The Man in the Ten Thousand Dollar Suit

[Grandiagod]

Ryan had had enough. Enough of the soldiers marching through streets. Enough of having his friends taken away to government prisons. Enough of having to hide in any shack with internet access so he could e-mail his newsletter to the underground. Ryan was tired of it, and he was about to change it. But first, the beginning.
_____________________________________________________________________________________

“We are protecting you!” the Man in the ten thousand dollar suit said. “We are instituting better protection techniques as I speak.” Raw data was converted into electrical impulses, shot through various satellites, spat out at receivers, shoved through millions of interconnected wires, decoded into little rectangles of blue red and green, then combined as a whole on millions of television screens. This took microseconds.

“We shall keep you safe from those who would endeavor to destroy our way of living.” Only the bust of the Man in the ten thousand dollar suit was visible on those million of screens. “They will never succeed.”

The televisions then displayed men in lesser suits, carefully discussing what the Man in the ten thousand dollar suit had said. All the negative was rooted out and dismissed leaving only pure selflessness and determination. It was a careful dance to try to appear skeptical, but leaving no question as to the Man’s credibility and truthfulness. But, with the proper incentives, the lesser men in suits managed quite well.

Ryan looked away from the television with a mix of repulsion and disbelief. The thundering of a helicopter grew, climaxed and faded. Ryan could tell that it was a dual bladed, military black, personnel carrier from the intense noise. Looking out from the living room window of his single story suburban house he saw a olive drab military Humvee drive down the residential street. He knew some of the youth had been starting riots. Ryan sighed, rioting never solved anything. Rioting did not even garner public sympathy. It was simply an outlet for aggression.

Ryan mulled it over. He decided, that he had quite a bit of aggression that he would like to release with some mindless destruction. But that would never do, if he got arrested, sent away to the learning camps, the underground would lose one of it’s best informants. No, that would never do.

Ryan leaned back in his cheap, but adequate recliner and reached his had down to the side of it to pull up a bright blue Ethernet wire. He then flipped open his laptop which he had been resting on his knees for the entire speech. Wi-fi would be too risky and unsecured for the work he had to do. He involuntarily twitched when he started up his specialized web browser, (all the commercial ones reported back to the NSA), he had a veritable Berlin Wall of encryption, anonymity programs and firewalls between him and the bare internet, but even the Berlin Wall had fallen.

to be cont...

[sleeplessdragn]

Voilà! In view, a humble vaudevillian veteran, cast vicariously as both victim and villain by the vicissitudes of Fate. This visage, no mere veneer of vanity, is it vestige of the vox populi, now vacant, vanished, as the once vital voice of the verisimilitude now venerates what they once vilified. However, this valorous visitation of a by-gone vexation, stands vivified, and has vowed to vanquish these venal and virulent vermin van-guarding vice and vouchsafing the violently vicious and voracious violation of volition.The only verdict is vengeance; a vendetta, held as a votive, not in vain, for the value and veracity of such shall one day vindicate the vigilant and the virtuous.Verily, this vichyssoise of verbiage veers most verbose vis-à-vis an introduction, and so it is my very good honor to meet you and you may call me V.

[Grandiagod]

Not V

[Grandiagod]

Images flashed in front of his eyes and he began to type. Ryan was in charge of writing a report for the underground advising them of new government propaganda techniques. Ryan’s official job was chief advisor on the West Coast Propaganda Board (W.C.P.B.). He actually helped design some of the propaganda for the government. But, in reality, he was a mole, advising the underground on secret government workings and everything his position made him privy too.

After he finished writing he took a while to reflect on the last months happenings. A terrorist bombing in Los Angeles gave the government an excuse to send a plethora of Army troops called “Enforcers” to the West Coast. (Ryan secretly entertained the thought that the bombing had been the work of the government all along.) There had been an intense campaign to eliminate “terrorist sympathizers”, or basically anyone who spoke out against any official policies. Things had gotten a little uncomfortable since then. Ryan always felt as if his days were numbered, and now with all these Enforcers running around, it seemed even more likely that he might end up in a learning camp or just dead on the floor with a little hot piece of metal ricocheting around in his skull.

Ryan’s cell phone vibrated in his jeans. He had to stand up his six foot tall, sturdily built frame up from his recliner in order to answer it. Brushing his longish brown hair out of his eyes with one hand he flipped open the phone with the other. A familiar feeling came over him. He knew that every word he said would be recorded by a supercomputer, analyzed for any “unpatriotic” language and if it was deemed suspicious, he would be taken away as quick as they could send the Enforcers.

“Looking quite blue today.” The voice on the other side of the phone commented

“I prefer a healthy day.” Ryan responded without thought. It was a code he and his best friend had come up with, in order to let each other know it was official underground business and to be careful what they said to each other. “So Jeff, how does it go?”

“It goes fine Ryan.” Replied Jeff. “Lets meet up at the restaurant at 7:30 and discuss the day.”

“See you there. Goodbye”

“Bye”

When Jeff had said restaurant he had meant he and Ryan’s secret meeting spot. A little dark under an overpass walking distance from Ryan’s house. Apparently Jeff had some new info he wanted to share. Ryan checked his watch, it said 7:03. He should get moving. Ryan put on his gun holster with his nine millimeter glock pistol, hidden underneath his arm. As a high ranking government worker he was permitted this protection. After all, there were a lot of people who would want to put a propaganda maker out of his misery. Ryan threw on a black coat, and headed out the door.

Walking briskly down the sidewalk he looked up into the darkening sky. He wondered idly if the satellites in the sky were watching him right now. Never blinking electronic eyes circling in the heavens like vultures awaiting the next piece of carrion to appear.

Ryan could see the overpass now. But he looked closer, there was a jet black car parked above his meeting point. Ryan decided to be cautious. He looked at his watch again, 7:28. Ryan spotted a little shack about forty yards from the meeting spot that housed an electrical box. He walked all the way around it and came up on the other side. Taking out a pair of mini binoculars he always kept in his coat, (For bird watching he claimed, it also made it a lot easier to spy on his colleagues at the W.C.P.B.) Scanning the darkness of the overpass he came upon a dark lump laying crumpled where Jeff usually would be.

“Oh damn.” Ryan whispered underneath his breath.

The lump was Jeff. Ryan made out the pool of blood forming around his friends head. He felt sorry for Jeff, but now it was important to get out of here fast. Ryan jumped, his phone was vibrating in his pocket. Shoving his binoculars back into his coat pocket, he fumbled with his phone.

“Oh, so you’re the one he’s been meeting.” Ryan’s jaw dropped. It was the head of the Enforcer branch of the Army, General Hendricks. “Well, you’re pretty good, your files show that you never had any problems. Oh well, I guess we‘ll just have to talk to Rachel about -” Ryan slammed close his phone. Rachel was the woman he had been seeing for the past year. They were going to take her in and torture her for whatever she knew. She knew nothing however, Ryan had always kept his underground work a secret from her. Even if she did feel sympathetic toward their cause.

He looked up at the sky. No doubt one of those electronic eyes was looking down at him right now, and no doubt there were a dozen Enforcers closing in on him at this exact moment. He had to find a way to get out. He had to find a way to save Rachel. But how?

to be cont