So, before I go, to say thanks for popping in every now and again and reading my bewildering blether, have a short story on me. It's not even remotely festive.
Enjoy, Merry Christmas, and see you on the other side.
Perry hadn’t
slept in three days. Not since he’d worked it out. Not since the last piece of
the puzzle had presented itself, like a full-colour, 3D blow to the frontal
cortex and he’d finally, after twenty years, fit the whole thing together. The
World Government was real. He’d found them. The masters of humanity:
identified; tagged; nailed down. Incontrovertible proof that, despite all the
conspiracy theories, despite all the crazy people and the pop culture mockery
and the Hollywood hand-waving, there was a secret cabal that ruled the
planet. The faces in his folder. The names on his list. They all checked out.
They all left trails. It had taken him twenty years, twenty years of playing
the game, being the spy in the network, moving up the corporate and military and
Government ladders until he could talk to the right people, stalk the right
people, track the right people. And find the right people. All in his folder.
All on his list.
Three days.
He hadn’t slept, hadn’t stopped moving. Constant movement had become his watchword,
his way of avoiding surveillance. He knew too much for safety. Who they were.
How they did it. Mind control. Perry
snorted into his coffee. All those theories, all those lunatic fringes, all
those message boards. All correct, without the strength of character to prove
it. The Government, the real Government, could do control people’s
minds. Were already doing it. Had been for years. Perry glanced around the
diner. The only question was how. It wasn’t via the air. He had disproved that
theory early. But it could be via contact, via subliminal messages in the TV,
could even be something they put in the food. Through food. Jesus. He stared
down at the coffee, then dropped the cup in sudden panic, watching the brown
dregs as they pooled on the tabletop. Jesus. Through the food. He scrambled out
of the booth and strode towards the exit. If they were doing it through food
then movement was no longer a protection. It was a weakness, perhaps his only
one. Anything prepared by a stranger was suspect. He had to get home, had to
barricade himself against the world and work out what to do. He would need to
source food, as fresh as possible, prepare it himself to be sure. Avoid
processed meals, avoid anything tinned. Wash it himself, prepare it himself.
That was the only way to be sure.
There was
an ATM nearby. Perry steered towards it, peered at himself in the mirrored
surface above the slot. Tired, haggard eyes stared back. He took out everything
he had, made sure to keep the receipt. Leave no trace behind. That was the key.
He turned the collar of his coat up, shrunk inside. A fresh food marketplace. A
new kitchen knife. Supplies. Paid in cash. Talked to nobody. Said nothing. The
hot weight of his file under his arm, tucked in against his ribs. Hidden. Safe.
Took it out as he strode towards his flat. This, this was the evidence
that would bring everything down, would expose the secret masters for what they
really were, he thought, tearing it into pieces as he walked. Once this got out
the world Government, the cabal, would topple. He dropped the folder into a
bin, kept walking, his mind made up. Tomorrow, he would find safe avenues for
release, people untouched by the global corporate message, and give them the
information, see it released to the public in a million ways. He smiled,
relieved now he had reached the endgame, and threw his money into an empty lot.
His flat
was cold, dark, all his surveillance equipment undisturbed. Perry nodded in
satisfaction. They hadn’t found him, not yet. They were still unaware of his
pursuit. He put the food away, crumpled up the ATM receipt and flicked it onto
the living room floor along with his empty wallet. Then he moved about the
flat, making sure everything was in place: pulling out drawers, overturning
furniture, slashing cushions with the new knife. Everything was as it should
be. Perry released the breath he had been holding. He knew from long experience
that this was the most dangerous time. The job was done but not finished. He
could not afford complacency. After tomorrow, the world would be changed. There
would be danger then. Those whose downfall he caused would be hurt, and would
know his name. But for now he was safe, and undetected. Eat only the fresh
food, he thought, draining a glass of beer from the fridge. Stay awake one more
night. Be alert until the morning. Then, he nodded as he sat down at his
computer and deleted the hard drive, then the secret masters will be
exposed. Peace could come to the world, and eventually, to William Perry.
There was
nothing left to do but wait. Perry put a can of soup on to boil, then returned
to the hallway outside his flat. He made sure it was empty, closed and locked
his door, then kicked it off its hinges. Twenty years of careful planning would
soon be over. The lie at the heart of the world was exposed. Humanity would
thank him, in time, when the cabal was thrown down. People could live free,
released from their mind-controlled, drone existences. He stepped inside and
lay down amongst the wrecked furniture in his living room.
Tomorrow,
he thought, as he plunged the knife into his chest, again and again, tomorrow
he would change the world.
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