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| A New World Order | | | Author: | | | IP: | 1Cust159XXXX | | Date: | 08/25/01 09:08 | | Game Type: | Other | | Labels: | none | | Report Rating: , # of Ratings: 2, Max: 5, Min: 4
Lifetime Rating for Louis Sypher: 4.5000 |   | A New World Order
“Good-evening everyone, I’m Helena Torres and this is the UPL Media News. Today is day ten of UPL efforts to rid our world of the dreaded Magabolea Virus. UPL researchers still have little information about the deadly plague that now consumes our planet. It is cautioned that if you are tested positive for Magabolea, you should report your case to the local health department and avoid contact with the outside world. We will have more information as it develops.”
The word Magabolea had seeped its way across every city, large and small, world wide. It was the worst epidemic in Earth’s history, with tens of thousands being tested positive for the virus every day. Early symptoms included fever, muscle aches and nausea. These light symptoms gave way to full brain shutdown and heart failure. It was believed that Magabolea first developed in individuals with cybernetic enhancements. The fusion of machine and man had created a new Bubonic Plague. Those with cybernetic enhancements were sent to government facilities to both quarantine the victims of Magabolea and to provide scientists with the research necessary to develop a cure. Sadly, the virus was able to leak into the general populous and soon, Magabolea had spread across the globe.
“Good-evening everyone, I’m Helena Torres and this is the UPL Media News. Today is day fifty of the Magabolea Epidemic and there is still no cure in sight. UPL researchers have reportedly doubled their efforts to fight this biological invader. In other news, the UPL Space Exploration Program has announced its plans to begin colonization of our cosmic neighbor, Mars. The announcement comes after a total of three years and twenty billion dollars that has lead to such scientific advances as ‘cold sleep’ cryo-chambers and hyperspace engines. Scientists plan to use the Martian colonization as the stepping stone to the farther reaches of our galaxy.”
What people were unaware of was the Magabolea was a figment of imagination. There was no virus, only a cover up of the UPL’s final solution. The Purification Act allowed the UPL to eliminated those who were “genetically impure”. The first to be eliminated were those with cybernetic enhancements. They were rounded into pens like cattle and slaughtered with a cyanide shower. Then the propaganda of the spread of A New World Order a deadly new epidemic began. Health centers sprang up in every city worldwide, those who were genetically pure were allowed to walk free. Those who failed testing were required to report to the quarantine zone. There, they were told they would be treated for their symptoms and receive further medical attention. In reality, they were injected with liquid cyanide and left to die alone. Their bodies were burned in large mobile furnaces that followed each health center, city to city.
“Good-evening everyone, I’m James Murphy and this is the UPL Media News. Today is day one hundred of the Magabolea Epidemic and sadly, one of our own has become a casualty of this terrible disease. Helena Torres died today at a UPL Health Center, she was thirty-two.”
To the world, I was now dead, another nameless face that would soon be forgotten. In truth, I was being shipped out of the city and would be headed for one of the UPL’s camps. There I would be killed or raped and then killed. I was not alone on this journey and was joined by another two-dozen “victims” of Magabolea. We were all crammed into one of many convoy tracks that would be taking us to our fate. Inside, its as dark and miserable as anyone could imagine. I can hear a few of my companions crying, and others choose to pray. Prayer, the last hope for all of us. I was never a real religious person, but it seemed like the only thing left to do, either to ask for a miracle, or to make peace before the inevitable.
The ride grew longer and the confines of the truck became hotter. A few of the younger kids started to cry and others began to yell and pound against the steel. Soon the entire truck was in a state of hysteria, and I felt the truck jerk to a halt. Everyone became silent, as we listened for the sound of a door opening or someone talking. We waited for ten minutes, until finally the door swung open and the harsh midday sun greeted us. Our eyes adjusted to the light and for the first time we saw our guards. They appeared to be UPL military and carried automatic rifles on their shoulders. Their helmet visors were down and we could not see their faces. I looked about and saw miles of endless desert sands. We were probably in Nevada, but there was no telling how long we had been driving. Many of us were hungry and needed a bathroom, no such luck with these soldiers. One woman spoke up.
“Please, my children need food and they must go to the bathroom. Please, let my children go, you can keep me but spare them.”
The soldiers remained still and paid no attention to the woman or her crying children. The group became nervous and each tried to save their own skin, one way or the other.
“Hey man, I’m have connections, I don’t have a lot on me now but just name your price. I can get you what ever you want. I have millions, do you hear me, millions! Take it all, just let me walk away.”
Still, the soldiers stood still with their guns slouched in their hands. I could hear them talking, but couldn’t make out what they were saying. After much debate, one of them spoke.
“Millions, huh?”
“That’s right, here take my card. It has my cell phone number and my office number. Let me go and I’ll have every cent transferred to you.”
The man fidgeted through his suit to reveal a small white business card with gold trim. On it, printed in bold, black letters, was Peter C. Mason V.P. he trembled a little as the guards took the card from his hand. They looked it over and one of them placed it in a pocket. They looked around and waved him from our little group.
“Thank you, you guys won’t regret this I promise.”
He took off for the road and ran as fast as his pudgy, old legs could carry him. He was about fifty yards out went one of the guards took aim with his rifle and fire a few quick burst. The bullets tore through his body and shot a spray of blood into the air. A few of the ladies cried out and the mothers rushed to shield their children’s eyes from the carnage. The guards dropped the card on the ground and I watched as it fluttered away with the wind, and was swept over by the dust.
“The rest of you get back on the truck. If we have to stop again, you will all end up like Mr. Mason. Now move!”
We piled back into our mobile coffin and spent the next few hours crying or coming to terms with the end. I could help but feel both sorry and a little happy with Mason’s fate. True, its sad when anyone is gunned down in cold blood, but Mason was willing to let us die because we weren’t rich enough to buy our way. Ironically, neither was Mason.
The heat of the day gave way to the chill of the night. It was in this cold desert air that we were once again released into the world. The convoy had stopped near a large compound that overlooked the desert flats. I could see hundreds, maybe even thousands of prisoners being escorted into the large gates of the compound walls. On either side stood a guard with a rifle and a visor covered face. If we could all charge, we could easily overpower the hundred guards at our sides. I was, like many, afraid to even raise a hand. I marched on and tile and concrete walls replaced the desert sands. The long marched seemed to last forever and I could feel my legs cramping as we approached a final steel door. Before us were row upon row of cryo-chambers that were used in the Martian colony armada. We were being loaded into the chambers and I saw that there were thousands of occupied tubes everywhere.
We were ordered to march up three flights of stairs and continued to walk down another hall. On one side was the open air and to the other was a row of chambers. The line came to a halt and we were ordered to enter the chambers. Those who refused were smashed in the head with the butt of the rifles and loaded into the chamber by guards. I chose to save my head and entered the tube. Once inside, the guards rolled my sleeves up to my elbows and slid my arms into the binds on either side of me. Restraints were applied and I was unable to move my arms or legs. The doors closed and I looked through the glass to a visible, but silent world. I felt a chill run up my spine and saw my breath fog the glass in front of me. A cold mist fell over my head and I began to feel my body relax.
Whatever I was feeling, it did not feel like death. I began to give into the urge to sleep and my lasts thoughts were that I hope the other side was as good as people have told me.
The chambers locked across the three ships docked in the hanger. Watching in the wings is a lone scientist who has recruited the UPL to provide test subjects for his scientific voyage. He will send forty-thousand prisoners across the known galaxy and will establish a colony for the UPL the likes of which have never been seen. He would be very rich and that was the bottom line. As the possibilities raced through his mind, an assistant brought the final report.
“Doctor, all ships are primed and ready to launch.”
“All prisoners are secure?”
“Yes sir, all forty-thousand are locked and have enter cryo-state.”
“Is the Atlas System operational?”
“All systems are go, we are waiting your command.”
“Very well, commence launch sequence.”
The hanger doors opened and the three ships prepared to launch. Personnel scattered from the vessels and the doctor watched as the three ships began their assent. He continued to watch as the huge vessels blinked away into faint dots and then they were gone. From his computer he monitored every aspect of the navigation to life support. Everything was under control, what could go wrong? What indeed.
“Good-evening everyone, I’m James Murphy and this is the UPL Media News. Today, UPL scientists have announced that the Magabolea Epidemic has official ended. In its wake the virus killed more then fourteen million people in a one-year span. In other news, it was announced that expedition to colonize the distant reaches of our galaxy has failed. UPL Space Officials have stated that the three colony ships sent to begin the project were lost. Thankfully, no human life was lost as the vessels were manned by automated systems and did not have a human crew operating them. Officials did not state if they would continue their efforts to colonize space but remain hopeful. More as the story develops.”
With one final stroke of a key, the writer leans back to reflect on his labor of love. He knows that there has been quite a negative response to his writing and for a while considered hanging it all up. It was then, that he came across a small poem, he wrote back in junior high. A time when he was confused and despised for reasons he could not understand. Writing helped him coop and was a release for rage, confusion and inspiration. Once again the poem resurfaces and once again serves as the release for rage, confusion and inspiration.
My Art
Beaten down by club and hand, with spit across my face
My ears are filled with laughter as another slap is placed
I look upon your scorn and hate, with a tear and sadden smile
For I know your hate’s in vain, though it may sting awhile
And even though you beat me down, with words or rocks or switches
You’ll never, truly chain my art, you stupid sons of bitches
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