Ctrl + Alt + Delete

Metal rattled in the sand as eight hostages walked single file while their captors shepherded them along the dunes. Black bags concealed their identities but their name tags hung on the side of their suit pockets. Blood smeared their collar. The heavy chains that bond them together burned at their fresh wounds. The captors took their prisoners and kneeled them before their leader. “Sing,” their leader commanded the hostages in his native tongue. Frightened, the hostages sung; quivering underneath their blindfolds. On ran the tape as the cyber world witnessed another massacre, another future in the brink of extinction.

Kidnapped during a conference meeting with the Arabians, a righteous team of activists sneaked under the secret service radar and captured eight of the most deceitful organized terrorist group members the world has always known. The people responsible for their sultan’s death now kneeled before them, bound and defeated. Their newly appointed leader stood beside the prisoners as the camera rolled on. Once the hostages ended their song their captors began their broadcast, their message to the unreachable world, live.

“Nations fall only to rise by another,” read the subtitles as he spoke. “For years, our country has fallen to the hands of these criminal’s hell bent on corrupting the world with their traditions.” He took his gun and pointed to the frightened hostages as he continued, “They find any means necessary to kill in the name of justice. They invade lands, enslave for black gold and are relentless until they have obtained it.” He paused, “You will not corrupt our system. You will not pin us as the terror you’ve become.”

“Let us redirect the world,” rolled the comments on the screen, “To the real terrorist who trained and supplied us with weapons of mass destruction. Then devise meetings with world leaders for our heads. The world is waking, your time is up.” The mountainous desert echoed from a gunshot as one hostage fell; blood spoiled in the sand as the tape rolled on. “We will not fall victims to your corrupted democracy.” Another fell, leaving the others to shiver in their blindfolds knowing their end was coming. He stepped aside and aligned himself to the other kneeled victim, then continued.

“You will not take our rights for we make our own,” another member fell. Their leader glared at the camera, “You hide behind your puppets that will your predictions while we present ourselves to the masses for we need no hiding. We roam our lands as free men while you enslave others.” The fourth member fell, “The only flag you pledge to is greed. Your system knows no justice, just your own.” Two more members fell to the ground, lifeless. The scorching heat dried the blood leaking from their heads.

“Your people flock to us for they know the truth,” the comments continued, “They stand and fight with us for they are real soldiers, not expendable souls. The end is coming, not the peoples, but your own.” The last member begged, even plead, under his blindfold as the other fell. His captor cocked the safety and placed the gun to the side of his temple. “We prevail.” As the last hostage met his end, the activist group gathered around their prize and praised their fallen sultan.

The world was waking up to the horrible truth. The countless lies our heroes, our officials, have fed us for their good were now coming into light. Lines were drawn, sides were declared; each desperately fighting for control. Both side failed to realize whose end was approaching. Only those who have not yet met an end were at stake for the rest have already met theirs, caused by those who fear their own. The end is coming, no amount of money could prevent that no matter how loud money screamed; but it sure loves to run its mouth.

The assailants mounted their helicopter then flew away, shouting victoriously while chantingly mocking their hostage's song, “We shall overcome!”

            Three…

Seven…

Ten…

Higher did the number rise as a fist full of vengeance consistently collided between ribs, face then chest. A bat swung, spinning the room all around. A battered man held up by his arms hung defensibly as five guards beat him relentlessly. A small plastic tube ran up his rear end. Electric wires connected to his genitals sent shockwaves up and down his body periodically. The guards would stop every so often just to see him jolt from the shocks. Torture had a new toy to play with and they loved every minute.

            Two expensive black leather heels strutted the empty hallways of an underground chamber held at the Detention Center where prisoners of war are detained. Her bright red lips radiated through the florescent lights above. Her tailor made power suit, steamed and washed, smelled of rare gardens. The vivacious vixen removed her sunglasses as the scanner read her retina. She entered a series of codes then placed her thumb against the wall and waited for the doors to slide open. “Greetings General,” welcomed the voice automatic computer.

            “I can take it from here boys,” she instructed as she entered the room. The guards left, leaving behind a man to hang in a pool of his own misery. Blood leaked from his face. His swollen eyes prevented him to see who stood before him but the scent was reassuring. “Agent Milestone,” she began as she settled in her seat, “The troubles you put yourself in.” She shook her head lightly as she read through his file while he gasped for air. She skimmed through every successful mission he has ever achieved and more throughout his career as a spy. “Was he worth the troubles?” She asked once she closed his file.

            “You tell me,” he mumbled through his swollen lip, “Are the tables still turning on you?”

            “Let’s pretend shall we,” she exhaled, “That you’re the good guy and I’m the detective trying to sort out this mess. We didn’t have to resort to this kind of interrogation but you chose to remain silent, what a useless right.” He coughed out blood that landed on the side of the table, not knowing where it had fallen; feeling a sting on the side of his rib all the while. “Agent, I’m sure a man of your stature can be reasoned with. Let’s not get too radical. Have you not suffered enough? We both know no mission is worth the pain when there’s no gain.”

            “Whatever it is you think I know, I don’t.” Milestone replied as he took a breather from the beatings. “No matter how many times you ask, my answer is final. Besides, what would you want with him?” He tilted his head as blood dripped down his chin.

            “I could be asking you the same thing,” she laughed. “Your client became a person of interest on his own accounts. Then we come to find he made a deal with you. Why would someone be doing business with a spy? What does he have that we need? So, as you are well aware, we did our research and found it is not a matter of what he knows but what he could see.” Milestone hung confused, puzzled.

            “What?” He questioned, steading his spinning head. “Don’t tell me you’re still with that, still? You know for a self-appointed mind reader you sure are very doubtful. What, do your powers not work if the reception is off?” She looked away and scorned. “Sweetie, you’re as delusional as he’d predict. If he’s convinced you otherwise then doll that’s on you. What makes you think he’s capable of anything at that? Don’t forget who you’re monitoring; you’ve already made that mistake once.”

            “Was that a confession, then?” She questioned teasingly. “Retaliating won’t get you down from those chains any faster Agent.” A jolt of electricity ran throughout his body, electrifying his tender flesh. “If you’re client has nothing to hide, where could he be? What further instructions has he given you that you are still following? Or was this part of his plan?” They both laughed. “Did he join some terrorist group like the others? No one has gone on a shooting spree thus far, so what are we missing? What has he devised that we haven’t already been aware of?”

            “Who am I to correct you on your own opinion?” His vision was clearing. A lump on top of his right eye hid her face while the lights above burned his eye. “If that is what you chose to believe then you have every right to seek him because I guess we both know what’s at stake, or has he not clued you in on that yet?” He smirked, “You and your cult keep forgetting that your enemies are bigger. You all forget the consequences of your schemes. You don’t have to be psychic to know what’s coming, but it helps. He won’t go as a hostage, spoiler alert, because he doesn’t join the losing side; that much I know. And that’s all you need to know.”

“So maybe he did join their ranks,” he concluded, “After all he sees what you cannot, am I right?” Begrudgingly, he mustard a grin as he hung in defeat.

            “Is that your final answer?” She asked, irritated. “Let’s be clear on one thing Agent, we’ve been around longer than you can imagine. You are in no position to make negotiations, tell us where he is and maybe, just maybe, will I let my Family keep you alive.” She collected herself as he spat beside her, aiming for her suit. His face burned from the slap she gave him, resurfacing the pain from his bruised face. “Life is full of choices,” she finished, “It’s a shame people always chose the wrong ones.” She looked at him, “And I guess you’ve made yours.”

            “What do you plan on doing then?” He replied. “Send your ‘Family’ after me? Close my world? Diminish all hope?” He smiled, blood oozing from his open wounds, “You can’t turn the world against me any more than it already is, doll. My world can’t be closed, it’s an open book.” He referred to the file she had brought. “I guess all those years your family faced in the concentration camps taught you a thing or two about oppression. It’s a shame they taught you nothing about accountability, justice for that matter; but to you it’s a whole different story. God hands you nothing you can't handle, remember. It's only oppression when it's done physically, did the camps not teach you that too?”

            One swift kick to the face and blood splattered on the walls. Milestone discrediting the suffering her relatives, family, faced in the camps boiled her temper. “I got what I needed for now. You’ll talk eventually, they always do. Thank you Agent, for your shares.” She gathered her things and made her exit. “Have fun with this one,” she instructed the guards as they entered, “Make sure he’s barely breathing, but barely.” As the smell of fresh gardens replaced the bitterness taste of iron blood, the beatings would continue relentlessly and mercilessly only this time things went different.

            As the guards raised their fist, Milestone waited for the doors to close before he could set his training into action. Once the doors locked, Milestone kicked one guard to the ground as he climbed his way up the wire; balancing himself all the while. One guard aimed for the button that would render him immobile but he was too slow. Milestone yanked the wire from its socket sending him down to the ground. He landed on his feet then wrapped the loose wire around the guard while fending off the other two.

In an instant, the guards were out cold while he stripped one for his clothes. He then used the nametag to open the door. “Sick fucks,” he commented as he made his exit, leaving the guards behind locked in his cellar.

            Agent Milestone carried out his first mission, to gain intel on the general who goes by the name of Sister. Unbeknownst to Sister, that was indeed Milestones’ clients plan all along; to get captured by The Family in order to gain information on their interest towards his client. Once Sister spilled the beans, once she validated his conspiracy, he had everything he needed in order to proceed to his next target. He limped across the halls, shedding the pain in his ribs. He pulled through for he knew they would soon be looking for him.

            He stood by the exit and pulled the fire alarm. He waited for the doors to unlock before making his escape. Only a skilled, highly trained private agent could manage to get captured in an unescapable cell then walk out in broad daylight. He hacked a nearby car then drove off. His next location where his next target resided was at the heart of the city, his favorite playground. He looked towards the rearview mirror and couldn’t recognize the man who reflected his image. Those fuckers did a number on him, but even they knew good guys always get the last laugh.

            Before entering the city, Milestone made a quick stop by the convenient store to exchange the license plates of another car before the owner reported it missing. A simple hat and oversized shades saved on the glove compartment help conceal the bruises on his face. As he licked his wounds, Milestone boarded the car and drove to the Family’s Tower. He was about to enter the enemy’s domain but no intimidation could spark fear within him for he has seen worse, experienced for that matter.

            There was but one thing he knew, and only needed to know, about his next target. Brother was his name, a typical player posing as a knight in a checkers game. Brother lived for the rush built on deceit. Invisibility was his power, unseen before his enemies as he makes his strike. Master of the martial arts, invisibility was merely second nature to him. Their tower soon approached his view. The Family’s Brother would soon know what it truly means to be invisible.

            Milestone parked a few feet away from the Family’s Tower. Like the spy that he is, he freely stepped into his enemy’s front door without raising detection. He was but another face in the crowd, blending among the rest. Guess this is what it feels like to be invisible, he thought to himself; relating to his enemy. Two guards welcomed him in as he passed through the front doors. He made his way to the elevator and waited until he reached the top floor. Calm music sooth the pain in his ribs as he pushed the throbbing aside. He gathered whatever strength he had left and pulled through for his training knew no weakness.

            The doors opened to a deserted floor. Lights flickered to a renovation left at a still. Milestone knew Brother was watching, but where could you be? He stepped out into the empty floor and looked around, cautiously. No sign of entry revealed clues as to Brothers whereabouts. Milestone knew Brother was near, waiting for the perfect moment to strike. He calculated every step as he crossed the empty floors.

            Milestone entered another open room where blueprints lay on a table under a single lamp post. “Hiding is your best asset.” Milestone said to the air, knowing Brother was listening. “Power, I guess.” He looked around, “Sister told me everything I needed to know, will you make that mistake?” In the corner of his eye, a shadow ran across the room. He turned to find a plastic cover moving with the wind. Milestone followed Brothers trail not knowing he was leading Brother into a corner.

            “She is not of blood,” Milestone continued as he followed the ruckus, “So maybe you two don't have that in common, but she is family.” He mocked reeling Brother out from his hiding spot. Footsteps crossed the room on the other side. Milestone drifted towards the noise, Brother did not scare him. “Will Mother and Father be joining us, or do I have the pleasure on taking you out all on my own with no audience?” He paused, “Where’s the fun in that?” Another ruckus led him to another open room.

            There, in his throne, Brother sat awaiting his prey. “Sister informed me you had escaped,” Brother began, “She told me you might show up but she didn’t tell me you were injured. How fair is that?” Brother was turning the tables on Milestone. “Why don’t you come back when you’re fully charged? I wouldn’t want to make this fight unfair any more than it already is.” Milestone blindly embraced Brothers presence while Brother simply jerked. “If it’s a fight you want then a fight you will get, only not with me.”

            “But you love rigged games.” Milestone replied. “It’s you’re forte. How else could you win?” Milestone kept his embrace while Brother sized him up. Brother knew what Milestone wanted and did whatever he could to divert the question. “I’m ready as you’ll ever be. I’m at my weakest, Sisters henchmen made sure of that.” He inched his way closer to Brother’s throne, standing his ground. “You’re prone to win, see, my ribs are broken.”

            “Sister may have weakened you,” Brother commented, “But I at least think I’m deserving of a better opponent.”

            “Deserving?” Milestone repeated, “Because the people on your list were.”

            “And they were very much so,” Brother praised, “Future stars, philosophers of the unpublished world. They dare dream where they are not welcomed. They poured their hearts for me to decide their fate. They never saw me coming. They didn’t even know I was there. Big brother is everywhere.” Brother got up from his seat. “That’s the beauty of my power, invisible but not transparent. The game may be rigged but so is life. The world is a scary place and we’re only looking out for each other, well at least our own. You’re doing the same, don’t deny. If the rest didn’t know that then well let’s hope they’re prepared to pick a side.”

“But who better to prepare and protect them than the Family?” Brother questioned. “I won’t fight you,” he later added as he inched his way to an open window, “But Father will.” Brother jumped from the window and disappeared into the night. The elevator opened to a swarm of F.B.I. agents armed and lethal. A smile appeared on Milestone’s face for he had finally had the privilege of meeting the grand master himself. A row of agents kneeled before Milestone with their toys aimed at his head. Milestone waited for Father to emerge from his wall of expendable puppets.

            “Agent Milestone,” came a firm man from the team of armed agents, “What accomplishments you dare fulfill.” Father stepped into the light as Milestone sat on Brothers throne; a rightful heir for a kingdom left to perish. “Still fighting that lost cause are you or have you come to your senses? Before you answer,” Father raised a hand, “Take this in consideration. We don’t have to resort to this, do we? Must we declare war or can we rise above? The Family and I are well aware of your talents agent Milestone; it would be a shame if the world misses out on your gifts.”

            “The world is missing out on the truth.” Milestone replied. “But I’m guessing that’s why you and your family are after my client, oppressing the others. The world isn’t missing out on no one’s gifts because you and your cult emulate what you find, what you do. You say you’re helping but you’re only helping yourself. Those people you’re exploiting, stalking, know the truth then you wonder why they flock to them? The world is waking up to your lies, to my client’s truth.”

            “It’s a shame none of you will be around to see that revelation come into fruition.” Father used his power, the force, and ordered his body guards to kill. Milestone hid behind Brothers throne and waited for the barrage to reside. A long minute passed before Milestone sprinted to the other room. Again, Father used his force and ordered his puppets to seek and destroy. Milestone was running out of places to hide while dodging fatal blows to the head. He hid behind a desk when suddenly a chime rang in the commotion.

            The elevator opened to an elderly woman dressed in white. Mother, whose only power is but her own free will, stepped into the renovation floor tampered by the chaos that ensued. “I told you,” she said, “No agents in this level.” She instructed the swarm of F.B.I. agents to exit but they did no such thing. The agents stared at her, mindlessly waiting for further instructions from Father. “Tell your guards to step down, immediately.” She pushed among the crowd, looking for the remote.

            “Listen to Mother.” Father instructed.

            “You know we’re renovating,” she nagged, “Why would you bring them here?”

            “Ask him.” Father pointed to a desk riddled in holes and bullets.

            “You can come out now, Agent.” Mother called. “We won’t hurt you. His guards left, we’re unarmed.”

            “Am I supposed to believe that?” Milestone replied, looking around.

            “You can trust her,” Father answered, “She never lies.”

            “Coming from Father.”

            Bang! A shot was fired and a body soon fell, "Now you can.” Mother replied as she slid Father’s hidden gun towards him. “Use that if you don’t believe me.” Milestone took the gun, checked if it were loaded then slowly got to his feet. Mother remained arms up with Father dead on the floor, his blood staining the carpet. “I’m going to have to clean up all of this eventually.” She addressed the mess Father had made. “You win okay. You don’t have to run anymore. It’s over. It’s all over.”
            “Explain.” Milestone demanded, still aiming the gun to Mother’s head.

            “Because contrary to what you and your client believe,” Mother answered, “There are still good people around, only you won’t hear about them.” Because even they answer to the enemy. Milestone raised a suspicion in disbelieve for he knew too much. He knew he couldn’t trust Mother or the Family but gave her the benefit of a doubt. He wanted to know why she killed Father. “I may not be the best candidate but if you knew my truth you’d lower that gun.” Mother kept her arms up, hoping he would see the honest defeat in her eyes.

            “Enlighten me.” Milestone replied.

            “I married him thinking I could control his madness.” Mother began, “I knew he couldn’t be defeated unless someone got close enough, so I did. I bared his children to gain his trust. I figure if I stay with him I could change his way, direct him to a better path.” She paused, “I should have known better than to think evil could be controlled. I should have known better than to think I could alter his ways but deletion is the only resolution when dealing with people like him.” She looked at Milestone, “I know that now.”

            “And my client,” Milestone added, still aiming the gun to her head. “The others?”

            “A sacrifice we had to make.” Mother confessed. “I,” she corrected herself, “Figured a man like your client, like the others, could see past the deception and help us right our wrong. To help us elevate this nation back to its formal glory. I only hoped they could free us from Father’s reign, since I failed every time and time again. A burden such as that is heavy for one to carry but your client is not one of us. He is of a special breed. He is more than we could ever hope for but I see now where we went wrong.”

“Where I went wrong,” Mother finished. “Let me help you, Agent. I can assist your client with his gift, along with the others. Help me right all of my wrongs.”

“You and your family have taken from others numerous of times.” Milestone finally answered as he debated in his head. “You mean to tell me you’ve failed time and time again at stopping your own family from themselves? Unfortunately for you, Mother, we know better.” Mother stepped back, feeling the heaviness weakening her knees. “I am my client,” Milestone confessed, “And we decline.” Milestone fired but was shot in return by Mother who kneeled on the floor holding her own hidden gun.

            “Its unfortunate people always make the wrong decisions.” Brother wearing a vandalized Guy Fox mask soon appeared near the open window from where he’d left. “My wrong was believing in the person you thought you were.” Mother read his pulse, “The world will not forget your gifts, your legacy. We will carry out your hopes and dreams for no spark will be left unnoticed.” Mother stood up as Brother waited in the shadows. “If I could only have convinced you otherwise that we are not the forces of evil.” The elevator opened to Sister as she joined the team; wearing her own vandalized mask.

“We no longer operate anonymously for we have evolved,” Mother said as she slid her mask, “We are unanimous and we thank you for your shares.”

Together, a new family was born. With Father out of the picture, Mother had all the votes she needed in order to gain control over the rest. A new order was on the rise. A new world dawned on civilization as power shifted to the wrong side of history. Exploitation became sitcom gold as lies gained political power. Who would believe in the truth when all we’ve grown to know are lies? Justice has been eradicated from the constitution, only to be replaced by strings and ties.

Milestone bled on the floor as another unsung hero caved to the deity.

The Illiterates

            Silence filled the void throughout an underground lair unknown to the conscience world. Buried underneath a cave, where only a selected few know about and study its repetitive cycle. The chosen few, known to the world as the Illiterates, thrive on its blessing and inherit its tradition. Their shadows slither every corner while their chants linger in the air. Their presence is ever known. Their mark etched across the world, immortalizing the dynasty of predestination. Annually, they gather amongst the cave to celebrate their all merciless God.

            For many generations, they have dominated all others. Out from the chaos they have ensued, they thrive; building nations that would stand the test of time. They hack every secret, will every soul and oppress every revolution. This is the little cult that could and would, leaving those who have been awakened by their deception with the mistakes they’ve made to expose every lie to the sleeping world; only to be discredited as accusations. They know no boundaries and fear no fate.

            Nothing but the candle light torched at their hands light every turn and every twist. It is but what little the candle light can reveal of those who enter its maze. Demons disguised as men cloaked in black follow a familiar trail down the dark corridors of the wondrous cave. A hooded figure wore hooves for hands as he swung a cow’s head side by side; blood smearing his robe at every tug. The figure crept into demonic realms alone, guided only by faint whispers.

            His echo haunted the emptiness as he slithered through the maze. He roamed the paths blind by the obscurity in the abyss. He bowed to keep the restless away. His chant, a protective incantation, kept the evil at a distance. Broken skulls lay on the ground, chains scattered in the dirt, and dusty webs hung all around. The cave was Deaths home; the chosen ones were His disciples. He wandered, lost in the bottomless pit of hell, until he reached a dead end.

            The hooded figure spoke in a language no longer spoken. Slowly, the walls before him opened. Light flickered in the dark, damning ghostly demons back to the shadows. Behind the opening wall stood a group of cloaked personas worshiping a trance maiden in a circle. A beast carved on the wall resembled a man infused with an eagle’s head crowned with large antlers. Big black alien eyes glared straight into the soul. The beast had broad shoulders and a chiseled chest. Feathers in fur clothed the beast who resided in the cave. His right hand held a straw of wheat while his left claw wielded a sphere.

            Fire blazed in the altar below their mural, illuminating their alien God. The cloaked figure pulled his hood back, revealing an elderly pope, as he made his way inside to his position. Bloody horns replaced his halo. Darkness consumed his eyes, engulfing his spirit with rage. An upside down cross scarred the center of his forehead. Once they were all in place the ceremony would commence. The elder raised his hand to the heavens and spoke again.

            One by one, the others revealed themselves; a circus of demons masked in wealth. Woman and man stood in a circle as their token maiden mumbled in ecstasy. A crown made of silver thorns shimmered in the dark, glorifying their prophet. They each waited in silence as the elder finished their prayer. They ended their praise in unison, addressing their definitive ruler. The ritual was about to begin, building towards new life.

            Fumes rose from the altar, drums roared in silence. The maiden, spellbound by their incantation, emerged from her bed and began to dance; lost in her diluted mind. Her robe fell as she swooned, naked and exposed. She twirled, swayed her arms back and forth to the rhythm of their chants. Her long auburn hair followed her every move. Her bright blue eyes rolled to the back of her head as visions smothered her subconscious. She danced gracefully, simultaneously caressing her belly. The child she would soon birth rattled from the substance while its mother pranced in bliss.

            The room began to spin as she twirled, unaware of whom she was or who she was with. The fumes clouded her mind with false hopes and dreams. Her doubts melted as the high kicked into over drive. Their spell deepened, hummed low deep within her mind. Their demonic masks and preying hunger fueled her trip as she spiraled out of control. She later screamed as blood leaked from underneath her, trickling down her thigh. She was aware but couldn’t function. The high kept her climbing but the pain brought her down.

            She grasped her stomach, aching from the sharp pain that throbbed in her lower spine. The others remained in their spot, furthering their chant repetitively. The room kept spinning as she frantically mumbled for help. Fear dropped her to the ground as their masks taunted her all around. She gripped both sides of her stomach and pushed with all her might. “God, help me!” She screamed as her baby began to crown. She closed her eyes as white pain shot straight up her back, numbing her into consciousness.

            The birth was over before she knew it. Her son cried in the dark as the masked demons gathered around their sleeping beauty. The elder cradled the baby as he walked towards the altar. The baby nibbled on the saint’s bloody finger while he nested in his arms. The troubled maiden was coming back, dazed from the high, frightened by the shadows that surrounded her. “Where’s…” she struggled, “...my baby?”

            The boy giggled as the elder toyed with his cheeks. The flesh of a new born brought a grin of delight in his dead aging eyes for he envied the child’s clean slate. He adjusted the few strands of hair to one side while cradling the boy, whispering wise words of enlightenment. “Cain was not the first.” He commented as they stood by the fire. “This world breeds no heroes.” He raised the boy to their God, “We praise the sinners and damn the pure. Power is salvation, chaos is our cure.”

            Straight in the fires of Hell, Satan’s den where souls burn for a lifetime in despair never to see a ray of hope. There, at the altar, the baby kicked and screamed as he incinerated into ashes. A sacrifice for their God, to keep their throne and power, will forever be met. The elder stood by the fire as the baby’s chorus harmonized with its mother’s torture by the masked demons behind him. Alone in the cave, buried deep down its crevices, screams whisper to the lingering souls trapped taken by the Illiterates in honor of their imminent God.

            Their reigning queen joined the elder as he remained by the altar. Her shimmering silver crown tainted in blood sparkled by the flames. Her mentor spoke in a language known only by them, the editors of history. “A prophecy has been foretold,” she repeated. “Yet we stand.” The elder turned to her and remained silent. Together they stood by the altar as the remaining bones cracked in the fire.

            The screams eventually faded into echoes vanishing into whispers. As the last ember died with the fire, the cave became hollow. The walls opened once more. The beast remained in his throne, consumed by the dark, as his last disciple spoke those magical words. The walls closed, the elder and the others began their journey back to the living. Up the trail they went, peeling away their masks and prosthetics. Smearing away the blood, and bringing back the life in their dead soulless eyes.

            Out of the cave they emerged as humans. The demons that once roamed the endless maze were now of man with man faces and man-like agendas. They dispersed, back to a structured settlement governed by the lies they tell; leading the world to a future they’ve design. They return to their place in the world, back home to their families and the responsibilities they’ve inherited from their forefathers to their forefathers. An opening at the bottom of a trench hid the entrance to their lair.

Where some aspire, they acquire a unique set of tools needed to succeed in a world no longer free. Tools assembled for greatness given to the right set of hands can become a power far greater than any written law. These are the tools their God descended onto them for a purpose, for a cause. A torch turned ablaze, a dim spark that ignited a barrage of ideas; one simple tool that fell from the universe now dominated the will of man evolving with the times.

Machine tools molded from iron tinkered to perfection was a growing source of new power. Accessible to all, no man rich or poor would live a life without their devices. They empowered man, giving them the tools they need to overcome any obstacle. Unknown to the consumer, their blessing was but a curse in disguise. The very same tools man used to fight corruption were the same tools used against them, though they would never know. No one would ever understand for who would believe in such an accusation?

Edgar Hemingway, the last member to drive off, sat in his car in silence as the sun began to rise. The hill that sheltered his God stood feet away, deserted with nothing but wildlife. A majestic scenery of deep greens and thick trees surrounded their mecca; a perfect haven for their imperfect God. He cleared his head before heading back home. The world kept spinning with the times, changing for the better or worse in women and man.

Secluded in a town silent to the world, a tower stood alone above the rest while monitoring its sheep. A twenty feet high building with reflective mirrors was the chosen ones main headquarters. Selected by government officials, trained by professional analysts and indicted by a secret hoard the premises as they collect information gathered through their sweeps. Data hidden in the pool of knowledge found by tags and filters awaits secrets not yet revealed to the waking world.

            Up the seventeenth floor, Edgar dragged himself to his cubical. The same people who waited for his arrival were there to greet him as always. “Happy New Years,” they’d say. The New Year was anything but new. To him, they were the same people only different attitudes; same problem, different time. Once the elevator stopped at his floor, a whole new wave of greetings were in motion.

What’s this, he noticed a red dot blinking in his monitor as he sat down in his cubical, have we found another prophet? “How is anyone to obey the law when they themselves don’t follow their own?” Edgar read out loud as his monitor lit up. The seventeenth floor, known as the Secret Agency Intel Division, is where they operate; setting their distress call, their traps, for whoever takes the bait. Anyone under level five were not allowed clearance to the seventeenth floor. Only those who know the secret, members of the deity, work in the seventeenth floor; gathering vital information.

With just a few clicks, Edgar read and knew everything that there is to know about their new target. Social security number, bank accounts, hospital records, family members; everything was in their disposal. Once Edgar printed his findings, he bolted to the control center where his supervisor supervised. He crossed the room, noticing his fellow brethren doing the same. Each had their own duty, their own targets to exploit.

            “We got another writer,” Edgar began, “People are just never satisfied.” He placed his findings on his supervisor’s desk and continued, “It’s been a while since the last time the computer woke up. What a marvelous pool of endless wonder.” He gloated over what the computer had generated for he has had poor luck the past few months, while everyone around him kept finding new material to source.

            “That’s the power of technology.” Kingston Orwell replied, his supervisor. “Never underestimate their algorithm, that’s what they’re made for.”

            “Well this one sure thinks he can save the world.” He paused, “Here’s what I’ve gathered from his data; seems promising, for a dropout.”

            “Promising, but we’ve found better.” Orwell questioned as he skimmed through the files. “None-the-less, we cannot let this one flourish.” Orwell set the papers handed to by Edgar aside and walked beside his desk. “Hemingway, is it?” He asked, “Let’s have a walk shall we.” Orwell and Edgar stepped into an elevator beside the bookcase and ascended up the watch tower. “No spark shall be left unnoticed. It’s a shame none will surpassed their potential.”

            “They view themselves as God yet have no concept of the meaning.” Edgar answered. “People can’t handle certain information, especially the kind of information we’re attaining. It’s not that people wouldn’t understand it’s just that they don’t understand. They need people like us to help them understand. Why panic when you can let your officials take care of the problem. It’s why we’re here in the first place. To serve and protect.”

            “And yet you have hoodlums and thugs criminalizing our system, exploiting every loophole, demanding every cent,” Orwell replied, fuming over the rules his predecessors created for the people to abide; but don't. A chime rang in the air as the elevator came to a stop. The doors opened to a familiar group who sat in a round table while observing their monitors. Edgar instantly recognized the people from the ceremony.

            “Hemingway,” Orwell began, “Have a seat.” Edgar made his way to the only empty chair. “We have found another would be activist with a strong faith,” they smirked, “Yet dares to defy ours.” Orwell passed the folder Edgar printed down the line as they each questioned who their new victim was. “What we do is simple,” he continued, “We tag certain people who have the potential to solve our problems. Who may remember what we've forgotten. We don’t necessarily have to monitor everyone, that’s crazy. No, we only tag those who seek enlightenment because it is they who provide us with the knowledge, the tools and insight, we need to succeed.”

            “We give them the motivation they need to achieve their best, we inspire them to dream bigger and they supply us with the answers.” Orwell added on a lighter note. “We get them to talk one way or the other. We entice their mind to our design. We fill their heads with tales of wonder. We give them riddles of mystery so they can solve our misery. We plant the seed and watch it grow. Everyone wins.”

            “They say we are playing God,” Emma Dickens made a sudden remark; their supreme prophet who solved the algorithm, built their machine and successfully carried them to glory, “I say why play God when we have the tools to be more than just that. They say we are taking people’s chance for a better future when some of them weren't born in our country so why should their dreams come true." She paused, "Man has evolved. These people are nothing but egotistical self-absorbed narcissists who want nothing but fame and fortune handed to them on a silver platter.”

            “They forget,” Orwell commented, “That it is us who decide whose future is worth investing and whose fate is for the taking. Our nation is stronger than ever, had it not been to the information we’ve attained by monitoring intellectuals. We must never forget who we are; Illiterates, watchers of Man. We were given this purpose, this cause, to build a better future; one where we get to decide whose name will go down in history. Our methods may seem radical, but we only serve for the good of mankind. We alter history as it should be told.”

            “We had a system once,” Orwell continued, “Only to become corrupted by those we’ve saved. Now, we only invest in the best and we won't settle for less. I won’t have some activist stifle that design. They get in our way so we get in theirs. Though no one is getting in our way for it is us who are getting in everyone else’s.” He looked around the room, “And who will stop us? We have become too big of a risk to fail.” They each sat, gloating in their throne, silently brewing a warrant for someone’s arrest. They have all the power they need and more to make any plan come to fruition, not even their own laws can stop them.

            “The question now is, what should we do with this one,” asked Al Huxley, one of their brethren. “He’s awake, we can’t let him live; he knows too much.”

            “That we cannot,” Orwell replied, “And that we must do.”

            “First we must show him how the universe works.” Emma answered.

            “I say we kidnap him and put him in the camps with the others,” Harper Twain added, “Why wait, make him work.”

            “That may work for the Chinese but it won’t silence the rest.” Emma replied.

            “Let us use the laser.” Alma Wells suggested, “It’s never failed before.”

            “Cancer is a slow though painful death, but no.” Orwell replied. “We’re dealing with a man of faith, let’s not forget. What better toy to break and watch as we shatter his believes. Pull his medical records and see if a certain organ is still intact. Let’s see what his God has to say about our little intervention.” Orwell instructed his clan to their positions. Their monitors ran, data scrolled as they hacked themselves into information kept safe by the same organization intended to protect.

            Information was the new source of empowerment, as it has always been. By obtaining leverage gathered through their sweeps, peoples lives were now under their control. Those who oppose were oppressed. The good became puppets for the bad as they became masters of the free world. The world was evolving; power was evolving to control while the rest did nothing but watch it unfold. Don’t believe, just watch and let your officials take care of you was their motto; but what would you believe?

            These aristocratic figures are anything but illiterate. This highly intelligent sophisticated secret society, that no one knows about but do, stems from generations to generations dating back to the discovery of fire. They’ve infiltrated every system, amended any constitution to fit their design. Their power holds no bounds. Judges and lawyers, bankers and doctors to generals and presidents; their members reign on top of the world for the rest to idolize and abide.

            Their tower stands as they watch over the heavens and beyond, exploiting every secret and foreseeing every spark. Their mark immortalized throughout the land, praised by many, symbolized by stacks of green showering over the privileged stood the test of time and time again. Their all seeing God is ever known, providing them a throne to pass on His teachings to their next of kin. The Illiterates, editors of history and watchers of man, devise a future they deem fair for in this world there are no happy endings but theirs.

Topsy-Turvy

            There are many worlds willed into existence by a sudden burst of energy, by the stroke of a pen swaying on paper, life emerging on a canvas, or ideas set in motion. All destined for a greater cause yet the universe spins out of control, why? By the will of influences hidden in secrets no one was meant to know, but do? How is anyone to know? Professor Knows, “Glad of you to come,” he welcomed a group of five young faces as they entered a bright extensive lab. Tables decked in chemistry with tubes twenty inches high cluttered the surface. Sweet aromas enticed their curiosity as the professor lectured a quick tour around the lab, herding them along.

            Data scrolled in every monitor at every station while chimes of unstable chemicals boiling into one harmonized in the air. The kids wondered in amazement as the professor opened their minds to endless possibilities. Fumes rose from their glass tubes as it swirled into miniature tornadoes, vanishing in midair then fading in a dim cry. “Remember kids,” the professor concluded as they reached the end of the tour, “The solution to any problem is always simple, only our teachers cloud our better judgment with their corruption,” he paused, “Or was it our leaders who teach, what’s the difference?”

            Two blue rubber gloves came out from the side of his coat pocket as he turned to reach for a cylinder oozing fog. “Behold,” he pronounced as he turned back around, “The power of the universe.” He held the small cylinder with tongs up high in the air for them to praise but the kids remained silent, unamused. The professor kept the cylinder up high in the air, allowing them time to process his bold statement. He stood waiting, looking around to puzzled faces, and still another minute of silence.

            “Behold the power, the power of the universe,” he repeated but to same results. He leveled the cylinder down by his side and pondered for a moment. The kids turned to one another with the same question in mind. “Of course,” he mumbled underneath his breath as he made his way around the table. He carefully set the cylinder down on its podium then dramatically began signing his statement out loud.

            “We’re not deaf.” said the oldest of the bunch, Riler. The others smirked and giggle.

            “Very well then.” the professor replied with a sigh of relief.

            “What exactly were you holding?” asked a girl who stood in the back, Ali.

            “Good of you to ask,” he answered enthusiastically, “Behold, the power of the universe.” He sarcastically gestured them over, “Gather children, gather.” The kids huddled by the table as the professor explained the mysteries behind the cosmos. Scrolls magically unfolded, spilling onto the floor with letters sliding in the end, stating theories and thesis. The kids drifted into space as he began to write mathematical formulas on the blackboard, solving advanced algebraic equations far beyond their youthful minds could comprehend.

            “And thus, by countering the pull of gravity to the tangents of space I was able to create a chemical engineered element capable of opening a wormhole to another dimension. It’s simple Physics simplified to a more advanced basis really.” He leaned back to double check the symbols he had written on the board. The symbols represented a message read in science and alchemy. The kids did their best to follow the professor but were too lost to even ask.

            “You’re just making things up.” interrupted the second oldest, Miles.

            “Am I?” the professor answered, “Who’s wearing the coat then?”

            “How would you know if it works?” questioned Noel, a shy but intuitive boy.

            “But of course it works!” proclaimed the professor. “Has history not taught you that?”

            “Prove it then.” Riler suggested.

            “Such eager minds yearning for answers,” Knows replied, “And the people wonder why they’re being monitored.” He grasped the cylinder with the tongs again then added, “You might want to step back, if any of the slime gets in your skin while…” he sparked an alarm amongst the group, “Just stand back, okay?” In an instant the chemical splattered all over the blackboard, simmering as it spread.

            The kids gasped as the splatter morphed into breathing swirling colors of deep green in shades of blue. Slowly and magically, the slime grew into a glob engulfing the board with its portal; opening a dimension behind its veil. They stood in awe for no words came to mind. “Who dares knock at devils door,” he turned to look at the kids, “What do you say?” He asked the littlest of the crew, Zoh.

            Each turned to one another, asking without saying, questioning their fear as curiosity called their name. The professor stood by the portal, arm out, waiting for someone to answer his plea. Zoh reached for the professor and the others followed soon after. Together, they stepped into the swirling breathing whirlpool and entered a vast field of bright flowers riddled in oceanic green hills. Riler turned and noticed the portal was gone, replaced by a tree as massive as the eye could see.

            “Where is it?” Riler scouted through the vines, searching for the way back home. “Where’s the portal?”

            “Gone, apparently.” was the professors reply. “No point in fussing about it now. Let’s just keep moving forward.”

            “To where?” Ali asked in her small little voice.

            “To the horizon.”

            Noel was the first to venture off into the fields, disappearing among the flower beds of an unknown Eden. “Stay close kids,” the professor instructed as he observed the missing particles in the air. The girls hung by the shades of a massive rose bush while they braided their hair, interweaving them with mesmerizing pedals and twigs. Riler nagged at the professor as Miles watched Noel be lead into the wild by a mysterious invisible butterfly. Noel was gone before he knew it, but to where they never knew. Wind swift by while Miles stood dazed. He turned to the group who seemed lost in their own special haven.

            “Wait, guys Noel is gone.” Miles slowly addressed the situation at hand.

            “But I had said to stay close,” the professor replied as he stood next to Miles, scouting the perimeter.

            “Where exactly would he have gone though,” questioned Riler. “There’s nothing but flower beds and mountain hills.”

            “I think I saw him over there,” added Ali pointing to the opposite direction. The professor took a look at the direction Ali mentioned and became puzzled. Riler prompt him to make a decision, prolonging his clarity for a solution. At last the debacle was settled, Ali lead the way with the professor and the others following behind, venturing deeper into the fields, passing an array of beautiful flowers in a variety of hypnotic colors.

            The search party came to an abrupt end as the grass swallowed them whole, sinking them deep into the sea. They were running out of air but they couldn't break the surface. It wouldn’t be long before they reached the bottom of the ocean when they suddenly realized they were never sinking, they were upside down; swimming to the ocean bed towards a sharp metal spear that broke in the abyss. They balanced themselves in the water, figuring what was up and what was down. The professor swam towards the spear when a school of bubbles caught his attention.

            Riler couldn't hold his breath any longer as he desperately kicked in the sea. They each swam to his aid to prevent him from breathing in the ocean but they were too late. Riler gasped for air, swallowing the ocean whole. Surprisingly, the water tasted just like air. A question appeared in the professors face when Ali, Zoh and Miles began to breathe the water. “Water has oxygen, I suppose, but without gills?” The professor, Riler, and Miles swam to the metal spear as Ali and Zoh questioned where they were.

            As they floated near the spear, they came to find the spear was held by a hand. That hand was connected to a colossal man frozen in time. He stood cemented upon his throne among his kingdom. “I don’t believe it,” said Miles in the water. Darkness crept away, shedding light to a city lost at sea. To their surprise they floated above a city only remembered as a legend, Atlantis.

            Coral reefs sheltered a culture buried at the bottom of the sea as tiny critters roamed the ocean streets. The statue once guarded man, now protected the voiceless, those who abide to the ocean current. Far beyond the borders of the abyss came a group of sharks sniffing the water for food. The girls inched their way closer to the professor as they swam near the cliffs. The sharks kept their distance until the tides suddenly changed.

            The ocean current began to build. The surface turned mad with ships crowding the sea. Echoes rumbled in the tides, upsetting the balance. Decapitated bodies fell into the sea, inviting the sharks for dinner. The crew became alarmed. They scattered around, searching for a place to hide as the sharks appeared feet away. Fortunately, an abandoned submarine lay close by. They swam as fast as they could with the sharks right at their tail. The professor twisted the lever and with Riler’s help they managed to enter the submarine and escape the sharks sharp bite.

            The hallways drummed as the sharks hammered at their door. “Let’s get out of here,” said Riler. They fastened their seat belts as the professor switched the ignition. The motor jammed as the sharks pounced on the submarine. The professor tried again and as the alpha shark ran into the submarine, the motor started; skyrocketing them away. The girls turned to their side as they dashed through the lost city of Atlantis.

            Zoh noticed a small figure guarded by mermaids near the capital of the city, waving them away as they quickly passed by. She looked around and became puzzled. Ali turned to her and held her hand for she too knew something was odd; masking her own need to be held. The rumble up above continued until it faded, along with the statue and the city. They adjusted themselves in their seats as the submarine entered the walls of another abyss, leaving behind a forgotten comrade.

            The submarine became cooler the further they propelled into the darkness of the unknown. The professor gestured his way around the controls, pretending to steer the ship. The remaining kids stared at the small window forgetting the difference between sea and sky as diamonds appeared twinkling in the dark. It wasn’t long before they noticed the sea had become a blanket of breathing, wondering specks of light inhabiting the fate of someone’s existence. When did they enter Space? They never knew, but would it make a difference if they did? They crowded around the professor for answers, explanations, accountability but he looked at them as they looked at him; lost and intrigued.

            The alarm blasted through the speakers, amplifying in the halls. Up ahead, a belt of meteors stood straight for them and there was no way out. The kids searched the submarine to gear themselves for impact. Unfortunately, there were no suits in sight; but they weren’t going to give up. Riler and Ali went their separate ways, desperately searching for an escape pod. They raided the submarine inside out, finding nothing but the imminent truth. “What do we do then, professor?” Zoh asked as she stood by the wheel, pulling on his coat. He turned to her and smiled for he knew the answer.

            “Nothing.”

            The impact knocked them to the floor. The professor held Zoh underneath him, forgetting the other two. Meteor rocks fired like bullets in the zero gravity air, destroying everything in its path without having anything to slow them down. Debris hung in the vacuum of space as the submarine split into bits. They hung in a cluttered mess, surviving fatal blows, all while breathing in the universe. The professor and Zoh drifted in space alone until they found a sense of ground. “Look over there,” the professor pointed. A shooting star disappeared as quickly as it came. So they found a way after all, he thought.

            “How are we doing this?” asked Zoh as she tip toed in nothing. They weightlessly floated away deeper into space, accompanied by warm orbiting lights.

            “My guess would be the coating from the slime.” the professor answered moments later, remembering he had a companion. “Watch this.” he later added, changing the subject. He attempted to jump in an empty pool then fly away. “It’s like you’re swimming but you’re not, see?” Zoh looked up at the professor as he grew smaller. Her smile reflected upon his face for he had never seen such oblivious bliss.

            His voice was beginning to drift as he swam away. “Look around you kid,” he began, “Everything is upside down. Left is right, right is left. Backwards is the new forward, haven’t you heard?” His voice trailed off and she could no longer hear him, “If you try to make sense of things you will never know what sense actually is because your sense of sense is what doesn’t make sense in the first place. Confusing, isn’t it? BUT now we’re just being redundant.” His laugh trailed off, leaving Zoh behind in a sea of stars.

            And so, Zoh did what the professor had advised her to do. She pretended to fly into a weightless gravity and swim towards to shore. She took her time crossing the galactic horizon across infinite parallel worlds not knowing where she was but knew where to go. The professor soon appeared, sitting on a moon; waiting for her arrival. She emerged out from the shores of space, and joined the professor in a sandy moon as he enlightened her of a new world. “Took you long enough,” the professor said as he held her hand.

            Together, they wandered across the moon with the professor lecturing Zoh on all the planets in the sky. He pointed left then right then left again. Up, down, and back around; every direction had its own unique beginning. “The brighter ones are old because they’ve used up all their fuel,” he commented, “It’s the dim ones that store all the answers.” He beamed at Zoh whose eyes held many.

            Zoh followed every direction the professor aimed, feeding her mind his numerous adventures.  Her bright wide-eyed expression lit every star and fueled every twinkle. “Fate my dear may change but destiny always remains the same. Care to know where yours leads?” he smiled. “I, Professor Knows, know,” he declared as he pointed to a mysterious door with no nob. The two stood by the door as the cracks creaked the hidden adventures that reside behind its silver hinges.