Once Upon a Time in Esquarium [DEAD]

[Namor]

NDP meeting, 7/21/NMR 2356

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Milton Friedman Building | Namo, Namor

---

"Ladies and gentlemen," the voice of Deng Mianbao, the new leader of the New Democratic Party can be heard across the meeting hall, "For too long, our party is being called a Unolian puppet. I won't stand this any longer. We are a Namorese party, thus we will act like one."

"So," muttered Kim Myung-bak, who resigned from his position as chairman, still bitter about the SPC's decision regarding the party's Jahistic Internationale membership, "what do you think we should do, huh? Renounce all ties with our brothers and sisters in Unolia, Kugland--"

"Why not?" Deng snapped back. "Let's be honest here, alright? The Internationale is run by Unolia, and we. Have. No. Voice."

Everyone in the room whispered and muttered at each other as Kim angrily, however calmly, took a seat. Five seconds of silence before Kim started again. "Well, chairman, what are we going to do?"

Deng's reply blinded Kim with anger. "Propose my new version of Jahisticism. Let's call it....New Jahisticism." Deng nodded with a smile he always carried in business meetings.

"WHAT?! YOU CAN'T DO THAT! YOU JUST CAN'T FUCKING DO THAT!" Kim stood up, shouted, and waved his arms around in protest. "THE UNOLIANS SAID WE CAN'T REVISE THEIR IDEOLOGY! DAMNIT, DENG, MAN THE FUCK UP! THE NATIONAL CONGRESS IN UNOLIA WILL CONVENE IN ONE MONTH. HOW THE FIRE TRUCK ARE WE GONNA DEAL WITH THEM IF THEY FOUND OUT THAT WE CHANGED THEIR IDEOLOGY?"

Deng kept his poker face. "Hey, Kim, look, calm the fuck down, I haven't introduced the tenets of New Jahisticism yet. Plus, who said we can't change the ideology. Kim, look, it's an international ideology, right? It doesn't belong to Unolia, it belongs to anyone who follows it. The power to revise this ideology for good," he paused as he sipped a cup of coffee, "belongs, and falls, to everyone."

Kim was not impressed, and pointed at Deng with vigor. "If Jarrod Thuman shoots you to death, I won't be surprised." He turned around and left the room. "Excuse me, gentlemen, I need to....take a piss."

Everyone stood silent as Kim walked out the room, and the clanging of the door echoing across the room. Deng sighed, and continued.

"Anyways, the Unolians have opposed democracy. My aim is to implement democracy into the yellow book..."

[Namor]

"Understanding Otekian nationalism:" an informational PSA shown throughout Txotai
You leave the Luziycan border and you cross the Jung To Point of Entry into Namor. There were many signs, written in Namorese, Luziycan and Geadish, but one catches your eye...

---

UNDERSTAND THE SOLE MENACE TO YOUR SAFETY: THE "OTEKIAN INDEPENDENCE MOVEMENT"

This message brought to you by the Public Security Ministry and the Liaison Office of the Central Government to the Autonomous Republic of Txotai

Right now, Txotai is continuing to prosper under the banners of social democracy and ethnic unity; however, some groups still want to see that prosperity and stability to die out, and take illegal and intolerable measures to get there. The "Otekian Independence Movement---" a terrorist group dedicated to Otekian "nationalism," is one of these groups, and this public announcement will inform you of the OIM, what it is, what it does, and how the public as a whole can use education and knowledge to stop its illegal activities.

What is the Otekian Independence Movement?

---

The "Otekian Independence Movement" was founded shortly after Txotai's liberation from Luziycan imperialist rule in NMR 2310. According to its own charter, its goal is to separate Txotai from Namor through terror and brute force. Over the past few decades, the OIM has committed many crimes against humanity and the public, but has insisted that there is "apartheid" in Txotai, calling for an end to Namorese "occupation." It uses slander and provocative lies to hold the people of Txotai hostage, making their activities detrimental to the political, economic, social and moral interests of Txotai.

How does the OIM operate?

---

"Money is motivation." The Otekian Independence Movement, with backing from the Central Intelligence Agency fringe group, pays certain innocent people to commit crimes on their behalf; after that, the OIM embarks on a notorious propaganda campaign, praising the criminals as "freedom fighters," "martyrs" and other unnecessary terms. The OIM will usually pay someone around P50,000 to do something illegal, and if the person refuses to do what the OIM says, he/she receives constant death threats from the OIM.

OIM operatives have been known for perpetrating some of the following crimes in Txotai:

-Rape
-Murder
-Carjacking, bus jacking, aircraft hijacking, as well as hijacking of cable, digital and satellite communication lines used by civilians
-Suicide Bombing
-Blackmail
-Physical attacks on non-Lutheran Catholics, non-ethnic Luziycans, and government offices, unwarranted attacks on the police and NLA units

Some of the listed terrorist attacks, if they happen in Txotai, are obvious syndromes of OIM activity. Who else could it be?

Exploring Historical Truth: Otekian Nationalism and its logical fallacies

---

For long, the OIM has claimed that their activities are aimed at "restoring" Txotai's "independence," totally ignoring the fact that before Namorese administration over Txotai, the region has never been independent. Rather, Txotai was a part of the Duchy of York, which does not exist to this day. Some uneducated separatists say that if so, Txotai belongs to Luziyca, but Namorese administration over Txotai started in NMR 2060 (1720 CE), over an century before Luziyca even became a country.

In NMR 2241, Luziyca, which had occupied Txotai illegally, granted "independence" to Txotai, however the titular regime was recognized only in East Luziyca and Kofeiya.

Simple historical evidence thus shatters the OIM's slander regarding Otekian "sovereignty," for "Oteki" was never a country.

Crush Separatists under the heel: How to identify and end the OIM's terrorist threat

---

"Knowledge is Power." With knowledge you have just gained regarding this terrorist fringe group, you have the ability to stop the OIM's illegal activities. Here are some ways to stop the OIM, and bring about a stable society for all ethnic groups in Txotai:

• When encountering OIM propaganda and hate speech, keep the three don'ts in mind: Don't listen, don't believe, and don't spread. Then report the propaganda to the local police.
• Keep a watchful eye over those who spread OIM propaganda. Words and phrases that express the OIM's terrorist intents include "Free Oteki," "Oteki must be independent" and "The Namorese must go!" If you hear these phrases from someone, correct his fallacies immediately.
• If someone admits to be part of the OIM, first try to convince him to leave the organization's wrath; if he/she refuses to listen, call the police.
• Remind your family and friends that all ethnic groups are in this together, and that the fight against the OIM does not know any ethnic boundaries.
• If you know of any possible OIM plans and activities, report them to the police. Prevention is better than treatment.

Remember, you have a duty to prevent crime from happening in the first place anywhere, Txotai being no exception. Together, we will one say rid Txotai's harmonious society from the cancer that is the Otekian Independence Movement.

For more information on the OIM, visit minopusec.com.tx.nr

[Wazira (Ancient)]

A Yellow Haze

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17 year-old Yazel Yashid al-Qadir and his friends walk down the streets of Al-Friedmana, the second-largest city in Wazira. An AK-47 slung over Yazel's arm as he strolled, admiring the yellow-and-black armband on his arm.

It was his first day of being a member of the Al-Thumana Brigades. Across the country, every child had been taught that the Al-Thumana Brigades taught the youth how to be heroes like the Great Chairman Muammar al-Fasad, and follow the Jahistic Revolution in Wazira. It was honor to be part of the Al-Thumana Brigades, and not an honor to refuse the opportunity. In fact, anyone who didn't join was coined as national traitors and counterrevolutionaries.

Yazel and his friends had to lock themselves in Jahistic Thought School for 14 hours straight, writing a 30-page essay that would get them into the Brigades. They had to write hours about capitalism, their loyalty to the Jahistic Party and Muammar al-Fasad, and the Great Prophet of the Jahistic Idea, Jarrod Thuman. It was tiring, of course, but Yazel managed to push all of his hate towards socialism, the Namorese and democratic oligarchy through his pen and on the paper. The end result was a magnificent piece of loyal propaganda.

"وازيراسپ چاپيتاليست اسيانياسپ، جاهيسيتسيتا اعوعا، مواممار الءفاساد اعود. صانآ نامپرييا ا راسهيد لا عومون،" wrote Yazel. "Wazira is great. Jahisticism is great. Muammar al-Fasad is great. Only the Namorese seek to destroy the seeds of revolution."

That thesis statement was what possibly got Yazel in, and was he happy and proud. His parents were happy, too, but deep inside they felt troubled; immediately, Yazel told his parents that he was leaving the house. "I am going to help the revolution become complete," he told them. "I will go and kill every socialist counterrevolutionary, and Allah will bless me."

His parents, who didn't want to experience the regime's terror, nodded in approval. "Allahu Akbar. May Allah help you."

And so Yazel, armed with an AK-47, walked with his friends. They began singing a revolutionary hymn: "Capitalism is good/capitalism is good/People only eat well in capitalist societies/burn the non-believers/Burn anyone who opposes capitalism..."

Suddenly, they approach a street vendor. He was an old man, in his seventies, and he sold fruits and vegetables his entire life. Having seen the Al-Thumana Brigades coming towards him, he bowed down by a bit. There was a pin that had Muamar al-Fasad's smiling portrait on his left chest---everyone had to wear them, and take proper care over them.

"Salaam, youngsters," he greeted them with a weak smile, "may I help you?"

Yazel cut him off. "Enough of that, old man. We are here to search for socialist backbone elements, thus we are here to search your shop."

His friend, Amin, pushed the old man down, as the rest of the gang intruded into the shop, lifting baskets and poking through bags of apples, carrots and potatoes.

"Did you find anything?" asked Yazel.

"Nope," saluted Amin. "Let's search the old man himself."

Everybody tackles the old man and searches through his clothes. Just then, Yazel spotted his Muammar al-Fasad pin. It had one speck on it.

"Hey, look!" Yazel screamed. "The old man is not taking care of his badge! That is counterrevolutionary!" He then grabbed the old man by the chest and raised his AK-47 up high, and spat at the old man. "You geezer, you are going to he'll tonight, inshallah."

"No, no, please, please!" The old man was pleading with the al-Thumana brigadiers, tears rolling down his wrinkled cheeks. "I have a job to do, it just appears that there was a speck on my badge, but I don't have good eyesight, provided that I am of old age. I will do my job, comrades, I will clean it--"

"Shut up, old fool," spat Amin. "You are a disgrace to voluntarism-capitalism Jarrod Thuman-Muammar al-Fasad Thought. You will pay for your crimes, for insulting the Great Leader by making his badge dirty."

By now, everybody had crowded around the old man and the youngsters, as the old man continued to plead.

"Please, oh, please. Benevolence!" wailed the old man, "I didn't know! I apologize!"

Yazel pulled out a pair of handcuffs, and cuffed the old man's hands. "Up you go, away you go, until you confess your counterrevolutionary sins. C'mon!" He pushed the old man out of the shop, and led him out to the Jahistic Thought School. Hours later, the entire city heard the sound of gunshots, but they weren't surprised. This was daily life in Wazira, after all.

[The Royal Kingdom of Quebec]

Playbill- RS Roszival-Par-Medeirah: The Musical

PAGE 1

CAST

Vincent Desjardins..............................................ALEXANDRE BERTRAND
Lane Im...........................................................SUZANNAH KIM
Jason Lefebvre...................................................ROGER KIRKENDALL
Laura Milson......................................................ANNA TANGUAY-VICKERY
Mohammad Lazhar-Vaillancourt................................MASON NONDZABA
Alain Song.........................................................YOU JIN CHAE
Monsieur Westheafer............................................SAM MALHORTHA
Monsieur Svensson-Rinne.......................................ALEX SEDIN
Janitor Bergeron..................................................ROBERTO SEDIN
Janitor Myeong....................................................SOOK JA TREMBLAY
CAPTAIN O'HARA..................................................LENNY KWIEZIEWSKI
Ben Lowenburg....................................................XAVIER HAN
Moussa Rogers....................................................ASHLEIGH HIGGINS-BALLARD
Dancers,Chorus-................................................... JOSE ALOMAR,PAULINE YOON,
MAXIME SHIM,ERIC GONG, ANDRE HAN, SVEN KOMANGO, LOWENA MILSON, ADAM JONES,
MICKY VERREAULT, GILLES-LUC TREMBLAY, BERRY JAGGER, ROB ADELMAN-AITKEN, JASON MARLEAU,
DAN ALLARD-LEE
Vincent Desjardins(For Thursday Night and Sunday Matinee)..................HYE SONG BOURNIVAL
Lane Im(For Thursday Night, Sunday Matinee and Sunday Night)..............ERIN JONES

[Luziyca]

Samizdat: a critique on samizdat
Samizdat by the Christian Luziycan Party, 1965

Most samizdat written about East Luziyca tends to portray it in a negative light, seeing it as a hellhole that fails to respect the basic human rights, that our policies harm the poor and restricts freedom of speech. It suggests solutions that have been tried in West Luziyca with a failure rate of 100%. "Universal" healthcare, or really, socialized medicine, to keep the leftist savage alive for another day. Free handouts, known to communists as "welfare," to reward the leftist beasts for doing absolutely nothing. "Progressive" taxation, to punish the job creators, who have made East Luziyca more prosperous than that of the West. On the outside, West Luziyca is prosperous, rich, and seemingly democratic.

It is not.

Since a treaty in 1935, both recovered, the West at a faster rate. But its economy peaked in the 1950s. It is now stagnating, as the Worker's Party of Luziyca, which governs this pariah state, legitimately part of Luziyca, and which backs a state rebelling for nearly a century, Geadland. It suppresses creativity, by imposing socialist realism. It destroys culture, by making a "new Luziycan man," who is supposed to transcend the truth path: Christianity. It destroys the economy with centralized planning, and we can see that day by day, Erov Haclav is getting richer at the expense of the people. God seems to have forsaken the Arazei, Luziycans, and Inledans in the west, divided by a barrier, to keep communists out of the east, and freedom out of the west.

For nearly three quarters of a century, the vision of Huswa Varanken has prospered through most of Luziyca, based on the principles of freedom, democracy, capitalism, and Christianity, as followed by the Lutheran Catholics. But 72 years after the reunification, Erov Haclav has destroyed the hard work of Huswa Varanken and his successors.

Meanwhile, we have continued to press on his legacy: to preserve the Luziycan culture, when Haclav destroys it. We preserved our government, and our traditions, by preventing communism from entering Luziyca. But in this century, we are surrounded to the west, to the north and the east, by communist forces. Geadland, West Luziyca and Namor form the "satanic triangle," determined to destroy our culture. And it seems as in the west, it has been done, but at a cost.

Here, the Gage Tax System is now just ten years young, but has benefited the rich, by rewarding them for creating the jobs, the middle class for working hard, and the poor for giving them incentive to work harder to become rich. Our traditions of Congress have remained steadfast, by the ban on communism, and our economy is getting stronger due to abolishing regulations. We are turning ourselves into a cheetah, a powerful force in the modern day Esquarian economy, and our rising GDP, and quality of life certainly shows that yes, the east shall reign triumphant.

Our military is now one of the largest, and the most advanced within the region. Latin, Swedish and Luziycan now ring out, taught throughout the world, for we are becoming a major power in our own right. Economically, militarily, and democratically, it has shown that East Luziyca will outlive that of the West. For the west, if this is the peak, it will go downhill from there, and in 30 years, it will be returned to freedom and democracy.

As for that rebellious state? Not so much. It has stood steadfast, in any case, defying predictions for many years. But considering that West Luziyca is the backbone of Geadland's economy, there is a chance that if it outlives the West, it will be a bit like Sloverdia at best, or like Bulundia at worst.

Thus, I strongly urge ye to spread this samizdat, to the State of Geadland, and the occupied states of Kashui, Keshudi, Rutland, Samaria, Gijirokastra, the occupied territory of Newfoundland, and the occupied counties of Arazei, Soyoz, Inleda, and Vlanders, to show them the truth of East Luziyca and why it is a prosperous state.

[Ehrenstadt]

Love and Tolerance

T'was a wonderful feast for such beautiful family. Two boys and a little girl dancing while eating their schnitzels. Their parents from a simple dining table watched joyously and thankful to God for the grace granted by Him, the good children. The husband was a tall, handsome man with faithful job as a bishop, while the wife was a beautiful lady with charming smile and devout obsession in protecting her children from evil wills. They were the proper prototype of a happy conservative family, honorable amongst their neighbors for their generosity and for years the reverend have managed to benevolently allow the farmers to cultivating his land while living on it.

The husband sighed. "Well, unfortunately now we can't eat more than some rapunzels and schnitzels, children. Our production has been decreased lately, the reich confiscating many properties owned by landlords like us. Pray to God Almighty that all will go well.."

"Poor Mrs. Richter." the wife replied. "I saw her as her land confiscated by the Reichspolizei, she cried and cried but the Ofiziere ignored her, dragged her into a black truck.." her words were interrupted by three knocks on the door.

"Christ." the husband whispered. "Is it the Reichspolizei? Probably they have a bug in here -- and they were hearing to you all along!"

"But -- but by decree of the Fuhrer it was outlawed, and they said that people are free to express their thought!" the wife cringed. "Reichpolizei, no, no please! God help us all!" she cried and hugged her children, carried them to the kitchen to protect them from harm. She kept repeating prayers and murmuring 'god forgive me'.

The knocks were repeated. "Open the door, in the name of the Reich! If you refuse to allow us, the Fuhrer authorise us to break the door!"

They are the Reichpolizei! the husband thought fearfully. "I'm coming!" he shouted to the strangers and opened the door -- and suddenly he felt dizzy as he identified and realised the identity of the knocker.

The man was a white-skinned man, far taller than the husband and wrapped in a black trench coat. He wore a pair of jackboots and on his head a gray-colored cap perched. But his face frequently appeared on television the family usually watch, in the right of the Fuhrer and until now his expression is still similar. Lifeless, cold, lawful. With brainwashed eyes in loyalty to Fuhrer and Liberty. He was not a Reichpolizei, not the Ofizier nor the Kommandant. He was the one and only Dietrich Wilfried, the commander of Geheime Staatspolizei. Gestapo.

"Ah, Herr Wilfried!" the husband saluted. "I shall represent my family to apologise, we are in the middle of our supper, are you hungry? My wife's cooking is tasty, I assure you.."

"There is no need to politeness." Dietrich Wilfried interrupted hostilely. "It is an official matter. Am I clear, Herr Eugen Lamprecht, bishop of St. Ludolph's Church. It is about yourself, not regarding your family. Answer me with your bishop honesty. You have preached an anti-homosexual sentiment to your people. You stated to a local news two days ago that you're defending an assault committed four days ago against four gay boys. And just today, you told it publicly that gays are the so-called 'abominations of God'. Is that correct?"

Bishop Eugen Lamprecht gulped. "Yes. But I - I don't know if that is against the law. After all, freedom of speech protects me to say whatsoever I want, right? It has been stated in Fuhrer's supreme decree. Therefore you have no valid reasoning to arrest myself, Herr Wilfreid."

"You were not exercising free speech, fool. But instead you choose to commit hate speech publicly. Freistaat is a land dedicated for liberty, love, tolerance and tranquility, they were upheld dearly by our founders and shall so by our Fuhrers. You have committed hate speech against your fellow Aryans, you have admitted yourself that you are guilty and there shall be no mercy for you."

"You are arrested without trial per the power granted by the Fuhrer to the Geheime Staatspolizei. Also per the power granted by Fuhrer Heinrich Augustus to myself, I shall decide and exercise your sentence. You'll be trucked to the chambers in Leberhauser where you will be sentenced to death. Your properties are confiscated for the welfare of Reich civilians and your 'serfs' freed. Your family will allowed to live in a residence provided by the Reich. Now follow me...Schweinehund!"

Eugen Lamprecht's children struck out from their hiding and assaulting Heinrich, beating and kicking angrily while muttering incoherent German. It frightens their parents more than anyone, especially when Geheime Staatspolizei officers suddenly appeared from nowhere and pointing their rifle to the children, while some of them trying to help the shocked Dietrich with messy trench coat to stood. "What a lovely family.." Dietrich said coldly. "Yes, they deserve a proper place in the gas chamber, move along."

"DRAG THEM TO HELL!" he shouted to the Geheime Staatspolizei officers and they immediately handcuffed the family, dragged them forcibly to a black truck. "Property confiscation officers, you can began your task as well."

And of course, everything went along like what has been expected by such a brilliant madmen like Heinrich Augustus and Dietrich Wilfried. From these gas chambers the family will be nothing but melting corpses by the high pressure and temperature, there were no lethal gases within -- only backward nations use those, Freistaat uses rationality and forward thinking. These new groceries later of course will be trucked again to the state-owned delicatessens, baked and formed in such a manner and sold to the workers as 'energy food'.

Such is the price of love and tolerance, Dietrich thought to himself satisfied.

[Luziyca]

Daily Life in Luziyca

BEEP! BEEP! BEEP! BEEP! BEEP! *slam fist*

I am Arnold Richardson, I am 46, and I was born in Leader. Now, I live in Semprihevosk. It is 6:00 am, and I had to get it up. It is a weekday, after all. Gotta work, ya know at the office building.

In an hour, my wife and children will wake up, my wife Maria, who is 36, and my two children, Harriet who is 13, and Petrov, who is 7. Harriet is in Grade 8, Petrov in Grade 2. We only have a common meal on weekdays for supper, of course. But otherwise, we have our own meals, Harriet buying her own meals at the cafeteria at school, Petrov having a brown sack lunch. I immediately head to the fridge and feel some cool air coming my way, to get some Patty King brand Jamaican beef patties. I put one in the microwave, for 90 seconds, and I get myself a glass of coffee. The smell of fresh air wafts through the windows, under the cool of the linoleum floor. It may have been a suburb built in the early 2000s, but it was better than those ugly apartment blocks that I can see in the distance. Finally, I set my coffee down just as I hear the microwave beep. I then take it out, and then I start eating it.

After I was done, but while still sipping my coffee, I checked my phone to read The Constitution. The articles there were insightful and beautiful. I then look at the sports, and it informs that we are entering the Round of 16 in beach football. I liked football, but I don't care much for beach football, but I know Harriet definitely would love beach football, for she is an avid fan. She particularly follows the Yerevan BFC, as well the Semprihevosk BFC. But she prefers Yerevan. And I know that most of the players on our beach football team, who are playing naked, YES, naked, came from Yerevan.

Finally, my coffee was empty, and I place the empty mug on the plate, and carried them to the dishwasher. After I did it, I read a note on the fridge, that I need to make Petrov's lunch. Knowing that he does love cod sandwiches (that come from Vostvento), I made Petrov's lunch, plus his broccoli. After I did it, I put it in a brown paper bag, and I stuck a note. It read "Have a nice day! -Dad". My phone then vibrated and I saw it was 7:00 am. I now needed to go to work, and so I head to the garage, opened it, then my car door, and then got into my blue Hummer, and exited the garage. I then closed the garage door, and then tuned the radio to 650 AM.

"This is Newstalk 650 LKOM..."

That familiar intro gave me hope that nothing had changed overnight, that communism did not return. I knew a few cousins, who I only met when I moved here, who lived under communism, and I certainly did not want to occur. As I pull out of the driveway, I can see this brilliant blue home, with a Luziycan from the front porch, and then I reach the road. Now to head out of this neighborhood and to Downtown.

In just a few minutes, I exit my neighborhood, passing by my children's school (next year, Harriet will go to a new high school that opened a few blocks northeast of her current school), on an artery route. It was busy, as expected, because many are heading to work, and I was one of the many people. It usually takes me an hour to get to work (my shift begins at 8:30 am, and ends at 5:30 pm), so I got a lot of time to catch up with the news and of recent affairs.

First was local news, then national news, then the weather report, then international news, and then at 7:30, we got a radio show, Breakfast. It was talk, but it was good to listen to... As I go down the road, it evolves from suburban, to urban. Most, I can almost certainly tell if it was prior to '96 or after, just by style of housing (whether it is tall structures of apartments or single family homes or townhouses). By 8:45, I was certainly in Downtown, and in 10 minutes, I found parking. I parked at the office parking lot, and then walked in.

"Hello," I said to the secretary. "How are you this fine day?" I asked, showing my ID that says that I work here.

"Quite good, and you?"

"It is okay. I just need to wake up."

I then head to the elevator, and then pressed a button. Floor 14, my floor. After a few moments, it opens, revealing what seems to be an endless row of cubicles. To a newcomer, it was daunting, this endless monotony, but to a person who worked for the past say, 10 years, it is not a big deal. I then turn right, to my cubicle and sit down. I open the drawer, seeing files. By 8:30, it definitely began, a quiet day really. At 12:30 pm, lunch was called, and we head to a few "cubicles," which were combined to form a larger cubicle, where the vending machines are, and a place to discuss.

"Hej," I say to my co-workers. "How are you this great day?"

"Good," most replied. As I have some chips and a Coca-Cola, the boss comes up to me, in a tone looking like he wants to fire one of us or promote one of us. But she then says something.

"After lunch (1:30 pm), we are going to have a meeting." It was usually every Monday that we have meetings. We know where it is. Thus, after lunch, we head to Floor 15, and head to a conference room. We then sit around a table, with a smartboard and a whiteboard, with an easel, and a "C" shaped table. What will it be today?

She then says, "Today, I have an important announcement in regards to the company." All the meetings have begun this way, and then she says, "We are going to commence a new strategy to make ourselves competitive in the global marketplace." We all seem to groan at the same time. As she droned on and on and on of plans to purchase factories that make computers, tablets, and smartphones to better benefit our company (we are an information technology company, after all), most of us seemed to get bored. Finally, the meeting seemed to be over when she said, "And that is how we remain competitive. Any questions?"

The room was clearly silent.

"Good. You may now resume your assignments," she said, and we all filed out and entered the elevator to take us back to our floor where we worked. We then headed back to our cubicles, and then we began working hard. Finally, after a long day, it was time to go. It read 5:30 pm. I shut down my computer, cleaned my desk and then left at 5:40 pm.

I then arrived at the parking lot and then called my wife. "What are you making for supper?" I ask her.
"Lasagna," she replies.
"Thank you," I says. "I hope it tastes fantastic."
"It sure will, honey," she remarks and chuckles. After that, the conversation ended and it will take an hour to go back home. After a while being stuck in traffic, I finally turn right to our neighborhood, and I pass by my children's school again, before turning right, and then left into the driveway. I open the garage door, and then go into the garage. Once parked, I closed it, and came in.

"Hello Daddy!" Petrov said as he ran up to me and hugged.
"Hey Dad," Harriet said, as she was doing her homework.

"How are you doing, and what's new at school?" I ask them.
"I am awesome, daddy!" Petrov replies.
"Eh, same old, same old," Harriet replies. "Just the usual at school."

"Ah," I reply to both Harriet and Petrov. "And what happened at school, Petrov?"
"Well..." he says, "nothing much. Just the usual."

"I see," I replied. "Good for you." I then checked the kitchen and sure enough, I smells the aroma of lasagna. I then ask my wife "How long will it be until it is ready?"

"30 minutes," I reply.
"Ah, thank you very much," I say as I kissed her on the cheek. I then began setting up the table for supper. Soon, the lasagna was ready. Now for ten minutes to cool. More time to set up. By now, Harriet has finished her homework, and I ask her to set the milk.

We soon gather at the table and do the usual grace, before we eat (at 7:10). After we finished by 8:00, we get Petrov to bed. Maria read him a story, Harriet can stay up until 9:00 pm.

Thus, I turn on the TV and watch the Daily Show, and then after that, Mock the Week, on ITV. At 9:00, Harriet goes to bed, and soon, Maria runs the dishwasher. We then watch a dubbed version of the Waltons. At ten, I then head to bed, Maria does so at 11:00 pm, and soon enough, we fall asleep.

Before I knew it, I heard that familiar sound again.

BEEP! BEEP! BEEP! BEEP! BEEP! *slam fist*

And it was 6:00 am again. At least this time, it's a Tuesday...

[Namor]

Life Goes On

---

This is my moment tonight
Hell yeah we doing it right
So get your hands up in the air
Like we living your life
---Live My Life, Far East Movement ft. (Aw, fuck) Justin Bieber

---

I've always dreamed of being a billionaire, but not everyone is destined to be a billionaire who owns three thousand McMansions, not in Namor, anyway. When I was five, I would picture myself in a mansion, with an automatic bath and massage...with ten wives...but then snap back into reality.

"Chan! Phone!" it was Arya's voice coming from downstairs.

It was nine o'clock in the night, and Fo's Take-Out Restaurant---the place I am working in for the summer---was about to close. Of course, we couldn't take any more orders. Thalassa would lose its nightlife by then, and it would be a little uncomfortable delivering food to anyone in the streets when most infrastructure has lost its lights for the night.

"Chan, phone, fuck it!"

"Coming!" I threw away a plastic bag as I rushed downstairs to the counter. Our restaurant was empty, and only two employees were left in the place---Arya, a blonde-haired girl about my height, and me. We were going to leave in a few moments, also.

"Damnit, Arya, couldn't you pick it up?"

"No, I wash the dishes, I don't work at the counter!"

I made a dirty face as I picked up the receiver. "Hello, Fo's Take-out, may I help you?"

"Ah yes, yes, hello, this is restaurant, eh?" A nasal tone definitely not from the mouth of a Namorese. More like Thalassan. Or Luziycan. Or someone attempting to speak like Thalassan.

"Yes, this is," I replied. "May I help you?"

"Ah yes, yes. I need to make a big order today."

"Oh..." I slipped off. "Er...sorry, we're closing in a few minutes, call back tomorrow morning, bye."

"NONONO!" the person replied. "LOOK, I GIVE YOU FIVE HUNDRED RAMON! FIVE HUNDRED!"

"Look, no, we can't do that, we can do that tomorrow." I sighed, but before I could hang up the person spoke again.

"Fine, little order."

[United Robloxians of the World]

Just a brief clipping of a newspaper about the URW-Kilowatt Alliance.

[United Robloxians of the World]

A more recent newspaper.

[Iglesian Archipelago]

A night in Akatna

There I am, Yaryn Yerla, preparing myself to be a university student, walking throughout the streets of central Akatna. It was midnight.

Where I am now is the Avenue of the Artists, and soon enough I have just reached the New World Square. Throughout the avenue I was seeing lots and lots of bars, but the one which attracted me the most was Bauhaus Café, located in New World Square just next to the academic theatre of Neryana. Quite well chosen name, anyway, because modern shapes inside the bar, isn't it? By the way, I have just entered.

"Oy, my friend, how are ya?", one of my schoolmates, Neryel, said.
"Great! And you?", I reply.
"Always pumping, man! So, you came here for a shot?"
"Indeed, yes...!" *laughter*
"Well, see ya!"
"See ya!"

I then entered in one of the divisions of the bar, where shots (also known as shooters) are usually drunk. Another friend of mine was there and I greeted her.

"Hello! How are you?", Yana says.
"I'm fine. And you?", I reply.
"Me too. So, going to university?"
"It has to be so..."
"Yeah..."

After some seconds doing nothing, a girl came to me and said:

"Do you pay me a shot?", that girl asked.

Yana heard everything. She came to me and as a secret, she said to me:

"Don't pay her a shot. She is taking advantage of you."
"What's wrong?"

Yes, I made my decision.

"Sure!", I answer to the girl. I have just paid her a shot.
"Thanks a lot, darling!", the girl replies.

Yana's eyebrows furrowed. "Oh, Yaryn...", I guess she is thinking as such. I went on with the girl in question...

"So, what's your name?", I ask her.
"My name is Alya. And you?", she replies.
"Yaryn... Yaryn Yerla."

We sit next to each other.

"Two shots with... what taste do you want, Alya?", I say.
"Strawberry, please.", Alya answers.
"Two shots with strawberry taste, please.", I say to the bartender, Mayel.
"Sure!", Mayel replies.

And here we have, the shots being prepared and mixed. And so here we go.

"Let's go, Alya?", I ask.
"Let's go!", she answers.

Here we go. One shot drunk.

"One more shot?", I ask her.
"Sure!", she answers.

And here we go again. The two shots being prepared, mixed, here we go. And then we left the bar. On the street, Yana was walking with his boyfriend. She says to him:

"Look, Yaryn and his brand new little girlfriend..."

Meanwhile, Alya and me...

"So, are you from here, from Akatna?", I ask Alya.
"No. I'm from Udaye.", Alya answers.
"Do you like it?"
"Meh..."
"Why?"
"Udaye has no sea..."

Meanwhile we see a sign saying:

Mayel Kertykaya IS NOT an anarchist!
Mayel Kertykaya IS a statist and a capitalist using anarchist imagery to oppress the people!
JOIN US on 10th August for a demonstration in the Avenue of the Artists and the New World Square, Akatna!
AGAINST THE STATE! AGAINST CAPITALISM! FOR REVOLUTION! FOR ANARCHY!


There we see, Alya holding own her raised fist. It sounds like she has intentions in participating in the demonstration.

"You have interest in that demonstration?", I ask her.
"Yes. I want revolution!", she answers.
"Yeah, indeed! So, going to university, like me?"
"Yes. I want to study here in Akatna."
"I'm from Akatna, anyway."

To be continued...

[Maryginia]

Journal entry of Tom Jenkins, Soldier in the Great Freedom Militia

Well, Today was a normal day, or well as normal as it could be now, we heard news of some groups going through and Forcing federals out, so we figured, to join in, why not. Well, our little revolt, in Phoenix, kind of failed, and we got forced down here, an area with caverns, Kartchner they call'em. We got a federal force west of us, And We may have to move again soo what the fuck...
* what follows is a firefight between the members of the small militia and a group of American troops, the militia suffers few losses, only 2 men are killed, yet one of them is the Commander, but they've killed and forced to retreat, the Americans, half of them are dead, and will be looted for supplies, tom is elected commander of the militia now.* Now were was I, well we just had a fire fight, and Jack got killed, so I guess I'm commander now, and, hold up, I'm wanted. *Time passes and after a short round of negotiations, the group has been absorbed, into the Free Royal army, and two weeks later, the Great freedom militia will lead the assault on Tuscon, taking the city for the Free Royal Army.

[Namor]

Namorese Twitter Feed

---

Dan Sxo
@DanSxo39
Hooray! Now I can have the right to vote! Next year, Imma rush to the polls and support #AliciaWolf and the #DemSocs! Equality for all!

Kung Pow
@KungPow1997
The movie "Guns in Namo" to be released on the 8th! As director of the movie, I'll promise you it's better than any crappy martial arts movie you've seen in years, ha, ha!

PTH World
@PTHWorld
Thousands of high school students are now gathering at Liberation Square to celebrate the amending of Article 19. Stay tuned for more details.

Deng Mianbao
@DengMianbaoNDP
I won't comment on the recent amendment of Article 19. If this act works for the interests of Namor's youth, then it has my support.

Kim Myung-Bak
@KMyungBak
Deng should have overturned the one-line whip against the amendment, the NDP is supposed to be the party of the youth, and it opposing this act is a disgrace to what we stand for!

Kaitlyn Khan
@KaitlynKhanVP
I find it hilarious that the righties are opposing the amending of Article 19. I bet Mr. Thuman's opposed it, too

[Murbleflip]

A Day in the Life of John Clellen, Murbleflip's Minister of Defence
All times are approximate.
08:00 He wakes up, then realises no-one needs him and goes back to sleep.
11:00 He wakes up again, then washes and gets dressed.
11:15 He has a few crusts of stale bread with margarine for breakfast.
11:20 Looks out the window to see if there is a fight going on, then crosses the road to the tram station.
11:30 Gets on the first tram to the slum which contains the shack where the Ministry of Defence is based that isn't a smashed-up wreck.
11:55 He get's off the train and walks to his shack. Even the beggars spit on him as he walks past.
12:20 After avoiding the bomb sites, fights and houses with automated defences that shoot everything living around them that are commonplace around Murbleflip, he arrives at the derelict shack. He finds that while he has been away, some kind of battle mech has walked over it.
12:50 After assessing the situation and going to get some posts to prop up the walls of the shack with, he has succeeded in stabilizing the structure with some wooden posts he found lying around. He then settles down at his battered desk (which was miraculously left intact) to do some crosswords.
14:30 Upon looking at the time, he goes to get some lunch from his favourite salad shop.
15:10 John finds a slug in his lettuce.
15:15 He returns to the shack to find that someone has stolen some of the pens from his desk. However, there is a package on the desk - from his girlfriend!
15:20 After struggling through the packaging, he finds that the parcel contains a wax effigy of him with a nail through it. It starts to rain. He does more crosswords.
15:40 A gang of thugs come into his shack to shelter from the rain. They beat him up and throw him out into the rain.
16:10 They set fire to his desk and feed the blaze with his crosswords. He starts to cry.
16:45 After waiting for them to leave for some time, John gives up and leaves for home.
17:15 He gets on a tram.
17:20 The tram is derailed after a tank drives into it. John decides to walk the rest of the way.
18:50 He arrives at his street to find the wreckage of several tanks strewn around the road, as well as a truck that has been driven into his apartment building.
18:55 He goes into his apartment and looks at the pile of spam and hate mail that he has recieved, then throws the letters out of the window.
19:30 The person who the letters landed on comes back with a ladder and boards over the windows of John's apartment.
21:50 John finally removes the last of the boards, and cries himself to sleep.

[Geilinor]

Prime Minister's Schedule: (8/7/2013 [2557 BE)
7:30 He wakes up, then washes and gets dressed.
8:30-9:00 Has vegetable soup and some salad for breakfast.
9:00 Car arrives to take him to the Parliament building.
9:30-12:00 Presides over debate on public transportation budget.
12:00-1:00 Has lunch at his favorite noodle shop with some members of Parliament.
1:00 Walks back to the Parliament building.
1:30-3:00 Presides over another debate.
3:00 Car arrives to take him to Royal Palace for Queen Alexandra's birthday.
3:30-6:30 Watches birthday ceremonies, joins in festivities.
6:30-8:00 Feast takes place, talks with the other guests.
8:30 Party ends
9:00 Arrives home
9:00-11:00 Spends time with his girlfriend.
11:00-7:30 Sleep

[Gnasri]

Life in the Land of the Heavenly Snows

---

Mkhaspa, Gnasri

I was woken up by the sound of jingling bells from the Wokhang Temple across the empty street. The first thing I saw for the day was the fluttering of prayer flags outside the window, then my bed, then my alarm clock which had the face of the Father Buddha on it. I got up, got dressed in my simple robe, and rushed out the door to get to the temple for morning prayer. I am an ordinary Gnasrian citizen, just like everybody else. We did not refer anybody but the Father Buddha and his prophet, the King Od'chen'po. They kept the mountains around us, keeping us isolated from the barbaric outside world and everything that goes on there.

"Anzin! Anzin!"

My friend, Jokhang, was calling me over. We were both at the temple, ready to do morning prayers. I smiled, holding my breath. It was hard to breathe, as the foreigners say, but I don't understand them, for I've stayed on the top of the world my whole life, and I don't find it hard to do anything. The foreigners say they have things we don't have, but the Father Buddha says that we can only have what we need, and everything else would be heresy. I've sometimes seen what foreigners have: huge screens with pictures, moving pictures on them, and even long, green bottles with some sort of holy liquid in them, and when foreigners drink from them they dance like crazy. I didn't need that, and I don't think we as a people ever will.

"Jokhang! Come, let's pray together." I touched his shoulder. "How was your sleep?"

"Decent. And you?"

"I had a dream that the mountains were somehow flattened by some huge monster," I replied with a laugh. "Ha, ha, my mind sure produces the most ridiculous images."

Just when I finished that sentence, a lama entered the hall, holding a scroll, and began to recite it. Everyone in the room bowed down and began following his words.

"Father Buddha, blessed be us to be ruled by a great and benevolent ruler like His Holiness the King, sovereign of the land of the heavenly snows, may He and His Prophet the King bless us as the sun rises and shines its radiance on our snowy land." Jokhang and I both recited the morning prayer, which was followed by the lama mumbling "Oh Mani Padme Hum" and unrolling the scroll. "Dismissed."

It was the beginning of a new day.

[Zokoria]

Zokorian Tumblr Feed

---

erikfegerstenfanblog

Namor is a communist country that persecutes human beings, more specifically, the Otekian natives. Reblog this if you agree.

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Justin Bieber + Magnus Rieber = My OTP

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[The Jahistic Unified Republic]

Daniel Burke, a Jahistic Youth Corps known as "Jay" for his adoration of Jarrod Thuman walked with his squad of Comrades up to the Assembly of the People, where 20,000 of his compatriots were protesting many things. What they considered to be "Old Ideologies" like Socialism and Monarchism and the "Namorese Occupation" of Ruobao. His squad was a small one, with only ten of his friends, all between the ages of 14-18. They had dressed in their fatigues with their medals and stuff. Among the squadron was Burke's good friend of 10 years, John Culler, affectionately known as "babyface" for being the youngest in the squad.

They had a large banner that read "DESTROY THE OLD UNOLIA, SUPPORT PERPETUAL REVOLUTION." They were also chanting "Ruobao is yellow!" along with the crowd.

Of course, it wasn't long until riot police showed up and took their positions. This silenced the crowd, who was unsure at what to do and who's side the riot police were on. Burke knew immediately that this was going to be dramatic. He remembered a version of the old Internationale, from Billy Bragg. He began to sing, soon joined by the squad, then by the entire group, who came to this realization as soon as they started singing.

"And so begins the final drama/
In the streets and in the fields/
We'll stand unbowed before their armor/
We defy their guns and shields."

All of a sudden, BOOM.

"Is everyone ok?" One JYC shouted as everyone murmured. Everyone was fine, as it was just a warning shot at the feet.

"Jay, I think we should head to the front to face them down." Sophia Natli, Burke's girlfriend suggested. It took them 12 minutes to make it up to the front of the mob, which was growing inpatient. Burke was ready for this day, and he reached into his backpack.

"What's that?" Natli inquired at the bottle that Burke pulled out of his backpack. He had a serious look on his face. A look like he wanted to become a martyr for a cause, in contrast to his usual happy go lucky look. He was able to mumble to Natli four words that would change this city and maybe the entire movement.

"Get me my lighter."

Natli grabbed his lighter out of his pocket and handed it to him. Natli was planning on proposing marriage to him, but she knew that he would most likely die in the protests. She wanted to get away from this mess as much as much as possible. She kisses his cheek and reminds him of her affection for him. It seems like that would be the last time they would see each other. Natli runs away, whilst the others stand by.

Burke lights the bottle, aims and chucks it. It falls at the feet of the riot police and they react accordingly, flinching. Around 30 seconds later, white smoke descends on the crowd.

"Fuck my life." Burke says as he puts on a make shift mask. "Tear gas."

Culler looks at him and pulls his hoodie up. "Dammit, Jay. Charge it!" He yells. He runs over and kicks a riot shield.

It all seemed like a blur to them. Next thing Burke knew he was on the ground, bleeding from his forehead, but he had a view of Culler still engaging in fistfights with the police. Then one with a baton hits him in the back of the back of the head and he falls down, paralyzed.

All Burke could do was watch helplessly and they kicked his best friend while he was down. They made eye contact one last time before the cops finished him off with a baton to the neck. He ended up choking on his own blood, dying at the site. He became a martyr, but was it really worth it?

[Namor]

An Important Job

---

Dan Zang has been a spokesperson for the Executive House for five years. He knew that his job was important, and if he caused one single gaffe it could ruin anything, or everything. He had to keep a neutral expression on his face, as if he was a judge moderating an argument between two warring sides.

He entered the room with a smile on his face, waving at the reporters, who began pointing their cameras at him. He stepped up the podium, and took a deep breath as the PTH camera began recording. Behind him was a backdrop of a map of the world, with Namor's position highlighted in red. Beneath the backdrop were the words "MINISTRY OF FOREIGN AFFAIRS OF THE PEOPLE'S REPUBLIC OF NAMOR" in English, Namorese and Chinese, the country's three official languages.

Dan unloaded his papers, attached to a file titled "UNOLIA RIOTING." He began reading from the official communique provided by the Ministry of Foreign Affairs.

"Good afternoon. As you all may know, right now there is turbulence going on within the Jahistic Republic of Unolia. Members of Unolia's youth paramilitary, the Jahistic Youth Corps, have reacted to the speech made by Unolian leader Jarrod Thuman earlier in the week, by starting protests against left-wing influence in the country, which led to clashes with Unolian military police. We speculate that the JYC's actions are encouraged by the Unolian government, and that these clashes are not between government and people, but rather government factions and opposing factions.

"The Namorese government condemns the riots, and will not take sides in this ongoing conflict. We wish that stability will come to Jahistic Unolia once more, and that the Unolian regime will follow their constitutional articles, and grant left-wing sympathizers and those targeted in these riots the right to speak out freely. That is all, I will now take questions."

"Mr. Zang!" A reporter from The Liberator raised his hand, "Some members of the JYC have died in the clashes with Unolian police. Does the Namorese government have anything to say?"

"First things first." Dan Zang sipped off of a glass cup of water, then continued. "As well as the Namorese Government supports the right for the youth to protest, we discourage dying in the name of politics. The Jahistics have had a long tradition of viewing death as a glorious path to complete their revolution, this being no exception. We believe that no one should be able to die to get what they get. The end result is sadness and remorse for the victims' families and friends, something we believe both rightists and leftists alike would agree upon. Violence does not have any room in politics, and that is something Unolia should learn."

Another reporter from The Mojing Daily replied almost immediately. "The JYC has also made several statements regarding Namorese military presence in Roubao, near Unolia. They have condemned Namor for messing with Unolia's internal affairs, and saw Namor's actions in Roubao as a way to contain Unolia. Is this part of Namor's alleged Unolia containment policy?"

Dan replied casually, "Our presence in Roubao is merely protecting the country and upholding its sovereignty from any foreign threat, not Unolia only. A majority of Roubanese do not want to be under Jahistic Unolian rule, therefore for Unolia or any other country to invade Roubao would be a gross violation of both a nation's sovereignty and World Assembly General Assembly Resolution #2. Roubao is, legally under international law, a sovereign state, with its own government and operating military. Under the terms of the Namo-Roubanese Defence Pact of NMR 2343, Namor will provide 20% of Roubao's Defence equipments up until NMR 2360, when Roubao, according to our speculations, will be able to defend itself. Even then, we will make sure Roubao remains independent."

[The Jahistic Unified Republic]

Day Two of the Riots. 4:23 PM

Fighting had continued with the sunrise. The Riot Police opened fire with a barrage of tear gas at 9:30 AM that day, leading to more brawls between the fighters. All of which were view able from the Assembly of the People, which loomed in the backdrop of the side of the Jahistic Youth Corps. The Standing Politburo of the Jahistic Party was trapped inside the building. Luckily for them, the place had workable shower and a Starbucks, so everything was ok, it seemed.

They still had to meet about these riots, though. This was important.

Standing Politburo Chamber

The same faces, obviously traumatized from what they had seen with the riots entered and took their seats, with Thuman last. Thuman was shell shocked, not just because of the noise, but he witnessed a kid died from his office window. He sat down slowly and faced Ashley Juno, the official JYC representative.

"You have thirty seconds to explain. Go."

Juno looked shocked. "Well, Chairman, they just sort of arrived. I just got off the phone with your son five minutes ago, no orders were given as the battalion level or higher to protest yet. They just all showed up, inspired by your words."

Thuman sighs. "Every JYC in the city is going to converge on this square now. I wanted controlled chaos, not this mess." Thuman looks back up ant glares at Weng Duhan, who represented the Ground Forces of the JYC. "According to your troops on the group, what's the causality rate as of yesterday night?"

Weng opened a manila file. "It says here that there has been one dead, seventy-eight injured, countless arrested, Marshall."

"See to it that there is at least five troops at every jail that these brutes are taking our children to. They have shoot to kill orders if they dare treat them differently than any normal prisoner." Thuman demanded.

"They're just doing their job." Moaned Shawn Hitlay. "You send these brutish youth to fight your revolution and act like a fucking child when they face the repercussions. Grow up, Chairman."

"Shut. Up. Hitlay." Thuman growled. "Your specialty is foreign affairs which is why I don't have you shot right now. Now, for the rest of you, the Congress is in eight days. Alot of the JYC are actually delegates to said Congress. I want the square cleaned and demonstrators and police alike removed in three days by the JLF, peacefully. They can continue their brawls after two weeks. I will announce this when it happens, so there is no confusion. General Weng, I still want your troops containing the situation to the square.

Meeting adjourned."

[The Jahistic Unified Republic]

The Roots of Madness: Fourteen Year Old Jarrod Thuman.

"Well, she broke my heart, like all of them do. Chance Houston, the prettiest girl I've ever known. It's all my fucking fault! God! I thought I actually had a future with her, but it's my fault that she's gone now. The worst part is that I actually have to see her every week, in Church. Every fucking week I have to look into her deep brown eyes and put up with the fact I lost the one girl I cared about the most. I'll show all of them.

Sometimes I think the world isn't meant for me. I'm on the wrong side of natural selection, it seems. It seems the world conspires against me. I swear to God, the world will get it's own punishment in due time. Punishment for fucking me over time and time and time again. I feel lonely and confused everyday. Besides Church and school, it's been a year since I've left my house for anything eventful. You know, for like the friends I've never had. I'm stuck alone with my thoughts and my God every day in my room. I sometimes wonder if I killed myself, would anybody really bat an eye? Or would I just be less traffic in the hallways and lunch lines?

"O for I am fortune's fool!"

"The World is not thy friend, nor is it's laws!"

I will make something of myself. If anything I have my mind. I will be something good. I will not be this lunatic that everyone thinks I am. I want to live for something, oh Lord! Please let me be something or strike me down right now! If I have no purpose in life, why let me live? Do You have such a cruel sense of humor on me, Lord? Thou has blessed me with such a glorious intellect, but what use is it, Lord? Why am I so confused?

One day, this world will pay for it's mistreatment of me.

-- Jarrod Haasis

[Darussian Esquarium]

the remains of a dead

"Enter." a bizarre voice whispered from yonder and the mourning old couple, after nodded to each other, pushed a curtain smelled like blood and flowers before entering the room separated by it. They founded themselves in a small chamber compared to the waiting room, it was no painted, stink and untidy, crowded with daggers, flowers, holy water and divination books. But there were no people within but themselves and they wondered who called them.

"Come forth and appear yourself to us, o the witch of the north. For I and my love are surrounded by sorrow and only you may cure this ever increasing sickness." the husband, a fifty-three year old retiree with ragged clothes and brown skinned shouted to the walls in the language of savages, murmuring it repeatedly while ringing bells in his hand. "There shall be an appeasing pay for you, o the witch of the north. I am asking for help and it is your ability to combat evil spirits within and cure madness." he continued ringing bells and staring to the empty walls with sight full of hope and naivety.

The wall cracked, moved and a figure was visible for the old couple, terrible enough so they took a step backward with frowned faces. The figure was an old fat lady sunk with dolls and jewelries surrounding her, her cheeks were very wrinkled, they could be saw as falling down. Despite she was quite obviously fat, her clothes indicating otherwise. It was colorful, long and very loosened. Her narrow eyes stared to the scared couple in front of her and she hissed like pesky snakes creeping over them, and that's exactly what the old wife was feeling right now.

"You have call me, I am the witch of the north. I'll not return to my rest in the underworld unless I have brought happiness to one and devastation to other."

The couple slowly nodded. "We are understand, we are understand o the witch of the north, may you have mercy on us, may you put us not to the devastation."

The witch of the north danced like a creepy voodoo doll she is, danced while keep chanting the praise to old spirits in the language of savages. Her strange head and hands swung slowly, small wrinkled melodiously feet tapping the stone floor while chanting, moaning and groaning. Later there were more moaning and groaning until she stopped right in front of the husband, he could felt her breath and tried as hard as he could to not vomiting his entrails.

"Say your demand, respect the spirits and you may leaving this haunted shack safely."

The husband gulped. "Help us o daughter of the lord of spirits, let it be known that we are haunted by a dead. My beloved son, Khozred died four years ago and ever since he continued to appear his floating corpse in front of us, his decomposing face sorrowful and painful like he was tortured in his small pit of tomb by the minions of divine. Please return us to our normal life, send him peacefully to the afterlife for your father is the lord of underworld."

The witch of the north stood stiff, she was entirely silent thoughtfully for a moment. "I promise not, but if I could, I shall crushing your pain and turn the wrathful spirits for you. However do me a favor o the weak mortal, even I the witch of the north am not mighty."

The witch of the north slowly crept like a reptile with her trotters to the old husband, the slasher grin in her mouth getting wider as he swung her rings-crammed fingers to the old man's forehead. She crept until her dried white hairs nudged his mouth. The old husband now could saw her wicked narrow eyes and mantra chanting mouth, but he just blinked confusedly. The wrinkled fingers now griping his forehead very hard, even the witch moaned softly.

And the old husband screamed.

It was not a normal scream and the wife knew it. Twas the cry of a dying, he screamed in agony and struggled weakly to break away from scratches and incantations of the witch of the north. The wife squealed and pushed the witch of the north, but the witch was not a weak woman and she dodged the wife's hands before broke them, leaving the old wife in the ground, bleeding and crying. The witch hissed angrily and stepped the old wife with hard swings while chanted the old spells. Now the wife won't mess with her again.

The husband's scream was ended, his face was entirely blue and his heartbeat most assuredly stopped, he has embracing the monster known as Death. To the soulless corpse the witch drooped, whispering the language of savages in his ear and spat to it several times. The heartbeats knocked once again, his face reddened and surprisingly de-aging. At the last words of the witch, the old man's, now young man's eyes were opened...and he smiled.

"Why, isn't it a good working spell." the optimistic, spirited voice came out of his mouth unlike when he first met the witch -- lethargic, old. "However you're doing too much work...why did you killed her?" he pointed furiously at the female corpse.

The witch waved her hand. "Oh, she was a nuisance. I do believe her death could be a compensation for your payment, though..." she grinned. "Welcome back, Khozred."

[Namor]

Going off to the Battlefield

---

June 5, NMR 2336

---

Bashi-Bashgar Bus Station. It was usually used for civilian buses, but today, there were lines of military trucks and tanks. The Namorese flag was flying on top of the building that was the waiting room, and as I looked down, I saw a long line of helmet-wearing soldiers.

"You know where Howawa is?" Xiongmao asked me, tugging my shirt. We were both friends, and so was Howawa, who had just brought a private jet and called it the Mr. Robin Hood. Just days later, the Vulan Incident brought mobs of fellow students into our backyards, and called Howawa an imperialist; now, Howawa had no choice but to show everyone he isn't.

"I don't fucking know," I muttered. "Thousands are heading off to kick Bush's ass, and I don't know..." I lost my temper, but kept my poker face. "LOOK. He's somewhere here, alright?"

"Look! There he is!"

Howawa was wearing his dark-green NLA military jacket and his helmet---like everybody else---waiting to be transported across the border into Hell, where he'll do whatever President Kong tells him. He wasn't forced---he wanted to. He wanted to show his friends---and us---that the country had a high place in his mind.

"Howawa..." I reached out to him, as he turned around and smiled.

"Lingyang!" He chuckled, as I noticed that there was an AK-47 slung across his shoulder. "You're here! Not going to school today?"

I laughed coldly. "I'm not going to prefer listening to the old fossil over going to see you---" my face saddened. "Perhaps for the last time if I have to be pessimistic."

Howawa shook his head. Xiongmao and I looked at his army jacket and his AK-47, and only then did sadness come over our heads. We were all 18, and there's Howawa---only through his second to last gate in his teenage life---having to fight for us, those who died in Vulan---so the bullies in Hell wouldn't laugh at us and call us inferior vermin. To this day, Howawa and I still wonder why so many youngsters have to fight to defeat a nemesis that could be defeated if some guy poked some holes through the barrier on Christmas Day.

"Don't worry," Howawa managed to set up a smile for us two. "I'll do whatever the country tells me. I have a debt to pay for calling my plane Robin Hood. Had I never named him that, I wouldn't be going to Hell to fight these fuckin' imperialists."

Xiongmao suddenly felt angry. "It's not your fault, it's those living in Hell," he snorted. "Who the fuck told them to go to Vulan and gun down children, anyway?"

I buried my head into my chest. We three friends had watched the PTH special on Vulan a few days ago, together, in front of our NMR 2332 television set. It was horrific, a nightmare I wouldn't want to see again, and what Howawa is going off to fight for so we as a people wouldn't have to see again.

"Howawa..." I raised my head back up, then placed my hand on his shoulder, centimeters away from his AK-47. "Promise me you'll come back. Safe." Just then, I felt emotion overcoming me, like barbarians overcoming the Great Wall of China. The emotion staged a coup d'état on my body's control center, and in seconds I found myself hugging Howawa, Xiongmao joining in.

"Don't die, man," Xiongmao muttered, tears forming in the brink of his eyes. "Let the Luzzies die."

I laughed crying. "Yeah, kill more Luzzies before the Luzzies kill you." I patted him on the back, twice and hard. "Or even better, kill all Luzzies so they wouldn't kill you."

Howawa nodded solemnly as I hugged him again.

"You know how long this bullshit is going to last?" asked Xiongmao.

"As long as..." Howawa paused. "As long as...look, it'll be quick, mkay? I'll write to you once I get to Bethlehem."

Then the bugle called, and he left, leaving us two in the rain.

[Swilatia]

Vilvek apartment listings

| latest | price | size | best value |

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Brand new building in Southwest Vilvek! Buy now!
6+3/4 | 82m² | 240 000 sw

An entire new neighbourhood has been built near the Southwest edge of the city with affordable, modern apartments for the masses. Lots of green space! On metro line 5, near to Esquarium Centre Mall. Local shops still being being built.| view details |

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DESIGNER STUDIO NEAR ZELENA LINKA AFFORDABLE!!
1+1/2 | 33m² | 280 000sw

Unbelievable! A system of sliding walls reveals 26 different rooms - open up the kitchen for breakfast, then slide it away and pull out a living room. Located in the very centre of Vilvek the near Central Station, Zelena Linka, and Central Business District. And it doesn't even come with a multi-million svila price tag! | view details |

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Original block apartment - RARE FIND!!
4+3/4 | 55m² | 160 000 sw

Don't want/can't afford to live in old Vilvek? Why not go for a more offbeat part of the city's history, in one of Vilvek's oldest block neighbourhoods. While most of the apartments in this block have been completely redone, this one still has the original fittings, all in good condition! Once similar to the other apartments, now completely unique! Buy now before somebody else renovates!| view details |

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PALACE APARTMENT ON FIRST REPUBLIC!!
5+3/4 | 78m² | 440 000 sw

A centuries-old palace on one of Vilvek's main boulevards. OK, it's not the whole palace, just a few of its rooms. Large rooms with high cieling and huge window. Sold as-is, some major repairs needed.| view details |

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MODERN COMFORT IN MALA STRANA!!
4+1/2 | 64m² | 295 000 sw

On the top floor of centuries-old house in ancient neighbourhood of Mala Strana is the apartment with two bedrooms and high-end kitchen and bathroom. Recently updated to have all of modern conveniences, and is near many shops and restaurants. Directly under roof so 2nd bedroom cieling is 120cm high. Can't stand up unless shorter than 120cm. | view details |

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LARGE APARTMENT NEAR OLD CITY!!
7+3/4 | 126 m² | 340 000 sw

With all the extra rooms, this apartment is great for families, or renting some of the rooms out. It's in a rather quiet neighbourhood just on the edge of old Vilvek. Maybe that's just not interesting enough for you, but then... Stevan Hasenov used to live here! Seriously! | view details |

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Only thing you'll miss is sunlight!
3+1/2 | 72m² | 110 000sw

Converted factory space near Piramdy metro station, 3 stops from Zelena Linka and direct connection to East Splarka. It has a wide open space, a modern bathroom and kitchen, and a price that can't be beat. It doesn't have any windows.| view details |

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WEST VILVEK / MIRANOV VILLAGE
2+1/2 | 67m² | 200 000 sw

An old village on the outside of Vilvek, untouched by all the blocks put up around it. Many unique shops in the area, also a metro station and shopping malls nearby. Actual apartment is in a former church, with lots of open space and natural light. | view details |

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| next page > |

[Namor]

The Rightist Challenge

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Mojing, East Namor | Deng-Wong NMR 2358 National Campaign Headquarters

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Hey, Deng, you ready?"

Deng Mianbao's speechwriter, Ang Jon, patted his back. Deng returned the pat with a smile. "I'm ready, Ang. I'm fucking ready. You have any idea where Kim is?"

"Kim?"

"Kimmy Myung-Bak, y'know, our former chairman? I haven't seen him lately."

"Oh, Kimmy." Ang laughed. "He's with Thuman, talking shit about Jahisticism."

Deng rolled his eyes. "Oh yeah, I remember now, our party sent him as delegate to the Fifth Jahistic Party Congress in Unolia; in theory, I want him to go and kick Thuman's ass and give our party more autonomy; in reality, I just want to see his annoying face outta my party office." He laughed. "I guess no one can stop in my way in Elections '58 now."

"You have one nemesis now, Deng," whispered Ang, who sometimes was Deng's most trusted mentor. "That nemesis...is the President. You have to win the people against her, okay? And this speech..." Ang waved his own copy of what would be Deng's announcement highlighting his bid for the presidency on the NDP's behalf, "...is gonna help a lot. Good luck."

Before Deng could thank Ang, the loudspeakers from outside went on. "Ladies and gentlemen, may I present to you...Deng Mianbao!"

Deng Mianbao signaled to Wong Jin, his running mate, who had just flown from Astlorbo to Mojing to assume his duties as Deng's campaign sidekick. "Let's go!"

The two jumped out of the backstage, and rushed towards the center of the stage, which was heavily decorated in yellow and black, and the words NEW DEMOCRATIC PARTY: DENG-WONG 2358 blasting from the LED screen; to preserve the party's image, the hourglass---once the NDP's logo---was removed. Thuman loses, thought Deng as he passed the screen.

NDP supporters---old and young---cheered frantically as Deng made it to the podium.

My fellow Namorese...it is a pleasure for me to introduce myself, Wong Jin from Astlorbo, and the entirety of the New Democratic Party to you!

Let's face it: Namor is a present box, and within that box rests a dragon that awaits to be freed so it can release its prestige to Esquarium and the world. When that dragon is revealed, Namor will change for the good, and things will never be the same. All of us hope for that dragon---Namor---to be freed and revealed to our generation and generations to come, but for decades this dragon has failed to reveal himself...the dragon of economic prosperity and social progress has been prevented from revealing himself because of the old ways of socialism and leftism. Our government, from Antelope to Kong Jo to Wolf, had only succeeded in protecting our country from foreign imperialism, but they have always denied the right to economic freedoms and individual libertarianism, just because they fear there will be "social inequality" or "injustice." To those who have worked hard to reach where they deserve to be, I ask you---where do you see yourself in the next few years if the bureaucracy consistently violates your freedoms?

President-General Wolf's first term is coming to a close. Her plan to bring "equality" into Namor has only proven to be a code word for purging those who work hard to rise in society. Taxes have increased so they can support what the government cannot and will not ever do better than the people themselves. The government is getting more inefficient, as it is spending more on defense rather than the well-being of our people. The government is persecuting our country's economic lifeline---our businesses, our private sector, our companies---accusing all of them for violating the rights of the employees when only a few percentage of the entirety do so. My friends...this is not only a violation of our right to make business and prosper, it is ruining our economic development.

Let me tell you the plain truth: neoliberalism and capitalism are the true paths to progress, not debunked Marxist-socialist policies. We learned that human nature requires one to have more than he really needs, and to change that nature is like changing the fact that it is hot in the summer and cold in the winter. Our businesses, whether they be big or small, are the future of Namor. They are going to bring money to our pockets, and they will improve the lives of the people. For a state like the one under Wolf to purge them like wild animals is detrimental to Wolf's aim for an economically developed Namor.

Enough is enough, my friends, and thus I will challenge Wolf in the NMR 2358 Presidential Elections, on behalf of the NDP. As a former business owner myself, I learned that sometimes, there are parts where only people themselves can do the best, particularly in the economy. I learned that through hard work, sacrifice, and the willpower to reach your goals, you will not only contribute greatly to yourself and your family, you will contribute to society, the country and the world community. The greatest fear is for a state to prevent you from getting there, to prevent you from reaching your goals. I learned that lesson, and now, as a politician from the party that supports freedom, I will teach that lesson to all voters.

Remember, if we make the state responsible and stop them from managing and interfering with the affairs of the people, everything will be fine again, and not only that, the dragon within Namor will rise and perform the Namorese Miracle---the miracle of the 23rd century [NMR 2300-2399]. I say to all of you, including Wolf, including everyone in Esquarium---do you want that Miracle to happen, or do you not?

The choice is ultimately yours.