Gotta get down on BONEday!
Banned - Politics
- Oct 6, 2019
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Smog over Gavrancom grew unnaturally thick, and stishacs were sent to guard places where plasma filters didn't hold it off. Pathways in the gray vomitted people with sunburnt brains who only ate sugar in celebrations and whose clothing didn't repair itself. Armored vans exchanged gold and electronics for paper at cutthroat rates, whose holders would go to buy salt, vegetables, and reusable batteries in the open, but sold people, bootlegs, and weapons in secrecy. Humanity's filth swarmed back to the space between islands of civilization, knowing themselves to be twice as unsuitable for two cities, and residents hurried to workplaces whose air was scrubbed of the scalvenge-smog.
You and twelve hundred other people were supposed to be completely shielded from this weather by your autoplex, but an explosion heralded intruders onto its security. The initial stishac response had direly underestimated their bodypower, unable to strike them down in subsequent ambushes as the scalvengers beelined into the administration sector. When they broke into its bridge, your execusorceror shut the daedalizer down so he could fully unleash his magic unto these barbarians. The sudden straightening of geometry brought bewildered terror to everyone, but the unknown sounds ringing from above were far worse.
It was not enough. When daedalization turned on, the whole skybox was filled with the face of a scarred man whose prosthetic eyes were mismatched stains of glass, and with a electronic valve prominently embedded into his throat. "Your previous lord is dead! This autoplex, and all its inhabitants, are now my property." was his croaking gloat, and the press of a button at his neck signaled for the disposable lungs of him and his associates to exhale all their smog, while the skybox transitioned to external view. People looked out false windows to see that the smog acknowledged this with its even worse thickness. Chirring countergravitic projectors pushed the autoplex past that mat of particles, revealing a sky that was clear in a foreign way with the same sun in a different place and size, and a landscape never mapped by Amerigo Vespucci where near-abandoned kilostructures filled the horizon. These marauders had forcefully ripped your home off the face of the Earth, through the orbit of Venus, past the ring of rust vultures, and underneath the eclipse machine, to the failed gigacity of Scalvenge.
Capturing this autoplex was easier for Pruvaké Uldrammus to achieve than holding onto, or keeping his own life for that matter. In less than a week the stishacs had reorganized and beheaded him for his grand theft. For your work in leading the recapture of this autoplex, they have deferred leadership over it to you, believing that you're the most qualified to lead the autoplex back to Earth. This is an impossible feat with its present systems, and you are not going to give up power by simply selling it through the scalvenge-smog to another execusorceror. This is the tale of how you and your autoplex escaped from the alleged, "sixth finger".
Begin by entering your name and pronouns.