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<span class="title">Indonesia 1966</span>
An Interactive Fiction by Eoin Lonely
<<if $death is 2>><<audio anthem play>><<else>><<audio djangan play>><</if>><<audio nightime stop>>
<<nobr>>
<<if $doctordead is true>>[img[images/thedoctordead.png]]<</if>>
<<if $doctordead is false>><span class='tooltip'>[img[images/thedoctor.png][The Doctor]]<span class='tooltiptext'>The Doctor</span></span> <</if>>
<<if $farmerdead is true>>[img[images/thefarmerdead.png]]<</if>><<if $farmerdead is false>>
<span class='tooltip'>[img[images/thefarmer.png][The Farmer]]<span class='tooltiptext'>The Farmer</span></span><</if>>
<<if $death gte 2>>
<span class='tooltip'>[img[images/thesoldier.png][The Soldier]]<span class='tooltiptext'>The Soldier</span></span><</if>><</nobr>>
<div align= "center">[[Start->StartMenu]]</div>
[img[images/leaders.png]]
<<set $death to 0>>
<<set $farmerdead to false>>
<<set $doctordead to false>><div style="text-align: center;">This text is centred</div>
My <<link "hat">><<append "#cat">>I love it!<</append>><</link>> is blue. <span id="cat"></span><<set $death to $death +1>>
<<set $doctordead to true>>
<<set _read to 0>>
It has to be here somewhere.
He stands in his living room only dimly aware that he may never see it again. He isn't panicking. Not really. It isn't in his nature to feel pressure.
But there is an...unease. Something about the shifty eyes of his neighbours - but then again, everyone looks like that these days. The only people confident enough to take their eyes off the ground were the zealouts in the PP and Nahdlatul Ulama.
And who knows what //they// see when they look out at the world.
There'd been no sign of soldiers or thugs; NU, paramilitary or otherwise. He hadn't told a soul his plan. He'd only taken out the usual amount of money that he might use over a fortnight. Sold a few items to his friends discreetly.
And now he's standing in his living room like a fool.
He shakes his head. They have to be here somewhere.
<<set _passage to ["He wasn't a suspect. Not really. But he was educated and had friends in the PKI. He supported President Sukarno and refused to look down on his meeting with Castro. Soon that would be enough to be guilty. Wasn't that the story of this whole damn century? People finding out their guilty just a little too late to get out of dodge?<<set _read to _read +1>><p>He roots around once more just to be sure. They're not here. Goddammit.</p>", "<p>He moves through the house which already feels abandoned. He suddenly feels painfully naieve. Of course it was coming to this. The country only united with a common enemy. The islands only became one place because it was imposed on them.</p> It had been an empirical study. How long could the joy of liberty keep a divided nation together? Well they'd found their answer. <p>Despite himself the thought made him chuckle. Or perhaps it was just to hide his dissapointment. It was not here. He'd have to keep looking.</p> <<set _read to _read +1>>", "<p>As he desperatly pulled away bed sheets and crisp tablecloths his mind couldn't help but think of the student protests. He admired the young. He thought their anger was justified. The world wasn't good enough. War hung over everyones head like a guillotine. The Europeans had taught the world a gentleman's barabarity and infected everyone they touched.</p> \nHe's angry too but he has a family. And these student unions - getting their funding from God knows where - aren't looking to make the world a better place. They just want to capitalise on the countries scars.\n \nFuck the KAMI - nothing like beating up communists to bring Muslims and Catholics together.\n \nThese people don't love our country. They don't love anything. They only know what they hate. All they want from a leader is the punishment of their enemies.\n <p>Well they'll get it. Then they'll turn on each other.</p> <p>If there's anything the human race will never have a shortage of it's enemies.</p> \nFinally his hand touches something which gives him a pang of hope. He pulls it out and only notices then that he's been sweating profusely. In his hand is a small velvet box and inside is exactly what he's been looking for.\n \nHe takes out the contents and leaves the box.\n \nThank God.\n <<set _read to _read +1>>"]>>
<span id = "output"></span>
<<linkreplace "Check the closet".>><<append "#output">><<if _read is 0>>_passage[0]<<elseif _read is 1>>_passage[1]<<else>>_passage[2]<p> [[Leave]]</p><</if>><</append>><</linkreplace>>
<<linkreplace "Check the draw".>><<append "#output">><<if _read is 0>>_passage[0]<<elseif _read is 1>>_passage[1]<<else>>_passage[2] <p>[[Leave]]</p><</if>><</append>><</linkreplace>>
<<linkreplace "Check the bedroom chest".>><<append "#output">><<if _read is 0>>_passage[0]<<elseif _read is 1>>_passage[1]<<else>>_passage[2] <p>[[Leave]]</p><</if>><</append>><</linkreplace>>
<<set $death to $death +1>>
<<set $farmerdead to true>>
<<set _read to 0>>
The Farmer sits in the dirt looking up at the night sky. It's been years since he'd seen it so clear. Even after a lifetime in one spot he still finds himself dazed by the beauty above him.
Years ago a student had stayed in the village and tried to teach the locals how to read the stars. Of course the fishermen had that knowledge in their blood but for the farmers who spent all day looking into the dirt it was a fun diversion.
He showed them Banyakangrem, the red-eyed Taurus and the expansive Bintang Pari. It was fun sitting together staring up into the sky. He handn't retained much of the information though. The stars were their own wonders and, in his mind, words didn't really do them justice.
But still, maybe...
<span id = "output"></span>
<<linkreplace "Look for Bintang Pari".>><<set _read to _read +1>><<append "#output">>
He remembered that the Southern Cross was just up from the horizon facing his front field. He tried to see it. How many stars was it meant to be? Fifty or something. But on a night like this with millions of stars in the sky how was one supposed to pick them out. They were all beautiful and each demands the eye in its own way.
Despite the relaxing atmosphere he felt a tight knot growing at the bottom of his heart when he thought about the last few days. Was he supposed to do something? What would even assuage these people? They take orders from the preman now. What can you tell a dog to stop him from biting you?<<if _read is 3>>
A sudden shuffling in the bush breaks him out of his revery and he feels the ache in his hips and knees. It is time for bed.[[Get up and go home]]<</if>><</append>><</linkreplace>>
<<linkreplace "Look for Taurus".>><<append "#output">><p>Was this even the season for Taurus? He wasn't sure but he scanned the sky wondering if something would catch his eye.</p> <p>His mind turned to the union. He had been a union man as long as it had existed. It had never seemed like a bad thing to be until suddenly it became a slur in some people's mouths. What was meant to be representation was suddenly seen as disobediance. What was once progress was seen as division.</p> But he hadn't seen any changes. Life was hard and you took the little bit of support you could get. Would you begrudge a cripple his crutch?
Then a man comes to you and says he wants to make the world a better place, so you listen. Where's the crime there?<<set _read to _read +1>> <<if _read is 3>>
A sudden shuffling in the bush breaks him out of his revery and he feels the ache in his hips and knees. It is time for bed.[[Get up and go home]]<</if>><</append>><</linkreplace>>
<<linkreplace "Look for Banyakangrem".>><<append "#output">>
The only bad thing with looking out to the stars is it gives you time to contemplate on the past. History comes back like bad gas.
He remembers the day his father was taken away by the Japanese. They rounded up over half of the village and made them march. There was no reasoning, no begging. He specifically was told to be thankful that they didn't take him as well.
The thing that tore him up for years afterwards was just how thankful he was.
However, the worst thing was how the story got twisted over the years. The rumour was that his father was Chinese and abandoned his son and the mother of his baby because they were peasant trash.
The first time he heard the story he got so angry that he beat some poor labourer within an inch of his life. That was a shock. He didn't know that he had that kind of strength in him.
Fortunately he'd managed to quell most of that rage over the years. Maybe looking at the stars had something to do with it.<<set _read to _read +1>> <<if _read is 3>>
A sudden shuffling in the bush breaks him out of his revery and he feels the ache in his hips and knees. It is time for bed.
<p>[[Get up and go home]]</p><</if>><</append>><</linkreplace>>
The Soldier lights a cigarette before turning to see who entered into the room.
It's only Gimon but he's still got that sour look on his face.
<<click "You still pissed about that doctor?">>"You know that was out of line. We were supposed to get them all."
<span id="answer">
<<click "'He wasn't going to give them up.'">>
<<replace "#answer">>hujifsdhijhi<<replace "#output">>
Gimon doesn't seem appeased. "You know I vouch for you around here. People don't like the way you handle business. I know people who hate these communists more than anyone and even they hesitate when it comes to the work."<</replace>><</replace>><</click>><</click>>
\
<<linkreplace "'He got what was coming to him.'">>\
<<append "#answer">>
He taps the ash from his cigarette. "Anyway we were told not to hang around."<</append>>\
<<replace "#output">>
Gimon doesn't seem appeased. "You know I vouch for you around here. People don't like the way you handle business. I know people who hate these communists more than anyone and even they hesitate when it comes to the work."<</linkreplace>>
<</click>>
<span id="answer"></span>
<<click "'I guess they're not real believers.'">><span id="answer1"></span><<append "#answer1">>
For a moment Gimon doesn't say anything, as if he's weighing up how far he can push this. "What do you believe in?" he asks.<</append>>\
<<replace "#output1">>
The rest of the story<</replace>>
<</click>> \
<<click "'Look, do we have a problem here?'">>\
<<append "#answer1">>
For a moment Gimon doesn't say anything, as if he's weighing up how far he can push this. "What do you believe in?" he asks.<</append>>\
<<replace "#output1">><span id="answer2">
<<click "'What does it matter? The end results are the same.'">><<append "#answer2">> The soldier sits up straight and turns to face Gimon properly. "People like me are going to expunge this country of your enemies. Its their blood that's going to grow your crops. It's their tears that are going to wash this city and this country until its sparkling clean. It's happened before and it will happen again. I'm given the order. That's all that matters. The job is its own incentive. Isn't that what seperates us from your blood enemy the communistas?" <</append>><<replace "#output2">>
The rest of the story<</replace>><</click>>
<<click "'Are you questioning my loyalty to the cause Gimon?'">><<append "#answer2">> The soldier sits up straight and turns to face Gimon properly. "People like me are going to expunge this country of your enemies. Its their blood that's going to grow your crops. It's their tears that are going to wash this city and this country until its sparkling clean. It's happened before and it will happen again. I'm given the order. That's all that matters. The job is its own incentive. Isn't that what seperates us from your blood enemy the communistas?" <</append>><<replace "#output2">>
The rest of the story<</replace>><</click>>
<<click "'You don't care. Stop pretending that you do.'">><<append "#answer2">> The soldier sits up straight and turns to face Gimon properly. "People like me are going to expunge this country of your enemies. Its their blood that's going to grow your crops. It's their tears that are going to wash this city and this country until its sparkling clean. It's happened before and it will happen again. I'm given the order. That's all that matters. The job is its own incentive. Isn't that what seperates us from your blood enemy the communistas?" <</append>><<replace "#output2">>
The rest of the story<</replace>><</click>>
<</replace>>
<</click>>\
</span>
<span id="output"></span>\
<span id="output1"></span>\
<span id="output2"></span>\<</linkreplace>>
A foot soldier who is given a hitlist for the day. He killed the doctor and the farmer (but he only remembers the doctor - it wasn't bravery, it was cockyness - only communists think they know whats better for everyone.)
He's given the order. Thats all that matters. the job is its own incentive, isn't that what seperates us from the communists?
His neighbours fight and the wife accuses her husband of being a communist. The soldier doesn't hesitate and shoots him dead instantly.
When the woman screams at him he responds simply "You said he was a communist"
The woman is sullen.
"Is he a communist or were you lieing?"
The woman says nothing.
"I'm going back to bed. I'll file a report in the morning"
...in four months, five times as many people died in Indonesia as in Vietnam in twelve years.
BERTRAND RUSSELL, 1966
capital - medan
I believe that documentary filmmaking - and I’m one of the great advocates - has to move away from the pure, fact-based movies, because facts, per se, do not constitute truth. Otherwise the Manhattan phone directory would be the book of books; four million entries, every single one factually correct. Mr. Jonathan Smith - his address and telephone number can be verified correct. But whether he has nightmares or whether he cries into his pillow each night, we do not know. And that’s where filmmaking has to move. - herzog<<audio djangan stop>>
<<audio knocking play>>
There's a banging on the door.
The doctor stands motionless.
[[Answer it|Shot]]     [[Don't answer it|Shot]]
He barely has time to make a decision before the door bursts inwards.
Two soldiers enter already angry.
They're short. He towers above them. Are they young or malnourished? The question seems more important to him then anything else.
The first soldier stomps towards him demanding to know where his family is. He's shouting like he's scared or anxious. But what the hell has he got to be scared about?
<<linkreplace "Talk to the soldier">> Before he can say anything a third soldier enters and with an incredible clarity the doctor knows it's all over. The soldier raises his rifle and doesn't even bother telling his comrades to step away or cover their ears.
<<linkreplace "The doctor closes his eyes">><<audio shot play>> He fires and blows out a chunk of the doctors face from the bridge of his nose, up to his left eyebrow.
The doctor's body falls back flat. He can't move but he isn't dead. He can still feel the ringing, reverberation of the gun shot.
He'll bleed out he thinks to calm himself down. It won't be long now.
As he waits he hears the soldiers rummaging through the house. Their boots make them sound like naughty children desperatly hunting for some adult treasure that they've imbued with some ill defined magnitude.
The blood must be everywhere now but he can't feel it. In fact the boundaries between himself and the world are getting blurry. Who was shot? Whose blood is this?
One of the soldiers steps over him to tear through the cushions on the wicker couch.
Oh, he thinks. Oh. Its all of us. We're all going to die here. These petty squables. You can't build a house on a river.
His hand grips around the pearl earrings that he bought his wife nearly a decade ago. The clasps were real gold. He'd managed to convince the broker that they were worth exactly three tickets on this afternoon's boat.
He coughed. His last living action before finally passing into nothingness.
[[Return?|StartMenu]]
<</linkreplace>><</linkreplace>>
<<audio djangan stop>>
<<audio nightime loop play>>
The farmer has barely got to his feet when something hard hits him from behind. He barely has time to understand the ground and the dirt getting into his teeth before he is being pummelled.
What feels like a dozen hands and a hundred feet come down on him.
They kick him in the side until he feels his ribs crack. They stomp on his legs until they go numb and the back of his head feels like water logged rice.
<<linkreplace "Try to get up">> There is no way. Even lifting his head just invites kicks and blows to his face.
The beating seems endless. His body is a moth eaten tapestry of pain; in some spots he's gone completely numb but each of those blessed areas are ringed with searing agony.
He hears them call him communist, foreigner, spy, agitator, motherfucker.
He thinks he recognises some of the voices. He wouldn't have called them friends but he had certainly considered them friendly.
Fool, he thinks.
For a brief second he feels that old anger whelling up inside him. He even thinks he might have the strength to stand.
But he is fooling himself. He is being dragged onto his knees.
He can only see through one eye but he is facing a man he doesn't recognise. This man doesn't have the nervouse excitement of the others. In fact he seems almost...bored.
Suddenly he feels a sharp wire around his neck. Two men hold his shoulders as someone twists the wire behind him.
He feels it then - fear. A strong animal thing. Somewhere inside he might be wondering if he'll die from suffocation before he's beheaded. But he has nothing but frenzy powering his will to live.
It isn't enough. The men are too strong.
As he loses consciousness his eyes once again go up to the stars.
He can't see anything beautiful there anymore.
[[Return->StartMenu]]
<</linkreplace>><span id="answer">
<<click "He wasn't going to give them up.">>
<<replace "#answer">>
You have chosen to fight. He begins to remove his jacket.<</replace>>\
<</click>> \
<<click "He got what was coming to him.">>\
<<replace "#answer">>
You have chosen to run. He takes out his radio.<</replace>>\
<</click>> \
</span>\
You have to do something. Either \
<span id="fight">\
<<click "fight">>\
<<replace "#fight">>fight <</replace>>\
<<replace "#run">>run<</replace>>\
<<replace "#output">>
You have chosen to fight. He begins to remove his jacket.<</replace>>\
<</click>> \
</span>\
the strange man or \
<span id="run">\
<<click "run">>\
<<replace "#fight">>fight <</replace>>\
<<replace "#run">>run<</replace>>\
<<replace "#output">>
You have chosen to run. He takes out his radio.<</replace>>\
<</click>> \
</span>.\
<span id="output"></span>\The Soldier lights a cigarette before turning to see who entered into the room.
It's only Gimon but he's still got that sour look on his face.
<<linkreplace "You still pissed about that doctor?">>
"You still pissed about that doctor?"
"You know that was out of line. We were supposed to get them all."
<span id = "answer">
<<click "'He wasn't going to give them up.'">><<replace "#answer">>
"He wasn't going to give them up," he states, "It wasn't bravery just fucking arrogance."
Gimon doesn't seem appeased. "You know I vouch for you around here. People don't like the way you handle business. I know people who hate these communists more than anyone and even they hesitate when it comes to the work."<<replace "#output">>
<<linkappend "'I guess they're not real believers.'">>
Gimon bristles. He'd grown up in a colonialist school and it showed. People like him love class and stature. It's so much easier to believe that people are where they are because they deserve it. The alternative is just too terrifying. The soldier sighs.<</linkappend>>
<<linkappend "'Look, do we have a problem here?'">>
For a moment Gimon doesn't say anything, as if he's weighing up how far he can push this. "What do you believe in?" he asks.
<span id= "final">
<<linkreplace "'Are you questioning my loyalty to the cause Gimon?'">><<replace "#final">> 'Are you questioning my loyalty to the cause Gimon?'. The soldier sits up straight and turns to face Gimon properly. "People like me are going to expunge this country of your enemies. Its their blood that's going to grow your crops. It's their tears that are going to wash this city and this country until its sparkling clean. It's happened before and it will happen again. I'm given the order. That's all that matters. The job is its own incentive. Isn't that what seperates us from your sworn enemy the communistas?"
Gimon doesn't say anything although its clear he wants to. He'd spent a lot of time convincing himself that he wasn't scared of this thug... this gangster. After the purge people like him would be clapped on the back and sent back to the gutter where they belonged. Ends and means.
"We have another list," he says.
"The Americans again?"
"Does it matter?"
The soldier smiles. A true smile. The kind that comes with love and ice cream and sunsets.
"I'm on it."
[[After]]<</replace>>
<</linkreplace>>
<<linkreplace "'What does it matter? The end results are the same.'">><<replace "#final">>'What does it matter? The end results are the same.' The soldier sits up straight and turns to face Gimon properly. "People like me are going to expunge this country of your enemies. Its their blood that's going to grow your crops. It's their tears that are going to wash this city and this country until its sparkling clean. It's happened before and it will happen again. I'm given the order. That's all that matters. The job is its own incentive. Isn't that what seperates us from your sworn enemy the communistas?"
Gimon doesn't say anything although its clear he wants to. He'd spent a lot of time convincing himself that he wasn't scared of this thug... this gangster. After the purge people like him would be clapped on the back and sent back to the gutter where they belonged. Ends and means.
"We have another list," he says.
"The Americans again?"
"Does it matter?"
The soldier smiles. A true smile. The kind that comes with love and ice cream and sunsets.
"I'm on it."
[[After]]<</replace>>
<</linkreplace>>
<<linkreplace "'You don't care. Stop pretending that you do.'">><<replace "#final">> The soldier sits up straight and turns to face Gimon properly. "People like me are going to expunge this country of your enemies. Its their blood that's going to grow your crops. It's their tears that are going to wash this city and this country until its sparkling clean. It's happened before and it will happen again. I'm given the order. That's all that matters. The job is its own incentive. Isn't that what seperates us from your sworn enemy the communistas?"
Gimon doesn't say anything although its clear he wants to. He'd spent a lot of time convincing himself that he wasn't scared of this thug... this gangster. After the purge people like him would be clapped on the back and sent back to the gutter where they belonged. Ends and means.
"We have another list," he says.
"The Americans again?"
"Does it matter?"
The soldier smiles. A true smile. The kind that comes with love and ice cream and sunsets.
"I'm on it."
[[After]]<</replace>>
</span>
<</linkreplace>>
<</linkappend>><</replace>><</replace>><</click>>
<<click "'He got what was coming to him.'">><<replace "#answer">>
He taps the ash from his cigarette. "Anyway we were told not to hang around."
Gimon doesn't seem appeased. "You know I vouch for you around here. People don't like the way you handle business. I know people who hate these communists more than anyone and even they hesitate when it comes to the work."
<<replace "#output">><<linkappend "'I guess they're not real believers.'">>
Gimon bristles. He'd grown up in a colonialist school and it showed. People like him love class and stature. It's so much easier to believe that people are where they are because they deserve it. The alternative is just too terrifying. The soldier sighs.<</linkappend>>
<<linkappend "'Look, do we have a problem here?'">>
For a moment Gimon doesn't say anything, as if he's weighing up how far he can push this. "What do you believe in?" he asks.
<span id= "final">
<<linkreplace "'Are you questioning my loyalty to the cause Gimon?'">><<replace "#final">> 'Are you questioning my loyalty to the cause Gimon?'. The soldier sits up straight and turns to face Gimon properly. "People like me are going to expunge this country of your enemies. Its their blood that's going to grow your crops. It's their tears that are going to wash this city and this country until its sparkling clean. It's happened before and it will happen again. I'm given the order. That's all that matters. The job is its own incentive. Isn't that what seperates us from your sworn enemy the communistas?"
Gimon doesn't say anything although its clear he wants to. He'd spent a lot of time convincing himself that he wasn't scared of this thug... this gangster. After the purge people like him would be clapped on the back and sent back to the gutter where they belonged. Ends and means.
"We have another list," he says.
"The Americans again?"
"Does it matter?"
The soldier smiles. A true smile. The kind that comes with love and ice cream and sunsets.
"I'm on it."
[[After]]<</replace>>
<</linkreplace>>
<<linkreplace "'What does it matter? The end results are the same.'">><<replace "#final">>'What does it matter? The end results are the same.' The soldier sits up straight and turns to face Gimon properly. "People like me are going to expunge this country of your enemies. Its their blood that's going to grow your crops. It's their tears that are going to wash this city and this country until its sparkling clean. It's happened before and it will happen again. I'm given the order. That's all that matters. The job is its own incentive. Isn't that what seperates us from your sworn enemy the communistas?"
Gimon doesn't say anything although its clear he wants to. He'd spent a lot of time convincing himself that he wasn't scared of this thug... this gangster. After the purge people like him would be clapped on the back and sent back to the gutter where they belonged. Ends and means.
"We have another list," he says.
"The Americans again?"
"Does it matter?"
The soldier smiles. A true smile. The kind that comes with love and ice cream and sunsets.
"I'm on it."
[[After]]<</replace>>
<</linkreplace>>
<<linkreplace "'You don't care. Stop pretending that you do.'">><<replace "#final">> The soldier sits up straight and turns to face Gimon properly. "People like me are going to expunge this country of your enemies. Its their blood that's going to grow your crops. It's their tears that are going to wash this city and this country until its sparkling clean. It's happened before and it will happen again. I'm given the order. That's all that matters. The job is its own incentive. Isn't that what seperates us from your sworn enemy the communistas?"
Gimon doesn't say anything although its clear he wants to. He'd spent a lot of time convincing himself that he wasn't scared of this thug... this gangster. After the purge people like him would be clapped on the back and sent back to the gutter where they belonged. Ends and means.
"We have another list," he says.
"The Americans again?"
"Does it matter?"
The soldier smiles. A true smile. The kind that comes with love and ice cream and sunsets.
"I'm on it."
[[After]]<</replace>>
</span>
<</linkreplace>>
<</linkappend>><</replace>><</replace>><</click>>
</span>
<</linkreplace>>
<span id = "output"></span>
The killings have dwindled to a few a month now. Those that were willing to take it are in power and, for now, the dust has settled.
The soldier who was never really a soldier doesn't mind. It has been a busy time and he is tired. Eating on the go has made him fat. Hard drinking has made him uncomfortable in his own skin.
He lies on his mat wondering if he should get a woman tomorrow. It isn't something that sparks any joy in him at this moment but he knows he gets irritable if he goes too long without it.
He is just beginning to drift off when he hears a ruccous somewhere in the building. The woman next door is screaming at someone and there's the sound of cutlery being thrown around the room.
[[Ignore it]]    [[Investigate]]The sound of ceramic shattering wakes him up again.
There's no way he can sleep through this.
Grabbing his pistol he marches out into the hallway.
[[Investigate]]Out in the shared hallway the woman's wailing is almost deafening but now he can hear the meagre mumblings of a man.
Their door is open and he does not knock before entering.
In their kitchen he finds the middle-aged couple. The husband stands meekly in the corner as his wife screams at him. The floor is littered with bowels and plates. The soil from an overturned plant is soft under his feet.
<<linkappend "'What is going on here?'">>
The man raises his eyes as if to answer but the woman bellows over him.
"This man. This...snake. He whores and he drinks and he takes food from my children's table. He isn't worthy of being called a man. He- he- He's a communist!"
<<linkreplace "...">><<audio anthem stop>><<audio shot play>> The soldier raises his pistol and fires into the mans chest.
The woman lets out a new wail. This time its high pitched and sails above them. Her eyes go cloudy and she drops to her knees.
"Why? Why did you do this?"
"You said he was a communist," he answers.
The woman immediately quiets down but she continues to shake lightly.
"So was he a communist or were you lying?"
The woman says nothing. She is silent now. She doesn't raise her eyes to meet his.
"No more noise for tonight. People have work in the morning."
[[End]]
<</linkreplace>>
<</linkappend>>Thank you for playing.
This is a work of fiction but it is based on the real genocide of "communists" that took place in Indonesia around 1965 and 1966.
The military dictatorship and their backers actively used the rhetoric of anti-communism to eradicate any perceived threat. This short game is a response to that political strategy. What happened in Indonesia is beyond a tragedy but it persists as a political strategy for those who want power at any cost.
I recommed the incredible films of Joshua Oppenheimer and the recent journalism by Vincent Bevins.
<a href="https://twitter.com/EoinLonely"><<button "@eoinlonely">><</button>></a>The Soldier lights a cigarette before turning to see who entered into the room.
It's only Gimon but he's still got that sour look on his face.
<<linkreplace "You still pissed about that doctor?">>"You know that was out of line. We were supposed to get them all."
<span id = "answer">
<<click "'He wasn't going to give them up.'">><<replace "#answer">>
"It wasn't bravery just fucking arrogance."
Gimon doesn't seem appeased. "You know I vouch for you around here. People don't like the way you handle business. I know people who hate these communists more than anyone and even they hesitate when it comes to the work."<<replace "#output">>
<span id = "first">
<<linkappend "'I guess they're not real believers.'">><<replace "#first">>
"I guess they're not real believers."
For a moment Gimon doesn't say anything, as if he's weighing up how far he can push this. "What do you believe in?" he asks.<</replace>><</linkappend>>
<<linkappend "'Look, do we have a problem here?'">><<replace "#first">>
"Look, do we have a problem here."
For a moment Gimon doesn't say anything, as if he's weighing up how far he can push this. "What do you believe in?" he asks.<</replace>>
</span>
<span id = "final">
<<linkappend "'Are you questioning my loyalty to the cause Gimon?'">><<replace "#final">> The soldier sits up straight and turns to face Gimon properly. "People like me are going to expunge this country of your enemies. Its their blood that's going to grow your crops. It's their tears that are going to wash this city and this country until its sparkling clean. It's happened before and it will happen again. I'm given the order. That's all that matters. The job is its own incentive. Isn't that what seperates us from your sworn enemy the communistas?"
Gimon doesn't say anything although its clear he wants to. He'd spent a lot of time convincing himself that he wasn't scared of this thug... this gangster. After the purge people like him would be clapped on the back and sent back to the gutter where they belonged. Ends and means.
"We have another list," he says.
"The Americans again?"
"Does it matter?"
The soldier smiles. A true smile. The kind that comes with love and ice cream and sunsets.
"I'm on it."
[[After]]<</replace>>
<</linkappend>>
<<linkreplace "'What does it matter? The end results are the same.'">><<replace "#final">> The soldier sits up straight and turns to face Gimon properly. "People like me are going to expunge this country of your enemies. Its their blood that's going to grow your crops. It's their tears that are going to wash this city and this country until its sparkling clean. It's happened before and it will happen again. I'm given the order. That's all that matters. The job is its own incentive. Isn't that what seperates us from your sworn enemy the communistas?"
Gimon doesn't say anything although its clear he wants to. He'd spent a lot of time convincing himself that he wasn't scared of this thug... this gangster. After the purge people like him would be clapped on the back and sent back to the gutter where they belonged. Ends and means.
"We have another list," he says.
"The Americans again?"
"Does it matter?"
The soldier smiles. A true smile. The kind that comes with love and ice cream and sunsets.
"I'm on it."
[[After]]<</replace>>
<</linkreplace>>
<<linkreplace "'You don't care. Stop pretending that you do.'">> <<replace "#final">> The soldier sits up straight and turns to face Gimon properly. "People like me are going to expunge this country of your enemies. Its their blood that's going to grow your crops. It's their tears that are going to wash this city and this country until its sparkling clean. It's happened before and it will happen again. I'm given the order. That's all that matters. The job is its own incentive. Isn't that what seperates us from your sworn enemy the communistas?"
Gimon doesn't say anything although its clear he wants to. He'd spent a lot of time convincing himself that he wasn't scared of this thug... this gangster. After the purge people like him would be clapped on the back and sent back to the gutter where they belonged. Ends and means.
"We have another list," he says.
"The Americans again?"
"Does it matter?"
The soldier smiles. A true smile. The kind that comes with love and ice cream and sunsets.
"I'm on it."
[[After]]<</replace>>
</span>
<</linkreplace>>
<</linkappend>><</replace>><</replace>><</click>>
<<click "'He got what was coming to him.'">><<replace "#answer">>
He taps the ash from his cigarette. "Anyway we were told not to hang around."
Gimon doesn't seem appeased. "You know I vouch for you around here. People don't like the way you handle business. I know people who hate these communists more than anyone and even they hesitate when it comes to the work."
<<replace "#output">><<linkappend "'I guess they're not real believers.'">>
For a moment Gimon doesn't say anything, as if he's weighing up how far he can push this. "What do you believe in?" he asks.<</linkappend>>
<<linkappend "'Look, do we have a problem here?'">>
For a moment Gimon doesn't say anything, as if he's weighing up how far he can push this. "What do you believe in?" he asks.
<span id= "final">
<<linkreplace "'Are you questioning my loyalty to the cause Gimon?'">><<replace "#final">> 'Are you questioning my loyalty to the cause Gimon?'. The soldier sits up straight and turns to face Gimon properly. "People like me are going to expunge this country of your enemies. Its their blood that's going to grow your crops. It's their tears that are going to wash this city and this country until its sparkling clean. It's happened before and it will happen again. I'm given the order. That's all that matters. The job is its own incentive. Isn't that what seperates us from your sworn enemy the communistas?"
Gimon doesn't say anything although its clear he wants to. He'd spent a lot of time convincing himself that he wasn't scared of this thug... this gangster. After the purge people like him would be clapped on the back and sent back to the gutter where they belonged. Ends and means.
"We have another list," he says.
"The Americans again?"
"Does it matter?"
The soldier smiles. A true smile. The kind that comes with love and ice cream and sunsets.
"I'm on it."
[[After]]<</replace>>
<</linkreplace>>
<<linkreplace "'What does it matter? The end results are the same.'">><<replace "#final">>'What does it matter? The end results are the same.' The soldier sits up straight and turns to face Gimon properly. "People like me are going to expunge this country of your enemies. Its their blood that's going to grow your crops. It's their tears that are going to wash this city and this country until its sparkling clean. It's happened before and it will happen again. I'm given the order. That's all that matters. The job is its own incentive. Isn't that what seperates us from your sworn enemy the communistas?"
Gimon doesn't say anything although its clear he wants to. He'd spent a lot of time convincing himself that he wasn't scared of this thug... this gangster. After the purge people like him would be clapped on the back and sent back to the gutter where they belonged. Ends and means.
"We have another list," he says.
"The Americans again?"
"Does it matter?"
The soldier smiles. A true smile. The kind that comes with love and ice cream and sunsets.
"I'm on it."
[[After]]<</replace>>
<</linkreplace>>
<<linkreplace "'You don't care. Stop pretending that you do.'">><<replace "#final">> The soldier sits up straight and turns to face Gimon properly. "People like me are going to expunge this country of your enemies. Its their blood that's going to grow your crops. It's their tears that are going to wash this city and this country until its sparkling clean. It's happened before and it will happen again. I'm given the order. That's all that matters. The job is its own incentive. Isn't that what seperates us from your sworn enemy the communistas?"
Gimon doesn't say anything although its clear he wants to. He'd spent a lot of time convincing himself that he wasn't scared of this thug... this gangster. After the purge people like him would be clapped on the back and sent back to the gutter where they belonged. Ends and means.
"We have another list," he says.
"The Americans again?"
"Does it matter?"
The soldier smiles. A true smile. The kind that comes with love and ice cream and sunsets.
"I'm on it."
[[After]]<</replace>>
</span>
<</linkreplace>>
<</linkappend>><</replace>><</replace>><</click>>
</span>
<</linkreplace>>
<span id = "output"></span>
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