The Native Story Index [Open; All Techs]

[Sino-Japanese Empire]

[ PT ]

[ Mature ]

Part Seven - Tenno Heika Banzai!

American Wrath; Meet Japanese Resolve

Iwo Jima - Dai Nippon Teikoku
1945

The battle was over...The fighting fought; the bodies high. The Heroes in the sands, in the black soil of the volcanic island. All were dead; or preparing for their final stand. They had been fools to stand here; against the unstoppable wrath of the Great American Empire. But they had done so without fear or hesitation; because that was their duty, that was their task and they completed that task. The final radio transmission had been simple; the mainland was ready for the barbarian hordes, their services were no longer required.

It sent a sobering message indeed. Die Well.

General Kuribayashi Tadamichi stood in the final bastion of Japanese resistance on the entire island. There were two hundred of them left. Two hundred only...Everyone else, everyone else who had dared to hold the lines were dead; and the ones who had surrendered, they were intelligent; he would give them that merit. They were cowards, perhaps. But smart ones. Now, all that remained were these men. A palard one stood before him, the young man was of unique circumstances, the Private was a conscript like so many others, at this point there were no free men in the employ of the Imperial Japanese Army. There were no young men left at all besides him, it seemed.

"What did you do?" The General spoke to the young man who's distant look and wild fear filled eyes came back into focus.

"I was a baker..." The Private said. "And a father, once." He sighed sadly; it would be depressing knowing that his legacy would be left by a child that had yet again, a broken family. The Barbarians had destroyed everything they came across; and nothing was sacred any longer, not even the notion of family. "A-and I will never see him, or my wife again."

The bunker shook, nay, the mountain shook beneath the wrath of the American Dragon. "You will. I have one final order." The General said as he turned to the young man anti-dramatically as his hand fell to his sword. "Live well."

"Sir?"

"You will survive; I order you to survive. Live well; so that your family is not another one shattered by this war that we cannot win."

"I will try." The Private said softly as he pulled the bolt closed on his empty rifle, the action was a reaction now; he was no longer a baker; a soldier like the rest, waiting his turn to die.

"These." The General lifted a bag, letters, journals, memoirs, orders, transcripts. "Make sure the enemy never finds them. Ever."

"Yes sir." The young man took the bag and retreated into the command bunker as the General looked to the men. "I told you before they came here. We are all dead men. Let us make sure these cowards never forget us!" The troops began to file out as the young man dug his hole; the General simply said something he'd said twice before. "Everything comes in threes."

---

"Let it be known. This day, here; we who died. We did so with honour." There was no speech, the General drew his sword, but also his sidearm, American in design...The silver and white construct. No bullets...

"Tenno Heika Banzai!" The surge forward, the wave of men and steel that fell upon the Americans; startled as they were men did die this time; and they were not just Japanese. The cowards had their victory, but they had been shown something; they had seen the audacity of the Japanese on their own soil, and their blood covered the lands, not just the Japanese. They had taken as much as they had been given.

The American Empire was not so invincible.

Fin.

[Sino-Japanese Empire]

[ PT ]

[ Mature ]

Part One - You Think You Have More Men Than...Us? Amusing; Little Russian.

Chinese Wrath

The Great Ming Empire
1945

"They fight to the south in Wo. I hear the Americans have encroached on their island fortress at Iwo Jima." The two spoke lightly as though nothing were happening; it made things easier this way. The tilling millions of troopers moving towards the Soviet Border. Allying with Nazi Germany had been a bad move for the Empire; but the Empress had caved after Hirohito made his point very clear; that this alliance of would assist the Empire.

It did; until Germany fell to the Soviet Hordes that were now coming through Siberia into Manchuria and Mongolia. The British Barbarians were coming as well; and the Australians, and the New Zealanders and the Americans, and the French...And the entire World against two. Even with the population of China, even with the blind loyalty to the Divine Dragon Throne. China could not stand to the entire world.

Least of all these Northern Barbarians who thought they had more numbers than China. Zhukov shifted four million men into Siberia, the Chinese shifted six million men into Manchuria; he sent two million to Siberia-Mongolia they sent nine. And even with that ability; they were losing through sheer size of the domain they had to defend. The lines were too thin, the Soviets too many in some places. China; the Middle Kingdom was being invaded by Barbarians again.

Franky it pissed them off.

"Forward the Empire! Charge!" This was no Banzai Charge; the Chinese had bullets, and shells and ships and tanks. This was a roar of artillery fire and the screech of rockets as a wall of men surged forward against the ragged conscripts of the Soviet Union. Korean and Han, Manchu and Mongolian; free men all united by their burning hatred of European Subhuman Garbage; and their undying loyalty to the Empire.

The Soviet lines broke and scattered; the onslaught of men and armor too much even for the great Soviet Union. T-34-85's blasted apart under the cannon fire of artillery and French made Renault light tanks that by all means should no longer be in use. Men fell to a combination of machine gun, rifle, grenades and even bayonets and Jian long swords.

The Han took much, but gave so much more; lesson one, Mother Russia. You do not have more men than China. You are fighting the Limitless Host...

[The Kangaroo Republic]

[ PT ]

The fate of Izkart Chapter 2

A week had passed and life in the village of Izkart returned back to normal. While Jørge's death still bothered many of the inhabitants of the village, they still had work to do. The sound of the early morning birds woke up Wernand. The young roo, still half asleep, slowly got out of his bed. He rubbed his eyes and looked around, a dirty beam of sunlight found its way through the poorly constructed roof of Wernand's house. He slowly hopped over to the trapdoor that led to the ground floor of his little home, opened it and went down the ladder to get to the living room of his house.

He made his own breakfast right away and got ready to go to work. He began boiling some water over the fireplace. Boiling water before drinking it was quite important, the water from the well in the village wasn't exactly the cleanest water on earth. He went over to a small cupboard in the corner of his home and opened it to see if he had anything left to eat. There were a few slices of bread and a wedge of cheese left. He got both out of the cupboard and put them on the table in the center of the room and looked for a knife to cut the cheese. He found a small, rusty knife in the cupboard.

He got the knife out of the cupboard and started cutting of a slice of cheese to put on his bread while the water in the cauldron over the fireplace was making a sputtering noise. Wernand put a slice of cheese on his bread and folded it over. He hopped over to the cauldron where he was busy boiling his water and he put out the fire. He had a ladle hanging next to the fireplace, he looked around to find a cup to put the water in, he found one on the table. He hopped over to get it and then went back to the cauldron over the fireplace. He got the ladle and he opened the lid of the cauldron, some steam escaped from the cauldron. He got some water out of the cauldron with his ladle and carefully poured some in his cup, making sure not to spill the hot water. He had wanted so much to be able to afford a stove but alas, he was too poor to be able to buy one.

Wernand sat down and put the cup with water in it on the table, he let the water cool down a little before drinking it, in the meantime, he started munching on his bread with cheese. He looked outside the window and watched the sun rise over the hills. He took another bite from his bread and wondered what he would do this day. He became a little lost in thought but he quickly snapped out of it, he looked at the cup that he had left on the table, there was no more steam coming from the water as it had cooled down again. He grabbed his cup and started drinking the lukewarm water. He took a bite out of the last bit of his bread and stood up again, ready to go to work.

He hopped over to the door, opened it and went outside of his little home. It was a rather warm day, there were no clouds in the sky. He wasn't going to need to put on a coat. Wernand began working in the field behind his home. He started spreading manure to fertilize the ground. This wasn't his busiest time of the year, he was usually done in a couple of hours. Autumn was the time that he had the most work to do, that's when he had to harvest his crops. The smell of the manure wasn't a very pleasant one, but to Wernand, it smelt like roses.

"Well, all done." Wernand said. The sun was already up to its heighest point in the sky when Wernand had finished. He looked around and wondered what to do now. Maybe he could read a book or something, today wasn't exactly a very eventful day. He hopped back to his little house when a voice called him from behind.

Wernand looked behind him, startled by the sudden voice but then he saw Rudit again. "My god, Rudit, do you make a habit of startling people?" Wernand said. Rudit giggled, "Hehe, I am sorry." "Well, what's the matter?" Wernand asked. "Well, my brother is off to the tavern again and..." Rudit began. "Again?" Wernand said. "Uh, yeah, again. So I was wondering, you aren't planning on doing anything this afternoon?" Rudit asked. "Uh, no, I just finished working in the field so there's not really anything I have to do now." Wernand said. "You can come in if you like, I know how your brother can be when he's drunk." Rudit smiled, "Yes, not really that fun." She said. Wernand opened the door to his home and the two went inside.

Wernand sat down on the same chair he always sat on and Rudit sat down on the chair next to him. "Would you like something to drink?" Wernand offered. "No, I am not thirsty." Rudit said. "Alright, so anyway, how is it?" Wernand asked. "I am fine, little annoyed by the drinking habits of my brother though." She said, "Last night he got back home, completely drunk and he started yelling at me for no reason." Wernand remained silent, he listen to Rudit's story carefully. "He always does so whenever he is drunk, and he drunk most of the time. But he's protective though and at least when he's sober he acts nicely sometimes. He's been like a father to me ever since..." Rudit paused for a while, "...my parents died."

Wernand looked at Rudit, he saw the sad look on her face and he patted her on the back to comfort her. "I know what it's like to lose both parents." He said, "You want to talk about it?" "Yeah, it happened when I was very young, I was only 12. I used to live in the town of Karbe at that time, my brother had already moved to this village at that time. There was a fire that started in my home, I don't know how it happened, but it burned to the ground. I was the only one who managed to escape." Rudit said.

"My brother, he was devastated when he got the news but he was glad that I survived. He brought me to his home in this village. He's been very protective, like a real father, always worried about me. And then he developed a drinking problem and all but..." Rudit stopped for a while, "...but behind the alcohol-addicted roo is somebody who deeply cares about me, perhaps even too much." Rudit said. She took a deep breath, it felt good to her to have somebody to talk to for once.

The two continued talking for a while, about what life would be like in Inbruk, if they would ever get to see the land of their ancestors again. Dusk was already setting, but the two didn't seem to realize that it was already getting late. Suddenly, Rudit's brother barged in. "Rudit! Damnit, I was looking all over, luckily somebody told me you were here, do you know how worried I have been?" Rudit's brother said quite directly. "Oh please, Pjoter, I am not a small child." Rudit said. Wernand, not saying a word, just stared at the two. "Couldn't you have told me you were going here? I was worried sick!" Pjoter said. "Oh please, you're too busy drinking at the tavern all the time." Rudit said, she relucantantly stood up from her seat.

"Just come with me already, we're going home." Pjoter said. "Fine, fine." Rudit said and she followed her brother outside. "And you, I don't want to see you near my sister again, you got that?" Pjoter said, pointing are Wernand. Rudit glared at her brother, "Shut up, you can't tell me who I can see and who I can't see!" she said. Pjoter turned his head to his sister. "Just come with me, it's getting late." The two left. Wernand just sat there for a moment, he had known from Rudit's stories that her brother was very protective but he didn't know that it was this extreme.

The rest of the day nothing happened, he just kept thinking about what happened, he wondered what it would be like for Rudit, she didn't have any freedom to choose for herself. Her brother was so protective that he tried to control every step that she took. He felt sorry for the poor girl. Not only was he worried about Rudit, he was still very worried about the fate of the entire village. He still remembered Jørge's death very vividly. These two problems kept him thinking.

(end of chapter 2)

[The Kangaroo Republic]

[ PT ]

The fate of Izkart Chapter 3

Another day in the village of Izkart. Wernand was at the small tavern of the village, sitting alone near a table in the corner, sipping a mug of beer. It was rather busy in the tavern that day, there wasn't really much else to do in the little agrarian village. Wernand could see Rudit's brother, Pjoter sitting at the other side of the tavern. Pjoter either didn't seem to notice him or didn't give a damn about Wernand's presence, the roo appeared to be too busy drinking. Wernand looked away, he didn't want Pjoter to notice that he was looking at him. Wernand didn't go to the tavern very often, but he felt very stressed by all the thoughts that went through his head yesterday and he needed some time to relax for once.

Wernand took another sip from his beer. He looked outside of the window, he wondered how Rudit was doing. Last day, her brother seemed to be quite mad at her. He hoped that she was doing okay. He looked back at Pjoter for a moment again, he appeared to be having a lot of fun with his friends. He quickly stopped looking at Pjoter's direction and continued staring out of the window.

He drank the rest of his beer and he continued staring outside the window, from out of the window, he could see the old church of the village. It was one of the oldest buildings in the entire village, having been built a long time before the great war of the 18th century. There were a few other roos who were going on with their daily lives but for the rest, the village was just as calm as usual. It was quite cloudy and even a little chilly, in contrast with yesterday, when the sky was cloudless and the day was very warm.

Wernand became a little bored now, there wasn't really much to do in the tavern. None of his friends were there. He stood up and hopped out of the tavern. Outside he felt the chilly wind blowing against him. Luckily his fur kept him warm pretty well. He looked around, he noticed Rudit walking down the dirt road that went past the tavern. Rudit noticed Wernand too and she waved at him, apparantly not caring about her brother's order to leave Wernand alone. Wernand waved back. Rudit stopped next to Wernand. "Hi, how are you today?" Rudit asked. "Uh, fine." Wernand asked, he sounded a little unsure, her brother didn't want Wernand to talk to Rudit and he afraid of how he would react if he saw him talking with Rudit. "I'm sorry about what happened yesterday, anyway, I haven't had the time to thank you for being such a great listener, I really had to get it off my chest and all and..." Rudit said untill Wernand interrupted her, "Oh, you're welcome. Really, I didn't mind at all." Wernand said.

Rudit looked at Wernand, she didn't say anything for a moment. "Don't worry about what happened after Pjoter took me back home, he didn't yell at me or anything." Rudit said. "Alright, but I am afraid of him seeing us talk together though, he'll be very angry when he sees us together." Wernand said. "Ah, I don't care about what he said. It's none of his business." Rudit said, "Really, I'm 19 already but he still treats me like a toddler sometimes. He always wants to decide for me. But, uhm. Like I said, really, thank you for listening to me, nobody has ever been as understanding as you've been." Rudit said. Wernand smiled and said, "Well, friends always listen to each other, right?"

"Yeah, that's what friends do." Rudit said, "But I..." she paused for a while and looked directly into Wernand's eyes. "I think this is more, I...I..." She started stuttering, "I think I'm in love with you." she said. Wernand just stared at Rudit in amazement. "Uh, wow." Wernand eventually said. "Hehe, it's silly right?" Rudit said and chuckled. Wernand started blushing a little, "Well, not really, I mean, I kind of feel that same for you, so I thi-" but before he could end his sentence Rudit kissed Wernand. It felt like time stood still at that moment for Wernand, he closed his eyes and enjoyed every second of the moment.

"Alright, that's it." A familiar voice said. It startled both Rudit and Wernand. They had found out that Pjoter had seen them kiss. "I told you not to go near my sister!" Pjoter said, furiously. "Pjoter, please, calm down! Can't you let me decide for myself for once?!" Rudit said, trying to talk some sense into her older brother but he seemed to completely ignore her. "Well now you've done it!" Pjoter said, he made himself as big as he could, and boy was he large, he stood at a height of almost 7 feet. All the commotion attracted the attention of some of the other townspeople and they watched what was happening. Wernand got ready to defend himself but he was no match for him, Pjoter punched him hard and it knocked Wernand to the ground almost immediately.

"Wernand! Are you okay?" Rudit asked, worried about Wernand. Wernand was still conscious but dazed by the powerful punch from Pjoter. "Damnit Pjoter, why are you doing this? Don't you get it? I want to be with him and you just won't allow me!" She asked. "You've only known him for what, how long? A week now? How are you so sure he's not going to hurt you?" Pjoter said, "I don't want you to get hurt by anyone!" "How are you so damn sure that he IS going to hurt me?" Rudit said furiously. "I don't want to let anything happen to you, sis. You've only just met the guy and you already stay at his home entire days! How are yo so sure he isn't going to do bad things to you, huh?" Pjoter said, he gave Wernand another spiteful glare. "Just come with me already." Pjoter said. Pjoter, dragging his sister away by her arm, started hopping homewards.

Wernand sat up and stared at Pjoter dragging away his sister. She didn't seem to struggle but she did give her brother a couple of angry glares. Wernand was helped up by some of the bystanders. Wernand continued staring at Pjoter and Rudit while wiping some of the dirt off his red fur. His head still pounded from the punch and he was pretty sure that he got a black eye from the punch as well as he could barely see with his right eye.

(end of chapter 3)

[The Kangaroo Republic]

[ PT ]

[ Mature ]

The fate of Izkart Chapter 4

It was a very hot day, a couple of days had passed since the fight with Pjoter. Wernand still had a lot of trouble seeing with his right eye after the punch Pjoter delivered to him. He needed to spend some time completely alone to clear his mind so he was travelling around the woods north of the village, just to watch the beautiful environment, the area wasn't as densely forested as the Ardenezwud he had occasionally heard about. But there were more than enough trees to provide shade on the warm day. Wernand looked up and saw some birds flying over his head, he had always loved nature, and today was a perfect day for a hike.

He had already been outside for a few hours and was heading south, back to the village of Izkart. The young roo felt much better, he had some time to think about his place in the world. He still missed his friend Jørge a lot, and Pjoter told Wernand to stay away from Rudit, whom he loved so much but the hike through the woodlands helped him deal with the stress of the past weeks. Cheerfully whistling, Wernand got back to the village, only to find that all of the villagers all appeared to be shocked. "What happened here?" Wernand asked one person. "You didn't hear? One of the guards has been murdered, somebody must have finally gotten enough of their oppression." he said. Wernand blinked, how did this suddenly happen?

The person started explaining, "It happened right there, they found his body behind the church, they say that he was stabbed." Wernand quickly hopped towards the church to see it with his own eyes. A group of kangaroos had already massed around the church, and there lied the guard, stabbed in his chest. Another guard was busy investigating the site of the murder. "Damnit, Korbaen, I'm gonna find out who did this to you, I swear." The guard said, he apparently knew the other guard quite well. Wernand recognized the 2 guards from somewhere, then he remembered, they patrolled right past him on the day of Jørge's death.

The guard looked at all the other citizens. "Well why are you all just standing here? Leave now, this is an investigation site!" The guard said. Most of the villagers left, but a few who were just too curious, including Wernand, continued staring from a greater distance. A couple of other guards soon arrived to help in the investigation. Wernand saw Pjoter, he was also curious about what had happened. Pjoter looked at Wernand suspiciously. Wernand realized that because he wasn't present in the village for a while he was most likely going to be viewed as a suspect by almost everyone. One of the guards approached Wernand, his predictions were confirmed when the guard asked him where he was. "I was out to hike in the woodlands to the north." Wernand said calmly. The guard looked at him, he squinted his eyes, unsure whether to believe him or not. It was quite a pleasant day, the weather was great for outdoors activities. "Alright, I'll believe you, for now." the guard said skeptically.

The guard went back to the investigation site, the guard who knew the victim was interrogating Pjoter, just in hearing range of Wernand. "Well, yeah, I do suspect Wernand." Pjoter said. Wernand couldn't believe it, was this a way of Pjoter to get revenge on Wernand because he spoke with Rudit even when Pjoter told him not to? "Yeah, I mean, nobody saw him during the time of the murder. And he has a motive too I think, after all, he didn't take Jørge's execution very lightly. He could have killed the guard to avenge his death." Pjoter said. He noticed that Wernand was staring at him, he just grinned at the sight of him. The guard stroked his chin, he did remember seeing Wernand shouting how angry he was about Jørge's death. He stared at Wernand too, wondering if he really could have killed the guard.

Wernand was scared, Pjoter was trying to make the guards think that he murdered the guard. He was terrified of what would happen to him if the guards would accuse him of murder, he didn't want his life to end the same way as Jørge's. "And after all, he's strongly against the Barzavian regime and all. He tries to stir up civil disobediance and all, just like he did at the day of Jørge's execution, he was trying to rally a bunch of other villagers to protest, you saw that too right?" The guard nodded. Wernand's hands started shaking, he had to go away slowly, fleeing would only make him even more suspicious. He slowly hopped away, not looking back at the guard.

"Hey you, stop right there!" The guard said. Wernand panicked, and he started to hop as fast as he could. The guard started chasing him and he was promptly followed by the other guards, he wasn't there when the murder happened, he had a darn good motive and he expressed opinions against the Barzavian regime. The guards didn't give a damn about any conclusive evidence, they wanted arrest Wernand immediately. Wernand continued hopping at a fast pace. But the guards were catching up to him already. One of them tackled him to the ground and lied on top of him to try to prevent him from escaping. But Wernand, being a red kangaroo, was much stronger than the antilopine kangaroo and he knocked him off of him and stood up.

The other guards arrived as well after a while. It took 3 guards to finally get Wernand on the ground. He struggled to get away but he couldn't. "You are hereby under arrest, criminal scum!" one of the guards said. They began dragging him off, Wernand struggled with all his might but the 3 guards were just to strong for him. The villagers just stared at him as he yelled for help, but nobody came to rescue him. He noticed Rudit staring at him, the tears were running down her cheeks. She didn't believe that Wernand could have possibly murdered anyone but she was too scared to act. The guards dragged him into a wheeled cage, they tied his his hands and feet to the four steel bars at the corners of the cage, preventing him from moving at all.

"Whe- where the hell are you taking me?" Wernand asked. "To the capital, Ordrio, you've committed a very severe crime, murdering a guard. Hehe, you're gonna burn for that for sure." One of the guards said, chuckling. "But I am innocent!" Wernand yelled. "Yes, yes, they all say that." The guard replied and he laughed. Wernand struggled to get loose but the knots were very tight. He lied on the floor of the wheeled cage, his legs and hands tied to iron bars. The guards locked the cage and attached it to a wagon. Four horses were waiting to pull the wagon. The guards got into the wagon and they sped off, the cage Wernand was in started to move slowly now. He was scared, he was most likely going to burn at the stake like Jørge did. A terrible fate.

The road to Ordrio was a long one, it lasted for an entire week if it wasn't longer, occasionally the guards had to stop to rest and to eat and drink. Wernand was stuck in the same position for the entire time. Occasionally the guards give him some water, but they didn't even think about giving him some food. All that Wernand could see was the sky, he couldn't sit up as he ropes that bound him didn't allow any movement. The wagon passed the city of Nezanni, an embarrassing moment for Wernand, all the citizens could see him. Some of them laughed and threw rotten tomatoes at him and booed him as the wagon went through the city of Nezanni and continued its trip to Ordrio.

Sleep was hard for him, how could a sane kangaroo be able to sleep if he knew that he was going to die soon. But after a while, fatigue kicked in and he fell asleep a few hours before the wagon arrived in Ordrio. When he woke up again, he found himself in a cold prison cell. His life in his village was behind him now. He wasn't ever going to get his old life back, ever. Rudit, the woodlands, his farm, all of it he was never going to see again. His chances of not getting the death penalty were as close to zero as possibly. The only thing of the outside world he could see was a small beam of sunlight coming from the prison window that was situated high above him. All was over, there was no hope for him at all.

(end of chapter 4)

[Milograd]

-Snip-

[Sino-Japanese Empire]

[ PT ]

[ Mature ]

Part One - Disillusions and Shattered Lines

Chinese Wrath

The Great Ming Empire
1945

The Command Center was held together by a barely kept up order; the chaos quickly over taking as shots got closer and the screech of rocket artillery came forward. "The Soviets are pushing forward across every front." Someone said bluntly, no fear or hesitation. "We cannot hold the lines any longer." No panicking, despite the state of the pitched battle which had cost literal millions for both sides. "The Japanese divisions in Manchuria have collapsed and the Americans are liberally bombarding the Japanese home islands, as well as Taiwan and the Southern Coast."

"That is fine." The Commander said bluntly as he moved his thoughts from no where. "Not one step back. This is our land, the Soviet Barbarians will not take it without clambering over all of us and all of their comrades."

"Which they are doing." The cold logic was truth, and a simple one. "We cannot match Soviet industry. We have more men, they have more tanks. We have more shells, they make theirs count. We have more tenacity; they have more brutality. We know no mercy, they have no souls."

"We are fine." The Commander repeated as he placed a hand upon the golden engraved Jian's hilt. "We are fine. None can stand to the might of the Ming Empire. Move our auxiliary troops to stop the Soviet advance in Manchuria."

"With due respect we should commence a burning retreat."

"Your advice has been noted, move up our auxiliary troops."

"Yessir..."

[Abruzi]

The End has Begun

FT
Mature-ish

The air was thick, hazy and filled with the ashen remains of millions. His armor’s auto senses tried to dim the atomic detonation but even the Mark IV Plate could do little to smother the glow. Brother Adrian knew that lethal radiation was already being absorbed by his armor, the armor that turned him from man into walking weapon. Man, he was hardly one of those feeble creatures. He was an Astartes, a Space Marine, greatest amongst the Emperor’s warriors and now one of the few left alive on the planet of Atlas.

It had been a short war, a very short war. Two days of constant bombardment followed by a lightning strike on the enemy population centers by the Marines of the Purgators Chapter, it was only after the population centers had been purged that the enemy unleashed their backwards atomics. Backwards as nuclear weapons may be they were still effective. Two seconds was all the warning the Marines had, the devices had been cloaked beneath the interference caused by the massive volumes of fire they themselves sprayed forth. This error had cost the Purgators nearly one hundred Marines, nearly one hundred. Now Adrian was all that was left, a lone warrior trapped on a potentially hostile world.

The ruins of the Hive were smoldering, fires already raged on the upper levels and only in the relatively stable fortress district could Adrian rest. It was the true that the Emperor’s Chosen needed no sleep and no rest, but Adrian had to plan, to think. He was alone in a dead hive, on a soon to be dead world with no apparent way off. The world was pre-FTL, pre space craft even. There would be no escape. Even as he told himself that he began to plot and plan. He was a Space Marine, he knew no fear and would die well. The few survivors he had encountered so far had offered no threats to Brother Adrian, their fragile bodies poisoned by the Atomic ash that rained down from the heavens or burned black by the mighty heat of atomic fission. They had all died easily, disgracefully.

The Hive was just one of many, one of many that had suffered atomic extermination. Already he was predicting the chances of any life surviving fifty years on Atlas, the odds were slim. Still, if there was some kind of life it would be outside of the Hives, it would be in the wastes and wilds. Loading his holy Bolt Gun, Brother Adrian set off at a loping stride. His armored footfalls rocked the weakened floor and the moan of survivors echoed through the air as he passed. Those that showed themselves were either downed with a well placed bolt or simply gutted with his combat blade. There was no mercy for the foe even now, for only in death did duty end.

Finally as he came upon the gate the first tangible signs of resistance sprang up. ten men in primitive body armor holding solid slug rifles. With shouts of rage they turned and fired upon Adrian who calmly advanced through their fire. His armor shrugged off the bullets like rain upon stone, the most damage done being a slight chipping of the paint. As he neared Adrian holstered his Bolter and punched out with his now free hand. The mighty armored fist tore into a man’s chest with a supernatural ease, the bone shattering and giving way before it. Fixing his fingers around the poor soul’s beating heart, Adrian gave a slight tug and unleashed a geyser of gore as he tore the organ free. Throwing it at the second man, Adrian calmly stabbed another through the eye.

The thick and sharp combat blade split the man’s skull and the corpse crumpled. He was truly an Angel of Death, administering his holy sacraments to this most unworthy of flocks. Adrian twisted and turned, surging forward and jumping back, every step or motion ended another man’s life. The metallic armor he wore was soon coated with blood and his noble combat blade dripping wet with gore. It had taken four minutes, ten men were dead. They had died well, better than most on this Emperor forsaken planet.

Opening the massive iron doors, Adrian stepped out into the wastes and set off to the east. This planet like most Holy Terra’s sun rose from the east so to the east Adrian would go. The ash that rained down from the heavens had not relented this whole time and already nuclear winter was setting in. Gusts of wind and clouds of fallout covered miles upon miles with toxic death but to Adrian they were mere annoyances. His pilgrimage continued, those survivors he met were treated with a sort of respect, questioned and if pious individuals taken under his wing. The Marine had tired of killing these people, these wretches that now killed for scraps of food not fit for dogs.

The forlorn flock grew, Adrian leading the way with every adamantine step. His armor was dented in several places but he still was proud, his Bolter still spat holy death and his blade was still sharp, he was still a Marine. Behind him came his followers, taken to calling him the “Forlorn Wanderer” they rallied to him like a standard. His tales of the Emperor had won their hearts and minds, for great the Emperor would be if he could deliver them from this radioactive hell. They trusted him completely for did he not protect them when the raiders and bandits came? Did he not deal death to the unclean and heretical? He did and he always would in the minds of the pilgrims.

As he marched, Adrian began to hear the distant call of the Emperor. The Golden Throne’s rays had illuminated this planet’s skies once why would they not again? He could make it so, he would make it so. The God Emperor was simple in his instruction, his followers would be led to a lake high in the mountains of Atlas. There they would be greeted by his prophet who would see that they were made to accept the Emperor in both mind and body.

Adrian relayed this to his flock, his great booming voice calling out,

“Civilians, the Emperor has graced me with visions of redemption and salvation. We are to make a pilgrimage high into the mountains to his holy domain. There shall we be made to accept him truly and completely! Submit or die.”

They followed him, they followed him like they always followed him.

The lake when they arrived was the most pristine of pristine lakes. The sky and water blended, even with the radioactive clouds and atomic ash it was magnificent. The pilgrims shouted with joy and as one descended into the cool water, bathing in it’s holy embrace. It went unnoticed at first, who would notice a small thing like color change? Slowly the lake transitioned from a pristine blue to an unholy red. The pilgrims tried to escape but there would be no release, great hands burst forth from the water and held any who tried.

Booming laughter echoed across the world and suddenly Adrian knew that something was horribly wrong. The screams of the pilgrims soon split the air asunder as they all were boiled alive in what minutes before had been their only hope of release. With an ear splitting roar a great portal rose up from the bloody depths. Glowing with ruinous energy it began to spew forth Legions upon legions of Daemons and Heretics. Adrian responded in the only way he knew how, he fired his Bolter and hacked with his blade.

Holy wrath filled him and as he reached a destructive climax the Marine roared,

“Let the Purgation Begin!”

At his word Daemons died, heretics fled and even traitor marines were destroyed. It is said that for those few minutes, Adrian was unstoppable. Yet he was not invincible for long. Out of the gloom came a most evil enemy, a Chaos Space Marine. His armor was ancient and beetle black, upon it were numerous kill trophies and in his hands lie a pulsating Daemon-Sword. The Heretic’s eyes were gray pits, devoid of thought or emotion. Empty soulless orbs that looked upon Adrian’s body and even his soul. With a smile that promised evil the Chaos Marine spat out,

“You shall die Imperial whelp!”

Raising the Daemon blade he charged and met Adrian’s combat blade. Finesse and determination of the Purgators met the savage fury of the Death Cult. Adrian hacked and slashed but everywhere Tor was better, he was toying with him. As the bout raged on a circle of Daemons formed around the pair, the slobbering Chaos Spawn accompanied by more powerful Daemons and even whispers of Greater Daemons were heard. Tor danced left and right, Adrian’s mighty swipes rending only air. Finally as if tired of the game, Tor turned and with an expert feint shifted Adrian to the back foot.

Summoning his inner strength, Tor simply reached out and hand grabbed hold of Adrian’s head. With a mighty roar he pulled it from it’s shoulders and held it high for the spawn of Chaos to see. He raised it higher and felt the loving embrace of the Chaos Gods fill him. Tor grew in power and as he did he cackled, for soon he would be powerful enough to rival any within the Warp, soon he would be powerful enough to serve the Scion of Chaos himself.

The end of Atlas had come, it would not be the last planet to fall.

[Storm Gard]

Cat

[ FT ]

It was not seen as neglect because no one who saw it wanted to think of it as that. The little girl alone in the cluttered lab halls or weaving through rooms of dense machinery by herself became such a common sight it ceased to raise any concern. She was quiet and careful and did not interfere and everyone worked around her like she was another piece of equipment. When she was not alone she was with her guardian and that cemented how acceptable the arrangement was.

Reconstruction in the science city of Gantz was a wave of steel and concrete that swept the unpleasant image of homelessness from sight and things like orphans living in abandoned buildings and foraging through garbage and selling their bodies were swept from thought too. A little girl walking the streets by herself was no longer something ignored out of unease or pity of fear but out of indifference. There was nothing wrong with it because it couldn't be wrong anymore.

Lilith looked up. The sky was pale ash. The air was cold and stale, and the clouds did not move. She could not see the sun.
Machine sounds spiked her ears. Somewhere past the amalgamation of old and new structures indistinct men yelled indistinct things over the growl of earthmovers. From the lab the city was bright and clean, filled with a lackadaisical optimism spawned from creation. Three blocks away construction pushed against the empty husks of the old city, an army of skeletal new building frames purging all memories of the fallen and disgraced former civilization. Beyond that was blight.

Lilith left the lad and crossed into the reconstruction zone. Her apartment was in the west district near the lab's external secondary power grid. Development spread unevenly in prioritized spurts, balancing the city's level of decay with the money, time and manpower at the lab's disposal, and Lilith's path home took her through a low priority section of old Gantz. She passed a cluster of newly erected housing units for lab technicians and entered the hollow carcass of an ancient shopping arcade. The sidewalk's pressure treated stone became cracked and uncertain.

A broken grey street opened before her. Something small and furry sat close to the ground on her right, partially obscured by the dim shade of a broken shipping crate. A thin tail flicked irritably behind it.

"Cat," Lilith said, identifying the animal.

It tilted its head to observe her with one lazy green eye. She moved forward and the cat rose and trotted into an alley between a dead boutique and an abandoned convenience store. The passage led to another street, but was blocked by a tall wire fence halfway through. The cat was at its left corner, coiled into a tight ball of dirty grey fur. Its eyes flashed in the murky shadows.

The girl entered the alley and approached the cat. It pushed its spine up in a bristling arch and exhaled a low whining growl. It showed its teeth. Lilith walked closer.

The cat waited until she was a yard away then flowed to her right on feathery paws, low to the ground. Lilith's light feet anticipated the escape and she was able to grab the cat around its chest. It hissed and spat. Warped needle claws opened the skin on her hands and forearms.

"You are emaciated," she said. She tensed her hands and felt yielding ribs beneath shabby fur. "I will feed you."

Lilith stood and kept her arms fixed before her to keep the cat from scratching her face. She lacked any means of luring it to her home and no secondary residence to keep it. There were no containers in the immediate vicinity sturdy enough to transport a struggling animal. She would have to carry it to her apartment and lock it in a secure room until she acquired a suitable meal.

She held it, feeling the weight of a living thing in her hands.

"I am your Director now," Lilith said. "You will obey me."

---

"Where did you get these?" Elan asked, looking at the thin scabbed lines on her arms.

"A cat."

"How did you get these?"

"The cat scratched me."

Elan pursed his lips. He heard Othos softly chuckle once behind him.

"They'll have to be disinfected," Othos said. He produced a bottle of rubbing alcohol and several cotton swabs. He approached the girl, perched on a stool. "This will sting," he told Lilith, holding a thin arm.

"It is unpleasant," she affirmed, but did not physically react.

The lab they used to maintain Lilith the last handful of years was so dark and miserable no human being should rightly be treated in it. Elan let the moment pass, burnt to sour memory. Another moment passed and he thought the situation was perfectly appropriate.

He made the old man play janitor to the Harbinger-form’s physical upkeep. Elan never had the aptitude. Privately it fascinated him; he devoured medical and anatomy texts when he was young, awed at the fragile complexity of the living body. It was built with so many redundancies and fail-safes yet the smallest imbalance could destroy the entire system.

Whipping up an artificial body and jamming a god's pilfered soul into it required a certain degree of scientific proficiency. And Elan was proud at having the foresight to have made Othos stick around.

The old man finished cleaning the wounds and covered them with strips of gauze. "Be careful around cats from now on, okay?"

The gentle admonishment, delivered with a grandfather's patronizing smile, struck Elan with such naked artifice he froze until Lilith spoke.

"Director?"

"Yes," he agreed absently. "Be careful around cats." He regained his title. He was Director. "Lilith, wait for me by the elevator."

She nodded and slid off her stool. He did not give a reason because he did not have to. She left.

"I never imagined I'd add pediatrician to my resume," Fuyutsuki remarked. He began cleaning up. "Strange times."

"Understated like a true pediatrician."

"Still against bringing Arica into the fold?"

"Absolutely." Elan noticed his companion's eyebrow arch at his tone. "That woman is a necessity but not a long-term investment."

"Thinking of trading in for the newer model?" Othos gracefully pressed on without pausing. "Lilith's in good shape. Better than I expected. Aside from this cat
incident. At least she told you the truth when you asked."

"Why wouldn't she?"

"Well, I have to admit it surprised me when the surveillance team reported Lilith carrying a stray cat home with her. I doubt it was something you ordered her to do."

"I never ordered her not to," Elan countered.

"I suppose a certain degree of independence is necessary and unavoidable. She does come from very willful stock."

"I did not expect it," Elan conceded, failing to contain a frown.

"She will need wits to aid you in the scenario. Micromanaging a human's every action simply isn't realistic." A humorless grin shifted the wrinkles on his face. "I suppose the same applies to things that look human, too."

Elan shifted on his feet. The room was stifling. "I'm not taking this lightly."

"I never assumed you would." Othos finished returning the medical supplies to their rightful places and peeled off his latex gloves. "But, remember that the shorter a dog's leash the faster it can bite you."

"Without a leash it will bite anyone in sight."

---

Lilith researched what cats ate and found nothing suitable in her apartment or available under the provisions she was allowed from the lab. She had no funds to purchase cat food. Asking the Director for aid never occurred to her since he would not trouble himself over things not related to the Project.

Left with no other options she smuggled small portions of food she discreetly gathered from the lab. The cat sniffed at them, ate some and flicked its tail angrily at others. It threw up twice. Lilith cleaned it up because it smelled bad. She tried to clean the cat up because it smelled bad. It clawed her again.

On the third day she returned home and found the cat preening over a bloody mouse. Its small rodent torso was gouged open and small rodent things spilled out of it. Much of the meat was gone, irregular bundles of fragile-looking bones piled in a red mess. The cat's chest was puffed out in pride. It cleaned its bloody paws in leisurely condescension.

Lilith stayed awake that night. The cat took up its familiar post under her bed, hidden in dusty shadow beyond the reach of her arms. Long after the moon swam out of her window's sight a fuzzy mouse emerged from a hole she never noticed near the bathroom and traveled a cautious path across her floor. There were scraps of the food she took from the lab littering her apartment as well as small dark pellets she now realized were mouse defecation.

The mouse nibbled a hunk of orange peel bigger than its body. After a few bites its head jerked up, scanning the room with empty bead eyes before returning to the peel. And then Lilith watched magic as the cat sprang from behind the mouse and chased it to the corner of her room between the broken heater and her small refrigerator. The mouse made a lot of squeaking noises. There was a long moment when neither moved. Then the cat leaned to the left and took a slow step forward. The mouse darted to the right and the cat brought a claw down on its back with blurring force. The mouse squeaked and the cat's paw blurred the air again. Then the cat's teeth swooped down to crush the life out the mouse.

Lilith breathed again. She never noticed when or how the cat got from beneath her bed to the other side of the room behind the mouse. It was magic the way it moved. It was magic the way it took what it wanted. The attack, from the pounce to the kill, took less than fifteen seconds. Lilith was certain she witnessed something amazing and terrible and profound. And the cat ate, oblivious to her.

---

She watched the floor every night. She left more food. Sometimes a mouse came, sometimes a mouse didn't. The cat began each night beneath her bed and Lilith stayed each night above it.

Sometimes the cat played with the mouse, batting it with paws that never missed. Sometimes it caught the mouse on the first pounce. If it didn't the cat used its advantage in size to direct its prey to a corner or bottleneck, offered a single chance for escape, then killed the mouse for taking it. Lilith watched each performance with unwavering attention.

The cat desired a meal, found a means to that end, and employed it to fulfill the desire. Location and timing varied but the underlying strategy remained constant. It was efficient and focused, mercilessly single-minded in the pursuit of its goal. Disobedience meant death. Compliance meant death. The cat was god inside Lilith's apartment. Any mouse that fell in its sight was already under its command.

It was the same way people caught animals. It was the same way individuals caught individual. It was the same way the Director caught the Arica woman. The Director and the cat shaped situations to force their prey to choose the path they wanted them to choose. Limit available options and behavior can be predicted and controlled.

The Director and the cat did not distinguish between the human and mice in their sights. They sustained their existences at the expense of others. Anything they could dominate was devoured without hesitation.

Lilith watched the cat trap another mouse. It was the same way she trapped the cat back in the alley. She watched the cat amuse itself with the struggling mouse before tearing it open. It ignored her as it ate.

---

Her prey moved this way and that way but she had blocked all routes of escape. Only her will sustained its existence, only her will decided if it would suffer or be put out of its misery quickly. Did the cat enjoy this mastery over life? Was she supposed to? Did the Director?

She wanted to know what the Director knew, to know the same kind of power he knew. She thought she was the cat's master but it proved it did not need her to live. The mobius strip of dependence and existence twisted before her, clear and bright. ANIMA provided the Director the means to purchase the food Lilith took to lure the mice that fed the cat that she took from the ruined street as she walked home to the apartment the Director granted her with his position at ANIMA that provided the means to sustain her life and feed the mice that fed the cat.

But the cat survived before she captured it. The mice survived before she left food for them. The Director survived before her. ANIMA survived before her. She alone existed outside the web of interdependency, neither affecting it meaningfully nor accomplishing anything within its scope. She was different from the rest. The others all struggled in a fruitless race to devour one another. They were all the same to each other.

Her prey skittered desperately beneath her eyes. No better or worse than the rest. Nothing worth staying her hand.

"Lilith," Elan said. "What are you doing?"

She looked up at him across the dinner table.

"Eating," she said. Her hand still made the carrot bounce along her plate. She waited for him to say he understood and return to his meal.

"Use your utensils."

Lilith brought the carrot to her mouth and bit it in half. She picked up a knife with chubby fingers.

Elan cast his eyes down in thought. He resumed eating.

---

The cat lay on its side by the bed. Its tongue stuck lazily from its mouth, its spine was curved, its legs were thrust forward, frozen in rigor mortis. Jumbled guts spilled from a tear in its stomach.

The security agent lay face down on the dirty floor. His sunglasses were spider-webbed from the weight of his skull. His mouth was open a sliver, deep crimson seeping out. The knife wounds carving his abdomen open leaked freely. His suit hung on his body, dark and heavy with blood.

Elan entered the apartment and stood at the entrance to the bedroom. The agents flanking him waited for his permission to act.

Lilith looked up at him from the floor and wiped her mouth. Her face and forearm smeared red.

"Hello, Director."

"Keeping her off-base was a mistake. You acting as her guardian raised too many questions to begin with."

"There was no other way. Your public involvement has to be kept minimal. Keeping her here would raise suspicion as well."

"Still…"

"The precautionary measures will be… more precise this time."

"I'll defer to you in this matter, Director. I mean, Commander. Excuse me."

"Titles are meaningless in this place."

"I'm activating her without the neural blocks. Her psyche will be more susceptible to suggestion. The system wasn't intended for this level of direct manipulation but given the alternatives I'd say we don't have much of a choice. Just be ready to accept certain… inconsistencies from the first iteration. In theory each new vessel will fit the cargo a bit differently."

"You've assured me it will be satisfactory. That is enough."

"… partial transfer is clean. She's activating now."

A world of orange blood opened and a lump of stolen flesh rushed to meet him. He watched it take its first breath free of the LGV amniotic internment.

"Your name is Lilith. I am your commander, Elan. You will obey me and fulfill my every order without question."

The pale thing shaped like a girl wearing his female face stared up at him with wide eyes.

"You do not eat the flesh of any animal. You dislike it."

[The Kangaroo Republic]

[ PT ]

[ Mature ]

The fate of Izkart Chapter 5

Weeks has passed since Wernand was arrested. He still had a hard time trying to get everything together. He knew HE wasn't the one who murdered the guard. So who was it then? Pjoter seemed to be the most likely suspect from Wernand's point of view. There was little Wernand could do in his cold little cell. Every day the guards would pass by his cell and they were very cruel indeed. Sometimes they wouldn't do anything at all, other times they made him out for a scumbag and a rotten criminal when they passed his cell. At least not all of them were like that, there was one guard who seemed to be a very nice fellow. His task was to bring the food to the prisoners and occasionally simply to patrol the prison halls.

The only food that Wernand got each day was some bread and some water. Not much else. While it was most definitely better than nothing, he had already lost some pounds during his first weeks in the prison. The only reason he was still alive was that his execution kept getting delayed due to 'unforeseen circumstances'. Although Wernand suspected that the guards were just trying to mess with his head.

Wernand looked at the small window that was up high, it was the only source of light in his dark and cold prison cell. He hadn't seen the outdoors since his arrest and he was just too curious not to try to look outside. The window was high but he figured that would be no problem. If only he could just jump high enough to grab the steel bars he could pull himself further up and just have one more chance to see the outside world, even if he would still be behind bars while doing so.

He tried so, he jumped as high as he could, but it felt like he was just out of reach. Determined as he was, he tried to jump even higher. And then success, he managed to get a hold of the iron bars. He placed his feet on the wall and slowly climbed further up untill he could see outside. He held himself up by holding onto the bars and just looked. The window itself seemed to be situated just above ground level. He could see the feet of the civilians walking by. He stuck his head out further to look around. He could see quite a busy city street. There were many shops there and many people who were buying and selling wares. Most of the people who passed by Wernand either didn't seem to notice him, or they just didn't care about him.

At least, MOST did not seem to notice Wernand. "Oi, reddo!" somebody yelled and Wernand felt a small stone hit him in the head. He looked around to see where it came from and he noticed 2 young sapient antilopine kangaroos, one of them was holding a small stone in his head. "What's the matter? Little stuck in there? Thought your kind were so damn tall and strong that you could easily break through those bars." one of them said and grinned. They threw another stone at Wernand's head and started laughing loudly. Wernand let himself fall back down again. He had no need to get treated like that by those little brats.

"Haha, go back to your little cell, coward." He could hear. Bah, I'm a coward? He's the coward here. If I wasn't behind bars he wouldn't have dared to do such a thing. Wernand thought. "Hey there, Wernand." A voice called from behind him. Wernand looked and noticed the friendly guard standing in front of the cell door. "Hi, Jezop. How are you?" Wernand replied. "I feel fine, anyway, I brought you your food." Jezop said, holding out the loaf of bread. Wernand took the loaf of bread and immediately started eating it, he was incredibly hungry.

"Hey, I heard they have some new arrivals coming in today, they say you're going to have to share your cell with somebody." Jezop said. Wernand looked at Jezop. "Really? You know who?" Wernand asked. "No, they didn't really tell me, although I do know that there were plenty of Red Kangaroos amongst them." Jezop said, "Really, I just hate how the rest of the people treat you guys. It just makes me sick." Jezop said. "Well, at least you prove that not every Barzavian is terrible." Wernand said and laughed a little. "Yes, I guess so." Jezop said.

"Haha! Hey, Jezop. What are you doing there?" Another guard said. "Just doing my job and giving this prisoner his daily meal, what else?" Jezop replied as he turned his head to look at the fellow guard. "Yeah, I know you have a little bit of a sentiment for those low-lifes, but I wouldn't chat with him for long though. You know how those red kangaroos are, if you stay near them for too long you might get fleas. Hehe." The guard said. Jezop just laughed awkwardly, "Yes, okay." Jezop said. He turned back to Wernand. "Well, gotta get back to my shift." He said, "Goodbye." And so Jezop left again.

Wernand had finished his meal, it silenced his hunger for a short while, but he wasn't going to get any better in this prison. He looked around again, very bored and wondering what to do. About an hour and a half later he could hear a door open somewhere. Curious, Wernand went over to his cell door to see what was going on. He then noticed that it were the new arrivals, about 10 of them, most of them were red kangaroos like Wernand. "Hey, Wernand! I would stand back if I were you!" One of the guards yelled. Wernand obliged, he didn't feel the need to get into trouble with the guards after all.

One of the guards opened Wernand's cell door and tossed one of the new arrivals, who was struggling violently, in before quickly locking the door again. "I've heard from some other guards that you two don't really have a very...pleasant history. Should be fun to see you two tear each other apart." The guard said. "I will get you! I swear, I will get you if you guys kill her!" The arrival yelled. Wernand looked closely at him, "Pjoter? Is that you?" he asked. "Yes, yes it IS me, glad to see that you are not blind." Pjoter remarked sarcastically. "You're a bastard, did you know that?" Wernand said. "Shut up, I do not have time for this. Rudit, they, they took her away. Goddamnit, this is all my fault. It all is." Pjoter said. "Well glad to see that you've finally noticed that now." Wernand said.

"Shut up, I said!" Pjoter yelled, "Look, I completely regret blaming you for this, okay? Are you happy now? You did not deserve this! Now will you please listen? They took Rudit away! The guards, they...they...they suspected that she was involved in the murder because she visited you so frequently. Damnit, why did I ever do this?" "Wait, calm down, start from the beginning, you have a lot of explaining to do right now." Wernand said with a stern look on his face.

"Alright, I admit everything. I was the one who murdered that guard back then. Got it? It was me." Pjoter began, "I just, I just don't know what possessed me to do it. I was drunk and then he was there and we got into a fight and it got out of hand. I was scared. I managed to hide the body, but when they found him, I...I just blamed you because I...I was just too scared." He paused for a moment and wiped away his tears before continuing, "The guards they, they then found out that Rudit was visiting you a lot and they thought that she was involved too. So they took her away, and I have no idea where. I just became so angry that they were taking her away that I started attacking the guards and they arrested me too."

Wernand looked at Pjoter. He could tell from his face that he truly regretted what he had done. "So you do not know if Rudit is okay?" Wernand hestitantly asked. "No, I do not know. But judging from the severity of all this, I think that..." Pjoter couldn't continue talking about it. "I swore to protect her. And I failed, goddamnit." He finally said. He just bursted into tears again. Wernand noticed that some of the other guards stopped by the cell door to enjoy the scene. He shook his head, Bastards. he thought. He then patted Pjoter on his back to calm him down a little bit.

[Abruzi]

Tomorrow Will Be Better
MT

The mighty roar of the machinery was lost to the four individuals who stood in the almost magical circle of light. Their four sets of gray overalls almost matching their complexion, the workers spoke in hushed tones and with worried expressions upon their faces. Their surroundings were nothing new, the cavernous space was a weapons plant, deep within the Union of Soviet Republics. All around them machines did the work that only five years ago would have been performed by workers, now with the advances in mechanical operations more and more of the Soviet Citizens were being sent to the fronts. More and more were being conscripted and ground up in the endless slaughter that the Neo Bolshevist State and the Union of Soviet Republics thrived upon.

In these dark times, when the masses of the Neo Bolshevist State were slowly being replaced by a slicker more efficient industrial sector some looked to escape. The Ministry of Contentment caught most of them, most of them. A slim few managed to arrange or smuggle transport to another of the Soviet Republics though that in itself was almost impossible. To actually leave the Union? That too was impossible, the Ministry and the Military both ensured that for the foreseeable future it would remain so.

" ... No Dmitriĭ , chto budet Ivana skazatʹ ? Vy stavite dlya vsyeĭ Vashyeĭ semʹi v opasnosti dlya takih slabaya nadezhda ... "

“…but Dmitri, what will Ivana say? You are putting your entire family in danger for such a slim hope…”

" Dyadya Yura, syn moego druga na fronte , on govorit, chto yesli my teperʹ poĭdem my proskolʹznutʹ nezamechennym , takovy pribyli i putanitsy vedeniya voĭny."

“Uncle Yuri, my friend’s son is at the front, he says that if we go now we will slip through unnoticed, such are the gains and the confusion of warfare.”

" Slishkom opasno , yesli vy sprosite menya , vy budete tolʹko umeretʹ . "

“Too dangerous if you ask me, you will only die.”

" Kogda vy ostavite Dmitriĭ ? "

“When do you leave Dmitri?”

" Zavtra ."

“Tomorrow.”

The four exchanged fearful glances, maintenance workers were some of the few with stable jobs, and the power to actually affect the Military-Industrial Machine of the USR, this made them the new target group for Ministry spies and watchers. Every move was likely being recorded on the Telescreens that still dominated every wall of the now human-less factory. One did not after all have to watch the machines, this did not mean however that the machines were not being watched. Still, there were millions if not billions of Dmitri’s within the Union of Soviet Republics, it would be amazing and terrifying if the Ministry could identify which one would be making a break for the border zones.

Dmitri nodded to his uncle and the other assembled, Comrade Workers. The walk towards the door was possibly the most awkward in his life as he realized that if any of the others were Ministry Spies they would be drawing a gun just about now. As his fingers brushed the handle to the lone maintenance door he tensed and waited for the bark of a pistol and the sweet release of death, instead he received only the texture of slightly rusted metal. He stepped into the street and was greeted with a cold blast of wind, the gray sky was offset by the distant glow of the still manned factories.

Regardless of the efficiency of the machine, the Neo Bolshevist State and the Union of Soviet Republics would always maintain a human workforce in the factories. The need to pump out surplus amounts of every good was too great to even temporarily close more than one factory at a time to install the mechanical worker programs. The incessant rain of ash quickly coated Dmitri’s overalls, the gritty material as much a part of the State as the people were. He walked down the wide street, the various cafes that served the Comrade Workers were filled as always and the constant stream of patriotic calls from the Telescreen helped relax him but he still felt as if he was being watched.

The rain of ash continued until he reached his Worker’s Housing Unit. The prefabricated apartment was much more spacious than those found in the crowded blocks of Utopia, produced just down the street in Unity City they were the leading edge of civilian housing. Within Dmitri kissed his woman and patted his infant son on the head affectionately. In the Neo Bolshevist State it was a crime to love, love itself was reactionary by definition. The act of loving promoted possessiveness and identifying first with your spouse then your nation, both were not in the interests of the State. Children before the age of five remained with their parents, this was not out of love but necessity. The Neo Bolshevist State would be forced to spend unacceptable amounts to care for small children, by limiting the school cadres to five and up allowed the funds to be transferred to the glorious Red Military instead. Dmitri’s small act of patting his son’s head was other-think and if he was lucky it would end with him being sent to a Penal Battalion.

His wife kissed him nervously, she knew where he had been and her eyes spoke of the fear she felt for both him and their family. Dmitri knew that to speak aloud of what had transpired would be suicide so he simply said,

" Segodnya dolzhno bytʹ ochenʹ horosho nochʹ dlya sna , ya dumayu. Zavtra budet luchshe. "

“Tonight shall be a very good night for sleeping I think. Tomorrow, will be better.”


The next day was cold, colder than the usually merciless days in Unity city. Located at higher elevation than Utopia, Unity was for most of the year stuck in limbo between fall and winter. Never cold enough to snow properly but never warm enough for rain, Unity was the perfect temperature to make a person uncomfortable year round. It was however not cold enough to conceal Dmitri’s nervous sweat. The thick beads of liquid slowly dripped down his face and neck, almost screaming his guilt and fear out to the closest Ministry Man or Telescreen.

His wife wore a brown babushka, his son was wrapped in bundles of blankets and he himself wore a thick olive overcoat. They made a curious trio, walking down the street against the regular flow of traffic. On all sides Comrade Workers were streaming to work, be it the still manned factories on the eastern side or the mines and refineries to the north. A mere trickle moved southwards toward the railways, Dmitri and his family were part of this trickle and already they were attracting attention.

He slid the movement passport under the heavy glass window, watching nervously as the Ministry for Internal Movement Clerk typed the details into his computer. It was a tense few minutes as the machine processed and documented the transaction, the records being forwarded automatically to the Ministry of Contentment and the other minor branches of the Soviet and Neo Bolshevist Intelligence Community. The man slid back the passport with a heavy stamp that read,

"Утверждено".

“Approved.”

It was like a sign from the heavens to Dmitri who eagerly grabbed it and collected his family. The three fought with the other commuters and Government Officials to board the train and after a frantic ten minutes collapsed into a compartment. Sliding the door closed Dmitri breathed a mighty sigh of relief, for in only six hours they would be in Victory city and one step closer to leaving the Neo Bolshevist State. As the ancient coal burning machine lurched forward he even laughed, they were almost home free. Almost.

Several hours into the trip, Ivana and his son went to the lavatory. The brief ten minutes of being alone were enough for Dmitri to glance over his shoulder and realize that they had come so far only to be stopped. Behind him stood an old man, a worn old veteran who’s overcoat was a shade of gray that was almost black. It was not the overcoat nor the visible badge that worried Dmitri, it was the face. It was the face of his Uncle, Yuri.

Yuri slowly slipped his watch into his pocket, the polished bronze orb rubbing against the other tools of his trade. He nodded to one of his men down the corridor and entered, placing a hand on Dmitri’s back. He ran his old fingers across Dmitri’s wool overcoat, delighting in the man’s discomfort. He leaned close and began to speak,

"Zdravstvuĭte Dmitriĭ . "

“Hello Dmitri.”

" Yuriĭ , kak vy mogli predatʹ vashyeĭ sobstvennoĭ krovi ? "

“Yuri, how could you betray your own blood?”

" Predatʹ ? Drugie Myslitelʹ govorit so mnoĭ o predatelʹstve ?"

“Betray? The Other Thinker speaks to me of betrayal?”

" Dyadya ... "

“Uncle…”

" Dyadya ? YA dazhe otdalenno ne svyazano s vami . Durak , ty chervʹ . Vy predatelʹ."

“Uncle? I am not even remotely related to you. You fool, you worm. You traitor.”

" Moya semʹya ... ? "

“My family…?”

" Mertvyh , i syeĭchas moi lyudi vytiraya krovʹ tvoya zhenshchina iz ih lezviya i mozg vashego syna ot steny . "

“Dead, even now my men are wiping your woman’s blood from their blades and your son’s brains from the wall.”

" Vy chudovishche! "

“You monster!”

" Monstr ? Chto takoe chudovishche ? Chto eto takoe? Eto nasilie da ? Eto nepristoĭnosti da ? Yesli eto tak , chem my vse monstry Dmitriĭ , my vse monstry . Yedinstvennoe, chto vyshe chudovishche yavlyaet·sya gosudarstvo , gosudarstvo u vas uporno ne hochet sluzhitʹ . Vy budete sluzhitʹ gosudarstvu Dmitriĭ , vy budete. Vy budete sluzhitʹ gosudarstvu i luchshyee, chto novogo vy budete naslazhdatʹsya yego , novye vy mozhete naslazhdatʹsya yego i novyh vam budet sovershennym na yego rabotu ".

“Monster? What is monstrosity? What is it? It is violence yes? It is indecency yes? If so than we all are monsters Dmitri, we all are monsters. The only thing that is above monstrosity is the State, a state you have proven reluctant to serve. You will serve the State Dmitri, you will. You will serve the State and the best part is that the new you will delight in it, the new you will relish it and the new you will be perfect at his job.”

" ... chto ? Chto vy govorite? "

“…what? What do you speak of?”

" Dmitriĭ , posle ya zakonchil vam budet bolʹshe, chem vy kogda-nibudʹ mechtali , vy budete chlenom Verhnyeĭ partii i Ministerstva udovletvorenie. "

“Dmitri, after I am finished you will be more than you shall ever dreamed, you will be a member of the Upper Party and the Ministry of Contentment.”

The soft snap of Yuri’s silenced Makarov and the groan of Dmitri as he fell to the ground was the endnote to the conversation. The old man slowly ran a hand across his old face and said,

" YA kogda-to byli svoi Ivany , odin raz ... "

“I once had my own Ivana, once…”

Yuri turned and over his shoulder he called,

" Zahvat nosilkah , dlya etogo , zavtra budet luchshe . "

"Grab a stretcher, for this one, tomorrow will be better."

[Apartheid Kamanga]

Our Kamangan Blood

[MT]

[ Mature ]

Kamangan Bush, Present Day

He felt a trickle of blood run down his temple, but it did not stop him. Nothing could stop him now.

More blood ran down his face in streaks, mixing with the sour sweat that soaked his filthy fatigues and covered every inch of his exhausted body. He ran mechanically, half-stumbling like a madman, watching dull greens and creams exchange places as they circles the vision of his eyes.

Banda blinked, providing temporary relief, and ran a hand, slippery with more blood already, across the sticky red froth which was
already caking his features like mud. He had lost his peaked field cap, and his weathered, faded, jacket flapped wildly in the wind as he ran and loped, grasping for escape. The cracking of rifles on full automatic deafened his ears. He could see that the trees ahead provided cover, and in an instant weighed his options. Thorns snagged on his legs, but he tore them free, oblivious to his trousers ripping ceaselessly on the Kamangan undergrowth. Ferns caught his ankle in his panic, and the long grass provided no cover but hindered his advance. Banda plowed through it, however, with the desperation of a man hunted.

His scratched and scarred face turned upwards, Banda could almost see the bullets whizzing over his head and all around him. Twice already he had felt sharp pains in his side and could see where rounds fired from a sniper's precision weapon had slit his uniform.

They were everywhere, pouring through the brush, coming around them, encircling them. The sound of gunfire echoing in every direction told him that much. They were playing with Banda and his comrades like a cat would toy with a mouse, waiting for the right moment to kill them all, leaving their bodies to rot and bloat under the blazing African sun.

He had his own rifle in his hand, but the ambush had occurred with such suddeness he hadn't had a chance to use it. Half of his group were already taken down in the first few seconds, sagging forward and then out, out of the picture...forever. If there were any who had survived, they would be too wounded to move, and it would only prolong their suffering until a soldier took mercy on them and blew out their brains with a .203 on full automatic.

The attack had been merciless, for by this time the White men were getting better and better at ambushing the ones who so often had done the ambushing. The prey, now the hunter. They had opened fire on Banda first, and probably put a bullet through his heart instead of just grazing his head, had he not hunched over at that moment to brush away the wasps which were stirring up around his shoulder. Now, he was sure he'd just survived a massacre.

He had seen three of the others duck back onto the ground, but that was suicide--the soldiers had the place surrounded. Calling for the others to follow him, Banda had gone crashing through the brush and across the Kotg clearing with two more Afundis behind him. They had been confronted by the encircling party, however, and had been forced to fire their Kalashnikovs from the hip, wasting hundreds of rounds but forcing the soldiers to fall back and buying their escape.

Banda now looked up, sure he had escaped from the jaws of the trap which had already claimed at least five Afundis, including Mebule. He would have to mourn them later, for unless he made it back into the foliage which he knew so well, the Kamangan troops would be after him. There was still firing all around--this told him that the enemy had them surrounded, or that a few more from his team had survived and were making their futile attempts to fight back.

Suddenly, the tall grass in front of the young guerilla parted, and a broad, stocky, man rose up out of the brush like a monster, the great Rakub, from the deep. Banda did not think, for it was a White soldier, one of the attackers, in his khakis with ankle-length stockings and the barrel of a Galil pointed at his hated opponent's chest. He simply swooped down his belly like he had been taught by the American mercenary, recalling the English words spoken as they flipped through his mind like the pages of a book. Then he lunged, grunting under the weight of the stocky enemy he had tackled as the sudden tip in balance sent both men crashing into the grass. The freedom fighter remembered all that he had fought for, all that he was needed for, and in one length remembered that now was not the time to die. They had not yet begun to fight.

In one swift motion, he had brought his knife blade up into his hand and had plunged it halfway across the soldier's throat. The man had arms like huge hams and they were wrapped around Banda's throat, an incredibly strong grip crushing his windpipe. But, as the blood spurted out into a fountain of oxygen-giving life, his hands slackened and Banda pushed the corpse away, picked up his AK, and fled without looking back.

It was too late to stop now.
He had reached the trees.

Banda bent his knees and went down, looking over his shoulder. No one had followed him, and there was no sign of the two other Blacks he'd sure were with him a moment earlier. No, there they were. Over the dusky skyline he could see their dark shapes fleeing foolishly back into the tall grass. Right, in their panic, back into the soldiers chasing them.

The orange flickering lights of a machine-gun lit up the night as the sun faded into the horizon. The gunfire slowly moved away from his position as Banda waited patiently from the cover of the trees. They were still shouting as they crashed through the brush.
He heard distant radio chatter.

Banda slipped noiselessly through the foliage, the leaves of brush around him bouncing off the clips of magazines he had hanging across his chest.

"Open fire!"

The distant cry and the renewed rifle fire reminded him of the ambush he had so narrowly escaped minutes earlier, the sounds of the dead, the dying.

His boot caught on a root and the rebel crashed to the ground, tasting dry pebbles and fresh blood seeping down his cheek. He scrambled up and kept going, running into the growing darkness, keeping low when he could.

The clatter of a helicopter sounded in the distance, growing louder with each passing second. Banda increased his speed. He was almost to safety.

"Who goes there?!"

The rifle barrel jammed into his chest, throwing him backwards. A dizzying spell overtook him, and Banda suddenly felt trapped. Trapped in a layer of dust and dirt he could not get rid of. And blood. Almost seized by a delerious panic, he clawed the blood from his face, or tried to, anyway, feeling it drip down his chin and land in drops on the dry leaves below. Then he laughed. Laughed out loud rather than cross himself.

If he was going to die anyway, let it be this way. His AK fell from his hand and dropped lifelessly to the ground. The whump-whump-whump of helicopter blades grew closer.

"Banda?"

The name sobered him.

"Why the Hell you laughing for? We must take cover! You Nasma or something? We go, now!"

"They're bringing in a helicopktor."

Banda giggled, sounding out the word.

"You have gone to shit. Nshima. Your brain has turned to Nshima. You look bad. Did they shoot you?"

"Zikomo."

Banda accepted the comment as a compliment, before he was able to shake himself back to reality again.

"The lily-whites were waiting. They know how to wait. We lost four before we'd even gotten very far. Very bad. We had to leave them."

"Chopka!"

The other man gave an exclamation of surprise.

"We were supposed to be watching your back, man. But this is very serious. Now they are getting closer and closer to our places. We will have to move again."

The thumping of the helicopter brought new danger, a scorching light searching the jungle below, waiting to bomb the unwary.

The leaves rustled behind the guard, and then out emerged at least six shapes, the other guerillas who were supposed to have been watching Banda's back when the ambush happened. Things happened.

He shrugged, hopelessly. There was no real hope in worrying about something that had already happened. It was part of Africa's daily turmoils. In Kamanga, it was the price of men fighting so that one day they might be free. Free from medieval fuedalism. Free from the White man's domination. Free from the Apartheid government.
Kamanga would be for Kamangans once more.

The helicopter's beam swept the brush. It hovered slowly, the breeze stirring up the tops of the trees as they rustled gently.

A muffled explosion sounded from the grassland and the clearings, where the battle had started. Sporadic firing was still distinguishable if you had good ears, but most of it was drowned out by the noisy chopper as it continued its steady advance. The rising moon gleamed off its armored body and the orange stripes painted on its underbelly, the colors of the Kamangan military.

The helicopter's roar now drowned out everything else, and the searchlight swept the ground, the trees. Whites thought that they were hunting a few retreating fugutives, not walking straight into the silvery trap themselves. It was then something, like an orange glow of flame, turned the world black and white as it rocketed into the sky, screaming away until at last the helicopter was replaced by a beautiful blooming flower of red. Ugly blotches of flaming debris rained down in the bush around the guerillas, a flash of blaze wreathed by the glare of burning metal.

Banda had never seen such a wonderful sight.

The ruddy flame lit up the night sky, so even the moon and stars seemed to be reflecting it. The rubble of civilization continued to thud into the brush around them, and then it was silent once more. The men bared their teeth, showing their eager, mirthless, grins which glowed in the darkness of the quiet bush. One of them lowered the long missile launcher he carried on his shoulder, and they all had a real laugh. Tears were shed for the fallen whose blood was now soaking the brush, and tears were shed for Banda's wounds, which he knew would probably hurt in the morning, but the sign of victory was one that was enough to cheer the stoniest of hearts.

The civil war might go on forever, and the incident itself in question may be soon forgotten, but the stamp of the eternal moment was engraved on every man's heart.

Somewhere deep in the tarbrush, in the country we know as Kamanga.

[Estainia]

[FT]

The Crumbling Bastion

Religion, History, Philosophy, they are all important parts of the Russo-Spanish Culture, each an integral part of their existence as a people. Even if they were just 'bland humans' in a universe of unique races, they themselves were so complicated through that culture they were unique in their own right. A form of that uniqueness was that they were very unchanging and those who pondered such thoughts were even more unchanging, studying a history so old as theirs was a time consuming and dedicated task that consumed one's life if it was allowed to do so.

So as eyes went over pages in books that were still books; one of the last libraries in the galaxy no doubt as the ever vigilant ideology of faster-faster-faster consumed anything that was old and rustic kept going; the mind and soul of the person who examined the book could not help but wonder the possibility of what would have happened differently; what could have been changed for the better, never thinking of the possibility of a worse. Because they just couldn't do that, they couldn't make things worse, they never thought to bring harm to anyone, they hurt when they made someone cry, much less actual harm to someone intentionally.

"The Universe is an unforgiving place, violent and bathed in the blood of trillions of souls. No one learns from their history anymore." The lone Scholar spoke out to the piles around him, the ordered neat lines in a perfect symmetry belying their sheer volume. "Not even we do anymore. We are losing ourselves to...This, this dishonorable process of never ending advancement. If they could see us now, they would be so so ashamed." There was a shuffle as the heavy leather cover closed and the Scholar moved the book back to a near perfectly square slot that it had come from; shelved once more among millions and millions of others, each a detailed chapter in the history of their people and their ways of life.

Another book fell with a thud to the table that held it upon rickety legs, creaking audibly in protest, proving it was not some metallic beast that was synthesized from some factory by a faceless machine. One of the last of it's kind. "I am called insane because I do not conform. There was once a time when all of us were insane because we would not conform."

"What hypocrites we have become." The Scholar mused softly as he opened the book, it was a photo album instead of a chapter logging of various events and people. Each photo had a caption and was yellowed terribly but that wasn't important, what was important was that they were real, that they weren't some digital recreation, each and every photo, each one thousand word worthy memory was physically real.

Fingers ran over one of the yellowed faces, staring into a moment of the past with such longing. "They changed, they won't admit it but they did, they abandoned everything we believe in. We should've died there, on Earth, home. Now; now we are a billion million miles away from there and we're just like the rest of them. We're just as conformist, we're just as degenerate. We have abandoned what we are; we have forgotten what we came from."

Tears hit the lamented page protecting the images as the Scholar reminisced to himself; so utterly alone. "I am the only one left; the only one who remembers anymore and when I am gone, they will be just like every thing else; in every way, they will no longer care for their history, they will go forward, forever forward. Forever."

[Milograd]

-Snip-

[Jenrak]

Updated. I'm seeing alot of chapter entries, which, while I'm impressed with the writing, we have to remember:

The main requirements to writing in this thread is simply that you keep each story that you write to one post, and the rule vice versa when posting. Keep posts limited to one story, so simply make a new one if you want to post a new story. If you are spamming stories quite frivolously, I will ask that you take a breather before posting up any more.

I'll let it slide for now, but please let them be stand-alones in the future. I have no problems with references to other stories that you write, but I would really be grateful if you followed the instructions.

Cheers.

[New Azura]

Avarice

[MT]

[ Mature ]

An assassin's first hit is messy. You haven't the foresight to preserve the thrill of the kill over the course of the rendezvous, leaving your bloodlust wholly unsatisfied. Once you begin to learn the intricacies of your trade, every minute detail becomes a fascinating extension of your self. The planning can be almost as intoxicating as the sensation the tips of your fingers feel when the blade of your knife can go no further. It's power that makes you sizzle—makes you feel so alive...

My name is Avarice. Well, that's a lie actually; people in the press have taken to calling me Avarice, but I haven't the foggiest idea why. The term "serial killer" has been bandied to and fro, but that term demeans my honorable trade. I've also heard the term 'sociopath' applied to me, and I guess it fits better than others. Why people continue to frown upon it, however, I will never know. It releases you from the pitiful, morose feelings that have kept us from realizing our true potential as a species. Consul Salazar may not concur in a few minutes, but dead men tell no tales.

I've planned this hit for weeks now—nigh an eternity for an eager soldier willing to please. The call came down from my handler on a mission, and a dicey one at that. Consul Horatio Salazar, aka Harry Rebel, the most vicious anti-crime advocate of the Azuran government, and quite a thorn in the side to my brothers and sisters in Sin. Consul Salazar arrived in Nor'Calais two weeks ago for an extended conference with the Metropolitain Constabulary, twiddling their thumbs about while talking about crime prevention.

He could have been a juggler for all I care, and that's honesty for you. When someone's life needs to be taken, Avarice gets the call, one way or another. I don't like to think of myself as being unprincipled, or even wanton in my need for blood. But putting that high-riding bitch of a Consul into his grave will be a true pleasure. I could think of only two things that would make the night better, but dead men make terrible partners in bed, and they taste like shit...

Hark! Do I hear footsteps coming down the corridor? Time to focus my energy on the task at hand. I've studied this man's habits from the shadows for several days, learning the ins and outs of his routine. If I know him like I think I know him, he should saunter into his quarters to retire for the night, smelling of whiskey and cheap perfume. Huh, hypocrites... the bastard has a wife and children waiting for him patiently in his Cheltenham home. The poor lovelies deserve so much better than the rat-bastard I'm about to enjoy for myself.

The door knob turns. I feel that familiar rush in the depths of my soul, igniting that hot passion. It's the fury coming... but wait, what's this? Horatio the Lover has brought company this fine evening? Indeed, a young maiden, interested in her fifteen minutes of fame? That anyone could ride such a filthy, repugnant cretin such as this was mind-boggling. I don't necessarily abject to fucking men, but they had best be handsome. Horatio was bordering on sixty years of age—why would a buxom redhead like this gorgeous lady want to taste the fruits of his withered garden?

Oh... it's not by choice, I see. She's been drugged. The girl is lucid, slurring her speech, but too disoriented to be drunk. It's not that type of haziness about her. She's been brought here to be raped, and suddenly my instincts fly out the window. A bloody haze begins to envelop me, choking out all semblance of reason. No woman should ever endure the dignity of forced sex with a repugnant, filthy man. I have to be careful though, my conscience reminds me.

I concur, my faithful conscience! I slide on my porcelain masquerade piece over my face, concealing my true identity. There's no need in letting the hapless broad see my face, in case she remembers hazy details in the morning. The bastard is tying her legs to each bedpost, ripping savagely at her clothing. Her torso is battered and bruised—he's been at this for some time now. Have to wait for the right moment, now... one false move and it's all over...

Anticipation turns to furious vengeance, as I silently dart forward. The poor bastard had just mounted the young girl, unassuming of anything except his own lust. This night, my lust wins out—I plunge the syringe deep into his back, approximating as best I can in the dim light. He never saw me in the shadows, of course. This is why planning makes all the difference.

The Consul arches his back, a violent spasm wracking his system. He couldn't have been a more vile target, truth be told. He was salivating over the young girl, the sick fuck. He quickly slides to the side, tumbling to the floor in a heap. The paralytic agent works its magic on the man, causing his vocal chords to contract. A silent death, but with all the pleasures that pain entails.

Hello, Consul Salazar. How are you? Bet you didn't see this coming, did you? All the money in the world, all the fame and prestige. My handlers informed me that you were about to receive the Labor Party nomination for High Chancellor next week. I'm so sorry to keep you from that appointment, but history must take a detour from the Salazar Dynasty...

Oh, right. I'm here to kill you. Now, first thing: you wont be able to scream during this, and that's probably for the best, since I don't want to have to kill your bodyguards as well. Now, normally I'd do this quickly and painlessly, but you've gone and pissed me off right proper by trying to rape this beautiful angel. She can't be, what? Twenty-five at the most? Maybe younger? For shame, Consul. Now, it is I who gets to penetrate you!

See what I did there? I made a funny! Now, find a happy spot, because my bowie knife here is going to penetrate you just above the belly-button like so... ah, a little tender going in at first, but it gets... easier! Now wait a minute, I see those tears forming in your eyes. It hurts like a bitch, doesn't it? Let me tell you a quick story, about my first kill, Consul Salazar. You have just enough consciousness left to hear it.

Five years ago, I was assigned to take out a Councilor in the Saeculum. Not that I was to kill him in the Saeculum chambers, silly goose. I lured him back to his loft, where I proceeded to fuck him hard. He wasn't as ugly as you, of course, but quite appealing to my tastes. When I took my blouse off, he couldn't stand it... and I jumped the gun, you see...

Hey, pay attention! I'm almost done. I took my knife out before he was fully out of it from exhaustion, and he tried to put up a fight. Here I am, engaged with this man, and he's wrestling for my knife. So I headbutt him as hard as I can, and plunge the knife into his abdomen, sort of like I'm doing with you now. And people outside his bedroom heard the screams, and came running. So I had to take off down the fire escape, fully nude, running like the wind away from my first kill. Kind of funny, eh? I...

Damn. I think he died on me before I could keep going. Oh, well, the hit has been performed, and now my work is done. I withdraw my bloody blade from his gushing torso, savoring the final moments of the kill scene before my training takes back over. If I hit the alley way down behind the building, I can avoid the security cameras that are...

The girl. She's still in here, bound and drugged. Her body, so lush, so fragile and beautiful in the pale moonlight filtering through the vaulting windows. I can sense no movement outside, not a sound. She looks so inviting, so tempting... and I feel the craving inside me build once more. I've never had the pleasure of enjoying the company of another woman after taking the life of a man before. If only he'd had room service delivered for the occasion! I savor her body as I approach, unzipping my jacket and beginning to un-tuck my shirt to keep from staining my clothes.

A rapist's first encounter is awful messy, you know.

[The Land Of The Nile]

[FANTASY]

A Tale Long Told

'Sit down, and let me tell you all of the story of the Harbinger Anukh the Redeemer, the greatest, and the worst, of all of Anubis' Harbingers. Anukh was a simple Anubi craftsman, designing the great tombs in the Necropolis that now stands where the city of Jah-Kar once stood. Jah-Kar was a cursed place, reduced to ruin by the villainous Nekharu. Ten score of tombs in that forsaken place housed some of the greatest warriors the Anubi have ever produced, from Raferal the Valiant to Jehna the Beautiful Wraith. Such a place was bound to come under the gaze of the devouring Eater of the Dead.'

'One night it came to pass that the vile undead servants of that evil power came unto the gates of Jah-Kar. They slaughtered all in their path, from the Dread Guard who gave their lives to bar the hordes to the few artisans and embalmers labouring within. One such victim was Anukh. After many hours of foul rites and despoiled depravity, the horrid Necromancers raised the greatest heroes of the Battle of Jah-Kar from their slumber, casting their Ka's from the Tuat, and departed westwards to seek out more victims. No-one knows how it came to pass, but as the Sun rose once more, they say that Anukh's body arose from the ground, becoming a wraith of Elysian blackness.'

'He travelled after the horde for many days, neither the blazing Sun nor the sand itself slowing him. Eventually he came upon the horde at the gates of Elligah, a settlement where Children of all the Gods resided as one. The undead had besieged the settlement for three days, and each day the dead defenders added to the numbers of the Eater's servants. All changed when Anukh arrived.'

'He struck their rearmost warriors, carving through them like a To-Tanem-crafted blade through a wall of sand. With a fell scythe in one hand and an Ankh borne in his other, he destroyed all in between him and the Necromancers leading the horde. Eventually he encountered the twisted mummy that was now all that remained of Raferal the Valiant. Both battled for hours, the scythe passing through Raferal's body and rending him while his flail crushed Anukh's body. Eventually Anukh triumphed, standing over the broken corpse even as he bound Raferal's Ka to the Tuat once more.'

'Again and again this scene was repeated as Anukh slaughtered the foe, rendering their bodies to dust even as he sends their souls to the Tuat once more. Then at battle's end, he found what he came for. The three Necromancers were powerful foes in their own right, formidable warriors as well as spell-casters. But that did not save them. A single flick of the scythe he bore destroyed them, each one burning in hellish green occult fires as they were touched.'

'After that battle, none know where Anukh went. Some say he roams the desert, hunting down the undead hordes invading Nilea, while others say that he travels east to face the very Eater of the Dead itself. All that is known for certain, is that you should pray when you see him...for death is his brother and is never far.'

[-Deus-]

[PMT]

A Dreadfully Delightful First Date

I walked slowly, taking closed shuffling steps, keeping my feet close together, as I move towards the door, my small, silky white pouch slung across my shoulder, the contents of the bag banging against my back. It was…uncomfortable to say the least but I gritted my teeth and went on with it, quickly picking up my pace and shuffling through the door, opening it quickly and shutting it behind me with a bang. The secrecy was more or less not needed now that…now that my father was dead, but, I was not about to take any chances. This mission, this duty was important to me…important to both of us. However,…I won’t go into that just yet. I sprinted towards the MCLT [Magnetic Civilian Land Transport], the vehicle in the traditional style of a motorbike, its scarlet paint finish gleaming in the sun and bringing a smile to my face as I leapt unto the beautiful machine, starting it up soon after.

I smiled as the roar of the magnetically propelled engine came to a near muffled stop, the bike starting up soon after and blasting away, the vehicle reaching speeds of 70 mph soon after, my blowing in the wind as I squinted and snickered to myself. It was…amazing to say the least, the freedom of the open road and the ability to simply drive away from my responsibilities for a day…Being the Silver Fox is no picnic I assure you. But I continued on, the roads basically empty, the sun shining down on me, the day period of the city usually much more alive, but seeing as it was a Monday I could understand the uneasy silence. I continued to speed, pushing the bike to 100 mph just to get my point across to Mother, who was no doubt matching me from her central AI position, something I dreaded. I only shrugged her presence off, turning a corner that led me out of the city, into the fields and flowered hills of the Withered Thane.

The weather was calm as usual, the bright sun actually warming me up, something I wasn’t used to in the normally cold night air of Deus. But the Thane was equally off putting, the quiet chirp of birds and…nature somewhat confusing me, the warm touch of the unfiltered air something that was a stark contradiction to the filtered and often times stuffy air of the city. It was weird seeing an actual tree, something I seldom got to see, let alone touch. Even at the high speed I was going I could make out the beautiful details of the nature around me. It brought a smile to my face...I even longed to be a part of it, to bring it to Deus if I could. But I started to slow down, turning my bike into the grass, the MCLT slowing down as it transferred form the metallic path to the pure and unchanged dirt and grass. I drove the MCLT up a hill, the further I went from the road the slower the MCLT went. I decided to prop it next to an old tree, the blossoming piece of vegetation peeking my interest for just a moment.

I dusted off my hands and slowly went up the hill, the multitude of flowers all around me charming to say the least yet confusing if I stared to long. It was like a whole other world then what I was used to, something…something I most definitely needed to bring to Deus. Then I saw it, a small wooden table with two small chairs and decorated with plates and a flower in the centre of the table. A tree was on the left of the table and a pristine looking lake could be seen from the right. However, there he stood, my enemy, my hated…hated enemy, the bane of all Deusan life and the only person besides my father to ever instil even the smallest spark of love from me. His name was…his name was Sasaki Kido, newly crowned king of Tyrian Orlast. He sat in the farthest chair, dressed head to toe in a black suit with a white dress shirt underneath and a red tie, a small pink flower pinned on the suit jacket. I felt a little…under done, for I only wore my customary grey and white tunic with loosely fitting black cargo pants. Even his shoes [which I could just barely see under the table] were neatly shined and polished, while my own black, manly and ill-fitting black boots had traces of mud, blood and some other thing that shined red and dripped slowly.

But I swallowed my fear and went on, taking a few steps further and clearing my throat so that he turned around to look at me, which he did with a particular ease that made me wonder if he was still interested in me after all this time. This was not the first time we had met so closely, not at all. For he was once an esteemed heir, to an esteemed noble diarchy. My father had been friends with his father and we just…we just met that way, I can’t really remember. But he turned slowly towards me, standing up slowly, adjusting his suit jacket just slightly, his hand quivering just a bit. I looked down and twirled a bit, unsure what to do. He only smiled and shrugged his shoulders though [from what I could hear, for I neglected to look up] and slowly moved towards me, lifting up my face slowly with his left index finger. I smiled back at him as the two of us walked towards the table, I taking the one closest to the road and he taking the one furthest from me. If only for a moment, we sat there, staring at each other as if we had been together for years. However, I sighed finally, more out of instinct then discomfort, yet he no doubt took it the wrong way, for he shot up to his feet in a quick movement, picking up the bag to his side and plopping it on the left side of table, propping it against the tree. He took out a small shining container [something that visibly popped amongst all the natural scenery] and two bowls, placing one in front of me and one in front of himself before pouring out a golden or yellowish[for lack of a better colour] broth. I sat for a moment, speechless as I inspected the meal in front of me, the floating chunks of meat and few strands of noodles something I had never really seen, much less eaten.

He only snickered a bit as he slowly spooned the soup [if that is the word in English] into his mouth and swallowed it down, the chirping birds providing just the right amount of noise to keep this from getting…awkward, I believe the word in English is. I finally put my spoon into the liquid, lifting it into my mouth and gulping it down, the somewhat sweet taste of the broth the only thing I enjoyed, for much to my confusion the meat was not human, but rather…something else and the noodles were to…stringy for my particular taste. But after a while Sasaki spoke up “I am positive you enjoyed the soup my dear. Would you perhaps care for a drink then?” he spoke in a nearly sarcastic tone [or at least to me], taking this time a green bottle out, pouring what obviously looked like Yjta but tasted something like fermented sweet grapes or some other fruit into our glasses. He was becoming ever more human, first with this soup and now with this drink he called wine, which wasn’t that bad but certainly wasn’t what I was used to. “So, what is all of this…stuff? I mean what’s that meat in the soup and what’s this drink?” I began to question this meeting entirely, the taboo nature of it all just “weirding me out” as humans would say. He replied softly though, “Well, that my dear was chicken noodle soup, something the humans enjoy during the…winter months of their calendar. The drink is called red wine, more specifically Du’bi Ly Utopia [More specifically in English, Red Baron’s From Utopia].” I hesitated, spinning the red liquid in my glass for just a moment before gulping it down, the somewhat sweet and tangy taste of it quite…refreshing to say the least. “Your acting very…human, Sasaki.” I remembered that I sounded suspicious, that this probably was some sort of diabolical plot to kill me or turn me human, for even if I had known him in the past, he was technically me enemy in the present but he only replied as softly as before “Perhaps I am my dear. Would you like the main course now?” It was a rhetorical question as he dug his hand into the box and took out a single silver dish, placing it in front of me and then digging back into the box and taking out an identical dish for himself. He opened mine first and then his before continuing, “This is probably something closer to what you’d eat for supper, no? Regardless, please enjoy.”

For once I smiled, as I knew exactly what the dish was, it was steaming hot [or cold, for I hardly remember this part] and it was drizzled with a light red liquid. It was Hum De Lya Blu [Human smoked with blood]. I smiled at it and picked at it with my fork, moving the piece of meat on my plate for a while, almost playing with it as if it was some sort of animal instinct. It was probably the forearm, or some other high cut meat, something that I knew I could always predict from Sasaki, that he would always opt for the best. But I cut into the meat with my fork, taking small bits and pieces and sliding them through the faint red liquid before lapping it all into my mouth, the salty taste something that was also signature for this particular dish. I hate to say I probably looked like some sort of raving slave eating it, for I remember scarfing it down like this was the only food I had eaten in days. I belched slightly, my face turning a bright purple as I did, Sasaki only shaking his head subtly. He was still eating, so I decided to at least try and attempt what humans called “small talk” while picking at the very large scab on my forehead, more out of habit then need. “So..whats going on in Orlast?” I asked him, picking off a small piece of the scab and flicking it to the side, small drips of purple blood slowly starting to fill the open wound, “I mean…how are you settling in as Tyrian? Is it easy?” he only sighed as he plopped his fork done, his meal also finished in what seemed like mere seconds. “Everything is fine in Orlast one would suppose. And I am settling nicely as Tyrian, it’s a big responsibility but I am positive I can handle it.” he smoothly replied, his accent something she had hardly noticed before but now began to inspect, he seemed to exaggerated his words, almost to the point that it came out sounding like a bleating sheep. I called him out on it “Why in the world do you talk like that? Why so formal?” he frowned and made a face, almost as if he was shocked beyond belief to be asked a question like this. “It is simply how I speak my dear. And formality is something a gentleman must always keep up.” It must have been a sarcastic reply for he slowly began to smile and laugh soon after, reverting to a more casual manner of speech [yet the accent remained, something I believe was always with him, I just never noticed].

“Why do you pick at that scab?” he spoke up and questioned me jokingly, pointing to the rather largely opened and cut wound on my forehead, small strands of my hair dipping into the blood and painting it purple. “Why are you so human?” I replied back sharply, rising my tone just a bit. He shook his head and looked angrily at me, “Why are you such an eccentric freak?” he stayed calm during the whole ordeal, while I for one grew angry…well, angry on the surface. “I am not an eccentric freak! You…you’re the freak!” I yelled it out and stood to my feet, ready to walk off, yet I somehow knew that what happened next would happen, it was only a matter of time. He only shook his head and muttered “nah” to me, causing me to walk around the table and tackle him quickly, the two of us quickly stumbling down the hill, what seemed like actual fighting to anyone else seemed like some sort of joke to us. We hurled mock insults at each other as he struggled in the grass, staining each other’s clothing in the patches of grass and mud, our shouts and laughter sometimes causing the birds to fly away, frightened of us. It was…amazing to say the very least. It continued on for a few minutes, time seeming to fly by quickly as we again stood up, patting each other off, the dust, dirt and blades of grass falling off of us just barely. His formally pristine suit was now stained with muddy handprints and green grass stains. My grey tunic also was now covered in the stuff, along with my hair. I scoffed jokingly, looking up the sky before turning my vision back to Sasaki and tackling him to the ground again, the two of use tangling in each other’s grip before letting go, both of us panting, wide smiles on our faces as we just let go and looked at the sky.

“What…was…that…?” Sasaki breathed heavily, both of us holding our chests as we were out of breath, the sudden burst of enthusiasm shocking us both. I only shrugged as I continued to look at the sky, unsure of what just happened. “We should…phew…we should do this again sometimes.” ….. “Agreed.” a few moments pass as me giggle and look at the sky, the puffy clouds condensing, and the signs of rain coming. I enjoyed the fuzzy warmth of the grass and the soft touch of my companion; it was like an idle nirvana, something…something you just cannot get in the cold metallic city that is Deus. We stood up slowly though, prepared to leave as the sounds of thunder began to ring out, Sasaki looking around like a frightened child whenever it sounded, I myself only snickering at his caution. We made our trek back up the hill, the two of us hand in hand. Yet he stopped me midway, tapping my shoulder, holding out the somewhat crimpled pink flower that he had pinned on his jacket. He held it to my face, “Here, take it.” he said it softly, placing it into my open palm. I looked at the flower for a moment, its semi-crushed petals delicate and detailed, something no artist could ever dream of doing, something no engineer could ever copy, something…something so natural that all I could do was stare at him. Then…it happened, I grabbed him slowly and pressed his lips against my own [the English word for which I am forgetting as of this time], the tingling sensation throughout my body something I have never experienced since then. Then, in a split second, it was over. We were once again dumb struck, our mouths wide open and quivering like dead fishes, our eyes locked into each other’s. It was most definitely awkward.

Click… My eyes went wide as I heard the click, the sound of a gun, the rain beginning to pour all around us, the sounds of thunder making Sasaki flinch every so often. I tightly held the flower in my hand as three figures emerged from the top of the hill, two Arashok and…and Nihili. Nihili only smiled and chuckled at me, mocking me, making me feel…depressed and embarrassed inside [if those are the correct words]. The Arashok chuckled along with her, subtly however as one was soon smacked in the breastplate for snickering to loud. Nihili exhaled sharply soon after, pointing at Sasaki who shook his head frantically like a child and sprinted towards the lake, jumping in soon after, the Arashok shooting and running after him. I clenched the flower a little tighter, the anger boiling inside of me. I yelled out “STOP” and all of a sudden, everything did. Nihili only stood there as the Arashok looked at each other and went to attention. I looked grimly at Sasaki who had come up for air, the two of us staring at each other for just a moment before I waved him goodbye, the man swimming away and running to the other side of the lake soon after, my heart sinking as he slowly escaped from my vision. This…this had been a dreadfully delightful first date.

[9th Panzer Division]

Memory [MT]

Two Years Earlier...

The window shattered loudly. The sparkling shards of glass shot every which way. Red blood mixed with the dirty glass as they cut and sliced through the soldier's body. Crashing into the floor of the storefront and rolling into chairs and tables, broken wood smashing into the body of the rag-doll soldier and breaking bones. The shell struck yards away from the sprinting soldier, and it flung the young man into the restaurant adjacent to his position. Without a scream he settled on the floor, crumpled up like a used tissue. Close to death, the soldier saw his wife walk towards his crippled body. His wife knelt at his side and planted a kiss on his bloody cheek. He let out his last breath and fell into eternal sleep.

Two Years Later...

The star-shell shattered the black night and cast an eerie light across the desolate moonscape of a battlefield. The soldiers shivered under the torrential rain that crashed down from the heavens and annoyed the soldiers below for weeks. The star-shell faded away and brought forth a darkness one again. The familiar sound of a 60mm mortar firing reported down the line of muddy, half flooded foxholes. The mortar's flare exploded and brought back the wonderful light the men on the ground depended on. With strained eyes the men watched the horizon for anything that moved. Pistol in hand, they would have to face the enemy alone, to protect their buddy next to them in a semi-awake slumber.

The silhouettes of two men appeared just across the front-line. A nearby soldier challenged the figures with a pass-phrase. Neither responded and the soldier repeated the phrase. The dark figures wore the same helmet as the soldiers in the foxholes, and the already tired, bloodshot eyes of all the soldiers in earshot of the challenge strained to make out other features of the stalking figures. Finally, several shots rang out and white hot tracers zipped into the bodies of the unknown men. An unfamiliar scream followed and a thud as they squished into the thick mud of the ridge. The two figures were no more.

There was the skeletal remains of a dead soldier in a foxhole in front of a grizzled old veteran. It faced towards friendly territory and sat as if the decaying remains still lived. Its uniform was a crisp field gray, its polished leather boots had no scratches. It was a replacement. His ghoulish face held its last emotion. Fear. In the skeletal hands was a rusting rifle, the constant rains and the bloated flies and maggots now used it as a perch, to eat the decayed skin falling off the bones of the dead soldier. The empty eye sockets and the grin looked devilishly towards the ragged veteran in the foxhole. The rain poured down into the muddy foxhole and splattered around the corpse. It reminded the man of elves dancing in a pond, but the rain drops weren't elves dancing, instead he began to see ghoulish things dancing round and round.

The soldier next to him awoke and signaled for his weary buddy to take his turn asleep. The man slid into a light sleep and began to dream. The corpses in front of the men animated and slowly stood up. The bloodshot eyes of the soldier widened and his face contorted into a horrifying visage. The dead soldiers were milling around, and moving their mouths endlessly trying to say something, anything to the tired soldier in the foxhole. He strained his ears to hear the whispering dead men. It sounded like they were asking for his help. He began to weep. He could not help them, and it destroyed him.

[Addinav-Ian]

(OOC: Just a repost, but considering here it'll probably have more exposition, it will be useful as a prelude to what is coming)

[ FT ]

المحاكمات الأولى من الإيمان

The first trials of faith

Planet Al Baruk, Muhammad's Star(Class A), five hundred years ago

Earthquakes shifted lands, opening and closing gigantic abysses as the very landscape shifted, and alien animals and trees which evolved in such hostile environment were killed by the dozens and hundreds. Lava emerged from countless volcanoes every time once a few months or year, forming a permanent cycle of death and rebirth, as countless plants from the godforsaken planet were burnt, but many others emerged from the extremely fertile soil left from the wake of eruptions, and somehow, life has managed to survive in such extreme conditions, and not even the constant hurricanes would manage to have stopped evolution to have its work. Beings which reproduction cycles were far beyond anything seen on Earth were the most common, as they had to compensate the high mortality with a high birth rate to secure the survival of their species. Predators tended to be rare, as they were prey to the forces of weather and geology.

The planet however, was not completely harassed by such phenomena. Into its very equator and between its tropics, where the extremely hot rays from the bluish white sun touched the barren scrublands, deserts and barren lands, the land was stable as the continents which formed there were far older, yet life was paradoxically far rarer than in the deadly regions beyond its tropics seen only in the proximity of few oasis. The heat has led to the evolution of extremely adapted beings, with fast metabolism rates and an internal body temperature far above that of the beings seen in Earth... meanwhile, the planet's fragile Ozone layer and magnetic field led only to creates capable to withstand lethal doses of radiation to survive, and its abundance of helium and other gases made of its atmosphere a magnet for constant thunderstorms.

The system was completely devoid of any form of sentient life, as the psychological traumas from acquiring sentience in a world of death could probably become counterproductive to the survival of species, and distant stars sometimes vanished, as forces far older than such very universe perhaps struggled for their goals, of which the truth perhaps would make any sentient insane if discovered. The planet, untouched, deadly and with superficially little to draw attention of sentient beings, remained undisturbed for billions of years, orbiting around a forgotten star. Until they came.

Reality shifted for a while as a massive teardrop-shaped vessel, perhaps able to hold millions inside if most of them were in cryo, with an icy exterior emerged from the labyrinths of the webway back to one of many material universes, the universe where such world was located. Nearly instantly a man checked through a burst of information coming to his very mind, as a wire from a datajack connected him to the bridge controls, and he immediately saw the images of the white star and of the planet, scanning, watching deeply through it as he tried to hold off a strange feeling, a feeling of heresy and sin, as if there was something right now trying to corrupt his soul, something like the evil Djinns from the realm of fire and chaos they once traveled through, breeding disturbing thoughts of luxury and sodomy as he saw bleeding fair ladies smearing his own body with blood, doing all sorts of deplorable and sinful acts, and he felt a primal fear and disgust rather than pleasure:

"In the name of Allah!" he then shouted loudly, waving the sinful thoughts from his mind, "Begone Great Shaitan!" he simply refused to think more, and to consider whether such was the work of the Great Shaitan, Iblis, or of some other greater evil Djinn. Sitting in a chair over the bridge's main uplink, he then looked at the others next to him. The bridge was fairly decorated, a dome-like room which seemed like the top of a Sultanate's tower, its wall inscribed with flowered borders and teachings of the Koran, and no visible port windows or anything of such sort. The works of the faithful of Allah, who weaved the fate defined by Him, and the purified works of heathens, have allowed for mind and machine to come together, and for the faith of man to touch the coldness of machine. Stars were being mapped one by one meanwhile, as telescopes glanced through the transparent ice in four astrogation decks a few floors below. All the individuals in the bridge were male, no exceptions, and a few of them stood next to mats placed improvisedly over the wooden panels covering the cold metal of the deck as they began their prayers, bowing in direction to the planet, and following other rites with very little changes from thousands of years of tradition. In fact, the spacecraft even rolled to ensure their prayers would be facing such world, as they followed the Salah. And soon he would also find a vacant mat, and remembering first, he concluded Wudu, his ablution, was not necessary at this moment, and began to join in the prayers to their God, and not being a imam, he simply followed the more learned man regarding their faith, and among other prayers, he recited:

"بِسْمِ اللّهِ الرَّحْمـَنِ الرَّحِيم
In the name of Allah, the Most Gracious, the Most Merciful
الْحَمْدُ للّهِ رَبِّ الْعَالَمِين
All Praises to Allah, Lord of the Universes.
الرَّحْمـنِ الرَّحِيم
The Most Gracious, the Most Merciful.
مَـالِكِ يَوْمِ الدِّين
Sovereign of the Day of Judgment.
إِيَّاك نَعْبُدُ وإِيَّاكَ نَسْتَعِين
You alone we worship, and You alone we ask for help
اهدِنَــــا الصِّرَاطَ المُستَقِيمَ
Guide us to the straight path;
صِرَاطَ الَّذِينَ أَنعَمتَ عَلَيهِمْ غَيرِ المَغضُوبِ عَلَيهِمْ وَلاَ الضَّالِّين
The path of those on whom You have bestowed your grace,
not of those who have earned Your anger, nor of those who go astray."

After he ended his prayers, he then looked to the other faithful to his right, and said:

السلام عليكم ورحمة الله وبركاته
"Peace be upon you"

Looking at the other prayer to his left, he repeated the same words, as their session of prayers ended. Prayers in thanks and worship for the fact the webway was gone, and now the future fate reserved for them was clear, although scans indicated the world was not a paradise, with faith, perseverance and the eventual rediscovery of terraforming, one day they shall build a new Jannat ‘Adn free of sin, where humanity's purity of soul would be restored. And thus, the same man who prayed before addressed the imam:

"Salām. Allah be praised! The fate He has chosen for our people led us to our promised land! We will now start our long way into the temptations and challenges such world shall yet bring."

"Salām," the Imam then answered, as the vessel began its long journey next to the planet's low orbit, "I have much faith in our blessed future. I can feel a very serene peace awaiting for us. Meanwhile, Hamid, have you visited your wives today?" the imam greeted his old friend, and perhaps was chosen for the role for the way he looked perfectly human, with a believably slender physique for human standards, brown hair and black eyes, as perhaps a blessing made sure all his human genes would be dominant over the curse bestowed upon the sins of their fathers by an evil Djinn, according to their Ayatollah. An ironic curse that led them to be unable to raise families, considering how much their parents were into sodomy and the act of sex for the purpose of pleasure only, meant that God would have to give them a blessing one day, before they die. Fitting, the curse would give them a few more years of lifespan beyond those of a genetically enhanced human. Ironically, their sinful fathers were immortals, and thus have evaded the brimstone of Hell, and perhaps lost their souls forever in an existence without God. The fact they were refused access to such blasphemous technologies was a blessing in disguise, for at least they had the chance to reach Jannah.

"Assume control over the bridge operations my good friend, for I shall visit Azira and and Samia now, Salim." he then walked next to an elevator, as he descended all the way down to the spacious crew quarters, which were artificially divided to allow their childless families to have a degree of privacy, and to prevent lust, envy and thoughts of treason to surface. As the Caliph walked through the corridors of the spacecraft, decorated like the interiors of Arabic palaces, he ordered mentally for a door to open, as in a small bedroom, her two wives were talking to each other.

"Then my... Salām and welcome home Hamid." Azira replied back. She was one of those where the curse of the Djinn was far more evident. She was of short height, unnaturally slender and beautiful, with a very pale skin, blue eyes and goldilock hair, sharp eyebrows and her ears were sharp at their top, although a hood covered them at the moment, while she dressed in a very simple clothes dress, covering all her skin but that of her hands and face. Samia looked more like a normal human, except for being shorter and slender than most humans, and she was mostly silent, showing little signs of talkativeness as she simply repeated their traditional greeting.

"Salām." Hamid focused his attention at Azira, "we have found our promised land, and now we are soon going to build our sacred Caliphate from the sands of such world. We will need much work and dedication in the days that will come, and I will need yours and Samia's aid as well. But," he then looked at Samia as her other wife simply nodded and smiled to him before, noticing how she seemed a bit down, as he could feel her sadness, for the curse led them to have their minds bonded closer, and for them to sometimes read each superficial thoughts by accident, "Samia, my love, share me your feelings, I am here to help you, for my love to you is equal to my love to Azira, and only lower than my love to Allah."

She simply nodded, indicating she was suffering inside:

"I wanted for us to have a children. I wanted for our family to grow, not to stay as it is," Samia gestured as if she held a baby on her hands, daydreaming, clearly refusing to accept the consequence of their curse, "I wished, I wished just that we could have one. I always did all I could to love you Hamid, but... no matter how I love you, no matter how much I pray, I cannot find happiness, I must have a son."

Sighing, Hamid realized she was having the same crisis she ever had since he has chosen her as his second wife, he then calmly said to her, as he hugged her and began to caress her hair:

"Samia, you know that although I do not shed tears, I also suffer from this curse, and from the burden I have in my hands as a Caliph for our people, for I must lead us to build a civilization from the ground, and to avoid it from being corrupted by sin. I also wanted to have a son or daughter, Samia," he then gave her a slight kiss, "and we must have faith, that one day Allah shall grant us a miracle, that one day our curse shall be lifted, and no longer the infidels will dare to mock as as "inhuman", for in truth, while our bodies may have lost part of their humanity, their souls have long been tainted and taken away from any inhumanity they had. They are now slaves to homunculi and machines, with no purpose to exist as soulless cursed ones who hide from the divine justice through pleasures and drugs."

"But... I still feel impatient for this day!" Samia then spoke somewhat louder than her usual, "why were we not granted such boon yet?"

"Because we are still being judged, my dear Samia. Once we surpass the tests Allah gave for our people, if for us to pass them is His will, which I have faith that is, we will find a new hope and our children will never forget what we have done to ensure for them the salvation of their souls." Hamid smiled back to her, trying to calm her down, and then he looked at Azira and asked:

"Why do you not suffer Azira?"

"Because I do not shed tears, it does not mean I am not suffering from these trials we have to face, dear Hamid." she hugged and gave a slight kiss to him as well, "Allah knows, and to think we will be rewarded in the end helps me to stand such trials. Now, love, should you not return to your duties to the people?"

"Yes," he seemed to have reminded of something right now, "thank you both for your love and for helping me with these difficult times, I will see you back in dinner."

And thus he closed the door of the quarters, and made his way back through the bridge. Looking at his friend, the Ayatollah, he touched his shoulder respectfully to distract him from the datajack feed:

"Thank you Salim. But Allah has destined you for your duty in keeping our people faithful, and I in my duty of guiding them through space and continents in this promised land. Have you found a suitable location for our first city?"

"With the guidance of Allah, blessed be His name, I have found it, good Caliph." Salim immediately answered as a digital mapping of the planet's surface being zoomed in appeared in Hamid's mind, "an oasis nearly in the line of the tropic in the southern hemisphere of this planet which angels have said to me that is called Al-Baruk, for us to name our first city in honor of Mecca and for us to name this star in honor of the great prophet Muhammad, for such is the star from where Allah provided us with our promised land, where Allah has guided us to find ores we will need as well. Also, good be Allah providences to have guided us to bring anti-radiation medicine and Geiger counters before knowing we would need them."

The oasis, stretching through one hundred kilometer, covered a fertile region of the planet, fertile but still suffering from radiation poisoning. A few alien fauna existed there, completely different from most beings seen in Earth. Arthropods and insects were far more common as chitin acted as a natural shield for radiation, and even more evolved species had both chitinous exoskeletons to protect them from radiation and internal bones to give them increased support and mobility. Certainly, people with phobias regarding crunchy insects would not like such world. They however could not choose, for both religions and practical reason. Religious because they believed Allah has chosen such world for them, and practical because the webways were risky, and their supplies of Helium-3 and metallic hydrogen were running out. They would not be able to make travels to other systems with what they had.

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

Four hundred ninety-nine years and eleven months ago, Colonial City of New Mecca

A month of hard work and determination was over. The first simple adobe buildings raised from the ground and below it, while their colony spacecraft orbited their new home, providing logistical support for the settlement of the new world. A majestic mosque was almost finished in the landing site of one of their first dropships to land and bring colonists to the planet, and people began to work, open their shops, continuing their traditions and faithful practices in worship of Allah.

Between the men operating remotely dumb robots to construct the mosque in nearby datajacks, Caliph Hamid al Dalaam stood, his humanity still visible despite the obvious traces of Djinn blood in his appearance, and next to a microphone, with a traditional turban covering his head and hiding his inhuman pointed ears, he stood, and spoke:

"Allah be praised, people of Addinav-Ian! Our progress has been a gift His blessed weaving of our fates ensued, and a gift His hand guided every one of us to achieve. The Solarian infidels have mockingly claimed their proud building of an interstellar-able civilization in only twenty years, but they were blind and misguided, and thus incompetent. With the guidance of Allah, I speak to you today, that we shall begin our journey through the stars, that we shall spread the words of Muhammad beyond the boundaries, as fated by His will, in five years! And then, we will follow our blessed Allah's mission to spread Islam through the universe, and surpass all trials that come, so we may deserve his blessing, and then, I have absolute faith we shall not falter the will of Allah!"

"Allahu Akbar!" the voices echoed through the small city
"Allahu Akbar!" they praised, as spontaneously GAR-22 Gauss Autorifles were raised to the skies by the more militant defenders of their world. But then silence came again for the Caliph to resume his speech. Passionately, and with a fanatical conviction, their leader then resumed:

"There are other more pressing matters, I fear. Every day since we arrived in this universe, our dreams have been haunted by a foul Djinn, and we have been tormented by sins our human and Djinn fathers have done, for sins of sodomy, perversion and blasphemy against Allah. We must be strong, and pray more often to Allah, and eventually we will find a way to find relief from such trials by His hand. Our blessed Ayatollah has seen visions from Jannah, and been told that in this very world, another Stone like that of the holy Kaaba in our species homeworld, Earth, is to be found. We must search well, and perhaps by absorbing the sins of our fathers, the stone shall darken and relief us from the consequence of their blasphemies against Allah. Be watchful, and by the guidance of God, he shall set our fate to find the blessed stone one day."

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

Four hundred ninety years ago, City of New Mecca

Skyscrapers rose from the skies, and a new mosque stood into the top section of a gigantic, square-shaped arcology in the center of the city. The amount of progress unwavering faith, access to advanced technologies and hard work brought was perhaps a miracle. A space yard was completed two years ago, a handful of interstellar probes, sent to nearing systems which had a high likelihood of harboring inhabitable planets, and three Assault Core Spacecrafts, donned in the colors and symbols of Islam, now served faithfully, with internal detachments of space marines, to protect their system from war-thirsty infidels and Djinns, but many still have fallen. The dreams were becoming worse every year, dreams of sodomy and helplessness, through which a few claimed to have seen a strange, androgynous abomination and heard whispers with a name. Hamid has been among those, he could hear the word pretty well, as it became forever imprinted in his memories, the name of such evil Djinn that has been tormenting them.

"Slaanesh"

Some have been lost, ending in insanity from the nightmares, and psychic wards were being built to hold the insanity at bay. A twentieth of their population was on the touch of straightjackets to avoid them from completely destroying themselves, but as guided by Allah, they were not to be punished, but to be held until the Kaaba was built for such planet. The Caliph's burden perhaps was made far worse as both of his wives were in asylums, and remembered as evil Djinns possessed Azira, very clearly as the doctors had to forcefully stop her and bring her to the Sanitarium:

´"I want to lick it! I want to pleasure you with my blood... come, it is lovable,"´

He knew that Azira would never say such things to him, and perhaps it was more comforting to believe she was simply suffering possession rather than corrupting herself, but his immense suffering, and the laughters of evil going in her mind were slowly destroying him as well. Many marriages were broken and destroyed by the madness and soul-devouring taint of such Djinn named Slaanesh, and their society was obviously at the breaking point after so many years.

As weary as always, he awaited in his palace for the day a messenger would announce the discovery of the black stone, the day their trials at the hands of such powerful evil would end. He distracted himself looking at the embossed decorations, at the flowery details and pillars, at the cuppola of the palace. The place was beautiful, although it lacked the golden luxuries, with dignity to house the Caliph of an entire planet. The arcology it was placed it made its existence far more outstanding, where watchfully it raised to the skies to observe the world around, and across many places, the Caliphate's symbol of rule could be seem. However, a problem remained: their population of 1 million never grew through these years, instead a dozen of thousands among them died, and they had a lifespan to count... the clock was running, their future was still uncertain, and perhaps they were the last holders of their faith. With their sterility, they would not be able to pass the teachings to the generations to come, as no other generation would come, and the torments continued strong.

Until he listened to something in his datajack:

"Salām, Caliph Hamid. Ayatollah Salim here, I bring good news. Allah has at last blessed us with fate: one of the miners in Jafar Mining Conglomerate have found a black colored stone, unlike any other, and then we discovered it was just a piece of it. This may mean there are black stones through the entire planet! According to his testimony, he stopped having nightmares after he brought a piece of the stone with him."

"Excellent..." Hamid weary face changed to a minor happiness, "request for Jafar Mining Conglomerate to bring one million pieces of the stone and distribute them to everyone, starting with the insane. And bring the rest to the Caliphate, in their duty for Allah."

"Understood. Allah has lifted one of our curses, now we must pray for Him to lift the other as well."

"Maybe... maybe we should spread His word, Ayatollah," an idea, perhaps a suggestion of the nature they refused to acknowledge, the psychic, came to Hamid's mind. Perhaps such was the way to start everything, "through the outer space we should spread the teachings through all the languages we are aware of."

"Very well Caliph. You seem inspired, and although this may be unwise considering the legions of infidels, I trust God's will."

And in time, God's will would be fulfilled.

[The Western Russians]

[ PT ]

---

The Bitter Cold...

Part One - The Boiling Pot

---

The rolling winds blew strong, gliding across and around all foes in its path; none were safe from the elements. They never were. This November was a cold one - the snow settled gently on the ground. Its purity uncorrupted, perfect, a symbol of the people; safe from the dangers of wealth and power, unlike some... But now, now the pure white snow had been dirtied. The darkness spread, the snow turning dark and murky - a sludge. Symbolic of the leadership, some may say. Incompetent and hated, the people grew tired of the Tsar. A poor Tsar. Unable to take any criticism, he'd often shut himself off from the world. Oblivious to the quickening pace of life. Of his life.

The people grew wary, angry, tired. Waiting days for small rations of food, rumours quickly spread. Spreading in favour of the people. The restless attitude of life would reign true, blood thicker than water, and this blood red - like all blood - seeped. Coursing through veins of the people, of the workers, of all. Life grew pointless and starvation common, there would be unrest. There would be unrest and it would not be pretty. The red blood seeped into the white snow; the two opposites curdling, this would be a messy ordeal. Of that, there was no doubt...

---

The shells screamed through the air, the chaos and explosions of the fighting deafened the men, the men who fought so valiantly and in vain. Their deaths were a certainty, but they cared not. They were fulfilling their duty - that was all that mattered to them. Yet somehow, through the fog of war, through the intense noise of the fighting, through all other obstacles, silence overpowered the men. The silenced screamed louder than the shells, and even the dying accepted their fates, knowing that their time was up. Death was upon them.

Morale was low, at an all time low. The men had no energy for anything, and even death looked more promising than living. Because living meant effort, and expelling such effort in a vain strife was a waste. Condemned no matter what any did, it didn't even matter to the men what happened. They fought on, they fought hard for their families, for the honour it would bring. But mostly because they had to. Were they not working in the factories, they would be fighting and there were no real alternatives. The only free from the fighting were the important, the corrupt. And the red blood seeped here too. No matter the person, no matter their fate, red coursed through them, overpowered them. They grew restless...

---

The Winter Palace was silent, all were silent. It seemed that in a moment of miraculous events, their minds were one. The crowd amassed. In his office, the Tsar looked down upon the crowd. The crowd striking, not working. Just chatting. The rich living life as it came at them, living off vast wealth, whilst the poor lived day to day, from pay to pay, the starving and the rich were far apart. Shouts filled the St. Petersburg square, the crowd grew angry. Almost entirely females, they began to throw snowballs at the males factories. And once more the crowd grew... The cold midday air nipped at extremities, bit at skin, yet the weather was of no concern to the crowd. The Tsar was. Suddenly, and spontaneously, violence erupted in the crowd. Fighting began and the rabble turned into nothing more than a pit of anger and hatred. And once more, the red flowed.

In a life where the rich meant more than the poor, the poor would rise. The poor would unite. Would and did. The grudge had built up over hundreds of years, and was only now being acted upon. The war had affected the people more than anything; whereas before they could just about afford to eat, now they could not at all. The war had dragged the nation into a downward spiral and the nation was nothing like what it had been. The once grand empire, gone. But for how long..? But where there is a will, there is a way. And one man seized it.

---

As I sit here and write, I think. I think long, and I think hard. Only occasionally forced out of contemplation by the sudden jolts of the trains movement, its motions frightening in haste. The countryside seems to pass by me with a quickening haste, and what I would love to see in normal time seems to speed past me as if it were snatched from my eyes. Never destined to see these fields and animals again, the lands unsoiled by the horrors of war, hatred and corruption - the purity of its folk, its people. And my thinking brings me back to the work I set out upon. The work of Marx.

Switzerland was nice, but now my homeland awaits me and I cannot deny the people my arrival. My policies and ideas, my thoughts, they are controversial no doubt. But my manifesto is complete. It will work; I shall make sure of that. But now, as I ponder, I question myself, my ideals and what I stand for. What do I stand for? It is neither one way nor the other, it does not favour the rich, but does not make all poor. It is simply the middle. Yet, it is not, for it is far left. The extremes. Socialism. Marx talks of a world where none rule, where all are equal, and where there are no barriers between people due to their wealth. There is just equality.

But what will the people think? How will they greet it? In a nation of such inequality, it will surely be accepted and welcomed. The people, or so I have heard, are on the verge. On the verge of revolution, mutiny, a coup, call it what you will, but the people will have their way. They will have their way... My nation needs me, my people need me, the world needs me. They need my work and of that I have no doubt. So now I must return, and I must lead them. This will be my final entry, the last words in this book. My station is close, and my nation firmly beneath my feet - or at least the trains' wheels - and I have returned home once more...

---

And off his train the man did step; the first steps of the way, of the new land. Of the promised land, or the poor's promised land at least. He was the saviour of the people, the leader of them for every person needs a leader. This man was he, and he was Lenin.

---

[Vetokia Prime]

[FT]

[Mature]

'I Thought You Were All The Same...'

The woman sat inside the white anti-septic cleanliness of the test room was quietly humming to herself, right before the unannounced presence spoke in her ear. "What's the status of Batch Nine?"
She jumped, near-frightened to death. "What the hell's wrong with you Kelis?!"
The man just looked at her until she sighed and picked up the scattered papers she'd knocked off the desk from the floor. "It's...okay."
"What the hell is that supposed to mean?" asked the man harshly.
She fidgeted with the papers, unwilling it seemed to look the man in the eye. "The batch is an odd one. Most of the subjects are responding to the Indoc section the way they should be. Eta Team however are...proving hard to identify with us."
The man rocked back on his heels, one hand cupping his chin while the other cupped his elbow. "...There's no explanation for that. Unless...yes." he murmured to himself.
The woman just stared at him, waiting for an answer. Eventually she prodded him. "What?"
The man looked at the floor just past her before refocusing on her. He used his arms, one moving in time with his speech. "When you get right down to it, genetics is a random game to play. Chance plays just as much a part as design does. Perhaps it's inevitable we get subjects who aren't as responsive to their training."
The woman waved her hands in denial. "No, it's not that Kelis."
"I'm sorry?" he replied, eyes showing his surprise.
"It's not their training, Kelis. It's the indoctrination phase." she explained. She plucked one sheet of paper from the sheaf in her hands and waved it at him. "They're scoring just as well in survival, marksmanship, hand to hand combat and all the others as the rest of the units in Batch Nine. Hell, I think they're actually doing better on average. It's just Indoc that's not being taken in."
Kelis raised one eyebrow in consternation. "You mean to tell me that we have a complete team being raised who are learning from the very best we have...and we can't even be sure they're going to end up being one-hundred percent loyal to us?"
"In essence, yes." shrugged the woman helplessly.
He nodded to himself. "I'm sure we can find a way to solve this problem. Have Eta Team ready for a briefing in the main lecture area."
The woman looked at him questioningly before turning to the intercom. She wouldn't get a straight answer off him anyway. "Very well then, Doctor."

At first glance, a person would think that these men were just brothers. That is, until they got closer and realised that they were precisely identical. All four were about six foot tall, with closely cropped brown hair and strong eyes of blue. Each one had the well muscled-build of a weight-trainer, as well as skin bronzed from long hours in the sun. All were dressed in fatigues, and bore the same uniform look of regulated boredom. Being dragged out of bed at 2300 hours wasn't an uncommon occurrence, since the trainers loved to spring night-time exercises on them, but being dragged out of bed and told to report to the main lecturing area was. TS-998, or Ate as his brothers called him looked round at them and whispered loudly, "You reckon they've realised my good looks are going to waste here with none of the ladies about?"
"Shut it, Ate." growled Kaden. He was the team's resident surly man, but his skills at CQC and demolitions made up for that in the eyes of his brothers. Ate made to give a comeback but was chopped off when the team's leader chopped his hand. "That's it, you two. The doctor's going to be here in a minute, and I don't intend to give him any cause for concern with us. Especially if that means we end up in Recon." Kelis had been watching the squad for the past ten minutes now. The level of personality variations within Eta Team had amazed him. Most of the other units in each batch didn't even seem to have an advanced sense of individuality, but Eta Team had seemingly identified with names, derived personalities unakin to each other. Even their voices exhibited minor variations. He carried on for another five minutes, observing with interest how both this 'Ate' and 'Kaden' had instantly fallen into line when the team leader ordered it. "So, there's still a hierarchy. Is it societal, or a byproduct of the chain of command?" he murmured to himself. It was an interesting view into how the units conducted themselves when they thought they weren't being observed. Eventually he put it to an end, sweeping out of the security office and into the main chamber. "Identify yourselves," he demanded. He knew he had to establish as the authority figure in the room. They might not have been following Indoc properly, but they had still been instilled with that key sense of discipline. The team's leader saluted, barking in a parade-ground voice, "TS-Nine-One-Five, Eta Team, reporting as ordered sir!" The others quickly followed suit,
"TS-Nine-Four-Six, Eta Team, reporting as ordered sir!"
"TS-Nine-Seven-Three, Eta Team, reporting as ordered sir!"
"TS-Nine-Nine-Eight, Eta Team, reporting as ordered sir!"

Kelis stood there, letting their anticipation, and tension, build. "I'm sure none of you know why you're here." He noted with interest as the faces of the team betrayed their anxiety. One-Five's eye twitched, Seven-Three's gaze had moved from straight ahead to look at him for a brief moment, and Nine-Eight's eyes had suddenly gone blank. Only Four-Six had shown no visible trace, but the others could tell Kelis what he wanted. "I'll clear it up, since you all seem so...tense about it. I want you four to prove your loyalty to us." The team just looked at Kelis, suspicion and blankness competing for control of their facial expressions. It was One-Five who spoke up finally, "Can...I ask what our mission would be, sir?"
Kelis smiled coldly at the clone. "You may. Your task is to infiltrate a compound in the western district of Bad Landing. There you will terminate the individual Baroka Deufen. Baroka is a terrorist, but she always has impeccable alibis and witnesses to swear she was elsewhere. So far, she's destroyed four government facilities, as well as a recruiting station for the Marine Corps. Over one-hundred civilians, around seventy government employees, and five marines have died in her attacks." He leaned back, perching himself on the stainless steel lectern behind him. "If you do this, and succeed, your...less than illustrious ability to absorb the impact and justice of our noble cause, will be hidden away in the darkest corners of the deepest record room available, and I will make sure no-one discovers it." It was at that point he lost even the cold smile that had adorned his face, an ugly smirk replacing it. "If you don't....you will all be reconditioned. And I will oversee it personally." He stood, pointing to the door they had entered through. "Your equipment and any specific details you believe you need will be found through there." Then, just as abruptly as he entered, he left. The clones were paralysed for a moment. "...Damn." muttered Kaden. Ate looked round at him, eyebrows raised. "Had a stroke of genius? Quick guys, grab the holo-cam to record this momentous occasion. Or not..." He sighed as he looked at One-Five's scowling visage. "Sorry Honcho." Honcho just shook his head and waved the team out. They had a mission to do.

The room was stacked with piles of crates and gun-racks. There was enough guns in there to equip an entire battalion, or so Ate thought, and the others weren't inclined to disagree. The gruff sergeant who'd met them gestured at a pile of gear set on a countertop. "This all we're getting?" asked Honcho as he indicated the pile with his thumb. The sergeant was a grumpy type, balding, with what little remained being grey. He was on the stout side too, a barrel chest turning into a keg. He spat the root he'd been chewing into a waste disposal unit with unerring accuracy and grimaced. "Yeah. If you need anything else, you fill in the requisition form and you'd better give me a damn good reason." He stumped off, sloping into the cubbyhole that served as the clerk's area in the armoury. Honcho gave him to his back what had quickly become known as the two-finger salute to the clones when they learned it, though it wasn't a bit as respectful as a salute, and then started to divvy up the the gear with the team. Within a few minutes they'd fully tooled up, Honcho carrying a silenced version of an older-model J-17 pulse rifle while Ate pulled out a long-barrelled J-17M, a sniper's variant. Both Kaden and Four-Six took the silenced J-17's, but Kaden added on breaching charges and other exotic explosives to his harness and backpack while Four-Six shoved trauma kits and other medical paraphernalia into his pouches. Honcho had also liberally loaded up, but his load was more eclectic. He had feedback connectors to screw up cameras and make them show endless repeats, laser refractors to deal with laser sensors as well as ammunition and a stubby flechette gun. There was a chance that the mission could go loud, and he'd rather take a flechette gun to rake corridors and the enemy within then manoeuvre a pulse rifle. He tossed a pulse pistol to Ate. If it did go loud, he'd need something to replace the sniper rifle he was carrying which was even longer than the standard J-17's. He looked over what was left of the pile before digging out a small crate, levering it open to reveal full-cover helmets. He handed them out, making sure each man's seals clicked as they gripped the rim, and getting a nod off each member as they signalled they were ready to go.

They moved towards the door, only noticing the man stood outside when they'd all got out. He looked at them, a curious look in his eyes, almost as if he'd never seen a clone before. "Are you Eta Team?" he asked, eyes flickering between each of them as if unsure who the leader was. Honcho saluted. That was the way they'd been told to respect non-clones, or 'normals' as the instructors referred to them. "TS-Nine-One-Five, Eta Team leader, reporting. Are you here to brief us on the details, sir?" The normal nodded, loosening up a bit in the face of the precise military etiquette used by the clones. "I'm Lieutenant Morganson. Let's run through your broad mission overview. You're supposed to infiltrate into Deufen's compound, then terminate her, correct?"
"Affirmative, sir." replied Honcho for the team.
"Good. Okay, onto the details. We estimate there's around twenty guards in the grounds and buildings within the area. There's also a small staff area where the hired hands sleep when off-shift. That should be all of them tonight. " He projected his pad's image onto the floor as a three-dimensional image. "There's three buildings inside the walls. One is the barracks/power generator, also the tallest of them all. If you get a sniper up there, you should be able to pick off anyone within the grounds as well as any reinforcements trying to enter." He pointed to a small building. "This is a supply and communications room. Take it out, and they won't be able to signal any help or grab any extra heavy weapons or munition stocks." This time he shifted to pointing at the last remaining building. "This is where Baroka resides. She lives somewhere on the third floor, east wing. She is your priority. Kill her."

Ate shifted uneasily. Morganson looked up at him, "Something the matter, Nine-Eight?"
Reluctantly he replied. "Yes sir. What do we do with the civvie staff?"
Morganson nodded as if he'd known that was what Ate was going to ask. "Civilians expendable. If it's any consolation, they're all sympathisers for her. They'd have to be, everyone knows her reputation."
Ate seemed to chew on that before nodding. "Aye sir."
The normal lieutenant looked around at each of them, "Anything else?" When he got no answers he nodded to himself. "Alright. Head to Pad-Six-Green, there's an AT-20 waiting there for your insertion. Good luck."

"This is crap." Kaden looked around at each of his brothers, almost defying them to deny it. Four-Six just sat with his head to the juddering frame of the AT-20, while Honcho sighed. Only Ate seemed ready to vocalise his agreement. "Yep."
"Say it ain't so. You two agreeing? We're screwed now." joked Honcho, trying to lighten the mood. Ate just sighed, for once his contary cheerfulness not holding out. Honcho looked around at the two of them from his position just behind the cockpit door. "It's for the best. Doing this means we don't end up being reconditioned, plus this Baroka sounds like a genuine bitch."
Kaden was frowning in silence. "That's fine by me. I just don't like the thought of slotting civvies. Even if they are terrorist sympathisers."
Four-Six spoke up then, disrupting the silence that he exuded, "Soon as they pick up a gun and start shooting, they're not civilains. Remember that."
Ate made to reply only to be interrupted as the pilot's voice rang out over the intercom. "Eta Team, insertion point in twenty seconds. Stand by." The craft shuddered into a shallow dive, abruptly levelling out. The back ramp dropped, the commandos barrelling out to land on the ground a few feet below. "Good luck, Eta Team. RV in one-hour." The AT-20 roared off into the night sky before anyone observing could notice its presence. The area they'd landed in was thick woodland that reached all the way to the south wall of the compound. Thick garuna trees native to Vetokia were the dominant foliage, though smaller trees like elms and beeches were adapting slowly to the eco-system. Out of the hour they had to complete the operation, at least half of that had to be reserved for the walk to the compound and then back to the extraction point. "Alright, everyone ready? We've got fifteen minutes to get there. Ate, you'll pick off any guards on the tower while the rest of us climb over the wall."
"Climb?" asked Kaden, "You sure you don't want to breach it instead? Should keep the element of surprise."
"Climb. The later the op goes loud, the less time for the local law enforcement to respond." He responded, looking around to make sure they all understood. "Alright, move out."

It had taken them only fourteen minutes to make it to the target, which by Ate's reckoning was pretty good. He was now settled down in the cover of the shadow formed by a garuna tree, J-17M poised to aim at the top of the tower. The scope lens had been specially coated to make sure there wasn't a shine to alert a sentry, and the silencer was attached. He could bring silent death to whoever was in his scope, he thought to himself, and as if on cue a guard appeared. The man didn't seem that young, on the portly side with a smoke in his mouth and a pistol holstered at his side. Not what anyone would expect a terrorist to look like, but that's what his and his brothers trainers had always emphasised. As if to calm himself he repeated the oft-used mantra in his head, 'The enemy are not always evil-looking people in uniforms. They are not always young men. They can look like any random normal you could imagine. And they can kill you all the same.' He settled the crosshairs right at the middle of the man's head, a perfect cranial vault shot. A simple press of the trigger and the man would crumple as life left him, no dramatic falling off the balcony to alert anyone on the ground, no blood spatter decorating the walls. A voice startled him out of his reverie, "Ate, we're preparing to enter. Do you have a target?"
He breathed back, almost as if keeping quiet was the only way not to let the guard know he was there. "Affirmative. One X-ray on the tower."
"Take the shot." Ate's eyes closed for a moment, before opening. He resettled the crosshairs on the man's head, waiting for that space in between heartbeats where there would be no air in his lungs to disrupt the shot. He pressed the trigger, watching the man's eyes lose their shine as his head splintered and he fell silently on the floor.

At the wall Honcho was stood waiting for Ate's report. "Ate here. X-ray down, go." He leapt up, hands grasping the top of the wall, using the strength of his forearms alone to pull him up until he could get his legs under him, dropping feet-first onto the soft grass of the inside with a thud that seemed to shake his very bones. Kaden and Four-Six were over the wall just behind him, joined a few seconds later by Ate. The four of them moved over to the side of the staff house. Honcho peered around a corner, ducking back as he saw the guard. "One X-ray. Stay here." He crept out silently, crouching as he moved, slowly slipping the lethal blade sheathed in his left boot out. He stood as he reached the guard, one hand covering the man's mouth while the other opened his throat. He caught the body as it fell, dragging it back to the lee of the wall, fastidiously cleaning the knife on the corpse's clothing before returning it to its sheath. He beckoned to the others, moving to the door as he did so. "Alright. There should be about ten to fifteen people at most in here judging from the size. Kaden, Six, move to the other side. Go in quiet, you hear me?"
"Roger that."
"I hear you."

Honcho counted off the seconds it should take them to reach the other side. He wasn't surprised to hear them check in just as he finished counting. "Alright, Eta Team, go." He prodded the door open, slipping to one side with rifle aimed at the corridor they were in while Ate moved to the other side, sniper rifle slung onto his back with a pistol in his hand. He pointed to himself, then to a door on the right, fingers opening and closing to ask whether he should go in. Honcho nodded silent assent, moving to the opposite door. He slid this one open, his helmet helping his eyes adapt to the pitch-black within. Two bunk-beds were inside, each one occupied. He paced over to the nearest, knife slipping out as he finished off the old man inside. He stood, doing to the same to the occupant of that bunk before a noise made him spin around. The young man, no, not even a man yet judging from his face, in the other bottom bunk had woken up, disturbed by the faint sounds coming from the other side of the room. He clicked on the wall light, revealing Honcho stood there like a wild animal in front of the lights of a moving vehicle about to crush it, a bloody knife in his hand and screamed. Honcho did the instinctive thing that came to him, shooting the boy with his rifle clutched in his right hand. A single bounding stride took him to the bed, knife lancing up through the top mattress into the back of the other person's neck. He heard the near silent-whisper of a pulse dart four times from the other room. A familiar voice sounded off in his ear. "This is Kaden. There's a stock of weapons and ammo in here. Nothing too heavy though."

"What do you mean?" demanded Honcho impatiently. It took a while for Kaden to respond, as if he'd been shocked into silence by Honcho's response.
"I mean that there's nothing heavier than some antique pulse-rifles here. Load of pistols and three boxes of ammo, but that's it." came the answer.
"They must be in the barracks then. Ate, Kaden, move out to the barracks. When you get there, rig some charges. Nothing too fancy, just enough to wreck any equipment they might have inside from the outside. Ate, watch his back." He was moving back out as he did so, Ate vanishing up the corridor while Four-Six moved down it towards him.
"What are we doing?" asked the other commando.
"We're taking out Baroka. On me." The two of them padded quickly to the main entrance of her home, walking on the grass and avoiding the gravel path to make sure no-one inside started hearing suspicious noises. "This should open onto a large atrium." recalled Honcho of the floorplans they'd reviewed on the flight out. "Straight up the left to the stair case, turn right, second door on the left."
Four-Six nodded. "Go in loud and then head up?"
"May as well. Not as if we're going to be able to surprise her after we breach the main doors anyway," answered Honcho.

Four-Six just slapped some explosive tape on the door frame. This was powerful stuff according to the instructors, but for all Eta Team knew the door could be solid titanium beneath, and that would need more than a simple wooden frame would. "You ready?" he asked, finger poised on the detonator.
Honcho just held a finger up for him to wait as he contacted the other two. "Kaden, how're those charges coming along?"
"Just about...done." replied Kaden with a small grunt of satisfaction.
"On my command, detonate those charges." He turned to Four-Six, "On the same command, we breach."
He silently waited, setting the J-17 to the double-round burst. This was more controllable than full automatic, and it meant that he had an easier time stopping opponents with two darts instead of just one. He breathed deeply a couple of times, before nodding to himself and opening his radio. "Execute, execute, execute!" The nearby tower ruptured, flames gouting from the roof. The ground-level walls erupted sideways, throwing debris everywhere, letting a vast cloud of dust bellow forth. For all its ferocity, it was the breaching charge that demanded Honcho's attention. The thin-framed wooden doors were hurled from their frames by the sheer explosive force, tossed inwards into the atrium.

Both the commandos ran inside, taking the stairs two at a time. A guard picked himself up from the floor, the grey dust coating him turning him into a ghost, trying to pull his pistol out of his holster before Four-Six shor him down on the run. The man fell back on the floor, blood leaking to cover it with the dark sheen of death as the two clones reached the next floor. They spotted the room, each one hurling himself to either side. Honcho moved into a blur of motion then, standing in front of the door, kicking it inwards with the force all his muscles could give him before stepping inside. The bedside light next to Baroka as she sat up in bed was blurring the vision of his helmet, stopping him from seeing what she was desperately clutching for. There was only one thing he could do, and he did it. A single pull of the trigger and the darts fired, one bursting through the front of her skull and cratering the wall behind while the other impacted just above the bridge of her nose, splattering grey brain matter across the soft satin sheets of the bed. He looked away, before his visor cleared and he could look back to see what she'd been reaching for. It was a pair of eye-glasses, antiques that no longer saw much use in the face of the multitude of corrective eye surgeries available to the majority of Vetokite citizens. Not even a weapon, or a comm-link for reinforcements. A pair of glasses. Four-Six shouldered past him, checking the throat for a pulse as if he had any need. "We need to get going, Honcho." Honcho looked away from the ruined body, and walked out behind the retreating form of Four-Six. He felt as if he was about to cry inside.

It took them fifteen minutes to reach the extraction point and the waiting AT-20. This time the loadmaster was waiting to beckon them on. "C'mon, we can't wait around here all night. Local brass might search these woods." The four clones silently trudged onboard, fatigued beyond measure. The ride back home was a quiet one. Honcho sat with his arms folded near the rear ramp, eyes gazing at the ceiling. He thought of the way his knife had silently slit the sentry's throat, and the boy's face. He knew it would give him sleepless nights, but the one thing the instructors had never covered was the feeling dirty after the kill. All he could think of now was the fact that he felt soiled, unclean after the lives he'd taken, the dead not even realising they had been about to die. He only realised that they were back when the AT-20 settled on the landing pad with a thump. He stood with a weary sigh, gathering his equipment as he shepherded the rest of Eta Team off the craft.

They'd handed in their equipment to the armourer, then headed to the auditorium where they'd first been briefed for an immediate debrief. Inside stood Doctor Kelis, arms folded inside his labcoat and eyes focusing unblinkingly on Honcho, while another man, shorter than him with a shaven head, powerful arms visible under his shirtsleeves, perched his backside on a desk, feet on the chair next to it. "Make your report, Nine-One-Five."
Honcho snapped to attention, speaking in a staccato rhythm. "Target was taken out, along with all personnel on-site. No reinforcements were signalled, and no witnesses were left at the scene."
Kelis smiled, a horribly smug thing to Ate's eyes, and nodded. "Very good. Now for my part of the bargain. This gentleman," he pointed to the other man in the room, "will be your senior officer from now on. You will have nothing more to do with myself or this facility, and will instead act as enployees for my esteemed 'associate' and his agency. I bid you all farewell." With that he turned about and strode out via a sidedoor. The four clones just glanced at each other in puzzlement before the sound of a cough focused their attention on the man on the desk. "Now my 'esteemed' arsehole of a colleague is absent, let's know you."
"TS-Nin-" began Honcho, stopping as he saw the upraised hand signalling silence.
"Not your serial numbers. I can read those off your name tags and your records. I want to know your real names."
Honcho just looked around at his squad in surprise. No normal had ever bothered asking them their own names. Most of the time the instructors tried to stamp it out in fact. Eventually it was Ate who spoke up. "I'm Ate, sir."
"Kaden." said his brother in his characteristic rasp.
"Honcho."
"Six."
The man gazed at Six for a few seconds. "That's it?" The commando just shrugged.
"Never heard one I liked that much, sir."
"Hmm...I got just the thing. How does Taul suit you?" he asked.
Six repeated it, as if trying out the sound of the syllables on his tongue. "I...I guess I like it."

The normal just smiled as he slipped himself off the desk. "I'm Johna Barish. You boys can just call me Johna, or if you insist on formalities, Captain Barish. Good to know you all. You boys will be coming with me, your gear's already been stowed away in the APC." He turned back to them as he strode out through the main doors. "Oh, and drop the TS bit. It's CC from now on."
"CC, sir?" asked Honcho, head cocked to one side.
The normal turned and smiled as he reached the waiting APC, one hand on the frame as he began to lean inside. "You're Confederate Commandos now."

Kelis had watched the whole scene from his office and the sleek monitor built into his desk. He reflected on how it was a shame he'd had to put up with that insufferable common prick Barish. At least he was out of here, along with Eta Team. Let him prat on about how they needed free thinkers in war. His subjects would do just fine. A buzzer rang, breaking his concentration. "What is it?" he asked, his voice rife with impatience.
The voice of his secretary replied from the discrete speakers embedded in the ceiling. "I believe there's an emergency news broadcast that would interest you, sir."
"Ah. Thank you Madaleine." he instantly switched back to impeccable politeness, hand waving the power sensor on for the wall-mounted display screen. It showed a news report, the presenter bleary-eyed, evidently dragged out of bed by an anxious producer. The main focus of the screen was a small compound, flames burning brightly within as firecrews sprayed suppressant foam onto the fire and police vehicles formed a dark grey and blue cordon around the area. He switched the sound on, catching the reporter in mid-speech. "-ppears that the compound of famous, or some may say, notorious, investigative journalist Baroka Deufen is on fire. Baroka was reported to be investigating rumours of secret weapons and research facilities including such banned activities as cloning, being conducted by the government. Reports say she was forced to hire security guards due to her fears for her own safety, though private sources within the government have derided such claims as 'proof of her evident instability.' So far the police and fire service have declined to announce any possible reasons for the explosions, though it has been established that the possible rupture of a gas tank is most like-"

Kelis placed the control on his desk, leaning back on his chair, feet placed on his desk, and smiled.

[Haishan]

[FT]

[ Mature ]

Frozen Vestige

"Our solemn hearts be petrified in the eternal cold,we devote ourselves to survive"- Haishan's Scouter Quote 32:A

"Hey,it's break time mate"

Erkul gazed into the horizon,neglecting his partner's call.They're the Patrol Unit V31,one of the Haishan Defense Army forward scouters.It was a frozen haven,as cold clasped its hands on unsuspecting mortals slowly on the permafrost.A lot of frozen people can be seen,as Erkul observed his surrounding around him.He muttered to himself and sighed,that such people are very unlucky to be caught in one of unrelenting blizzards of Haishan.Pissed being neglected,Rikin slapped Erkul's face,in a bid to grab his fleeting attention.

"Hey smuck! What you doing?" angered Erkul as he snapped from his hallucination."Well,don't hallucinate,we got jobs to do.You know the drills,unless you want to end like those frozen people.." sneered Rikin,as he started to move against the cold front.They're tasked to scout one of the notorious region of Haishan,the Hades's Hand Mountain Range.Supersonic winds chiseled against the frozen mountains,sending numerous ice spikes around.Unit V31 were consisted of 10 brave men,cut down to just two,due to numerous accidents.Either Erkul and Rikin are extremely lucky or not is unknown.The blizzard unrelentingly blast through the desolate landscape.Still pissed at Erkul,Rikin decided to confront Erkul and pushed him down into the snow.

"Erkul,dont think i forgive you,you left Lecel alone in the blizzard! I watched him,those ice spikes punched straight through him..and you did nothing!" sobbed Rikin as he stared deep into Erkul's dead eyes.Erkul is naught with rational thinking,as he felt he was responsible for the death of eight men in his unit.Erkul can still hear their last voices..that ringing through his ears,saying "Save me..i don't want to..die.." and he still remember vividly how does they die,one by one,truly a horrifying death.He can still see the frozen statue of Lecel in the area,a 3 meter long ice spike stuck on Lece,with Lecel's spurted blood which frozen on contact with the cold front.

"..now,we must carry out our missions..do you even dare to call yourself a Haishan's soldier?" threatened Erkul with a soft voice.Rikin,faltered by the threat,quickly simmer down his rage.For his knowing,any soldier that disobeyed a given mission is punishable by death.A kill on sight order that can be done by any Haishan military commanders."Mock my words Erkul,your apathy will cost you someday..sheesh" turned away Rikin,as he decided to resume walking."Oh i will be damned,this shitty job.." muttered Rikin to himself.Rikin walks in front of Erkul,braving against the cold wind,trying to complete their patrol route.They did have a few Snahos around,but those snowbikes had met the same fate as the rest of the team.Punched by numerous ice spikes,thrown by the wind.Thus the pair walked slowly in the ever increasing snow,traversing the frozen terrain.

"Say,Rikin,im deeply sorry for what happened to those eight...i will go to the military court then?" said Erkul in a bid to make Rikin happy.Rikin quickly rejected his proposal with angst,"Don't you think that can bring them alive back,you..you..scoundrel!".Erkul smacked Rikin's head,to cool the raging hate that Rikin built up over the time.Erkul too,felt sad.He was accused of killing his entire platoon in the War of Foundation,since he was the sole survivor in one of numerous battles during the war.Other units were gravely injured but Erkul escaped unscathed.Hence,Erkul always bring a burden of guilt,that he can cause ill fortunes.

"Rikin,stop moving", whispered Erkul.But his warning is totally ignored by Rikin.Out of nowhere,several flying ice spikes struck Rikin's leg and his stomach.Erkul,unfazed by it asked Rikin,"Now now,you see?". Rikin,struck by such projectile instantly coughed out blood which quickly froze in his mouth.In desperate attempt,Erkul dragged Rikin into a cave.As he dragged Rikin,Rikin's left leg snapped away,as it froze after the ice spike hit it.Rikin almost screamed in pain,but barred from so,because of the frozen blood in his mouth."Erkul..i will never forgive you..you.." spoke Rikin.Erkul slowly aims his gun towards Rikin's head."Don't hate me for this,Rikin.There is no way you can be rescued.We're sent here to die in this frozen hell.Consider me helping you die,than letting you suffer more..." whispered Erkul to Rikin's ear.

Then swiftly,Erkul pressed the trigger,sending a cold bullet through Rikin's head.Again,Erkul is left alone,to be the lone survivor as his past history recorded.Anyone that associate with him will quickly meet his or her demise."Another dead man...how many times i had sinned i wonder..oh well..at least i helped them be freed from suffering.." muttered Erkul,as he continues to wander across the frozen tundra.

[-Deus-]

[ PMT ]

[ Mature ]

[A Simple Duel]

I took a few steps forward, the dust catching in between my toes, my rusted old metallic sandals slowly coming apart as I continued to walk and the pain in my left hip something that came with age. I squinted to keep the dust out of my eyes, the click and clack of our sandals creating a sort of rhyme as we walked, the two of us on a direct path. I stopped, my thin light blue shirt blowing in the wind, the dust catching on its loose fabric. My pants fit loosely as well, flapping in the wind, the dark black colour an oddity compared to the light blue and white shirt I wore. I was not worried, no, not even in old age could I flinch at the sight of the blade as my neatly dressed opponent drew his weapon slowly from his side. I only stood there, hunger in my belly and grit on my face, the dust catching in my hair.

I coughed a few times, the lung pounding against my chest painfully, my wearing and tearing body showing always hacking up some sort of organ or catching some form of sickness these days. It comes with what I have been through. My opponent stood across from me, six metre’s at best I’d say. He was a young man, dressed in a black shirt and pants combo, the loose fabric a bit like mine but just a bit thinner that it hung across his shoulder like a dress. His sandals were a newly made and beautifully crafted oak wood, his olive coloured skin fragile looking and untouched by the effects of aging…and dust of course. I wheezed one more time, my gaze set on him, his eyes frantic and unfocused, his gaze irregular. He was nervous and I could tell.

I clutched my own blade, wrapping my tired old fingers around the wooden grip, feeling the felt the straps that held it all together. I slowly pulled it out, the shining black metal of the blade a familiar sight that, the entire motions something I’ve done for three decades at least. I scratched my head with my free hand, a subtle grin passing over my face as I crouched and lifted the blade into a fighting stance, ready to end this so that I could finish my lunch, which stood on a small table a few metres away, the piping hot cakes releasing a sweet smell that drifted around me. He was not a killer, his blade was clean and smooth, untouched by blood and flesh. I was…no, I am a killer, my blade stained with blood and chipped where the black metal had violently clashed against bone.

Duels like this were becoming ever more commonplace for me. Any street thug who knew my name seemed to want to kill me and take my title. They knew I was aging, that I was slowly losing my touch. But they still couldn’t beat me. You do not become the most skilled Kaidochi in Daius without well…having skills. But I coughed once more, shaking the thought out of my mind as I clutched my blade harder, ready to get this fight over with, to end this innocent boys life which he had so foolishly cast aside. I would love to let him go, to let him leave this place, to let him simply scamper off, a few new gems of knowledge firmly placed in his mind. But such happy endings don’t come my way. The dust slowly started to stop, the howling wind quietening down as I took a step forward, the boy swallowing loudly.

“Dou Jhan…Dai.”

I whispered out the familiar pray, “Freedom through death” , something I found extremely cliché and corny, but also needed and respectful. The boy gulped again, charging towards me with a frail and shallow war cry, his blade lifted high in the air, his grip, his stance, hell even his running was wrong. I simply licked my limps and stood there, my blade lifted up in a defensive position as I waited for the boy. He jumped and slashed downwards at me, my blade moving up to block it like an instinct, the first clash of metal ringing out across the flat plains of my farm. The boy took a few steps back, circling around me as I stood there, coughing a bit, yearning for this tedious chore to be over with and done.

He swung at me again in a downward motion, his grip completely wrong as the sword fumbled a bit in his hands as metal again clashed against metal. He was nervous, unprepared, his mind fractured and unfocused, the poor child not ready for what came next. I charged him, my fluid movements going with the beat of the music in my mind, a single blow with the hilt of my blade cracking the boy’s shoulder, the boy whimpering as he hit the ground with a smack . I chuckled a bit, wiping the spit off my lip as I waited for him to stand to his feet and rearm himself, my “code” of honour still in place. He shook his head and whimpered a bit, a surprised expression covering his scrawny face. He charged me again, attempting to catch me in the right arm, the clash of metal again ringing out as my blade hit his midway through.

Our blades sat locked as he tried to push through to my arm, my right hand clutching against the hilt of my blade, hardly struggling to keep him back. I twisted my body once around his, the boy falling over as my blade released his weapon and the energy sent him flying to the ground. He quickly stood to his feet, griping the sword again. I shook my head and charged him, sweeping at his legs, his futile attempt to block it cut short as my blade slashed through, and the sound of cracking bone sending vivid memories back into my mind as the boy toppled over, both legs sliced in two. He screamed and whimpered as I stood over him, his tears frantically leaking from his eyes, snot catching in his mouth as he slowly began to choke on his own vomit, the blood covered stumps that used to be his legs thrashed about, dust mixing in with the purple blood, a greenish tint already falling upon his wounds.

He lay there choking on his vomit for a few minutes, the stench of the orange and brownish liquid chasing off the sweet smell of my lunch. He continued to kick with his little stumps; dirt digging into his wound, no doubt infecting him with god knows what. But I prayed again, shaking my head as I tried to hold back my own vomit. The boy cried, snot leaking from his noise like a faucet. However, I stood over him, the boy slowly losing life from his own vomit. I placed my blade above him, thrusting it done and through his forehead in a quick motion, the metallic cracking sound of his skull something I’d never heard before. It was finished now. The boy lay dead, the stench of vomit still disgusting as I began to walk away, sheathing my blade back to my side, the oozing blood of my former opponent staining my sandals. I ignored it however, sighing as I walked back towards my home, towards my lunch on the table. I would not move the body, no the birds would do that for me. I would not give him a funeral or inform his family, that wasn’t my damned job. I’m not an evil bastard who enjoys killing. I’m not some high and mighty god who knows everything. I’m just a guy who happens to know how to fight pretty damn well. And that’s just that really.

[Anemos Major]

[ MT ]

[ Mature ]

Theirs not to reason why

Faint pops carried through the air, and white smoke wafted into the rainy sky slowly and lazily, mingling with darker clouds rising from the flames below. Sporadic gunfire rose from amongst the rows of dilapidated buildings, and above it all, the spring showers fell thick and fast. It was at the height of the rainy season in Asakura, in the depths of these forests. Water fell across the country, soaking everything, and produced a few months of grim and determined fighting which quickly lapsed back into stasis.

The smoke descended onto the streets, where the few remaining fighters there were forced back into buildings and alleys. The few who were brave enough to fire were quickly met by accurate return fire, and mangled bodies, ragged and bloody, slumped onto the shattered asphalt streets one by one. The clattering of machinegun-fire in the distance was met by feeble cracks and pops from the buildings, where the occasional explosion of masonry and concrete gradually whittled away at the enemy until silence descended, and then something burst from the smoke.

The man was stumbling through a bank of acrid smoke, his arms flailing helplessly. His rifle hung limply in a dead arm, his other reaching out for the sky as though searching at the last minute for some kind of divine force to pick him up. He crumpled against a wall, his rifle clattering to the ground beside him and shouts rose from the fighters in a nearby building, probably going to call him over. Before the man could turn, a single shot rang out, echoing between the row of buildings, and a streak of blood spattered against the cracked concrete wall before the corpse slumped over against it. Some fighters tried to return fire, but explosions rocked the side of the building as an armoured vehicle slammed high explosive rounds against it, sending flakes of concrete fluttering to the ground below. As a twitching body slumped over the hole in the shattered wall, limp and unmoving, a column of helmeted troops ran across the road, fanning out as they combed the road for survivors, their bayonets gleaming ominously and unnaturally in a sea of hazy rain.

And then the spotter beside him muttered something, and he quickly turned his scope to the left, peering through it. On the other side of the town, a column of vehicles had begun moving, making its way along the winding road leading out of the province into the neighbouring mountains. An hour of waiting, all to execute an operation of fifteen seconds and that was now. He quickly trained his scope in the column, and to his right, the spotter glanced down at a file inside which the portrait of a single man looked emptily back up at him. After a moment of deliberation, wiping the rain off his brow, he peered back through his scope and said "Third vehicle, next to the driver."

There he was. Training the scope on the centre of his body mass was easy, and then came the adjustments for the movement of the vehicle, the drop of the round... The changes came instinctively, and the rifle was ready to fire within seconds. The trigger felt cool, familiar, and yet, waiting for the affirmation from the spotter, it felt strange; the man's face was filled with emotion, nothing like the blank stare of the hastily printed portrait lying in the file. He was shouting, livid, desperate...

"Fire." The rifle rocked back, and the bullet cracked the windshield of the vehicle before a faint pink spray rose behind it. And as it veered off the road, shouts going up from amidst the convoy, the strange sensation of seeing a living, breathing man faded away, because now, the man's expression was as blank as that found on the portrait.

After a while, the commotion died out. The helicopters had come and gone, and the few vehicles unlucky enough to survive were picked off by the armoured vehicle's cannon, with troops making their way down the string of wrecked, charred shells of vehicles and through a road littered with corpses. Occasionally, one leaned down to push his bayonet into the throat of an enemy soldier; the accusing gaze of the insurgent held disturbingly unwaveringly by the soldier before blood gargled over the dead man's mouth was a disturbing image through the scope of a rifle, intimate and completely removed from human emotion at the same time. On this battlefield, from which innocence had long fled, there was no such thing as pity or mercy.

Not many remembered why they were fighting. Why they were in this foreign country, why young men threw themselves into death opposite them every day with hate in their eyes, why the kill tallies continued rising, day in, day out.

"Target, 10 o'clock, 500 metres."

He turned the scope, his finger on the trigger, and breathed.

Not many asked, either. It was easier that way.

And the pink mist rose again, lingering in the air for a split second before the rain took it once more.