Post by tylatz on Dec 23, 2009 3:17:06 GMT -5
The cursor hovers across the glowing black background to the translucent window framing a circled triangle. A small ping notes the command issued by the cursor and the window strengthens to an opaque rectangle with a small empty bar replacing the arrow. The cursor draws lazy circles and the figure eight next to the window as the empty bar fills. The process takes only seconds, but the repetitious motions of the cursor would make it feel like hours. The bar expands itself to the width of the window and drops to the bottom where a line running perpendicular awaits to begin the long march from left to right.
In a flash of light the dark interior of the window is replaced by a blue background and the view shifts to follow a white line that strikes across the open plain. Once traversed from edge to edge it vanishes and reemerges from above to travel down, through the previous path, to form a white cross in the bottom right of the window. A crescent moon and star form in the larger, upper left cross section and a black sun half rises from the white line bordering the bottom. From all four directions the white lines fill with crimson channeled to the focal point of the cross where they coalesce and spill out to form a red circle and four peaks jutting out into the right angles of the four corners. As slowly as it appeared the scene fades out to a black screen.
What was once a solid black screen parts as grass giving way to reveal a small encampment constituting of a handful of buildings and a fence partially reclaimed by the pervasive flora. A loan guard tower stands at the main entrance a position from which a single man can keep an eye on the small compound illuminated by lights installed at questionable junctions. The dull light of an inflamed coal denotes the outline of a second man lingering in the void beyond the reach of the installation. It prowls in near obscurity, approaching the well lit gate in a languid sway. On high in the guard tower a shift of posture snaps to place and a voice wavering on the edge of inaudible pressures the silence. A second voice calls back from the shadow that steps into the light revealing itself as a man in green drab with the smallest bit of a cigarette hanging from his lip. What transpires is positive at least as the man enters through the gate after flicking behind the the butt. The camera flicks away and for a moment the vague shape of a face can be made out before the screen fades to complete black.
The same compound fades back into focus from a new view point at a higher angle than before and the silhouette of a barrel is outlined against the lit base. The scene of men minding their guard postings throughout the complex has changed only slightly. A gentle pop echoes through the quiet night and following it is an eruption of muffled gunfire. The view drops down to the barrel and peers through the circular scope at the head of a guard alerted by the exchange of fire within the base. A louder pop than before times an odd twist of the mans head and guttural voice counts one. A flash of light replays the scene another position with a different guard and the voice counts two. Once more the event is replayed with a fresh guard and the voice counts three.
“GOOOOOOOOO!”
The video returns to the original camera dashing toward the base perimeter with the accompaniment of the trailing voice and the wailing of electric guitars keeping pace with the rapid drum beats. In seconds the camera shoots through a narrow gap in the weak fencing and the world spins about it. It levels out again in a patch of amber light just as an arm extends into the image firing a spray of 9mm rounds from an Uzi into the chests of two unsuspecting soldiers. Blood and shells whirl through the air in slow motion. The camera whips to the left in time to catch the image of a third soldier with rifle aimed right back at it lurch to the side as his skull is penetrated by a single well placed round. The camera is in motion again, arching through the mayhem of gunfire toward the largest of the buildings. Rounding into the entrance a cylinder is thrown into the momentary image of armed men crowding around at the feet of three Zakus and a Samson before the camera spins back away from opening. The sound of an explosion mixed with the cries of the wounded visibly rock the camera. A hand waves in front of the camera toward the entrance and a voice gives the command to move in. Four men armed with AKs run pass and the camera follows suit. 7.62mm rounds rip into the flesh of the men caught off guard by the sudden explosion and the attackers press their advantage. To the right the large mounted guns of the idle Samson spin to greet their intrusion with return fire that rips through the four men in front of the camera. For its own part the camera dashes forward with inhuman speed and clumsily rolls behind a large piece of metal plating. A series of curses can be heard mixed in between the gunfire, music, and death cries.
The room begins to shudder and the camera peaks around the corner to view the large metal constructs rise to their feet. The bodies of men, ally and foe alike, are crushed beneath the massive metal shoes. A new more deafening gunfire rattles the room as massive bullets are expelled into the darkness as the mobile suits make their exit with Samson in tow. The camera spins around the room assessing the damage, but finds not a single man still standing in the hangar, but it hangs on one in particular. It hobbles toward the corpse and from it is pulled an object that appears to be comprised of mostly electrical tape, wires, and a single button.
Another shift in perspective shows the mobile suits evacuating from the compound while pounding round after round into the dark perimeter that returns with RPG rounds that rock the heavy machines of war. The rear of the three sparks and is consumed from the waist down in flames so bright they distort the image. The camera zooms in on the destruction and fades into the white.
“Ok, I think I get the idea,” a man mumbles and the video pauses, “but I don't have time for all of this. Just give me a quick run down and skip to the end.”
“Alright,” a male voice responds at a much higher pitch.
The video shuffles into a montage of scenes of small arm fire exchanges between infantry, RPG rounds impacting and in a few instances destroying Zakus, and even a quick scene of men in black armor being toppled and rounds slammed into their chests at point blank range.
It returns to normal speed in the early light of a day hazed by smoke with much gentler music playing down the whole video. A long haired man stands with back turned between the camera and the head of a Zaku slammed into the ground the single eye glowering at him with a dim red light. The mans chest heaves with labored breathing that is heard over the music. One hand clutches his side and the other to the pistol grip of a rifle. Across the back of his drab vest is a single word painted in red. FREEDOM.
“Not bad. How long will it take you to distribute this?”
“I can get it in the maelstrom in about an hour.”
“Do it.”
In a flash of light the dark interior of the window is replaced by a blue background and the view shifts to follow a white line that strikes across the open plain. Once traversed from edge to edge it vanishes and reemerges from above to travel down, through the previous path, to form a white cross in the bottom right of the window. A crescent moon and star form in the larger, upper left cross section and a black sun half rises from the white line bordering the bottom. From all four directions the white lines fill with crimson channeled to the focal point of the cross where they coalesce and spill out to form a red circle and four peaks jutting out into the right angles of the four corners. As slowly as it appeared the scene fades out to a black screen.
What was once a solid black screen parts as grass giving way to reveal a small encampment constituting of a handful of buildings and a fence partially reclaimed by the pervasive flora. A loan guard tower stands at the main entrance a position from which a single man can keep an eye on the small compound illuminated by lights installed at questionable junctions. The dull light of an inflamed coal denotes the outline of a second man lingering in the void beyond the reach of the installation. It prowls in near obscurity, approaching the well lit gate in a languid sway. On high in the guard tower a shift of posture snaps to place and a voice wavering on the edge of inaudible pressures the silence. A second voice calls back from the shadow that steps into the light revealing itself as a man in green drab with the smallest bit of a cigarette hanging from his lip. What transpires is positive at least as the man enters through the gate after flicking behind the the butt. The camera flicks away and for a moment the vague shape of a face can be made out before the screen fades to complete black.
The same compound fades back into focus from a new view point at a higher angle than before and the silhouette of a barrel is outlined against the lit base. The scene of men minding their guard postings throughout the complex has changed only slightly. A gentle pop echoes through the quiet night and following it is an eruption of muffled gunfire. The view drops down to the barrel and peers through the circular scope at the head of a guard alerted by the exchange of fire within the base. A louder pop than before times an odd twist of the mans head and guttural voice counts one. A flash of light replays the scene another position with a different guard and the voice counts two. Once more the event is replayed with a fresh guard and the voice counts three.
“GOOOOOOOOO!”
The video returns to the original camera dashing toward the base perimeter with the accompaniment of the trailing voice and the wailing of electric guitars keeping pace with the rapid drum beats. In seconds the camera shoots through a narrow gap in the weak fencing and the world spins about it. It levels out again in a patch of amber light just as an arm extends into the image firing a spray of 9mm rounds from an Uzi into the chests of two unsuspecting soldiers. Blood and shells whirl through the air in slow motion. The camera whips to the left in time to catch the image of a third soldier with rifle aimed right back at it lurch to the side as his skull is penetrated by a single well placed round. The camera is in motion again, arching through the mayhem of gunfire toward the largest of the buildings. Rounding into the entrance a cylinder is thrown into the momentary image of armed men crowding around at the feet of three Zakus and a Samson before the camera spins back away from opening. The sound of an explosion mixed with the cries of the wounded visibly rock the camera. A hand waves in front of the camera toward the entrance and a voice gives the command to move in. Four men armed with AKs run pass and the camera follows suit. 7.62mm rounds rip into the flesh of the men caught off guard by the sudden explosion and the attackers press their advantage. To the right the large mounted guns of the idle Samson spin to greet their intrusion with return fire that rips through the four men in front of the camera. For its own part the camera dashes forward with inhuman speed and clumsily rolls behind a large piece of metal plating. A series of curses can be heard mixed in between the gunfire, music, and death cries.
The room begins to shudder and the camera peaks around the corner to view the large metal constructs rise to their feet. The bodies of men, ally and foe alike, are crushed beneath the massive metal shoes. A new more deafening gunfire rattles the room as massive bullets are expelled into the darkness as the mobile suits make their exit with Samson in tow. The camera spins around the room assessing the damage, but finds not a single man still standing in the hangar, but it hangs on one in particular. It hobbles toward the corpse and from it is pulled an object that appears to be comprised of mostly electrical tape, wires, and a single button.
Another shift in perspective shows the mobile suits evacuating from the compound while pounding round after round into the dark perimeter that returns with RPG rounds that rock the heavy machines of war. The rear of the three sparks and is consumed from the waist down in flames so bright they distort the image. The camera zooms in on the destruction and fades into the white.
“Ok, I think I get the idea,” a man mumbles and the video pauses, “but I don't have time for all of this. Just give me a quick run down and skip to the end.”
“Alright,” a male voice responds at a much higher pitch.
The video shuffles into a montage of scenes of small arm fire exchanges between infantry, RPG rounds impacting and in a few instances destroying Zakus, and even a quick scene of men in black armor being toppled and rounds slammed into their chests at point blank range.
It returns to normal speed in the early light of a day hazed by smoke with much gentler music playing down the whole video. A long haired man stands with back turned between the camera and the head of a Zaku slammed into the ground the single eye glowering at him with a dim red light. The mans chest heaves with labored breathing that is heard over the music. One hand clutches his side and the other to the pistol grip of a rifle. Across the back of his drab vest is a single word painted in red. FREEDOM.
“Not bad. How long will it take you to distribute this?”
“I can get it in the maelstrom in about an hour.”
“Do it.”