The Final Post

Chapter One

Tessa

America 2031

TW: This chapter includes multiple fatalities and intense themes.

Micah and I walked briskly down Kavanaugh Boulevard toward our apartment in Hillcrest, our steps quickening every time an NCA patrol drifted too close. Agents of the National Compliance Agency had become permanent fixtures on the streets of Little Rock since the missed election of 2028—black uniforms on every corner, rifles slung over their shoulders in silent warning.

It wasn’t safe for women to walk alone anymore. Honestly, it wasn’t safe for anyone who didn’t fit the regime’s idea of “compliant,” but women were the easiest targets.

Micah stayed close, shoulder brushing mine, the way he always did when he sensed my nerves. He’d been my best friend since middle school, the one person who’d never left. After my parents were killed two years ago, I’d moved in with him, and he’d quietly made space for my grief without ever asking me to explain it.

Tonight, though, even Micah’s presence couldn’t soften the tension humming through the air. We’d waited until we absolutely couldn’t anymore to venture out for groceries, surviving on scraps and whatever I coaxed out of my homemade hydroponic system.

I kept my voice light and airy as I livestreamed our walk, rambling about nothing in particular. I hadn’t posted all week, and the algorithm punished silence almost as harshly as the regime did. Footage from an outing was easy filler when I came up short on ideas. Still, some days I didn’t want to be everyone’s light in the dark. Some days I barely had enough light for myself.

Since the Great Censorship of 2029, access to the internet had become a privilege enjoyed by the compliant few. One post the regime deemed “unflattering” toward the president meant losing your right to publish on social media. A second strike, and you lost access to the internet entirely.

People who’d been cut off reverted to radios and back‑channel broadcasts to get their news. That was why, aside from my vlogs, I hosted a small podcast that aired on local radio stations — the only way to reach the most people without risking their privileges.

To the NCA agents, it looked like Micah and I were wrapped up in a lively conversation. To everyone watching my stream, it looked like I was unfazed by living in occupied territory. Neither was true. I wore smart glasses because pulling out your phone in public was the fastest way to get yourself shot by the NCA.

The regime’s main objective was convincing the country it acted in the best interests of its citizens. Securing borders. Deporting undocumented immigrants. Censoring television, news, and social media. They claimed the censorship protected our youth from “moral decay,” eliminating videos that showed crime, shootings, sex, or anything they deemed inappropriate.

But everyone knew the truth:

it wasn’t about protecting us.

It was about controlling us.

We rounded the corner before our apartment building and stumbled upon an NCA agent heckling a homeless woman. Vagrancy was punishable by death now, and these trigger‑happy, barely trained officers were always looking for an excuse to make an example out of someone.

Micah and I exchanged a look. His eyes widened in that silent don’t you dare warning he’d perfected over the years. I ignored it. The woman’s shoulders were shaking; her hands raised in a pathetic attempt to look nonthreatening.

Before Micah could grab my arm, I hurried toward her.

“Mary! There you are! I’ve been looking for you for hours. Where have you been?” I shot the woman a warm smile and a wink, and prayed she’d play along.

“Sorry... my outing took longer than expected.” The woman offered weakly.

“Do you know this woman?” the agent demanded.

“Yes, she is our roommate.” Micah answered as he hurried to catch up to me.

The agent’s jaw tightened. “Well, it’s almost curfew time. Y’all better be on your way.” He looked genuinely disappointed that he didn’t get to kill anyone today.

I hooked my arm through the woman’s and we took off toward our apartment. Snow drifted in slow, silent flakes, already gathering in the cracks of the sidewalk. The sun was sinking fast, bleeding out behind the rooftops. Once it disappeared, the streets would belong to the NCA.

We needed to be inside before curfew. Out here after dark, we were not people. We were targets.

“Thank you,” the woman whispered once we were out of earshot of the agent.

“No problem,” I said with a smile. I turned off the recording function on my glasses in case anyone from the regime was watching.

She stared at me for a long moment, her eyes widening as recognition settled in. “Oh, my God. You’re her. You’re the light in the dark, vlogger and podcaster. I love your podcast.”

Heat rushed to my face. I still wasn’t sure how I had become so popular, but somehow I had just over three million followers and listeners now.

“That’s me.” I said lamely.

Micah pulled the apartment door ‌open and the woman and I rushed in ahead of him.

“What is your name?” I asked.

“Josie.”

“Well, Josie, this building has an excellent lounge with a pull out couch. Looks like you’ll be staying here tonight.” Micah said as we climbed the stairs to the third floor.

I went to make Josie a sandwich with the food we had bought while Micah collected a blanket and pillow for her. After we got her settled in the lounge we both collapsed on the couch in our two - bedroom loft-style apartment.

“I love you, Tess, but you are a dumb. Ass. You could’ve gotten us all killed!” Micah said in playful admonishment.

“They would’ve killed her.” I said not taking my eyes off the ceiling..

“I know,” he sighed heavily.

We sat in peaceful silence for a few moments before I finally spoke.

“I need to officially sign off.” I pushed up from the couch and pulled out my phone. “Is Jeremy coming tonight?” Jeremy was Micah’s partner, and he spent most nights here with us.

“No. His mom’s visiting from out of town, so he won’t be here for a few nights.”

I pulled up the livestream link again, smoothing my hair in the reflection before tapping Go Live. A soft knock sounded at the door, and Micah went to answer it.

Josie stood in the doorway, looking sheepish. “Sorry to bother y’all again. I was wondering if you’d mind if I took a shower real quick. The shelters are all full, and I don’t get access to showers often.”

“Absolutely, baby girl. Mi casa es su casa.” Micah swung the door wide. “Tess, you got any spare clothes for Josie?”

“I sure do.” I hurried to my room and gathered a set of pajamas, an extra sweatshirt, jeans, and a long‑sleeve tee — things I didn’t wear anymore but knew she could use.

“Here you go. You can have these.” I handed them over gently. “I’ll grab you some detergent too. You can use the laundry room and wash your clothes tonight.”

“Thank you both so much. You’ve been so kind.” A tear slipped down her cheek before she ducked into the bathroom and shut the door, too quickly for either of us to respond.

I plastered on a smile and focused back on my phone, ignoring the comments that flew past faster than I could read.

“No matter how dark our world becomes, you can always be someone’s light. Kindness is a choice all of us can make. Even the smallest gesture might mean everything to someone else. That’s all for tonight, folks.”

I took a steadying breath, forcing the smile back into place as the sound of the shower drifted down the hall.

“Thanks for following. Make sure to like and subscribe so you never miss an update. As always—your light in the dark, Tess.”

My thumb hovered over the End Stream button when a sudden commotion outside snapped my attention toward the window. I moved closer, instinct tightening in my chest. Micah stepped up beside me, tension oozing from the taut lines of his shoulders.

The bell tolled six times, each strike rolling through the streets like a warning. Six PM. Curfew.

A mother and her two young sons stood on the sidewalk outside our window, panic etched across her face. All three of them were heaving for breath, as if they’d been sprinting—desperate to make it home before the doors locked and the streets became hunting grounds.

They stood frozen now, hands raised, as several NCA officers closed in on them.

Micah and I exchanged a look of pure panic.

The woman’s muffled pleas drifted all the way up to our window. If they were lucky, they’d be taken into custody for the night and fined. If they weren’t—

I didn’t have time to finish the thought before the shots cracked through the air. All three of them dropped where they stood, and a cold, hollow horror opened in my chest.

I don’t remember screaming, but I must have, because the officers’ heads snapped toward our building in unison. Micah and I dropped to our knees beneath the window ledge, hearts pounding, breath caught somewhere between terror and disbelief.

It took several heartbeats before i realized I still held my phone in my hand and I was still live-streaming. The comments flooded my phone as rushed to end the stream. Micah rose to his knees and peeked out the window.

“They’re coming!” he said in a panicked voice.

Without another word, we rushed to the attic dropdown. I scrambled up the ladder first, Micah right behind me. We’d built a false wall up here last year, just in case we ever needed to disappear.

Micah yanked the ladder up after us, the wood thudding softly as it folded into place. We slid the false panel aside and squeezed into the narrow space behind it, hearts pounding, breath shallow; every sound from below suddenly magnified.

I heard the front door open, not the crashing thud I had expected.

“Hey babe, Mom went out with the girls for the night so I decided to surprise you.” Jeremy’s voice floated up to us.

Micah tensed beside me. Bile rose in my throat. I grabbed his shoulder before he could move, but it was useless. He was twice my size and nothing I did could stop him.

Before he could pull the panel aside, the loud crash I had expected earlier tore through the apartment. Heavy boots followed, each step shaking through the floorboards.

“What the hell...” Jeremy’s words cut off as gunfire erupted.

The sound of his body hitting the floor sent Micah collapsing back against me. I clamped a hand over his mouth, trying to quiet the sobs that shook through him while my own breath came in sharp, broken bursts.

“Manifest lists two occupants for this residence,” one of the soldiers barked. “One Black male, one white female.”

“You hear that?” another agent said. “Someone is in the shower.”

My eyes went wide. I had forgotten Josie was in the shower.

A moment later her piercing scream tore through the apartment. I choked on my own sobs as two more shots cracked through the air, each one landing like a blow to my chest.

“Looks like we got them both,” one agent said.

“Check the phone. Make sure they didn’t post anything.”

Silence stretched as they fumbled with Jeremy’s phone. A moment later one of them spoke again. “Looks like they didn’t record or post anything.”

“Good. The last thing we need is Crane catching wind of a crack in his shiny veneer of the perfect society he has created,” another agent scoffed.

President Elias Crane had secured his second term in 2024, but his presidency had been marked by unrest, protests, and a steadily tightening grip on the nation. By the time the 2028 election approached, polls showed his opponent poised for a landslide victory. Then, only weeks before Election Day, the candidate and his running mate died under “unfortunate and unexpected circumstances.” Their deaths coincided with the sudden creation of the National Compliance Agency, which deployed agents across every major American city overnight.

Citing the loss of his opponent so close to the election, Crane announced that the vote would be postponed indefinitely. He declared it “necessary for national stability” that he remain in office for another term. No replacement candidates were permitted. No new date was set. The country simply woke up the next morning to find that the election had vanished, and Crane had not.

Anyone who spoke out against Crane’s decision was met with swift retaliation from the NCA. Critics vanished from their homes overnight. Journalists who questioned the legality of the postponement stopped publishing. Community leaders who tried to organize resistance were arrested under vague “national security” charges and were never seen again.

Protests erupted across the country in the days that followed, but they were short‑lived. The NCA responded with overwhelming force, and what began as peaceful demonstrations ended in widespread bloodshed. By the end of the week, the streets were quiet again, not because the people agreed with Crane, but because they had learned the cost of being heard.

They just didn’t have the resources to fight back. People wanted to resist, but they were outmatched, out armed, and outnumbered. Every attempt at pushing back ended the same way, until the country learned to swallow its outrage and survive in silence.

The apartment below us finally went quiet.

Micah and I stayed pressed together behind the false wall, barely breathing. The air felt too thin, too heavy, too still. My ears rang with the echoes of what had just happened, but my mind refused to make sense of any of it. We sat there in stunned disbelief, frozen in the dark, listening for any sign that the officers were still in the apartment.

Micah trembled beside me. I kept my hand over his mouth, not trusting either of us to stay quiet without it. My own heartbeat thudded so loudly I was sure it would give us away.

We didn’t speak. We didn’t move. We just sat there, waiting for the world to start again, terrified it never would.

Thank you for reading. If you’re enjoying the story, please give it a like. Your support truly helps the journey continue.