by Darr, Brian
The Guide laughed. “They’re not going to do that. Are you stupid?”
“I. Did. Not. Deserve. This.”
The Guide grew serious and stepped forward, getting in The Troll’s face. “Guess what: Neither did any of the millions of innocent people who were killed by The Moderator. You’re one in a hundred million victims of this. Why do you deserve to live more than all those who died?”
“Because I complied by the rules.”
“Seriously Troll, if I ever meet Iris, I’ll kick her ass as badly as you probably want to, but she chose you and as much as it sucks, complaining is a waste of time, because you have two options: You can fight the odds, hope to break Psi, and we’ll figure out life from there without being under the rule of Prime, or you can attempt to get in bed with them and I promise you Troll: You’ll be killed.”
The Troll fell silent and weighed his options. He hated not knowing what he was supposed to do. He always had the answers, always had a response, always gained the upper-hand. The Guide didn’t know that The Troll had an out, and he hated having to disappoint him in the way in which he inevitably would, but at least The Guide would then understand that he didn’t only have two options…that he wasn’t as dumb as The Guide was treating him.
The Guide looked in the horizon. The sun was setting and the air was getting cool. As the shadows of the day began to stretch, he started formulating their plans for the night. The Troll waited for him to make a suggestion. Eventually he would have to sleep, and when that time came, The Troll could transmit and escape his clutches.
“We need to find a place to hole up for the night,” The Guide finally said, to The Troll’s relief.
All over the land were abandoned buildings, most of them stripped of their goods by The Moderator’s people or the masses. Most of these places were void of electronics, but even those which still housed appliances, were useless because no electricity ran through. A best case scenario would be to walk into a home that still had canned goods or boxed cereal, but it wasn’t likely. They would have to live on the land like everyone else, which meant building a fire and catching an animal. The Troll wasn’t sure he had the energy, but they had been walking for hours and he felt starved.
In the distance, The Guide spotted a barn and they redirected their walk. “What’s the deal with trolling?” The Guide asked. “What’s so fun about it?”
“I don’t know. I’m good at it.”
“Isn’t that like being good at being an asshole?”
“You know, the government used to hire trolls to push their agendas and sway people for or against politicians and policies.”
“So what?”
“So it was a necessity.”
“Because the government did it?” The Guide asked with a chuckle. “You really have a messed up sense of priorities.”
“What else am I going to do? Most people on the boards are just worshiping idols of some sort. How’s that much better?”
“People use the boards to connect. You try to come between them. You ruin things instead of building them.”
“Says the guy who is trying to restore the chaos that the world once was.”
The Guide stopped, and suddenly, he was angry. “First of all, the world wasn’t chaos. It was free. We were allowed to make choices, and a lot of people made bad choices, but we were at least free to be who we wanted to be and not worry about someone hacking our brain and killing us. Second, the fact that you’re not pissed off about what happened to everyone is staggering. Who cares how many people were murdered before Psi? The Moderator has killed more people than anyone in the history of the world. What does it take to make you angry?”
The Troll shrugged as if he didn’t know the answer, but The Guide suddenly saw the truth and let out a small gasp. “You want to be with them, don’t you?” The Guide asked. “You would have done the same thing in their shoes.”
“Maybe not the same way, but I can’t argue with a better world.”
“It wasn’t just bad people who died when Psi froze us all. It was a randomized group of people who needed to NOT be paralyzed in that moment. No one was targeted. All they cared about was the takeover and of the millions who died, not one was selected because of who they were. All that mattered was that The Moderator wanted power.”
“Can we not talk about this?”
“Some troll you are. Aren’t you supposed to be the one doing the provoking?”
Some troll he really was, The Troll thought. It really was different face to face. He didn’t have time to plan his answer or use trickery against his opponent. In the real world, with real issues, facing a real human being, he was stumped. The Troll couldn’t wait to get away from The Guide. He clearly was looked down on by everyone that was part of the resistance: The Surfer, The Guide, they all saw him as the wrong pick, and he felt uncomfortable around them.
When they finally made it to the barn, the smell of straw filled the air. The barn was two tiered and musty, as if nothing had been inside for a long time and was left to marinate in its own odors. The wooden beams were strong, and it would be a good hideout for the night. They could even stay for days if they wanted the bounty hunters to pass…maybe weeks if they hoped to be forgotten entirely. The Troll ran strategies through his head of the many ways they could beat the folks at…
And then he snapped out of it. For a second, the thrill of the game overcame him, but he dismissed it and reminded himself of the real mission: Escape the clutches of The Guide, find the nearest tower, and transmit the signal. He was lucky The Guide hadn’t forced him to hand over Rainbow, and even luckier that they had found a place to sleep with plenty of time to call off the hunt. He was cooperative with The Guide and tried to get along the remainder of the evening. The last thing he needed was to be discovered for his real plan. They hunted together and managed to find and capture a rabbit. They found a pond with fish and dinner was fantastic. It wasn’t roast duck, but as hungry as The Troll was, it could have been.
At the end of the evening, when their eyes were heavy, they covered their bodies with hay and closed their eyes. The Troll kept himself awake until The Guide was finally out. He rolled over a few times to test The Guide’s reaction to movement, but he didn’t budge. It was safe to say that despite the setback The Guide caused, it should be easy from here.
The Troll rolled out of the bed of hay and got to his feet. He looked down at The Guide momentarily and nodded his head as if to say goodbye. Moments later, he was out of the barn and walking toward a line of trees in the distance. If The Guide were to exit the barn within the next five minutes, he’d be discovered, but it seemed as if he would have at least a six hour head start, which would be enough distance between them. When The Guide woke up, he wouldn’t have any idea which direction he headed, but he’d likely assume he went west, toward Vegas. Instead, The Troll would actually be making his way back to the city to transmit. He thought about what The Guide said about his options and wondered if there really was a possibility they’d kill him, even after he transmitted. It seemed to him that The Moderator seemed sincere—that he would be a man of his word.
He approached the line of trees, but stopped suddenly when he heard the crackle of branches behind him. He realized someone was there. “I need to do this alone,” The Troll said, assuming he was talking to The Guide. Instead, a woman’s voice spoke.
“You’re not going to run away from this,” she said. “I chose you for a reason.”
The Troll spun on his heal and faced her, his jaw wide open. “Iris?” he asked.
“Go back to the barn,” Iris said. “We need to talk.”
Chapter 2
When the clock struck midnight, The Moderator cursed quietly to himself and rolled out of bed. He paced in his office as the minutes passed and grew angrier with each passing moment. He was positive The Troll would opt out of the mission, and though he still could, it would have been most effective if it had been done quickly. He hated that there was someone out in the
world that could potentially be creating hope for all who hated Psi. He tried to guess how many people that was. A few? A lot? Everyone?
It had been a risk taking Iris up on her challenge, but there were so many fail safes in place that The Troll couldn’t possibly succeed. It wasn’t that he worried about the shutdown of Psi so much as he worried about how the people would feel about his journey. His bounty hunters were out in the world where if enough of the population was against Psi, his friends would be outnumbered.
The group of men The Moderator sent out were his closest friends and confidants. It pained him to know they were exposed to the world and he stayed in constant contact with each and watched the monitors closely, guaranteeing there was movement from all ten of his friends. They were the foundation of Circular Prime, all men who had lost their jobs before they turned Psi on the people. Something about the confrontation with Iris had gotten to him—as if she was challenging him to make him seem like a coward—or make him lose control. He did what would prove her wrong: Comply. Now, all he could think about was all the ways the game could go wrong.
He hoped it would be over fast, and it should have been. The Troll was somehow distracted, or hurt—something didn’t go as planned. He had sized up the behavior of The Troll and determined there was nothing more to him than just a troll, who sincerely feared for his life and wanted to be a part of their group. Yet, he’d never transmitted.
The Moderator needed to get some air. He needed to feel strong and in control again. He spent the next hour in his office, which overlooked the city below. He took the elevator to the first floor, exited the building and wandered the streets, occasionally picking up trash and tossing it into the nearest wastebasket. Their population was so small that Chicago was a long way from looking perfect, but someday it would. He was selective of who he allowed in. Everyone would by law be injected with Psi. Populations would be in control, crime would not be tolerated. Only perfection was allowed. Once they perfected weather control, they would wipe out whole cities to keep the population contained and controlled. No one would know these disasters came from Chicago and the world would forever be shaped by what he decided was best.
As the sun began to rise, his impatience reached a new height and there was only one person he could take out his anger on. He walked back to Circular Prime and through the underground passages until he reached what was once a parking garage, which had now been blocked off without a way in or out, other than the tunnels that led to an elevator to the bottom level.
Chained to a pillar in the middle of the parking structure was The Surfer, who lay sprawled on the ground. As The Moderator approached, The Surfer spent enough energy to tilt his head, but didn’t react otherwise.
“Is he dead?” The Surfer asked, expecting it to be the reason for his visit.
“Not yet, but it’s still early,” The Moderator said, his neck twitching as he talked. “Probably hiding somewhere for the night.”
The Surfer turned his head away, relieved that at the very least, Rainbow was still intact. He could only hope The Guide and The Troll were together and that all was going well between them.
“How have you enjoyed your stay in Chicago?” The Moderator asked, taunting him.
“With the exception of my night in your hotel, I’ve slept on concrete,” The Surfer said. “What’s the idea? You don’t want The Troll to know what savages you are?”
“Oh, he doesn’t believe we’re savages. He wants to join us. He just might earn his way here.”
The Surfer suddenly sat up and stared blankly into his face. “What did you do?” he asked.
“It’s not what I did,” The Moderator said. “Iris picked this guy. It turns out he’s a strong promoter of Psi and very influential on-line. Mr. Troll practically begged me to live among us. I felt sorry for him. I don’t see him going the distance Surfer. I think he’ll opt out, and when he does, he’ll be rewarded.”
“That wasn’t part of the deal.”
“What deal?” The Moderator asked. “We created a game. The Troll can make whatever choice he wants. I removed Psi from his head as agreed. I didn’t pick him for the journey. One of your people did, and she chose him on the angle that that the world is anti-Psi. The Troll can prove the notion wrong, or not. He strongly believed in Psi from the moment we first met. You were in the room.”
“You presented yourself as the good guy,” The Surfer said. “You flashed a nice hotel and gourmet food and The Troll believes that’s the life you’ll give him.”
“Who says it’s not?”
“Why can’t you let him make a choice without trying to sway him? Why can’t you present yourself as you really are? A murderous dictator?”
The Moderator crouched down, his back against a pillar opposite The Surfer. “Because I won’t give this world up, no matter what you say or do. I beat eight billion people within moments. Forget being one in a million. I alone, executed a plan that took over the world.”
“You killed people. They were people with families and friends and dreams!”
“Is that how you see it?” The Moderator asked. He looked up at the wall and his eyelids fluttered. A screen appeared in the shadows and it loaded a desktop, The Moderator’s eyes controlling the browsing. He opened file after file until a long list of serial numbers appeared.
“Each number on this list represents every living being left on Earth,” he said. The Surfer’s eyes darted to the overall count and saw that not even a billion people remained. “These are your precious people with their family, friends, hopes and dreams. You see personalities. I just see a list of numbers.”
The cursor ran over the list and randomly clicked one. A profile opened. It had a name, a Social Security Number, followed by a profile. Toward the bottom of the page, the cursor hovered over a button labeled “execute”.
“What are you doing?” The Moderator said. “Close out of this.”
“When will you understand that you can’t appeal to the inner goodness in me? I don’t care if I’m a dictator or that millions…billions…died at my hands. To me, this is just another person who did nothing in life. She probably beat her kids or had a drinking problem or consumed too much too often. Whatever her fatal flaw was, without knowing her, I’m disgusted thinking about who she was. She’s a number Surfer. She’s just a number.”
“What do you want with me?” The Surfer shouted. “Just kill me and get it over with!”
The Moderator turned away from the screen, smiled at him, and suddenly the cursor hit the button. And then the screen disappeared.
The Surfer screamed and buried his head in his chest.
“You see that?” The Moderator said. “Nothing happens. A button is pushed and someone somewhere dies. It didn’t change the course of either of our lives, so why exactly should I care? Why should you?”
The Surfer looked up, hatred in his eyes. “We’re going to end you,” he said.
“Who’s we? The Troll? I don’t think so,” The Moderator said. “I think The Troll will ultimately be given the chance to end you. When this is over, you’ll look into his eyes as he pulls your profile and I’ll nod my head and he’ll know that the key to living in paradise will be to finalize the end of your revolution. The very person picked to prove your point will prove mine. Your troll will destroy Rainbow, and then I’ll allow him to take your life. And he’ll do it all just because he likes how my chef prepares a leg of lamb. You picked the wrong guy Surfer.” He found his smile under the darkness in his eyes. His neck twitched. “Have a nice day.”
He walked back to the elevator and stepped inside. The Surfer watched as the doors moved. The last thing he saw in the moments before the doors closed was the smile fade from The Moderator's face, and something that looked like fear in his eyes.
Chapter 3
As the sun began to rise, The Guide sat on the ledge of the upper tier of the barn while Iris finished telling him about The Troll’s near escape. The Troll cowered, working up an excuse as she s
poke, but was relieved to find The Guide was more interested in Iris’s presence than his own motivation.
“So you’re Iris…” The Guide said. “And you’ve just been following us?”
“For this exact reason…” she said.
“So if Troll’s such a liability, why the hell did you choose him?” The Guide asked.
She looked down, and as she chose her words, The Guide took her in with the same thoughts The Troll had when he first saw her: She was beautiful. Wigeon was all makeup and sex appeal, but Iris was pretty without trying. She had brown eyes, curly hair tied back in a ponytail, except for a strand that hung in front of her face, and olive skin. She looked as if her face had opened doors for her and The Guide’s first thought had been that he didn’t expect to meet Iris…but he certainly didn’t think she’d be so pretty if he did. He wanted to confront her about her choice of The Troll, but couldn’t focus. He didn’t want to hurt her.
“We’ve interacted on the boards,” Iris said. “I don’t believe The Moderator can be beat with weapons and armies. I believe it takes persuasion and brains. One person took over the world with an idea. We need to outsmart him.”
“The Troll provokes,” The Guide said. “That doesn’t make him smart. In my opinion, it makes him an idiot.”
“When I was on the boards,” Iris started, “I remember being awake until early in the morning with The Troll, fighting back and forth. I was emotional, but he wasn’t. Even though I believed I was right in the argument, he somehow still won. I followed him after that, looking for a way to interject and prove him wrong, but he stubbornly picked fights with everyone, and usually made them feel low by the time he moved on. Then one night, he is talking to a man who called himself The Salesman. They were talking about values and Salesman said his most important values were family and preserving country.
The Troll challenged his knowledge of the constitutional amendments and reviewed his browsing history and created a statistic for him and this is what The Troll concluded. Salesman spent 70% of his time at work and 30% of his time obsessively following his sports teams. He barely spoke to his children and hardly knew his wife. Preserving his country manifested from voting once a decade, never in local elections, and knowing two constitutional amendments. The unspoken philosophy of his life was to make a nice paycheck selling items, and to spend that money on his house, car, and sports team fandom.”