This is an automated archive made by the Lemmit Bot.

The original was posted on /r/nosleep by /u/SuperUser-666 on 2024-07-01 12:35:36+00:00.

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I was a kid in the 1960s when the United American Empire rose from the ashes of democracy. I remember the neon-drenched streets, the towering arcologies that pierced the smog-choked sky, and the incessant drone of propaganda that seeped into every crevice of our lives. It was an age of technological wonders and dark secrets, where the government’s iron grip tightened around society’s throat, squeezing out every last gasp of dissent.

In those days, urban legends spread like viruses through the underbelly of our crumbling civilization. But one story chilled me to the core – the tale of the Forgotten. They weren’t just people who had been silenced or killed; they were erased, wiped from existence as if they had never drawn breath. Most dismissed it as paranoia, a fever dream born from the toxic mix of fear and oppression that permeated our lives.

But I couldn’t let it go. As a journalist, I’d seen the cracks in the empire’s facade, glimpsed the rotting core beneath the gleaming surface. The story of the Forgotten gnawed at me, a splinter in my mind that I couldn’t extract.

My investigation led me to a small town in the Midwest, a place that time and progress seemed to have overlooked. On the surface, it was picturesque – all white picket fences and manicured lawns. But something was off, a wrongness that set my teeth on edge. The smiles of the residents were too wide, their eyes too vacant. It was as if someone had painted a Norman Rockwell scene over a Hieronymus Bosch hellscape.

I started interviewing the townspeople, and that’s when the true horror revealed itself. They spoke in rehearsed phrases, their words eerily similar as if reading from an invisible script. When I pressed for details about their pasts, their eyes would glaze over, and they’d struggle to recall basic facts about their lives. It was as if their memories were fragmented, pieces of a jigsaw puzzle that no longer fit together.

As I dug deeper, the town’s facade began to crack. People started avoiding me, crossing the street when they saw me coming. The local authorities, with their perfectly pressed uniforms and dead eyes, warned me to leave. But I couldn’t – I was too close to the truth.

One night, the power cut out as I pored over my notes in my dingy motel room. The darkness that engulfed me was absolute, a void that seemed to swallow the sound itself. My breath caught in my throat as I felt an overwhelming presence surrounding me. My phone was dead, the door wouldn’t budge, and panic clawed at my insides.

That’s when I heard them – whispers in the darkness, a cacophony of voices repeating my name in a soulless chant. Shadows moved around me, their forms barely visible in the gloom. I felt cold hands grasp at me, pulling me into the abyss.

When I came to, I was standing in the town square, surrounded by a sea of blank faces. Their eyes were hollow, reflecting nothing but emptiness. One of them spoke, their voice a monotone that seemed to come from everywhere and nowhere at once.

“You shouldn’t have come here,” they said. “You’ve seen too much.”

I tried to scream, to run, but my body wouldn’t respond. It was as if I was being erased from the inside out, my very essence unraveling like a frayed thread. Memories slipped away like sand through an hourglass – my childhood, my family, my name. I fought to hold onto something, anything, but the darkness was overwhelming.

As my identity crumbled, I saw the truth. These people – these empty shells – were the Forgotten. They had been erased and reshaped into perfect citizens; their individuality stripped away to serve the empire’s dystopian vision.

I awoke in a different town, my mind a shattered mirror reflecting fragments of who I used to be. The people here were friendly, their smiles achingly familiar. But beneath the veneer of normalcy, I could sense the wrongness, the hollowness that pervaded everything.

Days blurred together as I struggled to piece together my past. Flashes of memory would surface – a face, a name, a feeling – only to slip away again. But one thing remained constant: the presence of the Forgotten. I could feel them watching me, waiting for the moment when I would remember too much.

Sometimes, in the dead of night, I hear the whispers again. They call to me, promising peace if I just let go, if I allow myself to be erased completely. But a part of me still clings to the truth, to the horror I uncovered.

The government’s secret remains safe, buried beneath layers of manipulation and enforced amnesia. But I know that one day, the Forgotten will come for me again. And when they do, I fear that this time, there will be nothing left of me to resist.

As I write these words, I can feel my grip on reality slipping. The edges of my vision blur, and the shadows in the corners of my room seem to move with purpose. I don’t know how much longer I can hold on, how much longer I can remember.

If you’re reading this, beware. The empire’s reach is long, and its methods are insidious. Question everything, trust no one, and whatever you do, don’t dig too deep. For in the heart of this dark empire, some truths are better left forgotten.