Chasing a Dream

Since graduating from Linfield College in McMinnville, Oregon a few months ago I’ve done a lot of soul searching. I’ve worked some jobs that I have absolutely loved, and some that I absolutely loathed. One trait that I’ve always been proud of having is that of perseverance. I’ve been knocked down a lot and many times I could have just given up there. Life isn’t supposed to be easy, but I also don’t believe that you’re not supposed to put yourself through too much hell, either. I have persevered through some tough challenges, but I think my biggest hurdles are still ahead. In order to continue to follow the passion of writing, I will have to put myself through a little hell in order to come out successful, but I don’t mind that.

Currently, I am working at a job that I can easily be content with. I make a decent amount of money, I am in a leadership position and it is very close to where I reside, but it isn’t fulfilling. I’ve woken up every day not only dreading going into work, but also constantly trying to figure out what makes the job worthwhile, besides the paycheck. Not only does the job stress me out, but because of the stress and the hours, I don’t find the time to write like I should. And that’s just not going to fly anymore.

After graduation I moved from Oregon back to Vacaville, California. Vacaville is a hop and a skip away from both Sacramento and San Francisco, so there were many opportunities for work, but not for the kind of writing that I want to do. I went onto twitter one morning while bored and contacted numerous sketch and television writers about how I should kick start my career. There was a consensus on those that did reply to me and that was:

  1. Continue writing. Never stop writing.
  2. Move to Los Angeles or New York.

That stuck with me. The advice planted seeds deeply into my mind and into my gut. The seeds in my mind sprouted ideas and a curiosity that soon made the seeds in my gut erupt and burn. There were times where I’d lay awake at night and stare at my white ceiling. The muted colors from the television would dance on the darkened ceiling but I would just stare blankly.

“What if?” I’d sit and wonder. “What if I did move down there, would I be a success? Could I make something of myself?”

In July of this year, I decided to take that chance. I moved from the comfort of my home city and moved to Downey, California. I took that chance and moved and, for the moment, I thought that was enough. I got the job that I am in now and for that moment I was content. I was okay with the steps that I took. But, I sit here frustrated and stressed, because I didn’t come out here just to live, I came out here following a dream. I have years ahead of me to be content, but, today won’t be that day where I settle for anything less than what I have worked the majority of my life. I’m going to quit my job and work towards my career. I don’t mind betting on myself. In fact, I’ll take those odds any day of the week.

I don’t want to look back and wish that I hadn’t pursued something. I don’t want to look back and wish that I could have done more. I want to be able to look back and smile, and tell my story with pride.

For Play

I really liked ‘er ass, an that’s kinda whud-da met her for,

Had a smile-y on my face that was bigger than a’ albacore.

Approached with a swagger, not an amateur to prose

Had to shoot for the moon, when the chance arose.

 

She didn’t look for attention, yet I stood like a soldier

Intentions no longer concealed, abort covert

And when I caught her eye, like a sniper to his scope

She knew  inevitably  her will would be smote

 

The game I spit was was potent– a cobras venom to mice

And what escaped from my mouth, with a python-esque vice

 

A surreptitiously sweet,

soothing serenade set

to steal her soul

Against her behest

 

With the conviction of a back, I attacked her path

I Ochocinco’d this and Deion Sanders’d that

Touching down the field became my next goal

The ultimate prize–reaching the Sugar Bowl

 

She asks aloud in a heated moment how I’d convinced her to stay

I smirk and reply, “All these game be for play.”

Mushroom Kingdom

Far north of the Cherno Bog and east of Abaddon

Sits my beautiful respite– the Mushroom Kingdom.

The echoes of laughter tease sensually the eardrums

A hypnotic green aura beckons all men to come.

 

Though surrounded by darkness, inside the colors illuminate-

and fuse with each other as they dance and gyrate

creating new hues leading the brain to confusion,

each step through the street seems profusely illusion.

 

Beauty– my Kingdom exudes; but, its denizens are ghouls

Crafted from muck, face distorted as fools—

Only partially exposed, they stand staring behind buildings

Piercing one’s soul as if Death is nearing.

 

Denizens awakened, and now the Overlord sits atop

The clouds in the sky his face frozen as a rock.

The body is numb as the mind begins to race

Colors die down—cold sweat emerges on face

 

Perusing the boulevard is simply no option

They multiply in numbers, to surround as they flock in

Escape from the Kingdom, denizens unnaturally small

or— unnaturally tall—requesting your fall.

 

Your fall from grace, back to reality, back to grips.

Now the tress around are bemoaning your trip.

Burst through the Lost Woods and break her embrace.

Men hung from the branches gnash and berate—

 

The treacherous tress hold not back your departure

As time in the woods elapses, the adventure turning to torture

Exiled from the Kingdom, now sail away on the ship

Boom’r bust, my Kingdom’s a hell of a trip.

Ermac

He opens his eyes slowly. The light of the sun peering through his window heats his chin. He takes in a deep breath and gently lets it out through his nose. His eyes wander around his dimly, sunlit room as he continues to wake. He shifts to his left, moving his comforter off of him and he pushes it to his side. He sits up and drags his feet over the side of his bed and onto the floor. He puts his hands on his knees and as they support his body he peers down to the floor, staring blankly at his feet.

“FUCK!” He screams loudly to no one in particular.

His once calm breaths begin to come out in seemingly uncontrollable spurts. His fingernails dig deeply into his knees and he begins to shake his head. His eyes begin to widen as he becomes more infuriated.

“FUCK!” He yells again. He bites down hard and tightens his jaw. “Mother fuck it all…”

Ernest Macken, called Mac by his close friends, is a thirty-four year old man stuck in the mediocrity of life. He only has time for work, which is as a correctional officer in Susanville, California at High Desert Maximum Security Prison. His wife recently left him suddenly and not only did the loss of her stress him out, but the fact that they could barely keep up with house payments already, he feared he would lose his house.

He wakes up daily to the same routine: Shower, cereal for breakfast, a cup of black coffee and a 20-minute drive to work. As he walks in he is greeted by his co-worker Guillermo, who he sometimes calls ‘Memito’. The skinny, but awkwardly tall man was one that Ernest felt he could talk to.

“Mac!” He yelps happily as Ernest enters the locker room to put his belongings away. He hops up and stands patiently behind him as he finishes putting his things away.

“How’s it going, Memito?” Ernest asks as he turns around and shakes the young man’s hand.

“It’s great! I had to tell you first though, Shields is pissed at you! He’s making you stay another overnight!” Ernest shakes his head and passes up Guillermo to wash his hands in the bathroom. “It’s your third time this week Mac, he’s trying to break you. What will you do?”

“I will bash his fucking skull in, that’s what I’ll do.” Ernest thinks to himself.

He walks to his boss’ office, Warden Kenneth Shields, and lightly knocks on his door. A rustling of papers can be heard before the Warden hollers,

“Come in.”

Ernest opens the door and steps into the musty, small office and is greeted by a huge smile that he could only read as meaning, ‘got you cornered’. Ernest sends a polite, ‘eat a dick’, smile back.

“Good morning Ernest, I’m guessing you saw that I have you for an overnight tonight? You’re the best guy for the job. Sorry for the short notice.” Ernest’s slick-haired, smug looking boss says. He begins to turn his chair around and adjusts his thick glasses as if he expected Ernest to accept the duty without question.

“Sir,” Ernest says calmly. “This is my third overnight. I’m not running off much sleep and I need to get home to—“

“To your wife? No. She left you, right? I’m sure you need the money, why complain, Macken?” Shields interrupts.

A spark goes off in Ernest’s brain and he slightly twitches. His face cringes a little, and he forces a smile and a nod. He begins to leave, but Shields calls for him to stop.

“Hey, that behemoth, Khan, needs to be escorted from the hole back into the general population. Handle that. Shut my door behind you, Ermac.”

Ermac?

A cold chill spikes down Ernest’s spine and makes his knees slightly buckle. He squeezes the doorknob tightly and his whole body tenses up uneasily.

“What?” Ernest turns to back to look at his boss. “What did you call me?”

Kenneth looks at Ernest puzzled and scrunches up his face.

“What the fuck do you think I called you, Macken? Get your ass out of my fucking office!” Kenneth bangs a fist on his desk that slides his glasses down his crooked nose and sprawls a few papers onto the floor. Ernest scowls and slams the door behind him.

Ernest walks past Memito’s desk on route to the bathroom.

Ermac, Ermac. We are Ermac.”

Ernest twitches, again, at the sound of the name and looks furiously at Memito, who is rhythmically nodding his head back and forth, as if he were listening to music.

“Memito, did you say something?” Ernest asks exasperated.

Memito looks up, surprised to see Ernest, and shakes his head slowly as he cocks an eyebrow.

“No, Mac. Are you okay? You’re sweating profusely. Yeich! You look filthy!”

Ernest grabs for his head and wipes sweat away from his hairline. He begins to shake his head, confused that such a word, such a name, could make him react so strangely.

“No…nothing, Memito. I… I think I just need some water.”

Ernest splashes a handful of cold water onto his face from a bathroom sink in an attempt to revitalize his sanity.

“Sheena leaving must have really fucked me up,” Ernest thinks to himself, blaming his estranged wife for his troubles. “There can be no other explanation. None.”

Ermac. Join us.”

            Ernest swing his head to the location of the voice and sees only his reflection in an adjacent mirror.

We are Many! You are but one!”

            He swings his head back to the other side and then behind him. All he can see is himself in the lonely bathroom.

“What the fuck, man!? Who the hell is this Ermac!? I’m Ernest” He yells.

“We are but a Legion without you. Join us! Together we will be strong!”

            Ernest’s jaw begins to tremble and slowly drops. He takes in large swallows of air, gasping. He drops to one knee and covers his face with his hand, trying to scramble the nightmare out of his brain. He shuts his eyes closed tightly and looses a muffled scream into his hand.

Ernest slowly stands to his feet after15- minutes down on a knee and listens. No voices. No whispers.

“I need to sleep. This is getting ridiculous.” Ernest thinks as he lets go of his face. He looks toward a mirror and jumps back suddenly. A figure, dressed almost like a mummy in black garb with a green-ish aura around him, reaches towards him. He looks the figure in the eyes and lets out a shriek.

Ernest runs out of the bathroom in sheer terror and runs smack into Kenneth. Both men bounce off each other and onto the ground.

“WHAT THE FUCK!?” Kenneth yells. His glasses fly off his face as he hits the ground. He searches for them blindly. “Macken! You dumb fuck! You know I’m blind without my goddamn glasses! When I find them I am going to put my foot up your fucking ass!”

Ernest gets up, his head pounding from knocking into Kenneth, and he runs downstairs. He gallops past the panicked Memito, away from the stern glance of Sergeant Sonja Blaze as she escorted two new recruits, a blond haired man with a scorpion tattooed down his forearm and a man with a menacingly cold stare, through the facility.

He ran down to the last level which is the dark, damp, and incredibly hot area where the worst offenders are held, away from the general population. Ernest, getting his wits slowly back, passes the cell of a deranged follower of the god of thunder, Thor. He was somehow able to take a transformer down and kill over 30 people at a local pool by electrocution. Ernest walks past probably the most famous, or infamous, rather, prisoner, John Gauge. He is a washed up daytime TV actor that mutilated his director after he found out he was being replaced onscreen by ex Japanese baseball player, Kay Ono. He also bashed in the face of his replacement, leaving the young man permanently paralyzed and blind on one side of his face.

Ernest reaches his destination, the cell of Khan. Khan was the leader of a vigilante group based outside of Houston, Texas. He took the law into his own hand and, because of his charisma and freakishly large stature, his followers were completely loyal. The local law enforcement had no real way of stopping Khan and his army of fugitives, that is, until he suddenly gave himself up.

“K.. Kha..” Ernest coughs out, still reeling from the run in with Shields. “Khan, this is CO Mackens, place your hands on the wall. I will be escorting you back into the general population. Your time in the hole has been served.”

Shuffling is heard inside the pitch black cell and quickly quiets down. Ernest presses a button to illuminate the cell and opens the door.

The 7 foot 3 and a half inch man stares at Ernest, through Ernest, rather. Mackens clears his throat again and takes a step.

“Ermac.” The mountain of a man lets out in a low grumble. “You are the Legion.”

Ernest looks at the man in shock. His mouth slowly opens to retort, but is cut off by Khan.

“Accept your destiny. You are not what you think you are.” Khan says slowly. His hands still placed firmly on the wall. “You are the Bringer of my Army. You are the Harbinger of War. Legion! You are ERMAC!

The ground seems to shake as Khan says the name again. Ernest’s heart begins to beat rapidly and his palms become sweaty again. A thick pounding of echoes inside of Ernest’s head and whispers begin to arise from all around him. The voices call for ‘unity’, they call for ‘dominance’ and the call the name Ermac. The noise rips through Ernest’s head violently and beats like a tribal drum. What Ernest believes is screaming coming from the voices, is actually coming from his own lungs. He staggers back, away from the cell door and falls to his backside against the adjacent cell. A symphony of voices chanting, ‘We are ONE’, sing around him as he gasps for a breath of air.

Ernest curls into a fetal position and squeezes his head with both hands, his eyes bulging from their sockets. The cacophony of sounds unexpectedly stops. Ernest, shaking uncontrollably, uses his eyes to search the room. An explosion. Then another. And another. Coming towards him. Another.

“No, not explosions. Steps.” He thinks.

Khan crouches down in front of Ernest and stares in his eyes. Khan’s inhumanly pale eyes calm Ernest. A feeling of euphoria passes over him. He believed his death was imminent.

“Accept your destiny, Ermac. Search for me, again.” Khan says commandingly as he lifts his fist. Ernest’s eyes follow the fist high into the air and, as it rapidly descends, he says goodbye to the world he had come to loathe.

Ernest wakes up in a dark room. He blinks, slowly. Pain flushes up and down his seemingly broken body. Whispers are heard swirling around the room. They question their ability to move, how long they had been asleep, where they were. They encourage Ernest to try to move a limb, but he is unable to. They urge him, again, and forcibly lift his arms towards his face. He looks at his arm, which is wrapped up tightly in bandages. His alien attire and location should frighten him, but, surprisingly, they do not. His other arm is lifted and he sees the same tight bandages. He tries to squeeze his fist closed, but pain makes the attempt useless. The voices advise Ernest to let them handle functionality at the moment. Ernest obeys, unquestioningly. Ernest’s hands and fingers move completely by themselves. His legs slide slowly across the gurney. His toes and feet flex and his ankle tweaks itself around.

“What is going on?” Ernest thinks.

We are one now, Ermac. We, the Legion and yourself are now, US!”

Ernest tries to shrug in disbelief but is unable to.

We will take care of you until you completely improve. Trust us.”

Ernest is rolled out of bed and is puppeted towards a mirror.

An uneasy feeling drops through his stomach as he peers at the figure before him. He stares into the same eyes he saw in the bathroom that burned themselves into his memory. He peered into his eyes. But, just as it was in the bathroom, his eyes are now their eyes. At this very moment of realization, Ermac, the Legion of Many, is born.

Mortal Kombat Saturday

Saturday.

Game day.

Hype as hell.

I woke up that morning at 6 and could only think of placing well at MLG.

Myself and DC_Network were at my friends house in Hacienda Heights, Ca. About 45 minutes away from the venue in Anaheim. DC hadn’t registered yet for the tournament so we had to get there early. The morning started off much like during my other competition mornings. A set regimen. Got all my hygienic stuff out of the way first, paced around for a good thirty minutes in complete silence and thought only about the game. Much like in my days of football past, I was focused. I felt that people wanted me to place well in this tournament, the numerous friends I had garnered wished me well, but I wanted to do good. I wanted my Ermac to be respected.

I knew it was going to be warm in the venue but I brought a hoodie anyway to support the fictitious “HOOD TIER” northern california movement. I was set and ready to go.

DC_Network and I arrived at the venue around 9:30 and he got set up.

Walking into the  arena was awesome. Dr.Pepper booth to the right, a huge Starcraft 2 statue to the left. Hundreds of stations for computers and huge monitors showing gameplay. As cliche as it might sound, stepping into the arena, as a competitor, is absolutely breath taking.

I walk over to the Fighting game section and see Alex “Detroitballn” Rayis practicing, alone. I greet him, talk for a bit, and we proceed to demolish me in casuals.

After playing him for a while I went on a search for notepad paper to begin writing my interviews. It took a good thirty minutes to find the gift shop, but when I found it I bought a Mickey Mouse notepad. The perfect album of  happiness to keep my mortal kombat interviews.

Once Mortal Kombat started all the tournament nerves came at once. I knew how to handle them though. Those same nerves I felt during MLG, I felt before every football game, every scrimmage, every time I waited for the ball to be snapped. I learned how to push those feelings aside and focus.

I win my first two matches, one by disqualification because he didn’t show up.., but lost my next two games.

Being eliminated was, obviously, disheartening. I was ready to quit

I watched the end of day 1 fighting and went home in silence, contemplating retiring from the scene that I had become most competitive with.

Mortal Kombat Sunday

My original PS3 slim broke down months ago, so before today I hadn’t had any real time playing Mortal Kombat, or any games on the playstation at all. A few days ago my roommate brought his playstaion 3 up and I got to get back into the game. All the new tech my main, Ermac, had seen the past few weeks had gotten me hyped to try them out and see if I could master them. The very first day I hopped into practice mode and tried the ‘Big-D’ special. It came out once out of at lease 120 tries. I shit you not, I tried over and over and over and when I finally gave up I was so deflated I was thinking about putting the game down altogether. The frustration of not succeeding had plagued me for a while when it came to Mortal Kombat. My inability to crack a top 4 spot and the stagnation I felt when playing my character has made me want to quit a few more times than I’d like to admit. My sights are on obviously a top spot at MLG Anaheim, but at the time I didn’t feel like I should even attend.

After quitting for the night, I hop back on MK and try to get into a groove. I play online against a few randoms first, to get back used to online and did well against them. I play mainly people who I have met off of MKU or TYM and, to this day, not one has disappointed as far as skill.

 

Today is Sunday 6/3/2012, and this is the day I wanted to start my blog on last minute preparations for Anaheim. The purpose of this blog is to show my activities, as far as MK is handled, and how I get ready for a tournament the magnitude of MLG Anaheim.  While I won’t talk about every single match in casuals and every minute of Mortal Kombat that is going on, I will try to give you the gist of how things have worked out for me in the day.

For one, I have learned that NOT playing Mortal Kombat for spans of times can help me to be more successful. After playing for hours upon hours and days upon days, one can become stagnant, especially when playing online, I feel. When playing online you have less human interaction than an offline casuals settings. This takes absolutely nothing away from ‘online players’ because, technically, over 95% of us are online players. I pulled that percent out of my ass, but you get it. This is the third day in a row I’ve played MK and I feel like I am slowly getting back into the groove of Ermac. I have modified the ‘Big D’ special into something I can easily produce, my B&B’s (bread and butters, for the laymen) are getting more on point, and I have switched my tactics up slowly. I am beginning to use certain strings more to set up throws and frame traps.

I am done playing MK for the night. I finished a nice set with Wrath and before that I played with another Sacramento player, Blind_Man. I won’t touch MK until the later afternoon tomorrow and I feel the break will be necessary in my training. I am doing my best not to ‘over play’ MK.

Tomorrow will be productive.

Kamikaze

 

First Draft of Miniseries! No title yet

I loved the way she said ‘balloon’. She said it as if she were blowing bubbles. Her ecstatic ‘baugh’ sound perfectly matched with the ‘loon’ that would come out lazily. She was my star child. My link to the Heaven’s above. My essence in this void of nothingness, my shining light, my everything; and it was my task to find her.

 

Twenty-eight hours earlier, our humble home was ransacked by the Kami’s. The Church of Kami is a weird fucked-up religious cult that had determined that my daughter of seven years was somehow the third Messiah. I had been asleep, only for a second, I swear I only closed my eyes for a second! But that was all the time they needed. I had felt, for some time now, that we were being watched, but I figured that unintelligible paranoia was what came with the territory of being a father.

 

As I fell into my slumber they snuck in and threw restraints and a blindfold on me. They pushed me from my chair and I laid helplessly on my chest. I couldn’t tell how many infiltrated, but I knew immediately they weren’t coming in peace. I struggled to free myself from the cold, metallic, body-cuff, but was unable to. I screamed out to my daughter, Angelica, to hide, but I knew it was too late. I couldn’t hear her. Only the muffled shuffle of feet across my carpet as the goons moved around my house.

 

Suddenly everything stopped. No sounds, no breathing, no moving. Nothing. I perked my head up slightly, trying to sense something, anything. My blindfold came off and crouching down, only inches in front of my face, was Him. Black, beady, soulless eyes which sit in a ghostly pale face with equally pale hair stare back into mine. His hair falls right above his eyebrows in a fashionable bowl-cut style. His face is abnormally skinny and sucked up unnaturalistically from years of fasting and usage of the previously outlawed ‘Cure’ drug. His thin chapped lips crackle into a smile as he sees in my eyes that he is recognized, either that or he believed I recognized this situation was going to be fucked up very quickly.

 

“It is not nice,” He begins. His rancid breath strikes my nose and makes me grimace. An air of superiority soups from his mouth as he enunciates every syllable, seemingly letting his tongue touch every letter. His slow, monotonously high-pitched voice would be comical in any other situation though. “To hang onto and hide things that do not belong to you. You are filthy. You are the type of pestilence that panicked the Herd astray and made the Forsaken appear.”

 

The face of the Kami cult, Dulche-Dulche, stood to his feet and stepped back. The seemingly ageless man in a violet velour one-piece bodysuit sighed and stared at me. The eccentric man flaunts a style of clothing he claims to have worn back in the “Before Time”. His attire is always wildly colorful and attention grabbing. From leggings that turn into boots and shirts that fall down past his ankles. Most of his clothing wouldn’t fit through a normal sized door because of the angles and other protuberances his clothing often has.

 

Dulche-Dulche is a slender man with a mask on for God. He calls himself, and those that follow him, ‘Soldiers of the Herd.’ The ‘Herd’ being the last of humanity left after the atrocities that occurred after the second coming of the Messiah. The government disintegrated and a movement of religious ‘enlightenment’ gave birth to the Second Crusade. The wave of massacre and genocide that swept across the globe crippled the already declining population. Our world was blown to pieces. Nuclear fallout poisoned the oceans and sullied the land. Earth, now, is nothing more than a poisoned desert surrounded by an even more toxic mass of water.

 

Dulche-Dulche looked toward one of his men and motioned toward me. The man lifted me effortlessly and sat me back in the chair. The cold restraints tightened and dug even deeper into my skin. I winced slightly, but stared at Dulche-Dulche.

“A child with wings, the one who fell from the Bastion of Heaven,” he stepped toward me and lifted his slender leg and put his pointed heel boots on my chest. He nudged me back slightly and the chair lifted so that only the back legs are on the floor. “This child will lead us to the Third Coming of our Messiah.”

He nudged me back further and chuckled. His right hand slowly reached up to the left side of his mouth and he rubbed at his lips with his wrist, as if removing drool.

 

“You should thank me for not letting my Angels rip you apart. Goodbye.” Dulche-Dulche kicked me back and I fell to the floor hard. I rolled out of the chair and caught a glimpse of the men leaving.

“NO!” I screamed out to the assailants. The restraints, aptly named the ‘Python’ by its distributors, squeezed even further into my body. Breathing became difficult as I tried to exhale. I didn’t care though, I didn’t know how, but I had to get her back. I had to get my daughter.

 

Knowing the failsafe for the device I began to hold my breath. Because this device was made for peace-keeping and not being lethal, all one has to do is cease movement for 60 seconds and it will detach itself. Of course, complete lack of movement for a minute is much harder when your captors move you around to reset the timer.

 

As I sat and waited for the Python to release I began to think of a way to get my Amgelica back. I knew for a fact that Dolche-Dolche was taking her back to Heaven, but getting to Heaven, especially the journey past Heaven’s Bastion, was much easier said than done. Hell, I didn’t even know if I actually could get into Heaven. I’d heard stories from back in the days when merchants and even Hunters of Forsaken would speak of being invited to Heaven’s Bastion and seeing the entrance of Heaven. Though each account was somewhat different they all saw a heavily guarded door with “Heaven” written plainly across the door frame. Never have I heard of what goes on past those doors though.

 

Getting to Heaven’s Bastion would be an immense task itself. The heavily guarded military base is a mass of land lifted five miles above sea level and held there by anti-gravity technology. The Church of Kami would lead one to believe, especially the children, that it was the miraculous grace of God that lifted the land mass that ‘slowly’ rises to Heaven. When in actuality the military moved the mass of earth upwards for two reasons. With most of the Earth in ruin, the Bastion would be a military regulated Mecca in which all things must past through it to be certified as ‘pure’. Anything un-‘pure’ is illegal. This leads to the next reason in why the mass was moved upwards. The crater left behind is used as a water purifying area and pure water is heavily sought after. 98% of the water is shipped directly to the Bastion, while the rest is given out to the highest bidder in the outskirts. It’s funny, even when hell befalls Earth and its people, money still reigns supreme in man’s mind.

 

Though I didn’t understand the exact technology used in keeping the land afloat I knew that seven bases around the mass kept the generators for the anti-gravity machines running. The only way to reach the Bastion is by a flight machine from the Before time. These relics from the past are only flown to The Bastion and back to the Earth. The only people with the knowledge to fly the ancient machines are the elite military force named the Angels.

 

The Angels are funded by the Church of Kami and jointly governed by the military, though the Church really holds all of the power. The men and women of the Angels are imbued with the purest form of the adrenaline pumping drug, Cure, and have been trained to die protecting the Will of God. The Angels are faster, stronger, more reactive and almost animalistic in their approach to a fight. The first prototype Angels were used in the Second Crusade to obliterate the last standing ‘Earth government’ and turned the tide of the war in the Church’s favor.

 

Click.

The restraint finally unlocks and I am able to free myself. I quickly try to gather myself and move to the edge of my living room.