The War of Pages

1; On Paper

His green eyes burned bright, illuminating the darkness that threatened to consume him. As he walked through the house, he tripped over re-arranged furniture, broken lamps, knocked over sculptures, and other family heirlooms that had been launched into chaos during the raid. He flipped every switch he passed along the walls, but they all told the same story—the electricity had been cut. Probably by the local authorities who were hellbent on finding some dirt on his father, Bandit Tru. He hoped he'd gotten there in time, but by judging from the aftermath, he'd been too late to save his father. He was probably being transported to some secret government cave by now.

Once he'd made it upstairs in the darkness, he felt his way along the walls to find Bandit's office. The door had been life wide open, which is a sight he'd never seen before. He was suddenly charting unfamiliar territory.

He walked through the doorway and stood in Bandit Tru's office for the first time in many years. Only as big as a finger, the flashlight he held in his hands was tiny, but it illuminated the entire room. It mirrored the destruction of the rest of the house, but in some ways, it was much worse. His dad's office looked like it had been hit by a massive earthquake.

Though he was only sixteen, chance had made Techno Tru the leader of the resistance, a legacy he would have eventually welcomed with open arms. But because of the raid, his arms had been ripped wide open whether he was ready to accept it or not.

He figured he only had seconds to find something useful before he'd need to flee the scene, so he surveyed the room for something meaningful to save. His eyes were immediately drawn to a safe in the corner of his father's office that had been blasted open moments before. Knowing Bandit, there would be a secret compartment that held the ultimate prize. There it was underneath a thin piece of wood. An old, black leather-bound book sat alone in what was left of the safe. The Journal of Nevik Tru, 2099.

Mesmerized by this relic from the past, he opened it to the middle of the journal and fell into the words on the page. It gave intimate details of the war he'd never learned from his dad or the rest of his male-centric family.

September 18, 2099.

After the White House fell, other systems began to crumble around us. Right before the war started, a man by the name of Jacke Townsend became notorious for launching the powers that be into a war against the written word. Armed with a mile-long list of published manuscripts touted as non-fiction narratives in many different genres, he introduced the world to the idea of the deceitful author. On his soapbox, he convinced many of the lawmakers in Congress that they needed to do something to stop us. Us being the evil, wrongdoing writers who were hellbent on destroying the truth. I never claimed to be in that so-called group of writers, but just by being a writer by trade, I was vilified like any of the others were.

Because of this unfortunate fact, I was smack dab in the middle of it all. I had to sit among them and watch my life's work destroyed right along with my reputation. To say I was mad was a complete understatement. This set me on fire, and I couldn't just sit by and let things fall down all around me. Starting with my family, I organized a small group of published and aspiring authors who were as mad as I was. To my detriment, however, I was the only one willing to assume the role of leader.

So, the resistance was born one early morning at a local coffee shop as we all sat around the table with our laptops, coffee, and pride in hand. Our small group of soldiers never had a chance, though. Eyes were on us before that day, and they never left us, not even as we were dying in the streets.

Footsteps creaked closer to Techno, bringing him back to the present. As quickly as he could, he closed the journal and shoved it into his bag so he could make a quick exit. But before he could open the window to climb out, a dark figure appeared in the doorway of the office.

"I'm going to have to ask you to step away from that window." Zed Cohen, a local police officer Techno was intimately familiar with, stepped into the bright light of Bandit's office. "Whether you like it or not, you're part of this entire mess, and I can't allow you to leave the premises."

Techno crept one step closer to the window, and Cohen pulled a gun on him. "I'm not armed. You can't touch me." He was reluctant to climb out the window, though. They both stared at each other for seconds that seemed like hours.

"Don't be so sure. My orders are to detain anyone found at the Tru Estate by whatever means necessary."

"Including shooting an innocent kid?" He braced himself against the window, preparing to escape at the perfect moment.

"Don't make me laugh." With the gun still pointed at Techno, Cohen walked closer to the window, determined to capture his suspect. "You're about as innocent as the long line of criminals in your disgusting family."

Throwing his bag at Cohen, Techno knocked him over and ran past where he lay on the floor. As he tried to escape, Cohen grabbed one of his ankles and knocked him down on the floor with him. As he stood up, he looked through Techno's bag, and his eyes lit up when he found the old journal.

"Well, look what we have here," he said as he read the words on the cover. "An old journal of public enemy number one, Mister Nevik Tru. And where do you think you were going with this?"

"You'd better give that back to me. Right now."

Techno stepped closer to Cohen and tried to snatch the journal out of his hands. As he did, the officer grabbed his wrist and pulled him up to stand. With his unrelenting grip, he pushed Techno against the closest wall and pinned both of arms behind his back.

"Or else? No, I don't think so. This is evidence against you and your father, and it's coming to the jail with us." Cohen put the journal in his jacket and pulled out a pair of golden handcuffs. Techno continued to fight against him as he fastened the handcuffs on his hands. "Let's go. We're done here."