Setting
INK
A few grating, abstract scratches of feedback echoed across ruins and rubble. Loudspeakers produced booming waves, a few examination taps of the microphone's range. Perhaps such settings were what gave life to the common exaggerations found throughout good storytelling. It was far from appropriate for any kind of oration, certainly not one that would carry the magnitude as this one had.
A solitary figure stood confidently above the rest, clutching tightly in hand the product of a well crafted sound setup. He seemed obscured in that darkness, figures scattered about him by his sides, at his hand. Atop a horrid beast they stood in anticipation of that figure and his words. Few of the remaining inhabitants, if any, within the chaotic ruins of Wing City and beyond had ever heard his voice, or even of his name. They knew not of that figure with the chestnut locks and the angelic eyes. But there was always time.
For some reason, he had envisioned the scene with so much more...class? There seemed an element of sophistication missing within those passing moments, but hope would be restored as tender lips parted, and he spoke.
His every utterance carried a soothing melody designed to pacify the most raging of souls. It was, in a word, peace. But most would declare that the content of that message itself was of a different nature. The grating and booming that had formerly occupied the loudspeakers was eclipsed by placidity.
At the very moment he had spoken, his heart evaluated that same inquiry and spoke to his inner sensibility in a harsh reply. They didn't take notice anyways.
Those lilting vocals grew with a certain dignified agitation. He remained tranquil however, composed, and undeniably refined, despite the nature of his calls.
The inquiries were unnecessary, for he and all those who listened knew the answers. And for those who listened with their hearts, they knew just as well what was to follow.
Every single doubt remain in his dithering conscience was effectively annihilated. Feeling himself far from well-heard however, he offered a final declaration, his first decree of war, and the solitary warning they would receive.
A final grating screech. Muffled noise. The clatter of a microphone shattering upon the ground.
One final question remained to be asked, and needed a conclusive answer that only conflict could provide.
What will the historians make of this one?
A solitary figure stood confidently above the rest, clutching tightly in hand the product of a well crafted sound setup. He seemed obscured in that darkness, figures scattered about him by his sides, at his hand. Atop a horrid beast they stood in anticipation of that figure and his words. Few of the remaining inhabitants, if any, within the chaotic ruins of Wing City and beyond had ever heard his voice, or even of his name. They knew not of that figure with the chestnut locks and the angelic eyes. But there was always time.
For some reason, he had envisioned the scene with so much more...class? There seemed an element of sophistication missing within those passing moments, but hope would be restored as tender lips parted, and he spoke.
His every utterance carried a soothing melody designed to pacify the most raging of souls. It was, in a word, peace. But most would declare that the content of that message itself was of a different nature. The grating and booming that had formerly occupied the loudspeakers was eclipsed by placidity.
"Citizens of Wing City and beyond. Those of you removed from your homes, your occupations, and the unfortunate among you removed from your entire livelihood. I'm sure there are many questions regarding the day prior's attacks, and even more anger towards the incident. Of course, such feelings are natural, as violence tends to have such an effect on people. But without such violence, I ask would any have taken notice?"
At the very moment he had spoken, his heart evaluated that same inquiry and spoke to his inner sensibility in a harsh reply. They didn't take notice anyways.
Those lilting vocals grew with a certain dignified agitation. He remained tranquil however, composed, and undeniably refined, despite the nature of his calls.
"You see, what we have wreaked upon this city was a liberation! We seek to do naught but free you from the chains and constraints of sordid existence that so many of you have fallen into! Is it far from unreasonable for us to declare that this entire city, this entire planet, this entire universe of which we are all a part has fallen into desolation and squalor?!"
The inquiries were unnecessary, for he and all those who listened knew the answers. And for those who listened with their hearts, they knew just as well what was to follow.
"But it appears as if your citizens have rejected this freedom. You refuse the liberation that your souls so greatly desire and crave and meanwhile continue to live these lifestyles which have taken so much from those fortuned with less. So, if refusal is to be your response to such ordinance, then our response in kind will be none other than a single word. A word that lives within the heart of every man and wrenches from him all hope. We will bring war to this land."
Every single doubt remain in his dithering conscience was effectively annihilated. Feeling himself far from well-heard however, he offered a final declaration, his first decree of war, and the solitary warning they would receive.
"And for those of you who choose to remain so into yourselves, those of you who refuse to care, who choose to claim yourselves neutral or otherwise, it will be those among you that we pacify first. It is such indifference which has left the land like this, and for that, we can accept no concession other than your own lives."
A final grating screech. Muffled noise. The clatter of a microphone shattering upon the ground.
One final question remained to be asked, and needed a conclusive answer that only conflict could provide.
What will the historians make of this one?