They. It's nice and nebulous. You can use it to mean anybody you particularly like. Also winning - a seductive rush of endorphins and then you're up.
Good work, Ara'. Well done. You've irreconcilably plugged yourself into the noosphere of human kind, and you get to watch fifteen year olds meming for downvotes as a planet burns. Ten billion people dead and we're universally desensitised, except when your wetware has the neuroplasticity to keep flexing, flexing, flexing, without breaking a sweat. Without breaking you, Nesrin Khan.
Antimatter beams. When you absolutely, positively have to kill every civillian in the archaeology.
:: <Awaiting> [Instruction] ::
You wern't there, Atar. You can't contemplate what you would have or could have done, because you wern't at the battle of New London, and you wern't there for Operation Dunkirk either. You were not there. You watched. As did nearly everyone but the glimmer of a mote of eyes that looked to the skies, or the napes of the neck of the ones they loved as ground boiled around them.
You could feel the pressure as the beams boiled the oceans, fried the air, shocked the biosphere into wailing haemorrhage. They were coughing as their lungs burned, as the last transports rose over a glowing sea of molten glass. It's barbarity made art. How great, how great thou art.
THE SYNDIC LEAGUES
(A co-operative of Rheinland's Shipping Unions, retired from a life of piracy.)