[ WP ] A man is standing on the edge of a bridge , about to jump . A crowd of curious onlookers has gathered around him , with many trying to talk him out of it . The remains silent but finally speaks , saying only five words . The entire crowd immediately jumps off the bridge .

Some bystanders thought they were heroic, yet chosen to deny their ensuing pretentiousness. It was involuntary: the collective decisions that lead to the need to save what society would deem a fallen angel. A select few still felt a need to be a hero, rise above the other filth in the sty. Maybe life had some sort of sentimental value to those people, or maybe, charity was just a great ego-boost. It did n't matter in the end, though. The unsure appeals to hope and shout-outs to Christ, after the realization that they'd just fall on deaf ears, stopped. The misguided attempts would start up again, only to be drowned out by the random snippets of conversation by other passerby. 
 `` JESUS! JUST FUCKING JUMP ALREADY IF YOU ’ RE NOT GOING TO LISTEN?'' Screamed an increasingly annoyed man, who was just trying to share his own shout-y version of the gospel a few minutes ago. 
 This sentiment was repeated, recited in the faces the gathering crowd. 
 As more and more time lapsed, the man's leather jacket became his only friend. The only thing protecting him from the howling wind that threatened his composure. 
 `` Ah em.'' Clearing his voice: a strict juxtaposition to the uneasy silence. 
 He averted his eyes upwards towards a cloudy, gray sky—yet somehow they still delighting in the nonexistent rays which burnt images and geometric patterns into his retinas. 
 `` He said to them: Go!'' 
 Bottles of Blueberry vodkas and iPhones: were dropped for the first time. The whole herd rushed down the towards the water. Each, making a point of not getting too close to the man. The water soon became red, and he laughed as he walked back onto the bridge. 
 Once the job was done, he trudged along the middle of the road, knowing that no vehicle could hurt him. The man would slow his pace occasionally to scoff at the survivors, whose were maimed bodies wrapped around railings indicated an obviously desperate attempt to subvert the `` mind control.'' 
 `` Please... please...'' it trailed off, then rebounded...'' please...'' 
 The words were cut off, but he was sure the end was: `` kill me.'' 
 That cry resounded from every direction, inevitably dying out after some time. It was n't always the same voice, or the same words—but the sentiment that constantly lead to trough-inspired scuffles, resonated with each scream… 
 The Bystanders knew they were a witness to something…something they had always feared. 
 He finally made it to the end of the bridge, leading into a mountainside tunnel, and could n't help but smirk when he saw the graffiti: 
 
 New World Order. 
 
 It has begun… 
 

