The White PigeonsA Story by X! A tale of vengeance, discovery, and intellectual freedom. It’s time. Isaiah, Simon, Jeanette, Ted. It’s time. Silenced MP5s, jet black attire, light Kevlar vests. It’s time. The fate of the people will be changed today. It’s time.
*** Part One: Clocking In
Beep-beep-beep. Beep-beep-beep. Beep-beep�"
“Oh, shut the F**K up already!” I exclaim. Hastily,
I ran to the other end of my room to turn off the harsh ringing. As the ringing ends, my stress levels
drastically lower and I’m able to peacefully begin my morning routine without
any alarms going off. Government-mandated alarms are efficient for some people,
but not all; and it’s especially terrible for those who can already get up in
the morning WITHOUT the use of an alarm. The poster next to my UltraRest™ clock reads ‘A late worker is an expendable
worker’, accompanied by a man next to a computer punching in numbers. I shuffle as though
I were a zombie into my bathroom, put on my goggles, step into my CleanPod™ and
select ‘Speed Wash’. After a multitude of water sprays and soap scrubs done by
the automated arms inside of my pod, the drying process begins. A massive rush
of warm gusts envelops my body and before I know it, I’m dried off entirely. As I step out of
the pod and begin dressing myself, I hear a swift rapping on my door, followed
by a scruffy voice, which says, “Police. A Class 5
audio report was given to us approximately 15 minutes ago. We are here to
distribute disciplinary actions in accordance with our received report.” Whilst my shirt is
still unbuttoned I open the door, stumbling over my words trying to clarify
that nothing is wrong. Sadly, convincing police officers in this day and age of
doing anything other than what they’re told is a fruitless endeavor. The officer
at my door spoke as though he were reading straight from an Academy Rulebook. “Sir, please hold
out your barcode and make no attempts to resist.” I groan under my
breath as I hold out the back of my left hand, which has my barcode and ID
number of 1149374 imprinted on the back of it. He takes out his scanner from
the holster on his belt and moves the slider on it to “Class 5”. He aims it at
my barcode, the scanner ticks, he thanks me for my compliance and leaves
shortly thereafter. Frustrated and disappointed
at myself for exclaiming such ‘profanities’ at 7 in the morning, I decided to
treat myself to a nice hot cup of java. The sleek, stainless steel metal
countertop holds my EZ-Brew™ coffee machine, complete with a set of flavor
packets varying from ‘Organic Dark Roast’ to ‘Basically Sugar Milk’. I turn the
brewer on and start it up while I look at what I have left to eat in my
ForeverFresh™ refrigerator. A cold, half-a-week old turkey sandwich, some
frozen waffles, a gallon of juice, and some restaurant pasta from Gorlomi’s. I
grab a shiny porcelain plate from my cabinet located conveniently next to my
fridge, and decide that finishing the turkey sandwich before it gets any older
is for the better of all people. While eating, I
switch on my EntertainmentPlus™ flat-screen television, and the news comes into
view. “And now for the
weather of the great city of Foxmoor, ruled by the even greater leader, Sam
Roppitz. Remember, Praise Roppitz! The temperature today is 14 degrees Celsius,
and there are moderate showers today. Umbrellas are advised.” And thus, a nice
café au lait to contrast the gamey taste of the old turkey sandwich ends my
breakfast. I grab my umbrella, head out the door, and walk towards my morning
bus stop to get to the office of Mar-Kipler Industries, my workplace. While
sitting at the bus stop browsing the daily news on my phone, I am greeted with
a tap on the shoulder. “Hey, Ted. Ya know,
I find that people never really do get used to waking up this early to go to
work. In my opinion, we should be allowed to come in at any time before 9 A.M.
9 is reasonable, right? Then, people who come in earlier can really feel good
about themselves knowing that they could have come in later but they didn’t
anyways!” It’s John Banks, my
second-in-command. He’s a slender and lanky fellow, and he always sports the
same style suits, always brown, always American made. He has a noticeable scar
on his neck from an accident involving factory work and insulin needles.
Despite his hideous scar, he makes up for it with his die-hard work ethic,
horrendous comedic routine, and clean-shaven face, exemplifying him as your run
of the mill Foxmoor citizen. “Well, ya gotta do
what ya gotta do. Although, I do agree that getting up any time before 9 A.M.
depending on your workload seems reasonable. Actually, a recent incident in my
apartment makes me wish I wouldn’t have to get up so early...” John raises an
eyebrow and gives me a slight frown. “What happened this
time, Ted?” “Let’s just say a
person that’s name rhymes with ‘red’ doesn’t like alarm clocks. Also, he might
be quick to spill some vulgarities.” John chuckles and I
manage a grin. The slow and heavy rain falling on the top of our bus stop fills
my ears with a pitter-patter and wets the sidewalk in front of me. An
advertisement on the wall to my right reads ‘Buy from Mar-Kipler! Support
Roppitz!’. After a seemingly
eternal wait, the transportation finally arrives. John gets on first in front
of me and I follow him to the middle section of the bus. We both take our seats
and begin our commute to our office. As I look out of the window in front of
me, I observe leagues of people, walking around and possibly commuting to their
own jobs, or perhaps they are on vacation. Maybe the man with the purple
umbrella and the khakis has just gotten fired from his job and has been having
an awful day. Or maybe the woman who walks with her daughter across 120th
and Pinehurst is finally having her first day off in over a year in which she
can spend time with her young. I feel helpless as I imagine the infinite
scenarios that could be going through every person’s mind, each more complex
than the last. I think about how maybe I would appear in their lives, as simply
an extra in their grand scheme, or maybe even a supporting role. Actually,
thinking about it gives me a slight headache. Our bus pulls into
the stop closest to Mar-Kipler Industries and John and I head into the lobby.
As we step inside, our receptionist Jenna Marschall, giving us a smile and a
wave, greets us. John and I reciprocate with our own smiles and waves and then
proceed to walk towards the elevators. We ride them up to the 9th
floor, which holds the Marketing Division. On each floor, a security guard
stands in a room to watch us punch in our cards to verify our information every
time we walk in or out of the building. Our floor’s security guard is named
Kyle Washington, a heavy-set black man with slight stubble and brown eyes. Kyle
is a frequent jokester, and I envy his laid-back attitude. His desk is always
visibly cleanly, as he doesn’t have to do much other than keep track of who
comes in and out of each floor. “Morning, boys.
Punch ya cards in, and I’ll have you on your way. Of course, because this is
the first workday of the New Year I’m going to have to have you re-verify all
of your information on your cards,” says Kyle. John leans towards
me and whispers something about how he’s glad that us updating our information
encroaches on our work-time. “I’ll take you in
first, Ted.” Kyle motions for me to come into his room to begin the process. I
walk inside and he asks me simple questions, just to verify that I am who I am. “Name?” “Ted Nakamura.” “Address?” “ 156 Hillcrest
Lane, Apt. 9.” “Date of birth and
age?” “October 5th,
2247. Age 28.” “..credit card
number?” “F**k right off,
mate!” Kyle and I laugh for a moment and he
tells me that I’ve successfully updated my information. He then tells me to let
John in next, and that he’ll be done in a jiffy. I leave the room and motion
for John to walk in. His information updating takes a little over 2 minutes. He
comes out, and Kyle gives us the thumbs up to head onwards. As we walk into the main office
room, we’re greeted with the generic sounds of a workplace. Telephones ringing,
people discussing the next big advertisement, and of course the classic water
cooler gang gossiping about the happenings of the office. I walk into my office
room and John heads to his desk, eager to work on his ad for ‘The Daily Fox’,
which is a popular propaganda-based newspaper in Foxmoor. While logging on to my computer to
begin my work, I peer outside at the great sprawl of Foxmoor. The transparent
rain and the colossal skyscrapers combined with the ant-like people below me
speak only one word: ‘bleak’. On the balcony of an apartment to the north east
of my window, I spied a pair of curious pigeons looking at the city in a
fashion similar to mine. They look as though they search desperately for
something; as though they’ve lost something. Just when I thought that staring
out at the metropolis was a pointless affectation, the two pigeons flew away,
off into the sky, never to be seen again.
***
Part
Two: Discovery The Roost Café. The Roost is a common meeting-place
for strangers and friends alike; aside from their excellently brewed coffee and
diner-based foods, they have a bulletin board describing various events
happening around town. It’s ordinary to see people going in and out of the
Roost at all times of day, and in my case, entering at 8 p.m. on a Saturday for
a fresh coffee is absolutely normal. I sit down on a barstool and wait
for Simon, the bartender, to serve me. I order a classic; the espresso. “Coming right up, Ted,” says the
burly man serving the patrons. Simon speaks very little of his past, or of his
personal interests, and I find that a respectable quality. His ability to stay
far away from society yet so close is a very unique phenomenon and it intrigues
me more every time I have a conversation
with him. Down a few seats from me, near the
soda machine, I spot a man, clad in jeans, a leather jacket, and a trucker hat,
looking down at his paperwork. I can’t help but feel that I know this man, but
he looks nothing like anyone I would associate myself with. Before I realize
it, he’s waving at me, and while he’s waving his neck becomes exposed. That scar.
I’d recognize it from a mile away; it’s Banks. Simon hands me my espresso and I
head over to John’s table. “Well, fancy meeting you here Ted! I
didn’t know you also came in here for nighttime coffee runs.” “Yeah, actually, I come in here
pretty often. I’m actually more surprised that I haven’t seen you in here
before today, but that might be due to your get-up. I didn’t even know you
owned jeans!” “Come on Ted, what do you take me
for, a workaholic? Of course I have casual clothes. Actually, while I have you
here I wanted to ask you something a little… controversial. Mind keeping this
on the down low?” “Of course, John. We’ve been friends
for 3 years now. I’m sure you could have understood by now that I’m no
tattletale.” “Alright, well listen. I’ve been
wondering about our marketing division. Making all these advertisements and
working all of these promotional events would make any man really closely
observe what he’s doing; except nobody does. Not once yet have I heard of anyone
questioning the validity of what we’re doing, and it’s probably because
everyone is too in it for the money to actually see if what he or she is doing
is right. I’ve been thinking for a while now, and the thought finally dawned
upon me: doesn’t it seem a little strange how much Mar-Kipler affirms Roppitz’s
rule as supreme dictator? We’re always finding a way to get his name or his
face onto things, whether it’s with a coffee mug or an air conditioning unit.
Do you ever wonder Ted? Do you ever wonder how truthful our government really
is?” I sit for a while and ponder over John’s
thoughts. As I take a sip of my espresso, I realize that he just vocalized my
thoughts; I had indeed been suspicious of our company’s actions for a while
now, but I myself had been caught up in the glamour of the money. “John… are you trying to say that
something might be happening behind the scenes with our government? Because
I’ve been wondering about something like this for a while now, but I was afraid
of the repercussions of proposing such a thought, not to mention how exact the
situation would have to be to bring something like this up…” “Fret not, my boy! Perhaps…perhaps
Roppitz is NOT the one true leader, sent as a messenger of God to rule over us.
Perhaps all of our life’s work is not meant to act honorably for the one true
leader. Perhaps he’s weak… and a insurmountably large veil of lies has been
thrown upon us, the citizens of Foxmoor, with us none the wiser of the absolute
invalidity of Roppitz’s justifications and actions. Perhaps�"“ A light-hearted steel drum jingle
plays. It’s John’s phone. He must have somewhere to go. Still though, at 8
p.m.? A man can only wonder the things a man like John Banks has to do daily… “Sorry Ted, I have to get out of
here. Something urgent just came up. How much was your coffee? I’ll pay for it,
as thanks for listening to my bantering.” “Oh. Yeah, of course, it was $1.85.
Good luck with whatever you’re off to.” “Thanks. See you around, pal.” John hands Simon a five-dollar
bill, and gets back a dollar and forty-five cents in change. He heads out
almost instantaneously after getting his change; whoever just called him must
have had an extremely urgent task for him. Still, there’s no point in wondering
about it. I guess just finish up this coffee and walk home. Rationally speaking, my journey back
to my humble apartment should be simple considering my knowledge of the area
and the streetlights to guide my path. However, on a night like this, the sharp
and cold night air cuts my skin like a razor blade, and each gust of wind
stronger than the last. The darkness is desolate, it screams at me with its
silence. My journey feels like a never-ending loop; it’s as though I’ve broken
some kind of temporal rule of the universe by ordering an espresso and I am now
paying the price for it. Suddenly, I begin to hear footsteps
behind me. A chill goes down my spine and I feel an intense terror overwhelm my
body. The streets are an unforgiving place, despite areas being well watched by
Roppitz’s regime of police officers. The footsteps behind me begin to
accelerate. I swiftly turn around, fists raised, ready to combat any assailant
who plans to harm me. The shadowy figure rushes at me with supernatural speed,
raising a baton, which I had not accounted for. I attempt a dodge from his
strike, but his leg comes from below to sweep me. I fall onto the cold
concrete, sustaining some kind of internal back injury. He laughs at my frail
body lying on the ground, and bashes my temple shortly thereafter. I feel a
warm sensation, and something oozing from my head. The world around me fades
into an even darker midnight than before, and as I black out I can only wonder
what cruel fate shall await me…
*** “Hey, boss. I think he’s waking up.
You alive, dude?” The voices around
me are fuzzy and it’s difficult to get a grip on reality. I manage some sort of
nod, and he notifies his superior. Attempting to make anything out with my eyes
is futile, as there appears to be some sort of burlap sack over my head. I try
desperately flailing my arms and legs, but they are restrained to whatever I’m
sitting on. Amongst the mutters and grumbling of what I can only assume are
various underlings surrounding me, one voice sticks out as loud footsteps
approach my position. “Howdy, m**********r.” His intimidating
voice burrows into my brain like a parasite, eating me from the inside. “I’ll get straight
to the point, buddy. We know you’re the marketing representative of Mar-Kipler.
And we plan on using you to get information to our advantage. Who are we? Well,
I suppose I could tell you seeing as you won’t make it out of here alive. We’re
the Foxmoor resistance. We’re here to free society from the chokehold of Sam
Roppitz. Chucky, take the bag off of him.” The rope around my
neck is untied and I gasp a breath of relief. I take a look at the man in front
of me, and his strongman stature. His right eyebrow has a scar through the
middle of it, and his bulging muscles compliment his manly beard. His poisonous
green eyes sting my soul and inject me with fear. “So, if you don’t
mind, we’re going to start torturing you for information now. That is unless,
you comply.” The conversation I
had with Banks comes to my mind. I think about how he was suspicious of
Roppitz’s rule and verdicts, and how he would have sided with these guys in a
heartbeat. I begin to think; maybe joining these people wouldn’t be so bad. If
I am to supposedly die in here, I may as well use my situation to meet the best
possible ends. Freethinking, in my opinion, is a fundamental of human life.
However, Roppitz has spread his curtain of oppression over Foxmoor, and few are
able to see through it. And suddenly, a truck mentally hits me: I am amongst
who I am meant to be with. “I will side with
you.” “’scuse me,
darling?” A long silence
holds the atmosphere of the room. After what seems like an eternity, a man to
my left wearing a mask resembling a jester walks in slowly, clapping while
approaching the situation. “Teddy, my friend.
You would not believe how glad I am to hear you say those words.” This voice… it
speaks to me as though I’ve heard it a million times before. Suddenly, the
underlings and the burly man in front of me salute to the man walking in. They all shout in
unison, “Leader!” The man donning the
jester mask wastes no time and asks me one question. “Oh come on Ted,
don’t you recognize me?” It’s Banks. John
Banks. “John? You’re the leader of the
resistance? That must have been what your call at the café was about then,
huh?” “Yes, it was Ted. And now, you and
me are going to change society for the better of all humanity. Together, we can
bring free thought to the people.” I give him a large, sly grin. He
laughs for a moment, and unties me from my bindings. He tells me about his plans,
and the vision he has for Foxmoor. I ask him for a favor before formally
joining his resistance. “Get me a searing hot iron brand. I
want to clear this ID number and barcode from my hand.” “Funny you should mention that,
we’ve all done the same. It’s the initiation process for our group. I guess
great minds really do think alike, eh Ted?” I sear the brand over the back of my
left hand, and a sense of freedom fills me. A new future awaits Foxmoor, and I
will be the one to uphold it. Roppitz will pay for his sins, and I will bring
upon him ultimate judgment. He cannot stop us, for our time is now.
*** Part
3: Retribution It’s been two months since I found
out John’s secret. I have undergone rigorous training to prepare myself as much
as possible to cleanse this metropolis of the scum that is Sam Roppitz. Today,
April 17th, 2276, is the day that judgment will be brought upon Sam
Roppitz. Our forces have gathered a small, elite team for an assassination
mission in Roppitz’s country house, which is around 17 miles away from the East
exit of Foxmoor. I will be leading the assault, and John will be guiding me
through communications. The team consists of myself, Simon,
who I had previously not known was a high ranking member of John’s
organization, Isaiah Hall, an energetic and well-built man in his early 20s,
and Jeanette Marschall, Mar-Kipler’s receptionist who went under the name
Jenna. She is the pride of John’s organization due to her affinity for martial
arts and wise tactical mind, having grown up around the military since birth.
Even now, I am still amazed at how many people were right under my nose working
for the resistance. We are stationed in a brush near
Roppitz’s country house. Our intelligence obtained by another member of the
Mar-Kipler Board of Department Representatives tells us he will be taking a
short vacation in this exact household. We’ve each been given our own missions
despite working as a team. Jeanette is to follow me and make sure that Roppitz
dies if I do not live to kill him. Isaiah and Simon will work as cleaners to
survey and neutralize any enemies in the area. According to our information in
conjunction with our own personal detection, Roppitz is believed to be
somewhere on the second floor of his country house. Jeanette and I will first
check his personal suite, and then work our way from there. We’ve been told to
execute our operation at exactly 2200 hours and the time right now is 2130
hours. Our team has decided to spend our remaining time making sure nothing is
out of place in or around the country house. In half an hour, the fate of our
realities will be decided. It’s time. Isaiah, Simon, Jeanette, Ted. It’s time. Silenced MP5s, jet-black attire, and light
Kevlar vests. It’s time. The fate of the people will be changed today. It’s time. At the back of the building, four special
agent operatives stand guard watching for any intruders or potential threats to
Roppitz. Two are facing opposite directions, one watches both of those men, and
the fourth patrols in a perimeter around the three. John connects to our
communications, and he gives us instructions. “I have visual of four. Repeat, contact with
four.” “Roger. How should we proceed, Leader?” asks
Jeanette. “Synchronize with each other, and kill all
four simultaneously if possible. They are set up in a position to watch each
other if one dies, and there is an alarm on each of their men. If you kill any
of them too late, the entire operation will be compromised. Additionally, a
camera lies above the four guards. Be sure to disable that before acting.” “We’ve got this, team. Everyone, steady your
aim. I will take the man watching the two facing opposite directions as well as
the camera. Jeanette, you get the patroller. Isaiah and Simon, eliminate the
last two,” I affirm. “Roger. Waiting on your mark,” they say in
unison. And thus, the operation began. “Mark.” The agents are left with a hole in their
respective heads, and they all fall to the ground. I order Simon and Isaiah to
pull the bodies away into our brush. As they pull them away from the back of
the country house, Jeanette and I take point. We sneak into the building
through the backdoor. As we walk in, we’re greeted by a plethora of
decorations. A painting hangs on the wall in front of us, and various floras
decorate the walls. Rococo style wallpaper covers the house, and a back
stairway leads directly up to the second floor. A large golden chandelier hangs
over the stairway, along with various wall ornaments such as a bookshelf and
some lanterns. To our
right lies the kitchen, and we survey that a team of hard-working slaves is
keeping together Roppitz’s culinary operation. The dining room is to our left,
and a large commotion is heard from there. Multiple haughty voices can be heard
audibly discussing their fortune and what they do with it. Simon and Isaiah
come in after we observe the rooms, and John gives us orders. “Jeanette,
Ted, keep an eye out for any surveillance cameras. In your bag lies an EMP
device. Use it if necessary, but try to think before using it. It will shut off
all electrical signals and functions inside of the house, as well as your
communication gear. Effectively, you’ll be in the dark if you use it.” “Affirmative,
Banks. Simon, Isaiah, go investigate the closed door next to the stairwell.
Keep an eye out for cameras. Jeanette, we’re going upstairs.” “Keep it
quiet, people,” orders John. The
sleek tile flooring doesn’t help to mask our footsteps, but we seem to have
snuck in without being noticed yet. Jeanette spots a camera overlooking the
stairwell on the second floor, and disables it with a bullet. She was careful
enough to not break the glass that serves as the monitor, and instead shoot the
wire bundle that keeps it functioning. I commend her efforts, and we both
decide this is the fashion in which the cameras will be dealt with from now on. As we
head through the maze that is the second floor of Roppitz’s country house,
Simon and Isaiah have an unsettling revelation. “Uh,
guys… you might wanna see this…” “What is
it? I can’t connect to your visuals while you’re in the basement,” John says
inquisitively. “It’s a
torture chamber. This basement, it’s a torture chamber. Ropes and saws amongst
other sharp objects line the ground. Those missing political figures from
earlier this year; we found them. They’re here. I can only assume that Roppitz
has taken them in because they tried to defy him.” “My god…
Jeanette and Ted, don’t mind this information. Please continue with the
operation as planned. Just remember who you’re going after here.” “Roger.” Jeanette
and I come upon the Private Suite of Sam Roppitz, after encountering two more
security cameras and three guards. Two of those guards were relatively easy to
eliminate and hide in a nearby room, however one of them had almost escaped
because I hadn’t predicted that he would just turn around for no apparent
reason. Jeanette and I take breach positions in front of Roppitz’s door. “Guys,
we’re at the suite. Are you ready?” “Be sure
to get that son of a b***h for us back in town,” encourages John. “Alright.
Jeanette, on my mark, kick down this door. I will throw a flash-bang to stun
any potential targets inside of the room.” “Affirmative.
Awaiting your mark.” Jeanette
kicks down the door and I throw a flash-bang into the room almost
instantaneously after she breaches. We both turn away and after the pop is
heard, we go in. Sometimes,
ten seconds can feel like ten hours. This was
one of those moments. An
unusual sight greets us: Sam Roppitz lays on a couch, seemingly inanimate, and
multiple courtesans surround him, each more scantily clad than the last. Two
bodyguards are positioned on each side of the diamond shaped room, bringing the
total to eight bodyguards. Currently, every person in the room is overwhelmed
with confusion as the effects of the flash-bang set in. Jeanette and I split up
the room evenly, each of us taking four body guards. We swiftly eliminate the
men, and time seemingly goes back to its normal pace. The
women of the evening rush out of the room, filled to the brim with terror and
fear. Jeanette watches the door as I approach Roppitz. Roppitz gets up from his
couch, dazed and confused. I grab his head and throw him to the ground. The
dance music plays in the background. “Hey,
fucko.” “Wh-wh�"what
do you want with me…?” “Isn’t
it obvious? Your actions have finally caught up to you. True judgment shall be
unleashed upon your body. Your journey ends here.” “This
world, boy… this world is too complex for one such as yourself. I remember when
I was like you. I thought I could make a difference, and treat everyone right.
You try to control these situations, and they get out of hand. You think you’re
the main character the entire time, that you’re trying to do good, that
everything you do is for the best of the people and it eats you. It eats you
from the inside. Those little sacrifices in your eyes are the lives and SOULS
of your people. Don’t you think I feel their pain? I am a dictator, but I am
not a robot. I have emotions and I feel empathy. It all just got out of hand so
fast, and I don’t know where I went wrong…” “Don’t
try to play the sympathy card with me, Roppitz. You know what you’ve done. You
really think torturing those prisoners in your basement was the ‘right thing to
do’? Get a grip, a*****e. You’re too simple for this complex world.” “You
know NOTHING of my life, boy! If you plan to recreate my empire, my society, my
civilization, I warn you; the responsibility and the weight of your actions
will consume you faster than you know. And when you realize that you’ve become
exactly what you sought to destroy, you will truly know my pain. You will
realize that people cannot think freely because it is part of the human soul to
think freely. They will always rise against you. You can never let everyone in
the world be your friend. It doesn’t work that way. Perhaps you’re too young to
realize it, boy, but you truly do not know the weight of your actions until you
are in a position such as mine. I hope you find solace in eliminating what
little hope this community had.” “Tch.
Good night, Roppitz. Nobody else will have to be mentally restricted by your
idiotic methods now.” A hole
appeared, directly in Roppitz’s chest. Blood flowed out of his wound like a
calm brook. The entire atmosphere of our reality was changed in that instant.
While I was focused on this intense sense of euphoria, John calls in. “You…
you did it..? It’s finally over…? He’s dead…?” “It’s
over, Banks. It’s all over.” “This
day will be remembered in history for ages to come. The end of the tyrannical
rule of Sam Roppitz… I never thought this day would come.” “Better
believe it, buddy. Now, team, we’ve got to get out of here.” The
entire house has already been alerted that Roppitz has been killed, and Simon
and Isaiah have cleared a path for Jeanette and I to escape. We flee the
country house, and quickly enter our vehicle to drive back to Foxmoor. With the
dictatorship in shambles, Foxmoor can be rebuilt from the ground up.
Intellectual freedom can reign free, libraries can be built, schools can be
advanced, and the truth of the universe can be unraveled. It all starts today. The
assassination of Sam Roppitz is a very monumental point in time for our new
society. John and I will be manning the frontier of our new political body, and
the future is to be decided by the resistance and us. Yet, it
still lingers in my brain... The
final words of Sam Roppitz, how he described turning into exactly what I
despised. Could it truly happen to me? Impossible… the thought of it repulses
me. Men so pure like John and myself; we could never abuse our people. It
wouldn’t be right. Nobody will come after us to kill us, because Sam was
delusional. You can create a hospitable and flourishing realm for people to
live in. I believe we can. We just need to get started.
Still…
Where is the line between the impossible and possible? © 2016 X! |
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