The ‘Greenville Special’ was having an absolute field day. The small publication hadn’t enjoyed much popularity even amongst the local crowd. The young were too busy cutting out pages from Playboy, and for the elderly, they were simply known as the Sudoku-Papers. As a journalistic outlet, they were about as acknowledged as a Buzzfeed.

But today was not such a day. They’d run out of copies, in fact. For the first time in the publication’s uneventful 10-year history, they’d needed a second printing. All thanks to a single person, although they’d get jailed for ever saying so.

The terrorist, Connor Watson, was on the run. He had been, ever since an awful case of arson and murder in a town a hundred miles away. The wretched scoundrel had snuck himself into the community, and proclaimed that he would strike again.

‘Anti-Gay Terrorist Connor Watson Announces Act of Terror To Protest Ben Dover’s Candidacy.’ The headline read. It was audacious, it was scandalous, and it was the perfect thing to sell papers. Outside, dozens of people were blabbering about the threat, making speculations and throwing around words like problematic. They spoke with the same excitement one would expect from fans at a Taylor Swift concert.

But the event had yet to begin. The Terrorist had claimed he’d make a live appearance on television to make a statement. Now, families across town were glued to the little screen, waiting patiently for the terrorist to make his appearance.

Watson wasn’t ready for this.

He wasn’t ready for any of this at all.

Just a month ago, he remembered reading the papers, solving Sudoku, sipping some tea- a life, he’d long given up. Now, he was a part of something he had mixed feelings about. Helping people was all well and good, but to be involved in an act of terrorism was different altogether. Well, it was pretend-terrorism. Jones emphasized on that point.

Speaking of Jones, he’d helped Watson with the outfit. At first, Jones wanted him to wear a taliban, but Watson had to explain once again that nobody knew who what a ‘Nine Eleven’ was. Thus, after a long discussion, they settled with a Nazi-Communist getup. Dressed from top to bottom in a dictator’s suit, Watson stroked his long, fake beard. Tensing up, he rose to the podium.

The room was mostly empty, only a single podium standing in the middle. Behind him was a green curtain he didn’t quite understand. Jones had said that it’s to ‘enhance the experience’, but he didn’t understand how a bile-green piece of cloth helped. In any case, he breathed deeply in-and-out, practicing the dialogue in his head.

Then the signal came from behind a camera. A finger counted down, three, two, one.

The people of Greenville was shocked to see the scoundrel live on television.

One moment, the local news channel ran. The next, they were greeted by a villian.

He looked angry, his lips curled into a perpetual frown. His suit exuded the scent of arrogance, and his hat was a blood-red beret. But most unforgivable of all was the offensive scenery in the background. Behind him, one could see his subordinates kicking puppies.

Then, his speech began. “Dear Citizens of Greenville.” He said, almost choking halfway through.

“It’s come to my attention that your little town has begun an election.” He tried his best to keep a low tone. “Congratulations. I wasn’t aware insects could try their hands at democracy.”

“Fools will be Fools,” he said. Watson was sweating profusely. ”You lot are a disgrace to the history of our nation. I’ve seen your mockery of an election, and the vile insult to my people will be tolerated no longer.”

He frowned and hammered his fists against the podium. “It disgusts me to see that so many of you are voting for a homosexual. How deep does this well of degeneracy run?” He pointed a finger at the camera. “Real Americans would’ve laughed that scum out of the podium. You lot are nothing but filthy Saracens yourselves. You deserve slaughter.”

The audience gasped and booed at all the right moments.

“Me and my boys will be shutting a couple of voting centres down- I trust you will make the right judgement.” He flailed his arm around to feign anger. “This farce of an election will be stopped.”

And with that, the News returned.

Jones gave Watson a thumbs up.

“Good Job!” He said. “You’ve done better than expected.” Jones grabbed a can. “You want one?”

“Um, no thanks. Still not a fan.” Watson shook his head. His palms were sweaty and his knees weak. “I think I need to sit down…”

Ben walked over to help him stand. ”Yeah, you deserve that.” He smiled.

Watson wordlessly stumbled over towards a chair and grabbed a bottle of water.

“Jones…” Ben eyed Jones with contempt. “So, what’s the next step?”

Jones pointed at Watson. “Well, he’s the ringleader for this one. Why you asking me?”

Ben rolled his eyes. “You wrote the speech. I don’t get exactly why you’re bashing me in it. I thought the plan was to scare the republicans and youth from voting?”

“Well, we’re still doing that. We’re doing two things here.” Jones sighed. “One is that. The voting centres we’re targeting are the ones in those blocks. Probably enough to dissuade the cowards.”

Watson watched the two talk. “And what’s the other?” He asked.

Jones turned to meet Watson’s gaze. ”We’re using this opportunity to rally support for Ben.” He answered. “Now we need Ben to give some dumbass speech about solidarity and shit. People hate being told what to do, so they’ll want to show this meany bad-bad dictator that they’re going to stand up for their community.”

Ben snapped his fingers. “So that’s what that was?” He said. He looked astonished. “See, it works without poisoning people, doesn’t it?”

Jones waved him away. ”Yeah, yeah. My plan is still better.” Ben clenched his fists. “But this ain’t half bad, I gotta say. Especially coming from that guy’s brain.” Jones pointed at Watson.

Ben relaxed. With a sigh, he asked, ”What’re you gonna do now?”

Jones walked towards Watson. ”Get him ready for the finale, of course.” He smirked. “We’ve got a terrorist act to launch.”

In the distance, a cloud of dust peeked over the horizon.

Dozens of angry motors boomed from the desert. As the sound grew closer, the residents of Greenville began evacuating into their homes and buildings. Soon after, a handful of cars emerged, looking very angry with red paint and tacked-on horns. They were the definition of overcompensation, with skulls and bullet holes painted on the sides for extra points.

Inside were the ‘terrorists’. Appealing to the movie perception of bad guys, they wore mohawks and edgy metal band t-shirts. For added effect, they showed off their painted guns. The ones on showcase were loaded with blanks.

In the middle of the caravan was a humvee. Peeking through the center was a lonesome figure. He looked intimidating, his seemingly unflinching gaze piercing the souls of the villagers. He was the leader of the terrorists, as his aura suggested. Under his sunglasses, however, he looked frightened.

The convoy rushed into town and headed for the republican block. On the way, they made sure to throw some paintballs and trash some trolly bins for added flair. Their target was the voting station. There were in total four, one for each block.

The first one went smoothly. The cops showed up, ready to put up a fight, but these ‘terrorists’ were members of the resistance. Guerrilla fights were their forte, and the plan wasn’t to have a shootout with the cops. Instead, they threw gas grenades, shot their tires, and rammed the voting station. Ben had pulled some strings to ensure the station would be evacuated. Thus, the terrorists managed to vandalize it without abandon. Before the cops could effectively retaliate, they hauled ass and made their way to the next one.

Here was where the real fun began. When they arrived at the next station, a couple cars were in hot pursuit. This one hadn’t been properly guarded, also thanks to some underground connections. But instead, a single man rose to the challenge, megaphone in hand. Conveniently, and also totally coincidentally, a journalist with a camera just happened to be close by.

This man was Ben. He stood at the steps of the voting station, a converted old bank. He looked as resolute as ever, prepared to give the audience a good show.

“Stop right there, you terrorists!” He spoke into the megaphone. Many heads peeked through curtains and gaps, watching with astonishment. “I won’t let you people desecrate my community.”

Watson gulped, and prepared for his lines. “You? You and what army?” He let out a practiced, evil laugh. “We’re here for you, you dumbass.” He winced at the crude language.

”I don’t need an army.” He said. “I’ve got my pride- and my community. Greenville won’t back down to you, you scumbags.”

The cop cars were coming closer and closer, hopping on three wheels and a busted tire.

Watson cackled as loudly as he could. ”Shoot him.” He said. The intercom was enabled.

Several gunshots were heard. All blanks, as planned. But Ben was shocked as he stared at a hole under his knee. He howled and bellowed, the pain coursing through his veins.

But he continued. Still shaking, Ben stood valiantly, roaring a battlecry through the megaphone.

The people that were watching had seen a truly gruesome scene. A valiant hero, fighting off a horde of evil men, for the sake of his beloved community. When the cops arrived, the entire block rushed out in rage, not willing to lose face, either.

“Curse you, you bastards!” Watson said. The caravan began pulling out of the streets of Greenville. The cops fired a couple potshots, but they couldn’t pull off much. It seemed like the caravan would pull away without a single scratch. Jones threw a glance backwards, grinning like an idiot at a well-executed plan. Just in time to see a masked policeman brandishing a rifle. But Jones’s eyes didn’t meet the other through the scope.

Instead, with a bang, a bullet headed for Watson. Jones pulled him into the car as fast as possible. Watson’s beret fell to the ground, torn in half, as the car sped away. A few more shots followed, but they couldn’t keep up.

Traps had been planted beforehand to ensure a clean escape. A couple cop cars, and even a civilian one, tried to chase the terrorists down. But a couple well-timed blockades and a couple caltrops ensured a speedy exit.

Watching the villains escape, the town cheered for their new hero.

“Jones, you crazy motherfucker.” Ben said. He sped as fast as he could on his wheelchair. “That was you, wasn’t it? What happened to shooting blanks at me, you asshole?”

The three were sitting inside the office, with Watson in a ski mask. After the whole spectacle, he was in more risk than ever of exposure. The television was turned on and switched to a local channel. Votes were being counted live, and most candidates were present.

Jones continued whistling as he laid on the couch, unfazed. ”I have no idea what you’re talking about,” he said, glancing away from his book for a moment. ”I didn’t do anything like that. Somebody must’ve made a mistake.”

“Don’t you even start.” Ben tried to get closer, but mobility was restricted on a wheelchair. ”Watson, help me get up. I’m going to punch this asshole.”

Watson looked helpless while he served himself tea. “Don’t fight, please.” He said.

“Stop bitching, will you?” Jones groaned, sitting himself up straight. “Fine. Punch me later if that’s what gets you off. But I had to do it.”

“You had to shoot me with a gun?”

“It was a .22cal. That’s not a gun.” Jones said. ”We needed extra realism. You know how retarded we’d look if like five of us ‘missed’ every single shot?”

Ben tried his best to stand up himself. “You could’ve warned me, jackass.” He ground his teeth.

“It helped with your acting.”

“I’m getting a kick to your balls when this heals.” Ben rubbed his cast. “Watson, help me get on this couch, will you?”

Watson hopped over and held his hand. ”No problem.” He said, helping Ben get into a comfortable seat. “I think the count’s almost over.”

Jones wordlessly grabbed a remote and turned the volume up.

“-and the votes are counted.” A reported said. “Ladies and gentlemen- We present to you, the winner of this year’s election, and your next mayor. It is…”

The three stared at the screen.

“Ben Dover!” The reporter said. He smiled. “Expected, really. 50% of total votes, with the highest voter turnout in our town history. A hero like that… Well, he’s unfortunately not here right now, as he’s been grievously wounded fighting off that criminal. But he’ll be fine for the speech next week, we’re told.”

Watson clapped. ”Congratulations.” He said, sighing. “We’re finally done.”

“Two years, she said.” Jones grinned. “What about two weeks, old hag? We fucking did it.”

Ben grabbed Watson’s shoulder. ”Thanks. It’s all thanks to you.” He took a glance at Jones. “Not him, though.”

Watson laughed nervously. ”T-thanks.” He said. “But, um… Jones helped. A lot. I think.”

“Yeah, but I’m never going to acknowledge that.” Ben leaned back. “That was one hell of a ride.”

“What an understatement.” Jones chuckled. ”Now we’re finally getting somewhere. This better be good.”

Watson turned to Jones. “What do you mean?”

“Remember why we’re here?” Jones asked, picking his nose. ”The secrets in that house. When do we get to check that out?”

Ben considered for a moment. ”The speech is in a week. I’ll get the keys to the office that day.” He said. He eyed Watson. ”I’d take you with, but you’d be a bit too risky. You saw the masked officers? Skinks, I think. Pretty good with smells.”

“You’re probably just grabbing some files, anyways.” Jones stood up and stretched. ”Can’t be a big deal. I’m going out to smoke a cig and piss.” He stepped outside of the office.

“I hope he doesn’t throw the buds in the urinal again.” Watson said.

Ben relaxed in his seat. “I really didn’t think we’d get this far.” He said. “I have to say it’s kind of a weird feeling, you know?” Ben grabbed a can of beer on the table.

“How so?” Watson asked.

“I’ve been undercover for over two years now.” He chuckled. “I’m a proper part of this community now. I know all these people, and well… After we get the files, I’m heading back to base.”

Watson contemplated something. “Do you… Have to go back?” He said, leaning in. “I mean… Couldn’t you just continue living like normal?”

Ben laughed, coughing as he couldn’t swallow properly. “I wish I could.” He said. “But I can’t.”

“Why not?” Watson looked uncomfortable.

“Well, I told you. I know this community like the back of my hand.” He said, taking a sip. “Two years is a long time- people keep coming and going.”

“And?”

“Most people don’t realize it,” Ben stared blankly. “But many of the ones that go… Well, they don’t exist anymore.”

A chill ran down Watson’s spine.

“I checked, you know. The official statistic is forged. Disappearances have increased by 500% since 1950.” He grimaced. ”Sometimes, they ‘leave for a trip’. Sometimes they’re just gone.”

Watson gripped his cup tightly.

Ben took a swig. “And that’s why I joined in the first place. Can’t stop fighting now, can I?” He smiled, and offered Watson his can. “For the resistance.” He cheered.

Watson sheepishly took a sip. “...For the resistance.” He said. It was very bitter.

Back in the resistance base, the crowd was rowdy. There hadn’t been a breakthrough in a very long time. Leads were few and far between, and most of their efforts were spent on simply disrupting the Lizardmen.

But everything changed when Ben returned with a serious expression and a more serious looking suitcase. He plopped the heavy leather bag on the conference table surrounded by important people. Jones and Watson were present as well. The tension rose as Ben started cracking the locks open.

Inside was a dusty old journal. It was marked with an odd symbol most had never seen before. The journal was titled: ‘The Nevada Experiment’.

Suddenly, Jones burst out laughing. He gripped his sides before they could fly into orbit. He giggled like a madman and rolled on the ground while the others watched in utter confusion.

“What’s so funny, Jones?” Lisa asked, her face twisted into a scowl. “This isn’t the time for jokes.”

“What’s not funny about that?” Jones said. “I fucking knew they’d be involved somehow.”

“...Who?” Ben asked. He looked very irritated.

Jones pointed at the symbol. ”The Illuminati, obviously.”