Aurora Comics Project

[Rechkalov]

And we all know what I mean by tragedy

 

I'm going to assume a bwoink.

[Rechkalov]

Frontpage update with hopes of creating an illusion of order

 

Present state of affairs

which is a queer way of calling the mess this has so quickly become

 

Aspiring contributors

1138

Bokaza

canon35

Jennalele

nursiekitty

redfield5

Rusty Shackleford

Tainavaa

Actual contributors

Gollee

Thundy

HIC SVNT DRACONES

Processed by Ricky

Processed by Rech

 

[hivefleetchicken]

And we all know what I mean by tragedy

 

I'm going to assume a bwoink.

 

 

Screaming won't save you. Stuttering surely won't.

Nah but seriously fam I have 20 stories all about me conducting standoffs but none of them are comic book material and instead more like storytelling material. I dunno'.

[Rechkalov]

Nah but seriously fam I have 20 stories all about me conducting standoffs but none of them are comic book material and instead more like storytelling material. I dunno'.

 

There's no doubt in my mind that you could easily come up with a comics-material story if you'd like to.

That being said, nobody's forcing you to. Go through the trouble if you wish to and/or suspect you might enjoy it, do not if you have better things to do (I can think of a dozen off the top of my head).

[Rechkalov]

ABOUT WRITING NOVELS/SHORT STORIES

Now, some of you in the aspiring section had confessed of being frankly freaked out by the idea of transferring your stories to black and white, and others in the process of doing so had overworked themselves.

No wonder. It's a LOT of work.

Here's the fun thing, though - you do not need to write a proper short story.

I've tried to get this point across earlier, but I imagine my wording was lacking.

Comics are good deal about telling the story through pictures (no shit!). I am emphasizing this because a lot -a lot- of your work often goes into describing situations in a manner that definitely works great and makes the story superbly immersive to read - but most of your commentary on the surroundings and certain mechanics of the character will be lost in the transition.

If you are one of those lucky bastards to whom writing comes naturally, by all means, DO write in a manner that pleases you the most.

Even you should keep in mind, though, that your story is going to be drawn, and that certain things are necessary to bear in mind - the one I've seen here the most would be that, while narration and protagonist's own narration can live side by side in a written story, they make an awful mess of text bubbles in a comics.

If you wish to have your story narrated beyond pictures and dialog, please, take care to choose either A) the protagonist or B) omnipotent narrator, but preferably not both.

Or to put it differently, you can write both, but we are sure as hell cutting one of 'em out.

If you belong into the first group of people who don't have all that much time/nerve to put into this, yet would like to participate - do not despair.

I am enclosing two bits of text that have actually already become a comics, and you will see that they are NOWHERE near a novel. (I'm not saying they make for a good comics, but a comics nonetheless)

THIS HERE is how the script looked. Stuff like this is plenty sufficient; enough to make out what is going on and why, and YOUR dialogues (since those are your most direct fingerprint on the final "product")

Note: Just realized this can be misleading. Do not bother yourself with panels and stuff (unless you have a panel you really wanna see in your head) - this is just to illustrate how simplistic this can be.

Simulacrum

Page 1

Panel 1

We’re stuck in the rain with Amara in the middle of the night. The streets are slick with rain and shining under the glow of the harsh LED lamps. They’re cheaper for the city to produce so they don’t care that the harsh glow has been linked to severe cases of insomnia. Amara is in an alleyway banging on a cheap aluminum door. A camera above the door watches on.

Caption: Before.

Panel 2

We move in closer and can see the annoyance on Amara’s face as she yells through the door.

Amara: Just open up Mister. I know you’re in there.

Panel 3

We focus in on a camera above the door watching Amara with indifference. Even if the camera could feel I doubt it’d care about her.

Amara: I need your help.

Panel 4

We’re now inside a dark room, lit only by the light of computer monitors. Someone is watching the monitors. This is the Mister, a high level hacker and expert in robotics. He isn’t in great standings with the cops, but that’s the price of innovation he tells people. On the screen we can see Amara outside looking up at the camara.

Amara: Strictly off the record. I promise.

Panel 5

The aluminum door makes a “psssshhh” sound as smoke begins to come from the edges of it. It’s opening up, Amara’s pleads are heard.

Panel 6

A large robot appears at the door to inspect Amara. Its eyes glow red as it scans her. Perhaps it doesn’t have legs and its torso is actually tied to the wall next to the door, as if it’s a permanent fixture in the building used to scan incoming visitors. Paranoia runs high with the Mister. His line of work requires it.

Panel 7

Back in that darken room from panel 4. The Mister is watching the scan of Amara. We can see an outline of a gun on her in the scan.

Page 2

Panel 1

Close up on the Misters face. We can barely see it, his face is only lit up by the monitors around him. But in the very dim light we can see that is a very pale and fragile man. Nothing about it speaks of good health. He spends all his time with robotics and that has taken a significant toll on him. One he doesn’t mind paying.

Mister: The gun. Get rid of it.

Panel 2

Back in the alleyway Amara reaches behind her to pull out the gun.

Panel 3

The door robot opens up a small drawer in its chest.

Panel 4

Amara places her gun in the drawer reluctantly. She prepares herself for the worst, but sometimes you need to give up your safety for what you need. It’s a calculated risk, one she hopes pays off.

Panel 5

The door robot swings away opening up the way for Amara to enter. As she walks by the robot she sarcastically smiles.

Amara: Keep my gun safe big guy.

Page 3

Panel 1

The Misters face takes up half of the panel and in the other half we see a doorway with Amara standing in its frame. In the panel we really see the detail in the Misters face and how sunken in his eyes are. His eyes are glassy and wet, he’s on some kind of drug. Perhaps a focus enhancing drug that keep him up all night. It’s clear theres something up with him.

Mister: Civilian clothes, unregistered gun, all in the dead of night. Something big going down officer?

Amara: You rather me break down your door?

Panel 2

Amara comes deep into the room, unafraid. Despite losing her gun, she is confident the Mister isn’t a threat.

Amara: You want me to break down the door next time?

Amara: I see at least four violations of your parol in this room alone.

Panel 3

The Mister turns around in his chair. I’m thinking it’s a sweet robotic wheelchair kind of situation. Something to really emphasize how he’s given his life up totally to robotics. His legs don’t work, and he’s a broken man. The only thing he values is his mind and his hands. Though, his hands he can probably do away with to if he really needed to.

Mister: No, I don’t think you would.

Mister: Not for what you need. All this secrecy is unlike you.

Mister: Now, what is it that you want?

Panel 4

Let’s put the two characters on opposite sides of the panel. This should be a fairly large panel, taking up maybe half the page. On the left is Amara staring at the Mister who is on the right. We can see a clear contrast between the two players. One (Amara) is strong and able, and the other (The Mister) weak but intelligent. I want this contrast to be really seen here.

Amara: I need a Simulacrum

Mister: Oh good!

Page 4

This page is going to have 5 long panels that will take up the whole width of the page. It’s going to serve as a credit scene for us, but also as a way of introducing the android as it dies for the first time. It also will hopefully grab peoples attention and hook them to continue to read the rest. This will be action packed.

Panel 1

We find ourself on the outlying moon where the drug lord is meeting with the aliens. We use the term meeting loosely because he’s just going to exploit the shit out of them. When we come into the scene the android is being smashed in the face with an aluminum rod. This whole fight is going to be kept quiet so as to not ruin Kondo’s plan for the meeting. So the goons don’t use anything loud in this fight (no guns). This fight takes place in an unfinished skyscraper.

Caption: Jiri & Ricky present...

Panel 2

Close up of the androids arm being dented and smashed by another goon with a rod.

Caption: A future story...

Panel 3

Black panel. This will show the title of the book. We’ll work on that when we’re done I guess haha.

Caption: [TITLE]

Panel 4

One of the goons is holding the android by the collar.

Goon: Your droid is garbage.

Panel 5

The android is thrown out the window. I was thinking in this scene we see the android falling through the sky, glass flying all around it and the city below it ready to accept the falling android. The panel, I was thinking, won’t have a bottom but instead fade off towards the bottom of the page.

 

THIS HERE is a bit that preceeded the script - it is welcome, though not necessary. It was meant to help us -the fellows who were to draw the thing- to understand and relate to the protagonist. A Q&A with the main character.

How do you feel about Lilly-09?

A: It's a big city, that's for sure, but I've lived here my whole life so I don't really know much else. In terms of my feelings, I mean I love it. It's given me everything and I just hope that I can do right by the city whenever I can. A lot of outsiders like to tell me that Lilly-09 isn't the cleanest or friendliest but I'd like to see them spend a year here and see what their opinion is then. The city grows on you, it's quirks become your own. It's people become your family. I'm happy to protect this city.

Is crime a huge issue in the city?

A: Of course it is. Any city has it's problems. Crime isn't exclusive to Lilly-09, but what separates this city from others is us, the LillyPD. We work tirelessly to keep the peace here and to prevent any crimes from happening unnecessarily. We take a strong preventative measure here in Lilly. It's not good enough to stop criminals after the fact, it's important to us to stop criminals from even thinking about crimes. We achieve that through workshops in high risk areas, social programs, and increased police presence. Crime does still happen and we do respond swiftly, but if I can stop a kid from ever going down that path in the first place then my job is done. I'd rather change peoples lives for the good then lock them up.

Do you ever fear being wrong in your line of work?

A: This isn't a game of cops and robbers. This is real life, so I'm very careful with what I do. I've yet to arrest a suspect without clear evidence. There can't be any doubt or fear in this line of work. It's just not compatible. Fear causes hesitation and hesitation gets a bullet in your head. Have I been wrong before? That's irrelevant, I've done everything is confidence and conviction. That's what the public deserves. Strong law.

You seem to have a very strong moral compass. Does that come from your upbringing?

A: Growing up in Lilly you see a lot of things. A lot of pain and a lot of suffering, but the one thing you see the most of is hope. I grew up with my father in a small apartment. He would work irregular hours and was often not home, and my mom had passed away just after I was born. Complications due to birth. So naturally I spent a lot of time with the neighbourhood kids doing all sorts of things. We had our own moral code and set of laws that we developed. It was an amalgam of what our parents taught us, what the law said, and what we saw in the streets. We did away with the restrictive laws of society and built something that we saw was fair. Some of us were arrested for our “new way” of seeing the law but we mostly found a way around that problem.

When I joined the police force I had a strong sense of my own morality from my upbringing and it was tough to synch it up with societies law, but I felt my work was important. I wanted to bring about real change, and some street kids making the law up as they go wasn't going to cut it. Things had to change in a big was and I was going to do.

[Guest]

Wish I could tell you I'm suffering from a writer's block, but I'm just fucking lazy. Various games have been consuming my time lately. I want to do this, I just can't make myself lift a metaphorical pen.

[Rechkalov]

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Present state of affairs

which is a queer way of calling the mess this has so quickly become

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UPDATE

 

We're not dead yet.

Woohoo!

 

Wholehearted, giant-ass thanks to Rusty for being super amazing, enthusiastic and creative guy & keeping this thing afloat.

Meanwhile, have some doodles

 

 

[Rusty Shackleford]

Aw yisssss... motha... fuckin'... concept art. My favorite.

EDIT: New signature is new.

[Gollee]

I think I know who the mysterious intruder is....

[swat43]

Sheet man! This looks dope! Anyway i can assist in this? I would be glad to help it!

[Guest]

I honestly don't have many good stories. I'm not one of those people that get told "write anything" and don't suffer a massive lack of inspiration when they realize they have too many options. If you want, narrow it down and I'll write something good.

[Guest]

Warning: Long. Not usually of the mindset to post backgrounds of characters in OOC areas, but if it's for the sake of stories, why not. It'll give you folks some content and challenge. Not really part of a round, it's simply how one of my most established and oldest characters effectively got their wings and started building their

off of.

 

"Missun De Santos?" called out a voice from the opposite side of the arrivals bay.

She stopped in her tracks, looking about the large arrivals bay of the NMSS Odin, having recently completed yet another security shift. The one thing she would remember about today's shift was how quiet it was. She didn't think she had to say a word for a full hour. Not at the tail end of the work shift, not when the shuttle docked, not on the ride home nor the shuttle's arrival to the Central Corporate Command Hub of Tau Ceti. Not a word.

Yet, she was somewhat disturbed that someone could not only call them by their name, but by her father's last name. Everyone called her Taryk now. Hell, it was on her ID now. Only a few select people really bothered to call her by De Santos anymore. She glanced down at her left hand, eyeing her wedding ring snugly tucked around her ring finger.

She shook her head, attempting to clear her mind and keep herself awake. Thankfully, a cup of warm coffee still rested in her left hand. She took a slight drink and sighed in relief as the warm caffeine lit up her synapses. She took off her beret and turned to face the source of the sound, with a formal and polite posture.

"Missun De Santos!" called the voice again, and soon a stout and wide-looking man seemingly parted through the crowd and towards Vira. His clothes were well-pressed and otherwise very clean. He wore an expensive-looking press hat.

Her brow furrowed, and she stated patiently, "I'm sorry, you may have the wrong person," as she pointed to her identification card with a holodisplay of her photo and a patch on her uniform that read, "V. Taryk".

The stout man chortled, shook his head and responded energetically, "Ahhhh, I don't think so! I know that ridiculous posh uptight posture and accent anywhere. Come now, Vee, you remember me."

Vira crossed her arms and gave a look of concern to the man, shaking her head slightly. "No, I don't think I can say that I do, sorry."

The man's smile slowly formed into a dejected, and somewhat disappointed look. He stuck out his lower lip like a sniveling child, though he shook his head and put a smile back onto his face again. Heartwarming, but...

He tapped his temple, seemingly attempting to conjure up a solution, saying curtly, "'emme try and refresh yer memory."

He stepped a bit closer, holding out a hand upward to Vira. Compared to him, I must seem like an Amazon, she mused about the man's height. She dismissed the rude thought, and held out her own hand in an attempt to humor the man she dwarfed in the height department.

Okay, Vee, stop.

The man took Vira's left wrist and tugged her along to a nearby lounge, complete with expensive refurbishment. They both sat down at adjacent sides of the table.

"Fancy a bout of Three-Eff?" the man asked.

"What?"

"Five finga fillet," the man replied simply.

Vira blinked twice, somewhat guilty that she didn't trust the man to be appropriate. "Oh. Wait, no. You shouldn't have any sharp instruments on this station anyway."

"I don't. All I got 'ere is this ballpoint pen of mine. Left palm flat on the table."

Vira shook her head, placing her left hand on the table and remarking, "You are one strange little man."

The man rolled his eyes, taking out his pen and positioning the ballpoint above, but between the spacing of her left thumb and her left index finger. He would proceed to slowly jab at the spacings between her fingers slowly, from thumb/index all the way to ring/little finger. He'd retrace the same stabbing motion back from the latter to the former.

Vira said sternly after the man completed the first fillet rotation, "If you stab a finger, you lose a hand."

"Shuh-shush!"

The next four minutes was a series of filleting the empty spaces with progressively quicker and equally precise jabs. After the seventh rotation, he stopped the game very suddenly. The two occupants at the table spent another minute staring at each other.

Vira finally broke the awkward silence, sighing, "I haven't an absolute clue what that was all about."

With crossed arms and a somewhat disappointed look on their face, they sighed and turned Vira's hand for her palm to face upward on the table. A small sticky note was attached to her palm.

Vira shook her head, chuckling at the incredulity of this series of events. She gently ripped the sticky note off of her palm with her right hand, and brought it close to her face to read.

"Remember the Carina."

She bit her lip, nodding slowly. She stuck the note to her end of the table, looking up at the man.

"Sal Edin. It's been ten years."

"Ten years and nine months, Vee. Tha' was when ye became a bigg'un and earned yer own office as a rookie hoss, eh," Sal gave an old, bare smile. His eyes seemed rather misty, some of his teeth were browned, close to rotting, with large gaps in the places where molars and incisors should belong.

Vira returned a small smile, nodding, "About that long. I didn't expect an enterprising corporate intelligence agent like yourself to come around and bother their student again."

The portly man chortled, "Ah nah, not anymore. I work th' comms now. Handout assignments for the young'r, quick'r 'n more sportly lads. Like a sagely, outta the pict'r spymaster, savvy?"

"And you said my accent was unbearable," Vira jabbed, with a hint of sardony laced into her reply.

Sal chuckled, seemingly not sure on how to reply. A silence was held for a few minutes.

"So," Vira said, intending to break the ice.

"Well, eh. Vee, ya'know this ain't a social call."

"But you're definitely not here to give me my fifteen minutes of fame," she remarked, tilting her chin upward and lazily lifting a finger to point out Sal's press-hat.

"'Spose not," he said, as he took off his hat and tossed it into a nearby disposal unit.

Vira scowled and remarked, "You threw away a perfectly fine hat." Her icy stare was trained on the disposal unit, as the pump dropped automatically, and the top of the bin closed. A cheery "ding!" was heard, along with a metallic flush and hissing sound. Junk could be heard obnoxiously colliding up against the disposal pipes below the floor, and then everything grew quiet again. Her gaze returned to Sal again.

"A fine hat fer stooges," Sal scoffed.

She raised an eyebrow in suspicion, raising her own hat and then lifting it off her own head. She placed it on the table before her, pushing her sunglasses a bit down her face to reveal her own eyes, with a viridian hue that seemed to shine with some subtlety in the light. The corners of her eyes seemed to have subtle striations, likely clear on-setting of crow's feet. Though she flashed a toothy smile, it was clear she was attempting to hide her exhaustion.

"You're not wrong," Vira said with a nod, flattening out her hat and picking out stray hairs from it with her index finger and thumb.

"So, ahh, aye. Reason I'm 'ere is to ask ye again about t' time ye were promoted. And the timeframe of that little, ahh... incident," Sal said, with some level of hesitation. He pulled out a recorder, switched it on, placed it onto the table and pushed it towards the center. "Ye know the one."

"That one. Right."

"Yah," huffed Edin, "That one."

 

'Alright. To establish for the record, I was a security officer detailed to protect corporate assets and serve the common welfare of the crew members onboard the NSS Carina. My duties extended further than that though, given the NSS Carina was a civilian relief station. For refugees and failed colonials coming right out of the Mid-Rim or Frontier systems. Usually folks fleeing the oppressive crime organizations and pirate clans cracking down rather hard on settlers outside the reach of the SA and the NT private fleet. I was effectively a security guard plus an emergency relief responder plus an intercultural mediator. I worked nine hour shifts normally around the clock with a 20 minute break around the halfway mark.

'The Carina was posted fairly close to Neptune in the Sol system, interlinked with an elaborate freighter and liner route from there to the far reaches of the Mid-Rim. Normally those freighters and liners were packed in varying amounts of visitors, tourists, businessfolk and the less fortunate, as I mentioned. The Carina was split into several sections, better known as cantons. They were named, in order from least densely packed to most, Imperial, Executive, Union and Commonwealth.

'Imperial canton was mostly restricted to folk who had the money to rent out large, extravagant pent-house sized portions with a beautiful view of the stars. The local droids and automated maintenance could be seen patrolling that section the most, given that humanoid custodial technicians weren't given ID access to the Imperial section. The bridge and internal affairs main office would be located there, along with the station administrator's office. At the time, the administrator insisted he would only be referred to as the administrator, and not as a station captain. Given it's the only section of the station with combat droids programmed to reduce unauthorized intruders to shrivelling, screaming children, we never had to respond to incidents there outside of having to drag a Commonwealth dreg that failed to break in, into a brig cell.

'Next up was Executive. Security forces in particular had standard access to the area. For the most part, the high-end businessmen, scientists and doctors looking to turn a profit in Sol often stayed in Executive. The apartments there were nowhere near the level of polish and pompadour that the Imperial canton possessed, but it was still impressive and the hallways were always brightly lit. Crime was unusual to occur there but it was to be expected. The executive medical bay and what we considered a science department would be located there, though the latter hardly amounted to anything more than a few computers and a chemistry set in a scientist's apartment. The executive medbay received anyone from Imperial and Executive, though rarely if ever from anyone from the lower-tier cantons. Unless it was an emergency, crew and non-crew were asked to not report to the executive medical bay for inquiries if they belonged to the lower cantons. Security HQ was based in Executive, though there were multiple outlying checkpoint stations dotted throughout the cantons. Except for Imperial.

'Union canton is what you would expect to be, practically middle-class citizens inhabiting their own slice of the station. Union was the only canton with its own market, sort of what you would expect from a small town square. In the central Union ring, there were areas such as diners, fairs, and all sorts of alternative entertainment like arcades. The library was located in the partition between Executive and Union. It had its own specific sections and whatnot. Supposedly there was also a restricted section mostly limited to Imperial-class or Administrative-class IDs. Naturally, the same sort of combat droids with very painful stunner beam projectors guarded that section, though uniquely with a lethal variant to catch attempted spies and ensure they never existed to begin with. Probably not worth mentioning, but... Well, anyway. Given it was upper middle, middle and lower middle classes all mixed together in a single section, you can imagine some of the drama and cases we had to go through. Some of them were a bit more difficult to deal with than others.

'And then there was Commonwealth. Whoever initially came up with the name for it had no idea how both right and wrong they were. Commonwealth canton was perhaps one of the most culturally, racially and economically diverse places I've ever seen in my entire life, and I lived in a big city before Carina, too. There's never been anything like what I've seen. Commonwealth is one of the most confusing and ill-mapped layouts I've ever had the displeasure to navigate through. Not only were the maps entirely incorrect, but the canton has been broken, fixed, redesigned and rerouted into strange and confusing detours by the engineering department based in that canton more times than I can even count. I faintly remember walking into what I believed was the custodial office with my partner back then, only to find out the entire office was turned into a fucking strip-bar, with an illegal model jukebox playing some horrifically awful bluegrass hick music. Needless to say, the jukebox was spaced and the room isn't a strip-bar anymore. Probably, anyway. The amount of times I've been there has been more than I've ever laid eyes on the Imperial canton or heard mention of it.

'I could tell volumes of stories about Commonwealth, but I suppose that's not why we're here. Still, it's worth mentioning specifics regarding Commonwealth. What had transpired during my time as just an officer and then as an interim security head was a little bit too much for me to handle, at first.

'Regarding what happened, then. It started around 11 years ago, around my fourth or fifth year of service onboard the Carina when the workload began to increase and those nine-hour 'round the clock shifts began to be much less forgiving and more stressful by the week. Notably, around that time was when pirates in the Frontier began to grow balls and start attacking Mid-Rim colonies closer to Eridani, Elyran and Biesellian fleets. The attacks were so brutal that a fair deal of colonists just packed up and left to return to the core worlds. So we thought, anyway.

'As it would turn out, that analysis wasn't correct. There were less actual refugees and more single, young to middle-aged men boarding the Carina in droves. Little to no background, not registered with any of the colonial governments that exist or existed at the time. Our security analysts and even the other officers theorized that we were dealing with a full-blown pirate or terrorist infiltration.

'Sometimes I wish the Head of Security at the time had caught onto that and turned the tide of unregistered "refugees" back. To be fair, I wasn't exactly very sure of it either. I would come to learn there was a reason for that, but we'll start with the issue regarding the criminals boarding the Carina.

'It would turn out we had a full-blown organized cartel of illicit foodstuff smugglers boarding the station and flooding the Union and Commonwealth cantons. In particular, a specific chemical called Swarostok, was being slipped into a lot of the food. It was highly addictive and it caused a horrifically painful and progressive form of osteoporosis, though it boasted other invigorating effects such as heightened stamina, incredibly reduced pain sensitivity, extremely retroactive blood clotting and several other rejuvenating effects. The chemical itself was extracted from stok sweat and mixed with variant doses of hyperzine, from what I remember. Though the osteoporosis itself would not onset until the user begins to withdraw, the severity usually depended on how long they were using it and how much swaro they took.

'Given I doubled up as an emergency security attachment to medical teams reporting to Swaro overdosing, I got to see some of the effects first-hand. I think the worst case I ever saw was a poor woman who had tried to shake the 106 Fahrenheit fever and the withdrawal for about two weeks. When we found them, we couldn't initially identify them because parts of their skin were horribly bloated. Apparently it was their muscle tissue growing disgusting, festering cysts. After the Chief Medical Officer put out a notice regarding anyone who remotely looks like they were suffering from Swaro withdrawal or their dosing effects, none of us ever found someone who had been off of the drug for more than a week. Don't think I could've imagined what someone would look like after a month, or even a year without real treatment. I don't think that lady made it, either, she asked to be put down because of the pain and misery she was suffering.

'Though the rest of us had just about enough of it and were willing to violate several tenets of procedure to get rid of the perpetrators poisoning the innocents of the Union and Commonwealth cantons for their own financial gains, the Head of Security Jhon Kris was insistent on maintaining our position and gathering more information before we were to make a strike. I'm sad to say that my partner handed in their badge and was on a shuttle back to Elyra, but I can't say I really blamed him for it.

'The very next week, we heard an outcry over our comms net as well as some background scuffling from the head of security. Almost all of the officers were dispatched throughout Union and Commonwealth, attempting to suppress and prevent any shady deals going on in terms of Swaro distribution as well as inspecting any and all food packages for the drug signature. I left my post, linked up with a fellow officer and returned to the brig headquarters, almost forty minutes away from our position in the Union/Commonwealth cutaways.

'When we arrived, we saw the brig almost smashed to bits, shot up to pieces and the walls showing several instances of carbon scoring. Burns on the walls, blood pools spilled here and there, and so on. There was one corpse we never managed to identify, mostly because of the intense third and fourth degree burns scalding the facial structure of the victim. I don't think my heart beat has ever been as high as the moment I walked into the office of the head of security and saw his severed head mounted on a shoddily made spear planted into the desk... I admit, even in spite of my time seeing death as an Eridani Navy responder during our campaigns on piracy, never have I seen such a disgusting, vomit-inducing display of barbarism than what I saw in that office.

'Suppose it couldn't be helped. It was at that point, where I believe the cartel truly declared war and was seeking to usurp more power than it deserved. Given it had significant pull and control over the lower class refugees and temporary citizens on the station, it was somewhat safe to say that they were capable enough of pulling off something like this and potentially getting away with it if they had the chance.

'After a break to the nearest disposal unit to vomit down, I was called to the office of the administrator of the station. It would be the first time I'd ever set foot in the Imperial canton since the first time I was given an employee's tour. Even in spite of the canton's cleanliness and general safety, sanctity and so on, I could feel a certain foreboding air to the canton. Maybe the lights were dimmer, perhaps atmospherics was toying with the pressure, or maybe I had eaten something that was still wriggling in my stomach. Couldn't really say, but entering the administrator's office, I felt a spark of hope, that this wasn't quite finished and business was still to be done. The administrator asked me to sit down, to have a bottle of water and a couple slices of toast and quickly explain the scenario and what I saw, as well as everything else I knew.

'After maybe an hour and a half of reporting everything I knew of the cartel and the Swarostok drug, the administrator gave me a confused and confounded look. He asked me if I had detailed everything I knew in reports to the previous head of security. I had nodded, given I was still a stickler for paperwork and procedure even back then. He gave me another look, and informed me that he knew no such thing of such a deadly drug existing on his station, and that the status reports from the heads of staff have been rather nondescript as of late, even from personnel, a man he knew he trusted.

'You and I both understand the implications here, Sal, but for anyone else, one could say that I and the administrator knew that there was an issue with loyalty regarding the second level of station administration, if not full-blown corruption of it. When the investigative and forensic techs were hailed in, a fair deal of paperwork was brought in along with a laptop. After brief analysis of their contents, it was evident the head of security did process my incident reports and my investigation findings, but they were never sent directly to the station administrator. A quick cross-reference of the itinerary of the previous commander showed that he was meeting with folk that I recall being suspect to having slung Swaro to Union and Commonwealth dwellers.

'Though we didn't get much else in that endeavor, we noticed as well that the commander was receiving more credits than usual for a payroll such as theirs. They didn't seem to claim any alternative income, strangely enough it was considered part of the salary. The accountant that processed it and avowed the payroll for the commander did not seem to have a legitimate profile to start with. Not only was the commander an embezzler, but he was in on the Swaro trade, likely providing cover for the cartel on-deck and preventing us from officially going after their assets.

'This revelation disturbed everyone present. The station administrator offered his thanks to the investigative team, and dismissed them. I had almost turned to leave, but he asked me to stay for a few more moments. He asked me to give him my identification. Though I was hesitant, given I had initially thought I was in trouble for being involved in the case, I gave it to him. After a few minutes, he had trashed my old identification, printed out a silver card with my name and details on it. He offered his congratulations as to regards to my immediate field promotion, and held me to a promise to do my part in ridding the Carina of the cartel.

'I'm not sure what emotion was more overpowering, the sheer excitement from getting a promotion so suddenly or the realization that as a new, noncorrupt authority, I had become enemy number one to the Carina Cartel. I can't say the security department was collectively pleased and accepting of me becoming the new head of security, though not out loud.

'As my initial first order of business, I put us into standard Code Red procedures, ordered a total lockdown of all of the cantons with zero tolerance on hallway wanderers, with 2 officers per canton excluding the Imperial canton. One detective and another deputized officer provided as my escort as I performed a thorough investigation of potential corruption within the command staff structure.

'Though the CMO themselves was caught up primarily in treating Swaro overdoses and osteoporosis patients, it was clear the criminal cartel were attempting to get into contact with her. She didn't have any of it, and handwaved it in favor of doing her part in focusing on regulating the medbay to do their part in treating patients. The Chief Engineer, in particular, was a clear and obvious puppet, though they were not so enthusiastic about their involvement with the inner circle of the cartel. They were tasked in particular of maintaining a certain standard overpressure in certain rooms that were supposed to be concocting mixes of Swarostok in the Commonwealth canton. They claimed they were coerced into it and were threatened in regards to their family and estate on Mars. I had no reason to believe otherwise, and they were instrumental in neutralizing the production of the hidden Swarostok facilities the engineers were forced to manufacture and hide from plain view, with cleverly constructed false walls and puzzle combination safes.

'Within the next two weeks, about the fourth month into the drug war, it was clear that the cartel was losing a massive amount of ground, as the Swarostok was their primary and only power base controlling the station populace. With no drug to feed the dependency of the lesser-willed refugees and temporary citizens of the lower-class cantons, there was little way the cartel could corrupt the station any further. The security team was certainly proud of its achievements, though it refused to drop its guard. I too, was proud of how far we were able to work through the worst and still be vigilant peacekeepers, in our own way.

'By the end of that week, something almost dreadful happened, something I didn't anticipate to ever happen, a base I thought I had covered and kept under wraps. The head of personnel had gone missing somewhere in the middle of the week, though the rumors going about the wire had said that he had taken temporary vacation leave. Around the end of that week, a brig break-in occurred by a bunch of folks in blood-red, tattered and battle-scarred hardsuits. Wielding rapid laser carbines, they shot up the brig and attempted to stage yet another hostile takeover. The standoff lasted for a close two hours before a cargo technician arrived with a crate crammed with prototype Officer Beepsky units, cleverly activated to swarm and distract the unknown suited attackers while the officers and myself moved up on their position. I yelled over at the team to switch to stun given we were at an acceptable range to nonlethally detain them all. Honestly, I've never seen anything so hilarious than three heavily-armored terrorists get swarmed by ankle-biting two-wheeled Robocops spitting fanatical pro-justice dialogue, as the attackers fire wildly at the floor whilst the army of Beepskies kited back and forth between the slow moving attackers and zapped their legs and ankles with stun batons.

'It was eventually unveiled that one of the attackers was the head of personnel themselves. After being handed over to Sol authorities, the three of them were identified by their aliases as wanted terror agents based out of the Frontier, with the head of personnel having actually been a sleeper agent within NanoTrasen the entire time. If anyone ever wonders why station captains or commanders are loyalty implanted, I would think this series of events would prove as to why.

'A few weeks after the attack, we would notice a radical decrease in the amount of supposed refugees boarding freighters on their way to be dropped off at the Carina to receive aid. It returned to standard numbers as relating and correlating to attacks in the Frontier. Profiles were mostly standard, just fleeing families, elders, orphans... Well, you name it. 80% of the people had profiles within the core systems, 14% had profiles only in the mid-rim system, and only 6% remained unidentified. 50% of the unidentified were mostly only children born in the Frontier, if that means anything to anyone.

'And I think that would be it. It's exactly as I reported ten years ago.'

 

"Wow," Edin mumbled while still chewing on a monster-sized cigar.

"It was easier to detail on paper," Vira said, sighing tiredly.

"No shittin'," he remarked, turning off the recorder and printing out a full transcript and reading over it one more time. He looked back up to Vira, with the same old misty-eyed-if-not-also-appearing-slightly-inebriated look, and said hesitantly, "Aye eh, gotta admit somethin'. This wasn't fer some dumb ol' hush-hush cloak 'n dagger kinda job. 's part of a column th' company runs nowanights."

Sal raised the transcript up with a single hand, pointing to it, and continuing, "This stuff is the stuff that'll go in the books about employees like ye. Th' ones that went above and beyond what they were supposed t'. As of now, this'll be th' only one t' be declassified and released fer public readin'. It'd be th' glory days again, relived for adult readin'! Unless that ain't what ya want?" His eyebrows rose a bit inquisitively.

Vira's expression lit up a bit, though not in a very ecstatic manner. She said in a protesting tone, "I don't need the attention, thank you. Nor does anyone else need to romanticize what it's like to have been in my shoes. I'm close to retirement and I don't need the publicity, nor the bullshit, at all."

"Ha!" chorted Sal, with a wide and less-than-healthy-looking smile, "Come on, why the fuck not? Seriously, lass."

Vira sat up, folding her hands and remarking, "Sal Edin, 'friend' of mine for almost twenty years, my mentor, my teacher, someone I viewed as a better father figure than my own goddamned father. Someone that I've trusted with my life time and time again and had become rather slightly disappointed with when I first received my promotion, where were you when I called for your advice in a time of hardship and stress? Where were your wise lessons when I believed I really needed them? Where was the acknowledgement of the RSVP sent to your address when I was to be married to the love of my life? Or the one for the baby shower? No, let me just be fair here..."

She stood up, snatching the transcript and tape recorder out of the hands of the portly, old man. She popped a lighter out of her pocket and lit it in a quick motion, slowly burning the transcript while Sal watched, dumbfounded.

She outstretched a finger, saying sternly, "You've not been 'my friend' or anything close to a father figure in close to ten years -- and nine months, before you correct me. You're here again because your rope is coming to an end and you need someone to hoist your lazy arse back up on your pedestal. A lot has happened in ten years, a lot. I've experienced success, I've fallen in love, I've gotten married with a wonderful man and now, for my family, I'm preparing for the future. And you didn't even bother to check in despite all of the chances I offered."

"Lass, ye know I've been busy...--" Sal attempted to interject, before being quickly cut off.

"I don't believe you, Sal. You don't just ignore an RSVP to someone's wedding and expect to be forgiven for it. You're here to be a leech, to kneel and beg for relevance by the eyes of the company, still ignorant that they look down upon you as they look down upon everyone else. Have you ever looked anywhere else but the past? Because those glory days are never coming back. Not for a man like you."

A silence hung for awhile, a cold stare being shared between two old friends coming to terms with reality. For a moment, they could see in each other's eyes, the past images of each other in better times, perhaps.

"Guess it's bye, then."

"Yeah. Goodbye, Sal. Have a nice life. Hope you figure things out."

"You too, lass," he grumbled.

She sighed, taking off towards the direction of the departures bay with a shuttle about to take off for the Sol system. She thought about her words, she wondered if she was too harsh on the old man.

You don't need the strings. Nor a puppetmaster to toy with them.

Oh, how I hate that you're right.

[coolbc2000]

There is not even a Syion mentioned here, Either I need to do something really stupid or something really worth a story...Hmm...

Let me have a ponder.

[Rechkalov]

Promising story I am halfway into

THANK YOU.

That seems really good! It has atmosphere, and is a pleasure to read.

Nonetheless I stopped atm to write this; already it is obvious that some alterations are in order, since much of the stuff that makes this story so much fun cannot be directly translated from text into panels.

If you trust us to do the transition justly, heck, we'll do our best - if you would like to have a say in how we go about this, then we should probably have a talk over some better suited media (Skype? Steam? Facebook? Trails in the sky? Cryptic notes scribbled on the walls of bathroom stalls?).

Looking forward to hearing from you!

Edit: Maybe we should talk about the 'refugee crisis reference'. Still not far enough to see whether it is crucial within your story, but most certainly something I would like to avoid in our joint enterprise here.

 

I honestly don't have many good stories. I'm not one of those people that get told "write anything" and don't suffer a massive lack of inspiration when they realize they have too many options. If you want, narrow it down and I'll write something good.

First of all, this is supposed to be fun.

Meaning, if it feels like work, like something you have to push yourself into, I would suggest you do not ruin your day (also there is this funny saying, "arts are a lot like farts; if you have to push it, chances are it's going to be shit").

Alternatively, we, too, can get together over some of the suggested means of communications and brainstorm about this. Or, if you so wish to take the lone wolf approach; obviously, from you, I would love to see some radical story about Stein! Who else could be more qualified to provide a decent Nuke Ops story?

 

There is not even a Syion mentioned here, Either I need to do something really stupid or something really worth a story...Hmm...

Let me have a ponder.

I smell a narcissist. Which is good. That's basically what I've been trying to appeal to, here.

Let's see if your desire to see Syion can be matched by your ability to deliver his story in a fashion entertaining for all!

T's a challenge!

 

I think I know who the mysterious intruder is....

META-READING

BAN HE

[coolbc2000]

Alright fuck it. I WILL WRITE A STORY! GIVE ME A WEEK OR TWO!

[Rechkalov]

Alright fuck it. I WILL WRITE A STORY! GIVE ME A WEEK OR TWO!

 

That's the spirit!

Take all the time you need - we're but a couple of pages into the first entry, there's no pressure as far as time is concerned.

I would also recommend to check out the first post in the thread as for some notes with regard to the format.

Looking forward to seeing your stuff!

[Guest]

First of all, this is supposed to be fun.

Meaning, if it feels like work, like something you have to push yourself into, I would suggest you do not ruin your day (also there is this funny saying, "arts are a lot like farts; if you have to push it, chances are it's going to be shit").

Alternatively, we, too, can get together over some of the suggested means of communications and brainstorm about this. Or, if you so wish to take the lone wolf approach; obviously, from you, I would love to see some radical story about Stein! Who else could be more qualified to provide a decent Nuke Ops story?

Well, Stein isn't my character.

[Rechkalov]

Well, Stein isn't my character.

 

...psycho sec officer Adams, psycho sec officer Carton... it's an honest mistake ;.;

[Guest]

Adams is but a shell, one that contains many broken souls. Quite literally. But beside the psychological crap, I actually don't think I have any good stories to share. Not many at all. For the most part, my SS13 RP has been sub-par garbage.

[Filthyfrankster]

I have one or two stories

But it involves filthy unathi

[Rechkalov]

I have one or two stories

But it involves filthy unathi

 

I don't mind Unathi.

As long as they're not ERPing.

 

Adams is but a shell, one that contains many broken souls. Quite literally. But beside the psychological crap, I actually don't think I have any good stories to share. Not many at all. For the most part, my SS13 RP has been sub-par garbage.

 

I'm not sure what's your aim here.

If you wish to participate, you can always make stories up. The SS13 experience is to be but a crutch.

If that is not the case, then there's hardly even need for encouragement.

[hivefleetchicken]

Fuck it, how should I send material to you? PM, post it here, force you to tie me up irl and erp me for subtle but puzzling wording until you can comprehend my story?

[Redfield5]

I've got a story in the works. It's a revolution story, with characters such as Jim, Zubari, Elena, Val, and many others.

[Rechkalov]

Fuck it, how should I send material to you? PM, post it here, force you to tie me up irl and erp me for subtle but puzzling wording until you can comprehend my story?

PMs and Google docs are preferable; narrative-centered bondage sounds infinitely more intriguing, however.

 

I've got a story in the works. It's a revolution story, with characters such as Jim, Zubari, Elena, Val, and many others.

Most wonderful!

And, as always, take your time to do it at your pace and polish it to your liking.

[mirkoloio]

OOOOOOOH!!! ADD JAMISON STAMOS. PLEASE. PLEASE DO IT