When the Inkwrights arrived in Metropolis Primé, reality itself began to bend.
They didn't use weapons. They didn't assassinate.
They simply rewrote perception — bending headlines, public opinion, even memory.
They wore suits made of narrative fabric: threads pulled from myth, gossip, and archived headlines. Every stitch was a reference. Every collar, a statement. Their garments shimmered with suggestion — elegant illusions woven to influence minds.
Within 48 hours, Sloane was no longer a rising fashion revolutionary.
She was a dangerous rogue.
A plagiarist.
A glory thief.
Even Cassien's past was edited. Now, the tabloids claimed he'd been sent by the Council to seduce her, to control her.
"What the hell is this?" Cassien growled, slamming a glowing tablet onto the table.
Ari read the rewritten exposé aloud: "The Queen of Threads Wears Stolen Crowns."
"She's been redacted," Ari whispered.
"No. Rewritten," Sloane said, voice tight. "They're trying to erase me through style. This is a war of fashion… and fiction."
---
In a secret base below the Fabric District, Ari explained:
"The Inkwrights use three kinds of fashion-based memory control:
1. Echo Prints — fabrics that subtly project alternate memories when seen.
2. Patchwork Personas — dressing influencers in false backstories.
3. Runway Reveries — full-on immersive shows that rewrite the audience's perception of reality through sound, scent, and silhouette."
"They turn fashion into mind control," Sloane muttered.
"They turn perception into power," Ari corrected.
Cassien stepped forward. "Then we give the world a stronger perception."
---
The Plan: Hijack the Gala
The Interplanetary Metaverse Fashion Gala — hosted by the Council — was 48 hours away.
Watched by 12 billion people across 17 galaxies.
Every major house, every designer, every political figure… and every Inkwright operative would be there, seated in the floating Glass Pavilion above the Saturn Ring Spa.
Sloane planned to hijack the show.
Not with violence.
With truth — sewn into couture.
Her show would pierce the illusions.
Her models would become memory anchors.
And her story would be unforgettable.
---
Preparation: The Fabric of Memory
Each outfit was a memory capsule — literal moments encoded into molecular thread. When worn, they projected vivid emotional experiences to those watching.
Model One wore the memory of Sloane's mother sewing her first dress under candlelight, post-blackout.
Model Two wore the night Ari was nearly executed for hacking the Council's auction.
Model Three wore Cassien's betrayal — and redemption — in a suit that burned with illusion and cooled with truth.
Cassien hesitated before putting his look on.
"It's... intimate," he said.
"That's the point," Sloane replied. "The Council makes fashion to silence. We use it to confess."
He kissed her.
Not like a man in love.
Like a man surrendering to it.
---
The Gala Begins
The Council's show opened with cruelty disguised as art.
Dresses made of protest banners from silenced revolutions.
A ballgown woven from the broken dreams of discarded designers.
Gloves stitched with apology letters from models who'd vanished.
It was poetic, brutal propaganda.
And then came Sloane.
---
Her walk began in silence.
No music. Just footsteps. Heels that rang like gavel strikes.
Her models glided in glowing looks that shimmered with truth-memory. Each step, each swirl, each turn emitted bursts of raw human experience — pain, hope, defiance.
People wept. Collapsed. Laughed. Screamed.
The feed went viral in under four minutes.
Then the Inkwrights struck back.
---
They launched a Reverse Rewrite — a final, desperate move.
Using mass hypnosis through a mirrored dress ensemble called The Clean Slate, they tried to erase her segment from memory — live.
A wall of polished memory-wiping gowns descended toward the stage like a wave.
Sloane activated her final look.
A cloak made of her father's voice.
His speeches. His rage. His vision of liberation.
It boomed through the fibers and shattered the mirror field.
Her truth tore through their fiction.
And for the first time in a century…
The Inkwrights were publicly defeated.
---
Aftermath
Sloane woke up in Cassien's arms on a hospital ship orbiting Saturn.
"You flatlined for 18 seconds," Ari said, eyes red.
"I came back in style," Sloane croaked, voice hoarse.
Her name trended for 49 hours straight.
#ThreadQueen
#TruthWalk
#CoutureRebellion
But it came at a cost.
The Council issued an international design embargo against her.
Every major supplier was pressured to cut ties.
Half her models were blacklisted.
The war had gone silent again.
But it hadn't ended.
And Sloane was already sketching her next show.
---
In a deep vault within the Council, Dorian stood before a shattered mirror.
Alecta joined him.
"You said the Inkwrights never failed," he snapped.
"They never faced her."
"Then what do we send next?"
Alecta smiled, pulling a scroll of silk.
"Her past."