Lunatic City

One doesn’t necessarily begin a story with a direction in mind, no pre-planning, a basic idea at most, fingers poke, plastic clicks. Blood, sweat, tears, they all amount to the culmination of physical display of the grandest kind, each fighter’s story deeply involved; passionate. It has been said the measure of a man is by the ferocity of his spirit; his will to survive, conquer his mind, muscles, and ultimately like a God, craft his physical body into the image of his spirit. The human spirit is no small, invisible matter; for those that seek to unlock their true potential form, the journey begins there, from struggle, a moment in time that opened the bridge between spirit and man; often triggered by the most vile of traumatic events.

Technology, brought with it the end of the magic of existing in a world with mystery. It seeped into the people, society; a once mild mannered, wondering, awe inspired species found themselves turning on one another. Trust had disappeared between neighbors, the young acting out, folks beaten to submission from all the hatred. You couldn’t survive with out it in the city, it was needed for everything. It would train you, to keep it with you, look at it regularly; consequences were severe, a missed call, a missed text, unresponsive, this led to a lowered social credit score. For many, this was the case; the over stressed parents, the hard working, the criminals, the lowest of the lowest, and a grey area in between all; only judged by the number assigned to them from their own actions.

In the chaos of the world, large cities throughout have fallen under new government; criminal organizations, the many Mafia’s, corporations renaming cities and providing citizen control technology alongside an aggressive private army. The criminals and mafia tended to avoid the cities occupied by the corporations, as often their financial means and technological advances were beyond their own measures. Often the corporations viewed their armies as the new police force of the world, their value triumphed in glorious praise through propaganda in every citizens pocket. During those campaigns it was common that in order to participate in the act of living in the city one had to maintain a social credit score, designated by the corporation; ensuring it’s citizens fell in line. Survival, whose to judge?

Walley World, a giant corporation whom had seized control of the city through capitalization on good and products, food and entertainment, housing and seated themselves in key government positions; had set up, outside their borders, a prison city to house those whose social credit score’s dropped below the good citizen threshold. You could ask, why house those whose score has shown their low value as a citizen? It would be a fair question, as one thing was clear, if you lived in prison city D-67, whom from here on out we will refer to by the name given it’s citizens, Lunatic City; you were entertainment for the hunting parties. Citizens, with a high enough S.C.S. (social credit score) were permitted to hunt down, with intent to exterminate, citizens of Lunatic City. Bounties were placed on the worst of Lunatic City, nabbing a bounty was financially fruitful, as was a high bonus to your S.C.S. Walley World Corporation provided the tech; robot dogs with deadly mounted machine guns, swords made of plasma hot enough to melt steel, organic biotic upgrades for the hunter. These upgrades consisted of target tracking capable vision enhancements, mechanically powered limbs with deadly options; A plethora of possibilities exploded when bio tech had reached it’s peak, well before the corporations and world fell into chaos. With the financial means, the large corporations were able to weaponize the technological bio tech to upgrade the human experience, as long as you fell in line with your S.C.S. The alternative, Lunatic City, a hunting ground for the elite.

A lawless prison, a holding ground surrounded by walls made of steel, hollow and occupied by W.W.C. (Walley World Corporation) soldiers, attack dogs, bio tech weaponized and a death sentence for any whom approach. No man had been able to penetrate the wall, attempts had been made, however unsuccessful to the doer’s detriment. It was seemingly impassible, a monster, it wrapped around a 10 block by 10 block radius in the center of Walley World; a circle within a circle, a beautiful sight of light, motion, and safety on the outside, but also like an onion with a rotten core. That was Lunatic City, the rotten core of W.W.C.

Citizens of Walley World were no less free, however as the saying goes, they drank the Kool-Aid. Social media was king, the more you consumed, created, bought; the higher your S.C.S. Your entertainment, data, your life belonged to the corporation. Money and work did not exist, the corporation took care of everything – you earned what your S.C.S earned you, a luxurious life of fame, fortune, and consumption. The technology made life easy, computers to communicate, monitor your every move, intervene when assistance was needed, or advice on complicated human emotions; you had safety, and the brand promise of W.W.C – Have a Great Day! Gluttonous nirvana at the Smiley Face Cafe, programmable robot pets at SmartPet, short-form all day theaters across the many beautiful locations. One could drive an awe inspiring, lively colored and even glowing vehicle at speeds unimaginable at the FTP Arcade, create and influence fashion at the Walley World Express – Where Fashion Meets Passion; Groceries always delivered free of charge.

W.W.C had gained control of the city during the initial government collapse, a profitable solution for a financially starved institution of which had lost total control. The ruling government at the time, had found itself at war, the people had lost faith, in a lot of ways they were looking for a solution too. With the sale of the city, the citizens were up for grabs, with no government or protection; the corporation moved in to take the place of caretaker; and with that, a human resources appropriate solution, a Social Credit Score. An S.C.S allowed the corp., in a fair way to allow citizens to have a goal of contribution to society, it could be measured and used as a more sound form of judgment than human error ever could seek to achieve. Money was the root of all evil they preached, let us eliminate money and replace it, let us be judged by society and society alone. The better your score, the more you have earned! However, break the law, ignore your technological duties, reduce your contribution and you shall see a reduction in your credit score. Once a citizen’s S.C.S drops to zero, they will be forcibly removed from Walley World and will reside from there-on inside Prison City D-67. Be a good citizen – Have a Great Day!

FTP Arcade

The FTP Arcade, situated with 8 entrances, an octagon inhabited with arcade machines from every Corner of the Known World! Racing games, Sports games, ACTION! Games, Rpg’s, Fighting games and many more! Always free to play! Every 10,000 points increases your S.C.S by 5 points! Come in Good Citizens! Young ones, Old ones, the strong and the meek; Battle it up at our fighting games this Wednesday Night! Slap ’Em Up Wednesday, brought to you by Walley World Corporation – Win the most points, S.C.S increase of 67! - Have a Great Day!

“Blasted Ads!”

Lancelot du lac muttered under his breath, having stopped to listen to the ad, continued on his way down the contrasted walkway of neon colors and polished steel. The walk way was one of 8 that led to the entrance of the FTP Arcade, each walkway was designed uniquely, some leisurely walks in the forest, strolls on the beach, awe inspiring bliss; his credit score had dropped to 50, he was close to 0, too close. The man walked with intent, in deep thought, his phone in his left hand and his right hand holding a cigarette – W.W.C had established an S.C.S increase for every carton smoked, a good citizen could earn plus ten to their S.C.S. Lancelot had just opened his first pack of Mavericks, his last carton had been lost.

The man wore a checkered, almost black and red stripped, loose long sleeve button up flannel shirt around his waist; which boasted a sturdy pleather belt. Strings around his knees dangling, bouncing up and down to his pace, his bare knee showing through; a tattered blue color of average fit. It was apparent he had boots on, but the only color to be determined from observation was black, and an old black leather jacket with an indistinguishable patch on the back. He suddenly stopped and turned around, staring down back into the path as if staring through it; not sure what he felt or saw, he continued on his journey dragging on his cigarette.

Lancelot’s long yellow locks were something of common notice upon first glance, one might say Lancelot was handsome, good looking, fit and had a smile that drew you in. He smelled of gentlemanly leather, vanilla tobacco; his eyes a radiant blue surrounded by the eyes of desperation. No one quite new what happened to his S.C.S, he was the son of a Diplomat, and had once been considered a trending topic. He lived the life of a thrill seeker, Turbo Bike infused, freedom lover; the exact opposite of his father, the Diplomat. The exact timeline is blurry alongside the facts, however it is considered by most he broke the law, causing his father the Diplomat to strip him of his S.C.S to make his own way; again that is the rumor.

“Entrance 7 Ahead” an electronic voice rang out from Lancelot’s pocket, startling him in his deep thought mid cigarette drag. He turned his head up to see the sign, bright pink letters with lighted arrows, and although it was a path with no other option, the sign made sure you were drawn to it’s glory, saying this is the beginning of something special. A smirk ran across his face, he had been playing fighting games his whole life, perfected the muscle memory and reading his opponents with precision; a rapier of focus. This was his chance to rebuild his S.C.S, because although he hated the corporation, the laws and the falseness of society, he had a score to settle; his father the Diplomat had taken everything from him, he could care less about the S.C.S, his father took Gwynevere. She was his heart, his smile and his purpose – a good citizen cares about credit scores, one doesn’t lower their credit score for social seekers, diggers, fame preachers. Society values credit, without it you cannot exist, you are sent to live in Lunatic City, for crazy people; the nickname had made it’s way to the FTP Arcade as a few sympathizers found themselves an underground audience.

Sympathizers often would elaborate schemes for others to use their S.C.S on buying goods to attempt to shoot over the wall using vintage bazooka technology. Sympathizers would communicate through playing cards, certain cards making certain hidden requests only the game in the FTP Arcade could decipher. If a card was received by a player, said player would take the card to the Game Of Truth, inserting said card to reveal a special request, if completed, an increase of plus fifty to your S.C.S; this was a rouse, as the sympathizers used societies love of credit to purchase supplies for D-67. Sympathizers had not ability to dispense S.C.S, rebels in all reality; they would then receive the purchased goods, sneak out late at night, head near the wall with their vintage bazooka’s modified to carry cargo; because of the cargo, one’s aim had to be on point. If successful, the cargo would launch undetected over the wall, parachuting down into the darkness on the other side. They were not able to confirm if this was working, but it was all they could do as they had families, other’s to care for and responsibilities beyond the soul.

Lancelot made his way through the crowd, every fighting game arcade cabinet filled with players excited trying to beat the other and win the prize. Fighting games brought out the best in citizens, but also the worst, this is what the corporation counted on – raising your S.C.S was as much a rouse as was the Game Of Truth. Human nature is to be imperfect, to make mistakes and learn from them, to seek to better one’s self and others; credit score’s took that away. After sliding through two large burly gentlemen with beers in hand, chest bumping immediately after the slim sneak, Lancelot looked ahead at his target.

The Tournament

Sounds of the human soul ring out, a wonderful chorus of angelic voices; sweat rears it’s tiny head to be a part of the action, a tight gripped joystick contrasting white taped, sweaty, button tapper fingertips of rage. Those fingertips belonged to the fingers of a man whom attached to his hand was the most exquisite marvel of human ingenuity. Smooth mirror finish, painted black with a large white skull; A piston attached to this man’s shoulder in a metal cage structure, bending at where his elbow should be, with his hand attached to the end, gripping a red topped stick. Watching his mechanically attached hand, it twitched, thumb and finger control never letting go of the ball, small puffs of steam would occasionally rise from his piston; although mechanical devices were energy powered, especially bio – mechanical upgrades to the human experience, it was considered fashion to wear a vintage look.

An octopus encapsulating it’s prey, no way in and no way out, not to kill but rather to observe it’s sub-atomic nature; two challengers, lights and flashes, announcer’s gleaming, this was a tournament. A test of champions and skill, a battle of the spirits – and an improved S.C.S. The announcer could be heard among the many large speakers occupying the ceiling, directing their energy down into the circle of would be challengers; “On the left side, standing at 6 feet 4 inches tall, the bio-mechanical wonder of the W.W.C... GAAALLEHAAUT! On Galehaut’s right stands 5 feet 8 inches tall, he describes himself as fast, and not just any kind of fast, the kind of heart breaking, heart punching speed only a demon could muster... IGGNIIITION! Ladies and Gentlemen do we have.... “. That was all that could be heard, the crowd had begun to awaken with cheers and laughs, many wearing Galehaut’s logo, the white skull on black (some even had gotten the same logo on their bio-mechanical arms). Ignition wasn’t well known, he was skinnier in comparison to Galehaut, and with no bio-mechanical upgrades gave off the impression of a low S.C.S.

Ignition had been successful thus far in the match to block Galehaut’s incoming assault, however the sweat dripped from a swirl of panic in his eyes as he took the first round. Looking at the other man, a giant in comparison, calm and collected – bored even; Galehaut was famous for his calm demeanor during tournaments, he was guaranteed to win by fans as he was undefeated the last 4 years in a row. “Ignition is going in for the kill! He has it, parry to a back dash and OOOHHH! GALEHAUT is coming back, he is really putting the pressure on Ignition!” The excitement was such the announcer’s had broken through the crowds moment of quiet invested in the full action of exhilarating thrills of intense battle. Just then, like a burst of trapped fish, jumped the crowd, Ignition’s hands slammed down on the arcade cabinet; “And there we have it folks, Galehaut remains the champion!” Galehut had done it again, he was the tournament champion, tradition for the tournament winner was to compete against a member of the crowd in an exhibition match as a thank you to supporters, they would also win 25 S.C.S for the contribution to societal entertainment. “Boy did Ignition sure take this loss personal, he put forth his best foot as a citizen and the W.W.C can’t be more grateful. Now is customary for the tournament winner to select a fan to compete in an exhibition match and as a reward 25 S.C.S! Who will Galehaut pick!”