Post by Moshel-Generał on Dec 14, 2020 17:00:21 GMT -5
All following information is classified beyond Top Secret by the Institute. Only the Archivist is allowed to look at what is written within, anyone else who does is automatically assigned Code Mort. This includes the Director.
I write these words knowing that they will never see the light of day. My name is Carla Gaubert, and I am the archivist for the Institute. All information goes through me, in or out. No agent can do their job without me, and I know the darkest secrets of the Union. I write these documents for whoever replaces me. I have seen firsthand the skill of the Agents of the Institute, as well as the ruthlessness of the Director. I also have read every document that comes through the Archives, unredacted. I am not allowed to leave this building without a minimum of three agents accompanying me. I have become the most dangerous person to the Union, and yet also the most important. These documents will serve as proof of my existence, if it is ever decided I am no longer safe to exist.
I started out as a normal young girl in Eonia. My parents weren't rich, but they weren't poor. I was able to spend my childhood playing with others my age rather than begging for scraps. I didn't have a care in the world, until I met Arlette. She was starving in the street, her parents having died of overwork. I gave her some bread and thought little of it. However when I saw her a few hours later I saw her sharing with some of the other begging children on the street. It was at this point I knew something had to be done. I got a job and began helping those less fortunate than myself. I gave them what food and clothing I could spare, and slowly became closer to them. They were always sweet to me, however they seemed to distrust many of the adults. I later found out the reason for this.
It went on like this for a few years, and at one point Arlette thanked me for my kindness before she told me she was leaving. She told me she had gotten a job in the countryside as a maid and was leaving that day. I felt a pang of sadness, the children on the street had been some of my first true friends, so it was tough to see her go, but I was happy that she looked to finally be getting on her feet. Looking back on it I was just a naïve child who didn't understand the world around me. A week after Arlette had left I saw in the newspaper there had been an explosion, at the mansion Arlette had been working at. I was devastated, to me my first friend had just passed.
The next week I noticed something strange. My parents were coming home later and later, and looked more ragged than usual. I foolishly thought this was just because work was rougher. Then one day as I was heading home from the market I was bowled over by a young beggar. It took me a moment to pick up everything that I had dropped before I was able to head home. And there I saw the most horrifying sight. The building in which we lived was a roaring inferno. My parents didn't make it. I was left with absolutely nothing. In complete shock I wandered the city, eventually arriving at the bridge. Just as I arrived at the railing I felt a hand on my shoulder. I turned and cried in shock, for in front of me was Arlette.
It was at this moment that I learned who I had saved so many years ago. Arlette had faced abuse her whole life, and had her parents taken from her by the nobility. She had resolved to bring justice to those who had wronged her. She was the one who blew up the mansion, and it was because of her relationship to me that my parents were now gone. The Secret Police of the Shah had decided that my small harmless interactions with her were a threat, and tried to kill me. Arlette told me that the young beggar knocked me over had saved my life. It was at this point that she invited me into her crusade, saying that they needed someone to document them, so they would never be forgotten.
The irony of this is not lost on me now. Most of the documents detailing Arlette's Resistance are so classified that not even her successor will be able to read them unredacted. As their author I can tell you very few of them detail niceties. While as a Resistance we did occasionally help the downtrodden, Arlette's group was far more suited for other purposes. I shall include directions to these files hidden away within the Archives. Whoever replaces me I hope you are understanding. A Revolution cannot be fought solely by those pure of heart. While many of the stories you may have heard paint them as Heroes, just know that they are still flawed.
I write these words knowing that they will never see the light of day. My name is Carla Gaubert, and I am the archivist for the Institute. All information goes through me, in or out. No agent can do their job without me, and I know the darkest secrets of the Union. I write these documents for whoever replaces me. I have seen firsthand the skill of the Agents of the Institute, as well as the ruthlessness of the Director. I also have read every document that comes through the Archives, unredacted. I am not allowed to leave this building without a minimum of three agents accompanying me. I have become the most dangerous person to the Union, and yet also the most important. These documents will serve as proof of my existence, if it is ever decided I am no longer safe to exist.
I started out as a normal young girl in Eonia. My parents weren't rich, but they weren't poor. I was able to spend my childhood playing with others my age rather than begging for scraps. I didn't have a care in the world, until I met Arlette. She was starving in the street, her parents having died of overwork. I gave her some bread and thought little of it. However when I saw her a few hours later I saw her sharing with some of the other begging children on the street. It was at this point I knew something had to be done. I got a job and began helping those less fortunate than myself. I gave them what food and clothing I could spare, and slowly became closer to them. They were always sweet to me, however they seemed to distrust many of the adults. I later found out the reason for this.
It went on like this for a few years, and at one point Arlette thanked me for my kindness before she told me she was leaving. She told me she had gotten a job in the countryside as a maid and was leaving that day. I felt a pang of sadness, the children on the street had been some of my first true friends, so it was tough to see her go, but I was happy that she looked to finally be getting on her feet. Looking back on it I was just a naïve child who didn't understand the world around me. A week after Arlette had left I saw in the newspaper there had been an explosion, at the mansion Arlette had been working at. I was devastated, to me my first friend had just passed.
The next week I noticed something strange. My parents were coming home later and later, and looked more ragged than usual. I foolishly thought this was just because work was rougher. Then one day as I was heading home from the market I was bowled over by a young beggar. It took me a moment to pick up everything that I had dropped before I was able to head home. And there I saw the most horrifying sight. The building in which we lived was a roaring inferno. My parents didn't make it. I was left with absolutely nothing. In complete shock I wandered the city, eventually arriving at the bridge. Just as I arrived at the railing I felt a hand on my shoulder. I turned and cried in shock, for in front of me was Arlette.
It was at this moment that I learned who I had saved so many years ago. Arlette had faced abuse her whole life, and had her parents taken from her by the nobility. She had resolved to bring justice to those who had wronged her. She was the one who blew up the mansion, and it was because of her relationship to me that my parents were now gone. The Secret Police of the Shah had decided that my small harmless interactions with her were a threat, and tried to kill me. Arlette told me that the young beggar knocked me over had saved my life. It was at this point that she invited me into her crusade, saying that they needed someone to document them, so they would never be forgotten.
The irony of this is not lost on me now. Most of the documents detailing Arlette's Resistance are so classified that not even her successor will be able to read them unredacted. As their author I can tell you very few of them detail niceties. While as a Resistance we did occasionally help the downtrodden, Arlette's group was far more suited for other purposes. I shall include directions to these files hidden away within the Archives. Whoever replaces me I hope you are understanding. A Revolution cannot be fought solely by those pure of heart. While many of the stories you may have heard paint them as Heroes, just know that they are still flawed.