The banking system was just a sophisticated system of slavery, that was marketed so well, that everyone was fighting to the death to become the noble alpha slave

 

This systematic dismantling of the society had to be part of some greater plan. Once you saw it, it was impossible to unsee it. The evidence was everywhere.
*
The banking system was just a sophisticated system of slavery, that was marketed so well, that everyone was fighting to the death to become the noble alpha slave.

It was so obvious to Ethan now. He sometimes wondered if the system had been subverted at some point in the past, or if it had always been a lie, but it didn't really matter. What mattered now was that he knew he was being exploited by people who had not earned and did not deserve, their positions; positions that were held together by imaginary frameworks. These were intangible structures that consisted of self-appointed royal bloodlines, oligarchs, and banking dynasties. Nearly every decision these sociopaths made was to secure their position of power within the architecture they had created, and eliminate any possibility of competition.

They were the divine few; always justified in their choices, no matter what the cost to people like him. It was people like him that the ruling class had been working diligently against for decades, if not longer; working to strip away any remaining residual power that might threaten their legacy. When these autocrats weren't developing new ways to devour their own countrymen, they were sending hundreds of thousands of these ignorant wretches, sometimes even millions, to their deaths.

Countless nobodies had died in wars so that the elites might enrich themselves or secure their legacy.

Nobody ever called them murderers, no matter how high the bodies were stacked. Countless men, still under the spell of the American delusion, had lined up for the slaughter generation, after generation. All of them vying for the chance to have their name carved into a war memorial. This was the closest a piñata could ever come to immortality or having a legacy. It was a bitter pill to swallow, but Ethan finally understood the truth. The truth that might have saved the lives of these men with engraved names had they experienced the same awakening.
*

Ethan was appalled that this tiny minority had managed to amass so much control over the rest of the species. That they had fooled so many into believing that murder, sanctioned by them, was no longer murder. That it only became murder, when it wasn't explicitly in the interests of their bloodlines. What made their interests so damn righteous, other than their place in the hierarchy?

"Nothing," he had decided. Rejecting their authority and their claim to their positions in this imaginary institution had been easy. He had never ceded power to them. He had never agreed to be their servant. He never consented to the murders they committed in his name. He rejected utterly the premise that when they kill, it is noble and good, but for him, and people like him, it was forbidden. He would not submit to this system. This system that was intangible, and existed only in the abstract, and only in the minds of those who did submit and obey.
*

Over, and over, and over, again, the ruling class had sent their agents into countries they wished to have under their rule. Every culture, every government, every population, all reacting precisely the same in reaction to taxpayer-funded methods developed by America's intelligence agencies. Starting civil wars, and toppling governments. Installing puppet-regime, after puppet-regime, so they could pillage the monetary systems of entire continents, and steal their natural resources. Expand their globalist corporations into new markets, and build a Starbucks on every corner.
*
It had been a similar process when he had first realized the extent of the lies that had been told to him. When the truths he had taken for granted were revealed as deception, with intent and design, he had felt a righteous indignation that evolved into to anger, then into despair.

How was it that such a small group of people could deceive the rest of humanity with ease? It wasn’t just the ease at which they had constructed the false reality or even the ease at which the public at large had accepted it. It was the complete lack of decency that these perpetrators of lies were demonstrating that astounded him. It was an inversion of nature. How long had the world been systematically rewarding and enabling its most depraved inhabitants?
*
Jacob was sitting at a large conference table on the sixty-third floor of the Silverman and Malone building, next to his mentor, and the owner of the Manhattan high rise, Eli Silverman. Jacob had worked for Silverman for over twenty-five years and had great respect for the man that had tripled the size of his empire over the last few decades. He had done it by being ruthless with his competition and having incredible instincts. Although, to be perfectly fair, many of his investments, which included everything from commodities to world leaders that had seemed to have been made by a man that could see the future, had in reality been the work of a man who dictated the future.

More precisely, Eli was allowed , b y families that really dictated the future, to manage the Americans. That said, they had been pleased with his efficiency and rewarded him with a large measure of autonomy when it came to operations in this part of the hemisphere. Jacob had learned at an early age how the world really worked, and right now it worked how ever Eli told it to work.
Or, at least, it had.
*
The internet had made many of their tried, and true, social engineering tactics ineffective. They owned Silicon Valley, just as surely as they owned Washington, but they’d been unable to wrangle and adequately suppress the free flow of information. Certainly, they had ways of suppressing the undesirable voices, but these undesirables were getting clever, and the old institutional media had been utterly incompetent. The people were playing outside of the sandbox, like unruly children trampling all over his delicate garden. The narrative had split into unmanageable fragments. People like this Wayne Thomas were beginning to have more influence than the approved thought leaders.

People like this Wayne Thomas had told the people to vote for the other candidate, and the people had listened.

They had overplayed their hand. They had been overconfident, and now their soft underbelly was exposed. They had to pacify the people and buy some time, so they could regroup, and then define a new monster to frighten the children back into their parent’s arms. Then, they must punish the children.
*

The story was about the murder of a former colleague of his. Randy Bishop. Randy had been fired from the campaign when he had been caught with child porn on his computer. Of course, they didn’t fire him for having kiddy porn. They fired him for being stupid and getting caught with kiddy porn. That had taken up the news cycle with accusations of pedophilia for about forty-eight hours, until his friends in the media could shut it down.

That was one subject that, at least for now, still outraged the cattle, but they would accept that too, eventually. As for now, if the cattle really knew what went on at the parties that Brad and these media people went to, they would have strung them all up, and hung them all from the Ellington Bridge.
*
The public had always watched the political theater and imagined what they saw was real. The gullible voting public believed the fiction that there was a never-ending battle raging between The Left and The Right. Indeed, there were power struggles within the establishment, but they were two sides of the same coin. One of the sides of the coin was always going to be on top, at any given moment, but to destroy one side, was to destroy the coin.
*

Devon Stack

The Day of the Rope