Page 14 of Deviant

When I state that, the line goes quiet. Beautifully so. I can hear the way he’s squirming on the other end.

“You wouldn’t want to bite the hand that feeds now, would you?” I add, knowing that he’ll understand the threat. We are chosen by God, favoured by him. What fool would go against that?

“No.”

“Then see to it that my orders are carried out.” I say icily.

“I’ll get it done.”

Yeah, you will. Or I’ll have your head on a platter before sundown.

Ican’t believe they found me so easily. I don’t even understand how. I was careful. I was good. Damned good.

How the fuck did they find me?

I drag in a long, panicked breath, one filled with the smell of soil, dirt, damp. I’m hiding in a ditch, under a bush, praying to God I made it far enough away before I sought this refuge. My hands dig into my hair, it’s a mess of knots that I know will take hours to get out. Not that that’s exactly a priority right now.

They found me.

They fucking found me.

Was I stupid to believe I could hide, that I could get away? Was I naïve to even think that was possible? My stomach groans with hunger, reminding me that all I’ve eaten today is a handful ofblackberries. It’s hardly enough to keep a rat alive and it certainly won’t sustain me long term. No long term, I am fucked. Even if I somehow, miraculously, manage to elude capture, I need to find proper shelter. I need to find a proper food source. I need to dosomething,or I will simply waste away and die and all of this, all this running and fighting will be for nothing.

But a voice in my head tells me that this is about more than just my survival. That it always was. The whole reason I wanted to write this story in the first place was because it was about more than me, it was about justice. About making the world wake up and see what was really going on.

If I stay here, hidden, hell, if I live or die it makes no difference to that end, does it? Either way, no one will learn of the Brethren, no one will realise what is happening. They’ll simply continue on, pulling the strings in the shadows, manipulating us all through fake elections, and pretend wars, and all of us stupid, ignorant, nobodies will continue to be none the wiser.

No, I have to get this story out. I have to.

I pull out my phone, power it back on, and see that it only has a little battery life left. I need to find somewhere to charge it, but I don’t even have a cable now that my bag is gone. It’s another thing to add to the list and right now, it just doesn’t really matter.

Opening up the app, I quickly type away. My thumbs are so cold that it takes me twice the time it should to create the post. And then, without a moment to reconsider, I hit the button.

My account isn’t huge, but I have a decent enough following considering what my job is. Twenty thousand or so people who I know will read this, and if I’m lucky it will spread like wildfire.

Only, nothing happens. The post just sits there. It doesn’t go live. It doesn’t work.

I hit the button again and again only to be met with the same response. What the fuck is this?

My breath seems to pick up. My heart starts to race. Surely not, surely they don’t have that much power? But how could they not? How else would they be able to control everyone? Was I naïve to think I’m the first to try to break this story? There must have been others, other reporters, other whistleblowers. I guess it’s obvious that they’d have systems in place, controls. Hell, they probably have all the CEO’s of these social media companies working with them, colluding, that is, if they’re not a Brethren Lord themselves.

I let out a scream. It’s a desperate, pained, drawn out noise that only exemplifies how truly fucked I feel and it hits me now how futile this entire thing has been.

I never stood a chance.

I never would have gotten this story published.

All Ronin’s sneaking around, all my fear and hope, and every single thing I’ve endured has been for nothing.

They have won. They always win.

My tears sting my face as they start pouring down. I’m not one for crying, I’m not one for showing emotions and yet I feel so desperate, so utterly hopeless.

They know all about me, they’ve been hunting me, and yet I have nothing, no weapons, no protection. I’m caught in their trap and any second now, the thing is going to spring shut and I’ll be done for.

In my head, I know what I have to do, what my last resort is. But I hate it, I hate how defeated I feel, I hate that I have to ask for help, but I just can’t see any other option.

I type the message fast. Vomit fills my mouth as I see the words there in black and white on the screen.

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