The Covfefe Incident
An All Even-Newer Deep Knight Adventure
Chapter Twenty – Let Me Introduce You to my Friend Jackson
As all insiders “in the know” and schoolyard monitors know, most of the time trash talk is just trash talk. North Korea’s fat and ugly stand-in for Kim Jong Un, known to those “in the know” as Kim Jong Double Un, had to talk like an insane warmonger, it was how his part was written. Little did his millions of slavish worshipers know it was all an act, and that included Pyongyang Pete. Or should I say what parts of his brain had survived and now integrated themselves into the “matrix” bio-computer used for their nuclear and ICBM programs. Taught since childhood to have a blind hatred of all things American, especially the government, his ire was worse than a Northern Michigan Unorganized Militia member’s pig-biting anger at the days getting shorter in the fall. And he/they/it was in control of almost all of North Korea’s small collection of sophisticated digital machines and plans.
Hordes of North Korean agents had infiltrated trade shows and toy expos all over the fetid backwaters of Asia, looking for technology that might be useful to their two highest priority programs, the ones Pyongyang Pete was now in charge of. Amongst the spoils were several toy drones, the 4-propeler helicopter type like we use for surveillance (in black, of course), and a motley assortment of computer controlled 3D printers and machine tools. Instead of making rocket parts, the computer, now fully dominated by Pete’s insane desire to take action against the west, started manufacturing giant drones. More than 6 feet across, they looked like 4-legged hanging spiders, with a whirling blade of sharpened aerospace-grade alloy as each foot. Thousands of ‘em. In a normal business, someone would have noticed and said “no,” but not in North Korea, where secrecy was a mania. The drones could not only fly under matrix computer control, their propellers were both spinning guillotines and precision buzz saws. If a head needed to be taken off, or a hole cut in a wall for access, the mega-drones could do it. And those two skills fit the goal of now-Cyber-Pete, the total destruction of the American way of life! Starting, of course, with their beloved supreme leader, the orange half of our carefully-arranged meeting. And, of course, the timing for that attack was now.
The Secret Service jumped on the President just as Heather was uttering the first syllable of something silly and loud, the later to be heard above the thunderous sawing noises and crashing skyscraper components. This saved him from the first drone that came through and went directly towards his head, no doubt being programed to home in on anything orange. Unfortunately, it took off the top half of the top half of his protection detail, and the top half of his elaborate hair-doo! The agents that were left in one piece shuffled him off to the armored executive golden elevator, keeping low as they snickered about their charge’s silly new hairstyle.
Not only was the person we wanted to kill safe, the ire and cutting power of the ever-increasing fleet of drones that had made it into Trump Tower was now focused on us. Like lambs to the slaughter, except WAY more bloody, the remaining Secret Service and private security agents had their heads neatly trimmed one-by-one. It was as if the computer was playing with us. But as the wall of human flesh between us and the drones was reduced, Kid Einstein got a brilliant idea and hacked into “the Matrix” controlling them. I told you he was smart. While Kid Eisenstein filmed us in B&W, my virtual image entered the drone-controlling network as “Morphius.” Leather coated and wearing sunglasses, my virtual character appeared to be holding two pills in his hand. “You take the blue pill, the story ends,” I cautioned in a deeply resonant voice, “You wake up in your bed and believe whatever you want to believe. You take the red pill, you stay in Wonderland, and I show you how deep the rabbit hole goes.”
I hoped Pete would bite, literally. We were running out of time. Having chewed through every last agent and bodyguard left on our floor, the drones had decapitated Kid Einstein, flinging his over-developed brain around the room. Knowing the worst was coming, Kid Eisenstein filmed his own beheading, using an f8 to get greater depth of field. Heather was next. Stepping forward and taking a kung-fu stance, she announced, “Nunc pro tunc, mutha-@#$!ers!” both as a challenge and pro se motion to the court. Her head was immediately thin-sliced by the meat-slicer-like blade of a drone. Each cold-cut-like slice was dealt out like a pack of cards in a gory game of 52 Pick Up. It was reminiscent of a food fight in anatomy class. I was only saved from a similar fate by being surrounded by the Slice Girls. While their razor-sharp steel swords were no match for the ICBM-grade alloys making up the drone blades, the bio-computer was at heart a horny boy, who couldn’t resist removing their clothing instead of their heads. He was undressing them slowly, in a deadly game of deft swipes and severed fabric. The game was fun now, but who could tell when he would get tired of toying with them and play for keeps?
Back in the virtual world of the Matrix, Cyber-Pete, unable to pass on a challenge, grabbed the blue pill and swallowed it with a sneer. He was a hideous avatar, half mangled jet pilot, half smiley face emoji. But his triumphant smile stopped at his lips when he suddenly began to disintegrate before my virtual eyes. The blue pill wasn’t the path to ignorant bliss, it was digital poison! A mixture of computer viruses, unlicensed software, and protein supplements, it corrupted him from within and without. He started to dissolve, melting before my eyes, moaning “Ohhh! Yankee dog! Look what you done! I'm melting! Melting! Oh, what a world! What a world! Who think bad boy like you destroy my beautiful wickedness! Long live our beloved leader!”
If I thought the drones would collapse with his demise, I was wrong. And, to be honest, it was what I had been thinking. Instead, they pressed the attack home, trimming the ends off the Slice Girls’ swords, inching their way to our throats. Then, when it seemed that all hope was gone, out of the blue came a full battalion of airborne dachshunds, deftly maneuvering their steerable parachutes into our battle zone while spraying 50 cal. bullets into the massed drones. Bred to hunt badgers, these scrappy little wiener dogs did surprisingly well in with modern weapons, especially considering they don’t have opposable thumbs. After what I had been told by Satan, I was also surprised that they actually existed. This was explained by their Supreme Commander after the battle over a couple of beers and pickled eggs.
“If I had gotten money for what they thought was a real Dachshund battalion, it would have been subject to budget cuts and austerity programs and canceled years ago. But, since Satan thought it was a scam to feather my own nest through embezzlement, he left it alone for a small percentage. This kept our crack canine squad together and trained, the wisdom of which I hope today’s events have proven once and for all! Now, if only we could find a source of Sky Chief gasoline…”
I left well enough alone, valuing togetherness over apartness, yin over yang, taste over tongue. Descending to the command post in the basement, I was surprised to see The Prince of Darkness himself, and all smiles. It turns out he had followed our team to Trump Tower, intent on seeing the fun and slaughter, and run into President Flat Top as he was fleeing to safety. Not only had they kissed and made up, Satan had a whole new contract with the government, this time to eliminate certain dangerous “dreamers” from our shores. Why he thought he would collect on this one after all the others over the years was beyond me, but you know Satan and his annoying streak of boyish optimism.
In the end it was all meaningless. Only a tale, told about an idiot, full of sound and fury, signifying nothing. Yeah, I know, that’s not exactly how Shakespeare wrote it, but Shakespeare was wrong. And so was Satan, thinking we could somehow trust the US Government when at the same time we had vowed to destroy them. Nobody said it would be easy, or for that matter make sense, but in the end it left you feeling cold and empty inside. But it was the kind of cold and empty men like me craved, independent men who loved action and danger and had a weak moral compass. Men, who at the end of the day can rise up out of a pile of their own vomit and sing, “This is mine, you can’t take it. As long as I know I have love I can make it. For once in my life I have someone who needs me!”
Stay tuned for the next Deep Knight Adventure, “Shuddered Windows, Shuttering Hearts”
"Follow the Money"