Chapter Nineteen: The First Retaliation
The days after the silent gathering passed in a haze of tension and anticipation. Felicia felt the city's pulse quicken, the network's presence lingering in every shadow and sidelong glance. For the first time in years, she had seen the erased come together—had felt their silent defiance, their refusal to disappear. But she also knew that visibility came at a price.
The retaliation began quietly, as all things in this war did. It started with Marcus. Two days after the gathering, he called Felicia in a panic, his voice tight with fear. "They've changed my records again," he whispered. "My bank account's frozen. My landlord says I never signed a lease. My job says I never worked there. It's like I'm being erased all over again."
Felicia's heart twisted. She knew this tactic well—systematic erasure, a bureaucratic vanishing act that left its victims isolated and desperate. She told Marcus to stay calm, to keep moving, to avoid patterns. "You're not alone," she reminded him. "We'll figure this out."
But the attacks didn't stop with Marcus. Leah reported strange men watching her apartment, their faces always turned away from security cameras. Another member of the network, a young mother named Yasmine, found her child's school records altered—her daughter's name replaced with another, her emergency contacts wiped clean. Yasmine's panic was palpable in every message she sent. "They're trying to make me disappear," she wrote. "They're coming for my daughter, too."
Felicia felt the weight of responsibility settle on her shoulders. She had helped bring the network into the light, but now the shadows were closing in. She met with Leah and Marcus in secret, their meetings shorter and more cautious each time. They shared what information they could, trying to trace the source of the attacks, but the enemy was always a step ahead.
She began to notice changes in her own life, too. Her phone calls dropped unexpectedly, her emails bounced back undelivered. Once, while walking home, she caught a glimpse of a familiar car idling at the curb, its windows tinted black. The static in her head grew louder at night, making it hard to sleep, hard to think.
Despite the fear, Felicia refused to retreat. She reminded herself—and the others—of their mantra. "Light as a feather, stiff as a board. If you can't be heard or seen correct, do nothing till you can't be ignored." It was more than a slogan now; it was a lifeline, a way to hold onto their sense of self when the world tried to erase them.
She doubled her efforts to keep the network connected. She created new drop points for messages, changed meeting locations, and taught the others how to use coded language and signals. She encouraged them to document everything—every threat, every strange encounter, every change in their records. "If we can't stop them from erasing us," she told the group, "we can at least leave a trail. We can be the evidence."
The network responded with courage and creativity. Leah began leaving chalk marks in public places, symbols only the erased would recognize. Marcus started a blog under a pseudonym, sharing stories of erasure and survival, careful to mask the details but bold enough to draw attention. Yasmine organized a group of parents to demand answers from the school, using their collective presence to force the administration to restore her daughter's records.
Felicia felt pride and fear in equal measure. Every act of defiance made them stronger, but also more vulnerable. She knew her tormentor was watching, waiting for a misstep. She could feel his presence in the static, in the way her thoughts sometimes slipped away, in the nightmares that left her gasping for air.
One evening, as Felicia walked home from a meeting with Leah, she felt a chill run down her spine. The street was empty, the city's usual noise muted by a heavy fog. She quickened her pace, her senses alert. As she turned a corner, a figure stepped out of the shadows—a man in a dark suit, his face hidden by the brim of his hat.
"Felicia Hook," he said, his voice smooth and cold. "You're making quite a mess."
Felicia stopped, her heart pounding. She recognized the voice—the same one that haunted her dreams, the same one that whispered through the static. Her tormentor.
She forced herself to stand tall, to meet his gaze. "I'm not afraid of you."
He laughed softly. "You should be. You and your little friends think you can change things, but you're just making it worse for yourselves. You're not invisible anymore, Felicia. You're a target."
She clenched her fists, refusing to back down. "We're not going away. You can erase our records, but you can't erase us."
He stepped closer, his shadow falling over her. "We'll see about that."
With that, he melted back into the fog, leaving Felicia alone on the empty street. She stood there for a long moment, her breath coming in short, sharp bursts. She knew the danger had escalated, that the network was in more peril than ever. But she also knew that she couldn't stop now.
Felicia hurried home, locking the door behind her, her mind racing. She sent a message to Leah and Marcus, warning them to be extra careful. She updated her notebook, documenting the encounter, every detail fresh in her mind.
That night, as she lay in bed, Felicia whispered her mantra into the darkness. She thought of the network—their courage, their resilience, their refusal to disappear. She thought of her tormentor, lurking in the shadows, desperate to maintain control. And she thought of the future, uncertain and dangerous, but filled with the possibility of change.
Light as a feather, stiff as a board.
If you can't be heard or seen correct,
Do nothing till you can't be ignored.
The first retaliation had come, but Felicia was ready. The network would endure. The erased would not be silenced. And the world, sooner or later, would have to listen.