Apocalypse Inc. Intro

I am not so grandiose to think of my family in dynasties. Or, in some kind of power, or status. The placement of my family and the rest of the world means I insert them equally into all manners of belonging, one of which I can appreciate as elitist, wealthy owners, traders, workers, peasants...who are of a family, but dealing with the greater status.
I like to avoid thinking about wealth and more about consumption habits. I like to think about action. One of my early passions was weapons design. I can toss off advanced weaponry with a gesture. A lot of different kinds as well..
I guess should get my crime crew post apocalypse robot.

The best weapons, not necessarily from a absolute point of destruction...which is after all is a smaller idea within a larger idea of that part of destruction that is Nature.
No Nature has the best ideas!
These are just the coolest.

But anyway, not deadly weapons but like weapons are from Survival Research Laboratories...and those conceptually fun, written charming robot weapons, from Mona Lisa Overdrive.
I think Gibson had already invented a few new vicious weapons...the brain fry elicited by Virtual Reality Obsessions, or, duplication of the person...in some other abstract space such as an Avatar, or some Symbolic projection akin to the religiosity of the middle ages.
Indeed, I am one. This crowd also frequents and composes the Ren-Fairs, the comics-convention...there is a feel of a convert. Well, I was converted.
However I mapped that conversion.
It wasn't the first time to be converted. That happened in some unconscious, inchoate hell of infancy
No, not that conversion...to English in my case, but the religious conversion which involves Symbolism of some kind...which is a unspoken shared context with someone else.
Like the Jews invented that!|

They called it Heterogeneous thinking back in Promo times...that is a good term for Post modernism, instead of Pomo.
No, Heterogeneous meaning capable of making connections where machines cannot.
Lots of us have big RAM minds, but perhaps deficient in other areas. Humblingly deficient.

Needless to say. the best machines for killing are in Sci fi, but I was speaking of particular symbols or images, of Gibson which creates a kind of cult, in that he describes a real world.
Heterogenous enough to disappear over the horizon of a lot of readers due to Gibson being more among sci fi readers...who are populated by a particular kind of mind which is the Man of the Computer Industry.

This Man, will turn into a breakdown into tools of International Trade Organizations. All this fear of the international corporatocracy is substantiated in Gibson, but I was getting the sense of it by reading News Magazines in the 70's and 80's. And, I read Gibson in 91?

Apart from that there is more to substantial Gibson, but I was just trying to get to the giant killer robots...which shockingly the Wiki article on Gibson makes no mention of.
I cannot remember if they go berserk...I know they go into battle and are beat by.....I cannot remember. Quickly by a viral cyberspace attack?

Its a juvenile male thing to project some magic power into a sword or gun or really cool robot...but there is actually no Apocalypse in Gibson. Its a kind of symbolism of "in the future", but not really...of people who keep getting richer as technology advances, and the Earth is over populated, and mostly poor.
The more you describe it the more real it sounds.

But the weapon design I applied to robots. I have a swarm of diverse robots who form a teamwork squad to harvest human brains...including using harpoons, spearing robots, and a gin where bodies are thrown, but skull are merely cracked, and shuttled into storage while the rest of the body is discarded.

The most nightmarish is the Blader robot, who is 30 meters tall, with a bendy middle, on which there are two whips with saw blades used to break into the bunkers, or slice peoples heads off. This towering robot has massive blasting out ward air jets or chutes where, jetted down, to open vents at the base, there issues clouds of dust, mini whirlwinds that shatter homes and create a rotating cloud around, sometimes full of dust and fire from shattered office...winds strong enough to blow over brick towers.

But then it also sucks in the air from its neck. A top is a head, and the lenses, placed on its topmost part, implies a brain seeing and willing is carnage... a brain ala the Star Trek episode Gamsters of Triskelion.

People, up into the air, are then caught in the air circulation and are drawn into the vents. So, there are a storage of heads in the Blader's main form, while it meanwhile spews out blood bone, wood and other debris.
After the Bladers have done their programming gathering humans from buildings or building remnants, they move to the aforementioned Head Gin, and through an anus like hole in the side of the Blader, nears the bottom, they excrete human heads, all but the last layer of skin burned away by acid, one by one.

Thats blasphemous, but no more blasphemous than Bosch.

https://www.pinterest.com/odilonross/apocalypse-cyborgs/

That kind of hell.
There is an underground unaware of the Cyborg brain archiving squads converging on the surface, over their heads.

Imagine a cut throat political organization that encourages free speech among clones but then murders with impunity.
The Doctor King rules over a world of increasingly immortal being, even as death and suicide cults and love pacts or surreal murder sprees are far too rampant, yet, the State...which lives in pretty much a Mall-Hotel, happily keeps going...
as they live on and on.
Everywhere, built into the walls and floors of the mall, the apartments, built into the walling, and flooring...are superHG realism TV's.
Psychiatrists have sections where brains are examined in extremely weird and mentally cruel trials.


The old surface of the Earth, its anarchy, war, jump rockets like taxi, self driving all terrain vehicles, vast scorching deserts, wreckage, ruin. Water shortages...and of course, cities of atavistic humans...book readers holding out in libraries with private robots security...the four generations down of the line of today's 1%er's.

Who did not move into the massive city bunkers, or, prepare early on to have a resource of clones...in which to make brain transfers. These nomads lived for that many generations before, but now, the Cyborg Archivers are harvesting the last of humanity.

Cyborgs have also ruined the plan of living a few more generations in more or less rural anonymity, albeit, scattered in Clone or Cryogenic bases whose small crews are otherwise dwarfed by the massive polar cities, or the millions or so more sized Bunker Cities, like the Underground of Chicago.

Messengers maintained this boundary but, they were hunted by Cyborgia and disappeared, arousing a suspicion too late.
From inside many of the largest groups on the surface, the cities of up to twenty thousand, surviving by limited farming and mostly dwindling supplies...sometimes possessing such things as a mine, wherein, they have some foundries. Some tech survived from even Industrial times.
Out from these surged early cyborgs, who within ten years had overtaken foundries and factories and created the frightful Archiving robots. Those that moved across the land, killing every human possible.
Even the swarm of those ten of thousands that inhabit the ruins of New York, by the standard group, whose robots possess some adaptive intelligence.
But it is merely practical...how to keep moving.

This forms a constant migration of people, using old vehicles or sometimes having the programmic talent to convert a self driving taxi here, a half damaged battle bot there....but they are slowly herded out of the mountains and valleys, into the plains, where, from the Rockies come only two hundred thousand remaining humanoids, while from the Appalachia, there is another five hundred thousand.

Humanity was just getting over its quadruple apocalypse of Nukes, Asteroids, disease and radical global warming.

Near Chicago, which is a ruin inhabited by people yet in the Cyborg army path until this very day, when,

Some break off into rock groups, which are groups that travel in the rocket taxis with a limitation, strictly enforced by weight switches, to transport up to sixty people without goods. Sometimes, there is no message after they arrive at another rocket port. As if some others were waiting to plunder.

Rocket ports were sometimes bastions, but there are serious robot guards from the old state, which prove all to effective, especially if using really advanced weaponry like tractor beams or particle beams. Not so many around the molding library.

Anyway, into this

Inky sends a confirmation to the nearest Bunker City, underneath Chicago, in which there is inhabits several clone series, one being Inky's own, who are of varying ages, and also the oldest. Needless to say, many are in power, and Inky steps into the Rule with access to the original computer, as he possesses the password that had been lost for four clone generations.

So, Inky, knowing a few secrets of this Underground city of quite apocalyptic behavior, secretes himself into an elevator to barg into a meeting with King Inky the 2nd.

So, Inky charges up an old cell phone, then steps out of the elevator into this opening scene:

>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>

Now, this is inserted into the story of Apocalypse Inc. wherein, the story convulutes around three plays...one with struggle over the throne, the other with clones, and the third between two invading armies, who have a prisoner exchange.

But, it leaves off with the invasion, the script of Underground Chicago invading back up to defeat the Cyborgia, and while that story is told, its finality is needed to be added, this scene:

>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>

Inky's bride is cyborg, who he concedes to as a treaty between Upper Chicago, the surface now controlled by Cyborgs, and lower Chicago, now inhabited by the New Humans.

However, the very last scene is later, after the night's wedding nuptials, this Inky Cyborg bride removing small canisters from inside itself wherein wriggle embryos of partially evolving, mini, non- human or approximately human babies...each case some variation in the genetic editing wherein, only a head here, only legs and waist and genitalia, others a torso with stubs for arms...headless, armless, legless torso's, mutant heads with gills, some little wriggling worms whose bloated head nevertheless has large staring eyes which whip about.

Or even little cat headed humans or pig headed humans...each of these in a greenish glowing fluid in canisters which Olivia...the Cyborg Bride, is deriving.
Each is about the size of empty role of toilet paper, so there is a brief wonder at how really is she able to store all these increasing hysterical human partial Cyborg-ready growth accelerated embryos.
In fact, they are changing shape even as she inserts them into some water filled fish tank where they sink slowly and settle on the bottom like fish eggs, Meanwhile, the fish tank has an old pirate treasure chest, bubbling...and no fish.
These drop in, bottom weighted, and land floating upright...so each one that falls in falls between the other, slowly floating, clinking to foreground and background.



On the surface of the streets and empty burned frames of most of the buildings, there roams Police robots untethered from any command. They roam around like maniacs killing all creatures.
Many have fallen down stairs, or been run over, or pushed off a precipice, or caught in self ignited explosions, yet still function, firing from under fallen bricks at anything moves.

People flit around these lumbering robots..who can climb, but are easily led to pre cut beams at altitudes proving destruction despite their heavy weapon design. The Police bots that remain adapted, or were too large, or, are avoided for being too deadly.
The Atavists humans occupy and run a twenty four seven missile battery, wherein, from underground factories there operates missile manufacturing plants. That is, factories running on auto.
So, the humans have this system, and inside the lower area, under blankets of kevlar and carbon plating draped over the side of their glass and steel tower, in the sunlight and in carpeted, air conditioned comfort...a band of humans numbering 2,000.

They occupy the subway, and tunnels dug even further, that reach down (just two levels deep, mostly dirt tunnels...the size of Washington DC subways...) to the top of the older bunker city.

The top level of that city is sealed off due to the outbreak of a disease...and has been empty for decades...and truly, nothing lives there for fear of the disease. Bodies, dead from disease and no other violence, rot away in hordes over the mall-streets.

However, even on the anarchic and hazardous surface, many people scatter out into offices and basements, and big houses...about the downtown...for the multitude of malfunctioning maniacal police robots do not stay in any one area but keep moving, like hunters.
In some places the occasion of Robot and Human is not merely the occasion of running away from alarms and sensors, but some one's own personal robots have cleared some streets, wherein, there exists markets.

From other bulwarks do these markets sometimes receive, and therein, the few outlying rocket ports have been operating...also nearby the even more distant outlying bunkers of smaller scale, mostly old freezing facilities...wherein, just as the Human Race was being destroyed by the cascade Asteroids and Nuclear war in the late 21st century, there was invented reasonable means of freezing, and then thawing out human beings, in order to sleep out in safety a obvious world gone horribly wrong.

Chicago area housing many of these facilities...those from inside the city having been mostly wrecked over the three generations from whence the facilities filled with freezed, and, sadly, mostly used as meat until some establishment plunder routes were established.

Up from the south there comes this Army of Cyborgia, and Inky is at the fore of the wave, the prophet bringing doom on his heels, leading whatever people and resources, including his own clones, all that salvage otherwise a secret only among the people who are cloned.
A secret only five "original" clones possess, and none as old as Inky, for Inky is a brain transferring Immortalist.

https://jouermondiale.wordpress.com/2015/10/04/apocalypse-inc-tv-series-episode-one/