Tristan’s uncle left him a shack full of clutter and junk. Pieces from a thousand games, some digital, some with figures and cards. Books and magazines tumbled from one pile of clutter to another. For such a kind, simple man, Tristan’s uncle lived in a realm of unrepentant chaos.
Tristan thumbed through the bound notes and disabled laptops.
The journal told a different story.
Tristan thought he’d been the only politically active member of the family, reciting truth’s from the Great Leader’s texts. Tristan’s uncle had scribbled pages and pages of dissenting opinions and enraged thoughts. The journal held codes to access the computers and cyphers to decrypt the messy collection of games.
Everything was a puzzle that revealed two shattering truths. The Great Leader was wrong about everything. Tristan’s uncle had already sown the seeds of revolution.