The Government: Dark Days

by Joseph Storm

  It wasn’t only fear which kept them from fighting back. Total reliance, and lack of free speech also kept them weak. The internet was completely controlled by government minders, as only pro-leader sites were permitted. TV stations continued their praise, featuring the good works of the administration. They left out the hardships, which were only beginning to take place. It didn’t take long for the public to realize that “utopia” was a beautiful concept, but an ugly reality.

  Joe Striker hammered in the last fence post for the night, as he hit his knees in exhaustion. The painfully long day was over, as the clock struck 8 P.M. “Tomorrow, you lay wire!” the mercenary yelled, as Striker fought to catch his breath. Whatever this place is, can’t be good, he assured himself.

  ******

  A moonless, fog-covered night had descended onto the streets of their adopted town of Potomac. Joe Striker met Gunner Shoman in an alleyway, as Gunner handed him a can of spray paint.

  “Was your day as shitty as mine?” Joe asked.

  “If it were any shittier, I’d be a toilet bowl,” Gunner answered.

  “I hear you,” Joe responded. “Are you sure you’re ready to do this? It will put a huge target on our backs...as well as this town. There’s no turning back.”

  “Ahh..who the hell needed peace and quiet anyway,” Gunner proclaimed, holding up the can of spray paint. “Cheers.”

  “To dissent,” Joe said passionately. “It’s time to remind our countrymen of what they once stood for.”

  “Hell yeah...to dissent and no more canned beans,” Gunner said boldly, as the two men clinked their cans of spray paint together like two beers.

  Joe and Gunner crept towards a makeshift stage, which was unoccupied. They climbed up onto the stage, approaching a large object, draped with a heavy cloth. Striker yanked the cloth to the floor, revealing a stone statue of Leader Judas.

  The hand-carved object was one of many. They all would eventually be unveiled to the public in towns across the country. Leader Judas was to appear at multiple locations in the local area, kicking off a dedication day, ironically falling on the anniversary of the outlawed presidential elections.

  The town of Potomac was the one chosen to be featured, therefore televised nationally. It was a picturesque town, close enough to the White House, though far enough away from the city setting. Mika Sorka ordered them to choose a small, but wealthy place. It showed that the administration is in touch with the average “small man,” as he called them, making things “more even.”

  It was a way to ease any bitterness or worry of a one-ruler system. In a few short years, it had grown from a life of little work and free handouts, to a slave-labor closed society. People were expected to turn their despair to praise of the man, which overlooked their town every day.

  Gunner and Striker examined the statue closely. They focused on the large, fake smile that the monument displayed. The powerful leader looked as friendly and harmless as a wise grandfather.

  “Looks like he’s taking a dump,” Gunner said, causing Joe Striker to smile.

  “He does look a little constipated. I say we give him some instant relief,” Striker said, as he shook his can of spray paint, unleashing a stream of red upon the Leader’s face, in an X pattern.

  Gunner went to work, giving the leader a spray paint sex change, “Bitch!” he said in enjoyment.

  However, the most important action of the defiling was what Striker did last, like placing the cherry on top. USA was spray painted on the chest of the leader in all capitals. Underneath, he wrote DEMOCRACY!

  The two tossed their cans aside, knowing that finger prints wouldn’t matter. The government had been searching for the three dissenters for four years. Now, they would know where to find the trail.

  Joe Striker and Gunner Shoman covered the statue back up, wanting the act to be a surprise to both the administration and crowd. Not only would it be unexpected, it would be impossible to hide from the nation.

  ******

  Tuesday, November 5, 2024

  “Today, I stand here humbled...that my image will forever adorn the grounds of...,” he looked at the teleprompter. It told him to pause in a perfect way, which stressed pride, but also allowed him to read the words Potomac. “Potomac!” he called out loud, causing the crowd to cheer. It was one made up of half true supporters, and half forced ones. They were taken from their homes and pulled off the streets, told to cheer or face punishment.

  Joe Striker, Gunner Shoman, and Becky Fox watched from afar. They awaited the moment, which would again make them the prey.

  “It is time to unveil my likeness,” Judas said, as the crowd was stirred into a frenzy. The television cameras eagerly beamed the image across the country, into the homes of every citizen. Each channel was instructed to carry it, allowing no other programming.

  Striker tensed, as Under-Leader Arnold unveiled the cloth, revealing the statue to all. He expected to hear a resounding cheer, though instead, a collective gasp filled the air. It was followed by laughs and taunts.

  “What is that?” Leader Judas yelled, reading the dreaded words. They stood out against the dull gray stone like a red beacon of freedom.

  A chant suddenly sounded from afar, “USA! USA! USA!” The voice belonged to Joe Striker. He was quickly joined by Gunner and Becky.

  “Who is that?” Leader Judas asked, squinting, though having no luck in identification. The three of them were far from his range of sight.

  Before he knew it, half the crowd joined in. They alternated between chants of USA and DEMOCRACY. The people started to trample chairs to the floor, climbing onto the stage, and forcing the leadership to be rushed off for protection.

  A few government supporters tried to fight back, though were drowned in a sea of true patriotism. A circle formed around the defaced statue, providing in one small second, the one thing that the opposition needed. A symbol to rally around.

  Under-Leader Ben Arnold whispered frantically into his ear. “Sir, the cameras! We must shut them down immediately. This is being seen nationwide! It will start a wave of dissent! We don’t know what the consequences will be!”

  “No...do not shut down the cameras.”

  “Excuse me, sir? You want them to see such defiance?”

  “The crime of defiance has already been committed. Now, let us show them the consequences of that crime.”

  “What will we do? It must be a measured response.”

  “You are wrong, Under-Leader. In fact, we must set an example for all who wish to follow in the footsteps of...protest. I will not have my unchecked humiliation be the last image the country sees.”

  “What will you have me do, sir?”

  “Contact Commander Sin. Tell him to introduce the Authoritarian Guard to the country.”

  An uneasy look marched across Under-Leader Arnold’s face. He knew what a call to the commander meant. However, he was already under suspicion for the questions he posed. His only choice was to follow orders. “Yes, sir.”

  Joe, Becky, and Gunner came together in celebration. “I never thought this would work!” Becky said to Joe. “I hate to admit it...but you just might be a genius!” she proclaimed, hugging him tightly.

  “And just what the hell am I?” Gunner asked jealously.

  “The genius’s assistant,” she said sarcastically, causing him to scoff at such a notion.

  “It was my idea!” he said in jealousy.

  Mere moments had passed, when the sound of victory was quieted by the sounds of marching boots, stepping in perfect unison.

  “What’s that sound?” Becky asked.

  Gunner looked into the distance, as a mass of blackness broke through the haze. “You’re right...it was his idea, after all,” Gunner quickly said.

  Joe Striker looked on in disbelief. He watched the guard make their way through the streets, cloaked with ski-mask head-coverings, concealing their identities. They wore the tell-tale uniforms of all black, though were far different than the mercenary forces
of the past. The contrast was in both mind, body, and discipline.

  The cameras turned their view from the jubilant crowd to a dark force, facing them in tight lines. The guards stood at attention, awaiting their next order. Commander Xavier Sin, who now donned an eye-patch, joined Leader Judas.

  “They await your order, leader,” the commander said.

  “Jail them?” Under-Leader Arnold suggested.

  “Compassion has gotten us shit...that’s why we’re in the pathetic position we find ourselves. You don’t bow to anyone...they bow to you,” Commander Sin said, playing on the ego of the president.

  “Interesting words from a man that’s searched an empty forest for four years,” Under-Leader Arnold said.

  “I’ve been ordered out of the towns...thanks to cowards like you!” Commander Sin quipped back.

  “Consider that order rescinded,” Leader Judas replied confidently.

  A smile came to Xavier Sin’s face. “It’ll be more than considered, leader. My men are at the ready. Just give the word to strike.”

  “I think this is a mistake, sir. The people...they will revolt under such cruelty,” Under-Leader Arnold said.

  “They are revolting under my charity!” Leader Judas shouted. “I heard your opinion, Under-Leader, though I believe it is time to take the gloves off. It is time for a lesson. Commander Sin. I leave the manner of punishment to your discretion.”

  “You won’t be disappointed. Now, excuse me...while I do my duty,” he said, exiting the scene.

  Leader Judas stepped up to the stage. The cameras and crowd turned their attention away from the guard, back to the Leader.

  “As your leader...I have shown you only compassion and kindness. However, if you do not embrace the carrot...then maybe you would prefer the stick? I assure you, the leader of this defiance will be hunted down...and sent to justice. Though, it is not only the perpetrator of this illegal act which shall be punished. There is no fire without fuel...no protest without protesters. Protest is equal to that of murder.”

  Looks of fear crept upon the faces of the crowd. Joe Striker joined them in his worry. “Not in front of the cameras?”

  “Kid...the cameras only get him off more,” Gunner said.

  “For this act...you are condemned to the hands of the Authoritarian Guard,” he proclaimed. “Their judgement...will be final.”

  The crowd shouted in panic, and cries. They were men, women, and children who looked at each other puzzled for the next move.

  Before they could form a consensus and fight, Commander Sin shouted an order. “Light ‘em up, boys!” he yelled, as the cameras were ordered to turn their lenses toward the unarmed crowd.

  Each member of the Authoritarian Guard aimed a fully fueled flamethrower at the people. The group of masked men opened their gas lines, holding their weapons out in unity. One of their men ran across with a flame, priming a small pilot light to sprout up from the nozzles. After every one was lit, Commander Xavier Sin shouted, “Fire!”

  The crowd started to run in panic. They tripped over one another, getting caught up in the mess of madness. Citizens had never seen the leader in such a cruel manner before, though it was the first introduction of many to come. Before the collective crowd could scatter, long lines of flames reached out, lapping the people like waves swallowing a surfer at sea. It didn’t matter if they were supporters or dissenters, the fire didn’t discriminate.

  The streams of flames whipped around in the wind, crossing each other like beams of deadly light.

  “Oh my God!” Becky Fox yelled from afar.

  Gunner shook his head in disgust. “The beast is finally unleashed.”

  “I did this!” Striker said to himself in guilty disbelief.

  Screams of horror sailed into the air. Whole families were set on fire, their skin blistering upon impact of the searing heat. Temperatures reached a heightened max of 2500 degrees Fahrenheit.

  A mother tried to shield her four year old daughter, covering her like a blanket of fire. It was useless, as the flames burned a hole right through her chest. They singed the mother and child together as one.

  Commander Sin inhaled deeply. “Ahh, the smell of flesh...is the smell of success,” he said, overlooking the pile of black ashes at the base of the statue. Confident that every protester had burned to death, he called out to the emotionless masked men. “Cease fire!”

  The disciplined guard stopped their action immediately.

  All the flames went limp at once. The commander looked over to the leader, giving him the nod. Judas stepped back up on the stage. “This is the price of descent,” he said calmly, staring into the cameras. The trained man kept the same professional gaze and creepy smile that he was told to wear publicly.

  Members of the media were even in shock, questioning their producers if they should turn away from such a sight. Their government appointers told them that they didn’t dictate content; it’s the governments’ job. However, the whole scene would be tightly edited by the time it was aired for the international community. Clips of the leader’s speech would be merged with other footage, cut to look like the crowd adorned him with praise. It was an order from Sorka himself, as world polls had Judas topping their own leaders in popularity. The war of propaganda would entice them to a one-world government, eventually toppling the other leaders. Mika Sorka would someday control them all, however, he continued with one step at a time.

  Striker, Gunner, and Becky Fox watched the burning mass of bodies in sickness. Waves of burned flesh and hair filled the air, causing Becky to gag, fighting back vomit.

  “We need to move out,” Gunner said to Joe Striker, who didn’t respond. He was fixated on the terrible scene in front of him. Shoman hit him in the arm, getting his attention.

  Joe broke from his zombie-like gaze. “What?”

  “Are you blind, deaf, or dumb? They’re coming this way!” Gunner said, pointing at the line of guards who were marching down the street. They were clearing out the area of remaining people, supporting or dissenting citizens alike. Citizens were all the same under the steel batons and masked faces of the elite Authoritarian Guard.

  Striker didn’t heed Gunner’s warning. Instead he focused on Leader Judas and Commander Sin, standing on the distant stage. Joe pulled his large gun from its resting place, walking out towards the incoming force like a man with a death wish.

  “You want me? Here I am!” Joe shouted, holding his gun out for all to see. He aimed the long distance towards the leader and commander. “This gun has hit further targets!” he yelled, as Becky calmly placed her hand on his, slowly bringing down the gun.

  “Jenny wouldn’t want it to end this way...not like this,” she said. “You’ll have the chance again.”

  Becky’s mere touch calmed him, as his wife Jenny used to have the same effect. He dropped his head in despair, tucking the gun back into its hiding place. Together, the three of them fled the scene, heading back to the church.

  “Message delivered,” Commander Xavier Sin said joyfully to Leader Simon Judas. The two of them overlooked the pile of blackness at the foot of the statue.

  “I believe you are correct, commander. I made an error, listening to Under-Leader Arnold. We should have searched the towns from day one. This bares the mark of that congressman we’ve been searching for. I can feel it.”

  “Four years is late...though late is better than never. Let me finish what I started...take the gloves off. I want to bury him with the rest of his kind...and worm fed wife. Before I kill him...I want him to look upon what’s become of his son...”

  “Put up road blocks, man every exit, letting nothing out. Do what you must to this town of Potomac. I believe your search will end here...and it will be the perfect place...for the second phase to start.”

  Chapter Seven:

  The Twitch

  Night had fallen upon the town of Potomac. A permanent curfew was put into place to avoid any trouble makers. Leader Judas and Commander Xavier Sin drove past the
roadblock, making their way to a top secret spot in the pentagon.

  They walked into a low-lit dojo, filled with only mirrors. The men joined a room of children dressed in black uniforms, in progress of learning martial arts. The only other person in the room was an eight year-old girl named Emma. The red-headed, freckle-faced child stood by a vat of water, waiting to scoop the liquid into cups for the young soldiers in training.

  Emma focused on one boy in particular, who was out in front of the pack. He was singled out from the others in both placement and skill.

  Commander Sin whispered into Leader Judas’s ear, motioning a finger toward the child. “That’s the one,” Commander Sin said.

  Leader Judas squinted his eyes. He closely focused on the young boy, dressed in all black. “It is unmistakable. He’s a spitting image of his father,” Leader Judas said, revealing that the boy was Joe Striker’s son.

  “We call him Rock.”

  “Names? I thought they were just numbers? No identity?”

  “That was the past...this is our future force. They will be raised in the new America...no need to retrain them...no need to wipe the slates clean. Instead, we can fill their heads from the start.”

  “I approve,” Leader Judas said.

  They continued to watch the drills take place, as Commander Sin thought back to the fateful day four years ago.

  His memories sailed back to the moment it all started. Joe Striker had just been dragged unconsciously from his house, leaving an anxious Commander Sin alone with Jenny Striker.

  Sobs spilled from Jenny’s eyes. She no longer pleaded for her own life, but instead changed to mercy for her husband. “Please...I’ll let you have whatever sick fantasy that you want...just leave my husband alone! Let him live.”