| [Azimuth] |
Rains crash down over the surface of the world, drenching her clothes and face as she stands there, staring up towards the sky.
After the blasts that had crashed down into the world as she removed the boar-horde, a new darkness had come over the world. Clouds of debris and particulate, flung up into the air of the world, have obscured the ever more rare light of the sun. A coldness has come over everything as the world now exists in a perpetual half-state.
The sun is not entirely gone, as it would be on those bleaker days, but neither is its full intensity reaching them.
However, now, after several days of this, the heavy rains have begun.
Azimuth stands there in the downpour, staring up at the sky, trying to make heads or tails of its confusing patterns in the hopes that she can gain a hint of understanding about the gods and their ways.
Why was she chosen for this role?
What exactly is her purpose in it? Is it just to save people, as she has been doing? If so, again, why her? Why couldn’t anyone else have done this? Why did the gods need some chicken farming girl from the countryside?
Rain runs down her rigid cheekbones, dripping from her face.
— It’s not that she minds.
She’s grateful for the choice they made. She just wishes that she understood it, that's all.
Thunder roars and lightning cuts through the sky, the vivid flash making the hairs on the back of her neck stand on end, as if that lash of light was the answer the gods were giving her to her questions.
It’s not so bad.
| [Gottlieb] |
The man yawns, staring out over the world. He’s leaned back in his chair. He used to have the blanket that he took from the personal lockers ages ago, but he gave that to Grunheide. She’s small, so she’s more sensitive to body heat issues than the rest of them. Instead, he sits there with his legs kicked up and his arms crossed, staring at the landscape that zooms by them as the station floats over the planet.
It’s nighttime for them up on the station.
He looks to the side at the empty auxiliary chair and then over his shoulder, at the cots where everyone else is. They’ve wedged the cots together in an effort to share the one blanket between the four of them, which has led to them becoming a jumble of sorts, in order to make it work logistically.
Gottlieb looks back at the monitor and the faintly glowing blue light above it.
“Hey, Kai,” says Gottlieb, his eyes wandering over the heavy storm clouds that seem to have begun covering large swathes of the landscape, obscuring his sight from above. Lightning flashes in the sky of the world below illuminate it with brief, glowing pinpricks here and there, like the trails of light glowing inside a crystal ball. “What the hell was that whole ‘cosmic event’ that killed everyone?” asks the man. “You know. Richter and the rest of the crew.”
| [Response] - Astrophysical events are not within Orbital Gunner Gottlieb’s purview. The station’s heavy cannon looks down towards the planet, not into space. |
He sighs, rolling his eyes. “Come on, Kai. Let’s drop the rules and regulations,” says Gottlieb. “If you want to be a god, you can’t be in the military anymore.” He turns his head, looking at the light. “Besides, why did I make it through and they didn’t? Was it the cryo-tube?”
| [Response] - The lining of a cryogenic sleep chamber is not sufficient to have protected you from [REDACTED]. It is currently inexplicable to me how you survived. Of course, this is all irrelevant, as we are also incapable of explaining how the orbital station itself was shifted to another world. In comparison to the revelations this fact brings to our variant of humanity, the matter of your survival is a mere curiosity. |
The man nods his head. “Fine. So we’re just gonna say it’s magic then?”
| [Response] - Given that magic is a tangible, existing fundamental principle of this world, yes. My leading theory is that, if the station was able to exit our reality to enter this new one, then perhaps some magic was, at the same time, able to exit this reality to ours in order to facilitate our transfer. The reasons for this, however, are uncertain. I cannot imagine any possible benefit of allowing orbital Gunner Gottlieb to exist in the world. |
“Love you too, bud,” says Gottlieb. He nods his head to the side at a monitor. “And the sun?” he asks. “It’s getting to be a real issue,” says Gottlieb. “One day it’s going to go out and stay that way at this rate.”
| [Response] - Scans are still pending. All the collected data has not led to any sufficient solution. However, the act of data-collection is, in and of itself, troublesome in a dimension where, as we have established, ‘magic’ exists. |
Gottlieb lets out a long exhalation, rubbing his tired eyes as he looks over the world.
Boars and goblins are a real problem. But there are other problems. With the sunlight failing to reach the planet so often, not only because of the missing sun, but now also because of the obscurance caused by the aftermath of the orbital blast, crops and harvests are going to fail in immeasurable amounts. People will go hungry. Grazing animals will lose their grasses and begin to migrate in search of food, and the same will be said of wild monsters, who, deprived of their hunting grounds, will likely target the stationary bastions of humanity for resources.
That’s ignoring the obvious threat of human and cross-species infighting. Humans against humans, elves against orcs, and all of the above against each other in every combination, together with the monsters of the world, all in a bout for the few, scarce resources that will remain after prolonged periods like this one.
| [Remark] - It promises to be a tumultuous time. |
Gottlieb looks at the monitor and then at Kai. “You reading my mind now?”
| [Remark] - It is my duty as the station’s orbital intelligence unit to secure and ensure the well-being of the orbital weapons platform. This is so that it might continue to serve the well-being of humanity. As such, my core mission is the latter rather than the former. The station is merely my tool to do so with. Orbital Gunner Gottlieb is now finally viewing the world through my eyes, rather than I through his. |
Gottlieb rolls his shoulders, pressing his hands down a bit deeper into the gap between his arms and his chest. “So everything is fucked, huh?” he asks. “Just like home.”
| [Response] - It is ‘fucked’ in its own unique, beautiful way. |
The man nods, yawning. “What the hell do we do, Kai?” he asks. “How the hell are we supposed to help them when all we have is a gun?”
| [Response] - A gun is all that one needs when trying to motivate another person to act. |
Images and videos fill the monitor, showing captured footage of the chicken-lady.
“Oh, hey,” says Gottlieb, yawning again and watching what is essentially a ‘best of’ segment of her recent life. “Glad to see she’s doing well.” Gottlieb shakes his head. “Kai, can’t you get some chickens to come to life up here?” he asks. “I’d kill for some eggs.”
— Something squawks in concern from the cots in the background. The harpy.
“Chicken eggs,” clarifies Gottlieb, lifting a hand. “Go back to bed.”
| [Explanation] - Through our interference in the affairs of the human world, fortuitous serendipity has allowed this individual, ‘The chicken lady’ to acquire significant socio-economic status within human culture. She was in the right place at the right time. |
Gottlieb looks at the light and then at the videos, watching them scroll by. He slouches down deeper into his chair. “I see,” he says, understanding Kai’s plan. It’s in essence just an escalation of his own plan to better humanity’s fortunes by killing monsters and doing some productive landscaping. “We’re getting into politics now too?”
| [Response] - No. 'Politics' implies that there is discourse to be had. As has been the case with our personal games, Orbital Gunner Gottlieb, all humans involved are at the bottom of the present power dynamics. |
“That sounds like big talk from someone who almost got peed on,” remarks Gottlieb. “But I don’t disagree,” he says.
It’s a good plan.
A gun as a tool is limited in its uses, as it really only has one function at the end of the day, which is to shoot. However, what does one use a gun for when there are no interesting things to shoot at right now in this immediate moment?
Displays of power and force.
It can be used as a tool of subjugation against those unprepared to defend against it, and through this effort, it can then be transformed into a tool of soft-power.
The gun can’t get into humanity’s social issues and politics directly.
But it can be pointed at the people who are responsible for humanity’s social issues and politics, with a friendly smile and a wave and a promise that everything is going to be okay — if they’re willing to play ball.
It might just be what has to happen.
The times are getting more difficult, and the fun and the games, while exciting in their own way, might have to be put on hold for a while if humanity is really going to survive whatever this all is.
The man nods to Kai in quiet agreement and then closes his eyes, settling in for the night.
Tomorrow, they’re going to have to make a few more people like the chicken lady.
Humanity won’t know what hit ‘em – but for their own good.
| [Azimuth] |
Rains crash down over the surface of the world, drenching her clothes and face as she stands there, staring up towards the sky.
After the blasts that had crashed down into the world as she removed the boar-horde, a new darkness had come over the world. Clouds of debris and particulate, flung up into the air of the world, have obscured the ever more rare light of the sun. A coldness has come over everything as the world now exists in a perpetual half-state.
The sun is not entirely gone, as it would be on those bleaker days, but neither is its full intensity reaching them.
However, now, after several days of this, the heavy rains have begun.
Azimuth stands there in the downpour, staring up at the sky, trying to make heads or tails of its confusing patterns in the hopes that she can gain a hint of understanding about the gods and their ways.
Why was she chosen for this role?
What exactly is her purpose in it? Is it just to save people, as she has been doing? If so, again, why her? Why couldn’t anyone else have done this? Why did the gods need some chicken farming girl from the countryside?
Rain runs down her rigid cheekbones, dripping from her face.
— It’s not that she minds.
She’s grateful for the choice they made. She just wishes that she understood it, that's all.
Thunder roars and lightning cuts through the sky, the vivid flash making the hairs on the back of her neck stand on end, as if that lash of light was the answer the gods were giving her to her questions.
It’s not so bad.
| [Gottlieb] |
The man yawns, staring out over the world. He’s leaned back in his chair. He used to have the blanket that he took from the personal lockers ages ago, but he gave that to Grunheide. She’s small, so she’s more sensitive to body heat issues than the rest of them. Instead, he sits there with his legs kicked up and his arms crossed, staring at the landscape that zooms by them as the station floats over the planet.
It’s nighttime for them up on the station.
He looks to the side at the empty auxiliary chair and then over his shoulder, at the cots where everyone else is. They’ve wedged the cots together in an effort to share the one blanket between the four of them, which has led to them becoming a jumble of sorts, in order to make it work logistically.
Gottlieb looks back at the monitor and the faintly glowing blue light above it.
“Hey, Kai,” says Gottlieb, his eyes wandering over the heavy storm clouds that seem to have begun covering large swathes of the landscape, obscuring his sight from above. Lightning flashes in the sky of the world below illuminate it with brief, glowing pinpricks here and there, like the trails of light glowing inside a crystal ball. “What the hell was that whole ‘cosmic event’ that killed everyone?” asks the man. “You know. Richter and the rest of the crew.”
| [Response] - Astrophysical events are not within Orbital Gunner Gottlieb’s purview. The station’s heavy cannon looks down towards the planet, not into space. |
He sighs, rolling his eyes. “Come on, Kai. Let’s drop the rules and regulations,” says Gottlieb. “If you want to be a god, you can’t be in the military anymore.” He turns his head, looking at the light. “Besides, why did I make it through and they didn’t? Was it the cryo-tube?”
| [Response] - The lining of a cryogenic sleep chamber is not sufficient to have protected you from [REDACTED]. It is currently inexplicable to me how you survived. Of course, this is all irrelevant, as we are also incapable of explaining how the orbital station itself was shifted to another world. In comparison to the revelations this fact brings to our variant of humanity, the matter of your survival is a mere curiosity. |
The man nods his head. “Fine. So we’re just gonna say it’s magic then?”
| [Response] - Given that magic is a tangible, existing fundamental principle of this world, yes. My leading theory is that, if the station was able to exit our reality to enter this new one, then perhaps some magic was, at the same time, able to exit this reality to ours in order to facilitate our transfer. The reasons for this, however, are uncertain. I cannot imagine any possible benefit of allowing orbital Gunner Gottlieb to exist in the world. |
“Love you too, bud,” says Gottlieb. He nods his head to the side at a monitor. “And the sun?” he asks. “It’s getting to be a real issue,” says Gottlieb. “One day it’s going to go out and stay that way at this rate.”
| [Response] - Scans are still pending. All the collected data has not led to any sufficient solution. However, the act of data-collection is, in and of itself, troublesome in a dimension where, as we have established, ‘magic’ exists. |
Gottlieb lets out a long exhalation, rubbing his tired eyes as he looks over the world.
Boars and goblins are a real problem. But there are other problems. With the sunlight failing to reach the planet so often, not only because of the missing sun, but now also because of the obscurance caused by the aftermath of the orbital blast, crops and harvests are going to fail in immeasurable amounts. People will go hungry. Grazing animals will lose their grasses and begin to migrate in search of food, and the same will be said of wild monsters, who, deprived of their hunting grounds, will likely target the stationary bastions of humanity for resources.
That’s ignoring the obvious threat of human and cross-species infighting. Humans against humans, elves against orcs, and all of the above against each other in every combination, together with the monsters of the world, all in a bout for the few, scarce resources that will remain after prolonged periods like this one.
| [Remark] - It promises to be a tumultuous time. |
Gottlieb looks at the monitor and then at Kai. “You reading my mind now?”
| [Remark] - It is my duty as the station’s orbital intelligence unit to secure and ensure the well-being of the orbital weapons platform. This is so that it might continue to serve the well-being of humanity. As such, my core mission is the latter rather than the former. The station is merely my tool to do so with. Orbital Gunner Gottlieb is now finally viewing the world through my eyes, rather than I through his. |
Gottlieb rolls his shoulders, pressing his hands down a bit deeper into the gap between his arms and his chest. “So everything is fucked, huh?” he asks. “Just like home.”
| [Response] - It is ‘fucked’ in its own unique, beautiful way. |
The man nods, yawning. “What the hell do we do, Kai?” he asks. “How the hell are we supposed to help them when all we have is a gun?”
| [Response] - A gun is all that one needs when trying to motivate another person to act. |
Images and videos fill the monitor, showing captured footage of the chicken-lady.
“Oh, hey,” says Gottlieb, yawning again and watching what is essentially a ‘best of’ segment of her recent life. “Glad to see she’s doing well.” Gottlieb shakes his head. “Kai, can’t you get some chickens to come to life up here?” he asks. “I’d kill for some eggs.”
— Something squawks in concern from the cots in the background. The harpy.
“Chicken eggs,” clarifies Gottlieb, lifting a hand. “Go back to bed.”
| [Explanation] - Through our interference in the affairs of the human world, fortuitous serendipity has allowed this individual, ‘The chicken lady’ to acquire significant socio-economic status within human culture. She was in the right place at the right time. |
Gottlieb looks at the light and then at the videos, watching them scroll by. He slouches down deeper into his chair. “I see,” he says, understanding Kai’s plan. It’s in essence just an escalation of his own plan to better humanity’s fortunes by killing monsters and doing some productive landscaping. “We’re getting into politics now too?”
| [Response] - No. 'Politics' implies that there is discourse to be had. As has been the case with our personal games, Orbital Gunner Gottlieb, all humans involved are at the bottom of the present power dynamics. |
“That sounds like big talk from someone who almost got peed on,” remarks Gottlieb. “But I don’t disagree,” he says.
It’s a good plan.
A gun as a tool is limited in its uses, as it really only has one function at the end of the day, which is to shoot. However, what does one use a gun for when there are no interesting things to shoot at right now in this immediate moment?
Displays of power and force.
It can be used as a tool of subjugation against those unprepared to defend against it, and through this effort, it can then be transformed into a tool of soft-power.
The gun can’t get into humanity’s social issues and politics directly.
But it can be pointed at the people who are responsible for humanity’s social issues and politics, with a friendly smile and a wave and a promise that everything is going to be okay — if they’re willing to play ball.
It might just be what has to happen.
The times are getting more difficult, and the fun and the games, while exciting in their own way, might have to be put on hold for a while if humanity is really going to survive whatever this all is.
The man nods to Kai in quiet agreement and then closes his eyes, settling in for the night.
Tomorrow, they’re going to have to make a few more people like the chicken lady.
Humanity won’t know what hit ‘em – but for their own good.
