All That Remains (Interest Check & Plot Details) All That Remains (Sign-up & OOC) STARRING William 'Buck' Foster & Anastasia 'Ana' Hammond ( Anubis ) Paisley James Brenwick ( @natterjack ) Bliss Jackson, Victor Silva, & Leila Dove ( @The Red Tazelwurm ) Johnathan Wiles ( @Merc ) Rose Merrieweather ( @The Creator ) --------- December 2nd, 2274 Oppekt Biodome 12:07 A.M. Midnight. What you and I know of time has no relevance here. Where there should be darkness, this mockery of a 'city' is bursting with light and life at all hours. Black smog overhead chokes out any view of the stars, punctured only by towering monuments to the sin of humanity, the skyscrapers of the rich and a symbol of oppression to the poor. Neon billboards hum in unison as they pierce the shadows that should be on every wall, every street corner. They hawk the wares of their creators, prophesying the next big thing: Soft drinks, fast food, medicine, the list goes on while somewhere, a sickly mother hacks out her last unclean breath, leaving behind hungry little mouths. What's one measly life to the profit these mega corporations turn, turning like the cogs inside a war machine on humanity? Nothing. Anastasia pulls her eyes away from the misery below, concealing it by pulling closed the heavy curtains of President Brenwick's office window. Turning on her heel, she steps quickly to his desk with a small holographic datapad clutched inside her delicate hand. She sets it on said desk before him, tapping through menus until a report is drawn up, outlining statistical data regarding Oppekt co. and its assets. "Here is the data you requested, sir. As you can see here," She'd lean in, pointing at something particular on the hologram that had cropped up in Brenwick's face. "There have been more terrorist attacks just in the last week alone. Two factories have been completely leveled, and another temporarily disabled. This has set production back by 32.8%" If she had emotion, it would be appropriate to say that she 'despised' being the bearer of bad news. But it was just her programming punishing her, despite having no affiliation with what would prove even slightly detrimental to Brenwick. She anticipated the response, likely a sigh and a frown. Then again he could just as easily explode. Humans were unpredictable like that. Not like a Replicant. Meanwhile, somewhere far below in the streets, those responsible for the attacks were celebrating in their own way, Buck among them. They were holed up in a friendly dive bar, staying out of the neon light where Oppekt's militia were probably taking out their aggressions on the less fortunate in response to the terrorist attacks. That was Oppekt's modus operandi, at least it was before Brenwick had taken over, who had as of yet not changed the policy when dealing with rebellions: React accordingly. Scare tactics. Punish the weak and helpless, demoralize them into stopping. Buck had long ago come to accept this harsh truth, that many others would suffer for the actions of a brave few. But he had no intentions of stopping, not until the foundations of this corruption were in rubble around he and the others' ankles, and those in positions of power were cast down. Until then, the replicant washed his worries away in synthehol, a piss-poor excuse for alcohol that has been synthesized for mass production. It tasted bad, it stunk, but it was about the only thing a man or woman had to drown in down here where the air was sulfur and the blood of innocents flowed like a river.