Splinters of Truth: Fractured Code
By Olivia Salter
Word Count: 850
Nina hunched over her laptop in the dim glow of the nearly empty office. The others had left hours ago, their footsteps fading into the echoing silence of the hallways. She rubbed her temples, staring at the data displayed on her screen. Something was wrong—deeply wrong. The algorithm she'd been working on, touted as a game-changer for healthcare access, didn’t just prioritize patients; it excluded the most vulnerable, often by race, income, or geographic location.
She scrolled through line after line of code, her heartbeat quickening. The realization hit her like a gut punch: the flaws weren’t accidental. They were deliberate.
The next day, Nina brought it up in the weekly meeting. She kept her voice steady as she explained the disparities she'd found. Her manager, Evan, leaned back in his chair, his expression a practiced calm that made her stomach churn.
“Nina,” he said smoothly, “you’re misunderstanding the big picture. These prioritizations are necessary to keep the system efficient.”
Efficient. She hated how easily the word rolled off his tongue, as if lives were just numbers on a spreadsheet. The room shifted uncomfortably, her colleagues avoiding her gaze. She left the meeting with a lump in her throat, the weight of their silence pressing down on her.
Amara caught up with her in the hallway. “You’re playing with fire,” her friend whispered.
Nina didn’t respond. She was too busy feeling the splinters of truth digging deeper under her skin.
Nina couldn’t sleep. The weight of the data, the dismissiveness in Evan’s voice, and the look in her colleagues’ eyes haunted her. Every time she closed her eyes, she saw the faces of those who would be erased by the algorithm—mothers waiting in overcrowded ERs, children in rural towns, the elderly unable to pay for private care.
She spent late nights combing through code, documenting every inconsistency, every calculated omission. Her apartment became a war room of sticky notes, graphs, and printouts. She even hacked into the internal servers to uncover meeting notes that confirmed her worst fears. This wasn’t an oversight; it was policy.
Amara visited one night, taking in the chaos of Nina’s living room. “You’re serious about this,” she said, her voice soft but tinged with worry.
“What else am I supposed to do? Pretend I didn’t see it?” Nina snapped, immediately regretting the sharpness of her tone.
“I’m not saying that. I’m saying… be careful. People like Evan don’t go down quietly. They’ll come for you.”
Nina looked at her friend, searching for reassurance in her face but finding only fear.
The invitation to the dinner arrived two days later: a celebration of the project’s success. Nina stared at the email, her hand trembling. They were going to launch it despite everything. She thought of deleting it, pretending to be sick, but she knew she needed to see their smug faces one last time before she acted.
The restaurant was lavish, with dim lighting and polished marble floors. Evan greeted her at the entrance, his hand gripping hers a little too firmly. “Glad you could make it, Nina,” he said, his smile as sharp as a blade.
The evening passed in a blur of toasts and hollow congratulations. Nina sat at the edge of the table, silent as Evan boasted about the project’s efficiency and innovation. Her stomach turned with every word.
She excused herself midway through, retreating to the restroom. Locking the door behind her, she pulled out her phone. The email was ready—a carefully compiled dossier of evidence sent to journalists, advocacy groups, and even government watchdogs. Her finger hovered over the send button.
Her reflection in the mirror caught her eye. Her face looked tired but determined. “You can’t unsee this,” she whispered to herself, then hit send.
Returning to the table, she felt lighter but no less anxious. Evan noticed her smile as she sat down and raised an eyebrow. “Something amusing, Nina?”
“Just thinking about the future,” she said, her voice steady.
The fallout was immediate. The story hit the news next morning: “Whistleblower Exposes Healthcare Bias in Groundbreaking Algorithm.” The company scrambled to release statements, promising investigations and accountability. Nina’s phone buzzed constantly—reporters wanting interviews, activists thanking her, and Evan’s livid voicemail threatening legal action.
When she walked into the office the next day, heads turned. Whispers followed her to her desk. By lunchtime, HR had called her in.
“You understand this creates a conflict of interest,” the woman said, her tone rehearsed.
“I understand,” Nina replied, handing over her badge and laptop without hesitation.
Outside, the January air bit at her skin, but she felt freer than she had in years. She didn’t have a job, but she had her dignity. She had done what no one else had been willing to do.
Weeks later, as she watched the company’s stock plummet and lawmakers call for reform, she smiled to herself. The truth had splintered, but she had pieced it together. And for the first time, she saw the cracks in the system not as defeats, but as places where the light could shine through.
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