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Violence

"I'M SORRY FOR TROUBLING YOU."

"No, it's okay," the doctor muttered, waving his hand. "I understand."

"You seem to have something on your mind," officer Kirk noticed. "Is there anything you want to ask me? I know rumors have been circulating."

The doctor felt his face heat up. He never liked people guessing his thoughts. It made him feel weak and transparent. "Yes, about that. I've heard the girl was sighted, unharmed. Is it true? I apologize if I'm asking for private information," he added.

"Strictly speaking, I shouldn't be telling you this," Officer Kirk replied. The doctor was already preparing himself for an apology. "But since you already know, I assume the rumor is already quite widespread."

"I'm assuming then that it's true?"

Officer Kirk didn't reply but gave him a meaningful smile. "I'll let you on another little secret. She was spotted again in a drugged state," he whispered, leaning in.

"Unharmed?"

Officer Kirk nodded. "She was described as cheerful, even. Better than she looked in the photo. It's strange. I don't know what the kidnapper wants."

They both fell into silence. Officer Kirk looked deep in thought. The doctor tried to mimic him and pretend that he too had many difficulties on his mind. However, the only thing he could think of was an itch on his back that he was afraid of scratching and looking like a fool.

"It's not the girl I'm worried about," Officer Kirk added as if it were something that accidentally escaped his lips.

He paused, evidently expecting a confused reaction. The doctor didn't catch on and allowed an awkward silence.

"It's her mother," Officer Kirk finally continued, slightly disappointed with the lack of reaction. "There have been more and more conspiracy theories popping up now. Not enough for people to notice yet, but it's growing. I've been keeping a tab on them."

"Why?" the doctor asked. He blushed again. "I mean--conspiracy theories doesn't seem important enough for an officer like you. I would have expected you to be worried about the victim. Are conspiracy theories dangerous?"

"You have no idea," Officer Kirk sighed with the air of a superior. "Conspiracy theories may seem harmless, but they can be more dangerous than a loaded machine gun. Many relatives of a victim have succumbed to conspiracy theories."

"How so?"

This content has been misappropriated from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

"Depression, mostly. Suicide is not at all uncommon. Sometimes they resort to violence. It's violence that I'm worried about." Officer Kirk sighed again. "Sticks and stones may break your bones, but words can break your heart. The problem with violence is that it spreads. The more violent you get, the more violent others get. And that can infect more people."

The officer allowed that to sink in before continuing. "At least this case shouldn't be too big. The theories shouldn't get too uncontrollable. Only one person disappeared. Theories usually can't build against one person."

"Still...will she turn violent? What will you do about it? What will happen?"

"I wish I knew..." Officer Kirk murmured.

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FOR THE PAST TWO DAYS, THE NUMBER OF CONSPIRACY THEORIES GREW EXPONENTIALLY.

Mrs. Lucifay worked feverishly, battling against these neverending stories. Hours passed without her noticing. She had moved to the dark basement, fearing that the cheerful sun would accidentally lift her mood.

Mrs. Lucifay had learned that Nick was sighted alive and well earlier. However, this only fueled the conspiracy and thickened the plot.

Mrs. Lucifay attacked the original writer first. In response to his taunt (Mrs. Lucifay automatically assumed he was male), she wrote:

"I'm not paid to do anything. I am the mother of Marine Nichole Lucifay."

Instantly, there was another response.

"Sure. Anyone can be a mother."

"She was born out of my own body if that's what you mean."

The author responded by updating the theory, claiming that a girl couldn't be well after being kidnapped for a week.

"The only reason why the government is doing this is so that the parents don't have to fake a funeral," he wrote, obviously directing this attack on Mrs. Lucifay.

A day later, on a more credited site, the same attacks were posted by a slightly more professional author. Mrs. Lucifay posted an enraged comment but got no reply. She ended up submitting a dozen comments with no success. Mrs. Lucifay, unable to contain her anger, reported the article for offensive content.

Mrs. Lucifay checked on the article an hour later, only to find her account blocked and her comments deleted.

It seemed to her that every attempt to take down these horrible theories only worsened the situation. After her comments and attacks, more articles sprung with more persuasive writing. The writers claimed that 'the threatening comments' were all written by the government to attempt to keep the false kidnapping a secret. The more she fought, the more the writers strengthened. The angry comments posted were twisted to fit in with the ridiculous theories.

Within hours, the number of theories about Marine had grown to fill up a search page. Some of them didn't make sense at all. One writer claimed that this all had to do with the faked moon landing. Mrs. Lucifay attempted to fight all of them with words, but this only made writers more excited. The other readers also ganged up to attack her. Their replies included:

"Only a psycho would speak like that."

"I bet the government's paying you a lot to say this."

"Stop treating us like idiots, you tax-robbing asshole."

Mrs. Lucifay had decided not to comment at all, in hopes that these writers would get bored. But people began celebrating, saying that they 'defeated' the government and that she couldn't think of another excuse.

Mrs. Lucifay was strangely grateful for these theories. She felt like she was doing something productive with her time. The longer she spent fighting these theories, the more unwilling she was to go outside and face the real world. She didn't want someone to recognize her on the street. She feared her willpower to fight would dissipate as soon as she stepped outside.

It turned out her willpower was the least of her worries.