NationStates

Storm Lake, Pataskala
United Republic of Emmeria

---

A flowing river sliced through the red-brown canyon, glittering white as the sun pierced through the clear desert sky. It ran from a massive lake, bisected by a dam that protected a manmade reservoir. Opposite the reservoir was a hydroelectric powerhouse with the words EMMERIAN ELECTRICTY on a sign on the front. It was connected to a series of powerlines that reached into the horizon, overshadowing the grassy desert next to never-ending two-lane country roads until the rocky sand and cacti turned into a enormous expanse of flat, yellowy prairies, until the deep red cliffs and rock formations turned into beautiful white-gray mountains, until the thousands of shrubs turned into tall, unkempt grass with grazing buffalo.

It was here, in the town of Storm Lake, Pataskala—a city that served as the county seat of and was one of the only urbanized areas in the farm-studded emptiness of Yellow County—that 27-year-old Dillon Altoon sat in front of a bright computer screen in his lightless ranch house.

After high school, Altoon had gone to Pataskala State University for a computer science major, but his parents' poverty and his lack of any practical skills for scholarships forced him to drop out of college to work full-time at a local river valley farm. He had since bounced between multiple jobs, struggling to pay his bills (particularly in winter, when nearby farm owners weren't hiring). At the age of 22, he opened his own online web design and programming service, employing the skills he learned in his three years of college. He never got many clients, and thus made little income; he was on the verge of closing down his side-business until the Storm Lake government contacted him for a low-cost website redesign. Over the next few months, his clients stacked up—local municipal governments and businesses, even a full-blown commission for a nearby farm owner. The inflow of revenue allowed him to purchase the latest generation computer hardware and an unparalleled Internet connection. But his success largely stopped there; his skills were amateur compared to larger businesses employing more seasoned programmers and designers. His business had become ashes of what it once was, and he went back to minimum wage jobs while continuing his reduced computer software services as a side-job. His nights were haunted by questions wondering what went wrong. Had he not invited enough investment? Should he have taken higher risk business startup loans? Would becoming a corporation or, at least, establishing a limited liability partnership have brought more startup funds and more diverse and varied computer science backgrounds? Should he have expanded the business beyond its limits rather than trying to do everything alone?

Altoon's bills began to stack up again. He envied the massively successful IT companies, reading about how their makers had, like him, started their firms in Emmerian garages. What did they have that he didn't? The drive to expand, he thought. The idea that what they were doing was not enough, that they should always strive to do more. Regret that he didn't follow in their footsteps piled up in his head, far exceeding the bills he had not paid.

And that's when his electricity was shut off. The power company, Emmerian Electricity—a local government-supported monopoly (and he hated those)—stopped providing him electricity after he failed to pay his electric bill multiple times. To run his computer, he had filled up his car's gas tank, left it running, and connected jumper cables between the car's battery and a makeshift electric terminal. It was a trick he knew how to do by applying what he learned during basic electric engineering courses at Pataskala State. Altoon wanted to hit back at the power company. He had long been a member of Nameless—an online collaborative hacktivism group—and successfully convinced a number of his fellow hackers to initiate a series of distributed denial-of-service attacks against servers owned by Emmerian Electricity. After days of increasingly innovative DDoS attacks against increasingly effective security measures instituted by the company, Altoon decided a very bold move: he would attempt to shut down the company's powerplant.

He'd been in their plant before when lodging a complaint against what he felt was excessive billing (they directed him to the company's customer representative offices back in Storm Lake), and he'd noticed a sign outside the building that read "Lansing Security"—a small corporate security firm that provided computer and IT security by providing networked security camera and analysis services. He knew it wasn't hard to break into Lansing's control centers—anything connected to a network could be hacked—so he spent the next week, surviving on a diet of bread and water, determining how he would carry out his response to Emmerian Electricity. Altoon's Nameless compatriots had ended their DDoS attacks on the company, but he was not done: he had to strive to do more.

After tuning into previous DEFCON hacker conferences and learning how he could attack the company, Altoon came up with a plan. He began to program a virus that could spread through the company's computer network at their plant and give him remote control over them. He would upload this virus after hacking into Lansing's networked security systems to learn when computers at the company were available. Finally, they would not even realize what he did - he would exploit loopholes in Lansing's systems to wipe clean any security camera record of him even entering the building.

It had been four months since the electric company shut off his power. And now, he was ready to hit them back.

Storm Lake, Pataskala
United Republic of Emmeria

---

When the dark side of the Earth is viewed from space, it is anything but dark. Bright lights shine like glitter on the world's urbanized land masses. But on one night in 2014, an awkwardly shaped piece of land, a tri-state area in the heart of the United Republic, was black as outer space.

Traffic lights switched to their backup power sources, blinking red instead of directing traffic, causing massive bottlenecks at major intersections as people struggled to return home. Roadway lights also turned to their secondary batteries, dimming their brightness to extend their battery life. Empty cars were left dotting the sides of the roads as people, perpetually stuck in miles-long lines of unmoving cars, opted to walk home. At least two intersections had lights without any backup power sources at all; there was one accident that left one dead and several injured, but emergency vehicles struggled to reach the accident zone through the unprecedented traffic.

The power company serving an expanse spanning between three states, Emmerian Electricity, struggled to find a solution. Its computer systems for operating its primary hydroelectric facility were behaving erratically, and the three-man night shift had no one capable of figuring out the issue. The manager was called in around 8:00 pm, but he did not reach the facility until an hour past midnight due to the extreme traffic. Upon reaching the building, he was bombarded by questions from a growing collection of reporters: "What is going on with the local power?" "Has it been turned off deliberately?" "Have you tried fixing it yet?" "Is there foul play involved?"

"I am arriving to investigate and look into the issue," he said. "I've been stuck in traffic for hours. And no, we don't think foul play is involved. It's probably a major computer malfunction."

As the next question raid began to come in, he quickly slipped into the building, pushed a pursuing reporter out of the doorway, and locked the doors behind him.

They worked on the issue for hours. At one point, law enforcement officials called in to investigate. A local investigator working at the police department arrived around 3 am, having been woken up by a late-night phone call from his boss. Another Pataskala state investigator arrived later on. Both investigators, in coordination with their departments, concluded that malicious software had caused the failure. By 5 am, because the issue was affecting a massive area spanning parts of three states, the federal Criminal Investigation Division was called to investigate possible foul play.

Oakley, Pataskala
United Republic of Emmeria

---

A bleary Agent Cummings rubbed his tired eyes as he dragged himself to the CID field office in Oakley, the capital of Pataskala. Located in the heart of the state, Oakley was well outside the area served by Emmerian Electricity's hydroelectric facility. The city was not directly affected by the power outage, but traffic bottlenecks and temporary business shutdowns in other parts of the state caused significant issues throughout Oakley.

Agent Cummings checked his watch, an elegant-looking black and gold piece with a leather strap. It read 5:07 am.

God damn, this better be good, he thought as he walked through the front doors. The receptionist, a black woman that looked in her early 40s, scanned Cummings's CID identification card. When it registered, Agent Cummings took it back and walked towards the rear of the atrium to the elevator, went up to the third floor, and stopped before a thick gray double-doors with dull black lettering: "AUTHORIZED PERSONNEL ONLY."

He once again scanned his card on a console attached to the wall and placed his thumb onto a glass panel. Then, he entered a four-digit passcode. The doors came open, and he walked in, down the deserted hallway, past locked offices (at this time, few employees were present) to a conference room, where two other people, both with laptops, sat in office chairs around a long, black wooden table.

"Special Agent Cummings, glad you're here," one of the men said. He was in his early 50s, a his hair graying on the sides and distinct wrinkles appearing across his high cheeks. He wore a loose navy blue business suit and red tie, contrasting with Cummings's black suit and dark green tie.

"Nice to see you too, Agent Abraham," Cummings responded. He had worked with Abraham before on a murder case in the area; the two thought highly of each other.

Cummings pulled off his suit jacket and tossed it around the nearest office seat. He looked at the third person in the room, a man who seemed to be in his late twenties with an almost boyish expression. "And you are?"

"Uh, Jesse Samaha," he responded, shaking Cummings's hand. "Cyber division, joint cyber task force here at the office. I'm the only one who was here."

"I see, well nice to meet you," Cummings said nodding. "This a cyber crime case? Give me the lowdown."

Abraham spoke up, tossing a file towards Cummings. "Local power company, Emmerian Electricity, shut down around eight o'clock last night. Major power outage across a tri-state border area. Traffic was backed up for hours without end. Only now did cops finally reach intersections to get them flowing."

"And why's this our case?" Cummings said. He then looked at Samaha. "And why's he here?"

"Local and state investigators arrived at Emmerian Electricity's primary hydroelectric facility last night—or, well, I should say early this morning. They said there was foul play in the form of some sort of cybercrime. And they were completely flustered, so they called us up. Said it was a very, very sophisticated piece of malicious software."

"I'm here at five am because local officials can't bust a hacker?" Cummings responded.

"Pretty much," Abraham responded.

"Alright, well let's get started. Start off with the usual. Do we have contact with Emmerian Electric?" Cummings said.

"Yes, an EE rep is coming momentarily."

"Alright, I'll go through this file in the meantime, see if I can find anything of note."

Several minutes later

There was a knock on the conference room door, breaking a longstanding silence. A man walked in.

"Hello, you must be the Emmerian Electric representative," Cummings said, putting his hand out.

"Emmerian Electricity," the man responded sternly, shaking his hand.

"Excuse me?"

"Emmerian Electricity," he repeated. "You said 'Emmerian Electric."

"Oh, my mistake. Emmerian Electricity. Nice to meet you too," Cummings responded almost awkwardly.

Several minutes later

After sharing bits of information with the representative and learning more about the company, Cummings opened his laptop. He logged onto WikIntel, an intelligence wiki on a classified intranet for the U.R. intelligence community. He opened a new discussion, hoping someone in the intelligence community could give some feedback. He then looked at the EE representative.

"It... it says here that your company's closed-circuit security is provided by Lansing Security. That a local firm?"

"Yes, agent," the representative responded. "Their contact number is on their website."

Instantly, Cummings searched the company and pulled out their phone number. He dialed it on his cell phone, a five-inch touchscreen smartphone running Vyrant's open-source vyOS mobile operating system. He pressed the phone to his ear, listening to the ringer. No response.

"Damn it," he said aloud.

"Perhaps you should try finding their owner and calling him. I'll look for him on LinkedIn," Agent Abraham said. A minute later, he exclaimed: "Boom! Got it." He dialed the number on his phone.

There was a response. "Hello, as I told all the reporters before you, I am not going to comment on the—"

"Mr., uh, Mr. Hanley, this is the CID," Abraham said in his dullest voice.

"The feds? I'm dearly sorry, um, is there anything I can do?" the person on the phone responded.

"Yes, sir. I am going to give you a code you can use to verify that this is the CID. Then, I am requesting you give us backdoor access to your security storage systems. We are investigating the Emmerian Electricity blackout case and we need the security camera footage."

"I... I already gave the clips to some PID guy," he responded, referring to a Pataskala state investigator.

"I understand, sir, but I do not have access to that footage," Abraham said. A minute later, he handed the phone to the cybercrime expert, Samaha. "Make it rain, kiddo."

After discussing the issue on the phone for a minute, Samaha hung up the phone. "He gave us backdoor access," he said before proceeding to type away on his laptop. For the next few minutes, the four men viewed fast-fowarded videos of the EE hydroelectric plant.

On the screen, the man at the front desk stepped away and out of the frame of the camera. A short time later, the man returned to his seat.

"Wait, wait. Did you see that?" Cummings said.

"What? The guy coming back to his seat?" Abraham said.

"No, no. The timestamp. Rewind it and watch the timestamp."

Samaha rewinded the clip and played it again. Once more, the men watched the desk receptionist leave the front desk. And sure enough, the time stamp jumped forward several minutes instantly. The man on screen returned to his desk.

"That may be a lead," Abraham commented. "Here, switch to the outside camera around the same time as when the guy left the desk."

The view switched to a clip of the parking lot. A black vehicle pulled in. Sure enough, the timestamp jumped forward several minutes, and the vehicle—whose occupant, the driver, seemed to move unseamlessly—began to drive off.

"That's... that's interesting," Cummings remarked. "So he just sat there for fifteen minutes and drove off, or are we looking at our culprit right now?"

Abraham shook his head. "It's too... it's too circumstantial, but it looks like something was cut out of this footage. Check if there are any identifiers on the car as it drives off."

"It looks like a black Chevy Cav with a green engine hood," Cummings said as it turned around in the parking lot. The rear of the car was then exposed. "Pause it, pause it! A number of bumper stickers." A blurry image of the rear of the car was visible. The top bumper sticker seemed to be black with a slanted yellow line and unintelligible text. There was another, a yellow bumper sticker with a small, black mass in the middle. To the left was a deep blue sticker with what seemed to be some white text. The license plate was unreadable on the picture. "Print out this image," Cummings said. "And keep looking to see if you find anything else. Abraham, can you send out an APB on that car, then can you call Lansing and see if they have any evidence or records of data deletion?" He then turned to the EE representative. "While they do that, we need to find a motive. This could have been an angry employee or a pissed off customer. Are there any reasons your customers or employees would be unhappy?"

The EE representative looked at him glaringly. "Um, yeah, I think so. It could be anything—for employees, an unsuccessful shot at a promotion, low wages; for customers, possibly unpaid bills..."

"Sir, can you pull up a list of customers who are significantly behind on their bills?" Cummings requested.

"Yes, I can. One minute," the representative responded. He reached into his own files and retrieved a packet. "I don't have an electronic copy on me, but here it is. A few hundred people."

Cummings glared at the list. Oh god no, he thought as he stared at the imposing packet. He looked up at the clock. It was already 8:00 am; they had been in the office for three hours.

Cummings then checked WikIntel again, and noticed someone responded to his call for help. "Hey guys, check this out," he said. "NSS agent in Chaleur says he was on an open-source intel mission hanging out on online chatrooms commonly used by Nameless—that hacktivist group, you know. He says a group of guys, allegedly Nameless, said something about Lansing Sec and DDoS attacks on Emmerian a couple months ago. He whois'd the guy who was at the helm, the IP address puts him within forty miles of the center of Storm Lake, Pataskala." Cummings paused for a moment, then looked at the EE representative. "Here's the map. You got any overdue customers in that range?"

"We'll have to go through them," the representative responded blearily.

As him and Cummings opened the file to scrutinize each customer's address, Abraham spoke. "APB on a black Chevy Cav with those markings on its rear has been issued," he announced. "I've told them to focus on that area for the vehicle. And Lansing's working on checking for data deletion in their servers, they said they'll get back to me ASAP."

For the next forty-five minutes, Cummings and the EE representative sifted through the expansive customer lists. By the end of their search, they found only two overdue customers fell within the range. Cummings, looking at their addresses, said, "I'm going to drive by these two homes, see if I spot that car. If not, I'm going to have to come back, we don't have enough evidence to point in any direction." He stood up and grabbed his suit jacket on his way out the door.

A few minutes later, Abraham's phone rang. It was Lansing. He picked up. "Hello, Special Agent Abraham."

"Agent, our logs show unauthorized backdoor access sporadically for the past month," the Lansing CEO said. "I demand to know if that was federal agents."

"I have no knowledge of any programs accessing your servers, Mr. Hanley," Abraham responded. "It may be the guy who we're looking for. What information do you have?"

"Well, the logs show there's definitely been a data deletion somewhere recently, probably the clips I sent you. Our metadata doesn't include the source of this particular instance of unauthorized backdoor access, though. It seems to be such a sophisticated effort that my comp-sci specialist said it had to be government."

"Send me everything you have, Mr. Hanley," Abraham responded. "And is there any way we can retrieve that data?"

"I believe so, Agent. We've worked in the past with a data recovery firm, Undelete or something. I can look to enlisting their support," the Lansing CEO said. "I'll get to that now; hopefully we'll speak again, Agent." He hung up.

It was almost an hour before Cummings called. "Hey, Abraham, it looks like the traffic jams have mostly cleared," he said on the phone. "I drove by the houses of overdue customers and didn't see the vehicle we're looking for. One of the houses, I think the guy's name was like Alatoon or some—Altoon, that's it—had an open garage and what looked like an old-ass running car. I watched it for a while and the car didn't move, though it was started, so I don't know what that was about. I'm coming back to the office now."

"Thank you, Cummings, good job," Abraham responded.


Lunch passed almost unnoticeably. The investigators had been in the office for eight hours, the clock inching past 1:00. Cummings, having just finished a foot-long sub sandwich, looked around at the other three in the room. "So... no leads, right?"

"Until Lansing can recover the data or the cops find that car, no," Abraham responded. "In the meantime, I guess we should keep reviewing th—"

Abraham's phone rang. He picked up. It was a CID liaison in the Storm Lake Police Department. "Hey, Agent Abraham, cops found the car you were looking for parked outside a store. They took a picture, but the owner later came back and drove off, and they didn't pursue him—don't ask me why. I'll send the picture to you with the address of the owner."

"Thanks," Abraham responded, signaling to Cummings. He looked at his phone, which vibrated as an image came on screen of a black 2002 Chevrolet Cavalier. In the corner was a black bumper sticker with a yellow lightning bolt for a nearby country club. Under it was a yellow "Don't Tread on Me" flag. Next to it was a dark blue sticker that read "Vaziri-Diffey 2013."

"Think we found our man," Cummings said as he looked at the picture. "They send the address?"

"Yep," Abraham responded. "It's not one of the addresses you looked at, surprisingly. Car owned by some guy named 'Galen Hakimi.' Let's get this guy."

Half an hour later, their black undercover police car slowed to a stop outside a sprawling suburban home, the lone building in a wide, manicured lawn. The two agents stepped out of their vehicles, their suits, sunglasses, and earpieces making them look like stereotypical federal agents. They stepped up to the door and pulled out their wallets, which contain large CID identification cards. Cummings knocked on the door.

A few moments later, the door opened, and a tall, lanky, dark-brown-haired man stepped out. He looked confused. "May I help you?"

Cummings and Abraham flashed their CID cards. "Agent Cummings, CID. This is my partner, Agent Abraham. Are you Mr. Galen Hakimi?" Cummings said.

"Yes, I am."

"May we please step in, sir? We have a few questions for you," Abraham chimed in.

"Yes, by all means," the man said, his confused look staying on his face as he opened the door wider. Cummings took the lead, walking past Hakimi, then turning around. Abraham stayed behind Hakimi. Discreetly, they'd set up an ideal arrest situation, casually having sandwiched Hakimi between them.

"Mr. Hakimi," Cummings started "I'm going to ask you a few questions, but first, I want you to keep in mind that you have the right to remain silent, anything you say may be used against you in a court of law—"

"Am I being arrested, Agent?" the man said, glaringly flustered. It was an awkward situation for him; federal agents were standing on both sides of him in his foyer, and the front door hadn't even been closed.

"Not at the moment, sir," Cummings responded. "I'll finish by stating that you do have the right to consult with an attorney and have that attorney present during questioning, and if you are unable to afford one, an attorney will be appointed to you. We can quickly finish this process here, if you'd like."

Hakimi nodded.

"Very good," Cummings said. "Are there any other individuals in this home?"

"No, sir, I live alone," Hakimi said.

Cummings reached into his suit pocket and pulled out a white card. "Do you recognize this vehicle?" he asked, handing Hakimi the card. It was the security camera footage of a black vehicle with barely legible bumper stickers in the process of leaving the Emmerian Electricity hydroelectric plant parking lot.

"Yes, that's my car," he said.

"Mr. Hakimi, you are under arrest."


It was a cramped room. An offwhite polygonal table sat in the middle. Hakimi was ordered by an officer to sit down at an uncomfortable looking chair on one end of the table. Two empty chairs sat near it. On the ceiling in the corner of the room, Hakimi could see a security camera. He was about to undergo a criminal interrogation.

Two men stepped in—the men who arrested him, CID agents Abraham and Cummings. As they entered the room and took their seats, Hakimi shifted uneasily in his seat. He still did not understand why he was being arrested: Was his car stolen? Did he forget to pay a ticket? Why would the CID be investigating him anyway—did they not have more important cases to investigate than a man who forgot to pay a ticket?

Agent Cummings laid a notepad in front of Hakimi. "Before we begin, those are your rights, and I want you to read through them carefully, Mr. Hakimi," he said.

"I'll pay the ticket," he blurted.

"Excuse me?"

"You guys are investigating me for that ticket I didn't pay last September, right?" Hakimi said. He looked desperate.

Cummings glanced towards Abraham. It did not look like Hakimi was lying; he looked completely clueless. Cummings whispered into Abraham's ear: "This guy's probably a chronic liar."

They laid down another folder containing images from security cameras among some other evidence and information they'd gathered. "Mr. Hakimi, we have a few questions."

They talked with Hakimi for a little while, establishing basic information to build trust. Hakimi seemed to be calming down. They moved onto a discussion of the time period when the camera picked up the car. Hakimi's alibi was that he had stayed home from work; he had been ill. The agents had him describe his day in almost excruciating detail, launching questions at him in such quick succession he could not manufacture false statements. Then, he dropped a figurative bomb: "Oh, and I also lent my friend my car."

"Excuse me?" Cummings interjected.

"My friend asked to borrow my car for last night," Hakimi recalled. "Ah, yes, that was the night the power went out. He returned it late in the morning because of the traffic jams. The intersections were closed, you know, no power and no backup."

"You are talking about the Chevrolet Cavalier, correct?" Abraham said assertively.

"Yes, sir."

"Who did you lend it to?"

"My friend, Dillon," Hakimi said.

The name was familiar to Cummings, but he couldn't remember why. "Dillon who?"

"Umm, Al-toon, I think?"

Cummings opened his eyes very wide. "What does Mr. Altoon do?"

"He's in computer science or something. Programmer, hacker, I don't know the specifics or the jargon," Hakimi said, confused.

Cummings looked at Abraham for a moment. There was an elongated, awkward silence. "Mr. Hakimi... we are terribly, terribly sorry."


Dillon Altoon was seemingly in a new world. Around him were his closest friends, looking at him smiling. In the center was a woman from his college days that he had pursued; her white dress seemed to be glowing in the midst of the blackness. He smiled back at her. Altoon scrutinized the surroundings; everything seemed surreal. He was in what looked like an elegantly decorated room; the darkness had turned into a beautifully decorated white wallpaper reaching to a high ceiling, punctuated by a number of high reaching pillars.

Suddenly, there was banging. Altoon looked around and didn't see anything, so he tried to ignore it, but it continued. Then, there was a louder bang that sounded like breaking. He heard loud footsteps.

He opened his eyes.

He couldn't register what was happening. It was too bright for him to keep his eyes open for any prolonged period of time. Silhouettes of people surrounded him, shouting unintelligible things. He tried to focus. One of the silhouettes moved to his side. He saw the man towering over him.

"Mr. Altoon, you are under arrest," the man said.

Final entry of the first personal journal of Congressional delegate Colonel Adam Raith
Assembled by the 'Birth of our Republic' Project,
University of Valeria

---

FEBRUARY 11, 1801 —

This shall be my final entry in this journal. With a noble zeal the representatives of the six colonies at this esteemed Convention this morning agreed upon the provisions for the declaration we shall unveil today. Throughout this journal I have kept a list of personal grievances against His Majesty during my time in the Valeria Militia. It pains me utterly to sign a declaration with such harsh words directed at the King, for merely a decade prior to today, I held him in very high regard. But my experiences as the Colonel of the Valeria Regiment and Commander in Chief of all forces now raised in the defence of His Majesty's Colony have brought me to the sorrowful conclusion that the King of Belfras cannot be our ruler anymore.
The King and Parliament have ignored our petitions, so we in the Convention have decided to formally issue a Declaration of Independence. No longer are we to be Colonies of the Belfrasian Kingdom. We are, once our Declaration is unveiled, the six States of the United Republic of Emmeria.
Battles have already begun between the Militia forces of the States and the Belfrasian Army. I received word from Colonel Forge in Chaleur that his men were attacked by members of the King's army. More blood is spilt every day. I have seen small clashes with my own eyes over the previous decade. Many friends of mine in the Southern Colonies have written to me telling of the horrible brutality of the Belfrasian soldiers there, and it seems a revolt had begun there by 1799. Many of us in the North speculate the Southern Colonies may seek independence as well, as their revolts have been more brutal than ours.
The Western States succeeded in 1755, but we are up against much more. Belfras is the most powerful country in the world, more than other colonial empires like Ulthrannia. They have brutally suppressed every source of rebellion they could find. We believe the Westerners may help us, and the Ulthrannians, as dishonourable as they may be, because they, too, want to see the Belfrasian Empire on this continent fall. And yet, my concern for the success of our cause remains. I am afraid.

May God help us, and may our great revolution succeed.

---

The same day as this journal entry was written, the Convention of the Colonies issued the United Republic Declaration of Independence. By March, a Congress of the States was formed, and it created the Independence Army, appointing Adam Raith to commander-in-chief due to his extensive experience as a military commander and charismatic leadership. The Southern Colonies would indeed declare independence by August 1801, becoming the United Federacy of Geanna. Later, delegates of the Emmerian states and Geannese states met at the Antean Lake in Geanna, where they signed a treaty of military cooperation known as the First Treaty of Antea, leading to the formation of the Antean League. The simultaneous rebellions gained international support from the Islamic confederacy, Western Confederal States, and Grand Ulthrannic Empire in the form of weapons, military expertise, and in some cases, soldiers and ships. Following the war, in 1803, General Raith headed the provisional government under the Congress of the States, contributing to the writing of the Articles of Constitution. Once the new constitution took effect, Raith resigned from his military position and was elected as the first President of the United Republic of Emmeria.