Axel America and the U.S. Election Race

The crippling force of oppression steered human behavior back towards evil for countless millennia. The Enemy feared people knowing their plans, realizing that no more could they take their police and governments away from them. The time for passive resistance was over.

Sometimes just knowing was key.

Axel America sat upright, leant forward, ready to broadcast his message of Truth to millions of followers on the air. He was surrounded by darkness on all sides.

The Enemy feared people like Axel America most of all. His blood boiled, his skin hot with sweat; a big man, a face of fury. Axel only wanted the simple things in life like exposure of a dastardly global criminal cabal and he would do everything in his power to bring them down.

Axel knew the intent of the elite power-brokers; pure evil. Every day on his Truth Live radio show and video casts, he'd go over news stories or interviews, pick out recently de-classified files or talk to callers in his pitch-black studio.

Axel had a boy-scout enthusiasm, usually embodied in the neat center parting, but now his hair was misshapen and wrecked. He cleared his throat. I'm here to tell you. Hitler, Aydolf, was a product of Oliver’s daddy, Walt MacGregor, yelled Axel. It's all here, recorded publicly, by the Associated Press! I have it in my hands, he said, grabbing the white sheet.

What the Enemy did...it made Axel so mad and he couldn't help bearing his chest and letting fury rain from his teeth. He wasn't going to take it, not when the Enemy wanted to come into his own home, to take his family, his children and their future. Then there was Adolph Echemin, he continued into the microphone. An out-of-work actor bumming for change, when along came MacGregor, the newspaper man, who struck upon idea of becoming a vicious orator and killing the Jews, so he gave Adolph the money in his cap, because Oliver MacGregor's grandfather hated the Jews! See people? There was a sound close by, a stirring in the thick shadow. We need to wake up people! And rise up and take control of our lives again before we are too late!

The light switched on, blinding Axel in the glare. Axel looked across the deluxe bed to find his wife, her face pained and gloomy from sudden awakening. Axel, honey, its 3am. Put your head down and go to sleep. She switched off the bed-side light. We’ve the portraits tomorrow. I don’t want to miss another appointment.

The next morning at the photographer’s studio, the husband and wife looked at one another lovingly. Axel adored that her name was Liberty. He loved her tall bookish frame and long dark hair. He didn’t just love her looks though. He loved her character. She was a law and politics student when they first met twenty years ago. Whilst everything about life boiled down to black and white for her, things were never that simple with him and he found the conflict, the paradox, oddly attractive.

Liberty loved that Axel was well-built and clean; a self-made man of some conviction. He was of strong moral character and cared about the environment around him. He’d devoted his life’s work to making a safer, fairer world for her and the children and who could ask more than that?

Together, in marriage, they had the perfect partnership. Axel had built their home with his own hands and Liberty made sure it stayed standing.

Between them, Liberty and Axel reared two children. Martha was the teenager, moody and inward, with all her 'alternative' art and weird music. She seemed to take the world as it came and dreamed of bigger things. Mother and daughter were dressed in white, although a streak of purple ran through Martha’s brown hair which, along with her sullen expression, had been impossible to wash out.

The son was more jovial and outward looking. They christened him Constitution. Although only eleven, he'd tested as exceptionally bright but Axel was furious when he found out the test was for 'some cockamamie eugenicist filter program’. This didn't mean he was any less proud of his son. Or any less keen for Constitution to enjoy the outdoors and work off some of that baby-fat. He wore a white shirt and black tie and had his arm around his sister. In any case, the siblings were close.

They also owned a dog, 1776, but more about him later.

Axel's life’s work, as host of the Truth Live Webcast was full of exciting provocations: subscribers tuning in each week across America and Europe. He was at it twelve hours a day, seven days most weeks. Today was one of those rare days where he could hang out and enjoy the company of his wife and kids.

He was ever vigilant and so subtly checked Martha was smiling and hadn’t pulled another phone out of somewhere. He eyed Liberty, smiling and found she was smiling back at him. This was her brain child. Liberty wanted an all-America family photo before the children grew up too fast. She wanted today’s memory to hold onto for tomorrow.

The photographer counted down and Axel looked forward, imagining Obama and Putin and all their cronies facing lifetime prison terms. A flash of white light freeze framed the perfect family.

PART ONE

Truth Live

CHAPTER ONE

Have It Axel’s Way

Husband and wife; brother and sister; and then all four of them: the perfect family. That was the last of the studio portraits. Before the photographer could declare a wrap, Axel broke formation to put himself in the man’s face. That's a great camera, said Axel. I can tell that's never been in a bathroom, spying on people. You know they do that in the schools? Axel shook his head at the Asian engineering and inspected the flash to see how it compared to the one used in his studio.

You’re that guy, said the photographer as he packed away his tripod. The one with the YouTube channel. The one about the corruption of the powerful elite?

Not just on YouTube, said Axel to the photographer. Truth Live Webcast, check it out. Nightly on networks nationwide exposing the corruption in the heart of darkness of modern America. Hey you know you can film individual cops and it’s not against the law, right?

Martha dragged her father by the arm. Daddy, you promised if we did this we could go to Burger King!

Honestly Axel, said Liberty. Did you think they'd forget you promised Burger King through sixteen takes?

Axel drove the family in the four-by-four to the burger joint in about twenty minutes. Axel wasn't too happy to be there, preferring the local steakhouses like Crispus Attucks or Big John Witherspoons. He promised the whole family would eat out so when the kids demanded that their faithful Labrador 1776 join them, he had to acquiesce. The dog shot through the door of the fast food restaurant slobbering at the gills as he darted past the legs of the queue that snaked out to the edge of the door.

Hey, how long do you think it takes to get served in this place? Axel asked loudly as the family stood in line. Those who had received their meals found it necessary to wind their way through a packed hall with few spaces. Axel looked at his family and put his hand on Martha’s shoulder. Sure honey, you sit down and your dad will bring it over when its ready.

Oh, be careful! he said to a couple as they carried their meals on the plastic trays. Those aren't tables and chairs. I mean they are. But they're also part of the control grid.

Martha rolled her eyes. Dad you aren’t on your radio show now, she said and left in search of a table.

Axel continued talking to the other people in the queue. They looked at him, bored and suffering. Hungry for food. The globalists want us corralled by these fixtures and fittings. They want us here to pay tribute to their meat puppet monarchs! said Axel to his prison of listeners. Next it’ll be bacon shakes. And they want you to think it's bad, he said. He raised his voice further. And then like it! They want you to like that it's bad!

The crowd ignored him. Axel had no problem acquiring more than ten million global followers online, but trying to convince the local population of one million in Dallas that the Enemy were manipulating every aspect of their lives, was another challenge altogether.

He reached the staffer at the cash register, dressed in matching apron and baseball cap. May I take your order? he asked.

Axel took off and unzipped his back-pack, then pulled out Mjölnir MK-5000, his favorite bullhorn. It wasn’t just any loud speaker, it was the best you could get on the market. Oh I don't know, Axel said as he scanned the illuminated menu above. He put his lips to Mjölnir and his voice blasted through the speakers at the cashier. Six of your burgers, not the ones with the Chinese fetal organs in. I want the good beef. No ketchup.

The packed tray with fries on the side was in front of Axel within seconds. The assistant smiled.

Axel looked around for his family, but he found only 1776 begging at his feet. He examined the burgers. Un-malleable, shop window fakes! These burgers, boomed Axel’s voice through Mjölnir. They put testicles and stomachs in them, they tend to stick to my teeth and I won't swallow it. You hear me? Get off your knees and stop eating this garbage. You're not a slave!

People around him shook their heads. This is boring, said one of them. The shop had already started to clear through the embarrassment. Forget it, said another person. I'm going to MacDonalds.

Come back! This isn't what I wanted you to do, said Axel as he fed 1776 a bland burger. This wasn't part of the Founding Father's plan, this illusion of choice!

The restaurant was empty, leaving the dumbstruck cashier alone facing Axel. 1776 retched and then puked up two loads of burgers. They were barely cowpats, much the same out as they went in, though less solid.

You see? This is my dog. I've fed him three burgers. He's digested them and he can't take it. This proves it's all a front. These burgers, he said as he pointed to the meal tray, You are a multi-billion pound corporation and there’s not even a gram of meat in them. Basically, you are feeding us excrement. It’s Big Machiavellian!

The one customer left turned to Axel and said, Mister, we’re not in MacDonalds, so that joke doesn’t work.

In another part of town, Liberty, Martha and Constitution sat over a Bargain Bucket and with delight, peeled toasted skins of scent satisfying warm chicken. In moments like this, Martha was glad to be away from the embarrassment of her father.

Later, the sun set in the nearly empty Burger King car park. Even 1776 had left for the hot wings, so Axel stood alone, arms hung low at his side, dragged down by the weight of Mjölnir, as he watched the building. If he wasn’t going to be eating dinner with his family, then he might as well turn this into an opportunity to continue his word. Spread his message.

Yeah, never mind the people displacement and the deforestation or the loss of American jobs, boomed Axel’s voice at a sedan that crawled by. You don't want to talk about the persecution of trade union leaders or bombing villagers with Napalm. If one of few courageous patriots speaks truth in a car park with no-one to hear him, does it affect the Japanese hold over American car-manufacturing? I believe it does!

* * *

The America's living room was of a simple design, a dining table along the front window, backed by a computer on one side and a door to the hall on the other. The middle of the room was taken up with a sofa and two matching chairs wrapped around a coffee table, facing a hearth and a large wall-mounted screen.

Axel had shot, produced and promoted two feature-length documentaries over the winter. ‘EuroPangaea: Why the European Union Wants to Create A One World Supercontinent’ was a co-production with Englishman Mick Falk, ahead of Britain’s EU referendum. The second, ‘Transhumanist Microchip Deception 7’ presented global data on the elite’s advances in bio-chips, particularly among pittance-wage industries and how workers were made by their employers to engage in Roman-style gladiatorial combat. He would edit that one soon. Today however, would be almost like a day off, his own treat.

He spread his arms out in the one-seater facing the television, with its digi-box, old video cassette recorder and surround sound. Faux News was on, hosted by female anchor O.K. Burly, a sullen dragon with terra-formed lips. Her brown hair was dyed to burned French fry pan grease blonde. For some men her face fired up their love juices, to others she looked like a duck with myxomatosis. Big brown eyes peered out of a head worth triple figures in daily make-up costs. Pampered skin sloped off her ever-raised cheeks and skeletal neck. She wore a flash blue suit two sizes too big for her.

Martha put herself in front of the screen and set her shoulders forward in defiance. Her brother, less sure of himself, went to her side. It was Saturday, almost time for their favorite cartoon. They did this to Axel every weekend at the same time. Like clockwork. You know, kids, said Axel from his chair as they blocked his view. I'm sick of all this back talk.

Dad, said Martha, leading the assault, "We want to watch ‘Trixie goes to Hollywood’."

Axel rested the TV remote by his side. Daddy is busy watching TV for signs of America's take-over by people who want to eat your supple child flesh straight from your bones, so the answer Martha, is no.

Come on, Martha, said Constitution as he walked away with sunken shoulders into the hall. Let’s go play hopscotch outside.

He's so mean, said Martha to her brother as they stood in the hallway.

I know, said Constitution. I want to watch Trixie too.

Maybe we can video-tape it she said.

They walked to their father’s study: a room stuffed with file boxes and ring binders; leaning letter trays; shelves of books and discs and tapes; and at the back, the door to his den which they were never, ever, ever to enter

Remember when there was a rumor QVC were selling stolen goods? said Martha. Dad taped round the clock to try and catch them out. She toyed with one of his old video cassette tapes.

Constitution picked a USB stick up off the shelf. We can put this in the TV and record Trixie, he said. Dad would never know.

No, he'd see it sticking out and yell. We can use the VCR. Hold this, said Martha, as she gave the video cartridge to her brother.

That’s for the VCR? he asked as he held the thick disk in his hand. It was the size of a book. I thought those where the things they put in airplanes.

Meanwhile their mother, Liberty, was in the kitchen. Axel, she called with urgency. Do you see this? Blackbirds!

Martha and Constitution watched their father charge from the lounge and knock the hall table, dislodging pens and photos. I'm coming honey, I'm coming!

Now's our chance to record Trixie, said Martha. Come on and I'll show you.

Axel entered the kitchen, Walther-P45 un-holstered, he pulled Liberty down to the floor. There they crouched, under the wrap around counter, watching the skies drift past the window.

How many of them? he said.

Axel, it's blackbirds! she said.

Dear God, said Axel with sweat matted brow.

She got to her feet, with an arm on his back gesturing him to do the same. Not an airstrike, silly: black-birds and a sparrow. She put her arm around him and they got to their feet.

"Sparrow: That was the name of the CIA op where they gave Portugal fighters for their terror campaign in Africa. They denied it of course: but Angola; Mozambique; tens of thousands of civilians were killed. Race and U.S. Foreign Policy During the Cold War, Michael Krenn."

They were bathing in the big puddle. Dancing and splashing, said Liberty.

Well, they're not there now, said Axel. Are you sure?

Axel put the snub to the pane and traced a horizontal line across glass. They were safe. He turned around and looked to the wall clock: three twenty-eight. Oh...that 'show' is on, isn't it? Morgan Rump? said Liberty.

He frowned and then kissed her on the cheek.

In the lounge, the cassette was slipped into the video recorder. The channel had been changed and the theme song began to blare.

Trixie's going to Hollywood. She might go to Bollywood. She might see some jolly wood, who knows what folly could, befall-our-Trixie and-her-boyfriend Dickie, in gay-old golly-golly Holly-wood!

What did I tell you? said Axel to his children. You think because Judgment Day is coming you can give in to this chaos?

The children looked at the steel necked pistol in his hand. He sighed. You can stay and help if you want. I could always use a fresh set of eyes. He grabbed the remote control from Constitution’s hand and switched the channel back.

O.K. Burly here on Faux News. Coming right up we'll be looking at the lone shooter who killed six people. Where does he buy his jackets?

You like cartoons right? said Axel to his bored children. This is kind of like a cartoon.

And which of the NFL champs did the shooter favor in the play-off? asked O.K. Burley.

Politics is boring, Daddy, said Martha.

Martha Dallas America, go to your room. You're grounded. I don't want to hear that kind of talk in-this-house! said Axel.

Martha stomped out and Constitution followed.

O.K. Burly’s voice boomed from the television. First, we go to Faux News’ very own Morgan Rump, for some news story analysis and insight. Morgan, what's the situation there? And how does it feel to run for President of the United States?

The screen split, then the female anchor disappeared, leaving a middle-aged stocky crooner in black suit. Morgan Rump stood against a pink lit background, six foot tall, beady-eyed and puffy-cheeked. He was nearly seventy, yet possessed a mischievous schoolboy quality. By far the most striking thing about Rump was the black buttoned jacket crossed shoulder to waist by a leather sash belt. On the left front pocket he wore a collection of badges with eagle wing crests and swastikas. There was another swastika on the center of a single big red arm-band. He adjusted his black cap, that of an SS officer.

Today, America is in prison, said Rump, through firm, chubby lips. The President publicly admitted the border situation needs assessing. Finally! Our checkpoints and manufacturing plants are manned by Europeans; and Syrians; looking after our interests. When a billion Americans were laid off last year?

Rump stamped his boot again and then again. Schnell, Schnell! Stop! Stop! he said. He threw his hat on the floor, revealing his recognizable chestnut hair, unexplainably streaked with suede shoe polish.

He swiveled to face the audience. America can't take this anymore! I know it's been difficult at times. You desired change that never came. We have to commit ourselves daily, look out for our neighbors. Hey buddy! Help yourself! Isn't that what America is great at, our own human decency? Then he shook himself free of the discipline like a dog coming out of a rain shower, his head wriggling and arms wobbling. A new America cannot simply fall from the sky.

Desperation...patriotism... said Axel. He'd put sixteen of Rump's key themes into a grid on a card and was checking off each in turn.

Rump’s face frowned on the screen. We don't have the great deserts and caves of Syria and Iraq. We live here crammed on top of one another, sometimes lacking the basic necessities, spat Rump. We need to end our struggle.

He tried unbuttoning the outfit but it was tight against his waist and he found himself locked in the padding.

Axel nodded his head at his score card. ...Syria and Iraq...struggle... murmured Axel as he ticked the words off. Problem-reaction-solution. Bingo!

As he pulled and tugged at the uniform, Rump moved like a break-dancer, finally casting it off. He looked this side and then that side, crowed up and down and jerked and bobbed. Millions of people, robbed of things they worked their entire lives for. Betrayed! This country needs leadership, which the cowardly custard in the White House and the bookworms and greedy money men are too ashamed to provide.

Axel's plasma screen was high on the wall and he didn't care for the way Rump was dominating his living room. He reached to the coffee table for