Ben runs into the kitchen, his knees scraped with blood and dirt, his hair full of twigs and the biggest smile on his face. "Mum! Mum! Can we watch TV with dinner tonight? Pleeeeeaaaaase mum!" he asks repeatedly, his high-pitched begging beginning to grate on Martha's recurring headache.
"No! You always watch that rubbish, it's time for the grown ups to watch their own programs," she says, sternly putting him down. His lower lip trembles and snotters begin to run down his nose and onto his lip in the disgusting way you know that their just going to lip their lips after they've wiped away the largest drips. Martha shudders inside but doesn't let it show over the physical agony of mashing the potatoes. Her grimace covers the sour thoughts of her child. He would simply complain for hours on end if she didn't allow it. "Fine! Go clean yourself up, you are a complete mess. No way are you sitting on my couch like that," she said, glad to see him charge out of the kitchen towards the bathroom. Callum, her husband, entered after the young one vanished.
"What was that about?" he asked, the darkened circles of a 10-hour work day as clear as the sea, adorning his under-eye's.
"Ben begged me to watch Primetime Wartime again. I said no, but he just kept begging and begging. So I gave into him. Again. I can't believe my son enjoys that horror show. You've seen what it does to them, and my child enjoys it? He's a fucking psychopath, watching that show has ruined my boy. He's even talking about joining the military now, and runs around shouting about 'killing those stupid Stellons'. He's going to end up on that TV in 10 years, going through the same shit we see those men subjected to, and some other 8 year old is going to be screaming what he is and his parents are going to be having this same damn argument!" Martha said. Her voice had been rising until suddenly it fell, as she did too to the ground, racking tears making her body jiggle on tiled floor.
"I know what you mean. He won't listen to me when I try and explain what's actually happening, and he can't understand that it isn't a show, and it isn't a game. I don't even know if he realises what's actually going on," Callum said. He placed a hand on her shoulder and another on the back of her head, pulling her in for a tentative hug. "I don't even think he knows what's happening."
It's been 10 years since humanity began its crusade on the only alien lifeforms it has encountered. Seemingly being human instinct, the foreign ship, peacefully sailing by Earth without a second glance, was shot down by Inter Planetary Ballistic Missiles (IPBMs for short), spraying cosmo flotsam down on the Pacific Ocean. Scientists and Xenophiles across the planet banded together to determine who this invader was, soon named the Stellons. Astrophysicists tracked their direction and velocity back to a star system hundreds of millions of kilometres away, now titled 'Django-1'. Mankind pulled together it's resources and launched the Alrekur, a Capital ship carrying 6,000 troops, squadrons of fighters, and some intensely heavy weaponry designed for defence. Meaning the best defence is a good offence.
At home, millions of miles away, live feeds from the helmet cameras are streamed on to televisions, cruelly named 'Primetime Wartime' where families on their couches can watch war with a bucket of popcorn for only $99 a year. A bargain. And from their armchair they can watch soldiers get gutted by the Stellons, or trip and fall on a landmine, often accompanied by the shrill laughter of a safe family. Judging and analysing like a football game, they'll meet up at work and discuss where the Sergeant went wrong on the last patrol or why Davidson is unworthy of leadership for not charging the bunker. All the while the soldiers on the front line have their minds unravelled as they go insane, trying to not come off as a coward while preserving their lives. There is no middle ground on war, and the spectators are ensuring it's entertaining.
To summarise, this will be about a group of soldiers being deployed to another solar system to fight a race who hadn't instigated the war. They will have to struggle with their opinions on the war while watching good men die and worse men live, all the while dealing with the psychological terror of millions of viewers getting front row seats to their own little self-apocalypse.
Advanced Interest Check (please read! More example of what we're aiming for and good for information!) from a while back on the first attempt: http://www.roleplayerguild.com/topics/93802-starship-troopers-the-forever-war-meets-death-race/ooc
"No! You always watch that rubbish, it's time for the grown ups to watch their own programs," she says, sternly putting him down. His lower lip trembles and snotters begin to run down his nose and onto his lip in the disgusting way you know that their just going to lip their lips after they've wiped away the largest drips. Martha shudders inside but doesn't let it show over the physical agony of mashing the potatoes. Her grimace covers the sour thoughts of her child. He would simply complain for hours on end if she didn't allow it. "Fine! Go clean yourself up, you are a complete mess. No way are you sitting on my couch like that," she said, glad to see him charge out of the kitchen towards the bathroom. Callum, her husband, entered after the young one vanished.
"What was that about?" he asked, the darkened circles of a 10-hour work day as clear as the sea, adorning his under-eye's.
"Ben begged me to watch Primetime Wartime again. I said no, but he just kept begging and begging. So I gave into him. Again. I can't believe my son enjoys that horror show. You've seen what it does to them, and my child enjoys it? He's a fucking psychopath, watching that show has ruined my boy. He's even talking about joining the military now, and runs around shouting about 'killing those stupid Stellons'. He's going to end up on that TV in 10 years, going through the same shit we see those men subjected to, and some other 8 year old is going to be screaming what he is and his parents are going to be having this same damn argument!" Martha said. Her voice had been rising until suddenly it fell, as she did too to the ground, racking tears making her body jiggle on tiled floor.
"I know what you mean. He won't listen to me when I try and explain what's actually happening, and he can't understand that it isn't a show, and it isn't a game. I don't even know if he realises what's actually going on," Callum said. He placed a hand on her shoulder and another on the back of her head, pulling her in for a tentative hug. "I don't even think he knows what's happening."
It's been 10 years since humanity began its crusade on the only alien lifeforms it has encountered. Seemingly being human instinct, the foreign ship, peacefully sailing by Earth without a second glance, was shot down by Inter Planetary Ballistic Missiles (IPBMs for short), spraying cosmo flotsam down on the Pacific Ocean. Scientists and Xenophiles across the planet banded together to determine who this invader was, soon named the Stellons. Astrophysicists tracked their direction and velocity back to a star system hundreds of millions of kilometres away, now titled 'Django-1'. Mankind pulled together it's resources and launched the Alrekur, a Capital ship carrying 6,000 troops, squadrons of fighters, and some intensely heavy weaponry designed for defence. Meaning the best defence is a good offence.
At home, millions of miles away, live feeds from the helmet cameras are streamed on to televisions, cruelly named 'Primetime Wartime' where families on their couches can watch war with a bucket of popcorn for only $99 a year. A bargain. And from their armchair they can watch soldiers get gutted by the Stellons, or trip and fall on a landmine, often accompanied by the shrill laughter of a safe family. Judging and analysing like a football game, they'll meet up at work and discuss where the Sergeant went wrong on the last patrol or why Davidson is unworthy of leadership for not charging the bunker. All the while the soldiers on the front line have their minds unravelled as they go insane, trying to not come off as a coward while preserving their lives. There is no middle ground on war, and the spectators are ensuring it's entertaining.
To summarise, this will be about a group of soldiers being deployed to another solar system to fight a race who hadn't instigated the war. They will have to struggle with their opinions on the war while watching good men die and worse men live, all the while dealing with the psychological terror of millions of viewers getting front row seats to their own little self-apocalypse.
Advanced Interest Check (please read! More example of what we're aiming for and good for information!) from a while back on the first attempt: http://www.roleplayerguild.com/topics/93802-starship-troopers-the-forever-war-meets-death-race/ooc
