Occupy Paragon

[Diya Behari]

Occupy Paragon created an event

OCCUPY CREY
Friday, November 18th - 9:00 AM-9:00 PM

Location: Crey Atlas Park

Description: An Occupy Paragon action. A peaceful protest against corporate greed in the face of Crey’s latest cash grab.

57 people like this

Sammy Smith Crey Sux!!!

Gertie Stein Occupy all streets!

Ralph Heart Stop crying. Get a job!

Ann Onymous Obvious troll is obvious

Devon Blake Fuck peaceful! Remember Oakland! Remember Portland! REMEMBER NEW YORK.

[Twitchcraft]

(Found across school and, indeed, the city...)

[Diya Behari]

Diya wasn’t really a politically conscious person. She figured it was mostly about a bunch of old white guys yelling at other old white guys about stupid stuff. She couldn’t vote anyway, so why pay attention? She had the rest of her life to figure this stuff out.

But on Tuesday, when she glanced at the news headlines on her phone, they were dominated with news out of New York City and that “Occupy Wall Street” movement that she’d heard about a couple of times. Apparently the police had busted up the park they’d been staying at, jailing people and throwing away their stuff.

Some papers said it was the end of the movement, others said it was only going to make it stronger.

When she’d been studying the walls on Tuesday afternoon, carefully avoiding eye contact with all the kids waiting to sign up to throw their Wednesday night away chasing a bunch of “leads” that really should have been the responsibility of the adults, Diya found one of the Occupy Paragon posters that had been up for a few weeks at that point. She’d almost forgotten about them. Maybe it was time to check it out, just in case Paragon decided to pull a New York and uproot the protesters.

So after class, wearing her leather jacket and carrying an umbrella under her arm, Diya trekked to Atlas Park to find these protesters and see for herself what it was all about.

The plaza in front of city hall was littered with tents of every shape, size and color. With the constant drizzle, most people were huddled inside of the tents. Cardboard signs that had been pinned or taped to the outside were wilting and the ink was running, but most were still semi-intelligible. Slogans about being part of the 99% and funny internet memes given political slants were mixed together freely, like the protest was having an identity crisis.

The only protesters braving the drizzle were in an impromptu drum circle. Most of the drummers had nice, professional looking drums, albeit worn from years of use. A few were banging on upside down buckets though. She thought she recognized a few of the bucket-drummers - she and Roach had befriended some when they were breakdancing around the city over the summer.

Her hunch was confirmed when one of the drummers raised a hand and grinned broadly to her. “Hey kid! Come to join the 99 percent?”

Diya smiled back and walked over to join him in the circle. Raul was his name. He was older than her, in his 20s. She didn’t know his story, other than he was in Atlas Park every Saturday she and Roach had been. He hadn’t been too friendly at first, but had softened when he’d seen the kids dancing.

“I dunno,” she shouted over the beat of the drums. “Just looking, I guess.”

Raul nodded and went back to his drumming for a minute before he abruptly grabbed his drum and stood. “Walk with me,” he told Diya. Without waiting for a response, he strode away, expecting Diya to follow.

Raul led Diya to the steps of City Hall. Walking up a few of them elevated them enough to get a good view of the protesters encampment, and far enough away from the drum circle that they could hear each other speak.

Raul spoke first. “Just checking us out, huh? Like we’re another tourist trap?”

Diya frowned. “No, not like that. I saw what happened in New York on the news and wanted to see this before it happened here.”

“But do you have any idea what ‘this’ is?” Raul swept his arm out, gesturing at the full plaza. Diya shrugged. “Y’know, I didn’t like you when you and your pal showed up this summer.”

“I know. You weren’t very subtle.”

“Thought you two were a couple of spoiled rich kids slumming it. And girl, you kinda were. Your friend there, he knows what it means to get by on the streets, but you have no clue, do you?”

“Hey, that’s not fair -”

“And that is what this movement is about,” Raul said, cutting her off. “We’re guaranteed that all people are created equal, right? They teach you that at your fancy school still?” Diya nodded. “We ain’t equal anymore, girl. This isn’t just fancy slogans. This is truth. Banks and corporations have all the power and just keep taking and they’re killing us, slowly but surely.”

Diya wrinkled her nose. “That sounds a little melodramatic.”

“If you think it’s melodramatic, then you haven’t been paying attention, girl. Maybe I was wrong about you. Maybe there is no hope for you, and you’ll grow up to be one of the 1% just like your parents and all your friends at that prissy little school of yours.”

“Hey, my parents work hard for what they’ve got.”

Raul smiled slightly. “You got fire girl, I like that. Your parents are lucky that hard work paid off. But what about the rest of us? You think I wanna sit on a street corner banging on a bucket to make ends meet? Sure, it’s fun and I meet the most fabulous people, but it ain’t a living. I used to have a real job, a real apartment, a real boyfriend. And then I lost the job, the apartment, and the boyfriend. I’m too poor to buy myself a real drum. That’s why I’m here.”

Diya looked skeptically at the bucket. “And how is drumming going to change anything?”

“Well, maybe my one drum can’t do nothing, but it reminds people we’re here. We occupy to remind those in charge that their choices affect real people, and those choices have sent our lives down the drain, slowly but surely.”

A pair of police officers walking by caught Diya’s eye. They were scowling at Diya and Raul, but kept moving. “Have they been giving you guys trouble yet?”

“Well, they took our generators y’know,” Raul said. “It’s colder than a witch’s tit out here at night now.”

Diya thought for a moment. “Well, I can’t stay all night. School’s got a curfew, y’know. But here, sit closer.” Diya pulled off her jacket, shivering slightly as the cool air and damp mist cut through her shirt. Now it was Raul’s turn to look skeptical, but he moved closer, and his skepticism turned to surprise when he felt the heat radiating from Diya’s body.

“Damn girl! What happened to you?”

“Long story,” Diya said, absently pulling a bag of trail mix out of one of her jacket’s pockets. “Maybe I’ll tell you about it. But for now, I’ll trade some of the extra heat I’m generating to hear more about this protest stuff from you.”

[Twitchcraft]

TO: Rebecca Foss, Hero Corps; Dan Erikson, Freedom Corps; Clara Borges, FBSA

CC: Anna Alvarez, Office of the Commissioner; Jeff Yin, Office of the Mayor

FROM: Cpt. Charles Warren, Watch Commander

RE: RESOURCE DEPLOYMENT IN ATLAS PARK

As you all know, the so-called "Occupy Paragon" protest movement has called for a "General Strike" at Crey Corporation's Atlas Park campus tomorrow 11/18, said action to continue throughout the day. In addition, protesters plan to maintain a presence/encampment throughout Atlas Plaza.

Given the announced public event on the Crey campus, we estimate there could be as many as three to five thousand people in the area (including both protesters and civilians). The size and scope of this "General Strike," as well as the continued presence of protesters in the plaza, may -- and I stress may here -- stretch PPD manpower and resources dangerously thin.

Two further variables complicate matters. It's come to our attention that some super-powered individuals are sympathetic to the Occupy cause and may be inclined toward violence to show their support. Also, the Office of the Mayor continues to discuss with the City Attorney options for removal of the plaza encampment, and instructions for doing so may be issued at any time.

After extensive discussion internally, our conclusion is that the PPD must maintain a clear and vigorous presence across the whole of Atlas Park. A strong showing by law enforcement is essential to maintaining order. To that end, I'm asking that you pass along a request for support tomorrow to any contacts, colleagues, etc. with valid Hero Licenses. They can report to me on-site, and I'll issue assignments based on abilities and experience.

Thank you for your support and cooperation in this matter.

[Diya Behari]

Officer Cody Shillings shifted under the weight of his bulky body armor. Was it just the unfamiliar pressure of the riot gear? Or was it nerves?

The mood around Crey’s Atlas Park complex was tense. He and a hundred other officers had been here since 7 AM. He hadn’t gotten off last night until 1 AM, and had been working for about 36 hours straight before that. All on this Occupy Paragon business.

The Paragon Police Department had briefed their officers periodically about the events happening around the country in the past week. So far the city had made no order to evict the protesters from Atlas Plaza, but the protesters were worried it was coming. They were beginning to act out, spurred on maybe by the actions in other cities.

Cody was sympathetic to some of what the protesters were talking about. He wasn’t making that much money - that’s why he’d been volunteering for all this over time when it had been offered. His parents had lost their house after his dad was laid off from his factory job. He and his girlfriend lived in a crummy one room apartment, and he hardly got to see her anymore since all this started.

It was hard out there for everybody, yet you didn’t see people like Cody sitting around and making trouble. Protesters in the crowd had thrown trash at him yesterday. Mostly paper, but some old food too. Another officer he knew of got hit in the head with a bottle. Luckily, she’d been wearing a helmet so it bounced off and shattered on the pavement.

Of course, no one stepped forward to clean it up.

These people had no respect for the people who were just trying to do their jobs, whether that job was as a police officer or a city employee, trying to get into City Hall.

But as Cody watched the Atlas Park campus fill with people, protesters, Crey employees, consumers, he was still nervous. No, the protests hadn’t been 100% peaceful. But these people weren’t really the bad guys. Cody hadn’t signed up to be a police officer to beat rowdy college kids over the head.

The word from above was that after seeing the news out of New York yesterday, the protesters were going to be in high spirits, and probably more prone to violence than ever. Captain Warren had apparently put out a call for extra backup from some heroes, especially since some meta-powered people were supposed to be among the ranks of the protest sympathizers. Fight fire with fire and all that.

But Cody was an optimist. Despite all the warnings of violence, he was really hoping he wouldn’t have to do anything but stand all day. Hopefully the protesters would let him. Still, he stood vigilant, ready to leap into action at the first sign of trouble.

[Twitchcraft]

…What both sides do agree on is that the situation had become a tinderbox by late in the day. Those present who remain willing to speak on the record describe a growing feeling of unease, a rising tension that underscored every word and deed.

"I think we knew it was coming," said Jenna Sharpe, then a student at the Steel Canyon campus of Paragon University. "I really do. We knew it was coming, but we couldn't do anything to stop it. At least, I don't think we could have. I don't think anyone could have."

"You stay a cop long enough, you get a feeling for these things," said Carl Duncan, a PPD patrolman at the time. "I think things started to go downhill the night we came in and took those generators. That was the turning point. Things had been pretty casual up until then. After that, we were just waiting for something to spark."

Conflicting reports about what set off the clash between police and protesters abound. A raised voice? An angry gesture? Could it truly have been something so trivial? It wouldn't have taken much, most analysts agree. And while numerous fringe theories -- many involving police and/or corporate infiltrators among the protesters -- have sprung up in the years following the incident, little supporting evidence has been uncovered for such ideas. (In a phenomenon described as "rolling escalation," Myers and Altman (pp. 218-220) put forward a compelling theory about how violence can spread rapidly through a densely populated area with no such manipulation possible.)

Whatever the cause, the results were plain enough -- property damage throughout Atlas Park (estimated at more than half a million dollars), over three hundred arrests, more than a hundred people (including both police and protesters) injured. And, of course, four lives -- three protesters and one police officer -- lost forever.

The abiding image of the incident remains the grainy photograph of a small girl weeping as she stands amidst the chaos, unsure what has happened or what to do next. The girl, later identified as…

From the Ashes:
Occupy Paragon & the Birth of the New Social Movement
Dr. Leslie Dwyer and Allen Levitz
Paragon University Press, 2019

[Twitchcraft]

She went back to Atlas Park because they told her not to.

Charlie had gotten his package of Occupy paraphernalia late on Wednesday and, as expected, had almost blown a gasket. To Abigail's surprise and relief, though, he'd pegged Roy as the instigator from the get-go. Heated phone calls and text messages had then been exchanged. (Heated from Charlie's end, at least; for his part, Roy had only laughed harder with each new round of invective.)

A recent convert to Skype, Roy ended up calling an impromptu virtual family meeting to read aloud the best bits of Charlie's messages. Unsurprisingly, Charlie himself declined to attend. The time difference between Texas and Iraq made it impossible for Harry to participate, as well, but Glen had been there, chuckling right along with the rest of them. In between Roy's dramatic recitations, he'd been the one to ask Abigail about the protests.

"So they're callin' in the heroes, huh?"

She answered with a grunt he could take however he liked. Her hero license was a sore point in the Blackburn family, with both Roy and Glen convinced the standards for receiving one were so lax as to be meaningless. Might as well stick 'em in Crackerjack boxes, Roy had once remarked.

"You're not goin' down there, are you?" he cut in, his tone making it clear the question was intended as purely rhetorical. "That place isn't a circus anymore; it’s a goddamn powderkeg."

She actually hadn't been planning to go. With her altered powers, she'd more or less decided there was nothing useful she could bring to the table. But she'd be damned if she was gonna let him think he'd flat-out made the decision for her.

"Might just wander that way," she said, "once class is done."

"The hell you will," said Roy.

Pretty much the reaction she'd anticipated. He fumed for a few minutes more on the subject, and she managed to keep herself from baiting him too much. She might have let the matter drop then and there if Glen hadn't opened his mouth and cut her to the quick.

"It's no place for you, Abby," he said. His voice was kindly enough, but she could read what he was holding back: Because you're just a girl. Not the first time he'd tried to make that point, either.

Roy caught the gist of the comment, too, and he tried to head it off. "He means you don't have near enough experience to be workin' a situation --"

"Know damn well what he means," she said.

Glen tried to speak then, but she waved him quiet.

"I'll bring you both back a t-shirt this time," she said, and logged off.

[Twitchcraft]

She found Boyer teaching yo-yo tricks to a group of junior high kids.

Rather than interrupt, she lingered near the back of the group. She'd seen him work this angle before -- whatever folks were interested in, Boyer seemed to know something about it. Sports, videogames, movies, politics. You name it, he could talk about it. Hell, she'd even heard him carry on a solemn, lengthy discussion about the merits of various Dancing With the Stars contestants once.

"Just one of the many sacrifices I make to ensure the public's welfare," he'd told her when she'd questioned him about it afterwards. Then he'd sobered a bit. "You find a little common ground, you can generally get folks to see your side of things. Makes it all go a helluva lot smoother."

Now he spotted her and offered a wink as he sent the yo-yo spinning through its paces. It wound around the full length of his arm, then looped out once more, and finally spun back to his palm. He held up a hand to bring the show to an end and tossed the toy to one of the kids. As they began trying to duplicate the tricks, he crossed to Abigail.

"Thought we agreed you were gonna steer clear of all this," he said.

"Don't you start," Abigail groaned. "Anyhow, I'm workin', not occupyin'. 'member how you said there was all kindsa stuff needed doin'?"

Boyer scanned the crowd out of habit. The news had said more than three thousand people were expected, and Abigail could believe it. Protesters lined both sides of the street near the Crey campus, marching, chanting, and waving signs. Beyond them were the street vendors and farther back, the lookie-loos who'd come to see whatever show came out of all this.

"I meant light duty," Boyer said. "Something away from the crowds."

"Yeah, well, they told me ta go watch for pickpockets. So here I am."

He considered that for a moment, then shook his head. "If you're down here, you're gonna be with me. Let's go get that fixed."

She almost balked at his words. But try as she might, she couldn't find any trace of the condescension she'd heard from Glen. Instead Boyer put a hand on her shoulder and said, "Partners watch out for each other."

What could she do but nod to that? They started in the direction of the command center, but one of the women in the protest crowd -- a redhead with a long gold scarf -- stopped Boyer as he passed. She pointed to the kid valiantly trying his hand at the yo-yo.

"That's my son," she said, and she leaned in toward Boyer to make herself heard over the crowd. "I brought him down here so he could see all this. So maybe he could learn something."

"Look, ma'am," said Boyer, "I didn't mean to take his attention off --"
"No," said the woman, waving off his apology. "I'm glad you did. He needs to know -- well, he should understand that you guys aren't just scary uniforms or whatever. That's only fair. So… I guess… thank you for that."

Abigail watched as Boyer shuffled his feet and mumbled a "Hey, you're welcome." She cleared her throat, and he took advantage of the opening, nodding his goodbye to the woman.

"Little common ground, Ice Cube," he said, as they turned a corner. "Everything gets easier with a little common ground."

When they reached the command center, the sour-faced guy manning the duty desk made the roster update without comment. Then he ordered them to draw riot gear.

"Just came down from on high," he said. "Bosses think it's time for a push."

Abigail exchanged a look with Boyer.

So much for common ground.

[Twitchcraft]

The riot armor changed things.

Abigail wasn't even wearing a full set -- they'd only managed to scrounge a vest and some gloves for her -- but she could already tell the difference. Each piece limited your range of motion a little more, until you finally ended up shuffling around like one of Brook's drones when signal interference slowed its connection speed. You couldn't help but be aware how slow and bulky you were, and that made you cautious. Too cautious, really. It made you assess everything and everyone on a threat level basis, above and beyond whatever common sense might tell you was necessary.

Worst of all, the armor made people shy away. You could see the fear flicker in their eyes, even the ones who'd been friendly enough earlier. She'd been called a stormtrooper once already, and she and Boyer had only just begun their rounds. How the hell were you supposed to protect anyone when they didn't trust you?

She had to admit some of the choices the others had made weren't helping. Most of them had covered their badge numbers and nametags with strips of electrical tape. They'd talked about reprisals, about the safety of their families. She tried not to judge them, but noted that Boyer had left his own ID uncovered. He'd gone for a helmet with no visor, as well, against the recommendation of the onsite quartermaster.

"You gotta be able to look 'em in the eyes," he'd said. "You owe folks that much."

She suspected he had no shortage of complaints about how things were being run. But he wasn't about to voice them; not to her, anyhow. She understood that. Hero license or not, she was an outsider, and the golden rule of law enforcement was that you didn't air dirty laundry to outsiders.

"You sure you don't have homework?" he asked her as they circled the high stone wall that protected Crey's Atlas Park campus. The question, she knew, was his way of telling her to go home. It wasn't the first time he'd voiced the sentiment.

"You invited me down here," she said, just as she had every other time he'd brought it up.

"Yeah, well, I didn't think you were dumb enough to take me up on it." He paused to study a cluster of protesters. "Goes to show what I know."

She was about to reply, but he was already in motion, crossing the crowded street and leaving her to trail behind him. He had his eye on a group of a dozen or so people, most of them not much older than she was. They were chanting, waving signs, the usual. She had no idea what had caught his attention.

"You!" said Boyer, and his voice carried over the chanting. He drew the heavy baton from his belt and pointed into the crowd. "You just stay right there."

Abigail had reached his side by then. He was focused on a tall, lanky college kid with a baggy coat and fashionably distressed jeans. The kid held a sign that showed a cartoon pig dressed in a police uniform. The sign's caption read: "Anyone smell bacon?" As Boyer moved in, the other protesters linked arms and formed a protective circle around the kid.

"Step aside, please, folks," said Boyer.

No one moved. No one stayed quiet, either.

"He's not hurting anyone!"

"Why don't you leave him the hell alone?"

"Since when is a sign illegal, you fascist?"

Boyer ignored the shouts. "Sir, would you mind emptying your pockets?"

The kid blinked, then dipped his free hand into his coat pocket. For a moment, Abigail thought he'd comply with Boyer's request. But as soon as her eyes -- and, presumably, everyone else's -- followed his hand, he bolted. Hurling the sign at Boyer, he brushed past the confused protesters and leapt into the gutter, which was the only clear exit in sight.

Boyer gave chase, but in the riot armor, there was no way he'd catch the kid.

It had rained off and on for the past several days, and the runoff water continued to trickle toward various storm drains. Abigail nudged a protester aside and pressed her bare hand to the concrete. A thin sheet of ice spread instantly along the length of the gutter. She didn't bother to watch it form and thicken; instead she kept her head down and continued to concentrate. It was a rare occasion when she found something useful to do with her altered powers, and she intended to make the best of it.

A moment later, she was rewarded by a loud grunt and a dull thud.

The kid was sprawled on the pavement where he'd fallen. He'd emptied his pockets the hard way, and the wallets, watches, and jewelry he'd collected from the real protesters were bouncing in all directions. Boyer was on top of him before he could move, and the burly cop applied a zip-tie to the pickpocket's wrists in one fluid motion.

"How the hell did you know?" asked Abigail, as she helped him haul the kid to his feet.

Boyer shrugged. "You do this for ten years, you pick up a thing or two."

The runner arrived then, a police cadet she didn't recognize. The department had been giving cadets a workout all day, trying to keep the radio chatter to a minimum.

"They need you over at the south gate," he said.

Boyer sighed. "Let's go."

"Just her," said the cadet. "Crey wants all the supplies these guys have brought into the area checked. Protesters'll only agree to a third-party inspection, though. They want you, hero. You and…" He squinted at his PDA. "…Brodi Andrews. You're the two licensed metas who've signed in with the department. You know where he is?"

Abigail shook her head. She hadn't even heard Brodi was here. And certainly not in his capacity as a hero.

"Well, you head on over, then. I'll find him."

He was gone before Abigail could raise any objections. She looked over at Boyer.

"You wanna be a police, Ice Cube, you learn to take orders," he said. "Go on. I got things here."

She hesitated, then nodded. People gave way for her as she walked.

It was the armor, she supposed. The armor changed things.

[Twitchcraft]

Atlas Park was burning, and Abigail Blackburn didn't care.

Ninety minutes. That's how long it had taken for everything to turn to shit. It had started with those damn inspections. She and Brodi had been in the wrong place at the wrong time, as Crey had made a play to discredit the protesters. The kids at Westbrook had kept tugging on various loose threads until that plan had unraveled, but the damage had already been done. Things had gone from a few staged confrontations to a full-scale riot.

She'd left the others to deal with the paperwork, the prisoners, and whatever else came up. She had to find Boyer.

Partners watch out for each other.

She caught a ride with a patrol car to the makeshift containment perimeter. The human wall there was three men deep, with dozens of emergency vehicles idling in the streets. She watched as an armored tactical unit rumbled into the chaos, followed by a phalanx of cops.

"You're not thinking about going in there, are you?" said the officer who'd given her a lift.

She didn't bother with a reply.

She made a quick search of the ranks for Boyer, asking after him wherever possible. No one had seen him, no one knew anything. Repeated requests to dispatch proved fruitless, calls to an individual radio impossible. One of the white-shirted captains at the command tent waved a dismissive hand at her before she even opened her mouth. She flipped him off when he turned his back.

Then she slipped past the line. She did so quickly and quietly, and to her mild surprise, she managed it without losing her nerve. A moment later, she heard the shouts and knew she'd been spotted, so she ran until her lungs burned and her legs ached.

Her heart thudded in her chest. She tried twice to steady her breathing and failed. She didn't want to be rid of her fear -- she knew it would keep her sharp -- but she wanted to use it, not be led by it. Easier said than done.
Three blocks in, and things looked like a warzone. Storefronts smashed, benches and trashbins overturned. People ducking in and out of the shadows. Wisps of tear gas and pepper spray drifting over it all. The power grid had either overloaded or been cut as part of some riot-control tactic. Didn't matter -- you could pretty much navigate by the burning cars.

Boyer's riot gear had a GPS signal, but Abigail had been unable to get a lock since arriving at the perimeter. She suspected Crey had been throwing up interference all evening as part of their plan, and if that were the case, they hadn't shut their gizmos down yet. Every set of coordinates her own GPS gear threw up seemed to lead nowhere.

More than once, she considered turning back. Only for a moment, though; only long enough to damn herself for a coward. Roy would likely call her choices tonight pigheaded and foolish. Boyer might well agree -- if she could find him at all.

She kept walking, deeper into the fire.