Tortoise

Through the Gateways: Humanity [Closed] [Soon to be Concluded]

@jorvhik
Approved!

Can't wait to be decapitated by one of these guys.

Through the Gateways: Humanity [Closed] [Soon to be Concluded]

@jorvhik
Yo, love the feel here. I have a weakness for technobarbs and you are exploiting it for approval, I can feel it. :

But for real, there's only one issue I gotta ask you to correct. If you've spotted the Discord chat lately, you can tell there's been some debate about the existence of fusion. In the tech section, you mention probable fusion used to generate weapons. We might wanna change that.

Perhaps their energy weapons simply use batteries, created via non-portable fission reactors somewhere? It would mean an energy sword could run out of juice on the battlefield- but that sounds like a fun thing to write. Drama!

If you can edit that, you're approved and may drop your NS in the char tab and start posting whenever.

Can I offer a bit of personal advice tho? You seem to have based Kudrion society entirely off of martial acts. That's totally fine for the NS, but in IC, remember that even the most warlike of people are still human. What does a warrior do when they aren't fighting? What about the Kudrions who don't fight at all, like the old? Humans aren't Klingons. Just a thing to keep in mind.

@Lady Lascivious
Approved!

@Dog

Messaging on Discord. Stuff we should discuss.

Through the Gateways: Humanity [Closed] [Soon to be Concluded]

@Lady Lascivious

This is probably one of the best sheets I've ever gotten, in a story-telling sense. I love the feeling that, by the end, the Tiamat are a completely traumatized people: trying to wipe out the natives because they might speak of the Terrible Truth. They even gouged their own eyes out so they don't have to see it. Spoopy.

Questions:
How would the redundant brain be able to transfer memories in the event of physical-death? Like, say you got shot in the head. How can your primary brain, that just got shot and is dying, have time to transfer anything to the secondary, redundant brain? Wouldn't primary brain die first? It can't be instant, since- if I remember correctly- the brain stores some things physically. Unless all memories, thoughts and feelings are always been stored on both brains, simultaneously?

You never explain what the Hive strain is, or where it come from. I guess that's intended to be in one of the archives?

@Dog
I'll have to check out your sheet a little later on.

Through the Gateways: Humanity [Closed] [Soon to be Concluded]

Addressing: @Raylah, @Crusader Lord, @Irredeemable, @SgtEasy, @Sigma

It's dark, and not only because of the late hour. It's because he turned the lights down. Certain things just need to be done in the dark.

The man takes a long drink of pitch-black tea, another mood-appropriate prop, before he places the cup down on someone else's desk. He's waited days for her to fall asleep. Abadi. A puppet, sacrificing her youth and her sanity for a system that will never love her back. But there's no point in trying to tell her. There are more important things to share this evening.

He turns on her terminal, listening to it groan and whine like a personal computer from the 20th century. Like the hardware itself is tired. Every one is waiting for this to be over. Days spent without sleep, trying to put out diplomatic fires, just for something else to burst into flame right as you extinguish the last. The terminal prompts him, and he keys in the password she once shared with him, before all this started.

Message to the Undefeated

You claim to be our ally. To the government, or to the people?

They are not the same.

Soon, you'll have to choose.

Choose wisely,
A Flower.

He hits "Send," hoping and praying that his half-understood encryption measures will work. This man is no technical expert; far, far from it. But the terminal tells him the message went through anyway. Good. It's important that the nations realize that there are real people behind this. New Hollywood is not a battleground, it is not a political experiment. It is his home. He lives there, he dreams of there. He will risk capture and trial to send this message.

Message to the Khanate

Your soldiers make our homes their stomping grounds, on behalf of the Khan, payed by the Oligarchs.

But people live there. Lives are stomped under your feet.

We remember them all,
A Flower.

His hands shake. He feels exposed. To threaten a government isn't a small thing; suddenly, his body is frail and unprotected. He looks to the glass door, like soldiers could come breaking in any moment to take him prisoner. Could anyone save him?

Snap out of it. He drinks more tea, closing his eyes just a moment. His fingers press "Send" before he's opened them again.

Message to the Columbians

Thank you.

We won't forget it. We'll find a way to pay you back.

I promise,
A Flower That Grows Where Nations Meet.

The Meeting Place rotates just a little bit, always in orbit, so that Earth can be seen. Dead and gray. Is this what humanity always does? We only kill each other. That's what a human is. A machine that kills things.

Stop, stop, stop. That's not true. We were made for something better; each person feels it in their hearts. That's what the conscience is, the sense of right and wrong. It's your spirit telling you, "You're meant to be more than this."

Message to the Zetans

New Hollywoodites let the war happen. Each one of us is responsible for that.

I don't expect your forgiveness.

But it was wrong,
A Flower.

He still remembers his face. The face of the boy he saw the protectors kill on the pavement. They said it was an accident, that the kid fought back and might have had a weapon and probably had it coming and was on drugs and so on and so forth.

But he knows what he saw. It was a murder.

Message to the Xandalians

Some say you're for us, some aren't so sure.

Come out the shadows. Fight openly for what your heart knows is right.

And one day,

We'll pay you back,
A Flower That Grows Where Nations Meet.

Focus, focus, focus. Three days without sleep, and you can't control for a second where your mind wanders off to. It takes you back to who you really are.

There's one last people to contact. The killer's best friends.

Message to the Matuvistans

How long? How many more?

You spill blood for a government that will not be here in a month.

When they're gone, we'll remember who are enemies were.

The clock ticks, see the writing on the wall,
A Flower.

---

~~~~~~~~

---

Collab between Tortoise and @TimeMaster

(Previously the main One force agreed with the plan they came up with and made long apologies to Kayla for hiding the nature of the meat, but they were sure she would understand.)

They are a group, but they move and flow as a single life. It’s one body that dodges through the streets of New Beijing. Ten members. They all know where the others will be. Without talking, only relying on their shared memories, they understand one another.

Kayla emerges from a long-abandoned alleyway, and finds five James and a William waiting for her. She knew they would be there. They took the faster, riskier path, and she- being the most valuable member of the team- took the slower and safer one. Three Grants walk out from behind her, into the bright streetlights.

“The team’s all here.” She points up to a dense, squat building. Chain-link, electric fencing. It’s a power plant, but you’d think it was a fort. “That's our target. You remember the tour I had, five years ago?”

The One split up, a few squadrons of Williams and James moved throughout the city meeting with White Flower leaders, explaining who they are and that they were there to help. Some didn’t accept the One at first and some were wildly surprised by the nature of them but in the end they all agreed that the One was there to help during the revolution, afterwards...things would be different.

The group following Kayla was armed to the teeth with bone armor, spears, bows and small swords. In addition, the James also made use of the debris from the spaceport to make a few very durable spears in compassion to their bone weaponry. The Grants followed Kayla as One being, no small-talk, no signs, no sounds.

As Kayla talked, one of the Grants stepped forward.

“ You already know the answer to that. The fence is electrified, the corridors are long and tightly packed. It wouldn’t be a good idea to be caught in them. ” answered the Grant.

"About the fence-" she hesitated. "The power in New Beijing has been running full-blast, non-stop. For a long time now. Weeks, months? Yeah. And there were a lot of power-outages even before then. So I was thinking..." she took a deep breath. "I was thinking that the fence might short out, you know, if it suddenly had to release a lot of energy. Like. Like if someone were electrocuted."

She looked over to the William. She didn't like this.

“ We actually were thinking of the same plan. Think about what the screams were in the ship when we passed through the Gateway. You don’t need to worry about us. We are One! ” said the Grant in a calm, shushed voice then at the end, all the others instinctively banged their chests with their fists.

Behind the false bravado, the One were having similar feelings about it. Kayla’s influence paled in comparison to the original One mind but still made them doubt themselves at times. Changes would surely appear in the One society after the revolution but for now, those thoughts and feelings would be pushed aside.

The William walked forward, bravely and with a small bow to the others ran straight into the fence hugging it tightly as the electricity coursed through their body. No scream, no shout. Just a small grunt of pain. Kayla winced. But the fence did stop humming- it was out. One by one, they jumped it.

When Kayla's feet hit the pavement on the other side, she felt like she'd just landed on foreign territory. This titan of a power plant was on the very outskirts of the city, placed right before a slow drop-off into wasteland, and was one of the few places of officialdom the White Flowers hadn't yet rested control from. There were still ECU guards here: but they were the same ones that had stood guard when the city fell, and couldn't be able to hold out much longer. How long will it be before, for want of food, they decide to give themselves up?

Kayla doesn't pray. But if she did, she would pray that they're all still alive to make that decision.

A James kicks the door down, and they slide into the smooth lighting of the Ai Zhang Memorial Plant. "The psychological warfare isn't hitting here," Kayla said, aloud. She ran her fingers along a sign on the wall that read (in English, Chinese and Latin) FISSION CORE THIS WAY ---->

"It's, like, three AM,” she says. “Maybe we can slip by the guards?"

But they couldn't, because right as the last word left her mouth, a protector in gold uniform came strolling around the corner.

Without a word, the One moved to the side, hiding in the shadows. As the protector approached their “hiding” place, one James stepped out.

The protector stopped in his tracks and said “You there, stop! Identify yourself!”

The James lifted his arms up in a peaceful gesture and stopped, as the protector was approaching them, gun held high.

“ Hey there! No need for that. I just came back from the city. Those revolutionaries got help from scum-extraterrestrials. Bastards thinking they can take our city! ” said the James mimicking to the best of Kayla’s memories of how the ECU talked.

For a moment, as the ECU protector approached he lowered the weapon. He got into arm’s reach of the James when a Grant stepped out from the shadows. The protector’s weapon flew straight away towards the Grant and that’s when the James made his move.

He lunged at the protector, hitting him square in the solar plexus instantly stopping the protector in his tracks as he tried to breathe. Another James stepped out and quickly wrapped his arms around the neck of the protector, putting him in a rear naked choke and held on tight to him as he slowly fell asleep.

Quickly they proceeded into stripping the protector, taking his weapon/clothes, equipping a Grant with them and then afterwards, sent one James with him back towards the One lines.

“ That could’ve been worse. We got lucky that the protector believed our ruse for long enough. Now, we’ve got an undercover scout. ” said the leading Grant.

Kayla had felt funny, watching the protector fall. The sick sounds he made when the James choked him out. She thought of herself as an empathetic person, she didn’t want him to be hurt, but then-

But then, she’d always hated them.

She hardens her heart. And after that, watching him be stripped didn’t bother her too much; Kayla had only ever been into women anyway. (And that’s canon now.)

The group proceeds in a straight line, right to where they all remember the reactor being. The tour Kayla had of this place was years ago, and felt more like ages, but the lay-out hadn’t changed. Only this time, it looked like the lab of a mad scientist; the trash littering the floor and the little scraps of food huddled into corners.

The guards and engineers have been stuck inside this building since the Flowers took over. Absolutely terrified of leaving the building and facing the mobs outside. Trapped, probably half-starving; looks like cleanliness standards go out the window after a while. She wonders where they’re all sleeping.

The reactor itself isn’t visible, being behind a protective wall of Bezian metal. Kayla remembers them lowering that for her visit, but it took a passcode entered into the computer terminal to do it.

“Guys,” Kayla says, realizing it as she does, “we’re going to need to kidnap a scientist.”

As the group followed Kayla, they were trying to pierce together all her memories of the place. Checking them again and again for all the small things that she might’ve missed or overlooked.

Seeing the state of the reactor’s room hardened the One. They remembered how it felt. The loneliness, the fear of not waking up tomorrow, the lack of food. Soon they would’ve turned on each other, soon they would’ve eaten each other. Eventually only one would remain if he or she would’ve been smart enough. But they weren’t on an alien planet, they weren’t trapped forever...all they had to do was to go out and all would’ve stopped. Remembering how the protectors were trained, they knew they wouldn’t have surrendered but to choose to torment yourself when you’ve got a choice? That was something the One wouldn’t accept. Something that simply wouldn’t stand with them.

“ We know. We can’t break into it and even if we could, we will not be able to do so without alarming the whole facility. We’ve got an idea, pretty sure you’ve thought about it as well. ” said one of the Grants. Looking around, they visualized the whole area based on Kayla’s memories. Each door, each window, each nook and cranny.

The James took to the corridors, each armed with a spear, sword and a shield. Checking room by room like a well oiled machine, they eventually found what they were looking for.

The mess hall, now made as a sleeping area. Protectors, the staff and everyone else was there. Some huddled on the floor, sleeping on broken tables, others playing cards as if they had no care in the world. They’ve all had the same look in their eyes, a look which the One understood very well. Desperation. Starvation.

One of the James went back to the main group and called them to the mess hall.

“ We’re going to leave the decision to you, Kayla. Do you wish to murder them all and save one person or should we show mercy? In the state they are, we can take them easily. ” said the One closest to Kayla.

Kayla nodded. “Take them. I- I don’t want to be a murderer.”

“ We all know that you feel like one already. You’ve been in our mind, we’ve been in yours. You understand why we are keen to kill them all. They don’t deserve living anymore than we deserved starving for hundreds of years but alright, we’ll follow your lead.” said the closest James, their voice full of anger.

The other Ones looked towards them and shook their heads. The One was vengeful, the One refused to believe that one cannot find ways out of bad situations. They’ve done so from the beginning of their life and until now. Maybe it was Kayla’s influence or maybe the One found a way to forgive and to understand that not everyone can survive, but they’ve decided to let them live as per Kayla’s wishes.

The Grants carried in their backpacks some provisions and handed the backpacks to the Jamess. The James , who was dressed up in the protector’s clothes, went inside the mess hall. Almost instantly, the protectors were onto them. Guns held high towards them with the same desperate look. They knew death came without realizing it.

“ Easy there, easy. Put the guns down. W--I’ve found some friends. ”

“Identify yourself at once!” said one of the protectors, gun aimed towards the James’s midsection.

“ It doesn’t matter who I am but what matters is what I bring. Look!” said as he threw a backpack on the floor, as it hit the floor, some meat fell out.

Instantly, the desperation in the protector’s eyes turned to madness. A food-deprived madness. Two of the protectors threw their weapons on the floor and half-ran half-sprinted towards the food, pushing each other away from the backpack.

“ There, there. No need to fight. We’ve got more food. Just put the weapons down and we’ll give you all the food you can eat. ” said the James with a charming smile on their face.

At this, the other protectors put their weapons down and soon the civilians approached as well. The One stepped from the corridors and into the mess hall, calmly taking the discarded weapons of the protectors and with trained efficiency, pointed them at the protectors.

The lead Grant stepped forward and looked behind them where Kayla stood, calling out to her.

“ Please, set forward. See the mighty protectors, the ones which we so much feared. Anyways, you should talk with your people, Ambassador. They’re docile enough. ”.

It was strange, seeing the protectors- the hostile, lurking force she'd feared her entire life- so contained. The only other time they'd been so pliable was after psyche-programming. Like a lion in a cage.

But they weren't those who would know the passcodes. She'd need to find the administrator, the one whose rank is indicated by- there he is. With the red stripe across his lab coat. Kayla led him by the arm into a small side-room, probably meant to be a janitorial closet, and let the One guard the rest. She figures he wouldn't be super willing to talk with a horde of identical men staring him down.

She brought a gun with her.

"Tell me the passcode," she whispered to him, as soon as they were alone. "I won't hurt you. We just need to know how to shut this place down."

The administrator was an aging, bearded man, wildly-haired, like a descendant of Einstein and Freud. His white hair trembled when he shook his head. "No, madam, I cannot do that. I will not."

"Why?"

He only shook his head again. "No."

"But the ECU doesn't do anything good. For you scientists, I mean. Why are you loyal?"

"Because it is what I have always been, madam. I'm too old to change, and-" here he lifted his sunken, hungry eyes, and there was a glimpse of life in them, "because I don't give in to bullies."

Kayla then tried a hundred things. She tried to convince him. She tried to bribe him. She promised a future career in the new government. And then she threatened to call the One back into the room and let them beat old Einstein-Freud until he was black and blue. Still, the man just shook his head sadly, and rejected everything.

Then she raised the gun.

“Tell me,” she whispered. Her voice turned desperate, almost pleading. Because she knew what the answer would be. And when he refused again, she knew what she would have to do.

“No, madam.”

She shot him in the arm. The sound echoed off the cramped little walls, so that it sounded like a bomb going off. He crumpled over in pain; the blood splatter looked like fresh red paint.

“Tell me.”

He tried to say something, but his voice came out in ragged gasps. She leaned close, tilting her ear to his mouth, so that he could whisper the prized secret to her, telling her how to shut this abomination down. He said to her:

“I will not.”

Kayla screamed in rage, turning around in the closet, feeling so many of the memories of the One at that moment that it nearly overwhelmed her. This isn’t what she wanted to become. She didn’t want to be this. Her fist banged against the door. She turned around, raising the gun again- now it was at his head. His sparkling, hungry eyes met hers again. There was a challenge there.

She breathed deep, ran her finger against the trigger... and lowered the weapon. “I can’t.” And she stalked out the room, to find the One outside.

The One looked at the protectors and the other staff as they were eating the meat, their meat with a look torn between pure hatred and pity.

On one side, they pitied them for being in this situation. For starving, for fighting to stay alive at any cost, for their integrity in not surrendering to the madness that is isolation.

On the other side, the protectors deserved to die for their foolishness of getting themselves trapped and starving. They should be left to starve until they learn better, left to suffer until they break. After all that if they would still be alive, they would be reborn and would deserve to breathe.

Memories came rushing to the One, remembering the faces of those on the colony ships. Beaten and broken, starving, their minds dead even if their bodies didn’t know yet. At the same time, others memories would surface, Kayla’s. The children she didn’t realize were there, begging in the streets. The hungry cries of a populace too afraid to fight their oppressors. The protectors beating up a kid for trying to steal from someone who thought they were important. For a second, the One was overwhelmed and it could be seen on their faces, a split second was all it took and then their usual calm face took over. The craziness in their eyes was gone, replaced with the one from before.

They will not break. They will not surrender to their feelings. They will overcome anything that comes towards them.

A gunshot from inside the small room where Kayla was and two Jamess ran towards the door, thinking that maybe the scientist managed to overpower Kayla.

“ Is everything alright? The scientist gave away his secrets and died or do you need help?” said one of the James as they saw Kayla outside the room. Something almost broken in her eyes.

She shook her head. “I tried to…” but then the words caught in her throat. She didn’t want to talk about this- right now, she didn’t want to even think about it. There’s a man bleeding in the closet behind her. And she shot him.

She shot him.

“He’s alive. I’ve hurt him. Badly. I didn’t want to, but-” her voice tried to fly away again, and she struggled to catch it, “-but I did. I did hurt him. Because of you.” She crossed her arms. “‘Cause of your sadistic, fucked up thoughts floating around in my head. It’s your fault. It’s not mine!”

The One sighted and stared at Kayla for a few seconds, looking at her closely. Emotions fighting on her face. One of the James stepped around Kayla and went to the scientist, bleeding from his arm. Nothing major, not enough to kill him.

“ Kayla. Listen to us. Think. Remember our training, our plight. Calm your emotions. Breath. In. Breath. Out. Center yourself. said the other James. Mimicking what they were telling Kayla.

After Kayla followed their advice and calmed down, they said :

“ As long as he still lives, it wasn’t us. You know better than anyone what would’ve happened here if we wouldn’t have our minds merged with yours.
You’ve also been warned what could happen if our minds merged and you agreed and we’re sure you understand why we proposed it as well. We understand your feelings but you also have to understand ours. ” continued the James, a melancholic tone in their voice.

She nodded. She did understand; that was the worst and best part of it. She knew exactly what he was saying, and why he was saying it. What argument could there be?

“Come on,” she says. “We can’t let him just bleed there.”

The first aid kit was easy to find, the general design not having changed in the last three hundred years: a big, blaringly white box marked "FIRST AID." Kayla should not have known how to use a tourniquet to stop the flow of blood, or how to dress the wound at all. But the One learned it in military training.

"Okay, okay," she told the administrator, as she finished it up in bandage, while he sat on the floor in front of her, "you should be alright. Roughly speaking."

He stared down at his arm, not for the first time in this little procedure. "I thought you were going to kill me?"

"I could never do that."

"The passcode is Alpha-71-Beijing."

Kayla nearly dropped the first aid kit in shock. He just told her, like that?

The James that was with Kayla watched her clean the admin’s wound and bandage it up. It seemed like a very complicated process centuries ago when they were going through training. Up, down, left, right. Make a small circle with the antiseptic then close it to the wound. They could do it now even if deprived of all their senses.

The James smiled, a kind smile as the admin told Kayla the code. It was rare for the One to truly smile but in this moment, they felt happy. One helping another, no strings attached.

“ Kindness is rare and it can go a long way. Admin, we never asked for your name but share it with us and we will remember you forever. ” said the James.

“Luther Able,” said the admin, “and I have lived in the ECU for all of my sixty-seven years. I’ve seen the very worst of the protectors and the Oligarchs. As long as you act as they do, everyone will resist you. It’s only when you show kindness that you might break your enemy’s heart.“ He twisted to face Kayla. “If you ever really get into power, madam, remember that.”

She nodded, and swore that she would.

With the passcode, disabling the Beijing power plant was simple. Soon, a rolling darkness swept across New Beijing, one block turning out after another. When they came back on, the system had been firmly disconnected from the Oligarch’s remote access, the passcode changed, and the White Flowers called in to guard it.

Luther Able and his colleagues were set free. But, like all protectors, the guards themselves had to be taken into custody, to await a trial at some future, undetermined date- presumably, when New Hollywood is finally free.

But now that must be made to happen.

Through the Gateways: Humanity [Closed] [Soon to be Concluded]

It's been a wild ride. A war, a civil uprising, multiple conflicts, too many diplomatic meetings to possibly count, trade deals and mercenary hirings and character moments and monkeys and who knows what I'm forgetting.

I'm thinking about doing the "Achievements" thing again soon.

Through the Gateways: Humanity [Closed] [Soon to be Concluded]

@Dog
Edits look nice: you're super approved. I'm honestly fascinated by the Ozols and def. hope we'll get to learn more about them IC.

Through the Gateways: Humanity [Closed] [Soon to be Concluded]

@Dog

First of all: I really, really like the quirky and conversational way that you wrote this.

Second of all: it's a good sign that I'm doing this here, instead of in a PM. I only critique publicly when the problems are very mild.

Honestly, all I really need from you is more. I don't care about sheet length (my own sheet is hilariously short) but it feels like there's a lot of vital stuff missing here. You mention that the Federal Union conquered an alien civilization: when, how, why? And if you are going to include aliens, I also need those talked about somewhere. What do they look like? Who are they? We know nothing about them but their species' name.

Also, you've talked to us about how (wage) slavery was a component of your nation, but I don't really see that reflected here.

We've discussed in Discord how sheets here are pretty mild. That's true! But if your nation has something special about it- aliens, wage slaves- then you should still describe that special thing. So if you can just fill those missing sections out, I can approve you and you can get posting :)

Through the Gateways: Humanity [Closed] [Soon to be Concluded]

_{(Addressing: @Raylah and @Jangel13)
(Starring: Abadi)}

At this point, to say that Abadi is having a bad day is just a little bit like saying that the sun is bright, that wind blows, or that the Zetans are gross. It's just obvious. Bad days have become intrinsic to her nature. To be Abadi is to have bad days.

Oh, and her friend is dead. That probably has something to do with it.

The Undefeated patched the news in some time ago, but it hasn't processed yet. That is, the computer has processed the data files, and the ECU government has understood the message- but for Abadi, it hasn't processed yet. Her mind is still running over it. Running over it again, and again, and again, wondering how it could happen, why it happened, why she didn't speak to Kelsie that last day instead of going to the stupid monkey parade...

Three bottles lay around her desk, arranged in no particular order. She never drunk so much before this job. One of the drinks was a gift from a fellow Oligarch, Andrei Federov: he drew a little heart on the bottle. He's been flirting with her since she turned eighteen. Never before was she emotionally low enough to really bother with him, but right now he is in her bed, a couple of rooms away.

She takes another drink.

There's a new colony on the scene, the only one the ECU hasn't reached out to yet. That's ironic: their policy used to be "Be first for everything!" Maybe it's an attempt to stave off that onsetting depression, or maybe it's even out of humor, but Abadi decides to take up that old slogan just one more time. She sends the new colony a message, all official and welcoming, as if her government and her way of life aren't collapsing beneath her feet as she writes it.

Message to the Mahre Collective

Welcome to the Meeting Place! I am Liaison Abadi, and I'd like to start with an apology for not reaching out to you sooner. I represent the Earth Cultural Union here, a nation dedicated to preserving the ways and forms of our ancestors, the glorious people of Old Earth.

We have heard good things about your people! Our stalwart allies, the Undefeated, have apparently reached some sort of bargain with you. As we trust their judgement, we hope this will mean good things for our two peoples as well. We should speak.

In hopes of meeting soon,
Jamila Abadi, ECU Liaison.

---

~~~~~~~~

---

White Flower Revolution
(Part Three of Four)

After hours of effort, the last mounted screen on Lawley Street is smashed. At long last, the little residential neighborhood is allowed some moments of perfect, blessed quiet. They sit in a little bubble of dark and silent, separate from the screeching lights of the rest of Neo London. There is no more music here; peace, peace, peace.

It does not last long.

A high voice rises from the darkness, shaking with emotion- it belongs to the same one who destroyed the last ECU screen. It shouts, "This is what they do!" In the shadows, a dozen of the other screen-smashing volunteers gather around to listen. The voice shouts again, "This is what they do!"

The one shouting is a young woman, Tiffany Holstead, and she is a recent Mixtist convert. When the old Mixies flooded back in from the wasteland, they got to work fast, making believers of the secular city-dwellers. Some of them, anyway; Tiffany is one. She was won over by the furious preaching of an old woman who had spent decades in the desert. The same desperation and fervor colors her own speaking, even when she doesn't always realize it. She speaks now, and people listen.

"This government, the ECU, they've had a boot to our throats since the day we were born. They can't live without control, they can't breathe without it."

So starts her thesis. It's an opinion everyone agrees with; it makes them eager to listen. She feels that power, right away. The unique, addictive sensation of a crowd that wants to hear what you have to say. She goes on.

"But, listen," she says, after some time, "they have a secret: they're weak." A few of the men in the audience cheer roughly at this. "That's why they have to lie- always, always, always. Because they're afraid of the Truth! Because they know, deep down in their hearts, that they don't have the power to stop us all. They have never had the power. All they ever had are lies." She smiles slightly, a sight nobody can see in the dark. "Have you ever seen how quickly a lie crumbles in the face of the Truth?"

Now more than a few men cheer. (In fact, a little girl overhears claps from up on her mother's balcony.)

Her audience is still secular, of course, like most of New Hollywood. But the rebels love the Mixies anyway; everything they preach affirms what the Flowers already believe. Everyone loves to hear themselves reassured. There is no pedestal here, in this pitch-dark alleyway that echoes everything she says, but Tiffany Holstead is on one. She feels a growing mass of people surround her, caught up in the sound of her sermon, and made bold by this, her soft voice becomes crackling lighting.

"No, no, they're wrong. They're wrong!" Her last two words bounce off the metal-concrete, like a chorus. There it is again: the giddy feeling of finally, finally saying something that you've wanted to your whole life. And now more than the walls are echoing Tiffany Holstead; the crowd joins in.

"They're wrong!"
"They're wrong!"
"They're wrong!"

She points in the direction of New Westminster, from where the Matuvistans think they run the city. Her words take on a life of their own: they call them murderers-for-hire, attack dogs. The ECU can't defend itself, she hears herself say, so they summon these brutes to do their dirty work. The blood of every New Hollwoodite in this alley boils; there is death in their hearts.

At last, and at a pivotal moment in her speech, she speaks the fatal words. "It's time to get rid of them." The mobs cheers. Because now it is a mob.

But at the very back, a man shakes his head, and limps away.

~~~~~~~~

He limps right into a pub.

And then he limps past the kitchen, down a secret flight of spiral stairs, and into the secondary, secret pub that's hidden beneath the main one. It's called the Underpub, and it's a prime gathering spot for one of the biggest gangs of Neo London. Here you can talk to anyone, so long as they're a criminal, and find anything, so long as it's stolen. It's a far cry from the mob-ridden streets above: here it is dim, cool, and quiet. Something out of a 20th century mafia film, fused seamlessly with 19th century British furniture.

The criminals of the ECU are just like the Oligarchs.

The man doesn't stop limping until he collapses, whole-body, into a well-creased leather chair, long reserved just for him. It even has "Mixie" cut onto the side. He gave the person who did that a black eye- but that's what it takes to be a Mixtist in a world of crooks. He wears it as a badge of honor.

"Mixie!" Calls one of the aforementioned crooks, from across a sea of smoke and classy design. This room is small and cramped, but something about the clutter of furniture and the fog of cigar smoke makes it feel ancient and huge. A world all its own. You could get lost, in this one room.

The crook, whose name is Johnny, weaves his way through it, even past the lightly manned bar. Everybody knows that the Mixie doesn't leave his chair. For one, because he has a bad knee. And for two, because he likes making people come to him. Johnny does, dragging up a little wooden barstool.

"What's the news, Dallas?" he asks, swiveling in his stool a little bit.
"I thought my name was Mixie," says the other, quietly. He doesn't bother to turn and look at his guest. It would show weakness. This is all about appearances.
"That's because you are a Mixie, Dallas! But hey, you're a Dallas too, Mixie. How've you been?"

Dallas wasn't going to answer, but Johnny will never know it, because he goes on talking without waiting.

"I've been good, me-self. Well, we've been good, you know. The Scuttlers." Dallas never thought that was a particularly impressive name for a violent street gang. "Since you Mixies and the Flower lads took over, we've been rolling in it, really."

"Don't say 'you Mixies'," Dallas interrupts. "I'm not with them."

Johnny's young face crinkles up in confusion, even folding away some of that teenage acne. "I thought you were a..." he struggles to use the proper term, "... a Mixtist?"

"I am a Mixtist. Just not that kind." Dallas taps his fingers impatiently, and that's the end of that discussion. How could he explain to this kid how different he was from the ones on the street, from the Tiffany Holsteads of the world? Everyone knows that the ECU drove the Mixtists out of the cities decades ago. Or so they thought: yes, most of them did go outwards, squatting in those ugly ruins for generations. Dallas had heard about them. The harsh life of outlaw taught them to be discriminating and fanatic- they cast aside the old ways, adopting an obsession with a singular god they named "Truth."

But that's not what Dallas is. He's the descendent of those who managed to stay in the cities, despite the protectors trying to drive them out. They went underground, hiding their faith behind secret passcodes and occult rituals nobody else could identify. Life is harsh for them, too, but in a different way: they've had to cozy up to criminals to keep themselves hid.

Like the Scuttlers.

The boy shakes his head. "Whatever, I can't keep up with your type. But we have been doing really well. Nobody is even protecting the good stuff anymore. Did you see the latest haul? You should join up officially, Mixie."

Far over head, Tiffany Holstead is stomping a mob through the street, heading for New Westminster. But Dallas doesn't hear it: all his attention is suddenly on the Scuttler's "latest haul." Little Johnny has begged his boss to drag out a big trunk full of micro-transmitters: an ECU device that can create touchable holograms anywhere. Highly experimental, illegal for citizens to hold- and worth millions.

The Scuttler boss smiles with pride. He's a fat, aging man, a paragon of his breed. No morals, no concerns but money and power. Dallas knows his kind, he's lived his whole life with that kind, and only barely stopped himself from becoming one; but that means he knows how they think. Looking here at these transmitters, and remembering the mob about to get massacred overhead, he begins to form a brilliant idea.

"Hey, Boss," Dallas says, slowly, "I think I have a plan that'll make you more money and more power than you've ever seen... I'm talking real, political power. A place in the new government, maybe." He lifts his head, making eye contact. "And all you need to do is help me stop some sheep from getting slaughtered. Deal?"

~~~~~~~~

_{(Addressing: [@Irreedeemable] and @SgtEasy)
(Starring: Tiffany)}

It was a deal.

As Tiffany's mob grows, chanting its way through the streets and busting every screen on the way, the Scuttlers stalk behind them. They walk in the darkness left in Tiffany's wake: where her people destroy the lights, there is a hiding place for the Scuttlers. Crooks in the shadows, like every ECU holo-film about them.

And speaking of holograms...

The Matuvistan squadron they come upon are very, very surprised, when the men they shoot at don't die. They aren't real men, after all, but holograms created by the micro-transmitters. The Scuttlers have sent out holographic soldiers- borrowed from some war game Johnny likes to play- that have simple combat programmed into them. They can't coordinate or follow orders at all, but after the Matuvistans waste bullets shooting at light, well, that's when the real fighters came out.

After weeks of psychological torment, this mob is in no state for mercy. They leave the Matuvistan's bodies lying on the sidewalk. A bloody sight. Vengeance incarnate.

Then, the chimpanzee shows up.

This one is a surprise for everyone. He claims to come from an entire planet of apes- with, apparently, very strong political views. His mercenaries are ready to fight for the White Flower cause, if only they would accept them. They seem to already see Tiffany Holstead as a leader (and, she is a little shocked to realize, so do all the men and women around her) and, reluctantly, she agrees. Normally, even the Flowers would refuse aide so strange, but these are desperate times.

Despite some hoping, they come upon no other Matuvistan squad by luck. Soon, the make-shift walls around New Westminster, the headquarters the Matuvistans have been living in, are before them. They draw out the holo-soldiers again, even taking a few of their enemies out that way, but soon the jetknights and the real warriors are alerted. The apes in particular fight fiercely here, a real terror in close quarters, where the strength and power of a gorilla can face down ten men. But the Matuvistans have their walls: they retreat, firing from above.

Then, despite their allies and their holograms, and all their desperate cleverness, the Flowers are hurt. They are mowed down. And in panic, with foreign bullets raining down and screams all around, they are broken and scattered. The Holstead Uprising, as it will come to be called, has fallen.

But not all is lost. Tiffany Holstead herself survives to fight another day, and if this night proves anything, it is this: the occupiers can bleed.

Through the Gateways: Humanity [Closed] [Soon to be Concluded]

@Damo021
PM'd!

Through the Gateways: Humanity [Closed] [Soon to be Concluded]

_{(Addressing: @Irredeemable)}

There's something evil in the air. In New Beijing, Oligarchs have gone missing. To the ECU, the source would seem obvious: those White Flower rebels who have wrested control from their local governments. Except... well, it couldn't be them. Firstly, because they chose to imprison Oligarchs in tight little cells instead of outright killing them. And secondly, because these kills are far, far too efficient. Like it wasn't even human. Like a machine did it.

A machine. Something made of metal and smooth surfaces, with a face like death itself. Someone spotted that, exactly that, prowling outside an Oligarch's villa. This was a while ago, before they all fled the city. Except that one never got the chance to flee, because he was found dead the next morning. Along with ten security guards, four protectors, and his wife. Bullet analysis suggests all shots were fired from their own guns.

Three days ago, a cell was found empty. Something had pried the bars open. Then it had slipped inside, and gutted the high-up protector imprisoned there. The White Flowers had put him there for 'safekeeping' until trials could be held; this was one they would never have to try. Security cameras fizzed out as it approached, whatever it was, but the other prisoners heard the echoes of clanging footsteps. Then they heard the protector scream.

Yesterday, an Oligarch who publicly espoused anti-cyborg rhetoric went missing in a small town outside the city. When they found his body, everyone thought the Flowers must have done it. But what Flower would have cut out his tongue, after killing him?

Today, finally, today, action is taken. The White Flowers of New Beijing are determined to be a real government, and not only a lawless mob. This thing may be killing their enemies, but it is still killing on the streets the Flowers claim as their own. So, even with the lights blaring and the music flashing, they put together a response. Flyers are printed out and plastered to street corners, poles, windows and- with some irony- the ever-present screens, offering a reward for information or the capture of this new nemesis: the so-called "Demon of Zeta."

~~~~~~~~

_{(Addressing: @SgtEasy)
(Starring: Abadi)}

The ECU segment of the Meeting Place is, for want of a better term, on fire.

Well, not literally (except for one small table in the bar), but all of the energy and panic of a fire is present. On a screen mounted in the center of the grand hall, arrayed around with gloss and curtains, their fate is flipping by. Three cities have fallen. New Paris was swallowed whole last night- struck by refugees fleeing the nearby Neo London, that house of cards finally fell inward, and anarchy took hold. The lights were turned on, and the music began to play; but the White Flowers have claimed control.

It seems certain now. The sense of impending doom settles over the ECU diplomats. It makes them angry and inattentive. It sits in the back of their minds, telling them they don't have long left. It sinks down deep into their bones, so that they pace back and forth on the station, looking for release. Liaison Abadi is one of these. She walks right out of the ECU segment, this morning, and wanders around the Meeting Place.

Her head is aching, while she drifts around these halls, full of thoughts of failure. Cramped corridors. A hundred different kinds of engineering, almost none of it true to Old Earth. It's easy to get lost here. And something about it makes your mind roam: she keeps thinking back to what will happen when the ECU falls. It's a national embarrassment. Will the proud Oligarchs have to find refuge? Would Matuvista take them in? All that she's believed and, and all that she's worked for, is crumbling apart.

She makes a turn into a familiar hallway. Abadi's feet seem to constantly want to lead her in a very specific direction: towards the Undefeated section. Well, she thinks, maybe that's alright. Maybe she'll see Kelsie. Maybe they can talk over a drink, like they sometimes do. It won't make everything okay, but-

What's that sound?

Throaty, deep vocalization seeps into this hall from somewhere. The Liaison has heard music like this before; "throat singing." Her teacher showed her some back in the academy; she loved it immediately. It's the opposite of other music: it goes deep, earthy, feeling so solid. It wants to drag you down to the ground instead of lifting you into space. It was never a part of her Cultural Expression- which remains primarily Arabic with American and British influences- but she still has an aching, deep fondness for it. She doesn't even have to think. Abadi follows that sound.

She emerges into the light of a neutral section of the Meeting Place.

She stops still, not able to process what she's seeing.

They'd noticed the arrival of new foreign ships, naturally. But the ECU segment is in such a panic right now, they hardly paid attention to them. A thousand problems needed putting out, half the staff has wanted to go home, there's a delay on the paychecks, and more- so they pushed it to the side, and figured they'd greet the newbies later.

Now Abadi was caught unprepared. Unprepared for this, definitely. A parade of primates. Gorillas, chimps and orangutans carrying banners and weapons that- huh- Abadi just starts to recognize. That one's a USA style gun. And those are definitely muskets. They're singing Mongolian music, and marching in line like a parade...

But the weight doesn't fully come crashing down on her until the lead one starts to talk. With orange, hairy arms spread wide, he lectures about history and the legacy of Earth. And then the connection is made, and Abadi starts to laugh.

Of course, of course. The apes love Old Earth! Just like the ECU! After all, the universe has already done all it can to mock New Hollywood since the Gateways first reopened. The Undefeated could barely stop themselves from laughing, when they first saw the way New Hollywoodites dressed. Or what about when their head ambassador had to go, hat-in-hand, begging cyborgs to save his life? Or now, when their cities have become a playground for foreign armies?

Oh, and it all goes on. Until finally, finally, when all their news screens say the ECU is just on the brink of collapse, they finally meet people who look to be as fanatic about human history as they are. An ally, with their bare paws making ridiculous flip-flap sounds on the Meeting Place floors. An equal, hoisting up simian banners that make a parody of Earth history. They hold in them a thousand cultures and peoples, ideas and dress codes, all represented in a single nation. A walking culture clash. The perfect representation of ECU philosophy- but everyone has the face of a monkey.

Abadi laughs more, louder and louder, until eventually she feels hot tears of shame streaking down her face.

It's all been a joke, the entire time. Her entire life. And this is the punchline.

~~~~~~~~

_{(Addressing: @TimeMaster)
(Starring: Kayla)}

Kayla wakes up, and she isn't Kayla anymore. Or she is. But so are all these other people, because they have her memories. And she's all them, because she has his- theirs. They're her, and she's him- them- us. One. But Two.

Let's back up.

Kayla wakes up, and she isn't Kayla anymore. Because her mind and memories were transferred into a cloning machine. The machine did its job perfectly: her memories were copied over to the One, and the One's memories were copied back into her. Tonight, two distinct lifetimes are swimming around in her head. She remembers the streets of New Beijing, and the ancient ones of Old London. She remembers surviving alone on the One's homeworld. She remembers-

"Wait," she says aloud, "you guys were feeding me human meat?"

She remembers everything James William Grant was, and now everything he is. She knows the last thoughts of the Williams who died to become her dinner, and the memories of the James who brought it to her. And she definitely remembers how nobody bothered to tell her about this.

She gets why they wouldn't, of course. But the vomiting still lasts for a good two minutes.

With that out of the way, she's able to pick herself up off the landing bay floor and take in the sight around her. It's chaotic. The One has destroyed every screen and device in this area, but further off, just passing the little bubble of darkness they're standing in, she can see the endless light-show of New Beijing. It's near to midnight, right now, but you would think it was clear daylight. Every light in the city is on full blast. And then there's the sound: music of every variety echoes outwards, distorted by the strange acoustics of metal skyscrapers.

"Is... is this what they're doing?"

A member of the One tells her that, yes, it is. Nobody sleeps anymore. And they've spotted huge crowds of refugees trying to flee, just to get caught by protector gangs lurking along the major roadways. The whole city is a trap.

The old Kayla would have been paralyzed with rage. But not this one: since the memory-transfer, she's different. With three centuries of survival moving around her mind, no obstacle seems too great. She's beaten worse than this. (Or she feels like she has, anyway.) She cracks her knuckles- a habit borrowed from someone James met back in London, three hundred years ago.

"Come on, boys. I know what we can do about this."

~~~~~~~~

_{(Addressing: @SgtEasy)
(Starring: Abadi)}

After her outburst, Abadi has had a chance to cool down. The dog probably helped: when the Khanate released the puppies, one of them ran straight to Abadi. He licked the salty tears off of her face. She's never been an animal person, but everyone likes dogs. It's required.

She's in her office now, with one hand idly stroking that Golden Retriever fur. Meanwhile, her eyes are flitting over the message the Khanate just sent, offering medical aide and some rather interesting "mercenary" assistance. The former is impossible: after what happened to Tanaka, the ECU wouldn't allow medical help from any other nation. The mercenaries, though...

It's gone well so far. The Colombian "volunteers" were a major success on Zeta, even if they couldn't really penetrate the cyborg cities more than anyone else could. And the Matuvistan men-at-arms have worked wonders in Neo London. So what's the harm in one more? Or a dozen more, or a hundred. New Hollywood is on fire; calling all fire-fighters.

Abadi chuckles at her own joke, and feels a little light-headed while she does it. She's been under way too much stress lately. Deep down, she knows this won't work, more than anything else they could do would. But she sends a message of acceptance anyway. Her fingers write it almost automatically, exhausted and stumbling over the keyboard. No proof-reading is done. She falls asleep at her desk.

Message to the Khanate

Greetings to the Khanate from the Earth Cultural Union. We regggret to inform you that medical asssistnatce can not be accepted at this time, do to lugostical problems. We apologise.

Mercenaries can and will currently be accepted. Please coordinate witsh ourm Matubistan allies about hotspots of dissent. New Paris has fallen. Also, please advice your former citizens to be aware of psychological disturbances in cities currently held by the rioters: eye and ear protection, against brightness and sound, is recommended.

The "White Flower' rioters have no legitmate complaint. It is simply a coup. Rhetoric from them is dangerous and full aof lies. Thankyou.

Liaison Abadi.