STORYLINE

The Hidden Manimal Mine of Maui Lou

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The tunnels, lava tubes, and storage facilities beneath Lahaina have long been popular places for those with an adventurous spirit to explore. Finding supplies and weapons can be very lucrative to those brave or foolish enough to explore these dark places. However, one such location has held the imagination of islanders much more than any other, and it might not even exist. The Hidden Manimal Mine of Maui Lou is a story every child knows, and a dream a handful try to find every year.

Maui Lou was not a well-known man in his time or a successful one. He spent most nights sleeping on the beach beneath the stars, and his days wandering from place to place. When he was younger, Lou dreamed of being a professional surfer, but in his early 50’s the only thing he surfed was couches. And so it would have gone, had it not been for the great fracture. Like so many, the accident awakened something inside Lou and showed him his destiny.

From his time wandering the town, Lou knew many places to seek shelter and the best gardens in Lahaina. He helped many make it through those first terrible weeks and soon found himself with quite a following. While harvesting vegetables from abandoned backyards, and canned foods from demolished stores, was helpful to the survivors, Lou began to believe that they owed their lives to one thing, the hydrating powers of Manimal.

His Manimal obsession and strange beliefs around the drink grew, and his believers followed suit. They began calling themselves “The Quenched”. They believed that in addition to your physical thirst, Maimal could satisfy your emotional and spiritual thirst as well. Under Lou’s leadership, the group followed The Three Tenets: intensity in all actions, ferociousness of thought, and daily acts of daring. The group became famed for its outrageous escapades and chaotic nature.

While they were not openly hostile to others, working with a group of The Quenched was all but impossible. They could not resist climbing tall structures and leaping whenever possible. When exploring an unknown area, it was common for a member of the group to run ahead with a Manimal in each hand, screaming their intentions. Others began to shun the group and refuse to be involved with any project that included the drink-loving fanatics.

Soon, they found themselves outcasts, and it was too much for Lou. He moved his followers to the Mauna Kahalawai mountains and began preaching visions of doom. He told The Quenched that this new world would not be the last. Another great cleansing was on its way, and that in the future the extreme would inherit the Earth. They began expanding an old mine to make it a suitable place to live out the upcoming catastrophe. It is here that the stories diverge.

Some say The Quenched built a gigantic recirculating pool, to hold all the Manimal they had collected over the years at a perfect temperature. Others say they were much too unorganized for such a feat, and simply filled many tanks with Manimal to serve as a source of life-giving hydration, while they waited out the end. Whatever the truth, one thing is certain. When they were done, they hid the entrance and sealed themselves inside with Maui Lou delivering a warning, anyone who were to go inside without believing in the Three Tenets, would find nothing but their doom. The Quenched were never seen again.

There the tale might have ended, a bedtime story for children, had it not been for a Thriver woman named Cork Waltz. By all accounts, Cork was an excellent scrounger and bragged that she came from a long line of treasure hunters. While Cork could find a single wire hidden in a field of pili grass, what she loved finding above all else was Manimal. She was obsessed with the old drink and stories of the mine. Every year, Cork would explore the mountains for a few weeks in the spring, looking for the hidden entrance and return to the jokes and teasing of her friends. Then one year, Cork didn’t return as usual.

Everyone assumed she had been taken by one of the island’s many dangers or had slipped from a cliff. They were overjoyed when she finally made it back, but her pack bursting full of Manimal made them wonder. The usually boisterous Cork remained unusually quiet about where she found the drink as well. When she left again in the morning, the rumors spread quickly.

Over the next few months, Cork would take many long trips, each time returning more intense, and with more Manimal. Her neighbors were now sure that she had found Maui Lou’s Manimal Mine and many tried to follow her. Cork began to take long dangerous routes to throw off any pursuers. The speed and energy she’d display while scrambling up rocks and navigating the narrow twisting trails did little to dispel the rumors, and attempts to follow her always failed. Then a group of trackers happened upon Cork at the bottom of a ravine. Apparently, her attempts to elude her followers finally caught up to her. She had slipped and fallen from a ledge, but before she passed she left some tantalizing clues.

According to the stories, Cork’s lips and hands were stained red with Manimal, although her pack contained no Radical Red flavor. Even more tantalizing, she had scratched a crude map on a rock next to her with the words, “Extreme Refreshment” underneath. Since then, many have searched for the location of the mine without success. There are almost as many copies of the map floating around, as there are people gullible enough to buy them. Still, there just might be a pool of Manimal underground somewhere out there, just waiting for someone brave or foolish enough to go looking for it.

STORYLINE

The Lost Submarines of Simon Kai

Living on an island and being so connected to the water, it is no surprise that so many Kanaka legends focus on boats and the sea. We are taught how to read the currents and how to follow the seabirds to find land at an early age. Every young Kanaka knows the story of the great fisherman Lawai’a. We learn why we should avoid the Eldridge, resting on its mountain perch with her ghostly crew, cursed to never sail again. One legend however has a special place in the hearts of all adventurous Kanaka children and has been the bane of many concerned mothers. It is the story of the lost submarines of Simon Kai.

It was once said that the difference between a child and an adult was the price of their toys, and so it was with Simon Kai. Before the fracture, those of great wealth would spend exorbitant amounts on boats, cars, and homes, but some preferred something more unique. Kai collected anything related to ocean exploration and his warehouses on Lanai were bursting with: cameras, specially made diving equipment, and automated deep-sea rovers, but submarines were his passion.

A man of great means, Kai’s submarine collection was impressive indeed with examples from many different eras. His estate resembled a maritime museum more than a home. Although many would consider him eccentric, he was a very popular figure on the island. He would give tours of his collection to tourists or anyone who seemed interested. His pride and joy was a 60-foot long luxury sub he called the Kanaloa, named after the Hawaiian god of the ocean. Being a personal friend of Eric Oeming, the creator of the veil, it was not unusual for Kai to ferry Veilcorp guests around in his ship. But the Earth didn’t care about money or status on the day of the great accident. Three days after the fracture, a giant flood hit Lanai and delivered at least one of his submarines to Lahaina.

According to the stories, one found its way to Kalani beach and was discovered by a group of Veilcorp scientists who began repairing the beached metal beast. It took months for them to seal the cracks in the hull and to rebuild the broken propeller. Unfortunately for them, others had been watching their efforts as well.

The Tappers came early, shrouded in the morning mist. Most of the scientists never made it inside, and those that did were not spared. The submarine now rests just offshore, buried in the reef. Some say that the Tappers use it as an underwater cache and have dug a tunnel that connects to the bottom of the boat. Others believe the ship contains only the skeletons of scientists and whatever secrets and hopes they held.

It was 20 years before another one of Kai’s subs was discovered. A group of Kanaka fishermen found the great yellow machine tangled in their nets one morning and paddled it to their village. They named it Hilina’i after the whale in the story of Lawai’a. Even though we Kanaka do not revere technology in the same way the Thrivers do, the usefulness of a working submarine was apparent. For years the Hilina’i could be seen cruising off the coast helping fisherman and rescuing those in bad weather. When Chief Ikaika began his campaign against the horrors born of the fracture, the Hilina’i joined the cause.

Those who were at the Battle of Black Rock Beach, say that when the ship rose from the water like some great avenging spirit, adorned with the markings of war, it broke the morale of the enemy and they fled. Unfortunately for the Hilina’i, the Kanaka embrace celebration with the same vigor as they do battle. The ship survived the great accident, 40-years adrift around the islands, and a year-long war, but it could not survive the carelessness of an overindulged crew. The sub sank on its way back home and still remains visible to all as a reminder to always remain vigilant, especially after a victory.

Rumors persist that more of Kai’s submarines lay hidden, waiting to be discovered. It is common for groups of Kanaka children to walk the beaches and explore hidden coves in the hopes of finding one of the lost ships. Some even say that Kai himself survived the fracture and the lights sometimes seen in the bay are him traveling in the Kanaloa searching for the rest of his fleet. Most laugh at such an idea, but in the past people also laughed at the idea of boats that could navigate underwater and being able to travel across the world in the blink of an eye. The world has seen many wonders before and it will see wonders again. The lost submarines of Simon Kai remain one of the most beloved Kanaka legends and have led many to wonder about their fate.

Bruddah Lee

Kanaka Historian

STORYLINE

The History of the Kapu Kuialua Dojo

There are a handful of buildings that survived the devastation of the great fracture. Many like the comm tower, serve as landmarks and offer a reminder of the past. Others however serve an important role in the lives of those on the island. The Kapu Kuialua Dojo is one such structure. While The Mission serves as a center for healing, knowledge, and contemplation, the Dojo serves as a place of strength and protection, a place where anyone who has the will and dedication can learn the ancient Hawaiian art of Kapu Kuialua.

Like many martial arts, Kapu Kuialua focuses on joint locks, throws, strikes, and pressure point manipulation. What sets Lua apart, is its inclusion of battlefield strategy, firearms, and ocean warfare tactics. The deadly system was once restricted to Hawaiian nobility and follows the philosophy of “two hits.” A warrior proficient in the style should take no more than two hits to dispatch an enemy. Countless Kanaka have learned to protect themselves and others over the years in the Dojo, but its story is in large part the story of its founder, the legendary Kanaka hero Augustin.

Before the Fracture, Augustin never would have believed that he would become a famous leader and hero. He kept the ancient Hawaiian martial art of Kapu Kuialua alive, teaching a handful of students in his dojo on the beach. While chaos and despair flowed over the island like lava destroying hope and spirit, Augustin remained calm and allowed those that needed shelter inside the dojo. He fed, housed, and protected many during those first weeks, giving the people security and optimism about their future.

The Kanaka discovered that post-fracture Lahaina was a deadly place. Augustin realized that without the tools necessary to protect themselves, the people were doomed. He appointed his old students his 9 Kuma, or teachers. With his oversight: his daughter Anakalia, Wawae the breaker, Blue Huki, The Great Ho’ouka, Miki’ao, Nua Newa, Manawa The Wise, Weapon Master Naia, and Doug would teach their respective specialties to the people, and they would grow strong together.

In those early days, bandits migrated around the island like sea birds, stealing any scraps left unattended and preying on the weak. While Augustin had taught the people to protect themselves from the beasts of the forest and the scavenging menehune, they were unwilling to defy the armed bandits. Every season the people would provide a tribute of fish, produce, and supplies to the marauders to ensure their safety. This system worked well for years until a spring drought and a shift in currents hit the people hard. The taro harvest was a complete loss, and the fishermen’s nets were often empty. The Kanaka didn’t have enough for themselves, let alone the bandit’s tribute.

The elders explained the problems to the bandits when they arrived and promised to give double in the summer to make up for their shortcomings. Their leader listened to the Kanaka pleas and demanded that the summer tribute be tripled. He promised that they would kill everyone if the people were even one yam or urchin short. Before leaving, they killed a fisherman and his family to prove the truth in their threats.

The Kanaka were terrified. Even if the weather changed again and the fish came back, they doubted they could gather so much in a few months. When Augustin heard what had happened to the fisherman, he was enraged. He told the elders that he and his Kumu would handle the bandits when they came back if they promised to never deal with such people, and give in to fear again. The elders agreed and the masters of Kapu Kuialua prepared for the bandit’s return.

When they came back in the summer, Augustin and his Kumu met them, glistening in coconut oil like the ancient Koa warriors, with an empty bag. The master explained that the gardens were still barren and that the fish had not returned to the reef. He told them how these things were out of the Kanaka’s control, and that many were starving in the village. He said, “I understand that supplies are scarce for everyone, that is why I only require this bag filled with provisions and your promise to never return, in exchange for your lives.” The bandits laughed at Augustin’s bold words but they never had a chance to answer his demands.

His first strike broke the leader’s shoulder. His smile twisted and became permanent, as Augustin’s newa club caved in the center of his skull. The Kumu moved without hesitation or mercy. A firearm can save your life in many situations, but on that morning, holding a gun sealed your doom. The Kumu swiftly broke or killed anyone armed with a weapon first. Shots rang out at strange angles as joints ripped apart and bones cracked. Like some sort of horrible mangling machine, the Kumu worked through the bandits until the ground was sticky with blood and their screams became louder than the waves crashing on the beach.

When it was all over the Kapu Kuialua masters had killed over 30. As Augustin filled his bag with supplies, the Kumu gathered the remaining bandits and grouped them in pairs. They broke the arms of the first, and the legs of the second, so they could still drive their vehicles away, and warn others of their kind that the Kanaka would no longer pay ransoms, or live in fear.

The message spread quickly around the island. Many who had heard the story of the masters’ prowess came to learn, including a young man who would grow to become one of our greatest leaders, Chief Ikaika. Even though Augustin is gone, the Dojo between the beach and the “Blood Road” still teaches those brave and dedicated enough the ways of Kapu Kuialua, and how to dispatch your enemies in two hits.

Bruddah Lee
Kanaka Historian

STORYLINE

The Legend of Veilcorp’s Building FF

We Kanaka are known for our easy going lifestyle, and taking time to enjoy what nature has provided, but there is one thing we take seriously, our stories. We have many legends about others who survived the fracture including: mysterious hotels with equally mysterious guest, billionaires living in underwater shelters, and lost mines holding riches beyond gold. However, our stories about Veilcorp survivors are the most numerous and varied. Among this sea of tales, the story of Building FF rises above the rest because it might just be true.

Before the great catastrophe, when governments determined how everyone should live, and corporations tracked the hours of your day, people would study for years, struggling to make a favorable impression on these powers, in order to work for them. One of the most popular corporations to work for was Veilcorp. The company responsible for tearing the world apart, used to be thought of very favorably. People employed there were paid well and received many benefits, but it was the rumor of special perks offered to those who climbed high in the company that interested many. Free travel across the globe, discounted Nuuskin treatments to keep you looking perpetually young, and access to the latest in company technology before it was available to the public, were among the rumored blessings bestowed on anyone becoming a VP. While all of these were intriguing, it was the rumor of Building FF that piqued the interest of many inside the organization.

Born from the chaos of a terrorist attack that claimed the life of many employees, including the founder Eric Oeming’s wife and daughter, Building FF was supposed to be a place employees could go in an emergency. However, it soon became Oeming’s obsession, and with the backing of the government, the emergency shelter grew into something much more complex.

Located hundreds of meters underground with: independent water, air, and power sources, state-of-the-art filtration systems and communication technology, medical facilities, and food stores that could last for decades, Building FF was more like an underground paradise, than a place to wait out a hurricane or another attack. The exact location was classified, with only a handful of people knowing its coordinates. There were no passages leading to Building FF, protecting those inside from terrorist infiltration and any airborne toxins. The only way in or out was through a small emergency veil system located deep within the complex. When the great fracture began, many found themselves deep underground, and safe inside the Veilcorp wonderland. Unfortunately, a paradise is only as good as its creator, and we all know how fallible people can be.

Building FF was doomed from the beginning. While it protected those inside from living through the horrors and disease of the outside world, it could not guard them from the sickness of its creation and themselves. They sent out emergency calls with no response, and with the veil network down, their only way in or out was useless. Instead of panicking, they decided to take full advantage of the benefits their incredible shelter offered, and wait for help that was sure to come. A day became a week, a week became a month, and a month a year, and the cracks that had slowly been building among them grew into fissures with terrifying speed.

It is amazing at how quickly fear, anger, and jealousy can grow within a small community, and without the power of the sun, wind, and waves to wash the negativity away, the survivors in Building FF soon gave in to their darker emotions. It started as all problems do with the little things. People began to forget to seal food containers, common areas were left messy, and the employees responsible for making daily emergency calls stopped showing up. Before long, factions began to form inside, rules were made in a vain attempt to maintain order, resentments grew into accusations, and eventually revolt.

Some say that a small group of the survivors began using the others as fuel for the specially made Nuuskin machines, and they remain inside today, untouched by the ravages of time. Others claim that a few managed to connect the veil inside with one in another world or even space, sabotaging it after they left, and stranding the rest of their co-workers. Still other stories talk of cannibalism, and fabulous drilling machines. Whatever the fate of the survivors in Building FF, one thing in the stories is consistent, after 5 short years all the calls for help stopped, and the dream of the emergency paradise was over.

Still, with more and more new faces appearing on the island and some of the network running again, stories about Building FF are gaining popularity. There is talk about the rumbling of machines inside the ground near The Augustinian Cliffs, and places in the forest charged with so much energy that your hair stands on end. Some warn that these are signs that the survivors are getting ready to unleash their technology once again on the world. Others say the survivors are like animals who have lived in cages for too long, and are not able to enjoy the taste of freedom anymore. Rumors circulate that Building FF holds many treasures for those smart enough to find it, and foolish enough to tempt its curse, and the tainted people who might still live in its twisting tunnels. Whatever the truth, the story of Building FF remains a mystery for now, but who knows what the future might hold.

STORYLINE

Dr. Dalia Forsythe Documents Progression of the Great Veil Pandemic

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October 27, 2050– It’s been exactly a month since the fracturing, and as strange as it may sound, I’m beginning to think of all this as normal. We’ve managed to get through those first few terrible days, and have scrounged what supplies we could from the urgent care facilities in the area. Maintenance has fixed the problems with the solar generator and we’ve been in continuous contact with a hospital in Seattle. As luck would have it, they have a Reppare Biologic epidemiologists onsite. They’ve had better luck with communications than us, and have had intermittent contact with others. It’s the same everywhere. Power grids and water supplies have been destroyed worldwide. Combined with the accompanying fires, widespread radiation, and severe weather effects caused by the accident, billions have died across the globe. As hard as it is to believe, we may be among the luckiest.

November 2, 2050– Had a young girl come in this morning with purple spots all over her body and an extremely high fever. We had a few patients with similar spots during the chaos last month, but haven’t seen anything like it since. All those patients died so I’m worried about her prognosis. I’m moving her to a different floor just in case it is contagious.

November 3, 2050– One of the nurses who brought the girl upstairs yesterday found a purple spot on her neck this morning, and we’ve had three more patients come in today. I’ve decided to change course and bring her back down. Everyone who is able to be moved is being relocated throughout the hospital. We’ll do triage outside under the awning from now on. I’m not sure what we’re dealing with. Like before, the Reparre machines don’t seem to recognize the patient’s DNA as human. I’ve instructed the staff to wear protective gear when dealing with them. Haven’t heard back from the epidemiologists yet.

November 10, 2050– We’re calling it Ube Fever after the purple yam. Victim’s first present with dark violet spots, high fever, and delirium. The skin thickens, cracks, and eventually sloughs off. Those who are lucky, die of organ failure before the cracking gets too bad. Those that don’t, scream for days, or until their voices give out. It’s happening everywhere. All but two nurses who had contact with the little girl last week have caught it. The girl didn’t make it. We have over 20 patients in various stages of the disease in the emergency room. Seattle had its first victim yesterday. I’ve sent them all the data we’ve collected, but it isn’t much.

November 11, 2050– I had an idea last night. We’ve turned the Newuskin machines back on and are scanning patients and collecting data even when the machine says it’s corrupted. Maybe someone smarter than me will find it useful. We had some success with one of our patients who had been in recently for a melanoma removal. We still had her data on record and were able to replace her thickened skin, but she is still suffering from the other symptoms of the disease.

November 12, 2050– Seattle confirmed what I feared. They say it has spread as far away as London and Singapore. Before the fracture, there was a lot of talk about 127 affecting wildlife and changing DNA. The element is mutating the bacteria at such a frightening speed that I don’t know how we’re going to stay ahead of it. We’re down to 5 staff members including me, and the hospital is packed with screaming patients. It’s background noise to me now, like the sound of the waves when you’re on the beach. I don’t know what we’re going to do with the bodies.

November 14, 2050– The epidemiologist hasn’t had much luck. They’ve tried a number of treatments and protocols without success. He estimates that by the end of the week Ube Fever will have sent 400 million into backup. I sent him my findings using the Newuskin machines. I think that if we had complete system data of everyone we might be able to make some progress. I’ve started running complete scans of everyone, even the few of us who haven’t caught the disease, just in case. The non-recyclable portions of the bodies have started to pile up. We’ve had people truck them to the lava floes for disposal.

November 16, 2050– He’s modified the estimate to 600 million lost worlwide. We aren’t even sure how many people are left. The screams have quieted down. The quiet is a result of all the deaths and not anything I’ve done medically for these people. Yesterday was the first day we didn’t have a new patient come in. This thing is running out of people to infect.

November 25, 2050– I haven’t been able to contact Seattle in over a week. Only a few patients are still alive and even the ones who might pull through won’t be able to lead normal lives. I’m not sure why I was never infected when everyone else was. I’d gladly let someone more knowledgeable take blood, tissue, or whatever else they needed. I don’t know if the Nuuskin procedures I shared worked for anyone else. For all I know there isn’t anyone else. I hope that there are others spared from infection like me, but it’s been days since I’ve seen anyone else in good health. I’m afraid that In a little less than a month the Ube Fever has managed to finish what the fracture started. I’m not sure what I’ll do when the last of them passes and it’s just me. It may be Thanksgiving but I’m having a hard time thinking of anything to be thankful for.