Hadula
29-08-2004, 05:39
This is a continuation of this thread:
http://forums2.jolt.co.uk/showthread.php?t=350167&highlight=Hadula
0673 Hours; Somewhere near Engels; New Portugal
Across the felled St. Xavier Tropical Preserve, the Dominion had plans. A large industrial complex was to be constructed to increase nationwide production by 300%, or so they said. It was lies. Always lies to keep them working. For the Children. For the Future. For the Dominion.
A railroad was to be built through the nature preserve turned industial park. The Dominion soldiers dragged out their labor by a leash. A leash of coercion and steel. The caucasian and hispanic ethnic prisoners had lash marks across their bare backs. Many were lean beyond health, not eating for weeks as most of the newly instated rations were reserved for the soldiers, or were taken from the prisoners at the very whim. Already, the rotting stench of death hung in the night air as bodies were piled into the ditches on either side of the unfinished railroad. Bodies, emaciated and bloated from exhaustion, stroke, or starvation.
It wasn't just men either. While the men were usually the ones given the manual labor, when time constraints came in even the women had to come in. Women and children were crammed into disgusting "farms", creating weapons, textiles, and other meaningless items for the natives to enjoy as the proletarians suffered. Barb wire and armed security was common sight, and the perimeters around the ethnic prisoners were tight. There was no escape. Thats what they said. There is no escape, pasteface.
"Harder! Put your spine into it! Or I'll rip it out and give it to someone who deserves one. WORK!"
With a crack of the barbed cato o' nine tails, the man stumbled onto his knees. The soldeir stood over, blood on his hands, lashed out from the wound he inflicted.
"I said WORK!"
Another lash swiped over the man's back, his grip on the hammer faltered. He couldn't remember where he came from. He didn't remember anything, just pain. He gripped the hammer. He opened his eyes, looked at his hands, blistered, bleeding, worthless. No more...
"Get to wo-"
Without a sound the man swung the hammer behind him to his overseer, going straight into his head. The skull cracked and shattered, half of the mauled face caving in wit hthe immense force the man pushed into it. Blood gushed out from the huge wound, upon the Hispanic man. With a wuick breath he threw the hgue sledgehammer at the nearby soldier who had begun to raise his gun. Despite the inaccuracy of throwing such a large weapon, it knocked him clear to the ground with a grunt. Swiping up the Ak-47 that was being used to coerce the worker, he was to overthrow the opressor with their own tool. He spun around and fired out in a mindless spray. Without thinking, he fired down to his feet, breaking the chains that held him here to this godforsaken place.
Soldiers by the dozen fell, and the railrod was coated with blood. Shouts of freedom and back to the old days cried out as New Portugal rose against the Dominion.
This is a beginning to an end.
http://forums2.jolt.co.uk/showthread.php?t=350167&highlight=Hadula
0673 Hours; Somewhere near Engels; New Portugal
Across the felled St. Xavier Tropical Preserve, the Dominion had plans. A large industrial complex was to be constructed to increase nationwide production by 300%, or so they said. It was lies. Always lies to keep them working. For the Children. For the Future. For the Dominion.
A railroad was to be built through the nature preserve turned industial park. The Dominion soldiers dragged out their labor by a leash. A leash of coercion and steel. The caucasian and hispanic ethnic prisoners had lash marks across their bare backs. Many were lean beyond health, not eating for weeks as most of the newly instated rations were reserved for the soldiers, or were taken from the prisoners at the very whim. Already, the rotting stench of death hung in the night air as bodies were piled into the ditches on either side of the unfinished railroad. Bodies, emaciated and bloated from exhaustion, stroke, or starvation.
It wasn't just men either. While the men were usually the ones given the manual labor, when time constraints came in even the women had to come in. Women and children were crammed into disgusting "farms", creating weapons, textiles, and other meaningless items for the natives to enjoy as the proletarians suffered. Barb wire and armed security was common sight, and the perimeters around the ethnic prisoners were tight. There was no escape. Thats what they said. There is no escape, pasteface.
"Harder! Put your spine into it! Or I'll rip it out and give it to someone who deserves one. WORK!"
With a crack of the barbed cato o' nine tails, the man stumbled onto his knees. The soldeir stood over, blood on his hands, lashed out from the wound he inflicted.
"I said WORK!"
Another lash swiped over the man's back, his grip on the hammer faltered. He couldn't remember where he came from. He didn't remember anything, just pain. He gripped the hammer. He opened his eyes, looked at his hands, blistered, bleeding, worthless. No more...
"Get to wo-"
Without a sound the man swung the hammer behind him to his overseer, going straight into his head. The skull cracked and shattered, half of the mauled face caving in wit hthe immense force the man pushed into it. Blood gushed out from the huge wound, upon the Hispanic man. With a wuick breath he threw the hgue sledgehammer at the nearby soldier who had begun to raise his gun. Despite the inaccuracy of throwing such a large weapon, it knocked him clear to the ground with a grunt. Swiping up the Ak-47 that was being used to coerce the worker, he was to overthrow the opressor with their own tool. He spun around and fired out in a mindless spray. Without thinking, he fired down to his feet, breaking the chains that held him here to this godforsaken place.
Soldiers by the dozen fell, and the railrod was coated with blood. Shouts of freedom and back to the old days cried out as New Portugal rose against the Dominion.
This is a beginning to an end.