Little Boots

“Little Boots”




“’Truth’ is to be understood as a system of ordered procedures for the production, regulation, distribution, circulation and operation of statements.
‘Truth’ is linked in a circular relation with systems of power which produce and sustain it, and to effects of power which it induces and which extend it. A ‘regime’ of truth.”

Michel Foucault: Truth and Power



I: Product Line

The monotonous sound of the machines scraped through the huge factory, rebounding off its epic walls and high-rise ceiling and lodging itself directly in each of the workers’ ears. They sat there, hunched against their tables with sewing machines on top, producing the next wave of shoes. Day after day after day, the ritual was repeated, constantly, with little breaks in between for lunch and rest. Every single one of them detested their jobs due to the low pay and the little rest. They didn’t have much of a choice, however, because the alternative would involve agriculture, and they weren’t too fond of that either.
Amongst these weary workers sat Juan. In the factory, he was just another convex shape. Outside, ambition gripped him. He was tall, young, fresh-faced, withdrawn yet slightly naïve. He yearned for knowledge of anything outside those terrible walls, those suffocating and suppressing structures that choked and restrained him.

Pacing up to the large factory, Juan was lost in thought. He was tired and cumbersome: he hadn’t got enough sleep as usual. He worked his way toward the sewing machines, getting ready to begin his daily routine. A light tap on the shoulder and a nod to follow broke him out of his trance, and he immediately stood up and obediently followed his superior. Swerving amongst the arriving workers, he snaked his way towards a section of the factory, restricted and closed-off to the workers for the majority of the year. Upon entering the room, he noticed that the room smelled of paint. Upon further inspection, he noticed that it was crystal-clean and not a smudge of mud was visible, which was a very stark contrast to the rest of the factory.

“You work well with the sewing machines, Juan.”
“Thank you.”
“You may be wondering why I brought you here. It is almost December, Juan, and summer is almost here. Do you know what comes with summer?”
“No.”
“Sales, Juan, Sales. People want shoes. They need shoes. They also need to be reassured.”
“Reassured? About what?”
“Nothing of your concern. But in a short time, a camera crew is due to arrive from Australia. You will work on these brand new sewing machines. However, this time, I don’t want you to stress too hard. In fact, smile as often as you can. Make sure happiness is reflected in your face. Try to purvey a sense of comradeship amongst the other workers,” he said, pointing at the few dozen workers who stood idly by, “and your superiors. Am I understood?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Good. Ah, and here they are. Good luck.”
At this point, the double doors opened to reveal a camera crew of about twelve. They burst in with an air of arrogance, and all eyes immediately focused on them. The eyes then shifted to the assortment of equipment which was hoisted up on top of a trolley, which was being dragged by a couple of its members. They crew was wearing blue coveralls, white shirts and white shoes which had something that Juan couldn’t quite make out stitched on them. The shoes were certainly eye catching, as were their clothes and hairstyles. They seemed to be almost bewildered at their surroundings, and coming up to the centre of the room, they all seemed to get their confidence back. After a chuckle, one of the crewmembers turned on the microphone and some speakers, and pronounced an order.
“Okay, please follow these instructions. My colleagues and myself will set up three desks. I want each and every single one of you to come up to one of these desks. Please spread evenly”
Juan went up to the first desk, where he was observed for a second or two. Suddenly, he was jabbed with an airbrush, and had dabs of make up put on him, and his hair was tidied up. After a few seconds, they finished up and Juan was pushed out of the way by another curious worker.
When everybody was finished and looking better than anything that they’ve ever looked before in their life, the camera crew erected the camera and told everybody to go to work. Juan remembered the smile and happy face and went to work, periodically emitting a toothy smile and looking around the room. After about half an hour or so of easy labour, it was decided that enough footage was recorded. Much to the disappointment of Juan, the crew unceremoniously packed everything up and left. His superior told him to go back to his workstation.

* * *

At last, the shift was over and Juan could go and ponder over the day’s proceedings. There was a bar near where he lived, which was a favourite of his, and he mindlessly made his way there.

* * *

A few hours flew by, and Juan stumbled out of the bar, intoxicated with alcohol and thoughts. The lights were dim, and the starless sky was seemingly being reflected in the cold, barren boulevard. Turning towards his home he started walking, yet stopped, and turned around. A few metres away from where he stood, a figure dressed in blue with white sneakers rested itself against a grimy wall of the bar. His face was covered by shadows, but Juan knew who he was. Juan hesitated; he didn’t know what to do. Should he approach him and ask him about the beautiful existence that he leads? That dream-fulfilling and awe-inspiring country which he heard so much about? He must talk with him, he simply must! But what if he doesn’t want to talk? What if he doesn’t talk to those as low on the social ladder as him? He had to try! Juan slowly started walking in his direction. His mind was racing and heart beat faster and faster with every step. He accidentally stepped on a bottle, which went rolling from under his shoes. The man looked up and saw him, and was seemingly gripped with terror. With every step that Juan took, he backed up against the wall, until he couldn’t go any further.
“Excuse me…” Started Juan
“You…Y-y-you’re not going to take my Panics, are you?”
“What are you talking about? I just wanted to…”
“Here, take my wallet, phone, passport, I don’t care! Just don’t hurt me or take them!”
“I don’t…”
“Stay away from my "Panics!"”

II: Product Placement

The plane ride was nothing like Juan ever experienced before. The airport was confusing enough. He had changed his ticket, so that he left one day earlier: he wasn’t too enthusiastic on sharing the plane with the camera crew. At first, the airport workers wouldn’t let him on. Eventually, everybody around him just got so frustrated that they let him on the plane.

Juan left the airport, and stepped outside. Immediately, his eyes were assaulted by images, advertisements, loudspeakers and almost all types of mediums blasting or glaring at him, urging him to buy all sorts of products. Juan curiously noted that the shoes advertised looked very familiar.

After a few hours of pointless wandering, Juan finally stumbled upon a small, shabby bar. He checked his pockets – they were empty. He sat down next to a rather lonely looking man who seemed to be a little depressed. That was, after all, what Juan was feeling. He thought back to the shoe store he had visited, how he immediately recognised something, a minor detail others would not have noticed. He had randomly picked up a shoe from a stand, and by accident noticed a minor flaw in the stitching. He noticed that there was some slightly different coloured string on the sole. He remembered, that had nearly cost him his job. He had checked the price tag and reeled in horror. The shoes were worth more than his salary for a whole year
* * *

Nicholas had offered to share his flat with Juan for a while, and Juan had enthusiastically agreed. Juan joined Nicholas on the comfortable sofa, and took in his surroundings. A pair of large windows looked onto an 8-story drop onto the cold, hard concrete below, only softened by occasional patches of greenery. The curtains that partly veiled the windows were of a beige colour, and thus cast a beige shade over the room and its occupants. A dining table was visible through an open door to the north of the room; dark wood sprawled over the floor with chairs littered around it. It seemed to Juan like Nicholas had a passion for vases and such, as they were placed all around the room: one partly visible on the dining table, two on a cabinet near the door, another few placed into square fissures in the wall and at least one clearly visible in the bedroom behind where they were sitting, resting atop a small table. They were mostly, dark brown, save for a couple in the fissures, which were scarlet, thus matching the curtains and the carpet, which covered most of the floor. A towering bookcase covered a nearby wall, filled to the brim with timeless masterpieces. Juan turned his head to read some of the spines.
“Plato’s Republic…Utopia…Nicomachean Ethics…Thus Spake Zarathustra…Julius Caesar….Antony and Cleopatra…Divine Comedy”
Juan thought they sounded fascinating.

The pinnacle of modern age technology, however, rested attached to a wall opposite Nicholas and Juan. A huge, two-metre television screen, enveloped the creamy coloured wall. Coincidentally, it was turned on, and both Nicholas and Juan were watching.

“Greetings, fine citizens! We hope you are enjoying your day, because my team and myself are constantly striving to make it better! With investments in technology, health, childcare, education and much more, your days can only get better! So come on Australia, you know what to do!”

“Who was that with the basketball shoes?”
“That was our moronic leader”
“What’s with the clothing?”
“It’s his ‘image’. He tries to look as young and as appealing as possible”
“So I guess it would be just to impress all the adolescents?”
“Pretty much. Oh here we go, the bastion of idiocy is beginning ”


A flurry of images assaulted the TV screen to the accompaniment of futuristic techno music. The music began fading, and an attractive, well groomed and well built host with rich dark hair and cold blue eyes stepped on stage. The zealous and enthusiastic roar of the crowd was overwhelming, and it took a few moments for the host to quieten everybody down.
“Welcome to the Panopticon, the show where the show where you get to prove that you are the best citizen!” he yelled as the frenzied applause of the crowd began once more. The shot then switched to a camera crew outside of a door of an old looking house.

The door opened seconds before the crew was able to knock, the owners of the house must have been watching. With a face red with slight trepidation and embarrassment, a middle-aged man in his late forties let the camera crew in. Immediately, they jumped for the drawers and cupboards, opening each one and checking what was inside.
“What are they doing?” Asked Juan, seemingly concerned.
“They apparently randomly pick somebody’s house and visit it to check up on the products you have. If the products are too old or not branded, they humiliate you in front of virtually the whole country. If everything is fine, you would get a prize and a great reputation that would no doubt look great in your résumé. Somehow it has become the most popular TV show of 2027. I don’t know how it got there, but I think it’s the worst show since the 14th series of Big Brother” Nicholas answered.

The crowd roared with laughter as a pair of old shoes were found.
“And how old are these ‘Panics’?” Asked the assistant, attempting to restrain a laugh.
“Uh…well, I got them in about…2025?”
The crowd went berserk. The sound of laughter in the studio was deafening. The host gave up on trying to keep a straight face and laughed along with the crowd.
A quarter of an hour, three pairs of shoes, two t-shirts and a backpack later, the assistant has decided that they had enough.
“Thankyou for participating in this my good sir. You will of course get...”
Nicholas turned off the TV and the assistant's voice trailed off as.
“I hope that was somewhat enlightening and shed some light onto the type of existence we lead. As they say, “Simple minds are amused by simple things”, and that certainly wasn’t amusing. Let’s go dine”.



* * *

Robert was bored. The board meeting was fruitless, dull and not the least bit entertaining. He switched his position on the chair, seemingly for the fiftieth time in the last forty-five minutes. An assistant clambered up to him.
“Are you comfortable sir? Would you like another pillow?”
“Head of marketing is never comfortable dear, you've been my secretary for almost two years now, you should know that.” He said with a sigh.
Meanwhile, the debate between the enthusiastic young hopefuls continued.
“How about. 'Panic: Shoes that support you’?” One suggested.
“How the hell do shoes support them?”
“Well we did sponsor a charity a while back...”
“But that was just for some minority that no-one cares about anymore. And besides, that was almost half a decade ago.”
“I still think that's good”
“No no no, definitely not. Something less straightforward, something more open ended… Maybe something like 'Panic: Go achieve it', or 'Panic: Nothing is impossible'”
“Yeah, I like the last one, nice and indirect. I think I'm going to go with that.”
“Yeah me too, definitely something that would encourage me to buy the shoes.”
“Count me in as well. Sir, what do you think?”
Robert was awoken from his trance.
“Mm, yes, that's good. We'll start it on Monday. Right, meeting is over. The next meeting will be at the same time in four weeks. Please don't forget. Good afternoon and don't forget to scan yourself out on your way home.”
With wide grins on their faces, they left the boardroom, scanned their palms on their way out and dissolved among the busy street. Robert was the last one to leave, thinking about the weekend ahead.
Taking out his phone, he dialled a number. After a few rings, a man picked up.
“Hello, Nick? Yeah, this is Rob. About mother's birthday next Sunday, what are you getting her? Just to make sure we won't get her the same thing... What?! That's what I was going to get...Okay fine, I'll get her something else. I'll see you there. Sure, yeah you too, bye.”
He hung up. He looked forward to meeting his brother; he hadn't seen him in a while. It's not that they lived too far away from each other; his busy schedule simply didn't allow it. He rested his palm against the scanner, and after half a second, it emitted a small “beep”. Picking up his briefcase, he stepped outside, hailed a taxi and prepared for an afternoon of boredom.

* * *

Juan turned on the TV. He wondered what he was going to do tomorrow when Nicholas went to his mother's birthday celebration with his brother. An advertisement came on.
“Let our good president Nhilo help you with any problems that you have. Problems with neighbours, (are they too loud?), information, family, anything! Nhilo's team will help you solve whatever problems you have. The only condition is that you help out in return. Support the man that supports you, and inform the police of any suspicious activity. Call now, and remember, when you're being helped by Nhilo, impossibility is not an option!”
Juan changed the channel.
* * *

Robert and Nicholas were sitting in a gazebo in the backyard, watching their mother entertaining guests.
“Have you seen the new round of government ads?” Asked Robert
“I tried not to, but I somehow managed to catch one by accident. Are you talking about the ones with the “Nhilo will help you!” theme?”
“Yeah those are the ones.”
“Those were pathetic. It’s further encouraging the country to be as less self-sufficient as possible. Next thing you know, it’ll be “Let Nhilo chew your food for you!” or “Let Nhilo do your job for you!””
Nicholas paused.
“Why, what about them?”
“Well there was something weird about them... I'm sure it's nothing.
“What do you mean?”
“Well, this may sound stupid but, the other day at the board meeting, exactly the same taglines came up, except a bit different.”
“Different?”
“Yeah. One was 'Nothing is impossible', and the other one was 'Shoes that support you'. I just found it weird, that's all.”
Nicholas paused to think again.
“I think it’s more than a coincidence. I think they are up to something.”
“They?”
“Those government officials. The ones who pull the president’s strings. Did you know that they genetically modify chicken so that we have less stress and are easier to convince?”
“That doesn't even make any sense. Why would they do that?”
“Why would they take the suggestions from the boardroom and use it in their own campaign?”
“I don't know, Nick, I just don't know.”

* * *

Where did he leave it? Juan had looked everywhere; he couldn't find where he had left his watch. Maybe in Nicholas' wardrobe... He opened the doors. Army Uniform, belt, socks and boots. He was about to close the doors again when the boots caught his eye. He picked them up and studied them. Yes those were the ones. The exact same ones that he and the rest of the factory had worked on several times a year. The rubber sole, the polystyrene coated outer. Immune from the cold and would last a lifetime before being too damaged to be worn.
“Strange” he thought to himself.

III: Distribution of Marketing

Robert was watching TV. The 'Panopticon' was on again, and just like any other normal citizen, Robert was glued to the television.

“Welcome back, Ladies and Gentlemen! Get ready for another hilarious half-hour and another lucky or unlucky contestant will be shown. Tonight, we are going to Collins Street...”

Robert suddenly sat stiff. Collins Street...
The camera crew was outside of a modern looking house, with a bright green reinforced plastic door.
“It can't be...”
The camera crew knocked on the door. A concerned-looking man in his thirties poked his head out, and invited them in.
“Oh my god, it's George! I can't believe it!”

Robert's neighbour conducted a tour of the house for the crew.
“And what's this? Generic shoes? Wow, and where did you get those?” Exclaimed the assistant to the already-deafening roar of the studio crowd. More laughs followed with the emergence of more and more unbranded shoes and clothes.
“Now lets check in the office...”
“No, don't go in there!”
“Why, are you using generic clothing as wallpaper?”
The crowed roared.
“No it's just...never mind.”

After a few minutes of scourging, the broadcast finished, and Robert immediately reached for the phone. Dialling his neighbour's number, he waited in anticipation. George wasn't picking up. He called again, but to no avail.
“He's probably too embarrassed.” Robert thought to himself, switching off the TV

* * *

“Yeah, I haven't seen him all week, I'm getting worried, usually he'd always greet me in the morning”
“You sure he just didn't go on a holiday or something?”
“Holiday? Are you kidding? He hasn't taken a sick day off in the last 6 years. There's no way he would just leave in the middle of the working year, especially with all of this preparation for summer sales. It's all too suspicious for me: the day the Panopticon visited him he disappears without any sort of warning”
“Something tells me we shouldn't be talking about this on the phone. I'll be at your place soon.”
Robert hung-up the phone. He wondered if he did the right thing by telling his brother what happened.

* * *

Robert looked visibly worried.
“Why aren't you at work?” Asked Nicholas.
“Oh, I called in sick, I'm not feeling too well”
“About work. Do you have access to the archives? I want to check if there's been any more correlation between government slogans and Panic's slogans”
“No problem. And you'll get the rest from the Internet?
“Of course.”


* * *

“Look at this. 'Comfort and Protection no matter the cost' compared to 'Protecting our citizens no matter the cost' a few years back, 'Low cost without the sacrifice' compared to 'Security – without the sacrifice!’ and even the most recent one, ‘It knows what to do’ compared to ‘You know what to do’. The similarities are uncanny.”
“It’s strange, it seems like it’s almost too blatantly obvious.” Thoughtfully replied Nicholas.
They were silent for a while.
“I think I'm going to find out more about this. We can't just dismiss this, I'm going to break into the record storage facility and sift through their records”
“What? No, you can’t do that, that's too dangerous, even for you Nicholas!”
“What else are we meant to do? Ignore this like the mindless drones that are the building blocks of this ignorant and naïve society? No, somebody must take action. I’m going tomorrow”

* * *

Nicholas skilfully crept up to the storage facility. His years of training in the armed forces have given him swiftness and stealthiness, amongst numerous other skills. Carefully creeping around the facility, he attempted to find a vulnerable spot. After about 15 minutes, he decided that the back window was perfect. Carefully tiptoeing up to it, he used a small hand-held mirror to check if there was anyone there. Not seeing anyone, he let his eyes ascend to the level of the glass. Once he was satisfied that he was alone, he tried to push the glass upwards, hoping that the window would open. He knew, however, that it would be foolish of them to keep the windows so open and unguarded. He fumbled around in his pockets and produced a small but powerful laser, a “souvenir” he obtained from the army. He switched it on, and carefully burnt a large enough hole through the glass for him to climb through. Noticing a camera in a corner that was, luckily, not pointing at the window, he advanced towards the door. He turned the knob and stepped through. He wasn’t afraid of leaving finger prints because of the thin leather gloves that he was wearing, another souvenir from the army. He crept through the hallway towards another set of doors. These doors were similar to the doors of a lift. To the right of it was a small screen, below which a fingerprint scanner protruded from the wall. He rested his thumb, covered with rubber with the imprint of a government house worker he obtained a few years back. He remembered how he obtained the fingerprint when he was planning for a “rainy day”. The worker didn't suspect anything when pressing that lift button.
Access was immediately granted, and he entered into the room. He dove for the cabinets, searching with hungry eyes.
“75 million...100 million... 250 million... 577 million.... what are all these figures for?”
He flicked a few pages back.
“Panic! Inc. Sponsorship Program.”
“Of course! Why hadn't I realised that myself?” He muttered periodically with every few pages. More and more 'sponsorship deals', more and more colossal numbers.
“AusGovernment and Panic! Inc. Economic and social partnership...Panic! Inc. election fund provision program...”
He got out his mini-scanner, scanned various sheets of paper onto his barcode on his palm and put everything back to where it was before. As he finished up, he heard the doors open. Turning around he saw a large, bulky figure enter with a something in his hand. The last thing he saw was the huge fist heading right for his face.

* * *

“Ladies and Gentlemen, welcome to another hilarious and exciting episode of Panopticon! Tonight, we go back to Collins Street for more fun and gags!”
The shot switched to the camera crew, which were outside a familiar looking house. Robert heard the knock a split-second before it happened on the television. Anxiously, he slowly advanced towards the door.

* * *
He opened his eyes. A blinding flurry of colours barraged his vision. Nicholas was sitting in a chair that was surprisingly comfortable, cushioned and distinctly purple. Bright lights shone at him from above, piercingly illuminating the room and eliminating any shadows, making him feel, paradoxically, uneasy. He noticed the music in the background, techno-like electronic music, a catchy tune which hypnotised him with every deep notes and broke him free of his trance high-pitched notes.
Directly in front of him, a grand television screen rested on the wall. An eye was displayed amidst many colours, menacingly glaring at him. Looking around, he saw frosted-glass sliding doors with a similar depiction of an eye on them. The walls were an eclectic mixture of red and white and, whilst not threatening, induced a sense of claustrophobia. He felt repressed, trapped, watched. The multi-coloured walls were staring at him, daring him to move, daring him to do something bold. But for some mysterious reason, he stayed put. Was it the eye or the walls? The superfluous lighting, the enchanting music, the vivid colours and the glare of the eye made him feel queasy yet overly calm and relaxed.
“Welcome, Nicholas…” resounded a mysterious lulling and hypnotic voice, interrupting the music and startling Nicholas, and then instantly calming him, for the voice was both gentle yet stern, penetrating the recesses of his mind.
“You were expecting Room 101?” Smirked the computer, aware of Nicholas’ surprise.
“Where am I?”
“You are on the set of the President’s personal studio. You may remember this room from the recent Big Brother series.”
“What are you?”
“I am your greatest enemy and your greatest ally, the most hated being and the most loved being, I am what makes this country what it is and this country makes me what I am. I am you, I am every man, every philosopher, every psychologist, every intellectual that stepped upon the plains of this earth.” Noticing Nicholas’ blank face, the computer continued.
“I am a computer, designed by the greatest minds of this century. As I said, I am the collection of countless minds, and my voice is the result of countless experiments in psychology.”
“What do you want from me?”
“You, Nicholas, have been too ambitious for your own good.”
Nicholas stubbornly stayed silent.
“You’re here because of a lot of things. Breaking and entering into a Government department, studying over classified files…you’re not a very bright person.
Once again, Nicholas met his jest with stubborn silence.
“Ah but what is intelligence but the very enemy of the elite, the very enemy of stability and security and most of all, the very enemy consumption. “What good fortune for governments that the people don't think!” Because after all, what truly sane and intelligent person would throw away a piece of clothing after a few months, even though it could last a year without a tear in the flawless fabric? What truly sane and intelligent person would ditch a pair of perfectly fine shoes if they only have been worn for a brief month? ‘Consumption is the opium of the masses’, rearrange their priorities and watch them ignore everything but the first on the list...”
“But…why?” Nicholas finally spoke up.
“Why not? We are merely amplifying human nature. We all want to be better than our neighbours and friends, we want to outclass and out buy them. We are nurturing their wants, their needs. This life is naught but a competition, a colossal auction. History is plagued with conflict and wars arising out of greed and jealousy. The only wars that are present today are price wars, buyouts, takeovers and mergers. We provide the supply, but behind the curtain, we also provide the demand, so that our world is in equilibrium.”
“But the alliance between business and government is by definition fascism! That’s morally wrong!”
“‘Morality is the herd instinct of the individual’, Nicholas. We aim to achieve stability through less conventional means which are more effective in the first place.”
“But how do you establish such a strong base of demand? I mean, some of the things people buy are utterly useless”
“We have been performing a plethora of science experiments in the past few decades, experiments which yielded astounding results. The simple messages projected by these advertisements are discarded by your conscious, but become lodged in your subconscious, drivelling at your brain with seemingly spontaneous desires when recognition is created. Furthermore, the constant repetitions of these advertisements make your brain as malleable as clay, and eventually, all of this makes the individual more impressionable, and it is easier to convince them to consume. In fact, studies have found that they take joy in consuming; psychiatrists call it retail therapy I believe. People feel like they are doing something useful, as if they are achieving goals which they have set. Ironically, this is only partly true. These so called ‘goals’ have been hammered into their subconscious by the advertisers. What’s the next best thing to accomplishing your own goals? Accomplishing somebody else’s goals without knowing that it’s theirs. If one gets the same level of satisfaction, does it really matter?”
“’Everything that deceives may be said to enchant’” said Nicholas grimly
“Indeed.”
“Aren’t you afraid of being overthrown? After all, ‘no beacon shines with greater vivacity than that resurrected by oppression’”
“’Clever tyrants are never punished’ Nicholas”
“But do you realise that you have created a purely hedonistic society…one with no consideration for fellow beings?”
“’The most perfidious way of harming a cause consists of defending it deliberately with faulty arguments” Nicholas, you should know this better than most. Since when has our society not been hedonistic or in some way inconsiderate for fellow beings? Since democracy was established in Athens, and most likely before that, people have aimed for riches and glory, and did not care how they got it.” Nicholas wanted to say something, but the words stuck in his throat.
“Besides, our society only benefits from this. After all, in the words of Voltaire, “The public is a ferocious beast: one must chain it up or flee from it”, and nothing brings society together better than a collective, probably subconscious, desire to live in competition with each other. Consumption is the ultimate cohesive. There are virtually no downsides. We experimented with others, believe me, it was dreadful. We tried religion – there was just too many possibilities, one group believed in one god, another group believed in another god, a third group believed in no god…Violence of course erupted, and we had to do a whole seven month advertising campaign to calm everyone down. We tried fear – we launched an intense 3-month advertising campaign that was fuelled by constant updates by a fake radical terrorist organization, warning the population that a strike was imminent. We recreated Operation Northwoods half a dozen times over, sacrificing our own buildings, blaming it on the radicals. Eventually, citizens started to notice it, started getting desensitised to fear and hatred. They nearly caught us in the act at one stage, and it was almost like Watergate all over again. So we did the only thing that we could: abolish the government. Or rather, the leader and the panel of nobodies that surrounded him, the public figures that that talk, debate and convey messages from us. The ideas were not destroyed, nor were we, far from it. We have learnt from this experience, however, no matter how disastrous. It was time to think up of something new, something that citizens would never suspect and, most importantly, never protest to. And thus we stumbled upon a new ideology: excess consumption. Like sheep, they now flock to supermarkets and warehouses, buying impulsively, irrespective of whether they need it or not. "Advertising is a valuable economic factor because it is the cheapest way of selling goods, particularly if the goods are worthless.", and in our case, it has been the most effective method. The wonderful thing about this system is that the citizens don’t protest – and why should they? They’ve got everything they need. They are happy, and so are we. We have created the perfect government – the happy dictatorship. We do everything to keep that steady flow of consumption, steady yet increasing. We raise their wages, conduct search parties or the dim-witted ‘Panopticon’ as they call it. In our world, there is no need for censors – people are too stupid to be censored. Our whole society is a great big censor, if you want to look at it like that, and anybody who says something they shouldn’t or does something they shouldn’t get humiliated by their friends and peers. And besides, they often simply have no time to do something like that. They are perfectly happy choosing, buying, consuming, throwing out and repeating this endless cycle, too preoccupied to do anything else. We even put special chemicals into chicken and various other foods to amplify this clay-like effect advertising and the process of consumption has on their minds, so there is no way they would do something against our laws…”
Nicholas sadly laughed.
“They wouldn’t believe me.”
“Aha! Our society at work! Too stupid to believe something that is only repeated once.”
There was a long silence.
“I still don’t understand how you manage to let them believe anything you say and buy anything you tell them. Surely, everybody can’t be the same?”
The computer paused.
“Tell me, do you like Shakespeare?”
“Yes.”
“Have you read ‘A Midsummer Night’s Dream’?”
“Yes.”
“Do you remember how Puck sprayed magic dust into Titania’s eyes? And he how ‘fixed an ass’s nole on Pyramis’ head’? And after, Puck ‘left sweet Pyramis translated there, when in that moment, so it came to pass, Titania waked, and straightway loved an ass…’ Do you remember that, Nicholas?”
“Yes I think so”
“The media is that dust, Nicholas. Advertisements, sales, slogans, everything you see, contributes to this effect. “Advertising is the science of arresting the human intelligence long enough to get money from it” and you, Nicholas, or anyone in this world, cannot resist it. It is too powerful, fine tuned so much that it has a hypnotic and alluring effect. You cannot control it, it takes over your mind and spirit and you spend the whole day just thinking about it, even if it’s subconscious, you spend your whole day desiring the product that we pitch to you. Free will is only a mirage in this world, you may think you’re doing what you want, but you’re not, you’re pleasing the will of the producers – us.”
“Then how do you explain…”
“Your break in into the record storage facility? That, was an ingenious scheme masterminded by one of us. Do you really think we are that foolish to make such an obvious connections with Panic! and this Government? Do you really think we would use almost identical slogans? No, Nicholas, you underestimate us. The whole purpose of this is to filter out anybody and everybody who may faintly suspect anything and is prepared to act. Do you think you’re the only one to have broken into that building? It’s not even the file storage facility! Everything there is fake – the fingerprint scanners will accept any fingerprint, there is no real security – did you really think you could climb through that window without any alarms going off? Your each and every movement was recorded on hidden cameras, and the ones you dodged were fakes. Everything there is fake - everything except the files; they are real. Photocopied but nevertheless real. You are one of a handful of curious dissidents that we have so far caught through our filters. And you will have the same fate as them. Do you know who the last one was? He was a man by the name of Guy Montague…”
“Guy Montague? The national hero? But…I thought…”
“No Nicholas, he was just like you, a stubborn dissident who couldn’t accept our system. And unfortunately, he had to go.” Nicholas’ eyes widened in realisation and misery
“‘The world we are living in is, in many respects, an illusion. Or, to put it more precisely, is founded on illusions. That is, much that is conventional, taken-for-granted, the ‘way things are’ does not stand up to close examination. The affluent Western world has become entranced by its wealth, its success and its ever more compelling technological prowess. But it pays little more than superficial attention to the consequences of its spiralling demands, to the ways it constantly transfers costs elsewhere and ‘elsewhen’ into the ever-receding future. Short-term thinking has become the norm and it protects us from ever taking seriously our collective attempts to consume the future. We need to see these phenomena much more clearly because, at present, they are leading us to a world that no sane person would choose for themselves, let alone to their children. It is, in my considered view, a world that is stripped, mined out, polluted, denuded of non-human life and compromised beyond all hope of repair…’” He suddenly blurted out.
“And that is precisely the reason why you cannot continue living in this society, Nicholas”.
Nicholas was silent.
“You are afraid of us, aren’t you? Afraid of us nonconformists? Afraid of those that question your decisions and those that rightfully raise suspicion when they sense it?”
“That, I can grant you, Nicholas.”
Another silence followed.
“What will happen to me?”
“You will be ‘filtered’.”
Nicholas defiantly stared at the piercing eye.
“”There is only one good, which is knowledge, and one evil, which is ignorance”, and soon enough, this country will be freed from this ignorance”
“”It is difficult to free fools from the chains they revere””
Nicholas didn’t know what to say.
“”One must sometimes choose between being a good man and being a good citizen” Nicholas, and you have not chosen the latter. For that reason, you do not belong with us.”
“All of you are traitors to humanity!”
“Ihr seht nach oben, wenn ihr nach Erhebung verlangt. Und ich sehe hinab, weil ich erhoben bin - You look up when you wish to be exalted. And I look down because I am exalted”.”


IV: Margin of Loss

“Let go of me! You can’t do this to me! I’m head of marketing! You’ll never get away with this! I’ll call the police! I’ll call Nhilo!”
The men just laughed cold and sinister laughs. Robert became silent, he realised this wasn’t what it seemed. All of a sudden, he felt himself being pushed into a hard wooden chair. His blindfold was removed, and he found himself facing two gargantuan men, standing beside an old, withered and frail looking figure, with large horn-rimmed glasses.
“Robert,” he began to speak, “I have a proposition for you. Do you like your life?”
Robert nodded, his body shaking with fear.
“Do you wish to live?”
Once again, Robert nodded, his terror almost paralysing him.
“If I give you a chance to live, will you do me a favour in return?”
For the third time, Robert nodded uncontrollably. The man looked at him for a moment. He placed his hand in his pocket and plucked out a dark, metallic object. Upon further inspection, Robert saw that it was a revolver, a revolver with the chamber open, revealing one bullet inside. The man studied him for a second, and then glanced at his two helpers. One of them put the blindfold back on, and then both of them grabbed Robert by the arms and goaded him forward through the doorway. He trudged on, not knowing where he was being led. Suddenly, the men stopped him, and he heard a glass door slowly opening. When it was fully open, the men pushed him inside. Upon entering the room, one of the men removed the blindfold again. Looking around the room, he noticed it was very clean and modern, with the walls being a light tinge of pink. A huge TV screen was attached to a wall adjacent to where he was standing. He noticed that he was being shown on the screen. Directly opposite the screen, a panel of about a dozen people sat at a large desk filled with computers, intently watching Robert. His eyes fell on a familiar figure, sitting in a soft red chair and he gasped. The figure looked up, and all of Robert’s doubts were instantly extinguished.
“Nick! What happened to you?”
The figure was silent. The man with the glasses strode up to Robert, and handed him the revolver.
“You will shoot him, once, in the heart, if you are to have a life of your own. Otherwise, both of you shall die. Am I understood?”
Clumsily taking the revolver, Robert steadied himself. A massive conflict was raging inside his head, what should he do? What should he do? What would Nicholas do? He cast a questioning look at Nicholas, but Nicholas only lowered his head, hiding his face from view.
“Remember, if you don’t do it, both of you will die…” The man quietly said.
“Nicholas, what should I do?” cried a tearful Robert.
“We don’t have much of a choice, Robert. “The hour of departure has arrived, and we go our ways - I to die, and you to live. Which is better God only knows”.” Softly replied Nicholas, closing his eyes.
After a long pause, Robert raised the revolver, and pointed it at Nicholas. The screen behind him changed to an image of young kittens playing with flowers, and after some swearing, to an image which looked like the president was standing behind Nicholas. The sound of the shot was muffled by the silencer. It didn’t even escape outside the glass walls. Robert collapsed in a great blubbering heap of mixed emotions. He sobbed uncontrollably, watching Nicholas’ figure become limp. The huge screen was replaying a clip which looked like Nicholas was acting as a human shield to save the president, over and over and over again. It seems like the workers were trying to make it look perfectly convincing. Robert found himself being grabbed by the arms, and pushed him out of the room and back down the corridor. Now, Nicholas’ dead figure was the only thing left in the room, blood dripping from his wound and his eyes still open. Suddenly, the lights turned off.

* * *

“Welcome to the six o’clock news. And now for our major story that is taking the country by storm, instilling hope and a renewed bravery in our hearts. Our president narrowly escaped being shot today, thanks to a very courageous individual. Nicholas Smith, in an act of immense valour and heroism, placed himself in the path of a bullet fired from the gun of his brother, to protect our beloved president. Unfortunately, Nicholas did not survive, and was killed almost instantaneously. Nicholas’ brother, identified as Robert Smith, seemed to express remorse at his actions. Our president, in another amazing show of human spirit, forgave the man and gave him a formal pardon. Robert Smith is not going to gaol and will walk free. It is speculated that he was suffering from an unknown mental condition. Nicholas Smith will buried with full hero honours, with a few thousand people expected to attend his funeral. More on the story at ten.


V – Future Projections

Juan laboriously made his way toward the factory, lifting his heavy feet with difficulty. As usual, he hadn’t gotten enough sleep. He climbed he stairs and made his way towards his workstation.
“Everybody, silence!” shouted the director, and the noise in the hall instantly faded. “As you all know, there has been an exceptional display of valour and gallantry in Australia. Due to this extraordinary event, we have been commissioned to create special shoes in honour of the hero. You have the printout of what the shoes should look like at your workstations. Now, please get back to work”

Nicholas stared in dismay at what was in front of him. The constant repetition was affecting his brain. He struggled to focus; the colours were getting to him.
“Attach the blue to the red…the bright white shoelaces go here...the bright purple sole is inserted here…the base is as bright white as the shoelaces… attach the blue to the red…the bright white shoelaces go here...the bright purple sole is inserted here…the base is as bright white as the shoelaces… attach the blue to the red…the bright white shoelaces go here...the bright purple sole is inserted here…the base is as bright white as the shoelaces…”
The ritual was repeated over and over and over again, until it had filled his consciousness. He knew nothing except what was in front of him, and he slavishly laboured on. With each shoe, he gradually fell deeper and deeper into the chasm of hopelessness, of defeat and submission and capitulation. With each shoe, he knew that the chasm grew wider and the hole grew deeper, until there was nothing left and all traces of hope were extinguished. He knew what happened to Robert and Nicholas. And thus, he willingly escaped that dreadful, demanding and forceful society. And now, sitting at his workstation, working away at the shoes, he had come to the realisation: their society was not controlled by their leaders anymore. Nor were the people who unknowingly controlled it, controlled themselves. Their society was spiralling downwards, pushed by its own momentum, faster and faster, towards a bleak and despairing climax. Their society was contagious: it would spread all over the world. Juan knew; it was too late to stop it. The monolith was too powerful, like a gigantic ball of snow rolling down a steep, endless hill, getting faster and bigger with each second. They tried to stop it, but it only crushed them. It was too late.
“Attach the blue to the red…the bright white shoelaces go here...the bright purple sole is inserted here…the base is as bright white as the shoelaces…”