There are plenty of conspiracy theories about. Ideas about how power really works and who holds it behind the curtains. They don’t know so they have to guess. They get so close sometimes and at others they are hilariously wrong. They don’t have the perspective to see the world as it is. They are ants trying to appreciate the world as an eagle above might see it. There too many obstructions, too much just out of sight. They could never appreciate the scale of the truth. I find it hard to fathom myself, and its my job to keep track of this stuff. It is my job to keep humanity in check.
The year is 1120 and it seems that many of the ideas we have taken for granted are finally spreading across the borders. The publication of Liber Abaci by Leonardo Pisa has certainly had an effect on the mathematical theory at large. Shame, exclusive knowledge of such kept us ahead of the curve. As important as what we know are the things that no one else does. With each secret there is a power for the bearer. We hold many secrets and much power. It must not be known, nor can we be known for anonymity is our greatest strength.
In these times a magician can be made by his mechanics. The consequences of an idea beyond general comprehension is deemed magic by the masses. They fear and fixate over the power wielded by our servants. We create their celebrity and in return they reinforce our grip upon the reigns of power. We give them creations of guile beyond their understanding to make them gods before their followers at the price of their contribution to individual freedom. We chose who lives and who dies. This applies equally to followers who must know their place in the scheme of the world. There are plans for humanity, our followers know this. Their followers do not.
I have a power over the followers which I find glorious. I love to taunt the feeble minded posers who take the credit for my work. They are the product of my designs. They are the public face of my work. I must be a shadow: observant and anonymous. I must be humble in my work for pride is loud and draws attention. Power is subtle and must be wielded with caution and care. I have my masters and must mould my work to their needs. The agenda of the collective must be furthered foremost and then individual gain can be considered.
The movement I am a member of is organised and lead by rank. My rank at present is mediocre, I inherited my fathers position of handler as he was promoted to do work he was forbidden to talk about.
I hate what we have done to the followers. I enjoy the control but the followers are pitiful. Too weak and frightened for me to take any joy from taunting them. They’re not all bad, I talk to one called Michael. He’s smarter than most of them. He’s begun to fathom his tools of deception. I still enjoy taunting the other followers but he is making me question my conceptions of them. I look now for signs of potential, which I rarely see. There are moments of flair though, times when they pull off a trick I’ve never seen before. I’ve seen Michael weave birds of fire from the flamethrower. Maybe he could teach the others to take the initiative. Then I might respect them enough not to want to kill them when they break their instruments of deceit. Too often my work goes to waste because some dolt has forgotten to release gas under pressure or has left their propellants on for too long before ignition.
My latest illusion simulates flight. Using various thin wire cables obscured visually by shadow the follower is raised above the public masses to speak from the rafters. So far the fatality rate is fifty percent, shame. The two deaths were not my fault, not entirely my fault. Being so thin the wires cut through flesh like a hot knife through butter. Lowering must be done slowly, I told them that. I’m pretty sure I told them that.
This new project has been attracting a lot of attention from higher up in the organisation. Mostly positive. The brilliance of the invention has been widely praised for its positive effect on our growing faith. The numbers of faithful at my temples has increased threefold thanks to the flight machine, I am making my place of note among those who came before me.
Not long from now I will meet the man who has been giving me orders since childhood. I will know the face of the commander who’s place will be mine in time. I will know those who pull his strings and I will cut and drop them from theirs. This organisation could be mine to do with as I please. I would control my followers, the puppets would overthrow the leaders of man at my nod and I would rule all with an iron fist.
This is my dream but when I dream my dreams come true.
I could build entire cities, monuments to myself and lay the rest to waste. I could paint the world as I want to and rule openly. My children could inherit an empire worthy of a god. I would watch the temples rise as towers from the dust of their creation. I would walk the roads I had drawn with my own hand. My mechanisms could be built on a scale unimagined before and harnessed for war against all who stand against me or to build a moving city from cogs and gears. It would move like clockwork, rising and falling as per my design. I would bring my minions the heaven the puppets preach about. They would marvel at creations beyond their feeble comprehension. I would have towers built that reached into the sky and suspend the city’s buildings from them like sails that blow in the wind.
There would be no doubting my divinity, no equal to my empire, no end to possibility. Here’s hoping.