#nihilus rex

You better be careful what you do

I wouldn't wanna be in your shoes

If they ever found you out

You better be careful what you say

It never really added up anyway

I got friends in this town

Miranda Lambert, “White Liar” 

Nils

Class was boring - I mean, it would have been interesting, especially the political debate that came inherent in the macroeconomic discussion of regulation - but frankly with everything else going on and the plans Lash and I were hatching it felt almost beneath notice. Like a waste of time before we got to the real action.

Our weeb friend was a smarmy son of a bitch, I had to give him that, and trying to trace him took work -  one of the other reasons that I was just as happy to use the challenge and draw him to us. If it worked, it let us keep flying under the radar and gave us a layer of plausible deniability, and if worst came to worst it handed us a convenient option for another patsy if he proved less than tractable.  Lash and I would have to be careful in our eventual conversation with him in how we phrased everything to make sure statements could be read to assume that he was pissed that we were taking credit for his ideas to set it up properly, but it could be done with good planning. Recruit if we could, cash out the option to get the Feds off our backs if we couldn’t - because we were going to need to deal with the fibbie at some point either way.

I shared the thought with Lash to get her thoughts, and see if we could begin establishing how we wanted to lay in that contingency. “Hey, so it occurs to me, if we can’t recruit this guy, we may want to have some kind of setup to feed him to the feds when we encounter him, let them think we were just doing some dumb, edgy marketing for our totally-legal activism and the actual ‘economic terrorist’ got pissed at us for trying to take the credit. If we can’t get him on our side, better not to have him in the way, right?” 

She looked thoughtful for a moment - or more accurately, like she was plotting - before asking slowly, “How likely would we be to frame him for some of the shit we’ve done? Even just stuff we did before we met?”

“I’d have to look at his profile a little more closely, but bear in mind that the hack itself doesn’t really match the profile of either of our usual patterns, and nothing we did before that rises to the level where the federal government cares enough to pay attention.” 

“I took money from Microsoft and donated it to charity,” she pointed out. “Repeatedly.  That would definitely land on the news, at least.”

“Right,” I said, taking a breath, trying to steady myself, “and let’s not get into my thefts from social media and various databombings on their harvested userdata, BUT that followed a very different profile than the bank job, which is what we knew drew their attention - they’re looking for the people who’d run the bank job, not people who are little more than thieving horseflies buzzing around the heads of corporate titans and taking a few drops here and there that said corporations never notice enough to report.” It was an unpleasant truth - we’d stolen probably tens of thousands between us, but not all at once, and in increments that the corporations we’d robbed could lose to rounding error. 

“Hey, you said you wanted him fed to the Fed, not to go down for the loans,” she shrugged. “Wire fraud across state lines is still FBI-worthy.  Not to mention that many counts.” Lash started silently ticking off on her fingers before staring at them and nodding. “Yeah, plenty of counts, for sure.”

“Fair. I’m worried they’re looking for the bank robbers and we have someone we can give them as a patsy. So when we meet with him, let’s feel him out and make sure any statements we have are set up so they can be misread as him trying to find out if we’re stealing credit for his work, yeah?” 

“Can do.” She snapped off a sarcastic salute before grabbing my elbow and semi-forcing me to slow down. “Either way, our ‘viral marketing campaign’ is ready to go as soon as you set up the location for the final clue.  So, make sure your sandbox is as secure as possible so we don’t get any bugs in there.”

I nodded. “Yeah. I’ll have it ready in an hour. Want me to order some pizza while I do it?”  I had an extra tab open while I was getting the proxy networks set up and sketching out the ciphers for the clues.

“One meat lovers, one spinach and bacon, coming up,” she agreed, pulling out her phone. “Don’t forget to write down the address for me once it’s ready so I can translate it a couple times and hide it in the last clue.”

“Yeah, babe, I know, we’ve been picking at this for a minute.” I said, softly smiling. I wondered if she knew she talked to me the way her mom talked to her dad. I had almost finished the third cipher we were going to be doing it with. “Think three will be enough, or should we do four? At five it feels obnoxious, but if he wasn’t too paranoid to be hooked with fewer than three, he’d be a piece, not a player.” 

“Forty five minutes until food,” Lash announced before looking up. “I’m going to translate it at least twice - once to hex and once to… I dunno, a sound frequency maybe? So four should be fine on your end for the ciphers.”

“You got it. Altdorf code it is.” 

“Altendorf,” she corrected, scrunching her face at what she thought was a deliberate mistake on my part.

“Nope. Altdorf. Right wing computer nut, probably also a gamer. Altdorf code is a memetic variant on the classic Altendorf book cipher, named for a thing in a game franchise popular with that crowd.” I replied, smirking. Dating a girl who knew as much cryptography as I did was a blast, but it was occasionally fun to flex on each other. Loved it when she caught me out, as she often did, but it was sometimes fun to catch her off too. 

“Freaking nerd,” she half-mumbled, knowing good and well I would hear her. “But if it works, it works.  Provided he figures out all the clues I’m laying out.”

“And then we put all this effort into this to show off for each other for nothing…” I muttered, watching her work over what she did as I finished up selecting a handful of games, books, and comics to cipher off of, with arc numbers for each and internally contained clues within the cipher to hint at what the target should be using for the Altdorf code. Nonsensical to anyone who didn’t understand it, but comprehensible to anyone who did - if you understood the rest of the cyphers it was under, of course. 

“Ew, eyewatering,” she grunted before adjusting something. It must have worked, because she was able to actually look at the screen when she was done. “And now for the clouds…”

“Those clouds look awful.” I said, idly thinking out loud. “Really bloated, data-wise.” 

“That would be because they are compressed audio tracks,” she confirmed. “Which, when unzipped and played, give the hex code.  But yeah, they’re ugly, aren’t they?” The door buzzed and she looked at her phone. “Pizza’s here.”

“Ah.” I stood up and got the pizza, tipping the guy. After he left I turned back to Lash. “So, now we wait. Trap is baited and set with a challenge for a new ally or an enemy we can get rid of quickly. Speaking of the question as to what we do if he is a new ally: thoughts on how we get rid of the fed? She’s poking around the white supremacist scene, and stirring them up harder might lead to more of them poking around if she gets shot.” 

Lash rubbed her face before getting up to get plates. “My first instinct is to lay low and monitor.  Right now, there’s no actual evidence tying us to the situation, so monitoring would be the most conservative and safest call in the immediate future.  And it gives us time to plan something in the event we do need to intervene.”

I nodded as I poured drinks for both of us. “Yeah. Fair point. Give him about two days, then we’ll meet him together. Two options, either he thinks the whole made up names thing is actually bullshit, in which case he’ll want to meet both of the people he’s working with and we can establish a triumvirate, or he thinks it’s for real and is playing like he thinks it's dumb, then he’ll want to meet with the heads of both groups, which means we’ll need you there to rep one of them. What angles we play depends on what angle he hits us with.” I was still thinking about the way we could feel that out while also maintaining the option to sacrifice him and dispose of him to the feds if he wasn’t amicable to a team up, but honestly that was mostly just a matter of careful phrasing. 

“If it comes to that, as long as I am repping the Icono-whatsits, I’m good.”

“No, I thought we’d have the brown, anarchic immigrant’s daughter represent the carefully crafted illusion of the violently traditionalist ones who want to restore ‘traditional values’ because that would totally make the con hold up. Tell you what, when we take it global, and we have to do this in India, THEN we swap roles and you have to play a Hindutava nationalist and pretend to be a Disciple chick. For today, the heel role is mine.” 

She set her plate down with a loud clatter, glaring at me as she stood up. “And on that completely uncalled-for note, I think I need to head home for a few days.  Let me know if he gets in contact, and we’ll go from there.”

I sighed, realizing what I’d done wrong, then felt a surprising flash of irritation - at her, at myself, at the fact that every time we started getting closer I said something obnoxious and that we never just got a few weeks without some shit happening. “You know what? Yeah. I’m sorry. That was unnecessarily rude. If you want to go home, I get it, but please eat first, or at least take some pizza with you. I shouldn’t have been that much of an asshole - I’ve been jittery since the Fed showed up, and I shouldn’t be taking it out on you. Know you can’t pass yourself off as a white supremacist, I mostly wanted to joke around about the fact that as this goes global, we may have to practice swapping roles for other countries. That’s all.” 

Lash took a deep breath and picked up one of the pizza boxes. “I know it will eventually be necessary for me to be the bad guy, but seriously. What part of this,” she waved a hand over herself, stopping to gesture emphatically at her face, “in any way says I won’t just blow our entire ass cover if I try to be a white supremacist? It’s not like I’m shirking work or something.”  The free hand shoved her hair back and she exhaled. “I think we just need a couple days to get actual sleep and calm down.”

“You aren’t shirking work, I know.” I said, trying to take a breath. “I’ve just been…I’ve been constantly trying to figure out every possible angle we can take this from, because I want to keep us out of trouble and keep the feds away, keep this prick away from your family, keep everything under control. I said something sarcastic that I thought was funny because yeah, obviously this,” I gestured at her, “was not going to be playing the white supremacist, this,” I gestured at my own face, “was. And I wasn’t looking forward to it. And it isn’t your fault I’ve been obsessively plotting, I haven’t been telling you all of it, but it’s been all of the babbling about contingencies I’ve been doing since the fed arrived. Because I’ve been afraid. And I shouldn’t have taken it out on you.” True, but I did also want her to see my perspective of how much effort I was putting into this whole thing.  “And if you need me to give you a ride home tonight, I will, but seriously take a pizza. Because it’s too late for you to be walking home.” 

The pizza box in her hand dropped back to the table and she growled in frustration. “UGH! And all the shit with Uber and taxis lately…” She fell back into what had become her seat on the couch. “Fine. But I’m sleeping out here. In clothes, so don’t get any ideas, buster.”

“We didn’t have time to go mattress topper shopping, so you’ll probably sleep better, and I’m insisting on plenty of blankets. And you’re eating your share of pizza.” I shrugged. “And even my Catholic ass won’t feel guilty about you being too damn stubborn to take a ride I’m offering.” 

“No ride. I refuse to owe you,” she spat before biting viciously into a slice of pizza, shoving half of it into her mouth without a trace of grace.

“And thus, couch, blankets, and coping aplenty.” I said, sitting down. “You okay, Lash?”

“I am sleep deprived, stressed about the apartment being ready when my parents are discharged next week despite knowing that Mori has had it ready since the day after she got here, and I’m mad at you for being a jerk.”

“Mori took care of the apartment, you know it, you know you know it. You’re going to sleep better tonight, and I’m sorry for being a dick.” I said, coaxingly. “Things are going to be alright. Let’s eat, brush our teeth, then we can rack out, okay?” 

“Fine,” she muttered, demolishing another slice of pizza.

I wasn’t certain what it said about my life - or life, in general - that “relationship issues” were causing me slightly more confusion and headaches than “FBI investigation” and “rival terrorist” combined. It definitely said something, but I wasn’t entirely certain what. Maybe it was a me problem. Maybe if I wasn’t dating someone who would do terrorism with me I wouldn’t have this problem.

When Rome's in ruins

We are the lions

Free of the coliseums

In poisoned places

We are anti-venom

We're the beginning of the end

Tonight

The foxes hunt the hounds

It's all over now

Before it has begun

And we've already won

Fall Out Boy, “Young Volcanoes

Lash

Nils eventually came out of the master suite, carrying a bottle and sniffing it suspiciously. “This isn’t mine.”

I rolled my eyes and held out my hand. “White boy hair oil and brown girl hair don’t necessarily work well together. Thank you, I’ll stick it in my bag. Sorry.”

He snatched it back. “Nope. I like it, it’s staying here. In case you need another shower. Only practical. I’ll buy you another bottle on the way to take you home.” 

I smothered a smile as he padded barefoot back to the bathroom, returning seconds later to take his position on the far end of the couch - at some point, we had established ‘our’ seats, although I couldn’t pinpoint when. But his was on the left, mine was on the right. Everywhere. I shook myself out of my thoughts. “Food is ordered - hope saag paneer and double extra garlic naan is okay. I still can’t stomach the idea of meat at the moment.”

“Sounds perfect.” He leaned back in the couch. “So, what was so nuts about my idea that it beats…whatever movie we were going to watch?” 

“I didn’t say it was nuts, I said it was interesting,” I pointed out. “But to your point. Firstly, I am constantly caught off guard by how hopeful you can be for someone who is so pessimistic.  I don’t mean that as an insult, by the way.  But, secondly… I think it could work if - and only if - we think in the very long term.  Not scales of weeks, months, or years, but we’re talking generations.  Lifetimes.”

“A sunrise we’ll never see?” His tone was pensive. “Or in the sense that it will be an ongoing project whose endpoint will take several lifetimes beyond our own?” 

“In the sense that it may not even be the best idea if we live to see the sun finish setting,” I responded as gently as possible. “Studies show that sustainable, lasting change - good or bad - is done over time to gain momentum.”

“Which has the singular downside that I don’t know that’s time we have.” Nils said, thinking. “Behold the climate. There are places we can challenge capitalist control, and places we can replace it, fairly rapidly. We didn’t do it with debts, no, but we proved it could be done, that the system was weaker than people thought, and we got away clean. A lot of why rapid change is impossible to sustain is that the system is too load bearing, so our first play has to be to prove that we can take those loads away - which has the advantage of making us look like winners and making the powers-that-be look like conquerable fools. How many revolutions fail before they start simply because people don’t try? Because they think the system is invincible?”

I reached out and squeezed his thumb affectionately. “Hey, I agree. Keep in mind, I’m not beating the ‘Go Vote’ drum as the be-all-end-all, here.  We can definitely pull away those theoretically load bearing systems, one at a time, provided we are smart about what they are supposed to be propping up and how much we care if those loads crumble. Case in point, the debt heist we just did.”

The familiar, laughing-at-a-far-away-joke smile played about his lips as he looked at me, eyes focused entirely in the moment. “That’s why we’re partners. Never would have worked as well without you. I wouldn’t be trying this without you.” He reached out and gently squeezed my hand. “We can pick our targets carefully, but at some point we’re going to inspire copycats - and those people should have some means of finding us, so that we can guide them a bit, so they don’t fuck it up.” 

I shook my hair out, thinking.  Reaching back, I started twisting it, looking around and finding a pen to shove through it and keep it balanced. “We honestly aren’t all that sneaky, outside of the fact that we are very openly doing this under online personas that are very much hard to trace back to real people.  But I agree, we need something like a council - proxy real people who copy cats can reach out to when we are asleep or busy.  Like… Bishop, for sure. Weasel is out. Bryce may actually be a good option, though.”

Nils shook his head. “He wasn’t reliable to not steal from you and finish the job. He’ll roll over on us for any reward money in a heartbeat.” 

I pointed at him and winked. “Exactly. Bryce is motivated by money, pure, plain, and simple. We know what to watch out for, and we know how to hack him. Weasel… we can’t pay him in enough of his preferred currency to keep him from turning in half a breath. But Bryce?  Has a gambling addiction, a few hundred thousand in student loans, and parents who are always a hair away from cutting him off. If we can redirect some ill-gotten billionaire funds to keep him from getting killed by loan sharks, he’ll be loyal.”

“Point the first: We just torched a huge swathe of student debt, that was literally my original goal. Gambling addiction though, that’s interesting.” I thought about it. “My issue is that if the FBI offers enough he may take a bigger payday from them. Consider it for now, not a hard no. I like Bishop though. And we’re going to want someone to manage the psychopaths a little more directly, ideally someone who understands…frankly, weapons, tactics, and ideally isn’t a racist psychopath I have to string along with mind games.”

“We’re getting ahead of ourselves,” I suggested, just as the food arrived. “Am I safe to grab that, or should you?”

“I’ll get it.” He got up and headed down to go grab the food at the door. When he got back, he set the food down on the table and set out a plate in front of each of us. “Good call, this stuff smells amazing.”

I smiled. “Thank yew, thank yew. I could eat this every day, mass murder notwithstanding.” I started scooping rice and curry onto my plate before continuing. “So. Yes, we need a council, persons beyond Bishop to be determined. But we also need a figurehead.” With my fork, I pointed at my face vaguely. “Clearly not the person to visibly converse with racists, which are our primary market currently.” I started swirling the tines in his general direction. “However, you? Mr. Rich Boy Who Hates the Rich? Perfect.”

“We have to network with people who will look at my…everything…and know we’re bullshit, though. Ideally, we may want to have two different figureheads, for interacting with different crowds. You for our actual side of things, me for the rowdy and violent crowd? Bear in mind, we’re gonna need actual activists to set up the community shit to take advantage of whatever we do with our pawns.” 

“Activists don’t care what you look like,” I agreed before shoving a chunk of spinach covered cheese in my face and chewing thoughtfully. “But yeah, I can organize the actuals on the back end while you rally the minions in the front.   Right now, front work is going to be our focus.  Did the dead guys have life insurance? Families?”

“Based on chatter? One did. It came up alot.” His tone was unconcerned as he heaped his plate. “Are we thinking hitting life insurance next? For that matter, are we reaching out for a mutual edge? Get payouts for the victims of the fire and the widows and orphans of our retribution? An easy way to reunite “our” forces and get them refocused on the real enemy.” 

I waffled my hand while I chewed on naan. Swallowing I managed to get out, “Kind of both? Don’t get me wrong, if we just wiped out their mortgage and they still bombed the cafe? We can pro-rate that insurance, I know the math.  But also.” I started gesturing with my fork again. “Did you know that, in the absence of a clear beneficiary, most life insurance defaults to the state after three to ten years?  Waste of funds, plus the interest goes to the state, regardless. It’s gross.”

“That is uniquely disgusting,” he said, before shoving a large hunk of naam into his mouth. “Or, I’d say so if I hadn’t heard about. Other theft the state likes doing. But that’s directly addressable, right now.” 

I nodded enthusiastically. “So, you’re picking up what I’m putting down: unclaimed and excessive life insurance. Reroute that shit.”

“Sounds perfectly agreeable to me. To the poor, or to the recently widowed and orphaned of the country? I think both would be…pretty funny.” 

“Tired, poor, and huddled masses,” I toasted with a chunk of naan, rice, and curry. “Fuck the yearning, let’s make them free. Food banks, medical debts - until we can wipe those out - Hey.” I set my food down for a second. “Funnel the funds into a medical debt jubilee? Would that work better, or would another hack work better? We need an accountant or insurance adjuster on staff, I think.”  At this point, I was rambling, but in the groove and happy for once in the last several years.

“Second hack. We drop that kind of cash into the people who are real experts in making it matter the most, they’re legally required to find out who it comes from and how. We’re better off intercepting the shit they can’t buy yet.” Nils was grinning. “We can find an accountant though. Gotta be a way to start dumping money into this machine.” He blushed a bit. “I love seeing you smile again, Lash. For real, not just for cover.” 

I complied with a genuinely enthusiastic, sunny grin, spinach in teeth be damned. “I still think we need a risk-reward specialist on board,” I pointed out. “Keep in mind, we don’t need a licensed adjuster, just a trained one. Think of all the people who get educated in prison and can’t get employed. We can cultivate one, cherry pick.” At this point I was screaming high on endorphins and realized I sounded silly. “Or just… I dunno. Pay one who is willing to take the pay over the ethics. You might be right.”

“You didn’t even wait to hear my objections. I was going to say there’s no one trained for this, because we break that scale at both ends.” He was laughing too. “Then again as we get this council together, we’re probably going to run into that problem a lot if we go as far as we could.” 

I glanced around while I thought, and spotted a surprisingly dusty chess set.  Carefully, I brought it over to the table, set it down, scooted our food over, and sat on the floor. “So here,” I I picked up a king out of the box - it happened to be a white piece, but whatever, it was the first one I saw - “This is basically you.” I set it in place. “You think incredibly well in short term but you put your neck out without caring about the consequences, yes?”

He picked up the black king. “I don’t hate your analysis. But this is the side we’re playing. The system’s had at least one move on us a long time. We’re just moving back to react to the world we’re living in and trying to win anyway. Also, you know you’re setting me up as the piece we can’t win without - that the game ends if they manage to kill me.” He sounded oddly anxious about that concept.

I nodded and fished out the corresponding queen. “In theory, this is me - long term thinking, flexible, but not the figurehead. The movement doesn’t die with me.” Without waiting, I grabbed a bishop. “Obvious. But we need another, so I’m only putting one on the board right now.”  Fully committing to the metaphor, I fished all the pawns out of the box and placed them on the Black side. “These are your pawns. Appropriately, both useful, powerful, and sacrificial.”  To the side, I started setting the rest of the Black pieces. “Here’s what we don’t have.”

“An advisor, two specialists for atypical offense, and two builders to make whatever we want last. Okay.” He took a look. “Not king and queen of much of a court.” He glanced at me. “You were born to be a queen though, even if when we’re done there’s not going to be much in the way of monarchies.” 

I felt my face flush, and turned away so he wouldn’t see it.  Given how many times I had been subjected to similar pickup lines, I mentally scolded myself while I calmed down. Remember all the stupid lines about Nubian queens when you aren’t even from Africa, I asserted. And how many references to Cleopatra left you with a soggy date and an empty cup. “Capitalism, monarchies, whatever,” I managed to get out, “leaders need a council.  I assume you would object if I placed myself as King’s Rook - the one piece that can swap for the King in an assassination attempt in chess - so I accept being Queen. Fair?”

“We didn’t establish that I really bought the model that you’re more expendable than I am to the movement long-term.” He said, obviously thinking about something. “But if I can’t convince you of that, yes, you’re the queen.” 

I grabbed a bite of my now-cold paneer and nodded as I swallowed. “If it helps your conscience at all, these games rarely get far past the Queen being taken, unless you are playing against an absolute master or a total newb.”

He nodded. “Point.” He then proceeded, speaking in a voice somewhere between supervillain and flirting-teasing, with a grin that indicated he had an entirely new thing to tease me with, “So, ‘my queen,’ do you have a particular preference for the rest of our council that we should contact or discuss this evening?”

My face burning, I managed to keep facing him and steadily respond. “Bishop, first. Ask him for suggestions… Beyond him and Weasel, I don’t think we know a lot of the same folks.”  Surrendering, I dropped my forehead into my palm. “And please, for the love of everything, let me sleep on this big, fluffy, gorgeous couch tonight? I don’t want to even think of blaming anything that happens between us, non-professionally, as being due to trauma.”

He snorted. “I was going to be a gentleman and take the couch, let you have the bed, but if you insist on the couch, I’m not going to force you.” 

I started giggling, possibly out of tired delirium. “I flopped on the bed earlier,” I confessed. “It’s hard as a rock, so I will take the couch and suggest you get a softer bed.”

No stone left uncovered

Out by the light of the moon

Hell will be coming soon

Yeah hell will be coming soon

Toby Lightman, “Long, Hard Day”

Nils

The local chatter was more and more frantic about an FBI agent with a whole lot of warrants showing up. Fortunately a bunch of the men had already been signaled to destroy their hard drives and utilize intelligent VPNs to prevent detection - thank God I’d thought ahead. Still, it was a stalling tactic, because that level of organization would make her take the problem more seriously, not less, meaning we’d eventually have a bigger problem on our hands with the Feds. I was eventually going to need to give her a patsy of some kind, and ideally find a way of convincing her it tied up cleanly.

Weasel, maybe. 

No, for all that he was a pasty little bitch, I didn’t know that anyone would buy he was a…hm. Actually. Hang on, that was a thought. The key though, was that if he was alive when discovered he might roll over on me and Lash and that would be a problem. Dead, he couldn’t talk, and making sure he died first -  ideally by suicide so that it looked like he’d aced himself when the jig was up - would be a trick.  

Convincing her that there was in fact an angry incel who was furious that all the hot girls were going out with nonwhite guys because feminism had given them standards, or whatever, might do it, but that required that it be believable he’d orchestrated the attack - and maybe, maybe it was believable for him to have hacked the banks but not for him to have gotten other guys to go shoot the place. Unless he was using a fake….No, wait. I wasn’t going to let him be fake-me. Not even to get the fibbies off my trail. Instantly I saw another problem. If the Feds arrested anyone for this, there would be a percentage of the population I needed to win over that would see that person as the actual actor in the situation, meaning that I - or my more dramatic persona, Nihilus Rex - would lose credibility, which in turn killed my momentum. 

Fuck. 

I remembered, ruefully, when I thought any part of this would be simple. 

I finally stood up from my desk, glancing at the clock and realized that I’d been setting up proxy networks and trying to figure my way out of this for the better part of four hours. I glanced at my phone, realized Bishop had texted, and called him back. 

“Goddamnit, Creampuff, what’d I say about calling me?”

“Good morning to you too, Bishop.”

“It’s afternoon.”

“Good afternoon to you too, Bishop. What did you text me about?”

“Your psychopath.”

“Yeah, what about him?”

“Check what he did on the boards.”

“Oh…” Resigning myself to a truly miserable day, I hung up and looked at whatever the hell Gray had gotten up to, and found, to my surprise, that it actually wasn’t…that bad? Or well, it was bad but in a useful way instead of the kind of bad that I was going to have to fix. There were now indicators of radicalization happening somewhere else, flaring up, using terminology that didn’t mirror ours.

“Ruckus in the east, war in the west…” I muttered. Could have done it a bit differently, but if the FBI was going to look one way or another…might as well split up their focus. Now, to see what we could do about starting a few more fires, since the stochastic terrorism on a few other fronts was getting just a little too obnoxious for my tastes.  Or, at least a little too one-sided.

Westboro Baptist Church - famously homophobic, famously hateful to veterans and their families, famously hateful to gays, famously just awful. That was something to deal with - I put a pin in the idea of building a botnet for SWATTING a target. 

Then I left the room, still trying to think of what I’d do with the FBI agent. Honestly, the Weasel thing was probably the best solution, I just had to make sure I knew a way of foreshadowing it to the crowd - maybe by proxy, ensuring everyone knew or memetically believed, that Nihilus Rex wasn’t an incel, thus when someone was arrested with connections (even fabricated ones) to that network, no one who I needed to win over or maintain credibility with would believe it.

The issue of course was that doing THAT required, frankly, sexualizing my persona more than I wanted to and in ways that did not appeal to me. Even more precisely, it required some ability to publicly link that persona with sexual…

Goddamnit. 

Here I was trying to avoid going public before I was ready, but…wait. Another option was slithering its way through my mind already. A whole lot of people were already linking the “heroes of the hour” from as the potential badasses behind a whole lot more - but no one, definitely not the FBI, were considering that as anything more than rumor - and I was being excruciatingly careful to keep it that way, push the narrative that it was just a conspiracy in a way that made a lot of people convinced it was our cover story and would keep law enforcement away.

Meanwhile, we could…

Okay. Okay. Me and Lash could definitely afford to go out walking publicly, being obviously into each other, being visible, but maybe - crank up the obvious. Lean into some of the activist look. Make it less subtle what scenes we were playing in. Signal to those who were paying attention and slide under the radar for those who weren’t.

Then hand over Winston as a patsy and make sure he was dead by the time the FBI actually got him. That would work. 

I picked up the phone and dialed Lash.

“Hey. There’s supposedly a party on campus in a few days. How do you feel about going with me?”

“Depends,” she answered, slightly distracted. “LAN party, college party, rave…?”  Suddenly she whisper-shouted “Yes, it’s Nils. Yes, I’ll tell him you said hello. Yes, he’s eating.” A sound like a door closing abruptly clicked. “Mama says hello.”

“Your mom’s great.” I said, then paused. “It’s more of a college party than anything. And it’s a ‘work-opportunities' party. A ‘you-and-I-there-on-a-date-party,’  An ‘us being there publicly in this capacity is beneficial to our plans in ways we ought to discuss in person’ party.’”

“Sounds like a great idea.  Just let me know when so I can have Fatima come by while I’m gone.” 

“This Friday night. I only just got the invitation.” Please, love, get the hint that this idea just happened. 

“That’s plenty of time,” she laughed. “I was worried it was in, like, an hour.  Anyone I know going to be there?”

Yep, she got the message.  “A few of our classmates from Econ, a bunch from Polisci. A bunch of the college webshow people, at a guess, which means we’re gonna wind up on camera again, given our status as local celebrities.” Signal, signal. 

“I’ll be sure to have my face on, then.” She paused and hummed for a minute. “Sexy-demure, or straight up slutty? Probably demure, can’t look like I’m milking the spotlight.”

“Whatever makes you feel beautiful and powerful at the same time, Lash. We’re going for that look.” You know the one. 

“Gotcha. Those boots kill my feet, but god do they look good.  Gonna have to invest in something with flatter soles if you keep taking me out like this,” she teased.

“Fair enough. I’m excited for this. You’re gonna look amazing, whatever you’re in.” I said, grinning. I could imagine the smirk on her face as she talked. “Plus, we can go somewhere fun after, away from the cameras…”

Another click that sounded suspiciously like a door. “Don’t tempt me to wear a skirt with those boots.  I know you’re going for a certain look, and there is nowhere near as much leather in my wardrobe as there is in yours.  I will torture you all night if you keep it up.”

“That is very much the goal, and depending on what kind of torture you mean, I might be open to experiments…” 

There was that laugh I loved hearing. “Let’s start with being obviously a couple, and work our way up to exhibitionism, okay?”

I blinked, wondering where my kinky implication had been misread. “That was not in fact…” Gift horses, Nils. “Never mind, you know what? Working our way up is totally good with me.” 

“What time Friday?” she asked, pulling me back to the actual topic at hand.

“Starts at 8. The humanities building, apparently, though it’s likely to spill into the plaza.” I said, confidently. “Plenty of room.” 

“Oooo, on campus.  Super visible and public, you weren’t kidding.”

“Eyeah. We’re going public together.” With all that entails. “At the very least, I’m sure Weasel won’t be there.” 

I could practically hear her shudder at that.  “Gods, I hope not.”

“Oh, I think we can mellow on him just a little. We’ve finally found a use.” There was that little edge of amusement in my voice that indicated I was planning something. 

“Sure….” She sounded suspicious, but it was somewhat understandable. It wasn’t like I had told her what I was planning, although I was pretty sure she would be on board.  She’d practically suggested something similar previously, after all.

“How’s your dad doing?” I said, changing the topic. Better to leave the plans for later. 

“Surprisingly cooperative.  I think the one time he pushed himself too hard with the temporary prosthetic, he learned his lesson.  He won’t be waltzing anytime soon, but I don’t think I ever saw him dance before, so….”

“Fair enough. And your mom? I should be coming over more often to visit and check in, I suppose.” 

“For the love of all that you hold dear, don’t do that.  They barely let Fatima take care of them, and that’s only because the girls distract them.  If you came by, they would insist on being good hosts, and Mama is still not up to standing for the amount of time it takes to cook.  Baba goes back to work soon, so he’ll probably be easier to deal with after that. They’re both just so bored.”

“Gotcha. Would they be more okay with it if I came over with food and then just sat and talked with them? I’d be open to doing that. Or if we both just sat and talked with them?” 

“Maybe,” she confessed hesitantly. “But you would have to be very insistent that they let me get drinks, plates, all that.  It’s okay to scold me into doing it, I know you don’t mean it and it will make them more likely to listen so I don’t quote ‘anger you’ end quote.”

“Okay nope.” I said, feeling a flash of exasperation. “Yeah, okay, Lash. At some point we’re gonna talk about the gendered courtship expectations within your culture and the willingness I have to play along with them, because doing anything to avoid ‘angering me’ or scolding you into doing domestic stuff isn’t really my thing -”

“Calm down,” she interrupted, laughing. “I mean ‘anger you’ as in ‘dumping me or maybe we have a disagreement’.  Nothing more than that.  It will literally just guilt trip them into actually just sitting and visiting.  I didn’t mean anything beyond that.  And I only suggested it because do you know where the glasses are in my apartment? The plates?”

“Oh.” I felt stupid. “Ah. Okay yeah that makes more sense.” Not that the pressure to marry on her, and the weird approval process I’d undergone hadn’t given me ample reason to suspect that gender roles were at least a little bit cracked there, but now was not the time. When we ruled the world though, we were going to abolish courtship by democracy.

“How does Sunday sound? Go to the party Friday night, recovery Saturday, and then you can stop by with dinner on Sunday?”

“Sounds amazing.” Gave me plenty of time to start laying groundwork, then on Saturday, I’d start getting shit actually rolling. Then Sunday, spend the day with my gorgeous girlfriend and her family, mop up the next week. 

“Awesome. Meet you on campus Friday, 7:30ish so we can scope out everything before it kicks off?”

“Sounds perfect. Love you.”

Rubbing the sleep out of my eyes, I stifled a groan at the stiffness in my shoulder as I scooted to the edge of Nils’ bed.  Fingers clumsily fumbled down my back, forcing me to stand up before he tried to yank me back down in his sleep.  I grabbed the first shirt that I found on the floor and padded out into the living room, opening my laptop to scratch the itch in my brain that was keeping me awake - we knew one person who was looking for us, time to find the other.

Ever since the interview with Agent Watson - and ever since I had royally screwed up - I had been trying to track down the person who was working to seduce Nils’ minions away for their own nefarious purposes.  For the past four days, I had been practically living off antacids to keep from vomiting at the amount of absolute trash that filled the message boards these people frequented, but something told me I was getting close.  I just didn’t know what.

There was no telling how much time had passed when I felt a chunk of my hair being lifted and played with - at some point it had started raining again, so for all I knew the sun had been up for hours. “How are you not cold?” Nils yawned while twisting the lock between his fingers.

“Fat deposits,” I muttered. “Besides, your bed is rock hard, so cold and soft wins.”  Drumming my nails on the screen, I finally turned toward him only to be momentarily distracted by his bare chest.  I blinked rapidly to get my brain back on track. “They’re here.  I know it.  I found them in two other boards, under different names, but I know it has to be them.”

Nils continued playing with my hair, slowly braiding it. “How do you know it’s them, Elakshi?” His voice was probing, but there was an odd cheer to it. “You’ve made progress?” 

I nodded, changing tabs. “Right now, this one in particular.” Highlighting one user, than another, I pointed to the names. “VassilisaAura and CasparsNERVE. They’re arguing, but look at the way they talk… They’re either very good friends in real life, or the same person.”

He gave an interested grunt.. “Same style of pseudonym…that’s interesting. Certainly I’ve run that trick when I want to get people talking about the same thing, regardless of where they go with it, so I can steer them with account number 3. So…we seeing anyone else who is steering them? Ideally with the same name?” 

“Even better,” I confirmed, switching tabs again. “EcoDekorashion. There’s some sub-tagging, but it’s like whoever this is decided to pick AI names from whatever anime they had on the shelf.  I’m not even going to start on their taste, honestly.” I tapped my chin before digging his hand out of my hair so I wouldn’t be distracted. “Then again, these are so obscure that they honestly don’t clock unless you know what you’re looking at.”

“Which we do, because we’re nerds. So, next step. How do we know this is our guy?” 

“We’ll have to trace the accounts, which is going to be a righteous pain in the ass,” I yawned. “But I know it has to be the right person… All three accounts I’ve found aren’t arguing if we are right or wrong, they’re arguing over why it could have been done better.” Tipping my head over, I dropped it onto his shoulder before looking up at him. “And, just so you’re aware, there is a not-insignificant amount of mockery over the names of your factions, mister clever.”

Nils gave a light smirk. “I’d love to say I gave a shit, but it was clearly clever enough. I don’t have to be a genius, just smarter than the mark. And as long as he’s not fucking that up, rather than…” 

He looked at it, where it was obvious that the three accounts were pushing the idea that whoever was doing it was making up names for real stuff because he thought people were too stupid to understand codenames. One of them was arguing that Nothing had made the whole thing up, and getting shouted down by idiots - Nils pointed out that one was also arguing that Q was bullshit to begin with and that the new guy was clearly just digging deeper - and the third one was simply mocking the names of these “pretentious assholes” who thought the world was their playground. 

All in all, I had to admit it was pretty clever, given the crowd we were playing. Mock while drawing attention to power that these idiots claimed. Make denial unpopular. Make it okay to believe in it while mocking it because everyone on these boards was irony-poisoned half to death. That was perfect - almost exactly what we needed. “This person doesn’t want to deescalate. They either want to usurp us…or want in.” I gave Nils a sleepy grin. “So, let’s bring them in.”  He looked like he was going to argue, so I sat up and clicked over to one of the dozen or so tabs I had going. “Here.  VassilisaAura again, basically calling out whoever hit the banks and called for the people behind the fire to be taken care of.  Claiming that, if we meant it, we would be recruiting, not dividing.  And, right on schedule, EcoDekorashion pointing out that, as pretentious as we sound, more people benefitted from our ‘sloppy’ work than from just sitting around and bitching.”

Nils rubbed my shoulders. “Alright. You were right, babe. This is a good idea. We’ll get him on our side.” He took a step. “So, do we want to trace him and get a meeting?”

“Hmmm.” I considered it. “This is more your court than mine.  Would it be better to track them down and set up something, or to give them a challenge to find us?”

His eyebrows raised. “Depends on how serious he is. My issue is that if we dangle ‘find me’ in front of them and piss them off, we’re looking at a person fluent on a board famous for hosting dox who will have found out where we are. If they can meet the challenge. Plus, seeking them out for a meeting indicates we know what’s happening and we’re able to probe - but he’s strong enough to attract our attention. Issuing a challenge means we aren’t worried - but also puts power in his hands if he can meet it, and that he doesn’t get that power if we ping him through enough proxies. And that’s assuming he can find us, because if he can’t he may just fuck off and then we lose the option. Which matters more here, real power or perceived power?” He clearly had an opinion on it. “I’d edge towards perceived power since we’re trying to prove that the government isn’t as strong as they say, and we need to let them think we’re stronger than we actually are to do that. But we are at risk if someone pushes and we actually can’t shove them back.” 

I was hesitant, but made the decision to trust his judgment. “Like I said, your court, so it’s your call.  Do we want to set up contingencies if this person is halfway across the country? Like, a neutral ground situation?  Because I know, I know you aren’t about to ask me to fly out to some other state to meet someone face to face while we’re under FBI scrutiny.”

“No, I was talking about an end-to-end encrypted Usenet Chatroom that we scrub the minute we’re done with it, actually. Horrible system, lots of absolutely awful shit gets moved across the bones of the original internet. But it is amazing for privacy.” He sounded distracted. “No, I think perceived power is better, but there’s practical reasons as well. If we reach out to him as a response to what he’s already said, and he’s a mole, we’re fucked. If we say ‘come find us’ then that’s much easier to fake like he made a mistake, or claim we were trolling online if caught. Challenge is better. So…let’s give him a challenge.” 

At this point my brain was spinning trying to trace what had just spewed forth from Nils’ mouth.  Challenge was dangerous, but perceived power was advantageous, no challenge, yes challenge… “So, yes challenge,” I finally worked out, feeling on more firm ground. “How does ‘could be mistaken for viral marketing in the wrong hands’ sound? I can definitely whip up some images with links and shit contrasted into them, some flash cartoons with binary or hex glitches, that kind of stuff.”

“That’s brilliant. I’ll frame it, you make the links and shit? We stick in some code and dog-whistles that these idiots will recognize that most people won’t and we draw smart boy to come to us?” He was sounding more coherent now. 

“Double order of dog-whistles with cheese, coming up,” I agreed, yawning again, this time hard enough to pop my jaw. “What time is it, anyway?”

“Uh…” He glanced at the clock. “10. We slept in.” 

I craned my neck around to scowl at him. “We who? You and the mouse in your pocket?  I’ve been awake for hours, at least.”

“Mattress shopping so you can sleep better at my apartment? Is that where we’re going next?” 

“Orrr,” I teased, “we can just sleep on your couch when I stay the night?”

“Or, and hear me out, we get a mattress my amazing girlfriend doesn’t hate. So that she wants to come over more often.” 

My nerves spiked outrageously, and I fought not to show it. “That sounds like a pretty major step.  I don’t even have a toothbrush over here.”

“Yes, my bathroom and its famous black hole that makes toothbrushes of yours just. Vanish.” He said, quietly. “Lash, it’s okay if you aren’t comfortable coming over here more often but I still want to get a bed that’s comfortable for you when you do.” 

I started squirming when he called me out. “I like being over here, especially with Mori and the kids staying in the apartment while my parents are still in the hospital.  But you bought that bed - which, I’m not stupid, was a few grand easy - because it’s what you prefer, and you live here.”  I fidgeted with the hem of my shirt before looking back up. “Can we compromise on a mattress topper for half of it?”

“We can get a mattress topper with a lot of memory foam or something to make it more comfy for you. Does that work?” 

I nodded, biting my lip to hide my residual anxiety. “And I’ll figure out what’s causing the black hole and stop the vanishing toothbrushes.” And we are totally going to pretend I haven’t been throwing them away. “With that decided… do we have time for me to take a nap before our regularly scheduled shenanigans, or am I running on coffee and the promise of an early night?”

“Class starts in half an hour, so coffee, unfortunately. Not even that if you don’t get dressed.”

When you're high, who ya flyin for?

When you ride, who ya ridin for?

When you toast, who ya drinkin for?

When you play, gotta deal with the devil.

Pop Evil "Deal with the Devil"

Nils

The date with my parents and Lash had gone without a hitch - hopefully the ladies’ day would be good for Lash and my mom. And Mrs. Botelho. 

In the meantime, Bishop, me, Lash, and Dickie Gray - Richard, I supposed - were meeting up to talk about our next big plan, which also had to include some kind of provision to rid ourselves of the attention of that obnoxious Fibbie who was still crawling around town. We had our minions posting about her movements to keep from getting caught flat-footed, but I still wanted her out of my city as quickly as possible.

Heh, ‘my’ city. I sounded like a mob boss.

“Bishop, you have the proxies set up to call the human-hunting enthusiast?”

“Yeah. Creampuff, Baklava, we’re gonna talk about your choice of lieutenants.”

“Yes, but later. Get the fucker on.” 

The screen came to life, and that same, deeply unpleasant icon popped up. “Nihilus, Phoenix. You wanted a meeting?”

“We have FBI in town. Our next mission is going to be to deal with some eviction notices getting served - and to take care of some banking properties while we’re at it. You already called our bluff on the QAnon bullshit, so real talk - none of us here want the government or big corporations owning all the houses or all the medicine. So we’re breaking that up a bit. But we want something to draw off the FBI while we do it. We have to do something beneficial enough to build support and flashy enough to draw attention off our core command structure.”

“Is there a reason we’re going with social engineering?”

“The reason the right always loses populist games in the long term is that they don’t invest in helping people with their actual problems.” 

The icon with the skull and dagger flashed. “Heh. Point. Benefits for loyalty. Can’t last forever.”

“He who comes to a principality against the wishes of both its nobility and its people should endear himself first to the people for they, who hope most not to be oppressed, shall bind themselves to their benefactor upon receiving generosity where they feared evil, where the nobles, seeking to oppress, can be dealt with as open foes, replaced with pliable fools in austerity and bribed to compliance in prosperity.” I quoted. “If I choose who to satisfy, I choose the average person. It means I have to kill fewer enemies in the long run. If the politicians could just figure that out, we’d have a lot fewer issues.” 

Lash blinked. “Machievelli isn’t normally the person one quotes if they are making a moral argument.”

“And yet the argument I just made would lead to more moral governance if its tenants were followed than anything our current government is doing.” 

“Still… Machievelli?” she muttered.

Bishop glowered and I abruptly realized he’d muted all our mics for us. “Children. Maybe don’t argue with each other and therefore imply internal division when your psychopath lieutenant with the survival of the fittest mentality is in the room?”

“Right.” I unmuted. 

“I think I’m satisfied with your logic. Do whatever flashy bullshit you want to get the fibbies attention, and whatever civic crap you want to get the normies on board.” Gray sounded unimpressed. 

I thought about it. “Right now, what are they saying on the boards you’re frequenting?”

“A lot of them are still on board with their local churches that keep raving about the current dumbfuck-in-office being anointed by god, or about dealing with those goddamn degenerates that have been making all the kids squall about pronouns lately.” His tone made it clear his own opinion on the queer community’s existence itself was likely indifferent at best, but that in his mind their true sin was not deviance but whining. He struck me as a person who would more easily respect an armed queer than an unarmed cishet, and ultimately I could follow the logic, uncomfortable though it was.

“So, as long as the gays pay taxes?” I quipped.

“Long as they don’t ask me to take care of them.” He muttered. “I don’t give a fuck what people get up to as long as they don’t need taking care of once they’re grown.” 

I filed that away for later - I was getting a fuller picture of his worldview the longer this went and I was increasingly certain we were gonna need to put him down. “Where were you going though?”

“Lot of people in the far right are gonna be a little bound up with the government because a lot of their churches have a little love affair with their modern day King Cyrus, Emperor Constantine, whatever analogy they’re using this week.” 

I sputtered. Christians were not being persecuted in the US, and…Stupid, stupid. Okay, something to work on. “Got it. I’ll have to work on that. Thanks for the tip.”

I glanced at Lash. “I… I honestly cannot figure out anything to say to him for this current operation that wouldn’t derail it,” she shrugged, biting her lip in apology. “I don’t agree with it, but his logic is sound enough that arguing may actually tip him against us.” Even as she said it, she looked queasy.

I glanced at him. “Alright then. This meeting is done. Keep our people that you’re supervising out of anything until I contact you again.”  The meaning of those words was clear - they were still my minions, not his. The call terminated.

Churches were keeping people locked in line with the state, as churches historically tended to. Okay, so our next job was going to be to fracture…Many megachurches had a lot of people who open carried, right? Our gun nut guy might be able to tell me, and I could double check later, but that had been in the news lately. I could check which ones…

“Lash. If these hateful megachurches that love SWATing gay clubs - the ones who just love. Love. Showing off their second amendment rights in church. Who have, for years, been fed a steady diet of ‘the government is coming for your children’ and 'the government are coming for Christians’. What if, and hear me out. What if they get SWATed back? What if we get a firefight between them and the cops going? Get a wedge between the right and law enforcement, leave the state without non state actors? Re-create the Night of the Long Knives via false flag?

In a gesture I had long learned was her method for buying time, she took a long, deep drink of water before speaking. “I don’t understand guns in a place of worship, I’m going to be honest. It… it baffles me, I guess? But then I see shootings on the news, and wonder ‘why do you think guns are the answer?’.  So, logically - “ She took another long drink of water before gasping for breath. “I guess I think it isn’t logical to have guns in a temple, and the police should know about that.  Provided,” she hedged, “that they know there are children present and, if they need to fire, it’s at grown up height.” She held her hand level with her eyes, a hair around five foot.

I was already thinking. "If we call SWAT, they're going to go in with weapons at shoulder height." Of course, once they were fired on, anything could happen. If kids were hit, that'd be more reason for the churchgoers to fire on cops in the future, the ‘jackbooted thugs shooting Christian kids’ narrative was something we could get a lot of mileage out of…

“Baklava is a pacifist, in case you haven’t figure that out,” Bishop grunted.

I laughed, while Lash huffed. “I just hate hearing people use ‘survival of the fittest’ when they mean ‘might makes right’.”

“No she bloody well isn’t,” I said to Bishop, idly, then shifted my gaze to my girlfriend. “No, I get that, though I can’t really argue that nature miserably echoes capitalism in that survival favors those who outcompete - or at least adapt. We both want a gentler world than the rules of nature - either the bloody ‘eat or be eaten’ he imagines or the ‘thrive and adapt or die’ that Darwin actually suggests.” 

Bishop looked between us and finally threw up his hands. “Okay, I’ll bite. You’re saying the same thing and rephrasing it, like it means something different. But ‘survival of the fittest’ is pretty clear.”

“Oh my god,” Lash groaned. “It’s the least clear thing in the world, apparently.  You, chucklefuck on the phone, and most of Nils’ pet racists all think it means ‘survival of the toughest and best equipped to fight’, when that’s the last thing it means. ‘Survival of the fittest’ means literally that: ‘to those who adapt and fit in with the least effort go the spoils of evolution’.  Why do you think mice are so common?  They aren’t exactly out there whipping ass and taking names… but they are definitely having more babies and more live to a reproductive age than larger predators, that’s for sure.”

“Which,” I added, “Is also why invasive species are so dangerous. They’re usually better able to adapt really well to a variety of environments and take over niches that more specialized species rely on, which leaves a lot of things on the chopping block. I am not totally sure I trust the idea of ‘natural selection’ as it actually applies for morals either. In natural selection, you have a plague, and then everything that can’t survive it dies, and either you have enough left for a stable population or you go extinct. I’d hope we can be better than that as well.”

“Don’t even get me started on anti-Semitism as a result of the bubonic plague,” Lash muttered, covering her face with both hands and shaking her head. She peeked at me. “I know you’re the historian, but you don’t go into clean water initiatives and miss that little gem.”

“You don’t study history without noticing that any bad thing in the middle ages, they somehow managed to blame on the Jews. Except for one part in the early 11th century in Northern Germany of all places, where they blamed it on pagans in the Black Forest. And even then, they roped in the Jews and threw in a pogrom on the side.” 

“Circling back to our current surprisingly less racist than most of our minions issue…” Bishop cleared his throat. “Do we - or better yet, the two of you - trust him?”

“I want to point out he’s absolutely not less racist than most of our minions, and he might actually be worse, it’s just in a very specific and far more flexible and less dogmatic way. He’s an accelerationist fash.” I said, irritable. “Put this way: to him, white people being more militarily advanced and able to conquer everything was proof that we’re ‘better’. Same time, to him, the idea of ‘white genocide’ is laughable. Most white supremacists are deep-down terrified of having to compete on equal footing with people of color because they wonder on some level if they’re actually better or if the global majority has been artificially kept in second rank the whole time, so they rely on cops. This psycho thinks that police protection is making white people weak and decadent and wants an outright race war to get people sharpened back up. So no, I don’t trust him, I want to put him down as fast as possible.” 

“Which, in English,” Lash interjected, “means that while most racists think they shouldn’t have to do as much as they are doing now, Gray thinks they aren’t doing enough. So yeah, I don’t trust him as far as I can throw this mall.”

Bishop looked between us. “And…you’re working with him? You just said he’s not as bad as the average lunatic you’re dealing with but almost an order of magnitude worse. And you’re working with him.” 

“Yep. Which is the other thing: any idea of how we dispose of him when he outlives his utility?” 

Lash gave me a dangerous look, looking at Bishop in silence before looking back at me. “You two really haven’t figured that part out? It’s pretty obvious.”

“I thought about the police route, if that’s what you’re thinking. Set him up as our next patsy. There’s no way he doesn’t roll over on us if we play that route, unless we go way out of our way to ensure he isn’t taken alive, which…he may be harder to play that on than most of them. And we’d want to let him cook for a while before we let the ax fall on him.” 

“Suicide by cop, you got it in one,” she fired at me. “Bishop, the main reason I’m willing to work with this guy - and probably the same for Nils, at least a bit - is that he doesn’t want cops involved, at all.  Which is something we don’t want either.  So, take a racist who hates cops, let him poison the whole batch to the same line of thought, and then we just… wind him up a bit at a time.  Eventually, we might be able to make him take care of himself for us, as a martyr rather than an enemy.”

“And if you don’t, your minions Order 66 you during your moment of triumph.” 

“Given the number of gun permits the guy has…. I’m betting on blaze of glory,” Lash admitted. “No one who distrusts cops owns that many weapons without being willing to use them.”

I thought about it. “The risk is setting him up at the right time and giving him time to marinate in our brand of chaotic shit. Too early and he dies before he’s gotten his minions fully trained and drilled, which is what we want him for. Too late and his martyrdom creates a spinoff force that isn’t under our control. Timing is going to be key.” I couldn’t deny Lash’s argument though - Gray was probably capable of giving a 30 minute lecture, on demand, about how the 2nd Amendment was the most important one in protecting us from government overreach. 

Bishop took a breath. “Alright. So. Speaking of using him. You told him to wind up his minions in the megachurches to be worried about the deep state. Did you have a particular target in mind for the SWATing?”

I froze. “I had a few, some pastors who keep making news, ones I…figured ought to get some pain before things were out.” 

Lash didn’t even seem to hesitate, which I hope made Bishop rethink his comment about her pacifism. “That crazy one down in Florida, the one that protests the funerals of veterans.  Most gun lovers are either vets, vet-adjacent, or wannabes, right? Low fruit, easy pickings.”

“I was skewing towards that guy in Tennessee who keeps making news for really uniquely fucked up takes about what should be done with queer people, since there’s a lot of wannabe vets and gun nuts afraid of the ‘deep state brainwashing their kids’ in that congregation. No harm in going with both.” 

Bishop blinked and stroked his beard. “You two have some grudges, I see.  Love the readiness, though.” He pointed at Lash directly. “I did expect you to at least need to think about it, love.”

She shrugged. “Being pragmatic and being a pacifist aren’t the same thing, Bishop.  And what is it, the needs of the many outweigh the needs of the few?  Fewer hateful adults, fewer fearful kids.”

I was busy staring, open mouthed, at Lash, and feeling incredibly happy she and I were together. 

He rubbed his temples. “You two are…I can’t say if you’re bad for each other or good for each other. Ever since you’ve gotten together, both of you have been more focused, more disciplined, come up with better ideas. But you’ve been more ruthless, Nils has been more self-destructive, and I don’t know where it’s going. I suspect I want to be there to see.” 

“Nils is eating three meals a day,” Lash pointed out. “And 85% of my parents are barely out of the hospital… last time we relaxed, Baba lost a leg and Mama lost the lobe of one lung.  You know how I feel about my family.”

“Yeah, I do.” Bishop took a breath. “Sorry.” He walked towards me and then whispered, “And you? You’re eating, but the medication…”

“It’s under control.” I said, quietly.  I actually hadn’t double-dosed on my adderall in weeks. “Honestly better than it’s been in years.”

Bishop made a ‘hm’ sound. “My apologies. Maybe I was just rattled.” He looked like he wanted to say more, and then simply said, “I’m going to grab us some coffees.”

I turned to Lash. “What do you think that was about?” 

“All I’m going to say is, I didn’t know he thought I was a pacifist.”

“Easy mistake to make, in this business: you place a high value on human life.” I squeezed her hand. “Bishop just makes the really common mistake of conflating kindness and mercy for weakness.”