Rain was coming down again. It always did that when I was in my office. It served as reminder just how much the universe hated me. But that was okay, I hated the universe too.
But I didn't have time for philosophy. My name is Rifle Tracer. I'm a Private Investigator.
The door knocked and I was interested just enough to yell for whoever it was to "come in" and to part my boots that I had resting on my desk so I could see who was coming in. It was trouble, female, with a long mane of red hair as usual.
"I am so sorry Mr Tracer," the redhead started, "but I was instructed to invite you for a most lucrative job."
Naturally several things perked up on me after hearing this offer from the lady in the breezy honey colored dress standing before me, my ears were among them. "Am I following someone?" That always cost extra though I might make a discount if my client were to be extra accommodating.
"No, Mr Tracer. I'm afraid it will be unlike anything you have ever done before." She bit her lower lip for no good reason while handing me a card. Wherever she had gotten her seductress training it was good. Of course that had me wondering just who she was working for.
The card only gave a cryptic address: 688 South Ebony Raven Way.
"We will expect you there tomorrow Mr Tracer," the fire haired nymph said as she glided right back out the door.
I wasn't really going to consider it until I saw that the sexy lady had surreptitiously left a stack of $100 bills on my desk. That sort of made my mind up as I had bills to pay. Like Bill my landlord, Bill my attorney and Bill my probation officer.
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Rain continued to pelt my trench coat and hat as I found myself outside the darkened building there on South Ebony Raven Way. It was an all black brick building with covered windows.
I knocked on the door and was greeted by a short, balding man. "Who are you?" He asked testily.
"I am Mr Tracer. I was invited here." I said while seeking the card left with me the day before.
"Ah, then come in." The man now opened the door and I was brought into a waiting room with only hard couches to sit on. There, already sitting, was another man in a suit.
"You may address me as Mr Clay while we are in here." The man said curtly. "And you shall respond to the name of Mr Gemstone."
I didn't quite know what to make of this.
"Now, Mr Gemstone, if you would proceed into the debugging station." His hand motioned towards a closet like room with a kind of wire mesh on the walls.
I stepped into the room and heard the door click behind me. I heard a slight hum then my watch and phone both crackled and sparked. When the door opened again I was almost in a rage. "What the hell was that?"
"We just needed to make sure you had no bugs or wires on you. That room will short circuit anything electronic on your person." Mr Clay tried to calm me.
"It ruined my new phone. I had to wait all night to get the newest version!"
"Don't worry. With the money you make here you can afford to buy Apple stock now." A new door opened and I was greeted with the sight of a vast room filled with people at computer consoles. Giant glass screens subdivided it.
Mr Clay took me down a corridor that bisected the operation. "You see, Mr Gemstone, this is the Paid Shill division."
"Paid shills?"
"Yes, these are the people who we pay to surf the web and defend the 'official story' wherever someone might have spotted the truth."
"Who are we working for?" I asked.
"For Them, The Powers, The Ones Who Rob Cavefish Of Their Sight. Their name isn't important."
"So what exactly is it like to work here?"
"Let me allow you to talk to those that already do work here." With that Mr Clay opened a door "This is the Youtube Division, one of the larger departments," and we walked down several rows until we stopped by the desk of a middle aged man with glasses. "Mr Sand here has worked for us since 2002."
Mr Sand gave a wave of affirmation.
"So, Mr Sand, what are you working on today?" Mr Clay asked.
"Well it seems a 17 year old kid from Tampa has caught on that all the people in the bus crash in Altoona were actually paid actors. So I'm linking to peer reviewed studies that indicates their behavior is normal."
"Good work there." Mr Clay gave him a reassuring nudge in the shoulder. "How do you like working here Mr Sand?"
"Oh it's great. I was able to get a BMW convertible and the higher ups used their clone division to get me my own Natalie Portman as my girlfriend."
"There's a clone division?" I had to ask about that.
"Well it's not really in the same building," Mr Clay explained, "its out in the secret fortress where we keep the head of Walt Disney in magnetic detainment lest the antimatter orb within get loose."
"Okay then, so what do the rest of these departments do?"
Mr Clay walked back out to the central hall and I followed.
"Well aside from the Youtube division. We also have our facebook department which is quite large since we have to create fake personas for those that comment there. Then there is 4chan infiltration unit. The Skeptics Forum unit. And those that we send into the belly of the beast; into the forums where all the secrets and lies are uncovered. Places like God Like Productions, the Icke forums, Above Top Secret, Let's Roll, Infowars and so on. That is where you will go, Mr Gemstone."
I gulped. "And what will I be doing?"
"It's easy really. When one of them discovers something we want hidden you use our fake science to suppress it."
"And what is our fake science?"
"You, things like gravity, inertia, well most of physics, chemistry and biology. They think they've seen a horsebat you will use our invented biology to explain why it can't happen. They think the WTC buildings should have toppled over like trees you pull out gravity, rotational inertia and loads of mechanical physics. They realized that a tiny antennae array in Alaska created a super hurricane you pull out facts about the energy actually needed to do so."
"I have to ask....this all seems to expensive. Is it really worth it?"
"Oh, Mr Gemstone, you have no idea how worth it it is to temporarily annoy these people down in their basements in between their meals of hot pockets."
But I didn't have time for philosophy. My name is Rifle Tracer. I'm a Private Investigator.
The door knocked and I was interested just enough to yell for whoever it was to "come in" and to part my boots that I had resting on my desk so I could see who was coming in. It was trouble, female, with a long mane of red hair as usual.
"I am so sorry Mr Tracer," the redhead started, "but I was instructed to invite you for a most lucrative job."
Naturally several things perked up on me after hearing this offer from the lady in the breezy honey colored dress standing before me, my ears were among them. "Am I following someone?" That always cost extra though I might make a discount if my client were to be extra accommodating.
"No, Mr Tracer. I'm afraid it will be unlike anything you have ever done before." She bit her lower lip for no good reason while handing me a card. Wherever she had gotten her seductress training it was good. Of course that had me wondering just who she was working for.
The card only gave a cryptic address: 688 South Ebony Raven Way.
"We will expect you there tomorrow Mr Tracer," the fire haired nymph said as she glided right back out the door.
I wasn't really going to consider it until I saw that the sexy lady had surreptitiously left a stack of $100 bills on my desk. That sort of made my mind up as I had bills to pay. Like Bill my landlord, Bill my attorney and Bill my probation officer.
<> <> <> <>
Rain continued to pelt my trench coat and hat as I found myself outside the darkened building there on South Ebony Raven Way. It was an all black brick building with covered windows.
I knocked on the door and was greeted by a short, balding man. "Who are you?" He asked testily.
"I am Mr Tracer. I was invited here." I said while seeking the card left with me the day before.
"Ah, then come in." The man now opened the door and I was brought into a waiting room with only hard couches to sit on. There, already sitting, was another man in a suit.
"You may address me as Mr Clay while we are in here." The man said curtly. "And you shall respond to the name of Mr Gemstone."
I didn't quite know what to make of this.
"Now, Mr Gemstone, if you would proceed into the debugging station." His hand motioned towards a closet like room with a kind of wire mesh on the walls.
I stepped into the room and heard the door click behind me. I heard a slight hum then my watch and phone both crackled and sparked. When the door opened again I was almost in a rage. "What the hell was that?"
"We just needed to make sure you had no bugs or wires on you. That room will short circuit anything electronic on your person." Mr Clay tried to calm me.
"It ruined my new phone. I had to wait all night to get the newest version!"
"Don't worry. With the money you make here you can afford to buy Apple stock now." A new door opened and I was greeted with the sight of a vast room filled with people at computer consoles. Giant glass screens subdivided it.
Mr Clay took me down a corridor that bisected the operation. "You see, Mr Gemstone, this is the Paid Shill division."
"Paid shills?"
"Yes, these are the people who we pay to surf the web and defend the 'official story' wherever someone might have spotted the truth."
"Who are we working for?" I asked.
"For Them, The Powers, The Ones Who Rob Cavefish Of Their Sight. Their name isn't important."
"So what exactly is it like to work here?"
"Let me allow you to talk to those that already do work here." With that Mr Clay opened a door "This is the Youtube Division, one of the larger departments," and we walked down several rows until we stopped by the desk of a middle aged man with glasses. "Mr Sand here has worked for us since 2002."
Mr Sand gave a wave of affirmation.
"So, Mr Sand, what are you working on today?" Mr Clay asked.
"Well it seems a 17 year old kid from Tampa has caught on that all the people in the bus crash in Altoona were actually paid actors. So I'm linking to peer reviewed studies that indicates their behavior is normal."
"Good work there." Mr Clay gave him a reassuring nudge in the shoulder. "How do you like working here Mr Sand?"
"Oh it's great. I was able to get a BMW convertible and the higher ups used their clone division to get me my own Natalie Portman as my girlfriend."
"There's a clone division?" I had to ask about that.
"Well it's not really in the same building," Mr Clay explained, "its out in the secret fortress where we keep the head of Walt Disney in magnetic detainment lest the antimatter orb within get loose."
"Okay then, so what do the rest of these departments do?"
Mr Clay walked back out to the central hall and I followed.
"Well aside from the Youtube division. We also have our facebook department which is quite large since we have to create fake personas for those that comment there. Then there is 4chan infiltration unit. The Skeptics Forum unit. And those that we send into the belly of the beast; into the forums where all the secrets and lies are uncovered. Places like God Like Productions, the Icke forums, Above Top Secret, Let's Roll, Infowars and so on. That is where you will go, Mr Gemstone."
I gulped. "And what will I be doing?"
"It's easy really. When one of them discovers something we want hidden you use our fake science to suppress it."
"And what is our fake science?"
"You, things like gravity, inertia, well most of physics, chemistry and biology. They think they've seen a horsebat you will use our invented biology to explain why it can't happen. They think the WTC buildings should have toppled over like trees you pull out gravity, rotational inertia and loads of mechanical physics. They realized that a tiny antennae array in Alaska created a super hurricane you pull out facts about the energy actually needed to do so."
"I have to ask....this all seems to expensive. Is it really worth it?"
"Oh, Mr Gemstone, you have no idea how worth it it is to temporarily annoy these people down in their basements in between their meals of hot pockets."
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