Messiah - Part 1

My name is Aluxio. I am here today under unfavorable circumstances. My life has been destroyed by ‘The Order of Tylias’, the corporate monsters that have oppressed an entire continent with false pretenses. They claim to be uniting mankind under one true religious deity, silencing those who disapprove and those who resist the religious assimilation. The government makes untold amounts of money by exploiting religion and the average consumer who know only what they are told through censored programming. They’ve launched many campaigns against free speech and organized protesting, making sure that no “rumors” get circulated. They hold large book burnings, knowledge that had been passed down from generation to generation destroyed in the name of power and control.
I founded the eastern resistance unit in an effort to stop the domination of the system. I have become a hunted man these days. Many mercenaries have been hired to find and kill me, to this day, none of them have succeeded. Thanks to the support of numerous rebel support teams, I have been well protected from them. I make few public appearances as of recent, thanks to the supplemented units launched by ‘The Order of Tylias’. They hunt me without stopping, it seems as if everyone in the system is here to kill me.
My job is simple. I often broadcast radio speeches with words of encouragement and honesty, using my various resources to acquire the truth about Tylias and what their intentions are. Multiple units of rebels go out on ‘raids’ with the intent of murdering as many Tylias representatives as possible. This act of violence stands as a symbol of the fury of the oppressed, and how easily we can go out and do what needs to be done, even if it is mindless slaughter. While I feel that we should not be reduced to violence to solve this problem, I fear that soon, we will be immersed in civil war, on incomprehensible scales.
We are not alone in this dilemma. Across the ocean, Hkloia is also under the thumb of an oppressive government. A separate, ‘competing religion’ that brands itself as “Arkhelia”. Their situation is identical to ours. Small pockets of rebels team up and periodically go out to instigate rioting and spread the word of freedom. We have been able to contact a few costal teams and have reached agreements and found common ground, enough for us to join forces and work as a unified underground force. Our numbers are small, but we have the intent and focus to return the world to what it used to be. No one knows for sure. There are various myths that have circulated for years concerning what the ‘Old Earth’ was like. Some say it was a paradise. The world functioned as an organic, fluid body that allowed free expression of religion, ideals and protest, without the threat of public execution lingering over their heads. They say that people could do what they want, safely live their lives as they see fit. But these are just rumors, and those days have come and gone. No current living person can recall these days, as they have been said to have existed hundreds of years ago. Along with Seras’ crusade against the past destroying it and keeping it secret, very few people are privy to the knowledge of a long lost mankind. The world seemed so much better. Most of the oppressed people would be willing to revert to this state, even without knowing how it functioned or how it truly was. When people are willing to make a shift in lifestyle based off of rumors and speculation, you can tell how bad it has become.
It was the middle of May, A rather nice day. The pollution had been settled today, the air was somewhat clean and easy going into ones lungs. The sun was enormous still, pounding down on the earth, but the heat was not as terrible as expected. Soft breezes would come and go with carelessness. A sky that was hardly seen through layers of smog had displayed its glorious radiance today, a pale blue dome of gentle light. The heavens seemed cloudless and pristine, a day to be thoroughly enjoyed, especially when in line for your four hour religious gathering.
I had rallied again on this day, bringing around a hundred rebels with me to aid in protection. They dressed heavily, with their armor and weapons, they stood out amongst nervous groups of people on their way to the gathering. Our intentions were simple. While the rebels do not feel that all religion should be abolished, they feel that the right to practice it fairly and without the possibility of being harmed. Tylias had been forced upon everyone possible, and those who resisted were either set to death or simply ‘disappeared’.
That’s where I come in. People who agree with me are to join up as fast as they can. As soon as it becomes public that they belong to dissention, the manhunt begins. If it isn’t Seras agents hunting you, it’s the radical believers who would never question a single action of their oppressive government. They operate independently of the insanity that is “The Order of Tylias”. They will rape you repeatedly, cut you into pieces, crush your fingers and toes with bricks, manually remove your eyes, perform violent forms of exorcisms and even more horrific forms of punishment.
That is what I am up against, and I tried every damn day to maintain peace, promote caring and understanding. These radical psychopaths go out and murder those with differing views. It grew harder and harder to stay above the violent waves, as it became clear that these people only reacted with superior violence. A sad day is a day when your enemy can only be helped with merciful immolation. But, some days, it’s the only option, which I enforce vehemently.
This speech was nothing spectacular. There was no special event occurring, nothing extravagant or intense to expect. A run of the mill speech given in effort to stop the people from being mindless sheep in a shepherds world. Some people would turn away and go home, others would yell, but most of the time, it gathered attention, where people would stand and watch quietly. I gave my speech with no less passion and courage than I would with any other. I stood my ground, carefully placing words and phrases.
It took place in a small courtyard, near an archway. There were four directions to travel in. The direction I faced offered three routes to escape, both equally spaced and merging in the courtyard. I could also go backwards, but that would be suicide, as anything behind me would be full of enemy agents and soldiers.
The speech was almost over, the crowd I had acquired was something to be noted, as out placement near the gathering center drew in many curious onlookers.
I hadn’t been watching. Two of my forward observers had motioned for me to get down. My focus was on the speech. Finally they made enough hand movement to where I saw it. I did not react to it with instant movement. I stood carefully, directing my speech towards the buildings around, looking for where the sniper would be. I caught a glimpse of a man in a building to my left, leading towards a dark alleyway. A dark silhouette stood motionless in the cracked window. Once the forward observer flashed the signal again, I fell to the ground, and the two point teams dispersed. They had already found their targets and opened fire. Two loud sniper shots rang out. The podium I had used was split in half, with splinters of wood flying in all directions. The screams of the spectators filled the air like a haunting cry of terror. I crawled away unscathed, using a small vehicle as cover until I reached the escape point where an unmarked vehicle would await my arrival and take me back to the small rebel fortification.
Gunshots continued as I slowly made my way to the vehicle. Shouting of various position shifts and commands were exchanged as I continued my movement. Suddenly, a multitude of bullets pierced my right leg. In an instant, I was down, unable to continue. I looked up to see four enemy soldiers grab my arms and pull me up. They quickly injected me in the neck with a serum to make me immobile. They dragged me towards their car and heaved me in the back with chained cuffs on my arms and legs. One of the soldiers heads was shattered by a rebel weapon, his body slumped down just as he was about to enter the vehicle. A loud series of ringing noises followed, signaling that the rebels were firing on the car. They stopped, and the car pulled away.
I was in prison for two years. They milked this story for everything it was worth. They displayed their power by placing me on various sight programs to ensure that the people were convinced of my capture. They were to put me on trial for numerous treasonous activities, countless military deaths in my capture. Enough to publically execute me. Which they will. It would make a god story, and that’s a major blow to their opposition.
My trial, as expected, was unfair and biased. Court in these days was an aesthetic. A catharsis of sorts. A way to calm the people and a way to say that some democracy remains. It’s predetermined and used to gain various ratings as well as acquire more control.
The trial lasted about four months. They constantly found new reasons to postpone it so that I would remain in the media. Most of the people grew a passionate hatred for me because of what the Tylias representatives would say. Lies. And of course I would not be allowed to speak for myself. No lawyer on my side. It was me against the world. And I had no reason to keep going on. That was, until a few weeks ago.
I was sitting in my cell. A grimy, disgusting place that no one should be put through. Minimal food, dirty water, complete isolation. They didn’t want any of the other prisoners to get me. But thankfully, most of the prisoners were on my side, as a lot of inmates were members of dissent, imprisoned for their beliefs against Tylias. Even with the comfort of being surrounded with friends, I still was unable to communicate with them. Only during the lunch. Even then I was strictly monitored by a troop of guards armed to the teeth.
I was at the table, a couple brave rebels sat near me, smiling and talking. They seemed a lot happier knowing I was around, even if I was worthless to them as far as escaping. They asked many questions about what I did. I spoke of the speeches I had given, the few missions I had accompanied the rebels in fighting. I told a few stories of my exploits. They sat and listened intently. Lunch was finished, and a bell rang, signifying that all inmates were to be escorted back to their cells immediately. We all stood up to walk to the large archway that led to the library of prison cells. We began to line up in single file, chained to one another, taking small, pathetic steps towards our dismal cubicle of sorrow.
One of the soldiers eyeing me reached to his shoulder to talk into his small radio. A garbled transmission came through. He looked different than the rest. Disheveled. He patted his thigh to draw my attention to his hand, where he gave an “ok” sign before shoving me forward. I knew what this was. A team had come to break me out. His push signified that he was pretending to be a guard and fit in while the rest of the team set up. The ok sign was reassurance.
I got to the cell where I sat on my brick bench, cold again. Luckily, I was positioned in a manner where across the hall, a small window allowed sunlight to pour into my cell during the mornings. Under the window was a large box with a red light that I had never seen activated before. The small bright square on the ground signified that the sun was rather high in the sky. The train of prisoners continued moving forward down the hallway, stopping at every cell to place another inmate inside. Finally, they all had passed, and the guard that brought up the rear walked up to my cell. I could not tell if it was the same one from a few minutes ago or not, but he looked at me. I could not see through the visor on his helmet, so identification was next to impossible. In his hand was a slip of paper folded up. He signaled to it, and then pointed to his visor. He then dropped on it and placed his boot on top of it. He turned around and slit it under the bars slowly. With a quick push it slid along the floor into the cell, and he walked away with a final nod. I picked up the slip of paper and opened it carefully. It was written quickly and was hardly legible, but I could tell what it said.
“Twenty minutes from now, four squads will infiltrate. Three alarms will sound, the first indicates alert, second is deployment, third is weapon engagement. At third alarm, Delta team will cut you out of the cell follow them to extraction zone. Eat this when memorized.”
I stood up and looked on either side of my cell. There was no guard to be seen. I went to the back of my cell and began to read it repeatedly. Once I memorized the lines, I crumpled the note and began chewing. I swallowed it slowly. Once ingested, I went and sat on my bed and waited. It seemed to take forever. I saw one or two guards pace down the hall making their rounds. They did not look at me. One of the inter-rebel secret communiqués is a small okay sign at the side of the hip. There had been no secret contacts since. I sat at the edge of the bed with my head in my hands. Suddenly, the red light blasted on, and a whining alarm began to scream from across the hall. I heard it echo down each hallway. A large group of guards came running down the hallway with weapons drawn, scoping out the possible disturbance. They checked my cell, and seeing that I was still inside, continued forward, but left behind to soldiers to keep watch. They stood in front of the alarm and kept their eyes trained on me as I did my best to feign fear and uncertainty. The alarm continued to shriek when a second alarm started on top of it. A lower sounding noise like a beep. They raised their guns in the alert state, looking down each end of the hallway. Not even twenty seconds after the second alarm started, the third kicked in. It was a powerful thumping, high pitched ringing that echoed even louder than the first two combined.
One of the guards turned to their left and with that simple motion, his body shattered like glass being hit with a sledgehammer. Blood sprayed on the other soldier, fragments of helmet and armor, bone and muscle sprayed down the hall. The concussive force knocked the other soldier to the side. He regained his balance and also turned to his left. He began firing, but only got a few shots off before his body was also dispatched with similar ferocity. Bone fragment smashed into the walls and his mangled torso fell to the ground next to his fallen comrade. A group of six men in full armor appeared from the blind spot of my cell and two of them began assembling an oxygen torch. It took them no less than seven seconds. They worked with precision and silence, knowing exactly what to do as if it had been rehearsed numerous times before. The other four men stood on either side of the engineers and protected them. Occasional bursts of fire would echo the halls and add to the cacophony of alarms and gunfire. One of the men signaled for me to get against the wall. The torch fired up, and a purple and red flame sprayed out of the tip of the torch outwards about three inches. The torch cut through the cell bars with ease, and the door fell down with a large clang. One of the men took the torch and slung it over his shoulder. He handed me a pistol as he helped me out of the cell. I armed the weapon and began running with the group, shielded with three in the front and three behind. We ran down the hallway as fast as we could. The rebel running point was giving directions to me through hand signals and spoken word.
Our escape took about three minutes. The maze of corridors and cell blocks was daunting. I would not be able to find my way back if I got separated. I made sure to stick to them very closely. Any guards we encountered were dropped instantly with the rebels obviously stolen energy weapons.
We encountered no resistance until we reached the large gate, where it seemed that we were completely surrounded. The gate was about fifty feet tall and guarded by about forty soldiers with high powered weapons. They began firing at us, so we ducked behind a corner. We were completely hidden from the guards who had now mobilized and had approached our location. The hallway was shaped like a ‘T’, and we were in a position to go left or right. We had to go to the left to escape the facility. The right path would lead us deeper into the prison.
The man who held the torch pulled out a small box, with wired and a few switched. He flipped two of them and then pressed a small black trigger button on the top. The box beeped softly. He held his finger up and waited. Without warning, a massive shockwave hit the wall we were standing behind. It shook the bricks that held the building together, c racking the mortar and spraying dust into the air. A large crack shot out from the epicenter like a lightning bolt, shattering pieces of tile on the floor and wall. Pieces of the ceiling also fell in from the concussion. As soon as the explosion was finished, the team leader whirled around the corner and began shooting ferociously. There were two or three survivors who were rushing towards us. Most of the guards who had been coming to our location were incinerated, and the gate was now a pile of charred rubble with pieces of soldiers littering the courtyard. We broke through to daylight, running even faster through the field and into a small garage. As we ran across the field I could hear loud thumps, signifying bullets landing close to us as we ran. My body was scorching hot, my lungs were hardly functioning it seemed. A group of rebels dressed as soldiers were waving us in. We all were ushered into a large combat vehicle which was already running when we arrived. The car fired up and we broke through the smaller gate and out onto the road. The facility behind us was smoking profusely, the gaping bomb wound had crippled it severely. I turned back to the men who had retrieved me to thank them. As I began to speak, the shushed me. I looked at them curiously, the sweat gathering on my forehead. They quickly put a bag over my head. I began to speak and resist, but I felt a strong pinch on my arm, and I began to fall asleep.
I awoke in a small room, dimly lit and laying on a cot. Next to me was a table and a clock. There wasn’t much In the room except for a door and a gun in the corner. I looked at the ceiling. It was made of rock, crudely carved out. I tried to recall the past events, but my memory was still blurry. But it was calm for once. It was nice. I didn’t hear the machinery of the city, I didn’t breathe the air of pollution. My mind for some reason was at ease and I was not sure why. Perhaps it was a side effect of the drug I had been given.
I sat up in the bed, my arms and legs unshackled. I breathed in deeply, looking at the clock. It was 5pm. The clock softly ticked away. I must have sat on the bed for five minutes before standing up. As I stood, there was a knock on the door. I looked to it with fear. I walked to it and opened it. There stood a man with a large flak jacket on, a helmet and a gun on his back. He smiled to me. I looked behind him and saw what appeared to be a catacomb of tunnels and people working diligently. Some hade crates on top of carts, wheeling them around. Others were standing around talking. I did not recognize this place at all. The man saw my awestruck expression and guided me back in the room. The door stood open.
“Please, sit. You must be terribly confused.” He said. I nodded and sat on the edge of the bed. He pulled up a chair and sat down on it.
“My apologies for the way you were treated back there, being bag-headed and injected, all of that. Those boys tend to be a little rough with their retrievals. But you can’t argue. They come back with the package every time. Logical.” He said, partially to himself. He was dressed in a uniform I could not recognize. It was a full black vest, black jeans and combat boots. His face was gruff, but not dirty. His eyes were do dark that they seemed to be black. His demeanor was not threatening, which calmed my nerves.
“I have a feeling you do not know who we are.” He said with a smile. He pulled out a pack of cigarettes from his pocket. He flipped the top open and withdrew a single cigarette, and then gestured for me to take one. I politely declined, simply holding my hand up and softly shaking my head. He shrugged and lit up his cigarette.
“Yeah, it’s a bad habit.” He began, talking with the cigarette in his mouth. “I started a few years ago. We went out on a retrieval. Tylias agents assaulted a building on the coast, a few miles north of the capitol. Lot of dead kids. They massacred the place. Pointless murder in the name of a false god, you know? Well we got ambushed pretty bad. Our team captain was with us. Got his face shredded up badly. I was second in command, barely got us out of there with the subject.” He said, taking a long drag off the cigarette. He rolled up his right arm’s sleeve and showed a gruesome scar up the bottom of his forearm, traveling to his shoulder where it circumscribed his shoulder entirely. He must have seen my expression.
“Yeah, completely came off. Rumor has it that the gun I was holding was still firing when it hit the ground. Just goes to show you how self preservation helps. Wild firing of a APRS Rifle can decimate a room when you take the brain out of it. I lost a lot of blood, woke up two days later in a medic center. They somehow got to reassembling my arm. There’s some inorganic stuff in there. Wires, gears, hydraulics. Quite a miracle, isn’t it?” He said, smiling, almost sarcastic in his tone. I looked at him and nodded. He laughed softly.
“I spent a few days in the center, going through some therapy to regain control of the arm. They had me start simple, working with picking up something and setting it in a box, trivial actions for such a miraculous organ, huh? I went from that, to a Rubik’s cube. And then to practicing lighting cigarettes. Who knows? I guess it helped me get through that. I started threading needles and now I sometimes forget that I’m not 100% there you know?” He said chuckling, taking another large hit off of the cigarette.
“Well where are my manners? I’m sorry.” He stood up, which also gave me the feeling that I should stand too. He extended his right hand. I grabbed and shook it firmly, trying my best to appear more manly than this guy, even though there was no way in hell I could appear more masculine than him.
“I am Khodia. I run this facility. Once I heard of your location and your past experiences, I had to get you out. You’re a vital member in the FHC.”
“FHC?” I inquired. This name was unfamiliar to me.
“My apologies. We do our best to keep a low profile. No sense in blowing the load this early in the game right? We stay low and don’t draw too much attention. This is Free Human Coalition, Eastern Division. We run a pretty extensive system here. Undetectable here, anyway. The mountains are great for the headquarters. Radar is useless. We’ve got a mile or so of nickel and iron above us. No sonar or radio transmissions go on here. All we have is a PA system.” He said, pointing outside. He guided me out of the door, into the large cavernous area, littered with equipment.
“I must say Aluxio, I’m quite a fan of your speeches. You’re quite an inspiration, considering what you’ve been put through and what we’re up against. You’re a very important aspect in this effort. We take the physical aspects. You work with morale. Unfortunately, our work is far from finished.”
“Our work?” I said quietly.
“Yeah. We can’t gamble with your life, but we can’t help but do it. The situation at hand is a crucial juncture, to say the least. The FHC East and West divisions are working with Hkloia’s rebel organization, and are prepared to launch a large scale offensive in tandem, to our respective ‘fathers’. You will play a pivotal role in this. Considering your influence over the people’s minds, we can greatly reduce the resistance we encounter from them in future assignments.”
“How will I be helping?” I asked. We had started walking down the corridor. The walls were dark and treacherous, lined with miner and barge lights. We passed groups of rebel soldiers who amongst themselves, pointed and murmured.
"We’ve set up a small facility in this fortified area. Especially for you. It hacks its way into mainstream media outlet centers, piggybacking on their signals. When broadcast, the signal switches, and instead of the original programming, your voice comes through. With this tool, we can effectively speak to millions of people simultaneously, spreading the word of the FHC and beginning our campaign to turn the radical around. It’s an exercise in futility to try and ‘talk’ to Tylias members and expect a human reaction, so our goal is to acquire the hearts and minds of the populace. If this works, we can reduce the time it takes to complete the plan.
“The plan?” I asked. We had arrived at a large iron door with a wheel on the center. He grabbed the wheel and began turning it. It appeared to be very heavy. The wheel squeaked and groaned, and after a few seconds of turning, the door hissed loudly. A hydraulic arm released, and a small jet of compressed air fired out from a hinge, and the door slowly opened widely.
“The plan? I can’t really discuss it yet. You’ve been captured once, and as much as I’d like to inform you, you still pose a threat as far as vital information being leaked. Instead of training you for a few weeks on detained silence, we can use the time more wisely and just not tell you. But you shouldn’t be concerned, as in due time you will find out what the plan is.”
His explanation seemed airtight. He was right, I was captured once, and I can’t guarantee I’ll be free for the rest of my life. Why risk having the enemy find out a plan that’s been worked on for a long time? You wouldn’t chance it. The door opened and we walked down a long hallway to another smaller door. He opened it and motioned for me to walk in first. I was standing in front of a small panel of switches and dials, wires covered the ground, and a series of computing machines lined the walls and tables. Two small screens sat at a table in front of a keyboard.
“Here’s where you’ll shine. Our little pirate ship. We’ve got all of your re-routing systems in place. If they are able to pick up the signal and track it, which is highly unlikely, they’ll be sent to an arctic wasteland far north. Inhospitable.”
“How did you manage to get all of this done?” I asked. “I mean, this is incredible. It really is.” I said, stunned that such technologically advanced equipment was in their possession."
“The FHC is comprised of people from all walks of life. Engineers, computer hackers, ex soldiers, astronauts, architects, construction workers, Military tacticians, gunsmiths, scientists, medics. Everything that we could possibly utilize is within our reach. You are one of the last things we needed. Not a skill that can be learned, but more of a talent. The ability to get through to people.”
“Have you written anything for me to say?” I asked timidly.
“If we were to write the things we want you to say, than there’d be no use to rescue you. We need you because only you can do what you do.” He said, smiling. He flipped a small switch on the wall, and a set of bright ceiling lights flickered on. A humming filled the room, signifying electrical current.
"Basically we have an outline of certain things you need to say at certain times. You will encourage people to do “certain things” as our plan progresses. Other than that, you need to keep the people aware of what’s going on."
“How often?”
“Once or twice a week during the time when most people will be viewing. Around 7-9 pm.” He said.
“So you guys have really planned all of this stuff out, haven’t you?” I asked politely. I was more than impressed by the array of technology at their disposal. They seemed to have lots of guns and computers. And I had seen very little of the complex. Who knows what else they have.
“Definitely. We are a well oiled machine. Which means we can and will eliminate all security threats and anything that poses a problem to the plan.” He gestured to me, implying that I should watch what I do. I had no intentions of compromising this “plan”.
He thoroughly walked me through the power-up phases of the machinery in the small room. The various things I needed to make certain my voice was heard all over the continent. He showed me plugs and ports, wires and codes to break into the mainframe and display all of the information I would need during my broadcasts. He then handed me a small packet in a large envelope. It was filled with paperwork, of which I could not see. I reached down to the opening to peek inside.
“I would caution you to make sure that you remain the only person that sees this information, aside from me and a few other people.”
“What is in here?” I questioned, trying my best to sneak peeks into the folder.
“Just ‘bullet points’. Some things to keep in mind during your dialogues.” He said, leaning against the wall. I looked inside finally without concerning myself with him. The packet was of substantial size. Easily fifty pages.
“How many of these ‘speeches’ am I supposed to give?” I asked, concerned at the amount of paperwork in the envelope. He smiled and walked to the doorway, motioning for me to follow him. I placed the envelope on the table and followed out to the hallway.
“How many? Well that depends on how well your delivery is, and how many people you get to.” He said, raising his eyebrows.
“So what…two or three?” I followed up. He replied with scoff and a bewildered look.
“My friend, you could easily be giving fifty of these speeches. This is not a one day process.” He laughed, placing his hand on my shoulder. We walked through the second heavy door and re-entered the large cavern. People were still bustling around, moving equipment and exchanging orders. Most of them were dressed in a similar fashion. Somewhat loose fitting pants, rolled up sleeves, combat boots, black shirts and a weapon strapped to their side.
I could only reply to his news with a halfhearted nod and a mumble. He shook his head wearily and continued forward.
Khodia led me to a large room about a five minute walk from the broadcasting room. It was a long room with two long tables set up running parallel to the walls.
“Here’s where we do a lot of briefings for our various assignments. You will probably find yourself in this room for a few missions. Thanks to your people skills, you may also come in handy as a negotiator and other-people related things during our runs.”
“Wait…in combat?” I interrupted, stunned.
“Yeah. We tend to go into rather populated areas where the civilians…dislike our presence.” He said, struggling to come up with a suitable term for the civilians distaste for the FHC. “You’d be a useful entity when we have to convince people that we are helping them. You’ll be AA’ed and escorted by a team of soldiers who only stick to you.” He said.
“AA’ed?”
“Armed and Armored. You’ll suit up just like everyone else. No weaklings here. No dead weight. You’ll have a little bit more protection since you serve a multitude of uses.” He explained, leading me to the front of the room. A small step elevated you above the rest of the room, allowing for a stage-like feel to be had.
“You needn’t worry. You’re going to be just fine. You’ve been shot, yeah?” He asked, butting his cigarette against the cement wall, leaving a small scorch mark.
“Uh. Yeah. When I was captured, two years ago. I was shot three times in the leg with a splitter.”
“Your leg must have been wasted.” He chuckled, looking at my feet.
“Uh..No. More of a ‘grazing’.” I said timidly, embarrassed at my weak nature in comparison.
“Ah. Not too bad. You made it out lucky with that kind of gun. Usually that’s a situation where you kiss that appendage goodbye. Hurt, didn’t it?” He smirked.
“Of course.” I replied sheepishly. He grabbed my shoulder and led me out of this room and back into the cave corridor.
“Well what do you feel like seeing next? How about we visit the range!” He smiled, filling with excitement. I was able to tell that shooting weaponry was a hobby of his, as he did not hide his excitement at the mere thought of it.
“Gun range? What kind of facility is this?” I asked, again taken aback at the commodities this place offered. He smiled and led me down the corridor farther into the complex. We passed more and more FHC members who were not shy about staring at me.
“We’ve spent a lot of money and a lot of time on this place to make sure it is the perfect staging area for this revolution. A lot of the key players are being acquired, and all of the pieces are coming together. We have everything we need to keep our senses and skills sharp and prepare for as many unforeseen events as possible. We’d hate to see this all come to an end so soon, right?” He nodded to me. I agreed softly, still overwhelmed by the resourcefulness of this man and his followers.

Messiah - Part 1

Visceral Creations

Kent, United States

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Artist's Description

This was started as a practice writing to help sharpen some vocabulary. I gave up that goal almost immediately and began writing for the hell of it. This story was supposed to be about two countries who oppress their people, and two respective rebel forces in each country communicating with each other and working out a plan to get both countries to go to war and destroy each other. Aluxio (Which means ‘light’ in another language) is a activist in a futuristic (think 2090) North-America type continent which suffers from a religious based governing body who heavily censors media and punishes those who disobey, oftentimes with death. Not much has changed since now. A major war has destroyed 94% of literature and art that was made from the 19th, 20th, and 21st century. Remnants occasionally are discovered and are immediately destroyed by the government to keep the people ignorant and under their control. If people were to read that there once existed a world where community were free and could speak their minds without the fear of death looming over them, they would revolt. As a result from this terribly destructive war, domestic technology has not advanced much. Combustion engines are still a major form of transportation, television, though heavily monitored and technologically advanced, is still the same concept as before. Some new forms of urban warfare are introduced, mainly guns and weaponry have advanced. Aluxio is sent to prison by this tyrannical government and for two years remains there until he is broken out by the FHC (Free Human Coalition) as the final piece in their plan to free the oppressed people and return the planet into the world that they had only heard stories of.

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