Nikola Tesla, Chairman of the Illuminated People’s Directorate of Sciences and Technology
Shock Troopers of the Illuminated Republics Defence Force
"What Madness Is This?" Volume I: The Union Forever
- Thread starter Napoleon53
- Start date
Nikola Tesla, Chairman of the Illuminated People’s Directorate of Sciences and Technology
Shock Troopers of the Illuminated Republics Defence Force
While I could see this, I don't think it will happen with Marston. He died in 1947, and provided Steele lives roughly as long as OTL Stalin, he's going to be President till anywhere from 1953-1955. Oswald will get into office, but I doubt America will turn into insane 70's punk overnight. I imagine that it will take roughly a decade from Steele's death for all the crazy sex, shag carpeting, etc to take off. Oswald has to eliminate the legitimate Puritans in the Administration, roll out the Oswald Reforms, and then the population has to shake off the mental effects of a generation of austerity and moralizing brainwashing for all that to happen.
What if his wife/ves push to redeem his legacy in the early years of the Oswald Reforms? America's power couple on the march! The fact that two Pinnacle Women are still carrying the torch over a decade after his death (with four of his children between them) would likely go far to redeem pernicious rumors of Marston's fluidation. Creating a popular propaganda heroine doesn't hurt either, I suppose and Oswald is a huge fan of pop culture.
Last edited:
I kinda have answered this before, but to put it simply, it's about like OTL at the moment. It's not widely considered very much. In America, I'm sure it's all criminalized under Steele's morality laws. But it's probably one of those things that if you call RUMP or ORRA on some guy because you think he's having men over or a woman having women over and they'd be like "We have to watch out for anarchists and terrorists and here you are making us investigate some poor guy for having a business associate over for dinner because his family is all dead and he's lonely. Call us when he's building a bomb in the name of Illuminism, citizen." *flippantly closes notepad and climbs back into squad car*
I could see something like this happening. Which will of course lead to a rise in exhibitionist mass media, etc.
I will say this though; whenever the RU/NUSA goes through its Sexual Revolution is gonna be when the culture gap between them and Carolina is gonna be a gulf. Again, changes nothing geopolitically or alliance wise, but I expect that the Carolinas will develop their own mass culture to keep Yankee sexual craziness out and replace it with an unholy virginity obsession. No amount of Yankee influence can change this. I know that for a fact because, OTL, little middle schooler Murica1776 in 2012ish had his Sex Ed program, which was called the SHAPE program. What does SHAPE stand for you ask?
Sexual
Health
And
Purity
Education
And again, this was OTL NC in a public school in 2012.There is no way in hell that the Carolinas are going along with any kind of Sexual Revolution ITTL. Plus, unforseen invasion notwithstanding, there's no way the Yankees could force it on them, and I'm sure even Oswald would find invading a loyal puppet state because they don't believe in free love to be a bit insane. Basically, as Union pop culture starts to become this:
Man screw this world! I hope Europa just conquers the entire RU and cleanse the whole country of this Madness!
I am not joking, guys, tonight I have written probably the best chapter out of the entire 113 so far. It's absolutely nuts.
It better be something batshit insane to be considered good.
YANKEE STADIUM: A SEAL IS BROKEN
THE SEAL IS BROKEN
Philadelphia's Yankee Stadium was packed that sunny overcast day. It was September 1, 1927, a dreary Thursday morning, and all the clans were gathered together to hear what President Steele had to say to them. They would soon know why he called every major corporate head to Philadelphia. Almost 40,000 businessmen, all dressed to the nines, sat nervously in the blue stadium seats awaiting Steele's arrival. Some birds flew overhead and let out harsh shrieks. They were starlings. Some of them let their bombs drop, sending droppings showering down on the businessmen below. The men disgustedly wiped the feces off with handkerchiefs and scowled. They had been waiting for over two long hours. Steele was supposed to arrive at 9 that morning, but it was now almost noon. The clock ticked on and the corporate officers were growing increasingly worried that Steele would never show. Perhaps this was his way of utterly mocking them and making fools out of them. Perhaps he was showing the nation that these so-called titans of industry and Strongmen were a pack of monkeys, serving as Steele's amusement.
In the center of the stadium, right on the pitcher's mound, was a wooden platform of dark-stained pine that had been erected the night before. At its center was podium bearing the seal of the President. Behind it were four flags. The first was the Union national flag, of course, the second was the flag of Pennsylvania, the third was the Presidential standard, and the fourth was Steele's personal ensign, the Eagle and Anvil. Forged from red-hot metal, this giant of a man had become a man of iron will. He was everything and everything was him, these days. To many citizens, he was like a father-figure, all-knowing, all-seeing, and he always knew just what to say. While at first he was more standoffish and quiet, rarely displaying humor or even rarer smiles, he had come a long way since 1914. He had become Uncle Joe. He was increasingly known for his wisecracks, quick wit, and commanding presence. While back in the day men like Theodore Roosevelt or Billy Sunday tried to stand up to him, none dared to now. Not after Kissimmee. Not after the call went out ordering the clans to convene.
Though Steele had not arrived, the stage was not empty. On folding chairs sat the unofficial heads of the different clans. Henry Ford, head of the Industrial Clan, sat next to his chief competition for that title, Ichabod Goodyear. The portly Ichabod had not forgotten the Summer Slaughter of Aught-Nine. He had not forgotten his cousin Charles Goodyear II's brutal death. He still thought Ford had been behind the massacre, and Ford thought Family Van Buren was behind it. The two men had already smoked a pack of Mortons between them, and their unease was clear to all. Next was Sam Bush, the man who just a few days before had had to shoot the Tropic Beauty out of the sky to survive. He sat with a pale complexion. He hadn't slept in two days. He popped a Go-Go Pep. Ser. Ebeneezer Eustace Pink, the "Modern Prometheus of Food Safety," sat nearby, representing the Agricultural Clan, the largest of the economic clans. The armaments industry was represented by Willard Pierce, of Colonel Pierce Industries, and Lewis Johnson, of Craig-Jordan Rifles and Rounds. Harvey Cox sat next, head of the Distillery Clan and CEO of Republica Beer. Finally, Ryan Hendrick was nowhere to be seen for the Media Clan. He was down south in Florida "rescuing" his darling bride from kidnappers. His absence greatly worried the other industrialists, as they feared they were walking into a duck-shoot and his favored status in the eyes of Steele was saving him.
Fears about being executed were not unfounded. Over 2,000 ORRA agents patrolled the stadium. The way to get into the stadium was through only a few special doorways, with the rest of the stadium's normal wide-mouth entrance closed off. Every single man who entered was frisked. It had taken hours for ORRA to get through them all. No one had been carrying a pistol so there was no excitement or any arrests. The boredom of the seats was tedious, but at least it beat standing in line for four hours when everyone knew no one would dare be packing in Steele's presence. The guards, however, were definitely carrying high-caliber weapons. Snipers were posted all over the roofline, looking down into the crowd of Clansmen. In the dugouts on the sides of the field, command centers had been established, with ORRA officers with massive radio systems monitoring everything from there. In front of the wood platform stood about 100 ORRA officers in dress blues. They had been standing there for hours, boots perfectly apart, their white-gloved hands behind their backs, their forage caps tilted at just the right angle, their faces emotionless as could be. Each man carried an M-1909 Philadelphia Craftworks pistol. The almost manikin-like appearance of the ORRA men made everyone even that much more uneasy. They seemed like they were about to whip out their sidearms at any second and execute the Clan heads. But they didn't. They just stood silently and motionless, save for the gentle flapping of the ORRA flags held over every 20 men or so. What was the most worrying sign to the Clansmen, though, was the highly unusual absence of newspapermen and photographers. There were none to be seen anywhere. Only official government photographers were at hand.
Little did anyone know that, high up in the broadcaster's box--the place where famed talkiebox man Art Perry narrated games for Uncle Sam's Talkiebox Station--President Joseph Steele sat with a plate of eggs and bacon. Smiling, he wiped the crumbs of fried eggs from his mustache and took a sip of hot water from a mug bearing the Presidential seal. The windows of the box were tinted enough that no one could tell he was there. He had enjoyed the show all morning. He had arrived in the box at dawn. After a short nap, he had had his daily briefing from his generals by phone before ordering the breakfast he was now happily munching on. He was a health fanatic, and he always had a plate of two scrambled eggs and three pieces of bacon every single morning, and he would down it, quite oddly, with a mug of hot water. He never drank Sweet Victory, or any soda, and seldom imbibed any strong liquor other than the occasional glass of wine from his personal vineyard. As he took another sip of hot water, he chuckled to himself. He was really pleased with this situation. In fact, it was the best entertainment he had had in a long while. Supreme Chief Patton sat in his wheelchair next to him, enjoying a fine coffee, extra cream.
"You know, Patton, this is the funniest thing. Who needs talkies when you can have flustered businessmen by the thousands all sitting in one spot waiting on you to lift a finger?" Steele said with a jolly tone.
Patton laughed along, quite genuinely. "I agree, Mr. President," he said, a smile on his face. "Watching these mooks make fools of themselves is quite entertaining. When do you want to get the show on the road, though, sir?"
Steele looked thoughtful for a moment before taking the napkin out of his blue stand-up collar. He placed the napkin on his now empty plate and pushed it to the side. Then the President answered, "Well, no time like the present, I suppose, George." At that, he grabbed the announcer's microphone and flipped the little silver switch on the control panel on the desk. A loud feedback noise reverberated through the rounders stadium, making the horde of businessmen look about wildly and confused. "Attention, patriotic-comrades of the Industrial Clans! Welcome to Yankee Stadium. This is your President, Joseph Steele. All hail!"
Every single man, no matter the age, practically bolted out of their seats like impalas sensing a cheetah nearby. Every single man raised his right arm and screamed "All hail!" The salutation could be heard all over Philadelphia, it was done with such force and vigor.
Steele pushed the button again and said with a cheery tone, "I apologize for the delay you have long suffered through. I have been hard at work guiding this country into the light, and I assure you, I also had a magnificent breakfast." As Steele's laugh echoed through the stadium, silence greeted it. No one was sure if they should laugh or if it was some sort of bizarre test. "Anyway, I shall be down shortly to tell you all why I brought you here. Patience is also next to Godliness, you know."
In about ten minutes, Steele had moved down to the field, flanked by a gaggle of ORRA guards and Patton at his right side being pushed along in his wheelchair. Steele's unassuming blue uniform, with it's high starched collar and simple riding pants stood out from Patton's much more garish attire, with a ribbon board the size of his face and a black silk sash. No one had sat down or lowered their arms the entire time. As the Presidential March blared forth from the band directly in front of the podium, sweat dripped down into the Clansmen's eyes while Steele crossed the field and ascended the steps of the podium. Every step was deliberate. Behind him, two ORRA guards prepared to lift Patton, chair and all, up the stairs. The ORRA Supreme Chief motioned for them to stop as Steele turned around to check on one of his only friends. Steele raised his eyebrow, curious as to what Patton would do.
"My Atheling! I can walk!" Patton said, pride in his voice. He pulled himself out of his wheelchair through sheer willpower, his legs supported by braces under his pant legs. He also carried a white rolled up sheet of paper with an official red seal in his left hand. Slowly, he grabbed the rail with his free hand forced himself to move each leg one step at a time. Everyone was still stretching their arms out in salute and the only sounds that could be heard was the jingle of Patton's medals. Finally, he reached the top of the platform and stood next to Steele at the podium.
Steele stretched out a hand and laid it on Patton's shoulder. "Gentlemen!" the President shouted. "Behold, a true Pinnacle Man, strong in fluids and pure in blood! Supreme Chief George Patton! All hail!"
"ALL HAIL! ALL HAIL! ALL HAIL!" came the cries of the Clansmen, their voices feverish.
After seeing Patton to his seat, the chair reserved for Hendrick, Steele returned to the podium. After another nails-on-chalkboard feedback noise, Steele began his speech and motioned for everyone to finally lower their arms and sit once more.
"My fellow patriot-comrades! Today, I consider myself the luckiest man on the face of the earth! Today is a beautiful day that God has provided us. Every day, no matter if the sun shines bright or if there are clouds like today, is a beautiful thing. Some would say there is beauty in the imperfect. That days like this are not as good or desirable as bright and sunny days of May and June, but that they are still beautiful in their own special way. While that may be true for days, it is not for human beings or citizens of this grand and ever-victorious realm. There is not beauty in imperfection. In the imperfect citizen, there is only a leaching cancer on society, not an interesting or exciting divergence from the norm. I think, truly, that most who are so admirably in attendance today would agree that there is no place in Union society for the imperfect. Or at the very least, those who do not strive for perfection in all things they do in mind, body, and soul. Now, let's get down to brass tacks. I know you have no idea why I brought you all here. I know you're dying inside to see what purpose I have for this prestigious assembly of minds. I will now explain, in no uncertain terms, exactly why I brought you here.
America has a long and very tragic history. We went from rebellious yet victorious ragtag colonial uprising, to an era of Federalist treachery, to a damnable war allied to our present foes. We saw destruction on scales unseen in history. Whole cities went up in flames. But from the ashes, men like Colonel Goodyear pulled us up by our bootstraps, rebuilding our economy and nation into something which would never again lose a war. After we rebuilt our society on the blessed words of the Prophet Burr, may he rest in peace, we experienced the Godsent rule of Father Abraham, who restored our covenant with our Southron counterparts and ended the primitive and diabolical practice of slavery forever. After a period of stagnation and depression, we finally arrived at the Manifest Destiny Party. The Party is the state. The state is the Party. Like a horse and carriage, there cannot be one without the other. Everything must have worth to the state and the party. While we are blessed by the Savior to live a comfortable American life in this beautiful New Jerusalem, one must not grow too comfortable.
Life, and history itself, is a struggle. A battle. It is survival of the fittest, as Horatio Gibbs and Charles Darwin said last century. All of history since the fall of Rome has been a race to Armageddon, a battle to rebuild what the godless savages and steppe demons raped and fornicated out of our blessed Pinnacle bloodline. They thought they could breed out God's Chosen! They thought their Inferior, bestial fluids could sap and impurify ours. Miscegenation! A war to destroy our blessed bloodline! Since July 4, 1776, the Pinnacle Man has been returning fire!"
America has a long and very tragic history. We went from rebellious yet victorious ragtag colonial uprising, to an era of Federalist treachery, to a damnable war allied to our present foes. We saw destruction on scales unseen in history. Whole cities went up in flames. But from the ashes, men like Colonel Goodyear pulled us up by our bootstraps, rebuilding our economy and nation into something which would never again lose a war. After we rebuilt our society on the blessed words of the Prophet Burr, may he rest in peace, we experienced the Godsent rule of Father Abraham, who restored our covenant with our Southron counterparts and ended the primitive and diabolical practice of slavery forever. After a period of stagnation and depression, we finally arrived at the Manifest Destiny Party. The Party is the state. The state is the Party. Like a horse and carriage, there cannot be one without the other. Everything must have worth to the state and the party. While we are blessed by the Savior to live a comfortable American life in this beautiful New Jerusalem, one must not grow too comfortable.
Life, and history itself, is a struggle. A battle. It is survival of the fittest, as Horatio Gibbs and Charles Darwin said last century. All of history since the fall of Rome has been a race to Armageddon, a battle to rebuild what the godless savages and steppe demons raped and fornicated out of our blessed Pinnacle bloodline. They thought they could breed out God's Chosen! They thought their Inferior, bestial fluids could sap and impurify ours. Miscegenation! A war to destroy our blessed bloodline! Since July 4, 1776, the Pinnacle Man has been returning fire!"
"ALL HAIL! ALL HAIL! ALL HAIL!" chanted the crowd of businessmen until Steele once again motioned for them to sit. He continued:
"As I said, life and history is one enormous war, pulling and twisting, but marching to an inevitable conclusion; that being, the conquest of this good green earth by the Pinnacle Man, rebuilt, whole and pure again. However, there are those among us who seek only the profits and luxuries of this fallen world. They seek not to build toward the New Jerusalem, but only to see their miserly piles of silver eagles grow and grow, at the expense of others. They seek only to enrich themselves and if something doesn't directly benefit themselves then they don't have an interest. These creatures, these false Pinnacle Men, these lecherous apostates, they seek only personal gain. There is nothing wrong with enjoying the fruits of ones labors, or being wealthy. There is nothing wrong with Goodyearian capitalism. However, as I said earlier, gentlemen of the United Clans of America, everything must have worth to the state and the Party. If both parties benefit, and grow richer, there is nothing wrong with that result. But when these aforementioned cave-dwelling traitors steal from the state or Party, they steal not only from the New Jerusalem but from Jehovah himself. These worthless excuses for human beings reveal themselves to be Inferior in the truest sense: they have heard the Good News, and they reject it. It is easier for a camel to pass through the eye of a needle than for one of these false Pinnacle Men to enter the Kingdom of God."
Visible unease quickly swept the sweaty faces of all the businessmen as they cast glances all around. What had begun as a political rally was now a fire-and-brimstone sermon. As Steele continued, many began to smoke nervously or popped pills of various varieties. The stress was palpable.
"These traitors must be rooted out and destroyed. We stand on the precipice of world conquest. The fight will be long and hard and bloody and unpleasant and dangerous and full of terror, but the Pinnacle Man will triumph! This victory is assured, as laid out in the Book of Revelation and the Four Books of Manifest Destiny, but it can be delayed or pushed back by guttersnipes from within. Man, since the Fall, has been gifted with free will. History is predetermined, but each man must live his life in accordance with faith, Party, and state. It is a battle on an individual level. Every man must prove his worth to faith, Party, and state. Where there is falseness or lying or cheating there is a false Pinnacle Man. Where they be, there is no worth. They are Inferior animals through their own determination. Through their own free will, they have rejected Truth. Gentlemen and scum, I brought you here, to this stadium, for one purpose. I am going to separate the wheat from the chaff. For years, I have lived in peace as your President, and in those quiet years I have been watching. Judging silently. Remembering wrongs and the names of those who have committed them. I have compiled what I like to call the Steele Scroll. Like Father Abe writing down the names of the naughty and nice children for Remembrance Day Eve, I have carefully decided who has shown themselves to be lying Inferior scum. Take a seat, gentlemen, because your day is about to become a nightmare if you have sinned against Party and state! I will now leave you in the capable hands of ORRA Supreme Chief George Patton. Mr. Patton, please break the seal!"
Panic fully gripped the Clansmen, many of whom began weeping, stretching out their arms to be spared. ORRA officers began to rapidly move through the stadium, sidearms drawn. Some ORRA men with radios coordinated their path.
"First and foremost," began Patton as he matter-of-factually took to the podium, still supporting himself on braces, "I wish to thank President Steele for giving me the pleasure of reading from this scroll. My Atheling, I salute you!" Patton swiveled uneasily and stretched out his arm at Steele, who now sat in his seat. The heads of the Clans watched with abject horror as Patton popped the red wax seal off the scroll he had been holding. "Christopher Montgomery, CEO Cottonwood Plantations! Please rise!"
Somewhere in the left field bleachers, a blonde-haired man of thin proportions stood, stretching arm out in salute, tears pouring from his eyes. "Here!" he cried, his voice cracking. He knew what was about to happen. ORRA officers were already headed his way, sidearms drawn.
Patton nodded and read from the scroll once more, "For anti-American behavior, for soliciting prostitutes, for the abandonment of your illegitimate children, and for disgracing yourself and your company, President Steele sentences you to be shot until dead. May Jehovah have mercy upon your soul."
As the blonde man let out an unending series of cries for forgiveness, the ORRA men closed in. An officer grabbed each trembling arm as another held a pistol against the back of his head. "Long live Steele!" screamed the ORRA executioner, pulling the trigger and sending chunks of brain and blonde hair showering onto the executives below. Every aisle now featured weeping businessmen, scared out of their wits. The ORRA men let go of Montgomery's arms and his headless body slumped down onto the concrete floor below.
Patton spoke again. "Thank you, gentlemen," he said, referring to his ORRA goons. "Wade Berle, executive vice president of Smiling Sam Fisheries, please rise!"
A pudgy bald man in a white suit stood slowly, trembling and bawling hysterically the entire time as ORRA executioners headed his way. "Here..." he mumbled, flailing his right arm out in salute. "I am loyal! I did nothing to deserve this!"
Patton ignored his cries and announced, "Mr. Berle, for anti-American activity, for submitting fraudulent tax forms to the Office of the Treasury over a period of six years and resulting with you stealing an estimated 600,000 silver eagles from the state and Party, President Steele sentences you to be shot until dead. May Jehovah have mercy upon your soul."
The man tried to run for his life, pushing other businessmen out of the way. "I didn't do it! I didn't do anything to deserve this! This is madness, I tell you!" However, several businessmen grabbed him, obviously hoping to prove their loyalty by pinning him down. When the ORRA men got their, a quick bullet to the head and another shout of "Long live Steele!" reverberated throughout Yankee stadium.
Patton continued without a moment to lose. "Ryan Williams, President of Williams and Keller Tool and Die, please rise!"
An elderly man in a tweed suit stood calmly, raising his right arm. "I am here, Supreme Chief!" he said in a deep baritone. His face showed no emotion. If he was scared, he certainly wasn't showing it.
"For anti-American activity, involving copulation with an Inferior of Society and sapping and contaminating the precious bodily fluids of our society, President Steele hereby sentences you to be shot until dead! May Jehovah have mercy upon your soul."
The old man didn't move a muscle as the ORRA officers closed in for the kill. As he waited for them to arrive, he said to all who could hear, "I love her. My darling girl. I have loved her for twenty years. I didn't think anyone knew. I hid our love to keep her safe, not because I am ashamed. My precious Irish rose. I will see her again. I will see her again. I am ready."
Steele smiled to himself. This was only the beginning. He would purge this country of its weakness.
Boom.
Thud.
"Long live Steele!"
Last edited:
Daaaamn. Steele is an unquestionable monster, but he's damn charming one too when he wants to be.
Also, weird question, but what does Steel sound like? Reading that speech, he sounded like Charlie Chaplin in the Great Dictator
Also, weird question, but what does Steel sound like? Reading that speech, he sounded like Charlie Chaplin in the Great Dictator
Ismaili777's pics from earlier are very suiting for where the 20s are going:
That is exactly what I'm going for. What a lovable scamp! He'll contrast nicely with Oswald's manic psychosis. They are both nutbags, but Steele is always in control of himself and always expresses himself in a smart way.
Not weird at all. In a video from like 5 years ago I gave him Harry Truman's voice. So something like that. Not too deep, not high either. Just a nice Ohio-type accent with a touch of Atlantic received pronunciation. Literally a voice of a nice uncle.
That is exactly what I'm going for. What a lovable scamp! He'll contrast nicely with Oswald's manic psychosis. They are both nutbags, but Steele is always in control of himself and always expresses himself in a smart way.
Not weird at all. In a video from like 5 years ago I gave him Harry Truman's voice. So something like that. Not too deep, not high either. Just a nice Ohio-type accent with a touch of Atlantic received pronunciation. Literally a voice of a nice uncle.
Last edited:
farmerted555
Banned
I never thought I'd say this, but I'm actually hoping and praying for Oswald now.
"No other nation boast an army like our boys in blue, and to rule the universe they do aspire."
I really wonder how Oswald will "de-Steelize" the RU.
You're not the only one. While some of them were surely guilt of something, I'm also sure that Steele used this as an excuse to get rid of potential enemies.
You're not the only one. While some of them were surely guilt of something, I'm also sure that Steele used this as an excuse to get rid of potential enemies.
Looks like it is definitely batshit insane.
The whole thing reminds me of Great Sept of Baelor getting blown up with Cersei watching in the distance sipping wine.
The whole thing reminds me of Great Sept of Baelor getting blown up with Cersei watching in the distance sipping wine.
Well this is Oswald, the very definition of insanity,so I totally could see him doing that