N E W _ L I N C O L N

The following samples were written by the mods to showcase the writing style, typical lengths and themes you can expect in the server. They also offer a glimpse into the atmosphere and aesthetics of the New Lincoln universe.

B O U L E V A R D

WIN IT ALL

flashback / long post / introduction

“Aaaand we’re back! Thank you all for tuning in! As promised, we have Liam Clarke on with us this morning to discuss his latest movie, Rising Peril. Released just this past weekend, Rising Peril is already topping charts with, honestly, what I have to call some of the best acting and cinematography I’ve seen in -”“Since my last film, right?” Liam interrupted, flashing a wide grin full of teeth at the host - and at the camera.“Absolutely. Two in a row, hitting it out of the ballpark, Liam. Rising Peril is projected to beat the total earnings of your last film and the fans are already begging for a sequel. Do you think something like that might be on the menu?” Susan leaned forward in her matching overstuffed faux-leather chair, tight dress accentuating every curve and platinum-blonde hair catching the studio lights.“I wouldn’t say never, Susan - and by the way, thanks for having me here. I love your show. Now, not to make any promises - the guys behind the cameras don’t like it when I spoil surprises to the public - but let me just say this: Rising Peril is the start of an amazing story about the Water Wars. We’ve seen the build-up, and the movie just barely covers the surface of everything we could cover. There are so many amazing stories we could tell surrounding that event. The hardest part, honestly, is just narrowing down our choices. But that? Oh, I think it’s doable.” Liam had leaned forward a little, as if he was sharing some special secret with the host. When he was done, he leaned back, slung one arm over the back of the chair, and gave the camera a wink.“I for one would be thrilled to see where your character’s story goes in a sequel. Now, for our audiences at home, let’s roll that trailer. We’ll be back after our next commercial break with more - including a discussion about your new partnership with Versace.” Susan announced, folding her hands in her lap while Liam finger-gunned at the camera.“And - cut. Trailer rolling and then we’re at commercial. Makeup!” A voice from somewhere in the dark recesses off-stage beyond the camera drones called, among the clamor of the stage crew. Susan remained statue-still as a makeup artist rushed up to adjust her lipstick and face-powder.“Christ, get me fucking wardrobe after this is over, I need to have a word with those blind bastards.” Liam muttered, brushing off the woman who came to fret over his hair before she could over-fret it.“I’m supposed to be discussing a business partnership with Versace, and someone put me in fucking Hackett London? Not even in the same fucking country. You cavemen could at least look like you’re trying not to be addled in the head. And these colors - what the fuck are these colors? No, don’t stare at me like a slack-jawed yokel, go fetch wardrobe.” Liam batted away the hair stylist, leaving her to scamper off with a squeak as he turned towards Susan.“Are you fucking wearing pastel blue?” He nearly spat, narrowing his eyes at the woman.“It’s a trending color-” Susan’s icy tone was quickly interrupted.“Trending if you’re a fucking middle-aged, middle-ring woman watching the morning news segment. Granted I know they’re your biggest fans because you fit in so well among them-” Liam dismissively gestured at her. Susan’s jaw dropped, which her makeup artist quickly pushed shut before it could interfere with her work.“But Christ fucking almighty. Look alive for evening time slots. I dread looking at the replay, it's going to seem like I’m sitting next to a stiff corpse. Ugh.” He reached over to the drink sitting on the table between them and peered into it suspiciously, gave it a sniff, then made a face.“Honestly, Susan.” He sighed, voice dripping with judgment as he sat the drink back down with a clunk.“If you wanted better drinks, you could always take me up on that dinner offer I extended a few weeks back. The offer still stands.” Susan lifted her chin, doing her best impression of confidence as she leaned forward a little, still trying to salvage this conversation.Liam tilted his head to the side and stared at her, eyes doing a quick up-down of her body before winding up on her face again. “Susan, I would rather spend a night alone jerking off to my own movies than spend an evening sitting across from you. Every time I hear your voice, I vomit a little. I can feel it right here, you know.” He tapped lightly at his neck.“The whole ’cougar’ act does not look good on you. Now please, try not to be a desperate slut for another ten minutes, so we can finish this segment, ok?” Liam gave her a condescending smile, similar to the kind he’d give a child he just told ‘no’ to.“And three…. Two….” A voice called out from off stage. Liam readjusted himself in his seat, smoothed his suitcoat, and prepped a smile for the camera. Susan looked flustered and shellshocked but was getting it under control.“And… one!” A snap, and the video drones whirred to life again.“And we’re back! I’m here with Liam Clarke. So, Liam, tell us about your new partnership with Versace.” Susan offered Liam a cheery, bright smile for the camera - not a single ounce of emotion about what had just happened breaking through.“We have some great things planned, Susan, you’ll love it. Let’s start with the new men’s line…”

P R O J E C T S

SECURE AND NEUTRALIZE

semi-interaction / shorter posts / action


MARTINA
Afternoon rain hissed against hot asphalt, turning the street a reflective artery of orange glow.
She saw a plume of sickly violet smoke twisting skywards between tall buildings. Containment fog.She hated it. If they had to gas a neighborhood to suppress the Variants’ abilities, it meant the situation got out of hand.“Smoke’s up,” she spoke over comms to her team at the back of the dropship. She didn't have to. They already knew what she knew. Saw what she saw and vice versa. She had to be careful not to let the ripples of her apprehension reflect on the team’s morale. It happened a couple of times and that was not a good look on a freshly appointed Pretorian team leader.
BRAD
"More fun for us, boss.” His voice boomed over the drone of the carrier’s engine, the woosh of which rattled the concrete alley walls as they barreled through the air towards the containment site. Ava, who treated speed limits like suggestions, took a corner so sharp even Brad had to brace. The exo-frame along his right arm sighed as it adjusted, riding parallel to his limb like a black metal shadow.They cleared a corner and the stalled truck came into sight, heavily obscured by the purple billows. He put on his helmet and grabbed his rifle. Wait - ignoring his teammates' mental comments, he slammed his exo-gloved palm at the go-handle and watched the assault ramp gape. The rush of air punched against his visor and breast plate as he hung himself semi-out from the side, cutting an imposing figure against the setting sun.The vessel slowed down for landing and he simply took a step off the ramp, dropping into the smoke at speed. The exo-frame compensated instantly, joints groaning, actuators locking with a muted chk-chk as absorbers system bled off the impact.His helmet’s HUD tuned to the conditions, adding a layer of infrared over his vision as he swept the area, rifle shouldered. He waited for his teammates to join while he scanned for the first target. Damn, he loved his job.

AFTER HOURS

starter / semi-long post / exposition

The old holo-board was warm under his fingers as he slid digitized images around the large, flat, clear surface. A little taller than Joe and taking up the width of the small office, the device was the dominant object in the room here at the precinct besides his cluttered desk. Broken blinds were half-closed over the one window in his office which looked down to the street below. Now that the sun had set, the street was illuminated by the neon flicker of lights and signs. One of the signs outside was flickering unsteadily.Music was streaming from a device sitting on his desk next to his keyboard, volume down low. Classics station, the ones that kids rolled their eyes at these days. Joe barely heard it though - he was in the zone. Breakfast, lunch, and dinner’s worth of take-out containers were stuffed into his trash can. Two dirty coffee mugs, a few cans of energy drink, and a tall plastic cup that had been yesterday’s smoothie sat cluttered on one side of his desk. They’d be cleaned up eventually. Someday. Just not today.Digitized images danced in front of him while his brain spun, theories and possibilities whirling around as he searched for connections. Clues. Hints. Anything, anything at all he could possibly hang his hat on. Video recordings played nonstop on loop. Suspect profiles were connected with lines suggesting possible and proven connections alike, each one connected to the NLPD database for real-time updates. Crime scene photos were arranged in an array that likely only made sense to him but looked random to anyone else. A ticker-tape of victims slowly scrolled by at the top of the board - the ultimate reminder of why, three years later, Joe was still at it.Three years was a long time in New Lincoln. The news cycle had moved on several times over. The remains were recovered from the Oasis, human and mechanical alike. The bodies were all buried. Lab results were run and back three times over. The beach was cleaned and the water filtered. Unless someone had been personally affected by the Oasis Yacht Fire, they had long ago moved on and forgotten about it. Joe hadn’t, though.“Jesus Joe, again?” The tired voice from his office door broke his concentration. Joe winced at the interruption, glancing sideways as he dropped his arm to his side. The older detective, Mickey, stood leaned against the doorway with arms crossed.“What do you mean? Coffee machine shit the bed?” He arched an eyebrow and frowned, shuffling back to his desk in search of his own mug of coffee now that he remembered that glorious wake-up-bean-juice existed.

F A V E L A

THE PRICE WE PAY

flashback / long post / setting introduction

The all-black shuttle would have blended in perfectly with the moonless night sky had the Brotherhood not been lucky enough to see it from the rooftop.The people scattered like ants.“Muhafız?” ”Praetorian?” The Brother quickly typing in coordinates and heading data into a data pad asked, not taking his eyes off the screens as he crouched low in the corner.“Evet, Muhafız.” ”Yes, Praetorian.” Kaveh confirmed, eyes on the shuttle as it descended, observing through the binoculars, adjusting dials and wheels on the side to enhance the view as best he could. The night vision capabilities on the device were present, but older tech. Several product generations out of date, at best. The image was blurry but it was better than being blind to the darkness.The favela was silent. Silence meant danger. Yildiz was not the only neighborhood holding its breath; their neighbors were too. Their neighbors were the target, not his people, but Kaveh still worried. Now that the Praetorians had landed, they could be anywhere within seconds if they wanted to. Without reason or cause, merely whim.The cruelty and suffering was the point.“Çıkarma.” ”Extraction.” Kaveh said quietly as he inhaled, holding his breath as he watched the shuttle descend far enough that the buildings blocked his view. The Praetorians had to be there for the purpose of kidnapping someone, otherwise they might not even have landed. They could have sent gunship drones to deal with the problem from a safe distance.“Kahrolası katiller!” ”Fucking murderers!” One of his Brothers to his side hissed under his breath, prosthetic creaking as he balled his metal hand into a fist, his other flesh-and-blood hand running a thumb along the grip of the weapon at his hip. No doubt the man was having thoughts of revenge and of blood. Without looking away from the sky, Kaveh reached out and put a hand on the man’s shoulder. One simple squeeze, and he quieted down.Shared pain was understood, even without words.Heartbeats passed. There were no distant gunshots, no shouting, no sounds of buildings collapsing. Not even the chirp of an insect or the bark of a mutt. The shuttle rose above the rooftops once more, back into Kaveh’s sight.“Zaman?” ”Time?” Kaveh asked, barely raising his voice so the others in the room could hear him. The voice of another answered him quickly.“Otuz saniye. Muhtemelen sadece bir tane aldılar.” ”Thirty seconds. They probably only took one.” It followed the pattern they had observed. Granted it was a small sample size - no, thankfully it was a small sample size - but data was data. The Brotherhood was not stupid. Vicious, yes, but not stupid. They observed. They tracked. They evaluated. So far, all observations pointed to the Praetorians being able to kidnap one person in thirty seconds if there was no violence or struggle.Fifteen if there was resistance, because a dead body could be dragged at the speed at which a Praetorian could sprint rather than a live person walking at normal speed.“Offer your prayers for whoever that was. If they’re lucky, they’ll be dead before sunrise.” Kaveh commented among a quiet chorus of the safeties of multiple guns being slid back on. The room was still dark, barely lit only by the glow of a few electronic devices now starting to bob this way and that as people started to slink away from their hiding places.“Go home to your families. Thank Allah it was not us tonight, but hug your loved ones as if it will be us tomorrow, hm?” Kaveh patted the shoulder of the man next to him as he rolled to the side away from the window before standing. Never abruptly stand up in front of a window, he always said.It was bad luck. It invited gunshots.

DAYBREAK

exchange / shorter posts / exposition



WARRENFirst light was already glaring through the thin drapes across the imperfection-frosted glass as Warren dressed, only half awake. No shower this morning - not enough water - but at least he could brush his teeth. Pulling on a t-shirt, he ran a hand through his messy hair as he navigated down the narrow stairs.“Fi, babe? You up?” Warren’s stomach growled as he wandered into the small room that served as kitchen, dining, and general living space for the four of them.


FI
Fioralynn pushed past the makeshift door. There was no point in keeping an actual door in the summer when it didn't bother to keep any cold air trapped in. Dark braid was already tight against the back of her skull, dripped in the dust and sand of Favela. Her black tank top was practically stained white, a jacket draped around her waist to give anyone the illusion that she was just coming off of a shift at the landfill...to anyone that was watching.She slipped out of heavy work boots, banging them together so that she was sure they would awaken the dozen other families that shared living spaces within their complex. She was out of breath, sweat dripping down her forehead before the sun had even lifted its face over the Favela fill, cracking the sky, but it was not an ounce of work that had her heavily panting and leaning against the refurbished stove."Up...Up and...here....Are they awake?" Last she had checked, their two children had been huddled together hours ago against one another on the same mattress against the floor, unaware what was happening.


WARREN
“Nah, in bed, I let ‘em sleep in so I could have a few minutes of peace.” Warren pulled his belt off the back of one of the kitchen chairs, threading it through his belt loops. When he noticed Fi was out of breath, he looked up, eyeballing her with concern as he buckled his belt.“What’s wrong?”


FI
"They were here. Not here but..." Fioralynn gestured wildly to the west, waving. "Sky bastards. Last night. Not ours though." Fioralynn huffed, running a hand through her hair and looking towards the rising sun leaking over a pair of mismatched bay window curtains. "Not ours. They fingerfucked their way over to Skanvik's. I've been up counting. Everyone....accounted for....I double checked."


WARREN
The news hit him like a brick to the face. Praetorians, disappearing people again. “Fuck.” Warren breathed out, dropping himself into the kitchen chair as he stared at his wife. He was glad the kids were still asleep; they didn’t need to hear this.“Skanvik’s, that’s still too damn close. You shouldn’t have gone out - what if they were still on the ground?” His brow knitted with worry. “That was reckless, Fi.”


FI
The ebony haired woman pushed her lips forwards, her eyebrows following in a face of displeasure at her husband sitting across from her. "Reckless? You want to talk about reckless now? Not when we first started housing the unwanted? Not when we first started giving the unloved a place to be free? You want to talk about reckless now, Warren?"She twisted back to the stove, finding the burner that never seemed to work right. She gave it a twist, listening to the sound of hissing gas and the clicking of a lighter that would not ignite the flame. She twisted back to him as she stuck her finger into the flame and glared at him, twisting her finger towards the bottom of the gas line that extended through the stove. She kept her eyes on him as she felt it, the warmth between her fingers reaching the ignition. She snapped at her fingers, triggering the point as a flame tipped up behind her, illuminating her as she glared at her husband. She twisted the temperature down, the annoying clicking twisting back and the flame turning down to a low temperature but not before leaving Fioralynn with singed fingertips, blackened as she held them up."Talk to me about reckless when it is one of our children the next time."


WARREN
“Don’t say that!” Warren hissed quietly as he scrambled out of his chair, reaching for the hand that was just pointing at him. Not to smack it away, but to hold on to it and check her fingers. Tugging her hand into his, he turned it over palm side up to inspect her burns.“Stop doing that. Please? And use the other burner. I promise I’ll fix that one as soon as I find something to fix it with.” Still holding onto her with one hand, he reached up and opened one of the overhead cupboards, rummaging for the little jar of aloe. A premium product, but one they had to keep on hand for her burns.“Patience.” He pleaded, pressing the jar into her hands. “Want me to make breakfast?”


FI
Fi didn't wince. She was used to it at this point, although the first degree burns were beginning to blister faster and faster at this point, they still festered and would be a massive detriment to her later when it came to scavenging."It is like you are asking me not to breathe, as if the dust stuck in my lungs is not enough." She cupped the jar with the underside of her good hand, using the palm of her burnt hand to twist at the lid, thankful that the last time they hadn't tightened it so ridiculously tight. How Warren had bartered for it when they barely were making ends meet. It was expired, beyond it's years of effectiveness but as soon as she plopped her fingertips inside of the jar, she closed her eyes."Fine. No meat though. The bodies are already rotting."