The Native Story Index [Open; All Techs]

[Neo ORB]

Mature/FT

A Chance Encounter, the Loner and the Lover.

Warning: at the time 10:01 in this story, is were the Mature content has be written, you've been advised.

Enjoy and TG me if you enjoyed it, as well as criticism, tell me the name of the story, and its two Characters so that i know you read it, thanks for reading.
Neo ORB


It all began like usual, it was a bright beginning of the night time as the sun passed behind the horizon on the planet moonlight, the world that had been battled for years back between the struggles of what they called now the true eras ending, when the people known as the Neo Orbians had been driven away from this world during the decisive battles that had claimed over several tens of thousands of lives in defense and sacrifice for others to live on, in those battles the planet had been scared which still remained on the surface of the planet, and after a few years the Neo Orbians had come back in full strength and momentum, once again the planet was fought for scaring it more then ever, the land was scorched and burned away until only glass remaining in some areas, the planet was quickly and slowly being destroyed in those battles for the claim of it, and it would have been destroyed if it wasn't for the intervention of a person the Nare called "Sora".

This one person had changed the face and fate of the Neo Orbians changing them forever, and then they joined the Nare. It has been only two years since that war ended, the planet has been repaired slightly but the repair effort was looking into the decades... if not century's if the natural process was taken, of course the natural process was regarded as old fashion, and in the age where space travel could decide the fate of an entire nation in the blink of a second, the Neo Orbians were known as a class currently called 'The Young ones' in the Nare language, it was now known that they were called the young ones because they were new to the ways of the Nare, that they were still children in their eyes meaning they needed to be given a gentile guidance to find their purpose.

Date: 2606, March 19th, 5:01 pm
Location: The Desert of the Damned

'Sora Artemis'

On a Dune of sand a single person could be seen crossing the dune of sand, the person was short wearing a thin tan colored cloak that covered the body from the end of the legs before the feet to the head with a hood which was over the face and hair of the lone walking person, on the horizon the setting sun gave a bright orange color as the sky turned from blue to orange, pink and purple, as the minutes passed and the tracks of footsteps in the hot sand went on, the final rays of sun had soon disappeared behind the horizon as the person walked across the large shifting dune of sand.

The desert was still hot as the wind blew across it sending unseen sand to the north as the pink sky had finally turned into the deep black night sky, but the moon shined brightly illuminating the desert in a light which made the hundreds of miles of sand easily visible even at night, hundreds of thousands of stars covered the night sky as the person looked up in the darkness, a gust of wind blew back the hood quickly showing the face of the person, it was a female around the age of eighteen.

Her skin was bright white and her hair was cut around the bottom of her neck and blew lightly in the wind, the color was a bright silver that glowed in the light of the moon but there was also a hint of a very light brown in it, the girls iris's in her eyes were a dark red color, the girl smiled in the light and looked up at the stars as she continued walking across the desert, slowly the heat of the desert left the sands slowly heating the air and world around her, the trails of her footprints were left in the sand behind her.

Hours passed as she crossed several dunes, her energy was slowly draining when she saw a glow in the distance, her mind raced lightly at the thought of another person in the hazardous desert, so she picked up pace until she was running up the sand and across the dunes until she saw what the glow was. Down at the bottom of the dune was a large bright green tent that could fit six people inside it and a fire that burned brightly, beside the tent a large stockpile of wood could be seen, on the side near the firewood the light and moonlight showed tire tracks could be seen leading away from the camp.

The girl looked at the camp and listened to the crackle of the fire and whistle of the wind and then walked towards it sliding down the dune of sand creating a large track that soon disappeared in the wind, eventually after a few seconds the girl slowed down and approached the camp with a cautious air around her, but slowly she reached the fire and then sat down near it allowing it to warm her body up, but as the fire started to slowly die, the girl got up and grabbed a few pieces of the stacked fire wood that was near the tent, and then placed a fresh piece in the fire, placing the rest beside herself to use at her leisure.

Time 8:21 pm

While watching the glow of the fire and listening to the crackling of the fire the girl didn't hear the sounds of an engine nearing the camp, as a jeep appeared over a dune with its headlights off, the driver was covered in a light cloak and had a bandanna and sunglasses covering his face to protect them from the wind and sands, the driver looked towards the fire and a cloaked figure with silver hair near it, the driver smiled behind the bandanna and drove the jeep down the dune and behind the tent parking it in the shadows of the tent, slowly and carefully the driver got up and out of his jeep and went to the back of it with a large sack, he picked it up and then walked out of the shadows of the tent and towards the girl.

He got four feet from the figure before he spoke, while putting the sack down and removed his bandanna and hood to show his face, the man was young around the age of his early twenty's, his face was a light tanned color from the sun, with his hair being dark brown, his eyes were hazel and across his left eye a light scar showed going down it with three striped scars going diagonally, his chin had a slight beard that made him seem very mature.

"Hello there, I see you like my fire." said the Man, his voice was young but lightly deep.
The girl turned quickly and stared at the man before her, her expression was startled and she quickly got up trying to run, but the man quickly moved after her and grabbed her arm holding her back.
"i'm sorry I didn't mean to scare you... my names Gaven." said the man
The girl's eyes darted back and forth as she struggled to get away from the mans grip, but she couldn't get away... he was stronger then her, and he right now had the upper hand.

"Please, i'm sorry... let me go... i'll leave quickly..." said the girl, her voice was light, delicate, her frame was thin from what Gaven could tell from just holding her arm, he relaxed and then smiled kindly speaking lightly and carefully as if she was a scared animal.

"its alright... calm down... i'm not going to hurt you, i saw you by the fire... I was sure I was going to have to start it again, did you place a fresh piece of wood inside it?" asked Gaven

the girl calmed for a split second before trying to struggle again before answering his question.
"Yes... please let me go... i'll leave..." said the girl, her eyes showed that she was scared.

Gaven looked at her and then spoke
"You know walking in the desert is dangerous at night, stay awhile, it can't hurt... i can protect you for the night and you can leave in the morning." said Gaven lightly.
The girl looked at him and was about to answer when her stomach rumbled loudly.
Gaven laughed loudly releasing her and speaking.
"Come on lass, your hungry, stay... eat, I have plenty to spare." said Gaven walking towards the fire to his sack laying in the sands.

The girl held her arm were the man named Gaven had held her, slowly her legs moved forward, she was unsure why she felt she could trust this man, but slowly she advanced towards him as she opened the sack and produced some fruit holding some towards her, he looked and smiled at her as her thin hands took a large red fruit from he large hands, he grabbed a metal can and then opened it with a penknife, and added it to a pot he had gotten out, slowly the man added different ingredients to the pot before setting it aside to cook near the fire, the girl took a bite of the red fruit she had taken and slowly ate.

Gaven looked at the stars and then slowly looked at the girl who seemed to be enjoying eating the apple he had given her. he spoke softly as he grabbed a ladle and stirred the contest of the pot.
"So whats your name lass?" asked Gaven

The girl looked at him she put the apple to her lap holing it and then spoke, her voice was once again light and delicate, almost sounding like music.
"My names Artemis... Artemis Sora..., why are you being so... nice... wasn't i intruding on your camp?" asked Artemis

Gaven smiled and then spoke to Artemis lightly looking to the stars and her while talking.
"I see, not a common name I've heard, but I've been out here for a while now... not a fan of the city's and besides i'm always happy to have a visitor out here, be it animal, man or a pretty lass like you, so Artemis... you on a journey or are you a runaway?" asked Gaven

Artemis thought about his question carefully trying to find the right words to explain what she was doing, as she thought she nibbled more on the apple and then after a few minutes she spoke looking at Gaven."You can say i'm both in a way, i don't have a family and I have no home and yet also have a home, but in truth i'm just a loner always looking for a place to lay her head, i'm happy to be with others but finding them isn't easy."

Gaven smiled lightly placing a hand on her head and rubbing her silver hair lightly.
"i see, i know what you mean... and ya its not easy to find a friend out in the world... so... are you hungry the soups almost done, but i got to go grab us a something to eat it with" said Gaven as he got up and went into the ten, at first it seemed like he would never return but he did with two bowls and two spoons, he sat down and placed the bowls lightly on the sand and then poured the soup inside the bowls and lightly passed a bowl and spoon to Artemis.

"Try it, i know my cooking's not bad... but i have confidence in it." said Gave smiling light as Artemis took the bowl, slowly she ate a bit and her expression changed from wonder to enjoyment.
"its good... its so good, i haven't ever tasted anything this good." said Artemis as she looked at Gaven with eyes that said her compete enjoyment of a simple meal, Gaven smiled lightly and then started eating also, as the both ate, the talked about other things like there childhood and life after the war.

Eventually the conversation turned to things they had never done, and Gaven lightly laughed at Artemis when she told him she'd never danced, she of course made a lightly mad face as she looked at Gaven pouting... but Gaven got up and then gave her his hand smiling kindly, his eyes reflected the moons light, slowly Artemis's hand reached out but as it floated over his she hesitated, unsure, but Gaven grabbed hers and pulled her up embracing her lightly then he moved her into a simple dance position, a waltz and then started to dance, Artemis's face was Beet red and full of embarrassment because she was dancing with a mans she'd only just met.

But... as the night went on her unease slowly drifted away as he held her and as they danced around the fire, replenishing it lightly when it started to die out, there shadows were large against the dunes of sand around them, but the shadows reflected something of a happy couple enjoying each other.

Time: 9:51

Slowly when their waltz ended, they sat back down on the soft dunes and talked more while they helped themselves to another bowl of soup.
"So, Artemis, did you ever have love in the past?" asked Gaven out of the blue.

At first Artemis was unsure of how to answer his question, she had had love once, but it was deep in the past, something that when she remembered it caused her a light pain when she looked upon it, her only love that she had experienced was to a girl named 'Yin' years ago, it was mutual, and they had found out how much they liked each other only shortly after they had met, on the schools roof, shortly after there encounter they had experimented and learn about each other which eventually had then end up in a bed together in a night just like the one they were having.

Slowly Artemis looked at Gaven and spoke, her voice was sad, her expression, the aura she simply emitted, was as if what she was going to say would shatter her soul.

"Yes, i had love once... but it was short lived before we were thrown into a world that made us fight, and in the end only one of us survived while the other died alone." said Artemis looking at the ground, some tears left her eyes as she remembered the events from the past, but something touched her face, it was soft, and behind that it was gentile, she looked up to see Gaven with a handkerchief as she wiped away her tears and smiled.

"i'm sorry, I didn't mean to make you cry... I know what you mean, I also had a love, but mine vanished before I got to tell her my feelings...funny isn't it but i'm feeling the same way I did back then with you right now." said Gaven smiling, his eyes told Artemis he wasn't lying

Artemis instantly went red and slowly moved away, before lightly pulling her body to herself and speaking, her voice was panicked... lightly scared, and yet it wanted his attention deeply.
"I... I can't... my body... you'd be afraid of it... its disgusting... an abomination... i'm.... i'm not even human..." said Artemis, tears once again ran down her face.

Gaven smiled and then once again wiped away her tears and then embraced her in a light but comfortable hug as he whispered in her ears and she soon cried her heart out in his chest, as her hands gripped the cloak at his back, slowly she brought herself to his face and kissed him on the lips.
"I'm not afraid... even if your not human, I've fallen for the you that you are, I'll accept all of you... no matter what you are."

Time: 10:01 pm

Artemis was on the sands laying on her back as Gaven lied beside her, in the moonlight they kissed slowly as there covered body's got closer, the fires started to die, but this time they didn't move to place a new piece of wood on it, they instead looked at each other and continued kissing and talking as the fires light was replaced with the light of the Moon turning everything a light color of white and toned blue, the stars seemed to multiply in the sky as there eye became accustomed to the new light, they both sat up and embraced, kissing holding each other as Artemis's skin was touched and teased while lightly being touched by Gaven's hands.

Slowly Artemis's body was becoming more and more sexually raised, her sensitivity went up, Gaven then unbuttoned her cloak and took it off and was surprised by the fact there was no clothing on underneath, but his hands light brushed down from her face to her neck, and down her chest to her legs, Artemis flinched as his hand touched between her legs, and as his mouth lightly bit her ear and licked down her neck.

Artemis spoke, her breathing was irregular and heavy, her body reacted strangely to the feelings she hadn't felt in so long.
"Gav... Gaven.... please wait... somethings... somethings......ahhhhhh"

Gaven stopped after she had moaned and then body had stiffened slightly until it relaxed, they looked at each other in the dark before Artemis wrapped her arms around him and the spoke quietly.
"it's not fair that you get all the fun..."
Artemis then took off his cloak revealing a white shirt soaked in sweat and a rough pair of old jeans, she smiled as she helped him out of it and lied on top of him.
"kinda chilly isn't it?" said Gaven while holding her to him.
"i don't think it is... i feel its kind of warm." said Artemis looking at his face and kissing it.
"well, your use to being mainly naked..., this is new to me Artemis." said Gaven lightly.

Artemis then smiled and moved down until she was level with his pants. "I can change that." said Artemis as she took off his jeans and put them aside near her, Gaven quickly went and stopped her from anything she could have done, Artemis looked at him in the moonlight and pouted lightly with her arms crossed and her legs around her in the sand.
"but i want to satisfy you..." said Artemis.

Gaven looked at her played lightly with her hair as he quickly hugged her.
"Do you even know what to do?" asked Gaven politely and cautiously so that he didn't hurt her feelings.

Artemis looked at him with her red eyes and smiled lightly before speaking "yes... i know thanks to the past... but it would still be new to me." said Artemis
"Artemis... are you a virgin?" asked Gaven lightly
Artemis blushed when he had said virgin, it was something she hadn't heard in a long time and then slowly she nodded her head.

Gaven smiled and then embraced her then speaking wanting to make sure she was prepare to what they were about to do, once again she nodded, he sighed lightly and then lied her on the sands and climbed on top of her.
Slowly he made sure she was ready and then begone, Artemis's eyes widened as he went inside her, slowly it went all the way in until she quickly grabbed him and spoke "it hurts, It hurts."

Gaven stopped quickly concern was readable on his face as he spoke.
"Do you want me to stop?" said Gaven, Artemis's grip release from his back and she shook her head, and spoke, her voice was slightly weak, due to what they were doing.

"No... don't stop, just wait... its started to hurt less when you didn't move, but just give me a minute." said Artemis, her eyes had tears trying to build up, but she would let them, slowly the seconds passed and Gaven tried to make sure if she wanted to do this... she did, and then they began again.

This time Artemis held his back lightly, as he moved his hips, her body stiffened and her eyes closed shut as the pain lightly hit her once in a while, but slowly the pain subsided and pleasure built as her body became more and more sensitive, she soon heard there heartbeats as one beating at the same time, and slowly even the world felt like it wasn't real, and that they were all that mattered.

They soon changed positions and the pleasure Artemis felt went higher and higher, then they went into a sort of sitting position the both looked at each other and kissed, but this time Artemis moved, she moaned lightly as her body built up, something was building, and then her eyes widened her and her facial expression was blissful, when she came back Gaven's expression had changed slightly and then she noticed, her shadow with two large wings sprouting across the sands in the light, she quickly got off of Gaven and was about to try and fly with the two large wings on her back when Gaven held her hand lightly, she turned back looking at Gaven as tears ran down, and her face showed a painful expression.

Artemis spoke as the tears fell from her face.
"i told you...i'm a freak... an abomination... i'm not possible to be lov..."

Gaven pulled her in and embraced her yelling out "Shut up..., i told you before Artemis... I'd accept you even if your not human... i had a feeling that you weren't human already... when you told me your name I remembered who had intervened in the battle that was going to decide the fate of this planet, it was you wasn't it... i love you no matter what you are Artemis."

Artemis sniffed as Gaven embraced her before she started crying out loudly, they both fell to the sands in each others arms, Artemis cried loudly as Gaven rubbed her head and hair, when she had calmed down, the mood they had built was gone, but they laughed together and soon he lead her to the tent and they slept... in each others arms, the hours passed by as they slept.

---

Time: 9:34 am

---

Then like as if it had been a dream Gaven woke up to and empty bed, he was fully clothed in his pants and shirt which smelled of sweat, he thought at first that the entire nights events had been dream, as he walked outside the tent, he looked at his camp, the fire was out, and everything had looked normal until he saw red in the sand, he walked to it and examined it then seeing it as hardened blood, slowly he remembered the night and then looked around worried, he called out her name and looked around desperately at and around his camp, soon his eyes rested on the sand dune behind his tent, on the top of it, he saw a figure, the cloak's color was tan, and figure looked back at Gaven and removed their hood with there hands, a girlish face with silver hair looked at him smiling.

Gaven called out to her.
"Artemis... Promise me... Promise you'll come back to me!"
Artemis looked at him and nodded then pointing to his jeep, she then placed her hands on her chest and spoke, but only several musical tones came from her mouth, they sounded happy to Gaven and then she turned and walked away disappearing behind the dune gone from his sight.

Gaven slowly walked towards his jeep in a trance like state wondering what had happened, why did she sing instead of talk to him, why did she leave him to be alone again... as he neared his jeep's driver side door the was a note and a small sack, Gaven looked at the note first and read it.

"By the time you read this I'll probably have completely changed by then, Gaven... the time that I spent with you was one of the most happiest ones I've had in my entire life... you were kind to a person who you had just met, you gave me food, and taught me about myself and what I lacked.

Due to you, I've become who I am truly... I thank you for that, you taught me how to enjoy life, how to dance the waltz, What love felt like between a truly caring man and a fragile girl such as myself, but I told you when we talked, i'm a loner, I have no home and yet also have a home, Gaven, for me you are also my home... a place were I truly feel were i belong... but because I am who I am, I'd change you, I don't want you to suffer because of what i might do, or what others might do... but if you truly care for me, remember our short but meaningful time together... I can't promise we'll met again, but if we do, I'll stay by your side then, as the loner and the lover...

I love you, until we meet again.
Sora Artemis Fate."

Gaven looked and held the note as tears ran from his eyes... their meeting was a short chance encounter... and now he could only wait to see if he was lucky enough to be with her again.

[Abruzi]

A Night at the Office

I fumbled for the keys, the little bits of metal scraping the tips of my weary fingers as I finally grabbed a hold of them. Inserting it into the keyhold I turned it slowly and opened the door to my wretched little apartment, my closet. Breathing in through my gasmask I walked from the outer chamber that was my living room and kitchen to the bedroom.

Slipping off the heavy rubber mask marked with the seal of the Guild was a small joy of mine. My skin could breath again for at lest a few precious minutes before another task was delivered to me via Telescreen. Keeping my face set in a look of quiet contentment I leaned back heavily and thought for a brief instant that perhaps I was not happy at all. The solid walls of instict luckily prevented me from displaying my momentary internal struggle to the Telescreen that even now was watching me.

They were always watching me.

The quiet murmur of the screen was just loud enough to hear but not so loud as to keep one awake. It was 2330 so most sane people were in bed. During the day they positively screamed messages, statistics, facts, lies, anything to make us listen and love. Love the State and most importantly the Forge King. The whole purpose of the new Guild system was to organize us so that we could pay our adoration to the Forge King with increased efficiency.

I loved the State, it protected and guided me. The Forge King was my holy protector and I….They got to you. Things got to you and many times you found yourself thinking like this for no reason. I wonder even now if they can here this, my internal diary of sorts. I know a friend who works in Pharmcorp, he sold me some experimental parts to construct this recording and s small throat mike so I can record in near complete silence.

I wouldn’t be surprised if they heard me. They could be coming even now, it was night after all. They always came at night. A puff and then you were gone, a puff and then you were fucking gone. You might not even exist in the first place, nothing might exist. Nothing does exist that they don’t want to exist. As it should be.

The sharp wail of a Telescreen message made me rise and approach. A Gas Mask clad man barked,

“Citizen 025000756, report to the local Guild hall immediately!”

I nodded and responded,

“If the State wills!”

I grabbed my mask and slipped it on. Opening the small corner that was my closet I grabbed my greatcoat, a relic from my days as a conscript and set off. The stairs were horribly under repaired and I lived on the top floor but the lift was out. The lift was always out these days. I opened the “pressurized” door that let in the air as surly as a screen.

The street was cold, battered concrete that stretched for miles in every direction. Forgeburg was a hive of humanity, a hive of cancer. The human stink was all around me as I slowly shuffled my way down the street to the closest metro station. I waited in a crowd of Guild workers who I vaguely recognized, after all the Outer Guild lived, worked and died alongside one another. I bumped into a beetle of a man, Yuri or something.

I nodded my head and mumbled,

“Sorry Comrade.”

Before making my way onto the train. The air inside the train reeked of being recycled and the woman I sat next to smelled or sex. Her shabby clothes could do little to conceal her exquisite body that was a rare sight at this hour of the night. I could only deduce that she was an Outer Guild worker on the way to the Hall just like I. She turned to look at me, obviously sensing my hungry eyes. I turned away swiftly.

My office was shit. Dark, wet, cold, everything an office should not be late at night. Atop my desk was a mountain of reports, I checked boxes for a living. Worse yet I checked uninteresting boxes for a living. A check to the right meant that the request for more propaganda posters was approved one to the left to say that the request was denied.

These weren’t even the bloody interesting posters! I approved posters that reminded citizens to use the Train instead of personal transit. Fucking transportation work was the smallest and least funded wing of the Guild. I drank a mug of coffee, the Telescreen muttering some patriotic garbage in the background. The oily black liquid burned my tongue as it snaked it’s way down. That was fucking great.

A twinge of my face was all that signaled my rage, the Telescreen none the less made an audible whirring sound as it zoomed in one me. I bent my back to work in fear and for the next hour I toiled away at a Herculean pace. Convinced that the danger was over I allowed myself to glance out my window upon the massive tumor that was Forgeburg.

I put myself back to work and consciously made a note of the time and date. The twinge of the face would be what they got me for, in the end.


Seven months later, Citizen 025000756 was taken by the Ministry and killed for subversive behavior at work. His diary was found, documented and then destroyed. The documents were then destroyed. His family was silenced. His apartment records destroyed. His Guild membership erased. Anything left behind was destroyed. His papers at work burned. All photos, lists, books, tables and anything else that mentioned or referenced his existence was either destroyed or altered.

Citizen 025000756 had never existed, and he would never exist.

[Oseato]

[ MT ]

[ MATURE ]

Routine

Colored township (Unnamed), District Twenty-One
Austerbeck, Ostehoek

The rich smell of smoke wafted across streets lined with the run down houses of the township. Above the sky glowed red, illuminating some of the smoke that was floating heavy overhead. Blue strobing lights danced their way across the sky as the sound of wailing police sirens pierced the night. For many cities around the world, these lights and sirens would be joined by others, all headed to put out the fire raging in the large neighborhood. However, Austerbeck is not one of those cities. Instead, the only thing sent to fight the raging fire, albeit indirectly, were more blue flashing lights.

Shouting, hollering, and cursing began to build as a huge raging mass of humanity moved through connected series of potholes and ruts that passed for streets in this part of the city. Here and there a few people would leave the group to go about their own way, whether to go home or possibly smash another storefront that evening while a few others would be swallowed by the mob and move them. Men, women, and children of all ages walked down the torn streets together. Some of them carried banners calling for "Liberty" and "Civil Rights", some of them carried assault rifles, others clubs, still others just rocks or bottles, whatever they could possibly lay their hands on. The only characteristics that all the members of the mob had in common were their dark skins, Swugani-heritage, and the desire to head for the strobing blue lights, as if they were homing beacons for the great mob.

Majoor Koos Rijkaard of the Spesiale Staatsveiligheid Divisie stood amongst the blue lights, watching the mob approach his position with no emotion. Behind him large APCs with their SSD logos clearly prominent sat idling behind a number of Austerbeck Police Department SUVs. SSD troopers, long time veterans of the weekly riots in the colored townships of not only Austerbeck but Ostehoek as a whole, stood with their FN FGRs at the ready. They, like the mob headed straight for them, also shared a few similar characteristics: all of the troopers enjoyed white skin, were clad in body armor, and were wearing gas masks.

All around the township, APCs and Leier M1s, the SUV of choice for the military and most government agencies in Ostehoek, had set up roadblocks at the main junctions leading out of the township and into the wider city. Behind some of these roadblocks stood waiting EMTs and Fire Response Units, all waiting for the SSD to clear the township before setting off to quell the raging fires and provide medical assistance to those who needed it. Though in actuality, they were simply there to assist any injured security trooper and to stop the fire from spreading to any of the white sections of Austerbeck.

Finally the tangled, angry mass of humanity closed within about two hundred meters of the assembled police line. Rijkaard calmly stepped in front of the police line and spoke, with his Afrikaans-accented English, into a bullhorn he carried, "This is an unlawful protest, please disperse or face incarceration."

He waited just moments before turning back around and moving into the relative safety of the police line. Clearly the mob would not disperse at the behest of some white police official. Seeing this, Rijkaard nodded ever so slightly to another SSD officer along the line. With a quick shouted command, several men shouldered grenade launchers and fired several canisters of tear gas into the packed mass of humanity. Instead of attempting to flee from the choking mixture of chemicals, several protesters picked up the canisters and hurdled them back at the police line. Most of them landed short, though a few clanged off the armored vehicles and into the police line.

Rijkaard, gas mask in hand and pressed to his face, simply turned back toward the other SSD officer and nodded again. More rounds of tear gas tore off into the night in response to the movement, as the front row of troopers shouldered their FN FGRs and took aim at the advancing crowd. After the initial wave of tear gas the mob had sprung into action, rapidly closing the distance between them and the police. Shots from their weapons pinged off the vehicles before them as rocks and glass bottles also rained upon the barricade and those manning it.

As the shots picked up pace, Rijkaard shouldered his own weapon and again nodded toward the rest of the line. In an instant, the line of police exploded with the light of muzzle flashes probing into the night. All of the previous noise of the crowd and the sirens were drown out by the barrage laid on by the SSD troopers. Almost instantly after the initial volley, all noise dropped away as people of all ages tumbled from the front ranks of the mob only to be replaced by terrified screaming and yelling as the mob turned in on itself and attempted to push itself back away from the barricade.

"Time to teach these kaffirs a lesson," mumbled Rijkaard to himself before raising his rifle again, and motioning his men to do likewise. Another burst tore into the retreating ranks of the Swugani mob, causing more bodies to tumble down onto the streets. Men, women, even children, lay bleeding in the streets. Only a few moved as blood began running into the gutters and through the ruts of the street. Unfortunately for the Swugani, more security troops had moved into position behind them and slowly advanced to cut off their retreat, firing more tear gas and moving into the crowd with clubs and riot shields, beating those who resisted and arresting those who didn't.

Rijkaard smiled softly to himself as the scene continued to unfold. After a few minutes he turned away, satisfied with the result. He congratulated the other SSD officer and his men and moved off to where his driver was waiting with his personal M1. As he neared the olive green vehicle, he noticed several men in suits approaching him rapidly. Even in the dim lighting of the township, Rikjaard was able to identify one of the men as Adriaan Werwe, a sitting Senator and SDP leader. As they approached Rikjaard stopped short and prepared to greet them. Before he could say anything however, the senator shouted at him, "Are you responsible for this catastrophe, Majoor"

Rijkaard was momentarily taken aback at his comment, but regained his composure quickly, "I wouldn't call this a catastrophe, Senator."

"Oh what would you call it then, meneer?" asked the shocked senator.

"Roetine."

[Stoklomolvi]

[This is only a story.]

A Dream

Prejudice never dies. Such is the story of Fukumoto Seijin [福本 聖人], a Kagetorian man who moved to the People's Republic of Balthorvia after the Stoklomolvi government offered his family several hundred thousand Stoklomovs to settle in the city of Lesombor. From birth, he was a citizen indoctrinated to be loyal to the Stoklomolvi state. He was a devout Liaoist, though the only thing Fukumoto knew about Liaoism was that it was written by an old man hundreds of years ago and that it was a good idea. Other than that, the fifteen year old didn't know nor care.

At breakfast one day, he gathered his belongings and placed them into his pack. His father, an ageing man some fifty years old, suffered from depression after his wife was killed by a riot one day while she returned from the market. Ever since, he was an alcoholic in secret; the state had banned alcohol, but he paid through the nose to obtain his beer from black market merchants who roamed across the People's Republic.

With his backpack set beside his chair, Fukumoto ate his peanut butter and jelly sandwich watched his father read the paper.

"Otou-san, I got an A on my paper yesterday! You were really angry and you were kicking things outside, so I..." he trailed off, and focused on his sandwich as he kept his eyes on his father's reaction. Receiving none, he cleared his throat and spoke again. "I worked for almost three whole days on it, too. I spent almost seven hours revising it!"

Again, the father was silent, and flipped the page. Fukumoto looked at the wall clock. 0710. Fukumoto frowned, as once again his father ignored him. "Uh, I'm looking to try out for the ping pong team today. All of my friends are joining it and I think it looks like fun, so I'll join it too!" His effort was in vain, as he could not even provoke a single reaction.

Fukumoto glanced at the bottle of beer sitting on the table in front of the newspaper. They'll find out one of these days. "Dad, I really think you should sto-"

"Good work on your paper," muttered the older Fukumoto. The younger Fukumoto looked at his half-finished bread, but he wolfed it down anyway. He couldn't waste the precious food that they had left, considering that now there was only one source of income in the family.

I bet he'd stop being so pissed off if he stopped drinking all the time. Why'd she have to go? Seijin felt the tears well up in his eyes, but he quickly wiped them with his sleeve before putting on a happy front for his dad to see. Unbeknownst to him, his father saw.

Fukumoto cheerfully called to his father as he did every morning. "I'm going to school now!"

His father only grunted as he stared at the clock. 0713, it read, as it did every morning when Fukumoto left the house. His eyes darted to the photograph of his wife. I wish he would understand. The young Fukumoto happily ran out the door, expecting to meet his friends at the street corner, as he did every morning. However, once Fukumoto reached the corner, he saw nobody. Nothing was at the street corner except a shoe, one he recognised as belonging to one of his friends. He walked over and picked it up, noticing a single drop of blood that had stained the previously white top of the shoe. Not knowing what that meant, he simply shrugged and placed the shoe back on the ground and left.

As he slowly trudged down the street, which had always been uprooted and torn during the short time he had lived here, he stared into the distance. His all-Kagetorian school was no longer there, it seemed, but regardless of that he continued his trek to school. Feeling insecure, he decided to instead sit at the bus stop and wait for the 0720 hour bus that passed by when he was always close to the school. Fukumoto then opened his writing lecture book and began to recite the prepared Chinese lecture that day. As he attempted to get his accents right, he noticed an odd vehicle that he had never seen before. It approached him at amazing speed, and in front of him the vehicle stopped.

From the rear the two doors opened and from within emerged a number of soldiers. One with an apparently fancier dress cap stood right in front of him.

"You're coming with me, boy."

With that, the political commissar grabbed Fukumoto and chucked him into the armoured car. His backpack and lecture book left lying on the bus stop bench, Fukumoto attempted to run. The commissar pulled a rifle from the hands of a soldier and smashed Fukumoto's head with the rifle butt, leaving Fukumoto with no memory of what happened from between his arrest and his trial.

For when Fukumoto awoke, he was sitting in a chair at the front of an enormous courtroom. In front of him were seemingly hundreds of jurymen, half of whom were asleep and the other half of whom were busy doing other things. To his right was the judge, a stately man with almost no memorable facial features whatsoever. Fukumoto realised that he had been handcuffed to the chair.

"Fukumoto Seijin, you have been arrested and charged with sedition and the intent to overthrow the state. How do you plead?"

Fukumoto was startled, for he had never even the thought of attacking the Stoklomolvi or the Balthorvian states. He fumbled with his words, as he had no clue in which part of the country he was nor any idea why he was in a courtroom."I-Inno...cent?"

"Fukumoto Seijin, you were spotted wearing a blue hat yesterday afternoon, and this morning you had picked up a shoe on the street corner. These two actions have established the fact that you are indeed plotting against the Great Balthorvian State, and for this you must be punished with execution by firing squad. Your sentence will be carried out immediately. Case dismissed."

Two soldiers whom Fukumoto did not even notice removed the handcuffs and kicked him out of the booth, which smashed Fukumoto in the forehead. Before he could even move to clutch his bleeding head, the soldiers each grabbed an arm and dragged him out into the courtyard of the gigantic building, which Fukumoto then identified as the new capitol the Stoklomolvi government had erected as a symbol of "equality" and "freedom." Along a wall in front of him lined his friends: each had been implicated with sedition and was to be shot today at 0800 hours. The clock hanging above them had just struck 0758.

Without so much as a second glance, the soldiers flung Fukumoto on the ground, barking at him to stand at the end of the line. He realised that the boy to his left was the boy who sat in front of him in his physics class, and the girl to that boy's left was the first violin of the East Balthorvian Sixth School Orchestra. Are they going to shoot me now? What's she doing here? What's he doing here? thought Fukumoto, standing trembling as blood dribbled down the side of his cheek and onto his school uniform. He blanked out, mind filled with thoughts of his father and his family before the entire incident; they had all been so happy before his mother was actually executed by the People's Republic of Balthorvia for non-existent theft she committed against a Stelimov shopkeeper. He suddenly heard his father's voice; his head jerked to the right as he watched his father become riddled with bullets from the MG42 sitting on the crate less than a metre in front of him. Dad?

Fukumoto tried his hardest not to break into tears. The only relative he knew had just been slaughtered for treachery against the People's Republic of Balthorvia as was broadcast from the giant screen in front of all of the execution pits. However, Fukumoto knew the actual reason: the beer. Before he could so much think any further, he heard the barked order of "Ready!" He watched as the soldiers in the firing line loaded their surplus Karabiner 98k rifles and held them at their hips. "Aim!" yelled the political commissar, and he stared down the barrel of the gun directly in front of him. This can't be happening to me. They're going to show that this was a joke. This is all a dream. As Fukumoto awaited the dreaded order, the boy to his left yelled something he should not have.

"Death to the People's Republic of Balthorvia! Long live the Democratic Republic!"

Oh you son of a bitch. Sh- "Fire!" The staggered fire from the firing line first struck the children at the far left of the line, as Fukumoto heard the bullets impact in their skulls. Blood from the neck of the boy to his left covered Fukumoto's arm as he braced himself for the inevitable. -it.

The shock from the bullet lodging itself in his skull instantly felled Fukumoto, who lied on the ground unable to move. He was alive, as if God had spoken to him and allowed him to live. The boy who had yelled earlier was flat on the ground, dead of shock and blood loss as his severed jugular pumped out whatever was left in his body. Not daring to move, Fukumoto simply stared into the face of the first violin girl. She was alive mere seconds ago, and yet now she was a corpse on the ground, lifeless as the clock's second hand moved past the 3. He noticed with dread the political commissar who walked over to him, now staring at Fukumoto's face as Fukumoto stared at the girl's.

The commissar cracked a sly grin. "You cannot escape from us. We are legion and all-knowing." His hand reached for the Nagant M1895 in his holster, and Fukumoto heard the cracking of the hammer as the commissar aimed it at Fukumoto's head. "I order you to die."

Bang.

[Jenrak]

Updated. Let me know if I missed anyone.

[Abruzi]

To Each According to His Ability, To Each According To His Need.

The nuclear marshes of the Industrial Imperium were a barren place. Hundreds of miles of marshlands and sickly woods irradiated by a long distant Atomic War crouched in the center of the Industrial Imperium like a cancerous pit in a plum. Millions of people had moved from the marshes but still in this hellish area some stayed and survived. Minerals and salvage from the ruined cities and towns that once dotted this fertile province of the Imperium were enough to draw in the fortune seekers and the fortune seekers were enough to draw in the State.

The State’s constant regulation of everyone’s lives did not let up within the marshes. True one could have long days and perhaps weeks of solitude but all of the clean drinking water and the critical milk rations that staved off death via food delivered poison were all controlled by the State. These watering holes in this atomic savannah were spaced just far enough to make travel between then a two day thing forcing many to search in one area until they died of cancer or were killed by their fellow scavengers.

Murder and cannibalism were common in the marshes, more common then elsewhere in the Imperium. Proletarians forced to labor in radioactive mines by the State were also ordered to raid other mines in the area that were owned by the little trusted foreign corporations that were in reality just other elements of the State. It was not uncommon for the Ministry of Contentment to raid their own mines five times in one day and killer perhaps fifty workers loyal to the State just to create an environment of wartime amongst the Proles.

Those few Barons who had survived the purges and still remained rebellious to the Neo Bolshevik government had quickly fled for the center of these Marshes and even now occasional attacks were not out of the ordinary. Fifty years after the Revolution some resisted still and it was down to the Ministry to hunt them. It was down to men like 0546 to end them. It was a gruesome and frightening job and there was no one better at it

46 slowly walked into another of the small towns that dotted the Marshes. His rucksack and ragged fatigues displayed his time spent out in the field, his mud and blood spattered gas mask completed the look. With a swagger known only to hardened killers he quickly filled his sack with rations, milk and of course ammunition from the local Military Checkpoint. Flashing his Ministry badge was enough let alone his mastery of Newspeak which he demonstrated simply by saying to the NCOM in charge,

“Hunt double plus good, two thoughtcriminals unpersoned. Need supplies.”

Newspeak was a brand new concept within the Imperium. Only the Ministry and the Military had any inkling of what it was let alone how to use it properly, 0546’s demonstration was enough to buy some tired Comrades belief. They quickly filled his ruck and after grabbing several hours of sleep he was off again. The soft crunch of the radioactive gravel beneath his Ranger boots was like music to his ears.

Later that night, he was outside of a possible Worker’s Union position. The ruins of an old village from a time before the Glorious Revolution were illuminated by a sickly fire that cast just enough light to show vauge shapes were people sat. He watched and waited, patriotic slogans and the well remembered tales of heroes filling his head in a near subconscious buzz associated with the Telescreens before 46 realized that he could move closer. A cloud had covered the moon.

Slowly he low crawled forward, his gas mask scraping a gentle furrow in the loose soil. The dim circle of light was close and now 0546 could see his targets clearly. It was four or five old men, toothless cannibals who clutched ancient looking rifles. In their midst huddled in a ball was a young Woman. A frightened member of what appeared to be the Lower Party judging by her decent quality gas mask and crimson overalls.

0546 slowly checked his rifle, a muted Mosin Nagant, and not one of those ridiculous fifty caliber rifles the Military gave out to it’s less fortunate soldiers. He slowly opened the bolt in time with one of the cannibals belches, covering the rifle with his body the creak of steel was less audible then the human roar of a burp. The soft gleam of a waiting 7.62x54 R round was enough to make 46 smile beneath his gas mask as he readied himself mentally and physically.
Rising slowly he lowered the rifle and sighted in on the closest cannibal. The old man was so skinny his ribs jutted out like spars out of ruined concrete walls. 0546 nodded and then waited for the tip of the far sight to fall just a fraction of an inch below the man’s nipples which were visible. He squeezed the trigger and the sharp cough of the Mosin shattered the semi peaceful night.

The splatter of wet blood and the death of one of their comrades was enough to scare the Cannibals into running into the marshes, a bad move without a Geiger counter. Within minutes they were in a pocket of deadly radiation and chunks of hair as well as teeth were falling out of them. They were dead men already. Just another set of bodies to add to the unknown hundreds if not thousands that filled these marshes.

0546 walked over to the lower party woman and cut her free before sitting down near the fire. Within minutes he had a small meal prepared and offered a bit to her. Smiling she took hold of a loaf of bread and cut a small slice before cutting a larger slice for 46. Nodding she said,

“Comrade, thank you for saving me from those swine. They wanted the extra rations I had.”

At this remark 0546 narrowed his eyes beneath his mask and reached slowly and covertly for his Knife which lay at his feet. He nonchalantly said,

“Comrade, how is it that you can have extra rations? Is it not the spirit of Neo Bol and Glorious Comrade Forge King to take only what is according to your need?”

The woman paused before putting two and two together. She realized that 0546 was from the Ministry and that she had just admitted and offered him food borne of thought crime. 46 rose and slowly stepped towards he and when he closed to within arms reach she swiftly shook her head and said,

“Comrade, comrade, Glorious Comrade Forge King led me to these rat-”

The sharp bite of 0546’s knife into her throat silenced her as he pushed it deeper and deeper. His victim made wet sucking sounds that would be words if five inches of steel hadn’t entered he neck. He pushed deeper still, feeling the warm wet blood coat his gloves and arms as it spurted out. As he began to see the light fade from her eyes he leaned in next to her ear and said,

“To each according to his ability, to each according to his NEED, Comrade.”

[Enzo Turga]

[ FT ]

[ Mature ]

To fight for love nevermore

Together we shall fight
Until we see the light
Then meet in the Valley of War
To fight for lover nevermore

Herris walked towards the temple, note in hand, sheathed sword in the other. The note was from his brother, regarding the dispute that he had slept with Herris's wife. Herris had always saved his little brother from trouble, but now he had gone too far. He reread it:

Dear Brother,

Together we shall fight
Until we see the light

Your Brother,
Logar

To most people, this note would seem like jibberish, but to him, it was a message with a specific place and time in it. The two lines were part of the last verse of a hyme they had been read as children, the Warrior's Hyme. The hyme is about two men who thought the other had killed their mother. They met at the War God Vare's temple at sundown to kill each other, but in the end, both were slain by Vare.

Vare's temple was a huge building, built out of marble and adorned with coloumns artwork depicting the War God. At the back of the temply, there was a statue of Vare posed holding a spear in his hand as if he was stabbing someone in fron of him. Herris entered the temple. He walked down the large walkway into the room with Vare's statue. There sat Logar praying at the statue with two of his guards standing next to him.

"Herris, how are you?" Logar asked. His guards turned around and drew their blades.

"I see you brought friends." Herris replied, drawing his own sword.

One of the guards foolishly charged at Herris, but Herris was an experience knight. He simply stuck his sword out and the man ran into it, being run through the stomach by the blade. The man collapsed on the ground, spitting blood up on the floor. The nexy man was a better warrior, but not good enough. The two men's blades clashed as they tried to cut each other down, but the guard was sloppy. Herris saw his opening, and used it. He kicked at the man's leg with all of his power, and the man's kneecap gave out against Herris's steel-soled boots.The guard screeched in pain and collapsed on the floor.

Herris began to walk towards Logar, but the guard with the broken leg slashed out at his leg, barely cutting it.

"I was going to spare you, but your persistance irks me," Herris said. He slashed down at the guard, making contact with his soft neck. The blade went through his neck, squirting warm blood all over Herris's face. How he enjoyed the feel of another man's blood on his face, the feel of the sword making contact with a man's body.

Logar stood up, dropping his praying charm on the ground and drawing his sword.

"Well brother, it comes to this. Together we shall fight, until we see the light." he said.

"Shut up and fight, Logar." Herris spat, and they did. The clink of steel on steel echoed through the large temple like a fat lady in an opera. After a few minutes, it was clear that neither of them were better than the other.

"I guess we're evenly matched. There's only one way to do this honorably." Herris said.

"Then lets." Logar responded. They were talking about lowering their swords and beating each other to death, so only one was left alive. Herris dropped his sword, but Logar took the chance and stabbed Herris in the sternum.

"You and you're "honor". Only cheaters win, brother." Logar said softly to Herris. Just as Logar took the blade out of Herris, Herris pushed him back. Logar stumbled back a few feet, but then tripped on the praying charm he threw on the ground and fell back into the statue of Vare. He landed right on the spear, impaled through the back. Herris fell to his knees and Logar sat there, neither able nor willing to move.

"I guess this is it." Logar said, spitting blood up everywhere.

"Then meet in the Valley of War." Herris said.

"To fight for love nevermore." Logar replied, finishing the hyme. Both were dead.

[Abruzi]

Ghosts

MT



The door was heavy, filed with lead and sealed by a furious silence. A wall of space that was void of any sound. It was enough to reduce he and the other hardened killers into little more than whimpering children, fearful of what awaited them on the other side. The far off drip of water and the ominous screams that echoed from down the hallway suddenly rushed in and filled the void, an ocean of sound in a pin drop.

The men were ragged, fearful, tired and most importantly thirsty. It had been days since they had sipped a last drink from their canteens, a lifetime since they left the small muddy, bloody ditch that had been their home for several months and been moved here to a debrief center run by the Ministry. There was no hiding it however, this was no a de-brief center it was a re-education facility. A filthy instrument of torture and interrogation until their truth became fact and your truth, the real truth was gone.

Patriotic Slogans were inscribed on the walls, insane hands had carved them of that there was no doubt. Insane minds had been all that was left after they were broken by the Ministry. After they accepted that the War had in reality ended in total victory and that they themselves were highly decorated heroes let out of the service because of either incredible bravery or injury depending on how long they resisted. The only common thing was that once you were out you never lasted long. Inevitably you would be transferred to some far flung corner of the Imperium and probably shot.

It was the best solution. If you were not let loose you ceased to be. You had never been.

With a loud squeal the door finally opened. Heavy hands reached in and pulled out the captives one by one, their ragged clothes and bodies flung from the freshly familiar cell and into the unknown. Dingy benches and lukewarm soup waited them and hungrily the horde of former soldiers descended upon the meals. Within seconds the men cried out in pain, they had eaten so little for so long that their stomachs had rapidly expanded. Many died, ignoring the pain and literally eating themselves to death. The few that remained were collected and herded into another chamber.

A new torture had begun.

White light was shone on each man, so bright that they couldn’t see the men next to them. A deep voice spoke elegant and precise Russian, demanding their loyalty and love. It was the Forge King, the Forge King was dead Comrade. Yet he lived, he spoke now to his children and held them close against his breast. He whispered comforting things in the night and then urged them to do his will in return. Slowly the kind voice got sterner and sterner driving many of the men to tears.

It could’ve been days or minutes, there was no way to tell when the voice was upon you. No way to know. Finally however a message emerged, a central theme that grew to become on undeniable demand. They had to kill for him. They had to kill those who had caused this, those that had made them how they were. The enemy. Ripping and tearing the enemy was all these ghosts of men lived for, unknowingly they had crossed over to the newest Imperial military force. Unknowingly they had became Ghosts.

The wind was cold and wet. He felt nothing. The sun was bright and omnipotent. He felt nothing. Stepping forward, across desert or across tundra he didn’t know. The enemy was near and he had to kill them, he had to rend their flesh and eat their hearts. He had to kill the one. The one he had to kill. A face, first an outline as if a distant memory from a dream and then a lifelike picture and finally an undeniably recognizable person. He had known this one, he had always known this one. He would kill this one.

Tomas was a strong man, a leader of men. His combat faded fatigues masked his highly muscled and tired frame which stood like an unbowed giant amongst his fellow soldiers of the Imperium. His PPSH-41 was held in a single meaty fist that could just as easily crush your skull, the gun locked and loaded. He and his men were the front edge, they were the teeth of the Imperium set to engage the Religious Fascist Swine who held this desert land so rich in recourses.

The Imperium had always been here, or at least that was what he had been told. They had always been fighting to liberate another of the ancient homelands of the Abruzian race. They had always been fighting to liberate the Proletarians from the oppressive regime that prospered because of exploitation. He and his men were the only peopled he and seen for months though, the only humans at least. They had seen plenty of the enemy, subhuman wretches that demanded only to be purged. They had purged them. Their women tried to hide, no doubt planning to stab the Imperials in the back as soon as they left. They had purged them too. The children had run, no doubt to hide and multiply in the hills and return at the head of a liberation army. They too had been purged.

Now they waited, seated atop a hill that dominated another craggy valley that was filled with oil rich mines. Dug in like a tick on a sheep the Myrmidons were waiting for a scheduled meeting with a spook from higher up. A man of the Party to deliver their orders and objectives. Little did these Myrmidons know, their actions had not gone unnoticed. They had neglected to burn an enemy hospital instead of securing vital supplies. In the Imperium you killed your enemy first and then took his water, they knew that. They had thought for themselves and that was not permissible within the Abruzian military.

The Party had however already issued decorations for this unit. Telescreens across the Imperium shouted out praise for Tomas and his men. Thus had the Party turned no to the Ministry but to the Ghosts to unperson these thought criminals. The Ghosts had naturally responded in the affirmative.

He walked over mountains and through valleys. Each step putting him that much closer to his target. The one, he had to kill the one. His torn clothes hardly covered his naked and bruised body but he felt no chill, no sting. He felt no bite of rocks on his feet nor the burn of the sun. He had his mission, Glorious Comrade Forge King himself had given it to him, and he would deliver. Soon he would be close enough, soon he could do his father proud.

Tomas and his men sighted a lone person. Not any person but a raving madman. The only thing that stopped his men from shooting him from five hundred meters with their Mosins was his gasmask. A dark black one the kind only the Ministry or the Party could supply. As such they allowed him the get close. It was a fatal mistake for Tomas.

Ribbing, tearing , biting and blood. Blood everywhere, blood inside and outside. Hot warm flesh, torn for Glorious Comrade Forge King. Torn for the Party. Bullets and blades could not fell him, for there was nothing to fell. When the heart stopped beating there was not a man lying there but a broken mind. A broken soul. A ghost.

[Morningstar Coalition]

[ FT ]

One man's treasure, another man's trash

****************************************************************************************************
Morningstar First Fleet - Research Vessel "Force of Reason"
****************************************************************************************************

"Kemaal, pass me the next sample please?" Senior Researcher Harken Sonah's voice called from across the room where he was busy looking into the electron microscope. Time and again other research teams chided the Fokkoran researcher for favoring such "simple" implements, but he simply bore this in stride. He personally felt that the less sophisticated tools might not offer the same precision of those instruments wielded purely by Shipminds, however Harken derived comfort from handling the intricate processes of analysis personally.

A glance up from the scope and Harken spotted the Reikoan just across the table, offering him the sample cartridge. "I know you like to be hands-on Harken, but just this once can we use the isolation scanners? I don't want to consider those buggers escaping. You saw the reports same as I did!"

Harken frowned for a moment, as indeed he had seen the reports. This would be the second time that Morningstar research teams would study these nanomachines, acquired from samples taken from the Reik Rethast vessel, then simply known as the "Splinter", during the first engagement with that species. Back then the operation had been under the auspices of the MACE arm of TRIAD Enterprises, however the samples had remained in MACE hands during the abandonment of this universe. The samples had remained in stasis storage during the formation of the Coalition, as well as the Exodus, and had not been lost or damaged. The first time the samples had been removed from archive storage to be examined, the research vessel and nearly her entire crew had been lost.

At the time, the Research Corps had wanted to attempt to replicate the astounding abilities of Rethast nanotechnology, which seemed to defy scientific principles. Granted, the inertialess drives employed by the Rethast also seemed to defy known physics, but it was hoped that at least the regenerative properties attributed to these nanomachines could be used by Morningstar ships. So twelve of the thirty samples of nanites had been delivered to the MCRV "Archimedes Light" to undergo study.

For four days tests on the nanites had yielded minimal results, revealing the seemingly mundane structure of the nanites, but absolute no indication as to how the tiny machines avoided entropic collapse or managed to work so dammed quickly to repair Rethast vessels. One researcher suggested there might be a link to the unusual Xanthogen material and the hull materials also found aboard Rethast ships. At the time it was known that Xanthogen had unusual properties resembling viral organisms, but no one could have anticipated what happened when a single sample of perhaps only a hundred nanites was introduced to a sample of both hull metal and a tiny sliver of Xanthogen crystal.

The instant the nanites came into contact with the tiny sliver of Xanthogen, they came to life and began consuming the hull material, replicating at a rate which the researchers would have thought totally impossible. The small amount of data being collected suggested that the Xanthogen was feeding the nanites energry in some unexplained manner, in some unknown form, and from an unknown source. Within a minute after the experiment, the nanites had replicated a thousand fold, and began consuming the containment vessel they had been placed in.

The Shipmind aboard had tried to activate containment procedures, physically disconnecting the lab from the ship's frame and ejecting it into space, however unknown to both Shipmind and researchers, several nanites had already infiltrated the physical systems of the lab and began disconnecting the safety devices at the same time they replicated. Within five minutes, half the lab had already been consumed along with four of the researchers. Within twenty minutes, the entire deck the lab was situated on was infected and was quickly being converted into what the Shipmind now recognized as Rethast architecture.

The Shipmind alerted the crew to abandon ship, also notifying the rest of the Fleet to the emergency, but could not stop the nanomachine infection from spreading. By the time rescue vessels arrived to begin capturing the lifeboats of the Archimedes Light, half the six hundred meter long spire had been consumed and converted. The Shipmind aboard had waited for the crew to escape, but by this time the systems for it's own ejection system had been corrupted, trapping it aboard as the infection spread through the command decks. The final scream of pain over the comms as the Shipmind's core was consumed would haunt every researcher and rescue worker to their end.

In the end, the Home Fleet's warships had been forced to sacrifice a frigate to fold-jump both vessels into the heart of the local star to eradicate the infected and growing Rethast vessel. The lesson had been written in blood: some technologies were inherently dangerous.

Now, almost three years later, Harken and Kemaal were examining the very same nanomachines which had killed over eighty Morningstar personnel and claimed two vessels. Harken blinked his eyes as he came back to the present. Kemaal was staring at him expectantly, still holding the sample container in his furred hand. "Memory fugue?"

Harken sighed and nodded, accepting the container and placing it carefully on the table. "Alright, you win. Amethyst? Please prepare analysis chamber one." The Shipmind's soft acknowledging tone caused Kemaal's shoulders to relax visibly. Harken sighed a second time and shook his head, "Kemaal, think you can handle the specimen prep on your own. I can see by your expression that I need some down-time. Just how many fugues does that make this shift? For that matter, what shift is it now?"

Amethyst's alto voice came from the ceiling, "I have observed four separate incidents consistent with Fokkoran memory fugue, and it is currently first watch, fifth hour."

Harken gasped, "Dark take me! I've been at it for twenty-eight hours straight? I'm sorry Kemaal, I hadn't realized I'd been at this so long. I was getting such amazing results too..." The Fokkoran trailed off as he realized that their superior, Risa Laethe, was standing in the hatchway with a large grin on her muzzle.

"Harken, I know you're dedicated, but if you push yourself like this again I will have to report you for endangering the project and the ship. These things are to be considered extremely lethal under all conditions. I can't have my team making mistakes because they stayed in the lab all dammed night. I'm ordering you off-shift for no less than three watches, and I want you to sleep for no less than ten hours. Is that understood?" Though the smile indicated that Risa was both amused and concerned for Harken, her tone allowed no misinterpretation as to her being serious. In response, Harken simply saluted and began padding out of the lab. Risa caught his shoulder before he passed the hatchway, "Harken, go get something from the mess before you sleep. I'm going to need you in top form when you get back."

Harken smiled and nodded, "Sorry Sir. Oh, before I go, make sure you get ancillary scans of the Ee-Em band while you're testing the samples. I saw a few gamma-range spikes during a couple of my tests. I couldn't figure out where they came from." Risa nodded and the tired Fokkoran padded out into the corridor to seek food and his bed. It had been a long day, far longer than he'd first realized.

Two weeks later

Harken sighed and sat back on his haunches in defeat. The results of the last experiment displayed on the holographic screen before him. No matter what he and the team had tried, nothing worked. They simply could not replicate the amazing efficiency or speed of the Rethast nanomachines using any conventional materials, nor any of the unconventional materials available to Morningstar. Simply put, the Rethast machines defied all known physics.

"Senior Researcher's log. This is day thirty two of the project, and I am afraid this will be the last entry. For nearly two weeks we have been studying the composition, construction, and where possible the operation of the Rethast nanomachines. It appears that the nanomachines are designed to operate in symbiotic conjunction with the Xanthogen material present aboard Rethast vessels. All results point to this Xanthogen being the true source of both the machines' energy, but also their astounding replication and construction speeds. None of our attempts to replicate these properties without the Xanthogen have yielded any positive results."

"Nanotechnology is a science we understand quite well, but we have never been able to avoid simple entropic limits to nanites. Somehow the Xanthogen appears to be violating energy limits and allowing the rather simple machines to operate at energy states that mathematics dictates to be impossible. Not even our N-Space mathematics can explain how the nanites are able to re-forge matter on the speed and scale they do. At this time as the project's senior member, I am recommending this project be shelved indefinitely. Unless or until we discover some astounding revelation of physics, we will be completely unable to even use these nanomachines. All attempts to reprogram their behavior have also failed, and while creating more of them is as simple as providing them raw materials and a physical connection to Xanthogen, all new nanites seem to share the same hard-coded instructions as the originals. This is Senior Researcher Harken Sonah of Project AH-128-Delta, signing out."

[Jenrak]

Updated. If I missed anyone, please let me know. Also, I know someone wanted me to delete one of their stories off the board via telegram - can that person remind me by sending it again?

[Volga Rodina]

[ PT ]

[ Mature ]

The Gulag

The prison camp stank of rotten food and decaying corpses. The prisoners milled around, many were sick or beaten by the guards. A few sat around a small fire, warming their hands, to prevent frostbite. These were the men of Stavya.

And Stavya was their hell. Government dissenters and general ruffians or traitors of the state where sent here. In reality, there was no one in this gulag who had done anything remotely illegal. They were seen as threats, and threats were sent to Stavya, where they would learn what true pain felt life. They were sent to immediately to the mines. It was the worst day of their lives, and it was the first day of their torment.

It was from the mind of an old man, who had spent thirty years in Stavya, to escape. It was the only thing to keep the morale of the men up. Eventually, several prisoners gathered as much courage as they could and rushed the guards. The guards in the mines were quickly dispatched and the elevators to the surface overtaken.

Sunlight flooded through the wire mesh of the industrial elevator as its thick metal doors opened into the outside world. Machine guns, rockets and small arms fire bounced off the first wave of escaping prisoners. The later waves quickly spread apart and rushed the machine gun nests with deadly accuracy, killing each guard one by one. They shouted and screamed at the top of their lungs, finally, freedom would be achieved!

"URRAA! URRRAAA! Forward comrades, FORWARD TO FREEDOM!"

[The Fanboyists]

Ice and Thunder

[mid-20th Century MT]

Cold. So very cold. Wetness too. That had been a constant for the last three weeks. Three weeks. Three weeks of hell. Frosty, dank hell. How much longer it would be, Jun could not fathom. The politicians had promised the thing would be over by Christmas.

So his father said. That was fourty-some years ago. Forty-some years earlier, when Jun's grandfather, and then his father, had been called to serve their country. It was a proud service, despite fate's best efforts to the contrary. It was a proud service, true enough, but it was rendered to a country that seemed to want to forget Jun's people. Fate, for that matter, seemed to want to forget the Skraelings.

In reality, the hell was starting to blend together, Jun thought. Life before he'd left had been one tortuous battle for survival at a time. This wasn't really any different; just with more gunfire and more regular straight meals.

When he'd arrived, he'd heard tell that there was to be a grand offensive soon.

A week later, the front had effectively collapsed. Now as he squatted in a mud-filled trench, sleet clattering off of his steel helmet, rifle clutched in hands suffering border-line frostbite, he prayed just to live another day. And another. And another.

There were sounds of gunfire, the rattling cracks of a machine gun, and a man fell into the trench beside him.

"Nice day, ain' it?" the newcomer said brightly. "How's life holdin' up for you 'bout now?"

"Cuud bee faar wurs," Jun said with a simple shrug. He could tell by the patch on the newcomer's coat-sleeve that he was a footman (basically the equivalent to 'private' rank in the Federal Army), same as Jun. "Steel breething."

The newcomer laughed. "Tha's the spirit. Name's Charlie. Y'know, like the song "Hey, Charlie, Hey"?"

Jun chuckled, but shook his head. "Ie knowe whaat yur name ees, boot nut thee sung." He shrugged. "Aany wurd wheen wire muving?"

Charlie laughed bleakly as he ejected a spent shell from his rifle. "Yeup. Ten minutes. Got ourselves a charge."

"Oh. Foking wunderfuul. Howe 'bout wee joost coot aar throtes now, and saav thee truubl?"

"You never know. We migh' make it. Migh' not, o' course. But at least, as they say, when the whistle blows, it's time to reload." He checked the magazine on his rifle, and Jun took the opportunity to do the same.

Sure enough, there was the whistle, right as rain.

"Heer goes."

"Nice knowin' ya."

They scrambled out of the muddy, snow-capped trench and out into the open field.

Barren hell, now. The area had once been a farm. That farmer, never a stupid man, had gotten the hell out of Dodge the minute soldiers showed up in town. The patch that had once been a cow pasture was littered with craters and pits from the rampant artillery fire. Here and there, some grisly token remained of a man who had met his demise in that no-man's land.

As Jun scrambled over that open ground, deadly drops of lead whizzed past him. One missed his ear by only centimeters. Too close. All around him, cries of pain and groans of agony began to be audible. But he tuned them out. His focus was that trench that he could even now see enemy troops poking their heads out of. Seeing one manning a machine-gun, he brought his rifle up to his shoulder, glanced down the open sights, and yanked the trigger (no luxurious trigger-squeeze here; he didn't have the time, and was too nervous anyway). Flipped the bolt back, ejected the shell, closed it to chamber another.

He heard shouts of surprise, but he continued to his dash, desperate for cover. He knew, based on the confused shouting ("Get on that thing now!") that he had hit his mark. As he dropped gracelessly into that mudhole, he glanced leftward and saw the gunner slumped against the trench's far wall, a ghastly hole torn in his face, blood mingling with the mud on the already-saturated ground.

Charlie, by some miracle, had also survived the gauntlet of gunfire, and hopped into the trench alongside him. Another shaking soldier joined them.

There was a brief pause as the two sides stared at each other in something like disbelief. In any other situation, it would have been almost comical.

Charlie snapped to his senses first. He snapped the trigger on his rifle back, and one of their foes fell to the ground, clutching his shoulder and yelping. The other soldier and Jun added their own shots to the volley as they dove for cover behind boxes and barrels littering the pit.

Not fast enough for Charlie. He gasped and gave a shout of shock. As he scrambled desperately behind a crate, mud splattered all their faces. Charlie began to clutch his knee. He didn't even bother trying to stand up. It was shattered, he knew. If he kept the leg at the knee, he knew he'd be a lucky to the extreme.

Jun peeked around the corner, and ducked as a hail of gunfire missed him by inches. One struck the thick cratewall and a splinter sailed into his cheek. It stung, but it was a pain he could ignore. Negligable, really.

As he listened to the sounds of the enemies beginning to reload, he stood up, and fired. The crack of the rifle was lost amid the din of the shelling happening not more than twenty yards away. He saw one of the enemies, who had been croached (not far enough into cover) clutch his throat. Blood began to seep from under his fingers, and he fell to the ground, gagging and sputtering.

As he ejected the spent round, he sighted another target. Another rifleman was leveling his own weapon with Jun's chest. Reacting on instinct, he brought his own weapon around, and fired.

Wide to the right, he thought, glad for the utter detachment of his mind from the horror around him, but it served its purpose; the other soldier ducked for cover as he fired, and his own shot glanced off the top of Jun's helmet. Saved. Barely.

"More o' em!" his other ally snapped.

He flipped the bolt back, then snapped it shut. Leveled his weapon (no need to aim here), and fired into the small squad approaching from behind their original adveraries. There were many there (in that same detached state, Jun estimated at least seven or eight), but they were then one fewer; the shot punched cleanly through the stock of one's rifle, ripping through his torso. He stumbled to the ground, coughing blood, doubled in pain.

The other Allamunna added his own shot to the volley of two, and immediately paid for his contribution with his life. Jun dove behind the crates as multiple bullets silenced the other rifleman.

Still detached. A thought entered Jun's mind. Not with any of the panic the thought should have engendered, he thought wryly.

I'm going to die. I'm here, in the mud, blood and lead, with a dead man and a cripple, and I'm going to die, and they're never going to recover my body, and Mum and Daad will never get word and I'm going to die.

Charlie, he saw, had raised his rifle to his shoulder, even as he relied on the wall of the trench for support. Clearly, he would take someone with him to the afterlife.

Jun thought the same as he slid a new clip of bullets into the magazine of his rifle. He snapped the action shut, and raised his head, ready to meet his fate, rifle at his shoulder.

He fired once. Ejected. Fired again. Ejected. Fired. Fell.

Nothing went black, though. Just the splitting agony in his shoulder. That pain drove all other thought away. He looked for the source of that pain. Found it.

He had staggered sideways as he had fired. It had probably saved his life. Instead, several shots found range in his right shoulder, which, he could see, was so much shredded meat. No seeping life, here. No, he could feel his life's blood leaking in a steady stream from the shattered area, and he let out a groan.

Felt a pricking at his neck.

Now it would come. Death, he thought. Relief.

Instead, he heard Charlie's voice.

"Accepted."

Shouts. Incoherent shouts. Blackness. A feeling of flight. Blackness. A white land, he saw... An end to hatred. Fear, never. Fear would remain; it was part of life. But it was always a bearable fear, after that land.

So he would explain to his children, and his grandchildren, years later, his wife at his side. That angel of mercy who had staunched the bleeding of her people's enemy, and so had spared his life. And he, in turn, had spared hers. Intervened when his own people stormed that camp weeks later. Placed himself between their guns and her, telling them she was a friend to them.

Jun thought back to that. Thought back to a ruined shoulder. And he decided, then, years later, sitting by the grave of that boon comrade on that day, that it had been worth the price.

[Xenohumanity]

This, this whole thing...

*gestures in air like a crazy person, indicating the whole thread*

... Is genius.

A good enough reason as any to write up that Xeno-Tech Gladiators story I was thinking of today.

Expect a story from me soon.

[LINTYLAND]

[ MT ]

Desert Madness

"Ohhhh yeah baby. Dont you know, dont you know, how it feels to be missing you. Every night and day i always think about you. Yeahhhh stuck in dessert, losing my mind, wishing i could see you....."

"Private turn that shit off." Seargent Ryan Hartlowe motioned at the off button on the old dusty radio. "Were on a bloody patrol here, i dont need to be listening to that shit.

The private looked at the Ryan and smiled under his tan Balaclava. "Sorry sir, ill turn if off right away."

The song on the radio was abruptly cut off and only the sound of the churning sand under doonbuggy could be heard. The private turned his attention back to the wasteland infront of him.

"Sarge why are we out here doing this shit? Its to hot in this desert." The private took one hand of the steering wheel and wiped some sand off his dark black goggles.

Ryan looked at the privates carelessness and frowned. "I dont know son, but orders are orders. Ill be damned if the top brass didnt have a secret agenda in this area. After all this Joabe Desert the hotbed for terrorist activities."

"Copy that sir." The private turned the buggy to the right, to avoid the dead carcass of a dog. "We should be arriving at the village in 10 to 15 min..."

The privates words were cut short by an explosion two feet infront of the buggy. Ryan felt the vehicle's back end rise up into the air, he quickly flung himself out of the doomed vehicle and hit the sand face first. The private wasnt so lucky, he was to slow to get out of the buggy. Now it had trapped him upside down. Ryan slowly got up and staggered his way to the wreckage. His vision was blurry and he could feel something hot running down his face.

"Private..... Private you still alive?" Ryan heard some gurgling that quickly died out. "Say something son!"

There was nothing but dead silence after that. Ryan took out the short wave radio from his pack. <<"Command this is MRD 12 we got hit by an IED. I need a chopper evac at grid 2-76-5, over.">> The radio emitted some static and a garbled message was transmitted back. <<"Copy th..... 12, we ha.... inbound to your po......">> Ryan sighed and threw the radio onto the sand. He felt more and more blood coming down his face, everything was getting dark and blurry. Within minutes he was face first into the ground due to the amount of blood he loss.

---

"What the hell happened over here?" The private held a white rag to his face. The overwhleming stench of death and a decaying corpses surrounded the air.

A man in brown shorts and a olive shirt looked at the private and then back down at the inciddent report in his hands. "Says here that MRD 12 was sent to patrol a village up north, but they were hit by an IED. Seargent Ryan Hartlowe called for an evac, but when the helicopters arrived nothing was seen. They assumed the Seargent and Private Tim Board headed to the village on foot."

The private looked down at the sand ridden corpses not more then twwo feet away from him. "So why did we found the bodies here 3 weeks later? At the same exact spot?"

The man in the olive shirt shrugged. "I dont know." He motioned for the two soldiers in the Humvee to bag up the bodies and put them onboard. "It could be terrorist, but due to the condition of the bodies we cant identify shit."

The private nodded and let go of the rag on his face. "Yeah two spec ops found dead in the fucking Joabe Desert. This is the third case this month from the same unit. Im telling you man, this job gets wierder and wierder."

"Yeah lets get out of here man."

The men boarded the Humvee and slowly drove torwards the base 10 miles to the south. It was just another day in hell.

---

Lintylandian Military Investigation Division

Case: Two spec ops soldiers found dead in the Joabe Desert

Report: The two bodies were found and sent back to their families for proper burial. Due to the lack of evidence the death of the soldiers is ruled of by natural causes.

Signed,

Dr. Frederich Jurgo

[Pilgrim Village]

[P/MT] Yet Silent Drums March By

Roane Province...

Running fast. Not as fast as he could. He fell. Blood dripped from his back. He died. His body lay in the short grass. Why? He was a revolutionary. A Roane. His people ran in exile. They were targeted by Isle authorities. They were shot. He was no different from the others. A man of principle, reduced to nothing more than dirt. He died without a burial, he dead for what he believed in. His people cried for a revolution, and he played his part.

Hours Ago...

"...We cannot stand here and let these monsters destroy our people, our culture and our homes! We must fight for our rights to property, happiness and freedom! Fellow Roane, hear my plea, the monsters that rule over our great land have turned coat with Satan, they are in bed with evil. We must take the crown and return order to this land, our land! Friends and brothers, fight alongside me and fight for our rights!"

The crowds of people cheered after the great man finished speaking. He was the first of many, to challenge the Mayor and his endless armies. No doubt he was lead these people, his people. How he would lead them was the question. As the crowd cheered, several men stood silent, they were frozen. Soldiers of the Mayor. They listened to the man's energetic speech, and actually found themselves doubting the power of their undying leader. What did this mean? Were they revolutionaries too?

[Kostemetsia]

Prelude [ FT ]

The bald man adjusts his leather jacket and walks up the small rise.

Around him, a subtropical rainforest stretches endlessly in every direction. Blue sky is visible through the scant canopy, a golden G2-class star shining down from above it. Nothing moves within earshot or eyesight, minus the canopy and the bald man's jacket, which both ruffle slightly in a slight breeze which quickly passes.

Without turning, the bald man says quietly, “Nigel.”

“Hello, Arthur,” comes the cheery response. A shorter man tromps, with some effort, up the rise. He is dressed in a ridiculous purple robe, adorned with what appear to be cardboard stars, and a conical hat whose only concession to practicality is a wide brim. Purple boots finish off the ensemble, accompanied with a staff holding a large ball of crystal.

The two are an odd couple, yet there is an undeniable rightness to their being there. Still staring out into the woods, looking for something, the bald man, Arthur, says, “Where are we?”

“In the woods outside MacLean,” says the faux wizard, Nigel, as he shakes back a capacious sleeve in order to read the face of a staunchly modern Rolex. “November 26. The Regulars are due through here at ten AM. Two hours.”

“Where did you come from this time?” Arthur says, looking at him for the first time.

“Oh,” Nigel says, waving a hand. “First-Insurgency London. Look, nothing big.”

“Mm,” Arthur says, turning back to survey the landscape. After a moment, he extends a pointing finger at the end of a sinewy arm. “The case is three hundred metres that way. Sent by the 2230s sector, Nigel, please be careful.”

“Oh,” Nigel grumps as he trudges off, “given the circumstances, I can't imagine it would be that bad.”

Altogether, the bald man thinks as he observes the resulting scene, it is ridiculous. Nigel is a bobbing purple dot in the distance, digging and thumping at the soil with his gratuitous staff. Curses carry across the land, a sector of forest rendered flat and mostly free of ground cover by a massing of Revolutionary forces that passed this way ten years before.

Something is in the offing. The Convocation's orders were very clear. And Convocation operatives are rarely, if ever, deployed. Something is coming, much greater than the battle to which the soldiers of a decade gone were called. Across the galaxy, the call to war is being beat on great drums, headed with animal skin or plastic compound: the sentiment is the same. Variegated and horrifying monstrosities with unknowable motives stir in the dimensional deep.

All in all, the short loud arse in the unpleasant dress pays less than lip service to the terrible dignity the situation deserves.

Eventually, he observes that Nigel is done. The briefcase – a cheap and unremarkable 2210s-vintage, of indeterminate actual age thanks to the ineffable niceties of quantum physics – is safe and secure within the little mage's gnarled hands. With much complaining, he brings it back, hoisting up the hem of his billowing robe, already befouled by dirt.

“Nigel,” Arthur says calmly.

“What?” the small man says.

“We were never here.”

Nigel looks back slightly guiltily at the small hole with a cone of dirt neatly stacked to one side (earth magic is a precise discipline). “The Regulars will come through. Nobody will notice it.”

“Nigel,” Arthur says warningly.

“Oh, very well,” Nigel says, with a weary sigh. Putting the battered old briefcase down for a moment, he raises the staff. Arthur feels the sudden, irresistible urge to close his eyes, and accordingly does so. When he opens them, the plain is flat and perfect again. There is, indeed, no sign that the two Convocation operatives were ever there.

“Where next?” he asks.

“Must I do everything?” the cranky earth mage says snappily. With a flourish, he rolls back his sleeve to look at the Rolex again. “Twenty-five days from now. Capital City, December twenty-first. The event takes place on Christmas Day. Did you have any other questions?”

Not waiting for an answer, he raises the staff again. In the next town over, people feel a certain itching they can't quite identify, and when it subsides, the two men are long gone.

[Vetok]

[PMT]

In The Belly Of The Beast

-WIP

Day One

“Every day was the same, y’know? Cooped up in that damned machine. Jeez, but it took something out of ya’ nerves.”

It was a mighty thing. Painted in olive green, with an angular turret, the tank was a huge symbol of Vetokite military power. On the right flank was a gauntleted fist holding a lightning bolt in its grasp while the other flank bore the legend ‘The Beast’. Now it was on the move, prowling around like a vast predatory creature. The tracks ground through the mud, throwing clods of dirt up into the air, tearing an ugly seam over the land. The turret traversed steadily to its right before the main gun fired and the air screamed. Its target, a small armoured vehicle in a dark blue colour scheme, exploded in a spectacular fireball. Inside the tank, the commander dropped down, “Bloody good shot Gunner!” A head with a mane of dirty-blonde hair covered by a bulky helmet leaned up towards the cupola. “Cheers boss,” came the reply over the intercom. Lieutenant Denis Lathan levered himself back up in the turret, the wind blowing fiercely against his skin. He craned his head around, searching for any other vehicles in the area, be they friendly or hostile.

That was when he saw another vehicle erupting out of the treeline to his left, much like the other IFV that he and his crew had just taken out. This one was different though, mounting a double-barrelled missile launcher on the top. The launcher swivelled, making Denis feel like he was facing down the barrels himself. “Loader, load HESH! Gunner, target bearing two-nine-zero degrees, elevate main gun three degrees! Fire!” The gun screeched again, narrowly missing the enemy IFV. Now it was its turn, and it took full advantage. First one tube was fired, then the other. One missile hit the tank square on the side, while the other overshot like Denis’ own had. He ducked down, shouting furiously into his mike. “Loader, load HESH! Change target bearing to two-eight-seven degrees, lower main gun one degree!” As soon as the light flicked on indicating a live round in the chamber he called out again “Fire!” Now the gun roared, and the shot flew true, hitting the spot where the missile launcher joined the hull. HESH rounds delivered what could only be called a ‘poultice’ of high explosive on the target which detonated a bare second later. The blast tore through the thin skin of the IFV, which didn’t begin to have the level of protection the Beast did. The result was catastrophic. About five hundred metres away Denis lifted his arm up to shield his eyes from the glare. After a few seconds he leaned down again and turned on his microphone. “Alright Driver, alter heading to one-seven degrees, half speed.” The tank roared off, whirling through the mud once more.

[Sisylana]

Unclear

[Part One of Unclear]

His hands were up, almost resignedly. It was dark, so his soon-to-be-captors could not see the devilish smile painted across his scarred face. As they came forward they moved hesitantly, and not without some sort of caution in their step. They had guns, but, who said they would work? His smile disappeared and was replaced by a quizzical look. He was retreating, slowly, while they were advancing, slowly he didn't like that fact, not at all. He wondered in his head, about the different variables that could make this situation go from bad, to worse. A searchlight pointed at him, its transparent glare shining a bright and intense light onto him. He felt around him, his hands flowing against the rough tree-bark. He'd retreated into the woods, which wasn't the brightest idea. The snow crunched and sloshed as his dirty and trashed tennis shoes. didn't help much.

His guns were on the ground, stuck in the mud, they were useless now, of course. Mud was bad, and bad is bad. Why was it so bad? Because it jammed his weapons. Of course, his only option left were to run or allow himself to be captured and sent to a P.O.W. Camp deeper in the woods, where many of his people went to die. Why? They were different and, different was bad, in their state of mind. His despicable unit was there, captured a day earlier while on a latrine break a mile down the road, he'd deserted the day earlier, the military wasn't his dig, he hated authority and was constantly in-trouble, actually assaulting his former commanding officer with his bayonet. That got him transferred here, as part of a penal unit that would no doubt die out here. He would give himself up and continue his plans from inside. It would be fun. They wouldn't suspect anything from him, after all, he was blind.

It'd been many days since that night. He almost didn't remember it the event in its entirety. He certainly didn't remember it visually, on the account of him possessing no eyes. His accommodations in the camp were fairly well off, he claimed a bunk near the factory, mainly because the winter nights in these mountains were just so cold. He'd found his old unit, the day before, and the old commander wasn't to happy. First, he just yelled, but it quickly came to near blows. He didn't know why he was such a disgrace but he did know that know one survives long after they messed with him. A curiously placed shoe near the factory incinerator was found nearly a day after the yelling and hitting, no-one knew who it belonged to.

Killing the poor commander, who's only crime was being pompous and generally distasteful to both men, and women, had released him from some imaginary bonds that kept him from moving on, and leaving this place mentally. He'd carried out a few other murders, yes indeed, all of them were discovered and the blame was pinned on some poor innocent chap. Each time he killed, one of his own was killed as well. He had somewhat of a following, newer P.O.Ws mostly He was seen as a legendary figure, able to see without eyes. He'd told them all that he'd lost his eyes during a drunken brawl four years ago, and out of necessity learned to see without eyes. They still thought a leader of Him.

[Part Two of Unclear]

Evil lives to be incognito. That is the answer to it all, she lurks in the shadows and preys on the weak minded. She tricks them with clever riddles and seduces them with her elegance. Terror is her business, she plays with her prey's minds, until it is reduced to mush. She is here, in the camp. Evil has disguised herself as one of them, the prisoners, the Lanans. Tonight, the weather was cold, extremely cold. There was little to no wind. It was unusual and he knew it. He knew she, Evil, was here. He believed, with all of his black heart that She didn't know what this mountain was. No one really did, this mountain was a mystery in its own right. he stood up, and swiveled his head around the warm bunkhouse. It was a spartan room, he had no possessions.

He stepped out into the cold and moved towards the other, slum-like bunkhouses. In order to stop Her terror from effecting his many followers, he would make sure to inform them of Her, and Her treachery. Around him, on those dreamy gray walls figures moved. It was monotonous, a continuous back and forth motion. He thought little of them. The snow below his feet was downtrodden. It was speckled with mud and maybe vomit. It was far from clean. The snow around him always peaked his interest, although now it seemed unimportant, meaningless. He opened the door to the bunkhouse and a flow of greetings almost through him onto the ground. Why was he so influential. His mind drifted until it recalled Evil. He began to speak in a low tone. Evil, is here, and she is a harsh mistress.

A shadow moved, outside. It stepped off the wall and formed its own shape. The shape of a woman. Evil was no longer incognito. The weather changed, the snow melted and the sun shown through the black night. A violent earth shaking motion tormented the land and it began to shrink, everything around Her shrank, the camp, its walls and even the mountains themselves. She commanded them and they submitted. He was to late, his world was already moving and everything was changing. Nothingness began to shine into the cracks and consume the world. Nothing was where is should have been, it was not where it was before, the world was not anywhere. It had found its way into Suspension and the door behind them had shut.

[Pilgrim Village]

[P/MT] I want you to know that everything I did, I did for my country. - Pol Pot

Roane Province...

The streets lit up with reports of gunfire. The supposed defense forces of the Village were coming down on the Roane with surprising speed. The resistance had only just begun several days earlier, and at the first attack against Village military targets, the province was targeted for bulldozing. Now, resistance forces held their ground in the semi-fortified town of Hasterbrooks. The rattling of gunfire could be heard just outside the cities forty foot walls. The forward lookouts had obviously encountered the enemy, and premature gunfire allowed the defenders within the city to ready the inner defenses.

Village Province...

"I want those pests eradicated!" The Mayor yelled. His aides cringed slightly, his wrath my well be at them, and everyone on the small island. Recently, reports have indicated to a resistance movement, the blasphemy! Infantry had been dispatched, no doubt, but would not arrive until late. And, until a victory is achieved, the Mayor will continue his tantrum with increasing violence. "Yes, of course my liege. Infantry has been dispatched by car to see to their demise," the aide gulped and continued. "However, they may not arrive until late, and by then the rebels will certainly fortify their town of Hasterbrooks." The Mayor looked at the small man, his eyes flickering with rage. A small pistol was brandished. "Pitiful little man. I cannot have defeatists in my cabinet!" The shot sliced through his chest and his heart stopped. In shock, the other aides shrieked, resulting in a pistol in their face. "Clean it up and bring me good news, or you'll end up like that old bugger. Leave me now."

Hasterbrook Outer Defenses...

"Keep up the fire, those fags aren't getting anywhere!" A random resistance member yelled. He chambered a round in his rifle and fired. The bullet exploded inside the barrel and sped towards the hole in the end. The ancient rifle spat the round out and aimed it straight across the field, towards the common enemy. Blood splattered against the metal siding of a staff car and a body slumped down, leading up against it. "Return fire!" a Pilgrim yelled. "Kill the Roane!" Automatic fire matched their enemy's semi-automatic fire. The battle began to pitter out as night fell and the soldiers of both side removed their dead from the field of battle. The battle for their livelyhoods would begin again in the morning.

[The Ben Boys]

[MATURE CONTENT]
[FT]

Author's Note: Yes, there are inconsistencies with the names. It's not Ben-338 anymore, it's Sor-338 (or Soren, in later books). Ben was already my nation's name, so it sounded a bit awkward.

Night's Dawn

Book I

The Last Exile

The man and woman were in a small clearing, the black night engulfing everything but the small fire the man set up. The woman thought that she could make a break for it, but the man would easily catch her.
They sat at opposite ends of the clearing, the muscular and defined man was looking blankly down at his rag-tag robes. No, he was looking at a small small copper disk. There was a name etched on the sides, and some numbers.
The woman was staring at the man. She was very beautiful, long light brown hair, deep blue eyes, and a generous figure. Though she was dressed in little more than servant's clothing, and getting quite cold.
"What is that?" She asked the man in a small voice.
The man did not look up, but simply stated, "A dog tag."
"Who's, what's..." The young woman stuttered, trying to put her jumbled words into sentences.
"Your cold." The man said, getting up and walking toward her. The woman was surprised, jumping slightly when she touched him.
"Take this." The man took off one of his robes as rain started to pour down. The heavy robe settled onto the shivering woman, and she clung to the larger man. Though he was surprised, he put an arm around her gently, and she snuggled onto his shoulder to the man's surprise.
"Why do you want me?" She asked, looking straight into the rain.
"Because your the only one who can save us."
The young woman stared into the pouring rain.
-----
Four days ago, .072 (March 11th, year zero) of the Fifth Age of Sor
"Our will is strong. To think that already we have commenced reconstruction of the city." Jyson Colde spoke, sipping his cold scotch. Not many in the Empire smoked or drank, and even they could find such commodities.
The sun was bright, shining on the broken metropolis that was once the capital of the Empire.
"You know we could do it, the Jump Storms subsiding and millions immigrating in the Empire every day." Sor-338 said, sitting back on the balcony chair, letting the sun heat his body.
"Never this quickly, though. The Palace is already repaired, the spaceport was only secondary when the initial immigrants landed a few months ago." Colde replied.
"I've never appreciated it's beauty, before the Siege, when it was whole and busy. How I envy those times." Sor mused.
"It was necessary, we needed to hit that Val hard, who knew it would be on the defensive." Colde though aloud.
"Speaking of which, we have a problem." A third voice came, and the men turning to face another man, General Kerman Josu, who came and stood between their chairs.
"Another one?" Sor asked himself, as he turned to admire the view once more.
"Yes. Do you recall awhile back, about fifteen years ago, the heir to the Lamone dynasty was sent into exile? Shit with the Senate, something about a bylaw eleventy so-and-so?" Kerman spoke, getting Colde's attention but not Sor's eye contact.
"Yes," was Sor's slow reply as he stared out into the ruined city, "She's dead, I believe. Her ship was destroyed by Jump Storms."
Kerman sat on one of the grandiose chairs, handing Colde some papers, which caught Sor's attention.
"Sixteen hours ago, we caught a distress beacon traveling through the Jump. Two hours later, we discovered a second message was sent shortly after the first, simply stating to 'negate the distress call'. They were traveling without a probe or telepathic, meaning that it had to have been sent, from it's point of origin..." Kerman was interrupted.
"Fifteen years ago." Sor said, the rest of his face emotionless as his mouth was agape.
He turned to the general.
"We found her." Kerman stated, looking down at him.
-----
"What was that?" The woman asked.
It was morning, the light slipping through the branches was warming the air.
But the woman was still shaking out of fear.
There it was, Sor heard it. He slowly rose to his feet, keen to what he was hearing. He was alert, his body in a fighting stance.
The woman was huddled down, unmoving.
It was behind a tree, Sor was sure. He stalked around to the other side of the clearing, around the trees.
A man walked forward towards the young woman. He was a mercenary, wearing armor from the Imperial Army troops that used to garrison the planet. It was old and torn, the dark green armor was worn down to it's original metallic silver in some spots. He had yet to see Sor.
"There you are, you little bitch. You shouldn't have run, you damn whore." The man said, slinging his gun around his shoulder.
The young woman steadily got to her feet to meet the hired gun.
"I told you, I was..." She started to respond before the man grabbed her and frantically tried to kiss the beautiful woman. She pushed him away, kicking him. The man looked furious.
"I was going to bring you back alive. But the boss said dead would be fine." The man said as he pulled out a large knife.
Sor was unarmed, but he stealthily stalked over at the mercenary's aggression. He took the man's rifle and broke the sling, bringing the man back and into Sor's awaiting arm. He quickly sent a single shot through the man's brain, slightly muffling the resulting blast. The body slid back down to the ground.
The young woman was back on the ground, shaking.
Sor walked over as he slung the rifle around his shoulder, reattaching the sling. He held out his hand to the woman, the light brunette taking it as he pulled her to her feet.
"Come on, more will come." Sor spoke.
"Why are you doing this? I still don't know." She spoke softly.
Sor almost went mad at that, his voice firm as they trekked through the woods.
"Don't... do that. Your like your father. The only reason I haven't let you go yet is because I know who you are."
The woman was silent once more.
-----
The destroyer stationed in orbit over Tyt II was moving outside of the local warlord's forces. Eventually the Empire would reintegrate the planet, but for now there were more pressing matters on their agenda.
"We know the ship crashed in the northern continent. She's probably there, you would need to start looking for her at the city of Ulent. Ulent has a population of 60,000, mostly refugees from the Judges system." The Orders Guardias Knight spoke to Sor. Since the death of the Emperor, the security and personal legion of the Emperor (the Orders Guardias) has been trying to find a worthy successor, with no results. It took a lot of teeth pulling to get Sor on this mission instead of a Holy Guardsman.
"Got it. I'll come in by unarmed shuttle, move in town with no weapons in a hostile territory, find the heir, and get out with a few days." Sor stated, sarcastically. Why the hell did he have to do this kind of shit?
"Your an ANGEL, you can do it." The Knight pointed out. It was true, as an ANGEL he had the toughest and most brutal assignments since he was fourteen years old. That was when there were more than four of them left. Thirty years of war will do that to just about anyone, making them hard as rock and tough as nails. Of course, the age didn't show. Jump Travel made him biologically 28 years old.
"Now the heir will look about your age, she was only twenty when she was exiled and her powers will help her look and feel younger." The Knight continued, and Sor came back to reality. The Imperial Family had a history of not only prolonged youth, but longevity, among other Jump-related abilities.
Whatever the Knight said after that, Sor was only half listening. He was deep in thought, wondering why he felt so, so...
He didn't like something about this assignment. It made him feel strange, and he wanted to get this done as soon as possible.

Sor was in town, by now. There were mainly wooden houses, some were stone and others made from hulls of ship. None were more than two stories high.
Except for one, in the middle of the Ulent. An estate belonging to the residing warlord, a sparse ten acres. It had walls, and surrounded by guards.
It would be Sor's luck if...
Fuck, he thought.
Sor checked the predicted image of the princess by now, hiding in a small pocket in his robes. It was a perfect match, other than the fact she looked dirtier. She walked across into the square, carrying with her clothes for her master. He knew, somewhere in his consciousness, that she was here. It scared him when that happened, it was like he had a sixth sense.
He wasn't a telepath or a navigator, his JF (Jump Factor) was 21, in the below average range. But there was always that buzz, that feeling he had itching his brain. That feeling, in Sor's experience only telepaths could do that. Was the woman trying to contact him? She had a JF well above average, according to her testing a few years back.
Don't pay attention to it, he thought, focus on the mission.
Sor walked up to the gate, his cloak hiding his face as he saw Princess Shala Lamone walk up to the main building in mere servant's clothes.
"You looking for something, mister?" One of the guards asked, heaving his lasrifle.
"A job." He stated simply.
One of the guards snickered. The other smiling said, "And what job would that be?"
"Security, mercenary work, gun work." Sor made up on the spot, as Shala entered the gate, ignoring Sor.
"Well, the boss doesn't like people like you around, so get the fuck out of here!" The other said, tripping Sor from behind as he fell into the dirt. They laughed, and Sor steadily rose.
He instinctively punched one guard as he went over to push him back down, while the second went to pull Sor off him. Sor then brought his elbow on the other, as Shala looked back to see what was going on.
Wow, a few hours on Tyt and already I managed to blow my cover, Sor thought.
One of the guards went for his gun as Sor beat the other down. Sor promptly turned the guy around as a human shield while the other brought his gun to bear. The guards on the metal palisades were aiming at Sor.
Someone clapped.
A man in a large overcoat, much too big for him, fur pants, and a large beard smiled and walked over to Sor, motioning all his guards to lower their weapons. Shala was behind him, looking at the ground.
"Boy, I am Lord Frarok, ruler of this kingdom. You want a job, you can get it." The man smiled, as Sor released the guard from the headlock.
"Thank you, sir. From what I've heard of you, that is a great honor." Sor said, bowing slightly to flatter the obese man more.
"Thank you, my boy. I have a security slot, would you like to have it. You would live in the servant's quarters for the time being Mr...?" Frarok was searching for a name.
"Underhill, James Underhill at your service." Sor lied.
"Well, Mr. Underhill, let Shala here show you to your quarters." The warlord gestured to the Princess, who was still trying to look at Sor without taking her eyes off the ground.
"It would be a pleasure." Sor responded.
Damn, that was too close.

"These are your quarters, I hope they're to your satisfactory." Shala spoke to Sor as they entered the shack.
As she closed the door to straighten up his bed, Sor closed the wooSor door. Shala turned around in surprise.
"What's your name?" He asked.
"Shala." Was the meek reply.
"What's your last name?" He inquired, as if it was obvious.
"I don't have one."
Sor decided this wasn't the time to expose who he was, and he let the beauty observe him unpacking.
"Who are you?" She asked, her pale face unreadable.
"I'm from the southern continent, I travelled up here to look for work."
As he finished unpacking his mediocre possessions, Shala was frowning behind her back. He was lying, and sooner or later she was going to find out who he was. She left the room, her auburn hair swaSorg as she went back to serve her master.
-----
They were traveling at a fast pace, Sor determined to keep Shala from the mercenaries. They were heading up a low rise, trying to get to the dropship as soon as possible. The ship in orbit already was standing by, and if they didn't reach it by tomorrow then they wouldn't be evacuated for another 28 hours.
She was out of breathe, not having Sor's endurance or augments. Her face was flushed, her white cheeks blood red.
"I, I can't, go on." Shala wheezed as she fell on her knees.
Sor immediately turned around to face her, "Come on, Shala, if we don't go on they will catch up to us."
The roar of engines could be heard.
"Shit, they got armor." Sor said, listening harder to the high pitch engine.
"How do you know that it's armor, it sounds like a groundcar." The woman said, heading toward Sor's position.
"No, those are tanks. Light tanks, they must've took it from the Army compound." Sor said.
"Get down!" The man whispered, pulling Shala down into some rocks, hiding from the tanks that rolled by.
-----
Sor was working that night, watching over the guard's quarters. It was relatively easy, the people stayed as far away from the area as possible, especially at night. Apparently these jackass guards had a knack to shoot anything that moved when it was dark out.
Go figure.
It was quiet, save some dogs barking and the wind. The dog barking was what caught Sor's attention. He could hardly recognize the sound. It sounded more like a person.
Then he saw it, a woman was screaming, but a few guard's were trying to stop her by covering her mouth. They were carrying her over to the guard's quarters, her body squirming.
She was practically below Sor as she went inside, her blue eyes wide. Sor jumped down onto the dirt, and went inside to see at least half a dozen other guard's, who were excitingly trying to take off their pants. But the soldier smelled something, alcohol. Shit, they were drunk. Shala's eyes went even wider as she realized what they were going to do to her.
One of them went and smiled at Sor as the other tried to undress her, "Hey, guess what bitch we got today! Saw you eyein' her earlier. If you don't tell the boss that we've been doin' this to the maids, you can have a bit."
Shala yelped and a single tear ran down her perfect cheek.
Sor always had one problem that has nagged him since training at age four, whenever he got mad he would lose control of all rational thought. His mind lowered itself to a lower level of conscious, more of instinct.
The ANGEL grabbed his knife in a flash, stabbing the man to his right, twisting the knife around to stab the man to his left. He raised his rifle and shot each of them with a brief burst from his rifle.
Eight men lay dead.
And three hundred more were awaken from across the grounds. Sor turned to Shala and commanded, "Follow me."
And they made their flight.
-----
"Does it always rain on this planet?" Sor inquired, to no one in particular.
"Only at night." Shala replied.
They were both under a hanging rock, shielding them a bit from the heavy rain, and pying eyes. Again, a heavy cloak covered both of them, but Shala was still cold. Earlier she resorted to sharing some body heat, but not getting too close. Now she was snuggled deep into his arm, forcibly wrapping his augmented arm around her as a blanket of warmth.
"Who are you? What's your name?" She asked.
Sor sat, motionless, and the young woman thought that he wasn't going to answer her. Finally he answered, "Sor."
Wasn't that a name for something? In Precursor? High mountain, that was what it meant. But something else interrupted Shala's train of thought.
Shala raised her head slightly to look Sor in the eyes.
"I know your a soldier, do you have a serial number or something?"
Sor stared into the rain, only his mouth moving.
"338." Was the monotonous answer.
Shala settled down again in Sor's warmth, and whispered: "Your an ANGEL."
Suddenly everything came into view for Princess Shala.
-----
ANGELs were always a mystery to the common man. They were known to exist, as very selective and elite soldiers, but the real scope of these operatives were never really known. Since the age of four, they were brought up to be soldiers that would fight for the Ben Boys Empire (it's meaning in Precursor), or simply the Benian Empire. They never knew love, family, or peace. The only people they had were each other.
But after the climactic Battle of Ben Prime, only four of these warriors were left alive. They were all hushed up, put away in top government positions as alias's until a new ruler was chosen after the Emperor died at Ben Prime.
-----
Sor awoke and Shala was gone. She wasn't there, in his arm like she was barely an hour ago. Sor was a very light sleeper, a cursed talent he adopted during training. He would've known if she was trying to get out. The sun was out, it looked about it was about six-o'clock, the ground was already drying from the previous nights' heavy downpours.
The man stood and looked around, his keen eyes trying to spot the woman he has risked life and limb for.
"Hey," A light voice echoed as Sor reared to see who it was.
It was Shala, carrying some wood and sticks, Sor looked blatantly relieved.
"Thought we may need to build a fire, but then it started to warm up." She said with a light smile at the man's shocked face.
Sor managed to contort his face into a serious one, "Don't... do that ever again. I thought I lost you."
Shala put on a cute smile, "Miss me much?"
As she walked on to drop the wood, Sor couldn't help but notice her curves. He quickly shook her image out of his mind.
By far, this was the weirdest mission he's ever been on.

They could afford to build a small fire, even though the people who were trying to find them were a few miles away. In this thick forest, the smoke would stay under the trees and drift for miles and miles. If anything, it helped them avoid their pursuers.
Shala was lying down under the small rock, and silently awoke to see Sor, holding those dog tags in his hand, his eyes seem to glaze over as he stared fixated at the copper disk. Shala got up and walked over to him, sitting by him. He instantly fell out of his trance as she made out an etched "W" on it.
"We need to get moving." Sor said as he check the sun, "It's half past nine, by the looks of it. We better get moving if we're going to make it."
"Make it where?" Shala inquired.
"How do you think your going to get off this rock?"
"I thought there would be a shuttle waiting for us, or we would join an invasion force that would reintegrate the planet."
Sor shook his head, "You really have been gone a long time."
He got up and grabbed his pack, "We have another two days' hike to get to the extraction point. We have sixteen hours to get there."
He doesn't seem worried at all, Shala thought, But I think he knows something I don't.

It was true, Sor had a plan. It wasn't very good, his instructors would have called it too risky and foolhardy. But Sor was the biggest fool of the company, that's probably why he did so well.
Shala lay in a ditch, her luxurious hair hiding in Sor's cloak. Sor was right beside her, his stolen rifle out as he awaited his prey as he gazed forward at the road. They were there for at least an hour, Shala was sure of it. The mud was drSorg on the cloak as the air got warmer.
Suddenly an engine sounded out.
Sor made a motion that told Shala to stay hiding. She did as she was told. Sor crept up a tree, not seen from anyone as his hunt was coming to an end. The buggy sped past, Sor needed to time this right to get out of here alive.
It was coming faster, faster.
When it was right under him he leapt down onto the truck, almost a little too late as he struggled to stay on. Luckily, with the element of surprise he brought his rifle to bear on the two men in the driver and passenger. He shot the passenger first to keep him from shooting, and as the buggy stopped he shot the frightened driver. He was an unarmed man, but this was an important mission. Everything and anything on this rock was fair game.
In ten minutes the two fugitives were cruising toward their escape.

"Why did you kill him?" Shala asked, her tone neutral.
"They were the enemy." Sor responded evenly.
"No, the unarmed driver. He wasn't a threat, he couldn't hurt you."
Sor almost chuckled, "'War is what drives us, unifies us, and divides us.'"
"Martin James Hayson." Shala replied, as they bumped over a rock. She grabbed a handle as she glanced at Sor, "You still haven't answered my question."
"War is hell. I know you've heard it before, but it really is. I killed him because we can't afford any loose ends to tie up, and he was a big loose end." Sor replied.
Shala again fell silent as she let the cloak down in the compartment, letting her hair flow with the wind.
"'We'? What ever happened to 'I'?" She said in a half-smile, slightly seductively.
If there's one thing that Sor never learned about, it was women. He never had the luxury since he was in the ANGEL program, and his face started to go red.
Weirdest... Mission... Ever.

Sor was being careless, he was making his presence more and more known. Sor thought it must be Shala on his mind. No, it wasn't her. Yes it was. Uggh, Sor thought. Strange new feelings were amassing in his mind. Was it lust? Love, dare say? It was like something was disturbing his inner workings, ruining the perfect system in his mind. Yet he liked it, he felt much better by it, like a void had been filled. A void that shouldn't be filled, Sor feared.
A shot rang out, then another. Another. All in a lapse of time that Sor never got. The windshield was shattered, but they still came. Two buggies were behind them, firing old ballistic machine guns cracking at them. But he worst part was there was blood. The even worse part of that it wasn't his.
It was Shala's.
She was screaming, slumping down in her seat. Sor checked his watch absentmindedly. Exactly nine hours to get there. As Sor remembered, there was a canyon that took two hours to go around, and they would have to leave the buggy behind. It would add five hours to their trip.
Sor grabbed his rifle and fired back at the enemy, wildly firing, trying to distract them. It worked on the irregular troops, one buggy swaying off the road. The other buggy managed to stay on course, unloading it's vast ordinance into them. Sor stopped firing the rifle then saw the rim of the canyon in front of him.
It was cliché was he was about to do, but it was his only option. He revved the engine up and rushed past the trees, the wind carrying off the sounds of Shala's ceaseless screams of agony.
"Hang on." Sor yelled vainly, more to himself than Shala. He wrapped on of his arms around Shala as the car was about to leap across the canyon. Sor and the crying Shala moved to the front of the buggy, as they attempted to cross the canyon. Sor threw the woman over the edge of the canyon as he started to fall with the buggy.
Sor jumped onto the edge, slowly climbing up as the pursuing buggy fell over the edge as well. It worked, thank God Almighty, it worked.

Shala couldn't tell if she wanted to kiss Sor or strangle him. He patched up her arm as they stood just outside a small clearing. She couldn't see how a shuttle could fit here. Her arm ached, but her mind was elsewhere. Sor was sitting a little ways away from her, staring at the dog tag.
But Sor-338 wasn't thinking about the copper tag he was looking at. No, he was thinking about the beautiful Shala. Was she trying to come on to him? Seduce him? He would never know, all the females that he encountered on a sentimental level were more like little sisters than attractive women.
It sucked to be an ANGEL.
A hand touched his shoulder. If it wasn't for his training, he would have jumped. It was Shala, her soft hand resting on his broad shoulder.
"You okay?" He asked, slightly surprised. This was more out of care for Shala's psychological safety than her physical safety. Not many people could cross that canyon the way they did without having a small mental scar. He knew Marines who would be nervous after their little escapade.
"Yeah, just a bit scared." She said, laying her head down on his shoulder. Sor didn't mind, he put his head back and set the dog tag in his pocket. The shuttle would be here in about eight hours. 0600 by the time they would arrive.
Finally Shala broke the silence. "Thank you." She whispered, so quiet that Sor barely caught it.
"For what?" Sor asked, brushing some of her hair out of her face, which surprised him as much as Shala. But she made no move to resist, she even liked it. A strange emotion the young woman hasn't felt in years was flooding her. It scared her, but in a good way.
"Saving me. I know it's your duty, but you've done so much, risked so much for me." Shala replied, bringing her lips up to kiss his cheek. He hasn't been able to shave in a few days, and there was a slight bit of facial hair on him.
He turned his head in surprise, and their lips met awkwardly. It surprised them both, but they mode no move to stop. The kiss lasted a good ten seconds, before they broke it, their faces still close together.
No! I can't so this, she's the mission, don't get too close to her, Sor thought. But his mind gave him conflicting signals, and his primal nature was behind it.
Shala was slightly nervous. She's never allowed a man to get this close to her, at least willingly. It was a sacred area where no man has passed, and an inner force was pushing her farther.
She locked her eyes with the muscular man. I guess he's sexy, in his own way, Shala thought. His rugged features were blocked by dirt, his body, though muscular, was scarred with tattered clothes on it. his short cropped hair was black with filth, yet the woman was still attracted to him.
They continued on a second kiss, this one longer and the better of the two. At this point they both made up their minds.
And both of them thought at the same time: What the hell.
And they threw caution to the wind.

Shala rolled over onto Sor's toned chest, a devilish grin on her face.
"That was great." Was all she could say, as she let her head fall onto his chest. Both of them were under the heavy cloak at this point, which shortly before they were sleeping under.
"It was," Sor replied with a smile. He put a hand on Shala's auburn hair and stroked it lightly. It was irresponsible and foolhardy, what he just did. But somehow, he didn't regret it. The strange new feeling he felt, it wasn't lust. That was blatantly obvious after what he just did. But what was it?
Sor judged the newly arrived sun, creating a red horizon. Thank God it didn't rain last night, they would've been –"screwed" doesn't seem like the appropriate term– caught with their pants down. That did seem too appropriate for the situation either.
"We have about an hour until the dropship arrives. We should probably get dressed." Sor mused.
Shala lifted her head to put it by Sor's, "Do we have to? Can't they just find us like this?"
She already knew the answer, and within ten minutes both of them were fully clothed and packed. Just in time too, up above a flicker of light could be seen. Then it came closer, and it appeared to be a Falcon dropship.
"That small thing can get us into space? Without a grav-suit?" Shala asked, amazed at how small it was.
"We'll still be pulling three G's, but this one has a grav-cocoon to help ease the flight." Sor nodded as he approached the hatch. Shala was behind him, almost trembling. Four troopers came out, each of the Orders Guardias. All four of them saw Shala, and immediately bowed before her. This appeared to scare her even more, because she grabbed Sor's hand and held it tight.
Shala's blue eyes gazed hopefully at Sor's brown pupils. She looked like a lost puppy.
The grip on Sor's hand tightened as the knight's led them into the bay silently, and the two lovers strapped themselves in. Shala was closing her eyes tight and whispered as the engines went to full power, so that only Sor would hear: "I love you."
That's when Sor found out what this new emotion he felt was.

[Rhods]

Them.

The cry of a Hawk was hardly audible as Hans slowly walked through the snow covered forest separating his home from the village. His mind was full of troubled thoughts as memories of his last visit to town bounced about like so many spring propelled pogo sticks. The soft hiss of the snow as it fell from the thick pine branches served only to heighten his paranoia and Hans quickly determined that they were in fact watching him.

He quickened his pace, stepping over logs and across ditches instead of sticking to the well worn path that snaked through the Forest. Finally he cleared the woods and emerged onto Old Mr. Gunter’s field. Flat frozen land extended for five hundred acres and yet he could feel their eyes upon him. He was in the wide open but knew that there were eyes everywhere, eyes everywhere. Now full out running he crested the big hill and gazed down upon the Village, Herth.

Herth was an old town, founded sometime in the Middle Ages by illiterate peasants. The most obvious legacy they left behind was the misspelled name, Herth was officially known as Hearth but the stone carved sign that marked it’s position off the King’s Highway dubbed it Herth. Hans quickly ran down the hill, boot clad feet crunching the fragile frozen sticks and ice piled by the children who mere hours ago had been at play.

People saw him and stared, their eyes drawn to the obvious revolver he carried strapped upon his hip. The soft snatches of music that were emanating from the Inn was just enough to slow Hans but not enough to stop him. He crossed the village in haste, certain that they were still following him. Kicking open the door of a garden shed, he hid in the back corner of the old brick and mortar shack. Pressed against what appeared to be some sacks of cattle feed that had long since molded he drew his revolver and loaded the squat weapon.

They were close, they were following him. He had to defend himself after all, what kind of chap refused to defend himself? He slowly poked his head out of the crooked doorframe, scanning the narrow alleyways for his pursuers. They had killed his family, shot them dead. His wife, they had raped her first then shot her. His son, they had just shot him. His daughter, they had raped her too and stabbed here with a knife. Then they had waited for Hans, no they wouldn’t get hands though. He was too smart. He had taken his revolver and he had ran to the village to get help. The problem was, no one could see him. No one.

He left the shed and jumped the wall, they were following him because he was wearing his favorite shirt. Only he had a bright red shirt. He took off his shirt, they wouldn’t follow him if they couldn’t see his shirt. They would hunt for him near his house, they would hunt for him with dogs maybe or black men. No probably dogs.

He ran, shirtless, down the street, people looked but they couldn’t see him only his shadow. They couldn’t see him climb the wall surrounding the Constables house, they couldn’t see him. He dropped his pants, they were old horrid leather pants and would probably squeak when he needed silence. He left them in the Constable’s Garden. The Garden was nice, so nice and green so nice and white. He dug out a small nest amidst the snow and dropped his pants there, he would come back for the pants they were his pants after all.

Gazing up toward the large house, Hans hunted for the proper window to enter. He had to warn the Constable that they were in the forest and soon would be in the village. He climbed the vines that dominated one of the dark red brick walls. Dried vines snapped and broke beneath him but he kept climbing, kept getting higher and higher. Finally there was an unlocked window that led to a woman’s bedroom. It was so nice and pink inside here, nice smells and the scent of dreams. He crossed the room and slowly opened the doorway.

A narrow hallway greeted him and Hans turned to head off to the left. They were right on his tail, they were right there! He had to reach the Constable before they did. Hans passed about a dozen rooms, oak paneling and several roaring fireplaces were observed as well as all manner of relics from the orient. Finally he found what had to be the Constables office, it was a big oak door after all with a gold plaque on it. Slowly opening the door, Hans was surprised to see the Constable and his wife sitting and reading a great book, it was something about the conquest of some place or another. When they saw Hans however they both stood quickly.

Such behavior was strange, so strange. Hans raised his revolver and said quickly,

“Sire, they’re here! They’re in the forest! They killed my family!”

The constable slowly tilted his head and said,

“…Who are you?”

Hans lowered his revolver and began to shout,

“What?! WHAT?! You, you don’t know me?! You’re one of them aren’t you! Have been for years! I knew it!”

Hans raised the Revolver and shot the Constable through the face. Brains, bits of hair and skull fragments blanketed the late Constable’s Wife who let loose with a might scream. Hans grabbed at his head and said to the woman,

“What manner of Daemon are you! You’re one of them too!!”

He fired the remaining five rounds into the Woman’s Chest, silencing her. As he turned to leave his gaze was caught by a distant twinkle in the night. Then his world went black.

Tomas stood over the raving madman who had just in one fell swoop eliminated all apparatus of Colonial authority for fifty miles. He looked down upon him and softly muttered,

“Poor insane blighter.”

[Jenrak]

[ FT ]

His Eyes Spoke of Nihilism

"It's all right, we'll just have your mother take care of him while I'm gone, and she'll help you. I should have enough deposits in the fund." He said as he rubbed the single set of tears that fell from her eyes in the cafe, the march of the soldiers by the streets past with a skirt as they lifted, fell, and raised again their feet with a perfect, momentous occasion. The skies were blue and beautiful, heralded with a grand milky azure azure shade and dotted with slight skies in the air as the swirl of wind left the small and tiny blankets of snow touch the wreaths hung outside. "The draft is not pleasant, but Dahl says we need to do it, so I have an obligation for my people. For you, honey." He kissed her forehead as she nodded, gripping the teacup with her hands as she breathed slowly, allowing herself to regain her composure.

Her eyes were reddening, but they remained a brilliant emerald.

"Alright, okay. I understand. Okay. Help me up." She slowly moved the chair out, as she slowly began to stand up, leaning slightly on the table as he quickly rushed to her aid, his hands wrapping around hers as they slowly walked over to the open doors and left askew their table, having swiped the bill and paid, the two of them walked down the streets to see the parade-like sight, but she was nowhere near as happy or as celebratory as any other of the people standing by the side of the roads, watching them all wave with glee and excitement. "How long?" She asked, walking with him hand in hand as they slowly approached their car, pressing the small fingerprint lock as the doors opened up with a tiny whirr.

"It's going to be a distant place, but the schedule for leaving it will be in about a year. I'll try and keep in contact, but alot of the work is going to be on the front lines when everything is working out. The King wants us to move, and he's already sent in the first few squads already, and there's been little word. It's...not good." He said, staying calm as he watched the side of his windows, waiting for the marching to be over before he moved his car out of the way, but there was no space to be had. They continued to march, and the flood seemed to be endless. "Christ, goddamn it." He gritted his teeth.

"Honey, I think we should just walk."

"No, I'm not walking home. Not leaving the car here, and you're not walking home."

"No, I mean it's fine." She said, shrugging, still looking at the front window at the bumper of the car in front. "We can just walk before we edge out - "

"No, it's okay. Once they're done the march, we can get out. It shouldn't be too long, I had the march yesterday, it should be okay soon. Just...wait. Let's just wait. Let's just - "

"It's not a far - "

"We're driving!" He yelled, as she cringed at the words, shaking her head before she fumbled to open the doors, getting up as he looked with panicked eyes after her.

"Wait, honey, honey. Come on, babe, come on. I'm sorry." He quickly rushed out, unlocking the doors before she collapsed.

---

"So how's your wife doing?" A large and well muscled, clean shaved man looked at him, his eyes almost like an interrogation in themselves, his arms crossed as he sat across from him, looking at him with the utmost attention. The man stared back, equally clean shaved and donning a small scar on his left cheek.

"Not bad, I don't think. Communications don't get through, so I'm wondering. She was expecting a child when I left, and I left her with her mother with my cheques. Not much information gets through, though. Too much fighting and jamming in the area. I hope our child can get used to me. I mean, I know I've been busy, but I mean, whatever works, right? I don't know, just gotta get used to it. A year to catch up on."

"Is that what they tell you?" He looked at the man, almost dumbfounded. "Christ, remember it's experimental travel right now."

"I know, communications are long, so what?"

"Well, it's not just that. It's...time."

"What about it?"

"It's long, and we're moving fast. Time isn't kind to men who break God's laws."

---

He feels the hot air blast against his face, blowing strongly as he looks out at the scenery, expecting a welcome for a first victorious year, but there was none. There were no great steel gates that were there when he left, and there were no grand doorways that arched over the glistening towers. Just a giant, beautiful set of glassy structures that sat besmirched a shadow, giving calm way to the dense summer heat. The sun was shining brightly in the sky, but the place was hot as ever. His old winter jacket was useless in this scorching heat, and as he entered the hangar, he looked at the clock. 2:11.

He set his watch to that time. He had exactly 48 hours of leave before the second deployment, and he wanted a photo.

He dialed the number at a pay phone, as the machine beeped at his number. "You must dial one and the area code, followed by the number." A mechanical voice responded, prompting a frown. Area code? Didn't it localize anymore? He tried the cell phone.

Nothing. Was it off?

He tried again. Nothing.

"Huh." He said, hanging up the phone as his card emerged from the slot. Instead, he took the bus.

---

He rang the door of his home, feeling that the front lawn was a bit different as the car was not his, but somebody else's, and he wondered perhaps it was his mother in law's. The lawn was simple and green as normal, but small lines of gardens were littered across the front. Had she been gardening? He wondered, ringing the doorbell as a set of swift feet opened the door, revealing a blonde haired girl, no younger than twelve or thirteen, open the door with a wide-eyed stare.

"Hi, is the owner of the house home?" He asked, as she looked at him with a wide-stare.

"No, my dad is out." She said.

"What about your mother?" Perhaps it was the sister? Possibly.

"She's divorced, so she doesn't live here." The girl replied, eying him suspiciously. "Do you want to come back later?"

"The Haggertys, right?" He asked, looking at the house number. Yep, 385.

"No, we're the Stauntons." She answered.

"How long have you lived here?"

"Ever since I was born."

---

"Hi, can I get information on the previous owners of 385 Riverdale?" He asked one of the directorial staff at the community compact, as the woman eyed him suspiciously.

"Can I get your ID?" She asked, as he pulled out a small military photo with his service date. She looked at it, looked at him, and then looked at the screen. "Are you sure?" She asked, wondering if he knew what he was doing.

"Yes, I'm sure."

"Our policy is to warn you that given slipspace travel we have issues regarding - "

"I'm completely sure, ma'am." He stressed, as she sighed.

"Alright, sir." She said, taking a small post-note and wrote a tiny address on it, before handing it to him. "This is where they're living at currently."

"Thank you." He said, looking at the note as he grimaced. "Is the right date and address?"

She looked at the note he handed back, before handing it back herself. "Yep. The very same."

It was on the other side of the world.

---

"How are you holding up?" The large man asked as the dropship held up into space, gliding off into the blackness as the group stayed silent, but he stayed talkative. "Are you doing alright?" He asked, patting the man on the shoulder.

"Why didn't you tell me?" He asked, raising his head. "Why didn't you - "

"I did. They call this the Widowers' Ride. To them, to anyone, you're as good as gone. We're the dead for a reason, and that's because we have something to lose. All of us. It's too soon for anyone to do anything, but it's not too soon for us to go to war for a colony we've never heard of. All because of the name of the King that we - "

"Fuck the King! Fuck! Are you telling me that forty six fucking years have passed since we left? They told us it was a year's leave!"

"It is. To us. But when you travel," he swallowed his saliva, his face turning to a solemn expression, his eyes redding but not tearing, "time crawls to a stop. When you get closer, it starts to feel bad. Then worse. And you think nothing happens, but slipspace fucks you up. It just - "

"No, no." He unbuckled his seat belt, getting up as the other soldiers pinned him down, keeping him down as he struggled about, "No, fuck this. My wife is dead. She's dead. I have no idea where or what my child is doing. I have no fucking clue what's going on! Please. Please don't do this!"

"We have to, man. For the King." His eyes spoke of nihilism.

---

"Another year, man. Cheer up." The large man patted him on the arm. He looked back up with a rabid stare, shaking his head. "What?"

"Nothing." The man replied, as they got off the ship and onto the airport.

"I'm going for a drink at the pub. You coming?" He asked, pointing to a military bus.

"No, I have a flight to catch. I'm staying at the airport. I've talked to the Captain and I'm going to take the third drop from the Eumen base." He answered, as the large man smiled at him.

"Alright. I wish you luck, man."

"Thanks."

---

"I'm sorry sir, but this residence is no longer a valid lot, we cannot ferry you to the area." The computer replied in his automated taxi, gliding along the roads effortlessly as it slowly began to stop by the side of the road, awaiting his orders.

"What do you mean?" He asked, his voice rising a bit at the news. "It's a valid lot, I'm sure of it." He looked around the pastures - there were panels now. Panels everywhere. Panels, panels, panels. Different from the glass sheets that dominated the scenery decades ago.

"That lot has been in a position of demolition for 16 years, 443 days, and 11 hours." The taxi replied. "Is there an alternative location you would like to visit?"

"The nearest Community Compact, please."

"Calculating. We hope you have a safe trip. Thank you for choosing Ava Travel."

---

"So you're the first deployment guy?" One of the captains answered at Eumen, corralling the soldiers into the dropship. "Well, we're meeting up with the task force carrier in the exosphere, so let's get going. Shame you had to come all this way to Eumen from Yakarta. Especially when the original flight had enough time for you."

"What do you mean?" He shook the captain's hands before walking with him into the dropship.

"Well, it's been delayed. Apparently one of the sergeants went crazy and shot himself and a few of his fellow men at a pub. Big guy, intimidating fella. They're still trying to get the fill-in and get the bar issue fixed."

"What was his name?"

"We can't say, for privacy reasons. I'm sorry, but I shouldn't even be talking it. Heh, me and my big mouth." The captain shook his head, and entered the dropship.

"Oh, christ." He followed, the piece of paper in his hand.

---

"Three years? Most don't last that long." The captain stated, looking at him as the man looked back. "Most give up, or they end up losing the will to live. Only very, very, very few live to tell the tale."

"I have someone waiting for me." He lied.

"Many do." The captain nodded. "Family?"

"Yeah." The doors slowly opened, again allowing cold winds to leave a poor impression as he emerged from its doors. He waited through the line of customs again, rushing through the doors as he checked his watch with the base's watch, immediately rushing to call a taxi.

The slid open when it arrived, and quickly he blurted out the address, the pen almost fading away on the note.

And there, it went.

---

He got the address right, as a quick look at the number confirmed it. 217. A young man opened the door, barely in his twenties, dressed in a black shirt and jeans. "Hi." He said quietly, almost demure.

"I'm looking for the Haggertys." He requested.

"I'm Jim Haggerty." The young man shook hands with him. "What do you need?"

"Do you know a woman by the name of Alicia Haggerty?" He asked, as the young man frowned for a bit.

"That's, if I recall, my great grandmother. She's been long passed away for years, though."

He gulped his saliva.

"Can I speak to your grandmother?" He asked.

"She passed away last week, actually. The house is still in mourning." The young man pointed to his black clothing. "Are you a friend of the family?"

He was slightly taken aback. However, very quickly, he nodded.

"Alright, well, I can give you the lot number and address to where she is buried." The young man grabbed a note and scribbled it down on a piece of paper. "Sorry."

"No, don't be, and thank you." He answered.

---

The rows were soft with the feel of meadows, and the sky was a milky azure. The wind was devilishly cold, even moreso that day, almost trying to bring up a cauldron of a storm, but there were not enough clouds to have done so. This time, the coldness was touched by the warmth and the breath that escaped his lips gave faint specters from his mouth. His hands were grasped around a plastic-wrapped set of flowers, draped around a nearly empty lot as he looked at the marble tombstone standing in front of him. There were a set of flowers laid down at its feet, and the photograph of an old woman - frail, yet happy - decorated its smooth surface.

She smiled back at the photographer with a great gleam in her eyes as her toothy grin hid the long plastic tubes running out of her nostrils, the image of a set of IV bags in the background hidden skillfully by the placement of the photo. Her clothes were peppered with red dots as her vein-stricken neck exacerbated her balding head and withering, frail shape. And he smiled at her picture, laying down the flowers at her grave.

Patricia Haggerty, loving grandmother of three, mother of two, and faithful wife.

"Hey? How's it going?" He knelt down to the tombstone, his hand on its corners as if they were her shoulders. "Huh, a girl. She gave birth to a girl. A beautiful baby girl, I would guess. Do you know who I am?" He asked, smiling as his chin quivered, his eyes reddening as he felt the heaviness in his eyelids. "It's me, daddy. I'm sorry I wasn't there for you or your mother. I'm sorry. I'm sorry. Daddy promises he'll be there for you now, honey. He'll be there for you. He'll be there for you." He smiled his own toothy grin, and laid them down.

"She gave birth to a girl. I can't believe it. You have your mother's eyes, I can see that. You have your mother's eyes. Beautiful emerald eyes. Oh, I wonder what you look like when you were your mother's age. Did you have a guy on his beck and call for you? Or were you a sweet person, like your mother?" He chuckled to himself, still looking at the photograph engraved into the tombstone. "I bet you got the attention of all the guys, didn't you? Your husband doesn't deserve you. I wouldn't approve of him, haha. I always wanted to say that." He clenched his teeth together.

"You have a wonderful set of grandchildren. They must really love their grandmother. They're still mourning for you. Faithful kids you raised. Wonderful. I only wished I could have raised you, honey. To go to the doctor's with you," he began to cry, "to help you with-with night terrors or nightmares, I don't know. And-and I'll call you up when you get older and go to college, and then you'll get annoyed at me when you're with your friends, and I get all worried. I'll say 'Hi honey, do you have a ride home? How's it going? Don't trust those older guys,' and then you'll get annoyed and maybe snap at me, and I'll get a bit defensive for a bit, but regardless, I'll end every call the same way. With 'I love you.' "

He fell to his knees.

"How long has it been? I don't want to look. I don't want to. No. Don't want to." He kissed the tombstone, the taste of dirt on his lips. "I'll see you very soon, honey. Be good for daddy, okay?" And as he walked off, the first snow of the season fell, ready to cover the wreaths for the season in tiny blankets.

[Jenrak]

Table of Contents updated. Please let me know if I missed anyone.

[Amerikians]

[PT] [ Mature ]

Heroes

The smell was the most horrible part, people would say that but they disagreed. That was nothing.

Other people would say it was the rubble, how hard it was to navigate and how it held and hid them; the Viet Maiese. The Yellow Devils. Daemons, they fought like daemons from Hell. But that wasn't so bad.

Other people said it was the fire, the fires that never stopped burning, that glowed that sickly blue-black color. But they disagreed, it wasn't so bad.

Other people said it was the bodies; and they agreed, finally. It was the bodies, everywhere; omnipresent. The bloated eyes, staring out forever, looking right at you; no through you. Into your very soul where it judged you, measured you, found you wanting. And they agreed, that was the worst part.

They were unavoidable, everywhere like God and his Angels, they were everywhere. Various states of decay, various states of disgust from skeletal remains to freshly dead, bloated and gray with death, the visage of evil in their eyes, the light all gone.

They agreed; and the Yellow Devils agreed with them, they were there too; in the mud and the filth, but the Americans were not daemons, they did not do this...Did they? No! They didn't do this, they couldn't have done this! They were the l-liberators, the g-good ones. R-right?

The bodies were the worst, they stared and they stared and they stared! They never ever stopped staring! Not even the ones without eyes, because you knew; you knew! They were always always staring, so accusing; always accusing.

And they agreed. Who agreed though? Who always agreed with the worst thing, the horror was the bodies? Who agreed...The Heroes agreed; the Heroes always stared, no matter what side, no matter what they did to be remembered, they all ended up the same way. Always staring!

They agreed, because they never went home; they didn't leave, they just stared and stared. The calls came from the generals and the battles raged; but the heroes just stared and stared. Because in the end, bravery and remembering; it doesn't matter. The fate is the same, staring and staring; with bloated maggot-eaten eyes, flesh grayed and decaying.

They're crawled over top of, and hidden beneath and they lay forgotten. The smoke has cleared and the conflict over, the smoke is gone and the war is done. But the Heroes don't make it Home. They just stare and they stare...Forever, that is a Heros' fate.

[Gratislavia]

Mature, MT, WIP

Asylum

Prologue

Official Imperial Order
Addressed to: Dr. Oliver Clementine, head of ASYLUM
Pertaining to: Prisoner #1237 (Jesse Hearstring)
Regarding:Transfer of Prisoner #1237

The Imperium of Gratislavia by decree of his Majesty the crown Imperiator, is pleased to announce that your facility has been charged with its greatest challenge yet. Re creating a stable mindset within prisoner #1237 so that he may function in a normal prison facility. We have chosen your facility due to its excellent track record, concerning the rehabilitation of dangerous or unstable individuals. You may consider this a great honor and we do pray that you show great results. As you read this we assume that prisoner 1237 has arrived, best of luck.

Written in the hand of Dr. Oliver Clementine
Addressed to: the Gratislavian court system

Rest assured that i am quite honored to undertake this responsibility, however i do have some concerns. Prisoner #1237 has displayed... violent tendency's and i would like to request... a transfer of said prisoner. The ASYLUM facility at current does not have the resources to secure a stable and secure environment for prisoner #1237. I do expect some kind of response however i do not anticipate the arrival of this message until after this blizzard has passed. Good day to you sir.

Dr. Oliver Clementine

Chapter 1 "They call me heart" Written in first person, from the perspective of Jesse Heartstring.

The small room was surprisingly comfortable, for a prison that is. One thousand two hundred and thirty seven men were packed into the mountain top fortress, that was known as ASYLUM. The mental facility was supposed to rehabilitate prisoners, but only one man had come into to see me, and he had run out of the room after I had attempted to claw his chest open. However I do share the room with another man, Jimmie Himmel had committed three murders seven rapes and countless assaults. The second most feared prisoner in the facility, he had laughed when the man had run screaming from the room. Now he was approaching me, with a look of...friendship was it?

"Hey whats your name man? What you in for bud?"Jimmie chuckled softly extending his hand, with a sly look on his face.

"They keep calling me 1237, but on the outside they call me heart." I said quietly grasping his hand and shaking, with an air of humility.

"No shit huh? your Jesse "Heart" Heartsring, the dude who killed those families and ate their...well hearts?" Jimmie stated with an odd tone of awe and respect.

"They were...weak, they tried to tell me i had problems, no it was them who had problems not me not me they got what they deserved they got what they deserved hahaha." I stated with a sense of insanity i could feel "heart" coming out, he was taking control again, he was going to..."You think i am crazy to don't you? I am not crazy i am a visionary i i i i neeed their blood, i need their HEARTS!" I could feel my body going into compulsions, no not my body Hearts body the other me, the dark one.

Jimmie ran to me a terrified look on his face "whoa man calm down calm down!" He shouted as he shook my body vigorously, i could feel heart getting tired i "COME ON MAN STOP IT!" then blackness.

My head hurts ow god it hurts IT HURTS! My mind screamed at me, begging for relief. Then heart started talking "Jimmie i need the hearts, i need the hearts, you wanna help me don't you! DON'T YOU!" I screamed at the wall hysterically. Oddly enough i was screaming in the exact opposite of Jimmy, or was I really screaming at Jimmy or myself or those dam guards or the world?

"Yeah man I do I do please just calm down." Jimmie who was standing atop the sink with a look of terror on his face, clinging to the wall in terror.

"Then why did you hit me Jimmie," I started to rise walking closer, "Friends don't hit friends Jimmie, friends help each other." I had lost all control now as i drew ever closer to the terrified man. "So," my arm shot out closing around his leg, while pulling at the same time ripping him off of the sink and onto the floor. "Every and i mean ever hit me or touch me again,"I felt my legs bending, as my face drew close to his, " ill ease my needs by devouring your heart." I punched him straight in the face, laughing as his nose broke with a sickening crunch. "So how do we get out of our cages?"

and with my final words the massive blizzard that had been assaulting the walls of ASYLUM killed the power, and opened the doors of the cages.

Chapter two, "So this is ASYLUM"

I was unconscious, wait no i could still feel Jimmie and hear his sobs. Why was it dark? What is going on, oh wait! Oh yes the big storm! The big snow storm knocked out the power of course. I slowly began to stand up while uttering to the still whining Jimmy, "come on now just be quite, I still need you your not going to die yet. GET THE FUCK UP DAMMIT!" I delivered a swift kick to his ribs before grabbing his chest and pulling him to his feat.

"Right sorry, i didnt mean it im sorry ill help ill help," he said with a whimper cowering away, while ominously placing his hands over his hearts. "I will listen i promise, please please just let me live."He said shying away even more.

"I already told you i was not going to kill you, stop whining!" I shouted, as a sense of overwhelming anger and hatred at the weak man over came me. I WANTED to kill him now to rip his heart out, but he had been here for three years or something like that and i needed his help with navigation. So i did the smart thing picked him up as i said, "hey im sorry i need your help though bud, if you lead me to the armory or get me a map ill let you go, ok?"

He thought for a minute then started talking, "the guards will have retreated to the armory and barracks, we prisoners have free run of the place know. However that will make it quite a bit harder to capture the armory." He said with a bit of his old fire back.

"Alright lead the way buddy, but dont try anything funny, i can still pull your heart out." It amazed me how heart had taken complete control now, my conscious didn't even attempt to block his decisions heart was in complete control now.

Jimmy started to walk slowly grasping the bars off the cell door as if trying to feel freedom, he took another few steeps then turned to his right and looked down. "Well it looks like the guards tried to kill a few of us off didn't they."Jimmy slowly bent down examining a bullet riddled corps, "12 gauge spread shot, point blank range. This guy was probably dead before he hit the ground." He said with a sigh, looking back only to receive a kick in the face.

"Dammit did i say to stop walking, you will stop when told to now get moving." I shouted as i drew my foot back, slowly sliding my boot off. I brought the boot to my lips, and slowly started to lick the the tiny droplets of blood that adorned the edge of the boot. "Now lets getting moving, i said while simultaneously lifting Jimmy to his feat. I paused for a second and delivered a swift push to his back, finally he was walking again.

It felt like we walked for hours, but time moved at an odd pace when it was dark. It actually only took one hour but finally, Jimmy and me arrived at the guard sector of ASYLUM, where we came across quite a sight. A battle, no a war, guards versus prisoners. All battling for control of the armory, all battling for their lives. Only time would tell who won this desperate struggle, only time would tell who the survivors where.

Chapter 3 War