585 Not My Circus, Not My Monkeys

Recife City, in the north of pre-empire Brazil.

“May your new homes be places where your dreams come true. We truly wish you the best.”

The people watching Aron’s address on the holographic screens above the LEAs were stunned into silence. The tailgate party atmosphere instantly cooled down and became glacial, as everyone watching was stunned into silence.

The silence stretched for minutes in the audience’s collective stare state, then a baby began fussing. The sound ignited the crowd, who collectively chose violence. They picked up sticks, rocks, pipes... one enterprising person even kicked over a stall and dismantled it through sheer rage and armed himself with a rather effective makeshift club.

Then the chaos began.