- Joined
- Mar 28, 2023
- Messages
- 331
- Thread Author
- #1
JUNIPER STENHOUSE
Sell one's soul: to gain wealth, success or power by committing immoral and dishonest acts.
You give up the world line by line. Stoically. And then one day you realize that your courage is farcical. It doesn't mean anything. You've become an accomplice in your own annihilation and there is nothing you can do about it.
Nobody wants to be here and nobody wants to leave.
Alarms screech throughout the industrial city. Eyes in the sky hover above the streets, directing self-interested officers and transhumanized abominations to put down panicked men and women. Rivers of blood and piles of rubble cover the venerable pavement of Zone-A. Seemingly endless canisters of artillery, filled with parasitic beasts, bombard what remains of the district. Countless die due to the actions of two men driven by impulse.
Stenhouse had gotten used to the stories of distant uprisings and destruction of urban centers. A privilege granted by experience and societal status. When the bell tolled for Twenty-Four, however, the appearance of an apathetic and withdrawn person began to dissipate with each bullet fired. One by one, the veil had been cut up.
It reveals a frightened and ultimately inconsiderate bureaucrat, unapologetically seeking for a way to save her own hide. An ideal member of the Collaborator's Party, with all proper strings and control mechanisms attached.
And reap we shall.
An untameable beast unable or unwilling to relinquish its control. Otherworldly creatures beyond anything we've seen before, capable of defeating us in only a matter of hours. Yet here I stand, in service of them, ready to nod my head and commit whatever their bureaucratic representatives ask me to. A slaver capable of fooling its own victims, to make them forget what happened.
The extended hand of the shackles that bind and starve us, equally detached and cold. Opportunistic, cowardly, despotic and mentally ill are all attributes I would contribute to them if I were to speak. Spineless cogs of the machine who have neither the ego or intelligence to admit that they will easily be replaced once the curtains close, only to be replaced by the same type of yes men.
Men and women give absolute authority with little pushback, their only directive to enforce blind obedience. In a sense, one would have to begrudgingly respect them for their service in keeping the city stable, but that illusion quickly fades away given their continued failures. Many have perished under their watch, both intentionally and not, and many more will until the clock stops ticking.
A mixed bag of doctors, engineers, technicians, scientists, laborers, infestation control specialists, pencil pushers and organizers. As one would guess, many of them are in both Unions for the benefits and easy ascension, yet a significant number of genuinely willing and capable individuals exist within their ranks.
The Civil Medical Union is the better half, filled with kindhearted doctors and caffeine addicted researchers. I cannot count the endless times that I've gotten my life saved by them, no matter the circumstances of my injuries. Yet, I can't help but wonder where the loyalties of their members lie. Time and time again have they shown their terroristic sympathies, with only a few bothering to keep the facade of loyalty.
The other half, greedy yet useful, are the workers. A wide selection of mouthbreathers, the deluded, well intentioned, parasitic and intelligent yellow jackets. Their failures have shown themselves repeatedly, but were amended just as many times in the face of defeat. Despite my sparse use of the word, I'm not afraid of pointing out that nepotism runs rampant throughout your ranks. And for what?
The Civil Medical Union is the better half, filled with kindhearted doctors and caffeine addicted researchers. I cannot count the endless times that I've gotten my life saved by them, no matter the circumstances of my injuries. Yet, I can't help but wonder where the loyalties of their members lie. Time and time again have they shown their terroristic sympathies, with only a few bothering to keep the facade of loyalty.
The other half, greedy yet useful, are the workers. A wide selection of mouthbreathers, the deluded, well intentioned, parasitic and intelligent yellow jackets. Their failures have shown themselves repeatedly, but were amended just as many times in the face of defeat. Despite my sparse use of the word, I'm not afraid of pointing out that nepotism runs rampant throughout your ranks. And for what?
My current place of employment. Unlike the other once-ministries, we have no questions about our service. Puppeteers and grinning manipulators is what we are, in all our glory, spreading blatant lies to everyone that has ears and eyes. The employees are all decent and make for good company, despite their flaws.
Terrorists. Junkies. Thieves. Anarchists. Freedom fighters. Humans. It feels wrong to be grouping them all up under the same net, but yet again, they're all friends with one another. The slums and its inhabitants have tried to take my life at numerous points, at times coming dangerously close, and have not relented since. Responsible for all the bloodshed, for all the infestations, but I still manage to find a crumb of sympathy for their goals. After all, there's good men in every group, no matter how small or hidden.
The Everyman
The smart ones.
The smart ones.
THE HOPEFUL
Another kindhearted man with limited time on this planet, haunted by the passage of time and the authorities. You've seen it all. The world before Ascension, the world during it and the world after. Yet, you did not lose your glimmering hope and shining optimism. You have seen humanity at its worst and best, but you keep pushing on. Every conversation I had with you, every piece of insight was one of upfront kindness and geniality. The poor circumstances fail to taint your heart of gold.
The goal of running a charity for the sick and hungry is honorable. You've seen what happened to the shelter before and its predecessor, but you maintain your stance, uncaring of what will come at you. The Civil Protection will eventually place a target on your back - but you will not falter. I wish I could support it, I sincerely do, yet I cannot out of my own safety.
And so it went, not in a fiery blaze of smoke and rubble but strangled by a sea of toxic flood. Your dream lays there, drowned at the hands of a heartless bureaucrat driven by greed and hedonism. Did you finally break, Ernest? Was it all too much for you? The charity was avenged with a pair of nails and a trigger-happy shooter, yet its flame had been permanently extinguished. Will it ever light again?
Another kindhearted man with limited time on this planet, haunted by the passage of time and the authorities. You've seen it all. The world before Ascension, the world during it and the world after. Yet, you did not lose your glimmering hope and shining optimism. You have seen humanity at its worst and best, but you keep pushing on. Every conversation I had with you, every piece of insight was one of upfront kindness and geniality. The poor circumstances fail to taint your heart of gold.
The goal of running a charity for the sick and hungry is honorable. You've seen what happened to the shelter before and its predecessor, but you maintain your stance, uncaring of what will come at you. The Civil Protection will eventually place a target on your back - but you will not falter. I wish I could support it, I sincerely do, yet I cannot out of my own safety.
And so it went, not in a fiery blaze of smoke and rubble but strangled by a sea of toxic flood. Your dream lays there, drowned at the hands of a heartless bureaucrat driven by greed and hedonism. Did you finally break, Ernest? Was it all too much for you? The charity was avenged with a pair of nails and a trigger-happy shooter, yet its flame had been permanently extinguished. Will it ever light again?
Another Austrian, one who shares my taste in alcohol. A reliable talker with the morals and honesty to back his words with. We've exchanged so many words that I fail to recall what wasn't discussed between us. Our experiences are mutual and many, some not so fortunate yet nonetheless pleasant to look back on. I find it odd that you maintain your demeanor even as your body is chipped away by a rapid disease, yet I question it not. A man best be left alone to his own devices in his final days.
The mountain of evidence against you is overwhelming and frankly concerning. You let the evidence stick to the scene for the investigators to find, a common yet risky tactic amongst men of your caliber. I bother not to take action, both out of my loyalty to yourself and my own wellbeing. After all, someone of your status is ought to have vehement supporters at your back.
And so it's been decreed. I've been enabled by you to compromise my own standing. My fault was being eager and yours? Looking around as an animal on the hunt, on the prowl for new acquaintances. Already have the questions after started to pile up, whether I can pull another favor for you or indirectly assist you. It is to be expected, after all, but the worst part is that I cannot deny or accept, only stare in silence before shifting the topic. Why? Why do I fail to give you a concrete answer?
Like an infection, you've begun to spread to other hosts. Not in the form of typical propaganda, oh no, you're much smarter than that. Rock music, a bass guitar, is all it took for one to fall for your sweet words. I was merely the first, a jumpstart for your further operations - whatever they might be. Like a fiddle, you've played me. Very well. Let the orchestra play, myself taking part with all the other instruments that you've manipulated.
Fog is all I see and the whistling of the wind. No raspy coughs or German accented vulgarities are mumbled within my vicinity. The visits have stopped, contrary to what I've requested. Plans that never came to fruition. A shame but to be expected in such a line of work. Where have you gone, I wonder?
The mountain of evidence against you is overwhelming and frankly concerning. You let the evidence stick to the scene for the investigators to find, a common yet risky tactic amongst men of your caliber. I bother not to take action, both out of my loyalty to yourself and my own wellbeing. After all, someone of your status is ought to have vehement supporters at your back.
And so it's been decreed. I've been enabled by you to compromise my own standing. My fault was being eager and yours? Looking around as an animal on the hunt, on the prowl for new acquaintances. Already have the questions after started to pile up, whether I can pull another favor for you or indirectly assist you. It is to be expected, after all, but the worst part is that I cannot deny or accept, only stare in silence before shifting the topic. Why? Why do I fail to give you a concrete answer?
Like an infection, you've begun to spread to other hosts. Not in the form of typical propaganda, oh no, you're much smarter than that. Rock music, a bass guitar, is all it took for one to fall for your sweet words. I was merely the first, a jumpstart for your further operations - whatever they might be. Like a fiddle, you've played me. Very well. Let the orchestra play, myself taking part with all the other instruments that you've manipulated.
Fog is all I see and the whistling of the wind. No raspy coughs or German accented vulgarities are mumbled within my vicinity. The visits have stopped, contrary to what I've requested. Plans that never came to fruition. A shame but to be expected in such a line of work. Where have you gone, I wonder?
A friend of Eric and my colleague within the Committee. I think you were previously working at the Crossroads, but I'm unsure. It's a foggy memory for me. But I do have to say that you strike me as the type of person that'd work in a shop. You're a convivial and assuring person, if not a bit too friendly towards people. Either way, I'm glad that we're in the same department, although I wish you were around more.
Lies and smoke is what you produce in Eric's stead. Lying is something that seems to be common in every Frenchman's blood, with you proving to be no exception. I'm not surprised that there's something behind that smile and the casual kindness, after all, you two are inseparable. I must admit that I care not, as long as you keep good on the promise we've made.
You've disappeared alongside your handler.
Lies and smoke is what you produce in Eric's stead. Lying is something that seems to be common in every Frenchman's blood, with you proving to be no exception. I'm not surprised that there's something behind that smile and the casual kindness, after all, you two are inseparable. I must admit that I care not, as long as you keep good on the promise we've made.
You've disappeared alongside your handler.
A brave man who's joined the District Watch, ready to run into Hell and back under my command. I struggle to see as to why you do these things: perhaps out of blind loyalty or to earn my appreciation? If the latter is the case, you've certainly achieved it, to the point where I can reliably expect results from you. Despite this, you show an unexpected sense of self preservation alongside your service, which might even prove to be more useful than a fool willing to rush forward and die.
Genuine dedication to a cause and personal loyalty ooze from you, most certainly two attributes that are contained to a fringe minority. A consistently reliable boot on the ground is something most in this city can only dream of, yet you manage to show your potential to me on an almost daily basis. Trustworthy and competent loyalists are a specimen rarer than a lion, which is something I intend to make use of with you. In front of us stands a path, rocky and stretched out. Will you make it?
Momentarily employed at my store and promptly disappeared, nowhere to be found. When shall I be given an explanation? Will I even get one, when the time comes?
Genuine dedication to a cause and personal loyalty ooze from you, most certainly two attributes that are contained to a fringe minority. A consistently reliable boot on the ground is something most in this city can only dream of, yet you manage to show your potential to me on an almost daily basis. Trustworthy and competent loyalists are a specimen rarer than a lion, which is something I intend to make use of with you. In front of us stands a path, rocky and stretched out. Will you make it?
Momentarily employed at my store and promptly disappeared, nowhere to be found. When shall I be given an explanation? Will I even get one, when the time comes?
You let on more than one catches at a glance. Much, much more.
[/SPOILER]
A dime of dozen in the sea of aspiring but unremarkable loyalists, most of which will never reach the distant goal they yearn for. Your sense of dress is vividly reminiscent of the average slum picker, clad in an uncomfortable clash of colors accompanied by notable dirt and rips. If there were anyone to be labelled a murderer of fashion, Stephanie Roberts is most certainly someone who will end up in a jailcell come high noon. Your robotic mannerisms and careless behavior certainly do not bolster your case.
An accomplice is what you are. You've helped me and I helped you. Blood is on my clean hands, unable to be washed and marked forever by your hostility and his wickedness. Regret and shame were not expressions that I saw upon your features once everything was done with, only primal fear. You've killed before, haven't you? A complete lack of empathy for humans and animals alike is something that most sociopaths exhibit. It's perfectly fitting that you're willing to join the Collaborator's Party, after all.
I've seen it. I've saved your life, carried you onto that boat and gotten you sailed out of Forty-Six. You are simply a victim. A victim of sickness in the head. Not one that immobilizes a person and shuts them down - oh no, you're fully capable of functioning. The disturbance, however, is enough to make it a difference. Shuddering and stuttering, screaming and weeping at avians on the street. One cannot blame you for the predicament you face, yet, you are a walking and talking cautionary tale. Would it be merciful to put you out of your misery, seeing as there's no cure for such a case of insanity?
The water flows and fills at an alarming rate, contrary to the efforts of a desperate crew attempting to get to shore. There are many leaks on the boat and you're one of the rats that've chewed a hole through, leading us to our deaths in the deep blue. Yourself and your kin are beyond addicted vagrants and mindless savages, but imbecilic and conceited enough to reveal your intentions and acts alike.
Love is a futile thing in such a society, but it's a topic you're too starstruck to genuinely comprehend. Your attempts at carving out a permanent piece of the pie, no matter how small, are laughable at best and destructive at worst. In pursuit of such foolish desires, you've stumbled onto the front stage. The spotlight beams upon you, the bourgeoise audience watching and laughing in entertainment and pity. All eyes are on you, but no performance is given.
Should mercy and its offspring, a second chance, be extended to you? Perhaps, but forgiveness must be earned.
An accomplice is what you are. You've helped me and I helped you. Blood is on my clean hands, unable to be washed and marked forever by your hostility and his wickedness. Regret and shame were not expressions that I saw upon your features once everything was done with, only primal fear. You've killed before, haven't you? A complete lack of empathy for humans and animals alike is something that most sociopaths exhibit. It's perfectly fitting that you're willing to join the Collaborator's Party, after all.
I've seen it. I've saved your life, carried you onto that boat and gotten you sailed out of Forty-Six. You are simply a victim. A victim of sickness in the head. Not one that immobilizes a person and shuts them down - oh no, you're fully capable of functioning. The disturbance, however, is enough to make it a difference. Shuddering and stuttering, screaming and weeping at avians on the street. One cannot blame you for the predicament you face, yet, you are a walking and talking cautionary tale. Would it be merciful to put you out of your misery, seeing as there's no cure for such a case of insanity?
The water flows and fills at an alarming rate, contrary to the efforts of a desperate crew attempting to get to shore. There are many leaks on the boat and you're one of the rats that've chewed a hole through, leading us to our deaths in the deep blue. Yourself and your kin are beyond addicted vagrants and mindless savages, but imbecilic and conceited enough to reveal your intentions and acts alike.
Love is a futile thing in such a society, but it's a topic you're too starstruck to genuinely comprehend. Your attempts at carving out a permanent piece of the pie, no matter how small, are laughable at best and destructive at worst. In pursuit of such foolish desires, you've stumbled onto the front stage. The spotlight beams upon you, the bourgeoise audience watching and laughing in entertainment and pity. All eyes are on you, but no performance is given.
Should mercy and its offspring, a second chance, be extended to you? Perhaps, but forgiveness must be earned.
Life is precious and that's something you fail to comprehend. Time and time again do you rush into the heat of the action, despite your overwhelming injuries. Are you aware? Do you comprehend the scope of your grievous wounds? Or do you simply not care, willing to go the extra mile and dedicate yourself to an ultimately pointless goal? Another body for the meatgrinder, gleefully marching to its own premature grave. Why not? After all, you've signed up for it.
You've saved my life, something I wish you extended to yourself. Regular visits to the emergency room are only a sign of a death wish and the worst form of neglect. Perhaps you should see the psychiatrist instead of a medic.
Perhaps your lack of care has finally caught up to you.
You've saved my life, something I wish you extended to yourself. Regular visits to the emergency room are only a sign of a death wish and the worst form of neglect. Perhaps you should see the psychiatrist instead of a medic.
Perhaps your lack of care has finally caught up to you.
A glorified slug that I've, for one reason or another, taken liking to. Your kin suffer through untold hardships on this Earth alone, no love lost between collaborators and your brethren. When given a tempting opportunity to break free of that shackle and slaughter an endless amount of bodies, unarmed or not, there is restraint. A game for the long term or foolishness? Neither are mutually exclusive, but rare in your species? That they are.
For a non-human being, you betray intelligence more advanced than that of a regular citizen. Well done.
For a non-human being, you betray intelligence more advanced than that of a regular citizen. Well done.
A bumbling, fumbling, disrespecting idiot barely different from the likes of McShain. You do not see reason like most humans do, you see anger. Blood. An animalistic instinct. Thinking in advance is seemingly a mind numbing exercise for yourself and the few birdbrains that follow in your footsteps. Indeed, there is a crate worth of metaphoric ammunition to be used against you, be it by myself or anyone rational enough to see you who you are: a savant.
With yourself kicked out onto the street like a rabid dog, some headway can actually be made. Good riddance.
With yourself kicked out onto the street like a rabid dog, some headway can actually be made. Good riddance.
The Privileged
Jackals and vipers alike, all cackling and rattling their scaly tails.
Jackals and vipers alike, all cackling and rattling their scaly tails.
The first time I've met you, I found you to be a mindless drone. Someone who only recites spoonfed paroles, a worker bee that has no thoughts of its own. A parasite who latches onto a host, draining its blood and then finding another. Thankfully, my expectations were shattered relatively quick as I've conversed with you. You're a luminary full of energy and potential, a man with a rare dose of talent and intelligence to his name.
Our interactions have become much deeper and thorough than initially, something which is to be expected. Still, it surprised me to hear just how doubtful and insecure a man could be when not maintaining an appearance for the cameras. We've expressed our worries and fears with one another, comforting each other in the shoddy apartments of Residential Block 2. A good companion and a trustworthy presenter.
Colder. You're becoming colder. Heartless. Jerome's rising star was shot down in that public beating, almost immediately replaced by you who screamed words of encouragement at the units. Why? Why would you do something so depraved and iniquitous? No one was forced to showcase loyalty as you were, not before or after. Was it a show? An attempt to steal his spot in the Party? A defense mechanism?
I suppose my initial prediction, at least the leech portion of it, proved right. You were admitted by the Chairman into the Party, much to my own chagrin, and almost immediately began blindsiding me. A betrayal, simple as it is. A man granted his own show for the cameras, for every citizen to hear while they scrape rotting food off the pavement for their next meal. I'd love to ask you if it was worth it.
You've admitted your faults and I admitted mine. Came after was the process of rebuilding a friendship that was almost torn asunder, bringing it back to what it once was. I must admit that you were very eager to do it after my own admittance into the Collaborator's Party, something I can't help but look past. Nonetheless, it's what it is. We're back at square one, friendly and conversational as ever, even if we have to maintain this appearance.
Tier-Five and Head of Tele-programming. What a lucky guy you are. Got everything on practically a silver platter, but one can't complain. You saw opportunity and swept in. But I'm afraid your time of leisure and celebration have been rudely interrupted by the blackout, unfortunately, and you can't quite seem to grapple with it. Drinking, going outside with the proper protection, snapping at me. The fog's making you mad.
I've spent countless hours daydreaming of a life where I surpassed and overshadowed you. In a golden box it came to me, as a gift, and revealed. No longer do I have to listen to your mumbling and crying about your dreadful life in a luxury apartment. Your raving about the vale of tears and the cruelty of regular life fails to even amuse me at this rate, reaching my ears much like television static would.
I had no luck in the valley with what I intended to do. Perhaps it was willed from a higher being for your suffering, through wine and Cuban cigars, to be dragged on. Woe is you.
Our interactions have become much deeper and thorough than initially, something which is to be expected. Still, it surprised me to hear just how doubtful and insecure a man could be when not maintaining an appearance for the cameras. We've expressed our worries and fears with one another, comforting each other in the shoddy apartments of Residential Block 2. A good companion and a trustworthy presenter.
Colder. You're becoming colder. Heartless. Jerome's rising star was shot down in that public beating, almost immediately replaced by you who screamed words of encouragement at the units. Why? Why would you do something so depraved and iniquitous? No one was forced to showcase loyalty as you were, not before or after. Was it a show? An attempt to steal his spot in the Party? A defense mechanism?
I suppose my initial prediction, at least the leech portion of it, proved right. You were admitted by the Chairman into the Party, much to my own chagrin, and almost immediately began blindsiding me. A betrayal, simple as it is. A man granted his own show for the cameras, for every citizen to hear while they scrape rotting food off the pavement for their next meal. I'd love to ask you if it was worth it.
You've admitted your faults and I admitted mine. Came after was the process of rebuilding a friendship that was almost torn asunder, bringing it back to what it once was. I must admit that you were very eager to do it after my own admittance into the Collaborator's Party, something I can't help but look past. Nonetheless, it's what it is. We're back at square one, friendly and conversational as ever, even if we have to maintain this appearance.
Tier-Five and Head of Tele-programming. What a lucky guy you are. Got everything on practically a silver platter, but one can't complain. You saw opportunity and swept in. But I'm afraid your time of leisure and celebration have been rudely interrupted by the blackout, unfortunately, and you can't quite seem to grapple with it. Drinking, going outside with the proper protection, snapping at me. The fog's making you mad.
I've spent countless hours daydreaming of a life where I surpassed and overshadowed you. In a golden box it came to me, as a gift, and revealed. No longer do I have to listen to your mumbling and crying about your dreadful life in a luxury apartment. Your raving about the vale of tears and the cruelty of regular life fails to even amuse me at this rate, reaching my ears much like television static would.
I had no luck in the valley with what I intended to do. Perhaps it was willed from a higher being for your suffering, through wine and Cuban cigars, to be dragged on. Woe is you.
People like you have always existed. Men on a mission, no matter how small, who are willing to sacrifice everyone and everything in order to achieve it. Yours? Dedicating your entire life to researching and science, despite the consequences that come with it. I find it honorable and endearing, if a little concerning. Either way, you're a familiar face within the Party and one that I can trust with some things, even if we don't know each other that much.
Spineless, too. Wormy. However, yet again, people like you have always existed. It tempers my disgust of your sycophantic nature, even if a little. What truly made you tolerable in my eyes was your admission on that God forsaken island - your fears, regrets and doubts. Despite what you present, you are deeply troubled. You don't know what to do. I merely hope that existential dread shrivels away and dies.
Your vouch for a promotion had almost turned my opinion around, only for all that progress to be washed away by one singular question you've posed. My reasoning for a bold faced lie I've spewed to you, one you easily recognised in the snap of a second, escapes me. Conflict within mutual groups does wonders for a person's reputation should they pull at the right strings, but I hesitated. Why?
It matters not. Like other fools seeking another promotion, you ran off to the muck and sewage to fight fictional enemies. Like other fools seeking another promotion, you've returned to a ravaged city with nothing in your hands. No new armbands, no titles. Not even close. A dog who answers at his master's snap at every turn is what you are, willing to do whatever needed to keep the scraps of food and approval coming.
Spineless, too. Wormy. However, yet again, people like you have always existed. It tempers my disgust of your sycophantic nature, even if a little. What truly made you tolerable in my eyes was your admission on that God forsaken island - your fears, regrets and doubts. Despite what you present, you are deeply troubled. You don't know what to do. I merely hope that existential dread shrivels away and dies.
Your vouch for a promotion had almost turned my opinion around, only for all that progress to be washed away by one singular question you've posed. My reasoning for a bold faced lie I've spewed to you, one you easily recognised in the snap of a second, escapes me. Conflict within mutual groups does wonders for a person's reputation should they pull at the right strings, but I hesitated. Why?
It matters not. Like other fools seeking another promotion, you ran off to the muck and sewage to fight fictional enemies. Like other fools seeking another promotion, you've returned to a ravaged city with nothing in your hands. No new armbands, no titles. Not even close. A dog who answers at his master's snap at every turn is what you are, willing to do whatever needed to keep the scraps of food and approval coming.
Kind hearted and competent, a rare mix in this city. Indeed, you've shown yourself trustworthy and well intentioned at every turn I've spoken to you, even going through hoops to do me favors. What matches your kindness and competency is your bravery, the willingness to stand up to an egomaniac with too much power. You knew the risks when you took the stand, yet, still did it either way. Not a single blink, only a question that completely tore him down.
In the face of the most disgusting conditions and nerve wracking isolation, you prioritize others over yourself. Free of charge, you handed me a fedora when it was needed. You've mentioned how you know the waters, only pushing my intrigue further. An old timer like you, just like the others, must have entertaining stories to tell. I wish to speak to you further, however, we never manage to find the time and opportunity.
In the face of the most disgusting conditions and nerve wracking isolation, you prioritize others over yourself. Free of charge, you handed me a fedora when it was needed. You've mentioned how you know the waters, only pushing my intrigue further. An old timer like you, just like the others, must have entertaining stories to tell. I wish to speak to you further, however, we never manage to find the time and opportunity.
A transfer to the Committee from the far east, given the duties of working as a member of the art department. You make for good company, indubitably, even if you are a free spirit who conforms not to others. That attitude is a certain danger within the Party, a great one at that, yet you seem confident of your ability to remain neutral. A fool or the last man standing? That is my question.
A shrill whistle is what you are, ready to step up and take action when needed. Authority is a trait that you hide behind the features of gentleness and boredom, one that you ought to exhibit more. Even when you are dependant on crutches, carrying your limp legs along, you believe yourself fit for duty and charge head first into your problems, despite the concerns of others. Times of crisis come to an end at the hand of fearless men and women like yourself.
You throw a tantrum, at my order, and then call me in for a talk. If I were any wiser, I would have said goodbye to everyone I've known. But I didn't, and you weren't a threat. There we sat, discussing our parents' traumas and the proles below us, in our ivory tower. Yet, you complain about the conditions of your apartment and beverages. Gluttony is a deadly sin that many of us will go to Hell for, yourself likely included. Your time is coming closer and closer, the clock striking eleven. A decade at most is what you have.
Egomania. Unlimited love for yourself in your purest form, with all your positives and negatives. The belief that you were created for something greater, destined to reach it and enjoy its fresh fruits. Yet, you're not a narcissist. You're willing to step over for others to take your spot, as long as its on your terms. What is it that you hide behind those aged eyes? Curiosity boils within me.
Weak willed and fragile, relying upon others to do your bidding. Favors are common amongst companions and I fault you not for requesting them, yet I find doses of entertainment in observing your many unhinged tantrums. Those of fear are oftentimes my great favorite: to watch a loud and proud executive like yourself crumble to a child-like state, praying to your mother in your native tongue.
And the lack of a spine is compensated by uninspired grabs at authority alongside silent scheming in the dark, waiting for a moment that shall never arrive. A tree that shall never grow and flourish to serve you and you alone. Chopped off by another for the furnace. Reality is a significant enemy of yours, kept at a long distance and never confronted unless needed. When such a rare meeting occurs, you fold your cards and crumble like a bag of rocks.
A shrill whistle is what you are, ready to step up and take action when needed. Authority is a trait that you hide behind the features of gentleness and boredom, one that you ought to exhibit more. Even when you are dependant on crutches, carrying your limp legs along, you believe yourself fit for duty and charge head first into your problems, despite the concerns of others. Times of crisis come to an end at the hand of fearless men and women like yourself.
You throw a tantrum, at my order, and then call me in for a talk. If I were any wiser, I would have said goodbye to everyone I've known. But I didn't, and you weren't a threat. There we sat, discussing our parents' traumas and the proles below us, in our ivory tower. Yet, you complain about the conditions of your apartment and beverages. Gluttony is a deadly sin that many of us will go to Hell for, yourself likely included. Your time is coming closer and closer, the clock striking eleven. A decade at most is what you have.
Egomania. Unlimited love for yourself in your purest form, with all your positives and negatives. The belief that you were created for something greater, destined to reach it and enjoy its fresh fruits. Yet, you're not a narcissist. You're willing to step over for others to take your spot, as long as its on your terms. What is it that you hide behind those aged eyes? Curiosity boils within me.
Weak willed and fragile, relying upon others to do your bidding. Favors are common amongst companions and I fault you not for requesting them, yet I find doses of entertainment in observing your many unhinged tantrums. Those of fear are oftentimes my great favorite: to watch a loud and proud executive like yourself crumble to a child-like state, praying to your mother in your native tongue.
And the lack of a spine is compensated by uninspired grabs at authority alongside silent scheming in the dark, waiting for a moment that shall never arrive. A tree that shall never grow and flourish to serve you and you alone. Chopped off by another for the furnace. Reality is a significant enemy of yours, kept at a long distance and never confronted unless needed. When such a rare meeting occurs, you fold your cards and crumble like a bag of rocks.
By far one of the best current Collaborators, ready to serve in the face of certain defeat. You've done well by me, doing all kinds of favours for me, which is something that I do not intend to forget. Despite my difficulties understanding you due to your accent and dialect, you manage to provide valuable input instead of blurting out paroles and static like many of our colleagues do. It's a shame that your efforts to join the Committee were denied, but yet again, what's life without a little rain?
A good second in command, I've found out. Good with the people, yet loyal to myself. A keycard to the warehouse, ready to produce whatever I need. A misuse of your position, perhaps, but what is a job without a little abuse? Good workers ought to use their benefits, after all.
Much like others, you've faded in the chaos caused by the Leman beast and never returned. Has your work finally taken toll? A burden too heavy to bare, one you meekly accepted and even placed upon your back? Merely placed on a train and relocated or given a metal gift through the forehead? Dwelling on such fates is unhealthy of the mind. Nonetheless, your half comprehensible Jamaican ramblings are missed by myself and your numerous colleagues.
A good second in command, I've found out. Good with the people, yet loyal to myself. A keycard to the warehouse, ready to produce whatever I need. A misuse of your position, perhaps, but what is a job without a little abuse? Good workers ought to use their benefits, after all.
Much like others, you've faded in the chaos caused by the Leman beast and never returned. Has your work finally taken toll? A burden too heavy to bare, one you meekly accepted and even placed upon your back? Merely placed on a train and relocated or given a metal gift through the forehead? Dwelling on such fates is unhealthy of the mind. Nonetheless, your half comprehensible Jamaican ramblings are missed by myself and your numerous colleagues.
A particular case which I fail to fully comprehend. A relatively new citizens whos arrival both times were marked by tragedy, the first by a suicide bombing and the second with a complete blackout. A bad omen, perhaps? A harbinger of the apocalypse, sent here by an unknown force to wreak havoc? It truly baffles the mind as to what you are and what your purpose is, especially when one takes your mannerisms into account. A bumbling fool that one would accuse of sabotage.
I would be correct in calling you a spineless yes man with aspirations as high as the citadel, yet I see flickers of both charisma and independence behind those murky eyes.
Two weeks have passed since your return and you've grown increasingly confident and useful to me, especially when under supervision. An interesting case of a man growing more and more backbone as time passes on, to be observed. Should you stick by me and remain like this, you'll earn your piece of the cake.
Generously ascended into the Party by my hand at the suggestion of a decrepit, frail bureaucrat with false delusions of grandeur. Rising ambitions cut short by factors out of your control, both economic and political in nature, with unseen optimism shining across your barely shaved countenance in the chaos that follows. Your brain, which most definitely exists, should be studied by the best and brightest and put on display for centuries of analysis.
I would be correct in calling you a spineless yes man with aspirations as high as the citadel, yet I see flickers of both charisma and independence behind those murky eyes.
Two weeks have passed since your return and you've grown increasingly confident and useful to me, especially when under supervision. An interesting case of a man growing more and more backbone as time passes on, to be observed. Should you stick by me and remain like this, you'll earn your piece of the cake.
Generously ascended into the Party by my hand at the suggestion of a decrepit, frail bureaucrat with false delusions of grandeur. Rising ambitions cut short by factors out of your control, both economic and political in nature, with unseen optimism shining across your barely shaved countenance in the chaos that follows. Your brain, which most definitely exists, should be studied by the best and brightest and put on display for centuries of analysis.
A slackjawed moron with no qualities to speak of, aside from leeching and smooching the men above yourself. An insecure lapdog who only glares at a single spot in the wall until a meaningful conversation comes to pass and you are available to return to whatever mindless endeavor you joyfully entertained yourself with, most likely stuffing your fingers into heavy machinery.
Your lies, however, are the most insulting. An awful manipulator and deceiver has little place within the Collaborator's Party.
Your lies, however, are the most insulting. An awful manipulator and deceiver has little place within the Collaborator's Party.
Loyal and young. Eager. Hard working, worst of all. That's your biggest sin and the very thing that'll land you an early grave. Perhaps in a month. Perhaps in two years. It will end your life, however. Occupation upon occupation, a hundred duties placed upon you. How do you do it? Is there a thrill to working every single hour? An addiction? Escape? The dealers in the Underground must be familiar with you and your tastes, as well as your favorite merchandise.
There is a narrow, stretched path laying before you. The ambition and instincts have clearly been implanted into your nature, recognizable in the sparkle of your eyes. The question is whether or not you have the will to do what's necessary or the longevity to truly last.
Despite my concerns about your wellbeing and ability, one thing is undeniable: we are left as successors to a man who's legacy is unfinished. We have been entrusted with positions and plans that wield almost infinite potential if used in the right manner and at the fitting time. Only a pair of mindless apes would allow them to go unused in every sense.
It took little for you to adapt to our new urban center.
There is a narrow, stretched path laying before you. The ambition and instincts have clearly been implanted into your nature, recognizable in the sparkle of your eyes. The question is whether or not you have the will to do what's necessary or the longevity to truly last.
Despite my concerns about your wellbeing and ability, one thing is undeniable: we are left as successors to a man who's legacy is unfinished. We have been entrusted with positions and plans that wield almost infinite potential if used in the right manner and at the fitting time. Only a pair of mindless apes would allow them to go unused in every sense.
It took little for you to adapt to our new urban center.
Vibrant, dependable and affiliated with less than honest personages. Every time I ask of you to do something on my behalf, a masterpiece is promptly produced and showcased to my eyes. Long lasting dedication that defies burnout is an anomaly in our line of work, especially when the circumstances around us are taken into account. Promises I've made to you in return for favors, one that I've never followed through on. Any rational soul would confront me about it, one way or another, and attempt to persuade me to follow my word. You? Biding your time, waiting for an opportune time to strike.
Political aspirations are laughable and the idea that you've approached me for advice makes me pity you. No amount of voter persuasion or respectable traits are capable of netting you any long term success in this glorified rat race. Naivety and honesty are as punishing as outright dissidency within the Collaborator's Party, something you seemingly fail to comprehend.
Or you're an outstanding actor. Either way, new factors beget new experiences. Your camaraderie remains noted in my mind. It calls for a reward, sooner or later.
Political aspirations are laughable and the idea that you've approached me for advice makes me pity you. No amount of voter persuasion or respectable traits are capable of netting you any long term success in this glorified rat race. Naivety and honesty are as punishing as outright dissidency within the Collaborator's Party, something you seemingly fail to comprehend.
Or you're an outstanding actor. Either way, new factors beget new experiences. Your camaraderie remains noted in my mind. It calls for a reward, sooner or later.
My old roommate, whom I almost killed by throwing a bottle at his head during a drunken stupor. Additionally, a member of the Monopoly of Commerce - specifically Callum Crown's errand boy. Nonetheless, you make for half-decent company. Much to my surprise, your paperwork filled occupation did not soften you up. Nothing happens to phase you, no matter how close or how traumatic. What keeps you awake at night, I must ask?
Was it you? Were you the one writing the threats on the portraits? There's no one else in such a lowly position with access to the offices. Even your superiors have their suspicions, as you yourself mentioned. Perhaps it were you. I care naught, however. Bureaucrats come and go, and as seen with your previous employee, the perpetrators will not get caught.
Was it you? Were you the one writing the threats on the portraits? There's no one else in such a lowly position with access to the offices. Even your superiors have their suspicions, as you yourself mentioned. Perhaps it were you. I care naught, however. Bureaucrats come and go, and as seen with your previous employee, the perpetrators will not get caught.
The Departed
Dead or gone. Little difference in this world.
Dead or gone. Little difference in this world.
Another member of the tele-programming department, careless and inactive as the rest of your hivemind brethren. An old member, from Callaway's times as a petty writer, who undoubtedly has tales to tell. The antlions, the metro, you've gone through it. Surely, there must be some diamonds in the rough from those experiences? Nonetheless, I shall pry not. I only hope that we can get closer with time.
My wish was granted, yet by a monkey paw. What I expected was a silver tongued propagandist with secrets to share and stories to tell, yet that facade was broken down by the officers kicking our doors in. Seven violations to your name is what I came to find out later, all relatively smalltime and petty. Nonetheless, you were killed and left to rot.
Months later, I ashamedly admit that I came to find your meltdown relatable. This society is becoming ever so crueler and anarchic with each day that passes, replacing the once peaceful streets of Geneva. Were you not deceased, I would ask you: was it the pressure that finally broke you? Or perhaps a distant cry for freedom?
My wish was granted, yet by a monkey paw. What I expected was a silver tongued propagandist with secrets to share and stories to tell, yet that facade was broken down by the officers kicking our doors in. Seven violations to your name is what I came to find out later, all relatively smalltime and petty. Nonetheless, you were killed and left to rot.
Months later, I ashamedly admit that I came to find your meltdown relatable. This society is becoming ever so crueler and anarchic with each day that passes, replacing the once peaceful streets of Geneva. Were you not deceased, I would ask you: was it the pressure that finally broke you? Or perhaps a distant cry for freedom?
A senior member of the Civil Workers' Union handed authority and an absurd amount of credits on a silver platter. Unbelievable to think that you're a mere tier-three, despite your connections to various Collaborators within the district. Nonetheless, you do not allow your seniority to get to that head of yours, even though you very well could. Your assistance and forewarning were deeply appreciated, even if I couldn't show it right.
Dead and gone. An anti-citizen, apparently. They say acts against Our Benefactors. I wish things didn't end on that note that they did.
Dead and gone. An anti-citizen, apparently. They say acts against Our Benefactors. I wish things didn't end on that note that they did.
Despite your standing as a wealthy man - with a corporation to your name, no less - you are always a pleasure to talk with. Be it out of the kindness of your heart or merely for political reasons, you've always bothered to talk and assist those below you. Perhaps a mix of both, men who play these games are always unpredictable and hard to categorize. In whatever case, you've donated resources for altruistic efforts and want to further develop this district, a Herculean task given the circumstances. The chairman of the Security Council. I have no reason to distrust your promises. I just hope that you don't end up like your predecessors - brutal, cowardly and driven by greed.
Shot dead like a dog, with no chance to fight back. Did you see a void when the first bullet entered you? Or were you laying there, bleeding out, until the last shot was fired into you? I hope not. I've heard all kinds of stories about you after your assassination.
Shot dead like a dog, with no chance to fight back. Did you see a void when the first bullet entered you? Or were you laying there, bleeding out, until the last shot was fired into you? I hope not. I've heard all kinds of stories about you after your assassination.
During my time here, I've met countless people. I have seen many come and go. I've seen Underclass get mowed down, I've witnessed people rise and fall. You, however, remain throughout it all. From my very first days in the district, I've known and talked with you. Even today, we have heartfelt conversations. You disappear but return months later, like a bad hangover, ready to haunt me for days before suddenly leaving. Is it intentional, what you do? Or just habit?
I know your kind. The hot-tempered, violent one. You're a chained dog, ready to snap at someone. A loaded gun, waiting for your handler's trigger finger. I remember what you told me. I've kept my eye on you and what you do, where you go. Sooner or later, your long tongue will get you into a deep pit of never ending torment. I will not be able to help you, nor would I be willing to.
You've been wiped off the face of the earth. Dead in the sewers, somewhere. Relocated.
I know your kind. The hot-tempered, violent one. You're a chained dog, ready to snap at someone. A loaded gun, waiting for your handler's trigger finger. I remember what you told me. I've kept my eye on you and what you do, where you go. Sooner or later, your long tongue will get you into a deep pit of never ending torment. I will not be able to help you, nor would I be willing to.
You've been wiped off the face of the earth. Dead in the sewers, somewhere. Relocated.
A rising star hailing from the Civil Workers' Union. In less than a month, you have managed to go from a petty citizen to a manager and a Collaborator. Furthermore, you've managed to earn and build yourself a restaurant popular amongst both the citizenry and the upper class, despite your growing duties. And even then, despite all the successes to your name, you maintain humility and politeness in conversations with others. Your commercial and menial skills are to be respected, no matter what one's opinion on your personality are.
You've burnt out after you caught that violation. Very much so. Rarely do I see you after that. In the off chance that I do, you do not look as communicative and outgoing as you were before. Was it just a beating that they gave you or was it something more? The spirit is gone, its light burnt out. Another Collaborator who had given up on his duties and his life.
Gone. The star had burnt out.
You've burnt out after you caught that violation. Very much so. Rarely do I see you after that. In the off chance that I do, you do not look as communicative and outgoing as you were before. Was it just a beating that they gave you or was it something more? The spirit is gone, its light burnt out. Another Collaborator who had given up on his duties and his life.
Gone. The star had burnt out.
A new hire from the Tele-programming worth attention. A bureaucrat of the new world, characterized by action. You maintain a perfect balance of appearance and service, even if all of your positions are relatively low on the chain. Alongside Nakamura were you inducted into the Party, yet you opted to join the Constructivists and even run at its representative. For that, you must be commended.
Another man who stepped up during times of crisis. Unafraid to speak your mind in front of the Chairman and the City Administrator, especially when it comes to the failures of our Unions. Admirable. My doubts of your loyalty and usefulness were existant, present in the back of my mind, but you've done well to alleviate them. I look forward to continuing our partnership.
No man plays a puppet willingly and especially not as eagerly as you. Trips to lands beyond are rarely done for good reason and never under the cover story of kidnappings. Secrets lay behind that self-righteous facade, the drug covered nostrils and dilated eyeballs. Connections have been made and plots planned, ready to hatch at any moment as you've admitted to me in full confidence.
A puppet of a puppet of a puppet.
The amount of joy I had felt when informed that your conniving hide had finally been taken from your round filled carcass is immeasurable. Your connections, the people that had kidnapped you, were nowhere to be seen to rush to your defense. The winning move is not to play.
Another man who stepped up during times of crisis. Unafraid to speak your mind in front of the Chairman and the City Administrator, especially when it comes to the failures of our Unions. Admirable. My doubts of your loyalty and usefulness were existant, present in the back of my mind, but you've done well to alleviate them. I look forward to continuing our partnership.
No man plays a puppet willingly and especially not as eagerly as you. Trips to lands beyond are rarely done for good reason and never under the cover story of kidnappings. Secrets lay behind that self-righteous facade, the drug covered nostrils and dilated eyeballs. Connections have been made and plots planned, ready to hatch at any moment as you've admitted to me in full confidence.
A puppet of a puppet of a puppet.
The amount of joy I had felt when informed that your conniving hide had finally been taken from your round filled carcass is immeasurable. Your connections, the people that had kidnapped you, were nowhere to be seen to rush to your defense. The winning move is not to play.
My boss, the Chief of the Committee, the captain who steers this shoddy ship after al-Vohra's departure. An odd thing to admit, one I will obviously tell you not, is that I always found your lifeless mannerisms unsettling and outright creepy at times. Nonetheless, you've been amicable despite the numerous fuckups that we're definitely guilty of. You've had my back at times, crucial ones, which is something that will not be forgotten. What is it that you said? Loyalty goes both ways.
Relocated to urban centers far better than Twenty-Four.
Relocated to urban centers far better than Twenty-Four.
One of the few people in that ghost of a department. You are an exceptional artist and I enjoy working with you, even if it's becoming less and less common in the Committee. You've earned my unconditional trust and honesty, even if there's been a lot of hiccups along the way. We have gone through many things, a majority unpleasant and painful, yet we've persevered. Not once did you stab me in the back, nor did you abandon me in favor of yourself. I hold you in high regard, Agatha.
I fear that we're becoming increasingly distant with time, especially after that debacle with the red epauletted swine. You're colder than before, ignorant and careless as to what I have to say. Has it affected that you that much? Are you that upset at me? I try to explain myself, yet as I open my lips, only cold air comes out. I cannot speak to you anymore.
You can view me as a spineless traitor, a snake, a rat, a backstabber. A parasite and a leech off your very blood. A burden on your back. And you wouldn't be wrong. I'm all of those things, plus more. But, whatever the Civil Protection informed you of, I sincerely hope that you see it as it is - a bold faced lie. We've talked and talked about the incident and you've repeatedly assured me that it was alright, yet the creeping feeling of guilty and shame continue to linger. I can only take you at your word that your forgiveness was coming from a genuine place.
I believe that we're on the right foot again. Once again are we close, sharing stupid jokes and gossiping like schoolgirls to one another. Rude and cruel? Surely, but it's deserved, after all. The current scene has plenty of material for us to gather over and chuckle at, what not with the meetings and the anarchy. It feels like I've repaid my debt to you for all the kindness you've shown to me. Given the support you've given me in every possible institution, my loyalty to you is sealed.
Paperwork is something that you've oddly insisted upon as of late. It boggles my mind that you would enjoy your place as the Second Secretary of the Party because of the responsibilities of a typewriter of all things, yet, I cannot judge. Everyone has their own interests, after all.
All of your achievements have been self made in their entireties. A woman of high importance, the symbol of the Collaborator's Party. The First Secretary. You haven't lost sight of what's important nor have you forgotten those who have supported you from the get-go. No amount of gifts, vocal appreciation or monetary compensations can fully repay the combined debt of everything I owe you.
Slain in the chaos of a failed relocation.
You linger on my mind in every waking hour. I miss you.
I've reached heights, formed connections and created foes that you could not imagine for someone like myself to make. I was always your advisor, a second in command. It feels wrong to take the spotlight, to be the one who has to look for a knife in the back. Where have you gone, oh First-Secretary? I needed you before, but everything you possessed is essential for me. The warmth, the maneuvering, the support.
If there is a resting place, be it above or under, are you watching me? Do you feel pride for what I have accomplished in my tenure? Bitterness? Jealousy? I was hoping to gain an answer while I was comatose, yet I was left with nothing but more questions.
I fear that we're becoming increasingly distant with time, especially after that debacle with the red epauletted swine. You're colder than before, ignorant and careless as to what I have to say. Has it affected that you that much? Are you that upset at me? I try to explain myself, yet as I open my lips, only cold air comes out. I cannot speak to you anymore.
You can view me as a spineless traitor, a snake, a rat, a backstabber. A parasite and a leech off your very blood. A burden on your back. And you wouldn't be wrong. I'm all of those things, plus more. But, whatever the Civil Protection informed you of, I sincerely hope that you see it as it is - a bold faced lie. We've talked and talked about the incident and you've repeatedly assured me that it was alright, yet the creeping feeling of guilty and shame continue to linger. I can only take you at your word that your forgiveness was coming from a genuine place.
I believe that we're on the right foot again. Once again are we close, sharing stupid jokes and gossiping like schoolgirls to one another. Rude and cruel? Surely, but it's deserved, after all. The current scene has plenty of material for us to gather over and chuckle at, what not with the meetings and the anarchy. It feels like I've repaid my debt to you for all the kindness you've shown to me. Given the support you've given me in every possible institution, my loyalty to you is sealed.
Paperwork is something that you've oddly insisted upon as of late. It boggles my mind that you would enjoy your place as the Second Secretary of the Party because of the responsibilities of a typewriter of all things, yet, I cannot judge. Everyone has their own interests, after all.
All of your achievements have been self made in their entireties. A woman of high importance, the symbol of the Collaborator's Party. The First Secretary. You haven't lost sight of what's important nor have you forgotten those who have supported you from the get-go. No amount of gifts, vocal appreciation or monetary compensations can fully repay the combined debt of everything I owe you.
Slain in the chaos of a failed relocation.
You linger on my mind in every waking hour. I miss you.
I've reached heights, formed connections and created foes that you could not imagine for someone like myself to make. I was always your advisor, a second in command. It feels wrong to take the spotlight, to be the one who has to look for a knife in the back. Where have you gone, oh First-Secretary? I needed you before, but everything you possessed is essential for me. The warmth, the maneuvering, the support.
If there is a resting place, be it above or under, are you watching me? Do you feel pride for what I have accomplished in my tenure? Bitterness? Jealousy? I was hoping to gain an answer while I was comatose, yet I was left with nothing but more questions.
Once a great and favoured Collaborator granted the cushy seats of a Manager, Tier-six and even District Administrator - now reduced to a laughing stock for the entertainment of both myself and others. How could you have slipped so low and so blatantly? Why do you allow yourself to be the subject of humiliation from all secretaries of the Party, from your own roommate and once-friends? Are you willing to take it or are you simply unable to retaliate?
The deed is done. A risky play, uncalculated and complicated, but it's done. I am unsure as to why I did what I did, but it's over. I could not bare to look at you and listen to the muttering, stuttering and the excuses. May we never meet again.
The deed is done. A risky play, uncalculated and complicated, but it's done. I am unsure as to why I did what I did, but it's over. I could not bare to look at you and listen to the muttering, stuttering and the excuses. May we never meet again.
In essence, you are the personification of everything wrong with the working class in our world. An utterly worthless man consumed by petty greed and animalistic instincts. A vulgar slummer whose own mother stares at with utter contempt and disgust. I was placed as punishment for whatever sins I've committed to be your roommate for a brief yet extremely agonizing time, one that thankfully has long passed by now. As a sign of petty resistance, you sold all of the tables and the radio we had before moving out to the biotic housing block. I am glad that the Civil Protection handled you like the manchild you are, I only hope that they further re-educate you into either intelligence or an early grave.
I haven't seen you in a while. Life has been good. All is well.
I haven't seen you in a while. Life has been good. All is well.
There you stood, hands comfortably resting against the marble top counter. I stumbled into the lobby like a fool, impoverished and clueless about the surroundings. Instead of rightfully turning me away, you offered me work. You told me about the Committee, you educated me on the city. Indirectly, you've made me the person that I am today, as odd as it may sound. My employment within the Committee and all that came after is a direct result of your kindness and hospitality.
You've changed. Quite a lot. Much more aggressive in your assertions, many of which call for the direct executions or expulsions of those you deem problematic. Have you always been like this or have you let yourself slip? The mind wonders, but you're still as sharp. Still capable of churning out article after article, stamping approvals on notices and whatever other duties your post carries with itself.
A successor. That's what you branded me as in both words and will, without any preambles or conditions. Twenty-Four and everything that follows in its suit have taken an extreme toll upon your Texan wellbeing, both mental and physical, to the point where it severely concerns me. Yet, I'm afraid that you will not heed my advice. A man of conviction to the very end.
Your absurd ramblings are reaching an all-time high. Degradation of the gray cells is a serious medical condition. You direct violence and discrimination, even if justified, towards clueless bystanders on the street. You pick fights with the strongest of creatures and fail to show both remorse and boundaries. If you're seeking what I believe you're interested in, pills or a rope are much easier and hastier.
I cannot fault you for your radical preachings, even if misguided. What I can fault you for, however, is your rambling of words of generic encouragement to an audience of deaf ears. You speak for what feels like years, yet no words reach my mind. An unnatural talent that has been acquired and honed over the decades, mastered and perfected by a lonely editor who's expiration date is rapidly approaching.
Retirement must feel sweet.
You've changed. Quite a lot. Much more aggressive in your assertions, many of which call for the direct executions or expulsions of those you deem problematic. Have you always been like this or have you let yourself slip? The mind wonders, but you're still as sharp. Still capable of churning out article after article, stamping approvals on notices and whatever other duties your post carries with itself.
A successor. That's what you branded me as in both words and will, without any preambles or conditions. Twenty-Four and everything that follows in its suit have taken an extreme toll upon your Texan wellbeing, both mental and physical, to the point where it severely concerns me. Yet, I'm afraid that you will not heed my advice. A man of conviction to the very end.
Your absurd ramblings are reaching an all-time high. Degradation of the gray cells is a serious medical condition. You direct violence and discrimination, even if justified, towards clueless bystanders on the street. You pick fights with the strongest of creatures and fail to show both remorse and boundaries. If you're seeking what I believe you're interested in, pills or a rope are much easier and hastier.
I cannot fault you for your radical preachings, even if misguided. What I can fault you for, however, is your rambling of words of generic encouragement to an audience of deaf ears. You speak for what feels like years, yet no words reach my mind. An unnatural talent that has been acquired and honed over the decades, mastered and perfected by a lonely editor who's expiration date is rapidly approaching.
Retirement must feel sweet.
The voice of reason in an environment that actively works at eroding away similar mouthpieces, to be replaced by mindless slaves and head bobbing yes men. Despite your place of employment, one you're vastly overqualified for due to your intelligence, you consistently manage to remain levelheaded and show a sense of empathy, even when surrounded by the ungodliest of men and women. Bravery is something you also illustrate, a rare sight to be seen from men of similar standing, both in position and societal status.
Of course, such a skillset and arsenal of intelligence comes at a cost. Detached and apathetic is what you are, especially towards those who have better duties to fulfill than drink cans of oil within a warehouse.
Of course, such a skillset and arsenal of intelligence comes at a cost. Detached and apathetic is what you are, especially towards those who have better duties to fulfill than drink cans of oil within a warehouse.
Another puppet not too different from your radio obsessed colleague, willing to commit whatever you're told as long as you see some kind of benefit out of it. Unlike the other mentioned yes man, however, you paint a canvas of zealotry upon your features in an attempt to appeal to me. It admittedly has success, only because you are a marionette willing to have your master tug your strings. The question I must pose - how much are you willing to take until you find a higher bidder?
A thoughtful doctor with a straight head and a respect for the human being, no matter the cost. You possess many things, one of the blaring examples being intelligence - an increasingly rare trait. Our conversations, long and insightful, have always been of value to me no matter their significance. You rush to give medical attention to whoever needs it, you bolster the spirits of the people around you and assist them whenever you can. One must admit that you're the ideal companion.
On my suggestion, you became a writer in the press department. Your articles, although perhaps not material for a grand library, make for good reads. The more the merrier, after all. Yet, I have rising doubts about you. Was your part as Poelking merely good acting or was there something bubbling behind that aging visage of yours? You assisted the outcasted Latourelle, without a hint of shame, out of a pile of burnt corpses while everyone watched.
Gone. You're gone. I wish not to learn what happened to you, as I'm afraid it'll only hurt my soul.
On my suggestion, you became a writer in the press department. Your articles, although perhaps not material for a grand library, make for good reads. The more the merrier, after all. Yet, I have rising doubts about you. Was your part as Poelking merely good acting or was there something bubbling behind that aging visage of yours? You assisted the outcasted Latourelle, without a hint of shame, out of a pile of burnt corpses while everyone watched.
Gone. You're gone. I wish not to learn what happened to you, as I'm afraid it'll only hurt my soul.
Attachments
Last edited:
