A cassette tape is shown being loaded, as a person places a recording cassette on the table and speaks.

"We're recording," the person says.

"The truth is... this whole match is a lie," says {REDACTED}.

The unknown person is dressed in the official suit of the American Tankery League. The man pours himself a drink as the camera zooms in, and another cassette tape is loaded, also being recorded.

"Someone wanted peace, so... we hid the truth about it... so that no one would know," another {REDACTED} person says, also wearing a suit.

The camera flashes, abruptly cutting to grainy footage of the Gulf War. Explosions echo in the distance as tanks roll across the desert, and soldiers move under the burning sun. Voices emerge from the static, their identities concealed. **{REDACTED}** men and women, all dressed in different suits, speak one by one. Their words are layered with an unsettling calm.

"The truth was never what we were told," says one voice, barely above a whisper.

"We buried it... deep enough that no one could find it," another **{REDACTED}** person says, their voice trembling.

"We chose to hide the past... to protect a future that was never ours to control," adds a third voice, echoing with regret.

The camera cuts again—this time to shaky footage of the Dallas Incident. Tanks roll through the debris-laden streets, their cannons thundering as they fire. Soldiers sprint through the chaos, and screams can be faintly heard beneath the mechanical roar. The images blur, and suddenly, the camera pans to the Dallas Incident Memorial—three statues, blindfolded.

Houston, Graham, and Muller stand frozen in stone, their faces obscured by the cloth. Beneath their statues, chilling words are scrawled in red paint: **"Murderers"**, **"False Heroes."**

The screen flickers. A voice cuts through the static.

"These men... they aren't what you think. None of them are," says a fourth **{REDACTED}** voice, this time with a sharp edge of accusation.

"We built them up... as saviors. But the truth... the truth was always darker," says another **{REDACTED}** person, a woman this time, her voice shaking.

"Everything you've been told about the past... it's a lie. A fabricated story to cover up what *really* happened," another voice chimes in, sounding distant, almost like an afterthought.

The camera lingers on the statues, the blindfolds fluttering slightly in the wind, before cutting back to the table with the cassette tapes. The tension is palpable, the air thick with unspoken revelations.

"Do you see it now?" the original **{REDACTED}** person says. "The truth we hid... was never meant to be found."

The screen flashes again, cutting from the memorial statues to old commercial footage from decades past. The grainy ads flicker in and out—smiling families at picnics, children playing in idyllic suburbs, soldiers returning home from war, and waving flags set against sunsets. The cheerful, upbeat jingles from each clip contrast eerily with the ominous message building beneath the surface.

"Everything was packaged... presented perfectly," says a voice from the tape, dripping with bitter irony.

"All a show. Just like these commercials," whispers another {REDACTED} figure.

The footage shifts to old recruitment ads—military-themed clips encouraging the young to serve, to be heroes. Black-and-white propaganda, glossy images of patriotism and valor, each commercial framing service as the highest honor.

"Join the fight for freedom," one ad proclaims with bright optimism. But as it plays, the tape glitches, the image warping, and the sound distorting.

"This was the story they told us," the voice from the earlier recording mutters, as the commercial continues, but the brightness now feels hollow, false.

Suddenly, the scene changes again—this time to grainy clips of two former U.S. Presidents. The camera zooms in on each in their moments of authority, standing at podiums, delivering speeches to the American people.

The video begins to jump back and forth, each President saying the same line, but interrupting one another, their voices overlapping in a jarring, chaotic loop.

"God bless the United States—"
"—of America."
"May God bless—"
"—the United States—"
"—of America."

As their voices blend into an unintelligible blur, the screen flashes once more, and both figures slowly fade to black, leaving only a heavy silence. The final image lingers—a blank, empty screen.

The original {REDACTED} voice returns for one last chilling statement: "They wanted us to believe in something... something that was never there."

The recording ends, the camera cuts, and the screen turns black. The faint sound of static lingers, slowly fading to nothing.

......The Truth Lies......

To be continue