The United World Government. Just hearing it rings so many bells in my head, but what any of it means is lost on me. I wonder why for a moment, why would I choose to forget so much in the first place? I wonder if I just knew too much, and my brain is now keeping me ignorant for my safety. Or maybe it is like a ‘zen’ thing and I need to empty my mind to see things differently. There is a part of me that just wants to ignore Maxwell’s explanation, if only because he comes off as a bit patronizing. I know I should listen though because I have a feeling the UWG is part of the reason I am here in the first place. Though, I suppose if one is going to rule the world, they might have a part in just about everything.
“The UWG is the organization that now governs the planet and the main reason why we have a job,” Maxwell begins to walk around the office dramatically around the office, “Even since the world fell into catastrophe 20 years ago,”
“Catastrophe?” I interrupt.
Maxwell shoots me a look I can only interpret as a mix of pity and annoyance. “Really?” he says incredulously, “You don't even remember that? Is this some sort of joke?
I try and think of something clever to shoot back at him, but I am so earnestly curious that I can’t think of anything.
“Do you remember why you are like this?” Maxwell stands in front of me holding some papers.
“Uhhh…MCN?”
“MCN? And what is MCN?” Maxwell pulls up his chair and sits directly across from me.”
“It stands for Mind Compartmentalization. MCN is a technique that allows the human brain to function at a higher rate than the average person’s.
“At the cost of memory?”
“Well, not really. It is just, when a person changes the way the brain works fundamentally, and then trying to make it work like it usually would doesn’t make sense.”
Maxwell looks at me puzzledly, and takes a pause. He puts his gloved hand on his chin, “Didn’t I see this whole ‘MCN’ thing on TV or something somewhere?”
“Yeah, I think it was advertised a while back.”
“Wasn’t it shut down because it was a scam?”
I could feel myself put a frown on my face. I remembered exactly what happened, but I felt no inclination to recall this to anyone, especially Maxwell.
After a few seconds of silence, Maxwell, hands me the papers, stands up, and goes to the chair behind the desk. “No matter. Those papers describe the catastrophe in vivid detail. Though, I think the emotional resonance is a bit lost, perhaps that is for the best. Now where was I? Oh yes, the United World government.” Maxwell motions to what looks like a cabinet, “Do you want anything to drink?”
“Just some water, with ice, please”
“Ah yes, it is smart to keep hydrated in the desert,” Maxwell pours a pitcher into a glass and carefully puts two ice cubes in, “UWG is the ruling party, as you know, and while it does allow for the locals to decide a few things here and there, the World Government calls the shots for the most part.” Maxwell sits down at his desk and takes a shot of some brown liquor.
“Ah yes,” he shudders a bit, and continues, “Now, depending who you ask, it was either the population who grew stupid, or the UWG grew corrupt, but either way, things took a turn for the worst, and now nobody is happy. UWG has turned into some shadow organization where the leaders are behind the scenes, people are either sent to camps or are left to their own devices with no help at all, and no one knows what is going on anymore. It is a huge mess, and it doesn’t seem like it is going to clear up anytime soon,” Maxwell pours another drink for himself, “And that is happening all over the world, mind you.”
I wasn’t quite clear on what the UWG was, but to be honest, I don’t think either of us wanted a social studies lesson. Whatever the World Government was supposed to accomplish, but it seems like it isn’t working anymore, or at least it isn’t from Maxwell’s point of view. What I wasn’t clear on was what this had to do with anything so I lifted my hand and started to ask what does this have to do with me exactly.
“I bet you are wondering what the UWG has to do with anything?” Maxwell asked in a way that implied he knew more about what I was thinking than I did, “Well, with the UWG being the secret organization that it is, no one actually knows who the leaders are. Every region has a group of public representatives, but they are probably just messengers. That doesn’t stop people thinking they are responsible for all their troubles. We are now living in an age where ‘shooting the messenger’ isn’t just a cliché, but a way of life for more politically minded people. It was all fun and games until the guilds started to show up.”
“Guilds? What kind of guilds?”
“What other kind are there? Assassins’ guilds, of course. Taking the whole ‘shoot messenger’ thing a little too literally. It used to be more about groups of five to ten people getting together and drinking beers, ranting about the state of things, than killing people, but as time went on, people got angrier and decided to focus that rage in more organized ways. Now, other than a few detached groups here and there, the only guild we have to deal with is the Smokers”
Suddenly, I remembered something, “Oh Smokers, that’s clever,” I remarked.
“How so?” Maxwell said while raising an eyebrow.
“Oh, its just that ‘assassin’ means ‘hashish smoker’ so naming an assassin’s guild that would be…”
Maxwell begins to laugh, “You have to be kidding me!” Maxwell barely says over his unrestrained laughter, “Of all the things you remember you remember that?”
He had a point, but at the same time, I just don’t have certain memories, I am not stupid. I let it go, mostly because I would laugh too if I was in a different situation.
“Are you sure it was MCN? Maybe it was another substance that affects your memory?” Maxwell wipes the tears from his face from laughing too hard, “Anyway, the Smokers are the big, bad guild now a days, and despite their organization, the only ones we need to be afraid of are the grunts. Unlike the UWG, we know exactly who the leaders of the Smokers are, and they act more like high school students with a Che Guevara t-shirts on than actual assassins. All talk, no action. We never have to deal with them. The people we need to deal with are the lower level assassins going after the representatives.”
“How do you ‘deal’ with them?” I asked.
“Good question!” Maxwell stands up and puts his hands on his desk. “How do we deal with them indeed! We are employed by the UWG to deal with assassins in any way possible, barring death. Our group at the House of Maxwell are trained in many different disciplines to deal with assassins.”
“Wait, doesn’t the World Government have their own body guards and protection?”
“Of course they do! but they rely on ID protection from modern weapons. Try to shoot a UWG official with a smart bomb, orbital laser, or turret drone, and you are out of luck. Give a bunch of low level thugs rifles from 30 years ago, and suddenly you have a serious problem on your hands,” Maxwell then starts to pace the room, “The House of Maxwell is the finest anti-assassination group, and through our wits and cunning, we always manage to get the job done!” Maxwell raises fist in a way that sort of broke my initial ‘cool and collected’ image of him, though on second thought, his enthusiasm for his own ‘wit and cunning’ did not surprise me in the least.
“How do you ‘manage’ to do that?”
“Well, I just so happen to have a video right here!” Maxwell enthusiastically opens a compartment that I did not realize was there in the first place, and revealed a moderately sized TV. Maxwell pressed a button on the lower half of the TV and the TV turned on to a bunch of loud static, “Sorry about that,” Maxwell apologetically said, and pressed another button. Suddenly all the white specs from the static began to dance and form words on the screen.
“Oh A…my burning desire…let go”
Before I could react, I felt like I was bolted on to the chair. Maxwell seemed too intent on watching the screen than to realize what was happening to me. My eyes got very heavy and this loud tone began to engulf everything, burning every sense and synapse making it almost too painful to even attempt to move.
“What the hell! WAKE UP! This is the absolute WORST TIME to start dozing off? Seriously, how the hell can you faze out at a time like this?” The red haired woman to the right of me yells at me in a loud whisper as she nudges me painfully in the ribs with her elbow.
“I guess that is one plus about having amnesia,” the Asian man with the dark, thick glasses on the left of me remarked.
“I don’t…” I was about to say but with my headache, I decided I didn’t actually care, “Where am I?”
“We are in the middle of a warehouse, behind a box, with a heavy loaded smart turret aimed right at us, and unless we can think of something, that guy is about to kill the guy we are hired to protect!” the red haired woman yells at me, no longer in a whisper.
I guess I was about to find out first hand how an anti-assassin works.
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