Jingle jingle…jingle jingle…jingle jingle…
That’s her phone. But… who is she?
Jingle jingle…jingle jingle…jingle jingle…
I forgot someone I love?
I bolt up in bed. Oh my God. I let them down. I never made it back. I never will.
I had a wife. And a child. But… who are they? I can’t see them in my head any more. I can’t even recall… Jesus! I don’t know their names.
I can’t even remember my own name. Every day it’s a new name. This is no time for a panic attack. I have to learn what my name is today.
Jingle jingle…jingle jingle…jingle jingle…
Someone’s messaging me. It’s a familiar era, at least. I know the technology. This is my computer. Let’s pull up my profile and go from there…
The State Department? Why do I always get the crazy shit? An assassin is closing in on the President-elect of the United States. Apparently it’s up to me to stop this. I can’t remember how but a couple of other files give me some clues. I go to my closet and behold my uniform.
I’ve heard of “special ops” but this is insane!
By the time I finish putting the final parts of the uniform on I’ve accessed my host brain and the situation is becoming clearer.
An insurgent is about to take over the White House. A complete outsider, unaffiliated with the old school political establishment, is about to be inaugurated. It has happened before, but never to this degree. And this achievement has been plotted by my controllers for a decade.
There’s a legitimate plot against the next head of state’s life, the first such attempt since 1963 when Kennedy was removed by the CIA. My controllers won’t stand for having another carefully cultivated, decades-long project abruptly destroyed.
They are not extraordinary masterminds. My controllers are simply heirs to a system established by 1955 for absolute domination of globally marketed resources and commodities, and coordination of armed forces worldwide. The controllers are centralized in paradise, manipulating the world economy in a grand and quite private headquarters utilizing the most sophisticated satellites for coordination.
They call themselves the Seven Kings and have each taken a continent as a personal territory. While governors, mayors and municipal minions around the world keep order among the discontented, unsuspected market manipulations ensue, masked by sensational media scandals.
None of the Seven Kings has ever been photographed, nor were their predecessors.
If, upon any of their foreign journeys, any of the Seven are compromised by a suspicious competitor or rival – they may call upon the services of me, their retained agent, The Silver Sickle.
My identity is known only by the Seven. Delivered to the scene by special forces, The Silver Sickle is used to ensure the success of any covert mission deemed necessary.
That’s also the name of my special weapon, the “Silver Sickle,” with the power to slice through any Earthbound material, activated by contact with specific gloves attached to
power packs worn whenever used. The system enables the molecules of the blade to vibrate imperceptibly at millions of movements per second. Its components are so rare and expensive that only one such asset exists.
My cape engulfs its wearer in a protective shielding against projectiles, with my suit insulated against electricity, gas, flame, heat and acid.
But I’m troubled. The man I must fight to protect is someone I remember. On my Earth he was a joke. No one could get past his hair. He had been born with a silver spoon in his mouth and embarked on a career of self-aggrandizement and hedonism nearly unmatched.
On this Earth he has galvanized a political movement that’s thrown America into disruption, and ushered in an age of information chaos around the world. Skepticism is turning into cynicism about every media outlet in existence. The realization that there is no such thing as objectivity has finally hit home.
For such a man to have displaced both political parties, the traditional leadership must have fragmented and stagnated to the point of a sociological stalemate. Coupled with prolific mass communications and social media, the perfect storm for a revolution has appeared.
And I must protect it.
Even I must be sufficiently refreshed for such a task. I go to my safe place for some sleep.
Thinking about the president, I gradually drift off…
It’s a dreamy glaze by which that image tilting drunkly here I go…
I started to wonder what kind of harm a really reckless, selfish fool could perform as Commander-In-Chief?
And I wake up in bed with the First Lady.
I am the President.
Breakfast is served, I get my briefings and head to the Oval Office for my first meeting.
It doesn’t go well.
I’m going into shock, anyway… fallen to the floor of the Oval Office. Blood is everywhere and I’m laying in it.
With fading strength I see the bodies of Secret Service agents and the Vice President draped over furniture or sprawled out beside me. Some are still twitching. I’m twitching.
“And you have paid for your crimes against humanity!” our attacker declares, standing on my desk. She pulls a device out of her pocket and reads aloud: “To the President and his supporters in the United States of America, I execute the Chief Executive…”
No one else is coming to the rescue? How many bodies did she leave outside the Oval Office?
“…the Commander-In-Chief and the instigator of the following offenses:
Ordering the removal and relocation of entire ethnic populations.
Declaring war for territorial acquisition under false pretenses.
Persecuting non-citizens and granting them no rights.
Generating antagonism against specific segments of the citizenry.
Dominating entire foreign populations you deem ‘less developed moral inferiors.’
Imprisoning suspects based on common appearance and cultural profiling.
Approving assassinations and bombings of state enemies and associates.
Covertly overthrowing foreign governments and installing dictators.
Conducting ongoing warfare while misleading citizens about goals.
Expanding existing warfare for gain of increasing domestic surveillance.
Suppressing aid to devastated populations because of cultural differences.”
She finishes and jumps off the table. She sees that I’m still alive.
“Mister President. Did the spear miss your heart because you don’t have one?”
“Who am I? I’ve got time to tell you. I’m not leaving. This is my last stand. I didn’t think I’d make it this far. Who knows? Maybe I will get out. In the meantime, it’ll be a few minutes before anyone else shows up. I was just another tourist passing through the White House as far as anyone could tell. Ever hear of that super-jackpot lottery winner Cindy Cynecca? That’s me. A simple social worker who got $282 million after taxes in one lump sum at the age of 31. I found that the more I tried to do good with my wealth, the more deception and corruption I encountered. Every level of government represented another roadblock against progress toward the issues I was promoting, raising education and paying fair wages.”
“What the hell…does that have to do with…”
“The President of the United States?” she sneers. “Once I learned how corrupt government was at the lowest levels, I started wondering how bad it must be up on your level. I started to wonder what kind of harm a really reckless, selfish fool could perform as Commander-In-Chief? And once I found out, I couldn’t ignore the fact that only someone like me could give you what you deserve.”
“You’re special?” I croak. I should be gone soon. The spear left a nasty opening when it pulled out. I’m running on empty. I have to know how she did it. How did one woman get through White House
security, eliminate all opposition and reach the President to assassinate him? – er, me? “You couldn’t do this alone…”
“A long dead ancestor had already prepared the ultimate in personal security for my inheritance,” the cocky killer confessed. “Centuries ago before the advent of modern technology lived a man who made it his life’s work to gather all possible existing knowledge of alchemy. His goal was to understand the composition of things. Toward that goal, Sinogoth worked for decades before achieving his most mysterious and incredible invention: The Black Spear.
“Sinogoth invented ‘reversible atoms’ that are constantly afloat about 7 feet off the ground unless agitated, literally capable of turning themselves inside out to ‘compress’ into an undetectable dimension. This is how the Black Spear appears and disappears in mid-flight.
“Sinogoth also designed ‘sympathetic molecules’ that would follow his own molecules even from the next dimension. This is why the Black Spear invisibly tracks its attuned target at all times.
“Sinogoth created ’empathetic molecules’ that react to nearby extremes of bio-electrically charged emotion.
“And Sinogoth discovered ‘aggressive photons’ generated by the empathetic molecules when emotional stress resonates through them. Experimentation revealed that the shape of a spear channeling electricity could discharge the energetic aggressive photons.
“Years of practice taught Sinogoth the secret of aiming the Spear’s discharge, a violent act that hit the victim first with a paralyzing shock, as you well know Mister President. The Black Spear then shot down the length of the discharge piercing the victim and instantly withdrawing, just like it happened to you, receding back to its origin point and vanishing, ready for another stab. It was a Black Spear of lightning and could strike a thousand times in a minute in any direction to protect its master. Or in my case, Mistress…
“The Black Spear was created using materials so rare that only one such weapon could be made at that time. Upon its completion Sinogoth destroyed his plans for its construction, committing the process to memory.
“The Black Spear was made to protect Sinogoth. But upon the old warrior’s death, the Black Spear’s existence continued. The weapon adjusted its protection to Sinogoth’s youngest child. In this manner each succeeding heir to the Spear’s defenses learned the frightening responsibility of having an inexplicable deadly device constantly standing by. Centuries passed and generations passed the impossible secret on. Witnesses of the Black Spear’s rapid attacks refused to believe their own eyes.”
“So you attack us,” I struggle for breath, “and when we defend ourselves, out comes your Black Spear to take us out.”
“Without so much as leaving a fingerprint or a trace of a weapon,” Cindy Cynecca says, “I’m an innocent caught up in all the excitement.”
“You’re wasting amazing technology,” I manage to point out, trying to sit up but failing, slipping on blood.
“Which you’d be weaponizing? Governments will never exercise their evil ineptitude on this technology. This is my family’s. I never knew my real father but if he’d known I existed he might have warned me that I would inherit a very startling relic. When he died, the Black Spear found me. Then I was inadvertently attuned to it, and I manifested the Black Spear in self-defense accidentally striking a fatal blow before realizing that a Black Spear existed and ignorant of the deadly potential. The essence of Sinogoth’s story is projected silently into a person holding the Black Spear in hand. I fled from the thing. Still, I was unable to prevent the Black Spear from returning to me. It stays with me and will not rest far from my side as I learn every time I’m around uncontrolled emotions or potential threats. Without a clue as to what’s going on, I began to understand that this mysterious and absolutely unnerving apparition was somehow – my ally!”
Amazing. For one day I get to be President and it’s the day I’m assassinated.
She bends down to kiss me on the lips. It’s the last thing I feel…
…on this Earth. Then I remember.
I am not one of them.