The Lotus War

[Tir Daraigh]

Dimashi paced the small, unkempt and dusty room impatiently, three of his comrades watching him with young, eager eyes from their rooks in the dark corner of the room. An old, tiny television sat opposite the trio, and Dimashi took the moment to glance at an aged phone before continuing his ceaseless tast to burn a hole in the floor with his footsteps.

One of the three coughed to get the attention of Dimashi, "It's fine, Dim, don't worry. Everythings going according to plan."

Dimashi stopped his furious stride and glowered at his comrade. "What makes you think I'm nervous the plan won't go off without a hitch? I have no doubts my people will come through for me, just as I have no doubt you'd fail me, or the people."

"Then what's getting you worked up?" asked another.

"Altair," Dimashi sighed. "We've been fighting for two years, and the public thinks of us nothing better than terrorists. How is a revolution supposed to succeed when the people you're fighting for fear you?"

Altair paused for a moment, but before he could reply the phone rang. Dimashi quickly picked up the entire phone and pulled it around the room with him as he paced, the cord falling off the simple stand and kicking around the bare floor. "Is it complete?" Dimashi asked.

"Yes, the news should have coverage any minute."

Dimashi looked at the television, then back to the phone, setting the old receiver on the floor just long enough to turn the television on. He rotated a dial, flipping through 3 of the televisions 16 channels before finding channel 7. Nothing came on. Dimashi muttered for a moment before informing the man on the other end of the line that nothing was happening. Then the news quickly flipped from it's story on dolphin endangerment to one of action and violence. People always preferred watching gore and death to dolphins.

"This is Leandro Relaistos, with Channel 7 News, bringing you breaking news from around the nation. Terrorism shocks Lucca! Bombs have ripped through the corporate headquarters of Dacia Mining Corp, killing untold numbers of people in moments, we go to Adriana Andeta live at the scene," the video feed switched to a woman who would've had rich, dark brown hair, had it not been for the fact that the television was too cheap to show color properly. Instead, her fuzzy face seemed to speak directly to Dimashi, who watched eagerly.

Fire, or at least an orange blur, erupted from the side of the building. Dimashi knew the structure by heart, six stories tall, located only a few blocks away from the docks, right in the heart of the industrial quarter.

"Firefighters and emergency crews are working hard to put out the flames and rescue any survivors inside, but the firestorm that has consumed the building also endangers several nearby warehouses. There is no word as of yet as to who is responsible, but our best guess is that the Red Alliance struck at the DMC, which has been delaying talks with several mining unions over unfair practices in the Ghazala Mining fiasco."

Dimashi smiled. "Time to make a call," he said, "and officially claim responsibility for this."

 

[Tir Daraigh]

The Prince was clad in the finest of the royal regalia the prince was permitted to wear, brandishing his many medals, some that were actually rightfully earned. His father had not been the kindest or most loving of fathers, indeed the Prince had never excelled past the rank of Captain in the military, in part because the General's feared his royal blood, and in part because his father had not pushed for it. Still, he had an untarnished record for discipline, conduct, and bravery.

He stepped up several marble steps leading towards the Royal Estate, the palatial grounds were a bit cramped to his own standards. He carried a heavy fur cape and strode with an erect posture, his chin held high and his swooping dark hair clipped to perfection. His sharp features were bold, and he had many interviews with the state press, eager to wonder what daring escapades the Prince had been on, and who his eyes were set upon.

Whatever the lies he told the camera, truthfully in his mind he knew his bride already. The nation that was rightfully his by right, that would be his mistress. He would have her, one way or another. He reached the top of the steps and entered the palace, two staircases flanking the entrance to wind their way gracefully up three stories. He grumbled to himself, taking off his fur cape and tossing it to the butler who dutifully put it upon the coat rack beside the Prince.

"Where is His Grace?" the Prince asked the servant.

"He is in his study, attending to his duties."

As if queued, a woman faked a healthy orgasm from the back corners of the palace. It was faint, but both parties could hear it. The servant blushed and turned away. "I'm sure she's attending her duties as well," the Prince spoke, his spit-shined military boots slapping the polished marble as he paraded to one of the Palaces many studies. He closed and bolted the door behind him, content to not be bothered as he browsed through the texts. Many texts that had been ruthlessly censored or altogether banned by the Royal Bureau of Culture lay unaltered and completely available for his education. His fingers traced upon a myriad of them... the Bible among them. He grinned, having never read the Bible in it's original or altered form, he wondered what exactly had been changed in the state approved version. Right next to the Bible, in a seemingly and ironically uncategorized fashion, lay his prize. He put his finger atop the spine and slipped the small pamphlet out. The author was none other than Dimashi Ihnatep; this pamphlet would give him a most useful insight he needed to prove his worth to his father finally. He turned on his heel to head out the door, his fingers touching the bolt when he heard the soft creek of wood churning under weight.

This building was far too large to be considered adequately occupied, even with the number of assistants hired by the Royal Office to attend to the Emperor's needs. The creeking noise that softly echoed through the ventilation could be none other than his father leaving the bed of the harlot. He tucked the little red book away in his jacket and unbolted the door, moving back to the lobby.

His head turned upwards as he reached the lobby, indeed his father loomed over the balcony. The little slut draped over his shoulder scampered away like a cockroach when the Prince showed his face, and he couldn't help but smile at his fathers momentary frustration. While in public his father expressed nothing but love for his heir, in truth his father had nothing but disappointment for his progeny. The Prince had been unable to fathom a reason for his fathers irrational disdain for himself, perhaps it was that the aging old man simply did not want to die and lose grip of his Kingdom. Death comes to us all, the Prince thought to himself as the Emperor laid eyes on him once again.

"What are you doing here?" the Emperor asked in an accusing tone.

"Good to see you are refreshed, father," the Prince jested.

"I care not for your tone, Prince Vizan," the Emperor scolded, almost as if speaking the word Prince pained him.

Prince Vizan frowned and turned back to the butler. "My cape, if you would," the Prince politely requested. The butler nodded and grabbed the cape.

"Don't go fucking anything up, boy," the Emperor muttered, the curse adding even more bite to the bark. It was not like royalty to utter profanities. The Prince grunted and flung the cape over his shoulders, exiting the Royal Palace without the fanfare he thought should be afforded him.

"If this succeeds, then my father will know that I am worthy," the Prince told himself as he left the grounds, patting his jacket wherein lay the clinch to his plot. Understand the enemy, the General Theretes had told him, infiltrate their minds and you can predict what they will do before even they know.

 

[Tir Daraigh]

The sound of their bootsteps created a sort of rhythm, the off step of a soldier here and there the only sounds to prevent the people from falling asleep to the sound of the metronome. The people cheered, delusional and misguided in their belief that their government actually cared, that these soldiers, these blind imperialist dogs, were actually protecting their interests.

The people's interests could never be defended by those that whored themselves out to bourgeoisie schemes. Like rats, their filth tainted the hard work that was bled by the people through their suffering and oppression to build this city. Dimashi growled at the soldiers in disdain, like robots none of them could see him. None of them, drilled to the core with their bastard belief, knew he hated them with every ounce of his passion, every fiber in his body.

The people, they celebrated and threw their confetti blindly, not knowing the truth, not caring, eager to take this moments reprieve from their slavery to satiate their desires. Too scared to fight, to ignorant to live like free men. They'd educate themselves by witnessing the deaths of the royalist dogs, by feeling the vigor of life, the intense rush of freedom... they'd discover how valuable their life was when he put it on the line.

It was his gift to them. Those that died, they died for the cause. Their deaths were nothing compared to the slaughter that capitalism committed on mankind every day. Their sacrifice would give their comrades strength. In death, theirs would be a true joy, free from the shackles of the world.

He looked down the block, his comrades, clad in semtex belts and other explosives, looked almost petrified. Giving your life for the cause was noble, but frightening. You had to know at the moment of your demise that you really knew deep in your heart that you died for a reason. It was hard for many people to do. A man would never know whether or not it was in his power to make that sacrifice until the time had come. Dimashi only hoped his comrades found that courage in them today. One of them, Arius, looked to Dimashi. His fear washed away, and he gave Dimashi a reassuring nod. Dimashi looked down at his watch.

Tick. Tock. Tick... 3:59... the second hand counted down. He watched Arius and a few others push forward through the crowd. The time had come. Dimashi stepped back, his time would come, but it wasn't today. He had to push on his righteous, crimson crusade.

4:00. His watch beeped. A little girl across the street looked at him, she seemed almost serene. A blast ripped through the crowd, terror blitzing through her eyes. Then blood; gushing through like the color of the people's revolution. Bodies flew through their air, arms, shreds of burning clothing. The smell of burning flessh and explosives. Men, women, children, soldiers, citizens, everyone died the same. He felt the shockwave pick him up like a liberating tide, the thrill of knowing his life was in danger surging through him.

Some would call him psychotic. They were capitalist dogs, their degrees worth nothing. Those that truly understood him knew him for what he truly was, a man with one purpose, liberating the people. Right now, those people flying through the air, riding on the shockwaves of freedom, they knew just as he did at this moment just how precious their life was. They would never be the same. They'd have to fight their oppression, just like he did....

 

[Tir Daraigh]

Dimashi sat patiently in his chair, reading over several clippings from various papers. The interweb had not taken much root in Cenetis, the nation's lower classes were quite poor and luxuries such as the web was reserved for the elite and privileged. He grumbled, the dim light strained his eyes as her perused over the text.

The Red Alliance was a minor footnote in the papers, either through deliberate government action, or because the people didn't honestly care. It had bothered him much when he had visited one of those wounded in the explosion and asks him what the event had made the man think.

"What kind of mad man would try this?" the response had been. Dimashi had hoped for a response more akin to 'Oh I would miss my children so much' or 'I've never had the chance to ride a ferris wheel.'

Rage was all they felt, no one thought for what they wanted. They'd been forced into the box for too long. He sighed, looking to the phone. He wondered why his eyes were drawn to the hulking object, but as if an unheard voice beckoned him he rose from his chair and moved to the phone, picking it up just as it rang.

"Yes?" Dimashi asked.

"I understand what you've done," responded a voice on the other end.

How'd this person get this number, he asked himself. "What did I do?" Dimashi asked coolly.

"That doesn't matter. I know what you want, and I know how to give it to you. I understand why you do what you do, and I want to help."

The voice seemed to speak to him as though he knew who he was. A flicker of hope glanced through the rebels soul. "Continue..." he started.