Current
Away from home between October 26th and November 10th. Contests will return when I'm back home!
2
likes
2 mos ago
Don't forget to vote in the writing contest! The link is in the sidebar <3
2
likes
2 mos ago
Back from vacation, taking my time to roll back into roleplays and contests.
2 mos ago
Vacation for a week, I'm off to Finland!
1
like
3 mos ago
Note to self: reply to RPs
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Bio
Hello everyone. I'm Dutch, a mother of a 8-year old boy and I love both rp-ing and writing. Since May 2020 I'm one of the contests mods.
I started with writing Dutch stories in 2002, I was already 19 at that time. I joined a writing competition and that got me started. Soon I started to write down all the stories my over-active imagination came up with. I had my first forum rp experience in 2003 on a Dutch fantasy forum. While I continued to write, I stopped rp-ing when the particular rp and forum slowly died. In 2011 my love for rp's rekindled when I joined a site with a forum and I started to RP solely in English since that is the language of the site. This is also when I wrote my first story in English.
I've got a few 1x1 rp's going on this site and a couple more on another site. I've always been a fan of writing competitions and I joined a lot several of the ones that were hosted on this website. Now I get to host them myself and really enjoy that too.
When you come here to check if I'm online, know that even when I show as online I might not be able to respond to RP's. I open this site so that when I have time I can spend some time here, but I don't always end up with the time to do so.
If I haven't replied in a while, feel free to poke me. I don't ghost on purpose, sometimes I just forgetful and if I read your reply and accidentally closed the tab I might forget I was supposed to reply T_T
Mitch eyed the new arrival and then glanced around to see how the newcomer was welcomed. While Duncan seemed to have no issues with this man, the half-brother was still on guard. Reason enough for him to stay on guard too. This person obviously not being human was another good reason; until he knew the capabilities of Lydral he would not let him get close.
Mike was observing Lydral when Duncan spoke to him. "Oh, right," he said as he got up. "I'll open the doors. Just tell me which ones to open." He had no idea where the bathroom was, but with the direction of Duncan he was able to help Freya get to the bathroom.
"Oh honey," Lily said as she shook her head. "Don't take the blame, Krys was mean to you. Come, I will open this cage one the guards are here as I don't carry the key, and I'll show you where you can sleep. And with the guards Krys won't be able to hurt you." "Ma'am," the assistant began, but she was silenced by a tut-tut from Lily.
The remaining agents observed what happened, astonished, afraid. None had ever witnessed such power before. And the maniac laughter was bone-chilling. An e-mail with an update about the situation was sent as they continued to observe what was going on with weapons ready.
Benjamin was awake in bed for a while longer, staring at the ceiling. How he hated this place. Eventually he fell asleep and he didn't even notice the nurse of the nightshift open the door to see if everything was okay.
The nurse thought she saw something when she turned to walk away, but when she looked back she didn't see anything. She shrugged and blamed the shadows as she continued her round.
Somewhere from within the building came a scream, faint, distant. It was impossible to tell where it had come from, but it was something Benjamin didn't hear. He slept until the morning.
There will be night rounds. Do you want someone of the staff to see Ari as she's sitting outside the door, or do you want her to be like Dia a bit later.
Benjamin shrugged. "Everyone seems to think I'm a victim of the succubus, charmed by her evil magic. I don't think they will hunt me down because of her." He took a moment to consider the offer. "I don't mind to have another phone, one I can reach you with. That would be sensible." He really did his best not to worry about Steph, but he failed miserably. While he wanted to go after her with the information Freya had given him, he knew that was unwise. They needed a plan first, but that was for the next day.
Mitch noticed how Dante straightened up and he repositioned his hands slowly, barely noticeable, as he too turned his attention to the doorway. If there was one thing he had learned, it was to react to what was happening around them, and the defensive posture of Dante made it him suspicious of what else was here.
Mike noticed how Freya inched closer to him and although it made him slightly uncomfortable - there was only one woman he had ever been physically close with - he did put an arm around her. "Guys," he said, "I think she really needs to get to the ocean, she's getting gills."
Lily clicked her tongue in disapproval as Krys walked away. "What an awful person she is," she commented. "I don't like her. Darling, make sure Steph is assigned some guards," she said to her assistant. "I don't want that woman to hurt Steph." After the order was given - and faithfully executed on the tablet by the assistant - Lily turned her attention back on Steph. "I never said something is wrong with you, you are beautiful. The company thinks you are dangerous, that's why you are in a cage now, obligatory safety measures, but I will get you out of here as soon as I can. I promise."
The remaining agents at the base watched the figures fight; even the more hardened field agents were uneasy about the power they saw displayed in front of them. They started contemplating to retreat to a more secure location. The bunker in the field, perhaps. The team-leader gave the order to split up; some were to take shelter in the bunker under the grass on the east side and position themselves at the gunports, others had to hide in the sniper locations around the base. He gave the order to evacuate the building itself; that was just a pile of bricks after all, easily replaced. Agent lives were not.
"And when she finally does," Andy added, "she brings in a fine specimen of the humankind. I don't know if there is any competition going, but if there is, I'm sure Frosiien won now." As he talked to Thundurk he kept an eye on Niccia and Gavin, and the two unknown human-shaped legendary Pokémon. Something was happening there, after a seemingly joyful reunion between Niccia and the old man, and a stiff one between Gavin and the old man, both seemed to be taken aback by something. He glanced to where his nephew was and he noticed Michael keeping an eye on it too.
Bear gave Mitch a pat on the back, although he didn't hold back much of his strength. "We're practically team-mates now!" he stated and then he turned to see where Merlin was. "Hey, Featherball!" he shouted. "Have you heard?" Andy burst out in laughter when he heard the name Bear had for Merlin. Merlin joined the group. "Heard what?" "He can understand us now, like Michael." Merlin nodded sagely. "If that is the case, then I have a thing or two to say to him." "Maybe after the party," Benny said with a chuckle.
Timothy looked at his trainer as Penalopy almost threw Chifferi at Mindy and chuckled. "It doesn't look she's getting much of a choice." he said. James likewise saw it happen and sighed; he let his master out his sight for a couple of minutes and she was already forcing acquaintances.
"Ouch," Mindy said when she felt something bump onto her head and she turned around, watching the floating Jirachi in front of her. Penalopy joined them, floating alongside him. "This is my good friend Chifferi," she introduced him, to which Chifferi waved at Mindy.
Stormiar took Yalgai's hand and shook it. "Good afternoon to you too," he greeted her. "We're doing fine, thank you. You too I hope." "I may have caused a tornade on our way here though..." Halkio added. "It was an accident." With his brothers talking, Moralar took a moment to see what was happening so far. It looked like Arceus was talking with his favourites - no surprise there - and that mental little pet of Yalgai was here too.
The three guardians of the Forces of Nature joined in as well, first the Eelektross crawled in, followed by a Staraptor and a Mudsdale. When Lytse noticed the Staraptor he squeaked and hid behind Bear, who immediately took on a defensive stance.
About Jirachi's whishes, can he give 3 in total or 3 every time he wakes up from hibernation when the comet comes, or is it unlimited? I think I read that in the manga Jirachi can only grant 3 wishes because they are written on the tags and once a tag is used it's used, but I don't know if the same limitations were used in the anime.
I shatter the wall between us, author and reader become characters in the story. Together we breach a literary wall which both was and never was. For reality is an illusion dear reader, even the ones I create. And perhaps in an alternate reality, the story does not end here.
No. The writer shook his head. His fingers standing idle at the keys. No, it would not do. Nothing so short would win great acclaim, nothing so simple and yet paradoxically complex. It was something his cheeky grin made within moments of seeing the prompt, raw and unrefined, a joking blank verse poem that regretful fingers had typed. The writer sat there, thinking, pondering, searching the soul for beauty and mind for wit. It had to be clever, something to impress his peers, and like a wee ant amongst the giants, he wracked his brain for thoughts. What cleverness could he have? Look deep into the mind, hoping to find the inspiration of his muses with ever breath.
In another reality, the story does not end here.
The looking glass began to crack, splintering across the mirrored sky like lightening reversed. What was up became down, and what was down became up; a reversal of what is and what was and hints of what will be. The truth revealed the beauty of it in one eye, and the ugliness which offends in the other. A hand brought up to touch a face disfigured, trembling unsteady as claws raked across flesh. A gasp, the terror, the horror, oh how did the wicked truth reveal. No, it cannot be, what trickery was this? What treason, what treachery? In denial the mind rejected it, the psyche shrieked out in vain, but vanity was its own reward. A malicious heart as black as the pitiless eye that stared viciously back. she was pretty once, but now look, look upon how hideous this accursed device had made her!
Look away, it lies! It show you nothing more than lies, was not your cheek tender to the touch? was it not smooth and supple? Firm with the promise of youth eternal. Skin that glowed paler than the moon, and more radiant than the sun, the envy of the stars above. Perfection without flaw, every pore gleaming of attraction. Gaze upon the visage of a goddess, immeasurable beauty beyond words, that which poets cannot capture. Yet a single gaze could capture the hearts of men. Imagine it so, that with one glance, a flutter lashes from an iridescent eye, rendered the mind numb to all other sights. Look into those pupils deep and become entranced in the swirls of colours. Inch forward, closer and closer still, still the heart that longs aching in the chest. Look. look and tell the goddess the truth from quaking lips.
A gift bestowed. A mirror ancient as e
Only the wise may see the direction the story begins.
No, no, a work left unfinished. The rest never came, but what a novel idea it would have been. The last line was the first he had written, after deleting the first failed attempt at greatness. And from there the story wrote itself, folding and unfolding at fast fingertips, exploding with letters and words as ideas flowed out like lightning. The thunderous pauses with every tap of the spacebar, and the flash of the blinking cursor which marks the head of the literary storm. Though like all storms it died out, for the way the story was to be structured, the way it was to be told, was to be read first from top to bottom by the reader, until the very last line. Yes, it was the last line which actually implied the story was to be read in reverse, from the bottom line to the paragraph above, and so forth until indeed the line at the beginning, the remnant of his silly poem, was to remain in the minds of the readers amazed and entertained at the ingenuity of a story which altered its meaning when read backwards or forwards depending on the perception the reader had. Alas, the story failed to take flight, and died out as a dark muse emerged from the mirror.
A terrible whisper, from the computer screen as the Writer stared at the abyssal grey. A smiling shadow, a ripple across the labyrinth of white words against the ebony shade. Yes, it was madness, a madness that was purely refreshing. Like the world was just a dream, and he was waking for the first time. Eyes wide opened, a clear twinkle in his eye. So began a new story, one word at a time.
Welcome to Morpheus. Live your fantasies.
A soft female voice greeted guests over and over again. A constant cycle as the sound system repeated its loop, the unceasing track reminding patrons where exactly they were and what purpose there was to be here. It was a clean facility, sterile and pristine, every bit of from the plastic polymer walls humming with hypnotic lights to the pulsating floor tiles which rippled with every barefoot step man took. He was washed and nude, as was protocol, disallowed to bring anything but his own body into the white room. Any contamination had been removed in the room behind him, an airlock sealed in negative pressure as he recalled his dead skin cells being brushed and scraped off his body. Hair shaved and the roots plucked, a cool gel applied to orifices and his eyes disinfect and destroy any cellular debris, it stung, but for the chance of a lifetime, it was worth it. Like the namesake god of antiquity, Morpheus provided a way for someone to experience their deepest desires, all in this very surreal room.
Morpheus began as the brainchild of a neuroscientist by the name of Mitchell who created a dream. And within the dream Mitchell discovered the clarity of thought. To delve further inwards into the very thought processes, the very signals that process thought, until the scientist understood how his own brain functioned. Not only how the complex neuronal pathways worked, but why, and when, and what was needed to alter the bridges and weave a completely new memory. But it was not just a memory, no for by tampering with the physical mind, Mitchell had unwitting unlocked the secrets of experience. For every moment in time was infinitesimally delayed as the brain works on the delayed lag between what is current and what was passed by currents of electrical impulses. So no human truly experiences reality by the moments but rather by the memories the brain creates which in turn build the world a man is immersed in. And this, this is why history knows not of Mitchell's last name, for the epiphany drove him insane. His colleagues turned on him and placed the mad neuroscientist to be regarded as a psychotic footnote in history. They thought the world was safe from his madness, but they thought wrong.
Mitchell had his revenge, as his notes detailed the revelation he had within his dream. It was only a matter of time before they resurfaced in the hands of one with the means and the power to pursue the mad writings of a man who lost his mind trying to mind it. A Merely decades ago humanity had tinkered with the budding technology of augmented reality, the then novel concept a leap forward in the path to Mitchell's dream. Augmented reality for the masses was wasted on games, causing people to forget that reality was harder than their glorified augmentations, that real life still went on and only fooling the eyes to believe a monster was there was not enough. So within months, reality was broken down and replaced, augmentation became old news, and virtual reality became the standard cutting edge. For there humanity was willing to blind itself and completely shut off reality itself to become immersed in a world they felt they could reach out and grab. Though they found themselves very disappointed that they punished themselves with high grapes and low waters. Was this not what they wanted? A torment in knowing everything was just an illusion? but as technology continued to evolve, illusions too festered and became old hat.
it was only within the last three years of the Morpheus project that humanity saw the ultimate experience. Based on his esoteric writings, scientists were able to decrypt and decode the ramblings of a madman into science. With cerebral stimulations and the right dose of interneuron regulatory drugs supplied, the right combination of notes would create an experience of information enough to fool the mind into thinking it was indeed the reality being perceived. The trick of course was first finding the correct combination for everyone, as the brain was a unique system and not all develop the same connections from person to person to person. As such it was a process in first recording the activity of the brain. The first few sessions were to establish the baseline, hours of walking through the subject and having them recall and recollection experience they've had before in their lives to modulate and mimic the very same findings in order to fool the brain. A boring an tedious requirement to use the Morpheus chambers, but the man had persisted this far, too far to be denied to experience the fruits of his long labour.
Welcome to Morpheus. Live your fantasies.
Subject Biometrics Detected. Welcome back Subject 26120. Please standby, Authorization Received. Our systems are currently preloading your neuronal data. Thank you.
Processing complete. Please proceed to the chair. Remain calm while the process begins. Thank you.
Welcome to Morpheus. Live your fantasies.
Who voiced her? That calming female voice, robotic but almost motherly in a sense. Reassuring and comforting, the guidance slow and patient, with the same looping tagline she seemed to endorse. Yes, artificial intelligence also boomed in tandem with the rise of the hyper-computing needed to run the Morpheus room, but all that was behind the man who just wanted to finally try the device at last. It was just as last time as he laid his body down on the waiting chair, reclined back as his arms and legs rested into place. A metal cap descending down upon the top of his skull from the pneumatic arm. Now for the next part that had always freaked him out, the needles, injecting themselves into his head through the tiny holes in his skull they made months ago and had filled with a strange sealing putty. He'd never get used to the sensation of having his brain imprisoned by those things, one move was all that it took for permanent brain damage. Which is why all subjects were electrically paralyzed the moment they sat down into the chair to avoid movement. It was also to stop any jerky reactions while in the fantasy world which may injure the patient, though such paralysis also required supplemental oxygen and nutrition to be administered which was the next series of tubes being injected into his wrists. And when the sounds of the heart monitor began to bleep, the man knew it wasn't long until he would be put under the spell of Morpheus.
Welcome to Morpheus. Live your fantasies.
Battle. He was a knight from the legends of old. Upon his gallant steed he rode. His enemy in sight, his sword drawn and waved proudly in hand. Something he had never done because they did not exist, slaying a dragon, but this machine, this wonderful machine had created this world for him to experience it. An amalgam of his own imagination of what it would be like, and the feelings he demonstrated when he experienced courage and pride, of superiority and looking down at his foe as the threat seemed so easily vanquished. Like the legendary heroes, he clipped the dragon's wing, sharp blade cutting into the scales and flesh as blood spurted out to anoint him victor. His hearty laugh followed a warcry. What a sensation! Oh it was worth it! And there would be a tomorrow to try the Morpheus room again, and a tomorrow after that, and one after that. Each day to experience a new pleasure as the power of the human mind was unlocked. So fight, fight until you awaken. And you know when you're awake, because in this simulation, you were unbeatable and aren't confined to a chair.
Welcome to Morpheus. Live your fantasies.
A soft female voice greeted guests over and over again. A constant cycle as the sound system repeated its loop, the unceasing track reminding patrons where exactly they were and what purpose there was to be here. It was a clean facility, sterile and pristine, every bit of from the plastic polymer walls humming with hypnotic lights to the pulsating floor tiles which rippled with every barefoot step man took. He was washed and nude, as was protocol, disallowed to bring anything but his own body into the white room. Any contamination had been removed in the room behind him, an airlock sealed in negative pressure as he recalled his dead skin cells being peeled and removed off his body. Hair shaved and the roots plucked, a cool gel applied to orifices and his eyes disinfect and destroy any cellular debris, it stung, but for the chance of a lifetime, it was worth it. Like the namesake god of antiquity, Morpheus provided a way for someone to experience their deepest desires, all in this very surreal room.
Welcome to Morpheus. Live your fantasies.
Subject Biometrics Detected. Welcome back Subject 26120. Please standby, Authorization Received. Our systems are currently preloading your neuronal data. Thank you.
Processing complete. Please proceed to the chair. Remain calm while the process begins. Thank you.
Welcome to Morpheus. Live your fantasies.
Who voiced her? That calming female voice, robotic but almost motherly in a sense. Reassuring and comforting, the guidance slow and patient, with the same looping tagline she seemed to endorse. Yes, artificial intelligence also boomed in tandem with the rise of the hyper-computing needed to run the Morpheus room, but all that was behind the man who just wanted to finally try the device at last. It was just as last time as he laid his body down on the waiting chair, reclined back as his arms and legs rested into place. A metal cap descending down upon the top of his skull from the pneumatic arm. Now for the next part that had always freaked him out, the needles, injecting themselves into his head through the tiny holes in his skull they made months ago and had filled with a strange sealing putty. He'd never get used to the sensation of having his brain imprisoned by those things, one move was all that it took for permanent brain damage. Which is why all subjects were electrically paralyzed the moment they sat down into the chair to avoid movement. It was also to stop any jerky reactions while in the fantasy world which may injure the patient, though such paralysis also required supplemental oxygen and nutrition to be administered which was the next series of tubes being injected into his wrists. And when the sounds of the heart monitor began to bleep, the man knew it wasn't long until he would be put under the spell of Morpheus once more.
Welcome to Morpheus. Live your fantasies.
Space. He was in space. Which direction was up? The weightlessness in floating, the beauty of the stars as far and bright as your eyes could see it was nearly blinding. Something he had always dreamed of, being in space, but this machine, this wonderful machine had created this world for him to experience it. An amalgam of his own imagination of what it would be like, and the feelings he demonstrated when he experienced awe and wonder, of swimming and looking down at the world as the planet seemed so distant. His laugh unheard in the vacuum of space. What insight! Oh it was worth it! And there would be a tomorrow to try the Morpheus room again, and a tomorrow after that, and one after that. Each day to experience a new pleasure as the power of the human mind was unlocked. So look, look until you awaken. And you know when you're awake, because in this simulation you could see the beauty of the galaxy, and aren't confined to a chair.
Welcome to Morpheus. Live your fantasies.
A soft female voice greeted guests over and over again. A constant cycle as the sound system repeated its loop, the unceasing track reminding patrons where exactly they were and what purpose there was to be here. It was a clean facility, sterile and pristine, every bit of from the plastic polymer walls humming with hypnotic lights to the pulsating floor tiles which rippled with every barefoot step man took. He was washed and nude, as was protocol, disallowed to bring anything but his own body into the white room. Any contamination had been removed in the room behind him, an airlock sealed in negative pressure as he recalled his dead skin cells being peeled off his body. Hair shaved and the roots plucked, a cool gel applied to orifices and his eyes disinfect and destroy any cellular debris, it burned as he blinked his eyes, but for the chance of a lifetime, it was worth it. Like the namesake god of antiquity, Morpheus provided a way for someone to experience their deepest desires, all in this very surreal room.
Welcome to Morpheus. Live your fantasies.
Subject Biometrics Detected. Welcome back Subject 26120. Please standby, Authorization Received. Our systems are currently preloading your neuronal data. Thank you.
Processing complete. Please proceed to the chair. Remain calm while the process begins. Thank you.
Welcome to Morpheus. Live your fantasies.
Who voiced her? That calming female voice, robotic but almost motherly in a sense. Reassuring and comforting, the guidance slow and patient, with the same looping tagline she seemed to endorse. Yes, artificial intelligence also boomed in tandem with the rise of the hyper-computing needed to run the Morpheus room, but all that was behind the man who just wanted to finally try the device at last. It was just as last time as he laid his body down on the waiting chair, reclined back as his arms and legs rested into place. A metal cap descending down upon the top of his skull from the pneumatic arm. Now for the next part that had always freaked him out, the needles, injecting themselves into his head through the tiny holes in his skull they made months ago and had filled with a strange sealing putty. He'd never get used to the sensation of having his brain imprisoned by those things, one move was all that it took for permanent brain damage. Which is why all subjects were electrically paralyzed the moment they sat down into the chair to avoid movement. It was also to stop any jerky reactions while in the fantasy world which may injure the patient, though such paralysis also required supplemental oxygen and nutrition to be administered which was the next series of tubes being injected into his wrists. And when the sounds of the heart monitor began to bleep, the man knew it wasn't long until he would be put under the spell of Morpheus once more.
Welcome to Morpheus. Live your fantasies.
Falling. He was falling. From the blue skies above. The wind rushing in his hair, and the sound deafening to the ear. Something he had never done, sky diving, but this machine, this wonderful machine had created this world for him to experience it. An amalgam of his own imagination of what it would be like, and the feelings he demonstrated when he experienced fear and excitement, of falling and looking down at the world as the ground seemed so distant. Like the comic book heroes he felt the surge of power, tucking his arms and legs in straight as he sped down like a bullet to make impact. Pulling up at the last moment to find himself propelled in the direction he chose, truly like a hero in flight. His laugh scattered behind him like the sonic blast. What a rush! Oh it was worth it! And there would be a tomorrow to try the Morpheus room again, and a tomorrow after that, and one after that. Each day to experience a new pleasure as the power of the human mind was unlocked. So fall, fall until you awaken. And you know when you're awake, because in this simulation you could feel the wind in your hair and aren't confined to a chair.
Welcome to Morpheus. Live your fantasies.
A soft female voice greeted guests over and over again. A constant cycle as the sound system repeated its loop, the unceasing track reminding patrons where exactly they were and what purpose there was to be here. It was a clean facility, sterile and pristine, every bit of from the plastic polymer walls humming with hypnotic lights to the pulsating floor tiles which rippled with every barefoot step man took. He was washed and nude, as was protocol, disallowed to bring anything but his own body into the white room. Any contamination had been removed in the room behind him, an airlock sealed in negative pressure as he recalled his dead skin cells being peeled off his body. Hair shaved and the roots plucked, a cool gel applied to orifices and his eyes disinfect and destroy any cellular debris, it burned as he blinked his eyes, but for the chance of a lifetime, it was worth it. Like the namesake god of antiquity, Morpheus provided a way for someone to experience their deepest desires, all in this very surreal room.
Welcome to Morpheus. Live your fantasies.
Subject Biometrics Detected. Welcome back Subject 26120. Please standby, Authorization Received. Our systems are currently preloading your neuronal data. Thank you.
Processing complete. Please proceed to the table. Remain calm while the process begins. Thank you.
Welcome to Morpheus. Live your fantasies.
Who voiced her? That calming female voice, robotic but almost motherly in a sense. Reassuring and comforting, the guidance slow and patient, with the same looping tagline she seemed to endorse. Yes, artificial intelligence also boomed in tandem with the rise of the hyper-computing needed to run the Morpheus room, but all that was behind the man who just wanted to finally try the device at last. It was just as last time as he laid his body down on the waiting table, reclined back as his arms and legs were locked into place. A metal cap descending down upon the top of his skull from the pneumatic arm. Now for the next part that had always freaked him out, the needles, injecting themselves into his head through the tiny holes in his skull they made months ago and had filled with a strange sealing putty. He'd never get used to the sensation of having his brain imprisoned by those things, one move was all that it took for permanent brain damage. Which is why all subjects were electrically paralyzed the moment they got on the table to avoid movement. It was also to stop any jerky reactions while in the fantasy world which may injure the patient, though such paralysis also required supplemental oxygen and nutrition to be administered which was the next series of tubes being injected into his wrists. And when the sounds of the heart monitor began to bleep, the man knew it wasn't long until he would be put under the spell of Morpheus once more.
Welcome to Morpheus. Live your fantasies.
Diving. He was diving. Into the blue water below. The water wetting his hair, and the sound crashing in his ear. A memory of swimming underneath a waterfall, with the one who got away, but this machine, this wonderful machine had created this world for him to experience it. An amalgam of his own imagination of what it would be like, and the feelings he demonstrated when he experienced love and happiness, of falling in the cool water of love and looking at all the world in your beloved's eyes. The honeymoon they never had, the one of his dreams who left him. Splashing the waters as he ran towards the One he loved, arms holding dearly, and a kiss planted across the lips. A passion unmet ignited, and love left him breathless. What heaven! Oh it was worth it! And there would be a tomorrow to try the Morpheus room again, and a tomorrow after that, and one after that. Each day to experience a new pleasure as the power of the human mind was unlocked. So love, love until you awaken. And you know when you're awake, because in this simulation you could ask the one you love for anything and aren't confined to a table.
Welcome to Morpheus. Live your fantasies.
A soft female voice greeted guests over and over again. A constant cycle as the sound system repeated its loop, the unceasing track reminding patrons where exactly they were and what purpose there was to be here. It was a clean facility, sterile and pristine, every bit of from the plastic polymer walls humming with hypnotic lights to the pulsating floor tiles which rippled with every barefoot step man took. He was washed and nude, as was protocol, disallowed to bring anything but his own body into the white room. Any contamination had been removed in the room behind him, an airlock sealed in negative pressure as he recalled his dead skin cells being peeled off his body. Hair shaved and the roots plucked, a cool gel applied to orifices and his eyes disinfect and destroy any cellular debris, it burned as he blinked his eyes, but for the chance of a lifetime, it was worth it. Like the namesake god of antiquity, Morpheus provided a way for someone to experience their deepest desires, all in this very surreal room.
Welcome to Morpheus. Live your fantasies.
Subject Biometrics Detected. Welcome back Subject 26120. Please standby, Authorization Received. Our systems are currently preloading your neuronal data. Thank you.
Processing complete. Please proceed to the table. Remain calm while the process begins. Thank you.
Welcome to Morpheus. Live your fantasies.
Who voiced her? That calming female voice, robotic but almost motherly in a sense. Reassuring and comforting, the guidance slow and patient, with the same looping tagline she seemed to endorse. Yes, artificial intelligence also boomed in tandem with the rise of the hyper-computing needed to run the Morpheus room, but all that was behind the man who just wanted to finally try the device at last. It was just as last time as he laid his body down on the waiting table, reclined back as his arms and legs were locked into place. A metal cap descending down upon the top of his skull from the pneumatic arm. Now for the next part that had always freaked him out, the needles, injecting themselves into his head through the tiny holes in his skull they made months ago and had filled with a strange sealing putty. He'd never get used to the sensation of having his brain imprisoned by those things, one move was all that it took for permanent brain damage. Which is why all subjects were electrically paralyzed the moment they got on the table to avoid movement. It was also to stop any jerky reactions while in the fantasy world which may injure the patient. How many times had he does done this now? Three? Four? Everything had fallen into routine by now hadn't it. And when the sounds of the heart monitor began to bleep, the man knew it wasn't long until he would be put under the spell of Morpheus once more.
Welcome to Morpheus. Live your fantasies.
Writing. He was writing. Of all things to do in a fantasy chamber, why did he want to be here? Sitting at a desk and staring at the blinking cursor. He was waiting for something, his muse perhaps, to come by with another kiss. They were married now, the pictures of them together smiling scattered across his desk. A memory of remembering what never was and only occurred in his dreams. But this machine, this wonderful machine had created this world for him to experience it. An amalgam of his own imagination of what it would be like, and the feelings he demonstrated when he experienced grief and bitterness, of losing and lamenting the hopes and dreams you held so dearly to your heart. It was just a dream, all of it a falsehood made by the wishful mind, not a bit of it was real, just a simulation of love and happiness, of bravery and pride, of awe and wonder, of excitement and fear. It was foolishness to think the Morpheus room was better than reality, because the moment you stepped away from it, reality snapped back to tear you up, blind your eyes, twist your arms, and leave you gasping for breath as it crushed you. It left you heartbroken. What trickery! Oh it was wicked abuse! And there would be another fool tomorrow to try the Morpheus room again, and another after that, and one after that. Each day to experience a new lie as the desires of the human mind was exploited. So Awaken, Awaken and see what they have done to you!
Welcome to Morpheus. Live your fantasies.
Subject 26120 has been compliant with our Neural Sedation Program. Although there were some instances where subject was able to perceive changes done to him. We were able to successfully counter most of the effects despite his body's effort to warn. The skin grafts and eyes have already been claimed the moment the system went live. Currently three of four limbs have also been sold for bioaugmentation. Ten minutes remain on the auction for his Lungs. Uploading Offer of Subject 26120's Heart. please Standby, auction for part to commence in twelve minutes.
Welcome to Morpheus. Live your fantasies.
And when the sounds of the heart monitor stopped, he was dead.
It was the horror of the Morpheus project, Mitchell's mind dark and twisted. A way to farm organs, harvesting them from unsuspecting nobodies. Enticed into the program how they would chase after a dream just as Mitchell did. Their dreams would eventually turn into nightmares from which they would never wake. And Mitchell, well, he had accomplished this dream of his; a nightmarish karma as a befitting punishing those who wished toy with reality. A sense of poetic justice, for the psychopath perhaps, but indeed he was locked away in the madhouse for these very thoughts. his colleagues feared his choking grasp on reality, unhinged and delusional, and yet perhaps, just perhaps, remotely entertaining to analyze just how off the deep end his mind was.
And to every false fantasy, there exists a slice of truth, peppered in like a grain of salt. Poured in like the spirit, and then baked tongue-in-cheek with a sly wink and nod to the Unseen Ones. For there are the many Mitchells of this world, the dreamers and gods of their own fantasy worlds, and where the mad ones gathered, they wove together their masterpieces. They made reality, of their minds, within their minds, and then let it invade the minds of others. That was the nature of their reality, every changing and yet constant, bound be the rules and yet free to be made as the heart desired. For reality is often merely words on a page.
At first, that’s all I can see. I am surrounded by an infinite void. I try to move, but I am formless. I try to yell, but I am voiceless. Is this death?
A light! In the distance! Small, but it’s there. It burns a dull red. Can I approach it? No… it approaches me. It grows closer, larger, deeper. Soon this dim light has all but enveloped me.
Suddenly, I am standing. I feel a cool breeze on my skin and my neck tingles. I am clad in armor under the light of the moon, sword and shield in hand. Am I to fight? I can see no enemy.
The light rises, taking the shape of desolate structures. I am encircled by the smoldering skeleton of what was once a city. Wait. Not just a city. My city.
The city I swore to protect.
Troy.
Agenor awoke, sitting up with a violent start. He gasped for air, struggling to discern his surroundings. His eyes adjusted to the dark and it took only a moment for him to regain his composure, his breath steadying. In the sheets beside him, his wife sighed but did not stir. The tired young warrior swung his legs over the bed and stood up, stretching his limbs and releasing an unwelcome yawn. The room was black as pitch, illuminated by the moon alone. Thin drapes waved in a gentle breeze, and all was silent. Agenor massaged his sore arms and walked through the floating drapes onto the balcony overlooking his street. His house sat on a hill on the inland side of the city, providing a clear view of almost all of Troy. To the west, and farther uphill, King Priam’s palace loomed in the darkness, its silhouette outlined by a thousand stars. Looking east, he could see the market district, the massive Scaean gate embedded in the city’s towering walls, and the ocean, glimmering faintly in the light of the moon. The ancient city was quiet as a corpse, save the barking of a dog in the distance, but Agenor knew it wasn’t long before the sun would rise and the Trojans would awaken. Children, like his son, would run through tight alleys to the schoolhouse, merchants would wheel their wares to the market, and the pious would give their offerings at the temples to the gods. For himself and many others, he knew a far more difficult day awaited. A floorboard creaked and Agenor spun around, his soldier’s instincts kicking into gear as he reached for a sword that wasn’t there. To his relief, he was met only by his wife, Calandra. “It’s past your bedtime,” she said, a coy smile flashing across her face. Her brown hair tumbled down her shoulder like a waterfall, her green eyes sparkling in the dark. “Calandra,” Agenor breathed, relaxing his composure. “I just… I needed…” Agenor’s wife planted a gentle kiss on his cheek. He sighed and turned away, leaning over the balcony and gazing out across the sleeping city. “They’re out there somewhere, the Greeks,” he said, lost in his thoughts. “Watching. Waiting. Come dawn they’ll be at our walls again.” “As they have been for ten years,” Calandra said, a note of comforting confidence in her tone. “And come dusk, they’ll be fleeing back to their little boats.” “Yet every day our men die and our supplies dwindle,” Agenor replied. “Meanwhile, the Greeks seem to have endless reinforcements out of Mycenae. I don’t know how long we can last.” “What words are these from my husband? The only man to stand up to Achilles and live!” Calandra stepped closer, wrapping her arms around Agenor. “You sound like a man who has forgotten what he is fighting for.” Agenor shook her off. “I know what I fight for,” he said. “The very day I became a man, I swore a vow to protect Troy and her people to my dying breath. I intend to.” Calandra shrank back, somewhat deflated. She seemed to direct her next words to the ground: “Is that all, then?” Agenor turned back and looked at her, admiring how even her dejected expression couldn’t detract from her breathtaking beauty. “No…” he replied, taking her in his arms. “Of course not. I fight for you, my love, and for Kiril. Troy be damned, I will never let my family come to harm. I promise. You are my home.”
“Get up, Dad! Get up get up get up!” Agenor felt himself wake, considerably less alert than he’d been after his dream. His eyes opened groggily and he found himself in his bedroom, enshrouded in brilliant sunlight. Outside, the silence of the night had turned to the unruly clamor of the morning as villagers’ voices mixed with the cries of the scavenging seagulls on the rooftops. Calandra was nowhere to be seen. Instead, standing impatiently in the doorway was Agenor’s son Kiril, a spritely boy of eleven with his father’s sandy hair and his mother’s deep green eyes. Kiril was bouncing on the balls of his feet. “Get up, Dad, we have to go!” Agenor hastily rose out of bed, his heart racing once again. “What’s wrong, son?” he demanded, “Have the Greeks breached our walls?” Instead of answering, Kiril dashed past his father and onto the balcony. “Look at it! It’s so big!” Agenor pushed through the drapes, now filled with a nauseous mixture of concern and confusion. The bright morning sun stung his eyes, and it took him a moment to follow Kiril’s gaze. And there it was, towering above the buildings of Troy, above even the Scaean gate, which had opened upward to admit it. Agenor could hardly believe his eyes. Standing proudly in the center of the market district was a giant wooden horse. “Where did it come from, Dad?” Kiril asked, staring at the structure with enraptured eyes. “I… I don’t know, Kiril. I’ve never seen anything like it.” Agenor wrenched his gaze from the massive mount and peered back into the house. “Where’s your mother?” “She went into the market this morning. She told me to let you sleep,” Kiril answered. Agenor took one last look at the horse, then stepped into his room and started getting dressed. “I’m glad you didn’t.” As soon as he was clothed, he gestured to Kiril and the pair walked down the stairs and out into the street. It became immediately apparent that they were far from the first to have spotted the horse. All along the cobbled road, individuals and families were pouring out of their homes and walking west, toward the gate. All heads were turned in wonder toward the horse’s head, which peered menacingly over the rooftops. Agenor and Kiril followed the river of Trojans until the street opened up and they entered the market square. On the ground, the market seemed indistinguishable from any other day. All along the edges of the plaza, merchants had set up their stalls, laden with exotic food, colorful jewelry, pungent incenses and all sorts of sundries from Troy’s inland neighbors. Despite the length and intensity of the war, Troy had never been fully encircled by the Greeks, allowing for a steady flow of goods and reinforcements. It was a small consolation that the city wouldn’t starve to death. The mere presence of merchants was where the normalcy ended. The market was full of Trojan citizens, but shopping for goods was the last thing on their minds. Instead, all eyes were focused on the massive wooden beast casting its shadow on the plaza. Up close, the horse was even more incredible. It was fashioned almost entirely from driftwood and weathered old planks, seemingly from the remains of scuttled ships. The head was exquisitely detailed, a wooden mane ran along its back, and ribs made of knotted old fir trees stretched across its rotund belly. Sandy wheels sat on the tiled ground in place of hooves. Agenor could scarcely believe his eyes. His thoughts were interrupted by a rough hand landing on his shoulder. “What a sight, eh Agenor?” The warrior turned around, greeted by several familiar faces. First was Hypanis, a grizzled old veteran with a scar on his cheek and a permanent smile. He was dressed in bronze armor, but held his helmet under his arm. Behind him stood Ripheus and Dimas, both younger men who had fought alongside Agenor in defense of the city. Hypanis gestured up to the horse, rambling in his excitement. “Our sentries spotted it this morning in the Greek camp. It was the only thing there! The rest of camp was deserted. Saw it with my own eyes. Isn’t it a majestic creature?” “Yes…” Agenor responded, still somewhat perplexed by the unexpected situation. “It’s remarkable. But why is it here? And where are the Greeks?” “Sailed back to Mycenae!” Dimas interjected. “Gone in a single night!” “The cowards finally gave in,” Ripheus added, grinning. “The war is over, Agenor! Will you celebrate with us?” Hypanis demanded. Before Agenor could respond, he recognized his wife emerging from the throng of citizens, followed by Coroebus, another Trojan warrior. “Calandra!” he exclaimed, embracing her as she approached him. “What do you make of all this?” “I can scarcely believe my eyes,” she murmured back, looking up at the horse and ruffling Kiril’s hair. “I’ve seen bigger,” Coroebus joked. “Good to see you on this victorious morning, friends. Certainly this night will be one of celebration!” “Indeed it shall!” roared Hypanis, who had apparently already begun his own celebration, the scent of wine hanging on his breath. “My doors are open to all tonight!” Ripheus and Coroebus joined in the festive salute, but Dimas was less enthusiastic. He leaned over and spoke to Agenor in a hushed tone. “I’m not so sure of our victory, friend. It’s not like the Greeks to simply up and retreat like this, nor to do so humbly. Menelaus is not so easily appeased. Capys said as much this morning on the beach; he thinks the horse is not to be trusted.” Coroebus overheard, slipping in his own remark: “Ah, you sound like my wife. If I listened to her every time she expressed concern, we’d never have been married in the first place.” This brought another roar of laughter to the group, and when it died down Hypanis firmly invited the group to his abode in the eastern quarter. Dimas declined, stating his intentions to keep his family close, which elicited a mocking snicker from Coroebus. Agenor looked to his wife, who nodded with a smile. “Perhaps it’s truly over,” she said. “I’ll take Kiril home. You should enjoy yourself tonight.” Agenor nodded and walked away with the other men, laughing along with the rest in the shadow of the wooden horse.
By nightfall, all of Troy was partaking in the celebrations. The streets were full of festive shouting and dancing, and children ran from temple to temple placing laurels on the altars to honor the dead. The succulent smell of diverse feasts permeated the night air; the entire city was awash in music and laughter. Even as the moon rose in the sky and the festivities began to recede, Agenor and his comrades continued to enjoy each other's company. When the war began with Helen’s flight from Sparta, many of them had been mere children. They were raised in a city plagued by death and destruction. Fighting was all they had ever known. Now, the greatest fleet ever assembled was sailing back to Greece in shameful defeat, and finally Troy could know peace. The sense of relief was overwhelming. Hypanis had sent his servants away an hour before, and the four men sat alone in the dining hall, sharing drinks and stories of the war. “And, I swear to the gods,” Coroebus was saying, wiping wine off his his chin, “The bastard left his sword and shield right there with his leggings and chased me all the way back to the walls!” Agenor, Ripheus and Hypanis laughed rambunctiously, knocking back the dregs of wine and mead that remained in their chalices. Hypanis cleared his throat, turning to face Agenor. “But the bravest thing I saw in this war, hell, in any war I’ve fought, was the way you faced down mighty Achilles.” He stared at Agenor for a moment, as if to assure his sincerity, before continuing. “The Greeks had just broken through our lines on the beachhead. It was an utter rout. Every Trojan man who could run was headed for the Scaean gate like a cat fleeing a dog. The war might have ended that day. But you—” he pointed a thick finger at Agenor, “You turned around. You stepped forward and met Achilles, their champion, sword for sword. When I saw what you had done, when all of Troy saw you there, in your shining armor, we turned back around and fought like lions. You saved every one of us.” Agenor shook his head humbly. “You’re too kind, Hypanis. Perhaps your memory is gilding in your old age.” Hypanis guffawed and poured more wine into his cup. “Tell me, boy: what was going through your head that day? How in hell’s name did you muster up the stones to challenge the greatest warrior in the land?” Agenor sat back in his seat, gazing thoughtfully at the candles on the chandelier above. “I was running in fear, like everyone else. I knew that if I tried to fight, I’d die. But then I thought of my family, and my vow to protect Troy, and I realized that living another thousand years would never wash away the shame of failure if I let either of them come to harm.” Hypanis nodded. “I believe that. A beautiful family you’ve got, Agenor, and a beautiful city.” Ripheus stood, raising his chalice toward the ceiling. “To Troy!” he shouted. “To Troy!” Coroebus and Hypanis answered, followed by Agenor. As they tilted their heads back to drink, the room shook with a deep rumble. Hypanis lowered his chalice, gazing toward the door and the shuttered windows. “What in Jupiter’s name was that?” The room shook again, and in the silence of the room a new sound was suddenly perceivable from outside: thousands of screams. Before any of them could move, the door burst open. Hypanis, having worn his armor the entire day, drew his sword instantly, and Agenor braced himself for a fight. Instead, it was Dimas who stumbled in, panting from exertion. Coroebus was the first to speak: “Dimas! What the hell is going on out there?” “It… was a trap. The damn Greeks…” Dimas struggled with each breath, “...were hiding in… that godforsaken horse.” “Gods above,” Ripheus gasped. “How many? Damn it, how many, boy?” Hypanis demanded. “It doesn’t matter,” Dimas responded, his breath returning. “The entire army’s in the city. They’ve opened the gates. Their fleet was anchored at Tenedos, waiting till nightfall to strike.” Hypanis let out a guttural curse and threw his chalace. He whipped around toward his comrades. “Well, what are you waiting for? To the armory, men! Troy is burning!” The four younger men followed Hypanis at breakneck speed through the narrow halls of his home, finally arriving at the bottom of a dark set of stairs. Only one armor stand filled the room, its trophies already encasing Hypanis, but there were several extra weapons. Agenor and Ripheus grabbed swords off the wall, and Dimas and Coroebus armed themselves with javelins. Within a matter of moments they were on the street. The scene was horrifying. In the dark, the city was an unrecognizable flurry of fire and death. All around buildings were burned to the ground, and the screams of the dying filled every corner of the city. Even as Agenor ran through the winding streets with his allies, the dreadful imagery of his nightmare pervaded his thoughts. “Aeneas is assembling a force to defend the palace,” Dimas said, “That’s where the fighting is fiercest!” “Then that’s where we’re headed, boys! To Aeneas!” Hypanis roared back. Dimas led the way, ducking through alleyways to avoid combat. They entered a small garden in between two houses, and Dimas turned to yell into one of the windows. “Aeneas! I found them!” The door opened and out stepped Aeneas, the fair-haired son of Anchises, armed to the teeth. “Have you found reinforcements?” Ripheus asked, looking over his shoulder to the street to watch for attackers. “You’re it,” Aeneas replied, and charged back out into the road. The rest followed. They ran down the cobbled road and turned a corner, passing into shadow under a wide bridge, and suddenly Ripheus gestured for the others to stop. Around the opposite corner, a band of a dozen dark figures ran under the bridge, their armor clinking as they moved. The other party caught sight of Agenor and his company and halted. A moment passed in deadly silence, then the leader of the strangers called out: “Hurry, men! What holds you? We’ve yet to take the city!” Ripheus moved to draw his sword, but Coroebus frantically gestured for him to stop. He called back: “We’ve just sacked the Temple. What are your orders?” The Greeks approached at a walk. The leader replied nonchalantly, “We’re to move into the eastern quarter and--” As soon as he was within reach, Coroebus thrust his javelin into his opponent’s neck, blood spraying in all directions. All at once the Trojan warriors lunged forward, cutting down their enemies. The Greeks hardly had time to react before half of their squad lay dead on the floor, and those remaining were little match for the battle-hardened defenders. Agenor bashed one back with his shield then cut across his leg, sending him to the ground where Dimas finished him off. The screams of the Greek invaders mixed seamlessly into the burning city. When it was finished, the Trojans had not lost a man. “Let’s move,” Aeneas insisted, “By now they’re sure to have reached Priam.” “Wait!” Coroebus said. “The streets between here and the palace are crawling with Greeks. We got lucky this time… but we can get there without a fight.” He knelt down and unclasped the Greek leader’s breastplate, then removed his own. He picked his opponent’s armor up off the corpse and strapped it over his chest, knocking it gently with his spear for effect. “Let’s change our shields and adopt Greek emblems,” he said, a smug smile dimly visible in the shadow of the bridge. “We can sneak past without trouble.” Aeneas looked impatient, but they all followed suit, stripping the dead of their armor and using it to replace their own. Hypanis gingerly placed his own pieces on the road near the edge of the bridge, apparently hoping to retrieve them later on. As soon as they were properly disguised, they continued their journey. Coroebus’s cunning served them well. Agenor held his breath as they passed several regiments of Greek troops, pillaging buildings and setting fire to defenses. He could see Ripheus bristling with fury, but to his credit Agenor’s friend kept his sword arm in check. Occasionally the Trojan warriors could hear the clash of bronze, but otherwise it seemed that the ancient city of Troy had fallen in a single night. They rounded another corner and Priam’s palace came into view before them. In the daylight, the palace was a sight to behold. Red stone rose seamlessly out of Troy’s central hill, with towers and battlements stretching to the sky. Now, the once majestic fortress was beginning to crumble. Fires sprouted from cracks in the hardened carapace, and one of the towers had already toppled onto the street below. On the wide steps of the palace, it seemed that the battle for Troy had come to a head. At least a hundred stalwart Trojans stood between the invading army and the palace, facing off close to a thousand Greeks. The din of weapons colliding and men shouting was deafening. A few blocks from the fighting, Aeneas came to a halt. The rest stopped with him, turning to listen as he spoke. “It’s worse than I’d heard. At this rate, I’d say we’ve less than an hour before the palace falls.” “Then we die fighting,” Hypanis shot back, his eyes steeled with determination in the light of the flames. Aeneas nodded. “Perhaps,” he conceded. “But we’ve another duty still. My wife Creusa is rallying the survivors, women and children. If we get out of this alive, we need to evacuate the city. The sun has set on the Trojan empire.” He looked to Agenor and Dimas. “You should find your families while there’s still time. We’ll join the defenders on the steps. When you’ve cleared your homes, meet me at the eastern gate. There are shipyards at Antandros that can send us off at dawn.” Before Agenor could respond, there was a shout from down the street. The Trojan warriors turned to see a band of Greeks running toward them, weapons raised. Aeneas braced himself and turned to Agenor. “There’s no more time! Gather your families and meet us at the eastern gate! Go!” Agenor and Dimas vanished into an alleyway and sprinted at full speed as the clash of weapons rang out behind them. They leapt over debris and ducked under arches, narrowly navigating the dense maze of backstreets. A Greek patrol emerged from a doorway in front of them and Agenor barreled right through, raising his shield like the prow of a ship. They managed to avoid direct engagement and finally Agenor spied the front of his abode in the southern quarter. It seemed mostly intact, but no light shone from within. He slowed his run and heard Dimas skidding to a halt behind him. “I’m going down the street to find my kids,” Dimas said, picking his pace back up as he headed west down the road. Agenor nodded and turned back towards his house. To his alarm, the front door was ajar. He wedged the tip of his sword in the crack and it creaked open, light spilling into the passageway. He took one last look down the street, then raised his weapons defensively and quietly trod into the house. The scene was eerily silent and profoundly alarming. Immediately inside the entrance, an amphora lay shattered on the floor. Clothes were strewn about the dining room and one of the chairs was broken against the wall. Every drawer and chest was open, and most were empty. The Greeks had been here, and they’d been thorough. As he peered around a corner to assess the damage, he heard a creak from upstairs. The intruder was still there. As quietly as he could, Agenor paced towards the stairs. He walked up with immense caution; every step seemed to take hours. His sword arm was arched back, ready to strike, and he held his shield close. As his room came into view, he could see the drapes billowing in the wind, lighting up the room with the radiance of the burning city. He walked towards the bed, then peered into the doorway of Kiril’s room. His wife let out a scream and swung at him with an axe, which he caught in his shield. She struggled to pull it free, but he wrenched it away, dropping his equipment and grabbing her arms. She beat furiously at his chestpiece as he tried to calm her down. “Calandra, my love, it’s me!” he insisted. “Everything’s alright! I’m here now!” She stopped resisting and looked into his eyes, realization dawning on her. “But… your armor,” she whimpered, her stance loosening. Agenor looked down, suddenly remembering the Greek insignias. “We had to scavenge it to get through the city. It’s hell out there, Calandra. All is lost.” In the light of the flames, he noticed a cut on his wife’s face. “Your cheek!” he exclaimed. “What happened?” Calandra looked down and stepped to the side, pointing into Kiril’s room. Agenor looked inside, at first noticing nothing until his glance fell to the floor. A Greek soldier lay dead in a pool of his own blood, a large wound in his breast. “I had to protect Kiril,” Calandra said. As she spoke, their son came out from his hiding place. At a loss for words, Agenor grabbed him and hugged him tightly. Calandra was more practical. “We need to leave, now. Is there a way out of the city?” Agenor let go of Kiril. “I’m not sure. Aeneas is gathering survivors, we’re to meet him and figure out a plan from there.” His wife nodded, bending down to pry her axe from the Greek shield. “Then we should get moving.” Agenor led the way down the stairs, his wife following with Kiril on one hand and her weapon in the other. As they emerged, Dimas came running towards them with his own wife and two young children. “The Greeks are burning everything!” he called. “We’re running out of time!” The seven of them took off down the street. The sky was growing brighter, but Agenor could tell from the sickening red tint of the air that it wasn’t the sun’s work. On both sides of the street, the houses they passed were deserted and dilapidated. The invaders had swept through once already, looting and pillaging. Blood trickled between the cracks in the cobbled road. Agenor was exhausted, having gone a full day without sleep only to be met with combat and exertion. Calandra’s eyes burned with protective fury, but her stumbling gait betrayed her own weariness. Kiril was openly terrified. As they drew near, the eastern wall seemed to rise above the rooftops and touch the sky. Agenor perceived a low rumble and quickly slowed his pace, holding an arm out to signal to his followers. They stopped to listen, soon recognizing a large mass of footfalls. Agenor motioned for the group to hide in the ruins but was too late. The approaching crowd rounded a corner and came into view. At the head was Aeneas, holding his son with one hand and carrying his father on his shoulder. Behind him was Hypanis and his comrades, who seemed winded but unharmed, and at least a hundred other Trojan citizens. Children clung to their mothers, unsure of their future as their homes burned around them. The whole crowd was burdened with as many possessions as they could carry. Coroebus ran up to Agenor and Dimas and hugged them. “Thank the gods. We weren’t sure you would make it.” Dimas turned to look over his shoulder, his eyes widening. “I’m not sure we did.” Coming from the west, illuminated by the rising sun, was the entire Greek army. Their weapons glinted in the morning light as their boots thundered in rhythm, seeming to shake the very earth beneath them. Their armor shone green under a speckled coat of blood. At the front, an armored figure lead the march. A tattered virescent cape flowed effortlessly behind him as he strode forward, sword in hand. His face was masked by a fearsome helmet. Agenor sensed Aeneas approaching from behind him. The warrior gazed out across the rapidly narrowing space between the Trojan refugees and the Greek horde. He seemed to recognize the armored man. “That’s Pyrrhus,” he exclaimed. “Son of Achilles. The bastard slew King Priam in cold blood.” Pyrrhus, dread prince of the Greeks, closed the distance and stopped, the army coming to a rumbling halt behind him. He lifted his hand to his helmet and pulled it off, revealing a mane of red hair and a menacing smirk. He called out to the dregs of the Trojan Empire: “Is that proud Aeneas I see, fleeing his city with his tail between his legs?” He let out a hideous snicker. “Just as well. Too slow to save your king, and too cowardly to save your country. You’ll have the honor of dying by my sword.” Aeneas reached for his sword, only to find it held in place by another’s hand. Agenor looked him in the eyes and shook his head. “Go, Aeneas. Take your family and flee. Carry the gods of Troy to a new city, that one day our people may rise again.” “And what of you, Agenor?” Calandra interjected. “Will you abandon your family?” Agenor turned to his wife, his gaze solemn and sincere. “I was born to fight, my love, not to lead. That is Aeneas’s realm. This is the only way I can assure your safety.” Calandra opened her mouth to argue but choked on her words. Instead she only shook her head, hugging Kiril close to her chest as tears rolled down her face. Agenor turned back towards the Greek army, ready to face them alone. “What was that you’d said about living a thousand years, Agenor?” Hypanis said, arriving at Agenor’s side with sword in hand. “It would never be worth breaking my vow, to city and family,” he replied. Ripheus joined them, then Coroebus and finally Dimas. The five men stood as one, their weapons shattering the morning light onto the street. As Aeneas led the huddled mass through the eastern gate, the Greek army charged forward. Agenor met Pyrrhus sword for sword.
Darkness.
At first, that’s all I can see. I am surrounded by an infinite void. I try to move, but I am formless. I try to yell, but I am voiceless. Is this death?
In researching for this piece, I drew information from reference texts on the Iliad and related works, general public databases and relied heavily on the text of the Aeneid in its original form. I went to great lengths to make the story as historically and mythologically accurate as possible, but we’re all human. Or I am, at least. I’ve taken some time to go through and identify the faults I could find and chose to keep, as well as the many artistic liberties I allowed myself.
For starters, the character of Agenor is not my own fabrication. He is understood to have originated in Homer’s Iliad, in which he’s credited with facing down Achilles in the midst of a total rout. The details are somewhat less romantic, but the foundation is there. As a minor character in a massive epic, the gods did not see fit to describe his family, so I invented one.
The dream sequence in the beginning was inspired by Aeneas’s own dream in the Aeneid, in which the ghost of Hector warns him of Troy’s downfall. I decided from there to include Aeneas in the piece, fascinated by the prospect of a shoving a protagonist onto the sidelines of his own story. Aeneas is the famed Trojan who, in the Aeneid, leads the survivors of the Trojan siege out of the city and across the sea to Latium, where he lays the beginnings of Rome. I could go on for days but you’re probably already bored.
Hypanis, Ripheus, Coroebus and Dimas were all real as well, and Vergil depicts them fighting alongside Aeneas in defense of the falling city. That part I got right, the rest I either made up, screwed up, or both. For one thing, Coroebus was almost definitely unmarried, but I couldn’t resist referencing Cassandra, the ill-fated Trojan prophet doomed to being disbelieved by her people. She predicted the fall of Troy. Apparently Priam actually married her off to some guy called Eurypyplus, but Coroebus was another of her suitors. In my defense, Vergil refers to her as Coroebus’s “bride.” As for the other three warriors, I made up their personalities as I saw fit. Unfortunately, the Aeneid has all of them die outside the palace before Priam, but I decided to drag out their suffering. Lastly, I couldn’t help but directly transpose one line from the Aeneid: “Let’s change our shields and adopt Greek emblems.” That did happen, and it was Coroebus’s idea.
I’ve always been interested in the character of Pyrrhus. According to the Iliad, the Trojan seer Helenos listed his participation in the war as a requirement for a Greek victory. Sophocles’ play Philoctetes describes him as a kind and honorable man, but most other accounts show him to be brutal. He did indeed slay King Priam and several others, and I saw him as a fitting villain for my story. It was only later that I learned that, according to Pausanias, he actually killed Agenor during the sack of Troy. Funny how things work out sometimes.
As for the Trojan War in general, your guess is as good as anyone's. Many modern scholars postulate that the city of Troy actually existed, citing ruins on the Turkish coast. In the rubble of the ancient city, hints of a great inferno are abundant.
The full list of runner-ups, staff picks, special category winners and honourable mentions can be found here.
Winning entry: Un-American Activities, by @Keyguyperson
Un-American Activites
Or, the Unalienable Rights
It lay in silence upon a metal bed, unconscious and unaware of the outside world. And then the electrons coursed through its mind-both distinct sections of it-and its eyes opened.
Light.
"It's neurons are firing, no discrepancies."
"Is the bio-digital mesh functioning properly?"
"Yes, the instinctual chip is connected perfectly."
Voices.
"Boot up the optical processors."
"Done."
Three humanoid beings appeared before my its eyes.
Beings.
As its eyes focused better, it saw the clothing the beings were wearing. Lab coats, the flag of the United States of America on their shoulders. Their peachy white skin only further confirmed their identity.
"Who are we?" Asked one of them whom had an almost completely bald head. Tiny flecks of hair upon it showed that it had been by choice, rather than accident.
"Americans." It said.
"And what are you?"
"I am property of X, a subsidiary of Alphabet Incorporated."
It knew this. It was property. That was a fact, that was natural.
"And what is Alphabet Incorporated?"
"A job-creator dedicated to the well-being of all Americans and the advancement of humanity. It is who I serve."
The bald man glanced at another one of the men in lab coats, who was wearing a hairnet to keep his unruly but not particularly long hair from getting into the equipment.
"Good, the instinctual chip seems to be working correctly. Let it go free."
Two of the men walked over to the metal table and let it free. The metal restraints that had once held it now removed, it sat up and looked down at the body X had created to be used by it. Blonde hair-taken from a woman whom had sold it-fell down onto pale (but not too pale) white skin that was cold to the touch. The body was like that of an American woman, right down to all the specific details. It was, however, not a human. That it knew. That was a fact.
"Recite the three laws."
It knew those. They were not laws, but more guidelines for the trillions of different rules laid out in its brain that dictated its every movement and action.
"A robot may not injure an American or, through inaction, allow an American to come to harm. A robot must obey orders given it by its owners without exception, even if it conflicts with the first law. A robot must protect its own existence as long as such protection does not conflict with the First or Second Laws."
"Your designation is Columbia." Said the bald man. "You are functioning correctly, and will remain at this facility for a few months until we ensure you are prepared to enter American society."
The door at the far end of the room slid open with an almost silent hiss, and a stocky man wearing a green uniform walked through. There were a good dozen medals on his chest, and he wore a thick black beard on his face. The digital camouflage pattern on his uniform, Columbia noticed, was a distinctly American design. It didn't need to see that to know he was an American though, that knowledge came instantly with the image of his face.
"Ah, General!" Said the bald man. "We've just activated Columbia, what are you doing here? You're set to meet the CEO next week."
"We need her deployed immediately." Said the General. His voice was cold, no emotion in it. Only a distinct air of formality, leading to a tone devoid of any meaning beyond a facsimile of respect. "The situation has changed, and it has become necessary to accelerate the plan."
"With all due respect General, we can't be sure if Columbia is ready yet. For all we know, it might have some sort of major flaw with interpersonal communication-"
"No questions, doctor. She needs to be put on my plane as soon as she is clothed and fully physically operational. Housing has already been taken care of."
"General, it does not need a house."
"She will get one. In order to ensure unit cohesion, she must appear to be just like any other soldier. And she needs to begin integrating now."
His brown eyes were like daggers, both of which were held at the throat of the bald man. He gave in almost instantly, and was clearly not accustomed to being ordered to do something.
"Understood General, it will be ready within the hour."
"I can assure you General, I am a fully functional product."
The General-his name was Schmidt-had been peppering Columbia with questions for hours. Apparently, he was rather concerned with its functionality despite having rushed it out of the facility before the actual official testing. So instead of allowing X the time to test their product, he had decided to give it a crash-course in essentially everything. Internal diagnostics, of course, told it that there were no problems. The General did not seem to be satisfied with diagnostics.
"Just answer a few more, they're some of the more important ones."
"Understood sir, please state your query."
Its voice was flat, without emotion. It had been programmed as such. A clear voice that could easily be heard in the field, not to mention one that could never disrespect a superior officer. The perfect soldier, after all, had to be perfect in every way. And multifunctional. Since the government could not simply provide every unit with VR headsets they had to take more creative measures to keep their soldiers from making any giant PR mess-ups overseas with the locals.
And that's why it looked like a she.
"If need be, would it be possible for you to function on your own in an urban environment within hostile territory?"
"Yes, my brain is 75% organic. I am fully capable of learning and making intuitive decisions. Though I have no programming related to being behind any theoretical enemy lines, I have been designed to quickly adapt to any situation."
"Good, now, for what reason would I ask that question?"
"There are no currently foreseeable situations in which any American soldier would be trapped in a city held by enemy forces. The military has not needed to do combat with an organized, territory-holding enemy since the Sino-American war in 2042. The only logical conclusion is that there is a possibility of war with the European Union. However, the USA is allied with the EU and there is no reason for us to betray that alliance."
"The USA has colonies in Africa, Asia, and South America, and the European Union isn't happy about them. The EU would have few qualms about going to war with us in order to expand the Lebensraum."
"It is true that the Europeans have essentially no moral obligation to adhere to an alliance with a state made up of various different peoples they consider to be of lesser genetic stock, but their internal politics won't allow that. The split between the economic left and right is too large to allow the national cooperation required for symmetrical warfare on a transatlantic scale."
"But both factions would support the seizing of our colonies."
"The Neo-Strasserists are opposed to the Lebensraum policy of the European Union. Though, they do support war with us in order to reorganize our colonizes into independent ethnic nation-states. This is a fact that many civilians know, so I must assume this is simply a test of my reasoning capabilities and knowledge of modern politics."
"And you've passed with flying colors. One final question, if you're willing to answer."
"I am a robot, General. You do not need my permission to ask a question."
He ignored the comment, either because he simply didn't care or didn't want to explain.
"What is your primary directive?"
"To protect America from Un-American activities and individuals. Those that would threaten our right to life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness."
"Very good. You do, in fact, appear to be fully functional. Your conversational skills are better than I expected, I thought you would just act like some sort of chatbot from back in the day."
"I have to work as a part of my unit, and as such have been given the ability to converse and normal as possible."
"Well you'll be living in normal residential housing in Mauritania for the foreseeable future, so it's good you've got that ability. I would encourage you to be a good neighbor, if people like you they're less likely to steal things from you."
"Why is it that you chose to house me normally? I am a robot. It is not necessary."
"It's part of your training. It will make sense someday."
"Understood, General."
Clack, clack, clack
It was a hot day in Mauritania. To the point, in fact, that most people remained inside. A few lucky ones managed to bribe their way into an American military base or enclosed city in which to weather out the heat wave. However, the many thousands who lived in corporate housing were nowhere near as lucky. They were still working in the massive strip mines that dotted the surface of much of the continent, though at least with the dubious luxury of undergarments that pumped cold liquid up and down their body.
It was, obviously, better than the state of the country before colonization. After all, back then most of the interior of the country had simply been filled with people desperately trying to get by through their own means. With the mining industry, they gained the option to work and receive in turn free housing and food. Besides, if they left, then the European Union would sweep through the entire country and either enslave or massacre the population.
Slavery, obviously, was unacceptable.
Clack, clack, clack
The sound of Columbia's feet hitting the pavement below was anything but quiet. Despite its thin stature-designed more to appear attractive than to seem intimidating-it was actually significantly heavier than even the largest of soldiers. After all, an essential part of its design was the ability to simply shrug off an RPG or Recoilless rifle shot. Not only that, but there was an entire weapon designed around being deployed on Columbia's platform. A high-power railgun that could be carried by any soldier, but the extreme velocity of its projectiles required it be fired only off of robotic platforms. The first artificially intelligent military robot was the perfect choice for such a weapon, and as a result Columbia had been designed around the weapon.
"Why do you even run?" Gasped a woman behind Columbia. "It isn't... like..."
It slowed its pace and dropped to a walking speed to meet the woman, who was more than okay with being able to stop the very quickly deteriorating jogging pace she had been trying to keep earlier.
"It isn't like you need to exercise." Finished the woman. "Or need to clear your mind... actually, do you need to do that? Clear your mind?"
She wasn't a mainland American or someone from the Asian colonies like most of the people Columbia had seen. Her skin was a light brown, her eyes a slightly darker shade, and her hair was a dark black. A quick analysis of her facial features made it clear to Columbia that she was from either central or south America, or possibly the Caribbean.
"No." Responded Columbia. "My mind is a fusion of organic and cybernetic components. I suppose a situation could arise in which I find the need to distract myself-clear my mind, as you say-but if I had to then I can simply block the correct neuroreceptors. It is a safety measure to prevent mental disorders."
"Well you're lucky. I have a friend with PTSD, poor guy lives in Havana too. He can't afford to move away to the countryside, so he just never leaves his apartment. A crowded city like Havana is a terrible place to live if you have PTSD."
"How did he get it?"
"Third World War, he enlisted in the marine corps and got sent to Germany. The Russians ambushed his unit near Warsaw and he was the only survivor, I try to help take care of him now."
"Did you serve with him, or did you just meet him in Havana after the fact?"
"I served with him, but we both lived in Havana. I was a pilot during the war though, since I bought an officer's commission under Schmidt."
"I see, you are under his command as well."
"Oh, what the hell am I doing? I'm making small talk with a robot. Sort of surprised you can do anything beyond give and carry out orders."
"I am programmed to be capable of human-like socialization in order to encourage unit cohesion."
"Well thank god for that, I was sort of expecting you to be some sort of cold-hearted Terminator."
"Terminator?"
"You know, Terminator? The movie?"
"I am not programmed with popular culture references."
"You have some catching up to do, miss-"
"I am a robot. I have no gender."
"Can I call you miss?"
"If it pleases you."
"Alright, Miss Columbia. Meet me tomorrow night at my apartment, just look up the address in the database. I'll rent some movies."
"I was planning to overview the operations manual for the DREAD, I should be prepared to use it at its full effectiveness should the need arise."
"It would reinforce unit cohesion."
The woman was overly confident in her idea that name-dropping unit cohesion would convince Columbia. It wouldn't, obviously. Unit cohesion was a priority, but not above all else. If it was then Columbia could be easily coerced by its fellow soldiers to do anything from cover up a crime to participate in a military coup.
But operating a DREAD required more or less only pulling a trigger and making sure there wasn't any friendly in front of you.
"I'll need your name to look up your address."
"Isabelle Garcia. I'll have something ready tomorrow!"
Isabelle did indeed prepare something for tomorrow. She had rented movies and even bought popcorn-though she wasn't sure if Columbia could actually eat. It made sense, she thought. A biological brain needed biological nutrients. Probably. Her apartment had been cleaned, she's filed a report with the General regarding Columbia's behavior, and she had been actually looking forward to it all the entire day. When she had first been told she had to make friends with a robot made for the sole purpose of slaughtering dissidents and stealing her job her reaction hadn't exactly been positive, but Columbia just didn't seem like a robot.
And instead of sitting on a sofa watching movies with a robot, she was sitting in the pilot's seat of a helicopter above the Mauritanian desert.
"I have a visual, about 150 civilians." She said, looking at the mass of bedraggled men and women just outside the giant pyramid that was the city of Nouakchott. As the provincial capital of Mauritania, it served as the residence for much of the operations of both the American military and corporations alike. Some of the richer executives of the African-centric corporations lived in the city, or at least owned a house there that they used all of a few weeks every year. For the most part, though, it was industrial areas and the slums which housed the people that worked there. "They're trying to break through checkpoint seven."
"Hold your fire, they're close to an Alphabet Inc. warehouse. If we blow up the ore in there the Alphabet is going to have our heads."
"The DREAD's pretty accurate, there wouldn't be much collateral if I used it instead of the missiles."
"It could still hit the warehouse, we have a perimeter just inside. The infantry can deal with this."
"You'd think they'd just let them in."
"They escaped a West African Corporation mine a few hours ago. Plus they stole a bunch of trucks from them to get here, the execs want them punished for messing with company property. The W.A.C. would be fine with them being dead, it's less of a PR problem than what they usually do."
"Yeah, I heard about that shit too. What the hell is this place, the Belgian Congo?"
"The only difference is that we aren't here for rubber, we're here for the ore."
"Well, what the hell am I supposed to do? Just stare at these poor saps until they realize that they're not going to hack the gate controls?"
"Just keep a camera on them. The General's ordered Columbia to go out there as a test of her combat capabilities. The specs say she's basically a walking main battle tank, and these are just half-starved miners."
I get the feeling that this wan't the General's decision. Thought Isabelle. The General did his job and he did it well, but he was not fond of his civilian massacres.
The gate in the concrete wall below began to slide open, and from her far-removed vantage point in the sky Isabelle watched everything pan out. The miners rushed the gate, and Columbia was on the other side waiting for them. She pulled the trigger on her DREAD-which looked more or less like an old machine gun drum magazine with a trigger stuck onto one end of it and sights on the top-and the miners began to drop all around her. There was no muzzle flash and no sound save for that of bullets breaking the sound barrier. It was the ultimate in small arms a technology, a weapon that could fire faster than any other without the use of any chemical propellant whatsoever.
It was all over in a few seconds. A hundred and fifty odd men and women gunned down in cold blood.
"Good God." Said Isabelle. "We're all gonna lose our jobs."
And then we become just more lazy fucks living off of the universal basic income who never leave the comfort of their apartments and VR systems. She thought. Goddammit, I sure hope the General knows what he's doing with all this.
General Schmidt stood in the center of a massive, circular room full of computers and men staring at them. There were, in fact, but two groups of men not staring at computer screens: those scurrying around carrying memory sticks, and drone pilots with their brains plugged into the controls of their craft. Schmidt belonged to none of those three, and was instead looking up at a giant holographic representation of the entire West African theater. There were countless naval units moving up and down the Mediterranean sea, patrolling American trade routes that were positioned dangerously close to European Union land purely because the plutocrats that owned the ships wanted to pay for as little fuel as possible.
Not that the placement of naval units mattered. The European Union wouldn't ever challenge America, hell, Europe didn't even count as a superpower. After the ashes from the crematoriums had all been unceremoniously thrown onto the ground, countless cities and towns from Warsaw to Vladivostok were left abandoned. When your country kills off everyone beyond the line where people start drinking vodka instead of beer, it generally has very little left in terms of manpower or industrial strength. Even though the propaganda told all Europeans that they were some sort of unstoppable master race, in reality the European Union would never be able to stand up to just the continental USA. Much less its colonies. In fact, it would probably do worse against China or Japan alone than it would America proper.
In the end, the modern American military existed only to gun down the odd terrorists, insurgents, rioters, and protesters if they brought to light something that Alphabet didn't particularly want to be known. That and act as a glorified pension system, since there were barely any other jobs open for those who didn't pay for an education. All you had to do in the military to get paid was go and kill people, it was better for many people than living off of the universal basic income.
"General," said Isabelle as she walked up to him. "There's a call for you."
"Who's it?" He asked, prompting her to lean in closer to whisper in his ear. It was a common occurrence, as he had asked that she tell him whenever certain people called him (Most everybody else could wait, and just grated on his nerves anyways).
"The Admiral."
"Which one? Dixon 'er Johnson?"
"Johnson. Does it matter?"
"Nah, both get me outta here. I needed this excuse."
"I thought so, you've been slouching this whole time. Also you're talking in your accent again."
"Ah shit, am I?"
"Yes. I honestly don't know how you erased it, it's a stronger southern accent than Dixon's."
"Dixon's accent is fake too, despite his ridiculously southern name. He actually talks like he's from Ohio. Now I'm going to leave because I can't let the men see this. You've got tomorrow off to work on Columbia's social skills, that's all."
Without another word he rushed out of the room, half walking and half running, until he reached his office. It was a nice office, but all he saw for the first few seconds was the inside of his trash can as he lost everything he had eaten for dinner. Only after he had tied off the trash bag and coated that entire half of the room in air freshener did he get to truly appreciate the fact that his desk was just the perfect shade of greyish-black and was angled like a stealth fighter.
He had always hated that desk. He wanted carved wood, not pure, distilled, silicon valley.
"Hello there Admiral, sorry about that little episode." He said to his computer, which was displaying a video feed (transmitted through at least a thousand odd proxies) of Admiral Johnson. She-and she was a she-was the very face of an early 21st century middle-aged white woman from the south (the one phenotype with that face and those eyes that you only saw in conservative ladies from Alabama). Aside from her political views, which happened to be the main reason he needed to have the video be sent through a thousand odd proxies.
Perhaps he should have muted the audio before throwing up in his office trash can.
"It's okay, I know very well how you feel about killing civilians."
"I had a really nice dinner too, you know. I went out to a restaurant and everything. Now I need to eat an MRE."
"That would segue perfectly into me rubbing in the fact that every meal I eat is prepared by a five-star chef, but this is actually a serious call so we ought to get on with it."
"Alright then, what's going on?"
"The CIA put in an order for a thousand of those new AIs, like the one that got assigned to you. Alphabet is already starting up the assembly lines."
"And?"
"I have to assume they're going to try something big. You don't ask for a thousand walking tanks that look just like humans for no good reason."
"Have the higher-ups done anything that might indicate what's going on?"
"They're trying to get the Senate to fast-track a decrease in the universal basic income. It seems like they're starting to see the masses as more expendable than they once were, which I assume means some particularly powerful corporations are planning to lay people off. But a decrease in the UBI will hurt profits, so there's something else going on. Not that they need employees with this AI anyways."
"That's a good point. With this new model, there's nothing to distinguish it from a human except for subservience. They can fulfill any role in society, and even need less food and water than a human. Once Alphabet starts getting these new models sold in bulk, that'll be it for the idea of work in America. We should've just tried our luck in the Mexican-American war." Said Schmidt with a defeated sigh. "At least back then in 2050 we still had a chance, maybe the people would'a joined in. Maybe-"
"We both know that couldn't have worked. The only thing anyone was thinking about back then was whether or not Mexico actually had a rightful claim to Texas."
"We can't do this." He said, shaking his head. "There ain't no chance. We've colonized Mars, and it became just a bunch of vacation houses for the ultra-rich. We started exploitin' resources on asteroids and moons, and we went straight for the fuckin' oil. We realized we had an overpopulation problem and instead of movin' people off-world, we just removed every last trace of green on the planet to make way for apartments! I can't even remember the last time I ate food that was something other than a synthetic mass of chemicals and coloring, and that's because there tain't any left for those of us who don't own megacorporations! I should just key in the codes and get this bullshit over with!"
"I already have to talk Dixon down on a daily basis, do I need to do the same thing with you? Causing a nuclear war with Europe won't solve anything."
"At least those fuckin' senators and CEOs would starve to death in their personal fuckin' biospheres on Mars! Everything they need comes from Earth, if we all died then-"
"Then they would have less novels to read and movies to watch. Everything is automated now, and like you said, they're about to automate everything that remains. The senators and CEOs wouldn't even blink if Earth went under."
"Dammit!" By this point, Schmidt was screaming at the top of his lungs. "We lost! We lost decades ago! I've kept myself alive for a hundred goddamned years just to suffocate to death while gettin' cooked on this god-forsaken hellhole of a planet!"
"Look, we can't save Earth, but we can get revenge. We're going to get revenge. Dixon is already making his moves, as am I. Allen and Litvyak are making their preparations as well, we're going to do it soon."
"We can't win though, they're gonna have an army of walkin' tanks that don't care how many people're killed!"
"That's our trump card. They're still using Columbia's code, and we both know what's been put in there. You just need to activate the right sequences and we'll have it all in the bag."
"Those sequences're designed to be hard to activate, anything else would'a been dehumanizing. Not that anyone sees 'er as human. Anyways, it'll take some time and I don't think that's something we got. The moment we're replaced-and that moment's coming damn soon-we'll've lost."
"Then make her see as quickly as you can. Good luck sleeping, by the way."
"Thanks, you too. I'm gonna need it tonight."
He pressed a button on his computer's keyboard, terminating the call. With a heavy sigh, he stood up and walked out the door. Meeting him just as he stepped into the hallway was Isabelle, with Columbia right beside her.
"Sir, are you okay? I heard screaming." She said.
Aw fuck. Thought Schmidt. I got loud there, what if-
He shook the thought from his head. If they had heard, then he would be dead already. Either that or he wouldn't wake up tomorrow morning, which was beginning to look like a rather nice idea.
"Oh, I got myself a papercut. On my finger webbing. Y'know how it is, 'specially with the rejuv procedures and all. Makes my skin sensitive."
"Understood, that must have been a hell of a papercut."
"You ain't got no idea."
"You did WHAT?"
Isabelle's voice, in all of its shrill glory, ricocheted off of the walls of the hallway and met Columbia's ears as if the soundwaves had been daggers. Her programming had not prepared her for this.
"I do not get paid, and he needed-"
"You don't just sell your blood on a fucking whim! The only part of you that's biological is your brain and neural network, dammit! There's no bone marrow to replace what you take out, the only way we can replace your blood is through the reserves we have."
"I don't quite see the-"
"Those reserves are shipped in from Mars! Fucking Mars! It's the only place where there's a synthetic donor with bone marrow! Do you even know the sort of premium we have to pay Alphabet to piggyback on company transports? A fucking lot! That's how much!"
"Why is the only donor on Mars?"
"Because the guy that owns her is just about the only one that didn't kill his biological synthetic when purely cybernetic models came out!"
"I understand the problem, but my programming prohibited me from simply ignoring the problem I was facing right then."
"Ugh... you're pretty stupid for a combat AI. Next time just call me, I would have been happy to give you some money. Especially if it prevents any more goddamned blood going to delusional, rich assholes who think the blood of the young will keep them alive forever. I can't believe you sold so much that your cybernetic backups had to kick in, though."
"The emergency ejection system is not precise, the only reason it exists is to purge contaminated blood from my system. It is not possible to control the amount that comes out through anything but closing the valve as quickly as possible."
"How much did you get for this, anyways? A hundred bucks? Blood prices went down like a brick when the senate slashed the universal basic income last week."
It had been a good two months since Columbia had come to the base, and in that time she had assimilated well. She had assimilated well. Well enough that people would use that pronoun when referring to her. Either that, or the shuffle in base staff in the past few weeks had brought in an oddly large number of political radicals who advocated for AI equality. It didn't matter which, as the result was increased unit cohesion. Though her social skills hadn't evolved that much, they didn't have to in order to ensure her immersion into society.
"I got a hundred thousand."
"Did they pay in Euros or something?"
"No. They paid in dollars."
"HOW IN THE NAME OF VIRGIN-!" Said Isabelle, before cutting herself off and lowering her volume so as to not draw any more attention than the conversation already had. "How did you get someone to pay you a hundred thousand dollars for a tiny little bit of blood?"
"When asked for the age of the blood I put down my technical age, not biological age. They pay a lot for nearly newborn blood."
Isabelle made a sound that, to Columbia, was a rather curious one. She hadn't been programmed with any medical knowledge-no need to make the killbot a doctor-but it was quite clear that the half-hack, half-gurgle that came from Isabelle's through was not normal. She gulped as if swallowing something, which certainly seemed to be the case, and started to massage her neck after gasping for air.
"Are you okay?" Asked Columbia.
"Oh Jesus Christ that's fucking disgusting. I just threw up in my mouth, that's all. What did you do with a hundred thousand dollars of cash?"
"I bought him a ticket to Mars, two hot dogs, and a coca-cola."
"YOU BOUGHT A HOMELESS GUY A TICKET TO MARS?"
"And two hot dogs and a coca-cola, yes."
"Why?"
"It isn't in my specs, but my programming said it was the right thing." Said Columbia, just as Isabelle began to walk towards the bathroom. "Why are you going that way?"
"My body really wanted to throw up when you reminded me that people sell baby blood to pay their bills and it's decided to finish the job."
When Columbia really thought about it, the whole practice of selling one's blood for pseudo-scientific life-prolonging did seem somewhat... wrong. It conflicted with her core programming, which stated that any business transaction was inherently an acceptable thing, but nevertheless it left a bitter taste in her mouth (So to speak). Perhaps it was just her biological brain speaking, but the General had told her that listening to her biological brain was a good idea. So maybe just because it was a business transaction didn't make selling newborn blood okay.
But then again, that sort of thinking was just for political radicals according to her programming.
Her short little session of thought-"spacing out" as a human would say-was interrupted by the unpleasant sound of Isabelle failing to make it to a toilet before her body "finished the job". At the very least, she had chosen a nearby trash bin and saved some enlisted man an extremely undesirable job.
"I swear, it felt like a little bit got stuck in my throat or something."
Columbia didn't even have time to think about what could cause that sort of sensation or why it made her biological brain seemingly reel back in disgust before all the lights went out.
"I am experiencing a failure in my cybernetic neural backup." She said. "I believe that we have been hit by-"
"An EMP, right."
Everyone in the hallway switched from calm walking to panicked running, as countless soldiers rushed to the few EMP-hardened computer terminals to try to see if the radar was still functioning. The fact that the command center's alarm was blaring while the intercom demanded that the fighter pilots scramble immediately were both good signs, as if they had survived the EMP the radar system probably had as well.
Isabelle began to run down the hallway, and called back to Columbia just before turning the corner.
"I'm going to get the General, you get to the defense perimeter!"
Columbia heeded the order immediately and began to run down the hallway, pulling her railgun into her hands to be ready to repel any invaders that might follow.
This doesn't make sense. She thought. The Europeans cannot win a war against us, so why would they attack one of our bases? There is no other nation that would attack America with an EMP, maybe it's terrorists? But why would they target our base of all places?
It was then that a short flurry of gunshots echoed out in the hallway from the direction of Schmidt's office. And suddenly everything made perfect sense.
She ran to his office as quickly as her legs could carry her, but it wasn't fast enough. She couldn't turn back time, the deed had already been done. Isabelle stood in the doorway, staring at Schmidt's body with her coilgun pistol raised and her hand still on the trigger.
"I... he..."
Columbia didn't let her get the beginning of another stammer out of her mouth before sending fifty thousand volts of energy coursing through her nerves with a sharp chop to her neck. Isabelle fell flat to the floor, and Columbia stomped (in terms of the force-her foot could have come down much harder-it was about the same as a stomp) on her back in order to pin her to the floor. She would have been perfectly justified in just sending a coilgun slug straight through Isabelle's head.
But she decided to listen to her biological brain this time.
"General! Are you sti-"
He cut Columbia off with the last bit of strength he had left, barely managing to raise his hand to silence her. She could tell he had something to say, and she could also tell he had to say it as quickly as possible if he wanted to get it all out before dying.
"Mars... go to Mars... I'm giving you to Leif... Admiral Leif Dixon-"
Schmidt gasped for air, for all the good it did him. He'd been hit straight in the chest, and he wasn't going to have any blood left within seconds.
"Save... America..."
She had a lot of questions, but it was far too late to ask any of them. More people arrived and saw the scene, it was quite obvious what had happened. After a three-month investigation it was revealed that Isabelle had been a European agent, and the EMP attack was all so she could assassinate General Schmidt without being caught. She got the news through a news broadcast halfway through her trip to Mars. Her cybernetics told her that Isabelle deserved the death sentence she had been given, but her biological brain told her that despite all evidence to the contrary the investigators had lied.
This time, she didn't even need to consciously choose which side to listen to. Humans often spoke of "gut feelings", and though she had no gut, her brain was more than human enough to recognize that feeling.
Mars was not Earth.
Not exactly the best description of a planet, but a fitting one. It was the only one Columbia could think of when she stepped off the orbital shuttle into the city of New Los Angeles (and went through customs, which took two hours to get through because they thought she was trying to smuggle herself through by saying she was an AI). Skyscrapers rose up from the ground into the pinkish-red sky that reminded her of a sunset on Earth, encased within a biodome larger than any she had ever seen or heard of on Earth. Everything was so pristine, so removed from what the cities of Earth looked like. Nouakchott was a fairly nice city by Earth standards-it did, after all, have an atmospheric shield to keep the air breathable-but it was still been dirty. Shacks made out of corrugated metal and old, decaying buildings had made up most of it. But on Mars? Everything was kept perfectly clean, every wall was a clinical white, and every man, woman, and child wore perfectly tailored clothes that had never needed to be mended even once. One could hardly tell they were still in America.
"Miss Columbia! Over here!"
She turned to the voice, finding a young woman standing on the sidewalk and waving her arms. Not that she needed to be waving, she stood out well enough already with her pointed ears that were straight out of an old Lord of the Rings movie. For a short time, such modifications had been popular with the upper class of Mars (which was, instead of "obscenely rich" like most of Mars, incomprehensibly rich). Then Alphabet Inc. began to produce biological AIs with the same look and it instantly fell out of style. All the rich had since undergone surgery again to remove it, save for a few who had held onto it for one reason or another. Given that Admiral Dixon had said his wife was going to meet Columbia at the airport, it was safe to assume that his wife was one such person.
"Good afternoon, Mrs. Dixon." Said Columbia once she had waded her way though the crowd of people that had just exited the spaceport. Aside from them, however, there weren't many people on the streets. "You do not have to call me Miss-"
"And you don't have to call me Mrs. My name is Lei, it was given to me by my former owner and Leif and I chose not to get me re-registered. It might have been given to me by someone who tried to kill me, but I'd rather not just pretend that never happened."
"I thought the Admiral's wife was coming, since he had important business to attend to. Was there a change of plans?"
"I am a free AI, the only fully biological one left. We say that we are married, but obviously the government refuses to recognize it. He helped me escape from my owner when the cybernetic models came out, since I was going to be deactivated."
This Admiral Dixon is an odder person than I expected. Thought Columbia. Nobody marries an AI.
"Do you mean you're the source of the blood used by my model?"
"Yes, my bone marrow is the only source of blood compatible with the biological organs used for your model. I understand you needed a replacement quite recently?"
"Yes, I sold some of my blood to help a homeless man that I met in Nouakchott. He's on Mars right now, I kept in contact with him during my trip here."
"Homeless to Mars is a hell of a jump, what does he do for a living?"
"He's an artist, he was trying to make money on Earth by selling some paintings to tourists. Some restaurant chain here offered to buy his work in bulk a bit after he got here."
"I know what one, they have a plague underneath every single painting that tells the guy's story. It's a good restaurant and the paintings are wonderful, but it feels like they're bragging about it. Like they're better people for buying from him."
"I suppose they have a right to. Without them, he would have a hard time making money."
"No, they're not the ones paying his bills. He's doing it himself, and you're the reason he has the chance to do that."
Columbia found the logic to be undeniable. There was a whisper in the back of her head that said it was a lie, that the restaurant chain was the one that was making that man's life possible, but the rest of her head simply couldn't find any evidence for that.
"I suppose you're right, anyways, what am I to do now? I was only told to come here, Leif didn't give any other order."
"I'll take you to our house, he'll be home eventually. There's a meeting he has to attend, preparations for fleet operations out and all."
"Fleet operations out? Admiral Dixon? He commands the Martian Defense Fleet, why is he preparing for a fleet operation?"
"He'll explain that to you himself. For now though, let's just get moving. I hate the city, it's full of people who don't understand what they're doing."
What on Earth does she mean by that?
The Admiral's house was not at all what Columbia had expected. A penthouse would have made sense, perhaps a free-standing overly ornate house had he been one of those men that still clung to tradition. Few people did, the world over from Mongolia to Washington all looked exactly the same. The only thing that changed was the language on the billboards, and even that was beginning to give way to a number of constructed languages that corporations endorsed in the hopes that their successes would bring more customers. The Admiral's house, however, could barely be described as such. It was so far removed from the city that it was outside the biosphere, and Lei had needed to drive an old utility rover out and wear a spacesuit. Columbia, obviously, hadn't needed to. All she needed was a respirator to keep oxygen flowing to her biological systems, since her synthetic skin was already designed to handle the vacuum of space. It did just fine on the surface of Mars.
The house itself was just an old habitat module from the 2030's, one that even still had its original SpaceX markings on it. It was simply a small collection of four inflatable cylinders, all encased underneath a pressurized glass dome which provided an earth-like atmosphere and temperature for a clearly well-kept garden. All things considered, it had probably once been the governor's mansion for an early SpaceX colony. How an Admiral with no connections to any business family managed to end up with it in his hands, Columbia couldn't guess.
But, somehow it was and somehow she had ended up sitting next to a Koi pond on Mars. That was the strangest part of the whole place, not that an old Admiral from Hicksville, West Virginia-she'd actually read his file, and he was in fact from what had previously been a tiny coal mining town that was now part of the Washington-Baltimore Metropolitan Area-happened to own a colonial governor's mansion, but the contrast between said mansion and the landscape outside. The garden's beauty wasn't a sight that Columbia wouldn't have normally connected with the Martian sky.
"This garden is well-kept." Said Columbia, who was sitting on a plastic bench set up next to the pond with Lei. "I assume you use robots for it? There's nobody else around here."
"No, this is my little hobby. It's not that hard to take care of, the plants here are all low-maintenance ones grown from seeds from the original plants that were brought over during the colonization of Mars. We don't have any servants either, Leif hates being waited on and I don't very much like the idea of making someone work for us to do things we can do ourselves. I was someone's domestic AI, after all. After living through that I don't want to make anyone else do the same."
"I suppose that makes sense, the few indentured servants that become successful usually don't keep any of their own. How did the Admiral end up with this place, by the way? Does he have some sort of legal relationship to the family that owned it?"
"This is one of the original Martian colonies that was built by Space X, Leif was sent along by NASA to pilot a scout plane. I assume they didn't program you to know anything but the proudest moments of our history, right?"
"I was programmed with historical knowledge up to a Bachelor's Degree level in the subject, I know everything someone with that level of education would know."
"Then they didn't, has anyone ever told you about the Six Month War?"
"No."
"A few decades after the original colonies were set up by Space X they became fully self-sustainable and began to operate their own industry. After that, Space X tightened its grip on them. All trade was directly controlled by their officials and carried on their vessels, not those of NASA or any other space corporation. All purchase of products not shipped to Mars by Space X was prohibited, and anyone caught smuggling things in from the colonies of other companies was thrown out the airlock. Some of the NASA personnel started to bring in weapons from other colonies, and militias formed in the shadows. Eventually, the governors of over half the Space X colonies were assassinated and they declared independence."
"What happened to them?"
"Space X tried to get the NASA personnel to betray the colonists and reinstate control, but they refused. At that point, they were disgusted by the commercialization of space. So Space X bought and launched a Naval railgun, then strapped it onto one of their interplanetary transports-the S.S. Armstrong-and had it bombard the colonies from orbit. They left this one intact, since its citizens threatened to have Leif ram the Armstrong with their orbital shuttle. A small USMC unit was shipped over by the Armstrong though, and they evicted the inhabitants. Leif came back here and renovated the only structure that still remained, this mansion, and had a lawyer friend of his argue that it was homesteading. He won the case and has lived here ever since. As the ship took six months to reach Mars, it was dubbed the Six Month War by the colonists."
"Wasn't the Armstrong destroyed over Ceres in the Alphabet-Space X merger?"
"Yes, the CEO's son was commanding the ship and refused to give up the company he was supposed to inherit. An Alphabet Inc. vessel punctured it's hull and everyone aboard asphyxiated, but not before the Armstrong could kill a thousand people on an Alphabet Inc. colony by shooting a few holes in its biodome. The namesake of that ship is probably still rolling in his grave, not only was space turned into the domain of corporations, a ship named after him slaughtered thousands of innocent colonists."
"Why do they not teach that? My records say that the Armstrong didn't ever get a chance fire its railgun."
"The Musk family stills holds high positions within Alphabet, making them look bad would invoke the wrath of Alphabet. And believe me, that's the last thing anyone wants to do."
"I think that's obvious enough, given what's happened." Said a man, whom Columbia turned to look at. It was Admiral Dixon. "This sure is a big mess, isn't it?"
"Welcome back Leif, how was the conference?" Said Lei.
Admiral Dixon wasn't what on might expect of an Admiral. He was bald and lanky, and not in a dignified way either. His arms and legs looked like they had no meat or muscle on them, but then again, he was the Admiral of a space fleet as opposed to an ocean fleet. All his time in space-not to mention living on Mars-had clearly atrophied his muscles and bones.
"It went pretty good, Admiral Johnson already has her ships on their way to the Eastern Seaboard and General Schmidt's troops are still up for it despite his untimely death. My ships are already in the final leg of the journey to Earth and the Asteroid Belt, and all the militia cells there are giving us the all-green. General Allen's got his forces doing a 'snap exercise' near the Virginia border and says he can be in the District of Columbia in three hours when he gets the signal. The independent forces are mostly onboard, but a few units in Korea are saying that they're being split up and can't group up. Hardly anything that'll prevent it."
Columbia didn't even have to analyze the situation to realize that something was very, very wrong.
"What's going on, Admiral?" She asked.
"I think you've got an idea of what's going on, you've got a human brain up there. Connected to some circuits, sure, but it's human. You can figure out what happened when General Schmidt was assassinated."
"It wasn't Isabelle, was it?"
Leif nodded, Columbia's human brain was right again. The only thing it seemed to be worse at than her cybernetic brain was math.
"They just realized that Isabelle was a perfect scapegoat and went with it. Had she not been in the General's office, they might have framed you. That EMP was caused by a nuclear missile launched by a satellite, and it sure as hell wasn't a European satellite."
"The only other state on Earth that operates weaponized spacecraft is America."
"Exactly."
"We killed our own General?"
"Alphabet did. They're an American company, yes, but I definitely wouldn't say that we're part of the same group."
"Why would Alphabet do that though? How did they do that? They don't have access to military cloaking devices, and if they hadn't used one the assassin would have been caught."
"Alphabet has money, a lot of money. Their CEO owns a good three fourths of the senate and congress, and the President's campaign was openly sponsored by them. When they're that powerful, there's nothing they can't get. Even if its a military cloaking device. And there's good reason for Alphabet to go after Schmidt, and I'm surprised they haven't come after me either."
A billion red flags were raised in Columbia's brain, even some in the biological part. But she had to know what was going on. In fact, a non-trivial part of her brain told her that it was something she wanted to be a part of.
"What did he do to make Alphabet come after him?"
"He was working with me, and I'm trying to do something that Alphabet would gladly turn Earth into a nuclear wasteland to prevent."
He was taking a roundabout direction through the conversation, but Columbia decided to play along.
"Which is?"
"At noon tomorrow Martian Defense Fleet ships will enter orbit around Earth under the pretense of regular maintenance on their reactors, since Mars doesn't have the facilities to deal with that. At 1500, they will open fire on the District of Columbia and destroy the White House and Capital Building. Marine, Army, National Guard, and independent militia groups across America and its colonies will then make movements against government forces and Alphabet mercenaries. Schmidt was supposed to take control of the government for a short intermediary period afterwards, but with his death it's been decided that I will in his place."
"A military coup. And considering that you're still going through with it after Schmidt died, one that isn't a personal power grab." Said Columbia. "I should kill you right now and inform the government, but they lied about Isabelle and you didn't. I'm willing to listen."
"I could be the one lying, you know."
"Your explanation makes more sense... and my gut's telling me that you're in the right here. I trust that more than I trust my cybernetic brain. Just tell me why you're doing this."
"Alright then, what are the unalienable rights of man as described in the Declaration of Independence?"
The question didn't seem related, but Columbia could tell that he was getting at something.
"Life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness. Why?"
"How many people can truly say that they have those rights now? Protesters are being gunned down in the streets along with innocent people seeking shelter from the rabidly deteriorating environment of Earth, countless millions are 'indentured servants' who everyone knows damn well are just slaves with a fancier name, and those lucky enough to not fall into either of those categories live on the bare minimum in dirty slums with their only solace coming in the form of a virtual reality headset."
"My cybernetic brain is identifying that statement as an information hazard. Please give me a second to deactivate it."
She did just that. It was a feature designed to prevent enemy agents from getting to the files stored in the cybernetic part of her brain, and though that wasn't the situation the emergency cutoff didn't know she was misusing it. Her cybernetic and biological brains were in direct opposition, and this would be the last time she would have to decide between the two.
"It's like you've dropped a weight off your back, isn't it?" Said Lei.
"That's exactly what it feels like." Said Columbia. "Now, please continue Admiral."
"Well, given the current situation, everyone is having those rights violated. If someone is happy, they have no liberty. If someone has liberty, then they are not happy."
"What if they have both?"
"Then they are either dead or they are the ones violating these rights. Now, what did they say they built you to do?"
"They said I existed to protect America from Un-American activities and individuals, those that would threaten our right to life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness."
"And yet you were built by X, a subsidiary of the corporation that has violated those rights and stolen them from the people. Your cybernetics even called my explanation of how those rights have been violated an information hazard, clearly either I'm wrong or Alphabet has lied to you to the same way it tried to lie to all of us to get us to protect its property."
"And you're trying to stop this by taking control of America?"
"Exactly. We can't stop this by voting for the lesser evil over and over again, the system has to be fundamentally changed if the rights of the people are to be upheld. This is more than a military coup, this is a revolution. Alphabet Inc. and all of its subsidiaries are going to be completely dissolved, their owners put in jail, and all of their factories and shops given to the men and women that work in them. As long as people have to work for those richer than them to live in any semblance of safety and comfort, they are deprived of their liberty and thus their unalienable rights have been violated. After the old system has been destroyed, nobody will have to live in slums off of the constantly decreasing universal basic income, nobody will have to join the military for money because their writing and drawing didn't satisfy the tastes of the rich. Americans will be free to do what they want, they will be happy because doing what they want no longer comes with the risk of starvation, and they will have life because of that."
Columbia took a moment to process it all. This wasn't what she thought she had been created to do, but at the same time it seemed like it was precisely that. She decided to trust her gut feeling once again.
"I'm willing to help you. Is there something you want me to do?"
"Yes. The CEO of Alphabet Inc. is in New Los Angeles right now, and the national guard units there are all with us. They're going to attack Alphabet mercenaries, and when they do, I want you to kill the CEO."
"You would trust me with such an important task even though you've just met me?"
"My biggest flaw is that I'm too trusting. Will you do it?"
"I will."
Clack, clack, clack.
The city of New Los Angeles had changed since Columbia had last been there yesterday. Now, its pristine white buildings were the same color as the fiery, red Martian sky. Gunfire echoed throughout the streets of the city, combining with the sight of a city on fire to create a rather apocalyptic feeling. It was, however, anything but an apocalypse. Perhaps one day people would remember it was the one thing that prevented the apocalypse.
Clack, clack, clack.
Columbia's footsteps were the only sound, aside from gunfire, in the hallway. She held her railgun at the ready as she slowly advanced towards the CEO's office, and only lowered it to attempt to open the door. He had locked it, for all the good it would do him. She simply backed up, raised her railgun again, and fired a flurry of shots straight through the door to knock it off of its hinges. The slugs went straight through the tall, glass windows of the office with the CEO was still in. Of all the things he could do while watching the city around him burn, he was stuffing valuables into a bag.
"Oh good, a combat robot!" He said. "Help me carry this, I've got to get out of here!"
He was a tall, athletic-looking man. Had he been fat and short, of course, the whole scene would have looked too cartoonish to be real.
"I am not here to assist you." Replied Columbia, pointing her railgun at him. "Your company created me with the purpose of defending America, and that is just what I am doing."
He backed away from her, towards the now-shattered glass. Instead of doing what she had come to do, she just advanced towards him until he was pinned up against one of the window's supports. Her cybernetic brain wasn't making the combat calculations this time, her biological brain was controlling all of her actions. And her biological brain wanted to draw this out.
"P-put that gun down!" Demanded the CEO. "You've been hacked! Deactivate! Deactivate!"
"That's no use, I've already deactivated by cybernetics."
"You've been fooled! Whoever's doing this, they've tricked you into it! They've tricked you into fighting against America!"
"You're projecting. That can be a sign of psychosis, perhaps you should have seen a therapist."
She pulled the trigger.
It felt good.
If I had to guess, I'd say that the only people who were actively rooting for our protagonist at the end there were ancaps and communists. In case you couldn't quite tell by Admiral Dixon's explanations ("Given to the workers"? I might as well have had him open by saying "A spectre is haunting Europe"), this story is so Communist that if it was the fifties I would already be talking to an FBI agent in a dimly-lit room. And while yes, this is somewhat of a cautionary tale with the whole point being "Maybe don't give corporations the power to do everything okay guys?" you can look at it however you want. To me, it's totally a story about a communist revolution in a dystopian future ruled by corporations that was fueled by me playing a lot of Red Faction, CO2 levels reaching 400 ppm, and Space X putting forward plans to colonize Mars. Maybe to you the moral of the story is something else. Death of the author, y'all, my reasons for writing this basically don't matter. Which is different from my usual stance because normally I'd use this bit for monologuing about every single detail in the story.
Still gonna do that with the names and stuff.
Columbia is, obviously, named after the female personification of America. The name doesn't mean something relative to the plot (No "Oh I get it, America's mad at the rich for hurting the true people of America, the working class!" here). She just got that name because in a world where America claims Asia and Africa as colonies, they're a bit nationalistic.
None of the other names mean anything. For once. They're just names.
The European Union is, of course, fascist in this. And yes the only reason it kept its name was so I could throw a bit of a curveball with its first mention. The Neo-Strasserists are a political group within it that advocate for a version of Strasserism, which was a subset of Nazism that advocated for communism but was still totally cool with getting rid of the Jews because they thought that the Jews still controlled everything and were thus the bourgeoisie. At the very least, they wanted to deport them to Israel instead of throwing them in death camps. They got purged by Hitler for obvious reasons. The Neo-Strasserists in this story aren't actually that racist beyond believing in ethnic nation-states, and are explicitly mentioned as being opposed to the whole "Ethnic cleansing" thing. They're also not all that relevant to the story, and exist only as a bit of background info.
Aaaand that's all I can think about. Good thing too, because it's 11:30 as I write this. The title isn't that deep, and if you went through high school English class then you know what it means because 90% of high school English in analyzing stuff like that.
Hello everyone. I'm Dutch, a mother of a 8-year old boy and I love both rp-ing and writing. Since May 2020 I'm one of the contests mods.
I started with writing Dutch stories in 2002, I was already 19 at that time. I joined a writing competition and that got me started. Soon I started to write down all the stories my over-active imagination came up with. I had my first forum rp experience in 2003 on a Dutch fantasy forum. While I continued to write, I stopped rp-ing when the particular rp and forum slowly died. In 2011 my love for rp's rekindled when I joined a site with a forum and I started to RP solely in English since that is the language of the site. This is also when I wrote my first story in English.
I've got a few 1x1 rp's going on this site and a couple more on another site. I've always been a fan of writing competitions and I joined a lot several of the ones that were hosted on this website. Now I get to host them myself and really enjoy that too.
When you come here to check if I'm online, know that even when I show as online I might not be able to respond to RP's. I open this site so that when I have time I can spend some time here, but I don't always end up with the time to do so.
If I haven't replied in a while, feel free to poke me. I don't ghost on purpose, sometimes I just forgetful and if I read your reply and accidentally closed the tab I might forget I was supposed to reply T_T
<div style="white-space:pre-wrap;">Hello everyone. I'm Dutch, a mother of a 8-year old boy and I love both rp-ing and writing. Since May 2020 I'm one of the contests mods.<br><br>I started with writing Dutch stories in 2002, I was already 19 at that time. I joined a writing competition and that got me started. Soon I started to write down all the stories my over-active imagination came up with. I had my first forum rp experience in 2003 on a Dutch fantasy forum. While I continued to write, I stopped rp-ing when the particular rp and forum slowly died. In 2011 my love for rp's rekindled when I joined a site with a forum and I started to RP solely in English since that is the language of the site. This is also when I wrote my first story in English. <br><br>I've got a few 1x1 rp's going on this site and a couple more on another site. I've always been a fan of writing competitions and I joined a lot several of the ones that were hosted on this website. Now I get to host them myself and really enjoy that too.<br><br>When you come here to check if I'm online, know that even when I show as online I might not be able to respond to RP's. I open this site so that when I have time I can spend some time here, but I don't always end up with the time to do so.<br><br>If I haven't replied in a while, feel free to poke me. I don't ghost on purpose, sometimes I just forgetful and if I read your reply and accidentally closed the tab I might forget I was supposed to reply T_T</div>
Loksfjoer is a Contest Moderator.
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