Welcome to Gaia! ::

((OOC: The brief history of this event has been posted in the MOTD thread. This thread deals with one specific instance of the Downtowner uprising. Please be aware that most otherwise convenient places to drop an Orbital Bombardment or an explosive will have civilians in the area. Also be aware that the Gaia 9 News Team (our version of it...NPC Cindy isn't gonna suddenly appear and start posting in here...I think.) and other networks will be covering event. As Department 5 and Chaos Seed and TORAMA players are welcome in here please be aware that news will also travel via cellphones, internet, and virtual private networks. Maybe someone will post a video of your character in an incriminating situation on GeeTube! ninja

Special Rules:

• All Major Downtowner-allied NPCs will have 3 SF Points. (These SF points are non-transferable. They don't get to share.)
  
• If anyone chooses to have their character oppose the GNG as a Downtowner-ally, they start with 8 SF Points, and can OOCly control up to two of the above-mentioned NPCs if they wish.
  
• All GNG-allied PCs will have 3 SF Points, and can OOCly control one of the below-mentioned NPCs if they wish.
  
• All Major GNG-allied NPCs will have 1 SF Point. (These SF Points are non-transferable. They also don't get to share.)
  
• Downtowner-allied faction starts with 4 Major Downtowner-allied NPCs. This is their limit to start (4 NPCS). New Major Downtowner-allied NPCs can be introduced whenever the GNG-allies have reached their Major GNG-allied NPCs limit.
  
• GNG-allied NPCs can be introduced whenever the Downtowner-allied faction has reached its limit. The GNG-allied faction limit is 1.5 times the current Downtown-allied NPC limit. The GNG-allied NPC limit to start, for example, is 6 NPCs, since the Downtowners have 4 NPCs.
  
• "Dead" Major NPCs are cleared on that faction's next rest action, but until then are counted against that faction's Major NPC total.
  

Pandemonium followed suit. While that 14 year old girl was carried away in a body bag on national TV, the GNG's Public Relations division scrambled to spin the best they could out of this disaster. Meanwhile, security teams at each base and ship reviewed logs, interrogated officers-in-the-know, and followed every lead they could to find out where the leak of the base's closure had come from. Gaian Army officers were called upon by politicians and superiors alike to drill "so that this tragedy would never happen again!"

On Extended Discussion with Shem Angsty, pundits deliberated over the past, present, future, shoulda beens, coulda beens, and woulda beens while fans called in to tell off people who likely would not be watching the show. Probably most importantly, more information was brought up about the girl. She was portrayed as a beautiful, good Downtown Gaian who ran an "anti-inflation" shop, where she would sell rare items for a fraction of the price they're worth...asking only in return that her customers spend as much of their lives in her shop as they could. She was a charity worker, adored by all, who was trying to secure more land to give to those who couldn't afford it.

The story hit home particularly hard with Downtowner Gaians. They have always resented the GNG, resented the taxes imposed upon them by the Gaian Government, and envied the 'Uptown Gaia' way of life: the way of those Gaians who enjoy a life protected by the GNG and lead normal, happy lives. In the Dustbowl Tavern, like in many other locations throughout Downtown Gaia, men and women voiced their concerns angrily and eagerly to anyone who sympathized. And they were rewarded to find out that most of the tavern was.

The creature known as Monolith was one such. He wasn't smart. At all. He worked as a Lifter, shoving obscenely heavy materials into transports and his chitonous, titanic physique showed it. No one was quite sure what species he was. Or if he was in fact a "he". They just called him a he for fear of the ramifications if he was in fact the fairer sex of his race. The obsidian giant was usually quiet. People liked to attribute this to his inability to speak more than one syllable at a time. He had just finished an ale, and was now working on eating the bottle (he was known to be a lithovore), crunching "thoughtfully" while people told him that a little girl was killed by bad men. The same bad men who took away the money he made to buy granite, saltlick, and various eclogites. The current speaker, a man who would ordinarily be an intimidating sight, suddenly stopped talking as Monolith stood, his stooped shoulders brushing against the ceiling. Several others backed away. Monolith was a local legend, reputed to have been struck in the back by a scalding hot twisted wreck that had descended from the skies and shrug it off with as if someone had thrown a pillow at him. Combined with his penchant for gnawing on his granite club (nearly as big as he was) and his clear lack of intelligence, people decided it was best not to do anything that might possibly offend him. "RRRRRRRRRRrrr!" he said intelligently. "MON" ... "oh!" ... "LITH" ... "Mad!" ...a curious note, that he could make out his own name. Being that this statement was the one thing everyone in this tavern hoped he would never say, the room went silent. He picked up his club, and swung it over his shoulder. The ceiling crumbled all around him. He walked through the wall as if it were tissue, and trailed its debris from the various jutting spars of his irregular chitonous plating. It was a few minutes before someone dared to cough at the chalky air. And then the question was asked: "Uh...you guys suppose he went in the right direction?"



With less drama and more subterfuge, the other impromptu meetings of note ended. It was generally agreed that the GNG had gone too far. That the taxes were too unfair. That they were being discriminated against. That that young girl was the last straw. It was the right time to act: the GNG had already pulled out of four bases, and the fifth one, East Aekea, had been cleared out by emergency. The budget cutbacks were obviously hurting them. Still, they knew that direct assault was impossible. Guerilla-style tactics were needed. "Hey, those soldiers have kids and families too, right?"

All personel report to the briefing room immediately. The PA crackled. "I guess it's game time..." Talon said, standing up and heading towards the briefing room. How do you fight civilians? He thought, checking his side arm and his rifle.

Talon watched as the personel walked past him towards the briefing room, he turned around and returned to his locker. He sat down on the bench in front of the open stainless steel door and put on his combat armor.

The black plating gave him the appearanceof a war god, annonymous and deadly. The blue visor reflected everything, no sign of the person under the helmet. Nothing but a faceless killing machine to brighten the day of the Downtowners.

In full suit he now reported to the briefing room and sat in the back row to hear what the orders would be for fighting the downtowners.

The briefing room Talon entered was tense. Resentment of the situation, frustration over the threat that could not easily be faced down by a machine gun, and the anticipation of this briefing made it that way. The man walking into the room wearing a dress GA uniform noticed this, and grimaced a little bit. He cleared his throat.

"Gentlemen. I'm Lieutenant Martinelli, from Gaian Army Public Relations. By now you've all received this little thing." He flourished...actually flourished... the booklet with updated procedures. "The information in it is good sound advice: 'No Comment' the media. You all continue business as usual. Security gets a different set of orders. They have been informed to keep their safeties on and their weapons holstered unless a major threat has been identified by the base's administration. All perimeter duty functions will be performed by Cyclone, Elemental, or a fully rated hand to hand MP." He glanced around. "If you see any civilian hostiles, you are to find cover and radio the situation. Your individual commanding officers may have different orders for you. Theirs take priority over the procedures I've delineated. In short: Look good and stay out of trouble. That's all." And he stepped out briskly, as if afraid of the slew of questions that would most likely be fielded had he stayed.

Meanwhile, just outside that base's perimeter, and a ways across the water lay the community of Isle De Gambino. And while the GNG might be under orders to be good little boys and girls, one angry downtowner had had the opposite encouragement. He seemed to be the sort of guy J.K. Gambino would have liked...had he been richer. Vic Voltage was his name, and like some odd cross between Elvis, Johnny himself, and a random bum off the street was Vic's attire. His clothes weren't shoddy really...just of poor quality...but nonetheless loud and glitzy like some old lounge singer in the island's Casino. He strolled along the street as if he hadn't a care in the world, and while his clothes drew attention his casual seeming, if dramatic and flamboyant by nature, attitude seemed to allow those other Gaians to go on with their lives. This was fine by Vic... it allowed him to search for a place to cause some havoc.

Talon ditched his jeep in the ferry parking lot once he reach Isle De Gambino. On foot it would be easier to see everything that was going on. he kept his weapons holstered and safties on as he began walking the streets of the island town.