The picture? Girls und Panzer. It's a good show that shows how the whole can be way better than the sum of its parts. I recommend watching it if you want hilariously awesome tank battles.
The picture? Girls und Panzer. It's a good show that shows how the whole can be way better than the sum of its parts. I recommend watching it if you want hilariously awesome tank battles.
Now the following excerpt is from the most recent chapter at the time of this post, but first a brief summary.
After the team fought their way through the countless floors of an underground bunker beneath the White House's remains, Damon moves in to one particular chamber within the bowels of the facility confront President Blackwood alone, as he was the person that, according to Eagle, stood the best chance of getting out of the confrontation alive. As Blackwood starts talking, we're met with a rather nasty surprise.
Remember what happened in the previous pasta? Well get a load of this......
On either side of this large lane stand rows and rows of large containment cells all filled with a clear liquid. Each of them contains a single naked girl fitted with a breathing apparatus over her nose and mouth. The identities of these girls being held inside these containment cells are obvious, but Damon doesn't even glance at any one of them, simply walking slowly past them, as though concentrating on the sound of his own footsteps echoing throughout the empty, silent lab. As he passes, the girls in the containment cells press their hands against their cells, watching him walk past with his eyes fixed straight forward. Along the way, Damon spies out of the corners of his eyes nine containment cells that appear markedly different - the liquids in them are colored, and the girls in them are much more restrained, having their arms tied up above their heads and their ankles bound together with steel rings. Damon can also see who they are, but he chooses not to look at them...he doesn't know how much anger he can contain if he dares to look at them.
So what are those things for? We'll let President Blackwood himself explain.
"Earlier I mentioned that the Genesis Thesis Project was intended to be a program to raise genetically modified children born with a natural resistance to nuclear radiation and train them from an early age to become my personal soldiers? Ultimately, due to the overwhelming failure of the Project, I had to do away with that project, with your survival being a mere useless afterthought. However, very recently, another idea came to mind that operates on very similar principles to the ones I had had at the conception of the Genesis Thesis Project. The concept of using pregnant women and their fetuses was not the problem; the problem laid in the fact that human beings are far too fragile; human lives are taken far too easily, and I'm sure you understand firsthand what I mean by this. Too many complications can occur that can result in the abortion of a fetus or the early death of a newborn baby...the mother dies before the fetus is born, the fetus is aborted for some reason, the newborn baby contracts a life-threatening illness and dies, etc. The problem that I saw with the Genesis Thesis Project was the fact that I was using human test subjects. I think you can see where I am trying to go with this."
"You want to use the ship girls to give birth to your own personal task force," Damon snarls.
Blackwood holds up a finger.
"It doesn't stop there, I'm afraid. They will not be giving birth to just any personal task force; they will be giving birth to my personal task force. I will personally provide the means of insemination for each and every single one of them."
Somehow, that doesn't surprise Damon. Blackwood gestures out to the rows upon rows of containment cells.
"These naval personnel are perfect for this. They are human enough to the point where their anatomies practically mimic natural human anatomies perfectly; however, their bodies are resilient enough to endure multiple pregnancies and childbirths...theoretically, an indefinite number of pregnancy and childbirth cycles," Blackwood claims calmly. "They will manufacture the armies of America. When this project is fully realized, I have no need for a pitiful human army that is incompetent and prone to failure. With this new army of fleet personnel, failure will be the word of yesterday, and they will help build America to become the great country that I was once proud of as a child. Additionally, there is no Geneva Convention to stop this. There is no more United Nations to stop what I am doing. The nuclear apocalypse provides for many freedoms, Mr. Polchow. In an international state of anarchy, only those who formulate the winning plans and the winning agendas for international success will be left standing, while all other nations perish in the process. And the best part about this is that I can claim to the American people, should word of this ever leak out to the public, that I am doing this for the sake of our country's national security and future, that ethical boundaries must be broken and personal freedoms must be temporarily shackled for the sake of national security. And if anyone dares to disagree with me, then all I must do is label them treasonous and unpatriotic and order them to be removed from society. There is no stopping this, Mr. Polchow, you must understand. No one will be able to stop this. Not even you."
Damon goes back to saying nothing. The President begins to walk down the small steps to reach the bottom of the stairs.
"You know this very well yourself, Mr. Polchow," Blackwood murmurs. "You, having grown up by yourself for the past sixteen years, fending for yourself, living only for yourself - you know what it means when they say 'the survival of the fittest'. And by corollary, you must also know what it means when they say that history is written by the victor, for only those who are left standing after the dust has settled will live to tell the tale. I'm sure you understand it perfectly."
So, the shit that happened in my previous copypasta? Well, depending on which one of those two men emerge from the chamber victorious, it's going to potentially happen again, and this time it'll be multiple times worse.
So in other words, The President artificially rapes ship girls and has them give birth to an army of slaves, also, if Damon the SLIGHTLY less douchebag slaver and human being loses this fight, the worse alternative happens....yeah this is why i hate this fic.
Man, at this point he just tries to out-grimderp himself with every new chapter.
Also he says that there is noone left to stop him and all that crap, but wasn't there a bit at the beginning of the story that some organizations were cleaning whole continents of radiation in a few years? What about them? Did they all disappear? Or were they conveniently forgotten. Because forget ship girls and everying else in this whole story, if your organization can clean countries and continents of radiation in a few years, you probably are the most powerful and technologically advanced thing left.
I also still don't get why someone would build robot soldiers that can get pregnant, wich requires ridiulous technology and is a weakness as it also requires a ton of space in the robot body you could fill with more weapons or extra equipment.
The mechanical rabbit "ears" on either side of her temples snap upright. The rest of her svelte figure stiffens as well. She folds her arms in front of her chest, black-gloved hands gripping her biceps, and proceeds to look down on the intruder despite being shorter than him (albeit not by much).
"What do you want, Sheo?" Murakumo (FLEET) huffs at the Author.
I was just curious. You seem down.
"I'm fine."
All right, if you say so.
She feigns disinterest as he plunks himself beside her to keep her company. For a short while she maintains the silence, staring at the sky, and he reciprocates by watching her 'ears' for a clue to what's occupying her mind right now.
"Tell me something, Sheo," she murmurs, her demeanor relaxing.
What is it, Kumo?
"Am I a ship-girl?"
Yes, he immediately answers.
"Is that so? What makes you think that?"
Because you're Murakumo, and Murakumo are ship-girls.
The snowy locks of her long white rustle ever so slightly as she shakes her head in disapproval of his immediate defense of her.
"As always, your train of logic is a terrible snarl of traffic that jumps the rails," Murakumo (FLEET) scolds him.
Out of the corner of her eye, she watches him shift his gaze from her ears to her taut face. He is dense like a neutron star, but even he has noticed her unease.
"I do not think I am a ship-girl," admits Murakumo (FLEET).
Is it because you were created differently compared to the others?
Her proud head remains upright, but her ears droop, conforming his guess.
The typical Kantai Musume is a spirit of a warship who has willingly abandoned Valhalla out of love for Humankind and returned to this world to combat an otherworldly threat. They are saviors of the songs of life and love. Dauntless defenders of the world of light and warmth. Heroines of Humanity. The last best hope for peace.
The members of the F.L.E.E.T. Project of a certain infamous fan fiction are notthat kind of ship-girl.
The Fleet Expansion and Enhancement Test Project is a top secret program of the United States Navy. Propelled into action by the bloody tragedy of the September 11 terror attacks, the Navy tapped a team of Eastern European engineers to micronize the technology of the Second World War and create human-sized naval combatants.
These immigrant geniuses succeeded in creating 'ship-girls', cyborg girls with the firepower of the full-sized steel ship and assorted powers. No infantryman in the world could stand against these 'ship-girls'.
The US Navy planned to use its new bio-mechanical soldiers against enemies without and within the homeland. But one of those foes sensed the blade seeking its throat.
Driven by desperation, Iran struck first. And while America retaliated a hundred times over, it also sealed its fate and that of the rest of the world.
So sounded the trumpets of the apocalypse. Nation upon nation unleashed the howling dogs of thermonuclear war upon each other. The skies boiled away and the green earth turned into poisoned ash that tainted the seas with bitter swill. The vast works of Man were torn down and the humbled survivors scattered like vermin before the onrushing flood.
The ship-girls were scattered across the devastated United States. Some of them were awake to begin with and bore witness to the nightmare of the world. Others remained dormant during the next nineteen years.
Then a Demon who was literally born to rule this wasted world declared it was his manifest destiny to collect the ship-girls, control them through technology that he made with his own twisted hands, and use his fleet of slave soldiers to grind the cowering remnants of humankind beneath his heel where they belonged.
And his first victim was the brilliant-eyed ship-girl who now stood beside the Author.
"I was so proud of myself," Murakumo (FLEET) reveals. "I was so proud of my identity and powers as a ship-girl. Even thought I woke up with only my main mast equipped, even after That Demon made me Its possession and denigrated me as 'useless' because I was incomplete, I retained my ship-girl pride. It was one of the few things left to me, one of the things that no one could take away from me."
Her firm lips quick into a fond smile.
"Even if The Demon died and came back, even if I died, I will always be a ship-girl," Murakumo (FLEET) says.
"But after I met you and the other Murakumos..." And here her expression began to plummet like a star that has been cast down from the firmament. "I started to doubt myself. I started to ask myself if I was truly a ship-girl."
And she starts to enumerate the members of the Secretary Squadron that Sheo has gathered to him.
"The torpedo boat destroyer of Admiral Togo, whom only a few people knew existed, whom you sought out because she is the first to bear The Name of 'Massed Clouds'. The Special Type Kuchikukan that everyone knows about, the one I am supposedly based upon. Her successor the JMSDF destroyer, who guarded the reborn Japan against terrors from the deeps.
"Velasco, the passionate Spaniard, who shares our looks. Chibi, the innocent child whom Anonymous Rabbit entrusted to you. Zumwalt-"
She pauses her spiel to check her surroundings. But the stealthy destroyer is nowhere nearby.
Good. Seriously, no ship that big should be so stealthy. Or be called a 'destroyer'.
"-that modern-day ninja who can sneak up on anyone. Giantess, who alone among us can approach the physical presence of the original steel ship hull. Cyborg, whom you consider to be beautiful despite her crippling injuries and the crude prosthetics that sustain her.
"And the Murakumo who came from the future and claimed you are her husband and the father of her child, DDG-118."
Will you girls never let that go? The Author looks embarrassed by the very cloudy future that he will apparently choose someday. When I say you girls aren't for lewds, I mean it.
Murakumo (FLEET) rolls her eyes. But she winds down her little speech.
"All but one of your secretary ship-girl squadron are spirits of warships who have been reborn in the bodies of human girls in order to fight against a great evil on behalf of humankind," she summarizes.
Aby didn't choose to become part of the 'great evil threatening humankind', you know. She can't help who she is.
Murakumo (FLEET) glares at Sheo. "What makes you think Aby is the exception I was talking about," she snaps.
Well, she is a Princess Type Abyssal from Siirakannu's doujinshi verse.
"And yet despite that, because she is an Abyssal, she is technically a ship-girl like the others. Aby is the other side of the silver coin, the face that's marred and tarnished by despair and greed and hate and loneliness. She is the shadow cast by a ship-girl, the evil to their good, a corrupted ship-girl but a ship-girl all the same," Murakumo (FLEET) points out.
"The anthropomorphic manifestation of the grudges of the ever-hungry world ocean is more of a real ship-girl than I am," she mocks herself.
Kumo?
The fury that seizes the white-haired ship-girl is unlike her usual abrasive demeanor. Murakumo (FLEET) gestures at herself, the self that she had once been so proud of, in a dismissive and even derisive manner.
"I'm an artificially-engineered, bio-mechanical and thaumaturgic-capable organism that was supposedly based on a Japanese warship. I was created as a weapon to kill the enemies of the United States, not protect American civilians. And I was brainwashed to obey That Demon, who is every bit as evil as Hitler or Mussolini or Stalin or Tojo despite all the whitewashing in that world."
The Demon stabbed her in the head with a knife, brainwashing her. It struck her aside when she tried to protest infanticide. It called her her useless without her Rigging and belittled her, a supposedly world-changing war machine, for her lack of actual combat experience. And It did all of that within the first few days of meeting and claiming her.
Worst of all, The Demon made her 'l͔̣̯͇͙͎o̻͙̩̳̼̺̼ve҉̪̯̟̠͕̹̭' It thanks to the nanomachines that It had violently installed in her head.
Because that is what l͔̣̯͇͙͎o̻͙̩̳̼̺̼ve҉̪̯̟̠͕̹̭ is in the dark and twisted realm that sustains the black beast of the post-Apocalypse. Nanomachines in one's mechanical brain ensure the correct, obedient, s̭̫͈̣̼̫͞la̤̯v̨i͎̞̬͍̹͡s̭͚̼̩͓h̷ response when one is treated as chattel.
"I can't be a reincarnated spirit of Murakumo, fifth of the Fubuki-gata Tokugata Kuchikukan," Murakumo (FLEET) whispers. "I don't have any true connection to the magnificent Imperial Japanese warship whose name has been forced on my body.
"My flesh and blood organs were artificially grown in a vat using genetic material from unknown donors. My nano-machine cybernetics do not incorporate a single sliver of steel from the wreck at the bottom of the sea off Savo Island. I'm not Japanese; I'm American. I... I..."
Her exhalation is explosive and filled with envy of the unknowing ship-girls who have taken her in as a sister. It's a woeful warning. It's a cry for help.
"I have no soul," she laments. "The ships of my World have no souls. And even if Murakumo somehow had a soul, she would never pass such a shining spirit on to someone like me, an American who was reduced to an accessory of The Demon."
The despondent girl and the Author wallow in the bleak silence for a while.
Have I ever told you of Paradise Arsenal?
"No." Her brow furrows. "Is that like the perverted Dead or Alive volleyball game I've heard about?" warns Murakumo (FLEET), who is always on guard for lewd ideas, imagined or real, that Sheo tends to bring up at the most inopportune moment.
Oh, Godoka forbid that, no. Kancolle: Paradise Arsenal is a short-lived quest run by Ace of Charts from November 2014 to February 2015. It's stored on suptg. Just type in Paradise Arsenal Quest in the search box labeled 'title'.
"And you mentioned them because?"
Because they are like you. See?
KC: Paradise Arsenal # 01 by Ace of Charts said:
September 4th, 2053.
"Kanmusu": developed in Japan by combining nascent technologies with ancient mysticism, only grudgingly shared with her Western allies. Cybernetic enhancements were crafted from the remains of old and storied warships and implanted into bodies cloned from the cells of Olympic athletes, fusing a living soul of steel and diesel with a body that far surpasses peak human ability. Your physique and fighting spirit, when interfaced with an array of specially designed equipment, give you the "punch" of a full-sized warship at a miniscule scale.
Murakumo (FLEET) mulls over the counterparts that she has never known until today.
"Do you consider them ship-girls?" she asks her reminiscing Author.
Yes.
"Do you think they have souls?" she presses further.
Yes.
"Because they have the parts of the warships of old in them," she points out to undermine his argument, playing the advocate of the Devil in their discussion. "They have material and physical links to the ships whose names they wear, whose values they inherit, whose strengths they embody."
No. They have souls because they strive. Like all things do. Like you do.
And the surging sea of her emotions goes smooth as glass, and Murakumo (FLEET) finds herself becalmed in a quiet patch of sea, the ever-growing eye of the dissipating storm.
Those scientists made you in their image, the image of Man in all of his hubris. They built your indomitable heart and gave you eyes like the summer sun. They gave you tremendous firepower and a sensor suite beyond any compare... They gave you hands-
He takes her hands into his, shakes them, squeezes them.
-a girl's face...
His fingers poke her cheeks. She bats them away, but her glower wavers.
They gave you hair-
That absurd attention to detail gets him to chuckle.
Heh... Bio-mechanical hair.
And he ruffles said white locks, which causes her face to go red. But unlike his earlier teasing of her cheeks, she lets him muss up her meticulously groomed princess haircut.
But this burden? The burning in your heart?
His fingertips hover over the spot where her heart is beating quicker than usual. His hand maintains its distance. He respects her far too much to touch her there with her permission. And he doesn't need to physically touch her there to reach her heart.
They did not put that heat in there. That fire was always there from the beginning. It was with you all this time.
And I think you can call that a soul. Your soul. Which no one can ever take away from you.
It takes Murakumo (FLEET) several seconds to find her voice, which has somehow drifted away from her flabbergasted self. She needs another few moments to comprise a retort.
"You totally stole that from someone else," she guesses.
Plagiarism is the first and golden rule of scholarship.
"Humph." But her lips curve upwards into a slight smile. "You noblebright idiot."
For Sheo is the same Author, the self-proclaimed KanColle Shipping Magnate, loves Murakumos, who came to her rescue once he heard of her plight within the blood-soaked hands of The Demon.
And I will NEVERhurtanyone I care for.
He took it upon himself to travel to that terminally ill World, spirit away Murakumo, undo the nanomachine-induced brainwashing that compelled her to obey The Demon, and solemnly ask her to be his fourth secretary ship-girl.
She had beaten him silly for making her think that he was proposing marriage to her.
But afterwards, after spending time with him and the other Murakumos, the humanoid war machine who chose the name Murakumo (FLEET) eventually accepted Sheo's plea.
Because he did not hurt her even as she strangled him out of pique for misinterpreting his offer of companionship. Because he listened to her and considered her side of the story and acceded to her. Because he entered a hostile realm and carried her out of that hellhole and restored her ability to choose her own path in life without compulsion and wanted her to be the one who made the decision of "Aye" or "Nay".
But not because she liked him or anything stupid like that. Rude child!
And now here they are. Gathered together like the white wisps worn by the sky as adornment for its blue dress.
Did you expect anything else out of the Author who turned the kanmusu of HMS Thunder Child from a joke character to a white knight in shining armor?
"You really should write more about her," Murakumo (FLEET) chides him.
Maybe later. But Kumo?
"Yes?"
A man can be conceived by a man and a woman. He can be born from the womb of his dying mother, and his survival can be hailed as a miracle. And yet he will lack a soul.
He can exist for nineteen years, surviving from moment to moment by stealing the lives of others to take as his own, ensuring that he can never die. But he does notlive. He was never alive to begin with.
Because 'existence' and 'survival' are not the same things as 'life' and 'living'.
"I surmise as much," she agrees.
And a ship-girl can be put together within an iron womb, artificial bio-engineered flesh grafted onto advanced alloy, a Frankenstein's Monster that violates the laws of physics and biology and humanity.
She wilts. That is her, indeed. A mere tool of destruction-
And yet... And yet she possesses a great big soul that can embrace a very silly man and the girls who call her 'sister' with happiness.
Her eyes snap wide open and her small mouth hangs agape at the murmuring Author.
She is alive. She lives. And even if she dies, her life is proof that she lived and was alive and was loved.
Her existence, her worth, is restored and strengthened by the child-like faith that he freely entrusts to her.
She only needs a world with a sky big enough for her soul to spread its wings and soar.
"Sheo," she murmurs.
That one's sort of original, by the way, he admits.
And she laughs. Murakumo (FLEET) lets her ship-bells toll in merriment for a good and long while.
"Thank you," she wheezes at the end of her relief. "Thank you, you great big idiot."
You're welcome. Well, shall we go rejoin the others? They must be worried. And probably jelly.
"In a moment."
When she rises, it is like the wind comes to her assistance, ensuring her motion appears to be effortless. That same grace is present when she casts her hands into the air above her silver mane, fingers stretching out to encompass the heavens.
Her Waterfall Shield was originally meant for use during combat. But during her travels with the Author, Murakumo (FLEET) has expanded her ability to control water well past the original parameters. And thanks to what some would call 'corruption' from her current companion, she can leverage her ability without requiring navitasium.
Because Life could always use a little more Magic in it.
She fills the air above their heads with a fine mist of cool water, and the rays of the sun that strike the suspended drops of vapor folds and splits apart into seven bands of bright light that arch over their path.
"Now we can go," she sing-songs.
Heh. Show-off.
"I learned well from you."
And she leads the way. Towards their beloved friends. Into a better future.
She might not be the same kind of ship-girl as the rest of her squadron. But she is still a ship-girl. And she has a soul. She is alive.
As much as I whine and grumble about s17's worldbuilding derps now that I've basically gently purged the GG committee and palace coup'd the story ( ) I can forgive an enthusiastic amateur writing way out of his comfort zone.
(And also because that's what friends do, we grumble about each other, but we forgive each other in the end.)
Can't forgive hackyuu tho. Sasa derped in research and world building because he's a character/comedy/slice of life author and that's what he's strong in (plus having had bad experiences with a backseat author beta in the past I overcompensated and was too hands off). Hackyuu is strong in nothing save his self delusion.
All the data that flows through his frayed cables relayed the informations that one of the Caduceus's Panacea spies managed to sent from the ruined remains of the White House.
He sees the madness that was hidden below the sacred building, the same building where the real president of the United States of America told his creator to create him here. To make him born. To give him purpose. To protect the nation that allowed him to live.
And to see the Fake president of the Post Apocalyptic United States of America standing there is enough to sent his damaged processors and machines to a near-irrepairable state, the ship holding his computer shuddered in righteous anger.
On that day, he called his children. Man and Woman that shaped the Caduceus and Panacea from the ashes of Miami to what can be described by himself as "Reborn Switzerland" all stands in front of his old and ruined machine. Doctors, Soldiers, Shipgirls, all of them listened to his words.
On that same day, Ingram Cullus Davion, formerly USA Special AI ICD-881 "Interconnected Communication Decipherer", relayed one of his newfound wish to his childrens.
Wipe the Slate clean. Wipe. Them. Out. Make me remember nothing of this age.
Now the following excerpt is from the most recent chapter at the time of this post, but first a brief summary.
After the team fought their way through the countless floors of an underground bunker beneath the White House's remains, Damon moves in to one particular chamber within the bowels of the facility confront President Blackwood alone, as he was the person that, according to Eagle, stood the best chance of getting out of the confrontation alive. As Blackwood starts talking, we're met with a rather nasty surprise.
Remember what happened in the previous pasta? Well get a load of this......
On either side of this large lane stand rows and rows of large containment cells all filled with a clear liquid. Each of them contains a single naked girl fitted with a breathing apparatus over her nose and mouth. The identities of these girls being held inside these containment cells are obvious, but Damon doesn't even glance at any one of them, simply walking slowly past them, as though concentrating on the sound of his own footsteps echoing throughout the empty, silent lab. As he passes, the girls in the containment cells press their hands against their cells, watching him walk past with his eyes fixed straight forward. Along the way, Damon spies out of the corners of his eyes nine containment cells that appear markedly different - the liquids in them are colored, and the girls in them are much more restrained, having their arms tied up above their heads and their ankles bound together with steel rings. Damon can also see who they are, but he chooses not to look at them...he doesn't know how much anger he can contain if he dares to look at them.
So what are those things for? We'll let President Blackwood himself explain.
"Earlier I mentioned that the Genesis Thesis Project was intended to be a program to raise genetically modified children born with a natural resistance to nuclear radiation and train them from an early age to become my personal soldiers? Ultimately, due to the overwhelming failure of the Project, I had to do away with that project, with your survival being a mere useless afterthought. However, very recently, another idea came to mind that operates on very similar principles to the ones I had had at the conception of the Genesis Thesis Project. The concept of using pregnant women and their fetuses was not the problem; the problem laid in the fact that human beings are far too fragile; human lives are taken far too easily, and I'm sure you understand firsthand what I mean by this. Too many complications can occur that can result in the abortion of a fetus or the early death of a newborn baby...the mother dies before the fetus is born, the fetus is aborted for some reason, the newborn baby contracts a life-threatening illness and dies, etc. The problem that I saw with the Genesis Thesis Project was the fact that I was using human test subjects. I think you can see where I am trying to go with this."
"You want to use the ship girls to give birth to your own personal task force," Damon snarls.
Blackwood holds up a finger.
"It doesn't stop there, I'm afraid. They will not be giving birth to just any personal task force; they will be giving birth to my personal task force. I will personally provide the means of insemination for each and every single one of them."
Somehow, that doesn't surprise Damon. Blackwood gestures out to the rows upon rows of containment cells.
"These naval personnel are perfect for this. They are human enough to the point where their anatomies practically mimic natural human anatomies perfectly; however, their bodies are resilient enough to endure multiple pregnancies and childbirths...theoretically, an indefinite number of pregnancy and childbirth cycles," Blackwood claims calmly. "They will manufacture the armies of America. When this project is fully realized, I have no need for a pitiful human army that is incompetent and prone to failure. With this new army of fleet personnel, failure will be the word of yesterday, and they will help build America to become the great country that I was once proud of as a child. Additionally, there is no Geneva Convention to stop this. There is no more United Nations to stop what I am doing. The nuclear apocalypse provides for many freedoms, Mr. Polchow. In an international state of anarchy, only those who formulate the winning plans and the winning agendas for international success will be left standing, while all other nations perish in the process. And the best part about this is that I can claim to the American people, should word of this ever leak out to the public, that I am doing this for the sake of our country's national security and future, that ethical boundaries must be broken and personal freedoms must be temporarily shackled for the sake of national security. And if anyone dares to disagree with me, then all I must do is label them treasonous and unpatriotic and order them to be removed from society. There is no stopping this, Mr. Polchow, you must understand. No one will be able to stop this. Not even you."
Damon goes back to saying nothing. The President begins to walk down the small steps to reach the bottom of the stairs.
"You know this very well yourself, Mr. Polchow," Blackwood murmurs. "You, having grown up by yourself for the past sixteen years, fending for yourself, living only for yourself - you know what it means when they say 'the survival of the fittest'. And by corollary, you must also know what it means when they say that history is written by the victor, for only those who are left standing after the dust has settled will live to tell the tale. I'm sure you understand it perfectly."
So, the shit that happened in my previous copypasta? Well, depending on which one of those two men emerge from the chamber victorious, it's going to potentially happen again, and this time it'll be multiple times worse.
) I can forgive an enthusiastic amateur writing way out of his comfort zone.
