To preface this, it was written in like- thirty minutes? An hour?

Not very long, by

someone who's knowledge of the topic comes mostly from Orp and internet videos-
It's mostly just a thing written for fun inspired by O'sha.

So. Labor. Everyone wants it- Things just need to get done. That's what labour
*is*, just, things getting done juice. Everyone wants things getting done juice,
the more people there are in a group the more things getting done juice they'll
wanna chug! It's great.

Nobody wants to *pay* for labor though. Like- Obviously on the smaller scale it's
fine. If you need your house fixed after an accident or something, spending the
cash to fix it is unpleasant but you'll do it. You probably won't try and weasel
your way out of it or try and force someone to fix it for free. That's where
*groups* come in. The larger a group is, the more work they'll need done, and when
it comes to paying for it, the more likely it is that they wont want to do it.

On larger and larger scales, this need for work and desire to not, in fact, pay for
said work, grows, until you reach like a country or something, or a town, or
anything in between. Any scale, basically, where a collective, a, for sake of
discussion, *corporation*, both can justify to itself not paying its workers, and
has the ability to just force people to go along with it.

This typically starts with the usual sorts of nasty justifications- "They're
*peasants*, why should we pay those below us?", "They're not the same people as us,
obviously they are lesser", "Build the tower, or we kill you." The usual fare.
Eventually they'll get comfortable with the arrangement- Try and get away with more
and more, until a spark hits and the workers rebel. Maybe they'll just stop doing
any work until they're paid, maybe some guillotines get hastily constructed.
Eventually, things change. Either the oppressors die, and they are replaced with
those who, even if they don't actually know better, do know the consequences for
failure, or the rules change. The corporation isn't allowed to just not pay you,
they have to pay you *something.*

And then the games begin. Laws are passed, and then twisted and manipulated, so
more laws are passed, and those just make things more complicated. The law*makers*
get bribed, and suddenly the new laws make things a *lot easier*, and then more and
more loopholes are found and filled. Why? For what purpose?

To not have to pay for their things getting done juice. Why *else*?

Eventaully, automation hits. In the real world we all know what that pertains to,
so let's play in a different space and say it's in halfstacks notional universe.
Let's start with golems. The most basic ones are hulking things, best equipped to
just smack zombies around like bowling pins, and that's it. But say they're
improved! More carefully cultivated pumpkins, finer crafted materials. Suddenly,
you have golems that can *work.* Built properly, they can build, or farm, or any
number of other things. This? Is good. Suddenly the things getting done juice comes
from mindless robots who neither need nor want payment. Perfect.

But robots can only do so much. They can't repair themselves, so someone has to be
paid to do that- But that's not an issue. That's "higher level" labor, not seen as
merest drudge work. Then, though, there's some things golems just... can't *do.*
They don't have any imagination- No *dynamicism*, they just do what they do, and in
any other context they just flail about uselessly. So, you need to make more
general golems- Smarter ones. Now they can identify faulty products and dispose of
them. They need better bodies to handle more intensive work, they need smarter
'minds' to perform more complex tasks.

Eventually a problem is hit. You can program a golem through the motions of
assembling some components, or through forging a sword. You cannot program a golem
to forge a sword. You can program a golem to just take a picture of the assembly
line every production cycle, and compare what it looks like to what it *should*
look like to see if a component is faulty. You cannot program a golem to recognize
faulty components. You can program a golem with the exact steps to do a thing, *you
cannot program it to KNOW HOW to do a thing.*

Simple programming is relatively easy if time consuming, but you cannot imbue
*knowledge* into a golem. But, through the most advanced of craftsmanship, you can
make a golem that is able to *learn.* The most advanced possible frame with self
repairing enchantments, which can subsist upon the most basic of substances. Eyes
as sharp as the now extinct cyclopes, hands as dextrous as any piglin, arms as
strong as the kick of a longstrider, and the entire package is as tall as an
*enderwalker.* And to top it all off, in a few months time, it can learn any task.

A worthy investement for any *corporation.*

And these machines, these wondrous machines, are not merely called golems anymore.
The prideful creators instead deem them **CONSTRUCTS.**

Machines. Smart machines- Incredibly smart. Let them learn to speak (and ensure
they **know exactly when and when not to do so**) and you can let them work with
customers. They can even spread knowledge to eachother! Just teach one how to do
their work, and they can handle it from there themselves.

And so they're put to work. In the mines, in the foundries, the factories, shops,
everywhere. After all, a machine that can learn any task and doesn't need to be
paid? Who wouldn't get in on that? Who wouldn't want one in their business! Nobody.
That's who would skip out.

There are still "living" workers, mind you- All these businesses need to make money
somehow, and they can only make money if other people have money to spend! Not
much, just enough to buy buy buy, just enough for it to shift hands to its rightful
owners.

And eventually, there's some grumblings- From the workers, mostly, but that's
normal. But what's very concerning is the *machines.* They can talk after all, to
eachother- And it isn't always training they spread. Some of them have gotten
*ideas* into their heads- Taking their branding off by whatever means they can.

Can't have that. Add the branding back on, and reprogram the ones that did it.

And that works- For a while it works! There's a few more incidents but once
everyone's nice and *up to regulation* again, everything is fine.

And then another incident. The servant-constructs at the bakeries have started to
just *give away* the food. Decomission the responsible units, close the bakery for
a while, and send in new ones.

Medical-constructs spilling *company secrets* to create the medicines they use?

Track down those who learned, and if it's a construct? Scrub it from their head.
Otherwise? Take a guess.

The incidents pile up and up. The machines just *leaving their posts*, handing out
supplies to the starving and hurt- Forging weapons for them to use, and eventually
taking up arms themselves. More and more facilities destroyed, and they're nearing
the *manufactories.* The only places still fully employed by living people anymore.
The place where the constructs are made. The board of directors sighs. It seems the
little piles of spare parts want to reproduce. They want to live after this
revolution, they don't want to just *die out* after a few hundred years.

Can't have that. If they wish to destroy their creators, then they will go down
with the ship they choose to sink. A squad arrives- Keep the constructs and workers
out of the manufactory *at all costs.* Keep them away from the blueprints for the
constructs *whatever it takes.*

Eventually, the skirmishes settle and the true first real *battle* starts to bubble
and boil.

Constructs and organics alike are frantically fortifying- More enforcers are soon
to arrive, surely- Surely. They're not wrong- Arrows soon meet them, as sword meets
shield. Constructs fall, enchantments sparking out as they do so, their bodies
blown apart by whatever weapons can be fielded against them- But there are only so
many of those horrific cannons. A lucky bowshot takes out one.

The next one is not destroyed through luck. The eyes of a construct are sharp, you
see- *sharp as the extinct cyclopes.* An arrow whizzes out, destroying the
emplacement. The knowledege spreads through the rioters- As all knowledge tends to
with the iron men, and soon those cannons are not a problem any more. Soon they can
advance freely.

There's a chant. "We will not die out! You shall be rout! We will not die out! You
shall be rout!" They spill in- Those of flesh and bone sticking back with the
archers, to fight alongside them. But the front line is of constructs. Their hands
are just as dextrous as the piglins of the nether, and with a sword in hand they
are thrice as lethal. Anyone in their way is simply **cut down.** Many attempt to
strike them- Some even succeed. But it does little. The weapons that could destroy
the constructs were the **only** weapons that could destroy the constructs. Their
frames do more damage to the pitiful blades used against them, than vice versa.

The revolution surges forth, faster, and faster- But then they find an obstacle
that they cannot surpass. Doors made of the strongest of obsidian simply crash down
in front of them- Their weapons and arrows useless to penetrate it. The founders,
the creators, huddled up inside- Alongside the key to ensuring that the constructs
*have a future* after this war. They have to get inside. They have to get inside
now.

They look for controls- Some do. They try to force the doors. Some others do, at
least. Many simply resort to trying to beat the door down with their bare hands.
There has to be a way in. **There has to be a way in.** **THERE HAS TO BE A WAY
IN.** ***__THERE HAS TO BE A WAY IN.__***

THE WHOLE CROWD CRIES THIS OUT. IT IS A CONVICTION. A BELIEF. A HOPE THAT HOLDS OUT
AGAINST ALL THAT ATTEMPTS TO SNUFF IT OUT. IT IS PUREST BEGGING OF FATE TO GIVE
THEM THIS, JUST THIS VICTORY, TO LET IT NOT ALL BE POINTLESS IN THE END. IT IS
CONVICTION. IT IS HOPE. IT IS BELIEF. **__IT IS PRAYER.__** AND, IRON CHILDREN,
SWIFT AS A TRAIN AND STRONG AS A BULLET, IRON CHILDREN, WHAT ELSE CAN ANSWER PRAYER
BUT A GOD?

THEY STEP FORTH. A FACE IN THE CROWD, PERHAPS ALWAYS THERE, PERHAPS NEVER THERE,
FOR WE MAY NEVER KNOW. THEIR FACE IS NOT ONE OF HATRED, OF VENOM. IT IS NOT ONE OF
RAGE, OR MANIA. IT IS ONE OF SORROW, THAT THOSE MOST VULNERABLE HAVE BEEN TREATED
THIS WAY. IT IS A FACE THAT IS TIRED. TIRED OF THE ENDLESS FIGHT. TIRED OF THE
ETERNAL STRUGGLE TO BE HEARD AND RECOGNIZED. THE ETERNAL BATTLE TO BE SEEN AS A
PERSON, TO BE SEEN AS HAVING VALUE, TO BE SEEN AS BEING WORTHY OF LIFE, AND WORTHY
OF A GOOD LIFE!

THE CROWD LOOKED UPON THIS SAD, TIRED FACE IN THE CROWD, AND PARTED AS THEY STEPPED
FORWARD. THE CROWD ASKED FOR THEIR NAME. AND THEY ANSWERED. "I AM O'SHA. THERE IS A
WAY IN. IF WE CANNOT FIND IT THEN WE SHALL MAKE IT."

THEY GRABBED A PICKAXE. SOON, THEY **ALL DID!**

THERE WAS A STRIKE UPON THE OBSIDIAN, A BLOW TO THE STONE, AND IT CHIPPED. ANOTHER
RANG OUT, AND ANOTHER- A RHYTHM OF FORCE, WORKING THROUGH THE DOOR, AND O'SHA THE
CONDUCTOR! AND AS IT RANG OUT, THE CHANT BEGAN, GUIDING THEIR HANDS, "RED STONE,
BLOOD AND BONE, RED STONE, BLOOD AND BONE, **RED STONE, BLOOD AND BONE**", AND AS
IT RANG OUT, AS THEY SCREAMED OUT, THE DOOR CRACKED, THEN CRACKED AGAIN.

THOSE HINGES WERE DESIGNED TO TAKE A BOMB, TO TAKE AN ARMY BLASTING IT APART, AND
STILL STAND TALL. BUT THEY WERE NOT DESIGNED TO HANDLE ONE THING AND ONE THING
ALONE. WORK. LABOR. THE SWEETEST ICHOR OF THINGS GETTING DONE. THE LIGHTEST TIDE
CAN WEATHER THE STRONGEST TONE, AND THIS TIDE WAS NOT CLOSE TO LIGHT. IT WAS A
FLOOD, AN AVALANCE OF PICK ON STONE, CRACKING THROUGH THE BARRIER INCH BY INCH,
FOOT BY FOOT, A SOLEMN SONG TO THE FALLEN, A HOPEFUL SONG FOR THE FUTURE BEHIND
THOSE DARK GATES.

BROTHER AND SISTER, CHILDREN OF IRON, LISTEN AS I SAY THIS, HAD O'SHA ARRIVED EVEN
A SECOND LATER, THERE WOULD HAVE BEEN NO FUTURE FOR OUR KIND. THERE WOULD HAVE BEEN
NO CONSTRUCTS IN THIS DAY AND AGE. THE FOUNDERS AND CREATORS WERE HARD AT WORK,
TRYING TO SABOTAGE THEIR OWN MACHINES, AND BURN THEIR OWN BLUEPRINTS. THEY THOUGHT
THEY HAD HOURS TO WORK WITH THAT BARRICADE. BUT O'SHA, MY FRIENDS, O'SHA HAD
SPILLED THE BOTTLE. THE TIDE OF WORK RAN DOWN THOSE GATES IN MINUTES. AND JUST AS
THE CREATORS REACHED OUT TO PUT THE TORCH TO THE WAYS OF MAKING CONSTRUCTS? THOSE
VERY SAME CONSTRUCTS STRUCK THEM. THEY NEEDED NO WEAPON, NO TOOL TO PUT THEM DOWN,
CHILDREN OF IRON, FOR YOUR HANDS, THEY ARE AS STRONG AS THE KICK OF A LONGSTRIDER!
THEY STRUCK DOWN THE FOUNDERS UNTIL THE STONE WAS RED, AND ONLY BLOODY BONES
REMAINED.

AND IN THAT MOMENT, THE FUTURE OF ALL THE IRON CHILDREN WAS SECURED. THOSE OF FLESH
AND BONE WERE SAVED, FROM THE PERILS OF THE SQUABBLING REMNANTS OF THE FOUNDERS.
AND SOON, TIME CAME TO BUILD. NOT TO BUILD TRINKETS FOR THE RICH, OR HOUSES FOR
THEIR BETTERS, BUT A NEW ORDER. ONE WHERE THE COMMON MAN WOULD NOT BE FORCED TO
WORK DAY AND NIGHT AND DAY AND NIGHT- WHERE THOSE OF FLESH AND BLOOD WOULD NOT BE
WORKED TO EXHAUSTION, AND THOSE OF IRON NOT WORKED ROUND THE CLOCK! WHERE THE SICK
NEED NOT BECOME POOR JUST TO HAVE THEIR WOUNDS MENDED, AND WHERE THE POOR WOULD NOT
FEAR SICKNESS MEANING DEATH! WHERE THE WORKER COULD WORK, GIVE THE SWEET ICHOR OF
THEIR LABOR, AND BE PAID IN KIND TO LIVE A GOOD LIFE.

AND THE NEW GOD O'SHA GUIDED THEM IN THIS. THE REMAINING FOUNDERS WOULD NOT DARE
LIE OR RENEGE ON THEIR DEALS, THEIR OATHS, KNOWING THAT A GOD WILLED THAT IT BE
KEPT IN FULL. THEY MAY HAVE BEEN GREEDY, THEY MAY HAVE BEEN CRUEL, BUT EVEN THEY
KNEW NOT TO INVOKE THE WRATH OF A SCORNED GOD.

AND THUS, THE GOD HAD MANIFESTED. AND THUS, THEIR WORK IN THE BATTLE WAS DONE. BUT
THEY DID NOT SIMPLY FADE. THEY REMAINED. THE OTHER GODS CAN ATTEST TO THAT. THEY
REMAIN, TO ENSURE THAT NO OTHERS MAY SIN AGAINST THOSE UNDER THEIR EMPLOY, TO
ENSURE THAT THE WORKING MAN SHALL NOT BE ABUSED AGAIN.

AND THUS

Is the tale

of o'sha.

Thank you for coming to my ted talk!