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The Journal of Truth
Chapter 0 : Jeffrey?

Chapter 0 : Jeffrey?

The lights flicker on across the set.

The two anchors take a deep breath, displaying perfect smiles across their faces as they tap their small cue cards on the desk for effect.

"Good evening, everyone and welcome to SRP — I'm Bill."

"And good evening. I'm Sarah. Welcome to tonight's news."

Bill turns slightly toward Sarah, holding her gaze for a few seconds, his eyes silently urging her not to fail this time.

"Tonight, we have several big stories dominating the headlines. However, we won't have time to cover them all. We have selected the most important news to cover. Can you tell us about our first story of the evening Sarah?"

"With pleasure, dear Bill. Today, April 21st, at 4:30 PM, the Supreme Court judge officially declared the death of one of the state's enemies: Jeffrey."

"I imagine that judgment to be expected?"

Sarah shuffles through her cue cards, clears her throat, and throws a few discreet glances toward the chief editor. All she gets in return is a sharp gesture: "Keep going. KEEP GOING!" He raises a clenched fist, his lip caught between his teeth as his face flushes red.

"Yes… yes, Bill. It took two long, grueling days of trial to reach this judgment."

"Could you summarize his actions and offenses for us?"

She shifts to face the camera directly, staring into it intensely. Without blinking, she speaks mechanically , he voice devoid of life.

"As you all know, on April 1st, the nations of the South launched an attack on the largest nuclear power plant in the world, Siberion-12. During the attack, they struck the lone reactor, triggering a potential core meltdown. But, as everyone remembers, the meltdown was averted thanks to the heroic actions of our national hero, Marko."

"His actions saved many lives, didn’t they?"

"Millions… perhaps even billions."

"Tell me, what connection is there between that incident and the condemned man, Jeffrey?"

Sarah sifts through her cards again, scanning for the relevant passage. "From April 3rd until the day of his arrest, April 16th, the enemy of the state, Jeffrey, did everything in his power to convince anyone who would listen that our national hero… that he was… an impostor."

"And who is this man to make such slanderous claims?"

"Our sources confirm he has Southern origins and is likely a spy for the Southern nations."

A screen descends slowly behind them, and the chief editor gestures to ensure they see it. Bill raises his hand to his earpiece.

"I'm told we have a clip to share with you. Let’s go live to the courthouse."

The two anchors turn toward the television screen as the studio lights dim gradually.

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On the screen, a young female reporter steps into focus.

Behind her, a courtroom brims with chaos. Voices overlap in a cacophony of shouting.

"It’s obvious he’ll be condemned. Traitor."

"Scum!"

"How can he say such things after everything our national hero did! "

The female reporter receives the signal to start. She raises her voice, shouting into her microphone.

"Good evening, everyone. Third day of trial. From the start, Jeffrey did not utter a single word nor did he try to defend himself. His Lawyer tried the impossible, but until now, it has produced no results. "

She places her hand to hear for a moment before continuing.

"No, Bill, the verdict hasn’t been rendered yet. As you can see, there are a lot of people around me waiting impatiently. "

She turns and observes as the judge enters the courtroom. Though no one announces him, he takes a seat at his desk. "The Judge has arrived. We will finally know the verdict".

The judge strikes his gavel in an attempt to silence the room, but the crowd ignores him. He strikes it again, louder this time, commanding attention. After a few more moments of murmured whispers, the room finally settles into quiet.

Once order has been restored, the judge orders Jeffrey to stand for sentencing.

With difficulty, Jeffrey rises. He gestures to the judge, indicating that his handcuffs are chained to the table, making it hard for him to stand upright. But the judge simply ignores him.

Jeffrey looks toward the camera. It zooms in on his face, focusing on the gag tied tightly over his mouth. Glassy eyes stare into the camera, betraying no emotion as if all life had left him. Jeffrey scans the courtroom with a glance, from left to right. He notices the angry glares aimed at him. Unaffected by them, he turns and faces the judge.

You could be reading stolen content. Head to Royal Road for the genuine story.

"Your lawyer has informed me that you have refused all appeals or request for case review. Is that correct? Confirm now."

"My client confirms. Yes."

"Silence! The law requires that he give his own answer."

Jeffrey’s lawyer apologizes and takes a step back. He sits down in his chair, crossing his arms with a frustrated look on his face.

"Since your right to speak has been revoked, you must answer with a simple nod: yes or no. "

Jeffrey nods firmly. "Yes."

The judge writes something on a sheet of paper, then impatiently picks up his gavel and strikes it again.

"After deliberation, I hereby sentence you to death. You will be executed tomorrow morning. May God have pity on your soul."

The courtroom erupts. Insults and curses rain down on Jeffrey from every corner of the room. He remains unmoved.

The police step in, physically restraining members of the audience to prevent the crowd from surging toward Jeffrey. Some attempt to bypass the barrier. As several officers push them back, two others grab Jeffrey by the arm and quickly guide him toward a door, ensuring he can leave the courtroom safely.

Once outside, two officers stand guard by the door. With a hand on their service weapon, no one dares approach.

But the chaos of the clashes between the crowd and the police prevents her from continuing. She is pushed back several times.

After a long minute, she signals to the camera, letting them know she won’t be able to proceed.

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Meanwhile in the studio, the cameras cut back to Bill and Sarah, who remain unaware. Bill tries to ask the female reporter questions, but getting a response proves impossible.

Sarah leans in toward Bill, her voice low, but her microphone still picks it up clearly.

"Hey, Bill, how did you know he’d be found guilty when the verdict had just been handed down?"

Bill turns to reply but quickly notices his producer signaling him to let him know the camera is back on them. Realizing her question has been heard, he shoots her a murderous glare.

Back to the camera, he adds in a neutral tone: "Unfortunately, for technical reasons, my colleague will not be able to finish tonight's broadcast with us. It's a shame, but she’ll have to leave us now."

"What? "

Bill stares at Sarah for an agonizing moment, no words are necessary for her to get the message.

It takes Sarah a few seconds to process what he’s just said. Then, with the look of a scolded dog, she rises, thanks the viewers, and quietly leaves the set.

Not a minute later, an elegant blond woman strides in to take Sarah's place. She picks up the cue cards and flashes an angelic smile.

"Good evening, Amé. Shall we move on to tonight's second story?"

"With pleasure. After more than twenty days of failed discussions and negotiations with the Southern nations, our president has had no choice but to declare war on them."

"Our soldiers must have welcomed this announcement with enthusiasm, didn’t they?"

"Absolutely, Bill."

The studio screen behind them lights up, and they both turn to watch.

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On screen, a well-dressed man wearing a soldier's cap appears.

He turns and points toward a quiet military camp.

"As you can see, the troops here are ready to march into battle at any moment."

He presses his hand to his earpiece, listening for a moment.

"Yes, Bill, after the attack on Siberion-12, our soldiers fought tirelessly on the battlefield to push the Southern troops back to their country."

A pause. Another hand to his earpiece.

"You’re asking if the Southern troops caused civilian casualties? Hmm… Unfortunately, I don’t have that information at this time."

The reporter speaks again, but his microphone cuts out abruptly, leaving his words unintelligible.

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The screen goes dark, and the camera cuts back to Bill and Amé.

"In your opinion, Amé, did the Southern troops leave civilian casualties in their retreat?"

"It’s likely. The South has a reputation for brutality."

"THERE YOU HAVE IT! It’s obvious. They must have killed many people. Once we have the numbers, we’ll share them immediately."

"Absolutely, Bill. Remember, they attacked Siberion-12, the largest nuclear plant in the world. Can you imagine the impact of a core meltdown?"

"Brutes. Nothing but brutes."

Bill’s face flushes red with rage, but Amé hands him a new cue card to calm him.

"We’re running out of time. Shall we move on to the next topic?"

"Yes, you’re right. Next topic—your lead."

Amé nods toward the screen, and Bill follows her gaze.

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Fifty journalists jostle for space in front of the podium, their patience worn thin after more than an hour of waiting. Two armed guards enter the room and position themselves on either side of the podium.

An old man enters the room. He walks over and stands in front of the journalists. A deathly silence falls over the room. He taps the microphone to check if it's working.

“Today, April 21st, I officially declare war on the Southern nations. The attack on the Siberion-12 nuclear plant was an unacceptable act, and they will pay dearly for it.”

The journalists all erupt at once, clamoring to ask questions, but the old man merely looks at them, silent and unyielding, before continuing.

“My final message is for all civilians of the North. If you wish to join our boys and bask in the Southern sun during the campaign, you can sign up at any local barracks.

Join in great numbers, or else I’ll be forced to mandate conscription. Thank you all!”

Without another word, he turns on his heel and walks away, leaving a tidal wave of unanswered questions in his wake. He salutes the crowd and slams the door shut behind him with a resounding crack.

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Back in the studio, Bill and Amé exchange proud, glowing looks. A sense of patriotism shines through their smiles.

“What a declaration from our president! Simple. Precise. Effective.”

“Absolutely, Bill.”

“So, if you want to be part of this experience, don’t hesitate to enlist.”

“Exactly. I’d like to add a clarification to our president’s statement: all men and women are welcome to join. The ban on women in the army has been lifted for the duration of the war.”

“To hell with sexism. Women, like men, have the right to fight! The little guys down south need to be well-prepares.”

“Absolutely, Bill.”

Bill discreetly glances at his watch before giving a subtle signal to the producer.

The lights begin to dim. Amé rises and quietly leaves the set, leaving Bill alone. As everything fades to black around him, he thanks Amé for her assistance, then gathers his cue cards and tosses them into the trash.

When the darkness envelops him and only a single spotlight remains on him, Bill lowers his voice, making it deep and serious.

“And that concludes tonight’s broadcast. Many other stories could not be covered, but please remember: our time is limited. You should also know that we are committed to bringing you the most important and valuable information.

To close this broadcast, my final comment goes to … Jeffrey… that enemy of the state.

That filth. How can he question the official information? He’s trying to tarnish the reputation of our national hero. An unacceptable act!

If you wish to witness his execution, we’ll broadcast it live.

However, I am instructed to inform you that this execution will be different from the others, and you should be warned... sensitive souls, please refrain.

Thank you for listening to SRP, I wish you a good evening.

See you tomorrow.’’

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