The Troll (14 page)

“
Go
figure,” Iris said.

“
Back
then, you would go on a site that reported news like CNN and the
comments below were always politically driven. The world was divided
so strongly that you were one or the other and one side hated the
other and there was no gray area. Group A believed everything group B
said was 100% wrong and vice versa. You could have everything in
common with someone, but if you didn’t vote the same, there was
an unbreakable dividing line. The
mention
of
liking this candidate
or that provoked death threats and evil disdain. School kids were
bullied and committing suicide at high rates on-line, video sites
were filled with teenagers trying to find their fifteen minutes
and
every comment below ripping into them until they went insane.”

“
Isn’t
that what you did?”

“
No.
I always take my own position. My belief is that there are no sides,
and those who believed there was needed to be mocked into order. I
didn’t hate John Melmann. I just hated the unthinking obsessive
types of sheep who believed he cared about them in any way other than
what was in their parents bank account. I wasn’t a blue or red
state, atheist, theist, agnostic. I don’t fall into one
category. I just hate the lack of resolve and commonality between
sides, just for claiming a label and sticking to it without an open
mind. The only statement I ever made, in all my statements, was that
taking these views so seriously to the extent they did, was so
laughably stupid that I had no choice but to mock them until they
realized how small their opinions really were. It was to create
waves—not ride them.”

“
Maybe
saying that instead of pissing people off would have been effective,”
Iris said.

“
No,
because then I wear the label of crusader—of Internet
vigilante. People tune that shit out. No one cares about people who
appear that they’re trying to change behavior, but manipulate
them by mocking their beliefs…worked all the time.”

“
So
you’re saying that by being a troll, you were just attempting
to better society,” Iris said, in disbelief.

“
On
some level. I won’t lie. I loved it for all the wrong reasons,
but I did it because everyone’s priorities were in the wrong
place and no one wanted to be blunt enough to say so.”

“
Is
that why you’re glad Psi wiped out so many people?”

“
I
don’t dance on graves,” The Troll said. “But I
don’t feel bad either. Most people had petty problems. Psi was
a reminder that other things matter more than the latest celebrity or
which politician is the biggest liar.”

They
overcame a hill and their eyes went wide as they saw a town in the
distance. The Acrobat let out a breath of relief, happy to be close
to rest. His leg would give out if they let him go, and he needed
water badly. “What’s next?” he asked.

“
We
meet with The Guide and go from there,” Iris said. “He
knows what he’s doing.”

“
I
don’t understand how you intend on walking all the way
across
country,” The Acrobat said.

“
We’ve
got nothing but time,” Iris said.

“
Look,
I understand your position and agree on some level, but you have to
see that this isn’t a fight you can win. Things didn’t
need to be interrupted by this quest, and you are only inspiring
unnecessary violence. I don’t agree with everything The
Moderator has done, but this is such a lost cause that I can only
strongly urge that you stop now and give up. If more people die or if
you keep moving forward, you’re going to piss him off, and he
will kill people just because he’s annoyed.”

The
Troll looked to Iris, waiting for a reaction. She took a deep breath
and considered momentarily before finally speaking. “You asked
me why I’m so invested in this fight,” she said. “Why
I don’t have Psi, why I’m even here…”

The
Troll was transfixed as she spoke, finally about to learn her role in
the whole thing. Something told him he didn’t want to
though—that if she kept talking, he might find himself against
Psi, and he wasn’t prepared yet.

“
The
morning Psi took everyone’s minds, I still had it, but I also
came across one of those devices that removes it and I had mine
removed.”

“
Did
you know the attack was coming?” The Troll asked.

“
Nope.
Pure coincidence, but I knew who The Moderator was and I saw how much
hatred he had toward the world and how dead set he was on revenge…”

“
How
did you know…” The Troll started, but was cut off.

“
I
broke into a Pharmacy, removed Psi from myself with the device, I
even kept the device, because I knew I wanted to get it out of as
many people as possible, and I didn’t know why. That evening,
my mother and I were in her car, on our way to the mall, and that’s
when Psi froze everyone. It was dreadful watching my mother behind
the wheel, unable to react or do anything more than stare forward. I
could see in her eyes that she was aware. She just couldn’t
move. I didn’t know why at the time. So I grabbed the wheel and
swerved and the car ended up rolling down a hill and hitting a post
below. The driver’s side hit the pole and I watched
my
mother die, the whole time, she didn’t scream or move. She
died, unable to even talk to me, though she could have if Psi wasn’t
inside her. I got out of the car and watched as cars piled up and the
world changed while no
one
was even able to scream for help. Later, when I learned what
happened, I knew that no matter what it took, I would end this,
because…”

The
Acrobat’s head was turned away but The Troll was fixated on
Iris as she began to cry. “Because what?” he asked,
softly.

“
Because
The Moderator knew we were in the car. He knew our lives were at risk
and he didn’t do anything to stop it. Taking over was more
important to him.”

“
But…”
The Troll started, confused.

She
turned to him, pain in her eyes, and choked out the words. “The
Moderator is my father.”

Chapter
6

“
Something
happened here,” The Magician said, kicking at the hay
throughout the barn to see what could be uncovered. “No bodies,
a broken helicopter…The Troll could not be capable of this.”

He
turned to the remaining bounty hunters. Chameleon stood at his side,
loyal to everything he did and said. The Weatherman sat on a bale of
hay, wearing jean shorts with his fat spilling over the sides. The
Poet walked through the barn, searching the corners for something to
piece together the events that happened. The Mentalist stood outside
watching the distance. The Gambler sat on the grass with a bottle of
booze in hand and his cowboy hat blocking the sun from the deep
grooves in his eyes.

The
Magician turned and walked to the chopper. He tugged at the door
handle for a moment, but it didn’t budge. He then covered it
with his hands and suddenly a ball of fire and smoke burst under his
palms and the latch just fell off and the door swung open. Without
word, The Pilot stepped out and walked past.

“
Oh
please,” The Magician said. “No need to thank me.”

The
Pilot walked straight outside and looked off in the distance.

“
Alright,
let’s piece this together,” The Magician said with some
flare. “Four people surround The Troll in the barn. He takes
down a helicopter and walks off with three. Makes a lot of sense.”

“
I
doubt he was alone,” Chameleon said.

“
Or
maybe we underestimated him,” The Mentalist said.

The
Poet shook his head and stepped forward. “No no no. Do not cast
thy doubt on the illogical, immoral, immature, incredibly useless
countenance of our enemy.”

“
Please
stop,” The Magician said, simply. He went back to observing the
scene and plotting in his head. “Okay, we need a strategy.
Let’s hypothetically pretend our Troll is more than just a
Troll or has an army with him. We need to cover some ground. I’m
splitting you up into teams.”

The
first team was what The Magician liked to call “dead weight”
because they were the dangerous, but annoying, group. He wanted them
as far from himself and Chameleon as possible, and simply sent them
into the woods, where they projected The Troll would have gone.

The
group consisted of The Gambler, The Weatherman, and The Poet. The
Gambler didn’t look like much on first glance, but he was
destructive and sadistic if alone with his target. He just wouldn’t
be trusted to find The Troll alone, which was why he was traveling
with company.

The
Weatherman was slow and needed frequent breaks because of his weight.
He slowed the group, but if The Troll found himself in the same
radius, The Weatherman’s remote controlled manipulation of
mother nature would be inescapable. The Poet stepped in as leader of
the trio. He talked constantly, and led them through the woods,
trying to track disturbed areas.

The
group didn’t get along well, and The Poet was the only one who
understood that they were the outcasts, which left him more
determined. When The Troll’s name was dropped by Iris, he did
his research and spent two nights reading as many message board posts
as possible, disgusted by how just about everything The Troll hated,
personified who The Poet was. He hated approaching The Moderator and
asking to be a part of the hunting crew, but he genuinely wanted to
see The Troll die. His traveling companions would have to step aside
if and when that day came.

They
were as mismatched as any trio could be. The Gambler was withdrawn
and only grumbled complaints. The Weatherman couldn’t focus on
anything except for his tired flabby legs and the next meal time, and
The Poet aimed to be a smart sophisticated leader. He preferred this
crew though because he needed men who would follow and come along for
the ride. Of the three, The Poet was highly influential and knew if
they were all in one place, it would be he who wrapped his arms
around The Troll’s neck while the others stood back. The only
challenge was in being the first group to find him which is why he
tried to be efficient. They tracked their way through the woods, but
as the sun began to set, he lost the trail. He considered the
possibility that a wild animal had caught him, or maybe Coach,
Mortician, and Acrobat, but he wouldn’t stop until he knew for
certain. He tried to think like The Troll—of course he would
head west, but he’d stop from time to time to eat, sleep…

When
they exited the woods, he contacted a friend at Circular Prime and
asked him to map the area. He was able to determine that there were
three nearby towns. Of course, The Troll wouldn’t have a map
and would need to know the lay of the land, but the best thing he
could do was follow the population—anywhere where The Troll
would find help.

They
walked along the tree line for a while, trying to pick up the trail,
but found nothing. “He’ll have to pass the river,”
The Poet finally said.

“
I
need to eat,” The Weatherman said, panting. “Talk to The
Moderator and get us some transportation.”

The
Gambler was seemingly exhausted as well. His bottle was empty and as
he sobered up, he wore down.

“
We’ll
go to the nearest town and I’ll leave you there and head to the
bridge.”

“
You
can’t go on without us,” The Weatherman said.

“
You
slow me down,” The Poet said.

“
Troll
needs to rest too. He’s going to be in town somewhere, probably
asking for help. He’s not even out of state yet. We have no
reason to hurry.”

“
We
will find him first,” The Poet said. “Before any of the
others.”

“
Don’t
make this personal,” The Weatherman said. “It’s
just a job to restore order. We need to root for each other.”

“
No,”
The Poet shot back. “I want to find him before anyone else.
Contact Circular Prime and find out if there’s any strange
crowd movement through Psi.”

The
Weatherman reluctantly obeyed. He turned to The Gambler in search of
a mutual ally, but he was muttering to himself. He wandered off
instead and pulled hand-held device from his pocket to do his
research.

The
Poet was left alone, standing outside the trees and looking into the
distance. He thought about the barn, the helicopter, The Pilot, and
the three missing bounty hunters. The Troll really was more than he
seemed to be, and it excited The Poet. He wanted to meet him face to
face more than ever.