Lakeside District

"No!" He snapped. "I refuse! I was going to, but then you started swearing. So no. Absolutely not!" He crossed his arms, with a certain glare in his eyes that said 'touch me and I will cough on you, bitch.' "I was raised believing that swear words were the words of idiots who couldn't think of anything else to say so they just start screaming fuck at everyone because their minds are so fucking minuscule that they cannot fucking think of anything fucking better to fucking say in response to a fucking argument that they were probably fucking losing!"

He suddenly went quiet; so caught in his little rant that he hadn't noticed any difference in the van they were in. Whether it had stopped, whether it was still moving, whether it was being attacked by ferocious monkeys, he wouldn't have noticed until it actually came to slap him in the face. And even then, it probably wouldn't hurt as bad as the reaction he expected from the fire-y woman in front of him.

It was a good day in Lakeside. A cool spring breeze wafted through the placid neighborhood, licking the crystalline waters of the nearby lake and stirring the blossoming neighborhood trees to whispering. Sunshine canvased the streets and parks, glistening off the cool waters and the hulls of small ships sailing smoothly over its surface.

A massive podium was erected in the center of a large stone plaza overlooking the lake, already swarmed by mobs of people and news stations. Citizens and families waited impatiently for the arrival of their president to hear his speech, a commemoration of the massacre committed in this neighborhood exactly one year ago. The crowds mingled among themselves in the meanwhile, talking of the day's events, discussing how their lives had changed over the last year. Their conversations in no way reflected the frightened musings of a people oppressed; they were the strong, honest words of a hopeful people finding hard times. They talked fearlessly of the past and the future, of the Empire, of their conditions as citizens. It seemed that this tragic anniversary did nothing to quell the spirits of the Isirian people; on the contrary, these deaths (among others) only served to fuel the emotions and passions of the common populace. There were high hopes for the content of the president's speech. Surely their leader would take a stronger stance, today of all days, against the imperial regime. Surely today was the day Isiria began putting her foot down in the face of the Aschen.

Surely today, of all days, things would change.

Tables had been set out at the base of the podium with photos erected to display the faces of those who had died in the Lakeside District Massacre one year ago. Candles and flowers littered the ground around the memorial as people paid their respects to the dead.

Two photos in particular stood out from the rest, and they had been placed at the centermost table. They were those of Caroline and Viktor, ages seven and ten. Both had been shot in the back of the head along with the rest of the families of those who had resisted.

Seventeen civilians had lost their lives on that night. Seventeen dead. It seemed like such a small number in the wake of the Gilihi Massacre of one-hundred and forty-three civilians during a protest turned violent, but it was here in Illumene that it had all started. Many even said that the Lakeside District Massacre was the birthplace of the Isirian resistance movements. They said that as long as the faces of those who died here one year ago were never forgotten, then there was hope yet for liberation.

It wasn't thoughts of liberation of rebellion though that had brought people to the Lakeside District today though. For most this was simply a day of remembrance. A day to mourn the dead.

As President McConley took to the podium the din of the crowd began to quell and a silence began to settle over those gathered within the plaza. For a long time McConley didn't say a word as he looked out over the crowd at all of those expectant eyes. He was serving his third and final term as the president of Isiria, with only another two years left. But it might as well have been fifty.

It had been just over a year since the Aschen ships had appeared in their skies, and just over a year since he had signed their surrender. One had only to look across the plaza to see Imperial propaganda plastered upon walls, billboards, and holographic signs. Posters of the Divine Shadow could be found through-out the city, and the mantra of 'I worship His Shadow' had found its way into their schools and military.

For many Isirians these changes had brought a new era of prosperity, and it had divided Isiria. Many of the outer systems sheltered Isirian rebels and insurgents, save for Cryo who had thrown its lot in with the Aschen Empire. The central planets, like Arastel, were more divided on the matter. The rich and the privileged were often apt to tolerance so long as their coffers remained full, while it was the working middle class that felt the pinch of their imperialist overlords the strongest.

It was these people who stood now looking to McConley for answers. Answers as to why their sons and daughters, wives and husbands had been dragged from their homes in the dead of night one year ago. Answers as to why their government had done nothing to protect them. Answers to bring some sense of understanding and justification to their grief.

He looked down at the cards in his hands where he had prepared his speech and the truth of it was there in his eyes. He didn't have the answers.

It was with a heavy sigh that he looked up and began to speak.

Choncey 'The Cumberchonce" Cumberpatch took long, drawn out steps. He moved, nose to the sky as he skillfully avoided the human waste strewn about him. "Out of the way, peasants! "The Cumberchonce waits for no man". He systematically smacked each vagrant he passed with the tip of his cane.

He made his way to his car, pulling open the door to step in. Before doing so, he paused, glancing towards the vagrants that had taken to his city. He stared for a moment, considering their lives. What personal trials must they be going through? What struggles do they face? Their lives must be so difficult. Choncey frowned for a moment, opening his mouth to speak.

"Kill yourselves, you filthy peasants."

Choncey stepped into his car, disappearing into the horizon. A scent of caviar and pompousness trailing him.

Henrietta Shiorese materializes from the void.

Henrietta Shiorese has left the area, heading west into Illumene Plaza.

Henrietta Shiorese has arrived, coming from Illumene Spaceport.

Henrietta Shiorese has left the area, heading west into Illumene Plaza.