SYNOPSIS:

Main character quits his job, leaves his life and huts down any crooked politicians, television personalities, lobbyists, or the famous that slander, lie and deceive their audiences with public executions, and controlled violence. (This is first installment) His actions lead to anarchy in the United States, the largest FBI man-hunt in history, his arrest-trial, and making of the United States’ largest celebrity in decades. Right before the verdict of his public trial, finally after years of stagnation, the masses speak out and interrupt its inevitable conclusion, in a very democratic way. (A “Fight Club” meets “Falling Down, if you will.)

"KILL ALL POLITICIANS"

KILL ALL POLITICIANS BY Ben valentine Chapter 1 “Into The Void” I can’t say I know for sure what is was that made me do what I did. It really was just an accumulation of everything I hated. We all hated. Just, I’m the only one who had the balls to do something about it. Thank you television. I know we all came to that point, the point where we gave up in our leaders, politicians, our CEO’s. Congress, Senators, our Judges. TV pundits, lobbyists, and even salesmen altogether. We saw past the bullshit called “politics” they sold us, and how they deceived us into believing in the two party system. Thank you public school systems. For me, it was when the Illinois state congressman Rob Bwologavitch was convicted of perjury and corruption, after the F.B.I. exposed his affairs for his own gain. The investigation and the endless hours of TV personalities exposing every sordid detail of this affair that never seemed to stop. Our state, and even the country was so obsessed with the gory details of his illegal affairs, we all ignored how, and more importantly why this was exposed. Thank you talk radio. It was the last straw for me, when the facts of why were ignored, and everyone jumped on the bash bandwagon. It did a great job of distracting us from the lax environmental laws being paid for by the pork industry. The deregulation of the credit industry thanks to President Brand, and his “regulators”. The new lax rules behind campaign contributions. All the bureaucracy involved in rules that no one can understand, but others find ways to scam and pillage its system. It was maddening to hear all the opinions being scattered about like radioactive particles after a nuclear attack, the never ending “news” cycle that never produced any real news. I got fed up of hearing everyone’s opinions, all the babble that never accomplished anything positive. The rants. The soap box preaching. Everyone with their opinions, no one with a real answer. Which only leads to more and more opinion, then more speculation, and the cycle repeats itself. It got to the point after the Wall Street collapse, and the bailouts, and the millions given to the richest and most corrupt men to stay rich, while the rest of us suffered from the mistakes they made. I fumed over knowing, that I, an actual taxpaying citizen was footing a bill for people who made more in the last year, than that I would have made in all my life. I say that because at this point in my life, I’m 27, and still have no idea what I’m doing with my life. It’s not enough that these huge corporations pay lobbyists to bribe our leaders into believing in whatever they sell, but then to have the same leaders tell the American public that we have to bail these pricks out, made me so sick, I quit thinking about my future, and started thinking about theirs. The oil rig explosion in the Gulf. The Enron scandal. Bernie Maidoff. Accountability, whatever that means anymore, is just a word with no conviction. It has no meaning because we let them get away with it. Every year, the rich continue to get richer, while the poor suffer thru taxation, thru laws we must obey, while the rich can pay to bend or break these same laws with just slaps on the wrist and a minimal impact to their luxurious lives. We all have felt the bitterness, reading the headlines: “City Bank execs getting billions in bailout money.” “Chrysler execs fly to Capitol Hill” “AIG receives millions.” “CEO’s to receive millions.” Only I gave up my life of quiet enslavement. I gave up television, and movies, the radio stations, and all the distractions that play a pivotal role in keeping our society subservient. I gave it all up, to change, and the process evolved me as a person, as a human being. I saw this process as a means to change the world into believing in something again. Accountability. And after I was finished, I would willingly turn myself in. My life would be done for something greater than I ever anticipated; only I would have to willingly give up my freedom, to let others see what freedom could really be. One day, after careful planning, and a year of preparation, I quit my job and went on the road, to start my revolution. Our revolution. It would become my life’s goal, to change the way society saw our “leaders”, and the way to deal with these rapists when they screw up. Not by shunning them on television, like our society came to accept. My way would shock Americans at first, and then it would show the world, we, that the poor and the middle class were not the children being spoon fed lies anymore. We would hold our leaders accountable, in a more nhilalistic way. Instead of the repetitious “breaking news” cycles, and the political slander that reverberates threw the media, I would show them that not only their reputation was at stake, but their lives as well. My mission was to kill enough politicians, CEO’s, television pundits, and even world leaders if I had too, to show the rest of our “authority figures” that we would make the rules now, just as they did on their way up the corporate ladders. It wasn’t just the politicians; it was the “moral authorities” on radio and television that preached a “better way” while being paid for by the lobbyists that represented them. Millions of Americans will blindly follow anyone willing to throw themselves behind their beliefs. I was willing to give my life to make sure there would be at least one person in our lifetime that was bent on changing the world, for the overall good. By ridding ourselves of these cockroaches, these maggots feeding off of what isn’t rightfully theirs. When I closed the door to my apartment for the last time, I had to make sure to shut it just right, so the bomb would trigger the moment my front door would be opened by the police, or feds in the next couple of weeks, I wasn’t thinking about how many people would join my cause. I thought of my life, and how unfulfilling it was up until that point. I have never had a mission, a brilliant goal, or even something that made me feel “this way”. I never had anything that made sense to me like this did, I always seemed fine on just getting by, but today was the day it all came to really mean something. For the first time in my life, nothing could stop me now, because I didn’t care anymore. Thank you, Mr. Reznor. My past didn’t matter anymore, just like my name, my identity, my cell phone number, my social security number, or even my facebook status. All the things our society came to know as “norms” in our lives. None of that mattered where I was going. In my journey, all I needed was the clothes on my back, the money I saved up, my laptop along with its wireless internet, and an ability to get to my targets without causing any disturbances or to be remembered. Which up to this point, I had done a pretty good job of not being noticed most of my life, it was overdue that I used that for something better. Chapter 2 The mark has been made I hear the beep-beep, and both my eyes look up to the little red light. I stare deep into the dark circle for a couple of seconds before speaking. My eyes, completely blacked out from the contacts I’m wearing, full of rage and anger. The lack of sleep in the last couple of weeks has had to have an effect me; dark crow’s feet extend from the inner corners of my eyes. My skin a softer pale than before, as my eating and sunbathing habits have dwindled to next to nothing, I quit going outside all together. Food is important, if there is time, and the sun and I aren’t on speaking terms. The words come thru me, like I’ve done this before, but in a different life. “We are controlled, everyday. By forces, and people that strive to stay in power. Not letting us see what true freedom is, what true power is. Only they get to know true FREEDOM, TRUE POWER. Threw lies, threw endless streams of misinformation and money.” With every word, my confidence grows. “They’ve sold us on “democracy” for, of, and by the people, but with endless black budgets, a “2 party system” that seeks to dissuade us from seeing the truth. They constantly throw things at us to confuse, to keep our attention, to preoccupy our minds into controlling us by manipulation, by advertising, by lies and deceit. We have all fallen to its hypnotizing affects. Reality television, movies, facebook, video games, books, school, your job, any escape you have has now become what keeps their control over you." "Hell it’s the reality in front of you; they all serve the purpose of distracting you, from doing something real. Something that bucks and changes the system they created to control us, to this day. “ I inhale a deep breath, knowing how important it is to choose my words correctly, from this point on. No one will judge you off the things you don’t say, only what you do say. “Elections are rigged. Democrats and Republicans fight publicly, but secretly sit on the same side, just using “politics” as the trigger mechanism for the “greater good”. Debates, conflicts are decided whether you care or not, in the name of “best interest” of our masters. CEO’s invest millions into campaigns, to elect the leaders they want in control, so they can get more. Thousands are employed in Washington to “persuade” our leaders with money, while we get no share, and no say. Public lands have been taken over by the private sector with no legal means of fighting back. National wildlife habitats get pillaged for their resources, all in the name of Capitalism. Corporations receive millions in government aided handouts, while laying off thousands. NAFTA has taken away our jobs, and they tell us “it’s working itself out”. We are the ones who suffer, not CEO’s, not our Congress, not our politicians. Or they’re families.” Not moving my head an inch either way, I light a cigarette; and the smoke rises up in the camera s shot. Smoke goes in my right eye; I blink it out and continue, more confident now than ever. “The sick cycle repeats itself, campaigns, endless advertising, donations, and then finally the elections. Even with the people we elect, NOTHING CHANGES. We work hard, for little money, getting taxed every second were breathing, and all that money goes back into their mutant form of “capitalism”. They are the ones who take, and take, and find ingenious ways of spending our taxed income. With military budgets exceeding the entire worlds. With pointless space ship trips to the moon. With foreign aid to countries who hate us, and do not want our “help”. With government programs that help no one but the rich. And we continue feeding this monster.” “We give and give, while they take, and take, and then find ways to take some more. We have become lazy, as a society, as a generation, as a people. We figure, we’ll let others do our fighting. Leave it to lawyers, and people we elect. But that’s the problem. We aren’t fighting, and they’re not fighting for us." "We’ve let the people in power persuade us to do nothing. To set back and let them fix things. Just watch TV, just go to work, do “your thing” because that’s what makes us a “free country”, but remember to spend that money, so “we” can get ourselves out of this recession “we” created. Us to be fat, lazy, and uninformed is their wet dream. And us not to caring, continuing to work, continuing to spend, continuing to stay seated, taking orders.” “Have you ever noticed not one member of Congress or the Senate sends their kids to the war they voted for. You never see a CEO face the people he chooses to lay off. You never see any accountability by our masters that lets us know, they are “one of us”. "Because they’re not, and they will never will be. WE will always be poor, we will always be forced somehow to contribute to their system, and we will fight the way they want us to. By not actually fighting. You see the people on TV commentate, they give us advice, patronize us by making us believe they care; with they’re six figure salaries. How can they really understand us? Unless they get paid, to make us believe in them. They can fight for us. They can be our voice.” “But they’re not, and they never will be. They are paid by the very people that control us. TV pundits and commentators are just puppets for the masses. And we watch them dance and talk of “revolution”, while we just set back mobilizing, on facebook, or myspace. We join causes and groups to show others how informed we are, while not doing anything in our surroundings to really change." "We think that spreading information will stop them. By calling them out on their crimes against us, they will change. But the only thing they change is their clothes.” “The Bildeberg group moves the location of their secret meetings of worldly leaders every year, because if the world found out why they met in seclusion, and found out what actually is discussed they would all be tried for treason.” “They meet to discuss how to continue to keep us down. They have think tanks set up to figure how out how we will respond to changes in our society. The poor and middle class are just rats in a giant maze that the rich watch and laugh at. An experiment of sorts, by manipulation, by smoke screens that use advertising to blind us into buying until we have filled the void in our minds, while depleted our finances. There are forms of government that are higher than the President, that exist in secret from the American people, and have continued to do so for years. What is a democracy in which no choices are really made by the majority? “Answer, a Republic. That is what our country has become, a ruling class and a servant class. Millions of Americans serve this country every day without questioning themselves why things are the way they are, angry the way things have become, while never doing anything more than complaining.” “Well, the day has come, to end this disgusting cycle and move our society towards something more fulfilling. Only by breaking free of this sickness, can we see what true freedom is. And today, whether you are ready for it or not, my friends, is that day.” I hit stop, and hear the beep-boop. Ash on my floor. A siren off in the distance. Nothing has changed, here. But in the viral world, when I release this video, even I know, I’m on to something. Something big, goose-bumps big enough that I have to set back down; smoke another cigarette and re-watch the video, to make sure I’m doing this. More importantly, doing it right. Chapter 3 “The warning” New York: 1270 Avenue of the Americas My first target was radio talk show host Roddy Larson. Better known as Roddy “The Bull” Larson, FAB’s conservative radio and television personality. Hates gays, hates abortion, hates immigrants who don’t work for him, this man is the apitimy of cause. “3 million loyal viewers” with each program meant perfect ground zero moment. And since nothing like this had ever happened to a political celebrity, his security was lax at best. Meaning: Security in the building: a garage attendant busy reading the paper, and Larson’s limo driver, who looked younger than me. Monday thru Thursday this “champion” of politics worked “hard” from 11am till 2pm for the American public making millions to spread lies and deceit. To stir the millions of uninformed into a frenzy. Shoveling sludge and venom into the brains of people unwilling to think for themselves, so willing to believe the “the evil communist” democratic leftist elite who were busy changing everything our leaders had built for us. While Republican cronies were busy erasing any legitimate ways to monitor the out of control government, he still focused on how the Democrats were trying to bring down a legitimate President Brand. It’s sad our society believes we live in a DEMOCRATIC country, but in reality I knew we lived in a REPUBLIC. Where few control so many, like puppets on invisible strings. Our society BELIEVES the words of few, without freely thinking for themselves. Or even attempting to act out like our founding fathers did when the British taxed us unfairly for tea. Roddy, and his Republican cronies spin EVERYTHING that is said to whatever their agenda is at the moment. They claim how the left is bringing us towards Communism. Scaring our older and simple minded into stupidity and getting them to behave like morons who cannot listen. Protestors during the Brand presidency were called lunatics. Now “Tea Party” protestors are “Patriots”. The scare word of the day is “Communist”. It’s not the words he uses, it’s the never ending spin he lies into to “truth”, with regards to “opening our eyes to the truth behind Washington.” It’s the TRUTH behind WHY he’s saying WHAT he’s saying, that made me chose him first. Because of his impact with the “right”, and the countless who listen to the garbage that spews without end from his mouth. Showing the world, even the spin masters would not be exempt from MY New World Order. If you spin, or are paid to deceive, you would pay. Belief is priceless, look at the bible. That is why religion is so important. If you control the masses with a belief of an imaginary man in the sky who judges but does nothing to stop the corruption that has existed throughout all of humanity, then you can control them to buy-believe anything you want. And in this same way, Religious leaders openly tell their congregations WHO to vote for, along with the belief of never questioning authority or thinking for themselves. Like major Religions, the Bildibergs, and the World Trade Organizations have attempted to control us thru manipulation and conspiracy after conspiracy. Believe it or not, they exist, and they HAVE controlled us, like George Orwell’s Big Brother in “1984”, they control all. See it or ignore it, it has been there, all along. Whether you want to accept it or not, they have controlled, and manipulated your life, whether you believe it or not, it matters not to them, as they are not like angels or deities, they exist whether you believe in them or not. These puppet masters are in front of us every day, on television, on radio, behind corporate doors; they hire us, manage us, and fire us. They control us and get paid well for it, that is their job, and it is our life as we’ve come to accept it. NAFTA, the Patriot Act both manipulated and made reality what it’s become. Lies, millions in job loss, and a secret surveillance on the American people, and ALL of our leaders became complacent in the biggest conspiracy in the history of the human race. Not even the Romans could be this cruel to their people. I arrived at the FAB studio’s parking garage where Roddy begins his “performance” at 3:15 a.m. I had to use a grappling hook to get inside without being noticed by security, like I thought I might be. I walked up levels till I found a great place to hide and finally get some sleep. I could get a solid six hours of sleep curled up on the 5th floor locked in the maintence room. Setting my alarm for 10:50 a.m. it would still give me enough time to listen enough of his garbage to will myself, even if I had second thoughts. The sleep didn’t come easy, and the anticipation kept me half awake. Finally my alarm woke me, and I didn’t even have to listen to my ipod for inspiration. I was “alive”. I made my way down to the 2nd floor, to where I could watch the 1st floor elevator. Making myself disappear in the dark recesses of the garage while I finally clicked my ipod on, listening in on Roddy’s show. Another stunning show, in which I could hardly stand 5 minutes without letting my own inner hatred boil over from his lies, and spin-spin-spin. Less than 5 miles away a mass protest was gathering strength as its audience funneled thru the streets like a massive heard of cattle. Rabble-rousing and chanting whimsical lyrics, they follow one another across the Brooklyn Bridge, towards Times Square. Roddy comments on how “Un-American” it is of them to stand up and say no together, to something they do not believe in. Only he spins it with the words “unsafe mob mentality” and “lefty minions”. His audience only can listen in with fear for its city streets, as the thousands of “probably illegal immigrants”, and the “Gay Agenda” storms the streets with weapons, while the brave police can only watch harmlessly from the sidelines. As a black limo pulls into the garage, I step back, further into the dark recesses. I wait for the show to end, and another 45 minutes passes before he enters the garage, “my target”. His driver gets out in a hurry, opening his door for him as Roddy walks past, avoiding any eye contact, or any humanly interaction as he chats away on his cell. His driver forgets to close the driver side door, to which I move silently slipping past without getting noticed. I move fast from the shadows, staying low and making little noise, I scoot to the passenger seat, and wait for my first victim. Taking a moment, I realize he is a true innocent victim, to which I must accept won’t be the last. I quickly close the barrier window concealing the driver away from the passenger, as the car vibrates with door closing; I pull my mask down and wait for what seems like eternity. Hearing the driver’s steps as they come closer, I ready the needle, anticipating for his reaction before he enters. I have to stick him quick, making sure he makes no noise, and does NOT fall out of the car. Nothing to notice, nothing to be remembered. Concealed head to toe in complete black, I know he’ll react to me before he gets in, but even my mask is complete black, if he remembers anything, it won’t be any details on any of my features. Moving quick I position the needle to where I guestimate his neck will be. Sliding in, he doesn’t even notice me until after I’ve stuck him, his eyes wide; he gasps a failed attempt at a scream. I’m sure he farted out of fear, either that or its shit I smell before his eyes begin fluttering, passing out head first on the steering wheel. Instinctively, I laugh as the horn echoes thru the garage. Roddy screams something towards my direction. The wall between us protects my ears from his verbal bial, as I move the driver over to the foot rest area of the passenger seat. I make sure to take his monkey hat, wearing it on top of my mask, just for “S’s and G’s”. Slowly taking off, I buckle for safety before locking the barrier window between me and my new buddy, Roddy. I passively wave at the parking attendant, still wearing the driver’s hat and all black, he waves back barely looking up from his newspaper. Murmur comes from the back seat, Roddy still a “chatty Kathy”, oblivious. A layer of sweat film covers my body under my “getup” as my hand begins to shake with adrenaline. This IS happening now. I AM the controller of my, AND Roddy Larson’s destiny for here on out, and nothing can change it now. Opening my new “last pack of smokes”, I countdown my last 20 cigarettes. After this pack, I WILL have to quit. I’m sure of it, this time. By the time this pack of smokes gets down to less than 10, the feds will be all over me. This is my poison, my pittance. I know I’m breaking the law, and what I’m doing may land me in “hell”, if that ever existed, but my willingness to inhale these toxic fumes is my punishment, my payment for getting to live this life. Do this. Accomplishing the good that no one else cared enough to do something about. “This is just as much a journey as it is a destination.” I tell Roddy, who can’t hear me threw the barrier. “If I can show the world that ONE person cared enough to die for change, was willing to sacrifice his life and freedoms for their future, then I know my message will have the most impact.” Threw the rearview, Roddy looks out the passenger window, still chatting away, I continue, “Even with the basic advertising principals in place, I know that at least 10% of the population, who will witness, will want to buy into my new form of living. I can truly say, I’m living as though I’m dying. Because in a way, my life is ticking away with each second until they catch me. After the first execution, the authorities will be hunting me, and the clock will continue to tick as they look for any evidence leading back to me. To apprehend. Convict, and sentence me.” I run a delayed yellow light continuing on, “Even if I’m careful, chances are, I’ll leave something behind, some small clue. No matter how much detail I put into the process, there will always be some wildcard that could topple my carefully laid plans. A left behind hair. Tire tracks. A finger print. All could be the reason I get life in Prison, the gas, the chair, or the needle prick. Countless ways to bring myself down, while I must be careful not to overlook the simple while still focusing on the whole.” This time I definitely run a red light and Roddy notices, I hear a tapping on the barrier window as I preach away, “I am not an assassin.” I reassure Roddy, “I am bringing the world back to where it should have been. Like any good TV villain, I have convinced myself that what I am doing is RIGHT, and nothing anyone tells the world will change my mind. The confused masses that will no doubt be persuaded by TV pundits, they will need their reassurance; that need to know their authorities are in control, and “on top of it”. I will be hunted like Timothy McVeigh. Like John Allen Mohammed. Like Ted Kaczynski.” I click the doors lock button as I see Roddy look from my direction to the door, “The F.B.I. will post my pictures, my details, my past. My family will be hounded, tormented and put through the media ringer, just as so many other families have when their loved ones “became news worthy fugitives”. They’ll squeeze out sordid details of my childhood, wanting to know if I ever raped a fellow classmate, or if I tortured animals growing up. They’ll feel safer knowing which music I listened to, which flavor of sugar fructose flavored water I drank.” Roddy comes closer to the barrier window, I hear a tap-tap-tap followed with some murmur and a nervous laugh before I drown it out, “All of it, useless filler.” I continue, “My past and my preferences in that life matters not, anymore. My past life isn’t even a memory worth remembering, I can’t waste a moment’s time thinking back to 7th grade and how Hannah Perkins broke my heart to be with Corey Kessler. I can’t think back to all those times I failed test after test in school. Or knowing I failed my father with my lack of talent in baseball.” I hear him for a second telling me he can’t hear what I’m saying, I speak up to drown him out, “The past is just a reminder of all of our failures we have to remind ourselves in order to feel good about “giving up”. We become complacent as we get older; we quit caring about what we really wanted over what we needed.” Accelerating, I speed thru intersections, picking up speed without a care I yell, “When we were all children, we all wanted to be sports stars, or astronauts, or firemen, and what have you, but then over time, we would give up a dream here or there, depending on a pregnancy scare, or a failed test, or a mountain of debt. Single handedly over time, we gave up more and more, to the point where we didn’t care anymore because we had no more dreams to give up.” Roddy asks if I’m in a “Fight Club”, I tell him thru the rearview mirror, “We began listening to what was being told to us, caring not to think for ourselves, or even question anything. Because whoever it was that was preaching to us knew what we needed to hear, to keep us steady and complacent in our lives. Focused not on what truly mattered.” I get stopped deep in traffic at a backed up light, when Roddy tries opening the door, the windows, even the sunroof. Ignoring it, still I continue, “Then when society had no more dreams to dream, our authorities started taking our basic rights. Habeas Corpus, a woman’s right to choose, gun control. We would be herded and separated like cattle. When Speaker of the House, Republican, Kent Rowe came to speak at the University of Iowa, the public was censored from asking any hard questions of its leader. Separating and controlling the dissidents while the followers got to hear about his career in “public service”. Anyone with a smidgen of power can manipulate the laws in order to benefit themselves, to keep “peace” and control. Integrity, and accountability, check.” Roddy dials on his phone still eyeing me the entire time, I cite on, “The Patriot Act’s never ending surveillance on U.S. citizens. WE are JUST like Orwell’s “Winston Smith” from 1984, we are just rats trapped in an invisible see all cage. Our jobs, our homes, our families are all just the imaginary strings holding us back from accomplishing more, with the little time we’ve been given on this planet.” “Our society and its people care “enough” to rock the boat, but never willing to push it over. You see it every day, people with piercings and tattoos striving to be different, all while looking the same. They care enough to shock other members living within the confines of their cities or towns, but never doing anything that actually accomplishes any good in the world, or their surroundings.” I drive hard and fast, pushing the limo to limits as I swerve around corners, narrowly missing pedestrians paying more attention to their cell phones, reading their “eBooks”, listening to their iPods. Even when reality is happening in front of their faces, our people choose to ignore, looking towards technology for answers. I watch his fat face disappear threw the rearview mirror as the back of the limo swings wide with the hard turn, “On the cover of the Sports page reads, “Manny Ramirez donates his 1994 Porsche”. Can you believe that? All while making his $20 million this season. Great, a $100,000 donation by a multimillionaire, in the middle of a recession, as most Americans are suffering with massive job losses, bank foreclosures, and dropping property values. $20 million dollars for just one person, for a game that doesn’t even matter in the grand scheme of things, and it isn’t even the #1 sport in the country.” Watching him start to get visibly upset and looking between me and his phone for answers, I yell so he can hear, “With $20 million, you could repave the roads for an entire county. You could give 100,000 families enough money to buy food for 6 months. You could employee enough teachers to cover 5 states.” Roddy tries opening the barrier window, frantically pushing the button, he’s no longer wanting to chit chat on his phone, I talk over “All of that for not, as Manny Ramirez is seen as “a necessity” in L.A.” I use quotation fingers to really express my point, as the limo slightly swerves. Looking back I continue, “And the people, like sheep, believe what they are told. Just think, if we eliminated all of you millionaires, all over the world, we could ALL be rich. If we single handedly took the worlds riches for ourselves, the rich, and their bought and paid for security would be worthless.” The clicking of the window control button no longer a steady pace, now turns to more of a rapid gun fire approach, I continue to yell over, “Millions of people, marching together for one specific purpose could overthrow the entire elite, in whatever bunker you would hide in, and we would take back what was stolen from us in the first place.” “CLANK!” “CLANK!” CLANK!” Roddy pounds on the barrier window, as I drive, still smoking my cigarette slowly. The speed of the limo can’t keep up with the adrenaline flowing throughout my body. My left leg starts to shake. “Advertising and its annoying repeating messages. Over and over they play, hypnotizing people into desensitation, not caring what’s happening in their outside world, outside of their televised grip. We strive to escape our mundane lives by watching others vicariously thru sports, thru reality shows, thru soap operas.” As the car rights itself, I refill the syringe from its bottle while still eyeing the road. Roddy’s fat face now takes up most of the window, I can hear the words, “You’re FIRED!” and “Pull the FUCK OVER!” as I ash my cigarette out the window, I smile and give him a thumbs up. I look over at “Timmy” or “Danny”, the driver curled up in a peaceful ball of sleep and wonder how long would he put up working for someone who would call him a “Moron” or a “Dipshit”? I know that I can only take another minute of hearing his voice, before I want to shoot him even though it’s another 20-30 minutes until we reach our shared destination. Since Roddy isn’t so controlling of the conversation, I continue, “We idolize actors, musicians and sports stars, all while ignoring the fact that they make ten-times what we do, doing something we would do, for a fraction of what they get paid, just to say we did. We ignore that they don’t care if we watch or not, they still get paid. We love them more than family members, because we secretly want to be them. With their millions in the bank. Their new movie opening this weekend. The new album with its impending world tour.” (Again using quotation fingers, while looking back to Roddy, to let him know, he’s still in this conversation.) He screams louder, squealing like a little piggy, his voice pitches to its highest levels, like a child’s during a temper tantrum. He’s starting to feel it now, as denial creeps in. That total loss of control. Before he will know it, he’ll jump from anger to bargaining before realization will seep in. I shout on, “Should we really care that Brazil has been eliminated in the World Cup? Should we care “The Situation” has a record deal? Authority has found our weakness, it’s the fact that we want to avoid reality, while they can shape and mold it the way they want, and in ways we perceive to be in “our best interests.” What really happens is a never ending cycle of misinformation, deceit, pillaging, and rape.” With his safe little world, so far away, he thrashes like a shark out of water, in the back of the limo, hurling liquor bottles and glasses that shatter into a mist of glass. Thank god for Plexiglas windows, it’s a small item I failed to research, and it could have been something that changed the course of our future. “History..” I bark over the sounds of shattering glass “..history is told by its winners. Our school children learn not how the Indians were relocated like cattle. Chinese immigrants served as slave labor during the gold rush. Mexicans are now treated as unwelcome job stealers. It’s all about who’s in control, and who’s not. Who’s slanting the media, and who’s believing it.” “If a country has a resource we covet, we send in Economic Hit-men to steal it, and bring it to the people who believe it’s what is “rightfully ours” as the resource consuming nation, and claim no responsibility for the horrors we let loose on these regions. Countless assassinations all in the name of “Capitalism” have been waged by the jackals of our C.I.A. Mohammed Mossadeegh of Iran. Jacob Arbenz of Guatemala. Achmed Sukarno of Indonesia. Patrice Lumumba of the Congo. Salvador Allende of Chile. Jaime Roldos of Ecuador. Thank you, John Perkins.” I speed up to 50, and then slam the breaks with all my might. Roddy flies from the back of the limo straight into glass, I’m sure I heard the Plexiglas crack that time. Still stopped, I release the window lock, and roll it down. Before I see his fat face, I hear, “Wha ….what in the FUCK is WRONG with YOU?!” Still lying on the floor, and dazed I have to reach threw and pull him up, blood running from his hands and face. Broken glass covers him like body glitter. His eyes go wide in horror as they meet my mask for the first time. Before any words are exchanged, I stick the needle so hard into his neck blood squirts out and onto my clothing. His face not comprehending, not understanding this moment, he grabs at my mask, pulling it off. Letting it slide off with ease, our eyes truly meet as I pop my neck from side to side, never breaking our stare down. His mouth gasping for air, I let the all my pent up hate seep out thru my eyes. I hold him upright making sure he feels every second of terror, I smile a razor toothed grin when his eyes begin to water and flutter. Before I know it, his weight increases dramatically, and I watch him comically fall from the cushioned seat, to the floor covered in broken glass with a solid thud. Blood is everywhere, and for a second, I’m almost scared he’ll bleed out before our performance, which starts in 2 hours, and I still have to get to the hotel, and get the wheelbarrow before taking the biggest risk, taking Roddy inside. I click my turn signal, and get back on the road driving calmly even though the adrenaline makes me shake all over. An odd contrast between peace and destruction in the limo. It took me 2 weeks to find any hotels or motels in the city that would take cash and not keep records, and now the whole plan hinges on how well I can disguise a public figure, without being remembered, in a hotel used for sex. Thank you worthless internet search sites. To calm myself, I continue conversation, “The commercials, oh the commercials, how we love to covet the things that push us away from caring. That catchy whistle of the All State Commercials. Having it “our way” at Burger King. Pepsi and its “Refresh Project”, oh, how we can change the world, our world, thanks to Corporations, and their endless funds. Don’t worry Roddy, OUR world WILL change BECAUSE of you and me, and today. The only sad fact is I won’t be around to see it.” Chapter 4 “God Given” Pulling up to the Ziegfeld theatre on West 54th Street, I turn on my emergency blinkers, Rushing over I pay for a two tickets to the next showing of “Predators”. I chuckle at some of the irony, heading back to the limo. Hardly anyone notices as I throw the drivers arm over my shoulder and begin walking him in like were two best friends, drunk and partying in the city. The motions jar “Randy” or “Mikey” out of his zombie like sleep, his eyes open rolling all over without any control. His weight shifts off of me, and he actually starts walking without thinking. Some bystanders and employees watch, as I tell them with a smile, “He’s been waiting a long time for this movie, he got so plastered last night.” With some reservation we get thru, receiving only the stink eye tax from employees. The long walk to the dark theatre is so slow, I’m almost waiting for him to look directly at me, but in his drugged stupor, he follows my lead. Asking, “Where are we? Who are you?” I laugh and say, “Dude, were at the movies, man.” Down the hallway I scan some of the movie posters I will never get to see as we pass. “Johnny” or “Teddy” must have felt my body shift checking out the different upcoming features. His head starts to tilt up to look at me “Wait man, I……want to see the….posters too, man.” “They’re all just two hour wastes of your time and money.” I say as I jar him from focusing on my face as we reach our theatre. Opening the door I make sure he doesn’t look directly at me before all of the light gets taken away. The theatre almost completely empty I find a place in front to park him before telling him, “Shit man, I forgot the popcorn, I’ll be right back.” “Jimmy”, or “Bobby” tells me;” No salt” as I head out the emergency exit, silently back into an empty alley. I walk calmly, keeping attention to time detail I know I have less than 20 minutes before Roddy wakes up. I still have to grab the wheel barrow from the hotel room, and I still have 3 blocks in downtown New York traffic in front of me. I might be pushing it too thin. Coming out of the alley I see my parking skills are landing me a ticket, which is getting placed on the limo windshield. Precious seconds tick away as I wait for the ticket officer to finish before I jump in the car the car, leaving the ticket under the wiper blade; I put it in drive and continue on. Reaching the hotel parking lot, I park and run up to the 3rd floor as fast as my lungs will allow. Grabbing the out of place wheel barrow from my room, I make my way back to the service elevator, just fast enough to not get noticed. The hotel, I will withhold from naming, as if it weren’t for its shady bookkeeping skills, and overlooking of certain practices, I would not have gotten away will rolling Roddy in on a wheel barrel. Most people here try to avoid contact with anyone, as we all know why we are all at this hotel, we just don’t want to put a face on anyone else fulfilling those same desires. I put “Timmy” or “Johnny’s” monkey hat over Roddy’s snoring face, sprinkling some Jack Daniels from the limo all over Roddy, strategically placing the remaining bottle in plain sight, we head for our shared destiny, but first the service elevator. Even losing 100 pounds, Roddy is still a portly fellow and I’m breaking a serious sweat lugging him around. I remain unnoticed on the elevator by the young couple making out. The blind hobo on the 3rd floor asks for change from the ground, I give him Roddy’s wallet, minus any cash. A baby screams from room 307. A woman fakes an orgasm in 313. I hear an action movie trying its best to cover up another faked orgasm coming from 317. Roddy stirs, I tell him, “Go back to sleep SIR, we’ll be there in a minute.” Snorting once, and he’s back out as we reach our room, #323. I lock the door, and then struggle for 10 minutes, tying Roddy’s dead weight into the wheelbarrow. Duck taping both his arms and legs to the frame, I shove a gag ball into his mouth before he stirs awake. Taking a sharpie I begin to write the words, “SMUT PEDDLER” on the gag ball. Roddy opens his eyes as I get to the 2nd “E” and his initial reaction causes me to screw up. I instinctively punch him in his stomach, and finish the “E” and “R” without any more problems. Walking over to the camera, I’m sure he asks “Who the Fuck am I?” under the gag. I ignore. Under the gag, I’m sure he asks “What do I want?” I zoom in on his face, only his face. Before hitting record, I ask him, “Are you ready for your last televised performance?” To which I only get a confused look for a response. CHAPTER 5 “Piggy” “This is Roddy Larson, and as most of you know; he is a piece of shit. He stirs us; he gets his audience angry by spewing facts and figures pulled from his ass. Every day, he influences millions of people by using fear, and anger to manipulate the truth. Every day he chastises anyone who doesn’t bow down to his views, doesn’t buy into what he’s shilling. And today, the cycle will end starting with him.” “He is a conman, a charlatan, a scam, a LIAR. Because what he sells as “real” is not what he believes, and lives by. He gets paid, more than most of you watching put together, to sway anyone dumb enough to listen into believing his words are gospel. But truth is everything he says is meant to deceive, to make sure we are only focused on what is being thrown in front of us.” Roddy struggles to free himself, his eyes still connected to mine. I tilt my head like a dog and continue, “The REASON he gets paid so handsomely, is because he is effective. Like any good salesman, he can persuade millions into behaving like idiots, believing the sky is falling, while distracting you from the possibility of making change a real, tangible possibility." "What makes this little piggy so special is the amount of influence he used to wield. I say “used to” because, after today, he will influence no more. After today, OUR REVOLUTION will show the rich and powerful that their day in the sun is over, and “tomorrow” is OURS for the pillaging. We will take what we have been too lazy to take for ourselves. Roddy here, is special from all the rest of the smut peddlers, because HE will be the first to mark our day. His death will show the rich, the powerful, and the elite that they are now the prey, and WE, the middle class are the hunters.” Roddy screams for help under his gag, without flinching I shoot him with my pellet gun in the stomach, 3 or 4 times. With each pull of the trigger, I FEEL power, I FEEL what it’s like to have someone’s life in my fingertips. His screams are higher than I expected, for a man of his size, but I expect it was because he thought my gun was real. Each pull, I wish him to scream louder so I can continue inflicting pain. I can show how much I despise the actions and words of this man. “After today, Roddy will no longer be around to peddle, and misinform you. Today will mark the end of his life as human, and it will mark the date of a new beginning for “us”.” Speaking directly to Roddy I continue, “You got paid millions to spread lies, to blind the masses with your garbage. You got paid to lie, to take a stand, but behind the scenes you didn’t practice what you preached. All those things you’ve said about gay people, and then to pay Elton John to perform at your wedding. You are a hypocrite. Therefore you serve no purpose other than that to distract and deceive.” “Why you are here is because, we have no need for you, or your kind anymore…” Roddy screams trying to get attention. I pull out an air pistol, and point it towards his head. His eyes wide, he decides to listen. “No, you do NOT get to interrupt anyone, anymore. You will listen, and you WILL accept what is going to happen. Just like we’ve had to accept the decisions by our masters for way to long. Now you will see our plight, you will feel what is like to be on the other side, because your opinion, what YOU want does not matter anymore.” Roddy tries to scream and move in any direction he can. I aim for his forehead, firing off another round. His scream makes me laugh, and the surprise of getting shot again almost knocks him over. I have to wait, and make sure he rights himself; staying behind the camera I cannot afford to allow myself to be seen in any media other than what I choose. “Are you done?” I ask, not really wanting an answer. Under the gag I vaguely understand, “What, and want?” “Nothing you can give me Roddy, other than the satisfaction of not ever speaking another word. And I’m sure you can’t assure me that if I let you go, you wouldn’t speak again, or even give a full description of me. So therefore, you HAVE to realize at this point, you will not be alive by the time anyone sees this.” I think I hear the words, “How much?” “Money?” I respond laughing, “To never hear your voice or words again…. $200 million in cash…at least.” Realization hits his face, and he shakes his head “no”. “What you don’t have it? Really? You see for years I would listen to your programs and would secretly wish that someone would kill you. But that wish never came true. Then I realized maybe it was really my duty. And that got me thinking, HOW can I do it? Which got me planning, a year later and now we’re here.” I think I hear the word “Mmarr-trr” which I interpret as “martyr” come from his fat mouth. I say, “Whatever, it still makes you dead. That’s all that matters. If the people see that we do NOT need people like YOU telling us what to do, then we can start thinking and more importantly acting for ourselves. We can cleanse the world the way it needs to be cleaned. Not by the Corporations, not by politicians, and definitely not by TV personalities stirring us to madness by ignoring the things that we could be doing and having us focus on the things we shouldn’t CARE about. WHO CARES what other people are doing, or what beliefs OTHERS have, WHY does your Republican listeners think they have to constantly tell others how to live? Why do YOU think you have the right to tell others what to feel, or think? Because you get paid so much, and you have so many listeners?” Roddy interrupts and I fire off a shot without aiming. Tears stream down his face, as he tries screaming again. I want to walk straight up to him and fire a shot point blank into his eye, but I stop. I tap the gun on the counter next to me, and he stops momentarily. “What you have done with your life is a shame. The influence you wielded, and the things you COULD HAVE done, for the positive, but you wasted it, being a puppet. How many houses do you have? How many people work for you? What have you done in the last 10 years that could be construed in ANY WAY a positive thing?” His eyes full of fire, I’m sure knowing his death is around the corner somewhere is fueling his testosterone. I notice he’s trying to loosen his left arm. Shaking my head at him I continue, “Do you really think you’re going to get away? I had to kill your driver to get to you, and there’s no way I’m serving a jail sentence for him, and not for you. I’ve come too far.” With that Roddy stops. The “killing your driver” comment must have got him. Through tears he looks at me, I think he asks, “Did you really kill him?” I nod without hesitation, “Yeah. If you want to start a revolution you have to kill a couple of innocents. Am I right?” I chuckle. “See, people like you, need to be shown, that THEY can be held just as accountable for the things they say on a higher level, because of the amount of people you sway, one way or the other.” Roddy tries to jump in his position, I shoot again, hitting him somewhere in the chest. He whimpers under the gag, as a steady stream of drool connects to his chest. “Your kind will be shown, that you’re viewing public, are tired of the games you, and especially your masters play with our lives. We are tired of listening to you, and tired of being told what to think, how to live, and WHO to vote for. From this day forward, Roddy, you and I will forever be remembered together, for something greater than the both of us. It will be greater than anything you’ve ever done in your life, and it will forever make you famous. You will be remembered, always, as the first of many. The day we struck back at you millionaires, you rich, you powerful. Today we will show you that were not going to listen, anymore.” “I want you to say goodbye to those 4 course meals you get every day while millions of people starve. Say goodbye to first class travel all so people can hear your bought opinion even faster. And say goodbye to your masters, because they cannot buy you out this, this time, nobody can.” I quit watching him to load the syringe, only a small amount, just to keep him loopy and easy to manage till we get to the rally. In my peripheral I see his left arm working free. “I can’t say if it will hurt or not, but I can say it will be just, especially for you. And if you believe in heaven, then you can die knowing you received your judgment, here on earth. That counts for something, right? And you can also be reassured that your death will be for OUR greater good. Your death will bring on change. Isn’t that a word you hate? We’ll I’m sure when our law makers see WHO the first is, they’ll make sure to adopt change.” His left hand finally free, reaches desperately for his right. I cut him off. “THIS” I say motioning towards the gun “is for everyone who ever wanted you to shut the fuck up.” I then unload 20 pellets into him before shutting off the camera. In his pain, he doesn’t notice how quickly I’m on him. His reaction to the needle prick is quick; his eyes meet mine before they start to flutter. His body goes limb, and slacks backs in the wheelbarrow. Now for the hard part. CHAPTER 6 “My Violent Heart” Driving to the protest rally, Roddy bound and gagged in the back of the limo, I park a block away. Climbing in the back of the limo threw the barrier window, Roddy watches with wide wild eyes. Wearing my pro-Obama t-shirt, tear-away pants, and tennis shoes, I slip on my all black executioner outfit. (Bought last year around Halloween at a K-Mart, with cash, if you must know.) After changing, I pull out a “Bernie Maidoff” Halloween mask, and super glue. I make sure to layer the glue on thick around the bottom of the mask, then stuffing it on top of Roddy’s head. He resists, and I hear a garbled whimper under the mask. “Don’t breathe TOO MUCH, those fumes are toxic.” I say sarcastically. Opening the limo door, the summer heat and humidity makes me sweat instantly, I hear thousands marching, and chanting together as one as I pull the mask over my head. People look in, wanting to know just WHO parked a limo a block away from a protest rally. “Ready to make history?” I ask without waiting for a response, as I prod Roddy out of the limo with my pocket knife. His first step out, he tries to run, but I pull him back, and jab him hard in the lower back with my knife. I can tell he shrieked, but its noise gets drowned out, and the immediate blood loss covers my glove and knife. Some stop immediately and watch, as under my mask I can look everywhere without anyone noticing where I am looking. I see the rental company putting the finishing touches on the guillotine, less than 100 feet away. The cartoon mask of Maidoff swivels around his head, making it impossible for Roddy to see the horror unfolding in front of him. Some protestors laugh, and smack him on his masked head as we pass. I see lights flashing all over the crowd, as thousands want any images they can get their hands on of this “entertaining event”. I make sure to soak up every moment, knowing full well I have left no finger prints anywhere in the car, or exposed myself in any way that could bring me down. Roddy jerks and fights, still tied up and gagged silent, as the crowd parts for us to make our grand entrance. “You should see this shit Roddy, real biblical.” I say directly towards his ear. The crowd chants, as more and more notice the entertainment coming their way, more people part as we get closer. Some protestors look from the main stage, and back to me, making the connection between; the guillotine, Maidoff, and the executioner. I see smiles all around from the protestors, as they anticipate the impending “death” of a man who stole so much from so many. The mock execution, I lead Roddy still tied up, gagged and silent, blind under his cartoon mask of Bernie Maidoff. He jerks and fights, the crowd reacts with cheers thinking this is all part of a show as I poke him in the spine with my pocket knife, herding him along, a sea parts in the audience as more and more people notice. 50 feet away, my “fake” guillotine is finally erected by the rental company of the only real guillotine for rent in the state. I notice the workers seeing me, and hurrying to get the guillotine all set up and ready before I reach them. I slow my walk, giving them more time as I pace the walk of death in rhythm of the crowd’s repetitive chants of, “KILL! KILL!! KILL!!” The setup for this was very tricky, which required me to set up weeks, even months in advance. I had to make sure, 3 times that the organizers of the protest knew this would be a mock execution of a political celebrity. I faked my way thru the insurance forms, with a fictitious name used from my favorite movie, “The Usual Suspects”. I was really surprised when I actually said my name that the lackey didn’t immediately call me out on bullshit. But I guess Keizer Soseigh seemed Russian, and I fought thru attempts to speak with an accent. I had to convince the organizers that I had a contact with a fake guillotine in which someone could wear a mask and shoulder harness, and still be safe as the blade would come down, removing their mask, but not their head. This took 5 phone calls from a phone booth, and a lot of quarters. On the day of the rally, no organizers even met with me or even backed up any background checks to make sure I would be doing something safe. All they cared about was my donation in Roddy’s name, which had made HUGE headlines in the days leading up to the rally, as Roddy vehitmately denied donating. As the countless masses shouted insults I made sure to walk Roddy as slow as possible making sure he suffer as long as possible. I heard his whimpers and garbled screams coming from his gag under his mask, as some rowdy audience members punched and struck this lamb being led to his own slaughter. I paraded him up the stairs, as the thousands gathered cheering loudly as his failed attempt to escape only led to some overzealous members of the rally to grab him and bring him back to his punishment. The guillotine ready, I place the previously taped video in the basket there to catch his head, as some fans of my “art” help to make sure Roddy was put into the proper position. The mask rotates, and I catch it before anyone notices there is no device that will save my new buddy Roddy from becoming “the headless horseman of 2010”. Patting him on the head, I can’t hear the garbled scream that is obviously coming below me over the roar of the crowd, but I reassure him once before the mob takes over that he WILL be burning in hell in less than 5 minutes. I encourage the audience to participate, motioning to anyone close that THEY, yes THEY can be the one to pull the lever. A small fight breaks out, as hundreds rush to the stage, wanting to be “the one.” When more than 10 people hit the stage, I slowly fade into the crowd, removing my clothing as quickly as possible, and making sure to NOT look back. I make my way away from the stage as their chants get louder and louder, people in the audience search for me, but all they find is my black executioners robe, and mask. I make sure to get as far away as possible before the chants force me to look back. In my pro Obama t-shirt, I become one of them, chanting and screaming for the death of Bernie Maidoff in front of our eyes. On the stage, two people make sure to hold Roddy down, as others fight amongst themselves, trying to decide WHO will pull the switch. Out of nowhere, a female comes into the picture, halting the process. For a second I’m scared shitless that my carefully laid plans would be destroyed by some random vagina, until I see her ask the crowd who THEY think should pull the lever. I smile to myself, reassured that “democracy” is still alive. No one is looking for the executioner who led this parade, and my true identity is revealed, I make sure to look like everyone else, chanting and screaming for more, more, more. The crowd screams for which member of the people on stage they want to see pull the lever, killing “Maidoff” before their very eyes. The crowd breaks into a hush as anticipation boils over as a very pro lefty college student pulls the lever, the steel rushes down the track is the only thing that’s heard, for a second. The crowd erupts in ecstasy as this villain is served with justice, as Roddy’s head bounces out of the mask, and rolls into the basket as the mask flips off stage. Roddy’s head, sets perfectly in the basket. A second later the realization hits them, and a hush overtakes them as they check in shock that the man just living, is now beheaded in front of them. Many in crowd with cameras film behind wide eyes and a hush that takes over the crowd. I blend into the audience acting shocked and appalled, looking around for anyone with an answer. Like children acting out of anger, they realize the implications of their actions, and look for someone else to blame. People start to look around for the executioner. I join them. Random people look around in confusion, looking to see if THEY can see the killer walking amongst them. Phones held up to film, cameras continuing to roll. The student who pulled the lever staggers slowly over to the basket, in shock. Roddy’s body twitches involuntarily. The mask off stage, some fans held up in victory; now drop it like an infexious disease. This same executioner openly shakes when realization hits, looking around his gaze connects with no one. Police sirens are heard in the distance, and Police rush into the crowd from all directions. I plug my ear-buds in both ears before lighting an M-80 and dropping it to my side. The loud explosion is muffled by Soul Fly’s “Jumpdafuckup”, but it’s so close it scares the already stunned and silent crowd, into a wild heard that overwhelm the small number of police making their way to the stage. The innocent executioner just stands over the basket, in complete confusion. I’m running with the crowd but every couple of feet I turn back to different shots of the stage. I hear a police officer yelling at me to stop, I continue to run. I look back to the stage; the college kid’s now bent over close looking at the head. I duck under an undercover police officer’s attempt to tackle me. His polo shirt, sun glasses, and sweat stains are all dead give aways. I jump a barricade, and look back, the kid is now standing, holding Roddy’s head up, looking wide eye to wide eye. At eye level, I’m sure he’s read the ball gag by now. I sprint with the crowd never looking back to the police officers, only to the stage. In seconds a rally that encompassed 5 city blocks is dispersing in less than a minute. Police grab anyone they can. Fights break out, as in the police’s attempt to apprehend anyone, the innocent fight back, refusing to take blame for my actions. A group of 10 overturn a police cruiser. Police fight with protesters. Protesters swam the police in herds of 10 or more. I stop for a second; witnessing the reality I’ve created. Police fight with whatever they can, even with reinforcements, they’re still outnumbered. Incoming reinforcements are overtaken by the now rabid crowd. Screams, shouts, sirens, tear gas and gun shots, the overwhelming effect on the senses drives some to hide in fear, others flee in terror. While others become like wild animals, fighting anything in a uniform. I take it all in with a smile, not hearing anything but the lyrics. I start to pace myself, jogging away from any scenes of oncoming authority. My last look to the stage, I see Police swarm and tackle the college student, who’s still staring deep into Roddy’s eyes. Jogging over to the parked limo, no one notices as I disappear into the back, shutting the door, I empty all of the remaining alcohol all over the inside. Spotting a golden zippo lighter with the initials “R.L.” ingraved on the side only completes the mission. The alcohol vapors so strong inside, I take a second to enjoy the sweet smell, while watching kaos unfold outside. The limo starts to rock, as I exit the vehicle, tossing Roddy’s zippo inside, the crowd goes from anger at seeing me, to congratulating me for setting it ablaze. I jog back to the motel, only 7 blocks from the epicenter. Smoke rising from little black pillars scattered throughout downtown. Blending in with the people just blocks away, I hear the panicked masses coming closer. Sirens and screams get louder. I continue my pace. I turn a block and police cars race past, I walk slow and look confused with the rest. I dodge and weave thru confused by standers, the music fuels me as a fire burns in my sides. Unmarked cars race down the streets with blue flashing lights on their consoles. Reaching the hotel, for a second I worry before I slide the card in the door. Expecting the worst to happen, I open the door to an empty room. Breathing a sigh of relief, I clean up any tidbits of evidence that could implicate me, finally grabbing my things and heading out. I toss the key cards in the dumpster just outside in the alley, after I wipe them clean of prints. Hailing the closest taxi, I have “Abdul” head back to the 43rd St. parking garage, to grab my car. 47.50$ later, I’m in my car and heading off to the next target. Thank god Roddy carries cash, he paid for the motel, my parking expense since this morning, and my taxi fair across town. One good thing to say about the man, he believed in the U.S. currency. Every radio station is flooded with breaking news and “expert coverage” of the rally, and the terrorist attack involved. They don’t name Roddy just yet, and I listen as I drive out past the impromptu barricades getting erected just a couple of seconds to slow. Even with technology of today’s standards, Oswald could have gotten away. McVeigh was out of the city when the blast went off. Taking the Holland tunnel out of the city, I head south towards New Jersey. Police and military still trying to establish a perimeter, stopping anyone suspicious, I have to slow with traffic. I made sure to let my hair grow out, and I began to look like a hippie version of myself, someone that wouldn’t look the part of a “terrorist”. I notice my out of state license plates getting some unwanted attention from an MP, but putting up the University stickers of the closet college got me a nod and a wave threw. By the time I reach the other end of the tunnel, my video has already been released anonymously on “youtube”. Two hours after my attack on authority, I’m officially an “internet superstar”, and more importantly the world’s newest wanted fugitive. CHAPTER 7 “Zero sum” Location: Interstate 78 going South West Hotel Reservation: JW Marriot Hotel on Pennsylvania Avenue Check In Time: 11:00 am (tomorrow) Driving all day from New York the only thing on the radio was the sudden and unexpected death of an “American Hero”. I was, as expected a “terrorist”, and my youtube video was yanked less than an hour after its release, 40,000 viewers later. Those 40,000 spawned websites with my videos, some calling for any help in finding me, so they could seek revenge on me for Rush, calling me a “monster”, “maniac”, and of course every story repeatedly called me a “murderer”. FAB put out sketches of me from eye witnesses, calling to their nation to look for me among them, while the F.B.I. was investigating what clues were left at the protest. My black executioner robe. After the mob took over, I went around the platform, slipping the gloves off first, and stuffing them into my pockets before dropping the robe. My mask was tricky in theory, but at the time, the masses were so engrossed in the idea of getting to kill Bernie Maidoff, I was able to drop to my knees and stuff it in my fanny pack without anyone paying attention. Surrounded, by 10,000 accomplices, and not a one of them willing to set back and watch at this point. They acted out. And the world’s getting to deal with it. I could only imagine the amount of footage flooding the air waves of the protest. The “shock”, the “outrage”, all this anger coming from TV personalities, and not a one of them could hide the fear in their eyes. I wondered how many might have feared any repercussions from me, as my first video hit 1 million viewers by the 10 o’clock news. I heard tidbits about someone catching me on video, but the overall consensus was nothing fatal. No real defining glimpses of me or my real identity. Driving from New York through New Jersey to Pennsylvania, life was completely different. The sun shined brighter, colors were more vivid, shit even my Arby’s sauce was tangier. I drove the speed limit, exercising 10 and 2 like I was a drug mule, and life was peaceful for me. I floated invisible among the shocked nation, the one they were so interested in, the one who stopped time. I went the long way to D.C., making sure to stop in Gettysburg at least once before I die, or get captured. Feeling some odd connection with this monument of death, I felt like adding a couple of hours to my trip, and buying myself some time. The nation went on high alert after my escape of New York, and the footage from the rally’s implication of 15-17 suspects associated with the beheading of Rush. That poor college kid is looking at life. The riot that proceeded injured over 100, while killing 5. I knew Washington wasn’t the hip place to head to right now, so I took a tour and kept an eye out for ghosts instead of cops for the last time in my life. With D.C. being hot, I needed to make sure I arrived at the right time to fly under any radar looking for me. The tour lasted 3 hours and I could have sworn I saw a horse drawn carriage disappear before my eyes as I was hitting the highway. Watching something disappear before my eyes was my sign that I needed to stop and rest. I paid for the weekend at the first hotel I came across, going on 27 hours without sleep; I went comatose for 17 straight hours. When I awoke every station was replaying as much of the protest that they could, without offending the deceased family. Every station covered it with commentary, thoughts, insights, all mindless fluff to make the average citizen, traumatized by my actions, that they KNEW me. They were hunting me, and they were determined to let everyone know they were on my trail, and it was only a matter of time until I was apprehended and brought to the world’s judgment. I flipped thru the 20 some channels the hotel offered multiple times, not really listening anymore, just making sure my act was STILL the focus of the world. I silently had a bet with myself of which channel would be the first to stop airing footage or commentary. Sadly, I gave up after 3 hours; I had better things to do.