by Rachel Haywire
The year is 2021, and the Internet has been divided into thousands of different nation states. Nations are divided based on subcultural, memetic, and ideological preferences. A young hacker named Zorg has decided to form a nation of neoreactionary cyberpunks.
Known only as The Kingdom, this nation of misfit hackers seek to eliminate the liberal nation-states from the Internet, leaving nothing but The Kingdom in its wake.
Will the United Digital Nations crush The Kingdom with its fist of populism, or
will Zorg and his gang of counter-revolutionaries prevail?
In a world where Anonymous represents the State, and the hackers are those who
oppose digital globalism, it is often hard to figure out whose side you are on.
THERE WERE CERTAIN PEOPLE I asked to replace me. Their numbers lined up—a perfect factory setting—and I knew I had to get ready for the fall. Tonight the children came out of their cells, lights beyond their castles, understanding the meaning of tragedy. For this I asked the children to be patient, and they told me I was just a ghost. Dead, perhaps, yet the movement surrounded me.
I would never go down to those caves where these philosophers wandered. I was a rock star against communism, and my best friends were sex-positive fascists. This was the best industrial club I had ever attended, and the playa’ was calling to me one last time.
“Who speaks the final empire?” asked Princess Pixel.
“My soul, my wonder, my reaction to modern life,” I replied, fist pounding in air.
“However shall you greet me this fine evening?”
I told Princess Pixel that she was a fake, and that she had no business hanging out on the thrones of the male machines. I explained to her why she was a Marxist, a kid-cadet in training, eating her own lies just to stop the brute force of my intellect.
She told me that we were not having sex that night, and I wondered if I was a beta.
This is not another dystopian story about how a group of anarchist punks form a hacker nation. This is a dystopian story about what happens when the hacker nation becomes a tyranny. I do hope that you’ll enjoy my commands, and I welcome you into my kingdom.
They called me Zorg. I was the top hacker in the guild of the proletariat, sent by the Russian Spies to analyze the patterns of liberalism. They called me Asperger Boy and Trash Can, but I called them the lower species. I had the virus to wipe out their entire genotype, and for that I was elected to be on the Council of the Royal Order.
The Council treated me with respect and dignity, yet sometimes I felt they were putting on a show. Picture a circus carnival with a bunch of violent symbols being jammed into a young girl’s throat. I was the throat, and for that I maintained a position of detachment. I loved my comrades of the counterrevolution, but I didn’t want to end up in the hashtag pit.
I met Princess Pixel when she was fisting some guy at some fetish club.
“He doesn’t understand humanity like I do,” I told her.
“Prove it,” she replied, her fist twisting down her slave.
I kicked her slave in the face.
“I love you,” Princess Pixel told me.
We decided to move to San Francisco and start an intentional living community. From there we began communicating with other hackers of the totalitarian mindset. We called ourselves The Kingdom because we were the rulers of a new aristocracy. We had tapped onto something quite sinister and beautiful.
When Princess Pixel told me she was going to blow up the Internet, at first I didn’t believe her. I thought it was another joke she was telling, like that gay-friendly cisgender kid in the park.
When she blew it all up I stood there in awe, wondering if we could ever get back to The Kingdom. Pixels burning like the flesh of the old human race, a new era was about to begin. Each wire collapsing, the holocaust of machines did not ask us to just “click here” any longer.
Would we build another Kingdom? Would we repeat the entire cycle just to watch it fall again? Simply to observe the phoenix rising through the ashes of another dead civilization?
I began reconstructing civilization that day. This time I wanted to be the phoenix itself, and I wanted The Council to treat me with some respect. I had always been Asperger Boy and Trash Can, even to them. Technology and its resulting liberal epidemic had fallen, so I could now become the master of The Council itself. Sweet reaction to the modern world, it was time for the weak to stop oppressing the strong.
Then it happened.
“Zorg has been reported to The Council,” I heard from the sky above.
It was God speaking, and I was an atheist. Not only that, but it was reporting me to The Council for my thoughts!
What does one do when God is a telepath? This was like Minority Report but for thought crime. It was the day I decided to stop believing in nothing. If wanting to build another Kingdom was going to get me in bad with God, I was going to have to take some extreme measures.
I was going to have to kill God.
The creator was working directly with The Council, and it had to end. It was like The Council had been God from the beginning. It’s kind of hard to tell now. No Internet to look back to; not even a tiny glimpse of the United Digital Nations and the Kingdom we created to oppose them.
I still remember how we prayed to those statues of Julian Assange like it was yesterday. Me and my gang of counterrevolutionary hackers, we never bought the whole thing, but we giggled to ourselves because we’d engineered it. It’s Princess Pixel who I still think of most.
“The United Digital Nations will fall under the rule of our Kingdom,” she whispered to me on so many fine nights. We are the only dictators left on this liberal Internet of decay.”
She would take off her clothes and do an impression of the Kali Yuga, like only Princess Pixel could. It was so degenerate, but it was like a statement against degeneracy at the same time.
She had stopped my West from dying, simply by killing it in the right way.
Of course she’s gone now, along with the dust of the Internet she blew up, probably terrorizing the dead children who killed themselves because of her memes. Her memory speaks to me, but I know that she is merely another rune of liberalism.
The Council is working directly with the God that I must kill. It’s just another day here in Trash Can land.
My name is Zorg, and this is my manifesto.
Rachel Haywire is a cultural futurist, industrial musician, author, and model who is the Founder of the dissident media platform Trigger Warning and aesthetic entity Avant Design. Currently, she is running for President of the United States under the Transhumanist Party ticket.