Chapter 12: The System’s Propaganda

Faye and Tujo had tasked him with reconnaissance, gathering intel on the System’s latest movements. What he found instead chilled him to the core.

On a massive holographic screen suspended in the center of a crowded square, an image of Tujo appeared. His visage, normally rugged and determined, had been twisted into something unrecognizable: a grim, leering caricature of danger. The System’s voice—smooth, authoritative, and devoid of warmth—boomed over the crowd.

“Beware of radicals,” it intoned, the words seeping into every corner of the square. “Individuals like Tujo, known as ‘Double Zero,’ and his accomplices threaten the harmony of Paradoxium. These agitators seek to disrupt the peace and stability we have worked so hard to achieve.”

The crowd murmured, their expressions tinged with unease. Kiryu’s fists clenched as he tried to steady his breathing. The propaganda was blatant, but its effects were undeniable. The System’s grip on the people was tightening, and public opinion was beginning to shift.

Kiryu returned to the Network’s temporary hideout later that evening, his thoughts racing. The others were gathered in a dimly lit room, hunched over terminals and whispering in low, urgent tones. Tujo stood at the center, his arms crossed and his expression stormy.

“They’re escalating,” Kiryu said, breaking the silence. “The System’s using propaganda to turn the public against us. They’ve already started targeting you directly.”

Tujo’s jaw tightened, but he said nothing. Faye, seated nearby, looked up from her terminal. “We expected this,” she said calmly. “The System has always relied on control through perception. If they can convince the majority that we’re a threat, they don’t have to fight us. The people will do it for them.”

“They’re not just targeting Tujo,” Kiryu added. “They’re painting all of us as radicals. Anyone who even questions the System could be labeled an enemy.”

“Good,” Tujo said finally, his voice low but resolute. “If they’re scared enough to pull this stunt, it means we’re getting to them.”

Faye’s brow furrowed. “Don’t underestimate the power of propaganda. If they turn the public against us, it’ll make everything we do harder. We need to find a way to counter this.”

Tujo glanced at her, his expression softening slightly. “And how do you suggest we do that? Hold a press conference?”

Faye didn’t rise to the bait. “We need to control the narrative. Show the people the truth about the System and what it’s hiding. If we can’t convince them to trust us, we can at least make them question their trust in the System.”

As the team debated their next move, Kiryu’s mind wandered back to the crowd he’d seen in the square. Their faces flashed in his memory: the fear, the doubt, the faint flickers of suspicion. He realized that not everyone had bought into the propaganda. There were cracks in the System’s facade, small but significant.

“What if we focused on the undecided?” Kiryu said suddenly, drawing the others’ attention. “The people who aren’t completely convinced by the System’s lies. If we can reach them, we might be able to turn the tide.”

Faye nodded slowly. “It’s a start. But we’ll need to be careful. If the System catches wind of what we’re doing, they’ll double down on their efforts to discredit us.”

Tujo smirked, a glint of mischief in his eyes. “Then we’d better make it worth their trouble.”

The Network’s plan was bold and fraught with risk. Using a combination of hacked communication channels and carefully placed messages within Paradoxium’s virtual spaces, they began to release snippets of the truth. Fragments of decrypted data from the crystal—images of the old world, files detailing the System’s manipulations, and records of erased histories—were embedded into everyday objects and environments.

A billboard advertising a new energy-efficient vehicle would suddenly flash an image of a real-world wasteland. A routine system update notification would include a line of corrupted text hinting at the System’s hidden agenda. The goal was not to overwhelm but to plant seeds of doubt.

Kiryu took on the role of monitoring public reactions, tracking how people responded to the subtle disruptions. The results were mixed. Some dismissed the anomalies as glitches, while others began to question the System’s infallibility. It was slow, frustrating work, but it was progress.

One day, while navigating a crowded plaza, Kiryu overheard a conversation that filled him with cautious hope.

“Did you see that thing on the holo-screen yesterday?” a man said to his companion. “The one with the red sky? Looked like some kind of desert.”

“Yeah,” the other replied, frowning. “It didn’t look like Paradoxium. You think it’s from outside?”

“Could be,” the man said. “Makes you wonder, doesn’t it? What else are they not telling us?”

Kiryu didn’t linger to hear more, but the exchange left him feeling lighter. The seeds they were planting were beginning to take root.

Back at the hideout, Tujo reviewed the latest data with Kiryu and Faye. “We’ve got people talking,” he said, his tone cautiously optimistic. “It’s not much, but it’s a start.”

Faye leaned back in her chair, her expression thoughtful. “The System will adapt. They’ll try to counter our efforts with more propaganda. We need to stay ahead of them.”

“Then we keep hitting them where it hurts,” Tujo said. “More truth, more disruptions. If we can keep the pressure on, we’ll force them to make mistakes.”

Kiryu nodded, his determination growing. “And if they make mistakes, we’ll be ready to expose them.”

The road ahead was uncertain, and the odds were stacked against them. But for the first time in days, Kiryu felt a glimmer of hope. The System was powerful, but it wasn’t invincible. And as long as they kept fighting, there was a chance—however small—to break its hold.