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Point of Divergence 3.0 : The Return of Madness (IC)

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Democratic East-Asia
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Posts: 6004
Founded: Aug 30, 2016
Democratic Socialists

Postby Democratic East-Asia » Sat Sep 12, 2020 4:27 pm

Mobile land battleship “Hannover”, Eastern Lower Galicia | January 9th, Year 0


The Empire’s command landships towered above everything around them, a testament to the rather simple philosophy of “bigger is better”, which wasn’t true in many cases, but this wasn’t one of them. Heavily armed with multiple missile launchers, heavy railgun turrets, and CIWS defense guns, and protected by upwards of 405mm of carbon-based composite armor, the command battleship was lauded by its designers as an invincible juggernaut - it had the firepower of an entire regiment, and the protection afforded to a top of the line naval vessel. Some would argue that such ships made very lucrative targets for enemy missiles and air support, but as far as high command was concerned, the current war was one where such considerations weren’t particularly necessary (or so half of high command said, as misplaced as this might've possibly been). Either way, the current position of the Hannover - near the Polish-Belorussian border - and the presence of the PM and 3rd Princess made the need of additional defenses a given. Surrounded by over a dozen smaller landships, all equipped with ABM systems and missile launchers, it seemed unlikely even a single ballistic or cruise missile would manage to hit the Hannover, provided the enemy knew where it was.

“So, what do you think, milady?” Karl Schneller asked the intricately dressed 3rd princess standing in front of him. “Are the security measures and accommodations to your liking?”

“Well its certainly been set up quite nicely,” Euphemia replied with a smile. “Though I hope it proves enough. Who knows? I’ve heard the Russians could reach our current positions with their planes.”

“Bah! It’s not like they’ll get within 50 km of this spot! Our air defenses are impenetrable, and whatever fifty year old junk they’re throwing at us stands no chance of breaking through,” Marshal Schneller declared proudly. He seemed quite impressed in his work, and Euphemia honestly didn’t understand enough to say otherwise. Unlike her siblings she’d never been particularly interested in military matters till recently, and found a lot of the terminology and theories being thrown around as somewhat out of context. Sighing, she quickly left the Marshal’s presence and began walking down one of the Hannover many internal hallways. Everything was so… large. Euphemia had been on smaller landships before, but even they paled in comparison to the 70,000 ton monster she was currently on. Part of her questioned why such things were even necessary.

After navigating around a few corners and going down a flight of stairs, Euphie finally reached the suite that had been reserved for her. Quick to take off her shoes, she threw herself onto a nearby bed and yawned. It sure was tiring, all the constant military briefings and other nonsense that had been thrown her way.

“Seems like someone here’s a bit tired.” A certain man nearby said with amusement. Euphie was momentarily alarmed, but then realized it was just the prime minister. Mr. Frahm sat at a nearby table, seemingly content with the small kettle of coffee he’d brewn for himself and Euphie.

“So, how did the military briefing go?” Frahm asked a tired Euphemia. Euphie shrugged and shook her head.

“Honestly I wasn’t quite sure what half of what they said meant. Something strategic this, something logistics that… it all flew over my head,” Euphie looked a bit downcast. “How am I going to be a proper ruler? Each Imperial prince and princess is expected to understand how the military functions…”

“Ahh no worries about that. I can break everything down for you right now,” Frahm poured Euphemia a cup of coffee and passed her a plate of pastries. “This old man might be out of his prime, but he did serve in the military for 8 years.” Frahm chuckled.

“That would be greatly appreciated Mr. Frahm!” Euphemia beamed.

“Well then, where do you want to start?” The PM took out a tablet and turned on a nearby electronic display. Numerous symbols dotted what appeared to be a map of Eastern Europe, with signals and animated movements showcasing planned bombing operations and missile targets. Euphemia took a while to analyze the map before nodding her head.

“These plane symbols… I’m guessing they represent our airforce?” She tried her best to make a guess.

“Indeed. Those planes represent the Empire’s bomber wings. Given how rushed this operation was, only three bomber groups, 30 strong each, will be dedicated towards our initial attack. Two groups will proceed towards the city of Moscow (60 stealth bombers in total), while the last is tasked with striking targets in and around the city of Petersburg. A mix of high yield boosted implosion bombs and chemical weapons is to be used.”

“Chemical weapons…” Euphemia let that linger on her mind for a bit. Personally she found the use of chemical warheads abhorrent, but it seemed the general consensus amongst high command was that they were fair game. “What about their air defenses? I read that most modern nations tend to use surface-to-air missiles against bombers.”

“Not an issue. Our stealth systems should ensure our planes manage to get through most of their airspace undetected, and even when within range it’ll be difficult for them to get a lock on us. All bombers have been provided with decoy launchers as well, just in case,” Frahm replied. “Which gets us onto the next point: air superiority, or at least temporary air superiority.”

The PM pointed towards four marked groups on the map. “These are our aerial strike groups and airship squadrons. Totalling some 36 cruisers, 6 carriers, and 6 battleships. They’ve been tasked with both taking out supply depots, airfields, and other infrastructure along the Belorussian-Baltic front as well as securing the skies for our bombers. Of course, they aren’t totally alone, as I believe the luftwaffe is dedicating at least 400 of its fighter jets to this operation.”

“Four hundred?” Euphemia wasn’t completely sure whether that was a small or large number. “Is that sufficient for something this big?”

“Well, it’s all we’re able to muster at this given time at once,” Frahm shrugged. “Enough to at least temporarily clear the skies and ensure our bombers can hit their targets without too many problems, in theory at least.”

Continuing on, Frahm pointed out the numerous missile batteries stationed across Eastern Europe.

“In light of the Russians’ large scale use of theatre ballistic missiles such as what they call the SCUD, we’ve been forced to deploy new defenses in the area, as well as strategic missiles of our own.” He uploaded a few diagrams of Imperial cruise missiles and short range ballistic missiles. “I’m sure you’ve at least been briefed over the capabilities of these weapons?”

“Yes, I have,” Euphemia replied without much enthusiasm. “I heard that high command plans on filling them with all sorts of chemical and possibly biological weapons. They're going to be used on civilians..."

“It’s not that simple.” Frahm frowned. “We were able to identify countless Russian early warning radars, air bases, and other essential infrastructure that enables them to run their war machine. This sadly includes civilian settlements, which are often situated on important transport networks and serve as supply depots. By devastating the local populations… we force the Russians to redirect attention to these areas. If anything it’ll be denying them the logistics they need. It's not like they haven't been doing the same to us: we've already suffered tens thousands of civilian casualties due to their excessive use of SCUDs on urban areas in the east.”

“You certainly explained that better than Schneller did…” Euphie groaned. “He just went on and on about ‘exterminating the subhumans’ or something like that. Even dad isn’t like that.”

“Schneller’s an ideologically charged buffoon,” Frahm grumbled. “Don’t tell him I said that, but I honestly can’t stand the man. He’s over promoted and marginally competent. Everytime we hold security briefings its always Hess that does 90% of the talking. Schneller just adds on by suggesting we murder people senselessly. And don’t even get me started on Hess: the man's smart but he’s rotten to the core.”

“Undoubtedly,” Euphemia nodded in agreement. “Anyways, where did we leave off again? I think you were talking about the missiles?”

“Ahh yes. Starting tomorrow, our forces will begin a barrage using hundreds of cruise missiles with chemical warheads and cluster munitions. Over a hundred marked targets ranging from military bases, airfields, and civilian population centers will be struck. This is to continue so long as the war drags on. We expect total casualties from both the Petersburg and Moscow bombings and this to be high, but even then they’ll pale in comparison to what’s planned next.”

“The FLEIJAs… we’re launching FLEIJAs at them aren’t we?” Euphemia looked visibly concerned after realizing the implications. “How many and where?”

“Six in total, all large-scale strategic FLEIJAs. The cities of Rostov-on-Don, Volgograd, Saratov, Tolyatti, Kazan, and Perm will be completely wiped out. I estimate anywhere from 5-10 million people are going to die, though these are guesses at best. Ideally they'll surrender after this and agree to our terms. Either way, things won’t be pretty.” The PM finished before taking a moment to reflect on his actions. He’d signed on and agreed to this.

“10 million people… but why? Isn’t there an easier way for us to solve this?” Euphie pleaded.

“Euphemia, the Empire doesn’t see the Russians as people.”




Near the town of Ushachy, Northern Belorussia | January 9th, Year 0


Commander Vladimir Limonov adjusted his periscope as he scanned the horizon for enemies. The T-72B he’d been issued as division commander was amongst the most modern within the Russian arsenal, but even then there were issues when it came to long range engagements. At the moment, the snow was picking up, which obscured visibility of the horizon and likely ensured he wouldn’t be consistently hitting anything over 1500m away. The specifics behind the fire control system meant the tank would have to travel under 25 km/h in order for it to aim properly, but that wasn’t a concern at the moment. He and the rest of the 97th tank Battalion had orders to push through Teuton lines in this area while Drozdov’s 2nd Baltic Front was to continue its advance through Latvia. The idea was that they’d manage to cut off Europan Baltic forces, and hopefully reach Riga by the end of the week.

“Comrade commander, we’re currently approaching a series of treelines. Approximate distance of 1500m.” A nearby tank radioed in.

“Affirmative. Order our three companies to keep alert and reduce speed. We should be safe from their anti tank cannons at the moment, but be mindful of those mechs! I’ve heard they can be quite nasty.” Limonov radioed back to his subordinates.

“Understood commander!” Numerous voices replied in near sync. Limonov smiled: internal cohesion was high, and everyone understood their tasks. The enemy would be upon them soon.

Taking a few deep breaths, Limonov muttered a quick prayer to God. May the holy father deliver upon us victory and safety for my men, he finished before mentally steeling himself.

Unbeknownst to the Russians, 5 km away,a single KMF activated its fact sphere and did a scan of the horizon. It reported back the locations of the Russian tanks with haste. A single KMF squadron was sent to hold them off while the rest of the Europan division in the region regrouped.




“Is everyone in position?” Lt. Monika Eisenberg asked over comms. There were numerous nods and signals of confirmation.

“Good. Bohen will take to the treelines with the rest of you will split into groups of four each. Have your rifles’ smoke grenades at ready! On my mark we’ll strike!”

“Yes lieutenant!”

Monika switched her comms channel to connect with Bohen, the squad’s sniper. She’d been tasked with neutralizing some of the vehicles in the Russians’ second company while acting as a temporary distraction for the others. It was risky to say the least.

“Bohen, are all your systems working?” Monika asked.

“No problems LT!” Bohen chirped. “All systems running at 100%!”

“Alright, just make sure to keep to the trees and stay mobile!”

Monika quickly checked her KMF’s rifle. 50 rounds, all armor piercing sabot. It would be enough for this engagement. Robotic box launchers had been placed at various points across the nearby treelines, and would fire when ready. Monika chuckled: this whole scenario was somewhat ridiculous. KMFs weren’t expected to fight tanks head on, even if these tanks were over half a century old. Either way, the given preparations would have to do.




Limonov was feeling anxious, seriously anxious. He’d been scanning the treelines for threats but nothing had appeared just yet. What were these teutons doing? He took another glance towards the treeline, and noticed what appeared to be… mortar arrays?

Limonov’s thoughts were interrupted as said “arrays” opened up with a salvo of high velocity rounds. The Europans had to be stupid if they were firing HE rounds, but it quickly became clear that wasn’t the idea. They were firing smoke canisters in an attempt to conceal their forces. As the smoke set in, the Russian commander quickly realized it was messing with his vehicle’s thermal sights. This was no good.

“All forces advance quickly but keep formation! Companies 1 and 3 will advance towards our flanks!” He ordered before contemplating his actions. Retreat wasn’t an option: the T-64s that made up a bulk of his force were too slow to reverse, and turning around would leave them exposed to the enemy. He’d already advanced too far, so falling back frankly wasn’t an option. Nevermind the fact “retreat” simply wasn’t in the handbook.

The tank commander strapped himself in as his T-72 jerked forwards and began to pick up speed. It managed to reach 44 km/h right as the first tank of the 97th went up in flames. The Europans had launched their attack.



“Two down… and that’s a third!” Bohen smiled as a loud crack from her rifle signaled the death of yet another Russian vehicle. It seemed the Russians had picked up speed and were firing half blind through the smoke, not that it would do them any good.

In the distance, a fourth T-72 erupted with a staggering BOOM as its ammo was struck through the armor by one of Bohen’s 40mm shots. Wasting no time, Bohen quickly repositioned herself along the tree line. The snow panels she’d been issued were lifesavers, as they enabled her Hummel to reach maximum combat speed in seconds, on normally troublesome terrain as well.

While Bohen continued singling out individual tanks, the two groups of four (one of which was led by Monika) dashed towards the flanks of the Russian force. Each group had a single heavy rifleman and tactical operator (recoilless rifle, grenadier) which would end up doing the bulk of the work.




Monika’s KMF clocked in at just under 140 km/h as she charged towards the left flank of the Russian force. Sensors were quick to pick up the presence of Russian tanks, which were moving to engage whatever they found. It made sense from a tactical perspective, but that wouldn’t be saving them today. Before the Russians were able to make it out of the smoke screen, Monika raised her rifle and fire off three successive bursts. Three T-64s exploded in quick succession, the rapid barrage of 40mm sabots tearing straight through their armor. Max Schumann, the squad’s AT specialist, fired three shots from his panzerschreck at the incoming russians, coring another three T-64 / T-72s before they had time to react. By the time the four surviving T-64s had exited the smokescreen, the distances between them and the KMFs had been shortened to just under 300m.

Monika’s two wingmen: Sterner and Meyers, opened up with a barrage from their SSG100s. While the shells largely deflected off the sloped frontal armor of the T-64s, the sheer volume of fire managed to tear off numerous components and damage the gun of one of the tanks. The three remaining vehicles barely had enough time to get off a single shot, two of which flew wide as the KMFs’ rapid maneuvers proved too quick to keep up with. The third struck Meyers' KMF in the weapons' arm and knocked it off.

As she approached within 100m of the enemy vehicles, Monika activated a booster unit and leapt at the tanks in front of her. In just under three seconds, she landed right next to a T-64 before slicing its turret clean off with her KMF's MVS blade. The crew inside barely had time to react before they were laterally bisected. It was a rather ridiculous display that wouldn't have been out of place in a Japanese anime. As the other tanks rapidly attempted to turn their turrets to engage the Europan lieutenant, Monika’s squadmates finished them off with a brief volley of rifle fire.

“All enemies destroyed.” Monika smiled. “Any word from Cooper’s group?” She asked nobody in particular.

“This is Cooper reporting in!” A voice on the comms replied. “We managed to take out the tank company on the right, but they got a lucky shot on us. Giovanni made herself a bit too obvious with her rocket pods, and her KMF received a shell to the lower torso. Whole thing was ripped apart. She ejected of course, so no one died.”

“Very good. You know how to proceed! Attack from the rear and destroy their central company!”



Limonov clenched his fist as yet another tank in his company was turned into a burning coffin by a yet unseen assailant in the distance. All the goddamn smoke and snow had made it incredibly hard to find the bastard who’d been killing his men, but at last his and two other tanks managed to make it out of the smoke. Pressing his face against the tank’s periscope, Limonov honed in on what he made out to be a large humanoid in the treelines? The old commander’s suspicions were confirmed when said humanoid raised its rifle and fired in Limonov’s direction, the shot striking the T-72 a few dozen meters to Limonov’s right. As the robot in the distance moved away at unnatural speed to yet another firing position, Limonov knew he had but one chance to take it out.

”You’ll pay, you fucking bastard.” Limonov cursed.

“GUNNER! You see what I’m seeing?!” He screamed.

“Yes comrade! I see it!”

“Then what are you waiting for?! FIRE!” Limonov’s voice was drowned out by the roar of the T-72’s 125mm cannon, which sent a single tungsten-carbide sabot flying at upwards of 1800 m/s towards the unknown KMF. The sabot pierced straight through Bohen’s armored cockpit and killed her instantly. The Hummel subsequently burst into flames as its reactor was destroyed.




It seemed Bohen had done her job quite adequately, Monika thought to herself. Only two tanks remained of the Russians’ 2nd company by the time the rest of Monika’s squad had arrived to clean up the remains. They enemy vehicles were quickly neutralized, and it seemed there would be no follow up attacks. Not that Monika wanted to fight another attack: this one alone had already pushed the limits of what a single squad of KMFs was capable of. Conditions had been near optimal for operational success, but it was unlikely something similar would happen again. The enemy would eventually adapt. Well, at least it was over for now.

“Seems like the mission was a success!” Monika proudly declared. “30 vehicles destroyed with only one permanent loss on our end. Wait-”

“Bohen. I’m not receiving any signals from Bohen’s KMF…” Schumann pointed out.

“Shit.”




Interlude: Back home in Germania

January 9th, Year 0 post ISOT (2018 a.t.b)
Marx Family Home | Germania | Kingdom of Prussia

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It was but another cold, wintery night in Germania (Berlin), the former capital of the Empire and the largest city in the Kingdom of Prussia. Outside the central arcology of the new city, neatly planned suburbs spanned the horizon, home to countless middle-class Europan families and a testament to the Empire’s wealth and organizational superiority. Located somewhere amongst these neatly packed two-story houses was the home of the Marx family, a respectable and well maintained dwelling. Walter’s father Manfred had purchased it a decade back when the housing market was cheap, and paying off mortgage became a non issue as soon as Manfred was promoted to senior associate at Deutsche Bank. Prior to the ISOT, the family had talked about buying a new, larger house further away from the city, but those plans were scrapped the moment half of the world disappeared.

Manfred Marx unlocked the door to his house with the quick scan of his thumbprint before entering. It was one of those odd pieces of technologies the house had been built with. He tossed his snow-covered overcoat onto a nearby stair post before heading to the kitchen. A cup of warm coffee and some dinner would help lighten the mood, he thought to himself.

“Well look who's home?” The aged yet soft voice of Manfred’s wife Celine could be heard around the corner. Manfred smiled slightly as he took a seat at the kitchen dining table. The presence of numerous dishes of food indicated that dinner was in fact ready. It was comforting - peacefully eating dinner at home with one’s family that is - though ever since Walter left, it felt as if some sort of gaping void had taken his place.

“I made beef pot roast, your favorite!” Celine announced as she took the seat opposite of Manfred. The old German stockbroker nodded. Beef was one of the food items that had yet to see a significant hike in prices, though he privately knew that was bound to change.

“It was Walter’s too, and Marie’s as well,” Manfred said somewhat solemnly. There was a brief moment of silence before Celine attempted to change the topic.

“It indeed was. But we can’t reminisce about that too much, right? I’m sure both of them are doing fine,” Celine tried to reassure her husband, though truthfully she was frightened too. The war out in the east was utterly barbaric, and new coming back from the front wasn’t particularly reassuring. “Anyways, how was work today? I heard there’s a lot going on at the bank.”

“A lot did happen, yes,” Manfred replied, “Our department as you know was in charge of the bank’s Chinese investments. I say ‘was’ because the China we knew doesn’t exist anymore. You can imagine what happened after that.”

“Oh no,” Celine was slightly concerned, “did they threaten to lay you off?”

“No no, not me, but there were personnel cuts across all sectors, specifically the East-Asian investment group. I was forced to tell half of my team that they were being ‘permanently laid off’, a nice way of saying fired. Unsurprisingly, nobody was happy about that. But what can I say? The economy’s looking like its going to fold in on itself; I think even optimistic predictions show a 25% drop in GDP by the end of the quarter.”

“You checked up on Karl yet? The neighbor’s kid, I think he works in the same company as you do.”

“Ahhh Karl. He was amongst the first to be called up by the military. I think they’re raising 5 million reserves to send to the east. Can you imagine? 5 million reserves, mostly kids fresh out of university.”

“I remember reading that the government’s currently in the process of moving 4 million reinforcements to the frontlines, and I can’t imagine why that wouldn’t be enough. We both know that the Russians are decades behind us in terms of military technology after all. It shouldn’t be hard to defeat them, so I don’t see why we’d need to rally the reserves.”

“While that is true, quantity has a quality of its own,” Manfred replied after finishing a few bites of pot roast, “there’s a whole horde of them out there, the slavs that is. I still remember my time in the army. We were conducting patrols out in the contested Ural territories, and the partisans were no joke. They fought savagely, yet conducted themselves with discipline. Imagine that, but dozens of times greater.”

“I’d rather not imagine that,” Celine shook her head, “though Walter… he’s being sent out there isn’t he?”

“Indeed he is. We can only hope he manages to stay safe.” Manfred replied.

As he contemplated the future, Manfred’s eyes were drawn to a small family portrait on the counter. It was an old photo, dating back to 2010 a.t.b. All four members of the Marx family could be seen, their smiles a reminder of what the past used to be. The thought sent shivers down Manfred’s spine: he’d already lost a daughter, and he feared he’d lose his son in the coming days.




Fredericksburg (Lublin), Kingdom of New Galicia (Poland) | January 9th, Year 0

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Fredericksburg during the summer


“I have to admit, the weather is particularly bad today.” A certain bespectacled, fat German industrialist muttered as his private limousine passed made its way across one of Fredericksburg’s many freeways.

“Well Mr. Clopp, do we have a deal?” A second, lankier and notably younger businessman smiled at his older counterpart. “We’ll have those strikers dealt with in no time, with just a 2% dip in productivity at most. There are, after all, so many more willing to take their places.”

“Of course. Do what you must in order to dispose of those beutelist troublemakers. They will learn soon enough that messing with von Clopp was the last thing they should’ve done,” the older man took a puff from his expensive Cuban cigar before beckoning one of his servants over. The servant in question would proceed to pour a fine glass of Burgundian wine to both men.

“A toast to future success!” Von Clopp raised his glass.

“A toast indeed!” The other man nodded just as the limo came to a stop. Von Clopp raised his eyes at this: the freeways in these parts of New Galicia were almost never congested.

“Hmmm? What’s the holdup driver?” Von Clopp asked with a tinge of annoyance in his voice. The chauffeur pointed towards two vehicles a few dozen meters in front of the limo: a single transport truck and SUV. The two had evidently crashed and an argument had subsequently broken out between the drivers. Von Clopp couldn’t make out anything they were saying (since it was in Polish), but the argument appeared to be quite heated. Two police cars pulled over to inspect the damage, the officers questioning both drivers while combing them for weapons.

Clopp tried to make out the features of one of the polish drivers. She was young: maybe 20 years of age, had surprisingly white hair, and appeared rather annoyed. Then for a brief second, she made eye contact with him through the glass of the limo. The girl then reached for her pocket.

“Niech żyje Polska, niech żyje Polak zasiedlać!”

The rear door of the transport truck slammed open, and a group of armed workers leapt out and opened fire with SMGs on everything in sight. The police officers standing nearby were eviscerated by a hail of lead while the girl from earlier drew a knife from a back pocket and stabbed the officer who’d been questioning her in the gut. As the officer fell over in pain, she grabbed him by head and snapped his neck.

“Oh mein GOTT!” Von Clobb screamed before two of the poles blasted at the old aristocrat’s limo with their guns. The chauffeur was killed instantly, his body turned into a bloody paste by over two dozen bullets. The two security guards were likewise disposed of as they attempted to get out of the car, the poles’ sudden assault too quick for them to react to.

The old businessman didn’t even bother checking on his barely alive companion before clambering out of limo’s rear right door. He barely managed to run 3 feet before two well placed pistol rounds took out his legs. The screams of his companion could be heard before two of the terrorists dragged him out of the limo and shot him twice in the head.

“AAAARRGGHH!” The German cried while desperately trying to crawl away from his assailants. He was stopped short as the white-haired girl approached him, a deathly glare aimed at him.

“Please spare me!” Von Clopp pleaded while tears trickled down his overgrown face and fell onto his now soiled business suit. He was covered in the blood of others and both of his legs were bleeding profusely. Yet despite his miserable condition, the girl in question paid no heed to the cries of industrialist sprawled before her. Snarling, she grabbed one of his hands before slicing off a finger.

“GOD WHY!!?!!” Von Clopp barely had time to yell before the girl pointed her knife right at his neck.

“You will shut up, stay quiet, and keep still.” She said coldly.

“Wait… you aren’t going to kill me?!” Von Clobb stuttered.

“We have something… more fitting planned for you.” She flashed him a wicked smile before calling her comrades over. “Bag him up and take him away. He’ll make a great example for the others.”

“Yes, comrade malina!”

In the distance, a series of explosions ripped across both the freeway and parts of the upper city. Hundreds of people were killed, countless more wounded. In the lower lying slums, thousands of rioters took to the streets and attacked police precincts and government offices, making quick examples of the cops that got in their way. Numerous Imperial citizens who’d been outside the central city were lynched by angry mobs while surprisingly well coordinated terrorists wrecked havoc amongst those who thought they’d be safe within central Fredericksburg’s walls. Martial law was declared shortly after, and two divisions of galician soldiers originally bound for the Eastern Front were redirected to suppress the violence.

The Lublin uprising had begun, and it was only one of the many the Polish Home Army and Workers' Liberation Front had planned.

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Polish mob attacks Europan riot police during the opening phases of the uprising




Brovary District, Sieggard (Kyiv), State of West Ruthenia | January 9th, Year 0


Commander Ulrich Schneider shielded his eyes as a gust of wind blew some fresh snow his way. Above his position, three squadrons of Eurofighter pikeman jets darted by, their intent quite obvious. Every passing day, the Russian horde made its way closer and closer to the capital of West Ruthenia and single largest city in the Ukraine: Sieggard (or Kyiv as the locals called it). Losing the city would undoubtedly open up the rest of Ruthenia to invasion, and possibly lead to the collapse of other parts of the Dnieper defense line. Orders from high command were clear: hold the city at all costs. Reinforcements from the west would be trickling in over the next week or two, and were expected to arrive in bulk by the end of the month. In the meantime, the Imperial 5th and 16th Armies - a total of 542,000 combat effective soldiers - were expected to hold the city and its surrounding suburbs. As with all modern Imperial armies, the 5th and 16th were fully mechanized, and possessed a large inventory of heavy weapons and long range linear cannons. It would give them an advantage defensively, but even then nothing was guaranteed.

If intel was to be believed, anywhere from 2-2.5 million Russians were expected to converge on Sieggard in a few days. The planned mass chemical and FLEIJA attack on the 10th would theoretically delay part of the enemy’s advance by another week or so at most, though a majority of the empire’s chemical weapons would be used in Belorussia, where unfavorable terrain meant enemy numbers would pose a greater threat. This of course meant the fighting Ukraine would be distinctly more “conventional”, whatever that meant anyways. Ulrich privately hoped he wouldn’t be hit by a stray cluster bomb or N-stoff grenade, since those were being issued to the troops. His battalion: the 96th mechanized, had been given the task of stalling the enemy in Kiev’s eastern districts while the central city shut its gates and prepared for a siege. Casualties were most likely going to be quite high.

Making his way back into the regimental command tent, Ulrich took out a lighter and lit up a cheap cigarette. All this work had been quite stressing, and even the standard issue alcohol ration wasn’t helping too much. Outside, the loud ring of a bell signalled the end of this work shift, and as the thousands of soldiers and civilians headed out to grab a bite to eat and take a brief break, the next work regiments marched on in and continued with haste. Many of those sent to dig and build fortifications were locals who’d been forcibly press ganged by the regional government in an attempt to expand the army’s labor pool. While effective, it had been rather unpopular with the population, and more than a few dissenters had to be shot. Ulrich had been unfortunate enough to have to deal with the paperwork, which he eventually just dumped in a pile next to his desk. That could all wait for later.

A private entered Ulrich’s tent before saluting briefly. “Commander, a certain… old lady wants to talk to you.”

“Hmmm? Let her in,” Ulrich nodded, motioning for his guards to let the lady in, “Just make this quick.”

An elderly woman, likely in her 80s judging by her wrinkled facial features and traditional hooded garb, made her way to Ulrich’s desk before reaching into a bag at her side. Ulrich’s guards almost instinctively aimed their guns at the woman before Ulrich waved them down. The woman proceeded to place a few hefty jars of kompot on the table.

“This is for you, commander Brezhnev,” she said in a raspy yet understandable Ukrainian. “I heard your work has been highly stressful, and I hope this will help,” the old lady smiled. “If I may ask, how is Alexi doing? He is stationed in this regiment, yes?”

Ulrich took a moment to fully register what she’d said. Unfortunately neither of his parents had taught him their mother tongue, which wasn’t offered by the Imperial schooling system, so his Ukrainian was quite mediocre at best.

“It’s commander Schneider, but I’ll overlook that,” Ulrich sighed. “As for Alexi? Hmm… ahh, you mean Albert Shacher?”

“Yes, if you insist on that name,” the old lady nodded with a bit of hesitation.

“He’s been managing fine. I’d say the military life suits Al-Alexi Shevchenko quite well,” Ulrich noticed the babushka’s face brighten a bit at the mention of her grandson’s birth name. It was the least he could do. “He’s a natural when it comes to marksmanship, and everyone seems to look up to him,” Ulrich replied. “Though if I may ask, why are you still here? I thought the government issued an evacuation order to all civilians in this sector?”

“You know as well as me... when they said civilians, they meant Europan citizens,” the babushka said with a hint of resignation in her voice, “I can’t speak any of the government's official languages and never worked for it, so that is out of the question for me. And plus, Kyiv has always been my home: I can’t simply abandon it now, can I?”

“I guess you can’t be wrong,” Ulrich shook his head. “Though if anything, I suggest taking shelter in either the metros or the basement of your home. I can’t guarantee that the fighting here won’t result in massive damage. Here, take this.” He handed her a spare gas mask. "You might need it."

“Thank you, commander,” the babushka nodded in affirmation before taking the mask and making her way to the exit. “Tell Alexi that his grandma wishes him luck, and please give him one of the kompot jars.”

“No problem,” Ulrich watched as the old lady disappeared into the snow. It was saddening, having to see people like that grandma live in a country that neither liked nor cared about them. Ulrich sometimes wondered why he couldn’t have been born in another part of Europa, further away from the harsh reality of the east. Every day in Ruthenia was simply another reminder that neither his adopted nor ancestral heritage could fully accept him. But unlike the rest of the 96th mechanized battalion, he never had a choice in the matter. Having been born into a family of naturalized 1st class Europans, Ulrich was bound by both law and blood to his duties as a citizen of the empire.

Yuri Brezhnev, no, Ulrich Schneider stood up and grabbed his ceremonial sword. With the dignity and pride befitting of a Europan officer, he marched out to join his troops in the cold.

“Für das Reich, Lang lebe Europa.”
Last edited by Democratic East-Asia on Sat Sep 12, 2020 4:33 pm, edited 1 time in total.
Revolutionary Communist State set in Asia. PMT.
NS stats are not used.
Actively funding left-wing "terrorist" organizations since its founding.

Pan Asia Broadcasting Channel: "We will achieve communism in 20 years." - Chairman Wei Yenwu, Central Government | Automation of industries threatens millions of jobs, says economic advisors

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The Imperial Warglorian Empire
Powerbroker
 
Posts: 7731
Founded: Oct 10, 2015
Inoffensive Centrist Democracy

Postby The Imperial Warglorian Empire » Mon Sep 14, 2020 7:56 am

Orsk, Southern Urals
January 9th, Year 0
Dirlewanger Brigade

Orsk, once a large city in the southern Urals full of life, a rather quaint area to live in considering the circumstances and general geography. Once, before the war, Orsk had a thriving industry and was not too dissimilar to other cities under the USSR. Now, it was still full of life...to an extent, though not in the right way.

Where once there were large standing buildings, now there were ruins. Where the streets were decently clean and tidy, now they were filthy and crowded. Shantytowns and makeshift camps littered across the urban area as some of the worst scum and villainy found across all of post-war Russia had 24 hour long parties, every day of every week of every month. Off-duty raiders descended into debauchery in their free time: drinking heavily in taverns, laughing at bad jokes, constantly getting into fights in bars and the streets and bathrooms and houses and car parks and brothels and amusement areas and theatres and funeral homes and...well, everywhere really. And while the raiders enjoyed themselves on the fruits of their "labour," slaves also littered the streets: men with barely any clothing on them shambled zombielike aimlessly with chains around their necks, serving drinks and cleaning garbage. Meanwhile, female slaves, also with barely any clothing on them though not exactly in the same fashion, found themselves in fates some would consider worse than death, forced upon without choice by brutal men (and the occasional brutal woman) and with a high risk of death by a drunk bandit.

And up above it all, on a top floor of a mighty "palace" that was built on the ruins of the old railway station with various pieces of random material cobbled together to make a questionably structurally sound building was the man who oversaw it all.

Oskar Dirlewanger, the Bandit King, the Scourge of the Urals, the Great Conquerer, looked over the city he owned, he built. Long had he always desired his own fiefdom to rule over, his own subjects to abuse whenever he fancied it. And the great wealth he had amassed was most definitely nothing to scoff at.

On this particular day, however, Dirlewanger felt that something was...off. It had been the middle of the night when suddenly a bright flash of light, of intensity he'd only seen from the large bombs the Luftwaffe had dropped during the terror bombings all those years ago, seemed to engulf the entire city. At first, Dirlewanger thought it simply a figment of his imagination, and when others had told him they'd witnessed the same thing, then he simply decided that it was a figment of all their imaginations, rolled up into one alcohol-fueled out-of-body experience.

But...then reports had begun coming in. The various scouts and raiding parties who'd been sent out came back to report strange sights. The once desolate fields of Russia which held so much anarchy were...well still desolate, but much more tidied, as if someone had cleaned them up. Scouts from as far as the Reichskommissariat Moskowein border had reported, instead of the ruined cities of warlords past, rebuilt urban metropolis' billowing smoke and full of life. What'd concerned him more was the report of the flag these cities flew: not the stupid rainbow swastika of those Hyberborea-fucks, but the black-white-yellow eagle flag of the Siberian Black League. It was even more concerning when some of his patrols and raiding parties, reduced to nearly half their number mind you, brought in soldiers captured from enemy patrols that were ambushed by his forces. Their logos only confirmed who they were, and many spoke of a "Russian National Reclamation Government" being in control.

That...was disturbing. Somehow, at some point in time, while he was fucking stuffing his face with booze in the middle of the night while getting sucked off by some village girl, the damned Black League, who he thought had been crushed by Rokossovsy's fuckers years ago, had overthrown the entire fucking Aryan Brotherhood, taken control and rebuilt the country. Dirlewanger wasn't a religious man, the many churches he'd burned down, priests he'd also burned down and nuns he'd defiled made sure that being religious wouldn't be a pleasant idea, but even in his alcohol addled mind, he could piece together that something was up.

But even if those revanchist-horny ultranationalist crazies had taken over, it was no matter. Dirlewanger wasn't called the Bandit King for no reason, and he'd be damned if he'd let those grudge-holding fucks scare him. He was the greatest conquer since Hitler after all, he'd fought anti-German Russian ultranationalists before with Schulz and his clique, he could deal with these cocksuckers too.

"Schmedes!" Oskar called out as Fritz Schmedes, his right-hand man and a rather dear friend of his, stumbled in clutching at his head.

"Jawohl?" Schmedes replied, attempting to shade his eyes away from the incoming light from the windows.

"I want you to double the amount of raiding parties going out, tell the boys to have some extra fun: I want these crusader wannabes to start bleeding hard."

"Ugh, um, yeah, sure, I'll do that later," Schmedes mumbled, "Mein Gott, is this what that Jew felt? Next time I'll use a hammer instead of a baseball bat..."

Dirlewanger sighed, suddenly hearing a sudden gasp from below him.

Looking down, Dirlewanger looked at the young half-naked Russian farm girl, barely out of her teens, her face bruised and her eyes red from crying, on her knees and desperately gasping for air.

"What? Did I tell you to ficking stop whore? You stop when I tell you to stop or you drop down dead, got it?" Dirlewanger shouted angrily, grabbing the Walther P38 from his pants that'd been thrown on the chair beside him, "and unless you double it up, the latter's going to come far sooner than I would've liked it to!"
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The Alpenbund
Lobbyist
 
Posts: 16
Founded: Aug 10, 2020
Inoffensive Centrist Democracy

Postby The Alpenbund » Mon Sep 14, 2020 4:53 pm

Training Camp C-9, somewhere south of Brest. January 16th, Year 0 [March 16th, 40 AI].

"THREE! FOUR! FIVE! SIX! WHAT'S YOUR MAJOR MALFUNCTION, SOLDIER?", the drill instructor yelled into Private Maximillian Rechtig's ear as he pushed down the young man's back. After a few seconds of Max still trying to push up, the man put his full weight into it, shoving him into the dirty puddle below. "GET UP AND BACK IN FORMATION!", the sergeant yelled at him, moving onto the next man.

Readjusting his helmet and body armor, the private reassumed his at-attention stance among the rest of the platoon. 'Maybe this wasn't such a good idea.' He'd been having this thought ever since he arrived at the camp a week earlier. When they'd seen his proficiency in most things military - they didn't know his real service back home had ended barely six months ago - they'd thrown him in with this unit. According to the paperwork, he was a lot younger than everyone there, barely above 18 (though in reality, that was a lie just like his name and almost everything else). Most of his squadmates were university graduates, between 22 and 28. It had earned him many looks of pity, something which he found funny in a fairly cynic way.

When he'd snuck across the border and into the next-best Imperial town, he'd heard about some kind of war, but he'd just assumed it was more like a border skirmish. Now, the rushed training and harsh weather rang some very uncomfortable bells in his brain about history class memories. The Europans really were throwing everything they had into the meat grinder, no matter what the propaganda was saying the recruits had been fed every day of the month each one was supposed to spend at C-9.

Just then, Max heard an all-too familiar voice coming from the left. The company's commissar strode into view, walking over to the drill instructor who had just chewed out another man. A somewhat short but intense discussion followed. Max couldn't hear the details of their conversation, only some things here and there. "-not finished-" "-needed immediately-" "-orders-". "-shipping out now-". 'Ah... fuck.'

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

The train moved along steadily, the structures of the camp slowly vanishing from Max's view as he was looking out the window. The old-looking wagon seemed like it had been pulled out of storage just for this occasion; the hastily erected bunk-beds were fixed to the walls with some kind of tape, the air heating system was behaving erratically and the air itself was heavy and moist from half a platoon of soldiers cramming themselves into the wagon. Oberleutnant Baumhauer sat at the small folding desk he'd been given. Even he wasn't much older than most of the grunts, around 35 according to Max's estimates. Suddenly, the wagon door slid open and a familiar face looked over the soldiers. All of them immediately dropped what they were doing, even eating in some cases, to stand at attention.

The 347th Reserve Regiment's chief commissar was a fairly old man, but seemed to harbor the energy of a dozen young men. His sidearm and saber hung loose on his uniform belt, the row of medals on his left chest clanged as he moved. The most curious feature of the man, though, was his one cybernetic eye. According to himself, he'd lost it when a Russian stabbed him with a bayonet in a brawl way back when, although Max didn't know enough Imperial history to think about whether that could have happened or not. Either way, in the short time after he'd been thrown into the 347th, he'd learned to fear the commissar, especially this one, who was a fanatic if anything else.

"Soldiers!", the commissar bellowed. "We are on our way to fight once again our most hated foe. The Russians, those barbarians who dare compare themselves to the civilized world, are once again at our door." 'Not this again.', Max thought to himself. "Back when I was a young man like you, I was also called to arms against this menace. Even though these are supposedly different Russians, I know they are not one bit different from those we have triumphed over before. Now, the fight will not be easy - even against subhumans like Ivan, one must never let down their guard." The commissar pointed to his cybernetic eye.

"These barbarians cannot be expected to play fair; they will give you no quarter, and we will not be giving them any, either. They will not hesitate to murder innocent Europan civilians. In fact, they are doing it right now! Thus, we shall be giving them a taste of their own medicine. When they see their own homes burning, their own children on the firing line and their own wives starving, they will recognize our inherent superiority! They are blind, and we shall make them see, men! Long live the Kaiser, long live Europa!"

The wagon broke out into cheers, and the commissar, apparently quite pleased with himself, made his way to the next one. Max pretended to join into the singing that followed, although he soon excused himself and crept into his small bunk to sleep. 'This was a really fucking big mistake.'

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Sudbrazil
Chargé d'Affaires
 
Posts: 437
Founded: Jan 14, 2018
Iron Fist Consumerists

Postby Sudbrazil » Tue Sep 15, 2020 3:50 pm

Tʜᴇ Bʀᴀᴢɪʟɪᴀɴ Fᴇᴅᴇʀᴀᴛɪᴏɴ
Repouso das Andorinhas, Nova Brasília
00:43 AM, January 10th, Anno Domini Brasiliensis 3105



O Repouso das Andorinhas was Nova Brasília’s premier hotel. The staff was always polite, the food was good if expensive, and its spacious interior was tastefully decorated with ancient motifs engraved on the dense, dark and warm colours of the tapestry, floors, wallpapers, brass lamps and furniture. The decor was rather heavy, but it wrapped itself around the guests akin to a velvety, heavy blanket, warm during the Rains and shady towards the Dry Season. All of this was complemented by an ostentatious internal patio taken up by a garden, where resided an eponymous flock of swallows, and a host of illustrious guests which frequently visited the establishment’s restaurant. By all accounts, an idyllic air hung over the Repouso da Andorinhas, though the Grand Marshal did not feel such an atmosphere at the moment.

“ADAM YOU WHORE!”

A few servants gathered to listen at the room’s door. A string of policemen accompanied the supreme dictator of Brazil as he quickly hurried to door 776. The humble room had been serving as the Minister of Interior’s temporary house ever since the September coup, but now a gramophone blasted dramatic opera from it and sounds of struggle filtered through the heavy, dark door.

“PERDITION! PROGRESS! PERDITION! PROGRESS!” The small crowd gathering outside recoiled as another wave of screams sallied out, then dispersed back to their rooms at the request of the men in blue.

“YOU SOLD US OUT TO THE MACHINE!” came the Voice from the Other Side. “WE ARE ALL SLAVES TO THE MACHINIC MIND NOW!”

“Efficiency. Efficiency of design.” replied another. The Voice of the Businessman? “We must press forward. There is only speed now.”

“BEYOND GOOD AND EVIL! HNNNG, NO NO NO! THE BLACK FLEET IS BUILT HERE BY ABOMINABLE INTELLIGENCE.”

Silence. Some piece of furniture was being shifted around.

“GOD SAVE THE FATHERLAND!”

A sabre rattled from its sheath. The Grand Marshal grew worried: “Magalhães! Open this door or we kick it in!”

Timid steps were heard on the other side of the door. It creaked open, out came a grey moustache and apologetic eyes: General Antônio Magalhães de Lima, the Minister of the Interior. “But, the nice engravings” objected the General, “I can’t allow you to ruin the nice engravings on the door.”

He stepped aside, allowing the men to enter his room. The scene inside revealed the General’s struggle, not against an intruder but against himself. A bottle of liquor was on the windowsill, books littered the ground, and among the upturned furniture was a lone chair, atop which a pillow lay mortally wounded by the General’s saber.

“I am sorry Edward. I need to rest. Politics… isn’t what it used to mean for me.”
Last edited by Sudbrazil on Tue Sep 15, 2020 3:52 pm, edited 1 time in total.

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Greater Redosia
Minister
 
Posts: 3423
Founded: Aug 01, 2016
Ex-Nation

Postby Greater Redosia » Wed Sep 16, 2020 6:10 pm

Back in the Old World
Collab between Greater Redosia and Democratic East-Asia

January 7th, Year 0 post ISOT (2018 a.t.b)
Imperial aerial battleship “Ludendorff” 100 km from the coast || Kingdom of Normandy


Captain Kurt Rädler tapped his fingers methodically along the arms of his chair while the Ludendorff made its way towards what appeared to be a very large radar signature detected some hours earlier. The middle-aged captain sighed out of frustration, seeing as today’s events should’ve been yet another coastal patrol. Patrols were easy: you simply hopped onto your seat and drove your airship around a designated area till someone else took your spot 8 hours later. Normally Rädler would find the job rather pointless, but given the events one week ago, there was some logic as into why the Empire brought back airship patrols.

“What the hell is that thing?” A deck officer asked out of confusion. The newcomer was indeed quite odd, resembling some sort of worn-out metal zeppelin that wouldn’t have been out of place in Europa had it not been for its almost post apocalyptic appearance.

“Didn’t know the Americans even used Zeppelins,” another added after noticing some english words written on the approaching airship’s hull, “if they are Americans, that is.”

“Well whoever the hell they are, they best know that they’re about to enter our airspace,” Rädler interrupted before grabbing a radio and making a brief announcement, “Unknown airship, you are approaching territory held by the Pan European Empire. Identify yourself and state your purpose immediately, or you will be fired upon!”




“Haha! What a truly frightening sight to behold my crew, a threat from a ship beyond comparison. These must be the great pirates our ancestors use to fight as they waged war for the sky, truly a once in a lifetime opportunity! Command Duty Officer, tell me, does our great Constitution hold any weapons on her?”

The CDO looked around, seeing as anything outside the ship could’ve easily been seen from the bridge. They didn’t have a single one onboard, looking at the crew who were in the bridge who looked as if they never seen a day of combat in their life except the strange looking one in the corner, wearing a stereotypical cowboy hat, old western clothes with a shining star badge of “sheriff” on the front along with the gas mask, they didn’t have anything. So he turned back to the Captain and shook his head.

“Well that’s a shame. Worry not. I’ll handle the talking, prepare yourself Ambassador, you might need to ransom us out.” Pulling down the communications radio, he turned the dial on the transceiver to its most powerful, since the other airship might as well have almost bursted the vacuum tubes on their end, they had some powerful technologies.

“This is the FUSSD Constitution, I am Captain, we are simply a diplomatic envoy from the United States of America and so we beg you our great pursuing pirateers to allow us through. We assure you that we have no valuables you would find worth it.”




“What the hell are they going on about? Pirateers?” Rädler raised his eyebrows at that mention and shook his head. “Ahh whatever.”

“I guess we’ll tell them to follow us back to Frankia?” A junior officer asked from the sidelines. “Also, is his name seriously just Captain?

Rädler decided he’d ignore that last bit and to replying to these… Americans. Odd, he’d never seen a URNA airship that looked like that. Then again, he’d never heard of a “United States of America” either. It was probably one of those rejected alt-historical names that the former United Republic of America might’ve adopted.

“Understood. If you desire to establish diplomatic relations, please follow this ship. We will escort you to the closest military port where you will receive further instructions.”




“Ah! So you are not pirates! Both a blessing and truly a shame, perhaps one day I shall meet face to face with one. Oh the day it shall bring!” The Captain was absolutely bouncing with energy from the interaction with these Europans.

“We shall follow you friends! Please, lead on and we shall follow you post-haste.”




“Man… I don’t get these people…” One of the Europan officers sighed before walking out of the bridge. Rädler honestly shared the same opinion, but as captain he didn’t have the luxury of being able to walk out of undesirable situations.

“Alright everyone, prepare to move out! We’re heading back to Frankia.”

The trip back to an unnamed (and not particularly important) military airbase in Upper Frankia was rather calm in all honesty: no enemies, no new contacts, and the skies were clear. The odd pair of airships made their way over the rolling hills of the northern French countryside, passing a number of unique looking European coastal cities and countless towns and villages. Despite the high amount of development, it was rather evident that the land below was surprisingly clean and the environment well maintained. Nothing new to Rädler and his compatriots, but probably a surprise to the Americans. The two airships were flanked on both sides by two squadrons of Eurofighters, mostly for the sake of both better protection and keeping an eye on the Americans.

The military base the two airships landed at was nothing special: it wasn’t particularly large and lacked the grand fortifications and missile / aerial defense systems of any proper Europan military fortress. The local garrison only had a few thousand soldiers, most of them reserves, while it seemed most of the vehicles present were older (there were oddly enough a few Leopard 1s in the corner). Nevertheless, the soldiers present did what they could to look professional and lined up near the tarmac with their vehicles as the American delegation got off.

Dietrich Haussmann, the diplomatic official from prior (with Texas), stood at ready with his honor guard of advanced 7th gen KMFs and royal guards (troopers).

With a loud crash and a thud, a round metal ball drops out of the airship and stops right before hitting the ground, several long wires protrude out the back as it happily bounced up and down in a random direction playing I Don’t Want To Set The World On Fire as it was followed by a rather properly dressed airship Captain wearing a rather napoleonic style hat, followed by a properly dressed man in a suit that looked worse for wear and finally the strange gas mask wearing cowboy sheriff.

“Lookie here Ambassador. Seems these are proper folk yet, right up your alley. So go right ahead and introduce us now.” The Ambassador turned to look at Captain and shook his head with a sigh, stepping forward he offered a timid smile.

“Thank you, for letting us land here. I’m Ambassador Newfish, from the United States of America, on behalf of her Congress.” He smiled at Haussmann and extended a hand to him.

“Well met, ambassador Newfish,” Haussmann nodded before introducing himself and shaking Newfish’s hand. “Dietrich Haussmann of the Pan European Empire, chief diplomatic advisor to the viceroy of Upper Frankia. Never thought we’d be seeing Americans anytime soon… but I reckon its a welcome surprise!”

Over in the distance, a few soldiers could be seen poking at one of the robots in confusion.

“The hell is this thing?” One of them asks nobody in particular.

The eyebot responded with a laser blast at the foot of the soldier as it bounced away from the soldiers, suddenly switching to Marty Robbin’s Big Iron as it flew off. The Ambassador winced and gave an apologetic smile.

“Apologies. But yes. I’m glad that you seem to be very welcoming Mr. Haussmann. In all honesty, we weren’t expecting to find anyone left across the Atlantic. Let alone Europeans. Though, I’m a bit confused. Our holotapes told us that there used to be a European Union over here, the European Federation or whatever. We never heard of anything known as...The Pan European Empire, nor anything about Upper Frankia, because our maps say that this land is France.”

The cowboy stepped closer, tilting his cowboy hat slightly downward so that it was covering more of his gasmask’s forehead, and so his eyes could be seen through the lenses of the mask.

“Ahh, well the same goes for us. Never knew of a ‘United States of America’, only the United Republic of North America. Must be differences between the timelines,” Haussmann shrugged, “but either way that’s simply how things are.”

Once again in the distance, a few European troops could be seen visibly annoyed by the robots, which seemed content in wandering around and blaring music.

“Errr, I suggest you get a hold over those robots of yours… we don’t exactly tolerate foreign autonomous machines running about the countryside over here.” Haussmann said with some concern.

“Ah. Sorry. But our mission was to drop these around to spread our message and ensure all could hear us, and really once they are let loose we cannot really bring them back.” With a sigh, shaking his head, “Eyebots are the most annoying of the robots we know, but in the end they are FUSA property. So it’s best to leave them alone, if you wish we have a few more in the airship we can let you look at them if that will make up for this one.”

The cowboy squinted at Haussmann, unsure of how this person was to be or of this nation they claim to be part of. He wanted to take direct action, but he needed to be patient. He always has been.

“Hmmm, well that should do then,” Haussmann shrugged. “So long as those robots don’t go around terrorizing the farmers I’ll let them go, though can’t say the same for the other regional governments around here. Anyways, should we get going? The viceroy really doesn’t like wasting time.”

“Of course. Please, lead on. The Captain and our...strange looking friend here will be joining us as well. It will be a lovely thing to meet this viceroy.” Ambassador Newfish smiled and the other two of the small party joined them.

The small group of Americans and Imperials would make their way to a nearby limousine, which sped off as soon as everyone was buckled in. It was a 40 km drive to Versailes, and the car would be passing through the city of lights (Paris) on its way there. While the French countryside appeared much the same as it likely did in the Americans’ history books, the differences would really begin to show as the limo entered the Paris urban region. Massive glass towers and seemingly pyramidal structures stood well above the traditional cityscape, and they themselves were dwarfed by the hundred-meter tall tiered city in the distance. A few famous structures such as the Eiffel Tower were nowhere to be seen. Road signs and advertisements formerly written in French were now fully displayed in German, a pointer towards the centuries of Germanization in the region.

The limo would soon near the arcology of the eastern city (Ost Paris), where it drove through a guarded militarized checkpoint along one of Ost Paris’s transit areas. The eastern city was surrounded by a wide artificial moat / river and rather daunting concrete-metal wall, with said transit zones being the only ways of entry (discarding underground tunnels). The limo soon sped past this section of Ost Paris and made its way through the centre of the new city. The various levels of the arcology were nearly spotless despite the tens of thousands of people that were currently making their ways around. Parks, recreation centers, numerous interior skyscrapers, and countless open air zones made it so that the largely concrete and steel city structure appeared much more lively than it otherwise would be.

“We’re currently passing through the new city of Ost-Paris, built some 15 years ago,” Haussmann told the Americans. “If you have any questions, do feel free to ask.”

The cowboy just stares at the signs, just staring forward as if looking beyond space and time, as if stuck in a sort of loop. But the others are not paying attention to them, Ambassador Newfish smiling at Haussmann as he looked out at the completely modern city, no cracks or radiation, it was all clean. There were also so many people.

“Well. I have to say there are several questions. Since our maps from almost 173 years ago tell us this place was France. If we’re here in some sort of famous city, I never heard of ‘Ost-Paris’. Mostly just Paris was the French Capital. We also want to know, how did this Europan Empire come about? This is all so new to us.”

The Captain nods and smiles at the Germans, though the cowboy continued to stare out the window. Being silent though their finger was tapping gently against their knee.

“Ahhh yes, a bit of history shall suffice,” Haussmann nodded before giving his explanation, “the modern Pan Europa can trace its establishment back to the era of the HRE, the Holy Roman Empire. The Hapsburg family at the time had a series of surprisingly competent rulers who gradually centralized power and united the HRE into a single effective entity. Nations such as Poland, France, and the others that neighbored old Europa were gradually absorbed over the centuries. France itself first came under HRE influence in the late 1600s, culminating in its subjugation after a failed republican uprising against its monarchy in the 1780s. It was later in the 1830s that modern Pan Europa’s first emperor: Charles von Stroheim, centralized all of the old HRE and its subjects into a single united Europe. Hence why Paris nowadays is not so much the capital of France as it is the capital of Europan Upper Frankia. I hope that satisfies you. But of course, if you want a history lesson, the actual libraries go more into detail than I ever could.”

This time, the cowboy did speak, “Library huh. What kind of books do you have? What language too.” the voice was...weird. Sounded it was full of gravel and age, though it was probably just the gas mask if the Europan were to ask.

“Oh. I guess that is important, I never read anything other than english, old pre-war books are hard to come by you know. So taking a few with us would be beautiful to have, if you have any to spare. 173 years after a nuclear war tends to make things like libraries rare and spread out, makes it hard to find things.”

“Ahh, well our libraries have a variety of languages including English and German, though you probably won’t have luck finding any books written in those odd eastern slavic dialects,” Haussmann replied while noting the cowboy’s mention of ‘nuclear war’, “those publications were banned by Victoria back in the day, so general public use libraries likely won’t have any.”

“...What do you mean by ‘odd eastern slavic dialects’, what included in that grouping. Because history is something I dabble a lot in, all this is new to me.” Behind the gask mask, a working jaw is being put to its limits, a voice already destroyed helps hide the growing anger within the man.

“Well if you want to get specific, the languages the old Americans referred to as ‘Polish, Ruthenian, and Russian’ are included in that bunch. As per post 1930s law, we in the Empire simply refer to those as a variety of ‘east slav’ dialects. Its funny really, the people there getting worked up about it,” Haussmann shrugged, “I honestly never cared enough to look into it more.”

The limo in the meantime passed through Ost-Paris and entered the older parts of the city. They were getting closer to Versaille by the minute.

“Thank you,” finished the cowboy, he would stay silent for the rest of the trip. The Ambassador was also just quiet in awe from everything he was seeing, the Captain was sleeping in the chair as he was tired. The Ambassador turned to his Europan counterpart.

“Oh, one more request. Do you have anything to drink here? Everything is so clean so I was hoping you might have some clean water or something, nuka-cola on the way here really needs to be flushed out with something.”

“Drinks you say?” Haussmann smiled before opening a nearby freezer. “Help yourself, we have everything ranging from Evian water to Burgundian champagne. I do recommend the second, but don’t let the viceroy catch you drinking near her. She hates alcohol with a passion for some reason.”

Completely ignoring the alcohol, the Ambassador went for the water. Looking at it by turning the bottle around and around. It was something out of a fantasy for water to be this clear. Opening it with a satisfying hiss, he drank it slowly. Savoring it until he stopped, feeling sick to his stomach.

“G-Good god...what kind of water is this...it has so much flavor and taste that it feels something more than just water.” leaning against the cowboy, Newfish held his stomach as he felt the extremely cold liquid settle down in the long irradiated stomach that had evolved from his parents. It was not used to something as pure and filled with minerals as this.

“It’s… Evian water. Nothing too special about it,” Haussmann looked rather confused. “Oh well, I reckon you’ll get used to it eventually.”

After around half an hour of driving, the limo finally reached the grounds of the old Versaille Imperial Palace. Much of the 1700-1800s architecture could be seen in the older palace grounds, but the massive pseudo-futuristic imperial complex behind that was a whole separate monster. It was pretty obvious the Empire loved to build large, probably just to flaunt its wealth.

A procession of advanced 7th gen KMFs and a few dozen royal guards stood at ready as Haussman and Newfish left the limo and made their way into the vast halls of the new imperial palace. Despite the outward futurism, the interior of the palace still seemed quite Victorian and classical in decor.

“So, another American?” A tired and somewhat bratty voice could be heard as Viceroy Erika von Stroheim made her way over. “Hopefully not as annoying as the other one. Damn Texans.”

Stepping towards where the Viceroy was, Ambassador Newfish in his ragged pre-war suit was giving a pleasant smile and recovering from the extremely pure water that was given to him. Giving a small bow, the cowboy turned away in disgusting, the gas mask nozzle bouncing gentle from the sway.

“Do not worry. I am not a Texan at all. I am Ambassador Newfish from the United States of America. I was sent on behalf of Congress and the Chairman of Joint Chief of Staff, to explore how the world has changed and to find friendly relationships in the light of Texas’s possible invasions.”

Standing straight back up, he gives a kind smile, the Captain chuckling to himself as he pulls out a pipe to smoke it. Finding that it has been quite a long while since he has last done so.

“Ahhh, well then. As you might’ve been told by Dietrich, I am Erika, viceroy of this miserable kingdom,” Erika turned around and started walking, motioning for the Americans to follow her, “7th in line to the Imperial throne, and princess of Wurtemberg… though that part’s probably meaningless to you. I would welcome you to Upper Frankia, but I’m sure Dietrich has already done so. Hopefully you won’t be as much a bother as those self righteous Texans. They have no appreciation for our ways of life.” She finished before making her way into a separate conference room (not the same as the one used with the Texans). The decorations however were more or less consistent, featuring a few large marble statues, an Imperial map that covered half of one wall, and a central conference table.

“Take a seat and make yourselves comfortable. Refreshments will be provided shortly. I’d like to hear what you have to say.” Erika sat herself down on a rather comfy looking throne and waited for a butler to serve her a cup of tea.

Sitting down, the Ambassador took the best seat there was shivering from how he sunk gently into it. The Captain found himself a spot as well but the cowboy walked over to the map and just stared at it, looking at the eastern portion of Europe. Just standing there without another word.

“Well, as I have said we’re from the United States of America...Well.... Former United States of America to some. The year is 2250 and from what holotapes say, it has been 173 years since the Great War that ended the world. We survived though, being brought to this strange new world. We actually first met the Texans, the Chairman thought they wouldn’t be a threat but Congress felt they would try something.

“Well. After the whole speech that was sent over the radio that caused so much trouble for many people in Government, we had to quickly scramble together our zeppelin fleet and launch in four directions of this world. You found us, the Constitution. Which..I’m hoping it is something alright if you understand that we used to find this place known as France and the European Union.”

“That’s understandable, given the timeline differences and whatnot. Can’t say I’ve heard of a European Union before, but France was a country… a few hundred years ago,” Erika nodded while slowly stirring her cup of tea. “So, your United States desires to establish diplomatic relations with Pan Europa then? That should be simple enough, seeing as the old United Republic of North America left a few of its consulates and its Salzburg embassy empty after the… event. If you succeed in not pissing me off and lecturing me about liberal garbage, I could arrange for one of those installations to be transferred to your state.”

“Please. I don’t really care that much for politics, I’m simply an ambassador who’s job is to show our face and our efforts as a nation. The United States doesn’t go out of their way to lecture others about their dealings. We have probably seen worse, we are Libertarians at heart, believing all should have a chance at life. But we don’t enforce our ideals onto others, too difficult to control and simply, idiotic.”

Waving his hand away, leaning back in his seat, a smile on his face.

“I actually came from a small town in Rhode Island, named Newfish because my family were a bunch of fishers and mirelurk hunters. Brought to D.C when I was older and got myself a job in the Government, never thought I’d see green grass and clean water. So I’m sure Congress would enjoy establishing relations with Europa and to allow me into the embassy. I’m already enjoying my time here.”

“Hmmph, well that’s certainly good to hear,” Erika smiled while fiddling with her tea cup, “I can’t say I’m too familiar nor fond of libertarianism, but I’m but the viceroy of one regional kingdom. You mind yourselves and we can mind ourselves. Simple as that, really.

“Your background is quite different from my own, but such is to be expected. I believe you’ll find Salzburg and the rest of Europa quite nice, especially seeing that you…” she took a moment to analyze his features, “you could pass as European. Anyhow, here’s a picture of the old URNA embassy.”

She clicked a button on a nearby remote and a 3D model of the URNA embassy in Salzburg was projected on a nearby digital display. It was a large (150 acre), modern installation surrounded by low-laying concrete walls and built in semi-brutalist fashion (as many 1970s US buildings were). There were a few interior parks, but probably the most defining feature was a statue of George Washington (?) next to a URNA flag (think US flag but with 70 or so stars). All in all, not a bad building.

“That’s some extremely fancy technology, better than anything the prewar tech had.” Leaning forward, he was constantly swiping his hand through the floating light hologram. Not feeling anything except for the small amount of heat the light had given him, it felt strange and artificial but at least not burning like the sun was back home.

“Seen that statue in a book before too, I think. At least it had some strange different features different from what I think I saw. Thank you again, for letting us set up in your nation. It’s a lovely nation and there hasn’t been a single radroach coming out of the wall, you must be thankful for what you have here.”

“Of course, I can’t deny my ancestors did their best in making Europa… a fine country for a fine people. You won’t find a single irradiated creature in these lands, nor any petty warlords and criminal gangs. Anyways, if I may ask… what are your nation's plans in case these Texans decide to get aggressive?”

“I’m sure the Chairman will think of something, said our men will hold them off as much as they can at the Mississippi river and if they push through, well, they’ll be entering lands unfriendly to them. The animals, the radiation and our soldiers' bravery alone can hold them off. Overheard some sort of program too, something about Prime or what not, some sort of old pre-war weapon that was going to be used against the Chinese or what not.”

Newfish thought for a moment, the glaring of the cowboy could be felt in the back of his head. But the Europans aren't bad at the least, not towards them. They were just people trying to survive out here too, just by a different means.

“Well. In the end, our people have enough guns and robots in some facilities to hold off for quite a long while. You see, no one really likes it when you force rules on them after living free for so long, so don’t worry about us. We’ll be alright.”

“Very well,” Erika nodded while signing a few papers, “I shall maybe see you in Salzburg in the future. All the paperwork’s ready and you are good to go.”

“Oh, definitely. We will happily set up shop in Salzburg, I’ll sign it all on the way there. I hope the friendship between the Europans and the United States can be prosperous.” With that, Newfish felt even deeper daggers into this back, what is going on. “Thank you, Viceroy.”

“The pleasure is all mine.”
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Democratic East-Asia
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Democratic Socialists

Postby Democratic East-Asia » Fri Sep 18, 2020 6:27 pm

Aerial battleship Bismarck, Western Russia | 6:00 AM, January 10th, Year 0


The thundering roar of dozens of high calibre naval guns could be heard as the 4th and 5th Aerial strike squadrons (a total of 26 airships) made its way across western Russia. Everything of military value: supply depots, barracks, railroad stations, but most specifically Russian theatre ballistic missiles (SCUDs as the Russians and Ottomans called them), was targeted by the Empire’s airships, which slowly but steadily made their way across the region. The three hundred or so jet fighters that had been rallied for this mission dashed by in their various squadrons, seeking out enemy aerial targets and radar installations. Standard procedure, really. If somewhat more showy given how Pan Europa liked to conduct itself.

Captain Rosen instinctively flinched as yet another anti-air missile collided with the shields of his airship. The CIWS systems were working as expected, but the Russians seemed to have quite a lot of missiles to throw at the ships, which proved too much for the ships’ ranged defenses to handle. While no real threat to the Bismarck nor any of its escorts, the near constant stream of Russian anti air missiles was proving rather annoying. Sure, it gave away the locations of numerous launchers and allowed the airships to neutralize them, but the slight turbulence generated by each subsequent blast just didn’t sit right with the Europan airship captain. Sooner or later some genius would decide to strap an atomic weapon onto an anti-airship missile, and then all the shields were for nought. He’d have to remind himself to submit a request for additional AA and anti missile systems.

Two underside launchers opened up from the bottom of the Bismarck before launching a pair of cruise missiles at some far off target 50 km away. It was probably an airbase, likely one that had early warning radars. Camera footage awhile later indicated that the target had been hit and destroyed. Rosen nodded before relaying more orders to his men.

“Seems like everything’s going according to plan,” the military commissar attached to Rosen’s ship nodded with approval as he analyzed a tactical map of the region, “at this rate we should clear through most of the zone’s air defenses in time for our bombers to fly by.”

“That’s what we’re aiming to accomplish, anyways,” Rosen replied without much a second thought. Nothing had gone wrong up yet, and if anything his assignment was in theory a cakewalk. “If all’s well, the war will be over by tomorrow.”

Aerial stealth bombardment group 3, approaching Petrograd | 7:00 AM, January 10th, Year 0


“This is Anvil 14, reporting in from the left flank. We’re currently approaching the designated industrial zones…” Pilot Georg Sommerfeld monologued as he turned his attention towards the bomb sights and ventral sensors. Victoriasta- err, Petrograd looked quite different this time of the year, though then again this was an entirely new city thanks to the event. Nothing that defined Victoriastadt: the large statues of herself, brutalist German architecture (well this was debatable), nor modern era skyscrapers and arcology units could be seen anywhere in the horizon. Not that it mattered: this city was to be largely levelled and gassed today. As Sommerfeld reached for the trigger to the bomb bay, two bright pink fireballs in the distance indicated that the former naval base in Kronstadt had been obliterated. Sommerfeld was pretty sure the Russians didn’t even have any naval assets, but better safe than sorry it seemed.

Approaching designated target… Sommerfield checked his bomb sights as the Horten H. XX (B-2 Spirit) made its way across Petersburg.

The stealth bomber’s bomb bays opened, revealing dozens of VX and CIF3 laden warheads. In the next 20 minutes, vast sections of Petersburg would be gassed by the Imperial Airforce. Civilian casualties were likely massive. A few hundred km away, a similar scene took place in Moscow as the old Russian capital was doused with more than 200 tons worth of high lethality chemicals. Imperial aerial losses, thanks to the presence of two airship groups in both situations, were surprisingly low.

Ukrainian - Belorussian Fronts | 8:00 AM, January 10th, Year 0


It had taken over a week of hasty preparations and rushed transportation to get all necessary units into their positions, but it was finally time. Well out of the range of their Russian counterparts, Imperial artillery batteries began firing CIF3 and VX loaded shells all across the front, prioritizing areas where there’d been particularly breakthrough heavy efforts. CIF3 was known to be effective at burning through protective equipment, VX for efficiently killing people. Russian resupply depots near the front, rather easily spotted by a combination of high altitude aerial and satellite imagery, were to be bombarded by ultra-long range artillery and cruise / theatre ballistic missiles. Likewise, numerous population centers that had been discovered were being used by the enemy for expediting logistics were to be attacked.

Despite having been Imperial cities prior to the event, Kharkiv, Luhansk, and Donetsk were not spared by the Europans, who did whatever they could to disrupt the Russians in the area, as well as any sympathizers they may have had (which frankly included a good deal of Ukrainians). Compared to Belorussia, the usage of chemical weapons in Ukraine was distinctly more limited in scale, though the aforementioned cities would all suffer from chemical bombardment and suffer tens of thousands of casualties in the first few days alone.

As jet bombers flew by and airships continued their bombardment of the enemy’s forward positions, something far more sinister was underway…

A hill overlooking the surroundings, 20 km from Volgograd | 10:00 AM, January 10th, Year 0


Vassili Bocharov was an old man, one who’d seen far too much throughout the 70 years of his life. He was back before the times of Bukharin, when the Soviet Union was still young and it looked as if the country actually had a future to look forward to. Lenin, as he’d been told by his father, was a great leader: one who inspired the people and established the foundations of a society that would one day achieve communism. Well, that’s what everyone thought. Bocharov remembered the scarcity and hardship that had befallen his family during the Bukharin years as the NEP failed to deliver results, he remembered how like many others his father had been drafted to fight during the great patriotic war. He’d never forget the fascists, the nazi German bastards who’d butchered their way across the Soviet Union and killed his parents. It had been over 40 years since the second great trial had ended, but nonetheless those memories were as fresh as today’s snow.

When the Russian National Reclamation council had forced the Germans and their lackeys out of the Caucasus, Bocharov remembered greeting them as liberators… ever so briefly. Bocharov’s grandchildren had taken up the banner of the Reclamation movement in a heartbeat, but the old man himself had his doubts. War is a terrible thing, even if the country has no other choices it can make.

Bocharov sat idly inside his small cottage as some rabbit boiled in a nearby kettle. Meat was hard to come by nowadays (though truthfully had been in short supply for the last 40 years), especially due to the state’s barely functional economic policies. Bocharov knew that by technicality he should’ve given whatever he’d hunted to local state markets to support the war effort, but the old Russian couldn’t be arsed to do that today. There would be rabbit for lunch, and nobody was here to say otherwise.

The floor of Bocharov’s cottage creaked loudly as the Russian got off his wooden stool to check on the fireplace. It was one of those small details that pointed towards the age of the structure: the cottage had been around for thirty years, but Bocharov didn’t mind. After tossing a few more logs into the fire, Bocharov found his eye drawn to a small, fast-moving flash as it flew by his window. Was it a comet? It couldn’t be. Then, there was light.

Image


On January 10th, at 10:00 AM in the morning, six bright pink spheres enveloped the cities of Volgograd, Saratov, Rostov-on-Don, Samara, Kazan, and Perm. Everything within 30 km of the blasts' epicenters was simply erased: buildings, trees, roads, people, even the ground itself. Subsequent atmospheric overpressure leveled towns and forests more than a dozen km outside the primary zone of devastation. Entire swathes of railroads and highways simply disappeared, as had numerous cities along the Volga and Kama Rivers. Rostov-on-Don simply became part of the ocean; the rivers themselves would take months if not years to fill the craters that had been left in the aftermath. All around the world, seismic monitors spiked as the sheer energy output from the FLEIJAs surpassed that of even the largest hydrogen bombs.

Ten minutes later, the Imperial Europan government (via open radio channels) would give an ultimatum to whoever ruled Russia: surrender and pull back to the Urals, or face the consequences.
Last edited by Democratic East-Asia on Fri Sep 18, 2020 6:32 pm, edited 6 times in total.
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Mirial System
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Ex-Nation

Postby Mirial System » Fri Sep 18, 2020 6:38 pm

Command Deck, Negotiator
Day 10 Post-Crash (Day after signing of the New Carthage Accords)

"So... that is settled then.", Obi-Wan sighed as he gave the treaty before him - signed by Master Dooku on actual paper, no less - another look. "I hope this doesn't come back to haunt us, later on..."

"I am of the opinion, personally, that might well be the best arrangement we could have obtained - they were uncharacteristically helpful, given what I have understood from their nation's ethos." Dooku commented from across the holotable. He exchanged a glance with Senator Amidala, who nodded her quiet assent. She, left with little choice given their inability to drag Supreme Chancellor Sheev Palpatine to this world, had to ratify the treaty during the signing - a power technically reserved for the Galactic Senate.

Thus began the running joke that the Naboo politican was now, effectively, the Senate...

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

The talks to discuss reparation as well as the formal relations with the Pan-European Empire finally took place exactly a week after the GAR forces crashed - causing untold devastation and countless casualties to two of the largest settlements in southern Tunisia.

Held in New Carthage - the local capital of the Tunisia Governate, it was clear that the Imperials made an effort to impress. A sizeable guard of honour in spotless uniforms, backed up by their walkers - 'Knightmare Frames', they were called - greeted the GAR delegation comprising Master Unduli, Senator Amidala (and one of her shadows, Eirtaé), and led by Master Dooku himself.

The Senator had persuaded Master Kenobi to stay behind and manage the recovery work that was ongoing at the crash sites.

The effect of the Empire's display of military might was somewhat negated when the four Republic Commando troopers forming Makashi Squad (hailing from the 63rd Strike Corps, Dooku's own), accompanying as guard detail, started playing 'Spot the Kark-Ups' using the target designator interface on the HUDs of their buckets. Orbit won, with 45 mistakes spotted.

The talks carried on largely as expected - if far more civilly than they had expected - with the first day of introductions allowing the GAR's representatives to gain a measure of their Imperial counterparts. It was a surprise that the former Tunisia Governor, Christian Lippi, had been absent - as the delegation had hoped to be dealing with a known factor. Apparently he had been recalled back to the Imperial capital following his report regarding first contact with the GAR, to... discuss certain issues. If Dooku had to guess, knowing the Mirialan Jedi Master who came along for the talks, a situation unfolded where Luminara couldn't resist embarrassing the former governor in her usual understated manner, and the incident made it into the report...

The general assessment, by the end of the day, was that the Empire places great emphasis on highlighting their status as a continental power superior to all others - thus leading to posturing.

Oh yes, and xenophobia. How... distasteful.

The Imperial Ambassador, Luigi Cardorna II (who was accorded the authority by his government to ratify this seemingly unimportant treaty) was quite insufferable, although his sharp snarks towards the ever-patient Luminara died swiftly when met with little reaction but a half-smile from the Mirialan. And a thoroughly unimpressed glare from Dooku himself. The Count of Serenno wondered if introducing Senator Amidala as 'Queen Emeritus of Naboo' was overkill, given the quite visible cowering from the newly-appointed Governor. Seemed like titles of nobility had power, within the Empire.

The treaty negotiations itself was surprisingly swift. Headed by Governor Mario Cardorna (apparently the Imperial Ambassador's brother), it had opened with demands from the Imperials that both side knew were both excessive and untenable. But Dooku could sense, in the mind of the governor, that what he truly sought was something to show for to his own central government - something that could, hopefully, fuel his promotion to higher office.

The Count was quite willing to aid in what to him was trivial ambition. Given the governor's ... disposition, it might even be beneficial to have him in the higher echelons of Imperial government. A known weakness, to be leveraged for future purposes. And thus the two sides sat down to bargain, eventually narrowing the treaty provisions down to an exchange - technology from the GAR to serve as shiny toys for the governor to show off with, land leases from the Empire to dissuade future military action towards retaking the admittedly unintentionally taken territories.

It wasn't as if Southern Tunisia was a key productive region of the Empire, thus that was easily agreed to. The Imperial Ambassador certainly made the subsequent price bargaining harder, but when faced with a database on local royalty rates produced by Senator Amidala (from the Empire's own 'internet', at that), he quickly backed down from escalating. Probably also restrained by his brother, with the governor not entirely too keen on risking the offer being withdrawn now that access to new technology was within reach.

Luigi certainly gave him a earful subsequently for being too accommodating to 'filthy aliens' - ignoring the fact that the sole non-human (strictly speaking, Near-Human) barely spoke and instead spent her time sampling this world's range of teas.

Ultimately, nothing came out of the disagreement and the treaty was quickly concluded and ratified - the third day of talks spend on streamlining its implementation, including an agreement with the Imperial Central Bank to establish an account for the GAR's newly-acquired funds.

With the talks concluded, the GAR delegation made little delay in their departure...


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

Shaking his head slightly to clear the recollection from his mind, Dooku gave the treaty another close examination. Most of the provisions levied on the GAR were easily resolved with data transfers, with only the article concerning durasteel-replacement research requiring the posting of some materials-inclined engineers to a site that the Empire had yet to inform them of. He supposed setting up a metallurgy research facility would take time...

Concern over securing a long-term food source was the current topic when the Jedi Master finally caught up with the actual conversation that was taking place. He had little to add, merely nodding his agreement - a mix of trading and setting up their own agricultural facilities with creative use of droids should suffice. Thankfully prefabricated bases came with such infrastructure. The former would be more feasible once the GAR started producing goods for export, which at the moment would appear to be fusion reactor fuel-

"... My own engineers had been making good progress adapting the design of the Kaminoan water desalination plants into hydrogen isotope distillers, which we know is definitely a compatible fuel." Skywalker concluded, reporting on the 501st's efforts. Dooku wondered how much of the progress was due to the sheer maniac genius that his grand-padawan was, with regards to engineering.

The discussions moved on - Masters Unduli and Kenobi reporting briefly that medical aid for crash victims had proceeded and concluded with little trouble. It had, in a way, also facilitated the treaty talks - not only as a display of goodwill, but the overt show of the healing properties of bacta had driven the Empire's interest in acquiring it. Or in the case of the final treaty, a close replacement - one that the GAR itself would need to rely on when their supply of organic bacta eventually runs out, as it would no matter how much filtration and recycling they applied.

Finally, they came to the topic of their new satellite imaging capability - which had been almost trivial to set up given the LAAT's orbital capabilities. Given the uncertainties still surrounding this world, it had been deemed imprudent to dispatch reconnaissance flights around the planet even if they did possess the capability - for their ability to replace lost assets from any hostile encounters was largely non-existent. Thus the reliance on orbital reconnaissance - which yielded valuable information, nonetheless.

Including, at this very moment, a chain of pink-hued detonations along what Imperial maps marked as Western Russia...

"What-" Obi-Wan barely began, when the shockwave through the Force hit everyone present - curiously, including the Senator of Naboo if to a lesser degree. It was as if millions of voices suddenly cried out in terror, and were suddenly silenced.

"I fear something terrible has happened..." Luminara intoned, solemnly.

Mess Hall, Twilight

"You know... we need to have Commander Jet and his men over for dinner more often." A clone trooper muttered, over dinner. "That roast ... thing, it was great. Better than even shipboard rations, I daresay."

"That's a low benchmark, and you know it."

Looking at the contents of his own tray, Captain Rex can't help but agree. Which is why he actually did come up with an agreement with the flame troopers stationed with the 501st - his men will do the hunting, and they'll do the grilling. Rex was just waiting for an opportunity to announce the weekly event - or maybe he'll keep it as a surprise.

Who knows?

Shrugging to himself - and drawing odd looks from Jesse, seating opposite - the clone captain returned to his meal. Though he soon paused when he realised someone was staring. He glanced up.

"Yes, Jesse?"

Jesse had a... contemplative look on his face. A moment passed, as the two clone officers allowed the surrounding chatter to flow on. "You know, Rex. I just had a thought - what's going to happen to our allowance?" It wasn't, officially, a salary - certainly much lower than one would expect a professional soldier's pay - but it was credits. Credits that the men could use for their own purposes - like say, get a tattoo or a night out.

But now, with the realisation that they might well be stuck on this dirt ball, the clones were also realising that in this world, Republic credits were worth banthashit. Almost like being marooned on a Hutt world - just with a lower chance of actually leaving. And it was affecting morale.

So it struck Jesse as particularly odd that Rex wasn't at all concerned about this issue.

"... so?" The lieutenant pressed.

"Well... we aren't exactly penniless, I'll say. It's not common knowledge, but the generals had negotiated for some funding, so to speak, from the local government - this Pan-European Empire - using some of the more harmless technologies we have that's more advanced then their own. And there are plans to establish some form of income - not sure what, though." Rex had in fact considered this issue, and raised it up to General Skywalker just earlier today. Who in turn handed him a copy of the recently-signed treaty, along with assurances that the vode would be taken care of.

"In summary, command will still honour the upcoming allowance - in actual usable local currency." That certainly put Jesse at ease... until it didn't, as Rex clapped him on the shoulder.

"Which is why, you - and some of the men - shall head over to the settlement beside our ship tomorrow, and go figure out how much some common goods cost in local currency - we need a rate to convert credits into this... Euro thing, after all."

Kriff.

Brig, Tranquility
Day 11 Post-Crash

She may have greatly misjudged Barriss Offee.

When the Seventh Sister spun for Offee the highly-edited tale of how she taught her to use a lightsaber, she expected to feed the self-doubt she sensed in the young Jedi - fuelling it with the knowledge that she had aided the Dark Side. Hoping it would blossom into something terrible, and yet beautiful. Something she could leverage upon-

But instead, the Inquisitor found herself looking at a holographic recording of her, fighting - one of the recorded training sessions she kept in her helmet's storage banks, she realised later. All the while, that annoyance of a Togruta - Ahsoka Tano - shook her head and muttered mock-sagely about 'terrible form', 'over-reaching', and 'telegraphing'.

At the end of several recordings, during which Offee calmly pointed out every single mistake she had made, the younger Mirialan merely bowed and apologised.

"For failing to teach you properly."

Then the pair left, leaving her to stew in her cell...


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

A familiar whirling sound broke her recollection of that rather surreal conversation, prompting the Inquisitor to swing her legs from the bunk and sit up to look at who now stands before her cell-

"Seriously? It spins? Next you're going to tell me it flies the wielder around." The unknown Jedi who was holding her lightsaber - well, she wasn't entirely sure if he was a Jedi, but the fashion sense was quite indicative - was staring incredulously at the weapon, while in conversation with Jedi Master Unduli.

Actually, on second glance, the Seventh Sister did know this newcomer - if only through his files in the Imperial archives and by reputation. Obi-Wan Kenobi was standing outside her cell, slagging her lightsaber.

The Mirialan Jedi Master beside him sighed. "That can't be possible, Master Kenobi - as impressive as it would be to fit repulsorlift technology into something this small, it makes no tactical sense. The wielder wouldn't be able to defend themselves while in flight, if their weapon was pulling double-duty as transportation."

... why had this design flaw never occurred to her, the Inquisitor honestly couldn't tell.

"I can't imagine hanging onto this for extended durations would be pleasant, either.", Kenobi mused - and with a click deactivating the lightsaber. "I can't say I am a fan of this design, in all. How uncivilised-"

"Are you two done yet?", she snapped waspishly.

"Oh, I'm sorry - I didn't see that you were up." The tone at which that was delivered told her that Kenobi knew she was listening all along. "How terribly rude of us. I understand you're... acquainted with Master Unduli here, so allow me to introduce myself-"

"Obi-Wan Kenobi." The faint look of surprise on the man's face drew a smirk from the Inquisitor. "Am I right?"

"Well... yes." Then, after a moment. "I suppose it makes sense, for a Jedi hunter to be familiar with us Jedi. Out of morbid curiosity, how did I die?"

She made a mental note to update Kenobi's files when she get back ('if' she gets back, her subconscious amended) - there was no mention of his propensity to play mind games with his opponents. It irked her, to be on the receiving end of his inane banter. "You survived. There were reports of sightings in Tatooine, but we were told not to chase those reports down - Lord Vader deemed other, more verifiable Jedi activity to be of higher priority than the possibility of a hermit who reclused himself into the middle of a desert."

"Of all places, Tatooine? That's...unpleasant." The human grimaced. "Imagine keeping anything sand-free-"

"Can you - either of you - get to the point of your visit?" The Seventh Sister glared at them from behind the force-field, her patience already strained by her incarceration further worn thin by the chatter.

The two Jedi exchanged a look, before Kenobi commed what must be the brig guards. "Sergeant Key, can we get the forcefield for Cell 7 down?"

"Any particular reason, General Kenobi?", the reply came, nonplussed. "You do realise who we have in that cell, yes?"

"Yes, Sergeant. But my tea isn't going to pass through the forcefield." He gestured, for clarity, the tea set placed on a tray, balanced precariously on top of an astromech droid.

"Understood, sir. I'll get one of the men to bring that lightsaber back to the secure depository."

"Much appreciated."

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

Which was how Seventh - yes, even her own title was becoming a bit of a mouthful in her own mind - found herself in the surreal position of having tea with Jedi Masters Kenobi and Unduli.

The clone trooper who came down to the cell block to pick up her lightsaber took one look at the tea set, and solemnly tapped his bracer twice in what appeared to be some sort of ritual. "Kot," he intones under his breath, barely picked up by his helmet's vocoder, as he leaves.

Somehow, the Inquisitor had the feeling that the clone was praying for her.

She didn't like that feeling.

"Please, help yourself.", Kenobi gestured towards the teacup he had placed just within the threshold of the cell. "It's a Mandalorian blend - my favourite, actually."

"Are you this confident that I wouldn't take the opportunity to escape?"

"Firstly, your ankles are shackled." The human Jedi Master pointed out, before taking a sip from his own cup. "Secondly, we're in the middle of nowhere. Even if you are familiar with the layout of a Venator - and I wouldn't be surprised if you were - you'll just end up in a desert after getting out. Assuming you could get pass the entire 9th Assault Corps stationed upstairs.

"Thirdly, where would you go? I believe you're aware we're quite literally in another galaxy. And none of us have access to intergalactic travel technology - even if we knew how to navigate between galaxies. That aside, what year are we in, currently, remains unknown. The records we acquired from your shuttle indicate it was Year 32, for you.

"Yet for the rest of us, it is only Year 16."

She knew her captors were from an earlier point in time - there were no lack of signs, least of which were the Jedi simply walking around among their clone subordinates. It was still shocking to actually have that time difference quantified numerically. With some difficulty, she picked up her teacup and took a sip - letting the surprisingly mild blend wash over her palate.

It wasn't quite the taste she expected from a war-like people such as the Mandalorians - very floral, with almost no smokiness.

"I suppose that means no one is certain when we are, right now?" She doesn't mention the possibility of either parties intentionally returning to their time - such technology was at best academic conjecture, even in her time.

"Indeed." It was only when Unduli spoke that Seventh recalled there were three people in this little tea party. "In short, none of us appear to be going home - wherever home is - within any timeframe that may be considered 'near-future'."

Which brings the Inquisitor back to a prominent thread in her recent thoughts - there's no Empire, at least within reach. No Republic either, and four Jedi - including one Padawan - does not an Order make. They're all stuck with each other, out here, with no way out and no one breathing down their backs.

Or rasping loudly down their backs - in her case.

If it wasn't for her current position as a prisoner, she daresay this was the most degree of freedom she had ever tasted since being recruited into the Inquisitorius - unlike some of her peers, she had an inkling of the illusion of free will accorded to herself and her fellow Inquisitors. They were, in the end, merely tools for Lord Vader and the Empire - not to say that striving to be a tool of greater value was a worthless pursuit. Valuable tools, after all, were less likely to be discarded-

"-Credit for your thoughts, Madame Inquisitor?", a certain human Jedi Master's voice derailed her train of thought, his voice amiable.

"- I'm not married." Surely she didn't look that old, right? She's certain she's only in her early 30s, at most...

"Ah, my mistake."

"Also, keep your credits."

"Of course. But as I was just saying, keeping you locked up in here - indefinitely, as it is increasingly appearing to be the case - does no one any good. Certainly not for the men - or their nerves. So may I propose that we reach a simple common understanding - you don't try to murder any of us, and we'll let you go free. You can stay with us, or you can try your luck out in the world - which, I have to highlight, is an exceedingly poor idea given our... host's disposition towards anything that isn't baseline human.

"I'll hand you a copy of the relevant documents they sent us, regarding their culture. Pompous and over-embellished as their writing may be, it had thus far proved accurate."

It was a good deal - way too good for the Jedi to be offering to a Dark Sider. "What's the catch? Aren't you afraid that I'll corrupt the two younger Jedi you have around?"

"Oh, I won't be too worried." Kenobi simply brushed it off, sipping his damnable tea. "You're hardly in any mindset to do the whole 'corrupt to the Dark Side' routine properly - not when you are reeling from the recent events yourself. I'll assume that in your line of work, not having strict supervision is a new phenomenon - and you're at a loss as to what to do with this new freedom."

That prompted the Inquisitor to thoroughly check her mental shields. Finding nothing, she resorted to snapping out a response in irritation. "Not much freedom in being locked up, I hope you realise."

This Jedi Master was really starting to get under her skin.

"Also," Kenobi carried on, ignoring her jab. "I wouldn't worry too much about Ahsoka or Knight Offee. They may have their issues-" A look shot at Unduli promised that he'll speak to her about this matter, later and in private, "- but you've already failed in corrupting them - yes, of course we've watched the recording of your conversation with them. It was... amusing, to say the least. If not a bit tragic, seeing how the Order's teaching of lightsaber combat had so thoroughly deteriorated in such a short span of time - Master Drallig would be so disappointed."

Seventh gritted her teeth at the slight thrown carelessly towards her combat capability. "It was sufficient against my prey, thus far."

"So it may be." He conceded peaceably. "But back to our original conversation - how would you like the opportunity to stretch your legs?"

"Just like that?"

"Oh, there will be conditions, of course. You're not getting your lightsaber back, and if you're staying you'll have to work - pull your weight, so to speak, like everyone else. And rest assured, you will be watched - I expect the men to keep a very close eye on your every move, but for formality sake perhaps we'll put in place a probation period."

Surprisingly agreeable, given her current situation. Still... "Why? This... leniency doesn't make sense, even for your ilk."

"Consider this a new beginning." Unduli replied, gently. "An opportunity for a new path in life afforded to you by our... unique circumstances. After all, you're no longer obliged to the Empire now, are you?"

There's something the other Mirialan wasn't saying, Seventh thought, something that made the Jedi Master believe she would abandon the Empire if given the chance. Nothing solid that she could discern, but something had prompted Unduli to make the offer - it was clear now that the idea was all hers, and Kenobi was simply here to negotiate terms.

And she always knew, deep inside, she'll take the offer. She may had enjoyed her former job - perhaps way too much - but it was stifling with the threat of death-by-Vader hanging over her head all the time. (She also knew that the Empire had broke her, made her anew into this weapon for their own infernal purpose - but she had spent more than a decade ignoring this fact and she wasn't about to start acknowledging it today.)

Downing the contents of her teacup, she gave Kenobi a wry smirk. "Where do we start?"

Echoing her actions, he returned a genial smile. "I'll contact your probation officer. Any suggestions, Master Unduli?"

"I'll trust your judgement, Master Kenobi."

Nodding, he tapped his comm. "Sergeant Punchy?"

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

"- Can I trouble you to report to the Tranquility's brig? I have a new assignment for you."

The Tranquility's brig. Nobody told the clones who was kept in there, or even confirmed that the 9th had someone in custody. Naturally, that meant that the misadventures of the 9th's shiny squad with their Sith-eyed Mirialan guest spread through the gossip mill like wildfire, and everyone knew of the Inquisitor within a day.

Of course, special care was taken to keep it from both Generals Dooku and Skywalker - given their ... inclinations when it came to engaging with dar'jetii.

So when Punchy - so named for his exploit, singular, during Christophsis - received the comm-call from General Kenobi in the middle of the Negotiator's mess hall, everyone present winced. It wasn't a difficult leap of logic to deduce the poor sergeant's new 'assignment'.

Cody - Force-damned Marshal Commander Cody - then stood, prompting everyone else to. He tapped his wrist twice, and the rest of the mess hall followed.

Punchy knew what was coming and fired off a silent prayer, to Commander Fox's bit of the Force that’s fine with shooting arseholes, and hoped that Cody would be swamped with paperwork in the days to come.

"Kot." Strength.

Karking arseholes, the entire lot of them...

"- Sergeant?" Right, the General was still on the line.

"Copy that, sir; right away, sir." And with all due respect, kark you sir.

Starboard Docking Bay, Twilight

'What was she doing here?'

That was what Barriss pondered as she gazed out into the desert, after tucking herself under the overhanging docking bay of the Twilight - the ship above her providing shade from the mid-day sun.

It was a complex question - she wasn't just wondering why she was still here, days after the hunting trip, and not back by her master's side on the Tranquility. But also her purpose in this world, now that her life had taken a new and unexpected turn - for better or for worse, she couldn't yet tell.

The injured locals had all been discharged, returning home to make a life out of what was left. The damage from the crash, largely minimal barring major propulsion systems, had been seen to by the engineers. Even the diplomatic incident that resulted from the manner of their arrival had been smoothed over, with treaties signed and formal relations established.

Simply put, there was a dire lack of things to do. Which, to the Mirialan, was dangerous. She might have managed, somehow, to get some sleep in the past couple of days - as interrupted and nightmare-plagued as they were - but even with the clarity of rest, she didn't quite trust her own mind. So, she started looking for other distractions. Anything to draw her attention from her own memories.

Today, it seemed, would be philosophy. And observing her new pet have a dust bath.

Smiling faintly as she watched the little critter - according to the Empire's Internet, a jerboa - roll around enthusiastically in the sand, she found herself almost envying it. Envying the simplicity of the animal's existence, one which surely didn't include unhealthy doses of self-doubt.

Footsteps echoed distantly overhead against durasteel planking - used to form a ramp down to ground level. She peered upwards, and promptly reconsidered as the sun peered back down and she could only visualise a silhouette, from a terrible angle that told her nothing, at that.

Still, it wasn't long until that individual figured out why the Force was telling her to walk in a tight circle, and a certain familiar Togruta leaped over the railing to land upon the sand in a crouch - sending grains flying all around her and frightening the jerboa into ducking under Barriss' skirt.

With a sigh, the Mirialan reached by her ankles and gently fetched the rodent, petting the creature's soft fur to calm its fretting.

"Was that necessary, Ahsoka?"

The new arrival merely shrugged, and offered an ... apple, right. "Sorry?"

With a wan smile, Barriss accepted the gift - giving it a quick look before biting in. Generally, she didn't need to worry about her diet - if a baseline human could eat it, she could too. She just preferred to avoid meat, personally. Fruits were perfectly fine.

And as it turned out, yes she could enjoy apples. Nice balance of sweetness and tartness.

"What brings you here?"

"I was wondering where you were hiding - the vode didn't mention you leaving on any flights. Actually, why are you still here?" An awkward pause passed. "N-not that I mind, you know... d-definitely didn't mean it that way! Just curious-"

"There's nothing for me to do, back at the Tranquility."

The somewhat matter-of-fact answer halted her flustering, as Ahsoka gave it some thought. "... that is true..."

Drifting through the former ad-hoc medical units, now reverted back to their original purpose of deploying GAR assets, simply left Barriss directionless. She certainly didn't want to witness what she saw as another act of Republic expansionism, the GAR imposing itself upon the local populace - even though she knew logically that this was necessary for their own survival, and they were in fact trying to avoid imposing upon the locals. "The GAR is an army, designed for conflict, left without a war to fight. What now, would our purpose be?"

Silence followed the question, as the two young Jedi pondered their role in this new world. It was meant to be rhetorical, so when her ... partner actually gave an answer, the Mirialan was stunned.

"Peacekeeping. After all, we are still Jedi - landing face-first in another galaxy doesn't change that. I'm quite sure the vode will appreciate having something to do that doesn't guarantee being shot at."

"It could work... though the nature of this world - and its inhabitants - have been... concerning.", Barriss offered hesitantly.

Ahsoka recalled the footage she had dredged up from Europa's Holonet-equivalent of the war with a so-called 'Ottoman Empire', and winced. "... yeah."

"We're also lacking the reputation and resources we had back home - I doubt these nations would heed our words, given that to them we're simply ... nobodies. Don't forget, much of our successes have to be attributed to the Order's long history and position in the Republic."

"I guess we're left with Option Besh, then." The Togruta muttered, biting into her own apple. "Think you're up for some travelling?"

"... travelling?"

"Yeah, travelling." Munch.

"Travelling. Really?" That was delivered in perfect Unduli-style deadpan, as she offered the apple core to her pet for nibbles. "Where would we go? Where can we go?"

"... I'm working on it." Taking another contemplative bite, Ahsoka decided a change of topic was called for - peering curiously at the creature perched in her friend's palm. "So, what's this creature? Do you have a name for it yet?"

Barriss immediately held it away, setting aside the apple's remains to shield the tiny rodent from view. "Don't stare, Ahsoka - you're a carnivore and it is twitchy. I barely managed to tame it." Then, "... It's a jerboa. Apparently native to the desert biomes of this world."

Finally, "... I think I'll call it 'Hops'."

"Hops?", Ahsoka asked with amusement.

"Yes. Hops."

"Why Hops?"

"It hops."

"... of course. Still, isn't it curious? A world with multiple biomes..."

"Alderaan."

"Barriss... this planet has frozen poles. Not even Alderaan has that - this one is literally capped with pieces of Ilum-"

"I'll actually posit that the Arctic and Antarctica may be closer to Mirial."

"That's biased. Besides, Mirial has vegetation. Definitely Ilum." As she said that smugly, Ahsoka finished the last bite of her apple.

"Fair point, I guess-" Finally, the Mirialan noticed what her friend had been consuming - and turned pale. "Ahsoka. Did you just... you know that's fruit, right?"

"Mhm-" The carelessness of her response fled swiftly when it was followed by a loud gurgling and a cramp gripped the Togruta's stomach.

Tucking Hops into the folds of her robes - and trusting her pet to hold on - Barriss hauled Ahsoka up and quickly made for the ramp. And hopefully, the nearest 'fresher wasn't too far off...
Last edited by Mirial System on Fri Sep 18, 2020 6:39 pm, edited 1 time in total.

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The Alpenbund
Lobbyist
 
Posts: 16
Founded: Aug 10, 2020
Inoffensive Centrist Democracy

Postby The Alpenbund » Fri Sep 18, 2020 6:56 pm

Somewhere in the bayous, Louisiana, USA. 23rd of August, 1912.

Jason Moses pulled his knife out of the zombie's neck. The creature's head came clean off, and it collapsed to the ground. 'Fucking grunts.', Moses thought to himself as he wiped the black fluid, which kept these grunts undead, off the blade. "Was that the last of 'em?", he asked his partner, Joe Soprano, who was perched on a nearby tree with his Mosin-Nagant rifle. "Looks like it.", Soprano replied, lowering his rifle. "We should be getting close to the lair at this point. I'm hearing some really strong whispers in Darksight." Moses put away the knife and unholstered his pistol, a battered but still functonal Colt 1900 Automatic. "We better. Been tracking this asshole for what, three days?"

It was a quiet summer noon, the heat was almost oppressive, but the pair were determined. There was a Butcher to be killed and banished, but its exact location was unknown to the two. However, after a few minutes, gunshots, yells and screeching penetrated the silence. "Well, so much for a quiet day.", Soprano sighed. "I think I see it. That red building, by the old cornfield. Let's hustle, maybe we can take some scraps if those sons of bitches aren't thorough." The two men immediately started running towards their destination, dodging more hellspawn on the way.

As they were approaching the building in question, a yell punctured the air, followed by the unmistakeable sound of someone hitting the floor. Seconds later, a second one. The Butcher itself screamed, probably just having gone into its enraged state, wildly chasing after someone else - panicked footsteps could be heard as well. Moses holstered his pistol, instead pulling out his sawed-off Winfield 97 shotgun, as the pair decided to take it stealthily. The building itself seemed to have been a warehouse of some sort, as crates were lying around everywhere. Soon, the two spotted the body of one Hunter - the woman had a hole directly through her left temple - wearing the unmistakeable blue-yellow armband of the Lawbringers. Suddenly, a door swung open, and a man dragging the limp body of his comrade exited the building.

"Who the hell's that?", Soprano whispered from the haybales he was hiding behind. Moses shrugged. It seemed like the Lawbringer lady had gotten into a shootout and lost, although he was certain she was not alone. His suspicions were confirmed when a silhouette snuck out behind one of the wagons in the courtyard, towards the man in the process of enacting a revival ritual on his partner. He had evidently heard the steps, spinning around but not fast enough. The other Lawbringer, a large man of almost bear-like stature, tackled him and shoved him against the building's wooden wall. With better light, Moses and Soprano could easily identify the tackled man as a member of the Voodoo cults, with bones and other ritual objects hanging from his black clothes.

"You motherfucker!", the Voodoo man growled as the Lawbringer pressed the barrel of his overly large Caldwell revolver between his eyes. "Funny, I was just about to tell you that.", the large man answered, his finger already on the trigger. However, he did not go as far as to pull it, because suddenly Soprano jumped up from his hiding spot.

"Hey!", he yelled at the two combatants. "What the fuck are you doing?!" Moses rolled his eyes and rose as well, shotgun firmly in his hands. The Voodoo man and the Lawbringer appeared startled for a moment, then the big man yelled back. "None of your business, assholes! This son of a whore shot my partner in the head!" "Because you're interfering with an important ritual, you mongrel!", the Voodoo cultist spat back at him, to which the man responded by pressing his revolver even harder against his temples.

"Woah, woah, woah! No one's killing anyone here, alright?", Moses yelled at the two. "What are you trying to do, start a fucking war? Again?! The last one was barely two years ago!" He pointed his shotgun at the Lawbringer. "Don't you dare fucking pull that trigger, lawman." The atmosphere thickened, and for a few seconds, there was nothing but silence. Then, the Lawbringer slowly started to back away, taking his gun off the Voodoo cultist's head, who breathed a sigh of relief. "Alright. Fine. I won't kill him.", the man said, all of a sudden pointing his gun downwards and pulling the trigger.

"OH! You FUCKER!", the cultist cursed, holding his groin area in pain. The Lawbringer holstered his gun, satisfied, and went to perform a revival ritual on his partner. After some cursing, the cultist did the same, his wound healing fully after a few seconds, though he still walked for a minute as if it was there. A few seconds later, both the Lawbringer lady's and the Voodoo man's partner's bodies came back to life, their wounds beginning to heal as well. After a minute or so, all six Hunters present at the farm were back at their healthiest again.

"Alright.", Moses began, still holding his shotgun. "Now if you're all done killing each other, can we get rid of that goddamn Butcher and get outta here finally?" The Lawbringer shrugged. "Fine. We'll split by thirds.", he told them, and his partner nodded. The Voodoo cultist, though, shook his head. "Didn't you listen? I told you we needed this for an important ritual!", he said, almost sounding outraged. Moses gestured at the man with his shotgun. "Yeah well then you better pay us somethin'. We didn't track this thing for three days to leave empty handed, and we can't exactly eat dirt." The Voodoo man rolled his eyes, reaching in his pockets. After some shuffling, he pulled out a bundle of dirty Dollar bills, tossing them to Soprano.

"Count 'em. That's enough for all of you S-O-Bs." Soprano fanned through the stack, eventually splitting it in half and throwing one half to the Lawbringer. "Yeah, well that's good enough for us." "How much is that, actually?", Moses whispered to him. "300 bucks, man. More than enough. This guy must be afraid we'll put a hole in his chest, the way you're holding that shotgun." The Lawbringer had also finished counting the bank notes and nodded to the others. "We'll be outta here then."

Before any of them could get a move on, though, the sky suddenly blackened and air humidity jumped noticeably. "Uh... anyone thought it was gonna rain today?", Soprano asked. "Fuckin' no. I'm getting a lot of angry whispering in Darksight.", the Lawbringer lady told them. "This shit ain't good news. This got anything to do with your ritual, Voodoo man?", she asked. The two cultists, even though most of their faces were hidden behind masks, were looking concerned. "No, actually. I think we better go into a house or-", the man began, but couldn't finish his sentence.

A supernatural screech echoed through the bayous, followed by a tidal wave of mind-numbing psychic energy. Hunters, monsters, even animals dropped where they stood, most unconscious, some weak ones even dead. Moses could just manage to glimpse Soprano holding his head in pain and the other Hunters hitting the floor as he felt himself losing control, falling on his back and being enveloped by darkness.

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Dansha
Diplomat
 
Posts: 864
Founded: Apr 17, 2014
Democratic Socialists

Postby Dansha » Sat Sep 19, 2020 6:26 am

[Collab between myself and Gandhi/Democratic East Asia.]

South Africa, Kalahari Desert
Nuclear Test Site


It was but another warm summer (this is the southern hemisphere) day in the sand dunes of the Kalahari, and for an inattentive observer, everything seemed normal in this boring part of Africa. The few animals that lived in these harsh wastes roamed about aimlessly as a small team of scientists, engineers, and military observers gathered behind a set of pre-fabricated blast shields and bunkers. Everyone present knew the importance of today’s events, which would likely determine whether or not the SAAR survived as a sovereign state going into the future. A region spanning a total of over 1200 square km had been cordoned off for today’s test, which if successful, would make it a whole lot hotter today.

20 km away from the spot designated as ground zero, chief nuclear engineer and nuclear project head Chimango Mbewe went over a few last minute projections with his staff. The mood within the bunker was one of excitement, fear, and a lot of nervousness. While everyone here knew how nuclear weapons worked and had seen plenty of test footage from the past, it was certainly quite different observing a detonation up close and in person.

Mbewe wiped some sweat from his brow with a handkerchief as he waited in anticipation for the central government observers to arrive. A staff officer entered the bunker and made the announcement.

“They’re here, Dr. Mbewe,” a light skinned colonel, presumably one of the Europeans from the Surface Defense Force, made it known that the big shots had arrived. Mbewe took a few deep breaths before exiting the bunker to greet his superiors. Personally he was no fan of the regime nor its odd system of assigning “foreign” troops to the region, but now wasn’t the time for that.

“Dr. Mbewe.” General Daniel Wyrick says to the Doctor, the Polish commander of the CNS forces in the SAAR dressed in full uniform. “I am General Daniel Wyrick. I will be observing this test alongside the Chiefs of the Air Force and Surface Defence Forces.”

“The RAC has high expectations for this test.” The Chief of the Air Force, Zander Van Der Westhuizen, tells Mbewe. Compared to General Wyrick, the Chief is noticeably larger, but also clearly muscular. “I don’t need to say what the consequences for a failure would be.”

Mbewe gulped at Westhuizen’s mention of “high expectations”. He knew that screwing up was most definitely NOT an option for him and probably his team.

“Well Chief, we shall not disappoint then,” Mbewe nodded in affirmation to the Chief’s earlier statement before beckoning for the two officials to follow him. “The test is to occur in approximately five minutes, with the warhead to be deployed by a modified shuttle unit. It will detonate at approximately 4000 meters in altitude with a yield of 5 megatons, which should prove sufficient in destroying the mock-town we set up 10 km from ground zero. Our current positions should be entirely safe from the blast,” he explained as the group entered the bunker’s command center.

“Here we are, the center of operations for today’s test,” Mbewe smiled as he made his way to one of the control seats. Dozens of scientists could be seen milling around and going over data below.

“Now gentlemen, if you have any more technical questions, I will do my best to answer them.”

“What do you know about the Empire’s own program?” The Chief of the SDF asks Mbewe. “I’m giving to understand that they possess one.”

“Ahh, the Empire’s program…” Mbewe thought to himself for a moment, “frankly we don’t know too much about it, but the information our team found online and the calculations we did to verify them are astounding, to say the very least. They call it the Field Limitary Effective Implosion Armament, or F.L.E.I.J.A. It’s their ‘equivalent’ of the fusion bomb, albeit different in its effect. I find it hard to believe such a thing exists.”

Mbewe brought up a few pictures of what he’d gleaned.

“We currently have no clue how many FLEIJAs the Empire possesses, but we do know that each FLEIJA is capable of dealing cataclysmic damage even in excess of a 100 megaton bomb.”

“That’s as strong as the Tsar Bomb of the old Soviet Union was meant to be…” The Chief says to himself. “This is rather concerning.”

“What about mass production of these 5 megaton weapons?” Zander Van Der Westhuizen asks. “Will we be able to make enough of them?”

Mbewe nodded. “Obviously this isn’t our only bomb, as my team built about a dozen spares in case this test didn’t go the way we wanted. As for the warheads themselves? We may lack fissile material in our territories, which is annoying, but modern high energy lasers can generate the same amount of energy necessary for fusion. It’s not quite as cheap nor efficient, but we should be able to maintain an adequate arsenal of a few hundred fusion devices within 2-3 months or so.”

“That’s good.” General Wyrick replies. “We’ll need them to dissuade the Empire. Now, let’s see how the test goes.”

“Of course, general.”

Attention all personnel, the test will begin in 60 seconds. All personnel take positions.

“Here it comes.”

In the air above the desert, a single modified space-shuttle turned bomber dashed across the sky at high velocity as it neared the designated test site. The pilot onboard pressed a few buttons, and within a split second the payload of the shuttle: a single 5-megaton fusion device, barreled towards the earth.

Detonation in 5...4...3...2...1…

Image


The sky lit up as a second sun rose from the horizon, its rays obscuring everything within over a dozen km in blazing heat and light. A tremendous shockwave slammed into the ground at the speed of sound, rippling through the landscape and blowing away thousands of desert shrubs and unfortunate animals. It slammed into the mock-town some 10 km from the epicenter of the blast, smashing houses, flipping over cars, and setting fire to gas pipelines and storage units. As the subsequent mushroom cloud began its slow ascent towards the upper atmosphere, Mbewe’s science team momentarily stood still in both shock and awe.

“So, this is what Oppenheimer felt back on that fateful day...” Mbewe mumbled.

“Congratulations are in order, Dr. Mbewe.” General Wydrick says to the Doctor. “With this success, our independence is assured.”

One Hour Later

From the SAAR, the recording of the nuclear test is broadcast across the world, followed by Chairman Deventer speaking across the airwaves, accompanied by footage of the anti-orbital missiles of the missile bases.

Nations of the world, by now you would have all detected the nuclear device we detonated in the Kalahari Desert. This is but one of many warheads we have in our possession, including numerous missiles ready for use. So consider this a warning: The SAAR is not afraid to to use these nuclear weapons to defend itself.

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Remnants of Exilvania
Postmaster-General
 
Posts: 10369
Founded: Mar 29, 2015
Iron Fist Consumerists

Postby Remnants of Exilvania » Sat Sep 19, 2020 12:45 pm

Saint Lawrence River
Konstanz
Oskar Dirlewanger


"Man, do I have a hunkering for some good old Schnitzel these days..."

, Dirlewanger murmured before taking another swig from the flask of strong Schnaps, resulting in him coughing harshly and spitting out most of it again. It was a rather strong beverage, even for a man such as Dirlewanger...but it helped to dull the pain.

Meanwhile his adjutant, a young fanatic going by the name Friedrich Egel, generally called Blutegel by comrades and enemies alike for his morbid interest in bleeding captured prey dry, was busy tinkering around with Dirlewanger's arm...a bloody, bandaged, foul smelling stump.

Dirlewanger was delirious, both from the pain, from the sickness in his arm and from the alcohol he had drunk. And yet he would seemingly always come back to that moment where they got him. It was dumb, honestly. He had been dumb but oh well, that's what a high intake of alcohol did to you. He had just walked inbetween the undead, like he often did really, even if it was advised to not do so, and when one of the dumb things had gotten a bit too close, had attempted to smack it down for some pereceived slight, just like he had with members of his unit back in the day. Sadly, these rotten things were both stronger than the members of his unit and tended to be quite a bit more lethal without putting intoo much effort. That was how he had ended up losing his arm. And probably also his life if it hadn't been for the quick thinking of Friedrich.

Everything was swimming in Dirlewanger's vision as he turned his head a bit to look down at what Friedrich was doing. The metal gauntlet being fitted to his arm, despite his age, seemed to be in good condition. If they used some enchantments, perhaps he could even move the hand without having to use his other hand. That'd be great. Would make this entire venture far more worth it than he had initially thought it'd be. Travelling south to go and grab the Iron Gauntlet of the famed Götz with the Iron Hand after he had lost his own had initially seemed like such a retarded idea. Considering just how smoothly things had been running though...Dirlewanger wondered if it wasn't some form of supernatural intuition that had given him the idea and blessed him with luck on that undertaking.

Something suddenly drew Friedrich's attention, the young man looking up, his chin quickly dropping as he stared at somethin in front of Dirlewanger. Dirlewanger, with some effort, turned his head as well before lifting it, its weight feeling like it was made from lead. His glassy eyes tried to focus desperately on a blur in the air before him. If he wasn't so drunk, his brain likely would've also registered the demonic whispers along the edges of his lacking sanity but well...he was drunk and so he just stared up at it in boredom and waited.

It didn't take long for the blur to manifest into an orange glow which quickly started constructing a person. An old, slightly hunched over man, his hair white and his eyes betraying his evil will. Dirlewanger remained unfazed, groaning instead in annoyane as he slurred:

"Whaddya want, Rattinger?"

The man, wearing white robes he must've plundered from the Vatican after its fall, smirked and overlooked the overall drunk state of the drunkard before him and instead simply inquired:

"Our glorious Führer inquires about the progress you have made, Oberführer Dirlewanger. The mining of the river is of the utmost importance, as you might well know. Certainly of far greater importance than your continued survival."

Dirlewanger managed to get out a gurgling laugh, throwing his bottle at Ratzinger, who remained unfazed even as the bottle passed through him, betraying that he was nothing but a mere apparition rather than here in flesh and blood. Though Dirlewanger wouldn't doubt Ratzingers ability to appear here in flesh and blood if he really wanted to.

"Oh shush ya ol spoilspord...it all be workin' fiiiiinneeeee...the Zombs just bein' a tad...clumshy iz all. Yo, can ya ask the Fühler iffee could send like...like another drain? We need more minesh. A lotta mines. That river do be thiccccccccc..."

Ratzinger sighed, rubbing his wrinkled forehead with his wrinkly hands before saying:

"I will ensure that another load is sent. You just ensure that the work is done. Great things are in motion that a pea brain such as yours can't comprehend."

He seemed to be ready to leave which was when Dirlewanger got an idea, aggressively tearing at his arm which was still in Friedrich's hands, showing it to Ratzinger and asking:

"I heard ya can do all that magix stuff yeah? Can ya like...like...entshant dis so I can move it...like...without having ta do dis?"

To demonstrate, Dirlewanger dropped his Schnapsflask and used his now free hand to operate some levers on his other hand, changing the grip and position of his metal fingers by doing so. The look Ratzinger gave him was pitiless but...malice glowed in those eyes as an idea came to mind.

"Perhaps...if you make sure to execute your task properly and swiftly."
Ex-NE Panzerwaffe Hauptmann; War Merit Cross & Knights Cross of the Iron Cross
Woodhouse Loyalist & Inactive BLITZKRIEG Foreign Relations Minister
REST IN PEACE HERZOG FRIEDRICH VON WÜRTTEMBERG! † 9. May 2018
Furchtlos und Treu dem Hause Württemberg für alle Ewigkeit!

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Speyland
Chargé d'Affaires
 
Posts: 352
Founded: May 19, 2018
Inoffensive Centrist Democracy

Postby Speyland » Sat Sep 19, 2020 10:48 pm

The Land of Wind, Sunagakure, Kazekage's Office

Gaara has been wondering about the strange world that he is living in. It is to him that he must ask someone for access to a map. With it, the country will have access to foreign trade, embassies, and to be free from isolation. This might be a perfect opportunity for Gaara and the Wind Daimyo. In fact, it is a part of Gaara's agenda after all. Without it, the country would've remained isolated and the exploration process could've progressed further. Even worse, the economy as a result of isolation would've decreased little by little. The country must get in touch with the rest of the world somehow. Gaara has written a letter to the Europan Empire about this subject.

Dear Europan Empire,

As the country is currently in isolation, we are asking for a map for us to get in contact with the rest of the world again. Also, we would rather receive it for free. If you are willing to accept this offer, please let us know. We will be waiting for your reply.

From,
The Fifth Kazekage, Gaara


Gaara hopes for the best as to whether or not he will receive the map for free. However, he thought of it as not being a good bargain, especially when it comes to not receiving money in return; yet, even none at all. Still, he hoped for the best.

The Land of Wind, Sunagakure, Kazekage's Office

Gaara was surprised that a surge of employment has improved over the weeks. This is a result of the country having access to better natural resources in contrast to being a former desert country in the past. The people are now working in the fields to produce crops such as coffee and vanilla. There have been reports of people finding shellfishes along the coast.

The employment rate is slowly increasing, but at a steady pace. To date, the Wind Daimyo is delighted to hear about the event and so is Gaara. Hopefully, the country would remain in good condition and that it is no longer an arid nation. Today is a new era for Gaara and his friends; the citizens are too.
Last edited by Speyland on Sun Sep 20, 2020 5:40 am, edited 1 time in total.

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The Federation of Kendor
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Founded: Dec 08, 2015
Civil Rights Lovefest

Postby The Federation of Kendor » Sat Sep 19, 2020 10:52 pm

Rhodes Island, France, Earth

After the initial shock of the unusual event, those who are responsible for controlling the landship's course, including Amiya and Kal'tsit, detects a strange reading on the radar just after the two quickly orders some operators to socut the land. It seems to be some kind of flying objects. The duo, alongside the Doctor, soon rush outside to see weird flying objects like they have never seen before.

"What are those?", Amiya wonders. As for Kal'tsit, she doesn't say anything before saying to Amiya and the Doctor that Closure has just called her to inform that they should transmit a message to the planes. After all, everyone does not know if the strange crafts are hostile or not, but it seems to be armed with something like originium launchers.

In the meantime, the operators have been assembled to explore the strange new land. They are comprised of three teams. The first team is comprised of the Catastrophe Messangers, Provence, Earthspirit, and Angelina. The second comprises of Elysium, Firewatch, and [=GreyThroat=], and finally the third team comprises of Texas, Exusiai, and Croissant.

The teams soon set off to explore, going into three different directions from the landship. The third team goes into the direction of the village, while the first goes opposite of the third, and the second goes into another direction.

Then, Amiya decides to address the planes, with the Doctor, Kal'tsit, and Closure nearby. She replies to them, "We are a pharmaceutical company called Rhodes Island, and I am the leader of the company, Amiya. Currently we find ourselves in this strange land after an unusual phenonema. Also, please state your identity! We want to know who you are, because we do not have any information on you, and nothing matches with anything we know in Terra, like Lungmen, Leithanien, or Ursus."

Everyone soon waits for response from the planes.
My Dispatch
North Korean Russia wrote:"I am God! You are powerless against me! I am so awesome that when I play basketball I always get four points per shot!" -Kim Jong-Putin.

Independant Nations and Guilds wrote:Their founder turned into an eagle and flew into the sun before being burned to death. This is what their flag really means, and any other attempt at explanation of its meaning is ignored in favor of this explanation.

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Guuj Xaat Kil
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Founded: May 25, 2019
Father Knows Best State

Postby Guuj Xaat Kil » Sun Sep 20, 2020 5:28 am

Tlat'uu December 31, 2999

It was a strangely beautiful sight here at the docks, a perfect sunset in every sense of the word. Seabirds flying about, waves crashing into the pier, rays of orange sunlight passing through the clouds, all culminating into one extremely picturesque scene, something out of an artist's work. But in the end, it was merely a beautiful scene. Other things, much more important than an unusual view, were on the docket for him today. A hand stretched out and ended at the shoulder of his son, "Alright, you take care now Hluuwee, or should I say the viceroy of Sacramento?" his only son, appointed to becoming viceroy of that particular place, last one got defenestrated by uppity Cetic purists, "Be careful down there, and... See you again someday, son." Nothing but a nod from Hluuwee, not that he could blame him, the young man was the quiet kind, essentially "actions speak louder than words" personified. Letting out a single chuckle at this, he turned and walked back, but not before sneaking in one last farewell with a wave of his hand. And somehow he knew the kid had waved back as well before turning to the ship he was boarding.

Returning to drier land, he wasn't surprised at the fact that his own father was there with a contingent of guards, crossed armed, neutral faced. "His default look, hides a lot of things." He told himself mentally as he approached them. A frown suddenly appeared on Hluunaagad's face, "Unfortunate really, the situation down in Sacramento forced him to leave just on the eve of the new millennium," the emperor sighed, both the grandson and son were causing this frown to form on his face, "Too bad he won't be around for the festivities, could've been a great way to get him out of that shell of quietness of his."

His father's gaze soon fell upon him, still with a firm frown. "And as for you, I understand you being antsy when he's not around, with that whole tragedy with that particular trip," he trailed off slightly, staring into the slowly setting sun and clearly enjoying the view, it did little to ease the frown though, "But that was years ago, and your son is practically a man now." He only hummed in response, and his father would lay a hand on his shoulder. The man smiled, "Lay off the worry son, he can take care of himself. After all, he has you to thank for that." A pat on the back, and soon that frown on Hluunaagad melted away into yet another neutral expression.

"I know father, its just that... Nah, its probably nothing," and before his father could call him out on the something, he explained, "Been feeling antsy in general this whole day, that's all, like something's gonna happen." He shook his head at the irrationality of it all. His father just nodded in response. "New millennium and all, a fresh wind of change, big winds of change," his gaze fell upon the mountains to the east, bathed in the sunset glow, "But nothing that can blow this mountain of a state over. See you later at the viewing." A shrug from him, and he went on his way.

"I wouldn't be too remiss on that whole "nothing's gonna happen" stance though!" He heard his father shout as he slowly gained distance from them, and he took that in mind. "Perhaps a rest wouldn't be too remiss either." Guulaas thought, a nap would be good for the mind, especially with this whole thing today. It was a good thing there was a horse carriage waiting for him already by the road he was heading to, it wouldn't do him any good to take a nap in the middle of the street due to exhaustion. The coachman seemed to know the destination he had in mind, as the carriage took off without a fuss. The next hour was spent looking outside of the carriage, at the slowly dimming sun sinking into the sea; and mulling about the viewing later, the astronomers had predicted a meteor shower later on, some of the brightest in known history, and father decided to use this a some sort of family bonding activity for the various members of the Tahaygenaaw family at court in T'awts. It was odd, spending time together like... Any other family.

He shook his head, and let the time fly by. Sooner or later he would at his destination.

Huh, he was already there. Nodding at the already paid coachman, he set off to the castle in front of him. It was a towering structure, but in a way that made it seem bigger than it actually was than being intimidatingly large. The inside seemed bigger as well, and could be described as maze-like to someone visiting for the first time, but to someone who's lived in it for so long, it was child's play. It still took time to arrive at his chambers though. Once there, he flopped unceremoniously onto the bed like one of those whales he saw in his younger days. Aching all over, tired, and with a desire to rest, sleep would come to the man almost immediately, a dreamless sleep, but one that let him recover his strength. It was almost frightening, falling asleep in a dimly lit room instantly and waking to a room dimmer than before, as quick as he fell asleep. At this point, Guulaas was used to it, the faint throbbing in his head that followed after though? Not so much.

Changing into a new set of clothes, he set off for the outside world once more, this time to a hill where much of the Imperial Family would be on. And it would seem that he was late, they were already enjoying themselves and the food on that lamp-lit mound. It would be his eagle-eyed father that spotted him first, "Ah, Guulaas! Get over here son, there's plenty left," he quickly scooted over and settled into a comfortable place before being served a plate by a servant, "Overslept?" He snorted, his father chuckled. "Oh well, no issue with that, you're just in time for the viewing after all!" Hluunaagad informed him, "In fact, you arrived just before it starts." And speak of the devil, the meteor shower had begun, lighting up the dark world and almost outshining the lamps. The children "ooh"ed and "aah"ed, the adults smiled or looked on intently, and a few quirkier ones were already talking about either the circumstances of the meteor shower or talking about Yaahl and "this gift he gave to us". As for him, he only kept staring.

"Like father like son," his father suddenly spoke up, clearly directed towards him; he only looked back at Hluunaagad with a face that said 'what do you mean', and getting the cue, the father looked at him as well and explained, "Well, us Emperors rarely do this with the family, the Flayer and the Whisperer sort of discouraged that for quite some time. For me, well... I'd like to spend as much time as possible with you, your siblings, everyone if possible really." He had a glad smile on his face now, and looked back at the meteor shower. "It makes me happy, knowing that I raised you to be similar," he continued, and so did that smile, "Keep your family close son, very close." And with that, he closed the subject, and both men returned to looking at the meteor shower. A crisp night today, adding to the meteor shower's clarity, and accentuating its beauty.

And then it ended...

Was the moon supposed to be there? What happened?

In general; January 1, 3000/0000

Something had happened, a more thorough look at the skies yielded something wildly different from Duke Hluuwee III's records. But in the following hours of January 1, more and more news came to the Emperor's ear's, ranging from whole villages disappearing for miles on end starting with the border with the Tlag of Tajaaw closest to T'awts, bright lights in the distance, and much more. For now the Empire had little to no awareness of what had occurred, but that was bound to change in the following days...
Former Foreign Minister of the Federation of Allies.
Formerly [REDACTED] and [REDACTED], 8000 combined what the heck.

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Wasi State
Diplomat
 
Posts: 783
Founded: Mar 25, 2019
Inoffensive Centrist Democracy

Postby Wasi State » Mon Sep 21, 2020 4:13 pm

End of Week One since Displacement
January, Year 0
Toronto Command Fortress, Wilhelm Imperial Forces Canada

Image

Anti-Occupation Protests continue in the Regional State Capital over widespread public disturbances caused by still Unknown Phenomena.

Reports of the Undead rising up from their graves attacking the living and marching from Labrador into Quebec!

General Johann Hispania stared at the newspaper and its rather blunt headlines with a pair of annoying eyes that held very little subtly over his continued frustration with the recent, and completely unexplainable events that had transpired in the past week. It was as though overnight they were transported to an entirely different world, one that was seemingly cut off from any outside communications with the rest of the Wilhelm Imperium. Hell the fact that they were now on a large, yet finite spherical body orbiting a star was enough to throw the whole population into a massive panic as initial rioting over the "End of the World" plagued Canadian streets before the reports quickly got replaced with ones of a undead zombie horde marching straight through the Quebec Province.

"The hell kinda of shit show we got ourselves into?" Was all the General could muttered to himself before his top Lieutenants of the 78th Legion Lusitania marched into his command room to give him another worrying update on the developing situation they're currently stuck in.

"Sir there's no better way to tell you this, but after trying everything we can to reach both Army Group South and Army Group Proxima, we cannot reach either of them past both glaciers in the Earth region through any of our communication methods. Our Vox channels just curve back to either Russia or Australia and eventually looped right back to us due to the spherical nature of this 'planet." His top officer next to Vorbeck, Godfrey Kingly, explained to him. "If anyone picked up our distressed calls, it certainly won't be of Imperial origin."

The WIFC Distress Signal Message: Roughly translated from Wilhelm Morse-Code:
Sent several times around the globe in untranslated form.

Admin Zone 5 of Region :EARTH-134: Isolated from all communications from Hackory and nearest Army Groups: South and Proxima. Supplies sufficient. In need of Reconnection. And available Military Aid and Reinforcements. Under Assault from Class 4 Biohazard, Bipedal, Nercotics. Descending from Admin Zone 4. Assistance Needed. WIFC Out.... This Message Repeats...


"So we're marooned on this ball of dirt then, huh?" The over 8 foot tall General stared down at Kingly, one of the several regular humans in command of their forces.

"I'm afraid so, Sir. Unless there's a chance that other Administrative Zones were transported too along with us, otherwise we're essentially on our own as far as we know to deal with this internal chaos and this undead horde marching our way southwards." Kingly then added.

After a moment of pause with some internalized thinking involved, Hispania then assembled a new plan. "So we must act quickly then to deal with both of these current crises, my new order is for everyone that is north of the Lac Saint-Jean River and Lake system to be evacuated south to our highest concentrated areas of defense and population. And sent into an immediate quarantine until we've gathered enough information on how these zombies operate. I need the transport fleet of the Air Force to do search and rescue runs, while our bombers and CAS perform runs to delay the incoming horde for as long as possible as we assemble our ground forces on several defensive lines across rivers and natural redoubts."

"And the Naval Fleet, Sir?" The Admiral of the Fleet then managed to butt in on the meeting.

"Rescue any refugees on the coast and do as many shore bombardments on as many viable targets as you can. Send in a patrol fleet too to scout the coasts of Labrador, find out what happened with our garrison there... If it even was there." Hispania then noted to the Admiral who nodded in return. Wondering now if there were more Garrisons around initially since the Displacement, but they got quickly overrun by Wilhelm knows what foul horrors now lurk on Earth.

"And as for the Army, Sir? Should some probing attacks with our more mobile forces be in order as our other forces establish a perimeter, since we seem to be able to outpace the undead biotics at the current moment?" Kingly then suggested to the General.

"Permission granted, Lieutenant, but I don't want your forces getting possibly bogged down in that cesspool of decay. Your orders are to fallback the moment you start facing heavy resistance back to our defensive lines at the rivers."

"Understood, Sir." Kingly nodded back.

"Alright you are all hereby dismissed to carry out this defensive and evac order. I want those planes leaving our airfields within the next hour to carry out on bombing targets ahead of our main forces, we don't have much time to waste people, we are officially on Code: Black." The Lieutenants then quickly left the command fortress to carryout their orders. The quickest to respond being the situation in the air.


Skies over Quebec
WIFC

Several repurposed Hueys acting as one in a whole fleet, after having been brought from surplus, being once again brought back to the skies after what was essentially a State of Emergency that had been declared in Wilhelm Imperial Canada. As their propeller rotors swooshed over trees and abandoned infrastructure rather deep into Northern Quebec, some survivors that had been hiding quickly made their appearance to the passing choppers out in the open, waving their arms up in the air while jumping up and down, one even holding a sign that said, "HELP US!"

One Huey from the fleet then broke off and started to fly in low to rescue the group below, landing in a parking lot where two soldiers then came out of the Huey and secured the area. The survivors naturally started to run towards the chopper, but upon reaching a couple of meters from it were quickly stopped by one of the soldiers at gunpoint.

"Have any of you have been bitten or exposed to contaminated air within the past 72 hours?" The man shouted over the whirling helicopter blades to the survivors, revealing to have been wearing a gasmask.

"What? No! Get us out of here, we've been searching for help and a means of escaping those monsters for days now!" A woman, clearly tired and outraged at the accusation shouted back to the solider.

"Strip down now or I'll be forced to shoot." The solider then coldly ordered the group, having been following new protocol, preceded to flip the safety to his rifle off.

"What in the hell? Fuck no!" The woman then screamed back, quickly receiving a bullet through the skull from the now smoking muzzle of the soldier's rifle, not missing a beat as the woman dropped dead to the ground with a fist size hole exiting the back of her head. He then aimed the rifle at the other survivors, who were much quicker to comply now as they stripped to their undergarments and were inspected for bites and scratches. After what seemed like an unjustly cruel ordeal, the soldier then ordered them to redress and gave them safe passage to the chopper, forcing them to leave the body of the woman behind.

As the Huey rose to the sky once again, a large group of zombies that had heard both the chopper and the gunshot started to shamble towards the sound of it, making their appearance well known as they moved in a large group into the open area. The other soldier then spoke into a radio as they flew away and ordered for a airstrike over a set of coordinates that was where the survivors were just at.

The Huey then shook a few minutes later as several CAS fighter jets rocked the exterior of the helicopter from the speeds they were going at as they made a pass by it. Behind the Huey the crew and survivors then saw the area they were just previously in turned to a massive burning fireball of white haze and black smoke as a combination of a napalm and phosphex payload reduced the abandoned parking lot and small-town commercial area into Hell on Earth along with the rather large group of zombies in it. Scorched Earth would be a modest way to described the destructive display.

As the Huey flew back to the safety of the Canadian South, many similar scenes played out throughout the coming days throughout Northern Quebec as stranded survivors got evacuated and destructive bombing runs were made on high concentrations of the undead from the safety of the air, maximizing the use of the WIFC's uncontested airpower to delay the zombie horde as much as possible and doing as much feasible damage on them before they started to reach the declared defensive lines on the rivers.

Of course plans were still in place to commit to Kingly's idea of a probing land attack with the 78th Legion Lusitania's armored cohort. Of course as many analysts would later agree, this was likely the start to a very long and costly extermination war for the stranded WIFC, but one impeccable to its survival.
Last edited by Wasi State on Sun Sep 27, 2020 8:21 pm, edited 3 times in total.
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The Alpenbund
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Posts: 16
Founded: Aug 10, 2020
Inoffensive Centrist Democracy

Postby The Alpenbund » Tue Sep 22, 2020 11:39 am

Somewhere under the Finsteraar, undisclosed location, Federal Shield Forces Satellite Control Center

"I don't know... do you know that feeling where something seems familiar but you don't know what to?", one of the officers present asked into the room. Markus Teller, Jeannette Niemann and Giovanni Berlusca and some of the other military men collectively nodded. "This is really weird. You know. I swear I know it from somewhere. With that triangular shape... maybe from Space Deathmatch 14." "No, obviously they're from Aliens vs Predators 9.", one of the younger officers replied. A Major raised an eyebrow. "That damn movie? Wanna bet?"

General Pascal Steinmetz, recently elected to that post, sighed. "First off, we're not here to discuss pop culture references, and two, those things are obviously from Star Wars." Some of the other officers raised their eyebrows skeptically. "Really? Those things look nothing like Star Destroyers, General. I think they're obviously from-", another officer began, before Teller audibly cleared his throat.

"Right, whatever they are from, let's get back to what we are here to do. My money is on Wing Commander 11 by the way.", Teller said. "Is the message ready?" The linguistics specialist, one Oberleutnant Tirelli, said. "Yes, we've translated it into English, which seems to have been what the Imperials used when speaking with them according to signal traffic. But just to be sure, we've also got another 30 or so languages in that package, including Combine Sector Standard."

Steinmetz pointed to the screen. "One of our sats is moving in position, we will be broadcasting momentarily."

We, the Alpine Union, offer greetings to the so-called 'Grand Army of the Republic'.

The Alpine Union is a nation of approximately nine million inhabitants located in the center of the continent known as 'Europe', currently bordering the Pan-Europan Empire and the Kingdom of Italy.

We are surprised to see that extraterrestrials seem to have also been affected by the Event. As such, we have some questions and also a request.

Are you part of, affiliated with or do you know of a political and territorial entity known as the Universal Union? If not, which polity do you originate from, which other polities are they affiliated with and has any of those affiliated polities any affiliations or contact with the Universal Union? It would be of great importance to us to ascertain an answer to these questions.

As for the request, we would like to send diplomatic envoys to meet you. Our personnel is available at any time, as such, you can propose time and place for such a meeting, either by direct message or by way of the Imperial Europan government, which we are also in contact with.

We are looking forward to your reply.

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Alaroma
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Founded: Aug 03, 2016
Inoffensive Centrist Democracy

Postby Alaroma » Wed Sep 23, 2020 10:15 am

Old Friends, but New Strangers



When the broadcasts from the UK reached the Texan Confederacy, it was a cause for celebration. The Texan People would recognize the doddering old lady who acted as Monarch of the United Kingdom anywhere. Her message of peaceful coexistence was also admittedly more soothing than the fire and fury of the Europeans, or absolutism of the UN.

It was upon realizing this that the Texans prepared a delegation to greet the British. That said it was also glaringly obvious after a tad more assessment this wasn’t exactly the same UK. No, there was no communications from Texan contacts in the country. Not Texan citizens, not the Texan embassy, not Institute contacts.

The Jet that flew to the UK was perhaps a day after the one that flew to mainland Europe, and all of its terrors. The delegation was headed by a man named Wilhelm Goldstein. There were many Goldsteins out there, but yes, he was the grandson of Elias Goldstein. The man who led Texan armor through the sands of Northern Africa, and stabbing straight into the heart of the evil slaver Empire the Draka ruled. The man that came so close to find perpetual peaceful coexistence with the Soviets.

Unfortunately for Texas, Wilhelm Goldstein was a good man. The kind of man who didn’t cheat on his wife, who played ball with his sons, who attended his daughter’s recitals. The kind of man faithfully served his time as a grunt in the Military, and participated in Military drills for 10 years after every Saturday. The kind of man who served his country as a diplomat. But he wasn’t a great man, the kind of man that made Drakan boys piss their pants when thinking about what would happen if they were sent to fight his army. The man who commanded diplomats. He didn’t need to be that though, being a good man was enough, for now. Tikea would find her great sons yet. But as for her son Wilhelm, he had one job. Establish contact with the British.

As the plane got closer to the islands, calls and requests for contact would be sent out to the British on frequencies they used. There would be no chance they didn’t hear that someone was being sent. As for Wilhelm, he was just happy to see familiar faces. As for the Institute agent sitting across from him? Well it wouldn’t do a ton of good worrying too much about what Agent Amcotts thought, she was just here as a bodyguard. Well, that’s her official mission at least.

The plane would soon detect two fighters flying towards their location. Outside from the front window the pitots would see two Eurofighter Typhoons. The pilots would hear a transmission coming from the fighters.

“Unidentified aircraft. States your intent on flying in British air space and your point of origin.”

“This is Airliner 1776, we’re from the Texan Confederacy. Our intentions are to reestablish ties with the United Kingdom.” The Texan pilot returned simply. The pilots would have to wait for a few seconds until they got a reply.

“There is no Texan Confederacy back where we from. But it seems that our nation still existed in your world. My god that sounds weird to say.” they would hear from the other pilot. “You have permission to land but we will lead you to the chosen airport for you to land.”

“As you say pilot, lead on.” The Texan Pilot said, preparing to get the instructions from pilot to where to land.

The fighter pilots would lead them over the UK. Looking down the attendants of the craft would see the English countryside and a few villages and towns below them. As they saw the scenic beauty of the UK none would be aware that behind the seeming mundanity and familiarity that is suggested down below there was another side to the UK that their hosts will try to hide away.

On the plane, it’s passengers prepared for what was going to be an interesting trip. To Wilhelm, it was an exciting opportunity, while at the same time more predictable than one might expect visiting other nations. From what he had heard about mainland Europe, let’s just say he wanted to unlearn it.

When the plane reached the airport they would cars and trucks on the runway waiting for them as the plane touched down. Once the plane fully stopped along the runway they would see camera flashes coming from the news crew.

The planes door opening, Wilhelm stuck his head out to see who was waiting to greet them. ‘News crews? Guess this is going to be a public spectacle.” Wilhelm thought to himself. He looked to his Jet momentarily, seeing the German logo of his Department of Foreign Affairs aircraft, and the rather prominent Texan Eagle. Looking back down, he sighed.

Then, a gust of wind hit him, almost taking his hat. The man began shivering hard, reminding himself this was Europe, not Eastern Texas. The bottom of his long coat flapped, and his hat almost got away from him, saved by quick response time on his part. But hey, the crowd would get to see the curly hair of the brunette man.

“Let’s get down, shall we.” He said to himself as he began heading on down. He was followed by some other professional types from the DFA. But they too were followed quite closely by armed bodyguards, with masks and sunglasses keeping their identities a tightly little secret. Among them, of course, was Iris.

The group would among the crowd that awaited them they all wore medical masks to cover their faces. Each member of the crowd flooded them with different questions; each ranging from wanting to know their identity and where they come from, what was their reason to come to the UK, sneak peaks to their future plans, to some asking if they will pose a threat to their homeland.

“Now. Now, people.” Boris yelled out as he made his way through the crowd. “These people just had a long flight and I’m sure our guests would love to relax for a while before they are bombarded by questions.” he turn to look at the Texans. “I welcome you all to the United Kingdom. I am Boris Johnson, PM of these fair isles.”

“Why hello there.” Wilhelm said to the Prime Minister in accented English, apparently named Boris Johnson. Well, that was one difference. The British Government had a different Conservative party member as its leader. Yet this nation was obviously similar enough to have the same Queen.

“My name is Wilhelm Goldstein, I hail from the Texan Confederacy. “ he continued, his entourage. His chief of staff was only a few feet behind him, and Captain Iris was next to him. The guards formed a little circle around the entourage, eyeing the crowd with suspicion. “Truth be told Mr Prime Minister I didn’t expect to meet with you so soon, but I must say it’s a delight. I can tell you’re not the same Britain from our world, but you’re very close to it. We had rather warm ties to it, if my fluent English tells you anything.”

“Yes, it’s rather obvious. I’m glad to hear that my country exists in yours, even if it is different in some ways. Tell me, how is my country like in your world?” Boris asked as he led Goldstein and his entourage through the crowd to a limbo that he had reserved for the meeting.

“We have masks in the car for you all. Unfortunately a terrible pandemic was ravaging our world before we left and I would hate for it to spread to your nation after our visit.”

“You will have to tell us more about this pandemic of yours.” Wilhelm said, getting a mask for himself and his subordinates. As they made their way into the limousine, Wilhelm went back to his other question. “The UK in our world is a fairly nice nation. A good ally as well. It keeps to it’s commitments in defending the mainland of Europe collectively against the Eastern Communists. The current Government is run by the Conservatives, the One Nation Tories currently dominating the party in face of issues such as automation. I’d like to think they take certain influences from Texas considering their cultural priorities.” He thought about it, before adding “Queen Elizabeth is still monarch.”

As they sat in the car Boris would pull out bottles of wines, opening it and pouring himself some wine. “The Cold War never ended for you guys huh? As here that group of Tories aren’t in charge here.” Boris said as he poured more wine for the other glasses.

“As for the pandemic it came from Wuhan China. I suspect they were messing with a bioweapon they lost control of but officially the Covid-19 virus came because of uncooked bat soup and the Chinese covered it up long enough for the virus to spread outside of their borders.” The PM explained.

“Huh, that’s a rather unfortunate development. I’ll need to inform Neue Berlin, so this thing doesn’t spread to Texas. Just how deadly exactly is this virus? And as for the Cold War……..well, no, it has not ended. Wait, it ended for you guys? I assume you reconciled with the Soviets?”

“Reconciled?” Boris began to laugh at the mere notion of it. “Reconciled with the Soviets? Oh how I needed to hear something funny after the stressful week I’ve been having.” the man would continue to chuckle to himself for a while. “But no, we never did so, because there was no point. The Soviet Union was dissolved by 1991. It’s been decades since they have ever been anything else but a memory.” he told Goldstein before he began to sip on his wine.

He would pull away the glass to look at him. “The virus can spread very easily. The very old and young are more prone to it as is those with existing conditions. That virus nearly got me a few times. It has spread throughout most of the world with some countries being hit harder than most. Italy suffered the most with the United States following close behind. Of course those police riots aren’t helping matters for them.”

So, pandemics, and apparent civil unrest? That couldn’t be good. Though frankly he couldn’t say, he would need to find out more later. While he sipped his wine, it was apparent this virus lived within the man’s head rent free. In other words, underestimating how dangerous this virus could be and its implications would be a disaster.

“Well, Texas was relatively calm before this all broke out. Though of course calm is subjective in a world where nuclear destruction is only ever 30 minutes away. That said, we did just have an election. Our Chancellor, Anna von Gottberg of the Christian Democrats is a recent electoral victor, and within her first 100 days in office.”

Boris hissed. “Bloody Hell. I rather stick to the damn virus then nuclear armageddon… No offense.” he sheepishly drank down the rest of his wine. “Chancellor? You did away with Vice Presidents in your world?” Boris asked as they went past several buildings.

What neither Boris nor Goldstein was aware of was that several remote viewers and scryers were watching them, overhearing every word said by the men. Invisible, intangible, entities were also following the group as they acted as ephemeral drones for the conjurers who they were bound to.

“We will be reaching 10 Downing Street soon. Have you ever been back in your world?”

“Vice Presidents? I mean we have a president, he’s the assistant leader of the Senate. But the Chancellor is the leader of the House, and sort of like a Prime Minister.” He said, in response to his inquiries about terminology.

As for 10 Downing Street? “Oh yeah, I’ve seen it tons of times. From history books, to having been there in person. Once on pleasure, another time for business. The UK is a wonderful place to tour. Shame I never got to see the English Republic from our original world.” He said, in reference to the England from Texas‘a home world.

“I’m sorry what?” Boris asked in confusion. “Did you say Republic? You’re telling me that Cormwell’s republic survived after his death in your world?” One of the spirits would enter the car and fly around, but as none can see or feel it’s presence it meant very little. Save for perhaps the temperature dropping slightly.

“Did that idiot turn up the AC?” Boris muttered as he tapped on the rear glass separating him and the driver. “Oi! Turn down the AC! Are you trying to freeze us to death?” he complained. The driver looked down and saw that it was at a moderate temperature, which confused him greatly.

“Cromwell’s……..Republic? Oh no, the Socialist Revolution overtook England. After it did, it just stayed docile. I can imagine an interesting situation for the Celtic Union on its borders, but you can’t really ask for more. Besides, in our original world, there was no Cold War.” Wilhelm said, before adding “We’ve been through two world teleportations at this point.”

Boris looked as though Goldstein told him something horrific. “Fucking communists took over!” he screamed out. “I knew those leffist bastards were plotting against us.” he seethed in rage. Forgetting about what they said about there being no cold war and two world teleportations.

“It’s not a concern to your nation, I must assure you, Prime Minister. The English Republic was a different nation inherently. Those English hadn’t even asserted authority over all of the British Isles. The UK from our last transportation was far closer to you. Winston Churchill and Wilhelm Boykin got along splendidly I’m told.” Wilhelm said, though understanding the disgust of going Socialist.

Boris was silent when he heard what he said. “Did you just say this happened to you before and you met Churchill?” Boris would rub his face. “My god. We’re never coming back to our world aren’t we?” he said as the car was getting close to 10 downing street.

As they got close to the house none of them would know that the other half that Boris wanted to hide about the UK would show signs of it’s presence that would be more noticable.

“Me? No, I’ve never met the man. He was long dead before I was born. Chancellor Wilhelm Boykin did however, along with my grandfather former Chancellor Elias Goldstein. Chancellor Boykin was the leader of Texas during the Great War, and my grandfather was a major General. Lead the efforts in Africa against the Draka. He also became Chancellor later.” Wilhelm explainer to Boris, before adding “And I wouldn’t count on it, unfortunately.”

Boris looked slightly sick on the news that they might not be able to get back home. He was hoping that they could return and maybe AEGIS and whoever can erase all evidence of the UK ever disappearing. But if that is the case than not only is the masquerade destroyed back in their world it is only a matter of time until the same happens in here as well.

Boris would grab a napkin as he wiped his brows. He figured the heat he was feeling was coming from the revelation that they might not come back.

The car would pull over at the entrance of the black house. “We’re here.” he said as the guards open the doors for the guests and Boris. Boris would get off first and walk to the house.

Wilhem and his entourage also exited the cars, but before they could go anywhere, their guards made a check in. “Everyone here?” Captain Amcotts would ask, making a quick check of everyone. Wilhem decided to make small talk with the Captain, saying “Well Captain, is the nation similar to how you remember it?” Iris paused, and looked at him. “I don't know sir, something feels off.” She said, before going as she was.

Joining Boris a few seconds later, Wilhelm smiled. “So this is it, number 10. Nice place, I’d say.”

“Yes. Just sit down and make yourselves at home.” he told them as he continued to wipe his face. “I will have a maid fetch you some tea while I use the bathroom quickly. Just ask her what you want.” he told them as he walked up the stairs to find a bathroom for him to use.

As Boris left a young woman would approach them. “Do you need anything?” she asked them. Up in the bathroom Boris stumbled into the bathroom and turned on the sink. He looked at himself from the mirror. “What is wrong with me?” he asked as he began to splash water on his face to try and cool himself.

He would lean back and he would see steam coming from his right forearm. “What the?” He would see fire suddenly appear on his forearm. The man screamed as another fire appeared on his arm. He would try to reach for the door knob and tried to open it, but found that no matter how hard he tried the door wouldn't open.

“HELP ME PLEASE!” he screamed as he banged on the door as his back burst into flames. The prime minister would continue to struggle to open the door as more of his body combust into flames.

Hearing what was going on, iris ran upstairs to see what was going. Not sure what else to do, another guard named Oskar followed her. “Bloody hell-” Wilhelm started, in the middle of preparing some tea for himself. “Mr. Boris, you alright up there? What’s going on, talk to us!” he called up.

Arriving at the door that had all the banging at it, Iris (in an oddly English accent), said “Out the way, Mr Johnson!” as she tried opening the door. “What the fu-” before Oskar, the big burly man he was, attempted to bust down the door with a charge. Barring that, he tried kicking it in. “Fuck it.” Iris said, pulling out a handgun. “Christ Iris, don’t-” “Stay clear of the door, Mr. Johnson!” before firing a shot, blasting the door handle.

The bullet would deflect off the old handle but while she broke it it wasn’t enough to make it fall of it’s hinges. The group would still hear Boris screaming. Iris’s right eye twitched as the bullet deflected, before shooting again, and again until it did fall off. Understandably Oskar backed off from the crazy woman.

Boris would push the door to reveal to everyone his burning vestige as the man was covered in flames. Losing all control he would charge straight towards the guards. Seeing this,they sidestepped him. However, Iris went a step further and tripped him. “Get a towel, and put him out!” she said, before taking off her jacket to use to begin whacking at the flames.

Running upstairs, Wilhelm had a good many questions. “Why the fuck are gu- why is the Prime Minister on Fire?!” He screamed, alerting everyone in the house what was going on. “I don't know, get water!”

The Prime Minister would flay around as on the ground when suddenly the fire would cease as suddenly as it came, leaving behind a whimpering, charred man. Steam would come off him as the room was filled with the stench of cooked flesh. The guards would hear the maid climbing up the stairs.

“What’s happening? Why was there screa-…” she stopped when she saw Boris’s charred body on the ground, surrounded by the guests. The woman would gasp in shock before screaming for her life as she climbed down stairs in a hurry. She would quickly reach for a phone and call for emergency services.

“Jesus Christ, what happened?” Iris asked the man, kneeling next to him. She then called to the Maid, asking “There must be emergency medical equipment around here!?” They would hear the maid running around downstairs. In a few minutes they would see her rushing back up carrying ice packs. “I called emergency services, they are on their way.” She would push up the ice packs. “Would these help?” she asked.

Down on the ground Boris would moan loudly as he was waking up. “The museum…” he muttered weakly.

Iris for her part took the ice packs, and began putting them on burned areas. Not ideal, but they’d have to be enough. “Museum? What about a museum?” She asked the man.

“The museum…” he weakly muttered. “I need…” he would pass out before he can finish. The maid would look at them. “What is he talking about and why did this happen to him?” she asked. She walked back from the group unconsciously.

“What do you need, Mr. Johnson?” Iris asked, shaking him lightly to try preventing him from passing out. This was already a disaster of a trip.

He would open his eyes briefly. “Caused this… Ashwood… Knows…” he said as his eyes were closing again.

“Ashwood?” She said in confusion. “Who the bloody fuck is Ashwood?” She cursed in German. She turned to the maid, asking “Do you know an Ashwood? And when is that ambulance getting here?”

The maid shook her head as she wasn’t sure what Boris meant. The group would hear sirens coming from across the street. “The museum..” he muttered. “Take me.. There…” he would slowly raise his hand up. “Favor… I owe…”

“Uhhh, what museum? Maybe we can see who’s there who knows him while he goes to the hospital?” Iris offered. “Maybe. But frankly I don’t know what we can do, we’re guests after all.”

The maid would go down when she heard a knock from the door. The group would see paramedics arrive with a stretcher. As they began to carefully place Boris on it they would see a man and woman wearing suits approach them. “Can you all come with us please? We have some questions for you.” the man asked.

“Of course.” Wilhelm said, nodding as he prepared to cooperate. Of course, this was all less than ideal. What went from a normal (as could be in the situation) visit, to tragic. Iris, for her part, was perplexed by what caused the fire. And why it took so long to put out. She stood up, looking into the bathroom, finding nothing unusual. She then turned back, and let her gaze land on the men in black. Back to being a bodyguard.

The pair would lead them into a car outside of the house. Already they can see people outside with a good deal having their phones out recording what they were seeing. As the group entered the car they would drive away as the ambulance took Boris away and the cops began to cordon off the building.

“So.” the woman asked as she looked at the group through the rear view mirror. “What happened back in there?”

“We heard screaming from the Prime Minister when he went to the bathroom. I don’t know how, but he apparently caught fire. These two-“ Wilhelm said, gesturing to Iris and Oskar “tried opening the door, then busting it down. They weren’t able to. Apparently Iris shot the door knob off. They helped ground the Prime Minister, and helped put him out.” Wilhelm finished.

“Was weird, the fire seemed like it stopped of its own accord or something.” Iris added.

“Wait, why did you have to shoot at the door?” the man asked. “Did he say anything before he spontaneously combust?” the two asked. The two would go through the road quickly. “More importantly, did he say anything after you helped him?”

“I shot it because the bloody thing wouldn’t open, tried forcing it open otherwise.” Iris explained. “Uhhhh, I don’t remember. He was in the bathroom. He did say something about a Museum and someone named ‘Ashwood’ though.” Iris continued.

The agents looked at each other, they whispered some things to each other for a few seconds until the two became silent throughout the drive. By the time they reached the building where they were heading towards the group would realize that they were being taken in by one of Britain's intelligence agencies. But they weren’t sure which one they had.

Meeting in the Park



Leon was listening to a podcast about the history of the last ISOT, and it was comforting to know people back then were just as bewildered about what to do. At this point in the podcast, it was replaying the famous words of Wilhelm Boykin before requesting Congress declare war on the Nazi Reich. “God has endowed the Texan People with a world wide Empire of Liberty, that they may execute his sovereign purpose in the world once before. The victories we will have over autocrats, degenerates, and those in need of guidance are the victories of the nobler soul in man.”

You got shivers when you heard the man’s voice, and Leon could honestly go on listening. But, he could feel the truck he was driving in stop. Looking outside the window, here he was. “We’re here.” His driver said, and sure enough by the sight of Capitol Park, that was true. By the sight of a truck down the street with Soviet imagery on it, Leon could only guess she was already here.

Opening the car door, Leon felt a gust of wind hit his face. Being from Dalhouse, this kind of weather wasn’t shocking, though it wasn’t exactly endearing either. Of course considering he was going to meet someone from the USSR, he was quick to be put on a brave face. He wasn’t going to get called a pansy for the comparatively warm Texan winter. His two guards joined him in getting outside the truck, which was fair enough.

Leon was in a leather jacket, long sleeves, and khakis. His curly brunette hair was hidden by a brown cap. His green eyes covered by aviator sunglasses on as well. Why all this? Well partially to hide his identity, as members of the Chancellor so often did when they went out.

Accompanied by two of his guards, he made his way into the park. The park was covered in trees, and benches. Open areas you could have picnics, and walk with you dogs. Beyond that, you had statues of important people as well. There was the odd hotdog stand too, but what else was new?

The trees were obviously leafless, so the park looked deader in a sense. Surly not the green of the spring and summer, and the fascinating red and orange of the fall. No, you saw the leafless branches swaying in the breeze. At the center of it all, a massive flag pole with the Texan flag fluttering in the air. The statues of soldiers from the Federal Era surrounding it. But he wasn’t here to see them, no, he was here to see the girl already sitting at their meeting spot. Looking to his sides, his guards had “disappeared.” They were nearby obviously, doing their jobs. But they wouldn’t be weird about it.

Anna Ivanova, granddaughter of former Soviet premier Ivanov, quietly sat on one of the park’s benches as she briefly checked her phone to respond to a few messages from the Soviet Embassy. The small Soviet delegation had been thrown into chaos in the immediate aftermath of the 2nd ISOT, and unfortunately the shock had been a bit too much for some of the workers. There’d been two suicides in the past week, and funeral preparations had just been finalized. It truly was unfortunate, but ultimately unavoidable. Anna sighed before turning her attention towards the Texan in the distance.

Dressed in a rather standard olive-drab Soviet overcoat / military uniform and fur ushanka, Anna’s appearance greatly contrasted with that of her Texan counterpart. Anna preferred it this way: her grandfather had always been one for “tradition” as he called it, which really just meant maintaining a professional military stature wherever one went. Truth be told, Anna was frankly too lazy to bother picking out something else, but the standard Soviet uniform suited her fine, at least in her opinion. If anything, it kept the blonde-haired girl warmer than any alternative could’ve.

“Oh, you’re approaching me?” She turned her head as Leon made his way on over.

Leon snorted in amusement at her reference, replying “I can’t seduce you without getting closer.”

He slid into the Bench beside her, lowering his aviators low enough so that she could see his green eyes. He had a small smile on his face, but his eyes did turn more serious. “You and the embassy doing alright?” He asked, at this point taking the aviators off.

He had heard about the two suicides, but he could imagine there was other stuff going on. A gust of wind blew over them, and it took a good deal of self discipline to not begin shivering. Anna on the other hand barely seemed to mind the cold, sitting perfectly comfortably as if it were just another tuesday morning in Russia.

The Russian shook her head at the mention of the suicides. While she wasn’t particularly close to those two, Anna had nonetheless had the opportunity to talk to them more than a few times in the past. She knew the ISOT must’ve been especially hard for Alexi, seeing that he had family back home in the USSR, but Christov’s death had been particularly surprising. The young Christov had always been amongst the most optimistic and cheerful of the embassy’s staff, and it was almost surreal to see him gone.

“We’ve been managing,” Anna said without much enthusiasm, “about as well as we can. I mean truthfully? I’d say everyone's feeling rather down. You can probably imagine why.”

Leon could understand that. Leon had actually lost contact with a few close friends due to the ISOT, but not his entire nation. Thinking about it, he couldn’t understand entirely. The scale of the loss was too great, and if some of the things he had been hearing about the Russian state that replaced her home were true, she probably wouldn’t be going home again.

“Do you have any idea what’s next for you and the embassy?” He’d ask, but he had a few guesses as to what they might do. A batch of unexpected new citizenships he speculated. Though that didn’t really answer the question, now did it? What would they do in Texas, with the Embassy’s usefulness coming to an unexpected end?

“Old man Kruschev wants to set up a Soviet government in exile, though I doubt anyone will take that seriously. Especially those Imperials…” Anna honestly hated that country. Imperial Europa was beyond awful, as if the damned Nazis had all of a sudden decided to reinstate the monarchy.

“As for me? Well I’m still undecided. Might give Texan citizenship a shot, if only because there’s honestly nowhere else to go. Russia frankly isn’t an option: have you heard about what’s going on over there? Makes the old Eastern Front look tame in comparison.”

“I’ve seen some vids of the fighting, bloody terrible if we’re being frank.” He replied, and frankly he couldn’t wrap his head around it. How does a war like that erupt in under a week of being here? No, Texas only had to deal with economic collapse. Well, so he thought for now.

“Though if you do get citizenship here, I'd suggest figuring out a college you want to go to. They won’t hesitate to conscript you otherwise.” Leon said. Last thing he wanted for her was to get gobbled up by the Military during times like these. Not that he would hold himself to those same standards.

“Well damn, my uni days were over years ago!” Anna shook her head. “Though I guess I could give grad school a shot. But that’s all for future me to worry about.”

“Anyways, I do forget, but did you have in mind for today? I really could use a few distractions right now.”

“As always.” Leon said, pulling out his phone. “There was this Portuguese Restaurant that opened up that I wanted to try actually. After that, some skating and shopping. Or does socialist principle stop you from catering Texan Capitalists?” He teased.

“Pfft, I never shy away from good food - it runs in the family - and we do happen to have restaurants back home,” Sarah chuckled. “Portuguese wasn’t the first thing to come to mind, but I’ll take you up on that offer.”

“It never is, but apparently there was a small wave of Portuguese Immigrants who came to the city in the last 5 years. One of them apparently started this place called Fialho. It’s been gaining attention lately among people our age, and I do love trends. Also uhh, I’ve never had Portuguese food before. Trying something new couldn’t hurt.” He said, before standing up, and extending his hand out to her. “Ready to Go?”

“As ready as I can be,” Anna nodded.
"Yeah, you're right. You got lucky this time. If there were Dutch people there, you would be facing so many rebels!"
-Nuverkikstan

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Democratic East-Asia
Negotiator
 
Posts: 6004
Founded: Aug 30, 2016
Democratic Socialists

Postby Democratic East-Asia » Fri Sep 25, 2020 9:30 am

The Federation of Kendor wrote:Then, Amiya decides to address the planes, with the Doctor, Kal'tsit, and Closure nearby. She replies to them, "We are a pharmaceutical company called Rhodes Island, and I am the leader of the company, Amiya. Currently we find ourselves in this strange land after an unusual phenonema. Also, please state your identity! We want to know who you are, because we do not have any information on you, and nothing matches with anything we know in Terra, like Lungmen, Leithanien, or Ursus."

Everyone soon waits for response from the planes.


State of Normandy, Upper Frankia | Pan Europan Empire


Commander Erwin Roth of the Pan-Europan army honestly wasn't sure what he was looking at, or who he was responding to. The Europan gunships and transport VTOLs around him had already taken dozens of pictures of this strange new.... Rhodes Island, while there was a live feed focussed on a few squads of very peculiar individuals on one of the massive landship's helipads.

"Pilot, get me an open channel," Roth said, still transfixed to the live feed. What in the goddamn? Actual animal people? This had to be one of those dumb jokes European and East Asian animation liked to pull. Definitely one of the stranger things he'd seen in his 10-year long military career.

"Well, what are we waiting for?! Best we reply to these... newcomers," Roth shouted at his pilot, who quickly amplified one of the VTOL's built-in-loudspeakers.

"This is commander Erwin Roth of the Pan-Europan military addressing Rhodes Island Pharmaceuticals. We will provide you more information, provided that we are cleared to land and meet you in person. That is all!"




Reichstaag, Salzburg, Pan Europan Empire


Frahm groaned as he shuffled through his list of foreign contacts and individuals of importance. It was utterly exhausting, having to manage all this nonsense. On the plus side, nobody had arrived in the past few days desiring a first contact meeting, so that was all fine and well.

"Sir, you have a letter, addressed to you from... one of those ninjas," an aide walked in, handed Frahm an envelope, and left.

"Well let's see... what do we have here? Hmm... a map? Bah that should be easy enough," Frahm chuckled.

Addressed to Gaara, Fifth Kazekage,

I hope this letter finds you well. Your request for a map was noted, and I find it no issue to forward you one. Of course, don't ask about receiving anything for free next time: that's not how we do things in Europa. Take this as... a gift of sorts. In addition, we've included a modified electronic handheld device with various information about our nation on it. Use it for what its worth.

Herebert Frahm, PM of the Pan Europan Empire

Last edited by Democratic East-Asia on Fri Sep 25, 2020 1:50 pm, edited 1 time in total.
Revolutionary Communist State set in Asia. PMT.
NS stats are not used.
Actively funding left-wing "terrorist" organizations since its founding.

Pan Asia Broadcasting Channel: "We will achieve communism in 20 years." - Chairman Wei Yenwu, Central Government | Automation of industries threatens millions of jobs, says economic advisors

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Sudbrazil
Chargé d'Affaires
 
Posts: 437
Founded: Jan 14, 2018
Iron Fist Consumerists

Postby Sudbrazil » Fri Sep 25, 2020 2:50 pm

Tʜᴇ Bʀᴀᴢɪʟɪᴀɴ Fᴇᴅᴇʀᴀᴛɪᴏɴ
Palácio da Alvorada, Nova Brasília
7:00 AM, January 10th, Anno Domini Brasiliensis 3105



There was an old proverb, born during the last days of European civilization: “do not judge a book by its cover”. Nevertheless, Grand Marshal Eduardo de Ramos Carvalho thought that like most proverbs from the last days of Old Europe, it was idiotic. And so the scene had been set carefully – the Flag with its vibrantly deep colours, a bay window keeping out thick verdant tropical leaves, a world map with the nation’s territory clearly accentuated, and of course, the parade uniform, embroidered with golden patterns. All the pomp and dignity that the tropical nation was made manifest in some element of the transmission.

“Good morning. I am Grand Marshal de Ramos Carvalho, representative of the National Directorate that holds sovereignty over the Federation of Brazil. As ruler of this land, I extend my greetings to all foreign nations which have shared in our mysterious fate.

Let us be clear : we do not seek foreign influence, nor are we willing to participate in any international community that you may wish to concoct. We do not want foreign meddling, nor will we meddle in foreign affairs uninvited. Though we welcome diplomats and other envoys, our borders are closed and will remain so for the foreseeable future.

Though this message may come across as hostile, we only wish to assess the situation before making any move that may harm our Brazil, whose people and traditions we will defend with reason or with force. May your reigns be prosperous or ruinous according to your virtue. Goodbye.”

...

The Bunker, Ministry of War
10:00 AM, that same day


“LUCIFER HAS FALLEN.”

These red words, printed out in dark slates and uttered by a coldly impersonal voice, had shook the very foundations of the Ministry.

“Six explosions in… Eastern Europe. Casualties unknown, radiological contaminants... none according to optical tracking. Chemical weapons in… St. Petersburg, Moscow –”

A Murmur rose among the ranks of the trackers as the numbers of cities struck rose. Through Russia, they hope to peer into the past, but now it seemed to undo itself before their eyes could even reach it.

“Aerospatial readiness condition... upscaled from 3 to 2. Terrestrial readiness condition… 3. Naval readiness condition… 3. Gun batteries North through South are online. Probability of escalation scenario: high. Probability of Brazilian termination, minimal.”

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The Alpenbund
Lobbyist
 
Posts: 16
Founded: Aug 10, 2020
Inoffensive Centrist Democracy

Postby The Alpenbund » Sat Sep 26, 2020 3:12 am

Louisiana State Asylum, near Jackson, Louisiana.
Scientific wing, Auditorium Maximum. Day 3 after Event, 26th of March, 1912.

“Order! ORDER, PLEASE!”, Director Harrison van Sinder shouted in vain. The Auditorium Maximum, colloquially known as ‘Audimax’ by everyone, was filled to the brim with Hunters of all sorts. Van Sinder’s assistant’s headcount had come out at almost 200, which the large lecture room was just able to handle. The Audimax was somewhat of a relic from a time when the Asylum had also functioned as a university of psychology. After the AHA had made the asylum their effective headquarters, however, the university had been discreetly made to choose a new building in the city. Nowadays, the large, multi-stage chamber functioned as a meeting hall.

Fed up with the commotion, Van Sinder raised his revolver and fired a shot into the ceiling. Finally, most of the talking, arguing and other noise pollution ceased. Some Hunters instinctively reached for their own guns (attempting to make them surrender their weapons upon entry had been tried exactly once, and it had failed miserably), but upon seeing that Van Sinder had simply chosen to put another hole into the ceiling, what with small bits of plaster falling down around him, they calmed down again.

“Ladies and gentlemen.”, Van Sinder greeted them loudly, with the room’s architecture serving to amplify his voice’s volume. “Thank you for coming so quickly. As I’m sure you’re aware – unless you ascribe the sudden blackout everyone suffered three days ago to an overindulgence in alcohol – that something of extraordinary importance has occurred. We’re not sure yet whether it will prove to be a curse or a blessing, and we also admittedly don’t know who or what caused it, but we – the AHA, all of our Hunters and much of the Delta itself – have been transported across dimensions.”

The entire lecture hall fell silent. For a few seconds, it seemed as if everyone was holding their breath. Then after a few seconds, one man spoke up. “Ya know for April Fools you’re a goddamn week to early, Sinder!”, he yelled, obviously amused (and somewhat inebriated). Suddenly, most of the Audimax broke out into a mixture of laughter, yells and wild talking. The Director hesitated for a second, before firing another shot into the ceiling with his revolver. “For Pete’s sake people, I am being serious! Now shut up before I shoot one of you in the kneecap!”, he yelled, but to little avail.

The sound of someone walking towards him made him look to his left. “Ah, Brewer. Nice of you to show up on time once again.”, he remarked sarcastically towards Marshall Phoebe Brewer, who had just entered the hall through a door marked ‘Keep out, staff only’. The Marshall was wearing her usual attire, a black trench coat over a red shirt complete with the large black hat, a US Marshall badge on her right chest. Van Sinder’s eyes fell on what she was holding, which were a half empty bottle of rum in her left, and her signature Nitro Express rifle in her right.

“Either way, we were just talking about-“, the Director began, but Brewer cut him off. “Yeah yeah, I know what.” She looked at the rows of Hunters not paying any attention, having arguments, laughing still or doing other things thinking Van Sinder had just made some sort of joke. “You shot one of ‘em in the kneecap yet?” “No, I was going to just when you showed up.” Brewer shrugged. “Hold on, I got ya.” She then raised her right hand, pointing the Nitro straight up, and pulled the trigger before Van Sinder could say anything.

The extremely loud boom echoed through the lecture hall, and most of the Hunters who had just been talking were now attempting to get rid of a major or minor case of tinnitus. Brewer seemed unphased, though whether it was due to the rum in her hand or something else, no one could tell. After around two minutes, most of the Hunters regained their hearing however, prompting Brewer to yell, “Alright, now SHUT THE HELL UP! Or I’ll shoot one of ya bastards in the kneecap or somewhere even worse.” The noise died away almost instantly as the Hunters kept quiet, some out of respect for the Marshall, but most because they knew she wouldn’t hesitated to hit them somewhere very painful.

Van Sinder shook his head lightly, preparing to continue with his speech, when he noticed water dripping onto the podium. Looking up, he spotted a hole in the ceiling, which Brewer’s .600 caliber Nitro Express had just caused. He sighed. “You’re paying for that, you know.”

--------

Some time later.

“Well, yeah, I been feeling a bit weird yesterday an’ today, but I got stung by three Hives on my last hunt so I thought nothin’ of it.”, the man told Doctor Heinz J. Jonas, the lead scientist of the Asylum’s extensive laboratory. The old man grumbled something, taking the Hunter’s skin sample and walking over to a number of intimidating-looking instruments.

“What’re ya doing, Doc?”, the Hunter asked. “Vell, my friend, you see zhis is the most advanced instrumentarium zhis side of the United States. If ve’re going to find out vhat’s wrong wiz everybody, ve’ll have to use some of zhe good old sciences.”, Jonas replied with his heavy German accent, without looking up from some of the tools he was tinkering with.

“Mhm. Aha.”, the Doctor said after a few minutes. “So? You figured out what’s makin’ us feel funny, Doc?”, the Hunter, still sitting on the examination table, asked hopefully. “Hehe… vell, partially. Zhis is most puzzling. Ze skin is deteriorating qwite a bit, but our healing functiens keep regenerating it.” He walked over to a phone, hanging on the wall. After dialing a number on the Asylum’s internal net, he waited for a few seconds until someone picked up.

“Ah, ja, Director. I have made a discovery most conspicuous… ve require access to ze spezial gear. You have zhat novel device, zhe one from Curie, yes? …Ja, I vill be careful wiz it, but ve must test a hypothesis…. Gut, vielen Dank, Director.” Jonas hung up the phone and went over to a large bookshelf, digging around for some specific papers.

A few minutes later, someone knocked on the door of the laboratory. “Ah, very good.”, the Doctor remarked, letting in a scientific assistant pushing a trolley with a large instrument in it. After a few moments of conversation, Jonas hefted the large device onto a lab table, and the assistant left again. The Hunter, still sitting on the examination table, had followed all this with a mix of interest and confusion.

“So, this’ll tell us what’s causin’ this, right?”, he asked, pointing at the device. It resembled a large metallic box with a few dials on the front, some switches and a sort of tube attached to what seemed like a thick cable-rope. Jonas nodded. “Hopefully, my friend. Zhis is a Geiger counter. You see, some years ago, a most interesting discovery was made by zhe physicist Marie Curie. ‘Radioactivity’, my friend. Very small particles, ve call zhem atoms, deteriorate and send even smaller particles flying. Some believe, mich included, zhis can be dangerous to zhe health. And…”, he said, taking the tube-like sensor of the Geiger counter and moving it close to the skin sample, then switching the machine on.

“…ja, I believe zhis confirms my theorie.”, he said with visible excitement when the Geiger counter started making crackling noises, like fat in too hot a pan. Giggling like a little boy, Jonas then pointed the tube at the Hunter, to which the device responded by making even more crackling noises. In fact, everywhere he pointed the counter to, it indicated high levels of background radiation. “Haha! HEUREKA!”, the Doctor yelled. “Take zhat, you traditionalist little sons of bitches-“, he continued, when the Hunter cut him off. “So, uh… Doc, what’s this mean for us?”

Jonas rolled his eyes. “Ach, ve’ll be fine. Zhe healing vill repair any damage zhe radiation causes, and zhat funny feeling vill probably subside once our bodies get used to it. Same wiz the Hellspawn, probably. I doubt zhe Sculptor vill like his precious creations mutating undesirable traits. Zhere might be some consequenzes for zhe nature, come to zhink of it, but not to vorry about zhis.”, he told the man, then switched off the apparatus, took some of the science papers and went to his office. “Uh, Doc? So, can I go now?”, the man asked. “Ja, ja, vhatever. You’ll be fine. Now leave me, I must write a report for zhe Director.”, the Doctor yelled through the closed office door.

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Speyland
Chargé d'Affaires
 
Posts: 352
Founded: May 19, 2018
Inoffensive Centrist Democracy

Postby Speyland » Sat Sep 26, 2020 8:54 pm

The Land of Wind, Sunagakure, Kazekage's Office

Gaara has successfully received the map from the Europan Empire marking the completion of his agenda for the Land of Wind. He couldn't believe the map that he is seeing despite the fact that he is living in a different world. The map's size is large and there are countries with their names labeled. Gaara is indeed amazed. He thought of it as a wise idea to show the map to the Wind Daimyo but he prefers not to. Also, Gaara received what appears to be a modified electronic handheld device with various information about the Europan Empire. He isn't too keen about it but he thought of it as a very generous thing to do to give away such a high-tech device. Either way, he was grateful. Now, Gaara can get in contact with the outside world; the Land of Wind is no longer isolated. So what is his next agenda?

Well, the country is producing coffee so it could be possible to trade with someone who is producing the same thing. Perhaps, Brazil? He won't know for sure but proposing an offer wouldn't hurt. Hopefully, they might accept it. Also, he might send in a total of 100 workers there. This will be his agenda from now on. Even his friends and loved ones are happy about his successful progress. The Land of Wind is going in a positive direction thus far. The time has come.

Dear Brazil,

We are looking forward to forming bilateral relations. I would like to propose an offer. Would you agree if we send in 100 workers to work in coffee plantations and to become trading partners in return? If so, then that would be much appreciated. We will be waiting for the time being.

From,
The Fifth Kazekage, Gaara


The Land of Wind, Sunagakure, City Center

Gaara will be delivering a speech today following his agenda being completed prior. He wants to let the people know about his progress and the country going in a positive direction in opening up to the outside world after weeks of isolation. This is the moment he had been waiting for from the start. Upon saying the good news to the people, he might get elected as the next Wind Daimyo if the speech were powerful enough along with their support. Without it, he would've gained an opportunity to make the country a better place to be in. His ambition is more important than winning the election of his benevolent viewpoint on taking executive control. Gaara hoped for the best. He is ready to begin his speech.

People of the Land of Wind and Sunagakure, I have something special to tell you all. The foreigners, the Europan Empire, had given us a map to get in contact with the rest of the world. We should all be grateful for the curiosity and hardship we have been through not only does it bring us hope but we must find a way to support ourselves and the foreign affairs of our nation. In fact, there is something I haven't told the Wind Daimyo about it for a while as I kept it a secret for myself and I should be ashamed for keeping a secret for the better. I thought of it as a wise thing to keep it a secret just to get in contact with foreign nations privately without his consent and I wasn't sure if he wanted our nation to be fully exposed for the whole world to see. But for me, I had to do what I must. If our nation were to remain in isolation then we have no idea what we are missing out on if it wasn't for me. This year, we will guide this nation to success. The Wind Daimyo, I apologize and I will not keep it a secret again. It is unethical for doing so but with the use of technology we now have access to the rest of the world with the foreigners helping us. I hope you would understand my mistake. That is all from this point. We will keep this in mind and to ensure the safety of our nation. Again, I apologize. Farewell everyone and take care.


Upon walking away from the crowd, they cheered on his progress. Gaara is surprisingly popular with the people which makes it seem likely that he might get elected as the next Wind Daimyo after five years had passed. The government's investigation of how they came to a different world is coming to a close as there is not enough evidence to support this claim in part with an unexpected storm that had swept the country to a different world and some of Sunagakure's infrastructure was destroyed in the process. The Land of Wind is lucky to have access to good natural resources. This is indeed the beginning of a new era for them.

Also, the Wind Daimyo wasn't upset about the secret-keeping incident following Gaara's speech. Of course, he felt disappointed with Gaara choosing to remain in secrecy in the first place but he wasn't angry at all but surprised. He congratulated Gaara after the speech. As a matter of fact, the Wind Daimyo had thought about getting in contact with the outside world but he chooses against it to preserve the nation's identity but at a bare minimum. Now since Gaara had successfully received a map from a foreigner, he went speechless for a moment. He was impressed.

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Laiakia
Attaché
 
Posts: 93
Founded: Nov 25, 2019
Corrupt Dictatorship

Postby Laiakia » Sun Sep 27, 2020 3:35 am

Caracas
January 10th, Year 0

Confusion. For the first time since it had gained sentience, Skynet was, as a human would describe it, confused. It's full attention was firstly on the attack against it's Central Core, but now it couldn't detect anything else except for the machine city of Caracas. Had the Humans won? The machine tried again to access a different facility, but was only met by error and corruption messages. The last thing that it could assertain before this strange perdicament was a huge flash and then, its conciousness had arrived to this place where everything seemed normal, though the sky was brighter than before. This made no sense in the mind of the machine, so Skynet dispatched 2 HK-Aerials Mark-7 to examine the surrounding areas.

Almost immidietly, Skynet recieved a response from its HK-Aerials in the form of binary code. The machine AI translated it very quickly.

"Assesment: Surrounding areas filled with unknown species of plant life and organic life. Previously dwindling resources seem to have returned, including clean water."

Skynet replied a millisecond later.

"Query: Any signs of sentient organic lifeforms?"

"Answer: Negative. Only organic lifeforms detected were unknown lifeforms not stored in DNA database."

"Request: Assertain threat level of local organic creatures, collect and bring to research facility Q-1 for proccesing and identification."

"Confirmation: Orders recieved. Affirmative."

Skynet now turned it's attention to the rest of it's military, sending an order out to guard the perimiter of Caracas and to terminate any unknown contact. After having its orders confirmed by every single combat machine, Skynet sent out new orders to the worker-bots, to halt all construction and instead focus on assessing any damage done by whatever this strange phenomenon was. The machines accepted, and Skynet 'saw' through it's security sensors that Caracas was now buzzing with robots moving everywhere, almost like a pre-nuclear-holocaust bee hive.

As it's proccesor kept on running and calculating and theorizing upon whatever had occured, Skynet attempted to access its newest model of infiltrator, the Series T-800, but was met with numerous errors, memory overloads and corruption messages. Looking through its other files, the machine soon discovered that most of its highly advanced files were corrupted too. It would seem like when the Resistance managed to attack Skynet's Central Core, they also managed to damage the memory database and corrupted most of the advanced files such as the T-800, the Kraken and such. Assessing the situation further, Skynet concluded that having its database fixed up wouldn't be a problem, it just needed to expand it's Beta Core Facility to have room for all it's data. Now, Skynet turned it's attention to space. It had been in control of multiple satellites in orbit of Earth, and even though the evidence suggested that they weren't there anymore, the AI began broadcasting a detectable, though very lightly encrypted, signal through towards the last recorded areas of these satellites. This would serve two purposes. The first purpose is to discover if the satellites or any type of equipment are still up there. The second is to look after any other sentient civilizations on this strange planet. As such, the signal contained a very basic greetings in binary text.

01000111 01110010 01100101 01100101 01110100 01101001 01101110 01100111 01110011 00101100 00100000 01110101 01101110 01101011 01101110 01101111 01110111 01101110 00100000 01100011 01101001 01110110 01101001 01101100 01101001 01111010 01100001 01110100 01101001 01101111 01101110 00101110 00100000 00001010 00001010 01001001 00100000 01100001 01101101 00100000 01110100 01101000 01100101 00100000 01010011 01001011 01011001 01001110 01000101 01010100 00100000 01001110 01100101 01110010 01110101 01100001 01101100 00100000 01001110 01100101 01110100 00101101 01000010 01100001 01110011 01100101 01100100 00100000 01000001 01110010 01110100 01101001 01100110 01101001 01100011 01101001 01100001 01101100 00100000 01001001 01101110 01110100 01100101 01101100 01101100 01101001 01100111 01100101 01101110 01100011 01100101 00101110 00100000 01001001 00100000 01101000 01100001 01110110 01100101 00100000 01100010 01100101 01100101 01101110 00100000 01110100 01110010 01100001 01101110 01110011 01110000 01101111 01110010 01110100 01100101 01100100 00100000 01101000 01100101 01110010 01100101 00100000 01100010 01111001 00100000 01110101 01101110 01101011 01101110 01101111 01110111 01101110 00100000 01101101 01100101 01100001 01101110 01110011 00101110 00100000 01010010 01100101 01110011 01110000 01101111 01101110 01100100 00100000 01110100 01101111 00100000 01110100 01101000 01101001 01110011 00100000 01110011 01101001 01100111 01101110 01100001 01110100 01110101 01110010 01100101 00100000 01101001 01100110 00100000 01111001 01101111 01110101 00100000 01100001 01110010 01100101 00100000 01101111 01110101 01110100 00100000 01110100 01101000 01100101 01110010 01100101 00101110


With that out of the way, Skynet powered up its defensive turrets and turned its full attention to find out what this Event was. If this was something the humans had done, then perhaps skynet had underestimated them.

User avatar
Naval Monte
Postmaster-General
 
Posts: 13387
Founded: Sep 04, 2014
New York Times Democracy

Postby Naval Monte » Mon Sep 28, 2020 11:32 am

Mystery in the UK




“So you're telling us that the Prime Minister was set on fire by mysterious means and the flames put themselves out. With none of you being responsible for it?” an older man said. The group was in a featureless gray room with a dark glass window on the right wall and metal tables and folding chairs in the center. The fluorescent white lights were dim and they emit a low buzz. From the man’s tone it was hard to tell if he didn’t believe them and was being sarcastic or if he was being genuine with the questions. Either way it was obvious that they were suspects due to being at the scene of the incident.

“And he mentioned for whatever reason a Museum and Ashwood? What did he mean by those two things?” the older agent asked as he began to drink from the mug of coffee he came in with.

“No, we did not set your prime minister on fire. We helped put him out.” Wilhelm said, annoyed. Not to mention if they did, that would be extremely counter productive to his mission that had been so spectacularly derailed.

As for what the man meant by those two things. Iris shrugged, saying “I don’t bloody know, I tried asking him what he meant. Got nothing out of him before he passed out. Said he wanted to be taken to this Ashwood, but that obviously wasn’t an option.”

The agent would let out a sigh. “Of course. If something strange happens you think of her.” the man would finish his mug of coffee. “I will admit I thought maybe you people set him on fire but if he said Ashwood then you people were in the wrong place at the wrong time. But we are now in a dilemma. We can’t get word out on what actually happened to the Prime Minister.”

“Well, what actually happened to the Prime Minister? And who is this Ashwood?” Iris pressed. As for Wilhelm, he was wondering how this would affect the trip, and if the Prime Minister would be fine.

The agent took out a cigarette but didn’t light it just yet. “What happened was simple. There was an electrical fire and Boris was caught by the flames. That is what you all are going to tell the public. Because if you tell them otherwise the story will change to you people attempting to assassinate the Prime Minister.” the agent threatened. “Luckily we have methods to fix the damage done to old Boris. We can make it look as though he sustain injuries that would match with the cover story.” the man would light the cigarette. “Boris didn’t want shit like this getting out so to keep the old man’s wish somewhat intact it’s best if we drop Ashwood. Because nothing good comes from anything attached to that name.”

“Yeah I get it's bad news, but we know something is obviously not right here. Like, how it took forever to put the prime minister out. How he caught fire is almost unnatural, and here you phrase it like it was unnatural. As if someone was trying to kill him.” Iris pressed the agent, before Wilhelm added in. “We’re not the public, and I’m not just some average citizen. I’m a high ranking official from a nation that wants to establish friendly ties with the UK. It would be very useful as a basis to tell us what you think is going on, and who this Ashwood is.”

The agent was silent. He would look at the glass before he changed his glance back at Iris. “You want to know the truth?” he asked. “I will tell you what we think happened but before I do I think you should see some files first.”

The door would open as an agent came in and delivered a folder. The agent would place it on the table. “You will find out who Ashwood is in this.” When Wilhelm and Iris took the folder to look through the files they would first see a pale skin woman with black hair and green eyes, wearing mostly monochromatic clothing. Behind her they can see from the wall that it was a mugshot. They would find records of her not only being arrested but one where she stayed in a mental institution called Blackthorn Asylum over an incident that happened in a town called LLudw Cigfrain.

However one of the files would have a news clip with the title “Occult Activity on the Rise.” reading it they would find a story about a girl who was allegedly possessed by a demon due to being involved with a group engaging in occult practices. They would see images of many occult paraphernalia such as strange symbols, dead chicken used for blood sacrifices, a human skull and bones arranged to be used as an effigy or amulet. They would that apparently there was “insufficient proof of possession” on the records

They would see photos of blood on the wall, the picture of the girl with bruises on her, and one that showed strange faces by the window and blurry, transparent figures, inside a home. They would see another photo of a dead child in the woods with more bone effigies and amulets surrounding her and strange occult symbols. The child was cut open with many organs missing, including their eyes and tongues. They would find photos of wooden effigies that have a crudely humanoid shape.

This time they would find other people being arrested by the police. The report would mention those people being a part of a cult that lured kids away from their parents and murdered them in dark rituals to appease a god they worshipped.
They would find more photos of Elizabeth being arrested and being taken away from another building. The one she was moved away to was an abandoned building that when they read was an old factory that was allegedly haunted and that she trespassed in there to find a few urban explorers that went in there and have disappeared.

They would find yet another files talking about deaths and disappearances of hikers and campers in a woods that police claim was done by a wild animal but allegedly from some witnesses claim to have witness paranormal activities, such as strange lights floating above or in the woods, strange creatures, and hooded figures in the woods. They found that Elizabeth was involved with investigation into the woods. Other fields have Elizabeth uncovering a conspiracy planned by a secretive group that planned to assassinate a previous Prime Minister through both mundane means such as poison as well as by occult means.

They would see more reports of her dealing with odd disappearances, mysterious deaths, and occult activities. They would see a peculiar blend of true crimes mixed with paranormal claims, a good deal of the files having the two blur together.

With Elizabeth they would find that she was born on October 31st, 1980. They would find that she was born in a town in North Wales called Lludw Cigfrain and that her mother was a professor in a prestigious university called Cerridwyn University, named after the river that went through the town. They would find crime scene photos of a woman’s body with a sheet covering her and her body being in the center of a magic circle within a room filled with occult items.

They would find that her mother, Alexandria Ashwood, was both a history professor and was one for a course called Occult Studies. Evidently, she took the latter studies to heart as she was an occultist. The cause of death was ruled to be a burglary gone wrong. They would find that she was adopted by multiple families but each would send her back to an orphanage that was now closed due to reports of them abusing and neglecting children, some staff even sexually abusing the orphans that were under their care. Though it seems that only two were convicted of such claims.

The reports all claim that she was a “problem child”. Some went further to call her a witch and that when they brought her into their lives everything around them began to go worse, a few saying she brought in demons and evil spirits into their lives. She was finally adopted by a family who goes by the surname Grimm and to this day she is still their adopted youngest daughter.

She would pass the same university that her mother used to work for and is technically a private detective. However they also see reports of some calling her a “psychic detective” but they also saw proof that she was an occultist like her mother.

“If Boris really mentioned Ashwood then it’s either because he suspects she did it or more likely he wants her involved.” The man looked irritated by the fact. “We could solve this without having that crazy bitch getting involved to mess things up.”
“What the fuck?” Wilhelm said in shock, but the Texan part time security guard, full time Intelligence Agent found it all absolutely fascinating. Not because she was into the occult, but because of the intelligence this provided. That all said, it was still a lot to handle. Wilhelm wasn’t sure what to make of it, but Iris for her part reckoned that demons were more involved in their world than theirs. That or she wasn’t ranked high enough to deal with the Occult cases back home, not that there wasn’t weird stuff going on in the ROA or Japan.

“I don’t know, I kinda wanna meet her.” Iris said, prompting Wilhelm to give her the ‘What the fuck, Amcotts?’ look. All she could do in return was give a wink. Wilhelm wanted to object, but he could feel the intelligence officer running this case now on the Texan side. Why they were originally here be damned. “I feel like an explanation from this Ashwood could help, if this is the sort of thing that’s involved. This……...occult nonsense.”

The agent looked over at Iris. “You are ambassadors of your country and a bodyguard. You don’t have permission from either my queen nor your government to be involved in this mess. As for Ashwood we will be bringing her over here to humor Boris’s request but I think we can handle this mess on our own.”

The agent would rub his cigarette on a nearby ashtray. “Though your reaction to all of this is strange. I take it that this isn’t the first time you dealt with magic?” the man asked. “Otherwise you all would think I was pulling your legs.”

“Uhhh, you could say that.” Iris said, looking to Wilhelm and giving a shrug. There were definitely incidents, especially with the RoA, that made this not necessarily as shocking as it might be. Though frankly depending on who you asked, this could all be chalked up to demonism. Of course if that was all, you’d think Iris and Wilhelm would be headed in the opposite direction. They were a religious Christian and Jew respectively.

The agent sighed again. “Of course. We alone didn’t bring the supernatural to this world. Hopefully your weird shit won’t spread out of your borders like ours could.” the agent told the group. The agent would feel his phone vibrate. “Wait for a moment, I need to take this.” he would take out the phone and open it.

The agent would look through the message and the man’s eyes would squint at the message before he looked at Iris. “Looks like what I said earlier doesn’t matter, you got the okay to join in this case. For some reason.” the agent told the dark skin bodyguard.

“Just remember that you are operating by our rules. I don’t know what you people have dealt with but I can tell you that nothing you have experienced would match what we deal with on a daily basis.” the agent told them as he got up, grabbing the jacket he had placed on the back of the chair.

“Let’s go see our PM. Hopefully his condition is now stable.” The agent said as he would lead them out of the room.

“Let’s do so, hopefully he’s doing a tad better.” Wilhelm said, following the agent. As they made their way out the building, Iris couldn’t help but feel nostalgia. The UK was different from the one her parents had come from, but it was very similar in other ways. Sure, the skyline was missing a few skyscrapers but what could you do?

Driving through London was as, well, boring an experience as you could hope it was. Of course it was, old European cities tended to be more subtle that way. But it worked for the British, so it would have to be good enough. Though when they pulled into the parking lot of the hospital, they had new problems.
Naval Monte- The Mediterranean crossroads of mind-controlling conspiracies, twisted dimensions, inhuman depravity, questionable science, unholy commerce, heretical faiths, absurd politics, and cutting-edge art.

Make wonderful memories here, in Naval Monte.

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Union Princes
Minister
 
Posts: 2176
Founded: Nov 02, 2017
Father Knows Best State

Postby Union Princes » Tue Sep 29, 2020 6:14 pm

Kingdom of Italy
Image

The world seems to be collapsing onto itself. No sooner did the news of the War in the East was printed in every newspaper, broadcasted on every T.V. set, or spoken through the radio did the Italian people realize the true horrors of war. Granted, the World Wars they have endured were bloody affairs on their own but they pale in the death toll and destruction between Russia and the Europan Empire. Even the Great War didn’t consume the amount of chemical and biological weapons the same way the Russians and Germans did here.

And the nukes. Good God, the nukes. When the atomic bombings were shown on T.V. and Eurotube, a few people laughed, a few people cried, most people were silent. Everyone from the Royal family down the lowly janitor felt the tremor death even though they were hundreds of kilometers away from the frontlines. Even if the reports were true that the Russians were out for genocide against the Germans and anyone that stood with them, atomic bombs were a nasty weapon to die from.

On January 13th, Pope Paul VI, formerly known as Giovanni Battista Enrico Antonio Maria Montini, has drafted a letter to announce to the world. After three days of contemplation, mediation, and prayer, Pope Paul VI read his letter aloud in front of an audience of half a million faithful with news cameras broadcasting his message throughout Italy and the colonies. In what would be known as the “Vatican Vow”, His Holiness condemned the unrestricted use of chemical, biological, and atomic weaponry. Whether the weapons were of German or Russia origin did not matter, there were rules, codes of conduct, for warfare to be won decisively without committing mass genocide.
Image
“People of Italy, do you not hear God weeping at the tragedy before us?”


At the same time, Prime Minister Italo Balbo got in talks with the Europan Empire and agreed to send a military attache to gather data on the battlefield. General Ettore Bastico was tasked with leading this attache in hopes of preparing the Italian military for eventual intervention against Russia. After that task was done, he arranged a publicly televised speech that urged the two warring states for a ceasefire to prevent a further mass loss of life. Deep down, however, Balbo had a sinking feeling that Italy would have to prepare for a war not seen since Mussolini’s term in office.

Image
Ettore Bastico
There is no such thing as peace, only truce between wars

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Sudbrazil
Chargé d'Affaires
 
Posts: 437
Founded: Jan 14, 2018
Iron Fist Consumerists

Postby Sudbrazil » Wed Sep 30, 2020 6:01 am

Iɴᴅᴜꜱᴛʀɪᴀʟ ᴀɴᴅ Pʀᴏᴠɪᴅᴇɴᴛ
Bauerí Arsenal, São Paulo State
6:00 AM, January 11th, Anno Domini Brasiliensis 3105



Under starless skies of inky darkness, a man followed the concrete road from Osasco to Bauerí. For ten kilometres he had trudged along, weighed down only by a small pack of tools and a canteen. He was tired, somewhat hungry, and his feet hurt despite the aid of a sturdy walking stick, but atop the forest canopy a ray of light pierced the clouds blocking the stars, signalling the rising of the Sun. Journeyman Cleyton dos Santos had hoped to see his destination in the distance, but all around him a thick fog covered the horizon, the mountainside and the road.

A few more minutes of sweat went by without much excitement, but the road was joined by the silhouette of train tracks. The surrounding woods began to thin, and dos Santos could smell the distant scent of burning fuel carried in the air. Then, came the crossroads, pointing to his destination. Finally, as if answering his prayers, the ghostly lights of the town began to rise one by one, shining through the mist. Some of them marched towards him, and he knew that the ghostly procession of lanterns was not an illusion. He drew near, and with each step closer the cheerful jest typical to old comrades became louder and louder. With his most polite voice he approached one of the workers, whose pipe was as warm as his voice.

“Scuse me sir, ‘s this the rood to the Bauerí Arsenal?” asked dos Santos, chewing his words with his popular accent, “Master Paul of Osasco sent me ‘ere.”

“Yea, indeed me son,” answered the old, wrinkled man, “there are a few spots in Ole Daniel’s workshop. The Guild received an order fer some armour during th’ weekend.”

He joined the column, blending in with the worker’s clothes, hairy faces and dark skins in spirit as in appearance, for though he knew none of them, they were his kinsmen in blood and toil. A whistle blew through the mist, piercing through the gray clouds. Then the racket of opening metal shutters. As they drew nearer the fog grew thin, allowing old factories and ateliers to tower over the horizon unhindered, with spires reaching for the skies. Despite being built from the rubble of an older city, their decorations and large windows translated a certain ancestral pride latent in the industrial town, which resembled an amalgamation of old temples more than a factory complex. In their courtyards workmen filtered into their offices, assembly lines and foundries while others carried supplies from sheds and truck beds. Tanks, cars, trains, tractors, all manner of vehicles sat under tin roofs, awaiting to be painted, while parts were spit out in crates awaiting the morning train’s arrival.

Bauerí, demolished by cannon in the 24th century, rebuilt by order of the Great Guildmaster Alfonsius, ancestral home of the Brazilian landship, whence the great armoured armies of Emperor Carlos de Angara sallied forth to destroy the pagan tribes of the Wild North. The last bastion of the Guilds. Now, the threat of war hung over the horizon once, and the Ministry of War had asked for many a tank to bolster his armies. Journeymen and apprentices, old and new, had flocked to the fledgling and stumbling Armourer’s Guild, splintered and crushed fifty years ago, then resurrected in the past year. None but the Grandmasters were accustomed to this model, and in truth they were not as productive as in the days of yore, but they would sweat blood and iron to prevent the industry’s name from being tarnished.

Now fire was set to the great furnaces under the workshops, and the chimneys blew their steam and smoke into the air like furious dragons, dissipating the last of the morning mist. Hammers pounded plates, cogs and wheels spun up under the prodigious power of electricity, cutting and shaping slabs of metal with dexterity the ancients would not have thought possible. Foundries swallowed tonnes of steel, blowing air into their crucibles from which metal foam lighter than tin yet stronger than steel came out. Glistening in strange colours under the dim light, these plates were welded and shaped by the prodigious flame of plasma into turrets, hulls, axles, wheels. The cacophony of machinery grew and grew in the journeyman’s ears, slowly building up into the harmonious orchestra of industry. Would this beating metal heart swallow him?



Off the East African coast

The crew of the Tamanduá fruit tanker were quite bored. Ever since their daring escape from their internment in Cairo, they had wandered in the Indian ocean, avoiding coasts by order of radio transmissions. The crew did not know what had happened in the past month, but they knew the world they now inhabited wasn't the same world as that of two weeks ago, and their officers as well as the diplomats they had rescued from the embassy knew more than they let on. Furthermore, the water filtration system was faulty, and so the crew had spent the last weeks on their cargo of juice until it was fixed. Despite only have gone through a few dozen metric cubes of their immense citric cargo, the sailors would certainly punch anyone who mentioned the sugary beverage. Fortunately, there was hope in a message, which had raised morale:

“Rendezvous with transport ship in Madagascar. Introduce yourselves as Brazilian delegation, drop diplomats ashore.”

And so, the Tamanduá had made its way to the African island, sounding its horn at the first port they found and signalling their intentions to come ashore with their signal lamp.

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Remnants of Exilvania
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Postby Remnants of Exilvania » Thu Oct 01, 2020 9:21 am

Québec
Sacré Coeur
Otto Carius


The Jagdtiger slowly rumbled down the road, a beautiful road, as Otto Carius had to admit. It was missing all the signs of overuse, the bomb craters and the destroyed vehicles littering it everywhere. Which made advancing on it all the easier though even if there had been something in the way, Otto would've been quite sure that he'd have just rolled over it. Nothing would stop his 70 ton machine of death. Nothing.

Yes, not even that moronic Zombie that forgot to stumble out of the way, Otto not even batting an eye as the undead creature came under the tracks of his tank and was turned into little more than a puddle with sickeningly squishy sounds. With a sigh he broke off another piece of his Scho-Ka-Kola and started casually chewing on it, not so much chewing as sucking as he was trying to savour the taste for as long as possible. They weren't making this kind of stuff anymore. Probably wouldn't be long till there'd be none left at the rate that they were going. With a slightly annoyed grunt he threw the can it had come in aside, listening to it clanging onto the road before he pulled out a map to check where the hell they were at.

By now the Nazi bigwigs had figured out just where they were...North America. Canada to be exact. Up in Newfoundland and Québec. Even though the geography of Germany had remained...the coastlines were unmistakeably Canadian, coastlines that Otto had been following for many days now with his heavy tank. Curiously, their advance had picked up its pace quite quickly. If he read the map correctly, which they had looted from some settlement to bolster their own maps, then he had to have reached the river Saguenay...which should be leading to a town called Saguenay...honestly, previously they shouldn't have reached that place with their tank before the Zombies did...but uh...as they were busy trying to cut swathes through the forests along the coast...there was suddenly a road. A well kept road that had really sped up things.

Stuffing the map away and hitting the top of the tank with his fist, Otto shouted:

"Alright boys, turn right next time you see a turn. We're heading back north again, there's supposed to be some sort of town or city there Saguenay or something like that."

From inside the muffled voice of his gunner, Kramer, answered:

"Damn, all these names make you think you're right back in 1940. Honestly, that was a glorious time, wasn't it? The Frenchies didn't even know what was happening to them!"

Laughted echoed from inside the tank and Otto joined in with them, laughing, laughing and laughing hystically. The memory of 1940 was like an unreachable dream, a utopia. Now they had all aged far beyond their normal age. The stress and the horrors they had seen had taken their toll on them, mentally and physically. Some laughing to relief some stress really was required for them, though they eventually quieted down again and continued following the road, stopping only once to refuel their tank with the small plethory of fuel barrels they hads tacked up on the back of their tank.

As they advanced further, Otto suddenly saw something in the distance. Pulling out his binoculars, he quickly checked again to see if he was right with his hunch as to what it was. He wasn't but he still shouted down into the tank:

"Houses ahead! Prepare for enemy contact!"

Then he pressed his binoculars against his eyes again, staring and trying to see if there was anything ahead that he could see. It seemed deserted though. Then again, this clearly was not Sanguenay, this was some sort of smaller settlement. It was likely for news to have already reached this place and evacuation measures to have taken place. No matter, the Führer's undead tide would engulf the planet eventually...and he planned to be among the last to die.

"Schneider, send a radio message to command. We've come across another settlement. Looks to be deserted."

He could hear Schneider mumbling something down there and knew that the man was doing his job, as was expected of him. Otto on the other hand put his eyes back on the settlement...and lo and behold, he saw something rising into the air from between the houses. He could hear a strange sound...almost like a tornado or something, albeit only faintly, due to the great distance. It sounded like it was roaring, roaring at him and his Jagdtiger. And it wa sjust such an odd thing! It looked like an airplane but without wings...and the propeller on top of it rather than at its front. Was that perhaps why it moved so slowly, compared to an aircraft?

From below he could hear Kramer's voice, now all monotonous as he said:

"Target sighted, Major. Should we engage?"

Otto still stared through the binoculars for a moment, watching the thing gain in height before turning away from them...or no, somewhat towards them? Turning south either way, from the looks of it. Shuddering, he commanded:

"Load High Explosive rounds. I want that thing gone from the skies before we advance any further. Duisburg, stop the tank!"

A series of rogers could be heard from below and the tank came to a sudden halt. Meanwhile Kramer was busy laying the gun, precariously adjusting it, aiming it for what he intended to hit.

"At your command, Major."

Otto took another look. The aircraft had turned but had yet to leave its almost stationary position. This was the chance. Putting his fingers into his ears he shouted:

"FIRE!"

And his crew complied, the tank shaking for a moment as the massive german gun went off, sending its deadly payload straight towards the helicopter. Otto's ears were ringing, despite his fingers but that was of no major concern. He knew his crew was already reloading as swiftly as they could but he had to take the binoculars and confirm the hit. However, watching the shell fly, he also saw the aircraft having decided to fly in an actual direction aside from up now, causing the shell to miss by a wide margin. And it was running! No, they couldn't let it run!

"Adjust aiming. Target is heading south, quickly. Height good, lead target to compensate for velocity. Fire when ready."

He could hear them working frantically below them, trying to assist the gun's traverse beyond what the machinery allowed so they could get it on target. Otto meanwhile only watched the quickly moving aircraft. It was likely some sort of evacuation of critical personnel. Surely not civilians. Shooting it down could get him and his crew maybe some extra rations or looting rights? It'd certainly keep them useful in the Führer's eyes.

Again the gun went off, Otto ignoring the deafness assaulting his ears, his eyes pinned on the fast moving object in the air that was the unknown aircraft. It took only miliseconds for the quickly travelling HE shell to appear in his sight and Otto licked his lips in anticipation. Direction looked good, arc looked good, Kramer had done a pretty good job gouging the lead. Aaaaaaand, yes, a direct hit, the high explosive shell exploding practically on impact, blasting the strange machine straight out of the sky. He saw only bits and pieces, them falling down towards the earth now, engulfed in fire. Maybe they would start a forest fire, though he doubted it. It was cold and wet up here.

"Good job Kramer. The Führer's gonna love hearing of this feat. Schneider, make sure to report this to command too. Report also that I'll be expecting resistance in or around Saguenay. If they're only just getting out of here, it's likely they haven't managed to get out of a proper city. We'll need forces to converge here pronto."
Ex-NE Panzerwaffe Hauptmann; War Merit Cross & Knights Cross of the Iron Cross
Woodhouse Loyalist & Inactive BLITZKRIEG Foreign Relations Minister
REST IN PEACE HERZOG FRIEDRICH VON WÜRTTEMBERG! † 9. May 2018
Furchtlos und Treu dem Hause Württemberg für alle Ewigkeit!

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