Thursday, January 17, 2013

Walter Wallace - Chapter 100

Stevie was nervous. He was browsing over the comments section of the latest article in BullCit. It was no accident that these were now open for the public. Whoever had set up the blog in its new “message stick” format had purposefully taken down comments to avoid the scourge of internet advertising, and mob mentality. Each post since that day, including the three pioneered by Phil, himself and Forrest, had been allowed to exist without being held out for anonymous annihilation. But that changed with the latest post. The comments were rolling in by the thousands – loaded with hate and anger. Stevie scrolled back up the page to re-read the article. He needed to understand his enemy; tomorrow he might meet him.

Ladies and Gentlemen, my name is William Unston. You may know my name from the movement “The Band of Bill Unston” but I should clarify that I am not the leader, frontman if you will. The movement is simply a wildfire caught from a spark lit many months ago. Its members are proof that the way in which we have been living no longer serves our interests and the stalled nature of our evolution must be jump started or sold for spare parts. Tomorrow will be the day we give it the necessary kick.

It almost sounded like what Stevie was writing earlier that week. He had penned a resounding call to arms of the collective conscience to march upon the steps of Citadel Towers. The cause was to free Walter Wallace and to free people’s minds from the influence of mass media. Now this William Unston had hijacked his microphone and was making a pledge of his own.

There is speculation over my name and identity. Did I kill myself the night that Walter Wallace failed to inspire me to live? Yes. But I rose again. I have killed myself thousands of times and each time I rise in greater force. We are all William Unston when we choose to fight the hypocrisy. And each time we make our stand we grow stronger. Soon we will not be a restricted to the confines of internet activism and suicidal cults.

“OK let’s go over this again.” Phil was berating Forest. “You write your article: ‘Hi my name is Forest, let’s all go to the rally, I’m a fucking idiot. Thank you and goodbye’. Then you post the video – without even giving it an intro or any fucking context – and then you change the password and give it to...who? Who did you give it to?”

“I don’t know, man, I told you. I didn’t know what to write, I’m not like you guys. You should have just done it yourself.”

“That’s not the point of the thing. You’re not meant to tamper with shit like that. It’s sacred; it’s what we’re fighting for. Stevie can you help me here?”

Stevie shook his head and went back to the screen.

The name Unston is now synonymous with the anti Walter Wallace sentiment. What this false prophet has promised he has not delivered. He seeks your attention and sells you cheap placebos. He has no idea what he is doing and yet he commands an immeasurable audience at each of his forums. There is no need to seek proof of his fallacy. Look at the tragedies of the world. Look at the theatre that he is part of. Is he a puppet or a master? It is not important. His brand is false hope.

We have long known our enemy: Walter Wallace and those who pledge themselves freely to him. But our fight has already begun. We have shed those who see no future for themselves in this fickle world. Their emotional burden has been lifted from the greater conscience. We who remain are strengthened by their sacrifice. We who remain see the future that is rightfully ours. Where weakness is not healed, but cut from the body like a cancer. But the cancer still clings to us in many parts. We must work to remove it.

Stevie had worked hard to call the people together so that they could march on Citadel Towers in a peaceful protest that would help to distract the authorities as he snuck in. But what Unston was doing was something completely different. He was rallying the troops for war. They had already killed themselves for him; Thousands dedicating their life and death to a name. Now he asked them to stop looking inward and focus on the true enemy. And it was this “enemy” that had the three of them so on edge.

Walter Wallace is for now incapacitated. But do not be fooled. He is not incarcerated. He is not a subject for your sympathy. He is aware and he is cunning but he is only powerful if you fear him. Worse still if you revere him. Citadel Inc and Walter Wallace and his party of worshippers are the cancer that has not been cut out. It is them that we are confronted by in our quest. Anybody weak enough to pledge support to this man is blinded by their desire; their eagerness to believe. Tomorrow the Towers will fall. The balance will swing in our favour and we will rise. The blind will march to their false god but we will meet them. He will not be martyred. He will be exposed. Join me and fight. Tomorrow will be our day.

Stevie had been caught completely off guard. It had seemed like suicide to try and enter the Towers – now he wasn’t even likely to make it to the steps. The comments were flooded with support from The Band of Bill Unston and challenges from those planning to march. The previous entries on the blog where vandalised with the scathing sentiment. The news was showing 24/7 coverage of the event. Police forces were being prepared but they had no idea who to stop. This was civil war.

Stevie noticed the room was quiet aside from the background noise of the television. Forest spoke, “Are we still going to go? I mean this is insane.”

“Of course we are, you pussy. This is our fucking moment,” Phil said. “Right Stevie?”

Stevie took a breath. He wanted to reply with the same enthusiasm but it was already too late. “You’re right,” he nodded. “We have to go.”

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