Posts Tagged ‘Elite Compliance’

May 5, 2117

Male; Age: 72

Status: Sold     Price: $78,000.00

A quick note: today’s victim has been heralded as “a real bargain” of a price. I believe the Elites were hoping for significantly more from each sale. However, as he is the first they’ve auctioned up, most citizens are still hesitant to participate. Sadly, I do believe the prices will only go up from here. True, this is an unfathomable amount to most citizens, but to the Elites, the amount is laughable.

I don’t know how many of you reading this were subjected to witnessing the “event”. For those who were, I give you my sympathies, but you must know, this is going to get significantly worse before it gets better.

We first met Mr. Smithfield naked, gagged and shackled. He was shivering, no doubt a combination of cold, fear and age. The poor man had clearly led a difficult life, his body marred by time and injury alike. His joints were ravaged by arthritis to which he has never known relief and hardly any meat covered his bones, yet another faceless victim of the malnutrition so many of us face.

Then, our auction victor swaggered through the doorway wearing a mask. It looked like a ski mask but was made of some type of linen. After all, we wouldn’t want our high paying patrons to become overheated now would we?

And he certainly didn’t waste any time getting his hands dirty. The door had no sooner closed behind him before he cracked his baton along the old man’s back. Mr. Smithfield’s unseeing, once blue eyes shot wide at the pain even as his body crumbled. His tormenter didn’t even say a word as he brought that baton down over and over again, driving it across arms held up defensively, legs that tried to stand or crawl away, ribs that moved into its path, and ultimately, the poor man’s skull.

There was no sound except for the abuser’s huffing and puffing as he hauled on the old body before him., and the sickening thuds that called back in response to each blow. Luckily, if you can say anything about this is lucky, his skull gave way to the second swing it endured, and thankfully, the old man suffered no more. Of course, his body received more assault, but his mind had found sanctuary. He didn’t know that the baton spilled not just his blood, but his brain matter on the cold concrete floor. He didn’t see that his skin still cracked when hit with enough force even when blood no longer pumped through his veins. He didn’t realize that if you hit hard enough, hit long enough, a head was no longer round, and he certainly didn’t know that more than eighty percent of our nation tuned in to watch his manhood be pummeled into mush.

Though our auction winner was entitled to four hours, he used less than one and walked away sweaty and utterly spent. Less than one hour to spoil a life and ensure that when his loved ones remembered him, they remembered only sorrow and pain. Then again, those very same loved ones will reach a similar end. So they won’t reflect on this long.

For those of you wondering, yes.

Each of our captive loved ones was forced to witness the atrocities committed today. They are now, if they weren’t already, clearly aware of the hell they will face.

So what was it that had motivated our buyer? Was it rage? Vengeance? Had he known the victim? Or was it simply hate or a broken psyche? Was he just reveling in newfound power, a victim himself looking to experience what Elites dole out daily? Was he simply blood-thirsty or trying to send a message to someone? In truth, the possibilities are endless. We will likely never know, but I am confident in saying this, whatever his reason, there are many, many more out there seeking something similar and far, far worse.

Though in times like this it an be difficult to remember, please keep in mind… We are the Legion. The Legion lives on. Harper Eckles, out.

May 2, 2117

Today is a dark day, a day that will go down in the history of this once great nation of ours. Once upon a time America stood for freedom and had been the most brilliant beacon of hope in a tumultuous world. We had led the charge, advocating for humanitarian causes across a broad spectrum, especially for humane treatment of all people, without restriction. While the Elites have long done away with the humanitarian mantel once anchored securely around our shoulders, today they take that bastardization of morality one step further.

Today, the Devil will announce torture, torment and evil- new weapons in their war on democracy. Soon, a broadcast will go out across this entire nation – a new day, a new era- one bloodier than the last and hedging the way into a darker future.

Why, you ask…

In the name of financial gain…for entertainment…. they will claim. I’m sure at some point, they will nod to sovereignty as well, but you and I, and every other member of the Legion, the entire Opposition… we can be certain of the true answer to that question- to send a very clear message to us all.

What are the Elites doing now, you wonder…

They have long been in the business of playing God, using myself and other Elite Premiers as executioners of their will. So too have they been dabbling in the fine art of selling souls. However, they will now be moving that market to the mainstream.

Today they will announce the auctioning off of our loved ones.

It’s true. The broadcast that will call out across this nation in the matter of hours will showcase their newest gimmick, their newest spectacle. In the time since my April 25, 2117 post they have managed to capture all remaining immediate family members of the sixteen lives spent at the entrance to the Pitman Tunnels – the three who made the delivery and the thirteen captured trying to obtain clean water.

Each of those family members will go up for sale in an auction open to all Elites. They will be sold, one per day over the next several weeks. Once sold, the highest bidder will arrive to a “secure location” where they will be given four hours. Four hours to do whatever they wish, as long as it ends in their death. As nauseating as this may be, it gets worse.

Also open to all Elites is a subscription service wherein you pay a fee to stream the live feed and watch the four hour allotment. You can buy per person, or subscribe to the entire event, wherein each of the public executions will be streamed to the personal device of your choosing.

Remember, this is now the Elites’ America. We’re nothing if not smart business men and women. Can’t miss out on a profitable opportunity like this, right?

Please, my dear followers… forgive me for my sarcasm, my callous demeanor. Ice is my only shield as I face this horrifying future. As an Elite Premier, I will witness Every. Single. Death. they televise. As a member of this Legion, the Opposition, I will become more enraged, more determined to turn the tide against them. As a citizen, I will feel more helpless. And, as a person, I will become more broken. This newest chapter in America’s future breaks my heart, as I’m sure it does yours.

But we mustn’t allow it to break our resolve. Do not shrink away from them. Do not allow this to instill more fear in you.

Do not allow them to beat you, to beat us.

That is what they want. They want to make it appear as though they are impenetrable, beyond our reach. Well, they are human, the same as you and me. We may not possess the evil that flows through their veins, but flow it does, and when cut, they bleed, just like you and I.

Though it may be difficult to remember, one day… one day this will change. We will bring their own measures of deceit, misery and pain to them. We need only bide our time, continue to build toward that moment… that single, glorious moment when we strike back and reclaim honor, dignity and democracy.

So until next time… We are the Legion. The Legion lives on. Harper Eckles, out.

April 25, 2117

Well, now we know. I’m sure you’ve all seen the news broadcast by now…

“Tonight we bring you an update from Muni Six. It seems our homegrown terrorists, members of the Legion, are at it yet again. Earlier this week a concerned citizen, a local man by the name of Maritizio Polom, stumbled upon some startling information. Mr. Polom says he overheard two criminals discussing an illegal delivery of water. He heard where and when the stolen goods were being delivered, and as a good Patriot, he was quick to convey this information to the nearest Containment Administrator. The Premiers confirmed the delivery and seized over 1,200 bottles of water.”

The video feed cut from the anchor desk to an interview of Mr. Polom. “I don’t know if I’m a hero.” He wore a sheepish grin, feigning humility. “I mean, I didn’t know if they were radicals, or just crazy or what…but I knew it wasn’t right and figured, man I just… you can’t hear something like and that and pretend you didn’t. You know? You gotta do what’s right…for the Nation.”

“Indeed.” The anchor smiled broadly as the feed cut back to her. “And a good thing he did too. While the Elites suspect Braden James is behind this, they aren’t sure how far this goes just yet. They don’t know the motives for the delivery, the source or even who it was intended for. Though, they did apprehend the three who made the delivery, as well as thirteen others they believe intended to accept delivery. Of course, we will tell you more as additional details become available. But for now, let’s tune in to today’s earlier press conference.”

Video showed Sheriff Garrett addressing the media with arms outstretched, palms to the crowd as though he were making a grand proclamation from atop his dais. “Now, all of us, the entire Capital, heck the entire Nation owe Mr. Polom a bit of gratitude. He was forthcoming in sharing this information and helped thwart a possible attack, or at the very least, prevented Legion terrorists from again removing themselves from you and I. They may believe themselves above our laws, our restrictions, but thanks to Mr. Polom, they are reminded that they must endure the same water restrictions as the rest of us. To show our thanks, the Municipal Six Capital would like to extend an offer to Mr. Polom and his entire family. He is a true Patriot and as such, we would like to extend every comfort possible.”

The camera zoomed out to show him being ushered to the stage, bewildered.

Sheriff Garrett continued. “Mr. Polom, we would like to offer you a new home within the Capital, amongst the Elites. This would be for you and your entire family. Now, I understand your current appointment is as a Transport Loader. Is that correct?”

“Yes, Sir.”

“How would you like a new appointment?” He chuckled slightly at the confusion in Polom’s eyes, brushing off the visible trepidation and instead showing it as innocence for our viewers. “How would you like to be an Elite Chauffer? You’ll transport other Elites between Municipals, into the Underbelly, anywhere the programmable routes won’t allow. How does that sound? Hm?”

“That…” He gave a shaky breath of disbelief. “That would be amazing, Sir.”

“Wonderful!” the Sheriff gushed as the feed landed back on the anchor desk.

“Well, that was mighty generous of them, wasn’t it?” the anchor flashed her disingenuous smile at the camera once more. “So you see viewers, being a Patriot, supporting our Nation… that is all the Elites ask of us. And, as they proved yet again, to do so will only be met with generosity.”

Too disgusted to listen to any more of their lies and misinformation, I shut off my screen. What aired in this evening’s special did hold more information than I had expected. What it didn’t show however, was the truth.

Instead, they painted that snake of a man as a hero, welcoming him into their ranks, giving him prosperity for outing us. It was a very bold lesson and won them a lot of Patriots today. I don’t know of a time when the Legion, the entire Opposition, was in such ill favor in the eyes of the public, and it seems they will be pushing further down that path, turning as many disinterested citizens against us by any means possible. Such “generosity” may even grow dissent within the Opposition, more so than it already has. But this is a ploy, a bribe akin to the promise of heaven upon death to those who are deserving. It is a dirty practice used by those who seek power to convince the weak. The Elites’ use of this tool is not new, but it will make our intentions even more difficult.

Of course, the media neglected to further discuss the “apprehension” of the three men who delivered the water, and the thirteen others who attempted to retrieve it. Aware of the delivery, the Elites lay in wait and as our vehicle backed into the tunnel, they were ambushed. Our driver was killed instantly, parts of his brains splattered along his headrest as the other two were dragged from the vehicle. Each of them had their hands chopped off crudely by way of machete. The two men then had tourniquets tied to their arms, bandages applied to slow the bleeding of their stumped limbs and each were returned to the vehicle. The vehicle was edged out of the tunnel to ensure the sun could penetrate the windows and allow for our record breaking heat (in excess of 110 degrees) to join the tormented men within the cab of the truck.

When we were briefed, we witnessed all footage, footage not disseminated amongst the masses in this evening’s broadcast. I watched as they captured each of those thirteen souls, people desperate for life-sustaining water, our own brothers and sisters hoping they could conceal enough to get their loved ones through the next month. Each was captured alive, if not uninjured and made to stand in the shadows along the entrance to the tunnel. Each was held at gun point, gagged to ensure they could issue no alarm to fellow Legion members who might stumble into the Elites’ trap and … they watched. They watched the men inside the truck drift back and forth between shock, delusion from lost blood and nausea from heat exhaustion. Sweat rolled off the men in the truck as they moaned and cried. Begged. They became violently ill, one even banging his stump of a left arm on the window, hoping, demanding, needing humanity to engage one of his tormenter’s conscience, to no avail. The other flopped onto his back and tried kicking a window out, either forgetting that they had converted the Legion’s delivery truck to include bullet-proof windows, or hoping God would grant him the strength to break through regardless. Both men drowned in their own misery before sundown and all the forced spectators were promptly brought to stand before the vehicle in a half circle. Elites were sure to give them a good view of the inside of the cab as the guns held to each of their thirteen heads finally gave way, committing their bodies to the ground at the mouth of the tunnel.

In true Elite form, there was to be no service for those who had been executed. They would not be returning the bodies to loved ones. Instead, the water was claimed for their own stash, and surveillance was updated to ensure should anybody venture upon the scene in the hopes of retrieving a loved one, they too would be captured and appropriately punished.

After all, it’s the Elites’ America now, a country where to strive for life is to sin. So, until next time…

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

April 25, 2117

Hi there my fellow Legion members. It is with a heavy heart that I address you today.

We recently made an attempt to deliver water rations to Legion members of Municipal Six. We had enough water supply to ease the next month substantially for several dozen of you. Unfortunately, the Elites knew of our delivery, and I have since been able to determine how they learned of it.

Please know, this broadcast blog has not been compromised. However, my ability to maintain the confidentiality of the information communicated herein only goes so far. Once I put the information into your hands, I cannot control it. That is why it is imperative you communicate my messages to no one. Somebody, undoubtedly fueled by compassion and the desire to help their fellow man, shared intelligence on the delivery. That communication was intercepted by the Elites, and lives were lost as a result. Do I need to remind you all that the Elites have eyes and ears everywhere? I would have thought not, but based on what I’ve witnessed, it seems I must.

So, here goes: the information disseminated herein is ONLY for the readers of this blog. Colton and I are continually notifying more Legion members to tune in, but we ensure such communication is entirely without risk. Please, do not share what you learn here. If you want to help, share your water, not its location. Speaking in hushed tones doesn’t conceal your secrets; it only alerts the nearest patrol drone to tune in, announcing that there is information to be had. Telling somebody you believe to be member, having faith in them… it is not the same as a guarantee. Colton’s security clearance and our ability to access information provides the only guarantee. Those are the people we alert. Telling a friend, a loved one, even if it is paper exchanged in a handshake, code conveyed by hand signals or lights…. these efforts only make us all more vulnerable. I appreciate your efforts, but they must stop. If they do not, I will not endanger more lives. Instead, I will no longer alert you to assistance and aid. This is our first chance… this blog, CLOVER America, is the only thing that belongs to us. The Elites cannot access it. Would you really choose to throw the one thing that is truly ours away because of carelessness, because of your fool-hardy attempt to help others? If you’re unsure, let me explain the consequences of a bleeding heart.

Just hours after my post indicating the location of the delivery went live, there was a citizen, a regular, everyday Transport Loader in Municipal Six who was headed home from a long day of unloading food to the FRE when he noticed two people cloaked in dark shadows with eyes to the sky. It peaked his interest, especially when he saw they were waiting for a break in the drones’ patrol above. So, he altered his pace and as he sauntered by, he caught a snippet of a hurried conversation exchanged between the two.

“Really? Free water?” the first whispered, dubious.

“Yeah. There for the taking, just be there early. Pitman Tunnels entrance. 0600 hours.”

“No shit?”

“No shit.”

Now, this exchange is how our friendly Transport Loader described it, in his words. While the language may have been embellished, the key pieces were correct. As soon as this citizen heard that exchange, he scurried to the nearest Guard Post and demanded to speak with a supervisor. When they arrived, undoubtedly to arrest or eliminate him for the disturbance, he gushed the information he had ascertained. Dumbfounded by his claim, they brought him before the Premiers and we were tasked with verifying same. Unfortunately, I was already tasked elsewhere and didn’t participate, but those who did confirmed that sure enough, a truck load of bottled water was being dropped off, as promised.

But what was it that compelled this citizen to divulge such information? While difficult for us to comprehend, most regular citizens endeavor to get in the good graces of the Elites. They hope it will buy them favors, immunity or if nothing else, the ability to continue in this life. Knowing this, the Elites used him to perpetuate this illusion. They filmed the entire scenario and are editing now to run a feature on it, showing the attempted “treason” by Legion members in seeking water they weren’t entitled to. They question why Legion members believe themselves above the law, why they believe they are entitled to more water than non-members… and the deaths. They will actually be televising the deaths of all those involved. For now, I will not discuss this aspect of the tragedy. I first want to see how it is presented, and then tell you the truth. Their feature is expected to run on this evening’s news. When you watch it, when you see the disgusting illusion they paint for all National citizens, keep in mind one thing: the Elites are clever. Though they are restricting water to a degree that will result in countless deaths, they will paint those who strive for life as the enemy. They are gaining momentum in turning all Nationals against us, recruiting them to their side. They are manipulative savages, keenly aware of society’s desperation, their need to be included, even if such security is only a guise used to gain their cooperation in their own exploitation. When facing such evil, do you really think you have any rights, much less the ability to speak freely? Do not communicate anything you read here to others. To do so, is to hand more power to the enemy and will result in my refusing to cooperate. We would lose the greatest thing we have… a springboard to a brighter tomorrow.

Maintain your silence or surrender. The choice is yours.

Until next time…

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

April 20, 2117

Well, it appears the perpetual drought is going to impact all of us here in Muni Six a bit more than usual. Of course, by all of us, I mean all those who are not Elites. Rest assured, their lawns, swimming pools, golf courses, long, hot showers, decorative fountains,  etc. will remain unaffected. However, all those in the Middle, and especially in the Underbelly, please consider yourselves warned.

Last week, we participated in a meeting to which we received our subsequent Premier briefing just yesterday. We were given certain orders to implement that will have a direct impact on each of you. Our orders indicate we will be providing details and/or deliveries to Elites placed throughout the Middle and Underbelly to ensure they continually have access to clean water. However, a broadcast will be made across Muni 6 indicating that all other citizens will be subject to severe water restrictions.  Those in the Middle will be allotted only one gallon of water per person, per week for the entire month of May. As for those of you in the Underbelly, you will receive one liter…just one measly liter of water per person, per week. Now, we all know, such amounts are not able to sustain life. The Elites are aware of this as well; they suffer no delusions that one liter is sufficient for seven days’ hydration. In fact, a handful of Elites even voiced concern that such restriction would cause their Non-Threat, Viables, and other Underbelly “meat-suits”, to experience a premature death. Their concern is that such deaths are unnecessary and would make future broad medical testing and conflict scenarios difficult without the endless supply of “meat-suits”. Despite this concern, the restrictions are being implemented and will commence May 1st.

It may be interesting to note that the few Elites who had voiced such concern suddenly went “missing”. Of course, the Capital states that their missing status while uncanny, is nothing more than coincidence. Even more coincidental was the rash of “Fresh Meat” deliveries made throughout the Underbelly. The Capital claimed the meat to be a gift for the Underbelly. As sickening as this may be, remember, at the end of the day, life sustaining protein is still life sustaining. You had no knowledge that what you consumed last week following the Elites’ open discussion was anything abnormal. You couldn’t have known, just as I didn’t until today. Times have never been more desperate, and though cannibalism is still nausea-inducing, it cannot be foregone in the face of true hunger and starvation. You have done nothing wrong. The Capital served a message to the dissenters in our meeting, and in so doing, were able to embolden your menu. For that, I apologize and assure you, if I learn of something like this again, I will give what warnings I can.

Back to the more pressing issue: If you have a secure/hidden storage area, fill every container you can spare with water. Remember, water storage in unclean containers can be dangerous. If this is a method you must use, please ensure you boil the water before drinking to reduce your chances of e-coli consumption, etc. As we proceed into the month, it will get more and more difficult to heed this next bit of advice: Do not drink simply because you’re thirsty. Yes, to be thirsty is to be dehydrated. However, try to pace yourself; take only the occasional sip in an effort to keep severe dehydration at bay. If you are unable to control your usage early on, you will deplete your resources too soon.

Of course it goes without saying, but do not use water for showering, cleaning, washing clothes, etc. Beyond this, we will have to get creative if we are to survive the next month. Colton and I have secured six contraptions that will allow you to filter, reuse and yes, drink your urine. Please note, these once belonged to the Military Nationals, and if the directions are followed properly, it is perfectly safe (even if not exactly appetizing). We will be supplying these contraptions to known Legion members we believe appropriately placed to make the best use of them – those who will be able to share with a high number of you. Additionally, we have a small stockpile of bottled water we have been collecting over the past few years. We will make them available as regularly as possible and alert you to the locations. I do apologize we are unable to do more, but the bottled water will be on a first come, first serve basis.

The odds against those of you in the Underbelly are enormous here. However, those of you in the Middle are not immune to dehydration either. We must be frugal, we must be creative, and remember, fruits and vegetables contain water. Select those over sodium-rich processed meats and canned goods from the FRE when you can. Be courageous, and do not give up. More importantly, please, please do not forget your humanity through this. Share your water if you can, just as Colton and I will be doing all that we can. This is going to be a difficult month for all of us, but please, do not fight amongst yourselves. Do not take advantage of non-members, and don’t forget to share with non-members too. Though your neighbors may not belong to the Legion as we do, we are all victims of the Elites. Don’t lose sight of that.

Any emergency scenarios or requests for aid, please post them here. We will alert you to locations of water as we can…Beyond that…let’s hope for rain and pray the restriction ends before the arrival of summer.

Until next time…

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

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 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.