Chapter 27: Invisible Lies (part 1)

My name is Ivory, and I felt strange.

Memories of a good life existed within me, yet why was it that I couldn’t remember the bad ones? I felt like I had plenty of them, but I couldn’t remember.

The cold wind whipped around me as I floated above Kane City. The skyline was a jagged silhouette against the dark, starless sky. The once-familiar buildings below seemed alien now, distant echoes of a life that felt like it belonged to someone else. The city I had once sworn to protect now felt more like a cage, trapping me in a world where I couldn’t remember why I was here or who I had been.

I clenched my fists, the cold metal of my bracers biting into my palms. The memories I did have were fragmented, like shards of a broken mirror. I remembered power—raw, unbridled power that surged through me like a tidal wave, obliterating everything in its path. I remembered the thrill of victory, the satisfaction of seeing my enemies crushed beneath my feet. But more than anything, I remembered the emptiness that followed, the hollow echo of a life devoid of meaning.

And yet, there was something else, something that gnawed at the edges of my mind. A nagging sense of guilt, of regret. It was a foreign sensation, one I hadn’t experienced before—or at least, one I couldn’t remember experiencing. The memories of the KCU director, of the clone I had savagely torn apart, flickered in my mind like a distant flame. I had relished in their suffering, taken pleasure in their pain. But now, the memory left a bitter taste in my mouth.

“I want to go home,” I whispered to the wind, my voice barely audible over the howling gusts.

But where was home? The word itself felt like a cruel joke, a concept that I couldn’t fully grasp. The memories of my childhood were shrouded in mist, indistinct and elusive. I knew, somehow, that it hadn’t been an easy one—that much was clear from the few fragments that remained. But the details, the faces, the places—they were all gone, wiped away like chalk from a blackboard.

I let out a frustrated sigh, the sound lost in the night. What had happened to me? Why couldn’t I remember? It was as if someone had taken a knife to my mind, cutting away the parts that made me who I was. All that was left were the pieces that suited…what? A new purpose? A new identity? I didn’t know, and the uncertainty was driving me mad.

I looked down at the city below, the streets teeming with life, oblivious to the turmoil raging within me. I had once been their hero, their savior. But now? Now I was something else, something I didn’t fully understand. Was I still a hero? Or had I become the very thing I had once fought against?

A flash of movement caught my eye, and I turned to see a figure standing on a nearby rooftop, watching me. My heart skipped a beat as recognition dawned. It was the masked figure who was haunting my dreams every now and then.

“What do you want?” I called out, my voice trembling with a mix of anger and fear as I descended to the same rooftop. For some reason, I was feeling my breathing beginning to shorten.

“Good, you still remember a part of me, though a very small part… like a ghost in your memories. That is good enough for me.” The masked man wore a blank white mask and a black hoodie, seemingly harmless but every instinct of me was screaming: run.

“Who are you?” I could feel through my extended five senses via my telekinesis that the person before me was real and not a byproduct of hallucination.

“I am just a nobody,” replied the masked man. “If you want to put a name on the mask, then referring to me as Nobody is perfectly fine.”

“WHO DO YOU WORK FOR!? WHAT DID YOU DO TO ME!?” I threatened him. “ANSWER ME OR I WILL RIP YOU APART LIKE A USED TOY AND RIP YOU SOME MORE!”

It was strange.

My flight and fight instinct was being provoked.

Nobody didn’t answer right away, just stood there, the mask reflecting the city lights. When he finally spoke, his voice was cold and emotionless. “I’m here to warn you of who your real enemy is.”

I used my telekinesis to take hold of Nobody, but something was wrong. The familiar sensation of power, the force I could usually wield with just a thought, was slipping through my grasp as if it had been taken away from me. “What?” I murmured, bewildered.

“No need for violence,” the masked man said, his voice calm and unbothered by my attempt to subdue him. “I came to you… with good intentions.”

I didn’t respond immediately, watching him carefully, searching for any hint of deception in his stance, in his tone. But his mask gave nothing away.

“Do you seek to raise the rebellion?” he asked, his voice tinged with something… like mischief.

My guard went up instantly. “From who did you hear that from?”

“I know a lot about you.”

“Is it Heartstopper? He’s the only person I’ve given an invitation to… so how did you know? Did Heartstopper talk?” My words were sharp, probing for the truth.

“Oh no, he didn’t,” he replied with an unsettling certainty. “I knew. I always knew. You’d be surprised by how much I know, Farah. You had forgotten a lot of it, especially the bad ones… Oh Farah, how I pity you—broken, lost, confused, and so conflicted.”

The name "Farah" sent a shiver down my spine, a name that felt distant, almost foreign, yet familiar enough to stir something deep within me. He was speaking as if he knew me, intimately, and I could feel the walls I’d built around my memories tremble.

“Do you know what I did to you?” he continued, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. “I took away all of your bad memories, Farah. You begged me to do it. You said you wanted to be happy. You said you couldn’t live this life anymore. Guess what? Even after your bad memories were removed, you came right back to it—you are addicted to the superhero life.”

My heart raced as his words sank in, my mind grappling with the implications. Had I really asked for that? Had I really been so desperate to forget?

“Tell me,” he said, his voice now laced with a cruel amusement, “how does it feel warming up the chair as the new KCU director after you slaughtered your own boss out of righteous anger? Tell me, do you still see red when you become angry? How about now? Are you angry? Sad? Confused?”

I stared at him, my thoughts in turmoil. The memories he spoke of, the emotions he described, all seemed distant, like echoes of a life I no longer fully remembered. But even without those memories, the weight of his words crushed down on me, leaving me paralyzed with doubt and fear.

“My name is Fatima. Fatima Ivory—” I began, trying to assert some control over the situation, to ground myself in what I knew.

“No,” the masked man interrupted, his tone firm and unyielding. “You had a life before all of this. Farah Marianne Castell. You were practically a babe by then. You know what? I won’t tell you everything. Raise the rebellion, Farah, and maybe we will talk again.”

His words struck me unpleasantly, knocking the wind out of me. Farah Marianne Castell… The name echoed in my mind, stirring fragments of memories I couldn’t quite grasp. My breathing grew faster, and shallower, panic rising as the edges of my vision blurred.

This tale has been pilfered from Royal Road. If found on Amazon, kindly file a report.

“What is happening to me?” I gasped, my voice trembling with fear.

“You just forgot to breathe, that’s all,” he said, almost casually, as if my distress was of no consequence to him.

The world around me spun, darkness creeping in from the corners of my vision. I tried to focus, tried to fight against the overwhelming sense of helplessness, but it was too much. My body betrayed me, and before I could process what was happening, everything went black as I fainted.

When I woke up, I was still on the roof, the cold night air brushing against my skin. The city lights below flickered like distant stars, but my mind was elsewhere, racing with questions.

“Who exactly was that?” I murmured to myself, the encounter with Nobody replaying in my mind. His power was unlike anything I’d encountered before—subtle, almost undetectable, yet undeniably potent. It was as if he could reach into my very soul, pull out the threads of my being, and unravel them at will.

As I tried to make sense of it all, my left bracer vibrated, pulling me back to the present. The screen lit up with an unknown caller ID. With a hesitant breath, I answered the call, and a hologram flickered to life before me.

Heartstopper’s familiar figure materialized, dressed in his usual sharp suit, a cane in one hand, and a beautiful woman draped over the other. His presence exuded power and confidence, but there was a glint in his eye that hinted at something more—a calculating mind always thinking three steps ahead.

“I’ve thought about your invitation,” Heartstopper began, his voice smooth and measured. “I will join your rebellion, Ivory, but I have conditions. Let’s meet.”

I focused on the figure before me, summoning the part of me that defined who I was—Ivory, the telekinetic hero capable of summoning meteors and brutalizing criminals with a mere thought. The power surged within me, a familiar presence that I had wielded countless times before. I met Heartstopper’s gaze, a confident smile playing on my lips.

“As a gesture of trust, how about you pick the place?” I offered, maintaining an air of ease.

“The Golden Maw,” he replied without hesitation.

“Fancy,” I remarked, still smiling, as he pinged me the location. The Golden Maw was a high-end restaurant in the western parts of Kane City, known for its opulence and exclusivity. It was just the kind of place Heartstopper would choose.

The call ended abruptly, and I wasted no time. I took to the sky, flying swiftly towards the Golden Maw. The city blurred beneath me as I soared, my thoughts focused on the impending meeting. This was more than just a casual dinner; it was a crucial step in the rebellion I was building, a rebellion that had to succeed at any cost.

When I arrived at the Golden Maw, a waitress was already waiting for me at the entrance, her demeanor professional and discreet. Without a word, she guided me through the throng of well-dressed patrons, their conversations blending into a low hum as we passed.

Finally, we reached a secluded corner of the room. There, seated at an elegant table, was a blonde woman with a striking appearance, and beside her was a gentleman with strong oriental features.

"Please, have a seat," the waitress instructed politely before stepping away.

The blonde woman spoke first, her voice smooth and confident. "My name is Steph, by the way, and this is my husband… Chris. Most people know him as Christian Holt."

"Also known as the Heartstopper," added the gentleman beside her, his tone calm and deliberate.

I took the seat opposite them, my eyes narrowing slightly as I studied their faces. "Unmasking now, of all times. So that’s how you really look."

Chris—Heartstopper—nodded, a faint smile playing on his lips. "My wife and I use holo-masks, very expensive but worth their weight in gold. But I thought it was only fair to even the playing field. Since we’re going to be collaborators soon, I decided to show my real face."

"It’s not like people didn’t know it was you all along," I replied, keeping my tone neutral, though I was curious about his intentions.

"They were quiet, though, so you couldn’t really tell, right?" Chris leaned back in his chair, his gaze steady. "It isn’t exactly my area of expertise, but I’ve always known how to distort perceptions and make use of doubts. You see, I am a doubter, just like you. So, pray tell, what is it that motivated your rebellion?"

I paused, considering my words carefully. "Because I am a hero."

"Ah, the ideal hero," Chris murmured, his expression thoughtful. There was a weight to his words, a challenge hidden within the compliment.

"How about you? Why join my insanity?" I asked, watching him closely.

Chris smirked, leaning forward slightly. "Let’s just say… it will be good for business. I have no plans to play superhuman. As you know, my MO is to appear once or twice a year. That’s not the issue, though… What I want to say is, I want to support your cause but as a secret partner."

"Afraid of the Order, aren’t you?" I shot back, testing his resolve.

"Why wouldn’t I be? However, in the end, I am a businessman," he replied smoothly, his tone betraying no hint of fear.

"Who wouldn’t be?" I conceded, feeling a sense of shared understanding. "I say it’s time we rise."

"Save the speech, because I’m in," Chris interrupted, waving a hand dismissively. "So, what kind of help can I offer you? That’s a rhetorical question by the way. Lots of things: weapons, a method to recruit followers, and soon—more advanced technology after I claim the Masters of Steel gang for myself."

I nodded. "That’s the kind of partnership I’m looking for."

Chris leaned back in his chair, his eyes narrowing slightly as he considered me. “Before we hold hands, tell me you have a plan,” he said, his tone laced with the gravity of a seasoned strategist. “A businessman who invests wrongly is a fool, and a businessman who gambles is the most foolish of fools. Please, tell me you have a big plan… A rebellion is but a word without action.”

I met his gaze, unflinching. “The World Order uses portal technology to connect their territories… However, such portals are not perfect. They’re limited by distance.”

Chris’s interest piqued, and I could see the gears turning in his mind. I continued, careful to reveal just enough to secure his trust without giving away too much. “If we can exploit these limitations, disrupt their network, we can cut off their reinforcements and create chaos within their ranks.”

He nodded slowly, his expression thoughtful. “Interesting. And you have the means to pull this off?”

“I do,” I assured him, though I kept the details vague. “But it’s going to take more than just a handful of us. We need resources, allies, and a strategy that hits them where they least expect it.”

Chris leaned forward, his eyes glinting with a mix of curiosity and ambition. “And what do you need from me?”

“Weapons, as we discussed. And your network—your ability to recruit followers, people who are loyal to our cause. We’ll need advanced technology too, which I know you’re in the process of acquiring.”

He smiled, a sharp, calculating smile. “It seems you’ve thought this through. Very well, Ivory. I’ll commit my resources to your cause, but remember, I’m in this for the long game. If things go south, I’m not sticking around to be taken down with you.”

“I wouldn’t expect anything less,” I replied, matching his smile. “This rebellion isn’t just about taking down the World Order. It’s about reshaping the world. And with the right moves, we’ll both come out on top.”

Chris gave a curt nod, seemingly satisfied with my response. We spent the next few hours discussing the finer points of our alliance, going over potential strategies, and laying the groundwork for what was to come. I told him only what he needed to know, keeping my true intentions close to the chest.

By the time we left the Golden Maw, a silent understanding had formed between us. The rebellion was officially underway, and with Heartstopper by my side, the World Order would soon learn the true meaning of fear.

As I sat in my office at KCU headquarters, I tore open the envelope Heartstopper had handed me before we parted ways. Inside was a letter, the contents of which sent a chill down my spine.

"Dear Ivory,

It is me, Ebony. By the time you are reading this, I am most likely long gone, fled to another planet. So you might be wondering why I left you a letter.

Don’t get too thrilled. It isn’t like I’ve acknowledged you as my rival in a poor attempt to cure your crippling sense of inferiority. The reason I left a letter for you was because I’d hate to see you die… I’ve always had compassion for my mates from the Dome Project.

Be careful of the Guard and the Union, mostly the Guard because they have no compunction taking out innocent lives. If you are curious about your missing memories, continue reading.

…

(Omitted a hundred words narrating Ivory’s past from Ebony’s perspective)

..

.

While I couldn’t share with you the reason for your missing memories, I hope you are satisfied with my narration of what you missed: we were practically siblings at this point, raised under the same roof, fed the same things, and did the same chores.

I pray for your future suffering.

Yours truly,

The Ebony Knight."

Attached to the letter was an extensive narrative of my supposed to be missing memories.

Was Nobody saying all the truth then?

Did I ask for my memories to be erased?

I remembered Ebony Knight though briefly, I know him or her? I couldn't remember. I knew how he would talk, his nuances, and the like. I was almost certain the letter was left by him.

My hands trembled as I read the letter again, trying to process the implications. The words "Dome Project" echoed in my mind, dredging up memories that I had buried deep within my subconscious. Memories of being kidnapped at a young age, forced into superhuman experiments that twisted and broke me, turned me into a weapon. I had been made to go to war, to kill, to lie—things that came disturbingly easily to me now.

No wonder I felt only euphoria after I murdered Swift Sword.

The bile rose in my throat as the weight of my past bore down on me. No wonder killing felt so natural. The letter had ripped open old wounds, wounds that I had tried so hard to forget, to erase. But there it was, in black and white, a reminder of the monster I had been created to be.

I slumped back in my chair, the letter crumpled in my hand, feeling a deep, nauseating sense of disgust wash over me. The person I had become, the hero I pretended to be, was a fragile façade, a mask I wore to hide the darkness that lurked beneath.

I felt like puking.