Citizens of The Isles [IC, TWI only]

by **Atnaia** » Thu Jan 12, 2017 4:22 am

Will, as usual, was the first one up in the morning. He was in the midst of writing his thesis, and had taken to using the smallest room to get a modicum of privacy, which the others respected. You didn't get into a situation like theirs without the ground rules being firmly and clearly established early on in the relationship.

Regardless, sleeping in the small room had allowed Will to set a much earlier alarm, which suited his general morning bird habits. He woke up, showered and started cooking breakfast on the first floor of their two story apartment. Stephen was a contractor, and one of the first things they had done when they had moved into this building was knock out a chunk of the ceiling on the first floor and put up a staircase to the second apartment they had purchased. Technically, it was against their agreement with the building managers, but Stephen had been particularly persuasive, and Will had let himself get talked into it. Plus, they had needed the room.

He and Stephen had been together first. Bella had been their friend when they had started dating, and the three of them had joked more than once that the three of them should tie the knot. Then, Stephen and Will had, and Bella had met Jane, and Stephen and Will had met Jane, and the four of them had grown closer, and Bella married Jane, and they had all realized that they were in love with each other, that they were family, and within the year the two marriage contracts had been amended and tied together and they were all one big unit. It was rare, in the big cities, to see these sorts of arrangements, and people didn't quite get it sometimes. They understood, intellectually. Group marriages had been a part of Atnaian culture for centuries. But they didn't really understand the why. They assumed it was sexual, some big swinging orgy situation. That it was a lack of commitment to one person. But that wasn't really it, not in Will's perspective, not in any of their perspectives. The four of them had been as close as people could be, they had chosen each other as family, they loved each other as deeply as family could. It had just been the right thing to do, to get it all on paper.

Will was just finishing making breakfast when Stephen and Bella came down the stairs, lured by the scent of syrupy oatmeal, bacon and eggs. Will dressed the table and sat down with his tablet to read the news while Bella made coffee and Stephen threw on the recording of the previous night's boxing match, which he had only been able to catch the first half of before bed. They all went about the standard morning routine with the companionable silence of people who knew each other well enough to not need words to communicate.

By the time Jane came down the stairs, hair a wild halo around a groggy face, Will had already finished breakfast and was cleaning up his bowls while she served herself.

"Morning, sunshine," Stephen said. She stuck out her tongue at him and poured herself a steaming mug of coffee. Without waiting or asking, Stephen leaned over and added a dash of milk and a scoop of sugar, and Jane grunted thanks and stirred it.

Will smiled from the kitchen. "What's on the docket today?" Bella asked.

"I have to go meet with the clients down in Cliffside," Stephen said. "Twenty bucks says they change their mind again."

"Bad bet," Jane said.

"Jane?"

"Same as usual," Jane said. "Spreadsheets spreadsheets spreadsheets."

"Want to meet for lunch?" Bella asked.

Jane mused and sipped her coffee. "Yeah, sure. Just not that sushi place again."

"Oh, no way," Bella blanched. "I'm not looking to use a sick day on that place again. Not worth it for shitty California rolls. Will?"

"Can't do lunch," Will replied. He dried his hands. "Classes all day. In fact," he checked his watch, "I need to go or I'll be late."

Will grabbed his bag from its spot near the couch and snagged a Conduit Magazine from the coffee table, then went back over to the kitchen and kissed Bella's cheek. As he passed the dining table, he and Jane pecked and he headed to the door.

"Hey!" Stephen said, and Will followed through on his punchline of the old joke by sighing, walking over and kissing the crown of his husband's head.

Will left and went to the monorail station around the corner, scanned his Atdent card at the checkpoint at the entrance, and ascended to the platform. An electronic sign blinked above, showing the estimated wait times for the trains. Thirty seconds later, a northbound train appeared, loaded and disappeared down the rail with a rush of stale air. Less than a minute after that, a southbound train arrived and Will boarded. If one thing could be said for the government partnership, they made the trains run on time.

Will perused the Conduit as the train skimmed along silently. The car was fairly busy, with people jostling about, reading the advertisements above the seats and doing everything in their power to avoid making eye contact. The red lights of the Bastion cameras at several points down the car blinked. Above one of the sets of doors was a red sign with white lettering that read

SECURE BENEATH WATCHFUL EYES
For your security, this train is Bastion Network equipped
For public safety, maintain vigilance and report suspicious activity to the Stone Wall-Bastion Civilian Tip Line
1-800-555-TIPS (1-800-555-8477)

A bright red quadcopter drone momentarily kept pace with the train after the Morrow Street Station, before falling behind and disappearing from view. Will disembarked at Blakbroggen Station and walked the rest of the way to the PGU campus.

Will was a masters student in media theory and values, and his day started with a brief stint in his shared office with the three other TAs for the first year course he helped teach. He was the oldest of them by about four years. He'd gone back to school after the government had passed its legislation on education subsidies. His previous military service had retroactively qualified him for a bit of a cut, even though it had been nearly 4 years since he had been so much as a hundred yards from a boat of any sort, much less a navy vessel.

He spent his morning grading papers, then the next couple of hours in the classroom, watching Professor Kilgannon drone on, rendering the subject of Media Ethics a dull mess that sent hungover first years into a glassy-eyed trance. He had half an hour to grab coffee and a sandwich, then slipped back to his office for an hour of drop-ins with confused or angry students (mostly angry, the last test had been stupidly tangential to the actual material covered in class and had only rewarded those who had read the textbook cover to cover, but it wasn't Will's choice what questions went on the papers). He casually reminded the students that it was only 5% of their grade, that a 55% was still a pass (he'd thrown most of his students a bone on the essay portion), and that even those who had failed were still walking away with, at worst, a 4% dip on the final grade (he wasn't monstrous enough to give anyone less than a 20% grade on the test, Kilgannon be damned). At 1:00, he had a tutorial with fifteen students, which went over essentially the same things he had said in office hours, despite his plan to discuss representations of philosophy in film. Finally, at 2:00, he was able to get an hour of work in, before he had two hours of his own classes. He grabbed dinner at the Doner Kebab place on campus, munched on some falafel while highlighting every supporting quote he could find in his copies of "Moral Dilemnas and Saturation of Public Media" and "Manifest Destiny: The dot com Era's Media Event Horizon", before he had another hour of class. He hopped the train at six and was home at seven, ready to collapse.

Bella was on the couch, watching a crappy sitcom with a glass of wine. Will fell into the couch next to her and stole a sip from her glass without asking. She gave him a playful whack on his shoulder. "Get your own," she said in a sing-songy voice that suggested mild inebriation. Will gave a half-joking groan and puppy dog eyes, and Bella sighed, stood and poured him a glass.

"You're lucky I love you," she said.

"Yeah, I know," he replied. "Where are Stephen and Jane?"

"Showering," Bella replied. "Dirty day for both of them. You know how Jane gets when Stephen's all greased up."

Will laughed. "Fair enough."

They drank their wine and chatted about their days. Bella had had back-to-back meetings, first with her business partner (who none of them liked all that much anymore, not after his statements regarding Gudaoans at their Christmas party) and then with a potential investor (who they all hated after his even worse statements about women at the same party). They gossiped a bit, which was Will and Bella's shared activity that Stephen and Jane dismissed offhand. In group marriages, one had to find a way to relate with each partner specifically, personally, in special, specific ways. Will and Bella had gossip. Stephen and Jane had long-winded engineering conversations. Bella and Stephen had their workouts. Will and Jane had old sci-fi movies and trashy fantasy novels. That was amidst the whole myriad of small, private moments the four of them shared.

After a bottle of wine, Bella and Will retired to her usual bedroom for the sort of sleepy, silly, casual sex that was purely fun and intimate and loving and not particularly sensual, then Will went back to the small bedroom to catch another hour of work before bed. Stephen and Jane both dropped in to say goodnight in turn, and Will went to bed soon after, realizing that drunkenly writing his thesis probably wasn't the best move.

by **Bhumidol** » Sat Feb 25, 2017 11:32 pm

The Uninteresting Funeral of a Peculiar Buddha

The old walls suddenly shuddered as distant shouting could be heard. A man with finely combed gray hair, wearing a demure black frock sat too still at the center of the conference table. As he looked forward, the fresco of the apparantly blissfully compassionate Buddha which always seemed a bit off, stared down at him with cold, menacing, and unforgiving eyes.

Suddenly, again, the walls heaved. Sivaputhagam Palace was shaking under the duress of what media reported as a million-man march on the national government. The jeering was so loud that the justices could faintly hear their cries, nested deep in the twisty halls of the thousand-year old palace, now a hallow shell of what was once the eminent majesty of the Emperor of the noble Bhumhalese Empire. Inspite of the disturbance, the justice sat fixated on the painting, as if he were witnessing the final viewing of a body prior to cremation.

"Well, what now", Justice Yaravan asked with his normally confident eyes which seemed to be edging closer to desperation.

"It's... A difficult decision", he swallowed hard.

"Gautuma, I know you're hard of hearing at your age", another one pined while rolling her eyes. "But if you haven't noticed, the walls are shaking! I'm pretty sure that isn't normal".

"Yes, err... well, I thi-".

"Well what then, Archana", Justice Balahotra barked. "It's exactly what those spineless Westerners want. Dear Manjushri, may our nation be saved from their vile claws".

Upon the justice's impassioned refrain, the entire body returned to argument, though in a rather hushed manner as if to not disturb the Buddha on the wall which appeared to be carefully watching over the meeting, and judging every bit of movement and sound within the chambers.

Suddenly, an unassuming knock greeted the door.

"Enter", the chief justice declared strenously with a grandiose that signalled the justices to queit down and straighten up for their guest.

The door creaked open slowly at first, as if its user were testing its strength in the shaking structure. It was then pushed with a deliberate gracefulness that made it glide with ease. The elderly woman was Rokhani Yagharu, the new president of the Bhumhalese Green Party.

"Good evening gentlemen" she nodded respectfully. "And to you as well madame", she grimly said while facing the sole female justice. "I'll be rather quick and concise - I have no interest to waste your time. I'm here on behalf of my constituants that have entrusted me to speak with you on an important matter of public transparency", she said in a droning voice. She turned to her left, staring at a flowering purple campanulla[1] which appeared to be out of place in the ancient, dusty room. A furry white moth circled around the yellowish lightbulb next to the plant, attracting Dr. Yagharu's attention. The justices sat somewhat uneasily in utter silence, staring at a women whom they sensed appeared deceptively normal.

"Over the past 2 weeks, the ruling party has violated over a dozen clauses of the current Prakyatragini[2]", she started, appearing to mercilessly berate the justices in a swift yet monotonous fashion. "They have sponsored the slaughter of over 15,000 people within our borders, the killing of journalists and political opposition. The approval rating of the government has declined to a mere 6%, while the Ganaraja has suspended parliament over unsubstantiated claims of an iminent terrorist attack."

The chief justice sulked a little in his chair, trying hard to appear as though he wasn't listening.

"I've spoken with all 10 citizen members of the Rajyadharmam Preservation Committee, and they've all aired their desire to pull the plug on the current government. President Li expressed his concern that our country may enter into a severe recession if nothing is done, and an international coalition is preparing to invade our nation as we speak", she said folding her arms behind her while straightening her back.

"But, what then", Justice Balahotra exclaimed is suprise. "You've described the chaos to us perfectly, but you haven't given as remedy to unwind this mess. This isn't the kind of thing the Buddhas can fix", he huffed.

"I understand your concern, justice. That's why I've taken the liberty, over the past week to have my office carry out a statistically accurate survey on the desires of our nation's citizens in our current mess." Dr. Yagharu put down her handbag with graced with a faded sunflower print, reaching her wrinkly hands into its dark crevice to grab a thin stack of papers. She walked over to the justices desk, plopping the report before him. "In sum, my constituants, by a striking margin of 83-11-6 are in favor of drastic forms of government change and reform, including the end of State Buddhism, deep constitutional reform, and resturcturing of our current administration of general welfare - you can read the specifics yourself if you'd like. This report was compiled in joint effort with members of our opposition to reduce bias, and we randomly sampled our constituants in a manner that allows us to extrapolate the results to the rest of the nation's populace. I'm certain that you'll find the confidence interval pleasing as well."

"But, this doesn't mean-", Balahotra stuttered.

"So, I'm certain that you'll fix this pressing matter which matters a great deal to the citizens I represent", she said cutting him off rather dryly, as if concluding a lecture. Balahotra fell silent, impressed by the concise report compiled by the fledgling MP. The old woman's astuteness gave a postive impression to the justice, who sensed that the nation's second largest party may be more capable than he previously thought, and not without a future plan in mind.

"We'll get right to it m'am", he cleared his throat while shuffling the report papers. Chief Justice Gautuma gawked at Balahotra and then at Rokhani Yagharu. The most remarkable unremarkable woman she must be if she can move Balahotra the boulder, he thought to himself.

Then, just as unassuming as she entered the room, she left. "I'll leave the rest up to you and the RPC. Good night honorable justices".

The room fell to a different kind of silence, one directed at Gautama as he stared down the Buddha fresco. "I hope this room will be repainted then", the chief justice joked. "I never did like the extra pair of eyes in this room".

References

[1]In Bhumhalese culture, the purple campanulla is a Buddhist symbol of death under untimely or strange circumstances. The mysterious purple shade of the flower evokes the darkness surrounding death, while its simultanous beauty is a reminder that such unusual death are beautiful in the sense that others are offered a new view of life. Within the given context, the end of its recognition as an ancient empire with modern relevence, though tragic from the standpoint of culture and national identity, offers the chance of a new Bhumidol and Bhumhalese identity.

[2]Refers to the abridged interpretation of the Rajyadharmam, the treastise upon which the Bhumhalese government is based off of. More information can be found in the politics factbook.

by **Eurania** » Fri Mar 17, 2017 5:11 pm

StopHam Ep. 1: That's Not A Sidewalk

Euravezya, Central Euranian SR, Eurania

Afternoon fell on the city. The air was bitterly cold, and snow lined the streets, but few seemed to tug their jackets and scarves tighter. After all, Euravezya, the capital, received snow for about 1/3 of the year, and was cold for about most of the year, due to its mountainous location. The tugging of jackets, scarves, and hats seemed to separate the foreigners from the locals.

A group of young men wandered on a side walk. The sidewalk had only frost on it, while the surroundings were covered in snow. The boys had a variety of ages, a few were in their senior years at secondary schools, but most were students at the University of Euravezya. They carry backpacks, and at least two were holding cameras. In their hands were large stickers, saying "I spit on others, I drive where I want" in Euranian. The group was unmistakable. It was StopHam, a youth movement in response to increasing traffic violations in Eurania. It was legally registered via the Ministry of Information and was an authorized organization.

A car drove down the sidewalk, and came to stop in front of the group. The leader of the group, Kolyan, walked up to the driver, accompanied with a 'cameraman'.

'Hello. Project StopHam. We'd like to ask you to please drive back." he spoke to the driver.

The driver replied "I need to get to the gas station. I am running low on gas."

"You're running low on gas? Very well. Please drive back." Kolyan replied. The driver went into reverse and drove back.

Kolyan turned to the camera. "Sometimes, we have people who admit they were wrong, and follow through, and thus do not receive any penalty. However, we don't always have cooperate."

His words were spot on. The next driver that drove down the sidewalk was not as cooperative. He also had his wife, which could complicate factors.

"Hello, Project StopHam. We'd like you to please drive back." Kolyan spoke to the driver.

What the f*ck do you want?"

"We're asking you to drive back, sir. And no, he will not put it away."

"You are impeding my path, stop standing in the road."

"We are not standing in the road sir. Please drive back."

The gentleman refused to leave. As a result, one of the activists put one of the stickers on the windshield.

by **Vancouvia** » Sat May 06, 2017 8:23 pm

Everything about it had seemed just a little bit off. Like a misplaced fork on a full silverware setting. Like one droopy petal on a lively bouquet. Like a marginally crooked smile, a poorly washed new car, a stained pair of nice pants. The signs were there; they were just in the background lingering patiently.

Mark Young, the Legion's colonel, was the commencement speaker, like always. An older gentleman, with long, unregulated white hair, Young was respected and admired by the cadets. He would often personally sit in on and teach various classes, run along the parade grounds during drill, and he made it his mission to have a personal conversation with each and every cadet before they graduated from North Yorkford academy. His quiet yet permeating voice sunk into the hearts of all as they stood in formation in the unseasonably hot sun, with their families looking on from the stands, proud and encouraged.

"And I tell you today, that the thirty-fifth cohort of the Vancouvian Special Forces has one primary duty to uphold: to serve our country with the pride, discipline, and diligence we have instilled upon you in this last decade. I will not lie to you: these are tumultuous times, dangerous times, times when men and women like yourselves must rise to the occasion, pick up the torch of Vancouvia, and carry it up and forward - that we may, through your bravery and sacrifice, shine it from the hilltop for all to witness. That is your charge, that is your call, that is why you have dedicated half your life to serving your country, and many more years to come. You are soldiers, yes, but above all you are Vancouvia's finest, the men and women that we place our trust in day after day. That is what it means to enter into the Vancouvian Special Forces, that is what it calls for."

Young wiped the sweat from his brow, turned from the stadium, and sat down amongst polite applause from the stands. The senior commandant of the campus rose to take his place, moving gently towards the front of the platform. In his hand he held a list of 300 names, the future 35th cohort. "I will now begin the reading of the..."

Death. Wooden and metal shrapnel. Screams, horrid screams from the stands. But the cadets, so disciplined, so structured, were almost unfazed. For seconds, they stood still in formation. The front line, the closest to the stage, had received the brunt of the shock-wave and the injuries, but the remaining fraction only heard the event and its chaotic aftermath, unable to see over the heads of the cadets in front of them. The point of shock had turned into a point of inaction. But eventually, like a wave, the men and women towards the front cascaded into action, helping the wounded and assessing the situation.

"Epsilon Squad! Omicron Squad! Chi Squad!" The two dozen sergeants rallied their squads on them, frantic to do a headcount and receive orders. But very few came. The officers had all been on the podium, and although there looked to be survivors, they were too badly injured to lead. For a brief moment, the 35th was in a war-zone, officer-less and under attack. Wearing their dress blues, the soldiers were unarmed and ill-equipped for any task but standing still at a ceremony.

And then the shots came. Like arrows of death raining down, a sea of bullets hazed the squads. The fire appeared to be coming mostly from the stands, but also from the roofs of various outbuildings surrounding the area. They were all in a kill zone, an open field with no cover whatsoever, with most tending to the wounded or anxiously looking over to their families trapped in the chaos of the stands.

The armory was 500 meters away. Omega and Theta made a dash in its direction, but were methodically picked off by discriminate sniper fire. The remnants turned towards the stands, seeking the only possible cover, but were running straight into a half-dozen or so terrorists, who were sitting among their families just moments ago. Some of the braver guests turned towards them, trying to take them out with their bare hands, but were slaughtered by automatic fire, while others took off running in every direction - some towards the field - some towards the distant parking lot.

It was at this time that the code All Black was issued by base senior command, which designated all military units on and around the base to report to command for assignment, or if feasible, act unilaterally against any enemy force. It was the first time the command was issued in domestic Vancouvia.

Base security, which heard the initial explosion, was the first armed unit to reach the field. Arriving in their bovine jeeps, the squad was little use, quickly being pinned down when they exited their vehicles. They could only look on as shot after shot rang over the horizon, killing their countrymen.

Code All Black had the luxury of calling all available land, sea, and air units to the area. It was lucky, some would say, that a Yukon UAV was flying overhead Yorkford at the time of the ceremony, and was immediately dispatched north to the base. With it, senior command was able to achieve a superior informational overview of the situation, and with that, order counterattacks on enemy units. The 33rd cohort, stationed at the barracks just a couple kilometers away, was the closest available force to react. Within five minutes, they were en route to the field, fully geared.

When the 33rd touched down, the gunfire had slowed to a patter, with most of the ceremony participants either casualties or having fled. The moans, though, and the screams, still reverberated through the grass, seeping into the ears and tightening all who heard them.

The terrorists didn't seem to have an exit strategy. The ones on the stands had remained and were the first to be taken out by the 33rd, but the rooftop force continued suppressing. The Major radioed command for a sit-rep and advisement.

"That building that the Yukon reports eight heat signatures on the roof," began a Lt. Colonel standing over an interactive display, pointing at a small four-story building overlooking the field. "Appropriately how many people are in that building?"

A young Sergeant pulled up the file. "That's Huffington Hall, a dormitory.... They're cleaning it today. Maybe a dozen staff inside right now."

The Colonel sighed and looked back at the Yukon display. "Execute small-effect fire mission on that building."

"Sir?"

"Execute it, sergeant."

The sergeant swallowed and tapped his headset. "This is central command ordering fire mission 56173 on area..."

The missile, loose from its aerial prison, swam down towards the earth.

Silence and then: "Yukon reports total kill on target."

-

Ten minutes after the building was leveled and approximately thirty minutes from the platform explosion, the 33rd was able to maneuver itself through the campus to the other buildings where secondary forces were continuing fire. It was at this time that several helicopters stationed at the base arrived in tandem and aided in the counterattack, blowing chunks of gatling lead onto the roofs, shattering dozens of glass windows and sending debris falling onto the sidewalks below. It was all but over, and all that remained was everything else - the triage, the recovery, but most of all the question: why?

by **Vancouvia** » Wed May 10, 2017 4:29 pm

The thing about the Vancouvian Congress that not a lot of people understand is that they are one of the finest oiled political machines ever created. You put a crisis in front of Congress and they will, within minutes, be arguing about which of the two best solutions is the first best, and then have a majority consensus by the end of the hour. So, when the North Yorkford attack occurred and the Senators expressed their hollow condolences in the chamber, the second act of business was figuring out who would go down for it.

Commandant Louis Houser was the fall-guy. The senior commandant was dead, and as the North Yorkford base’s second in command, Houser was next in line for the guillotine. Having achieved his rise through the ranks through his father’s influence, being a plump, dull man, and having neither the political capital nor his colleague’s admiration, Houser was a prime candidate for blame. All that was needed now was for him to take it.

“Major Houser, our latest information puts the casualty total at 208 deceased and 70 injured, 33 of whom are currently in critical condition. Do you concur or do you have updated information for us?" Senator George Pastel's voice echoed across the Congressional chamber.

Houser blinked through the haze of camera flashes, then looked down at his notes in front of him. Meekly, he replied, "Yes, that is what I have here."

Pastel continued, "That is what you have there, or is that what the facts are, Major?"

"Those are the current numbers."

"Major, we, and the public, have received very little information from the VSF regarding the terrorists and their organization, despite promises from your branch to give us that information. Do you not have any information regarding the perpetrators, or are you purposefully withholding information from us?"

Houser reached for his water glass, but nervously set it down knowing the eyes of Congress and the nation were on him. "We are still conducting an investigation regarding..."

"Major, must I remind you, the VSF was given the privilege of investigating this horrible crime when the assignment could, and perhaps should have, gone to the North Yorkford police department or the National Investigation Unit. We have allowed you ample time and ample resources to reach the necessary conclusions, have we not?"

"Sir, you have."

"Then why have you not come to those conclusions? Why do we still not know who attacked our soil, who murdered our sons and daughters?"

The cameras went rabid after that, almost blinding Houser, desperate to catch his reaction. "Sir," choked Houser, "although we were able to identify several of the perpetrators, the ones we captured have so far been non-compliant, and we have no knowledge of their organizational identity."

"So what you are telling us, Major, is that in 100 hours you have been unable to conduct even the most basic of interrogations on these men?"

Careful now, thought Senator Mayfair, eyeing Pastel. They mustn't know how far we're willing to go to get these people to talk.

"And woman, sir," corrected Houser. "We have in our custody two men and one woman, all refusing to comply."

"And the dead? How many attackers were there, exactly?"

"We believe 16 total, sir, and perhaps other accomplices who weren't there on the hour of the event's occurrence."

The camera's flashes had begun to make Houser queasy, still desperately looking for a chance to take a sip of water. Sweat dripped down his neck and his armpits, staining his uniform, a uniform he quickly realized he would not be wearing for much longer.

Pastel eyed the rest of the Congress, then said, "We will take a short recess at this time."

Houser went for his drink.

by **Vancouvia** » Thu May 18, 2017 2:25 pm

The first one was easy, the second one was easier, and the third one was easiest. Antonio had no choice.

When Tony's kids didn't come home from school at 3:30 like they usually did, he thought nothing of it. "After-school clubs," he thought nonchalantly to himself, not quite able to pin down which of those it might be. But when his wife didn't come home from grocery shopping after three hours and Tony developed a grumbling stomach, he began to take notice. It began to feel real when the call came over his landline. No voice, just a recording.

THIS IS A RECORDING. DO NOT HANG UP. DO NOT SPEAK. THERE IS NO ONE LISTENING.
WE HAVE YOUR DAUGHTERS AND YOUR WIFE.
WE WILL RETURN THEM TO YOU UPON COMPLETION OF OUR TASKS.
TOMORROW AT 8 AM SOMEONE WILL APPROACH YOU AT WORK IN THE PARKING LOT.
FOLLOW THEIR INSTRUCTIONS COMPLETELY AND YOUR FAMILY WILL BE SAFE.
DO NOT CONTACT THE POLICE, THE VSF, OR ANYONE ELSE.

The next morning, Tony did what he was told. A small, snide, mustached man dressed in a suit approached his car immediately once he parked.

"Tony, your family is safe. Have you contacted anyone?"

"No!" said Tony a bit too loud, prompting the man to push Tony back into his car.

"You keep your voice down, Sergeant," he said. "Now, I am Lucas Brunkhowser, the court-appointed attorney for the three 'terrorists' you have in there. The paper work will all check out. All I need you to do is make sure you're the one escorting me to our meeting rooms and stationed outside. Is that clear?"

"Uh, yes... yes."

"I need an affirming answer here, Tony."

"Yes."

The voyage through the jail security was frightening, but Tony managed to keep it together, slowly escorting the man towards his destination.

The woman was first. A pitifully skinny woman with a large black tattoo, across her face, she had not said a word, to Tony's knowledge, since her capture.

"Now be a good guard, and wait outside now Tony," said the man, before entering the attorney meeting room where the woman was waiting inside.

There was silence at first, and then a struggle. Tony wanted to turn back, open the door and stop it, but his wife flashed before his eyes, and he stood his ground. Then, the noises stopped and the door opened.

"Now that wasn't so bad, was it, Tony? Nice of you all to keep them in handcuffs in there. Makes the job easier - most of the time." The man tucked in his sleeves, hiding a long rip. "Now onto the last two, and then we're home free."

The first one was easy, the second one was easier, and the third one was easiest. Antonio had no choice.

by **Ventlimer** » Fri May 19, 2017 8:39 pm

In an old one bedroom apartment in the outskirts of Ventliri, Brison Svleek sat silently at his desk chewing his lip slightly as he pecked at his keyboard. For hours, he had bent over the glowing screen of his computer typing what he knew could very well be the end of his journalism career in Ventlimer. All around the desk, files lay open. Some were labeled with names, others with events. Still others were labeled by the tipsters which were his deepthroats. Here, in the dark, he labored at his crowning exposé. Slowly, he stopped and looked over it, then saved it to his thumbdrive before closing it. It was nearly ready, but something wasn't right. Perhaps it was the timing rather than the article itself, Brison thought as he ejected the drive and threw it into a safe beside his desk. Once locked, he sat up and opened another file.

This article was shorter, but was just as damning to President Katirni. "Casualties of the Black Fog and How They Were Kept Hidden." Brison dragged the file to an email and sent it off.

This article was perfect. As Aslat's objections to the president droned on from his television, Brison knew that what this piece would certainly help the Socialists case and, even if it wasn't his desired outcome, seeing Katirni fall would bring nothing pleasure to him.

Brison smiled as he pulled his phone out of his pocket and called his old editor from CBC TWI who had now been called back to Covonant. The phone rang for a couple seconds, then the old, tired voice of his Covish friend answered.

"Hello?"

"Hey, It's me," Brison said slightly more excited than he'd meant to be. "Check your email."

"Wha..?" the old man said quietly as he looked through the email. "I don't see anything from you, Brison."

"Not that email," Brison sighed. "The other one."

"Oh." There was pause with some pecking, then another "oh".

"So, what do you think?"

"Hmm..." the tired voice said slowly. "It's very enlightening. But don't you think that last documentary made a bit of a crisis?" Brison could hear him shift. "I mean, you lost your job, Svleek."

"Yeah, but that doesn't mean anything. The media here isn't reporting anything and only one nation has sent aid because of it." Brison sighed. "We need the aid and it won't come if we don't tell people how bad it is. A few hundred dead mountain people are easy to ignore. Thousands of them? Not so much."

"I don't know, Brison..."

Brison stood and began pacing around the room. "Look, I know the last one caused a lot of hiccups, but that just tells me that this needs to be done." He stopped and sighed. "Look, just send it upstairs or I'll have to find someone else to publish it."

"Fine, Brison. I'll see what the brass says. No promises though."

"Thank you, sir."

A sigh through the phone, and then "Good Night, Brison."

The phone clicked as Brison hung up. As he cleaned up his files, he looked around at his apartment, wondering if the path he was taking would ever allow him to be here again.

by **Covonant** » Sat May 20, 2017 5:54 pm

It was the day for moving. The Glabbers were excited to finally move from Jueverna to Coventry. The wife Mrs. Alicia Glabber had been offered a new job at the Ministry of Defense headquarters in Coventry as a Financial adviser to the Chief Financial Officer in the Ministry. Her Husband Paul Glabber was still job hunting through the Romast zonal newspapers hoping to find something before they had moved. He is yet to be successful. They had two children. A 15 year old daughter named Abigail and a 7 year old son named Marcus. Abigail was like most average teenage girl who enjoyed listening to music, hates studying and going out to high school parties. She was the only one in the family not looking forward to the move. She hated the fact that she would have to start life all over again. New school, new friends, new surroundings, it was all too much for her to handle. Marcus on the other hand was a simple kid. He loved watching cartoons and riding his bike especially with dad who after being made redundant found more time to do so. He loved drawing and most of all he enjoyed taking his naps. He could care less about the move, he was more concerned if they would still have cable where they are going.

"Ohh I am gonna miss you girl" Alicia coworker expressed

"You know you can visit me in Coventry anytime, and beside we can still talk via text and you can always call"

"I know, but it won't be the same. But I am happy for you, you deserve this move. I wish I could move. Living in Jueverna Ailis gets daunting after a while, and with the Taurots and Khas people seeming to be breeding up the place, we will soon be a minority in our zone"the coworker said while grinning

"Don't say that, that's racist you know"

"Girl quit acting like it's not the truth. Anyways come give me a hug.......Ohhh be safe"

The Glabbers have packed all their belongings which was already on its way to Coventry by the Movers. The journey to Coventry is expected to be long, roughly a 4 hour drive.

"Alright let's go, we should have left 45 minutes ago. I do not want to meet up on any traffic on the way, come on now" Shouted Paul

"Dad, chill you want the entire neighbourhood to know we are leaving" Abigail said annoyingly

"They wouldn't have to if we left on time...Come on Alicia, Marcus"

"I am here daddy, just finished a level of Snipers on the GameBlock"Marcus said innocently

"That's nice, you can start another one in the car. Abby go see what's taking your mom so long"

"There is no need, I am here. You seem tense dear' Alicia stated

"It's because my family is not punctual. Now if we are all here we can leave now. I hoped you all used the bathroom because I do not intend to stop"

Everyone apart from Paul came out of the car to use the bathroom. After waiting for roughly 10 minutes they returned individually. The long journey to Coventry began.

by **Rooenan** » Sat May 27, 2017 11:28 pm

Keith walked through a massive white tent. Outside is was chilly and slush covered the ground. Inside it was warm and the ground was covered with leaves and grasshoppers. The little brown logs jumped up and onto the white walls of the tent as Keith gently walked through the tent. In his hand was a metal clipboard with sheets of paper. As Keith walked he occasionally bent down to inspect one of the numerous insects. He would scoop it up in his soft hand, and pry into all it's nooks and crannies with his finger nail, in order to determine it's health. He wrote down any observations he made and isolated any sick grasshoppers in one of the test tubes strapped to his belt. On his paper he kept a tally of dead grasshoppers.

From what Keith could tell, the grasshoppers seemed to be doing quite well. The harvest would be a good one this year. When he left the tent, around him were dozens of identical white tents, each with thousands of grasshoppers inside. When they were full grown they would be ground into flour and used to feed the Wolf Valley Commune. People would bake bread and pile salmon in between two slices, or roll the flour into noodles with chunks of snow crab. Keith's mouth was watering just thinking about it.

Keith walked past the rows of tents and into the main office, which was next to a paved road that led into town, a few kilometers away. When he entered the office he put his papers and test tubes on a co-workers desk for processing. "These guys were looking a little funny. Can you send them down to the lab?" His co-worker nodded. The office was full of people working at numerous desks. At the front of the office was the Voucher Distribution Machine and a water cooler. Keith went up to the machine and slipped his Voucher Card inside. On the card was his Federal ID number and a picture of his face. He waited while the machine burned his new voucher balance into the card. After about fifteen seconds the machine dinged and he slipped the card out and into his pocket.

"Hey Keith!" one of his friends called. Keith walked over to his desk. "My son and I are going fly-fishing this weekend. Wanna come?" Keith smiled. "Sure. Sounds fun."Him and his friend made arrangements for transportation and said goodbye. Keith filled his water bottle from the water cooler and headed outside. The sun was a few hours from setting and a slight breeze disturbed the evening air. He picked up his bike from the bike rack and buckled his head into his helmet. After wrapping a wool scarf around his face and ears he set off down the road.

After a half hour of biking Keith arrived on Main Street. There were a few people out and about, but most were home eating dinner. Keith parked his bike in front of the Food Distribution Center and headed inside. The distributor was a friendly young woman with artificial blonde curls and blue eyes. She always said hello to Keith and asked about his day while she was taking inventory or moving crates of food in from trucks. Keith could never remember her name. "Hello Keith! Need help finding anything today?" It was a pretty dumb question. The Distribution Center was small and Keith had been going there all his life. Politely he declined and grabbed some crab from the freezer and a bag of carrots from a refrigerator. Saying goodbye to the distributor he walked across the street.

On the other side of the street was Wolf Valley Crafts. People from around the commune would go there and trade handmade goods, or just exchange them for vouchers. When Keith entered, he went strait for the metalcrafts section, as it was his favorite. There he saw various animals created by welding together scrap metal, or religious icons created by a blacksmith out of iron, or small statues of families playing in copper. All of them were lovely to Keith. He could stare at them for hours. When he spied a small sculpture of a turtle he picked it up and took it to the front desk. It was made out of thick aluminum plates and shone brightly in the light. Keith handed his Voucher Card to the distributor, who slipped it into a Voucher Consumption Machine, waited, and gave it back to Keith.

Keith placed his new trinket in his coat pocket and put the crab and carrots in the basket of his bike. He would go home and cook himself dinner, watch a bit of TV, then head to bed. His tiny turtle sculpture would be placed on his nightstand. Keith would fall asleep listening to the radio. Some new pop song played again and again, but otherwise he slept well.

by **Covonant** » Sun May 28, 2017 3:04 pm

The drive to Coventry lasted roughly four hours which saw the Glabber family occupying their time by singing songs for long trips and playing games suitable for the road. Abigail the 15 year old played no part in the family time activity, she instead found herself immersed into the world of social media by talking to her friends on her Icephone on the popular Covonantian messaging app HIChat, and video chatting app out of Athara Magarat Kite. The drive was for the most part smooth and lucky for Paul he escaped the evening rush hour traffic. The family drove pass the "Welcome to Coventry" billboard, which was very hard not to notice especially since it was their first time in the nation's capital.

Wow, were finally here. Look at the beautiful buildings expressed Alicia Glabber

The drive into the city was smooth a better drive than what Paul would have experienced back in Jueverna. Jueverna is considered the poorest zone in Covonant. Although not everywhere in the zone had signs of poverty but it was worst than any other zone in the country.

Are you seeing the smooth roads they have in Coventry. Makes you wonder if you are in a different country stated Paul

Jueverna Ailis is not that bad Paul. I mean it could use some major development but we made due with it

Yea we made due to spend hundreds of Crowns fixing my front bumper and tires everytime a pothole decides to appear Paul responded

Remind me the name of the street again Asked paul

Its Appernicas Avenue, in West Alton Row Alicia responded.

West Alton Row was a quiet suburb area in the capital just on the outskirts of the Greater Coventry Area. It was an area that had mostly working class residents and retirees as well.

Number 22....Here we are. Finally long drives can get annoying at time Paul noted

Which is why you always drive the long journey...You are good at coping with annoying things Abigail said

Both Alicia and Paul ignored her for they knew she was still upset at the move and arguing would make the move more difficult. The house the Glabbers were moving into was fairly decent in a fairly decent neighbourhood. Most of the houses resembled but for the Glabbers it was a major improvement from their neighbourhood in Jueverna Ailis that was filled with community fued between the Khas-Kirati and Taurots and Neburisan people who fought mainly on the basis of politics. The neighbourhood in Covonant was almost segregated, as it consisted of majority Neburisan descended people and pockets of Taurots and Khas-Kirati people.

Ironically one would think, the Glabber family had moved beside a neighbour who was Taurot and married to a Khas-Kirati woman.

The family came out of the car and took the small bags they took with them out of the trunk and carried it inside. Over on the other side of their neighbour's house, they saw a lady who was in her 60s doing gardening.

Hello there, you must be the new neighbours the old woman expressed walking over to the bush that served as a divider for the houses.

I am Bishal Asepica. I Live next door with my husband Caticalu Asepica greeted the old lady who was clearly Khas-Kirati and her Husband bore a traditional Taurot name.

Hi nice to meet you. I am Alicia, this is my husband Paul, my two kids. My daughter Abigail, and my son Marcus. introduced Mrs. Glabber

Such lovely family you have. Where are you from. I saw the moving truck come and load off furnitures and left so I said to myself, anyone who is moving here is coming from far.

Were from Jueverna, Jueverna Ailis to be exact Paul responded in a voice that expressed he was not in the mood for meet and greet yet.

OHHHH Jueverna. That is the Zone I was born and raised in over 64 years ago. Ohh how I do miss there. I left there when I was 22. Moved first to Kanaute to join the navy, met my handsome King there and we moved together to Coventry where we got married. My parents didn't like the thought of me marrying a native, they preferred me to marry my own or a Neburisan who they would say could make me more happy. But I was happy with Caticalu. He wasn't rich but he was sweet and we struggled but we held on together. Oh look at me, I am rabbling. I am sorry, I know you all must be tired. I hope we can best of neighbours though.

Ohh that is okay. I would take up the offer to talk more soon and I hope to meet your husband soon as well. Just curious is it a custom for people in Romast to garden well into the evening Asked Alicia

Hahaha...No my child, there is no special time to connect with nature. I love nature and the gardens, its the one thing that reminds me of home...it keeps me content when I reflect

I see. Well we will talk. You take care responded Alicia as she and the rest of her family walked inside the house while waving goodbye to Mrs. Asepica.

Inside the house it was just right for a family of four. It had three bedrooms and two bathrooms, a decent size living room, with a large spacious kitchen and dining area. The backyard was spacious as well just perfect for Marcus to play and maybe ride his bike around while Paul cheers him on. The boxes and furnitures where however stacked up together and furnitures placed in no particular order.

Seems I have a busy day tomorrow organising the place. At least I would have help from you honey. Alicia stated

I am sorry babe, I have to go down to the Department of Employment Services early tomorrow and try to see if they can find a job for me. Maybe something in the public services or the private sector. If I come back in time though I will chip in and do my part responded paul

That's okay. I forgot about that. Hey, who am I kidding, I can manage to put the place in order...A woman can do anything she puts her mind to Alicia expressed although it was clear she was a bit sad at the thought she would be left alone tomorrow while her husband goes job hunting and her kids starting new schools tomorrow as well.

Mom, I am hungry Abigail claimed

Yea, I am feeling peckish as well. How about we order some pizza tonight Alicia responded

Pizza, Pizza, Pizza, Pizza, Pizza Marcus jumped up in excitement at just hearing the word. It was clear pizza was a favourite of the 7 year old hyperactive son in the family.

Okay...I will see what pizza services are near here. Maybe I can call Checkers Pizza, they are a nationwide company Paul said

Just as Paul expected Checkers Pizza was in an area near by where they deliver to the community. The family having order two large boxes of Checkers famous Pineapple and Ham with Cheese Pizza, they were fatigued to do anything else. Lucky for them the master beds was just large enough to hold all four of them, as it was the only bed that Paul and Alicia had strength to put together. They all retired for the night

by **Athara Magarat** » Mon May 29, 2017 5:03 am

(The journal of Kavita Jwarchan, 9th Grade, Karpakeli Higher Secondary School. Please do not think that it is a diary.

)

28th May, 2017

4 AM: Woke up as usual some five-ten minutes later from the scheduled time. Then as usual I went running and came back by 4:35 or something. Around ten minutes of yoga and then I started doing sit-ups. I felt so exhausted.

5 AM: Study time as well as time for having milk tea early in the morning. I tell appa to bring buffalo milk but he insists on yak milk and its health benefits and the cultural stuff related to yaks. Once again I told him, "We are Jwarchan-clan Thakalis not Bhattachans whose totem animal is yak." He never listens

6 AM: Still studying for a while but time to pack my bag as well. As usual, the train is always on time at 6:15 and it takes only forty minutes for it to reach New Libang;s main station. I thought the train might be late today somehow and I get to miss the first class but my bad luck has the train reaching my station in New Libang on time.

7 AM: Since today is Sunday, our first period was Atish. And thank god, that I had not forgotten to save my essay yesterday. We all were given ten minutes after the class started to submit our essay titled Relevance of Atish Architecture in Athara Magarti Heritage Sites. It was done so because Hosanna Kurumbang arrives exactly six minutes late and James O'Reilly nine minutes after the class starts. Sometimes, the rest of us wish that our home was also far away like theirs that we could enjoy at least six or nine minutes free of class.

8 AM: And yes, Maths is the second period. Fortunately, Tiwari Sir had not given any work last Friday. That was because he is starting a new chapter Function and all we had to do was bring graph copies. Fortunately for most of us, there is a stationery right next to our school and it seemed those who had forgotten to buy graph copy on Saturday had haphazardly bought five rupee graph copies from there.

9 AM: Breakfast was chow mein today. We have to finish it within fifteen minutes. In other days, we would still be gobbling bread or aloo or rice even after we crossed fifteen minutes limit but today everyone finished chow mein within ten minutes. But I have to say that washing those oily plate is not that good either but you got to wash where you eat. The morning assembly started in 9:20 because one of the seventh graders had forgotten the news she was going to read. The rest of the seventh graders decided to start the assembly per their class-teacher and the headmaster's orders as the girl plucked out a section of The Libang Herald. The seventh graders sang in high-pitched sound the school and national anthems. But their group dance on the song Pritana Rodhini was great. I must say I did not exactly enjoy the heat though.

10 AM: And so began the Social Studies class. Last week we covered South Mesder Sea nations and their geography, culture, foreign relations, etc. Today we began the Wake Islands Area unit with Polar Svalbard for today. After Maths, Social Studies class is the one that has the most homework. And I was right. Unjumba Miss divided us into two groups despite the work not even being a group work after talking non-stop for an hour about Polar Svalbard's government, history and demographics while most of us were dozing off in class including me. The odd-numbered students including me had to write about the Zazchey Archipelago while the even-numbered ones were tasked with the Island of Amarin.

11 AM: Guess what? The Environment, Population and Health Studies (EPH) teacher was absent again. Some say he has left government job at public school for a high-paying INGO while others say he is just absent. Others even say he is getting married. But whatever, we got a free class and opened our laptops for Prime Assault. It was our Blue House and Red House against Green House and Orange House. Five and five vs five and five. We were the peacekeepers while the Greens and the Oranges played the rogue state Atlum's hired foreign terrorist mercenaries. I had some eighteen kills but thrice I failed to diffuse the bomb placed by the terrorists as I was busy sneezing.

12 AM: We are zigzagging between Chemistry, Physics, Biology, Geology and Astronomy portions of Science class. This week is Classification of Elements. Memorizing the Periodic Table is so hard. I wish we go once again to the fun of Physics and Pressure.

1 PM: Lunch was the usual rice and curry and special meat for non-vegans while fries for vegans. After lunch we headed to our classroom again to play Prime Assault again. But I didn't feel like playing it again unlike some of my classmates and instead surfed the Net for recent news. The nation of Samudera was staying neutral in conflict in the north. Meanwhile the Ticking Flu death toll had reached 100,000 in Atnaia. A few of us wondered what the actual death toll of the Ticking Flu was in Athara Magarat was. The government has not released any data for fears of widespread panic but still advises caution despite the open border with Atnaia. Thank god we are all wearing masks.

2 PM: It was Kham language period. Buduja Sir told us that we would be doing another speech the next day and our classwork was to write the individual speech we would be giving in the classroom the day before. I think must have been scratching my elbows like very often since the teacher asked me if there was any problem. I replied that there was none and he said it must be the heat. Some of my classmates also mentioned being uneasy and itchy.

3 PM: During the whole Computer Science class where we are doing programming, Seema Khatiwada mentioned that she was feeling unwell. The teacher asked her if she would like to leave for home and she said yes. The class monitor Bijay Ghising ran to the headmaster to tell of the problem. Her parents were informed and I carried her bag to the school's gate when her parents had arrived by the end of the period-long hour. They asked what had happened to her and the weak girl simply replied "fever". I was late for the after-school lunch they give to us seniors. I hurriedly gulped down the orange juice and biscuit as the juniors below 8th Grade left for their homes.

4 PM: After I told the Khas language teacher of Seema's problem and me helping her and the rest of the class confirming it, I was let in by Ghimire Madam. We had to act out a dialogue in the classroom and I was given the role of the ''Mother". It is weird calling boys older than you as "sons" if I must say.

5 PM: The final class of the day was Extra Language. It happens thrice a week. In Sunday, Monday and Tuesday whereas in rest of the week we have Environment Science or Optional Maths or Accounting or History or any other optional subject depending on your choice. So basically, we all went to separate classrooms. I have taken Thakali since I am a Thakali girl and my family signed me into that. The instructor (it's hard to call him an instructor while others are respected as Sir) had the students in the Thakali language class write some brief notes on Torun-La festival and its importance as he spoke in rapid Thakali. Frankly, I was happy that our class was quickly twenty minutes earlier as I was starting to have a headache. Poor guys and girls form other Extra Language classes were still writing notes.

6 PM: Despite class being off twenty minutes earlier, I decided to wait for my friends and board the 6 PM train together. Savita Rai, Nabin Ghale, Noami Haze and Pritam Koirala are also in the same train but we always go together only in the evening after school since we all come from near but different towns and seat is always occupied by others for us to sit together in the morning. I bought some energy drinks as I was feeling weak and tired. I shared them with the girls and while I gave just one can to the boys. As we neared our home towns, I was woken up. Noami remarked that my head was hot like a kettle and Pritam joked he cursed me for making him drink the same energy drink can Nabin had drunk. "You guys look cute together!" Savita remarked at which the boys flustered and shouted that they weren't into "boys". As the train stations started arriving one by one, our group's numbers started dwindling. First Pritam and then Savita. The next station was my town exactly at 6:40 PM. I bade farewell to Noami and Nabin and told them I might be absent tomorrow.

7 PM: I announced my arrival at home, went upstairs to my room and changed into night clothes as I slept in my bed. I did not know when I had fell asleep.

8 PM: Mom was furious at first that I had not came downstairs for dinner even after repeated calling but she started worrying about me when she came to my room and knew that I was feeling unwell. She told me to get down for warm dinner. When I slowly walked downstairs to the dining room and had my dinner in a long time, my parents told me that I would be taken to the hospital the next day. Little Nayan innocently started saying that I was lucky to get off school tomorrow and even I smiled at my younger brother. Bajai was worried about me very much and she was praying for me, her granddaughter, as she started lighting incense sticks and praying to Lord Buddha. Whatever it was, I hoped that i would be okay soon. I was more worried about Seema Khatiwada whose sickness seemed more dangerous than mine, maybe even the Ticking Flu :lol:

by **Ventlimer** » Tue May 30, 2017 4:43 pm

Ventliri at night is not a particularly cheerful sight, Brison Svleek thought as he turned the wheel into a turn. Even though darkness may have descended on the city, the thick cloud of black and white smokes could still be seen as the Easterly wind pushed the dark clouds away from the city. Below the dark clouds, the city shimmered in its dull, orange light. The city seemed to unfold before Brison like a page from a book as he descended upon the city from the mountain roads. Soon he would be among those winding, broken roads and in his office where he seemed to sleep most nights now. Brison looked at the clock on his car and grimaced.

"3 in the morning," he said to himself as he shook his head.

For days now, he had made the trip from Ventliri to Calzun. He had interviewed miners, shipyard workers, low level police officials, the mayor, and anyone else he could get a hold of as he prepared for the one article that might actually get him in trouble. It had been in the works for months now. And soon, very soon, it would be ready. But, for now, he had to keep food on the table as well as work on this.

As Brison pulled into the office, he noticed a van down the street that wasn't usually there. For a moment, he stared at it. On one hand, it seemed to fit in. Its dull gray color marked with scratches on the hood seemed to belong in the neighborhood. But, on the other hand, it didn't. The windows were dark and tinted and a long antenna protruded from the hood as a blinking red light alerted the fact that a camera was recording. Brison turned off the car and acted as if he hadn't seen it.

"It was probably nothing," he said quietly to himself as he unlocked the door. "Still, though..."

He looked back one more time at the van, then clutched his messenger bag closely as he entered the office, then locked the door again. Slowly, he backed away from the window and sat down in his chair. He didn't want to believe it, but he had researched too much to make anything else possible. He knew he was being watched, now. The thought of it filled him with dread, yet a strange sense of calm as well. Now, he not only had others experiences, but his own and he knew now beyond all doubt that he was right.

With that thought, he went to his back room and laid down on the pull out couch with a smile on his face.

by **Verona Beach** » Fri Jun 02, 2017 7:29 pm

The author looked over his desk, scattered with papers and crumpled tissues- half-dreamt dreams and unbroken breakthroughs. The sun painted his wall a yellowish tint, and raised the shadows of his spartan furniture arrangement like old Turkish shadow plays. He sighed, rubbing his graying, slicked-back hair. He looked around his apartment. It was an average-sized apartment for Verona Beach, and had the necessity that could be found even in the poorest part of Lode Park- a seaward balcony. The sounds of some electronic mix made from the sample of an eighties song flowed from the ancient portable stereo, filling the room with calming beats. Besides the stereo, the room looked like it had just been bought- with the exception of the bookcase. It was stuffed full of the classics. Joyce, Huntsford, Shakespeare, Tybalt, Neruda, all were present on there as inspiration for this aspiring artist of the pen. The sliding glass balcony doors were open, letting in the omnipresent but not unwelcome sea breeze, carrying the salt that had touched distant lands.

"I should probably forget it." He said, grabbing a beach towel and the stereo. He walked out of the door and jogging down the stairs.

As he walked down the street to the beach, he looked like a goofy mix of a mob boss, a stereotypical Italian dad, and a classic image of a writer.

He laid his beach towel down, lying on his back and enjoying the setting sun. His stereo was turned down low. He saw a painter with his easel, making an oil masterpiece of the dusk. Despite the crowdedness of the beach, the people generally stayed out of his line of sight out of respect for his view. The author was inspired by this manifestation of the people's kindness and reached for his notepad. It was there, on the beach, he wrote more and wrote better than he ever had in his whole career.
I should do this more often, he said to himself.

by **Athara Magarat** » Fri Jun 02, 2017 8:29 pm

The Environment, Population and Health Studies (EPH) teacher of Karpakeli Higher Secondary School was absent; once again.

"Wonder what happened to EPH sir?" Punam Pangi-Lama questioned her classmates as the clock struck 11 AM and the EPH class started.

"He sure is enjoying his honeymoon a lot if he got married," remarked Janam Raymajhi.

"No way, maybe he got sick just like Seema Khatiwada, Kavita Jwarchan and Nabin Ghale." Noami Haze said as she addressed her absent friends by their full names like she did most of the time. "The girls have been sick for a week. Nabin has been sick since Thursday."

"I heard the girls' families were met by authorities from the Health Ministry." Nita Shakya was worried. "I hope they didn't have Ticking Flu."

"Maybe EPH sir has Ticking Flu?" Noami wondered.

"Don't worry about that nonsense!" Pritam Koirala shouted. "It's not happening...I mean, no way or else the government would inform us."

"Now, get your *** in Prime Assault, boys and girls!" The class monitor Sumit Pachyu shouted after making sure that no substitute teacher was coming to the classroom and closing the doors tight. "We gotta show the world the power of Karpakeli HSS - 9th Grade."

"Hello, class captain! But might I remind that we are low on numbers than ever before?" Swastika Vajracharya raised her hand. "Three sick, one in his grandfather's funeral and another one here, that's me by the way, not feeling well in the morning. So I didn't bring my laptop here today."

"You wanna go home and bring it?"

"No way! I will just watch the **** you all are playing!"

"You are welcome. Okay, let's roll out!" With the class captain's shout, everyone turned on their laptops and opened Prime Assault application. It was Team Match-up as usual but this time in WAN and the number of players for a team would be limited to 15. Some of the students in the classroom were doubtful that they would find a team of exactly 15 players. But Prime Assault did indeed find a team of 15 for the 9th Graders of Karpakeli Higher Secondary School. Team Match-ups were one of the reasons why Prime Assault had become an instant hit worldwide despite being released only half a year ago; other than the awesome locations and graphics and the wide array of weapons.

"We got ourselves a bunch of VSF, mates." Sumit smiled. "Time to blow their heads off."

Then he immediately started shouting once the Match started for real. "Go, go, go! Snipers!"

"Right here."

"Me too."

"I am taking the NM30 sniper rifle as well."

"Yeah, why not? It was made in our land after all."

Once again, the room became silent as the players focused on their objective: to find the enemy that was dressed as Vancouvian Special Forces and carried their weapons.

"Where the **** are the Vancouvians?" Janam shouted. "Fearless leader, let's split into four teams based on our houses and cover more area."

"What do yo guys think?"

"No way! Split and die?"

"Nah, let's do it."

"Yeah, we haven't found any VSF till now."

"Everyone, take cover! There's a Va-" Janam shouted and then he removed his headphone. "****! I died!"

"I will avenge you, Janam!" Henrietta Byrne said. Janam told her to kill whoever hit him. Henrietta's character threw a HG8 Flag Grenade while the rest of the class was focused on firing their CR-15 Assault Rifles at the Vancouvians. As Janam spectated from the POV of Henrietta's character, he noticed that the enemy was armed with M4 Carbine, FN SCAR, MP5, and M16 as compared to the CR-15 and NM30 used by his teammates.

"Squad, pull back!" The Vancoucian leader commanded as the grenade blasted in their position.

When the dust cleared, the enemy had stealthily sneaked back to hiding across the map which was a forested place. The leader of Karpake HSS - 9th Grade was happy. "Okay, so far so good. Nice one, Henrietta! That caught the Vancouvians by surprise and two of them are KIA. They are falling back. I say we flank them. We are 14. They are 13. Easy-"

"The ****!" Sumit roared. "Damn that VSF sniper!"

"Yeah, easy..." Swastika snickered.

"Shut up! You aren't even playing." Sumit replied. "Okay still easy, boys and girls. We got this. We still have forty minutes left for Science class. Damn, we are making too much noise. Let's speak softly okay?"

"Says the guy who was just swearing..."

by **Ainslie** » Tue Jun 13, 2017 2:23 am

Harrison Dernside lived in Ilande, a prestigious suburb in Arnton named after the famous Ahnslen early architect, William Ilande. He woke up feeling pretty bad, as it was vaccination day but he also had an Ainslie Studies test. He was good at the subject, but simply didn't like exams in general. He fell out of bed, and put his shorts and blazer on. His school was a prestigious one, in the heart of Arnton CBD. It was a school of opportunities, yet was not one that was for overly rich students. Most students entered the school on academic scholarships, but some others were from within the school’s catchment area, which happened to be a small, but wealthy area of the city

It was an early start for him today, as he had a period before everyone else known as a ‘zero’. He had Civics extension, which was advertised as an extended form of Ainslie Studies. He walked onto the platform, which was already engulfed by people, mostly businesspeople going to work. Unfortunately, he had to spend that 15 minute train ride with them. He walked onto the modern, newly renovated train as it left Ilande, a north bank (that being north of the River Burnett) suburb. It went along the purple line until it reached Ansere, the suburb which housed his school. The train was busy, and he had to stand up for the whole way but had no time to study for the test.

It was a short walk down a leafy road to reach his high school. It was a surprisingly modern looking school, in contrast to many of the other old city schools. He walked into the school and under its famous lights, which emitted an orange tint. The school was virtually empty, except for the few classes which started early that morning. The small sign on the door saying Room 112 was the sign he was looking for, and it wasn't a long time before he found it.

Luckily for him, all the students, especially the teacher, knew that no civics ext work would be done that lesson. So the teacher sat at his desk for the whole lesson staring at his computer, as the students shifted the desks and studied together.

The period ticked on, until it was first period and time for his Ainslie Studies exam. He thought that he went well in the test. Up until this time, he forgot that vaccinations were that day. Just like a typical Ahnslen state school, not even the year advisor knew when the vaccinations were. It had taken a Deputy Principal at Merne (Recess) to tell them. It was next period. Harrison got to the vaccination area quickly, which was out in the gym. He lined up with the rest of the kids and got his vaccination card

“Gday arry, you got your vac yet?”
“Nah, not yet”
“Heard it hurts more than communism”
“Okay, that’s pretty uncalled for”
“Watcha talking about, actually let’s not go there. I know what you’re like”
“Get lost”

At this point in time he didn’t realise that the teacher who was directing students to the nurses’ tables was right next to him. The line had decreased significantly, and Harrison wasn’t quite sure what was going on.

“Harrison, straight over there”
“Yes, miss”

He walked over to the nurses table and sat down.

“Gday!”
“Hi Harrison. Wow, you come from Ilande. Nice place, yeah?”
“Its alright”
“I’m over Monsere way, im sure its not as scenic”
“Now, you allergic to any vaccines, or ingredients, latex, etc? You feelin alright, no faint feeling ectetra?”
“Yeah I’m alright”
“Well, you’re done”
“Already”
“Yes. Thanks Harrison.”

Harrison began to move his shoulder around, because he knew that keeping it mobile would be a good way to stop it from getting rigid and difficult to move. He sat down in a corner of the gym for twenty minutes or so, until he went back to class. He normally got anxious about needles, but this time he was alright. His arm was sore, but he knew that he now was protected against four strains of a very deadly disease.

by **Haasar** » Mon Jun 26, 2017 10:09 pm

Brody Perrish walked down the street in downtown Bravil, following a 17 year old girl. He sped up, cutting her off and pushing her into the ally-way. He unsheathed his knife, and proceeded to kill the girl. He laid her down on her back, and place a pre-written haiku on her chest. He exited the ally, and ran about a mile south, down the street. He entered his 1970 Chevorlet Chevelle and drove home.

by **Noronica** » Thu Jul 20, 2017 6:50 am

Breathing in short gasps, he swiped his pistol from his holster, his sweaty hands making doing so extremely hard as he tried to get a strong grip on the weapon. Going against convention, he placed his pistol on the table next to him and wiped his hands on his trousers. He heard thumps behind him and turned to see a shadow approach the hallway he was in. Swiftly, he snatched the weapon from the table and his features hardened in an attempt to calm himself. He was just in time as the shadow materialised into a tall imposing figure, a growl set on the man's face.

"Don't tell me you're getting reservations about this. We have worked hard to get you here recruit, and now you're going to shit yourself over your first mission?" The man's voice never raised once, all he needed was the edge to his voice, cutting violently through the quiet air as he spoke. The recruit recognised the man as his senior mentor, the one taking him on his first mission in the United Noronnican Army. Perhaps the situation was odd as one would not expect the army to be undergoing domestic operations such as this, but it was only a few years after the Civil War and Noronica needed to root out any of those still loyal to the Republicans. It was dirty work, but someone had to do it, so the young recruit found himself in a suspect's house, ready to burst down the door. Would the suspect fight back? Would he have friends? The stories told by his commanders were that the Republicans were Psychotic and would carry weapons with them at all times. The recruit was an intelligent man, but imagination does a number on one's brain, especially when it comes to the prospect of death. The recruit felt a hand land on his shoulder, his mentor gave him a solemn look, a change from his usual demeanour.

"Once you kick down that door, you will kill anyone in your path, no matter what you see. If you refuse to do so, or if you try and run, no one will stop me from hunting you down, so help me God." His voice dripped with freezing venom, one that emphasised his threat. The recruit understood now, this mission was one that the UNA didn't want to be released. The recruit steeled himself, he had chosen the military life, he knew there would be some points where he may need to overlook the law. For Overlord and Country.

His stomach churned, his eyes bulged, sweat trickled down his face. He looked back at his mentor, nodded, then retracted his leg. Holding that position, he held his breath and released his leg in a violent manner, slamming the wooden door, its face becoming an ugly crack as it whacked the wall as it turned. The recruit heard screams as both he and his mentor marched through the doorway. The scene before him petrified his mind. It was a kitchen. The light shone over the gleaming kitchen counter, carefully decorated with knives and cooking utensils. The floor was a polished tiled surface, with minimal cracks and clean save from the toy tank in the corner of the room. The windows gazed onto the garden outside, lovingly planted with a gardener's handiwork. In the centre of the room lay a long oak table with food placed haphazardly over it, reminiscent of a feast. The serenity of the room was broken by the screams of the people on the table. The target had stood immediately after the door was kicked, obviously trained to know what was happening, while his wife and children stood stock still with looks of pure terror on their faces. The recruit slowly raised his pistol with shaking hands, his mentor's voice playing in his mind constantly, 'you will kill anyone in your path'. Gunshots rang out and the recruit seemed to lose control of himself, watching the brutal scene before him. Worst of all, he didn't stop once to think, gunning down the family before him as the mentor chased after the target. In what seemed like hours, the room descended into solemn silence. The recruit staggered back, his eyes wide with horror at the scene before him. He stared at the mirror by the sink, looking at himself. What stared back was horrifying. It was him. Grinning.

Moving backwards, he dropped his pistol as he watched his reflection in the mirror who hadn't moved at all. He turned to see that his mentor had gone, while the bodies of the deceased slowly rose from the ground, blood still pouring from their wounds and their bodies making sickening noises as they moved very slowly towards the recruit. The target grabbed hold of the recruit and twisted his body, pushing him towards the mirror.

State Palace, Nolon City, Greater Nolon, Noronica

Joshua's body flew forward violently, the bed sheets straining with the force of his body. Gasping for air, he whipped his head around, his eyes trying to look for his tormentors. He saw nothing and let out a breath of air as he slumped into the metal bed frame behind him. It seems that one's first kill never leaves you. Despite his best efforts, the dream was one that occurred at least once a month. He tried psychiatrists, medication, even unconventional methods, yet the dream still haunted him.

Joshua was not averse to death. He was a soldier and had been in the Bureau of Internal Security, so he was used to eliminating possible hindrances. This made him all the more annoyed at the nightmare. He hated having a part of him that he had no control over, especially one that left him emotionally drained. He was known for his adaptability and his aversion to fear, so seeing this side of him would allow for others to rip into him like dogs. He was lucky in his position, his party had the most seats in the Federal Assembly and he owned the party. However, there was always someone with aspirations, always one smiling at you with a knife behind their back. He should know, he was one of them. He arched his back, stretching himself before he slid his legs out of the bed, he needed some air. He turned to see the sleeping figure beside him, smirking as he realised his nightmare hadn't even affected his wife. Even if the room was invaded by a heavy metal band, she would remain snoring.

Getting out of bed, he walked over to his running clothes, laid out on a chair in the corner of the room for the sole purpose of being there in case of the nightmare occurring again. He swiftly clothed himself and looked at himself in the mirror, smirking as he saw there was no difference in him or his surroundings. There's no such thing as ghosts. Making his way through the silent halls, he saw one of the guards approach him, "Mr Prime Minister, may I ask where -?" Joshua stopped him, eager to get back to his own company,
"Just out for a run, no need to send anyone with me." The guard nodded at the request and allowed Joshua to continue, turning back to his position. Joshua smiled as he returned to silence, traversing the halls of the aged palace.

Once outside, Joshua turned to admire the palace. It was a grand building, of course not as large or extravagant as the Royal Palace, but it still held an air of mysterious beauty, its dark stone walls holding years of history. It was built hundreds of years ago, giving it such importance as it commanded respect by any who beheld its view. Bowing to it, both in mockery and actual respect, Joshua turned towards the grounds and began his morning run. The sky was still dark, the starry sky gazing over him as he ran through the forest. Allowing the wind to cleanse his mind, he needed to focus on other things. The State Visit by Covonant was in a few days and he needed his mind in full form. After all, Crassus was fresh meat and the lion needed to stretch his claws.

by **Heddwich** » Sun Jul 23, 2017 11:41 pm

Border Between The Badlands and the Outer Badlands

Some people refer to the Outer Badlands as a 'bad place'. When you get shot at in the OB you can call your local vigilante group and scurry away while they deal with the problem. But The Badlands themselves? No vigilante group dares step foot in the territory. Anyone crazy enough to step foot in the area comes out in either a body bag or with a collected bounty. But with great risk comes even greater reward

At least this is what Ajax thought to himself as he sat in the passenger seat of a rather beat up SUV speeding down a barely visible paved road. Sand whipped across the highway at speeds that would surely cause some scrapes on human skin. Every once and a while a larger rock would hit the front screen, making a small but audible scratch. Finishing his cigar, Ajax turned to the two men sitting in the backseat. One was a bearded man wearing rather revealing clothing for this landscape -a short sleeve shirt and some jeans-. The other already had his scarf pulled over his face getting ready to get out of the car any second.

"Simon, give me a rundown on the bounty." Ajax said to the bearded man.

"Uh let's see.." The man said flipping through a manila folder. "Name; Zackeri Bradley Moss. This guy has quite the history in the arms and drug trade, not quite sure why he chose the badlands to hide. Our informant told us he'd likely be in Auburn." Simon finished as the SUV passed some concrete barricades and a barbed wire fence with a sign informing they are now entering the Badlands.

"This bastard's got a twenty grand bounty on his head dead or alive. I don't plan on hauling him back here so let's do this clean if we can gents." Ajax finished as he turned back around to face the road. It would be another couple hours of driving until they reached one of the few settlements in the Badlands.

After a mostly silent drive, the SUV pulled up to the outskirts of Auburn. The decently sized settlement consisted of ruined building, and corrugated steel shacks. It was quite pitiful compared to the northern half of the country. Hell, even the Outer Badlands was paradise compared to this.

"Okay lads here we are. I suggest wearing a protective mask if you don't want whatever disease these people are carrying. Other than that, lets get out, load up, and head out." Ajax announced to the rest of the car, pulling up his respirator hanging from his neck and securing it around his mouth.

All four of the team members exited the car and proceeded to the trunk. Ajax grabbed his Honey Badger rifle. Loading it, putting the dust protectors on his optic and flicking the safety on he surveyed the outskirts of the town. People in rags could be seen stumbling about. Most were petty criminals who didn't want to face the harsh punishment of the unregulated vigilante groups and other came here intrigued by the adventure but met the harsh reality of the Badlands. Ajax felt like he was wearing a space suit compared to the inhabitants of Auburn. His respirator alone was probably more than those people will make in their lives living in the Badlands. This wasn't Ajax's first time in the Badlands, but it was his first time in any organized settlement.

Finishing up his thought, Ajax turned to the rest of the team as they finished loading their rifles and putting their vests on. Ajax preferred to always have his vest on in the Badlands because ambushes are about as common as sand.

"Our informant told me there's a bar around here to get information." Ajax began "Simon and Jayden, you two stay outside of the bar and pull external security. Keep your radios off. I'm sure it can be monitored around here" Ajax ordered as he pointed at the bearded man and the driver of the SUV.

"Gotcha." Simon said in an almost disappointed tone.

"Me and Danny are going to go into the bar, we won't have any gear except for our pistols so if anything happens you two better save our asses." He yelled as the howling wind got louder.

With that the men began their short walk to the bar. After walking for about ten minutes and refusing numerous beggars requests for ammunition (the local currency) they arrived at The Idiots Den.

"Yeah, this is the bar, I thought he was joking about the name but I was wrong." Ajax joked as he took off his vest and handed it along with his rifle to his partners.

"Don't get shot." Jayden said as Ajax and Danny walked into the bar, pulled their respirators down onto their necks.

End of Part One

by **United Ymara** » Thu Aug 03, 2017 2:10 pm

A man past his prime sat in front of a tv with a mountain of food in front of him. A cursory guess would make him out to be in his seventies, but in reality he was only 59. A little boy crossed through the living room, only sparing the man, his grandfather, a glance before heading into the kitchen, where he found his father. He asked a question that had begun bugging him.

"Why does grandpa always eat so much during Kom? My teacher said we have to fast to learn of sacrifice. Does he not want to learn?"

The father took pause, before looking into the other room. There he saw a glimmer of metal. War medals, several of them, lay on a shelf. Where in many other places they may have been in the center and forefront, here they were pushed into a back corner, partially obscured by photos of the family. He recalled what could be considered battles in their own right just convince his own father not to leave them locked in a chest, to not forget the past. Some days it seemed that's all anyone wanted to do. Forget.

"Grandpa already knows enough of sacrifice." He finally answered.

The child, realizing he might have asked a question he shouldn't, simply nodded and made to leave, but not before hearing father mutter under his breath.

"Too much."

by **Xrevaro** » Sat Aug 05, 2017 7:56 pm

Tahyr Village
The day started as any other, they arose at dawn and dipped their rags in water to cover their mouths. The children went to school while the adults went off to the fields. The dirt crumbled beneath their feet, begging for rain. It had been the same routine for several months now. The people of the village were tired and seemingly alone. An island of people in a vast sea of forestry. They checked the fields hoping that Sesist would have mercy and allow them a harvest. By noon they had come to the village square to pray before Sesit's shrine.
"When will the Gods have mercy upon our nation?" Tarok whispered to Hallet as they bowed their heads in unison.
"When we our deserving of their mercy, brother." Hallet responded back calmly as he lifted his head.
Tarok lifted his head. His eyes focused on the shrine. He didn't see the benevolent Mother of Humanity when he gazed upon the statue before him. He saw a wicked witch who had forsaken her own children.
"Why do we worship them if they don't care about us?"
Hallet faced his brother, grabbing Tarok's face forcing him to look into his eyes.
"What you speak is blasphemy. We are unable to see like the Gods. We may suffer now but for our endurance we will be rewarded kindly."
"Brother, I'm not sure I can continue to worship a God who would stand by and watch us burn." He couldn't tell if the smoke that stung his eyes was making him cry or his emotions.
His brother opened his mouth to respond but his eyes focused on something behind Tarok. Tarok knew in his heart what had come before he turned and saw the flames. The embers flew from the edge where the fields met the forests. The shriveled pine needles carried by the wind and dried weeds in the fields caught a light with surprising speed. It was almost mesmerizing to watch. Someone shouted fire, he wasn't sure who, but the sudden reality of imminent death sobered him.
"The children!" He found himself shouting, for the school was at the edge of the fields so the parents can hurry back from the fields and take care of their child if there was ever an emergency. He went running toward the school, followed by the other panicked parents. Surely, he thought, they had seen the fire. The glowing embers floated ever closer to the wooden village and more importantly the wooden school. It must've been their yelling that caught the attention of the teachers inside. The kids came pouring from the school guided by equally panicked teachers. Older kids carried younger ones. Teachers had the youngest in wagons, pulling children as fast as they could from the school. Parents grabbed their children and ran. The first building to go alight was the school, followed by the general store. One by one the buildings came alight as they all attempted to run toward the lake following the drying creek bed. How had they not been warned of a fire moving west toward Kídan?

Yúpÿpók, Kídan
The High Priests and Priestesses sat in a circle around a small flame.
"What has Ginevia prophesied?" Asked a Priest of Yal.
"Our sight has been blinded. The events of the future are unknown even to us." Replied a Priestess of Ginevia.
"We must issue a decree to our followers in these hard times." Declared a Priest of Meváan.
"And what would you have us say? That the priestesses of Ginevia can no longer see? That the Malímum's have withered at Yal's temple? That even the priests of Meváan have lost their healing touch?" A Priest of Nunasib bit back.
"Obviously not. We will ask that our followers both in the motherland and around the region join us in fast. We will fast sunrise to sundown. We will ask them to join us in prayer. We will pray continuously sunrise to sundown. We will demonstrate our faith, lead by example, show our trust that the Gods have not forsaken us. We will leave the safety of our sanctums and sanctuaries and aid our people both faithful and not. For we are the High Servants of Heyúva." Spoke a Priestess of Sesit, commanding respect.
A priest of Atieh rose, "I will begin sending word by raven."

by **Vancouvia** » Sat Aug 12, 2017 8:48 am

The following is a leaked document from the Vancouvian government to the President of Ventlimer, issued following the Ventlimer bombings.

To President Bulnir Vuke Aslat of The Iron Republic of Ventlimer,
In Relation to the Recent Destruction of Vancouvian Citizens and Property ("the Bombings"),
On the 11th of August, 2017,

You have no doubt been made aware of a series of bombings that took the lives of at least 22 VANCOUVIAN CITIZENS, destroyed millions of dollars of Vancouvian property, and also devastated our allies and their similar efforts in your country. As Vancouvians, we are no strangers to adversity; however, we have in our modern age not only the ability but the duty to make every reasonable effort to avoid such calamities at every opportunity available to us. It is our position that you have FAILED in that regard, in that your government was made aware of a series of VIOLENT PROTESTS AND THREATS made against Vancouvian and Oster citizens days before the bombings, and that you did not take the necessary precautions nor usher in the necessary protections to avoid their death and injury. We therefore find you FULLY LIABLE and RESPONSIBLE for these attacks, and require JUST COMPENSATION in response.

To remedy this tragedy, the Vancouvian military will begin stationing a detachment of Peace Operators with every Vancouvian civilian group in your country until such time as our business's contracts already agreed to have been completed. This arrangement either must be agreed to or we must be immediately given substantial compensation for the loss of the lives of our citizens, the loss of the value of our property, and the loss of all future earnings from the contracts we will henceforth abandon due to our inability to safely complete them.

Wishing for Continued Prosperity, Freedom, and Efficiency
THE VANCOUVIAN CONGRESS

by **Arthemesia** » Sat Aug 19, 2017 7:56 am

The sun was slowly falling back to its bed, ready for its dark slumber again. The sky was painted orange with the white brushstrokes of clouds dotting the landscape.
The city of Freehold overlooked the Sea with a light blue passion, its waters splashing against the rocks to a soulful tune.
[Hr]
[Center]

[/center]
[Hr]
Officer Dunstad drove through the streets, windows down. The warm coastal breeze flew over the city, the smell of Bananas and palms filling the nose. He smiled as his patrol went uneventful again. The nation of Arthemesia have always been low on crime, and Freehold is the epicenter. There were kids playing soccor in a fenced off area to bis right, and across the street sat 2 guys and a girl, the two boys playing the guitar as the girl sang One of the new songs by her favorite artist, Alexi o'Cara.

Somewhere over the rainbow
Way up high
And the dreams that you dreamed of
Once in a lullaby

Somewhere over the rainbow
Blue birds fly
And the dreams that you dreamed of
Dreams really do come true ooh oh

Someday I'll wish upon a star
Wake up where the clouds are far behind me
Where trouble melts like lemon drops
High above the chimney top
That's where you'll find me

Oh, somewhere over the rainbow bluebirds fly
And the dream that you dare to,
Oh why, oh why can't I?
Well I see trees of green and red roses too,
I'll watch them bloom for me and you
And I think to myself
What a wonderful world

Well I see skies of blue
And I see clouds of white
And the brightness of day
I like the dark
And I think to myself
What a wonderful world...

Turning to his right he crossed onto South bend avenue, a long hill going up at a sharp angle. Behind him laid the coast with flowing long green grass, bathing in the Orange sky. A young boy stood there on top of the hill that overlooked the sandy shores, a tear streaming down his cheek. The officer noticed, and parked his car behind a blue Pontiac. Stepping out, he left his windows down and doors unlocked, without a fear. Quickly crossing the street after a convertible drove past, he walked down to the boy.
"Hey bud... You alright?"
He kid didnt respond.
So the officer put on a warm smile and went down to one knee in front of him, and held out his hand. The kid took it, clutching it.
"Whats the matter?"
Between the tears, he muttered out "its my birthday."
The cop smiled more friendly, and boasted a congratulations.
"Wheres your parents?"
Without a word, the kid used his other hand to point to the sea.
"Mommy and Daddy went out to to fight the bad guys."
The cop nodded, understanding. Still holding his hand, he asked the kid where he lives. After the kid told him up the road with daddys brother, the cop decided to bring him to a bakery first, and bought him a small anchor shaped cake with a candle. The kid smiled and said thank you, and showed the cop where he lives. The officer escorted him to the door, and knocked. A man opened and smiled at the officer, and huged the kid.
"Charlie, you okay bud?"
Charlie would nod.
The man would turn to the cop.
"Come in, come have some tea."
Officer Dunstad would oblige, and ask for some Green tea. Minutes later a small cup is given to him.
"So, I am Charlies Uncle, Robert. Is their an issue?"
Sir Dunstad would take a sip and look at him.
"What happened to his parents?"
"The were sailors, one for the navy and the other on a merchant vessel. They both lost their lives to the waters, one by Blackblood marauders, the other trying to protect against such things. I am his caractaker now. the past few months have been rough on him without his parents. Thank you for giving him a cake too."
Officer Dunstad would smile.
"Can you not afford to do anything for his birthday?" He would ask.
"Unfortunately not. An office job can only pay for so much. "
Looking back at Charlie, the officer would nod and say thank you for the tea, before taking his leave. The kid would wave bye, with his uncle yelling out th window hes welcome any time.
[Hr]
The next day, Charlie would open a knock on the door. It was officer Dunstad, who after just getting off the phone with his uncle was holding a big box wrapped up behind a smile.
"Happy birthday buddy."
Charlie would open it up, and with big eyes pulled out a massive model scale sail ship.
"Wow, thank you!"
A big hug smothered the officer, who only smiled and patted charlie on his back. Moments later, another man, Officer Dunstads friend Robert walked up.
"Hey, We got another suprise. Wanna come?"
Charlie would follow and hop in the car with the two men. Officer Dunstad would drop them off the dock, and pull away as he watched Charlie Smile a giant grin from ear to ear getting on the sail boat with Captain Robert, leader of Merchant ships the AMS Macintosh.
All day they sailed the small sail boat, Charlie sailing his mini one along side it with a remote control. That day, he learned what went on in his parents head. The love for the sea, addition to the waters and the rush of sailing it.

50 years later
Charlie would walk through the feilds in mourning, entering the cemetery and stopping at 5 different graves. Everyone he found in his childhood were gone, only to be replaced by someone new. Finally, he found his fivth, he knelt down in front and put a pin on the gravestone.
[Center]
Alan Dunstad
24 years of Service
Freehold Police force,
1936~2010
[/center]
"Major, ready?"
Charlie would stand and salute the gravestone, before turning on his heels. His Blue uniform was firmly pressed and his cap held under his arm. Together with Private Finch, they walked back to the docs.

by **Heddwich** » Mon Aug 21, 2017 6:29 pm

Part Two

The bar was a warm welcome from the howling winds outside the bar. As Ajax took a couple steps towards the bar tender he was met with many empty glares from the patrons. Most were drinking their sorrows away or here to collect bounties like Ajax himself. If there was one thing that was plentiful in the Badlands it is alchohol. Drinking is a sport in this part of the country.

"I don't like this, it's straight out of a damn cowboy movie." Ajax said to Danny under the quiet bustle of the bar.

After finishing his remark on the bar Ajax saw him. A tall, portly man with the beginnings of a beard. Ajax tapped Danny and told him to stay while he confirmed it was their guy. It was rather shocking that he was so easy to find. Pretending to take a call on his phone. Ajax moseyed around the bar and towards their target. It was their guy sure enough. A large three finger ring with the Initials "ZBM" sitting on the table infront of the man and his steel blue eyes gave him away. Ajax was careful to continue his faux conversation while he reached for his holster.

The target was too occupied by his bourbon to notice Ajax approaching him. Time seemed to slow down for Ajax, the people around him didn't matter. He put his phone in his pocket and quickly went for his pistol. Ajax gave the man some moments to finish his drink before they made eye contact. The targets eyes widened as his glass dropped to the floor.

"Ah come on man, we don't have to d.."

The targets plea was interrupted with a concussing bang. A .357 millimeter hole in his chest he fell backwards in the chair onto the ground. Everyone else in the bar fled which surprised Ajax, he suspected a cowboy-esque gunfight to ensue. After taking pictures of the target and paying the bartender for any problems caused. They left, back home to the Mayoral Territory to collect the mans bounty.

(Sorry this was so poorly written. Im in a weird funk and I just wanted to get something out. I have better things planned anyways. Just you all wait

by **Verona Beach** » Sat Sep 23, 2017 8:36 pm

2:30 AM

The beach was quiet that night, especially from the perch on San Esteban Scenic Overlook, a pullover on top of a plateau in Capulet National Park. Behind the road was the city, towering and imposing with it's sea of light. In front of the pullover, an actual sea in the form of Cook Bay spread out in front, with quiet lapping waves and twinkling lights from ships- knives cutting through the endless dark of the ocean. A small shrine to the namesake saint of the pass was set up next to the guiderails, presumably set up by Jimenean Catholic priests in an attempt to stop "sinful behavior" by those visiting.

This juxtaposition has a calming effect on most who come up to the overlook, but for two teenagers, it did quite the opposite. In the back seat of a 1974 Reliant Cabaret, several years of pop culture and practice-kissing on pillows culminated into a steamy evening overlooking a freighter carrying possibly illegal goods. An appropriately tuned guitar strummed on the radio, making the whole event seem like a perfectly-filmed music video. They moved awkwardly, as if blind. They really weren't knowing what they were doing, and the disapproving stare of Saint Stephen from the exposed altar didn't exactly inspire confidence either. Instead of being the flowing stream of passion they expected, like the river roaring behind them, they stopped and started in a stutter like the intermittent waves of the ocean below. The party at her house was only over a half hour ago, yet it felt like it had been years up on that clifftop. For all intents and purposes, they were the king and queen of that road. They owned that little patch of jungle that night.

Hours later, they awoke in each other's arms, glued to the vinyl-leather seats by their sweat of passion. Their night hadn't been satisfying, per se, but they wouldn't know that for a few years. The sunrise, peaking in front of them through the windscreen, fully roused them from their embrace. The Romeo and Juliet of the night had finished their act without much drama... for now. In their haste to love, they have forgotten to change the radio, and it continued to loop the same passionate guitar. The two yawned in sync, laughed, and kissed. They repeated the Three Worn Words of Verona, leaning into each other as they clambered out of the car and stretched to the tune of the dawn and that same damn guitar.

by **Vancouvia** » Mon Oct 23, 2017 7:59 pm

In the Vancouvian Congressional Hall there is a long hallway in the middle of the building, over 300 feet. On one end is where the cameras are set up. The media. They're told to be silent. Ordered to. There's no tolerance. On the other side is a man, always dressed in a suit, always looking proper, for there are to be no distractions. He carries in his hand a piece of paper. Maybe two. But he has it all memorized anyway. It's the bad news. The grief. The turmoil. The disasters. That's what this man carries. But with it comes the grief of the nation. He's a symbol. He's the procession of death. He's the inevitable warning that the inevitable destruction has occurred. He has his job, and everyone knows his purpose.

He begins the march to the pulpit. Slow, determined, almost peaceful. He is in no rush to share what he must. The hallway is empty but for the man. No carpet softens his pace. The man's footsteps on the harsh granite floor are the final wake up call.

He reaches the pulpit. Puts down his paper. Picks up his eyes. The words always start the same.

Ladies and gentlemen, citizens of Vancouvia, on behalf of the Vancouvian Congress, I regret to inform you all...

Citizens of The Isles [IC, TWI only]

The 35th of May

Diary - 27 May, 2017

Prime Assault In The Classroom

The Hallway and the Pulpit

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