CHAPTER 2 Molchian forces position themselves around the Earth

CHAPTER 2

Molchian forces position themselves around the Earth

Meanwhile, back in the universe the Pranksters had left behind, in that glorious game of Euroball, in the year Twenty Zorro Zorro, unconscionably evil forces were at work.14 years after the world had lost its Pranksters (without really noticing), things had crawled gradually further forward into chaos and despair. And yet it came to pass, ah rarrss, that a Social Revolution had occurred. One cheeky Prankster had got off the spacebus for a wee, and never came back. He waited until the age of 2.0 and bummed around in Stanmore for a bit until the Revolution had had its day, but somehow things had not changed in any way. Not in terms of general oppression, but some structures were now different. The Royal Family of England were no more – ushered into retirement with bloodless digital referendums – only to be replaced by a corporate monarchy of similarly greedy stance towards its subjects. Celebrities were the faces of companies – and companies were the royal courts – to please the populace, a Follower Competition had been launched, with the winner to be anointed as the Prince or Princess of the new state, Babylondon, or Babylon for short. Beating the eager beebers and footballers to the crown was the massive pop star, Byron Belle Sacha, the Prankster who forgot to get back on the bus, who squeezed out the beeber by 3,489 votes only mind you. The people had their prince X-Idol style – it was supposed to be the pinnacle of democracy, but it was all a bit seedy, weird, with a long hollow tail of horror wriggling in the shadows behind the thoughts and general day to day awareness of the humans of England – other countries followed suit, but it was England that stood once more at the forefront of global power, largely due to the music of Belle Sacha, the Premier League and Robin Crowe, the lotto lout from Middlesbrough who won enough to buy the big American computer giants, on a very very lucky dip on a rollover Euro millions. Europe became mere satellite states for England. Babylondon was where the world was controlled from now. And with the merger of the big companies, the Googlean iChip idea had been touted. Straight in the brain was the idea, less headaches than the glasses apparently, and all the apps your brain can eat. There was a big public reaction to it, and the new Prince had angered his masters by speaking out publicly against it. It was all set to go to another bloody digital vote.

Millennyway, what the people of Earth didn’t know, is that that lottery win was no fluke. In fact that lottery winner – Robin Crowe, was actually a hellish monster by the name of Molch, from a very lowly and wicked planet indeed, and he had been plotting the destruction of the Earth, as well as the enslavement or incineration of every soul on it, for quite a few years now. Anti-terror laws and propaganda had rendered it a virtual certainty that the digital referendum would see the mandatory insertion of the Googlean iChip into every living human. Most world leaders were now in some form of contract for information on national security with The Companies, and Robin Crowe had ensured that he would get what he wanted. To make absolutely sure he had also arranged for a massive virus to be unleashed. Partly for his general amusement, but also to ensure that the chip got a yes vote in every country. Subsequently, two nefarious Agents from planet Pandemonium (Molch’s world) were deployed by their leader to hover above the Earth and plant a virulent virus, whilst he continued his devilish work in the undercover human persona of Robin Crowe. All he would need to get the chip mandatory, was an unprecedented pandemic of Fear spreading throughout the globe, and the Prince of Babylon’s signature, of course.

Agent of Molch 1:

[Reciting] We’re just sitting here sitting here, living off each other’s fear.

Agent of Molch 2: Shut up and stick it in there.

Agent of Molch 1: You’ve got to say the words, otherwise it doesn’t work.

Agent of Molch 2: Bonnocks! You’ve should’ve upgraded your virus uploader by now.

Agent of Molch 1:

I did but it won’t come out of the free trial.

Agent of Molch 2: Look, let me do it, watch this.

He waved his gleaming red forefinger at a small cartridge resembling the topload insertion system of a sega mega drive, it clicked in. On the screen in their little media satellite red devil bug – a sort of space floating Herbie with horns - an image of the Earth rotated and a proliferating diagram of red and green dots did encircle the little digital globe.

‘There, it’s done now; the Fear Virus (FV) has spread across the Earth and is already panicking them into buying more things and hitting each other.

‘Good job Fred, agent of Molch 1.’

‘Cheers Barry, agent of Molch 2.’

‘Not Poodle? asked Barry.

‘Not half! enthused the evidently famished agent. Both agents were actually vegetarian and preferred Wolden Gunder’s Not Poodle range to the Pot Poodle range, which actually had poodle in it. Nevertheless, spreading despair across the galaxy was tiring business, so they ate their Not Poodles heartily, though not with relish because the relish had human rennet in it.

            PHASE ONE of OPERATION DESTROY THINGS was in operation. Soon the Fear Virus would spread across the Earth. ‘I will tell these miserable Earthlings that only the Googlean iChip can save them, plant it in their brains, then kill them all! Muwah-ha-haha. All of them! Except for the rich, I can use their vanity and their comfort electricity. Muwahahahahhee – cough – cough,’ said Molch.

‘Was there something I can get you Robin?” asked Miranda from her office next door in The Big Companies Building in London Wall – he had left the intercom on.

‘Er...er... no thank you Miranda; I was just clearing my throat.

‘Very good Robin; don’t forget you have a meeting with the Priminister at 10.’

In the press conference room, the Priminister (as part of the Social Revolution, government had allowed schoolkids to select the spelling of the leadership title) began:

‘Now is the time to take the moral high-ground,’ said he in a grave and powerful voice, albeit whimpering just a touch. He went on to assert how, in an act of great benevolence, the government was sponsoring a 22 billion pounds assault on the Fear Virus, in cooperation with The Companies, I-chips for all, gratis! Of course there was a little bit tucked on at the end about how, for Health and Safety reasons of course, to avoid the spread of the disease, there was, red-tape-only need for compulsoriness… but quantities of which the government was saving lives had never been seen before, the Prince was all set to give it is blessing as well as Divad Breekham, a hot shot Geordie England football captain of the recent past (not to mention Chobby Barlton; the all-time record goalscorer). Of course, in the right and proper spirit of democracy, and according to specifically laid down criteria of the New Constitutions of the Social Revolution, a digital vote was necessary – but, naturally, nobody in their right mind would want to perpetuate Intergalactic Terrorism – the crowd laughed.

It didn’t take long for the Fear Virus to take hold – rather than an airborne virus; it was targeted straight at satellite dishes and mobile phone telephone masts. The dose was proportionate to the target’s susceptibility; many went raging mad instantly, others did slightly crazy things. The death toll was never quantified because all the statisticians gathering the data all went raving bonkers with The Fear.

            Cornea advertising was horrendous: ‘Don’t Get the Fear! Upgrade your iLenses to the iChip now…’ that sort of thing.