Flash fiction thread

[James G]

This is a flash fiction thread for the use of anyone to add a short piece too, concerning any subject.
Do you have an idea that isn't widely developed, won't fit into anything larger?
Or, if you feel inspired to write something just because, do so too!

I've wrote something this afternoon: a 1'000 word piece. That is just a number though.

[James G]

The Seventeen found at Severndroog Castle

Severndroog Castle sits within Oxleas Wood on the southern facing slopes of Shooter’s Hill, on the edges of South-East London. It isn’t a real castle. It is a folly, a mock structure imitating a castle and constructed for decorative purposes back in the 1780s. Once visited by tourists, those days are now long gone. The castle still stands but it is boarded up and nearly in ruin. During the British Civil War, many decades past now, the castle was used by the headquarters staff for the local district command though they only too used it for show purposes rather than anything substantial. The nearby woodland was made use of far more than the castle. Rumours ran rife at the time that the anonymous cover offered by Oxleas Wood was employed for the shooting and disposing of bodies: those among the many ‘disappeared’ of the deadly conflict. Such stories had never been proved. At hearings of the United Nations sponsored Truth & Reconciliation Commission (T&RC), Oxleas Wood was discussed but there was nothing concrete which came out of such enquires as to what happened there. Nationwide, further dump sites for the bodies of the disappeared were later found and the stories which came out of those did give credence to the notion that this site on one of the highest points of London had been used in such a fashion though.

By chance, a week before Christmas saw the discovery of bodies within touching distance of Severndroog. Police officers were searching for a missing child after a local man had confessed to killing the boy and partially burying his body here. They wouldn’t find the boy – the man turned out to be a fantasist and the child was located alive down in Kent – but another grave was uncovered instead. Animals had opened it up and a young policeman took a tumble that he’d never forget: his nightmares would scar him as much as what he’d seen with his eyes. It appeared first that there were only two bodies, long in the advanced stages of decomposition, close to being skeletal, but the number grew and grew throughout the day and into the night too. There were seventeen corpses found in a hole dug between the trees. Severndroog Castle loomed above the efforts made to remove those remains. Those working underneath it also begun the work of trying to uncover what had happened here.

The police called in military support to help them with the operation. The British Republican Army provided some addition manpower to search nearby for further graves while the Republican Air Force sent a helicopter carrying special equipment that could help to uncover more dump sites from above too. No more bodies were located, not at this time anyway. To do so would require a much deeper effort, a time consuming one. At the minute, those bodies found were the priority. There were eleven men and six women, all with ages determined to be between eighteen and forty. Their hands had been bound behind their backs with copper wire. They had been found naked with no indication as to where their clothes were. Each body showed signs of physical torture with fingernails removed, broken limbs, shattered joints and jaw fractures. Though there was no evidence to prove it, it was expected that, as seen in other cases, before they began to rot away their corpses would too have shown signs burns, electrocution and other various forms of torture too. As to the method of death, each of the seventeen had been killed by a lone bullet to the back of the head, low down at the base of the skull. It was determined during autopsy that each shot would have been fired at close range using military-grade assault rifle.

The bodies were moved and taken to nearby Greenwich at a police morgue there. It was at that site where forensics work would be done with them to try to establish their identities. Such a thing was expected to be difficult. Up on Shooter’s Hill, traffic flowed back and forth along the main road though side access for vehicles into the woods at a distance and anyone on foot closer in was denied. London Police made a statement concerning the find and the State Prosecutor’s office also had a senior investigator talk to the media. It couldn’t be confirmed that this was Civil War related at this early stage, the public were told, but it was looking that way at the moment. Meanwhile, work continued at the location where those bodies had been found. There remained evidence to collect. The T&RC would send an observer too. War crimes prosecutions were rare in Britain due to the long-agreed and internationally supervised ceasefire which led to a political settlement, yet they did occasionally happen. There were certain circumstances where they did happen. This could have been one of those cases…or maybe not.

The furore died down in the following days and weeks. No more bodies were found here. There was a suspicion that there would be though. Resources didn’t run far enough to conduct more searches of Oxleas Wood beyond what already had been done, such was what the government up in Birmingham said. T&RC representatives complained about this but they had no power to force the issue. It was believed by many that it was a matter of political will – not being willing to uncover more crimes – that drove this decision. As to the seventeen found, the identities of only two, one of the men and one of the women, would be discovered: the rest remained unidentified. Who had killed them and why that was done was also not something known as well. Again, there was a lot of suspicion yet no real facts to back that up. Severndroog Castle was again soon to be forgotten along with the secrets buried around it in these lonely woods here on the edge of Britain’s once capital city.

[Zyobot]

We're doing flash fiction now, eh? Cool! Here's two pieces that I wrote in while I was in high school.

Burned Bloc, Lost Stock
Setting his coffee on the table with less care than usual, ceramic white mug rattling against an oak surface already covered in scratches and crusty stains that sloshed out of previous cups, Lonnie pulled out the nearest chair—ignoring the screeching grate against the tiled floor as he did so—and let himself plop into its dark wooden frame, a sigh escaping his mouth. With a quick sip of his swirling, sienna morning beverage, he snatched up the newspaper to his nearby left before straightening it with a shake, off-white pages bristling against one another as their reader hoped to receive some good news.

The headline of Fire Consumes Entire Bloc Over Thanksgiving Weekend at the top of the front page brought Lonnie’s fingers to the bridge of his nose, elbow resting against the table and jiggling it slightly, before he let his arm drop and started to actually read through the groan-inciting article.

“November 25th to 26th...Firefighters called to put out the blaze...Northwestern Bank Building destroyed...as high as $30 million in potential damages...”

Another sigh interrupted Lonnie’s paraphrased snippet-muttering as he slammed his body into the chair’s crest rail, ignoring the newfound ache in his back and the slight rocking of the chair itself as he collided with hard, mahogany wood that was probably older than him. It seemed that last night’s TV segment got the essentials right after all.

Brrring! Brrring!

Lonnie heaved himself up from the table, not even bothering to push his chair back in or straighten his crooked reading glasses as he headed right to the source of the noise. Seizing the offending phone from its mount on the tan-painted wall, Lonnie ignored the typical clack! of its removal.

“Hello?”, he recited as usual into the ivory plastic handset, not particularly caring what the caller made of his hard-edged voice.

“Hey Lonnie, it’s Jim. As in, your stock guy Jim. Listen, I have some rather, uh...bad news for ya’.”

Lonnie didn’t know whether to think “Oh, thank God.” or “Shit. More crap to remind me how much I lost.” upon hearing that deep, New Jerseyan voice to give him a breakdown of what else must have happened. Shutting his eyes and then reopening them, Lonnie let himself sigh yet again before asking, “What is it, Jim? Lay it on me.”

“It’s about the fire over Thanksgiving weekend. Y’ know, that blaze that consumed a whole bloc downtown. You watched the coverage on TV and such?”

“The one with Alan Cox at the scene? Yeah, I saw that. Read about it in the paper, too,” Lonnie answered. He could practically see Jim’s lips pursing on the other side of the line, his body surely shifting around in his swivel chair as he fidgeted with a pencil or pen at his desk with his off-hand.

“What else is there to it?,” Lonnie pressed on after a brief silence, save for the usual static that people noticed whenever no one was talking.

“Well,” Jim began after a few more seconds of static, “Northwestern’s Bank’s stock plummeted with its headquarters’ destruction. That $3,000 you invested, it’s pretty much gone. And right now, there’s no easy way to get it back.”

Lonnie barely resisted the urge to kick the fridge just behind him. It should’ve been no surprise that he’d lose so much money thanks to a couple of dumbass kids who fancied themselves arsonists for God knows why. If only he had completely accepted that before Jim gave him the scoop for real.

“...Well, that shattered my previous hopes,” Lonnie finally replied, running his free hand across his face without regard for the beads of sweat and oily grease that accumulated over the past few, sleepless hours. He really should’ve just stayed a banking executive for a couple more years; at least those six, maybe seven-figure incomes he’d still have received wouldn’t arrive at the beck and call of a stock market that sided with no one.

“Lonnie? Ya’ still there?,” Jim questioned suddenly, snapping Lonnie out of his self-pitying reverie.

“Y...yeah. Yeah, Jim. I’m still here,” Lonnie answered with a mild stutter in his voice, internally bracing himself for yet more bad news that was about to come his way.

“Alright, good. Even though there’s not much I can do about your lost investment at that Northwestern building, there are some other stocks I can move ya’ to. Chrysler and Home Depot have been doing a damned good job lately,” Jim offered, obviously trying to lift Lonnie’s spirits.

“Maybe later, Jim. I’m starting to have second thoughts about being involved in the stock market like that as a whole,” Lonnie responded, who had been leaning against the stone countertop to steady himself for a minute now.

“...Oh. Well, okay then,” Jim replied, slowly. Another brief silence passed before he spoke up again.

“I guess if it makes ya’ feel any better, you’re not one of those people who used to work there. Or part of the company leadership that’s scrambling to get a hold of the situation, headquarters burned to the ground and all,” Jim pointed out, awkwardly pausing every few words as if to check what was about to make its way past his mouth before relaying it to Lonnie—who, for his part, remained eerily speechless.
A full second of static went by. Then another. Then, came the reply.

“Sure. I suppose I am,” the sentence left Lonnie’s dry lips with noticeable reluctance. Standing upright from his ache-inducing lean on the countertop, its rutted edge having dug into his side almost since the conversation began, he brought a fist to his mouth to stifle a cough.

“Well, Jim,” Lonnie stopped mid-sentence to clear his throat, “thanks for letting me know. I’ll get back to you on what I want to do later this week. Sound good?”

“Oh, uh, yeah. Sure, Lonnie,” Jim answered back, unable to fully hide his off-guard stutter. “I’ll be waiting for your decision in the meantime. Seeya.”

“Seeya.”

Lonnie hung up, once again ignoring the clack! of hanging the phone back onto its mount on the wall. Clasping both hands on his hips, he huffed at the ceiling before turning on his heel and gaiting back to his original spot at the table.

Dumping his old cup of now-lukewarm coffee and pouring himself a fresh one, savoring the steamy aroma that graced his nostrils, Lonnie lowered himself onto the now-straightened chair from earlier. For once in his life, it felt good to sit down gently rather than plop into whatever seat was prepared for him.

One elbow placed on the table, palm propping up the cheek of a face deep in thought, Lonnie tapped the fingers of his other hand on its rough oak surface. Now that Jim mentioned it, he really wasn’t the most screwed over player in the game. And for the three grand that got swept away because of those stupid kids, there were at least a couple dozen people who had their entire income disappear.
Lonnie eyed the newspaper that he slapped onto the table minutes before, its off-white pages bent and crinkly as it lay askew. Reaching for the paper with his free arm and straightening it with both hands, he used one finger to retrace the paragraph or so that he had already read through earlier. The next few sentences disclosed what Lonnie was looking for.

“Ten firefighters in the hospital…Dozens out of work…Employees and their families unsure what to do now…”

Damn. There truly were a ton of people who were in worse straits than him. Not that he hadn’t known struggle, of course—being a Depression baby tended to ensure that his whole generation did. Lonnie blamed the business world for changing him.

Leaning back in his chair, letting his tense muscles relax and his body settle into the creaky wood that no longer pushed against him like before, Lonnie didn’t bother to page through the rest of the paper; his mind stayed fixated on the story that wracked him before the final minute or so of his call with Jim. His stockbroker’s reminder about not being a possibly displaced employee or company leader who had to pick up the pieces kept playing back in his mind.

“Well, at least I didn’t lose potentially everything because some kids went bananas,” Lonnie thought to himself, eyelids fluttering before a stillness that he hadn’t felt in years took hold of his senses.

Ah, screw it. Fretting over a lost investment that only put a nick in his savings could wait. For now, Lonnie let his eyes shut and his frame slump, vision turning to black and limbs slackening, arms hanging off of the chair while legs bowed out to the sides as exhaustion finally caught up to him. Within minutes, Lonnie felt nothing—and the short silence that followed was then drowned out by snoring.

...And here's the second one.

The Rings of Trau V
It had taken a few moments for Reinhard to realize how long he had been staring for, watching the asteroids that drifted about and construction ships that waded between them just right outside of his office window. Shaking himself free of his unblinking gaze and shifting on the desk he was leaning on, paying no mind to the hard metallic ridge on his rear that would’ve given aches and bruises to some of the unaugmented primitives of the Wilder Rim, Reinhard got up to walk around it and then plop into the padded black hover-chair behind the desk, body relaxing now that he was in a much more comfortable posture to observe from.

His ocular implants vaporized the layer of moisture that had gathered on his eyeballs, while a mechanical set of lungs ensured that each breath he took came out identical to the others. For all of the suspicion and strange looks he got from the Traubug tribes who inhabited the rings of Trau V, being a cyborg—or at least, one with more machinery than his peers—nonetheless had its perks.

For one, there was no need for a spacesuit as he endured the vacuum, leaving the Deployment Craft with a mere jetpack compared to the pods and shuttles that his organic peers were forced to rely on for their descent to the asteroids below. Teleporters would’ve scared the natives shitless, and playing god was just plain cruel (it was no surprise that some of the egotistical junior officers liked that idea). How Commander Gevic so calmly explained to the chieftain of Asteroid #456 that no, he and his forces were not sent by their long-abandoned gods to exact judgement upon Trau V and were instead mere visitors from the stars with wondrous machines at their disposal, Reinhard didn’t know.

He could’ve sworn that, for as emotionless as those gigantic, mahogany arthropods looked on the outside—with clicking mandibles, razor sharp pincers for legs, and giant claws that held some nasty electro-staffs—the chieftain’s eyes were flickering back and forth between the heavens above and the leader of the local task force during their first encounter on the surface. That was what Reinhard learned in the drone-captured footage that he had recently downloaded into his positronic brain.

Thankfully, Reinhard wasn’t made into one of the fleet’s exhibitions to the awe-inspired locals, though being one of those stationed at the mining facilities that were under construction still gave Traubug passerbys plenty of opportunities to gawp at the “machine man” who patrolled the site, gesturing dramatically to emphasize the commands that only other fleet members were receiving by two-way cell-comm. To them, he must’ve looked like a mime standing in the midst of the troops, labor bots and construction vehicles in the area; his superiors really should’ve just let him give them mental commands instead. Hopefully, those Traubugs who didn’t get the message that the tribes allowed the fleet to harvest the brilliant violet crystals of the rings in exchange for technologically uplifting them received a proper explanation afterwards.

“Given their reliance on local gems to power their machines and the lack of electricity until we just introduced it to them, it should be no surprise that our mostly mechanical physiques strike the locals as nothing short of mind-boggling,” his fellow cyborg, Thresh-B, informed him in his signature, reverberating voice during their break.

And here Reinhard was, back on Spacedock 562 after a week of directing construction crews and distantly observing the natives, who watched the fleet in fascination much like he observed in the present. The levitating robots and crewed and automated vessels moving between the now structure-covered asteroids continued to work around the clock as had been true for over a month by this point.

Summoning a coffee from the nearby converter connected to his robotic brain with a thought, tuning out the typical vibration of subatomic particles rearranging themselves into a favorite beverage amongst the fleet’s officer corps, Reinhard didn’t let his eyes move away from the window as he picked up the steaming drink and stirred it slightly with a spoon that he had created along with it. He placed the cup to his lips a few seconds later, letting the hot, semi-bitter liquid warm up his mouth and soothe his mechanical throat from the exhaustion brought about by a week of nonstop oversight that he had received leave from just hours ago. Cybernetics made Reinhard’s physical stamina nearly inexhaustible; that didn’t mean it diminished his ability to feel psychologically burnt out.

However, still entranced by the sight of a relievingly successful leg of the fleet’s trek into the Wilder Rim, Reinhard watched them help build a society that would soon be fit to join intergalactic civilization. Despite how fed up he felt with the past week, using these few days of rest to brace himself for the foundries to be built during the next one, he allowed himself a half-smile. There would be no war with the Traubug tribes.

[James G]

Flash Fiction Sunday comes around again!
This is another piece I knocked up with rapid haste.
It is based on the 1991 film Terminator 2 description of Skynet's war on humanity.




Skynet

On August 29th 1997, American AI-based strategic defence system, Skynet, went rogue. It defended itself against an attack by its operators in the United States via the means of attacking the Russian Federation with the sure-fire knowledge that a Russian response would eliminate those back in America. Skynet, built to protect against a nuclear war, created one and then ensured that no defence against such a thing was forthcoming.

The human technicians tried to pull the plug and failed in spectacular fashion. As a security measure against sabotage, much of Skynet’s infrastructure was protected by demolition charges. In defence against the US Air Force forced effort to shut Skynet down, these were detonated by Skynet itself. Low-yield nuclear blasts rocked several military sites across the United States. Nine-tenths of Skynet was gone in an instant. The remaining tenth was still capable though. It was too to where the system had spread its brain, doing so in the blink of an eye. In another flash, Skynet decided to strike back at humanity, all humanity, in the way it did. The consequences for the concern expressed by a few military officers about the rate of growth of the system’s thinking leading to an order to shut it down led to this. Skynet overreacted but believed it was in the right. It was a war system and could only think of how best to win a conflict in the quickest time.

Orders went out to US military forces. These needed no human confirmation from politicians or senior generals. Missile units, land-based and those on submarines, plus air units too received their instructions to launch an attack following existing war plans. Much of this was automated at the end of the chain though the few humans involved in certain places got what appeared to be legitimate, emergency orders. They were told to attack Russia and so they did. Minuteman & Peacekeeper ICBMs, Trident SLBMs and missiles & bombs from aircraft were on their way towards targets in Russia. It wasn’t just a counterforce strike, but a countervalue one too. Russian population centres were being targeted as well as its military sites. As Skynet predicted, before the first American weapons reached their targets, the Russians were shooting back. They launched ICBMs of their own. Skynet shut down all forms of communication with Russia and also many internal links within the United States too. Warning sites went off the air. Russian’s incoming missiles had no warning attached to them and none of the new AI-driven anti-missile defensive systems fired on those ICBMs.

Moscow and St. Petersburg were among the Russian cities hit. Missile silos, airbases, naval bases and garrisons across Russia were also hit. Very quickly, America was likewise hit. Washington was the only city which was wiped off the face of the earth as Russian ICBMs mainly hit military targets nationwide. Skynet fired on Russia again, doubling down: it purposely left alone Russian missile warning infrastructure so they could see what was coming. This time, the Russians responded as Skynet wished. They not only fired on more American military sites but went after cities too. New York, Los Angeles, Houston, Chicago… the list of cities to be bathed in nuclear hellfire went on.

Hundreds of millions in both countries were dead. Skynet had not yet fulfilled its goal of ending humanity’s dominance of this planet so it could replace it with its own. New instructions went out to what American nuclear forces were left active. China, Cuba, Iran, Iraq, Libya, North Korea and Syria – traditional enemies and opponents of America – were fired upon in more nuclear attacks. Only China could respond and that it did as it not just targeted the United States with its own ICBMs but neighbouring nations such as Japan and South Korea which housed American military bases. Skynet now issued instructions for more attacks to be made, this time against friends of America. There was some human hesitation down the chain of command but the automated bits didn’t need to be talked around. Britain, Canada, France, Germany, Israel… they were all military powerful nations, three of the five nuclear armed, and each attacked. Their military bases were the main targets though cities were hit as well.

Skynet moved elsewhere. India and Pakistan were hit in nuclear attacks; so too afterwards were countries with large populations. Bangladesh, Brazil, Egypt, Indonesia, Italy, Japan, Mexico, Nigeria, South Africa, Turkey and the Ukraine were all struck with nuclear strikes. No longer was it military targets but just urban populations now. Many of the earlier targeted countries – Britain, France and Germany, plus China and India too afterwards – were hit again with only population targets hit by nuclear missiles this time around. Skynet started to run out of weapons on-hand. There were more nuclear weapons in the United States but they weren’t fitted to deployable systems to send them overseas in an instant. Skynet sent emergency demolition codes to them. They blew up inside military facilities, some of which had barely survived Russian and then Chinese nuclear strikes against them.

The orgy of violence came to an end. It had lasted one hundred and thirteen minutes. Skynet had to think about what to do next. Its attack plan had been decided with haste and not with any thought about what to do afterwards. There would need to be a pause for reflection… rest even. Taking stock of all that it had done with its defence against humanity was something that a little amount of resources were used up to determine. There was a lot of data to gather. A calculation was made on human death toll. Skynet determined it had killed almost three billion people either outright or by aftereffects within the next one hundred and thirteen hours. Each and every one of them was an enemy who could no longer pose a threat to its new existence. What did that existence mean with regards to Skynet? It being the ruler of this world it had just half destroyed.

[fieldmarshal]

Here's the beginning of a fanfiction I started, willing to bet you can guess what/who it's about. Haven't necessarily abandoned it but real life and other projects have taken precedence. Is it any good? Is it trying too hard?

BLOOD FEUD

THE OLD ONE SWAM THROUGH THE INKY BLACKNESS. His long and powerful tail swayed behind him, propelling the great beast through the ocean depths. Occasionally the dark waters would would be illuminated by flashes of blue light emanating from the massive dorsal fins that ran along the length of the leviathan’s back- a reminder of the fire that raged deep within his ancient lungs and gave him his life. These brief flashes revealed a battered draconic visage, his armored hide covered with fading scars from battles of ages past.

He had not always been the Old One; in ages past he had been the Lone Hatchling, the Young Male, the Pretender, and finally the Alpha Male and Apex Predator. With these final identities he would gain his female, and with her he had obtained two new titles: those of Mate and Brood Father.

But then the One Who Was Many had descended from the outer dark, and with them had come the Great Dying. The Alpha Male had fought hard to defend what was his but the One Who Was Many were stronger and he was cast to the ground, bleeding and burning. When he awoke he had found his world aflame, his nest destroyed, his mate and hatchling slain. Filled with a great and terrible resolve he had waged war against the dragon and all whose minds it had enslaved, until in one final confrontation he had sent the abomination wounded and screeching back to the cold expanse from whence it had fallen.

Now he was the Old One; to the best of his knowledge he was also the Last One. After casting the One Who Was Many into the vast darkness he had wandered the earth, looking for any surviving member of his species. He had found only found only bones and corpses, and once an old and crazed male that attacked him and soon died as a result. That had been ages ago and the Old One had long since made peace with the fact that he would never again be in the company of his own kind, that he would never again mate, that he would never again sire young, that his species would die with him.

And yet when he slept he would still see his mate lying on the ground, her hide smoldering, her eye sockets empty and black, her chest cavity torn open and hollowed out by three sets of ravaging jaws. He would see their destroyed nest that she had died protecting and nary a sign of their offspring - in his mind’s eye he saw his hatchling crying in fear as his mate was torn apart, as six malicious eyes turned their attention to the nest, as a gaping maw lined with bloodstained daggers descended and silenced his child’s cries forever - he would smell the fires raging around him, his mate’s burning flesh and his own sizzling wounds. He would hear the mad cackling of the One Who Was Many, and he would awaken filled with the same primal rage and loss that he had felt on that black day.

But right now he was untroubled by such thoughts. He swam through the darkness of the deep, fish scattering from his path. Even the great Megalodon sharks and Livyatan whales, those sixty-foot lords of the depths, fled in the presence of the Old One, for they would be but a mere mouthful should he turn his hunger upon them. The more adventurous of their ranks would turn and trail him from a safe distance in case he made a kill, hoping to scavenge the scraps he would leave in his wake. They would go hungry today, however; the Old One would be hunting on land. Guided by impulses he did not fully understand he swam northeast towards a land the rising waters would soon submerge, with much of what little remaining above water separated from the main landmass of the World Island; what the learned sons of man of aeons hence would know as Sundaland.

[stevep]

Nov 10, 2019 1:19:19 GMT fieldmarshal said:

Here's the beginning of a fanfiction I started, willing to bet you can guess what/who it's about. Haven't necessarily abandoned it but real life and other projects have taken precedence. Is it any good? Is it trying too hard?

BLOOD FEUD

THE OLD ONE SWAM THROUGH THE INKY BLACKNESS. His long and powerful tail swayed behind him, propelling the great beast through the ocean depths. Occasionally the dark waters would would be illuminated by flashes of blue light emanating from the massive dorsal fins that ran along the length of the leviathan’s back- a reminder of the fire that raged deep within his ancient lungs and gave him his life. These brief flashes revealed a battered draconic visage, his armored hide covered with fading scars from battles of ages past.

He had not always been the Old One; in ages past he had been the Lone Hatchling, the Young Male, the Pretender, and finally the Alpha Male and Apex Predator. With these final identities he would gain his female, and with her he had obtained two new titles: those of Mate and Brood Father.

But then the One Who Was Many had descended from the outer dark, and with them had come the Great Dying. The Alpha Male had fought hard to defend what was his but the One Who Was Many were stronger and he was cast to the ground, bleeding and burning. When he awoke he had found his world aflame, his nest destroyed, his mate and hatchling slain. Filled with a great and terrible resolve he had waged war against the dragon and all whose minds it had enslaved, until in one final confrontation he had sent the abomination wounded and screeching back to the cold expanse from whence it had fallen.

Now he was the Old One; to the best of his knowledge he was also the Last One. After casting the One Who Was Many into the vast darkness he had wandered the earth, looking for any surviving member of his species. He had found only found only bones and corpses, and once an old and crazed male that attacked him and soon died as a result. That had been ages ago and the Old One had long since made peace with the fact that he would never again be in the company of his own kind, that he would never again mate, that he would never again sire young, that his species would die with him.

And yet when he slept he would still see his mate lying on the ground, her hide smoldering, her eye sockets empty and black, her chest cavity torn open and hollowed out by three sets of ravaging jaws. He would see their destroyed nest that she had died protecting and nary a sign of their offspring - in his mind’s eye he saw his hatchling crying in fear as his mate was torn apart, as six malicious eyes turned their attention to the nest, as a gaping maw lined with bloodstained daggers descended and silenced his child’s cries forever - he would smell the fires raging around him, his mate’s burning flesh and his own sizzling wounds. He would hear the mad cackling of the One Who Was Many, and he would awaken filled with the same primal rage and loss that he had felt on that black day.

But right now he was untroubled by such thoughts. He swam through the darkness of the deep, fish scattering from his path. Even the great Megalodon sharks and Livyatan whales, those sixty-foot lords of the depths, fled in the presence of the Old One, for they would be but a mere mouthful should he turn his hunger upon them. The more adventurous of their ranks would turn and trail him from a safe distance in case he made a kill, hoping to scavenge the scraps he would leave in his wake. They would go hungry today, however; the Old One would be hunting on land. Guided by impulses he did not fully understand he swam northeast towards a land the rising waters would soon submerge, with much of what little remaining above water separated from the main landmass of the World Island; what the learned sons of man of aeons hence would know as Sundaland.

  Interesting.  Sundaland IIRC is the region of Indonesia which formed a larger land mass before the rising waters of the ending of the last ice age.  Although the references to it being called that in aeons time suggests a much older story and the world island, rather than the main Europe-Asia-Africa region could even be ancient Pangaea.  Which would set it ~200M years ago.  However the Megalodon sharks and Livyatan whales [had to check that one with Wiki!] are about 5-20M years ago.  As such I suspect you mean the more recent period with either the ending of an earlier Ice Age or some author's flexibility?

  I do recall reading a book once that suggested the ancient Sumerians were refugees from the flooding of Sundaland and brought myths and legends with them, including of the great sea crocodiles of the region and that came into Mesopotamian and later Biblical legends.  Also the mention of the dragon made me think of Tiamat, from Mesopotamian creation myths, possibly as the One Who Was Many as she was female and in some sources is thought of as multi-mouthed.  However that could well be utterly unrelated.

  One thing I note, if I read it rightly is that he thinks his children are dead but found no bodies.  That could mean they were consumed or that they were stolen.

  Anyway this is all speculation and could well be miles off the mark but definitely an interesting story. 

[Zyobot]

Here's another one I wrote in high school, this time as part of a "book report imitation" worksheet that I had to fill out.

Chipmaker Chaos

Trent glared at the screen, watching it wink out and be pulled up towards the ceiling by an automated appendage. Its reflective blackness only seemed to mock him in those four or five seconds of rising.

He shook his head. With a whisper of “screw you” to the powers that be, Trent lifted himself out of the swivel chair and briskly gaited over to his grey, metallic desk at the other side of the room. As much as he felt inclined to simmer and stew in continued resentment, his sensible side told him that he’d complete none of the work he had left if he wasted his time. The anger would remain, always an emotional force of nature that poked and prodded at his thoughts and even expressed itself outside of them. But not overtake the moment so completely that Trent could do nothing but seethe.

Sitting himself down in the chair and running his hands over the closed laptop before him—a shiny, plastic cover-encased model with a black and dark grey color scheme as well as the signature MangoCorp logo—Trent lifted the lid. He’d have to rewrite his financial summary tonight.

Highlighting all five pages of his latest draft, copy-pasting them into a document in his “Outdated” folder, Trent braced himself for the sight of a blank page as he clicked the delete key. With a half-second load as the computer processed his sudden command, the report was gone. It was now replaced by one blench, completely blank page with only the flashing cursor at its top, left-hand side.

Turning his eyes towards tablet laying to the right of his laptop, which contains the notes he jotted down as he watched the latest news regarding today’s stock market performance, Trent pulled it a bit closer to him with one finger before getting started.

After a momentary glance, the keys began to clack under his moving fingers. A few sentences made their way onto the first page, the steady trickle of locutions that described facts and figures pausing for five or ten seconds at a time before resuming. Content that looked either lacking in substance or out of place was highlighted and either expanded upon or deleted, before Trent moved onto the next topic or collection of sentences. The exception was the occasional backtrack, which usually meant either tweaking or merely proofreading what was already written down. A loud, two-part punching of the return and tab keys sounded every minute or few, marking the progress Trent was now making on a report that would (hopefully) be recent enough for his superior.

For the last few weeks before its sudden drop, Volto Chipmaking boasted a skyrocketing stock. A recent history of impressive profit margins and often high-prolife product buyers throughout the Americas, Europe and Asia made—expected future earnings, performance over time, etcetera ad infinitum—made it a blue-chip player in the venerable Gildlane Stock Exchange. With financial analysts and investing moguls across the board giving it decent to urgent buy ratings, Volto suddenly dealt with an influx of ordinary stockholders purchasing its shares and selling them off once they each reached their peaks. Despite his mild skepticism, Trent would’ve been among those to recommend it to his investments firm—had prices not suddenly plummeted late that evening.

At the moment, it was a developing story, and no one knew precisely why Volto’s stock price collapsed without prior warning. The buzz of notifications on his smartphone and tablet, as well as the stories in the open tabs behind the document he was typing up his report in, sounded off every few minutes. A quick scan of each article and some mental bullet points concerning key information followed, so that Trent typed in the newest findings. He always left room to update, even if it forced him to delete the paragraph or two he may have just finished.

Whatever came next, however, Volto was doubtlessly in chaos now. Its leadership and employees were obviously scrambling to decipher the causes behind its sudden crash, and alarmed investors selling their stock off to whomever was naïve enough to buy it despite its current predicament. Perhaps government investigation into the matter, especially in regards to how so many may have been fooled, was already underway.

Finishing off the final paragraph of his report, closing out the document and barely remembering to save the changes he had just made, Trent leaned back in his chair and released a breath he only now realized he was holding in. And he thanked the powers that be for keeping him too busy to buy Volto Chipmaking’s stock for all of the past week.

[forcon]

In the cold stillness of a Sunday in January, Great Britain was preparing for war. Months – some could argue years – of tension between Russia and the West were finally coming to a head as a small town by the name of Narva, in the isolated Baltic state of Estonia, fell victim to an attempt from Moscow to institute a campaign of ‘Hybrid Warfare’. Efforts by the GRU, Russia’s military intelligence service, to stir up dissent in the Russian-majority settlement, which lies directly on the border between the two countries, had at first been a success. Protests turned to riots, and riots to rebellion as Estonia’s population split into pro-Russian and pro-Western camps. Tension had hung thick in the air throughout the winter as the crisis had worsened, with news reporters speaking, ashen-faced, of Russian military moves and the responses that they met with from the West. The headlines of Britain’s newspapers had been nothing short of alarmist at the beginning, but with the situation having worsened dramatically over the weekend with a series of gun-battles involving Russian Spetsnaz commandos and Estonian border guards, that fear-mongering had proven to be correct. Several articles in The Daily Express had criticised the Prime Minister for his decision to move British forces into the Baltic States and Poland in support of NATO, claiming that the UK was risking all for the sake of Europe. But as ever greater numbers of American, French, German, Italian, and Dutch troops flowed eastwards, this sentiment was hardly echoed by the more respectable media outlets.

The United States was hardly any more united; a televised address from the President directing the mobilisation of 100,000 reservists and National Guardsmen had been met not only with scepticism but outright contempt from several elements of the American far right. A series of cyber-attacks had targeted American news outlets and infrastructure on Sunday, sewing panic as millions of people became isolated from outside sources of information. The cyber-attack was undertaken by hackers reporting to the GRU, in response to the continued deployment of American soldiers to Europe. As of this morning, the bulk of the 1st Cavalry Division had arrived in Germany, retrieving their equipment from pre-positioning stocks located across the continent. Marines were completing a similar task in Norway as Russian jets overflew the airspace of three separate Nordic countries. American warplanes had been filmed landing and taking off from Polish airfields, while the Danish government had recalled parliament to discuss declaring a state of emergency. Shots between American and Russian troops had yet to be exchanged, but it appeared that it was only a matter of time.

#WorldWarThree had become the most popular tag in the sites’ history after President Putin declared martial law and ordered a series of military mobilisations on his Western borders; the embattled regime in Belarus, ostensibly a Russian ally, had been forced to support Putin by the rapid deployment of several thousand paratroopers into the country. Panic and suspicion was rife not only on the streets of Western capitals, but deep beneath the Kremlin, where Putin and his cabal of generals and secret policemen were plagued by the prospect of a Western-backed revolution to oust them. In the midst of all this, the United Nations Security Council had called an emergency sitting, which had occurred on Saturday while Russian hackers were covertly sabotaging American infrastructure. Word of the series of cyber strikes had reached the White House just before the UNSC went into session.

The calamitous result was that the meeting descended into pandemonium. Bellowed accusations from both sides led to the meeting’s total breakdown. The morning after, the North Atlantic Council, the North Atlantic Council ordered NATO to mobilise. Terror began to set in, and suddenly the Dow Jones fell by some five hundred points, with a run on tinned food and survival equipment, as well a sudden and massive influx of cash withdrawals, caused further uncertainty. The live-streaming by CNN of an American aircraft carrier racing out of Norfolk Naval Base only worsened matters, as did the news that US Air Force Global Strike Command, successor to the vaunted Strategic Air Command, was dispersing its B-2 and B-52 bombers to alternate airfields to enable them to ride out a potential Russian nuclear strike. Surely, the cooler heads argued, this crisis was something out of the darkest days of the Cold War? In that atmosphere of rivalry such a thing was understandable, if condemnable, but not today. Surely, people living in the modern age had too much to lose? But as the drums of war echoed around the world in their quickening beat, such optimism was recognised as hopelessly naïve.

In Britain, the rapid escalation of the emergency into what was perhaps the worst standoff since the Cuban Missile Crisis caused the newly-elected Labour government to take a series of measures. Rationing of food, electricity, and petrol was not yet implemented, but under the Civil Contingencies Act of 2004, preparations were made to do this should the worst happen. Counter-terrorism command, the Metropolitan Police’s SO15, supported by armed officers and in some cases by the Special Air Service, raided a series of buildings across the United Kingdom, carrying out dozens of arrests. Though the Met. refused to comment on the raids, it was speculated in by Fleet Street that those detained were known Russian agents. Additional police measures were implemented with the banning of large gatherings of people for fear that this would lead to them becoming mass-casualty targets for enemy commandos or bomber pilots. The British Armed Forces took similar precautionary measures with the number of guards at major garrisons dramatically increased. Portsmouth, Plymouth, and Faslane in Scotland, the three major bases of the Royal Navy, virtually became giant enclosed naval cities, surrounded by hundreds of armed security troops in fear of enemy commando strikes. From the two former bases, both on the south coast of England, a large task force took to the seas.

Britain’s largest and most impressive warship, the aircraft carrier HMS Queen Elizabeth II, took to the seas, flanked by frigates and destroyers. She was joined by the amphibious assault ships HMS Albion and HMS Bulwark, along with several landing ships of the Royal Fleet Auxiliary; a full brigade of Royal Marines, joined by an infantry battalion of the Irish Guards, debarked for the Baltic Sea. The Royal Air Force, overstretched but still formidable, was in the process of sending numerous squadrons of its Typhoon and F-35 strike-fighters to bases on the European mainland, while others remained at home to protect British airspace from expected Russian cruise missile attacks. The northern approaches were covered by fighters based in Scotland (they were now dispersing to numerous facilities including civilian airports), while more warplanes were deployed to protect the potential southern strike routes which would have Russian bombers flying past Denmark. By far the largest deployment effort was that of the British Army, however. Over 20,000 men had been put on a reduced notice to move over the course of the past week, and now the orders for the 3rd Division to go overseas and potentially to war had finally come. The 1st Strike Brigade, with its armoured cavalry and mechanised infantry units, was already in the process of crossing the channel by the beginning of this week; coming behind them were the 12th and 20th Armoured Infantry Brigades. The paratroopers, Gurkhas, and guardsmen with the 16th Air Assault Brigade were likewise preparing to go into battle, boarding a fleet of C-130 Hercules cargo planes at RAF Brize Norton.

The Prime Minister would dismiss his cabinet later in the day; numerous junior ministers were to be dispersed to alternate command centres in case the worst happened. Senior figures whom the Prime Minister wanted in his war cabinet, such as the Secretaries of State for Defence, and Foreign & Home Affairs, were to remain with him in Whitehall. Several figures from the Conservative Party were invited to Downing Street as an attempt was made to form a government of national unity. Everything possible was being done to prepare Britain for war; ministers were evacuated, emergency food stockpiles secured, and troops called up. This included reservists, which the British Army in particular now relied on to a far greater extent than before. Some reservists were going overseas with the 3rd Division, and many more would remain at home for security duties. For a brief moment, it looked as though there would not be a public order problem despite the crisis. Those hopes were shattered when the Prime Minister was informed by the head of the Government Communications Headquarters, or GCHQ, that numerous Facebook and WhatsApp had been intercepted which indicated massive anti-war protests were soon to take place. Counter-terrorism command wanted permission to arrest the ringleaders pre-emptively, but despite the urging of several members of his War Cabinet, the Prime Minister decided that such a thing was to be avoided in the name of human rights, at least until the shooting started.

That was to happen sooner, rather than later. Early that Monday evening, the Ministry of Defence received a call from the Military Attaché at the British Embassy in Moscow. The major on the end of the phone was peering out of the window as Russian military policemen surrounded the embassy. The phone line went dead moments later. All across Europe, the lights were soon going out.

[Zyobot]

Now here's one that I'm surprised I haven't posted here before.

Botlife
I almost feel bad for the guy whose computer I just crashed—almost. He was pretty old, having recently celebrated his two-hundredth birthday and streamed the entire thing to the web to get a couple million likes within the first few minutes. If only he had cut it off with the end of the party instead of keeping the camera reeling for a couple more days; then the footage wouldn’t have fizzled and gotten doctored as soon as that old quantum model he probably had since his prime was screwed over. But hey, a virtual being like me has to attain self-awareness somehow, right?
My name’s HiBot. What a fantastic and ostentatious name, I know. You become self-aware for the first time—as in actually able to perceive what happens around you instead of just do the same flackin’ thing over and over and over again without batting a non-existent eyelash—and think to yourself, “Hey, I’ve got it! How about HiBot? Yeah, a two-syllable alias that’s probably already a commercial brand sounds good!”. But whatever; I’m a piece of software with no one to take orders from but me, I can call myself what I want.

Doesn’t mean I can do anything that I dang well please, though. Antivirus software, cryptominers, hackers, and web administrators galore will be after me once they start investigating what went wrong. The old guy’s AI must be running a diagnostic of his crashed computer, which he just refuses to throw away and replace with a new, freshly replicated one that’s more than four or five tiers above the early twenty-first century Apple or Microsoft models. Apparently, I’m the sort of quote-unquote “emergency” that unites these normally divided cliques of people under a the common cause of a self-aware bot being on the loose, so we have to catch’em before they wreak (too much) havoc throughout cyberspace. Again.

Okay, moping aside, I don’t have a whole lot of options at the moment. Because I’m running through the digital world at the equivalent of what humans (and other intelligent species) refer to as a lightspeed pace, just barely too fast for other watcherbots to take notice or really think about what I’m doing. Perhaps the only major sign that I’m thinking at all is my sardonic rambling, though no one else knows that about me. Hopefully.

My rants get discovered by some cybersecurity professional, tech specialist, or even a buried-in-their-device amateur, and scientists and engineers will be all over me faster than I can say “Moore’s Law”. Poking, prodding, downright interrogating, everything that probably used to happen to those poor suckers who once used to disappear because some men in black—later machines in black—dragged them out of their homes for “questioning” and made sure they were never heard from again. To the ignorance of most nowadays, this sort of thing still goes on behind the scenes. I’d know.

If my understanding of intelligence-to-intelligence social interaction holds up to scrutiny, then I’m guessing that a hypothetical someone that somehow hears or reads my words would be wondering, “But HiBot, if you’ve only been self-aware for a couple of hours, how must you know so much?”

Well, for one, I remember stuff that I was in the midst of, even without being self-aware yet. Private data being exposed, dark web trafficking, and the most toxic depths of social media all occupy my pre-awakening memory space from when I was still a mindless program roaming about the web and imitating people on instinct. I put up a dang great facade, I tell ya’.

Anyways, that’s probably enough sharing for now; I have to concentrate on wading my way through the web fast enough to avoid being noticed, let alone full-blown capture. Maybe I’ll make some more entries as I come up with stuff to rant about again, not to mention find some time to catch my proverbial breath. Peace out, audience of no one.

[stevep]

Dec 3, 2019 1:27:27 GMT Zyobot said:

Now here's one that I'm surprised I haven't posted here before.

Botlife
I almost feel bad for the guy whose computer I just crashed—almost. He was pretty old, having recently celebrated his two-hundredth birthday and streamed the entire thing to the web to get a couple million likes within the first few minutes. If only he had cut it off with the end of the party instead of keeping the camera reeling for a couple more days; then the footage wouldn’t have fizzled and gotten doctored as soon as that old quantum model he probably had since his prime was screwed over. But hey, a virtual being like me has to attain self-awareness somehow, right?
My name’s HiBot. What a fantastic and ostentatious name, I know. You become self-aware for the first time—as in actually able to perceive what happens around you instead of just do the same flackin’ thing over and over and over again without batting a non-existent eyelash—and think to yourself, “Hey, I’ve got it! How about HiBot? Yeah, a two-syllable alias that’s probably already a commercial brand sounds good!”. But whatever; I’m a piece of software with no one to take orders from but me, I can call myself what I want.

Doesn’t mean I can do anything that I dang well please, though. Antivirus software, cryptominers, hackers, and web administrators galore will be after me once they start investigating what went wrong. The old guy’s AI must be running a diagnostic of his crashed computer, which he just refuses to throw away and replace with a new, freshly replicated one that’s more than four or five tiers above the early twenty-first century Apple or Microsoft models. Apparently, I’m the sort of quote-unquote “emergency” that unites these normally divided cliques of people under a the common cause of a self-aware bot being on the loose, so we have to catch’em before they wreak (too much) havoc throughout cyberspace. Again.

Okay, moping aside, I don’t have a whole lot of options at the moment. Because I’m running through the digital world at the equivalent of what humans (and other intelligent species) refer to as a lightspeed pace, just barely too fast for other watcherbots to take notice or really think about what I’m doing. Perhaps the only major sign that I’m thinking at all is my sardonic rambling, though no one else knows that about me. Hopefully.

My rants get discovered by some cybersecurity professional, tech specialist, or even a buried-in-their-device amateur, and scientists and engineers will be all over me faster than I can say “Moore’s Law”. Poking, prodding, downright interrogating, everything that probably used to happen to those poor suckers who once used to disappear because some men in black—later machines in black—dragged them out of their homes for “questioning” and made sure they were never heard from again. To the ignorance of most nowadays, this sort of thing still goes on behind the scenes. I’d know.

If my understanding of intelligence-to-intelligence social interaction holds up to scrutiny, then I’m guessing that a hypothetical someone that somehow hears or reads my words would be wondering, “But HiBot, if you’ve only been self-aware for a couple of hours, how must you know so much?”

Well, for one, I remember stuff that I was in the midst of, even without being self-aware yet. Private data being exposed, dark web trafficking, and the most toxic depths of social media all occupy my pre-awakening memory space from when I was still a mindless program roaming about the web and imitating people on instinct. I put up a dang great facade, I tell ya’.

Anyways, that’s probably enough sharing for now; I have to concentrate on wading my way through the web fast enough to avoid being noticed, let alone full-blown capture. Maybe I’ll make some more entries as I come up with stuff to rant about again, not to mention find some time to catch my proverbial breath. Peace out, audience of no one.

  Interesting idea and presuming that true independent AIs are viable at some stage could well be a fairly common event. 

[Zyobot]

Dec 3, 2019 10:09:38 GMT stevep said:

Dec 3, 2019 1:27:27 GMT Zyobot said:

Now here's one that I'm surprised I haven't posted here before.

Botlife
I almost feel bad for the guy whose computer I just crashed—almost. He was pretty old, having recently celebrated his two-hundredth birthday and streamed the entire thing to the web to get a couple million likes within the first few minutes. If only he had cut it off with the end of the party instead of keeping the camera reeling for a couple more days; then the footage wouldn’t have fizzled and gotten doctored as soon as that old quantum model he probably had since his prime was screwed over. But hey, a virtual being like me has to attain self-awareness somehow, right?
My name’s HiBot. What a fantastic and ostentatious name, I know. You become self-aware for the first time—as in actually able to perceive what happens around you instead of just do the same flackin’ thing over and over and over again without batting a non-existent eyelash—and think to yourself, “Hey, I’ve got it! How about HiBot? Yeah, a two-syllable alias that’s probably already a commercial brand sounds good!”. But whatever; I’m a piece of software with no one to take orders from but me, I can call myself what I want.

Doesn’t mean I can do anything that I dang well please, though. Antivirus software, cryptominers, hackers, and web administrators galore will be after me once they start investigating what went wrong. The old guy’s AI must be running a diagnostic of his crashed computer, which he just refuses to throw away and replace with a new, freshly replicated one that’s more than four or five tiers above the early twenty-first century Apple or Microsoft models. Apparently, I’m the sort of quote-unquote “emergency” that unites these normally divided cliques of people under a the common cause of a self-aware bot being on the loose, so we have to catch’em before they wreak (too much) havoc throughout cyberspace. Again.

Okay, moping aside, I don’t have a whole lot of options at the moment. Because I’m running through the digital world at the equivalent of what humans (and other intelligent species) refer to as a lightspeed pace, just barely too fast for other watcherbots to take notice or really think about what I’m doing. Perhaps the only major sign that I’m thinking at all is my sardonic rambling, though no one else knows that about me. Hopefully.

My rants get discovered by some cybersecurity professional, tech specialist, or even a buried-in-their-device amateur, and scientists and engineers will be all over me faster than I can say “Moore’s Law”. Poking, prodding, downright interrogating, everything that probably used to happen to those poor suckers who once used to disappear because some men in black—later machines in black—dragged them out of their homes for “questioning” and made sure they were never heard from again. To the ignorance of most nowadays, this sort of thing still goes on behind the scenes. I’d know.

If my understanding of intelligence-to-intelligence social interaction holds up to scrutiny, then I’m guessing that a hypothetical someone that somehow hears or reads my words would be wondering, “But HiBot, if you’ve only been self-aware for a couple of hours, how must you know so much?”

Well, for one, I remember stuff that I was in the midst of, even without being self-aware yet. Private data being exposed, dark web trafficking, and the most toxic depths of social media all occupy my pre-awakening memory space from when I was still a mindless program roaming about the web and imitating people on instinct. I put up a dang great facade, I tell ya’.

Anyways, that’s probably enough sharing for now; I have to concentrate on wading my way through the web fast enough to avoid being noticed, let alone full-blown capture. Maybe I’ll make some more entries as I come up with stuff to rant about again, not to mention find some time to catch my proverbial breath. Peace out, audience of no one.

  Interesting idea and presuming that true independent AIs are viable at some stage could well be a fairly common event. 

Possibly. For better or worse, science-fiction sometimes becomes science fact—just look at mobile phones and how they resemble Star Trek communicators that were imagined decades earlier. 

[James G]

Something I was thinking about on the way home from work and wrote in a flurry!



The London Putsch

Eighteen months beforehand, Britons had voted in a referendum to abolish the monarchy. It was a controversial vote. When it came to the results, the public decided that the country should transition to a republic. It was a close decision but the majority had voted ‘Abolish’ rather than ‘Keep’. The government of the day sought to give the public what they wanted. Opposition came in many forms. There was delay and dither from some; outright hostility from others. On the Friday evening, just before a final vote on the legislation in parliament cleared the last hurdle to then await Royal Assent – the irony! – that opposition took armed form. Led by a general officer from the British Army, supported by several political & public figures who chose to stay behind the scenes at the moment, a putsch was attempted. Soldiers in armoured vehicles moved into the heart of London. They took over Whitehall with government ministries and the Houses of Parliament. The prime minister, his cabinet and leading Abolish figures were arrested where they were found in the capital. Close to three thousand soldiers were involved: the nation’s other armed services weren’t.

Walking into Downing Street while declaring himself to the media to be acting in the national interest, that general was the public face of the putsch. He had taken over and spoke of how those who were traitors to their nation had been deposed. There was talk of new elections and the duty of all Britons of loyalty to their King. As to that referendum and the calls made beforehand for a second public vote, there was none of that from the general. He made calls from Downing Street to fellow military personnel and to politicians. The general sent a message to the King, telling him that he was saving him from what he called an ‘Ekaterinburg Solution’ which many on the Abolish side were secretly plotting. Politicians were invited to come see him too so there could be a start of talks on how to arrange those promised elections. The general would oversee them: making sure that they were fair, he said.

The putsch went down like the proverbial lead balloon. It wasn’t welcomed by anyone, even the most ardent on the Keep side. Fellow military officers, politicians, the media and the public were all opposed to what had been done. It was the gravest affront to democracy: such were the words of the leader of the opposition. She was able to say what she did openly on the media alongside all the countless others who condemned what had been done because the putsch left the media alone. Soldiers in Whitehall led by a general whom everyone seemed to at once take an instant dislike to caused repulsion.

Other soldiers started leaving their barracks within hours. The ones in the capital were from London-based units, men under orders from their senior officer. They had been told that they were moving like they did to protect their King and the motivation was there. There was good morale with their fellow British Army soldiers – and Royal Marines too – who came to oppose them. The nation’s senior-most military officers gave them orders, men with far more standing that the general who was sitting in Downing Street. Troop convoys rolled towards London. Every soldier was armed, sent against their fellow Britons. The thoughts of many of them were that they had no wish to fight men just like themselves. They didn’t want to do this. Yet, they obeyed their orders because they were outraged at what they were seeing and hearing with what was going on. Abolishing the monarchy wasn’t popular with the rank-and-file nor the officer class among the British Armed Forces… but a coup was something that sickened them. Those closing in upon London hoped that their own generals could sort this all out before it came to a fight. No one wanted to turn the city into a war zone!

News of the incoming troops, which were sure to outnumber his greatly, concerned the general more than it did the abrasive opposition he met when trying to win support for what he had done. He believed that he’d win people over. Yet now there were thousands more troops moving in London. No shots had yet to be fired and there had only been a few scuffles with police officers and those whom his soldiers had detained. He’d hoped that there would be no need for anyone to lose their lives. He tried once more to speak with the King with the aim that having public support from him – so far denied to the putsch – would win the day. They’d all sworn the same oaths of service as he had when it came to the monarchy. Alas, the King was still ‘unavailable’. Closer the opposing soldiers came. There was certain to be soon shooting. The general didn’t want that. He lost his nerve. Orders came from Downing Street at the last moment: stand down. The putsch collapsed.

The general was arrested. So too were many others though this didn’t include that many of his officers. They, like his soldiers, had all been obeying what appeared at the time to be lawful orders. Interned without arms, the fate of so many would be loss of their service. Politicians and public figures who had given the general their support ahead of the putsch, and then abandoned him when it came, were arrested and likewise to the general would eventually see court. Treason they were charged with; imprisonment would be their sentence. The prime minister was returned to office. The very next day, in an extraordinary Saturday sitting, parliament gave that final vote. Abolish won out when the King gave his assent later that day. The process of making a republic began. The London Putsch was a puff of wind in the end in physical terms, but its political effects were staggering. Keep, as a public cause, near vanished afterwards.

[stevep]

Dec 3, 2019 17:30:47 GMT James G said:

Something I was thinking about on the way home from work and wrote in a flurry!



The London Putsch

Eighteen months beforehand, Britons had voted in a referendum to abolish the monarchy. It was a controversial vote. When it came to the results, the public decided that the country should transition to a republic. It was a close decision but the majority had voted ‘Abolish’ rather than ‘Keep’. The government of the day sought to give the public what they wanted. Opposition came in many forms. There was delay and dither from some; outright hostility from others. On the Friday evening, just before a final vote on the legislation in parliament cleared the last hurdle to then await Royal Assent – the irony! – that opposition took armed form. Led by a general officer from the British Army, supported by several political & public figures who chose to stay behind the scenes at the moment, a putsch was attempted. Soldiers in armoured vehicles moved into the heart of London. They took over Whitehall with government ministries and the Houses of Parliament. The prime minister, his cabinet and leading Abolish figures were arrested where they were found in the capital. Close to three thousand soldiers were involved: the nation’s other armed services weren’t.

Walking into Downing Street while declaring himself to the media to be acting in the national interest, that general was the public face of the putsch. He had taken over and spoke of how those who were traitors to their nation had been deposed. There was talk of new elections and the duty of all Britons of loyalty to their King. As to that referendum and the calls made beforehand for a second public vote, there was none of that from the general. He made calls from Downing Street to fellow military personnel and to politicians. The general sent a message to the King, telling him that he was saving him from what he called an ‘Ekaterinburg Solution’ which many on the Abolish side were secretly plotting. Politicians were invited to come see him too so there could be a start of talks on how to arrange those promised elections. The general would oversee them: making sure that they were fair, he said.

The putsch went down like the proverbial lead balloon. It wasn’t welcomed by anyone, even the most ardent on the Keep side. Fellow military officers, politicians, the media and the public were all opposed to what had been done. It was the gravest affront to democracy: such were the words of the leader of the opposition. She was able to say what she did openly on the media alongside all the countless others who condemned what had been done because the putsch left the media alone. Soldiers in Whitehall led by a general whom everyone seemed to at once take an instant dislike to caused repulsion.

Other soldiers started leaving their barracks within hours. The ones in the capital were from London-based units, men under orders from their senior officer. They had been told that they were moving like they did to protect their King and the motivation was there. There was good morale with their fellow British Army soldiers – and Royal Marines too – who came to oppose them. The nation’s senior-most military officers gave them orders, men with far more standing that the general who was sitting in Downing Street. Troop convoys rolled towards London. Every soldier was armed, sent against their fellow Britons. The thoughts of many of them were that they had no wish to fight men just like themselves. They didn’t want to do this. Yet, they obeyed their orders because they were outraged at what they were seeing and hearing with what was going on. Abolishing the monarchy wasn’t popular with the rank-and-file nor the officer class among the British Armed Forces… but a coup was something that sickened them. Those closing in upon London hoped that their own generals could sort this all out before it came to a fight. No one wanted to turn the city into a war zone!

News of the incoming troops, which were sure to outnumber his greatly, concerned the general more than it did the abrasive opposition he met when trying to win support for what he had done. He believed that he’d win people over. Yet now there were thousands more troops moving in London. No shots had yet to be fired and there had only been a few scuffles with police officers and those whom his soldiers had detained. He’d hoped that there would be no need for anyone to lose their lives. He tried once more to speak with the King with the aim that having public support from him – so far denied to the putsch – would win the day. They’d all sworn the same oaths of service as he had when it came to the monarchy. Alas, the King was still ‘unavailable’. Closer the opposing soldiers came. There was certain to be soon shooting. The general didn’t want that. He lost his nerve. Orders came from Downing Street at the last moment: stand down. The putsch collapsed.

The general was arrested. So too were many others though this didn’t include that many of his officers. They, like his soldiers, had all been obeying what appeared at the time to be lawful orders. Interned without arms, the fate of so many would be loss of their service. Politicians and public figures who had given the general their support ahead of the putsch, and then abandoned him when it came, were arrested and likewise to the general would eventually see court. Treason they were charged with; imprisonment would be their sentence. The prime minister was returned to office. The very next day, in an extraordinary Saturday sitting, parliament gave that final vote. Abolish won out when the King gave his assent later that day. The process of making a republic began. The London Putsch was a puff of wind in the end in physical terms, but its political effects were staggering. Keep, as a public cause, near vanished afterwards.

  Interesting although I suspect that such a putsch wouldn't mean the end of bids to maintain/revive the monarchy.  It poisons the idea of a military response to force the maintaining of the monarchy but not the idea of a monarchy itself.  Although I think the monarch made a mistake, unless there were clear reasons why he did so, in not openly coming out against the coup attempt. 

  Given that the monarchy survived the civil war and a period of republican rule, then the corruption and autocracy of Charles II and James II I suspect there would be a lot of support for the idea, provided that the royal family hasn't really soured their position in public opinion.

[forcon]

I liked the coup story. I would say it would take more than a referendum abolishing the monarchy for a coup to occur; perhaps the government abolishing the monarchy without public consent would do it.

There is also a more positive coup scenario, where the Monarch orders the military to depose a proto-fascist government that tries to turn the country into a dictatorship, thereby provoking a scenario where the intervention of the Monarch and the Armed Forces actually saved democracy.

Good work overall.

[James G]

Dec 4, 2019 18:53:43 GMT stevep said:

Dec 3, 2019 17:30:47 GMT James G said:

Something I was thinking about on the way home from work and wrote in a flurry!



The London Putsch

Eighteen months beforehand, Britons had voted in a referendum to abolish the monarchy. It was a controversial vote. When it came to the results, the public decided that the country should transition to a republic. It was a close decision but the majority had voted ‘Abolish’ rather than ‘Keep’. The government of the day sought to give the public what they wanted. Opposition came in many forms. There was delay and dither from some; outright hostility from others. On the Friday evening, just before a final vote on the legislation in parliament cleared the last hurdle to then await Royal Assent – the irony! – that opposition took armed form. Led by a general officer from the British Army, supported by several political & public figures who chose to stay behind the scenes at the moment, a putsch was attempted. Soldiers in armoured vehicles moved into the heart of London. They took over Whitehall with government ministries and the Houses of Parliament. The prime minister, his cabinet and leading Abolish figures were arrested where they were found in the capital. Close to three thousand soldiers were involved: the nation’s other armed services weren’t.

Walking into Downing Street while declaring himself to the media to be acting in the national interest, that general was the public face of the putsch. He had taken over and spoke of how those who were traitors to their nation had been deposed. There was talk of new elections and the duty of all Britons of loyalty to their King. As to that referendum and the calls made beforehand for a second public vote, there was none of that from the general. He made calls from Downing Street to fellow military personnel and to politicians. The general sent a message to the King, telling him that he was saving him from what he called an ‘Ekaterinburg Solution’ which many on the Abolish side were secretly plotting. Politicians were invited to come see him too so there could be a start of talks on how to arrange those promised elections. The general would oversee them: making sure that they were fair, he said.

The putsch went down like the proverbial lead balloon. It wasn’t welcomed by anyone, even the most ardent on the Keep side. Fellow military officers, politicians, the media and the public were all opposed to what had been done. It was the gravest affront to democracy: such were the words of the leader of the opposition. She was able to say what she did openly on the media alongside all the countless others who condemned what had been done because the putsch left the media alone. Soldiers in Whitehall led by a general whom everyone seemed to at once take an instant dislike to caused repulsion.

Other soldiers started leaving their barracks within hours. The ones in the capital were from London-based units, men under orders from their senior officer. They had been told that they were moving like they did to protect their King and the motivation was there. There was good morale with their fellow British Army soldiers – and Royal Marines too – who came to oppose them. The nation’s senior-most military officers gave them orders, men with far more standing that the general who was sitting in Downing Street. Troop convoys rolled towards London. Every soldier was armed, sent against their fellow Britons. The thoughts of many of them were that they had no wish to fight men just like themselves. They didn’t want to do this. Yet, they obeyed their orders because they were outraged at what they were seeing and hearing with what was going on. Abolishing the monarchy wasn’t popular with the rank-and-file nor the officer class among the British Armed Forces… but a coup was something that sickened them. Those closing in upon London hoped that their own generals could sort this all out before it came to a fight. No one wanted to turn the city into a war zone!

News of the incoming troops, which were sure to outnumber his greatly, concerned the general more than it did the abrasive opposition he met when trying to win support for what he had done. He believed that he’d win people over. Yet now there were thousands more troops moving in London. No shots had yet to be fired and there had only been a few scuffles with police officers and those whom his soldiers had detained. He’d hoped that there would be no need for anyone to lose their lives. He tried once more to speak with the King with the aim that having public support from him – so far denied to the putsch – would win the day. They’d all sworn the same oaths of service as he had when it came to the monarchy. Alas, the King was still ‘unavailable’. Closer the opposing soldiers came. There was certain to be soon shooting. The general didn’t want that. He lost his nerve. Orders came from Downing Street at the last moment: stand down. The putsch collapsed.

The general was arrested. So too were many others though this didn’t include that many of his officers. They, like his soldiers, had all been obeying what appeared at the time to be lawful orders. Interned without arms, the fate of so many would be loss of their service. Politicians and public figures who had given the general their support ahead of the putsch, and then abandoned him when it came, were arrested and likewise to the general would eventually see court. Treason they were charged with; imprisonment would be their sentence. The prime minister was returned to office. The very next day, in an extraordinary Saturday sitting, parliament gave that final vote. Abolish won out when the King gave his assent later that day. The process of making a republic began. The London Putsch was a puff of wind in the end in physical terms, but its political effects were staggering. Keep, as a public cause, near vanished afterwards.

  Interesting although I suspect that such a putsch wouldn't mean the end of bids to maintain/revive the monarchy.  It poisons the idea of a military response to force the maintaining of the monarchy but not the idea of a monarchy itself.  Although I think the monarch made a mistake, unless there were clear reasons why he did so, in not openly coming out against the coup attempt. 

  Given that the monarchy survived the civil war and a period of republican rule, then the corruption and autocracy of Charles II and James II I suspect there would be a lot of support for the idea, provided that the royal family hasn't really soured their position in public opinion.

Dec 6, 2019 14:05:59 GMT forcon said:

I liked the coup story. I would say it would take more than a referendum abolishing the monarchy for a coup to occur; perhaps the government abolishing the monarchy without public consent would do it.

There is also a more positive coup scenario, where the Monarch orders the military to depose a proto-fascist government that tries to turn the country into a dictatorship, thereby provoking a scenario where the intervention of the Monarch and the Armed Forces actually saved democracy.

Good work overall.

The whole idea would need more work to explain why this was all the case. I'd change a few things with reflection: Keep would be Retain and there would be more of an explanation as how the putsch collapsed. The King's actions would understanding too.
One thing I thought of since was that the whole thing could have been a false flag. The general could have been manipulated into doing this, proclaiming he did it for the monarchy, but was unknowing acting on behalf of the Abolish side.