The Native Story Index [Open; All Techs]

[Kyrusia]

[ Mature ]

THEHUM

[ PT/MT ]

---

ANOMALOUS INCIDENT REPORT

^{BREVITY/EAGLE · OFFICIAL USE ONLY}

^{CATEGORIES: Anomalous; Non-ionizing Radiation}

CW-EAGLE-11111985NIRS-A/B/C (”The Hum”)
^{Details surrounding EAGLE Flight No. 1296 and ongoing incidents}

[ IDENTIFICATION ]
» Identification: 11111985NIRS-A/B/C
» Date of Identifcation: November 11, 1985
» Anomaly Classification: Non-ionizing radiation source
» Current Clearance: BREVITY
» File Status: Compiled and redacted; officiated for RED CROWN dissemination

[ GENERAL INFORMATION ]
» Location: Veternysca Mountains; 177 kilometers north-east of Masnow/Masnau (survivor settlement); Sector-N
» Hazard Classification: BLUE (potential hazard)
» Impacted Region(s): Sector-N; north-western Sector-C
» Primary Characteristic(s):
• Non-ionizing radiation source
• Three identified frequency ranges (one audible)
• Low-calibration resonance manifestation
• Probable anthropogenic origin

[ MISCELLANEOUS ]
» Related Media: Audio file attached ( listen)
» External Files: Not applicable
» See Also: Addenda; Notes

[ DOCUMENTED REPORT ]
On November 11, 1985, at 1936 hours (07:36 PM local time), approximately three months following the classification of the former “Kyrusian Federation” as an international disaster area and a radiological exclusion zone by the Committee for Nuclear and Radilogical Hazards of the International Conference for the Sozhlina Disaster – Elysium, four signal intelligence annexes of WINDMILL began receiving an audible frequency transmission from south-western Sector-N, ranging in frequency between 29.44 hertz and 33.78 hertz (1.0183⁷ meters to 8.8749⁶ meters wavelength), hereafter referred to as “NIRS-A”. Cursory triangulation performed by EAGLE and PASS KEY determined the origin of the signal to be approximately 180 kilometers north-east of Masnow (Masnau), near the detected ████████████ anomaly south-south-west of █████████ ██████, hereafter referred to as “NIRS-B”. BLACK QUEEN M. █████████ ordered the immediate departure of a high-altitude reconnaissance flight – labeled EAGLE Flight No. 1296 – from WINDMILL, over the indicated source region, before returning to its flight operations base.

At 1958 hours (07:58 PM local time), EAGLE Flight 1296 departed WINDMILL at a south-western bearing of 228° from north. The expected flight time to NIRS-B was approximately four (4) hours, with total approximately flight time to be eight (8) hours to cover 6,058.88 kilometers at a cruising speed of 690 kilometers-per-hour (373 knots). State objectives were to obtain high-altitude, photographic and thermographic information pertaining to NIRS-B and the impacted region, then to return to WINDMILL for EAGLE and SEARCHLIGHT analysis of the indicated target zone.

At 2344 hours (11:44 PM local time), air-to-ground communication with EAGLE Flight 1296 indicated an arrival at the target zone; approximately four minutes later, transceiver signals from Flight 1296's on-board reconnaissance computer indicated an activation and the capturing of intelligence media. Intelligence gathering operations continued until 2438 hours (12:38 AM local time) on November 12, 1985, when on-board transceivers indicated the deactivation of Flight 1296's reconnaissance cameras. While in the operation zone around NIRS-B, Flight 1296 indicated no anomalous activity apart from standard navigation aberrations due, in part, to ████████████ to the north-east of the indicated operation zone. No further aberrations were indicated until 0106 hours (01:06 AM local time).

Approximately 320 kilometers from NIRS-B, air-to-ground communication between EAGLE Flight 1296 and WINDMILL ceased for a window of approximately four (4) minutes. Upon a return of communications, flight officer ██████ ██████████ indicated a brief loss of electricity in the cabin of the aircraft, followed by an “intense and droning ringing in [the officer's] ears” and a “distinctly metallic taste”. Due to the model of the aircraft, secondary testimony was unavailable to confirm or deny the flight officer's statements. Electronic monitoring equipment and flight computer data aboard Flight 1296 indicated no such loss of power, with recording instruments unable to either prove or disprove the flight officer's testimony in regard to an aberrant sound and taste or a potential anomalous origin to the proposed incident.

The report of EAGLE Flight 1296's officer was dismissed as “auditory and sensual hallucinations brought-on by stress and exhaustion”. The flight officer was ordered to take a fourteen day reprieve of duties to include a mandatory six session psychiatric review.

Preliminary analysis conducted by EAGLE on the behalf of SEARCHLIGHT of the media intelligence gathered by EAGLE Flight 1296 initially proved inconclusive; analysis of over 400 meters of photographic film indicated no possible source of NIRS-A in the former of a radio tower, signal station, or repeater. Further thermographic analysis, however, indicated a small region, approximately six meters by seventeen meters of elevated temperature; further analysis indicated the temperature difference between the potential origin of NIRS-A and background thermal radiation to be upward of 435°, indicating the heart of the potential NIRS-B was approximately 703°K (430°C). Following the EAGLE analysis, all documentation and information regarding NIRS-A, NIRS-B, and Flight 1296 were forwarded to SEARCHLIGHT for further analysis and report.

On November 13, 1985, a SEARCHLIGHT dispatch initiated an EAGLE-commanded operation to investigate identified NIRS-B my means of a seven-man RAWHIDE exploration and handling operation. Indicated objectives were to secure the NIRS-B and a one (1) kilometer radius investigation zone surrounding its epicenter, collect any potential anomalous materials, and investigation the source of NIRS-A in order to make a determination into its cause and potential purpose. All seven RAWHIDE personnel were to be parachute-dropped approximately three (3) kilometers from NIRS-B in order to avoid potential navigation aberrations of hazardous flight conditions. The operation was initiated at 1500 hours (03:00 PM local time), with arrival to the approximate drop point following five (5) hours after departure from WINDMILL.

Eight (8) kilometers from the operationally-indicated entry point, EAGLE analytics and telemetry personnel began to receive the same initial signal as identified on November 11, 1985, by WINDMILL signal intelligence annexes; in conjunction, however, personnel further identified two tertiary frequency ranges emanating from NIRS-B: one range was identified as extremely low frequency in nature, ranging from █ hertz to ██ hertz (███████ meters to ███████ meters wavelength); another range was identified as ultra high frequency in nature, ranging from 320 megahertz to two (2) gigahertz (0.93685 meters to 0.1499 meters wavelength).

On-site analysis of the tertiary bands of NIRS-A ended following a 3.3 gigahertz (0.090846 meters wavelength) spike.

At approximately 2020 hours (08:20 PM local time), following the sudden ultra high frequency signal spike, both flight personnel and EAGLE telemetry personnel began to indicate a “iron or copper taste” and a “teeth-shuddering ring” in the cabin of the aircraft. Soon after, on-board telemetry equipment began to indicate a growing resonance in the left engine of the aircraft; anxious EAGLE personnel immediately postulated a possible connection between the resonance and the extremely low frequency signal emanating from NIRS-B. Thirty (30) seconds following the initial report of structural resonance in the left engine of the craft, flight personnel indicated a general alarm in the cabin, then a sudden and abrupt halt of both engines mid-flight.

EAGLE personnel listening to the air-to-ground communication at the time indicated both panicked and “terrified” screaming as the craft began to stall, resulting in a rapid, 169.4 meters-per-second (610 kilometers-per-hour; 329.2 knots) descent from approximately 5,800 meters (19,028.9 feet) in altitude. All contact with the aircraft ceased 34.3 seconds following the initial loss of both engines. The impact site (and aircraft) is hereafter referred to as “NIRS-C”.

Recovery of NIRS-C's on-board flight recorders (“black boxes”) is currently underway. See coming addenda for further information and a summary of all analysis following the filing of this initial report.

[ ADDENDA ]
» November 13, 1985 (No. 1): The case of EAGLE Flight 1296's flight officer ██████ ██████████ is to be officially re-opened. The referenced flight officer is to be immediately recalled from reprieve for thorough questioning regarding the incident experienced. Investigation into activities prior to the incident discussed in the flight officer's testimony is hereby authorized; monitoring of related PASS KEY information is hereby authorized.

» November 13, 1985 (No. 2): All information regarding NIRS-A, NIRS-B, and NIRS-C is hereby placed under BRILLIANCY classification. Unauthorized access will result in termination of post and grade. All access is hereby restricted to SEARCHLIGT and PASS KEY personnel.

» November 16, 1985: One on-board flight recorder of NIRS-C has been recovered. Remaining flight recorder was damaged during descent or upon impact. The remains of the EAGLE and RAWHIDE personnel aboard NIRS-C are severely damaged; potential information to be gathered from the remains is to be considered compromised. All information gathered upon autopsy is to be considered hypothetical until greater study can be implemented.

» November 22, 1985: Autopsies of four (4) of the seventeen (17) crew members aboard NIRS-C have been completed. All three flight personnel appear to have died on impact; no aberrant or anomalous activity discovered upon dissection and analysis. The one (1) EAGLE telemetry officer as-of-yet autopsied appears to have died from severe cranial hemorrhaging. Cranial pressure severity is indicated due to an anterior fracture at the base of the skull not believed to have been caused by the impact; further evidence for extreme inter-cranial pressure has been indicated through a perforation of both of the subject's ear drums and the disconnection of the incus or “anvil bone” of the subject's left middle ear. Moderate deterioration of the subject's optic nerve is also present.

» November 23, 1985: NIRS-A continues to be detected by annexes of WINDMILL in Sector-N at frequency ranges indicated previously in this report. Long-range, low-altitude flights over NIRS-B have been suspended. All recovery operations at NIRS-C are to be terminated immediately.

» November 30, 1985: Autopsies of all flight personnel aboard NIRS-C have been completed. Of the seventeen (17) members aboard, six (6) died directly due to impact, three (3) members of the flight crew, one (1) member of the RAWHIDE exploration group; ten (10) appear to have died due to intense inter-cranial pressure, cranial hemorrhaging, or related causes; one (1) crew member appears to have survived the crash, being found some seven (7) meters from the impact site of NIRS-C, the cause of death yet to be determined.

» December 2, 1985: EAGLE Flight 1296 flight officer ██████ ██████████, after undergoing lengthy interrogation, was required to be sedated after what appears to be a “spontaneous nervous breakdown” or “severe psychotic episode” of indeterminate cause. The flight officer has been relocated to BATTERY to undergo psychiatric incarceration and for continued observation.

» December 14, 1985: After being transported to BATTERY for psychiatric care and further observation, EAGLE Flight 1296 flight officer ██████ ██████████ received comfort and psychiatric treatment in addition to moderate sedation for a period of three (3) days. On December 6, 1985, the flight officer was classified as being in a “persistent vegetative state”. On December 8, 1985, no further brain activity was detected. On December 13, 1985, flight officer ██████ ██████████ spontaneously appeared to recover from the comatose state previously diagnosed. Seemingly revived and in good health, following approximately six (6) hours of further observation, the flight officer spontaneously appeared to suffer from ocular hemorrhaging, severe vomiting, and sudden evacuation of bodily waste. Approximately seven (7) minutes after passing into this episode, the flight officer expired. No cause of death has been able to be determined. Further study of NIRS-A, NIRS-B, NIRS-C, and their effects have been completely transferred to the custody of TRAILBLAZER.

[ CONTENT REDACTED ]

» February 3, 2012: All content regarding CW-EAGLE-11111985NIRS-A/B/C (“The Hum”) has been hereby compiled and readied for RED CROWN dissemination, classed under BREVITY clearance . All content regarding the “Escutcheon Theory” and further information garnered by TRAILBLAZER has been redacted due to concerns over inappropriate dissemination and proliferation. All parties interested in further information are hereby instructed to contact SEARCHLIGHT directly.

[ NOTES ]
^{NOT INTENDED FOR DISSEMINATION}
» Notes of Doctor ████████, ████████████; TRAILBLAZER; February 8, 2012:
Regarding the so-called “Escutcheon Theory”, it should be noted that, while proof for the existence of a “psuedo-lymphatic defense” is quite outlandish – even insane – what the crewman of Flight 1296 experienced can hardly be accounted for otherwise. While it is true, as some at the time suggested, that the possible response the flight officer had after seemingly miraculously being revived from his death-like coma and the latency period that preceded his symptomatic manifestations could be accounted for by acute radiation poisoning, we all know that NIRS-B and, subsequently, NIRS-C had no higher presence or absorption levels of ionizing radiation than Sector-S. If it were, how would Masnow even be there?

My colleagues and I in TRAILBLAZER still believe the original proponents of “Escutcheon” were correct in their assumptions. The growth of the “Hum Phenomenon” is case enough for the hypothesis to be true; even more devastating causes for concern are found on an almost daily basis. We must sincerely begin to try and understand this place, as it seems what some have suggested is true: the frequency and severity of these anomalous phenomena is increasing.

[Taurenor]

[OOC: Thank you New Azura, Stedicules and Kyrusia. Your stories have been added to the list.]

[East Klent]

[ MT ]

The Millennium Project

Chapter Five

"New Millennium, Same Game..."

Manevrro, Stoniaso
Palazzo del Parlamento
January 4, 2000

Conner carefully sifted through the reports, memos, and other documents on Arlio's desk making sure to put each one back in its place. He could not find anything of relevance, so he decided to look through the filing cabinets and came across a file labeled "Occupando Militare", (Occupying Military). Peaking his interest, he decided to pull it out and opened it on the desk.

What he found were several pictures and schematics of Chezlovolvian Naval ships and maps of ground forces deployed at bases all over the islands. There was also a list of Chezlovolvian officers listed by rank along with what seemed to be a ledger showing pay-offs, "Now why would you be bribing them?" Conner wondered aloud.

At the end of the file he found memorandums detailing specific protocols for the event of Stoniaso rebelling with plans of attack attached to them. He took pictures of everything with the hidden camera in his watch and then carefully placed everything back into the file, which he then put back into the cabinet. However, before he was able to continue searching, he heard the Deputato's voice. He was forced to sneak out of the office before he was caught.

As Conner closed the door behind him, he discovered one of the secretaries staring at him, Shit, he groaned from within.

He saw Arlio turn the corner with a colleague and made a dash for his desk, neither men took notice as they entered the office. Conner let out a sigh of relief when he remembered the secretary and looked up to find her. She was still at her desk, pretending to be busy typing up a report or something of that nature. He decided to go up to her and do damage control, yet before he was even able to get a word out she started whispering a flurry of questions in Italian, "What were you doing in the Deputato's office? Don't you know it's off limits while he's gone? Why were you hiding? Who are you?"

The barrage left Conner a little shocked. It was a few moments before he was able to gather his thoughts in order to answer, "Jessica, I won't lie to you, I'm not here to serve the government, I'm a journalist, and I'm digging up evidence of corruption within the halls of Parliament," he began.

"But everyone knows there's corruption, it's the worst kept secret in Manevrro," Jessica countered.

"Yes, but if it's proved in black and white, then it'll get the attention of the international community, and then the public will be forced to deal with the sluggards that we call leaders,' Conner maintained.

Jessica thought it over for a moment, "So you were looking for evidence in his office?"

"Si," he replied.

"What paper?" she inquired.

"Pardon?"

"You said you were a journalist, so you either work for a paper or a network,' she explained.

"I work for a network," Conner began to worry as his impromptu cover began to fall apart.

"Which one?" Jessica asked.

Conner knew he was taking to long to come up with an answer and so did she, "Don't worry, Agent Conner, I'm with the Servizio Federale Investigativo, your agency gave my director notice of your presence, who in turn notified me," she spoke in fluent English.

Taken aback, Conner hesitated to respond, "I guess that means we're on the same side then."

"In a manner of speaking," she replied cryptically.

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"This isn't the place, meet me at the Caffè Aquila during the lunch break tomorrow and I'll explain further," she told him.

Conner opened his mouth but did not have the chance to speak before a couple of reporters turned the corner. Jessica and Conner smiled and pointed towards the office. The reporters smiled their thanks in return and made their way into the office.

Conner then turned back to Jessica, "Tomorrow, twelve-thirty, Caffè Aquila, don't be late," she reminded him then left.

He returned to his desk and thought, Servizio Federale Investigativo; the Service has never had contact with a Stoniasoan agency, besides, they've hated us since the early days of the monarchy, so why would she be an asset? I have have a bad feeling about this...


Caffè Aquila
January 5th, 2000
12:30 PM

Marc Petri sat patiently at a table outside the cafe, sipping a cup of coffee, as he waited for Jessica to show. He watched the townspeople as they made their errands. He checked his watch, "Five minutes late," he began to complain when he heard a voice come from behind him.

"Mister Petri, may I remind you that Deputato Arlio had me in on his meeting with the Finance Minister? I was lucky to get out of there at the time I did," it was Jessica.

Marc stood up to greet her in Italian, "I never doubted you for second."

Jessica gave him a stern look as she sat down across from him, "I find that a bit hard to believe, Marc."

"Speaking of things that are hard to believe, I couldn't help but wonder why you of all people would want to help me," Agent Conner was careful to whisper in English so as to not warrant any unwanted attention.

Jessica seemed insulted, "What do you mean? I told you why," she growled under her breath.

"Our nations hate each other, what possible reason would the SFI have to assist the Agency?" Conner asked, maintaining his volume.

Jessica returned to her normal tone and language, "Well, well, well, Mister Petri, I'm very flattered, but I think we should finish this conversation at the hotel, don't you?" she rose out of her seat and raised her brow at Conner.

Slightly confused, Conner replied, "I can't help but agree with you, Miss Carmine," he left the payment for the coffee on the table, then stood and took Jessica's arm.

She whispered into his ear, "Your car."

They walked towards the navy blue sedan that the Service had provided him with. They stepped in and drove off to Conner's hotel, with Conner himself still perplexed as to the purpose of the ruse.

***

The two entered the room and closed the door behind them. Jessica sat on the bed and tapped the spot beside her for Conner to sit. His curiosity heightened, he did as such. Jessica very delicately slid her hands across Conner's face and began to whisper, "They see and hear everything, that's why we must be careful, do you understand?"

Conner caressed her hair, "The Chezlovolvians?"

Jessica nodded, "Where?" he mouthed.

She glanced around the room, implying the existence of listening devices, "We're about to make a move for independence, and we'll do anything to get it, even if it means getting into bed with our oldest rivals," she explained as she began to take off his jacket.

"Literally," Conner smirked.

"This is all part of the cover, don't get any ideas," she breathed into his ear.

"Wouldn't dream of it."

Jessica smiled, "Good..."

End Chapter Five

[Delmonte]

[MT]

OOC: The events that occur here happened four years prior to when I RP.
IC:

Those eligible to vote had gathered in the Anfiteatro della Repubblica to caucus for the new Doge. As was tradition, the oldest member of the Grand Council led the proceedings. Visconte Bernardino Di Massionne led the pack at an astounding one-hundred and five years of age. When they were all accounted for, the new head of the Most Serene Republic would be decided by the roughly eight thousand men who occupied the seats of the Anfiteatro (made to host over ten times that number, so it seemed quite empty). The votership requirements for the Most Serene Republic of Delmonte were very strict. One had to be not only a citizen of the Republic, but a citizen of the Grand City of Delmonte itself (three generations). You also had to be literate and fluent in Delmontese and literate in Latin. Oh, and you also needed at least five hundred thousand ducats in property in the Grand City of Delmonte (if you did not have that much property in the city itself, but had a lot elsewhere in the Republic, you could make up the difference by paying cash into the coffers of Delmonte). The Delmontese aristocracy was quite in evidence. The Duqua's, the Conte's, and even a few Baroni's had made it to the show. But there were plenty of wealthy low-borns as well (there was very little ill will between the two groups: at the end of the day they were kindred spirits, and they all knew this) and they cherished the opportunity to wear the ceremonial electoral robes.

Bernardino banged the Electoral Staff (allegedly over five hundred years old) on the stone floor and its clamor echoed throughout the entire hemisphere of stone, marble, and cement, ushering everyone to be silent. His voice raspy and gravelly, he began to speak in his halting, unsteady voice. "Fellow honorable members! We are... here today to decide... the fate of Delmonte... as a nation and... as a city." he paused to catch his breath, "This is the third time I have elected a Doge, but for many of you I know it will be the first. I hope that you... approach your privelege... No, your duty... to Delmonte with... as much responsibility and... purpose... as I do. That being said... are there any nominations?"

Cesare and his uncle Ludovico sat with all of the other Di Canossa's who had received electorship. The Di Canossa's were well spoken for with seventeen men attending of their own right (five of which were Ludovico's sons) and an additional four men attending for their wives (who would have had electorship were they widowed or unmarried). Cesare was to Ludovico's left while Ludovico's son, Luitpold, was on his right. There was silence after Bernardino Di Massionne's inquiry. Luitpold leaned towards his father. "Now?" Ludovico shook his head. "No, my son. We must wait until the time is right." Cesare wrung his hat in his hands with impatience and anxiety. Across and to the left of the Di Canossa's, a man stood out and shouted at the top of his lungs "I, Timorro Di Rivolinni, Duc Di Spriuli, Baroni di Morbitonnio, and proud citizen of the Most Serene Republic do right-wise nominate Azzio Di Rivolinni for the most esteemed office of Doge of the Most Serene Republic of Delmonte!" Despite having no microphone or other form of sound aparatus, his voice carried very well in the Amphitheatre. Before anyone else could get a word in, the man sitting next to Timorro also stood and shouted "I, Horvazzio Di Rivolinni, Conte Di Brandinni and proud citizen of the Most Serene Republic do right-wise second this most prestigious nomination!"

The Anfiteatro remained rather hushed as Bernardino banged his stave once on the ground from where he sat in the very center of the place. "It has been so moved and seconded. Is Azzio Di Rivolinni present?"

"I am, fellow citizen!" came the reply from the same area of the Amphitheatre.

"Do you accept this nomination."

Azzio seemed flustered and red-faced as he hurriedly said "Of course I do!" The Amphitheatre was silent. Submitting the first nominnation could sometimes pay in dividends, as an act of confidence. But it backfired for the Di Rivolinni's as it merely looked like over-eagerness. This display would earn them no votes. Timorro could be seen burying his head in his hands as a dampened Azzio took his seat. Luitpold turned once more to his father. "Now, surely." Ludovico seemed to contemplate it for a minute before shaking his head. Luitpold roled his eyes and leaned back in impatience. Cesare appeared to be on the verge of a nervous breakdown.

Like a cold wind, so cold that it takes your breath away, a voice echoed through the amphitheatre. From the very far side, high, high in the stands none other than Giodinno Di Azzorinni, brother of the last Doge, declared "I, Giodinno Di Azzorinni, Duc Di Trevisi, Conte Di Piombino, blood relation of the late Doge, and a very proud citizen of the Most Serene Republic and City of Delmonte do honorably put forth the nomination of Gracco Di Azzorinni!" It was seconded by a nephew (the son of the late Doge to be precise). "I support the nomination of my brother!" the cry rang out. Such passion might appeal to the less interested electors. The nomination was accepted and the electors went into an uproar over this nomination. The Di Azzorinni's were a powerful and respected family in Delmonte and this, if they were successful, would be their third Doge in a row! Whispers of "dynasty" and "dictatorship" alike could be heard amidst the various cries of support or outrage, whichever was appropriate. Luitpold didn't even look over at his father, because he knew. He knew that Ludovico would want to cut their moment short. Even as he thought this, his father rose, lifted his hands to the assembled electors, and shouted "Silence!" at the top of his lungs. "I, Ludovico Di Canossa, Duc Di Candizzi, Baroni Di Appruzzio, and most proud citizen of Delmonte do confidently nominate Cesare Di Canossa for the post of Doge!" Luitpold jumped up and replied "And I, Luitpold Di Canossa, Conte Di Gandinni, do solemnly support this nomination!"

Before Bernardino even had the chance, Cesare was on his feet. "I accept!" He shouted decisively. Giodinno Di Azzorinni watched in horror as the topic of conversation of the Amphitheatre shifted like the wind. Fuming, he sat down once more and began talking hurriedly with the man to his left. Bernardino banged his staff on the ground to indicate silence. Several less significant nominations were posed (one of which was done as a joke, without the candidate's knowing), and Bernardino concluded the nomination process. "Seeing no further... nominations... I close the floor. We have six candidates. We will break for three hours to discuss amongst each other our choices..." he trailed off as men clamored through (and sometimes over) seats to get to one place or another in the amphitheatre that they thought advantageous. Ludovico turned around to look at his fellow family members. "All of you know what you need to do and who you need to see. Now go!" And so began the grim process of garnering last minute votes. Of course, everyone had done their work beforehand. But there were always electors who held their vote close to their bosom to capitalize on the mad rush for votes that occurred during the election. The roaring of conversation, and in some cases heated debates, between the families was a loud, constant hum. As the other Di Canossa's left, Cesare and Ludovico remained where they were so that whoever wished to might find them. Some supporters from other families made their appearances and stood behind Cesare as a show of support. Others were keener on talking to Ludovico to see what their vote might get them. As the three hour time period was coming to a close, so was Ludovico's last conversation. "Yes, Signore Bresciano. Two-hundred thousand ducats is reasonable I believe. Good health to you as well." Ludovico smiled as he shook the man's hand. That one had come unexpectedly cheap. As the caucusing ended, the oration began. The candidates each were given time to say a few short words from the center of the Amphitheatre. Azzio was poorly spoken and sat down after blustering for thirty seconds. Gracco was a different story:

"Fellow citizens of Delmonte! We are in trying times! The clamor for reform has never been greater. But under my guidance and that of the Di Azzorinni's, we will resist for another century!" This met with applause. "And I think..." he continued, pausing to allow the applause to finish "And I think that Delmonte shall see an age of new prosperity. Historically, when technology has advanced so have we. I shall do my best to ensure that this pattern is continued. Delmonte shall not go out like a candle, shall it?!" Shouts of "No!" could be heard from the audience. Gracco nodded and gripped the podium. "You shan't let it, and neither shall I. Shall Delmonte grow old and weary? Like Brigadona and Azzorina?!" This earned the same reply. Gracco lifted his hands in the true meaning of the word "oration" and cried out "Elect me, men of Delmonte! As your Doge I will lead and inspire the people. I will usher in the same prosperity that my father and his father before him did! Is it not right that I should have the chance to prove that I am my father's son?!" A large portion of the audience cheered at this. "Is it not just?!" The cheering continued. "For our beautiful Republic and our most Catholic God, vote for me! Di Azzorinni!"

Many members of the audience rose from their seats and began pumping their fists into the air to the chant of "Azzorinni! Azzorinni for Doge!" When it was Cesare's turn to speak he did not go for the same "inspirational" approach that Gracco aimed at. Most of these men were decided one way or the other. The rest? He would shame them into voting for him. "Fellow citizens of Delmonte! Hear me! I am Cesare Di Canossa, direct descendant of the Canossa's who chased the Dukes out of Delmonte. My opponent brags about the prestige of his lineage. Who was it that established the Republic?! Who was it that defended Delmonte's autonomy when it was threatened by Cornellian hegemony?! Who was it that saw Delmonte through the rebellions of the nineteenth century? And who, for the love of all that is holy, guided our dearest Republic through the famines of the twenties? You will find that the answer to al of these questions is the Di Canossa's!" At this he slapped his hands to his breast to indicate himself. "And while we banished the Dukes, do you know what the Azzorinni's did? Of course you do, they supported the Dukes! Anyone of their family was exiled from Delmonte for ten years for such an offense! Yet through perfidy, slander, and theft they managed to regain their position in our fair Republic. It is well known. Delmonte's mercy is one of her great attributes, but when it comes to the Di Azzorinni's" Cesare gestured towards his opponent with both hands "It will be her downfall!" Murmurs of agreement could be heard in the audience. The members of the audience had not gotten over being chastised. But they soon would.

"And when Delmonte was a vassal state to the Cornellian Empire! What did the Di Azzorinni's do then?" Practically brimming with rage, Cesare shouted as he slammed on the podium "They were lap dogs to the Emperor! They worked to end our autonomy! To make Delmonte the Emperor's plaything! And I have it on a high authority that they are actively working to reinstate the Cornellian Empire." This was met with cries of outrage. Cesare continued sarcastically "Yes, they long for the days when our wine was seized and our ducats stolen by his most Imperial Majesty. Men of Delmonte, I insist that you vote for my opponent if you despise Delmonte and wish to be raped once more by barbarians, but if you love Delmonte as I love Delmonte, you will cast your vote for me!" Cesare's cheering and applause put Gracco's to shame. When it came to oration, Cesare was no spring chicken. The rest of the candidates spoke without consequence. One of them made rather good points, but he was a man of no consequence. Still, he would have his back slapped by others and might make a few business contacts out of his performance. About an hour later, Bernardino's voice rang out in the amphitheatre. "It is time... to tally... the votes. Please signify your... support for a candidate by... making your way to... his area of the... amphitheatre. If the candidates could spread... out to give each... other enough room...". All was hustle and bustle as the men of the amphitheatre rallied to their preferred candidate. When all was said and done, Cesare had the majority by seventy-three votes. This was good considering that the rest of the votes were split amongst the other six candidates. When the votes were all tallied, the men dispersed once more to their seats without a word to anyone (it was bad luck to speak of the Doge before the ceremony had concluded). Bernardino beckoned to Cesare who walked down to meet him. They nodded to each other silently as Bernardino began the procession outward with Cesare directly behind him. After that, in columns of three, the men exited the amphitheatre through the tunnel exit which led out onto a massive balcony carved into the cliffside beneath the Amphitheatre which spanned the entire cliffside. Beneath the cliff stood the better portion of the inhabitants of the Grand City of Delmonte. Once all the men were either on the balcony or standing on the edge of the cliff above the balcony, Cesare began to sing the traditional song of the Doge in plainsong with the other eight thousand electors responding to him after each line.

Cesare: "Popule."
People.
Electors: "Popule."
People.
Cesare: "Popule meus."
My people.
Electors: "Popule meus."
My people.
Cesare: "Cuius mensa positus est pro multis..."
Whose table is set for the many...
Electors: "Cuius mensa positus est pro multis..."
Whose table is set for the many...
Cesare: "Optimus pascent pauci..."
Shall best feed the few...
Electors: "Optimus pascent pauci..."
Shall best feed the few...
Cesare: "Sed Cuius mensa positus est paucorum..."
But whose table is set for the few...
Electors: "Sed Cuius mensa positus est paucorum..."
But whose table is set for the few...
Cesare: "Optimus pascent multis."
Shall best feed the many.
Electors: "Optimus pascent multis."
Shall best feed the many.
Cesare: "Popule."
People.
Electors: "Popule."
People.
Cesare: "Popule meus."
My people.
Electors: Popule meus."
My people.
Cesare: "Respondeme!"
Answer me!
Electors: "Respondeme!"
Answer me!
Cesare: "Respondeme!"
Answer me!
Electors: "Respondeme!"
Answer me!
Cesare and Electors Together: "Deus misereatur nostri infirmi sumus. Deus dimitte nobis enim sumus vitiosum. Pauperes enim Deus misereatur nostri. Vix enim nos protegat nos Deus."
God have mercy on us for we are weak. God forgive us for we are sinful. God have pity on us for we are poor. God protect us for we are scared.
Cesare: "Amen."

Electors: "Alleluiah!"

[Stedicules]

s-E-n-T-i-N-e-L /| pmt /|

High Upon this hill I stand

My eyes Cast out a stare-

and I looked upon this Land

I dared to look where,

I couldn’t Understand

And discover what I could not Bear;

Which Was that this Wasteland

Was something Rare:

It is my soul’s open tear.

My life’s nightmare,

[Taurenor]

[OOC: Thank you East Klent, Delmonte and Stedicules. Your stories have been added to the list.]

[Istegium]

[ PT ]

[ Mature ]

Danger of Starvation

"O People, help the hungry, and celebrate the blessings He has given to you if you feel hungry, because hunger has brought us to our sins, to slaughter."
Cardinal Paul Chatant, talk about George DuPont Rebellion

Buitenzorg is seemed quiet and safe at night on 1756, and almost no one out from their warm and wonderful houses. However, the tranquility was somewhat disturbed by the arrival of armed people, carrying torches, and looked very angry.

A man from them, maybe their leader, looked at the guardgates that looked alert, and said quietly, "We want to talk peacefully with Buitenzorg citizens."

The guardgates looks a bit hesitant, before finally allow them in, because twenty people threatened them by firearms.

Residents came out of their houses, astonished, and then flocked to the gates, but still keep a distance with this angry mass. The gatekeepers watch those armed people suspiciously. Mayor of Buitenzorg, Richard Gerbois, a fat man with thick mustache and medals, approached with curiosity, then suddenly familiar with their leader.

The leader was a man with age around 40 years, with unkempt hair and dirty faces. His mustache was thin and black, and there are a goatee on his chin. His face was much quieter than those nearby, and he also exudes a kind of charisma.

"George DuPont?"

Some people also nodded, then pointed to DuPont and said, "that's him". No one does not know him, a fugitive for two years, which his portrait installed in many cities, usually accompanied by, "Rewards", the following number of rewards.

George DuPont looks very much enjoyed it. He walked slowly toward the residents. The guards started to prepare their weapons, ready to shoot, but the mayor raised his hand, and they stopped.

"Buitenzorg citizens," He said aloud. "I had a generous offer for you." He turned to his people. "A very, very generous offer, remembering what you've done to us." His people shouted derisively.

Mayor blinked, confused. "We've done to you? What do you mean? You're inciting them, George? Sot this is your work for being fugitive in two years? Brainwash the masses?"

"I'm not brainwashing anyone!" Said DuPont angrily. "That was truth! We were starving, because you repress us! The farmers! You think we are weak, unable to do anything about it! Look when we overthrew Emperor's Throne, make the world a fairer world, which treat all people equal! We're the Equalist!"

The farmers shouted once again, their angry faces seem more terrible under torch's light. "Death for Nobles! Death for Pastors! Death of Intellectuals! Create this country better, with us, Equalist!"

"Our offer is," DuPont continued, "You'll join us, provide our weapons and foods, and we'll call you friend and you, My Dear Mayor, will be richer than before, and your city will not changed into dust field like other resisting cities. You'll not recognize the Emperor's Throne, you'll submit your weapons and swore that me, George DuPont, is your legitimate leader. If that's all done, your city will be as beautiful as before."

Now the residents seem offended. The mayor walked closer to DuPont. "So that's it? We're must joined your brainwashed club? Well, seem I have to rectifying it." The Mayor spitted to the ground between DuPont and him. "Guards, arrest him!" The residents shouted, agreeing Mayor's words.

Twinkling, farmers come forward to protect their leader, while DuPont backwards. The farmers immediately attacked and killed the gatekeepers, and then also kill the Mayor with tearing his chest. After that, they turned to the vile towards the citizens.

"Kill them!" Shouts DuPont. "Do not be leaving one of them! Kill children, women and men, because they are enemy of freedom!"

Initially, the farmers seemed to hesitate, but a few dozen people straight forward, slaughtering the people who unarmed, and do indecent things. Some farmers stole foods from barns and houses. After that, they burned the whole city, until bell at the top of a church tower were melted.

"Now run." DuPont said. "We've commited great sins, but fortunately God is dead, He can't watched us anymore."

***

Buitenzorg is destroyed, there are only worthless piles of charcoal. The bodies found in a charred, mutilated, and rotten condition, while the rebels fled into the woods. Starvation...led to the Great Sin.

[Stedicules]

in his skeletal hands,

-- (mt) --

The star-shell shattered the black night and cast an eerie light across the desolate moonscape of a battlefield. The soldiers suffered under the torrential rain that crashed down from the heavens.

The star-shell faded away and brought forth an impenetrable blackness again. The familiar sound of a 60mm mortar firing reported down the line of muddy, half flooded foxholes. The mortar's flare exploded and brought back the wonderful light the men on the ground depended on.

With strained eyes the men watched the horizon for anything that moved. Pistol in hand, they would have to face the enemy alone, to protect their buddy next to them in a semi-awake slumber.

The silhouettes of two men appeared just across the front-line. A nearby soldier challenged the figures with a pass-phrase. Neither responded and the soldier repeated the phrase.

The dark figures wore the same helmet as the soldiers in the foxholes, and the already tired, bloodshot eyes of all the soldiers in earshot of the challenge strained to make out other features of the stalking figures.

Finally, several shots rang out and white hot tracers zipped into the bodies of the unknown men. An unfamiliar scream followed and a thud as they squished into the thick mud of the ridge. The two figures were no more.

There were the skeletal remains of a dead soldier in a foxhole in front of a grizzled old veteran. It faced towards friendly territory and sat as if the decaying remains still lived. Its uniform was a crisp field gray; its polished leather boots had no scratches. It was a replacement. His ghoulish face held its last emotion.

Fear.

In the skeletal hands was a rusting rifle, the constant rains and the bloated flies and maggots now used it as a perch, to eat the decayed skin falling off the bones of the dead soldier. The empty eye sockets and the grin looked devilishly towards the ragged veteran in the foxhole.

The rain poured down into the muddy foxhole and splattered around the corpse. It reminded the man of elves dancing in a pond, but the rain drops weren't elves dancing, instead he began to see ghoulish things dancing round and round.

The soldier next to him awoke and signaled for his weary buddy to take his turn asleep. The man slid into a light sleep and began to dream. The corpses in front of the men animated and slowly stood up. The bloodshot eyes of the soldier widened and his face contorted into a horrifying visage.

The dead soldiers were milling around, and moving their mouths endlessly trying to say something, anything to the tired soldier in the foxhole. He strained his ears to hear the whispering dead men. It sounded like they were asking for his help. He began to weep. He could not help them, and it destroyed him.

[East Ormania]

[ MT ]

"For this shall be the time of our liberation! No more exploration!
Darius Aleksander, Leader of the Nationalist Army

And the unexpected happens

Before everything, is it important to mention how it all started to happen.
Before the division between East and West Ormania happened, there was the Ormanian Empire, a small stretch of land that, needless to say, encompassed today's modern East Ormania. The empire was created before it gained independence from Demphor, and then had some time of prosperity under mercyful hands.
By some vast diversity of problems, the empire dissolved, divided into West and East Ormania, West being capitalist and East being communist, but later facist. The division was consensual and peaceful, but the years to come weren't.
By some unknown reasons, West Ormania started a campaing inside East Ormania's territory, murdering, and looting.
They then reached the capitl of Yevan, when the combined resistances of the Islamic Army and the Nationalist Army started to inflict too many casualities.
Ispired by such movements, a now-dying fascist movement insinde West Ormania's territory sarted an armed struggle, eventually commiting acts of terrorism inside West Ormania's capital to the point of the troops inside East Ormania had to back up and run back to West Ormania to help their chaotic capital.
Without wasting such opportunity, the rebel armies ran after them hitting the retreating enemy soldiers in their back until they got to their capital, injured, diseased, battered and almost surrendering, only to find that West Ormania had surrenered to the Facists and now they were alone, and facing no other viable option, they surrendered. The anexation by part ofEast Ormania was peaceful, without much bloodsheding. The name "Eat Ormania" was maintained, and "West Ormania" became the name of the territory inside Ormanian territory that, at that time, encompassed West Ormania.

[Nui-ta]

[MT]

[Mature]

She Definitely Belongs to Him

With Maresha Isaci jailed for tax evasion in Radiatia, Hashan Kanashadi found himself with a bit of relief on his hands.

Maresha's husband, Evan, had designated Hashan as the retainer of the Isaci family and assets should anything happen to incapacitate Maresha. This was done particularly for the benefit of Evan's young daughter, Sophine Isaci.

After Evan's death from a stroke, Maresha wasted no time in attempting to arrange a marriage for Sophine and get the young girl off her hands. As a longtime friend of Evan Isaci, Hashan knew that Evan would never have consented to seeing Sophine married before 16. Children were children, as far as Evan was concerned, and even if Sophine would be a woman when she grew up rather than the male heir that the public expected Evan to adopt, a child still needed an education.

The affair with Prince Xavier di-Amori, the young blue-blooded aristocrat to whom Maresha had somehow successfully arranged a marriage with, was devastating for Sophine. At first, Hashan reluctantly went along with the idea. After all, the daughter of former Prime Minister Evan Isaci would do well to be allowed to marry a prince despite being a commoner, right?

Wrong.

Now 16 years of age, Xavier di-Amori was an adult, and making headlines in Nui-ta as a reckless, self-centered brute. Hashan was glad to have seen Xavier's self-destructive hedonism before hand. He had done his best to keep Sophine out of matrimony, and on the night that she came back bruised and battered by Xavier's friends after denying them some "fun", Hashan had done his duty as the retainer and sent Sophine out of the country, where the monarchy couldn't reach her. In Tuthina, Sophine had been an adult despite being 14 years old, and her word was all that was needed to remain a single young woman who was free to pursue her education.

Although Sophine was now 15 years old and still a year away from becoming an adult, Maresha's imprisonment abroad had left Hashan as Sophine's custodian for the rest of Sophine's childhood. He could deny the marriage proposal on her behalf until she turned 16 and gained the power under Nui-tan law to stand up for herself.

Evan Isaci would have been very proud of the two of them. Out of the corner of his eye, Hashan could have sworn for a moment that Evan was standing a few feet to his side, nodding at Hashan kindly before disappearing back into the flow of time for which he'd shuffled off this mortal coil.

Hashan waited at the airport gate at Rahku International Airport for Sophine's flight to arrive. The young girl had grown up since he sent her off. Every day she looked more and more like a young woman.

"Janshan?" Sophine's voice said quietly as she stepped forward out of the unloading bridge and into the gate where Hashan was waiting.

Hashan blushed a little, partially because Sophine had grown quite beautiful while away, and mostly out of embarrassment for being called her Uncle. Then again, her father had been like a brother to him.

"Good evening Sophine," Hashan said quietly in a formal tone, "it's good to see you again. I trust your flight went well?"

Sophine paused for a moment and looked at Hashan with a blank look on her face.

"What's the matter?" Hashan whimpered a little bit. As the father of four boys, Hashan had no experience with daughters.

Sophine said nothing and immediately rushed forward, hugging Hashan.

"I really missed it back home."

Hashan stiffened up for a moment, relaxed, and wrapped his arms around Sophine. It felt strangely warm and comforting for both of them, despite how cold the metal of Hashan's prosthetic left arm was.

"You must have. Poor girl. I don't blame you."

"What happened to my mother?" Sophine asked quietly, without looking up.

Hashan squirmed for a moment before sighing. Having many resources, he'd managed to rake up much of the debt that Maresha had accrued, and Maresha was made to pay much of it herself through working in Radiatia...

That being said almost all of the money that Evan Isaci had so carefully worked to gain over the years was no more. Hashan had been forced to sell the Isaci home to bridge whatever his business couldn't pay. It was a luxury rather than a necessity, as Evan was dead, Maresha was in jail, and Sophine was now to live in Hashan's residence. But it was still an odd feeling in the pit of Hashan's stomach that he couldn't save everything.

Sophine still had about 3 million Had for herself. Hashan was not particularly rich, but still worked as a curator and owner of an antique shop --- which was a fairly profitable job. There was still about 5 million Had left by Evan that had not been sucked up by the tax evasion crisis.

They could start over. They could start over and no one would bother them.

"Sophine...I'm sorry. Your mother isn't coming back for a very long time. And even if she gets out of jail early, you'll be a mother yourself by that time..."

Sophine nodded while burying her face in Hashan's shirt (which only served to make the man more uncomfortable by the minute). He could tell from the damp spots forming on his chest that she was silently crying. It wasn't like she didn't have a reason...Sophine had lost her first parents before being able to know and miss them. Evan, and however malicious she might have been, Maresha...they were a true loss.

"Hey...it's alright. I'm here for you. I promised your father, remember?" The words clunked out of Hashan's mouth awkwardly.

"Do I...am I still getting married?"

"Only if it is to someone you want to marry of your own consent."

She nodded and said nothing, following Hashan at this point out of the airport with her belongings and into the waiting car, where she immediately burst into tears.

"Hey! Hey! What's the matter? My goodness, what has gone and upset you?!"

"Look, Sophine, you're not going to be alone. I've got four boys at home. They're all grown and some have kids, but you'll have plenty of people! Xavier can't touch you anymore!"

It was no use --- Sophine wailed and wailed, inconsolably. Hashan had no idea how to make her feel a little better. In order to do that, he would have needed to understand the problem...

...and then it hit him.

"Sophine...erm...when was the last time you saw your father?"

"At...at the...f-funeral," Sophine whimpered between sobs.

Hashan paused. Evan had been buried since before Sophine left in the previous year.

"Would you," he paused again, apprehensive, before continuing.

"Would you like to see your father?"

Sophine nodded, still crying and wiping her face. Hashan sat back in the driver's seat for a moment, took a deep breath, gathered his composure, and drove quietly to the cemetery.

---

"GET DOWN EVAN! GET DOWN!"

Hashan lunged forward, a much younger man, and pushed Evan Isaci down to the dirt as a bomb blast went off several feet away.

Both men coughed, in uniform, before scrambling to their feet and running through the empty alleyway. Even in career soldiers like them, war was something terrifying. It caught everyone off guard, if not by the loud sounds and explosions and flashes of pillars of flame --- then by the trauma, blood, and fear that were engraved into every bystander's hearts.

The corridor was endless --- they were running through darkness for eternity, with only an occasional thin beam of moonlight to guide them through the smoke and death.

Another bomb blast went through right next to them, sending a wave of pain through Hashan's left arm before everything went dark.

When he woke up a ways away, in a deserted square, he was bewildered. He couldn't feel his arm but was somehow still alive.

Evan Isaci was standing over him, covered in blood.

"You splattered all over me. Congrats. Now I look like I shot more people than I actually did."

Hashan moaned, still disoriented.

"Don't die on me Hashan! We still got wives and kids to get home too!" Evan laughed. "I didn't save you for nothing, you know. Gotta pay you back for earlier!"

"My...my arm..."

Evan paused, hearing Hashan speak.

"I couldn't save that. Sorry. I figured at least I'd get you home breathing. Don't worry about the blood. I put a tourniquet on you, but you'll need to take it easy and not lose any more."

"Look, let's make it out of this bitch alive, Hashan. Trisia and I were medical. We can get you a fake one."

Evan's face blurred as Hashan nodded and submitted to resting...but he woke up at a grisly scene.

Evan was wrong. There was no family to go back to. Although Hashan's wife (who was pregnant at the time) survived the attack, Evan's family had perished.

He remembered staring at the coffins being lowered into the ground before looking back at a clearly heart-broken Evan. His wife and his little boy --- gone.

At that moment, the new arm didn't matter. Hashan turned away for a moment to take a deep breath, only to find that Evan was gone when Hashan looked back.

The authorities found Evan that night after a suicide attempt. He'd walked in front of a train...luckily someone had yanked him back, only to leave him drunk and hysterical at the police station on his own until Hashan picked him up and took him for a while.

In time, Evan would channel his grief and turn it into determination to change the country they lived in...but at that moment, Evan was simply Evan. Back when they and the world were still young...

The dreams...or rather memories...ended. Hashan woke up in the present time and laid in the darkness in his bed.

She reminded him of Evan so much that Hashan was convinced she was an Isaci by more than just adoption. Like her father, she had the skill to be a household name...but she had to suffer to access her future. Such was the hand the Gods had given her.

She was Evan's child, no doubt. Perhaps it was all a lie about being adopted, as some conspiracy theorists had thought...

...there was no way she could be anyone else's daughter.

---

A voice, barely a whisper, spoke to Sophine.

Welcome home. I missed you.

"Da-Daddy?" Sophine mumbled.

He will protect you. Don't marry a royal, Sophine. You'll get nothing but suffering.

"Dad? Dad?!"

He's got four boys, as a matter of fact. Roshil is a bit older but he seems to be a lot like you. Young, studious, and sweet. If you married Hashan's blood I'd say you did well."

"Where are you?"

[i]Where I belong. And so are you.

"Don't go!"

Go? Sophine...I never left. I'm still waiting for one more...

She bolted awake at that moment. The voice was gone.

[The Grand World Order]

[ MT ]

[ Mature ]

It's Good to be Curious, Isn't It?

"...there are so many people in this world who do so many things to help others. I just know that you're growing up to do those kinds of things, too! Until next time, everybody, buh-bye!" the calm, fatherly voice carried across the set, emitted by a man in his late fifties, his hair slightly graying and his joyful face showing signs of aging. He was small, and his appearance alone was enough to make him impossible to dislike.

"That's a wrap, people!" shouted a loud, obnoxious voice from behind the row of cameras and microphones. The crowd of technical employees began shuffling out of the studio, while the loving, fatherly figure was content to linger a little while longer on one of the set's stools, clearly in deep thought, possibly bothered by something. From behind, the sound of high-heels grabbed his attention.

"Mister Phelps, or should I say Lieutenant Phelps?" said the unknown woman; her clothes made it evident she was some sort of journalist, especially with the recorder and paper pad she was carrying. Mr. Phelps sighed.
"I don't go by that title anymore, ma'am," he calmly said, almost sounding rehearsed. "I suppose the network gave you an interview session with me without telling me first," he continued.
"My name's-"
"No. You want to hear war stories. I'm not in that business, I teach the children now. You can complain to the network, I don't care. That's a chapter of my life I never want to re-live, but people like you won't let me move on. You're not the first reporter to bother me, and you're not going to brow-beat me or blackmail me into talking," he interjected, clearly flustered.
"I'm not a reporter," she replied. "I'm a psychologist, my name's Doctor Tanya Erickson. The network sent me. You're displaying symptoms of post-traumatic stress disorder, a few of the smarter parents are picking up on it through your shows, and the tabloids are coming dangerously close to the truth. The network doesn't want parents thinking that it would put an ill man in front of-"
"So they sent you to cover them, and if I don't do what you want me to, they'll fire me," he finished, his tone now disillusioned. "It's always been about the bottom line, not teaching the children. It's the price I pay." His head sunk. "Do what you will."

She sat down on one of the set's couches, drew a pen, and grabbed her notepad. "Before I can determine what needs to be done, I need to know what you went through. I need to hear your account. And, you need to come to terms with your past." She was planning to begin the first part of treatment right there; a session of exposure therapy. "Now, what we know- and believe me, we've kept it a secret- is that you were an Army sniper during the Uprising. You were field promoted, and became one of the famous 'Stalker Snipers.' Beyond that is a mystery."

Mr. Phelps sat, not moving an inch. His elbow was dug into his leg, his hand supporting his head, covering his mouth. He seemed to be staring through the floor, and his eyes sometimes began focusing on a different spot. This continued for five full minutes. "You'd think that my problems came around because I killed so many men. I can recall every kill, but only one sticks out. Most of them, you see, it's just, you get them in your scope, you exhale, and then you see them just fall straight down, and you even get used to when their bodies start twitching a lot. Sometimes they'd still be alive, and most of us would finish them off. I did, anyways, and I suppose that's why I can sleep at night. Most of them were strapping young men and women, some of them older veterans- you learn a lot about people when you follow them through a scope. But this..."

---

MAGNA POLIS, DURING THE UPRISING

Fourteen men walked down the street, completely wrapped up in body armor and web gear, rifles, machine guns, and shotguns in each of their gloved hands. They were fast approaching a T-style intersection, with what appeared to be a cheap multi-level apartment building facing them directly. The snowstorm had let up a bit, but the sun was missing, as is usual over Magna Polis. It was a comfortable 30 degrees Fahrenheit. A light but audible wind provided an ambient sound, mixed with quiet radio chatter and boots crushing the virgin snow underfoot. In the distance, sometimes an explosion or gunshot was loud enough to be heard by the men, but they had gotten used to it by now.

Two of these men were Federal Army designated marksmen. Their MI-8A2 rifles were chambered in 7.92x57mm, quite easily capable of dropping a Kodiak bear with a single shot to any of the vital areas. They had 3.5-10x adjustable zoom scopes on swivel mounts. They went by the names of Corporal Roger Phelps and Corporal, First Class Dan Hickok.

Suddenly, a shot rang out. Dan's knee had exploded across the snow, accompanied by a loud yelp as the rest of the men scurried for cover. One of them immediately ran out to get him, only to be shot in the leg as well. Immediately afterwards, more reports shattered the air as their enemy took out the fallen soldiers' elbows, completely immobilizing them in the field of fire.
"Sniper!" one of the soldiers yelled. Immediately, the radio operator began explaining that the unit had come under sniper fire. Another rifleman prepared to run out and retrieve the fallen men.
"Holstein, stay put! You're going to get fucking nicked!" Corporal Phelps shouted from behind a parked car, face mostly concealed by his ski mask.
"Fuck you, Phelps!" Holstein yelled. He ran out, spraying his rifle while trying to reach for either of the men, only for a rifle bullet to shatter his femur, sending yet more blood and bone tissue flying across the white snow. His rifle fell underneath him, and he was in so much pain that he didn't even bother to try and retrieve it.

The men looked to their leader, Staff Sergeant Takeo Hummel, for direction.
"I'm going to have you all lay down suppressive fire on the fourth floor of the apartment in front of us, and then we-"
The shooting continued. One by one, Corporal Hickok's fingers seemed to be vaporized, and all three of the downed men screamed out, completely at the mercy of the Confederate sniper. These sounds, humans were never meant to make. It was below them, something expected from cattle; it sounded like a slaughterhouse. In a way, it was.
"On three, lay down suppressive fire. Fisher, Downey, you try and get them. Phelps, you get your ass into a shooting position while he's distracted, and you ruin his fucking day," the Sergeant sternly said. "One, two, three!"
The men stood and opened fire, devastating the facade of the apartment building. Phelps darted down the side of the street, back arched and snow flying off the back of his feet. He slid down onto his stomach behind a concrete tree planter, rifle firmly in his hands. The suppressive fire stopped, but the sniper had kept firing; the time between the stopping of the team's suppressive fire and the resuming of sniper fire meant that the sniper hadn't even ducked at all, content to keep firing at the troops. Phelps carefully removed the covers from his scope, prepared his bipod, and inched forward towards the planter's corner. He waited for the sniper to finish their magazine.

And then he peered out. By some sort of miracle, the first window he had looked at was the one the sniper was behind, but Phelps almost did a double take. He had expected some sort of old veteran, or even a scrawny teenager, but this? He was a she, and she couldn't have been older than 12 years old. She was a petite little thing with long, silky black hair and, as much as someone staring through a rifle scope could tell, she had beautiful, piercing blue eyes. She had a little red star patch crudely sewn onto the sleeve of her child's coat, a seemingly oversized satchel, and an M-16A2 strapped to her back. Her M76 was almost as big as she was, but the way she was handling it was awe-inspiring. Phelps, when he had first fired a rifle in the Academy, had just barely qualified as a basic rifleman, though somehow he had improved his skills enough to become a designated marksman.

She saw him, even without looking through her scope. She was smiling. His crosshairs were on her head, and he waited for his breathing to pause, as he was trained to aim for the chest. She raised her rifle. He panicked. The MI-8A2 roared.

Her head exploded, face and bits of skin flying like a cheap mask through the air. For Phelps, the entire, Godless scene played in slow motion, a result of his adrenaline; he didn't miss a single detail. Every skull fragment, every bit of grey matter registered with him. Her body dropped forward, mostly-headless gullet pointed straight out the window, bleeding down the side of the cold building. The M76's stock broke when it hit the concrete below. And he stood up, against his training, leaving his rifle on the ground, eyes locked on the window. His mouth was hanging open in shock from what he had just witnessed- or rather, what he had just done. He walked back as the unit started coming out from behind cover. He looked at the three downed men; Hickok's head was gone. A perfectly aimed bullet had went right through his cervical spine, and the force tore his head right off. It didn't go any sort of distance, though, and Hickok's helmet had made it land with his mangled neck pointed towards the sky. The other two had been dispatched with shots to the head as well, their faces unrecognizable, the backs of their heads completely blown out across the street like mutilated pumpkins; after all, the M76 fired the exact same round as Phelps's MI-8A2. They didn't look like soldiers anymore.

Someone was crouched over the machine gunner. He had apparently taken a round through the chest, and the air had come in through the bullet hole and collapsed his lung. He was going to die, but nobody had the courage to say so. The Sergeant's head was grazed by a bullet, ripping a hole in his ear, but he was fine. Private Downey's hand had been hit, split into pieces and lifelessly dangling from the very alive soldier's arm, and Private, First Class Fisher was face-down in a stance that looked like a lazy stand-at-attention, apparently dead before he even hit the ground.


"Pick up your rifle, Corporal."


And it could have been me. She knew to kill the marksmen first.

[Central and Eastern Visayas]

[ MT ]

[ Mature ]

This story is Part Eight of a Mature-themed series.

Beyond Borders: Call of Vengeance (VIII)

Atty. Horace G. Ponte, Ll.B.
Larida Residence
2133 CEV Time

"Dammit, Seaking!"

"He was going to shoot." Ponte knew what that meant: Seaking had shot one of the guards. In a few moments, the alarm would be sounded, and they would have a fight on their hands.

PO Jan Z. Rosal, WVN
Callsign "Sade"
2134 CEV Time

The alarm had been raised. That changed the situation for the men of WVP's 33rd SCAR.

"Weapons free!" commanded Lion over the com-link.

"Roger, I copy weapons free," Sade then replied, proceeding to pick off any of Larida's guards that were foolish enough to wander into his field of fire.

SG2 Jon W. Lagaac, FedGen
2135 CEV Time

"Clear!" cried out one of the SCAR operatives, AUG A3 lowered.

Outside the room, the firefight began, with Larida's guard forces exchanging bullets with the Westerners.

The com-link became full of chatter.

"Mantua engaging opposition!"

"Tango down!"

"Kill to Sade."

"Ponte requesting assistance!"

"Breaching!"

SLt Jack Anthony R. Carpio, WVN, M.A.
Callsign "Lion"
2148 CEV Time

The firefight wasn't that long; after taking down Larida's security detail, the teams found themselves in front of his study.

"Bastard shut himself in, sir," Nighthawk said.

"Then let's go knocking. Nighthawk, place your breaching charges," Lion then commanded.

"Understood."

After planting his charges, Nighthawk notified the teams.

"Everyone in position?" Lion then asked, to nods of affirmation.

"Do it," he then ordered Nighthawk.

[Taurenor]

[OOC: Thank you East Istegium, Stedicules, East Ormania, Nui-ta and The Grand World Order; stories have been added to the list.]

[Stedicules]

details-of-the-war

-- ( mt ) --

''I wonder if anyone would bring roses to my grave,''

Always thinking. That was my imperfection. I couldn’t be satisfied by just deciding. I needed to think about it, the consequences and the outcome of my decisions. It’s like time stops when I think. It certainly stood still when I impulsively joined the State Army. But by then, I was already in combat, killing militiamen in the swamps of the Low Country.

That’s when I died first; in some slum they called White Town. The second time I died was in a little cemetery in some godforsaken country called New Haran. How ironic is it to die in a cemetery? They could’ve used my bones to build another church.

That’s all I thought about, as I coughed up blood and reached for the sky, trying to fight off the angels diving down towards me. I thought they’d grabbed hold of me as I felt a tugging on my flak jacket. I cursed the heavens, the angels, god and the country I laid bloody in. Then I woke up in a hospital, my mind racing, thinking new thoughts and rethinking old ones. I couldn’t stop it, not even the morphine could intoxicate my racing mind. I laid in quiet desperation, looking blindly at the ceiling, just thinking.

When I left the hospital I felt empty. After awhile, though, my thoughts filled the void inside me and I felt happy again. I thought less and I began a routine. I had an apartment, a girlfriend and a dog. Like a typical, happy member of the suburban community. But then that all disappeared when I got my draft card in the mail. I cried and cried and cried until I couldn’t anymore.

I left in the middle of the night, I couldn’t bear to tell the woman I would’ve married I was being sent off to die again. I left everything behind, I left my happiness. So I began to think again and simple things became hard. Every day I would wake up and wish for death, or for some escape from the crashing thoughts bombarding me. On the plane to New Haran I overheard a boy saying:

"I wonder if anyone would bring roses to my grave,''

My mind took that thought and made it its own. I hated that boy, I thought of his death, his desperate and violent end that would bring all but me pain. He sentenced me to death when he said it aloud. He fragmented my mind and split it apart. I was no longer sane. I devolved, became an animal and when I landed in New Haran, I felt like one completely and I only thought of death and destruction.

''Nobody will bring roses to my grave,''

I began to shoot only when civilians were around. I targeted them and thought, ''Maybe they can dance…'' and shot low, at their feet. They danced, but not well and soon I thought of other things, and my mind pulled me away, away from everything, especially reality. Everything became a dream and my thoughts drove me, they drove me to kill anything that moved in New Haran, which drew me to the church.

There were many hiding there, so I began to think, ''How could I get in?'' I decided to walk straight through the front door, which is why I regret my decisions so much. My arms, controlled only by my thoughts swung the doors wide open and there I died for a second time, thrust back and into the dirt, coughing up blood and gripping my ribs. And I began to think as I died.

[United World Order]

[ P/MT ]

[ Mature ]

A Soldier Man's Diary.Part 1

My Rifle Is My Sword, As My Helmet Is My Sheild..

I sat in my fox hole with the chirping of crows in the distance feeding off the corpses on the battlefield. Luckily I knew that those crows weren't feeding off our dead for we had buried them in the cover of night. I peered out of my foxhole with my rifle beside me and saw a flock of crows around a dead body. Most likely a Red Orderian as they clawed and picked at the open wound on the corpses back with maggots already eating the corpse aswell. I felt no pity for that man, and who ever he left behind because he is my enemy. My enemy is certainly not my friend, I took my rifle and put it on my lap as I sat back in my foxhole and examined it. It was a G36 Assault rifle the service rifle of the entire armed forces, it was reliable and reletivly small compared to other rifles I've seen or handled. A cold breeze suddenly came through our position as the flock of crows flew away into the heavens. I crossed my arms across my chest and toughened it out as the breeze came through our position and soon passed as I put my arms down and stood up to stretch my arms and legs. I lifted my arm above my head as I stretched my body out my eyes glancing at the other foxholes and what laid beyond my foxhole.

My gut didn't feel right as I stretched my other arm looking towards no mans land. A field of low level grass that go as high as the ankle, I just coulden't put my finger on it but I felt I was being watched from somewhere. As I lowered my arms a, Ping! was heard and I ducked down quickly into my foxhole. It seemed that a sniper had zeroed me in but had struck my canteen and made a hole in it, as the water seeped out onto the ground. Fuck thats the last time I leave my water out.. I said to my self as I heard chatter from around me mostly about that a sniper had decided to try his luck on us. I slid over and grabbed my rifle as I cocked the slide back and took the safety off and peered out again towards no man's land. Where is he? was polluting my mind as was the fear he was trying his luck on me again and I didn't even know it, that would be a recruit mistake. I could not die from a recruit's mistake, that would be very embarrasing.

"Hostiles spotted, foot mobiles out in the open to the north!"

My eyes grew wide as I heard that the enemy was out in the open. The last time I had seen one of these was a month ago, some of the worst fighting I'd experienced out here. Looks like they've come for another try, hopefully they would be repelled like last time. The bark of the position's machine gun could be heard as others begun opening fire with their rifles. I took it upon myself to join in on the fighting as I moved closer to the outer edge of my foxhole and set my self up into a prone position with my rifle against my shoulder blade. I peered into the small scope I had attached to my rifle, you could choose the iron sights or a scope. I personaly wanted the scope since it seemed more better for my eyes then iron sights and I was right. I begun to open fire with my rifle picking off enemies as they approached, some approached as others went prone and opened up on us. Dirt would periodicly kick up from bullets passing by us or missed shots, I spotted one with a grenade in his hand and took aim as quick as I could. He pulled the pin and went from the crouched position to on his feet but he coulden't even run before I put him down with a well placed shot to the skull.

His grenade exploded seconds after he went down which through my scope showed blood flying everywhere. As I slid down further into my foxhole and I retrieved my extra canteen of water, I had gotten another one from my friend that was two foxholes away from me. What's that whistling sound? I thought as I listened closely then it all came to me but before I could comprehend what I was thinking an explosion erupted as I ducked down into my foxhole as dirt was sprayed everywhere. I was covered in it, it must have been close by. I rose from the ground shaking the dirt off me but avoiding keeping myself exposed but more explosions occured in my position. The enemy must be using Artillery on us, I scanned the foxholes next to me and saw white like smoke rising from the one next to me. I took my rifle and went out of mine and approached the one next to me as I peered over to investigate.

Jesus Christ, this is sick..

This came through my mind as I cringed at the mangled remains of a fellow soldier that use to inhabit this trench. I felt like I was going to throw up so I left for my foxhole and took several deep breaths and slid inside the foxhole now sitting there. The gunfire and explosions were still occuring it seemed like It would never stop. It felt like It would never end that I'd be stuck here in this endless fight where no side had gained anything from attacking the other. I took my rifle and went back to my postion and peered through the scope as I saw they were still out their and they had advanced little by little. I took aim at one of them in the crouch position and lined up my sights on his chest, which he had a chest pocket which made it even easier to get him. I pulled the trigger and let the gun do the work as he dropped and I moved on to another victim to claim.

"Vehicles to the northwest, we need AT up here ASAP!"

While looking through my scopes I saw a BMP-1 rolling through the field to the North-West. Shit, we better have AT I thought as I further saw that several enemies were accompaning the BMP-1 and I was lining up a shot on one of them before someone tapped me on the shoulder. I turned and saw one of the Mortar personnel infront of me. What did he want? was what came into my head.

"I need you over at the pit now, were short on men from the artillery barrage. Come with me"

The soldier took off and I did to after him as we passed several foxholes before comming to a deeper foxhole with a 75mm mortar in it. I slid down into the foxhole and took a knee as the man that brought me here did too. The echoes of explosions reigned around us as I was told to drop the mortar rounds down the tube on his command. They passed me one of the shells, it looked small almost like a dart but with more bulk to it and that it was explosive for that matter. I watched them reposition the mortar to face a different direction and how high or low the tube needed to be, then it was my turn. I quickly put the mortar shell over the tube and then dropped it neatly in the tube as I closed my ears and the shell bursted out into the air. I looked trying to catch a glimpse of it I even stood up and saw it impact somewhere in the distance as someone tugged me back down.

"Stay down!"

The man barked as I did what I was told and we continued to put shells down range. Soon I was told that I could return to my foxhole and I did so with my head lowered as I traversed my way back and slid back into my foxhole picking up my rifle once again. I looked over and saw several burning vehicles out in the field. Poor Bastards I remarked to myself as I set myself up to shoot any of them that were still comming my way, it seemed to be clear now and I looked at my fellow soldiers who were taking this oppurtunity to smoke or reload their weapons and other needs. I sunk back into my foxhole and took a ciggerate out of my uniform pocket and retreived a lighter as I lit my ciggerate and took a inhale of it. As I continued to smoke and relax I heard a whistle and I knew it well along with the roar of armoured vehicles that were probably ours, I quickly put out my ciggerate and approached the edge of my foxhole. It seemed to me that the counter attack was begining as soldiers from our position begun to advance forward in their appropriate formations along with the vehicles. I soon rose from my knees with my rifle tight within the palms of my hands and advanced forward into the field..

* * *

[Saurisisia]

[ PT ]

Charge of the Dragon Regiment

It was a hot day. It was a bloody day. As Colonel Roknan looked up into the sky, staring at the Sun, symbol of Iliria, Goddess of Life, he wondered how had it come to this. Then, as he noticed the plain red flags hanging from buildings on the other side of the immense square, he remembered why. He scowled at those flags, his blood boiled, and his heart screamed for action, screamed for the blood of those filthy Reds to be drawn.

He gnashed his teeth just staring at them, how they taunted him with their presence. How they wish to change Saurisian society – for the good, they claim, but Roknan knew better. Many of his countrydragons knew better. Yet still, many had fallen for their lies, lured by utopia and seeking a better world. And now, here he was, staring at those who were so blindly following these terrible ideologies because they knew no better, because they, and their corrupt leaders, were trying to replace the Saurisia the Drakonian knew and loved with some so-called utopia.

He had enough; staring at those red bastards was driving him crazy. Walking away, he looked over his troops, who were standing or sitting on the fields of green in the large park that marked the square and he saw their scared yet hardened expressions. Their large bright eyes were showing signs of anger, of determination, of desire to have their vengeance against these damned reds. He looked over at the other side of the square and he paused, listening to the distant sounds of battle in other parts of the city. Finally, he drew out his long sword and, pointing it at the enemy positions and loudly proclaimed, “Drakonians! Today, we stand here to defend our homes, our land, our very freedoms, from the barbarous Reds! These cowards seek to destroy all our values, all that our forefathers have died to defend, and replace them with the false promise of a utopia while squishing the rights of the individual and making our people slaves to an all-powerful government! These fools are right across this very square, poised to undo all that our ancestors built with their own blood and sweat! My countrydragons, are we going to let them take away our freedoms and destroy our ancient traditions?! Are we just going to sit there as they make all of us slaves to a tyrannical government based on the values of some windbag Human?! Then, my friends let us press forward and give those filthy Communists a taste of the ancient wrath of the Drakonian people! For our homes and our society, charge! Death to the Red scum!”

He then surged forward, a fire in his belly, sword drawn and .45 revolver in hand. Looking briefly behind him, he could see that the entire Regiment, all consisting of Drakonians of all types and builds, had stopped what they were doing and were charging behind their commanding officer. Their bolt-actions in their clawed hands, bayonets already fixed, and a resounding yell emanating from their vocal cords as they ran towards the enemy. The surprised reds soon opened up with rifles and machine guns, cutting down many, but nevertheless, the Regiment continued on. Soon, the defenders found more than 800 Drakonians barreling down at them, anger in their hearts.

It was a bloody brawl, one which the Drakonians had the advantage due to their bayonets and natural assets. Roknan slit the throat of one Red who had been behind a machine gun before beheading another. After several minutes of screaming chaos, the Reds ran, having had enough, and the Drakonians gave pursuit, cutting down or capturing many.

When it was all over, Roknan sat at a hastily-dug ditch the Reds had made and observed the scene. It had taken about 10-20 minutes in all, but some 240 Drakonians and some 383 Reds had become casualties. The square was littered with the bodies of the dead yet it was cleared of the Red menace. They had been pushed back, and pushed back significantly. It had felt so good to Roknan to ram his sword into one of those bastards’ throats; it was what they deserved, after all. Yet, it was still not over, there were still Reds in the city, and by the Gods, he would not rest until they all lay dead on the streets. If only so he can go home to his wife and children and live his life in peace, free of death and war.

[East Klent]

[ MT ]

The Millennium Project

Chapter Six

"New Millennium, Same Game..."

Manevrro, Stoniaso
Outside the Palazzo del Parlamento
January 6, 2000

Agent Gram Conner sat in the driver's seat of his car as his mobile phone rang. SFI Officer Jessica Carmine waited in the passenger seat. The ringing stopped when a computerized female voice answered, "Thank you for calling Vandertramp Logistics, if you are a customer please press one, if you are an employee please press tw..." Conner pressed the two button immediately, "Please give your employee identification number," the computer requested.

"Charlie Echo Seven Five Zulu Three Eight," he answered.

It rang once again until a live male voice cut in, "Agent identification..."

"Conner, Gram."

"Who are you contacting?"

"Samson, Duke," Conner told.

"Please hold," the phone started to ring yet again.

Jessica began to get impatient, "Is this going to take any longer because I'm sure Arlio is going to notice our absence."

Conner covered the phone with his hand, "I don't call in, they worry, they send in a team, international incident, so I call," he explained rather shortly.

"Samson," the other end of the line came through.

"It's Conner, I've come in contact with an SFI officer down here," he informed Samson.

"Ah, yes,that."

"You all failed to mention that in the debrief," Conner's shortness transferred to his mentor.

"Actually, I'm surprised you didn't find that out by yourself, that being a specialty of yours," Samson shot back.

"I guess I deserved that, but what do we do about this?"

"The enemy of our enemy is our friend, even if they've tried to kill us in the past, besides, I figured this asset would interest you, no?" Samson chortled.

Jessica heard, "What was that?"

Conner quickly took control of the situation, "Thanks for the info, Samson, bye," he hung up, "We'd better get inside," he suggested to Jessica.

"Yes, let's," she agreed, even though she was slightly confused.

They stepped out of the car and walked up the steps to the entrance. After they passed through security they made their way to Arlio's office. Once they entered, they found him waiting for them, "You're late," he said in Italian.

"Sorry Deputato, I had a flat, won't happen again," Conner covered as he went to his desk.

"So you too came here together?" Arlio inquired.

"No, why?" Jessica took her seat behind her desk.

"Well, you're both late, and both at the same time. Not to mention the fact that I saw you too get out of his car, which, by the way, had four fully functional tires as far as I could tell," Arlio saw right through their deception.

Conner and Jessica stared at one another, "I don't mind you two seeing one another romantically, but just don't lie to me, I don't appreciate being treated like a fool, understand?"

They were relieved; their cover was successful, "Yes Deputato," they nodded in unison.

"Petri, make sure my schedule is clear this evening," Arlio ordered as he stood to walk toward his private office.

"Yes, Si...," Conner was interrupted by the sound of shattering glass and the spray of red mist that spewed out of Arlio's head as the bullet shot through him.

Both Conner and Jessica instinctively hit the floor and reached for their weapons; Conner tried to find the shooter through the blown window, before a second shot ricocheted off the exposed window pane and landed near him. Jessica, however, managed to locate the assassin, "Office building, second window from the right, third floor," they both took aim and fired.

Conner jumped to his feet, "I'll go see, you take care of things here," Jessica did not have time to protest before Conner went sprinting out of the office to the street.

Jessica stood to analyze the situation. Arlio was lying dead on the floor, bleeding from the hole in the middle of his temple, and she could hear a commotion in the hall. I would only be a manner of minutes before people would be storming into the office, and she had to decide whether to keep to the cover or reveal her true identity. She chose both. The secretaries from the neighboring Deputatos' offices were the first come rushing in, surprisingly though, only a few fainted and shrieked at the scene, "Oh, what in all that is holy happened?" one them shrilled.

Jessica maintained a calm composure, "Everyone, I'm an agent from SFI, this office is now a crime scene, I must ask you to step out into the hallway where I and my partner will address any questions you may have as soon as he returns."

Drivers yelled out Latin curses as they jerked to a stop to avoid hitting Conner as he dashed across the road to the building, and trotted in through the entrance. His eyes darted around the lobby as he searched for the service stairs and then sped toward them. Once he got to the empty third floor, he gripped his pistol and cautiously looked in each space until he found the sniper's perch with the rifle leaning against the wall next to the cracked window.

He knelt down to inspect it, then felt the presence of someone behind him. He focused a shard of glass and saw the reflection a man standing in the doorway. Conner slowly rose to his feet; he tightened his grip on his Beretta and tenuously turned to face his would-be attacker. First he focused on the gleaming silver barrel, then the tan hand and forearm leading up to the black short-sleeve tee-shirt and then finally the face.

Tasseled brown hair, light blue eyes, defined lines around the mouth and a healed scar curving from just under the right eye to the lip. Apart from the scar, the face was grimly familiar. Conner knew the assassin, "Nic..."

The force of the bullet hitting the Kevlar sent him flying out of the window, destroying what was left of it. The fall was short lived and broken by a parked maroon sedan. As Conner drifted off into unconsciousness, the man's face reappeared to the forefront of his mind. It was not possible. It could not be true. He hated it, yet he did know who the man was. Nicholas Conner.

End Chapter Six

[Stedicules]

A hypothetical.

( mt )

So there’s this dead guy in the street. And a hooker stands across from you, wearing red and black. She’s just there, hands on her hips, on her wide hips, looking at you. She’s looking right through you. His blood pools around your designer shoes and you look away from her and at the red and blue lights in the distance. Her stare stops you from leaving and you stand there, frozen.

You’re alone and you begin to feel afraid. She turned to leave and you watch her walk away, the feeling remains as her figure is swallowed by fog. You look down at the guy, he’s bloated now and stares at nothing. You can see the glaze over his eyes. He’s really dead. You lift your foot and his blood slowly dripped off the toe, in your head you ask, “Was it worth it?”

The red and blue lights overcome you and you fall to your knees, compelled by a voice louder than your own thoughts. The black asphalt feels cold against your cheek as you collapse, laying flat. Dark blue figures hold you down and you feel smooth steel grip your wrists. Your bloody shoes drag across the cracked streets, a crimson trail following close behind.

The black and white doors close and you cry, “What have I done?”

[Huerdae]

[FanT]

The Beasts and the Night

[ Mature ]

I don't know how to write this. The Gods themselves don't know how I'm still alive. I thought I was lucky, at first. Taken alive was better than dead, after all. So many bodies, there. So many. I don't know what to do. Why are they taking us?

Day Six: I think this is day six. It's as close as I can guess. They don't let us have much free time. I have to hide my journal when they come, or I'm afraid they'll take it away. I know why they took us, now. The women, the children. The men are gone. Most of them eaten. Many of the others killed themselves, trying to escape. It just made for a feast for those monsters. The Bauric, they call themselves. They're everywhere, here. The ground, the caged cart they keep us in, it all smells of bull, sweat, and urine. At least they take us away to do their deed.

Day Eight: Three times today, they pulled me from the cart. I barely have any clothes left. I can't bother hiding the journal, there's nowhere to hide it. We huddle together in blankets, and the others leave me to my journal because it keeps me sane. We never sleep anymore. The night is filled with their noises, the crackling of fire. They chained us up, now, after Karissa tried to escape. She can't speak now, and her back has been bleeding for the last two days. It's beginning to smell, but we all are. Eris yelled at her to clean it, but none of us could be sure it was even Karissa who was smelling. She wasn't the only one injured. Some of us have given up already. Barely a week, and they broke Mariam. She bows her head at their approach and opens her legs willingly until they are done. There's some gain to it. They are done with her far sooner than most, and she is hurt less than most of us. She never speaks anymore.

Day Twelve: I just realized I didn't tell you who I am. I am Isabella, of Illania. I used to live just outside Summerdawn, before the Bauric. We never knew what was happening. One day, our daughter was gone. We talked to the sheriff, and my husband, Alec, searched for a day and a half, but we never found her. Then there was word that the home of the Hemmel's burned down. Rumors of monsters, and nobody cared about our little Scarlet. She had such beautiful hair. I can smell it now, thinking of her. Always running in the weeds. Maybe she got away. Maybe she saw what was coming, and ran, and couldn't find her way home. Anything could be better than this.

Day Thirteen: We met up with another set of carts today. One of the women cried for us to help, that they were dying. I think she was blind, she could not see we were just as poorly off. The monsters took her away, and the women in the other carts didn't dare say a word for hours. When night came, they told us they were from Twin-rivers. Could it be so bad? Two days' march away, the same as we face?

Day Sixteen: One of the women is panicking. She is nearly a week overdue, and nothing is coming. We keep telling her it's a different species, that they can't possibly get us pregnant, but she goes on. Everyone is afraid. We smell like bull. We saw someone, he looked human today. Walked by, past the Bauric as if they were nothing, and they paid him no mind. Some thought he was an angel, come to save us, but when he turned and looked, we saw those golden eyes. The eyes of the damned. The wolves of the Jungle. The Cauni. I thought they were a myth. Dear gods, why have I been taken? Why could I not have died?

Day Twenty-Two: I tried to kill myself a few days ago. I'm not sure how much time has passed, and most of the others won't speak to me. Many were punished for letting me get so far. My wrists still hurt, it is hard to hold the pen. How can such beasts know medicine? Can such a creature as that be a doctor? Four times, he has had me. Four times, I screamed in pain and frustration at him. A doctor? Do they know no mercy?

Day Twenty-Four: Something happened last night. I don't know what, but the Baurics are scared. One of the braziers on the perimeter suddenly disappeared, and there were screams. Panic, from the monsters. Fear. Eventually one of the big ones, Taunic, they were called, made it there with a torch. Three torches before that didn't make it. I saw scales. The flash of steel. In the morning sun, blood covered the area. There was an arm hanging in the jungle. It was Bauric. We left in a hurry.

Day Thirty-Seven: We're getting used to it, now. Many of us are 'favorites' of one or another Bauric. They talk freely near us. We belong to the clan Redheart. Jokingly, they have given us names. I am called Crimson-Mane, of the Redheart Bauric. They laugh, and refuse to call us anything else. I hate the name. I have never before regretted my hair. I gave it to Scarlet, that seem, deep red. It was natural. Beautiful. Oh, Scarlet.

Day Fourty-Two: I called Mariam by the name the Baurics gave her today. Golden-Sun. She hasn't spoken in two weeks, but she went berserk and attacked me. I don't blame her. They're in our minds now. We do what they want because it's what we're used to. More Baurics died yesterday. The jungle, they call Pul'Goraz, as if it is alive. It says they belong to the jungle. They fear it.

Day Fifty: We met up with what I think is the main group today. Several Cauni were there, arguing with the Bauric. Something about the younger ones. A young boy stopped by, and one of the women called to him, thinking it was her son. He smiled, and waved, but he had those golden eyes. The eyes of the damned. He was every bit her son, but for those eyes. When he came over, we hid on the far side of the cage. Eventually, he left.

Day Fifty-Three: Only two of us still have periods. It's obvious, now, what they want with us. It shouldn't be possible. It can't be. But they do it. Those two still go through it daily. We try not to mention it. Mariam seems jealous. She begs the Baurics to take her, they stopped only a week or so ago. She begged them like a lover, thrusting herself at them, at the bars. Several of the Cauni watched, but the Baurics turned away. What do they know that we don't? How can they tell?

Day Sixty-Eight: I'm starting to run low on paper. Two of us are showing. We damn the day and dread the night. Four days ago, the braziers went out. One of the carts was there. It's empty now. They left it, the beasts. Bent bars, blood. Nothing of the women inside. Only the screams for two nights, where we could hear. I can't tell if I'm hearing them anymore, or if I'm imagining it. Bauric, human, Pul'Goraz consumes. We scream.

Day Eighty-Two: I'm showing, now. Much more than the others, though it started late. It's getting harder to move around. I don't like it, but the Bauric are keeping those of us who are more 'ripe' toward the inside of the camp. Precious. They washed us today. I feel clean, refreshed. Yesterday, my cousin, Kaila, finally missed her period. Two days after they stepped on her leg, shattering the bone.

Day Eighty-Nine: Kaila's leg is infected. They do what they can, but she is in fever-dreams. Today I saw a ghost, and I wonder myself. A young girl, about fourteen. Blood in her hair made it look red, but when she turned around, her ears stood up. One of the Cauni. Fangs, wolf-ears, wolf-tail. She has claws. She smiled sadly at me. I hid.

Day Ninety-Four: I spoke to her today. She kept coming by, and beckoning to me. Finally, she called me! Isabella! My name! I didn't know they knew them. We don't even use them anymore, so she must have asked. She talked about my home, my children. I told her about Scarlet, and she turned away. Told me the girl was gone.

Day One-Hundred Eight: She told me, now. She had seen my son. Jason was taken by the Cauni, but she said he 'didn't take to it'. He was discarded to Pul'Goraz. She gave me a coin he used to keep. I don't know how she knew it was for me. Black on one side, white on the other. Marble. He never gave it up.

Day One-Hundred Twenty-Two: We have been talking. Every day now for weeks. As my belly grows, and the weight keeps me down, I know it is not human. Even more than the others, it pains me. I can barely lift myself, but Nightfang sits near our cage, talking to me during the days. They wash us. Care for us. We are thankful for the peace, and the kindness. Some try to talk to them, but it is for nothing. She asked me once, what home was like. I had forgotten. I could not tell her. All I can remember now is Baurics.

Day One-Hundred Thirty-Three: How could I have been so stupid?! To not see it! There she was, beside me, and she closed her eyes. Her ears laid back, and of a habit, I pulled her hair into a pony-tail. For that moment, before she looked up, I SAW IT. Scarlet! She's Nightfang! When I called her that, she growled at me, and pushed me away. Told me never to call her by that slave name. I could not stop crying for days. Kaila lingers, her screams in the night damn us all. Pul'Goraz is right there, I can feel it sometimes. Hear the whispers, the promises. They no longer close our cage, but we don't try to escape. Pul'Goraz is there.

Day One-Hundred Sixty: We're here. They took us to a town, on a lake. They call it the House of Steel, but I think that's just the name of the town. There are other clans here. I saw them, fighting. I found myself hoping for ours to win. Something about the familiarity. Our side. Our clan. Where has my mind gone?

Day One-Hundred Sixty-Eight: There were rafts on the river. Unguarded. I tried to get Nightfang to take me to them last night. It was safe, away from Pul'Goraz. Nobody calls it the jungle anymore. I begged her, pleaded with her. She is so strong. So powerful. She lifted me, once, in one arm. I can't even lift myself, anymore, and she pulled me down to help me get washed. It would be so easy for her. She asked why she would help a human escape.

Day Two-Hundred Twelve: There is only one page left. I want to go back and write more, but I don't remember more. Nightfang is one of them. I see her, daily, but she no longer calls me Isabella. I am...a curiosity to her. One of the Bauric's 'stock'. Gallus, the doctor who had me so many times, checks on us. Kaila doesn't cry anymore. He says she's doing better, but doesn't say more. He says I have twins. Twins!

I don't know what day it is. It's Soft-Heart now. She called me Kaila. Crimson-Mane passed two nights ago, Gallus could do nothing. I lost my leg, but I live. Golden-Sun had hers, too. She was so happy. Golden furred, like her own hair All Bauric. They're all Bauric. She always wanted a son. They let us keep them for a few days, but take them away. After a week, it starts again. Golden-Sun screamed. She wanted more. Redheart Clan enjoyed her. Nightfang came by for Crimson-Mane. She nodded when I told her, but smiled. Said that all slave-lives have to end. She's not in Pul'Goraz.

Okay, it's not pretty, but it was an interesting concept. Don't hate me for what it's about. It is in regards to my FanT nation, the Keeris clans. Illania belongs to of the arch ilands.

[The Uthani Imperium]

The Five People You Meet in Hell

[FT]
[MATURE]

Forward:
The Universe, and the Milky Way Galaxy more relevantly. Is a massive and ever expanding body filled with uncountable life forms of every shape size and varying sentience. While many have tried to record the existence of every being, such a feat is neigh impossible and with the ease of travel and the lack of law in certain systems. It is quite easy for beings of un-importance to simply disappear. Of course there are those that actively propagate others'...disappearance.

Heresies of a Hellion

Dezmari System, Ungoverned Space
City of Tazmanat, Mumba District
Nelo's Bar and Tavern

The bar was filled with smokes, all of various colors and smells that created a hypnotic effect when coupled with the narcotics that were producing them. The building was packed to the brim, all the tables filled and much of the floor space covered in a conglomeration of every known species in the galaxy. The servers danced through a dangerous maze of limbs and appendages as they brought drinks and food products of various sizes and colors to patrons from across the galactic spectrum. Humans, Xiscapians, Cyborgs and everything else short of the Rethast all crammed into one room eating, drinking, smoking, and in some instances groping or fighting.

In one of the few quiet corner tables however, sat a lone being, the only in the establishment who didn't seem to be, or in the process of trying to be with someone. He wore a facial covering from which a trio of tubes extended back to a large tank of grayish liquid that hung from his spine. This was accompanied by a blackened set of metallic clothing that seemed to be locked together with the mask and had corresponding tubes that all led back to the tank. The mask itself had no features, a flat piece of burgundy glass with two seemingly painted blue dashes which would mark the eyes on a human, being the only identifiable traits.

He seemed the usual spacer type that drifted into bars like this, looking to get a drink and brood over some nonsense in a corner before moving on to the next system and spaceport. But if the patrons could have only seen beneath the mask they would shrieked in horror and surely ran for their very lives before the darkened spirit that set in their midst. His eye sockets where sunken, appearing to have been worn down by the force of nature and only ending in a crimson eyeball that had no pupil. He had a mouth, if the terrible conglomeration of teeth that jutted from the opening above his jaw (the left side of said jaw hanging down about two inches lower than the right) could be called as such.

He was, in all likeness completely capable of eradicating every being in the establishment. And yet all he did was sit there and think to himself. "Which one do I want, which one do I want, which one do I want." The phrase repeated in a nonsensical manner within his mind, only being broken as he caught a glimpse of a female human's legs leaning up against the bar. "Yes those, I must have those." The being stood slowly, careful as to not disconnect any of the tubes essential to his ruse. He ambled over to the bar slowly, carefully avoiding the other patrons and even going as far as to stop and curse at a man who had bumped into the tank on his back.

He finally managed to fight his way through the room, sliding into the open spot next to the woman and ordering a drink as to not appear suspicious. The bartender quickly returned, handing the man his drink and linger, curious to see if the being would remove his face covering. But to no avail as the man withdrew a small tube that had been concealed, and began to carefully pour the drink into it. "So" he began, turning towards the woman as he began to speak. The mask offering a natural buffer than made him sound somewhat croaky. "What is a lovely woman like you doing in a horrid place like this?"

The woman, whose loveliness was actually quite befitting of a place like this, gave a mocking smile. Turning slightly as she spoke in quite a harsh voice, "Get, the fuck, away from me you creepy bastard." She turned away quickly, ordering another drink from the bar before noticing that the man was staring directly at her. "What do you want? I just told you to leave me alone!"

The man smiled beneath his mask, turning back towards the bar before he spoke again. "I'm sorry, I simply was surprised to see such a beautiful woman in such a dreary place as this. I only wanted to know what brought you here?"

The woman gave another mocking smile that really more resembled a sneer as she spoke, "I know exactly what you want mister, I've heard it a thousand times before and I'm not interested." She stood up to leave, striding precariously through the crowd and towards the door as she finished.

"By the Gods, are there really that many sorry saps in the Galaxy that she has been hit on that many times? I mean lords just look at her, the only redeeming quality are those...legs" The man rose quickly, remembering his original objective as he began pushing through the crowd and out the door. Breaking out onto the street, he caught a glimpse of the woman striding away down the long and narrow streets. He quickly sprung into action, darting off into one of the side alley ways that horizontal and then parallel to the main road. He sprinted with no regard, leaping over piles of rubbish with no regards to the tank of liquid that began to come lose on his back. Finally pausing at one of the horizontal alley ways and taking a quick look out onto the main road.

And here she came, about thirty feet down the road in all her horrendous glory. The being drew himself up close against one of the buildings, withdrawing a small syringe from his pocket as the woman drew ever closer. And then, in a flash, she strode past the alleyway. Only to be grabbed from behind, kicking and screaming as she went. The woman put up a formidable struggle for a few seconds, only to be stilled as the being rammed the syringe into her neck. She fell almost instantaneously, her head swimming and reality fading away. The last thing she remembered were the painted eyes of the stranger.

Dezmari System, Ungoverned Space
City of Tazmanat, Kazmari District
Undisclosed Warehouse

In places such as Tazmanat it is hilariously common to see people dragging unconscious people through the streets, especially but not necessarily at night. In saying such the being who carried the woman he had incapacitated only minutes before was given no trouble as he walked through the nearly deserted Industrial district of the city. He ducked off the main street again, coming to a door in what appeared to be a warehouse of some sort. Casting aside the door easily enough he brought the woman in, setting her down as he locked the door behind them. "Ready to play darling?"

The being gave a cold smile beneath the mask, picking the woman up again and beginning to strip her clothes before placing her in a device that resembled stirrups. He revealed what appeared to be a brush of some sort, dabbing it in an open container of paint that sat on one of the nearby tables. Quickly, so as to finish his task before the woman awoke. He painted a long line from the woman's forehead down to her midsection, then quickly added tributary lines that stretched from her palms to both her feet. Finishing just as the woman came out of her inebriated state and gazed up at the man above her.

Instinctively her bound hands tried to shoot down to her waist, to no avail as the bindings simply constricted the more she struggled. "No please, anything but that, Auluma Gods save me from that!" She shrieked in horror.

The being gave a confused look under his mask, laughing as the realization dawned on him. "What? Oh... No woman you're not even close to my type." At last he withdrew the face plating, revealing his hideous face effectively silencing the woman. "And besides, there are no Gods but the Zenumar and their Harbingers. Funny that your last words would be heresy to the Divines." He withdrew what appeared to be a cleaver of some sort, placing the blade directly into woman's leg and letting it rest ever so gently.

"Who, what... who are you?"

"I," he took a great swing of the cleaver, severing the woman's leg from her thighs and reveling in her screams before continuing. "Am Cartis, a humble Biological Engineer." And from there the woman continued to scream, the being now identified as Cartis drawing back the cleaver again and severing her other leg. "Sleep now woman, join the rest of the Sacred Feast on the eternal planes of Zenumar." Finally, he drew back the cleaver a final time, before plunging it deep into the center of the woman's skull. With naught but a laugh he collected the legs from the ground and walked away deeper into the recesses of the warehouse.

Autopsy of an Automaton

Dezmari System, Ungoverned Space
City of Tazmanat, Mumba District
Nelo's Bar and Tavern

Cartis loved Nelo's more than any other establishment he had ever set up shop in. He swore it was the only place in the Galaxy where you could murder someone then come back the next day dressed in the same clothes without getting a second look from the other patrons. Of course it helped when the owner of the establishment was a Cultist that praised the God's who had spawned you. Cartis, for all his brutality and bloodlust did have a way of getting lucky with these sorts of things, which explained the favor and free reign the Zenmar gave him in operating.

He was back, same dress, same corner table, same brooding look that seemed to burn through the packed building. Again the same thought burn't through his mind. "Which one do I want," the phrase had come to dominant his life, not that he complaining. Cartis loved his work, and that was saying something about a man who belonged to a species that lacked the ability to enjoy most things the vast majority of species prided themselves in taking part of. "Bartender," he called out to the man at the long table towards the front of the room. "Come here for a moment, I got a question for you."

The bartender ambled over, making his way past a group of patrons that had begun to get physical with each other before sitting down across from Cartis. "What is it?"

"That big Cyborg over there, what's his deal?" Cartis pointed to the large man at the center of the dispute that seemed to be the man antagonist of the other patrons that surrounded him. "He some sort of fighter? Or soldier from somewhere?" Cartis asked the bartender in a somewhat detached voice, never taking his eyes off the man's chest as it heaved up and down. Showing signs of mechanical augmentation, as several pieces of sheet metal covered the area where his heart would be.

"The big fella in the middle? That's Harold Shawarzy, he used to be a Pride Fighter here on Dezmari till they mobsters banned augmentations in the ring." The Bartender got up to leave before turning back a final time. "He's bad business, I'd avoid him if you got the chance to."

"Yeah yeah," Cartis was barely listening, his entire focus concentrated on the brute who had began to pummel the the other patrons. Each stroke he delivered causing his chest to heave and bounce in a rhythm that had fixated Cartis. At last he was the only man standing, the other participants lying in pools of their own blood on the floor. Cartis of course, didn't miss a beat, rising quickly from his seat and jacking the man strait in the jaw with his fist before speaking. "Come on shit-bag, throw a punch."

Harold seemed stunned for a moment, taken back by the random declaration from the oddly dressed stranger. But he was fighter, he knew what he was doing. He spun around on his heel quickly, trying to swing his leg into the newcomers knee but to no avail as Cartis moved out of the way with unholy speed. "Not good enough Harold, not even close to good enough." Cartis threw another fist, this one catching him square in the chest and visibly denting the steel plating there. I thought you where a fighter Harold," Cartis hit him again, this time square in the face, leading to a sickening sound as his nose snapped.

"Fuck you!" Harold spun around again, but this time feigning the kick before bring his momentum down in a fist aimed strait at Cartis. It connected, smashing into the burgundy glass and cracking it a bit, but other than that having no visible effect on Cartis who simply swiped Harold's legs out from underneath him as he tried to follow through with the punch. "What in the fuck are you!" Harold screamed, scrambling to his feet to gaze at the painted eyes of the stranger, looking even more frightening with the cracked glass plate.

"I'm a friend Harold, and I can teach you to fight like that." Cartis let himself smile beneath the the glass plate as he began to speak again. "You have the body of a machine Harold, but not the methodological approach nor the will, come with me Harold. I can teach you to be as a machine." He smiled again, walking towards the door, laughing internally as various patrons cleared out of the way when they saw him coming. "Well I suppose there are some benefits to creating a scene." He turned back as he walked out the door, smiling for the last time as he noticed Harold following behind.

Dezmari System, Ungoverned Space
City of Tazmanat, Kazmari District
Undisclosed Warehouse

Harold awoke in a start, thrashing around in his bindings to no avail. He had no clue where he was, or how he had got here. In fact the last thing he remembered was following that strange man out of the bar, the one in the mask. What had he said his name was...Cara...no no, Cartis! Yes Cartis had been his name, he continued to trash for a moment. Finally tiring himself out he called in a great panic to the ceiling. "Cartis! Goddamn you Cartis what is this trickery!?"

As if on cue, Cartis slid out from the shadows, his masked removed showing the full gory details of his horrific face. "No trickery Harold, no trickery at all. Be happy, for you are to become like a machine Harold, lifeless just like a machine!" Cartis smiled, or emulated what might have passed for a smile in his own culture, bearing all his teeth directly towards Harold in the process. "You're going to join the Eternal Feast on the planes of Zenumar, be happy for what is left of you shall contribute to the greatest of destruction known to the savages of this feeble system!"

"To hell with you-" Harold was cut off, Cartis placing a blackened and diseased looking hand over his mouth, allowing the puss that oozed out of his palm to seep into the man's mouth before withdrawing his hand. Harold coughed for a moment, clearing his throat vigorously until he was finally able to speak. "What the hell was that you fucking psycho!?"

"Blood of the Ulukar, what sustains us seems to cause other species excruciating pain." Cartis smiled revealing the familiar form of a heavy cleaver that seemed to be stained with Human blood. "Trust me, you'll feel it in a second."

"Fuck off yo-" Harold was cut short yet again, this time by the unbearable pain that seemed to have engulfed his body in a mere seconds. He screamed and thrashed, his body being licked by the invisible fire of the Ulukar blood that had now found its way to his stomach. "God please make it stop, please Cartis please oh God make it stop!"

"With pleasure," Cartis drew back the heavy cleaver in a familiar motion bringing it down right above the man's things, only to be greeted by the ringing of metal. "Oh oh that is unfortunate Harold, this is going to be much worse that I had intended." Cartis smiled again, turning to dig through one of the cabinets that sat nearby. "Right this should do," Cartis clicked one of the buttons on the side of the strange nozzle, causing a blue flame to erupt from the tip. "So rare I get to use the plasma cutter!"

What came next was brutal in the extremity, Cartis driving the Plasma cutter against the man's thighs. Disconnecting his torso from the lower half of his body before moving onto his arms and finally his head. All set to the horrific backdrop of Harold's screams and pleads for mercy. Cartis of course showed him none, only relenting when he had completely disconnected the torso. "Two down, three to go...I am feeling a bit hungry though." Cartis turned back to the head of the dead Harold, digging at his eye-socket until he removed the eyeball which he, without hesitation popped into his mouth with a smile before strutting away.

Wails of a Wretch

Dezmari System, Ungoverned Space
City of Tazmanat, Mumba District

Nelo, the man who naturally owned Nelo's was all up in arms about the disappearance of Howard. Apparently a friend of Howard's was camped out in the bar looking for anything suspicious after his friend failed to come home the night Cartis left with him. That setback was unfortunate, but mostly unavoidable and the man would probably shove off for somewhere else soon anyway, it wasn't like he'd be able to discover Howard's body or tie it back to Cartis. It did present a problem though, it forced Cartis to walk the streets in search of other parts for his art project.

That wasn't so bad though, the streets of Tazmanat, especially the residential district. Were filled with all sorts of street urchins and other undesirables that flooded the streets to beg for coin from those that passed by on their way to work or bars. Most people usually walked as close to the edge of the sidewalk as possible when they saw these sort of people sitting on the side of the way, hands outstretched with pleading in their eyes. But not Cartis, no he made a note of stopping to talk with each and everyone of them, gazing at their physical features as he listened to their stories.

He wasn't having any luck today though, the only men or women that seemed to be out had absolutely hideous features. Not befitting his masterpiece, nor his time as he walked past some of the poor wretches that he had talked to before. He had almost considered returning to Nelo's for a moment, but then he felt it, a small hand dancing about in his back pocket. Cartis turned on a dime, flinging his arm out and grasping the stranger by the wrist, only to be stopped by the sheer beauty of the young child's face. Even through the dirt and grime she was an exquisite subject, "Now now child, I'm a bit too traveled to be pickpocketed by the likes of you."

Cartis gave a smile under his mask at the horrified child, basking in the radiance of her facial beauty. "If you were hungry child you could have simply asked, tell me what is your name?" Cartis released her harm, but kept himself ready to lash out and snatch her up again should she try to flee. "Oh come now don't be shy, what is your name sweet child?"

The girl looked down for a moment, casting her eyes shamefully as she spoke. "I am Allana," she spoke in an almost angelic voice, prompting Cartis to remember to save her vocal chords for when he was done with her. "I'm very sorry about trying to steal your money mister, I just haven't eaten in four days and I'm in desperate need." Huge round tears started to swell up in her eyes, much to the displeasure of Cartis as they seemed to obscure her face as they dripped down onto the cold concrete.

"Enough of that child, here come with me I believe I have a bit of extra food back at my house and you're welcome to it." The girl nodded slowly, prompting Cartis to reach out and take her hand as he quickly changed his direction, leading back to the Kezmari district. "Tell me child what is it that you like to eat, I have a bit of Jurmari back at the house that you're welcome to. But if you'd rather have something else I'm sure I can fix something up." Cartis smiled, feigning good will yet as he and girl began to enter the Kezmari district, drawing ever near to the warehouse.

"I haven't had Jurmari in years! That sounds fine mister, thank you so much!" The girl's tears stopped, her face breaking out into a radiant smile as the pair came to the door of Cartis' home. "Is this where you live sir?" The girl looked apprehensively at the warehouse, taking a step back as Cartis cast the door open and stepped inside.

"Yes child, I know it is a bit unconventional but it was cheap and I'm not the most well off of citizens on Dezmari." He offered a fake smile, going strait into what constituted his "kitchen" in the warehouse, retrieving from the refrigerator what appeared to be a large serving of meat with assorted vegetables of some sort arranged on top. He quickly popped it into the heating unit, withdrawing it after a few seconds and setting it down on the lone table that dominated the center of the utilitarian room. "Enjoy child."


Dezmari System, Ungoverned Space
City of Tazmanat, Kazmari District
Undisclosed Warehouse

The girl had been painted like the rest, her body restrained and her head prepared for severing. In all honesty Cartis was not overtly fond of conducting the procedure while the girl was awake, but the Zenumar Gods demanded it, the blood screams of the Eternal Feast seemed to soothe their displeasure with the world that they gazed upon and such Cartis was prepared to do his duty. "Tis a shame really, I'm sure she'll end up damaging her vocal cords with all that screaming." Cartis spoke aloud, but to no one in particular, gazing at the sweet face of the girl as she groggily began to wake.

"Right then, I do apologize about all this child, but it is time for you to sleep and join the Eternal Feast." Cartis smiled at the young girl, stroking her auburn hair as she looked on in horror at this face, seemingly petrified and unable to speak. "Time to begin then," he withdrew a set of scalpels, selecting one and placing it over her collar bone. "I'm sorry, but this is going to hurt quite a bit." He drew back the scalpel, pulling it across her flesh and cutting as she began to scream in horror, the wails echoing throughout the warehouse.

The sound would have been sickening to a less demented being, but of course Cartis was a Flesh-crafter for a reason, he didn't feel
the compassion of other beings. Nor did he possess a trace of empathy, and so he went about his work diligently, peeling back some of the stiffer tendons and ligaments that always seemed to impede his decapitations, reveling in the screams of the young girl. "Alright child, it's almost over, rest easy now your suffering shall end soon." The child of course only responded with more screaming, her blood beginning to pool on the floor as he continued to rip away at her chest.

"And now we come to our finale," from the nearby cabinet he withdrew a long axe which he flashed in front of the girl's warm brown eyes before speaking again. The end is here, Zenumar Gods welcome you as a member of the eternal feast," in a fell swoop he brought the axe up above his head, before smashing it down directly above her collar bone; a clean cut. He looked on the girls face once again, splattered with blood that had begun to clot in her auburn hair. "Still so beautiful, a shame about the eyes though." He picked the head up by base of its spine, moving it over to one of the side tables.

He pulled a pair of calipers from the cabinet, moving to loom over the head as he began to dig at the eyes, popping each out in turn. "And now the final step," he took up the scalpel again, letting it rest over her now empty eye-sockets. In a swift motion he sliced off the eye lids that still drooped over the black holes that had been her eyes. He set the wayward pieces of skin next to the body, then, with an almost euphoric air he collected the head. Dancing off once again into the deeper recess of the utilitarian warehouse.

Horrors of A Whore

Dezmari System, Ungoverned Space
City of Tazmanat, Mumba District

This was getting ridiculous, the man still hadn't left Nelo's. He was still hanging around, asking questions, looking for a man with a tank on his back apparently. He'd have to be dealt with if he continued, but not now, there was more pressing prey to attend to. Cartis was back on the streets of the Mumba District, pursing more folly to add to his masterpiece of biological engineering. He wasn't having much luck so far though, despite the general activity the Mumba district had at night he still couldn't seem to find anyone he was willing to work with. The people tonight were simply horrid looking.

"That one maybe... oh Gods no look at the callouses, maybe him? No no no hands are too big, Gods be damned this is infuriating!" Cartis mumbled to himself, walking ever so slowly and scanning the hordes of unfortunate souls that begged and pleaded to him for coin as he passed by. He continued on like this for some time, mumbling and grumbling with himself, not noticing the atmosphere of the street changing, as well as the color as fluorescent red lights began to flood his vision. "Ah the red lights, always the red lights, probably where I should have started looking anyway."

Cartis drug his feet as he walked, perusing through the alley ways were women of all races and colors were positioned. Not breaking pace until he saw a woman whose skin glowed a deep purple hue, illuminated against the black wall she was leaning against. Cartis walked up slowly, nonchalantly even, avoiding all attention and appearing as any one of the many desperate souls that perused through the rows of whores and prostitutes on Dezmari. "How much for an hour?" Cartis asked, extending his hand out in an inviting and quasi-friendly manner.

"Fifty, plus five per block away from this spot." The woman's voice was cold, her eyes shooting daggers at the masked Cartis whose hand was left to hand in solitude. "No freaky shit either, you want that you go somewhere else."

Cartis was visibly taken back, a selective whore? What kind of galaxy had this become were women of the trade set standards? Gods things had changed since Cartis had been like them. "Of course not, I'll take you for the hour then, I'm down in the Kazmari district. I'll lead the way," Cartis offered his hand once more, this time pleased as the woman took it. Smooth, delicate, almost high-born in nature, certainly not the hand of a woman who had been on the streets the entirety of her life. This woman had either lost it all, or was out playing some cheap game for excitement. It mattered little to Cartis.

"Oh, what is your name?" Cartis again feigned interest, attempting to keep up his ruse just long enough to get the woman back to his warehouse.

"Roxanne," the woman gave a sort of half-smile gesturing towards herself. "The once fabulous and extravagant Roxanne at that." Who voice resonated the sadness of the statement, her eyes turning downcast as Cartis' silent stare bore into her once beautiful face. "I wasn't always like this you know, always this creature of the night lurking on street corners." She continued, not noticing Cartis' apathetic air as she spoke and poured out her heart to this stranger.

"Oh I'm sure darling, you still look absolutely striking though madame." Cartis played along with the woman, leading her through the streets as it visibly became an industrial area, the warehouses he was so accustomed to operating in appearing on both sides. "It's a damn shame the shape this planet is in, poverty, crime, people go missing almost daily. I remember back when most of that stuff was damn near eradicated, or impossible in some cases. "Cartis couldn't help but smile beneath his mask, putting special emphasis on disappearance. "Regardless madam I get the feeling that all of your hardships will soon end," he smiled again, taking delight in his own repulsive allusions.

"You think so sir," the woman's face gave way to a slightest smile, it didn't touch her eyes but it was a welcome distraction from the utter desperation she threw about. Cartis gave the slightest nod, continuing to lead the woman through the streets and back towards the warehouse, they were getting close now, the smell of the district was poignant in the air, the rotting flesh of a city.

[Talidan]

[ FT]

Ad Astra

0734 Hours, Standard Talidan Time
Space Station Havre
In Geosynchronous orbit with Homeworld; Talidan

“Captain Filem Parjax?” asked the Colonial Trade Authority attendant. The young man nodded, extending his hand rather lamely to hand her his Identification card. The attendant glanced from the picture, to the young man, then back to the picture. The young man wore the standard dark grey cargo Navy pants required by all Federal spacers, even tucked into his boots, much like his white-colored undershirt tucked into those pants. However, his dark grey uniform coat remained unzipped all the way, his face had easily six-day-old five o’clock shadow, and he didn’t stand with good posture with his hands in his pockets with no spark in his blue eyes or face. His dark brown hair was strangely well-groomed though, close-cut to his head with a little gel to give it a bit of “flair” in the front. His skin was slightly tan, but more of a fair skin than tan itself, nothing like a colonist from Sereum. The attendant looked back to the ID card one last time. The Captain looked younger in person than he did in the photo. However, the picture on the ID was a bit heavier and fatter than the figure standing before the attendant, in fact, he looked quite fit. Perhaps the Captain had been keeping up with required Physical Fitness after all. He did have Captains’ triple gold bars and star pins on both collars. She shrugged; close enough. The attendant handed the Captain a small manila packet, “There you are, Captain Parjax, your Service Check. Thank you once again for supporting the Colonial Trade Authority.” She ended the insincere good bye with a cheesy smile. “Thank you.” The young man said quickly before departing, walking past the long line of seven to ten people waiting for their own service checks.

Once well away from the CTA station, the youth opened the manila packet, foregoing the other legal jargon and finance requirements for later and simply pulled out the check from the contents. He frowned; it was smaller than last time they made port above Talidan. That either meant the economy was turning sour or the money for the program was being pulled into some other project. The service checks were part of a government program that let privately-operated ships and freighters trade and travel everywhere and everything within legal limits, along with receiving a check to support their business operations. In return, the freighters would immediately return to Talidan in the event of war and begin ferrying supplies for the war effort for no profit or gain. During peacetime, the program cut through loads of red tape and even let the Law be a little lax on you, but some considered it a “federal leash.” Placing the check back into the manila packet and placing it within his uniform jacket, the Captain made his way to the docking bay where the trade freighter was decked. The station itself was more ornate than he was used to. It looked like a well-built mall, except in space. It had major expanded walk-ways, with various pillars with holographic map-locators, pristine benches with various small fountains and natural foliage to give the silver, chrome, and assorted hygienic colors some more vibrant and pleasant scenery. The station’s main ring was hardly as busy as it could be, but it certainly wasn’t low on people either. The young man had to brush past several large crowds of people moving in every which way, saying “excuse me” or “pardon me” every time he even bumped into one. He knew he wasn’t supposed to act like that, but he couldn’t help his upbringing. He finally managed to get to the Tram station which would shuttle anyone to anyplace on the station. The youth went for the least crowded; the tram for the cheap-skate docking area. The tram itself could hold around forty people, but it only held six. From the looks of the other passengers on the white tram with dark-cream seats, they were mostly station service personnel. The young man grabbed a seat farthest away from everyone as much as he could, then strapped himself in with a restraining belt.

With a polite ding the tram took off down the supporting track, which jostled the car every so often. Apparently the cheaper dockyards didn’t need smooth rails either. One particularly bad dent in the track shook the Tram rather forcefully, ejecting the Identification Card from the unzipped uniform jacket of the young man. The card did not immediately hit the floor, but rather floated loosely, descending slowly in the air towards the floor. Grabbing it in mid-air, the young man felt gravity lessen with each passing minute as he neared the docks and further away from the rotating center-point of the station. He chuckled to himself, looking at the ID card of Captain Filem Parjax. Of course, he was not Captain Parjax. He was Kalen Varga, First Mate of the Prospector. Captain Parjax hardly ever left the ship while in port and he never left it while in port around Talidan. He always sent his First Mate, who was not forty-six as it said on the ID card, but actually twenty-six. The card was actually Parjax himself, just fifteen years ago and he hadn’t really gotten around to updating it. Kalen was not sure if the Captain had hired him straight out of the Academy for his similar looks or for his actual skills. The First Mate shrugged; he still got to see the stars either way.

By this point, the Tram pulled into Docking Station 13, which was ironically the cheapest dock on the entire station. The local crews probably thought it was unlucky too. Kelan unbuckled his restraining belt and the gentlest push from his hand sent him hoping towards the exit of the tram. On this level of the station, the gravity was similar to that of a moon. As some of the Maintenance personnel followed Kalen off the tram car, he stood aside to return himself back to his preferred style. He hated having to look so unkempt, so he tucked in his shirt, tightened his boot strings, and zipped up while tucking in his uniform jacket. Kalen looked fresh out of the Academy; well, except for the repulsive facial hair he had to grow in order to pass as being Captain Parjax while in port. As soon as he could, the First Mate would be clean-shaven. Drifting by small jumps and leaps, Kalen pushed through the dockyard, which had old steel, metal scrapes, various electrical wiring, and sometimes rust. It truly looked more like a junkyard than a dock for starships. Kalen felt more at home in the well-groomed and prepared Central point of the station; after-all, he was from Talidan and not some Duster born on the colonies. As he neared the ISL Prospector, Kalen noticed a young woman standing near the loading ramp to the ship. His eyes shot open, “I hope I’m not late to welcome the new crew member!”
Timing his leap just right, the First Mate landed right behind the female crewmember. She was dressed even more professionally than he was. She had blonde hair, kept to about little past shoulder length but was in a tangled bird-nest bun, fair-skin, and curvy in both the natural and athletic ways. Her uniform was pressed, tucked in, and nearly stone-like in perfection. She was looking up at the name of the trade freighter, the Prospector, which seemed rather old as the name had been scrapped and marred in some areas, and next to the end of the actual ship name was a more recently added decal with a compass, which meant the ship was part of the Merchant Marine program. “Pardon me, but you must be the new Pilot?” Kalen spoke to her from behind. The young girl quickly turned around, her eyes were wide with surprise from the voice but got widen when she got a good look at Kalen. “Y-Yes, sir” she stumbled on her words, but grew resolute,” I am Pilot Kira Bellam. Reporting for active duty with the Merchant Marine and Independent Shipping League vessel the Prospector.” She ended her sentence by thrusting her paperwork into the hands of Kalen, who promptly looked over the basic file on the front. Kira was 21, fresh out of the Academy, and seemingly been hired to fly the Prospector after the last pilot had quit. “Welcome aboard Pilot Kira.” The First Mate genuinely smiled at her; he did find her attractive. Kira adjusted her duffle bag over her shoulder, then brushed back some of her bangs behind her ear, “You are pretty young for… a Captain.” She blushed lightly, was she attracted back? On a private ship, rules were not as strict as in the Navy. However, Kalen was shaken back into reality by her comment. He remember he was still wearing the rank of Captain on his uniform. “Oh, sorry, I am not the Captain. I’m his First Mate.” Kalen bashfully explained with a smile. Before Kira could respond, though her face was one of shock and confusion, Kalen grabbed one of her duffle bags and leaped up the loading ramp to the crew entrance hatch. “Hey, wait a minute!” She called after him, following Kalen with a moment’s hesitation.

Inside the hull of the freighter, the First Mate remembered how cramped it was in comparison to the station he had been in for over a week. From the metal floor plates to the ceiling was only about two meters (or seven feet, if you used an outdated system of measurement). The metal panels were of a darker color, mostly browns and various shades of silver mixed with black. This was not due to rust or color-scheme, but merely flame-resistance coatings to prevent fires or other hazards from spreading too rapidly from the ship. Pilot Kira swivelled her head from one point to the next, taking in her new surroundings. It was obvious she wasn’t expecting anything quite like this. “This way, if you please, to the Bridge.” Stated Kalen, gently pushing off the walls in the low-gravity. It took a moment for the new crewmember to get the hang of movement inside the ship, but soon enough after passing through several bulkheads and four-way-hallway points; they made it to the command bridge. The bulkhead to it was wide open, but it seemed all the bulkheads were automatic, so in case of a hull breach they would seal off in the depressurized areas, though some also looked manual. Kalen stepped through the bulkhead, but went no further before unzipping the just enough of his uniform jacket to remove the Captains’ pins he wore. Placing them both in one hand after making his uniform quickly spick-and-span, he moved carefully next to the Captain’s chair. From Kira’s angle, she could only see so much of the rather small bridge. It only had four seats, including the captain’s chair in the center. The one towards the front of the ship, with arched and welded windows, was obviously the pilot’s seat. The other two on the flanks of the captain’s chair, but more towards the rear of that spot, she was unsure of what their purpose was. Though from the console controls, they looked to be internals and navigation. Something caught her eye besides the equipment. She noticed a rather fat arm on the captain’s chair, which also had a jury-rigged cup holder. Kalen extended his hand to the fat hand that laid limp, except for a few movements of acknowledgement to the First Mate’s arrival.

“Here are your pins, Captain.” Kalen handed them over to the obese arm, which proceeded to throw them into the cup holder. “Also, Captain, our new crewmember is here; Pilot Kira Bellam.” The First Mate took a step back, giving both Kira future movements towards her assigned station, but also for the Captain. With a moderate grunt, Captain Filem Parjax, the real Captain Filem Parjax, stood up to face the new pilot. The man was extremely over-weight, but not quite a blob. He still had the form of a human, but certainly one with too many beers and donuts. He looked similar to the striking Kelan Varga, if he had a complete opposite who was double his age. Parjax had even matching five o’clock shadow, but it was patchy and not even anywhere on his face. That meant he either shaved irregularly or was simply too lazy to shave all of his face at once. Unlike Kalen, though, Parjax simply wore whatever he liked. He had a dark green T-shirt that just barely tucked into his brown cargo-pants, and an unbuttoned khaki cargo jacket. The only thing that seemed to match at all between the two men was the Compass Merchant Marine patches on the right shoulders of their jackets. Parjax’s eyes lit up when he saw the fit, young, new pilot. “Well well, little lady, welcome to my humble home,” exclaimed with Captain with a mock bow. He had some difficult even mock bowing, but he smiled, revealing very clean teeth. At least he was hygienic. Glancing between the two men, Kira barely said, “But… you’re… you’re a…”
“A Duster? Of course! I was born in real man’s territory! Not on the stuffy, plutocratic, arrogant homeworld!” The Captain glanced over to First Mate Varga, “No Offense.”

“None taken, Captain.” Kalen put his hands behind his back and stood with respect towards his commanding officer. If he had actually taken offense, the noblese oblige of the Talidani upbringing would have prevented the First Mate from saving so. The Captain motioned Kira to her console, to which she shyly brushed past Kalen just to avoid the airspace of Parjax. “She may be a bit wider than your use to, but she’ll move like a Skragger-fish through Sereum's sand.” The fat Officer said proudly, plopping back down into his seat. “I don’t think she’ll understand your reference, Captain Parjax. By the way, sir, here is our Service check and other errands you had me complete,” interrupted Kalen, his voice sounding lax and not nearly authoritative, but simply using his superior's title, clearly trying to keep Parjax on track. The young man handed over quite the stack of papers, to which Parjax riffled through just to find the check. He groaned vocally at the pay check. “I swear, it gets smaller every time.” The captain motioned with his right hand towards Kalen, “Get me a beer too, while you’re up?” Kalen quickly replied in a calm voice though stern, probably because it happened so often, “Captain, we are due for launch in 20 minutes.”
Captain Parjax immediately snapped out of whatever daze he was in. He sat up in his chair and sounded more resolute and sure. “Pilot Kira, contact the Tower and prep for launch.” Kira, who had been slowly looking over the controls turned to look over her shoulder to quickly nod, “Yes, sir!” she sounded as if she was back in training. Her fingers moved in a flurry over the controls as lights began to activate. Kalen Varga sat down at his console, internals. It gave a complete layout of the ship, from the engines, to crew quarters, to the point-defense turrets on the dorsal and ventral, the outer hull, and finally the bridge. The ship was only 130 meters, with a crew complement of twenty. Pressing a few buttons on his console, the display sent messages to the crews’ quarters for all hands to stations. In moments, another middle-aged man who was dressed in nothing but a T-shirt and crude civilian pants. Once again, the only thing that matched was the Merchant Marine symbol on the shoulder. It appeared that the crew was mostly Dusters, except for the more vital components, such as Pilot, First Mate, and likely Head Engineer. Kalen smiled to himself; Captain Parjax may be lazy in port, but he knew his business well. He wasn’t in the cheapest dock because he was broke, but because he was wealthy and didn’t care for luxuries besides his ship and his crew. Once the allotted time had passed, Kira spoke up, “Captain, the dock has been cleared, fuel and goods loaded, and we are ready for launch.” Almost on cue, the dockyard doors began to slide open, opening the way into outer space. Along with this, all the bridge crew put on their restraining belts. Captain Parjax motioned his hand forward,” Pilot, take us out at the allotted speed until we pass the beacons, then ahead full.”
“Yes, Captain,” came the quick reply from the young pilot. The trade ship used chemical thrusters to push out into open space, heading towards visually blinking orange lights in the distance that marked the safety zone of the station. On the navigation console, they blinked as well. All the crew felt zero-gravity take hold. The captains’ pins began to slowly drift out of the crude cup holder, to which Parjax grabbed them out of mid-air in a slow motion. He then began to pin them to his own jacket collar. Once the Prospector was half-way from the station but not quite to the orange lights, Parjax calmly ordered, “Activate rotating mid-section.”

“Activating, Captain,” answered Kalen Varga, pressing a few switches. Both on the internals console and in reality, the boxy mid-section of the ship began to rotate slowly. Within a few rotations, full gravity had returned to the entire ship. Kira piped up from her seat, “Captain, we have just passed the signal beacons. We are in open space.” Captain Parjax unclipped his restraining belt with a grunt of relief, then pointed to the man sitting at Navigation. “Set course for Station Palisade.” The man simply nodded, not really responding to his captain. He was, of course, a Duster and didn’t really care for pointless niceties. Undoing his restraining belt, First Mate Kalen Varga turned to look at the rest of the bridge. He smirked, glancing at Kira, then to Captain Parjax. For five years he had been part of the crew for Parjax, for four of those years he had been impersonating the Captain so Filem Parjax didn’t have to leave the ship in port while over Talidan or any other Federal post. Still, Kalen felt at home. He glanced back to Kira, watching her hands fluidly move over the controls, totally intent on her work. Still though… things had gotten better.

[Anagonia]

[ FT ]

[ Mature ]

NO EYES

Lights flashing all sorts of colors brought life to the rhythmic beats produced from the stage. Down below, hundreds danced in the open warehouse filled with artificial fog, sweat and all forms of musk and perfumes. Darkness prevailed for several seconds before being fought off by the return of the flashing beams of rays and colors, generating cheers and cries of celebration. Little could be done to settle this crowd; a crowd that, like hundreds more scattering across the province, would do little but groove and party until the new years sun rose in the sky. For it was that special night when the night owls and party animals and all forms of nocturnal sorts gave way to unity with their daytime brethren, integrating not only a celebratory feel to the mood but also of release from all things that tied one to the world. When all sorts of rationalization became moot and the only objective was to simply exist and be happy.

Like an ocean, the rhythm would rise and fall, producing equal amounts of activity or lack thereof. People from all backgrounds, never knowing the others name or purpose in life, would carelessly embrace the fascination of coexistence forgetting even the status which they held. So it was of no surprise that when the crowd began to shift, a small circle formed within the mass of people. Within that circle, two party-goers allowed themselves to embrace the eternity of the moment by dancing to the beats as they were formed and dropped. One in particular, a male of no renown, danced wildly and with little regard to dignity. His movements, of which were sharp turns of his torso and quick stomps of his feet, inspired his fellow dance partner to follow along. She would occasionally glimpse towards him in her movements, watching and catching swift glances of his eyes as they moved as wild as he did. In turn, so did she.

Over the course of several minutes, people surrounding the dancing couple joined in the routine. This was very new to most of them, being from the daylight and normal routines of the orderly society; never knowing and never doing the things cherished by the night dwellers. Their minds lost to the music and moment, they followed the mans routine. A sharp fist forward, then back followed by a twist and stomp of the feet. This unique set of movements was repeated several times, cultivating in a circular fashion with a few bobs of the head. This movement would continue, never failing to cease, which encouraged the more order-based among the crowd to continue its steps. Eventually it evolved into a sort of party dance; wherein after three rotations of similar movements, the crowd would shout some random word in unison. The DJ would even become a participant in this, adjusting the beats in accordance with the new dance.

The popularity of the dance increased with an hours time. The entire populace of the warehouse was dancing along, embracing the new style and new genre of expressionism being displayed. The man in particular continued his steps, occasionally doing some new movement that added to the new dance and further entranced his new audience. A leg shooting outward, than inward, followed by a quick to the left. As another thirty minutes passed, the man added a hop and a skip to the front, culminating in a quick drop to the floor before resuming previous moves. Another twenty minutes and he was adding a zombie walk to the list, gathering the attention of all surrounding him as the music tempo changed briefly to a more ominous mood. Then, the man simply fell to the ground.

The music stopped as nearby dancers turned to look towards the man, expecting some new move to be busted in front of their eyes. As the minutes dragged on and the man failed to continue his routine, people became concerned. Eventually the woman, of all present, dared to near the man on the ground. She screamed, horror filling her expression as a pool of purple blood oozed from the mans empty eye-sockets. In her frightful state, she managed a glimpse upward through tear-filled eyes as others began collapsing, their own eyeballs exploding and purple streams of matter shooting out from their skulls. She began to run for the exit, as did most of the surviving occupants, only to fall forward as they began to convulse with cries of agony and pain. These voices were eventually silenced by the onslaught of death.

A new sound resounded inside the warehouse a few minutes later. The sound of sizzling flesh.

[Kreanoltha]

[ FT ]

[ Mature ]

On Primundus, a day is 48 hours long, the clock is a 24 hour clock, and months are roughly twice as long as modern ones are. The noliri are nocturnal though AM-PM orientation remains the same.

A Throw of the Dice

Wednesday, December 54th, 9,986

The city of New Eudaemus was blanketed in snow. It was the middle of the deep winter that always seized hold of the small continent of Elyseus. Elyseus was only about three hundred thousand square kilometers. The western half was dominated by a massive range of jagged, cyclopean, frozen mountains. New Eudaemus was the only city left on Elyseus. The peaks of the towers in the center of the great city were crowned in stormy clouds. Some nearly rivaled the mountains to the West in height. Along its inland boarder was the dense Cinereus Forest that formed a thick sea of gray-green leaves and bark between Terbyri Mountains and New Eudaemus.

The one hundred twenty thousand square kilometer city of New Eudaemus had a shallow concave curve along its coast line. The coast lands were covered in piers for small commercial ships that were able to float on the sea when they were planet side. The foundations of the piers were sunk deep into the soft marshes of the coast. Smaller fisheries capped the piers which could be as long as several kilometers.

The main residential area was in the center of the city and made of hundreds if not thousands of massive skyscrapers. Out side of that central hub, there were thousands of businesses and factories making, selling, and providing a myriad of products and services. On the outside of the city there was a ring of smaller, older buildings. Brownstones, town houses, small buildings, and other such places were packed close to each other along narrow roads.

16:00 PM, Primundus, New Eudaemus

In his downtown apartment Arevus rose slowly from his bed and grabbed a cigarette before resetting his alarm. He was 2.34 meters tall, had black hair, gray eyes, and skin almost as pale as paper. His room had gotten cold overday, or cold to a Nolirus at least. For a human his room would be frigid. It was still evening and even through snow clouds hung over his apartment building, what little light that made it through his bedroom's one shuttered window made his eyes ache for a moment before they adjusted. He groaned.

“Raise temperature six degrees.” Arevus muttered between drags.

“Complying.” his apartment automation system said in a cold modulated voice. “New temperature thirteen degrees Centigrade.”

Arevus sighed. He needed coffee. Coffee before anything else. He was vaguely aware of his surroundings at this point. He hated evenings. He was always groggy, but it didn't stop him from getting up early. At 16:00 most people were still asleep. He was just becoming aware of the muted, light earth-tone color of his kitchen's walls as he fumbled with his coffee maker so perhaps he still was, for a given value, still asleep.

It took Arevus all of twenty minutes to get ready for the night once he'd had some coffee. He'd been doing this for a hundred years, or at least some variation of this. Ten minutes to shower and ten to get dressed; today it was a blue three piece and fedora, a red silk button up, a gold tie, brown leather shoes and gloves, and a heavy tan wool overcoat. He checked his watch. 16:35. Time to get moving.

Arevus needed three minutes to take the elevator up the forty floors to the 670th floor car garage. He'd be able to sleep in to a normal hour if he worked on world or lived on Achilleaus. As it was though, he had an hour long drive ahead of him; seven hundred kilometers. Achilleaus and Odykenus maintained geosynchronous orbits at five and eight hundred kilometer orbits respectively. It was found that they each had powerful gravetic drives once astronauts were able to board them. These two cities had jump-started the development of Kreanolthan technology. Anyway, the drive wasn't so terrible. The stars on the way up were beautiful.

The garage made up the top thirty floors of the apartment building. Arevus sighed as he walked to his car. It was a late model and, to his eyes, completely devoid of style. It had bland, arcing lines, featureless headlights, and a dull chromeless grille. No, it didn't even have a grille. There was no mechanical need for one, but even mid-level cars had a nice shiny chrome grille. He'd bought it when it was fifteen years old. One of the quarterpanels was bent. It had probably been in a collision, but the reactor had checked out and the gravetic drives and dampeners were good at least. Still it bothered him. Then again, it worked. It got him to orbit every day and the ash tray always worked. That was really all he needed.

17:40 PM, Achilleus Orbit

An hour later Arevus was approaching port twenty-eight of Achilleaus. Sixteen bronze colored spokes reached away from the central hub, bent slightly away from Primundus. It almost seemed like a lotus blossom floating on the grey-blue pond of Primundus. A thirty kilometer wide, bronze lotus blossom, but the similarity remained. There were ports like the one Arevus was approaching all around the rim of the city. The forcefield that held the atmosphere of the city also blocked entrance to it. However, the ports had a different sort of field that allowed large objects, such as cars and ships, to enter and exit the city. Achilleus' cyclopean towers and seamless bronze skin seemed almost unreal. The Kreanolthans had lived on it for over a thousand years, but still, it sometimes seemed alien to Arevus.

In the distance, beyond Selvanus, the second, smaller moon of Primundus, loomed the gate. Arevus had never traveled through it, but it allowed ships and the like to travel interstellar distances. He never wanted to either. For some reason he always equated it with being thrown at hundreds or thousands of times the speed of light and to be frank, that idea scared the shit out of him.

As his car neared the port, Arevus keyed a button on his car's console and throttled down to only a hundred kilometers per hour. The button had entered him into a handshake process with the port. He keyed a second button that allowed the port to take control of his avionics to guide him through. Once within the city it only took him a few moments to reach his company’s tower.

The Feanus Corporation was attempting to created a cityship. It would be based on the ancient cityships which had orbited Primundus since time immorium. Arevus was a drafter on one of several teams creating possible designs for the first attempt to replicate a cityship in recorded Kreanolthan history. To be more specific, he was designing the substructure of pier six: the frame and bracing structures that that pier would be built around. Superstructures, like towers, would built on top of that. Every angle had to be perfect. Every plane had to be exact. The only saving grace of this project was that a form of math had been created to generate things like this for him. It would still take years to produce the designs and craft digital prototypes, but it would be decades as opposed to centuries.

18:00 PM, Achilleus, The Feanus Building

Arevus' work day started at 18:00 in the evening when he arrived in his teams' draftroom and sat down at his workstation; he got an hour for lunch at 24:00 AM midnight and got off at 10:00 in the morning. This was well before the moons set in the sky, but on Achellius that meant little. The view from Achellius was always filled with silver stars against the velvet black canvas of the void. Arevus loved the stars. The drive was worth it to be able to work in the heavens; to always be near them. Even at his workstation he felt freer than in his apartment in the clouds of New Eudaemus.

The walls of the draftroom were white and open. They were covered in projections of honeycombs and crosses that created the pier. Along side them were the current version of the central hub that their pier would have to fit. Everything had to fit just right. Every algorithm had to be perfect. The matrices that generated the equations for the lines and angles that formed the pier were based on them. A single millionths place off could ruin days, if not weeks, of work. To make things even worse, it took a day just to design a single kilometer. The intricacies and importance of the substructure meant that every section had to be designed from scratch. There were limited templates that could be used, but they would so often need to be edited and rebuilt that it was easier to write the algorithm for each section from scratch.

Arevus learned this soon after he'd enrolled in structural engineering. For some reason he had images of sitting at a drafting table with a brass compass and ruler in hand penning his designs on paper. Of course he was quickly disillusioned of his romantics fantasies, but still, every once and a while he indulged and imagined himself at a wooden drafting table under the stars drawing his designs by hand with a cup of tea and a plate of bread and cheese close at hand instead of at a hologram covered workstation rattling off numbers for an algorithm for the majority of his day. In reality he was less of an architect than a programmer. He wrote code that generated code that generated a section of the pier. After his team finished the codes would be sent to the digital mockup lab where his team's version of the city would be designed and subjected to centuries of simulated stress. The most successful version would have a one tenth model built and tested for fifty years of real world tests before the final version would be built. Arevus just hoped that Feanus Corporation was still be afloat by the time they finished. If the CEO could keep the company from going public, it very well might.

When he was perfectly honest with himself, Arevus had to admit that the work bored him. He kept going because at least there was potential for advancement here. He would one day have a better job with on the job experience. It wasn't really all bad though. He had to admit that he felt a great deal of satisfaction when a code successfully created a new section. There was another reason though. If he would ever get over himself and take the chance, one of his coworkers, Amella, had always caught his eye. Her deft, slender fingers always moved more quickly over the displays than most others, and her sapphire-blue eyes were beautiful against her snowy skin. He sighed as he turned back to his codes and lit another cigarette. He was older, somewhat successful, and certainly in better shape than in highschool, but somethings refused to change.

9:30 AM, Achilleus, The Feanus Building

Arevus yawned, set down his cigarette, and grabbed his coffee with one hand while finishing the last of his day's codes with the other. Five more minutes passed and... yes. That was it. Section 159 was checked and double-checked. He complied it and sent it off to assembly.

“Kelidus,” Arevus said to the man next to him, “how's your section coming?” He picked his cigarette back up.

“Just sending it to assembly now mate.” Kelidus said.

“Sounds good. We should grab some drinks or something after we get out.”

“Sounds good. Aralius works?”

“They've got booze.”

“Alright. See you there.”

Arevus spent the last twenty minutes backing up his work, signing off from all of his accounts, cleaning out his trash folders, and shutting down his station. He leaned back in his chair and took a quick look over everything to make sure he hadn't missed anything. Satisfied, he put his hat on, picked up his overcoat, and lit a cigarette before turning to leave.

“Hey, Kelidus, I have to swing by the store to pick up some stuff for the week. I'll be there soon, not much of a detour, but feel free to get started a little early.”

“Hey, that's not a problem.” Kelidus grinned.

Arevus turned for the elevator to the roof garage, and, to his shock, saw Feanus himself walking right towards him; the owner and CEO of Feanus Corp. He'd fought for years to keep the company from going public so as to retain control over the business. His hair was as black as the void, he had a timeless air about him, and he towered over everyone else in the hall, standing nearly 2.44 meters tall. Arevus could feel his pulse skyrocketing as the imposing man approached. He hadn't screwed up so far as he knew. Why was he panicking?

“Arevus?” Feanus asked him, looking up from his mobile for a brief moment.

“Uh, yes. Sir.” Averus said nervously.

“You had grid twelve, section 159, pier 6 yes?” Feanus asked completely absentmindedly as he flicked through dozens of holographic displays on his mobile.

“Yes.” Arevus said. He could feel nausea welling up.

“It's shot. You fucked up your algorithm. Today's work was worthless. Nothing even comes close to fitting with the hub because of it. The other grids are fine, but you're going to have to redo yours tomorrow because I'm not authorizing overtime to fix your fuck up. Your team can come in on the weekend to make it up.”

“Uh...,” Arevus' stomach had dropped to his knees. “Yes. Sorry.”

Feanus sighed. He knew that it was easy to make a mistake in these sorts of codes, but he just didn't have time or budget for it. He shook his head. “Don't let it happen again. I've already informed your team leader.”

Arevus walked away with a stunned look on his face. He'd never messed up a code since he'd started working for Feanus Corp.

Feanus walked back towards his office elevator. As he stepped in, he also minimized his mobile. He hadn't wanted to do that. The young man really did have potential, but it had been necessary. There just was no time to push back the dates. He'd lived for over ten thousand years. He was one of The First Awoken. He knew when to be patient. It was not now.

Feanus remembered little of his, “childhood,” aside from the fact that he couldn't remember being a child. He was always an adult in his memories. His memories of that time had little more than vague fuzzy images floating inside of him representing what he thought. Most of them had to do with eating, finding shelter, and mating. He could remember scratching pictures on rocks and wood with bits of flint and obsidian. He and his band could never quite agree on what they meant, but they gave his thoughts a fuzzy, vague form, and that was all he needed to grow. Slowly the shapes grew sounds that he could make with his throat. They could agree to sounds.

Slowly words grew around the thoughts and became thoughts of their own. At that point a new world awoke to Feanus. Knowledge flowed in the words beyond anything he had ever known before. He would drink from the river, and he realized that he wanted it. Not a sip or just enough to sate his thirst. He wanted all of it. To drink from the river until it yielded all of its secrets. To strike down the old gods and their ignorance, superstition, and stagnation. To one day peel the away the skin from the universe and stare into its substance. These cityships were a major step forward. A feat of macro-engineering like this would be valuable.

The arrival of the Gatekeepers though... Not since the discovery of steam power at the height of the Mykellian Empire had something both excited and infuriated him so. FTL was hand delivered to him and yet, like a child, he was not to touch it. He was to take his gift and set it aside to look at it, but never probe the depths of its machinations. Never to understand, improve upon, replicate this wondrous device. He was not even to try and make his own, not that anyone had too many objections to that since the Forethought disaster had destroyed the ship, it's asteroid base, and all 200 personnel assigned to the launch. Since that day he'd sworn to make his own drive. In the end Icarus would win. He would take his time, and spend it slowly, but he would win out in the end even if it took him tens of thousands of years. He had the time. Hell, he had a hundred thousand years if that's what it took. Icarus died from lack of patients and forethought. He would not make the foolish prince's mistake.

Feanus sat down at his desk and lit a cigarette. He had lived for over ten thousand years. He would not soon rush in where danger lurked. The 100,000 remaining First Awoken hadn't survived for so long for nothing. He captured and sold the Fire of the Gods. The power of the atom. These Gatekeepers would not thwart him. He would have their secrets in due time.

10:10 AM, Achilleus, Rapid-Mart

It had taken Arevus longer to get to the market than it had for him to get what he needed: paper towels, milk, some meat. It hadn't cost him too much, though he was worried he would have to ask his landlord to put this month's rent on his tab. He was being docked a day's pay; maybe more. Oh well. He'd grab a few drinks, go home, get–

“The fuck!?!?” Arevus shouted.

Some dipshit had bashed his rear bumper. There was a huge dent under his trunk lid. He pressed the latch and to his relief the trunk still opened. He set the groceries down.

“Fuck.” he growled as he slammed the lid shut.

Arevus didn't have the time or money to be dealing with this. He lifted off from the lot and opened the throttle all the way up. He really needed a fucking drink.

10:15 AM, Achilleus, Aralius' Bar, Club, and Recreations

Aralius' was a low key place. In fact, it was also ground level. It was well known for being disreputable, but that never stopped the steady stream of drunkards, stoners, prostitutes, and gamblers from appearing after 10:00 PM when the, "reputable," people got off from their reputable jobs.

“Arevus,” Kelidus shouted as he saw his friend enter the bar.

“Hey,” Arevus said in a rather drained tone. “Vodka 180, triple, straight.” he said to the bartender.

“Here go.” the bartender said in a disinterested voice.

“Damn, you sound like shit.” Kelidus said, “What happened to you?”

“I fucked up my algorithm.” Arevus said. “I'm going to have to come in on the weekend to get it right.” He winced as he downed his triple shot. “Then some cocksucker rear-ended me in the parking lot. I mean, the cars fucking fly! How the fuck do you even do that?” He motioned to the bartender to bring him another triple. “Oh, and you sound sober. What the fuck is taking you so long to get drunk?” he said angrily.

“Calm down.” Kelidus said. “Sounds like shit hit the fan. Is the car alright?”

“Just a bigass dint.” Arevus said after downing another triple. “I need to pace myself.” he mumbled as he looked at the two large shotglasses stacked next to his hat.

“And what was wrong with the algorithm?” Kelidus said as he waved away the bartender.

“I don't know yet...” Arevus said defeatedly. “I mean... It looked fine when I sent it in for assembly. Then Feanus comes by and tells me it's fucked. I mean, Feanus himself came to say it. It must be total shit.” he said as he fumbled with a cigarette.

“Damn...” Kelidus said. “You know how much that bumper will be?”

“Fifty argentem at least.” Arevus muttered. “I mean... I went to school, after high-school, for seventy years. I'm only two hundred, but I've been working for a hundred years now. I should have at least been able to pay of my college debts by now. I'm still ninety-five in the hole. I mean, fuck, I shouldn't be stuck here, with my shit job, in my shit car, slumming in this shithole. Oh, triple.” he gestured to the bartender.

“Damn, you're only two hundred?” Kelidus exclaimed. “You've been working for a hundred years now? Wait, you owe ninety-five?”

“Yeah to all.” Arevus mumbled right before bolting his third triple. He was starting to feel it. Slow down now. He fumbled for another cigarette. “I mean, fuck, I thought I'd at least be out of debt by now. Instead I barely have enough left over for booze.” His speech was sluring.

“Dude,” Kelidus muttered. “Sorry.” His hazel-gray eyes seemed sad. He'd known Arevus for five year and had never known he was so hard up. “Hey, how about I buy you a joint? I mean, just to take the edge off of it.”

“Yeah.” Arevus said. “I mean... why not?” He knew his weed, but it had been years since he had the money to spend on it.

“Barkeep,” Kelidus said, “one joint.”

“Yeah,” the bartender muttered as he passed Kelidus a plastic tube. It was a little thicker than a cigarette and a little longer as well. “Here you go man.” Kelidus said as he patted Arevus' shoulder.

“Yeah, thanks.” Arevus said. He finished off his cigarette, opened the tube, and lit the joint. It would take a few moments for it to kick in. “Can I get a water?”

“Whatever.” the bartender slid a water down to him.

Arevus sighed as he felt himself relaxing. “Thanks man.” he said to Kelidus with a slight laugh. “Damn, it's actually a little funny when you step back and think about it. I went to school for seventy years for something that I ended up not liking, leveraged myself up to the hilt for it, and now I don't even known if I can get out of debt since everyone I work with has centuries of on the job experience on me. I've a shitty car. I literally live a world away from where I work, and I take constant shit. Hell, I can't even work up the balls to ask Amella out.”

“You've been awkwardly trying to work up the guts for two years now.”

“I know. I'm hilariously pathetic.” Averus started laughing a lot now. Kelidus smiled. At least Arevus was relaxed, if a bit hysterical, now.

“You know,” Arevus said, “That's it. I need to stop taking shit from people. That's my problem. I take too much shit from people.” Kelidus was somewhat skeptical. Epiphanies while stoned were rarely productive.

At that moment a man in a black, leather coat walked in and sat down next to Arevus at the bar.

“Double scotch.” he said. He leaned over on the bar and knocked over Arevus' water.

“Hey!” Arevus' grabbed the man's shoulder, “you're buying me another one.”

“Fuck off.” the man in the coat said.

“Did I sound like I was joking?” Arevus growled.

“Hey you might wan–“ Kelidus started.

“Stay out of this.” Arevus growled.

Kelidus was getting nervous now. Arevus was very drunk and slightly stoned.

“Seriously though, you're a little–“

Arevus cut him off again. “I know what I'm doing.” he said in a slightly slurred voice.

“Listen to your frie–“

Arevus cut him off with a punch to the face. There was a human sitting in the corner of the bar. He was in the Republic of Kreanoltha on business, and apparently no one had ever told him to avoid Aralius'. To him the taller, drunken nolirus had suddenly twisted on his stool and had his fist where the other one's head had been. The one in the jacket flew into a table crashing through it. It couldn't have been just his weight. Even though he was much taller than the human, he looked to be a bit thinner as well. He he didn't look like he could have weighed more than eighty-five kilograms.

The drunken one slurred, “Fuck off.”

The one in the coat stood back up and tackled the drunken one. The drunkard went flying into a wooden panel on the wall and smashed through it as though it wasn't even there. To the human, these two noliri seemed to be little more than blurs flying about the room. The drunk climbed out of the wall and threw a punch, which appeared as a blur to the human. The one in the coat blocked it. It looked like it should have shattered both their arms, and, if their bones weren't made of a substance not unlike carbon fiber, it would have. A series of blurs followed when suddenly the sound of a gauss rifle charging broke the atmosphere.

“You two!” the bartender shouted, holding a short rifle in plain view, “get out of my bar. Now! I mean it. Right the fuck now!” He walked right up to both of them and walked them right to the door. “OUT. Dry up before either of you think of showing up here again.

Kelidus stood up to follow Arevus, but the bartender held his hand up. “You definitely don't want to get involved.

Out in the alley, the man in the coat turned to walk away when – “Get the fuck back here!' Arevus shouted at him.

“What is your fucking problem?” the man in the coat shouted.

“I've been taking shit for years. I'm done with it.” Arevus slured out. His speech was badly stilted now, as the joint and his nine shots of almost pure alcohol were beginning to take their toll on him and the sun was beginning to appear. His eyes hurt. The man in the coat had it even worse. The rays were shining right in his eyes.

“And now I'm going to do something about it!” Arevus' slurred voice said. His foot ground over a bit of broken glass.

Telinus, that was the man in the coat's name, couldn't be sure, but he thought he heard a switch blade locking into place. It looked like... oh shit. That drunken fucker had a knife! He reached his hand into his coat and pulled out his gun. He closed his eyes and fired off three rounds.

Arevus was nearly to the man in the coat. He was going to beat the shit out of– He felt a sharp pinch in his chest. His legs stopped listening to him. He fell to his knees, gasping for air.

“What the... fuck?” Arevus gasped. He looked down at his chest. Weird. Could have sworn my shirt was a brighter red. Wait.. there's a hole in... what? That's going... that's in my... It was getting harder to breath. His vision was tunneling. “You..." Arevus' voice was reduced to a gargling sound as blood flowed from his shredded left lung and out his threat, "you shot me... bastard.” he gasped. He could feel his strength pouring out through the hole in his chest. His vision was getting darker. "Oh god..." he began panicking, "I'm goi..." It was all he had breath left to say before his arms lost the strength to hold him up. He collapsed in the dirt and dust of the alley. The broken glass digging into has face would be quite painful were he aware of it.

As the light moved out of his eyes Telinus he looked for the knife. No, this was wrong. The drunk had a... shattered glass behind him. The sound of a switchblade. And sirens closing in.

[Dolmhold]

Predator and Prey

[ FT ]

Nothing Out of the Ordinary
“Status- Twenty percent thaw, subject has regained minor consciousness.”
A state of tranquil frost was the status to which he awoke, to a cold that was soothing and numbing at the same time. It was a blissful cold, or so his barely conscious and mostly-asleep brain had informed and logged within the deep pools of memory. He was mildly aware of a translucent blue solid encasing him, and that it was too encased in a transparent solid of a different kind. Pale white shadows had appeared to move in an equally pale environment on the outside. This was too early, go back to sleep…

“Status- Fifty percent thaw, sleeper fluid is successful in bring him back to sleep. Due to reawake in twenty hours.”
He awoke again to find himself dressed in the black and red business uniform of the Autumn Wind mining corporation, with the eccentrically designed pyramidal cap that designated himself as a navigations engineer, first class, while he sat on a fold-away bunk in a room that he deduced to be his from the volume of personal belongings that he had in this room. He sat up, but as soon as he idled, a beeping choir blindsided him from the right. It was from his tablet, and it was a message from his bosses.

“You are to report to your shift in one hour, Jin (Gold), navigations department. Check in when you are an awake rabbit.”
Memories began to flash though his mind like a stroke of lightning as he recalled what was happening. It must have been a month in since he stepped into the cryogenic preserver, which was what he had taken. The ship should be on its final approach with the asteroid, Qingdi(Clear Land), he reasoned, as he strode forward in the long and elegant robes that made up the attire of the Celestial Domain and would be indistinguishable from other sets of formal clothing if it wasn’t for the decorations and symbols of the Autumn Wind business cooperative. Signing himself out of his room with his digital signature of his family name, Gold, he maneuvered his way around the hallways. The fact that he was a first-class navigation engineer did help in that people moved around him.

“Jin ChunWu reporting in,” he stated to the manager at the business office as he bowed to signify his respect as per Taist order. “Is there anything I should be concerning myself about?” Chunwu further enquired.

“Yes, and that is your shift in one hour. That and your hair, I daresay that your mother wouldn’t catch herself with a son with that hair!” The manager, a relatively plump man in his sixties and a long grey beard of which he utilized to highlight his perceived wisdom. Indeed, he was elder compared to the younger Chunwu, who was in his mid-twenties, and between the two of them it was set in stone that was of higher position and face. “You’d better get back there and rearrange your hair, little one.”

Following as instructed and as embarrassed, he rushed back to his room to fix up his long, almost feminine hair in a more neat hair bun that would be tucked underneath his engineer’s cap before emerging back upon the curved habitation quarters of the CMSCM Sharp Earth, an asteroid mining ship predominantly financed by the Gao family branch of the Cooperation, of which itself was largely owned by the house of Wei. He himself had put a major stake within the cooperation, but largely because he knew about the easy and cheap money it’d make for his family in addition to the decent pay. A fifth of a thousandth of the entire revenue of each venture, that was simply amazing!

An hour passed, with a little chatter here and there but nothing important, and before he knew it, he was sitting on the chair processing computer data about the ship. The images and things fluttered by, nothing too eventful as he wisely kept his head low and did his job. It was a monotonous job, but still raked in decent money. Everything was always fine...

The CMSCM Sharp Earth was a beast of utility that transversed the void between Wu and the asteroid belt within the system. With a satellite-dish of a ultraviolet later mounted at the front for mining purposes, followed by a ring of forward tow engines, the forward cargo bay, counter rotating habitation rings separated by a magnetic sail engine and finally another ring of fusion candle thrusters much like the ones up front except with more vectoring ability. It was constructed in these ring modules and could be detached, although with some difficulty, if need be from the central fuel storage body. As it left the planet to the asteroid belt, it had utilized its powerful magnetic sail inflated by a degree of the fusion plasma from the otherwise independent fusion thrusters to make use of the free ride from the sun’s solar winds. There were many systems to watch over indeed, but everything was functioning properly.

Another hour arrived, and nothing of note came upon his screen. Things were working fine. Or so fine that the central celestial coordination department called in. However, it was not congratulatory, there was no such thing.

“---Off---why---ejected---“ The message was fluttering with static, an odd thing. Still, something had to be wrong… especially with the word eject…

“Huh, that’s strange…” He commented…
Another hour passed by, and a announcement cut though. “Attention all crew members and on board stake holders. This is the captain speaking. Something has gone wrong. The forward engine module has lost connection. The computers are falsely responsive, they have since the beginning of the journey given us false outputs to our inputs- our ship is no where near Clear Land and its exact position has yet to be determined. It is assumed that this is sabotage in the electronics department by one of the crew members there. Who it is we cannot determine but hang tight. Captain out.”

In the depths of space, no one can hear you scream. But your crew members sure as heck can.

Digital War

“Have they realized yet?” Questioned a man in the shadows, his voice teeming with sly and utterly unsympathetic voice.
“Finally. However, they are so off course they it is inconceivable that they can return coherently. Our infiltration of the Celestial Coordination department was wise indeed, for our informants have told us about their tracking abilities. Finally, we can bring the Autumn Windbags down! They will never recover from this capital loss and the resulting fallout.” Another man chuckled in the shadows, before breaking out into a hysterical laughter with the other man.
“How much have they wronged out family, only to receive their payback in blood. Oh yes, how great is it when our house shall finally rise! Free from the slyness of the Wei, free from their chains…”
“You still shouldn’t have attempted to kill that other.”
“It was too tempting! Besides, it’s now over.”

Sharp Earth
Electronics Engineering Department

“Who was it that sabotaged our ship? Speak up!” The head of the lynch mob, a tall, imposing man of fifty bellowed from his lungs like a fist of authority willing to crush the ant that possibly doomed them, as if he carried no fear in crushing every ant to get to the culprit.
No one spoke, for none had a clue and nor did they wish to be punished for libel.

“Very well, then I shall bring out the whip. I shall also allow free speculation amongst yourselves for ten minutes. I shall return, and if results are not delivered, I am assuming full authority to punish.”

“But- That’s illeg” A young engineer, female and in her young twenties, fell silent when a certain gray boot that belonged to the captain connected with her ribs, sending her sprawling on the ground, moaning.

“I don’t care about the law when our lives are at stake here. Fail to isolate the culprit, and I will punish.” The captain spat menacingly before striding out of the room with a devilish anger.

“Chunhua (Spring Blossoms) are you alright?” Concerned another engineer, who ranked one class above.

“I’m fine. Who do you think it is though?” She muttered though gasped and bouts of pain.

“If I had to speculate, it’d be one of you two,” Jeered an engineer from the sidelines, who was promptly echoed by many a member of the engineering team.

“It’s not me!” Retorted the engineer who tended to Chunhua. “Why do you think it’s one of us anyways? We’re innocent!”

“It’s simple, Nanlong (Southern Dragon). You and Chunhua always hide in your own little corners, and I’ve noticed that you turn your eyes away from us. Why do you do so? Are you hiding something?”

“I have not hidden any goal of mine, why would I doom myself to an unceremonial death, to forever wander without rest without a proper burial?”

“It’s you alright.”

Sneers erupted from the others, belittling the two of them. They were at a disadvantage, for they were in the minority. But was it really Nanlong? Or Chunhua? The enraged lynch mob leader, as he walked in, did not seem to care, as he dragged the two of them over to a dark room, the sound of leather on skin and screams and pleas for mercy did little, and the captain of the ship simply turned away, for the ship had already fallen into anarchy in multiple ways. It was understandable, for they might already be doomed to death…

Wu Central News
Breaking News Headlines

“After an inquiry into the health of the Celestial Coordination Department’s Machines and the resources at their disposal, following the major delay in answering the distress signal of a private spacecraft in orbit and the near death of Gao Rongyi, pictured here, computer specialists have uncovered what has been described as a devastating warhead to the government. We’ll hear more from our anchor on the ground. Chu Hansong.”

“Thank you Meili, and I’m here at the central department for the Coordination of Celestial Matters where computer scientists have uncovered in the software of over half of the machines of the department, major backdoor programs are believed to have allowed subversive agents to control and manipulate the data that arrives on screen. The culprits cannot be tracked at this time, states the computer scientists, but due to the advanced programing of these installed programs, it is likely that the culprits are far more than amateurs. So far, no one short of Gao Rongyi has been victim of this intrusion, and it is believed that it may have been a preparation for a subversive attempt stopped dead in its tracks. Chu Hansong, signing out.”

Sharp Earth
Electronics Engineering Department

“Well… What are we waiting for? Let’s get to fixing the damn things!”
“But how? The entire OS has been compromised! We can’t access it from the computers themselves.”
“You’ve identified it through your tablet, in a juvenile hack-connect attempt right?”
“Yeah, and now the thing has been burned out thanks to the viral kit.”

A conversation of resolution took place under an umbrella of fear which was complimented by the air of panic which was clearly in the hearts of all, their shaking hands and facial expressions betraying any air of confidence they had hoped to induce within themselves. From the youngest and most junior of the bunch of the oldest and most senior of the batch, all were clearly fearful, but none had yet broken down.
“If we examine your tablet from a secure and contained partition and log the data, we could perhaps design a firewall or the like against such a virus or whatever the thing is, and view the computers directly from there.” A young mind reasoned, after silently overhearing the talk of the senior two engineers. “If we can pull this off.”

“Is it possible?”
“Yes, Jin Mulao’s thoughts are correct. Let’s get to work.”

Navigations Department

“Calm down, we’ll figure some things out sooner or later.” Chunwu found himself in the awkward position of reassuring someone after he himself had panicked and screamed, and he knew he scored major hypocrisy points on that. Still, he had to do something.
All around, people tended to themselves under the feeling of uncertain death, the worst feeling out of all possible. It was known that under certain death, people accepted it, but this question had no answers. Many were going rather insane. He too, was one of the insane the more he thought about it. Yes, let’s count to infinity…

Hidden Amongst the Shadows

“Damn. They’ve found out about our infiltration into the Celestial coordination department.” A man, his face hidden by the dark shadows of a cloak, spoke shamefully.
“I doubt that they’ll be able to trace the source though, and even if they do, I don’t feel sorry for that poor sap who’s home computer we used.” The other man, dressed in a similarly sly fashion, chuckled. “Indeed, the guy himself is an amateur hacker. All the better to fool the law with.”
“You still have control, Xie Moqi?”
“Yes, and everything is fully disposable.”
“Good.”

Electronics Department
Sharp Earth

“Your idea worked, Han Xin. We’ve cracked the code, and we’ve armed ourselves. Now we can hack the computers back. You ready?”
For once in the environment of uncertainly and fear, there was legitimate hope to be grasped. They were making real progress, and for once they could figure out what was going on. They had reason to work harder, for it looked possible that they could save themselves now. They could figure out whatever hacked the system. An announcement detailing their progress had been broadcast, and a semblance of order was restored. Things were going out well.
“Thanks, and I’m ready. Let’s probe the computers.”

Hired Killers

“Something is not right, Xie. The displays indicate a degree of external control.”
“I have not given any form of control to any external outsiders, it may be possible that they are recovering the system.”
“What? Terminate them!”
“That’s an extremely rash decision-“
“Do it! Else we have failed!”
“Hmm… Ah yes, the airlocks.”

In space, no one heard the crew members of the Sharp Earth scream their final breath.

Wu Central News

“Breaking news, as the Celestial Coordination department gets its functions online, the previously operating normally commercial mining ship the Sharp Earth has radically changed its course and speed, as well as being unresponsive to any inquiry calls, states the Celestial Coordination department. Many are speculating that the data manipulation has something to do with targeting the Gao family, the tycoons of the Autumn Winds cooperation, for first it was an individual and then one of their commercial ventures masked. The authorities are investigating into the matter...
---

[Xenohumanity]

[FT]

[Mature]

War Poetry of Three Eras

Ecclasiarchy: The Knyght In His Scales
-Anonymous, believed to be a combat medic of some degree

The Knyght in his scales strode over the heath,
His plates shimmered brazen, gore caked on his teeth;
The bones ‘neath his greaves lay as shards and as marrow,
The Knyght paid no heed, for his vision was narrow.

The swamp borne of gore and of young men’s last cries,
Stank of bile and weeping and sounded of flies;
The Knyght trudged onward, as one through the storm
At the shores of an ocean, wet winds whipping warm.

He found now his quarry, gripped sword in a hand,
Great shield in the other, marked with signs of this land;
The droid-drake at last had his liege in his sights,
His brother in vic’try, a soul in the right.

But the man of the forge who had forged yonder Knyght
Lay thrust on a spear, a dread foe’s last smite.
The Knyght stood aimless, confused in a way;
Had not his father promised vic’try today?

The bladesdrake kneel’d over, set down his blade,
Cast down his shield, and quickly he prayed.
Then taking the body of the one he called kin,
The Knyght laid down and died, absolving its sin.

And what do we learn from the Knyght and his end?
All engines, as men, must to their souls tend;
For when we face death, as all things in time,
We stand ‘lone fore judgement, to answer for crime.

Fear not, my dear brothers, my sisters in faith,
For even in dying, kind is death’s wraith;
In faith and in duty, tested and warred
Does one find true penance and one’s last reward.

---

Republic: Zeus
-Attributed to ‘Ltn. Mennary Tauuk, Artilleryman, Regretful Killer from Afar’, true author unknown

It’s hard you find a Terra that lacks
Zeus,
King of the Gods, Lord of Mount Olympus.
Few and far between, and for a reason.
He is the lord of thunder, and thunder is
A universal constant.

It takes its forms, dispensationalist almost;
First, a bolt of static in the clouds that
Sunders trees and strikes men dead
One by one,
Like a sniper, quick at the trigger, picking
Targets
Based solely on convenience.

After time gave such men powder,
With which to
Kill at greater range
Like the lightning from their sovereign,
That lightning paled, found lack of duty;
Men throwing balls did just as well
As a boiling clap, a blinding crush,
A half-way astounding death.

Then powder turned convenient,
Round after round thrown by men
A thousand times faster than rain falling ‘fore the storm.
A strangeness; no more were rows of men
Throwing little bolts of scorn and light at
One another.
Now, small teams, moving quickly,
Striking as fast as a flash from above,
Leaving just as quickly
As lightning fades to dark.

But some know thunder as
A strange bedfellow.
Some guns are great and large,
Big cans with swing-away bottoms
To fill with smaller cans and
Throw like boulders, with us as
Giants.

I was a
Giant among giants,
A king of the gods,
Zeus among Olympians.

I said
Strike them with fire and let them know pain
And it was done.

I barked out
Two more hours of constant fire, I know you can do it
And they did against all reason.

I shouted with a voice hoarse from thirst
If you relent for a moment, it’s a moment you’re closer to Death
And they fought off Death
As if He stood there himself
Threatening to take our divine blood from our veins
Drop by drop,
Lightning clap
By
Lightning clap.

In looking back,
With ears blown deaf
And eyes grown old,
I was wrong to play at
Zeusdom.

All men will come to know
Death as their friend or their foe,
And no measure of
Lightning or
Kingship
Can change His relation when
He comes for a soldier.

---

Federation: Things I Am Not
-Recovered from the body of XenoMarine GnySgt. Thorom Karrow, written immediately before suicide during pre-trial incarceration for violations of humanitarian law in a combat zone

A good person
A hero
A thing of valor or posthumous honors
A collection of augmentations
A meaty framework for a drug-addled mind
The father I should have been to Brennat and Shai
The lover my dear Sella deserved
A being of mercy or basic empathy
The sovereign owner of my hard-chipped mind
Deserving of pity
Deserving of abject scorn
A person of note despite my misdoings
Proud of what I’ve become
Glad that I must end it this way
To be forgotten
To be ignored as an object lesson
To be reborn in the failures of others