Fanatics on Parade

Peering out, Elena saw them—at least twenty students, faces painted with anarchist symbols and slogans, their eyes wild with the kind of certainty only ignorance can provide. At their center was a tall girl with a loudhailer. Mara.

She was screaming again.

“They’re hiding knowledge! Hateful knowledge! This city doesn’t need dusty old books telling us how to think—we know what justice looks like! Burn the past! Save the future!”

The crowd roared in agreement, torches raised.

Grant clenched his jaw. “If they find the archive site, it’s over.”

Elena knew that too. This wasn’t just a mob—they were fanatics. True believers. And worse, they thought they were heroes.

“We don’t engage,” she said quickly. “We fade. We vanish.”

But Micah stepped forward, anger flaring in his young face. “No. They need to see the truth. Just once. They need to hear it. Maybe one will listen.”

Before Elena could stop him, he stepped into the street, holding his camera like a weapon.

“Why are you burning books?” he shouted. His voice cracked, but it carried. “Do you even know what’s in them? Do you even care what we lose?”

The mob stopped. Mara turned. “You again,” she hissed. “The traitor. The propagandist. The one who films lies.”

“They’re not lies!” he snapped. “They’re facts. They’re history. We’re not the enemy—we’re what’s left of sanity.”

A few students wavered. A few looked uncertain. But Mara had the crowd. And she knew it.

She raised her loudhailer again. “He’s one of them! A reactionary! A denier! He wants to bring back the world that crushed us!”

A stone flew. It missed Micah’s head by inches.

Then came the fire.

Torches hurled through the air, bottles shattering against brick. The Archivists scattered, Micah ducking behind a pillar as the street exploded in flame. Grant pulled Elena behind a rusted dumpster, shielding her from debris.

“They don’t want truth,” he muttered grimly. “They want permission to destroy.”

Still, as they fled, Elena noticed something—one student, a girl with a torn scarf and eyes full of doubt, hesitated. She had not joined the chase. She had not cheered.

Sometimes, that’s all it takes. One spark that doesn't catch.