《The Journal of Truth》 Chapter 0 : Jeffrey? The lights flicker on across the set. The two anchors take a deep breath, displaying perfect smiles across their faces as they tap their small cue cards on the desk for effect. "Good evening, everyone and welcome to SRP ¡ª I''m Bill." "And good evening. I''m Sarah. Welcome to tonight''s news." Bill turns slightly toward Sarah, holding her gaze for a few seconds, his eyes silently urging her not to fail this time. "Tonight, we have several big stories dominating the headlines. However, we won''t have time to cover them all. We have selected the most important news to cover. Can you tell us about our first story of the evening Sarah?" "With pleasure, dear Bill. Today, April 21st, at 4:30 PM, the Supreme Court judge officially declared the death of one of the state''s enemies: Jeffrey." "I imagine that judgment to be expected?" Sarah shuffles through her cue cards, clears her throat, and throws a few discreet glances toward the chief editor. All she gets in return is a sharp gesture: "Keep going. KEEP GOING!" He raises a clenched fist, his lip caught between his teeth as his face flushes red. "Yes¡­ yes, Bill. It took two long, grueling days of trial to reach this judgment." "Could you summarize his actions and offenses for us?" She shifts to face the camera directly, staring into it intensely. Without blinking, she speaks mechanically , he voice devoid of life. "As you all know, on April 1st, the nations of the South launched an attack on the largest nuclear power plant in the world, Siberion-12. During the attack, they struck the lone reactor, triggering a potential core meltdown. But, as everyone remembers, the meltdown was averted thanks to the heroic actions of our national hero, Marko." "His actions saved many lives, didn¡¯t they?" "Millions¡­ perhaps even billions." "Tell me, what connection is there between that incident and the condemned man, Jeffrey?" Sarah sifts through her cards again, scanning for the relevant passage. "From April 3rd until the day of his arrest, April 16th, the enemy of the state, Jeffrey, did everything in his power to convince anyone who would listen that our national hero¡­ that he was¡­ an impostor." "And who is this man to make such slanderous claims?" "Our sources confirm he has Southern origins and is likely a spy for the Southern nations." A screen descends slowly behind them, and the chief editor gestures to ensure they see it. Bill raises his hand to his earpiece. "I''m told we have a clip to share with you. Let¡¯s go live to the courthouse." The two anchors turn toward the television screen as the studio lights dim gradually.
On the screen, a young female reporter steps into focus. Behind her, a courtroom brims with chaos. Voices overlap in a cacophony of shouting. "It¡¯s obvious he¡¯ll be condemned. Traitor." "Scum!" "How can he say such things after everything our national hero did! " The female reporter receives the signal to start. She raises her voice, shouting into her microphone. "Good evening, everyone. Third day of trial. From the start, Jeffrey did not utter a single word nor did he try to defend himself. His Lawyer tried the impossible, but until now, it has produced no results. " She places her hand to hear for a moment before continuing. "No, Bill, the verdict hasn¡¯t been rendered yet. As you can see, there are a lot of people around me waiting impatiently. " She turns and observes as the judge enters the courtroom. Though no one announces him, he takes a seat at his desk. "The Judge has arrived. We will finally know the verdict". The judge strikes his gavel in an attempt to silence the room, but the crowd ignores him. He strikes it again, louder this time, commanding attention. After a few more moments of murmured whispers, the room finally settles into quiet. Once order has been restored, the judge orders Jeffrey to stand for sentencing. With difficulty, Jeffrey rises. He gestures to the judge, indicating that his handcuffs are chained to the table, making it hard for him to stand upright. But the judge simply ignores him. Jeffrey looks toward the camera. It zooms in on his face, focusing on the gag tied tightly over his mouth. Glassy eyes stare into the camera, betraying no emotion as if all life had left him. Jeffrey scans the courtroom with a glance, from left to right. He notices the angry glares aimed at him. Unaffected by them, he turns and faces the judge.Taken from Royal Road, this narrative should be reported if found on Amazon. "Your lawyer has informed me that you have refused all appeals or request for case review. Is that correct? Confirm now." "My client confirms. Yes." "Silence! The law requires that he give his own answer." Jeffrey¡¯s lawyer apologizes and takes a step back. He sits down in his chair, crossing his arms with a frustrated look on his face. "Since your right to speak has been revoked, you must answer with a simple nod: yes or no. " Jeffrey nods firmly. "Yes." The judge writes something on a sheet of paper, then impatiently picks up his gavel and strikes it again. "After deliberation, I hereby sentence you to death. You will be executed tomorrow morning. May God have pity on your soul." The courtroom erupts. Insults and curses rain down on Jeffrey from every corner of the room. He remains unmoved. The police step in, physically restraining members of the audience to prevent the crowd from surging toward Jeffrey. Some attempt to bypass the barrier. As several officers push them back, two others grab Jeffrey by the arm and quickly guide him toward a door, ensuring he can leave the courtroom safely. Once outside, two officers stand guard by the door. With a hand on their service weapon, no one dares approach. But the chaos of the clashes between the crowd and the police prevents her from continuing. She is pushed back several times. After a long minute, she signals to the camera, letting them know she won¡¯t be able to proceed.
Meanwhile in the studio, the cameras cut back to Bill and Sarah, who remain unaware. Bill tries to ask the female reporter questions, but getting a response proves impossible. Sarah leans in toward Bill, her voice low, but her microphone still picks it up clearly. "Hey, Bill, how did you know he¡¯d be found guilty when the verdict had just been handed down?" Bill turns to reply but quickly notices his producer signaling him to let him know the camera is back on them. Realizing her question has been heard, he shoots her a murderous glare. Back to the camera, he adds in a neutral tone: "Unfortunately, for technical reasons, my colleague will not be able to finish tonight''s broadcast with us. It''s a shame, but she¡¯ll have to leave us now." "What? " Bill stares at Sarah for an agonizing moment, no words are necessary for her to get the message. It takes Sarah a few seconds to process what he¡¯s just said. Then, with the look of a scolded dog, she rises, thanks the viewers, and quietly leaves the set. Not a minute later, an elegant blond woman strides in to take Sarah''s place. She picks up the cue cards and flashes an angelic smile. "Good evening, Am¨¦. Shall we move on to tonight''s second story?" "With pleasure. After more than twenty days of failed discussions and negotiations with the Southern nations, our president has had no choice but to declare war on them." "Our soldiers must have welcomed this announcement with enthusiasm, didn¡¯t they?" "Absolutely, Bill." The studio screen behind them lights up, and they both turn to watch.
On screen, a well-dressed man wearing a soldier''s cap appears. He turns and points toward a quiet military camp. "As you can see, the troops here are ready to march into battle at any moment." He presses his hand to his earpiece, listening for a moment. "Yes, Bill, after the attack on Siberion-12, our soldiers fought tirelessly on the battlefield to push the Southern troops back to their country." A pause. Another hand to his earpiece. "You¡¯re asking if the Southern troops caused civilian casualties? Hmm¡­ Unfortunately, I don¡¯t have that information at this time." The reporter speaks again, but his microphone cuts out abruptly, leaving his words unintelligible.
The screen goes dark, and the camera cuts back to Bill and Am¨¦. "In your opinion, Am¨¦, did the Southern troops leave civilian casualties in their retreat?" "It¡¯s likely. The South has a reputation for brutality." "THERE YOU HAVE IT! It¡¯s obvious. They must have killed many people. Once we have the numbers, we¡¯ll share them immediately." "Absolutely, Bill. Remember, they attacked Siberion-12, the largest nuclear plant in the world. Can you imagine the impact of a core meltdown?" "Brutes. Nothing but brutes." Bill¡¯s face flushes red with rage, but Am¨¦ hands him a new cue card to calm him. "We¡¯re running out of time. Shall we move on to the next topic?" "Yes, you¡¯re right. Next topic¡ªyour lead." Am¨¦ nods toward the screen, and Bill follows her gaze.
Fifty journalists jostle for space in front of the podium, their patience worn thin after more than an hour of waiting. Two armed guards enter the room and position themselves on either side of the podium. An old man enters the room. He walks over and stands in front of the journalists. A deathly silence falls over the room. He taps the microphone to check if it''s working. ¡°Today, April 21st, I officially declare war on the Southern nations. The attack on the Siberion-12 nuclear plant was an unacceptable act, and they will pay dearly for it.¡± The journalists all erupt at once, clamoring to ask questions, but the old man merely looks at them, silent and unyielding, before continuing. ¡°My final message is for all civilians of the North. If you wish to join our boys and bask in the Southern sun during the campaign, you can sign up at any local barracks. Join in great numbers, or else I¡¯ll be forced to mandate conscription. Thank you all!¡± Without another word, he turns on his heel and walks away, leaving a tidal wave of unanswered questions in his wake. He salutes the crowd and slams the door shut behind him with a resounding crack.
Back in the studio, Bill and Am¨¦ exchange proud, glowing looks. A sense of patriotism shines through their smiles. ¡°What a declaration from our president! Simple. Precise. Effective.¡± ¡°Absolutely, Bill.¡± ¡°So, if you want to be part of this experience, don¡¯t hesitate to enlist.¡± ¡°Exactly. I¡¯d like to add a clarification to our president¡¯s statement: all men and women are welcome to join. The ban on women in the army has been lifted for the duration of the war.¡± ¡°To hell with sexism. Women, like men, have the right to fight! The little guys down south need to be well-prepares.¡± ¡°Absolutely, Bill.¡± Bill discreetly glances at his watch before giving a subtle signal to the producer. The lights begin to dim. Am¨¦ rises and quietly leaves the set, leaving Bill alone. As everything fades to black around him, he thanks Am¨¦ for her assistance, then gathers his cue cards and tosses them into the trash. When the darkness envelops him and only a single spotlight remains on him, Bill lowers his voice, making it deep and serious. ¡°And that concludes tonight¡¯s broadcast. Many other stories could not be covered, but please remember: our time is limited. You should also know that we are committed to bringing you the most important and valuable information. To close this broadcast, my final comment goes to ¡­ Jeffrey¡­ that enemy of the state. That filth. How can he question the official information? He¡¯s trying to tarnish the reputation of our national hero. An unacceptable act! If you wish to witness his execution, we¡¯ll broadcast it live. However, I am instructed to inform you that this execution will be different from the others, and you should be warned... sensitive souls, please refrain. Thank you for listening to SRP, I wish you a good evening. See you tomorrow.¡¯¡¯ Chapter 1 : A journal falls from the sky In a newsroom, dozens of phones ring incessantly as everyone speaks loudly, exchanging information of all kinds. The few rays of sunlight that enter warm the room. At the very back, Jo?l has his face pressed against his desk. The sound of his deep breathing echoes through the room as no one pays any attention to him. His chest rises and falls steadily despite the surrounding chaos. While he dreams, a voice cuts through the noise and wakes him instantly. ¡°JO?L! ¡­ TO MY OFFICE IMMEDIATELY!¡± Silence falls over the room. Jo?l jumps and looks around him. No one dares speak. Only the sounds of phones continue to fill the air. His confused gaze scans the room as he searches. Who could¡¯ve woken me up? He scratches his small beard and squints. All eyes are on him. Whispers spread through the crowd: "What did he do?" At the other end of the room, in the doorway of his office, the editor-in-chief stares at him, then raises his hand, signaling him to come over. Jo?l enters the office and quickly pulls down the blinds covering the window. He takes a long minute to process what''s happening. Why is he yelling like that? The moment he steps through the door and sees the chief seated at his desk, he hears, ¡°Close the door; I need to talk to you.¡± Jo?l sits in the chair opposite the desk. ¡°Please, I¡¯ve got a terrible headache this morning. Don¡¯t shout, I don¡¯t want it to get worse.¡± ¡°Did you drink again last night?¡± ¡°Of course not... I finished the hockey competition report... I worked late to have everything ready for this morning... exactly as you asked me to yesterday.¡± Jo?l pinches his eyes in frustration and glances sideways to gauge the chief''s reaction. The chief eyes him skeptically and quickly sips his energy drink. A smile creeps across his face. ¡°You¡¯re the one who''s going to cover today¡¯s execution at the prison. So, hurry up... and I expect perfect work.¡± Jo?l leaps from his chair, shaking his head furiously. ¡°Oh no, please, not another execution. I really don¡¯t want to do this!¡± ¡°It¡¯s decided. You¡¯re going, end of discussion... It¡¯s an order, Jo?l.¡± ¡°Please! We all know the drill. The guy cries, he whines... they put him to sleep, and he dies. It¡¯s mind-numbingly dull...Please, I¡¯m begging you... I¡¯ll even wash your car if you give this to someone else.¡± His only response is to throw a thick yellow envelope at him. When Jo?l catches it, his curiosity gets the better of him. He opens the envelope while observing the chief''s reaction. Discreetly, he peeks inside. A dozen classified documents. ¡°I don¡¯t have anyone else to cover this event... so you¡¯re going.¡± ¡°The execution of the traitor? When was he sentenced?¡± ¡°Yesterday afternoon. Why?¡± Jo?l pulls all the documents out of the envelope and inspects each one. A look of surprise spreads across his face as he ignores his chief. ¡°They¡¯re really going to execute him for differences in perspective?¡± ¡°If only it were just that...¡± Jo?l looks up at the editor-in-chief and tries to uncover the truth behind his words. He watches his lips move, yet no sound comes out. Placing his hands on the desk, he locks eyes with him. ¡°What aren¡¯t you telling me? What are you hiding from me?¡± The chief buys a few seconds by sipping his energy drink. Jo?l grows angry and slams the desk with his hands. ¡°This won¡¯t be like any other execution... they planned to...¡± ¡°To do what?... How?¡± The chief stands abruptly and barks his response. ¡°Go see for yourself, and you¡¯ll understand what they planned! Do your job!¡± Jo?l stands still for a moment without saying a word. Abruptly, he stuffs the documents back into the envelope and leaves the office. As he exits, he slams the door, drawing the attention of everyone in the room once more.This text was taken from Royal Road. Help the author by reading the original version there. At his desk, several questions cross his mind. But one dominates his thoughts. ¡°What makes this execution so special?¡± He sits at his desk and begins to sift through the documents: ¡°Nothing exceptional. The South attacked... they were pushed back by the Northern armies. Jeffrey did everything he could to tarnish Marko¡¯s reputation and claim credit for himself. Finally, Marko prevented the nuclear core meltdown.¡± He scrutinizes all the papers. ¡°But why compile a dossier when the whole country already knows this information?¡± He starts rereading each sheet. After over an hour of searching, he finds nothing. His confusion grows. But when he sees the time, Jo?l realizes the execution is imminent. He hurriedly leaves the office and rushes to the prison.
The evening sun begins to set, and a breeze picks up. Jo?l walks along a high stone wall, holding a small recorder in his hand. His face is pale, and his eyes are slightly red. Between each word, he takes long breaths, whispering into the recorder. ¡°It¡¯s the first time I¡¯ve seen so many journalists for a single execution. It isn¡¯t like any other execution. They chose... a... a new method solely for Jeffrey¡¯s condemnation. What a horror we all lived through.¡± He stops and closes his eyes, trying to erase the images etched into his memory, but he can¡¯t. He begins recounting the execution¡¯s events. ¡°They made him climb a gallows. He walked proudly, head held high. But his hands, tied behind his back, betrayed his fear. When he stood before the crowd, the executioner removed the gag from his mouth and allowed him to say one final thing... even though his right to speak had been revoked.¡± He pauses briefly before continuing. ¡°Once he spoke his final words... They grabbed his tongue with pliers. Then, with a sharp blade... they... they cut off his tongue without anesthesia. This act was meant to symbolize the permanent loss of his right to speak.¡± Jo?l takes a moment to try to dispel the horrific images burned into his memory. ¡°As he bled profusely, the executioner placed the noose around his neck. But instead of breaking his neck as is customary... they chose to do it slowly. Jeffrey suffered for a while, the poor man choking on his own blood. Then, as he began to lose consciousness, a general ordered a firing squad to open fire and end his suffering.¡± Jo?l stops the recorder again. ¡°Why orchestrate such a brutal execution? The punishment for a traitor is never this severe!¡± He paces along the wall, taking deep breaths. ¡°To conclude the execution, they invited all the journalists to witness the incineration of the body in the prison crematorium.¡± Jo?l pauses for a moment of silence, recalling a specific moment. He closes his eyes to relive every second. He thinks of Jeffrey¡¯s final words. ¡°Before cutting off his tongue, the law allows him to say one last thing. I must admit, it is strange and incomprehensible.¡±
Standing tall before the gallows, Jeffrey stares at the noose above. A single tear rolls quickly down his cheek. His hands tremble uncontrollably. Dozens of journalists rush toward him. Hundreds of flashing cameras blind him. A soldier approaches and removes the gag from his mouth. ¡°The law grants you one final sentence. Do you wish to say something?¡± All the journalists hang on his lips, waiting to hear his words. Jeffrey looks at the crowd. Then, after a deep breath, he smiles. ¡°Dead men tell the best tales because they... they cannot lie. I know someone will understand these words... now, let¡¯s finish this.¡± Jeffrey begins laughing hysterically, unable to control himself.
As Jo?l is lost in thought, he hears a noise, a slight whistling sound. By reflex, he looks up. A shadow obscures his vision. Before he can react, a book strikes him square in the face, knocking him to the ground. Shaking his head, he sees the book lying beside him. Surprised, he stares at it, not understanding where it has come from. Then he looks up at a window. ¡°Run... don¡¯t stay here! Run!¡± The face of a female soldier gestures wildly at him. Then she quickly closes the window and disappears behind the curtains. Jo?l¡¯s heart begins racing, a sense of imminent danger washing over him. He quickly grabs the book and presses it against his chest. He zips his jacket to conceal it. What is happening here? He casts one last glance at the window, and there, suddenly, a man¡¯s face appears. A high-ranking officer. A general. A mysterious book. A woman telling me to run, and a general looking for something! I need to get out of here, fast. Instinctively, Jo?l dives headfirst into a bush. He hides inside and remains still. He watches the man who has opened the window. The man scans the horizon. After a few seconds, Jo?l recognizes him. It¡¯s the general who ordered Jeffrey¡¯s execution. General Khrugel. The general turns and asks someone inside a question Jo?l can¡¯t hear. Suddenly, the general slams his fist against the window frame. His teeth clench: his fists tighten. He turns again quickly and points at someone inside. Then, in a loud, commanding voice: ¡°Soldier, place Lieutenant Liana under arrest.¡± Chapter 2 : journalistic censorship Journalistic Censorship Jo?l arrives home and barely takes the time to engage the parking brake before hastily stepping out of his car. His eyes dart around, scanning the street. Everything feels suspicious now¡ªthe faintest shadow, the slightest sideways glance. Even the most mundane things seem suspect. The thrill of doing something illegal courses through him. He¡¯s playing the spy! But he struggles to keep his face his face a mask of indifference. As he reaches his front door, he casts one last glance over his shoulder. No one is watching him. No one is sitting in a car, pretending to read a newspaper. A sense of victory surges within him. Good news, that means no one followed me. He steps inside and double locks the door behind him. In the living room, he draws the curtains shut. Then, with confident, determined steps, he strides down the long hallway and locks himself in his study. In the darkness of the room, he takes a seat and turns on a small desk lamp. He places the book under the light and stares at it for a few minutes, unmoving, letting the stress of the day slowly ebb away. What could possibly be in this book that a general would want it so badly? Military intelligence? A state secret? The excitement of getting his hands on this kind of information thrills him and fills him with hope for advancement. Jo?l begins by examining the brown cover. No inscriptions, no images. He runs his fingers over it repeatedly, pressing lightly, searching for any hidden engravings or imperfections. But there¡¯s nothing. He holds the cover under the lamp and inspects every square millimeter. But even under the light, nothing reveals itself. He takes a deep breath as his heart pounds wildly in his chest. Excitement mixes with imagination, and Jo?l is already crafting scenarios in his mind, even though he hasn¡¯t seen a single word yet. He pictures the headlines, the shockwaves of a well-revealed secret. After a brief pause, he lifts the cover and begins to read the first lines.
My name is Jeffrey Raizen. If you are reading this, it means I have likely been executed by the government as an enemy of the state or a traitor. But before I continue, I must apologize. Why, you might ask? Because, from this moment onward and for the rest of your days, your life will be in danger. The knowledge contained in this journal will be both a blessing and a curse. It is up to you to decide how you wish to use it. I would like to tell you that no matter what you hear about me, I am not the monster the government and the media have portrayed me to be. I have done more for the Northern countries than anyone else has ever achieved. But during my career, I made one mistake, and it cost me my life. I chose to stand by my convictions to the very end. I can show you the truth, if you are willing to go all the way. But this truth may come at a price. Are you ready to go all the way?
Jo?l stops and begins to think. Jeffrey Raizen... The traitor? Is it really him? All these months, I¡¯ve never heard his last name. They always called him Jeffrey. He continues to read quietly, bathed in the warm glow of the lamp.
If you want to know me better, I¡¯ll have to introduce myself. My name is Jeffrey Raizen. I graduated with a degree in nuclear engineering from Refneault University in 2015. I worked as a nuclear technician from 2015 to 2019. Then, in 2020, I became a Class 2 nuclear technician in research and development. I have several research projects and breakthroughs to my name. But the thing I am most proud of will always be this: Creator of the new nuclear fuel, Chloro-Nuclear. However, this invention was classified as top secret. It didn¡¯t prevent them from using it in the sole reactor of the Siberion-12 power plant.
Jo?l examines this mini biography with skepticism. A feeling of deception or a bad joke begins to creep in. If Jeffrey is truly such an important man, why has no one heard of him? He slams the book shut abruptly. "This is a joke!" Then, he throws the book into the small basket he uses as a trash can. "I have more important things to do than listen to the ramblings of a madman." This tale has been unlawfully lifted without the author''s consent. Report any appearances on Amazon.Jo?l picks up his small tape recorder and replays all his recordings. Then, he begins to write a summary of Jeffrey¡¯s execution, including many details about the horror of the moment. He wants the reader to feel the full weight of the atrocity. His words are strong, and they describe the atrocity of the moment in graphic detail. Jo?l writes without stopping, focusing intently, reliving the moment in his mind with each description. Without realizing how much time has passed, it takes him three hours to finish and send his document to his editor-in-chief. Pleased to have finished quickly, he turns off the small light and rocks back in his computer chair in the darkness of the room. Just as he''s about to stand, his gaze falls on the trash basket, where the book lies at the bottom. Without knowing why, his attention is drawn to it. Silence fills the small room, and he can¡¯t look away. He relives the moment when the woman threw the book at him, followed by the question he had when he spotted the general in the window. Maybe... Could there be some truth to this journal? Each heartbeat makes Jo?l feel as though the journal is moving. Curiosity builds within him, consuming him until it finally takes over. In a moment of frustration, he opens his laptop and performs a simple search in the private archives of the newspaper where he works. Jo?l types the name Jeffrey Raizen. No matches or information come up. When he types simply Jeffrey, a list of official reports appears. He quickly scans through all the files, and at the end, something catches his attention. In the folder, there is no personal research. Only official reports. "It¡¯s as if no one investigated this man. That¡¯s strange... Normally, a full background check is done. But here... nothing! Just official reports." He changes his search term to Chloro-Nuclear. Unsurprisingly, there is no information on the subject. "No, I¡¯m imagining things... This is a joke." The next morning, when he sees his editor-in-chief: "So, how did you find my report on the execution?" "Overall, it was fine... but there were a few minor corrections." "Minor?" The editor-in-chief looks at him, arms crossed, and takes on an aggressive tone. "People don¡¯t need to know the details of the blood dripping from his mouth or that they collected his tongue for incineration." Jo?l nods. He feels he might have been too meticulous with the details, but fearing he¡¯d be asked to rewrite it, he doesn¡¯t dare contradict him. Instead, he simply wishes him a good day. The day flies by, and at 5 p.m., Jo?l leaves the office. Without delay, he heads home, obsessed with the idea of relaxing in front of the TV with a good beer. No sooner does he arrive home than he kicks his shoes into the corner of the living room, rushes to the fridge and grabs a beer. He leaps over the couch and lands squarely in the middle of it. Remote in hand, he flips through the channels and takes a seemingly endless swig of beer. Just as he finds a match, his phone buzzes with several notifications. He picks it up and starts scrolling through the information. When his article appears, he reads it carefully, wanting to know what the "minor" changes were. The further he scrolls through the text, the more his expression changes. His eyebrows furrow inward, and his teeth clench. "THOSE BASTARDS!" He rushes to his landline and dials a number. When his editor-in-chief answers, he doesn¡¯t give him a chance to speak. "WHAT THE HELL IS THIS?! YOU DELETED AND REWROTE MY ENTIRE TEXT!" "Calm down!..." "Calm down? What¡¯s your problem? You told me there would be minor changes! Look at this! No mention of the blood, or the suffering the guy went through! Just that he was hanged, and once dead, a firing squad shot him." A brief silence falls as Jo?l impatiently waits for an explanation. "It wasn¡¯t me who made the corrections. It was a federal inspector who came to scrutinize all the information on the subject." "A federal inspector?! Does that justify changing everything?" Another moment of silence. The editor-in-chief chooses his words carefully. "Listen, Jo?l¡­ Let it go. Don¡¯t be stupid and just accept the changes. It¡¯s better for everyone." Jo?l listens to his editor¡¯s words, and something feels off. He¡¯s too calm!? Normally, he would¡¯ve exploded, and we¡¯d have been yelling at each other for a good ten minutes. Something¡¯s wrong. "I¡¯m telling you, don¡¯t worry about it. Let them handle it and move on." "Uh¡­ okay¡­ you... you¡¯re probably right." Without even a polite "goodbye," he hangs up the phone. Jo?l collapses onto his couch, staring at the wall in front of him. His mind races, and then a realization strikes. "We¡¯ve been censored! And¡­ and..." Jo?l¡¯s face twists in horror, and he hurries to the living room window. Are we being watched? Or at least, he must be, to have reacted like that. After a long time observing everyone passing by below, he concludes that no one is watching his house. An abnormally brutal execution. Federal inspectors. Journalistic censorship. Jo?l¡¯s gaze shifts toward the long hallway, more specifically toward his workroom. I¡¯m starting to wonder if there¡¯s some truth in this journal after all. He walks to the room and, once inside, pulls the journal out of the basket and studying it in the dark. He opens it and starts rereading the first page. Maybe you have something to say¡­ I¡¯ll give you a chance. But I hope you¡¯ve written everything you wanted to say or show. Jo?l tucks the journal into his desk drawer, sliding a few papers on top to conceal it slightly. What if it¡¯s true? Chapter 2.1 : The last will of a condemned man Lieutenant Liana walks down a hallway. When she turns a corner and finds herself alone, she wipes the sweat from her forehead. Every so often, she takes a short pause and tries to calm her heart, which feels like it¡¯s trying to escape her chest with every beat. ¡°Courage, you can do this. You can make it.¡± A noise at the end of the corridor. She straightens up and starts walking. She doesn¡¯t let anything show, and when she passes soldiers heading in her direction, she gives them a brief wave. As she reaches a door, she stops and places her hand on the doorknob. She knows she has to go in, but she pauses, listening intently. Every little sound is scrutinized. Is someone coming? Will the creak of the door attract attention? Once she¡¯s sure no one is nearby, she gently turns the knob. Inch by inch, she opens the door, doing everything she can to make as little noise as possible. When the door is open enough, she slips inside. With the same discretion, she closes it behind her. Once it¡¯s shut, she leans against the door and lets out a long sigh. She grabs her trembling right hand and tries to steady it, but without success. Liana scans the small room and immediately spots the large wooden clock. She stands in front of it and closes her eyes to better recall the instructions she was given. She murmurs, ¡°Facing the wooden clock. Take six normal steps.¡± Liana obeys and takes six steps forward. She recalls the next part: ¡°Once that¡¯s done, measure seven strides, and you¡¯ll be above it. Take a needle, and when you find the hole, you can open it and find it.¡± Liana carefully measures seven strides and then drops to the floor. She desperately searches for a small hole in the wooden floorboards. Minutes pass, and doubt begins to creep into her mind. Did I understand the instructions correctly? The more she searches, the more her frustration grows. Tears of anger begin to well up in her eyes. The more she feels around the floor, the more her hands tremble uncontrollably. After what feels like an eternity, she drops her head to the floor. I¡¯m an idiot... incapable of finding his hiding place. Then, as she opens her eyes again, a small black dot on the floor catches her attention. Liana¡¯s breathing quickens, and she hurriedly checks if it¡¯s really what she¡¯s been looking for. She runs her finger over the hole, and quickly, a smile spreads across her face. I¡¯ve got it! I¡¯ve got it... yes, this is it! She rummages through her jacket pocket and pulls out a small needle. She lowers her head to the floor to get a better view and begins inserting the needle into the hole. Left, right, deep inside. She twists and turns the needle in every direction. Her trembling hands make it incredibly difficult to figure out how this lock works. Desperation wells up inside her. After several endless minutes of trying, she considers giving up and slams her fist against the floor. Suddenly, after hitting the floor, a small piece of the wooden board pops up quickly. It springs open as if propelled. Liana crawls closer and peers into the hole. Her eyes light up when she sees it. A book is nestled inside, perfectly intact. She takes it and clutches it tightly to her chest. With her eyes closed, Liana loses herself in her memories.
In the darkness, Liana approaches the bars of a dimly lit cell. She squints, trying to make out what she¡¯s looking for. At the back of the cell, Jeffrey lies on a small metal bed. His eyes are open, fixed on the ceiling, as he takes long, labored breaths. They are ragged, and he struggles to breathe properly. Liana presses her head against the bars and begins to speak softly. ¡°Jeffrey... Jeffrey, it¡¯s me, Liana. Can you hear me?¡± As soon as he hears her voice, he leaps from his bed and rushes to the bars. His fingers gently touch Liana¡¯s, and he presses his forehead against hers. ¡°I can¡¯t let them do this. I don¡¯t want to see you die. It¡¯s too hard... I can¡¯t bear it.¡± ¡°Don¡¯t do anything foolish. Two deaths today won¡¯t change a thing.¡± Liana starts to speak, but Jeffrey places a finger on her lips, silencing her.Reading on this site? This novel is published elsewhere. Support the author by seeking out the original. ¡°If you want to do something to help me, I have a request!¡± ¡°Anything!¡± ¡°Upstairs, I kept a journal. Everything is written in it... could you retrieve it for me and make sure it gets out of these walls?¡± Liana looks at him, uncertain. Question marks fill her eyes. ¡°I¡¯ll tell you where it¡¯s hidden. Go get it and make sure it leaves this place.¡± ¡°What do you want me to do with the book?¡± ¡°Take your time to read it. Show it only with those you trust¡ªno one else.¡± Liana hesitates, searching for the right words. But when she meets Jeffrey¡¯s gaze, she sees the weight of his plea in his eyes. Silently, she nods in agreement. The smile Jeffrey gives her in return soothes her heart. ¡°All right, I¡¯ll get it out. Where is it?¡± ¡°Go upstairs and head to the private library. You¡¯ll find an old wooden clock there. Face it, take six steps. Then, measure seven strides ¡ª you¡¯ll be right above it. On the floor, there¡¯s a small hole. Use a needle to open it. My journal is hidden inside a book at the bottom. Promise me it won¡¯t fall into the hands of the military... promise me, I beg you.¡± ¡°I promise.¡± The sound of approaching footsteps startles them both. ¡°Go, now... save my journal!¡± Without hesitation, Liana melts into the shadows, heads toward the stairs, and leaves the dungeon section.
In the small, dark room, she stares at the book. What could this book possibly contain? What¡¯s in it that Jeffrey would rather save it than his own life? She unbuttons her jacket to tuck the book inside and conceal it. Once done, she heads to the door and opens it carefully. Liana takes a quick glance to see if the path is clear. Her horrified gaze lands on General Khrugel, accompanied by three soldiers. They¡¯re moving quickly, opening every door along the way. With a swift glance, they inspect each room while the General remains in the corridor. She closes the door quickly and bars it. Liana looks around frantically. Her heart starts racing, and her forehead beads with sweat. ¡°If I keep it on me, they¡¯ll find it.¡± She scans the small room. Desperate, she searches for a place to hide it, but nowhere seems suitable. As the sound of footsteps grows louder, she fixes her eyes on the window. She knows it¡¯s her last option. ¡°Maybe someone will find this book,¡± she repeats to herself. She opens the window and takes a step back to throw it as far as she can. But when she spots a man walking along the wall, she hurls it in his direction. When the book hits the man and falls to the ground, Liana can¡¯t help but think, Idiot! Then she watches, hoping he¡¯ll get up. As the man lifts his head and their eyes meet, she waves her hands frantically and whispers sharply, ¡°Run... don¡¯t stay there! Run!¡± Then she closes the window and draws the curtains. The door bursts open, and a soldier storms in. He draws a pistol and calls for the others to join him. ¡°General! There¡¯s someone here! You! Don¡¯t move¡ªyou¡¯re under arrest.¡± Liana raises her hands in surrender. Liana stands tall in front of them. The General strides in, shoving the soldiers aside as he passes. He steps directly in front of her, locking eyes with her. ¡°What are you doing here... alone?¡± ¡°Nothing, General... I... I just wanted a moment of peace... by myself.¡± He narrows his eyes, scrutinizing her from head to toe. His gaze screams one thing: Liar. Then, suddenly, he shoves her violently against the wall. He pulls the curtains aside and looks out the window. A brief ¡°hmm¡± escapes him as he opens it, sticking his head outside. Frustrated at finding nothing, he slams the window frame and clenches his fists. He turns back to Liana. ¡°Tell me the truth, and I¡¯ll guarantee you won¡¯t face a court-martial.¡± Liana remains upright, silent, fighting to keep her right hand from trembling. Her face betrays her, and terror is written plainly in her eyes. The General shakes his head slowly. ¡°I had a feeling we¡¯d have traitors on the day of the execution.¡± Pointing a finger at her, he barks, ¡°Soldier, arrest Lieutenant Liana.¡± The three soldiers grab her without resistance. The General steps closer. ¡°Don¡¯t be stupid¡ªtalk. It¡¯ll be easier for everyone.¡± Liana opens her mouth, starts to say something, but stops. She closes her eyes and takes a long breath. When she opens them again, she spits in the General¡¯s face. ¡°I¡¯ve got nothing to say to you... go to hell.¡± The General pulls a white handkerchief from his pocket and wipes his face with a small, chilling laugh. The faces of the three guards freeze in fear. They exchange furtive glances. Once cleaned up, he punches her in the stomach repeatedly while the guards make sure she stays upright. Liana spits blood and goes limp under the General¡¯s relentless blows. With a satisfied look, he grabs her by the hair, yanking her head up. He stares into her eyes. ¡°You¡¯ll talk... believe me... you¡¯ll talk.¡± As he orders the guards to take her away, he casts one last glance around the small room. He runs his hand along the walls, feeling the wallpaper for anything out of place. When he reaches the small bookshelf, he quickly scans the books, using his finger to shift them, hoping a hidden door might reveal itself. But nothing. After several fruitless minutes of searching, he kicks the wall in frustration and leaves the room. The door slams shut behind him, the sound echoing down the corridor. The guards dragging Liana quicken their pace at the sound. They lift her off the ground and head toward a place she knows all too well: the dungeons. As they descend the stairs, they disappear into the darkness.