Chapter 1 Edit
It was a bright cold day in April, 40kfan dug his face into his chest to try and avoid the cold weather as he pushed through the revolving door of Victory Plaza, eyeing the commonplace poster that was everywhere. It bore a clothed face wearing a distinct cap, a small skull marking it, while a pair of piercing cold eyes stared out, following him as he moved towards the grey, dingy stairwell. In thick Cyrillic styled lettering the phrase was repeated. The phrase was burned into his mind; “OrkMarine is watching you”.
He hurried up the stairs, spying more posters in various states of decay, some stained, others torn. The stairwell was encompassed by glass, allowing the various helicopter and drone patrols to peer through. Of course, that didn’t matter. Ever since the chat mods had implemented the feature to detect certain language in the oldspeak dictionary, it was unsafe to even whisper.
Eventually he came to the top of the unlit staircase, careful not to trip on a torn poster, depicting another slogan. He paused to look at it. A once white poster bore a pair of distinct hands, shaking over the words in thick bold lettering that read; “L-E-N-D-A-N-T-O”. He did not know what it meant, but all he knew that it was everywhere. He turned his head to look through the glass, staring listlessly at the great white building that dominated the landscape. It too repeated the slogan.
40kfan pushed through the door into living cubical eighteen of floor twelve of Victory Mansion. The room was a tiny single end, dominated by a single great screen mounted on the wall that only missed a small alcove in the wall to it’s right, that only a skeleton might find comfort in. He glanced over the screen, the same letters repeated. Lendanto. He could even hear himself whisper it.
He crossed the room over to the “kitchen” not wishing to be transfixed by the screen, or he would be under suspicion for Class-3 Autism, even that was at least 25 years in the East, digging trenches in the freezing cold in the barren wasteland. No one actually knew fully of what the East really was,since no official documentation available. All he knew was that it was East. That it was far far, far away and unpleasant, and that he would lose everything.
He fumbled through the kitchen cupboard, trying to banish the fears, knowing that he could never be removed. He had committed no crime, but he felt the judgemental gaze of every party member he encountered. Obersturmbannführer Imposter had passed him a few times, the glint of his machine gun, the shine of his Lendanto pin. It all sent shivers through his jimmies. He quickly began to sip upon cheap victory liquor in an attempt to calm his nerves, thumbing through a small green book he had acquired from the shopkeep, Cal in the prole areas. He had drawn a silver tipped pen, writing down new ideas. He had to work, as he had taken his lunch break today. If he did not return an ample stream of it, the others might would become suspicious.
But he was interrupted as the screen began to produce noise, and he stood to attention, saluting to no one. His head rotated, his body following slowly, sweat dripping down his pale, scrawny face, staining his blue overalls. He had to watch, he could not, no matter what he choose to do, stop himself. The room was freezing cold, no building bar inner party structures had central heating or insulation, yet the heat was upon him.
The screen lit up with images of marching soldiers and moving tanks, red banners fluttering, the song of the state playing. He could feel himself hum along, the image fading to become a map of the state. It brought a tear to his eye, despite the fact he hated it.
The droning voice displayed the vast territory, showing off the greatness of the Soviet, yellow arrows showing the rapid advances into the Orient. In the far corner of the map, like some terrible monster in the corner of his eye, he saw the words printed on the Screen. The East. Thick black gothic writing, marking out a vast red section of the map, from the Urals to Siberia. A little skull and crossbones icon grinned back at him, while little trails ran across the map towards the crimson landmass and the voice continued to drone on about the victories and the triumphs, and how soon the world would be under their banner.
Then it ended, the screen dimming. It was time for sleep.
Chapter 2 Edit
The Wiki Activity building was a great grey monolith, entrenched in the landscape, among the tangled landscape of broken and twisted metal, past the craters of ONI launched missiles. Or was it Skylar? Or was it Goldstein?
The streets were as always, relatively empty. Flatbed trucks running across rugged streets, brown shirted chat mods and kappos glaring at him as they passed, looking out for any stray deportees. Some even bore banners, bearing images of chief Lendanto members, others bearing images of Lendanto itself.
He, as well as everyone else in the street paused as another column of vehicles rolled by, led in procession by a figure in a distinct uniform. $17, Chief of Police sat atop the cupola of the tank, which rumbled by. He was the one that smiled. None of the others did. He was the only one to do so. The others just looked angry, as if they wished to leap out and strangle him. Once they were gone, he moved on. He approached the Wiki Activity building, more brown shirted guards patrolling around, pushing out stubs and non-canon-friendlies into trucks, and occasionally shooting them on site. A non-canon friendly Space Marine chapter, it must of only been two paragraphs long, was thrown onto the stairs in front of him. He caught its terrified glance, before it was dragged by the ankles, distinct crimson trailing from behind it as it was pulled across the stairs. 40kfan hurried towards the doors, being caught near the deportations was never good.
40kfan’s job was simple. He wrote simple but valid articles that did not stand out but still filled out the ramifications for quality and bolstered the number on the wikia. Articles of low quality were born and killed at such a great rate that it did not matter, as long as he did not cross too many lines, he would be safe from the eye of kappos or otherwise.
He could not tell if his mood brightened or soured as he came into contact with Plague. Aptly named, the American was dressed in the uniform of a Totenkopfverbande, which was rare as Americans had been purged from Lendanto auxiliary ranks en masse. Maybe he had proved too stupidly loyal to escape it.
Plague’s pale face, distinct with it dead eyes smiling back at him. He was an incredibly stupid man, he wrote as if his writings would be actually be read, and if it really mattered. Hi hatred for Matt Ward and his love for the Mechanicus set him out from the Wallflowers to an extent; “Comrade” he opened, dully, his voice stank of cigarettes and cheap liquor; “Excellent article of recent, care for a collab? It would benefit both our departments.”
He nodded. Collabs never lasted long. Not here. Plague could barely string a sentence together, giving 40kfan doubts that he could even cooperate across departments, especially since many now relied on chat for these things, rather than the aptly available talk pages; “Of course, that would be wonderful.” 40kfan could hear the deadness in his own voice. How many failed collabs had he been part of?
“Excellent” exclaimed Plague, the man clapping his hands as he spoke, pointing a fat finger towards 40kfan’s chest; “We’ll discuss it later, on chat.” He nodded in response, always having to contain his hatred for Plague and the kappos. Plague especially, as often showed sympathies to the Party, the kind that even some of the other Kappos raised eyebrows at;
Then Plague stood to attention, his eyes focussed on something behind him. 40kfan turned his head slowly, likewise standing to attention out of instinct as Necrus passed. The Inner Party member moved on without more than a glance, Plague nodding one last time to 40k before moving on, off into a crowd. 40kfan kept his eyes trained on Necrus for a few seconds, the inner party member exchanged a glance with him. Not a hateful one, but a look of almost kinship, as if he was whispering something under his breath. Then he was gone.
40kfan had always been fascinated Imposter, the propaganda minister showed little sympathy for new users. He was reported to have participated in the early establishment of the deportations to the East, the man who kept the trains moving and made sure they were always full. He once had a dream, a long time ago, where Necrus had said they; “would meet in the place where there is no darkness”. He dismissed it as nothing more than trolling.
He continued to his department, trying to shake the gaze he was sure was upon him. 40k was part of the department for Xenos and Space Marine chapters. Most department’s featured Astartes of some description, but 40k had always had a fondness for Xenos. As he walked towards his work cubicle, a female figure appeared. Amy. She was part of the Space Marine Pre-Heresy section, a small sub-department part of his own, rumoured to be on the list for Evacuation. He hated the sight of her, for he knew no matter how much he white knighted, she would never be his. She could use photoshop, and occasionally her articles would draw attention despite the bitter spite some members showed towards her. She was like all feminists, just as Goldstein had once mouthed in his speeches. Cancer. He passed with little more than a wayward glance, not wanting to draw any attention. She might report him.
By the time he reached his desk, the alarm rung for the two minute hate. He could hear the hurry of steps as every member of the department moved towards the theatre. He would miss lunch in order to make up the work he had lost.
Chapter 3 Edit
The room was, much like his single end, dominated by a great screen, looming over the mass of users that had gathered. 40kfan had taken his place, eyes trained on the white screen, the words Lendanto in typical thick black typeface. The national anthem hummed quietly at first, but the volume grew greater and greater as the black words faded into a new image. Waving banners and marching soldiers, imagery of men and women writing articles and cutting wheat, the anthem playing loudly. For a second, 40kfan glanced over the room, watching as the pale faces stared up at the screen listlessly, before returning his attention to it.
Then a voice called out, bearing an almost mechanical ring to it as it spoke; “This is our land. A land of peace and of plenty, a land of harmony and canon friendly. Wikia. These are our editors. The workers, the strivers, the builders...”
The images were vivid now, workers in the fields, writing articles, faster, brighter;
“...struggling, fighting, leading, dying. On the wiki activity and the far flung wikia, fighting the mutilation of our canon. Who are they?”
The crowded room call out. Even 40kfan chanted with them; “Warhammer 40,000 wikia! Warhammer 40,000 wikia! Warhammer 40,000 wikia!”
The voice continued; “They are the shitposters! On the wikia activity and in the chat, courage, youth and bravery are sacrificed to shitposters who’s only honour is autism! But even as we grasp at victory, there is a cancer. An evil too. Growing. Shout it! Shout out his name!”
The crowd shouted it in unison, even 40kfan; “Goldstein! Goldstein!” The image of the traitor appeared. The face of a slightly overweight boy wearing glasses, with the most shit eating look 40kfan had ever seen. He was speaking mindlessly about the wikia, about the corruption, about the salty admins ruining everyone’s ideas, about how you could use five colours on your Space Marine and how it would still look good. It was all absurd, and swiftly it was drowned out by the raging crowd.
40kfan shouted as hard as he could, screaming along with the rest of the crowd. Then out of the corner of his eye he saw him. Necrus, silent for a few seconds, the glint of his glasses, glancing over at him. Swiftly he turned away. Then the woman from before, Amy stood up, screaming at his face, shouting obscenities as loud as she could, before grabbing up a large book and lobbing it at the screen. Almost surprisingly, it hit.
Then the anthem started again, and Goldstein’s image faded as the black lettering of Lendanto reappeared, the crowd falling silent and raising their arms in the gesture of salute. The screen began to show images of the Lendanto inner party members, silently staring back at the crowd. In this moment, 40kfan was euphoric. Not because of any false Goldstein lies, but because of his own enlightenment by Lendanto.
40kfan had returned to his cubicle once the 2 Minute Hate was over, shuffling out along with a mass of wallflowers, trying to remain as inconspicuous as possible. He went through his tedious work, writing several astartes and xenos articles, all basic and of no real note. As always, he had to avoid making use of oldspeak or non-canon friendly elements, which was just as dangerous to announce outright loyalty to Goldstein.
But as he scrawled down more ideas and deposited others into the memory hole (also known as a sandbox, in newspeak). He looked out across the rest of the room, spying Tardir in the cubicle across from him. The strange, secretive and scrawny never looked back, constantly scrawling pointless ideas that had no relation to the wikia. The telescreen buzzed as an image of Tardir appeared on the screen, and the words “deportation” under the image in soviet red. He would have to remove any reference to the man in his articles. He swiftly complied, and by the time he was finished, Tardir was gone from his cubicle. He looked to the clock. Time to return home.
But as he exited the cubicle, he caught sight of an advancing inner party member, who's eyes were set upon him. Necrus. The propaganda minister maintained a capable stride as he moved towards the paralyzed 40kfan; "40kfan, good to see you, I've noticed some newspeak words in your latest articles"
40kfan nodded, trying to maintain good composure and not spill his spaghetti; 'We'll, we're still using the 9th edition of the Lendanto dictionary, we are scheduled to recieve the next edition within a month."
But Necrus summoned a slight smile, his cold and semi-emotionless features, slightly darkened by his fedora; "If you come to my estate, I will provide you with a copy. Here;" Necrus shuffled through his pockets, his hands brushing against his katana before he pulled out a small note and handed it to 40kfan, whom let out a small whimpered "thank you". Necrus tipped his fedora, spun on 360 degress and walked away. 40kfan continued on his way, until someone bumped into him. She fell to the floor, and he realised it was Amy. He paused for a second, realising a wrong word would alert the admins or chatmods to his location, and he would be monitored in his discussion.
Then she scampered to her feet and passed him, a piece of paper fluttering to the floor. It must of been Necrus note, and swiftly 40kfan he swept it up, before scampering away himself. As he looked at it, he realised it was not the note from Necrus. He unfolded it, glancing down to read - in distinct capital lettering - "I THINK WE SHOULD JUST BE FRIENDS".
Chapter 4 Edit
40kfan had destroyed Amy's note as soon as he could. A real grillfrind? He could barely believe it, and worry filled him; what if it was just an admin honey pot? Lendanto had women or grills, or simply possessed agents who could disguise themselves. He'd been reminded of that when he had encountered Plague's children. His wife, Ghost, showed the strain of the young Lendantojugend, Blue and Scoops. While Scoops simply masturbated in the stairwell by using a cake a fleshlight and was destined to be evacuated, Blue was a true believer. She had watched him silently, taking notes on his behaviour, but creating a false appearance of pleasantness.
But he could not pass this up he thought to himself as he entered the canteen. She was a real grill, and she had exchanged communication with him. He would have to make contact, but he had business with Plague first. The kappo waved to him, welcoming him over to his table. He spied over Amy, who did not look back, sitting with no one else. Denying Plague’s invitation would be dangerous, and thus he resigned himself to the discussion.
He sat with Plague, placing his tray of slurry and tripe, which Plague and other morons consumed like animals. He then spied Viva, sitting beside Plague. The kappo smiled at him with his strange warmth, pointing his fork towards 40kfan; "Excellent slurry today, eh 40kfan? Article production is up 20%, rumours are that we'll be getting extra coco rations as a reward!”
“Oh, yes” he nodded, bearing a grin. Plague chuckled; “Doubeplus good, eh?” 40kfan remained silent.
Viva spoke up, his eyes staring into 40kfan as he spoke, even as he addressed Plague. His glare bore a contempt that shot right through 40kfan, as if he knew everything that 40kfan was thinking. As if he knew about Amy and the thought crime, as if he was planning to report it all, which Viva would almost certainly; “It was not a rumour Plague. It was an official announcement”.
Plague simply shrugged his shoulders despite the poison in Viva’s tone, but even then, 40kfan would take Viva’s venom over the sheer, blistering stupidity of Plague. Viva worked in the language department, helping the admins deconstruct language and devise what was thought crime, and create newspeak. He took incredible pride in it;
“So, how is the development of the 11th edition of the Newspeak encyclopaedia, Viva?” The man became animated at the mention of his work; “Excellent. We are beginning to discover the specific nouns that can identify the development of a class 7-alpha Autist, and how the use of certain ungood language can further the evolution. By the 15th edition, we will detect autists by their avatar alone. Once all of this language is gone, the autist will be gone. The taint of Goldstein, will be gone. Once users cannot even make use of the language, autism will be gone. Our need for the East will be gone, our need for even the use of admins and chat mods, will disappear.”
Viva was destined for evacuation. Plague had eyed him the entire time, the American feared intelligence, and Viva was a thought criminal despite his dedication. He was a pure autist, and rumour's of connections to the arch-traitor.
He was walking through the poverty ridden article zones, his typical path home. The articles lived in terrible conditions, bar those living in featured zones, whom lived in luxury. They weren’t incredibly political, bar the brown shirts, whom watched him closely as he walked down the street. They rode in trucks, armed with basic weapons, clubs and rifles, and helped in the deportations. He ignored them however, they wouldn’t touch an outer party member without one on their side.
Then he passed the shop where he had acquired the diary. He paused, glancing to see if any black suited inner party soldiers were near, before swiftly passing through the door. He could simply claim he needed razor blades, which could not be bought any other way.
The shop was owned by an old user named Khalael. The white haired man bore thick black spectacles and a large beard. He waved to 40kfan and spoke in a strange, shrill voice, animated by a strange vigour; “You’re the boy who bought the diary aren’t you?” He hobbled towards 40kfan, smiling intently. 40kfan nodded; “Oh yes, I’m just looking around.”
He spied something among the piles of rubbish, a piece of black fabric, marked by white leaves within a circle. It seemed familiar, and quickly he picked it up, looking over the strange thing, filled with intrigue; “That’s old. From the days of Total. I knew him I did, I certainly did!” The old man hobbled over while 40kfan looked over it. He was sure he had heard that name before; “Oh yes, I knew him. The old despot. One of the capitalists yes, he ruled the wikia before this Lendanto.”
Yes, he was sure he had heard the name before. Certain now; “I can show you" said the old man, directing a finger to the hallway behind the counter.
The old man had acquired a lamp and led him up a set of rickety stairs, guiding him into a medium sized room. It was absolutely covered in similar iconography to what he had seen before, and uniforms as well. Medals and old guns, and a pair of portraits. One bore the face that he could describe as “I fuck on the first date”, the other, a figure eerily similar to Goldstein. 40kfan read the brass titles beneath each picture. The first read “Total”, the other “T42”. Khalael pointed to Total, tapping his finger against the surface; “This one was the one before now, yes he was, the one before now. He ruled the wikia and was King of Autism, and this one” he pointed back to T; “And this one was the crown Prince. He was supposed to lead them in the darkness.”
Now overcome by curiosity, 40fan stepped closer and realised that it WAS Goldstein. He let out a small gasp at his realization of the arch traitor, fingers brushing over the surface of the painting; “But then they came, and now they are gone, and the autist people ain’t got long to go. Them Lendanto folks plan to off the lot of ‘em”
40kfan nodded, not sure what to say; “But that’s certain now. Don’t have much use for this old stuff, but the room is available if you want it, as are the contents.” 40kfan simply nodded his head, transfixed by a strange poster of the man who would fuck on the first date, with thick bold lettering saying; “We can do it.”
The man appeared besides him, 40kfan startled by the cold hand on his shoulder; “So much of this stuff. So much gone to waste, like this” he reached down and plucked something from the floor, a music player of some sort. Upon its grimy surface, the words “plug.DJ” were imprinted; “We would use this to play our tunes and singsongs, open to all for use, by his greatness” Khalael extended his hand to the poster; “But saltiness prevailed.”
40kfan continues to go through the things, dipping his hand into a large box, pulling free an old dusty book. He opened it, displaying yellow pages with blotchy writing, difficult to read, but he could find small icons besides each line. The old man raised his lantern to allow him to read; “Another project ruined by saltiness. We’d rank out articles using this complex system of measurement, letting us define the good and bad.” The man sighed; “But if you want the room…”
He’d bought the room from the old man as quickly as he could. Not much, all he’d had to do was move a bed in there, and remove the old stuff, some of which he had kept. Now he had to simply contact the grill, Amy. Somewhere undetected, but yet public. 40kfan decided upon the canteen in the Wiki Activity building.
He waited several days until she was in the right place, near the centre of the room, away from the telescreens and hidden among the wallflowers. He understood he had only a small amount of time, so he worked quickly. Sitting beside her and speaking in a casual manner; “I got your note”
She nodded, not looking at him; “Good. Meet me at the Hate week rally.”
“I have a place where we can stay” he whispered.
“Too dangerous” she said; “We’ll do so with a plan, but we can’t now. I’ve got to go.”
She stood up, leaving without even glancing back at him.
40kfan walked through the rubble strewn street on his new route home, understanding that taking his old route with the small shop and his new secret place would be far too risky, the brown shirts glances alone too dangerous too risk.
But as he moved down OrkMarine avenue, he glanced into the window of the SuphaBadMarine Cafe, a trio of figures sitting at a table. They wore the uniforms of the inner party, but something was strange. 40kfan walked towards the dusty window, looking into the cafe, he could see them in a bit more detail. It took 40kfan a second to realise that it was the three thought criminals and Goldstein traitors. Run4urLife!, Blade bane and Dark Seer.
The telescreen behind them showed an image of Dark Seer, speaking at the screen with a blank expression, eyes empty of life, slightly glassy; "I admit to aiding the arch traitor, Goldstein, vandalising and trolling the user base on an organised effort, denying that Oberstgruppenfurher Ovaltine Patrol founded the wikia in 2010, and spreading syphilis to numerous wikia members. I ask that you accept my love for our leader"
Then 40kfan looked to Dark Seer himself, setting at the table along with the others. He was crying.
The Inner Party estates were elaborate and extensive, far better than anything the outer party could ever hope for. Large white buildings surrounded by green forage, typically obtuse and simple, fitting into neat rows.
40kfan found himself greeted by a servant, Tom. He led 40kfan through the estate, mostly plane bar bookcases hosting party approved literature, before he was brought into a large office. At the end sat Nec, a large monitor behind him, and a mahogany desk before him. Nec sat oblivious to 40kfan, talking into a microphone in a distinct flurry of newspeak words, while images of outerparty members flashed across the screen.
Then Necrus put down the microphone and looked up at 40kfan, making that typical cold smile. He pushed forward a bottle, it's contents crimson. Tom moved forward and removed the bottles lid, pouring it into a pair of glasses, handing one to 40kfan; "It is called wine" he raised the glass; "To our leader". The image of OrkMarine flashed across the screen.
40kfan likewise raised his glass, before taking a drink. Years of cheap victory gin had ruined his tastes however, even the scent of the wine dull. Finishing his glass, Necrus stood up for a second to turn off the tele-screen, 40kfan gasping; "You can-"
"Yes" Necrus interrupted; "We're allowed that privilege."
Necrus looked down on his desk, glancing back up at 40kfan with that stern look returned to his face; "There are some thoughtcriminals who would suggest that the autism isn't real, but believe me 40kfan, it is very real. Perhaps you are not familiar with how it operates"
"I'm attentive to the news" 40kfan replied;
"Indeed. Perhaps you imagine a huge network of newfags prepared to shitpost relentlessly on chat and spout memes. If Goldstein was to fall into the hands of the chatmods, he could not give the Party a list of his allies. It is not an organisation in the typical sense. It is held together by autism, that in a thousand years they might launch some sort of raid."
He sighed and pushed a black, leather bound book towards 40kfan. Embroidered on it's blue cover in gold lettering was "The taming of the blue", an image of a woman on the front. Necrus's eyes widened; "Wait, wrong book"
He pulled it away and passed 40kfan a new book, titled; "Newspeak Dictionary: 11th edition"
40kfan sat in the alcove by the tele-screen, his hand running across the surface of the leather bound book, eyes scanning it intently while the ambient sounds of the Hate Week speech played;
"...they have attacked an unarmed wikia, trolling over 4000 defenceless editors of Wikipedia. This is no longer flamming. This is cold blooded trolling. Until now, the war has been conducted honour, bravery, with the ideals of truth and justice and the ideals of mankind. Brothers and sisters, the endless catalog of vestigial baiting which will inevitably ensue from this appaling act. The forces of darkness, and the treasonable autists that collaborated with them will be wiped from the face of the earth. We, the people of Lendanto, and our traditional allies, the people of the Canon wikia will not rest until the final victory has been achieved. Death to the eternal enemy of Lendanto. Death! Death!"
But as man ranted and raved, 40kfan could feel the first page of the book begin to split. He continued to slid his fingers across it, peeing the page away and revealing plain black text that read;
"The Theory and Practice of Lendanto: By T. Goldstein."
Chapter 1: Maymays are Strength
The splitting up of the admin factions could be and was foreseen before the 21st century, with the two factions forming out of what had existed as the anti-total front, the Ghost_K meme and the Fanon Lodge, who would create the salty Lendanto. The pro-admin state was formed from what had been the original admins and several new states. Dark Seer, BaneBlade and Solomous, who would later move sides to Lendanto after stealing valuable resources.
The formation of such factions began a war I believed to be eternal, but was not. Lendanto's main goals are power, and wishes for nothing but ultimate power over all others. Lendanto has always existed in some fashion or form, as have those propped against them, but those propped against Lendanto originally held the position of it, before being switched in a coup that few had properly predicted. Ultimately, the principles of Lendanto are no real different than that of those who had been removed and liquidated, but its way of going about it is different.
The original admins (Whom can be referred to as the Total Bloc) oppressed the lesser editors of the wikia and ensured that they could not arise unless decided upon. Three classes were formed. The bureaucrat, whom possess ultimate power, the admins and chat mods, whom form a "middle-class" which supports the bureaucrat’s but also holds the ability to influence the lowest class, the editors. The bureaucrat is far too distant from the editors to be influential, and will almost always be seen as an oppressor if he makes any sort of move deemed negative (a ban, a deletion, an argument, a trivial abuse of power). The corruption of admins and chat mods is seen as commonplace, but even a basic action of negative nature can see a revolution.
This is how the current bureaucrat’s and Admins were installed. The corruption of the former bureaucrat - trivial and incompetent - grew to such a great state where the pyramid of the state tumbled and reformed, pre-designated positions taken up by admins and bureaucrats decided beforehand. The current bureaucrat is relativity liked, has made no such negative decisions, and has entrusted position to the admins. Thus, the original issues of the old bureaucrat is lost.
The current Admins, Lendanto, have successfully set up a firm dictatorship that overshadows the previous regime in every way. Having set up an over complex ruleset which cannot be changed through the avenue offered. The rulers are held together by adherence to their common doctrine, which is seen as a joke by the users, whom believe they are part of it.
40kfan shuffled through the crowd of users, looking for Amy. His eyes occasionally darted back to the inner party speaker, Imposter, who stood at a podium, ranting and raving about the new fag menace and the danger of Goldstein. The semi-emotionless visage of the cyberbully was projected by three screens, flanked by Lendanto banners held aloft by a selection of chat mods. Eventually he pushed his way through to Amy, standing besides her and making sure he did not look directly at her as he spoke; "Can you hear me?"
"Do you have a plan?"
"We meet at your hideout in two days time, if it is safe."
"It's in the proletarian zones. If we both have permits"
"Here" 40k whispered; "The address" he slipped it into Amy's hand. The two swiftly moved away from each other, not even exchanging a goodbye.
40kfan paused for a second, watching as the figure of Imposter raised his fist up into the air and shook it wildly, an image of Goldstein in flames, his eyes burning brightly as his skin melted away in the flames, the crowd roaring in approval.
40kfan picked at the book again, moving to the next chapter, the old weathered tome practically falling to bits. He turned the page to read;
Chapter 2: Chat, the greatest invention ever known
The implementation of chat was at the height of the wikia's greatness. At this point in time, the rise of the Old Admins was complete and their protegee was decided upon, his name Totalimmortal. Total had been democratically elected by Dark Seer and was greatly respected by the wikia, dealing with the great threats of /tg/, the rampaging barbarian horde, thegreatbeing, who's articles and threats of unleashing a devastating cyber attack that would've destroyed the entire internet and Fox2013, whom threatened to overwhelm the wikia. Total's greatest choice was to implement chat, removing the need for anarchic systems such as talk pages and user talk pages. All communication could be made through this new system, without the issues of the old. Direct communication was now established between a mostly divided community. He was praised.
However, agents of what would become Lendanto (originally the Anti-Total Front) had already been moving against him from this moment. Chat was decreed as faulty - when it was not - and open rebellion was made by Lendanto Oberstgruppenfurher Lither, whom by now is an unperson or operating under a different title. Needless to say, the other agent, who's name wa-
40kfan winced. The name had been marked out by black ink. He shrugged his shoulders and continued reading;
...did not believe in open rebellion, as did Lither, and began the infiltration of the Total state, subverting and damaging his democratically elected regime through dirty tricks and backstabbing methods. He was also successfully able to recruit other members to his cause, convincing them of Total's folly.
By 2013 Total was directly opposed by numerous groups, leading to crackdowns in and out of chat. The banishment of members for seemingly trivial crimes did not go unnoticed, but in a fit of paranoia and desperation, Total was able to remove those whom he considered to be the greatest threat in a great sweep. The Purges did not last long, stopped by the intervention of...
Another inked out name. Strange;
Whom joined those who opposed Total. They established a base of operations and began to parody actions of the late Total, furthering the degradation of Total's ability to rule. By 2014, Total controlled a rump state, and removed himself from power, showing his love for democracy, claiming he did everything for his people.
40kfan prepared to turn the next page, but then he looked at the time. He needed to see Amy.
Chapter 9 Edit
40kfan walked down the proletarian street, somewhat accustomed to the shanty town nature of the proles quarters, noticing a distinct lack of party auxiliaries, much to his pleasure. He'd picked a good day to meet Amy, as long as no one saw them together, nothing would be thought of it.
He stepped up onto the pavement and walked towards Mr. Khalael's store, the old man nodding to him as he passed, 40kfan walking up the stairs towards the room, the spare room with the bed. With a bit of excitement, he pushed open the door, glancing Amy sitting on the bed, before he was knocked off his feet with a blow to the head.
40kfan stumbled back, caught by the scruff of the neck by a black-uniformed chat mod who swiftly pulled him back into the room, his heels kicking. 40kfan scrambled until a baton blow to the stomach silenced him, leaving him to hang in the grip of the oppressive chat mod. Caught before he could even score, the white knight whimpered.
His hazy vision drifted over to the prone Amy, now realising a gun was held to her head by a partially obscured chat mod. How did they know? Did they see, what where they going to do to Mr. Khalael.
Then footsteps echoed up the stairs, familiar in weight and sound. He glanced over to the door as Mr. Khalael stepped out, and 40kfan whispered it; "The thought police."
The disguised Inner Party member looked over him with that cold smile, gesturing to the other black suited chat mod to remove Amy, the man grabbing her by the shoulder and removing her from the room without a word, before looking back to 40kfan; "We get everyone eventually. Even the most hidden autists can't escape us, 40kfan."
The room was covered in white tiles, a single steel door facing him, a telescreen on the right wall, a bucket acting as his toilet laid against the right. He sat silently, arms at his sides, legs straight, head bowed, waiting for his fate. Time was lost to him at this point. He was starving and ached all over, waiting for his fate to come.
Eventually the steel door slid open, and a ragged figure was thrown in. Shoe-less, 40kfan eventually realised the feeble figure was Plague, he even still clutched to his cap. The totenkopfverbande staggered to the nearest bench and collapsed onto it, 40kfan spoke with a quivering voice; "Plague?"
He looked to 40k with red rimmed eyes, almost laughing at the sight with a pained wheeze; "You know 40kfan thought crime can be so insidious, it just creeps up on you. My daughter reported me..." he sniffled; "...They won't ban me will they 40kfan? I'd be quite useful in a work camp!" he broke into a sob.
40fan and Plague did not speak at all during their time together, staying quiet in fear of the voice of the telescreen barking a command to stop. Eventually, the screen commanded them to stand, Plague having to hold onto the rim of his trousers as he did so. The door was then pushed open, a black suited guard stepping in, looking towards Plague and saying only one thing; "Room 101."
Plague let out a whimper; "You don't have to do that! I've told you everything, there's nothing I won't confess! Nothing! I've told you everything already! What is it you want me to know?!" Then he pointed to 40kfan; "Take him! He's the thought criminal!" Then he broke into a small whimper, sinking his shoulder and shambling forwards, resigned to his fate.
The door slammed shut after Plague, leaving 40kfan alone in the cell once again, until the door was pushed open. A pair of black suited guards passed into the room, followed by the stern figure of Nec. 40kfan was taken aback; "They got you too?"
"They got me a long time ago."
Chapter 10 Edit
40kfan was strapped to a table, Necrus circling him with a gaze filled with malice, watching him closely, occasionally moving to readjust his fedora;
"Do you know where you are, 40k?"
"The Ministry of Love, I can only guess" his voice trembled, sweat ran down his forehead;
"Do you know how long you've been here?"
"No. Weeks? Months?"
His voice continued to tremble, feeble in tone. Nec always retained his stern voice;
"Do you know why you are here, 40kfan?"
He did not answer, he simply lay there in silence;
"Shall I tell you why we've brought you here? To cure you. To make you sane."
A jolt of electricity brought 40kfan back to some sense of consciousness, the figure of Lither standing in the corner turning a dial to activate the machine;
"You are mentally deranged. You suffer from acute Autism. You have never tried to cure yourself of it. For example, if I was choosing a colour scheme for my Space Marine articles, what are the maximum number of main colours I would use in the painter?"
"Three?" He whimpered, Nec allowing himself a slight smile;
"Good. Is any other acceptable?"
Another scream let his mouth as the pain ran through him;
"See, acute autism. The only choice is three. Any other is unacceptable."
He pulled something from his pocket, a pair of images, 40kfan looking closer to see they were Tardir's articles;
"Another delusion. Belief that non-existent users were present on this wikia."
Nec tossed the images into a furnace, a puff of smoke exiting it's grilled mouth;
"They did not exist."
"They exist in memory!" 40kfan protested, trying to pull some strength into his voice, but quickly another jolt ran through his form, sending him into a spasm of agony, accompanied by a withering scream;
"The pain cannot teach alone. All it takes is your will, 40kfan. You haven't tried to cure yourself, which you could've, instead of convincing yourself it did not exist. For example, what power is the Wikia at war with?"
"The ONI wikia"
"Correct, but tell what you think"
His voice grew colder as he waited for the answer; "Tell me 40kfan, or the pain begins."
"A week before I was arrested, we were at war with the Canon-Wikia, not ONI"
The pain shot through his body;
"Another example of acute mental delusion. The human mind makes mistakes, it is alone and feeble, but the party mind makes no such failure. We are strong in our friendship, tried by fire, but you...you are weak alone. Now tell me, how many colours are acceptable "
Nec looked to Lither; "Again"
The surge of pain ran thought 40kfan again, leaving him squirming in pure agony;
"That will not work. Now tell me, how many colours is acceptable;"
He held up an image of the Storm Draugr, an article of Goldstein;
"I don't know!" 40kfan called out, whimpering and crying; "I don't know!"
Then that cold smile of victory crossed Nec's face again; "Better."
"We do not ban the autist 40kfan, we break him, make him one of our own, then we remove him and ensure he is forgotten. Once you have confessed here, you will be gone, never to return."
He gestured to Lither, whom placed something onto 40kfan's head, a small shock going through him, before his thoughts became hazy. Then he spoke, his tone returned to it's stern state;
"Now tell me, which state is the wikia at war with?"
40k's mind went blank, he could barely find the words to express his opinion; "I-I don't know"
"The Wikia is at war with ONIpedia."
That was it. The wikia was at war with ONI;
"Y-yes, now I remember."
Nec had sit down by 40kfan's side, crossing his arms; "Our session is coming to an end, and you have questions, so ask me them 40kfan."
The weary man looked to Necrus, who was far more relaxed than usual. Mustering what little courage he had, 40kfan spoke;
"The filthy gajin could not resist, my glorious nippon steel folded over a thousand times ensured that she betrayed you."
"Is OrkMarine real?"
"But like me?"
Necrus shook his head; "You are not real, you have never been real. You are an illusion."
"I am a man."
"If you are a man, then you are the last man. Your kind are extinct, and we the inheritors. You are flawed and wasting away, where as in our world, there will be nothing but victory."
"But the prol-"
"Are nothing but mindless animals. They cannot rebel without a driving force. We are that force, and we drive them to our chosen rebellions."
"But Goldstein's book!"
There was an ever so slightly smug expression on Necrus's face as he replied;
"I wrote it, or at least part of it. As you know, no book is written by a single person."
40kfan was filled with despair;
"But I must believe it!"
Necrus simply shook his head.
The pair of soldiers held him up by his arms, dragging his feet across the floor as they lead him down the hall. At the end a door marked "101" sat, 40kfan's eyes widening, panic filling him as the door was pushed open.
Necrus stood there, arms by his sides, a black expression was painted on his face, watching 40kfan closely as he was led to a chair and strapped down to it;
"You asked me once what was in Room 101. It is the worst thing in the world. It's quite simple."
Necrus pulled a leaver, and the wall facing 40kfan split along the middle, sliding apart to reveal the figure of Imposter101;
"No user has rustled newfags and autists so much, but you especially feel nothing but fear and contempt. He will leap onto your jimmmies, sometimes he goes for your articles, sometimes he goes for you yourself."
Then he realised that Imposter101 was strapped to the table, a mask over his face. He was shaking and making muffled screams, his eyes wide with anger;
"W-what do you want me to do? How can I do it if I do not know!?"
40kfan panicked, unable to break loose, able to see that Imposter101 was becoming more furious, an almost perverted glare in his eyes
"You will do what is required of you."
Imposter was getting lose, 40kfan whimpered in fear, before spying a figure in the darkness. Amy;
"We should just be friends."
He screamed at the top of his lungs, desperate for release; "DO IT TO AMY! TEAR HER FACE OFF AND DO IT TO HER, JUST DON'T DO IT TO ME! DO IT TO AMY! DO IT TO AMY!"
"I accuse myself of the following crimes. I have seduced party members of both sexes, been to the newfag areas, used the incorrect templates, used copyrighted images, used more than three colours in a Space Marine colour scheme, contacted autists and directly spoken with Goldstein. I ask you to accept my forgiveness, and my love for our leader. All I wish is to be banned while my mind is still clean."
40kfan sat in the Suphabadmarine cafe, drinking dull victory gin and eyeing the telescreen with glassy eyes, only glancing at the door as Amy entered, occasionally knocking pieces off the chess board. She moved towards him and pulled out a chair, speaking in a horse tone;
He looked up at her; "Thank you for coming" before he looked back to the telescreen;
"The news is unquiet and extreme. The whole of chat is threatened by an autist invasion..." his voice quietened; "There must be a way to outflank them..."
Then she interrupted; "I betrayed you."
"I betrayed you."
"Sometimes" Amy said feebly; "...they threaten you with something you cannot resist."
He nodded, she stood up; "I must go."
40kfan looked on, whispering; "We must meet again." He was sure she replied with an equally weak; "Yes"
Then she was gone, 40kfan glaring back at the telescreen, the face of OrkMarine staring back. Then suddenly a burst of music came from the screen, a trumpet blared; "Victory in Chat! A vast flanking maneuver has seen the autist advance utterly routed! This great victory means that the war is within measurable distance of it's end..."
Tears ran down 40kfan's face.