《Lies Mission》
World of Numbers
Why now? No this can¡¯t be happening. Why Now?! I can¡¯t stop running. Out of fear I run as fast as I can. Trying to see my surroundings, but all I hear is men yelling and stomping their feet on the ground, snapping the twigs with faint lanterns far but noticeable behind me¡how do I escape?
The air in Sector D has a way of clinging to your skin. It smells of rust and sweat, mixed with the faint acrid tang of burning fuel. I walk fast, keeping my head down, just another number in a world where individuality gets you erased. #70341, that¡¯s me. Or, at least, that¡¯s who I have to be.
The government keeps us all in line with rules. Rules you don¡¯t break unless you want to disappear. Rule #1: Never speak out against the government. Every word, every whisper, every glance can be used against you. They¡¯re always watching, always listening. Rule #2: Take your daily supplements. They¡¯re mandatory, distributed at checkpoints every morning. The pills are supposed to keep us healthy, but I¡¯ve heard whispers they do something else¡ªsomething to your mind. I don¡¯t ask questions. Rule #3: Do not leave your designated sector. The borders are heavily guarded, the perimeter marked by towering walls and sentry drones. People who try to escape don¡¯t just vanish¡ªthey¡¯re erased. Wiped from the records like they never existed.
There are more, of course, but these are the ones etched into my memory, the ones that dictate every move I make. It¡¯s easier to obey than to think about what might happen if I didn¡¯t. As I approach the security checkpoint, my chest tightens. This part always makes me nervous, even though I¡¯ve done nothing wrong. The guards don¡¯t need a reason to pull you aside. They just need an excuse.
"Identification number, please."
The Overseer¡¯s voice is cold, detached, like it comes from somewhere deep inside the visor covering his face. I step forward, keeping my movements slow and deliberate.
"#70341," I say, my voice steady even though my palms are slick with sweat.
He scans me, his mechanical eye flickering as the screen in front of him lights up. My number appears in glowing white text, and for a moment, I hold my breath. The seconds stretch on, each one heavier than the last.
Finally, he nods. "Proceed."
I exhale, forcing my feet to move as I pass through the gate. But the feeling doesn¡¯t leave. The sense that someone¡¯s watching me, waiting for me to slip up. The streets beyond the checkpoint are crowded, people shuffling to and from their assignments. Factories, sanitation, distribution centers¡ªevery person here has a role, a purpose, assigned by the government. There¡¯s no room for individuality, no room for dreams or desires. You work, you obey, and you survive.
If you discover this tale on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen. Please report the violation.
But lately, surviving hasn¡¯t felt like enough.
By the time I reach my apartment, the shadows have started to stretch long across the city. My building is one of many, a gray slab of concrete stacked with rows of identical units. Inside, it¡¯s cramped and bare, just a bed, a table, and a chair. But it¡¯s mine. For now. I sink onto the bed, pulling my boots off and staring at the scuffed floor. My mind is still racing, replaying the moment at the checkpoint, the hesitation in the Overseer¡¯s scan. It wasn¡¯t the first time. Lately, it feels like I¡¯ve been walking a tighter line, like the walls are closing in. I hear a knock at the door and freeze. No one visits me. Ever.
"Jose." The voice is low, familiar. I relax slightly as I recognize it. Leo.
I open the door to find him leaning against the frame, his usual crooked grin in place. He¡¯s carrying a small bundle wrapped in cloth¡ªhis idea of dinner. "Thought you might be hungry," he says, stepping inside without waiting for an invitation.
"Thanks," I mutter, closing the door behind him. Leo¡¯s been my best friend for years, one of the only people I trust in this city. He¡¯s easy to talk to, always finding a way to lighten the mood, even when things feel hopeless.
"Rough day?" he asks, setting the bundle on the table and pulling out two stale rolls of bread. "Or just the usual soul-crushing monotony?"
I can¡¯t help but smile faintly. "The usual. Checkpoints. Scans. Overseers staring you down like they¡¯re waiting for an excuse to haul you away."
"Sounds about right." He breaks one of the rolls in half and hands me a piece. "But hey, at least you¡¯re still here. That¡¯s something."
I nod, but the unease in my chest doesn¡¯t fade. "Have you ever wondered¡" I trail off, unsure if I should even say it.
Leo raises an eyebrow. "Wondered what?"
"What¡¯s outside the walls?" The words feel dangerous, even in the safety of my tiny apartment. "I mean, really outside. Not just the other sectors, but beyond the borders. Beyond the city."
He stiffens slightly, his expression growing serious. "Don¡¯t go there, Jose. You know the rules."
"Yeah," I say quickly, brushing it off. "Forget I said anything."
But I can¡¯t forget. Not really. The thought¡¯s been gnawing at me for weeks now, ever since I overheard a worker in the factory whispering about the borders. He was gone the next day, his station empty. No one mentioned his name again.
Later that night, I lie awake in the dark, staring at the ceiling. The room feels too quiet, too small. My thoughts keep circling back to the same place, no matter how hard I try to push them away. Xavier¡¯s face flashes in my mind, his smirk, the way he looked at me like he knew something I didn¡¯t. His words echo in my ears: You¡¯re asking too many questions.
Maybe he¡¯s right. Maybe I¡¯ve been asking questions I shouldn¡¯t. But I can¡¯t stop. Not now. Not when it feels like there¡¯s something just out of reach, something I¡¯m not supposed to know.
And then there are the rules. The rules that keep us in line, keep us obedient. I¡¯ve followed them my entire life, but lately, they feel less like protection and more like a cage.
Rule #4: Do not question the rules.
My father¡¯s voice echoes in my memory, sharp and cold. He used to say that all the time, back when I was a child. Back before he became one of them. I haven¡¯t spoken to him in years. Not since he joined the Overseers, trading his soul for a badge and a number. I turn over, closing my eyes and willing the thoughts to fade. But deep down, I know I won¡¯t sleep tonight. Not with all these questions buzzing in my mind, unanswered and dangerous.
A Glimpse of the Divide
They say your ID number defines you. It¡¯s the first thing they give you when you¡¯re born and the last thing they erase when you¡¯re gone. For most people, it¡¯s just a string of digits, stamped on a card and clipped around their neck. For me, it¡¯s a constant reminder: You don¡¯t matter.
I tugged at the badge hanging from my neck, the plastic digging into my skin as I stepped out of the apartment. District Nine always smelled the same¡ªstale air and desperation. The streets were crowded, as usual, people rushing to jobs that barely paid enough to feed them. My father had left early, his uniform pressed and spotless, as if that would make a difference. He worked for the government, but not in the way that mattered.
He was just another cog in their massive, merciless machine.
I moved quickly, weaving through the crowd. It was market day, and that meant chaos. Vendors shouted over each other, trying to sell bruised vegetables and questionable cuts of meat. I kept my head down, avoiding eye contact with the enforcers stationed at every corner. Their black uniforms and mirrored visors made them look like faceless statues, but I knew better. They were watching. They were always watching.
¡°Jose!¡±
I turned, spotting Leo waving at me from his usual spot by the bakery stall. His grin was as bright as ever, despite the dark circles under his eyes. Leo always had a way of looking like he hadn¡¯t slept in days but somehow didn¡¯t care.
¡°You¡¯re late,¡± he said, falling into step beside me.
¡°You¡¯re early,¡± I shot back, brushing a stray strand of hair out of my face.
He smirked. ¡°I like to make sure I get the freshest bread.¡±
I rolled my eyes. ¡°Yeah, because this place is known for its quality.¡±
We walked together toward the square, the noise of the market fading into the background. Leo was one of the few people I trusted in this city, even if he had a habit of getting us into trouble. He had a quick wit and a knack for talking his way out of bad situations¡ªqualities that came in handy when you lived in a place like this.
¡°Did you hear?¡± he asked, his voice dropping to a whisper.
¡°Hear what?¡±
¡°They caught someone trying to cross the barrier last night. A guy from District Seven.¡±
My stomach tightened. The barrier. The invisible line that separated us from the other districts, from the wealth and privilege of District One. No one crossed it without permission, and anyone who tried usually disappeared.
¡°What happened to him?¡± I asked, even though I already knew the answer.
Leo shrugged, his expression turning grim. ¡°Same thing that always happens. They erased him.¡±
Erased. That¡¯s what they called it. A neat little word to cover up the brutality. Once someone was erased, it was like they never existed. Their ID number was deleted from the system, their name scrubbed from the records. Even their families were ordered to forget them.
The genuine version of this novel can be found on another site. Support the author by reading it there.
I swallowed hard, the familiar knot of anger and fear tightening in my chest.
¡°Why do they do it?¡± I asked, not really expecting an answer.
¡°To keep us in line,¡± Leo said, his voice quieter now. ¡°They want us to be afraid. It¡¯s easier to control people when they¡¯re afraid.¡±
The square was already packed when we arrived. The giant screens that lined the buildings were broadcasting the daily propaganda¡ªimages of smiling families, clean streets, and endless rows of obedient citizens. It was a joke, really. None of it looked anything like District Nine.
I spotted my friend Mia near the fountain, her arms crossed as she scanned the crowd. She was smaller than me, with sharp eyes and a no-nonsense attitude that I admired.
¡°Took you long enough,¡± she said as we approached.
¡°Blame Leo,¡± I replied.
Mia raised an eyebrow. ¡°He¡¯s your problem, not mine.¡±
Leo grinned. ¡°You wound me, Mia.¡±
¡°Good,¡± she shot back, but there was a hint of a smile on her lips.
Before we could say anything else, the loudspeakers crackled to life, and the crowd fell silent. The screens switched to a single image: the Director. His face was smooth and ageless, his dark eyes staring directly into the camera as if he could see each and every one of us.
¡°Citizens,¡± his voice boomed, cold and precise. ¡°Today, we celebrate the strength of our unity. The order of our society. The sacrifices we make for the greater good.¡±
I clenched my fists, the familiar rage bubbling under my skin. It was always the same speech, the same lies.
¡°Remember,¡± the Director continued, ¡°obedience is the foundation of our prosperity. Those who stray from the path threaten everything we have built. They will be dealt with accordingly.¡±
The crowd remained silent, heads bowed in submission. I glanced at Leo, whose jaw was tight, his hands shoved into his pockets. Mia¡¯s face was unreadable, but I could see the tension in her posture.
I wanted to scream, to shout that this wasn¡¯t unity, this wasn¡¯t prosperity. It was a cage, and we were all trapped inside it. But I kept my mouth shut. Speaking out wasn¡¯t bravery¡ªit was suicide.
As the speech ended, the crowd began to disperse. But before we could leave, a sharp whistle cut through the air. The enforcers moved quickly, surrounding a man near the edge of the square.
¡°What¡¯s going on?¡± I whispered to Mia.
¡°Looks like someone¡¯s in trouble,¡± she replied, her voice low.
The man was struggling, his ID badge ripped from his neck and lying on the ground. The enforcers forced him to his knees, their weapons drawn.
¡°Please!¡± the man shouted. ¡°I didn¡¯t do anything!¡±
But his protests fell on deaf ears. One of the enforcers raised their weapon, and the man¡¯s pleas turned to screams.
I turned away, my heart pounding.
¡°Let¡¯s go,¡± Leo muttered, grabbing my arm.
We hurried away from the square, the man¡¯s screams echoing in my ears long after they stopped.
That night, I lay awake in my tiny room, staring at the cracked ceiling. My ID badge sat on the table next to me, its numbers glowing faintly in the dark.
I couldn¡¯t stop thinking about the man in the square. What had he done to deserve that? Or maybe the better question was, what hadn¡¯t he done?
The rules were everywhere, written and unwritten, changing on a whim. No one could keep track of them all. And that was the point. It didn¡¯t matter if you followed the rules¡ªthey would always find a reason to punish you.
I reached for the badge, my fingers brushing against the cool plastic. For the first time in my life, I wondered what it would feel like to be free of it.
But freedom was a dangerous word. And in District Nine, danger always led to one thing: erasure.
The Numbers We Wear
The crowd shifted uncomfortably under the hot glare of the giant speakers above us. Rows upon rows of people packed the square, heads down, shoulders slumped, as if the weight of the government¡¯s gaze pressed harder on us than the sun ever could. I adjusted my ID badge, the thin plastic strap rubbing against my neck. It was supposed to feel like security¡ªproof that I existed, that I had a place here¡ªbut all it felt like was a noose.
¡°Keep your head low,¡± Leo whispered next to me. His breath was hot against my ear, his tone sharper than usual. ¡°The enforcers are circling.¡±
I nodded, my fingers gripping the hem of my worn-out jacket. The enforcers always loomed, their black uniforms blending into the shadows even in broad daylight. Their faces were hidden behind tinted visors, reflecting back only your own fear. It was easier not to meet their gaze, to focus instead on the crackling speaker as the Director¡¯s voice boomed across the square.
¡°Citizens of District Nine,¡± the voice intoned, smooth and clipped, like a polished knife. ¡°Today, we celebrate unity. Order. Stability. Remember, it is only through obedience that we thrive.¡±
I clenched my fists, nails digging into my palms. Obedience. That word was their weapon, their mantra. Obey, and you¡¯ll survive. Disobey, and¡
My stomach twisted at the memory of the last public trial. A woman had been dragged to the stage, her screams muffled by the rag stuffed in her mouth. They never told us what she¡¯d done, only that she had broken ¡°the code.¡± Her punishment was swift, brutal, and left a stain on the ground that no one dared look at for weeks.
¡°Jose.¡± Leo¡¯s voice snapped me out of the memory. ¡°Eyes front. They¡¯re watching.¡±
I forced myself to look up, past the enforcers, to the platform at the center of the square. A line of representatives stood there, their crisp, spotless uniforms a stark contrast to our tattered clothes. And then there was him¡ªXavier.
He stood slightly apart from the others, arms crossed, his posture rigid but not tense. His uniform was immaculate, the polished buttons catching the sunlight like tiny stars. Unlike the others, his face wasn¡¯t cold or calculating. It was unreadable, like a locked door with no key.
I hated him instantly.
¡°Isn¡¯t he from District One?¡± I whispered to Leo, nodding toward Xavier.
Stolen content warning: this tale belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences elsewhere.
Leo¡¯s jaw tightened. ¡°Yeah. The elite class. Born with a silver spoon and a golden ID. Don¡¯t waste your time thinking about him. People like him don¡¯t even know we exist.¡±
But Xavier¡¯s eyes swept the crowd, pausing just long enough on me to send a chill down my spine.
The ceremony dragged on, a parade of speeches and promises that none of us believed. My legs ached from standing still for so long, and the heat made my skin sticky and uncomfortable. All I wanted was to go home, back to the small apartment I shared with my father, where I could forget¡ªfor a moment¡ªthat this was my life.
Just as I thought the ceremony was finally over, a sharp whistle pierced the air. The crowd tensed. Whispers spread like wildfire, and heads turned toward the commotion near the edge of the square.
An enforcer had grabbed someone¡ªa boy, no older than me¡ªby the collar of his shirt. The boy was thrashing, shouting something I couldn¡¯t hear over the hum of fear that had settled over the crowd.
¡°Quiet!¡± the enforcer barked, slamming the boy to the ground. The sound of his body hitting the pavement made me flinch.
¡°What¡¯s happening?¡± I whispered to Leo.
¡°He must¡¯ve tried to cross,¡± Leo muttered, his voice low.
¡°Cross?¡±
¡°The barrier. Between districts.¡±
I looked back at the boy, now being hauled to his feet. His face was bloodied, his ID badge dangling uselessly from a broken strap. The barrier. Everyone knew it was forbidden to cross into another district without permission. It didn¡¯t matter if you were starving or desperate. The rules were the rules, and breaking them meant one thing: punishment.
The enforcer shoved the boy forward, toward the platform.
¡°No,¡± I murmured.
¡°Don¡¯t look,¡± Leo said, grabbing my arm.
But I couldn¡¯t tear my eyes away. The boy was forced onto his knees in front of the representatives. One of them stepped forward¡ªa woman with a sharp jawline and eyes like ice. She didn¡¯t speak, didn¡¯t give any explanation or offer any mercy. She simply nodded.
The enforcer raised his weapon.
¡°Close your eyes,¡± Leo hissed.
The shot echoed through the square, louder than the screams that followed.
That night, I couldn¡¯t sleep. The boy¡¯s face was burned into my mind, his blood a vivid red against the gray pavement. I wanted to forget, to let the numbness take over like it always did. But something was different this time.
¡°What kind of world is this?¡± I asked Leo as we sat on the apartment¡¯s fire escape, the cool night air doing little to ease the suffocating weight on my chest.
¡°The only world we¡¯ve got,¡± he replied, staring out at the city lights.
I shook my head. ¡°There has to be more than this. There has to be.¡±
Leo didn¡¯t answer.
But as I looked out at the barrier in the distance, its faint glow cutting the city in two, I made a silent promise to myself: I would find out what was on the other side.
No matter what it cost me.