I’ve been in the business for quite a while, and haven’t witnessed many exciting stories. They’re all the same to me. I can’t very well investigate a death if I’m the one who watches it all go down. It wouldn’t be fun rewatching the boring and ambiguous life drift out of people over and over again. I’m not that pathetic. Although, I really do like when there are complications. In this such story, there was a complication. So, for the report, I will count back to the day it began, though Fern had no idea. He was quite dimwitted, you know.

Bartholomew Fern was ready for the day. He had his uniform on, and his truth spectacles, though he didn’t really need them because of his lack of creativity. He looked through the glass windows of his apartment, out into the bleak, barren street. Not a soul was in sight, and a thick fog clung to the river like an ocean wave. Turning back into the room, he checked the time on his watch: 7:23AM. He had exactly seven minutes until he would go out for rounds, Though, he thought, no one will be out in this dreaded weather, anyway.
“‘Ey, Simon, I’ma go out for rounds in a few minutes, ‘kay?” He called over to Simon’s computer room, and heard the wheels of a rolling chair. Simon’s head appeared just around the corner, with a pleased look on his face. His green eyes bulged out, and distracted from his loose, curly hair.
“I fixed the motherboard,” Simon stated, “Thought it would take an hour or so, but I guess you can accomplish a lot in 24 minutes,” he seemed quite cheery today -- getting his high scores always chippered him up a bit. He formed a dopey smile.
“Congrats.”
“Thank you,” Simon raised his voice when he spoke the second word, pretending to be quite c***y. Fern loved that aspect of Simon, for he didn’t really have a sense of humor, himself, and liked to have that in his best friend. Simon’s intriguing knowledge of technology and language inspired him, but Fern had no intention of being that different from the rest of society.
Fern checked his watch again.
“I gotta go,” he said, with a hint of disappointment.
Simon waved and said, “Have fun,” winking his left eye and mocking Fern. With a quick farewell, Fern speed-walked over to the door, clicked the ‘open’ button on his watch, and shot down the back stairs onto the gloomy street.
The light from a few streetlamps dappled the lonely puddles in the dips of the lane. At a time like this, one’s mind would presumably wonder, but Fern’s just lay an empty chasm of orders and directions. His job was to do a few rounds throughout the neighborhood, make sure everything was in order, and have no one be out and about doing nonsensical activities. He walked down a few blocks, past the SimSport Center and the Bazaar, and took a right onto the road next to the river. The dark water leisurely coursed through the huge groove in the land. Other than a few silent, sulking sparrows resting on the perches put up in the town garden, there were no signs of life. Not even the trees seemed alive without their foliage. Fern’s mind continued to be solely devoted to his orders, and he picked up his pace a bit.
A few houses down, he spotted a flash of red that swiftly maneuvered behind a sickly shrub. He lightened his footfalls and readied his electrogun, which was set on safety for the time being.  Striding up to the lone shrub, he peered around to see a mat of blond hair, with a few red streaks. Fern began to speak.
“Excuse me?” He stood with his hands on his hips, as if he were a giant towering over a town, debating whether to walk or jump over it. A small figure tilted its head upward to reveal a skinny face, with an expression that hinted at annoyance.
“You’re a bad man, aren’t you?” The little girl folded her lip down into almost a pout.
“I,” Fern retorted, “am an honorable policeman. An’ you, little girl, aren't allowed to be out ‘ere at this time o’ day -- you are s’pposed to be in online schooling. It’s a Tuesday, after all. A girl ‘ike you should be takin’ classes on your family subject. What’re you s’pposed to be learnin’ right now?” The girl, having been previously crouched down on the ground, stood up to her full height, which was a bit over Fern’s waist. She had on a pair of faded overalls, with a purple t-shirt under them, and a cardigan sweater to top off the whole thing. She wore a disappointed look on her face that made it seem like Fern was the odd one out.
“Truth and Fiction. It’s too easy for me so it doesn’t take nearly as long as the teachers want it to, and they won’t give me the next level of learning, so I do extracurriculars.” The girl spoke almost apathetically, which was partly because of those unblinking, grey eyes. Fern was becoming annoyed.
“What’s yer name?”
“Parker,” the girl replied. “But why would you care? You’re just a bad man, helping society control people.”
“I’m NOT a bad man, Parker. I make sure there’s no one outside at this time o’ day, and that no fiction’s created, which, as you should know, is a serious crime. My job’s for the good o’ the people. Creatin’ fiction -- lyin’ -- is what bad men do, and I’ve never done so. ” Fern raised his voice. “An’ anyway, a scrawny, weak girl like you shouldn’t be out ‘ere on her lonesome, so go home and do your job.” At this, Parker squinted her eyes up at him, pressed her lips outward, and raised one eyebrow.
“You really shouldn’t make assumptions and tell lies, bad man. I am not weak,” she said, challengingly. “You are weak, and one day you’ll find out just how much.” With that, she took off running down a path into the backyard of an apartment building. Fern was utterly disturbed. I knew little girls were annoying, but I didn’t know they were THAT annoying, he thought to himself. Although, as he put the thought out of his head, part of him wondered what exactly she had been talking about.
After about an hour and a half, when Fern had finished his rounds (with no other discrepancies) he made his way back to his apartment, where Simon would be waiting to go to play soccer at the SimSport Center. However, when he walked through the door, two cops stood in the middle of the living room, with Simon sitting on the customized sofa. One cop was a tall, strong-looking woman who had dark, smooth skin; the other was a buff man with pale skin, like that of an eggshell. Simon wore a look of puzzlement which bewildered Fern.
“What,” Fern exclaimed, “is goin’ on?”
The male cop spoke.
“Bartholomew Fern?” Fern nodded, and the woman tensed up a bit. “You are under arrest for fiction, and will be interrogated. You know the procedure for the crime of fiction, don’t you, Mr. Fern?” Fern nodded, and was speechless. He had never lied once in his life. He made well to blend in and be normal, which was what he was. Simon tried to persuade them that it was a mistake, but they had grabbed Fern and dragged him out before he could convince them otherwise.

Fern sat in the interrogation room alone, yelling at the cameras.
“I ain’t never lied! Not once! Why the hell am I here? You’d be able to tell -- I wear the truth spectacles and everythin’!” He was hysterical, and growing more and more so. Someone had already come in and spoken to him, but they were positive that he had figured out a way to evade the lure of the truth spectacles. They thought he could lie -- and because of his own free will. Fern couldn’t sway their thoughts. They didn’t have to rely on facial expressions or unusual movement -- that was resolved years ago. All they needed to do was turn on the FictDetect machine and monitor his body motions and heart rate. There would be 17 sensors measuring movement 120 times per second in three dimensions for 23 joints. He never lied, let alone more than once a day, like people in the past did. Alas, there would be no convincing them, because they probably thought he had adapted to being able to lie even with the suit, and it wouldn’t matter if they tried it or not. He was well aware of the entire routine.
In his frenzy of screams, he realized he was not only trying to convince the authorities that he was innocent, but he was trying to convince himself, as well. Maybe he had lied, and not even known. Maybe he had lied his entire life and had adapted to that way of life somehow. What in his life was truth or fiction? He couldn’t tell anymore. All he knew was what would come next: they would tell him he was guilty of fiction, and sentence him to a life quite like that of a lab rat’s. He would be the test subject for major scientists, who would care more about their products than his life. Fern knew what he had to do; he had to be a coward and get out.
After a few agonizingly slow hours, a guard came in, and put ES handcuffs on Fern’s wrists. The guard then dragged him out of the room, and down a long hallway. Fern realized that he knew exactly where he was, and exactly how to get out. He had practiced in school for this kind of escape, but never thought it would be from his own people. He wasn’t sure if he could withstand the electric shocks from the handcuffs, but he had to try. Halting mid stride, and watching as the guard turned around, he got down to the ground, and flung the man over the back of his shoulder. He felt a wave of electricity shoot through him. Fern fell to the ground, but crawled to the guard and flung his fists at him like a maniac. He knew he was wasting time, so he shot up into the air and sprinted out of the door. Back in school, he had always placed within the top ten runners, so he knew he had a chance.
Flinging open the door, he heard a loud alarm going off, but it only made him run faster. He didn’t pay attention to his surroundings -- he wasn’t even sure if it was night or day -- only to his feet flying across the magnetized pavement. He couldn’t hear the sparrows singing; couldn’t smell the bitter winds; couldn’t feel the winter chill. He couldn’t go home because they would know to look there, and he wasn’t about to get Simon further involved. Fern knew where he was going, though. He ran with everything he had left in him, despite the constant electric shocks.
Fern came upon the cliff next to the river as if he had flown there. He stopped for a minute to catch his breath. He thought about Simon; about how he was much more than just a friend, and maybe Fern had always known that. Alas, he’d never acted upon that notion. Perhaps, in a world where lies were prohibited, the greatest crime he committed had been self deception. He thought about truth and fiction; reality and lies. He thought about everything he had ever said or done, and, for the first time in his life, he thought about the motives of the government. Had they been controlling him his entire life? Why was it so bad to tell a simple lie? And with that, his last thought, he jumped.

So, this is my report for the most recent story with complications. They really are quite entertaining, don’t you think? Though, Fern should have seen it coming -- he had all the clues, but was just too naive to understand. Most of them are, humans. They can’t think for themselves, and when they are forced to, everything goes to hell. I mean, they don’t always literally go to hell, but I suppose that is an outcome every so often. Fern really could have figured it out if he just thought for himself, though. The girl was the one who had studied Truth and Fiction for years. That was her job. And because of it, she was the real master of deception.

End of Log 404
November 13, 2057
-D. Eath