A Leaky Faucet

[Alexander Trafford]

We apologize for interrupting your regular programming. In the last few minutes, an unknown source has leaked a second, full-length theatrical trailer for a mysterious, underground project. The source claims to be legitimate, yet such a claim cannot be validated. A lack of information aside, enjoy the leaked trailer!

“Good evening my brothers, my sisters and all of my fellow Central City residents.”

A thin bar of static flashes momentarily across the otherwise colorless backdrop; slowly, after the deep, yet soft and kind, voice finishes his initial greeting, the dark curtains lift and reveal a man, recognizable as the Mayor of Central City, standing behind a podium. He is flanked by bodyguards and political advisors and is addressing a sea of reporters and cameras. The screen flickers, and then refocuses on the Mayor; time has clearly passed.

“We stand on the brink of a struggle unlike any this planet has ever seen. Our enemy is not foreign or alien, no; our enemy is our peers, our friends and our neighbors. But our resolve shall be the same.”

The Mayor’s voice begins to rise, and his formerly relaxed hand tightens on the podium’s ledge, before contracting into a fist.

“That resolve shall shake the very foundation of our enemy. It will strike fear into their hearts and doubt into their minds. Through our resolve shall we succeed. And, my fellow citizens, we will succeed.”

The screen fades, but the silence is quickly filled by the deep, ominous music of a classical orchestra. The darkness lifts once more, and is replaced by an over-the-soldier shot of a soldier; he is perched atop a roof, lying on his stomach in front of a large caliber sniper rifle. The voice of another man, from off-screen, rises above the low-volume music.

Soldier: “Sergeant, do you have the shot?”

Sniper: “Yes sir.”

The image zooms in towards the sniper’s scope and the screen is filled with the view seen through the scope. It is a dark screen with a circle carved from the middle; the scope’s view is filled with the front porch of an urban house. There are weapons outside and men can be seen through the windows, walking around and discussing something. On the porch is a young man, a very young man, barely a teenager, holding an assault rifle.

Soldier: (A buzz from a radio fills the silence, then is quieted) “Johnson, ready the ground team for infiltration.”

Johnson: (Speaking through radio static) “Roger that.”

Soldier: “Take out the guard.”

Sniper: “Sir, it’s a damn kid.”

Soldier: “Take the shot.”

Sniper: “I can’t . . .”

The cross-hair is focused on the young man’s head, yet the clicking sound of a nine millimeter hand gun can be heard off-camera.

Soldier: “Take your shot, or I’ll take mine. That’s a goddamn order sergeant.”

The cross-hair shakes, but is then refocused on his head. A massive crack fills the air, and the zoom scope recoils.


Mysterious Voice: “In life, success can only exist as the triumph of a struggle. And victory can only come from the defeat of another. Our world is one of cruelty and of violence and, when push comes to shove, how far will you go in order to achieve victory? How far will you go for power?

How far will you go to conquer my ambition? How far will you go to conquer my violence?”

The darkness lifts slightly, but not enough to lift the veil on the scene. All you can see is the outline of a massive wooden desk, and the shape of a carpet leading up to it. Behind the desk is the silhouette of a hidden mood. His is standing over the desk, leaning forward so that his hands are pressed on its wood. He is tall and lanky. He is bald.


“Our enemy will have you believe that it was us who started this war; that is was us who fired that first shot!”

The dark scene is replaced by another media room, this time the man behind the podium is the Mayor of South City. He is much more animated that his counterpart in the Capital, his fists are flying and he is hurling his finger toward the camera. Music rises from the silence, this time it is fast-paced rock, it begins underneath the volume of the Mayor’s address, but quickly rises with enthusiasm.

“We did not start this war, and our enemy has laid waste to our streets and our buildings, they have murdered our sons, daughters, fathers, mothers and children in cold blood! I promise you, the residents of South City, that we shall respond. You will have your justice. And it will be swift, it will be just, and it will me merciless . . .”

The music overtakes everything, erupting in a loud, violent volume that shakes the screen.

The Mayor flickers out of focus and is replaced with inside of a house, different from the one before but similar in its structure. There is a number of Central City soldiers positioned in front of the door, angled in a line in the house’s kitchen, staring at the door in preparation.

The lights flicker, and then die. The soldiers are surrounded with blackness.

Two explosions rock the front of the house, the soldiers inside the building open fire. Vibrant and brilliant flashes of red, orange and yellow fill the screen as bullets fly into walls. Windows smash.

Soldier: “They’re inside! They’re inside!

Soldier: “Smoke! I can’t see a -.”

A second round of gunfire opens, but this time it is silenced, and only low-volume squeaks can be heard, followed be groans and collapsing bodies. The lights flicker back on, the room is filled with darkly-clad men wearing tight outfits, all adorned with ski masks and sub-machine guns. One man is standing behind the last living Central City soldier, pulling a jagged blade across his throat and then dropping his limp body on the floor.

He turns towards the camera, his eyes are dark and emotionless. From a standstill he sprints forward towards the camera, blade in hand. In two strides he is standing in front of the screen, his knife rips across the front of the audience’s view.

Everything fades to darkness, the music fades.

Mysterious Voice: “War is a measure of willpower. How strong is your conviction, how strong is your belief in your cause? At the end of the day, when you are bleeding, beaten and exhausted, will you stand, or will you fall? Will your violence conquer, or will it be conquered?”

The screen flickers one last time, and then burns out into nothingness.

Our Eternal Violence

The War Comes Home on July 18th

[Ashe]

Ah well, I've been glancing at the vote and seeing that Fall had more votes than July 18th, so thought it had won. After reading through the thread, I shouldn't have assumed the poll was accurate. Gonna have to miss it, though I doubt in my case that either date really would have made much difference.

[Alexander Trafford]

Update: Last night i was in a fairly serious car accident. Some new, sixteen year old driver t-boned my brother's car while i was in the passenger seat (the impacted side) after she blew threw a stop sign because she was texting and not paying attention. I spent the night in the hospital, I'm fine, and I expect to have the Prologue and an Information section up tonight, and possibly the Join threads as well, but those might not come until tomorrow. I was planning on having everything up right now, 1 EST, but, ya know, i just got home.

[Jesper]

Shit, man. Glad you're okay.

[Carter]

Damn, that sucks. Take as much time as you need, bro. If you're all sore, find a hot tub, it'll work wonders.