The Troll (2 page)

And
so they did. At first, by force. Eventually, because it was all they
knew. In the course of a decade, most forgot the day everyone blacked
out for two minutes. Relatives were no longer mourned and history was
only word of mouth without the emotional attachment.

No
one knew what The Moderator did with Wigeon. She disappeared from the
news stories. Instead, the story became the upcoming trial of The
Surfer. They publicized the trial aggressively and encouraged all to
watch. Everyone already knew what the outcome would be: Like all
rebels before him, he would be executed for everyone to see, but
they’d make a fool of him first. When he was gone, one of the
last symbols of the world pre-Psi would disappear forever.

Chapter
2

What
little remained of the revolution numbered in the hundreds. With the
population so disconnected, there could be multiple groups of people
who didn’t carry Psi, but these groups would have no way of
finding each other.

Surfer
and Wigeon belonged to a group outside of Chicago, which was
dangerously close to The Moderator, but necessary for when the day
came that a plan had to be carried out.

They
holed up in what was once an elementary school that was long
abandoned. They maintained the outside of the building to look
unoccupied, covering the grounds with weeds and dirt. On the inside,
they’d scattered broken glass and other alarm systems to alert
those inside of anyone’s presence. In the center of the school
was a gymnasium where they met on occasion, but mostly they’d
grouped into their own families and stayed in the classrooms
together, living life in seclusion until the day their leader needed
them.

That
day hadn’t come in a dozen years. Initially, those who joined
believed they would be a sort of army that would stomp into Chicago
and fight until The Moderator fell and they could remove Psi from the
people. There had never been much organization, but what they never
fully understood was that The Surfer and Wigeon HAD worked hard to
find an attack strategy, but there had never been much optimism in
their position.

In
the beginning, The Surfer didn’t have many leaders in the
group. He needed a candidate that could train to be strong and lead
an army. What he found was a man who he named The Guide. The Guide
wanted to be something more: The Assassin or The Eliminator, but The
Surfer told him that to be victorious, he needed to be a good leader,
and to have a leader label.

The
Guide trained and became strong, as he promised he would, and soon,
he was the ultimate warrior. He was a fighter and he taught others to
fight. On the battlefield, he could lead any group to a fight, but he
wasn’t an expert tactician. The Surfer hoped he would be, but
he never quiet picked up on the strategic art of war. Instead, he was
a soldier, and perfect as a soldier in every way.

The
days began to blend together. He constantly waited for The Surfer and
Wigeon to come to him with the ultimate plan, but they usually met
privately and discussed strategy, though he suspected they never made
any progress. It seemed the guys running the world from Chicago had a
fairly solid advantage that didn't leave room to be conquered. The
Guide waited for his moment, assuming it would ever come, building
the resistance from his end while wondering if they would ever even
be called on.

Their
army was about 75 people strong, which was a weak army when go
ing
into a city blind—a city designed to keep people out. Even
without Psi, they wouldn't even come face to face with The Moderator.
He had too many fancy gadgets, booby traps, and bounty hunters with
special abilities of their own. The need for an army became a second
thought, which had become more apparent as The Surfer and Wigeon
conducted more closed-door meetings.

Then,
one day while The Guide was training, a friend delivered the message:
The Surfer and Wigeon were captured trying to get into Chicago.
Apparently Wigeon had intel that provided a way in without being
detected, but the mission backfired and both were taken.

The
Guide was a mix of emotions. He was sad that his friends were
captured and knew they would be put on trial and killed, but he
couldn't help but feel angry too. His set of skills would have been
beneficial to their mission, but they hadn't even told him they were
leaving. He didn't even get to say goodbye.

Instead
of reacting or calling a meeting, he trained harder, until he cramped
up and could no longer breath. He threw up, and then trained until he
threw up again. The second time, he stayed in the bathroom, heaving
over the sink and catching himself in the mirror. It was then that he
forced himself to accept a harsh reality: The resistance no longer
existed.

When
The Guide entered the arena and scanned the crowd, he released a
breath of defeat. There were maybe two hundred people remaining, half
of their group before The Surfer and Wigeon were caught. He’d
expected a drop, but nothing this drastic. Without their leaders,
there wasn’t much hope left. The torch was passed to The Guide
and apparently, no one had faith in that fact.

Joey
Dakota was a cab driver before the day of the takeover. His life was
boring, without purpose, heading nowhere, but he was content. He was
old fashioned, and therefore couldn’t care less when Psi rolled
out and never had it implanted. After the takeover, he could no
longer drive his cab, most of the people he knew were dead, and his
lack of purpose was suddenly very real.

When
The Surfer hacked into the television for the first time and told
everyone to rise up against The Moderator and his gang, The Guide
joined because he had nothing better to do and he was one of a small
population immune to the power The Moderator held. They came together
and The Guide quickly proved himself an expert tactician and became
Surfer’s friend and adviser. They had been close, but now his
friend was captured, and very likely soon to be dead.

He
looked up at a large television screen which would ordinarily have
been off. Instead, it had a countdown: FIVE MINUTES UNTIL THE TRIAL
OF THE SURFER.

The
Guide didn’t want to watch. He wanted to go back a day in time
and tell The Surfer that whatever he was planning, to call it off. He
should have seen that they were planning something. They'd spent too
much time alone not to. He didn’t question his leader, because
his leader was the most inspiration anyone had seen in a long time.
Their army never grew much. In fact, it shrank, but there were always
plans in motion, and The Guide had always believed that one day, The
Surfer would find the plan that would beat The Moderator. In
hindsight, it seemed foolish. They never had the advantage. They
never had an edge. They never even had a chance.

He
turned to address the crowd, which was made up of mostly children. “I
think maybe the best thing we can do..." The Guide said, "...is
leave the room. I’m not sure we should watch.”

“
What
if he’s not convicted?” A voice shouted from the crowd.

“
He
will be. When was the last time someone was caught and didn’t
get executed? And it’s The Surfer. They consider him to be a
bigger criminal than anyone.”

“
So
what? We just let this happen?”

“
How
do we stop it?”

“
Well,
you’re in charge now, aren’t ya?” Someone else
asked.

“
Surfer
was the end of the line for us.”

“
Well,
what the hell are we supposed to do? We can’t go
home!”

“
We
never had a chance and we all knew it. What are we supposed to do
now? We hadn’t persuaded people before and we’re sure not
going to now...especially now. Everyone in the world just saw the two
faces of all that remained of the revolution, get caught. Soon,
they’ll see them executed. Who in the hell is going to care if
a new face surfaces and why in the hell would they follow?”

“
Why
can’t we just start again? We can regroup, rethink our
strategy. We can lay low awhile and strike when no one expects it. We
don’t need to recruit through the airwaves. We can do it on
foot.”

“
Everyone
and their brother has Psi people!” The Guide shouted. “We’re
all that remains and look at us! I’ve wasted too much time
hoping, even when I shouldn’t have. We are small. It’s
time to move on, find a place where maybe we can live our lives
without being noticed.”

“
They'll
find us and execute us too," someone shouted. "We have
nowhere to go.”

“
Not
every piece of land is monitored. I’m not sure they even know
we exist. They’ve been after Surfer and Wigeon. With them gone,
no one will be hunting us.” The Guide wanted to let tears fall
from his eyes but he held strong. He looked up at the screen: 3
MINUTES UNTIL THE TRIAL
OF THE SURFER.

Those
bastards in Chicago were probably popping the cork on the champagne
already. They caught the remaining representations of life before Psi
wiped everyone’s brain. They would hold a final demonstration
that made the statement: Never go against us.

Everyone
waited silently, half watching The Guide and half waiting for the
trial that would put an end to it all.

“
Look,”
The Guide started. “If anyone has any ideas of how to
get
on track, I’m all ears. I get that we’re fighting on
principle, but we’ve
fought the good fight, much longer than we should have, and that’s
enough for me. Whatever is waiting for us in our next life, The
Moderator will have to face. You were all brave, but when Surfer is
dead, no one will be able to stand in his place and have the impact
he had. And judging by the population in this room…that was
very little.”

Their
silence was the biggest statement of all. It was agreement.
Everything they had worked for was wasted time. Those who tried to
take a stand and prove wrong those who believed they couldn’t
take the world back…they’d been made fools of.

1
MINUTE UNTIL THE TRIAL OF THE SURFER…

One
by one, all eyes faced the screen.

When
no one was looking, a tear finally fell from The Guide’s eyes.
He watched and waited.

Chapter
3

The
Moderator looked up over his glasses and watched the mock courtroom
fill with friends and associates. He wore an ash suit, a yellow tie,
and his black hair was slicked back with a few strands hanging down.
He drank coffee like it was water and his neck twitched
uncontrollably from time to time, giving his whole head a jerk. He
was always wired and rarely slept. His four o'clock shadow
complimented his dark features but his sunken eyes revealed his true
age.

He
leaned forward in his chair and watched as The Surfer was escorted
into court by a tall man who looked like a vampire without the sharp
teeth, appropriately named The Mortician. At his side was a shorter
wiry man named The Acrobat, whose head was shaved nearly to the
scalp. The Surfer held himself together on the outside, but The
Moderator knew he was a mess internally. He was trying desperately
not to show a sign of weakness, but there was frustration in his eyes
as he tugged at his restraints. The Moderator fixated his wide eyes
on his enemy.

The
cameras began rolling and all over the world, the first trial in over
three months began. No one could look away. The Moderator sat back
and watched as a strikingly good looking man moved in a liquid motion
across the room and approached The Surfer. The man assigned to do the
questioning was The Moderator’s right hand man. The Magician
was a wild card—he constantly had a smile plastered to his face
and owned the room with a smug sense of entitlement, but he earned it
in what he said.

“
Please
state your name,” The Magician said as a pen smoothly rolled
over his knuckles and back to the palm of his hand, doing circles
around his hand.

“
I
go by Surfer.”

“
What
is a Surfer? You surf?”

“
At
one time, I spent a lot of time browsing on what was known as the
World Wide Web.”

“
Oh,
it still is,” the Magician said with a laugh. “I always
assumed you were named for the act of surfing waves.”

“
I’m
afraid not.”

“
One
would think that the man who was leading a revolution would be more
of the surfing waves type and less of a nerd.”

“
I
was cast into this position because my understanding of technology
was the very reason I saw the negative impacts in Psi before it shut
everyone down.”

“
Psi
was well-intentioned,” the Magician shot back and turned to the
cameras with a smile. He was showing off for the world to see. He was
prepared to make a fool of Surfer.