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It started as a rebellion.
No one knows where it will end.
Is this too far ahead?
Then let’s head to the beginning.
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[NARRATION MODE]
War cries and smoke fill the air. Decaying bodies litter the mines. Someone goes for a soldier, only to be shot down. An overturned storage crate is the current hiding place of a few people with their mining drills and buzzsaws. Its surface has been riddled all over with bullet holes. Sooner or later, these miners have to push forward and make their ambush. The sky remains its characteristic golden color, while the skyline is a golden, silver and bronze amalgam of buildings.
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This is the current norm in the reality of the Coin City Collective, a city of metallic humanoids with coins for faces, hence the name. A city dominated by a corrupt government, and a world dominated by value. Coin citizen mechanics were so simple that it would’ve been too good to be true; your face value determines your actual value in society. The 20s comprised the central governing body of the city and the 10s and 15s had normal lives and careers.
Oh, the 1s and 5s, you say?
That’s the “too good to be true” part.
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A 1 runs out of the cover of the storage crate, activating their buzzsaw and lunging for one of the soldiers. A quick skirmish breaks out, the soldier 20s firing at the lone miner. A few bullet holes, and they’re dead. They flop to the floor, a sickening thud accompanying the death. The other miners shrink further behind the storage crate.
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This, my friend, is reality in a society of hierarchical value.
A reality of suffering, pain, abuse, and more suffering. These four words make up 90% of the people within the mines, slaving away every day to mine or die. All while the government is the cause.
…
It wasn’t like this back then, you know.
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A coin pops out of the ground, looking around in curiosity. They are joined by three more, all looking around their new surroundings. The horizon is littered with large segments of metal reaching out of the ground. Aside from that, though, it’s mostly empty.
“What are we doing here?” the first coin pipes up.
“No idea,” a second coin responds.
“I think we’re supposed to make a civilization,” a third one explains.
“What is that word?” the first coin asks.
“I dunno. Probably means we have to build and survive and thrive with each other,” the third one responds.
“We haven’t even invented machinery yet,” the fourth notes. “We have no way to use the metal.”
A loud thud resounds nearby. A large, large piece of metal has fallen nearby the conversing coins.
Silence fills the air for a split second.
“Hey, look! Metal!” the second coin points out. The coins make a break for it and gather up the metal.
—————
It’s been 1 week since the first coins popped up. Everything is going well. A small town has popped up with a population of approximately 100.
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A charter for the new government was created. It states that all governmental leaders have the duty of providing equal leadership to everybody. The founder coins sign by etching off some of their surface metal, melting it and using it as ink. This is similar to a blood pact of sorts.
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The founding 4 die for unknown reasons. Coincidentally, the government begins its shift from equality to value-based hierarchy.
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In an effort to expand itself, the Governmental Powers, basically a board of directors/advisers for the Supreme Commander, convene to talk about the potential for mining more Coinmetal. They don’t know what to do because they don’t know who’s going to the mines.
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The population is steadily increasing, like the egos of the Governmental Powers. They deduce that it’s the fault of the 1 and 5 coins that the population is increasing, and so they send them to the mines to control the population and get more Coinmetal to expand. This starts the age of slavery of the lower class.
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You see, the creators were very well-intentioned. They even had a charter and everything. But everything fell off after their deaths. The charter for equal and fair leadership began to gather dust in a random place within the government, and all its leaders are now corrupt.
It’s only now that their choices begin to unleash its long-term causes.
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A day passes. A new batch of 1s and 5s get hauled into the mining center, just as the soldiers are finishing up their little… mess from yesterday. A soldier rushes by one of the trucks, dragging a bag full of the remains of the old batch. Nobody thinks anything much about it, but someone quietly notes how the other miner groups are getting less cooperative.
No one knows why.
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Another day passes. The same soldiers work overtime, trying to dispose of more bodies before the new batch comes in. One soldier remarks, “I need a rest. These revolts are getting more frequent.” The others nod in agreement, and everyone lets out a sigh of general weariness. The new recruits arrive, a stream of constant dialogue flowing out of the truck. In fact, the people flowing out of that truck were too eager to get out.
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Another day passes. The quarry is… uhhhhh… littered with more dead bodies. This time, no one is there. The place was declared a closed-off branch forever.
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Suddenly, as if through a prophecy, the mines begin to close down, one by one. All for the same reason: violence. Dead bodies found at every single entrance. Guns and drills and buzzsaws and armor plates and mining caps littered everywhere. And that’s not including the dead bodies.
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“This is getting concerning. Fast,” a Governmental Power says. Every Power had met up on the 100th floor of the Governmental Palace to address a pressing issue.
“I agree,” another Power says. “The strikes are getting more and more frequent.” They fidget nervously and look out the window.
“20-EGP, if you don’t mind me saying, but you’re worrying too much.”
20-EGP, the Eastern Governmental Power, hyperventilates for a fraction of a second. “What do you mean, I’m worrying too much?!? Without the quarry systems, our expansion efforts are dead in the water! I bet you, oh-so-great Southeastern Power, don’t care because you already have sooooooo much!”
“Don’t attack me, Eastern. We’re doing perfectly fine!” 20-SEGP reassures.
“Eastern’s right, Southeastern. Our Coinmetal sources are zilch.” The coin who spoke, 20-WGP, adjusts their glasses and wipes some sweat off their forehead. “Southwestern and Northwestern are struggling to follow up on their expansion plans, and Central Square now has no constant source of samples for the ongoing endeavors to research Coinmetal’s properties.”
Southeastern straightens up. “Who gives a fuck?”
Western slams their fist on the round table. “You will soon if nothing’s done about it.”
“Everyone, please stop fighting,” someone says, while opening the doors of the meeting room. Everyone gets up from their chairs and kneels down.
“You may rise.” Everyone rises. They take a seat, sitting between Northeastern and Northern.
“And what do you have to say about it, Central?” 20-NGP asks.
“Yes, what do I have to say about this pressing problem, Northern? First off, address me by name when we’re in political meetings. I’ve gone over that for who knows how long already.
“Yes, 20-NC.”
“And second off, we’re certainly not doing nothing. We’re going to have to set an example to get them in line. We have to show them that we are all-powerful.”
Everyone muttered in agreement. This was a good plan.
————
A few days later, the quarries open back up, and business runs as usual. Soldiers guard the openings, and more soldiers watch over every miner. If one tries to voluntarily rebel against their work, one shot and they’re dead. Then everyone else would get back to work. For a time, everything went back to normal. No one spoke about the incident.
And that, my friends, is where it ends.
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…
One week passes by.
…
Two weeks pass by.
…
Three weeks pass by.
…
Four weeks pass by.
…
Everyone has forgotten-
Bang!
“GET OUTTA HERE!”
“DIE! YOU CAN’T RESTRAIN US!”
“THE REVOLUTION BEGINS!”
“QUICKLY, HIJACK THE TRUCK!”
Vrooooooom!
“Come on, we’re speaking to the assholes.”
“You sure that’s-“
Bang, bang, bang!
“GET DOWN! MACHINE GUN!”
“HELP! I’M DOWNED!”
“KEEP PUSHING!”
Kaboom!
“TAKE COVER!”
“SHIT!”
“I GOT SOME SORTA GRENADE THING!”
“USE IT, THEN!”
“QUICK, BEFORE THE SMOKE CLEARS!”
“SHIT- THEY’VE GOT TWO MACHINE GUNS!”
“RUN! FALL BACK! DECLARE WAR ON THEM!”
“HEY, IDIOT! WE’RE CALLING WAR ON YOU!”
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And suddenly, we’re in the First War. Miners begin to fight against soldiers, and we’re seeing explosions from all sectors. The buildings burn with a bright red inferno, smoke polluting the bright golden sky. Sirens and cries of various meanings fill the air, along with the sounds of war. Machine guns, heavy artillery, explosions, transport.
There’s one area where the war hasn’t completely, but partially affected the world, though. And that place is Central Square, the commercial unit of the Collective. Many people are hard at work, doing their usual tasks, but some were reassigned to different tasks. People in technology were moved to warfare, for instance. Chemists were moved to chemical weaponry. And so on. One particular movement was the efforts of the Coinmetal scientists. They were all reassigned to study the potential of the metal in war. Among them is one very determined scientist, who just wants to do their job well as the head scientist of the effort. And that coin, my friends…
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“-and among these uses, the use of Coinmetal as an explosive seems most plausible. Previous theories have confirmed technology in the metal, and if we run electricity through them-“
“10, press conference is in 5-“
“SHUSH- I’M TRYING TO LOCK IN!”
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-is 10-CF, Head of Project Ares, an effort to study Coinmetal’s applications in warfare.