My Mother Threw The First Stone At My Execution While My Brother Watched In Silence. I Was Rescued By A Resistance Group That Proved The Death Lottery Is Rigged To Steal Our Land. What Do I Do Now That I’ve Returned To Make The Council Draw Their Own Names?

Kaye sits cross-legged on the floor and starts explaining how the resistance works, how they’ve spent two years documenting everything and trying to figure out how to expose the truth without getting everyone killed.

She talks about execution patterns and council corruption in this calm matter-of-fact way, like she’s discussing weather or school work.

She’s only 14, but she sounds ancient. Her childhood was stolen by this system the same way mine was.

She tells me about watching people die every month since she was nine, about learning to spot the patterns and who got selected, about realizing her parents were murdered for speaking up.

Her hands stay steady while she talks and her voice never shakes, and I realize she’s had five years to process what I’m just starting to understand.

The resistance has files on every execution for the past 12 years.

There are witness statements from people who saw council members celebrating after certain selections.

There are financial records showing how council families got richer while everyone else struggled.

Kaye explains they needed someone who’d actually been selected to confirm how the lottery box works, someone who stood close enough to see Fischer manipulate it.

That night I lie on the makeshift bed Liz set up for me in a corner of the basement. My body is exhausted, but my brain is refusing to shut off.

Every time I close my eyes I see my mother’s face as she raised that first stone.

The way her whole body shook, the tears streaming down her cheeks.

I see the stone leaving her hand and feel it hitting my shoulder again, the explosion of pain that made me scream.

I see my brother’s blank expression as he threw his stone with mechanical precision, the same dead look he’s had since his girlfriend died.

Sleep won’t come no matter how tired I am. And eventually I just lie there staring at the ceiling while other resistance members move quietly around the basement.

Liz notices me still awake and comes over with a blanket, sitting down beside the bed without saying anything at first.

She tells me she has nightmares too, that everyone here does, that you learn to function even when your brain keeps replaying the worst moments over and over.

She says some nights she still wakes up screaming about her sister’s execution, still sees the stones hitting and hears the sounds, but eventually you find ways to keep going anyway.

Her honesty helps somehow, knowing I’m not alone in this, knowing the nightmares are normal and expected.

She stays with me until I finally drift off sometime near dawn. And even then my sleep is filled with images of the square and stones and blood.

The Plan to Break the Wheel

The next morning Audrey gathers everyone in the center of the basement and starts explaining their plan.

She has a wooden box that looks exactly like the lottery box Fischer uses, and she opens it to show the false bottom and weighted papers inside.

The mechanism is complicated with specific papers marked so Fischer can feel which ones to avoid when he reaches in.

Audrey explains they’ve been studying the system for months, watching how Fischer operates it, trying to figure out exactly how the manipulation works.

They needed someone who’d actually been selected and stood close enough to see everything, someone who could confirm their theories about the mechanical system.

She looks at me and asks me to describe exactly what I saw before the smoke bombs went off, every detail I can remember about how Fischer’s hand moved in the box.

I close my eyes and force myself back to that moment, standing in the center of the square with my hands tied, watching Fischer reach into the box.

I describe how his hand went deep inside, how his fingers moved around feeling the papers, how he seemed to be choosing rather than drawing randomly.

I tell them about the way he paused before pulling out the paper with my name, like he was making sure he had the right one.

Wyatt listens carefully and nods when I finish, his expression grim.

He’s a former engineer who lost his wife to the lottery, and he tells me that confirms the mechanical manipulation system he suspected.

He explains the weighted papers and false bottom in technical terms I barely understand, but the basic idea is clear enough.

Fischer has complete control over who gets selected, and the whole random lottery is just theater to make people accept the executions.

The resistance members start discussing timeline and strategy, their voices overlapping as they plan.

Someone mentions the next lottery is three weeks away, which gives us time to prepare but not much time to actually execute the plan.

Audrey cuts through the discussion and explains their goal isn’t just to stop one execution, but to expose the entire system publicly so the community can’t ignore the truth anymore.

They need to prove the manipulation in a way that’s undeniable, that forces everyone to see what’s been happening.

The plan involves swapping the real lottery box with their replica during the ceremony, forcing a truly random selection that will likely choose a council family member for the first time ever.

At the same time they’ll project all their evidence on the square walls, showing everyone the patterns and proof.

It’s risky and complicated and depends on perfect timing, but it’s the only way to expose the council’s corruption publicly enough that the community has to respond.

I listen to them plan and feel this strange mix of hope and terror. Because if this works it could change everything, but if it fails we’ll all be executed.

I ask what happens to me after, whether I can ever go home or see my family again.

Audrey looks at me with this serious expression that doesn’t try to soften the truth.

“If we succeed in exposing the council then maybe eventually you could go back,” she says. “But if we fail everyone in this basement will be executed and our families will probably be punished too.”

She explains that I’m a traitor now in the council’s eyes, that my rescue makes me part of the resistance whether I want to be or not.

There’s no going back to my old life, no pretending this didn’t happen, no way to undo what’s been done.

The choice isn’t whether to fight but whether to fight effectively or die trying.

Her honesty is brutal but I appreciate it more than false comfort would be, and I nod to show I understand even though understanding doesn’t make it hurt less.

A woman about my mother’s age comes over and sits down across from me. She introduces herself as Melissa and explains she used to be a council member’s daughter before she defected to the resistance.

Her voice is quiet but steady as she tells me her cousin was executed two years ago for refusing to marry a council member’s son.

She watched her own family participate in that execution, throwing stones at her cousin while the girl screamed and begged.

Melissa says that was the moment she realized her family wasn’t just complicit in the system but actively evil, that they valued power and status over human life.

She left that night and found the resistance through people who’d noticed her asking questions at community meetings.

She hasn’t spoken to her parents since, and she says some days that’s the hardest part, knowing her family is still out there throwing stones and celebrating executions while she hides in a basement plotting against them.

But she also says she sleeps better now than she did when she was part of a council family, because at least now she’s fighting for something right instead of maintaining something evil.

The reality of what I’ve gotten into starts hitting me fully as I sit there listening to Melissa’s story.

I can never go back to my old life even if I wanted to, can never walk through my community without being hunted, can never sit at dinner with my mother and brother like nothing happened.

My family thinks I’m either dead or a traitor, and both options mean I’ve lost them completely.

I’m part of a group trying to overthrow the most powerful people in our community. And if we fail everyone I care about will suffer for it.

The weight of it all crashes down on me at once and I start crying. Not the quiet tears from before, but full sobbing that makes my ribs scream with pain.

Liz comes over and sits with me, not trying to make me feel better or tell me it’ll be okay, just letting me grieve for everything I’ve lost.

She hands me a cloth to wipe my face and stays beside me while I cry myself out.

And somehow her presence without false comfort helps more than reassurance would.

I spend that whole afternoon crying while Liz sits with me mourning my old life and my family and the girl I was before my name got called in the square.

Training for the Impossible

Third day Kaye takes me upstairs to the warehouse level where they set up a training area, and she starts teaching me basic self-defense moves.

My ribs hurt with every movement but she stays patient, showing me how to block and dodge and where to hit someone if they grab me.

She explains that being able to protect myself might save my life when things go wrong.

And I notice she says when not if, like she already knows the plan will fall apart somewhere.

That week I throw myself into preparation because staying busy keeps me from thinking about my mother holding that stone.

Melissa takes me on walks around the community edges at night, teaching me how to move through crowds without being noticed, how to blend in and slip past people without drawing attention.

She learned these skills growing up in a council family where she had to sneak around to avoid her parents’ constant watching.

And now she uses them to spy on the council without getting caught.

We spend hours observing guard patrol patterns from hidden spots, and I memorize their routes and timing until I can predict where each guard will be at any moment.

The square layout gets mapped in my head through careful study, every entrance and exit, every blind spot and sight line, every place where someone could hide or run.

Audrey quizzes me on council member routines until I know which ones eat breakfast at the communal hall and which ones stay home, who walks alone and who always travels with guards, what time they leave their houses and what routes they take.

Eight days before the lottery, Audrey calls everyone together in the basement and spreads papers across the table showing detailed plans.