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Fed up? Delete Planet Earth . . .
Wish you weren't here? Restart Evolution
. . .
Feeling ostracised? Search for Intelligent Life . . .
Outline:
The Armageddon Clause
It's
the end of the world as we know it . . .
The
Armageddon Clause is the twisting tale of political disasters,
social chaos, environmental insanity, and a convenient dismissal
of the meaning of life, all interspersed with sinister overtones
of conspiracies, plots, and the occasional bout of extreme
boredom, all overlaid with a thick coat of cynical humour.
This
compelling and entertaining world of sprawling cities that
extend beyond every horizon, long since colonised by discarded
burger wrappers and cigarette ends, is filled with the endless
chatter of communication where nothing is said. Concrete conurbations
that are the scarred battlefields of consumerism, where old
beer and soft-drink cans march in metal armies of billions,
and the air is filled with the graceful flight of old newspapers,
circulars, leaflets, flyers, and other inspirational literature.
A tangled landscape of grey buildings huddling beneath black
skies, standing defiantly against the dive-bombers of acid
rain and pollution. Cities that spin upon a planet where no
one is responsible for anything, and all that is wrong is
the fault of someone else.
From
their humble origins as mere monkeys to the fully evolved
modern talking monkey, the human race is examined, poked,
prodded, interrogated, ridiculed, and finally placed on trial.
The defence case should be quite interesting. The rest of
the Universe are all quite looking forward to it.
The
Armageddon Clause follows the footprints of this strange species
through the mess of a disintegrating city over a single day,
narrated and lived through the eyes and experiences of a diverse
set of characters and situations. Together with mothers and
their children on the school run, insurance salesmen desperately
trying to keep appointments, plumbers and traffic wardens
arguing over kerb space, gangsters and police playing hide
and seek, the homeless and the property developers who eye
each warily, through to the Prime Minister, the Cabinet, and
the tentacles of government, we go on Tube journeys that never
end, down bus lanes to nowhere, cross roads that never move,
listen to conspiracies at the highest level, help plot the
greatest global fraud every attempted, and scramble around
for meaning, or at the very least, something a little less
confusing.
The
tale opens on a cold, wet Monday morning in late October,
in a London of tomorrow morning, an instantly recognisable
Britain that has only had subtle changes: compulsory ID cards,
extreme traffic controls, Urban Terrorism laws that watch
everyone discreetly and detain indefinitely without charge,
a beautiful sky of black clouds and never-ending rain, and
conversations of eternal sarcasm. It is London but it could
be anywhere. It's your road.
Depending
on your point of view - or the height from which you look
down upon it - a society that can at times be disturbing,
go through brief periods of happiness and optimism, on the
odd occasion appear even logical, and is forever wet. It is
how we live; it's not a fantasy. It is a city that would be
far more familiar and believable to us than some strange old
footage of World War II London could ever be if they
didn't tell us it was true.
Everyone
is linked at some point: through family, work, politics, business,
insanity, or, just by unfortunate coincidence, we are linked
through our DNA to the same species and each other.
The
city is about to grind to a halt. Nothing is ever going to
work the same again as the thin façade of infrastructure,
from the government to the corner shop, finally crumbles and
reveals the truth: nothing has ever worked anyway.
The
Third World is about to get a great deal larger.
And it's not even Tuesday yet.
The
Armageddon Clause continued . . . the full synopsis
Outline:
The Forbidden History
.
. . but it still keeps turning
And
so we meet our new land, the seat of our civilisation, and
the inheritance we bequeath to our children and descendants.
This bitter and bleak land, once part of the modern world,
is now lost to any pretence at culture and is governed by
superstition, half-truth, and Rumour
- the official voice of the ruling regime, and lone authorised
tabloid newspaper.
This
is the bewildering story of the search for the Forbidden History,
and itself forms part of the evidence of the existence of
an alternative history to the official version. It is said,
by those who should know better and second-hand booksellers,
that it contains the instructions needed to find the Forbidden
History. Most sensible people dismiss this, the State has
banned it, and the Authorised Religions hold purifying parties
where they righteously burn copies of it. That leaves only
you left to explain everything to. Just remember that the
OSS
might be listening or watching.
Documents
such as these are banned in our nation, The Universal State,
the homeland that encompasses all from the flat plains of
ancient fields and the rotted lands of the south, rumoured
to have once been the seat of civilisation and wealth in antiquity
but now desolate except for one vast sprawling and overcrowded
city, blanketed by razor wire and armed militia. The crumbling
metropolis is surrounded by the Outlands, a bleak vista of
dead foliage, howling winds and isolated outposts of hamlets
and villages. To the frozen north, officially, there is nothing
but eternal winter and poisoned air.
The
Universal State is governed by the Party of Purityranny, the
single permitted political organisation and the embodiment
of austerity and total control. The purges are going well.
Soon there won't be a single terrorist, heretic or traitor
left. Only humour and a resolute refusal to face reality keeps
the smell of death and the echoing of screams from sending
everyone mad. That, and the endless committees overseeing
all the other committees that manage the subcommittees, who
supervise the Local Collectives, who in turn organise the
Neighbourhood Shop scheme where most of the dissidents names
come from, are still duplicating the warrant requests. In
triplicate.
The
fact that the Citizens New Model Militia - who should be keeping
the purges on schedule - are in dispute via their Citizen
Shop Steward with the Political Committee of the Office of
State Security (OSS), also helps a few more bewildered Citizens
survive a little longer. Until the paperwork comes through
anyway.
At
the head of the state, beyond reach of the Citizens, is the
Supreme Minister, appointed by the Party and whose power is
absolute. The Party is everything. It is your friend, your
confessor, your priest, and your teacher. It licenses you.
It authorises you. It supports you. It punishes you. Its all
for your own safety, convenience, and protection.
The
Party is watching. The Party is listening. The Party knows
all.
Take
me to: The
Forbidden History
So
what could happen in one day?
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| Today's
damage so far . . . |
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Coming
to a car boot sale
near you!
Closely
followed by:
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