Archive for May, 2015

April 16, 2117

Well, we’ve all seen the broadcast by now. The headline read “Innocent family slain by father recently recruited by the domestic terror group, The Legion”. Subsequent headlines suggested, “Legion recruit murders family in what can only be described as, a bloodbath”, “Legion orders one of their own to murder innocent family”… the list goes on.

Now, we could go on for days about the injustice of being labeled domestic terrorists, particularly when it is us who is working to re-establish American ideals and regain freedom. But, that is a discussion for another time. Today, we will discuss the true story behind Craig Eielson’s death.

Nearly one year ago, a concerned Elite operative began to question some of the coincidences in recent Missions within Muni Six. It seemed that somehow, somebody on the inside was alerting Legion supporters to impending attacks. They couldn’t determine any other cause for the unusually low Legion casualties on recent raids. Based upon the pattern of inconsistency, they had narrowed their suspicions down to my Premier Unit, led by Eielson. Each of us had come under scrutiny, and I had been pegged as a likely suspect. Evidently, I need to be more cautious in future alerts, though I assure you, this blog remains secure.

My only saving grace came in the form of my horror on April 5th. You may recall the events of that day,(http://cloveramerica.net/2015/04/23/the-devils-kiss/) wherein I had stood by watching fellow Legion members burn, helpless beyond measure. Well, the EIU (Elite Investigative Unit) also remembered that day. They spoke with those I had stood with on the sidewalk, and they questioned the devil who had greeted me in celebration, extensively. The devil supported my statement as to my involvement in achieving the Elite’s Mission that day, and my refusal to render aid to suspected targets. As such, I was cleared. Eielson was to participate in that horrid Mission as well, but a medical emergency experienced by his wife while giving birth to their newborn daughter had captured his attention instead. While the Elites did confirm the birth of his daughter, they found his absence suspicious and so, in the overnight hours this morning, they stole into his house immobilizing him and conducted their interrogation.

The entire event was recorded by both video and in fleeting moments of terror by photograph. Both were provided to us in the briefing. For those of you unaware, all Premiers are to provide the Elites with their home keys and security codes as a safeguard to ensure that should something happen to us, our families or any National documents in our residence can be secured and protected. We watched from the home’s security feed, as well as the helmet mounted cameras of the twelve Premiers participating in the Mission as they surrounded his residence, passed silently through the gate and filed through both the front and rear doors. Wearing their helmets with night vision lenses, they stole silently through the rooms, ensuring each area was secure. As the Premiers encountered his two oldest daughters, they dinged their wrist communicator, keeping their weapons trained silently on the girls without waking them. Secured.

More Premiers worked their way further down the hall, silently entering the master bedroom. One moved to either side of the bed when the first man placed his hand over the mouth of Eielson’s wife. Her eyes shot open and a river of frantic fear seemed to cascade throughout the home. Her muffled screams couldn’t tell the story of the terror that had gripped her. So, her limbs began to flail instead, desperate to convey the horror. Roused by the motion, Eielson attempted to spring into action, but no sooner had his wife’s mouth been covered did another Premier stab a needle into the side of his neck. Instantly, his body collapsed forward, nearly folding in half on the bed as his body gave in to the toxin. Eielson watched on as his wife was easily overcome, subdued and gagged as he spewed expletives and threats, conveying his confusion. Unable to move, his words were his only weapons. “I demand you tell me what is going on! Why have I been given a debilitator? Get your hands off her!”

Hearing their father shouting, both girls woke with a jolt, the older, only nine years old began screaming and backing away from the man in her room, taking refuge along her headboard. “Daddy!” She screamed, her voice so shrill it must have carried for miles. “Daddy! Mommy! Daddy! Nooooooo!” Her voice dropped, clogged by fearful sobs as the men bound her hands and feet, carrying her down the hall. As they gagged her, the newborn girl began to wail from her crib in the master bedroom, her voice too encased in fear.

The younger daughter, who was only six years old didn’t scream. Instead, she crawled slowly toward the man whose weapon was trained on her, tilting her head slightly as she did so. Watching the footage through his helmet cam was eerie as her large blue eyes searched his face quizzically before we witnessed her entire face light up. “Uncle Peter!” She exclaimed, relieved to know her intruder as a longtime family friend. Her glance shot to the doorway, anxious. “What’s going on?” Her voice was sweet, innocent.

Uncle Peter seemed unmoved by her fragility or her familiarity as he moved in, forcefully flopping her over on the bed, binding her hands and feet. She began to pepper him with questions. “What’s goin’ on? Why? Uncle Peter?” She began to cry. “It’s me Uncle -” She didn’t get to finish her pleas as he jammed the gag into her mouth and carried her toward the living room.

She was placed on the sofa next to her sister and they both leaned into one another, the river of their tears turning into one as they brought the sides of their faces together, their sobs muffled. Their mother was plopped into an armless sitting chair near them. Their calls to one another were muffled. Though the words could not be discerned, the love, the fear, the concern were spoken universally between the three.

Quite regained control down the hall as a Premier carried the baby, also gagged in his arm, laying her on the low glass table at the middle of the room. Eielson was then plopped unceremoniously into the oversized leather chair facing them all, his body corrected to sit back against the chair as he was unable to fight gravity himself. His nose had been bloodied and he too had been adorned with a gag.

It was then that one of the Premiers removed his helmet, placing it on a side-table, facing the room. I haven’t met him personally in the past, but know him as one of our CO’s out of Muni One, or what was formally known as New York. As usual, I will not be divulging names here, in an effort to maintain the security of this blog. I share Eielson’s only because the media has issued his name.  “Evenin'” the man’s voice was gruff as the room went silent. “Beautiful family you’ve got here.” Eielson was unbound but unable to move. His response was muffled but the fury was easily deciphered. Undeterred, his voice remained level. “You know who I am?”

Eielson managed an “Hm-hmm.” in the affirmative through the gag.

“Good.” He lowered to sit on the glass table before Eilson, only a foot from where the baby rested as he pulled a gun from its holster at his waist. “Ground rules. I remove your gag. I ask you questions. You answer. You lie or you say anything that isn’t a direct answer to the question, one of them dies. Clear?”

“Hm-hmm.”

“Very good.” The man nodded to another standing behind Eielson who succinctly removed the gag.

No sooner had the gag been removed did Eielson say, “What the hell is going on? What’s this about? I -”

He didn’t finish his demands as the man before him simply raised his arm and pulled the trigger, firing a bullet directly into the forehead of Eielson’s eldest daughter.

“Noo!” Eielson commanded as though he could turn back time even as his wife screamed through her gag. The younger daughter grunted and cried as she scooted away from her sister to the arm of the couch which prevented her retreat. Because the older sister had been angled to comfort her sister, as the younger sister scooted away, the elder’s body continued to tip in her direction until her head landed on the sister’s knees, covering them in blood as it cascaded down the young sister’s legs to pool at her bound feet. The little sister continued to cry in panic, watching her sister’s blood cover her. Whether the commotion, the shot of the firearm or the anguish bursting within the walls, the infant stopped crying.

The man returned his attention to Eielson as Eielson readied to speak again. The man simply raised his weapon and uttered, “You speak out of turn, I get another shot. You’ve only got three more warnings left living.”

Fearing for his family, Eielson said nothing.

“Very good.” Chirped the man as he holstered his weapon. “Now to the questions. Do you understand?”

“Yes, Sir.” Eielson responded, his nostrils flared in hostility, but the debilitator denied him further forms of physical protest.

“How long have you been a member of the Legion?”

Eielson’s eyes shot from his daughters to meet the gaze of his interrogator. His mouth opened to speak twice, but his eyes began to search about the room, his wife, his daughters, his own feet, contemplating the best response. Finally settling on an answer he said levelly, “I don’t.”

With a snap of the interrogator’s fingers, Uncle Peter moved to the front of the couch and pulling a blade from his sleeve, slashed the flesh of both the younger daughters legs. More muffled screams burst forth as she shouted “Daddy!” through the gag.

Desperation compelled Eielson to shout, repeating “I DON’T!”

The blade was swiftly planted in the girl’s shoulder. She gave way to the pain, slumping to her side, choking on her pain.

“Damn it!” Eielson raged. “I don’t belong to the Legion!”

The blade was yanked from the shoulder and instead planted in the young girl’s cheek. Her face went pale at the shock of the pain as her eyes searched the man in front of her, betrayal washing over her in a violent wave.

Elites in the briefing room snickered at her reaction as we watched on. I wanted to shout, to scream, to cry… to kill every last one of them. Instead, I relied on the same tactic that got me through my training as an Elite Premier. I swallowed the fury, the putrid disgust and went hard, rigid as stone, bearing witness to it all, just another boulder in the mountain of revenge I will one day unleash in a landside I hope swallows them all.

Shocked to see the blade’s handle jutting from the side of his daughter’s face, Eielson’s demeanor changed. He grew submissive, supple. “Two years.” It was a lie. He was never a Legion member, not even an Opposition supporter.

Accepting the admission as truth, the blade remained where it was.

“Where are they located?” The interrogator continued. Receiving no response he persisted. “Where is their Base in Muni Six?”

“I don’t know.” Tears welled in Eielson’s eyes as his fears were confirmed. The blade was removed from the small child’s face amid more muffled screams and instead slid along her neck, freeing a torrential rain of blood. Both parents wept freely as the lifeless child’s body was pushed to the back of the couch, the blood from the two sisters becoming one shared pool of life robbed on the couch cushions.

Unaffected, Uncle Peter returned to his post behind the couch amid cheers within the briefing room. I was biting the inside of my cheeks so hard, I tasted my own blood as though I were there in the room with them, amid the fear, the stench of murder.

“I’m done playing games!” The interrogator shouted as he scooped the newborn into his arms.

Fear hushed the parents as Eielson eyed his superior suspiciously.

At this point in the video, everybody in the briefing room leaned forward, almost jubilant. It made me sick.

Regaining his composure, the man bounced the newborn in his hand lightly, testing her weight. She reached for him and grabbed his thumb, the expression on her face serene despite the gag. “This is one cute little potato you’ve got here.” he said sweetly.

Knowing the direction this was headed, several within the briefing room laughed heartily and leaned back comfortably in their chair even as my resolve weakened.

“You know my favorite thing to do with potatoes?”

“No.”

Accepting his omission, the man responded simply with “Peel ’em.”

Eielson steeled himself for what was to come, his jaw clenching, his gaze hardening but as the question passed through the man’s lips, Eielson was at a loss.

“Where are they?”

No response.

“Where?”

“I don’t know!” He shouted as the man dug his knife below the skin on the infant’s right foot. He moved the blade, peeling the skin from the body, working up the leg. “Noooo!” Eielson roared, drowning out the wails of the baby and his wife. Though he still couldn’t move, the debilitator was wearing off and his fingers gripped the arms of his chair in desperation, his toes curling and uncurling as well.

“Where?” The man demanded.

“I don’t know!” The question and answer continued to repeat as the man continued to peel the skin from the helpless child. Subhuman roars and screams sought relief, reaching out from the television in the briefing room, but they couldn’t reach me. In a futile attempt to remove myself from the devastation I closed my mind down, hearing none of it, seeing none of it though both the images and sound will always haunt my nightmares. I was aware of cheering, hooting and laughing within the room, but abhorrence cloaked my psyche and even those calls couldn’t reach me. Instead, I focused on the eyes.. the little girl’s blue eyes who had seen so little but known so much pain. I watched as her body registered shock, fragmenting her experience, shielding her from the torture. I watched as the eyes went still, her life leaving the remnants of her body behind.

Eielson’s face was contorted in anguish when I again tuned in to what we were witnessing. His eyes streamed tears though his jaw remained set.

The man carelessly tossed the newborn onto the bodies of her older sisters on the couch. “You’ve only got one wrong answer left. How can you belong to the Legion and not know where they are?”

Eielson kept his gaze on the murderer of his children. “They come to me.”

“Who?”

“I don’t know their names.”

Without delay, another man moved to Eielson’s wife and began strangling her, the view from his helmet-mounted camera highlighting her desperation. Another round of repeated questions and answers replayed until the life had been drained from her blue eyes as well, eyes so similar to the baby’s.

“You bastard.” Eielson managed before the man’s next round found its way through his skull. the blade was placed in his left hand, the pistol, his right.

The video was shut off and our briefing concluded with a reminder which was given to those who had been cheering the demise of Eielson and his family. They were told to remember what they witnessed, that Legion allegiance runs deeper than expected. If not, he would have caved during that interrogation. We were told to acknowledge the strength of supporters’ allegiance to the Legion and never underestimate it. Well, at least they got that part right. Our allegiance should never be underestimated.

The death that befell Eielson’s family was my fault; I had been sloppy and they had paid the price. However, despite the media’s report, that catastrophe was not at our hands. The blame was placed with us to reignite the fire within all Patriots to the Nation and tell them that it is us who are evil. The atrocities they committed were not against our own, but the message they sent with it is clear. They are out for blood. Our blood. They will stop at nothing to end the Legion. But, their acknowledgement of our allegiance is the first signal of fear I have seen in some time. We are turning the tide and it is more important now than ever, that we continue this path. So, until next time…

We are the Legion. The Legion lives on. Harper Eckles, out.

April 16, 2117

Anytime now, you all will see a “Breaking News” banner fly across your televisions, monitors, tablets and feeds on your phones as you are redirected to the broadcast. Likewise, a condensed version will broadcast on your watches, mobile lenses (for those of you in the Underbelly who don’t know what mobile lenses are, these are Elite issued glasses) and through your Federal email accounts if, of course, you are an Elite. I’m not exactly sure what “details” the media will share with us, but I participated in a full briefing today. What we will see in the impending news alert is little more than a message, a threat, to our beloved Legion. I am confident it will deviate from the truth in almost every way. So, for all you fellow Legion members, please know that once the broadcast has concluded, I will fill in the blanks the media omits.

A family is dead tonight, in what appears to be a tragic murder-suicide. Tragic? Yes. Murder-suicide? That depends on your perspective. Craig Eielson had worked as a fellow Premier here in Muni Six for more than twenty years. In fact, he was one of my direct supervisors and had taken me under his blood-soaked wing from the moment I received my appointment as a Premier. I dare say that despite the fact Craig was an Elite, I believe he had the potential to have been a good man if the Elites hadn’t interfered. Like any good Elite, he was incapable of remorse, and ever the dutiful Premier, he had embraced the torture, or as they refer to it “training”, which had coaxed his humanity away from his heart. In its place, he accepted compliance with orders and absolute evil. While I had seen him do things and give orders that make me shudder to recall, I will always remember the regret I found in his eyes. He was unflinching in his role as a Premier, but I saw the ghosts he collected behind those amber gateways to his soul. He was a monster, a monster they created, but if they hadn’t molded him into that creature I do believe he could have been a truly wonderful man. For that, I am sad to see him go. I will not bemoan his passing, for every Elite that dies is one less enemy we face, but I do regret that his fate had been bound unabashedly to the horror his life’s path led him through. He had been given no choice, and even if only for that, I think we can all raise our glass. For now, I will wait to see what the broadcast tells, but I will give you the whole story shortly. So until next time…

We are the Legion. The Legion lives on. Harper Eckles, out.

April 15, 2117

I regret to inform you that my request to participate in the next round of Retrievals has been denied. I have not been read in far enough to know the names of the individuals, ages, or any identifying information. All I have been able to determine is that there are eleven from our very own Municipal, six from the Upper, four from the Middle, and surprisingly, one from the Underbelly. If you have children, please be prepared. The Retrievals will be taking place any time now. I wish you all the best of luck, though I think I speak for us all when I say, luck has a very limited role in any of our lives anymore.

But do not wallow in despair at our helplessness. Do not give up. Do not give in to their demands or accept our reality. This is America. Once upon a time, America was a beautiful thing, and I firmly, ardently believe it can be again. Our predecessors errored in whom and what they placed their faith. They believed in justice, in a complacent tomorrow, in their politicians and laws.

They were wrong.

We know this now because we’re left to pick up the pieces. Well, my fellow Legion members, when we pick up the pieces, let’s make sure they stick, and let’s make damn sure we like the image we create. Hope is not lost. A better tomorrow is not just an illusion. They may take some of our children, but not all of us. And, as horrifying as the grooming process may be, there is still a chance, however slim, that your child might remain intact on the other side. Colton and I both went through the grooming process and it only strengthened our allegiance to the Legion. It is possible others will do the same.

We will correct America’s path. Perhaps it won’t be today, but it is not out of reach either. Just six months ago, we never could have envisioned a broadcast platform, much less one as secure as this, and yet… here we are. Countless Legion supporters are working tirelessly toward a New Revolution. But, this musn’t be rushed. We must get it right. So until next time…

We are the Legion. The Legion lives on. Harper Eckles, out.

April 13, 2117

We all know about the dreaded Retrievals, those “honors” people within the Upper, Middle, and occasionally, the Underbelly, of each Municipal sometimes receive. Of course, the Elites regularly test our children, claiming they are nothing more than “Standardized Testing.” When we’re younger, we refer to them as  “Live or Die tests” or as I often preferred, the “Make it or Fake its”. The tests begin at age eight, and the results determine our paths. The bottom ten percent are always, succinctly eliminated without notification to the families. Once their children are dead, the parents receive a text alert (or if they live in the Underbelly without power, a letter) indicating their children did not meet the threshold for Continuation. There is no detail, no pause for apology…. just a succinct telling of their child’s fate. Game over.

Of course, there are times when special needs children get exempted from the elimination, though not always. For those who do get exempted they often become pets, or play things of non-military purposed Elites. They are photographed, ridiculed, promoted or forced to do demeaning things in the hope of living to see another day. Some live a very luxurious life, but many others… many others would have benefited from elimination.

As for those who did “pass” the tests, they get grouped based upon their achievements, the higher testing get grouped separate from the moderate intelligence. Each year, the children are subjected to another round. Each year, the bottom ten percent of those in the “High Functioning” group get dropped to the “Mid-Range Functioning” group, and the bottom ten percent there get eliminated. This allows them to ensure that by the time we reach eighteen years of age, all that remains are the top ten percent, and in the “High Functioning” group, only one percent. Welcome to the New America, where if you are not deemed worthy, you will cease to draw breath. Of course, there is some leeway in the Municipal Underbellies, where if those who do fall into the bottom percentile remain docile and cooperative are often left to live. They will serve other purposes at a later date. (See http://cloveramerica.net/2015/04/30/municipal-two-update/ for more information.)

The Elites here in Muni Six are preparing for another round of retrievals. There were nearly a dozen subjects that stood out in the last round of Elite testing. As such, we will be Retrieving them, to incorporate into our grooming system. The Elites see this selection as the highest honor to befall anyone, but you and I, and all our fellow Legion supporters, know this is one of the darkest fates to befall anyone.

True, their children may survive, but after the Elites have finished grooming them, the shell of the person that remains will be broken and will no longer remember who they used to be. Trust me. My becoming an Elite was a far greater torment than I ever could have found in death.

I have put in a request to participate in the Retrieval and will provide any updates as I can. If my request is granted, I will be privy to names of the children on the list and will warn you all, if possible.

Until next time…

We are the Legion. The Legion lives on. Harper Eckles, out.

April 12, 2117

Sorry for the delay my fellow Legion members. I know it has been three long days, and surely, you’re waiting for confirmation, confirmation on whether or not the “truth” fed to us by the media over the past few days is in any way rooted in reality.

I regret to say, this time… this time it is.

As I had previously indicated, I was ordered to participate in the deployment of another incendiary device within Muni Six. I made the delivery April 10th, as ordered, and the receiving Premier was to take the package to it’s predetermined location, within the FRE. I handed it off, but instead of high-tailing it back to Base, I lingered. I couldn’t stop myself.

It was allotment day at the Food Ration Exchange, or FRE, and the promise of the meager food rations of grain and smoked meat, of clean(er than usual) water, dried beans, only slightly rotted vegetables, outdated canned goods, of life had flavored the air with a bit of jubilance.  Small children were chasing one another along the street at the entrance to the FRE, their laughter calling out to others’ squeals of delight. The gentle breeze caressed their flushed cheeks as they scuttled out of the way of an incoming shuttle.

At its stop, the unmanned shuttle’s doors whooshed open and I stood by as dozens more of the hungry filed out to collect their rations. I recognized some as Opposition members, including one woman whom I knew personally. She was pregnant with her first child, and once born, she planned to join the Legion in an effort to ensure her child had hope for a future that was secured by more than just fear.

She nearly toppled as two kids came screeching through the doorway in a rampant game of chase. They skidded to a stop to apologize, but she waved them off as her glance crossed the street and met my own. I saw the confusion enter her expression as she recognized me, knowing I had no reason to be in the Underbelly, even as the shuttle resumed it’s schedule, passing between us.

That’s when it happened. The ground shook from the blast, the roar cascading along the walls of neighboring buildings, angry flashes of glass, wood and metal exploding out at us even as those of us outside fell to the ground, seeking to minimize our exposure to shrapnel.

My ears rang from the magnitude of the blast as I picked my way around the shattered shell of the shuttle. As I looked through a window, I knew none inside could have survived. The resin glass that did remain had been splattered with life and there could be no leaving that glass box.

Fire was already raining from the sky in blackened chunks, the sidewalk littered with the story of the tragedy. The pregnant woman lay dead, several feet from where I had last seen her, her body contorted, aflame. Her expression maintained the confused look she had cast me moments before, the only difference being the vacant eyes and red trail of death from her mouth.

Whatever people still could, were running frenzied in opposing directions along the street and my ears began to correct, the dizzying ringing becoming more manageable. In it’s place I heard screams, panic. Fear.

But, there was another voice calling from behind. One of the boys who had run from the FRE moments before the explosion was pleading for help. He was covered in blood, his voice dipping far deeper than a five year old should possibly sound, made so by his terror, his anguish, his desperation. His pleas sounded more like growls than screams for help.

Without thinking, I rushed to his side and saw that his right arm was nearly torn off at the mid-upper-arm, something having nearly removed it from his body. Immediately, I ripped my shirt and began tying a tourniquet above the wound as I heard his friend groaning from the ground at his feet. Blood had pooled from his abdomen, and without a moment to think, I found myself cinching the tourniquet tight, moving the standing boy’s good arm to support the weight of his dangling limb as I fell to my knees to tend to the boy on the ground.

As I lifted his shirt and applied pressure to the largest wound, I felt my right hand move to my watch to place a call for medical, for assistance, and that’s when it hit me. My mistake, my error in helping, my treason against the Elites ticked its way up my spine, it’s icy fingers lingering to ensure I felt its presence. I had aided these innocent children when it was me, me who had been sent in to deliver the device of destruction.

My head snapped up in alarm, too late. I saw standing before me the Premier to whom I had handed the incendiary device, his arm already outstretched as he fired his Taser gun, and the world shuddered around me.

Before I could rise to my feet, my fellow Premier was on top of me. I was apprehended and assumed the two boys were left to bleed out on the sidewalk near the flames as we returned to our interrogation facility within the Upper. After two days of electric shock therapy, the Elites eventually understood my feigned ignorance to be truth.

I was able to persuade the Elites that I had assumed the two boys I had attempted to help were nothing more than collateral damage. After all, why would I deliver the device to kill them if I was intent on saving them? They pushed me to what they believed my “threshold” and as my story never changed, assumed I had remained in compliance. They further agreed that while I had acted rashly and was stupid for trying to save any “Underbelly trash”, I had committed no true crime. In fact, we had claimed many more lives than anticipated and my Mission was deemed a success.

As I was cleared, I was led to another room, where much to my surprise I was met by the innocent faces of the two boys from the FRE. Their wounds had been dressed, but their complexions were pale. The Elites had not attempted to reduce their pain, nor replenish the lost blood. The second boy who had suffered injuries to his abdomen was running a fever and was clearly in distress.

When they saw me enter, their faces brightened as though they were finally seeing light at the end of a very dark tunnel, that hope reflecting back at me. I didn’t find a similar light, only darkness.

My Supervising Officer, the same man who had helped interrogate me over the past forty-eight hours, only smiled smugly, crossing his arms. None of us dared to move, to speak, and so, he moved to my side, leaning close as he brought my own personal hell to the forefront of my mind.

“Well go on then.” he whispered. “They don’t mean anything to you,” he pulled away to speak broadly for us all to hear. “So go on and eliminate them.”

My head jerked to meet his gaze as he smirked, amusement dancing in his eyes. I felt my own expression go cold as I moved to the boys, sitting on the hospital bed next to the second.

The boy with the fever began to push away from me as though he could burrow through the wall and escape as he begged for his young life. “Please. No. God, no. Please, please, please. No. I’m sorry! I’m so sorry!” he pleaded.

I knew we were being recorded and could do nothing to calm him. Why did he apologize? He had done nothing wrong. I was the one to apologize but could not. So, I broke his neck as swiftly, as mercifully as I could.

I was surprised to see the other boy had not moved. The only change was that the light in his eyes had gone out. He knew there was no hope to be found here. Instead, he stood straight, his head held high as I placed my hands on his face. He was more gracious than his years allowed as he didn’t even bring his eyes to meet mine. He didn’t want me to suffer that torment, but instead closed them, readying for what lie ahead. I will never be able to thank him for that action, his selfless choice to protect me from the guilt I would find in his eyes.

When done, my supervisor clapped me on the back jovially as he said, “Always were one of my favorites, Eckles. Come on, now. Let’s go get something to eat.”

The media has since reported that more than two hundred lives were claimed in the explosion. This is correct. If you are wondering why, it was to send a message. The operators of that particular FRE were holding back some unused food supplies, keeping them to give to those in need. This is in direct violation of Elites’ mandates, for it takes control out of their hands as to who gets what, and when.

The FRE was stripping away some of their control. A message needed to be sent.

Well, I think I speak for us all within the Legion: message received. This is another in a long series of perfect examples of why the Elites must be stopped.

Until next time…

We are the Legion. The Legion lives on. Harper Eckles, out.

April 9, 2117

As you all know, I received the unfortunate appointment of an Elite Premier upon completion of Secondary Education. Most days, this appointment as a Premier makes my skin crawl. Not only do I work for the enemy Elites, but I am one of their go-to people, a favorite, the first choice in doing their most inhumane and demoralizing tasks. However, such an appointment does contribute immensely toward the Legion’s Cause… on occasion.

To address some of the concerns that have been brought to my attention, I think it best I show my full hand. After all, this broadcast is about keeping communication open, and more importantly, about ensuring we have honesty and a basis for trust.

So, yes. I have personally killed Opposition members, and even some Legion members as well. But, please know without a shadow of a doubt, that this has been avoided whenever and however possible. It was only done when following a direct order to maintain my cover. Some of the lives I have taken were friends of mine. Shedding their blood… shedding any loyal blood, is something that will haunt me the rest of my life.

Also true, I have implemented plans, enacted orders and made deliveries that cost additional Legion and Opposition lives. For example, I was the individual who placed the incendiary device at the shuttle station in the Underbelly here in Muni Six, just a few weeks ago. One hundred eighteen lives were taken that day, fifty-three loyal to the Opposition and nine were fellow Legion members. Their deaths weigh on my conscience daily, but please know this my dear followers, if I would have refused, their blood still would have been shed. In fact, if I am found out, countless others will be made vulnerable as well. True, I would have been eliminated immediately, and in a public forum. Surely, I would be made an example of, but I do not fear death.

My actions are not in an effort to maintain my security, but rather, to maintain my anonymity.

If I die, nothing will change. The world will remain as dangerous as it is for us today. The savagery that runs rampant through our streets will still be inflicted by the Elites as usual. But, my maintaining anonymity within their inner circle as a Premier, that, now that gives us an advantage.

And on that note, I do have an update for you. Another incendiary device is being delivered tomorrow at 0800. It will be located within the FRE. Steer clear. I will update you after.

Until next time…

We are the Legion. The Legion lives on. Harper Eckles, out.