The Troll (4 page)

“
Tell
you what Iris. You come to me and I’ll give you Rainbow
personally. If you can get it to Vegas and plug it in
yourself,
then you win.”

IRIS—I’M
NOT DUMB.

“
Then
what do you propose?”

IRIS—GIVE
IT TO SOMEONE ELSE.

“
Who?”

IRIS—ARE
YOU ACCEPTING MY CHALLENGE???

“
Maybe.”

IRIS—I
WANT AN AGREEMENT.

The
Moderator’s neck twitched and he clenched his teeth while he
gained his composure. “First, you don’t get to make
demands. Second, if you’re making a suggestion, you shouldn’t
be so vague. I’m willing to take you up on your challenge, but
tell me what it is you want.”

The
dash flashed for a few moments. Everyone watched silently. The Surfer
had risen to his feet, watching in fascination and hope. Finally, a
ding.

IRIS—I’LL
GIVE YOU A NAME AND YOU GIVE HIM THE RAINBOW. IF HE SUCCESSFULLY
TAKES IT TO THE MAINFRAME THAT CAN DESTROY PSI, WE WIN.

“
What’s
to stop me from sending people after them?”

IRIS—NOTHING.
I ASSUME YOU WILL. BUT I CHALLENGE YOU TO PLAY FAIR.

“
We’ll
iron out the details later. I assume if we catch this person, you’ll
accept defeat without crying about it?”

IRIS—IF
YOU CATCH THIS PERSON, YOU CAN PUT A BULLET IN THEIR AND THE SURFER’S
HEADS. I DON’T HAVE ANYTHING INVESTED IN THIS BECAUSE PSI HAS
ALREADY RUINED MY LIFE AND I WILL NEVER RECOVER. I ONLY CHALLENGE
YOU, BECAUSE YOU USED TO BE A PERSON, RIGHT? IF YOU’RE
DEMANDING PEOPLE TO TREAT YOU LIKE A GOD, THEN PLAY FAIR…

“
Give
me a name and I’ll send them out with The
Rainbow.
The Surfer and Wigeon are
off the table though. Pick your candidate and I will give them a fair
shot, but understand that when they are caught, I will have Rainbow
destroyed.”

The
Surfer watched the screen, hypnotized by it. He didn’t know if
he even knew who Iris was, but she was smart. She knew what she was
doing. He just hoped she had someone in mind who really could get an
impossible job done. He hoped she’d pick The Guide, or The
Wrestler, who was one of his more athletic warriors, or anyone on
team Surfer.

IRIS—THE
TROLL…

“
The
Troll?” The Moderator asked, his brow creasing. “Did I
hear that right? Troll?”

IRIS—THE
TROLL WILL GET THE JOB DONE.

Chapter 4

The
Troll spoke with his fingers. He spent more time typing than talking,
and even when he talked, his hands would motion the act of typing. In
fact, he was incapable of talking without moving his fingers because
before the words were out of his mouth, he was thinking about typing
them and felt the impulse to reenact the sensation.

He
was only comfortable with keyboard and mouse in hand. When he woke up
in the morning, he rushed to the Boards. Most of the Midwest was
filled with warehouses that housed members of the Boards. When the
world shut down, access to information was limited, but computers
were accessible, only to interact with other people via the Boards,
which were closely monitored by the good folks in Chicago.

The
Boards were a kind of comfort zone for the bulk of population who
needed interaction, but didn’t want to live in the world
without technology. The Troll was an appropriate name for Bobby
Bryson. Long before Psi, he would frequent all the big message
boards—the ones with heavy traffic—and he would
antagonize the masses, whether it be teenage girls who were head over
heals in love with the latest boy band, or fans of the films he
hated. Politics, religion, the media, social topics, ethics,
paranormal beliefs, people who love poetry; No topic was too big or
small for The Troll to make an appearance, take the unpopular
opinion, play devil’s advocate, and rile the other users.

He
was, to the Boards, an asshole, a provoker…a troll.

Then
the world ended and everyone began going by labels instead of names,
and he happily and proudly took the name before anyone else could
grab it up, but no one else wanted to be called The Troll.

Of
all the fights he instigated, there was one topic he refused to
address, and that was the moral implications of Psi, the revolution
of Surfer and Wigeon, and Circular Prime. He had Psi injected at a
young age, younger than most, and loved it. Suddenly, he was sitting
in his basement, watching Westerns and interacting on message boards
just by navigating with his mind. Throughout it all, his fingers
typed away at thin air.

The
takeover by the disgruntled engineers at Circular Prime was a
sensitive subject. There had been too many stories of people who
conveniently disappeared or had a stroke in the night for speaking
out against Psi. The revolutionaries in the early days after the
shutdown were dead before they could start a revolution. The idea of
an uprising often prompted The Moderator to deactivate the minds of
the rebels. It seemed that the only way to survive was to agree, and
the Troll had too much work to do. He wasn’t much use to his
world dead.

He
wore a black hoody all the time and didn’t groom himself, which
was too bad, because if he did, he might have been considered cute,
maybe even attractive, but he abandoned those types of desires years
ago. People generally didn’t like him because he liked to speak
his opinion in a loud voice and condescend those he spoke to. For a
26 year old who stood at 5’6, he had a way of making people
around him feel small.

The
Troll spoke fast. He moved faster. He was a man who appeared to
always have an agenda, more to do, more to say, not enough time to
say it. His hair was a mess and rarely cut. There was a puffiness
under his eyes which had formed from too many days staring at a
screen and those days would have never ended if not for Iris's nod in
his direction.

The
day after The Surfer's trial, he plopped into his chair and readied
his fingers with a wide stretch of his sprawled hands. He placed them
on the keys and closed his eyes momentarily at the sensation of the
keyboard lightly pressed against his fingertips. He let out a breath.

Trolling
had begun.

He
searched the boards for topics that needed his Internet brand of
vigilantism. He found a site for film and television—something
no one had actually watched for years, but that people reflected on
and picked apart from what they could remember. Though he often
agreed with what the users said, he often conjured a good fight
anyway. He hammered his point home, made fun of those who had bad
grammar, and treated people like they were beneath him. When they
snapped, he laughed to himself and would write something to the
effect of: DUDE, RELAX…IT’S JUST A MESSAGE BOARD. YOU
DON’T EVEN KNOW ME, to minimize their emotional outburst into
something petty.

He
hadn’t watched the trial. He was aware of the fact that The
Surfer and Wigeon were caught. He hoped Wigeon wouldn’t be
killed because he thought she was hot. He declared how tragic it
would be to kill someone so hot all over the boards. People screamed
in all caps at his insensitivity. He apologized and said he’d
take a moment of silence and bow only one of his heads because the
other was too hard when he thought about Wigeon. He made everyone
believe he was a sexist bigot, a middle aged entitled, spoiled,
immoral, asshole who saw user-names as less than people.

He
chuckled to himself as he typed, only taking breaks to pop his
knuckles or grab a soda from the machine.

Up
until the moment a woman named The Chameleon entered his life, life
for The Troll was great. He didn’t notice as she sat next to
him. She didn’t type. She just blended in, somewhat literally.
Somehow, when he finally noticed her, he could see why he didn't
initially catch her in the corner of his eye. She was almost
invisible, the colors of everything around her bouncing off the
surface of her clothes and skin.

“
What
the…?” he asked, and trailed off. From what he could
tell, she was pretty hot too, except it was hard to tell because her
presence played tricks on the eyes.

“
You
are The Troll?” she asked.

Not
many people approached him or talked to him—especially people
of this caliber. She had something special—an ability. It was
almost as if…

“
I’m
from Circular Prime,” she said.

“
Okay?”
he responded and turned back to the screen. He
suddenly
hated that she was there. He knew he’d inevitably one day
say
the wrong thing on-line or poke a bear and make the wrong person
angry.

“
Did
you not watch the trial of The Surfer?”

“
No.”

“
You’ve
been invited to Chicago.”

“
Sorry,”
he said quickly, turning his body toward her to offer his sincere
apologies. “I didn’t mean it.”

“
Didn’t
mean what?” she asked, noticing his fingers moving as he spoke.

“
I
never mean anything I say on here.”

“
I
don’t know what that has to do with anything,” she
said.
“You’re not in trouble for anything you did on the
boards, though I’m sure it will be reviewed extensively. You’re
in trouble because your girlfriend Iris threw you under the bus.”

“
Iris?”

“
Come
with me,” she said. “If you have any goodbyes, say them
quickly.”

He
didn’t have anyone to see off, but he considered pretending
like he did so he could run. But if he ran from an employee of
Circular Prime, he’d likely be tracked and zapped within the
hour.

“
Can
you tell me what this is about?” he asked.

“
I’m
limited in what I can tell you,” she said. He thought she was
smiling, but it was hard to tell. Her skin grew more transparent, but
when she grabbed his arm, he knew she was no hologram. “The
Moderator will want to tell you the rules himself.”

“
Rules
of what?” he asked, trying to pull away from The Chameleon. “I
think you have the wrong person.”

“
You
were elected,” she said. “You’re the one chosen to
destroy Psi.”

Chapter 5

The
Troll wasn’t dragged to Chicago. He was escorted quietly. The
Chameleon got him to a private plane, and just disappeared. It was
the first time he’d ever been in a plane. They were only used
for important people, but whatever he was being called for must have
been important business. They fed him well and treated him like an
important guest.

The
whole way, he internally questioned what he must have said or done to
deserve this treatment. He didn’t watch the trial and he barely
knew Iris from the boards, but other than that, being in a plane felt
like a dream. Not knowing why was a nightmare.

The
other men in the plane were friendly enough, but the Troll got a bad
vibe from every one of them—as if they thought they were
better—and he supposed they were better. They were the leaders
of the world who’d tricked them all. The Troll had always
accepted that fact so easily, but being face to face made him
feel…bitter.

A
large burly man with a black polo hugging his large chest appeared.
The man’s gut stuck out, but was otherwise a bulky man with a
crop of messy blond hair and a neatly trimmed beard. He managed a
smile, but the Troll saw it was forced.

“
I’m
The Coach,” the man said.

The
Troll smiled and made a point to be as respectful as possible. “I
remember you. You led The Scorpions to the Super-Bowl in 55.”

The
Coach smiled genuinely as he recalled the memory. “That was a
good year.”

“
So
what is this?” The Troll asked. “Did I do something
wrong?”

“
You’re
not very patient.”

“
Well…you
know how it is. Usually you guys just stay in Chicago and we do our
thing, and all I ever do is post on-line but a lot of people get
pissed at what I say, so I just want to make sure I didn’t
offend anyone in Chicago. If I did, I’m really sorry.”

“
We
don’t browse the boards Troll.”

The
Troll knew it was a lie, and that worried him more. Especially
because he knew he wasn’t being dragged to Chicago for doing
something right. He could see it in Coach’s eyes. He didn’t
like the Troll. Maybe for no other reason than he was a board
browser.