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Description
Distopia: Introduction

…Heavy rain poured forth from dark clouds that covered the night sky. A gory scene in the middle of a wide, silent street was lit by some sputtering fires on ruined buildings and frequent lightning flashes. Two people, young men, stood facing each other; both had long swords in their hands. Both had slim, athletic builds and similar postures. One of them was hooded and cloaked entirely in a death-like grey. He seemed very little fatigued; his facial features were hidden completely by the shadow of the cloak’s hood (though, he seemed to be wearing a wide-brimmed hat beneath), and his sword was bloodied from point to hilt.
The other was clad entirely in black: trousers, shirt, trench coat, and wide-brimmed hat. The only articles that weren’t such, were his belt-buckle – an ornate piece, wrought of silver and painted green, giving the illusion of interlocking fern fronds – the sword (of course), a staff laying on the ground, and a buffalo rifle clipped to his belt at his right hip. The collar of his trench coat was turned up to protect from the rain; on the left, it almost touched the brim of his hat, as the hat was pulled down there. In his hands, he carried his sword menacingly, its blade chipped in several places. His posture, though tall, was slightly hunched, and he was breathing heavily. Raindrops on his face intermingled with tears from his gray-green eyes. Those same eyes were bloodshot with the fury of a berserker. On the ground a short distance behind him lay the slain, bloody bodies of an older woman and two children, a boy and a girl.
His lip curled with unchecked rage as he spoke: “Who…are you?!”
Previously in the battle against this unknown foe, he had asked the same question three times, and three times, no response, physical or verbal, had been received. This time, however, a chilling laugh split the air. The cloaked man lowered his blade and strode forward casually. Lightning flashed again, and the young man recognized a familiar, charming smile as his foe approached. His eyes lost their red sheen and his pupils dilated. “No,” he muttered in horror, backing away slowly. “It can’t be…”
His foe ripped away the cloak to reveal…”Why?” he asked.
His “clone” laughed evilly. He was almost exactly the same except for the lack of rifle and staff. “Because,” the reflection grinned, pointing at the bodies, “Your inability to fight a stronger foe led to the deaths of your mother, brother, and sister. I, your guilt, am the only face you’ve been able to place on your nameless, faceless enemy…”
“…NOOO!!!” Laurence Campin sat up swiftly in his bed. His hair and bedclothes were drenched with sweat.
Once again, his nighttime peace had been interrupted by the memory of his family’s murder. That was the reason he had become an Enforcer in the first place. In the year 300 A.W. (After the War), Enforcers were known as the universal peacekeeping force. As part of his daily wake-up routine, Laurence mentally recalled the history of the world since that day.
Three hundred years ago, the world, Earth, had engaged itself in a nuclear war. The war caused the death of billions and permanently changed the face of the earth. Now a single super continent with a few large islands, the landscape was covered with temperate forests. After the radiation fell to safe levels, the human race struggled to rebuild. Now the cities (buildings, homes, etc.) were reminiscent of Victorian England and France, with cobblestone streets and highly decorative roofs. Clothing styles were a mix of Medieval Europe and 1800s Western United States.
After two hundred years of conflict about who would be in charge of what, groups of academic scholars joined together to form the World Survival Coalition. They restricted the development of non-medical technologies. Weapons only got developed as far as the steel sword, which was given as custom to men (and some women) when they came of age. No projectile weapons (including bows and crossbows) were ever again developed, save for long buffalo rifles – standard-issue for Enforcers only. No computers; no “horseless carriages;” almost no real technology existed from pre-War earth. Economic conditions were similar to the agricultural society of Colonial America.
As a result of radiation poisoning, genetic “mutations” occurred. All human, whether they chose to use them or not, had the ability to use “magic” (for lack of a better word), and some could manipulate their own appearance (shape-shifting). The basic categories of magic were Shadow [Dark], Light, Fire, Wind, Earth, Water, and Time. Most Enforcers were adept in at least one type, and Laurence was one of the few to know two or more types: in his case, Fire and Shadow.
To help keep the world in relative order, the AcaOrder [Academic Order – ruling council of the WSC] allowed for a single religion to preach its message to troubled souls. Unfortunately, corruption quickly found its way into the hearts of the religious leaders. There had been rumors of a new, purer religion springing up, though none confirmed. Laurence splashed some water on his face, dried, clasped his sword, rifle, and staff securely, donned his glasses, made sure his Enforcer buckle was polished, tugged the brim of his hat over his left eyes, and stepped the door of his humble flat into the busy street…
…Not far from Laurence’s flat, at Corban City’s gates, three people – a seemingly elderly man clad in a dark gray cloak helped along by two young women – strangers to the town, entered and paused to glance around. One of the girls – her black hair, brown eyes, and darker skin hinting to an ancestry from former India – asked, “Which way, sir?”
The stooped man lifted his big, bushy, white eyebrows, opened his dark brown eyes, which had a strange youthful shine to them, and pointed a shaky hand down the street where the sign for the Enforcer station was, a sword and a fern frond (the new symbol of peace) crossed over an image of the earth. The other girl, a blonde with sage-green eyes, said, “Is there any other way to do this? I mean, we are already considered criminals in some places for our line of work.”
The man slowly shook his head. “No, there is no other way. Things have been set in motion, before our times, that cannot be undone. However, this district’s Chief Enforcer will help us, for she was once like us. She understands.”
The three continued onward at a slow pace. Close to them, a large, hazel-brown haired woman spoke to some shoppers in a thick Scandinavian accent. (Scandinavia was now a group of some seven large islands to the far north.) She turned to watch the three companions with an intent look as the shoppers left her stall. She closed up shop with a swiftness belying her size and immense green and white dress. Out the back door, however, stepped a much thinner, more beautiful young woman, clad in a green and white tunic, her hazel hair in a single braid at her back and her large ice-blue eyes shining. She began a quicker route to the same destination…
In the Enforcer building, Laurence knocked on an oaken door. His weapons were at his workstation. “Come,” said a voice from within.
Laurence entered and stood before an ornate wooden desk in an attentive stance. “You wished to see me, ma’am?”
Monitor Chana Lee, Chief Enforcer of Corban City, gestured to a chair. “Please, have a seat. This may take a little time for your mind to digest.”
Chana stood, an even and physically fit five foot five, and pulled a hand through her shoulder-length gold and red hair. She looked out a window behind the desk, her hands clasped at her back. She wore the black of the Enforcers, but her trench coat had some fringes of silver and blood-red. How long have you been with us, Campin?”
He thought a moment. “Almost three years, ma’am”
“Ah, yes. I remember now. Your family was murdered here when you were eighteen, you went through the mandatory two years of training, then joined this district the year I was made monitor, even though I’m only a couple years older than yourself. Your record is impeccable: You’ve never lost a case. Your only flaw, however, is that whenever you aren’t officially on a case, you try to solve the case of your family’s death, even though it has long since been closed.”
Chana paused and turned around to observe Laurence’s downcast features. She sat again, spreading her hands on the desk surface to search for the words to say. “Let me lay it out for you, Laurence: It’s time to leave the past behind you. Your family isn’t coming back, and wherever they are, I’m sure they don’t want to see you beat yourself up about it. There are much bigger things in this world that we have to deal with. From this point onward, you will be working with myself and four others on a ‘case’ unlike any you’ve undertaken. This is from the very top. You’ll have to leave your title as an Enforcer behind you.”
Laurence sat silent, thinking hard about what was happening. “‘Four others?’ Who, if not Enforcers, can possibly be of any help?”
“I had to hire some outside help,” Chana replied calmly.
Laurence stood, outraged. “Mercenaries?! Why?”
“Not all mercs are ‘evil,’ Campin.” A knock resounded on the door. “And,” she continued, “You’re about to meet them. Come on in!”
Laurence turned around and braced himself, but nothing could have prepared him for what lay beyond the door…

Description
Distopia: Introduction

…Heavy rain poured forth from dark clouds that covered the night sky. A gory scene in the middle of a wide, silent street was lit by some sputtering fires on ruined buildings and frequent lightning flashes. Two people, young men, stood facing each other; both had long swords in their hands. Both had slim, athletic builds and similar postures. One of them was hooded and cloaked entirely in a death-like grey. He seemed very little fatigued; his facial features were hidden completely by the shadow of the cloak’s hood (though, he seemed to be wearing a wide-brimmed hat beneath), and his sword was bloodied from point to hilt.
The other was clad entirely in black: trousers, shirt, trench coat, and wide-brimmed hat. The only articles that weren’t such, were his belt-buckle – an ornate piece, wrought of silver and painted green, giving the illusion of interlocking fern fronds – the sword (of course), a staff laying on the ground, and a buffalo rifle clipped to his belt at his right hip. The collar of his trench coat was turned up to protect from the rain; on the left, it almost touched the brim of his hat, as the hat was pulled down there. In his hands, he carried his sword menacingly, its blade chipped in several places. His posture, though tall, was slightly hunched, and he was breathing heavily. Raindrops on his face intermingled with tears from his gray-green eyes. Those same eyes were bloodshot with the fury of a berserker. On the ground a short distance behind him lay the slain, bloody bodies of an older woman and two children, a boy and a girl.
His lip curled with unchecked rage as he spoke: “Who…are you?!”
Previously in the battle against this unknown foe, he had asked the same question three times, and three times, no response, physical or verbal, had been received. This time, however, a chilling laugh split the air. The cloaked man lowered his blade and strode forward casually. Lightning flashed again, and the young man recognized a familiar, charming smile as his foe approached. His eyes lost their red sheen and his pupils dilated. “No,” he muttered in horror, backing away slowly. “It can’t be…”
His foe ripped away the cloak to reveal…”Why?” he asked.
His “clone” laughed evilly. He was almost exactly the same except for the lack of rifle and staff. “Because,” the reflection grinned, pointing at the bodies, “Your inability to fight a stronger foe led to the deaths of your mother, brother, and sister. I, your guilt, am the only face you’ve been able to place on your nameless, faceless enemy…”
“…NOOO!!!” Laurence Campin sat up swiftly in his bed. His hair and bedclothes were drenched with sweat.
Once again, his nighttime peace had been interrupted by the memory of his family’s murder. That was the reason he had become an Enforcer in the first place. In the year 300 A.W. (After the War), Enforcers were known as the universal peacekeeping force. As part of his daily wake-up routine, Laurence mentally recalled the history of the world since that day.
Three hundred years ago, the world, Earth, had engaged itself in a nuclear war. The war caused the death of billions and permanently changed the face of the earth. Now a single super continent with a few large islands, the landscape was covered with temperate forests. After the radiation fell to safe levels, the human race struggled to rebuild. Now the cities (buildings, homes, etc.) were reminiscent of Victorian England and France, with cobblestone streets and highly decorative roofs. Clothing styles were a mix of Medieval Europe and 1800s Western United States.
After two hundred years of conflict about who would be in charge of what, groups of academic scholars joined together to form the World Survival Coalition. They restricted the development of non-medical technologies. Weapons only got developed as far as the steel sword, which was given as custom to men (and some women) when they came of age. No projectile weapons (including bows and crossbows) were ever again developed, save for long buffalo rifles – standard-issue for Enforcers only. No computers; no “horseless carriages;” almost no real technology existed from pre-War earth. Economic conditions were similar to the agricultural society of Colonial America.
As a result of radiation poisoning, genetic “mutations” occurred. All human, whether they chose to use them or not, had the ability to use “magic” (for lack of a better word), and some could manipulate their own appearance (shape-shifting). The basic categories of magic were Shadow [Dark], Light, Fire, Wind, Earth, Water, and Time. Most Enforcers were adept in at least one type, and Laurence was one of the few to know two or more types: in his case, Fire and Shadow.
To help keep the world in relative order, the AcaOrder [Academic Order – ruling council of the WSC] allowed for a single religion to preach its message to troubled souls. Unfortunately, corruption quickly found its way into the hearts of the religious leaders. There had been rumors of a new, purer religion springing up, though none confirmed. Laurence splashed some water on his face, dried, clasped his sword, rifle, and staff securely, donned his glasses, made sure his Enforcer buckle was polished, tugged the brim of his hat over his left eyes, and stepped the door of his humble flat into the busy street…
…Not far from Laurence’s flat, at Corban City’s gates, three people – a seemingly elderly man clad in a dark gray cloak helped along by two young women – strangers to the town, entered and paused to glance around. One of the girls – her black hair, brown eyes, and darker skin hinting to an ancestry from former India – asked, “Which way, sir?”
The stooped man lifted his big, bushy, white eyebrows, opened his dark brown eyes, which had a strange youthful shine to them, and pointed a shaky hand down the street where the sign for the Enforcer station was, a sword and a fern frond (the new symbol of peace) crossed over an image of the earth. The other girl, a blonde with sage-green eyes, said, “Is there any other way to do this? I mean, we are already considered criminals in some places for our line of work.”
The man slowly shook his head. “No, there is no other way. Things have been set in motion, before our times, that cannot be undone. However, this district’s Chief Enforcer will help us, for she was once like us. She understands.”
The three continued onward at a slow pace. Close to them, a large, hazel-brown haired woman spoke to some shoppers in a thick Scandinavian accent. (Scandinavia was now a group of some seven large islands to the far north.) She turned to watch the three companions with an intent look as the shoppers left her stall. She closed up shop with a swiftness belying her size and immense green and white dress. Out the back door, however, stepped a much thinner, more beautiful young woman, clad in a green and white tunic, her hazel hair in a single braid at her back and her large ice-blue eyes shining. She began a quicker route to the same destination…
In the Enforcer building, Laurence knocked on an oaken door. His weapons were at his workstation. “Come,” said a voice from within.
Laurence entered and stood before an ornate wooden desk in an attentive stance. “You wished to see me, ma’am?”
Monitor Chana Lee, Chief Enforcer of Corban City, gestured to a chair. “Please, have a seat. This may take a little time for your mind to digest.”
Chana stood, an even and physically fit five foot five, and pulled a hand through her shoulder-length gold and red hair. She looked out a window behind the desk, her hands clasped at her back. She wore the black of the Enforcers, but her trench coat had some fringes of silver and blood-red. How long have you been with us, Campin?”
He thought a moment. “Almost three years, ma’am”
“Ah, yes. I remember now. Your family was murdered here when you were eighteen, you went through the mandatory two years of training, then joined this district the year I was made monitor, even though I’m only a couple years older than yourself. Your record is impeccable: You’ve never lost a case. Your only flaw, however, is that whenever you aren’t officially on a case, you try to solve the case of your family’s death, even though it has long since been closed.”
Chana paused and turned around to observe Laurence’s downcast features. She sat again, spreading her hands on the desk surface to search for the words to say. “Let me lay it out for you, Laurence: It’s time to leave the past behind you. Your family isn’t coming back, and wherever they are, I’m sure they don’t want to see you beat yourself up about it. There are much bigger things in this world that we have to deal with. From this point onward, you will be working with myself and four others on a ‘case’ unlike any you’ve undertaken. This is from the very top. You’ll have to leave your title as an Enforcer behind you.”
Laurence sat silent, thinking hard about what was happening. “‘Four others?’ Who, if not Enforcers, can possibly be of any help?”
“I had to hire some outside help,” Chana replied calmly.
Laurence stood, outraged. “Mercenaries?! Why?”
“Not all mercs are ‘evil,’ Campin.” A knock resounded on the door. “And,” she continued, “You’re about to meet them. Come on in!”
Laurence turned around and braced himself, but nothing could have prepared him for what lay beyond the door…