14

Ken stood in the early morning mist, watching the fog snake through the trees. He felt different now. He wasn't sure if it was the knowledge of the files, the memory of Dawn's voice, or the gravity of Luca's discovery. But something inside him had shifted.

There was no more hiding.

The lie they lived in—Bright High Academy's manicured lawns, digital smiles, and leveled classrooms—was a stage built on ash. The truth burned underneath, waiting for oxygen.

Ken intended to give it all the air it needed.

By noon, the makeshift hideout beneath the collapsed overpass had transformed from a place to rest into a place to plan. Luca had laid out a rough map of the Academy and surrounding zones, drawn in smudged graphite on an old cafeteria tray.

"These are the main access points," Luca explained, pointing to the perimeter walls. "North side is the most secure—loaded with motion sensors, drones, and retinal scanners. But the east gate?" He tapped a corner. "That's where they send out trash runs and low-grade scouts. It's watched—but not watched."

Ken crouched beside him, nodding. "We're not getting back inside through the front."

"We're not trying to get back inside," Misty said, folding her arms. "We're going to tear it down."

Luca grinned. "That's the energy."

Dawn was curled up against the wall nearby, still recovering, but watching quietly. "It won't be easy," he murmured. "They'll anticipate an emotional retaliation. They expect us to be erratic."

"They want us afraid," Ken added. "Scattered. Alone."

Misty leaned forward. "Then let's give them something they don't expect."

Ken looked down at the tray-map. His mind was sharp, his thoughts faster than they'd ever been. It was like the clarity of truth had unlocked a second layer of himself—something sharper. A survivor, yes. But also a strategist.

"The first thing we do," he said, "is make them think we're already inside."

Luca frowned. "What do you mean?"

"Smoke and mirrors," Ken said. "They monitor their communication network, right? Audio logs, admin messages, drone traffic. What if we hijack their systems—make it sound like someone on the inside is working against them?"

"Disinformation," Luca muttered. "I like it."

"We feed them fake names, fake locations. Enough chatter to make them paranoid. Distract them from what we're really doing."

Misty smiled. "And what are we really doing?"

Ken looked at her—steady, unflinching. "Waking everyone else up."

That night, Luca led them through a lower tunnel he'd used during his own escape. It twisted beneath the ground like a forgotten artery of the Academy, lined with decaying wires and flickering red lights.

Ken walked up front, flashlight in hand, every sound a potential threat.

Behind him, Misty carried a pack of salvaged tech from the Room R facility—drives, transmitters, and a voice-splicer module they hoped would be enough to infiltrate the Academy's network.

As they reached the end of the tunnel, Luca pressed a palm to a panel on the wall. The hidden door clicked, opening with a hiss of old air.

They entered a room no bigger than a supply closet. Dust choked the air. At the center was a console, dark and dormant.

Luca wiped the grime off its surface. "Old override station," he explained. "They don't use it anymore. Most students don't even know it exists."

Ken pulled the voice module from Misty's bag and connected it to the console's port.

The screen flickered to life.

SYSTEM BOOTING...

CLEARANCE OVERRIDE PENDING...

USER: UNREGISTERED ACCESS

AWAITING INPUT...

Ken typed fast.

Within seconds, the interface opened into the comms overlay. Dozens of voice templates and echo channels lit up the screen. Audio clips of instructors, counselors, staff—all programmed to report, monitor, obey.

Ken clicked a blank field and hit RECORD.

Misty leaned in. "What are you going to say?"

Ken stared at the blinking cursor.

Then, slowly, he pressed the mic to his lips.

"Bright High is broken," he said.

"We were told it was perfect. That the system worked. That we were protected. Safe. But the only thing they protected was the lie."

He paused. Misty's hand rested on his shoulder.

"They erased our names. Our memories. They built levels to divide us, screens to watch us, and systems to break us. But we're still here. And we remember now."

He took a breath, then added:

"If you can hear this... you're not alone. You've never been alone. This is Ken Voss. And I'm awake now."

He stopped the recording and tapped PLAY.

His voice rang out through the static, amplified across the network's pulse.

He looked at the group.

"Let's patch it into the student channels."

Luca's fingers flew over the keys. "It'll take a minute, but yeah—yeah, we can do that."

Dawn sat up straighter, eyes shining. "You just told the truth in a place built on lies."

Misty smiled faintly. "It's a start."

Five minutes later, the message was live.

And on the other side of the forest, inside Bright High Academy, students paused mid-class.

Some turned up their earpieces. Some glanced at the intercom speakers.

And they heard it:

"This is Ken Voss. And I'm awake now."

Far above, in a sealed surveillance chamber, a man in a white coat turned from the monitor.

"Scramble the Search Wing," he said.

"Targets?" another asked.

"Ken. Misty. Dawn. And now—whoever else is listening."

He leaned forward, eyes narrow.

"Before it spreads."