that now.

    He watches me from the door, brow creasing.

    “What are you doing?” he asks.

    The console screen activates, compensating for my lack of biotab. I go through the options.

    “What I must,” I respond.

    I hit Erase.