PIA Defeated By The Reality Supremacists
STD ray gun in bad hands
[Artis'ts depiction of these events by Zotov]
The Reality Supremacists rule with an iron fist over the Pioneer Valley’s collective imagination. They rampage around, stifling LARPs, burning paintings, dumping water on the heads of daydreamers. To flatten the breadth of life into a single objective reality is their grandest vision - To murder the periphery! And to zap the fruits of the world dry, leaving only its tasteless stems alive.
Last weekend, the PIA received an anonymous tip stating that the Reality Supremacists had acquired a dangerous weapon. We didn’t know what it was at the time. All we knew was that it was powerful. We mounted an attack immediately.
At night, when the imagination runs most free, we surrounded the reality supremacist headquarters i.e. the Gin Mill biker bar in Belchertown. We blockaded the doors and the windows. Then our hackers got to work.
After gaining access to the television inside, we showed Charlie in The Chocolate Factory on one screen, Eraserhead on another, and Waking Life on the third. We played psychedelic trance music from the jukebox.
The Reality Supremacists became aggravated and tried to leave, but we trapped them. Some of them began turning off the electronics, but our hackers countered by turning them back on from outside. When the Reality Supremacists began cutting power cables, we aimed our projectors and subwoofers into the windows.
The mindless objectivity-loving animals inside clawed at the walls, drank liquor, and punched themselves in the head, desperately extinguishing even the smallest blips of inspiration sparking within their skulls. But, it was hopeless for them. Just as we had planned, they fell into daydreams, becoming docile, imaginative, for the first time in years. They couldn’t handle it.
Or, so we thought. The head reality supremacist stormed out from the bathroom. Out of sheer luck, he had missed the initial phase of our sting. To our dismay, he was still completely objective.
He threw his trident at a boarded window and broke a small hole to the outside. He pulled an alien-looking weapon from his satchel. It was something terrible, more terrible than I could’ve ever imagined. Hairy green-colored lasers bounced off the walls. One after another, they downed my fellow protectors of the periphery. One by one, my friends crumbled to their knees, frantically scratching their crotches and inner thighs
“Welcome back to reality, daydreamers!” the head Reality Supremacist yelled, as he continued to fire upon my men and pistol whip his own to wake them up. He took out our tech lead, our mechanical engineer, our wonderland correspondent, and more. He zapped our projectors. Some grunts broke down the front door and charged at us.
Soon I found myself hiding in a ditch with 4 of my 12 original companions. Meanwhile, the supremacists captured the rest of my team and, by the screams I heard, I can only guess what torture ensued.
“Oh my god, no! I have a wife, I’ll never be able to sleep with her again. Please, no!”
Chlamydia!
“How am I going to explain this to my Mom?”
Gonorrhea!
“You already flattened my brain, no, you’ve done enough. I’ll leave you alone, please!”
HPV!
None of us dared to fight for our friends, not after what we had seen. Now we survive ashamed of ourselves and afraid that our friends may never live to think another unique thought, that they may never make love again, and that they may die inside the Gin Mill.
Be warned, the STD ray gun has fallen in the absolute worst hands. The Reality Supremacists are at large. The Peripheral Intelligence Agency is weak. The future is bleak.
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