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The Surprising Truth About Lying
nursing the headaches Slumberol gave them. In three
minutes, they would drink his poison. They wouldn't
understand the jargon, but they would feel the
sincerity coming off Dr. Sharma. They would feel the
relief of a disaster contained. The panic line would
retreat, and the illusion of comfort would win.
He had started this career thinking he was a
stabilizer, the guy who kept the wheels from falling off
society by using small, necessary fictions. Without his
lies, the world would eat itself. He’d told himself that
for ten years.
Now he saw the mountain of rot he had enabled. He
wasn't a stabilizer; he was a custodian of corruption.
He was the one making sure the lie tasted better than
the truth. He sold courage to his clients so they could
keep on cheating, and sleep to the public, so they
wouldn’t have to look.
A tiny green light flashed on one of his screens: the
apology was live. Just as predicted, the jagged blue
panic line stuttered, then bent, and began its slow,
steady descent. Damage contained. Lie successful.
Cerulean Dynamics was saved.
A deep, soul-crushing exhaustion hit Henry, heavier
than any physical pain. It was the total decay of the
self, accumulated over ten thousand successful rescues.
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