The Last Stand
-----------------
He rounded the corner, breathing raggedly, and faced -
- a wall. Plain, impassible, immensely strong.
And this was it.
A dead end.
This was what everything had come to.
"Give us your weapon," said a voice.
Kyle turned. Yes. He was trapped.
Each of the soldiers stopped, turned, and pointed their machine guns at Kyle.
"Give us your weapon, 713-219," the voice said again, in the same lifeless, maddening inflection. Like a machine.
Like a machine.
One last time, his growing fear was pushed aside as his hatred for Oceania welled up within him. One last time.
"Never," the man spat. "My name is -Kyle-."
Kyle aimed at the closest soldier. Take out the commander, and he had a chance.
A brilliant flash of light was emitted from the weapon. The soldier's body disintegrated as if he was dust blown away by the wind.
But even as Kyle swung the gun towards the others, he knew it was too late. Deep within, he knew he had no chance.
There was never any chance.
And as he blew up soldier after soldier, he realized that it was inevitable. They had no commander. They moved as though commanded by an invisible force, a voice inside each of their heads.
They would keep coming forever. Each of them having just enough time to aim before they were destroyed. But more came. Dozens. Hundreds!
"Give us your weapon, 713-219," the voice intoned. A different voice, a different person. But it sounded exactly the same. The first soldier had been killed, but it no longer mattered.
It -was- the same.
He knew that even if he killed all these men here, there would be more. Millions more, ready to die for the Party. Millions upon millions of slaves ready to throw themselves to death in the name of Big Brother. All of them hating each other and loving Big Brother, all of them suppressing the urge to rebel and then forgetting the act of suppression, all of them locked within the endless paradox of doublethink, prisoners in their own minds.
There was no more hope.
He put down his gun.
The wall behind him exploded, but Kyle didn't care. He didn't even notice as the others rejoined him. What did it matter?
"Kyle!" someone said. It didn't matter. He couldn't see them. They didn't exist.
"Give us your weapon, 713-219," the voice commanded.
"We're out of here, Kyle! Let's go!" From somewhere behind him came dazzling streams of light, and he watched, spellbound, as soldiers turned to light, as light turned to ashes, as ashes turned to nothingness.
But Big Brother was still there. Even though 713-219 couldn't see him.
Big Brother was always there.
B.B. was in his head, right now, as a matter of fact. Whispering, "Turn around, 713-219. Turn around." A silent command, and yet impossible to resist.
He turned around. People in front of him. No, not people. Things. Things he once knew, maybe. Three of them.
"KYLE!"
More voices. Meaningless.
Who was Kyle?
Big Brother's voice again. The only one that mattered. "Raise your weapon, 713-219. Big Brother wants you to. The Party wants you to. You want to shoot them. Shoot them, 713-219. Big Brother wants you to."
That face! That ever-knowing, huge, omnipotent face! Full of wisdom and glory.
He raised his weapon.
"Oh, no."
"He's gone!"
"He's going to shoot!"
Pull the trigger, 713-219. Pull the trigger.
"Get us out of here!"
"No! We can't leave him behind!"
"You see that, that -thing-? That thing isn't Kyle. Look at the eyes! There's nothing left. He's gone! GET US OUT OF HERE!"
Big Brother knew what to do. Big Brother was right.
He pulled the trigger.
But the things disappeared.
That was all right. They weren't important. Only the Party mattered.
713-219 smiled. He smiled as more soldiers piled into the room, firing their weapons. There were no more lights.
713-219 was still smiling as the first bullets entered his brain.
-----------------
He rounded the corner, breathing raggedly, and faced -
- a wall. Plain, impassible, immensely strong.
And this was it.
A dead end.
This was what everything had come to.
"Give us your weapon," said a voice.
Kyle turned. Yes. He was trapped.
Each of the soldiers stopped, turned, and pointed their machine guns at Kyle.
"Give us your weapon, 713-219," the voice said again, in the same lifeless, maddening inflection. Like a machine.
Like a machine.
One last time, his growing fear was pushed aside as his hatred for Oceania welled up within him. One last time.
"Never," the man spat. "My name is -Kyle-."
Kyle aimed at the closest soldier. Take out the commander, and he had a chance.
A brilliant flash of light was emitted from the weapon. The soldier's body disintegrated as if he was dust blown away by the wind.
But even as Kyle swung the gun towards the others, he knew it was too late. Deep within, he knew he had no chance.
There was never any chance.
And as he blew up soldier after soldier, he realized that it was inevitable. They had no commander. They moved as though commanded by an invisible force, a voice inside each of their heads.
They would keep coming forever. Each of them having just enough time to aim before they were destroyed. But more came. Dozens. Hundreds!
"Give us your weapon, 713-219," the voice intoned. A different voice, a different person. But it sounded exactly the same. The first soldier had been killed, but it no longer mattered.
It -was- the same.
He knew that even if he killed all these men here, there would be more. Millions more, ready to die for the Party. Millions upon millions of slaves ready to throw themselves to death in the name of Big Brother. All of them hating each other and loving Big Brother, all of them suppressing the urge to rebel and then forgetting the act of suppression, all of them locked within the endless paradox of doublethink, prisoners in their own minds.
There was no more hope.
He put down his gun.
The wall behind him exploded, but Kyle didn't care. He didn't even notice as the others rejoined him. What did it matter?
"Kyle!" someone said. It didn't matter. He couldn't see them. They didn't exist.
"Give us your weapon, 713-219," the voice commanded.
"We're out of here, Kyle! Let's go!" From somewhere behind him came dazzling streams of light, and he watched, spellbound, as soldiers turned to light, as light turned to ashes, as ashes turned to nothingness.
But Big Brother was still there. Even though 713-219 couldn't see him.
Big Brother was always there.
B.B. was in his head, right now, as a matter of fact. Whispering, "Turn around, 713-219. Turn around." A silent command, and yet impossible to resist.
He turned around. People in front of him. No, not people. Things. Things he once knew, maybe. Three of them.
"KYLE!"
More voices. Meaningless.
Who was Kyle?
Big Brother's voice again. The only one that mattered. "Raise your weapon, 713-219. Big Brother wants you to. The Party wants you to. You want to shoot them. Shoot them, 713-219. Big Brother wants you to."
That face! That ever-knowing, huge, omnipotent face! Full of wisdom and glory.
He raised his weapon.
"Oh, no."
"He's gone!"
"He's going to shoot!"
Pull the trigger, 713-219. Pull the trigger.
"Get us out of here!"
"No! We can't leave him behind!"
"You see that, that -thing-? That thing isn't Kyle. Look at the eyes! There's nothing left. He's gone! GET US OUT OF HERE!"
Big Brother knew what to do. Big Brother was right.
He pulled the trigger.
But the things disappeared.
That was all right. They weren't important. Only the Party mattered.
713-219 smiled. He smiled as more soldiers piled into the room, firing their weapons. There were no more lights.
713-219 was still smiling as the first bullets entered his brain.