The Native Story Index [Open; All Techs]

[Jenrak]

Sorry for the delay - updated. If I missed you, please let me know.

[Volga Rodina]

[ PT ]
[ Mature ]

FORWARD!

The boats landed, right up on the docks. Bodies piled up, thousands of them, all around the docks, making an unintended barrier between the machine gun fire and the soldiers. One by one, each man was dropped off at the docks and given a rifle, or ammo and then sent off to his death, the machine guns.

These soldiers, weren't even men. Teenagers were being sent to die, creating a mountain of bodies, their internal organs slowly leaking out of their bodies, like slush. Those to weak to fight, rushed back to the docks, such cowards they were.

Their commissars yelled at them, firing their handguns, plastering the backs of the cowards with lead. The commissars turned forward and yelled for their soldiers to run forward into the flood of machine guns. Explosions filled the ears of every man, nothing but the yells of their commissars and the crying of their dying comrades.

The docks, once whitewashed and clean were now covered with blood, organs and ammunition crates. A boat pulled up, once a prominent fishing trawler with a shouting Commissar at the bow. Twenty enlisted soldiers, all under twenty years old rushed out. Immediately one private, Yuri Gregoravich was splattered with the intestines of a man in front of him.

His heavy body crashed against the dock. He screamed loudly, he was drenched in blood that wasn't his own. Across his chest lay human fecal matter, intestines and bits of clothing. All that was left from the man in front of him. A hand reached down towards him, lifting him up by his collar.

"GET UP!"

The voice shouted loudly as the figure attached to it threw him off the deck, shoving a stripper clip in his hand. Confused, bloody and scared Yuri ran up the hill, towards the machine gun nests of the enemy. All around him people he knew were blown into chunks. A sergeant caught his eye and he ran towards him. The Sergeant yelled at him to throw him the ammo.

"Give me the clip! Keep your head down!"

Yuri slid into the crater next to the Sergeant and handed him the clip, which the non-commissioned officer quickly used, a distinct ping broke through the air around them. Quickly standing up, the Sergeant fired off each round consecutively, all five rounds. He slid back down and motioned silently for Yuri to follow.

FOL-"

His chest exploded and he slumped over the side of the crater, dead. Yuri cried in terror before leaping out of the hole and running forward, without looking back.

[East Klent]

The Speech

[ MT ]

Jupoi backstage.

---

We are just moments away from President Ramon Jupoi's speech to the Unionist National Convention here in Antenom, Calridge tonight. It is still not known to the press and the general public what the subject of the President's speech will be. Bruce Dinero, Jupoi's campaign manager, has hinted that he and other close advisers to the President do know what he is going to say, but that is the limit of the information. This could be the secret weapon that we have been only able to guess at for the past several days. We will see in a few minutes.

---

Meanwhile, backstage....

"This isn't the message I want to send." President Jupoi nearly yells at Dinero. "You know that, and I know that, Sir, but this has tested well, plus it's already been handed over to the teleprompter guys." Dinero snaps back. "Do you really think that if I ask them to give it back, they won't give it to me?" "No, Sir, I don't, but I know you wouldn't do that." "Oh really? And why do you think that?" "Because, Sir, you are a man of the people, and the people are out there waiting for you to speak to them." The President takes a step back and sighs, "Yes, yes, yes. I guess you're right." "I know I'm right, Sir." Dinero says. The men share a laugh before the President is called to the stage.

As the UNC Chairman gives his introduction, the President waits to the left of the stage as the First Lady straightens his tie, "I've heard that you and Bruce have been going blow for blow about the speech." she tells him. "I know he's just doing his job, but it feels like he's pulling me off message." "Well, whatever you say, just remember that you'll always be the President to me." she whispers in his ear.

The Chairman finishes off the introduction, "Ladies and gentlemen, it is my great honor to introduce you to a man who needs no introduction, President Ramon Jupoi." The President kisses the First Lady and walks onto the stage and to a thundering applause. The President shakes the Chairman's hand and takes his place behind the podium. He waits for the audience to quieten down before he begins to speak. Once they do, the speech flickers onto the teleprompters on either side of the stage, "My fellow Klentians, I speak to you today as your President and the President of this grand nation. A nation of dreams, ideas, liberty, justice, and freedom. A nation on the right tra..." As the President hesitates, a small commotion moves throughout the audience. He turns to Scarlett, the First Lady, and Bruce. Bruce is glaring at him, shaking his head. Scarlett is smiling. "This nation is not on the right track."

Bruce kicks the stage steps, and the teleprompters race through the speech, searching for the President's position, only he wasn't speaking from the speech anymore, "We still have homelessness and unemployment, even with our thriving economy. We still have horrible diseases that claim lives each day, and even though I have made education a priority of this administration, we are still not teaching our youth the information that they need to reach their full potential. Now, I'm not saying we should abolish the rich, and give everyone equal pay. There are those who deserve to be rewarded more than others. Those who work hard each day just to put food on the table for their families. I'm also not saying that we should put everyone on MediKare. What I am saying is that we should make it possible for any Klentian who wants one, to get a job so that they may pay for their childrens' education so that they may go on to become the world's best doctors, scientists, teachers, lawyers and businessmen in order to eradicate the diseases; to teach the children throughout this country what they both need and want to know and to employ eager workers to further the growth of our economy. My campaign promise is this; when I'm re-elected, I will make sure that it is made possible for any Klentian who wants a job to get one. My name is Ramon Jupoi, and I am the President. Thank you all, and goodnight." The President walks off stage left, towards a frozen Dinero and a gleaming Scarlett.

The audience is silent from utter shock until one member stands up and begins to clap. And then another one begins to clap, then another, and another, until the whole audience is giving the President a standing ovation. They also begin to cheer and chant the President's name.

[Dimoniquid]

[ FT ]

The Old Night Out.

"Two contacts. Bravo One, confirm?"

"Confirm. Bravo Three, any contacts?"

"Confirm - three. Three pods, and a downed ship. Three KIA's."

"Okay, time to blow. Pick a target, make sure we don't alarm any of the contacts. Confirm?"

"Confirm." The word everyone loved. Confirm. Strong, silent, and it kicks ass when you know you could do something because of it. That word came from the sergeant - Leeson. He was stuck between the two jagged rocks that stuck in his thigh. He zoomed in on his scope, taking care to mark his contact so that nobody else took it. It came as blue - nobody else had taken it. He looked up at his other team mate - Brooks. Good old Brooks - wrapped in the foliage and webbing, he almost made a makeshift ghillie-suit. He was one of the six people that had picked a marksman rifle other than a sniper rifle - the zoom wasn't the same, and it made a hideous sound when it fired. Brooks sat, overlooking the whole crater. As he zoomed around, four other boxes came up, showing his other team-mates. "Brooks - pick a target."

"Sorry, sergeant." He radioed, smirking and placing a marker on his target. It came up red - already taken. "For fucks sake, Mickey."

"Heh heh, too late, kid." Mickey radioed in, bumping fists with another team-mate. He smirked, and waited for the order to execute. Even though Mickey was an intelligence officer, he was handy with any kind of weapon that was given to him. He looked over, and wondered why it was taking so long. "Sergeant, permission to execute?"

"Everyone's got a target - take 'em out." He ordered, applying the pressure onto the trigger. The round sounded - it came straight through his target's head. "Contact's taken?"

"Four. Two are looking - executed Bravo."

"Charlie is executed. All clear, move in. Snipers, keep an eye out." The last one said, and began to move. Yep, that was it. A reconnaissance - easy. Rifles, easy. Making ghillie-suits? Not quite. The men had moved in, keeping in tact that all their targets were down. They moved towards the package, and pressed it. "Holy shit... this is it?"

"That SPECTRE ain't gonna find itself. Grab that sucker, and lets move out. We've only got one kids - one chance as well. He's our only hope in the detonation." The sergeant said, and grabbed the package. He slung his rifle, and looked through the scope. The meteor rocked through the sky - or what they thought. He pressed the trigger, and marked the trajectory. "Target acquired. We dun' good, boys. A beer on me." He said, and walked away with it.

[Volga Rodina]

The Cost of Victory

The three women sat around a dirty dining room table. A light above them swung back and forth. The worn hardwood floor creaked and moaned as the women cried. A child, rocked by its mother wailed, tears rushing down its white cheeks in a flurry.

The mother hushed it constantly, with broken pleas. An elderly woman sat in a swaying rocking chair in the corner, her wrinkled face stained with her tears. She held in her shaking hands a telegram sent to comfort the family for the loss of their husband, brother and child.

It told them that the man they loved had died, supposedly as a hero in the defense of Volgagrad. Nothing more was written, just one manufactured and unemotional sentence that made the women believe he had died as a hero, for something he had believed in. It was hard for them to believe.

The older woman, his mother, threw the telegram onto the table and slowly got to her feet. She could no longer bear to love another, fearing death, so she silently said goodbye to her daughter and and left the house alone.

He Died a Hero.

[Justorica]

[ MT ]

Case 203

Embassy City, North West Territory, Justorica

Xeri walked into the AID 7 squad room. His partner Emelia was at her desk, clacking away at a computer. Xeri sat down and his partner threw a case file on his desk.

"What's this Emelia?"

"Oh it's your credit rating....what do you think it is?"

"I know what is, I meant what do we have to do? Sea monster? Bigfoot? Ghost?"

"Zombies. Better gear up."

"Zombies? Seriously."

"As serious as I am that you need to shave your head."

"I like it long okay?" Xeri said, holstering his weapons and throwing some extra mags into a backpack.

"We better hurry. AID squads four through nineteen are being sent with the military. Small rural town, Goro'Sara, East Land."

"We don't get paid enough to do this."

"Nobody does now adays."

The two walked out, towards a group of Justorican Soldiers. They were then escorted, along with other JIA:AID teams, to sixteen ThunderBirds. The ThunderBirds flew off into the sunset.

~The rest of this file is classified. You must have clearance level Alpha Bravo Cognac-Ziri to access the rest of this file.~

[Volga Rodina]

[ PT ]

[ Mature ]

URRAA!

The sewers stank of rotten food and decaying corpses. The pitter patter of rats echoed around the semi-circle tunnels, the occasional splash resounded off the walls as Volgan infantry rushed through, living, and breathing just below the German occupied surface. Cracks in the ceiling, from explosions were avoided like laser beams.

Hundreds of Volgans hid in the sewers, they lived down there, mostly. Occasionally a Commissar would move a platoon, or a company of soldiers towards the surface, towards the tank factory. The tank factory was where the largest amount of Volgans, besides the sewers, were stationed. Yuri sat in his makeshift hut. He was reading, a book about the Germans.

It detailed their victories over the Volgans, he quickly threw it on a small fire and stood up. A wave of soldiers passed him constantly. A Commissar was shouting, about thirty feet in front of him, holding a Volgan flag, waving it high. Yuri quickly ran towards the Commissar, shouting.

"Commissar! Commissar! I shall hold our flag high as we charge through the German lines, to victory!"

Without any words the old Commissar thrust the flag into Yuri's chest and pushed him forward, in front of the massive human wave. His eyes widened as he ran through the gaping hole in the sewer line. The skies were black and orange, and every building was on fire. Down the hill he ran, an literal human wave behind him. They shouted and screamed, hoping to strike fear into the hearts of all defending German soldiers.

"URRA! URRA! URRRRRAAA!"

The machine guns started with a rattle. Bullets zipped through the air, striking the dirt, or hitting high. Soon, the charge reached the range of the devilish guns and Volgans began to fall, one by one at first, and then more and more died, in packs. The survivors of the charge rushed over the barricades, initiating bloody hand to hand combat, knives flurried, fists smashed and skulls cracked.

Yuri, planted the flag and begun to fire his pistol into the horde of Germans, felt a piercing pain paralyze him, a bayonet slid into his skin, the three dimensional wound began to spill blood. Yuri fell to his knees, blood began to trickle out of his mount, down his chin. He tried to speak, but only a bloody gargle came out. All around him, his comrades fought, as he fell he saw them die, and kill. He would never see the victory to come.

[Jenrak]

Updated - if I missed you, let me know.

[East Klent]

The Democrat's Speech

[ MT ]


Willows speaking to reporters outside Saunders Stadium.

---

In just a few minutes, Democratic Presidential nominee Cash Willows will give the speech that kicks off the Democratic National Convention herre at Saunders Stadium in Williamsburg. Unlike with the President's speech, we do have some idea of what Willows is going to say. His campaign manager James O'Brian has said that the theme of the speech has to do with motivation and success. It would seem that, so far, each candidate is playing the economy card.

We are just getting word that Willows is about to walk on, yes, he is walking on stage right now,

---

As he shakes the Chairman's hand, a flicker of nervousness moves throughout Cash's body. As he steps up to the podium he thinks to himself, "I can calmly talk to the President and stare down Mostrovite soldier, why am I nervous?" He waves to the cheering audience which, in turn, increases in volume. It takes at least five minutes for the audience to quiten down. Once they do, the speech flashes onto the teleprompters.

He stares at the telepromters for a moment or two and then speaks,

"Good evening. Tonight, I would like to talk about something called a desire. A desire is a quality that forces us to try to improve our own performance and to surpass that of others. All our major achievements have been sparked by a desire to improve. The desire, though, had to be turned into a series of right actions. Desire alone is not sufficient."

"An excellent performance shows the real concern of the performer for the task. It gives one a feeling of personal success and causes of all a matter of habit to do our best. Successful men and women take great delight in their work and pursue it with a great deal of satisfaction."

"A factor common to all who succeed is the need to have a good job recognized by others. If good work goes without notice, the desire to excel will be reduced. Lucky, indeed, are people who can study their own performance, recognize its quality, and do what must be done to improve it."

"This desire to improve should be followed by the leaders of the world. For if it isn't, then there is no point for civilization to exist."

"As your President, I promise I will always follow this desire through the fire and mist of the modern world to improve this nation that we call home. This nation where science lives, and religion forgives. This nation of heroes and heroines. This nation of life, liberty and freedom. This nation called East Klent. God bless you all, and God bless East Klent!"

With in a second, the entire audience is at their feet applauding and cheering. He gives one last wave to the audience, and then walks off the stage. He sees his campaign staff huddled around O'Brian. "Hey, where's the party?" he asks. "Cash that was an excellent speech. Did you realize that it wasn't the one that we all slaved over for the past two months?" O'Brian asks back. "Yeah, so, I didn't like it anyway." There's a moment of silence and then they all break out in laughter. "What's next?" "You have a press conference in half an hour; You have a meeting with someone named Bill; You also have a...." The group walks towards the exit, and then to the motorcade, which then drives off to Saunders Town Hall where the press conference will take place.

[Halzak]

[MT]

Glória in excélsis Deo

A Fine Spring Day

Prologue

Cleo hit the ground hard as mortar rounds began screaming in on her platoon's position. Dirt, shrapnel, and screams shot through the air like daggers. She didn't dare lift her head during the minute-long bombardment that the communists were serving them. She almost laughed at that analogy of mortar rounds and food, but the shear terror of death and her chattering death kept her focus. After what seemed like hours the mortar bombardment had stopped, leaving in its wake chewed up ground, wounded, and the dying. The Platoon commander, Lieutenant Scott, had been killed by a mortar round landing squarely on his body. All that remained of the former officer was his badly torn up torso, the lower half being turned into a goo-like substance that was arrayed all over the ground like a Jackson Pollock painting. The Platoon seargent, a few shrapnel wounds oozing blood at an alarming rate, didn't waste time in telling the survivors to haul ass.

"Move it if you don't wanna die you little fucks!" Cleo and her battle buddies, Sarah and Jack, made like cheetahs and ran towards the ridge that was their target. At least a dozen of their comrades were no longer in this universe, and as many more were screaming for mothers and medics alike. At the end of the day it was likely that half of their sixty would be in coffins with the Federal Flag draped over it, or telling the surgeons and hospital staff what they could do with themselves in an unholy manner.

It was the third week of the Spring Offensive that was suppose to have broken the communist hold of Mount Ferm on the first day, yet like usual command failed to realize the fanatical devotion of the anti-establishment forces. Already the Second Battalion had been chewed up, with the First becoming non-existant overnight after a terrible firefight on Jane's Road, and now the members of Third Battalion were about to get a lesson to drive home that fact to their commanders.

rat-a-tat-tat-tat. rat-a-tat-tat-tat.

The sound of the machine gun sent four more soldiers falling, only one letting out a scream while the other three fell silently like leaves on an autumn day.

"Cleo, you got a sight on those assholes?!"

Cleo, having taken cover behind a dirt mound, peered over the side. The flash and cheers of the gun and communist alike guided her to their position. She, like every eight soldier in each platoon, had been issued an M79 Grenade launcher. Giving Jack the thumbs up, she slowly crawled over the side of the dirt mound in order to get an angle on the pillbox that spat death at the advancing feddies.

"20....25....30....34," a smirk crossed her face as she pulled the trigger and let a grenade fly into the air before falling to the earth below. A resounding blast and screams confirmed the kill. In her triumph she had forgotten basic training 101: situational awarness.

A single rifle echoed through the noise of cheers of the Feddies, it's fatal bullet finding its mark on Cleo's chest. Her heart had stopped beating by the time Jack and Sarah had killed the lone rifleman seconds later. It was 11:58 am, May 22, 1997, and Private First Class Cleo Apple would not be the last to die on the assault on Hill 716 Bravo.

Chapter I: A Federal Battle Cry

"Sweet! Who's hungry?"

Miller was the first to reach the apple orchard, or at least what remained of the apple orchard. Fourth Battalion had advanced the furthest into the Vagrant Commune, one of nine that made up the communist stronghold over Basel Ridge. First and Third companies took up the flank along the small depression where the orchard had been, with Second taking up the rear while Fourth company spread out into the ochard looking for survivors (and nabbed some apples for their empty bellies).

The stench of death and overcooked human held stagnant in the spring air, the past forty-eight hours aerial and artillery bombardment having killed practically everything that had resided in the stables and barracks. Communists corpses littered the ground, their mouths upturned in agony with arms frozen by vigor mortis. Lagtire walked by what had been a family, bodies charred beyond recognition, as he picked out some of the half cooked apples courtesy of the air force's napalm bomb runs.

"Mmmm-mm! Tell you what Lag, them commies sure know how to grow shit."
"Yeah, too bad they can't just stick to it instead causing us a fuckton load of trouble."
"Yeah, I hear ya brother."

Lag surveyed the area, not a living soul other than Feddies walked this piece of charred Earth.

WIP

[Maxedon]

[ PT/MT ]

[ Mature ]

Old Craden
1010 C.E.
The Federal Republic of Maxedon was collapsing. Under President Jones, the economy's GDP per capita dropped to a blood curtling 5,432. Imperialists, lead by Crasonian the Great, formed an army of 700,000 and attacked Old Craden.

Phoenix Leader, Crasonian
EMPEROR'S LOG 1 9/4/1010
We have driven the loyalists into the heart of Old Craden. They had been crippled since we took the ports of Aezeth and Jones (OOC:Now Cranos). My skilled troops have swiftly defeated the 6th Army under General Arnold.

The cannons were in place, we aimed at the Presidential building. BOOM! The sound of the cannon shot makes my ears ring; the incenidary rounds slam into the building and it catches fire.

But, to our dismay, foreign Southern Maxedonian troops flank us from the West, East and South. We were completely surrounded and, unsurprisingly, I was shot in the arm. Even though the soldiers outnumbered my army 3 to 1, my superior tactics proved worth wile. The flankers were quickly massacred and were decimated. I ran over to the carnage. I nearly threw up to the scene: Men were blown in half, some of them had half of their head missing. The worst part was the bowels. They were expelled upon death and it horrified the already ghastly smell.

EMPEROR'S LOG
9/21/1010
We fought the "elite" guards, the last of Jones' Loyalist army. They were said to suppress all, defeat all, without losing a single man. They didn't live up to their motto. Every single "Elite" soldier was quickly mowed down by muskets. Soon enough, I personallly grabbed Jones' collar on his suit, and beat the shit out of him. I then spared his life and rose the Phoenix flag above the White House. The Maxedonian Republic had fallen.

---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Emperor's Log Max Emboss
9/21/2010
I am the descendant of the famous Emperor Crasonian who overthrew the collapsing Republic. I am the son of the man who invaded, conquered and reunified Southern Maxedon with Maxedon 70 years ago. Then again, I am the youngest emperor in Maxedonian history. New laws say that the Emperor's must be age 29-40. Old leaders are "corrupt and wore out". Today, a statue was erected in New Craden. It's sad. Though my father succesfully conquered our Southern neighbor, they destroyed the capital. That's when he created Embossia. Once the sheet came off the statue, I smiled.

Near Separations
Emperor's Log. Max Emboss
6/7/10
My great nation has exploded into a deadly civil war. Everyday, skyscapers in Embossia are bombed. Fighters and bombers constantly streak over, killing hundreds of civilians. I think of capitulating to the Jones' Loyalists.


Emperor's Log.
6/18/10
Our forces have nearly wiped out the enemy forces, but they still resist, and have resorted to Nuclear exchange. Today, I heard reports of the Navy being nuked. We lost 300 ships.

Emperor's Log
7/1/10
They have finally surrendered to the might of the Imperial Army. I gave a speech to citizens affected by the war. Families of victims, soldiers, sailors, everyone who was hurt, I gave a speech that boosted their morale. This is my last log until another crisis.

[East Klent]

The Republican's Speech

[ MT ]


Jones giving a press conference just before his speech.

---

We are here at the Town Hall of Freeson Beach, South Island at the Republican National Convention where Senator William Jones is scheduled to give the opening speech and to announce his running-mate. No-one can predict who the Senator's running-mate will be. We haven't really been covering him a great deal before now, because he hasn't shown much competition until now. The only reasonable guess that we can make right now is Republican Congresswoman Elisabeth Dockard from South Island's 2nd District.

We are being told that Senator Jones is about to walk on stage, so we take you there....

---

William's campaign manager, Anna-Beth Conner, straightens his tie as they speak, "Dockard's on the other side, right?" he asks. "Yes, Will, he is. There." she answers as she finishes. "How do I look?" he asks. "You should've gone with the other tie." she answers, sarcastically. "My grandson gave me this tie." "My nephew gave me an ash tray he made at ca..." "Get this woman out of here." Will orders in a joking matter, and the two laugh. "Good luck." Beth tells him, and then walks back stage.

The RNC Chairman shakes his hand as Will steps onto the stage. He then steps up to the podium, and turns to the left teleprompter where he expects to see his speech, but when he looks at it, there's nothing. He turns to the right teleprompter, and there's nothing there as well. He looks over to the side of the stage where Beth is. She shakes her head as if to say, "I don't know." He turns back to the audience who are waiting for him to speak. He did memorize most of it, so he decides to begin on his own,

"Good evening everyone. I glad you all could make it here tonight. Some of you might've heard the President's speech and Commander Willows' speech in the past two weeks. The President spoke about giving anyone who wanted a job a job. The Commander spoke about the desire to improve ourselves. That's the disadvantage to being last, all the good ideas are taken by the time it's your turn."

The audience lets out a laugh.

"In fact, after watching them both, I almost felt like dropping out of the race and voting for them. But that wouldn't be fair to you, my constituents and to Republicans all over East Klent. That is why I give you this promise, a Klentian promise. I promise you, tonight, that when I'm your President, I will bring East Klent back to it's values. Family values and religious values. Personal values, and economic values. Values that are in the best interest of this grand country."

"President Jupoi has done a terrific job of bringing East Klent out of the grip of the Mostrovite oppressors, but now that we are on our own, it is time to let someone else bring East Klent the stability it so desperately needs. As you saw yesterday, with the bomb threat to my Democratic opponent's convention, that this country is far from stable, and we all need to accept that fact now, otherwise the next turn this nation will take will be into oblivion."

"Getting back to the values at the very heart of East Klent is the only way to bring that stability successfully and fully. And I say we can easily achieve that goal with me in the lead. I promise to you, the people, that I will bring stability and opportunity to East Klent and then in four years when I'm re-elected, I will make sure that stability and opportunity stay in East Klent, where they belong."

"Now it is time for me to announce who will keep the promise with me. The person who will become my Vice-President. My good friend Robert Dockard, Governor of South Island."

As Dockard walks onto the stage, the audience cheers. The two men shake hands and wave to the audience, which grows louder and louder with each passing second. Will turns back to Beth, who mouths "Good job, boss." He mouths back, "Thank you." and turns back to the audience which is still cheering.

[Jenrak]

Updated. Let me know if I missed anyone.

[Ozymos]

[ FT ]

[ Mature ]

Pebbles On The Beach

A fell wind howled and the skies themselves darkened the light of the system’s twin stars, baking the planet beyond what any normal planet could endure. The Borderlands held many secrets and treasures for those with either the guts, money or lack of sanity to venture out beyond the Central Governments’ control. Many have these things, and some venture out there. Few survive. Even fewer return.

Observing a small, ramshackle camp from atop a ridge, the windswept sand kept a pair of figures hidden from the sight of those they spied upon. They lay, side by side, as still as it was possible to be. Covered by sand-camouflaged sheets, the barrel of a rifle poked out from underneath one, whilst a pair of magnoculars was just visible beneath the second. For a few moments, the lay silent, observing the goings on of the camp.

Sighting down on the camp, the sniper, a woman of no more than twenty-five years old, watched intently as various people, ranging from the young, the old, male, female, civilians and mercenaries or pirates went about their business, unaware they were being watched. She scanned the camp slowly, placing the crosshairs over several people, but moving on from them after a moment. Finally, she allowed the crosshairs to come to a halt over a makeshift tent. Watching the flap open up, her whole body tensed against the desert sand as a man, clearly into his late forties, wearing a damaged but still recognisable military uniform, emerged into the open.

“Is that him?” she whispered, assuming her compatriot was aware of who she was sighting down upon.

“Yeah Caira, that’s him alright” a male voice replied, the magnoculars following the man below as he moved from person to person, conversing with each one in turn. “Colonel Varus himself. Motherfucker.”

The pair watched his movements for a few moments. He continued to wander the camp, conversing mainly with the armed men and women, who were a mix of slavers, pirates and hired guns, although occasionally, he stopped to chat with someone not carrying a gun. Suddenly, he glanced up, and Caira took a sharp intake of breath as she found herself staring down the scope, with him looking back at her. He stared for a few moments, Caira’s heart pounding in her head, until he finally looked away, speaking to someone else. Caira took a few deep breaths, composing herself after a moment and continuing to watch.

“Did he see us?” she whispered, her voice betraying her as she asked, keeping the rifle sighted on Varus’ head as he continued his rounds.

“No.” the other replied “Must have just been spooked by something.”

***

The bulkhead of the ship creaked eerily as it drifted through open space. Stars, debris, dust. All floated by in silence, leaving the hum of the engines and the muted sound of voices passing by outside as the only sounds to be heard. A clink of glass interrupted these sounds, echoing slightly around the small cabin.

A man of about thirty five, clad in a uniform not native to the Solar Defence Force, placed a small tumbled down upon a desk, adding a pair of ice cubes to it. He took a bottle from a small cupboard, opening it and pouring a small amount of the brown liquid over the ice cubes, before taking a short swig from the bottle itself and then setting it down upon the desk.

“Log entry, date…fuck” he began to say aloud, taking another mouthful of the drink “Date is 9th November, 4098. Commander Edward Stephens, Echelon Special Tasks Group, acting Captain of the frigate Defiance. Assigned to Borderlands mission codenamed Operation Recover. Tasked with finding and retrieving both rogue military officer, Colonel Marcus Varus, and Echelon agent, codenamed Aurora, as well as picking up Scout Team assigned to follow and report on Varus’ movements.”


Stephens finished off his drink, pouring another from the rapidly emptying bottle and replacing it on the desk before adding;

“Report of events culminating in the critical failure of Operation Recover begins.”

***

Caira continued to watch Varus wander about the camp, stopping from time to time, disappearing into huts and reappearing a few minutes later. He seemed at ease, unaware of the sniper team watching his every move with intent. As he walked about, he came to a man, his onyx black hair clashing with Varus’ sand-covered, tattered uniform. Caira watched them converse, even go so far as embrace, before a voice derailed her train of thought.

“Codename Aurora sighted.” her spotter whispered, also watching the dark haired man as she joined Varus and they both wandered the camp, continuing to chat with it’s inhabitants now and then. After a moment, Varus stopped, pressing a finger to his ear, presumably using his com-link. Aurora watched him with intent, as did Caira, as he replied to whatever message he was receiving. From this distance, he did not show any emotions as to what was being said, and without the decryption key to the local com-net, Caira and her spotter would be unable to find out what was being said.

“Tyler, what do you think he’s being told?” Caira whispered to her spotter, watching Varus and Aurora with her eyes for a moment, rather than through the scope.

“Probably the latest updates on ‘El Dorado’ or whatever he called it.” Tyler replied, still watching him through the magnoculars, although lying next to their stand now was his own weapon “He must have a ship near here. Or in deep orbit, at least.”

“Could he get that sort of equipment?” Caira asked, returning to the scope of her rifle, Varus’ face becoming suddenly closer to her own. Even at this distance, the powerful scope of the rifle picked out every little detail of his battered and worn face, right down to the furrowed brow, the greying moustache and the cratered scars, reminders of battles long since won - or lost.

“He’s a decorated Marine Colonel, Chief” Tyler replied, matter-of-factly “Short of the sort of freedoms Echelon STG has, he can get just about anything. A ship would be a piece of piss for him to acquire, especially if he told the brass he was looking to track down a slaver gang in the Borderlands.”

A rustling to their left caught their attention, but as they looked over, it was merely a karg pup, which scampered away across the sand when it noticed them. Returning to their overwatch, they had only just sighted down on Varus again when the low bellow of a man’s voice, like that of an angry bear, caused them both to glance to their right.

A mountain of a man emerged over the top of a small rock, his eyes darting madly from Caira to Tyler and back again. He let out another feral bellow, before charging at the pair. Reacting quickly, Caira swung the camo-sheet off herself, bringing the rifle to bear as the man closed distance extremely quickly, despite his size. Squeezing the trigger, the Worthington ABR recoiled sharply, unleashing a deadly .338 magnum round into the bezerkers’ gut. A blast of blood showered the sandy ground, but the shot did nothing to slow his advance, and the eight-foot monster quickly closed the remaining distance before Caira could line up another shot.

Knowing that they were compromised now, she swung the butt of the rifle menacingly at the bezerker. In spite of her agility and his size, he had lightning reflexes, a huge hand darting out and stopping the rifle butt dead, before yanking it from her grip. He smiled, a savage, toothless grin, snapping the exo-steel rifle with little effort, before bearing down slowly on Caira. She drew a knife from her belt, unable to retrieve her pistol, and brandished it carefully in the bezerker’s direction, giving him another cause to snarl menacingly at her, a feral hunger lingering in his eyes.

At that point, Tyler, brandishing his own blade, attempted to blindside the otherwise occupied bezerker. A futile attempt, Caira looked on helplessly as Tyler threw himself at the man-mountain, somehow managing to stagger it, drawing it’s attention to him as he too staggered back from the tackle, shaking off the pain and attempting to focus on the bezerker, who let out a feral howl before charging at Tyler.

“NO!” Caira screamed, unable to catch the man before he’d closed in on Tyler. He was merciless, landing a massive fist into Tyler’s gut before combining that with a devastating forearm smash to the face, sending Tyler slumping to the floor, the sand stained with both his and the bezerker’s blood. Her body moving in instinct, the adrenaline surging through her body, she attempted to leap onto the bezerkers’ back, jamming the combat knife into the back of his skull and yanking it violently. Howling in pain, the bezerker tried wildly to throw the girl off, swinging and flailing his arms in an attempt to get a hold of Caira. She clung on, screaming and yanking the knife, warm blood spraying all over her hands and uniform. A few moments later, in one last defiant act, the bezerker caught a hold of her arm, throwing her across the sandy floor as he collapsed into the blood-stained sand.

***

Stephens paced his cabin slowly, still drinking from the bottle of whiskey he started earlier. He stood at the window, finishing off another glass, before continuing his log.

“Marcus Varus. Colonel, Solar Marine Corp. Decorated with the Solar Star and the Crimson Heart for his actions on Zael in 4083, where he risked his life against a large mercenary band to save over one-hundred and fifty civilians, who had been under the thumb of a mercenary warlord for several weeks. Wounded in action, and spent two months in hospital undergoing extensive cybernetic reconstruction. Returned to active duty on 13th September 4084, requesting resources and personnel to protect civilians living out in the Borderlands.”

Stephens paused, considering Varus’ history for a moment, before continuing

“Reported by his XO as having taken unnecessary actions against civilians he believed to be in league with a slaver ring. Formally dismissed of war crimes at a tribunal, and returned to the Borderlands one month after. XO subsequently killed during a raid on a pirate gang. Varus continues operations in Borderlands until early 4096. Suddenly vanishes off the grid. Wreck of pirate ship found transmitting SDFS LADAR signal, along with the bodies of Varus’ crew. Varus himself not found, assumed taken hostage along with members of his crew and his ship captured. No sign of him for almost fourteen months.”

Stephens paced across the room, placing the empty glass down and taking a seat in a chair before his desk, before adding the final part of Varus’ history to the log.

“Bombing of Nova Meria stock exchange, May 21st, 4097. Over one thousand, two-hundred and fifty civilians killed in massive bomb blast. Message transmitted from the warship ‘Valiant‘, now named ‘Borealis’ by Varus, to central government, claiming responsibility. Central Government vows action, tasks Echelon STG with tracking and detaining Varus for a criminal tribunal. Varus flees into The Veil, finally re-appearing in the Borderlands again. Echelon agents begin manhunt as Varus reportedly preys upon settlements in the Borderlands, leaving death and destruction in his wake, whilst more psychos, mercs and pirates flock to him. His purpose remains…” he paused once more “…unknown.”

***

Jeering and shouting greeted Caira as she returned to consciousness. She was numb all over, but feeling quickly began to return as she her vision began to clear and she realised where she was. Her feet dragging along the sandy floor, two muscular mercenaries pulled her along through the middle of the camp, the faces of many staring down at her in disgust and anger. She had been stripped of her combat armour, her blood-stained muscle suit showing off her slender body as the mercs pulled her up, bringing her face to face with Varus himself. Even all that time watching him through the scope, her heart skipped a beat now she was faced with him in the flesh. She glanced sideways, seeing Tyler, bloodied and barely conscious, dragged forward before Varus like her. He watched the pair intently, his beady eyes following the curves of Caira’s body. She attempted to deter him from doing so, staring directly into the black holes of his eyes, to which he returned a smirk. Dark purpose lay behind it, and he moved from his ‘Throne’ to her, a hand caressing her satin hair, tousled as it was.

“Well well” he cooed, as she shook her head, jerking her hair out of his grasp in defiance “What do we have here? Too lightly armed to be Marines or Army. Too many weapons to be Elementals.”

Varus looked over at the battered figure of Tyler, another smirk crossing his face.

“Well, I’ll be damned. It seems fate has brought you back to me, Mr Tyler.” Varus said, the crowd that had gathered continuing to jeer “How long has it been since Morrock? Almost seven years now, if memory serves me correctly. You didn’t agree with my methods back then, did you?”

“Fuck you, traitor” Tyler spat, blood spraying onto Varus’ uniform. He laughed, wiping it from his face, before returning to Caira. She caught sight of Aurora, watching from a distance, behind Varus’ throne. She tried to catch his attention, but he looked on, almost blankly, before Varus blocked her view.

“So.” he began “I’m sure you have questions. Right now, so do I. So let’s start with who you work for.”

“Monroe, Caira. Gunnery Chief, 5440312-” Caira began defiantly, looking him directly in the face as she recited the words. After a moment, Varus’ smirk vanished, and he landed a fist hard into her abdomen, doubling her over as she coughed blood.

“That’s not what I asked, Ms. Monroe” Varus cooed, pacing over to Tyler. Spitting blood, Caira raised her head in defiance, looking over at him as he stared down at Tyler.

“It’s over Colonel” she spat angrily, as he looked over to her, another smile crossing his face “We know everything. What you’re doing. Where your sites are. You can’t run any more.”

Varus laughed, and the crowd followed suit, laughing with him. Caira glanced around, panicked, before Varus stepped up to her again.

“Is that so, Ms. Monroe?” he snarled, now inches away from her “You don’t know anything. I know everything. I know that you’re both working for Echelon STG as part of a scout team tracking my movements. I know that the frigate Defiance has been following my movements for the past several weeks. And I know that all your information on me is false.”

“What?” Caira asked, her voice faltering.

“Oh yes. Your informant? Gone. I replaced him and have been feeding your buddies back at Echelon false data. So they’re welcome to hit my sites in…” he checked his watch “…a little over five hours. They’ll not even see my taillights. I have what I needed from this wasteland.” He smirked again, turning to the crowd and adding; “You heard me: We’re packing up and moving out. Get moving.”

He walked away as the crowd dispersed, lighting a cigar with a small, gold plated Zippo lighter. He walked another step before one of the mercs called out to him.

“Guv, what d’you want us to do with these two?” the merc holding Caira asked. Varus stopped, smoking the cigar for a moment.

He didn’t turn. He just grinned.

***

The storm had subsided some time later, and the rumbling engine of a jeep split the relative silence of the desert as a small group of vehicles proceeded across it, kicking up dust in their wake. Stephens sat in the front car, bouncing slightly as the 4x4 crossed rough ground. The sat-nav bleeped.

“Over that next rise.” He noted to the driver, who nodded in agreement, turning the 4x4 to follow Aurora’s sat-beacon signal. They continued driving, until ahead, the remains of a ramshackle camp appeared over the hill. Coming to a halt, they dismounted, taking up their rifles and spreading out across the camp. Stephens looked at the remains; it had been abandoned not long ago, less than three hours at most, he guessed. Taking out his pistol and his own tracker, he indicated the soldiers to spread out and search the remains. The tracker bleeped again, and he stepped forward, following it’s arrow. He didn’t need to go far before he spotted the body; hung from it’s ankles above a blood stained throne like construct.

Stephens approached slowly, the Marine who had been driving moving up with him. Upon closer inspection, the body had clearly been beaten badly, judging from the bruises on the face, before having it’s throat slit, probably whilst it hung there. The knife used to kill it was presumably the same one, also stained with blood - old and new - embedded in the body’s stomach.

“Mother of mercy” the Marine whispered as Stephens inspected it closer “Is that Aurora?”

Stephens didn’t reply immediately. He checked the body up and down, mentally correlating what he knew about Aurora with what was left to work with of the body. After a moment, he stepped back, removing a tracking beacon stuffed into the body’s mouth.

“No” he said simply “It isn’t.”

[Dimoniquid]

[ FT ]

[ Mature ]

Dancing in the moonlight

James stared at the body.

Emily...

The word had shut his mind from any sort of action - breathing, moving, and generally processing what had just happened.

The... the monster...

James fumbled with his rifle. He felt the cold steel from the hand guard, round and cylindrical in shape. He twisted the small knob at the end, the bright light emitting from the flashlight against the grey, damp wall. "This is Charlie Delta nine seven three, requesting assistance!" He said, seeing the small text on his TACMAP come up saying that he had his radio working. He listened carefully, the static from the transmission droning against his ears. "Come on! Charlie Delta nine seven three, requesting back up! We've... I don't know what it is, but it's just killed two of my squad, and another one is injured - bridge, come in!"

You shall perish. You shall be at one with the Gods - one on which you shall never feel again.

The sentences had scanned his mind, sending the shock that something was there straight into his body. "Who... who the fuck are you?"

I am salvation - I am trust - I am your weapon - I am your defence - I am your journey.

James had been flicking around, checking his weapon to make sure that if he was attacked, he could fight back. He felt the rectangular box magazine fit his hand, and slammed it back it, fiddling with the bolt. "Come on, you fucker! You took my squad, at least have the fucking balls to take their commander!" He shouted, firing a few rounds into the air. Something came out, grabbing him with force. The tentacle like shape reached for his hands, pinning him down, and examined his subject. The tentacle had moved up and down across the marine, and stopped at his face. The grip hardened, the marine struggling to move from the submission, and the end moved up at his mouth, entering through it and going into his body. He tried to scream - but the tentacle had ripped him from the inside, and dragged him into the den.

"Charlie Delta, this is the bridge. Sorry about that, we had some interference. What's your status?" His radio crackled, falling on the floor. "Charlie Delta, repeat. Charlie?" The radio crackled, and a deep voice began to chuckle.

I am salvation - I am trust - I am your weapon - I am your defence - I am your journey.

As the voice echoed throughout the ship, a tentacle came across the floor, heading towards the bridge.

***

The bridge had stopped as the voice had played against the communications brake.

You are weak - you are defenceless. I am your weapon - I am your defence.

"Find out where the hell that's coming from, commander!" The admiral ordered, sending his hand up to silence everyone. The message had played repeatedly - yet nothing would come against it. "I want all communications suspended until we get whatever has hacked our grid!"

"Nine and ten, all around." Someone said, swinging their chair. The message stopped, and the whole ship exploded in light as a small rock pierced the armour. "Hull breech! Evacuate decks nine and ten, all around! Medical bays, be prepa-" The man had radioed, but was cut short as another rock hit the bridge. Or what it had seemed - the rock stayed in the bridge, cracking and splinting as the decks were swept in a vacuum. The splinting had split the rock into two, revealing spores that overtook the crew, changing them, making them into basic combat forms. The tentacle forced open the door, revealing itself and holding the admiral. It forced it's way through it's mouth, puncturing the eyes out, and crushing the skull altogether. The ship lit up as the power came back on, and the forms started moving, and the ship rocketed down towards the planet.

I am salvation - I am trust - I am your weapon - I am your defence - I am your journey. I will cleanse the dirt that is human - and I will take all with force.

[Jenrak]

[FT]

[Young Men like Us]

The mountains are always bursting into flames beyond the edges of our vision. And then, as war rides gloriously, as we chant with our chests out and our arms readied, we do it for those homes. Those churches. Those stores. Those schools. The things that don't exist anymore. We fight for it. For a home we'll never have.

And we dream of that picket fence and emerald lawn and bronze-grey driveway. We dream of the events and the work and the small fights. We dream of the naivety of it - all of us. We dream and fight for things we'll never have.

That's what drives young men like us.

I always tell my friends, 'if you see a Temptress, let me kill her.' I tell them this in the middle of trenches on backwater worlds where the sun shines all the time and moons make the pulls so strong that it becomes almost impossible to get acclimated to good, hard and solid ground. I tell them this around campfires as we put away our rifles and look at the explosions on the far off battlefields that light up the skies like fireworks. Every day is a holiday when night hits, and while men - as old, and older - die and lie as comrades to a cause, we all fight for something.

I fight for her. They always ask, 'who's her?', and they always look at me with a quizzical look. I tell them the story, and it never ends until fate decrees it as such. It's always fate, and the universe equalizes - no lie - since I have seen it for myself.

***

The first time I meet her is in the showers. Only one person per time, and we were young. She screams when she sees me, and I rush out, standing in the corner with nothing but a towel on, angry that she didn't lock the doors. I was angry that she made a fool out of me. We sing in altar together, and the church pays for my education. Her parents pay for hers'.

She comes out, and when I first meet her, the shine of steam and hot water makes the skin on her face shimmer and the dirty brown hair she has is straight and greasy, but I like it. I frown, embarrassed at her, and me. She smiles and waves her hand, her clothes with her as she walks off with her things under her arm, slung in a sports bag.

I was young then, as I am now.

***

The church dies out, and the cathedral that decorates the neighborhood of my youth becomes an empty caste. It sits upon a hill and looks down at the town, the noise of ships across the bright sky complementing the chirp of birds on an azure morning. The trees turn a rigid shape and the shadows get deeper and longer. Snow falls deftly on the branches and the fog from our breaths turn to ghosts. We watch the kids skate across the pond, and she and I do it too.

We look at the kids - my neighbor's kid - Alice - she's there too. She smiles with her wide smile that even raises her little ponytails, and her hands were tucked away in neat little mittens as she keeps her wide grin even to us. She puts her thump up, and I laugh to myself. She knew. That bugger, she knew. I shake my head, indignant. Alice looks around as She turns, and she looks at me with a confused face. I just smile.

The blades kiss the glassy surface of the frozen lake, the blasts of the mountainside blizzards creating soft winds that kick up small walls of fluff around the edges. I remember that day the ice was thin, and I fall through. I didn't feel anything - it was too cold, and she wrestles me out of the pond. That night, my mother tells me she called for help and ended up reviving me. I never remembered it.

I tell her I'm sorry, saying that I forgot our first kiss, and she laughs. She says 'you're too worried about this', and she pats me on the head. My fist clenches, but I don't do anything. I just walk off, and the wells in my eyes try not to tear up, and all I could hear was her in the background, trying to follow me as she asks with a perplexed thought running out her mouth. I hated her then, but the memory was a fondness that defined us.

I was young then, as I am now.

***

Our first date smells of incense and sweet ocher, and we go to the market. She picks up a candle tells me 'it would be nice if your room smells like this', so I buy it. She smiles mischievously, but does nothing. I did nothing.

She wears a scarf today, saying that She's cold, but She dons a t-shirt too. I chide her jokingly on it, and she smacks my head in a playful manner. I shrug it off, smiling back at her. Her eyes are bright sapphires and her hair was golden white. She has sharp lips and a coy stare.

'I love your smile.' I say, my smile wide.

We sit at the cafe, and watch the the roar of ships pass by in the sky, the beautiful cannons high and roaring and pulverizing-powerful as the turrets gleam in gilded sunlight. The thin strips of silver were reflective and I watch our reflection in the surface of the warship that passes by. The canopies were blowing in the powerful breeze, and the sky becomes a deep shade of red. She orders a tea and the smell of oolong fills out nostrils as we wait for mine.

The waitress never sees me. The two of us wait before She gets the call. She frowns, uncertain of what to make of it. I frown, also uncertain. And then, She gets the news.

We go to the cemetery that day - She doesn't want to go, but I did. We look at the tombstone, already littered with flowers. We feel the deep, dark presses into the earth that came only hours before us. We came in sunset, right when the sun became an iron disc to a velvet starlight matte. My hands hold her shoulders, and she holds her head in mine.

She cries this time, and I have no need to chase her. I kiss her head, the smell of her hair on my nose and the taste of her salty tears on my lips. My grip tightens and we watch the night turn deep. Those were our halcyon days.

I was young then, as I am now.

***

The first mention of fireworks occur in the second grade of high school. By now, I wanted to join the defense. The wave first arrived then, deep from the skies as our warships - ever so vigilant, were hit in their one moment of weakness. The smash of cannon-fire light up the area and the mountains were lit aflame. A deep crashes apart my windows and I feel my clothes on my body flap violently, almost assaulting me. I reach out to my phone, but it's broken.

I didn't care about changing - I ran. Not from her. Not from her at all.

She's carried from her home, and I try to find her. I didn't know what happened then. But I was told later. I was told they had come.

And so I joined their kind to do what was right. To fix what was right. They told me it was hopeless.

I knew it was. I knew it was.

I was young then, as I am now.

***

The first time I held a gun, I killed one. She was a young girl, half my age, but the sergeant told me not to fall for it. He told that they came to kill us, and no matter how much begging and pleading she could not convince anyone of anything. She had the growth on her back already, and soon, just soon, it would be there. My hands are sweaty and shaking, and she pleads at me.

She doesn't know me. She doesn't remember. Her hands are bare. Naked, and her hair is long. My fingers are sweaty. I shake. I feel convulsions in my very fingertips, and she cries and cries and cries. 'Shoot it!' The Sergeant says, and I close my eyes.

Six shots. The crying stops, and the noise of shuffling is heard. I didn't open my eyes. I didn't open my eyes.

I was young then, as I am now.

***

The sergeant congratulates me on the eve of a wasteland. 'We're pushing them back,' he says, and he pats my back with that big, gnarled hand of his. The hand still sweats, but it doesn't so often anymore. She didn't remember me.

They don't remember you.

But they talk like they do. But they never do. I know. I've tried. Nobody remembers.

None of them do.

I bang my head against the railing. It hurts and I cry. Some of my soldiers mock me, calling me a 'woman'. But I ignore them. I've killed more than any of them, and I thought I was making a difference in the world. The blast of bright crimson fill the skies just over a lucidly bleak and fiery dawn. It was time do it again.

I was young then, as I am now.

***

I tell my friends to let me kill temptresses. They think I have a grudge.

No, I'm just a young man. I dream of picket fences and emerald lawns and bright skies where the bronze-grey driveways sit under golden suns. I dream of an ocean littered with life and a world that spun in complacency. I dream of a time where man but spawned naivety and peace. I dream of those things, like any young man.

And I fight for it.

And I kill for it. Those that don't remember me, they're them. We don't dream of ocher mountains that blossom Armageddon. We don't dream of crescent twilights that blanket the world in hellfire. We dream of our Xanadu, intoxicated by our drives.

And that day, I met my dreams. I met my Xanadu, and She was like them all. I expected as much. I remember the facts. I remember the dreams and aspirations, and I came to the fact far longer than anyone was willing to accept. I knew it, as I pressed my finger, no longer sweating and shaking in nervousness.

I knew that they don't.

They don't.

They don't remember you.

[Hornopolis]

[ FT ]

Lee - Mosby War
Part One: Flash-Forward

It was a cold, Sunday morning. Sun shined into the master bedroom of John Singleton Mosby's farm house. His old eyes opened slightly and sighed. He heaved his old body off the feather and straw bed he'd made years ago, and, in his long-johns stood up. He wobbled over to his dresser and slowly grabbed his holster and belt. Latching it onto his aged waist, unknowingly forgetting to place his two pistols inside, and walked into his bathroom, to relieve himself before checking on the animals outside. Mosby stepped out into the early morning sun and walked through the grass, towards the animal pens.

The three men silently approached Mosby, as he turned the corner of his house and, at the last moment, before opening the pen doors, he noticed them. He stood there, shock on his face. The three men looked at him and raised their rifles, cocking the flintlocks and placing their fingers on the trigger. Mosby, fifty odd yards away, slapped his empty holsters, just like so many did in the American Old West, his pistols were back inside, on his dresser. The murderers, satisfied that the great John Singleton Mosby, life-long abolitionist and murder of white supremacists, could die by their swift, vigilante justice. His death was less then honourable. Killed in long-johns and farm boots, his death would only be remembered by those who loved him, or were long-time friends and allies.

He fell, backwards. Blood began to pool around the bullet wounds, forever staining his long-johns. They continued to fire, even after he fell. His leg was twitching, and the murderers wanted to make sure he wouldn't live to name them. They dropped their rifles, and quickly pulled out their revolvers, again firing into the helpless man, making sure. After almost a half-an-hour of shooting, the three men slipped away, back into the woods, never to be seen again. Mosby's body, almost all covered in blood, his eyes staring upwards into the blue skies of Kush. He didn't even realize he was being dragged, or the gunfire coming from the woods and the screams of the murderers.

[Jenrak]

Updated. If I'm missing anyone, please let me know.

[Elysium Armaments]

SNIP

[Dimoniquid]

[ FT ]

A day out at the beach - Part One.

Geros Seven - Day four.

The pelicans had been moving for an hour - the streets were quiet, prior to the evacuation given the citizens. The ship had been hovering over the city - right over it. The city was a few kilometres long - exactly the same size as the cruiser. The line purple light etching from the ground to the cruiser was the gravity lift - the thing used to ferry supplies in and out of the ship towards the ground forces. The three pelicans slowly edged closer towards their destination, the destruction of the city clearly visible from the bombardment. "Sir, contact."

"Give me a distance." The captain ordered, holding the controls of the cockpit. The pelican shook against the shock of another explosion, the officer not paying attention of the flash against the screen.

"Two hundred from your... crap... private, move it! James, give me some cov-" The radio began, cutting towards static as the screen lit up green. The captain took off his cap and sent his head against the cold hard steel of the cockpit, and regained his strength. Something came into view - purple, big, and had four legs. The thudding from the legs had speared against a truck, sending the back up in the air. The captain swore, seeing a long line of trailing plasma flying past the pelican, making him divert to his left.

"Boys, gear up! We're goin' in hot! Shit! Bravo, move out of the way, bitch!" He shouted, piloting as the smaller plasma turret hit their wing. In fact, the plasma turret had managed to hit all three pelicans - sending all three in different directions. "Narada, foxtrot, foxtrot, foxtrot!" He shouted, pulling up and sending the pelican through into a large space, the smoke trailing from the crash-site. Everything was black for a while - until they finally woke up.

"Wake up, John. John, Lisa, wake up!"

"That's commander John, to you." The SPECTRE said, grabbing the shoulder of the shock trooper and moving his head up.

"And that's lieutenant, corporal." Another SPECTRE, a female, had said, taking her sniper-rifle and slamming in the loose magazine. "Plasma burns... residues are big, more than fifty calibre."

"Then that means we have a new order - take out that platform-walker. How many down?" The commander, John asked, standing up and walking back towards the pelican. He searched the scattered remains, picking up an assault rifle, and a laser rifle from a dead soldier.

"Three, one injured. I managed to get a glimpse from up in the sky of what we've got in our way - standard lance." The captain said, holding his designated marksman rifle, and looking down at his sub-machine gun. He covered the doorway, sticking head down and looking for something. Not there. He ordered the men to move down the hallway, and scout the area. "That means we've got only four men that are able bodied."

"Then we should get working. The network's scat, but I can get a small connection towards the other pelicans and the Narada." Lisa had commented, slinging her rifle and taking off her cracked helmet. The visor had splinted, the golden tinge forming a mild yellow and orange tinge. "I'll get on it, but I'll need to get some radio equipment from the offices that we passed, and from the pelican."

"I'll see if I can get us a transport. You two, with me. Don't die." Johns also stated, pointing to two troopers and sticking his thumb to himself. He took his rifle, and headed down the hallway. He covered the corners, seeing the troopers move across the hallways. They ended up in a courtyard - covered in several crates, a ruined building, and a full lance of aliens. A lance was a term used by the soldiers to describe around twenty to thirty alien soldiers in one place - usually lead by a tall, slim alien in red armour. "Defensive positions. Lee, on the roof, you've the sniper. Take out those turrets, while your at it. Make a sound, and Steve, you start firing as I move in." John ordered, pointing two fingers and sticking his hands in two different directions. He held his rifle, moving towards a corner and taking a grenade from his belt.

The two soldiers had moved through the building - the one with the sniper rifle ending up at the second floor facing the whole yard, and the one with the designated marksman rifle heading across the yard to flank the enemy. Once they had taken positions, the two turrets had been taken out, surrounded by a deafening crack of the rifle. "Engage! Contacts, contacts! Standard lance!" James radioed over, firing his rifle and moving forward. The gunfire had deafened the soldiers and John - the plasma shots were flying across the yard, shouting, and eventual silence as the aliens fell. "Roll-call!"

"Steve!" Steve shouted, moving in and scanning the area with his scope. Nothing was available to him, and he crouched, checking his magazine count. He slammed it back in, moving towards a crate and taking cover.

"Lee!" The sniper shouted, slinging his rifle and moving down some ruins. He reached the ground, unslung his rifle, and took aim across the top.

"Good. Anybody see a truck or something?" John asked, kicking a dead body and moving towards the road. He checked the remaining vehicles - one had managed to set the requirements John had set. It had a big enough back to carry the rest of the troops in, and it was still intact from the battering taken from the walker. The sniper clambered in, noting the keys in the dashboard, and started her up. "Lovely job, private." He said, jumping onto a rail at the side. He looked back and forth, and tapped the top to go.


"Just leave it, corps-man. I'll be fine." The soldier said, taking his helmet off and grabbing his pistol. The soldier looked at his leg - the thigh had been normal, although his shin had moved towards the side a little from where the tibia had snapped during the crash.

"A broken leg - you ain't walking, corporal, and you certainly ain't fine." The corps-man said grabbing his bag and grabbing some small metal sticks. "I suggest you find something to bite. Painkillers ain't my speciality." He said again, lining the bars up. The corporal grabbed a small piece of rubber, stuck it in his mouth, and clenched as hard as he could. The leg twisted, the pain shooting up the leg. Once he had the bars lined, the doctor moved the ankle to the foot was facing the roof of it. He taped the bars across his leg, and gave him some painkillers. "Take it easy kid. You ain't going anywhere."

"Charlie, Bravo, report." Lisa radioed, clicking the receiver.

"We've been downed. We've got the pilot, all we need now is the pelican. Two down, the rest of us shaky, yet put into teams of two in a nearby building. We've come across the platform - keeping a recon' on it." The sergeant radioed, peering through the scope. He zoomed in, studying the plasma weapon. The heated plasma residue poured down at the back of the cannon, landing on the road. "Damn, that thing is big. We're gonna need a huuuuge damned tank to take that thing down."

"Charlie here. Our pelican is battered - but it still works. We've managed to keep a low profile down at the beach - took out two whole lances of the buggers. If you can get to us, we can get you to an evac', pick up a tank, and rock out. I've seen one in fairly good condition over the west, ninth lower." The other sergeant radioed, holding his battle rifle. Most battle rifles had contained a mounted scope - his however, had no scope. He stood next to the pilot, who was examining the controls. "We'll hold out - we've got two medics."

"We've just the one, and an injured trooper. We have a transport en-route." Lisa replied, interested in conversation. If Bravo, or Second Squad, could hold out at the building, then Alpha, or First Squad, could rendezvous with Charlie, or Third Squad, and then evacuate to the building Bravo was at. It was a scarce plan - but it just might work. "Bravo, hold out. We'll be on our way. Charlie, we'll be with you in ten minutes."

[Zwangzug]

[ MT ]

Fair Trade

"Lindsay? Lindsay!"

"I'm right here, Mom," said Lindsay. The apartment wasn't that big. She didn't know what her mom's problem was.

"Oh, good. Time for you to shower, remember you need to wash your hair so it's not so hard to comb in the morning?"

Lindsay narrowed her eyebrows. "Yeah. Um...I didn't have dessert, let me go and do that first."

"Yes, you did."

"Well, I've had dessert, yeah."

"You had dessert twenty minutes ago."

Lindsay scowled. "Okay. It's bedtime, I get it. I'm going to bed."

"Not so fast!"

"What?"

"Shower first. Go down the stairs to turn in your card, and ask LJ to turn on our shower when you get back."

Reactions hadn't been uniform to the rationing cards. Most people, yes, were glad the government was there to keep an eye on things--but a few cynics wondered whether things would have gotten to that point had there not been a state to begin with.

"And take the stairs!" Lindsay's mom called after her. "No sense wasting electricity."

Lindsay descended the stairs in a huff, and, finally, panted her way into the lobby. Should've just waited a floor below, she told herself. Oh well, at least I can take the elevator back up.

LJ wasn't even on duty anymore; it was his brother, OJ, who inquisitively smiled at Lindsay. She waved back. "Just hanging out."

She paused in front of the elevator, then took the stairs back anyway.

Ten minutes after she returned, her mom knocked on the bathroom door. "Lindsay?"

"Yeah?"

"Are you okay?"

"Yeah."

"Why isn't the water running?"

Lindsay sighed, tucked her book under her arm, and opened the door. "I don't have my ration card. I don't like showers."

"Oh, Lindsay. What happened?"

"I traded it to Jason for an Ada Throop baseball card," Lindsay declared with challenging eyes.

"You can use mine tonight. Next time we're going to leave yours at home."

"That's okay."

"Not really. I'll come with you."

Lindsay gloomily made her way back to the door.

Once the water was running to Lindsay's mom's satisfaction, Lindsay's parents sat on the couch and shook their heads. "That girl could use a haircut," her dad said quietly.

"You're telling me. At least she could have traded for Jonathan Craga or somebody who's improving. Throop is overrated."

[Abruzi]

Numbers

The Industrial Imperium was an enigma to any political scholar. It had an undisputed ruler who also was forced to listen to Feudal lords. It preached Atheism and belief in only the State but forced people to view the State as a manifestation of God. People worked and died in the name of Freedom all the while task masters and superiors forced them to toil harder and longer. The State was truly a chaotic one.

Across the State Legionnaires, Hoplites, Myrmidons and even Praetorians sniffed about for criminals and dissenters. Every day thousands of people were born to replace those that were purged. They came at night, always at night. A sharp knock on the door if you were lucky and then a short trip to the forest where you would be left without a gas mask to die. If you were unlucky your house was burned with your doors and windows blocked by sheet metal held in place by firm hands. Immolation of suffocation left little to hope for.

Always in the past though was your home, your castle safe. You could speak freely to your children and family but no longer. No, the State had found a way to reach even into your most private of places. The Telescreen, a machine designed to provide entertainment and joy to workers was suddenly turned into a machine that generated only paranoia. The simple idea of recalling all televisions and fitting them with broadcasting equipment of their own turned the almost freedom of the home into just another prison.

Of course this cost billions of Gear Vouchers, of course it was considered nothing by the Forge King. The Worker’s Unions were scheming again, he knew it. He could almost taste their treachery and he must be able to watch his people! They were his people after all, he owned them as their King and God. Like a spoiled child he forced his will upon his subjects, erecting these Telescreens across the Imperium.

Every public and private place now became a monitored area. Sound and sight was picked up by the screens that were monitored at random so at any given moment it was impossible to know weather you were being watched or listened to. These screens were protested against by the House of Lords and all Nobles of the Imperium in general. They were the next to feel the Forge Kings wrath.

In a swift act Forge King David disbanded the House of Lords and declared all Nobles enemies of the State. With many of their fortunes and servants gone or turned against them the Nobles one and all fled to Estainia which vowed to shelter them unofficially. All records of them within the Industrial Imperium and any records of the House of Lords or even any Democratic theory at all were recalled and destroyed. They had effectively never existed within Abruzi and now were viewed as little more than shadows.

The Military swelled as the State took an even more active part in people’s lives, demanding they spend every second of recreation at “play” which was really monitored Athletics to determine who should be producing more at work. If you were fresh enough to play well then you were fresh enough to work another five hours in the eyes of the State.

The children of the Imperium were the next target for State influence on a greater level. Instead of being taught to honor and respect their parents like they had been in years past they were now taught to only honor and respect the State. Trained to listen in on their parents and sell them out to the newly created “Ministry of Contentment”. This ministry was responsible for keeping the people in line and dealing harshly and swiftly with dissenters. Over time however this proved to be a hard system to maintain because even a threatened mother would seek to raise her children her way.

Instead a new directive was issued by the Forge King, all children would be taken and raised in a State School until age ten. Upon reaching age ten the children would be returned to their parents effectively programmed. However to ensure that parents did not become dissenters themselves they were allowed to visit their children and a false disease was made up that required “around the clock care at these special medically certified schools”. The people were unable to see if this was false or not because all medical textbooks within Abruzi were altered to include this disease as being a legitimate fact.

All communications with outside nations were limited to the upper echelons of the Military and the State meaning that the flow on inward information was severely limited. In this new Industrial Imperium, two plus two effectively equaled five. The State controlled all aspects of existence and the only thing the people wished to do was serve. Religion and culture affectively forced them to accept what became a single long day. Dates were forgotten or in some cases done away with, today was today, tomorrow was tomorrow and yesterday was yesterday beyond that everything was uncertain.

The Ministry of Contentment had taken care of all this but it remained second only to the Military. Now effectively a noble class the Soldiers still had rights if few. So did the Ritter. Officially declared enemies of the State the Ritter were still fighting for the State but much more covertly. They traveled abroad hunting the Ex Pats of Abruzi that never returned home when commanded. The long hand of the Ministry of Contentment had no bounds it seemed as many Abruzians in fellow Conglomerate or Gothic Nations simply disappeared. One day they were living abroad the next they were simply gone.

The Industrial Machine that was the Imperium was now at full blast, at a tempo that could, would never be maintained. The Forge Lord cared not. This cost millions if not billions of Gear Vouchers and would see the Industrial Imperium burned out within fifty years but to the Forge King it was nothing. To the Forge King, his people and the future of his nation had become nothing. To the Forge King, only results matter and now to the Forge King his people were just numbers. Numbers to be manipulated.

Numbers to be ruled.

[Abruzi]

2+2=5

The Imperium was a slowly rotting corpse. Every year there was less and less food and goods though in reality there was more and more. Hordes of goods, currency of all kinds, weapons, food, and even literature from before the purges were held by the State in secure location across the Imperium. Advances in mechanized industry meant that easily within several generations the People of Abruzi could live in relative comfort and have to work minimal hours but to the Forge King this was madness.

The people had to work, it was their duty it was their purpose! An idle citizen was a criminal and criminals were no better than scum to be purged. The purges had not let up in the last twenty years, already memories of times before the oppressive rule of Forge King Gustav were dim and those that did remember were too afraid to speak out. Telescreens were more common and more and rations were smaller and smaller. The people accepted this though because no one alive could remember exactly when things had been different if they had been different.

The hunt was the only constant thing, the hunt for subversives. Worker’s Unions worked to usurp the Forge King and starve the people of the Imperium. They worked to raise their Communist banners and preach equality while they silently stole children from the Schools of the State to indoctrinate them instead of cure them of their disease. They hurt were the State helped and they had the nerve to preach that the State was at fault. Luckily the people of Abruzi saw them for what they were, criminals and scum.

The Ministry of Contentment and the Inquisition had launched several new campaigns to root out suspected Unionists and so far they had had no little success. Over ten thousand persons were convicted and summarily executed and then ingested in the month of September. Or maybe it was November, people short of the Ministry or the State itself never knew anymore. All that was known was that it was near the cool winds of Winter. All that was known was that soon the ramshackle houses many of the Serfs lived in would become little prisons of cold.

The Forge King had recently increased the ration of chocolate to twenty grams. Rightfully the people were overjoyed and thus could stomach the ration of bread being reduced to a mere fifty grams a day. Water however remained abundant as did any other drink short of wine. Wine was only for the leaders of the State. What the people didn’t know was that the Ministry of Contentment had finally done their Forge King proud. For within the water supply was a small amount of poison. In the milk that went with every ration was the antidote.

The milk spoiled rapidly, almost every two days. Any rebels that lived in hills or forests and looked toward any actions against the State quickly would die forcing any insurgency to remain near the towns or collective farms in the countryside. The Ministry could find them then, and delete them from existence. The gas masks of these forgotten people were always left behind or more often mounted on spikes outside the Royal Palace. A literal forest of Gas Masks belonging to people who had never existed marked the road into the center of the Imperium’s government, the center of the State.

To mention these people was death and officially these were just surplus gasmasks that were symbols. The people who filled them might as well have never existed. In fact, they never did exist, no one truly existed anymore. The State commanded the present, those that commanded the present controlled the past and if you controlled the past then you owned the future. The State was all that existed, the State was all that mattered. The State could command who and what existed.

Two plus two finally equaled five.

[Cronne]

Tag, Ben Boys get the hell over here, I know you got something!

Tag, Ben Boys get the hell over here, I know you got something.

Yes, I know, that's what she said.

[Kostemetsia]

Whiskey Seventeen [ FT ]

The following information is not cleared for release under the provisions of United Nations Security Council Resolution 8898. Unauthorised release will be punished with the maximum penalties applicable under international law.

The following information is a transcript from the audiovisual log of United Nations orbital listening post 17528 under listener control 1652.

<LOG STARTS>

LISTENER CONTROL 1652 [Fleet band]
Command, this is listener control sixteen fifty-two. I'm reading an unauthorised hypertrace coming in. Over.

UNITED NATIONS FLEET COMMAND SYDNEY [Fleet band]
Copy that, listener control sixteen fifty-two. What specifics? Over.

LISTENER CONTROL 1652
None yet, Command. We're waiting for the object to finish her orbital insertion– Scratch that, uh, Command; hyper-insert complete. We've got a contact in orbital track three hundred twenty three point one.

UNITED NATIONS FLEET COMMAND SYDNEY
<Laughter.> Three hundred twenty three point one?

LISTENER CONTROL 1652
<Overlapping with above; laughter.> I know, right? Some <expletive: term for male genitalia> with a learner permit.

UNITED NATIONS FLEET COMMAND SYDNEY
<Laughter.> Idiot pilot. – Complete idiot. Any data?

LISTENER CONTROL 1652
Not, uh, much, Command … Requesting a visual feed from seventeen five two eight, she's inside a kilometre of the exit.

SYSTEM NOTIFICATION: Data dump to Listener Control 1652 at 14:59 [datestamp expunged].

LISTENER CONTROL 1652
Command, this is sixteen fifty-two. Got eyes on the incoming. She's a bulk freighter. I would say Beiando Corporation XH class, that is X-ray Hotel– of the, uh, twenty-two sixty-five run. Over.

UNITED NATIONS FLEET COMMAND SYDNEY
<Exclamatory tone.> Must be a Commonwealth flight, sixteen fifty-two. <Laughter.> Learner permit indeed. Piece of <expletive: faecal matter>, those Commonwealth ships. – And their pilots, too, some of them. – Over.

LISTENER CONTROL 1652
<Laughter.> No <expletive: faecal matter>, Command. Over.

UNITED NATIONS FLEET COMMAND SYDNEY
What ID, sixteen fifty-two? Over.

LISTENER CONTROL 1652
Checking, Command. <Sound of electronic equipment operating for 17 seconds.> Not reading any ID tag, Command. Over.

UNITED NATIONS FLEET COMMAND SYDNEY
So it's one of those ships, huh? No visual or beacon, sixteen fifty-two? Over.

LISTENER CONTROL 1652
Negative, Command. No visual ID tag or operative radio beacon. Over.

UNITED NATIONS FLEET COMMAND SYDNEY
Copy, sixteen fifty-two. Vectoring the Obama to intercept. Over.

SYSTEM NOTIFICATION: Warship UN-237699 has entered LP-17528 local space.

WARSHIP UN-237699 [Traffic band]
Unknown vessel, this is the United Nations missile frigate Barack Hussein Obama, callsign uniform November two three seven six nine nine. Please be advised your ID beacon is offline. Please activate immediately. Over.

<Dead air for 10 seconds.>

WARSHIP UN-237699 [Traffic band]
Unknown vessel, this is the United Nations missile frigate Barack Hussein Obama, callsign uniform November two three seven six nine nine. Please be advised your ID beacon is offline. Please activate immediately. Over.

<Dead air for 7 seconds.>

LISTENER CONTROL 1652 [Fleet band]
Doesn't, uh, look like controlled flight, Command. She may be in distress. Over.

WARSHIP UN-237699 [Traffic band]
<Overlapping with above.> Unknown vessel, this is the United Nations missile frigate Barack Hussein Obama, callsign uniform November two three seven six nine nine. Please be advised your ID beacon is offline. Please activate immediately. Over.

UNITED NATIONS FLEET COMMAND SYDNEY [Fleet band]
<Overlapping with above.> Got that, sixteen fifty-two. Over.

WARSHIP UN-237699 [Fleet band]
Command, this is Obama Actual. No response. Requesting authority to take actions under yellow alert protocol. Over.

UNITED NATIONS FLEET COMMAND SYDNEY
Obama Actual, this is Command. You have authority to take actions under yellow alert protocol. Over.

WARSHIP UN-237699 [Fleet band]
Thanks, Command.

WARSHIP UN-237699 [Traffic band]
Unknown vessel, this is the Obama. Activate your ID beacon immediately. Failure to comply will be met with reprisal. This is your first of three warnings. Over.

<Dead air for 10 seconds.>

WARSHIP UN-237699
Unknown vessel, this is the Obama. Activate your ID beacon immediately. Failure to comply will be met with reprisal. This is your second of three warnings. Over.

<Dead air for 3 seconds.>

LISTENER CONTROL 1652 [Fleet band]
<Voice analysis suggests lack of confidence.> Wiring fault, Command? Over.

UNITED NATIONS FLEET COMMAND SYDNEY [Fleet band]
Would say negative, sixteen fifty-two. What do you want to bet that she'll start responding before we go to red alert? Over.

WARSHIP UN-237699 [Traffic band]
<Overlapping with above.> Unknown vessel, this is the Obama. Activate your ID beacon immediately. Failure to comply will be met with reprisal. This is your third and last warning. Over.

LISTENER CONTROL 1652
Won't take that bet, Command. Over.

WARSHIP UN-237699 [Fleet band]
Requesting red alert privileges, Command. Over.

UNITED NATIONS FLEET COMMAND SYDNEY
<Overlapping with above.> Red alert privileges granted, Obama. Over.

WARSHIP UN-237699
Going to red alert, Command. Over.

WARSHIP UN-237699 [Traffic band]
Unknown vessel, this is the Obama. Stand down immediately and prepare to be boarded. Over.

UNKNOWN VESSEL
<white noise, then male voice:> –ventral compartment 132 breached. Fall back– <white noise>

WARSHIP UN-237699
Unknown vessel, this is the Obama. Say again? Over.

UNKNOWN VESSEL
<white noise> –detonate the charges on the frame– <white noise>

WARSHIP UN-237699
Unknown vessel, this is the Obama. I repeat, say again. Over.

UNKNOWN VESSEL
<white noise>

WARSHIP UN-237699 [Fleet band]
Command, this is Obama. Got eyes on the freighter's opposite side. God damn, she's tore up something bad– Motherfucker!

UNITED NATIONS FLEET COMMAND SYDNEY
Obama, this is Command. Clarify, um. Clarify last? Over. <Voice analysis suggests high alertness level.>

WARSHIP UN-237699
Sorry, Command. They just blew open their own side. Big quantity of explosives, and bam. Most of the plating is still, uh, together, they should still have life support to most sectors. Orders? Over. <Voice analysis suggests high alertness level.>

UNITED NATIONS FLEET COMMAND SYDNEY
Special black alert. Um, now. Move in and prepare to board. Over.

WARSHIP UN-237699
Copy, Command. Fifteen seconds to docking. Over.

<Dead air for 15 seconds.>

WARSHIP UN-237699
Docking complete, Command. Deploying armed search and rescue now. Over.

UNITED NATIONS FLEET COMMAND SYDNEY
Roger that, Obama.

<Dead air for 23 seconds.>

UNKNOWN VESSEL [Traffic band]
–unknown ship, get away, we have breaches in eighty-nine percent of sectors–

UNITED NATIONS FLEET COMMAND SYDNEY
Obama, did you get that?

<Dead air for 5 seconds.>

UNITED NATIONS FLEET COMMAND SYDNEY
Obama, please respond, did you get that last? Over.

WARSHIP UN-237699
<Noise on link. Voice analysis suggests stress.> –Sorry, Command. We have friendly forces in slight difficulty. Resources are focused on deploying support. Over.

UNITED NATIONS FLEET COMMAND SYDNEY
Roger that, Obama. Over.

WARSHIP UN-237699
<Noise on link.> Establishing a hard link with the freighter now, Command. We'll get in touch with their captain, piggyback their signal through us. Expected time to beginning of throughput is twenty seconds. Over.

UNITED NATIONS FLEET COMMAND SYDNEY
Roger that, Obama. Over.

<Dead air for 13 seconds.>

WARSHIP UN-237699
<Noise on link.> We're beginning throughput now, Command. Over.

UNKNOWN VESSEL (THROUGH WARSHIP UN-237699)
<Link is clear due to less damaged transmission equipment. Male voice with Japanese-American accent. Calm.> With whom do I have the pleasure of speaking? Over.

UNITED NATIONS FLEET COMMAND SYDNEY
This is United Nations Fleet Command control tower in Sydney, Australia. Over.

UNKNOWN VESSEL (THROUGH WARSHIP UN-237699)
This is the Commonwealth of Kostemetsia diplomatic ship Shinju no Minato. I carry dangerous cargo. I am requesting extraction now. Be advised I have the Faith. Over.

UNITED NATIONS FLEET COMMAND SYDNEY
<Voice analysis suggests false calm.> Shinju no Minato, this is Sydney Control. Extraction denied. Please explain the nature of your cargo. Over.

KOSTEMETSIAN DIPLOMATIC SHIP SHINJU NO MINATO
Respectfully, Sydney Control, it's above your pay grade. – Urgently requesting extraction. I say again, I have the Faith. Over.

UNITED NATIONS FLEET COMMAND SYDNEY
<Exclamatory tone.> Denied. Shinju no Minato, if your cargo is a clear and present danger to the security of the United Nations, we need to know. Faith or otherwise. Over.

KOSTEMETSIAN DIPLOMATIC SHIP SHINJU NO MINATO
<Ambient noise.>

UNITED NATIONS FLEET COMMAND SYDNEY
Shinju no Minato, are you receiving me? Over.

KOSTEMETSIAN DIPLOMATIC SHIP SHINJU NO MINATO
<Heavy noise on link.> Sorry, Sydney Control. We're experiencing difficulties. Over.

UNITED NATIONS FLEET COMMAND SYDNEY
Shinju no Minato, the nature of your cargo? Over.

<Dead air for 10 seconds.>

UNITED NATIONS FLEET COMMAND SYDNEY
Shinju no Minato.

KOSTEMETSIAN DIPLOMATIC SHIP SHINJU NO MINATO
<Heavy noise on link.> Very well. Sydney Control, this ship carries dangerous cargo of type Whiskey seventeen. I say again, Whiskey seventeen. Over.

WARSHIP UN-237699
<Breaking in.> Sydney Control, this is the Barack Hussein Obama. In light of that statement, I'm asking for permission to withdraw. Over.

KOSTEMETSIAN DIPLOMATIC SHIP SHINJU NO MINATO
<Voice analysis suggests extreme contained stress.> Obama, this is Shinju no Minato. You must not withdraw. Containment must be restored. I say again, invoking the Faith: Containment must be restored.

UNITED NATIONS FLEET COMMAND SYDNEY
<Overlapping with above.> Obama, negative. Extracting the captain of the Shinju no Minato is your new primary objective. Over.

<Dead air for 3 seconds.>

UNITED NATIONS FLEET COMMAND SYDNEY
Obama, respond. Over.

<Dead air for 4 seconds.>

UNITED NATIONS FLEET COMMAND SYDNEY
Obama, this is Command. Why are you accelerating?

<Dead air for 11 seconds.>

LISTENER CONTROL 1652
<Voice analysis suggests extreme excitement.> Sydney Control, this is sixteen fifty-two. The Obama–

UNITED NATIONS FLEET COMMAND SYDNEY
<Emphatic. Louder background noise.> We know, sixteen fifty-two. Over.

<Dead air for 7 seconds.>

SYSTEM NOTIFICATION: Warship UN-237699 and [1 associated craft] are manoeuvring in a potentially unsafe fashion.

LISTENER CONTROL 1652
<expletive>

<Dead air for 3 seconds.>

UNITED NATIONS FLEET COMMAND SYDNEY
All units, this is Fleet Command. General order seven comes into effect now.

SYSTEM NOTIFICATION: Warship UN-237699 and [1 associated craft] are manoeuvring in an unsafe fashion.

WARSHIP UN-260959
Control, this is the Wings of Fire. Confirm you said: general order seven.

WARSHIP UN-282742
<Overlapping with above.> Control, this is the King Arthur. Say again. General order seven?

WARSHIP UN-206342
<Overlapping with above.> Control, general order seven?

SYSTEM NOTIFICATION: Warship UN-237699 and [1 associated craft] are manoeuvring in a highly unsafe fashion. Impact avoidance protocol coming online.

UNITED NATIONS FLEET COMMAND SYDNEY
<Highly emphatic.> Confirm. General order seven. Seven. Coordinates attached.

SYSTEM NOTIFICATION: Warship UN-237699 is displaying an anomalous power surge.

SYSTEM NOTIFICATION: Warship UN-237699 now has 2 associated craft.

LISTENER CONTROL 1652
Command, I– What the hell is that?

SYSTEM NOTIFICATION: Warship UN-237699 now has 4 associated craft.

UNITED NATIONS FLEET COMMAND SYDNEY
<multiple expletives deleted>

SYSTEM NOTIFICATION: Warship UN-237699 now has 8 associated craft.

SYSTEM NOTIFICATION: Warship UN-282742 has entered LP-17528 local space.

WARSHIP UN-282742
This is the cannoneer King Arthur. Awaiting orders. Over.

SYSTEM NOTIFICATION: Warship UN-237699's complement of associated craft is increasing at a geometric rate.

UNITED NATIONS FLEET COMMAND SYDNEY
King Arthur, this is Sydney Control. Final protective fire on my mark. Over.

LISTENER CONTROL 1652
Sydney Control, this is sixteen fifty-two. I'm in the red zone. Over.

WARSHIP UN-282742
Sydney Control, confirm, final protective fire?

UNITED NATIONS FLEET COMMAND SYDNEY
King Arthur, confirmed. Final protective fire on my mark.

LISTENER CONTROL 1652
<Voice analysis indicates stress.> Sydney, I say again, I am in the red zone. Over.

WARSHIP UN-282742
Sir, I–

UNITED NATIONS FLEET COMMAND SYDNEY
On my mark, King Arthur.

WARSHIP UN-282742
Yes, sir.

LISTENER CONTROL 1652
Command. Please.

UNITED NATIONS FLEET COMMAND SYDNEY
Mark.

SYSTEM NOTIFICATION: 130 transients have entered LP-17528 local space. 130 transients are of a kinetic harpoon type. 2 transients are of a quantum/diverted energy explosive type. Detonation will not be survivable inside 100 local-sphere radii. Impact in 1 second; launching log beacon now.