Heroes towered together, in the Fortress of Man, as time spun the world to the verge of a global nuclear catastrophe. Chemical warfare was perfected, targets were located, missiles were locked and lines were crossed. Paranoia spread across the world as people came to find the secret their government suppressed. The people knew their lives were expendable to their government for profits. They knew their towers fell that eleventh of September by the lust for greed, power. They knew their heroes were villains.
People band in the masses, marched to the capital unarmed, not for a proclamation or a declaration but for their official’s incarceration. The official’s public resignation counted for nothing, people wanted justice. The people wouldn’t stand and let war criminals walk free with their loved one’s blood in their hands, not after the revelation brought upon by an independent agent. He alone revealed everything the government kept hidden against the people they were inaugurated to serve. He alone dared to free the world from the shackles of liberty.
It was the French revolution all over again only this time no royalty, those in power, were hung or beheaded because the powers that be had learned what needed to be done in order to maintain the upper hand against those who dare defy them. Why else would government officials be so keen as to monitor civilians? If they know where the revolution begins they know where to send their puppets to take control of the situation. An elementary scheme all too flawed to those defective towards their dumbing immunization chemicals.
Riots brawled in the streets as the police armed in military gear suppressed those in rural parts of the revolution. All media outlets, owned by corruption, exploited those who joined the cause; anyone who opposed their new world order. Writers, members of the elite cult, mocked those who lead the revolution in their shows, movies, by turning the world against them; pinning them as the terrorist. Their antics were lost to those aware, to those awake from their deceit, to the rest of the 99 percent.
The masses had grown wise to the government’s manipulation propaganda machine. Two thousand years of lies had finally caught up to the master puppeteers. While the media kept quiet on the matter, the internet weaved multitude of links for people to find and join the truth. Little did they know, those links were created by the government to track those leading and joining the revolution. As the media dumbed its sheep, the internet enlightened all. It wasn’t long before people started to notice the government censor and block that truth as well, fueling the revolt.
“He is not one of us nor will he ever be.” The new king proclaimed. His brethren stood around while the old king’s daughter remained in disbelieve. “He broke the rules, Princess. So I ask again, who here will help this illegal stray?” He gestured to a file on the table, a picture lay expose. “Who will go beyond the line of duty just to rescue an outsider who stands against us?” He waited for an answer while the old king’s daughter urged them, anyone, to see beyond their borders. One bravely stepped forward only to be killed on the spot. “No one is going to his rescue,” he addressed the Princess, “I am absolution!”
“If my father were still around,” the Princess began, “He’d see you behind bars.” The Princess kneeled beside her fallen hero as she closed his eyes for the last time. “My father would have shown mercy to that stray because even the old kings knew what it took to keep a nation, not just sustain one.” The new king chuckled. “We have lost!” She exclaimed to the rest, to the other heroes, as she took her stance. “We have become puppets to the forces of evil. Greed has made us forget who we were, what we stood for. That outsider may not be one of us, but neither were we. Please,” she pledged once more, “Be the hero. Prove them wrong.”
“They aren’t going to do anything unless I say so.” The new king replied cold-heartedly. “Don’t forget where their legions lie.”
“Then I’ll ask you again,” she implored.
“But you already know the answer, Princess.” The boss reminded her. “Besides we never go back on our word. What makes you think he can be trusted? It was you who sold and purged all of his unpublished work, why would he trust you?” He laughed while he sat on his throne made of silver and gold. “You see now, how someone can alter their perspective of you once they’ve received our answer. An answer that would have changed their lives for the better. An answer they weren’t expecting. Do you see now, Princess, who he really is?” He looked her in the eye, “You should be thanking me, if not he’d betray you first.”
“His trust was never needed because he’s better than that. We used to be better than that.” The Princess confessed. “We need him just as much as he needs us.” The Princess leveled with the new king once more. “Don’t forget why you turned your machine on in the first place. You went out looking for his insights, or has our majesty forgotten whose vision it was to move our troops out of Syria? Had we not listened to that stray, all of your platoons would have died; we would have been one squadron less. Prime for an irreversible loss.”
“Don’t tell me you have fallen for his cheap parlor tricks as well.” He answered exhausted on the matter. “He is fooling you, Princess; why can’t you see that?”
“Because the only one being fooled is you.” The Princess proclaimed. “If you or anyone in here won’t help him, then I will.”
“You dare leave the circle?” He laughed, bewildered. “For an outsider? What would your father say? You know you can’t leave my presence; it was your fathers dying wish for me to keep you protected. Have I not?” He stopped, “Go soak in your silk bath, Princess, I’ll come up when you have simmered down.” He settled back in his throne, “I’ve had heard enough about him. My answer is final.” He took a bite of an apple sitting on the table, “Take her away.” He ordered his minions.
The Princess shook his minions away, proclaimed he would regret his decision and exited the room. The Princess didn’t in fact go to her chambers. Instead she sought to do what the heroes should have done a long time ago, the right thing; but do people ever do the right thing? To some, doing what’s right means doing what’s wrong. Yet it is they who forget the deed and the purpose is what deciphers the act from being good or bad.
Deep in the trenches of the Middle East, a heard of soldiers raided a small city near the borders of Iraq. Bombs exploded in every corner as innocent lives scattered from the debris. Smoke concealed the sun as people ran for cover, not sure where to go or where to hide. Small orphaned children cried as they stood calling for their missing God. Women screamed in their native tongue, urging anyone they crossed to follow them to safety. Brave civilians fought back with whatever they could find, but it wasn’t enough. Their city was purged in the name of justice, greed.
Gas grenades slowly creeped into their hiding spots, suffocating them to death. Hospitals were bombed as they fell to their foundation, killing all who resided inside. People ran not sure why their homes were being destroyed. American soldiers cleaned the streets with the native’s blood as they sought to change the world, one third world country at a time. Off in the distance, a small militia entered the crumbling city as they made their voices heard.
Their battle cry echoed with the bombs as they charged those who dared knock at their door. Frightful women and children desperately gravitated towards the militia for they were all the hope they had left after the gore they had just endured. The militia pulled them aside as bullets fired in the sand, aiming for their heads. The militia assured them their safety as they entered the gauntlet massacre. Shots were fired as the battle edged, each side slaughtering one another in hopes for the others defeat. Victory was declared as the outsiders placed their flag on top of the foreigner’s capital.
The militia gathered whoever limbed alive and took them across the border near a town unclaimed by the soldiers. There, they regrouped and armed themselves for yet another war ignited by justice. The militia men fed and clothed the lost, the weary. Supporters mended the injured. Volunteers gathered the dead. Hope was lost in the name of liberty as the foreigner’s home were taken by free men under orders.
“This is wrong,” Jone began as he sat by the fire surrounded by the injured. The militia guarded the grounds. “How can the world be oblivious to the slaughter caused by the peacemakers? Where have all the good people gone?” He asked himself over and over as cries of pain and misery whispered in the night. A child next to him sobbed as he muttered the bloodshed of his family. Jone did nothing to comfort the kid for he had no clue as to what to say. It was his people, after all, who had invaded their homes.
The full moon beamed while the stars harmonized in the sky. Clouds hovered as the night whispered effortlessly; surrounding them, comforting them. Light in the distance gleamed as bombs exploded, war kept the night warm. A man bearing wood came as the fire dimmed. He wrestled the barks of wood into the fire, warming those who sat around. He dared not look up for he could see the injustice in their scars.
“Why are we attacking them?” Jone asked the man bearing wood. Only he understood his language. “Does the world not know it was us behind 9/11 and not them? Are people not awake from the lies our officials keep spreading?” He shook his head, trying to erase the images of innocent bloodshed. “This is wrong.” The man bearing wood said nothing, he contemplated as the fire grew.
“Oil is a finite resource.” Doe finally answered as he made a spot to sit. The fire cracked as the wood burned. “No one alive, aware, are surprised at the extent officials will go to just so they can keep a sense of stability. Putting the blame on some foreign country is a lie much easier to convince. After all, 9/11 did happen and we all tuned in to watch. Did we do something about it afterwards, yes. Was it the right thing to do, no. People weren’t too fond of the Iraq War just as much as the Vietnam War but they still fought them. It’s not the people who have all the power, so why blame them?”
“Because they contribute to our official’s corruption by fighting their wars.” Jone replied. “They murder innocent lives for medals, for honor. If people aren’t in charge, why fight a war they didn’t start?”
“Some, if not all, do it for the money.” Doe answered. “Money is the root of all our problems. Others, on the contrary, are fooled or believe they are doing their duty by protecting their country; we all have our reasons.”
“But how can bloodshed be justifiable?” Jone asked, frustrated on the matter. “Why can’t people see it’s our officials to blame for the world’s problem and no one else? They are the ones in power, so shouldn’t they be put to blame? The French learned that a long time ago. When will the world follow through?” A woman carrying a basket handed them food and water. She said nothing as she passed. “All those websites in the internet that expose the truth, with evidence, isn’t enough to incarcerate our officials with crimes of war. Protesting for their incarceration will only get you arrested, hacked and exploited. How is any of that right?”
“What makes you, or anyone, think those websites are being run by people who represent the masses and not just one percent of them then?” Doe replied. “If they reveal the truth, why hasn’t anyone been arrested? Where’s the change their website declare? Wouldn’t you suspect the government is behind all of those websites as well? Wouldn’t they be just another propaganda machine for their puppets to spread? To keep their lies relevant.”
“Don’t forget,” Doe recalled, “The government runs everything, their puppets are everywhere. Recruiting people to spy on those who oppose their new world order. Scouting for unsung heroes to purge. Storing useless data in order to use as leverage and exploit anyone who dares stand against them and their cult. It’s how tyrants keep their power, nation.” He paused, “It’s what they did to my friend only no one believed him, I didn’t believe him. Not until I became a target.” They remained silent, the fire burned.
“Is that why you joined the militia?” Jone asked.
“No, why?” Doe questioned.
“Why did you join then?” Jone seemed intrigued.
“I didn’t.” Doe answered. “They came to me.” He reflected, “I had a friend who challenged his officials because he could; he was a citizen after all. Me, I was brought to America because my parents wanted a better life not just for them but for me; a life our ancestors had before the settlers arrived and were forced to migrate elsewhere. My parents faithfully believed, blinded by the lies officials pass for truth to keep their heads free of speculations and scrutiny, in the America that once existed. If it ever existed.”
Doe tossed a few more barks of wood into the fire, fanned its flames and kept the warmth strong. “It’s unfortunate that my parents and the millions of refugees fleeing to America weren’t aware that the America and her everlasting beacon of hope was just an illusion for those seeking solace where they are not welcomed. I was blessed enough to have met someone who didn’t see color or race. He helped me in ways any human could. He showed me that there are still good people around.”
“When my friend joined the revolution,” Doe dug deeper, “He implied that the New World Order, good and evil, had team up against him; that the government was monitoring, exploiting him. Singling him out from the others who opposed. Eradicating them one by one. He kept shoving his paranoia down my throat, urging me to believe him but I didn’t. Why would the government spy, single out some small city kid with no ambitions? Don’t they have bigger problems on their plate? All he did was challenge his officials to better their congress, like any other citizen wanting a fair government.”
“It’s not when the media announced the government were tracking non-citizens when I began to understand what he had meant.” He pondered for a moment. “He killed himself before I could tell him I believed,” Doe spoke to the fire. “I didn’t blame him for his suicide because I understood. I knew then what he had meant by having the government spy on his every word, overwhelming him with paranoia; pushing him to suicidal thoughts, mad. Everything I did, all the side jobs I could get to the life I was living under the government’s watchful eye suddenly became television content.”
“You too?” Jone interrupted.
“I didn’t know what to do.” Doe replied. “I contacted Anonymous Headquarters, all those websites declaring they stand by and are for the people, seeking help but I only came to find they too were bought puppets. They began to do what the government and the elite cult were doing, exploiting secrets to sell their propaganda.” He paused, “I didn’t know who to go to. The only one who knew what I was going through, my only friend, killed himself because no one believed him. I didn’t believe him.” He closed his eyes to forget.
“With my father deported,” Doe continued, “I couldn’t fill my mother with my inconveniences. It was bad enough she was diagnosed with cancer. Hearing my propaganda would have only added extra stress, it would have been too much for her to handle. So I kept to myself thinking it was for the best.” He stopped, “I then came to find that the government had deported her as well while I was gone.” He tossed a few more barks of wood into the fire. The light grew warmer.
“I went to the closets church I could find to seek shelter,” Doe commented a moment later. “Because that’s what they’re there for, one would think. I spoke to the pastor and confessed everything. He told me I could spend the night until I sort out my differences. That same night Homeland Security came for me, the pastor had sold me out. They came for me but they weren’t going to take me back to Mexico, they always have other things in mind. Whatever it is they wanted from me, God only knew, I sure as hell didn’t.”
“They were going to keep me in their detention center, interrogate whatever information they could get out of me.” Doe addressed Jone, “I could already see their torture chambers when suddenly we got ambushed. At first, I didn’t know what was happening. Guns blazed, names were called. It all happened so fast. I thought that was the end for me when the doors opened and there they were, the militia. A woman called to me, ‘Stay or come with us,’ as she killed the guards. I’ve been under their custody ever since.” Doe ended. “What about you? How did you get involved in all of this?”
“Well,” Jone began, “Like your friend, I too challenged my officials because I could. As a citizen, it’s my right and obligation to challenge my officials because it’s my life in their hands. No one seems to grasp that concept. Whether you’re a citizen or not, you live here too; all voices count. I lost numerous of friends because of my rebellion on social media. Even my family turned a blind eye on what was happening around us. My father kicked me out of the house and told me to do something better with my life. I stayed with a few friends before they too found out about my resistance, my place in the revolution.”
“No one wanted to get involved in fear of losing their jobs, their stability.” Jone guessed, not sure of the real reason. “When millions of others have lost theirs, so what about them? Where’s their justice?” He paused, “No one likes to get involved in fear of the government put them on a list and hack their secrets when there are agencies made for that very reason, to explore people’s secrets. There are branches of the government, cults, that recruit for espionage. Sure they give their reasons, to keep our nation secure, yet violence seems to escalate.”
“Why have the government spy on everyone if crime keeps escalating?” Jone asked. “How has the NSA, FBI or the CIA alone not prevented all those mass shootings in the past year, decade? Since they have a close eye on everyone with rigged phones and satellites that monitor everything, why hasn’t anyone been stopped?” Jone paused. “It’s not until I came to find that the government is run by an elite cult whose sole purpose is to seek and illuminate hidden truths when I decided to write a book about it.”
“Like you said before,” Jone compared, “I too began to see the truth. Everything I saved, every unpublished book, in my pen drive was exploited on television, commercials and online by the all-seeing cult. So I filed a law suit against these agencies that were exploiting, hacking, my data but the more I inquired for their charges the more I saw my life be expose on the television screen. My past was referenced in commercials, secrets were revealed in movies and talk shows. They’ll say no to you but yes to your ideas. It didn’t surprise me as to how much one can benefit from your talent without your consent when the government sets laws design to keep a close eye on people.”
“The more lawsuits I inquired against their best puppets the more did I see just who in this world had sold their fate to evil.” Jone stated. “Every morning I’d wake to hear the news recite what I’ve written, done, the night before. Topics of what I wrote in chapters, said to loved ones, were theirs to comment, emulate and exploit. All of my unpublished books were spoiled, purged because I didn’t belong, I oppose, their new world order. It’s not until I stumbled upon the militia’s mission when I finally saw a light at the end of the tunnel. The universe had at long last delivered me a ray of hope.”
“Finally,” Jone exhausted, “Someone sees what I see. Someone out there knows the truth and are doing something about it. So, I contacted the militia. Next thing I know they pay for my plane ticket and I’m off to Lebanon. I’ve been with them ever since.” He reminisced, “Four years of injustice, war against my own brothers and sisters. Years without seeing someone familiar, family.” He shook his head in despair, “This is all wrong.” Doe said nothing. “Our government invoke civil unrest, war, for profits while undesirables are being exploited by the elite, altering history to their design. Justifying them playing God.”
“The rest of the population do nothing in hopes of being spared just so they can keep a roof over their heads, food on the table and their secrets safe from the watchful eye.” Jone paused, “If everyone has a purpose, why was theirs to be a sheep?” Jone finished, anger caught in his throat. “They only suppress, monitor, those who defy because that’s how you keep a slave nation under control.”
“Is that not for profits then?” Doe later asked. “Our country fight for black gold while these foreigners fight to keep their homes. Homes cost money to sustain, gold lets us keep our homes so aren’t we fighting the same war? Are lines not blurred? War is never the answer but it leads to results, yet nothing has been fixed. War has merely become a profitable repetitive tradition with no end in sight. Peace can be the answer and just imagine what bountiful results that would produce.” The fire began to dim. Doe tossed the wood around to keep it alive.
“If you didn’t join, why are you here?” Jone asked. “If no one is keeping you hostage, why not ask them to take you back home?”
“Because in me being here,” Doe began, “I’ve noticed how lost the militia are. Granted, I’m here on my own free will but the more I stay the more I see how desperate for a guide they’ve become. People who are awake gravitate towards the militia because they see them fighting the real enemy, us. Our government trained these rebels to fight their enemies but now that they are fighting to protect their homes from us, they’re labeled as terrorist for resisting. Those easily fooled believe the militia are terrorist but those who aren’t know better. It’s unfortunate that those numbers are low.”
“Take you for example,” Doe pointed out, “You were on the right path only you got discouraged because you didn’t get any results, justice. Because they hacked and purged your life they’ve committed a crime punishable by law; corporate espionage, terrorism, exploitation, obstruction of justice, tampering of evidence, official oppression. How is an elite cult who everyone knows to illuminate truths not be held or seen liable in a court of law?”
“Because not everyone would believe.” Jone answered. “They use the government as a shield to execute their crimes. How is anyone to correct the system when those in office use the charges exposing their corruption as a means to target and exploit those making a difference?" Silence took over. "Most of them are members if not eagerly anticipating a membership, anyways." Jone ended, "Not everyone benefits from their blessings.”
“Then wouldn’t that be up to you to make the world see that truth?” Doe asked. “If not you, then who? Who out there in this big brave world of ours is wise enough to stand against these giants? Intimidation is the only thing protecting these suppressors. By them spying on everyone, their intimidation's get real and personal but isn’t that the acts of a desperate tool? A tool who knows they’ve been defeated? Why else keep a close eye on the public, retaliating by exploiting those they spy on? Seeking small victories to replace their endless defeats.”
Doe paused for Jone to reply but he remained silent. Doe noticed there seemed a change in Jone as he continued, “Are we the people not better, braver than them?” Doe kept the dimming light from fading. “You are the power they fear because you are of a different kind; that is what makes you, us, targets. They’ll let you in on their little cult, gang, but if you don’t measure up to their unrealistic standards they’ll feed you to the sharks.”
“Our officials forget along with the elite cult,” Doe added, “We, the people, are what steers this nation to the future. We are the future they can’t oppress. Those keeping track on unwelcome people who inspire revolutions, to them, we are mere prophets on sale. Free thinkers exploited, hacked by the watchful eye but to the rest of the sleeping world we are their heroes, unsung legends, urging us to free them from the lies they cling to. That is why we resist, defy, because we weren’t made to be controlled. We were made to live.”
Wind blew the embers up into the air as they pranced away then disappear into the night. Jone and Doe remained in the circle, surrounded by those labeled terrorist. The fire warmed as it cracked. The night slowly transitioned into dawn as the stars faded effortlessly by the approaching sun. They looked around and shared the pain of losing their homes to the forces of liberty and justice.
“You can take those who wronged you to court,” Doe suggested, “Just know their members will tamper the truth. Know this,” he added, “It is not the win but the exposure that counts. Expose one elite in court can lead to the rest and the cult they hide behind. You wouldn’t be the first or the last exposing them. Once word gets out, others will join in. It is they, though, who are being persecuted, silenced, in the process. Care to guess why? Because the all-seeing cult know there are countless of others who defy, expose, the truth that jeopardizes their old new world order. For every member there are ten million nonmembers ready to purge, overthrow them into poverty.”
“Puppets have strings and strings leave trails that lead to the puppeteer.” Doe quoted. “Once you reach that age when you figure out who the real enemy is, they will find you. Just like they found the others before you. They will send their minions after you, exploit your life in their shows, movies, ads but they’ll only be proving you right. So go home, Jone.” Doe finished. “Go home and change the world there. It’s become your destiny.” Doe gathered the rest of the wood and made his way to another dimming fire.
Jone reminisced as Doe’s suggestion settled. Suddenly, Jone had a whole new perspective. His heart lightened, his mind raced and his spirit rekindled. At last, he thought, Jone had found a better purpose in life. He handed the kid who mumbled the loss of his family his share of food and water then made his way to the camp. There, he would pardon with the militia and head back home where he can sort out the problems of his country there.
“Excuse me.” The Princess apologized as she ran into Jone. “My name is Erra, I’m looking for someone.” She extended a hand to Jone as she stood to dust the dirt off her shoulders. “It’s a long shot but I’m asking everyone I meet or stumble upon, have you seen him?” Jone seemed lost and disoriented. He turned to where Doe had left and noticed he was gone. Jone then turned to Erra as she added, “I didn’t get his name but he’s tall, Hispanic, dark hair.” Erra blushed, “You probably don’t know who I’m talking about, sorry for the interruption. Thank you for your help.”
“No, wait.” Jone replied. “What do you want with him?”
“So you know him?” Erra asked.
“I might,” Jone answered. “Why haven’t I seen you before?”
“Would you happen to know where he is?”
“I’m going to need a name or a detailed description.” Jone commented. “Do you know how many guys fit that role right now?”
“I don’t have much time,” she replied. “I need his help. Please, this is urgent, point me in the right direction. Where did you see him last?”
“Here,” Jone ushered her, “Let’s start here.” Together, Jone and Erra entered the camp where the injured moaned from the pain that killed them. Dawn approached with the sound of explosions. More soldiers heard the grounds as innocent blood smeared the Holy Lands. Woman and children ran for their lives. Men stayed and fought to protect their homes from the invaders. They were no match for the sons of liberty. The militia stumbled as they retreated with whoever they could rescue. Jone and Erra were caught in the fire.
“Where is she!” The king demanded as he stormed out of the Princess chambers. His minions ignorantly muffled for explanations as he passed. He scrolled through their monitors, searching for the Princess whereabouts. He looked and looked until he saw her exit their fortress, their Watchtower of Sanctuary. “Who let her escape?!” He wanted answers and he wanted them now. No one dared say a word.
His temper rising, the new king made his way down the tower and into the dungeons. There, his prisoners rot to death; their corpses float in the sewers. Far in the deepest of corners, one prisoner remained, the old king, locked forever in his cell. Kept alive, left to die slowly but surely. The new king took a torch and toyed with his last remaining captor. He laughed as the old pitiful sack of rotting flesh he once called king begged for his release.
“It seems that we have found ourselves another one of your successors,” the new king began, “My liege.” The boss walked back and forth, admiring himself as always. “He’s stuck in your old ways, the idiot.” He paused. “All that potential and still they remain clinging to the past when it’s the future they should embrace. Our future. They need to know your old ways are over. This is the new world, my world. We no longer need old kings like you, no, we have found so much more. And I have delivered just that, without your guidelines.”
“So,” the king finished, “While the world spins ignorant, we illuminate with excellence by the insights we are monitoring. I transcended this worthless cult you handed down to me and I’ve made it worth wild. No other king has done the things I’ve done, just to keep this recycled nation you call home. And I’m not finished, not by a long shot. I’m going to sell your country to the terrorist. I’ll make them the president, what would you think of your nation then, my old king?” He smiled, “To know the world mourned a king who lives just to watch his nation deteriorate.” He laughed, maniacally.
“Your daughter left the circle,” the new king remembered to mention, “For an outsider.”
“Even she knows what it takes to keep a nation.” The old king replied. Furious, the new king stormed out of the dungeon leaving the Princess’s father locked in his cell. High did the elevator ascend as he searched the world for his missing Princess in the palm of his hand. His country came alive as the sun rose behind him. His minions scrambled for resolutions while his noble puppets remained exposed buried in lawsuits. The Princess was his only key to turning things around. Without her his agendas would only free the world from their deceit, according to plan. No one leaves my circle.