Anti-Everything

“And here is where the magic happens.” The shady man in a dark suit said matter-of-factly. This man is known by one name: The Boss. It’s just another day at the food factory, with just another inspection. The year is 2034, and everything is industrialized, even food. The United States as we know it is led by a totalitarian government, and the economy is sliding into a deep depression. The situation is grave, worsening by the day. Each worker has a blank look on their face, a stare that can cut through steel. They have been brainwashed against the government, against the crimes committed upon them. They are trained to work hours upon hours without any break; “Work will make you better” is the national motto.

There is one worker whom against all odds has resisted the torture, just by playing along. He figured out the way to get past the torment, one previously undiscovered: shutting down. He just closed his mind off to the intrusions, warding off all comers. With this he managed to keep enough of his own mind to keep his identity. No one knows his name, or anyone else’s for that matter. Names slow down the working process… or, at least, according to The Boss. He has been silently plotting, all of his life. An escape is what he has planned, one that will end the government and its ways, and one that will cripple The Boss. The only problem he has now; getting people to work with him. His plan requires decoys to set the traps, to cause distractions, and mayhem in general. The brainwashed are extremely difficult to persuade; their whole lives they have been taught one thing only: All hail The Boss.

And so his work began. Any extra time he had in between mindless jobs was used to attempt to persuade any others he could. He campaigned around the factory like a president might have a few years ago. For a while, he was quite unsuccessful with such tactics. Persistence eventually won though. He gained followers slowly at first, one a day. After a while though, they pour in. He only needs 30 for his plan, which was reached rather quickly. And so the race began.
He put his plan in motion. It began with some decoys scouting for traps, whilst he made a general picture of the factories’ floor. He had it all figured out, nothing could stop them!
He and his bogeys formed a mob when the time arrived, and as one they moved to the door. Left and right his ‘companions’ dropped. Whether it be by laser or trap door, his men were vanishing faster than he could count. The circle around him kept shrinking until soon enough, he was down to two others and himself. They both dropped through trap doors. He knew that now all he had to do was go out the doors. “Easy as pie” he thought.
As he put one hand on the door, another hand simultaneously hit his shoulder. The Boss was on the other end of the arm, his cold eyes penetrating his soul. The look in his eyes told him where he was headed. To the execution room, where so many before him have met their dooms.
They strapped him into the cold, metal chair. The door was being guarded by 5 big men, each twice as big as his self. He wasn’t worried though, not at all. He accepted this, for he had known the risks. He gambled against the house, and lost. Upon looking back, he realized his pride did him in. He hadn’t considered a mistake in data; it never even crossed his mind.
All that was left now was the end, and whatever lay beyond that. The Boss walked in, a pistol in hand. He lined up the shot, steeled himself up, and looked the man in the eyes. He shook his head at him, almost as if scolding a child. Before anyone could comprehend this, he fired. The man lay dead in the chair, his eyes open in surprise.
His story passed by though, no one ever knew of him. Everything just kept on going, straight to the countries’ demise. They kept his body there though, as a symbol of what would happen if you slipped up; what would happen if you bet against The Boss.





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