> ‘Reality is a boundless construct and, like the universe we inhabit, is beholden to a myriad of powers. War will never cease so long as we continue to craft the weapons that fuel it. Famine is the most effective way to demoralise an entire population. Man made Pestilence yet plagues the universe at large. All followed by the nameless monster; Death ’
-Disparate ramblings from the end of time.
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The soft murmur of the old antique grandfather clock hidden away in the corner put Mr. Chen on edge, though he did not know why. He had given the old man an elevated number of TPS reports today, so many you could even consider them numerous. The old, if not gnarled, wooden table between them seemed to creak of its own accord every now and then. The old man had looked at them with no more than a passing interest, his mind was wandering today. Though Mr. Chen knew it was keen to wander a great many days.
‘If that is all, Mr. Chen,’ the old man said, ‘you are free to leave.’
Mr. Chen hesitated briefly, catching the man's usual knowing stare. There was always more to share.
‘A man claiming to be, ‘‘an old friend of the man in charge,’’ is waiting outside for you, I believe,’ he said. ‘He claimed to know Cassian as well.’
‘Ah, well, I suppose an early lunch never hurt anyone,’ he muttered. ‘Please, send him in on your way out.’ The old man said, before turning around in his chair to look out of the window behind him.
Mr. Chen hesitated a moment longer. He had always appreciated the view from this office, looking out towards the peaceful landscape that seemed to bend and bow to no logical order, simply moving as it wished and pleased. The natural way of things. If he squinted, he could just about see the nearest city, Devil’s lake.
Mr. Chen knew that the old man's eyes lacked the glimmer they once possessed. There was a cold glint that seemed to creep into his gaze, a forlong look that he had never been able to place, no matter how hard he tried. The man was unreadable, inscrutable. Before, he might have attributed it to his disdain towards moping, his uninterest in consistent deep thought. He was a practical man. A man who liked to get things done. Mr. Chen didn’t know what had changed. Only that the vacancy seemed to grow with each passing day.
Mr. Chen pushed the thought to the back of his mind as he opened the door, letting a tall blonde man slip past him with a small nod. As he creaked the door to a close, he could just make out the faintest smile on the old man's lips as he turned around to regard their new guest.
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The Galaxy shifted to the beat of a universal clock. A timescale adopted by the entirety of the wider population of the Laniakea Supercluster. Even those rare independent systems ran according to its scales and whims. From the smallest Cargo-runner to the largest Dreadnought, all wound around the indomitable reach of that clock. There was one power, and one power alone, that stood as its bastion. Its guardian and protector.
The 5th Imperial Army of OverWatch.
An intergalactic state with so much power, so much influence, that the very notion of its downfall was seen as impossible. Even directly after a civil war within its largest sector, it radiated an invincible energy. The model of an unstoppable force.
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Rebellion, dissent, disruption. These things were the norm. Each conflict was seen as so inconsequential to the top brass, that the wider public had adopted a saying.
‘They come and go like the waves with the tide.’
Each success for OverWatch further cemented them as unstoppable, unbeatable.
But even the most humble spark can lead you from the dark.
A warehouse, an empty warehouse. A balding man wiping the lens of a holographic capturing device. A white lab coat. A rehearsed speech.
A figure staggering and armoured.
‘Ready to begin our test?’
A nod. Affirmation.
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Though some of these sparks come with tragedy and heartache. Some are forged of rage, while others are born of sadness.
The Fifth army may preach that they are a bastion for the advocacy of workers rights, only the most fortunate of worlds are protected. There are those further away, unseen and uncared for, ruled by the Mining Guilds with an iron fist. Natives, non-citizens, outcasts, all are treated as though they were slaves. They are stripped of their culture, their identity, all that would make them whole and unique is set to burn.
None will fight back. None are brave enough. No matter how hard they are shoved, none dare push back.
Crowded barracks. Sparking lights. A man incapable of finding solace in the dusty silence of the room. Wires crossing, wires cut. A plan in motion.
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Earth was a rare exception to the previous examples, widly considered a more… backwater planet, they avoided the Tyranny of the intergalactic government through the passing interest of an important man. The planet was special for a great many reasons, but most of all, a connection to somewhere beyond. A connection to the oldest corners of reality. A connection to somewhere far darker.
Sparks can come from these places too, for those enlightened enough to be aware of the system they and those around them had unknowingly fallen into, it would be only natural for them to wish to fight. To rage. To ruin.
An isolated basement in a backwater town. A man working with hazardous materials. A gas made to melt, to consume, to corrode, to corrupt.
A raspy voice.
‘Todays the day.’
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Five years. It had taken them five years to be able to mobilise once more. There were several smaller ships apart from their larger convoy that were ready to move on from the Drylands.
Some sparks were tempestuous, dropping the gauntlet in front of their enemy in a moment of declaration, of challenge,
Some sparks took more time to catch. Some fought for questionable reasons, outside of justice, outside of vengeance. Some fought for reasons they couldn’t grasp, or simply didn’t grasp in the right ways.
In the end, nothing mattered other than a willingness to fight. A willingness to stand against the Fifth and all the pain they caused, all the hatred they spewed, all the suffering and oppression they openly perforated throughout all corners of the Super-Cluster.
Three suns, setting on a distant horizon.
History would be made, it would bend to a new set of masters. A new generation would rise, born from the sparks of this day. The fall of the Fifth Army.
What a glorious thing to imagine.
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Reality is often cruel, often unforgiving. To endure its ministrations is the test of life.
This conflict had been fought a thousand times across as many realities, all falling under different names, all fought by different people. This iteration would be unique, it would be named…
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THE HOSHI CONFLICTS
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