Chapter 47

Assange was restless, unkempt and annoyed af. He was getting no information, no online, no outside, nothing. It had been a scary journey, and when the Brits closed in he thought, this is it. Oh shit, I’m done for. Hillary’s people have finally figured out how to wrangle me away. They will not let me live after publishing their pizza network. But then some different Americans showed up. Classy-like but casual. They chilled out the guards, even got him his own section of the prison. They let him know.

“You are safe Mr. Assange,” said the taller American. “Your arrest will be made to look… endangering to other journalists. It will appear that you, a bastion of integrity and transparency will finally have fallen.”

Assange cracked a smile. “Are you the good yanks by chance?”

The other American broke character and grinned, “bro, I can’t tell you how cool it is to meet you…” A phone rang. He picked up. “Oh, of course,” he looked at Assange, ”it’s for you my man.”

Assange held the phone with glistening eyes, “hello?”

“Holy fuck, right?”

“Who is this?” Assange asked, smiling.

“I’m Rick Flair bitch! WOOOO!” Chelsea Manning screamed into the phone.

Tears streamed down his face. “You are out of jail, right?”

“Fuck yes, and who would’ve guessed that it would be this administration to do it?”

Assange was amused, he had to admit. Trump was always a clown to him, but to find out he was just playing another role, almost like his tv character was… amusing. “The enemy of my enemy is my friend,” he quoted, “it turns out satanists have more enemies than most!”

Manning squealed. “OmGAAAAAWD! How many years were you like, wtf guys? I can only give you so much information on these people before they kill me?”

Assange paused and thought about it. What the hell, it’s about over. “When I breached the DoD database in 1987, a couple of the big brass scolded me separately, but reminded me of my duty as a human being. If I were ever to do that again, it would be better to tell them again. They weren’t as interested in punishing me, because they realized they needed me. They didn’t know how to troll their own people.” He thought about it all for a moment. “They did manage to record it all for decades - four of them. Taping, filing, amassing more, year after year after year, and now BAM! It’s going down. It’s a lot to take in.”

Manning was tearing up. “This is really happening, isn’t in? These people are really being reigned in, like for real, for real?”

Assange got to brag, “it’s happening, it’s happening fast and furious. The COVID ploy was their last-ditch effort to muddy the waters, but even bunkers are registered. The richer sick fucks can’t get away from their own paperwork. A lot of them are going to die in them. At least they get to choose their fate. I feel sick about it. I have a lot of friends who were abused. Most of them never got over it.”

“I always wondered why WikiLeaks never leaked the pedo stuff earlier.”

“Too sensitive,” Assange asserted. “Ted Gunderson of the FBI was on to their moves in the 1970s. He died mad. He would never get to the bottom of why his superiors shelved all his evidence of child trafficking.”

“But it is this, right?” Manning asked. “This is the end of the illuminati?”

Assange considered it, “This is the end of something.”