Ash woke to a sharp, antiseptic brightness.
The lights above him buzzed faintly, their sterile blue glow bouncing off metallic walls. Something cold clamped around his wrists and ankles. His mouth was dry. His body ached.
He was on a table.
And he was not alone.
White-coated medical techs moved around him, masked and silent. Instruments hummed. Robotic arms extended and retracted with eerie precision.
One leaned close, brushing Ash’s hair from his forehead.
A whisper slipped from behind the tech’s mask.
“This is for your brother.”
Ash’s heart thudded.
He jerked against the restraints. “What? What did you say?”
The tech said nothing more. Simply pressed a gloved hand to Ash’s chest and gently held him down.
Ash’s thoughts spun.
Corwin.
Was this help?
Or a trap?
He didn’t know. Couldn’t know. That was the game they’d always played—truth and lies wrapped in roles, layers of strategy piled on top of survival.
Ash closed his eyes.
And he remembered.
He was ten. Maybe younger.
The woods around the commune had been one of the only places they could escape the constant surveillance. Or so they thought.
Ash had been throwing rocks at a rusted drone shell when Corwin suddenly climbed a tree nearby.
With one swift motion, Corwin ripped a tiny black cube from a branch—a hidden monitor.
He smashed it underfoot.
Then, breathless, he dropped beside Ash and scanned the trees. “They’re watching. Always.”
Ash stood frozen. “Did we get all of them?”
Corwin didn’t answer. He just grabbed Ash by the shoulders.
“Listen to me. This is important. You have to trust me.”
Ash hesitated.
Corwin shook him slightly. “Ash. I’m going to play the good little boy. I’m going to get close to the Director. I’ll get inside.”
Ash blinked. “Why?”
“Because we need to know what happened to Mom and Dad. No one else is going to find out. I will.”
“You’ll be the man of the people. The fighter. I’ll be the traitor on the inside.”
Ash frowned. “But what if they turn you?”
Corwin looked him dead in the eye.
“Then you kill me.”
Silence.
“But if I make it—if I stay me—then everything I do, no matter how much it hurts you, will be for us. You got that?”
Ash swallowed hard. He nodded.
“We’ll be lies,” Corwin said. “But we’ll always know the truth underneath. That’s the deal.”
Just then, the bushes rustled.
Headmistress Elira appeared in her long gray coat, arms folded, expression severe.
“Boys,” she said. “Time to return.”
They followed her without a word.
Ash’s eyes fluttered open again.
The brightness of the med bay returned, harsh and real.
The Director stood across the room.
Beside him—Corwin.
Ash tried to sit up, but the restraints held. The Director laughed softly.
“Ah, our revolutionary wakes.”
He walked closer, examining Ash like a specimen.
“You took quite the beating, my boy. A shame. You had such… theatrical potential.”
Corwin stayed back, eyes unreadable.
“But we may yet find use for you,” the Director continued. “There’s always an audience for a redemption arc.”
Ash turned his head to Corwin. “You gonna gloat too?”
Corwin took a half-step forward, then stopped.
The Director narrowed his eyes and stayed close.
Whatever moment might have passed between the brothers dissolved.
Eventually, the Director nodded to the medical staff. “Stitch him up. Make him look… tragic.”
He turned to Corwin. “Come. We have planning to do.”
The two walked toward the exit.
Ash watched.
At the last second, Corwin paused by one of the techs. The Director didn’t notice.
Corwin didn’t speak. He simply slipped something—a small, metallic object—into the tech’s hand.
The tech stiffened, but then lowered his head and tucked the object beneath his sleeve.
Ash saw it all.
He didn’t know what it was.
But he knew enough.
The game was still on.
Frank M. Anderson's Writing 
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