It smells in a way that I wish I was an Android and didn't
have to put up with this crap. Some-thing between old fish, dried up lettuce,
and carrot juice, with a hint of bad mushrooms and diarpheea in the mix. It's
gotta be 3 a.m. again. There's no doubt about that, morning time. Going down to
good old Vlads 24/7 rise and dine. I'm happy my one bad eye is all that's left
of my vision, at least that way I see less of this diluted home we still dare
to call Earth. The cockroaches muster away from me every time I wake up, it
really has me set on a thought that it's just them controlling our minds,
making this planet an utopia for their kind. The conversation usually goes,
well if man-kind could shape this planet into what it is today, seeing his
vision, than why should another creature not have the capability to do so ?
I've been asking myself this for the past 3 weeks. I guess my life is kinda
boring.
"Cidney, Lights, 40 percent" - Carnigans whole
apartment lights up in a dark burgandy shimmer. The L shape of the hall way now
shows' the kitchen at the end and 2 doors right in the middle.
He sits up in his bed, thinking again.
I hate this apartment, every-time I get wasted there's the
slight risk of walking into the stair-way butt naked, who the hell thought it
was a good idea to put a bathroom right in-front of an in-out door ? ! 30th
century architects seem to run off of hectoliss and dead brain-cells.
By now Carnigan has made his way down to his legs,
stretching his sore ass to reach down and grab his slippers. What? 1000 years
from now people don't wear slippers ?
He's got a little bed in the room, yellow sheets, with blue
walls, just to set the mood off a bit and dim out any chance the poor bums got
of getting 'ever laid. At least there's 2 ways out of the bed. The round ports,
we call windows don't have a fire-escape as all first world countries of the
golden age of man-kind were obligated to have.
There's a building an arm-reach away, so the view out of
this 2nd story condo is worth the money.
He's the kind of easy going guy, that leaves his shoes in
the hall, usually closest to the first room he went into, this time, their at
the kitchen. He throws his clothes on a chair in-front of a metal folding
closet, and usually knocks um into the aquarium (which doubles as a reading
lamp mind you). If he misses both, things just wind up in a pile in the corner,
until they smell bad enough to kill the fish.
Damn, getting up again in this empty apartment again ? I
hate seeing this bed get smaller and smaller as I make my way down the hall....
The door slides open, the lights flicker on. A soft white, nothing harsh, in a
bathroom that looks more like a blood drainage room from a slaughter-house than
a bathroom. Stain-less steel, metal flooring with dots of rubber padding (so
nobody slips, and only dots because it's cheaper).
Well my tooth-brush is right where I left it, maybe if I was
gay I'd have more chances ?
There's not much that happens in this boring little
apartment. The man washes up a bit, puts on his clothes, grabs his ion pulsar
(it's a gun), and heads out the door.
Ohh there's Eril, took another over-dose, needles still
hanging in his arm, he's still passed out on his knees 2 feet away from his
door. If we weren't selling this crap together I would've thrown him out the
wind-port a long time ago. Besides, a client never buys this hectopiss crap
unless you take it first and they see you go bonkers and ape-crap on it. To
sell 20 kilos, I remember he (Carnigan is slowly making his way down the stairs
by now, livening up his-self to be a little more joy-ful for what's out-side)
once had to kill an enforcer, than because he's a little to dangerous with a
projectile weapon, handed me the pulsar.
There's a robot down-stairs in the lobby. It's function is
simple, shoot any-one that isn't a resident if their foot touches the stairs.
It's second function is to sentry visitors, either by allowing them up, or keeping
um posted in the lobby.
"Morning Bob"
"Sir, will you be expecting any visitors today?"
"Ya, Your Mom"
"May I remind you that it's been four hundred and
twenty four days since your last visitor ?"
"Why don't you go take care of the roaches in this dump
instead of grinding my gears?"
"Your room is your responsibility, your well being as
well" "Have a pleasant day".
Most people consider conversations with Robots point-less.
Carnigan mutters under his lip "what would you know about pleasant",
just as most people do to robots. Even if they have a near perfect emulation of
a human brain running the operation. It's their place in society as a slave,
that is always joy-ful, and never has to eat that makes everything that much
more annoying for every-one. To make things worse, their immortal. Try to get
the last word, and they'll wait till you die to tell you off.
If I was an enforcer, or a cop I could get that bloody
hot-rod re-wired, get that personality of his to be a bit more 'shut the fuck
up already'. Who the hell needs a ghitty robot talking about jack at 3 in the
morning. That's the reason I've been on my own 'four hundred and suck my dick
days'.
He's walking, straight out the front door, to the left, his
arms are crossed, more or less helping his chest pump up to keep his head high
enough to see where's he's going. Up-set a bit, he may be. The Nylon-Carbon
pants make a light fisst sound, every step of the way. The rythm of which is
showing to any-one out there 'I'm lonely and sad, but angry and
mis-understood'. The blaster fastened on his hip brings a bit of respect, but
it's a small gun, and 1 out of 20 folks out here have some-thing bigger, or
worse.
There's no artificial light, and no street-lamps either. The
white man-made ground is easy to follow at night though. Fluorescent colors
label which way what street goes where and big green circles let ya know your
at some kind of a building. This blind bum knows his way around though and he
doesn't need the tourists map to guide him around.
Ding-Ding-rrrrddiiingg... Vlads little bell has away of
making everyone who walks in feel a bit like it's christmax.
"Tovarasii! Come sit ! I have set you up a naice cop of
coughfee rite wher you olways like tu seat"
See thats' the exact problem with Robots, I come in here
every-day and I don't always sit at that same stool. Just most of the time.
Than there's the whole, who the hell does he think he is to assume that I want
coffee again, and why did he try to be cleaver about it.... the shop has
windows, big, old fashioned windows, he could've have seen me walking this way
at 3 in the morning....he doesn't have to act like he's programmed for me to
come in there and sit here and drink this coffee.
"DAmmit Vlad, Where are those Waffels ?"
"Cohming Right up".
Vlads the kind of bot with 4 arms, 2 for cooking and 2 for
shooting. In this Dinner alot of shit goes down, and Vlad usually has to kill a
few of his customers to keep the peace. Luckily when you come here as often as
I do, he's more of your' loyal body-guard than trigger happy enforcer.
Some-times he even tells me who to shoot.
This morning is one of those quite moments in time, when you
know one wandering soul is going to walk in. Tired maybe from his Journey, accomplishment,
probably from his Voyage.
I was that kind of man once. But now I learned to sit down
and relax in life, there is always work.
Just as I thought it, Two little buddies, dressed in black
from head to toe. A little fur on the top of their hoods, hoods where down.
There heads was up.
"Vhavt du you boyz vant, Andt howu ken Vlad
ahseest"?
"Vlad we want pie, get on it, make it good"
"Yahuu uhhh make eet it one of dem coh coh nueat
whieeped creeeme kinda piey williya ?"
Mmm pie, mhhh, Vlad does make good pies, he takes about 10
minutes on each one. Robots, cook better than man. It's clear they think better
too. This whole show they put on for us is no good to keep us warriors from
knowing this little truth.... But hey, as long as the world is the way it is.
"Hey guys, mind if I trouble you for a slice"
"Ya sure old timer,"
"Eiy now u gone whyait ah minote straynger daynger, dis
here or pie n wii warked hord for it"
"Savage, chill out, that's Carnigan
"You boys, should know, I work for Vlad also, help him
''take care'' of un-welcome and un-paying costumers, Hey ! Vlad, did these boys
pay up"
"Nou, naout vet dey havent!"
They all reached down in their pockets faster than a goafer
reaching for his pistol,
"How much was it vlad?!"
"Tventy fvive Ol-acks"
If you were local, you'd get paid Ol-acks, if you were out
of town, some-thing else. Economy really helps you know who's comming from
where.
Me and Vlad had an agreement, I'd help his cost of repairs
down, by showing up and drinking a coffee and eating some pan-cakes when-ever
it seemed that trouble may be around, and he'd jack up the prices once in
awhile and give me a cut. Ya sure, I make enough money on my contracts, but a
few more spare bits of cash never hurt any-one.
Caste, an idea that can grow to infinity if it stays any
longer in my brain. As punishment to my spirit guide, all of it's energy became
focused on an imaginary creation on my return home as a pondering of events occurred.
Asshole :)
The first idea was too create a small dialog to lighten on
the hearts of men and women everywhere (children as well) and play with the
imagination to further push the envelope of what modern video games (virtual
reality) shall be. As a written guide-line for the creation of the perfect
future.
Before the actual bit of 'story' begins, there is the
portion of digital orientation from a perspective that is not human.
Caste starts off pretty easy, the computer boots up the
files and loads up the engine. A simple character selection screen that has
plenty of options in figuring out exactly who the player becomes, is the first
thing a player is introduced to. There is no 'press any key' or 'press start'
menu. Straight to the point...For some reason every video game has that simple
'unlock the box' starting point. Few games take the player straight to the main
menu, fewer yet to the character selection screen, and one or two take the
player straight into the game with-out any interface (of course there's steam,
and gamespy, and those kinds of things). Now the player has a few options in
the game for what kind of character to have; Human, Android, and Ghost, these
are the dividing characters, but the later two being omitted from the selection
menu and being exclusively available to players with the knowledge of them.
Further the knowledge only comes from having learned about them via social
interactions or other game based elements.
The human race is the one character which of course has the
most diversity. The Android race is a bit more secretive and it would be a
hidden race in the game that few players have access to. Androids have the
ability to upgrade and have portions of their abilities to interface better
with the digital portion of the game world (computer terminals, personal
computers, that sort of thing). Much as the hacker 'out-fit' is to the human
race. Ghost on the other hand is a race offered only after having accomplished
the task of joining the church on the moon. Which of course wouldn't be easy
because of the vast-ness of the game world and the complexity of the story.
Seeing as this first part is just a hand and finger introduction, we'll move on
from the descriptive monolog explaining exactly what each race is, as it could
lead to a few hundred pages of explanations and systems, order and chaos. So
the human 'race' selection screen has a bit of questions, such as; do you like
out-doors or in doors ? Are you comfortable working with people ? How many
hours a day would you work ? Do you prefer to work with your hands, feet or
mouth ? Are you visually oriented or logically oriented ? Do you play sports?
Are you artistically creative ? Do you prefer cats or dogs? Can you focus on a
goal with-out getting side tracked ? What is your favorite color ? Are you
violent, or do you run in a situation of physical jeopardy. All sorts of basic
questions to figure out the players nitch in the simulated game world. Once the
selection is complete there is a nifty bit of choosing the planet to live on.
Earth is a planet fully controlled by mans desires for electricity. Climate and
environment have both become slaves to technology and murder is no longer the
worse crime a person can commit. Stealing electricity becomes the capital,
grand, felony. Mars is the Earths new source of raw materials. Rich people move
there to avoid the classes of people below them and/ or have acres of land to
live on. To keep things simple. Giving that the game would be a simulation of
planet Earth, Mars and the Moon, with all three in orbit. The gem of the whole
game though is in the game engine which would have to support a constant stream
of data from players and modifications to the game environment. Since at the
very base of the game is a minning operation, the engine is required to allow
players to destroy and build on a scale that has never been done before. Since
there are 2 planets that have to be simulated, on Earth, weather as well as
ocean tides, continental plates, wild-lfe, factories, electrical plants, train
routes, airports, player and npc interactions, every blade of grass that grows
and has been stepped on, meat farms, as well as plant farms, sewage systems,
transit operations and everything that you know of in the world would have to
be taken into a considered simulation. The idea of course is called virtual
reality and today it is slowly being created. This may be one reason this game
is not of the current generation or of any in the near future.
Apart from the complex engine that would create the world,
there lays the problem in an animation engine that can depict the actions of a
world so diverse. It would have duties of environment destruction, player
modifications, plant existence, organic matter, material matter, physics
simulations, and many many little details. Take for example a simple drive to
work on Mars (animations for getting in the vehicles, animations for the vehicles
as it interacts with terrain, dust, rocks being kicked up and interacting
with). Than maybe a meteor shower occurs on Mars and damages the players vehicles
launching the driver straight into flight from the violence of the impact of a
meteor on a 'car'. After which, the
player has to maybe crawl, and than begin to walk (or run) while navigating the
rubble. Tripping over debris, climbing over obstacles all in a dust and ash
cloud. The animation engine would have to work pretty hard to pull that off as
if to seem the character controlled is actually living in the world and not
robotically following commands, comically pretending to be 'human'. Other
players around have the freedom to take advantage of the ash cloud before it
settles, and may kill other players for their 'loot'. While others may want to
aid their friends from wreckages, and that too is a problem, for an engine to
be power-ful enough to simulate a meteor impact on a virtual environment in
real-time as millions of people are playing, calculating the physics of objects
and every other aspect of the game, with-out creating any latency ? And having
animations to depict some characters clearing debris while other characters
engage in hand to hand combat.
It's damn near impossible.
So the introduction to the perfect video game is small.
Mainly because it is realistic. The whole pitch to sell a world that doesn't
exist to the masses becomes use-less for the next couple hundred years
(technology of today is limited).In theory some of this is possible, with the
proper scientific knowledge of the human mind it is possible to tinker with-in
the brain and create false worlds. Networking a couple thousand brains together
though, to share a 'dream' is some-thing quite out of a movie....One that had
some-thing to do with robots enslaving humans for the use of their bodies as
batteries.
All this, it was thought, so it must exist though, as surely
as there are infinite imaginations of lives lived from deep in the infinity of
the mind. It's now time to fantasize, and forget about video games. Here I ask
that the reader has an open mind to concepts such as life-forms of other
dimensions, reincarnation, and spirits. If only for the few pages that may be
read.
The world of the Caste can be based on a tournament. The
laws of which, state stealing electricity is capital, and criminals get sent to
mine on Mars. The time spent is for life. Of course, there is the option of a
death-match tournament which grants freedom from the mines. Every-thing is
based on credits on Mars, and on Earth it is a mix of old currency, gold and
credit, along with the barter system, the drug industry and the who knows who
world of 'favors'. Because in the future we have eliminated, or attempted to
eliminate all our problems, money was the first to go. Credits are not made,
more as they are earned. Each individual receives an alloted some of credits
every week, which is equal among all. Food has become free (kinda thinking
about it, food has always been free, stupidity led to it having a price) but
after the food market became an automated industry, and the quantity large
enough that 30 percent of food actually recycled itself in the form of
fertilizer.
Farms grow plants in buildings as large as countries, the
lighting is artificial, water is sprayed every 4 days and it contains
everything a plant needs to grow strong. Meat, is now non-living. Genetics have
led to 'grape-vines of meat' which are hunks of meat that grow on a machine.
Blood is circulated via a pump, and stimuli is given to muscle and fat to grow
from a computer. It's all electric, and it's all digital. The chunks of meat
don't respond to being cut, they don't feel pain, and these two are grown in
giant 100 foot tall buildings, miles long. Each bit of meat looks exactly the
same and tastes just as great. Luckily for us, this gets rid of the guilt that
goes with eating meat and is now just as innocent as eating pineapples.
Jobs are created in almost every domain, but it's not like a
job in the old world. Jobs here are more of a social interaction of like minded
people, and considered tasks or choirs. A system, implemented hundreds of years
ago, allows people to access information on available tasks than reap the
credits for completing them. For example, there are categories: Food, Shelter,
Cleaning, Repair, Mechanical, Electrical, Painting, Delivery, Management, Sanatory,
and etc. In each of these categories of course there are sub-categories. Every
person has access to the data-base (they just punch in their social recognition
number and hop in with a personal data-pad). A bit of an auction house, where
the first 'buyer' receives the task at 'auction', of course the 'buyer' can be
replaced by a presiding 'buyer' if the challengers has a ranking (so to say) of
completion stronger than the first buyer (If a 'buyer' that has a rating of
completion of 100% while the first "buyer" hours earlier has a rating
of 70%, the 70% 'buyer' can be replaced by the other). Engineers and
constructers, earn the most credits as building, construction, and engineering
are some of the most important aspects of a culture. Not music and art, not
poetry and written stories covering thousands of pages just to capture the mind
and throw out any accomplishment an individual can achieve. Tabloid gossip is
for the petty, and exists as a service others make for others in a 'court
jester' type of fashion, since credits can be transferred from one person to
another, this is another way some people earn their living.
The world here is one that asks of it's people to progress.
Yet the best way to make credit is through the tournament. The winner receives
all of the losers credits, and belongings. Creating a market of legends that
were and legends that are. A form of gladiators, if the Roman empire got one
thing right it was the concept of a perfect apex predator. The arena is now
what a high society social club used to be. Just as before, any-one can make
their way in and redeem the benefits of a plush life. But now the club is
focused on actions rather than words. Instead of caring for whom knows what
about when, it is a matter of how many frags a person has from the tournament,
it's a matter of how many matches they have fought, or how many championships
they have won. Once a person makes their way in, the only way out of the circle
of attention is by death, because once you fight and you win in the tournament
you become as what the old world called 'a diva'. Sure, there have been
competitors that have retired and lived their lives as if they never competed,
but once in a while some-one always comes and asks this and that. Since the
tournament is also team based, there are count-less entrepreneurs who try so
hard or pay so well, that it is damn near impossible to stay out of the field
of violence. Ya, sure, there are a few competitors that have had shame-ful
wins, such as Ali the beek, Johna Whitefield, Pred Ferry, and the most repulsive
winner of any tournament, Edward 'Deadman' Chillian. Edward usually ran away
from any noise he herd on the battle-field. If he dropped his gun for example
he would turn around, run, and hide. Even though the tournament has a no
camping policy. Where if one player stays still for 30 seconds their location
is noted to their adversaries. This cheeky bastard found a way around it. He
saw his opponent, and started crawling on his belly. This meant that he was not
standing still. Than he took a severed leg laying around, placed him-self in a
bit of a hole, putting the leg in front of his face, and on top of his rifle.
Now because both opponents were to close to warrant a camping violation. He
simply pretended to be dead, than fired off a few rounds. But to make
everything that much worse, he waited until his opponent was 5 feet away to
make sure that the shots fired weren't a miss, or that's his explanation from
an interview.
And than of course there is reincarnation. A part of life
that has been long in question weather it truly exists or not. It has been 500
years since the first reported case of a true reincarnation. The death-match
tournaments have been around for five hundred and twenty, it's pretty obvious
that maybe this 'violent' way of living has had beneficial side-affects on
humanity. There are stories of great juggernaught fighters who are believed to
have been reincarnated, and with-in 20 years of their birth return to the
tournament to claim their crown as champion again. Count-less times have these
reincarnated souls held the knowledge of their past lives. One of the first
reincarnations is Troi. Both times she was a fit robust woman, which helped her
to convice the world that she was the same person on her rebirth. In her first
life she lived on Mars, and joined the tournament to mock the inmates
attempting to gain freedom. She was a daughter of a wealthy man. Had a set of
blue eyes, with clouded bits of green. Natural red hair, and a good height of 5
foot 9 inches. Her tactics where barbic, she loved to go vertical, and in 20 of
her 70 battles did she jump on her oppents from above (usually shooting them in
the head on the way down, to avoid getting hurt, as she explained). Her
team-mates were always expandable (they were more or less used to find out
where other oppents where in the arena) so she was mostly seen in the free for
all tournaments. She always stayed in the dark, walking slow, hoping in air
vents, blasting tunnels, that sort of thing. Those she was known for her tactic
of chucking hundreds of grenades, blowing many of the areanas from closed
office building into open air spaces. Troi is one of the few warriors that has
inflicted so much damage that areneas actually had to be rebuilt (some-thing
only 4 warriors have accomplished until today). Watching archive footage of
Troi in both of her lives, similarities in movement, gun handeling, gestures,
tactics, and most noticable, her ambigious habit of tossing grenades every 3
steps are shown to be in common for her. Interviews show her knowledge of past
lives. At 22, after establishing herself as a strong warrior (again) she was
interviewed saying "I remember my match against Jerry Oldert, it was one
of the few times I had to kill some-one with my bar hands. It felt so good,
there should be a hand-to hand death-match!". The match with Jerry was
Trois second to last fight before she died (for the first time). A badly placed
grenade knocked both warriors down, their weapons launched far out of reach and
than in a paniced scramble they soon began fighting hand to hand. Troi was 4
inches taller than Jerry, but 20 pounds lighter. Jerry was a convict miner,
hoping to win his way out, the fight was quick. Troi jumped on Jerry, and
started pounding her fists into him, Jerry kneed her off and used his elbows to
hopefully stop the woman from killing him, but she took those two elbows as she
was getting off her back, and grabbed the same arm that Jerry used to elbow her
with. Than she just pulled in his left arm, Jerry went from a crouched posture
with his right hand on the ground to being in a full rear naked choke hold.
Troi was on her knees squeezing the life out. It's one of the most memoriable
moments in the tournament (and one of the sexiest as well). She was questioned
about every detail of every match, and remember damn near everything, a person
30 years younger, and 20 years after. That was the proof the world needed that
reincarnation was an actual aspect of living. There are two statues of Troi in
the warrior hall. The first life (the shorter statue), with melted marble eyes
that matched the colors she originally had, and the second life 2 inches
taller, blonde hair, brown eyes, a body built to describe the word beautey and
grace, and a face that some-how looks back at you with kind-ness....Even if you
were on her team in the tournament she would throw a grenade in your ass and
start shooting at you just to get you to run. Some people argue that she was an
angel, but everyone who knows how to tie their shoes admires her.
A reincarnated warrior is pretty dangerous out on Earth,
because the only way into the tournament is to steal electricity and avoid
police brutality, which is more often than not mortally threatening. Pride goes
along way as well, the police believe in their power and always fight off the
champions, mainly because of the idea that they killed some-one great. It's an
Earth thing. It is a bit frustrating to live again as a small child, but there
are options to the traditional, go to school, learn and than train while
working kind of life-style that most reincarnated warriors go through. Some
take advantage of their past knowledge and achieve high levels of scholastics,
achieving certifications to pilot space vessels, train in the operation of
digital electrconics and usually stay out of the tournaments. There's been a
few that have attempted the 'clean life-style' bill of life, but again ended up
fighting and giving away their identity. Some reach the glory, than retire or
train new warriors, while other die and are seen hundred of years later.
Mallice was a funny case because he actually had to visit abandonded cities to
retrieve documentation of his existence before. The story goes that at some bar
some-where on Mars, Mallice was running his mouth about how great of a warrior
he once was. A mine cheif wagered him over some land and soon they came to an
agreement where the mine tycoon would cover the credits Mallice needed to head
back to Earth, get some equipment and than go all the way to Haiti and return
with the documents. Because the way society works, Mallice would have lost
everything and been forced into the tournament had he not returened. If he
returned without the proof he would have just lost his land and become a poor
man on Mars. But the man knew where to look.
In five hundred years, there have been enough warriors
though, and many stories to read about. But it's best to just sign up, go
fight, and meet the people rather than talk, read or watch, about them.
If any guns are left on the battle-field they will remain
there for-ever (or until some-one picks um up). Bullet holes, blood, gibs,
everything remains in the arena. The only down-side is ultimately, dieing.
Luckily there is incarnation along-side the ability to walk away. Since the
idea originally started as a 'get out of jail' tournament for workers in the
mine. A few interesting bits rose up to complete the life-style a player who is
in the mines may face. First is the distinction that players get for working in
the mines by choice and working because of a criminal act. Obviously the
workers have the option of indulging in social life on the surface of the
planet while the prisoners are kept, well in prison. Not a very good place to
be if you have poor social skills, or a lack of physical talent.
Man-slaughter- This is the hardest death-match mode. The
only way here is by killing other inmates. The title of 'Mortu' is given to the
homicidal prisoner. It then pits 'Mortu' against another contender, who has the
right to weapons while ' Mortu' on the other hand is not allowed to buy. There
is another variable, that how many victims the 'Mortu' slained outside affects
directly how many players are against them. That means that if you kill 5
people in prison, you have to face 5 fully armed oppents.
Rabbit- Is a deathmatch for some-one who 'accidently' killed
some-one in prison, or if they were 'Mortu' in a just completed man-slaughter
match. They get a pistol, with two magazines, and face off against 4 armed
oppents for every out of tournament kill.
White Rabbit- After having won a Rabbit match (the player
with the pistol) becomes a white rabbit, and now he too is allowed to buy
weapons. And they face off the same number of oppents as before.
Death-match- The classic 8-16-32 player match-up, free for
all. If teams are allowed each player is allowed to invite as many friends as are
willing to come, or adhire to the rules set by the majority. If it's in a
tournament for freedom, there is no option to opt out.
Those who die, we believe, are re-incarnated.
Of course if you died in prison in the tournament, there is
no way that you'll end up better off.
The next level lower than prison would be the slums of
Earth, far away from the credit racking gold-mine. But it's not impossible to
get back. All you have to do is kill some-one, and get caught, steal some-thing
actually valuable, and get caught, this of course given that the players who
are police officers don't deside to beat you to death.
In the slums, there would be gameplay elements such as
drugs, some making the player move faster, hit softer, and maintain a higher
level of stamina (until they crash). While others would make your' character
slow, strong and very hard to take down. On Earth the slums deal in cash. And
this is where things begin to get interesting.
Unlike other games that do not support hacking, this is a
game that if the player has a strong knowledge of linux. A simple ~ key will
lower the terminal and allow the player to, let's say obtain thousands of
dollars from an atm machine. While the hacking aspect will be more a bunch of
fun codes, syntex, and strings, there will also be manuals for reading more
into the actual 'hacking' aspect of the game. For example, a player can get
arrested for a crime on Earth and set off to Mars prison. While on-board the
transport vessel they could break free and tie up, or kil the sentries, and
pilot. While flying the ship would be one of the easier aspects of the game,
landing it a bit more complicated the whole 'make or break' is in giving the
player the possibility to hack open the locker holding the environmental suites
and truly escape to the Martian land-scape. A player with no knowledge of
hacking would be stuck on the ship until oxygen ran out. Then they would pass
out, but since it's a game engine that simulates a complex society, there would
be a search and rescue party that would grab the players unconscious character
out and back to prison. While the Hacker would have to use his mind to figure
out what to do when he's out of oxygen.
BrrnnnnYYY BrrrnnnnYYYY
"Ghit ur aszez up men, It's time to go-a diggin"
The 6:15 morning call means one good thing and one bad
thing.
We get break-fest, and than we work another 12 hours. We all
agree that it's nothing compared to what people in the 19-20s had to go
through, or what kids in the 18 hundreds had to do for money.
We work with plasma cutters, laser beams, robots, mechs, levitating
wheel-barrows, we got all kinds of toys and our job isn't so much physical
labor as repetitive, cognitive labor a damn robot could do.
But, we're all here guilty of some kind of grand warrant
felony. Criminals, and some of the people I live with are really brutal. Mars
is a supposed to be a safe place, and it is, as long as your not in the mines.
The drug trade on Terra can not even begin to compare to the savage brutality
we wake up to every-day.
We can of course get our free-dom back, but most of us just
die trying. And we do have pretty decent living conditions, if your one of the
top warriors in the stages. I didn't get here because of why my comrades came,
most of them just a bunch of criminals looking to see whos head they can chop
off for a quick buck. I came here to escape the chaos of Terra, and get locked
in a bottomless pit with the worst of the bunch. There's a penalty, for any-one
who kills any-one. It's not that harsh of a penalty, they call it Rabbit. And
we have more white rabbits in this mine than we have juggernauts.
Savage is one of those Juggernauts, he gets out their on the
field and he shoots everything that moves. I'm on a team with him, and that
means too keep my ass behind his. We had a few idiots try to take point, and
Savage accidently shot, blew up, or killed in some way or another, every single
one of um. The worst moment was when he sliced his own team-mates throat
open...because he took 4 left turns and got lost !
Savage is a big guy, with a few guardian angels, because
he's never had to go up in a Rabbit match. Every-time some-body gave him shit
and he killed them...it was either an accident or self-defense. With so many
cameras, you'd think it was obvious.
That's besides the point, there's people betting every week
on these matches, and there's more credit out on the table from the
death-matches than any other industry inbettween our two worlds.
All I did was steal a bit of electricity to do my dishes,
and wash my clothes once a week, I don't think I belong here ! But, I did learn
to like guns in the 2 years I've been working.
My favorite is a rifle, x-ray scope, 30x zoom, shoots red
hot rails at 15% percent of the speed of light. It doesn't do much if it's a
direct hit, but if it goes through some-thing it mangles people up in one
fucked up way. It keeps me pretty safe, but if there's another sniper on the
map...I really stress out, luckily these rifles take a long time to reload
between shots (the death-match has regulations to make things 'safe and fair',
for example we're not allowed radios, and it's fucking 31-39!) and every-one
talks. If there's another sniper going into a map, I usually bail on the guys.
Unless Savage grabs me by the balls and drags me along. Fucking asshole.
I was in a Rabbit match once, and it fucking sucked. I spent
every single credit I had just buying myself equipment to keep my ass safe.
Bullet proof helmet, check, re-active camouflage, check, ghost-walk boots,
check, phantom vision h.u.d. modification, check, bullet-proof vest, not allowed,
bullet-proof cup, check, knuckle busters, check, all this crap cost me 400
thousand credits !
I still use the camouflage, and the helmet, and the hud, and
the boots, but the knuckle busters I sold to Savage, he really loves pounding
people down to a pulp with those things.
I was going up against some assholes with thermal vision, so
I had to be clever when hiding, luckily, I'm a very good shot.
Most of the people here don't bother joining the tournament,
their lives are much better here than it was on Terra. I can't even imagine the
kind of lives some- of these people have gone through...I was an engineer, ya
sure, I never got my certificate from the Government, or acknowledge-ment from
the 'commity' as they like to call themselves. But I was good at what I did. I
just never agreeded with the motto -To be an engineer you have to blow up a
city-.
Ya, sure, your freeing thousands, if not millions of people
from a fate worse than death, but it is not in our power to decide who lives
and who dies. Isn't there supposed to be a GOD ?
