I don't care that this section is actually for the new Strife MOBA. Rogue was first by something like fifteen years. If you don't know what the hell I'm talking about, then go look up either "Strife Rogue Entertainment" or "Strife 1996". Yes, the game is crude by today's standards, but it's one of the first FPS/RPG hybrids, it was ahead of its time in a lot of ways, and it's surprisingly good.

Kind of AU, this is a reimagining of the Strife universe. There are some elements I've kept, and some I've dropped, in addition to a lot of things I've added in. I've kept most of the characters and added some new ones. The Sigil is still there, of course, as are the Spectres and the Entity. The neo-medieval thing I've kept somewhat, but not in the same way. It's definitely a darker verse, but I'm not sure if it's going to be more serious. There's influence from Half-Life 2, Bethesda Fallout, and other fiction that didn't exist in 1996.

Prologue: Forgotten Past, Stolen Future

Twenty years ago, the world ended.

Billions dead. Cities pulverized. Civilization collapsed. Our paradise was gone.

We saw it coming. 622 Rogue, headed straight for Earth. But it wasn't big enough to do real damage.

They were wrong. Dead wrong.

There was something on that asteroid. Some kind of disease.

It was airborne before we knew it. It couldn't be contained.

Everyone was infected. A lot of them died. They were the lucky ones.

Some of the survivors were deformed. Most of them... just forgot.

As the last lights of civilization died, a new light appeared... if you could call it that.

A few of us started hearing things. Thought it was the voice of God.

Doesn't matter what it was. It didn't take long for the Order to take over what was left.

I don't know where they got what they had. I don't know how they got it.

They murdered women and children, burned settlements to the ground, shot anyone who objected.

When the dust settled, what was left was in their hands, shaped in their image.

But not everyone accepted it. We couldn't fight, but we could run and we could hide.

I was alive in the old world. I don't remember much, but it never used to be this way.

We can't live like this. Humanity isn't meant to live like this.

We won't live like this.

XCVG Systems Presents
SIGIL: A World in Strife

Chapter 1: The Escape

The room was typical Order. The walls were stone, built with a centuries-old technique that worked amazingly well in the New World. Though dirty, they were plain apart from the banners on the walls and the locked door at one end. On closer inspection, one might note the security camera mounted on one wall, which looked

The man in the chair noted all that, and dismissed it as irrelevant. He was more concerned with the figure in front of him, an Acolyte.

The standard foot soldier of the Order, nobody knew exactly what an Acolyte was. Their bodies were obscured by dull grey armour plating and a matching undersuit, and their faces were masked by a full helmet with smoked eye slits. They spoke with a mechanical, modulated monotone.

"What is your name, peasant?" the Acolyte asked flatly.

"Jason Bourne," the man lied. There was something familiar and ironic about that name, but he couldn't place it. Like most of the people in York, he remembered little of the Old World.

"Jason Bourne" was not sure if the Acolyte had believed him or not. "What is your occupation?"

"Actually, I came here looking for work," he replied. That was true. He had come to Tarnhill because there were rumours that a job was available. Of course, his line of work was something the Order frowned upon, to say the least.

The Acolyte robotically asked, "What are your skills?"

"I'm not actually sure." He shrugged. Though it looked like a casual gesture, he was actually undoing the ropes that bound him to the chair.

"You carried illegal goods. Explain."

"They weren't illegal where I came from."

"You took suspicious actions. Explain them," the Acolyte ordered. A human would have asked where he came from, but these Acolytes were dumb as stumps. They were probably reading from some script somewhere.

The ropes were starting to come free, now. "Well, I was kind of bored. You know how it gets, right?"

The Acolyte paused, presumably thinking. Finally, it said, "The conclusion is that you are a rebel. You will be treated as such."

"Seriously, that's the best you could come up with?" He spat at the machine, the bindings on his hands almost free. "Fuck you."

In one smooth motion, he drew the hidden blade from his sleeve, brought it around, and slammed it through the Acolyte's neck. Deep crimson blood soaked the blade, the material around the neck, and the grey cloth of the man's glove.

As the Acolyte grabbed at its bleeding neck, he brought the punch dagger around again, driving it hard through where he thought the spinal cord should be. The Acolyte stopped resisting and crumpled to the ground.

Disappointingly, this Acolyte was unarmed. The Order may have been a bunch of religious fanatics, but they weren't stupid. The man slowly opened the wooden door.

Okay, maybe the Order was stupid. Another Acolyte was standing guard on the door, with his back turned to it. This was too easy. The man stepped forward and quickly drew his dagger across the Acolyte's neck, splattering the opposite wall with blood. This Acolyte was armed with a pistol, which the man took before heading down the hallway toward the exit.

To be honest, I'll probably never finish this, because I've got so much else going on. But we'll see.