Readers may be disappointed that, during the Girl’s entire visit in the City of Lies, she didn’t fall victim to a lie. She was warned early on, but still wound up suffering other indignities along the way. Any lies made would’ve intruded on the trauma of her then living conditions, and detracted from her struggles. But who’s to say she Didn’t wind up being affected by a lie, consciously or not?
And yes, I’m aware the Girl has a name, but, as she said so herself, she doesn’t like being called that. Personally - and this has been confirmed - I’m of the opinion that the author is terrible with names, and is more comfortable at just labeling titles of specific roles, so there’s no risk of confusion. This applies even to us, since all records of our names were wiped out, and only constant repetition of a name is enough to generate memory recall. Teams have scoured through entire dictionaries of names, trying to find one that sounds familiar, but a better and less time-consuming choice would be to create a new name that fits.
To simplify things, the writer has chosen to call himself Prose, while me being acquainted with conspiracy theories, I’m regulated to being Consp. (The ‘P’ is silent). Prose & Consp. I feel like I’m part of some grandiose inside joke I’m unaware of.
Anyways, getting back to the subject of lies - there IS a story that deals with someone winding up changed by the result of a lie, and not for the better. Baring any potential spoilers, the following story focuses on the roles of Worker & Thief, NOT to be confused with Werkor & Leech, the cat & mouse team whose dadaesque antics are an acquired taste in artistic literary circles.
The Worker was making his way towards his workplace with rote routine, having followed the same route with little to no variance. There were other faster ways of getting there, but due to recent changes, had taken a preference to coming in person, even if it meant he was constantly harassed by people on the street demanding his attention, vying for a morsel of charity tossed their way.
“Please! I need some help getting a proper license!”
“My child’s been missing for three days!”
“My country won’t let me in!”
These were the familiar cries of despairing people who wanted nothing more than getting ahead of the line. He was hardly alone in being subject to this barrage of desperate citizens who’d fallen on unfortunate circumstances, but was the only one who bothered to give them more than a token snubbing.
“Sorry, I can’t help you.” It was perfectly typical of them, for these poor helpless souls seeking assistance in the most desperate manner possible, all other avenues of escape having been exhausted and were now reduced to openly begging like scavages. If only they were a little more aware, they could escape their predicament. But as he was now, there was little he could do to ease their circumstances.
As he was hindered by the rowdy crowd, a Thief happened to bump into him, which went utterly unnoticed among the constant barrage as he continued to push his way through, finally arriving in front of the main gate of his workplace.
“ID please.”
It was so typical. He’d been coming here for how long now? And still the Front Door Guard refused to let him past, despite the familiarity of routine. Upon searching his pockets, he found that his identification card that was needed to access the building had been lifted. This wasn’t a case of leaving it at home after changing his pants - he’d clearly put it in after making the switch.
“If you don’t have your ID ready, I’ll need you to get out of the line.”
“All this time, and you still don’t recognize me?”
“I can’t take the risk of letting you in until you present your ID. Move.”
The Thief had heard rumours of vulnerable marks in the area, employees who were notoriously careless about their belongings, and used his expertise to lift the Worker’s wallet without detection. The level of personal security was laughably nonexistent. It would take no great struggle to imitate this man’s life. Duplicating fingerprints was just a matter of lifting the smudges all over the card. A handwriting sample could be copied from the engraved sample. Even getting the password wasn’t a problem, since the Worker had even gone out of his way to leave it printed on the underbelly of the card.
It was like he was begging to be robbed.
The Thief used the Worker’s ID to his advantage early in the morning, racking up as much merchandise as possible before the credit ratings ran through and he was found out. …only to find out that the amount left on the card was far below the cutoff daily limit. The only remaining funds had already been used to purchase breakfast that morning. How was this guy already broke? Was he living from paycheck to paycheck? No matter. There was still the option of using other lines of credit before being burned out… which would’ve been useful, if this Worker hadn’t already been deemed a credit risk everywhere else. A minor detail. The Thief cast a rumour that he was the legitimate heir to a Company fortune. A slight change of notification of incoming funds was all that was needed to suddenly become desirable again. It didn’t matter that there really no money coming in, all that mattered was the appearance of being rich.
There was the pesky business of insistent salesclerks wanting to verify his claims, but some righteous outrage at being unable to buy anything he wanted and threatening to take his business elsewhere was all that was needed to convince the store to hand over their wares. At least, that was the plan. The stores were only willing to hand over so much at first, without confirming all his personal information.
The Thief mechanically recited all the pertinent information that was stored in his head, rattling off the necessary data with casual ease. Satisfied, the sales clerks handed over the high quality re-sellable merchandise to be added to his ever-increasing debt. By the time they grew wise to his antics, he’d already be long gone.
Despite his success, the Thief was annoyed at the high difficulty. For such an easy mark, it was proving to be more trouble than it was worth.
The Thief was on the verge of leaving with his legitimately acquired ill-gotten gains, when an insistent hand tapped on his shoulder. Before the Thief was a large menacing man who looked severely displeased.
“If there’s a problem, you can take it up with management,” the Thief replied.
“You are late.”
“There must be some misunderstanding. Any missing funds can be covered later.”
“That is your card, is it not?”
“Yes, of course it is!”, he bellowed before putting up a facade of mild concern. “Has somebody been acting as me, without my knowing?”
“Come with me.”
The Thief held up his boxes and bags. “What do I do with all this?”
“Leave it. It’ll be dealt with.”
Figuring he could pull one over Security, the Thief followed the Burly Man, and was perplexed when he ventured not towards the Security wing as expected, but outside where a van was waiting. There was no further pretense of explanation coming, and despite all temptations to run away, he ventured inside. He’d carried out this facade so far, he might as well draw it out a little longer.
Inside, the two of them sat on opposing seats, facing each other. The Burly Man stared at the Thief in an intimidating manner, which the Thief tried to play off, but was beginning to wither under his unflinching glare, until short words were suddenly spoken:
“This is getting to be a habit.”
“It won’t happen again, I assure you.”
“I’ve heard that before.”
After that, nothing more was said for the duration of the trip, which didn’t last too long, until they reached the front entrance of a building, where the Burly Man directed the Thief out. He didn’t seem to be coerced in any way. No matter. Wherever he’d wind up, he’d find a way to get out of it. He was led to the interior of the building, ferried up a long series of floors and then finally guided to his destination - the Worker’s office.
“I think there’s been some kind of mistake.”
“This is your card, is it not?”
“Of course it is!”
“Then we’re not mistaken.” And they left him to reconsider his life choices. Apparently, the Thief had been mistaken for the owner of this card, despite the two of them not looking the least bit alike.
“I’m telling you, I need to get to my office before I’m late!”
“You don’t have to go upstairs. We’ve just received word you’re there already.”
Upon hearing this, the Worker abandoned all pretense of arguing, and turned away. Being unable to get past the front door, the Worker made his way back to the throng of pleading victims victimized by circumstances beyond their help, and said to a single Complaining Man,
“Change of plans. I will be helping you out after all.”
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