We all knew the Movement was vulnerable. His death came unexpectedly. We had no means of preparing ourselves for the blow or the aftershock. He was the vanguard, our shining star of hope. It seemed at times that the Movement was him, as if from the pores of his skin flowed ingenuity, charisma, and purpose. We simply lived for him, because we knew that behind his every action was a logically calculate and rational decision – one that would only make us stronger.
But, a tree-automobile collision at high speed was nothing that anyone could be expected to survive. Then again, we imagined him to be not human, but rather of post-human disposition. It seemed that nothing could touch him, much less kill him. How were we to know that the Great Protector was vulnerable to bodily injury? He was simply too intelligent, too quick, too decisive to leave himself sprawled out on the highway… dead as the pavement itself.
Our day was nigh. And, now… we are lost. No vision. No objective. Nothing. It is all gone, now. Just like the heat in his tall, domineering figure. His stature was magnificent. He reigned over everyone with his immense frame, but his stance was warm and relaxing. You knew that when he was in the room, things would simply fall into place. No concern should bother your focus, because he would tackle any hazard or obstacle obstructing the Movement. Those times are gone now. And, who could fill his place?
Without him we are lost. We must refocus, and adjust to this new environment that we have discovered ourselves to be in. Reengage the enemy at full speed – that is our purpose! We will succeed, with him to guide us at heart! Have no fear, fellow comrades. It is our time to rule, not theirs. They will burn at our feet as we hold our heads high and march on! Carry on, men! And may the favors of Chance look kindly on our Party.
