[Election ‘016 012] Who the Hell is Bobby Jindal?

[Election ‘016 012] Who the Hell is Bobby Jindal?

Who the Hell is Bobby Jindal?




I have been assigned to Task Force Theta, much to my chagrin.

Anyone in the force knew the stories about Task Force Theta. About the missions they have undertaken. About how few men and women that enter come out entirely intact.

Ever since they promoted me I knew it would be coming, but I tried to convince myself I was wrong. I wasn’t wrong. They assigned me to exactly what I expected would be coming. I’m supposed to find out the true identity of the mysterious man known only as Bobby Jindal.

I saw the look on Chief Roberts’ face as he handed me the documents. His eyes averted from mine and stayed focused on the manila folder in my hands. He said, “Agent Emily Fieri, you know what your mission is, and you probably know everything we’ve collected so far. I hope you have more luck than your predecessor.” I nodded and left his sight.

Since then, I’ve been looking at the files in the folder. They have various eyewitness accounts, interviews with former employees, the works– but nothing that we could ever confirm. Several of these seem like false flags, too. Chief Roberts mentioned my predecessor’s failings; Agent Guy Donnell was certainly passionate about this mission, but I can tell now why he snapped– because there’s almost nothing I can find in here worth anything.

The most recent document we have is some sort of manifesto. It’s titled, “THE CAMPAIGN TO TAKE THE UNITED STATES: FREEDOM FOR ALL.” It seems like a bunch of ideological nonsense, nothing too far from the usual diatribes Jindal sends out, but something about it has piqued my interest. I’m going to check it out further.



I stayed home from work today, faking a sickness, but not because I wanted to get away from my coworkers, always leering and interrupting me. I get the most work done when I’m alone.

I think I finally figured out something about this “FREEDOM FOR ALL” document, and I didn’t want anyone breathing down my neck if I turned out to be right.

See, there’s a certain code in between the malarkey, I think. Jindal keeps mentioning these buzzwords such as “freedom,” “liberty,” “economy,” and other vague terms that any politician would use. But Jindal is no politician, or no ordinary one at the very least, and the aggressive consistency of repetition in these terms and phrases leads me to believe there’s much more to the tirade than an appeal to voters.

Recently, I interviewed a minor candidate for President, Mark Everson, about the possibility of meeting this Bobby Jindal in the future. From what I learned from him, it seems that many parts of the country gift their candidates precious gems and metals to symbolize their pledging to the candidate. The gifts range from small lockets to golden statues, depending on the donor. I believe that Jindal is very interested in this, though I cannot say for sure, and I cannot say for what purpose he needs these items. Perhaps his organization is in need of cash, or wants to control the markets for these valuable items. Perhaps he simply wants to become President after all.  But if I can crack the code behind “FREEDOM FOR ALL,” I believe I will figure it out.

And that is what I plan to do today.



Still no luck yet. Will continue to attempt to figure it out. I haven’t gone into work in a few weeks, though the chief seems to understand how important my work is. He told me I could have temporary assistants if I needed, but I refused. I don’t want anyone else handling this information. Far too sensitive.



Agent Guy Donnell came to my house on the fifteenth; I’ve been too occupied to write about it since then, because of the information he gave me, and because I’m afraid of what might happen if someone else finds this journal someday.

But I’m going to write about it anyway. He came to my house in the middle of the day, wearing the same Theta Force outfit he was wearing the last time we saw him in 2013. He came by my office and tapped on the window. I let him in through the front door, and he rambled on and on about the mission, about Bobby.

“Where have you been?” I asked him. But he wouldn’t tell me.

He spoke in jitters: “You have to find Bobby Jindal, there’s nothing left, he’s going to be here, I can feel it, there isn’t anyone but you and me, I don’t understand it anymore, you’re going to have to help, he doesn’t want us getting any further, you have to try.”

He gave me a large folder of his own to go along with what I already had compiled. It’s impressive, though so much of it seems to be pure conjecture and hysteria. Still, I know at least some of it will be useful, and already has helped me begin to crack the code for “FREEDOM FOR ALL.”



Thus far, from what Donnell gave me, I have learned that the manifesto is code for some sort of address. That much, I have been able to discern. But I have had little luck figuring out exactly what each buzzword means and how it correlates to this address. Even expert codebreakers I’ve talked to are coming up puzzled. But that’s just for now; I know I’ll figure it out.



Okay, from what we’ve been able to figure out, there are actually three possible addresses that the manifesto could be pointing to, each in completely separate parts of the country. One is in Nevada, while another is in Louisiana and a third is in New Hampshire.

Bobby Jindal is surely in one of them. I can feel it.



Baton Rouge, Louisiana. I’m coming for you, Bobby. I’m going to find you out, if it’s the last thing I ever do.



I have never liked the weather down in the South this time of year. It’s way too hot, way too humid. Baton Rouge is definitely no exception when it comes to that. Walking down the street, drenched in sweat, I could only think of how much I wanted Bobby Jindal’s house to have air conditioning.

It was many minutes before I would reach the mansion that “FREEDOM FOR ALL” seemed to be directing me towards. It’s large, white, and dilapidated from years of misuse, but I like the design.

As soon as I saw it, I felt a trembling, like my body knew what was happening before I could even comprehend it. I should have ignored it, but I let it eat away at me all the way until I opened the front door.

No lights, and no A/C.

And after two hours of searching, no Jindal in the mansion. He was never here in Louisiana to begin with, I don’t think, from how long the building seemed to be abandoned, maybe seven or eight years by the overgrowth shooting up from the floorboards. He knew we were looking for him and threw us off for months with the most crimson of herrings.

I can only think right now that I may never find out who Bobby Jindal really is. His strange proclamations about becoming the leader of the United States fascinate me, and the mystery of trying to find him has completely captivated me, but Baton Rouge might have been the closest I will ever come to reaching him.

He knew we were looking for him. Or, possibly, he knew I was looking for him. The evidence in “FREEDOM FOR ALL” must have been planted there on purpose. Bobby Jindal knows I exist, and that makes me feel elated, somehow. I know he doesn’t want to be found, but I feel like… All that’s left in my life is to look for him. I can’t fail my mission, for the reputation of Task Force Theta, and for my own reputation.

And because I don’t think I could stop, even if I tried.


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