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One Hundred Million Spies

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Love and fear are as intertwined as the hairs in a homeless man’s beard. Both make men’s hearts beat fast, their palms go sweaty and their knees knock together; both wield more power than lightning, strike faster than a bullet and burn worse than acid. Their only difference is the poetry that surrounds them.
Open your eyes to a man’s weakness is a dangerous business, open them too wide and you blind yourself to his strength, leave them to closed and you fail to see his flaws; I live life with my eyes half open, so I can see everything. My book of memory is full of detail, filled full of the truth about men. If life is really a stage, I will be the director.
“Sir, the meeting is about to begin.” Says Kit, my secretary. He’s a tall man with a small, snakelike face large eyes and scruffy looking black hair. There is a long, black, scar running from the bottom of his left eye down his cheek and over the left corner of his lip, the skin around it puckers, causing his face to twist. Behind him stands Laji she has a weather worn face, windswept hair and hungry eyes. Both look as though they were carved out of stone. Together, we are exactly what the world expects us to be; cruel, strong and everlasting. I stand up.
“Let us show them who we are.” I answer. They both salute me. The salute is perfect, it is a simple thump to the heart with the right hand. The people love it. I leave the room, brushing past them. They both smell of soap and cigarettes.

Down the corridor I sturt, my boots making a clean clipping noise against the floor. The boots too are perfect. Everywhere I go the sound follows me, so people know where I am. I always smoke, so smell follows me. I am recognised from a distance. I wear all black, except for our golden emblem across my chest. I always carry three guns. So, my people fear and love me.

Into the meeting I burst, with Kit and Laji behind me like dogs at my heels. They stand behind me, eyes forward and vacant, bodies straight as iron. There are just four people in this meeting, three leaders and myself.

The other leaders are nothing like me. They wear suits and nervous looks upon their faces. All eyes are upon me, me and my dogs.
“Well, let us begin. We all have countries to run.” I say, taking a long drag on my cigarette.
“Our countries, having been allies in the worst war ever known to man, must remain allied against war in the future. “ A man with a gaunt face says to me. He has clever eyes and a tired look about him. He is a dying man, perhaps with a few months left; his body is melting out from under him.
“The question is, obviously, what to do with the Americas.” I interrupted him. Politicians talk too long. Politicians would talk the world to death if they could, that was what the old world was like. Not the new world, not my world. Now, people will speak bluntly for time is running out.
“There are other problems…” A woman says from down the table. She has a fat, pig like face and curly red hair. All eyes turn on her. She squirms under my eyes, like a criminal under the beam of a searchlight she writhes.
“So, the Americas.” I free her of my eyes and turn back to the thin man.
“Say, how old are you?” I turn again from the thin man and look down the other side of the table. There is a slightly pudgy man with large brown eyes and a surprised look on his face. He is one of those people who goes through life, forever surprised by the world.
“Seventeen.” I answer him. He does not writhe under my eyes as the pig face did, instead he avoids eye contact and fidgets. Only one person could ever stare me down, and they’re not sitting at this table.
“The young man is right, we must come to a decision on what to do with the Americas.” The thin man says. This will be a battle of words between him and I. We are the most powerful here, and the most intelligent. All of the others still live in the old world, we alone see that the world is changing.
“I need half of it.” I say as I light another cigarette. There is shocked silence. Only the thin faced man was expecting that.
“Why do you need it?” He asks, his voice loud and even. I can only hope that he will die soon. With him out of the way, I can do as I please.
“Why does anyone need anything? The question of need is a deep one I do not have the time to go into here.” I answer him. He will not give up.
“How do you justify you gaining control of it?” He asks. I take a drag on the cigarette, hoping to scare him with my silence. I watch the smoke waft up away.
“It would be fair, half for you and half for me.” I tell him. Maybe his weakness is his greed. I meet his eyes and see a happy glow. Yes. That’s it. Now I will have to break the barrios of politeness and get him to take half of the Americas.
“Well what about us?” The surpsied man says suddenly. I turn my eyes upon him again.
“What about you?” I sneer. If I had Sythe with me, no one would dare to speak to me like that. She is the ultimate weapon. If she were here now, I would not me. So I will have to deal with him.
“Are we not entitled to part of the Americas?” He asks.
“No. You are not.” I mutter. “At least not my part. If you want some, you will have to bring it up with your friend here.”
“Let us divide up the Americas. Into thrids.” Says the thin man.
“Quarters.” The pig faced woman says. They are all allied against me. The three of them. They think they are safe. Even the thin faced man does. They don’t understand. They don’t notice my power. I forgot to remember how stupid they are. I have not opened my eyes enough to these people.
“I will receive half.” I mutter with a tired sigh. This is a waste of my time. “I alone am not afraid of another war. My new nation is ready.” That leaves even the thin faced man surprised. I get up and leave, my dogs close behind me. I will leave them to discuss when they shall give me what I want.
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I sit at my desk, reading the latest confessions. My heart stops as I read a title of one of them ‘The confession of Kit Jameson’ it says. I read through the rest of the confession. He has confessed to plotting to kill me. Behind his confession is Laji King’s. I have been betrayed. My own dogs have betrayed me. I pick up the phone.
“Make further inquires.” I growl down the receiver. Then hang up. My heart pounds. I have been betrayed before. Not again. No one betrays me and lives. I will clean out all the traitors in my new nation, I will kill them all. So my people will fear me more. They will be made to fear thinking against me.
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As I read through the confessions of hundreds of people. I find, that each person gives ten other names, leading to ten more names. There are one hundred million spies. One hundred million spies, all out to kill me, to tear me from power, destroy what I have fought so hard for. No! I won’t let them. I will kill them all! My country will not be allowed to turn against me. There will not be another revolution.
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No second chances. No forgiveness. Only death. To those who go against me, death will come. I shall rule with an iron fist and a stone heart. Never again. I will never again be betrayed. Every single heart will be loyal to me, every single mind will hold nothing but support for me.
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One hundred million spies have been killed. Yet the death will not stop there, they are like weeds I must forever be killing them. My nation is my garden, the weeds will be killed over and over. All other plants will be given a structure to grow with.
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Now I feel safer. All my officials, all the people who work for me are temporary. They last about two months before they become traitors. For a position of power is the first sign of being a traitor. I sit back and smoke, all alone. If people only live short amounts of time, they will not have the opportunity of betraying me.




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