Futuristic The Neutral Zone - Cassette Futurism, Interstellar Cold War, Cosmic Horror [CLOSED]

[Breadman]

Anton looked to the man that had outstretched his hand for a greeting. A brief glance to the hand itself made the android cycle through the protocols he was given for this mission. In the end the pride of the Imperium won out.

"I am Anton." He said with a dry tone, ignoring the hand. "Military consultant from the Imperium. I'm here to help in the investigations, including and not limited to protection of Imperial assets."

 

[dikdik]

To say caught off guard was an understatement. The entire exchange embarrassed, confused, and frustrated Adrian. From the stark pause to the muted reaction, his outstretched hand felt in limbo and abruptly pulled back, finding fingers playing with its ring before shooting upwards to press his glasses back into their little dent.

Military consultant or not, he's so... cold... and strange... cold and strange. Guess they don't shake hands in the Imperium.

Adrian considered his options a moment and found himself speaking again. "I meant no offense, Anton, sir. I only meant to introduce myself, perhaps make your acquaintance. Interesting career, sir. I'm sure you're great at it."

It was embarrassment that settled in his stomach. Panicked words just spewing out of his mouth, half-hoping they'd land on deaf ears.

 

[joshuadim]

"Its not like you'd become any less of a threat if you consume them."

Anya was caught off guard by the comment as she turned her head to Anton and blinked twice in confusion. Threat? She pondered what in the hell he was talking about before seeing him practically violate a bottle of soda. It was uncanny, the way this guy moved and talked, and she couldn't help but stay silent with her mouth slightly open as she continued to watch Anton. There was something wrong with this guy... or were all Imperials this strange and foreboding? Her might went to the latter, given what she had constantly heard about the Imperials and their fascistic ways. She wanted to give him a piece of her mind for calling her a threat, but decided against it as she figured it was a waste of breath. Besides, like she thought of before, she wanted to limit her interactions with Imperials as much as she could.

"Sister, our MREs are no better. Rather it'd be sugar than... Well, whatever else does me in."

"...refined sugars cause cancer." Anya retorted back, turning to the Commonwealth man, "So it will kill you, eventually." She also didn't particularly care for the people from the Commonwealth, as most in the position to find themselves in places like this were more than likely to be complicit in the oppressive structures of capital. The only difference between them and the Imperials, at the very least, was that at least they didn't go out of their way to brutalize and destroy those who are at the lowest rungs of society. At least, not destroy them in an overtly brutal manner. That was left to the wage-slavery of menial jobs and of few rights.

Worthlessplebian

 

[Worthlessplebian]

"...Refined sugars cause cancer. So it will kill you, eventually."

Patrick half-turned to the Union woman, attention caught by her words. He leaned against the cold, concrete wall, arms crossed across his chest, drink can hanging off his elbow by the fingers. He shrugged. "The IACP - Interplanetary Agency for Cancer Prevention doesn't list refined sugars as a carcinogen. Now what WILL kill you is the hyperglycemia, that I'll allow you." He drank another gulp of the carbonated beverage. He gestured at the woman, one finger peeled off the aluminum sheet. "Just don't shoot me, mine commissar, and I think we'll get along well." He told her, half-teasing. In truth, he didn't hate the Union mouthpieces, having met a few in his short career — intimately knowing that he had more in common with the average prole than even his family, of whom he seldom shared deeper similarities beyond blood and surname. Whether she could overcome the barrier of ideology was up to her.

joshuadim

 

[Breadman]

"I am one of many in the Imperium." Anton answered "We're all working cogs in a dominant machine, each as efficient as the last." A sneer formed on the synth's face "I'm sure the botanical world has use of your skill, Adrian."

 

[joshuadim]

Anya narrowed her eyes to Patrick as he made the remark towards her position; partly from annoyance but also partly from her own implicit suspicions of non-Union personnel she found herself having to be around. The suggestion of her shooting him was preposterous, she didn't even have that authority in the first place. She was a worker to ensure the state functions properly, not a military figure. Of course, her position was different in certain respects such as the authority it inherently commanded as well as the authorization to certain materials and access to the chain of command of the state... but that still didn't mean she was one to shoot someone. Her pride being irked in such a manner thus prompted a response as she turned about face towards the man.

"I don't shoot people." Anya shot back to Patrick, her tone taking on a slight bitterness. "I'm not in the military. In fact, me and my cohorts help make sure the military stays beholden to the state of the people." She felt comfort in what she had been taught back in the commissariat, as it allowed her to fall back on the dogmatic idealism that had been given to her. Her work was making a difference for al the workers, and in turn it helped her reorient herself. Anya took a quick breath and recomposed herself. If that's what he thought of her then that was his prerogative, she had nothing to prove to these sorts of people; her job description was not "ambassador" to the others after all.

But neither was making enemies. She found herself staring at Patrick for a brief moment before shaking her head.

"...sorry, that was unprofessional." Anya offered as a quick olive branch. "Already feeling pressure and I haven't even officially started at my post." she then muttered.

 

[Worthlessplebian]

The medic turned his head, eyes narrowed as the fresh-faced commissar snapped back at him; voice coloured by a suppressed bitterness. His stark, blue eyes held the woman's gaze, offering his full attention to her rebuttal of his half-hearted teasing. A small aspect that he had forgotten is how stubbornly adherent were the neophytes to their ideals, perhaps the grit of combat and the rigors of life had jaded the medic to the point of mechanically replicating discipline, instead of actually holding himself to it. A social performance. But he recalled his experiences, the eclectic ensemble of men and women during his tours. It was their sincerity that warmed him over, of lives long spent in their burdens.

He drank the last of the bitter drink, gently tossing into the jet folds of a rubbish container beside the vending machine. He cleared his throat from the fizzling beverage. "It's fine." Patrick replied, accepting the extended branch. "You get use to a certain type of humour after awhile. Sorry about my own unprofessionalism." He allowed, honeyed voice tinged by the finest speck of remorse. The man rolled his wrist, trying to disperse the ache of old wounds dredged up from the shadows of his memories.

"Wish those documents would finish inspection by now. How long does it take to complete a data-pull request?" He wondered aloud.

joshuadim