On the far corner of this square, a small boy was standing, holding a worn necklace. He didn't know what it meant, but it belonged to a man, a man who had vanished two days prior.
He looked at his mother with a questioning innocence:
— "Why was it in our house?"
The mother's throat dried out. She extended to take it from him but did not make a sound. She merely smiled weakly, a strained smile, and brought his head to her bosom, whispering:
— "Sometimes… things just lose their way."
But in the house above, behind a shattered window, someone was watching.
He did not share a common name in the square. Everyone knew him only by the epithet: "The Observer."
Graying locks worn thin, eyes barely blinking, and a voice seldom heard. He never had an Echo, but he was learning to be heard otherwise.
Weeks ago, he began to suspect. The number of civilians was decreasing—always slowly. Names being removed. Faces vanishing, then forgotten. No one asked questions. But he was writing.
He picked up an old leather notebook and flipped its pages until he reached the man with the necklace's name: "Merrin D."
"Second person from the groups of supplies. Disappeared after a yelling match with one of the guards."
He smiled patiently and muttered to himself:
— "The bait was swallowed. Unfortunately, it seems I was right."
In an empty house on the edge of town, his small band hid out. Only six individuals, none of whom had an Echo. But they all understood all too well: how to become invisible—and how to plant doubt.
He spoke:
— "The enemy is strong. Stronger than us. We won't overcome them with strength… but with time. We keep them away, confuse them. If we expose them now, they will just turn to open slaughter. If we are all going to die anyway, I'd rather not die without making some impact."
He turned and addressed a short-haired girl whose eyes were bright and alert:
— "Etta, you'll sneak in and replace the bottles of disinfectant. They'll start doubting the authenticity of their meds."
The other, tall, bearded, smiled and asked:
— "And the leaflets distributed by us?"
— "Tomorrow it will take effect."
In the square, a small notice was pinned on the door of an empty building. It read:
"Who ever told the Rift devours people by herself? Some monsters walk on two legs."
On the uppermost floor of the administration office building, Naive stood watching the crowd at the window. His eyes marched smoothly through the crowds.
Then he breathed softly:
— "Something's wrong."
Standing beside him, Ashura remained wordless but spoke:
— "I sense it… the air has changed."
Around the same time, Elsa sensed the tightness in shoulders as she pushed through the people.
"They're quieter. Their eyes don't hold. Like someone is whispering to them. something we can't hear."
That night, candles were lit too soon. And words hid under the beds, as if the night itself had turned dangerous.
In the darkest corner of a run-down cell, The Observer was making a new map. Not of places—but of flows.
At the bottom, he wrote:
"Where you tread on the perimeters… the center shatters."
They met the next day at the city's outskirts. On the ground lay a map torn by hand. It wasn't completed, but it had red dots, black dots, and little inscriptions that only one could understand: the commander.
He stood looking at the distant square, where "Saviors" who were everybody's trusted ones were preparing "explorations." In his eyes there was a mixture of disdain… and wonder.
He spoke softly, to himself:
They believe we're blind… but we're only patient."
One of his group's girls passed through, holding a leathery sheet of paper from an old notebook.
— "We found this in the back of one of the disappeared. Strange inscriptions… he was keeping track of predicted disappearances, like they had a schedule. It seems other heads in the city are starting to wake up."
He took the paper and read quietly. Handwriting was dubious, but the message was clear. Someone had anticipated what would be—was a part of it… then vanished.
He exhaled, then said:
> "We will not attack them directly. Not yet. If they knew we were out there… they'd make an example of us."
Silence.
Then a smile—the kind that precedes methodical destruction:
> "We will delay them. Confuse them. Break their faith in their dominance."
— "How?"
>"We'll disrupt their probes. We'll feed kids into rumor-vulnerable places and spread disinformation from within. Every small falsehood will spawn doubt. And doubt… is the first crack in their control wall."
He nodded toward the necklace on the table:
>"And this… will be the spark."
Outside, Elsa and Merr were trying to calm down a crowd of civilians, trying to determine what had changed their behavior so drastically.
But behind the scenes. all was beginning to crumble.
Naive watched over a group of children at play in the charge of a man who, just two days before, had been but a silent beggar—now he talked too much. too much.
Ashura opened the door without knocking. He didn't speak, though his arrival forced Naive to say:
> "The city is changing. Not toward survival. but toward rebellion."
He pulled out a sheet of paper—upon which a simple map and movement patterns of the civilians who had begun to "think." Red circles… gray markings… all pointing to one thing: someone was awakening minds.
> "We have a silent resistance. No bullets—but an enlightened tongue."
He looked over at Ashura:
> "I'll start silencing mouths. No public killings. Just discreet vanishing acts… with believable explanations."
Ashura didn't have an opinion. He merely glared at him with an expression of uncertainty—or maybe sorrow he wouldn't claim.
---
Far in the depths of a basement, Naive met Elsa and Merr.
— "Soon people will start asking questions. And someone's providing the answers—with lies that make them afraid of us, not the Rifts."
Elsa (nervously): "You mean… someone from the inside?"
> "I mean a mind we don't know… but one who knows us."
Then he outlined his plan:
Step One: Spread a rumor of a "neural effect" throughout the Rifts, causing hallucinations and delusions of conspiracy. They'll call it "Whisper Syndrome."
Step Two: Select certain individuals who are known to be very active and quarantine them under the pretext of protecting them—and others—from "infection."
Step Three: Penetrate small groups by implanting friendly agents who present "official truths" and offer "phony understanding" in order to gain trust… then blow them up from the inside.
---
When the meeting was over, Naive proclaimed coldly:
> "The city is vulnerable… and doubt is now our number one foe. I'll make them doubt themselves… not us."
By the seventh morning that the scheme was being put into place, the city felt less crowded. Not because individuals had vanished—but because people slowed their pace, hushed tones were heard, and eyes measured each other as if each of them might be a traitor.
In the mini market, there was an old woman sitting beside a stack of cloth, muttering to herself:
Whisper Syndrome… I said I was crazy… but I heard my son cry in the night, and he was nowhere near the room."
A young woman walking by gave her a frightened look, then fled.
Panic was spreading. But it was spreading slowly… and cleverly.
---
In another location, on the upper floor of a half-burnt-down house, the rebel leader sat with his followers.
One of them remarked:
> "Reild disappeared yesterday night. They say that the Rift reached him… but he told me some hours ago that he found something on the new map."
The leader smiled tautly:
> "They're learning… good. Then it's time for the next phase."
He produced stale bread, tore it into crumbs, and scattered them:
>'Each one of you take one of those abandoned… give it to them. They'll know that it's our message: they are not alone.'
---
In the middle of the city, Elsa approached a crying young woman who sat by her child, who had not spoken for two days. She sat down next to her, took her hand, and began to talk softly:
>"The Rifts are near… yes. And maybe they'll touch the ones we love. But that doesn't necessarily mean they're dead. The child needs a hug, not a diagnosis."
Elsa smiled… but was breaking apart inside. She knew "soothing words" would have no permanent effect.
---
In the storage basement, Merr handed out bread and disinfectants to families, but recognized too familiar faces showing up too many times… the same people, in many places.
She stopped, suspicious. Then exhaled quietly:
They travel a lot… they're not fearful enough."
---
At night, as the city glowed softly under the lights produced by alternative energy sources, anomalous sheets of paper emerged—written in a foreign hand. No one had a clue who placed them there. The sheet of paper had:
> "When they tell you that you're hallucinating. perhaps you're just one of the few who still perceive the truth."