United We Stand

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November 10th, 2038
PM 01:59:57

"As the creeper that girdles the tree trunk, the law runneth forward and back;
For the strength of the pack is the wolf, and the strength of the wolf is the pack."

---

Something that wasn't often discussed in media coverage and short morning briefings is the psychology of warfare.

How hiding your face from your opponent makes you seem more than human, or not human at all. How a uniform can be intimidating for those being chased by it, but also invigorating to the person wearing it. How a signature red command truck can clear a section of rioters because of a reputation.

With a line of horses charging towards you from the farthest end of "no man's land" while another ran the opposite direction...

The psychology of warfare told you that the rioters were starting to panic.

They tripped over each other in their retreat. The ones who weren't taking selfies or recording themselves, others, anything; lashed out with a mob mentality because in their eyes, they were no longer individually responsible for their actions.

In their eyes, they were carrying out a sacred duty; able to do what the police weren't capable of:

Purging the streets of deviancy.

An officer blocked her head with a small arm-mounted shield, glass popping and sprinkling down. The front legs of her horse swayed, its sheer size being enough to keep at least a foot of distance between the line of Calvary and the violent protest.

L.MILLER: "Captain Allen was right...the androids aren't doin' a damn thing except hollerin' out. Didn't even try to resist when the calv started takin' steps at 'em."

L.LASTIMOSA: "We'll worry about them after we get our own kind to get their shit together."

Your knee was bouncing. You flexed your fingers, the shield's heavy handle in one palm – your baton in the other. Both tools were extended and ready to engage, no matter how much you were hoping you wouldn't have to use them in conjunction.

Lastimosa had gone over the Marauders' insertion tactics – centered around intimidation, fear, and projected psychological whiplash. Two trucks with their ends facing each other hid you, ready to pull forward and expose your position.

You were the soldiers in the Trojan Horse, ready to pour in.

You and 9 others weren't just going to be on the front line, you were going to be the front line.

But before Liera fell in rank; before she started giving out orders to proceed...

She turned to the squad, raising a fist in the air and shouting through an amplifier to project her voice over the chants coming from behind the trucks.

"WE HAVE GATHERED HERE TODAY TO LAUNCH A SPEAR-HEADED ASSAULT AT THE EAST AND WEST ENDS OF THIS ACT OF VIOLENCE AGAINST THE CITY AND STATE!"

The frontline bashed their shields with their batons, a gruff "HOO-" leading to the stomping of boots.

A smile curved on your lips, and you didn't feel guilty about it.

Not even when the angry chants of rioters ceased, and their whispers of concern gave way to peeking heads and fearful eyes.

"THEY CAN CALL US TRAITORS TO HUMANITY!"

Liera pointed to the humans' side.

"THEY CAN CALL US UNGREATFUL ENSLAVERS!"

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