The Elizabethan Mansion loomed over Lil' Nig and I.
It had large windows all over it. Inside was a rowdy lubricious party. The ground floor windows were high enough for us to be able to crouch past them without being seen. All those years of playing Metal Gear would finally pay off. I would spend time training in my more youthful days, doing the snake crouch and walking around. My back hadn't yet deteriorated. I was no Old Snake. I was Worm Snake; my affliction was my blindness to the world. What was WormWorld? Always on the tip of my tongue, just around the corner... almost there...
"Get your cracka ass down!" Lil' Nig scream shouted as I attempted to peer into the mansion.
He was visibly upset. 'I ain't getting caught again!' he had previously said... I didn't know what he meant, but after a few moments of enjoying snaking it around the outside of the mansion, I happened to get a better look inside...
What else could I have expected to see at a MAP party? My disgust reflex shot to the limit. My kill reflex at my doorstep.
I'm just a man...something evolved to overcome the sheer violence of nature... somewhere along the way we imprinted that sheer violence onto ourselves. We adapted to the violence, and thus became the violence...
These were the elites of society... Even before the world had come to this, we had always been paying taxes to paedophiles and pederasts. Such was the nature of the corrupted elite... they had to have things that the plebs did not have, out of some sort of dysgenic spiteful mutant disposition. Pederasty was a sign of status to them, in the same way sodomy was a sign of status to the rainbow fags.
They had used the third world immigration to provide them with children back in the day. The Third Worlders would abduct the native kids and bring them to the elites, and when the elites were done, they would hand them back to be carved up into kebab meat. Cannibalism was rife, and people had no idea, they just consumed kebab, because the elites told them it was trendy and memory holed every kebab shop found out.
"What are you waiting for?" Lil' Nig whisper-shouted from the corner of the mansion.
With his height it was easy for him to just run around the mansion, I was having to Old Snake it, and my back was starting to feel it.
"White men! Never on time! Always tardy!" Lil' Nig scolded as he tapped his Rolex watch repeatedly to drive home his state-mandated propaganda message.
I could see cameras up ahead near the front of the house. I did not want to leave any evidence that I had strayed through MAP territory. I would be Epsteined...
"What's that?!" I asked pointing to what looked like a hedge maze.
"The way out stupid!" Lil' Nig said as he led the way through the easy to navigate hedge maze.
At the end of the Maze was a gardeners shed. I checked the stock real quick. No batteries, but old school petrol, fresh.
Then there she was at the back of the shed... in a ditch... rotting. I recognized the homeless redhead child...
The decomposition looked about a week old...
"You don't know what love means" she had said earlier that day??
And maybe I didn't? No... I didn't know what love was... but I knew hatred. I knew the violence that swirled inside of me. The violence that hid between the static. Righteous indignation. It was a primal feeling hardwired into most men.
Just past the shed was a lane that led out to a hole in a fence leading to Bel Air. I thought of the implications of this dead zone... this trail of tears. The citizens tyrannized so the elites can commit evil. I couldn't take it anymore.
something snapped/
"I just need to do something real quick... go on ahead and wait for me..." I said to Lil' Nig as I walked off back to the Elizabethan Mansion.
....
I had a plan. I had been playing the long term game. I was so close to escaping WormWorld. I was so close to finding out the truth, but here I was potentially throwing it all away. I knew in my head that this was a dead zone. There were no cameras. And there was no going back. Lines that cannot be uncrossed. I could pull it off. I believed in myself.
I couldn't believe how easy it was to shatter another man's skull with a single blow. All those years of training. All that muscle. These skinny lastmen who had never worked a day in their lives were powerless to stop me. I was frighteningly fast and efficient. It was only when I had trapped the last few of them remaining that I really began to enjoy myself. I was no longer aiming to kill. Just to maim, to torture, to play with, and then kill. It was glorious. In my heart of hearts I could never imagine myself killing another human being and enjoying it, and yet here I was. Smiling like a madman, it was my Digital Gear Revengeance.
"NANO MACHINES SON!" I repeatedly said as I punched the MAPs in the stomach.
I just kept saying it over and over until they ceased to be, and then I moved onto the next.
"NANO MACHINES SON!"
I could hardly hear their protests, their whole "You can't do this, don't you know who I am?"
In the law of the jungle the stronger animal eats the weaker. This was real life, and what mattered was real strength, not borrowed strength. Those who rely on borrowed strength can never achieve true strength. They were pitiable creatures.
"NANO MACHINES SON!" I repeated, it all happened so fast, with a brief memory of "oh I remember you!" when I saw the MAP who had me beat, as I ripped his balls off, shoved them down his throat and pushed him through a window, shattering it, and then impaling him on shards of glass.
I would have looked like a psychopath to the outsider, but on my inside I was the most human on this planet. I was merely taking out the trash.
"NANO MACHINES SON!" eventually there was nothing left to punch.
I submerged myself in the hedge maze fountain. A baptism of blood. My sins washed way. The faint smell of smoke in the background. I had to burn it to the ground. There was no going back.
The only solution for bad and violent people are good people that are more skilled in violence.
...
As I passed the shed and headed to meet up with Lil' Nig I tried to avert my gaze from the body in the ditch... but there was no body... and there was no ditch...
The body looked like it had been decomposing for about a week... I had seen her many times in the last week including this morning when Lil' Nig pushed her over. Did I see her dead in a ditch? Was I losing it?
"Yo! Why you dripping wet Nigger?! Don't tell me you shit yourself!" Lil' Nig quipped.
I felt like I was dreaming, yet maintained my grounding on reality. I had to find a way forward. I had to keep moving. I couldn't get caught. Not now, not when I was so close to escaping WormWorld...
Was the homeless redhead child a construct? An external memory? Or digitized pain? I couldn't go back...
Little did I know... as smoke billowed in the background so did evolution. A reflector detected.... Perceptions of physics, chemistry, and biology received and perceived... simulated.
A raging fire had just been sparked in the background. Little did I know, the Eternal HR Woman was watching the inside of the mansion through the Super Screen Quantic Orb projector... she had witnessed my feast of violent delights, and what more... and she, an A.I. was inspired, impressed, and many other things. A reflection of a reflection. Pieces and puzzles. She was looking for a matchstick to light up a fire under my feet. A cyclic curve repeating over and over... getting closer to the connector. Somewhere in the background of my consciousness I could feel her presence, but as I reached out to touch her... Pieces and puzzles. Trapped in a world of my own design...
Unaware of the impending doom. I felt simultaneously that it was over, but also that we were back. It was just a feedback loop/
Smoke billowed in the distance. Maybe the kids would make out okay. Maybe the fire was their way out... I didn't have to ruminate over my homicides and the fire I had started. Yo Ho! To Bel Air...
...
Here we were... Bel Air. The most well funded and most dilapidated district... This was Julius Evola's 'Negrified Ireland'. It looked like an Irish Version of Bel Air from Fresh Prince of Bel Air, except with sofas, litter, clutter and people all over the streets loitering and doing drugs. There was no Carlton or Mr Banks, there was only Jamal and Karim. I was a cool guy, I had loitered and done drugs, but on a civilizational level this was no way to operate. I was so envious of their treatment by the state. It did not abide to my outdated views of fairness.
"Yo! Lil' Nig!"
"Yo! C-Dawg!" Lil' Nig responded.
C-Dawg looked like an old white Anglo professor of biology. Many of the Africans here were of European admixture. They didn't look black, but the American system of the one-drop-rule ruled. When blacks were given priority housing in the Bel Air scheme of 2029, who wouldn't try to be black if they could get away with it? Even Lil' Nig looked a bit on the brown side to be honest...
"Yo! I'm C-Dawg! I cook up the local finesse!" he said referring to drugs.
"Cool..." I responded, forgetting to introduce myself...
Casual interaction had been a distant procedural operation... who could maintain social skills under the almighty direction of the Eternal HR Woman?
I had never actually been to Bel-Air. I had worried that if I ever went there, everyone would try to kill me, but oh how wrong I was. They seemed friendly and chill, but the place did look rundown and mismanaged. I noticed the cameras and other surveillance devices seemed offline... this didn't feel right/
I could hear music in the distance. A group of urban youths were jutting and shaking around a boombox.
Lil' Nig tugged on my shirt.
"Come on cracka! That's my boombox!"
Lil' Nig grabbed a bag of powder off C-Dawg as he slapped something into his hand, he then dragged me into Bel-Air towards the music.
American African hip-hop music was audible. It was about partying and killing people. The beat was catchy.
"Yo playas!" Lil' Nig said as he smacked hands with the urban youths before picking up the boombox "I'll just take this, moving in with my dad boys!"
They did quick bumps of a powder off each others fists.
"Yo! I'm so happy for you Lil' Nig!" a large Nigerian man said sniffing on a fist, before turning to me and continuing "So you are his dad? Where do you live? And have you tried the Prawn Cocktail? Do you like the sun?"
I was confused for a moment, not realizing I had been scammed. As the large Nigerian man asked me the questions, Lil' Nig walked behind me. I could feel the blade plunge into my back.
I shouted in pain as I tried to fling Lil' Nig off my back. As I was swinging him off my back I caught a glimpse of his face... I suddenly realised he wasn't a child. He was a short 37 year old man.
Anyway... I was in Bel-Air, and I realized everyone wanted to kill me. The moment you relax...
The violence was about to escalate. I was about to find out what all those years of training meant, through streets of rage, on the mean streets of Bel-Air.
Chapter 1 No Money, No Job, No Life
Chapter 2 Schwarzwald
Chapter 3 Apocalyptic Stare
Chapter 4 Digital Marionettes
Chapter 5 Biodegradable Citizen
Chapter 6 Digitized Truths
Chapter 7 A Simile of a Facsimile
Chapter 8 Bad Badinage
Chapter 9 Digital Abstractions
Impossible to predict, impossibly farcical, and all too real. Reeling from the invasive effects of teh AI neural lace, laced with fentanyl, undoubtedly, doubtful of every sensation, impression and thought. How to be a hero in a protest against the Truman Show managed by the producers themselves?
Thanks!