F*** the Command

From publisher blurb: In the 35th Century, Earth is the planet of the Space-Republicans. Earth may be the Motherworld, but any homo sapiens with brains, balls or convictions lit out for deep space decades ago. Industrialization has crippled the globe- every inch of the planet is bought and paid for by somebody. Someone (probably one of that bastard Plantaganet’s inner circle) owns every inch of land, sea or sky. Advertising neon is bio-welded to every tree, factories staffed by endless legions of goggled worker drones cover the entirety of what used to be called ‘states’, before the planet unified. Mindlessly inoffensive muzak drifts from ambient speaker droids shaped like chrome magpies, and there’s an ICG approved church on every street corner. There’s no ‘there’ on Earth anymore. Mombassa looks exactly like Dien Bein Phu, which looks exactly like Austin, which looks exactly like London and Moscow and Calgary and Melbourne and Paris and…you get the idea. Imagine a shopping mall the size of what used to be a planet, and that’s Earth. You know the jackboot currently standing on your throat? Well, it belongs to a Command soldier of some kind. You want to know the exact make and model of the boot, and the stats on the @$$hole whose foot is inside it? Read on. Inside you will also find new Cultural Templates like The Star Virgin and Vidiots, a host of jack-booted cyborgs and even the President of Earth!