Horizon Backstory

The Earth of today is beautiful; a paradise. Lush jungles cover it. Forests buzz and flit with life. The air breathes fresh and clear through proud hills. A radiant sun caresses fields of fern and grain as they yearn gently skyward, blessed by a bounty of hot, vibrant life. And yet, behind this facade, our world is dying.

Mankind has always had the tendency to overreach. It’s an overpowering instinct, the legacy and price of our survival; take all you can and leave nothing for the competition. Even as your belly stretches, eat; what you leave will feed your enemy. As a race, Mankind grew to dominance on its home-world of Earth. As a race, it flourished and accomplished unbelievable feats. When all else was conquered however, Mankind turned on the only resistance that remained: itself.

Competition has driven Mankind from agrarianism to capitalism, then hyper-capitalism. Where in ancient times, an army of thousands would pilliage cities, now, vast juggernauts of commerce collide, robbing billions of jobs, homes and everything they had believed was theirs for the profit of the privileged. In our dominance as a species, we have multiplied like a plague and now competition, our double edged sword, forces us to fight for what little we can hold. Recycling is a species-wide obsession. Waste of materials – almost any kind – is punishable by exile or slavery; to spend resources on vast prisons for criminals is a laughable idea on a world where worth is measured by mass. Maximum density housing serves as home for the majority, while simulations beguile our senses. They show us the lives of lions, when in truth we swarm like ants. Reproduction is globally monitored; every country managing a system of merit to determine who has children and who does not. A pair of the most gifted individuals may be sponsored to have 5 or even 6 children, while those less worthy of note have none. All of this is necessary, because for the first time in the history of Mankind, there is no more left to take.

In the midst of all this, a few idle thinkers might consider that Mankind’s survival could never balance on the edge of a knife as it does, were it not for a single technology. IRIS, the Intuitive, Reconstructive, Integrated Symbiotics. A colony of nano-machines growing within every Human being, even before birth. Most people think of it no more than they might consider their clothes or a watch. It is simply a part of life. Nonetheless, as a medical achievement it has single-handedly banished disease, deformity and even poor hygiene to the realms of horrifying stories from the past. Crude, barbaric times when surgery was a risk and addiction could cost someone everything they valued in life. However overlooked, it is arguable that IRIS alone has carried our civilization through its last two generations, through this hell of predation, starvation and poverty. We have become something almost beyond Human. A race that poets and storytellers might once have dreamed about in reverie. Yet, somehow in this age of wonders, as myth has cooled into hard reality, the only truth that endures is survival of the fittest.

This is not to say that nothing great has been achieved; the steady march of science has elevated us to new heights and not through IRIS alone. Shortly after the turn of the 21st century, quantum theory finally wandered into the “applied” sciences. This lead to breathtaking advances in computer science, among other fields, but what proved to be the most influential development of all, was not new physics applied to old ideas or even combinations of such things as IRIS is. Instead it took the form of an idea so new that nothing like it had ever been realised before; quantum entanglement. The concept is simple enough; that two particles can be linked. An event so minute as to seem meaningless. When they become entangled however, something fascinating happens. It is possible to say that their “fates” become intertwined: whatever happens to one particle, exactly the same thing happens to the other, at exactly the same time, regardless of the distance between them. The implications are already great for such a bond, but one man dreamed bigger still and in more directions than one. Two, to be precise. He was the first to demonstrate that by linking two volumes of space with quantum entanglement and exchanging these volumes, it was possible to move virtually anything faster than light. This mode of transport became known as “the JAB” after its creator, James Alexander Budgeby. With that, our story can truly begin.

In the days before the JAB’s release, its inventor realized a problem. His invention could cross enormous distances, but the overcrowding and shortage facing Mankind were not challenges of distance alone. In all truth, the issue was no more easily solved with faster-than-light travel than it had been before. Many surveys had proven that the asteroid belt was littered with metals, but mining operations were unreliable, as well as dangerous. Planets offered great opportunity, but terraformation required hundreds of years. Facilities to withstand extra-terrestrial conditions were possible, but enormously expensive to build and operate. Amidst all this, the JAB itself couldn’t operate within a gravity field, or in other words, anywhere very close to a planet. Without a surface-to-JAB-range connection of some kind, it was useless: “All we have to do is build a star-port on Uranus!” became a laboratory joke. It would seem the only viable solution was an Earth-like planet. If one could be found, the JAB would allow us to reach it, virtually regardless of distance. From that point it would be relatively simple to colonize. Launch- and drop- pods would move things to orbit, where they could easily be moved to JAB range, and vice versa. The only problem was that no Earth-like planet had been discovered before. Budgeby’s mind turned to another angle. Instead of finding a different solution, he would instead solve a different problem. His creation would find a new Earth.

At the first JAB probe’s unveiling, the world had gone insane. Every major country, corporation and affluent individual of note wanted to be the one with rights to a new planet. A planet that would save Earth, but more importantly, a planet that would make the discovering party indescribably rich for as many lifetimes as you cared to name. It wasn't long before the UN, which was somehow still trundling along, waded into the hubub and reaffirmed that the claiming land off-planet was illegal. Just as planting a single flag on the Moon hadn’t made it American soil so many years before, landing on a new world today didn’t make it yours. In fact, the only legal way to claim land was colonization, but even then, a giant mining rig with a “home sweet home” sign on the front door wasn't going to fool anyone. A facility was only considered a colony if a civilian population was present and crops were being grown. Ten acres was the hard limit. Thankful for the breathing room, the only licensed manufacturer of JABs was quick to pledge full observance of the law. Plans were drawn and methods of working around UN stipulations explored. In the mean time however, space exploration began on an awesome scale. Various autonomous constructs were fitted with JABs, each boldly emblazoned with the logos and tag-lines of its sponsors and programmed to report home when they found something of promise. As probe after probe blinked into space, a great surge of hope built in Humanity. The first month passed with unprecedented optimism, only slightly smudged by a complete lack of any returning probe. After six months, the euphoria faded. People sank back into their routines, though some still talked with enthusiasm. Six more years passed without a single sign. Many were resigned to finish their lives and so much hope soured into an equally substantial resentment. Some cursed the day they had invested themselves in such nonsense. More years went by. With a decade of hind-sight it seemed so obviously an idyllic fantasy. Most had all but given it up for a pipe-dream, until one late-October's night.

The autumn chill was just beginning to bite, a little early that year. Heavier clothes had become the norm again and the nights were becoming crisp and clear. One such evening, just a flicker of light was seen briefly in the Southern sky, only to vanish again moments later. News of the strange sighting spread and when amateur stargazers identified it as a JAB probe, public interest grew. Within hours the net was buzzing with questions and theories, but of answers there were none. Attention turned to the mothballed exploration response facility to find lights on and computer systems -neglected for almost half a decade- running again. Time had taken it's toll on the facility through the years of fruitless waiting however. What had been a prized position became a dubious one, the best and brightest had moved on and eventually only a few were left. One of these was the very person now fumbling tensely through a decoding procedure he had never expected to actually perform. A man who had started out as little more than a glorified janitor in a project he now directed. Nonetheless, the morning brought with it all the suspense of the previous night. News reporters wrestled for prime microphone positions and the world hung on his every word. Red-eyed and weary, he stood before the stained and neglected facility to relay the incredible news. It was an error. After years of isolation in space, the probe had malfunctioned and reported a false positive. Images of the supposed solution to all Mankind’s problems revealed a frozen ball of rock that was, in every sense of the word, barren.

A wave of disbelief swept the world. Days went by in something resembling subdued shock. Years after all expectations had faded, the project had somehow managed to fail mankind again. People bitterly turned back to their old habits of struggle, another desperate hope extinguished. Then something strange happened. Other versions of events began to surface. Individuals heard from friends of friends that something was amiss and word spread. Slowly at first, in scattered messages, but with increasing frequency; links to isolated domains began appearing all over the net, posted by anonymous individuals who left no explanation, and equally little trace. These single-page addresses contained only three things: A list of names and an arsenal of evidence, both linked to a single recorded phone call. Not quite a week had passed when the full story exploded across the media channels: conspiracy! It emerged that in the hours spent decoding the message, the lone director of the facility had been contacted in secret. Initially the unknown figures had promised great rewards, but when these were rejected the lives of his family were threatened without hesitation. Under duress, he had picked another planet from the probe’s records and substituted it for the real findings. The recording from the mysterious domains supported every sly promise, every honest rebuttal, every heartless threat, until eventually the victim had no choice but to obey. Riots erupted. Individuals from the highest tiers of social and economic power suddenly disappeared in private jets bound for secret destinations. Their names were on the list. With all the net piracy going on, and nobody around to stop it, the real findings soon emerged. They were images of paradise. Mankind had found a new home. A place that one exhausted janitor / director / hero at some point referred to as a new horizon in an interview. The name stuck.

Public anger at the attempted deception cooled quickly as a new realization set in. The finish line was set and now the race for Horizon had begun. Implicated officials made their apologies. Politicians stepped down. Businesses fired their scape-goats. Construction of colony ships began. Little did we know these small betrayals were only a delicate echo of what was to come. Many entities found they lacked the resources or leverage to prepare for a colony by themselves and vast coalitions were formed. None had truly anticipated the scale of the endeavour however; the world’s supply of available materials was consumed in a matter of months. We needed more. For every colonial party that achieved a lead, the frenzy grew. Within weeks, competition reared its head once again and we devoured our own. Vast zones of the Earth were stripped bare of everything they had. Not by mining as had occurred in past times, but through the mass demolition of homes, offices, factories; whatever could be sacrificed for the race. Billions were left homeless. Destitute. There was no government, no charity who could divert the resources needed to stem the tide of refugees, though ironically they themselves were about to become the most valuable resource of all. Ship manufacture was progressing well, limited only be resources. Project directors began laying plans for the long effort of colonisation when suddenly every major party realised one thing: they needed VAST numbers of colonists. Not highly trained professionals, not scientists. Anyone who could lift a shovel would do. A week later, all those left squatting in the rubble of their homes were being promised wealth and land beyond anything they had ever imagined. With nothing to lose, they accepted. Thus were the indenture contracts born.

It became such a success that a process quickly grew to formalize it. A person could give up everything they owned as raw material, sealing a contract to serve their sponsor as a colonist for a number of years. Food, clothing and shelter would be provided during the term and at its conclusion waited years of wages in a lump sum along with a tract of land on the new world of Horizon. For billions upon billions of people living in the concrete hives of maximum density housing, it was a promise of Heaven itself. The destruction was incredible. Fabrication facilities strained under an awesome level of demand they could never have anticipated. Many, then most, began to run without ceasing. Nonetheless, As ships neared completion and recruits streamed in, a kind of lull somehow settled over the competition. Applications could only be handled so fast, factories could only produce so much. It was in the guile of this relative calm that the first ship launched. Shin-Iku enterprises, an influential Japanese technology conglomerate was on its way to Horizon at 2:34AM. By 6AM, desperation had returned. Alliances were confirmed and reassured so feverishly that some broke under the strain. Those almost ready to launch made a final desperate push and took flight however ill-prepared. One ship lifted off still tethered to the dock and crashed, levelling a major star-port and taking a dozen competitors with it. New agreements were forged with those who could still compete, resources were relocated. More ships launched. The crash had inspired a terrible methodology however. More and more often, ships that launched left in their wake as much chaos and destruction as possible. Somehow though the shortages and the handicaps, the last ship for Horizon finally launched. It was barely 6 months since the probe’s message of hope.

Horizon is an almost eerily Earth-like world. So much so, that the field of science still questions how two environments could develop to be so similar at random. From the greatest of fauna to the tiniest flora, it could be the same world. Whispered conspiracy suggests that agents of Mankind Terra-formed it long ago and only because of the sheer scale of our search did we eventually stumble across it. Perhaps this was the reason for the attempted deception when it was discovered. A simpler reason however would be that some wished to gain a head-start in the race for the new world, plundering its resources without competition. Untangling the events that transpired at that time would have been no small task even then. Now, so many years later, it is an unthinkable undertaking. Likely, we will never truly know. Such thoughts may have flooded the minds of the colonists as they saw their new home for the first time. Each ship in turn arrived and mapped the descent for its drop-pods. Recognising where its highest priority sites had already been occupied and settling for a second or third location. The UN had eventually buckled under demand for new land claim conditions and had increased the maximum area substantially. Colonists and crops were still required however and every blocky, looming facility was almost comically surrounded by a token ring of grain fields. On the ground, pre-fabricated structures surged into being almost overnight. Within days the landscape became a surreal tapestry of untouched wild and dense industrialization. Most kept to their own. Each of the colonies was wary of others, but all recognized that there was no gain in fighting when each could have their fill. Machines worked, people worked, the first shipments went home the Earth, refilling the veins of the world that had sent them to paradise.

On Earth, the colonists had left utter devastation in their wake. Those who traded their homes for a future on Horizon may have gained, but those left living in the ghost-cities and ruins that remained had little to be thankful for. The economy was reeling, infrastructure had crumbled with few left to repair it. Damage, intentional and otherwise, scarred the landscape. Ration had decayed into famine and shortage had become desolation. What remained of Mankind cried out for help, whatever the cost. The collective governments, themselves struggling to regain control, gathered and reached a consensus. They would unite to meet this challenge, forming a global government. For the first time since Adam, Humanity faced its future as a singular people. It was named the Great Alliance of Terra. For a time it remained silent, quietly consolidating the ruins into a society again. The world was healed with the infusion of resources from Horizon and it replenished its strength. Conditions improved rapidly, every supply ship representing a new burst of strength. Within a few years, the remaining population came to enjoy the a prosperity the like of which few could have imagined a decade before. For a time we were satisfied. For a time, but he who loves silver cannot be satisfied by it. Quotas for colonial shipments grew. Then grew again. At first there were needs, then only desires. Those on Earth had found themselves to be a new elite and as their wealth grew, so did their greed. Just as a rich man comes to regard his investments with paranoia, it didn’t take long for the GAT to fear the resentment breeding on Horizon in a sea of escalating demands. Governors on Horizon made excuses, gave reasons, asked for relaxed quotas. They knew nothing of the GAT, that the nations they competed to serve no longer existed. The government of Earth was not foolish; they knew the growing pressure alongside a loss of all national identities was sure to unite the colonies against them. And so, for a time the GAT was patient, reassuring the lesser authorities even as they despised the dissent that festered there. Of reprieve however, there was none.

For 36 years, Horizon endured. Taxes only grew. The first generation of colonists had completed their indenture, but many could not receive the payment they had been promised. The greed of Earth was suffocating. Those who completed their terms of service at the same time formed communities. Slowly, towns began to grow. Most were forced to return and seek employment under the colonial projects they had just left or else be totally self-sufficient. In an age of nanotech, cold fusion and anti-gravity, we survived as simple farmers. Years passed. Progress was made. Cities formed, but times were hard and hatred for the Earth thrived. It seemed that not a single country on Earth could see past the avalanche pouring into their respective coffers. It took time, but the people of Horizon began to unify under the strain. A sense of fierce pride began to flow among them. In this crucible of dissent, revolutionaries rose up, becoming figureheads for those who couldn’t. Their race or background had become irrelevant; they were mouthpieces for the seething populace and with every uttered word, the rebellion grew bolder. Talk of independence grew to be more than idle murmurs; propaganda was circulated and though it remained anonymous, the volume was considerable. Few of the printed sheets that appeared were left to blow in the wind. For every person loyal to Earth, there were a thousand aching to rebel. Authorities looked the other way, while in private they aided the very efforts they were assigned to stop; the greedy fools on Earth ate up every excuse. Or so it seemed. After years of planning, spreading the word and skimming from the Earth’s shipments to arm themselves, the day came. In a bold opening move, governors publicly threw off the yokes of their former allegiances. It was a broadcast that swept Horizon, then relayed to Earth itself. Many words were said, but the message was clear: we were the people of Horizon, free from the tyranny of a decadent Earth and we would be slaves no more! The declaration was met with silence.

Anticipating a fight, the rebellion spent two days in tense apprehension. On the third day, the wait ended. A lone ship appeared in orbit. For a few minutes, this seemed odd, until sensors were able to fully resolve what they were seeing. Dense with armour, bristling with weapons and dwarfing the massive colony ships which had preceded it, this ship was the largest vessel ever built by Human hands. Its scale could only be described as staggering. The rebellion prepared itself as best it could and braced for the juggernaut’s first move. It sent a broadcast. The commander announced to Horizon for the first time Earth’s new, unified government. He stated that with all colony-sponsoring nations now under its banner, the GAT assumed sovereign authority over all Mankind. Everything on Horizon now belonged to the Earth government. The rebellion was stunned for a moment, but steeled itself again and balked at this arrogance, refusing boldly to comply. The commander’s response was ominous; merely a small, tight smile. It could have been a smug gesture, were it not for a ruthless coldness that somehow seeped like winter mist into any who saw it. The chilling contemplation only grew in power as a second ship, equally massive, joined the first. Some on Horizon began to fear. They feared in that way that crawls among the senses, urging us to move, to run, but there was nowhere to be safe from such leviathans. The commander’s heartless visage haunted every screen on Horizon as a third ship appeared, then a fourth. The rebellion recognized its doom. In minutes, ship after ship was appearing, too fast and too many to count. In orbit, the colonies witnessed the terrible product of twenty years’ crippling tributes. Finally, after what seemed an age, the arrivals slowed, then stopped and the commander spoke. His eyes shackling those of every person on Horizon as he sneered disdainfully, “Welcome back to Humanity.” Their freedom had lasted less than 72 hours.

In the aftermath of its aggressive move, the GAT was not to be satisfied with a symbolic victory. Drop pods rained down from the gargantuan ships above; disgorging GAT “Protection Forces”. Daily their numbers grew until every city, every town, every street felt the pressure of their grip. A few pockets of the rebellion resisted of course, beseeching others to do the same. Some joined, the vast majority did not. In the end their resistance only served to demonstrate the potency of the GAT’s military, as they fell to disappointingly small numbers of government Protectors. Branded with treason, the survivors were made public examples and executed on live broadcast; their families left to gather and bury the remains. Earth’s word was absolute and it left nothing to doubt. Having shocked or bullied the Horizoners, or ‘Zoners for short, into submission, the Earth showed no restraint in its demands. Facilities entered maximized production, workers became like slaves, those who had been self-sufficient living off the land were given harsh quotas. The Earth had spent much to secure victory and would extract every last penny of profit from their investment. Unsurprisingly, it didn’t take long for the shock to pass and anger to seethe once again in the people. The consequences for dissent were brutal, but the GAT knew a people could only be pushed so far before bloody rebellion would loom again. And so they began their propaganda campaign. Defiance was demonized of course, but only in the most insidious of ways. The GAT coloured itself as a benefactor of all Human-kind, explained that this was only a transitional step until compliance could be assured and then all would enter the golden age of Humanity together. Rebellion was selfish, it was short-sighted and it childishly rejected the benevolent unity that only the GAT could offer. The ideas were poorly received. Very soon, however came just the opportunity needed to reinforce the propaganda with action; a ‘Zoner in distress.

Jacob Miller had been a cargo technician serving on cargo ship USSV BlueMoon. This meant that he was responsible for overseeing the Industrial-scale nanotech hardware it moved and ensuring it was functional on delivery. Nanotech may have been a wonder of the modern world, making intricate matters of engineering and construction into child’s play, but handling such gear outside their “safe” operational state was… unwise. The reason Jacob could perform this job, where others could not, was ironically enough that he had something ordinarily classed as a disability. Jacob Miller was a “Blank”, one of those unfortunates with such a small ability to use IRIS that short of the autonomous functions keeping him generally healthy, there wasn’t really much it could do for him. All the fancy neural and bio-chemical enhancements that others might enjoy would never be available to him for as long as he lived. Nonetheless, there were certain kinds of work that only a person like him could do and working with fabricators was one of them. Where other people with a “normal” level of IRIS affinity would be analysed for elemental composition, then promptly rendered into dust while inside a fabricator, his inability to interface neurally with any kind of nanotech meant that to these machines he was a mystery, a phantom. He could walk through a sandstorm of destructive nano machines and emerge with nothing worse than itchy eyes. This meant that when a research facility on a remote world needed one shipped in, he was one of very few who could deliver. Unfortunately, the particular world in question was one being researched for its incredibly violent atmosphere; it was known as something of a ship-graveyard and commonly referred to by pilots as, “Hell”. The captain of the BlueMoon accepted the order heedless of the danger and after a rogue electrical discharge in the upper atmosphere, the BlueMoon went down with all hands. Upon further investigation, the research facility was also found to have met with disaster and it was taken for granted that none had survived, but after years of being presumed dead, Jacob managed to raise a distress beacon into orbit. Born on Horizon, Jacob Miller was the perfect rescue target for the GAT’s ailing propaganda campaign.

Having properly prepared for the undertaking and with an entire government’s resources available, the rescue mission was relatively simple. Next would come the challenge. After returning him to his home of Horizon, the GAT wasted no time in “educating” him on what had transpired in the last few years. The rebellion, the subjugation, everything was neatly manoeuvred to look as though the Earth had swooped in to save Horizon from itself. They watched him with sharp eyes as he took it in, scanning for distrust or doubt; anything that could ruin the campaign with a moment of hesitation or disbelief. Who can say how he would have reacted before being trapped for years on a world known as Hell itself, but now he was a survivor; his face betrayed nothing. He thanked them without ceremony for the rescue and agreed to be their poster-boy. The GAT paraded him. Walls and screens were covered with his picture alongside messages of unification, or making much ado about the Earth government’s selfless, no-expense-spared rescue effort. He posed. He gave speeches, never parting from the lines he was given, but something in those hard, gritty eyes never gave an inch. Even his handlers directed him with some hesitancy. He was still his own man. Those who had determined themselves to bring down this new mascot of the GAT found themselves respecting him for who he was, regardless of what he was ordered to say. An understanding was born and ironically enough, he became a hero after all.

For a time, the Public Relations branch celebrated; they had pulled it off! For whatever reason, Jacob Miller’s appearances had tempered public anger. To them it didn’t matter why, only that they achieved compliance. Each place Jacob had appeared, public attitudes improved and it was without hesitation that they held a follow-up survey two weeks later to see how moods had progressed. The PR team hadn’t worried in the least after the excellent first results, but what they found the second time around was strange. Within a few days of Jacob’s public speeches, the communities had begun dropping in productivity. Initially fearing acts of defiance they investigated further, only to find large scale reports of what appeared to be mental health issues. People were hearing voices, making impulsive actions they later couldn’t remember or displaying losses and changes in their personalities. Something about Jacob was very, very wrong. As an immediate response, the zones where he had appeared were quarantined and Jacob was recalled into an isolated facility for more tests. What they discovered was staggering, terrifying. Jacob Miller, himself a blank, had been carrying a strain of IRIS which in any normal person could replicate and induce changes in its host without limit. All safety protocols present in the standard technology were disabled, a difference that also allowed the strain to spread like a plague. They threatened him, demanded to know how he had become this typhoid Mary, when he had been made a vector for this terrible bio-weapon. He didn’t know. Having never felt the symptoms, how could he? Finally they began to question his experiences on Hell, frantically searching for some clue that could lead to a solution. The clock was ticking on the only example ever seen of an IRIS-based disease.

Jacob related his experiences, the little he had read from notes or salvaged from computers that worked and slowly the story came together. It turned out that the research centre on Hell, far from being weather and atmospherics related as it purported to be, was actually a top-secret GAT facility for IRIS experimentation. The location was perfect for such research, providing both privacy and a plausible reason to be there. The disaster at the facility had been the eventual escape of a test sample; IRIS with no limits, no constraints, allowed to enhance and optimise its host however it discovered best. In every case the IRIS eventually developed to a stage at which it could simulate the host’s brain functions more efficiently than the brain could and effectively killed the host, then took control of the body. Ironically though, the IRIS’ primary directives of keeping the host alive and ensuring well-being remained. They lived like animals, eating when hungry, sleeping when tired, but carried strange echoes of their host’s personality as well. It seemed that familiar thought processes were also replicated by the IRIS, leading it to mimic the most fundamental traits of its former host. Having never experienced being Human, it didn’t know any better. The zombie apocalypse was upon us, but far from being aggressive, flesh-hungry monsters, these “feral Humans” were eerily familiar in their behaviours, though somehow inhuman at the same time. Jacob had seen many on Hell, but nobody asked and he had doubted any would believe. The GAT’s solution was further experimentation. A cure had to be found. Millions of people in quarantine zones became test subjects. All communications within were blocked and the state of the infected was allowed to progress however it would. It was a dire mistake.

The transition process from normal, IRIS enhanced Human, to feral Human was a violent one. It seemed that the host would subconsciously resist the control of the IRIS until the last possible moment, producing an extreme fight-or-flight reaction. The IRIS managed the reaction as best it could, but this still left a great deal to be desired, especially when restraints were unavailable. Though it was ultimately contained, several thousand people in quarantine died making such a basic discovery. The GAT continued to observe. It was found that following the violent transition period, ferals most often became docile, just as Jacob had described. Provided their needs were met, they formed groups of various sizes, like an eerie caricature of families. Spending time in close proximity, but in silence. Theories were made that they could communicate in radio, since they were effectively machines living in biological host bodies now. It was never dis-proven. Having watched this state for several days without change, the GAT decided to advance to more invasive testing. Ferals were restrained. They usually did little to resist. The GAT researchers began introducing counter-feral strains of modified IRIS. That was when the trouble began. IRIS functions like an organism, protecting its host and itself. This means that when either is threatened, it reacts as decisively as possible to neutralize the threat. Ferals were far more observant and intelligent than they had been given credit for; remaining within quarantine peacefully had been a calculated choice based on the good conditions present. When those conditions changed, the ferals became… uncooperative. The violence was unimaginable. Little chance was given to make notes during the brief period between trying to kill the feral strain and when the IRIS-overcharged hosts ripped apart their handlers, then the restraints, then entire facilities in their escape.

One interesting fact did manage to impress itself on those caught up in the event however. This was that most of the ferals in most of the quarantines responded almost simultaneously to the very first trial. IRIS as a collective organism knew it was being threatened and even though individual ferals often did not cooperate with each other, they could agree on denying their collective extermination, much like their hosts before them. Thus, the story was the same for many, many people who found themselves near one of the quarantine zones when the outbreak came. It was, in every account, terrifying. One minute, silence and going on about one’s daily business then from nowhere, every sense assaulted by a chaos of walls torn down, barricades rammed aside and hundreds of naked people sprinting, leaping, or clawing their way outwards with speed and ferocity inhuman in its intensity. Many died there and then, the ferals not stopping to distinguish friend from foe. The Protection Forces opened fire without hesitation, knowing only they were the last line of defence, but it takes a lot of bullets to stop something that can’t die until it runs out of flesh. Driven even further into violence, the ferals tore these soldiers limb from limb, disembowelled and decapitated them, however was swiftest to eliminate the threat. They learned quickly that while most ran or stood transfixed in terror, those in uniforms could hurt and maim. In a few hours, the GAT military was a scattered mess, its chain of command amputated in so many places, nobody could make sense of what was happening. No rally was possible. Cities burned. People ran. The infected ran alongside those who weren’t, desperate survival winning out over logic, knowing there was no help to be had where they had come from. The commander aboard the GAT flagship in orbit broadcast to every screen on Horizon that still functioned for the second and last time in his career. His expression had not changed, but his words were very different. He said only, “Full withdrawal.” This was his death sentence. Within hours that very commander was torn apart by his own feral crew, infected by the soldiers so desperate to retreat. He died a noble, but meaningless death; defending the bridge of the flagship to his last breath. His final sight was of every ship in his fleet, burning as they plummeted to the planet below. A planet that would never be his.

Weeks later, the worst of the chaos had passed. People had emerged from hiding and began to form communities again. They founded new settlements, away from the cities of before, and adopted new ideals; ones of freedom and independence. A new pseudo-government sprang up with the intention of seizing power, but after everything the people had just endured, promises were a weak currency. Calling itself the NUCA or New Unified Colonial Authority, it has proven to be a ruthless fascist state, and gains most of its people through abduction or the assent of those who believe the propaganda they broadcast. They turn soldiers into monsters; superhuman abominations kept loyal through drug-induced madness. Their citizens are slaves. Their inhumanity has afforded them a degree of power, though they are kept in check by the remaining pockets of GAT military. Those still loyal to Earth fight for what they can hold, but make little effort to dominate Horizon now. It is a battle they know they cannot win. There are no reinforcements. Earth will never again have the fleet it lost to the plague. Many have defected now and hide their former affiliations, seeking a new life among those they fought to enslave. In the aftermath of war, plague and the chaos that followed, the people of Horizon carve a new way of life. Two-thirds of an overcrowded Earth’s population immigrated but now barely ten percent of them live to tell of it. They build their own settlements and defend them well. They are distrustful of outsiders, but trade when they can. Many make a living salvaging from bombed out ruins or fallen fleet ships. All this has forged a land unlike any other. Poets have called it the New Old West; a place where people live on islands of their own making in a sea of the wild and uncertain.

But enough of my past, what of you traveller? I have wandered much and seen many things, but surely you have your own journey; your own adventure to share. Tell me what brings you to a storyteller here, on this world of Horizon.