Squadrons from every corner of the Social Media universe assembled behind their computer screens at the Battle of Credibility.  Cannonballs of contumely rocketed across the expanse and fiery missiles of malevolence hurtled back and forth at unidentifiable targets.  Fragile fortresses largely built on cornerstones of credentials appeared inadequate to mitigate the offensive onslaught, but in the early going, the only casualties appeared to be strawmen.  However, the cost of time, resources, and emotional angst appeared to be almost incalculable. 

The generals and lieutenants feverishly recruited minions to fund their agendas.  The tribe marched in circular fashion, provocatively pontificating as they trudged along, supplied by an unending stream of propaganda-flavored Kool-Aid.  Some battalions were clearly fueled by A.I., while clever retorts fashioned by real soldiers demonstrated more refined design.  Mass production of reification rapiers and ad hominem arrows were twisted into usable, albeit futile weapons.  However, the deafening promise of glory from the generals continued to reverberate through the minds of their respective armies with volume that even the militia of frivolous explosions could not drown out.  And yet, whether of human or robotic origin, the fate of each fallacious fusillade was the same; each volley of vitriol burned out like a supernova into the ether.

Occasionally, victory was claimed, usually by declaring, “The debate is over.”  Rarely, a battle was acknowledged as lost, and seed oils, statins, COVID, methylation, or some combination of culprits were implicated for the setback.  But the debate was never really over.  No victor had emerged.  And in this skirmish, the notions of winning and losing had become secondary to a superfluous struggle deemed immensely worthwhile.

Eventually, the battle ended with the death of the generals.  The figureheads directing the A.I. battalions were never really alive anyway. And upon autopsy, it was discovered that the human generals had been suffering from a terminal illness of Insecurity; it was only a constant intravenous cocktail of validation mixed with resentment that enabled them to fight for so long.

In the aftermath, a group of compassionate artists attempted to clean up the battlefield.  They were realistically skeptical that their endeavors would be remembered; no one had ever paid much attention to their work in the past.  However, feeling a sense of obligation to memorialize the conflict, they painted a simple mural on a rock that, depending on the angle, resembled either a human heart or a tombstone. And emblazoned on the boulder were the following words:

“In a Truth War, only Love can win.”