A World of Color

            The answer was no before she could finish. The investors said it could never be done but she dare to defy their odds. They threaten her career, her and the future of her family. The recruiters rejected the possibility but their doubts were merely their own. No, over a million times, was the message she received across the monitor without ever meeting face to face. No was her answer before asking the question. “They reject only who they fear,” and fear was the right choice for them to dwell on for no dream was worth the paper work. So, their answer remained constant. Their word was final, no.

            She was persistent, determined to walk the path they set before her. The path she was never meant to pave, though a Texan always sets the trend. She, of native descend, rose to the occasion only to remind the nay-sayers of whose land they thrive on. She, of native blood whose father an African American civil rights lawyer and mother whose tribe stems at the sole of the old America, stood alone in a state full of hacking thieves masked as activist. One brave African American Native woman challenged their amendments and called for a better government for she has seen enough corruption in the inheritance her people lost.

            Eon Blackmore, against all odds ran for president in a nation crumbling from within. No more would her land whiter. No more would she stand in silence as her people be reserved the rights they rightfully deserve. Blackmore ran on an empty ballot. Many annexed the idea of a native for a president, let alone an African American woman but what better choice did the nation gain to lose? Another liar? A suitable corporate mouthpiece puppet? Even she knew how lost the American officials were. Why else would they be keen on monitoring the public, thirsty for a guide?

            “We see not in black and white.” Blackmore began as the United States watched the presidential debate unravel. The crowd chattered in the background as they voiced their discriminatory opinions towards a woman for a president while she spoke. Eon wondered corner to corner, hearing the denial in their tone. Her color counted against her. Her background failed her as well but she hoped somewhere out there would be someone like her. Someone who shares her optimism for a better solution. Someone who sees not in black and white but in color.

            “We lived not as separate but as equals.” She raised a hand, gesturing unity and prosperity in a divided nation. She did everything she could to make them realize her dream. Like an artist stroking a brush to paint a picture, she moved corner to corner; connecting with the distant voter. Sharing of a world where there are no borders, no weapons and no evil. “We long for a paradise to grace us from the heavens. We pray for a deliverer, a unifier, to shepherd us to a promise land and though we are divided, we dream the same dream.” She looked beside her opponents and paused.

            “I am not your deliverer.” Blackmore continued as the room fell silent. “Nor will I promise you a promised land because we have forgotten that we are living in this paradise we long for. We lost our way somewhere and have forgotten earth was that Promise Land. As former governor of Texas, I have done everything in my power to keep my services for and to the people.” She turned to the crowd once more, “We stand here before the American body debating over whose more fit to run this nation when there are far more issues at hand.”

            “We criticize each other over whose administration is more corrupted than the other then question why our young voters don’t vote.” She addressed the nation through the watchful lens, “People know if no one voted, America would still have a president. Our young voters steer away from the ballot booths because they know how corrupted their politicians are. The voters are wise beyond our officials lie. They don’t praise us for our humanitarian services, they damn us for limiting their rights; denying them their freedom.”

            “You may not know what my fellow colleagues you see here standing before you hidden agenda may be,” she ended her speech searching for a spark among the crowd, “But you can rest assure you will know mine.” The other politicians smirked while applauding her stance. A small crowd cheered and chanted her name in unison while waving her flag, her symbol. Tall wide screens mounted behind them televised the woman who dare defy her officials in a time when evil prevailed, but who’s to say they never did?

            Once the debate was settled and the crowd had dispersed, Eon escaped the public eye to enter a small convention isolated from common people. She invited a group of private wealthy investors to extend the presidential debate behind closed doors. Through the course of her political career, Blackmore had devised a scheme to purge the world of all evil. The xenophobic discrimination and bias she encountered as a native woman the past fifteen years were hard to swallow. She could not believe the extent of her corrupted colleagues and the horror they’ve commented in the name of their liberty and justice.

            The private figures she called forth were the victims of hate crime. These prominent aristocrats were wrongfully discriminated by the Arian community simply because of the color of their skin. They have been restricted, deprived, of their future forced to succeed under their Arian shadows. Blackmore took these victims of injustice and gave them a voice. She gave them hope, a light at the end of the tunnel; a prosperous future.

            As the last guest settled in their seats, Eon stood behind a small podium and waited. She looked them square in the eye and felt their pain, their scars. She noticed the history of oppression marked in their faces left by their righteous Arian heroes. “Brothers, sisters,” she called them, “How long must we stand and watch our race be oppressed by the white powers that be? How many of our people must die before we say no more? History tells of heroes who rose against the status quo only to be beaten or killed.”

            “There once lived a man who had a dream,” she commented, “And that man died in vain, why? Because he was African American? Because he was a reverend? More and more, we hear of law enforcement targeting people of color, discriminating the colored skin unjustifiably. More and more, we see the front page news glorify their acts of service, oppressing the world of the Arian nuisance because that’s all we are to them. ‘You only succeed in life if you’re white,’ according to who? These Anglo-Saxon oppressors? If that’s the new way of life in this modern age, then I have no remorseful regret over what I’m about to propose.”

            “Ladies, gentlemen, let’s go back in time,” she proclaimed, “And recall one man’s journey to establish a nation where succession is achieved by the will of one race.” Questionable remarks appeared before her guests as they began to connect the dots. Surely she wasn’t suggesting what they had in mind. “Let’s fully analyze his accomplishments and try to decipher where he went wrong and where we can succeed from his mistake.” Few of her guest abruptly stood from their seats and attempted to leave.
            “Preposterous!” They called as they made their exit. “He was insane. We won’t be any better than them. This is maddening!”

            “Statistics say white people are more prone to oppress than any other race.” Eon stated. “No other race has a history of oppression like the Anglo-Saxons. That man may have been insane, but so are our officials. They are no better than them, in fact they are worse; they are American. That man did not die in vain because his legacy reigns supreme as the American dream. People have grown tired of the Arian oppression. They have become wise to their propaganda. People want peace, freedom, justice!”

            “And what about what they want?” One asked.

            “We know what they want.” Eon answered. “They want the world for themselves while the rest of us simply want our share of peace. How long did the African American stay a slave before they finally mustered the courage to stand up against their masters? How much blood was slaughtered before the natives were forced to cave to the white devil? Most of all, who is to say their oppression will never end?”

            “Why?” Another asked. “Why specifically them? How do you plan on achieving this without suspicion?”

            “Because only they turn brother against brother, sister against sister.” Eon replied. “All can be accomplished. As I mentioned before, gathering them won’t be a challenge. I myself have carefully studied Hitler’s steppingstones. We will succeed where he could not because we won't operate like they did. There are ways to go about things, that is where we will succeed where others could not.” Her guests turned to one another, tentatively listening for their rapture.

            Weeks turned to months and a year had passed before Eon could see her revelation grow. Diving into the root of all evil was no picnic. Money was her only obstacle, luckily she utilized her connections to her advantage. It began with the purchase of a hundred thousand acres deep in the heart of America. Construction work soon followed as she began to build a promised land for her Arian brethren. A town where no crime is committed, where there are no borders and no laws. Just a simple obligation for its residence to maintain, unity and prosperity.

            This is the world they want, and so, they shall get. Once the perfect town was completed, Eon made sure certain people knew where to go and how to get there. With the aid of Eon’s administration, this lonely peaceful town soon came alive with the sound of merriment. Its monotone residence lived happy among one another. No crime was ever announced on the evening news. No deaths were accounted other than the dying old and no horror was ever recorded. Peace and prosperity was dealt with a heavy hand, unbeknownst to the residents.

“Welcome!” Billie greeted the new arrivals. A moving truck parked in the street closed the driveway to a recently vacant home down the neighborhood. “We have been getting new neighbors lately,” Billie commented as she handed her new neighbor a homemade banana bread with double fudge brownies on the side. “I didn’t get to say goodbye to the last owners who lived here, but they travel a lot.” She mentioned a couple had moved into another vacant house down the corner and how mysteriously they too left without saying a word. “News must be spreading, huh.”

“News?” her new neighbor replied.

“Yes,” Billie exaggerated, “Manor Estate is relatively new, it’s been about two to three years since they opened this part of town and it looks like they're constructing more town homes over by the hills. My husband and I were a bit skeptical when we first moved here but this town has it all. There aren’t any hoodlums in this neighborhood I’ll tell you that. I can’t recall the last time I locked my front door without worrying whether or not my things are secured.” Billie laughed while she waved to a passing car.

“Really?” her neighbor added. “That seems too good to be true.”

“Oh stop,” Billie teased, “You’re sounding like one of those paranoid journalist out looking for a story to exploit.”

“I am a journalist,” she answered, “I’m more aware than paranoid though.”

“I’m sorry,” Billie confessed. “I didn’t mean to offend you doll.”

“No, don’t sweat it.” She laughed. “I’ve been told worse.”

“I didn’t get your name.” Billie mentioned.

“Jolin.” She introduced herself. “So you leave your doors unlocked?”

“We all do.” Billie proclaimed. “You see those lamp posts?” She pointed to the corners of the neighborhood, “They’re rigged with motion sensors that record live feed and sound. In color too! Keeps the neighborhood safe. I’m telling you Jolin, you have died and gone to heaven and the best part is you’re still alive to experience it. Night guards patrol the neighborhood streets once the sun sets until morning of course. You’d be a fool to try to break that peace. No one has tried though because we don’t have to. This town has no laws but one simple obligation, we take care of each other.”

Billie lingered around Jolin’s lawn before she went back to her home to prepare a feast for her loving husband. All evening Billie waited as the bread winners returned home after a long day at work. The neighborhood streets came alive with busy motors and cheerful kids. She had noticed Jolin seemed suspicious but in time she would drop her guard and come to realize Manor Estate was the place to be, as she had once done.

“How was your day?" Billie’s husband, Connor, asked once he arrived late in the hours of night. “What did you cook, it smells delicious?”

“I made some banana bread and brownies for our new neighbors.” Connor looked surprised. “I know, the Masons left as well and already people are flocking here like there’s an apocalypse to avoid.” They both laughed for they were too mesmerized, entranced, by the Promised Land that is Manor Estate. "Word must travel fast, I just hope we don’t get bad seeds. We left the city for that reason.”

“Don’t you worry you’re precious little head,” her husband assured her, “This place only shelters decent honest people like us. That’s why we got that letter, because we abide by the rules and pay our taxes. That’s enough on that, it’s only but a distant nuisance now.” He pulled up Billie’s seat, then made his way to the head of the table. They said their grace before eating. Together, they ate in peace while soft classic traditional melodies pranced above their heads.

As they said their goodnights, Billie and Connor rested in their king size bed while the house began to operate. Hidden cameras in every corner of the house monitored their location. The wall beside their bed post began to emit soothing waves, pushing them further into a deep sleep. For the first time, their doors locked; including their windows. Slowly, their vents began to pump toxic airless fumes into their oxygen, killing Billie and Connor in their sleep. The house killed its residents and disposed of their bodies soon after.

The drawers emptied as their clothes slid down a hidden tunnel that led to the trash. Their pictures and frames were knocked down, disappeared in the floor boards that had mysteriously opened. The house itself cleaned out all remnants of its host as it prepared to shelter a new wholesome family. The night guard outside whistled silently as he patrolled the streets. He turned to the new vacant house and questioned when the new owners would arrive.

The following day, Jolin stepped outside to greet her enthusiast neighbor but she never came out. She noticed their trash bin was out in the drive way though the trash didn't get picked up until the end of the week. “It’s only Tuesday.” She told herself as she unknowingly approached their small picket fence. Jolin peeked inside and noticed the house seemed empty. You’re doing it again, she thought. A month without snooping, she reminded herself, it’s why we’re here. “Try to relax.”

All evening, Jolin waited on the patio for her neighbor, to greet, but no one came out. She waited until the sun set. “Jolin?” Rex, her husband, called in the shadows. “What are you doing outside? It’s late, let’s go inside.” Jolin woke to find her husband returning from work. She startled herself as she realized she had dozed off in the afternoon, waiting for her neighbor to greet. As they made their way inside, Jolin peeked one last time and noticed nothing had changed. The house next door stood silent, dark and empty.

“What were you doing?” He asked as they made their way to their room.

“I was waiting for the neighbor but she never came outside.” Jolin explained. “I don’t think they ever stepped outside. I think they left. The house looks vacant, all the lights are off. Do you suppose something happened to them?” She stood by their window and felt a slight chill crawl up from behind her. Her gears began to move, her thoughts raced as her imagination led her wondering the worst.

“Stop,” Rex replied, “You’re going to give yourself a migraine again.” He handed her two pills and a glass of water. “Here, take this. I’m pretty sure there’s a perfectly good explanation, just don’t get carried away.” He stood by her as she took the pills and swallowed the water. “They’re probably off to their parents or they went on a vacation, you know like we did.” Jolin stayed by the window overlooking their lawn across the field to an empty house where life once lived. He massaged her shoulders and embraced her worries. “They’re fine. Everyone’s fine. We live where there is no evil, try to remember that. Okay?”

Jolin smiled and dropped the subject. Once they settled in their beds, Jolin’s mind began to trace back her conversation she had with Billie. Not once did she mention a trip or give a hint that they were planning to leave. As a matter of fact, Billie loved her home. Why would they leave, Jolin asked herself. Suddenly, a light appeared before her. Jolin remembered Billie informing her of her unlocked doors. She turned to her husband who was sound asleep and kissed him goodbye.

She crawled her way downstairs and out through the back. The night was cold and silent. No sirens echoed in the distance. No screams of trouble lingered in the air. The town was at peace, sleeping in their perfect homes. Jolin made her way to her neighbors home, careful not to make a sound. She peeked into their window and noticed the house lay vacant. No pictures, Jolin noted, No sign of anyone. She checked inside the garage and noticed there were no cars either. “Where did you go?” Jolin whispered.

Off in the distance, the night guard whistled casually as he made his rounds. Jolin hid behind a bush as the guard flashed his light around. Once he turned the corner, she made her way to the backyard and proceeded to enter the house. Jolin grabbed the door knob and entered. The house smelled cleaned, though no presence were felt. But where could they be?

Jolin made her way into the kitchen. She opened the drawers and pantry to find them all empty, no food or utensils. Slowly, she moved into the empty living room. The furniture lay as it should but no pictures decorated the lonesome room. No sign of life recorded the people who resided in this house, where Billie and her husband once lived. Jolin’s suspicion became alarming as she ventured further into her neighbors home.

Up the stairs and down the hall, the master bedroom stood deserted. Jolin opened the door to find the bed made and empty. She slid the dresser and found no clothing, no nightstand decked in murals or books. Jolin stood in the dark as her mind conjured conspiracies to the whereabouts of her missing neighbor. She quietly went downstairs, exited through the back from where she entered and made her way back to her home. As she lay next to her husband, her mind began to question everything. Where could they have gone? What could have happened? How?

Jolin would never get her answers. She mysteriously fell into a deep slumber. The doors locked and once more the toxic airless fumes pumped into the air vents, killing Jolin and Rex on impact. Like before, the house began to clean itself. It emptied the dressers, disposed of the bodies and cleared the room for the new arrivals. Jolin and a few other homes were now open ready to shelter a new family.

Eon and her administration kept a close eye on their residence. With the advancements technology kept producing, ridding the world of all evil became a simple task. Gathering evil was no greater feat, nor was it to rid the evidence. More and more people kept flocking to the heart of America for their share of peace. With each coming arrival, new families were gassed, killed, and disposed; leaving plenty of room for more to come. Eon’s revelation was a success, the rapture came only to those who deserved it. Only to those whose history of oppression is seen as a divine act for some God.

Eon Blackmore was never inaugurated as president. She never made headline news as the first native African American woman candidate for presidency. The media never depicted her as a hero, a legend, for her name would never go down in history; nor would she want to. Winning was never her main objective because winning is where they went wrong. Having her name go down in history would have exposed her ulterior motive to purge the world of all its evil.

Eon Blackmore had far more greater schemes in mind. Their demons were no match for her Satan. Their oppression was merely her validation for the new holocaust that would soon take its place in the history of modern times. The Arian race, the Anglo-Saxon oppressors, were long gone by the tenth year. The world spun ignorant to the slaughter of a single race. The only ones who knew, who grew suspicion in sight, were found and gassed. History would never mourn the loss of one race as the others prospered in a world of color.

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.