by Konstantine
It had been almost eight years since John first found out about the Illuminati and, from that serendipitous day forward, he would never be the same again. With a zeal seldom witnessed in a Human Being, he’d plunged headfirst into the amazing world of Conspiracy Theories1. His obsessive quest to learn everything he could about this mysterious secret society had consumed his life. This is why it took him almost twice as long as expected to earn his Astrobiology degree. And, even though his parents were happy that he’d completed it, J.C knew a qualification in Astrobiology didn’t afford him a great range of employment opportunities. While it seemed like an exciting idea when he’d first picked the course, it wasn’t long before he got bored. He had decided to stay in University, however, out of convenience: it gave him the time needed to devote himself to his Illuminati researches.
During his last few years at NYU, he’d even started his own YouTube channel, TheNewAeon2012, on which he expounded his numerous theories and interviewed an assortment of Conspiracy Theorists, Alternative Historians2, Gurus3, Psychics4 and Occultists5 (He even came close to getting an interview with the great David Icke6 himself once; unfortunately, the interview was cancelled at the last minute due to scheduling conflicts. John would become good friends with him many years later, however). The channel made him infamous on campus, but J.C figured infamy was better than no fame at all.
He lay on the bed, fully dressed and on top of the blanket, as he stared at the white ceiling of his dorm room. He felt a mixture of relief and sadness. Finally…graduation day; how mighty thoughtful of them to give us official certification of the Left Brained, Mind-shrinking brainwashing. I’m still gonna miss this place though.
The knock on the door startled him; a muffled voice behind it soon followed. “Please tell me you’re ready!” John sprang to his feet and ran to the door, flinging it open, “Xan the man,” he greeted his friend with a beaming smile, “how nice of you to drop by! Don’t worry, we’ve still got time,” he glanced over his shoulder and nodded at the wall clock behind him, “see?”
Xander frowned. “That’s what you always say,” he shook his head and walked inside. John shut the door. “Five years, John…five years I’ve known you! And, in that time, I’ve completed a double degree –with honors, I might add– while you – you’ve barely scraped through one. And you’ve been here seven! You’re the strangest man I’ve ever met, you know that? You’re like this surreal cross between David Icke and Van Wilder or something; it just boggles the Mind. Seriously, remind me of one instance where you were right on time or, heaven forbid, even five minutes early. Just one will do; I’m being pretty lenient here; really.”
“Xan, Xan; c’mon, buddy, why so serious? We both know time doesn’t really exist; it’s all just a big illusion, or whatever, remember? So what’s the rush?”
“You know, I’m starting to think you’re incapable of being serious. Like literally; I mean, your brain, it – it just can’t do it! Are you sure you haven’t got some strange, as yet undiscovered, medical condition? I’m not joking, J.C! Then again, the way your brain is wired, you probably can’t understand what I’m saying now, since I’m actually being serious.”
“I’m sorry, what was that…?” He put his hand to his ear acting like he couldn’t hear. “I don’t speak serious; I see your mouth moving and all, but my brain, it just…I don’t know…I seem to be having trouble decoding your bullsh –”
“But, like you keep saying ad nauseam, you speak sarcasm just fine, don’t you? Well, sorry to break it you, Maxwell John Casey: life isn’t one big joyride! We’re not living in a perpetual sitcom, in case you haven’t noticed. Uh, tell me something, how long were you planning on staying an eternal teenager for exactly? A rough estimate will do, I don’t need a precise number.”
“Sitcom…? Dude, have I taught you nothing all these years? We’re living in the goddamn Truman Show! All of this nice stuff you see,” John looked around the room, “it’s all fake, buddy, fake; how long has it been since you watched The Matrix7, by the way?” Xander looked to his right at the Matrix Reloaded poster next to John’s bed and sighed. He then crossed his arms and faced J.C again, who continued. “You need to brush up I think; that movie should be watched at least once a month. By everyone! It’s good for your health, trust me. And make sure you pay close attention to the bit where Mouse is pondering the profound metaphysics behind the taste of chicken. Real deep stuff. Oh, and another thing: the only condition I suffer from is awesomeitis; remember that. Now don’t be givin’ me that look, you know I speak sooth!”
“Of course. How could I forget? Forgive me, Your Highness,” Xander bowed down, “King of the Badasses, Lord of Awesomeness.”
“I might be a slightly mad King, but I am a just one, so I’ll let it slide this time,” he placed his right hand on Xander’s blonde head, “you’re forgiven, peasant,” Xan pushed it away and J.C went on, “seriously though man, why would I want to grow up? Grown up, what does that even mean? Like, actually define it. From where I’m standing,” he made quotation marks in the air, “grown ups look like the most miserable people: always stressed out about payin’ bills, always arguing with their spouse…complaining about politics and a million other things, when, instead, they should just be in the moment, be nice to each other and live it up to the max, baby! By all means, Dr. Jones, please remind me again: how is being stressed out twenty four seven and working a hundred and sixty nine hours a week –in order to pay off a massive mortgage on a house that’s way bigger than it needs to be and which you’ll never have time to enjoy, anyway– meant to be a recipe for happiness? I don’t get it; really, I don’t. I’m dead serious –imagine that, me being serious– I literally can’t understand why this society is set up the way it is. And you know why? It’s because it doesn’t make any fucking sense, that’s why! I was kinda hoping my absolutely divine, carefree, slacker attitude would rub off on you after all these years,” John shrugged, “apparently not.”
“Are you finished?” Xan said in his prominent Scottish accent.
John frowned and moved his eyes around, feigning deep contemplation. “Yep, pretty sure I successfully dealt with this morning’s generous helping of ballbus –”
“Good. I suggest you write some of those gems down. You could even publish a self help book one day; maybe call it How to Accomplish Nothing at All and Most Definitely not Get Rich. Now are you gonna get your ass ready, Captain Fantastic, or what?”
“Hey, come to think of it, that just might work,” John brought his index finger to his face and crouched down, leaning closer to his shorter friend, “it’ll cater to a previously untapped niche market,” he then turned around, put his left arm over Xan’s shoulder and extended his other one in front of them, “imagine it, Professor Jones, hippies would be lining up in the streets to buy that shit! And I like the title, too, by the way; it has a certain r –”
Xander forced J.C’s arm off. “For the love of God, will you just get ready, please? What do I have to do, pay you? It’s almost like you don’t wanna go. What’s the matter, John? Seriously. I know you,” he regarded him, “something’s wrong, isn’t it?”
John put on his serious face for the first time since Xander had arrived. “Okay, look, to be perfectly honest with you, I kinda have a funny feeling about today. You’re right: part of me doesn’t wanna go…I –”
“Really?” Xan let out a chuckle. “Johnny boy missing college? Well, who woulda thought? It’s ironic that you’ve always been accusing me of being overly sentimental.”
“No, you don’t understand, it’s this –”
“Just get your ass ready, dude, and don’t be such a wuss!”
“Alright, alright, Mr. Grumpy,” John walked into the bathroom. He shut the door behind him with his foot and continued at the top of his voice, “it’s not like it’s somethin’ super important like a hot date or, better still, an Iron Maiden concert; it’s just graduation, bro.”
“Just graduation…” Alexander Joshua Jones
said to himself and shook his head in disapproval, “sure, whatever you say, Einstein.” Unbelievable! He’d rather see Iron Maiden than go on a date with a beautiful woman. What am I gonna do with this guy?
Xan was the only other Conspiracy Theorist in the entire campus aside from J.C; the only other person that was on the same wavelength when it came to this kind of stuff. Xander always understood him. But he was more responsible than John and often tried to talk sense into him. He believed he did it for his best friend’s own good; he cared about him like family, since John was the older brother he never had. J.C, on the other hand, had hoped his sunnier outlook on life would be a beneficial influence on his younger friend. They were as odd as an odd couple could be –they even had opposite hair color– but, somehow, it worked and they made a great team. Each seemed to complement the other’s weaknesses. Xander had been instrumental in helping the chronically unorganized and procrastinating John get through University, while the latter introduced his “little bro”, as he liked to call him, to the wonderful world of college partying, giving him a much needed confidence boost in the process.
“C’mon, little bro, what are you waitin’ for? Get on,” John revved his black Ducati, “you’re the one that kept nagging me up there; now you’ve got cold feet?”
“I guess I just realized how much I’m gonna miss college, too…you know?”
“I hear ya; I feel the same, man, trust me.” J.C then realized how long he’d been there for. Wow, seven years to get a four year degree and I’ll probably never even end up using it. On the bright side, at least my folks will finally get off my case now.
Xander jumped on the bike and held onto John’s waist. NYU Commencement Day was to be held at Yankee Stadium, which was about ten miles away. As usual, J.C darted off like a bullet, as if competing in some strange death race where only the winner survives.
“Whoa, slow down a little, sunshine! We’re not that fucking late; and why aren’t you wearing your helmet again? I swear that unhinged Sagittarian Moon of yours is gonna get you killed one day, dude!” Xander yelled.
John turned his head right so Xander could hear him better. “Yeah, well, you’re the one that was complai –” suddenly there was a blinding flash up ahead. They both covered their eyes. John lost control of the bike and rammed into the back of the cab a few feet ahead. Meanwhile, the traffic behind and in front of them came to a grinding halt, and everyone on the crowded sidewalks froze in terror. J.C turned off the Ducati and they both dismounted. He glanced down at the dent in his bike and then at the taxi’s door, which had just swung open. The deafening blast soon followed and panic ensued amongst the hundreds of drivers and pedestrians: horns tooted, people ran in all directions, women and children screamed in terror! It was total chaos.
“Jesus! What the hell was that?” John cried. Xander placed his right hand on his friend’s shoulder and pointed up ahead. “Look…” they both gaped at the rising mushroom cloud that had started to blot out the sun: New York had been attacked with a nuclear weapon!
“Do you think that could’ve come from Yankee Stadium? Practically the whole of NYU is there except for us two!”
“What?!” said Xander and took off his helmet. “What the hell would make you say something like that?”
“I don’t know, just a feeling,” said John and turned to him, “so you’re the physics nerd: was that an A-bomb? It’s gotta be, right? Must be like – like one of those suitcase bombs or someth –”
“It’s the only type of nuclear weapon they’d use in an attack like this! And they’re usually between five to ten kilotons.”
“What does that mean?”
“Well, if it is from Yankee Stadium, like you said, then everything within about a one mile radius is gone, blown away, nothing left, John. Nada! Washington Heights, Upper Manhattan, Melrose and everything in between,” he extended his arms outward, “all gone; swallowed up in a five hundred feet fucking high fireball! At least a quarter million people have been instantly killed! And this is just the beginning; that’s what it means!
“Oh, God…you can’t be serious…” the lump in J.C’s throat grew heavy as he stared at the ground, a blank look on his face.
“Oh, I’m dead serious: I’m the neurotic one here, remember?” Xander tapped his chest over and over with his right index finger, as his whole body trembled. “So I’ve done a ton of research on this exact nuclear attack scenario. Trust me; I know what I’m talking about!”
The middle aged, Italian-American cab driver, who was now a couple of feet in front of them, turned around and looked at Xander. “Say, kid, what do we do now?” He said in his Brooklyn accent. “We gotta find shelter for the next twenty four hours, don’t we? I think that’s how it works.”
“Yeah, even though, technically, we’re quite a safe distance from the blast, it’s only a matter of time before the nuclear radiation catches up with us, so it’s best we find a tall building to –”
“Wait a minute!” The cabbie slightly moved his head to the left and concentrated. “Is that a – a radio announcement? I guess we are a safe distance away if the EMP hasn’t affected the electronic equipment here.” He then walked back to the driver’s side door, reached through the open window and turned up his SONY stereo’s volume to full. All three focused on the female news presenter’s voice.
…and, according to Emergency Services calls made near the area, the blast originated from Yankee Stadium at 9:11 a. m, Eastern Standard Time. This would make Yankee Stadium ground zero and means it has been completely obliterated! I repeat, Yankee Stadium is ground zero and has been completely destroyed! And, if we are to believe the claims made in Twitter’s newest trending topic, hashtag newyorkattack, all lower case, thousands of eye witnesses swear the explosion was in fact a nuclear one. There are also disturbing reports that parts of Upper Manhattan have been wiped off the map, though this cannot be verified. Information is still scarce at the moment, but we will be giving regular updates, so stay tuned…
The men just stood there, wide eyed; they couldn’t speak. The taxi driver’s cigarette fell out of his mouth. All three understood the true significance of the reported time of the blast.
“You were right! How did you know?” Xander asked John as he turned and faced him.
“Never mind how I knew, that’s not important right now. I’m more concerned about the time the bomb went off:” both friends gave each other knowing glances, “you know as well as I do that it’s a False Flag Attack8, just like 9/119 was! But I – I never thought they’d hit New York again…I mean…” a shocked J.C paused for a while and looked away. A few moments later, he addressed both of them in a deadpan voice. “We’re completely screwed! Congratulations, gentlemen; you’ve just witnessed the birth of World War III10 today. Let’s hope we live to tell the tale.”
In a sleek New York penthouse, fifteen miles away from the bomb blast, a tall, black haired, muscular man, dressed in a grey Armani suit, stood by the window and observed the mushroom cloud. His cell phone soon rang. He put it to his right ear. “It’s done, Colonel. Everything went exactly as planned.” His accent was not quite English, though not quite American either.
“Excellent work, soldier. You were the big star of this play’s final act, but a new play will soon begin: a New Dawn is coming! I will contact you in the next few days with further instructions.”
“Yes, Colonel.”
The Colonel, a gray haired military man, who sat behind an oak desk in his enormous mansion’s Library, hanged up and soon called another number. After a few rings, the person on the other end picked up. “I trust you have good news for me, Colonel?”
“Couldn’t be better: the operation was a great success, Sir. We can now proceed with the next phase of our plan.”
“Have you made sure they will find enough clues to incriminate the right parties?”
“Without a doubt! We’ve planted more than enough evidence to implicate the terrorists
and tied any loose ends that could lead back to us. Plus our people in the Media will say exactly what we told them to say. As always, of course, the suits will do their usual investigations and, like the dumb animals that they are, will conclude the terrorists were working alone. What a bunch of stupid assholes!”
“But they are useful assholes, Colonel; we still need them to help us solidify the New Order.”
“Not for too much longer; when the war is over and our rule finally becomes overt, they’ll suffer the same fate as those useless eaters they now police.”
“Indeed. We must be patient, however: we can’t control the world without our trained dogs there to keep everyone in line; at least not yet we can’t. Goodbye for now, Colonel. You did a commendable job today.” said the man and hanged up.
A few hours later, John and Xander were holed up on the tenth floor of an empty, twenty storey construction site. They sat on the ground next to each other, their backs against the south wall, looking out of the newly installed windows around twelve feet across from them. Nails, small pieces of wood and used up sandpaper lay scattered around the dusty, cement floor. An empty, five gallon paint bucket stood in the middle of the room; the scent of freshly painted walls filled the air. As if this day did not contain enough bizarre synchronicities, the small portable radio a few feet in front of them provided what seemed to be the perfect background music: the melancholic voice of Jim Morrison singing The End. Both men were silent, thinking of all the people they’d known in University that were now gone forever. Even though J.C never liked the academic aspect of college much, he’d enjoyed his time there overall and had some fond memories. He still couldn’t believe this had happened. He thought about his most recent girlfriend, Anne O’ Narkey.
She was a blonde cheerleader turned lawyer and when she had been accepted into Law School three years earlier, everyone, not least herself, was dumbfounded. John could never understand how the hell she did it. He and Xan would often joke about the fact that she’d probably sent several of her cheerleader friends to take the entrance exams in her place: she and her blonde girlfriends looked so much alike that John could sometimes swear they were all clones! J.C chuckled at the thought and it somewhat lifted his spirits.
Then he remembered her last words to him a couple of months earlier, before she slammed the door of his dorm room shut on her way out: You’re a tin foil hat wearing loser…and you’ll always be a tin foil hat wearing loser! Get a life! It was right after a three hour argument they had about 9/11: she was adamant the official story was true and would not budge. This was the final straw for J.C; for the first hour of the fight he was positive it was just a bad dream he would soon wake up from. He couldn’t, for the life of him, understand how somebody could be so ignorant in the real world, you see. They broke up a few weeks later, of course. After being with Anne, John had sworn he’d never get married unless he found someone who was on, or near, the same wavelength as him!
But now he reconsidered; he wished he could see her one more time…try and be a bit more tolerant of her ignorance, maybe even make it work again. “Man, I wish I could turn back time and see Anne again, even if it was just once; try to talk things through…” his eyes watered and he swallowed hard to get rid of the lump in his throat. He turned right and looked at Xan, “I – sometimes I can be such an ass, you know? Just ‘cause she wasn’t a hundred percent, exactly on our wavelength with all this Truther shit, I was a bit –”
“I know, man…I know. It’s okay; I’m as shocked as you are,” Xan let out a deep sigh, “listen, this is probably the last thing you wanna hear right now, but at least we made it out alive. That’s still somethin’, right? And we can thank your chronic tardiness for that: if we were on time, we would’ve been blown away too!”
John looked ahead again and nodded in agreement. “Yeah…” he then slumped his head down between his knees. A moment later, the song was interrupted by the latest news update. Xander grabbed the radio and brought it closer to them.
…the FBI has released an official statement claiming they had Intel pointing to a potential terrorist attack being carried out on New York, but, just as it happened over ten years ago, the Intel was apparently inconclusive, so the government didn’t act on it…
The attack seems to bear the mark of the Iranian radical group, Arabian Knights –the fanatical supporters of ex-Irani President, Mahmoud Ahmadinejad– whose members promote the anti-Semitic propaganda that America’s supposed Secret Government, led by International Bankers, has been manipulating the Iran-Israel11 conflict in order to spark World War III. Ironically, just like a self fulfilling prophecy, it will be the group’s own terrorist act today that will likely spark another World War…
“I knew it!” John looked up and faced Xander again. “They finally pulled it off: they’ll get their damn war now. The US will try to hit the terrorists, knowing full well that Russia and China will side with Iran. Israel seems to have fulfilled the purpose it was created for; and it all went exactly as described in the Letter to Mazzini almost a hundred and fifty years ago!”
“God knows how many people will survive this, John...”
“Well, whoever does live through it will get to see the Global Fascist State we’ve been talking about all these years. And, by the way, if we’re fortunate enough to be among the survivors, we gotta find a way to stop these maniacs once and for all!”
Synchronicity hints at the unified world behind the illusory veil of the Material Universe.
– Roger S. Jones
Willenskraft, NY, USA,
October, 2015
