Young Writers Society

The Young Guardians

“Almost done,” he thinks to himself.

He weaves the needle carefully through skin and fabric making the two forever one. He still feels the needle slicing through every time it pierces the skin of his neck, lacing the thick, black thread through slightly lighter mahogany skin. He used the mirror he had scavenged to perform the home surgery.

Blood ran in slow streams down his bare chest, becoming rapids in the space between his bony ribs. With the clip of his rusty scissors, he completed final step of his plan. A plan to change world, even if only to see it burn to the ground. He admired his work in the mirror

Looking back him from the mirror was alarming. A midnight dark mask covering his entire face save for two small holes for him to breathe. He hadn’t wanted to even allow that slight puncture of his principles but suffocation would have quickly laid his plans to rest.

Only stark white symbols stood out from the inky black of his mask. A single white rectangle running along the bridge of his nose with an unblinking eye in the center. At the space where his eyebrows might have met the rectangle became a T with two weighing pans hanging from its arms. On the scale’s left side pan rests a heart and on the right rests a feather. He ran his fingers over his favorite part of the mask a circle where his mouth would be with three lines racing out appearing to leap from the dark background. He paused in mid-stroke,

“No, not a mask, my new face,” he thought to himself. “Every year my task lays unfinished I will weave another revolution through my new face to bear me closer to my path.”

He grinned beneath his mask as he reached down to pick up the alcohol from dusty floor.

“Let me be the first to burn,” he said as he poured alcohol around the base of his neck, setting him ablaze with fiery pain and purpose.

1 year later

“Who is he?” said Special Agent Sage Matthews banging on the desk in front of the suspect, Nathanial Irons. The freckled face hipster in the skinny jeans and a plaid topped with a grey beanie flinched at the sound. Matthews grabbed Irons’ head and shoved him down into the picture of the weirdo whose face was covered in symbols.

“I don’t know,” said Irons as he gripped Matthews hand like a man on death throw grips the rope.

“Calm down, Matthews,” said Special Agent Darion Carter. “This isn’t Tikrit, this is Quantico and you better act like it.”

Matthews glared at Carter and shoved the kid almost out of his chair.

“Shouldn’t you be at in cubicle fingering the disk drive of your fancy computer,” said Matthews.

“No, this is a joint case between Homeland Security and FBI Cyber Crime. Besides the more time I spend at my desk, the better chance that I’ll probably take down your favorite porn site for federal charges,” said Carter in a smooth retort.

Matthews sneered and went to lean on the double-sided glass behind Irons. Every time he breathed out he let out a quiet growl which set Irons to shivering.

“Look Irons if you talk we can help you. We got you on piracy, distribution of copyrighted material, alteration of federal records for profit—“

“Alteration of what,” said Irons

“Changing the grades of students for money is federal offense. You’re looking at serious time if you don’t cooperate, the minimum time for your combined offenses is five years and up 250K in fines. You help us out and I’ll put in a good word with the Justice Department and even throw in a stale donut and coffee,” said Carter.

“I’d take the offer if I was you,” said Mathews as he slides in right behind Irons’ right ear.“I would have only offered the coffee.”

“Alright, alright. I’ll talk,” said Irons. He puts his head on the picture and let out a sigh before sitting up and looking at the wall.

“No one knows his name, or where he came from. He just suddenly appeared a year ago. He never says anything, not directly. He just sends that picture and odd phrases like “When will you rise,” or “Are you ready to weigh-in.”

“Yeah, we know all of that already, Irons. The pictures and phrases have been popping up everywhere internet cafes, airline arrival terminals and a bunch of other places the geeks at Cyber Crimes thought were unhackable,” said Matthews.

“So then what do you want me for if you already know all of that,” said Irons.

“Because that picture showed up somewhere it’s definitely not supposed to be,” said Carter.

“The President’s Oval Office computer,” said Matthews.

Irons eyes popped back into focus and bore into Carter.

“So he really did it,” whispered Irons.

“Did what,” asked Carter in a coy tone.”

“He said that he would give a sign,”

“I thought you said he doesn’t communicate directly,” said Carter moving to sit across from irons at the metal table.

“The guy in the picture is new but some of the phrases he uses are from an old book, The Angry Cry of Youth written by a guy named Meddle T. Doeswell. It was never published but it’s been on the Net for years,” said Irons.

“What makes you think these two guys are one in the same, it could just be copycat?”

“Because the closing of the book predicts it, ‘Ten years from now I’ll present my challenge to the world order’s prime king and the match to end all matches, shall begin.’”

“I told you two I wanted answers and you bring me end of the world prophecies,” said Secretary of Defense Albert Dennison. He accented his words by slamming his fist down on the redwood desk in his plush D.C. office. A large, bold picture of Washington crossing the Delaware hung behind him, accenting his, pale craggy features.

“With all due respect sir, you asked us to chase a ghost and I’m not the one to call for that,” replied Matthews. He squirmed in the fancy, leather chair, uncomfortable in such ostentatious accommodations.

“Don’t get smart with me Matthews. Your abilities are what I need, not your attitude,” said Dennison.

“My abilities are why you tolerate my attitude sir,” said Matthews.

Carter coughed into his fist to remind them he was still there.

“With all due respect, which actually means something coming from me, I agree sir. Though it is incredibly difficult for someone to relay an image to Oval Office from outside, it is technically possible with help from the inside. In addition, the White House’s is far from cutting edge. I know a guy who hacks into their Wi-Fi to check his email all the time when he doesn’t want to use his data plan. However, how do we know this hacker is one in the same and not some copycat looking for attention,” said Carter.

Dennison leaned across his desk and tapped the microphone button on his office phone.

“Jeanne, send Diaz in.”

A moment later a young Latina woman strode into the office in a dark blue suit and pencil skirt. She wore small gold hoop earrings which jiggled as walked in. She sat in the chair beside Dennison’s desk and looked disapprovingly at the pair of Matthews and Carter.

“Guess that means you couldn’t get anything out of the hacker wannabe after all,” said Diaz.

“I’m sure you could do so much better, that skirt just screams professional interrogator,” retorted Matthews smugly.

“Knock it off you two,” said Dennison. “Gentleman and I use that term lightly in reference to you Matthews, I’d like you to meet Serena Diaz. She is an English Doctorate specializing in discursive psychology.”

“She’s a book reader who reads minds,” said Carter skeptically.

“The arrangement of words can tell just as much about a person as the way they arrange their ones and zeros or the way they arrange their body. It’s actually harder because a writer has time to edit their work and thereby obfuscate their intentions and ideologies,” said Diaz.

Both Matthews and Carter shared the same look of skepticism.

“None of you have to like it but for time being you’ll all be working the case together—” said Dennison.

Out of the three it was clearly Diaz who winced most at the word “together.”

“Diaz go ahead brief them with what you know so far,” said Dennison.

Diaz reached onto Dennison’s desk and grabbed a wireless PowerPoint clicker and pressed a button. The curtains drew themselves as the painting of Washington slid into the wall revealing a screen with a Department of Defense logo flashing on it. The words “authenticating material flashed twice in sickly green color before the image they had been using in the interrogation room flashed up again.

“Meddle T. Doeswell is name that has been floating around on the Internet since 2004. He originally posted his work Cry of Youth to a website called Young Writers Society with one caption attached to it, “When will you rise? A question he asks throughout the work. He writes in the style of Thomas Paine,” said Diaz.

Carter’s eyebrow raised while Matthews eyes glazed over. Diaz squeezed her eyes tightly in frustration before opening them and letting out a terse response.

“Thomas Paine wrote Common Sense,” said Diaz.

Matthews look remained unchanged.

“You’ve got be kidding Matthews,” said Diaz slapping her hand to her forehead. “Paine’s book Common Sense moved the original 13 colonies to rebellion by exposing the autocracy and callousness of the British monarchy.”

“Yeah I knew that,” said Matthews crossing his arms.

“Just keep going Diaz, I’ll make sure he is up to speed later. I’ll use small words,” said Carter. Matthews glared in response.

“Anyway, “said Diaz continuing “for a young reader particularly in our modern age the work is powerfully persuasive. He shows the hypocrisy of an education which asks young people to be the change in the world while at the same time, telling them their too young to make the right decisions. He questions the foundations of our society asking why the young should be grateful for lives never asked for. But his biggest proof is the idea that society needs the young more than the young need society,” said Diaz.

“So he is every other 16-year-old with angst and disrespect for authority,” said Matthews. “Take away the ability to write pages on that topic and Meddle could be me.”

“Pipe down Matthews,” said Dennison. Matthews shrugged his shoulders in surrender in response.

“How persuasive could this piece of literature be,” asked Carter? “Young people today don’t read.”

“That’s the kind of rhetoric which Meddle speaks out against, the ability of the older generation as society to define what the Millennials should be. But whoever he is, he is a master rhetorician. Not only does he lay out a through ideology with clear rewards if a revolution is successful but he does it in AP style,”

“Associated Press,” said Dennison. “Whoever this guy is, he’s not just some avid political writer.”

“That is probable, “said Diaz “Traditionally writers use MLA formatting, but whoever this guy is he uses AP style which is far more reader friendly because it writes at much lower literature level. Think about it like this, he is a person who is capable of almost perfectly conveying Einstein’s theory of relativity to class of middle schoolers,”

“So, what? I’m still not convinced this is even a case,” said Matthews.

Dennison glared at him over the desk and then nodded for Diaz to continue.

“The reason you should be concerned is that this piece of literature if it was commercial and sold would have been on the New York Times best seller list for over 5 years based on the places I could find it posted and based on number of times it has been read or shared.” said Diaz.

“So then why have I never heard about it,” said Carter.

“Because you’re not supposed to. The community which distributes and endorses it is all Millennials who are outraged with the system. They don’t discuss it on social media or other networking sites because Meddle instructed them not too until he gave the signal,”

“And the signal was the image on the President’s computer,” said Carter.

“Exactly. Which means that it won’t be secret for long.” said Diaz.

“So then what are we waiting for,” asked Matthews as he stood and flexed his coat on his broad linebacker shoulders to readjust it.

“One more question though,” said Dennison. “What does the T stand for?”

“Trouble,” said Diaz.

The 8:15 a.m. school bell rang at Columbia Heights Education Campus in Washington D.C. The monolith of progressive education was a symbiosis of red and white brick crisscrossed with glass and silver steel. Underclassman shuffled line in through the door under the bus overhang trying to make it to class before the tardy bell.

Trina shuffled in a line behind her peers bouncing on her heels trying to hurry through the metal detector. She’d already been late once this month and she didn’t want to be one of the lame kids stuck in detention for an hour after school had left out. She didn’t need the heat from her parents or her coaches about how she was “squandering her opportunities as young African American woman at a prestigious education institution.” She was already old enough at fourteen to know that she was working hard to get 68 cents to the dollar in comparison to her peers. She rolled eyes at the thought.

“Hey look up there,” said the kid behind her.

Trina followed the guy’s finger to a figure towering above them on the bus overhang. The figure was covered in a black cloak from head to toe. The January wind rippled around the figure, causing the cloak to ripple up around his wiry legs. The figure grasped the cloak with his left hand and tore off it revealing a strange get-up.

The man wore a black body suit from head toe with silver armored panels on his arms, legs and torso. The figure’s face was hidden by a black mask which matched the body suit. It was covered in bright white symbols. She recognized the all Seeing Eye from the back of the dollar bill but she didn’t know what any of other symbols were. The figure tapped something on his wrist and suddenly there was feedback from the bus stop speakers.

“Good morning students both here and around the world. For many of you, today is your first day back to school and for others that day will soon be arriving. This school year will be unlike any other. My name is Meddle, and I am here to offer you a choice, accept the world as it is or help me change it, “said the masked figure.

Trina looked around to see what the teachers and staff were doing but they were just as perplexed as the students. Only Ms. Lao was doing anything. She was talking to one of the security guards and pointing at the man. Judging from guard shaking his head there wasn’t much that the guy could do.

“Our world is twisted by corruption and false promise. If you’re like to me every day in school got in the way of education, when was the last time you were educated on how to change the world, to spot corruption and to protect your liberties? Will you see the hope and strength of our generation wasted or will you join me and ensure a better tomorrow for all”

The man’s voice was her own questions coming from another.

The man in the mask popped up over Diaz presentation.

“We youth of today must take that which should have been given,” said the man in the mask.

Carter sprung in action swinging around the desk and butting the Dennison out of the way.

“Sorry sir, I’m going to try to get a lock on his signal,” said Carter.

“You’ll need my password—,” said Dennison.

“Not a problem I’m already in,” said Carter.

“Where is he,” asked Matthews.

“Give me a sec. He’s broadcasting to the entire nation,” said Carter. He threw up another display showing Times Square’s Jumbotron.

“Secrets out now,” said Carter.

“Let’s focus on what we can fix and worry about triage later,” said Dennison in a huff.

“He’s bouncing all over the place. He’s using multiple ISPs to hide where he is. This could take a while,” said Carter.

“I thought you only needed two minutes. That’s what happens in all the movies,” said Matthews.

“This isn’t the movies. This shouldn’t be possible. He’s breaking into system with 256 bit encryption,” said Carter. He typed furiously at the keys trying to get an answer to what should have been a rhetorical question.

“256 bit what,” asked Diaz.

“It’s the highest level of standard of encryption. It’s what we use for secret and confidential digital information security. Until yesterday I would have told you that it would take you approximately 149 trillion years to crack just one account using that level of encryption. Whoever this guy is, he’s doing it on a national scale.

“So, you’re saying you’re useless,” said Matthews.

Carter stopped typing long enough to glare at Matthews. The computer started to beep angrily and Carter slammed his fist on the desk.

“He flipped the security on us. It’s keeping us in, I can’t access anything without his permission,” said Carter.

“So glad you could be here,” said Matthews.

“A lot of help you’re being killer,” said Carter

“Both of you shut up and look at the image. I know that place. It’s Columbia Heights Education Campus. My sister goes to school there,” said Diaz.

“I’ll get some people over there right away,” said Dennison. He picked up his phone and suddenly there was harmony in the room. The voice coming from the receiver was in sync with the voice from the screen. Dennison slammed the receiver back down on to the phone.

“Grab a car and get over there ASAP. Use the radio to call for back-up,” said Dennison. “I want him brought in for questioning.”

“Finally,” said Matthews. “We get to the hands on stuff.” Matthews pulled his keys from his pocked and caught them in mid-air. He’s was already hustling to the door with Carter close behind.

“Let’s go Diaz,” said Matthews.

“Why am I going,” she asked.

“We might need something interpreted,” he laughed as he dragged her from the room by her arm.

Trina was mesmerized by the speaker. He spoke to her like she was important, but she was afraid of getting in trouble.

“There will be trouble ahead, there will be trials and tribulations, but what is triumph without trial. You are not alone already hundreds of the thousands support our cause, each one an integral part of opportunity for all. Tonight when you’re back in your homes wondering if this is real, ask yourself if yesterday was real. Hearing bad news on every channel and wondering what was to become of your life. Why things seems to be getting worse rather than better. Why you are expected to be searching for career rather than pursuing happiness. Is that what is real, or would you rather join me to make a new “real,” he said.

The speaker spread his arms wide in a welcoming embrace and several others dressed in black joined him on the overhang.

“We are the Young Knights. To those who destroy the hope of a generation, squander its dreams and embezzle its fortunes, you shall find in us mortal enemies. To those who seek true justice for all, you shall find true allies. Only those who are prepared to lose everything have the chance to gain anything. The Young Knights have inherited the scales of justice, and we will apply them to the world.” Choose your side as you see fit,” said the figure.

The overhang burst into smoke and sparks enveloping the figure and his supporters in smoke. Students and teacher dove to the ground fearing a bomb had exploded but Trina stood standing, hoping to see that man once again. She felt her phone buzzing in her pocket incessantly. She unlocked her phone to find a message from an unknown number.

“You have been invited to change the world. The Young Knights extends an offer for membership to you. You have been selected to become a part of our noble order. Do you accept all the risks and rewards that come with said membership? Text YES or NO to respond. This message is untraceable and will be immediately deleted in ten minutes. No one will know your answer unless you tell them yourself.”

Trina felt her fingers shivering with excitement. Her mind was buzzing with questions. What would she be asked to do? Would she get in trouble? How did they plan to get away with all of this? She could see the other kids looking at their phones as well but none of the teachers seem to be looking at their phones. It was just for young people.

She typed into her phone

Y—E—S, and hit the send button.

The response came a racing heartbeat later.

You are not alone in your hunger for justice. We will be in touch within 24 hours. Tell no one what you are until instructed otherwise. Both messages deleted themselves leaving no one the wiser. Another text message popped up on her screen.

Are you okay? Something big is happening at the school. I’m on my way.

Serena.

Trina head spun for moment thoughts of danger and confusion and then froze with crystal clarity.

I’m fine. I’ll see you when you get here.” She hit the send button.