The city of Solstice contained many contradictions within its sparkling white walls; the poor and sick littered the streets, begging for coins at the corners of ancient stone building before making their beds in an alley between shiny glass towers and concrete multi-level parking.
The citizens complained against their leaders but re-elected them at the first chance. Art and utility fought an open war in the streets, graffiti, tags and statues wrestling with circulation panels, bus stops and public announcement boards.
Cars, trucks and motorcycles pumped at intersections like blood, interrupted by a flow of pedestrians every once in a while.
A silver motorcycle ripped itself from the traffic and squeezed in a space between two cars. The driver, wearing blue and black leather, pulled the helmet from his freshly trimmed skull and clipped it to the side of the bike.
The terrace was packed full when he stepped through and the Café's interior seemed even more crowded.
Booths along the walls, tables across both floors and stools at the bar were all taken, forcing the rider to head back outside and take a seat a mere ten steps from his motorcycle.
The thing looked much older than it should have, being only a year old, but he had taken it through so much the man felt lucky it still held together…
"Hello, sir, welcome to Plaza de Marko!" A falsely cheerful voice sounded as a menu was thrust upon the table, "May I bring you something to drink?" Asked a strawberry blonde with a ring in her nose.
"Tea," He answered, picking the leatherback pamphlet, "green, no milk, please."
And she left him to his thoughts.
The bike was a gift from his only friend, the owner of a local art gallery, to celebrate their newfound wealth. The rider, Evan, was only twenty-two and already rich enough to buy this café and have enough leftovers for a comfortable retirement, all thanks to the sale of a single painting, a banal panorama representing an ancient alien city, as it stood before Imperial agents demanded its destruction.
Evan did not feel the outrage most citizens had, he actually thought the organic and irregular angles had been a pain in the arse to render, their disappearance would spare him from even recreating them again, not to mention it had made him quite rich.
What do you do when you earn more money in a day than you estimated to exist in the whole universe?
He had yet to find the answer, but traveling around the world on his motorcycle and seeing so many different culture had left him with a thousand ideas instead of none at all. A step up, right?
He had spent time with southern islanders, tribal warriors, where he had acquired many useless yet awesome skills, such as spear fishing, martial dancing and archery, along with vine-like markings on his left arm and a new concept of personal property. The Islander had none, considering needs before ownership.
He had then gone way north in the snowy peaks of Korva, where he was offered a bed in an aging military base. His month there taught him a lot about communism and military life, how to drink vodka, too. Before leaving, he was made an honorary member of the local regiment and re-baptised Ivan Sergeyev.
Heading south-east after that, he was met with a very different welcome in the snob and elitist Alran society, being outright ignored until the moment he began spending money. There, he learned how to talk a lot without ever saying a thing, how to twist conversations in the direction of his choice and was shown just how fragile global economy was.
Hurrying out of there, he headed further east and took a boat to the erudite and freedom-centered island country of Keneld'at, though now under heavy pressure from the imperium, the Keneldians still spoke their minds and researched better ways to make life easier. The free education there meant he was surrounded with thinkers and philosophers and got his head filled to the brim with altruistic ideals and sophisms that would cause aneurisms in lesser minded beings.
Next, he crossed the high seas on a Keneldian cargo ship, working against the tides as hard as any member of the crew for nearly a month, when he reached the secluded Akato nation, the famine and desolation there contrasted oddly with the country's literacy, higher than that of even the Keneldians. When he questioned an official about it, the man was quite openly annoyed at the ignorance, but still explained that Aranak, Evan's homeland, had placed an embargo on their nation, preventing any fair trade to be performed.
An assassination attempt, in the form on a hand grenade thrown in his motel room, earned Evan the network of pink facial scars covering his right cheek, eyebrow and jaw. The same official personally tracked down those responsible and had them publicly executed. When questioned, he made it clear this had not been an act of goodwill, but a practical decision, for if they scared out foreigners trying to understand the situation, they would only worsen their situation.
After that, Evan was repatriated to an Aranakian hospital where they spent the last six months trying to piece his face together.
"There you are, sir," The blonde placed a porcelain bowl before him and fetched a paper pad from her pocket, "did you make your choice?"
He looked down into the bowl, at the reflected sky amongst green bubbles. He had no plans to become some rich snob, but didn't exactly want to waste his fortune either, he wanted to mean something, be someone, not just another lucky loser. Humanitarian groups around the world tried to do good and any of them could use a donation, but, somehow, that felt weak, lazy.
With the things he'd seen and learned, Evan could easily create one such group himself, organize a bunch of hard bastards with hearts of gold and fund them…
"Yeah, I did. I'll…" The rest of the answer was drowned in terrified screams further down the street while a man with an imperial accent blared in a megaphone that a curfew was now in place and that any citizen found in the street would be arrested and taken to the nearest holding camp. "The frack is going on?"
Customers of the Café stood up from their tables to see what the ruckus is about. Evan fetched the PDA in his inner pocket and accessed the latest global news, though it proved futile as every public announcement board in the street switched to the same message:
Glorious Imperium of man annexes Siika, all hail the God-Emperor, all hail the Imperium!
Followed by:
All citizens of the Imperium must submit to Imperial Guard's orders, respect the curfew (10:00 AM/26:00 PM) and refrain from gathering until dissident elements have been put under arrest. Further instruction will be provided...
He glanced up just in time to see the panicked crowd arrive, along with the massive tank crushing main street under its treads. Soldiers, like toys next to the behemoth, stomped ahead with their bulky laser weapons aimed at the crowd. They shot anyone that so much as looked at them funny, let anything and anyone too slow get crushed by the tank when they didn't trample it themselves and blared orders to disperse and desist, as if the late afternoon traffic was some kind of riot.
Cars were bunched up in masses of sheet metal, some of them leaking fuel, others leaking blood. The blonde rose her own PDA to film the grim parade, but was swiftly shot in the neck by a lone red beam, the wound cauterizing instantly, although the woman's lower jaw and upper chest melted like wax, she blinked twice, trying to breathe through closed airway.
Evan ran, straight into the Café, along with dozens of panicked citizens, seconds before the owner shoved down a steel curtain, sealing almost fifty people in the street.
It shocked Evan and he found himself trying to open the curtain, yelling incomprehensibly, despite the large padlock that held it down.
Nobody tried to stop him, people on the other side banged against the curtain like crazed apes, but in the darkness of the Café, a dazed silence reigned.
Soon, the panicked cries outside grew feral and the rattling of the curtain became so intense Evan lost his grip on the handle. He fell on his butt just in time, as red beams perforated the curtain from every angle, spearing over a dozen of the cowering citizens.
No blood, only rows of twisted bodies, melted grotesquely by the insane heat of the weapons.
"You frackers!" Roared a graying man who had also been trying to open the curtain, "You'll pay for this! I'll make you burn for this!"
The man, as Evan would later find out, was named Kevin LaCosta, he was a former Orbital Drop Marine and his daughter had been seconds away from being on the right side of the curtain when it was shut.
Evan did not blame whoever had shut the curtain, the Café was filled to the brim and these people were on the verge of breakdown…
LaCosta and Evan spent the whole night with their backs to the curtain, swapping stories about the places they'd seen and predictions of the future. Both agreed on one thing;
They wouldn't just bow to the Imperium.
That night, amongst the shock, fear and sadness, a resistance movement came together. Two men of contradicting beliefs and upbringing united and soon became the center of attention. By the next morning, they had a plan and were trying to figure the best way to carry it out.
This display of calm and control drew others to them, gave them something to hold onto in this madness.
Evan had drawn a map on the floor, starting with their street and then adding bits to it using the other survivor's input. "There's an overpass here." Said one, "This street forks here and here." Pointed another, "There's a network of unused subway tunnels that lead five blocks from the target."
That one earned a few looks. An Hispanic brunette, the athletic type dressed for a jog. Evan nodded and used the stump of chalk to draw the tunnel. The survivors would be organized in forty groups of three, all taking a different route to their target, a private firing range manned by an old ODM buddy of LaCosta's.
Every group was encouraged to head back home and gather essentials, family, food and any trinket of sentimental value, as long as they kept in mind they might have to fight if they stuck with the whole group.
"We're not going to hit them outright," Explained the former Marine to the captivated crowd, "we need to gather our strength, find where our armed forces are at and figure out what we're up against… Anyone knows anything about the Imperium?"
A man in a sparkling clean business suit stepped forward, "I had dealings with their merchants over the years, they're a massive empire, humans, spanning about sixteen solar systems…"
"Sixteen?" The Marine mused, "Alright, that's a frakload of troops, but they must have other things to care about, we might not be able to take them out, but we can make 'em revise their domination skak…"
Ten AM came a bit later and the curtain opened to a desolated street, though void of corpse, it smelled of decay and death. Group one, Evan, the brunette and LaCosta, headed straight for Kevin's massive truck, parked in an alley because it wouldn't fit in any parking lot, while the others filed out under the watchful eyes of Imperial walkers, Sentinels.