Free The Troll by Brian Darr

that Circular Prime doesn't lose the
reputation we've built for ourselves.”
    The
Troll was too busy nodding in agreement to fully understand.
    Moments
later, The Moderator walked him to the starting line. The Mentalist
approached without a word and held a machine that looked like a
supermarket scanner. He held it to The Troll’s head for twenty
seconds until it beeped. Then he walked away.
    “ You
no longer have Psi,” The Moderator said.
    The
Troll closed his eyes, feeling empty without Psi. He felt no
different physically. He scanned the faces of those who were
present—all ten bounty hunters watched; all likely knew they
weren't to kill The Troll, but most seemed as if they still wanted
to.
    “ Whenever
you’re ready Troll,” The Moderator said.
    Just
like that, he was off. He took a step. And then another. Soon, the
gate was at a distance. When it was, The Troll allowed himself to
breath, and the air felt great.
    The
Troll only walked for an hour, long enough to put a little distance
between himself and the city. He could still see the skyscrapers on
the horizon. He sat on the ground and looked toward Chicago. The
whole charade was silly. Even without ten people hunting him for
sport, he would never reach Vegas on foot. He’d weighed his
options just for something to think about. The Moderator and The
Surfer each said he would be a hero to their cause if he played
along, but The Troll ultimately had to decide, and the decision had
been made easy.
    There
was still a bit of a nagging feeling eating at him. The Surfer didn’t
seem to think much of The Troll, but all he wanted was the world
restored in the name of freedom. Before Psi, every news station in
every city, every hour of the day, reported constant stories of
murder and mayhem, war and hatred, abuse and revenge. It was
sickening, but most people believed they were removed from it—that
it couldn’t happen to them.
    When
The Troll’s parents were attacked and murdered for the money in
their pockets outside their home one night, The Troll searched for a
reason other than a simple mugging, but that was the reality he was
forced to live with. The world was filled with bad people and good
people were always victimized by them. When Psi took over everyone’s
brains, it seemed like an attack, but within 2 months, there was
order. No one could get away with anything, and since people would
still kill only to be zapped and killed by The Moderator within
moments, The Troll realized that all the lives lost were in the name
of a better world—much like the story in the old Bible where
God wiped out the world with a flood. Poison had spread all over and
to get rid of it, many lives were lost, but the poison disappeared
with it.
    The
Surfer just saw things differently. The Troll didn’t fault him,
but he couldn’t get in line with his way of thinking. In
addition, the only guaranteed way to live a long life was to transmit
the signal and destroy Rainbow. Even without the temptation of
becoming a citizen of Circular Prime, the only sensible thing to do
was transmit. He hated to disappoint The Surfer and his followers,
and especially the sexy Wigeon, but anyone in his shoes would do the
same.
    In
the distance, he saw a tower. The remainder of this journey would be
easy—a short walk—half a mile at the most, turn on the
transmitter, make a statement, and live in paradise. He smiled to
himself as he pulled himself to his feet and started the last of his
trek, only thinking about what his new life would entail. Good food,
prestige, and endless amounts of message board fun. He decided he
would take things up a notch. He would be invincible, able to poke
and prod away at the posters and tear their opinions into shreds.
He’d antagonize them, make them cry, make them type in all
caps, and he’d eat roast duck and laugh gleefully.
    He
ascended a hill and looked up at the tower. All that was left to do
was transmit. He pulled the Rainbow from one pocket and turned it