there goes the night watchman

[ShaVeK HaChaver 814]

International Criminal Tribune for the Universal Union
North America Trial Proceedings Volume 10
Testimony of John Mearsheimer

NINETY NINTH DAY
Wednesday, 12 May 2024

Morning Session​

......[The Defendant Mearsheimer resumed the stand.]

......MR. ADLER: Witness, you were the Censor for the Chicago Civil Authority and the Plenipotentiary of the Chancellor for the ideological objectives of the Global Corporate Council and its affiliated organizations, are you of the opinion that what you did as Censor for the Chicago Civil Authority in carrying out your duties and interpreting legislation and the Global Constitution in favor of the systematic so-called political conscription of anti-citizens may be considered an official stance of the Universal Congress and its affiliated organizations?

......MEARSHEIMER: If I might answer this long series of questions one-by-one I would like to say the following: My office, as far as political conscription was concerned, worked with the Overwatch Security Council. We were, of course, in constant contact with them. Of course, this is why, for all these years, I have not entered into conflict with the Security Council.

As far as political conscription is concerned, the objective regarding this problem was made clear in the 5th Convention of the Universal Congress. That is the official ruling that guided my office and the Chicago Civil Authority. Anything which I interpreted, or ruled on, were just that -- interpretations, made without bias or regard for anything but what was legally stipulated.

......MR. ADLER: Witness, per the 5th Convention, anti-citizens were to be regarded as outside-of and opposed-to humanity as represented by the Universal State. It was the stated goal of the Universal Congress and its affiliated organizations that all anti-citizens be combatted. Was your fight against anti-citizenry limited to the courts? Did you envisage that anti-citizens might be imprisoned, or did you have a notion that stronger measures were being taken, such as extermination, transhumanization, et cetera? What was your goal?

...
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[avralwobniar]

I served in chicago, its actually the civil authority of chicago

 

[ShaVeK HaChaver 814]

 

[ShaVeK HaChaver 814]

Mearsheimer, a 'political scientist' and CMB collaborator, represents another case of the fall of the Pre-Occupation liberal intelligentsia into global antihuman imperio-fascism. The 'R. Wendell Harrison Distinguished Service Professor in the Political Science Department of the University of Chicago' found politicking in AmeriKKKan academia easily transferable to a comfortable position as a high-level bureaucrat in the Chicago Civil Authority. Not only did Mearsheimer subsist as antihuman bottomfeeder, he thrived, eventually sitting on the board responsible for the administration of the Overwatch Security Counil—the Combine's own Gestapo. With this new position, Mearsheimer greased the cogs of a regime of mass political repression, sterilization, and fascism. The Imperial Mandate of the Combine Empire on SOL III could not have had a foothold for as long as it did if it were not for Mearsheimer's ilk. Furthermore, in the Post-Occupation, as the de facto head of the Emergency Administrative Authority of City 24, he condoned genocide in the form of stalkerization. Eventually, his crimes would catch up with him, and the libero-fascist would be tried and executed for his misdeeds.
Caballero, Valentín, The Petite Bourgeois Greet the CMB (Foreign Languages Press, 2092).​

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[Trains]

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Mearsheimer, a 'political scientist'​

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realest thing i've ever read

 

[ShaVeK HaChaver 814]

Across the city, waves of green, vortal energy bring brief life to dysfunctional lamps, lights, and forcefields, before they once again waver, plunging the city into darkness – save for the screens scattered like the debris beneath them all across Geneva.

It’s Mearsheimer. A face scorched by the clumsiness of the Transhuman Arm, a head bruised by the brutality of Lambda’s contractees, the hatred in his bloodshot eyes sting equally to all forces. His face reads, ‘You are all traitors to me. Feel my fury.’

A visible implant dug into his ribcage whirrs, he wheezes with every breath, an old bull ready for one last tango with a multiplicity of cocky matadors.

Seething in wordless anger, his throat flexes, vulgarities and damnations just waiting to erupt. His mouth opens, tearing at the bandage that keeps his jaw in order. A shaky hand comes up to stabilize it. Toxicities roll off his tongue.

"Thickheaded, traitorous, incompetents."

"You, the Ground Forces, are– are unredeemable. Your time in Sector 17 has made you nothing but wandering murderers, as bullheaded as the enemy. I can’t even trust you with my own protection. First, the Civil Protection and their lousy, mindnumbingly *braindead* attempt at a coup, now your– y-your abject *failure* to protect a member of the Overwatch Security Council."

"I-I-I’ll see to it that th-the *moment* your utility to the C-M-B ceases, which it nearly *fucking* has, you’ll all be recycled. Turned to mush and fed to antlions. You’re the fucking scum of the human race, no *goddamned* sense of duty beyond the shit hard-coded into your rotting, supposedly ‘enhanced’ brains. I fucking spit on you."

"Such an enormous waste of resources. *I* clear out the Unity Complex, allow you to augment yourselves, and you still fucking fail. *I* call for a ceasefire, which faced sabotage from your boneheads in blue, forever unaware of what does and doesn’t benefit them – twits – to let you recuperate."

"And you still let this city fall. *I* build fabricators and no matter what you’re provided you fail to use it properly. Insular rejects, huddled up, twisting the knobs on your vocoder and chuckling to yourselves while Geneva burns, that’s why the worst of you are a bottle of ashes *sat atop my desk*."

"Wh-When this is all over, I’ll see to it that those of you that’ve fucked us the most are immediately salvaged for parts. I’ll turn you into ration dispensers, at least then can you be f-f-*fucking* useful at your jobs."

Mearsheimer buries his face in his hands. He attempts to catch his breath, his whole person trembling. The quivering of his voice and the shaky inhales he takes signal that behind his peeling palms, the Night Watchman is crying.

A minute passes. He sucks his snot back up, wipes his face, and turns back to the camera.

"Scum of the human race. But– but at least you *are* human."

A moment’s pause, then his face contorts again, brows furrowing, ‘Werewolves!’ He cries, a broken tooth flinging out his maw. ‘Black Brigades! Terrorists! Molochians!’ He bangs on something offscreen. His tirade has only begun.

"Inhuman, immoral, f-fucking imbeciles! You've fucked us! You've *fucked* yourselves! We're all going to pay for this, can't you *fucking see?!* D-damn it all to hell, we're going to get fucking *buried* and it's because of your trivial, dogmatic, *idiotic* hatred of authority!"

The image skips and freezes, Mearsheimer’s features momentarily distorted in grotesque caricature of human emotion. The distended face of a raging, dying animal.

"You're fucking children, mindless fucking anarchists! We could've fixed this, *I* could've fixed this, y-you could've peacefully left us alone, crawled back to Sector 17, and lived to see another day, now this city is going to be burnt to the ground and no one is going to fucking win!"

"What comes next? Huh? You're fucking barbarians, the entire lot of you. Philistines! Fucking luddites! You're plunging your e-e-e-entire *fuckin’* species into a dark age!"

Mearsheimer’s words are momentarily lost as a sliver of the broadcast jitters and cuts out of place. A slice of interference, slowly crawling from side to side along the feed’s left quarter.

"Lambda wi-will fracture into a-a-a *million* warlords and quasi— quasi-nationstates when this is over, you'll bring us back to square one, because of your own rampant-fucking-xenophobia! So many, s-so many chances, all… squandered."

"And what becomes of the *deplorable Combine?* Best— best case scenario, they leave us on this dying fucking rock, so-some space-Afghanistan that's the graveyard of their empire. That's the isolated, *isolated* best case scenario here."

"Worst case scenario? We get fucking — plugged into biomachines and harvested. *Each and every single one of us*."

"You imagine a liberated humanity, a future unshackled from *'the Empire.'* Wanna know what I fucking see? Nothing *remotely* human making it out of the near-future. All for your fucking lousy idea of freedom, you *Jacobin morons.*"

A moment passes where the haggard old bastard’s words and expressions don’t quite align, the transmission falling out of sync with itself.

"We're *fucked.* We're fu–u–u–u–"

Whatever inevitable profanity had been poised to lead this wretched theater of despair into its next rambling chapter, it is lost and rendered impotent by a sound that defies comparison. A hard, whorling pulse that comes as much from within as without. There is the briefest moment where the Head Councillor’s face remains, roaring obliviously at the camera in soundless perpetuity before he too disappears, swallowed whole by the flickers of static and visual echo.

In his place, framed by a deafening silence and posed against a backdrop of gunmetal and austere mahogany, a kindly old man with a viper’s eyes smiles down upon the ruined cityscape.

"And as Babylon fell..."