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Sarah cleared her throat as she looked out over the audience. The lights were blinding, casting the crowd in shadow, but she could feel the weight of their gaze. Public speaking wasn't her strength, but tonight, it felt like something she had to do. The speech was nerve-wracking—not because of the crowd, but because of the content.

It was illegal.

The "Freedom of Speech" conference was a rare, secretive event. Every year, a few journalists and insiders gathered in an undisclosed location, notified only by whispered invitation. Each attendee was sworn to secrecy, and every speaker faced the possibility of surveillance, discovery, and punishment. But this was the only place left where they could speak openly about the government's stranglehold on their country.

Sarah had attended every event since she began her career in journalism, thanks to the mentor who'd taken her under his wing early on. That mentor, Tristan Hunt, was dead now—one of many who'd tried to bring truth to the public and paid for it. If only he could see her now, standing in his place, carrying on the work they'd started together.

She looked down at her speech, her hands trembling as she glanced over the words that had haunted her for years. There were fatal consequences if the information ever leaked, but she couldn't hold back any longer. After years of waiting, tonight was her moment to share what she had locked away for so long.

The truth.

"When I started my career in this industry, I never imagined the secrets I would stumble upon," she began, forcing her voice to remain steady. "As a young journalist, I was proud to cover our government's initiatives and highlight its successes and promises. But over the years, I saw the cracks. I saw the stories they tried to bury."

She paused, her heart pounding. Every eye in the room was on her. This was it—the moment of no return.

With a deep breath, she reached into her bag and pulled out a small remote, pressing a button that dimmed the lights in the conference hall. "Tonight, I want to show you something. It's a recording by a man who gave his life for the truth. His name was Tristan Hunt, and this is his last story."

The screen behind her flickered to life, showing a grainy video. The image wobbled for a moment before stabilising, revealing Tristan's face, pale and tense, against the backdrop of a dimly lit room. Sarah looked away from the screen, unable to bear watching him—alive and defiant—knowing how his story had ended.

In the video, Tristan spoke directly into the camera, his voice urgent. "This is a report about freedom," he began, "coming to you live from a private war bunker in the suburbs of Windfield City. Freedom is no right in this city, and the fact that I have to broadcast from a vault should tell you everything you need to know about the strife we're in. For too long, the Agency has taken our children from us, torn them from their families. And while parents can't speak out—I will be their voice. Because they have no choice. And the Agency wants to keep it that way."

A ripple of shock ran through the audience. Sarah saw heads turning and people whispering to each other. She knew the risks she was taking by showing this, but there was no turning back now.

On the screen, Tristan continued, his face fierce and determined. "This message is not just for Windfield City. It's for Government City—the heart of our nation. Our leaders claim to protect us but have allowed horrors to unfold within their own borders. I'm calling on you to listen to our pleas and to investigate the atrocities committed against our children."

He breathed, his eyes darting off-camera momentarily as if he expected someone to burst in at any second. "Today, I'm here to expose the truth about human experimentation. Madicorp—the pharmaceutical giant stationed within our city's boundaries—has formed an unhealthy alliance with the Agency. Together, they've used the conscription program to carry out experiments on children. They take orphans, conscripted agents, even children conceived through government-run IVF programs, and they treat them like lab rats. Many of them die within weeks of being taken. But no one is allowed to speak of it."

Sarah could see a few audience members with their hands over their mouths, horrified. Tristan's voice continued, carrying his conviction across years, reaching people who would have otherwise never heard his message.

"The Agency has found my location. They're outside right now, trying to stop this broadcast, because they know that harming our children—our future—is unforgivable. Assuming I don't make it out alive, I'm leaving this message for you. I implore you—use this information for good. Give our children their choice back, and protect them from the horrors of war. The Head of Government promised us peace when he closed the borders and promised us freedom from terror, but instead, he's created an organisation that instils fear in every family. No one knows if they'll live to see their children grow."

The video cut out, and the screen went dark. There was silence in the room, the weight of Tristan's words pressing down on everyone like a physical force. Sarah's hands trembled as she stepped back from the podium, struggling to find her voice.

"Tristan Hunt gave his life to bring you that message," she said, her voice shaky. "He believed that if enough of us knew, if enough of us cared, we could finally break the Agency's stranglehold on this society."

The lights came back up, illuminating her audience's shocked, stricken faces. Sarah felt their fear and anger, knowing she'd struck a nerve. "We live in a world of closed borders, of absolute control. Religion has been banned, and books and symbols destroyed. There is no freedom here. And we, as journalists, must ask—at what cost? If we remain silent, if we allow fear to rule us, we are complicit in our own oppression."

She drew a steadying breath, forcing herself to keep her gaze level. "I know the risks of speaking these words. But I believe it's time to challenge the illusion. I believe it's time to demand transparency from the government that claims to protect us. And I ask each of you here tonight to find the courage to stand up for the truth, to carry Tristan's message forward."

The room erupted in applause, but Sarah barely registered it. Her heart was pounding, her skin flushed. She knew the doors were locked and wouldn't open until the event was over, but she felt an overwhelming urge to run, to escape the weight of the secrets she'd just unleashed.

A hand touched her shoulder as she stepped off the stage, still gripping her notes. She turned to find a man standing beside her, his face partially shadowed, his expression unreadable.

"Thank you for your speech, Ms. Miller," he said, his voice low and calm. "It takes courage to speak like that. Tristan would have been proud."

Sarah narrowed her eyes, searching his face. She didn't recognise him, but something about his presence made her uneasy. "I'm sorry, but—have we met?"

The man gave her a faint smile and extended his hand. "Hugo Richards," he introduced himself. "I knew Tristan. We worked together... once."

She shook his hand. "You worked with him?" she asked. "In what capacity?"

Hugo's gaze drifted past her to the crowd dispersing from the conference hall. "Let's just say I helped him gather certain... sensitive information. Back then, I thought it would stay buried." He met her eyes, something guarded in his expression. "I was surprised to see you revive it."

Sarah felt a chill settle over her. "You were a source," she said slowly, piecing it together.

He inclined his head, neither confirming nor denying it. She pressed on, hoping he might reveal more. "People say the experiments never really ended," she ventured, watching for a reaction. "That the Agency... continued."

But Hugo's face remained impassive. "It's best not to chase ghosts, Ms. Miller. The past is dangerous ground." He paused, his eyes narrowing. "For all of us."

She opened her mouth to press him further, but he squeezed her shoulder lightly, cutting her off. "Enjoy the rest of your evening," he murmured, a strange sadness in his gaze. "Some truths are better left buried."

And with that, he melted into the crowd. She glanced down at her hands, feeling the weight of his words, the unspoken warning hanging in the air. She had dared to bring light to the shadows of the past... and now, she was no longer sure who was friend or foe.

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