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Veni, vidi, vici, he said when he conquered the world. I came, I saw, I conquered. But what did They say? Ubique sumus, videmus omnia, omnes nos habent? We are everywhere, we see all, we own all?

They’ve trained us not to see them, but They’re there. Whispering in the background, telling people what to do. They’ve got us all wrapped around Their fingers. Their long, creepy fingers. I’ve only seen Their fingers once. I was walking along 5th street, in the heart of town. Across the street one of Them loomed up tall, wearing the dark grey robes They always do. I tried to avoid looking at It. The symbols on the robes make me nauseous, make me feel like the ground is sand and I’m peering into some sort of abyss. I wanted to mind my own business. I didn’t want to see what It was doing there. It noticed me. They always do. They’re so used to being ignored that They can tell the difference between those who can’t see Them and those who pretend not to see Them. It grinned Its sardonic grin. From the sleeve of the robe came a grey, shriveled hand. It held one finger up to Its grin, sushing me. I stopped where I was. I didn’t want to be there, I didn’t want to see It. But like always, my fear made it impossible for me to act. Frozen by fear, every circuit of my brain telling me that I needed to do something, to move, to look away, anything, anything at all.

It just kept grinning. Grinning the entire time. There was a little boy with a red balloon tied to his wrist in front of It. As I watched, It untied the balloon from the boy’s wrist. It held the balloon in front of Its face… And then It blew the balloon into the road. The little boy, unaware of his surroundings, jumped out after it. He never noticed the bus that was coming…

In the aftermath, It walked across the road towards me through the chaos, grinning all the while. I heard a low chuckle as It passed me, and It whispered “It was necessary.”

I don’t know what They want, I don’t know why They’re doing this. But They’re everywhere. Presidential addresses, there’s always one of Them whispering in his ear. Hardly anyone else sees Them. Sometimes children do, but all the adults dismiss it as the imagination of children. Eventually those kids will be brainwashed too. They’ll stop seeing Them, their eyes gliding past the space where They are. Anything they hear from Them will be forgotten, registered as a thought they came up with themselves. It’s common to lose track of time right? Where you suddenly realize that you don’t know what you’ve been doing for the last few minutes? It’s only human, right? Wrong - that’s when you know They’ve been talking to you. But we’re all under Their control.

It doesn’t matter anyway. Their methods are not always effective, but they’re good enough. Every so often someone slips through, someone who can see Them. Someone who doesn’t view Them as an… extension of their own subconscious. But no one will ever believe us. They’ve got everyone wrapped around Their fingers. We’re just psychotic, They whisper. “Don’t listen to the weird man. He’s just like all of those other psychotics. Those men you see in parks, shouting obscenities and non-sequiturs. He belongs with them.” Of course, They control the madmen in the parks as well. Always two or three of Them whispering in the psychotic’s ear. No wonder they’ve gone insane, if only they could fight back! See the source of the voices, and strike against Them. But that won’t happen. People refuse to see Them. They continue to play Their game with us, with inscrutable goals, and a mocking smile on their face. People can’t see Them. But I can. I wish I couldn’t.