Traitors... traitors everywhere

Routine settled in the cities and towns liberated under his dominion.

Every day he woke up, had breakfast, addressed political issues, drilled his army, had lunch, drilled his army some more, addressed more political issues and went to sleep.

Children, women and old people spent their days at workshops, producing weapons and supplies for the army.

Political prisoners mined iron, fell trees, worked the forges and worked the fields. The Great Leader had proclaimed,

Every living thing must be mobilized in a revolutionary society.

By “mobilized” he meant “worked until exhaustion under minimal rations”. But repression worked and the Glorious Revolution moved forward.

Two months after creating his Liberation Army, he felt confident enough to attack a city with a real imperial garrison. He was comfortable using the night, so he chose the night to attack. His army encircled the city at midnight. A few divisions climbed the city’s walls to silently eliminate the guard posts. They set up traps at the city’s doors and hauled molotov cocktails over the walls.

All over the city, fires broke out. The city’s guards rushed outside only to fall into ambushes. Then his army charged in. Anyone who fought back, died. They dragged the firemen out to prevent them from putting out the fires. The citizens watched their city burn to the ground with tears in their eyes.

But this time there was no speech. He had no intention of assimilating them. He sent all survivors, even the children, to work on the camps. He dragged the guards who surrendered to a creek and ordered his men to execute them.

The next day he delivered a speech on his native city, talking about the glory of the Liberation Army’s victory over the imperialist pigs. Whenever he said “capitalist swine”, “bourgeoisie”, “sabotage” or “nlp” the whole crowd started hissing like a pack of rabid raccoons. Whenever he said “socialist hero”, “true equality” or “freedom”, the crowds applauded and whistled in ecstasy.

Over the next weeks, even more zealous speeches followed. He encouraged everyone to watch their family members and themselves for counterrevolutionary thoughts and activities. He denounced the wreckers that were slowing down revolution. Though the truth was much more simpler: he had put an untrained workforce to produce unreasonably large amounts of supplies in no time and had given them no incentive to do a good job. Or, as he liked to put it,

Despicable, capitalist wreckers against the Free People.

One out of eight words he said were “freedom” or one of its synonyms. Freedom was everywhere. There was the Liberation Army that freed people from the empire’s yoke, the Freedom Communes where prisoners and political enemies worked, the Free Press that only printed pieces favorable to him personally, and the list went on and on.

He even renamed the state security organ (the neca) to Bureau of the Free. But nobody knew what a bureau was, so people just called it “free”. Thus the word “free” came to be synonymous with political persecution, night arrests, and death in a work camp.

He traveled between the cities and towns on a simple carriage, so everyone could rejoice in his frugality. Then one day a man threw a spear at him, managing only to grace his right arm. He was forced to reinforce the transport with metal sheets and travel everywhere surrounded by bodyguards.

He had no friends, only subordinates. People hated him, feared him, loved him, adored him, but none of them could ever be friends with him. He was lonely but never alone. So he extended his routine with a glass of freedom vodka at night, which soon became a whole bottle. He worked all day; he had been working all day for months. He had always had migraines, but now they were ever more frequent and rendered him useless for hours.

Bearing the full weight of a one-man state wore him down, and he could no longer ignore the consequences or postpone treatment. The doctors told him he had two options: either rest, or die.

Under the doctors’ advice, he delegated some of his tasks on other Party members, which his brother usurped, concentrating all power in his own hands. Week by week he grew weak. His brother slowly steered the ship of state toward a pact with the empire instead of all-out war.

One night his brother delivered a grand speech about the Path Forward while he listened, pinned down by a migraine. After the speech he went home on his armored transport. One of his bodyguards handed him the bottle of freedom vodka without even asking. He uncorked it and took it to his lips.

But he did not guzzle it down. His lips tasted the bleachy flavor of that half-disinfectant half-drink, but he did not guzzle it down. He threw the bottle out of the window, shouting,

No!

No what, Great Leader?

Great Leader, me? How can you even call me that. I have failed you, I have become a disgusting, miserable fucking addict.

Sir, you don’t understand—

Don’t understand what? I’m sick of this, sick of this sickly peace, of this cowardly groveling for a humiliating pact. So today I say no. Today I quit drinking once and for all.

The next few days he only drank water from the well on his house. His migraines magically disappeared and he began to suspect,

They have been drugging me, to keep me away from power. The Party is conspiring against me, they must have coerced the doctors to lie to me. They are afraid of war, yes, but I am not: I know what needs to be done.

He organized a dinner with all his servants and bodyguards to celebrate their support. He cooked and set the table himself, which his servants appreciated. Once they began eating though, they didn’t appreciate it as much. He had poisoned the food.

Which one of you was it? Which treacherous capitalist rat poisoned my freedom vodka?

But his servants couldn’t reply because they were too busy dying. The chamber maids, four bodyguards, two cooks, chauffer and butler all died. He went straight to the Free Press and ordered the editor to put on first page the news of his murder attempt that had ended with the lives of all his free servants. He wanted the article to emphasize how his survival to the assassination attempt was proof that he was indeed the lightbringer.

Then he went to his brother’s house in the middle of the night. His brother came out, half-asleep, and asked,

Brother, are you ok? What’s going on?

Saboteurs, traitors, wreckers. Everywhere I look, they are trying to get me, always plotting, yes, plotting.

Why don’t you come with me, there’s a clinic down south where—

Clinic? CLINIC? Don’t you see my mind is clear now? What we have to do is mobilize and march on the capital immediately.

Maybe you should just lie down and—

NO! We are going to rally an army. Now.

His brother hesitated and finally replied,

Fine, you’re right, right. It’s about time. But we should go ahead and scout the road to the capital first.

No, let some neca officer do it.

And let them say that we are just war pigs? That we hide in our big state buildings and send men to die? Is that really how you want people to think about their Great Leader?

I guess not…

Ok good, then let’s go.

He and his brother traveled on the armored carriage along with two guards. It was like a dream for him, so he said,

Oh brother, my dream is about to come true. All ruling one city and all cities ruling themselves!

But his brother only half-smiled.

They were traveling the road to the Tyrant’s tower without resistance when his carriage suddenly stopped next to a cliff. He looked down at the swirling black abyss that stretched between the two continents, deeper and darker than anything imaginable. Then he looked at his brother and his brother looked back at him, just like when they were kids. His brother plunged a small dagger into his gut, twisting it as it ripped his body.

He looked at his brother, confused at first, unable to cope with the magnitude of the betrayal. Before his brother stabbed him again, he jumped out of the carriage and unsheathed his sword. Blood was pouring out of the wound into the ground in short bursts, following the command of his heart. He slipped and fell. Then he crouched, covering his wound.

F-fool! You have no idea of what you’ve done! H-How could you do this to me?

His brother jumped out of the carriage to approach him.

He waved his sword at his brother with one hand and covered his wound with the other, hunching and walking backwards, getting closer and closer to the cliff.

The guards pointed their weapons at him. His brother said,

This was the only way, don’t you understand? You were out of control. If you had stayed in power a few more weeks, your precious revolution would’ve imploded. I had to stop you.

You poisoned me…

And I would do it again. You are the perfect peace offering to seal a truce with the capital.

No…

They won’t kill you, they promised. They will exhibit you around like a tame lion.

How about instead… Fuck you!

He desperately swung his sword at his brother, but one of the guards parried the attack and another slashed the arm with which he held the sword.

AAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHH!

They looked in horror at the man who had been their leader. He tried to move but could only slip on his own blood. He tried to crawl backwards as his men followed him slowly, pointing their weapons at him. They could have just grabbed him, but they still feared him. His brother spoke with tears in his eyes,

You, you meant the world to me. I looked up you for the way you defended us. But then you became this… this monster.

He let go a cry of agony, nursing his bleeding arm. He kept crawling back, and his brother shouted,

Stop, please!

He reached the edge of the precipice that overlooked the abyss. He looked one last time at his brother and screamed,

You will never take me alive: I am the lightbringer!

And then he flung himself at the abyss.