The System: Series 1: Level 5: Kill the Past

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Like, all the way. Stack more sales with the best converting checkout on the planet. Track your cha-chings from every channel right in one spot and turn real-time reporting into big-time opportunities. Take your business to a whole new level Switch to Shopify Start your free trial today Generally speaking, there's no clear moment when you become a man.

There's no final test, no thousand-year-old ritual. You don't go into the wilderness and take a powerful hallucinogenic. You don't get covered in mud and have your foreskin chopped off in front of your extended family. You don't stick your hand in a glove full of bullet ants for ten minutes. You don't jump off a 100-foot tower with nothing but a vine tied around your ankle. And if you ask me, that's a damn shame.

The system. Level 5. Kill the past. A man sits shivering in a derelict holiday chalet. He's been awake for three days straight. Rain drips through the ceiling. Who can save him now? Present day. Maya. But if you are accessing your messages or still at your house, please come back as a matter of urgency. We want to find your brother as soon as possible.

TV is my drug of choice. I can be whoever people need me to be for so long but eventually I need to be no one. I need to be a blob on the sofa slumped in front of something glossy and American and mindless. Ideally where people in nice clothes stab each other in the back. Gossip Girl, basically. I've probably spent more time watching and re-watching those six seasons than I have doing anything else. My dad said it would be my downfall, my Achilles heel.

But right now, it might just prove to be my superpower. Yes, yes, I found him, I found him. Because here, in episode 20 of season five, Silent of the Dead, serving Serena van der Woodsen a gin martini is the man I've been looking for, Beau Leach. No shit. It's him. Who is he? Okay, so according to the credits for the part of Flirty Bartender, he is an actor called... Jonathan T. Foster. Jonathan T. Foster.

Jonathan T. Foster. Right, there's a gynecologist in Missouri. It's not him. Doug Walker in Phoenix, not him. Another gynecologist. Weird. But... Like Bo Leach, there is not a trace of the actor Jonathan T. Foster anywhere online. Almost like he's been erased from the internet. Jonathan T. Foster, where are you?

Three weeks earlier. Jake. Okay, lads, here we go. It's 7.30 on a Wednesday. We're sitting in an industrial unit. A group of roided-out-looking 20-something lads watching TV together. In the last year, hundreds of millions more people have been forced into poverty, while these dudes have made nearly half a trillion dollars. A parade of men flashes across the screen. Men playing golf and talking business.

Men getting onto private jets. Men whispering into each other's ears at Davos. Are you ready to show them a little justice? Cause judgement day is almost here, almost, but first... Each of you will be given a unique personal challenge to mark the death of the person you once were and the final stage of your transformation from emasculated low-T drudge boy to superhuman agent of history.

This, you lucky bastards, is level five. Kill the past, because generally speaking, there's no clear moment when you become a man. It's months since Coyote was kicked out for asking awkward questions. But his voice has started to creep into my head. That's it. One, two. One, two. Is everything okay, man? Yeah. All good.

I know you, dingo. Something's niggling. Let it out. Look, how many other units are out there? I don't know exact numbers. It's above my pay grade, but more and more all the time from what I hear. Are we ever going to meet any of them? They prefer us to limit the channels of communication. So we can't bring nothing down if we get caught. Exactly. But for all we know, it could be just us. Five guys in an industrial state preparing for a revolution.

Okay, look. Come with me. What, now? Yeah, let's go. We're in his car. An Aston Martin. Like he's James Bond. We pull up outside another industrial estate 20 minutes drive away. Okay. What's this? Wait. Just keep your eyes on that door. I know what's going on. What's going on?

It's that time of year. What? Oh, yeah. You mean? The anniversary? Yeah. What of? What do you mean, what of? You know what of. You need to own this stuff, Jake. Don't skirt around it, just say it. It's the anniversary of my dad's suicide. Blow your brains out, Dave. Is that better? Control it, Jake. Don't let it control you. Bo asked me to give you something. What is this?

It's a 1938 Enfield No. 2 Mark 1 revolver. It's the exact gun my great-grandad would have been issued in the war. The one he smuggled home and then passed on to his son, who passed it on to my dad. I'm really messed up, Alex. Pick up. I don't want to pick it up. And that's exactly why you should. I pick up the revolver. Feel the weight of it in my hand. Bo's impressed with your progress.

And he wants you to be a part of something. Part of what? I can't tell you much about it at the moment, but it's going to be pretty important after Judgment Day. Think of it as the inner circle. It is an inner circle. There's always an inner circle. Hey, look. A young man comes out. About my age. Built. Then another and another. Six young men, all moving with the same focus. The same intent I recognise from us. This thing, man.

He's really got people. He's captured something. Way more than I ever imagined. Anyway, Bo can tell you about it himself. When? He's here. Right now. In the UK. And he's excited to meet you.

Once you're through this level. You might be able to erase someone from the internet. There are companies that do this. But you can't yet erase them from people's memories. Or their email history. specifically those of the cast and director of Gossip Girl Season 5, Episode 20. Hello, this is Camilla calling from Sam Mendes' office in London. We wanted to reach out to you about a project.

And also, we wondered if you could help us track down an actor you cast. Yeah, his name is Jonathan T. Foster. Speaking the right way, especially with a nice English accent. Dangle the right bait. You can persuade a cast and director to find the name of Jonathan T. Foster's former agent, who in turn becomes very helpful at the mention of the name Bo Leach and is very happy to pass on your contact details as a matter of urgency. They're going to pass on my number immediately.

Well, what if he doesn't call you back? He will. But he doesn't. Five, ten, fifteen, twenty minutes pass. Coyote keeps peering out the window. Convinced we're about to get raided by police, MI6, the CIA, the Russians, the Chinese. Hello? Well, hello there. Bingo. Is that Jonathan T. Foster? Yeah, who's this? I'm an associate of Boleach. Do you have a name? Camilla. Like the Duchess? Yes, like the Duchess. You know you're royals. My mum had a thing for Prince Charles.

What does it mean exactly, associate? It means Beau put me on to you and I'm a huge fan of your work. How did he manage to coax you out of your premature retirement? I had you think. He made you an offer you couldn't refuse. Enough to get me a pretty sweet set of solar panels. Hot showers every day now. You live off-grid. Bring on the great rewilding. I'll be ready. What exactly do you want from me, Duchess? I thought this was about a project.

It is. When did you last speak to Beau? I don't know. I don't know. It was a week ago. But I spoke to Jess last night. Jess? Yeah, Jess, his assistant. Oh, yeah, of course. What's the nature of your association? Because it seems like you don't know. What is it? Jess.

Alex Novak's assistant was called Jess. Wait, who's Alex Novak? It was a friend of Jake's from school. Grace said he was part of this. Then when I called him, he said he hadn't seen Jake for months. Sounds like Alex Novak's a liar. Ten days earlier. Jake.

Hello. I've got something for you. Another bench. Another 6am rendezvous. Why always at dawn? The Jason Bourne shit is starting to wear thin. Here you go. He pulls a photograph out. It takes me a second to process the face. Yeah, this is a joke, yeah. No. This is Bull's level five challenge for you.

Mate, that's Jerome, that's Maya's dad. And now you get to show him who's alpha dog. He ain't a billionaire. I don't even know if he's a millionaire. Your whole life this man has been kneeling on your back. He took your future from you and now you get to take it back. This is a gift, Jake. Mate, he knows me. He'd tell my mum, he'd tell Maya. Exactly. Isn't it time they found out who you are now? Present day.

Hello, Alex Novak's office. This is D.I. Cohen from the Metropolitan Police. I'm investigating the whereabouts of Jake Dean and I'd like to ask Mr Novak a few questions. I'm afraid he's at a meeting right now. Can you have him call me back on this number? Just like before, my phone doesn't ring, but ten minutes later I get a voicemail. Hi there, this is Alex Novak. I haven't got much for you, I'm afraid. I haven't seen Jake for a while now.

What? What? Wait. It's exactly the same voicemail he left me before. I go back and check. Not just the same words. But the same intonation, the same pauses. I haven't seen Jake for a while now. It's exactly the same. No way. Oh, my God. I know who that is. Young. Light. Walk. Four. Built. Great. Pot. Bird. In any order. Checking in. Checking out. Okay.

A boxing club in South London. I've known about it for years, but it's the first time I've set foot inside. It never seemed like a place for someone like me. I'm in the furthest corner, hood up, with my back to the room. I've been at this bag for a long time. Anyone watching would think I have some issues. And they'd be right. Finally, he ends his session. Heads for the changing rooms. Oh my god, Jake! I was gonna keep the hood up.

Jumping from behind, but he feels weak. What are you doing here? I look at him. This man I've hated since I was five years old. An ex-professional footballer. Six foot four, the nightmare step that's still fit, still strong. But there's a stoop. A softness round the middle. The arms and legs not quite as powerful as they used to be.

For the first time I realise... I could have him. Jake. I could take him. What's going on? I take a step towards him. He moves back. His body on alert and in his eyes, is that... Jake! Fear? I could pin him to the wall. I could slide my hand under his chin, get his windpipe in the crook of my elbow and squeeze. Is everything okay? You're freaking me out a little bit, buddy.

I try and concentrate on how much I hate him. For his contempt, for his money, for marrying my mum. But when I look into his eyes, it's not just him I see. It's also my life. Everything's fine. I turn to go. Then I turn back. Just... Don't call me buddy. Alex bloody Novak!

If only I'd done more Googling in the first place. Ranjiv Coyote went on to the company's house website and found that Alex Novak has registered a lot of companies. Mostly named after mythological creatures. And one in particular... griffin tech was responsible for designing an algorithm that was sold to a korean tech company for an undisclosed but obviously enormous amount of money basically alex novak is minted and of all his many companies

Only one now remains active. Alex Novak Consulting Limited. Listed in the converted warehouse in East London which I'm now walking towards. Ranjiv said I shouldn't come. He said we should go to the media instead. He's got a mate with an alternative news channel he thinks would love this shit. I also think he would like to not have his other foot smashed up or worse. Fair enough. No reception. Just a barista and a smoothie maker.

And a lot of succulents in hanging baskets. I walk through a warren of corridors. Past exactly the businesses you'd expect. Wellness coaching, sustainable design, digital branding, a collective of activist blacksmiths. Unit 401, AN Consulting, next to the fire exit. A grage door at the end of a very long grage corridor. The door is ajar. A familiar voice. A woman talking on the phone. Short hair, gold-framed glasses. Jess. I think so, yeah. Okay, yeah. Suddenly she's at the door.

Hello? Go big or go home. My name's Jazz. I'm here for an internship. Why am I American? I spoke to Alex about it a couple of weeks ago. An internship? Seriously. Where's Alex? Is he here? I notice a man coming towards me down the corridor. It's him, the pale guy with the dead eyes. Maya, I know who you are. We've had someone outside your house for the last two nights. Good accent, though.

Where's Alex? I want to talk to him. He's not here. Dead Eyes Guy is standing a couple of metres away, blocking my exit. Where is he? Tell me where he is. You should ask Jake. He'll know. In fact, maybe you could tell us all where Jake's been hiding and we can get all this sorted out. The pale guy is inching towards me. Why don't you come in and sit down? She opens the door, gestures to a battered Chesterfield. Do you like kombucha?

No, it's disgusting. And I run, through the alarm door, down the fire escape, through the car park and away.

Three days earlier. I'm in a pub. As I stand at the bar, I realise how long it is since I've been in a pub. Since I've done anything normal. What did you want to talk about? I'm done. I'm out. What was funny? What about you? Another one of your moments, I suppose? No, I'm sure this time. You thought you were sure all the other times. I want my life back. You have no other life. I want to see my family. They cut you out. They rejected you, dingo. Don't call me that.

Well, we can put you on suspension and give you a few weeks off, but you'll have to pay a penalty when you come back in. I don't want a break. I want to leave. Not possible. What do you mean not possible?

You can't leave after level three. It's too risky. You got the symbol on your back. You knew what that meant. Oh, yeah, yeah. Well, you can't make me stay. You filmed a manifesto where you describe in detail who you're going to kill and how. We have pictures of you with Eastern European hookers. Do you want hookers?

Weren't they? I don't even care, mate. Whatever. You don't care what kind of man everyone thinks you are. Everyone you went to school with. Your mum, your sister, the National Crime Agency. They won't let you live a normal life. Do you remember what we did to Coyote? You did it. You were there. You didn't stop me. Alex. I just want to leave. Do you remember those games that we used to play at school? Yeah.

All those different characters we had in the missions we went on. What were you called? I can't remember. I can. I can remember all of it. All the assets, all the bases, all the different operations. It was like a whole parallel universe that we created. We were 12. It was make-believe. But now we get... Do it for real. Please, just let me go. Okay. Here's what we'll do.

I can see that you're struggling with level five. What? Wouldn't normally do this, but you're an old friend. Where are you going? Jerome, I'll take care of it for you. We don't need to tell anyone else. We can say that you did it.

To be honest, I thought this might happen. That's why I arranged to meet you here. Their house is only 20 minutes if we cut through here. I don't want you to do this. Maybe I'll just take it straight to judgement day, squeeze the windpipe just that little bit too long. You're bullshit. Am I? Go home then.

Go and play PlayStation, have some cider and a wank, and wait for the hysterical phone call from your sister. No, I'm going to find Bo. I'm going to find Bo and tell him I want to leave. You shouldn't be doing this. I'll tell him what you're doing. Why are you still following me then?

Or do you want to watch while the big boys do the dirty work? Are you all bluffing? You're not going to do this. Yes, I am. Yes, I am. And you're not even going to try and stop me. You won't. It's very easy to push your buttons, Jake. You're very predictable. You know what you're talking about? Pick the right day, the anniversary of your dad's death. Slit some lads 50 quid to give you a hard time.

You're a liar He turns into an alleyway behind a housing estate You do what I tell you to do You're my bitch Jake You're my puppet I can make you do whatever I want and you don't even realise it. What are you waiting for then? For me to give you permission? Go on then. Stop me. Try and stop me. Push me. Go on. Defend yourself. Punch me, go on. Punch me in the face. Is that all you've got? I stop.

I look round and there it is. A CCTV camera. Did he plan this? Did he plan all of this? Oi. Oi. Who's not sitting down and listening to you, man? I'm going to tell you now. Well, for me a little peek in the mirror here, this is a story. Lord, if you see two more things, I'll a little peek with them, and it makes some of them, Lord, them further. The cast it a roll it a roll, roll it a roll, roll it a roll up here too.

Present day. Maya, where have you been? Sorry, I left my phone here. Is that my hoodie? It was cold. Where were you, Maya? You left me a message hours ago. Sorry. I actually needed to clear my head. You said your brother had been in touch with you? Yes. When? Just before you came here the first time. And what did he say to you? Okay, look. Can I level with you? Please. Okay, so the thing about me is I was always the good girl and Jake was always the bad one.

Do you know how siblings get like stuck in roles? So my brother is the car crash. I'm the successful one, the together one, the perfect one, the angel. Except I wasn't. I was always sneaking off, having sex. Taking drugs. I was having it all. I was head girl, but I also went out with the weed dealer. I was winning the game. And then I got to Oxford and it was harder, but I kept at it. I did cocaine.

with Saudi royalty. I went to a drinking club where these old Horovians had a bet to see who could sleep with the poorest girl in Oxford. I drank sherry with Old Dons and then I went to grime clubs in London at the weekend.

My grades slipped a bit, so I started taking a drug design for narcoleptics. Then I couldn't sleep, so I stopped taking it, and then I couldn't get out of bed, so I started taking it again. Oh, my God. And then I went to a 21st birthday party at someone's country house. It was amazing. They must have spent, like, a teacher's starting salary on the catering alone. I got off my head. Then I woke up the next morning on a sun lounger on the grounds and there was a woman.

She was exactly my age, cleaning up empty bottles on the lawn. And she found a champagne bottle that someone had urinated in. I remember them doing it for a day, like literally a pissing competition. And she was so obviously disgusted. So she tipped it out into a flower bed and she saw me watching her and I tried to roll my eyes and saw the dairy. But then I realised she doesn't care what my grandparents did. In her eyes, I'm one of them.

Anyway, I messed up my exams and they sent me home because above all else, they cannot have their averages brought down. So now, I'm a car crash too. And then my brother calls and it turns out he's joined this secret organisation whose mission is basically to take down the Sunday Times.

list tomorrow they're calling it judgment day and there's this guy bo leach he's their leader he's kind of like tony robbins mixed with like deadpool but anyway the thing is he's not actually real he's played by this american actor called jonathan t who lives off-grid. He was in Gossip Girl. He was a flirty bartender, season five, episode 20, Silent The Dead. Like, it's on IMDb. Look it up. You could actually look it up now. Except...

Jonathan T. Foster's name has been removed from the internet, and so the thing about Bolich is that there is actually no Bolich. He was made up by this other guy, Alex, Alex Novak, who my brother used to be friends with. Except I can't find him either. So he sent me the same...

same voicemail twice i don't know if he pre-recorded it or whether it was some like deep fake shit and then there's this girl called jess with short hair in a workspace in beth mcgrin and this pale guy small he's stat he's like a pitbull with this psycho look in his eyes and I think they want to kill me or at least maybe disable me because there was this other guy

Coyote, that's not his real name, and they smashed his leg in. So they are the ones you should be looking for. Not a pair of losers like me and my brother, Alex Novak. He's the one who's in charge. In charge of what? The system! The secret organization! It's kind of like, it's kind of like QAnon or the Proud Boys, but left-wing. So it's a bit more like Bardo-Meinhof or Occupy, but more, more, like...

Strangley. Maya. Yes. Would you mind coming down to the station with us? It would be great to go through this in a bit more detail. Yeah, sure. Yes, of course. But... I think... Yes. I think I'm going to be sick. I run upstairs through my bedroom and into the bathroom. I turn on the taps and then I open the window. Maya, Maya, are you okay in there? I push through the bag I grab from under my bed onto the flat roof alone. Then I squeeze myself through. I run around the side of the house

I pull out the car keys, I swipe from the side as I run through the hall. I get into my dad's massive, shiny Range Rover, immediately wishing I'd grabbed the keys to my mom's Corsa. Eat gravel, feds. A car speeds east along the motorway. I only have one idea where Jake might be, so it better be right. In a hospital bed, a young man, face smashed to a pulp, is waking up. Hello? Pressing the call button. Hello? Hello, is there anyone there?

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