CHAPTER ONE
Her visor rings, it’s Reen Pau, her grandma.
“How was the protest?”
“You didn’t hear?” Wi Liu asked breathlessly. “Downtown Philly was mobbed. We released the kraken.
I’m sending you some clips now. It was supposed to be peaceful, but it got, uh…bad.”
“Are you ok?” asked Reen Pau.
“I was attacked but I escaped. It…it was much bigger than last time, people are really mad about WalCo, it was beyond chants and signs, there were more people openly calling to fight the DeHubertons now.”
“So who attacked you?”
“Well there was a big turnout but in the middle some of us got into a deep dance-n-trance that powered this huge octopus in the sky, it was insane…”
“I see it” grandma cut in. “I see…woo, look at that…”
Wi Liu recalled “…we had this energy, we were so synched. No one wanted it to end, I think it went on for 24 hours, but it got noticed alright, and scientists noticed. But then we were attacked by an alt-boy gang from down south”
“Klepto-fascist pricks bringing in mercs now” Reen Pau spat.
Wi Liu was among a crush of Eso-follower friends who formed a massive rhythm circle, eyedropping sativica and disappearing into a deep and powerful harmonic mass convergence. Time lost measure for Wi Liu (was it an hour or ten?) as flashes of phenomena were recorded swirling above in dancing arcs of blazing aurorae.
The circle grew ten thousand strong with twenty thousand more milling about the periphery, entering and exiting in shifts. Trained and untrained revelers locked arms, chanting and moving in a primal, expressive rave that paralyzed the city center for 36 hours in fact, both a love-in and a shutdown as cops stood by watching closely for lawbreaking.
Initially, a holographic projection of a monstrous evil octopus, bathed in purple, green and gold towered above the square, representing the DeHuberton empire, its corporate and paramilitary tentacles undulating in every direction. But what happened next shocked onlookers.
Within minutes, the hologram grew a hundred fold, everchanging in texture and pattern with a dizzying array of color schemes and hallucinogenic patterns, expanding and contracting in all directions at once, a kaleidoscope of geometrics, swirls and fractals blocking out the sky, now an even more sinister razor-fanged creature, visible from miles away with hypnotic pulsing arms billowing off into the farthest reaches of view.
The projectionists had no idea how this was happening. Government scientists were dispatched to the scene as GateX, or Gateway Experience cultists claimed vindication across cyberfiber channels.
The media was shooting from every angle as the apparition kept morphing and regenerating into new designs and forms projected onto the night sky. The protesters were winning.
The date was 2/22/2202, a day of high importance to the twosday cults who were out in force.nse
By now word had spread, drawing in thousands more from surrounding regions. Eso-followers, psychonauts and all manner of spiritualists skated into the inner circle, led into the center to meditate and absorb the charge in the air as trancers surrounded them in choreographed hypnotic whorls.
It was a banner day for Esotera-bound practitioners or even amateurs, swept into the psychomancy. After a period of disorientation, they were coached to become aware of their natural wave frequencies, and to assume control by synching their biorhythms with the crowd. Most experienced convergence as nanoparticle interactions, real or potential became visible as arcing energy between one’s fingers. Many visualized astral markers and many heard “siren songs”, a range of unusually melodic harmonies and rhythms leading them to find ‘affirmation pods’, or smaller kindred groups that complement their individual energies.
Another factor in the landmark event was the matchmaking. The day saw infallibly successful pairings as crackling, illuminated sigils fell from the darkness of the octopus above, dancing overhead in perfectly-matched synchronicity, beckoning dozens of attendees to find their future life mates.
Take Magda for example.
Magda’s heart thumped as if it were about to burst open. She was exhausted after ten straight hours trancing as the octopus-creature overhead cast a bright purple glow on this surreal scene. Her gal pals burst into tears when they saw her sigil gleaming high above, it’s identical match visible above distant rooftops. It was a roughly human-sized pulse of light, bright amber in color with red and electric blue streaks pulsing and permeating the length of it’s vertical shape and ringing it’s organic filigree border in a repeat sequence.
Trembling with anticipation, they ushered Magda closer to her match, weaving through throngs of purple-glowing ravers. She felt the profound impact of the moment weighing on her. Her past felt smaller, the pain over lost loves melted away as she sensed a new beginning.
When her eyes met his, it was at once a revelation and a relief, a face she had never seen but recognized as making sense. He smiled broadly seeing her with a wet gleam in his eye. They embraced hands warmly and instinctually returned right into the convergence, entranced and lost in motion for hours before they spoke or knew each others names. They were in no rush, they had their whole lives but feeding off the convergence was paramount, primal, nourishing.
Dozens of these pairings stretched out during the event, each time to the gasps of the selected. It was orchestrated by an unseen hand with a purpose they could only guess was to promote parenting, but how they found perfect matches was an open question that stumped even the most advanced social scientists as the couples simply never broke up.
Even for those whose match was not present that day it was a life-altering, enlightening event that cemented not only the renewed resolve of the resistance but the path of aetheric awareness they were on, rededicating themselves to the promise of the guiding forces of the collective, Esotera and this strange, comforting magic.
Then things got bad.
Wi-Liu suddenly felt an incredible urge to call Reen Pau.
Others felt it too, crinkling their noses and straightening their backs. The trance was lifting for some, while others went in deeper, finding themselves in yogic martial arts movements, training their senses on the perimeter. The trance-glow could sharpen senses and physical prowess.
Sure enough, snaking in to the crowds were counter-protesters.
Descending tactically, they had been flanking the periphery, brandishing pre-confederate banners, holo-displays and bleating military horns on loudspeaker. Some wore their corporate pride in loud colors, while others infiltrated the teeming streets in mail-order disguises so unconvincing they may well have worn their graphene-armor pajamas on the outside.
These alt-boys had advance intel. They were on the payroll of the legal aid giant SocFed through their own on-the-ground syndicate, a nationalist umbrella group linked by shared belief in pre-confederate documents that sought to establish the US based on divinity covenants ranging from the pilgrims to the Freemason and illuminati, though much of their literature had taken firm hold for decades before being debunked as all-too-prescient counterfeits.
Following the proliferation of high-resolution deepfake printers loaded with authentic vintage paper and ink, the truth, actual historical archives and doctored manuscripts were so muddied by then, the factchecking societies scarcely mattered. The ultimate gonzo brownshirt brigade found a match made in heaven with SocFed’s unholy brew of private equity, megachurch televangelists and media influencers. Their astroturf was sophisticated and their following dedicated through blood oath.
Boots-on-the-ground leadership were mostly trained plants whose paychecks had a few more zeros, playing the role of typical Jim-bobs while fomenting hatred of resistance “anarcho-terrorists” purportedly destroying our nation’s fair cities. At least this was the cover story. In truth, it was their own infiltrators doing all the graffiti, breaking fountains into cobble, slashing ligaments and releasing toxic charges. They were caught time and again, bearing fake cult affiliation patches and tattoos while inciting violence, arson and looting. But their ranks were forgiving, the occasional arrest or exposé changed little.
Before and after the staged attacks, doctored videos cascaded across public channels, framing grassroots protestors across cities and states with “evidence” photos and clips that big-city law enforcement rarely took seriously anymore.
The core of Eso-followers at the center of the rave were targeted and kettled, illegally, including Wi Liu who was singled out because she exhibited strong phenomena including phosphorescent eyes and orbiting light swirls.
“Her!” squealed a squad captain named The Moose. Perched atop an aeroglide elevated conveyance apparatus, Emil “The Moose” Moosilauke had a gallery of specific targets flashing across his mirror-black visor as it scanned faces in the crowd.
Wi Liu was among the first, netted and dragged, her friends restrained and beat back by the 120s and regional alt-boy allies. Wi Liu was surrounded and tased, defiantly hissing all the while. The peaceful event was on the verge of exploding into riotous chaos as waves of outraged protesters swallowed up the counter-protesters only to be driven back with powered batons or shot with silent rounds.
Thus commences Wi Liu’s fight.
Unpacking a spring-loaded longspike, she cut her way out of the thick braided plastic netting only to absorb the first punch landing against her jaw. Wi Liu twisted free, using a portion of the net to block her attacker’s sight, and ran a spike through his throat. Another lunged with a pulse-prod, but she spun, letting the prod get tied up in netting as she elevated a kick to his mouth.
Dropping into a spinning sweep, her leg upended a third goon in quick order. As she delivered the spike through his neck, the other alt-boy lay convulsing with others circling like pack animals.
The Moose was closing in, marshaling a dozen more as he trained a snub-nose in Wi Liu’s direction. Frozen momentarily, she knew escalation could get dozens more killed, perhaps hundreds more. Scanning the crowd, she made eye contact with trancers and then looked back at The Moose, letting loose a luminous burst from her eyes.
The Moose and his boys flinched.
Livestream viewers took note, scrambling for the “record” button. Instances of phenomena would be carefully studied online.
Without hesitation Wi Liu stepped forward to flay a tall 120 and vanished into the pulsing, palpitating crowd as her phosphorescent swirl of light trails distracted The Moose and his infiltrators.
Police sirens started revving up as multiple projectors directed blinding lights into their eyes. They struggled to regroup, aborting the operation and abandoning their quarry.
The protesters kept on winning.
A South Philly hacker collective launched a flight of hummingbird drones to tail the alt-boy convoy home and within an hours time, they had commandeered an unmanned tractor trailer to wipe two of the five visiting alt-boy vehicles over an elevated highway to their deaths. It was a sharp rebuke that kept notching escalations with the SocFed paymasters. Death meant higher per diems. If they had to field a call from DeHuberton family principals, they could lose a territory.
The digiwars were heating up on both sides by now. Wi Liu wasn’t halfway home to her Flushing microloft when doctored videos from Philly went viral, framing her as a serial terrorist cutting up civilians, and of course showing the 120s heroically taking her on. In these clips, she flayed trancers, and she flayed children who were never there.
The usual AI-revenge videos accompanied the posts, including deepfakes, graphic humiliation and in dramatic conclusion, not-so-subtly putting a major bounty on her doxxed head.
Reen Pau: Was there an alt-boy local near you?
Wi Liu: Several…
CHAPTER TWO
The 120s are alt-boys are out of Georgia, so named for Route 120 between Marietta and Roswell, a no-go enclave with training camps and priority access to NutriCorps rations, not to mention a tidy business selling the finest under-the-counter enhancement agents from pirate chemists.
When USGOV raided and shuttered the controversial DuMont Labs for unauthorized human experimentation, almost all the enhancement devs escaped prosecution by pumping up a patsy with nanopentathol to stage a confession and suicide-by-cop standoff.
The many 120-adacent open media feeds draw in alt-boys, nomadic mercs and muscle-multipliers from all over the south with a 13-mile strip of training camps, free or low-cost housing compounds and some spicy red light p-bot districts. Needless to say they attract an aggressive brand of fringe-dwelling synth-T addicts with a particular anti-woman bent.
That night Wi Liu booby-trapped her walk-up, surveilling the scene through multiple pin-cams from a distant rooftop garden. The first visitors were scroungers, so she held back. But an over-pumped NYC alt-boy militia soon came in looking for her next so she triggered the charges, sending a message back all the way back to Route 120.
The message was escalation.
Reen Pau saw the fakes in her feed, Wi Liu was viral and not in a good way. No sooner had she told Wi Liu to head for her Vermont farm than they both realized she was in immediate danger herself. And the cops would eventually be after her as well. Even if her relationship with grandma wasn’t publicly traceable it was a simple matter to get her list of kin from any dirty cop with a login.
“You’ve got to get out of there, they’ll assume I’m coming up.”
Reen Pau was revolted by the idea. “No way José, we can handle them”.
“Reen Pau! They are freaks, they will kill everybody, it’s an open call, they are offering rewards, they have the new irradiated ‘roids, the blood-scrubber kind. They can’t be stopped.”
“Well they will have to kill me then, but I’m not leaving my home. We have firepower here. How long before you think they get here?”
“I don’t know, they might have to wait to get records, they might have offline access. Is there an alt-boy local up there?”
Of course there was. Half the cops were helping grandma, but they can do more off-duty than they can do officially. It’s been this way for years as budget limitations restrict almost all law enforcement escalations.
About half the cops are moonlighting these days, most working either for local franchises of SafeHaven Security, yet another subsidiary of WalCo, or county-based SentryNet affiliates, all subcontracting for Amerizon.
Cops with less than five years of service are prohibited from secondary employment, but work off-the-books for any number of local protection rings nonetheless. Internal affairs was de-balled long ago as any “ratsnitch” who actually investigated wrongdoing was made an example of.
Police forces have been divided right down the middle for so long the precincts have separate locker rooms, and violent conflicts including shootouts have been on the rise for years.
The corporate resisters, sometimes also USGOV loyalists have been nicknamed sebs, short for starry-eyed believers, or starry-eyed bastards depending who you ask. And commanding officers can go either way too, coloring everything from routine stops to major prosecutions as the very institution of US law-enforcement has been openly corrupted.
Cops in remote areas may not even be called anymore, which is why Reen Pau, long retired after 25 years patrolling Chinatown, opened her sprawling farm homestead to cop families looking to relocate when the East Brownington area was still fairly neutral ground for mixed society.
But that was more than 10 years ago already, by now the flags were flying.
Grandma maintains she prefers to go out with a bang, but things have been getting staticky in Orleans County anyway. She’s already been attacked a few times as the local seb cops are working “off duty” protecting neighborhoods from nightime shakedowns from corporate cops. Vermont “Staties” and sheriffs departments see the same dynamic.
Reen Pau explains “we feel like we’re fighting a losing battle out here in the sticks because they have the edge with technology – there’s not even humans anymore that you’re fighting. My neighbors keep getting robbed by cheap robots.”
Wi Liu went silent, thinking over options.
“Our best hope for everything – the whole country, the whole world, is this stuff that you’re doing with these kids if you can whip up that magic maybe we can get something going, something new that can change the battle in our favor”.
Wi Liu scoffed. She could barely control her minor parlor tricks, let alone weaponize the formulas like Esotera.
“When I saw that giant octopus over the city…you made that…it was a powerful symbol that went out all over the world. I believe in what you’re doing, keep it up”. Reen Pau trailed off, sensing Wi Liu’s uncertainty.
“How many guys do you have” Wi Liu asked.
“Something like 50 or 60, 58 I think…these are good guys. We got whole families here, all the kids too fighting because there’s nothing left of their neighborhoods anymore.”
Schools outside of large cities had deteriorated badly. They all charged tuition now as state and local taxation had dried up. And even if even if a family could afford it, they didn’t want to have their kid indoctrinated by slick DeHuberton robot sherpas. So communities turned to homeschooling, mostly in learning pods.
“I taught some of these kids myself. It’s all done by committee here. We gotta educate these kids, get them good sources of information…it ain’t easy”.
Finding age-appropriate learning materials for youngsters was tough, as the corporate schools monopolized most publicly available information going back fifty years or more. Reen Pau knew about history though. Going back to the 2050s-2080s, when the tides turned and corporations got more powerful than the government.
WalCo had divisions, depending where you were. One got hostile started and economically enslaving people, deep in debt, addicted to their “living” drugs and addicted to their tech and addicted to their pleasure bots.
Reen Pau knew what life was like before. She had always wanted to write a book about her days on the force, to set the record straight, recalling the gritty reality versus the sanitized history.
But it wasn’t easy to get old-fashioned books anymore.
CHAPTER THREE: Siege at Reen Pau’s Farm
At exactly 5:00 AM, six heavily armed alt-boys swaggered up the driveway in lateral formation. A hit squad.
They entered the property under a wrought iron arch covered in ivy, passing overgrown honeysuckle trellises that concealed cameras and sensors. It wasn’t even 5:01 when their advance tripped a charged wire attached to a heavy duty spring-loaded swing arm. It dug into their legs to deliver lethal doses of electricity. They all died instantly, bodies locked in gnarled contortions.
Surveying the dead closely on the monitors, Reen Pau turned to Captain Reg and sighed “well, the good news is we just bought ourselves some time, the bad news is they’re going to bring in heavy hitters now”.
Fast forward two days. This time they came at night.
As often happens, a wave of drones buzzed over the property first. As often happens, the drones were neutralized by homing rounds. Another wave of drones buzzed over the property line as a column of armored vehicles rumbled through the gates, barreling past the electrified swing arm which snapped into pieces with a bright flash.
There were other defenses, though. The lead vehicle was swallowed into a pit in the floor and impaled on steel shanks as a hidden panel collapsed to reveal a hollow chamber. The others swerved around the chasm, but waiting right there were roadmines which blew the next two vehicles into scrap.
Further down the pathway, gun turrets rose from the floor to light up the armored carriers, searching for weaknesses in window glass and tires as they dotted the side panels. Another IronBack was blown 40 feet into the air by a roadmine, careening back to Earth in a fireball. The convoy continued to advance, taking automated fire from the trees. Another carrier was rent asunder by two converging rocket-propelled grenades. But the convoy fired back using homing rounds to take out gun nests and strafe nearby structures with firebombs. The barns were burning.
The convoy approached the cinderblock-fortified domicile, lobbing explosive charges from rooftop mortars, but the alt-boy commandos in had to bail and roll when multiple vans were blasted apart by shoulder-fired warheads. But striding undetered out of the flaming wreckage were two killbots, military grade.
Grandma and the patrolman families hunkered down behind steel-insulated partitions as dronecams scanned the threat and lit up scores of moving targets with guidance beacons. But heavy munitions ran low quickly, particularly in taking down the two killbots who flanked the buiding.
The remaining five vehicles screeched to a halt and discharged, with gun-toting altboys taking positions behind the vehicles. Ten pointmen spread out around to encircle the building as a patchwork of defense drones circulated overhead spraying small caliber fire, dropping half the recon team or defenders firing through small apertures in the structure.
Clad in heavy vulcanium padding, the invaders did not stay put, following behind a low-profile armored vehicle fitted with an angular grill which was remotely programmed to breach the front door, taking out most of the reinforced wall as it compressed cinderblock and reebar into rubble with a metallic screech.
Reen Pau’s ranks also programmed vehicles. Unmanned squad cars, passenger vans and even an oversized tractor emerged from the fields to ram the alt-boy trucks and pin them in. Motors revved and wailed like sirens as they pushed against eachother in a knotted tangle.
The alt-boys pressed forward quickly, spilling into the house. The firefight was now in close quarters, with homing rounds whizzing around corners. It was a bloodbath as the first lines on both sides took heavy losses.
The air was filled with flying hunks of building material, brick and shredded bits of wood, plaster and polyforge fiber-resin as both sides lit up the interior of the building with concussive arms. The defenders had dug in, situated behind hardened metal stanchions as decoy dummies absorbed homing rounds, but the walls were collapsing leaving them exposed from the sides. The alt-boy ranks were dwindling but still pressing forward as their armor withstood the fire. By now it was too tight to use homing rounds which could hit your own side.
With ammo draining on both sides, the last few drones buzzed overhead trying to blind the assailants, guided by children hidden nearby underground.
Bursts of gunfire became sparse as final bullets were preserved.
Reen Pau had picked off three invaders from a position in the ceiling but fell to the floor with a “clud” as the support paneling fell apart. Dead bodies lined the floor as Reen Pau emptied her guns towards the marauders. Before long, the fighting went hand to hand with blades flashing and blood spilling. The alt-boys knew there were more defenders in hiding around the compound but had established a perimeter around the building.
Reen Pau charged an alt-boy, sinking a thin blade between two armor plates above the hip as he howled. But Reen Pau was subdued with a hammering blow from a rifle butt and pinned to the floor by a weighty jackboot. She was then dragged into the center of the room., making a path in the debris. As the alt-boys cracked a lumastick, she saw the floor littered with debris, shell casings and bloody entrails.
They want to know where Wi Liu is.
The Moose saunters in, yet unscathed, looking for an answer.
“We could have vaporized this whole hippie granola compound from the sky two days ago. But we don’t want you, grandma, why not spare all the women and kids you have hiding in your underground container? Where is she?”
“She’s not here, you lying asshole”.
The Moose signaled behind him. A behemoth of an alt-boy brought forth a freckled teen girl, wriggling against her zip-tie bonds. “This one came out into the open to revenge her eggboy daddy, I guess she wanted it to be over quick, huh?”
The Moose unsheathed a razored awl, his preferred utensil for torture. He brought the girl closer. “Where is she?”
Reen Pau swallowed, her eyes darting to the side. She slowly scanned the face of young Nika who scowled in defiance. Reen Pau started to speak but was interrupted by a male shriek outside. The Moose gestured for two of his detail to check on the position and looked back to Reen Pau.
Reen Pau breathed deep, inhaling blood. “I was going to ask, if you only have one life to live, why do you serve rich assholes that don’t give a shit about you?”
The Moose smiled with a furrowed brow, looking down at the girl. He braced her chin, readying to slice off her nose when another shriek rang out, followed by a burst of gunfire that stopped abruptly. Two more alt-boys started jogging over as The Moose surveyed his numbers, seeing six alt-boys left inside. He didn’t want Reen Pau to see him looking at his wrist display but he was curious how many blips were nearby.
Reen Pau then changed her strategy. The Moose again grappled Nika’s jaw, this time so firmly it contorted her freckled skin. Teardrops swelled and broke, streaking across her face onto his fingers. He brought the tool up to her nose, his forearm visibly shaking. Reen Pau just then blurted “Wait! I’ll talk!”
The Moose brought the blade right against Nika’s trembling nose, spitting through gritted teeth “where is she? Is she here?!”
Reen Pau then slouched her shoulders. “I told her not to come, but…”
“But what?” The Moose demanded, “where is she?”
Reen Pau leaned back, her body going limp to slink out of the grasp of her captor.
“…she came anyway. She’s right behind you.”
The Moose spun to see Wi Liu, directly behind him, decked out in black, shoving a longspike up into the spinal column of an alt-boy who starts firing his gun wildly. Wi Liu had also a steel grappling hook which she sunk into the arm of the alt-boy, redirecting his fire towards The Moose. Nika turned her face and dropped to the floor, wrapping her body around The Moose’s legs to pull them together. Reen Pau lunged forward, knocking The Moose off balance.
Grasping the air, Reen Pau’s captor was hit in the face shield by stray fire, screaming in agony as blood filled his mouth. The Moose fell forward, right onto his razored awl as Wi Liu pierced the side of his neck with her spike.
The alt-boys came after Wi Liu, firing wildly after Reen Pau tossed the light stick into the distance. Wi Liu spun rhythmically as flashes of white and grey light appeared in her wake, confusing the attackers. But that wasn’t all.
Swirls of dust particles also flew up into the facescreens of the alt-boys as Wi Liu approached one from the side to finish him with her spike and wrest the gun from his hand. It was quickly picked up off the floor by Reen Pau, straining her eyes wide to see shapes and forms.
Wi Liu had studied Esotera’s phenomena for over ten years but only now discovered how the tricks came much more naturally when “survival mode” triggers chemical releases from the adrenal glands. Wi Liu now knew she could trigger her own “fight mode” by shutting down the prefrontal cortex and letting her cortisol-drenched limbic system take over. It was pure animal instinct.
Most of the alt-boys fought to the last bullet. But it didn’t take long. Eight of them came in the same doorway, dropped by a single sniper hiding under the floor. One begging for mercy was spared to see if he could yield usable intel. But the compound was in ruins, stomach-turning carnage everywhere. Shrieks of anguish led to sustained sobs as the children emerged. Nika was bleeding, having lost an ear.
The farm collective would survive, but Reen Pau was shaken, embracing Wi Liu to steady herself. She started explaining she had a change of heart.
“Maybe I will hit the road with you and get the hell out of here before the next round of this.”
Wi Liu, looking down replied “I would love to hit the road with you grandma”.
They walked through the fields towards the highest elevation. Neighboring landowners had gradually been selling off to a regional consolidator held by a subsidiary of the Mayo Twins. Reen Pau could still cash out handsomely as her land was contiguous to consolidated tracts both to the north and south. Her collective was hit hard, losing most of the men. But the families could now relocate further north. Resistance was stronger and stronger approaching the Canada line.
Reen Pau scanned the horizon. “I really thought I was gonna have a glorious death, but I think there’s gonna be an even better one for me.”
“If I’m not dead yet it’s for a reason.”
SIX-PAGER: ©2024 DoomMags
PAGE ONE
The year is 2202. Splash page showing a giant ornate, fantastical snarling holographic octopus-monster filling the sky with tentacles stretching into every direction. Below, we see it’s a future Philadelphia. In vanishing perspective, the buildings, stores and businesses line Market Street which leads to the distant City Center, which is occupied by protesters as far as the eye can see. People all over town are looking out doors and windows, holding up devices to film, including some that have a built in extension stick.
NARR: The projection was a turning point. Never before had there been such a enormous symbol, such a visible display of resistance…of total defiance.
NARR: Never before had so many Esotera devotees gathered – ten thousand trancer-dancers, with another twenty thousand witnesses milling about the periphery in awe.
NARR: It started as a holograph, common at these protests, a 3-D image projected into the sky or against a large building. But this was completely different, something new.
NARR: The hive-mind changed it, grew it larger a hundred-fold to block out the sky. No one knew how, it just happened.
DIALOG BOX: Did you see it grandma?
DIALOG BOX: I see it, Wi Liu. I see it.
PAGE TWO (4 panels)
1. Immersed in the center of the crowd, Wi-Liu dances in a slinky yogic pose, eyes closed in a deep trance, in synch with others around her, a sea of trancers, some beating on drums or using percussion instruments. Wi Liu has a metal brace on her wrist.
DIALOG BOX: We were winning, finally someone pushing back.
DIALOG BOX: But it couldn’t last, Wi-Liu. It had already been two days…
2. Close up on Emil “The Moose” Moosilauke, enraged with veins sticking out and spittle flying he is yelling orders, both hands pointing at a target. He is in front of radar screens and tech.
DIALOG BOX: We knew they would come for us, grandma, there was no doubt. We knew as soon as the cops pulled back the alt-boys were coming.THE MOOSE: Infiltrators first, establish positions in the crowd. Then strikewave goes in hard and fast – we take out the leaders!
3. Exterior view of future tactical SWAT-like vehicles, discharging mercenary alt-boy commandos holding stun-gun weapons in formation they charge into the city center to penetrate the crowd. Drones deploy too from the roof. In background we see the buildings and tentacles.
DIALOG BOX: The point had been made. It was all over cybernet.
DIALOG BOX: And they wouldn’t stand for it long. The hired goons came from all over, a brazen attack in broad daylight.
4. Floating in an aeroglide elevated-conveyance apparatus, The Moose directs his men to advance on the trancer-dancers in the center of the pack, holding advanced tazer and cattle-prod-like weapons and lots of other gear. Some onlookers react in shock, some film everything, while others are still unaware, deep in trance.
THE MOOSE: All the way in! Move!
THE MOOSE: Get the ones at the inner core!
PAGE THREE (5 panels)
1. The alt-boys are using expanding net weapons to capture protesters who are trying to escape, and already have a couple of protesters already struggling, kettled in large plastic netting pods. One net is expanding around Wi Liu who tries in vain to escape. All around is confusion as some dancer-tracers awaken in shock.
DIALOG BOX: That one! With the baggy pants!
WI LIU: Alt boys! Fucking merc weasels…
2. Close on Wi Liu’s determined and angry, enveloped in the netting as it closes around her, she has unsprung a thin longspike which was concealed in a brace on her wrist. The blade is shredding the netting apart. Very faintly in Wi Liu’s pupil we see the beginning of what looks like light sparkles.
DIALOG BOX: Funny thing grandma, I was shocked at the brazen attack…
3. Action panel of Wi Liu in a flying kick to smash in the face of the alt-boy who is falling back flailing and dropping the netting gun. People on the sides are gawking and filming.
SOUND FX: CLUNNT!
DIALOG BOX: I can’t explain what I was doing, something just took over me.
DIALOG BOX: I must have still been in the trance…
4. Another alt-boy has jumped at Wi Liu but has the spike sticking out of his back with blood streaming everywhere as Wi Liu was braced for the attack. Other alt-boys are approaching.
SOUND FX: SHKUC!
DIALOG BOX: Even in the moment I asked…did I really do that?
ALT-BOY: URRGH!
5. A perspective shot of The Moose’s back in foreground as he pulls a futuristic snub-nosed gun out. He is facing Wi Liu who is at a distance, two bodies heaped on the floor with blood all over the ground. Other alt-boys are hesitating to attack.
THE MOOSE: Useless imbeciles! Cut her down or I will!
DIALOG BOX: It was a moment of truth, grandma. I knew this could quickly escalate…
DIALOG BOX: That’s when I did something I never did before.
PAGE FOUR (4 panels)
1. The Moose has his gun pointed, shooting blindly, but his face is turned, eyes closed and recoiling from a brilliant glaring light display Wi Liu has created as she runs, low to the ground, into the crowd.
GUNSHOT SOUND FX: K’CHA!
DIALOG BOX: I made the lightbursts, Reen Pau. I just pointed and…
DIALOG BOX: …I was shocked. It finally worked!
THE MOOSE: Wha – Whaa?
WI LIU: Gotta lose these freaks!
2. Close on the faces of Wi Liu and an alt-boy as Wi Liu runs the longspike across right through both of his eyes with blood and fluid gushing.
DIALOG BOX: There was just one more alt-boy in my way.
ALT-BOY: Gotcha n— UURKH!
SOUND FX: SSHLK!
3. View from behind the Moose’s head in foreground, the remaining alt-boys are getting surrounded by protesters who are more and more emerging from their trances, posing in yoga-karate stances, some are shining handheld LED lights towards The Moose to obscure his vision, making the scene hard to see, thus the scene is largely drawn in edge-lighting and silhouette.
DIALOG BOX: We shined lights in their faces.
DIALOG BOX: They realized they were vastly outnumbered
PROTESTER: Want a fight?
THE MOOSE: Can’t…I can’t see shit!
4. Mid shot of the Moose, grimacing, he has turned around to glide away, yelling with spittle. Alt-boys follow behind in a column as crowd grows, filming them and shining lights.
THE MOOSE: Dammit, pull out!
THE MOOSE: We’re the fuck out of here…
DIALOG BOX: We were winning.
PAGE FIVE (5 panels)
1. Horizontal panel shows shadowy figures on a dark rooftop with a lighted skylight, entering into Wi Liu’s building with hi-tech weapons through a broken door.
DIALOG BOX: So what happened next?
DIALOG BOX: They were fuming. Even more of them were taken out on their way home. A South Philly hacker collective reprogrammed two unmanned semi trucks and rammed two of their convoy vehicles into a ravine.
2. Close up on a digital screen showing a “wanted” image of Wi Liu’s face, snarling (with eyes slightly sparkling) as she impales an innocent civilian. Underneath the image are displayed a list of her “crimes” (blank space, text will be photoshopped in).
DIALOG BOX: But it was me they wanted. By the time I got home, I was doxxed and viral with graphic deepfake videos of every manner.
DIALOG BOX: They showed me killing protesters, kids, you name it. DIALOG BOX: A huge bounty was posted too, dead or alive.
3. View from behind Wi Liu on a different rooftop as she presses a remote control switch. We see three blocks away an explosion rocks the top floor of her building.
SOUND FX: KWOOSH!
DIALOG BOX: I had all my savings tied up in that micro-loft.
DIALOG BOX: But there were a half dozen alt-boys inside looking for me.
DIALOG BOX: WI Liu, come up to the farm. You’ll be safe here.
DIALOG BOX: That’s what they’ll expect, grandma. Your name and address is publicly traceable to me, any dirty cop can feed them the records.
4. Extra close on Wi Liu’s shadowy face with a “kill or be killed” expression.
DIALOG BOX: You’ve got to run too, they’ll assume I’m coming up.
REEN PAU: No way Wi Liu, we can handle them up here.
5. Shot of Reen Pau talking through her shiny shades. She is revolted by the idea but smiling, see some crops in background.
DIALOG BOX: Reen Pau! They are freaks, they’ll kill everybody, it’s an open call. They can’t be stopped.
REEN PAU: They will have to kill me then, but I’m not leaving. We have firepower here. How long before you think they get here?
DIALOG BOX: I don’t know, they might need time to find the records. Is there an alt-boy local up there?
PAGE SIX (3 panels plus montage)
1. Reen Pau in her command center, looking at a large monitor in a bank of security monitors. On the screen there are a pack of armed alt-boys walking across her property line under a metal arch.
DIALOG BOX: The first wave came in the early morning, 5:00 AM. Six heavily armed alt-boys swaggered up the driveway in lateral formation. A few drones buzz above them.
DIALOG BOX: A hit squad.
2. A small box shows the alt-boys feet tripping a laser sensor hidden low to the ground in a honeysuckle trellis.
SOUND FX: Meep
DIALOG BOX: It wasn’t even 5:01 when their advance tripped a spring-loaded swing arm attached to a charged wire.
3. The alt-boys are fried by the trip wire swinging up to catch their feet. They are locked in gnarled contortions as electricity engulfs them.
DIALOG BOX: It dug into their legs to deliver lethal doses of electricity. They all died instantly.
SOUND FX: SCHWNG!
SOUND FX: ZZZzzZZ!
ALT BOYS: Yeeargh! Ooof! Rrhhg!
4. Montage panel of Reen Pau in battle gear locked and loaded, surrounded by helpers with guns and gear. We also see Wi Liu, determined, brandishing her longspike and surrounded by gleaming flashes of light. We also seeThe Moose’s torso, yelling with veins popping. Other elements could be octopus arms, or high tech drones flying around.
DIALOG BOX: Well, the good news is we just bought ourselves some time, the bad news is they’re going to bring in heavy hitters now.
REEN PAU: Well that escalated quickly…
THE MOOSE: Damn You! DAMN YOU!
THE MOOSE: Call in the IronBacks, we need heavy artillery now — I want that little bitch dead!
TITLE GRAPHICS: Next: Wi Liu in SIEGE AT REEN PAU’S FARM