CSI: American Carnage (Saturday, June 13, 2020)
IN THE CYBER – A large lobster waddles across the field that stretches before the Professor and his small strike force. It disappears between two boulders. In the distance, far beyond the field, a massive mountain rises, red and orange inflamed gases flaring from its cone. It is the Mountain of Dark Information, Modi, seat of power, home to a universe of threat. Sarah, Little Timmy’s friend from the resistance pot luck, says, That is the source of the Autocrat’s power. We must get there and destroy it if we are to have any chance of helping the people and coming out of this with our lives. Little Timmy, pup reporter, says, We must cross the Pasture of Bones before we even get to the Foothills of Black Eternity. Sarah says, The Pasture of Bones is one of the Autocrat’s greatest achievements. Boris, genial triple agent, says, Poohteen ees architect of great Russian columbarium. Sarah says, The Autocrat conceived of the Pasture of Bones as a “rapid response” to the great wave of death sweeping over the nation. The Professor says, Don’t you think, Sarah, that the Autocrat was unable to build a baroque columbarium, thus opting for a “gussied up” mass grave? Sarah says, The only decoration for this is in the name. The Autocrat did not understand what a columbarium could even be. So he slapped this together. It is a field of death, that’s what it is, the only monument the Autocrat has for himself. Pete, one of the band of cut-throats and wenches traveling with the Professor’s party, says, Avast me hearties! There’s movement in the glebes! The party looks out across the field and sees innumerable shakings of dirt, earth seeming to dislodge itself, and a garden of grey hands and fists punching up from below, followed by heads, grey and moldering, whole bodies sprouting up like a ghastly garden. My god! says the Professor. The bodies pull themselves from the underworld, thousands of them filling the entire range of vision. They are chanting. TULSA! TULSA! TULSA! Good lord, says the Professor, a look of horror on his face. Sarah says, It is the Autocrat’s Army of the Dead. Timmy says, Could it be all those who have died from the virus? Only the dead would sign a statement releasing the Autocrat from liability should any die at his rally. Boris says, Yes, they are already dead. They have nothing to worry about. TULSA! TULSA! TULSA! The Professor says, I don’t know. It could be the virus. Sarah says, The Autocrat’s victims are many. The sun breaks out, shining a warm light over the acres of grey cadavers, now animate and aimed at Tulsa. Sarah says, The Autocrat’s army is an army of the dead, just as his politics is a politics of death. There is a deep rumble issuing from the Modi. And the voice of the Autorcrat rolls through the foothills, across the valleys and pasturelands, it surrounds the strike force and rains everywhere: It is a Summer of Love. These Liberal Dems don’t have a clue. The terrorists burn and pillage our cities, and they think it is just wonderful, even the death. But only the chokehold is terrible and beautiful. Our death is the best death, the only death that brings greater life. Tens of thousands of animate cadavers lift their heads. TULSA! TULSA! TULSA! – Saturday, June 13, 2020