2020/06/05

Rhetoric and Witches

Witch-finder

With the latest round of race riots providing an orgy of evidence for everything I've said about the Death Cult, it's no stretch to say that Witch hunting is in season. Since I disavow violence, unlike the Witches, the trials and sentencing will be conducted rhetorically.

That doesn't mean engaging Witches in online debate. True to its name, the Death Cult has shown itself eager to destroy the country in the name of its impossible dogma. People who blame white supremacists, pander to BLM, or turn their avis black cannot be reached by argument. You shouldn't interact with them beyond administering the Witch Test, screen capping the result, and blocking them.

The same goes, as far as is possible, for the rash of companies who've thrown in with the rioters against their own customers. It's practically every corporation except for Wendy's at this point, so boycotting all of them would take heroic effort. At the same time, complaining about corporate virtue signaling only serves to give them free advertising.

What should be done, then? It's simple. Talk about these entities, not to them. Screen grabs and archiving are your best friends right now. Amass a compendium of blue checks failing the Witch Test and fried chicken restaurants unironically declaring their dependence on black lives. Calmly and respectfully present this evidence to normie family and friends who remain bluepilled.

The current crisis has handed counterculture dissidents our best chance to date of opening normal people's eyes. Always remember that they are your audience, not the Witches.

Recently I sat down with Benjamin and Anthony of the Superversive Live Stream to discuss these and many other timely topics. Give it a watch!


Then check out this in-depth interview of yours truly conducted by my lovely and talented editor L. Jagi Lamplighter-Wright.

Plus, don't forget to back Combat Frame XSeed: S! We've added lots of tantalizing new perks like Series 4 Trading Cards, an All of the Paperbacks bundle, and more! Help us fund the Combat Frame Tech Guide. Back the campaign now!

Combat Frame XSeed: S
Back it now!

2020/06/04

Combat Frame Data: Jigoku

Jigoku
  
Jigoku

Technical Data

Model number: N/A
Code name: Jigoku
Nickname: Aqua Dragon
Classification: transformable biomass extraction combat frame
Manufacturer: Unknown
Operator: Secta
First deployment: Unknown, before CY -2000
Crew: 1 pilot in full-immersion cockpit in core
Height: 16 meters
Weight: 62 metric tons
Armor type: Synthetic diamond armor
Powerplant: cold fusion reactor, max output 3176 KW
Propulsion: EM drives: 4x 15,500 kg, 4x 38,200 kg; top speed 3080 kph; maneuvering thrusters: 20, 180° turn time 0.75 seconds; legs: top ground speed 200 kph
Sensors: radar, thermal, radiation, gravity, optical nodes seeded throughout CF's structure
Fixed armaments: x8 mono-claw, arm-mounted
Special equipment: full-immersion cockpit, doubles as regeneration tank; transformation capability, TC/D drive

Spacefaring configuration

Jigoku Space

Height: 15 meters
Propulsion: EM drives: 4x 15,250 kg, 2x 35,500 kg, 4x 38,200 kg; top speed 5300 kph; maneuvering thrusters: 24, 180° turn time 0.55 seconds
Fixed armaments: x8 mono-probe, can fire from any point on CF's surface


General Notes

The second of two mysterious combat frames that appeared from deep space early in the HALO Conflict, Jigoku made first contact by disabling six MoT Zwei Dolphs at once. Not by damaging the combat frames, but by instantly killing the pilots inside their cockpits.

Jigoku first appeared over the manufacturing asteroid Astraea in the form of a teardrop-shaped mass of aquamarine crystal. Like its Secta counterpart Harvester, Jigoku was mainly composed of adaptive diamond isomers capable of rapid self-reconfiguration. This fluid construction allowed Jigoku to assume a monstrous bipedal form which HALO pilot Theodore Red described as an aqua dragon.

Not only could the diamond isomers absorb energy attacks far more efficiently than XSeeds' 1D carbyne armor, they also served as quantum logic gates, meaning that Jigoku's computer system was distributed throughout nearly all of its mass. Much of this enormous processing power was devoted to the CF's weapon system, which fired monomolecular diamond filaments much like jellyfish stingers. Not even 100-layer carbyne laminar armor could stop a mono-probe from breaching a CF's cockpit.

Originally designed for sampling and cataloging new lifeforms Jigoku encountered on its journey, the mono-probes could inject a nanite-laden liquid capable of dissolving a human-sized organic mass in seconds. The nanomachines could also record the victim's brain activity and memory engrams in the process and store a virtual copy of the subject in Jigoku's systems for long-term study or later reconstitution.

The same fluid also suffused the CF's cockpit and could be used to regenerate the pilot from injury, old age, or even death.


Get the entire original Combat Frame XSeed series, see Jigoku in action, and see what adventures await in the post-HALO Conflict universe! Back Combat Frame XSeed: S now!

Combat Frame XSeed: S
Back it now!

2020/06/03

Not Hyperbole

cult

There are those who rebuke me for indulging in hyperbole when I refer to the Left as a Death Cult. These critics cling to the ConInc narrative that the impetus behind the Left's ravaging of America is communist ideology.

Our enemies, they insist, aren't spiritually motivated. Instead, they're effete losers who want to implement socialism so they can be issued swank living quarters where the High Party lives and move out of Mom's basement.

What these folks need to understand is that naming our enemy the Death Cult is not hyperbole. There is no exaggeration in pointing out that they operate like a fanatical religion seeking to immanentize the eschaton.

People who still get most of their news from Fox or talk radio could be forgiven for missing these facts. But now, the latest round of race riots has cast the truth into razor-sharp relief.

Watch this video. Only the most oblivious would call that scene a mere political rally. Politics is the art of the possible. The kumbaya session depicted in the video cannot possibly stop the race riots. Nor are we seeing an ideological struggle session. Ideology seeks temporal ends.

No, what that video documents is a congregation engaged in public worship. It's not a political rally. It's a liturgy. The Cultists truly believe in the original sin of white privilege, and they have faith that the Death Cult's sacraments can expiate it.

That's why the rioters have been torching churches. An invading people with their own religion always desecrate the enemy's temples to seal their conquest. Hence the media trotting out that old Judas James Martin on CNN. His job is to make the case for setting up the statue of Moloch in the sanctuary.

The relentless attack on Christianity staged by the Death Cult for the past fifty years is a backhanded compliment paid to the Church. They're more keenly aware than most Christians of how great a threat the Church is to them.

One other thing that video proves is man's need for religion. The Cult sold its bill of goods to secularists under the guise of atheism, but it's now clear that the shiny, sexy utopia the fedora-tippers were promised isn't coming. Many of the r/atheism crowd must know they've been had, but they continue to go along out of sheer inertia.

There's a glimmer of hope here. Like all crises, spiritual crises present opportunities. People are hungry for God. The Death Cult first starved them by cutting them off from Jesus Christ, then swept in to fill the void they'd created. But their demonic anti-faith can't satisfy the human need for meaning. No matter how many times they check their privilege, the Cultists can never be absolved of their racial guilt. They'll forever be Untouchables in the Cult's hierarchy without hope of salvation.

You beat a moral vision with a superior moral vision, and Christianity is the highest, most blindingly radiant moral vision ever revealed to man. The Cult wouldn't have had to spend several decades and trillions of dollars obscuring that light otherwise.

Christians have a peerless tradition of moral sanctity, philosophical genius, and historical charity. We could spiritually wreck the Cult Clowns overnight if 1% of us grew a spine. So that's what we'll have to do. Don't count on the out-of-touch and sometimes complicit hierarchy to swoop in and save the day. As has often been the case before, it's up to the laity. That's fitting, since it's the laity's vocation to consecrate the world to God.

So get out there and get consecrating.

You can start by rejecting the pop culture propaganda the Cult uses to proselytize. Don't fund people who hate you, and make sure to support creators who want to entertain you. The crowdfunding campaign for my new mecha-military sci fi book is the perfect chance to do just that!

Combat Frame XSeed: S - Brian Niemeier
Back it now!

2020/06/02

The Right Mistakes

14 Trillion in Reparations

The phenomenon of left-wing roustabouts whipping up a social network hate mob against some blasphemer of the Narrative has become commonplace. The latest two-minutes hate target is Wendy's. Their CEO contributed to the Trump campaign, so the Death Cult has issued a fatwa against his company.

Of course the boycott with backfire, just like the one against Chick-Fil-A. It's easy to see why. Despite their media-exaggerated cultural footprint, dedicated Cultists are a minority--probably around twenty percent of the country. They also tend to be socially dysfunctional and childless, so it's not like they patronize businesses that cater to families in the first place.

But the main reason the Cult's boycotts blow up their faces is because they're not really boycotts. If the Cultists' main goal was to inflict financial harm on their targets, their high priests would issue an encyclical adding the offender to the Forbidden Index, and the faithful would quietly take their business elsewhere.

That's not what we see with these Leftist boycotts. The show usually starts with some blue check publicly accusing the target of heresy. His followers start a hashtag for the occasion and get it trending. Soon, the bigger lefty blogs pick the story up. That leads to puff pieces in third-rate rags like The Daily Beast and Vice. If the story gets enough juice, it works its way to the top of the chain at MSNBC or CNN.

As Cultists who didn't patronize the business to begin with preen online, the target gets free advertising every step of the way. What's more, word that the other side is attacking some corporation filters down to Conservative circles. The blue-red binary kicks in, and our guys are rushing to the drive-thru chanting, "The enemy of my enemy is my friend!"

All of that is to say that the real point of these ostentatious lefty boycotts is to give rank-and-file Cultists the chance to publicly demonstrate their piety. Assuming they want anything concrete is a mistake.

It's one of many mistakes the Right habitually commits when dealing with the Left. After all, if the enemy is a small minority of the population, why do they keep winning?

The short answer is that, while the Left may not understand the Right, they were cunning enough to hire mercenaries who did. That's how you got fifth columnists like Bill Buckley ensconced at National Review making sure that anybody with effective tactics got drummed out of the movement.

Since at least the 70s, the Conservative movement has been hoodwinked by false leaders enforcing limits on public discourse that ensure their follower' defeat. Their key mandate was sidelining moral arguments in favor of a laser focus on economics. We're now reaping the bitter fruit of that sabotage.

The twofold fallacy instilled by the Right's false shepherds is taking what the Left says at face value on one hand, or completely ignoring their statements on the other.

A good example is the replies to this tweet about reparations. It follows a familiar pattern. A lefty race hustler makes outlandish demands that Americans pay a Danegeld. On cue, Conservatives get up in arms over the economics.

That's precisely the wrong response, and it's exactly the way the hustler hopes you'll respond. Like the high-profile boycott, the call for reparations is a public call to prayer. Protesting it just marks you as an infidel the Cult can rally against.

What the hustler has no answer for is someone calling his bluff. Imagine if, instead of blustering about moral hazard and misappropriation of funds, our guys responded like this:

RACE HUSTLER: Reparations is the only way to atone for America's original sin of slavery!

DISSIDENT: My store is on fire, so I'm prepared to make a deal. I want the slate wiped clean. No more talk of white privilege. No more racial guilt. No more affirmative action. Give me a quote.

RACE HUSTLER: Hold on. You don't get to ask for terms!

DISSIDENT: If both parties can't discuss terms, it's not a negotiation, it's a shakedown. If you're offering a path to racial healing instead of just grifting, give me a quote.

RACE HUSTLER: Um ... FOURTEEN TRILLION!

DISSIDENT: A one-time payment of fourteen trillion to wipe out the whole debt of racism for good? The feds just proved money is fake anyway, so sold!

RACE HUSTLER: Er, no. That's just a start! As long as racism remains systemic and inherent in the concept of whiteness, the debt can never be wiped out!

DISSIDENT: Then you're not asking for reparations like a neighbor, you're demanding tribute like a conqueror. Good luck. You'll need it.

Now, you're not going to change the hustler's mind. He remains committed to his grift. But that's fine, because countless normies have just been clued into the fact that it is a grift.

The secret to dealing with the Left is to hear what they say but then look at the outcomes of their demands. Decades of preaching "Diversity is our strength!" have now left several major cities in flames. Don't take these demands at face value, but don't fall into the equal and opposite error of dismissing them outright. Instead, understand that Leftists' public utterances are ritual sign-acts meant to advance the murderous aims of their Cult.


As always, don't give money to people who hate you, and support works designed to entertain you--like Combat Frame XSeed: S!

Series 4 trading cards are now available, and our third stretch goal--a handsome illustrated CF tech guide--is now funding. Back the project now, and help confirm the book at 400%!

Combat Frame XSeed: S - Brian Niemeier
Back it now!

2020/06/01

Leechcraft

America Morality

Until quite recently, there were still people who thought I was engaged in hyperbole by calling the malignant force that's swept our institutions a Death Cult. If this weekend's riots proved one thing to normal people, it's the reality that there's a militant legion of fanatics at enmity with them.

It's also impossible to miss now that the main thrust of the enemy's fury is directed against Christianity and Christians. Just check out this off-the-cuff tweet of mine that attained minor viral status. Pay special attention to the replies, where CogDis sufferers in ascending degrees of thralldom to the Cult came out of the woodwork to spout Reddit-level nonsense.

That none of them came within miles of a rational argument but instead read off items from an atheist bingo card isn't the point. My tweet clearly and succinctly illustrated the truth that America was founded on Christian morality, and our rulers' renunciation of that morality has plunged the nation into chaos. The Cult's whole operation relies on hijacking Christian morality to browbeat Christians, so they couldn't let a meme that gives their game away go unchallenged.

Internet Atheist Bingo
H/t David Stewart & @NotJohnDaker. Rare meme. Do not share!
An interesting new development that popped up in the crossfire was the spectacle of self-confessed witches coming forward and letting their freak flags fly. I've had plenty of witches unwittingly self-test before, but never so openly as this:

Actual Witch

What the witches' newfound boldness tells me is that they no longer fear negative consequences for revealing their true motives. Conservatives over fifty could once be forgiven for assuming that the Left were sincerely wrong, but sincere nonetheless. The Cult's endgame was always bringing down Christendom, even if it meant a suicide run. They only maintained the pretext of benign intentions to lull their victims long enough to gain power.

The mask hasn't slipped; it's been torn off. That means the witches are confident they've amassed enough power to fear no opposition. Like old pulp villains, they revel in unveiling their master plan, since they see no chance of anyone thwarting it.

In purely material terms, the witches' bravado is justified. Consider the authorities who are supposed to be maintaining order. The mayor of Minneapolis is Cloud Land scion sent to administer the provinces in preparation for a career back in the imperial capital. His total lack of leadership in this crisis has made him the poster boy for Gen Y train wreck lava lamp syndrome.

It's not just that our rulers are paralyzed with indecision. All law is ultimately about enforcing morality, and our elites' submission to the Death Cult means that their morality condones the chaos. Death Cult dogma teaches that everyone is equal, except for straight, white, Christians who unconsciously wield diabolical powers which beguile and oppress everyone else.

Our leaders don't quash the looting because they deem it just compensation for the victims of white Christians, who are oppressors receiving their due punishment.

Trump, for his part, is stuck in the "sincere but sincerely wrong" mindset regarding his enemies. It's hard not to feel sorry for him. He's like one of the last doctors trained in miasma theory and leechcraft after the discovery of germs.

Christians aren't entirely blameless. We didn't speak up when doing so had little cost, so now we have to speak up even though it now bears a heavy price.

One of my Twitter mutuals--a friendly nonbeliever--told me yesterday how shocked he is that every black legend canard hurled at the Church turns out to be false, yet Christians never push back against them.

Never discount the power of one dissenter willing to speak up and stand firm against the mob. You don't have to be a master rhetorician or a great debater, but you no longer have the right or excuse to say nothing. Your forefathers bequeathed Christendom to you after winning it with blood, sweat, and prayer. Their patrimony is not yours to give away because you fear being called names.

The next time you come across a fedora tipper or internet witch spewing juvenile lies about the Inquisition or the Crusades, voice your dissent. You don't have to change the cultists' minds. Without a miracle, you can't. But you likely will break their spell over many members of the audience.

The witches are not your moral superiors. You answer only to Christ, and if you fail to defend His bride for fear of men, you will answer to Him.


Of course, the Cult wouldn't be getting away with it if they hadn't dominated pop culture. That's why not paying people who hate you and at the same time supporting artists who want to entertain you is vital. Back Combat Frame XSeed: S now. Every perk tier includes all four XSeed eBooks, plus an exclusive new short story. That's in addition to the awesome rewards at each level!

Combat Frame XSeed: S - Brian Niemeier
Back it now!

2020/05/29

Trump v Twitter

Trump Public Interest

If you've been paying attention to American politics over the past four years, a couple of observations are inescapable. The first is that Trump is more showman than politician. He likes throwing grenades and then barging into the room to leverage the chaos. This approach usually involves a lot of big, blustery talk that later gets walked back or forgotten.

The second observation is that the people who run the Death Cult establishment aren't all that bright.

Over the past few days, a confluence of these two factors has brought the longstanding tech censorship crisis to a head. It all started when Trump won the 2016 election despite Silicon Valley's best efforts. Big Tech has spent the past four years mowing down counterculture accounts like wheat.

The small-souled bugmen in San Francisco and Seattle may not be as smart as they think, but they do understand social media's crucial role in Trump's 2016 victory. If their respective actions are any indication, they understand it better than him.

Hence why Trump has been monitoring the situation for a year, during which many of the people who got him elected have been banished from the internet. For all intents and purposes, it looked like Big Tech would be allowed to continue meddling with the 2020 election and get away with it. All the bugmen had to do was run out the clock.

That's when one social media firm's Death Cult fanaticism got the better of them. As it happened, the first tech firm to crack was also the worst possible one to wig out from the enemy's perspective. Trump's penchant for Twitter is universally known. He practically governs the country through it. Jack Dorsey has resisted the urge to mess with Trump's account because he knows it might actually bestir the President to act.

Then, on Tuesday, Twitter attached a fact check disclaimer to one of Trump's tweets about mail-in ballots. Trump responded with characteristic bombast, threatening to heavily regulate Big Social or shut them down.

That was music to many on the Right who live under constant threat of tech exile. Many tempered their hopes with reminders of the rather large discrepancy between promises and delivery on Trump's part.

Dissidents' hopes rose again when the White House confirmed that the President would be signing an executive order to combat tech censorship. Dissidents were once again cautiously optimistic.

And this time, their optimism paid off. Last night, Trump did indeed sign an executive order cracking down on Big Tech censorship.

There's no question this is a big win for right-wingers persecuted on social media. However, it's important to keep expectations in line with reality. The President is the chief executive, not a one-man legislature, so his power to intervene here is limited.

That said, Trump's order hits a lot of the right notes. He specifically mentions Section 230 of the 1996 Communications Decency Act. That's the provision that limits social networks' liability for content posted on their sites. Without Section 230, Twitter, Facebook, and Instagram would be open to legal action for spreading libel and abetting crimes, just like television networks and newspaper publishers.

While Trump can't strip Big Tech's Section 230 protections himself, his EO does call on the DOJ to draft legislation that would significantly narrow them. Such a bill would have to make it through Congress, though, which is unlikely under current circumstances.

In the meantime, Trump has ordered Executive Branch agencies to reconsider their business dealings with Big Social, including cutting back on ad spending and asking the FTC slap Twitter and its ilk with regulatory action for politically motivated censorship.

An industry not run by raving fanatics would take an order like that as a sharp warning to clean up their act. But since this is the Death Cult's in-house inquisition we're talking about, they responded like this:

Mister Anti-bully Jack retweeted

That's Twitter CEO Jack Dorsey retweeting the warning placed on Trump's tweet about the Minneapolis riots. That goes beyond doubling down to strapping on a suicide vest.

Trump fired back first thing this morning:

Trump Twitter regulated

Perhaps the President's vanity will prevail where his supporters' pleas failed. At the very least, we're in for a good show.

Having felt the sting of Twitter's censorship myself, I know the daunting odds facing counterculture artists trying to make a living from their art. We couldn't do it without the support of stalwart readers like you. Back Combat Frame XSeed: S now!

Combat Frame XSeed: S - Brian Niemeier

2020/05/27

High Strangeness Hits Home

Night Woods

An unexpected but welcome development arising from my high strangeness posts has been the occasional reader who writes me to share his own tale of the unexplained. Audience participation is a major benefit of blogging, and it's fun to hear from my readers.

Recently though, these posts took an unsettling turn as the high strangeness hit close to home. The following comes from someone with whom I'm quite close. Shared with permission.
As you know, I've followed your blog since the beginning. Your high strangeness posts have been some of my all time favorites, which is ironic in hindsight, since I only just realized I've been living in one for a couple of years now.
That's why I'm writing this now. I didn't notice everything that was snowballing this whole time until something I couldn't ignore happened the other night and put it all in perspective.
Anyway, enough beating around the bush. I'll just get right into it. You know I moved into my current place back in November. I'm still a night owl, and I've kept up my habit of taking walks at night. So your readers know, this neighborhood is pretty densely wooded, but it's near the edge of a decent-sized city. My street is pretty secluded even though it's right off a major thoroughfare. In short, it's great for long private walks without fear of getting lost away from civilization or falling victim to street crime. Perfect, right?
Except I soon found out it's not so perfect. Not two weeks after I moved in, I was strolling down the shady residential street that leads off the main road to my neighborhood. I saw a stocky guy with a buzz cut standing in the open gate to his backyard fence. He watched me approach, and, when I got closer, marched up to me and shined a high-power flashlight right in my face. Then, like the bad cop in some cheesy crime movie, he demanded to know if I was the one who kicked his dog's head in.
A little background. This guy's dog is a German Shepherd--a big one! It's mean and territorial, barking loudly at anyone who gets too close to the owner's yard--which, by the way, is fortified like something out of I Am Legend. The guy's got a high wooden fence with a big chainlink kennel for the dog near the house, and he leaves a high-powered floodlight on all night every night.
Anyway, I truthfully told him that not only did I not cave his dog's head in, I would never even think of doing something so despicable, since I'm a lifelong dog-lover. He told me I'd better not have and stormed off back to his yard.
I remember feeling mostly annoyed and indignant at the time, but a part of me briefly wondered who could have seriously injured such a big, vicious guard dog--and to hear the owner tell it, unarmed at that. But I put the thought aside and went on my way, making sure to change my walking route to avoid that house for a while. I felt a bit uneasy for a time, but I didn't see anything out of the ordinary.
The incident was soon forgotten as relations with my next door neighbors demanded more of my attention. The lady of the house seemed generally uneasy about something. One time her boyfriend came over to borrow some tools because they were sure someone had bugged their house. The girlfriend must think I'm patrolling the block at night instead of taking leisure walks, because one night she called me over for a chat as I was passing in front of her place. One thing she said that stuck out to me then and sends chills down my spine now was that I "must be tired of the weirdness going on around here."
It might be nothing, but my neighbors have a bright white porch light that they turn on every night at sunset and leave on until after dawn. There's also a motion-activated floodlight in their front yard.They also have a dog that they let roam around the neighborhood. One night a couple years ago, he got spooked and ran off into the woods (Our neighborhood is right on the edge of a heavily wooded city park). They searched all night but couldn't find him. He finally came back on his own hours later, panting heavily and soaked in his own pee.
Like I said, I didn't really connect any of this - until a couple of nights ago when I was returning from a walk. It was after midnight, and I was walking down the same side street the German Shepherd owner's fortified compound is on. The last street light is at a fork in the road, and it has an annoying habit of winking out just as I get to it. The other night, it did it again, right after I became aware of an unusual smell. I'd never smelled anything quite like it. Think of burning hair with an undercurrent of sulfur, and you've got a rough idea. Only there was no texture of smoke on the air. It was an earthy, somehow warm odor.
When I set foot in the fork in the road, I felt suddenly scared for no visible reason. I slowed down and tried to creep along as if I was a kid trying to sneak a midnight snack without waking my parents. My footsteps seemed ridiculously loud. It had rained recently, and despite myself, I kept stepping in puddles in the dark. The splash of my feet in the puddles may as well have been boulders dropping into them.
Then another noise made me forget all about my loud feet. I was on the left fork. The right fork continued onto a more secluded, upscale street that ran alongside a steep ravine. The noise I heard was something taking off through the woods probably thirty yards to my right and crashing through that ravine. I heard dry leaves and underbrush thrashing and branches--if not whole saplings--snapping. Whatever was booking it out of there, it was big--at least the size of a large dog.
Yes, we have deer in the area. I've seen--and disturbed--herds of them lots of times. Once or twice, I've seen and heard them flee into that same ravine. They're nowhere near as loud as whatever made that racket the other night. And you don't hear them as long. This thing's exit remained audible for several seconds as opposed to a moment or two for the deer.
I scoped out the ravine on Google maps. It cuts through the park all the way to the river at the base of the hills. It would be mighty convenient for something traveling the river to move inland through those ravines without being seen.
That's it so far. Sorry if it was anticlimactic.
Oh, I leave my front and back outdoor lights on from dusk 'til dawn, now, too.

For early access to fictional thrills and chills, back Combat Frame XSeed: S now!

Combat Frame XSeed: S - Brian Niemeier

2020/05/26

Combat Frame XSeed: S Is Now Funding

Combat Frame XSeed: S - Brian Niemeier

The most highly anticipated crowdfunding campaign of 2020 is here! Now is your chance to get early access to book 1 in a bold new series of the XSeed saga: Combat Frame XSeed: S!


An unstoppable scourge lays siege to Earth 

Can humanity survive a world-destroying force that has never known defeat?

The Ynzu Siege nears its third bloody decade. Battered to the breaking point, the United Commonwealth-Protectorate recalls its combat frame carrier fleet for a last stand at Earth.

Lt. Dex Trapper must battle for his life when the Ynzu strike his remote extrasolar colony. Cut off from the UCP, Dex and his CF tech Thatch make a desperate break for help in a century-old XSeed.


If you thought the first XSeed series was ambitious, you ain't seen nothin' yet. The CY 40 arc introduced the CFXS universe. The S arc will expand the saga to interstellar scale!

Check out the all-new Combat Frame XSeed: S book trailer, courtesy of VideoAnon:


Starting a new series within the CFXS universe wasn't a project I undertook lightly. Not only did a story of the scope I wanted to tell require expanding the narrative framework, to do it justice I had to up my game across the board. That meant a new tone, renewed dedication to my craft, and a fresh aesthetic.

If the first XSeed series was Mobile Suit Gundam meets Tom Clancy, XSeed: S is Macross meets Warhammer 40K.

This is the story I've been working up to for years, and now you can reserve a front row seat. The book crowdfunder is live on Indiegogo, where you can reserve a pre-launch digital copy and choose from an ever-expanding selection of tantalizing perks.

To kick the proceedings off with a bang, not only do all perk tiers include a digital copy of XSeed: S, but the entire original CFXS eBook series as well!

But that's just sweetener for the awesome perks we've got lined up, including the chance to be in the book, be killed in the book, and of course, build your own mech!

Ƶ
Platypus tested, platypus approved!
If our prior successful campaigns are any indication, the limited-quantity perks will go fast, so claim yours now!

UPDATE: We're already past 30% funded as of press time. Big thanks to our amazing backers! Let's get this project 100% funded today and unlock the first stretch goal--an IGG exclusive short story that will bridge the CY-era and the S-era. The short will be for all backers, and backers only, so head over to IGG and back the book now!

XSeed: S 31%

UPDATE 2: I crashed after working on the campaign all night. When I woke up, we were 148% funded. Combat Frame XSeed: S hit its initial goal within twelve hours--a new record!

Thanks to everyone who's backed the project thus far. Our first stretch goal is now unlocked! You guys are gonna like this one. When we reach 200% funding, every backer will be guaranteed a new short story bridging the CY 40 and S eras.

I've got lots more exciting perks and stretch goals planned as the campaign marches on. So get in the game, back the project, and unlock those new goodies!

Combat Frame XSeed: S 148

2020/05/25

Society Is Not a Social Construct

Society

Regular readers of this blog know I've devoted a significant number of posts to exposing the faults inherent in Liberalism. That's not merely to say the political shorthand employed by the Generals to mock the Globetrotters. It refers to the broad category of Liberal political philosophy of which Conservatism itself is a subset.

The fatal flaw of Liberalism--aside from its failure to secure long-term material prosperity, never mind maintain the West's social cohesion--is that it's based on the false notion that freedom is an absolute good to be pursued for its own sake.

What gives the game away is that any appeal to freedom is susceptible to the question, "Freedom to do what?" Absent an objective good toward which it's directed, the concept of freedom is without content. The value of a given freedom entirely depends on the inherent value of the goods you can get with it.

Freedom detached from any grounding in the good has no limiting principle. That's the slippery slope the West has slid down from yeoman farmers defending private property to pink-haired witches demanding that everyone pretend they're female ungulates. If freedom is absolute, then any boundaries placed on individual self-expression--even the truth--must be a tyrannical imposition.

That's why the real opponents of Liberalism aren't Conservatives, but what author David Stewart has termed Optimates--men who primarily seek the common good. The Optimate response to wacko Liberal demands isn't, "How does this promote freedom?" It's, "How does this advance the common good and help people cultivate virtue?"

Inevitably, when this question is asked on social media, sufferers of a mutant strain of Liberalism will come out of the woodwork to utter predictable knee-jerk objections. The most common names for this disorder are Classical Liberalism and Libertarianism, but they both boil down to selfishness masquerading as a political philosophy.

A reliable way to set your watch is to make an argument for the common good and wait till a Libertarian shows up to disqualify the whole concept on the basis that different people define the common good differently.

Anyone who outgrew the Gen X coffee house hipster phase will immediately recognize this objection as an appeal to moral relativism, and a self-defeating one, at that. The whole point of politics is to decide how best to order society for the common good. By declaring their ignorance of what constitutes the common good, Libertarians admit that their political philosophy has no idea how to achieve the common end of all political philosophies. They forfeit the match before they even take the field.

Next, the Libertarian will try to handwave his way out of the corner he painted himself into by pointing out that a lot of evil has been done in the name of the common good. This is an even more glaring self-contradiction, since evil can't by definition be good. In effect, this argument is another appeal to ignorance bundled with a straw man that tries to conflate pursuit of the good with evils committed under the false flag of the good. It's the defining Libertarian category error of equating abuse with legitimate use.

To throw a wrench in the gears, simply point out the evils enabled by gun ownership.

As a last ditch defense, the Libertarian will try to define away any distinction between Liberalism and the Optimate position by redefining the common good as the cumulative result of each individual pursuing his own self-interest. Rather than resolving the Libertarian's problems, this argument only multiplies them.

First and foremost, this tactic is simply dishonest. It pretends that the Libertarian and the Optimate differ only on matters of semantics, not substance. That claim is ridiculous on its face, since one side bases its whole worldview on the premise that individual freedom is absolute, and the other insists that freedom is contingent upon the good. Attempting to equate the two just demonstrates the Libertarian's inability to critically examine his a priori assumptions.

Related to the preceding, the claimed equivalence is just plain false. When an Optimate argues for the common good, he doesn't mean the aggregate good of each individual in the society under discussion. The Libertarian views society as an epiphenomenon of individuals pursuing their own self-interest, that is, as a social construct. In contrast, the Optimate recognizes that society is not a social construct. He knows that families, neighborhoods, and nations are real things with their own purposes and destinies above and beyond those of their individual constituents.

Another fundamental difference between Liberals of all stripes and Optimates is that the latter rightly acknowledges the basic unit of society as the family, not the individual. Just as no amount of free electrons can form an atom, no number of individuals acting for their own exclusive ends can form a society.

This where the Libertarian will jump up and accuse the Optimate of wanting to impose tyranny on the individual by coercing him into subordinating his will to the whims of the mob. But that's another straw man--one that hinges on a false binary.

The Optimate affirms both that the common good is more than aggregate enlightened self-interest and that it is fully compatible with the individual's good. He squares this circle by rejecting the Liberal conceit that each individual lives solely for himself. Instead, the Optimate affirms that each man's life is naturally ordered toward the good of others. Unlike the Liberal, the Optimate can define the good and consistently assert that the individual good at least partly consists of serving the common good.

Think of a sports team. The New York Yankees are a ball club--a small but real society composed of individual players, coaches, and support personnel. Yankees society is directed toward achieving a particular common good--victory in baseball games. The individual players engage in activities such as practice, exercise, and dieting which advance each man's particular good while helping the club attain the common good of winning games. There's no contradiction between the two.

That's why Liberalism can't produce the conditions required for human flourishing in the long run. The Clown World we currently live in is the direct result of that inevitable failure.

To break through the societal dead end we've run into, we'll need a political force capable of shifting the paradigm away from the figment of absolute freedom and toward the reality of the common good.

You can make a small but significant start by withholding money from those who hate you and supporting people who are committed to your good.

Don't Give Money to People Who Hate You - Brian Niemeier
Read it now!

2020/05/22

The High 90s

A raging debate between members of Generation Y and the Millennials revolves around this question: Which decade was superior--the 1980s or the 1990s?

As with the prevailing generational models themselves, cultural eras defy easy sorting into neat and tidy boxes. What we tend to think of as 1960s culture, for instance, didn't really gain steam until 1968 and lasted into the early 70s.

With this in mind, I set out to map the contours of the post-malaise, morning in America high pop culture that gives so many of us nostalgia pangs.

And because this was the time when visual media triumphed, I'll present my findings in pictures.

First up, the Early 80s

Early 80s

The period from roughly 1980-1983 introduced several new IPs and technologies that would shake up pop culture for decades. Video arcades, pulp-influenced movies, and pop rock all rose to prominence. But these nascent cultural touchstones were still in their infancy. Holdover fashions, attitudes, and aesthetics from the Carter era still exerted great influence.

The Mid-80s

Mid-80s

What we think of as the 80s vibe came into its own in the years from 1984-1986. The launch of the Nintendo Entertainment System resurrected the video game industry from the crash of 83 and set home consoles on track to overtake arcades. On, TV, the aftershocks of the Rural Purge subsided, clearing the field for a new generation of family-centered sitcoms. The pulp adventure film revival started by George Lucas hit its stride under guys like Spielberg and Zemeckis. In music, the final death of punk opened the floodgates for hair metal and synths-for-the-sake-of-synths dance music.

The High 80s

The High 80s

Looking back at the 80s, you get the strong impression of an era when new art forms and genres gradually worked out what they wanted to be. There was a clear upward curve evident across all popular media as the explosion phase led to higher degrees of refinement.

The span of years from 1987-1989 yielded the decade's definitive fruit. The Sega Genesis heralded the 16-bit console generation, giving kids an arcade-quality play experience at home. The wholesome but rather twee sitcoms of just a few years before were eclipsed by edgier, more topical fare.

Yes, I realize that "edgy" is a tainted term nowadays. But the context is America ca. 1989, before all comedians became cowards. It was still possible for comedy to have genuine edge and hit controversial subjects hard from both sides. It's hard to conceive of now, but the gay rights agenda that was the first shot in the now-ubiquitous social justice offensive, hadn't yet taken off.

Meanwhile, in music, some bands were starting to figure out what synthesizers were for.

The Early 90s

Early 90s

1990-1992 was when the cracks really started to show in the convention of categorizing cultural eras by decade. Just as late 70s aesthetics persisted into the early 1980s, High 80s culture still dominated the early 90s--much to the latter's benefit.

In video games, consoles continued their triumphal march. The 16-bit generation began its meteoric rise from the introduction phase toward the explosion phase that would mark the next era. Even the 8-bit consoles enjoyed a memorable swan song as veteran developers who'd mastered the last-generation hardware squeezed impressive performance out of the old systems.

On TV, gritty and edgy programming took the next step into weird and quirky. This trend represented a mini-explosion phase that's still reverberating today.

Hollywood assumed its canary in the cultural coalmine role as the retro-pulp adventure genre began to falter. The first strains of creeping wokeness sowed confusion that resulted in a mixed bag of revisionist blockbusters that don't hold up and anomalous flops that are now hailed as underrated gems. Of course, Canon Films saved the era with their rapid-release action schlock masterworks.

Music, too, was rent by the conflict between conflicting visions. On the corporate side, record labels collectively decided to let popular but expensive hair bands' contracts lapse and dredge the gutter for new, exploitable talent. Opposing the gray-brown grunge flood stood new bands with fresh sounds and established acts who successfully reinvented themselves. Rock reached a crossroads, and given the choice between continuing to develop authentically in harmony with its roots or cynically mashing up punk and metal, it took the easy way leading to inevitable death.

But that wouldn't come until after the brief renaissance of ...

The High 90s

The High 90s

Millennials who argue for the 1990s as the best decade almost always have the period from 1993-1996 in mind. It's no wonder, because during that time pop culture saw one of those dramatic resurgences that are as brief as they are rare.

The expectation instilled in gamers that each new release would surpass the last reached its climax. 2D gaming attained perfection. Science fiction retook television by storm with landmark installments of classic franchises and newcomers that punched above their weight. A crime genre revival treated audiences to smart, slickly produced movies that still hold up. In music, rock & roll made a valiant last stand before Auto-Tune and Cakewalk delivered the coup de grace.

Past experience led everyone to expect that things would only get better, but the mid-90s turned out to be the decade's high point. What followed can only be called ...

The Low 90s

Low 90s

Further argument beyond this picture would constitute beating a dead horse, but this is one horse I can't get enough of beating.

With cultural ground zero hitting in 1997, the high culture that had begun in the 80s came to an abrupt and ignominious end. The triumph of 3D turned video gaming into a digital wasteland of interactive movies rendered in jaggy polygons. Television became insufferably feminized. Hollywood plunged headlong into the IP milking phase. With the grunge gravy train long since run out, the record labels inflicted nu-Metal upon our unsuspecting ears out of spite.

Video games, TV, movies, music, and fashion have all been stuck in a hip-hop-scored celebritard loop ever since. The only difference between 1998 and 2020 is that all the zombie IPs have been overtly weaponized against normal people.

What can men do against such reckless hate? Start by not paying people who hate you.

Don't Give Money to People Who Hate You - Brian Niemeier

2020/05/21

Combat Frame XSeed: S Preview

Combat Frame XSeed: S

My loyal readers have been waiting patiently for news about my next Combat Frame XSeed book, and patience should be rewarded.

Without further ado, here is a sample chapter from Book 1 in a brand-new XSeed series--Combat Frame XSeed: S.

Cassone Extrasolar Colony, Common Year 98
Second Lieutenant Dex Trapper kept his hazel eyes locked on the shiny vacuum chamber inside the MCF-122’s open port plasma cannon. He held the new part in place with his left hand, stretched his gray-sleeved right arm beyond the forward-swept wing’s edge, and curled his fingers in a beckoning gesture.
Thatch!” he said when his hand remained empty after several seconds.
Dex sucked his teeth in annoyance when his call received no response. He pulled the reflective tube from the cannon and ducked under the wing-mounted gun to confront his idle teammate.
Thatch, get your head out of the clouds!”
Those clouds hung sparsely over a world six hundred light-years from Dex’s home in Western Australia. Senior Airman Thatcher Drummond stood three meters away on the sunlit tarmac, staring at the purple-blue sky. A humid, musky breeze stirred his wavy brown hair.
Dex approached his younger subordinate and waved a hand in front of his face. “Cassone Air Base to Drummond. Do you copy?”
Thatch’s green eyes blinked behind his octagon-frame glasses. A start shook his skinny frame. “Dex! Sorry. I must’ve spaced out.”
Come back down and hand me the 8mm torque wrench.”
Thatch jerked toward the tech cart standing to his left and fumbled with the tools on its graphene-padded top. The wrench Dex needed clanged to the pavement, along with several others.
Sorry,” Thatch said again as he got down on all fours to look for the dropped tools. Dex crouched down and helped him gather them up.
You seem distracted,” Dex said to his awkward but usually capable friend. “Is something bugging you?”
Thatch smiled. “We’re trillions of miles from Earth. Light duty. Good weather. No Ynzu siege. What could bug me out here?”
Dex stood, set the tools on the cart, and threw his long platinum ponytail back over his shoulder. “Let’s close her up and break for lunch.” He swept his arm over the fifteen other gray and blue fighters parked nearby. “Like you said, these Emancipators aren’t flying regular combat missions.”
Thanks,” said Thatch. Kneeling on the tarmac, he looked like a Japanese kid making a formal apology.
Dex and Thatch took a long lunch at a civilian diner off base. Not that they escaped the shadow of the bronze-domed colony ship embedded in the alien ground. The same enormous vessels that brought human settlers to the extrasolar colonies also served as massive worst-case scenario bunkers. Dex had spent all of his eighteen years under the threat of imminent annihilation.
He was almost used to it.
You gonna eat that?” Thatch asked, pointing at the remaining half of Dex’s turkey club.
Dex slid his plastic plate across the mint green fiberboard table. “I’m more interested in what’s eating you.”
Thatch took a greedy bite of the sandwich Dex had found rather dry and leaned close to be heard over the Barak Red tune pulsing from the sound system. “You know those guys from Records who traded me a vintage CCF-017K kit for helping them run inventory?”
Dex rolled his eyes. His friend’s obsession with old combat frames would land him in trouble someday. “Let me guess. You found some more scale CF models down in storage.”
Even better.” Thatch glanced over the customers milling around them to make sure no one was eavesdropping. “The UCAF’s Emancipators aren’t the only XSeeds on Cassone.”
Unlike most of Thatch’s CF geekery, the possibility of secret XSeeds piqued Dex’s interest. “What kind are we talking?” A thrilling prospect entered Dex’s head. “I heard ISBC’s field testing the new Two Series. Did they send us a prototype?”
Thatch shook his head. “Think older. Way older.”
Dex’s brow furrowed. “The Army dumped some decommissioned MCF-RE100’s?”
Older,” Thatch said around another mouthful of sandwich. He swallowed. “We’re talking pre-One Series.”
Weren’t all of those custom units or prototypes?” Dex took a sip of cranberry juice. It tasted like sugar water compared to the deliciously tart product of his family’s farm. I’ve gotta do something about the beverage selection.
According to the colony ship’s manifest,” said Thatch, “it’s an XCD-001.”
Dex coughed on juice gone down the wrong pipe. “Weren’t all three lost a century ago?”
The first three were destroyed in the war,” said Thatch, “but ISBC made two more back in 56 to test XSeed mass production feasibility.”
Why would they ship one all the way out here?”
Thatch shrugged. “It came over with the first colonists. I couldn’t find a reason why. But it’s been gathering dust for twenty-eight years.”
It might as well,” said Dex. “An antique like that isn’t much use.”
The rest of the day passed like most others on Cassone. Dex and Thatch reassembled the plasma cannon and called it a day. Dex had a go at some combat sims—probably the most action he’d see during his tour, hit the showers, and retired to his spartan quarters. Thatch’s XSeed mystery briefly kept him from sleep, but he squelched his wild speculation and drifted off.
Shrill sirens jolted Dex awake. At first he thought them remnants of a fading dream in which he fled from prison down a wet grassy hill. The alarms’ continued wailing alerted him that something really was wrong. A green flash preceding an orange blast that rattled his windows put a name to his dread.
The Ynzu! They’re here!
Dex sprang out of bed. He threw on his flight suit, grabbed his sidearm and helmet, and rushed into the tiled hallway. Other junior officers dashed about in various states of dress, shouting conflicting instructions or simply running for the exits. Dex ran, too—toward the airfield.
Chaos gripped the base. A blunt green transport driving in the opposite direction passed Dex on his way. Several men crowded into the vehicle’s open back urged him to hop on. He ignored them and doubled his pace.
Green lightning and orange-white fireballs lit up the airfield. A headless giant with flared pauldrons, a bulbous torso, and spindly arms ending in wicked pincers stood silhouetted against the inferno. The Ynzu Claviceps strode uncontested down the runway, fragging Emancipators with emerald bolts from the guns between its curved claws.
Dex veered left and ran for one of the few intact XSeeds. He ran alone. Everybody else is heading for the bunker. Riding out the attack underground was probably the smart play, but Dex wasn’t the deepest thinker. He didn’t know exactly what he could do against the Ynzu on his own. He just knew he couldn’t do nothing.
The gray, blue-edged fighter waited a fifty-meter sprint away under a curtain of smoke. The Claviceps rampaged into the distance behind him. I’m gonna make it!
A crane-sized pincer parted the choking black veil. A blood-red point glowed from the headless chest of a second Claviceps. The ground shook under its taloned feet as it advanced.
Or not.
The Ynzu CF glistened like a jade idol overseeing a sacrificial fire. Its left claw pointed down at the Emancipator. At that range, the graviton-shaped plasma bolt would burn through the XSeed and immolate Dex. The UCAF pilot forced himself to look down the barrel that would unleash his death.
No!” cried a familiar trebly voice.
Awful wonder compelled Dex to turn his back on the enemy. Thatch stood five meters behind him, his open hands stretched toward the Ynzu. Firelight flickered in his lenses, hiding his eyes.
What the hell are you doing!?” Dex lunged for Thatch, grabbed the scrawny tech’s olive jacket-clad arm, and ran for the bunker. Seconds later, a burst of green light, a deafening thunderclap, and a hot wind against his back told Dex that the Clav had fired. Thatch screamed. He was lucky he’d survived to scream.
Luck favored them again when another personnel transport turned into their path. Dex helped the mostly civilian passengers pull Thatch aboard before jumping on himself. Only then did he feel the burning in his lungs and the throbbing in his arms. He still clutched his helmet.
The two airmen sat facing each other across the truck’s crowded cabin. The reek of burning oil and fear soured the air. Dex suppressed the insane questions that besieged his mind as the world came apart.
Their ride through purgatory ended at a towering bronze-tinged gate. The colony ship’s entrance resembled a set of aircraft hangar doors, but as thick as the truck was long. Hundreds of colonists teemed around dozens of military and civilian vehicles within the cavern-like loading zone. Most processed deeper inside. Others called out for missing loved ones. Some ambled about, dazed. Recorded messages urged everyone to stay calm and follow the white lines.
The transport stopped when the crush of humanity grew too thick. Dex hopped down from the tailgate and moved to join the slow stampede, but a skinny hand grabbed his arm.
Not that way,” Thatch said. “Those people are walking into a mass grave.”
Dex motioned for his friend to lower his voice. “The bunker’s built to UCP specs. We’ll dig in and wait out the attack.”
Name one ExSol that survived an Ynzu attack,” Thatch said in a harsh whisper.
You got a better plan?” asked Dex, his mouth suddenly dry.
Not so much a plan as possibility. But it beats waiting to die. Come on.”
Dex followed Thatch out of the crowd and through a curving maze of corridors lit by intermittent emergency strips. The winding path ended at the carbyne-steel cage of an old cargo lift. Thatch pressed the lower of two black rubber buttons protruding from a yellow box mounted beside the door. The grilled gate rose with a clatter, and both men entered the cage.
I thought you didn’t want to hide underground,” Dex said as the lift descended into the ship’s gloomy depths.
We’re not hiding,” said Thatch. “The XCD-001 is down here—if the manifest is right.”
Dex raised a white eyebrow. “You don’t know for sure?”
I had to catalogue a thousand other pieces of junk before I could go and see for myself,” said Thatch.
Better late than never,” said Dex.
The car shuddered to a halt. Thatch rocked on his feet as the grilled gate rose. A single room big enough to hold a pre-Collapse aircraft carrier spread out from the lift shaft. Row upon row of shipping containers, crates, and shelves stacked high as office buildings radiated to the domed storehouse’s distant wall. The air smelled like a warehouse store.
Thatch exited the lift at a half-run. Dex strode briskly after him.
We might starve before we find this thing,” the pilot said.
They walked straight for a hundred meters, took a left, and turned right. A blue and white humanoid form stood over them. Its armor still held a glossy sheen. Dex found his gaze drawn to its oddly humanlike amber eyes.
It’s an XSeed.” Dex spoke in a near-whisper. Despite working with Prometheus’ mass-produced descendants every day, he felt unexpected awe in the prototype’s presence.
It’s our way out,” Thatch said with similar reverence.
Tactical reality snapped Dex out of his veneration. “Can a museum piece like this really take on the Ynzu alone?”
It doesn’t have to,” said Thatch. “According to the manifest, this unit has TC/D.”
Mention of the forbidden FTL drive aroused equal hope and fear in Dex. “Using TC/D without authorization from the General Staff is against the law. We’d end up in a penal colony.”
Got a QuaSt comm on you?”
Uh, no.”
It’s a moot point, anyway,” said Thatch. “The Ynzu always jam our QuaSt signals.”
Dex surprised himself by playing the voice of reason. “We should tell the brass about your antique find.”
They already know,” said Thatch. “I wouldn’t have gotten my CCF-017K if I hadn’t submitted my report.”
This is all about you getting to ride in a life-sized model kit.”
A tremor coursed up Dex’s feet. Boxes tumbled from high shelves and thudded to the steel deck.
Guilty,” said Thatch. “But look, if base command was gonna use this XSeed, they’d have done it as soon as the Ynzu took out our Emancipators. Colonel Hutchinson will follow UCP doctrine like always—which means we’re the only hope this colony has.”
Dex looked into the ancient XSeed’s eyes once more. This time they inspired not awe, but resolution. “OK. We take this relic. We fight past the Ynzu, get into space, and use the TC/D to bring back help.”
Sounds easy,” Thatch said with a note of sarcasm.

Nothing easy is worth doing.” Dex put on his helmet and strode toward the XSeed.


The crowdfunding campaign for Combat Frame XSeed: S launches soon on Indiegogo!

Combat Frame XSeed: S - Brian Niemeier

Get ready for the next exciting series in this epic mech saga by reading the first now!

Combat Frame XSeed series - Brian Niemeier
Read now!