Chapter 9

Magician's Endgame

Kit and Coat pass through a small antechamber unchallenged by two gun-toting guards who shuffle sheepishly out of their way, and descend a short flight of stairs. A set of bulkhead doors glides smoothly open on their approach, then another. And another. And then another. Somewhere in Kit's head an irritating melody strikes up... these resistance guys need to Get Smart. What's that all about?

The last set of doors whines open revealing...

... a massive oak-walled chamber. Gleaming chandeliers lie suspended from the ceiling. The entire far wall of the room is a large LCD screen currently displaying a map of Singaland. As Kit goggles, a small rectangle appears in the centre of it, displaying "Kernal.exe has caused a general protection fault."

Pan camera.

Plush red-velveted carved teak chairs surround a huge redwood conferance table, which dominates the room.

Scattered around the room are small groups of people deep in conversation, some of whom look naggingly familiar.

Standing in the middle of the room gazing upon the telemap (and, as you have no doubt realised by now, with their backs to our heroes) are a man and a woman, turning around even as we read to look upon the newcomers in surprise.

The woman has long, lank hair and glossy, shiny legs. (err or was it the other way around.) There's no mistaking that pretty face, and those coolly-languid eyes, even now widening in surprise. It's

"Jean!" Kit cries, taking a step forward. But she's not looking at him. She's staring at Coat.

Coat's staring back at her, and the corners of his deadset, deadpan, and basically, dead mouth are actually twitching.

"Hi, Jean."

"It's important?" She smiles, never once breaking eye contact. They laugh together.

"Is that what they call you here then?"

"Jean. You know zees peeple?" The man by her side grates, greenly. He's a portly, dapper little man with a ruddy face decorated by a little moustache and a goatee. Everything about him screams anal retentive French, down to the little Lebel revolver in his right hand which is currently trained, unsurprisingly enough, on Kit.

Coat smiles, murmurs "depending on the sense of the word..." and trails off discreetly.

Jean blushes prettily and looks down at her feet.

"Hello, Gawain."

"Is zat hees real name??!"

"Of course not, don't be absurd. Jean, you haven't introduced me to..."

"How thoughtless of me. Gawain, this is Pierre, the leader of our little movement."

Kit thinks "our little, anal-retentive little movement" and the slow burn of jealousy that's been building up in his gut finally spills over and out of his mouth.

"Pierre, this is Gawain, aka the Archi..."

"Jean! What the **** is going on? I thought you were dead! And then you were alive, but you weren't you, and I went to see you, and the pol..."

"Oh hello Kit. I didn't see you there." Jean spares Kit a scant glance then looks back at Gawain amorously and smiles. "It's been such a long time..."

Something in Kit snaps. "No wait. Stop flirting, all of you. I want some answers! RIGHT NOW!"

Pierre says "oh. Zees ees ze pawn you choose Jean, no? Why ees he here?"

Jean sighs, and gestures to Kit to sit down.

"Kit darling, these people around you" she waves her fingertips in the air "are the Resistance to the Empire. You understand that don't you?"

"Don't patronise me. I'm not stupid. I saw you die dammit!"

"Well, as you now know, we hired Gawain to ah, dispose of the Patrician."

"and??"

"And we couldn't afford to blow our cover, so we needed someone who couldn't betray us, to convey our contract to the Architect here."

"What architect? What's this got to do with buildin..."

"She means me, Kit."

"Oh."

There's a slight pause as it all sinks into Kit's brain, which is beginning feel as fluffy as cauliflower, only somewhat less intelligent.

"And you chose me because..."

"You're gullible, and too unimaginative to have done anything but deliver the letter."

"oh."

pause.

"But I saw you die."

"Oh, you mean like this?"

Jean smiles, and spins around in the air in slow motion, her hair fanning out dramatically, then stops short from throwing herself onto the floor.

"It's all in the wrist, darling. Stop being so obsessive."

"But the blood..."

"Blood packs. They use them in hollywood, and all quality Wuxia and hongkong gun-flick movies, which for some reason nearly always have pretty heroines bleeding dramatically out of their mouths in a discreet little trickle, occasionally coughing gently for added effect."

"But the black miniva..."

"Ours."

"Oh." Kit glances at the eight men in black who have shuffled sheepishly into the room in Gawain's wake, and opens his mouth to say Oh again.

"They're our security agents. Identical twins, except for their sister over there." One of the bully boys waves a handsome hand.

"Oh." Kit glances about wildly to distract himself from his world, which is currently inconsiderately engaged in falling apart around him. "And him? What's he doing here? Don't tell me he's a special agent as well!"

An old man wearing shorts and a singlet with Rayband dark glasses grins toothily at him and tips his glasses jauntily over the bridge of his nose. He looks Kit in the eye and winks.

"Heyyyyy he's the old blind guy fro..."

"No zat one has only just joined us. Don't ask".

Kit glares at Pierre.

"But why?"

"I said don't as.."

"No, why? WHY? Why did you have to kill the Patrician?"

Pierre glances at Jean. "Jean dear, you explain. Eet ees so tiresome for me to have to keep zees accent up for a prolonged pe-riod."

Jean shoots Kit a long, lingering and level look. (how's that for L-lliteration)

"What do you know about the history of the Empire, and the Emperor?"

(Hum it with me. The brain bone's connected to the... knee bone...)

Kit replies proudly and patriotically, and by a reflex born of countless years of childhood indoctrination and extensive national education, recites :

"The Empire of the Rising Son, Singaland. Previously a colony of the evil Brutish Colonists who transformed it from a poor fishing village into a mess, did jack all, and oppressed the courageous but indiginous Oriental underclasses through their rampant racism, it's fortunes were instantly turned around when it gained independence under the wise and benevolent rule of The Emperor, all hail his name, who was appointed Governor by the worthless Brutish who could not help but acknowledge his supremacy, and fled the country with their tails between their legs..."

"Hmm. You obviously paid attention in school. And?"

Kit's eyes have glazed over by this time, and a small stream of spittle is drooling down from the corner of his numbed mouth.

"And... there is no and. And then the Empire prospered under his rule, and then it was governed after his withdrawal from the political scene by his successor, Patrician Go Choke In Thongs proving that the system is Fair and Just, and then his son BG Lea ascended into power as was his rightful mandate where he served and governs wisely till today. Uh, yesterday."

Jean sighs. "And what do you know about the Final Holocaust?"

"The Final Holocaust was testament to the inferior ruling policies of the governments of the Rest of the World, and transpired in 2010. The Unjustified War against Terror, led by the Filthy Americum Innocent Killers and their Brutish Lackeys, spit, spit, resulted in a courageous rebellion by the united Arabic and Korean Freedom Fighters who managed to procure a thermonuclear device from a used- car salesman in Brutain, and selflessly sacrificed their own lives in their valient quest for independence from their Oppressors. Nuclear warheads rained down like fire, and the Rest of the World turned unto ash under the hails of death from the skies. Fortunately, our wise and benevolent Patrician had foreseen these events in advance and prebuilt the SDS (Super Defence System) which today forms a protective shell around our glorious nation against the death, danger and decay that lurk beyond the Dome. There is no exit from this Dome because there is nothing beyond it to leave to. All has been destroyed except for the Paradise Island of Singaland. We owe much to Partician Lea today for our lives and prosperity, wan shui wan shui wan wan shui."

"Kit, what if I told you that almost everything you believe is a lie?"

"There are no lies from our Emperor. It is Written in the Book of Lea. Our past is faithfully scribed in the holotexts we read as fledgelings. His Word is Truth."

"Listen to me Kit. There is much you need to know. Much of what I tell you cannot be officially verified. Much of this hearsay is unwritten, and some should well be taken with a pinch of salt.

The story of our nation does not begin with the Founding Father. Before the Emperor came two chief ministers, who did much in lobbying and holding postwar constitutional debates with the Brutish to achieve the aim of self-governance of Singaland. Perhaps in a real sense, these now-forgotten figures were the real Founding Fathers of the nation. Or perhaps the Brutish themselves were the true founding fathers, transforming the little fishing village they discovered into a fortified and attractive trading base - certainly prosperous enough to attract our ancestors to this land in quest of trade, prosperity, and a better life. More importantly, even if their objectives were predominantly self-serving, they laid down an infrastructure, and created the skeleton of the country you see before you today. Perhaps Sir Stampalot Waffles was in fact the true Founding Father of the country - or perhaps his first lieutenant and administrative officer, Sir Farkheralot should be remembered as one of the people this nation owes its existence to.

My point being that perhaps this modern-day cultlike reverence we accord the Emperor with is in part only justified. Perhaps he's just a man - like many of the men who preceded him, who was instrumental in - but not integral to - the creation of modern day Singaland.

Perhaps The Emperor himself is flawed..."

Kit draws his breath in sharply and his eyes become just a tad more glazed.

"Or rather, perhaps he wasn't quite the whiter than white demigod that you know today. There are some who say he ascended into prominence with the aid of the backing of the trade unions and socialist allies, and once power was consolidated, rewarded his "friends" by disbanding and imprisoning them, respectively."

"Politics don't concern me. Strange and wonderful are the ways of the Force and the Empire. This is a basic tenet of the Singalander today, Jean. They teach that to us all at birth."

"There are those who even today remember the persecution faced by the university student activists of the time. Midnight visitations by policemen who miraculously 'found' copies of little red books under their bedcovers after switching off the lights for a bit - did you ever stop to wonder at the true scale of the "communist insurgency"?. Perhaps it wasn't so much a threat, as a cover... Anecdotes of assault and torture under police custody, including sleep deprivation and electric-shock "therapy". Incarceration of previous political rivals..."

"Lies. All lies. The Emperor we know today is omnipotent. He did not need to resort to underhanded tactics like this, because greatness was innate within him, chapter four verse fifteen, the Book of Lea."

"Kit, there are also tales of political refugees fleeing the country and taking shelter in other lands, including Brutain - and dying under mysterious circumstances..."

"Accidents?"

"Well, 'accidental' decapitation by assailants with swords is possible, I suppose..."

"You can't prove any of this."

Jean points to some newspaper clippings framed on the wall. They're an assortment of ancient newspieces from the paper era, several Lamayan, and some Brutish alleging unjust imprisonment of political prisoners - many whose names mean nothing to Kit; certainly they were never mentioned back in his school days. Some of the articles detail murders abroad and allude to hitmen hired by unknown sources. Kit pales as he reads the impassioned pleas by the families of political prisoners in Singaland begging for their loved ones to be supported, and above all, remembered through their lengthy thirteen year imprisonments without trial.

"These could be fabrications..."

(Which, of course, they really must be, since this entire story is the work of an almost-certified lunatic (working hard at it) and it's clearly a piece of fiction. Work with me, people.)

"... and doesn't answer the question - why did you have to kill the Patrician?"

"The Patrician is a tyrant, Kit. It's clear from his record that he will stop at nothing to achieve ultimate control of his subjects. Over the course of the years he has painstakingly crafted a mindlessly compliant society by establishing a unicameral system, and ruthlessly eliminating any potential political competitors from the opposition, thus ensuring a continued and uninterrupted rule by his children, and his children's children."

"But so what? Look at the results. Economic and technological prosperity. Inter-racial harmony. We alone had the ingenuity to survive the holocaust, when the rest of humanity was exterminated like an infestation of cockroaches!"

"He jailed hundreds of innocents, Kit. He caused human suffering, not only in those he incarcerated and tortured, but in the families he destroyed by taking away their loved ones to ensure a totalitarian rule. He might even have blood on his hands!"

"You can't prove any of that, Jean. It's not written anywhere."

"That's because his government rewrote our history!"

"Conspiracy theories, hearsay and half-truths don't justify murder! There must have been a better way!"

"Do you think we didn't try?? We've tried putting promising candidates up for election. The most promising of them were all slandered, jailed, and / or exiled! The less promising candidates weren't elected - there's a very real and tangible climate of fear amongst the electorate, what with the Empire preaching severe social repercussions for those 'voting unwisely'. Gerrymandering has reduced the very act of casting votes into a farce, and many believe that votecounts are rigged anyhow! We even tried infiltrating the mouthpiece for the government, the media - but it's an impregnable fortress. Non-compliant journalists don't last half a day in their jobs. Look at us! We're nearly halfway through the twenty-first century, and our movies and media are censored! Scenes depicting sex are off-limits to the population till they turn twenty-one, nevermind that they've been doing the down and dirty since twelve! We still tout bungee jumping as a major triumph in the field of public autonomy!! We're proud of speaker's corner, that supposed bastion of "free speech" to the public, where speakers have to pre-register with the police, to, what was it, prevent inciting of racial or political instability! There is no democracy in our socialist republic! Our Glorious Leader (tm) joined the Dark Side!"

"You left wing people always do that! You shout and rant about freedom, and democracy, and tenuous 'human rights' to stir up the rabble. You half-arsedly support ideals you've had no personal contact with, dreaming of your imaginary little utopian societies. You're blind to the perfection of the world around you. Look around, everybody's happy here. All we want is to continue our own little existences, and chase our dreams of money, success, condominium, credit card, and cars. We have that under the Great Leaders! Nothing you say can detract from the fact that murder is unacceptable! The Patrician had the same right to life as anyone else! Killing is not the answer!"

Jean's eyes smoulder with anger, and her chest heaves as she says

"Personal? I'll give you personal. Some of us have lost loved ones in the past. Some of us remember. Some of us didn't buy into 're-education.' Some of us burned for the truth enough that we went out and found it. Some of us remember how to think!"

"The truth? The truth is we survived, Jean! We're prospering despite all the odds! We're alive because of one man's vision!"

"There was never a holocaust!"

"What??"

"Kit, the holocaust was an excuse to erect the forcedome around the city. It's the modern day equivalent to the Great Wall of China. It's not just to keep invaders out - it's to keep the people in!"

"That's crazy! What about... television? And the internet? You can't control the information superhighway!"

"Think again, Kit. All ten television channels are state-operated. We can't receive anything else because the forcedome selectively transmits radio-frequency waves. The 'internet' is censored by proxy - even if we knew the URLs to international sites, we wouldn't be able to access them - we're not on an internet anymore. We're on a massive Local Area Network. Only the leaders can access the information superhighway. The holocaust was a pretext to build and activate the forcedome. It was the Empire's answer to an increasingly vocal population acquiring undesirable western values, and turning 'quitter' when the going got tough. It halted the braindrain that set in during latter part of the twentieth century. It's just another device to ensure absolute control of the people."

"That's absurd!"

"It's like the Matrix, Kit."

"Huh? What does secondary-school mathematics have to do with this?"

"No, The Matrix. It was an early twenty-first century screenplay about information control and subversion, and the indomitability of the human spirit. It featured a hacker superhero called Neo who..."

Shimmer.

Suddenly a pale, lean man in a billowing black overcoat, black boots, and black shades and shiny black hair falls stylistically out of the sky and lands dramatically on splayed legs and the fingertips of one hand, concentrating stylishly at an imaginary spot on the floor. He looks up at our assembly of heroes. (stylishly, of course)

"I am Neo. I am The One. I have come... Oh. Hi, Jean."

"Jean! You know zees man??"

Jean blushes and looks down prettily.

"Eees there anyone you do not Know???" (Pierre, as if you didn't know.)

"Hello, Neo. It's been a while."

"What is this?? Who's this gay-looking-dude with the black fetish?" Kit snaps, eyes wild. Methinks this warped storyline is beginning to be too much for even our hero.

"This is Neo, Kit. Uh, the Matrix movie wasn't entirely fictional, although it wasn't quite as fantastic as it was made out to be. Rather overrated, to be honest. It's rather complicated..."

"This is getting ridiculous!"

Neo rings polyphonically, smiles apologetically and reaches into his black overcoat pocket with a black gloved hand, withdrawing from it a shiny black mobile phone.

"Hello? Mumblemumble. Yes dear. No dear. Of course I'll be home for dinner. Mumble."

Neo smiles apologetically at Jean. "I'm sorry milady, Trinity calls."

"The Trinity??" (Kit, eyes wilder.) "Not... the Father, Son and Holy Go?"

"No, Kit. His girlfriend is called Trinity..."

Neo shimmers and fades.

"... a right self-righteous, self-sacrificing bitch. Men always fall for them, can't they see how fake and manipulative they all are??" Jean froths.

One of the generic rebel-characters in the room, an expendable stage-extra of course, pipes up, "Look, this is just getting way too much to believe! It's... mad! First she says that the world as we know it is an utter fabrication on a global scale, and now science fiction characters are popping into and out of existence! It's almost as if we're characters in some stupid, badly-written story being penned by some halfwit author!"

Everyone instantly freezes in stunned silence, and studiously ignores the now-deafeningly-audible 'scritch scritch scritch' as of a celestial pencil making nasty cancellation marks. Stage-extra vanishes abruptly. Moving swiftly on now...

"Look at the television screen, Kit. Boys, show him."

The television screen flickers to life. It shows a caucasian woman (purportedly an extinct species according to the Empire. For that matter, all races except the Chinese race are supposed to have been extinguished by the Holocaust.) with strange white skin and blonde hair reading the news in a funny, barely decipherable accent. In the background, a picture-feed shows the letters 'CNN' and a scene of towering thousand-storied spacescrapers with fleets of hovercars buzzing incessantly about them like bees around a hive. The scene is as of Singaland, only on a much larger scale. The woman is droning on about Presidential Elections and the international wars against nuclear proliferists in Iraq, Afghanistan, Iran, Korea, England, Japan, Russia and for some reason, Australia.

"This is a live feed from the United States of America, Kit."

"What? Impossible! They were obliterated in the Great War of... oh. But. But..."

There's a distinct pause as reality finally begins to sink into poor Kit's beleagured brain.

"But..."

Give the boy a chance, it's been a long day.

"but..."

Everyone studiously returns to their little tasks, ignoring the barely audible tink-tink-tink noises as of a celestial teaspoon striking the sides of a celestial mug of tea in preparation.

"but."

Coat begins to fiddle with his weapon in impatience, earning him smoulderingly suggestive looks of appreciation from Jean. Pierre continues to stare anal-retentively into space, kneading his brows in a manner that's supposed to look dramatic but instead suggests that he's missing his usual afternoon suppository. The Blind Beggar nonchalently wanders over to one of the numerous book-laden shelves lining the room and takes down a neurosurgical textbook, humming quietly to himself. The seven Bully Boys (and, to be PC - always a must in today's bra-burning society of women's equality - one Bully Woman) seize the opportunity to strip down and clean their revolvers, thus neatly conforming to the Universal Law that only lead heroes are ever capable, powerful, or prepared enough to engage in battle with villain-bosses, who naturally only ever appear when the audience least expects it. Our eight Bully People are also wisely aware that little-league subheroes almost always never survive direct confrontation with UberVillains, and have also read the script in advance, you see.

One of the eight entryways to the inner sanctum slides open, and a petite female strides through smiling widely.

"Pierre, I have good news..."

Kits eyes widen in shock and he breathes in sharply.

It's Pink, dressed predictably enough, in pink.

Her eyes harden as they meet his, and recognition dawns.

"Look out, she's..." Kit screams, rooted to the spot in shock, terror, and all sorts of other manly emotions.

Pink moves. Reaching into her pink wonderbra, she flicks something... small... at Kit. It happens so quickly half the audience who're inconsiderately drowsing off miss it, because you blinked. Even as she does, Coat reacts with almost superhuman speed, and in one smooth, fluid motion draws his sword and hurls it in an overhand arc through the air.

There's a sickening thud as it lands in the centre of Pink's petite bosom (or was that bosoms?) and snicks out her back.

She looks down mutely in disbelief at the pommel emerging from her chest, and a tiny trickle of blood escapes the corner of her mouth. Then, because she is really a villain (ha. plot spoiler. Tough luck.) she vomits a torrent of blood and collapses to her knees ala Quentin Torantino, only less artistically.

"Why did you do zat?? She was one of our agents!" Pierre shouts at Coat, gesticulating wildly.

"Guess I must have been an obstetrician in a past life." Coat smirks.

Everyone pauses and stares.

"Sorry, I have no idea why I just said that," Coat mutters, and shrugs.

Pink topples over sideways onto the floor, hands grasping the handle of the sword impaling her, and makes some nasty rattling noises in her throat.

"Oh come now, surely you all know that she was working for them. She's Baby Fatt - one of the most heinous and ruthless mercenary assassins this side of the world. Next to me of course." Coat preens.

"She was our spy in ze organisation! She was a mole!" Pierre squeaks, flailing his hands at the prostrate form before him.

"She was with the police when they caught me" Kit mumbles, circling the still body before him.

"She was the one lying in the hospital bed pretending to be Jean. She hit me from behind. She was shadowing me! She kept showing up everywhere I went like a... like a. Nasty thingie, that shows up a lot when you don't want it to!"

"What? She was supposed to be an administrative agent in ze enemie's forces, collecting data for us. She did not tell us she was in ze operations unit... you are sure of zees?"

"She must have been a double agent. You poor sods, the Empire probably paid her double the amount you cheapskates did. Or maybe even triple." Coat growls.

"I'd recognise her anywhere. She has a website dedicated all to herself plastered with retouched photographs of... herself. She even has her own fan hate-site which she maintains herself. I couldn't not know her even if I wanted to!" Kit howls.

"Uh, Pierre?" (Jean)

"Yes dear?" (Pierre)

"You're bleeding."

Pause.

For the first time, everyone notices the red stain slowly seeping into Pierre's expensive Versace blue-collar. There's a small sliver of metal protruding from a tiny puncture wound over his jugular.

Horror begins to dawn in everyone's eyes as they realise that Pink's small flicked object found a mark, after all.

"Oh dear. I feel a leetle, how you say, faint."

Pierre's eyes roll up into his sockets, and he falls to the floor with a thud.

Coat kneels down and puts a hand to Pierre's neck.

"He's dead. Poison dart."

Rebel faces suddenly turn ashen as blood drains away from them. Countenances fall into despair as everyone realises their leader has fallen in battle. Nobody moves a hair.

Except Kit, who finally snaps. His eyes take on a strange glow as he steps forward and yanks Coat's sword from Baby Fatt's body (with obligatory accompanying and shamelessly Tarantino-esque fountain of blood), waving it about menacingly.

"Back! Back all of you! It's all a trick! All lies!! You can't fool me! You're all subversives! You're evil, the work of the Opposition..."

little rabid flecks of spittle fall from Kit's foaming mouth onto Fatt's now inert form.

"Kit, calm down." (Jean)

"If you succeed there will be anarchy and chaos! We need the leadership of the Empire! There is nothing beyond the Empire!!"

Here, Kit's eyes take on a very odd red hue, and his voice becomes almost metallic as he intones,

"You must be reported to the Authorities. You are all criminals."

Jean sighs.

"I was hoping it wouldn't come to this."

And then she draws a pistol, and shoots Kit square between the eyes.

Fade to black.

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