At 6:42 a.m., the archive reeked of coffee and smoke.
Ivy perched on the edge of the central console, hands shaking slightly as she verified the contents of the external drive for the final time. It had survived. Against fire, against eavesdropping, and against sabotage, every folder had been duplicated.
Not simply data.
Not simply names.
But proof of engineering, erasure, selective displacement, and the use of psychological warfare to silence individuals.
Stillpoint hadn't threatened.
It had been a test.
And they'd failed.
So they tried to wipe it out.
But Ivy remembered.
And soon, so would everybody.
Elias recited the list of stations they'd prepared: independent news studios, public disclosure sites, and whistleblower communities. A secondary feed to international human rights agencies and three cloud backups.
"Once we post," he explained to them, "we can't remove it."
"Good," Ivy said. "We shouldn't."
Talia double-checked the wireless ciphers. "We do this, you're not a target. You're a symbol."
"I was that the moment I remained motionless," Ivy said, staring. "Now I move."
At 7:10 a.m., Ivy made her way to the center of the room.
They were all present—Sasha, Talia, Elias, and Helena by screen.
She did not make a speech.
She did not scream.
She just said, "Let them see."
Elias clicked Upload.
The screen flickered.
One progress bar.
One silent, one-way step.
Phase IV Exposure Package
Status: Uploading…
Target: 21 platforms
Mirrors: 4 active
Time to completion: 00:16:04
Outside the archive, the city was quiet like static.
No protests. No sirens.
But something was on its way.
Sasha moved to the elevator.
"There's movement outside. Black vehicles. Unmarked."
Elias cursed.
"They're not going to wait."
"Then we hold the line," Ivy said.
Five minutes left on the upload, the power flickered.
Once.
Then again.
Helena spoke over the speakers, her voice breaking through. "They're trying to break in remotely." I've circumvented the mirrors."
"Keep them alive," Ivy said. "Even if we're not."
Then the pounding.
On the front doors.
On the basement stairs.
Voices shouting orders.
Sasha raised the fire bar.
Talia shifted her hand to her coat.
Elias backed up the local server to the spare drive without being asked to.
They weren't going to run.
They were going to finish.
With two minutes remaining, a final wall fell.
The front door crashed open.
Boots stomped downstairs.
Men in riot gear.
No names. No agency IDs.
"Hands up!" one bellowed.
Ivy didn't blink.
She stood at the console, palms on the desk.
The screen blinked.
Upload: 97%.
"Step away from the machine!"
She stayed still.
"Ma'am—this is your final warning!"
Elias stepped between them. "She's not leaving."
Neither did he.
Upload: 99%.
Upload: COMPLETE.
Verifying packet…
CONFIRMED.
Transmission distributed to all mirrors.
The package is live.
Ivy turned slowly.
Hands raised. Calm.
"You're too late," she said.
The man stepped forward, confusion flickering through his visor.
"What?"
"I didn't break the system," she said.
"I just reminded people they could see it."
They took her away.
They took her computer, her phone, and her notes.
But not the moment.
It had already spread through the bloodstream of the internet.
By noon, the files were everywhere.
"BREAKING: Psychological Manipulation Confirmed in City Redevelopment Plan"
"Phase IV Files Leak—Corporate Conspiracy Spans a Decade"
"Stillpoint Archives Uploaded—Ivy Casella Arrested Amid Massive Exposure"
Geneva to Johannesburg, from São Paulo to Seattle—the name Ivy Casella flooded screens.
Not as a martyr.
Not as a symbol.
As evidence.
That night, Talia held a press conference on the steps of City Hall.
She didn't beg.
She didn't embellish.
She said, "The government doesn't own the truth." The people do.