Crane Ascendant (Tiandi)

[Toishima]

For all our existence,
The mainland has seen themselves as superior to us.
We have proven them wrong twice.
We will prove them wrong again.

---

Chilcheonpo
Eastern Coast of Jeongmi
Near the Meisaan border
12 months ago

Lee Seon-ok emerged from the kitchen, carrying a bowl of stock-based soup. The Lee family's house was nothing special, just a typical, one-storey affair at the less affluent part of Chilcheonpo. At all times of day the smell of fish wafted over from the docks of the fishing town, famed for its fish and the hot springs in the hills on the other side of town. They got plenty of business from the Meisaanis, who were just a stone's throw away. Sinju Union open borders were very helpful.

"Fish soup, again?" Hyo-rin complained, banging her spoon against the table.

"Come on, it's not bad so it's good," Jong-nam said chided, rising to help his wife with the bowl. They managed to place it at the centre of the table.

Just as they picked up their chopsticks, the lights went off and the hum of the space heater disappeared. Hyo-rin whined until Seon-ok shut her up. Jong-nam stood up and immediately went for the emergency torches next to the emergency money bottle. Power outages in such rural areas were not unheard of, even in the modern day. Granted, a major highway cut through the town, but the place was still considered too rural to warrant severe renovation. They were still running on infrastructure from the 70s, though the power itself now came from a hydroelectric dam a few kilometres north.

Jong-nam opened the door, letting in a blast of icy air that his loosely robed body was unprepared for. He coughed quietly, but the policeman by day soldiered on, slipping on his shoes and stepping outside. Probably something tripped again... When he looked up, he noticed that all the houses in his neighbourhood were dark, the beams of torches gyrating around. He looked towards the town and found it similarly unlit. Unlike other town-wide outages, though, something seemed to make this one darker than usual...

The highway! The national highway's lights did not normally shut off as they were on a separate grid. Yet, the concrete-walled flyover now gleamed unlit in the moonlight, the headlights of cars going the Minghoi-Hapcheon route still unstoppably moving about their business. Jong-nam went back in and moved to get his uniform.

"I'm going to the station. Something's happened with the power. Stay at home and keep the door locked," he instructed his wife, pulling on his dark winter police jacket, emblazoned with the words "警察" in reflective white. The officer opened a small safe next to the money bottle and took out his gun. Jeongmian gun laws were very strict, and only the police could carry weapons. Normally, weapons were kept in the stations, but because the town was so rural the officers were allowed to bring them home in case anything occurred that required immediate attention.

Jong-nam patted Hyo-rin on the head and trudged out into the snow, walking around the house to his snow-caked car. He brushed off some snow from the hood and windshield then went in. The actual squad cars were at the station, and he had to go there now. It was really messy in his family car, but he found the small blue flasher and placed it on the dashboard, then turned on the police radio. Oddly, there was nothing but static. He gunned the engine and the compact Jeongmian sedan lurched onto the road.

He drove slowly through the dark neighbourhood, blue light flashing as he watched for looters or criminals taking advantage of the darkness. Everyone knew each other out here, so there was the benefit of having a strong citizens' watch. People waved to him from small fires in their front yards. Some people were taking this blackout lightly, which was good. Much better than some mass panic, which would probably occur in the ant farms that were the larger cities.

A roaring sound suddenly filled the air. Outside the car, everyone began to look up. Jong-nam stopped his car and slid down the window, sticking his head out as well. Oddly enough, a passenger jumbo jet was flying low over the town. Passenger planes were nothing strange, because they sometimes overflew Chilcheonpo on the way to Minghoi, but this one seemed... Closer. It was obviously flying low. Jong-nam tried the radio again but was met with static. He pulled out his phone to find the line dead. People suddenly started shouting. In the pale light of the moon, the middle-aged officer could make out what looked like... Things being dropped from the rear passenger door of the plane. Old Meong from down the street pointed with his cane, shouting incoherently in fear.

More planes were coming, almost in some kind of formation. A scream and Jong-nam snapped his head back to the first plane.

Those weren't items. They were people.

And they are coming here!

Each speck grew a dark green mushroom from his back as strong nylon parachutes emerged. What looked like hundreds, maybe even thousands, of parachutes were filling the sky as the next wave of passenger planes overflew the town. Suddenly there was an audible explosion from the docks area, and a very worrying emergency flare arced up from the town centre. Jong-nam's hand instinctively grabbed his gun. He brought his head back into the car and gunned the engine up to a less-than-safe 80 km/h as he tore towards the town centre. Occasionally glancing upwards, he saw the unknown paratroops get nearer, and nearer...

Not paying attention, Jong-nam's car collided with something that rolled over the windshield screaming. He instinctively hit the brakes, throwing him against the wheel and letting out a horn. He recovered and looked out of the frosty glass to see a small group of men staring at him in surprise. In the low light, he could make out about five men carrying backpacks, until one walked into the beam of his headlights and he saw the man's...

"彼は警察官です! 火!" The officer dove beneath the dashboard as the terrible sound of automatic rifles filled the air. His windshield shattered into a million tiny safety shards as he stomped on the accelerator. After ten seconds of blind forward motion, pursued by shots from the foreign troops, Jong-nam sat back up and headed for town. He suddenly stopped the car at a junction. An SUV and a minivan sped past, at at least thrice the speed limit.

Do I go to town to help out or do I go back, get Seon-ok and Hyo-rin and run for Meisaan? What should I do, what should I do... He looked up at the flasher, still broadcasting his status as a police officer. He shut it off and threw it under the passenger seat. I'm not a coward, my family is in danger... What do I...

"Argh!" Jong-nam punched the dashboard. Who are we even fighting? Wasn't that...

The unmistakeable sound of a helicopter filled the air. Jong-nam instinctively ducked beneath his dashboard again as the area around his car was illuminated by what could only be a high-powered searchlight. He breathed ragged gasps in fear. Police training did not handle such bizarre occurrences. The winds from the downwash and the endless drone of the rotors filled his ears and he gritted his teeth in terror. He could even feel hot tears slowly making their way to the surface... And then it was gone. The sound faded towards the north, probably following the highway.

Lee Jong-nam made his choice.

He turned his car around, driving it down a side road to avoid the soldiers he had encountered earlier. He would end up at the back of his house, and they would all go south to Meisaan, where it should be safer. He was abandoning his duty, but in such a scenario, family had to come first. There was no argument.

His backyard was ringed by a wooden fence, which he rammed through. He probably would not be returning home any time soon. He reversed out of the hole and stumbled in, gun in hand. To his horror, he could hear voices inside his house. Foreign voices. Flying into a blind daze of rage, fear and confusion, Jong-nam charged the back door and kicked it open to find his family and Old Myeong from down the road seated on the kitchen floor. Seon-ok was crying and placed one hand on her forehead, clutching Hyo-rin to her belly. She blinked and almost broke into a smile as she saw her husband, who then noticed the crimson dripping down the arm holding her head. The old man pointed to the living room.

Then the enemy suddenly appeared right there, casually walking into the room. He was clad in full combat gear, the camouflage pattern a digital composition of green, brown and grey pixels. At his waist hung a wicked black assault rifle, the curved magazine a dead-ringer for a Fukuzawa-type rifle, the overabundant, cheap weapon of criminals, rebels and "bad guys" everywhere. His face was obscured behind a balaclava that led only small, narrow black eyes be seen. And in the middle of his chest, emblazoned on his integrated plate carrier, was the flag that Jong-nam had already guessed at.

The Rising Sun of Akitsukuni.

Seon-ok covered Hyo-rin's eyes as Jong-nam drew his gun and... Protected his family.

---

Town Centre

"Any word on the Jeongmian counterattack?"

"None," the lieutenant responded, seated before a battlefield computer. Colonel Yamamura of the Imperial Akitsukunese Army paced the room, arms folded over his black and red officer's kimono. A traditional sword was tied to his waist, ceremonial if anything. The colonel's appearance bordered on stereotypical, with small black eyes, close-cropped greying hair and a "Fu Manzhou" style moustache. His skin had the pale qualities of a northern Chubu native, the higher classes of Akitsukunese society.

"Good. 4th Army must have taken their line."

Yamamura turned to his allied counterparts, three other foreigners who were here to observe the Akitsukunese attack. Their main forces were engaged elsewhere, except for the Dae, who had a few airborne teams that had also landed in the town with the primarily Akitsukunese SNLF forces. The Dae was a big, imposing man in his combat uniform, a handlebar moustache under a big nose, all topped with a red beret. A scar ran under his right eye, and he stood with folded arms. The other two men were likewise from outside of Sinju.

One represented Dayganistan, leading the Free World Alliance, and was a thin man wearing a woodland camo combat jacket with a soft, round-topped hat traditional to his homeland. A big, wiry beard reached his chest, and he tapped his foot impatiently. The final man was from the United Gungjun Republic, the nation that had unified the warring states of Gungju with Akitsukunese help. His white skin made him out of place, and blonde hair and blue eyes were topped by what was termed a "peaked cap". His uniform was black, and he wore a geatcoat over it all with a red armband on his left arm.

"Honoured allies, I am sure you see the power of Akitsukuni and Daeseong here," Yamamura began, shaking the Dae's hand, "Jeongmi is no longer the impregnable fortress at the top of the world as they were in the past. We have already destroyed their capital, I have heard."

"Distroyd?" The Gungjun asked, his accent very strong.

"Tactical nuke. They were almost going to unleash their own. We had no choice," Yamamura smiled evilly.

---

Months later
August 9th, 2015
Final Presidential Address - Broadcast via radio, television, the internet and whatever remaining telecommunications infrastructure remained

"My fellow Jeongmians... I come before you today as your President, as your leader. Far too many lives have been lost in this conflict. The loss of our entire capital to the invaders, and numerous other acts of mass destruction, as your leader I can no longer bear to watch as this happens to you. Tomorrow, my cabinet will surrender to the enemy. If you are a true Jeongmian, you will view this as a betrayal on the highest level. If the spirit of Jeongmi runs within your veins, you will want to fight until the enemy takes your final breath. As your leader, I cannot abide by this. The Jeongmian Spirit will not die, even as the Rising Sun and her allies dominate our lands. They may have our bodies, but not our spirits. My people, wait for the time to be right before striking as one in a crushing tide that they will not be able to resist. Singular acts of resistance will bring nothing but violence and retribution. Only through a massive uprising can we common people hope to damage them where they are weakest. My brave military, run for the hills. My inevitable partisans, stay your arms. My unbroken people, remain vigilant. Jeongmi will call upon all of you when the hour is nigh. Such is my final address. Goodnight... My beautiful Republic."

[Toishima]

Chilcheonpo
Eastern Coast of Jeongmi
Near the Meisaan border
12 months later: Present

Small footprints made their way across the snow of the unswept pavement. With curfews in effect, nobody bothered to clear the snow any more. Nobody bothered to do much of anything any more. Kim Eun-ha had been sleeping when the attack came. She remembered it like it was yesterday, how oddly quiet it was. Planes came in from the sea and dropped soldiers in the south and centre of the town. Then hovercraft came ashore, bringing more soldiers and tanks into town via the beach, once filled with children and now almost always deserted. There was almost no fighting, though the sound of gunshots filled the sky that night. The next day all police officers and reservist soldiers had been killed or arrested.

And the Rising Sun flew from the town hall. Helicopters brought in more and more troops, who all seemed to be marching south. It was only much later that news came to the town. Hapcheon had been nuked. The President was gone, hiding or dead, but he had told the Jeongmian people to wait for the right time to strike. Then more news came, this time from the south. Minghoi and Saigong had been nuked, and Meisaan had been fully taken over by Akitsukuni. The war fully ended then, a day the occupying government refused to let anyone forget. 10th August, 2015. The day the war ended.

Jeongmi was now split into four between the victorious powers. The United Gungjun Republic had the smallest segment, but its troops could be seen everywhere combating resistance. Those whites were the best at fighting rebels, having been rebels for much of their existence. The Free World Alliance had the second smallest segment, followed by the Daeseong segment in the west and north. Akitsukuni got the entirety of Yeoseo and Meisaan, but also controlled the eastern seaboard of Jeongmi. They were the face and leaders of the occupation everywhere as well, there was no doubt about it.

Eun-ha made her way past a roadblock manned by Akitsukunese troops. The men leered at her from behind balaclavas and combat goggles that obscured their faces, standing behind a heavy machine gun emplacement. Life under occupation was terrifying for various reasons.

Down the road, a convoy carrying tanks and armoured vehicles was coming. They would go onto the highway and head south, where the remnants of the Meisaani military continued to put up a very spirited resistance. The war ended on August 10th for governments, but soldiers only knew how to do one thing. And the Meisaani Prime Minister had not told her soldiers to stand down and "wait for the right time". Euh-ha clutched her backpack close to her chest and eyed the Type-12 tank on the lead trailer. The other trucks carried lighter vehicles like Fuji multipurpose SUVs.

What was the "right time"? There had been no indication. Would 12 months be enough to make it the right time to reclaim their country? Only the Jeongmian public could answer that question. The truck with the Type-12 rolled past Eun-ha, slowing for the roadblock crew to open the road. She tossed her backpack under the trailer, then darted down an alleyway, disappearing into the small town.

With a deafening explosion, the trailer collapsed on one side, toppling the Type-12 onto the road. The truck's fuel line was hit, setting off a chain reaction that blew up the truck as well. The roadblock crew were caught in the explosion and scattered. The unmanned tank was suddenly hit with an anti-tank rocket from a nearby rooftop, penetrating the top armour and exploding inside the armoured vehicle.

Acts of resistance increased daily. Had the right time finally come?

[Sabara]

Daamgong-Chilcheonpo Corridor
Highway 16
Eastern Coast of Jeongmi
Near the Meisaan border
12 months later: Present

The sun is rising in the east. Stark mountains covered in evergreens loom imposingly ahead; closing in the desolate landscape below. A cratered highway is all that remains of the once prosperous corridor between Meisaan and Jeongmi. All along the freeway are devastated towns reduced to rubble, bright green refugee tents and the occasional military checkpoint are the only signs of life. Serving as an essential supply route between both Hapcheon and Minghoi, this section of Highway 16 saw some of the worst fighting and now remains under the close guard of occupation authorities.

Although the living situation in Jeongmi is desperate, it's even worse across the border. Guerilla warfare in Meisaan's mountainous wilderness and inland cities is taking its toll on the local population. Every day thousands of refugees stream north across this broken stretch of highway; civilian vehicles are strewn across the four lane road, cars useless due to the extremely strict fuel rationing. Most everyone is on foot, with a select few riding rusty MaiMai bikes from the pre-war era. The lightless headlamps and wreckage cast a grim silence over the moving masses, stretching back to the horizon. It's the latest holding group finally allowed past the Daamgong checkpoint.

An old woman holds the hand of her young, three year old grandson. They stumble along with the crowd, past the countless Akitsukunese guards standing sentry over the median. With such a massive "assembly", the occupiers can't risk any form of sabotage. After what happened in Ho'ngon...

The grandmother picks up her tired grandchild as the crowd marches on. She watches as those who don't have the strength walk to the side of the road and lay down to die. She covers her grandson's eyes. She continues to walk, grabbing a plastic water bottle with a faded 乾淨水 logo, shaking around the remaining liquid, and gently pours it into the child's mouth.

"Don't worry, We'll be there soon, Jaimin.."

(ooc: aki idk intercept with guard or someone? right outside the town)

[Toishima]

Daamgong-Chilcheonpo Corridor
Highway 16
Eastern Coast of Jeongmi
Near the Meisaan border

As the refugees walked forward, from behind the crest of the hills ahead emerged two Mi-59 utility helicopters, the ubiquitous utility helicopter of the Imperial Akitsukunese Army. As the refugees reeled in fear and apprehension, a louder, steadier thumping echoed through the hills as an even larger helicopter emerged. Rising from behind the hills like a massive predatory insect, the iconic, wicked-looking Mi-72 assault helicopter emerged, sunlight glinting off its bubble canopy hideously. Recognisable all over the world, the Mi-72 was heavily armed and still had the ability to carry eight soldiers, infamous in the world for this ability and their fearsome durability.

The helicopters hovered in front of the crowd of refugees or a few tense minutes. Some people cowered in fear and others almost wanted to run for it. The constant thumping of the three helicopters' rotors was maddening. The machine guns mounted on the sides of the utility helicopters, and the rockets hanging from the wings of the Mi-72 were themselves very frightening as well. Babies and children cried, while some former soldiers simply stared blankly ahead. These were the men who knew legs could not outrun a gunship.

Up in the sky, an Akitsukunese soldier leaned dangerously off the left side of one of the utility helicopters, grasping a strap tightly to maintain his life. His rank was Captain, displayed prominently under the velcro flag pasted proudly at the top of his chest plate carrier between two grenade pouches.

"There they are," Captain Takenaka's mouth curled into a half-smirk beneath a toothbrush moustache and rectangle-framed glasses. The cloth flap that protected his neck against the sun fluttered in the wind behind his helmet as he signalled with his free hand to bring the helicopter to the ground.

Immediately after the skids smashed into the powdery snow, the squad of occupier soldiers piled out, charging at the Meisaani refugees with weapons drawn, yelling for them to get on the ground and place their hands on their heads. There was suddenly much chaos as the soldiers advanced and people began screaming in fear. Those Meisaani soldiers in the crowd too injured or otherwise broken by the war to the extent that they were forced to leave their fighting comrades behind and come here, immediately dropped to their knees as ordered. Broken men had no dignity.

The Imperial Army men fanned out and began checking bags and whatever few belongings the refugees had. They roughly snatched luggages and emptied their contents on the ground in a brutal hunt for hidden weapons or some other contraband, all while the second utility helicopter hovered and kept its door machine gun trained on the crowd. The big gunship began circling around menacingly, like a huge bug in its green and white winter splinter-style camouflage.

Captain Takenaka hung back as his six men began raiding the refugees' belongings, lighting a cigar and looking at the refugees with disdain. He left his rifle hanging at his waist. An elderly man at the edge of the formation suddenly keeled over and began convulsing, to the horror of his companions who immediately tied to resuscitate him. Takenaka shook his head.

Suddenly, there was movement. Three men at the far side of the mob broke out and began running for the woods. The Akitsukunese captain pointed to them and yelled into the microphone on his headset and the hovering helicopter shifted its position slightly. The heavy machine gun mounted on the helicopter door spat out a stream of hot lead. Clouds of dirt and snow were kicked up in a trail leading to the men, rapidly catching up and immediately ensuring they would never reach the treeline they were darting for. All three fell in the snow, crimson seeping across the white like the flag of their enemy.

The crowd went crazy. Most of the people immediately fell to the ground, covering their heads and screaming. Takenaka pulled his cigar out of his mouth with his left hand, grabbing his rifle with the right and firing an uncontrolled burst into the air, eliciting another round of terrified screams.

"If they did not do anything wrong, why did they run?" He yelled across the crown in Jeongmian, "you pathetic lot, moving north, thinking it's any better up here. Let me be the first to tell you it is not."

"It's time for all of you to remember," he continued, looking one old woman in the eye, "you're not leaving your country behind. Because now everything from Yeoseo to the southern tip of the piece of shit place once called Miyama is now under one country."

The captain extended his hands, the Mi-72 gunship circling around to rest menacingly directly behind him.

"Mine."

Takenaka gestured to his men, who had finished their violent search and now stood at the edges of the crowd, training their weapons on certain individuals who looked healthy enough to resist, particularly ex-soldiers. The men rushed back to the waiting helicopter and piled on with military precision. Takenaka pulled out his cigar and tossed it towards the refugees, where it landed at the snow at the feet of the old woman, clutching a child.

"Welcome back to Dai Akitsu Teikoku."

With a smirk, the captain got back onto his helicopter and the aircraft took to the skies, all three forming up in the air and moving back north, towards town, leaving the refugees to recover themselves.

[Daeseong]

Chilcheonpo
Eastern Coast of Jeongmi
Near the Meisaan border
12 months later: Present

Snow was a second nature to the Daegols.

Urban legend had it that the Daegol Airborne Forces trained shirtless in the frigid winter cold, casting aside garment and comfort in the pursuit of a warrior-spirit that prevailed and arguably dominated notions of Daegol masculinity. No Daegol man could truly call himself a man without driving a tank into battle or having a unique story to go with each of his battle scars. Those who were unable or unfit to go into military service served as foreign mercenaries or prize-hunters in exotic locales. This was the Daegolian.

A year ago, elements of the Daegol Keshiks had paradropped in this town, men, APC, and tank all falling slowly into the town buffered by hundreds of parachutes. Daegol casualties had been light; just a dozen or so. The Akitsukunese had down their job well, shutting down the Jeongmian chain of command in just hours, severing their response capability.

While this town was in the Akitsukunese sector, the Daegol Keshiks maintained a small presence, partially because a few of them were distantly ethnic Jeongmians who spoke an estranged but nonetheless comprehensible dialect of Jeongmian, but mostly because of their reputation and heartless and merciless warriors. No man who fought against the Keshiks lived to tell the tale, that was their mantra. They were here to strike fear into the hearts of the locals.

* * *

Orduoronartai was a powerful, handsome young Daegol Keshik dressed in the standard issue serebryanyi camo, gripping a massive Kalashnikov rifle. He wore a helmet that looked a bit large for his head, mostly because as far as Daegol men went, he was rather small, standing at a modest 5 foot and seven inches. Not too short as far as most in Sinju, but the Daegols were not like the people of Sinju. They were stronger, fiercer, prouder, better.

Orduoronartai sat atop his APC as it roared through Chilcheonpo. Most Daegol soldiers sat atop their Khan III Airborne Armored Personnel Carrier, instead of inside, tank desant style, partially to increase visibility, but also to facilitate a faster response time should the vehicle be attacked. It was strictly not permitted, but the soldiers in the field knew better than to listen to bureaucratic field commands.

"I heard the Akitsukunese slaughtered a bunch of these mice," his friend Chaghagan laughed. "They were running when a Akitsununese helicopter came in and.... BRRRTTTT." Chaghagan threw his head back and laughed uproariously.

"Oh," Orduoronartai shrugged. "Poor refugees, I guess."

"Oh, come off it Orduoronartai," Chaghagan shook his head. "Don't you see that we're making their lives better? Ridding them of their filthy liberal democracy? Once these lands belong to the Khan, they'll be proud and obedient subjects of the Khan's power, may Tengri Watch Over Him."

"We're proud, noble warriors," Orduoronartai disagreed. We need to win the hearts of the people--not kill them!"

Before Chagahagan could retort, the APC was suddenly hit by a brick. The soldiers, including Orduoronartai, slid off the side of the APC just in time to see a shadowy figure depart into the alley. Incensed, Orduoronartai gave pursuit without awaiting further orders, charging into the alley, a Daegol wolf chasing a meek Jeongmian rabbit.

He tackled his prey triumphantly before finding himself staring into the eyes of the most beautiful girl he had ever seen. Quivering in fear, her big, shining eyes and perfect, shining hair, this rebel was, beyond doubt, the most wondrous thing he had ever seen. Unsure of what to do, he got up, in awe, as he watched her run fearfully into the darkness of the alley. When questioned about it later, he told his superior officer that she had eluded him. He secretly resolved to find her again.

[Sabara]

Daamgong-Chilcheonpo Corridor
Highway 16
Eastern Coast of Jeongmi
Near the Meisaan border

Crunch, crunch, crunch. The sound of thick boots pushing through hard slushy snow. The footsteps stop and the old, withered woman looks up. Her hair is completely gray; deeply inset wrinkles hiding jet black eyes. She clutches an infant in her arms. Meeting her gaze is an Akitsukunese soldier. He is around twenty-four years old, probably born in one of the poorer districts of Heian. Although the rest of his troupe is manhandling the refugees and taking their belongings, he stops and gazes at the duo.

Kind brown eyes. Soft lips.

Quickly checking around him for a lieutenant or other "higher up", the young man discreetly hands the old woman a small action figure from his pocket. It looks to be a battered figure of some Meisaani cartoon superhero.

He whispers.

"For the boy."

The woman looks up confusedly at this small act of kindness. She wants to say something, anything, to show her gratitude. Before she can muster the courage to form words, a quick pop-pop-pop of machine-gun fire bursts from one of the gunships. The refugees react like animals. People scream, babies cry, the old woman clutches the toddler to her bosom, face pushed against the soft slush and frosty pavement.

***

Haamun, Northern Meisaan
Mingnok District
12 months earlier

It's like any other night. The smell of juk in the crockpot. Smoke rising from the chimneys of traditional wutungs, the occasional automobile rolling down a narrow alley. A family of three generations living in the same apartment.

But everything changes.

The whine of passenger jets. A distant roaring of... something. The power switches off. A blackout envelops the city. Then the bombs. Fire illuminating the central district of Haamun. Windows are blown in. More bombs drop. Thousands of green parachutes over the city. People waking up to screams, gunfire, paratroopers. Policemen attempting to maintain some kind of order. A loud bang across the block. Wood homes go up in flames, disoriented civilians run to their cars, only to be gunned down. Explosions. The family runs to a single bedroom, adorned with a wedding photograph and a single twin-sized. Hiding. Praying.

Another bang. The flimsy balsa wood door crashes in. A man adorned with a balaclava mask enters the tiny room, carrying his Fukuzawa-type rifle. He points to the three men in the room... the old woman's husband, her son-in-law, her son. They try to put up a fight with whatever is in their hands. The 2-year old cries. The mother covers his eyes.

The blood gets on everyone.

***

South Parking-lot
Lauman Shopping Center
Taisung, Meisaan
3 months earlier

The refugee camp is a sprawling compound that envelops over six square miles of a now empty shopping mall and parking lot. Three people are huddled in a flimsy tent made of cardboard and tarp. A biting, autumn wind cuts through their thin woolen coats.

A rocket goes off only a couple miles away. An office building collapses. Gunfire appears to be getting closer. The resistance is trying, but they are losing.

The young woman, holding her two year old son, is dying. She is weak, her hair falling out of her scalp. Her cheeks are narrow, eyes bloodshot, and lips bloated. She shakes with fever chills and nausea, blood saturating her soiled cargo pants. Dysentery wracks her frail body.

Her mother, the old woman, attempts to cover her with whatever she can find. Plumbing, water, electricity- everything is gone. She holds her daughter close.

***

Present
Chilcheonpo

The old woman and young boy have finally made it to the outskirts of the fishing village. The grandmother knows she has relatives in the city, but isn't strong enough to go on. She needs rest. The encounter with that angry Akitsukunese Captain had both terrified and drained her.

Along with a few other refugees, the duo slowly step around a pothole and walk down the exit ramp. The thousand others slog on, hoping to find something better farther north.

They walk to what appears to be a single-story abandoned cafe. The street is quiet, and although its musty and disgusting inside, they settle down in the warmth. She will try to find her cousin tomorrow, but for today....

Rest.

[Arumdaum]

Chilcheonpo
12 months after the invasion

Do Gi-tae had grown up in a remote provincial town among the mountains that marked the border between Jeongmi and Meisaan. He had come from a long line of hunters, his ancestors protecting villagers from the tigers and leopards that roamed the area, later selling their pelts and furs for profit.

The dwindling numbers and endangered status of two of Jeongmi's most iconic animals had of course meant that the government had ended up heavily regulating the hunting, but it had still been possible for a few lucky hunters to snag the limited number of permits that were issued out every few years.

Not that it mattered now.

Gi-tae had moved to Chilcheonpo as a young child, moving from rural town to larger - but still sleepy - town, exchanging mountain mist for foggy sea. His family was one of the few in Jeongmi that possessed a firearm - he would show off to his friends about it while growing up. Gi-tae was tough and rebellious, had a gun and thus dangerous, cool, and edgy; that was the image he had built up as a youth.

And that was how he had met Ha-neul.

And through her, his son, Dong-il.

His father had beat him severely for that, as both he and Ha-neul were teenagers.

Now he was in his 30s, no longer bathing in the spring of his youth. Ha-neul, Dong-il, his father - all gone. His wife and son had gone with his parents to Hapcheon on a trip, about a year before today. He tried to imagine their deaths, their dead bodies - would there even have been any remains following the blast? A silent but immense burst of bright light, heads turning, Ha-neul instinctively cradling Dong-il into her arms...

Gi-tae trudged through the snow, blackened originally by cars such as his own but now by Akitsukunese military vehicles. Having picked up his rations, he tried to avoid eye contact; at first many of the refugees did not mind if help was not given, but many of them had now gotten more aggressive about trying to obtain food for their themselves and their families.

But that was not all.

Old men and women, young women with children, people who reminded him of his old family... Gi-tae felt daggers sliding into his heart each time he pretended not to hear them, every time he began to walk faster than he normally did, every instance in which he acted had angrily shaken off a child who had grabbed onto him; painful knives driving into his heart and slowly shedding off the bleeding remnants of his humantiy.

[Toishima]

Chilcheonpo
Green Zone

The so-called "green zone" was the heart of Akitsukunese operations in the area, the most fortified and protected area where the occupiers were in almost total control. Almost every major settlement had a green zone of their own, and in some regions the occupational control was so great that entire towns could be green zones. Of course, who considered the zone to be "green" was very subjective. In Chilcheonpo's case, given the town's proximity to the ongoing fighting in northern Meisaan, the green zone that covered much of the central and north-western coast of the town was little more than a military installation.

Ugly, prefabricated blocks provided housing for soldiers and the most loyal of the inevitable collaborationist citizens whose homes elsewhere in town had already been razed for some reason or another. The short, five-story office buildings that marked the town's former business centre were now converted into barracks and command centres for this military sector. The town square, formerly a public area that hosted a lively cultural fair every fortnight to grab at the Meisaani tourists' money, was now a stark staging area and helicopter depot. Parked rotary aircraft and armoured vehicles lined the far end of the square, opposite a three-storey building that was once the town hall. Adorned with Rising Sun banners and topped with a billboard that bore garish propaganda slogans, the decades-old town hall had a new identity; Headquarters, 14th Military Sector and Chilcheonpo Occupational Administration.

All the shops and businesses located in what was once the town's prime business district were closed, and the civilians who lived in this area either kept their heads low or boisterously sang their praises for the new government. There was always an eerie silence, punctuated by helicopters arriving and leaving or armoured vehicles trundling along. Watchtowers were erected at all the main roads leading to the town centre, menacing machine guns and searchlights constantly sweeping. Once-busy main roads were now blocked by roadblocks and outright barricades, though the vast majority of traffic was military in nature.

---

Town Square

There was a muffled thump as the helicopter's lading skids hit the snow, which formed a cushion between the Mi-59 and the red bricks below. The whine of the engine and slicing of the rotors slowly came to a stop as the helicopter's passengers exited. Captain Takenaka was first, having hopped off even before the helicopter hit the ground. While the squad of airborne infantrymen disembarked, a junior lieutenant came up to Takenaka and saluted. Takenaka continued walking towards the officers' barracks, a former office building to the right of the town hall where the Army's officers slept in relative luxury.

"Afternoon, captain. Welcome back," the lieutenant brought his hand down crisply as they walked, "Lieutenant Colonel Hamasaki has called for you."

"What does the Lieutenant Colonel want?" Takenaka pulled off his communications headset and tucked it into one of his magazine pouches.

"He wants to discuss security arrangements."

"What security arrangements?" Takenaka did not wait for a response, knowing the lieutenant was probably as in the dark as he was, "alright, let's go."

---

While the captain walked towards the HQ with the lieutenant, the squad of infantrymen headed to their barracks structure, a former two-storey office building. The day was over, it was not likely that there would be another patrol. As the soldiers walked, a metallic glint in the snow caught Private First Class Mizushima's eye. He ducked and ran towards the shiny object, in the rubble of a former shophouse down the street from their barracks.

"Mizushima! What new trash are you collecting today?" Sergeant Sasaki asked, at the front of the group of soldiers.

"Look, guys. It's a car," Mizushima held up a beat-up model of a car, just the size of his palm. Sasaki shook her head and smiled as Mizushima slipped the toy car into his pocket. That wouldn't be the first odd trinket he collected. Just the other day he found an action figure while they were raiding the southern Red Zone slums. Now the figure was with some refugee boy... I did the right thing.

The female sergeant extended her hand to stop the squad from crossing the road as a Daegol APC suddenly emerged from behind the corner at speed, rushing past them into the town square's staging area. Their airborne troops sat atop the APC like their warriors of old, a bunch of swarthy soldiers almost right out of a war movie. The Imperial soldiers stared with awe and respect, though admittedly they would prefer to be inside the warm vehicle than atop it.

---

Headquarters, 14th Military Sector and Chilcheonpo Occupational Administration

"Look at this nonsense," the Lieutenant Colonel was in his forties, about to reach mandatory retirement in about a decade. His hair was prematurely turning white, including the tips of the pencil moustache adorning a long and thin face. Gnarled fingers pried apart the plastic blinds of his office's window, overlooking the town square and its activity. A Daegol Khan III and its infantry was entering the staging area, kicking up snow that kept covering the road no matter how many times they scraped it. Bizarrely, the allied infantrymen were riding atop the APC rather than in it, an odd tactical choice that left them open to snipers and even just anti-infantry fire. Warrior culture indeed.

Hamasaki turned away from the window. His office was a stark room that had once belonged to the mayor, or whatever Jeongmi called their town leaders. The old owner's belongings had all been thrown out except for the furniture - a pine desk, a swivel chair, two plastic ones and a filing cabinet - and the obligatory Rising Sun flag hung on the left side wall. The senior officer's assault rifle was leaning against the wall, a nagging reminder that his days on the front lines were over. Now he pushed pencils in a heated building while men like Takenaka did the work on the ground. The captain stood silently at attention in front of Hamasaki's desk.

"Sir," Takenaka saluted. Hamasaki returned it.

"At ease and sit. They're riding their APC like it's a truck. Waste of a good vehicle," Hamasaki casually poured a cup of warm tea from a thermos flask and slid it across the table to Takenaka, who hesitantly sat down on one of the plastic chairs.

"Let's get to business," Hamasaki waved his hand over an open map of the region, including part of northern Meisaan, "as you know, captain, the Meisaani forces continue to resist us so many months after their government surrendered. This is... Less than optimal. We've been fighting them every day and the more we kill, the harder it becomes to find them in those damned hills."

While Akitsukuni had air superiority in Meisaan, the enemy had superior knowledge of the ground. Those hills were murderous, and the tank divisions that rapidly secured victory in flat Jeongmi just could not operate in the rough terrain of northern Meisaan. Only air cavalry were able to effectively engage the remnants of the Meisaani land forces, but were constantly being slaughtered by massive amounts of anti-aircraft weapons. While propaganda constantly reminded the Meisaani and Jeongmian people that the Imperial Army was winning, or had already won decisively, it was truthfully more of a stalemate than anything. The Meisaanis may have folded quickly, as usual, but they were tenacious on their home turf.

"Well, I have received orders from above. The Imperial Military High Council wants to end the Meisaani forces in this area as soon as possible. The Army has decided to deploy weapons of mass destruction," the Lieutenant Colonel pressed his index finger against the word 'Meisaan' on the map. Takenaka sipped the tea, recognising a rich Jeobseon blend.

"Sir, nuclear weapons?"

"Meisaan's irradiated enough. No, they want to use chemicals," Hamasaki appeared slightly agitated, "anyway, some generals are coming down here from Occupation Command to observe the ground conditions in three weeks. I need you to tighten security everywhere in this settlement. We've had too many random acts of violence recently. People are starting to become rebellious, and I do not like this. I want patrols to be doubled, checks and searches must be increased. Acts of violence cannot go unpunished even if the perpetrator cannot be found."

"Sir, it is very difficult to secure the settlement with these swarms of refugees that keep coming north. We search them as well as we can but there's bound to be some infiltrators sneaking in. Sir, we must stop this tide of refugees," Takenaka pointed out, folding his arms.

"I agree. I'll see what I can do, maybe try to get Daamgong Checkpoint closed or something. For now, keep doing what you do but increase security measures everywhere and ensure that my generals do not get killed when they're here. Three weeks. These locals are bound to try to do something. A brick today is a grenade tomorrow. Maybe we can both get promoted if those generals are happy enough, eh? Dismissed."

Takenaka stood up, carefully lifting his chair to prevent it from dragging on the ground. He bowed to his commander and left the room. He exited the office into what was once a sitting area for people coming to air their grievances to the mayor but was now cleared out to form a large command and control room. Passing junior officers and enlisted men operating battlefield computers or examining the large map table in the centre of the room, Takenaka noted that it was nice and warm in here, a stark contrast to the frigid though manageable conditions outside the building. Life as a pencil pusher was good, but perhaps not as glamorous or exciting.

As he traipsed down the grand staircase from the second floor to the ground floor two steps at a time, Takenaka passed by three men in black uniforms, wearing white and red hinomaru armbands. A traitor was a traitor no matter his nationality, even if they were now on the same side. It was inevitable that some locals would become collaborators, going beyond merely living in the Green Zone to actually serving the occupational forces. One of the Jeongmian collaborators, a stocky man who smelled of fish, mumbled a quiet "Tenno Heika Banzai" as he passed Takenaka. The Imperial Army captain just ignored his greeting.

A traitor is a traitor.

[Intermountain States]

Chilcheonpo
Eastern Coast of Jeongmi
Near the Meisaan border
Present

The invasion of Jeongmi and Meisaan by a coalition of Dayganistan, Gunju, Daeseong, and Akitsukuni happened too quickly at the shock of the officers. Nukes fell onto Hapcheon, killing millions and incapitating the military headquarters. The only hope spot was the message from the President of Jeongmi, who despite surrendering, called for the people to remain vigilant.

As far as Sergeant Hae Doyoung knows, his unit is the only surviving remnant of the Jeongmian Armed Forces in Chilcheonpo. Maybe includings its surrounding region. Until something new has come up from Jeongmi's chain of command, he and his unit of 13 men (including himself) are on their own. 12 months ago, his platoon consisted of 24 men with him being second in command to Lieutenant Jang Oh Myung. Six men were lost in the first round of the fighting after they're ambushed by the numerically superior Contigent forces. Another two died holding off an Akitsukuni tank (although the tank was destroyed as well) to cover their retreat. The remaining men found shelter in abandoned homes and stayed hidden there under the apparent order from the President.

Just because it was the order of the President, they still take it upon themselves to conduct guerilla strategies against the occupying forces with small groups of 3-5 men per assault to confuse the Contigent forces. Whether it's raiding a supply truck or causing trouble in general, they tried to best to remain vigilante.

"Of course," Hae Doyoung thought. "We did suffer casualties for our actions." Three lives, including that of Lieutenant Jang Oh Myung, were lost in the course of 12 months. They decided to leave their shelter wearing snow gears in hopes that Contigent forces won't notice them. They were lucky enough to find another abandoned house that's distance away from their first shelter without being noticed. For now, they're focused more on sending a four man team to patrol the area and rescue any refugees they came across. So far, three refugees (a mother and her son and a plumber) were brought in. Doyoung turned around to see the family hudled around a campfire with the kid eating a piece of tteok Doyoung gave him. The plumber is helping out with the interior of the shelter.

"I'm sick of getting holed up in this basement," Private Han Songbi grumbled as he cleaned his service rifle. "I'd rather just go out and take down the Akis, gun blazing."

"Do that and you'll get shot," Corporal Baek Doojun said. "If all of us are killed, then the refugees in this area have no one to seek help." He turned to Doyoung. "When are Fireteam Hwang and Fireteam Pak returning?"

"Hopefully soon," Doyoung said. He sent out Fireteam Hwang to gather some supplies from unsuspecting Contigent soldiers with Fireteam Pak to provide support. If things go right, they'll get enough supplies to replenish ammos and to feed the refugees and themselves. They've been lucky so far but he knew for sure they'll have to find another safehouse to find shelter in.

[Dayganistan]

Chilcheonpo

Daygani soldiers were known for their ability to fight in the mountains. From the earliest encounters with mujahideen firing down upon invaders traveling through narrow mountain passes, only to disappear into the terrain as if they were ghosts, both soldiers and generals alike have dreaded the thought of encountering a Daygani with a rifle in such terrain. Their reputation as fearsome mountain guerillas, while it may have started to subside in most of the outside world, still holds a prominent place in Dayganistan's military traditions, with all infantry, combat engineers, and even armoured vehicle crewmen and artillery gunners, undergoing mountain warfare training.

However, none are more skilled in mountain warfare than the Commandos of the Daygani National Army. And of the Commandos, none were better prepared for mountain warfare than the 4th kandak, based in the heavily mountainous southeast, in the mountains that had long since been the first line of defense against invading forces coming by way of Parbhani. And with the unified Daygani state having it's capital relatively close in Khanabad as of the late 16th century, this mountainous region became an even more important defensive line. The 4th kandak is widely considered one of the top units within the Commandos, with only the 1st Kandak, based near the capital, and the 3rd kandak, naval commandos based near the coastal city Bandar-e-Shah, having as many new recruits to the Commandos expressing desire to be posted to these units. However, all Commandos are trained to the same equally high standards, able to operate effectively in all environments from mountains, to deserts, to the modern central business district and dense residential areas of Khanabad. Being posted to any Commando kandak is the greatest achievement any Daygani soldier can hope for, short of entering the Army's Special Missions Battalion or the Navy's Underwater Demolition Team, the elite tier one units of the Daygani Armed Forces.

Now, the 4th kandak, along with some support elements including helicopters, artillery, medical personnel, and even a few combat engineers, was being redeployed to the mountainous region around Chilcheonpo as part of an effort to heighten security in the region. There was, of course, ongoing combat just across the border in Meissan, where the men of the 4th kandak expected the majority of their operations would take place. Along the highway leading to the town, a large convoy of Zmarrei ambush protected utility vehicles and larger transport trucks could be seen, escorted upgraded models of older Akitsukunese gunship helicopters. Some of the larger transport trucks towed howitzers or trailers carrying bulldozers and excavators behind them. The soldiers all wore winter clothing bearing the arid-woodland hybrid camouflage of the Daygani National Army. Some wore their helmets, while others, mostly the men in the ambush protected vehicles, the velcro on their sleeves bearing patches on which the word "commando" was written in both Pashto and Akitsukunese, replacing the Jeongmian this patch had once displayed a year previous, did not wear their helmets, instead opting to wear a pakol, the traditional wool cap which resembled a pancake.

As the convoy approached the town, the transport trucks which towed the construction equipment pulled off into a field just off of the highway, near the outskirts of the town, while the rest of the convoy continued. This was to be the Daygani forward operating base, the other Daygani troops and their vehicles would remaining the central green zone while the combat engineers fortified the position.

With the Daygani convoy arriving in the green zone, Lieutenant Massood Ahmad Zia, a young officer in the 4th kandak, was finally free to stretch his legs. The tall Daygani man with his dark hair and beard would have at one point been considered very attractive by many young Jeongmian girls, but he had now become an image of oppression in this broken country. The soldiers in the lieutenant's platoon were also disembarking from his vehicles. He called his platoon to rally up while looking around at his surroundings. This was their new home, and nobody knew how long they were going to be here. Ahamd Zia honestly hated Jeongmi and couldn't wait to go home. But at the same time, home was the last place he wanted to be right now. A few days before the orders came in to redeploy to Chilcheonpo, he found out his girlfriend, who he had planned to propose to after returning from his deployment, had cheated on him. Now all he wanted to do was get out in the field and do his job, take out his anger on the enemy.

Thinking about her, he took a photo of his now ex-girlfriend out of one of the magazine pouches on his plate carrier, where it was jammed in behind two 35 round magazines for his Model 2010 assault rifle. No doubt about it, she was the most beautiful woman he would ever meet in his life. And she just threw him away as soon as he deployed to run off to Khanabad with some businessman. Sighing, he threw the photo to the snow covered ground, where it was soon picked up by a gust of wind. His beautiful Niloofar, the love of his life, was finally gone.By now his soldiers had started to gather at their rally point, so he moved towards them, ordering them to attention so he could discuss what their plan of action over the next 48 hours was to be. Security needed to be tightened in this region, and the 4th kandak was to be an important part of that. Ahmad Zia's platoon was part of the quick reaction force, and could be called upon at a moment's notice in the event of an insurgent action or a friendly unit needing assistance.

[Toishima]

Chilcheonpo
Red Zone - Suburbs

What was once the southern suburbs and the agricultural part of town to the south was now known officially as the Red Zone, encompassing the south and south-west of the town. While the signs of occupation were very evident all over town, the Red Zone was the poorest area and inevitably where the most acts of rebellion occurred. Slums filled with refugees from the south and the north had sprouted in the former suburbs, much of which were in a state of disrepair, and crackdowns into these areas often turned up weapons caches and contraband goods, if not civilians openly defying the occupational rule. Recently, a unit of Jeongmian troops had also been detected in the area, and efforts were being made to wipe them out completely. It was surprisingly difficult, especially with refugees often mobbing the occupational forces for food rations. Only the Green Zone and Orange Zone inhabitants had access to ration centres, and while travel between zones was not prohibited, security checkpoints tended to keep the impoverished in their own slums.

Nevertheless, the suburbs were extremely dangerous. The irregular distances between some houses, narrow alleyways and side streets meant there was always cover for an attacking force. Imperial Army patrols initially carried out sweeps on foot, but after months of attacks the patrols soon became mounted on light vehicles, and then became APC or IFV-mounted mechanised infantry sweeps in the last month. Resources were stretched thin just by these law enforcement patrols, and the recent orders to increase patrols stretched the troops even more. Searching the alleys was abandoned entirely, and Imperial Army troops became increasingly aggressive in dealing with the locals in the Red Zone. The use of live ammunition had become more and more common, and incidents of random killings by the occupiers slowly evolved from rumour into fact.

---

The boxy shape of a Type-89 IFV came to a stop at an intersection. Frightened eyes in the shadows of nearby buildings shrank from the windows, though some continued to watch from their hiding spots. The water and electric mains in this area had not been repaired; only the Green Zone and parts of the Orange Zone had such luxuries. As such, the use of open fires was more commonplace to keep warm out here and the smell of smoke hung in the air.

"Do not be alarmed. This is a routine patrol. Do not attempt anything that you will regret," the loudspeaker on the IFV blared in pre-recorded Jeongmian, the voice infuriatingly calm with a distinct upper class Hapcheon accent. After fifteen seconds to let potential rebels decide what they wanted to do, the rear doors of the IFV opened and four infantrymen in full combat gear emerged. Under the watchful cover of the IFV's 35mm automatic cannon, three of the men dashed across the open street into the side road on the right, too small for the IFV to enter. The last man reentered the IFV and the vehicle started again, moving down the road to deploy more men into the next alleyway.

Snow crunched beneath boots as the three-man team moved down the side road in force, faces hidden behind balaclavas and combat goggles, giving them an unsettlingly uniform appearance. Both sides of the road soon became tall hedges as they entered the space between houses. Holes through the hedges revealed both traditional and modern Jeongmian houses, some of which had signs of habitation and others which were clearly abandoned. One particular two-storey house was a sorry sight, the top floor having collapsed. Yet three people could be seen lounging around a fire on the rear porch.

A shadow suddenly darted across a crossroads up ahead. Old, long-forgotten ads for home tuition and delivery services were peeling from the power cable-wrapped lamppost at the crossroad, and a bicycle without wheels leaned against the wooden pole. With a gesture from the point man, the soldiers dropped to a combat stance and advanced slowly, Type-01s at the ready. The lead soldier had a bayonet attached to his rifle. He rounded the corner carefully, then scanned the road. A gate creaked to the left, swinging closed slowly. He pointed to the gate and made for it, the other two following closely behind.

The three arrived at the gate rapidly and prepared a textbook door breach. Here the bushes were much thicker and slightly overgrown, and the Imperial soldiers flicked off their safeties. They could only guess that there was a yard behind the gate, and potentially hostile forces. If whoever was inside were just refugees... Too bad.

With a crash, the lead soldier kicked the gate open, bringing the entire wooden thing off its hinges. He charged into the yard, sweeping the right side as he moved. The second soldier entered, sweeping the left side. As the third soldier entered, a hand suddenly grabbed his head from behind and cold metal slid across his throat. His yell alerted the other two, who spun around the see their comrade's legs being dragged out of the hole.

From the dilapidated traditional-style house, accurate rifle fire caught the first soldier in the back. The second Imperial soldier dove for cover, executing a tactical roll that took him behind a stone lantern. He fired on one of the house's windows, then spun around to train his rifle on the now-missing gate. A man in a Jeongmian uniform had appeared, possibly trying to ambush him from the rear. The Jeongmian soldier quickly darted back out of the gate. The Akitsukunese fired a burst through the fence, hopefully taking the enemy out, before turning his rifle back on the house. He never got the chance to do anything else, as two rounds from a Jeongmian service rifle tore their way through his neck.

Three Akitsukunese soldiers were dead. Their ammunition, weapons, rations, winter uniforms, body armour... Every killed Imperial was a veritable gold mine of supplies, clothing and food, if one ignored the morbidity of stripping a corpse. As the Jeongmian troopers moved in to seize their adversaries' gear, other civilians began converging on the site of the recent skirmish. Everything the Jeongmian soldiers did not take would find a use for the desperate people of the Red Zone. Indeed, standard-issue Imperial Army gear was increasingly common amongst these impoverished people...

---

OOC: Hae, these Jeongmian soldiers are primarily meant to be Fireteam Hwang, though they can be some random surviving Jeongmian troops if you have something else in mind for them. Apologies for using your characters; I wanted to move the story along while describing the Red Zone (where most of you will be).

[Sabara]

Chilcheonpo
Red Zone checkpoint

The queue stretched back three blocks, past dilapidated
billboards and abandoned apartment buildings. Faded Hangul lettering and grimy brick cast a grim foreboding over the area, the strange silence disquieting. The checkpoint itself consisted of what was once a Kōban (police box, in Jeongmi slang called "pachulso") with working electricity and water- uncommon for the area. A squadron of Akitsukunese grunts manned the small station, two soldiers on each side of the road systemically stopping and searching the civilians. They held cheap rifles and hand-grenades, along with fancy hand-held scanners that could detect bombs.

Jai-min and his grandmother were in the line. Both had survived the past day by scrounging through garbage piles lining the center of the Red Zone's streets, competing with fellow refugees. Some of these scrambles for food ended violently. In one incident, a young man nearly crushed the skull of a woman who was trying to steal his potato skin. The grandmother knew that they could not stay in this place, and was determined to find her cousin who she vaguely remembered lived in the north-side of town.

"Naainaai, I want my mommy," Jai-min whimpered. "Where is she?"

The old woman sighed. Her once robust young grandson had disappeared. In his place was a frail child with dull eyes and a bloated stomach, barely able to utter a sentence without winding out of breath. The old womanherself wasn’t looking fantastic, her silver vest was long tattered and her hair was greasy and matted.

It seemed to take ages for the queue to move, but it did. Just as Jai-min and his Naainaai were reaching the soldiers an explosion went off a couple of blocks down, from what appeared to be two-story building. The soldiers grabbed their rifles nervously.

pop. pop. pop.

People began screaming- somewhere down the line, a disguised refugee had begun shooting at the soldiers. Jai-min and his nanny ran to the nearest shelter- another abandoned home- and hunkered down.

(ooc: Aki- ok they’ll be detained now)

[Intermountain States]

Chilcheonpo
Red Zone - Suburbs

The firefight against the three Imperial soldiers were quick and thankfully, none of the members of Fireteam Hwang and Pak suffered any casualties. The Jeongmian soldier did not waste any time pulling everything they could from the dead Imperial soldiers while 2 of Fireteam Pak looked out for Imperial reinforcements. Ammunitions and rations were their top priorities but they did picked up some useful equipments and weapons (they'll never know if they'll meet some refugees willing to join the fight). Private Han Jun-Hyun picked up a folded sheet of paper and read the content. He turned to Corporal Hwang Biru.

"Sir, important information on this paper," Jun-Hyun stated.

"Wait, you know how to read the Aki language?" Lance Corporal Lee Wonsu asked.

"Now isn't the time," Biru commanded. "However, if it's important, take it. It can help us with the war." The soldiers continued to rummage for any goodies while Jun-Hyun stuffed the paper into his pocket.

Once the soldiers were done scavenging, they made their escape. The packs were heavier now that they're filled with scavenged equipments but speed wasn't the biggest concern to the men. Biru was more worried that the equipments will make too much noise and could give their positions away to Imperial patrolmen. The 9 men stopped at an abandoned house and Biru decided to make the abandoned house their resting place. The soldiers settled down for a temporary break. Private Im Woo took out a candy bar and began to eat it for energy while Jun-Hyun took out the folded sheet of paper. The men crowded around Jun-Hyun.

"So it looks like a routine order. It seems like there will be some changes in the Imperial patrols," Jun-Hyun stated.

"And you can read all that despite the letter containing non-Jeongmian alphabets?" Wonsu asked. Jun-Hyun nodded.

"I was an exchange student in Akitsukuni for a year. Picked up on their language," he explained. Some on the men nodded.

"It's a good thing you knew some Aki language, Biru said. "We might have not known about any of their plans if you weren't here."

"Come on, break times over," Biru commanded. "Now we head back to base camp for our news." The men groaned as their picked up their gears and walked out. Woo wrapped half of his candy with his wrapper and stashed it in pocket. Private Jang Ok Myun laughed.

"You couldn't finish that candy bar?" He asked Woo. Woo shook his head.

"It was a little too big," he explained.

"That was a standard sized bar. My kid sister could eat that and she's in 1st grade," Ok Myun said as the men left the abandoned home.

[Toishima]

Chilcheonpo
Red Zone checkpoint

Immediately after the attack, the queue dispersed into a dozen alleyways and buildings as the Imperial soldiers began firing back at the unknown attacker - or was it attackers? - with their Fukuzawas. Confusion reigned as some people not even affiliated with the attacker took the opportunity to try to assault the soldiers, resulting in more deaths. A big man used a pipe to knock out an Akitsukunese soldier and grabbed his rifle, adding to the carnage as he indiscriminately began firing at the checkpoint. As all this occurred and corpses began to pile up, people were still running both ways, into and away from the Orange Zone.

Vehicle engines and screeching tires filled the air. From both north and southern sides of the T-junction, three trucks and a Tora utility vehicle burst into the scene. The Tora's gunner immediately opened up with his heavy machine gun, first as warning shots into the sky and then after some rounds pinged off his protective shield began firing into the remaining crowd. Troops started piling off the trucks and surging into the crowd with riot shields and rifles, bashing through anyone who tried to fight them, as well as some who were just in the way. By some unfortunate coincidence, the Tora had stopped right next to an abandoned home chosen by some refugees as a hiding place, the repetitive blasts momentarily deafening them and showering them with hot brass casings.

Suddenly, it was all over.

The road ran red with blood, mainlander and Akitsukunese. Four soldiers were dead. Nobody could count the number of Meisaani and Jeongmian corpses.

Ears still ringing from the barrage of fire, the refugees then found themselves at gunpoint as Imperial soldiers began rounding up everyone in the vicinity, as per their new orders earlier that day. The injured were retrieved by medics and loaded onto one of the trucks, while the rest of the remaining civilians were gathered up and ushered into the other trucks. Just before entering the trucks, they were all roughly patted down. Even a man who happened to be walking by at the wrong time was captured and placed on the truck.

As the engine started and the truck moved down the road, Do Gi-tae found himself next to a Meisaani refugee and her grandchild.

---

Headquarters, 14th Military Sector and Chilcheonpo Occupational Administration

"A what?!"

Takenaka slammed down the receiver. He shook his head. Reclining on a fallen telephone pole next to a field radio, the officer stared at a helicopter taking off from the town square, exhaling a breath that formed a long cloud in the cold air. He folded his arms, then unfolded them again. Then he grabbed the receiver once more.

"Sergeant Hamaya, bring the prisoners to Camp 4. Interrogate them, and make sure none of them speak of this incident. I want all evidence of this massacre to be wiped out. We do not need more trouble, and this will cause more trouble. And bring that machine gunner to me."

He glanced at a Rajahnate vehicle tearing down the street.

"Forget it, I'm coming to you. Camp 4."

---

OOC: I will like it if Arum and Sab's people talk to each other at this point to set up subsequent plot developments at the interrogation camp.