Screams

            Ring, echoed the foyer, Ring Ring. The caller ID read, “Unknown.”

            “Neo Alpha Rah, Phin speaking,” answered the only person in the house after he debated whether he should have answered. “Hello?” Phin called again but no one replied. He placed the phone back on the wall and dismissed the call as a prank. He figured other fraternities were drunk, stone or bored. Phin made his way back to the couch when suddenly the phone rang once again. He stood between the living room and the foyer, questioning whether he should answer the call. Phin let the phone ring, his team made a goal while he was away and he wasn’t about to miss another. Ring Ring.

            Deserted was the home of the famous Neo brotherhood of Rah, the athletes on campus. The designated sober driver waited for his brothers to notify him of his assistance. Alone, not by choice, Phin remained in the den. The flat screen screamed in cheers as two teams battled for the championship. Red cups and glass bowls filled with chips scattered across the coffee table, crumbs lay where they fell. Sports magazines and automobile subscriptions lay open, half read. The sport announcer raced as he implored another goal. “No!” Screamed Phin as his team missed a chance to intercept. Ring Ring, the house phone rang again. Phin checked the caller ID, “Unknown.”

            “Hello?”

            “Hello Phin.” Came a low, unusual voice on the other end. “Want to die tonight?”

            “Do I know you?” Phin asked, puzzled but not shaken.

            “Maybe, want to find out?” The caller replied.

            “Fuck off.” Phin ended the call abruptly. He sat back on the couch, cursing in his head. Whoever it was wanted a reaction out of Phin but he doesn’t scare as easily. “No!” Phin shouted again. His team was losing, missing all the chances to turn their luck around. He threw chips at the screen as the opposing team inched their way to the win. Time was running out, “Come on!” Phin yelled, “He was open.” As the announcer stated an interception, the house phone rang. Once more the caller ID read, “Unknown.”

            “-The fuck you want?” Phin answered, impatiently.

            “Hey man,” answered one of his fraternity brothers, “I’m calling from a land line. Listen, we got a ride. We’ll be there shortly. Neoz out!” Relieved, Phin hung up the phone and made his way back to the couch. He raised the volume on the screen and took a hand full of chips into his mouth. The crowd roared as they watched two giants go head to head. Three runners slammed into each other; passing, blocking, intercepting. Slowly the opposing team fought their way to the win. Phin threw chips at the screen as his team missed an interception.

            One more goal, Phin’s team needed one more point to steal the game. “Get that money!” Phin encouraged, shouting at the screen; drunk in testosterone. His mobile phone vibrated on the coffee table. Phin ignored the call but regretted it later. The sport announcer got lost from the constant ringer ringing in his ear. “Damn!” Phin cursed underneath his breath as he stood to answer the phone. The caller ID read, “Unknown.” Phin answered, glued to the game. “Hello?” Phin repeated, slowly loosing his patience. Just as he was about to hang up the phone the same person from before replied on the other end.

            “What’s your favorite scary movie?”

            “Listen bro,” Phin began, “Go bother someone else.” He paused, “How did you get this number?”

            “I have my ways.” The caller replied. “Besides, who else am I to bother? You’re the only one home.”

            “You sure about that?” Phin answered, confused. How would the caller know that?

            “Want to play a game?”

            “Not interested dog.” Phin closed.

            “But if you hang up, how will you know where I am?” The caller caught his attention.

            “Yeah?” Phin turned to the front door. “I have a good guess.” Phin opened the door and expected to find his brothers, but the porch was empty. Phin stepped outside and looked around. The other fraternities across the street were quiet, the streets isolated. Phin checked the side of the house and found nothing, no one lingered around. No one crept out from where they hid to spook the life out of Phin.

            “Not there.” The caller said moments later as Phin checked the other side. He stood for a moment, brainstorming the caller’s identity and whereabouts.

            “Look man, if you want trouble you got it.” Phin began. “You should know better. This campus is guarded with cops in every corner for this very reason. Plus, I don’t get scared so easily so you’re going to have to step up your game.” Phin was back inside. He locked the door, set the alarm and notified the campus security station. “The police have already been informed.” Phin assured the caller. “If you want to play we can play. You have five seconds before cops start showing up. So what’s up, you there? You have four seconds now.”

            “I only need two.” The caller replied just as the line ended. The door bell rang. Phin froze for a minute then presumed to check who stood outside. No one, Phin thought. Phin attempted to dial *69 but received a text message instead from the unknown caller. “You’re dead,” read the message in his screen. Phin closed the message and redial the caller. As the phone rang, a ringtone blasted upstairs. Phin’s blood ran cold as he questioned who else was inside the house with him. Phin took a bat that stood by the front door and proceeded to climb the stairs. Slowly, he approached the sound.

            The call was coming from his room. Phin kicked the door open. With the bat in hand, he rushed into his room and armed himself for a fight. A small black cellular phone sat on his bed, ringing. He picked up the phone and ended the call. Someone placed a phone on his bed, someone else was in the house with him; someone who’s out to kill him. “Thought you wanted to play.” Phin teased as he reeled the caller from where ever they hid. “What, you scared?” Phin opened his closet and expected to find someone there, but all he found was his stuff.

            Phin closed the door to his room and attempted to check the room beside him. As he opened the door, a masked figure flung at him with a sharp blade. Nearly missing his chest, Phin fumbled to the floor with the masked figure. Phin reached for his bat as the masked figure reached for the knife. The two struggled to get on their feet. Phin punched the masked figure off of him and got to his feet first. Phin kicked the masked figure a few times before heading for his bat. As he turned to swing, the masked figure was gone. “That’s it?” Phin breathed as he caught his balance. “That’s all you got?”

            Phin turned to the hall and found the masked figure standing on the other end, knife at hand. The masked figure took its blade and pointed at Phin. Phin took the bat to his shoulder and gestured the masked figure to approach him. The mask figure ran towards Phin. Phin swung but the masked figure dodged. A sharp stab pierced Phin on the side, blood trickled down to his jeans. His shirt, soaked in blood, left a trail as Phin limped away. The masked figure tilted its head as it watched Phin bleed. Phin made his way to the study room and locked the door behind him.

            “Fuck you man!” Phin shouted while he gasped for air. His bloody right hand applied pressure to the open wound. “Cops will be here any second!” He hoped. The door rattled as the masked figure attempted to finish the job. Phin took whatever blunt object he could find. His head lightened from the blood loss staining his shirt, leaking down to his jeans into a pool of fresh blood. The door kept pounding. The room swindle. “Fuck off bro, you aren’t getting in!” Phin shouted as he leaned on the desk. The door to the study stopped rattling. Silence soon settled. Off in the distance, sirens approached his location.

            Relieved, Phin stepped into the shadows to hide as help arrived. Phin felt another sharp stab, this time on his back. Phin fell to the floor as the masked figure stepped into focus. Phin crawled, plead for his life as the masked figure stepped closer and closer to its helpless prey. “It was a simple game, Phin.” The masked figure said as it now stood before Phin. “You lose.” Phin screamed as the sharp blade tore his insides out. His screams were later masked by the sirens that echoed outside. The killer stabbed Phin for the last time before making an escape. Speechless were the authorities and the Neo Alpha brothers as they entered a murder scene unlike any other.

            Rumors spread like wild fire the next day. Everyone on campus got word of the murder that took place the night before. Every fraternity and sorority near the scene were on lock down as detectives questioned every body in sight. No one could believe the horrors that occurred to their star athlete. No one thought such a crime would happen, not since the crime of a local’s murder case that became a horror legend. Left and right, people were called to the deans office in question to their whereabouts the night of the incident. Those close to Phin were prime suspects. Everyone questioned their neighbor’s motive, fearing who would be next.

            “Can you believe all this hype?” Lucas proclaimed as he filmed the school grounds.

            “I can.” Mason replied as he vlogged his encounters to his channel. “Phin was a Neo brother. He was the chosen one, to get sponsored by the big leagues. Now they’ll have to settle with an understudy. How traumatic.”

            “Making light of a dark situation will only make you a suspect and earn you a one way trip to the deans office.” Kit replied as she set her equipment next to Mason. “Can we focus on our assignment. I’m not going to be late for my next class just because you two are too glued to this fiasco.” Kit placed her script on her stand and read her lines to herself. Mason and Lucas filmed the perimeters, too inspired by the events.

            “Have they called Chelsea to the deans office?” Lucas filmed Kit for a response.

            “She’s there now.” Kit replied. “Can we make this scene already? I have history next period and I need to finish this essay. Lucas and Mason set their equipment under a shade and began their shoot. Lucas trailed off while Kit recited her lines to Mason who filmed. “I know what happened to Phin was horrible but was it this bad?” Kit mentioned the numerous reporters reporting live to their news station in light of a student’s murder. “I can’t image what Chelsea is going through.” Mason and Lucas were now packing their gear for another shoot somewhere else. The live coverage of Phin’s death was becoming overwhelming.

            “It’s not as bad as what happened the last time.” Lucas pointed out, referring to the murder case of a local woman years ago. “What if the killer is trying to emulate the murders from before?” Mason and Kit stared at Lucas suspiciously. “What if Phin’s murder is just an attempt to reboot the Stab franchise?” Lucas recorded the reporters, “We can use this coverage for other projects. We can make a documentary, make our own horror classic.” Lucas seemed too fascinated by the tragic accounts, making Mason and Kit question his sanity.

            “So what, Hollywood placed a murderer in Woodsboro so they can get ideas for another cheesy slasher movie?” Mason reasoned with Lucas. “You’ve seen way too many movies Lucas.” Mason aimed his camera to himself, “For me to say that is saying something. Phin’s death was no movie plot for a scene.” Mason took coverage of the news reporters. “There were no directors shouting cut. Phin was murdered by someone wearing a ghost mask. The same mask worn by the killers who victimized local Sidney Prescott.” He trailed back to himself, “Until she fought back and won.” Mason turned to Kit. “Will you do the same?”

            “Do what?” Chelsea asked as she joined the group.

            Startled, Mason cut his live feed and shut his camera off. “We were just discussing last night’s blunder of terror.” Lucas replied, getting Mason’s embarrassment on camera. “For all my viewers on the web, can we get a statement from the victim’s girlfriend.” Kit concealed Lucas camera in respect to Chelsea’s predicament. “If not me, they will get a story out of you.” Lucas pointed to the endless herds of news reporters cashing in on the big story. Mason placed a hand on Lucas shoulder and quietly asked him not to film. “People want to know.”

            “What are you two doing with these virgins?” Zack asked as he found Chelsea and Kit with Lucas and Mason.

            “We were just wrapping up our assignment.” Kit replied.

            “You two still up for tonight?” Zack asked the girls.

            “It’s still on?” Kit answered. “After what just happened?”

            “Hell yeah, it’s still on.” Zack informed them. “Especially after what just happened. Meta Delta Zhi is hosting. The Neo Alpha’s can’t, they're on lock down because of…” Zack trailed off as he turned to the news reporters. “It’s as if the carnival is in town.”

            “Count us in.” Lucas invited himself.

            “If you’re allowed in.” Zack replied. “Let’s get out of here before those reporters see you.” Zack took Chelsea by the hand and escorted her to the back of the school, away from all the commotion. Hundreds of reporters stationed outside the school grounds surrounded everyone coming in and out. Lucas and Mason filmed their peers sharing their thoughts and outrage to the reporters while security guards hovered. Never before have they witnessed a murder bathed in blood. The main question everyone had running through their minds was knowing the killer could be near.

            “Damn,” Lucas added once Chelsea, Kit and Zack disappeared from view, “Even with Phin gone, there’s always someone else to fill the spot.”

            “What spot?” Mason asked, confused.

            “The spot you want.” Lucas answered, teasingly. “Just face it pal, you’re always going to be a friend.”

            Mason and Lucas remained by the tree as they filmed reporters slowly packing up their gear. They shot their scene then added their own thoughts and comments. Their personal vlog channel reached more than a thousand views by the afternoon. By then, the whole town was aware of the horrific crime. Once the crowd had disperse, the campus fell into a silent roar. Though reporters and their camera crew were long gone, whispers lingered. Everyone fell unease for the killer remains at large. The aftermath had everyone on edge. Halloween brought the town of Woodsboro a frightening realization. Who committed the crime? Who was out to kill again?

            “Any leads?” Detective Connor asked his partner as he entered their office.

            “I have my suspicions.” Answered his partner, Detective Stonefield. “But no solid evidence, just leads. If you ask me,” he then added, “This was no random attack.” Connor stood by Stonefield’s desk. “See, whoever killed Phin knows more than what we’re lead to believe.” Stonefield placed three images of the crime scene before Connor to examine. “Frauds” smeared in blood lay tattooed into Phin’s forehead in one image. “Phone records show someone calling Phin moments before entering the house. The killer knew the fraternities house number and Phin’s personal phone number. So, whoever the killer is knows the victim closely.”

            “That or the killer hacked their way in.” Connor stated. “I checked the phone records too. The killer is smart, he or she or they called from an untraceable line. I followed every call made that night and found this.” Connor placed a record of phone calls on Stonefield’s desk. “The killer covered its trace exceptionally well, meaning whoever this is knows how to hack their way around things.” Stonefield examined the records. “Whoever did this wanted us to know that we’re dealing with frauds.” He pointed to the image with the message, “Frauds,” written in blood. “I did a background check on Phin and found nothing. But, when I checked his family’s background, I found this.” Connor took a thick  file and placed it in front of Stonefield.

            Stonefield skimmed through the file. “Phin’s parent’s, turns out, haven’t been paying their taxes for years.” Connor summed up what he found. “Phin’s parents are also friends with the mayor, who by the way has been stealing from the city. They've been using tax payer money as their personal bank account.” Stonefield was in shock. “I did a further analyzes and found it’s not just Phin’s parents making shady business deals, half of that fraternity are involved.” Connor leaned on his desk and crossed his arms. “It’s as if the killer wants us to pick and choose which case we close first. A divergent.”

            “We were called in correlation to a student’s death,” Stonefield began, “Turns out, there’s more to this case than we’d expected.” They examined the papers that lay before them. In one pile, a murder scene remained unsolved while the other a serious of allegations involving wealthy crooks and con artist. Connor loosened his tie and began to read police statements. “Though we have frauds to incarcerate, there’s a killer on the loose. We need to prioritize. We at least have a lead, no thanks to this killer.” Stonefield placed the mask found at the scene of the crime and pinned it to his board. “What about this killer.” Stonefield asked his partner. “Do you think we have another copycat in our mist?”

            “Yes, but knowing these kids today, they probably want to make a statement.” Connor replied.

            “Like targeting frauds?” Stonefield implied. “They wouldn’t repeat the same pattern from before, it would become too obvious as to who the killer is.” He paused to context clues his way to a lead. “Damn kids, why can’t they just conform like the rest of us?” He trailed back to his desk and searched for a file stuck in his head.

            “Why conform when you can change the game?” Connor answered. “Kids today want to be known. They want to be heard.” Connor pondered in his chair as he tried to piece the puzzle before the killer killed again. “What better way to make a statement than to go for the top dog on campus, days before Halloween. The mayor set a curfew but those college kids are still throwing their party. To honor their fallen hero.” He exhaled, “If only they knew the truth, but they probably do. They’re probably part of it.” Stonefield left the station moments later. He was scheduled to interview more possible suspects.

            “I heard Chelsea killed Phin because she found him cheating on her.” Two girls whispered as they climbed up the stairs of the campus library. Her friend rejected the thought. “Phin was known for being promiscuous.” The girls crossed the upstairs lobby and entered the library’s endless maze. Few sat by the front desk, working on their thesis. Others hid in the rooms by the side, experimenting. Cece and Mandy quietly walked further into the library, getting lost within the shelves. “She probably got Zack to do it. Did you notice the two hanging around more often?”

            “Zack’s not capable of that.” Mandy replied. “They’ve known Phin since high school. Zack’s like a brother to Phin. Besides, Phin stopped talking to other girls when he got with Chelsea.” Deep within the library’s maze, books and nooks filled the emptiness. Silence whispered throughout the maze while two young females made their way to an empty station. No one lingered near.

            “Yeah, but Phin gets stalker crazy whenever Chelsea and Zack hang out without him.” Cece explained. “Chelsea probably got over Phin but couldn’t leave him because Phin would stalk Chelsea to her breaking point. We all have our limits, psychology taught me that. So, the only way Chelsea could get rid of Phin was to convince Zack to kill Phin. Right after Halloween. Why Zack? Obviously she developed a thing for him, who wouldn’t?”

            “You are delirious.” Mandy proclaimed. “Obvi, some nut job is out to get notoriety. They probably binged on the Prescott murders, became obsessed with the films and got inspired to kill wearing the same costume as the killer from the actual case. It’s probably someone from campus, if you ask me.” They found an empty desk to prepared for their exam. “You go ahead, I’m just going to check something out.” Mandy added as she walked towards a bookshelf. “I’ll be right back.” She disappeared into the books. Cece opened her study guide and took out her notes.

            Mandy searched through the bookshelves, looking for the exam guide. She turned the corner when her phone vibrated. A text message appeared on Mandy’s screen from an unknown sender. Want to play a game? Mandy read the message. Intrigued, she replied, “What kind of game?” The one where I try to kill you. Chills ran down Mandy’s spine as she read the message. She looked for the exit. Mandy shock in fear as another message popped into her screen, “You’re dead!” The masked figure from before appeared on the other side of the bookshelf where Mandy stood in fright. The killer revealed its blade and aimed at Mandy.

            Mandy screamed before dashing to the exit. Security guards ran inside and up the stairs. The killer chased Mandy across the maze. Mandy threw books, chairs, anything to delay the killers grip on her. “Help!” Mandy screamed, knowing there were guards nearby. Mandy escaped the library’s maze with the killer at her tail. She bolted through the lobby when suddenly the killer got a hold on her. Mandy screamed as the killer jammed the knife through her heart. Mandy fell to the floor, dead. Blood encircled her lifeless body. The killer stepped into the maze and disappeared out of sight. The guards ran into the upstairs lobby shouting for paramedics. Cece appeared in the corner, speechless.

            As night fell, monsters in disguise came about calling for their treats. Few were brave enough to roam the streets while a killer remained at large. A second murder soon spread as reporters lingered at the college library. Fraternity row were guarded by police, stationed in every corner. More police patrolled the roads, monitoring its citizen for their safety. One sorority boomed while the others lay silent. Meta Delta Zhi hosted the annual Halloween party, in honor of their star athlete. Music echoed to the streets, entertaining the young and reckless.

            Few hung by the porch while others lay by the pool. The rest partied inside, drunk on booze and high on substance. Goblins and werewolves, saints to whores. Anyone invited came as a character with their treats in hand. The Neo Alpha brothers played beer pong, others attempted the keg stand. Hot nurses and teachers entertained their idiocy. The Meta Delta sisters remained center stage, dancing the night away; partaking in the festivities. Some streaked outside while others binged on horror films in the den. No one was concerned about a killer.

            “Did you hear Mandy was butchered in the library.” Kit informed Chelsea as they entered the house.

            “I know, I just read about it.” Chelsea replied. “I can’t believe the cops haven’t raided the place. They’re literally parked right around the corner.” As they furthered into the den, Chelsea and Kit found the security guards mingling with the students.

            “They’re just here to supervise.” Zack mentioned as he approached them. “They’ll be gone shortly. Nice costume by the way.” He complimented Chelsea on her choice of character. “You look great Kit.” He then took notice of her friend. Together they made their way to the kitchen. More and more creatures appeared out of thin air. The porch overflowed with ghouls and mummies. Dracula and Superman walked seemingly up to the front door and proceeded to enter. They gravitated towards the den where a classic horror movie reeled.

            “Told you  no one would notice.” Lucas began as he and Mason sat on the floor, facing the flat screen. “Embrace your invisibility.”

            “Shut up before someone notices.” Mason retorted. Mason looked around and spotted Chelsea in the kitchen with Zack and Kit. Lucas handed him alcohol and a joint. “Where did you get that?” He asked looking for the source.

            “They’re called party favors.” Lucas informed. “They’re passing out the bud. It’s puff, puff, pass. Get with the program noob.”

            Kit and Chelsea remained in the kitchen with Zack. The Alpha brothers held their competition to see who can chug the most beer. The Delta sisters took the party outside where more activities await the eager. Chelsea and Zack made their way to the den while Kit took a short tour of the house. “I’m going upstairs to urinate.” Kit slurred as she left Chelsea and Zack on their own. Alone, Kit made her way to the back of the house by the corner leading to the upstairs.

            She ignored the velvet rope that permitted no entry to the upstairs dormitories. The halls were narrow with dim lighting. Rows of closed doors guided her to the restroom. “Nope, not here.” Kit muttered to herself as she opened someone’s room. “This will do.” Kit entered the vacant restroom. Moments later, as she sat, her phone vibrated with a message from an unknown sender. What’s your favorite scary movie? Kit read as her vision adjusted. “Who’s this?” Kit replied but never received an answer.

            As she closed the door behind her, a masked figure stood on the other end of the hallway. “Poor choice of costume.” Kit began, sobering up. “You know there’s a cop downstairs looking for people with that face.” Kit smiled, “Are you here to kill me mister killer?” The masked figure nodded in response. “You can’t kill me, there are rules. Have you never seen a scary movie?” The masked figure shook its head. “Let me enlighten you then. I’m the lead character, I get to survive.” The killer took out a blade from within its cloak and proceeded to kill Kit.

            Kit ran to the attic, screaming for help. The music downstairs screamed louder. “Help me!” Screamed Kit, desperately fleeing from the killer’s knife. Kit closed a door behind her as she ran towards the window. The killer opened the door and before Kit could escape, the killer immobilized her. The killer slashed the back of Kit’s ankle, her screams fused with the music downstairs; masking her frantic conundrum. Kit attempted to run but couldn’t. “Please,” she begged, “Please!”

Kit crawled on the floor as the killer watched. “Please, don’t kill me.” Drunk and disoriented, Kit plead from the approaching masked figure. The killer stood before Kit and stabbed her in the chest. Kit’s screams were muffled by the booming music underneath. Tears rolled down her face as her life faded with each stab. She reached for the killers mask and was dumbfounded to find a familiar face. “You?” The killer slashed her throat before hanging her out the balcony. Those outside were oblivious until one noticed Kit’s bloody body dangling before them.

The house was quarantined by the authorities. Detective Connor and his partner Stonefield interviewed everyone in sight but were left with the same unanswered question; who could the killer be? “Is there anything else you’d like to add?” Connor asked Chelsea who has now become a prime suspect. Twice, has she been interviewed by the detectives in regards to a murder. Chelsea stood in fright and horror for two of her closes loved ones were dead. She shook her head and remained silent, Zack held her for support. “Sorry, I know this must be hard on you. We simply want to find the perpetrator. Thank you for your cooperation.”

“You think she’s the killer?” Stonefield began once they were a few distance away from Chelsea and Zack.

“No.” Replied Connor. “She looks too shaken up by this ordeal.” They stared at Zack and questioned his motives. “I’m going to ask these kids if they saw anything.” Stonefield and Connor spread as they interrogated those who stayed behind. The interrogation lasted for hours. By the witching hour, the ambulance and the detectives were gone. Leaving behind three cop cars stationed outside Meta Delta Zhi.

As things settled, Chelsea and Zack were escorted to Zack’s dorm room. The campus dorm rooms were empty. Few lingered by the community center as they watched horror films; binging on cheap alcohol and other substances. Not many were up, giving Chelsea and Zack time for privacy. They stood outside in the silent, getting over a friends death. Chelsea said nothing while Zack kept an open ear. He knew Chelsea had a lot on her mind.

“She was upstairs.” Chelsea croaked, breaking the silence. “How could this have happened?” Zack held her arm in comfort. “She was upstairs.” She couldn’t piece the puzzle together. “First Phin, then Kit. Am I being targeted? Should I go into hiding?” She turned to Zack for advice. “Who, why would someone do this? Kit never had enemies, she was always kind to others.” She fell silent again. Tears poured like rain.

“Whoever this is,” Zack assured her, “Won’t get you. I’ll make sure of that.”

He covered her with his jacket as they made their way inside. Into the elevator and down the empty halls to the forth floor, Zack guided Chelsea to his dorm room. “You can crash at my place while your parents pick you up in the morning.” He cleared his bed for Chelsea to lay in. “You’ll be safe here. Get some rest.” Chelsea thanked him and attempted to fall asleep. As they began to doze off, a call abruptly screamed for their attention.

“Unknown.” Chelsea said as she read the caller ID. Zack answered the call.

“Hello?”

“Hello Zack.” The same tantalizing voice from the start answered. “Want to play a game?” The caller laughed on the other end.

“It’s you isn’t it.” Zack replied, “You killed Phin, didn’t you.”

“Don’t forget your new girl’s friend too.” The caller added.

“Listen you little shit.” Zack threatened, “You won’t get away with this.”

“The police couldn’t stop me.” The caller recalled. “Unless you think you have a shot. Think you’re up for the challenge?”

“Any time, any place.” Zack was on his feet, ready to fight. Chelsea sat in disbelieve. “Tell me where you are and I’ll meet you there, no cops; just you and me.”

“You don’t have to look far, Zack.” The killer answered. “I’m outside your dorm room.” The line ended. Zack opened the door but found no one outside.

“Stay inside and call the police.” Zack instructed Chelsea as he gave her phone back.

“What?” Chelsea replied. “Where are you going?” Chelsea pulled Zack inside the room but Zack was determined. “Don’t go chasing a killer. Wait for the police to arrive.” Zack left the room, closing the door behind him. Chelsea dial the police. As she informed detective Connor of the situation, she waited for Zack to return. Minutes passed without hearing from him. She opened the door and checked the halls. She debated whether to wait for the authorities but the longer she waited the more terrified she became. Zack needs me, she told herself. She wouldn’t let another friend die.

Silence rang in her ear as she peered through the corners of the hallways, alert and alone. Weaponless, Chelsea roamed the corridors silently; calling, searching. To her horror, a blood stain caught her view. A bloody hand lay imprinted on the wall. She followed the trail when suddenly her phone rang. The caller ID read, unknown. “Hello?” Chelsea answered, hesitantly. “Hello?” She called again.

“Hello Chelsea.” The same unknown caller from before replied. “What’s your favorite scary movie?”

“I don’t have one.” Chelsea said, slowly entering a deserted den. “What’s yours?”

“Stab,” the caller answered, “Ever heard of it?”

“You mean the one based on the Woodsboro murders?” Chelsea replied. “No, why?”

“Because you’re playing the main character, congratulations.”

“Am I?” Chelsea implied. “Then I should be relieved, right? Doesn’t the main character live by the end of the movie?”

“Not in my movie.”

“Well, hate to break it to you but I never auditioned for the role.” Chelsea stepped inside the lobby. Off in the distance, red and blue lights appeared; sirens followed. “Besides, this is the part when the police come and take you away.”

“Yeah, why is that?” The caller asked. “Did you notify the authorities?”

“As a matter of fact, I did.” Chelsea replied, hopeful.

“That didn’t go too well for Phin or Kit.” The caller laughed.

“Then why don’t you show yourself and get this over with.” Chelsea demanded.

“With pleasure.” Behind her, the killer appeared; blade at hand. Chelsea tossed her phone, hitting the killer in the face. She quickly ran beside the killer, missing a cut to her arm. Chelsea was now in the hallways, running to the front door. She instantly stopped as Zack’s mutilated body blocked the front entrance. Chelsea screamed in fright. The killer widened its grip, its mask silently screamed at her.

“Can you survive the night?” The killer spoke through its mask, its voice auto tuned.

“Fuck you!” Chelsea cursed as she swung at the killer who stood feet away from her. She knocked the killer to the floor. Chelsea turned right and made her way to the stairs. The killer chased her to the second floor before tackling her to the ground. Chelsea fought for her life as the killer aimed its sharp blade to her heart. She took hold of the blade and attempted to free herself from the killer. The killer grabbed her head and slammed it to the floor. The room spun. Chelsea felt the knife stab her in the chest.

“Ah!” Chelsea screamed, hoping someone would come to her rescue. Blood oozed out into her blouse. She placed her hand on the open wound as the killer stood beside her swaying its knife back and forth, teasing her of what’s to come. Chelsea got to her feet and turned the corner. Her hand stained the walls as she limped away from the killer who followed her every move. Chelsea stood by the stair rails and screamed as loud as she could for help.

Chelsea turned as the killer took its knife to her throat. “Now you die.” The killer attempted to slit her throat but Chelsea fought back with whatever strength she had left. The two wrestled for the others death until Chelsea leaned forward. She watched in horror as the killer fell to the first floor, right before cutting the side of her arm. Chelsea applied pressure to her open wound, blood ran down her elbow.

The authorities arrived soon after. Sirens roared all around as ten police cars surrounded the dorm building. Few emerged from their rooms, stunned to find the police outside. Chelsea dropped to her knees, relieved the horror had passed. She survived the night, though scared by the events. The police entered the dorm rooms from the other side with the detectives taking note of Zack’s body.

Detective Stonefield and Connor approached Chelsea who remained by the stairway, shaking in fright. “Did you see where the killer went?” Stonefield asked as they stood before Chelsea. Confused, Chelsea turned to them.

“Did you not see the body?” Chelsea pointed downstairs where the killer fell. To her disarray, the detectives informed her they passed no other body other than Zack’s. Her eyes widened in fear, tears dropped like cannons. As the cops searched the perimeter, they came to find no trace of where the killer escaped. Detective Connor and Stonefield hovered around Chelsea who frantically shook in disbelieve. How could the killer have survived the fall? Chelsea cradled her fears for the killer remained at large.

Going Viral

U want a ride

Be inside

Go far & wide

Better bring that intellect

Catch me on the internet

Crystal sky

I’m on that high

No don’t get shy

Hotter than the Milky Way

Underneath the stars, we play

I’m the type that takes the lead

Yeah we like to smoke that weed

Going viral every week

Working on that good physique

We’re too young to even stress

Getting high & getting blaze

U’r the type that’s never pleased

But u love it when we tease

Hollywood lights

Entice my sights

We reach new heights

U don’t have to b as cool

I just want to work that tool

We levitate

They emulate

Let’s celebrate

Body like an ancient Greek

Smarter than ur average geek

Better bring that intellect

Catch me on the internet

Hotter than the Milky Way

Underneath the stars, we play

U don’t have to b as cool

I just want to work that tool

Body like an ancient Greek

Smarter than ur average geek

Error 404

            Fame and fortune came to a screeching halt as fate approached the finish line. The end of the world was no longer a matter of if, but a matter of when. Heroes, born in a time where no such thing exist, inspired obedience while villains, the privileged elite, enforced laws only they were exempt from. The world became the villains stage as they premeditated man’s future to their design. Only the rich grew richer, the system was never broken; it was built as so. Anyone who opposed were found, purged and eradicated.

            Oblivion loomed in every corner as more revelations came into light, invoking mass civil unrest. Those affected by their official’s corruption rallied together, unionized a militia and marched to the capital but were stopped dead in their tracks as the police turned against the people; protecting only those who held the power, money. Those protesting for change were silenced, exploited into submission. The rest of the world were informed to abide without questioning. To trust those who oppress with good intentions.

            The world kept tittering, spinning into a future obsessed with order and chaos. Many felt sorrow while few bathed in paradise. Others struggled to see the light of day. Slaving away, investing in a life that will never be theirs; inspiring those who watched all the while. Only the privilege reeked the benefits from the corruption that engulfed the world. It is they who have the power to turn things around for the better; for all of mankind. But why would they steer away from something that has worked in their favor?

            Chitter, chatter; ring, ring! Excitement buzzed throughout the commotion as a cocked-up news room kept busy informing the world of the illusions they were governed by. People rushed passed one another, back and forth, as phones rang without an answer. They were all too preoccupied, waking the world from the lies the sheep cling to for a guide, for some hope. One journalist sat in her station as she researched contents for her article. She alone was assigned to find the source, the rumor, the threat that endangered us all.

“Error 404,” in bold read the webpage as she came to a sudden dead end. She sighed as she refreshed the page, hoping to find content to back up her piece. “Page not found.” She leaned and tossed her head back, she stared at the ceiling. The phones kept ringing, the chatter kept echoing. All the whispers blocked her clarity for a solution. She wanted to pull her hair, scream at the top of her lungs, anything to keep her mind off her assignment. Exhaling did little to nothing to ease her mind, frustration. Again, she retyped the website. She hit enter but the same bold letters read, “Error 404.”

“How’s the research going, Rey?” Jean asked as he entered her cubical.

“Dean,” Reyna jolted, “I need you to decode this for me.”

“Sure, scoot over.” Jean replied. Reyna stood, cleared her mind from all the distractions as she paced back and forth in her cubical. Jean sat in her chair and hacked through the system. He broke through firewalls, opened back doors and encryptions. Once he hit enter the page that read, “Error, not found,” suddenly poured vital revelations Reyna was looking for. “There’s a reason why the government codes this kind of information. The deep web is where they burry the truth. Only hackers, decoders, can rummage through their security.”

“You are a genius, Jean.” Reyna proclaimed. “Where would Exposure be without you.”

“Probably with some other low life hacker with little to no morals. They’re in high demand now. Luckily for them, there’s plenty of us to go around; you’re surrounded.” Jean laughed as he left. “Middle schoolers can do it better, but that would be considered child labor. It’s frown upon amongst union workers and bad for our image.” He was now outside Reyna’s cubical, “I’ll be with Dorian if you need me.”

Reyna was back on her expedition to finding the truth. As the webpage loaded, her eyes widened in horror and fascination. The worlds speculations stood right before her, as facts. She scrolled through the deep web. Files on illegal experimentations, assassination plots to chemical poisoning were all too fictitious; like some plot in a movie. The truth is never hidden, she came to realize. It is merely buried as a conspiracy spread by government officials to hide their crimes for if the people knew what their government were doing with their taxes there wouldn’t be a government to overthrow. Reyna printed everything until she stumbled upon another unsettling fact.

 “The rumors are true,” the documents verified as she kept scrolling, printing religiously. The screen began to glitch. “What?” Her monitor then turned off. She tried to reboot her computer but the screen never revived. “Unbelievable.” Her computer tower crashed as she tried again and again but to no avail. She took her findings and made her way to another computer, hers no longer functioned. She needed a better, more secure computer. One she’s come to know is far more reliable than anyone she knows. One name remained circling above her head.

The floor room reeked of coffee and cigarettes. Smoke clouds hung throughout the ceiling, fogging the station. Back and forth, people kept passing one another; all full of unpublished material ready to be materialized. Reyna turned the corner to where Jean and Dorian stood. Their editor proofread their articles. “Jean,” she called moments later, “I’m going to need your computer. Mine crashed.” Jean excused himself and brought Reyna to his station.

Without missing a beat, Jean logged into his computer and made room for Reyna to sit. “Guess someone doesn’t want me to expose the truth.” Reyna handed Jean her papers and enlightened him on her findings. Jean stood amazed as he summarized every page. Historical staged events to rigged elections. Hit list filed by government officials targeting average citizens and non-citizens to foreign and local officials. Global terrorist organization groups working with government officials. Manipulations to annexations, corporate espionage to brainwash; it was all there.

“I was just about to click on this one file when suddenly my computer crashed.” Reyna explained as she retyped the website Jean had hacked through.

“I can see why.” Jean replied. “Look at this,” he pointed to a page she had printed, “Back in Roswell, the incident was staged to lure peoples trust back to the government. They manipulated an entire town to draw attention away from what the government was actually doing. They recruited scientists and Hollywood executives to brainwash those who knew the truth to make them seem like some conspiracy nut jobs. Jesus.” Jean flipped another page. “They’re lacing the water supply with dumbing chemicals that will make people susceptible to their officials every word, in an essence, mind control.”

“They’re doing far more things than mass control.” Reyna added. “And I have proof.”

“Listen to this,” Jean commented, too lost in Reyna’s findings, “There are agencies in the government with objectives to seek those ‘awake’ to prevent revolutions against their officials. It’s like one big movie plot.” Jean read on, “There’s even names of renowned Hollywood producers who have ties with government officials. They’re working together to spy on certain people to gain inspiration for their next blockbuster by hacking those writing their own.” Jean turned another page, nodding in awe.

“They’re monitoring people for a reason. Our safety sure as hell isn’t.” Reyna input.

“They were probably monitoring you too.” Jean replied.

“Do you think they can disable computers wirelessly?” Reyna asked. They silently questioned, wondering the inevitable.

“It would explain why your computer crashed.” Jean answered. “We did hack the system, opened Pandora’s box.”
            “If you think that was the end of it, think again.” Reyna replied. “Remember that article I was assigned?” Jean nodded in response, buried in Reyna’s findings. “Well I found information to back it up.” Reyna was back on the deep web, back to where she was before her computer crashed. “Here,” Reyna found the file she was looking for, “Here is the proof.” She clicked on the file. Just as the page was loading, the computer mysteriously glitch. “It’s happening again.” The screen faded in and out, the tower began to spark.

“They are hacking us.” Jean answered. Reyna stepped aside as Jean countered the attack. “They’re clever but I hacked their manual a long time ago.” Jean texted a series of symbols, letters and numbers; what more is there is to hacking? The tower stopped sparking, the screen froze for a moment. As the computer rebooted, Jean and Reyna feast their eyes on the future of mankind. “Reyna, tell me you are printing this.” Plots for a mass exodus hidden only to the general public were now in Jean and Reyna’s possession.

“It’s already begun.” Reyna read a list of steps needed, and accomplished, in order to prepare for an extinction, “They’re poisoning the population, deforming the lower class into retarded savages. They’re seeking and eliminating those who defy their new world order to keep the rest of the population in fear and obedient. We hacked all of their plans for world domination,” she raised the pages sliding out of the printer, “We can make a difference. The elite ruling class are preparing themselves for a nuclear extinction that we can prevent.”

“They’ve even recruited an elite army to arm themselves for protection. Look,” Reyna pointed out, “They built underground pods that can sustain harmful radiation with years supply of food and water. The locations to the underground pod entrances are everywhere and they’re connected but coded with a password. Only those with the key are granted a life in the coming new world.” She turned to Jean, “It’s all here Jean, the end of the world. Our apocalypse, Armageddon.” She paused, denning the truth that stood before her very eyes. She shook her head in disbelieve.

“The rich are planning the apocalypse to purge the world of all its evil.” Jean read moments later. “Only in this case, the lower class are the evil the world needs to eradicate.” Jean sat beside Reyna as she concealed the horror in her face. “Names and accomplices are all there too.” Jean added. “We can stop them. They’re planning another genocide because they fear the poor will purge the rich. What is this, the 90’s? These people are insane, fear has become their center. Is this the only way they’ll accomplish their goals for total control? They’re completely delusional. Surely they can’t see poor people as savages, they’re just people.”

“But look around you.” Reyna commented. “People of privilege fear those unfortunate because they think those unfortunate want everything the privilege have and will do anything to get it. Why else do they arm themselves with state of the art security system? It’s what everyone wants and when everyone wants the same thing, no one can.” She turned to Jean who shared the same expression. “The people need to know their fate. We must expose the truth so people can come together and put an end to this.”

“It will only create more mass panic.” Jean replied. “It’s what they want so they can go forward with their plan. Don’t you get it, why else would the media, owned by the very same corporations who are plotting the end of the world, be revealing what the government has been suppressing for years? The ruling class want civil unrest so that they can convince the other elites to join the apocalypse they’re creating. It’s all part of their plan, and we have the evidence to prove it. We must go to the authorities.”

“But what if they’re doing this so that we can come together instead of overthrowing each other into extinction?” Reyna questioned, seeing every possible outcome. “What if they’re testing the public to see whether or not they, the world, are worth saving? There’s no reason as to why the rich would eradicate the world simply because of their fear towards those less unfortunate. Without the lower class, who will support their products, inventions? Minimizing the population will only dwindle their currency. Its illogical.”

“Unless fear has taken over them completely.” Jean answered. “Don’t forget, that’s what they run on. They use fear to control, manipulate, people into trusting them. Besides, there are far more poor people than there are rich. We are the 99 percent; they are just one percent of the population. We have them surrounded. Why else would the government be targeting the lower class? Minimizing the poor population with cancerous chemicals.”

“There’s only one way to find out.” Reyna replied. “We must go public with this, then we go to the authorities. Let the people decide their fate for themselves.”

A week later, Reyna publicized her article in hopes of making people see the only chance for survival anyone has, the world for that matter, is to unite regardless of which social class they belonged to but it was too late. Those who lingered in the shadows, the watchful eye, blocked Reyna’s message of unity with propaganda. The agents of chaos muffled her voice with paranoia and illusions, changing people’s perspective for the worse. The end of an era was at hand, just as planned. Nothing could be done to change their minds.

“People just want to live.” Mocked the oppressors, the elite ruling class. “When we ourselves want the exact same thing only some rather live a life of crime when left to their own devises. We invest in a world where obedience is ours to control without the hassle of asking, and why should we ask? Our forefathers foresaw a nation where people cherish, praise, us for our noble cause to breed a perfect top notch elite world. We have upheld all of their wishes.” They recollected, “It’s not as simple for one to build a life we didn’t see for them anymore. This is what the people want, order without chaos.” They all congratulated themselves.

“And what of this rebellion?” The child who ruled them all, the master puppeteer to an invisible sovereign deity, breathed through his oxygen mask.

“Just another addition to our ever expanding conspiracy book.” Millyen Vaultz answered. “Nothing we haven’t dealt with before. I mean, people still believe aliens are abducting them.” They laughed in unison. “No better time to go forward with our plans. Gentlemen, the future has never been so bright. Everything we’ve foreseen has come to fruition. All pieces lay where they should. The new world is prime for harvest.”

“People will know what’s coming.” The master added.

“Some do.” The Illusionist replied. “But no one believes them, no one ever believes them. We make sure of that.” She smirked. “Those who speak the truth are seen as delusional individuals with mental issues, out of touch with reality because they forget who they challenge. We are the powers that be. We will everyone’s future to fit our design. We’ve evolved, more organized than ever before. Our order is not one to mess with, that is for certain.”

“Besides,” Vaultz recalled, “What can the people do? The only power they hold is believing they have a vote. The only thing they can do is inform the sleepers of what’s coming but that will only get them so far. Men, it’s time we burn this world to the ground, rise from the ashes as the phoenix once did and bring forth a world perfect for our descendants to pass on our reign. This world has grown dead, no longer fit for our labor. We must begin anew. Birth a world spoiled in elegance, fit for Gods return.”

“Anew we will fulfill.” The master breath as his heart monitor murmured beside him. “Our ancestors survived the great flood. They fought the Atlantic. They thrived through the native genocide. Rose above the civil war era. We by extension will carry our forefather’s legacy of designing a world free of all its evil. We, gentlemen, will solidify our reign. We will be remembered for all generations as the founding fathers of the new elite world.”

The end of the world came as scheduled. The few who could reserve sanctuary went down to their bunkers, just as told. They sealed themselves from harm’s way as the rest of the world blindly accepted their fate. The outside stood free for just a split moment as the privilege hid. No one stood divided from social class or creed. No one had more than the other. The world was at peace, until the sirens came roaring in the distance. Underground the elite remained, waiting for the screams to end.

The sky trembled as the military machine approached. An ominous threat lingered in the air as people became alarmed. A woman screamed as she realized the inevitable. The sun vanished as bombs fell. The fires grew a mile high as nuclear toxins exploded in every corner. Innocent lives were gone in the atomic blaze. Their cries for help were muffled, only their all-seeing God watched as his children annihilated each other without mercy. Their screams infused with the blaze were haunting to those underground. No one came to their rescue. No one came for their souls.

The nuclear catastrophe lasted for years as calculated. While the elite roamed in their underground community pods, the flames up above engulfed all corners of the world; incinerating the old to usher in anew. The new birth was long but necessary. History would never remember those lost in the streets. Earths new children would never mourn the evil their forefathers exterminated. Time will only tell of its rise from the ashes, it’s ascension to a perfect privilege world.

“Help,” came a wounded survivor buried among the rubble, “Help!” He shouted but the flames were louder. Through the dancing inferno, a bright luminous orb hovered above. He reached towards the light, desperately gripping for a savior. The military helicopter patrolling the rummage aimed its beams towards the wounded survivor and torched him to death. They torched them all to death. The only survivors came from underground bunkers.

Prophets for Sale

Heroes towered together, in the Fortress of Man, as time spun the world to the verge of a global nuclear catastrophe. Chemical warfare was perfected, targets were located, missiles were locked and lines were crossed. Paranoia spread across the world as people came to find the secret their government suppressed. The people knew their lives were expendable to their government for profits. They knew their towers fell that eleventh of September by the lust for greed, power. They knew their heroes were villains.

People band in the masses, marched to the capital unarmed, not for a proclamation or a declaration but for their official’s incarceration. The official’s public resignation counted for nothing, people wanted justice. The people wouldn’t stand and let war criminals walk free with their loved one’s blood in their hands, not after the revelations brought upon by an independent agent. He alone revealed everything the government kept hidden against the people they were inaugurated to serve. He alone dared to free the world from the shackles of liberty.

It was the French revolution all over again only this time no royalty, those in power, were hung or beheaded because the powers that be had learned what needed to be done in order to maintain the upper hand against those who dare defy them. Why else would government officials be keen as to monitor civilians? If they know where the revolution begins they know where to send their puppets to take control of the situation. An elementary scheme all too flawed to those defective towards their dumbing immunization chemicals.

 Riots brawled in the streets as the police armed in military gear suppressed those in rural parts of the revolution. All media outlets, owned by corporations, exploited those who joined the cause; anyone who opposed their new world order. Writers, members of the elite cult, mocked those who lead the revolution in their shows, movies, by turning the world against them; pinning them as the terrorist. Their antics were lost to those aware, to those awake from their deceit, to the rest of the 99 percent.

The masses had grown wise to the government’s manipulation propaganda machine. Two thousand years of lies had finally caught up to the master puppeteers. While the media kept quiet on the matter, the internet weaved multitude of links for people to find and join the truth. Little did they know, those links were created by the government to track those leading and joining the revolution. As the media dumbed its sheep, the internet enlightened all. It wasn’t long before people started to notice the government censor and block that truth as well, fueling the revolt.

“He is not one of us nor will he ever be.” The new king proclaimed. His brethren stood around while the old king’s daughter remained in disbelieve. “He broke the rules, Princess. So I ask again, who here will help this illegal stray?” He gestured to a file on the table, a picture lay expose. “Who will go beyond the line of duty just to rescue an outsider who stands against us?” He waited for an answer while the old king’s daughter urged them, anyone, to see beyond their borders. One bravely stepped forward only to be killed on the spot. “No one is going to his rescue,” he addressed the Princess, “I am absolution!”

“If my father were still around,” the Princess began, “He’d see you behind bars.” The Princess kneeled beside her fallen hero as she closed his eyes for the last time. “My father would have shown mercy to that stray because even the old kings knew what it took to keep a nation, not just sustain one.” The new king chuckled. “We have lost!” She exclaimed to the rest, to the other heroes, as she took her stance. “We have become puppets to the forces of evil. Greed has made us forget who we were, what we stood for. That outsider may not be one of us, but neither were we. Please,” she pledged once more, “Be the hero. Prove them wrong.”

“They aren’t going to do anything unless I say so.” The new king replied cold-heartedly. “Don’t forget where their legions lie.”

“Then I’ll ask you again,” she implored.

“But you already know the answer, Princess.” The boss reminded her. “Besides we never go back on our word. What makes you think he can be trusted? It was you who sold and purged all of his unpublished work, why would he trust you?” He laughed while he sat on his throne made of silver and gold. “You see now, how someone can alter their perspective of you once they’ve received our answer. An answer that would have changed their lives for the better. An answer they weren’t expecting. Do you see now, Princess, who he really is?” He looked her in the eye, “You should be thanking me, if not he’d betray you first.”

“His trust was never needed because he’s better than that. We used to be better than that.” The Princess confessed. “We need him just as much as he needs us.” The Princess leveled with the new king once more. “Don’t forget why you turned your machine on in the first place. You went out looking for his insights, or has our majesty forgotten whose vision it was to move our troops out of Syria? Had we not listened to that stray, all of your platoons would have died; we would have been one squadron less. Prime for an irreversible loss.”

“Don’t tell me you have fallen for his cheap parlor trick as well.” He answered exhausted on the matter. “He is fooling you, why can’t you see that?”

“Because the only one being fooled is you.” The Princess proclaimed. “If you or anyone in here won’t help him, then I will.”

“You dare leave the circle?” He laughed, bewildered. “For an outsider? What would your father say? You know you can’t leave my presence; it was your fathers dying wish for me to keep you protected. Have I not?” He stopped, “Go soak in your silk bath, Princess, I’ll come up when you have simmered down.” He settled back in his throne, “I’ve had heard enough about him. My answer is final.” He took a bite of an apple sitting on the table, “Take her away.” He ordered his minions.

The Princess shook his minions away, proclaimed he would regret his decision and exited the room. The Princess didn’t in fact go to her chambers. Instead she sought to do what the heroes should have done a long time ago, the right thing; but do people ever do the right thing? To some, doing what’s right means doing what’s wrong. Yet it is they who forget the deed and the purpose is what deciphers the act from being good or bad.

Deep in the trenches of the Middle East, a heard of soldiers raided a small city near the borders of Iraq. Bombs exploded in every corner as innocent lives scattered from the debris. Smoke concealed the sun as people ran for cover, not sure where to go or where to hide. Small orphaned children cried as they stood calling for their missing God. Women screamed in their native tongue, urging anyone they crossed to follow them to safety. Brave civilians fought back with whatever they could find, but it wasn’t enough. Their city was purged in the name of justice, greed.

Gas grenades slowly creeped into their hiding spots, suffocating them to death. Hospitals were bombed as they fell to their foundation, killing all who resided inside. People ran not sure why their homes were being destroyed. American soldiers cleaned the streets with the native’s blood as they sought to change the world, one third world country at a time. Off in the distance, a small militia entered the crumbling city as they made their voices heard.

Their battle cry echoed with the bombs as they charged those who dared knock at their door. Frightful women and children desperately gravitated towards the militia for they were all the hope they had left after the gore they had just endured. The militia pulled them aside as bullets fired in the sand, aiming for their heads. The militia assured them their safety as they entered the gauntlet massacre. Shots were fired as the battle edged, each side slaughtering one another in hopes for the others defeat. Victory was declared as the outsiders placed their flag on top of the foreigner’s capital.

The militia gathered whoever limbed alive and took them across the border near a town unclaimed by the soldiers. There, they regrouped and armed themselves for yet another war ignited by justice. The militia men fed and clothed the lost, the weary. Supporters mended the injured. Volunteers gathered the dead. Hope was lost in the name of liberty as the foreigner’s home were taken by free men under orders.

“This is wrong,” Jone began as he sat by the fire surrounded by the injured. The militia guarded the grounds. “How can the world be oblivious to the slaughter caused by the peacemakers? Where have all the good people gone?” He asked himself over and over as cries of pain and misery whispered in the night. A child next to him sobbed as he muttered the bloodshed of his family. Jone did nothing to comfort the kid for he had no clue as to what to say. It was his people, after all, who had invaded their homes.

The full moon beamed while the stars harmonized in the sky. Clouds hovered as the night whispered effortlessly; surrounding them, comforting them. Light in the distance gleamed as bombs exploded, war kept the night warm. A man bearing wood came as the fire dimmed. He wrestled the barks of wood into the fire, warming those who sat around. He dared not look up for he could see the injustice in their scars.

“Why are we attacking them?” Jone asked the man bearing wood. Only he understood his language. “Does the world not know it was us behind 9/11 and not them? Are people not awake from the lies our officials keep spreading?” He shook his head, trying to erase the images of innocent bloodshed. “This is wrong.” The man bearing wood said nothing, he contemplated as the fire grew.

“Oil is a finite resource.” Doe finally answered as he made a spot to sit. The fire cracked as the wood burned. “No one alive, aware, are surprised at the extent officials will go to just so they can keep a sense of stability. Putting the blame on some foreign country is a lie much easier to convince. After all, 9/11 did happen and we all tuned in to watch. Did we do something about it afterwards, yes. Was it the right thing to do, no. People weren’t too fond of the Iraq War just as much as the Vietnam War but they still fought them. It’s not the people who have all the power, so why blame them?”

“Because they contribute to our official’s corruption by fighting their wars.” Jone replied. “They murder innocent lives for medals, for honor. If people aren’t in charge, why fight a war they didn’t start?”

“Some, if not all, do it for the money.” Doe answered. “Money is the root of all our problems. Others, on the contrary, are fooled or believe they are doing their duty by protecting their country; we all have our reasons.”

“But how can bloodshed be justifiable?” Jone asked, frustrated on the matter. “Why can’t people see it’s our officials to blame for the world’s problem and no one else? They are the ones in power, so shouldn’t they be put to blame? The French learned that a long time ago. When will the world follow through?” A woman carrying a basket handed them food and water. She said nothing as she passed. “All those websites in the internet that expose the truth, with evidence, isn’t enough to incarcerate our officials with crimes of war. Protesting for their incarceration will only get you arrested, hacked and exploited. How is any of that right?”

“What makes you, or anyone, think those websites are being run by people who represent the masses and not just one percent of them then?” Doe replied. “If they reveal the truth, why hasn’t anyone been arrested? Where’s the change their website declare? Wouldn’t you suspect the government is behind all of those websites as well? Wouldn’t they be just another propaganda machine for their puppets to spread? To keep their lies relevant.”

“Don’t forget,” Doe recalled, “The government runs everything, their puppets are everywhere. Recruiting people to spy on those who oppose or don't belong in their new world order. Scouting for unsung heroes to purge. Storing useless data in order to use as leverage and exploit anyone who dares stand against them and their cult. It’s how tyrants keep their power, nation.” He paused, “It’s what they did to my friend only no one believed him, I didn’t believe him. Not until I became a target.” They remained silent, the fire burned.

“Is that why you joined the militia?” Jone asked.

“No, why?” Doe questioned.

“Why did you join then?” Jone seemed intrigued.

“I didn’t.” Doe answered. “They came to me.” He reflected, “I had a friend who challenged his officials because he could; he was a citizen after all. I, on the other hand, was brought to America because my parents wanted a better life not just for them but for me; a life our ancestors had before the settlers arrived and were forced to migrate elsewhere. My parents faithfully believed, blinded by the lies officials pass for truth to keep their heads free of speculations and scrutiny, in the America that once existed. If it ever existed.”

Doe tossed a few more barks of wood into the fire, fanned its flames and kept the warmth strong. “It’s unfortunate that my parents and the millions of refugees fleeing to America weren’t aware that the America and her everlasting beacon of hope was just an illusion for those seeking solace where they are not welcomed. I was blessed enough to have met someone who didn’t see color or race. He helped me in ways any human could. He showed me that there are still good people around.”

 “When my friend joined the revolution,” Doe dug deeper, “He implied that the New World Order, good and evil, had team up against him; that the government was monitoring, exploiting him. Singling him out from the others who opposed. Eradicating them one by one. He kept shoving his paranoia down my throat, urging me to believe him but I didn’t. Why would the government spy, single out some small city kid with no ambitions? Don’t they have bigger problems on their plate? All he did was challenge his officials to better their congress, like any other citizen wanting a fair government.”

“It’s not when the media announced the government were tracking non-citizens when I began to understand what he had meant.” Doe pondered for a moment. “He killed himself before I could tell him I believed,” Doe spoke to the fire. “I didn’t blame him for his suicide because I understood. I knew then what he had meant by having the government spy on his every word, overwhelming him with paranoia; pushing him to suicidal thoughts, mad. Everything I did, all the side jobs I could get to the life I was living under the government’s watchful eye suddenly became television content.”

“You too?” Jone interrupted.

“I didn’t know what to do.” Doe replied. “I contacted Anonymous Headquarters, all those websites declaring they stand by and fight for the people, seeking help but I only came to find they too were bought puppets. They began to do what the government and the elite cult were doing, exploiting secrets to sell their propaganda.” He paused, “I didn’t know who to go to. The only one who knew what I was going through, my only friend, killed himself because no one believed him. I didn’t believe him.” He closed his eyes to forget.

“With my father deported,” Doe continued, “I couldn’t fill my mother with my inconveniences. It was bad enough she was diagnosed with cancer. Hearing my propaganda would have only added extra stress, it would have been too much for her to handle. So I kept to myself thinking it was for the best.” He stopped, “I then came to find that the government had deported her as well while I was gone.” He tossed a few more barks of wood into the fire. The light grew warmer.

“I went to the closets church I could find to seek shelter,” Doe commented a moment later. “Because that’s what they’re there for, one would think. I spoke to the pastor and confessed everything. He told me I could spend the night until I sort out my differences. That same night Homeland Security came for me, the pastor had sold me out. They came for me but they weren’t going to take me back to Mexico, they always have other things in mind. Whatever it is they wanted from me, God only knew, I sure as hell didn’t.”

“They were going to keep me in their detention center, interrogate whatever information they could get out of me.” Doe addressed Jone, “I could already see their torture chambers when suddenly we got ambushed. At first, I didn’t know what was happening. Guns blazed, names were called. It all happened so fast. I thought that was the end for me when the doors opened and there they were, the militia. A woman called to me, ‘Stay or come with us,’ as she killed the guards. I’ve been under their custody ever since.” Doe ended. “What about you? How did you get involved in all of this?”

“Well,” Jone began, “Like your friend, I too challenged my officials because I could. As a citizen, it’s my right and obligation to challenge my officials because it’s my life in their hands. No one seems to grasp that concept. Whether you’re a citizen or not, you live here too; all voices count. I lost numerous of friends because of my rebellion on social media. Even my family turned a blind eye on what was happening around us. My father kicked me out of the house and told me to do something better with my life. I stayed with a few friends before they too found out about my resistance, my place in the revolution.”

“No one wanted to get involved in fear of losing their jobs, their stability.” Jone guessed, not sure of the real reason. “When millions of others have lost theirs, so what about them? Where’s their justice?” He paused, “No one likes to get involved in fear of the government put them on a list and hack their secrets when there are agencies made for that very reason, to explore people’s secrets. There are branches of the government, cults, that recruit for espionage. Sure they give their reasons, to keep our nation secure, yet violence seems to escalate.”

“Why have the government spy on everyone if crime keeps escalating?” Jone asked. “How has the NSA, FBI or the CIA alone not prevented all those mass shootings in the past year, decade? Since they have a close eye on everyone with rigged phones and satellites that monitor everything, why hasn’t anyone been stopped?” Jone paused. “It’s not until I came to find that the government is run by an elite cult whose sole purpose is to seek and illuminate hidden truths when I decided to write a book about it.”

“Like you said before,” Jone compared, “I too began to see the truth. Everything I saved, every unpublished book, in my pen drive was exploited on television, commercials and online by the all-seeing cult. So I filed a law suit against these agencies that were exploiting, hacking, my data but the more I inquired for their charges the more I saw my life be expose on the television screen. My past was referenced in commercials, secrets were revealed in movies and talk shows. They’ll say no to you but yes to your ideas. It didn’t surprise me as to how much one can benefit from your talent without your consent when the government sets laws design to keep a close eye on people.”

“The more lawsuits I inquired against their best puppets the more did I see just who in this world had sold their fate to evil.” Jone stated. “Every morning I’d wake to hear the news recite what I’ve written, done, the night before. Topics of what I wrote in chapters, said to loved ones, were theirs to comment, emulate and exploit. All of my unpublished books were spoiled, purged because I didn’t belong, I oppose, their new world order. It’s not until I stumbled upon the militia’s mission when I finally saw a light at the end of the tunnel. The universe had at long last delivered me a ray of hope.”

“Finally,” Jone exhausted, “Someone sees what I see. Someone out there knows the truth and are doing something about it. So, I contacted the militia. Next thing I know they pay for my plane ticket and I’m off to Lebanon. I’ve been with them ever since.” He reminisced, “Four years of injustice, war against my own brothers and sisters. Years without seeing someone familiar, family.” He shook his head in despair, “This is all wrong.” Doe said nothing. “Our government invoke civil unrest, war, for profits while undesirables are being exploited by the elite, altering history to their design. Justifying them playing God.”

“The rest of the population do nothing in hopes of being spared just so they can keep a roof over their heads, food on the table and their secrets safe from the watchful eye.” Jone paused, “If everyone has a purpose, why was theirs to be a sheep?” Jone finished, anger caught in his throat. “They only suppress, monitor, those who defy because that’s how you keep a slave nation under control.”

“Is that not for profits then?” Doe later asked. “Our country fight for black gold while these foreigners fight to keep their homes. Homes cost money to sustain, gold lets us keep our homes so aren’t we fighting the same war? Are lines not blurred? War is never the answer but it leads to results, yet nothing has been fixed. War has merely become a profitable repetitive tradition with no end in sight. Peace can be the answer and just imagine what bountiful results that would produce.” The fire began to dim. Doe tossed the wood around to keep it alive.

“If you didn’t join, why are you here?” Jone asked. “If no one is keeping you hostage, why not ask them to take you back home?”

“Because in me being here,” Doe began, “I’ve noticed how lost the militia are. Granted, I’m here on my own free will but the more I stay the more I see how desperate for a guide they’ve become. People who are awake gravitate towards the militia because they see them fighting the real enemy, us. Our government trained these rebels to fight their enemies but now that they are fighting to protect their homes from us, they’re labeled as terrorist for resisting. Those easily fooled believe the militia are terrorist but those who aren’t know better. It’s unfortunate that those numbers are low.”

“Take you for example,” Doe pointed out, “You were on the right path only you got discouraged because you didn’t get any results, justice. Because they hacked and purged your life they’ve committed a crime punishable by law; corporate espionage, terrorism, exploitation, obstruction of justice, tampering of evidence, official oppression. How is an elite cult who everyone knows to illuminate truths not be held or seen liable in a court of law?”

“Because not everyone would believe.” Jone answered. “They use the government as a shield to execute their crimes. How is anyone to correct the system when those in office use the charges exposing their corruption as a means to target and exploit those making a difference?" Silence took over. "Most of them are members if not eagerly anticipating a membership, anyways." Jone ended, "Not everyone benefits from their blessings.”

“Then wouldn’t that be up to you to make the world see that truth?” Doe asked. “If not you, then who? Who out there in this big brave world of ours is wise enough to stand against these giants? Intimidation is the only thing protecting these suppressors. By them spying on everyone, their intimidation's get real and personal but isn’t that the acts of a desperate tool? A tool who knows they’ve been defeated? Why else keep a close eye on the public, retaliating by exploiting those they spy on? Seeking small victories to replace their endless defeats.”

Doe paused for Jone to reply but he remained silent. Doe noticed there seemed a change in Jone as he continued, “Are we the people not better, braver than them?” Doe kept the dimming light from fading. “You are the power they fear because you are of a different kind; that is what makes you, us, targets. They’ll let you in on their little cult, gang, but if you don’t measure up to their unrealistic standards they’ll feed you to the sharks.”

“Our officials forget along with the elite cult,” Doe added, “We, the people, are what steers this nation to the future. We are the future they can’t oppress. Those keeping track on unwelcome people who inspire revolutions, to them, we are mere prophets on sale. Free thinkers exploited, hacked by the watchful eye but to the rest of the sleeping world we are their heroes, unsung legends, urging us to free them from the lies they cling to. That is why we resist, defy, because we weren’t made to be controlled. We were made to live.”

Wind blew the embers up into the air as they pranced away then disappear into the night. Jone and Doe remained in the circle, surrounded by those labeled terrorist. The fire warmed as it cracked. The night slowly transitioned into dawn as the stars faded effortlessly by the approaching sun. They looked around and shared the pain of losing their homes to the forces of liberty and justice.

“You can take those who wronged you to court,” Doe suggested, “Just know their members will tamper the truth. Know this,” he added, “It is not the win but the exposure that counts. Expose one elite in court can lead to the rest and the cult they hide behind. You wouldn’t be the first or the last exposing them. Once word gets out, others will join in. It is they, though, who are being persecuted, silenced, in the process. Care to guess why? Because the all-seeing cult know there are countless of others who defy, expose, the truth that jeopardizes their old new world order. For every member there are ten million nonmembers ready to purge, overthrow them into poverty.”

“Puppets have strings and strings leave trails that lead to the puppeteer.” Doe quoted. “Once you reach that age when you figure out who the real enemy is, they will find you. Just like they found the others before you. They will send their minions after you, exploit your life in their shows, movies, ads but they’ll only be proving you right. So go home, Jone.” Doe finished. “Go home and change the world there. It’s become your destiny.” Doe gathered the rest of the wood and made his way to another dimming fire.

Jone reminisced as Doe’s suggestion settled. Suddenly, Jone had a whole new perspective. His heart lightened, his mind raced and his spirit rekindled. At last, he thought, Jone had found a better purpose in life. He handed the kid who mumbled the loss of his family his share of food and water then made his way to the camp. There, he would pardon with the militia and head back home where he can sort out the problems of his country there.

“Excuse me.” The Princess apologized as she ran into Jone. “My name is Erra, I’m looking for someone.” She extended a hand to Jone as she stood to dust the dirt off her shoulders. “It’s a long shot but I’m asking everyone I meet or stumble upon, have you seen him?” Jone seemed lost and disoriented. He turned to where Doe had left and noticed he was gone. Jone then turned to Erra as she added, “I didn’t get his name but he’s tall, Hispanic, dark hair.” Erra blushed, “You probably don’t know who I’m talking about, sorry for the interruption. Thank you for your help.”

“No, wait.” Jone replied. “What do you want with him?”

“So you know him?” Erra asked.

“I might,” Jone answered. “Why haven’t I seen you before?”

“Would you happen to know where he is?”

“I’m going to need a name or a detailed description.” Jone commented. “Do you know how many guys fit that role right now?”

“I don’t have much time,” she replied. “I need his help. Please, this is urgent, point me in the right direction. Where did you see him last?”

“Here,” Jone ushered her, “Let’s start here.” Together, Jone and Erra entered the camp where the injured moaned from the pain that killed them. Dawn approached with the sound of explosions. More soldiers heard the grounds as innocent blood smeared the Holy Lands. Woman and children ran for their lives. Men stayed and fought to protect their homes from the invaders. They were no match for the sons of liberty. The militia stumbled as they retreated with whoever they could rescue. Jone and Erra were caught in the fire.

“Where is she!” The king demanded as he stormed out of the Princess chambers. His minions ignorantly muffled for explanations as he passed. He scrolled through their monitors, searching for the Princess whereabouts. He looked and looked until he saw her exit their fortress, their Watchtower of Sanctuary. “Who let her escape?!” He wanted answers and he wanted them now. No one dared say a word.

His temper rising, the new king made his way down the tower and into the dungeons. There, his prisoners rot to death; their corpses float in the sewers. Far in the deepest of corners, one prisoner remained, the old king, locked forever in his cell. Kept alive, left to die slowly but surely. The new king took a torch and toyed with his last remaining captor. He laughed as the old pitiful sack of rotting flesh he once called king begged for his release.

“It seems that we have found ourselves another one of your successors,” the new king began, “My liege.” The boss walked back and forth, admiring himself as always. “He’s stuck in your old ways, the idiot.” He paused. “All that potential and still they remain clinging to the past when it’s the future they should embrace. Our future. They need to know your old ways are over. This is the new world, my world. We no longer need old kings like you, no, we have found so much more. And I have delivered just that, without your guidelines.”

“So,” the king finished, “While the world spins ignorant, we illuminate with excellence by the insights we are monitoring. I transcended this worthless cult you handed down to me and I’ve made it worth wild. No other king has done the things I’ve done, just to keep this recycled nation you call home. And I’m not finished, not by a long shot. I’m going to sell your country to the terrorist. I’ll make them the president, what would you think of your nation then, my old king?” He smiled, “To know the world mourned a king who lives just to watch his nation deteriorate.” He laughed, maniacally.

“Your daughter left the circle,” the new king remembered to mention, “For an outsider.”

“Even she knows what it takes to keep a nation.” The old king replied.

Furious, the new king stormed out of the dungeon leaving the Princess’s father locked in his cell. High did the elevator ascend as he searched the world for his missing Princess in the palm of his hand. His country came alive as the sun rose behind him. His minions scrambled for resolutions while his noble puppets remained exposed buried in lawsuits. The Princess was his only key to turning things around. Without her his agendas would only free the world from their deceit, according to plan. No one leaves my circle.