Thessia: Athame City
June 27, 2121
"Everyone, form a line!"
As one, the large group of about a hundred asari arranged themselves in a linear formation to where the voice originated. Maidens, matrons and matriarchs – asari of all ages, but they all shared the overwhelming feeling of starvation. The norms of opulence and luxury left them unprepared for these cruel fact of their new life, and now they were facing the consequences.
Sergeant Reynolds stood beside the M-510 Mammoth, maintaining a vigilant watch for any commotion that might develop among the line of aliens. This truck was but one of the many deployed in the capital of Thessia for the purpose of distributing food to the now destitute populace. Each one filled to the brim with MREs that will soothe the hunger in their stomachs. Following the chaos that engulfed the entire asari occupied space, Governor Price had each of the hulking machinery escorted by about six M-12 Warthogs, their chain guns loaded with incendiary ammunition for an effective anti-infantry role in case the aliens turned violent much like what happened when the Temple of Athame was demolished under the orders of the Governor.
The widespread rioting had just recently ended after weeks of perpetuation and thousands have perished during the initial stage of the occupation as asari were no match for the well-equipped and experienced warriors of mankind. Though it had failed, the natives have taken hundreds of lives themselves, overwhelming small forces under the weight of sheer numbers alone.
In response, the Governor imposed harsher policies in an effort to prevent things such as these from happening once again. From the gossip circulating among the Army, High Command had reprimanded him since his message to maintain order had not only nearly cost them their nascent foothold in their new territory, but also resulted in the loss of soldiers and equipment. The man had barely managed to save his own skin and was allowed to continue his duties, but was warned that he would be sacked from his position, and potentially be executed, should another disaster of similar magnitude occur as a consequence of his own short-sighted actions.
Personally, he found it ill-advised. If there's anything life taught him in his home world of Harvest, it was that tightening the leash on the livestock as a means of discipline would only bring the opposite result. The natives would be further inclined to violence should the occupation becomes more oppressive than it was.
"I hate this, y'know?" muttered the fellow Sergeant beside him. "Bein' 'ere where they're more than us."
"Orders are orders, there's nothing we can really do about it." Psychology may not be his forte, but he could tell that his comrade had been left traumatized by the planet-wide rampage of the populace. He'd heard that some units were surrounded by the angry mob of blue women and were literally pulverized by the hail of biotic attacks.
His fellow sergeant's next words fell to blurriness as he immersed his attention to the front of the line, where a soldier handed out an MRE to the waiting arms of a small child. This asari had the appearance equitable to that of a 10-year old human girl, the recognition made easier by the physical similarities between the two species.
Somehow, she resembled his daughter back in Harvest – Emily. The child was enthusiastic, vibrant and full of life under the protection of a loving, caring family. This child, however, was none of these- her cheeks stained with dried tears, body littered with injuries, the miserable state of her clothes. Unlike those from the luxurious yet dirtied vestments every asari he'd seen wear, this child is adorned in nothing but rags. He watched the child walk forward past the truck with the food on her hands, as did everyone that had received their meal.
The sergeant felt something pry open inside his mind, something... sympathetic. A part of humanity corroded away by power in a galaxy they'd subjugated through force.
"Hey Sarge." Reynolds looked down at the source of the voice. A young private named Erickson catering out food to the locals. He was a good young lad always kept moral up even after his brother was killed during the final month of the war.
"What's the matter Erik?" asked Reynolds waking himself up from his thoughts.
Erikson looked down at the empty box in his hands "Were out."
The few Asari close by who had heard and had gotten their food quickly vanished from the line. They knew what came next. Reynolds hated being put in this position but he looked around the rest of the food line to see other soldiers running into the same problem. Empty trucks with empty boxes. A line of soldiers separating a crowd of hungry locals. He knew what he had to do, he just hated to do it.
With a sigh the sergeant walked up in front of the crowd and grabbed a loud speaker. "Attention! Attention! Folks listen up!" he repeated until the crowed and soldiers stopped their business to look up at him. What he said next would either set off a fire keg or save the lives of these people. "We are closing shop. Please return here tomorrow at 10:00 AM. Thank you."
The faces of the crowd looked hurt as if they had just been punched in the gut. Many had waited since the early morning to get up to the front of the line and now once they were there they were told there was no more food for them. This would piss anyone off and it did just that.
"Were starving out here! You can't do this!"
"I have mouths to feed!"
"My kids haven't eaten in two days!"
The complaints kept flowing in from the crowd as they grew restless. The soldiers at the food lines backed up and drew their weapons many hoping to not have to use them. Reynolds himself drew his pistol and looked down at the starving crowd with regret.
"Disperse! Disperse or be fired upon!" came a voice from over the loudspeakers of one of the mammoths. The turrets on the Warthogs turned towards the crowd and the barrels rotated. Reynolds prayed that the crowd would disperse and no one would die. There had been enough death. His prayer was answered for the crowd began to dissipate leaving only the soldiers behind with empty boxes. Somewhere in the city gunshots could be heard it seemed as though not every food line had ended peacefully.
This chapter was written by Lord NV. Due to the many stories that can be told during the 35-year long occupation of Thessia I have recruited help in story creation. The goal of this is to help create a realistic universe filled with individual stories of strife, hardships, recovery, and compassion. The latter of which is very rare in this Dark universe.
Now beta-ed by Solvent Harp37.
