Honesty? Best Policy

Link to article: Honesty? Best Policy.

.email {border: solid 2px #000000; width: 88%; padding: 1px 15px; margin: 10px; box-shadow: 0 1px 3px rgba(0,0,0,.5)}
.tofrom {margin-left: 10px; margin-top: 5px; padding: 1px 15px; border-left: solid 3px maroon}

border: dotted gray 1px; padding: 15px 30px; margin: 10px; background-color: rgba(0,0,0,.05);

```
background-color: rgba(255,255,255,.5);
```

width: 88%; padding: 1px 15px; margin: 10px; box-shadow: 0 1px 3px rgba(0,0,0,.5); background-color: rgb(231, 233, 220); font-family:

```
font-family: 
```

(none)

```
email
```
```
tofrom
```

[[module CSS]]
.email {border: solid 2px #000000; width: 88%; padding: 1px 15px; margin: 10px; box-shadow: 0 1px 3px rgba(0,0,0,.5)}
.tofrom {margin-left: 10px; margin-top: 5px; padding: 1px 15px; border-left: solid 3px maroon}
[[/module]]

[[>]]
[[module Rate]]
[[/>]]

[[div id="start" style="border: dotted gray 1px; padding: 15px 30px; margin: 10px; background-color: rgba(0,0,0,.05);"]]
The Truthseeker leant back in his chair, staring up at the blank ceiling through the slits in his mask. The soothing rhythms of Puccini’s //Addio fiorito asil// danced around the room. Its melodies soared and dipped, as if carried on the wings of invisible birds flying in joyous swoops, the notes bouncing off the paintings on the walls towards him. He closed his eyes, allowing the music to consume him. The notes soared even higher than before, high enough to brush against the underside of heaven–

//Ding.//

He shot back up, his chair rolling forwards with the momentum, almost but not quite slamming his stomach into the desk. His forearm was less lucky. “Oh, for the love of–” A faint purple was already blossoming beneath his skin. Gritting his teeth, he hit a button on his desk, and the room fell silent.

The computer mouse was cold beneath his hand as he moved it, clicking on the notification waiting patiently at the corner of the screen.

[[<]]
[[div class="email" style="background-color: rgba(255,255,255,.5);"]]
[[div class="tofrom"]]
**To:** truthseeker@admin.ttsp.org
**From:** bird@admin.ttsp.org
**Subject:** Another One
[[/div]]
------
You might be interested in this.

📎 fb_screenshot_01.jpg
📎 fb_screenshot_02.jpg
📎 fb_screenshot_03.jpg
[[/div]]
[[/<]]

He smiled behind his mask.
[[/div]]

------

Easton Edwards was in trouble.

He'd called out his brother on his alcoholism, called out some other relatives on their racism, and called out several politicians on their inability to deliver the law reforms they promised in their election campaigns. All on Facebook. And now he was in Facebook Jail yet again, with even more enemies who'd love to see him dead.

One of these days, he'd learn. Maybe.

Or, hoped the most optimistic part of his heart, everyone would stop denying the undeniable truth and actually do something about it, instead of lying to themselves and everyone else. The chances were slim, he knew that. He was hopeful - not idealistic. But neither could stop what he knew was coming now.

Any minute now, his brother would be knocking down his door like a low-grade middle school, demanding for the post about him to be deleted, and he would most likely be drunk. Easton didn't want to be around when that happened. One hospital visit in a year is enough, thank you; and besides, he didn't want to be the reason his brother was sent back to prison.

He shoved some more clothes into his nearly full backpack, not caring if they could be assembled into socially acceptable outfits or not. Yeah, that'll do. He headed out the back door and closed it behind him, just as he heard an aggressive rapping on the front door. Perfect timing.

He stepped lightly around the side of the house, waiting to hear the sound of wood splintering. The door slammed open, followed by heavy footsteps inside. He grinned, running out to the street. He ran a short way along the road before slowing to a leisurely walk.

He sat down at the closest seat. The metal was cold, creeping through the fabric of his shorts to pierce his skin. He leant back to close his eyes for a few seconds, breathing in the fresh air. He needed to find out where to go. This wasn't the first time this had happened, of course, but the friend he normally crashed with was on holiday. He still had a few hours of daylight at least. It should be enough time to figure out–

"Are you Easton Edwards?"

He opened one eye. A stranger stood before him, a petite woman with her dark hair pulled back into a bun. He opened the other eye and sat up straight. "Yeah, that is I. What do you want?"

She pulled an envelope from her coat pocket, extending it towards him, presumably for him to take. He hesitated for several seconds, and then did. As soon as it left her hand, she walked off.

Easton jumped to his feet. "Hey, wait! What is this?" She'd already disappeared into a group of passers-by before he thought to run after her. He sat back down, scrutinising the envelope in his hands.

"Hmm. Looks normal." He sniffed it. "Smells normal." He shook it next to his ear. "Sounds normal." He stuck his tongue out towards the envelope, but stopped before licking it, instead shaking his head in disgust.

He ripped it open, pulling out the letter inside.

[[div id="letter" style="width: 88%; padding: 1px 15px; margin: 10px; box-shadow: 0 1px 3px rgba(0,0,0,.5); background-color: rgb(231, 233, 220); font-family: "Rockwell", sans-serif;"]]
Dear Easton Edwards,

We have been watching you. We are an organisation that values honesty above all, and you have shown time and time again that you are dedicated to this cause. And so, we are offering you a place in our community.

If you accept, come to the Bargate at midnight tonight. One of our members will be waiting for you.

Remember, [[[scp-5329|the truth shall prevail]]].

Sincerely,
[[span id="signature" style="font-family: "Brush Script MT", sans-serif;"]] [[size 150%]]the Truthseeker[[/size]]
[[/span]]
[[/div]]

He didn't even notice the smile on his face until his cheek muscles began to hurt. Someone had noticed him. More than that, someone had //agreed// with him. Honesty is thankless work, a reward in itself, et cetera, et cetera... but it was still nice to be acknowledged.

He roughly folded the letter again - it only slightly resisted the new creases - and shoved it back into the envelope.

Midnight tonight, huh? His dilemma of finding accommodation would remain unsolved for a little while longer then. Really, he could still be thinking about it in the meantime, but he quickly dismissed that thought. His mind had far bigger puzzles to ponder.

||||~ The Ponderings of Easton Edwards, at this time||
||~ Point of Interest ||~ Relevant Thoughts ||
|| "an organisation" || Not a "group" or a "club", but a term that implies professionalism. Is it official? How many members? What exactly am I getting myself into? ||
|| "the Truthseeker" || That sounds important. Is that the leader? Was that woman the Truthseeker? Did the leader themself reach out to me? How important does that make me? ||
|| "We have been watching you" || A little creepy. Bad implications. Probably should devote more thoughts to– ||
|| "the Bargate" || Well, I'm going anyway. I vaguely remember where it is. I think I'll just... ||

He got to his feet, and began to walk.

------

++++ //Three minutes before midnight//

There were more than eight hundred years of history embedded in the stone gatehouse before him, and he felt each one as a pair of eyes staring down at him.

Easton shivered, pulling the folds of his jacket more tightly around himself. He had been there since sunset, watching the final rays of sunlight disappearing over the roofs of buildings. Now, he looked up at the small pinpricks of starlight scattered across the sky.

++++ //Two minutes before midnight//

It wasn't quite dark, with the watchful eye of the half moon overhead, the flickering street lamps, and the scattered lights of the Bargate. Still, his mind imagined monsters in the few shadows there were. Faces between the bricks, axe-wielding psychopaths ducking behind buildings whenever he turned to look.

He could have been sleeping right now, dreaming of much happier, and safer, things. But no, the Easton of ten hours ago made the decision to do what the creepy letter said. He mentally cursed his past self. It did make him feel a bit better about the situation he was still in, but only a bit.

++++ //One minute before midnight//

He was, still, alone.

The letter //had// specified midnight, but surely he would have seen someone approaching before then. Maybe they had forgotten? Or maybe he was in the wrong place? No, no, this was definitely the Bargate. But they could have been referring to the street or the shopping centre instead. Perhaps someone was standing there now, waiting for him. And when he didn't arrive, they'd assume he had no interest in their community – wrong! he did! – and never reach out to him again. Did he have time now? Could he make it to one if he ran? But which one? They did say "the" Bargate which would most likely rule out the street, unless they often used definite articles with street names. But then, the shopping centre? It didn't seem like a recruiting-for-secret-organisation kind of place. But then again, he knew almost nothing about them. Maybe shopping centres hold some significance for them. Would that be more likely than them referring to a street with a definite article? He was running out of time. He needed to choose. He needed to–

++++ //Midnight//

The gentle hum of an engine pulled him from his thoughts. A sleek black car with heavily tinted windows rolled to a stop beside him, the hum settling into a purr.

The back window rolled down, revealing an intricate bird mask, adorned with feathers and rhinestones, and styled like a great grey shrike.

"Easton Edwards," it said. "Are you ready to join the next stage of human evolution?"

His brain raced with thoughts so fast he registered none as they passed by. "Y-yes."

"Then get in."

He darted around the back of the car, trailing a finger along the boot as he passed – it was cold to the touch – wrenched open the door and practically dived into the backseat, slamming it shut behind him.

He was met with a chuckle from behind the bird mask. "You're certainly eager."

The car's interior mirrored the dark elegance of its exterior – black leather seats, and a variety of other black materials and fabrics across the roof, doors, and floor, accentuated by wood detailing around the door handles and the various cup holders. A tinted partition hid the front seat from view.

The bird mask was, unsurprisingly, worn by a human, who additionally wore a cream-coloured blazer and a navy skirt. The seat around them almost engulfed their small stature, and their dark hair was pulled back into a bun–

"Hey, wait a minute." Easton reached into his pocket, pulling out the now very heavily crumpled envelope. "You're the lady who gave me this, right?"

She extended a hand. "Birdie. Pleased to properly make your acquaintance."

He shook it. "Easton, but you already know that. So, um, what exactly is the deal here?"

He felt a slight, almost imperceptible jolt as the car began to move again, smoothly accelerating as the Bargate grew smaller in the back window.

Birdie straightened in her seat, her next words delivered with the monotony and familiarity of a speech already given hundreds of times prior.

"You have been invited to join The Truth Shall Prevail, an organisation dedicated to making the world a better and more honest place. Deceit and lies are the foundation of every conflict that has occurred in the history of humanity, and if we continue on this path, we will ultimately destroy ourselves. The only way to save humanity is to evolve. To accept truth and eradicate dishonesty. What is your answer? Will you join us in our mission?"

Easton blinked, then blinked again, allowing time for his mind to catch up and process the words. "Yes! Yes, of course. I completely agree about the stuff about lies, and–" He spoke rapidly, his thoughts pouring out. "–and, you know, I've always wanted to find like minded people. Everyone's so comfortable in their lies, right? No one wants to acknowledge what's really going on. And..."

The mask obscured Birdie's eyes, but he could imagine them staring up at him as he rambled. He looked down at the car floor, shifting slightly in his seat.

"Yes, I want to join."

"Then you must make a pledge. To never lie, no matter the situation."

"I promise."

Birdie shook her head. "Not to me." She gestured forward. "To //him//."

There was a click, and the partition began to lower, revealing the white-clothed shoulders of the driver in front of him. Reflected in the rearview mirror was a white mask with thin vertical slits.

"Do you pledge," it said – no, //he// said, his deep voice crackling with static, "to always tell the truth? To never lie under any circumstances?"

Easton's words caught in his throat, held down by the sudden gravity of the situation. The reflected mask lifted to face him. A name came to mind, one he had read earlier and spared only a few thoughts for at the time. Now it occupied all of them.

//Truthseeker//.

"I do." He sat up a little straighter. "I pledge."

The mask in the mirror turned away. Another click, and the partition rose to hide him away once more.

Easton settled more comfortably into his chair. "So, is that it? I'm one of you now?"

"Almost." He turned to Birdie, who held – was that a fox mask? – out towards him. "Take this."

It was light, yet solid, in his hands. He ran his fingers over the grooves, the intricate and swirling patterns carved into the wooden face. The inside was entirely smooth, lacking eye holes or straps of any kind.

"[[[interview-with-a-ttsp-member|The previous owner]]] was... compromised." Birdie paused. Easton could've sworn he heard her take a shaky breath. "In any case, it's yours now. It will be your main form of communication with us. You must wear it to all in-person meetings, and you will also need to use an alias." She paused again. "The previous owner went by Foxy."

Easton looked down at the mask. It stared back up at him with lifeless rhinestone eyes. "Vulpine. I'll be Vulpine. But, how am I supposed to wear it or communicate–"

"There are some things in this world common people incorrectly assume are true. We call them Fallacies. You are no longer a common person, Vulpine, so I will tell you this: the second Fallacy is that the world is exactly as it seems, never violating the set of rules that is science. You already know the first Fallacy."

Easton blinked. "That doesn't explain anything–"

"This is your stop."

Sure enough, the Bargate's lights shone through Birdie's tinted window, the courtyard still empty, the shadows still full. "But I still have so many questions."

Birdie sighed, the sound muffled by her mask. "Very well. You may ask //one// now, and the rest will be answered later."

Only one? Of all the thoughts racing through his mind, almost too fast to register them? Impossible. But if he didn't choose now, he would have to wait an indeterminate length of time for his curiosity to be satisfied. Which one was the most urgent, then? Which one was at the forefront of his mind? Which one was the most important question of all?

"Is there somewhere I could stay for a few nights?"

Honesty? Best Policy

Module Styles

Inline Styles

Includes

CSS Classes

Page Source