[center][B][U]Chapter 1: Memories of Tomorrow[/U][/B][/center]

The air had taken a chill. Fall came to the Northwest Commonwealth with a month long rain and an unseasonably sharp bite. From southern Beaverton to northern Vancouver, bodies and spirits were frigid. Bodies due to the weather of course, spirits, for another reason. While the rest of the United States marched to a clearly patriotic tune, this community moved to another beat. Socialism won hearts and minds here. Anchorage stood as a fearful example to those thousands of miles away, but not [I]that[/I] far, the Northwest Commonwealth felt a different experience. They witnessed increased surveillance and paranoia. Long-time creatives who sought freedom in Portland felt the ever watchful gaze of the government.Thinkers who thought 'too red' suffered too. Some simply vanished. When the soldiers began marching in the streets, they weren't surprised. 

After nine months some called the soldiers armed for combat [I]the occupation[/I]. Disease and famine spread throughout the country, but the Northwest had escaped the brunt. Famine came, but disease less so. Once those who took ill were quarantined the people were left hungry, questioning the steel-plated men in their streets. They could saw the food shortage. Saw Anchorage reclaimed and China laid to siege. They saw disease held back. However, none of these things explained the soldiers on their doorsteps. Life is changing, so what will you do? 

[B]20 October 2077[/B]
[B]Portland, Oregon[/B]
[B]Morning, Light Rain[/B]

"What did you say?"

Tiny reflections spotted the glass as if eyes fixed solely on him. For every inch an eye rolled it multiplied until the audience was beyond count. He stood awhile with a phone to his ear, but the voice seemed more distant than before. There was only a rhythmic thumping that penetrated his chest as it came and went. The phone felt slick. A familiar feeling twisted his stomach and put the hairs on his neck at end. He felt exposed. 

"I said we're gathering. Feds are in the streets going door-to-door, man. Why wait for'em to kick mine down when I can bring the fight to'em?" the voice paused. He heard what sounded like puckering, then a deep, throaty cough. "We got guns too, man! Hand cannons and shit. You ain't talkin'. You comin' or not, man?"

Perry blinked. In that brief moment the world restarted. Things came back into focus. He watched as raindrops slipped down the glass walls of the phone booth to the muffled pitter-patter of a drizzle outside. Through his shoes he felt the subtle vibrations of a nearing train, in his chest faintly metallic chugging. The small reflections shifted as he turned, fixing the phone firmly against his ear and clearing his throat. He pulled what the voice had said back into mind, but stumbled on the thought. 

"Yeah, of course. I'm coming," Perry replied, each pause a bit too long. "Just didn't expect to hear about guns. I might know some of these guys from before, see? Didn't think it'd turn out like this."

"N' I didn't expect some tank-motherfucker to start callin' every protester n' black man commie. Shit's different, get it? Might be hard, but it's dog-eat-dog n' shit's changing. Change with it or get bit, man... Pioneer Square. Dusk."

Perry hung up before the voice could turn to a buzz. As soon as he opened the phone booth two men stepped forward. One practically lunged for the door, his arm already projected out, but the other paid him no mind. They bounced off one another, barely grazing Perry as he slipped by and continued to the street. Weaving between indefinitely parked petro run cars, he glanced about for the still running fusion rigs and dashed. After a few steps a blur in the corner of his eye caught his attention. Just across the street at the phone booth there now was a loosely formed crowd. He heard the tell-tale jeering of a fight and in his mind's eye saw the men from before. A part of him yearned to linger, to watch the bit of sport and jeer too, but then came the horn. 

On both sides of the road people dropped to a knee. Some went so far as to duck-and-cover, their asses up to the sky as if some sacrifice to appease the great nuclear fire. Perry nearly laughed, if only he could after seeing the soldiers appear. Figures clad in glistening steel approached the crowd from further up the street. He felt his knees weaken and leaned in beside the window of a small store-front. The door swung open, he smelled dark roast, but for the life of him, he could not tear his eyes from the metal men. When he felt jerked to the side he flailed, yet fell into the store all the same. A salt-and-pepper bearded man crouched low with a finger to his lips. The man pushed up his thick lensed spectacles and turned to the window. Several others huddled low near the window, their heads peaking just over the sill. Perry gawked absently a moment. His thoughts returned to the photo booth and rain speckling the glass -- the eyes, watching. 

When the metallic clap sounded they all shuddered. Perry's neck twisted as he stood a little higher over the sill as if chasing the sound. Across the street the crowded mass shook and cried out. A steel encased soldier cut through the crowd with his pistol still aimed at the sky. An alien crackle of a voice kept the fearful mass low to the ground, but between the rain and panicked breathing around him the words were lost. Four stood around the booth. The soldiers circled around the two men and the prize for which they fought. Perry heard the crackling peak like a cough or, perhaps a laugh. One of the men opened his arms and spat. Just like that the soldiers lunged forward, one whipping the man with their pistol, the other kicking out their knees. Without hesitation the second man dove inside the phone booth. His fist slammed against something just above the phone before a yellow light flashed inside and out. A piercing, shrill warning siren bellowed from the booth and echoed throughout the streets. Perry and those within the shop covered their ears, fighting their training to fall back into the nearest bunker. One of the soldiers placed their pistol against the back of the kneeling man's head; the other approached the phone booth. Thick metal walls detracted from atop the booth as was standard should the emergency procedure be activated. Despite the distance, Perry made out the cocky grin on man's face standing inside his glass box as it coated itself in its "nuclear proof" shell. Yet, the soldier did not respond. They stood without movement until the shell lowered to chest level, at which point, they twitched. Perry heard three muffled pops before the booth's glass shattered, splattered with blood, and was hidden shortly after by the blasting shield. At once the kneeling man's head jerked forward and burst. 

Perry crouched low behind the sill and turned to those behind him. "Is there a back door?" he whispered, his voice raspy and strained. "We need to go."