Dinh AaronMk

Untold Empires: Legacy of the Old

Nation Name: Teenage Wasteland

Territory: Australia

Government: Jockocracy (government in which the guy that gets the most cheerleaders leads)

Military: The Teenage Wasteland has no formal military to date, but a rough number of angsty, armed individuals. For unique, society-developed weapons they have pioneered the use of social media. Such weapons including

Tumblrbomb - The Leading Jock has at his disposal access to a button in which he may order billions of angsty socially alienated teenagers to bombard web-servers with inane and nonsensical noise, ultimately shutting down communications in a well organized DDOS attack.

Twittergun - Fires 140mm anti-tank shells. Or as they also say: 140 character bullets.

Economy: There is none

History: After the two world wars nuclear fire devastated Australia, effectively leveling all infrastructure that was there before. Shortly afterwards, an anguished teen from California ran away, hitchhiking a plane and going to Australia. The teen - Jason "Brody" Lorell - likewise summoned as many kids his age to the former nation to live in a utopia among the wreck of a nation gone.

When Jason reached his 20th birthday, he promptly offed himself by tossing himself in an alligator infested pool. Some people think he was just being a boozed up moron, but they were shot and he was made a martyr. As a response, future leaders enforced a policy of capping one's life at 20. It was considered an honor to follow through.

However, Australia being a big place makes enforcement difficult and there have arisen secluded populations where individuals can live out a good chunk of their natural life without being age-martyr'd. As such, though the region may be referred to as "The Teenage Wasteland" based in part to the large number of unattended minors and all the music douche bags playing The Who's Baba O'riley on the radio, it's something of a lie. Once one reaches the interior, they can expect to find wasteland survivalists.

Other: Jockocracy is the unofficial term to describe the almost tribalistic confederacy that exists in the wasteland, in which "jocks" - or chosen community warriors - compete through wrestling, football, rugby, and smashing-his-face-in-with-a-rock fight for women. If one claims the most women in victory he ascends to being the leader.

Often times these harems are guarded from the age-martyr rituals given their size insures the longevity of power, and "favorite girls" may live for a particularly long time. Occasionally - by not often - a woman may become the uniting jock. But it's not widely spoken off.

Precipice of War - We Write Under The Sign Of The Goat

Northern Russia

The sharp bitter taste of ash hung in the air. It petrified the other senses, dulling them in a haze of char and gasoline after burn. The stagnant sickening taste lingered in the nose as much as it did on the tongue as the ashes fell down to Earth. Smoke rose in a solid mass for the clear skies above. The area was warm, but not in a regular sense. The muffled sounds of distant gunshots still echoed in the clear wind as Yun-Qi walked through, a ragged cloth pressed tightly to his face; in part to the offensive odor that swam in the milky air.

His boots crunched over the broken brick and timbers of buildings laid to waste my mortar. Glass shards littered the wet slushy concrete from the windows that had been blown out. The brick and concrete behemoth that rose above the Russian wilderness base had been disheveled. By the shattered windows, heavy bullet holes, and thick black char marks it had been quick and violent.

Between the sheet-metal barracks rested stacked bodies of slain Russian resistance. Their uniforms torn and dirties by the mud and smoke. Patches of blood stained the thick woolen uniforms, ribbons drooled out from their mouths as they stared back at the examining officer with glassy eyes. Their skin like parchment as the snow fell on their cheeks as delicate crumbs of black and gray.

Leaned against the side of the command center were laid out the fallen bodies of his men. The Chinese who had given their lives had been laid out and arranged. There was more ceremony in their place than the Russians that had been tossed aside and stacked like chords of discarded wood. Their fallen comrades had been set on the ground like they were sleeping. At their sides lay their rifles and automatic weapons. A heavy blanket had been pulled over them, hiding everything above their ankles. And still their bodies were attended to as the examiners went between the fallen, or recently found were laid out.

“I'd say it would have been more effective if in the end we had not driven in circles around their base.” an officer said, walking up to beside Yun-Qi. He looked tired and pale. His coat had been tattered and a splattering of blood had been painted over a shoulder. A heavy collar of thick gauze was wrapped around his neck, holding in a bloodied wound.

“It certainly ended quick.” Yun-qi observed, looking over the scene of battle, “I had hardly come in with the rest. It was starting to quite. Do you know how?” he asked.

“All I know is that at one point we were making circles around their compound. I was first to tear through the fence in my group. We had it empty and we tore through the defense like I would expect from a tub of butter. But as we filled in I don't think there was much room to keep up maneuvers.” he pointed over to a collection of bent and crashed buggies

“I nearly got blind-sided but another cart passing between the CP and their firing range.” he said, “The Russians packed things hot and heavy in here. I think this place wasn't meant to house that many soldiers in this sort of space. Their command center looks too much like a prison, we broke into their yard.”

“A prison?” Yun-Qi quipped, “I can see that.” he nodded, looking at the parameter. The spindly, wooden guard towers formed an even enough parameter, and it'd explain the barb wire.

“So maybe if we rode you around the edge.”

“Wouldn't have stopped the stalling. I fucking hate those things.” the officer swore. Pointing to the wound on his neck he continued, “As soon as our cart stalled someone clipped me with a rifle round. If it was just a few centimeters off, comrade.”

“A terrible shot then, the Russians.”

“I'd say it was luck if I wasn't in this army.” he quipped.

“Now, why is it burning?” Quan asked bitterly, turning in the kicked up, blackened slush as he threw his hand out, brushing through the drifting soot and ash as it fell back down over them.

“I can't tell you.” the officer said, “After I got stuck and my driver and I took shelter in one of their bunkers we heard explosions. Must have been...” he paused, thinking, “Seven minutes in. If I can get back to my squad then we'll put together an after action report.”

“Good, good. Thank you comrade.” Quan Yun-Qi mumbled appreciatively. He turned and looked over the scene. “Is their headquarters secured?” he asked dryly.

“I believe it is. Man Hu went in with his men to sweep it out. They've been pulling out prisoners since. No word on their CO.”

“Keep looking then.” Quan nodded, “I need to ask some more questions.”

“Certainly.” the officer bowed, “We'll join up later for hot tea under a roof, shall we?”

“Consider it an open invitation.”

“As I would expect.” the lieutenant replied back as he turned. His boots scuffing along the whetted cement as he and his superior parted.

Along the sides of the open court yard sat in park or in salvage the buggies produced for them by the Siberians. Their spartan and open design clearly having not favored the battle well. And with the flurry of fight done, so were these motors silenced. Frames either dented, or blood splattered on the seats they sat quiet along the side. They were not nearly as touched as the smaller Chinese variants, which were looked at with a certain amount of pride by their users.

Not having been simply left behind, the Personnel Carriers that had so swiftly reinforced the spearhead into the compound were not left ignored or unwashed. Done with battle, their attendees crouched beside them, painting out the scars of war. Or patched what holes had been made in any one of their six wheels. In the aftermath, it was clear what horse the men favored, and which had unlikely bore the blame of casualties.

The piling dead and waiting wounded weren't the only things collected by the end of this. As Quan rounded around the corner of the immense plain brick and cement monster he walked along a gathering of prisoners. Battered, pale, and bloodied those Russians who had laid down their arms – wounded or otherwise – in battle were forced to crouch. Hands over their heads they sat in the cold mud facing the plain exterior of their command's barren gray wall. Patrolling the edge armed guards watched over the clearly tired defense as another dug through their weapons. Checking, counting, and cataloging the day's praise.

Yun-Qi didn't know where they'd go in the end. But what ammunition could not be used would be sent somewhere. The command wanted it so.

Yun-Qi was greeted by salutes as he passed. He returned the gesture in kind as he made his way through.

And beyond where the prisoners were being held, was the source of the ash. At the bottom of a low dip, behind chain-link torn and ravaged was were the Russian garrison had set itself. Flames fielded the shanty camp, chewing into the air and spreading like a field of toxic roses. A hundred trees of black smoke clouded into the air, carrying out over the fallen installation. The remains of the site raining down as the ash.

Standing posed and proud at the mouth of the muddy road leading to it stood Tsien Huang. His coat frayed with burns. Dented tank rested in the dirt.

“My work his done.” he said smiling as Yun-Qi walked up alongside him, “It is art, a victory.”

“An art?” Quan said in awe. He felt the shock in him like the wind that poured over his shoulders. Drawn into the breathing field of flame.

“Well, not all me.” Tsien admitted humbly, laughing. “I had help. But it forced many of them out.

“Comrade, I saw the leaves in the tree shudder and break from their branches!” he cheered, clapping, “I don't know if any cooked. But they ran as we drenched them in flame. These Russians, I don't doubt they were proud. But they are no longer.” he grinned.

Yun-Qi thought of the ragged prisoners. What army were they fighting indeed? Was this what turned them away years ago?

“What happened...” a shocked Yun-qi mumbled. He hadn't see this use of fire in a long time. Even on Mindanao had the flames ever been small and shallow. But there wasn't much the reactionaries could use to cause such fires. Glass bottle fire-bombs and aerosol cans. What was done so violently was for more primal urged to impress upon the enemy. Crucifixions, bodies rigged to explode. But not the unguided, unrestrained flame.

“Fire.” smiled Tsien, “Have you not ever been impressed by it?” he asked, “It gives life. It takes it. In my youth, I saw half of Nanjing burn in Japanese bombing. At a distance, I was awed.

“Now I am them. Now I am the Japanese.” He sounded cheerful, proud. His eyes shone with the same terrifying brilliance as the fire that engulfed the camp below. Yun-qi felt pity, and fear. And he wondered, what had Mindanao done to him that he never experienced.

Train to Perm

The rails could be felt as the train rode over top. Its weight swaying it side to side as it sailed over the small imperfections in its route. The rocks, the track laid just an intangible distance off. Or just the turning and wear on the tracks as it lethargically trailed through the terrain on slow, gentle turns. Rising up softly carved hills and passed barren farmer's fields. The dark loamy soil poking out from under snow melt.

In the back of a empty cattle car Jun's breath passed through his lips in a silky cloud. Head bowed he turned over the blade of his sword. The smooth polished metal shimmering as it caught the wayward early spring light that dripped through the weathered and wooden boards. He was tired, but he had kept moving. There was no stopping to be had, he had a mission.

Sighing deep he leaned his head against the back of the car. He had been walking for days, finding the tracks west and hitchhiking aboard a west-bound train. This was what was left of the Trans Siberian Railway now. A duel pair of tracks running east to west, but ending short of Siberia. It wasn't anything grand anymore, and the extent of its cargo showed in this.

As long as it was, the train smelled and felt empty. No new hay had been laid out in any of the stalls. What was left had either fallen through the cracks or turned to a wet spongy bed. Too cold to lay in, even for him.

Between floor boards Jun could watch the ground underneath whip passed at speed exchanging between slow crawl, and a brisk breezy speed. The sides let in too much wind, and it tore over him as he sat in the back.

Clearly this car wasn't used, nor would it likely any time soon. But it was there.

He had heard the train coming as he walked down the tracks. He heard its bellowing horn as it plowed west down the tracks. He had bound into the bushes along the side.

It was a massive monster of a turn-of-the-century engine. The smoke that coughed up out of it thick and black. Cars of faded red and brown trailed after it. Much of it had looked like it was being used. There were cars packed with coal, and tanks of gasoline or oil. Above the loud clacking and crashing of the wheels along the tracks he thought he could hear the sounds of animals. The bellowing of cows and the whinnies of horses.

He had hoped at the least there would be a warm bed between two cows. But when he jumped aboard, he had forced his way into an empty car. Now he could not hear the sounds of animals. Perhaps it was an illusion based on shallow hope. Or the cold had frozen them. Or it was the groan of the wood and metal.

Jun felt naked without his gear. But under fire he wasn't going to spend time looking for it. Without his pack he was reduced to a few rounds for his revolver, and hardly a edge to tune his sword on. In his pocket was a single canister of pills he'd need to register pain; it was probably why he wasn't freezing. And he had a small knife. But bandaging, communications, maps, and intel was all in his bag. And someone had grabbed that before he could.

The failure made him feel better. It was a hot rage. Anger tensed him as he looked at the glowing steel of his sword, teeth gritting. The light shone off it like liquid silver. Somehow he knew he'd have to get it back. Somehow. Somehow he'd re-establish contact, re-organize. Maybe after he killed his man in Perm. Maybe.

Through the boards he watched the countryside pass by. Hills and forests were giving way to more and more farms. And distant buildings could be seen over the terrain. Electrical poles marches along the tracks. He was drawing close to something. With a steady breath he sheathed his sword. He'd need to make the jump soon. And then came the tracking game.

Omsk-Kalachinsk, Russia

Farm fields stretched for miles in a smokey haze brought down by war. The rumble of engines and orders became a foggy blur between the sounds of weapons fire as the Chinese and the Siberians pushed west-ward. The roar of the weapons doomed to echo out everything else. Even through the narrow plate of thick ballistic plastic that made up a window, war was becoming a blur.

Push forward, pull back. Wait for return fire. The fields around Omsk had been churned to mud beneath the treads of the Chinese armor and the craters of artillery and mortar shells. What few stalwart men the Republic could produce were thrown like rats into the countryside where they dug in. Throwing over their heads nests of sticks and branches as they lay down in the wooded groves between the fields and between the corners. Tracer rounds lit up the grime that clouded Tsun's vision. It was the only thing clear in the mess.

But in the long days and nights spent driving the countryside. Moving from location to location to uproot a wooden pillbox the conditions of war was becoming as blurred and mundane as the orders shouted by his commander. At night, he lay behind the tank as it rested in the same trees they turned to shards. He stared into the cold, starry sky. And he was afraid. It was an unspeakable fear. He was afraid to go out, and then afraid he cared so little being in it when he came out.

Now again in the front seat he floated along on the sea of war. Riding over the waves of craters and earthen walls as they hunted the skyline of Omsk. Between the barren trees and the leveled forests the faint ghosts of the city lingered in the distance across the perfect flatness of Russian Siberia. Smokey clouds plumed over the horizon in the gray afternoon.

In the turret Song rode silent. Hui and Lin rested back against the walls, leaning against the gun as they waited out the deadness of travel. The clattering of the treads against the ground and the systematic rumbling of the engine blurred together into the same ambient song. They drove along the side of the railroad, what was left of the Tran-Siberian rail. The sound of the tank was almost in itself a train. Low, monotone. Constant.

“Friendlies at three and nine o'clock.” Song reported in a soft voice. He sounded as enthused as Tsun.

As they rocked up and down the gravel berm the tracks rode on Tsun felt almost sleepy. It was back again to long train rides from home to visit the relatives who had gone east for work. And those long rides back. It was all free, for the most part. There was no reason not to. When his parents could find the time off.

He had always slept well at those long rides.

Even the tank was starting to smell like the train. The light clinking of the shells sounding like the clattering of glassware as the food trolley was wheeled along the cabins. That same sound high note a drink made when in its coaster.

It was enough to make someone's eyes go heavy.

He leaned back into his seat. Fighting himself to keep awake. He'd need to be. But, he also felt he needed shut eye. The ride was smooth, for the most part. They'd been driving in a straight line for the better part of the afternoon. The sound of machine guns had waned. If there was anything left of external simulation, it was in the low distant thunder of larger guns. But the steel and the engine dulled this sound.

Tsun leaned back into himself. The cradling movement of the tank and the droning sound of the engine playing into that distant inspiration of sleep. If he could ignore the diesel, he could almost smell the tea. His grip on the controls relaxed. His shoulders dropped as he leaned his head to the side. His vision fogged as his lids dropped tired.

Song's voice said something. But it was distant. It almost sounded like the trolly-man’s. It almost sounded like the kick of a horse.

But it did not feel like a hammer to the head. With a bolting start Tsun was awoken from his daze as he was launched from his seat. The low hanging roof of the cabin was short at hand, and with a splitting crack it connected to his head. Pain shot down through his head like a spike of lead driven deep into his skull. His neck shuddered as a fiery splitting roar boomed in the empty drum of the tank and metal squealed outside. Loud bangs crashed against the right side of the tank. Outside he saw the world spin by as the Tei Gui swept to the side.

Shock washed over him as the dam in his head broke and he shuddered alert at his post. With a jolt he stepped off the controls and the vehicle was brought screeching to a halt. Debris pattered against the metal like rain as blood dripped through his hair and down the side of his face. He felt his face go gaunt and pale.

“DAMN IT!” Lin screamed. She leaned out of her chair, clinging to the side of her turret with bare white knuckled. Her shoulder inches from the sharply pointed tips of the explosive shells below her. Tsun leaned to the side, shocked and angry as Hui clung to his seat.

“Tread out!” Tsung screamed. He threw himself out of his seat, throwing open the turret hatch as the familiar sting of bullets smashed against the side of the hull. Sharp sparks and stinging pings of recoiling bullets hurried him back into the turret.

“Under fire!” he cursed, doubling back.

“From where!?” Hui shouted.

“On our left, eleven-fifteen.” Song called back.

“What about the treads though!” Tsun shouted back. He fought panicking with the tank controls, but only sluggishly turned the tank around drunkenly. He could hear gravel being kicked up against the underside of his carriage.

“For fucks sake stop!” Song roared in anger. “Lin, I want you to see if you can reconnect the treads. Hui, on her gun!” he boomed. “Tsun, get the hell up here and collect Hui's shells!”

Tsun stuttered shaken and shocked. His arms felt like rubber as he fought to climb out of his cramped seat. Already Lin was bounding out through the turret hatch, dodging a spread of fire as she vaulted the side. Hui was moving over. Tsun struggled over the rounds as the ensuing skirmish poured with thunderous applause through the open patch.

“Hostile target, two-hundred degrees, hundred meters! HE!” Song screamed.

“Wh-where?” Tsung stammered, confused. He looked at the targeting systems at his side, but could not make sense of the dials, or read half the labels and readings.

“Don't you fucking mind, put a shell in the chamber!” Hui barked, stuffing his hands into the side of Li's auxiliary machine. The turret turning as he made the adjustment.

Tsun leaned over the loader's seat, fumbling for a shell and grabbing one at random. Craddling the heavy cone of brass and explosives like a newborn in his arms he wormed back through the turret.

“WHERE'S MY ROUND!” Hui screamed over the cacophony.

“I- W- Ee-” stammered Tsun has he fought the chamber open. Hastily stuffing the loaded round into the gun and closing the breech.

“L-loaded!” he stuttered fearfully.

“This is Q-41I!” Song yelled into his radio, “We're damaged and incapacitated. We're taking fire!” he shouted. The sound of the firing canon briefly drowning out his voice as he bellowed their position into the mic through closed hands.

“Comrades!” Lin yelled from above, poking her head above the turret, “I need my tools!”

“Hui, crawl down by the engine and get Lin's tools.” Song ordered, “Tsung, on the machine gun. I want suppressive fire on those trees.”

“G-gun...” Tsung stuttered weakly, searing around him for the armament in question.

“It's in front of you for fuck's sake!” Song roared.

“Got Lin's kit!” Hui shouted. A brown bag soared past Tsun's face as he lay his hands on the turret's secondary gun.

“Tsun, I need fire on those trees!” Song continued to roar.

The sights of the machine gun were foamy and faded. A scratched and clouded scope in all cases. He felt hesitant to pull the trigger.

“Give us cover!” Song yelled, whipping the young driver on the back of the head. He was urgent, channeling his own fear to anger.

Tsun gave in, pressing on the trigger and firing. It clashed and rattled in his hands as he swept it. Firing outward. He watched as trees splintered and broke as each bullet bit into it. Faded figured got up to run, scattering from the chain of fire that he swept across.

“I think I can patch it up temporarily!” Lin shouted. She was barely audible over the sound, “But we'll need to pull back for permanent repairs as soon as I'm done.

“Get it done, we'll hold cover!” Song roared back, “I got help coming now.”

Hong Kong, China

There was a palpable curiosity as the auditorium filled. Bright young faces taking advantage of the distraction stepped in through the doors. Butting shoulders with the politically active older generation and the news crews. Light chatter filled the air. But all of it was hushed. Under dim lights they milled about, taking their seats.

From behind the heavy back-stage curtains stood Zhang Auyi. He fiddled nervously with the cuffs of his white suit. He fought to keep his breath steady. It wasn't the largest group he held court to. But no matter the size, he still felt nervous. The anxiety before stepping out before cameras would never go away. And he never believed it when his contemporaries said they didn't care, or notice.

Looking at the lights and the cameras he wondered if he could truly win this. His rivals were likely much well built. And that nagged him. It ate his guts like a insect. It only made it worse. Some had gotten a head start. He was only just beginning.

“Nervous?” a voice said behind him. Auyi turned, one of the stage hands. His simple jumpsuit was tied tight with a number of tool bags and pouches. Hanging in his lips a loose cigarette.

“A little...” he said.

The stage hand laughed softly. Leaning over to get a view of the small congregation. “They don't like that vicious.” he joked, “The young one's teeth are too unformed, and the old one's don't got one any more.

“But I don't imagine you've fought off worse sharks.”

“I have...” Auyi said, “But that was usually more personal.”

The man nodded, smiling quietly to himself. “You got a few more seconds. You ready?”

“I am.” Auyi nodded, pulling his suit down flatter, clapping his hands together.

They couldn't be that fierce a tiger. They were always more violent demons in the forest. He fought the thought into his mind. Planting it there. It would bring comfort. As much as the exercises in the back did. Deep breaths. Inhale. Four seconds. Exhale. The sun rose in the east, set in the west.

Set on Europe. He was in the east. Where the sun rose. He would be fine. Always.

“Comrades, Minister Zhang Auyi. Open press conference to Hong Kong University of People's Law.” an anonymous figure read as the lights in the audience dimmed. It was his cue. He took the stage with a confident stride. Turning out to the audience and smiling.

They at least were ghosts in the darkness.

There was a light pattering of applause as he took the podium at center stage. It was modest. Humble. Subdued. Not likely anyone knew enough to care. Just here for the sights.

“My brothers and sisters of Hong Kong,” he started, “It is with the grace of our beloved Hou that we now choosing a new path. As much as I'm sure we would love to see him continue, we must accept this as it is now. It is in his graces we seek for ourselves a course to the future. One to progress forward. One to meet our enemies on the doorstep, and to safeguard our Revolution in its finality, and in its continuation.

“We are the electors and the people's voice! We are the proud ones, and I do humble admit that now I request your assistance.

“It is today that I do announce my candidacy for the position of Grand Secretary of our New China. I, Zhang Auyi shall set his ship to sail to the waters of a better future. But the wind that steers me forward is not one made from divine right as others in less free nations will claim. I will not steer my ship from blood. I will not build it from gold stolen from the people.

“No, my ship shall be piloted by the people for the people. I understand this virtue and this necessity.

“We have only gone upwards in our last twenty years. I have fought for this present as many of you – or your fathers – have in the past. And I have not stopped fighting! Even with war no longer dividing us and preventing us from being a unified people there is still much work to be done. We have a status quo, but there is no use in maintaining this. We should push on! We shall build onto the Status Quo!

“China and her people deserve a brighter future! For the darkness we have been through. The people we have lost and the blood spilled we need better! It is not to say we now still live in such conditions still. Any person who might see can look out and find more rice on their table. They have their bread. They have their pork. We have our family. We have our hope. And we have our future.

“Our enemies say we are suppressed and ineffective. But it is only because they fear our own success.

“When I look at China now, I see a land of expansive hope and promise. We have come this far in twenty years, have we not? Now imagine, how much further can we go in a twenty more? How can I improve the nation? I shall promise a land in which every man is master of it.

“Congress now looks into this. And I accept their fight to expand the representation of everyone. To bring balance in our nation. Hou said so. And there is no man nobler than him. And if the nobelist of men say it is right, then it is.

“But there are parties who do not think so. And I refuse to sit by and let them not see this happen. To stifle our diversity and our common heritage. We are a rich – united – people and I will not sit by and see it squandered away in Beijing. The light of millions will be glow equally fierce, and none will no brighter than the rest.

“And the world will see us, and we shall be a model! And they shall see our wealth, and they will wish to be us! And the world as diverse as it is, it is not unlike China. Here shall be the testing ground for the world of tomorrow.

“And we will all grow. Even here in China. I promise that we will seek to expand our avenues. We will expand the wealth. And in it our influence. I make this no secret. We know it will be healthy.

“Openness for our country will be the way to the future. We are ready now! There is no threat the outside can have to our success. And there is no danger they have to fear in us.

“For Spain, we will prove we are a peaceful people. For our allies we will prove we will always be there. I promise we will reach for the stars.

“Brothers and sisters. Comrades. Let's build a new world for everyone.”

Precipice of War - We Write Under The Sign Of The Goat

Northern Russia

The sharp bitter taste of ash hung in the air. It petrified the other senses, dulling them in a haze of char and gasoline after burn. The stagnant sickening taste lingered in the nose as much as it did on the tongue as the ashes fell down to Earth. Smoke rose in a solid mass for the clear skies above. The area was warm, but not in a regular sense. The muffled sounds of distant gunshots still echoed in the clear wind as Yun-Qi walked through, a ragged cloth pressed tightly to his face; in part to the offensive odor that swam in the milky air.

His boots crunched over the broken brick and timbers of buildings laid to waste my mortar. Glass shards littered the wet slushy concrete from the windows that had been blown out. The brick and concrete behemoth that rose above the Russian wilderness base had been disheveled. By the shattered windows, heavy bullet holes, and thick black char marks it had been quick and violent.

Between the sheet-metal barracks rested stacked bodies of slain Russian resistance. Their uniforms torn and dirties by the mud and smoke. Patches of blood stained the thick woolen uniforms, ribbons drooled out from their mouths as they stared back at the examining officer with glassy eyes. Their skin like parchment as the snow fell on their cheeks as delicate crumbs of black and gray.

Leaned against the side of the command center were laid out the fallen bodies of his men. The Chinese who had given their lives had been laid out and arranged. There was more ceremony in their place than the Russians that had been tossed aside and stacked like chords of discarded wood. Their fallen comrades had been set on the ground like they were sleeping. At their sides lay their rifles and automatic weapons. A heavy blanket had been pulled over them, hiding everything above their ankles. And still their bodies were attended to as the examiners went between the fallen, or recently found were laid out.

“I'd say it would have been more effective if in the end we had not driven in circles around their base.” an officer said, walking up to beside Yun-Qi. He looked tired and pale. His coat had been tattered and a splattering of blood had been painted over a shoulder. A heavy collar of thick gauze was wrapped around his neck, holding in a bloodied wound.

“It certainly ended quick.” Yun-qi observed, looking over the scene of battle, “I had hardly come in with the rest. It was starting to quite. Do you know how?” he asked.

“All I know is that at one point we were making circles around their compound. I was first to tear through the fence in my group. We had it empty and we tore through the defense like I would expect from a tub of butter. But as we filled in I don't think there was much room to keep up maneuvers.” he pointed over to a collection of bent and crashed buggies

“I nearly got blind-sided but another cart passing between the CP and their firing range.” he said, “The Russians packed things hot and heavy in here. I think this place wasn't meant to house that many soldiers in this sort of space. Their command center looks too much like a prison, we broke into their yard.”

“A prison?” Yun-Qi quipped, “I can see that.” he nodded, looking at the parameter. The spindly, wooden guard towers formed an even enough parameter, and it'd explain the barb wire.

“So maybe if we rode you around the edge.”

“Wouldn't have stopped the stalling. I fucking hate those things.” the officer swore. Pointing to the wound on his neck he continued, “As soon as our cart stalled someone clipped me with a rifle round. If it was just a few centimeters off, comrade.”

“A terrible shot then, the Russians.”

“I'd say it was luck if I wasn't in this army.” he quipped.

“Now, why is it burning?” Quan asked bitterly, turning in the kicked up, blackened slush as he threw his hand out, brushing through the drifting soot and ash as it fell back down over them.

“I can't tell you.” the officer said, “After I got stuck and my driver and I took shelter in one of their bunkers we heard explosions. Must have been...” he paused, thinking, “Seven minutes in. If I can get back to my squad then we'll put together an after action report.”

“Good, good. Thank you comrade.” Quan Yun-Qi mumbled appreciatively. He turned and looked over the scene. “Is their headquarters secured?” he asked dryly.

“I believe it is. Man Hu went in with his men to sweep it out. They've been pulling out prisoners since. No word on their CO.”

“Keep looking then.” Quan nodded, “I need to ask some more questions.”

“Certainly.” the officer bowed, “We'll join up later for hot tea under a roof, shall we?”

“Consider it an open invitation.”

“As I would expect.” the lieutenant replied back as he turned. His boots scuffing along the whetted cement as he and his superior parted.

Along the sides of the open court yard sat in park or in salvage the buggies produced for them by the Siberians. Their spartan and open design clearly having not favored the battle well. And with the flurry of fight done, so were these motors silenced. Frames either dented, or blood splattered on the seats they sat quiet along the side. They were not nearly as touched as the smaller Chinese variants, which were looked at with a certain amount of pride by their users.

Not having been simply left behind, the Personnel Carriers that had so swiftly reinforced the spearhead into the compound were not left ignored or unwashed. Done with battle, their attendees crouched beside them, painting out the scars of war. Or patched what holes had been made in any one of their six wheels. In the aftermath, it was clear what horse the men favored, and which had unlikely bore the blame of casualties.

The piling dead and waiting wounded weren't the only things collected by the end of this. As Quan rounded around the corner of the immense plain brick and cement monster he walked along a gathering of prisoners. Battered, pale, and bloodied those Russians who had laid down their arms – wounded or otherwise – in battle were forced to crouch. Hands over their heads they sat in the cold mud facing the plain exterior of their command's barren gray wall. Patrolling the edge armed guards watched over the clearly tired defense as another dug through their weapons. Checking, counting, and cataloging the day's praise.

Yun-Qi didn't know where they'd go in the end. But what ammunition could not be used would be sent somewhere. The command wanted it so.

Yun-Qi was greeted by salutes as he passed. He returned the gesture in kind as he made his way through.

And beyond where the prisoners were being held, was the source of the ash. At the bottom of a low dip, behind chain-link torn and ravaged was were the Russian garrison had set itself. Flames fielded the shanty camp, chewing into the air and spreading like a field of toxic roses. A hundred trees of black smoke clouded into the air, carrying out over the fallen installation. The remains of the site raining down as the ash.

Standing posed and proud at the mouth of the muddy road leading to it stood Tsien Huang. His coat frayed with burns. Dented tank rested in the dirt.

“My work his done.” he said smiling as Yun-Qi walked up alongside him, “It is art, a victory.”

“An art?” Quan said in awe. He felt the shock in him like the wind that poured over his shoulders. Drawn into the breathing field of flame.

“Well, not all me.” Tsien admitted humbly, laughing. “I had help. But it forced many of them out.

“Comrade, I saw the leaves in the tree shudder and break from their branches!” he cheered, clapping, “I don't know if any cooked. But they ran as we drenched them in flame. These Russians, I don't doubt they were proud. But they are no longer.” he grinned.

Yun-Qi thought of the ragged prisoners. What army were they fighting indeed? Was this what turned them away years ago?

“What happened...” a shocked Yun-qi mumbled. He hadn't see this use of fire in a long time. Even on Mindanao had the flames ever been small and shallow. But there wasn't much the reactionaries could use to cause such fires. Glass bottle fire-bombs and aerosol cans. What was done so violently was for more primal urged to impress upon the enemy. Crucifixions, bodies rigged to explode. But not the unguided, unrestrained flame.

“Fire.” smiled Tsien, “Have you not ever been impressed by it?” he asked, “It gives life. It takes it. In my youth, I saw half of Nanjing burn in Japanese bombing. At a distance, I was awed.

“Now I am them. Now I am the Japanese.” He sounded cheerful, proud. His eyes shone with the same terrifying brilliance as the fire that engulfed the camp below. Yun-qi felt pity, and fear. And he wondered, what had Mindanao done to him that he never experienced.

Train to Perm

The rails could be felt as the train rode over top. Its weight swaying it side to side as it sailed over the small imperfections in its route. The rocks, the track laid just an intangible distance off. Or just the turning and wear on the tracks as it lethargically trailed through the terrain on slow, gentle turns. Rising up softly carved hills and passed barren farmer's fields. The dark loamy soil poking out from under snow melt.

In the back of a empty cattle car Jun's breath passed through his lips in a silky cloud. Head bowed he turned over the blade of his sword. The smooth polished metal shimmering as it caught the wayward early spring light that dripped through the weathered and wooden boards. He was tired, but he had kept moving. There was no stopping to be had, he had a mission.

Sighing deep he leaned his head against the back of the car. He had been walking for days, finding the tracks west and hitchhiking aboard a west-bound train. This was what was left of the Trans Siberian Railway now. A duel pair of tracks running east to west, but ending short of Siberia. It wasn't anything grand anymore, and the extent of its cargo showed in this.

As long as it was, the train smelled and felt empty. No new hay had been laid out in any of the stalls. What was left had either fallen through the cracks or turned to a wet spongy bed. Too cold to lay in, even for him.

Between floor boards Jun could watch the ground underneath whip passed at speed exchanging between slow crawl, and a brisk breezy speed. The sides let in too much wind, and it tore over him as he sat in the back.

Clearly this car wasn't used, nor would it likely any time soon. But it was there.

He had heard the train coming as he walked down the tracks. He heard its bellowing horn as it plowed west down the tracks. He had bound into the bushes along the side.

It was a massive monster of a turn-of-the-century engine. The smoke that coughed up out of it thick and black. Cars of faded red and brown trailed after it. Much of it had looked like it was being used. There were cars packed with coal, and tanks of gasoline or oil. Above the loud clacking and crashing of the wheels along the tracks he thought he could hear the sounds of animals. The bellowing of cows and the whinnies of horses.

He had hoped at the least there would be a warm bed between two cows. But when he jumped aboard, he had forced his way into an empty car. Now he could not hear the sounds of animals. Perhaps it was an illusion based on shallow hope. Or the cold had frozen them. Or it was the groan of the wood and metal.

Jun felt naked without his gear. But under fire he wasn't going to spend time looking for it. Without his pack he was reduced to a few rounds for his revolver, and hardly a edge to tune his sword on. In his pocket was a single canister of pills he'd need to register pain; it was probably why he wasn't freezing. And he had a small knife. But bandaging, communications, maps, and intel was all in his bag. And someone had grabbed that before he could.

The failure made him feel better. It was a hot rage. Anger tensed him as he looked at the glowing steel of his sword, teeth gritting. The light shone off it like liquid silver. Somehow he knew he'd have to get it back. Somehow. Somehow he'd re-establish contact, re-organize. Maybe after he killed his man in Perm. Maybe.

Through the boards he watched the countryside pass by. Hills and forests were giving way to more and more farms. And distant buildings could be seen over the terrain. Electrical poles marches along the tracks. He was drawing close to something. With a steady breath he sheathed his sword. He'd need to make the jump soon. And then came the tracking game.

Omsk-Kalachinsk, Russia

Farm fields stretched for miles in a smokey haze brought down by war. The rumble of engines and orders became a foggy blur between the sounds of weapons fire as the Chinese and the Siberians pushed west-ward. The roar of the weapons doomed to echo out everything else. Even through the narrow plate of thick ballistic plastic that made up a window, war was becoming a blur.

Push forward, pull back. Wait for return fire. The fields around Omsk had been churned to mud beneath the treads of the Chinese armor and the craters of artillery and mortar shells. What few stalwart men the Republic could produce were thrown like rats into the countryside where they dug in. Throwing over their heads nests of sticks and branches as they lay down in the wooded groves between the fields and between the corners. Tracer rounds lit up the grime that clouded Tsun's vision. It was the only thing clear in the mess.

But in the long days and nights spent driving the countryside. Moving from location to location to uproot a wooden pillbox the conditions of war was becoming as blurred and mundane as the orders shouted by his commander. At night, he lay behind the tank as it rested in the same trees they turned to shards. He stared into the cold, starry sky. And he was afraid. It was an unspeakable fear. He was afraid to go out, and then afraid he cared so little being in it when he came out.

Now again in the front seat he floated along on the sea of war. Riding over the waves of craters and earthen walls as they hunted the skyline of Omsk. Between the barren trees and the leveled forests the faint ghosts of the city lingered in the distance across the perfect flatness of Russian Siberia. Smokey clouds plumed over the horizon in the gray afternoon.

In the turret Song rode silent. Hui and Lin rested back against the walls, leaning against the gun as they waited out the deadness of travel. The clattering of the treads against the ground and the systematic rumbling of the engine blurred together into the same ambient song. They drove along the side of the railroad, what was left of the Tran-Siberian rail. The sound of the tank was almost in itself a train. Low, monotone. Constant.

“Friendlies at three and nine o'clock.” Song reported in a soft voice. He sounded as enthused as Tsun.

As they rocked up and down the gravel berm the tracks rode on Tsun felt almost sleepy. It was back again to long train rides from home to visit the relatives who had gone east for work. And those long rides back. It was all free, for the most part. There was no reason not to. When his parents could find the time off.

He had always slept well at those long rides.

Even the tank was starting to smell like the train. The light clinking of the shells sounding like the clattering of glassware as the food trolley was wheeled along the cabins. That same sound high note a drink made when in its coaster.

It was enough to make someone's eyes go heavy.

He leaned back into his seat. Fighting himself to keep awake. He'd need to be. But, he also felt he needed shut eye. The ride was smooth, for the most part. They'd been driving in a straight line for the better part of the afternoon. The sound of machine guns had waned. If there was anything left of external simulation, it was in the low distant thunder of larger guns. But the steel and the engine dulled this sound.

Tsun leaned back into himself. The cradling movement of the tank and the droning sound of the engine playing into that distant inspiration of sleep. If he could ignore the diesel, he could almost smell the tea. His grip on the controls relaxed. His shoulders dropped as he leaned his head to the side. His vision fogged as his lids dropped tired.

Song's voice said something. But it was distant. It almost sounded like the trolly-man’s. It almost sounded like the kick of a horse.

But it did not feel like a hammer to the head. With a bolting start Tsun was awoken from his daze as he was launched from his seat. The low hanging roof of the cabin was short at hand, and with a splitting crack it connected to his head. Pain shot down through his head like a spike of lead driven deep into his skull. His neck shuddered as a fiery splitting roar boomed in the empty drum of the tank and metal squealed outside. Loud bangs crashed against the right side of the tank. Outside he saw the world spin by as the Tei Gui swept to the side.

Shock washed over him as the dam in his head broke and he shuddered alert at his post. With a jolt he stepped off the controls and the vehicle was brought screeching to a halt. Debris pattered against the metal like rain as blood dripped through his hair and down the side of his face. He felt his face go gaunt and pale.

“DAMN IT!” Lin screamed. She leaned out of her chair, clinging to the side of her turret with bare white knuckled. Her shoulder inches from the sharply pointed tips of the explosive shells below her. Tsun leaned to the side, shocked and angry as Hui clung to his seat.

“Tread out!” Tsung screamed. He threw himself out of his seat, throwing open the turret hatch as the familiar sting of bullets smashed against the side of the hull. Sharp sparks and stinging pings of recoiling bullets hurried him back into the turret.

“Under fire!” he cursed, doubling back.

“From where!?” Hui shouted.

“On our left, eleven-fifteen.” Song called back.

“What about the treads though!” Tsun shouted back. He fought panicking with the tank controls, but only sluggishly turned the tank around drunkenly. He could hear gravel being kicked up against the underside of his carriage.

“For fucks sake stop!” Song roared in anger. “Lin, I want you to see if you can reconnect the treads. Hui, on her gun!” he boomed. “Tsun, get the hell up here and collect Hui's shells!”

Tsun stuttered shaken and shocked. His arms felt like rubber as he fought to climb out of his cramped seat. Already Lin was bounding out through the turret hatch, dodging a spread of fire as she vaulted the side. Hui was moving over. Tsun struggled over the rounds as the ensuing skirmish poured with thunderous applause through the open patch.

“Hostile target, two-hundred degrees, hundred meters! HE!” Song screamed.

“Wh-where?” Tsung stammered, confused. He looked at the targeting systems at his side, but could not make sense of the dials, or read half the labels and readings.

“Don't you fucking mind, put a shell in the chamber!” Hui barked, stuffing his hands into the side of Li's auxiliary machine. The turret turning as he made the adjustment.

Tsun leaned over the loader's seat, fumbling for a shell and grabbing one at random. Craddling the heavy cone of brass and explosives like a newborn in his arms he wormed back through the turret.

“WHERE'S MY ROUND!” Hui screamed over the cacophony.

“I- W- Ee-” stammered Tsun has he fought the chamber open. Hastily stuffing the loaded round into the gun and closing the breech.

“L-loaded!” he stuttered fearfully.

“This is Q-41I!” Song yelled into his radio, “We're damaged and incapacitated. We're taking fire!” he shouted. The sound of the firing canon briefly drowning out his voice as he bellowed their position into the mic through closed hands.

“Comrades!” Lin yelled from above, poking her head above the turret, “I need my tools!”

“Hui, crawl down by the engine and get Lin's tools.” Song ordered, “Tsung, on the machine gun. I want suppressive fire on those trees.”

“G-gun...” Tsung stuttered weakly, searing around him for the armament in question.

“It's in front of you for fuck's sake!” Song roared.

“Got Lin's kit!” Hui shouted. A brown bag soared past Tsun's face as he lay his hands on the turret's secondary gun.

“Tsun, I need fire on those trees!” Song continued to roar.

The sights of the machine gun were foamy and faded. A scratched and clouded scope in all cases. He felt hesitant to pull the trigger.

“Give us cover!” Song yelled, whipping the young driver on the back of the head. He was urgent, channeling his own fear to anger.

Tsun gave in, pressing on the trigger and firing. It clashed and rattled in his hands as he swept it. Firing outward. He watched as trees splintered and broke as each bullet bit into it. Faded figured got up to run, scattering from the chain of fire that he swept across.

“I think I can patch it up temporarily!” Lin shouted. She was barely audible over the sound, “But we'll need to pull back for permanent repairs as soon as I'm done.

“Get it done, we'll hold cover!” Song roared back, “I got help coming now.”

Hong Kong, China

There was a palpable curiosity as the auditorium filled. Bright young faces taking advantage of the distraction stepped in through the doors. Butting shoulders with the politically active older generation and the news crews. Light chatter filled the air. But all of it was hushed. Under dim lights they milled about, taking their seats.

From behind the heavy back-stage curtains stood Zhang Auyi. He fiddled nervously with the cuffs of his white suit. He fought to keep his breath steady. It wasn't the largest group he held court to. But no matter the size, he still felt nervous. The anxiety before stepping out before cameras would never go away. And he never believed it when his contemporaries said they didn't care, or notice.

Looking at the lights and the cameras he wondered if he could truly win this. His rivals were likely much well built. And that nagged him. It ate his guts like a insect. It only made it worse. Some had gotten a head start. He was only just beginning.

“Nervous?” a voice said behind him. Auyi turned, one of the stage hands. His simple jumpsuit was tied tight with a number of tool bags and pouches. Hanging in his lips a loose cigarette.

“A little...” he said.

The stage hand laughed softly. Leaning over to get a view of the small congregation. “They don't like that vicious.” he joked, “The young one's teeth are too unformed, and the old one's don't got one any more.

“But I don't imagine you've fought off worse sharks.”

“I have...” Auyi said, “But that was usually more personal.”

The man nodded, smiling quietly to himself. “You got a few more seconds. You ready?”

“I am.” Auyi nodded, pulling his suit down flatter, clapping his hands together.

They couldn't be that fierce a tiger. They were always more violent demons in the forest. He fought the thought into his mind. Planting it there. It would bring comfort. As much as the exercises in the back did. Deep breaths. Inhale. Four seconds. Exhale. The sun rose in the east, set in the west.

Set on Europe. He was in the east. Where the sun rose. He would be fine. Always.

“Comrades, Minister Zhang Auyi. Open press conference to Hong Kong University of People's Law.” an anonymous figure read as the lights in the audience dimmed. It was his cue. He took the stage with a confident stride. Turning out to the audience and smiling.

They at least were ghosts in the darkness.

There was a light pattering of applause as he took the podium at center stage. It was modest. Humble. Subdued. Not likely anyone knew enough to care. Just here for the sights.

“My brothers and sisters of Hong Kong,” he started, “It is with the grace of our beloved Hou that we now choosing a new path. As much as I'm sure we would love to see him continue, we must accept this as it is now. It is in his graces we seek for ourselves a course to the future. One to progress forward. One to meet our enemies on the doorstep, and to safeguard our Revolution in its finality, and in its continuation.

“We are the electors and the people's voice! We are the proud ones, and I do humble admit that now I request your assistance.

“It is today that I do announce my candidacy for the position of Grand Secretary of our New China. I, Zhang Auyi shall set his ship to sail to the waters of a better future. But the wind that steers me forward is not one made from divine right as others in less free nations will claim. I will not steer my ship from blood. I will not build it from gold stolen from the people.

“No, my ship shall be piloted by the people for the people. I understand this virtue and this necessity.

“We have only gone upwards in our last twenty years. I have fought for this present as many of you – or your fathers – have in the past. And I have not stopped fighting! Even with war no longer dividing us and preventing us from being a unified people there is still much work to be done. We have a status quo, but there is no use in maintaining this. We should push on! We shall build onto the Status Quo!

“China and her people deserve a brighter future! For the darkness we have been through. The people we have lost and the blood spilled we need better! It is not to say we now still live in such conditions still. Any person who might see can look out and find more rice on their table. They have their bread. They have their pork. We have our family. We have our hope. And we have our future.

“Our enemies say we are suppressed and ineffective. But it is only because they fear our own success.

“When I look at China now, I see a land of expansive hope and promise. We have come this far in twenty years, have we not? Now imagine, how much further can we go in a twenty more? How can I improve the nation? I shall promise a land in which every man is master of it.

“Congress now looks into this. And I accept their fight to expand the representation of everyone. To bring balance in our nation. Hou said so. And there is no man nobler than him. And if the nobelist of men say it is right, then it is.

“But there are parties who do not think so. And I refuse to sit by and let them not see this happen. To stifle our diversity and our common heritage. We are a rich – united – people and I will not sit by and see it squandered away in Beijing. The light of millions will be glow equally fierce, and none will no brighter than the rest.

“And the world will see us, and we shall be a model! And they shall see our wealth, and they will wish to be us! And the world as diverse as it is, it is not unlike China. Here shall be the testing ground for the world of tomorrow.

“And we will all grow. Even here in China. I promise that we will seek to expand our avenues. We will expand the wealth. And in it our influence. I make this no secret. We know it will be healthy.

“Openness for our country will be the way to the future. We are ready now! There is no threat the outside can have to our success. And there is no danger they have to fear in us.

“For Spain, we will prove we are a peaceful people. For our allies we will prove we will always be there. I promise we will reach for the stars.

“Brothers and sisters. Comrades. Let's build a new world for everyone.”

The Crusades (Medieval)

marcopolonian said
Huh, this might be a bit of a problem. Should we allow people to play as multiple countries, then? I probably shouldn't, though, since there's a bit of a conflict of interest between Cumania and either the HRE or the Seljuqs.

A little internalized conflict goes far anyways. I don't have any qualms personally.

In these sorts of things I'll end up in some ways taking control of the other side of the conflict if they're an NPC to push it along. Though it can be stolen from me when someone picks it up and I recognize this. I'll be good as long as they know what the Hell is going on.

On that note, still haven't gotten to it. I'm still working on a post for another RP that I haven't posted in for a week.

Precipice of War - We Write Under The Sign Of The Goat

lol

Dihn Art - tfw no one looks at gallery

Chapatrap said
Oh, you clever bucker.

Kids are cruel Chapa, and I'm very in touch with my inner child.

And then I arted some Precipice.



http://aaronmk.deviantart.com/art/The-Last-Sultan-475236039

Precipice of War - We Write Under The Sign Of The Goat

The former Sultan Suleiman.

I'll add the saed Sultan to the rotator tomorrow, and begin work on a post.

Exile: A Sci-Fi RP On an Untamed World

And then I figured nine pages was enough for a post containing world's bestorst monetary concept.

Also, Pork Buns

Exile: A Sci-Fi RP On an Untamed World

Kangchai

The streets were lit from above. Broken holes in the clay and granite of the roof above let down bright columns of sunlight to the street below. Green twisting and turning vines fell through with the light, casting their long hands to the city below. At their edges clumps of down-ward facing flowers hung expectantly like anxious hands waiting for something to be passed up. It was inevitable some insect from the multitudes of vendors below might fly up into the rosy pink mouth of the Brahma flora.

Below, the streets were really not much of a street in the sense Nai Kolkota had wide, spread out paved avenues, where vehicles levitated or drove across the inky black paths that cut through the city like canals. The streets of Kangchai, especially in the upper levels were more like glorified walking paths and pedestrian road-ways. All vehicle traffic relegated to the mile-wide mouth of the city's sinkhole had left the twisting and broken channels of the hole's face free from vehicular traffic and where the thousands of city inhabitants walked. On either side, store-fronts and apartment faces stood carved in natural stone or built along the interior edge from brick and steel and mortar. The warm sunlight flowed freely like water down the cavernous passage, reflecting off the aluminum shudders or sides of the buildings and the mid-street decorations.

Tucked high into the corners softly glowing lights helped along the natural sunlight and magnifying its brilliant incandescent warmth. It made as though the suburb was in the clear air, and not really a winding cave with flirtatious views of the empty cavernous pit that the city circled around.

Cai Mi probably didn't need to be so well attended here as he walked through the middle of the street. At his walked two silent armed guards, though their weapons were holstered and they walked just as comfortably and casually as their master. But this was Kangchai, and he was a director. There wasn't much an excuse for the city to allocate some protection for any of their leaders.

Many of this quarter knew Mi well enough by looks, but over his years his status wasn't as much celebrity as it was normal. He was important, he knew that and so did everyone else. He could tell how they looked to him, expectant, anxious, or politely warm. How much of it was a mask he couldn't tell. But the feelings were mutual either way. He had grown up here as much as they did.

He looked up into the smaller sinkholes that dotted the street's ceiling like irregular skylights. When it rained the light that came through would darken here and a stream of water would flow down in thick ribbons mixing with the spattering of the rain drops. Spattering to the stone below, a river would grow and well as the water rushed down the bricked gutter as the rain water was rushed to its ultimate conclusion: into the storm drains and then below under the city. When it rained the streets were still busy, but the gutter had to be bridged. This afternoon they had been pulled back and the gentle slopped gutter was as open as it could be.

There was a ringing in his ear. Raising his hand to it, it stopped, and a voice spoke up.

“Brother Mi,” a voice said, happy and joyous, “where are you now?”

“I'm on my way home, Jackie.” Mi said, smiling. Jackie was his younger brother. Shorter, skinnier, and probably in some ways dumber. If by misfortune he had come to the Director position, even Cai Mi knew he would be used to clean the floor. He was too much of a pushover person. But he was loyal. “What do you got?”

“Yea, that Tkrai woman.” Jackie said, “Yeah, I found her office.”

“And?” Mi asked.

“She'll meet you, I think.” he said uncertainly. He hesitated for a moment, stammering to try and collect what it was he had been told, “She something about if a director wanted to speak with her it better be in the Under Quarter. I think.”

“The Under Quarter, now why would she want me there?” he smiled, laughing. It was a dumb question and he knew it. He merely wanted Jackie to say it. But he knew of course the heart bleeder would want someone like himself to see the squalor the planet's natives lived in.

“I don't know.” Jackie said predictably, “But she'll be there.”

“Alright, where exactly then?” the director asked, as he stopped at a street vendor. Reaching for his pockets he continued, “Did you happen to know where?” he asked, pulling out a small, clear plastic card from his pocket.

“Pork bun.” he mouthed quietly to the patiently waiting vendor.

“Oh, pork bun.” the vendor cheered, subdoing his voice, “Father always said a man is not a whole man until he has a pork bun in hand!” he smiled, trading the small wrapped food stuff with the plastic card.

“I don't remember.” Jackie admitted, “But I'm sure the police will be able to tell you. They keep a check on this sort of thing. And a white-chick among batpeople shouldn't be hard to find.”

“You underestimate the ability to be a needle in a haystack is.” Ci joked as the vendor gave him his card back. Taking the wrapped bun in hand and credit chip back in pocket, he wandered off. “So you got a time-table at least?”

“It'll be a few hours I think.” Jackie said, “What time did you say you needed to be at Hou's?”

“18:00.” Ci responded.

“Then you got plenty of time!” Jackie laughed, “When do you want to get down, or do you want to wait until she's at the office?”

“Sooner the better. Can you send a cab to the house?”

“Will do.” Jackie said, “I'll put the calls in.”

“Thank you.” Ci said, opening the wrapping of his pork bun. The implant in his ear beeped softly as his brother disconnected.

“Looks like we're going into The Pit.” Ci said, turning to his guards. Beating the bun against his knuckle he shrugged and took a big bite. The two guards grumbled under their breaths at the thought of going down there.

***

The dull wobbling of the off-board motors throbbed subdued in the air-conditioned cabin as the carrier descended down through the sinkhole. Out the windows the scene of Kangchai shifted gradually. As they lowered deeper into the crater and the afternoon's light gave way to wall-cast shadows so did the city become darker. Densely packed residential sectors grew before their eyes, built out into the crater like the grip of an all-to-tight choke collar.

They were entering into the blue collar mid-town. Cai Mi looked out at the passing incandescent glow of windows and electrical street lights as the marching shadows brought on an early evening. Halcyon and electrical glows covered each available space. Bold working class establishments garishly advertised into and beyond the central space of Kangchai, proclaiming their services and purpose to the potential client base.

Shan Mi Liquor. Midtown Grocery. Macau Spin. Golden Lotus. The Congo Beat. Leopold's Tickler. Napoleon Inhaler.

All the same, despite the garish and brutal cheesiness of the names and advertisement lit up in several complimenting languages there was still a sense of pride and in order in the Mid Quarter. The men and women ferried upwards to the refineries and factories a mile outside of town to maintain the machines and robots that produced the city's output and to then partake in a mid-day round of sport in the cut fields that surrounded the city and their work. They had a brand of leisure that was none to different from the upper class that ruled Kangchai or owned those factories and refineries, Cai Mi just had more time to do all of it if he wanted; there was no shortage of Director past or present who spent much of his time playing golf above the rim of the crater.

What loomed below was darker and more threatening than the Midquarter. And the transport kept a course down in those darkened bowels.

Low Quarter was what would be described as the ghetto, if there was not worse below it. People lived here, often on a shoestring and a half. Either taking odd jobs in the quarters above them or living on subsidies purposed to simply keep money moving and the economy functioning the poorer and unfortunate heirs to the post-Earth refugees lived in signature darkness.

When not obscured by the gas giant, Brahma's sun maybe only reached into this area for roughly an hour. Artifical lighting was more normal than natural lighting. There was a murky wetness that clung to the walls and rusted the multitudes of zig-zagging pipes and structural supports that ran across the crater. Below, the muddy bottom of Kangchai crater was visible and the expansive pump complex that floated on its murky clay.

But here was not where Cai Mi was to rest. He had one more level to go. Flying down passed the hand-painted signs for more liquor stores than a man could care to count they descended towards the bottom.

The ship's navigation lights clicked out outside the windows.

“Aw shit man, fuck.” murmured one of the guards on the ship, “I never think I'd end up down here. The Pit? And with a Director too, I was hoping I'd get to sit pretty.”

Cai Mi smiled as he looked at the guard. He was a light skinned fellow with a wide crooked nose. Young, younger than him. He stared white-eyed across the cabin to the window alongside the director.

“I didn't think I would either.” Mi said, “But there's a first for everything.”

“Bullshit, there's no first down here. This is where you come to die. I'm telling you that. You haven't been to the CSO have you? We keep tallies on how few people get their heads beaten in down here.

“It's rough, I'm telling you! We're up to five guards this month.”

“I understand your concern.” Cai Mi said, turning to the window. Outside it had grown incredibly dark. It was as if the sun had never risen, or was again eclipsed. Even the light's of the city had diffused incredibly. The only traces of civilization that stood were the stacked hovels of discarded machine parts, spaceship sections, corrugated steel, and processed wood. It was all stacked hap-hazardly and thrown behind a litter-choked chain link fence.

There were no lights. And nothing appeared to be moving. No writing. No advertisements. And other than the one they sat in, no transports. Faintly in the distant darkness that obscured the lower caves misshapen shadows would flit across through the buildings. Strange creatures sat perched atop the rambling, heavy pipes watching the descending craft.

“Don't tell us we're going out?” the young card said.

“We got to. There's something I want.”

“Fucking hell, there's nothing that's worth it here.” the guard protested, “And you can get someone else to do it.”

“Like you?” Cai Mi smiled.

“Oh n-no!” the guard stammered, pressing himself back against the wall of the cabin, raising his arm, “I can find you someone else. I can get you in touch with the CSO Officer and he can organize something. Or you can ask the EO. But I'm not coming here or I'll be beyond KO.”

“Well, you are now.” Cai Mi said, turning back to the window, “And we do have a purpose. I was told by my father that if there was anything you wanted, then all you needed to do is reach out to take it. Inaction or reliance on others doesn't bring results. You do.

“I want to make sure I get what I need on my own schedule.”

“Fuck, you're set on this. Aren't you?” the guard moaned.

“I am.” Cai Mi confirmed, his tone confident and his eyes glued to the darkened pit outside. The windows were beginning to grow hazy as they passed through clouds of steam. There was already a bitter, moldy smell seeping into the cabin.

“Look at it this way, comrade.” Mi's other guard said, “We'll only be here a short while and we're gone. Then you can say you survived The Pit.”

“Man, fuck today. I should have called in sick. My stomach was hurting this morning. It really was.”

Outside, the bottom of the crater rose to meet them. Passing by the windows metal chains and concrete pylons crawled into view as the craft began to set down slowly. Winds whipped up by the descending craft kicked into the air storms of dirt, dust and debris that fluttered past the thick glass. Dashing themselves against each other. Being torn in circles around the cabin like flower petals caught in a rotten wind. In the cloud of steam and soot the glow of lights shone, exploding in the darkness like novas of pure white, brilliant light.

Looming over the lower landing pad a forest of halcyon bulbs glow to a feverish white and illuminated the pad in a light like the sun. A benefit to the crew and the passengers as they set down with a soft thump on the concrete. The moaning song of the engines softened and then died as the pilots killed the power and it sat idle and in a glow of white haze at the bottom of the city.

Rocks and barren industry stood all around them. Like tombstones pylons rode. And like the hand of zombies a forest of steel and iron rose from the mud just outside of the chain fence. Stretching and twisting in a thousand directions, and meeting in a bush, a nest of couplings that merged them all at one valve before streaking off in three different direction in three solid trunks.

Here was the pump house of Kangchai. Here was its heart. And those were its veins, its arteries.

“Director Cai Mi and associates, welcome to the Under Quarter.” a voice said over the intercoms. “Awaiting checkpoint clearance before lowering our gates.”

“You hear that. We're here.” Cai Mi's guard said, taunting the younger. He crooned in distressed as he turned his head away from the impenetrable day-time darkness of the Under Quarter.

“We've received confirmation.” the pilot's voice said again, “Lowering entry hatch. Welcome to Undertown.”

With a sharp hiss and a soft breath the rear of the aircraft parted and split. Metal clicked as it unhinged for itself, opening up on three hinges as the opened like a blooming flower. These ships were military designed, and for the most part they could took a projectile moving at mach speeds and remain operable. The Listeners had ensured a wash of many of these across Brahma, but there was rarely enough army left to justify military use of them.

Rising open the coldness of Under Town's air swept in with the electrical light of the outside. Washing across the silver and alabaster tile of the ship's interior. Killing the comfortable warmth was a harsh humid breath. Rising off of the velvet seats, Cai Mi stepped out through the door, hands wrapped before him. His guards hesitantly followed.

“Now, I've seen some pretty fucked up tourists in my time, but never a director.” a voice laughed loudly as Mi stepped out onto the dirty asphalt of the landing pad. He turned to the source, laying eyes on a haggard middle-aged man. A wide excited smile defined his face as he walked over, his arm resting across the stock of a beefy assault rifle, twinkling LED lights along its side read out all too clear the weapon was charged and live.

“And if I haven't had a good enough fucking day already, he brings his escorts.” he laughed, gleaming at the two guards that accompanied Cai Mi. He was obviously enjoying this moment.

“Do excuse the informality.” he apologized weakly, still laughing between breaths, “But this is too much to take in!” he cheered.

“No offense taken.” Mi smiled.

“Good. Very good!” the Undertown guard smiled, “It's nice to meet people who are for once on the same page as me.

“And records would indicate this is all your first trip to the Under Quarter. And as such we're required to give you the safety orientation for walking its streets. Are you ready?”

“Do I have a choice?” Mi's younger guard chirped nervously.

“I fucking love this kid. I tell you.” he cackled, “I can tell he hasn't seen some poor Pup eviscerated because he looked at someone else the wrong way.”

The guard straightened his back, taking a deep breath as he composed himself. “I am Staff Sergeant William Ho of the 3rd precinct of the Under Quarter police office, security branch of the Enforcement Office of Kangchai. As customary to new visitors of the Tkrai Housing Quarter we are addressed to give a brief summary of safety protocals in regards to maintaining the peace and security of our Tkrai bretheran and to any humans who would work or deal with and among the Tkrai tribal communities who have accepted annexation into the Greater Kangchai Administrative Operations.

“Visitors are encouraged to operate quickly and quietly in the quarter as to avoid provocation.

“Visitors are asked to hand over all weapons, unless viable exception is made.” he paused, looking at the two guards, “If you're a member of the EO and are down here for the first time it's highly advised you keep your weapons in the open, but to never point them at a Pup.” he added, obviously informally. He winked at the two guards, giving a sly smile.

“Visitors to the quarter are to be accompanied at all times be a minimum of two armed service men and are expected to make 24 hours previous notice to the precincts to organize a working escort.” he continued, returning to the professional tone, “They are to yield to and respect any and all orders given by their security escort in a effort to preserve their personal security.

“The Enforcement Office also wishes to add that you surrender any and all valuables and update us to you or your relatives contact information. We do not takes responsibility for your personal injury or death.”

With a deep inhale and exhale he finished, relieved. “Welcome to The Pit.” he smiled, “If you will follow me into the checkpoint we can process you. And given your status and rank it has been decided that your escort is increased to five guardsmen who will accompany you to your destination.”

The guard turned on the armored soles of the boots, walking to the concrete structure flooded with innumerable lights. Set in the corner where the bunker connected with the landing pad was a single heavy metal door and bulkhead. Both swung open as the guard passed through, followed by the guests.

Inside was a surreal contrast against the eerie darkness outside the door. Here, soft lights lit up an armada of desks and bunks like it was the natural effort of the sun itself. The building was all one big continuous room. In one corner, guards slept in metal bunks while in the middle men and women brooded over monitors collecting information and calls from inside the quarter itself. Ambient music flooded the air, and it was warm and friendly. Even the people worked and operated as if they weren't in the darkest part of town.

In the far corner banks of lockers on lockers lined the walls. Running from the far corner to the room's only door was storage for the employees valuables and gears. And by the small groups of guardsmen and women dressing and undressing there was no doubt where they changed gear.

Handfuls of small black eyes dropped down from the ceiling, giving a stern watch over the officers below and the guests as they walked in. William Ho whistled a nonchalant tune as he wove them through the desks. Leading them into the center where stood a large clear plastic desk. Sitting behind it an older man sat brooding over a projection tablet, sorting out a number of personal and business affairs across the air in front of him.

“Captain Chu, sir.” Ho saluted, stopping before the desk, “The director is here.”

The old man looked up. He had a dark broad complexion to powerfully Uighur features. He looked at them with a flattened subdued expression. “I can see.” he said, “I take it then this is in regards to Mary Dulard? I got a message earlier about this.

“In all honesty sir, I would have liked longer notice.” he added. “But there's no refusing the Board of Directors on anything.” he added in a sour tone.

“Sit down for a minute, we'll talk about things.” he said invitingly, “Staff Sergeant Ho will give your men their own briefing.” he ordered, looking up to the patiently waiting Ho.

The sergeant bowed, turning to walk off with Mi's accompanying guards.

“I don't suppose if you're down here that you can't simply go to Dullard's office and meet her.” Chu said in a low voice.

“She's never returned a call of mine and never made good on scheduling promises when I sent someone over personally, if she's actually ever in.” Mi admitted.

“Aye, I know that type.” nodded the captain, leaning back into his chair, “Both of us know then she hates something and is protesting it.”

“I think I know well what she hates.” laughed Mi, “After all, it's not like the Bat People have been elevated beyond waste management.”

“Certainly.” Ho laughed, “So it seems you are aware she hates you and won't give the Directors or Executive Officer the time of day. So why even bother?”

“Because I need her support, for once.” Mi said, “And I would like an immediate answer.”

“Well cornering her with seven armed guards will certainly nail the message home.” Ho chuckled, looking over to the men and women suiting up at the far wall, “They should be ready in five minutes.” he said.

“Good to know.” Mi nodded, absentmindedly scanning the captain's desk. All sorts of clutter filled his desk space, from side-arms and their batteries. To various office toys and his administrative tools. A console with an open window for a media player sat open at his side, he no doubt controlled the ambiance. And packed in a metal box just near it was a container that held a large amount of what appeared to be old-world bank notes.

“Doesn't it get uncomfortable with them that open?” Mi asked, looking at the lockers. The guards there had certainly dressed up passed certain undress.

“We're basically the army down here, and if training and service on Earth has desensitized me to anything it's nudity. Even the younger service women don't give me a hard-on anymore. It might be impossible to think, but in these cheap conditions tits have gotten boring.” he said it almost as listlessly and dead as it sounded.

“I'm sorry.” Mi said.

“It's the sacrifices we all make.” he laughed. “Anything else? I'm sure me men can fill in anything else. It's common sense there. And it's often best you don't look at most Bat People in the face. And you're not armed so I don't need to worry about you starting any riots.”

“You can tell me about the box.” Mi said, nodding to the metal container.

Ho looked over to it, and laughing cheered, “Those? Those are just Likes!” he said, laughing, “I know we should really be burning these things. But their value now is so deflated no one ever gives a shit. I burn a million and we bring in two-million the next day. I'm just the over-stock for the week.” he laughed.

“I've heard a lot of talks about Likes. But never saw one. Can I have a look?” he asked, handing out his hand.

“Sure, take the whole fucking container.” Ho laughed, leaning over and picking the crate up. Swinging it onto his desk he dropped it down in front of the Director.

“I'm sure you're aware that Likes are so unregulated that they're the defacto drug and sex money for down here and in Low Quarter. But what I bet no one has said is that their value fluctuates so fucking much they're unreliable. Now-a-days it's more valuable to trade a blow job or a cheap pork bun for some narcotics and fun.”

Ci reached into the box and pulled out a wad of cheap paper notes. All of which looked like re-prints of old-world bank notes. There wasn't even an effort to change serial numbers. Almost all of them had the same series.

On top of the shit forging, they had been vandalized in many ways. On top of the terrible rendering – old-world JPEG quality at best – they had been drawn over with mustaches, penises – human and alien – and crude slogans or ads.

“I can wipe my ass with them and get a better value in quality and price next quarter up.” chuckled Ho.

“So why aren't these destroyed yet?” Ci asked.

“Because this week they're useless. We keep an eye on their value for when we should be really worried. But frankly sir, I feel like we shouldn't. If you allow me to, I can keep these for when their value does skyrocket. We could use the financial weapon if we're going to fight the black market. I could have a million Likes right now and still not be a credit richer.

“Or is someone up-top into some bat in the evening?”

Fallout: The Long Haul (ALWAYS OPEN TO NEW PLAYERS)

That might be for the best.