Eclipse: A Postmodern Odyssey Part 1

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Introduction: 

This is a story based around events in the life of a young man who lives in the not-too-distant future. Although fictional, like all fiction it is inspired by elements of current reality.

I woke up. I once remember reading somewhere that what you do in the first moments after you rise from bed defines who you are as a person, how healthy your habits are.

In that case, I am a sick guy – a very sick guy indeed.

My name is Angus, although I don’t really care what you call me. I have no identity anyway. I am a very imaginative person. I think, and I think a lot. It tortures me. 

I begin to reach for my phone on the small bedside table, but then I remember what dopamine addiction leads to and violently jerk my arm back. I am still lying in bed.

What time is it? 9:30 AM. I am expected at work in 30 minutes. I jolt frantically and get dressed in 5 minutes. Skipping breakfast, I take time to reflect on my obligations for today before heading out.

I have a job in the HR department of a major retail business. Most of my co-workers are female. The ones that are the most tolerable and inoffensive to me are also the ones that don’t get anything done. 

The few that are driven and want to get things done more than often end up being counterproductive anyway, these types are the ones that really test my patience – especially if they are your superior in the corporate hierarchy. 

My manager, a middle-aged lady by the name of Bertha, is such a person. She is used to manipulation and games – I cannot put into words how much I disdain such behaviour. Where does this attitude come from? Pride. Some people, when they are given authority, get intoxicated by it, they get enslaved to the feeling of having power over others such that they are totally enraptured by their own delusion. I have learned, and learned quickly, that with such people it is of the highest importance to uphold a psychological backbone. Why are they telling you to do this in that tone? Is this really going to contribute to productivity, or are they possessed by some unclean spirit that spouts irrational abuse under the guise of professional guidance? 

Perhaps I have my brain in the gutter and am being too Byzantine in me trying to wrap my head around this art of intrigue, this magic. Perhaps I should take a more charitable view of people and realise that really they are not so ba-

“Angus!”, the harpy-like shrillness of this cry pierced the sinews of my skull. Defence mode.

“I told you to submit this human resources optimisation report by 11 today. Why haven’t you done it?”, she said, waiting for my reply with a persistent glare.

“It’s 10:55, I’m about to email it to you.”, I blurted out after recollecting my nerves.

“Okay, remember not to leave it until the last moment next time.” she jabbed back at me.

The tension didn’t fade but only became more distant as she walked away from my cubicle.

There’s a phrase that certain people, certain people that I have learned to respect, use for those in my line of work – desk jockeys. Increasingly I am growing more aware of the extent to which that term is true. What I do stunts me, it emasculates me. Why do I have to answer to these people? For my salary? Such a paltry reason. Everything about this place. The purpose of it, the culture of it, and its ethos – it all stinks. Virility, initiative, camaraderie are all outlandish values here. Everything in general nowadays is senile and womanly in the most negative sense, everything is living on borrowed time and hubris.

Either way, I am just here to punch the clock. Day in, day out.

I left the building , encumbered by a dull headache and a mind heavy laden with rubbish. What was I to do today with my free time?

There was a phone call I was expecting from an anonymous friend, and I had already decided that I was going to take it on a hill outside of town.

When I had gotten to the place, it was strangely peaceful. My bones were filled with gladness as I looked over the natural scenery beneath. Fields, woods, and a river flowing amid it all.

Granted, human constructions such as roads, little buildings, and a lone airstrip had made their indelible mark on the landscape, souring its primal sweetness.

My phone rang out with Andante, a piece by Schubert. I savoured the violin for a few seconds before pressing answer.

“Are you alone?” an encrypted voice said to me.

I was in the middle of nowhere.

“Yes.” I replied.

“Good.”

“What can you see?” He continued.

I concentrated for a few seconds and then uttered, “From the foreground on; a wheat field, a road, an airfield, and then woods.”

“Do you see a small clearing in the woods, not far from the airstrip?”

“Yes.”

“That’s where we are. This is your only chance to meet us. You have an hour to make it over here.”

The call was ended. Angus had a short journey ahead during which he could take time to think about things.

By this time, he was in his mid-20s, but the last few years of his existence had taught him more about reality than an entire lifetime of the generation that preceded his own. There had been a gradual decline in the standard of living, not just in Scotland, but in all Western countries in general – the reasons for this trend were doubtless legion, any intelligent person could point to several different issues – whether it was the perpetual wars abroad that disrupted what was once an integrated global economy, or the irresponsible and irrational speculation of the financial elite, or a social disintegration that had taken decades to be manifested in its fullness – the bottom line was that the general malaise of society had made itself poignantly tangible to even the average person that had no thought or care except for his own comfort. That comfort had been eroded by this point, and a general cynicism had set in. Food and fuel had become more expensive, there were constant strikes. People acted like animals in the street, all pretenses of civility among the public had now been discarded and riots were a common occurrence. The urban centers were now in the grip of a kind of anarcho-tyranny, as the government did not seem to care about the violence so long as it did not target any public or state buildings – where it could, however, it introduced hitherto unprecedented methods of suppression and terror on private citizens during periods of martial law when things got especially chaotic. Angus lived in a smaller city that for whatever reason had not suffered the full extent of the problems just described, but then again it was only a matter of time before the general disorder intruded on his own little milieu.

His diminutive, dirty car was nearing the meeting place and by now he was surrounded by a dense canopy of pine trees, interrupted by the small dirt road he was driving on. His mind wandered to when he first contacted this person. He contacted him through a mutual acquaintance, Henry, a former school friend who was in the army and by this point was a veteran who saw action in Ukraine, and then Taiwan. Both pointless wars, in retrospect. These men had decided, owing to the dysfunction of law enforcement and other legitimate bodies, to form a paramilitary organisation. This seemed especially necessary to those that had wives and children, but they tended to be less involved in the militia’s activities than those that were not burdened with such obligations. 

In any case, he finally arrived at the spot and pulled up, sitting in silence amidst the gentle rustle of leaves and distant birdsong. He got out of the car and a vague fragrance from the soil filled his nostrils.

Suddenly he heard a subtle noise behind his back, and when he turned around, he was stunned – though he tried at that moment not to seem startled. In front of him was a tall, well constituted Nordic-looking fellow in camouflage trousers, brown combat boots, and a lime green button-up shirt. In his hands he held a 3D printed polymer SKS. He had a dirty blonde undercut, and bright blue eyes which stared and assessed Angus attentively, before he finally decided to speak:

“Your situational awareness is lacking. You would have easily been dead by now.”

In the background there was Henry, wearing a Ghillie suit. He put his hand on the mystery man’s shoulder:

“Relax, Felix. I vouch for him; he is my responsibility.”

“Fine, Harry. Show him the ropes.” Felix resignedly said, walking away towards a camp of some sort in the distance.

“So, Angus.” Henry started talking to him, his face obscured by a mask and dark paint, but his green eyes still shone forth with intensity. “You have gathered by now that we do have something going here. I invited you here because we need men we can trust, and from what I know of you – we are of like-mind.”

“We are.” He replied. “Why don’t you give me a tour of the compound?”

Henry’s smile could be discerned through his costume: “Of course. We have much to discuss. Follow me.”

And so, Angus tailed him towards the heart of the territory. A kind of excitement fluttered in his heart – he had longed to join a substantial brotherhood – and he was lucky to be in an area that is sufficiently isolated from the surrounding madness, where rural locales lend themselves easily to building parallel centers of power.

“The first thing you have to do is to forget about your old life.” - Henry said to him while walking.

“Some of the lads here who were officers have connections with others who used to be to intelligence and the financial sector – and they all say that a big crash in the economy is coming, many times worse than even all the other ones so far.”

He turned around to face Angus and stood still. “I mean a cataclysmic economic collapse, and it’s not just us. The stock market will crash, but also the US dollar will be toppled from its status as the world currency. A lot of well-informed guys said that this could have been easily avoided, but whichever group of people are directing these things are either imbeciles or intentionally malicious.”

“We did see this coming for several months now, and thanks to that we’ve had some time to prepare and train for the inevitable.” Henry continued. “We’ve already drawn up plans to seize key infrastructure and important public buildings in the rural area within a 30-mile radius, and because of our agreements with the local administration this will be done without firefights. The local community is all of one mind in this.”

“What about the city I just came from?” Angus queried.

“That is a whole other kettle of fish, mate.” Henry replied in a dismissive tone. “The way I see it, I can’t make a difference as to what will go on in the cities. They are too chaotic, too many different competing groups when they no longer have a currency that glues them grudgingly together. The Muslims and the Hindus will be at each other's throats for instance, but they are not the only ones.”

“The way I see it, our base is here. We have built up a good rapport with local landowners, shopkeepers, and other members of the community. They know that when push comes to shove, we will be there to protect their lives and their property. Our duty is here.” Henry finished.

“Makes sense.” Angus replied.

They had passed near the campfire and then entered the main tent, where Felix and a dozen others had also gathered.

“This is based.” Angus thought to himself. “Based and redpilled...”

[To be continued]