The Native Story Index [Open; All Techs]

[Abruzi]

No remorse men of Gioll!

FT
Mature

Peace? There cannot be peace in these times. -Lord Solar Macharius

Shouting, that was the first thing that he could consciously register. Shouting and a strange floating sensation that he quickly determined was a bad thing. The chatter of a heavy stubber and the soft wail of incoming artillery was the only thing that reminded him where he was, what he was. The ground shook with the artillery’s impact, throwing him back onto his rear end. Men all around him shouted as the assault floundered, caught in the killing field between the tree-line and the enemy lines.

His olive drab body armor was dull and faded, cracked and in small areas covered in the blood of friend and foe alike. Clumsy fingers searched around for his Las Gun which he finally grabbed a hold of. The damned thing was battered and the cell depleted but it was still a weapon! Mounting his bayonet, he soon found himself lost in the tide of soldiers as they streamed through the murderous fire. Spurred on by the black coated killer at their head, the advance roused itself from the momentary immobilization.

The shouting resumed, blood curdling yells that made him and his comrades want to rend and tear, stab and shoot, bite and claw. The wet smack of solid rounds into flesh was audible above the blood shout, and while the soldiers did not break from the glorious advance they did not advance unscathed. Yet every man dead was another layer of shielding, the sheer press of the charge keeping them up. Men died five or six times over, their broken bodies being ravaged by the enemy’s rounds even as their brothers in arms closed.

Finally the advance crossed the last few meters and was amongst the foe! Finally the sickening sound of bullets into flesh was replaced by the furious roar of a melee. He stood on the lip of the trench, his bayonet pointed downwards and for a single instant gazed about himself in horror. The men to his flanks were covered in the darkest blood imaginable, it appeared to be black ink and yet the smell of it betrayed it’s true self. The screams of the wounded pounded in his ears, ever louder than the distant roar of the God-Machines that ravaged all before them. The black coat clad killer stalked through it all, his mighty chain blade swiping this way and that, ending lives with every blow.

Before him stood an enemy soldier, a frightened boy who had just realized just what was before him. The boy was young, only fourteen standard years or so and his youthful face was contorted in a never ending wail of terror. The teenager fell back, tears streaming from his face and with a shout the man on the trench jumped downwards, his bayonet leading the way….

He awoke, the nightmare sweat coated his face and hands and the barracks-hold was for a few more seconds the nameless battlefield from the past. His snoring comrades replaced the blood and grime covered men who only months before had been his family. Now he was almost completely alone, alone amongst these pitiful new recruits. Pitiful Hive Trash that the regiment had conscripted the last time the Fleet was near anything remotely friendly, pitiful Gangers and Thugs who knew jack shit about soldiering. Slipping out his bunk, the Veteran rose and slowly exited the Barracks-Hold, thanking his lucky stars that the Starship was resting over a friendly world and not plying through the sea of insanity.

The corridor was quiet, well as quiet as things could get on a starship as large as this one. The lights were dimmed as the regiment slept, partially to prepare their internal clocks for their next prospective war zone, partially to allow the power to be diverted to other more critical systems. The Veteran walked a ways and settled himself at a small observation port that looked out upon the void. Producing one his few prized Iho sticks, he light it was his Da’s old lighter. The smoke was a welcome smell and the tingle in his lungs was sublime. The Veteran allowed an inch of relaxation into his system and suddenly found a very tall and very dark shadow towering over him.

He began to slowly reach up and extinguish his Iho stick, knowing that it was an offense punishable by whipping to be smoking outside of the designated smoke lounge. The shadow however had other plans and simply patted him on the shoulder before saying,

“Got a light trooper?”

The Veteran breathed a long sigh of relief and said,

“Yes Sarge, I have one right here.”

Lighting the Iho stick that appeared over his shoulder, he slowly turned and gulped nervously. Behind him was not his Sergeant, it was not his only friend in the Platoon, the only other man who had been through as much shit as himself. Instead it was the black clad Killer, the Company Commissar. Seeing the Veteran’s fear, the Commissar smiled and said,

“Relax Trooper Osip. After that last one we all need a good smoke.”

Nodding, Osip thinly smiled and went back to staring at the stars. The soft illumination of the system’s distant sun cast a haunting shadow across the Commissar’s face as he joined him. The two warriors sat smoking for several long minutes and finally Osip said,

“Sir…that last one….it was bad.”

The Commissar’s face was no softer but a tone that Osip could only categorize as compassion entered his speech as the larger man replied with,

“Yes, we all did things.”

“Sir, I killed a boy. He was only fourteen, only a fucking kid!”

“That is the way of war sometimes Trooper Osip. In the service of the Emperor, we cannot allow ourselves the luxury of mercy.”

“Doesn’t that make us as inhuman as our enemies Sir? The last one…they were only PDF doing what their superiors told them to do. They weren’t Xenos or Here-”

“Trooper Osip, be mindful of what you are suggesting….”

“Sir, I only mean to say that the boy I killed…he’s about as old as my own son back home.”

“Trooper, your home is the Guard now.”

“Only in Death does Duty End sir?”

“Yes trooper, only in Death.”

[Abruzi]

Industrial Control

MT

“Look at history, look upon the pages of names and dates. Look upon the remnants of untold millions of billions of lives and tell me, who is remembered? Is it the kindly old woman down the street? Is it the eager youth next door? Is it the village priest or teacher? No. Those that are remembered are the most bloody of leaders, the most ruthless, and the most ambitious. There may be the rare religious icon or economic mastermind, but for our race the majority of leaders worth remembering could be synonymous with the word, “Carnage.” Our history, our entire experience as a race and a nation all revolve around the use of force. Violent and bloody force to secure what we want is as much a part of Abruzi as it is part of her people.

Yet what else does Abruzi need to be Abruzi? Her toxic southern air? Neo Bolshevism? Our Scandinvan heritage or perhaps the Gospodar Lubanja? No, Abruzi needs mineral and industrial wealth. Abruzi needs to satisfy the itch that began with the rise of the Industrial Imperium. Abruzi needs her mines to stay wealthy and her military to stay at war. Or else, she is not Abruzi, she is merely….a corpse.”

Yanovgrad
0500 hrs
Lower Party Apartment Complex No. 021006


The soft clang of the alarm that emanated from the telescreen was enough to rouse the workers from their exhaustion caused sleep. The loud wail of klaxons and the increase in tempo enough to jerk them awake and the threat of punishment by the Ministry of Contentment enough to get them out of bed. All fifty of the Lower Party Comrades who shared this moderately sized room assembled in loose ranks and saluted as the National Anthem of the Neo Bolshevist Union was played. The haunting notes were mixed with images of violence and compassion that switched back and forth in time with the music. The message was clear only in hindsight, they wanted you to love the State and kill for by killing you were loving.

They filed out of the door, the twenty five men grabbing non matching coats and hats before slipping on their Gas Masks. The soft rasp of their massed breathing was enough to make the apartment intolerable, the annoying noise driving those stuck inside mad. The grim file grabbed bits of bread and small chunks of potatoes, the only crop able to grow within the Neo Bolshevist Union. With their meager breakfast in hand the Lower Party Comrades walked the four miles to one of the dozens of massive factories that Yanovgrad was famous for.

The mighty building was ringed with several layers of razor wire and concrete walls. Brown shirted Munitions Ministry Guards paced back and forth, staring down any who approached. In their weather worn hands sat LA11 Rifles, the deadly weapons as much as symbol as they were tools. Weapons killed, killing was power, and power was control. Control was the purpose of the Neo Bolshevist Union almost as much as it was the purpose of violence. The two were forever linked and the mighty Industrial Machine that the Neo Bolshevist Union looked to support lent weight to those linked purposes. Those duel houses that together produced the enigma that was the Neo Bolshevist State.

They passed through the metal doors in pairs of two, each man was inspected by a Ministry Guard who stamped his Work Passport with a soft thump. Every step the workers took, brought them closer to the factory. Closer to the origin of the acrid stink that permeated everything in Yanovgrad. Closer to the whine of machine assisted presses as the molten iron of the refineries was changed into the useful products that the Military so desperately needed at the front. Products that the Minister of Contentment and Marshal of the Neo Bolshevist Union both claimed would see the war over by winter and the Lubanja pleased beyond measure.

Somehow the workers seemed to remember similar promises made in years prior but before this rebellious seed could take root the proper work day began. The sharp wails of the Telescreens as the first shift began signaled the time for work and as one they eagerly bent over their machines. With a hiss of steam and a soft shriek of tortured metal, the conveyor belt lurched forward and presses began to hammer out the Bulldozer Blades that were critical for the BMP-4 APCs when configured to mine clearing detail.
It was by most accounts a totally normal day. The presses hammered, the workers worked, the Guards guarded, and the Party ruled. No one within the Neo Bolshevist Union knew that today would be a day remembered for generations. No one knew, and for another few hours no one had any inkling that anyone would have to know. The great catalyst for the eventual fall of Neo Bolshevism some century and a half later occurred at exactly 13:25 hours that day. Like most historical events, it was at first unrecognized and only with the advantage of hindsight would anyone understand what had just taken place.

The squeal of the conveyor belt slowed, it’s soft hum replaced instead with an empty retch. The line workers gathered around and watched as the great jaws that led to the refinery below stood open. Heat sprayed outwards invisibly and curiously the orange glow of the smelter was for once, dark. Not a sound came from the mechanized lower reaches of the factory and at once it made the Workers nervous and eager. Gradually a sense of order and duty filled the group and the Ministry of Munitions was alerted. Within an hour an official had arrived to make his report.

The smart black boots that dominated the footwear front of the factory squeaked loudly on the immaculately swept concrete floor. The official was a gaunt faced man as all Government Men seemed to be in Abruzi, with a fashionable hint of a mustache adding to his already considerable appeal. His brown uniform jingled with the weight of dozens of decorations and it was no secret that this man was Upper Party. The honor done to the Line Workers was unimaginable and yet they would not be rewarded, they would not be honored or thanked. Instead the Workers were swiftly round up and placed in a detention center outside of Unity City as soon as the Official could make his report.

The end, had begun.

“Control, everything is control. Yet answer me this, how can one control if one has no military? How can one have a military without supplies? How can supplies be made without industry?…..


…..How can Industry function without minerals?”

[Hyperspatial Travel]

[ PT ]
[ Mature ]

Forlorn Hope

September 27th, 1867 ...
So begins the diary of Vasily Malkin, on the 27th day of September in the year of our lord 1867. It was a beautiful day this morning when wires were sent from Odissi, Prizren, and even as far away as Sai Ghun. We, the empowered bunch that wouldn't fight in this eternal War any longer, would be shipped out like cattle in boxcars to the northeast, into the high vistas of the Czechuan Range. I've been told that it's quite beautiful there, but that foodstuffs are hard to come by. In any manner, we shall endure there just as we have endured in the lowlands for countless generations. I am sad to see my friends for the last time, and will miss the only home I have ever known. But war must be avoided at all costs, and I shall suffer the indignity to pass that I may finally know a land without war once and for all.

I shall retain this written record for posterity, so that my children, and the children of their children, shall know of the burdens we shouldered for their sakes. - V.A. Malkin

October 1st, 1867...
After a horrendous, inhuman jaunt through the high mountain passes, we were told that the railways no longer extended into the Czechuan, and that we would be forced to march under penalty of arrest and execution. Our spirits were high however, and we reminded ourselves that we were on the way to a better land, where we would establish the laws that governed the fate of all men. O what joy, to know that warfare is a thing of the past! To know that man will be judged by the merit of his soul, and not the color of his skin! We chanted and sung songs, which surely must have baffled the guards something fierce.

Along the way, we stopped at a brook near a small cluster of hickory trees. There, I saw the most beautiful maiden my eyes have ever laid eyes on. Her porcelain skin was hidden only by a cotton dress that extended from her waist down to her ankles. Her blouse was hand-woven, and smelled faintly of perfume. Her ginger-colored hair and her sparkling green eyes set my heart ablaze. In the morning, if I see her again, I shall ask to accompany her to the new village site. Wish me luck, journal!

October 4th, 1867...
After several days of intense marching, we have finally made it to a small valley that shall serve as our new village. There are now three thousand of us, which is a remarkable feat considering the distance we covered. Because of the strenuous nature of the march, several of our older and infirm travelers were forced to turn back with the soldiers. We have not the slightest idea of what is to become of them, but we pray that civility and respect for the elders shall be parlayed into a successful return home for them.

I tarried with Eliza again this evening. She's the woman that I mentioned earlier. I am smitten with the fair lady, and she's only a few years younger than I! If things go well, I may be able to write to my brothers in Daeson that their younger fool of a runt will be getting married!

October 11th, 1867...
It has been several days since we last saw our Army detail, but the folks here do not seem to mind it much. They had promised to return sporadically with correspondence and supplies, but I only desire to see letters from my family. Our supplies are abundant, our morale is high, and the country up here could not be more beautiful. We had little in the way of shelter—just a few ramshackle lodgings that could host maybe a quarter of our total number. The eldest, sickest, and women of our group were placed there, while the rest of us began to use the nearby forest for timber to make new lodgings. The air is crisp, but the weather should hold up nicely through the end of the month.

October 15th, 1867...
Still no word from our Army detail, and some of the elders of our party have discussed sending out scout parties to see if any great evil has befallen them. Our supplies are good yet, and a few of the women—my fair Eliza among them—have considered throwing a jubilant dance to commemorate our exodus from Valexa. If things go according to plan, it may become an annual tradition up here in the Czechuan. Tomorrow, I plan on asking for Eliza's hand in marriage. There are surprisingly few suitors for her in camp, as most people our age were married prior to arriving in our new hamlet. I pray that all goes well.

October 19th, 1867...
The weather took a disastrous turn last night. The wind suddenly shifted from the north, bringing a squall through our half-finished camp. Snow fell from the early morning hours, and continued non-stop throughout the day. Drifts of a foot or more are beginning to pile up, and there exists no real place for warmth outside of the shacks. Spirits remain strong, but our necessity of the Army detail mounts with each passing hour.

October 21st, 1867...
People have begun to freeze to death in the snowstorm, which has hardly let up at all over the past two days. Luckily, enough lodgings are available now that most can huddle together inside for warmth. Though nature attempted to slay us in the mountains, our faith in the goodness of humanity has brought us through thus far. Our supplies shall hold us for several weeks yet, and with time the Army should return with provisions to last us through the winter months. Eliza has taken to living with me now, and with the absence of a minister to officially wed us, the clerk of our hamlet has logged in the official records that we are now husband and wife. Enough people were kind enough to leave us be for the night, where we enjoyed the company of one another through the bitter cold. There can be no feeling like this on Earth.

November 6th, 1867...
A council meeting was held in the main hall today, with several people voicing their concerns that the snowdrifts may make it impossible for the Army to arrive with relief supplies. Some were even of the opinion that we had been led up into the high mountains to die, but I held no stock in this theory. A few scouts were finally dispatched to try and reach civilization before the snow got too bad, but we wont hear back from them for several weeks yet. Eliza and I have taken to living in a small hut that I was able to piece together in my spare time. I had to hike up a damned hill five times each morning to procure enough wood, but the job was done. Between using the wood for fuel to cook and keep warm with, the expenditure in our valley is becoming dangerously noticeable. We will have to hike further and further to reach the next forest if we consume at this rate for long.

November 28th, 1867...
Eliza discovered that she was pregnant today, filling my heart with abundant joy. The news was less positive in our council meeting. Relief from the Army remains absent, and it begins to weigh heavy on our minds. Our scouting party has yet to return, but they may have yet to reach villages with the snowdrifts piling up in the passes. Our supplies are beginning to run low, but rationing and restrictions are being placed to keep us going as long as possible.

December 6th, 1867...
Foodstuffs are running dangerously low, and morale is beginning to sink in our new village. With each passing day, it becomes more and more unlikely that the Army can reach us in the mountains. Our campfire songs and dances are now but a distant memory, as scouting parties take to hunting what little we can catch with spears and crude bows. There is no vegetation at all to gather, save a lichen moss that makes people sick to their stomachs. A few adventurous souls found some wild berries in the snow yesterday, and fed them to their clans from back east. They were all dead within an hour, forcing us to bury over a hundred souls. Our total numbers are now closer to two thousand, with the deaths and departures draining us a bit more with each passing week.

December 25th, 1867...
A special service was held in our tabernacle this morning to pray for safe return of help. We have almost completely run out of foodstuffs, with nary a ham or duck to serve for the Christmas feast. The young children have taken to wandering into the barren forest ruins looking for something to eat, and some wild beast has taken them for sport. We can barely defend ourselves without proper weaponry however, so hunting remains a foolhardy endeavor at the moment. Several of us have considered traveling south to see about procuring supplies for ourselves, but the notion seems foolish for the time being.

January 31st, 1868...
Our food supplies have been gone now for two weeks, and hunger is beginning to drive the lot of us to desperate measures. I have left my pregnant wife behind in camp to travel with a scouting party of twenty men. We're the strongest of the lot left—a sad testament to the sorry state of affairs. With luck, we can find a trading post that can supply us for the winter months ahead.

February 3rd, 1868...
We found a small village in a low valley, almost thirty miles from our own camp. The natives were hostile, however, and drove us off without much in the way of hospitality. We returned under the cover of darkness, and... well, I am ashamed of what we resorted to, taking from others so that we may be fed. But I have a child on the way, and the necessity of feeding my family takes precedence over all, so... God's will, thy will be done.

February 25th, 1868...
We have returned twice to the village that we raided at the start of the month, though the locals there are sending armed scouting parties to look for our camp. We parlayed that fear into hitting other local towns that were discovered. If we look hard enough, we can see a network of small villas nestled in the lower elevations of our mountain range, though we remain convinced that we're the extended outpost of the country. How anyone could survive up here is beyond imagination.

March 29th, 1868...
The snow continues to fall, even as the calendar shows promises of springtime. My wife is beginning to grow weaker from the lack of food and the exhaustion of pregnancy, and I fear for her safety. Towns that once were full of supplies to raid are becoming bare themselves. Apparently, our raids have prompted our victims to raid other settlements to feed themselves, sparking a chain of rash and violent clashes in our mountains. There seems to be no hope of ever seeing our original scouting party or the Army before the season's end, and a few people have considered ghastly last resorts to feed the town. I shall not mention them here.

April 11th, 1868...
Our wits are at an end, and there exists no hiding the unavoidable truth. People have seemed well-fed over the past few days in our camp, which is by now no more than 700 people strong. Though no one says it for sure, the sad, sorry truth can only be inferred by the mutilated corpses of our lost family and friends which have turned up. They were unearthed in the melting snow, as warmer air finally seems to fall upon us. God help me, but the hunger can drive you to new lows of depravity.

April 24th, 1868...
Word around camp is that a pregnant woman was murdered by starving men yesterday. I... this journal was to be kept as a reminder of the good in people, but I fear that my lofty goal may be in error. They murdered her for her baby, so that they might have a meal. I have taken to guarding my wife constantly, for I shall not see the same fate befall her. I love my wife and my unborn child with all my heart and soul. But the hunger wins out in the end, and without relief, all may be lost.

May 1st, 1868...
All semblance of order has begun to disappear from our ranks. Our raids on towns are now beginning to include the townspeople themselves, as food remains absent everywhere. No one is brave enough to challenge our camp, however, which may stand as a testament to our brutality. We're numb to it now. I ate human flesh for the first time yesterday, and the nourishment was palatable. I remain vigilant of my wife and my unborn baby, that they are safe from marauders.

May 12th, 1868...
My wife died during premature labor this morning. Our young child held on as long as he could, but expired shortly thereafter. I named him Joshua.

June 1st, 1868...
A new raiding party was established to bring back women and children from every town we could find. I hatched a plan that should supply us with fresh meat in the winter time, though it will take the breaking of vows to do so. If we can impregnate enough women, and keep them alive long enough to deliver in the winter months... it's inefficient, but it could work, right?

July 27 1868
My soul devours the meat before I can. I quite enjoy the taste of ribs, though I have not the seasoning to accentuate the flavors, but with gallbladder juices. I weep at night, and I haven't the clue why. Perhaps I still feel sorrow over the loss of the girl and her baby, but this does not seem likely. We hit another town, this time practically in the plains. There was a large fat man there, well fed and stocked. We thought it a pity to drag him back through the mountains, torturing us all the way home, so we ate him on the spot. Tasty.

Auust 12 168
We search farther and farther, and find more and more meat. I no longer stand for the taste of appleis, but i try to do better with the childreen. Hungr grows mroe fierce by the daye however, and I must kill again to beet the snowfall.

30 68 SEP
Whatever was I wriiting for. I cant stop eating, and they wont stop crying.

[Abruzi]

Not Just a Stretch of Sand

MT
Mature-ish-violent

“He has returned!”

“Can you be sure? After so long I had begun to lose hope….”

“Yes, already the guns boom and the tank brigades growl! Already the enemy stirs and we have engaged them on their flanks!”

“Excellent, the Great One has returned to us and we shall earn our immortality.”

“Major, let us not waste anymore time! We must go forth sir, and command from the front!”

Major Confusio nodded his assent and followed the dirt spattered Lieutenant out of the moldy dugout. All along the front, bunkers and winter shelters creaked open to spill out the remnants of the squads that once had been whole regiments. Already the chatter of machine guns and the dull rumble of artillery could be heard from the front but for a moment, the Major allowed himself to look back upon the last four years.

Four years of silence, four years of inaction, four years of peace. They had been horrible, the Army of Grun had been at war since it’s inception. It had battled over the same two miles for over sixteen years and when peace had come it had been totally alien to the men of Grun. The veterans, grizzled men who all sported wounds as if they were honor badges had cried silently and many of the younger members of Grun wailed in terror. Their God, the Great One, had left them and without his presence there could be no warfare. Without his guiding hand the Army of Grun and their enemies the Army of Rot Braun lay silent.

Confusio snapped back into the present and gazed about him at the chaos that reigned. The men of Grun had long been silent and now their actions were slow and ill managed. Looking to the closest group of men, an artillery battery that stared off toward the highlands where the Rot Braun mustered, the Major was filled with rage. Walking angrily across the parade ground where the first of many Combat Patrols mustered, the Major pulled forth his binoculars and prepared to give the gun-crew hell. As he crested their pit however he saw why they had not begun to lob HE rounds overhead. All five members of the crew were dead, their bodies shattered by the intense cold of winter.

The Major himself had been baked brown by the fierce sun, but he knew well the horrors that exposed men had whispered to him in the shelters. When this hell on earth battlefield rotated away from the mighty orb that gave it light and heat, it became a wasteland that was dominated by massive piles of snow. The temperature dropped so low that men outside ran the risk of simply shattering, their bodies unable to prevent the freeze. Those few that survived the winter outside had desperately tried to launch offensives, perhaps to attract the attention of the Great One, but they had all suffered the fate of these men before Confusio.

The Major recovered and turned to the mass of men who had formed before the dugouts. Waving a few over he pointed down into the pit and said,

“Clear the bodies and get this gun firing damn it! We fight for immortality soldiers, remember General Hand and Gunnery Sergeant Deux!”

General Hand, he had been there since the beginning. He had weathered countless winters outside and been at the leading edge of every offensive. He had lost his hand early on, by some design of the Great One who personally had commanded him to lead the Army of Grun. Over five years ago he had been given the immortality that these men sought, he had been taken from this never-ending warfare and brought to the land of the white fields.

Gunnery Sergeant Deux however was even more of a hero than the General. Rumors insisted that Deux had been part of the first Platoon of both Grun and Rot Braun. This made him both older than General Hand and also part of the earliest battles that had been no more than glorified skirmishes. Those who had served alongside Gunny Deux told tales of how he had been blown up, burned, smashed, buried, shot, stabbed, and yet always seemed tough enough to survive. Made hideous by his many battles, Deux had been taken over eight years ago. Yet some claimed that he did not reside in the land of the white fields, some declared that he instead dwelt inside the mysterious depths of a great Pleasure Palace. The truth of Deux’s fate is known only to him and the Great One himself, the Major however liked to believe the much bolder yet no less believable rumor that placed Deux at the right hand of the Great One. It was good after all to think that a man he had known personally was now some kind of demi-god.

Turning away from the Gun Crew, Major Confusio radioed the Officers in charge of the first Brigade and softly said,

“For the Great One….attack!”

The ordered was complied with, with a zeal and fanaticism that was new to the Army of Grun. They flung themselves forward with cries of fury upon their lips. The few tanks they still had rumbled into battle roaring praises to the Great One and overheard the mighty voice of their god boomed. He commanded more! More slaughter, more glorious carnage, more for his amusement! Grun and Rot Braun were only too happy to comply, as more and more men poured onto the field.

The Major himself rode to the front in their only jeep, a reliable machine that was at one time the personal vehicle of General Hand. Reaching the front, the Major received several SITREPs that illuminated him to the weakness of both Grun and Rot Braun. Both armies edges had been dulled by the seemingly eternal peace and now companies battled on the flanks of the front where once there had been divisions. The grim news was both troubling and heartening, the Major knew that if could force a breakthrough in the lines with only these few men he would surely be gifted with immortality!

With an eagerness known only to the mercenaries from Seda, Confusio took personal command of the Seda-Grun Breakthrough Division. Long ago, the armies of Rot Braun and Grun alike had turned to the Mercenaries of Seda to bolster their numbers. The smaller men from Seda had proven to be natural warriors who delighted in the slaughter as only madmen could. Rot Braun had initially been their most reliable clients but as they turned to genetic experimentation and other mercenary armies the Sedanese had joined almost completely with Grun. Now Confusio would witness firsthand their heroism and insanity.

Rousing his men, the Major dispatched an order to all sector of the front.

“Men of Grun and Seda, we fight today for the Great One as we have for decades! Know that every act of heroism and valor your perform is being judged by he who towers over all! Know that a victory today shall grant you the immortality we all fight for! I go to lead the Breakthrough Division personally, but I shall never leave your sides spiritually! Remember General Hand, Gunnery Sergeant Deux, and all the others who have gone to the Land of the White Fields! Remember the fires of four years past and the terrible carnage visited upon us by Rot Braun! Remember, and take your vengeance! Remember, and claimed your immortality! Men of Grun, forward for the Great One!”

The Army of Grun lurched forward only to be matched by the Army of Rot Braun who’s commander had no doubt been saying much the same thing. Men from both sides clashed in the ruined hills and valleys of this land, dieing with the name of the Great One upon their lips. Entire companies fought and died for little to no tactical gain, spurred onward by the desire for immortality. Through it all Major Confusio and the Breakthrough Division battled like men possessed.

With the fury of maniacs and blood mongers they blasted a huge hole in the enemy’s line only to be encircled. Fighting desperately, the Major called for immediate armored support and prayed to the Great One that his efforts had been for naught. Almost giving up hope, the Major roared in furious pleasure as the metallic beasts of the First Armored Brigade appeared on the ridge behind them. Their great metal hides were pitted with the scars of decades of combat, their guns were stained black by the fires of warfare, and yet they still were the most dangerous force the Army of Grun could field.

The mighty guns boomed and the enemy encirclement dissipated. The Rot Braun however were not without their own armor and the greatly feared Seda Tank Swarm emerged from the gloom. The light tanks of Seda had been copied by the Rot Braun and for every one of the mighty Grun machines there were three Rot Braun Light Tanks.

The two armored forces traded mighty salvos, both sides suffering casualties that they knew would never be replaced. Major Confusio determined that these heroes would fight their own battles, his Division now little more than a platoon was needed elsewhere! Charging back into the maelstrom of combat, he gave the men of the First Armor not a second glance.

Even as he rejoined the combat however he felt the change….the lack of the Great One’s attention. He had failed! His men, men who had fought for decades for their macabre god of combat had failed! Yet so too had the Army of Rot Braun failed! Their enemies, the only men who they could relate to, had failed to earn the immortality of Gunnery Sergeant Dux and General Hand! The Major roared his fury, he roared his sadness and depression as the fires of combat dimmed and died. For all of their sacrifice, they would not be rewarded, for all of them who had died facedown in the muck and sand that covered this land made toxic by war, they would be forgotten again!

As the favor the Great One left them fully, the Major shoved his handgun into his mouth and grimly pulled the trigger.

***

The “Great One” cursed as he remembered that his parents had not sent him out here to play with his old army men in his now overgrown sandbox. Yet he did not want to leave his still favorite toys just yet. Moving them into a final set of positions that he had crafted to resemble the Battle of Dien Bien Phu glanced about for the final members of the Green Army that were not buried by the layers of sand-ash that coated the box. Taking hold of the only officer-figure he had found amidst the weeds and melted husks that had once been tanks, he laid the man down in Strong-Point Elaine and softly muttered,

“On father’s day I’ll take some of you to Nonna’s house, Cousin Anthony is turning like five or something soon and he’ll enjoy you boys more than I will.”

OOC:True Story

[Syvorji]

[ MT ]

The Sacred Mountain
By Alexander Thomas, c. 1920

Dear Mother,

The beauty astounds me. As I looked around myself, I see people, walking, towards a tall mountain, the highest mountain of all mountains. According to locals, the mountain is the home of the Sacred Shrine. Carts hauled by (RL American) Buffalo carrying pilgrims were to be seen. However, we all had one goal, to head to the Sacred Shrine, halfway up the mountain.

Soon, I started to trudge forward, immediately leaving the bustling town in Thimphu, opening my way to seeing (RL yurts) tipis, to farm the mountain valley. In the distance, I could barely see Lake Thimphu, due to the busy pilgrims. Here and there, I can see some homes, homes of Huynmist priests, that looked a lot like those in Thimphu. The smell came from the cooking fires, smelling as if maedok (like pizza, but with jam instead of sauce, the toppings are fruits and veggies, and has no crust) were being cooked.

However, I had to ignore them. In my bag carried several kilograms of rice, to have something quick. After 45 minutes of walking, I entered the woods, with pilgrims, the lovely pine trees smelling very fresh. As far as the eye could see, there were trees, a fallen log or two, and rabbits, to be had. I, as most of the pilgrims did, carefully stepped around the logs, and tried not to trip over things, lest I scare the animals. However, when I reached a clearing, the full moon was shining, the sky so black that I can see all of the stars.

Shortly afterwards, I laid on a fallen log, along with another pilgrim and the child of her. As I fell asleep, the daughter laid on top of me, ensuring my stability and sanity. As the night was eager to pass by, I also was grateful that I had enough sleep. When my eyes opened from my sleep, the girl was still on top of me, and she looked like she was 3 years old. She cuddled me, and I cuddled her. Soon, the mother woke up, and after the daughter fell asleep, I decided to give her a piggyback ride. We then picked our knapsacks, and then trudged on.

As we approached the beginning of the mountain, we felt the ground sloping higher and higher. As we walked, we also talked, thanking Huynma, a strange and bizarre God that I never heard of. No matter what, however, I was at Thimphu, and visited to study the local culture. And the best part was obviously when she talked about how it is, in Syvorjin. I could understand bits and pieces of it, and replied in broken Syvorjin. Finally, we were out of the forests, and began climbing wooden steps. Pilgrims were now as crowded as in Thimphu, with barely any room. It would often take a week, just to climb up the first four flights of stairs, up to a plateau, where cabins are offered for the pilgrims, as well as services. We soon pushed and shoved the other people, just so we could climb up the stairs. After fifteen hours, we were at the top, and were correct that it was crowded.

Despite that, we trudged on, getting pushed by. However, it was impossible to get the daughter out, but she was fine. After 21 hours, we finally concluded our trip to the top of the 2nd flight of stairs. Once there, we let the others go through, while we took a rest. After several hours, however, we continued on, the pilgrims less by now, causing it to take only 25 minutes to go to the top of the 3rd flight of stairs. We then went on the third flight of stairs, as it went around the mountain, and finally, after an hour, we arrived at the plateau! Eager for some rest, we headed to an unoccupied cabin, and then went to sleep, glad that we were visiting the Shrine for the first time. As the night passed by, we slept, dreaming, and glad that we were already right there. God was truly protecting us!

Finally, we then had a breakfast of rice, that I brought along, and had some water from the hotel. Afterwards, we simply cleaned our things, and then moved onto the longest flight of stairs, leading directly into the Sacred Shrine. As soon as we crossed the stairs, it originally was the same as the 3rd and 4th flights of stairs, in the sense that it was less crowded, and it only took us one and a half hours to 3/4 up, before a long queue formed, to pay their blessings to Huynma. As we waited day by day, it was slow, often taking 5 hours for each group. Nobody knew when our turn would be. However, after 5 days, we finally stepped in the Sacred Shrine. The air felt so beautiful, smelling of insence, and sweet sugars. We carried a tribute, a 1 kilogram bag of rice, to Huynma. Once we arrived there, we placed the tribute, and after the monk checked it, he approved, with a friendly nod, and then headed to the prayer room, to repent to Huynma. As we prayed for 4 and a half hours, it felt so brilliant, and splendid to relax. It felt like we were doing yoga, and how calming it was. Afterwards, we then headed out the back door, as per protocol, and then headed down by sliding at the East Side of the mountain, to slide down to an area 7 kilometers away from the beach. It was tradition, and the forest was wide, especially here. At this point, no pilgrims were to be seen, and we enjoyed a brilliant slide.

At last, we were on the shore, we were close to the Dzong, where children attended school, and knowing it, we decided to hike back to Thimphu. Taking over 7 days to hike, we finally thanked Huynma for surviving the journey of endurance. As I am writing this down, I am still in Thimphu, but will leave eventually.

Take care.

Signed,
Alexander Thomas

[Zypra]

[ Mature ]

Inspiration (MT)

"Bailey, is it?" I asked in a straightforward fashion, strictly following my previous rehearsals.

"Uhh that's right. And you are?" she asked unattentively, sipping her beer away.

"Duke, it's a nickname." I responded. She just nodded away. I ordered myself the same beer as she was drinking; I offered her another but refused. She didn't really seem to give a fuck whoever sat next to her, just ask the many who have done so in the past. All of them ended in failure. Perhaps tonight, I might end up with her.

"So let me guess. Nothing to do during the summer holidays?" I asked, sipping away the first taste of the beer she was drinking. I spat it out. It tasted horrible.

"Fuck! What is this shit?" I expressed disgust, my face sour with the extreme bitter taste. She laughed a little in response.

"Some German beer I drink every time I'm here. I don't even know the name." She finally showed a little interest, but I was keen to gain momentum.

"Jesus. They should really have a warning label on these!"

"Oh yeah?"

"Yeah. Do you want me to repeat my previous question, or.." I asked, awaiting her reply. She placed her beer down onto the table and cleared her throat.

"What's in it for you?" she asked, making direct eye contact. Her hazel eyes matched her orange hair.

"Well, I have this article to do for the Murray Tribute. I've noticed you having a couple of rounds here from time to time, and-"

"You've been stalking me?"

"No, no! It's just that, you're a regular drinker, so I figured.. perhaps you can help me on my article?" I asked. She seemed puzzled by the look on her face.

"What has my drinking got to do with anything related to your article?" she asked. I occupied the intervals between her responses by looking at her more closely. Her fair skin and notable style of fashion really made her noticeable. It's been one of the factors why I've been pursuing her for my article.

"Well, you know, maybe you could help by naming out a few brands you like?"

"That's really a tough question. I just drink anything. On another note, I'm willing to help anyways." she replied, resuming her drinking business. The other side of the bar erupted in random laughter after hearing a joke from one of the regulars in the bar.

"Well, you could tell me the origins of beer, perhaps?" My questions were pathetic, sparking laughter from herself.

"You expect me, a random drinker, to give you the origins of beer?" she smiled.

"You seem to be the most favorable choice." I attempted to make the conversation deeper.

"On what grounds do you believe that I am the most favorable choice? Is this how you ask girls out?" she curtly responded.

"Well, you are a viable choice seeing that most of my sources are from men. I'd like to give women a chance to be published in my articles too. And no, this is not one of my ways to ask a girl out. Are you asking me out?" I asked. Ohhh fuck.

"So you've been a sexist, hmm? I have no interest in this. Fuck off, please." she finished her drink as she stood up and left a few Zyprian dollars on the bar top. I laid there motionless, staring at the untouched glass I've been holding onto. Fuck it. Another chance blown away. The bartender shook his head as he wiped a beer glass clean. Even the bartender thinks I'm an idiot.

I left the bar in distraught. It was the last day of school, and I was going to work for the next few weeks at the Murray Tribute for the remainder of my school summer holidays. It was on my parent's insistence that I get a part-time job as soon as possible as they knew I was going to spend my holidays getting drunk, high, or god knows what. Then, the most luckiest thing happened to me.

Bailey sat in her car, frustrated as she repeatedly tried to start her car engine, but to no avail. It was even more interesting as she got out of her car - and failing to notice my presence - struggling to open her front hood. I came a little closer before she responded.

"I thought I told you to stay the fuck away from me?"

"Chill. I was just going to my car, for fucks sake." I diverted myself towards my car instead, unlocked my door, and proceeded to start my engine. I was just about to reverse my car before I realised something. Perhaps I should offer her a lift? I stared at the dashboard for nearly twenty seconds, trying to reach a conclusion before I decided to offer her a lift instead. Let's just try once more. I reversed my car out of it's parking space before I drove up to her.

"You know.. I can really offer you a lift. I'm not that good of a mechanic anyway." I offered. She stared at me in frustration. No reply.

"Well?" I asked once more.

"..... Fine. Don't try anything funny, or I'll break your arms. Or worse, get my brother's friends to break them for you." she curtly responded once more, approaching my car. Friends?

She stepped foot into the vehicle, closing the door behind her. Perhaps I was being too courteous to her?

"92 Allhallows Street. Just drop me close enough."

"Whatever soothes you," I decided to respond curtly as well. I've grown sick and tired of her temper. I said to myself, let's just drop this bitch off and spend a night with a joint. The unexpected happened as I drove out of the bar and onto the main road.

"... I apologize, alright? I don't mean to be rude. I've had a tough day. I'll make it up to you then. What about that article?"

I smiled.

[New Balkaney]

[ PMT ]

"Above As Below"

I remember the first time I stepped out of the bunker and onto the surface. Well, now that I think about it all, it was less a step and more a tumble. I’d been living down there in the tunnels for seventeen years by that point, and the powers that be’d decided my time had come and I’d have to be the first in my group to head up there and poke around for a while. Like you, I didn’t want to go. I was shaking like a leaf the whole ride up, and that damned rattling the elevator does didn’t make it any better, I tell you what. It was Gerard who took me. What’s that? No, I guess you wouldn’t know him. He up and left a while before your time. I used to hear about him, on the radio, something about fighting in the west or the north. That was ages ago though. But like I was saying, he was the one that took me to the surface. He’d been given the codes to crack the seals, and I’d pestered him a bit about it just to keep my mind off things. He said it was simple but I’d never guess it, and I decided I didn’t rightly need to know on account of I wasn’t going to go out either way. He just laughed, in that “I know more about this than you do.” way he used to laugh at me and the others. It wasn’t so much a put down as a promise that someday we’d know what he knew too.

You never really get used to it. Not being on the surface, you get use to that right quick, but when the gates open. That rush of stale air leaving the tunnels, that fresh breeze wafting in, the lights stretching out down the line and then just stopping, like there’s nothing to the world beyond them. It’s a small room, the control room. Just a panel, a terminal, some chairs and a desk. No one’s ever up there, just a camera blinking it’s lights away at the blast door to make sure it doesn’t open unless it’s supposed to. Gerard didn’t wait, even though I was tugging on his arm to pull him back into the lift. He just walked up, punched a few keys in, waved his hand over the pad and that was that. There was a chime, like a high note, and this big old hydraulic arm came down from the ceiling and grabbed onto the cog wheel door, twisting and pulling it along the track and to the side. It’s an awful loud noise, all metal on metal shrieking, screeching like it knows something bad’s outside and it’s trying to war you. Least, that’s what I thought my first time.

I musta been standing there for hours, it felt like. Gerard said it was only a few minutes, but I think he should have let me be for a while longer. I was just standing there, at the edge of the light, still blinded by the fluorescents overhead and trying to peer into the darkness when he up and shoved me right out there. Course he didn’t follow or nothin’, just frowned and watched me tumble into the dirt and cut my knee up on a bit of rock. That’s what first hit me. Well yeah, the rock, but I didn’t mean that smart ass. It was what the ground was. Rocks, sand, some old bones, bits of twisted, prickly looking plants. Far cry from the tiles and concrete and grate plating I’d spent my entire life looking at. Gerard said something to me when I was down there in the dirt staring at my blood and the cool sand. He said “Look around.” and I realized I hadn’t, I’d just been sittin’ there looking at the ground being amazed beyond belief. When I turned my head up… It weren’t my best moment, alright? I’d never been more than five feet from a wall, a roof, and a floor at any point in my life till then, I’d always been well within sight and touch of every boundary of my existence, and then they throw me up on the surface, get me cut up, tell me to look around and I see… Well, nothing. And everything, all at once. I saw some hills miles and miles away, I saw a broken wasteland of shattered buildings and blasted craters for as far as the eye could perceive, could feel a cold night breeze tussle my hair and tickle my nose with the scent of life and death and the outside world. For the first time in my life there were no boundaries, no marked paths, no walls, just freedom. I tried to stand up, but I was dizzy from it all and I fell flat on my ass, everything a moon-lit blur. That’s when I looked up, to see whatever was lighting everything up in such pale shades. Even as I was doing it Gerard was saying “Don’t look up, kid.” but I looked up.

That is, to this day, the worst decision I have ever made. I saw the sky and the clouds and soft shafts of light in between the gaps, a big white moon staring down at me and beyond and all around that a million billion stars against a horrific, monstrous nebular gash in the sky, a galaxy of fire and gas and unknowable distance and possibility up there, dozens, hundreds of colors spread across the firmament. I looked up and I saw the edge of infinity after a life of limits and I threw up all over myself. I fell on all fours and I vomited until there was nothing left, then I dry heaved for a time after that. Gerard had come over to me at somepoint, patting my back and helping me clean myself up. He hauled me to my feet and pulled me close, to steady me, walked me back to the bunker and into the lift and everything. I was still shaking, still trying to come to terms with what I’d seen when the blast shields’s cog wheel slid shut again and that arm retracted back into the ceiling.

We went down a long while in silence, me nearly sobbing so rattled as I was. Gerard just had this sad, knowing smirk. I asked him, stuttering, what was so gosh darn funny, and he just laughed under his breath and said “Everyone looks up.”

[New Azura]

[ MT ]

Put Me Next to Mama

So much remains unsaid about my life. For a time, I didn't even know who I truly was, or where I was going. I felt as if I were the plaything of a vindictive creator, who was Hell bent on destroying everything that mattered most to me. I tried my damnedest to do right by everyone... I don't know if I did or not, but I certainly tried.

There are some things in life that no one can ever really comprehend. The mysteries, the puzzles that we see now through a mirror darkly. There are steps that we take that can open millions of doors before us, yet close the one door that's most precious of all. I cannot say that I've led a perfect life, or even a good life. But I have lived... Oh, how I have tried to live. It's been five years since the world broke apart all around me, yet I woke up every day since, trying so hard to do right by my family, my friends, and those that were around me. I have kept the faith, and have fought the good fight. The days draw longer, and the sun waxes hotter... and still I march on.

I know the names, and I know the personalities of so many, yet I have partaken the face of so few. Even so, I have loved and been loved. I have broken hearts and mended dreams; I have laughed to tears, and I have cried to laughter. Yet in all things, I carried on.

I know that things seem confusing to you now—you don't know whether or not you're in the dream world right now. Things can be confusing, sometimes, when you tiptoe at the precipice of reality and dreams. My dreams were the stuff of legend, and it was through them that I have lived so vibrantly for so long. And it's through the dreams that I learned how to carry on.

I've dreamed waking dreams of mountain peaks and lush forests, teeming with life that never quite seems real. Fuzziness distorts into picturesque dream-scapes that no one else sees the same way twice. I have seen the horrors of war, and I have seem the fruits of peace played, and replayed over and over again. I can still smell the chains, where they were cuffed to the slaves that were sailing to meet their fate. And I can remember the joyous cries when liberation was had, and freedom rang out into the endless night.

I cannot see their faces, but I know who they are. They are with me in spirit when I arrive, and they follow me in dreams when I depart. Through their suffering and their joys... their heartbreak and their triumph, I have learned how to live. And oh, how I have loved those that sought to create the world around us. So many intricate models, built from the scratch of imagination and hope. Hope for liberty, hope for amusement... the hope of an absolution which never quite comes. Oh, how I have loved through you all.

Today was the greatest day of my life. Through so many trials and tribulations, I finally found peace and happiness once again. Wouldn't you believe it, they were right where I least expected them to be! But I found them... and that's what counts. I remembered the good times, when I was my father's son, and not the cold imitator laying claim to a broken throne. I remember youth, and the innocence that kept the world from growing cold.

I remembered the hope of tomorrow, and awaiting to see what the winds of fortune might bring. I remembered the love of my life, who knew not what she was. How I yearned to hold you, and be with you. In our dreams, my love. In our waking dreams...

I remembered the friend, who told me that life was a series of bubbles. That each one was as fragile as any other, but if you played it just right, you could travel forever and never fall away. I remember the teacher that taught me to dream, and the preacher that taught me to believe. My heart was on the beach this afternoon, watching the sun slowly set upon all that was right. I was with my friends again—God rest them—and there was nothing left to fear. We conquered the world this evening, and the promise of tomorrow still remained.

I told my loved ones how much they meant to me. They haven't changed much, but enough that I said just a few words. I know not whether they await for me—can anyone know anything anymore? Or could I be a soldier marching home, which lies just beyond the final bend? How I wish I could go home once more. To see things the way they used to be...

You know what? Maybe God's like me. Maybe he loves his Creation so much, that he fights day and night to perfect it. Perhaps I can ask him what life was all about, just as the world I've built around me yearns to ask the same. My children, those that I breathed life into. You can't hear me, but I promise—I can hear you.

Don't cry for me, because I survived. I made it to the end, and I saw it through to the last. I cry tears of joy for the life that I experienced today. I know not the faces of those that touched me, but I remember their hearts. And the heart is more than enough. I experienced the world today in my dreams, and my heart saw that it was good. The play is finished, the orchestra is cued, and the lights are going out. Toast one for me, mates—you, the friends that I love. I'll see you on the flip side.

P.S. - Put me next to Mama.

[-Deus-]

Shrieking black. Blood is white. Heart as cold as melting ice.

[ PMT ]

My head is sweating, my palms are moist, my vision is blurred-a bag on my head, perhaps-my hearing is dim, my mind is racing...My heart beat spiked, my fear growing…Wait, not fear, no, no , no…Something else. I withered in my seat. Rocked back and forth. Can’t see, can’t see, only swift shadows and blurs. I could hear it coming closer…Yes it was walking towards me. I tried to move, I tried to escape, but whatever I was seating in was holding me…Metal arm braces...yes, that is it, I can feel the cold nipping at my skin here and there. The creature continued to move, swiftly, I could hardly hear it, only attempt to track it with what I had…No use…No use as finally, inevitably, I lost it.

It was calm for the moment…calm, calm, no calm is a lie; the correct term would be quiet…motionless even, not calm, no, no, no. I have not felt calm since I was a boy. Yet as my fear began to peak, my heart beat growing quicker and louder, skipping one beat…two beat, three beat…I began to worry, I began to shake, to cry in my mind until finally, with a quick sharp, tu-

---

It felt like years ago. Before all the blood, all the dying and crying, weeping and sobbing; before any war had been fought and before even the advent of the internet had hit common hands. A similar time. I was just a boy, a child, my mother and I were taking a trip, our shining old car cruising along the dirt path of quiet little town, my mother waving to the other people who lived there. The sky was blue, the birds sang; it was not too hot or too cold, it was simply perfect, idle, a world within a world where I felt at such a serene peace. I never cried, I never gave into fear, into being the average violent human because there was no need for such a thing. There was just tranquil bliss, ignorance even.

Yet on this day something was off as my stomach began to drop, the sun going dark as something flew overhead, a shrieking sound that I have never since heard in my life. When you hear it, you want to simply die, to fall over and kill yourself, to just stop the noise…the noise from getting into your damn head! I yelled and yelled, holding my ears, every damn negative emotion bursting into my little body all at once, anger, fear, hatred, dread, jealousy, all of it…All of it at once. I turned to my mother, the woman crying out, lashing out at some invisible demon as her ears bled from the pain…I…I can only crying and crying, yelling her name as the car collided with a tree.

I…I…I remember leaping out of my car, still in pain, still in agonizing pain, the whole world around me going to hell before I pulled my mother out of the car. I first looked down at her, frightened she would die before ripping off my shirt and tear it into little pieces, mending her ears as I tried to save her, the pain still shaking in my mind, the god damn pain….The shriek…The shriek…It just never stopped. I yelled and yelled and yelled as the sky erupted into explosions, like the clouds, them were filled with gunpowder and then simply ignited. And as they exploded…as..as..as the black pods streaked through the sky, dropping from what appear to be a giant metal…thing, I dropped to my knees and tried to cover my ears.

The pods dropped from the sky like bullets, shaking the earth as they made impact. One struck the house that was only a few metres away, its steaming exterior as alien to me as the nature of this…this heinous attack. Then the beast, the monster, the demon, my fear, my hate, my pain and dread all wrapped into one being emerged from his burning black pod. He looked at me, his metal skin…his gun pointed at me, his helmet protecting him to that damn sound that began to slowly fade as the sound of yelling men and women instead filled my mind. His eyes glowed red, staring at me with emptiness, with a cold and distant, utterly inhuman look.

He then he walked forward, stomping towards me, nothing but a simple little boy kneeling next to his unconscious mother. He simply breathed in and out…in and out, heavily, sharply, looking down on me as if I was his worst enemy. He could have killed me. He could have squashed me and simply went on his way. Yet this beast didn’t, he only stared and looked into my soul, burning his demonic thoughts into me as I cried, my tears no doubt blood or even ripping apart my face by now. And then he stopped, picking up my mother by the head, her head more or less fitting perfectly into his palm as he began to squeeze. I shot up to my feet, yelling, yelling frantically…My pulse shot up, my eyes began to go bloodshot as I yelled at the top of my lungs.

I clenched my teeth as the demon shouted something back, roaring to me as we stood there in deadlock, the beast crushing my mother slowly, carefully, effectivvvvly. He…he…just kept squeezing it and squeezing it, her head…her skull just bursting like a watermelon, like a pear. And when it did…when the beast dropped her corpse…my soul disappeared, my heart sank never to return, my my my mind was blank, there wasn’t even pain now. All I could do was scream…

---

I could see clearly now, I was in a room, interrogation, questioning, calling it what you will. I had been here for days, weeks, months, years; I don’t know…I don’t remember. I just wanted to escape, to live another day…To escape, to live another day…To escape, to live another day. I put my head down, my hair drooping over my eyes and face. I wanted to cry, I wanted to scream and scream. I wanted to die, to crawl into a little hole and drill into my brain until the pain just wasn’t their anymore. That’s what I want…That’s what I want. But I can’t have that, can I? No no no, I can’t have that….No no no…No no no…

[Milograd]

-Snip for edit-

[New Azura]

[ MT ]

Alleluia Road

Though there wasn't much in the way of a recollection about it happening, the evidence before them was proof enough: a chopper had gone down in the middle of the firefight, creating a smoldering ruin that would smoke for years. Whether the men inside had made it out or not was irrelevant. In this circle of Hell, the only ticket home was having a flag draped over a pine box. Though the rumor was likely hearsay, some people in the company (mainly the vets) were fond of the smell of the long-leaf pines that the coffins were made from. It was a pleasant aroma to the senses after months of smoke and decay.

Sergeant Mueller walked around the burnt, smoldering remains. A safety harness was still fastened in what remained of the cabin. The buckle was melted inside its holster, trapping anyone that survived the crash in the jump-seat. Scowling, Mueller motioned for the three men with him to keep moving. There was Private Jansen, who was always annoying the boys in the barracks with his horrible guitar playing. Mueller couldn't remember where he was from—the faces shifted so often, one could barely survive humpin' in long enough to put faces to the names.

Jansen was helping Corporal Mullins along as best he could. Jansen was cut up something fierce, but at least he could still move his legs. Mullins had been a baseball player before the war, and quite a good one if the rumors were true. He wouldn't be playing baseball again, though—Xarana had one less son to dream with after last night. Private Richmond was in the best shape of the lot of them, and was at the point. The enemy lines had been beaten back in the assault, but any type of counter attack could see them trying to flank the extreme left. If that happened, they were gonna sweep down the valley and bring a lot of Hell down on the reserves bringing up the supplies to the front. Jesus, Mueller thought; how much more fucked up could the situation be?

The four of them tried to keep close together. There hadn't been any signs of life around them since the night before, when all Hell had broken lose. A couple of scouts had made contact with forward elements of the enemy's main body. Fury was loosed along the whole damn front after that, with each side calling in air support as quickly as possible. Mueller was put in the unenviable position of taking charge when the Lieutenant had gotten himself killed in quick order—fucking cadets...

Things came to ahead when the 5th Armored Corps showed up and laid some Hell upon the enemy's flank. It caved in short order, but those suicidal bastards, those limey bastards just couldn't leave well enough alone. By the time they had gotten enough, the entire situation was confused. Half of their battalion had charged, and the other half withdrew. It was a slaughterhouse, with mass panic rifling through the line. So much chaos, and so much destruction. It was jack-all like the movies made it out to be back home. His feet hurt, his ears were ringing from the constant sounds of percussion blasts and grenades landing about him. Everything had a gray, smoky haze about it—like the very soil beneath them was being licked by never-ending fires that were fueled by the blood of innocent sons, maimed for a cause which they knew not.

Mullins saw them first, somehow, gurgling in agony at the sight of them. Mueller tensed up a bit before realizing they were reinforcements heading back towards the front. From the cleanness of their skin and the unfazed look in their eyes, Mueller knew right away that they were about to get their first taste of battle—battle-tested soldiers didn't smile like a bunch of jackasses—and he tensed up again.

"Ho, whoa," Mueller shouted, raising his rifle skywards. "What's the news, rooks?"

"The news is, we're about to lay some fucking wood on Johnny and his bitch-ass hos!" One particularly brash and brazen private shouted, bringing immense laughter from the others in his company.

You'll be dead in an hour...

A hulking young man stepped forward, motioning for his platoon to quiet down. He cleared his throat for a formal introduction. "Sergeant Forsyth, Baker Company—101st... where's the rest of your company, sergeant?"

Mueller gave the man a look of disdain and disgust. "This is my company now, Sergeant Forsyth. Now, if you'll excuse me..."

Mueller nodded briskly, stepping aside to let the patrol past. Perhaps they were the advance units for the next wave, who knew. And frankly, who the Hell cared at this point? All he needed was some food and a place to crash out for a few months. Even as the group passed, not one of the sanctimonious pricks offered to help. Fucking meat, that's what they were—

"Off to fight the good fight, boys! Let's go fuck some shit up!" One of the new recruits yelped, sounding almost like a teenage boy that was better suited to be playing football for his high school.

"More like getting fucked up," Richmond laughed, choking it out before Mueller could get him to shut his trap.

"Yeah, yeah," one ignorant asshole called back. "Go back to the skirts at the aid station, boys. Let the real men show you how Azura does war! No more pantywaists to slow the spear down!"

Oh, Hell...

That got the dander up in Richmond. He turned around and spat: "Show some respect for the dead, you ignorant asshole! A lot of good men died back there. Where the fuck do you think you're going, an amusement park?"

The other side shot back in kind: "At least I'm going towards the front, and not down the road for pussies."

Richmond could barely be restrained. "That's the best goddamned road I've seen in my life! As long as I don't have to spend another night smelling mud and shit falling around me, I'll call it a good fucking day. That's the road that leads home, fuckwads, not wherever the Hell you're goin'..."

"Eat me," the soldier cursed, bringing Richmond into his face. The private's own sergeant began barking at him to fall in line, just as Mueller grabbed Richmond by the collar, trying to get him down. The two men were screaming at one another, both lost in the madness that war could suffer to pass. Even in the yelling match, though, Mueller could here the faint gasps from the new company. After a few seconds, silence began to fall, as all eyes turned to witness something out of Mueller's point of view. He turned quickly... and nearly felt his knees buckle out from underneath him.

Private Jansen was kneeling beside Corporal Mullins, who was sprawled out lifelessly on the ground. Mueller watched the dying man's chest, but could see no movement—he was dead. The Sergeant began to walk forward, but Private Jansen did something unusual. With reverence and poise, he slowly took the helmet off his head, placing it on the ground beside him. Tears were flowing from his eyes, which was expected: Mullins had been Jansen's best friend in the whole outfit. The two had become like brothers in the field. Jansen lowered his head, placing his hand atop Mullins's stilled heart, and he began to pray...

"F-father," Jansen started, trying to speak between whimpering sobs. "Please watch over them, Lord. Thy will be done... keep them safe, so that they can return home to their family and loved ones. Let them see one another again, and let them know only love from here on out."

"And please take care of my brother, God. I miss him already, even though he just left. Please let him w-walk down the gold road, Father. Don't let him dive into rubble or fear for his life anymore. Let him here the angels sing alleluia when he sees his father and his baby brother again. I miss him so, Lord, but please... p-please don't let him remember this place. I'd rather him not remem-member me at a-all and be happy... than... than to remember the Hell he had to walk through. Let him find peace, Lord, please. Take care of my brother... Amen."

Jansen wept, uncaring of how many tears he spilled on the ground or his friend. With heaving shoulders and bawling eyes, the Private tried so desperately to lift his friend off the ground. But his injuries and his exhaustion made it too difficult, and he collapsed to the ground in tears.

"Sergeant," the other man, Forsyth spoke, stepping forward. "We can help you bury him before we move out. It's the... it's the least we can, you know, do for you fellas."

Mueller nodded, but Jansen picked himself off the ground in a huff. "No!"

"Jansen, we've gotta keep going—"

"No, Sergeant!" Jansen hollered, trying once more to pick Mullins off the ground with all his might. "I promised him that I would get him home," his voice broke off, tears flowing again. "I promised, Sergeant, and I'm going to get him home. I'm not gonna leave him behind..."

From the side, Mueller watched as one of the new recruits stepped forward, grabbing a hold of Mullins from the opposite side. With a heave, the two men managed to pick up the fallen soldier, helping Jansen off the ground in the process. Richmond stepped up thereafter, taking the place of the new recruit... but not before nodding in respect to the young man, whom he would probably never see again—

—yet never forget...

Sergeant Mueller turned back to Sergeant Forsyth, nodding. "You guys... you take care of yourself. It's Hell up there at the front."

"You too," Forsyth nodded, giving a slight wave. He barked at his men to keep moving, as Mueller and the last of his men stood aside. As the last of them past, Richmond and Jansen began to carry Mullins forward. Mueller took the point, cautious not to get too far ahead of the other two. Silence was the order for a bit... there was too much to be said, yet not enough space in a life time to say it.

Only Richmond had the conviction to speak. "You think they'll send us home, Sergeant?"

"I hope so," Mueller laughed. "That way I can get some sleep on a bed instead of a mud pile."

"Yeah, I h-hear that," Jansen whispered, slowly getting the emotions out of his system.

Mueller kept them going for awhile more, though more reserve units could be seen coming down the road. They were almost a mile from home when the Sergeant waxed nostalgic. He'd never been big into churches, and he didn't know that he could find it in his heart to attend one now. But there was a song that always put his heart at ease. And he so desperately wanted to hear it...

"Guys, do any of you know the lyrics to the hymn, Amazing Grace?"

Richmond spoke up first. "I know parts of it, I think... 'Amazing grace... how sweet the sound... that saved... a... a wretch, like me! I once was l...lost. But now, I'm... found...' I don't remember the last bit, Sergeant."

"It's okay," Mueller mused. "It's a good song—"

Jansen suddenly spoke up, singing softly: "I once was lost... but now I'm found. Was blind, but now... I... see..."

The men fell silent once more, as the last notes lingered on the stale breeze. They were nearly home—just a little ways more to go.

Amen... Mueller thought somberly.

Amen.

[Hakkoi]

Visions of the Blind Man

MT

The Hakkoi Republic
The South Pacific
Port Chik'chu

He surfs across brickroad in a sea of darkness, without aim, yet he knows of where he stroll. Tunes from lutes dominate the atmosphere, the sounds only more present given his absence of the sight sense. Scent travels through the air, the market is nearby. He steps forward with caution and balance, navigating through the sea of man. The street is boisterous, congested, vibrant - it lives through its people, life and cityscape are one. He, the blind man in the sea of many, knows this, he sees with all but his eyes, for he is above his supposed brethren. Sweat rolls down his cheek, his trek has been quite long, he is of the mountains, it is now evening.

The blind man is of the mountains, he has embarked on quite the journey to arrive in the vibrant ports of Chik'chu. The trials along the road he walk are more than one can count, yet he is not deterred. He is a man of myth insofar that, he knows of his flaw, and is troubled by such, yet he travels onward. The music plays, man and woman navigate around one another, the smell of the sea fills the air as always, another day, another evening.

Upon finishing a ruthless journey from up the mountains, to the centre of Port Chik'chu, he sits himself on a wooden stool, looking over an array of possible rewards, for he had scaled the mountains. Yet, as he sat upon the wooden stool, his wide frame appearing disproportional to the small market around him, he sheds a tear. The keeper leans over his stand, and softly speaks;

"당신은 울지 않는 이유는, 오늘이 즐거운 아닌가요?"

"Why do you cry, is today not joyous? "

Knowing not of his suffering, the keeper has just proven himself to be foolish, yet he has not dishonored himself, for he has offered his hand to the saddened man. He wishes to lift the man's spirits, yet he knows not of the man's suffering. He approaches a suffering man without knowing of his suffering, yet he has good intention, and for that he maintains his honor. However, he is a foolish man.

He, the weeping man from the mountains, recognizes this, and responds accordingly;

"당신은 훌륭한 남자에 대한, 자신에 대한 걱정하지 마십시오. 난 당신의 잡기 냄새와 같은시기,하지만 냄새가 뭔지 난 알아. 그 동안, 난 내가 뭔가를 잃어버릴 아름다운 오전에, 울지 말거라."

"Do not worry for myself, for you are a fine man. I smell your catch and envy such, but I know not of what I smell. For that, I weep, for I am missing out on something beautiful."

This man, he recognizes the foolery of the keeper, yet he knows he is honorable. With that in mind, he acknowledges such, whilst attempting to give the man insight where he is blind. For that, this man is wise, and is honorable.

The keeper, the honorable man that he is, knows his place in relation to the man before him. The man has enlightened him where he once was a fool, and for that he has benefitted from the man's company. The keeper is now more knowledgable, and has learned from the man before him. With that in mind, he responds accordingly;

"내 잡기에 관심을 가져 주셔서 감사합니다, 그리고 난 당신의 존재에 감사드립니다. 오늘은 과 초밥이 있습니다. 내가 당신에게 질문을 물으면 그러나, 당신은 객체겠습니까?"

"I thank you for your interest in my catch, and I appreciate your presence. Today I have Takifugu and Sushi. Yet, would you object if I asked you a question?"

The keeper has asked to question the man, rather than doing such outright, and for that he has applied what he has learned from the man before him. Not only that, but he has also answered the man's questions whilst addressing his own curiosities, and for that he has shown his respect for the man before him. The keeper is indeed honorable, and he has learned from the wise man.

The man from the mountains recognizes that this, and with that in mind he responds accordingly;

"난 당신처럼 일종으로 사람의 어떠한 질문에 대답 영광 것입니다.캐치에 대해서는, 어떻게이 책정됩니까?"

"I would be honored to answer any question from a man as kind as yourself. As for the catch, how are these priced?"

The man has attempted to comfort the keeper, and has done so in kindness. He has also inquired about the price of the keeper's catch, and for that he is honorable.

The keeper recognizes this, and responds accordingly;

"당신은, 제게 지혜를 가져 한번, 나는 무료, 내 캐치에 감사한다 멀게되었다 비전과 나를를 제공합니다. 또한, 한번 더 부탁드립니다. 왜 당신이 외침은 오늘이 즐거운 아닌가요?"

"You have brought me wisdom, and have provided me with vision where I was once blinded, I shall thank you in my catch, free of charge. Additionally, I ask once more. Why is it you cry, is today not joyous?"

The keeper knows that he has gained from the man's presence, and that such must be rewarded. Upon doing this, he once again asks why the man before him is weeping, and for that he is honorable, and has displayed a newfound wisdom.

The man recognizes this, and responds accordingly;

"그게 당신이 대부분인데, 난 당신의 부분에 친절에 감사드립니다. 그러나, 하나 밖에 식사, 그리고 더 아무것도 충분히 취한다. 내가 전에 말했듯이, 난 눈이있어 난 내 앞에있는 아름다움을 볼 수 없기 때문에, 난 울지 말거라. 난 좋은 삶을 위해, 날 불쌍하게 생각하지 마시기 바랍니다."

"That is most kind of you, I appreciate the kindness on your part. However, I shall only take enough for one meal, and nothing more. As I said before, I weep because I cannot see the beauty that is before me, I am blind. Please, do not feel sorry for me, for I live a good life."

The man, from the mountains, gracefully accepts the offer from the keeper, for had he not he would be making him appear foolish. At the same time, he displays that he is not to take advantage of the man, by stating that he will only take enough catch for one meal. He then states that he weeps because he is blind, and he wishes to see the world around him with vision, along with his other senses. The man is envious of those with vision, and he knows this. However, for the sake of showing such, he requests that the keeper halt in his displays of sorrow for the man, even though he has yet to do so. He is wise in that he addresses his flaws by daylight, or evening.

The keeper then address this accordingly;

"맹인이 눈에 의해 당신이있을 수 있습니다,​​하지만 당신은 내 눈꺼풀에 비전을 가져왔다 내가 가진 그것에 대해 감사기도를 드렸어요. 내가보기에는, 자신에게 감사는, 당신의 비전이 가장 귀하의 지혜를 통해 적용된 당신이 당신의 네비게이션 역할을 눈없이 관리할 수있다는 것을 입증했습니다. 당신은 다른 사람과 지혜를, 그래서 진정한 주 시력의 선물을 공유할 수 있습니다. 지금 난, 당신이 아니라 방법으로 한번 장님 것을 그리고 난 내 눈은 나의 탐색으로 임명으로 당신은 가지고 있지 않다 비전의 선물을 갖고 것을 볼 수 있습니다.

당신은 현명하고 있습니다. 당신은, 자신에게 비전을 가져 그것에 대해, 그리고주는 사람이고 거기에 당신이 존경하고 있습니다. 당신은 당신이 그것을 깨닫지 소유하지 않더라도 당신은 당신의 재능을 공유할 수 있습니다. 그게 진정으로 고귀한 사람의 기호이다."

"Blind by eye you may be, but you have brought vision to my eyelids, and for that I have thanked you. As I see it, thanks to yourself, your vision is best applied through your wisdom, and you have proven that you may manage without your eyes serving as your navigation. You share your wisdom with others, and thus share your gift of true sight. I can now see that I was once blind in the ways that you are not, and that I possess the gift of vision that you do not have, as my eyes serve as my navigation.

You are wise. You have brought vision to myself, and for that you are a giving man, and for that you are honorable. You share your gift, even if you do not realize you possess it. That, is the sign of a truly noble man."

The man before the keeper paused, for he knew he was before a man of great wisdom. It was true, he had indeed brought vision to this man, and thus he was not truly blind. The keeper, a man who only minutes ago had been foolish, yet still honorable, was now wise. The man smiled, for he knew what he had done. He had given a gift to the man before him, a man he had never met a day in his life. This gift, would keep on giving. He was not blind. He had the gift of vision. He shared this gift. He was proud. He had found his place in the Cycle of Chik'chu.

The man from the mountains rose from the keeper's stool, shook his hand, and carefully placed the keeper's catch in his basket. Another day, another evening...

[Kylarnatia]

[MT]

[Mature]

[Daddy Come Home]

---

[I]

Please Daddy, don't go.

Gripping to the leg of daddy, hanging furiously with droplets in my eyes. Mummy says he's going away on holiday for six months, which will be nice. I ask her why we're not going with him, but I don't get an answer. Mummy seems upset everytime I ask, and I don't know why. Maybe it's because we're not going with him, though I also ask why he wears a uniform with dark patterns and why he is carrying a gun along with his huge rucksack. Why has daddy got a gun mummy? You said they were bad, aren't they?

He gives us both kisses and hugs as he waves at us goodbye, we stand at the door waving back. He jumps into a truck, being helped up by some of his friends. Why is dad going away on holiday with them and not us mummy? Are we not his friends too? I ponder more and more, curiously following mummys steps as we walk back into our dark, damp house. Mummy says it's because it's old, but I hear mummy and daddy arguing sometimes, about nasty men who'll take it if we refuse to pay. I ask mummy, pay for what? She looks at me distraught, and when I explain, she sends me to my room. The droplets now appearing in her eyes as did they once mine.

I go - my curiousity getting the better of me as I turn around and ask why I must, mummy now raising her hand to me and trying to smack me around the back. I scream and run up the stairs, her shouting coming from behind me. Mummy used words that she said was naughty, and that I shouldn't use. You and daddy use them, I always asked, why can't I? Another thing I got told off for. I lunge myself onto the small bed of mine, quickly sitting up and looking out the window it sat next to. The Sky was crying, just like us. Loads, and loads, and loads. Why are you sad Mr. Sky? Is it because Mr. Sunshine is gone? Is it that?

Is it that you feel all is lost?

[II]

Bored. Bored. Bored.

I repeat the word a thousand times. I ask mummy when daddy will be home, and she says soon. I ask when is soon? And she just looks at me and shakes her head. Mummy is not fun like daddy. She doesn't give me piggy-backs or play games with me, she doesn't buy me sweets or stay up late with me and watch really scary movies or cartoons. Why are you not fun like daddy mummy? Why don't you do that stuff with me?

Because daddy's bad.

Daddy's not bad! Daddy's not bad! Daddy's not bad! I insist as I run around the house with her, finally playing at last. Though when I laugh she shouts, and when I giggle she snarls. I don't get this game. And when I get caught she hurts me, slapping me and calling me an ungreatful little shit. Why are you playing such mean games mummy? Why are you saying rude things? Why are you hitting me? She ignores me as she throws me about the room and throws me out, sending me upstairs in tears, crying like the sky did a few days ago. I didn't understand it.

I sat in my room, in my bed as I continued to act like the sky. Why did mummy go bad? Why did she hurt me? Why am I coughing? Why am I struggling to breath? What is wrong with me? What is wrong with mummy?

Why am I coughing up red?

[III]

Daddy's coming home.

Six months had gone, and so had my birthday. I asked mummy why daddy didn't send me a card? She said not to be spoilt as she cried to herself. Why was she crying? Wasn't daddy coming home? Wouldn't you be happy? I didn't ask any questions anymore, out of fear of playing that game with mummy again. She had told me not to tell daddy, but I will. She was bad, and she said he dealed with bad people; so it was only fair. She said we're going to meet him at the church. Why the church? Daddy never liked god.

We arrived later on, being told by men in black that daddy was inside. I ran with glee and excitement, but mummy wasn't happy. She walked behind me, slow paced like Mr. Snail in the garden. I beaconed her to come faster to see daddy, but she seemed very unhappy about the idea. Why mummy why? Once we get inside, I understand why. Daddy's in a long, wooden box. I run up to it and touch it, mummy shouts at me. I try to lift the lid off, but it's nailed down. Had daddy's friends tricked him into the box as a joke? Mummy pulled me away, digging into my arm. Why mummy why?

We look over it, silence taking our breath. I couldn't ask any more questions for the moment as I looked at where daddy was, but why couldn't I see daddy? Had he left this as a joke and gone away again? How long would I have to wait now? I looked to mummy who now crys like the sky six months ago. Prehaps she lost her sunshine. Why's daddy in the box mummy?

Shut up.

[-The West Coast-]

---

---

You Can't Forget...

Modern Tech...

---

---

"We were following orders. We didn't want it to end like it did. Those people... I'm sorry they were killed. I'm sorry they were murdered. I'm sorry for everything I did. I feel that its right for me to hang, it may do nothing for anyone. I recant my past wrong-doings. I know that's not enough to save me from hanging, nothing will. I pray almighty God watches over my tainted soul on my way to Hell."

The chain shackles clanked loudly as the man was forced from his seat and shoved outside. The sun blinded him instantly, he took a step back, re-focused his eyes. Outside was outside. Green grass, tanned cement walls of the prison and the rotting wood of the bloody gallows. The gallows. For him. For his crime, the same crime committed by five-hundred-and-seventy other men. Up, way up. In the mountains surrounding the aging prison were people. Ordinary civilians, watching like a hawk as he spent his last few minutes of life reminiscing.

His extinction was entertainment, ironic. He'd treated the women on the reservation in the very same way. Callousness towards another human life. The circle continued to revolve, even as he looked towards the violent machine that would kill him. He tried to convince his brain that he wasn't afraid of death. But his mind wouldn't listen, it knew better. It learned not to listen to the lies the body told it, ever since Dewey Canyon. He was afraid.

[-Costa Estrella-]

[ MT ]

[ Mature ]

The General and the Dictator

Neuva Madrid - La Reino de Costa Luna
2008

The island paradise of Costa Luna was set aflame with the fires of warfare and plight for the first time in a very very long time. The outdated military proving to be adaptable and fine soldiers, bolt action rifles or not. It was the final closing hours of the Sucession Crisis, Magnus Kane; dictator of Costa Estrella and Coup Mastermind of Costa Luna was feeling the final curtain call approaching swiftly.

Hurried voices spoke however, many miles away on the outskirts of the capital city. A collection of people mismatched and completely out of place to one another. An American with the look of 'James Bond'-esque attitude, an American Colonel; a French Professor of Aquatics, a German Professor of Aquatics, and two Costa Lunans; one, a very young woman with the posture and regality of royalty, and an older man in his later years with wispy gray hair.

"That is the entirety of the situation, General Alvarez." Her voice was light but stern. The General's complexion changed in that instant, what had once been calm and collected changed to a demeanor of hostility and rage. However; he expressed nothing. The American spoke next, speaking of battle plans as he set out a rough map of the Royal Palace.

Alvarez agreed, to a point before the American mentioned that the primary objective of the Costa Lunans was not Magnus Kane. "He has invaded my country and imprisoned my Queen, he nor any of his men shall leave here alive, Americanos." The General spoke heavily, his voice dark and obvious with blood lust, though he remained in control. The American went on to explain training, and the possibility of Kane executing the Queen during the incursion, in the end, the General agreed to the plan in light of such possibility; though he was not pleased.

Roughly what amounted to a half an hour passed, each persons with a goal and job moving out to the designated positions for the battle to come. When his moment finally came, as the lights in the Palace flickered from bright to dim, primary power to emergency lighting, Alvarez stood up, megaphone in hand.

"General Magnus Kane, this is the Costa Lunan Royal Guard! You've precisely one minute to surrender your positions and lay down your arms!" The General was not an idiot and did not expect such from Kane, the response came in gun shots from the automatic rifles of the Costa Estrellan soldiers with Kane.

"Return fire! Grazing fire along the left flank, suppressive fire down the center! Marksmen aim for kills! Leave none of them alive!" General Alvarez had no intention of taking prisoners this night.

The gunfight lasted a long while, several minutes; with the Costa Lunans advancing steadily on the Costa Estrellans until such a time those who remained surrendered, there was victory to a cost with the great square that led to the palace; many brave men had died or were wounded sorely; but the remainder pushed on without hesitation; those who did surrender, were given the same 'Mercy' the Soviet Union had given the surrendering Germans in the Second World War, a merciful bullet to the brain.

"Secure the perimeter! Advance guard, advance on the palace!" Alvarez had no trouble directing the battle from directly on the lines with his men, bullets skipping around him as the remainder of Kane's men showed their intent to fight to the death.

Alvarez then did the most foolish thing an officer could do, led the charge inward himself; immediately to be greeted by the clatter of AKM assault rifles. "Return fire!" The volley of some 16 Mosin Nagant rounds were just as effective as the automatic Russian rifles; Kane's men fell like dominoes.

"Secure this area, move forward!" Alvarez made a direct line for the throne room after that, encountering more and more resistance. "He can't be this stupid..." In one of the quieter moments, deftly the General lifted one of the fallen automatic rifles to down one of the Estrellan soldiers. "For Costa Luna!" The battle cry pretty much did it as 200 screaming Guardsmen came pouring into the Castle from just about every direction, Alvarez himself pushing open the doors on the Throne Room.

He instantly stopped cold, Queen Sophia was there, very much alive; for the moment, held to the point of Magnus Kane's silver long sword. "Coward!" The General cried bluntly to the Dictator who gave a sickly smile. "I demand you let her go this instant!"

"I demand you drop your weapon lest you desire to see your beloved monarch's blood on these fine marble floors." Kane had a deep baritone voice that spoke with the authority of a military man, one had to suppose he really did earn that title; General. Reluctantly Alvarez let the AKM fall to the floor. "Where's the American?" Alvarez questioned darkly.

"Who? You mean James Bond? He's in the corner bleeding to death after finding out Hollywood is different from Reality." Kane said without missing a beat. "As to the other two; they're in there." His free hand pointed off to a room to the side. "Alive, for the moment."

"How kind..." The older General replied as his hand slid down to the hilt of the finely crafted sword at his own side. "Why don't you settle this properly, rather than hiding behind a woman like a coward?" Alvarez had had just about enough of Magnus Kane, he'd decided in that moment. The Dictator-General smiled that sickly smile, perfect white teeth flashing lightly.

"Now, General Alvarez what ever makes you think I would abide to that request?" Kane's smile never faltered as Alvarez cast his eyes to the clear glass doors the Masons were behind. "Oh, I imagine two score of my finest men would change your mind, and they are not as emotionally attached as I am." Alvarez didn't' even hesitate as the glass doors were thrown open and several troopers surged out. "Hold your fire!" The General commanded, and though puzzled the soldiers obeyed.

"Now; you can either settle this with me, or; I'm sure these are all excellent marksmen compared to your conscripts; they'll hit you before you even get the chance to twitch your wrist in the direction of Her Majesty's back, coward." Alvarez made the point of such as the soldiers, without hesitation recycled the bolts on their old rifles to eject and rechamber a new round.

"How intriguing." The Dictator-General of Costa Estrella spoke darkly as he roughly shoved the Queen away, effectively pissing off every man in the room that wasn't himself. "So I assume all of my men are dead, then?"

"Just about, I'd say; we're not very good with the mercy part of warfare."

"Such odd pacifists then, aren't you?" Kane spoke without a hitch, circling the older General as the soldiers backed off on instinct, though they were more than ready to drop the foul bastard if necessary.

"Oh, we're not quite pacifists!" Alvarez lunged first, blade clashing hostilely with the Dictator's, sparks flew in the stereotypical fashion but this was no Hollywood scene, the careful dance that was swordsmanship was blindingly fast and over in but a few seconds before Kane was disarmed and grasping at his wrist. "No, we're very bad at pacifist, actually. We just don't like violence, as you can see though; we're very good at it."

"So, I assume you intend to put me on trial, then? Hand me over to the United Nations?" The Dictator had no hint of fear in his eyes as he carefully watched the General's arm.

"Trial?" The General barked a sardonic mirthless laugh. "No, coward. You are not leaving here alive today!" A simple thrust forward sent the Spanish-Steel blade through the Dictator's uniformed chest, passing through cloth, skin, blood and bone with ease as stolen medals fell to the ground; the younger man groaning as he collapsed over the blade. Alvarez released the hilt allowing it fall with the man.

"Shoot him anyway." He didn't even hesitate as the soldiers did as told and emptied their rifles into the dying man...

[Heliocalypse]

[ FT ]

The Phantom Coffin

Tormenting black lines laced the wretched skin of the ship, signifying a dark grim omen. It is there, emanating neither favor or malice. It just sat there waiting for an instruction that may not come for centuries. Once alive with humans, now it's no more than a flying grave. Maze of circuitry replaced the crews, droids wriggle through the ship like worms. Sightings of phantoms can seldom be seen through the death flavored window panels of the ship. The ship survived numerous brutal battles but its previous human owners were all had perished for reasons unknown. One might say the ship is cursed for generations except that not many live long to live to tell the tale, let alone to meet face to face with the phantasmal vessel.

---

Dead Space Anomaly - Red Omen Region
Aboard the HCL Magnal, Gyrgyr Class Vessel

Research Acquisitor Nemon had made a grave mistake. For which the insidious wheel of Fate will tell his unfortunate story, flavoured by vile omens.

"Hey, how is the scan going?" speaks Nemon to his officer. Nemon is a bright young man, cherished by success and rose to fame under the speed that many will trial him for witchcraft. Nemon knew how to play his cards right but his luck won't last any longer.

Startled, the officer responded with a nervous voice, "Sir, i can't believe it! We're picking up ancient signal, the Marchus Confederacy Level Four Signal! It's the same signal our ancestor once used three thousands year ago, no i'm not sure what i'm seeing now!"

"Wait, it actually existed?! We're in the middle of a dead space, officer. Something like that should never existed due to the Grand Experiment event a few eras ago!" replied Nemon. Clearly the news wasn't of a good one, a look of horror ran through the lines of his face. Seeing the scan result again and again, Nemon blitzed through old records, data records in order to confirm what the scan just picked up. His nervousness started to crack the steel confidence that had emboldened in the crews of the ship.

For all the Principality ships, a mysterious part of the communication node was designed to respond to the calls of the so called relics of the Grand Experiment. Scientists tried to crack it but with no avail. It's said religiously that the node will respond to such relics, for the current generations to learn of what their precursors once had. Numerous incidents of missing ships, even capital ships were recorded due to interaction with the phantom relics. And this history concerned Nemon most. Who knows what dark secrets the relics hold? Will ever they survive an encounter with the ominous relic? The questions played again and again through the minds of the crews manning Nemon's ship.

"Prepare the Warp Core, we should get the hell out of here!" speaks Nemon with tone of horror, knowing there are absolutely no data on the so called relics of the past. Even in the enclave of his ship, teethed with numerous weapons, he felt afraid of the unknown ship. A feeling of terror and horror.

The crews of his ship fervently try to prepare HCL Magnal for a warp jump. As they're preparing, the unknown ship slowly moves closer to them, powered by purplish dark trail of malice. "Sir! Our warp drives are failing!" screamed one officer through the intercom. Nemon quickly responded with a swift voice, "Quick! Prepare the hyperdrive! Do something, fast!". As he stated his desperate intention, another unknown call got through, "Greetings....don't...run...". The very voice of the call sent shock through his spine. Nemon had made sure no one would able to infiltrate his ship's communication system. And the fact he noticed the transmission is coming from the approaching relic had made Nemon more terrified than previously.

---

"Sir! We're losing controls of our system! The unknown ship is approaching us, fast on delta-sigma vector! It's trying to intercept us from the broadside!" screamed one of the officers to Nemon in the intercom. It's a crisis. The unknown ship is rapidly lurching forward, trying to stop his vessel. And all of his ship's weapon systems aren't working. The sight of the vessel had made Nemon scared, let alone to think what reeks inside of such ominous ship.

Thinking fast, Nemon quickly came up with a strategy. If the unknown ship decided to dock with his ship, he would order his ship crews to stop whatever are coming from the vessel from entering his ship. As Nemon gave orders to his ship crews to be prepared for battle, horrifyingly his prediction came out to be true. Slowly the unknown ship ate away through the hull of HCL Magnal with various visceral arms, neither mechanical or organic. Something of unknown material. Then a part of the ship extended directly into his ship, like a leech latching on a victim.

The sound of metal structure being eaten clearly can be heard throughout HCL Magnal. Something is coming for them, gnashing away all that thick armour with relative ease. Bracing for impact, the crews were ready to fight, to the their last blood if they need to. Then, an eerie silence permeated through HCL Magnal. All that gnashing had stopped. Nothing.

---

"Status report?" asked Nemon. Quickly responded to his calls were his ship crews, reporting that they're all safe and sound. What made Nemon curious was, why the unknown ship stopped doing its thing? Nemon looked into his intercom unit and speak again, "Unit Four, get Unit Seven and explore the damaged section. Weapons hot.". "Roger that Sir, we will get that bitch or whatever they are!" answered the intercom.

Slowly peering through the empty corridors of HCL Magnal, Unit Four and Unit Seven begun their scouting run. In order to find out what is actually happening. Upon the damaged section area, they can see an unknown installation of somesort, replacing the wall. It resembles an old door. "Hey Marki, what do you think it is?" asked Reon while pointing her plasma gun towards the odd installation. Seeing it with a sharp eye, Marki responded softly, "Stay alert, it might be hostile". Nodding in unison, the soldiers of Unit Four and Seven tactically surrounded the unknown installation.

"Hey, *bzzt* what's *bzzt* thing?" toned Marki's radio. It is Nemon, curious of what is happening to his ship. Backing a wall, Marki answered, "It's somesort..of..door, roger". Unknown to Marki, Reon poked the odd formation with her gun. Suddenly Marki can hear several screams resonating through the corridor. Trying to look for Reon, he noticed that he's the one being left in the scene, since he cannot contact any of his teammates any longer.

"Marki..*bzzt* respond" speaks Marki's radio again. But Marki isn't answering, as he is trying to evaluate the danger of the current area while searching for his teammates. As he tries to move forward, Marki felt a slight tap on his shoulder. An unknown rough voice rolled into his ear, "Where...are..you..going...?". Marki tried to turn his head around but suddenly he screamed. Nemon heard his scream, counting that Marki forgot to turn his radio off.

Looking at the ship floor plan, the signal of Unit Four and Seven were completely lost. Nemon is again feeling dangerously nervous. "CIC, send a signal, or whatever so that someone can help us! On the double!" speaks Nemon to his intercom. But all he got were replies of radio static. As he tries to dial his intercom to connect with other intercoms in his ship, he heard the sound of screams in his intercom, as if the screams were right behind him. Panicking, Nemon opened up the ship communication node to send an emergency signal by his own. His last transmitted message was, "Help! Unk--ARGH! NOOOO!!!!!"

---

[Jenrak]

[ MT ]

The Tickets

“Hey, did you get my message?” He asks me, not fidgeting, but obviously nervous. Before I could answer, he cuts me off. I remember, thinking back then, ‘little prick’, but he didn’t know about it. His palms were sweating – it was obvious to everyone around us. “I’m just wondering if I could talk to you.”

I pause, took a deep breath, and shrug. “Alright, sure. What did you want to talk about?”

“Just, well, I’m wondering if you have a large block of time, so are you free anytime soon, or...?”

Huh. I see what he did there. “I’m not working on Thursday after four, and I don’t have anything planned, so I can talk to you then. Is it going to take a while?” He shakes his head, and turns around, like a robot, and we part ways.

I go home, then work, and then back, and falling on the bed, I look up at my ceiling. His name is Leras Haulman, a man in the same program as I am. He’s a bit older than me, by like, four months, I think, but he’s also smaller than me. He’s a pretty cool guy – keeps to himself sometimes, though, and he hangs around a bunch of people who really don’t seem to mould and fit with him very well. I’m curious, and uncertain sometimes, as to why he does.

He’s a Rithos, and frankly, he’s not a bad kid. Everyone hears rumours about him – that his parents died, that his family is missing, and that his home in Ghelehaum was gone. Everybody hears rumours about how his aunt and uncle take care of him and he secludes himself a lot. But he didn’t secluded at school – no, he had a small group of people with him all the time.

But they’re all Rithos. Hmm. Oh well, I thought. Nothing about it. And, without a worry, I went to sleep.

***

Wednesday came and went, with the pitter-patter of rain in the background and the noise of construction work on the Eastern Valleys Park. They’re building a large citadel, I heard – a great, massive one, in the middle of the neighbourhood for everyone to attend. The foundations were there, but it seemed like they were speeding it.

“So how long do you think it’ll be before they finished that thing?” Marcum asked, his face full of sandwich with a lettuce wedged between his teeth. I grimace at him and he reaches into his bag for a toothpick. Oh Marcum; always prepared.

“I don’t know. I think it’s slated for next year?” I ask him, and he nods, still picking at his toothpick. Ugh, I can’t believe I dated this guy.

***

We meet outside on the outside lecture halls. They’re the big ones, like a large pit with stone seats around them. It was really hot that day, so I ended up bringing an umbrella, having everyone look at me. Shut up, I thought, avoiding their stares, I’m not built for heat like most of you. Sure, I was a Methronnian, but I’m not heat resistant. I don’t know how these people do it.

He arrives punctually – 4pm, at the spot we decided. He’s without an umbrella, and I frown at it. “I wish you had an umbrella,” I told him, before patting the empty shaded spot beside me, “come on.”

He sat down, nervous, refusing to look me in the eye. “So, you don’t like the heat?”

“Shush.” I snapped, shaking my head, but also smiling. “I’m not a hardcore Methronnian. These people are psychotic.”

“Is psychotic the right word to use.”

I gasped, but playfully. “Don’t reprimand me!”

“Reprimand is also probably the wrong word to use.” He smiled this time. Mission accomplished.

“So, what’s up?” I asked him, and he pulls out two holographic paper slips. On them were the words AVX Tour, VIP.

What. The. Fuck.

“How did you get this?!” I asked. If my jaw could have literally dropped, it probably would have. “This stuff’s like, four, five thousand a ticket. How?!”

“A friend of mine.” He replied. “I’m just wondering if you were willing to go with me for the tours when they come here.”

“Oh, hellz yeah I will.” I told him, and I thought he’d smile, but he kept up a nervous look.

“There’s a problem, though.” He continued. “I’m wondering if you’d be willing to pretend to be going out with me for the next year, up until the tour.” I paused, my smile disappearing. No, I wasn’t angry. Just, uh, well, baffled. At first the thought I thought was Am I willing to whore myself out for super-fucking-amazing concert tickets?, and after a couple seconds of thought, my answer was I don’t know.

“Wait, pretend?” Ah, that magic word.

“Yeah, my aunt and uncle think that I’m dating someone, so they’re expecting me to take them to the concert, as well as are expecting me to show them my imaginary girlfriend all this time. And, well, you just got out of a relationship, so you’re probably – sorry – and I know you love this band, so...yes? No? You don’t have to actually be my girlfriend, I just need you to go on a couple dates, meet my aunt and uncle, and then the concert tickets are yours. Hell, take someone else with you if you want. No kissing or anything like that from me.”

“Well, I – wait, why do they think you’re dating someone?”

“I told them.”

“...And, why?”

“Because I’ve been going out a lot of nights, meeting with my friends.”

“Why the lie, though?”

“They don’t like my friends. My aunt and uncle want me to make friends with Methronnians, not Rithos, and they’re getting staunch about it. So, I’ve been making up the lie that I have someone special.”

“Ooooh, okay. Well, I don’t know if I’m really willing to whore myself out for concert tickets,” I thought aloud, “unfortunately, I have my pride.”

“Oh, we don’t need to do anything. Consider it more as hanging around as friends for our dates, and then when you meet my aunt and uncle, you don’t need to do anything. Just, like, well, say we’re dating, eat dinner, and then I’ll take you home, no problems. We can ‘break up’ after the concert so they won’t pester or expect from you.” He seemed earnest, and the deal seemed pretty awesome. One year, huh?

“Okay, sure, let’s do this. Deal?” I held out my free hand, and he held out his, and we shook.

He smiled now. “Deal.”

***

I was a bit apprehensive about him. He kept to his Rithos friends and I kept to my friends. I had never really discussed things at length with him, and I was a bit worried that maybe things would get bad or awkward, but he was actually pretty open and easy about a lot of things. Admittedly, before our first ‘date’, the only time I had talked to him before was when I invited him to join my study group. I wasn’t really sure of why me, since I knew Susan in our class in Bio was also interested in those tickets and would probably jump on the ‘fake relationship’ deal as well. Maybe it was just a list and when it came to me, I accepted.

I don’t know.

But frankly, to say, he’s quite a gentleman. We went to the movies – you know, the Grande Palace across from the citadel - and he told me that I was able to go home, but I didn’t feel right about it. He’s giving me tickets and all I had to do was say ‘hi’ and eat his aunt and uncle’s food, but that just didn’t sit with me. So, in fairness (and probably more whoreish, I don’t know), we went to the movies. I bought an extra large popcorn and I had thought we’d share it, but he just bought his own medium sized popcorn.

As an FYI, Swing By Me is a really, really, really boring movie. I can’t stress that enough.

I couldn’t finish my popcorn, but he finished his. And he’s one of two things, I found. He was either really sweet, or he eats a lot (which is sort of weird, since he’s really lanky), because he asked if he could have some of my popcorn. “Damn right.” I said, feeling that if I rejected his popcorn advances I’d be out ten dollars. Shit, this thing’s expensive.

Fortunately, after that whole thing was over, he agreed that Swing By Me was also the spawn of Satan.

***

It wasn’t until our fourth date about six months into our deal that I got out of him as to why his aunt and uncle didn’t want him hanging around his Rithos friends – he said they were into some ‘shady business’ and that dealing with him was going to be a problem for his future. It was a weird thing, considering that we were sitting in front of the construction for the citadel as we talked, and dust was everywhere.

And, to be honest, I didn’t mind it. He kept his eyes on the building the whole time, almost never making eye contact with me, but succinctly expressed his lament at being friends with people like that, but also, in those words, had a sliver of a lie as well. He spoke of them with a respect and awe that I could not register or understand, and so I only thought that maybe he was planning on joining them for some reason, somehow.

“I don’t think you should.” I told him, but he didn’t look at me. “You’ve got potential to be something. And, well, maybe someday, you’ll find that special someone.”

And broke contact with the construction of the behemoth structure, and stared back at me. “Thanks.” He replied, and after hours of talking, we went home.

***

It was a weird feeling, being the one to take the initiative. I couldn’t really figure out why, or what, but I knew that on the sixth date, I was feeling a lot more cool hanging around him. When most of my friends and my ex talked about the latest fashion, what they see on the news, and what things are floating around on television and the internet, he had always seemed to have something to discuss, and he was never virulent about it.

Whether it was a Kantian discussion or Libertarianism or even the prospect of religion, he was always open, understanding, willing and certainly capable of reasonable debate. I was never really bored with him when he spoke, and every time he said something, I felt like I was learning from someone who was a master, or at the least, experienced such things. Indeed, his words made me fall in love with philosophy and the arts again, and reminded me why I came to the college in the first place.

His favourite colour was pink, and I chuckled at it, causing him to fluster. I tell him it’s a cute colour. He told me he wished he had green eyes like mine, but I told him I’d rather have blue, like his.

We talked for hours on our sixth date, and never spent any money on anything – we just talked, and it could be scarce called a date and rather just two people, talking. We spent our time walking along the Eastern Valleys park, the noise of the citadel’s construction always in the distance, pounding and nailing away as the hot sun beat down upon us. It was late fall, but there was still the feel of summer.

Or maybe it was me.

***

I ate with his aunt and uncle at Christmas. His uncle was a thin, balding man, and his aunt was a woman just as tall as her husband and just as pleasant. I didn’t know why, but I found it to be an odd atmosphere. I smiled at the two of them, and they smiled at me back, but little conversation was spent. Only rarely did they ever speak up, and the entire house – a small, somewhat drab thing (no offense to him) – was feeling confined and tightly wounded.

“So, uh, Avox, is it?” She asked me, and I answered back politely with a nod. “I’m glad that you guys are doing so well together. And, by the way, I love your shirt.” She made a moving, scanning motion thingy with her hands, targeting my chest.

“Uh, thanks.” I replied.

“It must have taken a long time to get all this prepared.” She looked at my hair, my makeup, all my clothing and jewellery, and sighed at it all.

“Oh, well, not really.” I lied. I laughed nervously, and Leras smiled at me. I smiled back, without thinking about it.

Huh. I smiled back, without thinking about it.

“That halter top must make things really cold.” His uncle replied, and I smiled nervously as his eyes scanned me.

“That’s really creepy.” Leras spoke for me, relieving the uneasiness off my chest.

I chuckled nervously, like a fool, as dinner continued. The air was tense and thick, and I couldn’t stay for long after dinner, so he wrapped my coat around me and took me home.

Saying goodbye, I hugged him, and for a while, I refused to let go.

***

The eighth date noted the completion of the citadel. It was a large, beautiful structure made of marble and concrete pillars, looking like a garden roofed with stone and silk.

He took me there, into the central hallways, as the long lanes of sitting steps led down to a central idol of Niur Enkur. We sat down, and at ten in the morning, scarcely anyone was there. He looked at the center, and sighed. “Sometimes I think my life would be a lot easier if I just converted.”

I shook my head. “I don’t think it’d be wise. You’d be lying to yourself.”

For once, he wasn’t open about it. He wasn’t responsively understanding. He wasn’t a man who relied on context and thought. For once, he was impulsive. “I don’t think I am.”

“I don’t - ”

“Can I try it?” He asked, and I grimaced. He stared at the idol, his eyes dead. “Dearest Enkur, I seek your forgiveness, for I am unsure, and unwilling to go through with what I am about to do. I could not, for the life of me, think about it as I am now. And I don’t even know what to believe, but I have yet something left I must do. Heh, I’m blanking out. I can’t focus. I...I...” I have never seen a man cry.

But it is painful and crushing, and when they do, you can feel it as it sours the air and darkens the soul.

“I’m in love, and I seek your forgiveness for what I’m about to do.” He begged.

And then, those words, like some command, begged me to do it. I couldn’t stop but wrap my arms around him and smile. And I could feel it welling up, that odd pang inside of me. Oh god, tears are contagious things. “Is it me?” I whispered.

He said nothing, but simply hugged me back.

***

I had gone shopping for clothes for the concert about two days before – my wardrobe was desperately out of date and I needed to at least look like I’m taking some semblance of care of myself. I purchased pink lipstick for the first time, wondering if it’ll look good on me. The saleswoman says it would, but they fudge everything nowadays for commission. I chuckled to myself, looking at the shade I chose.

I received a small jingle: a text message from him, linking to an email he had sent me the night before. I couldn’t open it here, since my wireless was almost shot to shit (curse you wireless!), so I told myself I’d do it when I got home.

And when I did, smoke rose from the citadel as I watched from the taxi, just past the trees as the noise of sirens were heard. A giant plume of ash and dust flung itself up into the air and hung there like an angry god. I could not believe it.

I had forgotten to read his email.

***

I woke up in my dorm room the next day, pouring for me a glass of orange juice and a bowl of cereal, tired and weary and ignoring my calls from my brother. Turning on the television, the news was on, noting about the citadel.

And there, on the words screen, were the words ‘Terrorists’, with a few shots of young men. I knew them, and as my eyes scanned the roster, I collapsed in disbelief, as staring back those vivid blue eyes. I shook my head, unsure of what to think.

I couldn’t really say anything of what I felt at that moment. It...it hurt.

And I fell powerless onto the kitchen floor, and I sobbed my heart out.

***

I could never have gotten in touch with his aunt and uncle. Neither of them picked up the phone that day, and afterwards, the number just vanished.

His email’s still in my inbox, sitting there, waiting for me to read it, but I deleted it. I only saw the title, and the words were for me, enough.

Code: Select all

Thank you for everything.

I didn’t open the email; I deleted it.

There was no revelation, no last feelings, no final words. I didn’t want to hear it, those statements of his that could have been regret or sorrow. I didn’t want to gamble my memories of him, and perhaps you could call me dishonest and unwilling to face it, but I stuck to it.

***

I never went to the concert. I used the stick of pink lipstick I bought for one thing, and time, and those were the tickets, as I pressed my lips against the surface, and three weeks after the incident, I returned to the site of the citadel, its fleeting majesty there to watch my lament.

In the dark of night, I buried those tickets, and with a whisper into the fog of tomorrow, I smiled, whispering “Thank you.”

For everything.

[Abruzi]

Тхоугхтс фром тхе Ундергроунд

MT

The sun was strange, a weird pale glow that swirled before his singular eye. The people around him shouted and chattered endlessly, like chickens, chickens clucking and mewing meaninglessly. He remembered that these people were different, they were important, they were…his race. The last of his race? Yes, the last, the very last. His well muscled frame was shuddering as something hot ate at him from the inside, something hot and liquid? Yes, liquid. It was so painful, so very painful, yet he felt release. He felt…he felt the soothing whisper of his woman, so long forgotten. He felt…he felt his daughter.

His daughter, she was nearby. She was so very close and yet he could not, would not, speak to her. The hot, it had taken his ability to speak, it had taken his ability to reason. Who was he? Where was he from? As he pitched forward onto the hot sands, one word popped into his mind, one word, one relic, Тургож.

Cold, cold, and gray. Medical scents and the taste of disinfectant. The thump of a helicopter and the whine of a powerful radio. A black suited official stood some mere inches away, so close, yet separated from him by a layer of glass. Immersed in what he assumed must be some kind of healing fluids, the only word he could hear over the din was, Товарищ.

He was almost whole again, he remembered it all. Not his name, never his name, never details about himself. He remembered his home though, his home and the war. The war that had raged for so long, the war that he knew he must’ve fought in but could not remember fighting. He remembered the war but not his name. They called him Нигхтмаре. He must be Нигхтмаре.

As he slept, he heard one phrase,

I come as a Nightmare...Katya.

[Bisgea]

[ MT ]

A Day in the Life of A Normal Citizen

The man seemed to be going nowhere. Wandering aimlessly along the avenues and streets of Batarinduque, he tried to clear his mind. There's nothing wrong with what I did, why did she have to be mad? It had started a month ago, when the nation decided that alcohol was bad for the body and was subsequently banned.

Jerome knew a man who worked for the Bisgean Port Authority, where all the under the table money was. His contact, Derwin, there was able to provide him with a few bottles of the addicting liquid every now and then. Thus, he continued his drinking without the knowledge and consent of his live-in partner soon to be wife, Kristine. Every Friday, he and his friends went over to Derwin's house for a little fun and drinking. All Kristine knew was that they went out for the night, watching movies and other stuff.

Occasionally, he had brought some bottles home and drank there when Kristine and Todd, their two year old son wasn't home. Yesterday night was one of those occasions. Kristine had told him that they were gonna stay at her mother's house for a while.

He had entered the house, called her name, and upon hearing no reply went on to retrieve a beer from the fridge, the secret compartment behind the freezer. Taking a sip, he sat on the couch and turned on the television.

"Jerome, what is that?"

Startled by Kristine's voice, he jumped up and looked behind him. He saw Kristine glaring at him and Todd, who was wet, presumably from a bath. Oh, shit.

"Uhm, it's not what it looks like. This is..."

"A beer," Kristine said, interrupting Jerome. "Didn't we talk about this before? Too much of that stuff is bad for you, and I don't want to see you in prison for drinking a stupid beer."

"Mama, what's Daddy drinking? I want some too." The boy uttered.

Not wanting to talk about it, Jerome faced his son and said, "I'm sorry little boy but only big guys like me can drink this. I'll give you some when you're older."

"Don't listen to him Todd, Daddy's been a bad boy. Nobody should be drinking that, not even him. Let's go Todd, Granny's waiting for us." Facing Jerome, she said, "We'll talk about this tomorrow."

So now the next day, Jerome wandered aimlessly, looking for his family. He had called Kristine's mother earlier to apologize but he had been shocked when she told him that they never came. Kristine had run off, with their son, over a bottle of beer.

[-Deus-]

[PT]

---

The Fort

---

It’s cold. Really cold. It wasn’t winter, since the month’s harvest must have surely been brought in. And it wasn’t fall, for the leaves weren’t falling yet or turning brown, red, yellow or what have you. No, they were still the most peculiar green I have yet set my eyes on. The flowers were in bloom, so I reckon it was either late spring or early summer. Yet it was cold, freezing even as the bare skin of my arms was nipped away by the gentle breeze. Peculiar town indeed.

Well, that’s Dyiaus for yea’, as strange as an eastern beauty or western philosopher.

I blinked once, no, twice, the realization that I was standing, not in my hotel, but in the middle of the town, the bustle and hustle of the small city all around me, my legs crossed and my butt firmly placed on the wooden bench, splinters sticking through my leggings or pants, or whatever you feel like calling them, doesn’t matter much to me. I rubbed my face a few times, the wiry bristles of light brown stubble moving against my pasty white skin. I looked around, the town as busy as every for some odd reason, people going back and forth, chattering on and on, something about a ship.

I leaned against the stone wall behind me, as I looked up and saw the sign; a name as common, or should I say unmoving any other pub, my favorite hole in the wall personally, the Silver Chalice or as the common folk called it “that dirty little pub there.” Delightful beasts they are, I know. And so, as my stomach grumbled, the urge for food or perhaps a drink moving me, I jumped to my feet, feeling the wind through my short, fairly brownish hair and was off. It must have rained the other day, because each step I took, every time I placed my dingy leather boot down onto that cobblestone, it creaked and squeaked like a pig. Disgusting.

As my movements began to pick up, my pants indeed pants, and my shirt a holly thing covered by a loose, tan, jacket that I believe is either leather or…something else. Regardless I moved quickly through the crowd, pushing and shoving, even knocking a fruit salesman out of the way who seemed to be carrying the strangest fruit I had ever seen. But as I stopped, looking at this particular fruit salesman, gazing into him, I looked up suddenly, for a fraction of a second to spot clouds; dark clouds, stormy clouds. And as soon as that fraction was up, I was walking once more, nodding my head to the fallen salesmen. I pushed into the dingy pub soon after, closing my eyes lightly and sucking in a deep breath.

Ah…back to debauchery and filth.

I took on a smile, nodding to my left and right as I walked a straight path, the shouts of married men enjoying themselves with “proper” woman to my upper right, the sounds of fighting and an argument – no doubt caused by gambling or some other such thing – to my lower left. To my immediate right was what looked like men singing and dancing and drinking inside a cluster of circular tables; a private party, from the looks of things.

To my immediate left was a wall, black except for a large row of stairs, a few men huddled underneath them, chattering about something. But directly in front of me, a large, circular bar, a man I knew only as ‘Friday’. An old man, with a clean shaved face and bald head, his skin always dirty and his teeth filled with holes and other icky things, yet smelled like roses for most of the week; yet his eyes, or should I say his eye, for the right one had been lost in a rather nasty spill, always seemed to sparkle with a peculiar green that put me off just a smidge. But today, as my ears perked up to the slight sound of crackling thunder, I outstretched my hands and shouted to him.

“Friday!”

“Aussie, you old bastard, you! What brings you to the Chalice today? Oh and I sent your buddy up to yea’ room, kind fellow he is.”

Yep, that’s Friday…wait, ‘Buddy’?

I stopped for a moment, walking up closer towards him, putting my arms down, and smiling still. I heard the thunder again, the crackle of thunder – or perhaps the boom of a cannon, it was hard to tell. But I shook my head anyway, quickly, my hair flopping around. “Aye, just coming to finish my day you see” I stopped, looking around, the boom sounding again, just a bit louder this time “Err, ‘buddy’?”

“Aye, ‘buddy’. An old fellow came by this afternoon, askin’ for yea’. A tall man, about in his forties; tattoo’s lining his left arm, his head covered in flopping blonde hair. Nice one, he is. He asked where he might be able to find yea’, so I sent ‘em to your room. He should still be ther-“

“-Hold that thought, Friday. Send up…eh…three bottles of ale, a dagger and a woman. Put it on my tab. I’ll be right back.” I said it in a hurry, the seriousness in my voice suddenly dampening the situation as I grabbed unto Friday’s shoulders, nodded slowly, his eye catching mine, before I let go and ran to my left, bolding up the stairs, ignoring everything else around me.

Crap, crap, crap, crap!…Thunder my ass. Buddy my ass. Gotta get to the chest before-

“Aussie! Long time no see. Cha’mon, thake ah seat here.” A voice stopped me as I opened the door to my room, it was heavy, overbearing, filled with a false sense of pity, or maybe actual easygoingness. His accent was familiar, like my old one before I “discarded” it for something a bit more native friendly. I knew this man. I knew him well. I looked around and spotted him inside my room, the small attic like space only so big, the tall beast of a man sitting to my right, atop my made bed, his legs folded in a gentlemanly manner.

I sighed, ignoring him as I crept in and shut the door behind me, locking it slowly with my hands behind my back. I rubbed my chin and nodded to him as I slowly side stepped to the center of the room. He was a tall man, very tall and muscular. He had a cold, dead stare, his eyes sunken in and just as Friday had said, floppy blonde hair wrapped in dreadlocks. No facial hair, only facial scars and piercing through his nose. He wore a jacket and loose pants, both brown, a sword strapped to his back and a pistol no doubt on his side, I reckon the right, he’s left handed you see. He wore no shirt underneath his jacket, and his right arm was completely bare, but his left was covered in tattoos –a strange language…yet I knew it.

I took a breath in and then let it out, the man leaning in and raising an eyebrow. My stomach grumbled, and I smiled, winking to him as he shot to his feet and rushing me.

Oh shit. I’m done, I’m done I’m don-

He grabbed me and began to squeeze. My heart nearly beat out of my chest as I came to the realization that I was not dying or even being attack, but being hugged by this bear of a man before he backed off and sat back down, a weak smile replacing my old one. “How yea’ doin’ Aussie? Yhou remember me, right? Yea’ old pal, Iyon.”

“I remember you. I also remember you and the others abandoning me here twenty years ago.”

“Oy, yea’ talk strange yea’ know? You don’t ehvn look like the Aussie I knew, when you was just a lil’ one, a boy, no older then – “

“ – Ten, I know, I remember, Iyon. So…why are you here? Where is Finemen and the Empire?” That’s not an empire in the national sense, mind you, rather the boat or let me rephrase, my boat. Finemen was the captain, my dear old…well, that’s it, captain, I share no other relation to the old man besides that. He found me though, on that day back on that dusty, crusty, island. Iyon was also there, an old mate of mine. It was a relief to see him, I will admit, but...something was wrong, I could see it in his eyes as he looked around the room.

“Finemen is…Aussie, um, Finemen is dead. He finally chroaked, yea’ see. Took ‘em in his sleep, for if he was awake, there would have been a war I reckon. The Empire is a few miles off shore, waitin’.” He looked around, juggling something in his mind, biting his lip; I could tell by the movement in his jaw, heh, I knew him that well. “But, to be honest I didn’t come here just for that. Finemen made a last request, to all of us. He wanted us to ta – “

“ – Take this place…I know. He told me many times before, I just dropped it as the ramblings of a mad man…I just can’t believe he’s dead.” I fell to my butt, the splinters still trapped in my pants shooting pain up my body, tears collecting in my eyes as the realization once again set in. I wanted to cry, I really did, but I didn’t. I kept them back, holding them at bay until Iyon was gone even though I could see he wanted to cry to.

“Aussie, we got to thake this place…For Finemen at least.”

I shook my head. “No, no we don’t. He’s dead, Iyon, there is no need. Leave it, too many people here, too much for us to wreck anyway.”

“Ahre yhou serious? Our captain, the man that took yhou in made a final request, and yhou say no just because ‘there are too many people here’! Forget that mate, but I plan on fulfilling my captain’s last wish, without yhou by my side if I need to. I just came to get yhou, is all.” I knew I had angered him, I could hear it in his voice, the words slipping off his lips and tongue, the angry deeply imbedded into them. I heard a knock or two at the door, and shot to my feet, lumbering over and flinging open the door, Friday staring me in the face.

“Thanks.” I told him, taking the three glasses, the old man dropping the dagger and sadly no woman behind him. I turned to Iyon, looking him dead in his face. “I already heard it, Iyon. Do you really want to do this? Aren’t those days behind us?”

“No, Aussie…we didn’t come alone. We brought…”

WHAT?!

“What!? Are you serious? Are you out of your damn mind?” I looked at him, my eyes wide, dropping the bottles to the ground, the shattering glass spreading around like a puddle, the ale shimmying and dampening the wooden floorboards.

“Yeah. They were interested. So, we struck a dheal and brought ‘em.” He shook his head and looked to the ground. “Are yhou coming are what?”

I looked to the ground, watching the water, then eyeing up the dagger. “I…I…” I stopped, looking around, and then up to Iyon, his face practically calling me, telling me ‘please’. “I…sure…Shure. Let’s do it, got nuthin’ bhetter to do, aye.” I was angry; he could see it in my eyes and hear it in my voice as I spoke with my “true” accent, letting it all just boil out of me as I gritted my teeth and banging my head against the door.

Dammit!

Yet the bastard didn’t care. He looked up to me, smiling now, subtle traces of his past emotions still hanging on my face as I bent down, taking my dirty finger and dripping it into the puddle, standing back up and taking a sip of the drip of ale on my finger. Another boom, and another and another and another.

They’ve already started.

I took my dagger, picking it up from the ground and looking at Iyon carefully, inspecting him over as he drew his blade. I sighed, my anger subsiding and being replaced with a melancholy feeling unlike any other as the two of us stormed out of the room.

I could hear the thunder…No, not thunder…Cannons.

[-The West Coast-]

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The Beginning Of It All...

Modern Tech...

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"Georgie, you damned nigger, cut the music."

Georgie was big. He was large, formidable, someone to fear, and to respect. He was a slave too. Loyal though to his master. His master died years ago, during the Battle of Pug's Run. He stayed on with the unit even after his master's death. He belongs to the unit, not to any man. He was still a nigger, but a good nigger; the best anyone could buy. He wasn't for sale though, no one could bear to part with him, he was the unit. A band north of Castalia showed Georgie how to play instruments. Eventually he learned how to play more complicated and complex music. The band let him go. He was too good of a player for them. He traveled for some time, from city to city, mixing with bands from time to time. He took to playing the clarinet and later, caught by Slave Auctioneers without freedom papers. They sold him off quickly.

He turned around slowly and put his clarinet down from his dark fortress of a face. "Heh, Heh, Heh. You funny fo' a scrawny white boy. You wan me to stop playin' sah? I stop playin'." The soldier hissed and swore at the large black man. Better not to start something he couldn't finish. Even if he was higher in rank. "why don't you sleep Georgie? All them other nigger porters do." Georgie smiled widely, his smile was disturbing. As white as ever, they shined at night. It chilled the other soldier's spines, and they'd done some bad things. "I seen things sah, fo'teen men, die before my eyes. I ain't gonna forget shit like that. It keeps me up at night..." He trailed off, his eerie smile faded away and the impenetrable rock fortress returned. "Right... Don't be wakin' me up with that nigger shit you play, or you'll get a helluvah chewing in the morning."

The morning shined through the slit in the tent, his eyelids fluttered, sleep fought desperately to clench his eyelids shut, to keep out the sun and the world. The bugles blared Reveille and slowly the ragged men in butternut and gray began to form some sort of organized mob. He flipped slowly onto his hands and knees, his bones stretched and cracked. "Fuckin'..." He stood up and threw out his arms, his elbows popped and he grabbed his field coat and cap before walking out and joining the other forty-five men waiting outside. "... Ya'll get your gear and get back here. We're headin' out boys, some godforsaken shithole called Ash Hollow. Native land." Groans and curse words echoed around the men as they dragged their unresponsive feet back into their tents, gathering weapons, ammunition and kit. Ash Hollow. Confederate infantry only went there when someone wanted to teach the Natives a lesson. "Georgie! Bringing that beat up old, beat up clarinet are you?"

"Yes sah. This ol' nigger will play all the way to Ash Hollow."

[Vlack Sturm]

The Path Is Rough Alone

[MT]

Jakob Fawkes, Somewhere in the Governorate of Virginea;
Directorate of Ameria, Sturmian Mainland;
Greater Sturmian Union;
Friday February 16th; Judean Standard Time: 5:39 PM

This is going to be like going to Agnostic Hell... if there is such a place, I thought to myself as the minute hand reached 5:39 PM. I had gotten home from the dreaded Catholic school of Bishop Slade Catholic High School, thank God they don't have nuns and military drilling as in other private and public schools. In public school, a kid could wear what they want, but they had to pay attention to what was being said. They drilled with rifles and were shouted at by the teachers; mostly retired military personnel. I didn't really mind the military, as seeing as I was born to two Naval Captains.

Anyway, I just stared at the clock waiting for my ride out to the "Peace, Unity, and Friendship Ranch"... It wasn't really a ranch, more like a location for religious retreats. I had been invited by several friends of mine; a person I barely knew was taking me to the retreat. Eh, oh well. I'm relatively open to most peoples' opinions, but I would not accept the Catholic faith... Because in middle school (7th grade to be exact) I was made fun of; I'm not the coolest guy anyone's met. I even contemplated suicide.

I was a member of the Catholic Church from birth to 7th grade, then didn't really care about religion or the Faith. This was all running through my mind when I realized it was nearing six o'clock, but my ride wasn't here yet. So I picked up my cell phone and texted my close friend saying, "dude, wat if they forgot bout me?"

He texted back, "dont worry, bro... theyll be there."

I was still waiting, I'm pretty impatient... GOD! I want this to be over, now and not put up with this!!! Then finally my ride arrived, and a very (almost angelic) beautiful girl stepped out of the passenger door. Her father also hopped out, but from the driver's side of the car. My dad, Allen Fawkes, greeted the other father. I simply put my bags in the front, afraid to acknowledge the girl's presence... I would soon change my mindset by the end of the night. She was very beautiful, but I wished not to love anyone. So I just said, "Hello."

She got in the back seat. And I sat in the front passenger seat as her father slipped into the driver's seat. We talked for the entire thirty minute drive, and I tried to forget my school and that girl that like an angel. But her language and speech were spewing "Satan's words upon the world" as Catholics believe.... And I thought that boys were the only ones that were "meant to spew the words on the world." Ha ha ha ha!

We arrived Chasespeake County, at the ranch.... I will not see those faces nor do I wish to remember those nights.

[Radio Free Saigon]

Xin chào tạm biệt

(MT) - (Radio Free Saigon)

"You're the new kid? Don't fucking nod your head at me. Use your goddamn words." The radio operator replacement stuttered slightly, incredibly nervous. He cleared his throats and spoke. "Uh... Yes sir. I'm the new radio operator." The unwashed fifty-seven year old swiveled in his chair and stood up. He took the boy's hand in a rough handshake that shook his entire body. "Welcome to Radio Free Saigon, kid. Happy Easter, Merry Christmas, Happy Birthday, Happy Thanksgiving. You won't be back home for a long time." The recruit gulped and began to sweat slightly. "Can I ask what happened to the last radio operator, sir?" The older man laughed and slapped his hand on the recruit's shoulder.

"If I told you, you would be more worried about your own ass, instead of my radio." The recruit nodded and picked up his green dufflebag. He left the small corrugated metal shack and walked slowly down a muddy, unpaved footpath. Several veterans of the outpost shot prejudiced glances his way, making the recruit even more uncomfortable. He was beginning to regret his decision to work in Saigon, the place was hot, humid and hostile. The worst of the three "H"'s. The barracks were little more than what the camp commander had for an office. Corrugated metal shacks plastered together and labeled "female" and "male". He sighed at the segregated sleeping quarters. The only tail he'd catch would be the tail of the man on the cot next to him.

He opened the rusting metal door and searched for an open cot. He had to settle for the top bunk of what looked like a bunk-bed that was built in several seconds. He didn't think it'd hold his weight for very long. He tossed his bag onto the bed and braced for it to break. When it didn't, he smiled and left the building, the shack. The slow morning was evident. Normally busy workers of the radio station and military outpost congregated on the parade ground, on benches and near the mess tent. The recruit took a seat on a bench near the mess tent. Inside there was an Oriental, he served food and always said, "Hello ... Goodbye." or "Xin chào ... tạm biệt". It was the only thing he knew in English. The young man looked at the server's face, his wrinkles did well at hiding what he was thinking. The eighteen-year-old scratched his dark brown hair and tried to remember where he'd seen the server. It didn't take long to figure it out. But it was to late. The server screamed "Hello ... Goodbye!" at the top of his lungs, then exploded.

"Oh shit!" He couldn't get anything else out before the shockwave threw him off his seat and into the muddy brown Earth. Fire broke out in the ruins of the mess tent and wounded men began to catch fire. Their agonizing screams and shouts for help, or for their mother couldn't be helped. The fire raged with intense ferocity, blocking men from a possible rescue. Clods of the dirt dripped out of his mouth, he began to spit it out and claw it out with his fingers. He pushed off the ground and rolled onto his side. He let out a sigh of relief. He was alive. Not dead. Alive! But everyone else near him wasn't. He didn't know what happened, what was happening. Gunfire erupted around the compound and men began to crawl over the barricades, the fences and the fortifications. "Oh fuck, oh fuck, oh fuck." He had to get up, his legs wouldn't work, he forced his arms to claw through the mud, up the path, towards the commanders shack. Gunfire came from the shack and the door exploded as a human body was kicked out. He didn't now who it was, or what happened. All he could hear through the whine of gunfire and artillery was the server, repeating himself, "Xin chào tạm biệt... Xin chào tạm biệt..."

[Milograd]

-Snip-

Reason: This was just awful. :/

[Milograd]

-Snip-

Reason: Turned into a thread.