Clamoring to get a closer look at their hero the mob tore down the loosely moored fence. In search of a friend they never truly had they sought out this stranger, this fellow slave.
There must have been close to a million people who came to hear this mere mortal speak. Were his words mesmerizing, enchanting, or just plain riveting? Why did they come? What did they want? Could they possibly be seeking divine intervention embodied in flesh and blood - a swift blow that would burst from an all-powerful hand raised in righteous indignation at all tyrants?
The "swift blow", "powerful hand" stuff must have come from the latest hit movie. That image of the impervious, all-powerful leader, the deliverer, had left the citizenry expecting a giant that would slay all their monsters, imagined or otherwise.
But there were others up high, experts in the ancient techniques of the Inquisition (more subtly applied now) who were apprehensive; a few even looked on in wild-eyed terror. They were acutely aware from history that all it took was a single determined individual to scuttle their latest attempt at total domination - this was a contagion that always had the potential to spread.
Others equally wedded to privilege just laughed at the spectacle, reassured that their reality included all that could be explained. There just wasn't an unexplained dimension to their universe - they knew it all.
Why hadn't this torn, worn, and bloody world been graced with a towering presence? What the hell was with the Supreme Being passing off this average height, average looking, and very typical man as a leader?
Why not a woman?
Was this a Christmas morning filled with dissatisfaction? After playing with that 'perfect' toy for just a few hours we'd come to find it just wasn't as special as we'd envisioned.
Meanwhile, the underhanded rulers of the corporatist gang continued to monitor the situation.
Over time, the Masters of the Universe were consumed by a seething hatred for this newly awakened individual, this malcontent who didn't know his place in the 'herd'. They'd always had a general contempt for all low-life citizens who were so easily corralled by their lobbyist controlled governments but this hell raiser just wouldn't stop inciting the drooling citizenry to 'stampede'.
This upstart who broke the trance of his fellow slaves was disrupting a well-disciplined global labor force. A plethora of insufferable questions (the enemy of box-tight corporate authoritarianism) were erupting from a populous that would no longer accept their lowly place in the great scheme of greedy corruption. Even the corporate media machine was faltering; their media parrots were no longer squawking to the happy tune, they were even asking questions, probing questions!
"Please bring that rabble rouser over for a drink at my castle"
"What, he refused to bow in my presence? Well, that insolent prick has some gall! Who the hell does he think he is?"
Quietly walking out of the spectacular dining room the old servant mumbled under his breath; "Maybe he is a genuine individual."
Down on the rampart the comfortably snug gazed in silent wonder at the multitude of former supplicants that were amassing in the valley. All would be well; there was absolutely no way for this rabble to breach the barrier. There were far too many assets arrayed against these low life citizens.
They would never be allowed to claim their individuality. They would remain obedient sheep. All the decadently relaxed sultans of global corporatism were absolutely certain of these crystal clear facts.
But beautiful, grand transformations are possible! Dreamers, builders, individuals, can from time to time awaken the oppressed from their stupor - emboldening the nascent individual to rise up against injustice.