Post by The Loathed on Jun 14, 2009 3:07:35 GMT -5
There were very few of mankind that remembered the passage of time, history long forgotten along with government. The year was lost to most, known by the privileged, the wealthy or 'religious'. Some stories, passed down generation to generation, spoke of fanciful things called airplanes, and cars. Even more stories spoke of huge cities with electricity and law and order.
Law. A word forgotten, much like order. Once, there had been states, some stories claimed. Each with its own set of laws and customs, that were part of a great web that encompassed the entire 'continent', each state answering to a supreme authority. These days, authority meant the man who had the most guns, and men willing to use them.
Times were dark, and food was scarce. Guns were rare amongst the people, as was justice. Most of the survivors of whatever war had ravaged the country had formed together in various clans, or stayed hidden in small clusters of blood relatives. Law meant whatever the local thug dictated, and people who weren't in their own settlements, or hidden away had two choices. Obey, or die.
For some, life was not as bad. The rich, elevated high above the writhing masses, lived in fanciful floating cities, high above the mongrel hordes. Others lived in the few remaining cities, but most thought both to be myths, legends. For the people who did not have to deal with the local warlord or thug, there were those subjected to live under company rule.
When the government failed, and the Great War finished, some companies tried to consume what was left. Ruling from high above ground, in the floating cities with the rich and elite, their forces on the ground were contracted military. Mercenaries left, descendants of the survivors on all sides of the Great War.
Each faction vied for control of different grids. Each had their own distinctive characteristics, some more subtle than others. Each had their own weapons, and tactics. Some companies took care of the people the accidental conquered after taking over grids, but most simply did not care. If you did not help them, you were an enemy. Genocide was common in this new world.
Rumor had it, however, that there was a reason for hope. A covenant of of lawmakers, traditions and knowledge passed down since before the Great War that tore the civilized world asunder, had elected someone, chosen someone to try and unite the people, to rise united and appeal to the great floating cities that herded them about, displaced them and killed them like cattle. For those that knew, the year was 2182, and it had been almost a hundred years since the Great War, and sixty since the first sky city rose to the clouds.
In this new world, a man's worth was judged not in what he did, but in how many he could kill.
==+==+==
Lightning flashed overhead, and thunder split the night asunder. Rain was falling in sheets, obscuring the poor light given by the lightning. Gunfire rang out over the sound of rain occasionally, with periodic explosions. Men and women ran through the woods quietly, carrying all of their things that they dared. Once, a grand, proud city had jutted from the countryside, majestic and busy. After the Great War, most of the skyscrapers had collapsed, but many of the smaller homes and buildings were still inhabited. People grew gardens in the city, and although there were many hazards, it had been a relatively safe sector.
Until recently, none of the Corporations had been interested in the sector. However, when word leaked that there was an underground military base still in operation within or around the city, the peaceful city became a warzone.
The man narrowed his eyes behind his sleek sunglasses. Although it was night, and raining, he could see perfectly. His sunglasses were equipped with thermal and night vision functions, as well as magnification. On top of that, it assessed any enemy vehicles or personnel and gave him an accurate threat level and the basis of their training and equipment. He was holding onto a piece of jagged steel, once framework of a mighty tower. He hung over the city nearly a hundred feet, watching BioCorps mercenaries pop STIM's as they took cover. They were engaging some of the locals that were caught between the BioCorps soldiers and a massive roadblock caused by a downed skyscraper. The locals were using old hunting rifles and small-arms, hardly a match for the BioCorps modernized assault rifles and BioSuits.
The BioSuits were carbon fiber, insulated with a gelatin that fitted to each man's body perfectly. Whenever a soldier received an injury, the gel, upon exposure to blood, expanded, cleaning the injury and preventing infection as well as stopping blood loss. As if that was not enough, each of the men had enough STIM's to kill an elephant, if those actually ever existed. STIM's were shots that were directly injected into the wrist of the BioSuit (where an IV was already inside of the soldier's veins) that caused super adrenaline, hyper aggression, and, quite simply, turned the soldiers into blood thirty, drug-addicted, homicidal goons.
One of the Suits roared, rising from his crouch to fire his AR. He killed a child, running for cover, then shot the child's mother and father, none of whom were armed. Before he could kill anyone else, however, his head was cut in half. His allies screamed, firing randomly around themselves as the bloodlust consumed them. The man with the shades scowled, and tapped the side of his sunglasses. Thermal vision revealed a half dozen men crouched, working closer and closer to the Suits. Those were the other Corporation's soldiers, Mirage. Mirage was supposedly a military supplies contractor before the Great War, but was now a self-empowered military dictatorship in all of their sectors. Their elite military units stood apart from the common grunt infantry in one way--- they had a cloaking device. Temporary charges, thirty minutes or less, was plenty of time to assassinate political enemies.
The man chuckled at himself, then let go of the rusted steel he was holding on to. He began a rapid descent to the street below, his black trenchcoat billowing out around him, revealing body-fitted black armor. He landed gracefully on one knee with a loud crash, sinking through the remnants of what was once 'pavement.' Although he had been loud, he was not noticed, mostly thanks to the raging gunfire and screams not a hundred yards from where he stood. He knew the sector would be getting very hot, very -
Tracer rounds pinged off of the rubble around him. He scowled as he saw more Suits running down the street towards him, mistaking him for someone involved in the conflict. He rolled fluidly towards a huge chunk of masonry, taking cover behind it. He pulled a pistol from its holster on his boot and bumped the empty clip receiver against his strange belt. His skin tingled, like it always did when things materialized around him, and chambered a round in his now loaded gun. He rose swiftly, his glasses making careful and quick note of where each of the approaching grunt Suits were standing and firing from. Six slugs ripped out of his high caliber pistol, and six Suits dropped, dead or dying. The man tried to avoid conflict, but when it reared its ugly face, he generally blacked conflict's eye.
As the man turned to face the initial combatants, his gaze came across two of the cloaked Mirage soldiers. They were commonly known as 'Ghosts.' The two Ghosts were studying him intently, debating on whether or not he was an immediate threat. Before they came to a decision, however, an explosion tore two of their comrades to pieces. More BioSuits were charging towards where their companions had just been slaughtered, leading the way with grenades. The man pulled on his hood and melded back into the shadows. A hint of a smile lifted the corner of his lip, as the sound of men screaming and gunfire filled the night once more. Lightning crackled overhead, revealing his position... but he was already gone.
Law. A word forgotten, much like order. Once, there had been states, some stories claimed. Each with its own set of laws and customs, that were part of a great web that encompassed the entire 'continent', each state answering to a supreme authority. These days, authority meant the man who had the most guns, and men willing to use them.
Times were dark, and food was scarce. Guns were rare amongst the people, as was justice. Most of the survivors of whatever war had ravaged the country had formed together in various clans, or stayed hidden in small clusters of blood relatives. Law meant whatever the local thug dictated, and people who weren't in their own settlements, or hidden away had two choices. Obey, or die.
For some, life was not as bad. The rich, elevated high above the writhing masses, lived in fanciful floating cities, high above the mongrel hordes. Others lived in the few remaining cities, but most thought both to be myths, legends. For the people who did not have to deal with the local warlord or thug, there were those subjected to live under company rule.
When the government failed, and the Great War finished, some companies tried to consume what was left. Ruling from high above ground, in the floating cities with the rich and elite, their forces on the ground were contracted military. Mercenaries left, descendants of the survivors on all sides of the Great War.
Each faction vied for control of different grids. Each had their own distinctive characteristics, some more subtle than others. Each had their own weapons, and tactics. Some companies took care of the people the accidental conquered after taking over grids, but most simply did not care. If you did not help them, you were an enemy. Genocide was common in this new world.
Rumor had it, however, that there was a reason for hope. A covenant of of lawmakers, traditions and knowledge passed down since before the Great War that tore the civilized world asunder, had elected someone, chosen someone to try and unite the people, to rise united and appeal to the great floating cities that herded them about, displaced them and killed them like cattle. For those that knew, the year was 2182, and it had been almost a hundred years since the Great War, and sixty since the first sky city rose to the clouds.
In this new world, a man's worth was judged not in what he did, but in how many he could kill.
==+==+==
Lightning flashed overhead, and thunder split the night asunder. Rain was falling in sheets, obscuring the poor light given by the lightning. Gunfire rang out over the sound of rain occasionally, with periodic explosions. Men and women ran through the woods quietly, carrying all of their things that they dared. Once, a grand, proud city had jutted from the countryside, majestic and busy. After the Great War, most of the skyscrapers had collapsed, but many of the smaller homes and buildings were still inhabited. People grew gardens in the city, and although there were many hazards, it had been a relatively safe sector.
Until recently, none of the Corporations had been interested in the sector. However, when word leaked that there was an underground military base still in operation within or around the city, the peaceful city became a warzone.
The man narrowed his eyes behind his sleek sunglasses. Although it was night, and raining, he could see perfectly. His sunglasses were equipped with thermal and night vision functions, as well as magnification. On top of that, it assessed any enemy vehicles or personnel and gave him an accurate threat level and the basis of their training and equipment. He was holding onto a piece of jagged steel, once framework of a mighty tower. He hung over the city nearly a hundred feet, watching BioCorps mercenaries pop STIM's as they took cover. They were engaging some of the locals that were caught between the BioCorps soldiers and a massive roadblock caused by a downed skyscraper. The locals were using old hunting rifles and small-arms, hardly a match for the BioCorps modernized assault rifles and BioSuits.
The BioSuits were carbon fiber, insulated with a gelatin that fitted to each man's body perfectly. Whenever a soldier received an injury, the gel, upon exposure to blood, expanded, cleaning the injury and preventing infection as well as stopping blood loss. As if that was not enough, each of the men had enough STIM's to kill an elephant, if those actually ever existed. STIM's were shots that were directly injected into the wrist of the BioSuit (where an IV was already inside of the soldier's veins) that caused super adrenaline, hyper aggression, and, quite simply, turned the soldiers into blood thirty, drug-addicted, homicidal goons.
One of the Suits roared, rising from his crouch to fire his AR. He killed a child, running for cover, then shot the child's mother and father, none of whom were armed. Before he could kill anyone else, however, his head was cut in half. His allies screamed, firing randomly around themselves as the bloodlust consumed them. The man with the shades scowled, and tapped the side of his sunglasses. Thermal vision revealed a half dozen men crouched, working closer and closer to the Suits. Those were the other Corporation's soldiers, Mirage. Mirage was supposedly a military supplies contractor before the Great War, but was now a self-empowered military dictatorship in all of their sectors. Their elite military units stood apart from the common grunt infantry in one way--- they had a cloaking device. Temporary charges, thirty minutes or less, was plenty of time to assassinate political enemies.
The man chuckled at himself, then let go of the rusted steel he was holding on to. He began a rapid descent to the street below, his black trenchcoat billowing out around him, revealing body-fitted black armor. He landed gracefully on one knee with a loud crash, sinking through the remnants of what was once 'pavement.' Although he had been loud, he was not noticed, mostly thanks to the raging gunfire and screams not a hundred yards from where he stood. He knew the sector would be getting very hot, very -
Tracer rounds pinged off of the rubble around him. He scowled as he saw more Suits running down the street towards him, mistaking him for someone involved in the conflict. He rolled fluidly towards a huge chunk of masonry, taking cover behind it. He pulled a pistol from its holster on his boot and bumped the empty clip receiver against his strange belt. His skin tingled, like it always did when things materialized around him, and chambered a round in his now loaded gun. He rose swiftly, his glasses making careful and quick note of where each of the approaching grunt Suits were standing and firing from. Six slugs ripped out of his high caliber pistol, and six Suits dropped, dead or dying. The man tried to avoid conflict, but when it reared its ugly face, he generally blacked conflict's eye.
As the man turned to face the initial combatants, his gaze came across two of the cloaked Mirage soldiers. They were commonly known as 'Ghosts.' The two Ghosts were studying him intently, debating on whether or not he was an immediate threat. Before they came to a decision, however, an explosion tore two of their comrades to pieces. More BioSuits were charging towards where their companions had just been slaughtered, leading the way with grenades. The man pulled on his hood and melded back into the shadows. A hint of a smile lifted the corner of his lip, as the sound of men screaming and gunfire filled the night once more. Lightning crackled overhead, revealing his position... but he was already gone.