Ink and Ash

This story includes themes of political corruption, whistle blowing, state surveillance, and social unrest.

Morgan Mathews wasn’t just a freelance journalist—he was a national conscience in print. He walked with the quiet confidence of a man who’d seen too much and written even more. In a city of suits and polished shoes, he stood out—not because he tried to, but because he didn’t. He usually wore what people called 'faded' T-shirts and jeans of all colours—some stained with ink, betraying his love for writing. His clothing told stories of long days chasing whispers of news which he presented to “The Kundan Tribune” newspaper that loved big stories. He wore his cap low over his brow, hiding eyes that missed nothing and forgave little. Maybe he thought that if he hid his eyes no one would see the human side of him.

Morgan wasn’t loud. He didn’t need to be. His publications did the shouting. Where others feared losing access, he feared losing integrity. Where others wrote what they were told, he wrote what he saw, nice juicy news. A recorder was always in his pocket. A question always on his tongue. Coffee on his breath. Dust on his boots. And truth under his fingernails.

Some called him reckless, others called him dangerous, still others said he was a seer or a tool of the opposition. He preferred "journalist."

Every Sunday morning, Kundans flipped open “The Kundan Tribune” to read “Between the Lines,” his fearless column. With surgical precision, Morgan exposed corruption, predicted cabinet reshuffles, and tore through half-truths disguised as policies. His words were sharp, his metaphors poetic, his timing punctual.

He seemed to pierce the veil of power, predicting political shifts with uncanny accuracy. Week after week, he published stories that made people wonder whether he also sat in Cabinet meetings.

Some of Morgan’s most talked about headlines were;

1. “Cabinet reshuffles?”

This article dropped like a sledgehammer. The column ran on Sunday, May 4th. By Wednesday afternoon 7th May, five Ministers were dismissed, blindsided. One Minister, a Mr Bobo Smith reportedly collapsed in his office after he heard the news of his dismissal.

Morgan didn’t just predict the dismissals — he named the ministers dropped from Cabinet amid murmurs of corruption. He wrote like a man quoting proverbs—only his were new, sharp, and stung the powerful.

“A fish rots from the head. And lately, the stench around certain Ministries is no longer rumour—it’s rot. The rot has to be dropped.”

He pointed at the Ministry of Infrastructure and the suspicious road contracts awarded to shell companies. He hinted that Constituency Development Funds under the Ministry of Local and Rural Development had been handed down to relatives and friends of the ruling Party. His final straw was with the Ministry of Commerce and Industry where manufacturing funds had been overstated and the beneficiaries were high ranking Procurement Department staff members who shared excess monies. Three days after this column ran the President dismissed all the Ministers mentioned.

Officially? “Performance issues.”

Unofficially? Everyone knew Morgan had exposed something ugly.

“You’re becoming clairvoyant,” Sable had chuckled over a drink that evening.

They had met in a dingy bar on Lucky Road — the kind of place where everyone was too drunk to know who was who. Sable ordered whisky while Morgan drowned black coffee with too much sugar.

“To truth,” Sable toasted. “And to how dangerous it can be.”

Morgan didn’t smile. “They were dropped, not because of guilt—but to contain the smell.”

2. “Secret Foreign Fuel Deals: What Government Won’t Say Out Loud”

This one was risky. The documents Sable smuggled out were marked, “Secret and Confidential” But the contracts bore dates and foreign signatures.

Morgan disguised the leak as a prediction. He wrote:

“If history repeats itself, the government may already be in talks with PetroDyn — a firm whose name never appears in clean deals.”

Morgan hinted kickbacks for Officials at the Ministry of Energy and rumours of price increases and he warned the Government about protest if this happened.

Morgan’s article lit the fire. By morning, Kundans woke up angry — and plans for mass demonstrations were in motion. The Energy Minister called a press briefing, denying everything. Two weeks later, PetroDyn’s CEO was spotted arriving at Dianne Moore International Airport with officials from Ministry of Energy. Few days later the effect was reflected, fuel prices were increased by one percent (1%) and protests were taking place by Trade Unions countrywide.

“It’s like we’re running the country,” Sable had joked.

They laughed, for too long. Morgan didn’t say it out loud, but something inside him twisted. It was never about power. It was about making the people see the truth.

3. “LGBT Protests Looming: What the Nation Is Ignoring”

This time, Morgan didn’t even need documents. He had Sable’s voice note — a panicked recording from a LGBT task force meeting.

“If they march,” a senior official said, “we’ll bury the footage.”

Morgan couldn’t stay silent.

He wrote a haunting editorial:

“We have taught silence so long that voices now sound like rebellion. But a cry for recognition is not war—it is merely breath.”

Within days, groups marched—rainbow flags wrapped around their heads. And for once, the police stood down. No one quite knew why.

“You changed the outcome,” Sable had said that night, shaking his head. “Your words stopped a confrontation.”

But in Morgan’s eyes, the credit belonged to the marchers. He had only opened the curtain.

4. “Director in Ministry of Energy to resign”

This one struck like lightning. With a nationwide drought worsening power cuts, the sole electricity provider in Kunda was already under intense pressure.

Morgan received a screenshot of an unsigned resignation letter. Sable told him it was scheduled to be submitted Wednesday 28th May.

He ran the story Sunday 25th May. Morgan wrote;

“When the well runs dry, even the strongest shoulders must bow.”

The resignation was submitted by noon on Wednesday.

“They follow your headlines now,” Sable grinned over lunch in a back alley cafe. “You’re not reporting news anymore, Morgan. You’re creating it.”

Morgan didn’t answer. He stirred his coffee slowly, watching steam curl and vanish like smoke from a fire you couldn’t see. In those weeks, they believed they were invincible. They had no uniforms. No microphones. No banners. Just encrypted phones, tired eyes, and a shared addiction to disruption. But power, even indirect power, is like handling acid. You think you’re wearing gloves—until it eats through skin.

Morgan should have stopped then, he should have pulled back. But he had already begun drafting his next headline. The one that would cost him billions!

His next story was meant to be his masterpiece.

It was sitting on his table and read: “State Deal with Foreign Telecom Firm to Undermine National Security — Exclusive Inside Report.”

The article detailed a top-secret, high-level agreement between The Minister of Information Technology and an unnamed foreign tech giant, granting backdoor access to national communication infrastructure. It wasn’t just a scandal — it was espionage at a national level. Morgan had it word-for-word. Too precise. Too perfect. Too damning.

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The Intelligence Office noticed. For the first time, they didn’t dismiss Morgan as just a journalist. “He must have a snitch,” the Chief Intelligence Officer murmured, “or is he a prophet?” Behind the scenes, of course Morgan had a source. He was not God nor was he a prophet.

He had a ghost in the machine: Sable. He was a mid-level government official with deep resentment for the Government of the day and with deep access to Government machinery and a desire to get rich. Of course, he wasn’t doing it for free—neither was Morgan, both men were being funded.

Sable was invisible though he worked inside the Ministry of Information and leaked documents, voice notes, and classified communiqués to Morgan using a series of encrypted email addresses and burner phones. What Morgan did with information was an art — he never quoted directly, never published raw leaks. He turned truth into prediction. That was his genius.

He played it like chess, always three moves ahead, never revealing how he knew. Until greed got the better of him on the national security article and he quoted it word for word and blew his cover by sending a message for more money to his funders.

The story broke everything. Two days later, Morgan received a message from Sable.

“Meet me. It’s too big to send. Same café. Noon.”

But Sable didn’t show up.

Instead, two plain clothed officers did.

They sat at his table without a word and slid a small manila envelope across the table. Inside: photos of Morgan withdrawing cash from a private bank, screenshots of his email chain with “Sable,” and a printed copy of the Telecommunications Leak — from the Minister’s office printer.

Morgan looked up. The taller officer said calmly:

“You’re not here as a reporter, Mr. Mathews. You’re now a national security threat.”

They cuffed him before the Espresso he had ordered arrived.

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That evening, the President's Office released a statement:

“Mr. Morgan Mathews, a journalist previously celebrated for political insight, has been arrested for espionage and unlawful possession of classified state information. Investigations continue into potential accomplices within government ranks. He claimed to fight corruption, yet behind closed doors, he took money from God knows who.”

The media exploded. His supporters cried foul — “They silenced him because he told the truth!”

His critics said, “He was never a prophet — just a thief with a press pass.”

In prison, Morgan wrote no more articles. But he scratched a single phrase on the wall of his cell:

“They called me a spy because I told the future.”

Sable was never found. Some say he never existed — a figment, invented to throw off suspicion. Others say Sable turned Morgan in, striking a deal with authorities to save himself. After all, the best way to end a leak is to burn the pipe. And that’s how Morgan Mathews—the journalist Kundans once admired—met a humiliating end.

Sable visited him in his prison cell after he had served two years of his three year sentence, and he quoted from a famous Kundan philosopher James Milner;

“Sometimes, in the fight against corruption, you're tempted to use the very tool you're trying to destroy — but corruption, once embraced, never stays hidden for long. Sooner or later, it exposes and consumes even its cleverest users.

Morgan lifted his gaze, his voice quiet but edged with bitterness. The fire in him had dimmed; he no longer declared the truth — he confessed it. With words heavy as stone, he told Sable:

“I regret calling out corruption so fiercely that I forgot someone else might be echoing back. I lost my job, my family, my income — all in the name of truth. And what do I have left now? Just poverty and regret.”

Sable wore a black hat with a long black jacket. He lifted the hat and exited the way a man exits from a feature film.