Post by Simon Gideon on Dec 30, 2007 21:17:06 GMT -5
[This is a neo-noir style RP, heavily influenced by dystopian media such as Blade Runner, Neuromancer, Deus Ex, and Equilibrium. There's absolutely no restriction for joining, and each participant is welcome to bring another piece to this dark puzzle. Below is my intro.]
Dark. Always dark, he thought. Even when the sun managed to come out, the massive buildings and superstructures blocked its golden rays. The heavy overcast, laden with contaminated rain, made its contribution to the growing darkness. Earth had become a miserable place. More miserable than he had thought possible. Day after day, more buildings were thrown up. New dwellings for the ever-increasing population of jaded, consuming individuals. The only fear they had was of being consumed themselves by the broken economy, where as they often overlooked fears of sickness, or increasing crime. Major megaconglomerates ran affairs, replacing congress with a board, and replacing a republic with the world's first superpower capitalist kleptocracy. Gone where the days of political commentators feuding over left versus right; only the will of commercialism ruled. Law itself became a broken shell of what it once was, leading to jobs like his.
He was an officer. Not the kind who struts around in polished boots and epaulettes, or the kind who wears a sword and swears an oath. Alex was an officer of enforcement for Seattle police precinct No. 19. He wielded a gun, and occasionally some wit in an occupation which consisted of hunting those on the wrong side of the glass in the new regime. It was his job to track them in the streets, in their homes, their hideouts, and bring them to justice. Usually, killing them was sufficient to appease his superiors. It was something he became quite good at, unfortunately.
The year? 2023 C.E. America stretches from the Hudson Bay to the Yucatan by means of its influence, though people pay lip service to the old notions of former nations trampled and assimilated into this new entity. Incredible economical power and a stranglehold on the electronic market of stocks, bonds, and secured money meant that when the merchants decided to once and for all replace old kings and politicians they had everything in order. True, some old bastions were resisting the change in South America, and Europe was divided over the new switch over, but in the end no one was able or willing to tackle the new enemy over the seas. Japan had spawned its own commercial state, mirroring the new creation and immediately working to infest Asia with it, being resisted only by pockets of the former Communist China, a nation itself undermined by a biological weapon known as the Long Night.
The festering merchant nation of America had already seeped into their lives through its export of goods, and an embargo meant death for the nations on the receiving end. The Blockade of Spain had nearly destroyed the country, and when the mega conglomerate Fortune-Williams withheld a genetically engineered cure for a sudden crop disease, the effect was complete. No shots needed to be fired; the country was brought to heel by the insidious machinations of something which had in the past simply managed goods and trade.
Other large entities forming included Siemens and the Tata Group, Time-Warner and more, all coming together in an ominous collection known as Jus Accrescendi, or Right of Accrual for those versed in Latin. Their philosophy was that humanity's wealth and goods should be shared by all and controlled properly, not left to the whims of petty governments and corrupt politicians. Already possessing the means to life for nearly half of the world's population through their control of genetically engineered foods, illnesses, and even inflicted allergies, capitulation was the only option. The world folded its deck without even drawing a second card.
That was ten years ago. Now, things ran somewhat smoothly. People like Alex were employed to dole out the new justice, and with the gun they did that in spades. Old notions like ‘nationalism’ and ‘individualism’ were taboo, replaced with consumerism and increasing work hours. Alex had slept an average of five hours for the last few years. Of course, his daily routine of two caffeine tablets engineered to be time released kept him up and alert through most of his shift.
He swung out of bed with a grey, lackluster determination, eyes sunken and dim. His hair was a mess, and the lack of a shave marked him as a graveyard-shift runner. The gun was under his pillow; he pulled it out, checking the chamber again. Still loaded. He replaced it on the drawer next to a meaningless picture of his ex-wife, a union which had brought no children forward. No future drawn from it. They had parted amiably, indifferently, when he moved to Seattle to advance his career. No calls or messages had been exchanged since.
He walked, legs stiff from the ratty mattress as he made way to the shower. The water was cold, because this building hadn’t been updated since the Change. Not that he cared, since cold water served to wake him up from his post-slumber state. Dressing in his smoke-colored coat, coal black suit and slacks, he slapped on his watch and pulled his mobile from the charger. On it were two messages from Sergeant Moody. He hit the Enter button and watched as the high-definition mini-LCD lit up with the animated video captured mug of his superior.
“Alex? I want the report on the Johnson murder, today! I don’t pay you to skulk about with that goddamn gun and pretend to enforce the law! You have a paper stack on your desk a mile high, and god dammit if I don’t see this shit settled by Saturday I’ll have your balls for cuff links. You clear with that?”
More animated yelling. Sergeant Moody was inappropriately named, because he had only one mood and it was Extremely Pissed Off, whether you were slacking on the job or handing him a golden medal for Best Necktie in the industry. No wonder he had been divorced six times. Ah well, another day, another credit...
He closed the slide of the mobile and stepped out into the dusty hallway, less than eager to begin his day...
Dark. Always dark, he thought. Even when the sun managed to come out, the massive buildings and superstructures blocked its golden rays. The heavy overcast, laden with contaminated rain, made its contribution to the growing darkness. Earth had become a miserable place. More miserable than he had thought possible. Day after day, more buildings were thrown up. New dwellings for the ever-increasing population of jaded, consuming individuals. The only fear they had was of being consumed themselves by the broken economy, where as they often overlooked fears of sickness, or increasing crime. Major megaconglomerates ran affairs, replacing congress with a board, and replacing a republic with the world's first superpower capitalist kleptocracy. Gone where the days of political commentators feuding over left versus right; only the will of commercialism ruled. Law itself became a broken shell of what it once was, leading to jobs like his.
He was an officer. Not the kind who struts around in polished boots and epaulettes, or the kind who wears a sword and swears an oath. Alex was an officer of enforcement for Seattle police precinct No. 19. He wielded a gun, and occasionally some wit in an occupation which consisted of hunting those on the wrong side of the glass in the new regime. It was his job to track them in the streets, in their homes, their hideouts, and bring them to justice. Usually, killing them was sufficient to appease his superiors. It was something he became quite good at, unfortunately.
The year? 2023 C.E. America stretches from the Hudson Bay to the Yucatan by means of its influence, though people pay lip service to the old notions of former nations trampled and assimilated into this new entity. Incredible economical power and a stranglehold on the electronic market of stocks, bonds, and secured money meant that when the merchants decided to once and for all replace old kings and politicians they had everything in order. True, some old bastions were resisting the change in South America, and Europe was divided over the new switch over, but in the end no one was able or willing to tackle the new enemy over the seas. Japan had spawned its own commercial state, mirroring the new creation and immediately working to infest Asia with it, being resisted only by pockets of the former Communist China, a nation itself undermined by a biological weapon known as the Long Night.
The festering merchant nation of America had already seeped into their lives through its export of goods, and an embargo meant death for the nations on the receiving end. The Blockade of Spain had nearly destroyed the country, and when the mega conglomerate Fortune-Williams withheld a genetically engineered cure for a sudden crop disease, the effect was complete. No shots needed to be fired; the country was brought to heel by the insidious machinations of something which had in the past simply managed goods and trade.
Other large entities forming included Siemens and the Tata Group, Time-Warner and more, all coming together in an ominous collection known as Jus Accrescendi, or Right of Accrual for those versed in Latin. Their philosophy was that humanity's wealth and goods should be shared by all and controlled properly, not left to the whims of petty governments and corrupt politicians. Already possessing the means to life for nearly half of the world's population through their control of genetically engineered foods, illnesses, and even inflicted allergies, capitulation was the only option. The world folded its deck without even drawing a second card.
That was ten years ago. Now, things ran somewhat smoothly. People like Alex were employed to dole out the new justice, and with the gun they did that in spades. Old notions like ‘nationalism’ and ‘individualism’ were taboo, replaced with consumerism and increasing work hours. Alex had slept an average of five hours for the last few years. Of course, his daily routine of two caffeine tablets engineered to be time released kept him up and alert through most of his shift.
He swung out of bed with a grey, lackluster determination, eyes sunken and dim. His hair was a mess, and the lack of a shave marked him as a graveyard-shift runner. The gun was under his pillow; he pulled it out, checking the chamber again. Still loaded. He replaced it on the drawer next to a meaningless picture of his ex-wife, a union which had brought no children forward. No future drawn from it. They had parted amiably, indifferently, when he moved to Seattle to advance his career. No calls or messages had been exchanged since.
He walked, legs stiff from the ratty mattress as he made way to the shower. The water was cold, because this building hadn’t been updated since the Change. Not that he cared, since cold water served to wake him up from his post-slumber state. Dressing in his smoke-colored coat, coal black suit and slacks, he slapped on his watch and pulled his mobile from the charger. On it were two messages from Sergeant Moody. He hit the Enter button and watched as the high-definition mini-LCD lit up with the animated video captured mug of his superior.
“Alex? I want the report on the Johnson murder, today! I don’t pay you to skulk about with that goddamn gun and pretend to enforce the law! You have a paper stack on your desk a mile high, and god dammit if I don’t see this shit settled by Saturday I’ll have your balls for cuff links. You clear with that?”
More animated yelling. Sergeant Moody was inappropriately named, because he had only one mood and it was Extremely Pissed Off, whether you were slacking on the job or handing him a golden medal for Best Necktie in the industry. No wonder he had been divorced six times. Ah well, another day, another credit...
He closed the slide of the mobile and stepped out into the dusty hallway, less than eager to begin his day...
