02-15-2016, 01:29 PM
June 2010
The city was its own Abyss.
It’d be a long time since the city-states had gone to war, and from the look of things, they’d had plenty of time to build up grudges. In a matter of days, the bureaucracy had fallen apart and the militaries had stepped up to handle the situation. Karl had to respect the collection of generals who had realized the vacuum created at City Hall, but he’d be damned if he was pleased with anything going on in the streets below Syntech headquarters.
People were dying by the hundreds.
Nearly a fifth of Central City had been damaged.
But the worst thing of all? The company had shelved Dante’s Abyss. Despite the fact that the competition was held off-world, the other members of the board had decided it was in their best interests to ‘postpone the event until a time when it can occur in an atmosphere of no violence.’ Apparently there were some idiots out there who thought the notion of holding the competition was ‘heartless’ given the situation unfolding across the continent.
Of course, Karl Jak didn’t care, and while there were plenty of people who would critique his lack of empathy, he knew most of the planet didn’t care about the confrontation between Central City and South City. The producer had done his research months before the violence started, and he knew that West City’s military-industrial complex stood to benefit the most from a skirmish between its two sister sisters. The nest of Capsule Corp produced equipment, materiel, and technology for every other place on the planet, and since the company didn’t allow production outside of West City, there was no out sourcing of profits.
Karl sighed as he stared out the window of his office. Although the building had since been reinforced with ablative steel plating—the same stuff they made fleet ships out of—he’d dished out top dollar to have his windows replaced with television screens. Through his connections and position, he had access to most of the CCTV. What had once been a massive window was now an enormous screen broken up into various views of the city’s streets. From his computer, he could swap out different feeds, and he could even focus in on certain areas if he wanted to watch in more detail.
All the while, he had his computer recording the data. While he was certain none of it was legal, he also knew that the footage would be worth its weight in gold. Reporters were having a hard time broadcasting from the ‘affected areas,’ which meant information was at a premium.
And if he couldn’t host his own Abyss, Karl could at least derive a mild degree of entertainment from watching the soldiers and super soldiers on the streets of the city. What amused him the most was that he noticed a few of the individuals dressed in combat green—they had participated in Damon’s Abyss. Unfortunately, the winner wasn’t among those fighting in the streets, otherwise Karl was certain he could have made a fortune off of whether or not the blue-haired princess survived the toils of ‘real war.’
Sighing once more as the feeds showed him more of the same, Karl wheeled his chair in the other direction and glanced over at the three-dimensional scale model of the island. With any luck, the board would let the competition commence after hostilities between the cities concluded. By the look of the half-assed skirmishes, the violence would become anything but eternal, which meant he’d be able to go back to the work he enjoyed.
In the meantime, he could at least tinker with his plans. The little scale model had a nice shine to it—a sheen common in unmolested plastic or freshly glazed ceramics. Walking over to it, Karl took a knee in front of the table and reached out to adjust the little clinic. After he rotated it back to its correct orientation, he brushed off some of the dust that had accumulated across the rest of the model.
Everyone loves a clinic.
The buildings were his favorite part—people always seemed to flock to them at one stage or another, hoping for resources or to cling to model society they’d abandoned the moment they signed on the dotted line. How many people had died attempting to bunker down in farmhouses or schools or police stations?
Tapping the clinic on its roof, Karl smirked. “And how many people will flock to you for shelter only to find that they had to abandon all hope the instant they left the helicopter?”
The city was its own Abyss.
It’d be a long time since the city-states had gone to war, and from the look of things, they’d had plenty of time to build up grudges. In a matter of days, the bureaucracy had fallen apart and the militaries had stepped up to handle the situation. Karl had to respect the collection of generals who had realized the vacuum created at City Hall, but he’d be damned if he was pleased with anything going on in the streets below Syntech headquarters.
People were dying by the hundreds.
Nearly a fifth of Central City had been damaged.
But the worst thing of all? The company had shelved Dante’s Abyss. Despite the fact that the competition was held off-world, the other members of the board had decided it was in their best interests to ‘postpone the event until a time when it can occur in an atmosphere of no violence.’ Apparently there were some idiots out there who thought the notion of holding the competition was ‘heartless’ given the situation unfolding across the continent.
Of course, Karl Jak didn’t care, and while there were plenty of people who would critique his lack of empathy, he knew most of the planet didn’t care about the confrontation between Central City and South City. The producer had done his research months before the violence started, and he knew that West City’s military-industrial complex stood to benefit the most from a skirmish between its two sister sisters. The nest of Capsule Corp produced equipment, materiel, and technology for every other place on the planet, and since the company didn’t allow production outside of West City, there was no out sourcing of profits.
Karl sighed as he stared out the window of his office. Although the building had since been reinforced with ablative steel plating—the same stuff they made fleet ships out of—he’d dished out top dollar to have his windows replaced with television screens. Through his connections and position, he had access to most of the CCTV. What had once been a massive window was now an enormous screen broken up into various views of the city’s streets. From his computer, he could swap out different feeds, and he could even focus in on certain areas if he wanted to watch in more detail.
All the while, he had his computer recording the data. While he was certain none of it was legal, he also knew that the footage would be worth its weight in gold. Reporters were having a hard time broadcasting from the ‘affected areas,’ which meant information was at a premium.
And if he couldn’t host his own Abyss, Karl could at least derive a mild degree of entertainment from watching the soldiers and super soldiers on the streets of the city. What amused him the most was that he noticed a few of the individuals dressed in combat green—they had participated in Damon’s Abyss. Unfortunately, the winner wasn’t among those fighting in the streets, otherwise Karl was certain he could have made a fortune off of whether or not the blue-haired princess survived the toils of ‘real war.’
Sighing once more as the feeds showed him more of the same, Karl wheeled his chair in the other direction and glanced over at the three-dimensional scale model of the island. With any luck, the board would let the competition commence after hostilities between the cities concluded. By the look of the half-assed skirmishes, the violence would become anything but eternal, which meant he’d be able to go back to the work he enjoyed.
In the meantime, he could at least tinker with his plans. The little scale model had a nice shine to it—a sheen common in unmolested plastic or freshly glazed ceramics. Walking over to it, Karl took a knee in front of the table and reached out to adjust the little clinic. After he rotated it back to its correct orientation, he brushed off some of the dust that had accumulated across the rest of the model.
Everyone loves a clinic.
The buildings were his favorite part—people always seemed to flock to them at one stage or another, hoping for resources or to cling to model society they’d abandoned the moment they signed on the dotted line. How many people had died attempting to bunker down in farmhouses or schools or police stations?
Tapping the clinic on its roof, Karl smirked. “And how many people will flock to you for shelter only to find that they had to abandon all hope the instant they left the helicopter?”
![[Image: KarlSig.jpg]](http://omniverse-rpg.com/images/KarlSig.jpg)