Sempiternal: The Path to Immortality (IC)

[Isle of Lithonia]

Preface

---

It is the year 2300 AD. Humanity has reached its next stage on the evolutionary tree. We have isolated the human personality, what makes you you, and have found ways to copy it, and replace it into other bodies. Now it does not matter if your body dies. Because your soul can outlive your body.

Death is a thing of the past. Mankind has become sempiternal.

But eternal life is yet imperfect.

To have your personality copied is not very cheap. And the machines used for copying are (almost) all controlled by the innumerable megacorporations that rule this world. But the biggest problem is that your copied personality is not quite you. Well, it is the "you" at the time you had yourself copied. However, any further experiences, memories, and knowledge gained will not be transferred to that "you". Therefore, if you want yourself to most properly live on after the death of your body, you better get yourself copied often. Which requires even more money...

Money is the lord of Earth. The governments that once brought peace and justice to the world are now little more than bloated, useless bureaucracies, riddled with corruption. Their armies are underfunded, their armament outdated, their ranks thin. They are mere shells of the glorious superpowers they once were. Some few governments are still trying to regain control over their old territories, but to little avail.

In their place have risen the megacorporations (MCs). These vast, efficient, well-established factions have their own declared territories, wherein they hold complete control. Everything from selling toothpaste and food, creating and maintaining transportation services, and delivering Criminal Justice and Military Security, is done by the MCs. But when money is supreme...

Justice in most parts of the world is a meaningless word. Unless you can dole out the requisite cash. But because of the nature of the MCs, there is a massive gap between the wealthy and the poor, and the middle class is made up almost exclusively of MC-contracted mercenaries, bounty hunters, and assassins (all of which are paid handsomely for their services). Because of this, the poor (which make up the majority of persons) must seek justice on their own whilst being crushed under the thumb of the MCs.

---

For hundreds of years, peace has reigned between the world's superpowers. Not a single shot has been fired between the MCs, and the world's economy has increased exponentially as a result. The great Leviathans are prosperous, expanding greatly, having been freed from the terrors of a world burning in war's flames. But as Sir Henry Maine put it,

"War appears to be as old as mankind, but peace is a modern invention."

Peace is a newfound reality in human history, and thus not fully assured. Eventually this balance of power between the superpowers must be broken. And when it does, war will erupt like a nuclear blast, shattering humanity's new consciousness.

This is not to say that warfare has not occurred at all. For there are several smaller factions that have been warring with the MCs, and with each other. Terrorists, vigilantes, secret conspiracies, criminal syndicates, religious armies...the world is not free of strife. Nevertheless, peace is the norm in the world. Or at least on the surface.

How long will it last?

[Badafar]

Eric Keller
Constellis Incorporated HQ, Executive floor, Suite 5
New York City
2300 AD

It was cold, the room had a chill that was more than just the temperature, it carried the confidence and power from the man behind the desk. It was cold, and Eric liked it. A warm room promotes laziness, it gives you a comfortable feeling that you can relax in, sit down and drink to, but when the skin on your bones shrink and your hair picks up, you become motivated to move, it promotes work. Eric leant forward slowly, the soft creaking of the leather beneath him broke the icy silence, the two other figures present in the room twiddled their thumbs nervously. Showing fear was a bad thing to do under the watchful eyes of a Constellis Executive, especially one with such influence over the city. It was the turn of the century, many would be celebrating a new change in perspective, perhaps hoping for an end to the supposedly brutal watch by the corporations that controlled the movements that took place, yet here Eric sat at his desk doing business, which was what he loved. The room was lit up brightly, three cylindrical bulbs buzzed over head, keeping the bland room illuminated. The windows were covered with grey curtains, the walls were plastered with grey paper, papers stacked high in strictly organized binders sat in cramped compartments in the bookshelves, a very organized room, efficiency was Eric's expertise.

The two men in suits watched Eric carefully, monitoring his movements to anticipate a movement, but deep down they were scared, this man was immovable. "How goes the Fisher ordeal?" Eric spoke, his voice calm but strong. "Ah, right.. the Fisher ordeal, it's coming along badly, it seems the group were gotten to before we'd found out, probably some rebel. Nothing to be scared about." one of the men said, the one on the right, his eyes focusing on the wall behind Eric's head. "Probably some 'Rebel'? that isn't good enough, Mister Frederick, I can't have even one percent of my sections work force protesting against us. The Domino effect, when one falls, others will follow. Get it sorted, have Stevenson get William to go down there and get them back to work, armed soldiers don't always work in these events, a stern reminding of who employs them will get them back on our side." Eric replied, his old, skinny fingers rattling briefly across the wooden desk.

By now the chill was affecting the two at the other side of their table, the shudders of cold breath were irritating. "Now, Jackson, how goes the account?" Eric says, Jackson looks up from his minute long blank stare at the curiously modelled figurine on the desk of Eric, a touch of personality he'd never seen. "Right, yes.. the account. You are currently at.. fifty one billion, give or take a couple million credits in your main account, an increase of two billion since last weeks enrolment with the Octagon Scheme. "Perfect, now Bill, get the Fisher ordeal sorted, I want five thousand men at the Winston Gold Reserve back up and working in 48 hours." an attempt at a handshake occurred to Bill, but he quickly put aside the thought and briefly smiled, stepping away from his seat and out of the door. Business is the new politics, the days of sitting around in large groups of politicians, arguing for hours on end about the same thing are far gone, and Eric loved it. He could change the lives of thousands just by signing a sheet of paper, or by ordering around a few of his fellow directors.

---

Buzzing filled the air of the quiet garage, the sound bouncing around off of the cold concrete walls, emitted as the hover car doors swiftly unlock, driving back slowly out of its place to await its passenger. A young man stepped aside the passenger side door, dressed smartly in a charcoal black suit and tie, a handgun visibly printing against his shirt. With one quick pull, the door would open and automatically swing upwards and open, allowing Eric to get inside. The inside was well fabricated and designed for comfort, soft cream leather stretched across the seats that adjusted themselves to Eric's legs, making room as the door closes. A soft hum would signal the lights in the interior to switch on, illuminating the dashboard and crimson cabin walls. A voice spoke softly, almost human like but with a metallic ring that gave away its identity. "Hello, Mister Keller. Where would you like to go?" it says, the various screens across the dash lighting up with the "Ivory Exec." logos. " Plot a course to Lab five, and call Doctor Hamilton." Eric replied, the seatbelt quickly zipping up and across his chest. "Certainly, enjoy your ride."

The doors to the garage opened slowly, rising up into the ceiling whilst the vehicle began to rise off of the ground and hover, kicking away the dust from underneath whilst illuminating the grey floor with a bright glow blue as it began to cruise through the exit. A dial tone rang through the interior of the car for a few seconds before halting, a loud voice replacing it. "Ah! Mister Keller! what brings me the pleasure of your c-" "Cut the act, Hamilton." Eric quickly retorted, "I know about the bad results, and I hope the next test won't be so bad." a short pause followed, as the man on the other side thought up a reply that'd keep him from being fired. "Yes, right away sir. I am truly sorr-" "I'm coming over." The call stopped instantly with a flick of a switch, silence entering the car aside from the sound of traffic outside. The hover car drove out onto the road and followed it, sliding around the traffic. It was going to be around an hour to get to the lab if the traffic was good, so Eric took the time to get to work, removing a binder from his suitcase, filled to the brim with paperwork.

[Terintania]

Astra padded through the alleys of New York City, being careful to avoid any stray dogs or other cats. As a passing thought, she wondered if other cats could tell that she wasn't actually a cat. Pushing that thought aside, she looked at the area around her. Her paws hurt from walking on the hard ground for too long, and she wanted to find a place to lay down for a while. Wiggling her butt, she jumped up on top a dumpster. Or tried anyway. She bounced off the front of it, having missed by quite a lot, and tumbled to the ground with a quiet squeak. She pawed at her throbbing nose, then got back to her paws, gave herself a shake, and padded onward. Before long, she found a discarded mattress, and climbed on to it, walking in a circle and clawing at it. It was a bit old and springy, but that mattered less when you were a tiny kitten. She gave a bit stretch, a yawn, and crouched down, curling her tail over her front paws as she tried to get warm.

[Badafar]

Jasper WIlliams
Constellis Incorporated, Warehouse Nine
2300 AD

An old abandoned warehouse sits on the edge of New York City, its crumbling brick structure and peeling wallpaper is seen amongst various other buildings of similar size, shape and condition. Somewhere, underneath the piles of discarded plastic bottles, broken door frames and scattered garbage cans you'll find a door inside, and just like the rest of the outside of the building, it too is in an awful state of disrepair. The whole image it gives off is disgusting, old and extremely unsafe, putting off even the most intrepid of urban explorers or squatters from going inside. This was all of course a façade, the seemingly old structure is actually rather new, being built only five years ago to house the intelligence offices for the most powerful Mega Corporation in Northern America, Constellis Incorporated. Behind its rough, weathered and unkempt exterior is a clinically clean office space hooked up with more technology it can hold along with two underground floors accessed via elevator or stairs, each containing briefing areas, archives and a server room. Only one hundred people out of the hundreds of millions across the country, and billions across the world know about what occurs behind those walls, and one of those people were Jasper Williams.

The night settled down over the streets of New York City, the many skyscrapers breaking up the landscape in huge jutting spires that reached far above the clouds. Fog came with the darkness, creeping down the roads only to be scattered back with the turning on of the street lamps. A man turned the corner and looked ahead, Warehouse Nine lay ahead, look as wretched as ever under the flickering illuminating glow of the damaged street light, whether it is damaged on purpose or not, it did help with masking the purpose of the building. The figure on the corner looked down at the electronic watch on his hand, the screen displaying the time as intended, seven o'clock post meridian, he was on time it seemed, for once. Approaching the building, the man couldn't help but feel cold and withdrew a silver packet from his pocket, Xeno sticks, similar to the cigarettes of old but without the carcinogens and more addictive. Removing one, he lit the end up with a brief fumbling of his jet lighter, blowing a cloud of hot, white smoke through the cold air. The door to the building lay off to the side, hidden but visible if you knew where to look, the suited figure walked up and twisted the door handle - a bright blue light would then scan his palm and fingers until it recognizes him. "Welcome, Jasper WIlliams." a voice says over his earpiece.

Jasper grunted, he hated that fake, animated voice and wished they'd read his complaint about how insecure the system was. A moment later, Jasper stepped inside and was met with the warmth of the small heaters by his feet, and the winding corridor ahead. Each door was unmarked but he knew the way around, two doors down from the left and he was where he had to be. The briefing room was not small and not large, comfortably sized with enough space for a screen, a conference table and twelve chairs to be seated around it, each filled up with a person bar one, his seat to the right. "Ah, Agent Nine, come in." a welcoming voice said, the leader of the intelligence operations, Agent Twelve or Steve Culp as his personal file read, whether or not that was his real name, Jasper didn't know, but if it was it was god-damn awful. Jasper took his seat, sighing as he leant back and relaxed into the leather it was made up of, the screen at the end of the table flickered on, drawing the attention of his other colleagues. Agents One through to Eleven sat still, only one nodding at the newcomer before looking back to Twelve.

"Now, to begin with the briefing of your missions. Operation Sixty One, the hunt for threats and potential threats against Constellis in Western and Eastern Europe, specifically speaking, our main priorities will be insurgent groups like New Proletariat and Free Spirits, the operation will be include your involvement over the next three years and your tasks will include: data gathering, interrogation, threat detection, infiltration and if needs be, assassination. If you need to kill someone whilst working on the operation, make sure to clean any mess up, else we're denying your involvement with us and let the pigs have you." the sensation around the room was a mixture of tension and excitement, whilst similar operations had been conducted before, this was the most recent major job since the beginning. "Do you understand?" Twelve said, finishing off his quick brief. Following Jasper's and everyone elses nod of approval, he spoke again. "Great, you'll be presented with your personal mission criteria upon your uplink in exactly sixty seconds from now, and you'll have two minutes to read it before it is destroyed. Any and all equipment for the mission will be provided by your designated contractor, their location also being in your uplink. Got it? good. Dismissed." Jasper began to rise from the chair, his smoke from the Xeno stick rising up into the whirring ventilation above. A minute later, following a quick, business oriented and very brief catch up with his peers, Jasper and the others received a buzz from their uplink device.

Jasper removed the rectangular, palm sized computer from his suit inner left pocket, it resembled a phone but portrayed highly sensitive and encrypted data which Jasper swiftly got to reading. From the next two minutes of examining the uplink, Jasper gathered he'd meet up with his contractor in London, England where he'd be stationed for the next three years, a black market dealer with Constellis connections would be providing any equipment he needed, and an MC issued auto dealer would be giving him his transport. Jasper had been to England only once, it was interesting and a great place to bled into, hopefully he'd at least bag a terror cell or two whilst he's there. Two hours later, he'd said goodbye to his employers and boarded the plane, a brand new prototype jet that'd land him in Heathrow in a comfortable fifty minutes.

[Isle of Lithonia]

Sgt. Christopher Reed
Constellis Inc. Enforcer
NYC

He who makes a beast out of himself gets rid of the pain of being a man.
-Samuel Johnson

Fzzt. Fzzt. Fzzt.

The same technology used for hundreds of years, old gas neon signs. Only in the slums do you see this style, for it is rather hard on the eyes (compared to the gentle neon lights of the wealthier parts of NYC), and is extremely cheap. But it does catch the eyes of passersby, Christopher had to admit.

And it was under this neon sign, reading, "The Rubber Duck Bar and Casino", that Officer Reed was talking to one of the local addicts.

"Hey, listen Tom, I don't want you getting in trouble anymore than you do."

"But officer, officer, sir," the dirt-stained man replied, pupils dilated and body shaking, tell-tale signs of an Ignis high, "I...I gotta be providing, man. How'm I 'sposed to survive on these streets without money? I gotta sell somethin', and I only got this stuff. You can't just make me not do it and get all starving and shit!"

His lack of proper language was also a sign...but Reed already knew the man was high as a kite. It was normal.

Tom, or Thomas Jenkins if you prefer his full name, was one of Reed's "regulars". An Ignis addict and small-time dealer, the guy had the shittiest time of it, often being reported in for assault and disorderly conduct. But it wasn't his fault, for Tom had been given the short end of the stick, having been born to drug addict parents in the drug infested slums of the city. He didn't know better. Perhaps when Christopher first started his career as an officer, this guy would be in handcuffs, heading off to the massive City Jail for his crimes, but things have changed, and his outlook on criminals like Tom matured.

The officer sighed, rubbing his temples to ease the aching. "Tom, I'm going to let you off on this one. But please be more careful where you are selling and who you're selling to. Some people don't take having drugs thrown their way too well."

Thomas smiled, his few teeth showing. "Thanks officer! I owe ya one!"

Shaking his head, Reed replied, "No, you owe me nothing. Just be more careful."

"Yes sir!" With a lazy salute, the addict walked off, presumably to find money for his next fix.

Was it just to let the man go? Reed no longer cared, for it would have been far less just to bring the man in. I guess the lesser of two evils is more real in his time than in others. And everyone had to survive, so why punish them for doing it a little differently than you might yourself.

Everyone has to survive.

Turning a corner, he found himself looking at a small kitten curled up on a dirty mattress. There were several strays everywhere, cats, dogs, and others. But this one caught his attention. It was so tiny, it had to be extremely young, and yet it was completely alone. A small pain in his chest reminded Christopher that his heart still existed, and he couldn't help but feel terrible for the kit. There was no way it would survive the streets on its own, it was still too young. But would they let him keep a kitten in the apartments?

I can't just leave it here to die though...

With a sigh, the officer bent down near the kitten, holding his hand out to it and speaking gently, "Hey there. You all alone? You look tired and hungry, poor thing. Its alright, I can help you."

[Terintania]

Astra was just dozing off, her head slowly falling forward to faceplant on her paws, when she realized there was a person in front of her. She kind of wondered if she should tell him that she was a person inside of a cat, but decided against it for now. "Mew," She squeaked, getting to her paws with a stretch. She purred and rubbed against his hand. Maybe he would take her somewhere warm, with food. Or maybe he'd put her in a shelter.....She didn't trust shelters. Too many of them weren't as nice as they said. But he seemed nice, so he decided to trust him. She put her soft fuzzy little front paws up on his hands, mewing at him.

[The GAmeTopians]

Violet strolled through the streets of New York City, looking around for her contact.
"Where are you?" She muttered, her hand drifting to her handgun in her coat instinctually. She pulled it away, and headed for one of the side streets. Violet saw a Constellis officer, talking to a kitten. She walked towards them, trying to seem casual.

[Badafar]

Jasper Williams
En-Route to London, England
2300 AD

The twin jet engines roared loudly from outside the plane, pumping out massive amounts of thrusts to propel itself through the air and across the ocean, only swerving or shaking in times of turbulence. Jasper Williams looked out through the Plexi Glass window, the ivory clouds drifting across the vast expanse of the ocean in an elegant manner. It was about ten minutes until he was to land, the coast of Ireland was fast approaching, it's green landscape looming in the distance. It was warm on-board, something that beat the often cold winds that plagued his home that required a dozen heaters to fight back, and the plan was clearly built for both luxurious comfort as well as functionality. Jasper leant back on the crimson red airplane seat, his back slowly arching into the soft leather whilst he looks around the interior, a small bar laid to his left with a shelf full of alcoholic drinks backed against a wooden panelled wall, the bottles lit up by a small blue light above. A "No smoking" sign lit up above Jasper, prompting him to start inhaling a long drag on the Xeno stick poised in his right hand, blowing a cloud of coconut white smoke down by his feet. Of course, smoking wasn't allowed, but he made sure he could sneak a pack through the checkpoint, Xeno's are outlawed in England for some awful reason, and he couldn't bare not having one for the first week. Two minutes later, Jasper stubbed out his Xeno and dusted off his black suit to swiftly visit the toilet and back, returning to find himself already over England.

Flying for Jasper was easy, but landing was the hard part and had found it such for many years of his life. Bracing for Impact, Jasper gripped the seat whilst the super jet slammed its wheels into the floor and slid across the runway until it slowed down for Taxi-ing, the hull and floor beneath him shaking with each miserable second. Jasper breathed a sigh of release and shuddered whilst he leant his head against the cold window, watching the buildings at the airport pass him by. While he did hate landing in planes, a much more horrible thought were to spend over a minute underwater, or even worse, in a submarine. Jasper's had this fear of the water since the forced water boarding his father gave him as a punishment, a night that really showed him what his father was capable of. Since then, Jasper's stayed as far away of the ocean as possible, unless he's in a plane of course. Yes.. travelling over land is the most logical thing to do anyway, Jasper spoke to himself as the plane entered its designated hangar. Jasper stood up upon the stopping of the plane, removing his tight seatbelt to allow him to freely move around, which he did to get himself onto the main aisle. His assigned guard for the flight, a stocky man in his 40s stood up with him and quickly snapped his head at an unexpected sound.

The door to the plane had opened just earlier to deploy the automatic stairs, but footsteps broke the silence following the nulling of the engines. Jasper drew his thoughts to attention, stepping behind his bodyguard, not out of fear but necessity. He had been instructed to acquire his weapons once he got the safe house and to let his guard take care of any business on the way there. Unarmed and alerted, Jasper couldn't help feel a little trapped, like a cornered rabbit.

"Stay behind me.." the man in front said, drawing his 10mm handgun from the shoulder holster inside his jacket, aiming it at the door way. At that second, the pilots came from out of their cockpit, stepping into the light of the doorway. "Is everything all rii" the man on the right said, only to be cut short by a hail of bullets, shredding him and the co-pilot's un-armoured torso's into bloody messes. A fine mist of crimson entered the air, drifting against the wall and splattering it with red. "Get down!" the guard said, pushing Jasper into the cubicle aside him. The intruders stepped on board, Jasper's only view of them being through a small crack between the seats. The first one to come was a young man, dressed casually in civilian fatigue yet shouldering a Mark-5 KetteX sub-machine gun, most likely from the black market due to the rough condition. The guard of Jasper fired at the entering man, the first two rounds struck him once in the chest - stopped by ballistic armour and knocking him to the ground, and once in the neck, severing his carotid artery and severing his throat in half. Blood had drenched the floor, covering the hallway in a stench of death. Following the death of their colleague, two others came inside, both armed and dressed similarly. The man protecting Jasper took aim and fired once more, hitting one once in the gut and once in the chest - killing him swiftly after. However the second figure had already risen his firearm, squeezing the trigger and spraying the bodyguard with six successive bullets into him. All of them hit his body armour, but two managed to get through due to their armour piercing properties, spraying the walls with blood from a horrible exit wound. "Fuck!" Jasper cursed under his breath as he watched his saviour get gunned down, fortunately, his gun had dropped by Jasper's feet, prompting him to pick it up quickly. Jasper had counted the amount of rounds the man had shot, allowing him the guess how many were left. Eleven, more than enough, Jasper thought, quickly standing up to aim at the expected location of the armed assailant. His guess was fortunately correct, and the man dropped dead half a second later.

Jasper's breath by now was rapid, his heart beats irregular, he wasn't expecting such a welcoming party, but he had mentally prepared for such. "It's always about possibilities", his mentor had taught him in the combat training college, "even if an idea is so far fetched it seems stupid, don't put away the possibility it becomes true". "Great, now I'm having flashbacks in the middle of a firefight." Jasper muttered to himself, getting onto his knees to crouch-walk through the aisle, crawling over the bodies to avoid being seen the the window. In the event he'd need more ammunition, Jasper removed the spare magazines from his bodyguards corpse, along with one of the unfired sub-machine guns from the militant corpses. Not another sound had came from outside, it seemed he was safe, but he couldn't take the chance. Using what little downtime he had left, Jasper rummaged through the dead bodies for any sign of who they'd come from, a letter, a note, anything. Unfortunately, he'd gotten nothing in his search, bar more ammunition and a knife. In a desperate attempt to call for help, Jasper began re-wiring the communications equipment in the cockpit, normally designed for contact with air traffic control. His years in intelligence training paid off, and he connected with the secure line to his safe house. "Serpent 1 to the Pit, Serpent 1 to the Pit!" Jasper called out, personally cringing at the stupidly awful code names he'd be assigned to use. A few moments later, a gruff reply came through. "This is the Pit, what's your situation?" it said. "I've just survived an assassination attempt by armed men, my guard and the pilots have been killed. Can I get a pick up?" a silence followed, only to be broken by a sigh. "Negative, Serpent 1, that's against protocol. You'll have to make your own way here else it will jeopardize the mission." "Jeopardize my ass." Jasper replied, slamming down the radio.

He stank of bullet propellant, his trousers were drenched in blood and his only getaway vehicle was a five year old 4 wheeled monstrosity parked outside. That, and he had to make his way to the other side of one of the most populated cities in the western world, without alerting the attention of the public, the people trying to kill him and police officials.

---

Eric Keller
Constellis Incorporated, Laboratory Five
Location: Unknown
2300 AD

The road leading up to the small, hidden entrance to the laboratory was rough and winding, something that the hover car could easily traverse over with the flick of a single switch. A mechanical whirr, followed by grinding would signal the sound of the engines going up to maximum speed, pumping out energy to keep the vehicle at a stable height above the ground whilst it drove over the rocks and dirt, shaking slightly whilst it attempted to stay on the tight pathway. Eric had arrived, the miles of forest around the laboratory kept it out of sight, out of mind from any unwanted visitors, and if that wasn't enough, the mass of warning signs would. It was getting late, the path only illuminated by the spotlights on the hover car, and small light strips tucked along the dirt road. As he approached the laboratory gates, a series of lights switched on, shining brightly over the hover car whilst a voice echoed over the speaker, distorted and loud in the quiet of the forest, the only sounds being that of the car and the wildlife around.

"Identify yourself!" it said, prompting Eric to hold his thumb against the loud speaker button. "Eric Keller, Executive of Constellic Inc. ID number 51-sharp!" he said into the small microphone, blaring out his words to the guardsmen. All of this security was neccessary, but Eric disliked it. He'd now have to go through customs once more to ensure he was who he said he was. After a short moment of ensuring everything was safe and clear, the gates ahead would open, allowing him the slowly cruise inside the front compound, still lit up by the bright lamps above. A group of twelve men jogged up to the car, dressed in camouflaged uniforms to match the forest patterns, armed with what seemed to be caseless rifles in 6.5mm Grendel, small scout packs across their backs bounced as they moved, equipped with a whole variety of the latest threat detection gadgets. The first part of the search process began, Eric rolled down his window whilst a lanky guard begin to search the vehicle for explosives, running a lengthy electronic wand along the underside, often emitting small beeps as it picked up various electronics in the car. "Identification card, Mister Keller. I'm sorry if this is annoying, but it's protocol." Eric nodded to the guard, sighing under his cold breath whilst he removed his card from the inner of his jacket, a slim rectangular piece of plastic stamped with his name, face and various other details. A minute later, he was cleared for entry, the doors built into the cliff face opened.

---

The inside of the Laboratory is large, but was built small enough to keep its construction out of the public eye. A long corridor of about fifty metres lay ahead, the hard concrete walls were lined with soft blue illumination strips and hover lamps, the wall at the far end was fitted with another door which opened as Eric approached in his vehicle, revealing the garage for the lab. Another minute later, he'd park and step out, walking up the stairs to find himself in the reception, The room was small but did its job, the walls lined with clinical white paper and the floors tiled in black and white, a young woman sat at the desk waiting for Eric behind bullet resistant glass. "Mister Keller, have you come to sign in?" she says, putting on a masquerade of joy that she portrays to every other rich asshole that comes through the doors. "You can do that for me, Linda, I've already checked in at the gate. Call up Sector One, I'm coming over." Eric replies, his voice sharp and precise to get his point across. "Yes, Mister Keller, right away." Linda would then type a short command into a computer, opening the magnetically sealed door to her right which Eric would walk through, leading him into a elevator. A panel of buttons decorated one side, going from 0 to -5, the last floor being a black button marked basement. He pressed that, and a soft click was heard as the doors closed. Ten seconds later, the elevator stopped and the doors drifted open.

Sector One was the name given to the special research and development department for black projects that a branch of Constellis had opened for the past two years, it was entirely off tbe record and not a single document, physical or virtual had the name printed outside of these walls. Only a select few knew that the branch existed, and even fewer knew what happened in it. The twelve chairmen of Constellis were mostly focused around profits and the handling of Law Enforcement across North America, however Eric Keller and two others decided a change in corporate politics had to take place, whilst he did care about making money, Eric was always looking for his own political power, and this division gave him that.

Stepping out into the laboratory for the first time this year, Eric was met with the cold that came from the many temperature regulation units set up around the building, keeping the lab space in certain climates to avoid very specific accidents. Whilst brightly lit, the room held a sense of darkness, everything that happened here was in the shadows of 99.9 percent of the worlds population, and if they knew, they'd most certainly wish they didn't. Ignorance really is bliss, Eric thought as he walked along the corridor, windows lining the walls gave him a view into the world of barely legal technology, with weapons of mass destruction sitting on his left, and biological and chemical weaponry on his right. Mechs armed with anti-personnel weapons lined the walls of the equipment garage, lit up by the cobalt flashes of welding torches, armed to the teeth with weapons designed not for combat, but for killing unarmed 'combatants'. Passing several maintenance workers and scientists, Eric stepped down into the small elevator and descended once more floor into the administration rooms and testing labs, a life of suits and lab coats took sight as he crept into the halogen lit room.

Eventually, after a good two minutes of walking, Eric walked into the board room, a long conference table covered with papers, flash drives and computers lay in the centre of the office space, each chair filled up with department officers and men in black, guarded by Constellis' finest. A man at the end of the room took to Eric's eyes, he was tall and dressed in a brown suit over a white shirt, his black tie and grey trousers almost gave him the look of a kid putting together a jigsaw piece, easily recognized by his outfit and lack of any hair and blue eyes, Eric understood him to be Doctor Hamilton, the Director of Sector One's black projects. "Ahh, Mister Keller, welcome back. Take a seat" the words came out of his mouth like a snake. Eric nodded and took his place, setting his suitcase by his feet whilst he looked down the table at the man who he'd kept employed for the past year and a half at an extortionate salary of one million credits annually. Money buys silence, and fortunately for the Doctor, Eric had lots of it. "Shall we begin?"

[Imperial--japan]

Ah yes, art exhibitions. Lua didn't really quite care for all these fancy paintings or naked statues, but she was rather intrigued in the various good looking guys that attended these events. Unfortunately, this time around the event seemed to consist of a bunch of old geezers that were talking about nonsense that she had no interest in. It was such a waste that daddy forced her to attend these events. Saying she should learn to appreciate the ways of 'high society' seemed rather ironic coming from a crime lord like him. As usual though, she always listened to what daddy told her to do. He was after all, the head of the largest crime syndicate in East Asia, and one of the largest in North America. Whatever she asked daddy to give her, daddy always gave her.

Luckily, she managed to spot at least one good looking stranger to alleviate her irritation. He had dirty blonde hair, blue eyes, and appeared to be in his early thirties. She looked towards her bodyguard, Chase, and gave him a wink. This was rather standard for Lua and Chase. He swore not to tell her father about her...habits, and she boosted his salary every one in a while. As soon as her prey had been targeted, she made way to approach them, and after a few minutes of flirtation, showing some skin, and some lewd remarks, Lua decided to kick up the game. She pressed herself against her target and softly whispered into his ear. This was met with him firmly squeezing her rear. After eliciting a gasp, the two quickly retreated to the restroom where they meant to perform a sacred ritual.

It was a solid fifteen minutes before Lua emerged once again, seeming a little irritated. She had clearly managed to make herself look presentable one again, not allowing anyone but Chase to suspect what had gone down.

"He was a fucking amateur. I can't believe I wasted my time with someone like him," she bemoaned. Looking to Chase, she took her finger and dragged it across her own neck to signal what she wanted done. She had a reputation to maintain after all. As Chase handled her little 'friend', she made her way back to the limosuine and to the comfort of her entourage.

[Charlia]

There are many reasons why people fight. Some people fight for love. Others fight for peace, or for power, money or happiness. Some people fight because they feel it's their duty. And others fight because they don't know how to stop.

The girl wasn't very threatening from far away.

She could have been described as pretty, with pale skin and long red hair, with her scars hidden by clothing--other than an X-shaped scar on her right palm, that is.

She dressed casually, practically, yet managed to retain some small vestige of femininity, although she didn't seem to like that.

She carried herself with an odd blend of confidence and uncertainty, as though she wasn't afraid, simply questioning why she was there. 'There' being 'the universe', to be precise.

If you got closer, though, you'd see that she held a knife, and the way she carried it said that she knew how to use it.

And if you looked into her cold blue eyes, you'd see an expression that told you she wasn't afraid of you or anyone else, and that she'd faced worse than you.

The only person she feared had died at her hands.

She was a fighter, a survivor, and she always would be.

[Mesrane]

Michael Kendrick
Lake Michigan
Off Jacksonport, Wisconsin

“Sit down, Victor, and have a glass of scotch.”
The Hispanic, tattoo-covered bear of a man known as Victor Ramirez took a seat in the motorboat’s narrow galley compartment. Huge, powerful hands gripped a tiny shot of scotch, which he flung down his throat as if it was naught but a drop of water. Small, beady eyes peered out between an enormous bronze brow and baby-faced, clean shaven cheeks. Michael Kendrick was reminded, not for the first time, just how imposing Ramirez was.

But behind the impressive gut, behind the Honduran bravado of a veteran drug dealer, Michael Kendrick could look into those small dark eyes and see that he was afraid. Good, he thought. He’ll drink less of my scotch.

Michael Kendrick was not a man to revel in small victories like these, but he allowed himself a few precious seconds of celebration, which he spent holding eye contact with Ramirez, allowing the fear to roil and fester. Business called, though, and Michael got right down to it. “Victor, do you know why you are here?”

The Honduran took a moment to assess what kind of response Michael wanted. “Um . . No sir. No. Not at all.”

“Victor, come now. Let’s not draw out the pain here. Why are you here?”

Ramirez visibly winced. Playing dumb had been the wrong choice, and he knew that Michael knew it.

“Your boy Hugo caught me smoking a bit of sal.” The confession came out in a rush, along with whatever small amount of defiance the Honduran had been desperately clinging to. This was Michael Kendrick, to whom you simply told the truth.

Nodding, Michael went on. “That’s right, Victor. He did. But you know what? You know what, Victor?”

“Yes, sir?”

“That’s not why you’re here.”

“Oh.”

“Yes. Now answer the fucking question.”

Ramirez set his glass down on the table and pulled his hands down onto his lap to prevent Michael from seeing the nervous shake that had set in. “This . . this was the third time.”

Michael gave a mocking clap. “And there we have it, Victor. The third time this year, which makes it all the more disappointing. You’ve been a competent member of this operation for the better part of four years now. That’s more than long enough to drill my policy on drug use through your thick mestizo skull. Blow a couple joints at home; I don’t care. But you, especially as a sector manager, are to never show up to work so high that it takes you most of the fucking day to come back down to earth. Hugo informed me of the first occasion two months ago, but I’m thinking of all the times that he wasn’t there to pick up your slack. In fact, sales for the Missouri sector are lower than anywhere else this year so far. Could it be because its manager values a couple joints of Salamander over the only job he could ever be fucking good at?”

Ramirez sat absolutely stock still, every muscle in his body tense. The beady eyes were beginning to show desperation, a feeling which the Honduran was clearly unaccustomed to.

You’re not doing so hot, Victor.

“Sir . . I’m so sorry, I’ll make a change—.”

“Lies.” Bang!

Michael slid out of his seat, a scowl etched across his face at the sight of Victor Ramirez’s body bleeding all over the galley. An enormous, steaming, charred hole sat where his heart should have been. Ramirez’s death had been very sudden and very painless, which gave Michael a small modicum of relief.

But it’s still another death. Another body. Another goddamned lie.

He grabbed on to Ramirez’s arm, but one tug made it clear that Victor wasn’t going anywhere, even in death. The Honduran had barely squeezed into the seat to begin with.

A loud whistle brought Hugo Desjardins into the galley. The short and stocky Frenchman was fast approaching sixty, but he was still built like the commando he had been in his Operation Reliquiae days, before some undisclosed operation had sent him scurrying for a new life. Michael had never asked him about it. Hugo made it seem like it was something better left buried, a sentiment which Michael understood totally.

Hugo seemed totally unperturbed by the sight of Ramirez’s body. Indeed, Michael had yet to see anything that jarred the Frenchman loose from his unfailingly calm, professional manner. Probably seen too much shit to be bothered by one turd anymore. Or he just expected this to end like it did.

“Give me a hand, Hugo.” Together, they were able to yank Ramirez loose, sending his body crashing into the floor with a sickening crunch.

Hugo lifted his cotton flat cap to scratch at a thinning head of grey hair, flecked with plenty of white. “You want the hydrofluoric treatment for him, Michael?” A French accent was still present, but twenty-five years in North America had make it much less apparent.

“Yes, always.” Hydrofluoric acid was practically a godsend, Michael had learned by now. Nothing dissolved bodies better, provided you had the plastic to do the dissolving in.

It took the better part of five minutes, but together Michael and Hugo were able to drag the three hundred-fifty-pound Ramirez across the galley and into the tiny engine room, where they rolled him into a plastic tub barely large enough to accommodate his bulk.

Brandishing a gallon bottle of the acid, Hugo gestured towards the door. “I’ll finish up, boss. You go enjoy the night. Stars are out, and I coulda sworn I saw a moose on the near bank.”

The night was indeed clear, as clear as anything Michael had ever seen before. Innumerable stars pierced the black Lake Michigan sky, illuminating the lake’s surface. Hugo had parked the boat about a mile from the Wisconsin shore, two or three miles north of the little town called Jacksonport. Far enough away to negate the minor bang of a laser pistol.
Michael glanced down at the weapon in his hand, the gun that had incinerated half of Victor Ramirez’s chest. How naïve I was when I started out on this path, he thought, head shaking with the ridiculousness of it all. Thinking I could claw my way to the top of this business without a ladder of bodies to help make the climb. Stupid, stupid, stupid.

The how of it all was what always got to him. The final pleadings of dozens of men before he had pulled the trigger, the countless times he’d poured acid into that plastic container with a body inside. That he had sold drugs in order to feed his daughter when they were forced to live on park benches didn’t bother him. That he ran a drug empire across much of the Midwest didn’t bother him. It was how Michael Kendrick had gotten from points A to B that gnawed at him like a parasite, draining him of vitality until he had no love left for anyone but his daughter.

“Hindsight’s a bitch, boss.” Hugo stepped out of the shadows with a wraith-like grace.

“I don’t pay you to comfort me, Hugo,” growled Michael.

“Yeah, well, you look like you need it quite a bit these days.”

“You’re not wrong.” Michael turned to matters of business, the only sort of conversation he was truly comfortable with anymore. “I know Victor has a couple kids. You make sure they each get their fifty thousand. No explanations; they’ll figure it out on their own. I doubt he was even around often enough for them to take much notice.”

Hugo nodded. “Got it. We’ll need a new manager for Missouri though.”

“That Boykin kid over in Iowa has got some talent at running a tight ship. Put him on it.” Michael fingered the silver crucifix around his neck. “I think I’ve got to get out of this business at some point. Lord knows I’ve made enough money.”

Hugo shook his head, a sad smile playing across his lips. “Once you’re in, you can never get out, boss. That’s how it always is with crime. You’re never truly finished.”

“You know I can’t believe that, Hugo. There’s a light at the end of the tunnel; I just need to find it.”

“Well, you don’t pay me to convince you of the truth either,” Hugo said with a chuckle. “Believe me, don’t believe me. It doesn’t matter: that’s just how things are.” He glanced up at the stars. “Want me to take her back to shore?”

“Yes, that would be great. I have to be back in Chicago in seven or eight hours anyway.”

“What for?”

“Personal matters.”

“Ah.” The Frenchman didn’t press it.

And that, dear Hugo, is why I pay you.

[The Tophat Empire]

Wiking

Maestro

Wiking was sitting in his office, a rare occasion, most often he worked from his home in scotland, or from the sub where he stayed at times. But now he was sitting in central London, the 2nd most powerful and important city in Helvetican territory. His desk was sparsely decorated, on his glass desk little more than the computer, and sigle photo of a woman in her early 30s. Looking on the display on his pc he read the reports of the case he was currently working on, a case sent to him from IS, Internal Security, A few dussin reports of corruption in the england area, and he had been assigned to investigate them.

He was interrupted in his reading when he received a call on his phone, obviously over a secure line. the caller was listed as "Uncle", the codename that His closest subordinate in the UK area had. But this was a different subordinate, not one from Helvetica, but one from his less-than-legal gang, Blackwell Group. Answering the call he spoke "Yes, this is wiking" Uncle, and the 3 other national leaders were the only to know wikings real name, to all others he was just known as; leader, sir, or; The Catalyst. a poetic name he picked himself.

"Hello there wiking, uncle jack here. Just called to say that we might have dropped the pot. But we got a new one." The response came back, to everyone else it was just a message, but to wiking it was code. Someone had broken the Codex's rules to such a degree that wiking merited a visit.

"Copy that, i will come over at once" wiking responded before hanging up, rising from his chair he walked over to a hanger at the door, and taking on his coat he secured the pistol in a internal holster. Now he had both his personal sidearm, and the one given to him by the MC. Walking out of the large building complex he jumped up on his private motorcycle, and set off towards the coordinates given to him by Uncle, a area in downtown london, the most recent expansion made by wiking and his gang.

The drive was short, only 10 minutes, but he soon himself in a dark, downtrodden place, lacking maintenance, one of the most poor areas in the whole of england, a excellent place to start expanding, lots of recruits, all too willing to get some order. Plus, in comparison to other local gangs, the Blackwell Group did behave a bit more humain, as long as you followed the Codex, that is.

Wiking soon found the place, one of the newest safehouses in the area, 2 armed gang members standing on the outside. Wiking had taken a moment before and taken on a helmet, to mask his identity, walking up to the members, they raised their weapons "Who'a ju?" one of them said. Wiking tilted his head and spoke past the helmet "The codex guides us, it's word paramount.", the passcode for the week in this area. the men lowered their weapons and motioned for him to enter.

Walking into the somewhat shanty building wiking made his way towards the basement, walking down he saw moore armed thugs, and Uncle, a tall slender man in his 50s who made a motion "Catalyst, you have arrived. Follow me", the thugs seemed to become tense just as the word "catalyst" was mentioned, but wiking ignored them and walked past, his long black coat flowing slightly. Walking up to uncle and walking a few steps into the underground corridor he asked "So, what's the situation?". Uncle looked at the masked wiking and responded "one of the newer dealers, he sold impure C-112, that had been just a general execution, but not only that, he also keep the rest of the C-112 for himself, and threatened several high ranking members"

Wiking nodded, by now they had arrived at a single wooden door, with a crude sign saying "cell" on it, and yet another guard, whom took a step aside when he saw Uncle, and what he assumed, correctly so, to be Catalyst. Wiking nodded and said "i will take care of it, leave me alone." before entering the room.

Inside the dirt-floored room was a single man, more like boy, 24 at the most, bound to a chair. His face showing sings of being beaten, probably when he was detained. Wiking looked at him and spoke "Tell me my boy, why did you go against the codex?"

"I thought i could make more money that way, forgive me catalyst, i thought i would please you." the response came, the words carrying the same terrified fear that the boy showed.

"Why did you think more money would make me happy, I am building this syndicate to create a new world, i do not need more money, i need everyone to follow the codex." wiking replied with a dry voice

"oh, yes, one where you will rule no doubt, i am sorry, i will not do the same mistake again, i promise" the boy said, more and more panic in his voice as he spoke, he knew what the punishment was for his actions.

"Me? rule, boy, you have gotten it wrong" wiking said, moving his helmet closer to the boy's ear and whispering "You are scum, i am the leader of scum, i will not lead anything." Moving his head back to where it was before he pulled out his private gun and loaded a bright red round into the chamber. Simply saying "But, you will not make the same mistake again, that i promise", pressing the trigger the fore the boy had time to do anything else.

Wiking walked out of the room, a blood stain over his helmet, looking at uncle he said "Take care of the corpse, let the local unit know what have happened here. Then, report back at the council for the league"
Uncle nodded and said "I understand, it will be done Lord"

With that wiking walked out, using a napkin to remove the blood on the helmet.

[Saleon]

"ulch, I hate this client. She orders this ugly pizza at the same time every day. On the dot. Does she have a life?" bemoaned a small time pizza delivery man. He was a stern old coot who suffered from a broken economic system. Society calls him: a critic, a cynic, a bum. One who hates everything and does nothing. People rightfully ignore him. He wasted away his retirement money having it stolen by a number of street gangs. Now he delivers pizza. "at least she pays. Does she only eat pizza? **** this girl, just like society."

"Life is now a war zone, and as such, the number of people considered disposable has grown exponentially, [...] viewed as a liability to capital and its endless predatory quest for power and profits." -Henry Giroux, Philosopher

He rings the doorbell. Inside can be heard a bit of shuffling inside. Soon there was a crack and a bang. He rang the bell a couple more times. A feminine voice rambled out, "one minute!" The crashing and banging intensified. Soon it seemed she sent a large wall of objects tumbling down. "Oh no!" she screamed. The old geezer began rapidly pressing the bell at a constant, incessant rate. He was quite frankly... annoying. Soon the girl came to the door, barely avoiding another set of banging and crashing sounds. She opened the door a crack. He kept pressing the bell until she stated "excuse me, Can I have my pizza." She didn't shout like a normal person, but dryly responded.

Her features could be more easily seen now. She had bags of sand rising in her eyes. Her shirt was old, but had a kimono-esque style to it. She wore all blue, with short blue hair. Her hair was the only thing that seemed clean, by magic. She had a cybernetic tail which coiled out in front of her. "thank you," she stated.

The old grump began to walk back to the restaurant. He grumbles and yelled outwardly as he made his way. She could hear him for a while, everything was directed toward her, but she quite frankly didn't bother. His pants seemed more uptight than normal, maybe his wife finally realized what she got into when she married him. Maybe his kids stopped talking to him. He probably just thought about what happened to his life for the 20th time today. "dang girl didn't even look at the check. At least she pays. Hope she rots in that house, gets crushed by all the **** she has stored up in that one room apartment. I hope she gets... and then..." He continues to drone on.

Here lay this girl in London, a cyborg. She is socially inept with barely distinguishable facial features. One would describe her as increasingly tires, or constantly bored. Her name is Monica Wiles. She barely leaves the house. Society would describe her as disposable. She barely exists to say the least. She has a job and maintains a living, but this still leaves her stagnant. She has experienced social death. Where you no longer exist as a thought. She has faded away. Few Realize who she is. And she knows this. She takes this meaninglessly.

She anonymously hacks at the wheels which drag her down.

The cybernetic society thinks she is dead, but she merely delves into the digital code behind it, she blinds it, she kills it. Monica Wiles is a private Hacker, with ties to a number of "hacktivists." She takes her time to devise the way to set society free. She may seem disenfranchised, but only illusively. disposed, so she may impose absolute terror upon the cruelty of the MCs.

She stares at her pizza, an odd combination of pineapples, sausage, pepperoni, anchovies, and mushrooms. She has no taste, apparently. She scarves it down while looking at her array of computers. White, flashing screens stare back at her. They plot their next digital homicide. Helvetica, next? maybe Sinopec. Monica's tail waves back and forth as she finishes the box. Nine seconds flat.

Today, she notices she has run out of fresh clothes. Her supply of Ecchi Games is running low, and that means she is out for blood. She scowers out of her home, on one of those rare occasions. The light blinds her for a couple of second. Some of the apartment guests often think a snake slinks around their apartment sometimes, giving a loud hiss sometimes. Monica doesn't hear a snake though. Never, not once. Hint: she is the hissing sound. She walks slowly forward, with her hands in her pockets. Her right arm can be seen just barely, to reveal one of her cybernetic features. It has a v-like design down it, ending in what would be claws, though you can't see those claws at the moment. They help her in her shady dealings. They also give her easy access to the internet, resonating with most computers. It works like an ethernet, but is designed to not be detected by most computer systems. It fits her ideology of not being "seen" by society.

She takes a subway, and then follows a number of turns and shady alleyway. She is now in the number one nerd-out location of London. it sells some of the rarest, obscurest, and often illegal, japanese goods. The market is rife with activity. Most people can't even distinguish legal from illegal products. It is also how they stay in business. A long strip mall filled with all your Otaku based desires.

[Jordkloden]

Havana, Cuba, 12:45

Chapter 1: Winds of Change

It was another hot afternoon in Havana. Birds sang, children laughed, and Proletarian Soldiers ran for cover. They had good reason to as well, for a Petrobras-controlled mech was trying to spray them down. The mech wasn't very big, being only about two and a half meters tall. Nevertheless, the soldiers ran and screamed for cover. Among them was Julio De Toro, an aspiring communist. Julio and his squad squatted behind a run-down building that the mech was firing it's minigun at. Julio shook one of his squadmates by the shoulders and shouted, "Get on the damn comms and call for some support!" The squaddie nodded vigorously in agreement. The comm operator replied, "Affirmative comrade, support inbound."

For a few more minutes they hid behind the buildings, switching to others as the mech lit them up. Then, an almighty roar screamed above them. It was a Proletarian Chopper with a crate magnetized to it. The pilot got on the loudspeaker and announced, "Special Delivery"
And like that, the chopper flew off, swerving to avoid the mech's fire.

When the crate hit the ground, it split open instantly to reveal when of their own mechs. This was a mech much larger than the Petrobras one, being about five meters tall, double the other's size. The soldiers gazed at it in awe. "Anyone know how to pilot that thing?" he inquired to his squad. Dead silence. "No? Just me?" He let a long sigh. "Fuck."

Julio sprinted over to the mech's backside, where he saw that the machine had a small opening in it's left ankle. He went in, and the opening snapped shut. Then, the metal floor he stood upon shot up quickly, bringing him to a large, dimly lit, circular room. In the center of the room was a single chair. Then a monotone, female, voice spoke to him, "Hello pilot, sit in this chair to begin operations."

Ah, the computer. Julio did as the computer said and sat in the chair. It was metal and very cold. The computer spoke again, "Beginning Preparations. Please remove all headgear." He threw off his helmet where it hit the ground with a clatter. "Preparations begun. A helmet-like contraption shot down from the ceiling and placed itself upon Julio's head. He jumped up in shock at first, but soon realized what had happened. The computer spoke again, "Melding consciousness with device."
"Wait, what?" Julio couldn't help but ask aloud. It was much too late though, he felt a sense of unity and became one with the machine.

To Julio it felt amazing being a machine. Not piloting but being one with it. His eyes were HD cameras now, with zoom in and zoom out features. He flexed his arms and felt incredible weight behind them. Now, it was time to fight. He went to work immediately and raised his left arm at the machine. The arm was now a railgun of epic proportions. Julio thought, "Fire."
And fire it did. The huge slug put a gaping hole in the opponent's armor and sent it staggering backwards. Julio gave him no chance however, and rushed forward throwing a right hook at it. His right was no longer a fist, but a massive plasma blade. The blade split the opposing machine in half and left two melted piles of metal.

The computer automatically separated his consciousness from the mech. Julio was left amazed in his chair. The computer recommended he leave ASAP. Although he felt it wrong to leave, he stepped back on to the platform and was deposited out the left ankle. He walked drunkenly back to his astonished squad and muttered, "Bring that chopper back, and while you're at it, carry me back to base." With that, he dropped to his knees and fell unconscious.

[Legatia]

Lucia Calsley

Cold. And miserably, miserably wet.

She'd found herself preferring the dry coldness of Baltimore, and wanting for proper heating and air conditioning. She'd been living out of an RV ever since she (crash)landed near Dumfries, living off of scavenged and stolen supplies. The RV was rather nice, albeit of an older design and with some older parts that barely worked anymore (her left headlight was broken, and the sink would only give her lukewarm water, if you could even call it that.) What mattered is she had a place to live out of and seem inconspicuous in. Especially in this remote a place, Constellis agents wouldn't likely be looking for her. It was obvious that she wouldn't be returning anywhere near her homeland for quite a long time. Doubtless warrants were out for her, especially with her father in such a high position in Constellis. Only God knows what /would/ happen if she was returned..

"No, no, no." Gently, Lucia slapped her head gently, pushing another round into the magazine of her rifle. She was sat at one of the couches, her railgun laid across the table. She'd finished cleaning it and adjusting it, as she did at least once per week. Sliding the final round into the magazine, she slid it into place, and released the bolt catch, the gun's mechanism pushing a round ready into the chamber. Flicking the gun into safety, she put it in a concealed place under some floorboards, in case Helvetica enforcers came looking. She kept her handgun concealed on her person, just in case she came to need it.

A light rain drizzled over Iverness, and naturally that came upon the hill she was camped out upon. Lucia had deployed the RV's awning over the side, so she stepped out under it before going into the rain itself. It dampened her hair and ran down her skin, but she enjoyed the feeling it brought.

After a few minutes of just standing in the rain, she went back inside, shaking her head and sitting back down again. It was around lunchtime for her, and she decided that she'd make herself something semi-decent- a makeshift cheesesteak, using some sub rolls, cuts of steak and cooked cheese slices. She put a pan on the oven, lighting it, then quickly starting to cut up some meat.

Today, she thought, was likely to just be a pretty simple one.

[Empire of Donner land]

Josephine Lotte

They say there is no meaning to life. That she and everyone else simply were the product of a lucky bunch of rocks that formed Earth that were just in the right position to support life. Josephine wasn't at all new to this fact. She took life at will with a pull of the trigger, she didn't like doing it. No one she knew liked doing it. Such was the life of someone in the Middle Class. She was one of the lucky ones, the ones that managed to "promote" to the Middle Class from the depths of the social ladder, the poor to put it more plainly. She could still remember her parents and then her thoughts drifted to night her father was killed by the Syndicate. She tried to push these thoughts away, she tried with all the mental strength she had but she couldnt. The memory was still so vivid and she could remember everything from the smallest tear in her mother's eye to the warmth of her embrace as she told Josephine what happened.

She still had no idea what Syndicate killed her Father. But there was a single main suspect in her hunt for vengeance, one that the most lines connected to, the Xiao Crime Syndicate. She had been targeting higher ups of the Syndicate, torturing them, killing them slowly. Trying to get information out of every single one she had kidnapped. It was her own personal vendetta, she wasn't being paid to do these things. So far she had found out a few major things about the syndicate. Who the important people were in it, who the leader was, who the leader of it was related to. Infront of her on a the table she had three pictures of notable persons. The pictures reflected the light from the holo TV in her apartment which was showing currently showing news. One the table were the pictures of three people,the actual person who was running everything. Their daughter, a girl by the name of Lua. From what Josephine knew from her informants she was supposed to take controll of the Syndicate from her Father. The next was someone who was apparently connected with her father's death. Either directly shooting him or indirectly ordering his murder. The picture was blurry but he could take out some details. It was a man, he had brown hair and was white. Her informant couldn't find anything on him exactly.

Josephine looked around her small cramped apartment in New York, New York City. By the front door was a small kitchen which she could cook in. She wasn't very good at it so she mostly ate take out. Chinese food boxes sat on the counter tops next to the sink. Connected to the kitchen and front door was a small entertainment room. There she had a black leather couch, a small square table about three feet tall and wide and infront of it was a Holo TV which was currently showing news as she observed the photos, thinking about her next action to take. Her tiny Bedroom was connected to the entertainment Room and there only her bed was there with a the only small window in the apartment. Cramped conditions were the norm but she had gotten the good end of the stick with this place. It was bigger than the others and had a important direct access to the roof top where she did most of her job. Her armor was sitting in the seat next to her on the leather couch.

She sat there thinking as the dim blue light from the TV shined on the photos infront of her. Her thought was interrupted as a "Beep Beep" came from her device. She grabbed the small blue circular plastic like disk and pressed a single button on the front of it. A hologram popped infront of her eyes and a keypad with numbers one through nine below a text box greeted her. She put in the six digit code and a message showed.

"New job, load up and get to the roof. I think you'll like this one." The text said. She put in a reply tapping it in and put it into her pocket and sat up from her couch. She grabbed her armor and changed.

[New Strausberg]

Ludwig's symphony 02:00 hours Berlin, Germany


"One...two...three...four...five..six...seven...eight...nine...ten..." Ludwig counted every second as he walked along the streets of Berlin. He was on an odd job for himself really, he loved the old streets and just walking along them instead of being in a car. While there was more protection he just felt more at home in the ground. He couldn't feel the ground really anymore because of his synthetic legs but knowing they could be firmly planted, rooted in the ground made him feel at peace.
Ludwig check his pocket his music maker was there, the sweet instrument he know how to play better then anything in the world. It had become an art form to him his little music maker. With it by his side he made the most wonderful of sounds better then any orchestra in his mind at the very least. He decided to stop off set a pub close by the sounds of the drunk and hopeless spending away credits to make there worries dissaper. Some where doing drugs others just drinking there lives away. Ludwig got a beer and knew he'd probably sleep the day away when he was done with his job.

People in this world are desperate creatures always looking for either a way out of Somthing they have caused or trying to make it big and rich. Either way they need people to help them more often then not. Which leads to today, someone tried to make it big without any friends now he's got debts which need to be payed once this contract was up Ludwig would be out of work and headed to the United States for a bit. "Deutschland Deustschland über alles, über alles In der Welt." He sang to himself a very old song one of pride of heritage one almost lost to time. He continued to sing in his head as he drank a beer payed for it and left a few stared at him most probably didn't even know the song. "Wenn es stets zu schutz und Trutze Brüderlich Zusammenhält.." He continued as he headed into a back alley.

Waiting there was a very scared looking man who just stared at Ludwig as he approached, he slowly stopped singing. "Vell den..do you have it?" He asked looking at the trembling figure before him. "N..n..no...b...but I'll get it all soon I swear!" He said before a shot rang out. His time had been up for a long while. Ludwig logged him as deceased on his laptop and the funds where transferred to his account, he made sure to send as well. 500 credits deposited into his account chump change to what he was used to, he hoped to find better working conditions in New York , he would be leaving now that the last bit of trouble was dealt with. "I need to take a nap..." He said as he shambled to the airport and purchased a ticket to London. He would be there in a few hours and hopefully find a new contract there. He also got to to caught up on some sleep on his way there so it wasn't all bad.

[Aidannadia]

Amar Caldwell- New York City, New York

Caution is something that I have always revered as a virtue. Fear is a driving force of my life and on that fateful night when I stood at the crossroads of my continued existence was perhaps the last time that my fear was consummate to the reality of the situation. Some men would crumble if exposed to the incessant delusional caution that molded my being, but I am of the queer nature that should thrive from such misgivings.

And it was these misgivings that did teach me how to deal with the stressful dilemmas kin to the one that I found myself strung between that fateful night, standing in the shadows of New York City with a manila folder gripped securely under my trench coat among the tears of the powers above. It was fitting that this alley in particular be where I went back on my allegiance to the family. I looked to the cardboard shelters that kept dry a sole inked feline. No doubt this was a common haunt of the cat. Perhaps he was there the night that a young man, similar to me in face, used those same boxes to weather a storm before the family accepted him into their arms. Now, the tomcat would be witness to the treacherous end to my time under the family.

It was not long before another obscure figure revealed himself from the shadows. The pair of us did not speak, nor looked one another in the eye, as I passed of the manila folder to the symbol of despotism I despised with a passion. I explained to this pig the nature of how I received this information with the keystrokes of destiny; it happens that I was gifted with a certain talent in regard to memory from birth, oft leading to my success in my... various enterprises and ultimately to my traitorous existence that I speak to you from today.

So, as the manila folder left my hand, I felt the rain ease from the sky that should prove I not worthy the pity of the gods for my transgression. That jet tomcat gazed into my soul as it crawled from its shelter to stare my soul down in judgement when the folder left my hand and the dark figure that I confided it to left me in the dank stench of the city's dark alleys.

From that alley came a new self that sought to justify my actions unto myself by pulling down others to my level of refuse. I struggled in a self-destructive campaign to fight the power of the mega-corporations that have programmed our lives from birth to uphold the slavery of the disenfranchised class of inidividual by the amoral corporate juggernauts by the means of common law. I flew too close to the gaseous heavenly body of idealism to fall into the depths of despair once more.

Now, I lie in the corner of my apartment in fear for the hallucinations that plague my being either by fantasy of the mind or of the elixir in which I secured my escape from reality. Dark, faceless figures like the one in the alley that night searched my room above me as I hid among the sweet ichor that kept me sedated to the pain. Reality and fantasy seemed to meld into one image as I began to hear the voices from above. They speak of capturing me and taking away the sweet escape that has held me together in these last few months and provided me with the needed stimulus for the few meals I still swallowed. I grip my laser pistol tightly as it is tied to my waist, and pause before going up to shoot. I do know that if my calculations are correct- and they most assuredly are-, the hallucinogenic properties of the Salamander will dissipate soon enough and the chances of my fire hitting thin air would be cut to 50/50 at most.

[The Templar High Council]

Ah yes, art exhibitions. Lua didn't really quite care for all these fancy paintings or naked statues, but she was rather intrigued in the various good looking guys that attended these events. Unfortunately, this time around the event seemed to consist of a bunch of old geezers that were talking about nonsense that she had no interest in. It was such a waste that daddy forced her to attend these events. Saying she should learn to appreciate the ways of 'high society' seemed rather ironic coming from a crime lord like him. As usual though, she always listened to what daddy told her to do. He was after all, the head of the largest crime syndicate in East Asia, and one of the largest in North America. Whatever she asked daddy to give her, daddy always gave her.

Luckily, she managed to spot at least one good looking stranger to alleviate her irritation. He had dirty blonde hair, blue eyes, and appeared to be in his early thirties. She looked towards her bodyguard, Chase, and gave him a wink. This was rather standard for Lua and Chase. He swore not to tell her father about her...habits, and she boosted his salary every one in a while. As soon as her prey had been targeted, she made way to approach them, and after a few minutes of flirtation, showing some skin, and some lewd remarks, Lua decided to kick up the game. She pressed herself against her target and softly whispered into his ear. This was met with him firmly squeezing her rear. After eliciting a gasp, the two quickly retreated to the restroom where they meant to perform a sacred ritual.

It was a solid fifteen minutes before Lua emerged once again, seeming a little irritated. She had clearly managed to make herself look presentable one again, not allowing anyone but Chase to suspect what had gone down.

"He was a fucking amateur. I can't believe I wasted my time with someone like him," she bemoaned. Looking to Chase, she took her finger and dragged it across her own neck to signal what she wanted done. She had a reputation to maintain after all. As Chase handled her little 'friend', she made her way back to the limousine and to the comfort of her entourage.

Chase looked past Lua at the slightly ajar door. He'd been standing around, pointing across the exhibition hall to the other bathroom, for the past fifteen minutes. Lua might not have been the most sensible girl, but she did pay him. Nodding slightly, he entered the bathroom after she gave the sign and approached the target, still buttoning his shirt. The man looked to Chase as he tried to leave. "I've... gotta go." He tried to rush past him after Lua, but Chase put his hand on the man's chest. "Yes, you do."

In a few short moments, the mark had found his way backed into a stall. Chase stood between him and freedom. "What the hell man? Do you know who I am?"

"Does it look like I care?" Chase stared at the man for a moment, waiting for the answer. When he finally shook his head no, Chase relented. "That's what I thought."

Pulling out a silenced handgun from the small of his back, Chase fired the weapon twice. Once into the man's chest, and once into his head. The handgun was a little beauty, imported from Germany through Reliquiae black markets. But as far as Lua knew, it was a gift from his father after a trip to the former world power. The bullets dissolved after two minutes of liquid exposure, ensuring that there was no trace to the gun itself. Chase took the dead man's handkerchief and plugged up the wound in his chest. "Sorry pal, orders are orders." Leaving the restroom and locking the door behind him, Chase encountered a man on his way to relieve himself. "This one's closed, check across the hall." With that out of the way, Chase returned to the limousine the chauffeur had brought out from the parking garage. He nodded to the man, handing him a $20 note and closing the door behind him.

"Where to now, Ms. Lua?" Chase asked, not reminding her that her father wanted her at the art exhibition for another hour and a half. He drove the car to the end of the parking lot, awaiting her orders on where to go.

[Moorwhyne]

London, England

9871, N Walnut Drive
12:58 PM

"I understand sirrah, everything should be coming together shortly. We will be ready by tomorrow night." Kaine said, becoming a little short with his commanding officer. "Zelendarian! You fuck this up and I swear I'll have your nuts hangi-" The mans voice was cut short as Kaine disconnected the call from his wrist comm. "I get tired of those idiots threatening me all the time." Kaine said to his driver. "I could imagine it get's rather tiresome sir." Kaine looked out the window as he approached his apartment. How could they threaten him with anything? Corporate knew the only thing stopping Helvetica from losing the Britannic theater was Kaine and his men. If Kaine failed then England and more importantly.. Wales... Could fall into the hands of dirty liberals and perhaps even the proletariat. Kaine had less issues with the non-violent protesters, those sad few who hadn't been getting enough to get by, and he could share their pain. Kaine to was poor at a point in his life, and so he tried to help the non-violents where he could. But he often felt it was to little to late. Kaine could do nothing but hope eventually technology was able to help, rather then harm the world. Kaine, however sympathetic he was to the cause of the proletariat, had absolutely no tolerance for terrorists. Destruction of property, killings, theft, were all acts committed by not the innocent proletariat, but by those who wished for an excuse to commit crime. Kaine was set to kill a group of gang members the next day. "Sir?" Kaine snapped back into reality as the car idled in his garage. "Apologies Garret, I've got a lot on my mind." Kaine mumbled as he exited the car. "No problem sirrah" His driver said as he slowly backed out of the garage.

Kaine walked up the stairs to his 25'th floor penthouse apartment as he always did after he came home from the office. When he got to the door of the apartment, he stuck his eye up to the lock and blinked twice. The door opened and he stepped inside his considerable lodgings. Kaine looked around for a moment. He then unholstered his pistol and clicked the safety off. The thing that caught Kaine so off guard was the fact that there was for starters, no light, which at this hour of the day meant that someone had closed his blinds. And secondly, the harsh florescent lights hadn't turned on upon his entry either meaning no power. Kaine also slid a Titanium-Carbide knife out from his belt, and held it in a tactical position under his firing hand. Resting his gun on his forearm he walked forward. He then clicked on his heartbeat sensor, and sent out a bolo for immediate backup to his location. There was no life forms in his house other then that of his cat, which was sound asleep on the couch.

The backup had arrived shortly after he requested it, it appeared that someone had been sneaking around in his house looking for something. whatever it was they didn't seem to find it and left in a hurry. They CSI team had found fingerprints and a hair sample belonging to some prol female by the name of Genesis Fairfield. She was being brought in for questioning, however Kaine knew that this girl had done nothing wrong. After interviewing her she was clearly terrified. No older then 16 she couldn't have played a part in the break in, she had been making decent grades in school, and had no criminal record. So against corporates advice, Kaine let the girl go. Whoever he was dealing with they were clearly professionals. And they had chosen a fall girl, which likely would have fooled someone less pure then Kaine.

In the mean time Kaine had to make sure everyone on his team was going to be ready for the bust tomorrow. It was going to be the biggest one ever attempted. Over 100 gang members meeting in one location for some massive annual arms deal. Kaine would go in there guns blazing, and hopefully come out with enough prisoners that the media wouldn't declare it a massacre.

[Finland SSR]

Anastas Vladimirovich Zhukov

---

"Current macro-economic trends let us to predict that the current economy will continue to grow, though at a somewhat smaller pace, as insurgent attacks and industrial destabilization in the African-Asian region have somewhat lowered the trust of investors in those areas." Ernest Vlasov, my current economical advisor, spoke.

I nodded - a sign that I let him continue.

"In the domestic market, current trends let us to predict that develpment in the Federation will not stop throughout the year. The price of "Novograd" has dropped by 2 percent, while "Fyodorov" and "Tukhachevsky" rose by 1 percent and 1.4 percent each - which can be attributed to consumer fluctuation."

"Obviously." I agreed. "What about our situation?"

"Yours is a true surprise, sir Zhukov. "Ratrit"'s price has increased by 8 percent - a surprising move. I suppose your direction to invest in asteroid mining and refinement paid off."

"It's a true skill to navigate the waters of business."

"I agree. Now, in other news-" Ernest's report on current economical situation was insultingly cut off by a call to my phone. What? Who was it? Apparently, Tukhachevsky. I lifted my hand, giving a signal to Vlasov that he can leave, and he immediately packed his stuff, grabbed his papers and left through the front door. I pressed the green button on my pure black table and a screen popped up in front of me.

"Zhukov! How could you!" Tukhachevsky was obviously infuriated. I didn't get it.

"What is it?"

"You didn't tell me that you're also pursuing for the Asteroid Field!"

"Why should I have?"

"All those billions invested into a second place... And nobody cared about second places n this country!"

I smirked. Clearly, I caught him off guard this time.

"Well, at least you're still holding your own."

"It's a temporary measure! Our stocks may fall overnight! Darn it, Zhukov, we thought we were friends!"

"We were, you are correct. Were."

The click on my left wrist beeped. Yes, Maria. I almost forgot. The fact that I just beat down one of my rivals satisfied me, but I didn't bother with it too much.

"Well, have a good time, Tukhachevsky." I pushed the red button on the table and the screen vanished.

---

Maria, surprisingly, wasn't too happy this time.

"Dad, why do you always wear that cape suit thing? It looks creepy, or more accurately, just weird." she exclaimed while we were both walking out of the Moscow Psy Bank. As she was now 16, she could finally safely have her psycho copied, and she just did so, which I am more than happy with. I already almost lost her when she was a child - safety measures never hurt. Still, I frowned at the question.

"It's nothing important." The fact that I use it as a means of showing off my power and intimidating people was something I did not want to get into. We already left the main building, and now, only a few meters left until we reach our limousin and can safely go home. It's never safe for a person like me here... We walked through an array of security guards, when I noticed a blur just to the left of the limousin.

Wait... It's coming right at us! A missile! Thankfully, I still had my sword with me. With my right hand, I grabbed onto Maria's shoulder and pulled her down, while taking out the blade with the left and slamming it right to the incoming projectile. I didn't think - I didn't know if I even did anything useful... but I did. The missile crashed to the road, and luckily did not detonate. I immediately ducked, as a skirmish began between the security and the attacker.

"It's... it's a terrorist act!" Maria muttered.

"Yes, and the third one this month. Come on, let's move to the car."

[Altito Asmoro]

New York City
Sons of Gabriel, Christ's Liberation Army

Well, I'll be damned if I work here for too long...

Nikolas pondered on his office at an apartment, which is actually kind of lower middle-class apartment and few middle-class here and there. Converted into a base for one of Sons of Gabriel's bases, people there know it's base for CLA, but couldn't do nothing. They should be sympathized with them, supporting them, not just standing around waiting for Justice. No more justice as long as MCs stand tall without enemies.

The branch has controlling information and delivering them for the CLA. It includes information for the assassinations and sabotages, black markets products, potential recruits and money, and global news. Or regional news. His secret works for the Reliquiae has proved better but so far advanced to less than needed.

Anyway, his job lately is less than ever, probably because CLA is preparing something big...

[Poor Fellow Soldiers of Christ]

[CLEARANCE REQUIRED], China
Sinopec Research Laboratory

Heping wandered around her private section of the Innovator Design and Implementation Floor, humming a single tone as she did so. It was one of her more attractive habits—relatively, at least—and was in fact one of her personalised security keys. She did not actually even look where she was going anymore, she had lived in the lab so long. The body's primitive 'need to sleep' was something she had phased out with her first model of ment-add.

She turned to the door as a second of white noise came through the intercom. That was what she was waiting for. She walked over, and was about to open when the signal came again, twice. She froze as the sound of two 'silenced' gunshots came through the closer door, and after the sound of a body hitting the ground the door burst open, revealing a Japanese man carrying a large pistol.

"Female Heping." She nodded, timidly. "You are under arrest, for sedition. Come now, in the name of the Operation."

She was about to move when she noticed the body on the ground. It was Eshmitt Sahib, one of her beloved children. The intruder had shot him twice in the chest. How- how dare he hurt one of her children?

She turned away. "No. I'm not going. You can't make me." She waited until the sound of another gunshot echoed through her head. Silencers really were quite inefficient. With that thought, she turned around. "What happened, my bonny boy?"

Eshmitt stood up, dropping the pistol—should it not be smoking, or something like that?—and picking up the nearly dead intruder. "It was waiting. I only managed to bring my fresh meat as it sounded the all-clear. That was when I sounded the alarm and tried to rush it. I apologise for my failure, mother."

"No need, my beautiful child. Come, let us take it into the family. The poor thing must be so terrified, blind as it is to the truth." She had prepared a fresh identity for the new child Eshmitt would have brought, but it would fit this one just as well.

Her son lifted the body up onto the table, and then lifted her up so she could see it. "Thank you, son. Where are my other children? How are they doing?" Even as she talked, she was opening up the skull of the intruder. She licked her lips.

"Prag is quiet this week. I have not heard from him quite recently. Tewarri has killed again, a gang member. He still holds to his ideals."

"Good that he does. How is William doing?"

"She is working with Lal. Other than that, I do not know." He handed her the ment-add she had prepared, and she placed it in.

"Thank you. Have you found anything further on Contact?"

He shook his head. "Helvetica is cracking down on electronic communication out of the continent. My tangles are cut off for the moment."

"Hmmm. Is there anything else I should know?"

/....Hira, report. What is your status?/

Heping froze, and turned to the body of the still warm intruder. It was an earpiece that she had missed. "No more time for preparation. Let us welcome Hira to our family!" She jumped the ment-add with a small jolt of energy, and hopped down from Eshmitt's hands. "Hira? Come on, please wake up."

Nothing happened for a second, but then the former intruder jumped up, breathing heavily. He looked around, and then down at Heping. "Mother?" Heping nodded. "What must I do?"

"Your tracker wants a report. You must tell them that I was not here."

He lifted his hand to his ear, and spoke those calming words into the receiver. It took a couple of attempts, but eventually they believed him. "Now go, and keep me in mind. Find my contact. And reveal it to me."

She hoped he would have been part of Reliquiae. It would be too embarrassing if it was another low-scale group by Sinopec. Internal Affairs did always have too much time on their hands. This would be an actual crime, though, and Yung would not be able to complain this time. Dismissing the thought as her two sons left, she went back to her next attempt at a grown sentience. Maybe this one would live.

[Soviet Farm]

Los Angeles, California
Jonah flopped down onto the couch in his small apartment. He was dead tired. The contract had been a difficult one. There was a reason he stopped going after Underworld targets. The pay was always good, but the targets were always very good at being slippery. "Oh well, money is money" he thought to himself. "I'll check if Constellis has any jobs tommorow."

[Isle of Lithonia]

Astra was just dozing off, her head slowly falling forward to faceplant on her paws, when she realized there was a person in front of her. She kind of wondered if she should tell him that she was a person inside of a cat, but decided against it for now. "Mew," She squeaked, getting to her paws with a stretch. She purred and rubbed against his hand. Maybe he would take her somewhere warm, with food. Or maybe he'd put her in a shelter.....She didn't trust shelters. Too many of them weren't as nice as they said. But he seemed nice, so he decided to trust him. She put her soft fuzzy little front paws up on his hands, mewing at him.

Christopher smiled down at her, petting her head gently. "Poor thing. You won't last long out here...

"Would you like to come with me? My apartment isn't huge, but I am sure my sister and I can make enough room for you."

Violet strolled through the streets of New York City, looking around for her contact.
"Where are you?" She muttered, her hand drifting to her handgun in her coat instinctually. She pulled it away, and headed for one of the side streets. Violet saw a Constellis officer, talking to a kitten. She walked towards them, trying to seem casual.

Noticing the woman coming closer, Christopher watched her from the corner of his eye. Something about her seemed...off. He needed to investigate.

Leaving the kitten for just a moment, he stood up, looking into the woman's eyes, a not-unfriendly look on his face. "Good afternoon, ma'am. Seems like you are looking for something."