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

[Dansha]

South African Administration Region, Jan 1st, Year 0
SAAR-CAAR Border, Western Border Checkpoint, Former Namibia

Captain Hanneli Van Der Vyver and Corporal Owino Lukwiya stand next to the barrier of the border crossing, holding their rifles as they watch the road. The checkpoint rarely sees much activity anymore due to the Great African Highway, built in the 2200s, allowing the few people working at the checkpoint to just relax.

“Looks like another quiet day, Captain.” Owino says, looking at her. “Just like every other day…”

Captain Der Vyver nods, looking away from the CAAR side of the border. “At least we don’t have to worry about being harassed by dissidents or bureaucrats like the guys at the cities or the ones who patrol the rural areas.”

“Yeah, you’re right about that.” Owino says, before the two look back at the border and stop as they look directly at an unknown soldier now standing on the CAAR side of the border as well as the checkpoint having changed, with a very German-looking flag hanging from the flag poles.

“What.” Both say at the same time.

On the other side of the new “border”, a single blocky imperial outpost stood tall and proud above the rather empty grassland it resided in. Well, as tall and proud as a brutalist concrete slab could, anyways. Truth be told the outpost hadn’t been particularly well maintained, and looked as if it dated back to the 1980s. Such as the reality of “guarding” the border of an inland backwater province.

Sgt. Theodore Guderian was… incredibly bored. Well, that was until the other side of the border suddenly changed, revealing… yet more relatively underdeveloped grassland. Great. That and there were some unknown soldiers occupying what used to be part of the Empire’s South African Reichskommissariat. Guderian decided to radio high command before getting on a loudspeaker.

“Hey you there! What are you doing in the Empire’s South African colony? Identify yourselves!” He shouted in German just as a few other soldiers in the outpost scrambled outside, weapons ready.

The shouting snaps the pair out of their confusion, the two immediately taking a far more alert stance, readying their weapons as the few border guards rush out to join them. Captain Der Vyver is the one to respond, connecting to the speaker system of the checkpoint.
“I am Captain Der Vyver of the South African Administration Region’s Regional Defence Force, who are you and what is this “Empire” you speak of?” She asks, her words being translated into German, if somewhat different due to centuries of change. “Because just a few seconds ago that where you are standing was the Central African Administration Region.”

“Central African Administration? Sorry? This land has always been part of Europan MitttelAfrika!” Guderian replied. The old German narrowed his gaze on the foreigners: they were… odd to say the least. Clearly not Americans but who else could they be? “The Empire of Europa is the finest nation on Earth, and we have ruled this wretched continent for the last 200 years. If you want more answers, I suggest you send someone over so we can… have a chat.”

“Europan MittelAfrika? Two hundred years? Do you remember anything like that?” Owino says to Der Vyver who just shakes her head. The Captain then looks back towards Guderian.

“I will come over to talk.” Der Vyver replies, before signalling one of the border guards to get her a tablet. Once the tablet is given to her, she approaches the “Europan” side of the border, speaking to Guderian in South African English. “Are you the one in charge here?”

A few soldiers stood at guard as De Vyver made her way to the border outpost. Guderian briefly saluted (in a Nazi fashion), as was customary in the Empire. “Sgt. Theodore Guderian, 192nd Burgundian Infantry Regiment. And yes, I happen to be the one in charge of this small outpost. I’m guessing you’re here looking for answers?”

”A Nazi salute? That’s concerning.” The Captain thinks to herself after Gudernian salutes. After giving her own salute in response, she replies. “Of course. After all, I certainly don’t remember there being a “Europan MittelAfrika” here, let alone for 200 years. Do you perhaps have somewhere we can sit? I’m sure it’d be more comfortable for both of us while talking, no?”

“A place to sit? Of course,” Guderian says before leading De Vyver into one of the small outpost’s officer’s rooms. “There’s a coffee machine in the corner if you want any. Sadly we don’t have anything better in these parts, mostly because the government always tries to cut costs,” Guderian shrugged.

“Anyways, you say that you are from a certain South African Administrative Region? Do tell what that is.”

“Alright.” Der Vyver says, before turning on the tablet to help show what she is talking about. “The South African Administration Region is, as the name suggests, is an administrative region of the Council of National Salvation, which was the ruling government of Sol and the few systems we could still travel to after getting cut off from everyone else back in 2636 and taking over from the old Orion League government. With the event, the SAAR now the only presence of the CNS on Earth.”

After a moment of silence she then looks to Guderian. “What can you tell me of this MittelAfrika of yours? And this Empire you mentioned, too.”

“A nation from the future? How quaint,” Guderian grabbed himself a cup of coffee. “As for MittelAfrika? Ahh, it’s a long story I reckon wikipedia could explain better, but I shall tell you what I know. Europa as an Empire descends from the old HRE, which united hundreds of years ago and went on to conquer Europe. During the colonization spree of the late 1800s, our Empire took its fair share in the form of the Congo. It’s been over a hundred years so our rule of the region has more or less solidified. Keeping the Africans in their place and all,” Guderian shrugged.

“The HRE? Interesting.” Der Vyver says, choosing not to voice her thoughts about his last comment. “For us, it dissolved in 1806, following the defeat by the First French Empire at the Battle of Austerlitz. Certainly a very different timeline from us. It also looks like both our nations are in a similar predicament, going by your early confusion.”

“The French? Bah, we absorbed those useless republicans back when they tried overthrowing their king in the late 1780s. It’s surprising to see that they did so well in your world. But yes, our nation too seems to have been… transplanted to this new Earth. It’s highly unfortunate, especially given the territorial losses we’ve suffered. But what can you do about it?”

Guderian sighed. “But anyways, if you want more exact answers, I’m definitely not the person you want to talk to. I could just give you access codes to the internet or something, though that wouldn’t be proper. Say, perhaps we can arrange for a data exchange of sorts?”

“A data exchange would work.” Der Vyver replies. “I’ll pass the request up the chain, then it’s in the hands of the bureaucrats. I’m sure it’ll be accepted though. I suppose we’ll see more of each other at our posts for the foreseeable future. Thank you for being willing to talk. I’ll take my leave now.” Der Vyver then salutes and heads back to the SAAR checkpoint to inform command and pass the data exchange offer along.

South African Administration Region, Jan 1st, Year 0
Cape Town, Regional Administration Council Building

The members of the RAC sit around the central table of the council room, Chairman Frederich Van Deventer sitting at the end of it with Daniel Wyrick, the commander of the SDF forces in the SAAR sitting at the opposite end. Looking around the table, Chairman Deventer speaks.

“So, we’re it then?” He asks the council, who all nod. “I see. What do you all have to report?”

“All resource imports have ceased.” The Chief of Economic Affairs says. “With rationing, our reserves will last two years, three at the very most. We need to find new sources and fast. Satellite pictures show Madagascar to be like it was before human habitation, which we believe means that it is no longer resource depleted. I suggest at least occupying Atsimo-Andrefana and Melaky’s titanium regions.”

“Do it.” The Chairman says. “Titanium is far too important for us to be reliant on imports. What about dissident activity?”

“So far, they’ve been quiet.” The Chief of Internal Intelligence reports. “Attacks on patrols have reduced by 70% and other dissident activity has fallen by a similar amount. We believe they are staying quiet to reorganise after the...event.”

“Let me know as soon as activity starts increasing again.” Deventer says. “We can’t afford to allow the SAAR to become unstable. Now, about that transmission from the UN, is it real?”

“All our checks confirm it is real.” The Chief of Diplomatic Affairs replies. “They must be a UN from a very different timeline than us as the UN we knew collapsed during the Resource Wars.”

“Then we will send a response to them and to the rest of the world as well.” Deventer says. “We need to assert our independence. And the border?”

"Our border posts along the former CAAR border has reported contact with a "Europan Empire" that now occupy it. They have also passed along offers of a mutual data exchange between our two nations." The Chief of Diplomatic Affairs answers. "Shall we assemble a basic diplomatic package with history and other data that would be publicly available?"

"You have permission to do so. Once it's put together, send it to one of the checkpoints to pass to this Empire." The Chairman says. "Anyone have anything else to add?"

After several seconds of silence Deventer nods. “Very well. Then this ends today’s council session. I will record a response to the UN. Hail Sol.”

An hour later a video and audio message is broadcast from Cape Town.

This is a message to the United Nations and the other nations stranded on this Earth.

I am Frederich Van Deventer, Chairman of the South African Administration Region, part of the Council of Nation Salvation. We like you have been taken from our Earth and transplanted here, separated from the rest of humanity's government. While we will respect your independence, we won't allow you to infringe upon our own independence with your laws which we did not vote for and as such will have no jurisdiction here.

Now, this is for all the other states out there stranded on this Earth: While we have no wish for war, we will not hesitate to retaliate against any acts of aggression towards us with our full force. But if you come in peace and trade, we welcome you with open arms. Once we are able, we will send out diplomatic envoys who wish to have them, including the UN.

Two regiments of RDF troops as well as support equipment are ordered to cross over to Madagascar with the aim of clearing Atsimo-Andrefana and Melaky and setting up basic infrastructure so that work can begin on setting up mines in the regions. It is expected to start two days after the message to the world.

[Alaroma]

Welcome back to the REAL Germany

The plane that carried the Texan Ambassadors was on the inside rather quiet. The Europe that was here was obviously different from the one that had been left, if satellite footage of their cities proved anything. In essence, Sasha Leonhart was in the dark more or less as to what she was about to encounter. Of course this was not ideal, but as things stood, she was the first person from Texas to get a real good look.

As the Texan diplomatic jet crossed the stretch of the Atlantic and made its way into Europan airspace, they were quickly detected by the Empire’s many early warning systems. Around 5 minutes after the Texans had been spotted, a squad of Eurofighter Lancers was rapidly scrambled to intercept the unknown plane alongside a single aerial cruiser (which had been patrolling the area). There had been fears of some sort of American first-strike or superweapon, so no precautions were over the top. As the jets approached the unknown plane, a message was sent to the Texans in Imperial German.

“Attention unknown plane, this is Capt. Richard Kindl of the Imperial Europan Airforce speaking. You are currently entering the airspace of the Europan Empire, so we demand you identify yourself and state your purpose immediately! Refusal to comply will be met with force.”

Unbeknownst to her planes crew, Captain Brauns had a situation to defuse. “This is Captain Mikasa Braun of diplomatic airliner 42, we are under the direction of the Federal Department of Foreign Affairs. We hail from the Texan Confederacy, and are on a diplomatic mission.” Was he fact the pilot also spoke German was rather relieving truth be told, but the talk of a “Europan Empire” didn’t sound exactly reassuring.

‘Texan Confederacy? Never heard of it,’ Kindl thought to himself before he shook those heads out of his head. Of course he’d never heard of the Texan Confederacy before: this was an entirely new world after all! At the very least this “Texan” he was talking to appeared to be German: a small bit of relief for the already overworked captain.

“Captain Brauns, your desire for diplomacy has been conveyed to our government. For the time being we will escort your plan down to the nearest major airport (coordinates will be sent as well) where you will await further instructions.”

The location for landing was none other than Paris.

Flying it’s way into Europe, Sasha was dutifully informed of where they were landing. Paris, the capital of the French Republic in their world. The European Union was a thing in their world, so it was conceivable this could be some evolution of that perhaps. Only problem is while the European planes looked familiar, the city of Paris most certainly did not. There was mega infrastructure that simply dwarfed the buildings of the old city. This Europe wasn’t the one Texas was used to.

The Texan jet was redirected to a pre-configured runway near East Paris / New Paris, the half of the city which was modernized along Europan standards. It’s megastructures and arcology-style construction differed wildly from the traditional architecture of Old Paris, a sign of the Empire’s rather vast disparities. As the diplomatic plane landed, the Texans onboard would probably notice that most of the signs and advertisements in East Paris were written in German. This part of the city was clearly Germanized to some degree. Exiting the plane, they’d be greeted by a procession of over two hundred fully armored Imperial soldiers, a dozen knightmare frames (armed with ceremonial lances and assault rifles) and what appeared to be a diplomat.

The soldiers stood at ready position, unflinching as Imperial diplomat Dietrich Haussmann approached the Texans. The tall (6’2’’) and relatively well built blond-hair, blue eye Dietrich was basically a textbook “Aryan”.

“Newcomers from the Americas? Welcome to the Pan Europan Empire, I am diplomatic officer Dietrich Haussmann, the one in charge of establishing relations with your nation,” he introduced himself.

Sasha, the Texan ambassador, was your standard Texan woman. While she had some diverse staff members, she herself was a brunette of Germanic origin. She was 5’4” and had just a bit of extra weight on her stomach. She was a mother, and some baby weight simply refused to go away. The picture of Paris with German signs in the background and German soldiers before her was a tad unnerving. Whatever she had just walked into, it was not a free France. However most terrifying was frankly the mechs in front of her. It was baffling that such things could be made.

“Nice to meet you Mr Dietrich, my name is Sasha Braun. I’m here on behalf of Chancellor Gottberg and the Texan Confederacy. It uh, appears our French Allies no longer occupy this section of the world.” Behind her, her bewildered staff took in awe of this new Paris. Her chief of staff was mittlekinder, of Native and German origin. The caramel woman looked with suspicion at the order of troops they had confronted. Meanwhile the other members of her staff had varying opinions of their own, which would have to wait until there was a private moment.

“French allies? Couldn’t say I heard that one coming,” Dietrich noted with amusement. “Our great empire absorbed those republican rabble back during their 1789 revolution… it was only proper after all. But as you can see today, we’ve done quite a lot in improving and developing this region!”

“It certainly shows.” Sasha says with less enthusiasm as a flight of birds go past them into the distance. If nothing else, holding a conversation should be easier for most of her staff in this case. “But yeah, our Europe was far more divided. A western half of nations supported by us, and the eastern half that was dominated by a communist Russia.”

“A non-united Europe you say?” Dietrich asked with some surprise. “Very unlike what I’m familiar with, anyhow. Europa was united over the course of the 18-19th century by the old Holy Roman Empire before it reformed into its modern state. Can’t say I’m familiar with any Eastern European communist Russians… the last time those folks were around was some 70 years ago during their damned uprising. We took care of the problem, of course.”

Dietrich took a moment to inspect his troops and the limousine that had pulled up nearby. Everything seemed to be in order, even if a few soldiers were internally squirming given the large presence of undesirable mixed-race people amongst the Texans. Dietrich was obviously more professional than that, even if he privately disdained the existence of such mongrels. Hopefully these Texans would see the light that was racial purity, someday that is.

“Anyways I reckon we should get going. There are more important places for us to be.”

‘We took care of the problem, of course.’ Kept playing in Sasha’s mind as she and her entourage got into the limousines. This Europe gave her uneasy vibes truth be told, but she had just gotten here. No need getting uppity quite yet. Rather focus on the nicer things, considering how they didn’t have much. That all said, the power of this nation was likely to be quite large considering their advanced capabilities. “Anywho, where are we headed?” Sasha asked, her chief of staff squirming next to her as she did her seatbelt.

“Ahh yes, we shall head towards the Versaille Palace, located to the East of this city. I’m personally not sure why we didn’t just move the entire complex to West Paris… but frankly it matters little,” Dietrich shrugged as the limos took off. “The Palace is home to the local viceroy of Upper Frankia, whom I’m sure you’ll find good company.”

The limousines picked up speed as they entered one of the Empire’s many autobahns. Travelling down the highway, the limos would pass the countless high-rises and tiered layers of East Paris as they approached the old city on the other side of the river. The Eastern city was spotless and well maintained, clear pointers towards the Empire’s high degree of wealth. Finally, after a few minutes of driving, the limos would pass the gated checkpoints that separated East Paris from Old Paris.

The old city, while not nearly as glamorous nor modern as East Paris, was still quite the sight to behold. Its century old architecture had been well preserved by Imperial authorities while numerous historic sites stood in perfect condition. Of course, there was one glaring difference: the Eiffel tower, which IRL stood as testament to French culture and nationhood, was nowhere to be seen. In the context of the Empire’s history, this made a lot of sense since France had been conquered over two centuries ago, but was bound to be a shock to the Texans. The streets too were quiet: the Imperial Army had enforced a temporary curfew in light of recent events.

“We should be there in a few more minutes. If you have any questions, feel free to ask,” Dietrich said to the Texans.

Sasha nodded at the offer, but frankly was beyond herself she was about to talk politics in the Versaille Palace of all places. The nation was still a mystery, so she was better off asking a few questions about who they were about to meet. “Alright this viceroy, what are they like? And if you don’t mind me asking, who rules this Empire to begin with? I assume a King or Emperor of some sort.”

Everyone had their own questions on Sasha’s team as well, though if they’d get the chance to ask them later was in question. It went without saying that of all the nations they encountered, Sasha and her crew had found one of the more fantastical ones. The blend of old and new was as jarring as you might expect in Neue Berlin, not Europe.

“Ahh, the viceroy,” Dietrich wracked his brain for a second. “Erika von Stroheim, one of Emperor Stroheim’s daughters. She’s 7th in line to the throne but rather indifferent about it. She’s your typical young, well educated lady, if somewhat assertive compared to her peers. Still hasn’t even dated anyone even though she’s 25 years old. A bit odd if you ask me!” Dietrich chuckled. “As for the Emperor? Well I guess I just mentioned him.”

“I don’t know, I’d be rather assertive too if I was 7th in line to an Empire.” Sasha’s chief of staff, Elizabeth, noted. While nodding in mild agreement with her subordinate, she thought about the situation with this viceroy. She constructed three things in her mind based off the top of her head. ‘Okay so she’s young and prominent. That gives me the feeling she’s probably an extrovert, given her assertive nature. On the other hand, she doesn’t seem interested in dating. This could easily mean she’s ambitious, but I also wonder if she might be homosexual? This all in mind, I get the feeling like I don’t know enough regardless. This all said, she’ll probably be confident enough I might be able to get more info than usual for a first meeting.’ Those thoughts out of the way, she asked “How long before we arrive?”

“We should be arriving… right about now,” Dietrich replied just as the limousines entered the palace grounds of Versaille. Much of the Palace would’ve been recognizable to the Texans… but it was the behemoth of a building in the distance that truly stood out. The New Palace of Versaille happened to be HQ of Upper Frankia’s central government, even if the Viceroy herself lived in the old palace.

The Limos came to a halt right outside the New Palace, where dozens of well dressed Royal Guards armed with G12 carbines were present to greet the newcomers. Likewise, a number of new 7th generation Knightmare frames armed with yet more lances (because why not) could be seen guarding the entrance to the New Palace.

“Well here we are! Now if you don’t mind, I recommend you keep close.”

“Noted.” Sasha said as she and her staff got out of the limousine.

“Ah, more big buildings, more long rows of men with guns. And more mechs. Almost like a bad anime.” Elizabeth noted to Sasha, who rolled her eyes at the younger woman’s reference. “It’s a welcome, and a flex of ability. You think the Soviets put on grand displays of military power when we had state visits with them because it’s fun?”

Elizabeth looked back to the troops, and shrugged. “These guys do. You don’t build that big for practicality’s sake.” Whatever the case was, it was time to end their private conversation and meet their host. ‘Shame about their masks, how else do you spot out random cuties?’ Elizabeth thought to herself with no shame as she followed her boss.
...

Erika von Stroheim was a busy lady, as one would expect of an Imperial Viceroy. Her assignment to Upper Frankia wasn’t particularly prestigious, but it was nonetheless important in its own regard. The former “French” state within the Empire wasn’t particularly industrialized nor economically important, but it did house some of the Empire’s large Atlantic ports and a number of more niche (yet highly desirable) industries. This and its close proximity to the heavily developed state of Burgundy made it more important than one would initially think.

“Princess, you have visitors. They claim to be foreign diplomats from the ‘Texan Confederation’,” A butler briefly announced before making himself scarce. Erika groaned: frankly she was rather tired from reviewing proposals and writing letters and would rather take a nap.

“Tell them that I’ll be there shortly. I hate waiting for people,” She replied before getting out of her (surprisingly boring) throne and walking towards the entrance of the Palace with two guards at her sides.

The Royal guards who’d been standing with the Texans bowed as the Princess made her way to the diplomatic team.

“Presenting her highness Erika-” A butler announced before getting cut off midway through his sentence.

“It’s Erika, Erika von Stroheim,” Erika deadpanned to the Texans, breaking tradition in doing so. “7th Princess to the throne if you’re wondering, and viceroy of this rather boring province. And who exactly are you? All of you that is.”

Erika would find the eyes of a small group of people on her, seemingly centering around a smallish woman in professional enough attire. ‘Impatient and young, a wonderful combination.’ Sasha thought to herself before beginning. “My name is Sasha Braun, I’m from the Texan Federal Minister of Foreign Affairs. I’m here on behalf of Chancellor Anna von Gottberg.” She said, her accented German undoubtedly something Erika would have no experience with before.

Looking back at her staff, she said “These are my staff. My Chief of Staff Elizabeth Müeller, policy advisor Anderson Goldstein, and my comms advisor Emmanuel Weber.” She said, pointing out her important staff.

“I see, typical bureaucrats from some unknown foreign nation,” Erika shrugged. “Well I guess we should skip the pleasantries and get down to business,” she started walking and motioned for everyone to follow her. “So, how’s your short time within our Empire been treating you so far? Anything similar to home?”

Raising an eyebrow, Sasha decided to say the bare necessities. “Well, there wasn’t a unified Europe at home. But in regards to how our time has been so far, it has been pleasant enough.”

“Well that’s good to hear I guess,” Erika said half heartedly as she led the diplomats into one of the Palace’s conference centers. “Make yourselves comfortable, nothing to fear inside these halls so long as you’re around me. Just make sure your mixed race members don’t wander too far.”

The conference room was rather simple considering the grandeur of the palace at large, but it had its fair share of decorations nonetheless. A large statue of the first Emperor of Europa, Charles von Stroheim, could be seen adorning one of the corners of the room while a massive map of the Europan Empire at its height (All of Europe up to the Urals, Turkey, Arabia, all of Africa, and all of united India) could be seen on another wall. The nazi-style symbolism in a few places was probably at least somewhat concerning to the Texans.

“Now, any questions? About things that would concern diplomacy between our two nations, of course.”

The comment on “race mixed” members of her staff was its own can of worms that had to be addressed. That aside, there were some other questions to ask as well.

“The Texan Confederacy is generally concerned with the Governing style and moral outlook of our partners. What drives a nation, and where we can find common ground.” Sasha’s eyes turned to the room’s map. Her eyes lingered on Africa and Asia. “If you don’t mind me asking, how Democratic is your Empire? Do you have any Democratic tendencies at all?”

Sasha gave Elizabeth a look, saying “Pull up some maps, if you don’t mind Elizabeth. Of the old world.” Nodding, Elizabeth began getting the appropriate maps on her tablet.

Erika frowned as she glanced over the maps she’d been shown. Where was the Empire, where was the NAU? And hell, how did those communists manage to take control of half of the world? That delusional ideology was good for nothing more than creating trouble, and it was amazing enough in her world that they managed to create just two nations (both of which the Empire recently conquered). And what in the world had happened to Germany?

“How disappointing to see that Germany was denied its glory… your entire world seems like an utter mess,” Erika sighed. “But it matters little now, given that we’ve all been displaced.”

She smiled at the mention of “democratic ideals”. Funny, the Americans always talked about those. Seems like these Texans might’ve thought along similar lines. “Democracy you say? Personally I find the practice somewhat distasteful, especially given how uneducated and mindless the masses tend to be, but the Empire nonetheless has democracy… for the right people. A proper, well educated and accomplished Europan can expect to have a say in the governance of the Empire, but the same cannot be said for the half-barbaric mongrel who lives in the Ukraine nor the animals in Africa. Frankly speaking, those groups need to be guided by us Europans, lest they degenerate into savagery.”

“On what basis do you operate under that assumption, if you don’t mind me asking?”Sasha said, before Elizabeth handed Erika her tablet. It showed her a map of the old world, and curiously excluded any sight of the Americas.What probably caught her attention immediately was the fact Germany was split into two nations. But beyond that, the menacing Soviet Union of the East was obviously one factor. However that wasn’t where she really wanted to focus.

“In our old world, due to a power situated in South Africa that controlled large swaths of the world, we had to conduct a pacification and stabilization of the continent after the pre mentioned state’s collapse. Ten years of aggressive police actions, and 20 more of hands on nation building. I’d like to point your attention to one nation in particular, the Central African Confederacy. After decades of hardship, it’s now one of the most prosperous nations in Africa. A respectable democracy and with a respectable people.” She said,while making her own tablet do various things.

She then handed her own tablet which had various pictures. Shining cities, impressive government buildings, and seemingly happy people. Only thing is those people were black. “This was our Central African ally, after some appropriate help from us.What do you think of our, what might you call it, civilizing efforts? I assume your African Holdings must be just as splendid.”

“Pfft,” Erika scoffed at the display of the Central African Confederacy. “As you said, it took decades of hands on guidance to shove those Africans in the right direction. I can only assume the CAC is heavily tied to your nation as a result. But alas, that’s not the point.”

Erika tapped a few buttons nearby, turning on a nearby powerpoint-style screen. The topic of display was none other than Mittel-Afrika, the Empire’s crown jewel of the dark continent. Most notable about it was probably the massive artificial lake that stood where much of the Northern Congo should’ve been.

“In the place of what you call the ‘Central African Confederacy’,” She said with no slight amount of annoyance, “The Empire has Reichskommissariat MittelAfrika, the most developed region of the Dark Continent.” A short video played afterwards, showcasing the advanced tiered cities along the Congo Lake (also called the “Empress Victoria Sea”), artificial beaches and vacation homes, and of course, the massive multi-layered Congo Dam (“Kaiser Wilhelm Dam”). Autobahns and maglev railways connected the vast expanses of the colony while massive mines and refineries showed clear indication that the region was indeed heavily developed.

Of course, one thing worth noting was that there were almost no Africans in the video: the few present mostly seemed to occupy secondary roles at best.

“I’d say our MittelAfrika is nothing to scoff at, and unlike your CAC, it happens to be under proper European administration. Your civilizing efforts are admirable in their own sense, but you appeared to have made the largest mistake: that of letting Africa go.”

“I’d say the opposite, the reason for our efforts was to develop a self sufficient nation. Especially in our world, where the actions of their former rulers caused so much damage. Besides, there would be no point. Imperialism is driven through a desire for land and resources, but we can get resources through trade. We also have land in abundance in the Americas. Besides, it’s better to be loved than to be feared, and I’d say we are quite loved in Africa. Especially in the CAC. They adopted our language and religion after all.” She said, before looking closer at the pictures.

“But beyond all that, a 5th column is not needed when we had a bigger fight against the Soviets to contend with, and their ideological goals. If they didn’t love us, the Soviets certainly would have given them the weapons necessary to express their hate. Besides, our goal of making a respectable nation was achieved. Proof that our model worked. Dear Viceroy, how loved is this Empire of yours by its people? Does it’s message inspire admiration abroad and at home? From the heights of your family, to the lows of the working class? Or does none of that matter in the end?” Some nations wanted status through diplomacy, and some just took status. Knowing what she knew about the USSR, this nation was definitely trying even less hard to be loved. It wasn’t even being veiled that well.

“I have to say, compared to the Germans of our world, your lot truly has lost its drive for achieving dominance,” Erika sighed. “I can’t imagine any true Europan would be satisfied with anything short of achieving a proper homeland for his or her people. In our case, it was all of Europe and beyond.”

Erika continued her little speech. “As for our citizens? Hundreds of millions of Europans from all stripes of life and background wave the flag of Pan-Europa proudly and hold our values dear to themselves. Unlike you, we seek not to cultivate love in the liberal fashion you Americans speak of, we establish dominance. And with dominance comes respect from fellow Europans and superior humans: the weak of course may fear us, but they rightfully do. I do have to applaud you Texans for at least partially guiding the African savages off their path towards annihilation, but ultimately it is inevitable. Our Lebensraum requires that all undesirables be gradually erased from the Earth, and our rule in Africa is but a stepping stone to enforce this.”

There was a good ten seconds of silence after her little speech, and to say the Texans were very uncomfortable was vastly understating the fact. Sasha wondered what the correct response would be, and her staff looked at each other in bewilderment. ‘This bitch is crazy, she- no this country is crazy.’ Elizabeth thought to herself, realizing what they had stumbled upon.

Sasha decided to accelerate the conversation, saying “This lake on the map, in Central Africa. That wasn’t there in our world. You also mentioned cities in the area relying on it. What caused such a massive lake?”

“Oh the Sea of Victoria!” Erika smiled. “It was part of a plan to industrialize and colonize the region back in the 1930s. Emperor Wilhelm started it but Empress Victoria was the one who completed it. We dammed up a number of the rivers and built a few artificial embankments to keep the water in the right places. There were a few… road bumps along the way, but we got rid of those,” she shrugged.

“Road bumps? What’s that supposed to mean?” Sasha asked, but a better question is ‘What the hell happened to all the people that lived on that land?’ Sasha frankly hated this place increasingly as she talked to the Viceroy.

“Nothing much,” Erika shook her head. “Some of the local tribesmen got angry since we were evidently uprooting them from their ‘ancestral homes’, not that it mattered. Then they most ungraciously rebelled, so Victoria did what was necessary and wiped them off the face of the Earth. All 8 million of them. I think it was 8 million anyways? Oh well. It only took 2 years. I have to say it was a rather efficient display on behalf of our army.”

Another uneasy period of silence came across the room, and at this point it was hard to come to any other useful conclusion. These people were monsters. The real question was what to do next. What was crazy was that she didn’t care, she didn’t try to hide it. This all baffled Sasha, and her staff. Trouble being, this probably deserved condemnation, but it’s not like Texas was really in a spot to make good on any such words. What do you even say to such a thing?

“Sounds more like genocide than a road bump to me, but frankly it’s neither here nor there at this point. You obviously don’t hold the same value upon human life that we do, which is frankly a shame.” Whatever the case, Texas probably wouldn’t find an ideological friend in Europe. Or any friend for that matter. Of course any moral nation would sink talks right now, but Texas knew too little of this world to readily do that.

“Take it as you will, you liberals are all the same,” Erika replied calmly. “Going on and on about ‘human rights’ and ‘universal freedoms’. I’ve heard the same arguments time and time again. But today, they aren’t relevant. I believe you are here to establish diplomatic relations and possibly open an embassy, yes? You may not agree with our ways but even then I believe you’d value in at least establishing dialogue with us. I can arrange for the establishment of an embassy near the old capital of Berlin, unless you’d prefer the Alpine new capital of Europa.”

“Is there a difference between the relevancy of the old capital and new capital?” Sasha asked, considering obviously the capital with the most contact to the relevant political contacts would be preferable.

“The new capital has higher security clearance, and is generally off limits to those we deem unfit. Of course, on the basis your nation still maintains some degree of value as Europans, you may submit a request which will be processed later. That said, the old capital remains open to anyone,” Erika replied.

“I suppose it’s sensical for us to request an embassy in this so-called new capital. Is this where the Emperor lives, if I might ask?” Sasha asked, unnerved by the racism that had to trouble everything with this nation.

“Fair enough. For the time being I shall assign you… the old NAU’s embassy in old Berlin. Should be fitting enough, once you get rid of the American flags that is,” Erika scoffed. “I guess one of the few good things that came out of this madness is that the Americans are in fact, not here. Now if you don’t have any more questions, I suggest you get moving. Transportation will naturally be provided by our government, as well necessities such as food and lodging. ”

“Thank you, we most certainly appreciate it.” Sasha said, nodding with as much appreciation as she could muster. This was going to be a long stay, and Neue Berlin wasn’t going to be happy when she got to sending a report back home.

“Very well, I wish you luck, Fau Leonhart,” Erika finished.

[Newne Carriebean7]

Ottoman Empire

The Beating Engine of the T-43 was a sound that brought comfort to the men manning it, one that Sword-Gunner Dosari Mugabe never would have second guessed for anything else. The Ottoman 3rd Army was conducting military maneuvers around this area. The optimists and brain noodles in Istanbul had promised a “week of prowess”, but every soldier well understood the bullshit that dripped from every word those eggheads spoke.

The arena in which the crafts and soldiers were confined to for a solid three weeks was about the closest you could get to a five meter scratch of dusty, sandy hell. The coarse, rough and everywhere getting material made daily life for the men fairly hard, especially when you had to lob a grenade before you went shit in a cave just to kill the fucking scorpions. The section of the frontline Mugabe was assigned to had rough bumps and curves to the landscape, as if mother earth was in a very abusive relationship with father time. The lashing winds that had accompanied the men frequently threw dust in their eyes. Sure there was the occasional clear day when Mother earth and father time were in marriage counseling to decide the fate of little timmy, but often it was just a very windy, sandy wonderland. It was like that don martin song, “Fucking in a Winter Wonderland.”

Mugabe soon felt a slight zap from behind. Turning his head to slight irritance, he sighed at goofball Larry Koshinohara, the man in charge of driving the tank.

“Aren't you supposed to be in the seat?”

Larry blew him off with a light punch on the shoulder and an eye roll. “Can it, shit for brains. Have you seen any action by the romanovs along the front? It’s been quiet for weeks. If they were to stumble into us, it’d be the other way around, with our glorious Tiger, T-72 hybrids rolling out in some shitty skirmish. I don't think they would risk engaging in a pitched fight with us anyhow. We’ve got the advantage of terrain, we’re dug in on this slope and we can call for
reinforcements any time we damn well please.”

“But what if they strike now?” Mugabe muttered, looking worried as he peeked his head outside to a brief glimmer of sunlight that baked the tank.

“W-we’ll figure something out, now go fetch us some breakfast.” Throwing a bag of rusty looking ottoman liras at Mugabe, the now irritated gunner removed himself from the hatch and dropped down onto the ground. Trudging past several groggy crews of men to an open tent, Mugabe peered at the open containers of slightly smelling eggs, worms and ham and picked the few which he was confident wouldn't make him think of gas station sushi as a better alternative in regards to stomach pains.

“This…” He said before picking up a delicate and squirming worm before dipping it in barbecue sauce. “Is the life.”

Biting down on the slimy object, it’s head exploded against Mugabe’s molars, the chewy flesh of the creature reminding him very much like sea food or some fine salmon. The shredded and mutilated portions left swirled around in his mouth from side to side as he closed his eyes and took in the bbq sauce and the protein the worm gave him before finally swallowing the creature down his throat.

“BREAKFAST IS OVER! TO YOUR POSTS!” The gruff and obviously smelling looking cook-chairman of the bacon committee of tankers barked out, with some semblance of authority hinging behind those words, the would be-breakfast dashers and diners dropped a few tattered Ottoman Lira notes on the ground and shuffled back to their posts.

The frontlines were soon abuzz with various soldiers rushing about, armed with weapons ranging from some peculiar looking bloke with a very wicked looking katana to a more stoned looking infantrymen welding the AK rifle to the more eccentric little old lady that surprisingly held aloft an AK-47 with a 120 round U shaped “clip”.

Defensive positions were manned as the T-43s, T-72s and Tiger-72 Main Battle Tanks lumbered into reverse slope positions throughout the canyon. The vast minefields laid in front of the units were nestled deep under the earth, with the only discernible sign of danger being a little red bird that was duct taped to a very sad looking and dried out husk of a tree. The large bunkers housing a pair of 14 inch Naval Guns swiveled from their mounts to peek at the unknown forces that had reportedly appeared out of thin air.

Dosari Mugabe found himself closed off from the world inside his armored beast, with Larry figuring out how to drive the damn thing again and moved the tank near a small section of the frontline, with two 155mm howitzers behind his tank as it was dug into the reversed slope military position. Mugabe’s heart was in his throat, as were those of many Ottoman infantrymen, who were adorned with fez hats as sweat began to drip into their eyes, forcing their arms to remove the debris and human outside water.

“You think they’re hostile?”

Suddenly, a loud crack was heard as the fourteen inch naval battery roared like a lion. The shells flying from the barre, slamming into the ground l several miles away with a fireball and plume of smoke before the shockwave reached the men from the opening salvo.

“I think our men’s just a little trigger happy, now hand me a goddamned shell.”

Border Region (Bulgaria) near Edirne, Jan 4th, Year 0

“Incoming!!” A bulgarian soldier screamed as massive explosions rocked the nearby Imperial outpost. It took a moment for everyone to register exactly what was going on, but soon enough somebody spotted the naval artillery whoever was on the other side of the new border was using. What the actual hell?

“WE NEED air support at coordinates NE-12-96 right now!” Commander Kliment Lukanov screamed into the phone as he conversed with the command of a nearby air force base. His entire outpost was shaking due to the bombardment, and more than a few soldiers had already been killed.

“Commander! One of our tanks was destroyed by the bombardment and over thirty of our soldiers are dead! We’re returning fire with our SPGs in order to silence these… turks, but we’ll need backup!” A soldier ran into the outpost’s command room right as an explosion nearby threw him off his feet.

“Shit! Order everyone to battlestations now and return fire!”

A number of Tiger III and Wespe tanks on the Imperial side of the border open up with their railguns on the comparatively outdated Ottoman tanks in the distance, while a squadron of Eurofighter Typhoons makes its way to the front, launching a salvo of missiles at the predetermined Ottoman naval artillery pillboxes.

Infantrymen scrambled into their trenches, clutching their rifles as hearts raced with as much adrenaline as you could muster under such stressful circumstances. Several men hastily threw themselves with abandon into the trenches, praying that the enemy artillery wouldn't find them, like bloodhounds with a mission. The entire earth shook with abandon, as if someone had opted to shake the planet around like a dice. Some of the more green infantrymen simply couldn't take it. The assault had broken these men.

They had been called up for conscription, in some instances kidnaped by the secret police and handed a rifle and a flag, others were more lucky in that the rifle had ammo, but these were conscripts anyways, who really gave a damn if they spilled blood for the glory of the Sublime Porte and Allah? A few men huddled in corners, wailing like babies would for a toy or their mothers, which many of the young boys, the youngest just three years old as part of the infidel infants, shitting themselves with fear. Tears would stream down the traumatized infant’s faces. Many of the men were morally, religiously and judicially bankrupt with the assault. The urge to just survive, that primal, pre-ottoman and pre-earth desire, bubbled to the service as adrenaline gave many of the lucky ones the boost needed to doge out of the way of explosions and narrowly avoid getting murdered by the slugs and flak cannons that was thought to have been on the enemy aircraft.

Dosari Mugabe would curse like a sailor as the tank jolted up and down from the vibrations the earth was giving him.

“For allah’s sake, stop throwing off my aim Larry!”

“You like being a sitting duck? No? Well shut the fuck up and let me save our asses!”

Mugabe relented as he gripped another shell and slammed it into the breach.



“Ugh. Fucking fine. For the glory of the Sublime Porte!” Mugabe screamed before pressing down on the trigger, sending the shell flying towards a grape looking black thing he could have sworn was an enemy tank.

Throughout the frontline, those tanks which were still kicking let loose sheets of 88mm and 106mm AP, HE, AP-HE and Chemical weapon rounds, sailing off into the distance with uncertain results, with much dust and sand being kicked up from all the ottoman shellfire benign thrown about everywhere.

Ottoman Anti Aircraft weaponry, dating from a guy throwing a spear into the air hoping to hit one of the planes to somewhat decent surface to air missile sites sprung into action. The results of the drunken spearmen were disappointingly realized when he was killed by his own weapon. Anti aircraft cannons, machine guns, flak turrets and ancient catapults soon sprinted into life, with missiles being thrown forwards by their propellant and screaming at a few mach speeds towards the enemy aircraft. One of the more unusual objects flying in the sky was a SCUD, and a fucking SCUD missile launcher. It was hoped the surface area of the large launcher would compensate for it’s quicker fall velocity compared to the light missile instead.

That’s not to say the Ottomans just fired the launchers at random, it was that whenever the SCUDS were out of ammo (easy given the singular re-load each missile contained, and the intricacies of loading it made the SCUDs really a one shot weapon), the launcher was used as better than just having some ottoman soldier shoot his handgun into the air and hope to hit something. It may have had the same effect. The SAMs were the things the Ottomans had with some hope of stopping it, as the WWII machine guns and flak cannons were too slow to traverse to hit something flying at mach speeds.

Unfortunately for the Ottomans, Imperial jets were both much faster than what most of their AA was meant to deal with, and could launch decoy flares, which they did. The Ottoman SAMs, which weren’t particularly well aimed and rather old (compared to what the Imperials had designed their planes’ in mind of), largely missed despite the sheer volume of fire they outputted. However, a single Typhoon was clipped by a near miss and forced to withdraw. Commander Lukanov, who saw the Typhoon as it flew back, sighed.

“Well that’s a bit disappointing,” he said to nobody in particular as a nearby radio barked.

“Commander Lukanov! Reinforcements are on the way, no… the Knight of 12 is coming!”

“What?!” Lukanov honestly couldn’t believe his luck. The Knight of 12?! Why in the world was she out here of all places? Lukanov thought most of the Knights of the Round and other elite orders had been deploying their personnel out to the east to fight the Russians. “Quickly! Somebody film this!”
----------

Monika Krause checked the radar on her KMF’s user interface and did a quick scan for enemy fighter craft and missiles: the Turks (?) sure were firing a lot, even if a majority of it ended up hitting nothing. Even then, it would be highly preferable that her KMF, the Florence, didn’t come home with more than a few scratches on its paint. Monika reminded herself that even a simple paint job cost far too many taxpayer Euros.

”Shields on, I supposed,” she mentally noted before pressing a single button. The Florence’s blaze luminous system flared to life as the KMF itself dove towards Ottoman lines like an eagle about to pounce on some mice. Flak shells and machine gun fire deflected off the shields harmlessly as Monika brought her two hadron cannons to bear. A bright red glow emanated from the Florence as its two primary weapons charged.

“Targets locked, enemy tanks and AA batteries,” Monika rapidly took aim as her KMF came ever closer to the ground. “FIRING!”

The Florence lit up as its two hadron cannons let loose a hyper velocity barrage of super charged particles on a row of twelve Ottoman tanks (if you could even call them that). The front halves of the vehicles: steel, composite, and all, were instantly vaporized as the hadron streams cut a horizontal swathe through the Ottoman line. The detonation of numerous racks only made it ever more obvious the destruction that had been visited upon the Turks.

“Twelve hostiles down,” Monika mentally noted. “Switching to CQC mode.”

Monika’s KMF landed right in the middle of the stunned Ottomans, who barely had time to react before the Florence neatly bisected two nearby tanks and drew its S.A.T-10 “anti vehicle shotgun”. In rapid succession, Monika loaded the shotgun with numerous depleted-schrabidium rounds and began blasting. Two nearby T-72s were cored as the DS rounds burned straight through their turrets, while a third T-42 that attempted to turn around found its main gun neatly cut in half before Monika put the abomination out of its misery. All around the Florence, Ottoman infantry fired their AK-47s and RPGs at the mech to no avail. The shields were holding, but then again they were meant to take a lot more.

“God, this is too easy, what sorta soldiers even are these people?” Monika scoffed as she switched to canister rounds and turned her attention towards the infantry. The results were obvious. Showers of super-heated tungsten and schrabidium vaporized scores of screaming Ottoman fanatics, making mince meat out of those who weren’t outright obliterated. The odor of burnt flesh permeated throughout the battlefield, not that Monika could smell it from inside her KMF. It was then that she noticed something was horribly wrong.

”Wait, are those CHILDREN?!” Monika gasped as a number of very small enemy combatants appeared on her HUD. What the hell was wrong with these people? Those kids… couldn’t have been more than kindergarteners!

“You sick bastards are going to pay for this!” She screamed through the Florence’s comms before blasting a nearby tank that was apparently trying to take advantage of her moment of shock. It was best she finish this battle quickly, only then would fewer children die. Ramping up her KMF’s engine once more, Monika leapt into the fray and begun hacking whatever Ottomans remained to bits.

Alarms wailed throughout the base as soldiers raced for their rifles, the T-43’s were handed a few more shells by the strong looking assistants. The elderly and children died together in nursing homes when a child smuggled in a grenade, blowing up the structure.

Monika watched in horror as the Ottomans inside the nearby base did everything they could to kill the old and the young. Only barbarians of the highest degree participated in such atrocities, she thought to herself, and as a proper Europan she’d have to do everything in her power to stop this!

“What are you waiting for?! Soldiers of the Empire, advance!” She yelled through her radio at Lukanov.

“Wait what?”

“You heard me! Advance at once! We need to secure the border and more importantly save the children! Those bastards are slaughtering their own kids like animals!”

“Well that’s not our conc-”

“It is! Now order your troops to advance before I demote you!” She finished before setting her eyes on the still intact 14-inch gun turret. It’s time for you to go, she snarled before firing off one final shot with her dual hadron cannons. The 300mm or so of armor on the turret might’ve been impressive had it been facing smaller armored vehicles, but against what was essentially a charged particle weapon it offered almost no resistance at all. A miniature mushroom cloud enveloped the former turret as its ammo exploded, the shockwave momentarily startling the now advancing Imperial soldiers.

“Soldiers of the Empire, attack!” Lukanov shouted over a loudspeaker. “Secure the borders and save the civilians!” He never thought he’d be saying that last bit.

Alarms screamed throughout the base, droned out by the monotone voice of Wilhelmina Packard and her casual way of speaking serious orders like a stoned principal would when talking about what children would have for lunch.

“This is a recorded message from the Chairwoman of the Ottoman Committee of Jihad and Defense. If you’ve reached this state, it means the military base is on fire. If it’s not, then I’m sure the Ottomans have fucked this up somehow, maybe a mecha godzilla suit was used or something, I’m grasping at straws in this recorded message, alright? So if you see the enemy marching through, make sure to initiate operation marlborough. I repeat for dramatic effect, initiate operation marlborough. Have a nice day you fucking infidels, now where’s the goddamned coffee I was promised?”

The surviving heavy armaments soon rotated on each other, aiming at the other allied gun battery before a sheet of flame interrupted the rotation of one that wasn't so lucky. The Ottomans were pulling out of the area and setting a torch to the crackhouse. As loaders for the 14 inch shells made their way out of the mountainous gun turret, some of them were unlucky as the rocks fell on them as the earth buried them. One minute they would dustily follow the signs and faint swinging lights of salvation. The next there would be a sudden rush of earth that could only have the reply of raising their hands up in a futile attempt to save themselves, accompanied by the last scream of their lives at a high pitch before being snuffed out by the tonnes of earth that collapsed.

Inside of a small logistical building, the final T-43 was driven out in a mad dash as the explosives went off, demolishing the structure with the few dazed and confused support staff that had been drinking too heavily to heed Packard’s recorded message. Teams of camels were hitched to the 37mm anti tank guns and driven away with as much rush as possible. It was a complete rout. However, not all was proceeding as quickly as one would have hoped.

“Come on.. Start damn you!” Officer Ted Bundie shouted as he pressed down on the power button for his laptop, cursing at he just ended up turning it off. As he touched it lightly, the sound of footprints drew the heart into his throat. Grabbing an AK-47 from a bedside table, he simply unloaded a few rounds into the room of massive computers, sending sparks and starting a small fire from the shoddy wiring and absurd amounts of paper that would send the room into an inferno in short order.

But he had a couple minutes before that.

Typing in his password as fuckingpassword123, he got access to the Ottoman Empire Chemical and Biological Weapons blueprints and programs. The sound of frantic gunfire down the hallway as Ottoman stragglers fought with the russian invaders didn't help his nerves. Copying every single file and fitting it onto a program, he heard the steps getting closer, the ottoman screams getting louder and the confident “URAA” of the Europan military nearly breathing down his neck. Ted Bundie soon grew scared and impatient, picking up his gun and blurting out.

“Oh, to hell with this.”

He unloaded half of the 120 round magazine into his poor laptop, with the hard drive, disc drive, floppy disc, area sensor, pizza maker, cinnamon roll fucker and islamic nuclear weapon sundae maker were all riddled with bullets and rendered useless.

Then the door opened and Ted Bundie was staring into the face of an Europan soldier.

“Don't kill me! I have data, lots of data with me! I can help you. I know lots about chemical weapons, I even know a location where they’re being built. All I ask is my life in return. Good deal yes? No? Please…”

The soldier slammed Ted to the ground with the butt of his rifle.

“Stay down you fucking animal! And don’t move a single muscle!” He turned to his Sgt, who nodded.

“Take him away, he could be useful.”

“Yes sir!” The soldier and a few of his comrades dragged Bundie away from the burning ruin that was once the Ottoman border HQ. The battle at this point was more or less over: it was a complete and utter Imperial victory. In total, one Eurofighter had been damaged, two tanks were destroyed, 46 soldiers killed (mostly by the oversized naval artillery guns), and possibly a hundred other Europans were wounded during the short engagement.

The Ottoman casualties were high, but that was always a forgone conclusion, given the incompetence of general command staff. 795 were declared “fucking dead lol”, with 308 being wounded, with 200 of those wounded falling into the hands of the enemy. The Ottoman surviving forces of a thousand and five personnel straggling away from the burning and destroyed structures. The Ottoman Naval installations, ones which took slaves at least three years for construction and around thirteen thousand of their lives to build, were smashed to pieces in a matter of seconds. The Battery of quadruple 14 inch guns, the battery of five twin 15 inch guns, the eight single 15 inch guns, the ten 16 inch guns had no time to either prepare or fully evacuate from the area.

Ottoman armored losses were predictably high, with dozens of upturned, dissected or destroyed. T-42 and Tiger-72 tanks littered the outside and inside of the base, with their mutilated or dead crews of varying ages rotting or dissolving into puddles of gore and viscera.

All in all, it was one hell of a way to make first contact.

[Democratic East-Asia]

Interlude: Walter Marx

January 6th, Year 0 post ISOT (2018 a.t.b)
Walter Marx’s House | Germania | Kingdom of Prussia

Walter turned on his PC and decided to spend some time browsing the internet. Despite the fact the Empire had been stripped from its world and deposited here, the country’s internet servers and satellite network were still luckily intact. Sure, it kinda sucked not being able to talk to his virtual buddies from Britannia or India, but it was better than nothing. As usual, he’d check IBC (and a few alternative news sources) to see what was going on around the world.

“Catalonian terrorists bomb Spanish cultural center in Barcelona: 12 dead and 45 wounded. Slavic insurgents rise up across East Ruthenia, citing a war for national independence. Germania stock market crashes, investors sent into turmoil… and so on.”

Walter sighed: it seemed that IBC was predominantly coming up with negative news headlines… not that there was much positive to report on. Alternatively, the underground websites Walter preferred took on a different tone: the Catalonian “terrorists” had instead been lauded as “revolutionaries” who’d taken righteous action in attacking elements of “Castilian Imperialism”. It was typical beutelist rhetoric, though Walter honestly agreed with most of it. Imperial governance reminded him of Imperial education: strict, overly straight forwards, and incredibly reliant on discipline and punishment. He still hadn’t gotten over the forced exercise regimen he’d been forced to undertake by the disciplinary officer: god, his legs were still sore some three days later.

Continuing with his browsing, Walter decided to view some recently posted videos on Eurotube. There were evidently a lot of IBC reporters out on the frontlines (his recommended list was full of military clips), as IBC in particular was flooded with live combat reports and overzealous journalists getting a bit too close to military equipment. Apparently the Russians were putting pressure on General Heschel’s two armies up in Belarus, though up to this point Heschel had been able to repel multiple assaults (through a combination of simply better tanks, artillery, and satellite imagery). The enemy evidently favored launching numerous probing assaults (probably something deep operations related, from an IRL perspective), though individual firefights clearly favored the Imperials. How long this would last was anyone’s guess, but the Dnieper defense line theoretically could hold so long as reinforcements continued to trickle in.

Walter honestly wouldn’t care all too much who won or lost in the end, but apparently the Russians were killing anyone and anything that was German. Honestly it kinda sucked: Walter low key wished the Russians were Beutelist revolutionaries or something of that sort. He had heard that prior to the event one “Russian Soviet Republic” under a certain “Valery Sablin” had been rapidly gathering strength in Siberia. It was too bad Mr. Sablin didn’t come along for the ride.

It was time to play some video games. Walter had always been particularly competitive when it came to FPS games, and saw it as a way to burn time whenever he was bored or lacked things to do. Today was just another boring day, so might as well get to it.

Unfortunately for Walter, reality had other plans.

“Walter!” The voice of his mom could be heard from downstairs. Walter groaned: something was definitely up.

“What is it mom?” He asked politely.

“Dad and I need to talk to you. Now,” she replied.

Aww shit, Walter gulped. This probably wasn’t good, at all. Quickly tidying up his desk, Walter made his way down the stairs and into the family living room. His father sat on a sofa nearby, his smile clearly wiped away by a frown. Walter’s mother appeared highly concerned.

“You called for me?” Walter asked.

“Son, you’re getting drafted by the Imperial Army,” Mr. Marx deadpanned. “Turns out being at war is a pretty bad thing if you’re of military age… and your school suggested that military service would be quite beneficial in reinforcing your faith in the Empire,” he sighed.

“What the- goddamnit!” Walter felt his heart drop. He was getting drafted, he was going to be sent to Russia. God, why is this happening!? Walter internally screamed.

“Son… I never knew it would come to this, but I wish you luck,” Walter’s mom did her best to keep a neutral tone. “Your papers are in the folder on the kitchen table, and we’ve prepared for you a few personal belongings before they ship you out to basic training.”

“This is for real right? Like, not a joke?” Walter looked incredibly worried. He was rightfully so.

“Yes son, this is goddamn real. Now pack your bags! The bus will be here soon,” his father commanded. “Walter, you might be one hell of a troublemaker but promise us this: don’t die out there. Everyone here wants to see you alive!”

“I’ll try my best...” Walter sighed as he walked back up to his room to pack his things.

---

Chapter 3: Headaches

January 7th, Year 0 post ISOT (2018 a.t.b)
Reichstag Building | Salzburg | Kingdom of Austria

To say that Frahm was busy would be a major understatement: he had to juggle a divided government, crashing economy, numerous first contact situations, and not one, but TWO conflicts, as well as report everything to the Emperor if necessary. On the plus side, the first draft of the treaty he’d been working on in regards to Italy was finally done! (For RP purposes its rather short / to the point) He hoped Balbo would find the terms amenable, especially given how large the disparities were between their two empires. Frahm really did hope Italy would accept without making too much a fuss… the Fatherland and United Europa parties weren’t particularly happy with Frahm’s “overly lenient” terms.

FIRST (and hopefully final) draft of the Italian-Europan Treaty of Friendship and Cooperation

This document recognizes the importance of maintaining positive relations between the two states in question, and comes with a few key points.

I. Economic Cooperation
- The Empire and Italy recognize that free trade (to some degree) would be of benefit to both countries.
- The Empire of Europa and Italy will work together in establishing a fair exchange rate between their currencies (the Euro and Lira respectively)
- Imperial and Italian experts will visit one anothers’ nations to assess industry compatibility and other factors
- The Empire will allow a select number of Italians to visit and observe Imperial methods of manufacturing and business practices
- The Empire will aid in establishing an internet framework throughout Italy

II. Non Aggression
- Both Italy and the Empire agree to a 5-year non aggression pact, renewable at any given time if both participants agree.
- Italy will recognize Imperial rule over its portions of Africa (including Tunisia), the Empire will likewise do the same to Italy
- Italy may (eventually) get the option to purchase older Imperial equipment
- Neither Europa nor Italy will fund rebels or terrorists in each others’ territory. If either party does so (and is discovered), all prior treaty agreements will be nullified

III. Joint Research into the Anomaly
- Both nations recognize the need in researching the phenomena behind the event, and will contribute experts and resources to a common project if need be. This is a largely secondary concern compared to the topics above.

Frahm wiped some sweat from his brow before moving onto his next task: the Turks. The Ottoman Empire was apparently back, and as if God himself hated Europa, decided to attack almost immediately after the Russians had, albeit to a much lesser degree. While military losses were quite low on Europa’s end, what was especially concerning was the Ottomans’ liberal use of chemical weapons (at this point Frahm wasn’t even fazed): the soldiers had largely been safe thanks to their gas masks… but the Ottomans were either very bad at aiming or had other intentions when launching their attack. A number of SCUD missiles had missed the Europan border and fallen upon Bulgaria: while most landed in largely uninhabited farmland, two ended up hitting the town of Svilengrad. The results were devastating: the sarin warheads inside ended up diffusing their deadly payload across the town, leading to over 1,600 deaths and 2,500 injuries amongst the civilian population. Everything had been caught on camera, and the public was enraged.

The quick meeting with his generals yielded predictable results: Europa would retaliate, disproportionately. The next day, two squadrons of heavy bombers and fighter escorts were dispatched across the border, where they dropped multiple tons of VX-5 (one of the Empire’s deadlier VX variants) and N-stoff on the Turkish city of Corlu. The entire bombing run was broadcast live on IBC (foreign TV stations honestly could've picked it up). A warning of extreme severity was then delivered to the Ottoman Empire, telling them to cease all offensive activity and withdraw 20 km away from the border. If they failed to comply to this within 48 hours, Europa would formally declare war.

---

An Address to the World

January 6th, Year 0 post ISOT (2018 a.t.b)
Reichstag Building | Salzburg | Kingdom of Austria

It was about time. Five days since the ISOT had begun, the Empire found itself on relatively shaky footing as it was attacked from two sides and had to deal with the reality of losing a large amount of its territory. The public, while still overwhelmingly supportive of the government (especially in the face of barbaric Russian invaders), could use a bit of motivation, as Frahm explained.

Emperor Charles II von Stroheim adjusted one of the medals on his uniform before entering the Reichstag of the Empire. He was to make a speech today, to announce the Empire's presence in the world and assert its dominance as a superpower. IBC affiliated and other reporters flooded the room, and this message was supposed to be broadcast on all known frequencies and channels.

“All men are not created equal. Some are born of greater status, of immense wealth and intellect. Others toil in poverty and wallow within their squalor, paying attention to only their most base desires. Both in birth and upbringing, human progress has inherently been stratified! The Empire is what it is today NOT because we pretended to recognize the “equality of all men”, rather because we crushed all those who dared stand against us! Primitive peoples and societies inevitably get in the way of progress, and as such are meant to be exterminated. This is something the fools within the North American Union will never understand, and it is no wonder they are so weak."

Charles momentarily paused.

"The Empire now finds itself in a new world, surrounded by new competitors who vie for power and absolute dominance. Our message to them is clear: prove your worth and you will survive, as the Empire respects strength over all. For those who cower in fear, I say that your fear is well deserved! The weak have no place on this planet, as only the strong have ever been fit to rule! To the United Nations and others who claim to assert sovereignty over the Earth: we ask you to prove it! If you cannot, there is absolutely no reason for us to recognize your rule nor your laws! We are not afraid to stand against those who may oppose us, and we shall plunder, conquer, and dominate and in the end, the future will be ours!”

The crowd below erupted into cheers as the Emperor finished, with thousands of them saluting his Majesty in a way all too familiar (Nazi salute). Outside the Reichstag, hundreds of elite 7th generation KMFs and their pilots, members of the elite Royal Guard, stood at ready as Charles' royal procession made its way back to the royal palace. The world would know the power of the Empire, and they would fear it.

[Union Princes]

Rome, Year 0

The atmosphere in Rome was catatonic, the same could be said elsewhere throughout the Italian Empire. For a moment, everything was paralyzed as the government and society were desperately scrambling together to re-organize themselves. Thankfully, the diplomatic mission done by Italo Balbo and Pietro Nenni soothes the initial fears of the King and the Italian people. Although they are separated from the familiar nations of their old world, the presence of a Pan-Europan Empire as the successor state of the Kaiserreich was reassuring if disconcerting. However, the new technologies that the empire posses did spark curiosity and awe in the citizenry, especially the scientists and engineers when Italo told them of the wonders of the Internet and Solar Panels. When King Vittorio of Bourbon-Two Sicilies were introduced to Eurotube through a laptop given to Balbo by the Germans, the entire Royal Family ended up watching kitten videos for nearly two hours. Meanwhile, Italo immediately called for a national census in order to catalog the amount of Italians that have been transported to this new world. Much to his horror, the Italian state of Tunisia wasn’t part of the African possessions anymore. Perhaps 10 million Italians and Africans living in that region remain back in the old world, completely cut off from Rome.

Internationally, the broadcast picked up by Italian radios gave mixed feelings to the people of Rome. Apparently, there was South Africa, a Chinese Commonwealth, and a United Nations. The last one proved to be worrisome. The UN seems to claim immediate jurisdiction over the entire planet, something that Balbo did not approve of. Since they are located in Australia and New Zealand, perhaps they are too far away to interfere in Italy’s business.

After a session in Parliament to quickly discuss the appropriate response, Balbo hastily put together a message of his own to broadcast to the rest of the world.

“To the nations of this world, whether native or transported here, this is Prime Minister Italo Balbo of the Socialist-Liberal coalition government in Rome. I am representing the Kingdom of Italy with King Vittorio of Burbon-Sicilies as the current Head of State. The year was 1967 at the moment of our country’s teleportation into this new world. Given the new world we are in, I plead that we should convene together to share information on what we have discovered of this planet so far.

But I shall address this to the United Nations of Australia and New Zealand. I must be clear, Italy does not recognize that the authority of the UN is above Italian sovereignty. The United Nations holds no jurisdiction over Rome. The only international community Italy has been part of is the League of Nations, formed at the end of the Great War in 1919.”

[Speyland]

The Land of Wind, Sunagakure, Kazekage's Office

Gaara, the Fifth Kazekage of Sunagakure, has experienced a sudden shift of events occurring throughout the region. The land is no longer a desert, there are plenty of natural resources scattered across the land, and there are exotic animals lurking within the forest. It feels to him as if he is living in a different world where he hasn't seen anything like it before. A few explorers trekked throughout the area (just by spreading out into divisions) only to find out that the nation is now on an island. It is only a matter of time to see how all of this began following a severe storm.

Sunagakure is surrounded by trees circling around it as there are plenty of them. He wonders if he will ever see Naruto Uzumaki and his friends again despite the fact that he hasn't got the chance to say goodbye to them before this happened. This is bittersweet luck for him but on the bright side, the nation has a lot of natural resources that it needs to function and keeping the people in perfect shape. The Wind Daimyo is trying to investigate the mysterious transportation on the island that they are living in. Gaara is trying to do the same as he is the governor of the city with the Wind Daimyo serving as the ruler of the nation (the one who can make decisions and in charge of the military). Workers were ordered to cut down trees to make way for new buildings in the future. The nation is slowly progressing.

In his office, Gaara has written an idea that he wanted to tell the Wind Daimyo about. He wants to conduct a plan to have settlers travel across the island to build new settlements. This is what he has written.

Dear Wind Daimyo,

I am obliged for the Land of Wind to experience a mysterious occurrence at this time. However, I have made a proposal to have the settlers travel the island in search of a better place in an effort to expand our influence across the region. Once we are able to do that, the nation will make progress as expected at a given time. If you can please accept my proposal if you must then that will be appreciated.

From,
The Fifth Kazekage, Gaara

A few hours later, Gaara's proposal was accepted and the plan for the settlers to expand the nation's influence across the island have begun. This is the start of a new chapter for him and the Land of Wind itself.

[Lan Khao Xang Hom Krung Tai]

Retconned by Tuwa

No one dared anger the beast that was the Mongol Empire. In all its history, those who did not respect the Empire fell, their peoples culled by the warriors of the steppes. Though as strong as it was, all beasts grow old. What could once be called the pride of the Khans, were now a smaller fraction of itself. Formally spanning from the western reaches of Anatolia to the coast of the Korean Peninsula, from the frozen tundras to the humid tropics, it was a shadow of what it once was. Still, it was a force to be reckoned with, even confined to the core steppes.

The state had known a hundred years of nominal peace, though that was soon to change as the empire was thrust into a world unlike its own.

Dadu, Mongol Empire
"All flight destinations outside of the Empire are currently suspended due to unforeseen circumstances. We are sorry for the inconvenience."

Due to sudden incidents outside of the empire, all current travel through ports of entry are currently suspended for the time being. We are sorry for the inconvenience.

Surveillance drones flew along the empire's borders en mass. The country itself had been put on lock-down under the guise of whatever local officials thought was necessary to keep the locals in the country while Dadu tried to figure out what was going on. Though, it wasn't as if many people believed it was a safety measure, not with the gendarmes out and about, blocking off major roadways out of the country.

[Newne Carriebean7]

Damascus, Syria
Headquarters of the Central Committee, Ottoman Empire
January 7th, 1980

Ellison D. Smith threw his penknife into the armchair he sat in, his face enraged at the local news reports. The military generals shared the fiery glance of Smith. The Ottoman Empire had been attacked. Action needed to be taken. Heads needed to roll. Preferably metric shit tons of armenian or other “less desirable” races, but that discussion might be put on the back burner or in private. Right now the main concern was the skirmish with the Soviet Union, or Europa as it was called.

In order to come to a more rapid fire discussion, the Central Committee met as fast as they could. Though this meant that there were only eleven members, five military generals, five imams and a representative of the Sultan. This representative of the sultan was the best man that really knew who Fuslar IV was. This was because Fuslar himself had broken precedent and taken place in such a high level meeting. The President-Sultan of the Presidium, unable to reach Damascus owing to commitments in Istanbul for the defense, was connected via phone to the meeting, in which an aide held up the receiver as she sat in her office managing the capital and giving advice to the Central Committee whether it was warranted or not.

Smith sighed before getting a nod from the Sultan to begin the meeting.
“As if this week couldn’t get any worse. You know how long I spent kissin broads and babies? Twenty something years and now I’m stuck in this room withabuncha tight lipped, tight ass namby pamby sissy women tryin’ t’ be soldiers! Your Majesty, If you would permit us to mobilize the army immediately-”
“But that would panic the local populace if they knew we were getting ready for a fight. I urge us to hold off on any drastic actions.” General Jochamin Pasha spoke out against Smith, much to his fury.
“Dont you fucking interrupt me goddamnit! You people have no respect fer yer elders! Not like in my day where we addressed them as ‘sir’”
“Ok Boomer.”
“Oh,y-you’re just getting on my nerves you ungrateful sack of shit! Fuck you!”
“Fuck you too. Now if all Smith is going to do is insult us, I’d recommend we get back on track. Now-”
The Military General laid out a map of the Ottoman Empire, with several paper clips, bottle caps and literal pieces of shit plopped onto the map as indicators of the current situation.

“I have received reports of a chemical weapons exchange between Europa and the Ottoman Empire. Hundreds are dead. This has started a larger scale burst in hostilities between our two nations. Two Ottoman missiles initially hit the town of Svilengrad located in Bulgaria. These missiles were equipped with the chemical Sarin. At least fifteen hundred locals perished. The Europans, outraged by this, conducted a tit for tat response on our town of Corlu. Initial casualty reports say two thousand people have died from this. In response, the Europans have delivered us an ultimatum: stop attacking and withdraw your forces 20 miles from the border. Conveniently, they have also assigned a rather tight deadline for it. Two days or they’ll declare war.”
The Phone Line with Wilhelmina on the other end was the first to bark out.

“I’m not trusting of the timeline they assigned us. Two days might be enough time for us to ready a few SCUD sites for a preemptive strike on the Europans. I’m fully for war with such undesirable people. However, keeping the people calm is futile. We can whip this into propaganda, show them the horrors of chemical warfare. ‘Commit more acts of Svilengrad to avenge the victims of Corlu.’ That’s what I propose our rallying cry to be.”

A military general was the next to speak up.
“But that will lead to even more deaths! We must at least attempt to negotiate with them, even if it fails we can at least take the high road.”

“But the Ottoman Empire will never take the high road, all our roads lead straight to hell, and I don't intend on playing construction worker while you snort cocaine off of the backs of slaves!” Wilhelmina replied fiercely from the comfort of her office.

The same general remained defiant.
“Why don't we ask the United Nations for help, I’m sure they’d be willing to negotiate something?”
Everyone else in the room burst out laughing, much to the arabian general’s chagrin.
Packard was the first to at least gain composure from snorting hard, reducing her giggles to modest chuckles.
“As the UN, that’s a good one! No, we’ll fight this out long before we figure this out.”
Packard then noticed the Sultan had remained awfully quiet this whole meeting.
“Sultan, what’s the matter?”
Fuslar IV stared long and hard down at his penultimate knees, his eyes having a glassy, glossed over and sleep deprived look on them if one was to peer deep enough into his soul. He seemed very, very troubled over this whole thing. After what seemed like an eternity, the sultan spoke.

“I have been balancing out this for my entire life. Trying to act as the defender of the muslim world while also bringing peace to the christian kingdoms along the shoreline. From the bloodsucking nobility to the rampant military members that flank my body, I’m on a tightrope. One false move, one false slip, and myself and the Ottoman Empire may come crashing down. I’ve got half of you pushing one direction and the other half the other direction. Either outcome is not pleasant for us. We either fall to our deaths on the left or on the right. Either way you politicians, imams and nutjobs heed no warning, at your own peril. I’m still suffering something in my gut. My Brain says we should take a certain course of action, while my gut opts for a different path. We won't know if we’re taking the right one or not, we don't have the luxury of hindsight. That’s a job for the media and the historians. I’ve got to make a choice that will either save millions of lives or doom millions of lives. It’s...not an easy one to make.”
The Sultan then abruptly gets up and turns to leave, much to the shock of the members gathered.
“Just make sure we’re ready for either outcome. Keep the troops readied. I shall inform you of my decision in the morning. It is getting rather late when we meet.”

With a shut of the door, the cabinet members were left alone, feeling naked and afraid.

“What would tomorrow bring?” Thought everyone in the room.


Wilhelmina Packard gives an unprecedented national address to the nation. Thirty million radios and seven and a half million television sets soon were interrupted or had their radio programs suddenly interrupted by the Ottoman national anthem, and the picture of an old woman with a military trench coat, holding a cigarette in one hand and a speech in the other. She would glance down at it frequently, fixated on several words before she was it in the head with a stick to stop looking at it and to address the audience with screams in arabic.

“You fucking son of a bitch! That fucking hurt! Oh. Hello citizens of the Ottoman Empire. I am Wilhelmina Packard, serving as the Chairwoman of the Ottoman Committee of Jihad and Defense. I mostly just sit around, read magazines and smoke cigarettes, so your tax dollars are clearly going to a good cause. My bank account you dumbasses. I also am in charge of reading out statements. There are rumors going around about the country being in a state of war with Europa. I can firmly say these rumors are true de jure, but not de facto. The Ottoman Empire has not legally declared war on Europa, but skirmishes have started since yesterday all along the boarder.

The instigation of such an action was our accidental provocation in firing missiles tipped with chemical goodness into Europan boarders. We simply were testing our weapons on the Europan populace, and they have responded with a tit for tat retaliation of the Ottoman City Corlu, where our counts say 89,400 people have died and another 100,000 have respiratory and internal issues as a result of this barbaric act. An act of aggression like this will not go unanswered with military force. The Ottoman Empire, acting on the authority of Allah and the copious amounts of cocaine within our country, has officially severed any and all diplomatic and military ties with the Pan Europan Empire. A state of war exists between Europa and the Ottoman Empire. Total and full mobilization of the armed forces has been ordered immediately. God is Great!
Alright my speech is over, can you hand me my coffee now?

What do you mean you drank it? Oh for hells sake, some infidel had better get Mrs. Packard her caffeine, or I’ll see to it that you’re fucking defenestrated!”

Istanbul, Turkey
Congress of the Sublime Porte
January 8th, 1980

The mood in the capital had changed swiftly in such a short period of time. There was a mass manufacture and sell of gas masks to the general public as panic buying for bread and water strained the city’s bakeries and fresh water deposits. Despite the paralyzation of the government in major decision making, the local governors took it upon themselves to get ready for war.
The Governess of Syria and Cyprus, Helga Gobbels, ordered the production of chemical weapons regardless of how many facilities there were left to produce it. Makeshift ones sprung up within a few days, with shoddy walls but enough protection from the sand storms to not slow production of sarin gas shells or sarin gas bullets. The general speed in which the gas was produced was at a moderate pace of shell production, with the former being hampered by the latter. There needed to be more shells readied for gas, and in Syria and Cyprus such a thing was not a reality.
The only area within Syria that reported more of an increase was Aleppo, the hated enemy of Gary Johnson for not knowing what it is. Optimistic reports boasted of two million shells daily, though the more realistic number was around one hundred thousand gas shells within a day. Still, Gobbels was satisfied with the fact of seven hundred thousand shells within a week would soon be at her disposal. The current syrian shell supply was only two and a half million in all, with less than two hundred thousand of those being gas shells. More needed to produce, and the only thing Gobbels needed was more time to prepare.

In contrast to Helga, her husband Josif Gobbels was in a better position production and defense wise. As the Lord-Minister of Turkey, he had taken immediate steps to better prepare for a chemical weapon style war. Gas masks were issued to high ranking government ministers and the vast airfield canyons were doubled as emergency shelters for the local populace and production for SCUD missiles and their content of Sarin warheads. Turkey boasted some of the largest airfield canyons, despite not having all the planes needed to utilize these rocky bases effectively. Massive Naval Guns, a recurring theme in Ottoman military thinking, sat dormant underground on several layers of earth, waiting for a chance to open fire with modified Sarin 14, 15, 16, 17 and 18 inch naval rounds.The fortunate matter was that the airfields could also easily either launch sarin tipped SCUDs or have their launchers travel in underground tunnels to other airfield canyons or various parts throughout Turkey. Though these did stop at the borders, limiting their effectiveness to Turkey and leaving the rest of the Ottoman Empire somewhat exposed to chemical weapon attack.

Wilhelmina Packard herself, in the position of Stadtholder of the United Provinces of the Kurds, had ordered the streamlined production of sarin gas shells for use in an upcoming conflict and to issue gas masks for those ottoman citizens within the UPK. Of course this only meant a small 15,000 of the around 600,000 people within the UPK were given this protection, but she was willing to sacrifice a few hippy kurds if it meant her base of loyal turks remained at her side throughout it all. She lacked the massive naval guns capable of launching sarin tipped gunfire at foes, but had plenty of smaller chemical artillery rounds, rocket projectiles and tank ammo to spare.

Paula Abdullah Deen Center for Nuclear Research and Space Exploration
January 9th, 1980 9:13 AM

A cloud of dust was kicked up by speeding dots on the horizon, the haziness of the day led to distortions on the soldiers manning the post. The situation had changed rapidly in such a short time, with orders from high command ordering the exercise of “utmost vigilance in day to day activities” This meant you had to be alert when on the toilet, lest an enemy soldier sneak through the pipes and get you in such an embarrassing manner. The soldier manning the MG-85 pointed the gun at the car, hand ready on the trigger as sweat poured from the young man’s face.

Brushing the bodily liquid off of his eyes to see, the car was a dark black limousine, with either front end drapped with an Ottoman flag. The young man saw his reflection before the widow rolled down in the rear, an old man with gray hair and wearing a black striped suit complete with a red tie and bright yellow cufflinks on the arms appeared. His face curled into a furious looking frown when he made eye contact with the soldier.

“What the fuck is the hold up?! I’m on a schedule here goddamnit!”

“Sorry sir, but I’m going to need to see your documentation.”

“Documentation?! Boy the world’s ending, you don’t need to see documentation.”

“No, I do. Jedi mind tricks dont work on me.”

The old man got out of the car, brandishing an alligator.
“I’m sure some floridian wild life works. Now march.”

While the soldier had a fully operational firearm, and traditional logic would assume a bullet to the brain beats an old nutjob weiling an alligator, traditional logic does not work here, so the soldier found himself opening the wooden blockade and letting him into the base. The old man found himself at an impressive series of cables and platforms that stretched several hundred feet into the skies above, right next to a huge fuck off rocket ship called the “Napalm Delight.”
Ottoman Minister of Military Bravery and Islamic Zeal Jimmy Williams’ face curled into a smile as he loaded the alligator’s mouth with gunpowder and some bullets. Finding a very nice pre-lit stick of dynamite, he was able to have a long enough fuse to prevent the tnt from blowing him up, and always acted quick enough to shoot the aligator and shut his jaw to prevent him from having pick up bits of larry the alligator and himself for the good part of the afternoon.

Ducking down a corridor, he squeezed the gator at two military men on patrol, the gator rounds hitting them both before they could unholster their M1Grands and Colt revolving carbines to return fire. A zip of a bullet seared his ear and gave him a little bit of a haircut.

“A little less red than I would have liked, but overall good service.” Jimmy thought as he spun around and shot the gator once to remove the old janitor that had unholstered his own blunderbuss in an attempt to stop the insane man.
Soon he got to the rocket, walking across the gangway and throwing the door open. He stared at the astronaut before slapping him across the face with the reptilian gator skin, knocking the man out.
“I guess now you’ll be seeing stars. Ha! What a stupid jok-”

Before he could deliver his remark, the Napalm Delight suddenly vibrated violently. Williams gripped onto a section of the hallway railing to avoid falling out. He hastily shut the door to the rocket and bolted it with the deadbolt that was on the floor. He rushed to a seatbelt and strapped in his gator as the rocket began to blast off, throwing him off balance and sending him crashing into the bottom of the control room. Definitely clawing his way back up against all odds, he gripped the seat and seat belted his sorry ass in as the rocket climbed faster and faster. He began to breath more and more heavily, his vision becoming increasingly blurry before, as the curtain closed, the tale of the Ottoman version of florida man came to a sad end as his eyes shut for the last time.

The rocket abruptly turned around the sudden rush of blood to his head from the increasing descent throwing him and the Gator wide awake.
"Wh- I thought I was going to space! No fair! I want to go to space! I wanna I wanna I wanna I wann-"
His tounge died when the rocket made contact with a collection of Europan towns along the boarder, the rocket exploding in several chunks that spread the nine hundred kilograms of Sarin within the rocket throughout the ground, it begining to seep through rapidly before slowing down and contracting somewhat. People screamed and gagged at the chemichal entering their bodies, killing hundreds within a matter of moments.

The Gator survived, of course.

[Democratic East-Asia]

Kriffing Sand! (Collab between Europa and the GAR)

Governor's Palace, New Carthage (Tunis), Tunisia Governorate, North African Commissariat

“Governor General!!!” A secretary slammed through the door of Christian Lippi’s office with a stack of reports in her arms. “A list of reports from southern Tunisia! Sir, the entire region’s in a state of utter chaos!”

The disheveled and exhausted Lippi raised his head slowly, his bloodshot eyes virtually glaring a hole through the secretary. “For GOD’S SAKE this is the 7th time I’ve been hearing such reports! Can’t somebody just compile everything into a few neat summaries!? I know something horribly wrong is happening down there, but this near constant nagging is making it extremely hard to concentrate!” The Italian shouted while sifting through a pile of older status reports. From what he’d heard, anything ranging from a meteor shower (?) to an alien invasion had been cited as the cause for the unprecedented devastation visited upon the cities of Medinine and Tataouine. He’d discarded the notion that the Americans had somehow launched a nuclear attack upon those cities: it made no sense why they’d target some hellholes in the middle of nowhere. Nevertheless, this was an incredibly pressing situation.

“Does anyone know if we have any military units in the area?” He asked nobody in particular.

“Err, one of the regiments stationed within Tatouine was present… a few moments ago. They’re probably all dead or unaccounted for now,” an aid replied.

“Military units which happen to be alive, thanks,” Lippi shook his head.

“I believe elements of the 314th KMF regiment were present in the town of Houmt Souk prior to this even-”

“Then what are you waiting for?! Tell them to deploy immediately! Make sure they bring first aid supplies or whatever the hell they’d need for this! I want some action goddamnit!”

“Yes governor!”

“Now get me a uniform! I’m not going to wait another 4 hours till something’s done. I don’t care whose airship we’ll be using, but I’ll need a lift!”
---------------------
314th KMF regiment, On route to Medinine

Capt. Catherine Hennig checked the core readings on her KMF’s reactor as the 6th generation Lowe made its way across the sky. All systems were green: she had at least another 12 hours of deployment time before her KMF needed to refuel. She and the 47 other KMFs with her were ready as they could be.

“Are you seeing what I’m seeing?” Her wingman spoke through the comms. In the distance, the smoking ruins of Medinine came into view, but that really wasn’t the point. There were… large ships (?) of sorts that dotted the landscape.

“My goodness…” One of the other pilots was clearly at a lack of words. Those were some… hefty starships (?) in the distance. “We really are under attack by aliens…”

“Doesn’t look like much of an attack to me, they seem to have grounded themselves,” Hennig replied. “But that’s beside the point. We need to move in quickly and assess the situation on the ground, as well as deal with these intruders. All knightmares on me!”

Hennig and the squads behind her made a sharp turn and gradually descended in altitude till they were virtually just gliding above the ground, keeping low in order to avoid potential AA fire. Hennig checked her speed: 240 km/h. It would be a matter of seconds before they made ground-level visual contact with the newcomers...
---------------------
During the post-debacle debriefing, General Kenobi had been made clear to all units that this was not a campaign - that they were not here to take over the planet. This was to be treated as a mere unplanned “stopover”, and that efforts will be made towards leaving their unintended destination.

At least, that was the public line, made primarily for the benefit of the Republic Navy officers.

The clone troopers, with their closer, more personal ties to their Jedi commanders, knew otherwise - their ships were right and proper farkled, and without shipyards on the scale of Kuat (or, ironically, Anaxes), they’re in for the long run.

As an aside, some of the more bookish vode from the 501st had apparently come up with the bright idea of checking in with their resident Senator regarding their current situation. Amidala had stated, in no uncertain terms, that legally speaking they were on foreign territory…

But that was all beside the point to Oddball, whose squad had the great ‘fortune’ of being tasked to patrol this particular sector of the crash site.

“Kriff legalities…”, the clone commander muttered as he brought his ARC-170 down to trail behind the squad of unknowns, the rest of Flight Seven bringing up the rear...

“Should we notify them of our approach?” A nearby pilot asked.

“Affirmative. Ideally we won’t have to shoot anyone today,” Hennig nodded.

“Commander!” A nearby pilot notified Hennig in haste. “We’re being followed! Unknown fliers to our rear, they appear to be fighters of some sort.”

Hennig and the others hurriedly turned their mechs and around and almost instinctively raised their weapons at the newcomers. Sure they were KMF rifles, but KMF rifles were meant to destroy tanks and could hit low flying aircraft pretty easily. A radio transmission was subsequently sent out on various frequencies in a few commonly used languages (Chinese, English, German).

Attention intruders, you are currently within lands ruled by the Pan-Europan Empire. We demand you identify yourselves at once and state your intent. If you desire peace, we’re willing to talk. But if it is war you seek, we will do everything in our power to destroy you. You have 60 seconds to respond!

“... certainly have our attention now.” Oddball snorted, watching as the atmospheric crafts - apparently flight-capable walkers (and isn’t that a strange thought) - aimed what appeared to be upsized infantry weapons at his face.

“Commander sir, orders?”, one of the shinier pilots - he thought - came in through comms, after the proud announcement by their hosts.

Giving the map display a cursory check, the clone pilot verified their flight path - right smack for the Tranquility. Oh, and of course there’s an LAAT on apparent-intercept course - an LAAT that he bet carried a certain shiny Jedi. Once again, he thanked the Force for blessing his missions with ample complications.

“Tranquility, this is Oddball, Flight Seven. How would you like your incoming bogies done? Over.”

“Oddball, this is Tranquility. Do not engage - I repeat, do not engage. Ascertain landing requirements for bogies and direct them to the main hangar passage if necessary - we’ll get the tractor beams ready for them. Tranquility, out.”

“Orders?! Orders, sir?!” Yep, definitely a shiny.

“Flight Seven, hold fire and await further orders. Over.” Shaking his head good-naturedly, Oddball switched to broad-spectrum for his transmission. He supposed he should be a bit … official, for what was most likely a first contact scenario...

“Hello there, non-intruders - consider our attention received. This is Clone Commander CC-2237 - or Commander Oddball if you prefer - of Clone Flight Squad Seven, Open Circle Fleet. Galactic Republic Starfighter Corps, if you require that level of identification. Intent: to carry out our assigned mission of atmospheric patrol in defence of our naval task force - I’m sure you’re within visual range of them. You know, those big smoking durasteel triangles face-planted into the dunes. Command asks if you need a landing strip - for your personal comfort and safety, I recommend a prompt reply to that. Seems like the General wants to talk. If there’s nothing else, we’ll see you groundside. Maybe. Here’s your remaining 30 seconds, you can have it back. Over.”

“Wait what?” One of the KMF pilots was… very confused. Apparently these aliens (?) actually spoke English, how odd.

“Well that went a lot smoother than I thought it would’ve… squad, stand down and proceed towards the designated ship in the sand. I guess we’ll be talking after all,” Hennig ordered her subordinates before replying to the clones. “And head’s up everyone, the governor should be here within an hour.”

”Affirmative, a landing strip would be appreciated. We’ll see you shortly, over.”
---------------------
Ventral Hangar Bay, Tranquility
The Knightmares quickly and carefully made their way towards one of the closest marked “durasteel triangles” (Catherine was pretty sure the clones were joking about that) while tailed by the nearby patrols. As the KMFs came to a halt after landing, Catherine and a few others jumped out their mechs, more or less unarmed save for some side arms.

“I gotta admit, this ship is pretty damn impressive…” She said to no one in particular.

As the ‘welcoming party’ landed upon the dorsal hangar deck, their unusual crafts quickly gathered the attention of the clones working in the hangar - from pilots contemplating their flight characteristics, to mechanics pondering their engineering.

A flight-capable walker was certainly not an idea that the Republic was by any means familiar with. Barring Separatist vulture droids - and those can go kark off.

That said, the armaments certainly drew more than a few subtle snorts of derision - packaging an anti-vehicle weapon into the form of a scaled-up infantry small-arms was, as concluded by those in the hangar, inefficient at best. As hypocritical as that view may be, given some of the Republic’s own engineering shenanigans...

Raising an eyebrow at the human female’s comment, Commander Gree - having removed himself and his command squad from the impromptu aid station that was the starboard docking port and thus out of the harried medics’ way - chuckled as he approached the visiting party.

“I’ll convey your praise to Captain Piett. Apologies for the mess, though - unsecured items tend not to stay in their proper placements when your ship loses a ramming match with a planet.” Stopping before the group, he snapped to attention - pondering for a brief moment before offering a handshake.

“CC-1004, Clone Commander Gree. Second-in-command of the 9th Assault Corps, Grand Army of the Republic, under Jedi General Luminara Unduli… who should be on her way down. A general tends to get rather busy when their flagship decides to smear herself upon the surface of an unknown world.”

Hundreds of identical faces, differing only in tattoos and hairstyle, witnessed the unfolding of a momentous event in Republic history - first contact.

“Welcome to the Tranquility.”
---------------------
The Captain took a good few seconds to make sense out of the image in front of her before shaking Gree’s hand. They were humans, clones of one another it seemed, but nevertheless they were human. The implications of this were massive: a humanity that had achieved interstellar travel and civilization? As much as the sci-fi nerd within Catherine wanted to burst out in excitement, she had a job to do. Facilitating first contact and notifying this “Grand Army of the Republic” of Governor Lippi’s approach would have to do for now.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Commander Gree. Captain Catherine Hennig of the Imperial Army’s 314th Knightmare Regiment. I’m here on behalf of Governor Lippi of the Empire’s Tunisia Governorate in order to hopefully open a dialogue. That is all.”

“Well met, Captain Hennig - I hope I’m pronouncing that right?”

“Indeed.”

“Great-”

Suddenly, the surreptitiously encroaching crowd of clones parted as a solemnly-dressed figure - one that stood out from the sea of varied identicality - swept her way across the hangar deck towards the Imperials. A figure that was decidedly different from the clone troopers making way for her - floor length black robes rather than glinting white plastoid plates, elegant restraint contrasting with regimental discipline.

Alien instead of human, her olive green skin almost glaring in a sea of Fett tan.

However, one trait she shared with those under her command if only by coincidence - a short strip of geometric diamond tattoos marked her chin, extending under charcoal lips that too was inked.

Coming to a stop before Hennig, the Mirialan Jedi Master studied the human female for a moment with an unreadable calmness, a mere touch of curiosity shining through, before shaking her head lightly with a smile.

“I hope Commander Gree remembered his manners and welcomed you all onboard.”, she said - with an almost teasing lilt, breaking the still silence that had descended upon the hangar. Behind her, the clone officer stifled a snort.

“I’m Luminara Unduli. It’s an honour to meet you.”
---------------------
I can’t believe actual aliens exist, Catherine was dumbfounded. At this very moment, she was making Imperial history by being the first Imperial to meet an actual alien! Catherine wondered how her folks at home would take the news, and what sort of questions the IBC journalists would ask her. Anyhow! Back to the situation at hand: Catherine was speaking to an alien.

She was at a total lack of words for a good three seconds before mentally shaking herself back into reality.

“The honor is all mine! Captain Catherine Hennig of the 314th KMF regiment. I assume you’re the commanding officer here? Sorry for the earlier pause… I was just rather startled.”

“That’s alright, Captain.” A faint half-smile graced the Mirialan’s face. “It isn’t everyday that one makes first contact, even us.”

In the background, a few silent hand gestures from Gree had the other clone troopers disperse swiftly, the crowd returning to their tasks from before. That was sorted just as Luminara turned her attention to him. “Commander, if you can see that a meeting room is prepared for us, that would be appreciated.”

“Yessir.” Nodding, he turned to depart - pausing mid-step as something came to mind. “Ah yes, Commander Offee has returned from the Contender, and had taken up directing the emergency medical centre at the starboard docking port.”

“Thank you for the news. I’ll make sure to drop by, if time permits.” A brief nod from the Jedi Master acknowledged the report.

As the clone commander took his leave, she turned her attention once more to her guests. “Now, I’m sure you have many questions - and I will answer them in good time. But if I may ask, first, would anyone else be joining us, from your side?”

Frowning just slightly, she allowed her attention to drift just briefly behind the Imperials. To their flying walkers. Then a brief glance at the starfighters around them - some of which were undergoing pre-takeoff checks in preparation for taking over patrol duties from currently airborne flights.

“On a side note, can I ask that you move your machines to one of the hangar bays, if it is not too much trouble? I’m sure you’ve noticed, but we are currently in the middle of the flight deck.”

“No problem, I’ll have my pilots get to it,” Hennig nodded before saying something in German to all the assembled KMF pilots, who proceeded to get back in their mechs and await directions.

“Much appreciated.”

“As for future company? I believe Governor Lippi should be arriving in the next… 10 minutes or so. He’s the one you’ll want to talk to, seeing as I’m simply a military officer.”
“I’ll inform the patrol flights - they’ll keep an eye out for him. That said, how would the governor be arriving, if I may ask?” As she spoke, Luminara gave her surroundings another glance - hoping the largest hangar onboard the Tranquility can accommodate the arriving transport.

“He should be arriving via airship, though it’s likely he’ll use a small transport VTOL to land aboard this vessel, as I doubt a 200m long airship can fit in the hangar,” Hennig replied.

“It would certainly have some difficulty achieving that...” Luminara muttered, drily, as she eyed the narrow strip of blue sky overhead.

“Errr, I’m just going to bring this up now rather than later, but how many people do you reckon were killed in the landing?” Hennig’s 2nd in command decided to ask Luminara. “That’s… going to be a pretty large factor when it comes to actual negotiations later.”

“That is understandable… pilot? I don’t think I caught your name, apologies for that.”

“Johann. First Lieutenant Johann Hausman,” Johann briefly introduced himself.

“Thank you, Lieutenant Hausman. To answer your question… regrettably, we simply don’t know. Given our unfamiliarity with this planet and its population, it would be difficult to even estimate a figure. We have however begun rescue operations, and our medical personnel are doing their best to tend to the wounded - I’ll brief the governor on our efforts thus far when he arrives, and hopefully we can arrange for a more effective way forward with your people’s input.”
---------------------
Airspace near the Tranquility
Not too far away, a certain Christian Lippi was anxiously pacing around the deck of his commandeered civilian airship. He was maybe 60 km away from the designated landing site when Capt. Hennig notified him of the situation at hand. Quickly grabbing a few crew members and fellow government functionaries, Lippi boarded a small transport VTOL, which travelled the remaining distance at a steady 700 km/h. Eventually the beyond massive (in Lippi’s opinion) metallic wedges that were the grounded star destroyers came into view, and Lippi blinked a few times just to make sure he wasn’t delusional. Hennig was right: these people were definitely aliens.

“Governor Lippi, we’ll be arriving shortly. Anything you want to say to the newcomers?” The pilot of the VTOL asked.

“Errr, tell them that the governor of this province seeks an audience with whoever the hell is in charge of this… alien force. And tell them to hold their goddamn fire when they see us! That should be all,” Lippi finished.

His requests were promptly assented to over comms, along with directions to approach the ventral hangar bay for landing.
---------------------
A Conference Room, Tranquility
After making his way to the apparent spaceship in question and going through the typical security procedures - as well as moments of blank staring (Lippi was both confused and amazed at the same time), Lippi found himself escorted to the same room as Hennig… and the alien. Visibly disheveled and exhausted, the governor was a bit of a moving disaster next to the comparatively calm Luminara. Deciding to take the initiative, Lippi stood up to introduce himself.

“Governor Christian Lippi of the Europan Empire’s Tunisia province!” He panted. “Excuse my manners, I was in a bit of a hurry.”

“Not to worry, Your Excellency - we certainly had not announced our arrival, let along arrange for an appointment. I understand the good Captain Hennig had briefed you on my identity, yes?”

Christian nodded, catching his breath.

“In that case, let us move on to the matter at hand.”

At that, the Mirialan stood, and bowed deeply. “First and above all, as a representative of the Galactic Republic, the Grand Army, and the Jedi Order, allow me to offer my deepest and most sincere apology for the unwarranted devastation our forces had inflicted upon your people.

“We are truly sorry, even as we recognise that mere words would do little to heal this wound.”

“You don’t say!” Christian sighed. “My government’s going to have a lot of work to do in regards to the damage reports. I hope you have a good explanation for all of this.”

‘He’s more concerned about paperwork than casualties?’ While outwardly projecting an air of apologetic neutrality, inwardly Luminara was slightly perturbed. The governor’s priorities showed, to the seasoned diplomat, a concerning trend regarding this Empire’s values and ethos.

Still, the galaxy was wide and not every world shared the same ideology - the norm even within the Galactic Senate.

“I hope, in time, I will have a satisfactory answer. However at the moment even we are struggling to understand the cause behind the recent events leading to this current situation. All we had been able to determine thus far is that the crash was the result of a catastrophic hyperdrive fault that had never been reported before in history.”

“Hyperdrive? What sorta science fiction nonsense are you talking about?” Lippi was clearly very confused.

“By ‘hyperdrive’, I mean the technology that enables our ships to travel at faster-than-light speeds. A necessity, when one’s nation stretches across the stars. I hope that made sense, Your Excellency?”

“Ahh yes, yes it does,” Lippi nodded without too much a second thought. In all honestly though, everything he’d just been told sounded like a load of bull. He had to be hallucinating, right?

“I promise if there’s any updates regarding the cause of the crash, I’ll make it a personal priority to update yourself, Your Excellency sir. Now, may I invite you to inspect our efforts on the front of medical aid for your people - if anything, to make sure mistakes aren’t being made.”

Numbly, the governor could only nod his assent - allowing himself to be led to wherever the casualties were being treated as he processed what he had just learned.

Pausing at the door of the meeting room, the Mirialan turned and studied Lippi with a questioning gaze. “You know, it just occurred to me to ask - does the Empire govern this entire world. Planet, I mean.”

Out of delirium, a sense of pride in his fatherland, or simply a desire to curry some favors with his superiors, Lippi decided to spew an outright lie (well it wasn’t a complete lie, given the nature of this world). “Obviously! Ever since Europa harnessed the power of the FLEIJA, the nations of the world have thrown down their arms and sworn fealty to our state. A fine accomplishment if I say so myself.”

“I see… that is certainly impressive.” Her expression unreadable, Luminara nodded slightly before continuing on her way. “This way, Your Excellency.”

‘... what is a Fleija?’

As Lippi stepped out into the hallway himself, an officer dressed in Republic Navy uniform waylaid him briefly - handing him a datapad as well as a pair of datachip. “First contact data package, sir”

He - a human, but not a clone - indicated to the first datachip, then the second. “And this one is our primary writing system, Aurebesh. I recommend using it as the basis for a translation software - it appears your people at least speak Basic, which may suggest a similarly structured writing system.

“And of course, something to read the ‘chips with.”

Lippi nodded as he walked along. There wasn’t much else to do after all...
---------------------
Starboard Docking Port, Tranquility

The scene that played out to them as they stepped through the bulkhead doors into the starboard docking port - now Acute Receiving Unit Aurek - was one of controlled chaos.

Clone medics, marked by the almost cross-like symbol in red on their shoulders, weaved through the rows and rows of patients that encompassed the entire (and quite sizable) compartment - binding wounds, replenishing fluids, easing pain. And, of course, administering bacta - the wonder-drug that was the backbone of Republic trauma medicine. Be it as intravenous drip or locally-applied infused patches, the regenerative substance was used in a wide range of injuries.

From time to time, the grievously wounded were wheeled away - headed for the medical bays deep within the Star Destroyer where a newly freed bacta tank awaited them. Those that remained, however, were not ignored either - as a slight, hooded figure passed between them. Assessing their injuries and supportive treatment. And from time to time, stopping by select beds - during which a warm glow would suffuse the patient as healing energy knitted bone and flesh whole again, blood replenished, and pain left the patient...

Lippi honestly didn’t know what to make of the scene at hand: this Grand Army of the Republic surely had some amazing medical technology, but at the same time none of this should’ve happened. Speaking of medical technology, the governor wondered if he’d be able to get his hands on some of that equipment. It would most definitely earn him a few points with the central government, something the governor could honestly use. He’d have to ask about everything later, for at the moment Lippi was too tired. He swore he saw magic of sorts, but that was probably just his mind playing tricks on him.

“I have to applaud your forces for at least having the decency to treat the civilians here, though I’m sure you’re aware this is far from sufficient, yes?” Lippi asked Luminara. “I don’t have solid numbers with me, but these cities you crashed on were home to at least 300,000 civilians prior to this… accident.”

“I understand the magnitude of this disaster on your people, governor, and for that I apologise once more.” Bowing once more, she then carried on - leading the Imperial official through the rows of casualties. “Of course, we appreciate that this far from makes up for our mis-step - we simply seek to assure you, and your government, that this is by no means a deliberate act of war. I am hoping that your nation would have some input regarding how to take this forward - we'll certainly arrange for official communications to be set up, and via such a means schedule for a more formal negotiation to discuss the details. In the immediate time frame, medical expertise from your end would help ensure that we’re not overlooking any biological differences.”

Pausing by the edge of the docking port having glided past the patients, the Mirialan turned to face the governor who was following behind her. “I hope this is satisfactory for now, Your Excellency.”

“Hmmm, I reckon this’ll have to do for now. A few Imperial military divisions should be arriving at this disaster site very soon, and I’ll have some doctors provide you with the necessary information, though that seems frivolous. You already have so many humans on board, so I assume you probably know how to treat them. But nonetheless the doctors shall come,” Lippie replied.

“It’ll be best to have this reassurance in situations as this - we’ll loath to end up doing more harm in our attempts to help-”

Of course, that was when the very air behind the pair, just beyond the docking port, shuddered. With a tearing sound, a small craft - a Lambda-class shuttle to be exact, not that any present knew it at that time - ripped itself out of hyperspace. Retrograde thrusters fired in a desperate automated bid to halt the shuttle’s momentum… but to no avail, as it proceeds to slam headlong into one of the few still-standing (and thankfully, long evacuated) apartment blocks.

Glancing behind herself slowly, as if not believing that this was really happening, Luminara barely held back a sigh before a sharp hand gesture sent the nearest squad of clone troopers - formerly on guard duty - to investigate the smoking wreckage.

“My apologies for the interruption.” Her tone, at this moment, was just a touch dry.

“Right…” Lippi stared at the crashed shuttle in bewilderment. Whelp, turns out that FTL was most definitely real: where else could that thing have come from?

“We’ll handle it - don’t worry, the building has long been evacuated. We made sure to keep the crash site clear, especially unstable structures-” As if to emphasize her point, the block chose that very moment to collapse upon itself in a manner akin to a house of cards, narrowly avoiding the shuttle proper.

A light sigh escaped the Mirialan’s ink-stained lips. “I think it had been a long day for all of us - and definitely you, Your Excellency.” A clone trooper approached the pair, holding out a palm-sized circular device to the governor.

“Here, sir - a holocommunicator. Or holocom, as we call it. For when you need to contact us.” As demonstration, he switched the device on - a brief boot-up sequence projected in holographic blue from its face. That flickered and changed as the device inexplicably picked up a signal…

“-But remember this: Earth is under the jurisdiction of the United Nations. All resolutions established and passed by...” As UN Secretary-General Chrisjen Avasarala spoke her piece, Luminara turned her gaze towards Lippi, a single eyebrow arched delicately.

“Anything else you wish to add, Your Excellency?”

[Speyland]

The Land of Wind, Sunagakure, Kazekage's Office

The settlements across the mysterious island are making extensive progress so the nation is steadily growing. Gaara has received letters after letters of the settlers describing their experiences of their adventures. He is impressed with the plan. The Wind Daimyo is also impressed.

According to one of the letters, there were trees that are unusual to them and the shores are the most beautiful that they had seen once in a while. There aren't too many things that can potentially harm the nation and with no nearby countries around the area, they are isolated as of current. What Gaara can do is to sit and wait for time to pass by while the territorial expansion continues.

His next plan he has in mind? To explore the world outside the island known to him that there are other countries out there who might not be the only ones isolated like them. He looked out the window from his office, enjoying the view of the (strangely) gigantic city of Sunagakure while thinking over the loss of his friends as he hasn't got the chance to say goodbye to them. Consequently, he must let go of his grief and move on. The Wind Daimyo and the Fifth Kazekage can just relax for now until further details and information are revealed as time goes on.

[Naval Monte]

North Wales, Lludw Cigfrain, Before Reality Shat Itself

The chatter of bar patrons, glass clattering against each other as hearty men and women cheer for one another, and music playing a song from a decade or two ago fill the air, creating the ambiance one would expect from a pub. This was a familiar atmosphere for Elizabeth. She sat on the far corner of the bar counter away from the other people. The woman was very much the black sheep in an otherwise festive activities in the pub.

2020 was a series of nightmares after another. Global pandemics, economic destruction, escalating national tensions, widespread paranoia and insanity. For most these are already signs enough that everything is going down the drain, but if the mundane side was having it rough then no one has seen what was going on at the hidden half of the world.

"Fuck this year. I already had enough on my planet without having to deal with humanity's collective nightmares spilling out into the waking world." the witch muttered as she grabbed the handle of her sweaty glass of bourbon and drank it down, savoring the taste and burn of the alcohol as it went down her throat.

Magic was on the rise ever since the 90s and early nills, each proceeding year as only saw the number grow significantly, but with those numbers came the many anomalous incidents that are a result of magic's growing presence, especially when some poor sod stumbles upon it. More people have discovered rituals they should have never found and while some walked away with the bitter disappointment of nothing happening many more were not so fortunate, and she was called in to clean up the mess.

They were the only incidents around. Strange things found in the sky, more hauntings appearing from random spots, people encountering strange creatures more often, and all manner of surreal reality breaking fuckery that would make Elizabeth giddy with joy if she wasn't so bloody tired! "New Year resolutions are a bunch of shit but I'm gonna make one now. I'm gonna take a freak break more often." she told herself, uncaring how she looked to other people.

As Elizabeth drank down more of the bourbon as she thought of where she can go for her vacation. "Let's not go to Brazil again Lizzy. I'm not in the mood if getting mixed with drug cartels, black op death squads, and drug dealing cults again. Maybe somewhere in the Caribbeans? I'm sure the locals there can deal with whatever supernatural nonsense goes off in their neck of the woods without me getting involved." she would take another shot.

"And Portugal is out of the question. I don't see the place as bad but being almost kidnapped to be sold off like a piece of meat would keep anyway away from that place. The best not said about Argentina the better." The witch frown as she recalled all of her adventures when outside of the UK, how when she tried not to be involved with the local supernatural activities in those foreign lands she still finds a way to get dragged into their mess. Or worse, they find her and make her be involved.

The witch can feel eyes were on her and taking a glance from behind she saw that a few men were looking at her. Most were young, college students she suspected. They were no doubt here celebrating their university winning a major game and are trying to have a good time, what better way to do that then to get drunk with friends and probably get laid? Yet even with that in mind the witch rolled her eyes as she return back to looking at her glass. No doubt those drunken idiots were imagining just how she look if she wore little to no clothing. Of course she was guilty of having those same thoughts as them when it came to a few people she found attractive in both an inebriated and not so inebriated state, but she at least had the decency to not make it look so bloody obvious when she isn't tits up in shrooms or booze.

The witch's thoughts would come to a screeching halt when she felt a hand on her shoulder. Looking over she saw an older man with blue eyes staring down at her own green orbs. He had long, messy, and greasy white hair, and dressed almost like a stereotypical biker that wouldn't look all to out of place in the midwest of the US. If she was honest the old timer was giving her a Hell's Angel vibe.

The old man would lean his face close to her. "You are a real disappointment friend." he sneered at her, his breath reeking of cigarette smoke, booze, and something else he ate, something that smelled familiar to her. But what? Elizabeth tried to think where she recognize that smell from? Elizabeth saw movement from the corner of her eyes as she can make out parts of a man standing from the corner of her vision. She would see a woman wearing a similar leather jacket as the biker but with a moderate amount of cleavage being exposed by her corset looking attire. "A regular waste of skin aren't ya, friend?" the biker continued.

"I bet if we decided to trash your body tonight no one would miss you. All though." the man began to leer at the witch as he moved his eyes from her face down to her hips and thighs. "It would be a shame to bust up such a fine body as yours.” he would move even closer to her ear, close enough that he can whisper to her. “So what will it be friend? Because either way we’re gonna have fun tonight, it’s just the matter on whether you’re gonna put up a struggle before then.” the man chuckled as he pulled back.

Elizabeth had the chance to smell not only grease coming from the man but also his sweat and a rancid stench of something all to familiar for the witch. “Sulfur. Such my luck.” the witch mentally groan at the turn of events but outwardly kept her cool as she finished her drink.

She glanced over at the bar tender, a burly middle age man, the man looked at the scene and when he made sure none of the trio saw him he gave her a small nod. The witch found her target. “Looks like I found my mark. Well they found me it’s still the same. Now I just need to spring my little trap.”

She would knock on the counter to get the bartender's attention to bring her a new glass. She looked over to the woman. “You want to know the secret to magic, love?” the witch asked. The older man looked annoyed that she seem to have ignored his demands while the woman looked excited.

“Oh? You are a magician? Come on, show us a trick” the witch gave her a smirk. “As you wish.” she look throughout her pockets to find something until she would pull out a deck of cards from her coat pocket. She began shuffle the cards. “Pick a card, any card.”

She told the the woman as she she began to show off the card. The woman would placed the nail of her pointer finger as she had her other hand on her hip as she thought of which card to pick. When she seem to have decided which card she wanted she reached over to grab it but was stopped by the biker who blocked her hand with his arm.

“Hey now, settle down mate. We’ll get a turn. Let the lady go first. If you piss her off you’ll get it worse.” she told him. The woman was salunting around, basking in the words the witch was giving now, while the biker smiled and nodded, backing away to allow his female friend to pick her card. “Now then sweetheart. Pick any card you want.”

Elizabeth saw her grab the card and bring it up close, making sure Elizabeth didn’t see the card in question. “Right now. Memorize the card well and write your name on it.” she would produce a marker from her coat pocket and handed it to the woman.

When the woman was done writing down her name she would hand the card back to Elizabeth who would place the card back in the deck while holding on to her marker. “Now give me your hand love.” the woman would do so and Elizabeth would place her fingers on the deck. “Now just wait for a moment and soon the trick will begin.” the other man that was behind her looked over her shoulder to see if he would find her trying to take the card by some sleight of hand trick. The older biker was doing the same. “And now it’s gone.” she told them as she moved away from the deck and return back to facing the shelves of beer “Now try finding your card.” she remove her glove and would begin to draw on the palm of her hand with the marker while the woman was looking for her card in the deck. While she was doing that the old biker looked annoyed with the show while the other man grabbed a bottle he took from college students, ignoring their insults and yells as he returned to the group.

When the woman was done search the deck she would show the cards to Elizabeth, a grin on her face. “It’s not here.” she told her as the other man began to drink down the beer bottle. Elizabeth gave the woman a bow. “I thank you.” the other woman looked impressed by the trick. Elizabeth looked at the bottle and her smirk grew when the bottle was almost empty.

Within the bottle was the queen of hearts with a name written on the face. The man was confused to see the card in the bottle while the woman looked shocked and excited. “That’s my card!” she exclaimed. However while the man was impressed the biker was not.

“Your old carny tricks don’t impress me.” he gestured for the younger man to grab the witch. Elizabeth raised her hand. “Wait. Wait. Before we go out back how about one more trick? I promise you all will like it.” The biker was not having it as he would grab her by her shirt and pull her off the stoll. “I’m sick of your games Ashwood!” the witch kept her smirk. “Funny. I never gave you my name chap. So mind telling me how you can know that?”

The old biker face started to morph into shock when he realized what he did. The man would begin to drag her through the bar to the hallway leading to the back. “I should have known. Some infernal knobheads encroaching on my turf; thinking they get to snack on some college students while I wasn’t looking? I know your kind likes to underestimate us humans but we’re not bloody retards.”

The biker would growl. “Do you ever shut up!?” Elizabeth chuckled. “Occasionally.” she mocked as the other man open the door. The biker would throw her through the door and while Elizabeth tried to keep her balance as she came down the stairs but she lost her footing and trip down on the floor, landing on a puddle with a loud splash.

She heard the trio laughing at her as she quickly got up and ran to the wall of the alley, keeping her distance from them as they climb down the stairs. Once on the wall she would take out her knife while they weren’t looking and cut the palm of her hand, cutting at the center of the small magic circle that she drew on her flesh. She would place the bleeding hand on the wall as she turn to face the trio. Elizabeth took out an old, curved, and serrated teeth knife. “Stay back you wankers! I’m sure you all know what this thing is? You wouldn’t want to be stabbed by this particular knife.”

The demons laughed at Elizabeth as she moved her blade to all three. “You can try to scare us with your little cursed toy Ashwood. But we both know that in a fight we will always win. Your body is fragile compared to us.” the biker would beat his chest. “Even with these meat puppets we are wearing.” Elizabeth snorted.

“That strength didn’t do squat when I cut into their fucking threats and severed their links from their worthless vessels. But by all means, try testing your luck against my curse. I’m dying to see the results of that act of stupidity.” The demons laughed at her as the witch began to mutter to herself. At least, that is what the demons thought.

“You Ashwoods are all the same. You all believe that somehow you all are goddesses in human form. You think that your magic can get you out of any trouble you get yourselves in and that you can interfere with people’s plans thinking that you won’t suffer the consequence.” the biker shouted as his eyes turn pitch black.

“Well you know what? We are going to bring reality down on you, Ashwood! Your family means nothing in the grand scheme of things. You people are nothing more but a bunch of gobshites who just make everything worse for everyone.” the man pointed at her with an accusatory stance.

“You want to think your some hero but your just a leech who feeds off others misery and use them for your own good until you throw them out like trash. You are no different from us.” the demon accused.

Elizabeth ignored him as the wall would suddenly create a burning magic circle before a fiery portal emerged. “You can keep flapping your north all you want. Your boss would love to hear it and why you dumb shites are taking a cut of his illicit contraband behind his back.” she would move away from the portal as chains with hooks at the end came out. As the hooks dug into the demon’s flesh they would try to break out as Elizabeth began to warp up her palm with bandages. “Tell your boss that we’re even now.” she told him as she began to place her glove back on after bandaging up her hand.

“Damn you Ashwood! I’m going to rip your beating heart off your chest once I get out! You hear me! I will be back!” the witch would flip off the demon as she moved away from the demons being dragged into the portal. Once she was out of the alleyway she would look for her a cigarette from the pack that was in her coat pocket. Lighting it with her zippo she was about to smoke when her senses suddenly alerted her to something wrong.

The witch looked around but saw nothing wrong down on the streets. It was only when she saw people looking up that she followed them, seeing a bright light growing in the sky. “Ah bollocks. 2020 just couldn’t end with a whimper could it?”

The witch and everyone covered their eyes as the light engulfed the entire United Kingdom. When the light faded the entirety of Great Britain with parts of Ireland were gone.

---

Palace of Westminster, United Kingdom- After Reality Shat Itself

Close to the heart of old London stood Westminster Palace, the very heart and soul of the government of the United Kingdom.

Within one of the many chambers of the Palace resides one made for the House of Common; the half of British Parliament filled by politicians elected by the people to represent their wishes. At least in theory, and rarely in practice.

In the chamber the many representatives were arguing with each other on how best to react to the most ground shaking event to hit the UK since Brexit; the complete translocation of the island nation into a new world.

“We need to call on Martial Law!” one speaker shouted. “People in the streets are rioting. I’ve seen people preaching about how the end times are coming. We need to restore order now before we have a revolution on our hands.”

Others began to agree with the speaker as they all fear that their citizens would loss faith in the system and try to bring their power base down.

“We had reports from our reconancse planes that all of Southern Ireland is bare. It was as though all evidence of humanity ever living in there was erased.” the news brought many utter silence.

The news was irrefutable proof that they have truly moved across space and time, across entire universes, to this strange new world.

“We should try to quell the chaos on the streets first. We can start to think on what to do with Ireland and the rest of the world after that.” Boris told everyone as he took a napkin to wipe his sweaty brows.

He was expecting to deal with the troubles of moving the UK away from the EU. He wanted to have Great Britain removed from Europe to regain it’s autonomy and greatness. It would seem that God decided to show his senses of humor as he granted Boris’s wish, but in a way he never thought would happen

“Has MI-13 found the cause for this?” he asked as he pulled on the collar of his shirt. “Unfortunately no. MI-13 is still searching for any leads on what caused. We have reports that neither the AEGIS Imperative or Celestial Order claim responsibility for this phenomenon. They seem to be clueless as us.”

Boris cursed under his breath. What was the point of having actual magicians and psychics if they can’t give him answers to impossible questions? “What the hell are they doing? Tell those lazy bastards to find out what happened or else they will see not only massive cuts to their budgets, but major restructuring as well!”

He shouted as he slammed his fist on the podium. Before anyone can speak up on how such a hasty action would only make their already precarious situation worse everyone would see the doors slam open as a young man in a suit enter.

“I’m sorry for interrupting you all but we just got several broadcast from several nations. One of them coming from the UN!” That got everyone’s surprise. “Well get us a damn radio or television set!” Boris yelled at him which made the young man recoil slightly before he left to fetch for the requested items.

---

United Kingdom

Throughout the United Kingdom many would hear from the BBC of broadcasts coming from other nations that were with them, yet none were the ones they were familiar with.

Instead of hearing from an Italy that was deveasting by a global pandemic they would hear of an Italy that was still healthy and far stronger than before, one that has a monarchy.

Of the powerful and influential Federal Republic of Germany they would hear of the Empire of Europa and from Turkey, as though the pages of history somehow came to life, the Ottoman Empire has returned.

The people of Britain now know they are not alone in this strange world. In this vast and strange sea they are just one of many strangers maroon in this alien world.

But as Parlement thought of best to deal with the situation a series of black drones would fly off the island to spy on Europe to investigate the continent. The drones would produce a field that would make light distorted around them before disappearing from the world, flying to the continent unseen by the naked or electronic eye.

However while this was happening back in the United Kingdom something else was occurring that would be of major significance

At Buckingham Palace there was a team of media crew preparing cameras and lights as Queen Elizabeth the second was fixing up her crown to look just right for when she stepped outside.

As her crown sat on the exact position she wanted she knew she was ready. An aid would open the door behind her and she would see him from the mirror. “Your majesty. Everything is prepared for your speech.”

The queen thanked him as the aid left. She would walk towards the entrance of her palace as the camera crew prepared themselves. The broadcast would not only be issued to her subjects but these new nations as well.

“We’re live.”

The queen heard and with the fate of her kingdom now in her hands she knew this speech would be the most important one in her life.


“My loyal subjects. I am speaking to you all in this challenging time. This year as put us all in great hardship. A time that has disrupted the lives of many of us. Bringing grief to some, financial difficulties to most, and now we face an existential crisis. We have found ourselves spirit away from our world into this strange new world that is identical to our own save for the absence of man’s presence on it before our arrival and those of other nation’s who have made their presence known.”

The queen was silent as she allowed for a few seconds for the viewers to let her words sink in.

“This is an enormous change for us all. For many of you this change no doubt feels as though the world is ending, for others you must feel that everything you thought you knew about the world has turned inside out. But regardless of what challenges we face, we must do so with courage and determination. We must not allow for nihilism and fear to consume us and to surround. We will adapt and survive to our new world. The world has changed but we can not allow it to change who we are. I ask for you all to please return to your homes and families as we try to understand the situation we are in.”

Back in the pub Elizabeth sat back on the stoll she was sitting previously as she watched on the television screen hanging above the bar the speech the queen was giving.

“Our brave soldiers will defend our borders should these new nations become hostile, while our brave doctors in the NHS will still provide car to all who need it, as well as other essential services. To the other nations who are seeing this now. We wish only to live in peace. If you come with us with peaceful intentions then we will return the act. But if you wish to invade or attack us then we will be forced to defend ourselves. We all are stuck in this world. We might as well use our resources to rebuild our lives in this new world instead of destroying each other. For now I will say that for my people please be strong in these uncertain times and to our new neighbors I welcome you all and hope that a bright future awaits us all.”

[Speyland]

The Land of Wind, Sunagakure, Kazekage's Office

The time has come. For days, 50 ships were constructed by the people in which they are made out of wood scavenged by them. There has been raining occurring throughout the country as they haven't received much for quite a while and agriculture has improved since. Thus far, this is a miracle for them.

The Land of Wind will employ a voyager (and an envoy if possible) under the likes of Temari (on a lighter note, she is fond of establishing peacemaking matters and discourages conflict thus serving as a liaison between foreign countries) who she is willing to accept the job whose purpose is to explore outside the island across the seas. Gaara and the Wind Daimyo thought of it as a risky task to endure but they must find a way to get in contact with whomever country they had encountered if possible. This is their most dangerous mission yet, the nation will come out of their isolation somehow.

Now, Temari's exploration to seek out foreign countries has come and Gaara is looking forward to this progress to occur. After all, she is Gaara's most trusted friend. She packed up with her things such as food, clothes, and supplies, and she said her goodbyes to Gaara and Kankuro.

"Well, this is goodbye. Gaara, Kankuro, farewell. I'm hoping for this to be a success." Temari said happily.

"Farewell to you too, Temari. We may not see each other for a while but it is for the best." Gaara said.

"Yeah, whatever. Just try not to get yourself killed. Otherwise, I wish you the best of luck." Kankuro said sarcastically.

"Okay, I should be on my way. Be safe you two." Temari said before leaving the office.

Temari went to the shores before finally getting on a ship that was built previously. This is the first time that she went on such a mission by having her explore different places that are unfamiliar to her. This is only a matter of time that she will be on the ship for a while aside from her suffering from seasickness. She will go on a voyage that would last for several days in par with storms and difficulty lying ahead. This is her journey.

Coast of Tanzania, Europan Empire's Territory, Temari's Perspective

It has been days since Temari's departure away from her home. The climate has been quite warm recently and the ocean is quiet. The ship's garrison consists of ninjas and samurais used for security purposes in case Temari were to be in danger towards foreigners. She has endured the hardship of seasickness, storms, and various unfortunate events. In fact, there haven't been any storms lately and it is good for her to make it to the Tanzanian coast safely (unknown to her).

She doesn't mind meeting any foreigners for as long as they are friendly and not aggressors. However, she is a little nervous about what the foreigners will look like and whether or not they are friendly. Her job as an envoy is to ensure that the foreigners agreed on the terms for a non-aggression pact unless they are against it likewise. Finally, she is now on the coast of Tanzania which is a few miles away from where she is. Food (Temari's supplies included) have been scarce over the following days but she is able to make it to the coast so the foreigners might offer them some food while visiting there. She is excited but nervous.

She wonders how the meeting would go but it depends on the situation that the Land of Wind is dealing with and the geopolitical condition itself. From looking at the coast from afar, she can't tell if there are foreigners nearby. How will the foreigners react when they see a ship coming through?

[Apto]

Reunion, Southern Belarus

All was quiet on the Eastern Front. For now at least.

The Reunion Movement, using foreign navigation tools, had found themselves with several hideouts to stay at to weather the winds of war in. They all deserved a day's rest before moving out again. Where to? Well, that would be decided come next morning. The leadership was, suffice to say, just as lost on what to do next.

Amidst the caves and abandoned villages of Belarus, the Phantoms and Yetis, scattered kilometers away from one another in groups consisting of a squad or two, kept contact using the radios of their home planet, whilst the looted radios from both the "Europans" and "Russians" helped them keep tabs on hostile movement and avoid them when necessary. Though, so far, what their captives told them was consistent with what they were seeing. The Europans had stalled the Russians at Belarus, with heightened patrols of soldiers from both sides. Could individual Reunion squads take on a Russian or Europan Patrol? Probably, if they were careful. Was it worth it? Not really. They had plenty of equipment from the battlefield already, over four hundred guns of Russian and Europan make, along with batteries and ammunition to spare. There were the various grenades too, not to mention other necessities like winter gear.

All in all, it was enough technology to make the Wraiths happy and content whilst the others were busy out hunting for food. They didn't really need it due to the surplus of rations they had scrounged up from the battlefield, but fresh meat was much more appealing than frozen nutrient paste.

Others meanwhile, were busy burying the dead.

Dmitry and Claudia had been given shovels and told to help after being given proper food and rest. The two were of course, still deprived of weapons and communication devices, but their belongings had been returned when FrostNova's retinue had stopped to hole up in this nameless, abandoned village. To someone like Mephisto, those corpses might have been a interesting study. A type of ancient never seen before? It would have been fascinating to the more academic types, but to the Yetis and Phantoms, burying the original owners of their new hideout was the least they could do for squatting in someone else's property.

Each dead was given their own personal plot out in the open, families laid together side by side as snow and earth hid their wounds and faces. Uniformed or not, death robbed them all of dignity at the end, scavenging animals having long consumed the softer parts of human corpses before the Infected arrived.

Strider watched FrostNova from afar as the girl helped lay another corpse to rest, piling earth above a young child who couldn't have been older than five. Truth be told, Strider couldn't understand why the Yetis insisted on such a ritual. The dead deserved respect, but these people? These Europans and Russians? They were not her people. The Sankta didn't press the issue however, nor did she voice her discontent as she helped skin a wolf along with some Lurkers, pointedly ignoring the audible discomfort from some of the Lupos around her. Food was food, and there was no sense in causing the Yetis any trouble at this stage. Strider would instruct the Phantoms to follow along with the Yetis for now, but how long such a arrangement would last was anyone's guess.

"Strider," the Sankta involuntarily shivered at that, the response thankfully hidden beneath layers of clothes and that emotionless mask of hers. Even in the middle of a blizzard with Strider's back turned, FrostNova's aura was palpable. It was akin to a gaping hole in reality, greedily consuming all warmth from the world. One didn't need eyes to see that. "I have decided on our next move," Strider remained silent as the other Phantoms scattered from the carcass of the wolf, recognizing that what would be uttered next weren't for their ears.

Lucky bastards had a excuse to bail out.

"Let us bring an end to this war, before the winter ends." The Sankta instantly feared those words, her shoulders tensing. That single sentence alone struck more dread into Strider's heart than FrostNova's tempestuous mood could ever hope to do. They were going to die once more, for a cause that simply wasn't theirs. "We move West in the cover of night tomorrow, inform the Phantoms."

Strider gave a shallow nod in reply, still hunched over her squad's dinner, knife sitting between her fingers as FrostNova walked away.

They had been given a second chance at life, and the Yetis chose to throw it away once more for someone else.

Strider didn't know if she should chalk it up to youthful madness, or FrostNova's Oripathy robbing her of sanity,

[Mirial System]

Executive Bunk, Negotiator

After almost a day running himself ragged all over the Star Destroyer that was his flagship, Obi-Wan finally annoyed his Clone Commander enough that he was tossed bodily into his bunk, a spare datapad flying through the door after him.

The currently-locked door.

"We'll get you when we need you in person, General Kenobi, so for all that's good in the galaxy please try to get some sleep! And please don't use your lightsaber to cut open the door - we actually can't repair the damage easily now."

Cody made a mistake though, in giving the Jedi Master access to a datapad - and thus access to the GARnet as well as the reports constantly being exchange alongside a meeting among the Jedi Generals commanding the strike force. And thus as good as assuring that the man would most certainly not sleep.

"So Lumi also crashed into a city - dead centre too, oh dear. At least Anakin and Master Dooku only slammed into the outskirts of some smaller settlements. Annnnnd the casualties-" Looking at the constantly updated figure, Obi-Wan winced. Reparation talks were promising to be painful, to say the least - even ignoring the fact that, really, there isn't much that they could offer to the Empire in repayment to begin with. He also silently thanked the Force that it wasn't Anakin who made first contact.

No matter how bad a situation appeared, it could always deteriorate.

Pausing midcrawl, he peered down the ventilation grill. "Finally."

Gently lifting grill from its seating and setting it aside, Obi-Wan dropped down from the ceiling...

Command Deck, Negotiator

... of the command deck's primary communication centre, landing before the holotable and beside a startled Clone Commander.

"Damn it all, General!" Cody hissed, as Luminara - not yet noticing the disturbance on the Negotiator - carried on with her summary of the first contact meeting with the Empire's Governor Lippi. "Will it kill you to take a nap-"

"I see Master Kenobi has finally seen fit to join us." Dooku half-snarked, raising an eyebrow at Obi-Wan's mode of entry.

"A door malfunction, Master Dooku. Must've been a problem with the software's... coding." The younger Councillor brushed off the remark casually, giving his second-in-command a smile that bore only a touch of friendly mockery. "So, I understand we've made contact with whoever governs this world, then?"

"Well..." The Mirialan trailed off barely a word into her response. "The Empire certainly governs the land upon which our fleet crashed, but it appears that their claim over the planet is at the very least being challenged." Or possibly patently false, even if that was left unspoken.

"There had been transmissions. A government named United Nations, proclaiming this world under their jurisdiction; a nation calling itself the Chinese Commonwealth; a colony of a certain Fenvaria Republic appear to be on this planet as well; a South African Administration Region... this is taking too long - I'll have my staff send a compilation of the transmissions we've intercepted thus far to all of you, despite that fact that your own comms should have picked up these messages as well. In summary, this is a mess." Somehow, all that was recited - and derailed - with her usual calm and austere air.

"We may not be dealing with a single planetary government."

Obi-Wan resisted the urge to groan. "I see... I propose we wait for them to make direct contact, and in the meantime concentrate on damage control. All ships have reported in as being stable, at least - most systems survived the crash, which is fortuitous for our survival.

"How are our efforts in helping the affected locals? I understand the Twilight and Contender, as well as the Acclamators, have all avoided crashing into population zones?"

The various ships' respective Captains (or Admiral, in the case of Yularen) nodded.

"That's good. On our end, we've began rescue and providing medical aid - I believe you've done the same, Master Unduli?"

It was Barriss, stepping into view of the holorecorder from behind her former Master, who answered quietly. "Yes, Master Kenobi. We had to convert both docking bays into triage and receiving areas but we're coping with the numbers; the more severely injured are transferred to proper medbays for bacta tank therapy after they're stabilised - I've spoken to the locals, and as I understand they are all baseline humans. At least, our treatment methods are seeing positive results with no unexpected side effect. Force Healing is also effective - at least when available - and I suspect it has been crucial in keeping bacta tank demands in check on our end."

"That's helpful to know, I'll convey this information to our own medics." Obi-Wan nodded, turning that new bit of information around in his head. "Sadly we've been having some trouble with regards to bacta - too many patients, too few tanks. But we'll manage, in time." He contemplated briefly the idea of requisitioning the young Knight's talents onboard the Negotiator, but discarded the idea just as quickly - the after-action reports from Umbara coming to mind, warning him against this course of action.

It was still unclear what happened to the younger Mirialan during that campaign, but she seemed more... fragile, ever since. Best not to put her under too much stress, if he could help it. There was a long-overdue talk he had to have with Luminara, and perhaps the crash - as unfortunate as it had been - provided him an opportunity.

Anakin's own vague complaints about his own padawan's "sleep problems" also surfaced. Yes, there will be many conversations he need to have, if the coming days allowed him time.

Filing these thoughts to the back of his mind, Obi-Wan returned his attention to the matter at hand. If even he was drifting off, clearly it was time to end the meeting.

"Carry on with what you're doing, I suppose. We'll have to prepare for formal negotiations with the Empire - and yes, I've seen their latest transmission." Or rather, proclamation. It was concerning, to say the least - correlating what Luminara had glimpsed from the first contact meeting. "Still, it must be done - I'll lead the delegation, when the time comes. If there's nothing else..."

With a bow from all parties, the meeting ended. And the moment the holotable flickered off, Obi-Wan found himself ... staring at the one participant that had yet to disconnect. "What's the matter... Lumi?"

"There's something else, something I've not told the other Masters."

He arched an eyebrow at his former creche-mate, prompting her to carry on. It wasn't everyday that the prim and proper Luminara Unduli sought more... unofficial channels to voice her concerns. She even seemed pale through the blue-tinted holographic projection - her tattoos just that little bit starker against her skin tone.

"A shuttle crashed just off my own ship shortly before the first contact with Governor Lippi ended, of unknown design. There was... another Mirialan onboard, gravely injured and unconscious - we're treating her right now.

"She was carrying a strange lightsaber."

"Another Jedi unfortunate enough to encounter the same hyperdrive malfunction?"

"We're still decoding what data we could recover from her shuttle, but I don't think she's from the Order."

"What makes you say that?"

"Her lightsaber... it has a red blade- two, actually. A saberstaff."

At that, Obi-Wan froze - as a heavily-tattooed crimson visage with burning sulphuric eyes stared right at him from the depths of his memories...

Guest Suites, Twilight

With a guilty look upon his face, one Anakin Skywalker - Jedi General of the GAR and Knight of the Order - carefully crossed the threshold of the bulkhead in his own flagship, setting foot into the guest quarters. Pausing, he looked around to check if anyone was watching.

Assured that he wasn't being observed, he made a beeline to a certain VIP suite and knocked on the door. Yes, not press the buzzer, but knocked. And it wasn't a normal knock either - it was a special pattern of knocks.

Nothing happened.

Frowning, he raised his knuckles to try again, only for the door to slide open. From within, a certain Senator of Naboo gave him a look. One that spelt out in no uncertain terms how foolish he looked at that moment. His face flushing, Anakin stepped into the accommodations accorded to his very-much-secret wife.

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

A mouse droid beeped out what could only be laughter, before scurrying away around the corner and falling in line with a certain clone trooper. CT-5597, or Jesse to his friends, gave the modified droid's recording playback one glance before snorting.

"... I'm pretty sure the doors here are too thick for knocking to work."

A few more steps, then he paused. "Wait... in that case, how did she know?"

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

With a sigh of relief at not being spotted (or so he thought), Anakin finally gave the interior of the VIP suite a good look.

Sabé was looking right back at him, unamused.
Eirtaé glanced up from a datapad - one which curiously had an antenna - and arched a delicate blonde eyebrow.
Saché shook her head in disappointment, before popping some pills into her mouth.
Rabé gave a bright grin and a cheery wave.
Dormé didn't even pay him any attention - her eyes fixed on yet another datapad.

Blinking, the Jedi Knight was all but speechless. "What."

"Clearly, you don't pay attention to your own ship's flight logs..." The lone other blonde in the room - that is, Eirtaé - muttered before returning to the contents of her datapad.

"Cut him some slack, girls..." Padmé laughed, as she stepped past the stock-still Anakin and picked up her own datapad, falling lightly onto a free section of couch. "How was the meeting, An- General Skywalker?"

"Pa- Senator. We're just preparing for-"

Unseen by him, Saché rolled her eyes at the corrections and signalled - via their own intricate hand signals, 'Do they not know that we know?'

Rabé choked back a laugh, while Eirtaé - Saché's colleague in the House of Tides - sighed quietly, masking it as a reaction to her reading material.

"-negotiating with the Empire? Yes, Master Unduli very kindly forwarded me the data packet. And Master Kenobi briefed me as well on this development - given that I'm the lone representative of the Senate here on this world, right now."

Silence.

"So, what's your opinion on Master Kenobi's assessment?"

Finally regaining something of a footing in this situation, he found himself a length of wall to lean on. "Well... I suppose he is right in that he should lead the negotiations - given his skill in diplomacy. I'm just ..." Frustration bled into his formerly contemplative expression. "Why am I being left behind?"

"Someone needs to lead the troops after all, and I think he sees you as the most suited for this role." Padmé countered gently.

"... yeah, I guess that's why." At least he didn't fight her on this, this time. If anything, the mention of his troops - his brothers in all but name - tempered his impatience. "So, you'll be attending the meeting when it happens - any plans?"

"Well... the Empire, for all its questionable worldview, seems steeped in aristocracy. Their imperial family certainly holds important roles in government."

"Ah.... that's why Obi-Wan wanted you in on this - it's because of your experience as Queen, right? So you are better-suited to speak on equal terms with them as a sovereign-"

"Former sovereign. And no, I'm just there to represent the Senate."

"But-"

"Look, Anakin - their culture is also heavily martial in nature, placing great significance in military achievement and combat prowess. Naboo, as a pacifist world, would not earn their respect." She handed him her datapad, the relevant paragraphs highlighted. "See how many of their nobles hold military positions? And the importance of duelling-"

"Right... so Obi-Wan is heading the talks then, as he mentioned?" His brow scrunched up, Anakin tried to see where the Senator was going with her point. His master would certainly fit the bill, as one of the Order's best duellist and also the highly decorated General leading the 212th...

"No no..." Padmé smiles, deviously, and Anakin suddenly felt ... what was that term? Right, a great disturbance in the Force. As if he was witnessing something terrible-

"We'll let Master Dooku take point in the negotiations." The love of his life declared, pride for what she was about to inflict upon the Empire shining bright on her face. "Or should I say... Count Dooku of Serenno."

"Oh no..."

Main Medical Bay, Tranquility

It was daybreak when Barriss' shift at Receiving ended. Daybreak... two days after the crash, to be exact.

Well, she considered it an end-of-shift departure from the frontline medical unit - in reality Patch, the chief medical officer of the 9th, kicked her out of the repurposed docking bay and flat out banned her from returning for the next 12 hours. By then, she had watched four shifts of medics rotate in and out as she took on the worst cases ever since returning from the Contender, cases that couldn't last the waiting list for bacta immersion therapy.

Time flies when one was surrounded by pain, both vocalised and silently echoing in the Force. Time flies when one sought to grasp onto the life of another, only to have them slip from your fingers nonetheless. She knew, exactly, how many died - either from signing off death certificates, or witnessing their passing with her own eyes. Each one weighed upon her, until she had the world upon her slight shoulders or so it seemed.

Still she carried on - it was her nature as a healer to never give up on a single life, for each one was precious and sacred to her. Besides, having something to do - something to focus on - kept the memories away.

But now with nothing to do, she simply wandered the hallways of the ship listlessly, as her mind argued with itself as it always did. Her rational side concisely made up a growing list of reasons why she should return to her bunk and get some sleep right now - the long hours she just clocked far outstripping the other medics; her now year-long battle with insomnia that was barely managed by tiring herself out and deliberately crashing (and oh look, she was absolutely exhausted - perfect opportunity here); plain old hyper-lag; the ten pots of (well spaced-out) concentrated caf was fuelling her and in the midst of sputtering out (and she knew any more of that stuff will do little but give her palpitations).

Her fear-ridden, self-doubting, irrational side didn't bother with properly structured arguments - it didn't need to. The nightmares were enough to deter her from heading to bed and burying her face into the closest pillow...

Her wandering slowing to a halt, Barriss glanced around to regain her bearings. A bulkhead doorway - reinforced beyond the usual, her mind told her - stood before her, open. Always open, barring impending danger to the compartments that laid beyond. Sometimes, even the time it takes for the doors to slide open can mean the difference between life and death.

She peered in through the doorway, and the Main Medical Bay - now Intensive Therapy Unit Dorn - looked back. Deathly silent except for the incessantly regular beeping of monitoring devices, each one discordant with every other. With her mind made up, she swept through the threshold and into the ward - cloaking her deep-set fatigue under the mantle of a Healer-Knight once more. As she passed each bed, she eyed their status displays solemnly - those that laid here have already underwent bacta immersion, merely to be stabilised for discharge.

She didn't stop, for this wasn't where she needs to be.

Past the rows of bed were side chambers. Chambers with walls lined with bacta tanks. Within every tank, an individual floated as the life-restoring fluid healed what was torn asunder and repaired what was broken. For once, none were clones - none were her men. The scene around her was almost jarring after two years of war made her witness to a seemingly endless narrative soaked in unjust loss.

She kept walking, for she knew her destination awaited her arrival still.

At the end of the medical bay was the isolation ward - for containment of danger. Whether the danger was a pathogen threatening the Tranquility with virulent plague, a prisoner of war recovered from the field of battle... or a patient whose mind have lost its grasp on the stability of sanity.

Pausing before the imposing durasteel slabs that held all behind it under custody, the slight Mirialan shuddered - willing herself to ignore, if she could not forget, the many times she herself tethered upon the edge. Each time just that little bit closer...

She raised her hand and entered her clearance code, and watched as the doors slid open. A chill washed over her - a chill she knew, if less intense than it had been in her memories.

In her nightmares, of Umbara.

A moment of stillness, as she let it wash over her and leave her untouched, before she set a foot in, then another. Ignoring, resolutely, how hints of this ethereal mist clung to her. Step by step, she approached the lone bacta tank and glanced up - expecting to see a restful, sedated face.

A fellow Mirialan in this alien world, the reports said.

Instead, she froze as sulphur stared back calmly and understated pain unlike what she's ever experienced gripping her bodily and holding her in place. A pain that did not belong to her.

A monitor beeped, and the moment - which felt like a lifetime - passed. The gaze from behind the bacta never left her though. She had to forcefully tear herself away from its observation, and busied herself with preparations for decanting. One more distraction, in yet another day of distractions she designed for herself.

It wasn't long when the lone bed within the chamber was prepped, and the bacta tank drained - the fluids siphoned off to be filtered for reuse. Despite her name, the Tranquility was a warship (and Barriss hated that designation) - nothing is left to waste if it can still serve a purpose.

The now-empty tank slides open, and the other - older - woman steps forward unsteadily, her knees folding under her almost immediately. Stepping forward in alarm, the younger one sought to ease her fall but that proved unncessary as an iron-like grip on the edges of the tank's opening kept her steady.

This one clearly had done this before - and way too many times, to be this familiar with decanting. The transition from weightless buoyancy to the pull of gravity wasn't one most patients would get used to. After making sure her patient wasn't going to fall again and risk a new injury, she reached for the hospital gown folded neatly on a trolley just within reach. The offer of clothing and modesty was accepted wordlessly - if a bit hesitantly.

As if it wasn't the norm.

She really needed to track down this one's medical records. Scars could often tell the story of a person's life, and it was in this narrative that a healer could find the most answers-

"... Instructor Offee?" A two-toned, electronically-synthesized voice drew her attention to the now kneeling woman. She searched for a scar, as instincts honed by her medical training drove her towards identifying a cause for the mechanical replacement evident in her speech.

That was until the words spoken registered.

As the sudden cognitive dissonance pulled at her and returned true awareness to her, Barriss found panic creeping up the back of her mind when she realised that she had just freed a user of the Dark Side. That she had essentially locked herself in with said individual. That said individual proclaimed her as teacher.

And that all this while, even as she was aware of her own actions, there was a distinct lack of control. This alone, more than the other realisations, terrified her.

The woman took a step forward, and the Jedi fled. Scampered out of the chamber, slamming the door release with a burst of telekinesis before she could reach it physically. Turning around and dragging the door shut, to the quiet complaints of the servos. Not glancing up, for she could still be watching...

Finally, as a hiss sealed the isolation ward, and she fell to he knees - first gulping in deep breaths, then controlled ones as she willed her shakes to dissipate. Calm returned, eventually - and so did the chilly footsteps of her memories. Standing, she turned and stalked away, as if she could outrun her own mind.

There was Acute Receiving Unit Besh on the port-side of the ship, and she was quite certain Patch wasn't there...

[The National Dominion of Hungary]

Road I-15 - Somewhere between the Kor'Vattr Prospection Borehole and town of Me'lek - Planet Mugulath - Before the Event

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The aircar quickly sped along the road, zipping across the vast reddish-brown grassland of the planet, a warm sun shone from a clear sky as Vesryn Waesfir, a young Yaar mining technician from the Stone Caste finally made his way back home after a week at the prospecting site where they drilled for veins of cobalt under the supervision of a less than pleasant geologist from some supposedly fantastic and prestigious Inner-Colony university. She'd slipped up somehow for sure, getting sent to their calm little backwater of a frontier planet to carry out a routine survey job for the Horizon Extraction Corporation, one of the Harmony's largest mining conglomerates. Bah! This was no time to think of any work-related garbage, he now had a few days of free time too look forward to back home, it was time to kick back, relax and open a bottle of khiafa, or five. He thought with a wry little smile on his face, maybe he'll call up Fayeth, see if she's down for a night on the town, it went well last time and he hoped it would go much better this next time around, she was damn cute.

"Car." He said with a smug, if slightly nervous tone. Soon the volume of the music lowered slowly.

"Yes, Vesryn?" A synthesized voice replied as the vehicle's computer acknowledged the audio input.

"Please access my hand-terminal and call Fayeth Phikalyn." The mining technician said.

"Immediately Vesryn, calling Fayeth Phikalyn."

Suddently, out of absolutely nowhere a bright flash blinded the driver, he yelped in surprise and squeezed his eyes shut, throwing an arm up to shield himself from the powerful white light. All of a sudden he was thrown forward, the seat-belt yanking him sharply back into his seat as the car's automated systems decelerated the vehicles sharply. His panicked breaths were soon the only sound that he heard along with the soft thrumming of the engine and the sound of the music getting back to it's original volume. What the hell was that! His vision was still impaired from the sudden flash of white light and took a moment for him to open his eyes. When he did so, there was nothing ahead of him, absolutely nothing, no road, no town far in the distance. The road had cut off abruptly only a short bit ahead of him, at if someone had plucked away the remaining way back to town and... just removed it, a clean cut across the surface. Behind him the road continued to the drill site, in front of him, nothing, emptiness.

"Car..." He said in a shaky tone, looking around.

"Yes, Vesryn." The synthesized voice replied.

"... where did the road go?" He asked, voice weak.

"I detected a lack of roadway and had to take measures to stop the vehicle. To keep using self-driving mode, please travel along the roads or engage manual mode." The vehicular computer replied monotonously.

"I can see the lack of fucking roadway!" The technician shouted, still unable to comprehend what had just happened... he pulled out his hand-terminal and began calling, everyone, each and every contact one by one. The only reply he got was when Rennyn, the old Zorvishi night watchman who worked at the drill site picked up after he had called the security office.

"Ren! Thank the Enlightened! I'm going fucking crazy here..." The young technician stammered.

"Damn, calm down. What's up Ves? You in trouble or something?" The security guard asked.

"The town's gone! It's all gone! Everything! I must have called everyone I know for I don't know like half an hour until you picked up."

There was silence for a moment. "Come back to the site Ves, I'm getting some wierd comms from the Tether Station above the capital, they're saying the elevator severed and everything's gone. They're trying to get the docked ships out to tow the station back into stable orbit. Apparently... there might be falling debris from the tether's superstructure coming down soon... I got some comm-buoy access on the corp-sec system... we shouldn't be alone until we figure out what's up."

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Luminant Hall - Outskirts of Valakhan - After the Event

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Instead of the warm sunny beaches of Mugulath, the Luminant Hall, palatial complex of Celestial House was now looking out over a cold icy bay as chilly winds blew in from the ocean. Marlevaur of House Xinihl, Enlightened Master of Mugulath had been roughly torn from his meditation by a member of the palatial staff, despite the strict instructions they had to never bother him or any other member of his family when they mediated on the mysteries of Filaurel Nelthyra's great teachings, the teaching that had led the Ruhal from a broken people squatting on a harsh desert world after devouring their home to the masters of an interstellar empire spanning over 10 000 settled star-systems and a population numbering over 1.5 trillion sentient beings of seven different species, all brought together into one harmonious unity, working together to build the Great Society. The fact the timid young Mraccian had disturbed him worried him much more than it made him angry or irritated, it worried him to no end. It meant something bad must have happened. Indeed it had. The city of Valakhan stretching out below the hill that the Luminant Hall had been built on seemed to have rearranged itself around a large bay, districts switched places to fit this new land, buildings stood where they hadn't merely an hour ago when he had entered his favorite shrine to meditate in peace. While his heart and mind raced with churning thoughts, he still projected a calm exterior. Celestials are harmony in form, they are calm embodied, they must act like it, as a guiding example to the other Castes.

Walking through the carefully tended gardens of his estate, Marlevaur reached out with his mind, focusing, sensing, a low thrumming noise alerted him to his family's thoughts, worry. fear. His hand-terminal was in a state of frenzied activity, call and reports coming in constantly from various departments of the planet's colonial administration, seeking answers, seeking orders, seeking guidance. He immediately called Commander Swiftstrike, the grizzled Steel Caste veteran picked up immediately.

"Your Luminance!" The officer exclaimed. "There's... something's happened, we're still trying to get our bearings here, scout drones have been dispatched as we speak..."

"That is very good commander, send me the real-time telemetry." The Enlightened Master said, his calm voice never once betraying his nervousness. As soon as the commander sent the telemetry the Celestial pulled it out, projecting it as a larger hologram out from the hand-terminal. Mountains and coastlines were drawn, borders utterly alien and foreign to him.

"We... I don't know what to say your Luminance." The Commander said. "There was a bright flash and then... we were gone, this is not Mugulath, we're somewhere else, on another planet..."

"Have we lost contact with the comm-buoy network?" The Celestial asked, his voice firm in tone.

"Yes, we've tried everything. Commander Strongsong is heading to the Luminant Hall as we speak."

"Very good, I need a situational report on the scale of this... landmass as soon as possible."

"Understood your Luminance." The Commander replied, after which Marlevaur hanged up as he reached the nearest door to the main palace. Two servants stood aside as their Enlightened Master passed and the ornate door opened before him, he found himself in a large salon before quickly making his way through the main building of the palatial complex. His family was already waiting in the throne room, and they would soon have visitors. Finally the last door opened with a hiss of machinery and he found himself in the spacious throne room of House Xinihl. Four large columns held up a slightly arched ceiling where his favorite passages from Nelthyra's great works had been laboriously engraved with the highest precision using gold and diamond. The glass wall on the left illuminated the room. The thrones themselves were placed on a platform surrounded by a carefully curated water installation, gentle mists rose as the water flowed on rocks and stone in graceful cascades. His eldest son and daughter stood at each side of his throne while his beloved Ariawyn rose from her curule seat to greet him, she had a harsh look on her face, but he could feel that her mind was troubled. As he passed by, he gently squeezed her hand and the two sat down, making themselves comfortable.

"You may let them in." Marlevaur said to a servant who stood at a large circular door at the other end of the throne room, the young Yaar bowed and waved his hand near a holographic panel at the center of the door, letting it open with a hiss. Several individuals walked in with hurried steps, a yellow-armored Zorvishi, namely Commander Strongsong. Alongside him came an old Terrelian woman, Deulara Qinbella, head of the Valakhan Critical Care Center and highest ranking medical professional on the planet, or island? Of the Colony at least. With them came two Yaar, Elaith Beimaer, Head of Research at Valakhan University and Tanathil Bryzumin, head of the Mugulath's Colonial Administration Authority.

"Tell me, where are we." The Celestial said calmly, with an almost serene look on his face, he reached out to the four with his mind, a soft purple glow emanating from behind his eyes, sensing them, their fear, he focused, the familiar thrumming returned as he assuaged their fears as well as he could.

"Somewhere... else, this is a new planet, some kind of... event has transported the majority of the colony here. Wherever here is." Bryzumin replied.

"We are monitoring alot of comm-traffic, radio, cellular, there is sentient life on this world, and since we're all alive, it has tolerable conditions for the species of the Unity, Enlightened Ones be praised." Beimaer said, her voice shaky but slightly relieved.

"We are not sure of the capabilities or the intentions of the locals, but we are monitoring the transmissions to provide our translation software with enough data to deconstruct their language, or languages." Bryzumin chimed in, sending yet another report from his hand-terminal to the Celestial upon the throne.

"I assure you, your Luminance, the Steel Caste will be able to respond to any signs of aggression..." Commander Strongsong was about to continue before being immediately interrupted by Deulara Qinbella.

"That is all well and good Commander, but have you missed the fact that we're on a new planet?" She said tersely. "We're surrounded by a completely unknown tree of life here, unknown bacteria, unknown viral strains... if any of them prove highly infectious... we'll have a disaster on our hands. I suggest a quarantine."

"We need to know where we are first, we have to make sure we can even survive here." Beimaer exclaimed, turning to the doctor. "Nothing is where it should be! Towns have been... moved, the roads and raillines have re-arranged themselves somehow, still binding us together but... what if all our crops die in these soils? What if the fish are poisonous? We have to secure a stable food supply, thank the Great Enlightened One that we at least have a breathable atmosphere and fresh water..."

"We need to keep calm." The Celestial finally said, rising from his throne alongside his wife. "There is much to be done, the finest minds of the Stone Caste must study the soils of this land, we need to know if our crops will grow here. In case they don't we'll need a concerted effort at setting up a hydroponic agricultural sector to make up for the shortfall, so we can grow crops in a controlled environment, I also hope that you can put your xeno-biologists to work analyzing the local marine life, we need to know if it is edible or if it carries any pathogens."

"Indeed." Ariawyn said in a calm tone. "But just as Commander Strongsong said, we cannot neglect our defense either, we need to know more about these aliens, their capabilities, their intentions. As of yet, we should not seek immediate contact, we will not respond to the messages being sent around by some of them. Firstly we need to get our bearings and prepare defenses in case they are hostile."

"My beloved speaks wisely. I wish to see you later come the evening, Commander Strongsong, for now, we shall need to set up defenses against possible air incursions or missile strikes against our towns and cities."

"The Steel Caste shall see it done, your Luminance." Commander Strongsong replied and placed his hand on his chest in salute.

Marlevaur and Ariawyn stood there, clad in the flowing, voluminous and luxuriant robes that signified their caste, eyes illuminated as they shared thoughts, planning, making decisions, mind to mind. "A mandatory curfew will be in effect for five local days." Ariawyn said in authoritative, firm tone. "None shall exit their homes unless they need to buy food or seek medical treatment. Only persons whose work is critical for the continued operation of essential services and those who must work in order for us to understand this new environment shall be able to move around unhindered. The Constabulary shall be out in force to make sure of this."

The four bowed deeply, they had their orders, it was time to execute them.

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Across the Mugulath Colony

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The empty streets of central Valakhan, post-curfew

Devices across the colony, even if off were turned on by remote emergency communication protocol, an announcement was being sent out through the network of the colony.

Citizens of the Unity.

I know many may feel a great, great level of unease and anxiety, our colony has changed beyond recognition in a second, some of you may have lost friends, loved ones in this strange and terrible event. We are standing on unknown shores, on an unknown world around and unknown star, but we are more than able to overcome the trials ahead. We are frontiersmen, taming the unknown of an Outer Colony was our calling, to bring civilization and the enlightenment of the Great Society to an uninhabited system, that is why we all came to Mugulath in the first place, we may be on a new world today, but our spirit remains.

I urge you to stay home, a mandatory curfew will be in force for the five coming local days. The Constabulary will inform those persons whose work is essential to the operation of critical services and for the immediate tasks at hand that they will carry on as usual. Otherwise, stay in your homes, go out only to buy food, medicine or to visit a healthcare point of service. We are on a new planet, and take any sign of disease seriously, report it to the Healthcare Services as soon as possible. Stay safe citizens.

The Unity has faced many trials and tribulations. We are stranded, far from home on an unknown world, surrounded by an unknown sapient species. But do not fear, we are guided by the great ideals of the Great Society, we are united in harmony, and with the sweat of our brows and the strength of our backs we shall build a piece of the Great Society here as well.

[The Alpenbund]

Southern Border, Former Canton of Ticino. North of Maslianico. Approaching noon.

“Radial check clear. No contaminants present. Over.”, Antonio diGrassi, callsign Peregrine-9-Lead, radioed back to HQ. He and his squad were perched on an overhang, overlooking a small alpine lake where antlion activity had been recorded a few days prior. As a result, the place had been hit with a number of firebombs, and the ground was still scorched from the napalm-like contents that had burned the nest clean.

“Affirmative. Proceed to the demarcation line, check for activity. Sensors are behaving… erratically. Over.”, HQ, callsign Nest, responded. “Copy, Nest. Atmospheric conditions may be at fault. S-team oscar mike, over.”, Antonio responded and motioned for his soldiers to start roping down. Even though they were trained mountaineer troops, the area had been blanketed by thick fog. As such, the squad was being extra cautious.

Once on the ground, they packed up the climbing ropes - they were all wearing their harnesses under their armor - and made their way through the sloping landscape. As they crossed through what used to be a forest - now only an amalgamation of dead tree trunks - Antonio stopped for a second. Squinting, he could have sworn he’d seen the silhouette of a large bird in the distance. After a second, he dismissed the thought. ‘Birds here… ridiculous.’

An elderly couple from the outskirts of Chiasso were enjoying their monthly routine of mountain climbing in the Alps. It was an ancient family tradition for some families living so close to the mountain range. The old couple were making small arguments about whether they should take the time to spend a few hours in Switzerland. The old man won the argument as he promised his wife that they would bring back Swiss chocolate for their grandkids awaiting them.

It was quite the shock for the pair to find the remains of the forest awaiting them below. The area was completely devoid of all life. Nothing but ash and cinder remained for the old couple to pick up. The experienced mountaineers had never come across anything like this before in the past 30 years and they felt inclined to contact the local police or fire station.

That was the plan when the old couple scoured the area before they came across a truly unique looking individual. For a brief moment, they thought they had stumbled upon a Swiss fireman.

“Pardon me,” the old man hailed towards the man in the gasmask, “Are you a Swiss fireman? Was there a forest fire here?” If there was a forest fire, it certainly was news for the elders. They’ve haven’t encountered a Swiss that would leave behind a fire in a forest before.

Antonio was surprised to suddenly see an elderly pair appear out of the fog. He signaled the squad to stay back, out of sight as the two approached him. “A forest fire?”, he repeated, his gas mask making his voice sound horribly distorted. “Negative. This forest was eliminated 20 years ago in order to deal with local exogen infestations. Is this your first time here? I assume you are from a refugee group?” That’s the most logical explanation, he thought to himself. Refugees had a tendency of arriving from Combine population centers located not too far south. “Peregrine-9, stabilize area. Scan all radials.”, he radioed to his squad.

“What is the nearest City? City-41, if I’m not mistaken?”, he asked the elderly couple. “Am I correct to assume you are from there, then?”

The old couple looked comically confused. The stranger was talking about some sort of infestation and refugees.

“You must be mistaken.” The old woman corrected politely, “This forest wasn’t destroyed 20 years ago. It was green and alive when I was a young girl.”

“We aren’t refugees.” Her husband spoke up, “We’re from Italy. Live near Chiasso. We’ve been mountain climbers for many decades now. And there hasn’t been a pandemic since the Spanish Flu 50 years ago.”

Antonio blinked behind his mask. ‘Spanish Flu’?, he thought to himself. It rang some distant bell, but he couldn’t put his finger down. And Chiasso? According to databanks, all survivors of the 24-hour War had been moved to City-41 and others decades ago. Had a rebel group moved in or something of the sort?

Either way, he decided, staying in a possible infestation zone while talking to the couple was probably not a good idea. Maybe they were just confused, after all, they did not wear gas masks, which were strongly advised to be worn when outside. He looked around for a second, before turning back to the couple. “Before we continue, we should probably take our leave. This area isn’t safe. Antlions might be around here, and while we are soldiers and have guns, you do not.” He started moving further down the mountain, gesturing for them to come with him, with the squad following directly behind.

“Report all radials?”, he said over the comms net. The squad’s answers ranged from ‘clear’ to ‘possible movement’. “Chiasso… isn’t that quite a distance from here?”, he asked the couple.

The elderly couple were quite skeptical that the area was infested. Switzerland was the last place they would imagine being the ground 0 of a new virus. Much less a hunting ground of Antlions, whatever they are.

“Oh no,” the old woman waved her hand away, “It’s only a few hours hike back to Chiasso. We’re really not that far from the Italian border.”

Antonio nodded at that. “Indeed, we are not that far. In fact, we should be there relatively soon. Our commander tells us something is wrong with a border post, we need to see if it’s broken anyway.”

After some time walking down the mountain, neither side getting more knowledgeable about the other in the process, they started getting closer towards the border sensor station. In fact, a light ‘beeping’ sound could be heard through the fog. “9-3, 9-4, investigate.”, Antonio ordered his squad as they came into visual range. The two riflemen approached the sensor station.

“Report.” “Superficial damage. Damage to the casing, possible virome interference.”, one of the soldiers, Peregrine-9-3, answered. “Station automatic defense had been activated.” Antonio frowned behind his mask. “Hold position, I have a theory.”

Walking at an angle to the station, Antonio engaged his CSNV gear, quickly finding what he had theorized caused the problem. The fresh corpse of an Antlion, apparently killed by the station’s auto-turret. A second one, oddly, was nowhere to be found. Kneeling down to inspect the corpse, Antonio ordered his squad. “Virome interference confirmed. Hold area stabilization, scan all radials for possible secondary contaminants.”

“Odd.”, he remarked to the couple. “They’re usually never alone. Maybe it’s one from the nest we cleared some days earlier.”

If the Italian couple didn’t know what an Antlion looked like before, they do now. The creature was a freak of nature. A spider-like insect the size of mountain lions lay dead on the ground killed by a turret gun. It was a beast that seemed to only spawn from horror films made real by the earth.

“There’s more of these things?” the old man asked incredulously, “I’d say we have to return home now. I might have to alert the local police and ant exterminator.”

Antonio shook his head. “Believe me, we’ve been trying to exterminate these things… for 40 years, no less. As for the police, I’m not sure what exactly you think is going on. As far as I remember, the CPs wouldn’t dare set foot here. As for the returning home part, yes, I do believe that is the wisest choice for you. Probably be best if we escorted you to a safe road or something. These things can pop out of the ground when you least expect it.”

As such, the couple and squad started making their way further south, down the mountain. However, the closer and closer they came to the border, the further the fog started to thin. As they came to the border, or ‘demarcation line’ as Antonio and his squadmates referred to it, it had thinned significantly.

Looking into the distance, Antonio and his fellow soldiers couldn’t help but notice oddities. The landscape seemed too green, the air too pristine and… “Are those birds?”, one of the soldiers asked incredulously, pointing at a flock of blackbirds sitting in a nearby tree. Antonio knelt down. “What in the…”, he managed. The grass was green?
As they continued on, more and more sounds of nature started flooding in. Birds chirping, water flowing, the wind flowing through the valley. Finally, as they crossed the border, the rest of the fog lifted.

What they saw stunned the soldiers. Forests stretched across the landscape, composed of many kinds of trees. A glistening, clear stream flowed a few meters away. The fields were populated with wild flowers and grass of many varieties. Even some deer could be seen grazing further off.

One of the soldiers managed to quit staring after a few seconds. He sprinted over to the stream, but instead of finding what he had expected - brown-yellow-ish cloggy mud - he was greeted with the clearest water he had ever seen, not coming from a bottle or a faucet. Even some small fish were swimming in it.

Antonio finally managed to take himself out of his almost-trance. “9-3, atmosphere scan. Now!”, he ordered. The man pulled out a small, yellow device. After a few seconds of humming along, it lit up green. The troopers exchanged looks, before quickly removing their gas masks and taking in their first breaths of unadulterated, unpolluted, truly fresh air.

“My, my.” the old man laughed along with his wife as they saw the soldiers acting like children going outside for the first time. “No need to look all melodramatic. You don’t need to act like you've never seen clean rivers before. Thank God for the pollution laws.”

Antonio immediately got on the radio. “Nest, Peregrine-9-Lead, come in. You will not believe what we found!”, he said europhically. Taking a deep breath, he quickly crossed himself. “Mio dio, man. I never thought I’d see the Alps like they were 45 years ago.”, he told the couple. “Most of us were born in the Lugano network. None of us have ever been outside without a mask. Our lands have been polluted and destroyed for nearly half a century… this must be an act of god!”

As if to illustrate the point, the fog over the mountain had started to lift, unveiling just how dead it was on the Union’s side. No trees grew, no birds flew. No sounds of water or calls of groundhogs. The dirt was yellow-brown, and here and there scorch marks could be seen from earlier missions to wipe out local infestations. As headquarters began receiving his datafeed, the voice of their commanding officer came over the radio. “Hold position, Peregrine. Airwatch assets are on the way. I don’t know what else to say.”

“That’s certainly not the Switzerland we remember.” The old lady commented after the fog lifted revealing the wretched terrain to the elderly.

“Right. Even 45 years ago, neither war nor disaster has touched the borders of Switzerland.” The old man added. “Regardless, I suppose we need to head back home. Maybe your commander would allow you to explore Northern Italy. Milan and Venice are very beautiful cities.”

[Remnants of Exilvania]

Reichshauptstadt Berlin
Berlin-Wilmersdorf, St. Getrauden Hospital Complex
Hilda Kreisler

Why was it that every time she returned from a mission, regardless of how successful it had been, it would be looking worse at the base than when she had departed? It was a question Hilda just had to ask herself as she led her team and their saviour through the run down hotel which served as the HQ of the Survivor Brigade here in Berlin. The conditions here were horrifying, precious few people were up on their feet and trying to help out, a speaker continuosly blared messages meant to order people to do things like repairing the generators, training their marksmanship, eliminating the rodent infestation etc. The occasionally flickering lights were more than enough proof something had to be done and the large rodents she occasionally saw scurrying across the ground, with evil, red eyes, just begged to be exterminated.

What was worse than the few people trying to tackle all these tasks...was just the sheer amount of people lying on the ground or sitting propped up against a wall. They seemed to be everywhere and the bandages wrapped around them told stories of just what had happened to them...but Hilda didn't understand. Was there a large attack while they were gone? Why weren't the wounded in the hospital? She grabbed one of the helpers, a nurse with a PPsh-41 slung over her back, and asked:

"What's going on? Was there an attack?"

The nurse stopped for just a moment in what she was doing, her eyes already flitting around between Hilda and her current patient and the long row of other patients need care. Seeing that Hilda appeared quite desperate for an answer, she merely stated:

"The hospital was overrun by the undead just yesterday. That Doctor from Bohemia, that Mengele, was at fault. I swear, we should've known that his mind wasn't quite right from the way he looked at some of us but we needed medical expertise. Who could've known that bastard would go on to infect all patients and let the undead in?"

Hilda staggered backwards when she heard that, being hit with the realization of what this meant. If the hospital had been overrun, then the Nazis had landed a major blow against them. So many fighters in there had tried to get nursed back to health, so much life that could've fought against the tide of death, washing against their electric fences time and again. And all of that undone by just a single bad apple among them. She was lucky that she staggered against the rock hard abs of her saviour, this strange man who had come out of nowhere immediately gripping her and holding her steady, knowing just what she needed. She allowed herself that moment of comfort and bliss in the arms of another before her suspicions crept back and she quickly snapped out of his arms, turning around and smacking him on his cheek, her own cheeks flushed in embarrassment.

"Don't you dare to fucking touch me, stranger, or I swear you will be regretting having crossed my path for the rest of your miserable life."

, she hissed angrily while that handsome bastard just stared down at her and silently rubbed his cheek, his hand creating a rasping sound as it stroked over the stubbles of a beginning beard. He grinned as he said:

"As you wish, though I do believe you have more urgent things to do then to argue with me right now, don't you?"

He was of course right and it made her seethe even more so she just abruptly turned around so as to not have to see him anymore and quickly hurried towards their 'control room', so the map and radio room from which they coordinated most of their attacks.

The Former Marshal of the Soviet Union, Ivan Konev, looked like anything but the shining victor he had been, before Hitler had ordered the execution of Plan Z. His bald headed was covered in wrinkles and his eyes laid deep within their sockets, surrounded by black eyerings. His lips and teeth were equally black, rumour having it that Konev had taken to smoking an unhealthy amount of two cigarette packs a day just to keep his calm in these times. His red nose also betrayed that comrade Vodka was a common and welcomed guest at his place too.

His bleary eyes looked up at the newcomers, acknowledging Hilda's return and with a raised eyebrow inquiring about the man she had brought with her. Here, among the precious few survivors, everyone knew each other. And nobody here knew this ripped hero from another age. Hilda of course wasted no time, reporting on her mission and introducing her new acquaintance:

"Hilda Kreisler reporting in. I am sorry Marshal, the mission was a bust. Those fuckers had us pinned for a good while and by the time this guy swooped in and saved our hides from annihilation by an undead Elite, too much time had already passed and the undead were hot on our heels. We were lucky to have made it back here alive and in one piece...well...most of us atleast. Three of my people got killed."

Konev had already pulled out his pack of cigarettes as soon as he heard the word sorry begin to leave her mouth. News requiring an apology were horrible these days and his nerves just wouldn't make it for much longer. He calmly listened to Hilda completing her report while fingering out a cigarette, putting it in his mouth and then searching unsuccessfully for his lighter...untill someone held a lighter under his cigarette, eliciting a thankful nod from the Marshal...untill he noticed it was the newcomer and Hilda was staring at him completely aghast. Feeling the calming effects of the nicotine already, he merely shrugged before asking:

"And this gentleman is...?"

This time it was Hilda's turn to shrug, leading to both of their eyes to travel to the tall, ripped man standing between them, who smiled at each of them with some warmth before saying:

"Ah, yes, we didn't get to proper introductions before so let me try and rectify that little mistake. The name is Fegelein. Otto Hermann Fegelein. SS Gruppenführer and former liaison officer between the Führer and the SS."

Hilda brought her MP-40 up immediately, pointing it at Fegelein, pure hatred in her eyes. So this man had served directly with the Führer? He had been the liaison officer, likely also been involved in firing off this nightmare in the first place? And he was suddenly here among them? She remembered all the wounded laying in the halls, remembered the words of the nurse about that one bad apple among their ranks that killed so many and worsened their situation, about how they should have seen it coming. Oh hell, she definitely could see this guy's betrayal coming now...which was a shame, all things considered. He had seemed like he'd be an incredible asset against the undead.

Konev on the other hand hadn't moved, only sized up Fegelein with his eyes before asking:

"I have heard of you, Gruppenführer. Soviet Intelligence had plenty to say about you...but nothing that would indicate such an impressive physique. Just what have you been doing, Gruppenführer?"

Fegelein lifted both of his arms, letting their muscles play before their eyes before saying:

"Well, you see, being locked in a cell in the Führerbunker with only enough food and drink to last me for a week and the undead constantly trying to get in does change one's outlook on life. And a lack of any useable weapons makes a harsh physical training regiment quite necessary."

Konev lifted his eyebrows, asking:

"You were locked in the Führerbunker? What for?"

To which Fegelein merely shrugged once more, stating:

"Desertion. Though at that point I wouldn't have called it desertion anymore. Hitler was plain mad and had ordered the execution of Plan Z. Trying to hightail it out of Germany and Berlin in particular was a top priority. Too bad his goons found me before shit kicked off and managed to drag me back to a comfy cell in the Führerbunker...aaaand then Plan Z kicked off."

Hilda couldn't take it anymore. These two people were both chatting way too calmly with each other, clearly forgetting in just how bad a situation they were in and just how obvious it was that this Fegelein fellow was a clear traitor. With her hands trembling and her knuckles white from how hard she was gripping the gun in her hands, she finally shouted:

"And do you honestly think we believe that you just somehow made it out of your cell, past all those undead and somehow survived in Berlin all alone?"

Both Konev and Fegelein stared at her as if she was mad...which just made her even more mad. Like, how the hell could they not understand the obvious? This Fegelein was clearly in cahoots with the undead, probably a Führerkult member. They probably let him out and those damnably good looking abs were just some demonic gift he had received from his benefactors. And yet Konev only sighed and Fegelein chuckled before putting his hand on the barrel of her gun slowly pushed it aside.

"Now, now there young lady. Let's not wave that thing around so enthusiastically. You could hurt someone with that."

"Tovarish Kreisler, please, put your weapon away. From what I know about Gruppenführer Mengele, he is not the kind of man to be with the Führerkult, even if he was in the Führer's immediate environment for a long time.

Which does bring me towards something else I would like to discuss and I would very much appreciate your expertise on this, tovarish Fegelein."

Marshal Konev led both of them over towards a large, sprawling map of Berlin. Someone had built a model railway around it and a small model train ran along the tracks, going in circles around the map as Konev leaned over and used a riding crop to point at a marked location on the map.

"This is the Vox House, otherwise known as the Reichssender Berlin-Tegel. It is the only radio station of the Greater German Broadcasting Network that is still operational...and as of late we have been picking up strange signals from over there. And not just that, it seems that other signals, among others from the Ministry of Propaganda seem to be answering them.

We have, as of the last blasted strange weather phenonemon, been incapable of reaching allied command. Our situation is getting critical now as the carpet bombings as well as air dropped supplies were of immense importance to our continued survival. Could it be that there's some new devilry that's blocking our communications, much like the demonic static we have to deal with when contacting our holdouts across Germany?"

Fegelein scratched his chin at that, looking at the map, the cogs in his mind clearly working hard. It took a while before he answered, slowly, deliberately:

"No, I don't think they are jamming the comms. As I was trying to make my way through Berlin, just attempting to survive, I too of course noticed the sudden phenomenon in the sky...but I also noticed what came with it. Have you not yet noticed how much colder it has gotten? If it hadn't been so warm in the Spandau factory and that undead fucker hadn't dug his teeth into my good coat, I'd still be wearing it. I wonder when it will start to snow.

There's also thing that I had been keeping an eye on the Ministry of Propaganda. There's been a flurry of activity there as of late and I even saw the High Priest of the Führerkult, that cripple move out and make his way to the Reichschancellory.

No, I think something big has happened. Something beyond what even the Führer and his demonic cronies had planned. And with the Reichssender Berlin-Tegel suddenly being so active, I think we will find answers to what has happened and why the connection to the Allies has been lost there. And if we do not...well...we'd still have the most powerful operational radio station in Germany to attempt to contact the Allies on our own."

Marshal Konev seemed to mull it over for a while before casting a heavy glance on Fegelein:

"If we were to attack the Vox House and if it was indeed important to the Nazis' current plans, we would quickly turn from a thorn in the Nazis' side to the object of their focused hatred. And if we cannot establish contact with the allies, we will not have the allied armies or air forces backing us up. We would be crushed."

A shadow fell on their faces as they all thought but eventually Hilda gathered the courage to speak up:

"Our situation is hopeless anyway. The dead attack us again and again and we already have no allied support anymore. We have the choice between being slowly and hopelessly ground to dust or perhaps finding salvation and victory...or a swifter death at the hands of the Nazis. I would prefer having atleast some hope rather than none."

Both Fegelein and Konev stared at her in silence for a long moment, making Hilda squirm uneasily. But when Konev broke the silence, his gravely voice seemed to hold that determined spark of hope that hers had as well as he ordered:

"Very well tovarish Kreisler. If this is to be the last battle of Berlin's Survivor Brigade then so be it. Let us stop hiding like rats and waiting for the enemy to come to us and instead marshal all of our remaining forces and attempt an attack on the Vox House. And may god help us in this god-forsaken land as his chosen warriors and let us bring light and hope to those in need of it. We will either succeed and save what remains of the living in Germany...or perish, knowing that we caused these Nazi bastards one final headache.

Tell the men to get ready."

[Speyland]

The Land of Wind, Sunagakure, Kazekage's Office

The nation has been growing steadily for the past couple of days. Gaara is glad that Sunagakure is able to have access to water since when they were located in the desert there wasn't any water thus they suffered from scarcity. The people's affairs (aside from children playing in the streets) are usual and there haven't been any unfortunate events since then. Therefore, the country is currently free from conflict, water scarcity, and a lack of natural resources.

The settlement's conditions are in good condition as they haven't encountered barbarians and the like upon establishing elsewhere (because they are the only ones on the island). Kankuro, one of Gaara's siblings, have been exploring the forest deep within the island's landscape. He had encountered strange animals throughout his exploration (of course, he encountered a playful lemur who he disliked the most).

So far, nothing much is going on in the country. All that Gaara can think of is Temari going on a diplomatic mission to see if there are any countries outside the island in an effort to find some connection between them and to eventually become allies in the future.

The Land of Wind, Sunagakure, Kazekage's Office, Shikamaru Nara's Perspective

Shikamaru was officially appointed by the Wind Daimyo to serve as a minister of defense in charge of the country's military. Like Gaara and the others, he has been transported to a different world as well and he has been roaming the island for a few days until he finally arrives in Sunagakure through a discovery. However, his laziness does get in the way of understanding the commitment to train recruits into becoming soldiers (or ninjas) in the future.

He is happy that he got the position to work as a government official not that he has any knowledge in politics in general. It is his job to monitor the military to ensure the protection of its citizens and to oppose external threats harming the nation's sovereignty. Shikamaru's time as a minister of defense has begun.

[Empire of Techkotal]

The radio cracked and came to life. A weird message was being transmitted over the radios of the Iron Legion. Some weirdo had somehow managed to broadcast their news. Only nobody in the Legion understood what it said. The first reaction was silence, but this incident was a threat in itself. If someone was able to gain access to the Iron Legions channels they could also spy on the Legion.

"What do you mean it takes time to come up with a code. There is nothing easier then a simple code. Just change those dammed words and those letters and you can send messages" Lord Ferrok said.

One of his officiers spoke "but my Lord that about our radios. I mean we are transmitting orders over the radio."

"He...thats not a problem at all I can just send a telegram with my orders. Or if they arent as important the enemy can just listen to us. I mean I dont give so many important orders and you normaly only have to report stuff the enemy already knows. I think there is no problem and we dont have to encrypt our radio messages at all" Lord Ferrok said "Now more importantly what did those beings wanted to tell us."


Lord Ferroks speech was ready. It would be sent on all radio waves. "World or whatever this joke is, we the Iron Legion have come. Those at our borders shall rethink their actions. We the Iron Legion will crush every one that dares to attack us. I'm looking at you.... well I don't know what your called, but I'm still looking at you. The nation that dared to attack the Iron Legion shall pay. The Legion has defeated all major powers in our world and it shall destroy you on this" Lord Ferrok paused "To the rest of the world I say...... well what do you say in such a situation... ah...... we are open to recieve diplomats or any information you are willing to give us. In this new world everyone has to find its place be it with force or words."



Over Indian ground one day after Lord Ferrok gave the order to scout the enemys border.
Bullets grazed through the sky and guided rockets flew towards the bombers. The Legions scout had met heavy resistance at the enemys border. Half of the planes send had been shot down, but the mission was a success.
Through this attack the Legion had gained some knowledge over the enemy territory and their positions. The informations were delivered to the Iron tower. Their Lord Ferrok began ordering his soldiers into position and moved tank units along the enemy border to new positions. Old air bases and newer ones were put into service and the anit air defenses of the region were strenghtend. Hundreds of trucks began their journey from the military factorys to the front. The railway transported millions of shells to the front and even the heavy tanks drew carts filled with ammunition. The artillery was send to their positions and their stock of ammunition was filled up for a barrage. Figthers patrouled the sky and secured air supremacy over the staging area. The fleet was instructed to move out in case their ports would be attacked and wait for orders.

[Sentinalyia]

Yavanou Province, Queendom of Sentinalia

A constellation shone in the night sky of Sentinalia. But not a constellation of stars. He sat at his regular place, a deep recess in the highland forest. Atop a small hill with an old wooden bench, surrounded by old bent pines whose branches hung low with the ever-present winter snow. With a practiced hand, he drew his brush of softened feather along the canvas, capturing the sight before him.

Stretching above him was an endless panorama of human existence, drifting high above the earth below. Lights shone from towers above, streetlights distant, and the under-levels which stretched beneath the city's base. If he looked carefully, he could see the tiny silhouettes of those rare few walking the streets at this hour, along the edge of the nearest airborne isle. He came here and painted it often. There was something poetic about it to him, the way it shimmered above the landscape like a nighttime dream. It was worth the trip down the elevators and the long hike deep into the woods. And with the way things were, he needed a little respite from the chaos. As he swiped his traditional brush, leaving streaks of paint along the canvas, which was slowly revealing the sight before him in the streak and line of traditional Iyavan art, he pondered what it would mean for his country, and more directly, for him. It was no secret that a lot of people from outside of Sentinalia were now trapped in the country, with nowhere to go, and already debates raged for how to deal with them. Several advisors from Regrian and Loegrian schools of magic were stuck in his city now, with nowhere to go. They would need accommodations.

He sighed, making another stroke of his brush. Thinking about things like that wasn't why he was here.

Mishen Atayan, Wachyjaniral of the Department of the Arcane, continued his silent vigil. The City of Constellations, Nizure, drifted overhead, floating in the deep black of the night.

--

Royal Palace, Vaju Hegu, Queendom of Sentinalia

Alechys paced to and fro in his corner of the meeting room, thoughts racing. On the other side of the room, a woman he was mostly aware of by reputation sat, her black hair done in a short ponytail and hanging low down the back of her suit. She gazed at him silently, dark eyes missing any sort of emotion he could determine. It was not helping his mood any, so he was doing his best to find reasons to not look at her.

The door at the far wall slipped open, bathing the dim room in the hallway light, and admitting a familiar figure. Sakarlyt sweeped into the room, all regal responsibility and poise. At her heels was a young girl in a Royal Servant's outfit, who looked simultaneously horribly out-of-place and incredibly concerned as to her current location.

"Ah." The woman on the other end of the room from him finally made an actual noise instead of staring at him. "Got carried away seducing young maidens in your quarters, Oh Wings of Jiiv?" His brain promptly froze up at the sheer disrespect in the implication that the queen would be so libidinous.

"Oh, of course." The queen promptly responded, amused sarcasm dripping from every word. "You know that I spend all of my free time courting the maidens of our lands."

The Servant in question had gone a fairly impressive shade of red.

Before Alechys' brain could finish restarting from its abrupt stop, the Queen turned and gestured to the woman across from him. "Resa. Head of the IP-TV, and somewhat of a confidant of mine. I understand you two have met?"

Alechys managed to grind out a response. "Once, before this. When I entered office." Resa nodded in agreement.

The IP-TV. The Horizon Wings. The most secretive and distant of the Royal Guard's six Wings. Sentinalia's silent eyes abroad. Even he rarely saw reports from them cross his desk; most of their knowledge was for the Queen's eyes alone. Their insight, even as reduced as they likely were, would be invaluable in the coming times.

The Queen turned to her little hanger-on, and smiled. "I recommend you return to the quarters. I will speak to your supervisors later about the time; rest assured you will face no issues."

"A-ah, yes. Maruna guide you." The servant in question awkwardly bowed before fleeing the room as fast as she could, still somewhat red in the face. Even in her embarrassment, she managed enough poise to remember to close the door behind her.

"Sechaa guide." Came the soft reply from the Queen. A small silence fell over the trio, before Resa cleared her throat to draw their attention.

"Now. I believe we convened to discuss some very important matters. Shall I begin?" The woman stood from her chair, as the other two nodded and took their own seats. At a snap of her fingers, the projector screen on the far wall flickered on to reveal a strange map. Some areas were marked out in color, while the rest was greyscale. "This, is the world we have found ourselves in, so far as we can determine from the cameras of our active satellites. The colored areas are those we believe inhabited, based on intercepted transmissions and satellite imagery, along with the scounting efforts of the Air Force and Air Navy. As we lack any of our more detailed imager satellites, these are primarily based on lights active at night. There may very well be more, but this is all we know. We cannot actively determine the boundaries or borders of most of these regions, if any exist, beyond a few nearby that we have managed contact with. This includes the so-called Federation of Brazil, which the Second Line Fleet launched toward on a diplomatic meeting a few days ago."

"Not to interrupt," Alechys spoke up, "but the shape of this world... it is distantly similar to our own, is it not?"

Resa nodded. "Yes, we have noticed that as well. Many of the continents are very similar in shape to our own world, though obviously different. On top of that, rather than here-" She gestured toward the northern region of the continent most like Ostus, marked 'EUROPA',"-where we would have most likely entered, we are instead on the southmost continent, which Brazil has called 'Antarctica'."

The Queen leaned forward, her gaze sharp. "Do any appear actively aggressive to us?"

"No." Resa responded. "In fact, few have directly contacted us, and our region of the world seems extremely sparsely inhabited. Should we wish to, we could easily protect our borders." The Queen nodded and leaned back in her chair once more.

"Unfortunately, we don't have that luxury." Alechys noted. "We'll have to reach out on our own, then, if we want to keep our economy afloat."

"Indeed. Now, I actually have a few ideas on that, if I could offer them..."

[Naval Monte]

United Kingdom- Northern Ireland, Fermanagh and Omagh

At the borderland between the civilized parts of Ireland and the untamed wilderness that was now the Southern half of Ireland lines of trucks and cars were on the road. Some of these trucks were from the military and were carrying soldiers to protect the people using the other trucks; those belonging to scientists, construction workers, utility workers.

"Just another day for the Imperative." an elderly man with a white bushy mustache and blue eyes turned his head away from the vast wilderness that greeted him and everyone and saw the people who he would accompany; each one ranging from soldiers to workers. General Penderghast was not surprised that the Imperative would send out operatives to join with the team to occupy the rest of Ireland. They need to make sure if the entire landmass is normal or if there are anomalous threats lurking in the region.

"Our drones haven’t picked up anything unusual so I don’t see why we should be joining in this operation?” another agent asked, dressed as construction worker. A researcher would reply with. “Our drones aren’t full proof. Some mages and entities can hide their signature from the drone’s sensors and other paranormal phenomena can cause them to glitch out and miss stuff. We need to have boots on the ground to make sure that there isn’t something waiting for us in Ireland.” she told the worker.

Penderghast would give the group a fake cough. “Keep quiet folks. Right now we are in a precarious situation. We are dangerously close to having the public knowing the truth. We need to make sure that there is no anomalous threats that would break the masquerade.” he told everyone.

With his orders being final everyone broke away to prepare for the trip. Penderghast would walk to a car and once he was inside he would take out a wallet, seeing a picture of a young woman who was by his side. “I don’t know if I should be glad you never left the UK when this happened or if I should be worried that you never left?”

He would hear the radio from his car blare out that it was time to leave. Penderghast would turn on the engine of his car and he began to drive off with the other vehicles into the unknown.

[Empire of Techkotal]

Smoke rose to the sky. The ruins of a fortress were in front of them. The battery had been silenced and the bunkers were destroyed. Xylvanian bodys parts littered the ground and toxic materials were leaking into the enviroment. An enemy air raid five days ago had devestated this fortification at the eastern border of the Legion. No one had survived. Commander Ogmur had rushed to its defend with anti air veterans and several gunships, but it was to late. The enemy attack was swift and brutal. The Legion had been caught of guard, but this should not repeat itself. Lord Ferrok had order to prepare a full invasion of the enemy.


6 days after the Legion got teleported


The nearby old airbase had been repaired and extended. The toxic water nearby had been drained and new flak towers made out of wood and steel had been build there.Several improvised hangars stored the Legions aircrafts here and in newly build warehouses ammunition was stored. The airbase was protected by dozens of anti air guns, two hundred anti air veterans and several guided missel launchers.

The day had finally come then the Legion would show its fangs. Lord Ferroks voice could be heard from the radios "Legion on this day we will drive the enemy back. The majority of our airforce stands ready to soften the enemy up. Your job shall be to destroy the enemys position. You shall supress positions and if necessary their anti air positions. You shall supress their own airforce so that our troops may advance. In a few seconds our artillery will begin a massive barrage. You shall start your bombers and figthers in thirty minutes and in two hours then the artillery barrage has stopped you should be at your targets. Gunships you are to start in two hours, while the enemy will fight our airforce you shall assist the ground forces and conduct reconissance for the mobile artillery. The Legion shall be victorious!"
The speech had ended. Pilots cheered everwhere and personel ran to the bombers and loaded them with bombs, but then a massive roar of thousands of artillery guns and all the mobile artillery guns the legion had shocked the ground. The massive barrage of around seven thousand artillery pieces had started.

[Kenobot]

Decepticon Headquarters, Far beneath the Pacific Ocean immediately before the Event

"Starscream!" Yelled Megatron, "Prepare to deliver our shipment of energon to Cybertron"

"But of course mighty Megatron," retorted Megatron's ever-treacherous deputy, Starscream.

As Starscream finished unloading the energon into the space bridge, Megatron contacted Shockwave on Cybertron to inform him of the incoming shipment.

"Megatron to Shockwave, come in Shockwave" Said Megatron as Shockwave's face came on screen

"Lord Megatron, this is Shockwave. What is your command?" responded Shockwave.

"Prepare for an incoming energon shipment Shockwave. Soon we shall return to Cybertron, defeat the Autobots and conquer The Universe!" Megatron exclaimed

"Shipment ready to go Megatron," interrupted Starscream

Pressing the button to open the space bridge, things appeared to continue as normal; however as the Space bridge attempted to send the energon cubes to Cybertron, something very different occurred; shaking the Decepticon Headquarters and knocking all aboard unconscious.

---

6 days later...

After 6 days in stasis, a seaquake occurred near the Decepticon Headquarters, reawakening the Decepticons.
Knowing that something catastrophic had happened, Megatron attempted to contact Shockwave.

"Megatron to Shockwave, what happened? Come in Shockwave" said Megatron

"I do not know Lord Megatron" Responded a voice from behind, "Wait...I'm...you're..."

"What in the name of Primus are you doing here?" replied Megatron "You were on Cybertron!"

"It would appear, Lord Megatron, that the space bridge somehow delivered the energon, but returned me in its placed." Said Shockwave

"I don't like this... Soundwave, send Laserbeak out and report on any...unusual activity." responded Megatron.

"Yes Megatron" replied Soundwave, "Laserbeak, eject! Operation: Reconnaissance"

And with that, the robotic condor took flight and made its way towards the US Pacific Coast to report anything unusual. Little did they know that they weren't in 1986 anymore...

[The Federation of Kendor]

Rhodes Island

It was a normal day in the landship. The operators were working as usual, with the Combat Department operators either chilling out after training or coming back from missions, or currently training under the instructors. Meanwhile, the Logistics were sorting orders for supplies and other resources, while the Engineering Department was maintaining the ship, as well as weaponry and equipments of the operators. The other departments also did what they usually do.

The landship itself was currently on the move somewhere in Terra, being headed to its next destination. With no major mission for now, all the operators were inside the ship. As for Phantom, as he was forbidden from entering by Kal'tsit, he had to follow it.

However, this day would mark a different day. As Amiya and the Doctor were looking outside to the wilderness, as the Sun was setting down, the sky suddenly turned dark, with the Sun nowhere to be seen. Perplexed by this sight, Amiya said, "This is weird. The Sun shouldn't have disappeared like that." Before she could go inside however, she peeked again to notice that the stars were there, which was weird because apparently they had never been sighted for many years.

Then, Kal'tsit and Closure suddenly appeared, running to Amiya and the Doctor. Kal'tsit immediately said to the former, "Amiya, we are currently having abnormal readings everywhere. You should deal with it." Closure soon handed Amiya the data, with the leader of Rhodes Island responding that she'd help solve it, but Kal'tsit also looked at the sky and noticed the stars too. She soon seem to be shocked from her body language, as she thought that the stars shouldn't had appeared.

"Strange. We have never seen any stars in the night sky for years. What kind of anomaly is this?" Kal'tsit thought. Suddenly, the sky seem to tear itself apart as a bright, blinding rift opened up right above the landship. Everyone in the balcony looked up, shocked by this turn of event. Likewise, the operators inside also got blinded by the light, which somehow managed to penetrate every parts of the place. Next thing they noticed, weightlessness reigned in as those in the balcony noticed that their ship was floating up toward the rift. As it entered, the background shifted into a brightly flashing rainbow, causing everyone to shield their eyes.

The flashing soon disappeared, only for everyone to be met with what looked like a giant originium crystal threatening to crash down on the landship. Amiya immediately said, "I'll break this crystal!" However, Kal'tsit immediately summoned the thing in her spine, Monst3r, while responding to Amiya in a reprimanding tone, "Don't push yourself! You'll break your rings if you do! Just let me handle this." Kal'tsit soon commanded Monst3r to destroy the crystal as the entity flied into it in an attempt to shatter it. However, it's effort was ineffective.

Everyone was soon forced to brace for impact. It then happened, but mysteriously, everyone did not feel any impact. It's as if they just passed harmlessly. Eventually, the rough journey came to an end as the landship seem to come out of a hole.

Still shaken from the journey, Amiya and her group immediately scan their landship first. Strangely, no external damage was seen at all. However, Kal'tsit immediately ordered an inspection of the software and hardware. After some time and with help from other operators who knew about the subject, like Ptilopsis, they found nothing on them too. It seem that the landship was strangely fine.

On the other hand, the operators looked out to see that beyond them was a new morning scenery. It seemed to be a lush, green plains. Some lavender were growing to the right of the landship, and a sea could be seen at the horizon. In addition, animals roam free, with the operators noting how strange they were compared to the animals they usually see. Kal'tsit also heard a report about how Phantom also got transported too.

After some scanning, Amiya realized by little on what may had happened, as she muttered, "After looking through data about Terra, this place... doesn't seem to be like any familiar land at all." Rhodes Island still didn't know that they were somewhere in France, in a different world.

[Mirial System]

Bridge, Negotiator
Day 5 Post-Crash

"Are you sure of your findings, Lieutenant Commander?"

For the past week, while the ground forces of the Strike Group Two were occupied by the crisis that, in a way, was their own doing, the now-grounded naval personnel had engaged in something far less hectic but in a way no less disturbing.

Finding out just where in the entire kriffing galaxy were they.

It took but a day for long-range scanner readings of visible stars to be reconstructed sufficiently, based on their luminosity, into a hypothetical preliminary star map. One that made little sense - as it did not match anything that their own maps held. Thus it was quickly concluded that they were definitely not within known space - and most likely, they had crashed on a previously-undiscovered world within the Unknown Regions.

Which, by itself, was pretty bad news - seeing as said Regions encompassed half the galaxy, and known navigation routes within said area was scarce.

Of course, things could most definitely become worse...

"Certain, Admiral Yularen. We've been observing the scanner readings for the last five days - all the navigation departments, actually. Not just the Venators, but also the Acclamators as well. 14 ships worth of sensor readings, all concluding that this galaxy has the wrong rotation curve.

"In other words, we've definitely left our home galaxy for another."

Yularen bit back a curse. If they weren't in their home galaxy, the distress beacons would most certainly be absolutely useless - they may as well shut them down to conserve power, maybe even cannibalise them for parts at this point. He vaguely noticed Captain Piett, of the Tranquility, muttering.

"Unplanned stopover, he said. We are leaving, he said. This is temporary, he said..."

Brig, Tranquility

Seated alone in what must be an interrogation room, her wrists cuffed to the very chair she was seated on, the Seventh Sister came to the realisation that she had never been a prisoner before. Never being in a position of weakness...

... alright, neither was strictly true. But she should be excused for not wanting to recall Malachor and her brush with death. And no Inquisitor, no matter how cruel and bloodthirsty, would ever wish to recall their... "induction", into the Inquisitorius.

Forcefully drop-kicking those memories down a dark pit and hoping they never resurface, she began contemplating. Putting into order and making sense of what she knew about her current situation.

She really didn't know much, and what she knew made little sense...

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

Ever since that strange - almost illusion-like - encounter with her former combat instructor, she found herself locked up within the sterile hospital room. Food and water was delievered through a hatch built into the wall, and she definitely felt as if she was being watched. But no one, well, no one else, came to see her - even to interrogate her, which would have been preferable to this isolation.

She was left to her own devices, cut off from the world. Considering her possessions consisted of merely sets of hospital gowns, there wasn't much she could do.

For how long, she couldn't quite tell - with nothing marking time other than the arrival of meals. And given how little she knew of her captors, even that was far from reliable. Eventually, just as she was beginning to go stir-crazy, she heard the doors slide open once more. Something fabric-like was deposited down the short corridor, followed by a call. "Get dressed, prisoner. You're being transferred."

She thought she knew that voice - deep, human, male. But she just couldn't place it.

In any case, what awaited her by the door was, surprisingly enough, her uniform. Washed and pressed - with a certain lightsaber-induced burn-tear repaired, her boots polished and ... no helmet. Damn it. Better than nothing, she supposed, as she pulled the clothes on. Better than kriffing open-backed gowns...

"Are you done yet?"

Wiggling her toes to check the fit of her footwear, she wondered what would happen if she simply didn't answer. Before she could make a decision either way, the door slid open once more-

There's a firing squad waiting outside.

"Keep your hands in front of you, and step out slowly."

She could almost taste their fear, and that placed a smirk on her face. Still, something seems ... off. Something that became more apparent as she took her first steps out into what appeared to be a medbay. These soldiers... they almost looked like stormtroopers even if their armour differed just slightly to throw her off. But they were too disciplined, too well trained - they reminded her of the Inquisitorius' own Purge Troopers-

Oh. The realisation came as the commander of this merry detachment called for her to halt.

Clones.

That made... no sense, whatsoever.

As she pondered this latest piece of information, one of the troopers carefully approached her - a pair of cuffs catching the bright lights illuminating the room. He made the last few steps towards her, and she made up her mind.

The trooper caught a sharp elbow to the neck, stumbling back as a wave of Force Push sent his compatriots tumbling backwards - stun shots flying everywhere. The Inquisitor sprang forward, weaving a path through the disordered formation and ducking shots as she made a beeline for the door on the far side.

She haven't figured out where to go after that, but the thrill of actually doing something drove her well enough-

A shot clipped her foot, and she barely stumbled - catching herself on the next step almost effortlessly.

She almost made it out-

Before a robed arm, one ending with a clenched fist in peculiarly olive skin tone and marked with tattoos - something long-buried in her mind identified them as traditional Mirialan markings - clothelined her. She slammed backwards and the back of her head struck the durasteel floor hard.

As her field of vision, swimming as it is, filled with the business ends of multiple blasters, a ghost glided out from around the doorframe.

"... you're dead. I saw your damn corpse - what are you doing here?"

Luminara Unduli, Jedi Master and - as far as the Seventh Sister knew - former deceased inmate at the Spire on Stygeon Prime, merely arched an eyebrow. "I'm afraid reports of my death have been greatly exaggerated."

"Impossible..." Her eyes remained fixed on the other Mirialan even as she was picked up by the troopers she had not-so-graciously knocked down in her abortive bid for freedom, cuffed, and dragged off to Force knows where. Just before she was out of earshot, she heard a gruff voice muttering.

"Kriffing shinies..."

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

... which brings her back here, to the interrogation room that she was thrown into after that little incident-

"How's your head? Is it still sore?" The query earned Luminara a golden-eyed glare, which the Jedi Master simply allowed to slide past without effect.

She must be slipping, if she didn't catch the other woman entering the room. "You're supposed to be dead-"

"No, actually. I'm quite sure I'm still alive." Damn Jedi scum had the cheek to make a show of measuring her own pulse before answering, with no small amount of amusement threaded into her voice at that. "So... who are you?"

'... she has no idea who I am. It hasn't happened yet, for her.' A smirk surfaced once more upon the Inquisitor's face. 'This is going to be fun...'

Again, the other Mirialan merely raised an eyebrow at the change in attitude.

"I'm the Seventh Sister of the Inquisitorius, in service of the Empire. Let me tell you of the Great Jedi Purge..."

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

The revealations came like blows in a lightsaber duel, one after another that Luminara weathered with little outward reaction - even as she was reeling inside.

Clone troopers - her troopers - turning on the Jedi at the Supreme Chancellor's orders.

The Republic's leader being the Sith Master, and overturning a millennium of democracy by declaring himself Emperor.

The surviving Jedi scattered, and then hunted by the Inquisitor seated on the other side of the table and her ilk.

The entire war against the Separatists - the past two years of violence and bloodshed - all for naught as both sides were but puppets dancing to Darth Sidious' strings.

For perhaps the first time in her adult life, the Mirialan Jedi Master found it difficult to keep her composure. She wanted to deny what the Inquisitor just said to her - no, taunted her with. Wanted the Seventh Sister to admit that she was lying, that the mocking words she spoke were falsehoods...

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

The Jedi hunter merely sat back and admired her handiwork - it wasn't everyday one had the opportunity to properly shake the foundations of a Jedi Master's beliefs after all. Especially not with Vader's insistence that all Jedi were to be neutralised immediately - not an order that left room for conversation, something that the Seventh Sister found quite the pity.

However, her opportunity to relish in the uncertainty and pain was cut short when a holocom started beeping - the noise cutting through the chilly atmosphere that had settled within the interrogation room.

Luminara pulled out a small holoprojector from the folds of her robes - switching it on to show a galaxy very much unlike what she was familiar with. She studied it for a moment - and the feelings in her settled down, almost in resignation. "Seems like we're all a long, long way from home, Seventh Sister."

On her part, the Inquisitor could only stare at the projection before her, her sharp tongue properly deserting her now...

Desert, Southern Tunisia

Watching the golden dunes roll past underfoot, Barriss Offee found that for the first time in a couple of years, she was able to find a measure of peace in her life. Even considering what happened nearly a week ago - something she promised herself she wouldn't think about during this field trip.

"Credit for your thoughts?"

Looking away from the desert, she gave Ahsoka a glance. "It's nothing. Just... tired. The past few days were not pleasant."

"Sure were something...", her best friend muttered, before shuffling closer - legs still dangling from the open doors. She shook her head at the Togruta's antics, even as behind them a clone - probably Jesse - yelled something about an 'Amidala Incident'.

She wondered how she ended up here, on a hunting trip of all things...

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

She had successfully bounced between the two Receiving Units since the crash - using the maintenence corridors to avoid bumping into any medics. By now, she suspected Patch had already informed everyone and issued standing orders to drag her off to bed.

They're going to have to try harder.

In fact, as the days went by, it had almost evolved into something of a game - she dodging attention and the men trying to find her. She had became very good at hiding herself with the Force - using a mix of minor mind tricks and illusions.

Alright, so she did crash in the maintenance corridors on the fourth day. Maybe she did need the rest. But that meant she did in fact catch some sleep, after all. Surely that counted...

She was finally spotted earlier today, cleaning up one of the Receiving Units after the last patient was discharged, by a rather unamused Patch who - rather than bodily dragging her back to her room - apparently decided on a different approach. 10 minutes later, she was "escorted" to a waiting dropship by a team of clones from the 501st, being dragged along by her dearest best friend as Ahsoka chattered excitedly about local wildlife.

She suddenly felt a great pity for any wildlife they would encounter...

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

They spotted a herd of creatures that appeared vaguely similar to rong boars, native to Mimban. Setting down on the other side of a dune, the clones - and their Commander - slowly creeped over the edge to get eyes on the animals.

At least, Barriss - hanging at the back with the medic, Kix (whom she suspected had been Patch's point of contact) - hoped they were animals. She tried not to think about the alternative- that they were sentient-

"Nah, definitely non-sentient." Fives muttered, peering through a pair of macrobinoculars - earning an odd look from the Mirialan that the clone didn't notice. 'That... was a coincidence, right?'

The faint sound of wind brushing across the sand followed, as they waited for the herd to approach...

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

It was subtle, but as she waited Barriss felt a very faint Force signature almost under her feet, a non-sentient lifeform. Carefully, she looked down - there was a small burrow right by her boots. Stepping away gently, she peered into it, trying to discern what lived within. It was a small hole, and shouldn't be anything harmful - the feeling she sensed wasn't aggressive, just surprise-fear-curiosity making tiny ripples in the Force. Barriss crumbled a bit of ration bar onto her palm, and held it by the burrow entrance - sending bits of safety-warmth-care towards the lifeform in an attempt to entice it out.

And soon enough, the tiniest, cutest little critter - mouse-like except for its elongated hind limbs - clambered out. It took an exploratory sniff towards the strange green appendage offered to it, and hopped on, nibbling on the ration crumbs-

A pair of blaster discharges made her jump (and hold the little creature close), and as she peered up she saw Hardcase and Fives scramble over the dunes - distantly, the sound of scattering hoofbeats informed her that the rest of the animals had fled. Jesse, however, was staring unimpressed at the other Jedi present.

"Please tell me you did not just consider trying to use a lightsaber to hunt a boar, sir."

Sheepishly, Ahsoka gave her a helpless look. "I did not."

Causing her to burst out into quiet giggles.

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

"So... credit for your thoughts?" As the two Jedi stepped onto the LAAT - the clones dragging two gutted boar carcasses behind them, Barriss sighed as the Togruta repeated her earlier question. Patting the little critter curled up in her palm, the Mirialan gave it some thought.

"Later, perhaps."

There was a distinct air of dissatisfaction coming from beside her.

"I promise."

Brig, Tranquility

The Seventh Sister laid on the hard bunk bed in the detention cell, staring at the durasteel ceiling and contemplating her life - something that, frankly, she didn't do often. Her life wasn't something she liked to think about - too much pain, too much suffering haunting her from her past. Too many fragments of fractured memories, that she had long given up trying to piece together.

All she had was looking forward. To the next mission, the next hunt, the next prey. And now, even that was lost to her.

"Kriffing hyperdrive..."

"Ahem."

Slowly, she sat up and glance out - through the forcefield that kept her within her confines - only to find a familiar face looking back at her. Instructor Offee's expression had always been unreadable to her, even now. Though something seemed off. The Mirialan who taught her how to wield her lightsaber still held herself with that fragile yet unyielding air, fatigue hidden along with her emotions.

But she was ... younger. That was it - suddenly the Inquisitor wondered when this version of her came from. Was she still a Jedi? Perhaps... perhaps she could be malleable. Malachor had made the Seventh Sister lose her interest in Bridger quite completely - given he nearly eviscerated her under Maul's command - but still, to have another apprentice...

A chewing sound cut off her chain of thought, her fantasies about her new obsession, and she peered over Offee's shoulder to find one rather familiar Togruta leaning against the opposing wall. Biting chunks off a cut of roast meat. "This is her?"

"Tell me." Her attention was snatched once more by her former yet-to-be-instructor, the young woman's voice quiet. "Why do you address me as 'Instructor'?"

Standing to loom over the (significantly) shorter Mirialan, the Seventh Sister smirked...

Chancellor's Office, Senate Building, Coruscant

Staring blankly at the report before him, Supreme Chancellor Sheev Palpatine couldn't quite believe his eyes. Unfortunately, this phenomenon had been going on for the better part of the last ten minutes. Finally, the leader of the Galactic Republic snapped out of his trance.

"... four Venators missing. General Skywalker and Senator Amidala onboard the Twilight-"

A moment of silence passed as Darth Sidious, Dark Lord of the Sith, finally comprehended that his Grand Plan, decades in the making, was now utterly farkled up beyond all repair.

"Noooooooooooo-"

A knock on the door interrupted the scream, as Clone Commander CC-1010 - Fox - peered in. "Is everything alright, Supreme Chancellor sir?"

Choking slightly, Palpatine nodded weakly. "Y-yes. Just spilled tea over my clothes, that's all. Nothing to worry about, Commander."