Axiom Zero

Thirteen strata beneath the dome of Paris-Eurythmia. The Alpha Register.

Here, the servers of Cycle I rot in the dark. My boots strike the concrete with a rhythm measured to the millisecond by LEX.STATUA. Ninety-two steps per minute. Muscular fatigue registers in my interface as numerical data, devoid of discomfort. I know I used to hate these underground levels. I retained the factual information. The nausea is gone.

The terminal in the central vault blinks.

ATHENA.VICTIS demands Axiom Zero. The first man erased by the faction. The original rough draft of the Dissolution.

The encrypted channel crackles at the base of my skull.

"Open it, Marga." Vassili's voice. Harsh. Direct. She coordinates my advance from the lower levels. Twelve years of life among the Dissolved have made her my strategic equal. Her conscience aligns with mine. "They built their empire on this lie."

My bare fingers pierce the console plate. The metal yields. I force the source code.

A name appears on the screen. A magistrate.

The Law possesses two faces. Restoring this identity in the Codex will destroy the jurisprudence that followed. Thousands of marriages, agreements, and filiations will be retroactively annulled. Innocent citizens will become anomalies, stripped of their rights in a fraction of a second.

This is the cost of Truth. The Judgment always demands a victim.

The cursor flashes over the restoration command. If I press it, I shatter the present of a multitude to cleanse the past of one. If I step back, I validate the system that crushed my own family.

The silence is heavy. The Seven Who Reign might be watching.

My index finger grazes the validation key. What weight should be given to the dead when the living must foot the bill?