I mean, I can't even conduct a simple recruiting mission without a gang of masked freaks showing up, with their ridiculous stories about how we're better off not knowing what's really going on. The bluepill--this politician, Robert Kendall--was a dude seriously down on his luck; he'd lost an election in suspicious circumstances, and his wife walked out on him with his kids, while his friends turned their backs. He couldn't believe it; something wasn't right. He knew it. But he couldn't handle it--started to crack up.
I'd been following his campaign; I always thought he was a guy who saw things straight, at least as far as politics go. So naturally, if he's starting to wake up to the unreality he's living in, I'm gonna give him a chance at getting to the real truth. He deserved better than the stuff the simulation had been shovelling at him.
But can I even have a quiet chat with him? Oh, no! Somehow--probably through another spy in Zion--the Cypherites found out about it, crashed our nice little discussion, and started bombarding him with all their baloney. They even stooped to playing on his feelings for his family. Those bastards have no shame at all.
You can guess what happened. It was overload; Robert was already on the edge, and them shouting at him from all sides pushed him over. He tried to get away, tried to run, and the whole pack of masked bastards chased the poor guy down the street, right out into traffic. It was all over by the time I caught up to them. Robert was just another traffic statistic: one more goofball who didn't look both ways before crossing the street. That's how they'll write it up, you just watch.
It just makes me so goddamn sick. I'm through lettin' people push me around. The only thing these animals respect is the barrel of a gun. And I'll friggin' give it to 'em, in spades. Nobody's pushin' me around anymore.





























Message Edited by Anome on 05.19.2006 10:52 PM






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