George Orwell's '1984' painted a terrifying picture of government control, and sadly, we don’t have to look far to find real-world parallels. One classic Orwellian tactic is mass surveillance—governments monitoring citizens' communications under the guise of 'national security.' The NSA leaks by Edward Snowden revealed how pervasive this is, with programs like PRISM collecting data on millions. It’s not just about catching criminals; it’s about creating a chilling effect where people self-censor, fearing they’re always being watched. The line between safety and oppression blurs real fast when you realize your every online move could be logged.
Another tactic straight out of the Ministry of Truth is manipulating language to control thought. Think of 'doublespeak,' where war becomes 'peacekeeping' and layoffs are 'rightsizing.' Governments and corporations alike use euphemisms to soften harsh realities. During the pandemic, some officials downplayed crises by reframing deaths as 'excess mortality'—a sterile term that distances us from human suffering. When words lose their meaning, dissent gets harder because you can’t even name the problem anymore. It’s eerie how easily people accept rewritten narratives when the alternative is cognitive dissonance.
Then there’s the scapegoating—diverting public anger toward a fabricated enemy. In '1984,' it’s Emmanuel Goldstein; today, it might be immigrants, 'woke ideology,' or whatever boogeyman suits the agenda. By keeping citizens focused on an external threat, governments deflect blame from their own failures. Social media algorithms amplify this, feeding outrage loops that make rational debate impossible. The goal isn’t just control but fragmentation—keeping people too busy fighting each other to question the system. Honestly, the older I get, the more I notice these tactics hiding in plain sight, wrapped in the rhetoric of safety or progress.
2026-04-21 07:11:46
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A GAME OF LIES
Geneva .A. Zwicker
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It started with one scandalous kiss caught on camera.
She expected damage control not to be declared the girlfriend of the billionaire who ruined her life.
He’s cold, calculating, and her ex’s powerful cousin.
They agree to fake it for four months for money, for revenge, for survival.
She became the fake girlfriend of the billionaire who ruined her life
He’s ruthless. She’s vengeful. Four months. One deal. No feelings.
But soon, the lies cut deep… and neither of them can tell if the obsession is still pretend.
Amira Santis, a sharp-tongued investigative journalist, ruins billionaire Montez De Vitalio’s company with one exposé. In return, he blacklists her. Her career is over. But after an odd encounter when photos of Montez sharing a kiss with her in a hotel gets out, he has no option but to announce her as his lover to the public.
Now with them both in a compromising situation, Amira takes his offer to pretend to be his girlfriend in the eyes of the public for a period of four months in exchange that he pays her and gets back at her cheating ex, who also happened to be his cousin but Amira is not the same girl he once destroyed. She has secrets of her own. And Montez? He didn’t plan on falling for the one woman who swore to ruin him.
Their lies ignite an obsession neither can control, and soon, love and war become indistinguishable.
When I'm on my break, I decide to help my neighbor, Yvonne Cook, fix the gas valve, which has been leaking gas.
But she instantly lodges a report, saying that I've gone against the rules. She demands compensation for the shock that she's suffered as well.
I don't bother defending myself. Instead, I just write a reflection report. After that, my squad leader sentences me to disciplinary confinement.
Yvonne wastes no time gloating in the tenants' group chat.
"It's time to teach these power-abusers a good lesson, anyway!"
Three days later, a fire breaks out in Yvonne's apartment. Thick plumes of dark smoke keep rising from the burning apartment.
Yvonne wails as she bangs on my door and pleads with me.
"Please crack open the door and put out the fire!"
I can only sigh from behind my front door.
"I'm under disciplinary suspension right now, so I can't break protocol. You should wait for the fire truck instead."
My father loved silence. He believed noise was the mark of lesser people, so he installed a decibel meter in our home.
Speaking above 40 decibels meant that we would have to pay him 10 dollars, laughing above 60 decibels meant 50 dollars, and crying or throwing a tantrum was a serious offense at 100 dollars per second.
The year I turned four, I fell and broke my arm. I did not make a single sound. I bit down so hard that I cracked two teeth, but I saved thousands in noise fees. He praised me for it and called me a "high-value child," one that was worth the investment.
I treasured that compliment and observed the rules carefully, keeping the house wrapped in suffocating silence.
Then came the stormy night a thief broke in. He had a knife and was creeping toward my mother as she slept, and I watched it all from the gap in the wardrobe where I was hiding.
I wanted to scream. I wanted to shriek and wake my father, to do something, anything. However, my eyes drifted to the decibel meter on the wall, and my hand found nothing but an empty pocket.
I did not have enough allowance. One scream would cost hundreds, and I simply could not afford it.
Everyone in class can hear my thoughts, but there's a catch—the "thoughts" they hear have been deliberately altered.
During the exam, while I swiftly fill out the answer sheet, the rest of the class stays put. They eagerly wait to hear the answers in my head.
[The answer for this is C, of course. These questions are exactly the same as the ones Ms. Clarke revealed to me. I'm going to be the top student again without even breaking a sweat!]
Everyone else immediately copy my answers. Ultimately, apart from me, they all end up failing the exam.
During our swimming class, my leg cramps, and I start sinking underwater. I try to scream for help, but my classmates hear something entirely different in my head.
[I'm going to act like I'm drowning and see who's the idiot who jumps in to save me. Hahaha!]
In the end, they all watch indifferently as I drown.
My eyes open again. I've gone back in time to the day of the exam.
This time, I can also hear these "thoughts" of mine that have been altered.
All I did is ask my dad why not send the fake heir, Ryland Jones, back to his actual home. In return, Dad forcibly sends me to an institution, where I go through the AI Obedience Conditioning program.
Since then, I become the most obedient son Dad ever has. I will carry out all orders that he gives me.
One day, I secretly stalk Dad and Ryland to a banquet. That's where I hear Dad chatting with his friends.
"I was left without a choice. The moment Callum got home, he began targeting Ryland simply because Ryland isn't related to us by blood.
"That's why I can only send him to the program and condition him into an obedient son. I'm doing this for his own good."
At that moment, Dad's controller begins vibrating. It signifies that I'm not home right now.
His expression changes drastically. Then, he punches in the order with his fingers.
"Go home right now and get down on your knees!"
I lose total control of my body and begin bolting for the streets. On the way home, I get hit by a speeding car, but I still scramble up to my feet and continue running.
At the same time, I keep muttering, "I'm sorry, Dad. I'm going home right now to carry out my punishment."
By the time Dad reaches home, he sees me kneeling in a corner with my head bowed. His lips curl into a satisfied smirk.
What he doesn't know is that my heart has already stopped beating. Even my body is ice-cold to the touch.
My little brother, Rylan, wanted to go to the park. However, Dad told me to keep an eye on him and make sure he didn't wander off.
So, Rylan said he wanted to play hide-and-seek at home with me, and I agreed. Unfortunately, I couldn't find him after he hid. I searched everywhere for him.
I looked through all three floors of the house and even searched the yard. At the time, I just thought that Rylan had found an incredible hiding spot.
It wasn't until that evening that our neighbor brought him home with the police.
Only then did I realize that Rylan had slipped out of the house while I'd been counting with my eyes covered.
Terrified that Dad would find out he'd snuck off to play, Rylan threw his arms around Dad's leg and burst into tears. "Dad, Caleb threw me out of the house!"
Dad flew into a rage and slapped me across the face. "How could you be so cruel? Your brother is only five years old! You told me he was playing hide-and-seek with you. You rotten liar!"
But Dad... I was only seven.
I tried to explain, but Dad never believed another word I said.
From that day on, I ranked lower than even the chauffeur in our house. Every day, I was fed spoiled leftovers and forced to sleep in the doghouse.
When I was 12, a bad woman kidnapped me and made me call Dad for ransom money. All I got in return was his furious voice yelling over the phone.
"You rotten liar! You really will say anything for money, even something like this. If they won't let you live without it, then go ahead and die."
The woman was so furious that she kicked me off the unfinished balcony of an abandoned building.
I hit the ground, and my body was splattered beyond recognition. Before I even had a chance to feel the pain, I found myself drifting upward.
Dad… I hadn't been lying.
Orwellian has become such a loaded term these days—it gets tossed around whenever someone feels like big brother is watching, but it’s way more nuanced than that. For me, it’s not just about surveillance; it’s how language gets twisted to control thought. Like in '1984,' where 'war is peace' and 'ignorance is strength.' We see echoes of that now with corporate speak sanitizing layoffs ('rightsizing') or governments reframing protests as 'riots.' The scariest part? How normalized it feels. We scroll past privacy policies without reading them, let algorithms curate our news, and call it convenience.
Then there’s the way dissent gets flattened. Social media platforms claim to champion free speech but shadow-ban controversial topics. It’s not a dystopian boot stomping on a human face forever—it’s a cozy, branded oppression where we willingly hand over data for meme recommendations. The modern Orwellian vibe isn’t just fear; it’s complacency wrapped in a smiley-face emoji.