JanÅgeSolstad
Super-Earth
- Joined
- Oct 20, 2012
- Location
- NYC
The bodies had been cleared days ago, but the debris and the dust, like the city, hadn't yet settled. Nor would they, not for a long time. A terrorist bombing that had been covered, live, by a news station that happened to be in the area--and the group that had taken responsibility for it was the most terrifying threat to Republic City yet.
That was because of their ideology. Or their lack of ideology.
The Heirs of the Red Lotus, they called themselves, and as their name implied, they took after the anarchic foursome who had brought the world to its knees just years before. But the Red Lotus, the true Red Lotus, had goals. Insane goals, to be sure, but consistent, philosophically sound goals. Theirs Heirs, however, did not.
The letters they sent and the statements they made were incoherent at best, insane at worst. And their members--the few of them who had ever been caught, dead or alive, were young people. Teenagers, college students, no one over the age of thirty, ever, anywhere. They were all young, alone, scared, angry, and so dedicated to their cause that they killed and died for it.
None had ever spoken about the internal workings of the organization, not even when the grim men who wore masks carted them off to deep prisons where only rats and screams lived. None had ever been taken into custody through investigation. But all that was about to change.
There. That young slim man in a red shirt and tough leather boots. That dark hair, that friendly smile, those toned powerful arms... there was no mistaking him. He had been spotted lingering around the police station before the bombing, and then mysteriously retreating into the crowds in the moments before the explosion. He was the right age, and the way he maneuvered through the throngs of people into a nearby bar... there was no doubt about it. He was a master of vanishing into thin air, even when you were looking right at him.
That was because of their ideology. Or their lack of ideology.
The Heirs of the Red Lotus, they called themselves, and as their name implied, they took after the anarchic foursome who had brought the world to its knees just years before. But the Red Lotus, the true Red Lotus, had goals. Insane goals, to be sure, but consistent, philosophically sound goals. Theirs Heirs, however, did not.
The letters they sent and the statements they made were incoherent at best, insane at worst. And their members--the few of them who had ever been caught, dead or alive, were young people. Teenagers, college students, no one over the age of thirty, ever, anywhere. They were all young, alone, scared, angry, and so dedicated to their cause that they killed and died for it.
None had ever spoken about the internal workings of the organization, not even when the grim men who wore masks carted them off to deep prisons where only rats and screams lived. None had ever been taken into custody through investigation. But all that was about to change.
There. That young slim man in a red shirt and tough leather boots. That dark hair, that friendly smile, those toned powerful arms... there was no mistaking him. He had been spotted lingering around the police station before the bombing, and then mysteriously retreating into the crowds in the moments before the explosion. He was the right age, and the way he maneuvered through the throngs of people into a nearby bar... there was no doubt about it. He was a master of vanishing into thin air, even when you were looking right at him.
