Christian was looking all over California for someone willing to help him. He needed help to reek havoc and mass destruction. He asked as many people as he could find. Finally, someone answered his question.

"Excuse me, do you know know anyone who can start a riot in three minutes flat and keep it going for about seven hours?" Christian asked. He hated to be a picky asshole but weak riots were easily broken up with bullets. He knew this truth too fucking well.

"Yeah, I know someone like that. Funny, he almost fits the bill too perfectly. Just ask a runaway kid who his savior is."

So Christian had been walking for what seemed four goddamn hours when he found a kid (thirteen or something like that) who was an obvious pothead. The kid was drinking something alcoholic. Nice try, retard, covering the smell of something really illegal with the smell of something still illegal, Christian thought.

"Hey kid!" he yelled. The young pothead's red eyes popped and he almost made a run for it. "nah, you can calm down, I'm not a badge. Bit if I were, I'd be pretty goddamn suspicious. Don't be too conspicuous."

The kid started to smile in relief and gratitude. "Thanks dude I'll remember that," and he was about to leave when Christian stopped him

"Wait kid, who's your savior?"

"Can't stop. Follow me if you wanna see 'im."

Great, running. Four goddamn hours on foot and now, dammit!, was all he could think until he followed the kid under a bridge.

"Hey Jesus! Some guy wants to see you. Don't worry, he's not a badge."

"Of course he's not, retard! You would never actually manage to get out of a fucking situation like that on your own." and then Jesus of Suburbia stepped out of the shadows.

"So you're the famous Jesus of Suburbia. Should I be out of my fucking mind or scared shitless?" Christian asked neither seriously or mockingly. "I need your help. A little riot business."

"Why should I help you?"

"Do you have any idea how fucked up my life is because of those bastards? My life was hell! I lived off welfare for my entire life! Goddamn cops chased me for existing and everyone else was brainwashed. So I had to be venomous, I had to watch people get killed. Those bastards said it was people like me that caused 9/11. I sleep on the streets because breaking and entering means certain death. Those bastards don't give a shit for the class of '13 or the bad economy so why the fuck are they making the rules? I'm no one to them, just the long-lost son of another loser. They're called heroes but they're all just retarded cons! They don't care who's still alive and died yesterday. Meanwhile I've been working my ass off for the country. I stole razors to help me escape my life and I dug my own grave! Freedom and liberty is a joke to them! They won't care if someone mugs me so forget sleeping every night! And the worst part? The population is buying all this bull shit the government's throwing!"

"Wow. I wasn't expecting a full speech. I have to agree with you and the brutal honesty. I only have one requirement--"

"ratlain?" Christian asked mockingly while tossing an almost full jar of those goddamn pills.

Jesus of Suburbia took his cell phone out and started dialing numbers. He put the phone to his ear and said, "Calling the disciples!"

----

Gloria was putting a protest together, and recruiting members of the Underground to help. Gloria loved protesting for some unknown reason. Maybe it was because her parents died while protesting. Maybe she wanted to prove she would stand up for what she believed in. She didn't know.

She did know that America was full of idiots and half the time it wasn't their fault they were idiots. It was the corruption. The corruption didn't care about the people it effected. The corruption didn't care unless those people started trouble. Even then, they all just went to jail.

Gloria knew they needed a catchy chant, better yet a song. Something simple and easy to remember. Something that pointed out the obvious and yet buried in a heap of lies. She needed to teach the public something. There was some lesson the American population was always forgetting.

Gloria knew exactly what it was. You gotta know the enemy, she thought.