The Peaceful Territories wrote:
The old wooden shack was a small waiting room. A kerosene lamp in the corner illuminated the inside and beverages were served to the party. Glasses of sweet, weak coconut rum accompanied with pineapples slices stuck on rim rested on the small folding table. Flower hangings rested on the ash plank walls, while the palm leaf roof kept out the tropical rain. The grass floor met with the party's feet as they sat on cushions. The fisherman who kept the shack smiled as he conversed with the Filipinos.
"How is the rest of the world? Are they doing alright?"
"I think they are alright. All I know is that we are doing better than the Asian Coalition, Brunei, and Malaysia but worse than Singapore in terms of living conditions. We haven't been in contact with that many countries. All of the countries we met got hit hard back in 2023. The food and water is good in Singapore, but they live among the rubble of the original city. Brunei has been hit with five bombs, so they had to start over again when they came back to the surface. Japan and South Korea was obliterated by North Korea, so the farmers and fishermen out of the cities had to start over again. A militant coup in Malaysia left it on a path of conquest to take over the whole island, and many more people were killed after the bombs in some of its cities. We were lucky that we had a lot of land and were spread more widely, but tens of millions died from bombing in three of our most important islands. God has blessed us that we had enough people to still be a Philippines. Many more people don't even have nations."
"I see. Well I think God has blessed us too. Only Honolulu was hit. We were spared from what came on the continental states."
"It was rumored to be hell over there. It is sad to see that the Apocalypse has divided the original USA."
"Indeed."
The harbormaster came into shack, pushing aside the curtains that covered the entrance to the outside. He was dressed in a suit, the black cloth made darker by the rain.
"Hello Ambassador Mancera. I'm here to take you back to the port."
The party stood up and thanked the fisherman for his kindness. They exchanged phone numbers and slowly exited the shack afterwards. Harbormaster Kahele motioned them toward his parallel parked minivan and thanked the fisherman, offering his favors in the future. They quickly entered the canvas-topped car to escape the hard rain. The inside was very comfortable, as the car's inside and seats were covered with soft leather. The dashboard was made of wood and metal dials showed the car's speed and fuel tank.
They sped off, driving down Malakole street. The meteorologist took out his heavy metal camera and took pictures of the scenery along the road. Oil tanks surrounded them, tall, white, and imposing. The devastation of Honolulu was evident. HAZMAT-clad workers tilled away among the debris, pounding away at the displaced concrete to clear the land for construction. After the short drive, they arrived back on the dock. The harbormaster unlocked the doors, letting the party step out into the salty, cold air. He rounded around the vehicle, lifted up the trunk door, and pulled out a small, plain wooden box. He turned to Mancera.
"This box contains the papers you need to get through security. Included are temporary passes for your party, the address to the Counselor's mansion, and a few brochures about our home territory. Also included are passes for your bodyguard's weapons. I have already notified the Californian Navy so they will not try to attack your ship, along with the Counselor so people won't get panicked out again."
The Harbormaster handed over the hefty box to Mancera with both hands, while Lieutenant Magla smiled at the memory of people fleeing from the ship.
"When you arrive, they will be waiting for you."
A few hours later...
The Bacalod City entered the port of Kahului under the watchful eyes of Californian patrol vessels a mile away. Dock workers at Pier 1 tied down the ship, while a suited man approached the auxiliary ship, which had her autocannons covered up by the crew. The sun shined down on the party as they made way down the gangplank, and they were formally received by the suited man, who was indeed the Counselor's chauffeur. A few handshakes, smiles, and "Welcome to Hawaii"'s later, the diplomats, scientist, and guards entered the low suspending car. They sped down the open streets, made a right, and dashed directly straight for a few minutes. Construction workers were spread beside the road, disassembling or repairing abandoned homes. The vehicle stopped in front what seemed to be formerly a neighborhood. A lone house stood, looking over the flat land around it, which was protected by a low wood fence.
The chauffeur led the party down the cobblestone path to the porch, opened one door of the large oak entrance, and welcomed his followers to the comfort of his master's home. Shutting the door behind them, the chauffeur brought the black suited through the decorated halls of the cozy home and into a large room with couches lining each side. The Counselor sat on the left wall, smiled, and greeted the party with a motion toward the bench opposite of him.
OOC Take over from here, Scot.
