Once upon a time in Esquarium 2.0 [Closed, Esquarium only]

[Namor]

Once upon a time, it came back...

Once upon a time in Esquarium...now you continue the story! Introducing this new thread for members of Esquarium, to show us random things from your nation. And yes, after a split in which tens of significant Esquarians seceded and entered new regions, this thread is a symbol of starting anew.

This thread is for members of the region Esquarium for IC purposes. What do you do here? Post anything, anything random, that has to do with daily life or just what happens in your nation. It can be an anecdote or a birthday card. Doesn't matter.

Are you from Esquarium? Feel free to share your life with us. For those that aren't part of our great region, sit back and watch our stories entertain you.

WHAT TO POST HERE...AND WHAT NOT TO POST...

Here are some examples of what you should post here:

• Short stories
• Vignettes/random scenes
• Jokes
• TV shows
• Movies/movie trailers
• Entertainment in general
• Tabloid articles
• Postcards
• Personal letters
• Business letters
• Court case transcripts
• Conversations of random (insert nation's people here)
• Blogs
• You get the idea

Don't post news articles, unless they're of historical significance. That means, all news articles have to be from decades ago in order to be on this thread.

Disclaimer: Whoever posts first gets a free BMW.

[New Zepuha]

Court Transcript | Sentencing Announcement | Inquisitorial Court, Greater Sinro Area

CELRK: Will all rise, the sentencing for the case of Church v. Baker will now commence.

[All rise. Judge wearing red robes enters and sits down at judges bench. All present sit. Bailiffs enter with shackled man with black hood over head. Hood is removed.]

JUDGE: Mr.Baker you stand convicted of Heresy and Treason against the Church and the Empire. With this in mind I give you one last chance to repent and serve a reduced sentence. Do you repent your sins and reject the sedition you have committed?

BAKER: I have committed no crimes, merely practiced a religion that did not fit your...

[Prisoner is struck by baton to stomach doubling him over.]

JUDGE: Very well, I will now hand down your sentence in accordance with the laws of our bible and great nation. Mr.Baker, I hereby sentence you to death. You shall be executed by electricity, you will be electrocuted until dead in accordance with provincial law. This execution will be carried out one week from now before the stroke of midnight of the seventh day in the Sinro Maximum Security Correctional Facility, where you will remain in isolation until you arranged execution. Bailiffs, hood the heretic and remove him from my court room.

[Black hood is replaced unwillingly over Bakers head and he is removed by two bailiffs, judge prepares for next case.]

[Qianrong]

(Yes, I posted this on the old one, but it works to put it here to commemorate the new one.)

DECLARATION OF THE FREE DEMOCRATIC REPUBLIC OF QIANRONG
GIVEN BY ZHENG HYE-JEOU
YUCHENG, QIANRONG - OCTOBER 10, 1927

BACKGROUND: The final King of the Celestial Kingdom of Qianrong abdicated in 1912 following the Great Rebellion(1911-1912). The leaders of the Great Rebellion decided to create a democratic republican government known as the Independent State of Qianrong. However, factionalism, separatism, and corruption led to the Independent State quickly becoming very ineffectual, with the nation largely led by gang leaders and warlords instead of the goverment. In 1922, Zheng Hye-Jeou founded the Nationalist People's Party with himself as it's General Chairman, pledging that, if elected, he would make restoring order his top priority. The NPP used its paramilitary branch, the Front for National Security, to destroy the power of gangs and warlords, and the NPP quickly gained in popularity. However, the Independent State viewed the NPP as a threat and declared it illegal in 1925. In response, the NPP declared the Independent State illegitimate, urging all able-bodied citizens to take up arms against the regime. Because Zheng had made destroying the gangs and warlords his priority and succeeded massively where the government had failed, many citizens joined him. In addition, corruption in the army meant that the morale of the national army was dismal and planning and strategy were poor, with supply shortages being a constant problem. In 1927, after two years of bloody conflict, Zheng Hye-Jeou and the FNS seized Yucheng, the capital. The FNS faced little resistance from the tired, demoralized, and undersupplied government forces. The same day, Zheng declared the foundation of the FDRQ from the National Palace. The Independent State would not surrender for another year, the Capture of Yucheng marked the loss of the Independent State's last chance to win the war.
In the evenings, the Independent State's government would run news broadcasts to try and raise morale while keeping the people informed. Knowing that many nationwide would be listening, Zheng decided to broadcast his speech in the evening. Below is the speech given by Zheng Hye-Jeou declaring the foundation of the Free Democratic Republic on that day.

UNKNOWN FNS MEMBER: His Excellency, the General Chairman of the Nationalist People's Party, Zheng Hye-Jeou, will now address the Qianrongese nation.

ZHENG: My fellow Qianrongese citizens, my comrades in the Nationalist People's Party and the Front for National Security, and all peoples of the world:

Here in Yucheng, it is evening. The sun shines near the horizon, casting a beautiful orange glow over this proud city. The city is largely intact, and there is no gunfire, no artillery. It is serene, in peace, still glorious.

Today is a momentous day: the city has finally been liberated from the incompetent rule of the fools and traitors in the 'independent state'. Now Yucheng shall see the order it so craves, and that the Independent State could provide. Yucheng shall no longer see corruption and crime- problems rampant under the incompetent buffoons who, only a few hours, controlled this town. The soldiers of the Independent State assigned to guard the city have defected to join the Front for National Security, citing the same long list of grievances that we the people have with the Independent State. Poverty. Corruption. Mismanagent. Crime. Indecision. Failure.

The track record of the Independent State is one of total and utter failure. It's history is a guide on how to neglect the citizenry, stagnate the economy, ruin the organ of governance, and sell our future to our neighbors. The Independent State would see us become even weaker, even more divided, ever more dependent on nations like Ainin and Namor. They will sell our future, and run away from the issues. They have run from Yucheng, and they will run away from responsibility and accountability even more unless all we Qianrongese- Minjianese and Tuhaoese alike- unite to stop them. Such has been the goal of the National People's Party. The NPP, under my leadership, has successfully destroyed crime and warlordism in the regions we control. We have alleviated poverty, secured the people's liberty, and provided both order and peace. Since the beginning of our righteous rebellion two years ago, we have seen nothing but success as the Qianrongese people have united behind us.

Today, with the capture of Yucheng, we have further cemented our legitimacy over the nation of Qianrong. We have the people behind us, we have ever more of the military behind us, and at this time we have restored order in an overwhelmingly large section of the country. By contrast, the Independent State is losing more and more of its legitimacy daily. Today, it lost its last shred. The Independent State is no longer the government of Qianrong, and is no longer a legitimate authority- though it never exercised much authority anyways. As such, it falls upon the new leaders of the country- myself and the NPP and the FNS- to create a government to ensure the liberty and security of Qianrong.

Thus, today, I hereby declare the existence of the Free Democratic Republic of Qianrong. Until peace is attained and elections can be held, I shall serve as ad interim Chancellor of the Republic. The legislature of the National People's Party is hereby to serve as the National Assembly of Qianrong. The Front for National Security is now the National Security Force, and will report to a yet-to-be-created Ministry of Defense and Intelligence. The Party Propaganda Committee is henceforth to become the Ministry of Information. There will also be a Ministry of Foreign Affairs, a Ministry of the Interior, and a Ministry of the Economy and the Treasury. We shall also see a judiciary system created so that the people may have the right to justice guaranteed. Within six months, the National Assembly must draft a Constitution for the Republic and have it approved by the Chancellor.

These measures should return what we lost when the Independent State was formed, and what we all seek: security, prosperity, liberty. The Free Democratic Republic will serve as a guarantor of these rights and as the sole legitimate government of Qianrong.

My fellow countrymen, it may be sunset here in Yucheng, but the sun does not set on our great motherland. Our best days are not behind us. They are ahead of us. Today, the sun rises over Qianrong- a new Qianrong, strong and united. This is not evening but morning. Today, we end the years of suffering and step forth into the light. Today, my people, we will have hope, we will have joy, we will have glory. Long Live the Republic, and good night!

[Ainin]

Remember the Forestia (1942)
A patriotic poem from the Second Great War written following the sinking of the destroyer ANS Forestia by a Chorean submarine, bringing the Aininian Republic into the war.

Three-sixteen young men they were,
Serving dutifully for,
A cause they didn't comprehend,
Lost, to the great end.

Their duty and their will,
To protect us and our isles,
The top sacrifice they made,
To save us from the enemy's tricks.

Now they live in a great land,
God's kingdom, free and grand,
Where He reigns supreme,
Heroes, they shall be deemed!

Remember the Forestia,
And its brave crew.
They will not rest in peace,
Until you serve too.


Across the Sea (1947)
A poem recalling a romanticised first-person vision of the settlement of the Aininian isles.

Across the seas and through the waves
Across the horizon, we see in haste,
The Sun slowly falling down,
Towards the land yet to be found.

Oh! How I wish to be free!
From my menial life of slavery.
The shining sea I shall cross,
This island, it calls for me.

Its mountains and palm trees,
The rivers, lakes, and ravines,
All so gleefully scream,
This nation was made for we.

[Vyvland]

Presidential elections in Vyvland explained

---

Presidential elections in Vyvland are held at least every four years, to elect the President of Vyvland, the country's head of state. The president is elected in a two-round system. All of those over the age of 18 who are not deemed severely mentally handicapped are eligible to vote.

FIRST ROUND
All candidates receiving over 5,000 signatures endorsing their candidacy appear on the ballot. The vote takes place for one day, during which all eligible voters choose their preferred candidate. At the end of the day, all these votes are counted up. Provided there is no majority, the two most popular candidates in the first round are able to pass through to the second round. If one candidate achieves an overall majority in the first round (which is very unlikely), the election finishes without a second round and that candidate is elected.

SECOND ROUND
The top two candidates (assuming no candidate has a majority in the first round) run for the second round of the election one week after the first round. The candidate with the most votes in the second round becomes President. This need not be the candidate with the most votes in the first round.

Candidates may have party affiliations or may be independent. They must be a registered Vyvlander voter, a status which is acquired through citizenship or residency (with an application).

Results are counted by province, with each province having ultimate responsibility for how this is carried out (within various constraints). All provinces currently choose to further subdivide their counting by municipality, which gives a very in-depth picture of how each town in Vyvland voted.

[Arnborg]

THE AININIAN
Genocide in Arnborg

My name is Chausiku Mwanajuma, and I come from the "hemland" of Nafasi. I was born on June 14, 1984, on the fifth anniversary of Nafasi's "independence." I was 9th of 14 children, of which only 5 survived infancy. From as far back as I can remember, I was separated because of my race, and my color of my skin. It did not help that I am a female, which traditionally in Swahili culture is inferior to that of the male.

I was forced to marry an Imam on my 9th birthday, against my wishes. While Arnborg had a progressive economic and human rights system, there was a catch, it was only for vita, or white in Swedish. And I quickly ran away, becoming a worker at a resort in Doval. I may be paid next to nothing, but it was better than this. However, I was abused by my employers. I was beaten daily, insulted, made fun of, by the white employees. They, like many whites, saw me as inferior, a savage that they tried to "civilize" but could not. Finally, in 2004, I decided to head to Ainin. I got the help of a sympathetic white who took me to Erikstad, then set sail with me to Desert Bay, where I then flew to Ainin.

I had no passport, and I had to fill a form to enter without a passport, but when I entered, I felt like I stepped into the future. I almost immediately applied for asylum, which was accepted. Today, I work here, but these experiences are just like how 65% of my country suffer in a genocide that many know as apartheid. They are of various tribes, all identifiable by their dark skin. And I am one of them.

The first stage is classification. All cultures have categories to distinguish people into “us and them” by ethnicity, race, religion, or nationality.
Classification is between the whites and the blacks. While we got Inyesulans and the colored in it, they are better off than us, and are tangential to this issue. While it has existed since the mid-1700s, it was only standardized in law in 1947 when the first "grand apartheid" law required all people: svarta, vita, Inyisk and färgad to obtain passbooks. That law also disenfranchised the black populace of Arnborg.

The next stage is symbolization. We give names or other symbols to the classifications. We name people "Jews" or "Gypsies," or distinguish them by colors or dress; and apply the symbols to members of groups. Classification and symbolization are universally human and do not necessarily result in genocide unless they lead to dehumanization.
The black population are called svarta by many whites. The colors are clearly black and other symbols involve blackface, long since extinct in virtually every other country except Nevanmaa.

Thirdly, is discrimination. A dominant group uses law, custom, and political power to deny the rights of other groups. The powerless group may not be accorded full civil rights or even citizenship.
In this case, the dominant group was the whites, and the powerless groups are the blacks, colored and Inyesulans. It was over a series of processes, between 1946 to 1973 when blacks were gradually eroded of their rights until the hemlands started gaining independence (after being created in 1953). After 1991, with all hemlands sovereign, there were no black citizens in Arnborg (or colored or Inyesulan, for that matter). They were denied all of the rights of Arnborgese citizenship, such as voting, a fair trial, the right of residence or free travel within the country.

Number four on the list is dehumanization. One group denies the humanity of the other group. Members of it are equated with animals, vermin, insects or diseases. Dehumanization overcomes the normal human revulsion against murder. At this stage, hate propaganda in print and on hate radios is used to vilify the victim group.
The whites equal the blacks with animals and vermin, like rats, for example. Diseases like HIV are used to show how "subhuman" they are, and besides the blackface already mentioned, there is no protection of blacks in Arnborg, meaning they can be treated like rubbish, and they can get away with it. For example, in 2008, a white man murdering a black person was ten times as likely to be acquitted of murder or be convicted of manslaughter than a white person murdering a white, and a black person murdering a black. If a black person murders a white, they usually get the harshest sentences, like life in prison without parole or execution.

The fifth stage is organization. Genocide is always organized, usually by the state, often using militias to provide deniability of state responsibility. Sometimes organization is informal or decentralized. Special army units or militias are often trained and armed. Plans are made for genocidal killings.
The groups are the armed forces of the hemlands and the Arnborgese Armed Forces, both funded and trained by the government in Arvidstad. For informal organization, the terrorist Arnborgese Liberation Front, led by Adrian Heath advocate abolishing the hemlands and openly declaring a final solution to make Arnborg a "white state," and the latter has made plans for genocidal killings, mainly under the guise of slum-clearing operations.

Sixthly is polarization. Extremists drive the groups apart. Hate groups broadcast polarizing propaganda. Laws may forbid intermarriage or social interaction. Extremist terrorism targets moderates, intimidating and silencing the center. Moderates from the perpetrators’ own group are most able to stop genocide, so are the first to be arrested and killed.
The ALF, as a hate group broadcast polarizing propaganda to ensure that the whites would be fearful of the blacks, often targeting moderates from the white people. Intermarriage between races is banned, meaning that whites can only marry with other whites, Inyesulans with other Inyesulans, blacks with other blacks, or colored with other colored peoples.

The next stage is preparation. National or perpetrator group leaders plan the "Final Solution" to the Jewish, Armenian, Tutsi or other targeted group question. They often use euphemisms to cloak their intentions, such as referring to their goals as “ethnic cleansing,” “purification,” or “counter-terrorism.” They build armies, buy weapons and train their troops and militias. They indoctrinate the populace with fear of the victim group. Leaders often claim that "if we don’t kill them, they will kill us."
For Arnborg, the ALF has plans for a Final Solution to the black problem, by setting up "re-education camps," abolishing hemlands and transporting the blacks, like cattle to the camps to be slaughtered, until no svarta remains alive in Arnborg, with the intent to make them "white as bones." The Inyesulans would be deported back to Inyesula, and the colored would be deported to either Ainin, Inyesula, or get slaughtered, depending on the ethnicity of the father.

The eighth and current stage is Persecution. Victims are identified and separated out because of their ethnic or religious identity. Death lists are drawn up. In state sponsored genocide, members of victim groups may be forced to wear identifying symbols. Their property is often expropriated. Sometimes they are even segregated into ghettoes, deported into concentration camps, or confined to a famine-struck region and starved. Genocidal massacres begin. They are acts of genocide because they intentionally destroy part of a group.
The victims are the svarta, and are separated from society. While death lists aren't drawn up except by the ALF, nor forced to wear identifying symbols, they are segregated in large ghettos in a region unsuited for agriculture which most were dependent on for their livelihood (only the Hausa and Swahili were nomads in the southern steppes). Only Avasara wasn't in the steppes. Blacks in the four northern provinces aren't allowed to own property, while colored and Inyesulans can. In the south, all racial groups could own property.

The ninth stage is extermination. When it begins, it quickly becomes the mass killing legally called “genocide.” It is “extermination” to the killers because they do not believe their victims to be fully human. When it is sponsored by the state, the armed forces often work with militias to do the killing. Sometimes the genocide results in revenge killings by groups against each other, creating the downward whirlpool-like cycle of bilateral genocide (as in Burundi). At this stage, only rapid and overwhelming armed intervention can stop genocide. Real safe areas or refugee escape corridors should be established with heavily armed international protection. (An unsafe “safe” area is worse than none at all.)

Lastly, genocide denial is a concurrent stage. It is among the surest indicators of further genocidal massacres. The perpetrators of genocide dig up the mass graves, burn the bodies, try to cover up the evidence and intimidate the witnesses. They deny that they committed any crimes, and often blame what happened on the victims. They block investigations of the crimes, and continue to govern until driven from power by force, when they flee into exile. There they remain with impunity, like Pol Pot or Idi Amin, unless they are captured and a tribunal is established to try them. The response to denial is punishment by an international tribunal or national courts. There the evidence can be heard, and the perpetrators punished.

Arnborg has been lucky enough not to reach Stage 9, which is extermination. However, over nearly 70 years, Arnborg has engaged in the process that would culminate in genocide. At this point, Arnborg has to have a complete overhaul. The new government must...

• Develop universalistic institutions that transcend ethnic or racial divisions, that actively promote tolerance and understanding, and that promote classifications that transcend the divisions.
• Forbid hate symbols and hate speech
• Discrimination on the basis of nationality, ethnicity, race or religion must be outlawed. Individuals should have the right to sue the state, corporations, and other individuals if their rights are violated
• Condemn the use of hate speech and make it culturally unacceptable. Leaders who incite genocide should be banned from international travel and have their foreign finances frozen. Hate radio stations should be shut down, and hate propaganda banned. Hate crimes and atrocities should be promptly punished.
• Grant citizenship to all racial groups and allow them to run for office and vote, as well as all human rights
• Abolishing hemlands and integrating them into Arnborg
• Repealing all segregation law.

For the fifth stage, Ainin has an arms embargo over Arnborg, but it must create a commission to investigate violations amongst the people in Arnborg.
In regards to the sixth stage, Arnborg should provide security protection for moderate leaders and assistance to human rights groups. Assets of extremists ought to be seized, and visas for international travel denied to them. Coups d’état by extremists should be opposed by international sanctions, which if the Labor takes power, the ALF may be likely to do so.
The seventh stage must establish commissions to enforce the arms embargoes. It should include prosecution of incitement and conspiracy to commit genocide.
In regards to the current stage, the OEN or Ainin must declare a Genocide Emergency in Arnborg. If the political will of the great powers, regional alliances, or the OEN Security Council can be mobilized, armed international intervention should be prepared, or heavy assistance provided to the victim group to prepare for its self-defense. Humanitarian assistance should be organized by the OEN and private relief groups for the inevitable tide of refugees to come to its neighbors (Kulsandia, East Nautarya, Magane, and Ainin).

If the OEN and Ainin intervenes in Arnborg on time, the genocide that started sixty-nine years ago can be effectively nipped in the bud, all those complicit in the genocide could be tried and a new government with those principles can rise into place and give a new birth of freedom to every Arnborgese man, woman and child.

[Namor]

Namorese political cartoon: "It takes only two to raise a child"

---

[Qianrong]

In the jungles of Tuhao
June 4, 2014

The aging red sedan sped down the deteriorating, dusty one-lane road that divided the rich, green jungle in half. Brightly-colored birds flew through the vivid emerald trees. The sun, blazing hot, beat down into the humid jungle, standing high in the clear blue sky. The hills made the road into a twisted, rising and lowering route, dotted with bumps and potholes. Reddish dust mixed with gasoline fumes clouded the air behind the car, producing a foul-smelling mixture that trailed the vehicle for yards.

Chancellor Song Li-Chao could see none of this, because he was gagged, blindfolded, and bound in the car's trunk, being driven.... somewhere. The last he knew, he had been in Hai Nang, a long distance from... wherever he was. He had been about to board a train when several men with knives and guns attacked everyone around him, military or civilian. He didn't know how many had died, but he had seen the bodies and the blood before they blindfolded him. They'd gagged him, and bound him, and then thrown him into the truck, and then started driving. They'd been driving for... at least 24 hours now, only stopping to switch drivers and get gasoline. And then Song realized they'd stopped again, that he could hear the car doors opening. And then the trunk opened, and he was dragged out by these men, into a cooler place- a cave? A bunker? What the hell was going on? Song had heard how dependent humans generally were on sight, but it was only now that he realized how true that was.

Then something came down on his head, and everything was black.

---

Two days later

Song opened his eyes slowly, blinking to try and clear his blurred vision. He noted with a certain pleasure that he could see, that he could at least slightly orient himself. He attempted to run his eyes- and it was then that he noticed the shackles. Confusion was replaced by a sense of dread as he noticed that he had been bound to what Westerners would call a Saint Andrew's Cross made of metal, the shackles built in to the structure, the base bolted to the floor. A few attempts to free himself were futile, and he decided to submit to the bindings. It wasn't like he was going to snap solid metal with his bare hands.

Looking down, Song saw that he was still in his suit- battered as it was, it was a reminder of better days. Far better days, he remarked to himself. Far better to be the unchallenged dictator of a country than a hostage without a clue or a hope.

"Ah, Chancellor! You have awakened. I'm sorry, but certain precautions had to be taken," said.... Song wasn't sure. Presumably the man who had ordered him taken, but that was really all that Song knew. He couldn't even see the source of the voice. Song shook his head to clear his thoughts and replied, trying to keep some normalcy, "Yes, I'm sure- how are you today?" The voice laughed. "Absolutely splendid, now that you're here. Ah, but enough of the pleasantries, Chancellor. I'm sure you have many questions."

Song chuckled a little. "Fewer than I thought, actually. I know where I am, Tuhao, and I know you likely would tell me nothing more specific. I can guess that you took me in the name of some cause, and that you are an official or even a leader. I can surmise that there is an Acting Chancellor- I would guess Hsieh, since he's Defense-Intel and would thus be thought of as the best choice to find me. I'm also absolutely sure that the Khan-Jung dispute is going even further into shit. So I guess that really only leaves one question. Who are you, and what cause do you fight for?" The voice laughed, and a tall, thin man with graying hair and thick glasses dressed in fatigues stepped out of the showers. "I am the leader of the Tuhao Liberation Army, Ngo Huu Tra. I think we both know the TLA's goal. For that matter, we both fought in the closing days of the Terror War, on opposing sides- just as we do now."

Song smiled. "Well. Both fighters, both leaders. And it is my assumption that I am to be traded for some separatist, or asylum, or something else?" Ngo looked at Song as if he had just made the most patently ridiculous statement in Qianrongese history, and then began to laugh, a mocking, sadistic laugh, as inhuman as the cackling of a raven or the howling of a hyena. "Oh, no, no. No, my dear Chancellor, not in a million years. No, you are far too valuable a prize. I'm not letting you back, not unless the entire island of Tuhao is given independence. And before you ask, yes, even the Minjianese regions. Yes, I won't let you go for anything except absolute victory. And until then? Oh, the TLA knows what the NSF did during the Terror War. It knows what your men do in prisons and labor camps and secret facilities. We know what you and Hsieh and Guo do to 'dissenters' and their ilk. Oh, dear Chancellor, we will make you pay. We will make you feel what the people who you have wronged feel. We have so many ways of torturing you, beating you, breaking you, all taken from your book. And your hell begins, Chancellor. And it is my expectation that it will not end for quite some time."

Ngo pulled out a baton. "Good night, Chancellor Song. You begin your education when you wake up." Song knew he couldn't escape, he couldn't break free, but he still tried, desperately hoping for a miracle, until the baton cracked down on his skull and the world became inky darkness.

[Ainin]

A made-for-television dramatisation of the 2005 Boxing Day shootings.

“Whatever ill fate beholds us, we must remember that we are Aininians. A free people, indivisible and unconquerable, and through any adversity we shall advance forward.”
– Hamilton W. Radisson, Prime Minister of Ainin, 17 July 1922

Hartly, Linack | 26 December 2005
6:54 AM

As the sun rose over the skyline of Downtown Hartly, its shining as they bounced off the glass walls of the endless rows of skyscrapers, and as the city began waking up, people beginning to take their car, bus, train, towards their workplace. But everything was not well in the Gateway to the Aininian Republic, as in a small apartment in the East, a small group’s brewing discontent would soon burst into disaster.

---

Tactical Response Unit Headquarters | 26 December 2005
7:42 AM

A strident siren began blaring out the intercom system in the briefing room as red lights flashed, instantly flooding out Sgt. Adam Peters and Cst. Gabriel Thomas’ conversation about last night’s football match.

“Gear up, Team Alpha,” announced the voice of Cst. Fabrice Gertrude, the receptionist down the hall. “Active shooter at the Evergreen Mall, code red.”

“Let’s move!” yelled the sergeant as he ran towards the armoury and the rest of his team, a half-dozen constables, followed.

“What kind of sick fuck would shoot up a mall on Boxing Day?” asked Cst. Amelia Wellington as she followed Gabriel down the stairs and into the armoury, grabbing a submachine gun and a large duffel bag.

“I don’t know,” replied Adam. “But let’s take care of it.”

---

Evergreen Shopping Centre, Hartly | 26 December 2005
8:11 AM

Pulling up in front of the police barricade around the mall in three black minivans, the officers quickly ran out, all uniformly dressed in black sets of ballistic armour, comprising a vest, a helmet, pants and boots.

“TRU,” said Adam to the traffic constable manning the police line locking down the block around the mall, who promptly lifted the yellow tape to let them through.

As they entered the large parking mall in front of the food court portion of the mall, the scene they saw was incredible. Hundreds of officers, traffic constables with their hands on their truncheons, plainclothes detectives and foot patrolmen gripping their revolvers, and supervisors wielding their shotguns, all hunched down behind rows upon rows of abandoned cars, with shards of broken glass and traces of blood covering the front of the parking lot.

“Christ, what happened here?” asked Amelia to the on-scene commander, a middle-aged district deputy superintendent of muscular build, who was crouching behind a commandeered armoured car as he spoke on the radio, ordering the dispatcher to summon a military armoured regiment and a squad of naval fusiliers.

“Four shooters with assault rifles and homemade ballistic armour are inside the food court,” he eventually said. “Our revolvers and shotguns can’t breach the armour, and they’ve shot up our lines outside. Five officers down. Paramedics can’t get to them until we clear out the shooters.”

“Thank you, sir,” replied Adam as he visually scanned the mall’s exterior design. “Team, let’s enter through that maintenance door you see there.”

He then turned towards a constable.

“Get the building manager, I want his keys.”

---

Evergreen Mall, Hartly | 26 December 2005
8:34 AM

Putting the small grey key into the hole in the beige metal door, Amelia gently twisted as the door unlocked with a click. Quickly signaling the rest of the team using her hand, she went in, holding her submachine gun in front of her as she ran down the dimly-lit maintenance hallway, the five other officers following behind her.

Stopping in front of a similar door with a small plastic tag reading “Cafeteria” in big white letters, Cst. Robin Key quickly put down his large black equipment bag on the ground as he pulled out a large metal battering ram with some difficulty.

“Do we knock it down, Adam?” he asked.

“No,” he replied. “Let’s wait before entering, get some eyes in first.”

“Aye, boss,” Robin acknowledged, just as a large bang thundered through the hallway, echoing back repeatedly as frightened screams began coming from the food court, along with the voice of a man yelling with a slight unidentifiable accent.

“And if you don’t all stop yelling, we’ll shoot the kid too!” he declared, and the murmurs and screams abruptly cut out, leaving a deafening silence.

“They’re killing hostages,” whispered Adam to his team. “We can’t afford to lose any more time. Let’s get a sniper on the second floor. Frank and me are Alpha, Gabriel and Robin are Beta and Amelia and Rick are Scorpio. Split up!”

The teams then went down the corridor, and, after unlocking a door, found themselves at the centre of the mall, starting point of most staircases and escalators, and began to split up into three teams as instructed by their sergeant, but their radios suddenly carried the voice of a man.

“Sergeant, this is Chief Inspector Marc Séjour of Gangs and Drugs,” declared the unknown voice. “Stand down, I’m taking over the hostage negotiations.”

“With all due respect…” began to answer Adam before being cut off.

“I am taking over and that is final,” replied the voice. “If you have any objections, I’m sure the judge at your insubordination hearing will be glad to hear them.”

Sighing, Adam reluctantly agreed.

“Mission’s off,” he said in an annoyed voice, before pausing and changing his mind. “On second thought, go up to the second floor and set up a hidden observation post.”

---

Second Floor, Overlooking Food Court | 26 December 2005
8:44 AM

“One minute left until <name> and his men move in,” announced Amelia.

“This is such bullshit,” he replied, receiving affirmative nods in response from the team.

“Any time now…” noted Frank. As soon as he said so, the first floor they had been watching from their discreet location was covered in smoke and the glass storefronts shattered as a massive amount of flash-bang and smoke grenades detonated after being thrown in from outside, while the vague forms of a dozen people, weapons drawn, were seen advancing into the mall from the entrance.

As the smoke approached the second floor, obscuring the visibility, the screams and gunfire began to die down, eventually the latter completely disappeared.

“I think they got them,” whispered Amelia with a slight feeling of excitement in her voice.

Any excitement that had appeared after the initial assault had dissipated as soon as the smoke cleared, and they saw the scene below them. All but one of the six attackers had survived without a scratch, but the attack had left at least a dozen police officers and hostages down.

“Christ,” said Adam. “I’m going down to negotiate with them.”

He was met by surprised gasps from the entire team.

“Boss…” said Rick slowly. “That’s suicide…. They can’t be reasoned with.”

“It might be worth a try, Ricky,” replied the sergeant firmly. “Our job is to keep the peace, and the longer we wait, the more blood there is on our hands. We have to act, and we have to act now. Amelia and Rick, stay on the second floor with the sniper rifle, the rest, cover me discreetly while I talk them down.”

---

Food Court, Evergreen Mall | 26 December 2005
8:55 AM

In his tactical police uniform, however weaponless, he walked down the hallway and began to enter the food court, as of yet unnoticed, while the three officers covering behind him hid behind large columns, clutching their submachine guns dearly and aiming them at the court.

“Hey!” he yelled as he walked in with his hands in the air, which soon caused the five men in homemade makeshift ballistic armour to turn towards him, their AK assault rifles all pointed at his head. “I’m Sergeant Adam Peters of the Tactical Response Unit, what’s your names?”

They remained silent, while some light whimpering from the hostages could be heard, so he continued.

“I don’t have a gun,” he announced as he showed the shooters that his pistol holster was empty. “I just want to talk. What’s your names?”

“Fabien,” replied one of them, who then began clutching the AK harder. “What do you want, cop?”

“I just want to find a way that we can all go home tonight,” replied Adam. “There’s an entire group of 500 Marines outside right now, ready to burst in and end the standoff immediately.”

He paused.

“It’s over,” he then said. “There’s no escape. But I want to help you.”

As soon as he said those words, the leader of the group became agitated, putting his hand on the AK’s trigger.

“We don’t need help!” he loudly exclaimed as he began pacing around. “Just let us be!”

“I’m afraid I can’t do that,” replied Adam as he pointed the scared group of hostages. “You see, you’re holding these folks hostage. I want to find a solution so we can all go home.”

“You don’t get this,” answered the leader with a burning hate in his voice.

“Then help me get it,” said Adam in a calm voice.

“No,” replied the gunman before raising his AK at Adam.

Several volleys of gunfire then echoed throughout the mall, mixed with the frightened screams of the hostages.

The screen faded to black as the sounds of gunfire continued in the background.

---

Our Lady of the Holy Trinity Church, Marlane-la-Prairie | 2 January 2006
9:00 AM

The church bells tolled, spreading their metallic clang around the Old Town, as the conversation in the room died down. Many people had come today, for the memorial service, all in varying stages of mourning.

After various ceremonies had been conducted, Amelia walked up to the front.

“Adam was a father figure for us,” she began to say. “He was a caring man with the best of intentions. We'll miss you.”

As she began to cry, the screen faded to black.

[Qianrong]

June 19, 2014
TLA headquarters
Somewhere in Tuhao, Qianrong

The darkened room, with one door an no windows, underground, contained four men. Two guards belonging to the TLA. One Ngo Huu Tra, leader of the TLA. And one Song Li-Chao, Chancellor of Qianrong. There was a chair; Song was bound to it. There was a table in front of Song. On the table, there was a large bucket full of water.

Ngo held Song's head under, glaring down coldly on the man he held as captive. Hold your breath. Hold your breath. Eyes closed. Don't struggle. Hold you breath. Wait, and when you can, inhale deeply. Hold, then breathe. Just repeat that. Just repeat that. Thoughts raced through Song's head, even as he tried to keep calm. Wait then breathe. Don't panic. He wants me alive, he won't kill me. Wait then breathe. Finally, Ngo pulled Song's head out. Song, the water pouring off his faith, gasped in the musty air of the underground room. "You know," Song said, "I'm sure that Hsieh would be perfectly willing to enact some sort of devolution of autonomy, a compromi-" Without warning, Song found his head in the water again, but only briefly, Ngo bringing it out again shortly thereafter. "No, no, my foolish chancellor," Song responded, bitingly. "No compromise. Victory or death. Nothing else."

Suddenly Ngo began to laugh. "You should see the tricks your government is turning, Chancellor," he chuckled. Song paused in his gasping for breath to ask "really?" Ngo nodded and continued laughing. "Apparently, the TLA has been funded by Ainin and Namor since the 1970s. Quite a shocker- I had no clue we had foreign benefactors." Song smiled weakly. "That's because you don't. Ministry of Information likes to lie. Rule of thumb for chancellors- appoint the person you would most expect to lie to be Minister of Information." Ngo turned and looked at Song confusedly. "What? Why not to Defense-Intel, what with all the classification there?" Song shook his head and smiled. "You appoint the liar with the best strategic mind and most filial obedience to that position. I'm sure we even falsified some documents to prove your 'foreign connections'."
"Oh, yes, thousands," Ngo replied. "The FDRQ is very good at turning human beings into obedient slaves."

Without warning, Ngo gestured to the guards, who grabbed the chair. Ngo walked out of the room, gesturing that the guards follow him- which they did, dragging Song and the chair he was tied to behind. They returned to the central room, the room with the Saint Andrew's Cross with the shackles and iron. Now, he noted, there was a home video camera on a tripod in the underground room.

"Well, Chancellor, you're about to make your first television appearance since the kidnapping," Ngo said. "We'll be showing the Qianrongese people a selection of the tortures we have for you. You will also make a statement. It can be any kind of statement you wish- defiant, sumbissive, it's up to you. You'll give your little speech, and then we will torture you. A few days from now, we'll publish this. Do you understand?" Song nodded. "Good. Men, put the Chancellor here in his chains and make sure we're ready." Song sighed as he was unbound and then rebound. He stated into the camera, ignoring Ngo's smiling face behind it.

"Roll the camera," Song said, attempting to speak with the authority he had in the halls of Yucheng. Ngo bowed mockingly, stating "as you wish, oh Chancellor" in a cruel tone. "It's running."

Song stared into the black depth of the lens, inhaled, and then spoke. "Citizens of Qianrong, listen to me. All of you- regardless of ethnicity, religion, opinion- you are in a time of great trial. We are threatened by foreign empires and domestic terrorists. People of Qianrong, it is imperative that we focus on our common nationality. Above all we are Qianrongese. That must be our policy in all affairs- strength through unity, and unity through fraternity.
To the acting chancellor, the cabinet, and the National Assembly. You are the guardians of the common man. It is your duty to ensure he is kept secure from all threats. You must take every action necessary to thwart our enemies. Do not, even for a minute, consider surrender. It is not an option. The only option is defiance. Do not surrender to the Liberationists, the Aininians, the terrorist groups that abduct and kill civilians. You must never accede to their demands. The unity, liberty, prosperity, security, and fraternity of Qianrong must not be jeopardized. Do not even consider accepting Ngo's demands for my release. Do not even consider Namor's demands for the release of the Trang Vai. Do not so much as contemplate weakness. We must be united, strong, and defiant if we are to survive as a country. We must never give in to the evildoers of the world.
To the citizens of the FDRQ, whether Minjianese, Tuhaoese, or Mahusaynese. Do not allow the seditious lies of the terrorists to sway you. Do not let your loyalty to our Motherland falter. This is what they want. Do not let them have it. You are the most powerful people in this country. You are its workers, its soldiers, you are Qianrong. You must remain united. You must ensure that you continue to love your brothers and sisters, and you must remain committed to victory and harmony. It is average men and women like you who determine if we give in to our enemies at home and abroad, or if we retain our sovereignty and freedom. You must fight evil everywhere you can in any way you can. I have faith in you and your ability. Our fate is in your hands, and I know that you all will do what is right.
To my wife and children and family, do not worry for me. I will live. What matters is that you remain strong.
Thank you all, and may you all have Heaven's blessing. I know that we shall triumph."

Ngo began to slowly clap. "Very eloquent, Chancellor. Now. Shall we.... begin?"

[Namor]

The Uprising that shook the World
A story about the Double Fourth Revolution

---

Namo | April 4, NMR 2250

---

"Your Grace! Your Grace! Bad news...bad news! Bad!"

A weary-looking servant stumbled as he climbed up the stairs which led to the bedchamber of the Archduke Bendan of Antelopia, who had just woken up from bed. The Archduke, confused at the voice of the servant he had known for years, stepped out, where he met face-to-face with the plump man who announced the bad news without paying proper respect, not bowing as he poured the entire story out.

"Your Grace!" began the servant. "They---"

"Arrogance," snapped Bendan as he stuck his chin up. "Bow first. No need to hurry."

The servant groaned as he bowed before picking it all back up. "Your Grace, summon His Majesty immediately. Chief of the City-Surrounding Legion Hu Xang has ordered troops to enter the capital from all four sides. They didn't wait for us, and blew a cannon at the city gates when guards refused to let them in. Hu's army is making their way at us!"

Bendan was so startled, his jaws dropped. Hu had earned the trust of the fatuous Emperor himself, and was often praised as a most loyal servant to the Throne. The archduke imagined subversives belonging to the rowdy republican rabble rising up against the Sovereign, but reports of Hu not only shattering his allegiance with the Great Antelopian Empire, but attacking Namo, sounded like a fantasy only heard in a dream where Heaven had turned the world upside down.

"No!" he shouted. "This is impossible! Heaven is playing the fool with me!"

But Heaven wasn't. Sounds of cannon fire echoed from the outer boroughs of Namo, signalling that something was going absolutely wrong.

---

Outside of the Sky Palace, Imperial Court, Namo

---

A crowd of eunuchs, concubines, ministers and the Emperor scrambled out of the Sky Palace in an orderly fashion, trying to figure out what's going on. No one had ordered cannon fire to be shot in Namo's outskirts, and the first report the Palace received was not that Chief of the City-Surrounding Legion Hu Xang was trying to suppress a peasant rebellion of some sort, but, rather, Hu is entering the city with much pomp and circumstance.

In himself, Rungchi felt dismayed. In the last ten years of his reign he conceded everything there was to make sure the dynasty his ancestors founded continued, but now it looks like he had failed.

I should have known nothing lasts forever, the emperor thought to himself. Not even for ten thousand years. Ten thousand years! The subjects all salute me like that, but counting it all up this dynasty has so far lived for as long as three hundred years. Has a dynasty ever lasted any longer than three, or five, hundred years?

Just 300 years! Just! Rungchi excused himself, left the crowd, and used his robes to conceal his tear-filled face. The rest of the ministers were too busy to notice, as they were still listening to the distant cannon fire fired by Hu Xang's troops.

"Triều đại của tôi! Nó sắp kết thúc, chỉ cần như thế này (My reign! It's about to end, just like this)," sobbed the emperor quietly, in his native language.

---

Hours later, in the streets of Namo

---

Gunfire drew closer and closer. The Emperor had sent Archduke Bendan to lead the Palace Guardsmen in encountering Hu's army. When the two met, fighting ensued. Armed with rifles and machine guns, the Guardsmen tried hard to put a halt on the offensive of Hu's troops, and it was kind of working, except casualties on Bendan's side were mounting.

"Continue firing! Fire at these cowards! Repeat with me, All Under Heaven!" screamed Bendan at the Guardsmen as they ferociously pulled the trigger, trying to stop the waves of legion men. When they did, Bendan felt his bladder dam bursting, and decided to head to the nearest privy hole to do his business.

But when he got there, shadows appeared from nowhere. Five, masked, sword-wielding men grabbed at Bendan's wrist, throwing him down. Letting out a cold scream, the Archduke turned his head, gasping at his attackers.

"So you are that damn Archduke," began one swordsman. "I know you."

"I don't know you," was Bendan's panic reply.

"Of course you don't," laughed the man cruelly. "That's why we revolt, because you and your prostitutes up there don't know the people. The people of Namor have had enough of your bullshit. You let us down and we're going to bring you down with us."

"Please, be merciful," begged Bendan, who by now was kneeling and clasping his palms together. "You are merciful men. Spare my life, and I shall offer you anything---even the Emperor's abdication."

The man responded coolly, "My apologies, Archduke. You aroused the great avalanche, and you cannot stop it. We're tired, but you wouldn't give us a break. So we revolt, and there is no mercy in revolt. Blood needs to be spilled for this nation to rejuvenate."

He raised his sword. "I bear witness. May Nushen help me in driving the tartars out of my country."

With one swing of metal, off went Bendan's head, which tumbled on the dust, never to move again.

---

One Day Later

---

"Và uy nghi của ông đồng ý với các điều kiện mà ông thoái vị như Hoàng đế của đế quốc, vượt qua tất cả các quyền hạn sở hữu cho chính phủ lâm thời, loại bỏ tất cả các bài viết bị xử phạt bởi chính phủ hoàng gia ... (And HIs Imperial Majesty, the Great Emperor, agrees to the conditions that He abdicate as Emperor of the Empire, pass all possessed powers to the new provisional government, remove all posts sanctioned by the Throne...)"

The terms of the agreement were read out slowly and carefully, both in Namorese and Antelopian as someone placed a white document on a long table. Sitting on one side was Rungchi and his family, and sitting on the other were a panel of generals in uniform---one of them was Hu Xang. Revolutionary guardsmen surrounded the room, so Rungchi was virtually alone. It was already too late to save him from abdicating.

Rungchi looked at the agreement on paper, then at his own ink stamp, and then at Hu. The last emperor in Namorese history knew he had no choice, but was he really destined by fate to do this?

Hu eyed the emperor, this time without that obedient attitude he has carried since the day he held his office. "Your Majesty, should it be that you take one whole day to sign this single document?"

"This is a nightmare...I can't believe it," mumbled Rungchi.

"To you it may be, but Heaven decides when one thing lives and dies, when one thing exists and perishes," replied Hu. "Your Majesty, history cannot afford to see your hesitation. You can ramble on and on about the power you're about to lose, but time can only move on. An unborn generation of Namorese want to see history made." He elbows over towards the stamp, pressuring the emperor to pick it up. "Do not betray them."

Sighing, Rungchi raised his stamp, and, slowly, pressed in against the document. He closed his eyes as he did that, and once he opened them he couldn't help realize that he had just stamped an end to an age.

Taking the document and glancing at Rungchi's stamp over and over, Hu Xang realized that, too. But his inner vision foresaw something nobody wanted to talk about. No, not in this occasion.

Outside, the Imperial Banner had been lowered, and a new tricolor was raised. Someone rushed out of the palace carrying a paper which announced the establishment of the new Republic, and to many it looked like the Mandate which Heaven threw down generations ago. Seeing that the agreement had been signed and the Republic is now underway, many people rushed at the person holding the paper, and wanted to touch it, to see it. Soon, they were wrestling over who should hold the mandate, with no agreement on who should hold it and read the proclamation out for the world to hear.

[Namor]

A Poem

---

May 7, NMR 2252 (1912 CE)

---

Ku Yangtzo didn't know what he was in for. Sitting in the lonely jail cell, part of a dark and dingy prison in Namo City, he thought that he had once heard his fellow activists say that once the tartars were expelled there would be "no more cells that aren't empty." There would be no more tyrants, no more kings, no more kangaroo courts, no more bureaucrats. The new republic would make sure the law is the most supreme object that stands between man and Heaven.

Ku scratched his head. In his mind, he saw pictures. Pictures in faded yellow, its color lost in time. Pictures of soldiers besieging the Sky Palace. Pictures of the Antelopian flag being lowered for the last time in three hundred years. Pictures of a man reading a proclamation to the world---what did he say again?

Ah yes. He said that a new age had just begun. That now, this ancient land is run by freedom, democracy, and equality. Justice, peace, and fraternity too.

Well, Ku thought he heard that on the 4th of April; now, two years later, here he was, imprisoned, not by the dead Antelopians, but by a fellow "revolutionary." Didn't he hear them say unity would be restored under a republic, or did he not? If he didn't then it makes perfect sense why he was behind bars...where did the unity go? Or was it never promised from the start? Ku shook his head. He didn't know anything anymore; post-revolutionary Namor had become a land of illusions, a land of fake promises, a land of words but no actions.

Unfolding a piece of paper, Ku saw a poem written by his own hands and wrists.

The apple can't stay fresh forever.
You leave it for five days or so,
and it loses its sweetness
'till it is rotten to the core.

Ku squinted. Somehow, between the apple he mentioned in the poem and the revolution he couldn't tell the two apart.

"You!"

Ku turned his head around, and saw a soldier holding a torch and rifle. The soldier looked stiff, but once his face met Ku's his face softened. This was no criminal inside the cell, but a comrade-in-arms, the victim of a power struggle.

"What do you need?" mumbled Ku.

"There is a visitor..." began the soldier, "...and he demands your presence. You will follow me."

A loud screech produced by the opening of the gates was heard. Ku stepped out, and the soldier tied handcuffs around his wrists. Seeing this, Ku recalled a speech he thought he heard on that 4th of April two years ago.

Citizens of Namor! The Republic is here---the choice on whether you want handcuffs around you or not is your's!

Ku blinked. He didn't choose to be here, didn't he now?

The soldier led Ku to a room; Ku did not raise his head up to see the face of the visitor. He no longer cared; who the visitor was was no longer a matter of importance to him.

The visitor spoke. "Ku Yangtzo, my friend, look up."

Ku did not budge.

"Sir, should I force his head up for you?" asked the soldier.

"No. This man has high morals and a sense of dignity. I threw him here, but I will not invade his dignity since I wouldn't be a gentleman if I do," said the visitor.

This time, Ku looked up and saw him. It was the former head of the City-Surrounding Legion, the man who physically forced the Antelopians to abdicate. The man whom, he now remembered, imprisoned him, and whom he had a lot of colorful words to spill out at, but somehow found his anger rolled back and could only spill out some.

"You son of a bitch, you slave of the Slav," Ku muttered.

Hu Xang did not laugh, but kept a straight face. "Ah, Ku," he said, "you've finally looked at me."

"Why are you here?" asked Ku coldly. "I thought you wanted me dead."

"I am a politician, just like you," said Hu. "I know what's best for my government and I do what's best for my government. Rule of thumb to be a politician is do whatever it takes to benefit yourself."

"Selfishness," Ku remarked.

"No, it is not that, it is politics," said Hu. "Another rule of thumb is that you do not dispose anything that is worthwhile to you and the power you possess."

Ku paused. "Are you calling me worthwhile? To you?"

Hu chuckled. "Why, you are one smart intellectual, and you're convincing me more to convince you to cooperate with me."

"What do you want?" said Ku. "I don't want you here. I'd rather die than see this revolution follow your path. You, Hu Xang, are only taking us back to where we started, and under you I don't want to live anymore."

"Do not think that way, please, brother," said Hu, trying to flatter the prisoner. "I am a republican just as you and Jacob Cho and the others are. I do not want to see the Antelopians return. What I'm merely calling for is a responsible---"

"Bullshit."

"---a responsible republic where only those who know how to rule, rule." Hu stopped. "That's it. We can't be dominated by a mob. Fortunately, two people aren't dominated by this mob." He pointed at Ku. "You," and then at himself, "and I."

"What do you want me to do? Be your deputy?" said Ku. "I won't buy it."

"Not a deputy," said Hu. "You're too deviant to be my deputy. I just want you to be," he paused again, "Namor's ambassador to the Choreans. If you accept, you will leave this prison unharmed. I think you should take this opportunity and consider wisely. Not only will I have a helpful partner, but you will not suffer harm you do not deserve to endure. Brother, I don't think you should be here, wasting your life away."

Just then, Ku felt a deep anger burning inside his mind and body beginning to burst out. "Traitor," he spat at Hu Xang. "Don't think that I don't know anything at all since the day I was imprisoned here. Other prisoners told me you want to become an Emperor! My, that's so democratic!"

"That is true," admitted Hu, "but only if this republic fails."

"It's failing because you're alive," muttered Ku.

Seeing that there is no use in convincing Ku to defect to his side, Hu sighed, and stood up, saluting him. "My friend," he said before leaving, "I wish you the best." Then, he summoned his guards, and they all walked out.

Ku found himself dead five days later.

[New Zepuha]

Somewhere in New Zepuha...

---

It was a brisk summers day, the wind blew and the sun shone behind cloud veils. Birds chirped and the trees shook in the wind, it was a peaceful day around the Bergen-Bulshen resettlement camp. Outside the electrified fences a large deuce and a half truck rolled up to the main camp gate. The first gate opened and allowed the truck through, as it closed the second gate opened and allowed the truck to pull into the camp. It continued to grind down the dirt road until it halted at the main office in the center of the camp.

Amongst yelling four guards in black uniforms formed a semi-circle around the rear of the truck as people were shoved out of the rear. An assortment of blacks and whites fell out shielding their eyes from the harsh rays of the sun. Ones that stumbled into guards were beaten back into place by wooden truncheons. The people cowered as an officer exited the office building and walked off the brown wooden porch. He adjusted his black peaked cap and wiped sweat from his brow with calm patience, he had the look of a soft raised man, his blonde locks glistened with sweat.

"Welcome!" he bellowed at the cowering people, "Welcome to Bergen-Bulshen resettlement camp, you have been moved here for one of many reasons. Do I care why? Of course not, but you should care why. You are the wretched filth of our society and our gracious King has mandated that we purge you from our lands!." he sucked in a breath and glared at the people who were now projecting abject horror from their faces.

"You join nearly one and a half million other scum that currently inhabit our fine relocation centers. While you stay here you will be expected to work and nothing else. You will not goof off you will not falter, work makes your free! You may repent your horrid ways by working it away, and may you find salvation under our righteous God! You will now be taken for processing, let's go!" he said.

Guards began shouting and a dog was held back by a guard as it barked and chomped eagerly at the prisoners. They were formed into a single file line and marched to a large shed where they were stripped naked by guards and their shoes tossed into piles. They were then beaten back into a single file line and marched through the camp while guards shouted obscene language and joked about their nudity, while other tried to figure who could best sold into prostitution.

They then arrived at a section where a two fenced paths lead into the main camp, one to the crematoriums and one to the bunk houses. Some were sent left and some right, some died and some lived, those who were fit to work lived of course. Those that went left were burned alive, those who went right were seen by doctors for diseases. After some more beating they were separated into male and female groups. The most senior guards walked along and selected the fittest of the females to be sold into slavery or be used personally. The rest were sent off to another side of the camp where the women were to bunk.

The males were taken to their bunks where the bunks were mostly over crowded and the bunks were merely some hay thrown onto wooden frames. A man hung from the center of the bunkhouse by his wrists, above him a placard that read, "Work makes you free, disobedience makes you suffer". The man had obviously been whipped badly by the guards. The men sat down in the hay and waited for the next event.

They had barely survived selection day.

[Namor]

A Fatal Silence

---

Novi Namor, Peitoa, Republic of Namor | July 4, NMR 2368

---

A group of guards escorted the Lingtonamora Jung Fa into the Museum of the Double Fourth Revolution in the capital city of Peitoa. The Museum was built at the expense of the Jung family, which didn't matter, since it was Jung who wanted the museum to be built in the first place. The Museum is a large building containing two exhibits---one focusing on the victory of republican forces against the Antelopian Dynasty (an event celebrated by both the RON and their Liberationist adversaries), and the republican contributions to the War of Resistance against Chorea, part of the Second Great War. Like most other buildings in Peitoa which stand as tribute to the Jung family, the Republic of Namor and the government, the museum has become a place for pilgrimage---forced pilgrimage---for Peitoans. Hundreds pay visit to the museum every day, (forced to) marvel(ing) at the exhibits---pictures of soldiers killing monarchists, destroyed Chorean planes, and captured Liberationist troops in Operation Olympus. They are always accompanied by loyal tour guides who do not waste their time in attributing these victories of the great republic to Jung To, the President of the Republic of Namor until his death in NMR 2305, and his grandson, the incumbent leader of Free Namor, Jung Fa.

But today, the museum was awkwardly silent. Since Free Namor captured a vessel which Jung Fa called a ship owned by the Liberationists disguised as a civilian ferry, Peitoa has never been a place with uneasy peace. Every day, missiles and airstrikes from the mainland continue to land on the heads of Peitoans, causing extensive damage and sometimes almost hitting Jung Fa's underground hideout, the place where he continues to command his little entity. Even if these attacks went on, Jung Fa stayed stubbornly disobedient, handing over what the Liberationists are claiming to be "innocent civilians." Jung hoped that his stubbornness would somehow sell himself off to the world as a brave person standing up to the aggression of the mainlanders, although for some reason the commendations are not rolling in as fast as he expected. Right now, most of the brainwashed world is against him, but Jung decided that he is just going to be a Namorese---calm and patient for the results to come. In his mind, he is silently counting down to the day when the world will give a thumbs-up to him, admiring him for his courage to stand up to supposedly the largest military power in Western Esquarium. And today, Jung Fa wanted to show the world that even if another lapdog---Ainin---has joined the massacre of Peitoans---he stays strong, and not only that, he is still roaming the public streets of the city.

"Lingtonamora, the cameras are all ready," Liu Mang, head of the Information Ministry, whispered to Jung Fa's ear. "We may now enter the museum safely."

"You are sure about that?" asked Jung Fa. "You know there are Aininian and Liberationist planes out in the skies since two days ago or so...I don't want to get blown up. I'm above ground, you see."

"Do not worry, our anti-air defenses will take care of them," said Liu. "Right now, let's focus on making you look brave in front of the world."

Jung Fa liked that line, and nodded in approval. The show began, and the Lingtonamora took large strides as he made his way past the museum doors, welcomed by a warm reception of museum officials, all of them chanting "Long live the Republic [of Namor]" and waving RON flags. Jung Fa smiled, waved, and shook hands with some of the officials. A child approached Jung Fa with a bouquet of flowers. Jung, in an act he knew his enemies will call propaganda, took the flowers and gave the child a kiss in the cheek. There, thought Jung, I've made myself look like a caring person.

"Lingtonamora!" shouted one official enthusiastically. "We are waiting for you to explore this great museum whose construction your great mind ordered. We are also waiting for you to deliver a speech!"

"Speech! Speech! Speech! Speech!" the rest of the crowd chanted along. From the distance, in the shadows, the Information Minister nodded, knowing that everything that he had staged was working out.

Jung grinned, extended his hand out, telling the crowd that they will be patient, since he will be making a speech. As this was going on, the roof creaked. The Lingtonamora reached for his pocket, and he pulled out a paper which contained his speech. Escorted by guards, he then walked towards the podium, eyes glued at the audience as well as the cameras, who would deliver the Lingtonamora's millionth message to the world, especially his enemies.

Citizens of the Republic of Namor, compatriots on the mainland, people of the world,

I am delighted to, as always, visit the Museum of the Double Fourth Revolution in Free Namor, which was inaugurated years ago in honor of our Great President Jung To, and the Republic of Namor itself. Over a hundred years ago, the Namorese people fought a successful revolution against their imperial Antelopian overlords, and went forth to fight the Chorean aggressors despite their beleaguered situation. The exhibits in this museum show the spirit the Namorese people had, have, and always will have when dealing with the aggressors. Right now, the Republic of Namor faces the same situation. We are being sandwiched by the aggression of the Liberationists on the mainland, by the Kaitlyn Khan clique, as well as their lapdogs in Forestia. We are being bullied for exercising our rights to try and prosecute spies intruding our country. This is definitely a breach of international law on their part. I tell the world that the Republic of Namor does not care about what our enemies think. We will continue to deliver blows against the aggressor. If their aggression continues, I will make sure the athletes of Esquarium will compete in a large crater...

Jung's speech was interrupted by a strangely loud creaking of the roof, once again. Officials and guards surrounding the Lingtonamora looked up, but Jung quickly signaled them not to care. The cameramen made sure that that part was deleted once it was processed and aired (Peitoan TV is never broadcast live for security reasons). The roof screeched again, worrying many in the room that something bad---really bad---was going to happen.

"Lingtonamora!" whispered one guard to Jung Fa, who turned to ask what was going on. "I think we should get out of here quick. There are...difficulties."

"Bullshit," hissed Jung Fa. "Seriously, do not disturb my speech! This is going to be heard by my enemies, and I won't let anyone interrupt me!"

And so the Lingtonamora, pretending that nothing from the past few seconds ever happened, continued.

My fellow Namorese, this cannot go on any longer. Someday, the aggressors will have to forfeit. Someday, we will prevail. We are the free side of Namor, we are what remains of the liberal, free Namor. We---

The roof couldn't take any more. It was built by Arnborgese laborers paid at extremely low wages, and almost failed to endure the blows inflicted upon it by Typhoon Ninghua (or "Arlene" as foreigners call it). Before Jung could go on, piles of metal fell on him, immediately knocking him down in the blink of an eye. Screams were heard, but they were quickly censored by the collapsing roof of the entire museum. Everything fades into the dark and the awkward silence which prevailed before now turned into something else---a fatal silence.

---

Command Center, Novi Namor

---

"Send the medics! Mobilize the army!" General Ryan Cha was ordering his subordinates to rush to the Museum of the Double Fourth Revolution, whose roof had collapsed a few minutes earlier, reportedly crushing everyone inside, including the Lingtonamora himself. Tanks and armored cars were rushing towards the museum, followed by a string of ambulances, and their presence has attracted the attention of tens of street onlookers.

"Where is the Information Minister?" Cha shouted at an official.

"He was crushed in the museum, too!" the official stammered.

"WHAT?!" Cha screamed, before regaining his calm. "I order you to take over the media, now. Do not tell anyone that the Lingtonamora is in...err...trouble. The minute they do that then we're all in trouble. We are going to be chopped in pieces."

"I will do as you say, sir." The official then went off to the radio-television headquarters.

Back inside the room, Cha was holding a conversation with other generals. The door was closed, and Cha made sure nobody else was there to hear them.

"You know," began Cha, "there is a significant chance...that...that..." Cha didn't want to say it, but decided that no matter what he would have to. "There is a significant chance that if we find....the Lingtonamora...out of that rubble, he won't...be...found...breathing. After...all, he is nearing his...eighties, or is he eighty already..."

The generals looked at each other in horror. Propaganda informed them that Jung Fa would live until he has a peaceful death, and until then no one in Peitoa should ever think about what would happen if Jung passes really suddenly. After Jung, who will rule Peitoa? There will inevitably be another power struggle, but Cha was determined to prevent that from happening.

"Just in case...that happens, I hope you'll all endorse me as the head of some sort of...provisional...leadership," stammered Cha. "Objections?"

The generals all shook their heads. Cha nodded and saluted. "Thank you, but first, we'll have to get confirmation on what happened to our Lingtonamora."

[La Esperantoj]

Esperanto anti-Lutheran Catholic cartoon

---

---

The main text in this cartoon, which criticises the extreme wealth of the Bethlehem Papacy and its hatred of communism, is a quote from Matthew 21:13 - "It is written, My house shall be called a house of prayer; but ye have made it a den of robbers." The words "den of robbers" are underlined. The photograph in the background shows the Cathedral of the Nativity in the Luziycan city of Bethlehem, where the Holy See of the Lutheran Catholic Church is located.

[The Jahistic Unified Republic]

Greyson Memorial Park

We sing for the country/
For the Chairman/
For the Revolution/
We sing for our families/
For our future/
For our cause!

This was the marching chant of of the 2031st Platoon of the Jahistic Youth Corps. Thirty of them-- twelve guys and seventeen girls-- were marching through the medium size recreational park in Greyson County, Brookopolis. They were led by Natalie Green, a Captain and a leader of her division for the last two years. She was sixteen, which was the average age in the 21st Division, where the Company reported to. She was waiting until she was twenty-one so she could join the Jahistic People's Army, hoping to become a military woman like her father, who had served in the Unolian Revolution.

The marching route was a mere fifteen miles and another fifteen miles back. They were going to leave the investigation of the so called "Free Unolians" to the Military Police in the area. They had their ceremonial AKMs (Koy imported, of course), with a forty round magazine on their waists, complete with a ceremonial dagger on the other side. The militarily equipped olive Mao-suits did nothing but make the 89 Fahrenheit heat completely unbearable. Green had an added bag of equipment on her, with two first-aid kits, binoculars and five bags of trail mix to hold her friends over on breaks.

At around eight and a half miles, Green paused as the trail ended. It was of no matter marching through the woods, but a trail would've been nice. She took the binoculars from her bag and noticed something peculiar: there seemed to be a small camp ground set up with an orange flag flying. She realized what her father told her about the color orange: orange was the royal cover of the monarchy that was expelled long, long ago. Butt, she was told by the higher-ups that the Great Unolian Society was a leftist, statist movement, not as monarchic as people had feared.

She ordered five of her platoon members to come with her to investigate. They advanced maybe thirty feet before gunshots went off from the campsite.

"Down, down, down!" Green shouted to her friends and support from the rear came up. They crouched behind an old concrete structure, laden with graffiti. Almost simultaneously, the platoon attached their magazines into their guns and returned fire.

The tents were made with a typical nylon style. Green immediately told her comrades to shoot into the tents until people came out. After thirty or forty seconds, the first casualty was drawn on the JYC side. Buddy Elliot, fifteen, was shot by what seemed to be an downward shot. Green noticed a makeshift tree house up in the dense trees, camouflaged with some leaves and branches. She directed two of her comrades to empty their magazines into that tree house, which they did.

No further shots came from that tree, for one reason or another.

After a six minute fire fight, it was all silent. The Jahistic Youth Corps had lost five people, ranging from fifteen to seventeen years old. There was obvious commotion on the other side, but no gun fire.

Green advised the remaining to take out their knives and slowly approached the campsite. They advanced, met with no gunfire, but saw two women with children and around five males dead. Green offered help.

"Do you need anything? You seemed to have been shot."

"No," one of the women, around nineteen years old replied. She was limping in her casual attire, which was drenched with blood. Green ordered two of the squadron to find the nearest place to make a call for help. In the brief moment that those two men turned away, they heard the most grotesque noise they could imagine. It sounded like a fish begging for water, but worse.

Green was stabbed by the woman she was supposed to help, in the throat. She made the simply mistake of not putting her dagger away properly, and it cost her her life.

To the Jahistic Youth Corps, this was war by the GUS. And war it shall be.

[Namor]

Dawn of Disorder
Novi Namor, Peitoa, Republic of Namor

---

Calmly, Vice President Ma Yuanchao walked past the doors of the Presidential Palace, accompanied by tens of commandos, all dressed in military attire and holding Luziycan-imported pistols. Glancing at the startled desk secretary, Ma gave a respectful salute.

"You've brought many people with you," began the secretary. "You rarely do."

"I just want to present some dignitaries to the president," Ma explained. "It won't take long."

"OK, then." The secretary raised her phone. "Mr. President, Vice President Ma is at the lobby and wishes to see you...he's brought lots of people with him...they look like army officers...what? Yes, sir, I will."

She hung up. "Mr. Vice President, the President said he wishes to meet with you only."

Ma frowned. "Why? We had an appointment."

"I am aware," said the secretary, "but he says he trusts you only."

"Oh well." Ma picked up his right arm, and snapped his fingers.

Out of the crowd of commandos a pocketknife flew out, whizzing past the air swiftly before plunging into the secretary's neck. The secretary let out a split-second shout, but it was cut off as blood gushed out of her half-hacked neck like a waterfall.

"Clean her up, one of you," Ma ordered, then beckoned at the crowd. "Gentlemen, off with me."

Quickly-paced footsteps made their way up to second floor, the floor where the president lived. Busting the door down, Ma and his fellow met face-to-face with Ryan Cha, holding a bottle of wine and wearing a "what the hell are you doing" countenance.

"You are under arrest," Ma said with a smile.

Before Cha could mutter and ask what was going on, five commandos already had his hands tied to his back. The bottle of wine was wrestled out of his hands, and given to Ma, who looked at it in sarcastic admiration.

"You drink more than I do, sir," Ma sneered.

A crash, and the bottle was dropped and broke into pieces.

"I...I don't understand!" said Cha. "What is happening to me? Is this a coup d'etat?"

He pronounced the words "coup d'etat" in a dreadful fashion. This, of course, was the biggest fear of a Peitoan leader---to be overthrown by fellow military officers for whatever reasons they fancy. After the Generalissimo Jung To fled to the archipelago to escape Yunglang's wrath, coup d'etats have become common. Cha couldn't believe that he is about to become victim of the most recent one.

"I do things for a reason, Ryan Cha," said Ma. "I suspect that you have ties with the Liberationists."

"That's...absurd!"

"Oh, really?" Ma sneered, then clapped his hands. "Men, search every cabinet in the office!"

Within seconds, every single drawer, cabinet and folder was opened, and papers spilled out. There was one pile of papers bundled together by a strip of blue tape. Every official on Peitoa knew that the blue tape meant business---confidential information known only by the President of the Republic of Namor, and sometimes close advisers. Ma's eyes were pinned at the pile of paper, as it was dated "JULY 20," meaning that it was composed on the day of the election. The Vice President was astonished that he hadn't known about it despite having suspected its presence for so long, but reminded himself that "Vice President" is a title and has no political significance.

"This is it!" he bellowed as he read the first page of the papers. "This is evidence that you, Ryan Cha, are trying to 'improve relations' with the mainland!"

"So what?" Cha stammered. "I----this----just means that I want to i-improve relations! How is t-that b-bad?"

"The words don't matter," retorted Ma, "but the meaning behind them does. 'Improving relations with the mainland' is just code-word for surrendering to the Greens. We both know that!"

Cha had no choice but to concede that fact.

"Now," Ma said, "tell me the specifics of this 'plan.'"

"I won't," Cha mumbled defiantly.

"TELL ME!" screamed Ma. "YOU KNOW IF YOU DON'T I CAN STILL READ THE F____ FILES ANYWAY!" before lowering his voice. "Look, Cha. If you say what you mean, and what's said in these papers match what you said, your life will be spared. You'll still be tried for treason, though."

Cha sighed. Head bowed down, he began. "Increased cultural exchanges between the mainland side and Peitoa...talks of reunification with the mainland...talks of complying with mainland demands to improve the human rights....conditions in Peitoa...in exchange for less severe economic...penalties..."

"I've heard enough." Ma interrupted Cha. "Effective immediately, you are no longer the President of the Republic of Namor."

"Who will be, then? You?"

Cha frowned menacingly. "What? Do you have a problem with that?"

"Many problems," said Cha with a straight face. "For one, you are just going to follow in the footsteps of that madman Jung Fa. You are going to go to war against the world, and the last thing Peitoa wants is that. You---"

He didn't finish that sentence. A gunshot had just rung out at that moment, after Ma pulled out his pistol (which was already loaded) and pulled the trigger. Blood on his forehead, General Ryan Cha slumped headfirst on the floor, eyes open, gazed at the crowd of commandos sorting out his confidential files.

[Luziyca]

July 20th, 2014
Luziycan Embassy
Novi Namor, Peitoa, Republic of Namor

For the past few months, the chargés d’affaires ad interim Giovanni Yerevansk was stationed here since much of the non-essential staff and Ambassador James were transferred: mostly to the embassy in Namo, but others to other embassies such as in Iglesiantis or Ainin. Only several staff remained: a secretary, a visa worker for the few Luziycans that came to Peitoa, and ten security guards. Count his wife and his son, and that made 15 people. At its peak, the Luziycan Embassy in Peitoa had about 200 staff on the eve of the recognition of the mainland as the legitimate government of Namor.

However, the Republic of Namor was recognized as the legitimate representative of the Namorese people, thereby enabling it to maintain relations with both countries. However, since the Changlang crisis and the bombing raids, it was boring and monotonous. Much of the equipment was now in Namo: only a few laptops, clipboards, forms and pencils remained, as well as some stamps and visas.

The sun rose above the city: it was covered in ruins thanks to the bombing raids by the WETO forces, but the embassy was the one thing that wasn't damaged. It was going to be a quiet day, and Yerevansk checked his emails and he saw this message.

You and your staff are being transferred from Peitoa to the mainland. Please head to the next flight to Krasimir. All things that can be put in suitcases must be put into suitcases. Those that cannot stay here. Do not prepare for your replacement, for this mission in Peitoa will be terminated by sundown Bethlehem time.

There was not much to pack. Giovanni immediately called all of his staff (and his family) to a meeting, and said to them in Lombardian (they could all understand it), "Ho chiamato qui per un incontro importante," in an excited voice. (I have called you here for an important meeting.)

The staff and the family were bewildered. He seemed to be genuinely happy of the meeting, but many were disappointed, expecting another boring meeting about security or something.

Giovanni Yerevansk then said, "Il presidente e il suo gabinetto hanno preso la decisione di recidere tutti i legami con Peitoa e riassegnare tutti noi alla terraferma. Sarete tutti assegnato all'ambasciata Lusazia, ma verrà assegnato a Gusev." (The President and his cabinet have made a decision to sever all ties with Peitoa and to reassign all of us to the mainland. You will all be assigned to the Lusatian embassy, but I will be assigned to Gusev.)

Slowly, a smile broke out on their faces. A cheer erupted, but Giovanni silenced them.

"È necessario imballare tutte le tue cose. Deve essere fatto da 10:00 del mattino, è 09:15. Il prossimo volo per Krasimir è al 1130: dobbiamo essere fuori l'ambasciata e hanno tutte le porte bloccate da allora. È chiaro?" (You must pack all of your stuff. It has to be done by ten o'clock in the morning, it is quarter past nine. The next flight to Krasimir is at eleven thirty: we must be out of the embassy and have all doors locked by then. Is that clear?)

"JA!" they all replied in Luziycan.

Giovanni then replied, "Cominciamo." (Let's get started) Of course, his family was already prepared: he told them first. Their effects were all from the mainland but the furniture? All by the government.

Thus, a burst of activity rushed through the offices. Security guards pack their tazers and other equipment to defend themselves in suitcases, as well as their uniforms, the visa worker placed the stamps, the clipboards and laptops of her section into a couple suitcases, and the secretary helped the visa worker out, all while putting her effects in. In 40 minutes, the embassy was nearly empty: all that can be cleared out was done: only the heavy furniture (desks, beds, couches, the kitchen, tables, bookshelves and drawers) and the sculptures (plus the potted plants) remained. They checked the fridge and they had some bacon for breakfast as well as some cookies with coffee and milk.

By 9:55 am, they were done their meal, and after one last tour to make sure they got everything they were supposed to clear out, they exited onto the grounds. The guards locked the doors, then at exactly 10 am, the ceremony began. Few would watch, but the staff would have a noticeable moment. They all stood in a few lines, then Giovanni Yerevansk began lowering the flag. The rest sang the anthem of Luziyca.

Moya strana tis tebya,
Sladkiy terra i liberta,
O tebe epoyu.
Terra gidemoy papeni umer
Terra Kristena gordost
Se kazhdim montzeya
Tillita Liberta perez!

With that, they saluted and the flag was put into the last suitcase. Then they headed out the embassy gates and locked all the gates. They then headed to the airport to catch the charter Air Luziyca flight to Krasimir. After that, they will not care about the fate of their former embassy: it was almost entirely empty save for the heavy furniture.

After they went through security and caught the flight, GIovanni was the last Luziycan to leave Peitoa: he stepped on and said in the direction of the embassy: "Adieu, mia ambasciata prezioso," the first bit in Luziycan, the rest in Lombardian. (Goodbye, my precious embassy)

Giovanni then stepped in and the plane would take off to Krasimir. From there, it was to Namo for his staff, but for him and his family, it was off to Gusev to serve as administrative assistant to the "embassy" of Luziyca in Gusev (embassy being titular, but is in all respects a consulate save for the pay of the consul, which is the same as ambassadors and the name displayed).

[Pavonsitade]

-removed-

[Britanno]

Dominoes
March 25th 2014 - 10 Caddington Street

---

Henry clicked on the red cross in the top right hand corner of his laptop screen, closing down a BNB article on a man who rose to power quicker than most would have imagined possible. Then again, Jacob Connors had the luxury of being Unolian, a nation in which an ambitious gentleman with a motive could get almost anything done provided he quote Jarrod Thuman regularly.

"Mr Scott?" Henry looked up to see his party leader's aide waiting by the open door of Edward Field's office. "The Prime Minister will see you now."

As the sixty year old rose confidently from his uncomfortable seat, he smiled calmly and entered Edward Field's office, closing the high quality wooden door behind him firmly. The man sat behind the desk in front of Henry was now the Prime Minister as part of a coalition deal between his party and the Liberals. A weak and petty alliance in Henry's eyes, but it would earn him a place in cabinet after months of hard campaigning and decades of backbench politics.

"I'm not appointing you Domestic Affairs Minister."

The single sentence caused Henry to be swept with confusion. Having been one of the faces of the 2014 election campaign and a firm backer of Field's leadership bid, the politician who had served Parliament for thirty two years now stood silent in sheer shock in front of a man he thought he could control.

"The Liberals vetoed it. They demanded that a more moderate replacement that had been less vocal about criticism towards them in the past year was appointed," was all that Field said to justify his surprising decision.

"And you failed to even put up a defence on my behalf?" Henry asked angrily.

"We were at an important step in negotiations, Fletcher had already made sacrifices, she had to make a stand for her party on some things," Field replied.

"So what you're saying, Edward, is that despite the assurance you gave me prior to the election, prior to months of hard campaigning on your behalf and prior to your leadership bid, you're ditching me?"

"Henry, I'm sorry. I really am, but I need the Liberals onside. I need you onside. I want to invite you to be my top advisor, but. I can only do so if I know you understand the call I had to make. I didn't like any of it, but please Henry, if we are to be successful, I need you. Can I count on you?"

Looking directly at his leader while he did so, Henry began to think deeply. He was angry, and knew the man before him was now his enemy. But he also knew that in order to achieve victory he would need to be in a powerful position. Staring coldly into the eyes of Field, the man who many assumed would be the next name to be announced for the cabinet responded to the plea of his Prime Minister.

"Yes, Prime Minister, you can."

[Pavonsitade]

-removed-

[The Sanguinian Islands]

@RepublicanArmy aint no fukin bigots in my city mfer i have mercs the hole islands so go away forrest old ass btch #money #Imperial

@DaBaddestEmperor (emperorjohn)

[Michillies]

-retconned-

[Britanno]

Jennifer Martin rushed to the cries of her young daughter, Emily, who had awoken in her usual noisy fashion. The two month old baby clung to the wooden bars of her cot as she waited for her mother to pull her up and into the arms of a loving carer.

Thirty minutes later Jennifer strapped Emily hurriedly into a small child seat of her tiny car that soon after sped away carelessly into early Candover rush hour, joining thousands of other single mothers as the hairdresser approached her daughter's childminder.

*

Jordan Ashton took a long deep breath as he stared at the steering wheel of a much larger vehicle that had parked perfectly between a maroon coloured truck advertising cigarettes and a green painted sports car. The twenty eight year old climbed out of his vehicle cautiously, spotting a female driver pulling up across the street.

As the young man walked away in a rush down the street, Jennifer crossed the street with her young child held tightly in her arms, dodging round the car that had just seconds before been exited by Jordan Ashton.

The explosion rocketed the entire of the capital as a large car burst into flames suddenly outside a well known childcare building, killing eight, including a mother cradling her two month old daughter.

[Ainin]

Hartly 2014 Opening Ceremony
Ainin Airways Stadium, Hartly

---

"Her skyline ever shining, her aura a mystical crown surrounding her slender physique, Hartly was a sight to be seen." - Dr. Arthur Wellington Clark, Premier of Linack (2002-6)

---

As the stadium remained plunged in darkness, illuminated only by the thousands of flash cameras going off across the thousands upon thousands of rows of seats and by the weak glow of the backup lights, its silence only disturbed by the whispers of excited spectators, a deep and booming voice suddenly interrupted the lively chatter, imposing itself as it echoed across the stadium in the dark.

"Hate," it announced in a steady voice before stopping exactly shortly enough to allow the thunderous proclamation to echo through the building and back. "Rather than space... Is the final frontier."

As quickly as it came, the voice cut out and the stadium reverted to its previous state of silence. After a few moments, when the lively whispers began anew, systematic drum beats, soon joined by a string instrument, began playing a simple tune, getting progressively louder until all the crowd's attention was turned onto it. Shortly after, the sounds of waves crashing against the coast joined in and, in a heavily-choreographed move requiring consummate attention, the stadium's floodlights all turned on simultaneously and pointed down towards the field, where the usual track was replaced by a massive grassy ground with a large body of water on the side, and a sandy beach between the two. The stadium's massive roof soon faded into a projection of a sunny day sky.

Emerging from the water at exactly the moment that the primitive tune stopped and a classical orchestral piece replaced it, two groups of dancers, all clad in beige skinsuits, soon came in from both sides of the large field and, skipping as they headed towards the other side, soon crossed ways and, grabbing a partner from the opposing group, began fast-dancing together, as a man wearing a chainmail armour suit and wearing a crown began to rise, a platform underneath him ripping the floor from underneath him and rising with him as he waved the banner of the Saltic Empire, the first nation on the Aininian isles.

As the dance was coming to an end, the projection of the sky quickly dampened, turning into a stormy day, thunder booming on the stadium's audio system and an incredible amount of LED lights, mounted on every last armrest in the stadium, flashed white, simulating lighting. The fast-paced music faded away as a darker and slower tune took its place, its percussion dominating the orchestra. The dancers quickly changed to a new dance, artistically expressing a sad dance as the previous partners shoved each other to the ground in a slow and choreographed fashion. Meanwhile, the man on the platform was lowered as two more took his place, each carrying the flag of their kingdom, as they clashed their swords.

After several minutes of this combat, accompanied by an ever-increasing tempo in the palpitating music, and as the number of dancers still standing had been decimated, the man that had left the platform returned, and after a short duel, had defeated both men on it, and the macabre dance stopped, while the simulated storm also dissipated, revealing the bright tropical sun, while the music in the background changed to a High Middle Ages-era hymn with woodwinds taking centre stage, while the fallen dancers got up in a unified and smooth motion, and the happy uplifting dance begun again, but this time with the large light systems projecting the dark blue-white-green colours of the Glorious Confederation, the dance turning into a massive lively circle dance as the king and an actress dressed as the queen had a slow romantic dance in the middle.

It did not last, as suddenly, hundreds of men dressed in the Antelopian Namorese military uniforms of the era, wielding their swords, entered the field from all sides, dancing their way towards the dancers already their, their weapons in hand, as the music changed to a Namorese classical tune played on string instruments and the weather once again dampened into a dark thunderstorm. The initial dancers representing the Aininian people slowly withered onto the floor as the Namorese danced in victory, some pretending to kick the dancers on the floor to illustrate the oppression during the occupation. Soon enough, a single floodlight, albeit the most powerful by far in the stadium, shone its rays onto one of the oppressed persons, and he rose up, grabbing a musket that had been lowered from the ceiling by a string system. He pointed it upwards and his fellow dancers all rose and, also grabbing various weapon props that had been lowered from the top, engaged the Namorese in a mock battle, ending with the latter group running off the field in disarray.

At that moment, the storm clouds cleared and the Namorese traditional tune was replaced by an orchestra performing De l'Aube à l'Éternité, the Aininian national anthem, while the rest of the dancers also cleared the way and left the stage, as a ceremonial guard of Aininian Naval Fusiliers marched into the field and pulled up the Aininian tricolour onto the flagpole located there. On the very last note of the anthem ending, they saluted the flag and left as a new tune, a 19th century modernist song prominently featuring the guitar and saxophone, started playing. Motorised scale models of steam trains and factories, accompanied by people dressed in attire from the era, quickly entered the scene, as the escorting dancers did a lively turn of the century-era jig.

The sky then disappeared from the projection on the ceiling of the stadium, being replaced with an old black and white film stretched across the entire ceiling, featuring then-President Olivier Lapointe addressing a camera.

"Mes amis," he said as closed captions projected on the film read 'my friends'. "Notre pays est rené (our nation is reborn). Il y a un nouveau ordre dans ce monde, et il sera d'avant-garde (there is a new order in the world, and it will be a vanguard of the times)."

This was quickly followed by rock music appearing over the speakers, while an airplane model lowered from the ceiling made its way across the large room and many old-style cars and buses drove across the field, their occupants dancing inside. Over the next minutes, the vehicles that had entered first had made a trip around the field and exited, and the more recent cars to enter were more and more modern. As the final vehicles, a brand-new bus and a sports car, left the field, the LEDs across the rows of seats turned into the colours of the Aininian tricolour, with an animation of the waving flag covering the seats. As the final note of the rock song ended, the stadium was covered in a spectacularly timed fireworks display, followed after by a flyby of AF-4 fighter jets.

As thunderous applause continued to resound across the stadium, the large TV screens mounted at numerous locations on the stadium walls began to project President Steven Mann's face, as he stood on the balcony overlooking the main entrance.

"Ladies and gentlemen," he said as he waited for an unseen woman translate his words to French. "It is great honour and pleasure today that I stand before you to open the inaugural Summer Esquarian Games. I hope that this ceremony was as memorable to you as it was to me. Without any further ado, I declare the Hartly Esquarian Games, OPEN!"

Sustained applause started once again.

Soon began the oft-awaited Parade of Nations, as the crowd's eyes were fixed on the large door where the various teams would enter from and march across the stadium and then out.