Board Thread:Writer's Workshop/@comment-25209833-20140722020057

CHAPTER 1

THE FALL HAS RISEN

There was once a time when all peoples of Earth had one thing, one idea in common. Some people called it God, some called it self-worth, since the beginning of human history, humankind has survived horrors as numerous as the stars with this idea. The idea of human power, the power of conscience. It could never be extinguished, it was beauty, it was pain, it was sorrow, it was hope. The society that developed from this idea knew beauty, pain, sorrow and hope, but still wanted more. They wanted peace.

Fascist leaders in the 20th century sought to create a perfect, peaceful society by eliminating those that were different. But that scared non-idealists, who also feared for their own safety, and the world fought back. Those that defeated the Fascists, their identity is no longer important, decided that no one specific race would ever suffer alone again. In the next century, the war for an ideal society at the expense of others lives became taboo.

However, a social restriction on speaking one’s mind did not last long in the age of technology and the internet. Information and ideas from the old war brought up tension between nationalists, idealists, and a new group of people, Memortists. These people considered themselves superior, but expressed it in a rather strange way. Memortists did not antagonize technology for spreading information, nor did they approve of it. As a matter of fact, Memortists didn’t have an opinion on anything. They simply existed for the purpose of existing. Many considered their personalities to be “basic” and “lacking depth.” They were the kind of people that used memes in the real world.

Nationalists, who were interested only in their countries well-being, sought to contain the spread of ideas that hurt the credibility of their countries. Idealists, who lived for the chaos of mass enlightenment, sought to use technology to spread new ideas across the globe. The two parties played a constant game, back and forth. Neither side was able to achieve a significant political advantage. If they were in power, nationalists would bring about the old ways of politics, that often led to unnecessary war over simple things. Idealists would take control away from war mongers and empower the people. At first glance, the idealists seem like a far more moral party, but the resulting destruction from mass movements of people overtaking nations would just just as, if not more devastating than war.

Massive riots that decimated entire cities were beginning, and everyone around the world was trying to prevent total disaster. Ideas sought minds to be kept in, some called it a parasite, others, a gift. But anyone could recognize that the huge spread of ideas was destroying society. An actively Memortist company, Lepora, began funding containment procedures. Memortists, who had never before been outspoken, used the tension in the political structure as a spring to quickly rise to power. The world could do nothing but watch and wait to see what they would do. Would they initiate war? Would they find some way to diffuse the tension and save billions of lives?

On August 25th, 2001, Lepora, which was a broadcasting company that had operational stations around the world, aired a television news report that shocked the world. Nuclear weapons were being assembled, and would be completed and launched on September 10th that year. Ex-cold war politicians retorted with speed that is best described as scary. They threatened to use their own nuclear weapons against Lepora should the nuclear weapon project continue.

<p dir="ltr" style="line-height:1.15;margin-top:0pt;margin-bottom:0pt;text-indent:36pt;"><span style="font-size:16px;font-family:Arial;color:#000000;font-weight:normal;font-variant:normal;text-decoration:none;vertical-align:baseline;white-space:pre-wrap;">Lepora ignored the threat and continued with the construction of nuclear weapons, but offered an alternative. In a report similar to the first, Lepora issued a speech to the world. It is titled “The contract of life.” Every nation was given its own individual choice, known as the “final decision.” They could choose peace, or war. Naturally, most nations chose peace except those that were actively anti-Memortist.

<p dir="ltr" style="line-height:1.15;margin-top:0pt;margin-bottom:0pt;text-indent:36pt;"><span style="font-size:16px;font-family:Arial;color:#000000;font-weight:normal;font-variant:normal;text-decoration:none;vertical-align:baseline;white-space:pre-wrap;">So began the end.

'''

'''

<p dir="ltr" style="line-height:1.15;margin-top:0pt;margin-bottom:0pt;text-indent:36pt;"><span style="font-size:16px;font-family:Arial;color:#000000;font-weight:normal;font-variant:normal;text-decoration:none;vertical-align:baseline;white-space:pre-wrap;">September 10th, 2001, Lepora’s nuclear missiles devastated nations that had chosen war. Counter-attack missiles had been launched in retaliation, and scarred the world. The fallout of such nuclear devastation left the Earth all but uninhabitable. For the first month, survivors had to be held in lead lined shelters. For the next year, hazmat suits were required to leave shelters for no more than 5 hours at a time. By 2005, it was decided that the atmosphere was clear enough to be outside without a hazmat suit, but predicted that gasmasks would be required for the next 100 years.

'''

'''

<p dir="ltr" style="line-height:1.15;margin-top:0pt;margin-bottom:0pt;text-align:center;"><span style="font-size:32px;font-family:Iceland;color:#000000;font-weight:normal;font-variant:normal;text-decoration:none;vertical-align:baseline;white-space:pre-wrap;">CHAPTER 2

<p dir="ltr" style="line-height:1.15;margin-top:0pt;margin-bottom:0pt;text-align:center;"><span style="font-size:19px;font-family:Iceland;color:#000000;font-weight:normal;font-variant:normal;text-decoration:none;vertical-align:baseline;white-space:pre-wrap;">PRISONERS OF OUR OWN CONSCIOUS

<p dir="ltr" style="line-height:1.15;margin-top:0pt;margin-bottom:0pt;"><span style="font-size:16px;font-family:Arial;color:#000000;font-weight:normal;font-variant:normal;text-decoration:none;vertical-align:baseline;white-space:pre-wrap;">The devastation of the nuclear attack may not have killed everyone, but it most definitely reached everyone. Derek, a man in his 20s at the time of the attack, survived in his basement as it was located 25 miles from the detonation zone of a fission bomb. The upper floors of his house apartment may be destroyed, he doesn’t know. He hasn’t left his basement since the first threats of nuclear war over a year ago. Since then, he has developed a fear of going outside and hasn’t communicated with another person face to face in that time.

<p dir="ltr" style="line-height:1.15;margin-top:0pt;margin-bottom:0pt;"><span style="font-size:16px;font-family:Arial;color:#000000;font-weight:normal;font-variant:normal;text-decoration:none;vertical-align:baseline;white-space:pre-wrap;">Derek had initially tried to remain in contact with others via electronics, though much communication was clouded and unclear due to the nuclear radiation in the air. However, he started feeling that someone, or something, was trying to get him by getting him to come outside his shelter. In panicked response, he discontinued all communication and locked himself away hoping to survive on what rations he had. He purposely refused to give out any personal information, not even his name, should it be used against him.

<p dir="ltr" style="line-height:1.15;margin-top:0pt;margin-bottom:0pt;"><span style="font-size:16px;font-family:Arial;color:#000000;font-weight:normal;font-variant:normal;text-decoration:none;vertical-align:baseline;white-space:pre-wrap;">Then there was a knock on the door. Derek concluded that whatever was after him, the government, a person, a non corporeal entity, it must work like a vampire. It can’t enter the shelter unless he lets it in. Derek had no intention of doing so. A voice called from outside the door, it was a “friend”, who was concerned as to why Derek hadn’t been online in a while. “They, it, whatever, is trying to try me into going outside, I just know it, but i won’t let it. Its just a deception!” After a few hours of pleading and knocking, the voice went away. Derek lulled himself to sleep on a glass of powdered milk and fresh spam.

<p dir="ltr" style="line-height:1.15;margin-top:0pt;margin-bottom:0pt;"><span style="font-size:16px;font-family:Arial;color:#000000;font-weight:normal;font-variant:normal;text-decoration:none;vertical-align:baseline;white-space:pre-wrap;">Three quick, echoing taps on the door and a sound similar to that of a raven taking flight soon startled Derek awake. A deep, aged voice emitted from behind the closed door, " Derek? We know you're in there! We've come to take you away from here, to a safe place. You'll see people again, you'll be happy, you'll be human. Isn't that something you want?" The mans words sent Derek into a fit of panicked, sporadic breaths. <span style="font-size:16px;font-family:Arial;color:#000000;font-weight:normal;font-style:italic;font-variant:normal;text-decoration:none;vertical-align:baseline;white-space:pre-wrap;">How the heebeejeebee do they know my name? <span style="font-size:16px;font-family:Arial;color:#000000;font-weight:normal;font-variant:normal;text-decoration:none;vertical-align:baseline;white-space:pre-wrap;">  The voice spoke again, with a calm and authoritative tone, "My name is Dr. NAME, Jarl to my friends. You can call me Jarl. I am a doctor and I'm here to help you. Living enclosed like you are is inhumane. Please, open the door."

<p dir="ltr" style="line-height:1.15;margin-top:0pt;margin-bottom:0pt;text-indent:36pt;"><span style="font-size:16px;font-family:Arial;color:#000000;font-weight:normal;font-variant:normal;text-decoration:none;vertical-align:baseline;white-space:pre-wrap;">But a scream interrupted their conversation and disgruntled yelling from behind the door alarmed Derek, as he recognized the voices of some of his neighbors whom he hadn’t even realized had survived the nuclear attacks. Those neighbors were terrified, it sounded like they were being forcibly removed from their home. Light-headedness began to consume Derek, and a small hissing started coming from somewhere in the apartment. Soon, the room began to melt, and behind the walls were entire colonies of snakes. Derek approached the wall of reptiles and stood motionless for a few moments, then reached out to one particularly aggressive snake. It swiftly snapped at Derek’s hand and drew blood. Reeling from the pain and fear, an overwhelming sensation of nausea overcame the poor man, who fell to the floor while running to get a band-aid for his “snake bite.”

<p dir="ltr" style="line-height:1.15;margin-top:0pt;margin-bottom:0pt;text-align:center;"><span style="font-size:32px;font-family:Iceland;color:#000000;font-weight:normal;font-variant:normal;text-decoration:none;vertical-align:baseline;white-space:pre-wrap;">CHAPTER 3

<p dir="ltr" style="line-height:1.15;margin-top:0pt;margin-bottom:0pt;text-align:center;"><span style="font-size:19px;font-family:Iceland;color:#000000;font-weight:normal;font-variant:normal;text-decoration:none;vertical-align:baseline;white-space:pre-wrap;">this is the subtitle

 

<p dir="ltr" style="line-height:1.15;margin-top:0pt;margin-bottom:0pt;text-indent:36pt;"><span style="font-size:16px;font-family:Arial;color:#000000;font-weight:normal;font-variant:normal;text-decoration:none;vertical-align:baseline;white-space:pre-wrap;">Derek woke up with a nagging headache on the right side of his brain. And, more disturbingly, he was not in his basement anymore. Someone, or something, had brought him to a holding cell, the floor, walls and ceiling were metal, but they seemed to soften over time as one would stay in one position until it was completely contoured to ones body, possibly as an alternative to a bed. A small window, perhaps meant for food, offered little insight as to where he was. Marching could be heard in the distance at all times, sometimes accompanied by voices, commands, dampened by the thick walls of the facility. Derek tried to listen to the commands, but they just seemed to be unintelligible murmurs from so far away.

<p dir="ltr" style="line-height:1.15;margin-top:0pt;margin-bottom:0pt;"><span style="font-size:16px;font-family:Arial;color:#000000;font-weight:normal;font-variant:normal;text-decoration:none;vertical-align:baseline;white-space:pre-wrap;">Derek’s endeavors were interrupted by a sudden pounding on the steel door, sounding almost metal on metal. A pale female, who seemed as though the very will to live had been drained from her, cautiously creaked open the thick metal door. She wore a large black trenchcoat that draped over most physical features and a gas mask that covered half her face. Her hair was short, and the only time she could be identified as a girl was when she spoke. “You will follow, and you will obey, or you will die.” Her voice was strange, it was heavily modified through voice changers in the black gas mask. The original voice seemed like it was once strong, but had become weak from disuse. The voice changers tried to account for this, but they had the opposite effect, they made her sound rather silly.

<p dir="ltr" style="line-height:1.15;margin-top:0pt;margin-bottom:0pt;"><span style="font-size:16px;font-family:Arial;color:#000000;font-weight:normal;font-variant:normal;text-decoration:none;vertical-align:baseline;white-space:pre-wrap;">Derek found the courage to follow and obey, for he did not wish to die.

<p dir="ltr" style="line-height:1.15;margin-top:0pt;margin-bottom:0pt;">

<p dir="ltr" style="line-height:1.15;margin-top:0pt;margin-bottom:0pt;text-indent:36pt;"><span style="font-size:16px;font-family:Arial;color:#000000;font-weight:normal;font-variant:normal;text-decoration:none;vertical-align:baseline;white-space:pre-wrap;">As the girl led him through a series of corridors that seemed to go on forever, a host of inhumanities greeted any unprepared souls. Behind a chamber made entirely of plexiglass, a young boy, perhaps 11 years old, was strapped to a flimsy wooden chair with old rope that an adult could break through easily. A thick orange gas was released into the chamber that completely veiled the child, though he could be seen choking on the gas seconds before. The girl that was leading Derek tapped him and motioned him to follow with earnest eyes; eyes that implored Derek to follow, as if they already knew the results of what would happen in the chamber and were trying to save him the pain.

<p dir="ltr" style="line-height:1.15;margin-top:0pt;margin-bottom:0pt;text-indent:36pt;"><span style="font-size:16px;font-family:Arial;color:#000000;font-weight:normal;font-variant:normal;text-decoration:none;vertical-align:baseline;white-space:pre-wrap;">Curiosity is stubborn, though Derek obeyed the girl, he looked back and the gas had cleared. The boy seemed more adolescent now, and had broken from the rope and chair. More disturbingly though, he was on the ground, either dead or dying, but all hairs and nails were still growing rapidly. Derek cringed, his powdered milk almost returned to him. He continued following the girl, who now refused to turn towards Derek. As she brought him further into the facility, Derek decided to obey her warning and refused to look into the chambers no matter what sound he heard coming from inside.

<p dir="ltr" style="line-height:1.15;margin-top:0pt;margin-bottom:0pt;text-indent:36pt;"><span style="font-size:16px;font-family:Arial;color:#000000;font-weight:normal;font-variant:normal;text-decoration:none;vertical-align:baseline;white-space:pre-wrap;">Soon, the halls would end at a door labeled simply: “THERAP.” The Y and part of the P were scratched off, seemingly from someone, or something’s nails, from holding onto the door for dear life. Whatever “therapy” meant, it certainly was not helpful. A quiet weeping could be heard from inside. Derek entered cautiously, anxious and nervous, but prepared to see another dreadful victim of this facility. However, what he saw was more shocking than he had anticipated. A man that wore a similar dark trench coat to Derek’s detainer, if perhaps, longer and covering his body more effectively. But most disturbing, a gas mask than covered his entire face, with large bug-eyed glass lenses and a beak-like filter like those of doctors in the Dark Ages. His overall appearance and aura stank of despair.

<p dir="ltr" style="line-height:1.15;margin-top:0pt;margin-bottom:0pt;text-indent:36pt;"><span style="font-size:16px;font-family:Arial;color:#000000;font-weight:normal;font-variant:normal;text-decoration:none;vertical-align:baseline;white-space:pre-wrap;">The man did not acknowledge Derek or his detainer, he simply continued weeping on a console in front of a large window. Occasionally small, disconnected words could be heard, “I am… the cure… do not… be… afraid...”. Suddenly, the man jerked his head up and around; he pulled a silenced pistol from inside his coat, shot the girl in the dark trenchcoat. Then he lunged at Derek, pinning him to the ground. “My purpose is to keep you from resisting treatment, are you going to resist treatment?” His whispered voice sounded terrified. Derek’s curiosity and  fear finally got the best of him so he dared to ask, “What treatment are you talking about?”

<p dir="ltr" style="line-height:1.15;margin-top:0pt;margin-bottom:0pt;text-indent:36pt;"><span style="font-size:16px;font-family:Arial;color:#000000;font-weight:normal;font-variant:normal;text-decoration:none;vertical-align:baseline;white-space:pre-wrap;">“Lepora seeks to control the world by controlling the minds of all peoples. You are immune to that control, you are sick. Do not be afraid, I am the cure.” Before Derek could react, the girl who had been shot, sat up mechanically, and her eyes glowed. Her voice was entirely from the gasmask, “Freedom Leads to disorder, Peace comes through-” Before she could finish, the dark ages doctor tore her gas mask from her face. For a minute, she just sat there, puzzled. Then she began to tremble, and purple fluid foamed from her mouth. Her eyes rolled back as she squirmed on the ground before finally becoming limp.

<p dir="ltr" style="line-height:1.15;margin-top:0pt;margin-bottom:0pt;text-indent:36pt;"><span style="font-size:16px;font-family:Arial;color:#000000;font-weight:normal;font-variant:normal;text-decoration:none;vertical-align:baseline;white-space:pre-wrap;">“Do you not understand, I am here to help you. I am on your side, Derek.” The doctor motioned for Derek to take the gas mask, but Derek, terrified, flinched and drew his hand away. “It is deactivated, it will not do anything besides mask your identity and allow to pass through the compound safely.”

'''

'''

<p dir="ltr" style="line-height:1.15;margin-top:0pt;margin-bottom:0pt;text-indent:36pt;"><span style="font-size:16px;font-family:Arial;color:#000000;font-weight:normal;font-variant:normal;text-decoration:none;vertical-align:baseline;white-space:pre-wrap;">doctor is a ploy to brainwash derek

<p dir="ltr" style="line-height:1.15;margin-top:0pt;margin-bottom:0pt;text-indent:36pt;"><span style="font-size:16px;font-family:Arial;color:#000000;font-weight:normal;font-variant:normal;text-decoration:none;vertical-align:baseline;white-space:pre-wrap;">he lets derek think he is being saved

<p dir="ltr" style="line-height:1.15;margin-top:0pt;margin-bottom:0pt;text-indent:36pt;"><span style="font-size:16px;font-family:Arial;color:#000000;font-weight:normal;font-variant:normal;text-decoration:none;vertical-align:baseline;white-space:pre-wrap;">Derek is assimilated into the brainwashed society

<p dir="ltr" style="line-height:1.15;margin-top:0pt;margin-bottom:0pt;text-indent:36pt;"><span style="font-size:16px;font-family:Arial;color:#000000;font-weight:normal;font-variant:normal;text-decoration:none;vertical-align:baseline;white-space:pre-wrap;">Gets brainwashed over time through multiple "secret" meetings with the doctor

<p dir="ltr" style="line-height:1.15;margin-top:0pt;margin-bottom:0pt;text-indent:36pt;"><span style="font-size:16px;font-family:Arial;color:#000000;font-weight:normal;font-variant:normal;text-decoration:none;vertical-align:baseline;white-space:pre-wrap;">when he realizes this, derek retaliates

<p dir="ltr" style="line-height:1.15;margin-top:0pt;margin-bottom:0pt;text-indent:36pt;"><span style="font-size:16px;font-family:Arial;color:#000000;font-weight:normal;font-variant:normal;text-decoration:none;vertical-align:baseline;white-space:pre-wrap;">soldiers rush in and kill derek

<span style="font-size:16px;font-family:Arial;color:rgb(0,0,0);white-space:pre-wrap;">CEOs daughter sees this, leads to later rebellion

<span style="color:rgb(0,0,0);font-family:Arial;font-size:16px;line-height:18.399999618530273px;text-indent:48px;white-space:pre-wrap;">This is what I want to do with the story so far. Additionaly, I want to create two more story arcs. One following the CEO's daughter leading the rebellion. Thirdly, the aftermath of the rebellion, following a middle aged man that loses his friends, family, and his sanity. If you're not fluent in Latin, you should know that Optio means choice, and -cide is the systematic mass destruction of something. Any criticism is welcomed. <ac_metadata title="Optiocide(A Work in Progress)"> </ac_metadata>