The Native Story Index [Open; All Techs]

by **Stedicules** » Thu Apr 05, 2012 7:55 pm

a story for cath...

(modern tech)

around them the sky was darkening. the storm overhead the ominous clouds began to swell up with rain and it began to drizzle down onto the short green grass of the playground.

The bee buzzed around the playground dodging the fat droplets of water as they threatened to collide with his fragile black and yellow form. his enemy for the past 24 hours, a little girl, stood stalwart in the rain. she was persistently invading the bee's territory.

she played nearby his hive and several hours earlier knocked down his hive while playing softball. she killed what was dearest to the bee, his wife and children.

now he swore to murder her for what she did to him. the wind picked up as the storm grew bigger and the bee struggled to fly towards the child.

she laughed with her friends as she saw the bee approaching. "look at the little bee! fly away little bee, go on, hide before i squash you!" she was confident that she'd win again, but the bee was tired of running. he couldn't run and hide from her anymore, he had to stand his ground and fight to take revenge for his family. he arched his back as he flew high up into the air for a stinging dive and readying the deadly poison deep within his abdomen.

as he descended the bee smiled to himself. finally he would kill this girl that took so much from him. he dived within arms reach, the girl swatted the air with her big meaty palms.

the shock-wave of her swipes threw the intrepid insect off course and he nearly crashed into the wet grass under her feet. He quickly recovered and flew around her legs and upper body as he pointed his stinger towards her ugly, snarling face.

she barked at him and laughed as he flew around her face. He found and opening and struck. she lurched back in agony as his long black stinger buried itself deep into her face, right above her eye. they both fell to the wet green ground. the bee slowly died, his stinger was broken in half, stuck inside his enemy's head. he died smiling, his family was avenged.

the girl gasped for air and gagged on her spit and foam as it turned a dark crimson. she was allergic to bee stings and she hadn't even known it.

her friends ran over to her as thunder boomed overhead and lightening struck the earth miles away. the bee had spent his life trying to kill her, and died accomplishing it.

by **The Smooze** » Sat Apr 07, 2012 12:28 am

Nothing Can Stop the Smooze

[ FT / FanT / PT ]

[ MATURE ]

Equine Herd "Ves'karja"
Taros Islands, North Pony Lands
Approx. 998,000 BCE

As the sunset bounced light across the ocean and prompted it to shimmer as if it were liquid gold, a herd of 58 ponies relaxed amid the rays, foraging in the meadows and shrubs for grasses, seeds, and fruits. The majority of these ponies were of the earthen variety - wingless and hornless, but numerous and resilient - though a single family of the winged variety also resided among them, serving as scouts to find food and predators alike, as did a young couple of horned-variety ponies, their knowledge of the sun, moon, and stars invaluable in their quest for a more permanent home.

Among the grazing and resting ponies was the Kamandavpere, the "Commanding Family". The Kamandavtäkk, or "Commanding Stallion", was a muscular and proud-looking horse, quite tall for a pony indeed, though his coat was also quite austere for one, too, being a light grey with tiny specks of black throughout, and matched with a dark black mane and tail; his Märgistus or "Marking" was a depiction of a wreath, a fitting marking considering the similar wreath he wore upon his head. Beside him rested the Kamandavmära, or "Commanding Mare", her pale yellow coat and similarly-pale cyan mane and tail contrasting against that of her mate and her Märgistus - a single drop of water - representing quite effectively her affinity to cleanse her comrades of their illnesses and injuries with ease and effectiveness.

The Kamandavmära looked up at her mate with longing in her eyes, rolling onto her back playfully. The Kamandavtäkk smiled down at her with a similar sense of longing and affection, reaching down with his nose and nuzzling her cheek. Tonight they would try again at producing a foal of their own; they had yet to successfully do so during the five moons since the Kamandavmära had obtained her Märgistus, the most definite indicator of reproductive readiness, and they hoped that soon the Kamandavmära would be carrying a foal, rather than merely her food.

As the sunlight turned to starlight, fillies, colts, mares, and stallions alike began to settle down among the grasses and boulders, aiming to achieve a full night of rest and sleep before continuing the path indicated by the horn-ponies' analysis of the stars and moon each night while the others slept. However, as the Kamandavpere made their way to the privacy of a boulder of their own, they both stopped for a moment to watch as a shootinig star of unusual brightness descended upon the horizon to the north, eventually disappearing behind it. Figuring it to be a good omen, the Kamandavpere continued into their shelter, beginning a long and hopefully productive night of producing the foal that was necessary for the survival of the current Kamandavpere as such.

Ocean Floor Crater
North Tacitus Ocean, Pony Lands

As the massive infected vessel finally came to complete rest on the seafloor, so did the sediments and debris around it. The crater was quite impressive; the sheer inertia and velocity of the two-kilometer-long derelict ship allowed it to glide right through the water and leave a several-kilometer-diameter crater around what remained of the massive ship.

From the hangar bays of the vessel soon seeped a purplish hazy sludge which quickly radiated outward. From the outside, it appeared to simply be a cloudy mass of greyish violet, relatively benign despite its growing mass.

This assumption was the one of a small sixteen-member herd of aquatic equines, which stared at the growing mass of purple goo with curiosity. What is this substance, they all wondered, and how did it come here? A single mare proceeded forward, scooting along with her tail and fins as she gradually approached the substance. She touched it delicately with her right fin, and within seconds, the mass had enveloped her, dragging her out of sight, her shrieking and sobbing echoing through the water for miles. The remaining fifteen didn't hesitate to swim away as fast as they could, hoping to evade it.

Inside, the substance was far from benign. The mare was quickly silenced as a thick column of the substance drove through her screaming lips and down her throat. She felt similar columns force their way into her intestines and womb, followed by her ears and eyes, and soon she began to slightly sink from all of the substance filling her every orifice far beyond capacity. She could no longer breathe, her lungs chock full of the violet fluid, but she wasn't losing consciousness, either, as - unknown to her - the fluid was working its way through her bloodstream, consuming and replacing the blood until it reached her brain.

As she felt her head become heavy, the mare soon heard a voice sort-of humming as she felt her memories being torn clean out of her subconscious mind, each one flashing by rapidly before just as rapidly disappearing into a violet void. This continued for several seconds - her entire 14-year-old life flashing by glimpse by glimpse - before it finally ended with one last message:

"Thou art not worthy of walking amongst the Smooze; thy matter shall be recycled to benefit the Smooze. Thou shalt not live on with us."

And within that instant, her thoughts ended, the violet goo devouring her from the inside out, breaking her down into simple hydrocarbons. Her soft tissues disappeared first, her scaly skin hanging off fleshless bone before it too disappeared to reveal a bare skeleton. Each bone began to crumble into fragments as the marrow was rapidly consumed as well, and soon all that was left was floating dust of indigestible materials in the water, with chunks of scale and bone along with them.

As the substance consumed, it grew even larger, beginning to reach out toward the mare's fleeing companions, grabbing them by their tails and dragging them into the murky violet for them to watch each other be devoured from the inside out. Their fates were equally gruesome and horrifying, and the substance used the memories it had leeched from its first victim, her dreams, and every thought she had ever made, to track down each individual, finding his or her most common hiding places and devouring them quite rapidly and brutally, the bits of unusable compounds being the only indication that they existed at all.

By now, the substance had finally reached the surface, waves of it thrashing about violently as it proceeded southward. From the semblances of faces in each wave sounded an eerie chant, which filled the air in the seemingly-unstoppable southward march of this "Smooze".

Equine Herd "Ves'karja"
Following morning

The Kamandavtäkk awoke as the light of the sunrise began to trickle through the skyline to the whole herd. He gently nudged the Kamandavmära in an attempt to wake her. The mare, quite sore from the night, instead opted to curl up again and snooze. The stallion repeated his nudging until she finally woke for good and stood on her quite-sore legs, proceeding to trudge out to the sunlit meadows around the sheltering cliffs and stones for a morning graze. The stallion followed, his chest puffed and chin raised proudly to signify the successful night, at least for him. For his mare, the feeling was more of a duty done, rather than a pleasure felt; though she did certainly enjoy the sensations of the night before, they certainly did not feel as delightful the morning after. Nonetheless, she took the cue and raised her own chin similarly for a moment before returning to her grazing, her mate and now-official lifepartner by her side.

The morning graze for the herd was relatively calm, with a gentle breeze subverting the otherwise hot summer weather. However, something quite simply did not seem right. One of the horned ponies noticed the tides slightly higher than they were the night before - a minute amount, but significant nonetheless. Seeing that there was no moon in the sky, and no sign of foul weather, the horned ponies concluded that something was amiss.

Without hesitation, a stallion of the family of winged ponies was selected by the horned ponies to investigate. As the tides were originating from the north, he was to proceed to the north. Upon concluding his morning graze and receiving blessings from his mare, foals, and elders, he stretched his wings and proceeded into the skies, the Kamandavpere watching on as their scout began his investigation.

North Tacitus Ocean, Pony Lands

The winged stallion glided high above the sea, taking care to not stray too far from his point of origin. He, however, did not need to fly far to witness in the distance the large wave rapidly approaching.

This was no ordinary wave, however. From below him he could hear a strange noise, a kind of... song. The chanting grew louder. And louder. And louder. He could think of little else besides this song, causing him to not at all notice that he had flown below the crest of the wave.

By the time he noticed his location relative to the violet wave, he was too late.

His screams were hardly audible as the violet wave disassembled his struggling body piece by piece until nothing of significance remained.

Equine Herd "Ves'karja"

The horned ponies, noting the tides continuing to rise, immediately proceeded to the Kamandavpere, one of them reciting the findings.

My Lord and Lady, something's gone awry!
We've taken note of quite the rising tide!
If we don't make our way to higher ground,
then into us the coming waves will pound!

The Kamandavtäkk responded with stolidity and determination upon receiving the report.

In light of this, go forth and spread the word
that we shall rush to gather up the Herd
and lead it up upon the Isle's peak.
Go forth, enact the words that I so speak.

The horned ponies nodded, galloping among the rest of the herd to spread the news and rally every individual. Within minutes, the entirety of the Ves'karja Herd had assembled behind the Kamandavpere, which began leading everypony south, up the island's steep slopes.

The roars of the approaching wave, however, rattled the island, a slight rumble quite apparent in the ground. It was not long at all before the sunlight had virtually disappeared, a large wave instead looming over the island - and the Ves'karja Herd.

The herdmembers engaged in a fierce gallop up the slopes, but to no avail. The singing, chanting, violet wave crashed down upon the island, the impact knocking a few unfortunate foals off their feet. The ponies in the far back were the first to be swept up, the wave sweeping across the length of the convoy of equines, their screams a poignant reminder that survival was now impossible.

The Kamandavmära looked back in horror as the wave loomed over her, finally crashing down upon her and her beloved.

As the wave drove into her every orifice, she heard an unusual speech, as if it came from her head itself.

"Thou art of the others, but thou contain he who shall rule this domain. Thou shalt persist until he may emerge from your core, for thou art worthy of bearing the Prophet of the Smooze."

And then there was silence.

Unknown Location, Pony Lands

The Kamandavmära awoke abruptly, coughing a lungful of violet water onto the damp muddy earth. She opened her eyes, the bright light blinding her momentarily before she could see the cliffs looming above her. Around her was nothing but cliffs and formerly-dry mud. No Herd, no Kamandavtäkk, nothing but dampened wasteland.

Her loins suddenly tightened reflexively, a painful sensation overwhelming her hind legs and abdomen. She screamed out in agony, her first instinct being to push. The sensation amplified ten-fold before suddenly subsiding, the sensation of emptiness lingering in her belly.

She looked to her rear and, propping herself up slightly to look upon what had just escaped her loins. The grotesque creature stared right back at her affectionately, its yellow and red eyes almost loving. It outstretched its mismatched limbs in an infantile yawn, as if mocking her. She felt no horror, however. She only felt dread, a knowledge that she had brought into this world nothing short of a universal abomination.

Is this my foal? she thought to herself morbidly. Is this what I have produced?

"I suppose, my dear, you are my own... It seems my time has come... has come and gone..."

The odd, mutilated creature crawled over to the Kamandavmära's teat, suckling upon it for its first life-giving meal as she took her final breath.

https://dragcave.net/user/Bellumsaur13 · by **Saurisisia** » Sat Apr 07, 2012 3:31 pm

A Prison Of Steel And Fire

[ FT ]

[ Mature ]

The planet Caldris, a medium-sized world situated in a small system on the outskirts of Saurisia was a major industrial center where many goods and products were manufactured in the endless factories that dotted the planet. Its name meant "Cauldron", so named for its hot barren surface which made it almost impossible for one to live on the surface. Indeed, many of the facilities located on the planet were underground so as to avoid the unbearably hot environment on the surface.

Despite the climate which made totally colonizing the planet out of the question, the caverns underneath the surface yielded untold riches of iron, ore, jewels, and other valuable minerals and metals. This thus necessitated the building of underground mines to harvest these valuable resources and the factories that would transfer them into manufactured goods.

Over the centuries, an extensive network of mines and plants grew deep beneath the hot, barren surface. Within these facilities, thousands of droids and convicts toiled day and night to produce products for the citizens of Saurisia to enjoy in their daily lives.

Among the convicts made to work in the mines and plants was one Marcus Grant, a 27 year old Caucasian Human male who had been in here for repeated bank robbery, assault, and attempted murder of a young female Allosaurus. An anarchist with a hatred for Reptiles like those who ran the country responsible for getting him here, Marcus seethed with anger over his predicament.

As he worked in a vast mine that harvested ore, Marcus glared over at a nearby guard, a tall tan-skinned Human with dark hair and hazel eyes clutching a compact blaster rifle and clad in the navy blue uniform of a security guard working for the corporation running most of the mines on Caldris, Marcus secretly balked at the prospect of being watched by a fellow Human who, in his mind, was a mere pawn of the Reptilian Fascists who ran this hellhole and supposedly actively suppressed Humans and other Mammals like himself.

He checked to make sure no one was around, which proved to be true. Indeed, the guard himself was facing another direction, obviously eying a prisoner somewhere else who caught his attention somehow. A wicked smile forming on his face, Marcus realized that this was his chance, and so he bolted towards the guard and jumped him.

Grabbing his neck, Marcus strained hard to strangle the guard, who was squirming violently, trying to get him off. The man choked as he struggled to knock the prisoner off him, though it came in vain. Within a few moments, the man grew still. Satisfied, Marcus eyed the blaster dropped by the guard.

Taking hold of it, he thought to himself, Sorry, pal, but sometimes harsh things must be done to overthrow the Fascist pigs. Looking around, he moved on, towards the exit of the mine. As he neared the exit, which led into a adjacent facility where the miners lived in and their equipment was stored, he saw two more guards standing in front of the exitway. The one on the left being a tall tan Varapsid male while the other was a slightly taller Albertosaurus female, both of whom were training their weapons at them.

Unfazed, the Human sprayed a volley of blaster fire at the guards, which hit both of them and causing them to slump against the rock walls. Approaching the female guard, Marcus sported a disgusting grin on his filthy face as he grabbed her by the collar with one hand and put his other around her waist, all while holding down the panicking Dinosaur's arms. Snickering wickedly, he growled, "You stupid fucking bitch! Think your kind's so superior to mine, huh? Well, think again, as you're about to receive the wrath of Humanity on your whorish Reptilian body!"

It was then that he heard a voice call out, "Stop right there, you filthy Supremacist fucker!" This prompted him to let go of the female, much to her relief, to see that there were a number of guards of varying species standing beyond the tunnel entrance pointing their weapons at the rebellious Human.

Snarling, Marcus raised his stolen rifle and pointed it at the guards before screaming, "Oh yeah?! You filthy Fascists think you can push us around, treat us like shit, and expect us to obey?! I say no, not in the wake of this oppression of the common man and I don't give a shit if that's supposedly 'speciesist' or not!"

He then glared down at the quivering female, still sitting up beside the rock wall, and growled, "I'll be back for you soon, you slutty Dino bitch... once I'm done with these filthy Fascist thugs."

It was then that he raised the rifle over his head and screamed, "You Reptiles want a piece of me, huh?! Well, then, come and get me, you fucking Lizards! Yeah, crawl back to the hiding place from where you came, you bunch of-"

However, his rant was cut short by the thunderous clap of a gun shot as Marcus's head partly exploded in a burst of gore. Both the wounded guards were splattered by flaying pieces of bone and brain matter, which caused the female to wince in disgust. The decapitated Human body flopped backwards, a pile of mushy gore where the head was. Everyone who was watched craned their heads to see on a nearby catwalk a green Utahraptor clutching a sniper rifle, smoking flowing out of the end of the barrel.

The Raptor then slung his his rifle as he climbed down a adjacent ladder and headed over towards the others. By now, a number of miners had gathered near the body, staring in awe at the sight of the headless corpse. The sniper walked over to the female and helped her up. A smile on her face, she said, "Thanks. I thought for sure he was gonna... gonna..."

Nodding in acknowledgment, the male Raptor replied, "Don't mention it, miss." Meanwhile, a Human miner staring at Marcus's corpse commented, "Jesus, that guy was such a prick." This prompted a wingless Dragon miner to nod before saying, "Yeah, he was a mean and speciesist little sonofabitch."

It was then that an officer, a tall hulking black Dragon with beaming red eyes and magnificent wings, stated, "Alright, that's it. Party's over, get back to work. You ain't paying for your freedom by just standing here staring and gawking."

The Varapsid was helped up by a powerfully-built Triceratops male and a Gharial female medic. The Gharial muttered, "You better get to the Medical Ward." The male simply nodded at her response. Smiling at the Raptor, the Albertosaurus said to him, "Better help me get there too."

This prompted him to nod and say simply, "Yeah, I guess." Chuckling, the female let him help her head down to the Medical Ward behind the two guards helping the Varapsid. Behind them, a cleaning robot was sweeping up Marcus's corpse and whatever left of his head while everyone was going back to work, resuming what had seemed to be just another normal day.

by **Conclespia** » Sun Apr 08, 2012 4:23 am

[ PT ]

[ Mature ]

In Accordance With the Dove

23 AD
Fort Concordia, Inhabited Territory of Damnatorum (Conclespia)

Alannus Flavius Paganus winced as he heard the piercing sound of a scream tear through the fort. Patrols or sentries were often picked off by the large number of native warriors still fighting the Roman occupation, and while the legion was doing its best to pick out the remaining pockets of resistance, the Praetor's hair only grew whiter as day after day there were more names to be written on the casualty list. Alannus was a few seconds into his sleep just as a legionnaire popped up beside his bunk, causing a ear-piercing shriek to erupt from his mouth.

"Christ Almighty, boy!" a gruff voice from under his bed yelled. "Shut your trap up there!"

Fortunately, the legionnaire who had woken him up was more forgiving. "It's alright. It's our turn for the patrol. Suit up; I'll meet you outside."

Alannus's heart convulsed in fear. The midnight patrol was the worst patrol of all, trekking through the forest with absolutely no light at all while still having to be on guard for native ambushes and attacks. Once on a midnight patrol, seven out of eight legionnaires had been slaughtered by a group of natives, with the lone survivor staggering into the camp with extremely severe cuts and wounds all over his body. It was a miracle that he even survived, let alone the fact that afterwards he was still able to walk. But Alannus pushed all those thoughts out of his mind as he hurriedly donned his armor and found his weapons. I joined the army for a reason, he thought. There's no point in being afraid of death when you know you'll die sooner or later.

He trotted out of the damp, humid barracks and into the camp, his armor clinking and clanking loudly. The other seven legionnaires stood silently at the gates, already in formation and ready to go.

Alannus recognized the legionnaire who had woken him up; Decurion Davidus Antony, hero of the Battle of the Virgo Peninsula, where he single handedly fought through enemy soldiers to carry his wounded centurion back to the safety of the Roman lines. The Decurion was standing at the front of the rank of legionnaires, staring at Alannus as he took his place at the back of the patrol. Surely nothing would go wrong on this patrol with him leading it?

"About time, son," a legionnaire said.

The patrol hefted their shields as the gates swung open and marched out of the fort. Alannus caught a glimpse of the sentries' eyes as the legionnaires marched out of the camp. What was it about their gazes that unnerved him so much? Was it the fact that their eyes were felt with sadness and sorrow?

Stop overreacting, Alannus told himself. It's just a routine patrol, there's nothing to it at all.

The legionnaires made their way into the forest, following a small stream that winded through the woods and into a small gully. While most of the soldiers kept watch for any signs of the natives, Alannus couldn't help but marvel at the different kinds of wildlife displayed there, the rustle of tree branches from the light breeze or the sounds of insects echoing into the night.

"It's quiet," a legionnaire noted.

"What did you expect?" the soldier next to him replied. "There's a reason we're called the midnight patrol."

"Quiet!" the Decurion hissed. "You might as well be lighting a fire and inviting the natives for dinner."

The rest of the patrol chuckled at the short exchange. Alannus felt some of his anxiety being lifted as well, but small beads of sweat continued to soak his blond hair and drip down his face.

The soldier next to Alannus nudged him slightly. "Where you from?"

"Genoa," he replied. Feeling a prick of curiosity, he said, "How about you?"

"Rome itself," he said proudly.

A soldier in front of him laughed. "I bet the baths there are nice too, eh? Care to treat me to one, Flavius?"

"Never for a million years, Octavian. The best you can do is sit in a bucket of freezing water," Flavius chuckled.

The patrol laughed quietly, and Alannus's feeling of anxiety had begun to fade rapidly. He was about to say something when a flash of white caught his eye. A small bird had perched itself on the tree above them, chirping with its mate inside a small nest. It's feathers were as white as snow, clean as water.

"A dove," Alannus said. "I've read about those birds back home. They're the most beautiful things I've ever seen. I've even heard that they symbolize peace."

Octavian snorted. "We could definitely use some of that right now."

The doves chirped and flew into the night, the moonlight shimmering on their sparkling white feathers. Allanus's eyes followed their aerial dance, stunned by their elegance. Peace ... why was that so abstract? So far away from being accomplished by humanity, denied by kings and their empires throughout history? Why was peace impossible?

Suddenly, the Decurion held up his hand. "Hold," he whispered.

The patrol scanned the trees and the bushes next to them, looking for any sign of movement in the shadows. Alannus's heart was pounding so hard he was afraid his chest might burst any second. Flavius had a hand on his gladius, while Octavian and the Decurion up front were standing back to back.

As if out of nowhere, a large group of armor-clad warriors burst out of the shadows, screaming and holding curved, silver swords right above their heads and taking the patrol completely by surprise. Allanus stood there for a second, completely paralyzed by fear. Flavius drew his gladius and stabbed at a warrior, while the Decurion and the rest of the patrol had retreated to the stream already.

Allanus regained his senses quick enough to see a warrior charging at him, his sword about to swing down for a fatal strike. Allanus held his shield up and drew his gladius, stabbing at the assailant. His thrust caught the edge of the soldier's ribs and threw him off guard.

THUNK.

Allanus's knees hit the ground before he knew what had happened. Soon after his body followed and he was lying on the ground. He was dizzy, his vision unfocused. The shouts and screams of everyone around him seemed to echo through his skull, bouncing from ear to ear. What was happening?

Suddenly he saw.

An arrow protruded from his chest, blood spewing rapidly out of the wound. Here he was, lying on the ground in the middle of a mass of humans killing each other, writhing bodies and corpses on the ground. Finally, Allanus understood why Octavian had said that peace was needed. Why did humanity have to succumb to this mindless, asinine slaying of the same species? Peace was needed for the survival of the spirit of man, for humanity to truly be sane, to stop the endless violence that was war. Suddenly a pair of strong hands hauled him up. He could feel the person carrying him and running, running somewhere, and that was all Allanus knew before the world turned black.

The next thing Allanus knew, he was lying on a wet bed surrounded by surgeons and his fellow legionnaires. His breaths were quick and short, but he knew that he had to convey his message somehow before his time ran out. The surgeons were trying to stop the bleeding, but their efforts were in vain. With his head swinging from side to side, Allanus spotted the Decurion and pulled his head down to his lips, and with his dying breath, whispered something in his ear.

"In accordance with the dove."

by **Aleckandor** » Sun Apr 08, 2012 12:02 pm

[ MT/PMT ]

~ Mind Of State ~

I was a little boy, tender with the recesses of my oh-so remedied age;
Twas' the twee year of '92 did my parents gots taken away
By the bullets and bombs and angry Imps of the dead mountainous range
Of the lavender and curvaceous microcosms of the Dreykke Valley,
Woe is I: they were there to stay!

It was rather the norm for petty childs like I, to have lost so hard and so much;
Those foolhardy 'Confeds' and their odious new age of sanity,
Oh! they just led me to march away to the battle lines, Kalash in hand,
And grenade upon thine bosom; all part of the grand scheme
To further increase our new nation's ecclesiastical vanity.

Then came the peace; Ah! a peace it really was!
Truly genuine and truly an epoch of worth.
While I lay sulking in my traumatic cosplays and damnations
Upon the green and lovely fountains of the Disdanicos skylines;
I was dwelling and delving unto the House of Mirth.

Sulking and sulking, cursing and pouting, I was able to bear it not longer!
Damn you, Author! You've forsaketh me via fragile, pititful moment so dastard;
Left me to mentally rot in the gala happiness of our 'prosperity'
And jesting my inabilities to cope
With the tall, uniformed villains, demons, and of the newborn bastard.

Entered I this raging temple in my horrid cell at Oackvhyll.
Dostoyevsky could no longer help me with his cunning irate -
"Our present story is ended." You had to be cold to be
That intimate; therefore, when they took me to the slaggy walls for the firing squad,
It was then did I only enter this foul Mind of State.

by **Emperor Pudu** » Mon Apr 09, 2012 5:06 pm

[ POST MODERN TECH ]

[ NIGHT AND DAY IN THE CITY ]

AUTONOMOUS CITY OF DARAM, 11:31 pm

A city of three-hundred million never really sleeps; neither do it's citizens. Yueh lay in bed, half-awake, half-asleep. The room was darkened, the window blinds were closed and the heavy wool curtains drawn. A little radiator in the corner bubbled every now and then. Yueh tried to time the bubbles against the tick-tock of his wall clock. A little red light on his smoke detector was flashing – every three seconds, he had already timed it. The only features of the room were a bed, a side-table holding a lamp, an ashtray, a radio, as well as Yueh's watch and glasses. The floor was wooden and bare and the paint on the walls was chipping off. The spiders in their corners were doing their best to hold them together with their webs.

Yueh had never heard his radiator bubble like this before. He wasn't sure if it had always done it, or if he had simply never been able to hear it. For the past eight days his neighborhood had been under martial law. The rushing sound of a jet engine roared through his room. Yueh was used to this noise, although it's frequency was increasing since the battles had started. Sometimes he could see the flashes of explosions in the sky, or hear the sound of missles and bombs landing. The city stretched for hundreds of miles, many bombs had not yet fallen on most of it. Yueh was lucky. His district had been tranquil.

There was shouting outside. Militiamen, barking orders on the street. Maybe someone had gone out after curfew, maybe it was another maneuver. There had been armored cars and tanks rolling down the street for almost a week. Yueh had served his time in the militia and then got an exemption from service in the reserves – his leg had been shattered once in a motor accident. He still had his rifle, it was standing in the closet, a silent sentry holding guard over his wardrobe. Yueh hadn't shot it in years.

Lights flashed by the window, the wool curtains lit up like it was day. Yueh could hear the helicopter, it was flying very low. It's spotlight quickly darted away, off to pry at another. The shouting receded into the distance. Sometimes Yueh could hear gunfire outside. It was not combat, it was executions. Traitors, saboteurs, and criminals were being executed at dusk, probably for propeganda reasons. It was likely televised, but Yueh had stopped watching TV. He hadn't even been outside since martial law was declared, even during the day. His cousin had brought him some groceries a few days ago, and then stayed over for a drink. Thinking about it made Yueh thirsty.

He sat up in his bed and groped for the drawer of his bedside table. He pulled it open with a jolt and the bottle of wine knocked against the wood. He pulled out the bottle and a glass and poured himself a drink. He also grabbed the pack of cigarettes and pulled out a Katt. Yueh rolled the thin paper between his finger and thumb, feeling the tobacco inside.He savored these imported cigarettes: they weren't sold in the Middle Prefecture, but he knew a guy who imported them. It was his cousin, actually.

Yueh lit a cigarette and took a drink of the clear rice wine. Behind him the curtains lit up again with searchlight. It was another sleepless night in the sleepless city

AUTONOMOUS CITY OF DARAM, 9:04 am

Yueh was standing in the street. Perhaps he was in shock, he was just stumbling forward, staring at the devastation around him. Buildings were in ruins. Fires were burning. Sirens were blaring. Overhead jets and missiles screamed through the air.

Suddenly a woman appeared, she had been running toward him but Yueh hadn't noticed. She grabbed his wrists like a vice, screaming in his face, “Help me! Dig them out! Help me dig!” Yueh didn't move, so she let go. She ran a few feet and began throwing chucks of rubble and scratching earth out of a hole. She was digging frantically, and maybe it was her movement that caught Yueh's attention. He snapped back into reality. He dove to her side, scratching and digging with equal ferocity. She fell backward, watching him work. His hands were soon bloody but he didn't seem to notice. He just dug.

Quickly he abandoned his bare-handed work. He grabbed a two-by-four and started to dig with it. He pried large blocks of stone out of the way, lifting them with strength he didn't know he had. He couldn't even feel his old leg injury. At this moment, he was a hero. The woman was talking, she kept repeating the same few sentences. She had only gone down the street to the market to buy some mutton. She stopped for a yogurt. Then the explosions happened. Yueh wasn't listening, however. He was digging.

He didn't know what he was digging for. He didn't know the woman: he had never seen her before, despite her living just across the street from him. Maybe it was her family, or her cat. He didn't know. While he was digging he thought. He imagined digging down, finding this woman's family dead: she would be distraught. He would carry her. The district was being evacuated, although it was not mandatory last Yueh knew. What did he know? He didn't even watch TV. Yueh imagined her struggling through her loss, but he would be there. Eventually she would overcome her grief, and he would be there. He thought about her and him and the future and his own family. He was digging.

A man ran up to the hole, now quite deep, with a shovel and was looking to help. Yueh wrestled the shovel away from him and used it himself. He couldn't see what was happening around him, but he could hear it. There were screams, there was the woman still repeating her story about the market and the yogurt, there were the planes and the bombs. Cars, or more likely armored cars, drove by, but Yueh didn't look up. He was digging.

A man eventually came over with a pick and started to help. Yueh didn't hear him say anything, he probably just saw someone and wanted to help. Most people were running. Yueh was digging. They were tearing at the ground, blood running down the handles at the of their tools. The woman was quiet now, just watching, sometimes helping to pull the debris out of the hole. Yueh didn't know how long he had been digging. He just knew that he was digging.

Suddenly, the ground gave way. A hole opened up and, as soon as Yueh pulled the shovel away, a hand appeared. Yueh thought for a moment about striking the hand with his shovel – he remembered hoping the family was dead, but he forgot all about that quickly. He grasped the hand, they held on for a moment, but then they resumed digging. They found a gap under the rubble: a wall had fallen on top of the fridge and stove, which had braced it against the debris above. Slowly they cleared a hole. The husband and his daughter, both red-faced and covered in dirt and blood, appeared. Yueh, the man with the pick, and the woman helped to pull them up.

The family was reunited, the man with the pick ran off down the street. Yueh sat down next to the family. An armored car rolled up next to the group, who realized then they were the only ones left on the block. “Hey!” yelled the militiaman in the car, “Get your damn masks on! They're gassing this place!”

The family and Yueh looked at the man silently. He must have realized that they weren't going to say anything, and he ducked back into the car. He reappeared only seconds later holding four gas masks. He tossed them at the group, “Take these and get the hell out of here!” Maybe his driver took that as his cue, because at that moment the armored car sped off, headed toward the coast. Yueh and the family quickly put the gas masks on and got up. The husband picked up his daughter, herself perhaps eight, and they ran.

They ran inland, down the street, and away from the war. They ran.

by **Stedicules** » Thu Apr 12, 2012 7:23 pm

hold your breath

(mt)

Eat it, he said.

She didn’t want to; it felt gross in her pruning white palms. No… she managed as her head went under a passing wave. Her life-jacket resisted the downward pull and she bobbed back up to the surface. She coughed the salt-water out of her lungs and her nose burned. Eat it, he insisted, pointing to the kelp bulb in her hand. She shook her head and her blonde hair flew in all directions, throwing salt water in all directions. he swam over to her and grabbed her small hand. No stop! You’re hurting me tommy! She screamed as they both rode over the top of a breaking wave. Eat it and I’ll stop. He said dryly.

Tommy had tormented the girl for years. He constantly played tricks on her because she was smaller and weaker than everyone else. She was constantly looking for his approval and looked up to him. In a twisted sort of way, he loved her. As a boy he was taught to never show emotion. It breeds weakness his mother would say to him. The little girl was his opposite; she was starving for acceptance from anyone, even those who hurt her. She wanted to join Tommy’s club to be accepted. She had no other way.

Her face scrunched tightly and she began to cry. The boy continued to pressure her, smiling and giggling as the little girl began to eat the salty green kelp bulb. Her tears flowed down her cheeks, getting washed away by the rise and fall of the surf around them. The bulb cracked and crunched under the pressure of her jaw. Pop! and the fluid inside the kelp flowed down her small throat. The boy splashed obnoxiously in the water at the little girl’s grotesque face as she ate the kelp. Haha! Good girl, you did it!

She hesitantly swallowed the rest of the rubbery green plant and stuck her tongue out so the boy could see she wasn’t hiding any. Am I part of your club now, buddy? She questioned excitedly. He started to swim back, leaving her like a buoy in the ocean. Buddy? Hey buddy! Wait for me! She shrieked as she started to furiously dogpaddle back to shore.

A large wave pushed her under again and her lifejacket shot her up quickly. When she surfaced she gasped for air and screamed in pain as the salt-water burned her light blue eyes. She struggled to clean her eyes, the ocean continued to try and swallow her up. She couldn’t make out her friend anymore, she couldn’t find him. She squinted and saw the weakening sun peaking over the mountain behind the small beach. Buddy? Buddy, where are you?! She called weakly; her throat was saturated in salt-water. She got no response and started to panic.

The fin crested the surface gracefully; it managed to slice through the ocean without alerting the creatures around it. The eyes of the beast were just under the water’s surface; it eyed the cloudy water for easy prey. Nerves in its back picked up the rhythmic backstrokes of a creature not far off. Its brain received the electric messages and it pushed forward through the shallow waters towards its prey. The beast was under the lackadaisical being within minutes. It stalked its prey from deep below, becoming intoxicated with every stroke, with every kick. Finally, drunk from its motions the beast shot upwards, closing the gap between it and its prey instantaneously.

On the surface tommy mimicked the motions of a world-class athlete. He dunked his head into the salty sea-water and was within reach of the silent white beach when his leg lost all feeling and he was tugged under the water by a force of incredible strength. The mad beast’s razor sharp teeth crunched through his fragile bones and tore through his flesh like it was paper. Tommy screamed and flailed his arms in every direction to get away from the beast.

Around him the greenish blue ocean turned dark red and he began to fight less and less as the shark dragged him under again and again. Tommy thrashed and screamed again as the beast surfaced with him and he stared deep into the beast’s dark black pupil that watched the boy slowly stop struggling. Tommy’s leg was shredded and his knee-cap snapped in two. Fresh red blood escaped from his body and swam freely through the water around him. Nooo!! he gurgled as his body was again overtaken by the massive jaw of the beast and dragged deep beneath the waves.

Not far off, the little girl watched the scene in horror. She looked left and right for the beast as it dived under the water after the attack. She started to swim frantically for where buddy used to be but quickly changed course and swam as fast as she could for the beach. Her pale blue eyes were large and red with terror. A passing wave picked her up and washed her onto the shore along with bits and pieces of buddy’s leg and his clothing. She couldn’t move from where she was laying in the sand, surrounded by water stained with blood. A feeling of emptiness shook her body.

She finally got the courage to sit up and look out at the brackish water. The beast’s fin tormented her as it swam back and forth along the coastline, eyeing the little girl. She looked down to get up and then looked again out onto the water, straining her burning eyes for the gray fin cutting through the water.

But it was gone.

by **Jenrak** » Wed Apr 18, 2012 12:50 pm

Updated.

by **United Districts of 1** » Wed Apr 18, 2012 1:19 pm

Genesis of Fire
[MT-Real World]

Chapter 1
2:13 AM, Tokyo, Japan, 6-4-15
“Hari I’m tired of that racket blaring from your room all night long, Turn it down or I swear you won’t get to play your games for a months’ time!”

The voice was distant in the teenager’s ears, he was too busy with his friends on the computer. This was his nightly routine; stay up until 3:00, ignore his dads’ threats, crash on his floor, and then wake up and go to school. It was hard leading this kind of life style. His grades had been dropping since he dyed his hair black and he was acting out against his parents. Of course this didn’t bother his single father, because what teen doesn’t argue once in a while?

With the worrisome thoughts of his son’s future pushed away, he pulled the door shut behind him and headed back towards his room. He had a critical inspection tomorrow at the Fyshido Power Center. After the Fukashima incident, the Japanese government wasn’t willing to leave any major power plant uninspected. His job was to monitor power stations feeding Tokyo and the surrounding prefectures. He and fifty-five others had the day to day task of keeping one of the world’s largest cities running. This meant he only got two days off a year, but the pay was good and he enjoyed the public service. Letting his eyes slide shut, Mr. Hokisa fell into a deep sleep.

The screech of an alarm clock threw Tari Hokisa into a frenzy to brush his teeth and prepare for his daily life. With a deep grunt he threw himself out of bed and began his preparations. He made his way down the hall to his son’s bedroom.

“Hari get up; it is time for school!”

The shout was a softly demanding one. Tari waited for an answer from his son. After several seconds of silence Tari pushed the door open and slid his way in. His son was passed out on the floor with his feet still in his computer chair. His hair was tasseled and a line of drool ran down his face. He rolled over when Tari gave him a nudge with his foot. His eyes creaked open for mere heartbeats and then he fell back to sleep. Without trying to wake his son again, Tari left straight for work.

The day was a blistering 95 degrees and the walk to the tram station was a long one. Luckily the integrated slabs on the sidewalk absorbed most of the sun’s heat and converted it into energy for other things. However Mr. Hokisa’s suit didn’t have such useful technology built into as the sidewalk. Wiping a tiny conglomerate of sweat from his brow Tari made his way off to work. The day had started just like any other for the city and Mr. Hokisa, but it would not end normally. Not in the slightest.
7:30 AM, Sea of Japan, 6-4-15

Admiral Myong-din stood proudly in the bridge of the Chinese fleet’s prized vessel. His hands behind his back, he watched the vast armada stretch before him. 45 ships of varying size and roll had all been mobilized in Operation: 火剑 or Fire Sword. The 1st Armada was to spearhead an assault on the Japanese homeland. China was in close collaboration with North Korean forces. The two combined armies would quickly eradicate any resistance the Japanese would be able to mount, but the massive numbers of American troops would certainly pose an obstacle to the invasion.

Many may accuse China of an unprovoked attack on an innocent nation. The cardinal reason behind the attack was America’s so called “Tyranny Removal Coalition” This unprovoked alliance against China had facilitated an almost global trade embargo on the Peoples Republic. The largest manufacturer on earth had been crippled in less than a year.
The embargo had given a massive boost to American industry and the approval ratings of President Obama were even higher than after Bin-Laden’s death. America had reclaimed its place at the top and was currently the world’s most advanced nation. The infrastructure problems had made a vast opportunity for progress, and with the absolute eradication of Al-Qaeda’s leadership and networks the world had entered a stage of global peace. Yet China was shunned to an existence of isolation. Millions had starved and the economy was on the verge of collapse. The war was the only way they could save the country from total collapse.
Myong-din turned to his subordinates and gave a curt nod. Such a simple motion would signal something so destructive. All across the armada the blare of klaxons rolled across the ships. Across the armada, large firing ports slid open to reveal several Ryuka class cruise missiles. With a massive roar, the barrage was launched in a synchronized rhythm. Spouts of fire threw the missiles through the air heading towards japan.

7:33, Tokyo, Japan, 6-4-15
Emika was on her way to her first corporate job at the Kira-com headquarters in downtown Tokyo. Strolling along the platform towards the 7:30 train, she had an air of confidence. The double doors slid ajar and several dozen men and women pushed through them in a hurry to get to their jobs. Emika was a novice in the daily commute.

Then, as if a massive hand had swept across the room, the crowd was sent reeling to the ground. The force of a massive blast blew out the lights and knocked over stalls and paintings. Every eye on the platform was on the entrance to the station. Outside a ghostly light fell over the streets. Before anyone could respond, a family of three jogged down the stairs and into the lower platform. As they ran past someone in the crowd inquired, “What’s going on up there?” The presumable father of the family stopped for only a second to answer, “We are at war.” Without waiting, he ran to catch up with his kin.

Emika spoke for everyone. “We should go see.” As she spoke, jeers of disagreement rose from the crowd.
“Are you insane? It’s much safer here underground in th-” the man was interrupted by an unearthly rumble. The sound emanated from deep in the tunnels. All of the crowd craned their necks to look down the dark subway track. The rumbling grew more intense until it drowned out any other noise. Then the source came into view; the roof of the subway tunnel was shattering and collapsing section by section. The arches filled with cracks and craters. Then so much stress built that they exploded, sending rebar and concrete chunks like shrapnel.

Emika did not stop to scream or yell but, instead, bolted out of the station and into the street. She paused as she emerged and let out a gasp. The scene before her was like a kick to the jaw.

The city was burning. Across her field of view, towers of steel and glass were pot marked with holes and places where the floors had given way. In the bay, dozens of ships were sinking below the surface. She gave a flinch as a far off explosion hit her ears. Then an unearthly screech echoed down the street. Turning her head, she saw were it came from, the 125 story tall Myaka hotel was leaning at an impossible angle. The fifth floor had been flattened beneath the others and had given way leaving the floors above hanging over the street. Then with another roar, the last pillars gave way. The entire structure fell down upon a much smaller building opposite of it. The impact sent visible waves through the ground. She fell to her knees and began to cry as she was enveloped by a cloud of deep gray dust.

Her sobbing was interrupted by the scream of jets overhead. Seven Chinese J-11 strike fighters banked around to line themselves up with a convoy of emergency service vehicles. Emika watched in horror knowing what was coming. The fighters let out a horrid barrage of missiles and 20mm rounds. The unprotected fire trucks and police cars were no match for the anti-tank rounds. However, the pilots of the jets had miscalculated the angle and were too far off to hit the ambulances in the rear of the convoy. Two of the jets broke off and banked back for another strafing run. Emika closed her eyes tight to avoid the horror. The sound of missile fire echoed again, but this time it was right over her head. Opening here eyes and looking up, she saw three American F-35 fighters pulling away from clouds of fire and smoke. Then she turned her gaze to the Chinese fighters. Where the two J-11 fighters had been was now a dense cloud of smoke and below it were shattered wings falling to the ground.

Behind her a crowd threw their fists up in the air and gave a glorious yell of revenge. Along with the American fighters, dozens of Japanese Air Defense force jets had joined the brawl. The unprepared Chinese fighter force was being torn apart by the superior trained joint force. However for every Peoples Liberation Army fighter that was shot down, three more joined the fight. Eventually the defending fighters would need to return to base, and then the city would become a killing field.
On the horizon, a wall of sparkling points of light grew closer and closer to the city. Another barrage of missiles had been launched, this time they were all intended for Tokyo. Dozens of missiles roared towards the city at super-sonic speed. But this time, the defenders were prepared for them. Miles up in space, dozens of satellite arrays adjusted to meet the missiles with invisible rays of heat. The rays shot down from space and made contact with the majority of the missiles. The shells began to glow bright orange, then the explosive within detonated, annihilating the entire projectile.

But some had avoided the lasers deadly gaze. They roared toward downtown Tokyo at incredible speed. Emika’s ears split as the missiles made impact and ripped apart the building. A waterfall of molten glass and steel cascaded down onto the streets below. The tallest building in the city and second in the world was the Global Fusion Corp. Headquarters. The massive pillar of glass looked like Swiss cheese. Floor after floor had been knocked out. At the base of the tower was a horrific hill of debris and rubble. The entire north face of the tower had been stripped bare of any glass. Only a chilling steel skeleton remained, its beams warped and bending.

High above the streets a UH-1Z Venom hovered over head. Mounted on its sides were two large speakers. They blared in rough Japanese, “All non-military personnel are to report to Chiyoda Ward Office for immediate evacuation. All evacuation operations will terminate in 35 minutes, secondary evacuation operations will continue for 15 more minutes.” The helicopter buzzed away to spread its message to other survivors. Emika was perplexed as to why they would be evacuating the city. Tokyo and surrounding communities were fully prepared for any disaster. But her skepticism was cut short.

High above dozens of II-76 transports were cruising above the city. Several were belching smoke from flaming engines. A pillar of flame shot up towards a limping transport. The whale like aircraft had no chance of evading the rocket. Hoping to buy itself time, it dumped infrared flares to deceive the missile. However this was in vain. The missile was not guided by heat but by the Chinese aligned friend-or-foe technology inside the plane. This type of guidance was cutting edge. Created by the Israeli defense force, it had proved critical to the defeat of Iran in 2012.

The II-76 exploded into a ball of dense orange fire. The cockpit and canopy were torn apart while the wings and tail spiraled to earth leaving a trail of fire. But the transports were unfazed. Swarms of white dots emerged from the rear doors. Emika had meanwhile been sprinting at a break neck pace towards the evacuation point. When she arrived, she was glad to see that several Osprey’s remained at the site. Japanese soldiers instructed civilians and provided aid while U.S. forces pounded the skies with skull rattling barrages of 35mm fire. Emika could not help but feel sorry for the Chinese paratroopers. She knew that if they reached the ground they would stand no chance against the joint might of two global superpowers working in perfect unison.

Then her turn came to board the last Osprey out of the city. The aircraft was densely packed with people and the cry of a baby let a tear run down her cheek. However horrific, P.L.A casualties had been she was sure thousands of more innocent people had been caught in the attack. Then a thought dawned on her. War. The greatest powers on earth were preparing to beat one another head on into conventional, horrific defeat.

Chapter 2
8:00 PM, Noto Island, Japan, 6-4-15
Zioung-Ling stood overlooking the fire lit Nanoa-kita bay. A small collection of Chinese cruisers floated in the bay. Pools of burning oil and floating debris dotted the harbor, the battle had lasted only ten minutes. Three Japanese frigates had engaged the Chinese fleet in defense of the harbor. The light defensive force was little match for the invasion fleet and chinese casualties were minimal. This was in sharp contrast to Operation: Firesword, which had been cut short after massive casualties.
Zioung-Ling was a PLA rifleman in the 88th assault corps. His unit was tasked with holding the island against enemy counter-attacks. If they should succeed in repelling them the island would become china’s main staging base on mainland japan.
His break was torn away by the earth shaking boom of a rocket impact. The radio station that had been captured had been reduced to rubble by a unknown assailant. Sprinting to his Colonels position to receive orders he dodged the burnt carcasses of tanks and other armored vehicles. He turned the corner of a small concrete shack and skidded to a halt. His unit was crowded around a camouflaged tent with a table stacked with radios and computer monitors.

His commander droned on about the importance of their duty and their service to all of China. Zioung had not joined to serve his country, he had hardly joined at all. His parents were starving and could barely support him. So at the age of 17 he enlisted and was assigned a mere month of basic training. Now he was on the front line and barely prepared for it.
While his commander continued to talk another pounding hit the island. Over his radio he could sense the feeling of frustration in the camp. The units superiors were unwilling to move them out without greater confirmation of their ability. Yet as they sat here taking rocket fire they lost more and more of their strength. Then all doubts of whether they should move out or not was shattered.

Two American A-10’s buzzed over the island and let out a horrible roar from their ugly noses. The bow and bridge of the DragonTooth lit up with flame and sparks as the Vulcan cannons tore into the weakest parts of the ship. The coms from the ship were cut off as the second A-10 landed hundreds of rounds into the bridge, then as if killing the captain hadn’t done enough the duo dropped two large canisters from their bellies. One exploded into a white mist that drifted across the ship and water like a fog. Zioungs stomach did backflips in his body. The training videos had shown these weapons before and the devastation that they had reeked in the Pakistani-conflict. The other planes pod released thousands of tiny pellets into the air. Then the pellets hissed and smoke seemed to seep from the air itself. His commander screamed loud “GET DOWN GET DOWN NOW!” before zioung had time to respond to the order it happened. The cloud of white was a horrid mixture of Liquid acetylene and hydrogen.

The air was replaced by a world of flame, the shockwave threw Zioung behind a type 89 battle tank. Holding his head under his hands he inched under the tank. All around him sparks drifted to the ground and the sky was red like blood. To him it was almost beautiful like a ruby that had replaced the sun. The crown of his helmet had been scorched to black and his goggles were fused to the helmet.
His hearing returned in his right ear and the haunting sounds of war filled his ears. The world was silent with the rare crackling of fire or the avalanche like sound of buildings supports giving way. He pulled himself out from underneath the half burned tank. Emerging back into the world he examined his surroundings. Where the command tent had been was a pile of ash. The trees that had surrounded the small clearing were black claws of lifelessness. Little remained of the Dragontooth only a dark splotch of oil remained to mark where the ship once was. His unit was scattered among the camp, only two of them were standing upright and another was clawing his way out of a collapsed shed.

The rest of his friends had been reduced to ash or less by the super-heated air. The staging base was gone now. The scattered survivors had gathered near the beach and were looking over the bay. The surviving ships were scorched on the side nearest to the epicenter. The Chinese invasion was being stalled time and time again, but now the North Koreans had launched their part of the offensive. The Americans would certainly not be able to maintain a two sided front and keep the Iranian region pacified.
Zioung met up with his unit and sat down on a scorched ammo crate. A MI-17 buzzed across the bay towards their group. The rhythm of the blades drowned out his thoughts and put him into a relaxing trance.

8:45 PM, 38th parallel, 6-4-15
The chatter of automatic weapons fire was deafening. The North Koreans army had launched the largest conventional invasion since D-Day. The North Koreans were using traditional tactics and had paid for it in lives. The dense hills of the DMZ made a deadly killing field for both sides. At this particular moment a large scale North Korean charge on Hill Delta was creeping its way up to Pfc. Deltora’s bunker.

He held his hand steady on the M204L as he let bursts of 7.62mm rounds fly at the enemy charge. He squeezed the trigger for two seconds and let a hail of bullets fly into a crowd of charging Norks. Norks was a name given to North Korean soldiers by allied forces. The rounds impacted into the leader of the charge. Two other men fell behind him and the rest through themselves to the ground. Then Deltora heard the deep rumble of a artillery line firing in the distance. Then seconds the earth shook as 150mm shells laid into the dirt. Plumes of rock and dirt were thrown into the air. The charge had been turned back, but the defenders were not winning. Deltora’s position was situated along the third line of defense and he wasn’t supposed to be seeing any combat.

He was actually a combat engineer and hadn’t been trained to hold back an army of crazed fanatics. Then another flare flew high into the air and the scream of the charging armies echoed throughout the valley. Then Deltora heard something different, it was a deep clacking sound. Then from down the line of defensive positions yells came in Korean and English. “ M2002 advancing from are North-East!” Then a plume of shattered concrete and rebar shot into the sky from where a radio bunker had been. Then a line of blast landed on a trench and the entire line broke. A wall of enemy armor was roaring up the hill towards ill-equipped soldiers.
Deltora’s mind raced to his home, and the thought of never seeing it again. His natural instincts kicked in and his body shutout his brain. He threw himself up and sprinted away from the advancing tanks. All of his training and experience was thrown out and replaced with mad, primal fear. All around his comrades did the same, the defensive line had been shattered and the remains were burning away at full speed towards the closest ally position. “Run! Run! Don’t stop!” The words echoed through his brain like a gunshot. At first he tried to keep hold of his weapon, but then he dropped the heavy gun and unlatched his backpack. This was true flight that compelled him.

The entire line was running full speed away from the massive vehicles. Deltora and his two friends Ravendal and Kempsky ducked away from the main group and slid into a ditch that bordered a dense shrub land. The three of them rolled themselves in the mud and dirty water. Then they tore the shrubs from the ground and used the caked mud as a glue. The trio was disguised as well as they could be. Slowly the three soldiers crept into the shrubs and inched slowly away from the horrible sounds of gunfire in the distance. They kept their eyes little higher than the top of a grass blade.

Then their progress was interrupted by a growling sound coming from the round behind. Slightly turning to see where the sound had come from Deltora spotted it. A odd jeep like vehicle had parked along the ditch and four soldiers had stepped out. They tracked their eyes of the field. Deltora knew he was hidden well but they weren’t invisible, the soldiers stepped down into the ditch. Delotra thought he saw them say something. Then three of them split away and tracked farther down the length of the road. The one remaining prodded the grass in front of him with a bayonet. He slunk forward prodding the ground in a tight pattern. He grew closer and closer to Deltora. Then he was within reach, Deltora shot upon him like a lightning bolt. He grasped the barrel of the rifle and rammed the butt into his chin. The soldier was stunned by the quick blow and grasped his face in agony. Then before he could recover he was tackled to the ground. Deltora had him pinned to the ground, then he grasped the soldiers rifle and rammed the butt into his throat.

The man’s eyes shot wide open then the light began to fade from them, his breath stopped and he fell limp. Deltora respectfully closed his eyes and put his helmet next to his head. “Soldier to Soldier friend” he crawled off the fallen enemy and slunk away into the brush to catch up with the other two. The sun was sinking in the sky and the lights of a city became clear in the distance. But this light wasn’t the warm yellow glow of a desk lamp, this was the blood red blanket of light from fire. The city whichever city it was, was burning.

2:45 AM, 6-7-15, Tokyo, Japan
The shimmering lights of high-rise fires illuminated the rubble cluttered streets of downtown Tokyo. Burned out cars were piled at the sides of the street, they had been pushed aside by armored vehicles rumbling through the city. Above the road a Tram way had been shattered into chunks of concrete. The tram itself was in two pieces, the front third of the tram had plummeted to the street below and broken through the pavement and opened a gaping hole into the sewer. The remaining tram cars had made a sort of ladder from the over-passing railway to the street below.

On this ladder a dozen or so figures where clambering down the makeshift stair case of wrecked tram cars and slabs of concrete. They were dressed in rough torn combat dress and had obviously been in the field for days. The last of the band made his way down to the road and they assembled in the safety of a vacant shop.

A medium height man with a strong build spoke up, “We’ve been separated from the main task force for three days. We have not been able to re-establish contact with command. The theory among me and my seconds is that the Chinese have set up some sort of jamming device in the city. We’re not an assault force and my moneys on the Reds having those jammers under lockdown. So are options are die here, or get out of the city. So we head east, away from the harbor. Move out” his men gave a “Hoorah”. Staff Sergeant Redinggs was supposed to be overseeing the evacuation of medical personnel from the city. The operation had been cut short by a second Chinese assault on the city. This time however it came from the north and the small line there had been swiftly overwhelmed.

Tokyo had fallen to the Chinese attack and the remaining allied forces had been scattered among the mega-city. His job at this point was to ensure that his remaining men get out alive and back home in one piece. The small unit was little match for the heavily reinforced Chinese units in the city.

He slung his ACR over his shoulder and moved swiftly across the street to the ruins of a large glass hotel. His feet where on the verge of being raw after hours of continuous running over harsh concrete terrain, his ragged group of warriors was little better. Most of them had only a few rounds left in their rifles if any at all. He shook his mind away from self pity and hauled himself up to a elevated sidewalk. It had a thin aluminum canopy to shield from rain and sun but hardly enough to phase a bullet. The group crouched low to the ground and inched their way forward. Then a harsh beam illuminated the center of the line of soldiers. Yells echoed in Chinese.

Redding barked out an order “Into the next window, haul it marines!” The unit bolted up and followed redding as plumes of dust were kicked up inches behind their heels. Redding turned sharply and ran his entire mass into a thin pane of glass. He rolled as he landed and didn’t stop to catch his breath. The rest of his unit had followed suit and met with him at the back of the crumbling structure. “All here?” he asked out of breath. A reply came from each man and he let out a sigh of relief. Then before anyone else could talk a rumble froze them in their stance. After only a moments hesitation someone called out “Jesus Christ, RUN!” the decision was unanimous. A harsh glow stabbed at the darkness then the front wall of the building imploded inward as the growling steel front of a tank pushed through. The dozen soldiers worked through the dark apartment store, weaving back and forth through a jungle of clothing displays and tall T-shirt stocked shelves. The group moved up the unmoving escalator and into a derelict food court. Then the tile gave way beneath them.

The floor begin to crumble as another 105mm round tore through the unprotected linoleum . The support beam holding up the second floor gave way with a titanic scream. The thick concrete beam split like a tooth-pick sending sharp pieces of concrete and rebar like a shotgun blast through the air. The entire length of pillars gave up on the struggle and began to split like twigs. Redding had fallen to the back of his unit after struggling to pull himself over a fallen shelf. He felt the rumble in his lungs as he turned around to see the floor collapsing like a wave. The it caught his heels, the force sent him tumbling through the air and onto the cold debris littered ground. Another section of floor gave way to reveal a harrowing three story fall. He attempted to pull himself up but his legs were pinned under a heavy fallen section of dry wall. His second in command Flanders turned around and spotted him trapped.

Flanders tore away from the group and towards Redding. He tugged at the dry wall but it wouldn’t budge from its crushing position. Then the floor below them buckled and sent the dry wall tumbling down where it hit with a dull crunch. Redding was dazed and hardly aware that he was sliding down the now sloping remains of the floor towards a forty foot free fall. He attempted to slow himself by ramming his foot into the ground like a brake. This only sent him tumbling sideways. He stopped himself at the edge of the abyss barely grasping the rebar protruding from the frayed end of the level.

He yanked himself onto the steep slope and inched his way upward. He reached the precipice of the slope and peeked over the edge. The floor he had been on was now a triangle with a central beam holding a small peak still standing, while the rest had collapsed to the earth with small wires of warped rebar still binding the rubble to the surviving pillar. He scanned around for Flanders. He spotted a figure covered in thick gray dust crumpled at the edge of the remaining section of the floor. High above the lobby of the building the carcass of a helicopter swung back and forth in the wind.

Redding worked his way down to Flanders as quickly as he could move. Flanders chest was heaving with the struggle to stay alive after the fall. Redding dragged the wounded friend to the shelter of a half collapsed hallway. Through a hole in the roof a stream of rain began to puddle in the depression left by the impact of the rubble. Redding pulled the bleeding soldier into the dark end of the hall and wrapped his wounds in a thick covering of fabric from his pant leg. He tapped his friend awake “Stay with me buddy, I’m gonna get you outa here!” Flanders shook his head yes and leaned himself against the warm steam pipes lining the hallway wall. Redding spoke again “I need to get a First-aid kit for you, stay here” Redding bolted off towards the collapsed Department store where the tank had last been.

He found what he was looking for when he arrived. The tank had been half buried under a hill of rubble and crushed concrete. Redding slipped around the edge of the hill and scanned for any surviving Chinese. The only survivor he could see was the grunting driver as he attempted to open the small hatch that trapped him inside his steel casket. It was too bent to budge and Redding truly felt a twinge of sympathy for the poor soul doomed to that fate. Clambering onto the top of the turret he looked inside the hatch. It was a mess in there, the barrel of cannon had been forced backwards into the cabin and had crushed the gunner. The commander was twisted on the floor in a position of terror. Redding looked around inside the tank and found the kit. Tearing the white box from the rack near the back of the cabin he jogged back towards Flanders.

The night passed without incident after that and Redding let flanders sleep only for a few moments at a time. Redding still had the task of finding the rest of his unit, and the shattered Helmet of his medic was a bad omen. Redding tried his radio all night time after time but all he got back was static. His options were limited, he had to choose between getting the wounded Flanders to safety or gamble his life on those of his men. Redding knew that his men would be fine without him if they were even still breathing.
He picked Flanders up and threw him over his shoulders. He looked at the cracked screen of his wrist GPS. He was to Head due east, he begin his long exodus out of the city towards safety and help for his comrade.

9:50 am, 6-8-15, Sakura, Japan
Zioung-Ling’s eyes blinked open as he adjusted to the violent transition from the back of an APC to the harsh sunlight of the early morning. His back ached along a fleet of bruises that were accompanied by scratches and burns. He flicked his eyes around the fields and the burning hulks of cars littering the road. His APC was simmering from a massive gash across the left side. His unit had been ambushed on a patrol in the countryside.

He pulled himself onto his knees and yanked a scratched weapon from the back of the APC. He looked around the field and assessed the situation. His unit had taken cover in a small ditch by the road. Tracers flew across the open field and shot up dust on both sides, from what Zioung could tell the enemy was well dug in. The fire continued to keep his unit pinned in the tiny amount of cover they had. His commander was screaming over the radio for support. A hail of led erupted from the sky as two J-11 fighters peppered the enemy trench with 20mm rounds.

The firing stopped from the other side of the field. The unit begin to advance across the open ground towards the smoking ridge that shielded the enemy position. Pushing his way through a dense line of bushes and brambles Zioung looked down into a muddy trench. Inside where smoking pieces of equipment and fallen Americans. Near the edge there was a tattered soldier crawling his way down the hill. Zioungs captain grabbed the soldier by his collar and pulled him to his knees and turned his face to his. His face was caked with dirt and potmarked with scratches. The captain looked him in the eyes, the American muttered something in his language and stared back into the captains eyes.

Zioung was shocked by this gesture of defiance, he had been taught that Americans were little less than luxury addicted pigs. This soldier was nothing near that description, his eyes told Zioung that was fully prepared to die right there. The films had told him that Americans had no love for country or family yet this one had done something odd to Zioung. He asked for someone who spoke English. Private Doainz stepped forward and began to interpret the soldiers request. “He asks for a single request” said Doainz. “He asks you let him burn their flag.” The captain looked puzzled then nodded yes, the soldier took the tattered flag from the small pole that had been knocked down. He cleaned it off with his sleeve and then pulled the ball at the top of the pole off. Inside was a match and a bullet. He took the match and lit his flag aflame. He turned to the captain without a hint of fear in his eyes.

Zioung watched perplexed as the American faced his death without fear. He had never seen what the films called capitalist devils portray such honor. The captain seemed to feel the same as he granted the American a swift end. The pop of a pistol rang out and Zioungs heart gave a lurch. Then his captain came to his unit and spoke “You have seen honor here today, he could have ran or fought but he took his end with honor, for this we will bury him.” The digging of the grave was a solemn affair. Then the unit got up and walked back towards the road. They got back on the radio and called out for a pick up. The bulky figure of a Mi-7 appeared in the sky and soon Zioung was onboard securely strapped in to the small mesh seats. The pilot spoke into the headset. “We’re headed towards Tokyo along with most of the force left over from FireSword.”

Hours later they arrived at the edge of Tokyo, Zioung let out a tiny gasp. The city was absolutely aflame. Lines of tracer fire lanced across the sky, right in front of his eyes a massive pillar of steel and glass with a giant red Global Fusion logo on the front of the building. The building was stripped to the bone, the steel skeleton exposed and most of the floors collapsed. The skeleton began to warp and creek as the last ounces of strength left in the structure were lost. It shifted right and hung over the street at a forty-five degree angle. Over the radio in the chopper desperate orders rang out. Then his captain spoke “Unbelievable” the massive building was giving way. The sound could be heard above the helicopters blades.

The steel shattered like glass as the buildings top sections fell hundreds of feet to the earth below. A cloud of dust crept across the city and to the bay the entire metropolis was covered in a cloud of white and grey. The pilot spoke franticly over the radio “Visibility is at zero! I can’t stay up all engines at twenty-five percent, Brace! Brace! Brace!”

Zioung blinked his eyes open, he was hanging upside down by a thick cable wrapped around his ankle. He craned his neck to see how high he was suspended. He was hanging several feet up above a grassy patch of empty land. He struggled with the cable until he eventually freed himself and fell to the ground. The Helicopter had impaled a small office and torn a hole through the width of the structure. The pilots were slumped over in their seats without breath. The cargo cabin had been more fortunate and was largely intact, however the door was wide open and he feared his unit may have been scattered across the city like rain.

He could not see more than a few yards into the vale of dust that coated the city. He knew he had to get to higher ground to find his bearings. So he started towards a desolate looking building with racks and racks of clothes piled around in massive heaps. The floor had collapsed leaving a triangle like structure still standing. Then he spotted a shocking sight, a Type 88 tank was buried beneath a hill of collapsed stones and concrete. Looking around more he found a crushed helmet of a US soldier. He looked around for any foretelling of an ambush or surprise attack by the Americans. After scanning the area he figured that the combat had all been before he had arrived. Then he started tracking west to find the frontline, hopefully there would be a Chinese presence there. He started towards the bay when he heard a gunshot echo up ahead.

He started to jog as another gunshot rang out, then a hand grasped his shoulder and spun him around. He instinctively threw his fist into the attackers face and tackled him to the ground. The American called out “Redding help me!” Zioung raised his rifle to the soldiers forehead and was readying to fire. Then with a sudden jolt a boot impacted the back of his knee. His joint gave out and he collapsed to the ground, the second American ripped his rifle from his hands and flung it into a crater. The American wrapped his arms around Zioungs neck and began crushing his throat.

Zioung gave a powerful elbow and flipped the American over his shoulder; the second hostile had regained his stance and threw a hard jab into Zioungs stomach. Keeling over with the blow he wasn’t expecting a follow up knee to the crotch. He fell over and clutched his stomach; the American that was wounded drew a pistol from his belt and pointed it at Zioung. The second shook his head and took the pistol from his comrade. He flipped it around and delivered a swift whip to Zioungs head. The world blinked away as Zioung lost consciousness.

1:50 PM, 6-8-15, Tokyo, Japan
Redding whipped the pistol into the attackers head and then handed it back to Flanders. Then he rolled the red into the crater and started off again. He knew he was near an American position according to the map.
Redding rounded a corner along a wide avenue. The sound of gunfire had been growing more prominent as he came closer to this area. Flanders was pressed against the wall behind him, in front of him was a sight for sore eyes. A tall wall erected out of concrete slabs and sand bags blocked the street before him. Above it hung a tattered American flag and the 32nd Mechanized divisions insignia. Redding called out from distance “Friendly’s coming out!” he and Flanders rounded a corner and waved their arms. A friendly wave returned theirs and a rope ladder fell down the makeshift wall. Redding helped Flanders up and followed him quickly over.

The small firebase had obviously been under attack, but Redding saw something brilliant to his eyes. A parked column of M-1A3 Abrams tanks each one was equipped with T.U.S.K systems for urban combat and had been painted a drab grey. The tusk made these tanks look truly intimidating, fitted to the front was a long minesweeping rake. The sides and turret were covered in slats of thick reactive armor and the guns on the turret had large ballistic shields around them.

A worn out looking soldier passed Redding and Flanders each a respirator. He spoke through his “We’ve lost more to the dust than Chinese, So I’d suggest keeping those on or you’ll end up like their previous owners.” Redding shot a worried glance at Flanders and pulled the mask on without hesitation. Redding looked around for someone in command of the decrepit firebase.

He found a corporal scrambling around a small command post trying to sort through a pile of maps and charts. Redding strode over and gave a curt salute to the corporal who ignored him completely. Redding then spoke “Corporal” the young soldier barely glanced from the paper to address his superior. The corporals second gave him a nudge and muttered something. The corporal shot up and saluted the Sergeant major “Excuse me sir, I’m under some stress at the moment.” Redding returned with an at ease and then asked “What is the tactical situation?” The corporal let out what seemed like a laugh and a whimper “Well globally pretty good, considering it’s the apocalypse and all. Coalition forces are engaged in Iran, Pakistan Korea and well here. So far we’ve been steady in the middle-east and japan is still up for grabs.”

“What about Korea?” Redding asked worried. “Well that’s just it, there’s only one Korea now. The norks were waiting for this moment for six decades.” Redding felt a wave of shock wash over him. That couldn’t be true could it? He forced his mind back to the present world, and the situation around him. The corporal spoke over the rumble of the tanks starting to life “Looks like we’re rolling out, feel free to join us Sergeant!” Redding motioned to Flanders to follow him. They huddled into the back of a cramped APC .

2:30 PM, 6-8-15, Tokyo, Japan
The rumbling of the lead roller growling to life alerted Gameson to his post. He flicked the small cigarette into the dust then crept down into the gunners seat of his M1-Abrams MBT. His commander tapped him twice on the shoulder. To a common person this would be a way of getting someone’s attention, but to a shell-head like Gameson it meant he should ready anti-personnel rounds in the cannon. The tank to his front started forward along the ruined street in a southerly direction. “Keep your eyes peeled Gameson,” his commander growled over the radio. The study clunk-clunk-clunk of the tracks over bits of rubble and asphalt dulled Gameson’s thoughts and boosted his senses.

The armored column continued advancing down the coast of the city. All together there were ten M1-A3 tanks and six IAV Strykers being escorted by the tanks. Then at the lead of the column was a modified M1-A2 Abrams with the turret removed and a massive minesweeping rake attached to the front, and on top were piles of equipment and containers of potable water. The long row of dull grey vehicles trundled onward without facing any enemy fire.

Gameson pressed his eye against the targeting reticule on his control panel and scanned the camera across the bleak gray valley of rubble and debris stretched out ahead of him. He spotted a brush of movement in the ruins of a shattered building. He switched his camera to thermal vision and zoomed in on the structure. The building was swarming with figures carrying anti-armor weapons and laser designators. Gameson screamed into the mic, “Halt Halt Halt!” The column came to a screeching halt and then the others spotted what Gameson had seen. The column commander gave out a barking order. “Fire at will! Level that building!” The concussion of ten behemoth 105mm cannons firing off in unison sent clouds of dirt into the air around the tanks. The Strykers started raking the building with lines of 45mm auto-cannon, tearing into the lines of PLA soldiers. Then a rocket barreled into one of the Abrams it gave a ping as it bounced off the tusk equipped armor and flew at an angle into a nearby store. The building that had been used as a bunker by the Chinese gave a scream and then split into countless fragments and collapsed to the Earth.
“Advance” came the order over the radio and the line of armor started forward again. Gameson looked over to his commander and asked, “What’s our objective, sir?” The gruff soldier replied, “We’re to reinforce elements that have been stalled in Operation: Right Hook.” Gameson’s heart rushed at the news, he would finally get to give the pain back to the Reds and pay ‘em back for all the horror they caused. “So are we the fist now, sir?” Gameson asked with excitement lining his voice.

The column was nearing the edge of the city after hours of rumbling across the terrible landscape that was the ruined mega-city. He was eager to see a sky clear of depressing grey smoke and green trees. Minutes later his hopes were shattered like glass. The world outside Tokyo looked even worse. Towering plumes of dense black smoke blocked out the moon completely. Yet it was bright like dawn, and the reason was all too obvious. Fields of flame crept across the country side. The glow of fire was accompanied by bright bursts of white lights as blasts peppered the horizon. Gameson’s heart sank as he let out a single phrase. “This can’t be real.” Then Gameson looked to his sides and saw that his column had been joined by dozens of groups the same size or bigger. They stretched across like a Phalanx of steel enveloping the earth.

A command blared over all frequencies. “Operation: Right Hook is underway. All units prepare and good luck.” Squadrons of F-35 fighters roared overhead unleashing a blooming line of fire on unseen targets. The trundling armor column burst to life and the massive tanks sped over the loping hills and ran through the tangled clumps of trees. An Abrams far to Gamesons right was impacted head on by a enemy round a slid to a stop. Several M1-A3’s returned fire and then the brawl began. A matched line of Type-88 tanks and other vehicles emerged from the cloud of smoke that had enveloped them. One gave a hiss and a pop as a 105mm sabot round tore into it. Sparks shot up from around the engine and the entire armored vehicle burst into a ball of fire. Lines of fire lanced across the battlefield. A Abrams to the right of Gamesons roller gave a roar of defeat then exploded into a cloud of fire sending scraps of steel flying through the air.

A Type-88 rolled in a straight line with flame spouting from its engine the cannon was destroyed and the drivers cabin was scorched black. The tank carried forward into a ditch and dug itself in yet the treads kept tearing at the Earth. Gameson’s shivered and pushed the image out of his mind. He loaded in a shell and lobbed off a round into the left side of a limping Type-88. The enemy tank was enveloped in flame as soon as the shell ripped into the fuel storage. The turret was blown into the air as the ammo detonated. An Abrams was belching smoke from the engine and was struggling to move to cover. Two shells eviscerated the tanks cabin and left a burning hulk sitting lifeless on the battle littered field.

Overhead a plume of fire erupted from the engines of a C-130 transport. Its altitude fell out and it span to earth. It
impacted a dozen yards ahead of Gameson and sent fire and debris flying like a storm into the air. Then gameson loaded an experimental round into the cannon. It flew into the front of a Type-88 where the thickest armor was. The round punched through and out the back of the engine block. Gameson chuckled as Chinese tanks readjusted their position according to where his barrel pointed. He loaded his second Heavy-Shell and let it rip into a second Type-88. He didn’t know how it worked and didn’t care, they were winning.

The Chinese defense was breaking and loping backwards away from the advancing coalition force. A triumphant feeling washed over Gameson as he watched the scattered Chinese run with their tails between their legs. Then his feeling of victory was shattered, as he pulled his head out of the sealed hatch he slid a respirator over his mouth and scanned the burning field. Eighty-five friendly tanks had been destroyed in the massive brawl and many more were clawing their way back to the staging base.

His commanders vehicle was burning a dozen yards away. He dismounted his Abrams and sprinted over to the crackling scorched tank. The burning vehicle was swarmed with others coming to help rescue those inside. Gameson pulled himself on top of the turret and tore at the hatch. He ignored the burning pain in his palms as he pulled with all his strength at the scorched hatch. Another fire flared up in the engine and the entire vehicle started to warp and groan. Gameson felt a pair of hands grasp his collar and try to pull him backwards, but he resisted and kept trying to tear open the hatch. Then another pair of hands took him and he was yanked off of the top of the burning tank.

His vehicle commander and driver where dragging him away from the burning wreck and towards a armored ambulance. “No! They’re still alive we have to help them! We can’t let them die!” His pleas were ignored and the massive steel machine kept burning. They tossed him in the back of the ambulance and latched the door shut. He looked around the crowded cabin. Most of the injuries were burns much worse than his, then he looked at his legs and saw that while trying to rescue the burning tank his legs had been seared badly and the pain was just starting to seep in.
5:40 PM, 6-8-15, Staging Base Yankee, Japan

Redding was hunkered deep in a muddy foxhole as the boom of the armored battle rang out in the distance. He and Flanders would periodically peek over the edge of the wall of sandbags only to shrink away again as a large burning steel hunk would bounce by or an explosion would land just yards away. Then after a last spasmodic burst of cannon fire the booming stopped and the combat lulled. Redding pulled himself out of the foxhole and surveyed the staging base.

It was largely untouched with only a small fire burning around a pile of spent shells. The steady clanking sound of armor reached his ears and he pulled himself on top of a Humvee to see which side had emerged triumphant. Pride filled him as he saw a long line of battle scared Abrams returning to base, but then anguish hit him like a truck. So many of the tanks that had been sent to fight had not returned to base! He Looked around as the first vehicles began to return to base. Many were leaking fuel or coughing smoke as they came to an abrupt stop. The front of one of the tanks was bent inwards and warped out of place. The barrel was split along the top and the drivers area hatch was bent shut. Two engineers bolted onto the mangled tank and lit blowtorches. They began to cut open the sealed hatch and sent showers of sparks flying into the air. Redding averted his eyes and looked around the rest of the base, the white tents were overflowing with field ambulances as they brought in those who had been wounded in the battle.

A red flare shot into the sky as a signal for all the infantry to rally around the commanders tent. Redding found Flanders cleaning his rifle under a upturned cargo container. Redding motioned for him to follow and they started away towards the staging area. Around the commander a large crowd had gathered and a tall Japanese man stood in front of them on a stack of crates. He addressed the crowd of the sound of helicopter blades pounding the air behind him. “My name is General Catikota of the JSD and I will be in charge of Strike Package Katana. I know many of you are American or British and feel you should not be fighting in a conflict in a foreign land, And I couldn’t wish more for all of us to be home. We are the spearhead of this assault and we must drive out those that have violated are life and liberty!”

The mixed force gave a united “Lets go!” and unit commanders started giving out orders and assignments. Redding had been assigned to work with a weakened British unit. He walked over to the heavyset commander and saluted him. “At ease, you yanks are always so strict with your regulations. Anyways its good to have you with us.” Redding gave a sharp nod and walked back to Flanders at the rear of the small group. They followed the soldiers onto a long stretch of flat grass. A dozen helicopters were resting in the field. Reddings unit was guided to a MH-53 Pave Low. They piled in the back of the massive chopper as the blades started to speed up and batter the air.
7:40 PM, 6-8-15, 10 miles from Noto Island

Flanders turned to Redding and gave him a nudge. Redding removed his left earplug and leaned in close. Flanders had to yell to be heard over the blades of the chopper and the roar of the engine. “Look out the window!” Flanders strained to get out over the sound of the helicopter. Redding turned his eyes out the window to see and a devilish grin slid across his face.

Outside a titanic fleet of choppers had formed up as they got closer and closer to the Chinese Fortress island that was once Noto. It was the main base of Chinese operations on mainland Japan and was defended as if it were Beijing itself. Command had tried over and over again to try a less direct way of seizing the island and they had all proved impossible. Now it was the grunts’ turn to fight. A massive conventional Helicopter based assault was in progress at the moment and the outcome could decide the fate of nations.

In the center of the large cargo cabin of the Pave low where two Zodiak RIB’s ready to be slid out the back for quick deployment. Redding looked around the cabin at the faces of his fellow soldiers. Each one held a reason to get home, and each held a reason to die for their country. The silence was broken abruptly as a UH-1Z near the helicopter shattered into fragments and fell to the sea. Redding shuddered as images of his chopper burning filled his mind.

A red light turned green in the cabin and the large rear ramp slid open. Redding jumped into the rear seat of the boat next to a British soldier. Then the Pave Low gave a quake as a rocket impacted the tail and smoke poured into the cabin. The overhead cargo nets split and crates and boxes collapsed onto the floor of the cabin. Redding struggled at the latch that held the Zodiak in place. The lock was jammed from the impact of the heavy cargo. The helicopter gave another rock and started to sink towards the water. Redding worked his knife into the latch and tried to pry it open. A drum of lubricant slammed into his hand and sent the knife flying into the sea.

Then the Zodiak gave a lurch as the latch was weakened as Flanders brought a trench shovel down on the chain. Another blow and the chain began to split. Redding screamed at the top of his lungs “Flanders, NO!” but he brought the shovel down again and the chain gave way and the Zodiak slid down the ramp. It slammed into the water with a jaw cracking impact. Redding watched as Flanders snapped off a final solute as a second rocket tore through the chopper and flame enveloped him. Anguish washed over Redding and his mind shattered, his world faded into a terrible blur as the Zodiak roared towards shore.

Redding felt two hands wrap around his shoulders and pull him out of the salty brine of the shore. It was a tired looking Japanese soldier who pointed down the beach towards a group of soldiers who were pinned down from fire coming out of the foliage at the cliff top. He looked around for a weapon and found a M-9 half buried in the sand. He shook it out and checked the clip. The Japanese soldier led him up a rough path up the cliff to the rear of a Chinese trench. Redding fired off a quick volley into the trench and moved on. The fire that had been suppressing the beach stopped and the ragged group of soldiers moved up the beach.
Redding slipped past a frantic line of Chinese naval crewmen who were wearing their slacks and rushing into combat. He crawled with the Japanese unit under the dense growth that enveloped the west part of the island. On the road mere yards from their position was a long convoy of crippled and limping Chinese armor heading to reinforce the shoreline. His hand shook violently as a bright spotlight swept over his feet. It seemed to miss him and his group and they carried onward. As they moved away from the road the deep thrumming of a 50. Caliber weapon punched through the night air. It was cut off by a staccato thumping from the night sky that was answered by a deep boom. Fire belched from the tanks as the attacker turned off.

The sun was peaking over the horizon as the battle raged into the early morning. The dense forests and scrublands had been harshly replaced by a charred black wasteland littered with the hulks of vehicles and debris. Redding and a small mixed group of coalition soldiers stalked quietly at the edge of one of these wastelands. The fighting had lulled on the west half of the island as coalition troops cut deeper into the Chinese lines. Reddings group was moving to reinforce a stalled group of marines near the center of the island. They could hear the crackles of gunfire growing more distinct as they grew ever closer to the battlefield. They peaked over a ridge to see a intense skirmish already in progress.

A unit of marines was dug in at the bank of a small stream and was firing down on a group of enemy soldiers at the base of a area where the dirt had fallen into a small rift in the land. Redding opened fire on a small detachment of Chinese soldiers as they attempted to flank the marines. The group was caught in the open and dispatched swiftly. The weakened Chinese fell back to the wood line and soon faded away into the woods. Redding slipped next to the marine commander and spoke.
“We’re your back-up sir.”
The gruff heavy built man shot him a look of amusement and replied.
“Good to have you, no matter how small your unit!”

The groups fused together and started east towards the frontline. The suns crown was now just peeking over the trees as they came to a stop near a sharp incline. At the base of the rise was a crowd of hundreds of soldiers and vehicles. Before the new arrivals had time to react a bright green flare rocketed into the air and launched the final attack. Redding sprinted hard up the hill towards the tree line. He kicked through the brush and landed flat on his stomach, instead of a dense forested hill he found a charred slope. At the crest was a collection of grey bunkers and tents with mounted weapons bristling around the camp. Fire rained down the slope and kicked up a storm of mud and dirt.

Vehicles rumbled as all the life of their engines was put into getting up the bullet raked hill. Reddings head tumbled as the world changed around him. Unearthly sounds tore at his ears as the muddied ground at the crest of the slope gave way and brought half of the Chinese camp with it. Reddings heart rushed as he pumped his legs away from the avalanche. His legs took away and he fell face first into a torrent of debris mud and men. He struggled to pull his head above the muddy slosh. He won the battle and ripped his head into the air to see a tree, feet from his face. His world went black with a crack.
The sun was near the middle of the sky as he blinked open his left eye. His right was swollen tightly shut. He tugged his feet out of the mud and grasped with all his strength at a tree branch. He surveyed the landscape, to his dismay the bulk of his allied force was gone. He found his footing on a shard of rubble and jumped from debris to debris, until he found his way to the top of the hill. He spotted a crowd of soldiers gathered at the edge of the hill. It dropped sharply into the sea with a flat cliff face. He reached the group and spoke in a hoarse voice.
“What’s going on?”
Without a look in his direction a British soldier pointed towards the sea and spoke.
“Fifth fleet”
“Ours?”
“No?”
“Who’s?”
“Russians”

The dots on the horizon grew nearer until the sleek hulls of a massive joint armada of Russian and Chinese along with Korean craft trundled towards Japan. Hundreds of them, and on perfect timing a V-shaped wing of F-35 fighters screamed over towards the fleet. Hundreds of aircraft crowded the sky as it blackened with smoke from rocket trails and the burning sea. A blood red sky shone behind the impending confrontation silhouetting the world against a red horizon.

“Noto is gone, all gone… no one left”
“Their all over Tokyo, there must be a million! Hold the line!”

“We are not abandoning are Japanese allies, but we must realize the truth!”

“Global economy tanks as the war wanes into its second year”
“Germany enters the war on the coalition side”

“The united nations is disbanded indefinitely”

“Food riots brake out through-out Europe and North America”

“100,000 dead in two days”

“Honolulu has fallen”

“Retaliation!”

“Beijing has been all but destroyed in a massive explosion”

“It is June 7 2018 and energy rations are still in effect in your are-“

https://dragcave.net/user/Bellumsaur13 · by **Saurisisia** » Wed Apr 18, 2012 8:47 pm

[ PT ]

Hour of Victory

The sun shone high in the air, like a vibrant jewel, most valuable above all others. It was considerably hot, as usual, and he felt a bit hot in his heavy-duty armor but it was nothing for the cold-blooded Reptilian. His long sharp horns, protruding from his elongated face, shined in the sunlight and the mist of his breath exhumed from his bony beak with every breath he took.

His name was John Horridus and he was Consul of the Saurian Republic as well as Commander of the Saurian Army on the field this bright summer day. He observed as the bulk of his infantry and a portion of his cavalry were engaged with the main force of the Drakonians. He heard the continuous popping sound of muskets firing, the tinging and crashing of swords, pikes, and other bladed weapons clashing with each other, the booms of cannons going off, and the roars, growls, and screams of the soldiers locked in battle.

It had been a long and laborious road to this event, lasting more than a decade and costing thousands of lives. The conquering of various members states of the League of Drakonis, fighting off a number of invasion attempts, suffering setbacks, engaging in a number of chaotic clashes at sea had all come down to this. The capital of Drakonis itself had recently fallen not two days before, though the main Army of Drakonia was intact and was still in the field, having fought off several smaller Allied invasion forces further north. John had wanted to lure the Army down to where the Allies to engage them on ground of their own choosing. They had goaded the Drakonian Army, led by King Arkon himself, by sending a message bragging of how they had captured their capital only too easily. The deception worked, as Arkon ordered his forces to head south in order to retake the capital.

When word had reached him that the Dragons were coming, John set up a trap. He took most of his Army into the field outside the capital, leaving some forces behind in the city, and then divided his troops into smaller forces and had positioned them at different spots surrounding a ford in a river that was only 12 miles from the capital. Sure enough, the Drakonians showed up and began crossing the river and it was then that John sprung the trap, ordering his forces to open fire on those troops crossing the river. Those targeted by the Saurian musketeers and cannons were decimated as they tried to cross the river.

Arkon had ordered his forces to pull back and set up defenses on the other side of the river. This left John no choice but to launch a full frontal assault against the Drakonians, while having aquatic troops cross the river and flank the army from behind. The battle was on as both sides began engaging each other on the banks of the river.

It had been two hours since the fight began and John was getting tense, as the troops assaulting the Drakonian position were wavering, with each successive wave bogging down in the wake of fierce resistance. The Triceratops had kept the bulk of his cavalry as well as his elite forces, the Praetorian Guard, in reserve and it seemed as though he would have to throw them against the enemy. He had also received word that the soldiers he had positioned behind the enemy army were in position and ready to launch their attack.

A smile formed on his beak as he turned towards those reserve troops and he shouted as he drew his sword, "Saurians! Today marks the final end of our long war against the League! Many have perished, but not in vain, for today, we shall prevail against the Dragons! We shall not fear their fire breaths or their use of magic, for we have the spirit of our people and our kind and forged steel on our side! We shall show those firebreathers what kind can really do and how we make up for our lack of magic or elemental breath with determination, loyalty, and ferocity! Forward, unto to battle, countrydinos! Hurrah!"

As he said the last words in his speech, he pointed his sword at the enemy and when he finished, the soldiers shouted "Hurrah!" with fiery passion. It was then that one soldier blew a horn and John led the charge, his lumbering Triceratops mount (as he was too large even for a Hadrosaur to handle) sprinting forward. Behind him, the spirited cavalry, on their Ornithosaur and Hadrosaur mounts, rode on behind him while the spirited Guard sprinted forward, shouting in both English and Saurian as they ran.

Hearing the horns, Flavius Flippius Plio, commander of the flanking force, said to his half-naked troops, who were armed with swords, knives, axes, and bows, "Now's our chance! Forward, my friends! To victory or death!"

With that, the Aquatics surged out of the shrubbery they were hiding in, running right towards their foes, surprised by their relative lack of clothing. Meanwhile, John's troops crossed the forge, the mighty feet of their steeds making thunderous splashes as they went, and ran right towards the chaotic melee. They clashed headlong into the line of Drakonian troops holding steadfast against the enemy, though they were now wavering in the wake of this new initiative by their Dino foes.

Desperate, King Arkon ordered his own cavalry forward to aid the beleaguered line though he could not anticipate the aquatics attacking them from behind. The Drakonian cavalry clashed with their Saurian counterparts though they were soon driven off by the Guard pikedinos, who skewered them with their lone pikes. Meanwhile, the Aquatics fought fiercely with the Dragons, slaughtering many in their path.

The Saurian infantry, inspired by the arrival of their Consul and General, fought ferociously and despite the bravery of the Drakonians, they were soon routed from the battlefield. King Arkon himself having been wounded after being slashed on the belly by a Raptor. Seeing the Dragons fleeing the field, back in the direction they had come from, the Saurians cheered, realizing that they had routed their foes.

John smiled in satisfaction, knowing that ultimate victory was in his grasp on this glorious victory that would change the fate of entire nations and would start the path to the unification and the creation of an ultimate Reptilian nation.

by **Xiscapia** » Wed Apr 18, 2012 11:34 pm

[FT]

Science for the State

Footsteps echoing off the plain metal bulkheads, Doctor Ippolito came to a stop before the sealed titanium blast door, presenting himself for inspection to the guards at the security station. Two stayed behind while the other two came forward to examine his I.D. and give him a close scan and pat-down, all equally featureless in their all-black power armor. The Overseers liked to employ androids because the things were extremely difficult to destroy and could be backed up infinitely as long as there was storage capacity to hold their machine minds, but these qualities also made theme expensive so alternative means had to be utilized. Many of the security personnel were drones, captured pirates, condemned criminals and other persons of no worth who had been mentally "killed" and had certain parts of their brains replaced with control modules subordinating them to certain persons the chips recognized as superiors. A unit of specially selected, highly trained independent sapients, kitsune and otherwise, made up the core of the force, acting as both loyal and free-thinking individuals that were sometimes necessary to deal with the threats that faced Mokusatsu.

Found to be clean of any prohibited items, Ippolito was waved through, a formality he barely noticed as he stepped through the open hatch, absorbed in the data he was bringing up behind his own eyelids via his neural implants. The facility had its own internal network and no other, due to its clandestine nature and location. When based on an installation on a rogue planet effectively outside the galaxy, it was essential that it emit nothing that would draw attention to itself, and destroy anything that threatened to do so. Only a handful of people in the universe knew how and where to find it; most personnel weren't aware of its coordinates or location, and for good reason. If nearly any given power found out about Mokusatsu's existence, they would try to destroy it or take the site for themselves.

That was part of the reason for the extensive security the tawny kitsune went through. Coming to a wide pair of steel doors, he keyed in "SPC-091" and stepped through, turning to face the closing doors as the platform began to descend. It would be a long trip; this single vertical elevator shaft was buried kilometers into the planet, tunneled out of solid bedrock separated every two hundred meters by a reinforced, shielded blast door, with the intervals locked down into a zero-gravity vacuum. It took nearly twenty minutes for him to descend to the desired level, at which point the doors opened and he stepped out, deactivating his access to the network for the moment. He stood at the start of a bare, narrow hallway that extended one hundred fifty meters to end where a large autocannon turret, complete with a force field shield and metal barricades, was manned by three more guards.

As before, he passed without incident. Checkpoints were littered across Mokusatsu at every major entrance, exit and intersection, manned by armed security personnel trained in close-quarters-combat, counter-intrusion and containment procedures, automated turrets and other traps as well as heavy surveillance. There were probably people watching him and weapons pointing at him that he would never be aware of. Entering through the last door in the hall, he took a datapad from a table set up for that purpose and found the hatch to the observation room for SPC-091. Bringing up the abstract and progress thus far for the project, the scientist accessed the final opening and strode inside.

The control room beyond was modestly furnished with a table with the cold remains of someone's breakfast on it and a few chairs placed in front of a long board of terminals and monitoring equipment. A trio of people in white lab coats, two kitsune and a human, sat before the consoles, one adjusting some of the instruments, the other checking off a list on a datapad while the third swiveled around and stood to greet Ippolito. "Doctor," the sable-furred kitsune greeted his superior with the traditional bow. "Thank you for taking the time for this inspection. I believe the Overseers will be very pleased with our progress."

"Possibly," Ippolito replied impassively, the glass of his spectacles flashing as he looked up at the blank screen that took up the majority of the room. "Please display the subject."

A nod from the researcher who had greeted him made the screen flash into color. The room it displayed was plain white but with clearly defined angles and corners, with no visible exits, windows or other interruptions along its smooth alabaster surface. It was entirely empty but for a figure in one corner, facing away from the camera. It appeared to be a stone statue of a humanoid with two angelic winds extruding from its back, both arms held at a crook to cover its face. The object seemed unremarkable, but Ippolito knew better -nothing held in one of Mokusatsu's cells was ever unremarkable.

"What is it?"

"Retrieved from MWG-QG-S-117094-P-1, Imperial-occupied world," the other responded, sitting down and inviting Ippolito to take a seat at the table. "Shadow Watch task force intercepted transmissions from citizenry of the planetary government complaining of a combination of power outages and unexplained murders in their area. A Seeker team was dispatched to locate and capture the source, and got eight of these subjects. They managed to neutralize six drones and an android before being subdued. We've been working with this one, SPC-091-03, since the last two were terminated."

"Why were the last two terminated?" the inspecting Doctor asked as he sat, neurally accessing SPC-091's file.

"SPC-091-01 demonstrated its ability to 'infect' artificial recording devices with its abilities and thus procreated into the observatory station. The incident is logged in IRF SPC-091-01. After security cleaned up that mess SPC-091-01 was terminated, and SPC-091-02 was used in testing to find out other ways to destroy similar subjects. Legend has it that the subject's species is nearly invincible while in its 'quantum-lock' state, but it turns out that those reports are grossly over-exaggerated, because they're not any more resistant to damage than a mundane stone statue would be. SPC-091-02 was destroyed in a matter-antimatter reaction."

"I see. So the subjects turn to stone in order to resist damage, an effective enough defense mechanism in a primitive society. The file says they have a number of other unusual properties. Temporal flux, procreative seeding in biological and artificial visual centers, extreme strength and speed, mental possession, the leeching of energy from biological life forms and electronics...tell me, what is keeping SPC-091-03 from procreating through this screen? It seems our presence is not enough to deter it from movement."

"A number of biological eyes have been installed in concealed locations around the room. SPC-091-03 appears to know that it is being watched. Additionally, we have communicated with it what happened to SPC-091-01. It is fully aware that we are capable of terminating it as necessary. It has not attempted to interfere with our tests."

"Interesting. Has there been any other communication?"

"Affirmative. It appears to be incapable of speech as we understand it, but it has proven to be capable of reading and writing, so we provide a pen and paper. It was hostile at first, but coercion has successfully persuaded it to comply with some tests. For example, according to a psychologist's analysis of the subject after communicating with it, the subject is psychopathic and psychotic -it supposedly kills to feed, but from what we were able to glean it will also kill out of spite, and for pleasure. Several interviews are to be conducted at a later date to learn more about its kind."

"Excellent." He stood, stretching mildly. "The data collected on it seems expansive and comprehensive. Shadow Watch field operatives should have a manual on destruction procedures posthaste. That seems to be all for me...ah, Doctor. A last question, if you would."

"Of course."

"What is to be the fate of the SPC-091 subjects once all data has been extracted?"

"At current time the Overseer has recommended terminating the project and liquidating the subjects upon completion."

"Ah. Thank you."

With a last exchange of polite bows Ippolito left the room, mentally checking SPC-091 off. He was not perturbed by the existence or abilities of the things; as a senior faculty member at Mokusatsu, he had seen and experienced far worse. As usual, a battery of tests would be applied to the subjects until every avenue had been exhausted, and anything useful in terms of information or abilities extracted. Once the project reached the end of its useful life, the data collected would be archived, the researchers transferred to a new assignment and the subjects either liquidated or put in long-term containment -although the consensus at this point appeared to be liquidation. It was not something he felt bad about. It was something he felt nothing about.
Indeed, this was only science.
Science for the State.

by **Anemos Major** » Fri Apr 20, 2012 3:29 pm

[ MT ]

The City of Dreams

Float, float through the narrow alleys,
Dance and spin over bridges, sparing none a second glance,
Skip in arcs over great canals, bursts of light in a languid land,
Awaken, act, in this city of dreams.

Walk straight past the Spirit, across the Square of Broken Tiles, under the looming shadow of the Third Tower with the morning breeze at your back. As the sky blossoms into a cacophony of colours, masked only by the thin veil of passing clouds, pause for a moment and let the faint salt-tinged sea-winds brush past your cheek, picking up strands of fine hair and fluttering over your ears. In the distance, somewhere over the cracked tiles of old roofs and chimneys towering over them like the towers of a king's castle, the cries of lone gulls echo through the city; turn your eyes towards the sky beyond the rooftops, and then further.

Cross the main street under the shadow of the crumbling palaces, through mighty stone-carved arches, up and down the chipped, cracked staircases jutting into the pavement accompanied by the sound of your footsteps. Before you, the street widens out into the low buzz of murmured voices and shuffling crowds, sunlight hitting open plazas and market stalls; duck left, under a narrow archway and into the cramped pathways of the Backtunnels. Let your shoulder brush numbly against the dusty walls to your side, the weight on your feet bearing down on you with every step you take, and leave the sound of the city behind as you trudge along the straight path leading along in front of you. To a corner of the narrow pathways, an old woman is hunched over, the garden door half open as she picks feebly at weeds sprouting at its side; without so much as a glance back at the city coming to life somewhere back along the pathway and out into the open streets, push on past and duck under another narrow archway, your eyes rising without so much as a flicker as the the roar of a man-made river opens up before you.

The rear sluices of the Canalways. But these are all familiar sights, familiar senses. Distant memories shudder and flicker to life as you walk a tread road; push them, drown them under the roar of the waters to your side and continue onwards, out of the looming shadows of the water plants' red brick walls and along the Eastern Pier. Feel the warmth against your back, warmth you know, a flicker of recognition and a tear at your eye; bite it back, and walk on. The gulls are circling about the sky now, their cries louder than before; shut them out, ignore them, forget them. Bite back at the reminders and memories, keep them at bay, let your sore feet drag you a few more steps onwards and slump down at the end of the long pier.

Rest on the concrete. Lie back and feel every crevice against your worn back, eyes cast skywards, past wafting clouds and glimmering sunbeams. Let the sun's light play like a reddened kaleidoscope against the edges of your eyes, let the last of the morning winds play with your hair, brushing it over your ears, then under, then over. In the distance, the first of the cargo ships are coming to port, towards their berths; let the toot of their marine horns, carried through the morning air, wash past your ears and watch unblinkingly as the sky's shades of red mingle into magentas, purples, and then a fainter blue.

And as you rest, let the memories come back, one after another, of plastic kaleidoscopes looked at through mirthful eyes, the fingers running through your hair and the giggles that followed, hands held under morning sun and whispered promises uttered under the sound of echoing horns.

One by one, streaking and trickling, let the tears roll over your cheek without so much as a sob and wonder, wonder why it all had to fall apart, memories of dreams in this sullen nightmare.

by **Anemos Major** » Fri Apr 20, 2012 3:33 pm

[ MT ]

[ Mature ]

This Little Piggy

"Let me in, let me in, little pig"

Heavy breathing echoed through the back alley. Overflowing plastic bins, upended sacks filled with half-empty bottles and cans, lay strewn across the narrow space, and the occasional, piercing whine of pain filled his ears as he picked his way over the miscellanea, taking care to keep the edges of his trousers away from the leaking bags and puddles of spilled beer and sick. The whimpering grew softer and softer with every step he took; he knew, they both knew, that the long chase was coming to an end at long last.

"or I'll huff and I'll puff and I'll blow your house in"

He cut a pathetic figure. Slumped against the wall, his lean body shaking and shivering, his tattered shirt stained under the left arm with wet, sticky blood and sweat. He could smell it; the anger, the fear, the pain. Under this night sky, in a refuse dump for human society, they were finally alone. Slumped down on the ground, trying ineffectually to stop the trickle of blood with a tentative hand over his wound, he pushed himself up against the rough concrete wall, trying to stand himself up on rapidly weakening legs; his eyes, wincing as pain shot through him again, rose to meet those of the man standing over him. And there, past the light of the waning moon and under the gaze of the boundless stars, the man's faint smile grew, and grew, and grew until a sick, teethed grin gleamed above him. A shiver shot through his limp body, and his whimpers grew faint.

"You probably don't know me." The grin stayed, and the shivers continued; wordless, he tried to push himself away, but the man simply stood there, his eyes moving to follow him slowly and deliberately, staring into him, into him. "I know you, though. And not just you. I know you. Your life. Your routines. Your thoughts, your loves, your hates... everything." On the last word, the figure seemed to shiver and stiffen, as though he was climaxing, in ecstasy. He tried to crawl away, now, pain stabbing into his arm as he tried to pull himself away from this... this thing. But for every inch he managed to pull himself over the hard ground, the man above him took a single, deliberate step towards him, the same, sick smile ever-present on his moonlit face. "I made every day of my life your life. Every waking moment I spent was for you. I became you, and you never even had to know." Not even a flicker of emotion crossed that face as he spoke the words. The shivering wouldn't stop; with a faint, hushed whimper, he tried to pull himself faster and faster until, with a stab of agony, his arm crumbled under him. He slumped into a pool of rancid liquid and he lay, looking up into the eyes of the man standing a short distance away from him, just... watching.

He was moaning, now. The hopelessness swelled within him, and he choked on his breath as he tried to speak. Eventually, the words spilled from his mouth. "Why. Why me. Why. Why why why why..." His voice trembled and tumbled, his words fading into harsh sobbing and whimpering. As he broke down, his head sinking as he lay, strewn out across the cold, wet ground, the man above him slowly leaned over, reaching into a small pouch by his side. At last. At last.

"Not by the hair of my chinny chin chin", said the little pig.

One last struggle. He lashed out with his good leg as the man leaned over, and the grin wavered for a second, fading into a frown of shocked, almost hurt surprise. As he continued to kick, grunting and whimpering as his hands slipped and slid across the watery alleyway, the man drew his hand out of the small pouch and reached instead for something inside his rucksack, something long, and black, and gleaming -

thud thud

The first round tore through his good kneecap, and his leg, lashing out, went limp and crashed to the ground. The second ripped through the muscles in his already-crippled one; clutching at it, and feeling the metal projectile tear a path through his leg, he screamed a silent, breathless scream of agony as it popped out the other side, blood spattering to the ground in thick globules. His defiance dripped, drop by drop, to the ground, a sticky stream of crimson and as he lay in silence, the man reached behind him once more, putting the gleaming handgun back into its place in its rucksack, leaning down to take the two fallen brass casings and dropping them in after it. Then his hand went back to the little pouch, and his grin grew.

"But the wolf did blow the house in and ate the first little pig."

He faintly remembered seeing the gleam of cold metal as he lay there, legs limp in a puddle, soaked with sick and his own sweat. His hands were reaching out feebly now, trying... trying to catch it, whatever it was. He couldn't think. He couldn't see. It... it hurt. It hurt so much it hurt so much it hurt so much-

And then the man was leaning in front of him, and the sick grin had faded back into a smile, and he felt fingers caressing his cheek. And he felt reassured, even though this was the man who was going to take his life, and tears welled up in his eyes. "It's okay." he heard the soft voice say. "I'm here. I'm here for you. I'll spend hours with you... days... however long it takes to show you how much I want you." He was too weak to feel the chill down his spine. Too weak to turn and see the man raise the blade with surgical precision, twisting it so it was angled towards his heart, the pinprick of its edge between his ribcage, under his left nipple. Too weak to feel the cold, searing, pain course through his body and split his head in a shower of horror and relief until-

by **Alversia** » Sat Apr 21, 2012 6:36 pm

[ FT ]

Meat and two Veg

Right.

So it begins.

Nathaniel Barnes stood and surveyed the ground before him like a General preparing to marshal his men. The enemy were lined up for combat across from him, a solid and impenetrable wall the likes of which gave him shivers right down to his spine. He was not prepared for this sort of battle. It was completely out of his comfort zone. He did not even consider fleeing though, nor did he ponder the possibility of slipping away and letting someone else do the dirty work. No. this was his job and his job alone. Success and failure were in the cusp of his hand. Victory or defeat were entirely down to his skills. His experience. His nerve.

He needed the proper attire for an engagement like this. He could not go into battle wearing what he was now.

He needed something else.

Glancing to his left and to his right, Nathan felt a momentary bubble of panic well up in his stomach. Where was it?! It was bad enough having to face this monstrosity without his talisman, without his trusty sidekick by his...side.

A ha.

He spotted it out of the corner of his eye, hiding out of view.

Got ya.

Reaching out gratefully, Nathan tugged the clothing from it's hiding hole, forced to put a bit of grunt into it as the article stubbornly refused to budge. Eventually, the strength of man won out against linen and the item came away. He began to put it own slowly and carefully, slipping it over his neck and then tying to the two strings over behind his back, mumbling to himself the whole time. He clumsily tied a knot at the small of his back, the motion not unlike watching an ape trying to perform a complex and unfamiliar chore. Satisfied, he examined himself in the shining metal reflection of the worktop.

Only he, Nathaniel T. Barnes, could make wearing an apron this badass.

Glancing around, Nathan did one final check to make sure everything he needed was here. To his limited knowledge, he had all the right instruments and he had the right instructions. Getting the right ingredients had been a challenge. The Elixir of Life was docked at a small colony on the border between Alversian and Xiscapian space. It was a modest place but he had hoped it would have what he needed.

Turned out that he had been optimistic in the extreme. The colony had many interesting and wonderful items on display both from the Republic and the Empire but his list, when produced, seemed to produce the same answers;

“No.”

“Sorry mate.”

“We don't have that.”

“Keep your hands off my wife!”

“Try next door.”

“You must be kidding!”

It had been one hell of a day. All he was looking was a piece of sirloin steak (the sort that he thought any cow was capable of providing), potatoes (which again, he had not considered rare items) and carrots (not the lost Carrots of God you understand, carrots what grow in dirt). The colony was well stocked with all sorts of meats that he could have taken and there were endless numbers of potato based snacks for the kitsune. He had rejected them all. The shopkeepers and market traders were perplexed by the precision of his demands. One 10oz sirloin steak, a dozen maris piper potatoes and four carrots. Easy. Not.

Still, after what had amounted to a small military expedition involving four stout men and an ox, Nathan had procured the items he required. They were sitting in front of him now. Mocking him. Daring him to do his worst.

Right.

Here goes nothing.

First thing he needed to do was prepare the potatoes. Easy enough. He picked up the peeling knife and the first spud. It was thick, dirty and misshapen, although he could have been describing half the colony's residents given his recent experiences. He went to slice. He may as well have been using his finger for all the good it seemed to do. After five minutes of making no progress except scraping off a piece of mud, Nathan checked the knife edge. It couldn't have cut air.

It wasn't obvious he only did this once a year or anything.

Right. Knife now sharp enough to cut buildings in half.

Spud peeling; Take two.

There was something ridiculously satisfying about how easily the skin of the potato yielded to his blade. As he spun the vegetable in his hand he felt like an diabolical mastermind.

'Puny potato! Cower and weep for your outer shell has proved no match for the ingenuity of man and all his might! Mwa ha ha ha!' (he needed to work on his evil laugh).

By the second potato, the evil genius act was wearing thin.

By the third he was bored. It was when he glanced into the main compartment of the ship to check if Chloe was there that the half peeled potato made a shot for freedom. Pissing starch all over his hands, out it shot like a bar of soap into the pots and pans stacked nearby like an organic projectile. The racket as they crashed to the floor was enough to wake the dead two planets over.

With the offender serving time in the bin and all the pots and pans restored to their rightful place, Nathan rushed through the rest of the potatoes as quickly as he could (hacking and mutilating them horribly in most cases, not that it was a bad thing) and dumped all them all in a pot of water that had been going for a little while. Throwing them into the oven (which had not blown a hole in the side of the ship. Katie owed him 10 sedars) he went to watch the match on the screen next door.

At half-time he returned, grumbling about the result and moved on to the steak itself.

On went the pan. In went the oil. Up went the temperature. Away went his concentration. 'Boom' went the oil. Crackle went the fire. Hiss went the fire extinguisher. Bin went the pan.

Now concentrating like a good little boy and putting the right amount of the right oil in the right size of pan, Nathan waited once again for the pan to get to the right temperature. In went the steak with a heavy and satisfying sizzle of oil. Nathan counted out the minutes on his watch. Then he counted a few more. Then he got a beer. Then he came back and flipped the steak over. It was a little black on the underside but he could explain that the local cows did that when their asses were burned.

Once he was sure that the steak was not going to try and lick the hands of the eater, nor break their teeth, he lifted it off the pan and placed it on the plate. The potatoes had been going now for about fifty minutes and he reckoned they had to be about done. He had been told in the Navy training course to expect them to be 'golden brown' when they came out. It was his analysis that 'piss yellow' was close enough. He put six of them on a plate along with the steak and two peeled carrots (which he had peeled and cooked easily enough, unlike those bastard potatoes) and, with the smell of cooking and the bomb site of a kitchen behind him, Nathan brought his meal into the dining area of the Elixir and placed it on the table.

Satisfied. He headed outside to recover.

Chloe emerged from the bedroom where she had been sitting going over their monthly reports. It was a necessary evil that needed to be done but that was not why she had done it today. She had done it today to get out of Nathan's way. She could hear the crashing and banging in the kitchen, the screech of the smoke alarm, the swearing and cursing of her comrade. She had ignored them all, working her way through her reports with a low whistle, ears flattened against the worst weapons in Nathan's swearing arsenal.

When her orange eyes alighted on the table, with the meal sitting there, she broke out into a wide grin. Shaking her head in amusement, making her chocolate brown hair swish from side to side, Chloe walked past the meal into the kitchen. She took a knife and fork out (she knew Nathan would forget as always) and carefully ignored the wreck that remained behind. Her partner would clean it. Eventually.

Settling down at the table, Chloe began to eat. Chewing slowly and carefully on delicate mouthfuls, smiling the whole time, ears perked. It was as she expected. The steak was like rubber and the potatoes half cooked at best (though the carrots were excellent). Despite this. She ate it all. As she finished off the last of her dinner, Nathan returned. He looked sheepish, almost nervous, fidgeting with his hands. She responded by pushing away from the table, throwing her arms around him and embracing him, standing on tip toes to reach. Nathan put his hands around her waist and just returned the gesture, just holding her close.

Nathan had performed this little ritual. Always on the same day, always with the same ingredients. The first time he had done it had been thirteen years ago. He had been on a shuttle, borrowed without permission from the Alversian People's Navy. It had been as difficult then to get ingredients (money was tight and he was on the run for desertion) and his skills in the kitchen had been, if anything, even worse.

He did it because, at that very moment in his hold was huddled a small and frightened twenty one year old vixen. She was still wearing the rags he had rescued her in, because she would not let him near enough to change them. She still had the metal collar around her neck, because she would not let him get close enough to remove it, the chain he had broken to free her still dangling. They had not exchanged a word because she would reply to his questions. She just hid in the shadows, curled up in a little ball, shivering from cold and fear, her brown hair dirty and ill kept, orange fur matted and olive skin taunt and unhealthy

He had done it for her. He had cooked it for her because he had judged, correctly, that she had not eaten properly in a long time. He had no way of knowing she would eat it, that she would not simply avoid it as she had avoided him. He placed it on the table in the shuttle hold, then he had retreated and left her once again on her own. She had come out slowly, sniffing the air the entire time, her tail whipping. The steak was undercooked, the potatoes overdone and even the carrots were raw but, to someone who had not eaten properly in a long time, it was like food from the gods. She had devoured the whole thing with a primal ferocity. Then she licked the plate clean.

A few hours later, she went into where he was sleeping in the cockpit. She cuddled up to him, her thin and virtually nude form on his uniformed, muscled one, and she had cried.

Because for the first time in four years, She felt like someone cared.

Someone did.

And he was never going to let her forget.

by **Amerikians** » Sun Apr 22, 2012 5:04 pm

[ MT ]

[ Mature ]

AU

Senseless Murder

2005

Times were hard, there was no mistaking that, no lying about it anymore. The Stock Market didn't crash this time, it was just so stagnant it may as well have. Socialists, and generally lazy non-understanding bastards took up camp in every major city in the country and weren't making it better. An influx of people from Mexicania drying up employment stretching the stagnant economy to the breaking point. The Sixth Crusade as it had been called unofficially had the army in the heart of the world; where the Eastern Roman Empire was disintegrating under the weight of religious extremism that was breaking the back of the mightiest army in the history of men. Iraq and Syria fought their way to a brutal independence thanks to help from extremists from elsewhere in the Middle East, where the Amerikans were; everything that used to be there, they decimated it in the standard fashion, destroying every city and village without any hint of remorse; then the fanatics struck. What started as a simple military operation turned into something far more...personal.

Los Angeles burned, New York lived in terror; the shield of invincibility projected by the United States wasn't cracked, it was shattered; and they weren't out for anything more than extermination anymore. If it related to that church it was executed; man, woman, child, sickly or old; because no one drove fear into the fear of the United States of Amerika and lived to tell about it, ask Japan, they were as zealous as this new breed of cowards, warriors who fought like Greeks for their living God, and they still died, incinerated and Amerika didn't do so much as blink while they literally burned.

The Cowards were not spared any difference, the capital of their pathetic nation was turned into a smoking wreck, the radiation would make the land uninhabitable for eons to come, where the Soviets had failed; the Amerikans would show them, the animals the true meaning of fear. In an instant, one million people were removed from existence; of course in retilation Baltimore itself was bombed next, the radiological hell that engulfed the third most populated city on Earth left nearly three hundred thousand people dead; and if they thought they had to deal with monsters before then...By the end of the first month over three million were dead; then they were nice enough to say terms, not agree to; dictate.

The United States did not negotiate; when they were finished the nation was empty; devoid of life, even the Romans were shocked, men who invented the term "Total War" who literally invented the word and action Genocide. The smoldering ruins of the former nation were turned over to the Romans, who would spend years cleaning the land and repopulating it. Amerika however did not stop there, they spread the eagle's wings far, and its shadow covered the Earth in totality as it hunted for the shattered remnants of the subhumans that stood against them, who dared to think that they would stand to the United States of Amerika, that they could bring harm and terror on to their people? No, the price for that was eradication, that God Himself would forget their name.

Such senseless violence, this never ending war, fire rose up from the cracked and battered crust of the Earth; and the world trembled again, where they belonged; at the feet of the most powerful empire of men in history, they who decided who lived and who died, those who decided what the hell the meaning of fear was...

by **Abruzi** » Sun Apr 22, 2012 6:36 pm

What Riches Lie Within the Zones?

Insanity Tech
PMT?

Miles of sand stretched out before me, a great burning ocean that I knew I would never be able to cross. Distant dunes marked where the horizon ended, and despite my rational self knowing that beyond them stretched only more unforgiving desert, my heart dared to hope for water. Water, just the thought of the possibility of it existing was enough to send me into a haze of longing. I still had some, a few paltry drops held fast in an old animal skin that was tied securely to my belt, it was only enough for about a sip per day though and I knew that unless I found some soon or located shelter in which to sleep away the sun's murderous domination I'd die. It had been six days since I had had a comfortable amount of supplies, six agony filled days that had brought me to what I guessed was about the center point of the Unity Dead Zone.

I had read books you know, tomes that were penned by half mad Stalkers who returned from the Dead Zones. They spoke of omnipotent Daemons, fell voices on the wind that stole your soul, horrors, and an ever shifting landscape; before me was only sand. Pressing a hand to my side I marched, the long loping stride they had taught me in the Utopian City Militia, the pace that was designed to eat up miles and conserve energy. I might as well have been crawling for all the good it did me. There was no way to survive this deep in one of the Zones and I suddenly understood why all of the Insane Stalkers who had written the books I had read only skirted the edges. To cross a Dead Zone was to go to your death and now, I was reaping what I had sown.

Dry heat baked me as I slogged, cooking my skin even as I forced myself to take another step. The crunch of sand beneath my well worn boot started speaking to me, it whispered the future of all mankind. “Control” is quiet hissed, “Control” it started to scream, “Control, Control, Control” it began to roar. Landscapes began to change, and I knew that the Dead Zones were real. The insane Stalkers, half a step from becoming zombified, had spoken truth! Where once was sand now pooled ice cold water, water that I eagerly drank. It froze my throat and to my horror I began to cough up all that I had drank, the icy cold water shot out in ragged spurts as I vomited up the nourishment I craved.

It was sand. It was sand the entire time and as I hacked and vomited up the coarse grains I knew that the Stalkers had been wrong. There was nothing here, only endless desert that eventually led to bombed out cities! Screaming in frustration, venting the rage that had quietly been building, I knew that I had wasted my life. I would die here, that was certain. My only hope had been to find that almost legendary region where thought became reality, without that I'd die of dehydration in only a few days. Maybe less if I just poured my canteen out onto the scalding sands. The thought stared me in the face, I was not here to find any Dead Zone, I was here to die. Thoughts were never silent and they screamed at me now, reminding me of the failures of the last year. The destruction of my home, the loss of my property, the alienation of my friends and family, they all hit me at once with the force of a high-speed train. I had come here to die and I couldn't even do that well.

The sand burned my knees as I knelt over what had so recently been cool water. Heat radiated up from the ground, it traveled through my legs burning as it went, it pressed down from the sky. Heat was everywhere, it was everything. I was heat, nothing but heat and a bit of matter yet to be burned. Stretching my mouth as wide as it could go, I vented the heat inside of me, spewed it forth into the air and watched as the fire-vapor curled around me greedily. The Stalkers had been wrong, the Dead Zones held heat not riches.

I was heat, only heat.

by **Abruzi** » Sun Apr 22, 2012 6:38 pm

Now We Too Lynch Minorities!

PMT

Ice. Winter came readily to the Novaya Bolshevist Union, swallowing what little summer and warmth could exist in such an abused land. Many died in the slums, Outer Utopia typically was the worst. People traveled to the ancient city with the expectation that the seat of the Brothers of Blood would somehow be a place without want. It was the most grim of the cities. That was the truth of the matter and while it did not pay well for people to spread this truth, it reached the far corners of Abruzi all the same. People still came however, they came, hoping that the rumors they heard of poverty and repression were just that, rumors. They clung to ancient Novaya Bolshevist postcards depicting the mighty Palace of the Ideal with it's golden ornamentation and proud banners, and they gazed with the very same awe upon the mighty walls of Inner Utopia.

They only saw the slums when the light had faded from their eyes. Stretching for hundreds of kilometers, they were the reality confronting most pilgrims. Dirty buildings, unwashed people, mountains of trash, all coated with a fine spray of blood from the incessant gang warfare. It was larger than violence, violence was a murder here and murder there, this was warfare. There were armies albeit armies armed with scoops and shovels more often than they had artillery, though some had artillery quite regularly. Novaya Bolshevism may exist only for the Ordo Sufficentia, but the ancient Red Army clung on in diseased enclaves. Hereditary circles that remained unbroken provided the manpower for the final few Divisions and Regiments that were now warbands, regiments that brought their formidable firepower to bear on their once Fraternal Comrades.
Through it all the snow fell, though only upon Outer Utopia. Inner Utopia was ringed by massive walls, walls that stretched higher than the eye could see. What many did not know is that the walls concealed The Six Sisters. Acrology was a foreign thing, a concept that had no home in the lands of Novaya Bolshevism and before that, the Forge Kings. Yet it had taken in with the Brothers of Blood. Steel and glass, the six sisters were made up of far more advanced alloys and materials but to the inept they were steel and glass. Pyramids that used up almost every inch of space within Inner Utopia's mighty curtain walls, they housed the lucky few million to live the life of the Novaya Bolshevist Union as it should be lived.

Prosperity was a hard word to apply to so ravaged a land but it fit, in a sense. The Brothers of Blood, their chosen million or two, and the City Guard lived in plush apartments that were as modern as you like. Machines ensured that everyone lived a comfortable life and while many of the inhabitants regularly traveled beyond the walls in the service to the State, it was not necessary for survival. Guarded now by the Rytsari Scientia, the Six Sisters were joined by a seventh that was dark headed where the others were fair. Wreathed in smog and belching forth noxious fumes, the seventh sister lie outside the walls of Inner Utopia and yet was separated from the slums by an additional network of fortifications. Manufactorium Ustivesk a gift from the Rytsari to their new masters churned out two products, gas masks and Kalashnikovs.

These hands and faces as they were known, were taken by the City Militia and deposited in a number of depots within the Six Sisters, though a fair amount were freely distributed in Outer Utopia. For what purpose? The Gospodar Lubanja demanded skulls and the Brothers of Blood provided. Rectification and Reorganization had done away with Novaya Bolshevism, foreigners had tried to institute Capitalist Democracy, and here was the end result. Trickle Down Economics, the Abruzian way.

by **White Sun** » Sun Apr 22, 2012 8:10 pm

[ PT ]

[ Mature ]

As Bright As The Sun

The White Sun Empire
August 14th, 1946 - Nagashima - White Sun

The War had been long, raging across the Great Sea for more than four years now; the Imperial Sunese Navy had largely, and finally been eradicated, destroyed in near totality; its final stand a pathetic attempt to hold off a numerically superior force while beached on the second sacred island that the enemy had landed on. The first was conquered in the weeks before; twenty two thousand men had defended that island, there were no survivors. The second island had seen the first true civilian casualties among the Sunese people; eighty seven thousand people in a little under eight weeks.

The enemy was merciless in their final advances, the dying empire could barely hold them now; they'd lost that second island, and now the enemy was within range of the home islands. The Sunese High Command sat in a numb silence in light of such hard fact, they were, bluntly put; going to die. The City of Nagashima was a city of some two hundred ten thousand people, home to an army group; and steel factories yes, and also the place where schools and homes and a hospital stood; and that didn't matter anymore.

The sky was cloudless, a bright inviting blue, there was no foul weather; the breeze that blew was light and calm. Children were on their way to school, at a temple a pair of people bowed in the presence of the calming personification of The Buddha. An old man sat on the stairs of his porch, taking in the day; none of them could have imagined that in a few seconds, not hours or days, or even minutes; but seconds, most of them would be dying, or dead, erased from the very memory of the Earth, that the Gods themselves would forget of them.

Kagome Yuuko was walking from the temple where she'd just been praying, asking of Amaterasu providence in the coming days, that her life might not be so hard anymore, that this terrible war might come to an end. The jet of molten plasma that shot down from the skies incinerated her instantly, leaving not a trace of the person that was once there along with the large hospital that was not a dozen feet from her; gone, all the people in it as well, just... Gone. The single bomb exploded with the fury of a thousand suns, bathing the land in light and in fire the shock-wave leveled buildings, the immense heat washing out and setting fire to what it didn't outright eviscerate; everything burned, be it wood or stone, steel and marble; nothing was spared. People simply ceased to exist, where once there was life in the next second there was not even a shadow of what was there before.

The man on his steps was no longer there, only his shadow remained, ingrained into the stone, an eternal reminder to the destructive force that the Enemy had unleashed on innocent people. Many died in those first few seconds, thousands and thousands of people, destroyed, burning alive; tempest tossed through the air as though they were a child's toy. It did not differentiate the explosion, it obliterated everything with wanton force of the heavens, it was as though the Sun Goddess herself had come down from the heavens, punishing them for some unspoken blasphemy.

Those who did not have the luxury, the sweet luck to die instantly were left in a gaping pit of madness, shocked and numb; while it rained, it rained rubble and bodies of people burned and ash so thick that it rained like water, black and hideous it covered the land. Where once there was life, there was only void, where once there was a city of more people than could be counted, only stood a few sparse buildings that burned liberally, rubble that also burned, the very air around them burning down to nothingness.

They wandered, the survivors in the rubble and the heat, many searching out water; and dying as soon as they drank it. Others simply sat down where they were, either too shocked or scared to say anything, and the truly mad threw themselves into the wreckage, choosing death over the hellish world that existed around them now, the ground that was green with grass was blackened and smoldered, it was as though Hell had come to Earth...Through it all, all they asked, in the backs of their minds, in the years to come after; that they would spend dying of cancers and other equally horrible disease.

Why did they deserve that?

by **Abruzi** » Mon Apr 30, 2012 6:22 pm

A Nice Rest in the Company of Comrades.
MT(-ish)

Gora Jaskanovitch Udom was not a happy man. A hard and cold rain fell in sheets soaking his already cold body through, he was running behind schedule and would probably be forced to spend the night outside of the city with all of the dangers that entailed, and to top it off he realized that what he had thought was the glow of the regional safe house was in fact just the illumination cast by a lonely campfire. Since the Renaturalization the only safe havens outside of Utopia herself were the isolated Stalker Safe-houses established by the Commissariat of Contentment and while many Stalkers and Commissariat of Contentment Chekists passed the night in the wilds around fires like the one burning before Gora, they never did it comfortably. Knowing this, Comrade Stalker Udom leveled his Kalashnikov but resolved to keep the safety off, if he approached the campfire and the owners proved to be friendly, then he'd drop his pack and pass the night. If not, well he'd be ready for that too.

Crunching over the wet soil, he quietly hummed a wordless tune to himself as he hunted for any visible signs of anomalous activity. Sure enough after only a few paces from the spot where he had stood and surveyed the campfire's distant glow he saw that the grass ceased to be wet with evening dew only a few feet away. Instead of the strong smelling green carpet that he had been walking upon for the past few hours, the grass was prickly and dry, sure signs of what Stalkers called, Infernos. Smiling casually he made sure to mark the location and it's probable dimensions before turning a few yards to the left and continuing onwards. Gora had only gone a few more meters when he suddenly got a weird feeling in the pit of his stomach. With a soft grunt he stopped walking midstep and slowly put his foot down, starting to sweat when he saw that the ground before him was moving.

Cautiously the Stalker reached into his pocket and drew forth a bolt. Rusted beyond belief, the bolt was completely solid despite it's age and this is what caused Gora a great deal of distress when it disappeared after he had tossed it only a few inches in front of his boots. Straining his hearing, he could detect the faint whisper of an unseen speaker and while the whisper had yet to become the scream it would inevidably become, Gora could already hear the soft chanting of, “Control, control, control, control...”. Backing up slowly, Gora's mind raced as he realized that he had just very nearly entered a Zone of Noosphereical Disharmony. Called Mind Melters by Stalkers, the ZNDs were isolated pockets in the wilderness that were governed by the laws of the Noosphere, that is the laws of humanity's collective nightmares.

If Gora had stepped into the pocket, he'd gradually be driven insane, if he was lucky. His spotting the trap was not that fortunate however because it meant he must now contend with what surely would be all manner of dangerous mutants in the area. Referred to as Daemons by both the Commissariat of Contentment and the Stalkers, the mutants spawned in the ZNDs were horrid beasts that could usually killed a man without a second thought. Worst of them was the humanoid Gords. Armored in a natural chitin shell, they had tentacled mouths that connected to the head like electrodes from a medical machine. They then delivered a fatal shock that killed their prey and it was whispered, stole their soul. Of course the Commissariat of Contentment and the Novaya Bolshevist Party both worked hard to ensure that this talk was stamped out, but even still superstitious Stalkers and Comrade Workers muttered what they would.

On his hands and knees, the Stalker crawled the last few inches and cautiously lifted his head up just far enough to get a clear view of the campsite. It was seemingly peaceful with a light dusting of blown leaves that occasionally swirled around the bright and inviting fire. Two or maybe three men sat around it in silence, quietly eating what appeared to be loafs of bread. Smiling slightly, Gora made to sling his Kalashnikov and enter the camp openly when he noticed that the men chewed in an eerie synchronization. Lowering his rifle back to it's at the ready position, Gora focused and realized that all of the men wore identical black Commissariat of Contentment Uniforms with an additional unknown patch. Swallowing heavily, the Stalker silently slid back down the hill and quiet muttered,

"Chert, Vampirs."
“Fuck, Vampirs.”

The Vampir units were secrets, half whispered legends that Stalkers told young newcomers to scare them back into the Red Army or more traditional fields of labor. Creations that were largely tied to the secret Noosphereical experimentation of the pre-Rectification era, the Vampirs though, fought, and moved with one mind. These singularly minded combat units had one job and one job only, kill Stalkers who remained outside of Utopia for too long. While the Novaya Bolshevist State approved of the Stalker secured artifacts and regularly allowed citizens to become Stalkers instead of being liquidated for minor offenses involving otherthink, the Party resented the nominal freedom of the Stalker to do as he liked while in the Zone. Vampir units were just one of the many tools that the Commissariat of Contentment had developed to control the lawless and uncontrollable wasteland.

Gora could hardly control his breathing, he knew that if he made any noticable noise the Vampirs would hear and within moments he would be very dead. Pressing his back into the dark soil of his motherland, the Stalker rested his AKM across his chest and desperately tried to brainstorm a way out of the situation. He could run, that was always an option, the fading light and the Noosphereical patch didn't make it an attractive one, but it was open. Gora did have the drop on them, he could sneak back up the low rise and try to give them a lucky spray with his Kalash. Though if he failed and they managed to upload his likeness to the Commissariat of Contentment he'd be unable to return to Utopia and would probably die shortly thereafter. There was another option, but it would require more luck than any Novaya Bolshevist could hope for. Gora could simply approach the Vampirs and hope that they recognized that he was clearly on the return pathway to Utopia. With his pack full of swag and his well worn copy of Otet's A New Vanguard for the New Century he could pass himself off as a dedicated party member. Then he could pass the night beside their fire in relative safety since the Vampirs were as deadly for Monsters as they were for Stalkers.

Laughing quietly at his recklessness, Gora rose and casually approached the campfire. Immediately four rifles swung about and targeted him, their laser sights leaving four red dots drifting around his vital points. Raising a hand slightly, Gora continued walking, mentally praying to the forbidden Old Gods of Abruzi. When he was only five paces from the nearest of the Vampirs, Gora dropped his pack and ensured that they could detect the faint gleam of artifacts within. Smiling uneasily the Stalker slowly reached into his pocket and produced his copy of Otet's writings before slowly saying,

"Tovarishchi, ya mogu podelitʹsya teplom vash ogonʹ , kak ya provesti nochʹ vdali ot goroda nashego moguchego naroda? "
“Comrades, may I share the warmth of your fire as I spend a night away from our mighty People's City?”

As one the Vampirs responded,

"Tovarishch Stalker , my trebuem identifikatsii , chtoby vy ne guily iz otherthink ili politicheskoĭ nyeortodoksalʹnostʹ ".
“Comrade Stalker, we require identification to ensure you are not guily of otherthink or political unorthodoxy.”

Nodding Gora replied,

"Yestestvenno, tovarishchi , vot moĭ vnutrenniĭ pasport dvizheniya i kolichestvo partiĭnoĭ prinadlezhnosti."
“Naturally Comrades, here is my internal movement passport and Party Affiliation number.”

The Stalker handed them a worn leather cased passport and a faded ticket that marked him as a member of the Party, albeit a junior member. Surveying it for a moment and then silently conferring with headquarters (which was connected via helm-feed), the Vampirs lowered their rifles and motioned for Gora to sit. Feeling as out of place as he figured he should, the Stalker sat between two of the Vampirs before casually saying,

"Tovarishchi , vy khoteli by nekotorye myasnye konservy obshchego v dukhe sotsialisticheskogo brat·stva ?"
“Comrades, would you like some canned meat shared in the spirit of Socialist Brotherhood?”

Together the Vampirs swiveled their upper bodies to respond abruptly,

"Net tovarishcha . Vy mozhete sidetʹ na nash ogonʹ, no ne govoryat. Vy meshaete effektivnosti nashyeĭ raboty , chto nepriemlemo . Vosprepyat·stvovanie komissariata chekisty Udovletvorennostʹ yavlyaet·sya otherthink v vysshyeĭ stepeni. "
“No Comrade. You may sit by our fire but do not speak. You hinder our effectiveness which is unacceptable. Impeding the Commissariat of Contentment's Chekists is otherthink in the extreme.”

Nodding despite the fact that the Vampirs had turned away again, Gora pushed his pack away to use as a makeshift pillow and resolved to catch some sleep in the company of Comrades. Tomorrow he'd report back to Utopia but tonight, he'd rest easy in the company of some of the most deadly soldiers in the Novaya Bolshevist Union.

by **-the Ukrainian SSR-** » Mon Apr 30, 2012 10:28 pm

Let This Be Noted: No one is forcing you to read this article, which contains material which some may find unsettling, if you find such material unsettling do not read beyond this warning, as you have been dutifully warned of the contents therein.

[ MT ]

[ Mature ]

The Horror Known As Man

The Ukraine
2008

Artillery thundered and shook the ground, shattering the silence of the air. The roar of planes and the sound of combat was everywhere, the screams of people caught between the clash of governments, an old story, renewed. They shattered the lines with a religious fervor; their rockets, bullets and shells as though guided by divine wind. Battlements and defensive positions were undone in the aftermath of the thundering Russo-Spanish guns, a great upheaval of dirt and concrete as the hammer of men fell on the heads of men. In the name of their religion they marched forward like an unstoppable gale, the wrath of their goddesses unleashed upon undeserving people. Did they fight back, these victims? Oh yes...Oh yes...With all the ferocity of a lion and the courage of the greatest knights of yore; they didn't hesitate to their defense, protecting their own.

The Ukraine
2010

Then the dust settled and they sat there, in shock; annihilated, not defeated, undone and razed. For a while this lasted and then came the nature of man, the predatory, barbarous nature of man. There was no overbaring amount of radiation, no idiots with gasmasks and kalashnikovs, though the latter was common. No magic, no realms of thought, nothing. The faithful prayed, they prayed hard for the first time in a long time, and nothing happened; so they prayed harder, and then someone pointed it out; it wasn't that they weren't faithful, it was that no one was listening; no one cared: even God himself had forsaken them, if He even existed at all.

What seventy years of communist brutality could not do, what purges and closing of churches, execution of priests and bishops could not do; finally, simple despair put down into a shallow grave, and the soul-crushing loneliness came to those who did not flee; and then came the murder, the rape, the greed, the lust, the violence never ending.

The Ukrainian people and countryside shattered, splintered into the most basic of human units, alone, familial, tribal. The largest embodiment of 'state' in those days were small towns that found themselves ravaged and burned at the hands of bandits and thugs, most of whom were once the very military that once protected them; but no longer, now it was all for themselves.

There was no order, no solidified existence to reign in the cruel, to control the sadistic or the sickening. Starvation, Disease, simple madness were only some of the endless marks that rose up from the shadows of people. Man showed himself as what he was, an animal, a beast; a disgusting thing that thrived on the suffering of other things.

No one helped them, no one cared; after all, if God did not care, why should man? There were no angels, no demons, no monsters in the dark, just man. Men who killed men, who pinned women and girls to the ground violating them brutally, often until they died. Never did it cease, never did it stop. Never would it stop.

Welcome to The Ukraine, Population: Dwindling.

by **Tnemrot** » Tue May 01, 2012 11:57 am

OOC: This topic may or may not contain mature content. You take that risk when you read my work. If you are easily dissuaded by mature content, faint of heart, eager to run to moderation and complain that something isn't "intended for all audiences" or that "you are offended," overly critical, afraid to read long posts that might be in excess of two thousand words, or a crybaby, please do not continue. You're under no requirement to read anything that is written below. If, of course, you are none of these then I invite you not only to read through what is below but also to telegram me with your thoughts, opinions, critiques, and constructive comments, regardless of their positivity or negativity. Please enjoy this and thank you for getting through this semi-satirical disclaimer.

[ MT ]

Between the Dominion
Of Heaven, Hell, and the Middle...

An almost lonesome world lay before me, a sky so dark, so full of stars from so many light years away, and yet it was so full of a pure, unfettered layer of emptiness that nothing spiritual or physical could ever hope to fill it. I might be lying here on my back, staring up into this mysterious wonder, hundreds of miles from anything remotely classified as "civilization," the furthest place on Earth, I might add, but I might be lying on the roof of my home, surrounded by the car alarm symphonies, the angry couple next door, the irritating kid across the street with his piercing guitar riffs. I could be, all at once, anywhere and nowhere lying here between some sort of dominion. Heaven is far above, Hell deep below, but the Middle World, the world I've dreaded since my earliest days of childhood, where does that lay if neither above nor below? Is all of this that surrounds me, the physical, the coherent, the tangible; is all of this the Middle World?

Remember that old nursery rhyme, "Star light, star bright / The first star I see tonight; / I wish I may, I wish I might, / Have the wish I wish tonight"? What wish do I have for my stars tonight? What wish could I possibly want tonight?

Would I wish for hope eternal? Salvation from the wrath of the gods? Money, wealth power? Eternal life? Demonic powers? What could I possibly want from the stars above? Maybe the stars are nothing more than our wishes, suspended in the darkness of the night forever. Maybe there is no Heaven or Hell or Middle World and that it was all made up to keep people in line. Speak to an atheist; see what he says. Good luck trying to find one though; they're few and far between.

Philosophically speaking, my questions are nothing more than specks on a wall, the remnants of flies smashed into oblivion by flyswatters, rolled up newspapers, and books. Yet to me they are haunting, they are a paralysis to my continued development within this society. Would it be different in another society? I doubt it. What differences does this society have from others? What monumental, structural changes exist elsewhere that do not exist here?

I gather few; and as I stare at the Milky Way, wondering just how insignificant we are in this universe, how insignificant my questions are, whether our fates are written in celestial books, and whether or not we are even here, I come to the single, overlying truth beyond any shadow of a doubt. Some say it's "I think, therefore I am" but that's a bogus statement that defines nothing of significance. No, the singular truth beyond any shadow of a doubt is not whether I exist, or not, whether I think or not, whether I am or not, but rather that meaning changes with perception. Existence changes with perception. Perception, above all things, is the singular, defining element to everything. Perception, imagination, together, that gives definition.

by **Tnemrot** » Tue May 01, 2012 8:14 pm

OOC: This topic may or may not contain mature content. You take that risk when you read my work. If you are easily dissuaded by mature content, faint of heart, eager to run to moderation and complain that something isn't "intended for all audiences" or that "you are offended," overly critical, afraid to read long posts that might be in excess of two thousand words, or a crybaby, please do not continue. You're under no requirement to read anything that is written below. If, of course, you are none of these then I invite you not only to read through what is below but also to telegram me with your thoughts, opinions, critiques, and constructive comments, regardless of their positivity or negativity. Please enjoy this and thank you for getting through this semi-satirical disclaimer.

[ MT ]
[ MATURE ]

Those Things You Fear

The guttural screams echo loudly across the empty, windowless, concrete, basement room. A single, swinging light hangs above the center of the room and there is a constant dripping sound from one corner as moisture from the earth surrounding the basement seeps through cracks created in the concrete by its settling over time. There is a drain in the center of the room and a disgusting, moss-like growth covers the immediate inside of the pipe, clogging the drain enough that liquids often pool up above the drain for a few seconds before they finally flow into the pipes below. There is only one entrance, a fortified, steel door that swings open and closed with even louder echoes that shake masonry free in bits and crumbs every time someone is a bit too strong with the door. The floor is filthy, stained with sweat, blood, tears, and countless other fluids.

This is a safe house but as far as the word "safe" goes, it's anything but. Lying on the outer realm of the Forest of Niap, mere inches from the beginning of the vast expanse of the Leurc Mountains, the safe house is nothing more than a concrete complex of structures, the tallest being four stories high. There are six structures in all, only two of which are over two stories. A high wall with razor wire outlines the perimeter and there is only one gate attached to one dirt road. There are spotlights and motion sensors all around the perimeter extending from the wall for four hundred meters. Signs don't beware of it but mines exist in particular quadrants and they're bounding mines, the nasty type that split an individual in half at the waist.

The "safe house" is more like a fortified compound but in reality, it's nothing more than a small, maximum security, detention center for the Ministry of Intelligence. Staffed at all times by no fewer than twenty guards and seven administrators, the compound has been unofficially dubbed the "Concrete Black Hole." Nobody who has ever gone in has come out alive. On two separate occasions, interlopers, stricken by an infliction known as curiosity ventured too close to the compound. One was cut in half by a bounding mine and the other person was captured after a short chase from the persistent and athletically superior guards. He lasted nine days within the walls of the compound, not a record but it was better than average, which was seven days. In the grand scheme of things what was one week? To those unfortunately enough to enter Compound A38, one week was an eternity.

Compound A38 had prison cells for up to thirty-two individuals and those cells were nothing more than holes cut into the earth and surrounded with concrete. There were no windows and they measured a mere four feet by four feet by five feet. Nobody had yet been short enough to fit height-wise into the cell and the uncomfortably, cramped living spaces, were lacking in everything. There was only a hole in the ground, a drain, to use as a toilet. There was no paper, no bed, no desk, no chair, and the odor from the drains was so foul and overpowering that inmates spent more time vomiting up their meager nourishment allocations than actually digesting them, further adding stench, further containing the cycle of morbidity.

As the clocks passed midnight on this chilly, damp, spring night, the guttural screams of some nameless inmate kept the four others awake. "No! The tortured cried aloud as his skin was lit aflame by inflammation, which when left unchecked, led to tissue damage. He had plenty of tissue damage already as this was his fifth day in captivity.

"You know traveling across the border is forbidden!" The interrogator screamed aloud as he used the thin piece of steel to smack the tortured man's thigh. "Yet you persist on lying to me about it!"

"I swear," the tortured screamed. "I swear," he was too dehydrated to cry else he would have been balling in torrents. Hanging by his arms from the ceiling above, both of his arms was dislocated already; they had been since his second day. On the first day, he was treated relatively calmly. He was spoken to like a human being, fed, and cared for, like a human being. It was only when he refused to be forthcoming to his interrogator's questions that he had been put through the gauntlet.

Shoved into his cell with nothing more than what he was wearing, he listened to the dying screams of a young woman as she uttered her final sounds. Her body had been disposed of by dawn, dissolved by lye in a special pit built into another building. Her remains had been subsequently flushed into a giant, cavernous cesspool, not unlike an object in a toilet. The stench practically clung to the walls of that building and for that reason; it was isolated from the others.

On his second day, he spent a grueling sixteen hours being tortured. He was strung up by his arms, heavily dropped until both of his arms were dislocated from their sockets. Questions kept coming but still, his answers weren't satisfying enough and so the physical abuse continued. When he was thrown back into his cell, one of his eyes was swollen shut, his arms were of little use, his clothes reeked of urine and feces, blood had stained most of his shirt, and three of his teeth would never be seen again.

On the third day, the questions were repeated and again, his answers weren't satisfying enough so his fingernails were removed, one-by-one. To stave off infection and stem the bleeding, alcohol and salt were used. He passed out nine separate times that day, just from the pain alone but still, he refused to give the answers his interrogators wanted. For a man who had been caught sneaking over the border from the Abruzian wasteland, he should have had more to say.

On the fourth day, his head was shaved and fire ants were draped over his scalp. He was made to smell his own cooking flesh and when he was about to pass out and die from dehydration, an IV was stuck into his arm, replenishing his fluids and electrolytes. The application of that IV had not been done gently. Unable to endure much more, he prayed that night for a heart attack, praying to every god and goddess in the Tnemration pantheon. No one was listening to him though and now he was enduring his fifth day of captivity and torture. "I don't know anything about artifacts! I'm just an explorer!"

"An explorer of what!"

"Wildlife."

"Wildlife! Abruzi is an irradiated wasteland and you want me to believe you crossed the border, illegally, to find wildlife!" The galvanized, steel band of metal was slammed hard into his abdomen, cutting him open. The bleeding was instantly profuse. "You have lied to me for the last time! I'm going to make you bleed to death, here! Right here! Go ahead and convince me otherwise!"

"I am telling the truth," he muttered, his words coming painfully slow. With each breath, his stomach burned as if it were being lit aflame by a torch. He wanted to cry; he wanted to pass out; he wanted so many things.

"Five days of lying to me! You must be one of the best Abruzian spies I have ever laid my eyes upon!" His torturer yelled and then he broke into a maniacal fit of laughter. He was a true sadist. He put a cigarette in his mouth and sat down on the edge of the table where his "tools" lay. "You're not the most stubborn man I've ever had to deal with, mind you. Five days in here, does that seem like a lot?" He didn't wait for an answer. "That's child's play to what we do to spies. Filthy communist!" He spat at his victim, the wad of spit landing right in his open wound.

"I'm not a spy!" Blood flowed continuously.

"You're not; you are. A false identity you've given me already. The odds my friend, are not in your favor." He took a deep drag of his cigarette, stood, walked over to his victim, and blew all of the smoke into his victim's face. Then, he lowered his voice to a mere whisper, "If you think you're going to fool me, you're sorely mistaken. I've been doing this a long time. There's no lie, no story, no explanation you can give me that I haven't heard before. It'll be the truth, or it'll be nothing! Save yourself the misery." The man walked out and slammed the door shut behind him.

Someone entered the room seconds later and bandaged the wound to stem the flow of blood and then he left, leaving the tortured to hang there. He hung there for seven hours, unable to sleep, unable to do anything but slowly die. He hoped for death, prayed for it underneath his breath for he had barely any strength left to talk audibly. When the torturer returned, he returned with a sledgehammer, a rusty scalpel, and a bottle of ammonia. He put them on the table for his victim to see and then lit another cigarette. "Now that I'm freshly rested, and in good spirits, I think I'll ask you these questions again. Shall we try again? Are you a spy?"

"I am," his victim said.

"Finally! The truth! The spy has spoken. Or are you just telling me what I want to hear?" Was there no right answer? It was a Catch-22, was it not?

"No, for thirty years, I have plotted to bring down Tnemrot. I am sick in mind and body."

"Thirty years! My God!" It was believable, the man was in his late-40s. "Thirty years. Wonderful, wonderful. You can reveal to me sources, double agents, everyone."

"No I can't."

"What!" The torturer lifted the sledgehammer and made a hard, pounding dash towards his victim.

"STOP! NO! I CANNOT!"

"Why!"

"I wasn't privy to that information; I wasn't allowed to have that information. I just worked in propaganda. I just wrote propaganda. That's all I did. Honest truth. I just worked in propaganda."

"Then why were you sneaking across the border?"

"I don't know."

"What were your orders?"

"I had none, I went rogue."

"A propaganda clerk? You went rogue? You want me to believe that!"

"It's the truth, I swear; please stop, don't hit me again." The victim said with a few torrid cries. "It's the truth!"

"So if it is, you are nothing more than a piece of filth underneath my boot, nothing worth anything."

"I just wanted to sneak in, to see if I could, to see if the propaganda was true."

"Was it?"

"Yes. You caught me. You caught me."

"So then you have proved your own wanton lies. I guess they aren't lies anymore!"

"Please stop; please." He begged. The torturer threw his cigarette onto the floor and left the room. This interrogation hinted at the most basic element of Abruzian-Tnemration relations. Neither country had any with the other. When the commissars of Abruzi irradiated their country to stem the influx of what they called "foreign perversion," they had specifically cited unjustified influence by the Tnemration government and people. They falsely claimed that a Tnemration cult had been converting the atheistic, good communist Abruzian citizens to the "vile religion of paganist swine!" Those were their exact words and now, the border between Abruzi and Tnemrot was nothing more than wasteland and horrific terrain on their side and desert on Tnemrot's side. It was a desert so massive, so intense, so unforgiving that it was a land forsaken within the Forsaken Realm. It truly was a pit upon hell.

When this "spy" had been caught, he was crossing the border, illegally since all border crossings between the two nations were illegal. It didn't matter which way you were going or which nation you were from; Tnemrot accepted no refugees and suffered no one to pass or repass. Of course, thousands of excursions went unnoticed but when those who committed them were caught, the hell upon them was not unlike what this poor soul suffered.

The torturer returned to his office, a wonderful abode in a compound of misery and looked at the camera sitting on his desk. It had been caught with the "spy" and the film had been developed but the mere presence of it had been denied. "Don't you hate when they tell the truth first?" A voice said from beyond the door.

"Yes I do but it is my pleasure to twist them in ways only I can imagine." The torturer responded.

"It's why we do what we do; Tnemrot is never wrong."

"Never."

"Then is it time?"

"It is time." The torturer finished one last cigarette, stood, lifted a razor sharp blade from a table in his office, returned to the basement, and stood behind his victim for five minutes, utterly silent. When those five minutes had finished, there was one last cry, a horrible, cringing scream of the most unimaginable pain any living creature could ever endure and it lasted thirty-five seconds.

by **Heliocalypse** » Wed May 02, 2012 2:57 am

[ FT ]

Liquid Space - Part 1

"Ohohoh! It's rare for me to get any visitors! Now what bring you young gals here if i may ask?"

"Umm...i'm Maire, studying exto...physics...and...this is..psst, Rien, say something..hey Rien!"

"Ow ow ow, don't pull my hair, damn it Maire!"

"Now now, what do we have here, eh? Professor-Major Maire herself and her supposedly equivalence Dr.Rien! I heard bout you guys on the news often, Dr. Maire you're that one random genius that majored in meta-extophysics and Dr.Rien specializing in thecearology!"

"Umm...please, i'm not much compared to you, Sir. Rien, come here damn it!"

"Hmm what lovely couple you are both eh?"

"Hey?! No Sir, it's just that Rien been with me ever since times when i can remember! For god's sake, I don't swing that way!"

"What?! Maire, no dinner for you tonight!"

"Now now, get along girls. I'm sure you're here to ask me something, correct? Do you know, back in my time they used to call me the greatest scientist ever! But look at me now, Dr. Maire and Dr.Rien. I'm no more than...an empty husk with little ooze of life left, ahahaha!"

"Wow...sorry to hear that..Sir. Why did they, or rather the science society abandoned you at large?"

"Gah! Maire, stop stripping me! Eeek! Pervert! Eeek!"

"Ah calm down, all i ever did is detaching your shoes! It's rude to wear shoes in someone else's home! And stop hitting me damnit!"

"Ha~ah, you two are sure lovely eh? Just like a newlyweds, hahaha!"

"No Sir, i won't even think about matching with this rouge woman! She hits me and then mmphf!"

"Not a word, Rien."

"Girls! Are you forgetting what you're here for?"

"Urrh...ehem. Sorry bout that, Sir. We're from Te-"

"No need to say that, Dr. Maire. I'm sick with guys coming from research institutes; they would simply take my expertise, claim all the work i had done as theirs like nobody's business. If you're like one of those bastards, i afraid...you two will need to leave."

"No! Please hear me out, Sir! Rien, do something too!"

"Geez...okay okay. You're going to cook dinner this time, Maire. Well Sir, or rather former Marchus Confederacy scientist Dr. Helacron, we're here to ask you one question."

"Oh? How did you know my name? I thought i had hidden it well, ever since that supernova decimated Marchus Prime and the confederacy into dust....damn bureaucrats..."

"We followed your trail, Dr.Helacron. You left clues around, we had noticed it."

"Paah, hahaha! You two are really geniuses to crack that formula, let me tell you this. No one had cracked the formula since...well since the Grand Experiment and till today! Now what do you prefer, jicci or yehtzl?"

"I'm here for something else, Dr. Helacron. All of your formulas..when re-arranged point to something."

"Oh? Not angsty as before eh, Dr. Rien? What make you say that hmmm?"

" We extrapolated those formulas and it shown us something mysterious, something totally unknown to any of the current Principality sciences. Liquid space, Dr. Helacron. What is it?"

"Hmm....? Ah yes, that theory. It almost costed my life not once but a million times, hahaha! But then look at me now."

"Dr. Helacron. The Grand Experiment was like four thousands cycles ago and you're supposed to be dead by now..so...let me guess...immortality?"

"You're sharp eh? Well it's not fully true but...that's only the tip of the iceberg, hehehe..."

by **Tnemrot** » Fri May 04, 2012 8:11 am

OOC: This topic may or may not contain mature content. You take that risk when you read my work. If you are easily dissuaded by mature content, faint of heart, eager to run to moderation and complain that something isn't "intended for all audiences" or that "you are offended," overly critical, afraid to read long posts that might be in excess of two thousand words, or a crybaby, please do not continue. You're under no requirement to read anything that is written below. If, of course, you are none of these then I invite you not only to read through what is below but also to telegram me with your thoughts, opinions, critiques, and constructive comments, regardless of their positivity or negativity. Please enjoy this and thank you for getting through this semi-satirical disclaimer.

[ MT ]
[ MATURE ]

Dowsed in Mud

A blue moon lit the pitch-black, starry night above the Tnemration Desert. Hundreds of miles from the next settlement stood a small hamlet that went by the name of Cinap. Consisting of only eleven structures, populated by forty persons, Cinap was so insignificant that mail was only delivered once a week. It was near a small, freshwater source that had existed for a millennium already and though the vegetation was sparse and the conditions arid by all manner of definition, there was enough natural water for enough sustenance for not only the forty residents of Cinap but also a small farm patch that they had been growing. Most of their food came from here and from monthly runs to the next settlement, where there was a supermarket.

Conditions there were fine, by any manner of definition but the isolation experienced by its residents was something entirely different. Life in Cinap was, in many ways, akin to life in the Tnemration Desert. West of the Leurc Mountains, the desert was what protected the main, Tnemration civilization from the outlands of the Abruzian nation. Along the coast, it was a thriving, vegetative climate but in the interior, the desert was a doomed wasteland that the Tnemration government wished it could forget. Policy for the desert was simple. It was isolated and anything that happened there, stayed there. There were military and law enforcement outposts but they responded sparingly and only when it was absolutely necessary. Most of the Tnemration attention in the desert was focused on the long border with Abruzi, where crossings were illegal in either direction.

Cinap was just as lonely and just as isolated as the rest of the settlements, towns, and cities in the Tnemration Desert were. All located near water sources, which were thankfully frequent, the Tnemration Desert wasn't the type of desert most people thought of when they thought of "desert." The Tnemration Desert was home to sixty mammal species, over three hundred and fifty bird species, twenty amphibian species, over one hundred reptile species, thirty fish species, over one thousand bee species, and over two thousand plant species. It really was a semi-arid desert, so to speak. There weren't rolling hills of empty sand but rather rocks, sand, and plenty of sparse greenery.

Regardless, it was home to just a fraction of Tnemrot's 1.335 billion people and though it held just a fraction of the people, over 75% of Tnemrot's impoverished and illiterate lived in the desert region. The government's neglect of the desert was, by all means, the cause of this and the consequences were dire. Though law enforcement in the desert was sparse, the desert was home to over 40% of all of the crimes committed in Tnemrot. Few people willingly went to the desert and that was why it was a truly forsaken land.

The desert held many of Tnemrot's lesser-desired aspects though. There were three prisons, all of which pushed hard labor. They were miserable places where people went and were never seen or heard from again. Members of the military who were stationed at desert outposts were usually screw-ups or on punishment and officers who were sent there virtually had no chance of advancement. For all intents and purposes, the desert was a black hole that sucked the life out of Tnemration society and its people.

For that reason, Cinap was nothing more than a speck on a nameless map. Its forty residents weren't even considered when the government did its census in 2010 and though they were insignificant in the grand scheme of things, Cinap's population was about to be part of a terrible experiment at the hands of the same government that shunned it from the rest of society.

In just the shadows of the moonlight, a pair of ultra-quiet helicopters touched down one and a half miles away from Cinap, landing on a small plateau. From both helicopters, three men disembarked and the helicopters quietly shut down their engines. A security team of eight men took positions around the helicopters while crewmembers from each helicopter relaxed in their seats. Everyone wore night vision and they all watched the six men depart from the landing area. Armed with suppressed weapons loaded with subsonic ammunition for extremely quiet engagements, the six men quickly made their way towards Cinap.

Moving at a light trot, they covered the first mile in ten minutes. Loaded lightly with gear, they found the pace almost too slow. They were used to carrying more gear, running further, and running faster.

With just half of a mile to go to the small hamlet, the men watched as the black shadows of the hamlet's structures became subtly visible. They slowed down to a walking pace, fanned out into three groups of two, and began the final approach to the hamlet. At one quarter of a mile, they could see that all of the structure's lights were out and the entire hamlet was more than likely asleep. Given that it was just after 02:00 in the morning, there was no reason to believe that any of these people would actually be awake but the men knew that such was a potential possibility. Stranger things had happened, after all.

Quietly, carefully, like ghosts, the three groups of men reached the outskirts of the hamlet, nothing more than a waist-high perimeter fence that they jumped without effort. Now inside the hamlet, the teams began their mission, which was the systematic execution of every man, woman, and child inside of the hamlet. They found their victims sleeping and thanks to the silence of the night and the necessity for noise discipline, the six men killed their first six victims with just their knives. They found no door locked and as they entered, keeping low, they quickly scanned the darkened homes for any signs that anyone was awake.

In the first house, the two men found a woman and a man, both of them well over the age of sixty, sound asleep in their bed. An alarm clock was set but who knew for when. The two men drew their blades and approached from either side of the bed, finally grabbing their victims by the mouth so that they could not speak, slashing the blades deep across their throats violently waking them up so that they could be aware of their deaths. Both of them passed quickly and quietly as their bodies went into shock and they lost consciousness. In the second house, the two men found an elderly woman alone and killed her in the same manner. In the third house, the two men found a man, a woman, and their infant son, all of them in the same room. They went after the man and the woman first, killing both of them the same way as the others but, for the infant, they acted different. Instead, of slashing the infant's throat, they simply jabbed the knife right into the back of his soft skull, killing him instantly. Despite the inhumanity of the entire ordeal, the infant died the quickest and never knew it.

Emerging from their homes, all six men proceeded further into the hamlet, taking down the next homes. Once again, everyone was asleep and the hamlet, which now stood at thirty-four persons, was dropped to twenty-six. They continued into the next homes and systematically wiped the next three clean. With nine of the eleven structures cleared, they moved onto the last two, which were in the center of the hamlet. One was home to five people, a man, a woman, and their three children while the other was home to four, three men and one woman, a family. Within six minutes, all ten people were dead and the forty residents of Cinap ceased to be, the entire hamlet brutally slain in less than forty-five minutes.

The six perpetrators had done their mission without a shot being fired and they slipped back into the desert just as easily as they had appeared from it. Leaving the hamlet as it was, the bodies strewn about their beds and rooms, the six men had done a tally, confirmed all forty persons, and made their way back to the waiting helicopters. After seventy-five minutes on the ground, the two helicopters ascended back into the night and the six men had passed their final test. They were the newest members of an extremely secretive and highly skilled, elite, black operations unit that had been in existence for forty years already. The goal of this unit was to conduct any number of anti-personnel operations at the behest of the Tnemration executive. The seemingly needless slaughter of innocent victims, including children and babies, was done by design. If the men had the stomach to do this kind of work than they would have the stomach to commit any mission they had been assigned. Their next stop was, inevitably, the Abruzian wastelands.

by **New Azura** » Fri May 04, 2012 9:04 pm

[ MT ]
[ PG-13 ]

The Assault on Fortress Severnanst

The bitter cold was nipping at the tip of his nose, causing it to run uncontrollably. He cursed softly, using his sleeve as best he could while trying to remain focused. Corporal Danijel Ckrebic knelt by the remnants of an old stone well, looking ahead to the point men of his squadron, Private Aleksander Menault of Tirza and Private Lazar Pesa of Ashtaroth. He wasn't overly familiar with either; both were fresh out of boot just three weeks prior, though Pesa had developed the annoying habit of popping his knuckles whenever he got nervous—coincidentally, that was happening more and more frequently in the middle of the suck. It was all part of the show by this point: bad food, terrible weather, and the ever-present threat of death looming over every hardened vet and knuckle-cracking child that took to the killing fields of Asavona. Such a waste, to throw away children in the prime of their lives like that.

Sergeant Misic was crawling up from the rear, holding his IFAM AR5R1 close to his chest as he pulled up beside Danijel. He stared off down the narrow path ahead, taking a long look. He then raised two fingers to his eyes, gesturing for Menault and Pesa to move forward cautiously, scouting the road for any landmines or improvised explosive devices. He turned back towards Danijel without saying a word, then slid around the side of the stone fountain. He sighed as he stumbled over a fallen block, then continued on towards the ditch up to their right. The Corporal marveled after the 'Sarge', wondering how he'd ever managed to procure a squadron of his own. The man was a bumbling buffoon, truly unequipped to lead even the most ragged of Asa details. The man should be ashamed to even wear the uniform of an Azuran Legionnaire—to masquerade around like a jackass, pretending he knew what he was doing...

Do ANY of us know what we're doing?

A decent point. Danijel filed it away for future reference, taking stock of the situation up ahead. The entire platoon was horribly exposed out on the open road; a few parked jalopies and a hunk of twisted metal were all that prevented a well-timed counterattack from destroying Alpha Company's left flank. As it was, they would be lucky to make it out from underneath the horribly ill-suited position in one piece, if they made it out at all. The road ahead was barely wide enough for two lanes to scoot through, as the pavement had long since been broken up by high-level bombing and the strafing runs of close air support craft. What remained of two-story Artican-style housing was overlooking the roads as the jutted towards a narrow bridge, leading across to the medieval-looking fortification where the Rugadans were making their last stand in Severnanst. Grey skies were beginning to spit out a cold rain as he mused these things.

A small rock got kicked across the street up ahead, causing everyone to freeze where they were. Danijel took a long, steady look towards an alcove not too far away from where the rock had originated, postulating the presence of an erstwhile enemy combatant down the way. The Corporal gripped his rifle a little bit tighter, becoming keenly aware of his exposed position by the fountain. All it would take is for an insurgent to bulrush up the side streets, and he'd be in a pinewood box before supper time Monday. A deathly still silence befell the area where they were positioned; even the wind had died down, with only the soft patter of the rain against the ground causing any noise in the district. Distant pops of gunfire and mortar blasts were fading out as the rest of the Corps advanced forward towards the retreating elements of the Asa insurgents. The quiet was causing his nerves to fray a bit, though his outer composure was likened to stone.

"We've got a possible insurgent up the side street," Sergeant Misic cooed lightly as he inched forward, training his sight on the corner ahead. He began to rise up slowly, taking longer strides as he moved past his two point-men like an idiot. "Let's get up wind of this area, and see if we can't use our chemical grenades to smoke these bastards out—"

The last line was punctuated with a lisp, as the Sergeant's head snapped backward from the shot which rang out not a split second earlier. His bloodstained helmet rolled away haphazardly as he crumpled to the pavement lifelessly. "Contact right!" A frantic voice called out over the radio channel, as erratic pops from the squad's automatic weapons opened up on the street corner. A handful of insurgents came charging out from the alcove after that, using strafing fire to pin down the Azurans as they tried to cover their fallen sergeant. Danijel took aim and fired at the largest target, screaming angrily as cartridges slammed into the ground not two feet beside the bogey, kicking up dust and debris into the air.

At least a dozen insurgents, all heavily armed and sporting a nasty attitude were working their way down the street, using their firepower to pin down the vastly understaffed platoon. Danijel took aim and fired again, bringing down a rather hefty looking fellow with a dark black mustache. Blood was beginning to run into the streets, but they were in a very dangerous position with no hope of redeploying to a better spot. They were going to have to fight it out. Tally-ho! Danijel moved forward along the base of the fountain, urging the rest of the platoon on forward to confront the assailants. Private Drach, his buddy from training was moving along the far side of the roadway, hugging the brickwork as best he could, firing rapidly with his bullpup.

"Goran!" He called out to him, "Watch your 'six', and keep a look out for that sniper!" Goran nodded, kneeling down behind a destroyed car as a flurry of gunfire from up ahead drew Danijel's attention. Suddenly, pops of gunfire from a .50 Caliber sniper echoed through the city streets, catching Danijel's attention. One of the insurgents went down in a heap with a bullet wound in the throat. Two more pops followed in rapid succession, sending two more insurgents down. A fourth shot put yet another insurgent down, finally driving the remaining targets off the road and onto the sidewalk for cover.

"Good shooting, mate!" Danijel called out, but his voice was drowned out by the sound of approaching helos. The Corporal looked up into the grey sky, watching gleefully as a series of gunships approached, blasting the roadway ahead of the platoon. Bloodcurdling screams erupted from the dust cloud rising along the road, as side launchers began pounding forward ahead against the stone wall of the Fortress's outer defenses. A pulverizing volley was loosed upon them, bringing destruction down in a chorus upon the bloody bastards. It was the fifth sidewinder that did the trick, causing an explosion atop the wall that annihilated a vast section of the outer wall. Smoke and debris flew up into the air, as the chorus of screams could be heard again as the choppers departed.

God damn right!

The smoking ruin where the wall had been was beginning to settle. Even as he took stock, the remainder of the insurgents on the streets were throwing up their arms, surrendering without delay. Angrily, several of the men began shooting rampantly into their number, sending bodies sprawling out onto the road in a heap. From inside the fort, broken bodies and mangled flesh was staggering out in an unholy parade of the damned, sending shudders down Danijel's back. A few well fed insurgents stumbled out, but most were gaunt-looking men, women and children. Fortress Severnanst was finally ready to fall.

"Engage your Sierra Protocols, guys," Corporal Ckrebic shouted exuberantly, holding his weapon at the ready while walking upwards into a steady gait. Goran moved down beside him, patting him on the back: "Hell of a show, eh?"

"Shit," Danijel sighed, "We barely got to engage 'em, the lucky bastards."

The two men walked forward together, joining the young privates and a cadre of medics by the body of the fallen sergeant. Pavle Misic had performed in his final operation of the war, returning home with honor in the eyes of his family and his country. Danijel wondered to himself as he bypassed the corpses of the insurgents lying between him and the sergeant, whether or not anyone back home would ever understand the truth of Misic's demise. His record would highlight exemplary courage under enemy fire, when in fact he had precipitated a brief but deadly firefight with his gross negligence of military protocol. In any event, the man was dead, and his memory would fade from existence as any other noncom did once he bought the farm.

"What do we do now with the spoils?" Private Pesa asked, looking intently towards the fortress. Danijel shook his head, before turning back at the sound of a series of verbal salutes being given. Spinning on his heels, he and the rest of the platoon laid eyes on the largest soldier any of them had ever seen. Between six feet ten, and built like a mack truck—the man's barrel chest and broad shoulders were impossibly wide, as if he were very nearly a wall. His scarred face left a gaping, ragged hole down from the orbital bone through the cheek, exposing the side of his face where badly-healed scar tissue wasn't capable of covering the patch. He wore the colors of the Freekish Battalion, and carried a very hefty looking sniper rifle across his shoulder.

"Good shooting, sir," Danijel noted, addressing the apparent Lieutenant with distinction for his marksmanship.

"Appreciated," the Lieutenant said. "I'm Joseph Dreadheart, Commander of the 109th Marksman Squadron. We saw you guys pinned down up here, and figured we could give you a hand before they blew the whole show wide open."

"Corporal Danijel Ckrebic, Alpha Company, 1st Standard Infantry Rifles Division," he replied. The Lieutenant turned towards the Fortress, motioning for their attention as a flood of civilians came pouring out, looking haggard and worn.

"You see them? They're all yours, Corporal."

The Lieutenant nodded expectantly, spurring Danijel into action. "First platoon! Have at 'em, boys!" A chorus of whoops and cat-calls bellowed upwards towards the uncaring sky, as his troops began to pounce on the surrendering civilians with a certain ferocity. A handful of men began indiscriminately assassinating the men and children with their firearms, while the more presentable women were ravished ferociously in a feverish pit of lust and depravity. Corporal Ckrebic looked on silently, shaking his head before turning back towards the Lieutenant: "What's the word on the front, sir?"

"They're collapsing all along the line," Deadheart replied, "much like your idiot sergeant here. You guys got anyone to replace him?"

"No, sir."

"Well, then," Dreadheart chuckled, taking a pen and a notepad out from his satchel. "You're it then, until you're dead or they find someone better. I'm giving you a battlefield promotion to the rank of Technical Sergeant. You understand, son?"

"Aye, sir," Danijel nodded. "'Til they find someone better."

The Native Story Index [Open; All Techs]

Science for the State

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