The Seeds of Dominion

1

I always knew the world was constructed on lies. Not minor falsehoods or innocent misunderstandings, but carefully cultivated fabrications designed to shape reality. From my earliest memories, even before my parents disappeared, I sensed that truth was not something freely given—it was deliberately hidden, erased, and rewritten.

My parents were among the first to resist. They stood against the Dominion when resistance still felt possible, believing knowledge was a right worth risking everything to protect. They vanished when I was six, quietly removed by the regime, their identities reduced to whispers and fading memories.

Ronan and Elise Marek, old friends of my parents and former resistance fighters themselves, took me in. They taught me how to navigate the unseen currents beneath the surface, how to decode the hidden language of control the Dominion embedded in every broadcast and headline. They showed me the creeping corporate feudalism that had slowly replaced democracy as powerful corporations silently took ownership of entire districts, deciding who prospered and who disappeared.

By sixteen, I was adept at uncovering secrets. I immersed myself in encrypted data streams and forgotten archives. Ronan and Elise warned me: knowing too much was dangerous—but ignorance was deadly. The Dominion thrived because people feared the truth; they accepted convenience over freedom.

My decision to become a journalist was calculated. It allowed me to move unnoticed, to gather information without drawing suspicion. Yet, deep down, I knew this was more than a career—it was a weapon against tyranny. Truth was powerful, but proof was lethal.

2

“You ever feel like you’re chasing ghosts, Joran?”

I glanced up from my tablet, where Dominion data feeds ran endlessly, searching for cracks in their carefully constructed narratives. Devon Raines, my closest friend since our academy days, watched me from across the café table, worry shadowing his face.

“We chase ghosts because they’re the only thing the Dominion fears,” I replied evenly. Devon’s discomfort was palpable, a subtle anxiety coloring every gesture. Recently, he'd changed—he’d grown cautious, hesitant.

“The war’s been over for years,” Devon said softly. “Maybe they won because no one noticed until it was too late. Now all we’re doing is marking ourselves as targets.”

His words unsettled me—not for their truth, but because they were spoken from fear. Devon’s courage had once matched mine, his idealism unwavering. Something had shifted.

“What's changed, Devon?” I leaned forward, lowering my voice instinctively. Surveillance was everywhere, hidden in plain sight.

He hesitated, eyes flicking nervously to the security camera mounted near the ceiling. “There's a new list,” he whispered. “It’s not for criminals or dissidents. It’s for people who question too much. It’s called the Inquiry List.”

I understood immediately. A blacklist was straightforward—immediate punishment or exile. The Inquiry List was something darker, insidious. It marked you for isolation, slow erosion, and eventual disappearance.

“You’re on it,” I stated flatly, watching him closely.

He nodded slowly. “We both are.”

A silent understanding passed between us. Devon was frightened, and fear made people dangerous. Still, I wasn’t about to stop—not now, when the stakes had finally become clear.

3

Devon disappeared within days. His presence simply ceased—no messages, no records, no traces. Just silence.

I pursued answers with relentless determination, hacking into secured archives, whispering in underground circles, piecing together fragments of his fate. Each revelation deepened my dread: the Dominion Protocol wasn’t coming—it had arrived. Our world was now governed by rigid conformity, loyalty measured in unquestioning obedience. Citizens weren’t people; they were assets, evaluated for their utility, discarded when inconvenient.

I stared numbly at the evidence on my tablet. Democracy hadn’t merely been undermined—it had been methodically dismantled. Devon wasn’t dead, not physically. He had been absorbed, transformed into something compliant and controlled.

4

I knew when they would come. Patterns were easy to spot if you paid attention. Increased drone patrols, subtle shifts in daily broadcasts, neighbors becoming suddenly distant—it was all carefully staged.

When the knock finally came, I was already on the move. Out through the fire escape, down silent alleyways, navigating shadows with practiced ease. My heart pounded but my breathing remained steady. Panic was a luxury I couldn't afford.

The train station loomed ahead, my gateway to the industrial underground. Passengers waited silently, their faces blank, eyes fixed firmly forward. I slipped onto the platform just as Dominion enforcers emerged, their armored presence imposing and inevitable.

“Joran Vale.”

The voice sent a chill down my spine—not the enforcer’s voice, but Devon’s.

I turned slowly, dread twisting inside me. Devon stood among them, dressed in Dominion black, his eyes hollow and distant. I recognized the vacancy instantly: the Dominion had taken not only his freedom but his spirit.

“Come quietly,” he intoned, emotionless.

“You gave in,” I accused bitterly. “They made you afraid, and you surrendered.”

“I adapted,” he replied mechanically.

“No,” I said sharply, “adaptation isn't compliance.”

His gaze faltered, something brief and vulnerable flickering behind those empty eyes. Devon reached toward me, an automated reflex of the Dominion’s control.

The train doors hissed open beside me, a brief window of opportunity. Devon lunged, grabbing my shoulder. Instinct took over—I drove my elbow hard into his ribs, feeling him recoil sharply, gasping for breath. His grip loosened, and I wrenched free, leaping onto the train just as the doors snapped shut behind me.

Through the window, Devon stared helplessly, now a shadow fading into the distance. Regret etched his features briefly before the darkness reclaimed him.

The train surged forward, carrying me into uncertainty—but also toward freedom.

5

As the city lights blurred into a mosaic of neon and shadow, I steadied my breathing. The train hummed rhythmically beneath my feet, a steady reassurance that—for now—I was still free. Passengers around me stared blankly ahead, eyes purposely unfocused, trained to remain ignorant of anything that might threaten their carefully curated peace.

But I was awake. The Dominion thrived on the apathy of the masses, believing control was absolute because compliance was easy. Yet beneath that façade lay a deep-seated fear of truth, a fragile illusion ready to shatter.

I had lost Devon, just as I'd lost my parents. Each loss carved itself into my being, painful reminders that truth always came at a cost. But their sacrifices were not in vain. They'd ignited a flame in me, nurtured by Ronan and Elise—a flame of resistance, a commitment to remember, to speak, and to expose the lies.

The Dominion underestimated the strength of those who remembered, those who chose truth over comfort. They believed themselves untouchable, their rule eternal. But power built upon lies was fundamentally unstable, vulnerable to those willing to risk everything for the truth.

As the train raced deeper into the industrial outskirts, darkness settled around me, punctuated only by flickering lights and distant shadows. I pressed my forehead gently against the cold window, eyes scanning the landscape rushing past. Factories loomed on the horizon, silent giants standing guard over secrets yet undiscovered.

My heart steadied, determination hardening like tempered steel. They might hunt me, silence me, or erase my name from history. But they couldn't erase the truth—not while people like me still breathed.

The Dominion hadn’t won.

Not yet.

On a parallel track, unnoticed, another train moved quietly through the shadows. Inside, illuminated by the pale glow of a screen, a figure stared intently at my image captured by surveillance cameras. Eyes narrowed thoughtfully, studying every detail of my escape, every gesture, every defiance.

From the tinted window of his train car, Devon watched the darkness unfold, shadows reflecting in his eyes—eyes no longer hollow but haunted by the flicker of something forgotten.

He whispered softly to himself, a truth long buried but impossible to erase.

“The truth is not a ghost; it is a weapon.”

And outside, the city faded slowly into darkness.