By 2250 AD, war was an obsolete concept. Humanity had long since eliminated its destructive tendencies, unified under the guidance of the United World Government. The last known conflict, the Final Purge of 2143, had cleansed the world of the last terrorist regime that clung to outdated, radical ideals.
The UWG’s statement had been clear: “The needless waste of 10 million fanatics will not be forgotten easily, but will be forgotten.” And so, it was. There were no memorials, no lessons on it in schools—only the well-known knowledge that the world was better for it.
Gavin Roarke understood this. He was a loyal citizen, an archivist for the UWG’s Department of Historical Integrity. His job was an honor, ensuring that the past was preserved correctly—edited, if necessary—to protect the stability of society. There was no need for people to dwell on unnecessary details of history. The UWG had given humanity peace, and peace required order.
Today, Gavin had been tasked with reviewing a flagged data file from a long-obsolete database known as the Compendium. Likely another redundant record needing deletion. As he scrolled through the report, his eyes scanned the familiar language—Operation Dawnbringer. Total elimination achieved. Civilian casualties: irrelevant. Ideological threat: neutralized.
Gavin nodded. It was the same story he had read a hundred times before. The last war had been swift and necessary. The UWG had acted decisively, removing the root of disorder. It was why cities thrived now, why people lived without fear. No crime, no hunger, no conflict. The record was full of praise for the execution of the operation and its participants. Article after article alerting the public to what this meant for the good of humanity, and what a prosperous future lay ahead as a result.
But as he continued reading, a strange phrase caught his eye.
"Target groups included non-combatants."
That… wasn’t the usual wording. He frowned, his fingers hesitating over the screen. He expanded the document to explore it further. The usual profiles of military and criminal elements were present, of course, but there was something else.
"Non-combatants deemed ideologically compromised: 74% of total casualties."
Gavin’s breath caught. His training told him not to react emotionally—emotion led to disorder—but something about this phrasing felt… off. The Final Purge had always been framed as a necessity, a cleansing of violent radicals who refused to accept peace. But this implied something different.
His mind fought against itself. He should report the anomaly, request immediate deletion. But something made him dig deeper, his fingers moving before he could stop them. More logs surfaced. More contradictions.
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The regime they had destroyed had not been terrorists. It had been a coalition of thinkers, scientists, and dissenters—people who had questioned the UWG’s authority, who had proposed alternative systems of governance. They hadn’t fought with weapons. They had fought with ideas. And for that, they had been erased.
Gavin’s stomach twisted, his worldview fracturing with each line he read. Millions, not just a handful of civilians, had been equally destroyed due to their unfortunate proximity to the intended targets. Men, women, children, the elderly—it made no difference. Anyone who had seen or heard what was transpiring was gone. People in the same coffee shop as someone who received a text about the upcoming altercation—erased, for fear they might have heard something.
Images flashed across the orb in rapid succession, searing themselves into his psyche. His eyes burned with strain as he couldn't bring himself to pull away from this atrocity.
What had they done?
Surely the end didn't justify the means here.
But before he could process it, the bar above his workspace flashed red, and an alarm blared.
Unauthorized access detected.
His breath hitched. No. This wasn’t—he hadn’t meant—
Quickly, he placed the orb back in its block and tidied his station. He backed his chair up and attempted to leave.
The door behind him slid open with a quiet hiss. Polished black boots stepped inside. The voice that followed was calm, composed.
“You were never meant to see that, Roarke.”
A small company of security had gathered behind him.
Gavin swallowed. He wanted to explain. To justify. To tell them that he believed in the UWG, that he had always been loyal. That he still wanted to be.
But the moment he met their gaze, he understood.
He would be forgotten, too.
Incident Report: Unauthorized Data Access
Date: [REDACTED]
Filed by: Correction Officer Richard Till
Subject: Gavin Roarke, Senior Archivist – Department of Historical Integrity
Case ID: 738-B4-UNC
At 14:32 Standard Time, an automated security alert flagged unauthorized access to a restricted Compendium archive. Subject Gavin Roarke was identified as the access point. Upon arrival at his workstation, the subject exhibited initial distress but complied fully with retrieval protocols. No resistance was given.
Preliminary assessment confirmed prolonged exposure to classified data. Subject displayed signs of cognitive degradation associated with high-level security breaches. Despite initial cooperation, cognitive realignment efforts proved non-viable.
Standard corrective measures were enacted. The subject’s clearance has been revoked, and all active assignments have been reassigned. No risk of further incident.
The case has been classified as resolved.
End of report.
The report had been thorough. Concise. Professional.
As it should be.
A man known simply as the Administrator sat back in his chair, reading over the final lines with satisfaction. Roarke had been a nuisance for some time—too eager to prove himself, too self-important in his role.
And now, he was gone.
The integrity of the government remained intact. The truth, protected.
He allowed himself a small, pleased smile as he closed the file.
Some men served the United World by building it up. Others, by being removed.
Either way, order was maintained.
