NationStates Jolt Archive

This is just a sign-up thread. Do not make ANY IC posts here. This is basically the first half of the introduction, and more of the intro will come soon. I need people to sign up to be the Krashnyy clan, its allies, its sub-clans, my allies, whatever. Whatever you want, this can be both a character RP and a war RP. Just make sure you read the intro. edit: For those wanting to know more about my country, visit my Factbook- http://forums.jolt.co.uk/showthread.php?t=452919

"WHAT MAKES YOU THINK that?" Krendakov laid his eyes on Arbtan, picking up his drink as the refreshment carrier floated by.
"Well, it's simple. God must exist. If it was not for He, the universe could not be made."
The Admiral had heard this same argument a hundred times, and his response was reflexive. "Of course, but, if we're willing to assume that God is likely to have existed, it is just as likely that something other than him created the universe. Something nontheistic."
The refreshment hovertable arrived at where Arbtan sat. He picked a drink from those carried. Sipping it slowly, he looked as if he was concentrating on something. As he laid down the wine, wrinkles formed on his forehead.
"Point taken, my friend. Yes, and I am sure you are willing to refute the countless theistic miracles, no?"
"Yes, or I else I would not debate you. There are countless people who perform extraordinary acts. Not all of them are religious, or at least not practicing religion. I'm sure you've heard of them."
"No, I don-... well, we'll talk about that later. But what do you think of..." A long pause, and what seemed like a longer silence. Krendakov would wait. He was sure that his guest would think of something soon.
Seconds grew into minutes, it seemed. No point in further waiting. "What do you think of the classical suffering armament?" Arbtan turned his head to the speaker, as Krendakov continued. "Surely, if God is both all-powerful and perfectly merciful, what is to stop him from eliminating all suffering?"
"We are the ones who cause suffering because of our sins. It affects us all unequally, but that is just part of the suffering. It will continue until evil is spent."
"But, God is all powerful. Why dosen't he just stop it?"
"The Lord is all powerful, but he can only do what is possible." The theist's position was unassailable. They simply would not budge. Or rather, they could not.
"I see." Another silence, this time much shorter.
Krendakov continued, "Well, we've exhausted all of our discussion material. I hope you enjoyed your visit."
"I rather did, Comrade." The two men stared at each other. False politeness shown on their faces. Anger could be felt smoldering inside the room. Footsteps were heard coming from the hallway. It was the only thing able to be heard over the defeaning quiet.

Arbtan smiled. "A pleasant debate, Mr. Krendakov. I believe I will have to complete my work at a later date." A shake of hands, and the guest had left the room.

* * * * *

Admiral Vasily Krendakov was the closest thing that the Merkar Republic had for a leader today. Ever since 2042, official government work had been handed over to the giant computers, efficiently managing the populace. The Admiral, military head of the Merkar Space Force, controlled practically the entire military enterprise. Real power lay elsewhere, but from the perspective of nearly everyone, Krendakov was the representative of Merkar. At least he was a human being to talk to.
Leaving his quarters after his meeting with who was perhaps the most prominent theist leader of the country, he walked down the halls of the Nomenclater'a. It, too, was somewhat more of a symbol than substance. In a fleet of small vessels, the title of "Flagship" did not mean much. It is often said that the fleet of the Merkar Republic consists only of mere missile boats, and this would be very much the truth. First of a new carrier class, the Nomenclatur'a line of vessels, although over a mile long, were nothing compared to the monsters maintained by other fleets. Still, it was fast and heavily armed for its size.
Krendakov exited the elevator and took up his post in the center of the bridge. The combat information consoles lay dormant, peacefully awaiting to do their task. A task that everyone hoped would never have to be performed. The Navy was for deterrence, not war.
He strode over to the windows. In the distance, the space station NeoTerra went about its daily business. Shuttles and freighters flew about in their usual dance. Stars sparkled, glowed, burned. Whatever it was they did. Krendakov sighed. Not out of exhaustion. He just needed time to catch a breath.
This whole business of the Krashnyy clan. They were descended from a long line of believers, stretching back hundreds of years. The Merkar state was young in comparison. Yet they persisted. Krendakov heard their daily propoganda- according to them, he was an arrogant, egotistic bastard. And an infidel.
Except for the last title, he was called all of that and more by those he knew. Behind his back, of course. But there were many that slighted this Admiral. This Admiral, Commandant of the Spaceborne Army of Merkar, would not even respond to this kind of petty insult, even in self-defence. He knew he was secure in his position. He certainly felt secure. Yes, it was all simple careerism, his fellow countrymen putting greed before duty. Krendakov would have none of it.
He leaned his neck forward slightly to get a better look at the daily going-ons inside the spaceport. Squinting, he felt his back ache. Not enough to bother him that much, but he knew that his body could only serve him for so long. For sixty-five years it had done him well, but age was changing that.
The Admiral thought back to his meeting with the Krashnyy man just a few minutes ago. Arbtan was his name, at least as far as he could recall. There were many theories put forth as to why the thiests persisted in believing the inexplicable. Some said it was because they would not give up the ideal that eternal hapiness awaited them. Others saw it as a way to give life a purpose. Still more proposed it was an excuse to justify their prejudices and emotions. Yes, religion certainly was a tool, a human tool that they adapted according to fashion.
But none of those wise men who put forward those thoughts were correct. When people called Krendakov close-minded, they were simply failing to accept the facts. Friction was to persist, not out of bad intentions, but out of inevitability. Krendakov knew that there was only one reason. They genuinely believed it, and were inescapably trapped in its paradox. Without it, the believers would be nothing. It was the one thing that united them, and to suggest surrendering it would be to destroy an entire live's work. It was simply too great a cost for them, and they persisted in what they had to do.

In the distance, a streak of red appeared on a freighter. The glowing orb grew slowly. It was hard to say exactly when it appeared to transition from a mesmerising curiosity to a ferocious flame, but wafting through the darkness, it consumed the object it lay upon, bringing light to the untouched vastness. Only then did a monumental thing seem to be taking place.





YOU COULD BARELY discern the spherical shape of Merkar as viewed from the windows of the ascending space freighter. The horizon bent slightly at its edges, but the planet still appeared to be flat at this altitude. What could be seen of the surface was shrouded in darkness, Metodun's spaceship being at the far end of the planet. He lay at one of the window seats. Throughout the passenger section sat his best friends, most loyal accomplices, and other people of great devotion selected for this mission. He disliked few of them- all seemed to him to be reasonable men, carrying out the duty which needed to be done. The athiests claimed to believe in nothing, but they had a God. Their electronic beasts. More specifically, the computer they had accepted as their leader.

It was a long story to be told, but could be summarised without neglecting too many facets. Since the day that they had taken up worship of this amazing thinking device that today managed every aspect of their government, it had secretly continued to produce terrifying statistics about the great war to come and providing them to a handful of military officials. Its logic was impeccable, being backed up by countless mathematical proofs. The government had tried to keep it secret, but a handful of men had found out. The exact people, of course, that weren't supposed to know.

According to calculation, a thousand years from now there was to be a terrible war, incited by theists, an attempt to kill every living thing in a succesful attempt to secure Armagedon. The only way to stop it, their computers said, was to exterminate all believers residing in the Merkar Republic now. The claims of the devices were backed up by mountains of irrefutable mathematical proof. Even the members of the religious Krashnyy clan who heard of the secret believed that the arguments put forth in favor of the theory were impossible to argue with. But they knew something of their own. They were all peaceful men. They did not want an Armagedon War a milennium in the future. But to kill all believers now would simply be immoral. They had done no wrong. Whatever was to happen in the future was the will of God, and, however terrible the consequences, all of those who believed in Him would rather fight than die. The preparations for the extermination were already underway. The time for deliberation among the Krashnyy theologians had passed. Right now, aboard this very passenger liner, action was to be taken.

Ayet looked over his left shoulder. Seated across the aisle was Robin Hill, appointed leader of the extermination operation- the operation that noone outside a small government group had heard of. If Krashnyy intelligence was correct, he and several of his subordinates were aboard this vessel, flying in to a meeting aboard the spaceport NeoTerra. They would, of course, not arrive.

As the chronometer placed at the front of the passenger compartment beeped, its display read 1200. A small wisp of smoke floated past Ayet's field of view, emitting a faint stench of ozone as the firebombs did their work. A few passengers looked perplexed. This turned to fear as a narrow orange flame licked its way out of a ventilation shaft. Ayet and his men closed their eyes as terror broke out around them. It was the fulfilment of their duty. And, perhaps, the beginning a way to finally answer the great question.

* * * * *

Krendakov continued to manuever between the towers of Republic City. He would be very early for the meeting, most likely, but the Admiral thought that it was an important part of appearnces. Not that the matter to be discussed was very urgent, though.

He had seen it with his own eyes, as strange as it seemed. Something had happened to a passenger freighter. Not just any such vessel, out of the hundreds that made trips back and forth daily, but the one carrying a number of very important people involved in "the project". Krendakov felt like laughing out of the ridiculous suspicion surrounding the incident, but he was too tired. The Government, a word practically synonymous with the national computer mainframe, apparently believed that it was an important event, although it was obviously a simple coincidence. Freighter accidents were extremely rare, but it is doubtful that the secret had got out somehow.

Few people today bothered to own a public vehicle in a time of overbearing public transportation. Still, certain government and military officials needed one for transit to isolated locations. Admiral Krendakov could have easily arrived here by Maglev, but it was best to keep his movements secret during a time like this. He arrived almost an hour early for the conference, but the other attendees, too, had decided to arrive early. No point in waiting; everyone was here, and the handful of men and women who bore the weight of leadership for the country decided to start early. The room was small and spartan, but none of those gathered bothered with asthetics. Once everyone had filed in, General Gartu, head of the Army, opened the proceedings.

"Comrades, this morning I was awoken with the news that you have all heard since now. Without Robin Hill, the project is leaderless. Our first order of business is to appoint a new head for the Project. There's no need to worry, however. Comrade Hill's family has been informed of his death by the Government Employment Directorate." An agency that, of course, did not have a single human worker. "Noone knows anything of his true job. He's still just an important official on the Board of Health."

"Next, we have been informed by the mainframe that this does not bode well for the future. This incident, to be specific. There's an important decision to be made here..." The general paused for effect. "Do we ready for war? Or was it merely an accident or orchestrated by a small, insignificant group?" Ideas formed in the heads of those assembled, as Gartu took his seat.

Less than a second after the speaker had slowly eased himself down to his improvised folding chair, Kalinye Jitu, the burly woman in charge of the Space Marines, commented. "I think we should deal with the second issue first. Obviously, it wasn't a simple coincidence." Those assembled in the room turned their heads toward her, the expressions on their faces mixed.

"It certainly could be an accident. How, tell me, could they found out about this? The only ones who know about this are the people sitting in this room right now- all loyal military men!" Krendakov banged his fist on the table near the end of his sentence. He was not known for being sportsmanlike or mature in debates. His comment earned him an awkward stare from Kalinye. "And women," he corrected himself, somewhat more quietly.

"But its clear," stated George Williams, head of the neglected Military Support Services, "that it's too much of a coincidence to just be random." Krendakov, for once, cleared his head and took a deep breath. Yes, maybe there was some credence to their claim. It was certainly an exceptional event. Something other than fate must have been the cause.

Someone seated at a far corner of the table, who few recognized, saw the debate from an angle that noone else had yet touched on. "I am aware that the Government computer cannot predict every event. However, if it claims it to be this significant but failed to forsee it, it is proof against its lack of infailability, isn't it?"

The effect of the comment was electric. All of those present finally realized the significance of what had happened. Noone else had even noticed it. Never before had the Mainframe been proven wrong. Ever since its inception, it was a source of indisputable logic. Yet, its first contradiction had emerged. How could it have failed them? Was there limits to what perfection could achieve? Or, worse yet, was the device imperfect?

"Nonsense!" Krendakov's veins bulged. "This is only a minor failure. The Government is made perfect. We must believe what it says out of..."

"Why, Admiral? It's obviously failed us."

"Out of faith!"

Some gasped, others stared, a few turned white. What had they all become? Atheists that had become so caught up in their constructions that they had created a God of their own?

Nice storyline, especially the end of it. I am interested in this, but sorry if I missed somethng, but how does this start a war? What are the goals of each side? And can we particapate as our own nation?

You couldn't read the whole thing that fast, could you? Read through the whole thing. Don't skim! Also remember there's more to come later.

You can participate as almost whatever you'd like. Read the intro. Read the intro. I thought the goals for each side were kind of self-explanatory (kill each other for self-survival).

You couldn't read the whole thing that fast, could you? Read through the whole thing. Don't skim! Also remember there's more to come later.
um, you intro was posted at 10:03, mine was 10:12, I did not skim, but I am a little confused

OOC: I don't think RK is future-tech enough to be part of this war; we are approaching a technocratic government similar to yours (although the RK's Core Government Module is basically a national polling station in one supercomputer, it is being developed as an AI, and can currently break ties based on programmed history and a constitution-like "good of the nation" rulelist, as well as micromanage services with little incident (it did once supply one police force the wrong caliber of bullet, but that was down to overloading and has been prevented by assigning every prefecture its "own" sub-core) and even sometimes give its own opinion on politics) but have primitive non-FTL transport. Also, I haven't read the intro without skimming. :p

There's going to be a ground and space war, so you can donate whatever forces you want to whatever side (assume your allies provide transport). The Merkar Republic is in Alpha Centauri, only 5 light-years away from Earth- you shouldn't have trouble getting here.

To the Helghan Empire, no offence, but is the writing kind of vague? If needed I'll go in and change it to be simpler so other people can understand it. Basically "The Mainframe" ordered all the atheists, the largest group in the Merkar Republic, to kill all the Krashnyy Clan, a minority religious sect, and all other theists within the country to prevent a chain of events that will lead to Armageddon. It's supposed to be secret, but the Krashnyys found out somehow and made a covert attack. It's still secret to the general public and the rest of the international community, but that might change soon. The second installment of the intro will come once we have some people officially sign up. (Just say you'll participate, and once the IC thread comes you can actaully RP.)

I like it, The Dominion will join. With your permission, of course. We'll send our flagship as an envoy. Don't worry about protection, in the next post you'll see why we only have to send the flagship.

Don't make IC posts yet! Sign-up only, we'll have enough people to start in like one or two days.

I get what you mean now Athiesim. I don't think your writing was vague. It's creative and original, as you said. I ike the storyline. Anyways, I found that there is no Krashnyy Clan. Will it be a side, or alliance? Anyways, we don't have a space fleet, but we have these MASSIVE space ships, called Attack Ships, wich are Helghast military vessels usually used to transport people or troops to foreign land because Helghan is on a planet, our enemies are on NS Earth - or other planets. The Attack Ships are Helghast Military Capital Ships, and they are armed with cannons, wich is used to attack enemy space fleets when going through space, and used to defend Helghast Dropships deployed from it. We don't have space-fighters, just Capital Ships, so is that acceptable for a space fleet?
I am interested for the RP and would like to be on your ally Athiesm because Helghasts do not favor Theists.

Thanks for the compliment :)

I did this before, though, and EVERYBODY sided with the athiests. Go ahead and pick what side you want, but keep that in mind. Maybe have a rouge admiral that switches sides and splits your fleet in half?

I edited the first post so it has a link for my factbook near the top. It tells the story of my Civil War and how religious insurgents attacked me before (go to search and look up "Armagedon Battle" to see the thread where it happened if you like). The Krashnyys are a somewhat secretive federation of different religions in the Merkar Republic. They're deeply conservative, but they're so esoteric that it's hard to call them either peaceful or warlike.

INFIDELS, OF COURSE, WOULD not be included.

They would suffer the same fate as those that lay in front of Babryshkin, only without final reward. Not a wonderful fate for them, it seemed, from the perspective of those still in this world. Massacred believers ascended to a higher place. Yet, particularly in light of what they had just done, Babryshkin could not see how any of the atheists could achieve such a state of being.

It didn't make any sense. The infidel soldiers entered the on foot, their pale skin appearing darker in the receding daylight. Without reason, they let loose, first on those that lined the street to observe. Dead themselves they seemed to be, killing every member of Babryshkin's fragile community, their steely implants displaying a dull shine.

Why?

There was no sign of hostility. The government was a symbol of peace and tolerance, albeit decadence. Yet it had sent its inhuman dealers of death to kill even those who did not fight back.

Jurmenti Village was not the most unlikely place for this to happen. An isolated Krashnyy commune, cut off from the rest of an immoral planet. No trouble had emerged in the past. The Jurmenti lived peacefully and simply in a world that had absorbed itself in desire and valued nothing. Once, but only once, had Babryshkin seen their world. Tall, ghostly gray towers mottled the horizon, while on the street and in their homes immoral men and women performing every variety of illicit activity. Yet now they had come to the village, this isolated stronghold of what was right. Perhaps they realized that they had failed to fulfill themselves, and acted in anger against those who had.

It was a perfect place to strike, certainly. Jurmenti had rejected modern communicatons and isolated itself from a satanic culture. Noone to inform the rest of the world. Except those who survived, and now stood in front of the mass of dead bodies.

But, the murderers of men, women and children had left a trace. Across a pool of blood in front of where Babryshkin lay an abandoned weapon. Babryshkin sighed. He would not take up arms and deal vengeance, as violence would not be the Lord's answer. Turning his head, the man made his way back.

But he had to stop. In front of him was assembled the entire village, all staring at this lone, ordinary man. All types of people, of every variety and stock. But something united them. They were other survivors, and the look on their eyes spoke to him without words. Shedding a tear, Babyrshkin turned and strolled to the other end of the pool of blood, laying his hands on the weapon. For vengeance.

Bump, we'll start when enough people sign up. I'll PM everyone who signed up when the war starts.

OOC: mind if a enter as a free lancer force?

Just as long as you can RP well.

ooc: Mind if i enter as an observation force and perhaps help out those the hive considers worthy at a later date?

For challenge's sake I'll join the Theists and send Hyperion Fleet, my entire flagship detatchment. I'm not counting on many allies from the sounds of the last RP.

You don't have to ask to be accepted. I'll take whoever's interested as long as they can RP ok.

I PMed a whole bunch of people asking them to join, we should get started by Wednesday.

THE LINE IS SHORT today, thought Krendakov, as he stepped out of his car. The pleasant smell of the city did not mix with the unasthetic gray alley he had parked in. On one side lay him and his vehicle, near the Maglev terminus. About ten yards in front of him lay the entrance to the processing center, and to either side a view of distant buildings, no more attractive than the one he was about to enter. It was pragmatism, not ugliness. The Merkari capitol, Republic City, was very pragmatic in this regard.

You could not look up without almost being blinded by the dazzling lights. Without them, the wide, tall walls of grey on either side of the alley, that seemed to stretch on to the sky forever like neverending skycrapers, would cast a dark shadow over where Krendakov stood. A fascinating panoroma- a thousand foot tall gray wall to back and front, with other monotone gray structures visible in the distance. But you got used to it fast.

Closing the door, he left his speeder and headed to the small door leading to the processing center. As he had said before, the line was short- he had come early today. People waited at the sliding door for it to open, and then stepped inside to be whisked along a conveyor belt to their commune with the Mainframe. This was perhaps the most important part of any Merkari's day, the point where they recieved directives on their work. And, perhaps, some friendly tidbits of advice. It couldn't really be called "friendly," of course- it was an emotionless machine thinking out your life for you. Still, it was helpful.

Krendakov did not have to wait long. When it was his turn, the door opened. In he stepped. A few yards in front of him stood a fellow Merkari, standing patiently as the conveyor belt ground to a halt. The edges of the belt fit snugly to the sides of the shiny metal wall, the walls supporting the ceiling. Light was provided by a series of lightbulbs placed at regular intervals along the conveyor tunnel. Once Krendakov placed both his feet firmly inside, the door closed and the movement of the belt began.

It would take only a few seconds until he passed through the nuerological emitters, but there was time to think. The first thing that came to mind was his grandfather, General Hac. There were strange parellels between his time and Krendakov's. Employment was on the rise, the nation prospered, and a feeling of confidence was in the air. But there was another crucial factor that noone had realized, then or now: naivety.

* * * * *

Sixty Years Ago, Earth, Athiesism (future spacefaring Merkar Republic)

"LIEUTENANT Hac!" The young man was not being patient. "Sir! D Platoon is ready to move out to the exercise area!"

Seargeant Connor was one of the better soldiers. He should have known better than to break radio silence.

"Goddammit, asshole, you don't need to use the radio every fucking minute!" Hac wanted to give his subordinate a good tongue-lashing, but he was too tired. This was only a training exercise, but Hac believed in the value of keeping everything as real as possible. Even if noone cared, it was his responsibility to his adopted country, not to mention his job.

Lieutenant A. I. Hac was a member of the Royal SkyCapt Commandos. In wartime, his job would be to go behind enemy lines and recruit the local population into an insurgency. He had done it before. Yes, his superiors were proud of him. And they "rewarded" him with this. The job of teaching an army that couldn't march in a straight line even if it wanted to. What a shitty little army this was.

Connor was on the other end of the line. He was a wise little man- he knew when to speak his mind, and when to keep quiet. This situation called for more of the second part. They had to move out in just a few minutes. Hac already knew that the whole company was ready, and there was no need to remind him. He always did things right on schedule. This country, Athiesism, had to learn to do that.

The accomodations were good- it seemed that in this army the soldiers were pampered, pedicured, massaged, and totally unfit for combat. Even so, they were better than when he arrived. The Lieutenant had been one of the first military advisers on the ground, perhaps four or five years ago. It was hard to tell how long it had been, but now he was back. And it seemed like the SkyCapt advisers were whipping the army into shape perfectly well.

The luxury of Hac's base seemed to reflect the national mood. Prosperity bred laziness, it seemed. The Captain had been into the nearby town a few times, and there was on doubting the goodwill of Athiesism's people. Prosperity was the mood of the country itself. They had actually gone so far to claim that no war would ever happen on this soil, that "no blood would water it". It seemed they had reason for confidence. Just a year ago, they had fought a sucessful air campaign against the neofacist regime of a nearby island. A small victory, but it was taken as a sign of the times. In a positive way.

In front of him was the camp enterance, and beyond, the Jurmaya Hills. It was off to there today, a 15-mile march over the roughest terrain on the island. He knew that the lazy bastards he was supposed to help train would love it. The entrance to the camp was guarded by an infantry section that he had specifically put there for the purpose. Everyone complained- this was one of the most peaceful places on earth. Why did it have to be guarded? Just let the men sleep! A terrible excuse. An army was for fighting.

The clock hit twelve. Time to go.

It was a good thing that the exercise started so late. The troops got their beauty sleep. Hac stepped outside. He could smell the flowers. Not only that, but the stench of the latrines added an extra aroma. There was all four platoons, standing straight and stiff-backed. Not bad. Or at least not as bad as usual. Just because they were conscripts didn't mean they were supposed to be treated like them.

He looked over the platoon leaders. There was Connor, trying to look brave while dodging eye contact. Cherhaven, confused as usual. Arba, looking well rested and at the same time restless. All four platoons were ready. It took only a simple single to get them moving, but it could wait. It was time for a little pep talk.

"Good morn---"

A noise, more terrible than anyone had ever heard before, erupted where noone thought it would.

The gate entrance had gone up into a huge fireball. Hac froze once he saw it. He thought after all he'd been through, being a veteran of the Millenial Wars, it wouldn't scare him. But noone noticed their commander's fear- they were too stunned at the moment to remember.

Suddenly, it had hit everyone that the Old Man had been right. They really would fight someday. Hac, recomposing himself almost instantly, turned to them. A smile always helped in times like these. "Incoming!", Hac shouted. It was the drill for artillery, and this seemed to be something else. But saying nothing would make the problem worse. Giving the men something to do made them think the problem was under control.

As the entire company scattered to find cover, Hac summoned the platoon commanders, still standing in the same place, as immovable as a rock. Connor and Arba ran to him instantly. They did not salute, as was standard procedure in wartime- it let the enemy snipers know who the officers were. Cherhaven, though, did. There was no time to correct him. They were all showing incredible courage under fire, anyway.

A plan formed in Hac's mind in a flash. "Connor, hole up in the east barracks and Arba'll take the west! Cherhaven!" The stunned seargeant snapped his head toward his CO, his eyes opened wide, lips visibly trembling. "Fan out and search the hills! Make sure you take a manpack radio with you!" If they found anything, Hac wanted to be absolutely sure that HQ heard of it. The long-range radio was necessary.

"Yessir!" all three replied, almost at the same time. He had trained his subordinates well- they carried out their duties efficiently and without question. But during the heat of the chaos, Hac had lost track of what he was doing. Was it really an attack? Was it a bomb? Or was it some kind of accident? He turned his head toward the flames, which were now slowly receding. A mass of seared human flesh lie on the ground, and nearby the remains of a strange backpack, torn apart by its explosive cargo. It hit the commander instantly. It was one of the militants. The Army of God had struck. Before, it was just a rumor. But now, it seemed, these fanatics really existed, and were ready to take their fight to the very heart of the country, the "immoral, spiritually corrupt men who claim to lead our country to freedom". At that very moment, he realized that perhaps what he had thought was right. Noone had thought it would happen, but naivety was fatal.

Yes, that was what they said. What nutcases they were- if I ever see one, Ill make sure that they understand the product of complacency, Hac thought. The few doubts he had would quickly be dispelled by what he was about to see.

Over the hills, across the long valley, men appeared, waving guns and shouting the cry of Armageddon in the name of their God.

* * * * *

Present Day

Krendakov sensed the implant activate in the back of his head. Sense was the only word to describe it. Moments later, he felt that he lost control, but in a pleasant way. He felt a higher consciouness caress his mind, feeding it with truth.

* * * * *

Blue curtains hung behind the podium. In the lower right corner of the screen was, as always, the Merkar Cable News logo. A fine station, one of the few unbiased media sources in the galaxy. But there was going to be difficulty broadcasting something soo controversial.
A door could be heard opening off to the side, but was outside the camera's field of view. Moments later, a thirtyish man with a nuetral expression, carrying with him some papers, walked from the edge of the screen to the center, halting behind the podium and turning to face those assembled.
Laying down the papers on the podium, he kept his eyes on the crowd of anxious reporters. Someone could be heard speaking over a loudspeaker.

"Ladies and Gentlemen, Mr. William Strong."

Applause rang out as the Mainframe Minister, the person in charge of communicating the Mainframe's more important directives, remained deadpan, continuing to eye the crowd as he stood behind the podium. It did not take long for the applause to quiet and for silence to return to the room.
"Comrades, there has been much speculation about the reports coming out of Jurmenti. To say the least, they are disturbing."
Many in the crowd were wide-eyed, but their host seemed emotionless. Grabbing a cup of water that someone apparently had left on the podium, he took a sip before continuing.
"Yesterday, a force of what reported to be Merkari cyborg military personnel massacred the majority of the inhabitants of Jurmenti Village, a Krashnyy commune. However, a number of the citizens were able to survive. They have described the terror that I have mentioned."
"Yet, it was necessary. The Mainframe directed it so."
Emotion gripped everyone in the room. And, no doubt, all those viewing the conference in their homes. It was not a feeling of shock, but more of awe. It was their duty to support the mainframe in all its declarations, as it was all in the name of communal prosperity.
The speaker detailed the reasoning behind the action. All of the secrecy, plotting, and even the extermination of the Krashnyy. Jurmenti, he claimed, was believed to be the site of their leadership. Killing them would return secrecy to the plan. But some had survived, and now it was open knowledge.
"I apologize to all of you, fellow citizens of Merkar. We would wish for our respectable fellow Krashnyys to accept their fate with understanding. We promise them a painless death, but if they resist, we will do what we must for the continued survival of Merkar and the free world."

Throughout the room came a torrent of applause.

A map of Merkar:
http://i14.photobucket.com/albums/a333/Athiesism/Merkarmap.jpg
Is it just me or did they get rid of the thing were you turn a link into clickable text?

The Merkar Republic is in Alpha Centauri, only 5 light-years away from Earth- you shouldn't have trouble getting here.
The space project is currently split between two projects, a spacedock and a cheap but effective stasis method; the latter would have to be researched before RK spacefarers would begin travelling out of the system in manned craft, as RK spacefarers are typically built for cost-effectivity and short journeys, and would not be able to support life for 5 lightyears. It would also take a hell of a long time for them to hit Proxima Centauri with the sub-lightspeed hot-fusion and fission reactors. Also, I don't have much of a competent army, and I was thinking of using a FT war to separate myself from MT and PMT (RK is on the border IMO)

Random Kingdom, the Merkar Republic has a jump node near Earth that you can use. It takes no special equipment to use. Just enter it and your vessels will be changed into tachyons, fired at Alpha Centauri, and rematerialized when they get to their destination.

Attention everyone: The End Is Near.

http://forums.jolt.co.uk/showthread.php?t=453606

OOC: Can the Eternals join in?

Sure.

edit: Just don't end the war right away with some super-duper-high-tech thingy. RP realistically.

OOC: Ahem. I'm very sorry to ask, but exactly who are we fighting again? I know I am going to be eliminating theocratic civilians, but it sounds like there are theocratic military personnal after some RP posts. Are we fighting civilians and military or just civilians. Apologies for this (school really bites during current RPs)

I don't really wanna read a 2 mile post, so may someone tell me whats happening? And so people don't need to look at 2 pages to see the whole story, copy and paste the second part, edit the first, and put the second part there.

Look at the in-character RP thread. Near the bottom of the first post is a transmission from the Merkar Republic that states what's going on.

As for Helghan, Admiral Krendakov has seized control of the space battleship-carrier MRS Nomenclatur'a and is currently hiding from a pursuing government fleet. Commander-General Jake McNeil is in command of the Second Armored Division, which rebelled and is fighting government forces, both sides using C&C-Tiberian-Sun-style stealth hovertanks, artillery, and C&C cyborgs. The fighting is going on 500 miles west of Republic City, the capitol (see map in this thread). The first post in the IC thread explains this as long as you know the storyline up to then.

Alright, here's the whole thing, up to and including the first post in the IC thread:

"WHAT MAKES YOU THINK that?" Krendakov laid his eyes on Arbtan, picking up his drink as the

refreshment carrier floated by.
"Well, it's simple. God must exist. If it was not for He, the universe could not be made."
The Admiral had heard this same argument a hundred times, and his response was reflexive. "Of course, but,

if we're willing to assume that God is likely to have existed, it is just as likely that something other than him

created the universe. Something nontheistic."
The refreshment hovertable arrived at where Arbtan sat. He picked a drink from those carried. Sipping it

slowly, he looked as if he was concentrating on something. As he laid down the wine, wrinkles formed on his

forehead.
"Point taken, my friend. Yes, and I am sure you are willing to refute the countless theistic miracles, no?"
"Yes, or I else I would not debate you. There are countless people who perform extraordinary acts. Not all

of them are religious, or at least not practicing religion. I'm sure you've heard of them."
"No, I don-... well, we'll talk about that later. But what do you think of..." A long pause, and what seemed

like a longer silence. Krendakov would wait. He was sure that his guest would think of something soon.
Seconds grew into minutes, it seemed. No point in further waiting. "What do you think of the classical

suffering armament?" Arbtan turned his head to the speaker, as Krendakov continued. "Surely, if God is both all-

powerful and perfectly merciful, what is to stop him from eliminating all suffering?"
"We are the ones who cause suffering because of our sins. It affects us all unequally, but that is just part

of the suffering. It will continue until evil is spent."
"But, God is all powerful. Why dosen't he just stop it?"
"The Lord is all powerful, but he can only do what is possible." The theist's position was unassailable.

They simply would not budge. Or rather, they could not.
"I see." Another silence, this time much shorter.
Krendakov continued, "Well, we've exhausted all of our discussion material. I hope you enjoyed your visit."
"I rather did, Comrade." The two men stared at each other. False politeness shown on their faces. Anger

could be felt smoldering inside the room. Footsteps were heard coming from the hallway. It was the only thing able

to be heard over the defeaning quiet.

Arbtan smiled. "A pleasant debate, Mr. Krendakov. I believe I will have to complete my work at a later

date." A shake of hands, and the guest had left the room.

* * * * *

Admiral Vasily Krendakov was the closest thing that the Merkar Republic had for a leader today. Ever since

2042, official government work had been handed over to the giant computers, efficiently managing the populace. The

Admiral, military head of the Merkar Space Force, controlled practically the entire military enterprise. Real power

lay elsewhere, but from the perspective of nearly everyone, Krendakov was the representative of Merkar. At least he

was a human being to talk to.
Leaving his quarters after his meeting with who was perhaps the most prominent theist leader of the country,

he walked down the halls of the Nomenclater'a. It, too, was somewhat more of a symbol than substance. In a

fleet of small vessels, the title of "Flagship" did not mean much. It is often said that the fleet of the Merkar

Republic consists only of mere missile boats, and this would be very much the truth. First of a new carrier class,

the Nomenclatur'a line of vessels, although over a mile long, were nothing compared to the monsters

maintained by other fleets. Still, it was fast and heavily armed for its size.
Krendakov exited the elevator and took up his post in the center of the bridge. The combat information

consoles lay dormant, peacefully awaiting to do their task. A task that everyone hoped would never have to be

performed. The Navy was for deterrence, not war.
He strode over to the windows. In the distance, the space station NeoTerra went about its daily business.

Shuttles and freighters flew about in their usual dance. Stars sparkled, glowed, burned. Whatever it was they did.

Krendakov sighed. Not out of exhaustion. He just needed time to catch a breath.
This whole business of the Krashnyy clan. They were descended from a long line of believers, stretching back

hundreds of years. The Merkar state was young in comparison. Yet they persisted. Krendakov heard their daily

propoganda- according to them, he was an arrogant, egotistic bastard. And an infidel.
Except for the last title, he was called all of that and more by those he knew. Behind his back, of course.

But there were many that slighted this Admiral. This Admiral, Commandant of the Spaceborne Army of Merkar, would not

even respond to this kind of petty insult, even in self-defence. He knew he was secure in his position. He certainly

felt secure. Yes, it was all simple careerism, his fellow countrymen putting greed before duty. Krendakov would have

none of it.
He leaned his neck forward slightly to get a better look at the daily going-ons inside the spaceport.

Squinting, he felt his back ache. Not enough to bother him that much, but he knew that his body could only serve him

for so long. For sixty-five years it had done him well, but age was changing that.
The Admiral thought back to his meeting with the Krashnyy man just a few minutes ago. Arbtan was his name,

at least as far as he could recall. There were many theories put forth as to why the thiests persisted in believing

the inexplicable. Some said it was because they would not give up the ideal that eternal hapiness awaited them.

Others saw it as a way to give life a purpose. Still more proposed it was an excuse to justify their prejudices and

emotions. Yes, religion certainly was a tool, a human tool that they adapted according to fashion.
But none of those wise men who put forward those thoughts were correct. When people called Krendakov close-

minded, they were simply failing to accept the facts. Friction was to persist, not out of bad intentions, but out of

inevitability. Krendakov knew that there was only one reason. They genuinely believed it, and were inescapably

trapped in its paradox. Without it, the believers would be nothing. It was the one thing that united them, and to

suggest surrendering it would be to destroy an entire live's work. It was simply too great a cost for them, and they

persisted in what they had to do.

In the distance, a streak of red appeared on a freighter. The glowing orb grew slowly. It was hard to say

exactly when it appeared to transition from a mesmerising curiosity to a ferocious flame, but wafting through the

darkness, it consumed the object it lay upon, bringing light to the untouched vastness. Only then did a monumental

thing seem to be taking place.





YOU COULD BARELY discern the spherical shape of Merkar as viewed from the windows

of the ascending space freighter. The horizon bent slightly at its edges, but the planet still appeared to be flat

at this altitude. What could be seen of the surface was shrouded in darkness, Metodun's spaceship being at the far

end of the planet. He lay at one of the window seats. Throughout the passenger section sat his best friends, most

loyal accomplices, and other people of great devotion selected for this mission. He disliked few of them- all seemed

to him to be reasonable men, carrying out the duty which needed to be done. The athiests claimed to believe in

nothing, but they had a God. Their electronic beasts. More specifically, the computer they had accepted as their

leader.

It was a long story to be told, but could be summarised without neglecting too many facets. Since the day

that they had taken up worship of this amazing thinking device that today managed every aspect of their government,

it had secretly continued to produce terrifying statistics about the great war to come and providing them to a

handful of military officials. Its logic was impeccable, being backed up by countless mathematical proofs. The

government had tried to keep it secret, but a handful of men had found out. The exact people, of course, that

weren't supposed to know.

According to calculation, a thousand years from now there was to be a terrible war, incited by theists, an

attempt to kill every living thing in a succesful attempt to secure Armagedon. The only way to stop it, their

computers said, was to exterminate all believers residing in the Merkar Republic now. The claims of the devices were

backed up by mountains of irrefutable mathematical proof. Even the members of the religious Krashnyy clan who heard

of the secret believed that the arguments put forth in favor of the theory were impossible to argue with. But they

knew something of their own. They were all peaceful men. They did not want an Armagedon War a milennium in the

future. But to kill all believers now would simply be immoral. They had done no wrong. Whatever was to happen in the

future was the will of God, and, however terrible the consequences, all of those who believed in Him would rather

fight than die. The preparations for the extermination were already underway. The time for deliberation among the

Krashnyy theologians had passed. Right now, aboard this very passenger liner, action was to be taken.

Ayet looked over his left shoulder. Seated across the aisle was Robin Hill, appointed leader of the

extermination operation- the operation that noone outside a small government group had heard of. If Krashnyy

intelligence was correct, he and several of his subordinates were aboard this vessel, flying in to a meeting aboard

the spaceport NeoTerra. They would, of course, not arrive.

As the chronometer placed at the front of the passenger compartment beeped, its display read 1200. A small

wisp of smoke floated past Ayet's field of view, emitting a faint stench of ozone as the firebombs did their work. A

few passengers looked perplexed. This turned to fear as a narrow orange flame licked its way out of a ventilation

shaft. Ayet and his men closed their eyes as terror broke out around them. It was the fulfilment of their duty. And,

perhaps, the beginning a way to finally answer the great question.

* * * * *

Krendakov continued to manuever between the towers of Republic City. He would be very early for the meeting,

most likely, but the Admiral thought that it was an important part of appearnces. Not that the matter to be

discussed was very urgent, though.

He had seen it with his own eyes, as strange as it seemed. Something had happened to a passenger freighter.

Not just any such vessel, out of the hundreds that made trips back and forth daily, but the one carrying a number of

very important people involved in "the project". Krendakov felt like laughing out of the ridiculous suspicion

surrounding the incident, but he was too tired. The Government, a word practically synonymous with the national

computer mainframe, apparently believed that it was an important event, although it was obviously a simple

coincidence. Freighter accidents were extremely rare, but it is doubtful that the secret had got out somehow.

Few people today bothered to own a public vehicle in a time of overbearing public transportation. Still,

certain government and military officials needed one for transit to isolated locations. Admiral Krendakov could have

easily arrived here by Maglev, but it was best to keep his movements secret during a time like this. He arrived

almost an hour early for the conference, but the other attendees, too, had decided to arrive early. No point in

waiting; everyone was here, and the handful of men and women who bore the weight of leadership for the country

decided to start early. The room was small and spartan, but none of those gathered bothered with asthetics. Once

everyone had filed in, General Gartu, head of the Army, opened the proceedings.

"Comrades, this morning I was awoken with the news that you have all heard since now. Without Robin Hill,

the project is leaderless. Our first order of business is to appoint a new head for the Project. There's no need to

worry, however. Comrade Hill's family has been informed of his death by the Government Employment Directorate." An

agency that, of course, did not have a single human worker. "Noone knows anything of his true job. He's still just

an important official on the Board of Health."

"Next, we have been informed by the mainframe that this does not bode well for the future. This incident, to

be specific. There's an important decision to be made here..." The general paused for effect. "Do we ready for war?

Or was it merely an accident or orchestrated by a small, insignificant group?" Ideas formed in the heads of those

assembled, as Gartu took his seat.

Less than a second after the speaker had slowly eased himself down to his improvised folding chair, Kalinye

Jitu, the burly woman in charge of the Space Marines, commented. "I think we should deal with the second issue

first. Obviously, it wasn't a simple coincidence." Those assembled in the room turned their heads toward her, the

expressions on their faces mixed.

"It certainly could be an accident. How, tell me, could they found out about this? The only ones who know

about this are the people sitting in this room right now- all loyal military men!" Krendakov banged his fist

on the table near the end of his sentence. He was not known for being sportsmanlike or mature in debates. His

comment earned him an awkward stare from Kalinye. "And women," he corrected himself, somewhat more quietly.

"But its clear," stated George Williams, head of the neglected Military Support Services, "that it's too

much of a coincidence to just be random." Krendakov, for once, cleared his head and took a deep breath. Yes,

maybe there was some credence to their claim. It was certainly an exceptional event. Something other than

fate must have been the cause.

Someone seated at a far corner of the table, who few recognized, saw the debate from an angle that noone

else had yet touched on. "I am aware that the Government computer cannot predict every event. However, if it claims

it to be this significant but failed to forsee it, it is proof against its lack of infailability, isn't it?"

The effect of the comment was electric. All of those present finally realized the significance of what had

happened. Noone else had even noticed it. Never before had the Mainframe been proven wrong. Ever since its

inception, it was a source of indisputable logic. Yet, its first contradiction had emerged. How could it have failed

them? Was there limits to what perfection could achieve? Or, worse yet, was the device imperfect?

"Nonsense!" Krendakov's veins bulged. "This is only a minor failure. The Government is made perfect. We must

believe what it says out of..."

"Why, Admiral? It's obviously failed us."

"Out of faith!"

Some gasped, others stared, a few turned white. What had they all become? Atheists that had become so caught

up in their constructions that they had created a God of their own?

INFIDELS, OF COURSE, WOULD not be included.

They would suffer the same fate as those that lay in front of Babryshkin, only without final reward. Not a

wonderful fate for them, it seemed, from the perspective of those still in this world. Massacred believers ascended

to a higher place. Yet, particularly in light of what they had just done, Babryshkin could not see how any of

the atheists could achieve such a state of being.

It didn't make any sense. The infidel soldiers entered the on foot, their pale skin appearing darker in the

receding daylight. Without reason, they let loose, first on those that lined the street to observe. Dead themselves

they seemed to be, killing every member of Babryshkin's fragile community, their steely implants displaying a dull

shine.

Why?

There was no sign of hostility. The government was a symbol of peace and tolerance, albeit decadence. Yet it

had sent its inhuman dealers of death to kill even those who did not fight back.

Jurmenti Village was not the most unlikely place for this to happen. An isolated Krashnyy commune, cut off

from the rest of an immoral planet. No trouble had emerged in the past. The Jurmenti lived peacefully and simply in

a world that had absorbed itself in desire and valued nothing. Once, but only once, had Babryshkin seen their world.

Tall, ghostly gray towers mottled the horizon, while on the street and in their homes immoral men and women

performing every variety of illicit activity. Yet now they had come to the village, this isolated stronghold of what

was right. Perhaps they realized that they had failed to fulfill themselves, and acted in anger against those who

had.

It was a perfect place to strike, certainly. Jurmenti had rejected modern communicatons and isolated itself

from a satanic culture. Noone to inform the rest of the world. Except those who survived, and now stood in front of

the mass of dead bodies.

But, the murderers of men, women and children had left a trace. Across a pool of blood in front of where

Babryshkin lay an abandoned weapon. Babryshkin sighed. He would not take up arms and deal vengeance, as violence

would not be the Lord's answer. Turning his head, the man made his way back.

But he had to stop. In front of him was assembled the entire village, all staring at this lone, ordinary

man. All types of people, of every variety and stock. But something united them. They were other survivors, and the

look on their eyes spoke to him without words. Shedding a tear, Babyrshkin turned and strolled to the other end of

the pool of blood, laying his hands on the weapon. For vengeance.

THE LINE IS SHORT today, thought Krendakov, as he stepped out of his car. The pleasant smell of the

city did not mix with the unasthetic gray alley he had parked in. On one side lay him and his vehicle, near the

Maglev terminus. About ten yards in front of him lay the entrance to the processing center, and to either side a

view of distant buildings, no more attractive than the one he was about to enter. It was pragmatism, not ugliness.

The Merkari capitol, Republic City, was very pragmatic in this regard.

You could not look up without almost being blinded by the dazzling lights. Without them, the wide, tall

walls of grey on either side of the alley, that seemed to stretch on to the sky forever like neverending skycrapers,

would cast a dark shadow over where Krendakov stood. A fascinating panoroma- a thousand foot tall gray wall to back

and front, with other monotone gray structures visible in the distance. But you got used to it fast.

Closing the door, he left his speeder and headed to the small door leading to the processing center. As he

had said before, the line was short- he had come early today. People waited at the sliding door for it to open, and

then stepped inside to be whisked along a conveyor belt to their commune with the Mainframe. This was perhaps the

most important part of any Merkari's day, the point where they recieved directives on their work. And, perhaps, some

friendly tidbits of advice. It couldn't really be called "friendly," of course- it was an emotionless machine

thinking out your life for you. Still, it was helpful.

Krendakov did not have to wait long. When it was his turn, the door opened. In he stepped. A few yards in

front of him stood a fellow Merkari, standing patiently as the conveyor belt ground to a halt. The edges of the belt

fit snugly to the sides of the shiny metal wall, the walls supporting the ceiling. Light was provided by a series of

lightbulbs placed at regular intervals along the conveyor tunnel. Once Krendakov placed both his feet firmly inside,

the door closed and the movement of the belt began.

It would take only a few seconds until he passed through the nuerological emitters, but there was time to

think. The first thing that came to mind was his grandfather, General Hac. There were strange parellels between his

time and Krendakov's. Employment was on the rise, the nation prospered, and a feeling of confidence was in the air.

But there was another crucial factor that noone had realized, then or now: naivety.

* * * * *

Sixty Years Ago, Earth, Athiesism (future spacefaring Merkar Republic)

"LIEUTENANT Hac!" The young man was not being patient. "Sir! D Platoon is ready to move out to the exercise area!"

Seargeant Connor was one of the better soldiers. He should have known better than to break radio silence.

"Goddammit, asshole, you don't need to use the radio every fucking minute!" Hac wanted to give his

subordinate a good tongue-lashing, but he was too tired. This was only a training exercise, but Hac believed in the

value of keeping everything as real as possible. Even if noone cared, it was his responsibility to his adopted

country, not to mention his job.

Lieutenant A. I. Hac was a member of the Royal SkyCapt Commandos. In wartime, his job would be to go behind

enemy lines and recruit the local population into an insurgency. He had done it before. Yes, his superiors were

proud of him. And they "rewarded" him with this. The job of teaching an army that couldn't march in a straight line

even if it wanted to. What a shitty little army this was.

Connor was on the other end of the line. He was a wise little man- he knew when to speak his mind, and when

to keep quiet. This situation called for more of the second part. They had to move out in just a few minutes. Hac

already knew that the whole company was ready, and there was no need to remind him. He always did things right on

schedule. This country, Athiesism, had to learn to do that.

The accomodations were good- it seemed that in this army the soldiers were pampered, pedicured, massaged,

and totally unfit for combat. Even so, they were better than when he arrived. The Lieutenant had been one of the

first military advisers on the ground, perhaps four or five years ago. It was hard to tell how long it had been, but

now he was back. And it seemed like the SkyCapt advisers were whipping the army into shape perfectly well.

The luxury of Hac's base seemed to reflect the national mood. Prosperity bred laziness, it seemed. The

Captain had been into the nearby town a few times, and there was on doubting the goodwill of Athiesism's people.

Prosperity was the mood of the country itself. They had actually gone so far to claim that no war would ever happen

on this soil, that "no blood would water it". It seemed they had reason for confidence. Just a year ago, they had

fought a sucessful air campaign against the neofacist regime of a nearby island. A small victory, but it was taken

as a sign of the times. In a positive way.

In front of him was the camp enterance, and beyond, the Jurmaya Hills. It was off to there today, a 15-mile

march over the roughest terrain on the island. He knew that the lazy bastards he was supposed to help train would

love it. The entrance to the camp was guarded by an infantry section that he had specifically put there for the

purpose. Everyone complained- this was one of the most peaceful places on earth. Why did it have to be guarded? Just

let the men sleep! A terrible excuse. An army was for fighting.

The clock hit twelve. Time to go.

It was a good thing that the exercise started so late. The troops got their beauty sleep. Hac stepped

outside. He could smell the flowers. Not only that, but the stench of the latrines added an extra aroma. There was

all four platoons, standing straight and stiff-backed. Not bad. Or at least not as bad as usual. Just because they

were conscripts didn't mean they were supposed to be treated like them.

He looked over the platoon leaders. There was Connor, trying to look brave while dodging eye contact.

Cherhaven, confused as usual. Arba, looking well rested and at the same time restless. All four platoons were ready.

It took only a simple single to get them moving, but it could wait. It was time for a little pep talk.

"Good morn---"

A noise, more terrible than anyone had ever heard before, erupted where noone thought it would.

The gate entrance had gone up into a huge fireball. Hac froze once he saw it. He thought after all he'd been

through, being a veteran of the Millenial Wars, it wouldn't scare him. But noone noticed their commander's fear-

they were too stunned at the moment to remember.

Suddenly, it had hit everyone that the Old Man had been right. They really would fight someday. Hac,

recomposing himself almost instantly, turned to them. A smile always helped in times like these. "Incoming!", Hac

shouted. It was the drill for artillery, and this seemed to be something else. But saying nothing would make the

problem worse. Giving the men something to do made them think the problem was under control.

As the entire company scattered to find cover, Hac summoned the platoon commanders, still standing in the

same place, as immovable as a rock. Connor and Arba ran to him instantly. They did not salute, as was standard

procedure in wartime- it let the enemy snipers know who the officers were. Cherhaven, though, did. There was no time

to correct him. They were all showing incredible courage under fire, anyway.

A plan formed in Hac's mind in a flash. "Connor, hole up in the east barracks and Arba'll take the west!

Cherhaven!" The stunned seargeant snapped his head toward his CO, his eyes opened wide, lips visibly trembling. "Fan

out and search the hills! Make sure you take a manpack radio with you!" If they found anything, Hac wanted to be

absolutely sure that HQ heard of it. The long-range radio was necessary.

"Yessir!" all three replied, almost at the same time. He had trained his subordinates well- they carried out

their duties efficiently and without question. But during the heat of the chaos, Hac had lost track of what he was

doing. Was it really an attack? Was it a bomb? Or was it some kind of accident? He turned his head toward the

flames, which were now slowly receding. A mass of seared human flesh lie on the ground, and nearby the remains of a

strange backpack, torn apart by its explosive cargo. It hit the commander instantly. It was one of the militants.

The Army of God had struck. Before, it was just a rumor. But now, it seemed, these fanatics really existed, and were

ready to take their fight to the very heart of the country, the "immoral, spiritually corrupt men who claim to lead

our country to freedom". At that very moment, he realized that perhaps what he had thought was right. Noone had

thought it would happen, but naivety was fatal.

Yes, that was what they said. What nutcases they were- if I ever see one, Ill make sure that they understand

the product of complacency, Hac thought. The few doubts he had would quickly be dispelled by what he was about to

see.

Over the hills, across the long valley, men appeared, waving guns and shouting the cry of Armageddon in the

name of their God.

* * * * *

Present Day

Krendakov sensed the implant activate in the back of his head. Sense was the only word to describe

it. Moments later, he felt that he lost control, but in a pleasant way. He felt a higher consciouness caress his

mind, feeding it with truth.

* * * * *

Blue curtains hung behind the podium. In the lower right corner of the screen was, as always, the Merkar

Cable News logo. A fine station, one of the few unbiased media sources in the galaxy. But there was going to be

difficulty broadcasting something soo controversial.
A door could be heard opening off to the side, but was outside the camera's field of view. Moments later, a

thirtyish man with a nuetral expression, carrying with him some papers, walked from the edge of the screen to the

center, halting behind the podium and turning to face those assembled.
Laying down the papers on the podium, he kept his eyes on the crowd of anxious reporters. Someone could be heard

speaking over a loudspeaker.

"Ladies and Gentlemen, Mr. William Strong."

Applause rang out as the Mainframe Minister, the person in charge of communicating the Mainframe's more important

directives, remained deadpan, continuing to eye the crowd as he stood behind the podium. It did not take long for

the applause to quiet and for silence to return to the room.
"Comrades, there has been much speculation about the reports coming out of Jurmenti. To say the least, they are

disturbing."
Many in the crowd were wide-eyed, but their host seemed emotionless. Grabbing a cup of water that someone apparently

had left on the podium, he took a sip before continuing.
"Yesterday, a force of what reported to be Merkari cyborg military personnel massacred the majority of the

inhabitants of Jurmenti Village, a Krashnyy commune. However, a number of the citizens were able to survive. They

have described the terror that I have mentioned."
"Yet, it was necessary. The Mainframe directed it so."
Emotion gripped everyone in the room. And, no doubt, all those viewing the conference in their homes. It was not a

feeling of shock, but more of awe. It was their duty to support the mainframe in all its declarations, as it was all

in the name of communal prosperity.
The speaker detailed the reasoning behind the action. All of the secrecy, plotting, and even the extermination of

the Krashnyy. Jurmenti, he claimed, was believed to be the site of their leadership. Killing them would return

secrecy to the plan. But some had survived, and now it was open knowledge.
"I apologize to all of you, fellow citizens of Merkar. We would wish for our respectable fellow Krashnyys to accept

their fate with understanding. We promise them a painless death, but if they resist, we will do what we must for the

continued survival of Merkar and the free world."

Throughout the room came a torrent of applause.


COMMANDER JAKE MCNEIL STEPPED out of the processing center. The first thing that hit him was that

something was off. Walking to the Maglev, he wondered what the Mainframe had been trying to tell him. He felt

nothing, a strange feeling of emptiness. It was bizzare, but the Mainframe had, seemingly, not had anything to say.

Stepping onto the Maglev, he walked over to his usual place and sat down. People continued to pile in, no

tickets needed when using Merkari public transportation. There was nothing important to think about, he thought, as

he waited for the train to start its trip. The business at Jurmenti had been taken care of, and he believed that the

Project would continue smoothly. But in the back of his mind, there was the biting thought of why he did not feel

anything after leaving the processing center.

The Maglev did not take long to fill up as those who had just completed their commune with the Mainframe

climbed onboard. A hiss could be heard as the rickety old doors slided shut. A digital voice could be heard

announcing the next stop, and off went the speeding train.

Onboard, McNeil noticed the television set come on in a corner. Looking up at it, it was the morning news.

Some short notices about daily events, the kind of things that always bored Jake. Before loosing interest, though,

he noticed the familiar face of William Strong, Mainframe minister.

Shit, he thought to himself as he listened to Strong's monotone explanation of the failure at

Jurmenti. He felt his heart beat faster, but kept control of himself. Now the whole damn world knows.

But there was something more to it. First had come the reports of the Mainframe's dubious failure to predict

the freighter incident. McNeil had ignored it as a sheer coincidence, as the Government would surely detect any such

plot. But now it had failed, and failed dearly.

The world failed seem to strike a note in Jake's mind. Yes, perhaps it was an answer to his question.

Why else would the Mainframe suddenly silence itself? This had never happened before. Yes, this was an exceptional

time, but there was no explanation for the Mainframe's lack of reply.

Suddenly, he remembered back to just a few minutes ago. What had he felt after his commune? Emptiness

. A way for the machine to admit failure. Infalibility was no longer an excuse. The Mainframe had even admitted

so, and because it knew that, it would speak no more.

* * * * *

Headquarters, Republic City Military District

Commander-General Jake McNeil walked towards his office in full uniform. A few low-ranking military men

passed him in the hallway, but did not salute. Merkaris simply do not do that. As he rounded the corner, he noticed

Krendakov standing in another hallway, looking the other direction and apparently lost.

"Comrade!"

Krendakov snapped his head around, a nervous expression on his face. "Jake! It's important!" The Admiral

began walking away quickly. After a second, McNeil realized that his friend probably meant for him to follow, and

did so.

The Admiral led them to his office, where Colonel Abdullah was already waiting.
In his early forties, Colonel Abdullah was one of the few Merkari theists, at least in name. A non-praticing

Muslim, his family had immigrated from the Middle East decades ago. Now he led the elite Blue Force commandoes.

Krendakov quickly took a seat, and ran his hand through his air, acting as if he was under great pressure.

When he noticed that the other two in the room were staring at him, he looked up, gestured for them to take a seat,

and then went back to stroking his hair.

"It's the Mainframe, isn't it?"

"Yes, Jake. Abdullah is the only person around here that's worth shit around here. Besides you, of course...

and me." The classic arrogance of "The Admiral". "It's stopped responding and powered itself down."

Jake thought of suggesting that the Mainframe was admitting its own failure, but stopped himself. It was

hard to speak about it, for some reason. He felt as if admitting that it had failed was taboo. Merkaris were open

about all things, but for some reason he felt pressured not to speak. Why?

"Let's hope it dosen't get worse. I'm sure that it'll get back online soon." The air was thick with tension

as Abdullah spoke, as if they were treating a hospital patient whose life was on the line.

"No... No, the Mainframe... it..." Krendakov leaned his head forward and clasped his face in his hands,

rubbing his forhead. "It..." His voice was sounded muffled. Pulling his head back and withdrawing his hands, he

sighed heavily. "It has died."

"WHAT?!" Abdullah leapt out of his chair, leaning foward over Krendakov's desk. "WHAT THE FUCK IS WRONG

WITH-" Realizing that he had gone too far, he sat himself back down slowly, his face turning red but bearing an

embarrased expression as he looked at Jake.

"He's right." Jake's nervous voice had become raspy and his words were almost inaudible. Clearing his

throat, he noticed Krendakov focusing his eyes into him with an intense stare. More clearly this time, he built up

the courage to continue. "The mainframe has failed. We have to tell the nation."

Abdullah did not know what to do. Clasping his sweating palms together he looked down and mumbled something.

A prayer?

Krendakov had recomposed himself. "I'm moving to the government offices. I'll find someone there to talk

with."

"Do you want us to stay here?" asked Jake.

"Yes, you and Abdullah have to remain. I'll go warn the nation." Krendakov's ego was perhaps the first thing

you learned when you met him in person, beyond the image he made for himself on television screens and press

releases. "Go ahead, Vasily. We'll stay." By the time Jake had finished his sentence the Admiral was already halfway

out the door, but he stopped for a moment to speak. "Don't... well, whatever, just stay here."

Krendakov was just about to turn his head away from the room when his eyes grew fixated on something in the

distance. Abdullah and McNeil both turned to see what it was. The view from the tenth-story window the three men

looked out on a long street, and onto a violent orgy of fire, destruction and riot.

"Jake, come with me!"

Republic City

There was no time to wait for them to get out of the way. McNeil's hovertank cut through the unruly crowds,

sometimes literally. Jake preferred not to watch as he sat in the commander's cramped workspace and let the driver

handle it. Most of the troops were on leave, meaning that it was not hard to commandeer a vehicle from the motor

pool.
Abdullah was supposed to stay put, but Jake was certain that the ambitious commander had moved out anyway. No

matter; he would have trouble moving through the riot in his car. Krendakov and McNeil had both been able to

requistion a tank from the city garrison, and were headed on separate routes toward the government offices.
The driver was moving agressively, but a little too fast to maintain control of the vehicle. Jake didn't notice

until a violent noise aroused him from his thoughts and slammed the vehicle to a halt. His tanker's helmet smacked

into the padded cushion in front of his head, put there for just such a congtingency.
"Sir, we hit a wall!" It was the driver.
"Can you pull us free?"
A whirring noise came from the engines, but the tank did not move at all.
"Reverse engines damaged, sir. We'll have to dismount."
McNeil had too much on his mind to reply. Grabbing his assault rifle, he patted the gunner on his shoulder and

climbed out of the hatch. The driver didn't need an order to know what to do, and left the tank also. "Permission to

speak freely, sir." Jake looked at the driver's nametag. "Denied, Kohls. We're not that far, don't worry. Just two

blocks over." At least that's what I think, he thought. The streets of the Merkari capitol were notoriously

confusing.
Weapons held tight, the three soldiers walked around the building they had collided with through a narrow alleyway.

Looking down the streets both ways, McNeil noticed they were empty and sprinted across.
It is difficult to hit a man who got up and dashed ten feet, but a lucky bullet caught Jake's leg. He fell over,

feeling what seemed like a rising tower of flame come from just below his knee. Cringing, he fingered the wound but

withdrew his hand when he felt it sting.
Opening his eyes wide, he looked behind him. The two men he was travelling with stood with their arms raised, rifles

at their feet. A band of common-looking Merkaris ran out of a building and to Jake, whose wound caught their

attention.
There were four of them, one guarding the prisoners and the rest standing around the captured general, who laid down

his weapon for fear of provoking them. Jake could tell that they were speaking a native dialect, but he had never

bothered to learn any of them. His was the first generation that had grown up knowing nothing but English, and none

of the indigenous tongues. The only word that could be made out was "infidel". The Krashnyys.
"Why you come here?"
Still writhing in pain, it took a few seconds for the general to talk. "I... the mainframe..."
"YOU FALSE GOD! YOU COME TO KILL WE!" For once, McNeil beleived what a Krashnyy had told him. A false god indeed.
"No! NO!... The Mainframe's dead. It's wrong. It died today." Even among those who did not support it, such words

had a powerful effect.
"I need to tell them. I tell... ugh... I gotta tell everyone." The three men gathered around him eyed him with

hostile suspicion for a few awkward seconds. It was only during this silence that he noticed the sound of fighting

in the distance. The man who had been talking in broken english then gestured for his men to carry their prisoner.

Inside the tank, Jake had already bandaged up his wound and managed to get the radio operational. "Vasily, Vasily,

this is Jake. Come in." There was no time to work out any sort of codename system. He hoped that atleast the

national satellite system was still operational, or else his radio would be useless in this kind of city. "This is

Krendakov, we're doing great."
"Have you got to the offices yet?" The gunner accidentally banged the commander's knee as he manuevered through the

crowded tank, causing Jake to cringe in pain. "Sorry sir."
"Uh... Hold on, we'll be there any second. How is it at the offices?"
"We haven't got there yet, Vasily, " McNeil replied in an angry voice.
"Well, sorry for asking ." Jake knew that he shouldn't have used that tone, no matter how tired he was. The

admiral couldn't withstand even the slightest insult.
Sighing, he decided to try to power up the tank again. "We're stuck just a few blocks away. We ran into an obstacle

and we're immobilized." He wasn't going to wait for some snide remark about how foolish he was for driving into a

wall, and after the shortest of pauses
he continued, "Jake out."
"Driver, can you get the engine back up?"
"I think so, sir."
Mcneil turned his head to the Krashnyy who had shot and then rescued him. The man was sitting on top of the

hovertank, right outside the hatch. "Is there anyway I can contact your leader?" He was willing to negotiate with

the theists if it meant saving their lives from a rampage by those who believed in a now-dead computer. Regardless

of their bigotry and hatred, they were peaceful people that were willing to keep their lives separate from the

atheistic majority. "Where you live?" Jake thought about the question for a moment. He commanded the Second Armored

Division, headquartered about 500 miles to the west. A long distance, but his hovertank was fast enough to get him

there after he got to the government offices. If he could get it to work. Writing down the base's access code and

the security clearance to enter the communications net, he gave it to his aquaintance, wondering if it was some kind

of joke. Even if this guy was a Krashnyy, how would he know how to make contact with Arbtan, the Krashnyy leader?

Still, it was worth a try.
"You better move, we're pulling out of here." The man didn't seem to understand, but lept off once the tank started

hovering, rubble sliding off its front armor plate. Jake was elated- they were on the move again.

One block from government offices

The driver was being more careful this time. Suprisingly, the riots had not spread to this part of town. Maybe they

were just on their way.
Despite the risks, Jake was traveling with his head outside the hatch, keeping an eye out for any trouble. He had

tried powering up the commander's tactical display, but couldn't find out how it worked. Imagine, a commander of a

tank division that couldn't drive a tank.
The sky was covered with light smoke, the midday sun barely breaking through. But most of what he saw was still

gray- rubble, burnt vehicles, dead lumps of skin.
As the vehicle rounded a corner, the driver came to a halt. Ahead was what looked like an entire company of

hovertanks, moving slowly along a two-lane highway. When they saw Jake's vehicle, they halted. From one of the two

lead vehicles, a dark-skinned man poked his head out of a hatch. It was only a dozen yards away, and once his eyes

focused McNeil could see clearly that it was Colonel Abdullah.

"Colonel! Did you inform the offices?" Yelling was useless above the abomidable noise of the engines. But Abdullah

communicated without words, and his penetrating, hostile stare said everything.
Jake spoke into the vehicle intercom on his headset. "Driver... I don't like this. Get us out of here."
"Missile lock on us, sir!"
McNeil threw himself back into the turret, feeling as if his leg split in half when he slammed it on some piece of

equipment. He hissed in pain, unable to speak for a crucial moment. But a repeat order was not necessary, as the

driver pulled around a corner with terrifying speed. Everyone onboard as jolted to a side as the impact of a missile

could be heard just behind them. Jake felt his heart beat, and knew that these kind of adventures were not meant for

someone his age. The one thing he remembered about this tank was how to activate the cloaking device. As the

hovertank sped away down a long street, the Commander-General noticed that the computer had powered up by now after

his previous unsucessful attempts to understand how to work it. Accesing the cloaking device through what little

digital literacy he possesed, McNeil knew he was safe. "Driver, head for Second Armored Division headquarters."

"Sir!"

* * * * *

Colonel Abdullah had given up the search for the traitors. It was strange to think that two loyal soldiers,

Vasily Krendakov and Jake McNeil, would do something so foolish as to betray the mainframe. But it had happened,

apparently, and both had escaped the tight cordon Abdullah had thrown in and around Republic City. Fighting could

still be heard in the distance, but resistance had largely succumbed. He was sure that the rioters would return

during the night, but the entire Merkari Army was at his disposal. His priority now was to keep order in the

streets, and the international community appeased. Walking through the street, he slowly made his way past the

Mainframe. A beautiful piece of machinery, perhaps the most wonderful creation ever to exist. Yet now it lay

inactive, without life. But perhaps saying that would be innacurate. The Mainframe ceased to exist for a reason.

Abdullah knew with all his heart that it would return someday, sooner or later. He would do everything in his power

to ensure that. Whatever the case, the work that had gone into such a masterpiece was impossible to duplicate.

Still, there was but one thing he could be sure of. Faith. Faith would resurrect the Mainframe someday, someday

tomorrow or years from now, the guiding light of a new Atheism.

While he was thinking this, he could not help but notice that the sounds of fighting continued to grow

closer. To run away now would be cowardly, but he felt a strange sense of foreboding.

The sound of battle, this time very, very loud. Looking over his shoulder, Abdullah spotted one of his

infantrymen fire off a magazine before diving behind a dumpster for cover. Rounds pinged off the hard steel,

richocheting onto nearby walls. The Colonel, whose commando training had yet to wear off, took his assault rifle

from its backpack holder and ran toward where the shooting was taking place, just a block over. Noticing several of

his infantrymen lounging about at their checkpoint, he yelled and waved his hand. They moved to assist the man

cowering behind his bullet-riddled dumpster. Just before Abdullah rounded a corner, he let off a burst of weapons

fire. Only then did he realize that he had done it instinctually when a man ran right at him from the other side of

the corner. Falling backwards from the impact of several plasma shards, his flesh smoked and turned a pure black.

Abdullah, his mind racing, was acting without thinking. He walked forward slowly, only a few paces, to get a close

look at the first man he had killed. Leaning on one knee, he gazed into his eyes. Only then did he realize that it

was one of the rioters and not one of his own men. Just as he was about to fire a final shot into the enemy's face,

he noticed the man's lips move, just barely, as if struggling to speak. Gasping in pain, no words left his charred

mouth. But, on his second attempt, the rasp of his voice awoke Abdullah to the reality of what had begun.



"The End Is Near!"

I would be interested in attending this, which side I'm on is of no consequence.

Go ahead, its an open RP.

thanks for the update ath'