Thursday, 25 September 2014

The Tin Foil Helmet

“So everything is now in place, Mr Muscovitz?” The figure in the candlelight asked, his claw-like hand clasped a wine glass of fine crystal. His voice was as crisp and well cut as the glass he held. His eyes were equally as crystal clear and yet his face above his mouth could not be discerned in the gloom of this magnificent room.

“Yes, Lord Rothelm. “ Elliot replied, always self-conscious of his American accent when speaking to this European aristocrat. “With the Chinese flotation I now have almost 80% of the world’s population, with internet access, the digitali, within the sphere of Visage social media.”

“We…” The aristocrat corrected. Did Elliot see a hint of irritation sweep across the aged aristocrat’s half hidden face? “You may have designed the software but don’t forget the money, backing and contacts we have supplied you, young man. But where are my manners?” A smile returning to the old man’s face.  “Jeremiah, a glass for our young friend here.”  

From the side one of the aristocrat’s silent servants poured a glass of wine from a decanter, which caught the light of the flames under the intricately carved marble hearth. The wine was passed to Elliot.

Elliot took a sip, the red wine was smooth and yet strong, full of aroma and hints of summer fruits.

“You like it?” Lord Rothelm enquired.

“I’m more of a beer drinker myself,” Elliot replied, “But this is nice.”

“Nice?” the aristocrat repeated, “This is the result of over two thousand years of viniculture. This is from the Valois grape, originally grown on the golden, sunward slopes of Burgundy. It was renowned when the Merongovians ruled France. Its lineage can be traced beyond Roman times to when Greek traders first mapped the world of barbaricum.”

The aristocrat stopped and sipped at his wine, before continuing. “Alas it’s like will not be pressed again for many lifetimes. I have ensured that the genetic blueprint for this grape is preserved for future vinification, for my children's children. It is fortunate that I have several casks set aside for my own enjoyment.”

“I hadn’t thought about it like that.” Elliot said, feeling slightly uncomfortable.

“No I suppose you wouldn’t have,” the Aristocrat said dismissively, “You are a child of your generation.  But this has been the great plan, handed down from my forebears to me; it is fitting that I enjoy the finer things accumulated on this great journey through the ages.

“Great  plan?” Elliott asked. Suddenly this audience chamber seemed a threatening place. “I thought that because of the impending catastrophe that we were …”

The aristocrat suddenly interrupted. “You thought we have only instigated this idea?” His mouth curled into a cruel smile. “We are nearing the end of our journey. All the wars, famine and pestilences we have guided by our hands. Now comes the great purge of humanity.”

“The great purge!” Jeremiah repeated as if in the grip of religious fervour.

Elliot shifted uncomfortably in his seat, “I thought we were trying to save humanity …”

“Save?” Lord Rothelm laughed cruelly. “Humanity are cattle, mere sheep for the slaughter. The flock has grown and now we shepherds are the wolves, to whittle them down.  We have shelters set aside for the select elite and retinues; we have livestock and seeds safely held in genetic depositories.”

Elliott swallowed hard. “But surely if we…”

“Why don’t you understand? Your profile says you are a genius Muscovitz, and yet you have failed to grasp this?” The aristocrat set down his glass of wine carefully. “There are some seven billion on this finite world; we will drop it to half a billion; that way there will still be enough slaves to service our needs.”

“Slaves? We can’t enslave the survivors.” Elliot gasped.

“Semanitics, dear boy, semantics.” The aristocrat said waving his hand dismissively. “We will control all access to food. He who works purely for food is a slave, surely?”

“But people could hunt, fish or grow crops?”

“Haven’t you been taking any notice of what’s been going on around you?” Lord Rothelm said. “The ecosystems are dying. We have cut down the rainforests. The seas have been fished clean and poisoned; why do you think Fukishima was never rectified? As for growing crops; the seeding of the earth by chemical trails has insured that only genetically modified plants that we have developed can thrive in the soil.”

“People won’t stand for this, when they know this has been done on purpose they will…” But as he said it Elliott realised it was hopeless. He had been instrumental in their mental enslavement after all.

“They will do nothing, as ever.” Rothelm said. “Thanks to your software and your social media, Visage, we know how the sheep think, what they find emotive, and how to manipulate them. We have socially programmed them to think on our terms. They’d rather live next to a murderer than someone guilty of hate crimes; which is ironic, as we will murder most and we hate them all! We have HAARP and a network of satellites, as well as fluorides and mind controlling drugs in the water supplies.” The old aristocrat chuckled and reached for his wine once again. “Are you suddenly experiencing a moral epiphany Muscovitz? Are not the billions in your account and your place in the New World Order enough to salve your guilt?”

Was this it then? Was he to be safe living amongst these parasites that had killed his world? All his friends would be dead; killed by this elitist vampire and his ilk. To think he had been the epitome of cool, his face on Time and Forbes magazine; the new breed of global entrepreneur, the new master of the universe. How could he have been so blind? It wasn’t too late though, he could be a force for good. Visage was his software, his creation; maybe he could install a sub routine?

He stood up and faced the old man. “You won’t get away with this conspiracy you old bastard.  The world will know about this! You may be the illuminati but I have the digitali! Word will spread. I have my own insurance policies; who do you think finances Wikileaks?”

The aristocrat seemed unfazed by his outburst. “Elliot, can I call you Elliot? We know this. But in truth what are you going to say? Are you expecting a traffic accident to occur? We’ve moved on since Lady Di you know, we can be more subtle these days. We can use the powers we have to drive you insane. You’ll be the latest fruitloop, the latest loon. Just like we did with David Icke, and who remembers him now? We control the media, we always have. Go then, enjoy the humiliation and the collapse of your company’s value on the stock market; we control that too of course. We will break you, destroy you financially as we did with Tesla, or merely bend your broken mind to our will, whether you like it or not.”

“I know how to stop you getting in my mind, I’ll see you fall Rothelm.” Elliot stormed, backing towards the door.

“Of course you do, but really Elliot...” the old man said standing up and showing himself in the light at last. On his head he wore a silver cap, “Who’s takes anyone seriously, wearing a tin foil helmet?”

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