CSI: American Carnage, Nov. 8, 2020
“The Gambler Showman has blown up everything Father worked for.”
THE CENTRAL PLAINS – Dusk has come to the stunted rows of shriveled corn that spread for miles to the far horizon. Roads run straight through the withered farmland, cracked asphalt littered with carcasses of dead animals – cow, horse, pig, lots of pig. No cars can be seen, they remain in auto shops, where banks have been slow to repossess, given the acceleration of house evictions. Far beneath this static, desiccated landscape, the remaining Dark One sits in the Robert Welch Memorial Operations Center of the vast Central Plains complex, screens bright with rapidly changing images that depict the state of numbers worldwide. My brother, he says, to the laser-enhanced figure sparking onto the asbestos-carpeted floor. My brother. The Dark One stops, unable to continue. The figure before him, the revivified embodiment of his younger brother, dead for some time, places a cap on his head, dousing some flames. Yes, he says. The elder brother is silent for some time. At last, he says, The Gambler Showman has blown up everything Father worked for. Everything we have orchestrated so carefully for so many years. The younger brother, speaking in a post-life rasp, says, My brother, if I had a heart it would go out to you. Rest assured I feel the distress. Our strategy was so simple. We let the Gambler Showman rule unchecked like Ming the Emperor; in exchange he threw the servi into the pits and sought to kill all the thieving programs enacted by the Communists in years past. It was a perfect strategy. He fulfills his dream of unchecked authority, and we end the theft of all our hard earned resources. Plus interest. Perfect, I tell you, my brother. The elder is silent. But for one thing, he says at last. Pray, says his brother, what could that be? The elder says, The servi. We carelessly believed the vassal Ryan’s assurances that the Gambler Showman would put a stop to the theft forever. He would, as these mealy mouthed peasants like to say, be a game changer. The servi would be crushed, more than they had been, and our national treasure would at last find its way home. With interest. In the end, the swarthy women took their centuries of grievances and acted on them. A sorry lot. He falls silent. The younger brother, electric charges arcing from his head to a nearby screen broadcasting a live stream of Lou Dobbs, finally says, We remain undefeated my brother. The servi and their mouthpieces believe their pitiful constitution will deliver the Griever-In-Chief to them. But that remains unsettled. And do not forget, the Gambler Showman has shown tremendous imagination during his tenure. The game is still on. I believe the council has set some funding aside for such eventualities. And most importantly perhaps, let us not forget the Eastern Despot. Word from some of his recent victims in Limbo indicates he is very unhappy. We are still players, my brother. We are the greatest and most resourceful players. Our patrimony will be ours! A tremendous shower of sparks spews from his loins and the operations room fills with the stench of smoldering contempt.