A hammer was smashed into a piece of red-hot iron, bending it to the will of the smith.

  Down came the hammer once again, the smash echoing throughout the chambers. Another smash into the red-hot iron, bending it to form a stake against enforcement, or intruders.

  It was smashed again. And again. And again. All while, the rest of the machine ticked away like clockwork.

  The machine of the resistance. Of the Arch Legion.

  A team of three men were busy hauling a huge platform from the outside, using to store crap on top of so they may take it back outside, and into the harrowing rain.

  Gilbert points the men towards the make-shift forgers, the plan for the defense coming along smoothly. As he directed them, the scrap iron of destroyed vehicles, fallen buildings or useless panels were burnt by the lava-hot fires. Fires born of the ancient gas contained within the LPG tanks; their spoils. Personnel hammered away near the back, all while Lou sat within his truck-office nearby. The center of the computer cell.

  He coordinated the operation. Timetables. Spreadsheets. Sourcing. Even potential connections, all while his team gathers Intel through the contentsphere. His fingers were like weapons, each type of a word a blow against the regime.

  And the weather was terrible outside. Harrowing. Wild.

  The Neosun, fading into the beginnings of familiar night. Falling below the intrepid horizon just as the rain falls upon the buildings. And the ground. And the foe-trees. And everything which the sky touches.

  Yet it rained harder, louder than usual.

  The machine of the Legion was blasting at full strength. And the weather of Colorado roared to match.

  But then, there was Amy. Who sat alone in her room; the one she used to share with John. He called her a couple hours ago by now.

  He's sure to be back any moment.

  And while John is important, he is not quite the most important thing in mind. His parting orders are. Order which, in no favor to her brain, has dug a rabbit hole so deep that she swears that Hell is looking back at her.

  And yet, all she does is sit on her bed, staring at her digiphone.

  “But if no one is there to witness it, does it truly matter? Is the act of observing what gives it meaning?”

  She reads, the end of the paragraph on an old photo.

  Such text took an exhausting mental exertion to dig up. But as she looks up, a sense of satisfaction washes over her mind.

  She lies down on the bed like how a goat faints when scared. But she smiled, as she knows she is finally on to something. The beginning of that text reading. “Void Death in Another World - V”

  Perhaps it isn't completed. But it is for now, she thinks.

  Lou busts into the room, giving her a fright. His demeanor comes off as wired and intense. “Amy. Come with me. Are you busy?”

  “Not anymore.” Amy replies, her reprieve merely delayed. Not ripped around. “Come.” Lou says as he leaves and she gets up off the bed.

  She follows him around to the computer lab and into the truck.

  She hears the hammers smash and carts roll in the distance, mixed with the echo of torrential downpour and the grunts of men and women. Her sight sees the cell team glued to their chairs like agents. Like the call centers of her childhood given divine purpose.

  She hops up to the other side and shuts the door gently.

  “Come over here Amy, I need to show you something. It's gonna be big, and you're the only person I think can combat it.”

  “Okay?” Amy says as she looks into the screen with intrigue. Lou opens some tabs with graphs, pie charts, and whole essays of data.

  He summarized as best he can as he speaks.

  “There has been a massive, and I mean MASSIVE up tick in political and sociological discussion online. Even when you look at BookFace, ElQuora Padgent, mainstream media; whatever. Something big is changing, it's like… it— it's like everyone is suddenly turning on each other.”

  Amy reads the dramatic articles on one of the headlines Lou had screenshot. The blue and white glow of his screen lit the inside of the truck about as much as the outside did. “Mmm… Yeah I see stuff like that all the time now. I don't think it's really changed that much.”

  “Weren't you just on your digiphone researching?”

  Stolen story; please report.

  Lou asks as he looks over, his face stressed yet determined.

  Amy replies with a bit of a backtrack.

  “Well… yeah. But I wasn't really looking out for this stuff. I was, like, super deep in the weeds. Not even advertisements went where I went.”

  “Well damn, I hope you didn't get a virus, bar that SERaMACs chatbot of course.” Lou comments offhandedly as he looks back at his screen.

  “Look, I get what you're saying. Shit like this has existed longer than time, blah blah blah. I get it. But the rage for the past… probably twenty years has been product placement. Trying to make you buy the next thing or get addicted to the next drug or sexbot.”

  Amy looks from his face to his screen as he shows the most damning evidence. A contentsphere usage relay, clearly showing a shift from pleasure to alt media.

  “This is crazy.” Lou says, bewildered. “Like, Amy. This has pretty much happened overnight. People ragging on about identity, economics, social issues, Hell even fandom. Geocentrics, Bio-Furries or whatever.”

  “What about Kubaal Aetheon?” Amy asks.

  “Nope. Next to nothing.” Lou replies with a shaking head. “Everyone is suddenly pointing at each other. But… not at what actually matters.”

  Lou looks over to Amy as he finishes his sentence.

  “Because none of this shit matters man. It's all just noise to distract us. I've even had to straight out some of the boys out there because they'd gotten sucked into it.”

  Amy was like a deer in headlights as she leaned over her chair. She looks again at the screen. Then back at Lou. Then back at the screen.

  “And… so… what do I have to do with this?” She asks.

  “Look at me.” Lou asks, solemn and serious. She does, letting him place extra emphasis on the words he then spoke.

  “No one in this place inspires thought like you do, alrighty? You've got a knack for showing people the shit that's hidden in plain sight. You can wake people up Amy.”

  “How? I don't think so.” She tries to deflect. But this isn't about her opinion. Lou is certain of his own. “We see it, Amy. With John, even with Gary. He spoke to me about it. But also how you spoke to the staff on the plane. You've got a gift for it. We're gonna need it. You got that?”

  “Uhh… sure.” Amy replies, flat and still quite unconvinced. Lou looks away and back at his screen. He almost smiled, but she hasn't seen the older man smile since he told her his name. And so she opens the door and heads off.

  “Nice… updating with you Lou?” God that was a stupid thing to say. But Lou was nice and nodded. And so she smiles knowing her awkwardness was unnoticed, closing the door back into the hangar— which is swiftly becoming a complex. The hangar… no; the base is fully coming to life.

  And about time too.

  She walks back out the computer cell, more like a bunch of chairs and screens arranged in a circle. But it got the job done.

  She saw as Gilbert’s group jogged past in a two-wide line, stopping at the virtual machines which stood not-too-far. “Give me your attention!” He yells at the hardening troop. Amy watches in awe as she sees something she might've never seen in her life; willful suffering in the pursuit of success. The denial of comfort in the pursuit of something great.

  Gilbert commanded their presence with a voice of supreme confidence. He stood taller than all those present too. Maybe he was always that tall. Maybe it's his cybernetics. Maybe his bombastic presence makes him seen that way.

  “You listen here, boys and girls! I don't give a fuck if you're anywhere in between! This here is our bastion, and as far as I'm concerned, the only place left which can fight. And you will fight. Because you will win! Because you aren't a bunch of pussies like the populace!”

  The troop remains silent. He took a few paces to the side, looking over everyone. “DO I MAKE MYSELF CLEAR!?”

  “SIR YES SIR!” The diverse troop replies in sync.

  “GOOD!” Gilbert yells as they finish, hopping on to one of the omni-treadmills to demonstrate. “Your asses will be planted in one of these things! You will see bad guys doing bad things. You will shoot them, you will protect yourselves, and you will WIN! And if you don't win, toughen up and try again! Am I clear?!”

  “SIR YES SIR!” They all yell again. Gilbert hops off and immerses himself within the crowd. His gray hair and scarred face can still be seen over the top of the others. The long lost taller brother to Gary, just with a different accent, different faces, and nothing in common in blood.

  “WONDERFUL! The first three to complete the drill will be given extra rations tomorrow morning. The last three to complete will be sleeping out in the rain on fence-building duties! And if that doesn't motivate you, just know that no matter how hard you fail, you will be awarded extra rations tonight before we go to bed.”

  He stops pacing just in front of the two lines, placing himself between them like a hawk. “Now what the fucks are you doing here! Get on those machines and get to work!”

  “SIR YES SIR!” They all shouted as their group devolves into a primal stampede of sharpening blades and building might.

  Amy couldn't help but feel stunned. Now this? THIS feels like progress. It might be getting late, and she might be tired, but for once, that is a good thing. Because she's actually going somewhere. THEY'RE going somewhere.

  And it feels like they are too.

  It manifests as a warm, fuzzy feeling inside. Outside the hangar is dark and cold. The rest of the world devolved into a rampage as she thinks.

  But the world will come right, for she is surrounded by hope. In her eyes, she can see the world becoming a better place.

  She opens her digiphone to see that, oh no! The sky is falling! Everyone is evil! Everyone is to blame! The only people she can trust are those with arbitrary similarities and the media which affirms them! How scary!

  But then, she closes her digiphone and looks around. And still, she can only see improvement all around. And the honk of a horn coming from afar, through the open hangar door, couldn't have come at any better of a time.

  “John!” She squeaks, and for the first time in a while. And so she moves elsewhere to appear approachable, so they may talk in peace soon.

  If not, then later.

  Because she hadn't made her mind dumb researching what he’d asked for nothing.