Allanea
16-04-2004, 23:38
Road to Thermopilae
Blessed is the match that burned out
And that started flames…
Hannah Senesh
1
Leon Veinsberg smiled. The screen of the deformed-looking I-Mac computer in front of him filled suddenly with simplistic graphics, composed of letters and symbols positioned on the screen so as to form an image of a prancing pony. A slight, almost imperceptible motion of the fingers on the keyboard – and the letters started acquiring meaning.
Entering channel #geeks
<Man_of_The_Weird> Hi!
Leon’s smile widened. His friends were online. It took him all of two seconds to type in the response:
<Simba> Hi MoW!
There was a long pause. Had it happened in live conversation, it would have been quite awkward. Leon sighed and looked at his cat, Bilbo.
- So, Mr.Baggins, how would you propose fixing the global communications crisis?
Bilbo purred. He didn’t care either way. The black, green-eyed creature looked somehow at home – a living, cuddly oasis of stability in the primal chaos that was Leon’s room, sitting on a disheveled bed among bookshelves, spare computer parts, ammunition, firearms and peculiar poster. Leon opened the small, dented old fridge standing under his desk and poured himself a glass of Cola, added in four ice cubes… and froze, staring at the screen.
<Man_of_the_Weird>I got real bad news for you people
<Man_of_the_Weird>There’s a raid on the compound of some weird religious sect in Michigan that’s supposed to happen today evening.
<Man_of_the_Weird>ATF, DEA, FBI are in it. Some real large-scale job.
Something was wrong – beyond the atrocity which was about to take place. Leon held his breath as he typed his question.
<Simba> Where in Michigan? And how do they intend to get there?
Suddenly he feld cold, even before drinking the glass.
<Man_of_the_Weird> X... County, Michigan. Road is to be I-Y10.
<Simba> Is this the straight goods?
<Man_of_the_Weird> Like a ruler. Got it from a guy who works for
the feds.
<Simba> Is the sect occasionally called The Circle of God?
Leon paused momentarily, awaiting for the answer. He sipped on the Coke. Something told him that today he was going to need all the caffeine he could get.
<Man_of_the_Weird>Yes. How did you know?
He gasped, nearly dropping the glass. He put it down quickly, almost spilling it, and set to typing:
<Simba>I know their leader, this Scott Howell guy. We go shooting together.
<Simba>These guys are fucked. Utterly.
<Simba>They got lots of guns, and they do have some pot around, they grow it in this underground lab thing.
<Simba>Scott told me they use it for rituals or something.
<Simba>At any rate, those guys are fucked.
The sentence was followed by peculiar ‘silence’. The participants sat behind their computer terminals, absorbing the fact that far away, people were going to be horribly abused, massacred, burned alive – and there was nothing they could do about it. And they were to scared of their impotence in front of the coming disaster to even admit it.
Something inside Veinsberg screamed ‘Stop that silence! Please make it stop!’. And that something moved his hands to the keyboard, making him type one single word, a word that would be written down by dozens of log programs and printed in fifteen major newspapers.
<Simba>Unless...
Then, something happened inside him. Reading this word on the screen – his own word – hit him like he read something someone else wrote. The word threw the coward within Leon Veinsberg as if he was hit by a freight train. The feeling of impotence disappeared. He had the power to do something about it, and he knew what he would do about it.
<Man_of_the_Weird>Unless what?
<Simba> Unless somebody does something about it.
<Man_of_the_Weird>Like what?
Leon ripped his cellphone off the recharging cord and started dialing. A vague outline of a plan was appearing in his head.
<Simba>I’m going to warn Scott. And I’m going to hold them off on the road.
He wasn’t looking at the screen anymore. He knew that somewhere out there, Man of the Weird and all those other users were typing frantically, some still grasping for what his words meant, others trying to talk him out of it. He didn’t care. He only cared for one thing:
Somewhere, Scott Howell picked up the phone.. Veinsberg began talking, choking on word, blurting out warnings, screaming out explanations, fighting to hold the phone with his shoulder while switching into a pair of paramilitary-design pants, and he only slowed down when he heard, over the phone, Howell start giving out instructions to his followers and friends.
He continued getting dressed: a black T-shirt with the words “Sniper Bar and Grill: All you need is one shot”, a Glock-17C handgun in a Kydex holster, a military field jacket, four handgun magazines, combat boots, a K-Bar knife, and, finally, an AR-15 rifle and six magazines.
The rifle was Leon’s personal masterpiece. The weapon started off as an average pre-ban Bushmaster AR-15. Leon lightened the trigger pull, switched the pistol grip for one taken off an M-82 Barrett, added a set of adjustable bipods and a Leupold scope with x10 magnification, and. under-the-barrel mounted laser sight – “In case ever need to use it for home defense”.
It seemed that today he would.
He smiled at Bilbo, passing a hand in the cat’s fur for one last time, and looked at the IRC program. He was still smiling when he typed in his last message for that day:
<Simba>Well, that Second Revolution has to start somwhere, you know...
* Simba has left #geeks
A few minutes later, the engine of his Liberty Jeep started.
Stay tuned....
Blessed is the match that burned out
And that started flames…
Hannah Senesh
1
Leon Veinsberg smiled. The screen of the deformed-looking I-Mac computer in front of him filled suddenly with simplistic graphics, composed of letters and symbols positioned on the screen so as to form an image of a prancing pony. A slight, almost imperceptible motion of the fingers on the keyboard – and the letters started acquiring meaning.
Entering channel #geeks
<Man_of_The_Weird> Hi!
Leon’s smile widened. His friends were online. It took him all of two seconds to type in the response:
<Simba> Hi MoW!
There was a long pause. Had it happened in live conversation, it would have been quite awkward. Leon sighed and looked at his cat, Bilbo.
- So, Mr.Baggins, how would you propose fixing the global communications crisis?
Bilbo purred. He didn’t care either way. The black, green-eyed creature looked somehow at home – a living, cuddly oasis of stability in the primal chaos that was Leon’s room, sitting on a disheveled bed among bookshelves, spare computer parts, ammunition, firearms and peculiar poster. Leon opened the small, dented old fridge standing under his desk and poured himself a glass of Cola, added in four ice cubes… and froze, staring at the screen.
<Man_of_the_Weird>I got real bad news for you people
<Man_of_the_Weird>There’s a raid on the compound of some weird religious sect in Michigan that’s supposed to happen today evening.
<Man_of_the_Weird>ATF, DEA, FBI are in it. Some real large-scale job.
Something was wrong – beyond the atrocity which was about to take place. Leon held his breath as he typed his question.
<Simba> Where in Michigan? And how do they intend to get there?
Suddenly he feld cold, even before drinking the glass.
<Man_of_the_Weird> X... County, Michigan. Road is to be I-Y10.
<Simba> Is this the straight goods?
<Man_of_the_Weird> Like a ruler. Got it from a guy who works for
the feds.
<Simba> Is the sect occasionally called The Circle of God?
Leon paused momentarily, awaiting for the answer. He sipped on the Coke. Something told him that today he was going to need all the caffeine he could get.
<Man_of_the_Weird>Yes. How did you know?
He gasped, nearly dropping the glass. He put it down quickly, almost spilling it, and set to typing:
<Simba>I know their leader, this Scott Howell guy. We go shooting together.
<Simba>These guys are fucked. Utterly.
<Simba>They got lots of guns, and they do have some pot around, they grow it in this underground lab thing.
<Simba>Scott told me they use it for rituals or something.
<Simba>At any rate, those guys are fucked.
The sentence was followed by peculiar ‘silence’. The participants sat behind their computer terminals, absorbing the fact that far away, people were going to be horribly abused, massacred, burned alive – and there was nothing they could do about it. And they were to scared of their impotence in front of the coming disaster to even admit it.
Something inside Veinsberg screamed ‘Stop that silence! Please make it stop!’. And that something moved his hands to the keyboard, making him type one single word, a word that would be written down by dozens of log programs and printed in fifteen major newspapers.
<Simba>Unless...
Then, something happened inside him. Reading this word on the screen – his own word – hit him like he read something someone else wrote. The word threw the coward within Leon Veinsberg as if he was hit by a freight train. The feeling of impotence disappeared. He had the power to do something about it, and he knew what he would do about it.
<Man_of_the_Weird>Unless what?
<Simba> Unless somebody does something about it.
<Man_of_the_Weird>Like what?
Leon ripped his cellphone off the recharging cord and started dialing. A vague outline of a plan was appearing in his head.
<Simba>I’m going to warn Scott. And I’m going to hold them off on the road.
He wasn’t looking at the screen anymore. He knew that somewhere out there, Man of the Weird and all those other users were typing frantically, some still grasping for what his words meant, others trying to talk him out of it. He didn’t care. He only cared for one thing:
Somewhere, Scott Howell picked up the phone.. Veinsberg began talking, choking on word, blurting out warnings, screaming out explanations, fighting to hold the phone with his shoulder while switching into a pair of paramilitary-design pants, and he only slowed down when he heard, over the phone, Howell start giving out instructions to his followers and friends.
He continued getting dressed: a black T-shirt with the words “Sniper Bar and Grill: All you need is one shot”, a Glock-17C handgun in a Kydex holster, a military field jacket, four handgun magazines, combat boots, a K-Bar knife, and, finally, an AR-15 rifle and six magazines.
The rifle was Leon’s personal masterpiece. The weapon started off as an average pre-ban Bushmaster AR-15. Leon lightened the trigger pull, switched the pistol grip for one taken off an M-82 Barrett, added a set of adjustable bipods and a Leupold scope with x10 magnification, and. under-the-barrel mounted laser sight – “In case ever need to use it for home defense”.
It seemed that today he would.
He smiled at Bilbo, passing a hand in the cat’s fur for one last time, and looked at the IRC program. He was still smiling when he typed in his last message for that day:
<Simba>Well, that Second Revolution has to start somwhere, you know...
* Simba has left #geeks
A few minutes later, the engine of his Liberty Jeep started.
Stay tuned....