Welcome to Agora, an anthology of super short stories set in a world where the public sector is dead. A universe that’s governed, not by ineffective politicians, but faceless corporations.
First, Some Housekeeping
This is a sequel to episode 12, found here
For more background, check out episodes 1, 3, 4, and 5 (not essential)
That’s it, enjoy!
It was definitely Hugo. The body swung gently in the twilight. A noose wrapped around his neck like a python.
Jared shuddered. His mentor, a frail man of sixty eight. Dragged out of bed. Strung up from a lamp post. Eyes removed. Adorned with a gold helmet -- horns dipped in his own blood.
They were being hunted like dogs.
ANTICO had no shortage of enemies, but the group always maneuvered secretly, keeping themselves one step ahead of the corporate factions.
Looking at the body, Jared realized without a doubt: this was different.
Not in violence, necessarily. The HR compliant cartels ANTICO squared against never hesitated to use depravity in order to preserve their “civilized” hegemony.
The difference was in the openness of violence. It was unpolished. Unchoreographed. Unsophisticated. It was Golden Dawn.
That’s what the group called themselves, anyway.
Led by Agora’s biggest pop star, Gori69™️, the rag-tag militia rallied districts to uncover and assassinate members of ANTICO. That’s how they got Maisey. Jared’s closest confidante. A friendship forged in disillusionment. She had a son who died from the cruelty of the system. And now the system had gone after her as well.
Golden Dawn, as rough as it was, had access to some serious resources. Jared deduced they were funded by Bean™️, Smile™️, Ruff™️, and the like. It was irrefutable.
And so they were a distraction. A dangerous one? Yes.
But they couldn’t be stopped unless their enablers were taken down.
So the mission was the same. Break the Agora. Destroy Bean™️. Bring to justice its CEO, Peter Sokolich.
Originally thought of as a lifelong struggle, that mission would have to be conducted now. There was simply no time to waste. Golden Dawn knew, somehow, the identities of top ANTICO officers. Which probably meant Agora’s Enforcement bureau did as well. The streets were no longer safe. Mass surveillance and facial recognition made sure of that.
Jared removed the rose pin on Hugo’s lapel — a pendant given to leaders of the clandestine, anti-consumerist movement. He hoped it would give him strength.
For what he was about to do, he’d need all the courage he could get.
***
Jared stood in front of Bean’s™️ headquarters. Dressed like a police officer. He no longer had his badge, but Enforcement never bothered to collect his old uniform or gun. Why would they? The ploy he devised could only work in the most dire, desperate circumstances. An exit strategy didn’t exist.
He walked into the lobby, carrying a cup of coffee. A prop designed to conceal any suspicion. The guard nodded at him. A sense of solidarity between watchmen.
“I forgot my pass at home.”
The guard didn’t even wait for Jared to finish his sentence. He let him enter.
Jared took the elevator to the top floor. From social media content amongst other propaganda, he knew that’s where Sokolich’s office was located.
Going up, he suppressed a panic attack. Deep breaths. The thought that kept him going: he was already dead. This was borrowed time.
As soon as the doors opened, he bum rushed the plush lobby of the executive suite, and forced his way into the penthouse office.
He identified Sokolich immediately. Sitting in a plush leather chair. Scrolling. So mundane.
Jared raised his weapon, and fired. A direct hit. Straight through the skull.
Security forces pinned him to the ground, and the last thing he could remember was the friendly guard, pulling out a bludgeon.
***
Jared woke in a dark place. The only illumination coming from a lamp, hung from the ceiling like a body.
“He’s alive.” A voice exclaimed from the darkness.
Jared’s eyes adjusted enough to realize — he was in a cell.
A man peered into the light. Raggedy. Gaunt. Eyes filled with despair. The man looked at Jared’s lapel — drawn to his rose pin.
“Did you know her?” He asked.
“Who?”
“M.”
Jared didn’t understand at first, but then quickly figured out he was referring to.
“I did.”
“Then you’ll want this.” The man opened his palm. It was a rose pin. Maisey’s, without a doubt.
“Do you know who killed her?” Jared asked.
“Gori69™️,” the man responded.
“Then I’m going to kill him.”
The man laughed. Dryly, the way one does with a hoarse throat.
“That’s impossible,” he said.
“Why’s that?”
“He’s not real. Intellectual property, managed by social strategists.”
“And you know this, how?”
“I used to be him.”