NationStates Jolt Archive

This thread is to describe life in your nation, through a citizen's viewpoint:

Gerhardt biked through the Czechotovan streets. Cars had been illegal for awhile now, but bicycles were better. accidents were less common and severe and the air was becoming cleaner. Atleast that was what the Emperor said. He didnt know why he always beleived the Emperor. Ah, well, he might as well since the Emperor did know best.

All for now, in themeantime i encourage other nations to post a description of life in their nation

:mp5:
Cherryl strolls down the street, sudenly a walerus appears from nowhere an eats her.

Frederick dandrich awakes at 6am on the dot in his temperature controlled bed, and walks through the doorway that knew the precise moment he would pass through, and open accordingly. As he makes his way down the hall, with bright colorful art work that seems to change as his own mood does, he starts to feel better as he stumples upon the bathroom, where the the bath water is already running, as sensors in the walls in the hall scanned his head in a similier fashion to the way an X-Ray does, it knew what his intended destination was, and what he was planning to do there. The water automatically changes temperature according to his preference of the day, and he gets in.

Once that is over, he gets into a champer next to the shower, that dries his entire body off without a heat source, and exits the bathroom back to his bedroom where he goes to his already opened dresser that has kept his clothes at his prefered temperature. He proceeds to put them on, and exits his bedroom to the kitchen, where he finds his coffee freshly made just seconds before he entered, and sits down to a table with a few buttons conveniently placed to the side, he presses 1, and an image of the York Island Times, a local news paper, appears in front of his eyes. As he reads the digital news paper, a very low bell is heard behind him. He turns around to find his breakfast of chocolate chop pancakes, sauasage, eggs, and toast is ready, and proceeds to reach on the counter and take the plate.

After his breakfast, he grabs his car keys from the safety deposit box next to the front door, and presses one key to unlock the front door, and another to start the vehicle, which already started heating the interior due to the extreme cold weather of December.

As he walks down the bath to his driveway, the lights shining every five inches to light his way turns off, and he proceeds to the vehicle, that says in a very human-like voice "Good Morning Mr. Dandrich, your temperature is set at 70 degrees F," at which point the door opens itself and he gets in.

The door shuts, and he isn't able to put the vehicle into park until he puts on his seatbelt. He does so, and the vehicle puts itself in park, and automatically applies the brake pedal so it doesn't roll down the driveway, a signal in the navigation screen tells him that he isn't holding on to the steering wheel and advises him to do so. Once he takes control of the wheel the brake is released and Mr. Dandrich took control.

Although Mr. Dandrich could let the car drive itself to work, he always preferred the manual way, as it is what he is used to doing back on Earth.

As he drives along, the vehicle tells him during his drive how much gas he is currently burning per mile, how much gas prices are currently for his selected fuel station, how much longer he has until he reaches his destination, and the distance before he arrives.

Mr. Dandrich isn't used to such luxury.... as he was considered a low-class human being on Earth..... in Maraque, although he is still on the bottom of the income bracket, he is living a luxurious life only few can achieve in his native planet, and it feels great.

As his 2007 BMW 760Li arrives at his office, he turns it into automatic mode and it conveniently finds a parking space, and a digital image of a handicapped parking permit appears in the windshield. The car tells him to have a nice day, and he exits.

As he walks the sidewalk to his office, he notices a homeless man begging for money, Keith feels sorry that many people still have to suffer here, as many more do on Earth, and gives the man 700MD, which equals to 1,000USD.

As he continues his stroll to his office, he takes a deep breath of fresh air, and feels relaxed. The sky is the brightest blue hes ever seen, the 7 suns that shine through the sky are covered by only moderate clouds, as most of the weather is controlled by a secret agency of the government, it is a perfect 75 degrees F.

Ok, so that's basically it. I don't feel like finishing it right now lol.

So in my country, you can drive a $120,000 car at the bottom of the income bracket, and everything is turned so you can be a lazy git LOL.

Doria Trowin wakes up in her murky, rotten, downtrodden apartment. Groggily, she rubs her back, she had never had a good nights sleep in weeks. She switched on the nearby TV, it began to bleet out news on foreign affairs apparently biased towards the goverment. Doria herself are wearing shabby clothes. Her husband was conscripted into the Military and she never saw him again. She brought out a cereal box and a bowl. Now eating, she walked over and got dressed in her factory uniform. She made sure to turn off the TV before leaving.

Now she headed for her work place, she had to walk through the high-rise apartment slums to reach the factory she worked in. Posted every city block was a Consortium Agent, Police were also very common... it was one of the highest paying jobs a regular person in Red Tide could get.

She entered her factory, just in time to see the leg of a fellow worker being carted out by a janitor. Inquiring later, she would learn that the worker had broke through a safety rail on a walkway and fallen onto the conveyor which led to the furnace. Another worker had grabbed onto the womens leg too late. The workers family would be billed the cost of replacing the safety rail.

After going through the grueling process of shapening pieces of Tank Armor out of titanium. Doria left her shift at 9:00PM. She recieved her paycheck for the day, a couple of dozen rubles.

Laying down on her bed after supper, she looked up at the picture taped(regular of course, ducktape was to expensive) to the ceiling of her and her mother and father. Both were dead, one joined the Communist Rebbellion and was caught and executed, the other one also suffered an industrial accident. She cried herself to sleep that night... like she did every night.

:mp5:
Cherryl strolls down the street, sudenly a walerus appears from nowhere an eats her.
You keep posting(by the way, you posted a double thread, might want to take care of that) about waleruses. What the hell is a walerus? A walrus/wale hybrid?:confused:

I assume FT nations also work in this thread.

life in the Trivazi Union

Koslatha smiled as the first rays of the Red Sun entered the window of his apartment center. He stretched his legs, kicking off the bedsheet as he rolled out of the bed. The bed dropped into the floor and, after the bedsheet had settled, a trapdoor sealed the bed in, leaving what little space the apartment center had.

Koslatha first stepped up to the cleansing chamber, and was sprayed in a quick spurt with a sterilizing mist. The humans sometimes prefered convential water showers, but Koslatha found the mists to be more enjoyable, and knew they were more practical.

Stepping out, Koslatha pushed two buttons by his door. Each caused a different panel to slide out and drop down, providing Koslatha with his breakfast, a multiracial counterpart to MREs, and a casual set of cloths. It was the weekend, so the lab didn't need his help.

After slipping on the simple jumpsuit, Koslatha grabbed his breakfast and opened the door, dashing out to meet up with his friends. By the time he reached the mag-tube on the main floor, his breakfast was done.

After getting on, Koslatha was fortunate enough to find an elevated vaian seat. It wasn't a measure of status, although the vaians were politically dominant. They were elevated more on account of the extra joints in the vaian legs than anything else.

The mag-tram shot off shortly after Korlatha was seated, throwing a first time tram rider to the floor. Korlatha was about to offer his hand to help the woman up when he saw that, although she had appeared vaian, she only had one pair of knees. Like most of the Trivazi populace, Korlatha didn't take kindly to hybrids.

After arriving at his destination, Korlatha got off, careful not to give the hybrid a second glance. Granted, they were sentient, too, but their disposition toward clinical insanity made them dangerous to gain the attention of. It was a pity, really, that the humans and vaians weren't of adequate genetic similiarity.

Not far outside, Korlatha was able to find his friends. Two of them, Itarsol and Thidau were vaian, while Jonath was human and 6E42 was an automata sentient, called Seft for short. After a short conversation, the group of five headed to the coliseum to watch the latest game of Nullsphere, a zero gravity counterpart to football.

When they were done at midday, the Red Sun was beginning to set as the Blue Sun rose in the sky. Seft left for a recharge while Jonath left to his wife. It still bothered Koslatha, the idea of being able to love only one other woman. Then again, humans did live over three times as long as vaians, so they had time to kill investing in a lasting relationship.

After that it was political conversation for the three vaians, primarily regarding the increasing influence of the Zioran League over the Vaian Nomadic Confederacy. Itarsol suggested that the Triadic Combine would intervene as usual, and the discussion petered out from there.

Then they proceeded to lunch, grabbing a nutripack like the one from breakfast along with some artiflav serum. Lunch was quick, as always, and they soon made their way to the private recreation district. They all parted ways, and it wasn't until nightfall that they met back up.

Thidau had to leave in order to catch dinner, and Itarsol decided to walk home with her. Koslatha nodded goodbye and ran to the nearest mag-tube station. After a little waiting, he was able to catch a mag-tram home. There weren't any hybrids this time. No doubt the automata servitors had detained her not long after he had left.

After arriving home, Thidau ate his dinner and tapped a screen at the end of the room. It turned on, letting him view the views of the various corporate factions regarding current events. After he was done, he let the recap of the Nullsphere game he had attended talk him to sleep.

Life in Rorotravia

Mark awoke at 5 am in the morning, feeling as usual his hair tingling at the cold of the sweat, and general uncomfortable shanty mud home he lived in. It was the hardest life, and he had known it since he was a young, young boy, however, he always felt that there could and would be something better with that new President Jackson in power. At 5:30 am he went into the living room, which was a round the size of a small storeroom, and sat down on the bear mud of the floor. He was given a very un nutritious meal of rice poridge, which had very little taste, and gave very little motivation to go and do the labourous work. At 5:45 am, he went outside, and walked to the paved road with tarmac, which the President had decreed, needed to exist. However, there was no foot path, just the road, and the very few cars which did run on them made them dangerous to walk on.

He made his way to the shop, where he sold everyday items right next to a road and people would come and buy. Yet, the weather was 45 degrees celsius on some days, and the humidity made you feel like you were walking through sweat. If you got heat stroke, there would be no mercey as the hospitals were quite few, they being in a low supply, with a great demand. At 8:30 PM mark made his way home, amongst the mud huts, feeling dirty and tired. It was like this day after day, after day.

Samantha mumbled sleepily, having been awoken by a very insistent alarm, eminating from the projector which served as clock, television, and phone, depending on the option set. Right now, the time was shown hovering in the air, an angry red color. She had already silenced it twice this morning, but now she felt the time was right to crawl out from beneath the sheets and get to work.

Tossing the covers aside, she moved off of her memory-foam mattress, and made her way across the hallway of her small, one-story house, already lit on a timer, and slipped into the shower after undressing. Selecting the default configuration for her shower, she let the waterjets clean her off, before she toweled herself off and headed back to her bedroom to get dressed. She chose a white-and-gold outfit, and made her way to the kitchen, where she grabbed a glass of skim milk, toast, and an energy supplement.

At her garage-house door, she grabbed her keys, and a pair of high-contrast sunglasses, before stepping into her garage, not quite as warm as the rest of the house. Before her sat her pickup truck, paid in part by the govenment, snow chains strapped to the large-tread tires and currently configured as a bright red by the nanopaint covering it. Opening the driver's-side door, she settled herself into the already-warm seat (Having automatically started twenty minutes before she got there, on a timer.), and hit the "Garage - Up" button on the roof.

Rolling out onto her driveway, she discovered, as usual, her driveway free of snow, having been removed by her driveway's heating system. The road ahead was the same, although that had been salted and paved. A quick glance at her NDS (Networked Driving System; detects nearby cars that would otherwise be invisible, such as someone coming over a hill.), and she was onto the pavement, on her way to work.

Five minutes later, she pulled into the parking garage that her employing corporation provided, rather than have its workers trudge their way in through the bitter cold of Gejigrad--especially in the depths of winter. A spoken word to an elevator, and she was soon at the twelfth floor of Apex Enterprises, where she did accounting for the mammoth mining company. She stepped out of the elevator, and maneuvered to her cubicle, where she remained for the better part of the day, save for brief pauses for lunch or bathroom breaks.

At the end of the day, she returned the same way she had come, stopping for dinner at a small restaurant a little out of her way. After arriving back home, she took her evening shower, and climbed back into bed, verbally ordering the lights off.

Jessica Chin awoke at 7 AM for work. She walked to her bathroom and brushed her teeth. She was glad that the goverment didn't let companies put flouride in the water, even though a few had tried to. Her teeth might not be perfect, but she didn't want chemicals in her system.
After brushing her teeth, she quickly dressed herself and walked towards the local Star Bar and got a cofee. As she took the reciept, she was disgusted by the tax. 85%! Ridicolous. Twas the price of living in the Empire of Quaon. She noticed the variety of races and religons in Star Bar, and was glad that the goverment was so concerned about racial equality. She paid the bill of 3 dollars, and walked home. She turned on her hydrogen car and drove to work.
At work, she encountered her boss, Mr. Geion. Geion wasn't actually human: he was one of the first immigrants from the Bendickian solar system to arrive in Quaon, and had made quite a name for himself. Sadly for him, the Quaonese goverment had begin to cut down on the out of control buisness practices of the country, thus Geion couldn't fire employies without a reason anymore.
Jessicca got to work, filing car insurance claims, turning on the radio. Apparently fifteen more terrorist Zolons had been arrested.
After Jesicca left work, she went home and went to bed after calling her mother and watching TV for a few hours.

A Day in the Life of John Doe

John Doe awoke in Rose City to a dirty, noisy, oh Hell Miami-esque morning. Car horns are sounding off, middle fingers in the air, bass blasting out of stereos, and people from Brooklyn shouting "I'm walkin' here, I'm walkin' here!", fun right?

He lived in one of the many millions of apartments in Rose City, it was a large city. But you never felt confined, I don't know why. Heck I don't know how to explain it, but in the words of George Michaels, you gotta have faith. If not you suck and this story can never work and I hope you burn with the rest of the midgets in Kiwi Land. Got that? I hope so. Now back to the story.

He started to walk down his incredibly long flight of stairs, because he was too danged impatient to wait for the elevator, too bad he could've won one million dollars. At the end of his long walk there was... the LOBBY! It was state of the art, it had air conditioning (with heat!) and it complied to the standards of living put forth by the Geneva Convention of 1962 in Switzerland. But why is it called the Geneva Convention? Because Geneva is in Switzerland idiot! PWNED. Anywho...

... he left the lobby to get into the parking lot (which I assure you is also obscenely large) into his 2001 BMW Z8 equipped with optional M2 and standard nitro. This is what happens when there are no traffic laws and gun laws are nonexistent, nitro and machineguns. He quickly transferred into the streets risking life and limb to get to work! Unfortunately, five dogs, two cats, half a goldfish, a woman's hand, a 10 year old's toy truck, and a Pinto did not make it to their destinations. Also, about fifteen thousand bullets were wasted to get to work. And a little old lady died, but she was supposed to die of a heart attack so that rushed the process.

So he got to work, his job? Accountant. There's really nothing to say here, even after all the wackiness of our grand Union, Accountancy is so dull that I can't liven it up.

So after eight hours, he went home, watched IBC 5 (our little BBC ripoff), and slept. That is the day of an average Rosian with a boring job and an author who is too lazy to end this story. I hope you enjoyed, because if you didn't expect a dead horse on your front door. Lots of love!

It's early morning. Just after sunrise. Christina Vaugn got up out of bed to fix breakfast for herself and her children. The 26 year old widow is quite content, and optomistic about this years harvest. The sun was shining, the weather had finally turned good again. "Caley, honey time to get up."

Her 10 year old daughter Micaley (Caley for short) gets out of bed and dresses in old workcloths and overalls. Her little brother Sam, does the same.
Both have their breakfast chatting to eachother. "You think it'll be a good harvest Mama?" Caley asked.

"I think so," Christina said. "It's so nice to be home again. And it's so nice to know you are still both with me. Come on let's get to work."

The family does another day of work. Tending the fields, feeding the animals, and doing any repares needed.

As day draws to a close, dark storm clouds gather over the country side. Lightning streaks down from the sky, and wind picks up. It's going to be a stormy night.

Caley bathes, she's the last one of her brother and mother. Thunder strattles her. She decides to finish up her bath, and gets out of the tub. (Theirs is porceline, but her freinds and neighbors is a round wooden tub)

Caley and Sam sit down with Christina in the family room. Christina opens a Bible and starts reading. "1st Corinthians." Thunder rumbles loudly and lighing flashes. The only light, a dim lantern as their is no electricity in Kurona. Some time Later Christina keeps reading the Bible, but Caley and Sam are asleep. She shuts the bible. Caley snaps awake. "I'm awake, Mama, keep readin."

"Off to bed with you. You know you we're alseep, silly."

She sets sam into bed, tucks him, and gives him a kiss. Caley stands out dozed and half awake. Christina tucks her into bed.

"Isn't it a sin to fall asleep while reading the bible?" Caley asked

"No honey. Sweet dreams."

"I thhought it was." She drifts back into sleep. Christina gives her a kiss, and goes off to her bed. She's alone, her husband had died during a sea voyege.

Bahram Masouleh tossed off the blanket as the alarm clock rang off the hook, looking at the time of 7:00, he pulled himself out of bed and could smell the sweet scent of tea coming from the kitchen. His wife was busy in there, making tea and eggs. His condo was a high rise in Persepolis, one of many that clustered outside the city commercial district. It was not too expenisve, but still was two floors and had 4 bedrooms and 5 bathrooms. It was a bit away from the city center, but housing there was outrageous, especially along the north side. He walked into the bathroom, brushing his teeth before stepping in the shower for a quick rinse. He finished after a few minutes, drying himself off as he put on his suit for another day at the office, spraying an excessive amount of cologne on while he brushed his hair. Parthians always loved their cologne, and Bahram was no exception. He walked out to the kitchen, embracing and planting a kiss on his wife to thank her as he ate his eggs and drank his tea. Once he was finished, his wife brought him his cigarettes, lighting one up for him as he inhaled the savory smoke.

His two sons were waking up now, coming downstairs for breakfast while Bahram left, waving goodbye as they prepared for school. Bahram, meanwhile, picked up his handgun and placed it in a holster under his suit. He smiled a bit as he thought of the Shah's wonderful law which allowed him and other citizens to carry concealed virtually anywhere. In the background, Bahram could hear his wife screaming at the Shooban slave that was still asleep in the closet. She needed it to start cleaning so she could get to work.

Bahram stepped out the door and took the elevator to the parking garage. He walked over to his SUV and started it up, driving it out towards the city, watching the road. He was pleased with his car, it went fast enough, and with gas in Parthia at 35 cents a gallon, it hardly was a pain to fill up the tank. He always thanked the Shah, for his good fortune, Parthia was stable, and the economy was excellent, he paid no income taxes and was getting a bonus very often at work for excellent productivity. He laughed at the idea of other countries who 'chose' their leaders, the Shah was unchosen by him and did an excellent job, far better than an elected demagouge.

The streets were fine as usual, residential districts were patrolled by black uniformed police with M-8 rifles, and they were usually a lot more pleasant than the armament indicated, though they did have a history of shooting violent criminals on the spot, in fact, just a few days ago, when a gang of roving Arabs ran around smashing shop windows, a pair of police massacred them. It felt good to live in such a safe country, and if they werent there, Bahram had his .45 to stop anyone who was a threat. He passed through the south of the commerical district, looking at the small red light district, which was less seedy than expected for people visiting, filled with upscale brothels, nightclubs, and bars, along with the Parthian versions of the Dutch coffehouses, it was really a playground for the well to do, though it was still a fun place to enjoy after work for the middle classes. Passing further into the commercial district, he pulled into the underground carpark under the Suren Pahlav corporate headquarters, taking the elevator up for another day at the office.

George felt the subway rock him back and forth. He looked at his watch and then at the graffitti that was marked all over the walls. He rather enjoyed it, it was good to see kids publicly displaying their creative side. As the train stopped at his station, he handed his card to the receptionist. She slid it and handed it back to him. He walked up the stairs to the surface. He opened up his umbrella to block out the bright desert sun. He took a deep breath. Green Sun didn't do much for the enviroment, but for what they did it certainly cleaned out the air.

Advertisements for the latest UziCorp products flashed all around him. UziCorp owned everything, the products, their jobs, even the government to an extent. It was often called the 'fifth wing' of teh Green Sun military. George was just a factory worker and he had virtually no money, but he still lived very well. The Green Sun government found a need to tax the people 100% of their income, so people bought their things using a credit card system made by UziCorp. Since UziCorp was the only business in Green Sun, it was the economy so they could reqard its employees with both a paycheck and their 'CorpPoint' systems so they could feed their families.

George hailed a cab and it pulled over. He moved in next to the person already in it and handed the driver his card. It was scanned and handed back to him. He stepped out of the car at his stop and watched the cab go with the other passenger in it. He wlaked into teh factory and shoved his card in his slot and a light showed white saying 'Early' as he hung up his coat and grabbed his uniform.

Steve Brown couldn't wait to get out of bed. Never mind the fact that he had only four hours of sleep and he had a major examination to write. It was his favourite subject by far, and he was as well prepared for as anyone could be.

He made himself a pot of Artitsan coffee as he read the Woodstock Daily Mail for the latest news on events in his world and turned to the Nicksia supplement. He wanted to find out whether the Golden Braid Bridge was reopened and the Daily Mail was following the story better than his local paper. He saw his answer on page 2A and frowned. Not yet. That meant he had to take the overpass, so he could only gulp down his coffee quickly before he had to get ready for class.

He grabbed a large portfolio folder and walked out to his hybrid car and carefully laid the contents into the trunk. He wasn't going to take any chances with the portfolio since it was half his grade for the class. He knew that the best students would be rewarded with the prize every student in his class wanted desperately: An internship in the Naval R&D Department at the Portland Iron Works.

Brown had a legacy to live up to. He was a descendant of Noah and Adam Brown, shipbuilders who designed and built the 26 gun U.S. Navy corvette USS Saratoga during the War of 1812. His ancestors' creation was built in just over a month and despite the fast construction, was able to defeat a larger Royal Navy warship, the 36 gun HMS Confiance during the Battle of Lake Champlain.

The drive was longer than he wanted, but he was able to find a back route to prime parking and quickly went in to write the exam. He knew it would take several weeks to hear back from his professors, but he was also mindful of the journey he took to get from unfocused high school student doodling ships from modern-day Trimaran behemoths to sailing frigates on his book covers to a graduate student who was widely recognised as one of the brightest stars in class. Still, he didn't want to take any chances that he'd blow his opportunity to follow in his ancestors' footsteps.

Five weeks later, he came home from the local bar slightly drunk and feeling loopy, but he heard his mobile ring. He got nervous, thinking it might be his professors telling him there was something wrong. However, he didn't recognise the voice on the other end of the phone.

"Uh, yes this is Steve Brown."

"Steve, this is Admiral Barbara Tucker, CEO of the Portland Iron Works. How soon can you come up to Portland?"

"Uh, maybe in a couple weeks, why?"

"Congratulations, you've won the internship."

Brown quickly proved that good news can snap someone out of a drunken stupor too.

The morning routine of VK-1900432

The pressure gauge's needle swung as far as it could to the right, the valves opened and a think, heavy white gas poured out and green tinged glass lid hinged open and two white clad legs swung out. VK-1900432 stood straight up next to his storage pod, white clothes hanging off his body with a slight dampness from the misty sleep pod. He had been in stasis for eighteen hours now, and it was his groups turn in the bio-fields on the other side of the complex-city. He, and he other five-hundred ninety-nine also in his pod-group all stepped out to the left, away from their pods, which were now racing down towards the bottom of the underground stack where they were kept. Once clear they all began marching forward at the same instant. It was hard-wired into their brain, they knew no other routine.

As they turned the final corner in the bleached-white metal hallway, coming to the end of the four-mile trek from the pod-room to the bio-fields, the line came to a stop. Every person, for there was no gender, reached out with their white-sleeved arm and grabbed their farm tools off the left wall, without so much as turning their heads. After a second the line began its relentless march forward again, turning through the massive double-doors into the fields of the 1st sphere. As soon as they arrived, the current work-group stood up straight and marched out, every line from the rows in the field merging perfectly at the door and depositing their dirty tools on the other side of the hall, where the machines would have them cleaned for the next group.

VK-1900432 began his work in the first row, where he would fertilize, turn-over, and plant the earth for the next hour. Then his group would move to the next sphere, where they would again work for an hour, and move on as such. They would think of nothing but the work at hand, and nothing of that, but for what was hard-wired into their brain. Never would they think for themselves, try to solve problems, or wonder why it was that they did this. They were the perfect workforce, as long as they proceeded undisturbed.
After six hours of the steady farm work, they would return to their storage pods, where they would again, in perfect unison, climb back in, and be carried back down deep into the earth where they would sleep for the next eighteen hours, and then begin their work over again, perhaps they would be building an addition to the city-complex, or repairing some broken machinery that could not be repaired by any other machines. They knew not, and would not wonder about such things. VK-1900432 was the perfect worker…

OOC: this was an example of a day in the life of a Farmer-caste worker; there is also the merchant class, the artisan class, the warrior class, and the noble class, before the Emperor himself. Maybe I will write on of their lives up someday.

There is also the rouge faction who lives outside the walled city-complexes, those who have escaped the tortuously boring life within, these where the mistakes, the bodies where the programming in their skull did not work for some reason. They, unlike anyone save for the Warrior and Noble class had free will. The rouges are not a threat, most of the time, as the advanced defenses of the complexes and the massive concrete wall around the nation keep them confined, but sometimes they scrounge up enough weapons for the fire-patrol teams of Warriors that were ambushed and killed in the rouges home terrain. I have wanted to do an RP with them for awhile now; maybe this would be the place to dump a little info on them. A day in their life would be VERY interesting, as they have no central leadership or rules. They are essentially a separate people. They cannot touch the rest of society however, because of the previously mentioned defenses and the raised and guarded monorail systems, which are the only connection between the 2,225 cities in the Dominion.

Yeagor Zakharov wakes up at 6AM on-the-dot at a high classed tennate building. A radio host is commending the goverment for the high class of living but critizeing them for not dealing with Capitalist rebels. He gets into his car, a little old fashioned for the purposes of mass production, and drives to work at a decent-paying job in Downtown Gloria, the capital. On his commute home he sees an interesting site

On wher Friedrich Engels Blvd., the main road in Gloria, meets with the Taran Road, a large crowd marches down the street waving signs demanding their buisness back, since the Petrol Infunstructure Act put Oil Industry under goverment control, many people lost millions of credits (1 Credit = $2 USD). Police were guarding them from going further and things became ugly when a protester began fire a bertta at the officers.

"WHAT THE HELL!" Yegor screamed aloud. Guns were only allowed in controlled hunting areas, civilan firing ranges, and the military and police forces, this was impossible. The police fired back with G36 rifles and killed the man with the gun, they tear gassed the rest of the crowed who was lead to a better protesting grounds in the park and ushered Yegor, as well as many other cars, through.

(More later, this was an average persons angle.)

Doria Trowin wakes up in her murky, rotten, downtrodden apartment. Groggily, she rubs her back, she had never had a good nights sleep in weeks. She switched on the nearby TV, it began to bleet out news on foreign affairs apparently biased towards the goverment. Doria herself are wearing shabby clothes. Her husband was conscripted into the Military and she never saw him again. She brought out a cereal box and a bowl. Now eating, she walked over and got dressed in her factory uniform. She made sure to turn off the TV before leaving.

Now she headed for her work place, she had to walk through the high-rise apartment slums to reach the factory she worked in. Posted every city block was a Consortium Agent, Police were also very common... it was one of the highest paying jobs a regular person in Red Tide could get.

She entered her factory, just in time to see the leg of a fellow worker being carted out by a janitor. Inquiring later, she would learn that the worker had broke through a safety rail on a walkway and fallen onto the conveyor which led to the furnace. Another worker had grabbed onto the womens leg too late. The workers family would be billed the cost of replacing the safety rail.

After going through the grueling process of shapening pieces of Tank Armor out of titanium. Doria left her shift at 9:00PM. She recieved her paycheck for the day, a couple of dozen rubles.

Laying down on her bed after supper, she looked up at the picture taped(regular of course, ducktape was to expensive) to the ceiling of her and her mother and father. Both were dead, one joined the Communist Rebbellion and was caught and executed, the other one also suffered an industrial accident. She cried herself to sleep that night... like she did every night.
not too harsh eh?:)

Translated to english
"Finally, another slave revolt. I was wondering when we'd get immersed in slaughter again" said Hrekop to Vort(His viewpoint) "And it seems to be the one the slaves have been saving up for. We'll get plenty of life to end and things to destroy."

Suddenly, the viewscreen of the ship's preparation lounge turned on, revealing Chrek, the Grethopul in charge of the mission.

"Alright Shlek Bersekers, this is one of _the_ biggest slave revolts in this sector since the death of Overseer Orgep. Naturally, this makes all of you very happy, since there not to well organized and there's a lot of them to quench your bloodlust with. Now, prepare for an orbital drop. We don't want to let them reach the shores of planetary defenses."

Later that Day

The slave city burned, the streets filled with the blood of the dead. Vort picked up a slave by the neck delighting in its screams. it? I shouldn't be thinking that. It takes away the joy he thought as he hacked the slave to pieces with a chainsaw like device. This more than makes up for the peace as he examines his black armor, none of it showing through the blood.

You keep posting(by the way, you posted a double thread, might want to take care of that) about waleruses. What the hell is a walerus? A walrus/wale hybrid?:confused:

what's a wale, is it anything like a whale maybe? :confused:

Artem Popov awoke at 9:48,Late for work.He hurried to get dressed in his work clothes.As he left,he grabbed a few Evas for the ride.He lived in a city on the outskirts of Jasongrad,Named for the Revolutionary leader,and headed on the monorail.as he aproached he saw several planes.Car were illegal when the revolt happened,so it was bike,Chocobo,Rail or plane.He got to 3rd station when he met his friend,Sergi Alexadrov.They both hurried to the factory.
Once at the factory,both startes to work on a cristaline substance,Use to make the prototype TLS,a tatical Laser for the state.after a few hours on the cutter,he went for break.break was usually at 12:30 all over Usea-Jason.The official name was Union of Usean Soviet states,yet everyone called it Usea-Jason.At 5:00,Work ended and Artem went to a local bar with some co-workers.the working class got a lot of respect.after a half-doson shots of Tritka,a favorite drink,he left for the rail.
As he went home,the rails television showed a press confrence showing that the beloved Leader was Alive!A joyous occation.When he got home,he celebrated with a drink,reciting the national anthem,as other people in his vilage did.Even though it was a Soviet state,life was good.And about to get better.He went to sleep at 10:00 STA(Stolm Time area) knowing with the leader back,more peace will reing.

"every morning there's a halo hanging from my girlfreinds four post bed"

In small wooden cottage, the alarm goes off in John Airsmith's bedroom filling it with music.

The humble abode was indeed humble, sparsly decorated with a small television which remained off. John grabbed The Juliana Times from his doorstep and puts some toast in the mircowave.

John shakes his head as he reads up on world events and national affairs. He eats his toast, then stolls down to the docks.

John worked at Cross Airships building the finest airships in the world. His son was on one of these airships. John smiles to himself as he walks to work. He remembers a time that he was once a proud airman of the Fleet. Of course, every male upon high school graduation had to serve at least 2 years in the military.

"Hey Jack, how are you this morning? Did you catch the Dragon's game?"

Jack was a silver haired welder who was getting a bit round in the tummy. "No, the kids got sick and I was tending to them all night"

They started work, putting peices of the gaint airship together.

"every morning...(whistling)"

"UP IN THE MORNING! ALL DAY! IIII DON'T LIKE IT! NO WAY!"

The recruits of Alpha Company 299 were running long before Mr. Airsmith woke up. Drill Sargent Strike was running them raggad on thier 10 mile run as usaul. The Drill wasn't being mean or anything, they just needed to get their lungs stronger in order to operate at the high altidudes that the Fleet normally flew at.

Private Mars was running behind again.

"YOU BETTER NOT BE FALLING OUT AGAIN PRIVATE MARS! YOU BETTER KEEP UP! YOU BETTER NOT STOP! HURRY UP PRIVATE HURRY UP!"

"I'm -pant-pant- try-ing- -pant- -pant- Drill Seargent!! - pant - -pant-"

"TRYING! TRYING! YOU ARN'T TRYING YOU ARE FAILING PRIVATE MARS! IF YOU FALL BEHIND YOU ARE A-L -L GETTING SMOKED!"

The other privates began to encourage the young Mars. Primarily because they were not looking foward to doing additional exersises.

Mars collapes.

"PLATOOOOOOOON HALT! FRONT LEAN REST POSISTIOOOOOOOON MOVE!"

The platoon quickly gets in the pushup posistion. Nobody grumbles, they knew better.

"PUSHUPS! GO!"

Stike began walking up and down the formation. "All we ask is for just a little run. Just go up the hill and back, that's all privates. This is your second week privates...you should ALL know better to do what we ask. It isn't much."

"You are here because it's YOUR TURN to do your part. It's YOUR TURN to protect our great nation. It's YOUR TURN to S-U-C-K I-T U-P and drive on. This way the good people of the Kingdom can wake up in three hours, eat thier toast, and go on about their day in peace knowing that THE FLEET is out there kicking ASS. You privates are NOT kicking ASS. I am going to smoke the living crap out of you until you do. The next time I ask what are you doing, I want you to say "KICKING ASS!" IS THAT UNDERSTOOD PRIVATES!?"

YES DRILL SARGENT!

Gustav Ronvik slowly awoke from his bed and walked into his loft apartment's bathroom. He turned the handle but no water came out for 2 minutes. Gustav made a note to himself to give more of his taxes to public works, as Norvich taxpayers choose where there taxes go. The Young Physist was no exception.

After his breakfast of eggs and some Russian Llama Jerky, witch was given to him by Sir Fransis Green, his boos the llama hunter that recently won for a reform of the red-light discrict, witch gave him his title.

But this did not come easily. In high, witch eneded for him shoretly before the governent decided to reform the education stystem, the fight for a college degree was nessicary. If you did not get a degree, then you would be undoubtebly forced into the military or become a sales clerk. For the gradutes though, careers led between the arms manufacture and auto industry, designing thye cars and tanks of tomorrow. So Gustav apllied for the Port Nor scientific insitute, got accepted and recived is National Indenifaction card, to make sure if the commited crime, he would be tracked down like a fox by the police force.

The Life of a Krakatowa Soldier

The largest city of Ironwill

4 Am. Damn, 2nd Lt. Lei San-Yu said whiping sleep from his eyes. They had went to sleep at 1 AM after a hard patrol. It was another day. He got into his techincal's gunner position and went out into the streets.

Almost instantly they were under fire.

"T-80 AT 2!" Lei yelled, the tank rolled over a minefield and exploded.

"Which group was that." asked the man sitting on the bed of the truck with him

"I dunno, pick one. There's only 10 goddamn choices."

Just then a helicopter came out of the sky and launched anti-tank missles, the convoy of trucks retreated to the "suburbs."

If you could call them that, at 10 AM, they were more like a ghetto. There were constant gunshots and gang warfare they weren't allowed to deal with was everywhere. Nearby the goverment was carrying out airstrikes on quarintened zones, clense the sick from the nation and test our weapons at the same time, at least that's what General Song said it was doing.

(I'll post more some other time)

[ooc: have to work early tomorrow, so I don’t have the time to finish this now… so in a way, consider this part one… although being a day in the life the ending will feel very anticlimactic, so yeah/ooc]

Artega, Republic of Bennington

BEEP… BEEP… BEEP…

With an arm lashing out like lightening from a storm cloud, Arnold Dickens flung the black imported alarm clock across his cramped apartment and into the wall underneath his window – shattering it into thousands of pieces. Throwing the covers off his toned chest, he propped himself up against the headboard and watched the voluptuous figure he had conquered the night before stride coyly into his bedroom holding a small tray with tea and a biscuit. This is bloody fantastic, he called out to nobody in particular.

Shut the fuck up, Arnie. It’s time for fuckin’ work, man.

Dickens then opened his eyes. The neat apartment had turned into a shared three room apartment with his friend Henry from the university. The alarm clock remained beeping next to his head, which lay on an old, ratty mattress that he couldn’t afford to have replaced while the woman had simply been a figment of the single man’s imagination. Well this bloody well sucks… he muttered.

Shut up, mate, it’s time for you to take your fuckin’ shower.

Dickens lived in an international style apartment building, bands of white reinforced concrete and clear glass on the outskirts of Artega, a bustling commercial port of some eighteen million citizens – including Arnold Dickens. Like many cities in the east of the nation, Artega benefited from an expansive and semi-efficient mass transit system, which meant Dickens could hear the rattling of the nearby elevated rail racing towards the city centre as he crunched on his cereal. Unfortunately, cereal was becoming something of a luxury as the price of simple, staple grains continued to rise on the commodity exchanges throughout the UK. Dickens didn’t concern himself with the problems of increasing population versus shrinking agricultural output, but rather with the more immediate impact of bigger chunks out of his already meager paycheck. Not that his paycheck was bad, he could afford a double in the city limits, a plasma television, a mobile phone, high-speed internet connection, and a small convertible for casual driving – but it still was eating larger and larger chunks of that paycheck.

Eventually, however, Dickens swallowed the last of his tea and grabbed his coat and tie before departing with his roommate taking his turn in the shower. The apartment was on the 32nd floor, and so Dickens took the elevator down to the sub-street concourse which had access to the subway entrance two blocks down. The concourse smelled of urine, of course, from the homeless the state of Bennington too often chose to ignore – but it was relatively safe with the numerous CCTVs and walkthroughs by the transit police. Dickens didn’t mind the security, though he was well aware of the protests against what detractors of the policy had called “intrusions on privacy.” Then again, the legislation had been passed in the wake of the nuclear attack on Carthage – and Dickens was well aware of how the government got away with bloody murder for the next six months. But then, Dickens was safe and there had been no subsequent attacks on the Home Islands outside of the Novikov War.

Per usual, the subway was running late – although with the absence of actual conductors he couldn’t blame a person but what was likely heavier than usual traffic. Of course, it didn’t help that the Prime Minister was making a speech downtown at the convention centre this morning – and that would likely explain why the subway car was packed to standing room only. The subway line running near his building wouldn’t take him to his office as an accountant – so he disembarked at the North Plaza Transit Centre and switched to another subway line along with thousands of other commuters, before finding himself at the sub-street concourse entrance for the office tower he called hell.

Jones woke up to the bright sun streaming through the cool air of Dawoad and then went to work on his bike. and then remebered that ever since the hunting of hawks had been outlawed Jones had been out of work but that really didn't matter because the rich had to support all of the poor anyway. he dumped his bike in a random alley and strod pat people doing practically anything in the streets with a few policement hanging around drinking cofee. Jones was dieing for a cigarret but they been outlawed for years now. jones decided that his walk was over and went home.

The man, if you could still call it that, ran quickly through the streets of the Hive. Perhaps slithered would be a better term, his legs fused together in a macabre imitation of a snake's tail. He hurried as fast as he could, the flames of his God flashing in the sky above, the calls of the Tzaanpriests and their minions echoing through the air, the screams of their sacrifices reverberating as the power released from their deaths poured into the Warp.

Crawling in through a rusty grate, the wretched figure slithered down a winding tunnel, deep into the heart of the planet. Bolts of eldricht fire flitted across the walls, low daemons carrying messages for their masters. Crawling into a lit shaft, the poor creature slithered to its station by a massive cog. Hundreds of others stood around it, those who still had flesh bleeding from the scourging of their task masters. Feeling the lash of his bosses whip, the man pushed at the cog, his effort and that of his fellow laborers turning the massive edifice. They could hear rock crumbling miles away, some massive engine beyond their comprehension driven by their efforts. The man saw a fellow laborer, his skin transparent and glowing, fall, lifted by the cog out of sight. The flow of liquid that rushed from the gap cooled the man's skin, a welcome relief in the constant heat of this hellhole.

It was another day at the nation of Gyrobot, as the alarm near John Alfred woke him up with an doomsday esque beep. He got right off the bed at about 6:30. After his shower and shave, he went down to the dining room with his entire family. Generally the nation work hours are not very harsh on those who wake late but to relish most of what a family has to offer was a problem to those who woke up only a few hours before rush hour. John works for one of the top companies, Dorian Corporation to be more specific as a computer chip designer. He creates nanites which acts as temporary memory sacs for any type of programs. Usually used to hold viruses or backup files. As he walked out of the 20 floor apartment complex he walked to an hover rail. One of Gyrobot's famous ways to travel. Meanwhile on the streets, several HERCs stood guard over some suburbian districts. They were being vigilant against the recent rise of Suburbian related violence lately. As the hover railer landed softly on the Corporation's Entrance. He walked out with some of his employees who was taking a drink from the Vending machines. Combat Cans, an famous soda used to keep soldiers awake without causing side affects were a common drink and often runs out of stock quickly. John entered his manufacturing terminal and grabbed a time braclet which will notify him of the completion of the nanobots. However it wasnt the end of the shift for him yet. He has one set waiting for him in the freezing vats. Immediately he took them out and brought them to the cargo loader and worked on some filing and manufactured a few computer chips. Soon the nanites were done and he sent them to the loader where it will be used for a variety of services. He now had 2 things left to do, attend his security meeting and lunch...

Shortly after lunch, he headed to what many call, the arena. John wore his Combat Helmet and grabbed a suit of G-Tornado Kevlar plate and an average build Sargent arrived, They began training such as hand to hand combat, target practice and some live fire training. After he completed the 3 hour regiment work was over. He then headed to a diner, his wife works at a late night school on political science. The dinner is rather filling, a rum cooked chicken with herb stuffings. After dinner, he headed home and completed a few order forms and watched a little television and slept for the night.

From the Perspective of the Wealthy...

Lord Shapur Suren-Pahlav awakened with the sun rising through the windows, showering the room with yellow light. Silk Tabriz rugs on the floor shimmered in the sunlight as the gilded furniture reflected light like miniature suns. Pressing a button on the teak nightstand, a bell sounded, calling forth a miniature army of servants into the room. A tray topped with breakfast was laid upon the silk sheets over his reclined form. A plate of caviar and a bowl filled with saffron rice sat next to a cup of wine. Picking up his mother of pearl caviar spoon, he took the savory eggs and placed them in his mouth, enjoying the salty, juicy flavor before he consumed his rice, followed by the entirey of the ounce of beluga caviar. Convieniently filled with food, he walked into his bathroom, where a servant had already drawn his bath, a sunken tub of marble lined with burning incense and with water topped with fragrant flowers floating on the surface. He sat there for a time, watching television on the plasma screen in the bathroom before having one of his concubines dress him in a custom tailored Gucci suit. He walked out of his chambers, into the marble hallway decked with statues and paintings, floors covered with rugs. His house was elegant, sitting on the mountains of North Persepolis, the most expensive neighborhood of the city. His house was over 15,000 square feet, and his palaces in the countryside were even larger, especially those on his fief in Sistan. His wives and most of his 34 children were out in the countryside, living in his elegant palace in Rasht for the summer. Only he and two of his oldest sons were in the palace, and both of them were in the courtyard firing arrows at a Shooban slave caught stealing.

He walked down the stairway to the lower floor, bursting out the gilded teak doors to his waiting Maybach. The chaffeur opened the door for him before closing it once Shapur had seated himself. The driver pulled out into the street as Shapur grabbed the bottle of Remy Martin Louis XII waiting for him, pouring a glass as the car prepared to bring him to his building, he had much to do, and one of his employees was deserving of a promotion to an executive position.

The streets were lined by hundreds of cypresses as they passed into the commercial district. As they pulled into the roundabout, the center was occupied by a 150 foot statue of the Shah, made from bronze, his sword arm oustretched towards the south, with the plaque below: "I am Shah Khosru, King of Kings, Lord of Iran and Non-Iran, Look before you and give homage to my works, O wonderful people of Parthia." Lord Suren Pahlav raised his glass towards the Shah's statue and spoke, "May you live long my friend." The traffic in Parthia was never bad, streets were usually 6 lanes wide in the downtown area, with medians overflowing with trees and floral arrangements. Sometimes on the sides, parks and plazas overflowing with vendors and groups of happy people stood around, often smoking, but never throwing the cigarettes into anything but designated disposals. Skyscrapers of stone and glass towered into the skies while their ground floors and nearby plazas held hundreds of tiny restauraunts and teashops, filled with people smoking on waterpipes and drinking tea. Sweet smells of kebab wafted in from a sidewalk cafe, calling forth a crowd of people at the door. Stone carvings and fountains marked the Suren-Pahlav corporation building, winged lions and bulls marking the doorway filled with entering people. Executives pulled their cars into the valet lane while the truly wealthy Suren Pahlav family members arrived in their limos and staff cars, lines of Rolls Royces and Maybachs dropping off the wealthiest while the chaffeurs pulled away. Lord Suren Pahlav pulled on his overcoat as his car came to a stop outside the doors, walking inside the office as a doorman grabbed a bag to carry to his office at the top floor, 110 floors above ground.

It was still dark when Cuauhtémoc lazily opened his eyes. He glared at the alarm clock. 8:57. Why the fuck wasn't the sun out yet? ... Oh, right. The twentysomething rolled over in his bed, only to discover a lump blocking his way to the bathroom. The lump stirred and sighed and smiled at him before drifting back to sleep. He absentmindedly stroked her soft blond hair; what was her name again?

He suddenly realized he was naked, and hopped out of bed to search out his boxers. Where the hell did he leave them? He tripped over a stiletto heel, yelping as he hit the floor. There they were, behind the TV. Tossing the heel inside, he scrambled up to retrieve them.

Moments later, he was in his kitchenette, raiding the refrigerator. The soft glow of the living-room TV bathed the darkened apartment as an anchorman quietly droned:

"Secretary of State Tehrani praised the nation of Sheknu and its UN ambassador for withdrawing a chemical-arms ban that was scheduled to come to vote on Tuesday. The Federal Republic considered the treaty an ill-advised and dangerous disarmament measure that would have forced it to cede an important component of its defense arsenal in the midst of seemingly endless wars against rogue nations ..."

Damn, no eggs, he thought as he pulled out a box of orange juice, closed the fridge and opened the freezer. Maybe there was some bacon ...

"... A brawl broke out in Congress last night as members debated a resolution authorizing force against The Eternal Kawaii, a theocratic regime the Federal Republic accuses of developing a nuclear-weapons program. ..."

Temoc glanced at the TV to witness the footage from the melee. A group of Conservative congressmen had overcome a war opponent in their own party and proceeded to pound him as he lay motionless on the floor. Why the fuck is he in a Santa suit? Temoc wondered. He resumed his search for something to eat.

"... The Defense Department said today that it has lost contact with a squadron of Stripper Commandos it had sent into Kawaii to increase security for its embassy there ..."

Damn, nothing to eat. He closed the freezer door, defeated. He'd just have to eat cereal.

"... President Fernanda denied reports that he is sleeping with Alexis Thurmond, a 37-year-old lawyer who ..."

Temoc looked up at the TV as he poured some Froot Loops into a bowl. A mugshot of the attractive brunette appeared on the screen. I'd fuck her, he thought.

The young president appeared on screen as Temoc returned to the fridge for some milk.

"I did not have sex with that skank -- erm, I mean, woman, and frankly, I'm starting to regret appointing her to the Supreme Court. ..."

Shit! No milk. Temoc frustratedly slammed the fridge door shut as the woman appeared in the glow of the television, wearing his bathrobe. "What's for breakfast?" she inquired.

Temoc sighed. At least she was good-looking. "There's nothing to eat," he told her. "I have to go for doughnuts."

The TV droned on: "Another day of violence in Paradise City as Federal Republic troops fight to wrest control of the city away from the terrorists. It is our nation's capital, after all. ...

"Renegades blew up a hotel lobby this morning ..."

Temoc glanced at the set. Footage of a lone chandalier dangling above a blackened chamber. Chandalier! Chandler! "Friends"! That's what her name was!

"Any kind of doughnut you want me to bring back, Janice?" he asked triumphantly.

"Oh, you're so funny! My name's not Janice!" she giggled.

He groaned. At least if she had gotten mad and stormed out he wouldn't have to deal with this problem any longer. He retreated to his bedroom to put on some clothes.

Minutes later, he returned, bundling himself up in a thick jacket and coat, scarf and cap. His companion was seated at the small dining table just outside the kitchenette, reading his copy of the Paradise City Town Crier. A gotcha photo of the president frolicking on a tropical beach with the Cobdenian ambassador adorned the cover.

"Be back in a bit," he announced unenthusiastically.

Moments later, he was out in the cold, the harsh, icy winds attacking his cheeks. Above the roaring winds, sirens and faint explosions could be heard in the distance, followed by machine gun fire.

He trudged out into the eternal Antarctic midnight, his boots sticking on the sand-ice streets as he walked. He gazed out over the stunning cityscape, barely visible in the "night": the beautiful ice skycrapers challenged the heavens as they always did, glimmering against the moonlight.

The sirens grew closer. A really nice sports car roared past at top speed, its tires screeching as it rounded the corner; it was followed by another speeder, and another, until the screaming up-armored police SUV finally thundered past in hot pursuit, its flashing lights piercing the dark.

Temoc came across a newsstand as the sirens faded, pausing to glance at the newspaper and magazine covers behind the fiberglass shield: Half of them trumpeted war; the other half the president's sex life.

He and the stand were washed in sudden red-orange glow as a powerful explosion went off across the street. Temoc whirled around to see a cloud of flame rising toward the sky, leaving black smoke in its wake. He stared at spectacle oddly. Why would they blow up an antique store? He shrugged and moved on.

A colorful billboard towering over him announced: "WELCOME TO PARADISE CITY: WE'RE BAGHDAD, WITHOUT THE BURQAS!!"

A lone penguin waddled past, just reaching the street corner before suddenly exploding.

He sighed. Why the fuck don't hey keep those things in cages?

Mike awoke in his apartment to the sound of marching soldiers, this was commonplace, and he thought nothing more of it...

Five AM, work starts soon.

Outside his window it was Light, but not from an early morning sun but rather the Harsh Flood lights that illuminate the streets during the night, making it difficult for dissenters to move around the city during Cerfew.

As Mike watched a Group of Capitol Police marched past below his window, each swing was perfectly timed and each foot fall perfectly matched.

"The Fighting force of our lands, Our Protectors and Guardians"

He Picked up his overalls, Dark grey they were, it had his name and number embroidered to the front and back, grabbing his Civil Licenses he headed out onto the street below.

Walking down the stair case of this block of flats, the walls were grey, covered in dirt and dust, but all over were Posters dipicting the Capitol Police in various brave poses, ensuring each citizen knew who was authority, each poster uttered some slogan that was by now ingrained into their heads.

Mike walked along the street, Passing a machine gun nest, Stood at attention were two Capitol Police Troopers, large and imposing wearing their black armour, their red glowing eyes surveyed the street with cold indifference.

Along the street was more flags, banners of the Corporation, the double hammers, Barbed wire lined every window, and AA Guns were mounted onto the roofs of apartments,

A Large Black Bus was waiting at the end of the street, here stood a Reichmarshal, almost obscurbed from veiw by the line of people waiting.

Mike joined the line, the people in front of him were all wearing the same Boiler suits, as each one filled into the Bus.

As The Line moved down Mike approached the Reichmarshal, like a robot he lifted his Civil License and handed to the Reichmarshal...

"Hmmm, six Points on your License Micheal Jefferson... "

"I try my best Reichmarshal, I havn't been sleeping well"

"Why ever not?"

"Your Soldiers Marching keep me awake at night"

"Are you Questioning the Practices of those who keep you safe at night?"

"Oh No Reichmarshal not at all, Im just very tired"

"Good, Just as long as your not Questioning authoritory, I would hate to send you to North Cydonia"

"Please Forgive me Reichmarshal..."

"Get on The Bus..... Next" The Reichmarshal called out before handing back Mikes License.

This was just the Morning of the Life of Micheal Jefferson

Helghan, The Helghan Empire
4:05 AM; Summer (Earth Time)
Torkin Sarov awoke in the apartment. It was the normal time he usually wakes. His wife, Creia, was still in bed. She usually oversleeps, but this was because she was pregnant for the third time.
Torkin gave her a kiss on the forehead, without disturbing her sleep, and turned and walked to the bathroom in the darkness.
Quietly, he walked passed his thirteen year-old son and twelve-year old daughter who slept in the living room. When Torkin reached the bathroom, he opened it and switched on the light. The lightbulb flickered three times.
It was always usual for the lights to do that when switched on. He walked over to the toilet and urinated. Then, after washing his hands, he stripped off his clothing, and took a warm, six minute shower.
When Sarov finished drying off, he put on a fresh pair of clothes from a basket and made way for the kitchen.
His noticed that the light in the kitchen was on, and that his son was missing in the living room.
When Torkin entered the kitchen, his son Lucinay was sitting at the table drinking a glass of milk.
"Couldn't sleep, son?"
Lucinay nodded.
"Anymore milk left?"
"No. You gonna buy some more fatha'."
"I guess I will be now. But after I come home from the factory."
"'Kay." Then his son finished his drink and put the glass in the sink. Then he walked passed his father and jumped back into the bed.
Torkin walked over to the fridge and pulled out two eggs and orange juice. He set the items down and grabbed a rusty pan from the cabinet and set it on the stove. He began to make himself breakfast.

4:45 AM
Torkin walked down the street after leaving his family for work. Dozens of other Helghasts were behind him. There were loudspeakers playing at the next corner, at this hour. Helghast propaganda was to be heard. Torkin loved listening to propaganda on his way to the arms factory.

The factory was now seen, light smoke clouds rose from the large building and surrounding factories.
Torkin checked into work and went to his office. For a living, Torkin made weapons for The Helghast Army. He was proud of his job, but he wished he was in the Army at the time - he was, like every single Helghast, a nationalist. Sadly, he was fourteen years-old when he decided to join it, so he was denied. But making weapons for the Army was next best thing.
He settled into his small office, wich had a large window overlooking lower ranking employees, who assembled parts of weapons.
Torkin looked at papers that were placed on his desk before he came into work. They were papers of construction rates (how fast they could build weapons a day), employee satisfaction and disatisfaction, and company profits.
Torkin Sarov began with the employee (di)satisfaction. He found those the easier parts, and began working.

OOC: I'll post more to get an accurate view of life in The Helghan Empire.

Combat Unit 1359 ARX of the Line drifted in and out of sentience. The Construction Units and the Nanounits had been at work on him for some time now.

Suddenly, there was data. His consciousness streamed with information, the Mainframe controlling and regulating it all through the Datanet. He recieved the data, his new processors whirring in tandem, allowing him self-awareness through the massive parallel processing.

Electricity sparked within his rekindled reactor, and diagnostic systems showed green. He recieved his first orders, a phenomenally lengthly .004 seconds past before he could recognize it.

His orders were to sleep, with the rest of the Concordiat, awaiting the time when a massive machine-nation would be called by its allies, not to trade or diplomacy, but to war. A race of Construction, Nano, and Combat Units all made from sheer unyielding metal.

Before sleeping, Combat Unit 1359 ARX of the Line thought of a datapiece to write to show the Organics how the Concordiat machine functioned.

It was called "The Life and Times of a Nuclear Missile."

Liberty City, Federal Republic of Brydog

Joe Libiter wakes up at 6:00am to the sounds of Dire Straits' "Money for Nothing" on his radio. He walks to the bathroom and showers while the song plays. After the shower, he dresses while dancing to the music. He heads to the kitchen and eats a big breakfast and reads the Liberal City Times. Then he heads to his 1968 Ford Mustang and heads to his job as a engineer at Logan Technologies. He arrives at 7:00am, he helps with the development of new weapons and technology for the military. He sits at his office while the CEO, John Alexander Logan talks to him about the new stuff he wants by next month, and the party next week. He arrives at home at 5:00pm and releaxes for the rest of the night.
OOC: Brydogs have soul;)

A Day in the eyes of a Jenrakian Citizen: Mike Clasz
A tiny ringing only was heard in his ears, as he tried to use his sodden pillow to block it out, thinking it to be the deafening sound of the heavy traffic, the bustling people, or the flying airplane over heard. But this time, it wasn’t any of that – it was his alarm clock. Six thirty, as usual, Mike Clasz wakes up and sits on his springy, and slightly broken bed, his watch broken on his drawer. He had decided to get that watch fixed weeks ago, but he never had the time. Jenrak was at another war, and that increased arms manufacturing businesses everywhere, including the ones he worked at. Getting up to yawn, Clasz only walked towards the washroom, washed his face, and brushed his teeth. He needed to get a new toothbrush as well, but like always, he was too busy. At least, however, he had bought a gift for his nephew’s birthday, which was coming up next week. He would have to double his shift so he could have that day off to spend time with his nephew.

Nevertheless, going to his tiny kitchen, he only poured out cereal, but only an empty dust of powder came from the cardboard, Clasz dropping the cardboard box down into the recycling chute beside his oven. Where it went, he didn’t care. What would happen to it, he didn’t worry. Getting up, yawning once more, Mike only took a small container of lasagna, and micro waved it while he began to put his work clothes on, watching a little Television before he heard the familiar ringing of the telephone, the familiar corporate beep that echoed through every phone in Jenrak – the start of the working day. Getting up, turning off his television, and packing his slightly heated lasagne from a few days ago, Mike turned off his lights and walked outside of his apartment, locking his door with all of his six locks, and sighed carefully.

He felt tired today, even lazy – he would pay the extra dollar to take the elevator today. He would buy a weekly ticket, hoping that someday he would win it big one day. Or perhaps the military would suffice? Either way, he waited in the helicopter, as his alarm went off. Kneeling down, he silently prayed in the empty elevator for a few seconds, before getting back up. Main Floor. That was his destination, as he held the aluminium railing, the elevator smoothly lowering to the Main floor, the steam from his work heavy. Sighing again, Mike worked, from 7 in the morning to 12 noon, with a 20 minute lunch break, some socialising with his co-worker, Harold, before he stood back up and went to work, until 8 pm. His back aching, he had finished eight packs of bullets today, and he felt all right, taking the elevator back up to his apartment, a few floors above his work place.

The sound was deafening, the smell and the sticky atmosphere from his fellow workers in the elevator with him made the trip uneasy. When he finally reached his level, he got out, paid the elevator’s toll, and went inside to take a quick, hot shower. Passing the hot water limit for his apartment, Mike only quickly jumped when the water soon after turned to freezing cold. After showering, he micro waved the last of the leftover lasagne, and phoned his girlfriend, Shelly, to come over. She agreed, and they watched a movie until 10 pm. She went home, and Mike went to sleep. The only thing he heard when he went to sleep was the sound of the marching soldiers outside, and the quiet creaking footsteps of the guard patrolling outside his apartment.

But he felt uneasy, and had difficulty sleeping, as they installed new cameras when he was at work, and this one gave off a nasty beeping sound every ten minutes in his room.

to everyone who is making wars, slave revolts, etc. this thread is to see what life is for your citizens. not for your damn military.

to everyone who is making wars, slave revolts, etc. this thread is to see what life is for your citizens. not for your damn military.

Indeed...

Jane awakes in pompous world. She goes to work. She has lost her job. That is because the government is mean. Everyone around her is poor. "There are a lot of poor people" she says. She goes home. She sees a man wearing a yellow hat. The man says "I am going to demolish your house." Jane says, "that makes me unhappy, why are you going to demolish my house." The man in the yellow hat says "I have been told to by the government to demolish your house, a road is going to be put in place." Jane walks away. Her house is demolished. She sits on the street with the other poor people. Jane says "I am unhappy." A man approaches her with happy pills. "I will make you happy again" says the man. Jane takes the pills. "That will be 50 dollars says the man". Jane gives him the remaining cash in her handbag. Jane takes the pills. Jane is happy. Jane sees things. Afterwards Jane needs more pills. Jane has no money to get the pills. Jane must find a way to make money. Jane becomes a prostitute.

The End.

A day in the life of an average Roach-Busterian kindergartener

24 hours a day, 365 days a year, RB City was bustling with activity. Cars drove at a modest, orderly pace, neither too fast nor too slow, in perfect formations, in two neat, straight, orderly lines moving in opposite directions. The streets and sidewalks were scrupulously clean, without even a single scrap of litter. Since most people did not enjoy being beaten unconscious with leather whips, there was no incentive to litter. RB City was one of the few places left in the world where perfect strangers greeted each other with a slight bow, a tip of the hat, or an amiable "Hello." Everyone was clean, well composed. Scruffiness, too, was a crime. The air was clear, free of pollution. All-pervasive police, MPs, police informers, security cameras, etc. ensured that public order was maintained at all times.

Every five minutes, loudspeakers would blare one of the following three messages at random: "Papa J.L. loves his children very, very much"; "Generalissimo J.L. is your friend"; or "Smile! The Generalissimo is watching."

Each store window prominently displayed a portrait of the Generalissimo, dressed in his military attire, with a smile that reflected his warm, kindly, fatherly demeanor. Children would gaze at the portraits, entranced, and say, in a soft, awestruck voice, "Papa!"

Every place, public or private- homes, fire stations, police stations, hospitals, libraries, restaurants, brothels, bars, casinoes, museums, etc.- proudly hung an enormous portrait of the Generalissimo. Each adult lovingly rendered a sharp salute each time they passed a portrait.

8 out of 10 children, and nearly all adults, wore exact duplicates of the Generalissimo's trademark uniform, not because the law compelled them to, but because they loved him so much. Everyone was, however, required to wear a lapel with his portrait, and everyone did.

Citizens were all smiles, as they joyfully went about their peaceful, unassuming, modest lives. Most conversations focused on the man they fondly referred to as "Papa." Tourists found it baffling.

Life in Roach-Busters was happy. While none would deny that J.L. ruled with an iron fist, none would deny that he also ruled with a heart of gold.

A young boy named Robbie Smith, aged six, was starting his first day of kindergarten today. The school bus he was riding in had the Generalissimo's face painted on both sides, with the message: PAPA J.L. LOVES HIS CHILDREN VERY, VERY MUCH underneath. Like all children, his school uniform looked just like what 'Papa' wore. The bus driver wore the same thing, and as he picked up the innocent little children to bring them to school, he could be heard humming the RB national anthem.

At school, the first thing the students did was line up in perfect formation, salute the giant portrait of the Generalissimo on the wall, and chant: "We are Papa J.L.'s children! Papa loves us very, very much! He is our father, our leader, our friend. Papa knows what is best for us! We will make the world a better place, for Papa!"

The students then took their seats at their desks, while the teacher went over their math lessons (each textbook, no matter what the grade or subject, whether kindergarten or college, public school or private, had the Generalissimo on the front, with the words PAPA J.L. LOVES HIS CHILDREN VERY, VERY MUCH). Most of the math questions were of a political nature.

"If Papa J.L. meets ten communists, and he kills eight, how many are left?" the teacher, Mrs. Higginson, asked.

Robbie raised his hand.

She nodded. "Yes, Robbie?"

"Two," he said.

She broke out in a sunny, excessively jaunty smile. "Very good, sweetie, very good!" Wiping tears, she said, "Papa would be so proud!"

Robbie, too, began to weep tears of joy. "Really?"

"Yes, sweetie," she said, hugging him. "Because Papa J.L. loves you so, so much!"

An hour later, it was time for science. The teacher showed them a communist skull (it was actually a chimpanzee skull, but they were too young to tell). "This is the skull of a communist, children. Now, what are communists?"

"Dirty, rotten, malevolent bastards that want to hurt Papa," the children said, in sing-song formation.

"Yes, children. And who will save us from the communists?"

All the chubby-cheeked little children wore huge, toothy smiles, their eyes alight with joy, as they said: "Papa!"

"Yes, you're right. Papa." Donning plastic gloves, she reached into the skull, and took out the brain (actually, a chunk of donkey feces). "Do you know what this is?"

"Eew, a commie's brain!" a little girl said.

"Yes. Now, Tyler, tell us about communists' brains."

A young, bespectacled, freckle-faced carrot-top named Tyler stood and said in a high, nasal voice, "Communists' brains don't work. Their brains are broken and can't be fixed."

He sat down, after being lightly applauded.

"Now, if you see a communist, what should you do?" Mrs. Higginson asked.

"Call the police!"

"Yes, very good. Because the police are your friends, right children? They love Papa, just like you."

For half an hour, the children were taught 'science.' They were taught that communists were closely related to cockroaches, were coprophagous, disease-ridden, dangerous animals, etc. They also learned a thing or two about earthworms, rainbows, the weather, and volcanoes.

After milk and cookies time, the teacher read them a picture book about the Generalissimo, on one of his usual communist-hunting excursions.

The children excitedly exchanged whispers: "Wow, Papa's so cool!"

"He sure is brave, fighting those mean and nasty poopoo-head commies all by himself!"

"I love Papa!"

Then, it was recess. Students were given guns (they had been taught gun safety at home, which was required by law), and hunted Shoobans and Turtas for half an hour. When they were done, they went back inside, pledged allegiance to the Generalissimo again, and then it was 'coloring time.' Nearly everyone drew a picture of the Generalissimo, often with the words "I love Papa" written underneath.

Then, it was time for history, where they were told laudatory stories of the heroic deeds of the likes of Emperor Antonius, Emperor Helldawg, Shah Khosru III, and all of RB's other noble allies.

After spelling and grammar lessons, it was time to go home. Children eagerly climbed into the school buses, nearly frantic with excitement, eager to return home and show their "purdy pitchers" to their parents.

Each looked forward to the next day of school.

to everyone who is making wars, slave revolts, etc. this thread is to see what life is for your citizens. not for your damn military.Mine is about an average citizen, though our foreign and domestic affairs are also mentioned, in passing. I would think that politics and current affairs would be part of life for the average citizen of any country, no matter how apathetic.

Kabar-Prime, Kabar*

Shoo wakes up at six o' clock. Shoo gets dressed, brushes his teeth, brushes his hair, all that good stuff. Shoo says his prayer to past Lord Necromancers and steps out his door. His door was wooden and moldy.

Shoo stepps into his super-high-tech-really-fast-even-though-no-sane-person-would-drive-it-that-fast sportscar and drives to work on a nicley paved road. Around Shoo is dense hardwood forests; all of north Kabar is forests. To the south is the sulfer wastes.

Shoo pulls into the parking lot of his workplace, the Kabar-Prime Central Library. Shoo, however, is not a librarian. Shoo is a janitor.

Surrounded by books on a variety of topics fictional and non-fictional, Shoo polishes a statue of every ones' favorite childrens' book character, Happy-Hopping Fluffles-McBunny. He then mops blood from the floor for a few hours; many people in Kabar cough up blood on a regular basis.

Several hours later Shoo goes home. On his way home, Shoo is pulled over by a policecar. The police want to make sure that Shoo has been taking drugs. Shoo has an is reasonably high because of it, so the police are pleased and let Shoo go without trouble.

Shoo gets home at eight o' clock in the evening. When Shoo gets home, he is greeted by his great-great-great-great grandfather, Lik. Lik is visiting Shoo for the holidays. Lik dies. Thinking fast, Shoo injects Lik with Xxargan potion, and Lik is resurrected three hours later. Shoo and Lik eat dinner.

Shoo and Lik's dinner consists of several varieties of grubs. The grubs, of course, are drugged. Shoo and Lik become high of the grubs. Lik reads a book and goes to sleep in the guest bedroom. Shoo plays a gameboy color and goes to sleep in the master bedroom.

That night, Shoo's house is eaten whole by a giant gargoyle monster.

THE END

*Kabar is known as the Zombie Alliance by outlanders.

The pounding of drums roared through the crowded streets of Pharamas as dusk setteled in. Pharamas held Military parades at the beginning and end of the day, and this was the later.

Gerald Von Junithan stood and watched from the sidewalks, bored out of his mind. The thousands of black-clad men and women goosed march their way up the street toward base, after marching around five city blocks. Every thirty-seconds, a shout of "Sieg Heil!" rang out from one of the officers, which was then repeated by the soldiers.

Gerald then continued walking north to his apartment, exhausted from the days work. He worked at an oil refinery in the Industrial sector in town, which was dangerous enough in and of it self with out the fact that most of the equipment was damaged or degraded after the Great Pharamas riot. He had seen ten workers die within the past two days, most of them mauled to death by the machinery. The job paid well, though. Three hundred Assairugards an hour meant he could afford many luxuries that many people in the world only dreamt of.

It was quite a dirty job, how ever. In fact, most of his face and suit were covered in black stains. After another thirty minutes of walking, he reached the Red Light Sector of Pharamas, which contained dozens of rich brothels and strip clubs. Gerald him self had never "Attended" one, but he wondered what it would be like.

A stream of black-clad male and female soldiers passed him again, but this time they weren't in formation. The soldiers had leave from 8 PM to 12 PM, and the base was only a few blocks up the street, so the Red Light District was a popular off-duty attraction. He watched the soldiers disappear into the various brothels, and then continued home him self.

It was night now, and the Gothic architecture in Pharamas came alive in the glitter of lights. Even the newest buildings maintained Tocrowkia's standard of "High Gothic" architecture. Almost all Tocrowkian's considered the "High Gothic" architecture type to be superior to any in the world, and Gerald had to admit, most foreign cities did look ugly in comparision. He finally reached his apartment, and went in. After eating a quick dinner, he went to bed, waiting to repeat the day before again, and again, and again.

((OOC: I'm going to try and find a pic of Tocrowkia's sexy Gothic cities.))

Travis Al-Asad stepped out of his lower-middle class apartment and into the dusty, narrow streets. Despite being one of the top automobile producers in the region, few Qaretians drove cars. Qarez has a very efficient, very expensive subway and train system. With the exception of cops, emergency personell and city servants, the streets are for walking and bicycles. Travis left his leaning up against his buliding, in these neighborhoods crime was not a worry.

Travis was a worker for a medium sized company that made key parts for car engines. The government had contacted his company for a contract offer, and Travis had been chosen as part of a team to go out to the main military base and meet with the program heads. Normally he would bike to Qarez City New Grand Central Train Station and take the D-1 Line directly out to Phoenix Airport, but the track was being rebuilt after an accident, so instead he was taking the line up the coast. He would meet his colleagues at the transfer, and head out to the base.

Travis flew right along down the road. The sun had just risen, and the owners were opening their shops for the day. Having grown up in a small town in the north-western mountains, Travis missed the small family shops, but appreciated the income that the massive chains brought to his little country.

TBC

Mike Johnston kissed his wife goodbye, and waved as she got into her fuel-cell car and drove off to her job at the newly built fusion plant. Mike decided to ride his bike to work, as he lived only 2 kilometers from his job at George McGovern Elementary, where he taught fourth-grade physics. He shook his head sadly as he passed the construction site two blocks from his apartment. It seemed there was always construction in Maineiacs City these days, as if the government was trying to forget that the fundamentalist coup of 2109 had ever happened. A large amount of money had been shunted into public works and the economic sector in an attempt to get the country back on its feet. It was getting there, but it hadn't happened quite yet. One thing he was happy about, president Svenson had announced that citizens' refund checks would be reinstated this year. Mike understood the necessity of discontinuing them; reconstruction had eaten up the usual budget surplus, but it was good to know he and Janet could stop tightening their belts. He hoped that the President and her ruling Social Democrat Party were right about things getting back to normal this year.
Mike parked his bike in the rack outside the building, and shielded his eyes from the glare off the solar panels that had been providing power to the school (and to most buildings in the city) while the new power plant was being built. He walked to his classroom 2 minutes before his class started to file in.
"Good morining, class." he said
"Good morning, Mr. Johnston." came the reply with all the enthusiasm 20 nine-year-old children could muster on the last monday before the holiday break.
"Alright, did everyone read the chapter on the Heisenberg Uncertainty Priciple?"
"Yes"
"Good. Any questions before we move on to the unit on antimatter?"
A girl raised her hand.
"Yes, Brittany?"
"I'm not sure I get it," she said. "I mean, if measuring the position of a particle causes it to move, why not just measure it again?"
"Because, you can never know both a particle's location and its velocity. That's why it's called the Uncertainty Principle, you dork." said a boy in the back of the room.
"Billy, we do not call people 'dorks' in this classroom. Do I have to send you to the principal's office until you learn to be respectful of others?"
"No, sir."
"OK, then. Well, let's review, shall we? If everyone would turn on their computers..."

to everyone who is making wars, slave revolts, etc. this thread is to see what life is for your citizens. not for your damn military.

The Post by me, is based on the life on an Average citizen in Kravonika, inside a country with one sole purpose and that is war, Its a Totalitarian Military state and the Capitol Police marching is an every day occurance, all citizens do all day is Make Guns, Ammunition, Artillery, Tanks, the Citizens Feed the war machine.

A suburb of Edo, the Capital of the Empire of Kirisubo

Keiko Tsubaki wakes up from a nice dream when her alarm clock goes off.

Despite the temptation to throw the clock at the wall of her small bedroom she rolls out of her futon bed and goes through the daily rituals required to get ready for work.

now dressed in her familar office uniform she rushes some instant rice porriage into her and runs to catch the tram into the busling city centre.

Working in the Foreign Office wasn't usually exciting but at least with the Emperors Birthday coming up she would have a day off for it.

Being an office lady she was constantly kept busy but there was a certain satisfaction in clearing your in-tray before going home.

Back home she eats her evening meal, watches 'Takeshi's castle' and 'Sugahara Street' the highest ranked soap opera in Kirisubo.

As she retires for the night she knows she'll have all this to do tomorrow but at least the weekend is coming up..

((OOC: An example of High Gothic architecture, part of the Pharamas Skyline: http://i3.photobucket.com/albums/y97/LaCroix22/PharamsSkyline.jpg ))

Noldor awoke to the beckoning of the larks that flew high above, he looked for his master, he was no where in sight, he saw a few grass blades bent to the ground. He got up and followed the path, his mind focused solely on the objective at hand, when a hand all of a sudden appeared before his face.

"Keep one eye on the objective, the other always on your target," said master Lao. He said so with such grace and confidence, that it felt as if he need only ask the world to produce and it would.

The two walked on exploring nature together looking for a proper spot to begin today's lesson. Noldor only 15 years old had spent most of his life with his master, as all his age did. He was taught, polotics, religion, mathematics, theology, and the martial arts of his people.

"There beyond the brush young one, a waterfall, today we will sit under it and let the water fall upon us. It is dangerous for one as young and untrained as you, but I believe that you are up to the task," proclaimed master Lao pointing towards the beautiful waterfall. If master Lao said that it could be done by him, then it was the truth.

The youth and his master sat under the waterfall, the strain upon the youths body was great but not unbearable.

"There is nothing softer and weaker than water, and yet there is nothing better for attacking hard and strong things. For this reason there is no substitute for it. All the world knows the weak overcomes the strong and the soft overcomes the hard. The way to erode the power of your enemy is to be slow and steady. Wear away his defense not by fighting him but instead give him false inhibitions of weakness. Show him weakness where strength truly lies. But why do that when one can erode his self confidence. Weaking the enemies spirit allows you to sink your message deeper. Do so for a small period of time but then show him the eternal Tao. Show him how he can become stronger through the Tao. Turn him from the strong headed person in which he is into a softer person that does not seek aggression, whom does not seek power or vengance. Turn him into a peaceful person. Show him that with Tao they can become truly strong through both mind and body. If they follow then you are the victor for through your words you have won, through not competing he could not compete with you and thus you have won," said master Lao to his student.

The little one looked upon his master and said, "He who stands tiptoe is not steady. He who strides cannot keep pace. He who makes show is not enlightened. He who is self righteous is not respected. He who boasts acheives nothing. He who braggs will not endure."

"Good my apprentice, and thus brag not about your abilities, boast not of your acheivements, keep pace do not set stride, and stay balanced always, be mindful of these things and you will have sure footing for eternity," said master Lao.

"And so master, if a man does not compete, then the world cannot compete with him, thus he is the victor," stated the apprentice Noldor.

"So it is my youngling, grasped these things well you have, proceed to the next level you will soon," said the master.

A young woman about the age of Noldor came by the waterfall with her beautiful master, both Noldor and Lao stood looking upon their counterparts, focusing solely upon them.

"Beauty is known to the beautiful and thus they know ugliness, thus I know you to be beauty. It has been said in the ancient past that truth is beauty and beauty is truth, and if it be so then you are the sole truth in a world of lies," these words came through the mouth of the apprentice and seemed to echo through eternity.

The master's parted ways with their apprentices to begin their new lives, and so it was that the two came to be man and wife.

Marco woke up at 6:00 AM. His wife stirred. Marco walked to the bathroom and got ready for work that day. he would have to avoid his boss who was pretty ticked that week since his wife had gotten an abortion, not that he objected, but he still felt bad. Marco dug into the chocolate chip pancakes that his wife had just made and turned on the TV. Some nutcase was suing the Czechotovan government for robbery, apparently the 100% tax rate was "too high". In Czechotova the government owned all the buisnesses, so nobody got paid, due to the hundred % tax rate. instead people worked for Czechotova's good and were given housing, food and all other items that they needed. Marco put on his coat and left, after his wife warned him to be safe. Crime wasnt the reason that he had to be safe, crime had been destroyed, it was just that the recent bombings had shook everyone up and the Czechotovan security level was 5: Extreme
Marco hopped on his bicycle (cars were banned, only buses and government officials cars were on the street, besides from bikes) and rode down to "CzechoTech" his workplace. After speding a couple of hours perfecting new 3-D Radar technology Marco headed home.

Placeholder

(In Krakatowa anyones males life aged 18-25 involves the military because of the massive rebel front. Anyone else it would be they wake up in their workplace they have to take cover in, eat, do work, eat, do work, and hide in the basement. Or for a non-working female or child (most children work), it's close the blindfolds of your cheep apartment, stay inside, wait for the military to deliver food, and hope to not get shelled. Same for everyone)

Dusk in the Kingdom of Xeraph was like no other on the entire planet. As the sun slowly set in the east, the five Royal Cities of Xeraph lit up. Not that there was much to see, as all of the buildings in Xeraph were no more than one story in height. The rest of the "stories" were 1/4 to 1/2 mile underground.

Xeraph was a nation of diplomats, and those who supported the infrastructure of the diplomats. There were no factories, farms, tourist facilities, shopping centers, or entertainment centers. There were only 355 miles of paved roads in the entire kingdom.

The entire 1.63 million population lived in one of the five cities. Khoraja, Tarascus, Khemi, Tarantia, and the capitol, Xeraphia, were the glittering jewels of the Empire. Xeraphia was the only city with a building taller than one story. There was only one....the Emperor's Obelisk.

The Emperor's Obelisk was constructed of Videssian marble. It had a base of black basalt, one-half mile on a side. It reached 4,227 feet up into the blue Xeraphian sky. At the top was the Emperor's Room, a relatively small space where he met with foreign dignitaries. The room could hold six or eight people comfortably, and the only way to get into the Room was to be TransBeamed there. No stairs, nor elevator, no landing pad. He was flanked by just two guards....the Brujah. No one would get within 10 feet of Alaric Tan'it if he didn't allow it.


Coster Higton had the singular honor this evening of bringing the Emperor his nightly report concerning the OutWorld manufacturing facilities, as well as His Imperial Majesty's nightcap.

Every night, a different citizen of Xeraph held this honor. It gave the Emperor the ability to meet his people in a one-on-one way.

Higton stepped out of the fiery blue oval that was the TransBeam, and bowed before the Emperor. The Emperor had his back turned in him, and so Higton held the bow until Alaric recognized him.

Alaric turned, and reached for Higton. " Here now, Mr. Higton, no need for that." The Emperor held out his hand, but Coster hesitated a second, glancing at the Brujah.

" No need to worry about them, Coster. They knew you were coming weeks before I did. Don't ask me how...it's a state secret." Alaric gave him a wink, and then gestured to a table and chair against a wall. " Please sit, Mr. Higton."

" Yes sir, thank you sir." He was still a bit nervous about the Emperor's guards. The Brujah were legendary beings; Hominis Nocturnis....Men of the Night. Some called them Vampyre. They were the Undead, and existed only to safeguard the Emperor of Xeraph. There were just 712 of them in existence. There were once millions, but they were decimated in the nuclear exchange with the Empire of Koth 374 years ago.

Alaric had more than a touch of Brujah blood in him, hence his longevity.

" So, Higton, how goes the OutWorld production stats?"

" Well, sir, I'm not privy to that information, sir. I'm just here to deliver the report, sir."

" Drop the 'sir' crap, Coster. My name is Alaric. Please address me by my name. The royalty crap is just for the diplomats, and a good number of them, my closest allies, call me by name."

" Y-y-yes, ok, ...Alaric" Higton was uncomfortable calling one of the most powerful men on the planet by his first name.

" Relax, Higton...I'm not gonna bite you. Here, gimme that drink." Alaric downed it in one gulp, smacked his lips, belched, and grinned. " Damn good stuff, eh?"

Higton didn't know, as he had brought only the one drink. Alaric gestured idly, and a servant that Coster hadn't seen before handed him a glass, and then poured one for him and the Emperor.

" To Xeraph, eh Coster?"

" To Xeraph, Alaric............"

ooc: We're going into the slums of Haven for this one...

Daniel Longstrike set his beer glass down on the grungy bar after his long day at work. Flipping some extra coins at the barmaid, he knew that she would still sleep at a man's flat for money tonight. Wrapping up in his coat and scarf, he moved outside. The temperature was three degrees centigrade, and the wind pierced to the bone. Tomorrow was the coldest day of the year, the time where Haven was at its farthest point from its sun. Indeed, it was the coldest it had been in five years, and tomorrow was looking like it would actually freeze for the first time in a quarter of a century.

He walked down the street outside the bar, newspapers swirling in the wind. The park where he played as a child. The slide was rusted, the paint everywhere peeling. A child dressed in rags played in the sandbox, the box part having rotted away long ago. The old candy store on the corner, boarded up for years. The old man had died after a long life of giving joy to children.

Stained concrete walls and boarded windows. Garbage in the gutters. An old propoganda poster drifted in the wind, the man in the image fading. James Talon was a good man. But no man, however good, could stop the psychological force that had been pent up for centuries.

A police hovercraft screamed down the street, its siren blaring. Huddled masses of rags and flesh ducked into darkened alleys, abandoning everything. But still Daniel walked on. Past several forms warming their hands over a small fire in a barrel. Closer inspection showed them to be xenos. It was amazing that they had lived so long, they might not make it through the night tonight. Xenophobia, the warning sign of a society in its death throes, was skyrocketing everywhere.

Up ahead a crowd of people clustered around a police squad. A Xeno had been killed grusomely in a bar fight, his throat ripped out in the ceremonial way. Not a tear had been shed in his name, and it was unlikely that one would be. For anyone in this hell.

He walked on, walking past his place of work. High walls guarded the small laboratory, a powerful think-tank that had developed awesome technology. It was, however, not drawing many people from the slums. Daniel was one of the few, and he had managed to maneuver into the ownership position, a place of eternal debt.

Finally, he reached his building. The electric lock beeped weakly as it allowed him entrance into the warm interior. Several of the tennants greeted him as he climbed the endless stairway to his flat. Jane from a level down, the old gateman Bernard, Sally, the girl from across the way, John from down the hall. Daniel moved into his small flat, kept as best furnished has he could manage.

He lay down after setting down his coat, shutting his eyes. But the images of the day were all-pervasive. He was in the top income bracket of the slum, and owned an advanced company. But he was still tied to this place, it was impossible to leave. He had been saving for years to get on a cruise. To meet the upper class and open the market. Get his buisness viable. But in his gut, he still knew that it was an uphill fight.

The people outside continued on in their desperate lives. The barmaid would die young, probably from getting caught in a firefight. Sally from across the way would die for her revolutionary ideals. And Daniel... he would die because he was not human. His crime was that of millions in No Endorse.

And he slept with a gun under his pillow.

Abdul woke up at 7:30 AM and brushed his teeth. He had to start work at 9 AM. After he showered, shaved, and ate breakfast, he put on his work clothes, holstered his Glock, and went to his car.

To get into his car, Abdul had to descend from the 86th floor of his apartment, because like most Kahanistanians, he lived in a high-rise, a consequence of cramming over a billion people into an area roughly 1.3 times the size of Vermont. He took fifteen minutes to descend his elevator, then enter the car park, which was another high tower, and find his car out of the tens of thousands of cars in it.

He drove through the congested, eight-lane streets of Najaster, the capital of Kahanistan, and barely arrived in time at his job as a clock repairman. The part of town where he worked was gang turf, controlled by vicious gangs of various sorts. The desk always had an M-16, sometimes two, behind it. Abdul had fourteen clocks to repair that day. Most were routine, but there was one where a rat had eaten the wiring and another where a three-year-old had stuffed worms into the guts of the clock. These tried Abdul's patience as he repaired the clocks.

When Abdul returned to the desk to get the next clock, two gangsters with AK-47's demanded the money. Abdul sat behind his bulletproof glass, donned his body armor, and locked and loaded both M-16's, but the criminals fled before he could send them to hell in a hail of bullets. He called the police, who arrested the pair within half an hour.

After the ordeal, Abdul returned home to his wife and son at 6:45 PM, and took them out to a soccer game. The Xirniumite team royally beat the shit out of the Kahanistan team, 46-19. It was 10 PM before he got home to watch the latest episode of South Park.

A child of eleven, woke up groggy and with an ache is his neck, he had curled up too much in the tunnel. Picking up his pick axe he began to hammer away, harvesting ore, coal, minerals and away from the current war.

In the mines of Black Hive, capitol of Psyker Bearzerkes, fungi, iron rats and ice provided the needed nourishment to outlast the Kraven Capitol Police that were so intent of exterminating them.

Psyker Bearzerker's new allies; Kahanistan, Green Sun and Theao had come to Grand Bearzerker Caulna Pox's aide. A whole battalion of Capitol Police would be slaughtered to ensure the safety of Psyker Bearzerkers at home.

The Hive/Mine-Complex was constructed of Psyore, (Black Ferrium) and had gothic spires that rose 2 1/2 miles into the toxic skies of the Ash Waste Province. Out of Ash Waste was lush forest, mountains and surrounded by ice clear oceans. The war machine of Psyker Bearzerkers was smelting and casting munitions at a prodigious rate to fuel their Bearzerker and Meso-American Heritage.

1430, Ulduqvist Street
App: 43-4
Nordlys City
Nordland, Central
Velossia
NDL-3500-VEL


It was 6:30 AM, December 23rd 2005. Dimitri Vassili had a bad night's sleep. He didn't care much either way, knowing he had to remove the snow off of his car before he could go anywhere. It snowed just about 40cm of snow overnight. It was common occurance in Nordlys, seen as the city is at the foot of a very tall mountain, Mount Krasno. It was 7:04 AM when he finished removing all the snow off his vehicule. He left out the parking lot of the huge appartment complex and headed straight downtown, where his office building was located. He worked as a supervisor for VelNetworks, Velossia's leading internet service provider, telephone service provider and digital cable provider.

He took the narrow, snowed up streets he'd normally take everyday to go to work. He left the large district of Uverdqvist and took Highway 210-S.

When he arrived downtown, everything was the same as always. Medium-size white office building, testifying of the country's socialist past. Many locals were walking the sidewalks of downtown, others took their morning coffees in numerous sidewalk cafés. As usual, he noticed the heavily armed 'policemen' standing guard infront of building of any remote importance. The past few months has shown that tensions are still strong between ethnic Kamzhisans and the Federal government. Kamzhisans make up some 30% of the population. Upon spotting his office building, he changed lane and entered the underground parking lot. A policemen asked Dimitri for I.D. He showed him his passport, as it is the only valid piece of identification in the Third Republic. The policemen, obviously exhausted and semi-conscient, gave him back the passport and mumbled inaudible words that resembled "You can go now, fast".

785-543 Revolution-Straße
Shwarzburg, Sozialistische Bundesrepublik Shwarzenfeld-Essen

Lukas Alderhaus awoke in his comfortable bed beside his wife Sophie in his three bedroom government-issued flat. After his morning cleaning routine, he sat down in his kitchen as Sophie prepared a breakfast of scrambled eggs, greeted his two children, Lothar and Anna, and turned on the television.

The television was turned to S-EN, Shwarzenfeld-Essen Nachrichtenbüro(News Bureau). An austere brunnete, identified as Maria Pendergast, was relating the details of yesterday's Inter-Republic Governmental Convention on Civic Progress. The camera cut to footage of a graying bespectacled middle-aged man dressed in a high-collared suit signing a document to thunderous applause. The caption read "Volkskanzler Aleksander Jansen Signs Additional Freedoms into Constitution." The news moved on the local scene, such as the grand opening of the Rosa Luxemburg Memorial Museum of International Socialism in downtown Shwarzburg, not far from the Alderhaus flat.

With breakfast completed, the Alderhaus family finished their preparations for departure and made their way by elevator down to the street entrance, several flights below. Exiting the apartment flat, they proceeded to their car, a ShwarzEss Automobil Sedan Mark 7, a new model of hydrogen-propulsion automobile recently released by the Transportbüro.

Travelling down the Karl-Marx-Straße, the main thoroughfare, they passed the diverse arichitecture of dowtown Shwarzburg, ranging from elaborate baroque buildings from the past to the utilitarian buildings of the present regime. The traffic was moderate, chiefly because of the recent expansion of the public transport system. Accompanied by the Mozart concerto on the radio, Lukas and Sophie discussed the interdepartmental project they were both working on, as the children discussed last night's episode of "Galactic Sojourn" with similar intensity.

Dropping the children off at school, Lukas and Sophie pulled into the massive Allesministerium, the government complex, containing all the governmental commisaries and employing a large majority of Shwarzburg's population that sprawled over several blocks. With a brief kiss, they seperated and went to their departments, Lukas to the Bildungsministerium (Ministry of Education) and Sophie to the Außenministerium (Foreign Ministry). Showing his identity card and papers to the guard at the ministry entrance, he settled into his modest cubicle-office. As the 3rd Level Deputy Commissar of the Ministerial Subcommitee on Post-Secondary Education, his duty consisted mostly of approving documents and edicts that came from below his and then sending them to his superiors.

Returning to their home, they ate dinner, after which the children worked on their homework while Lukas and Sophie read the latest issue of the Kulturzeitung.

Connor Ogimbu had been up all night drinking, again.
His head throbbed with great intensity as the sun light entered his windows and seemed as if it would burn a hole in his brain.

He walked over to his 'fridge and produced a bottle fo orange juice, a jar of green olives, a package of eggs and plasitc full of assorted sausages and sliced meats.

The sound ofthe frying food was like jackhammers in his too snesitive ears.

I will never do that again, I swear this time
Connor thought to himself.


Then an even more wretched ruckus loud as if the sky was falling....

What in the hell...DAMN IT.....The fecking garbage truck!
He looked at the stack of bags sitting next to his window adjecent to the fire escape.

He stepped out the window with falling bags in hand, too late.

He sat down a moment, reached into the window and grabbed plate of eggs and meat snatching the soda bread outside as well.

He opened a stout ale which he kept chilling on the balcony for just such mornings like this one.

The 'Red Hand' Military police blocked the street at both ends, then just like every morning the school bus turned the corner.

Rifle toting men knelt in a 'ready to fire' position at top the bus.

Ahead and behind HMMWVs rolled with the bus.

That was nothing new.

What was new these last few months were all the mothers( and a few fathers) who came out on to the street, or hung out windows, or took positions on roofs along the school buses route.

All bearing a rifle, or pistol, or both.

Mostly mothers in the street or on stoops, some with the black masks that their husbands no doubt wear while serving their time for the government.

Rumor was six months ago, a little villiage had grown tired of the fighting between the government and military factions--so the Mayor warned the local base the next time a citizen was placed in jeopardy the townsmen would act.
Well, appearantly a fire of some other such thing drew many of the men outside the town to aid a neighbor--and low and behold a fire fight did break out--but since the men were not around the mothers to uphold the promise the men had made about putting the lives of their families in danger.

As the story goes 34 women, 12 elderly men, and about 17 teenage boys, killed 45 OSP insurgents and 100 GOvernment forces. Killed every combatant to the man. The woemn then cut off the trigger fingers of the men and hung from local trees(supposedly there were crows everywhere for over a month) like decorations.

NO more fire fights though.

Ahh, well what are going to do?
GOtta keep the kids safe.

Connor finished his breakfast and headed to job at the Casino De ' Americana.

Elsior Natarillon woke from his slumber, the room around him was barely short of being spartan or even austere, his bed was covered by navy blue sheets as were his pillows and the rooms itself was a simple cream colour with only a small bedside table and a closet for furniture.
With a Sigh Elsior slipped out of his bed, he was a man of average height with a slim but powerful build and he wore his hair in the tradition of his people, which was tied back in a long ponytail.

After taking a moment to gather his wits he headed to his bathroom, it was a simple white tiled affair with a small handbasin and a shower and bath to his right while a door lead to a toilet to his left, Elsior undressed and turned on the shower then stepped into the hail of water particles.
Time passed slowly as he let the water cleane his body but after a time he left the shower and dried himself with a large blue towel.

It was a routine he had lived by for the last five years and he might do so for another such length of time unless cercumstances changed.
Perhaps a little pathetic, in such a routine that I don't need to set my alarm clock anymore, except after holidays He thought to himself as he looked into the mirror.
Elsior was like most Uldarions, he was pale with clear saphire blue eyes and long jet black hair, Uldarions rarely developed facial hair before the age of 45 (some not doing so before 60 or even 70) or at half-life as it was called and thus Elsior at only twenty-three had none.

After taking one last look at himself he sighed and headed back to his bedroom and got dressed, he was an employee of the biggest employer in Uldarious, Uldarion Uranium Industries or UUI, the pay was good and he was happy that he was an overseer rather than an actualy physical labourer or Operator or a miner, he dressed in his working uniform, a white cotton under-shirt and some black boxers over which he wore a white synthetic shirt and then a heavy grey double-brested overcoat with a bronze name-tag on the brest reading Overseer Natarillon, 2nd class, his trousers were the same heavy grey material of his overcoat, to an observer he may looked like a man dressed in pale ash. Lastly Elsior put on his black gloves and his black boots and walked to the kitchen.

Elsior opened the 'fridge and examined his options, red meat was a luxury he could afford only on special occasions and so his main sources of protein were from either fish or supplements, after a moment he settled on a simple porridge with honey and milk with a class of orange juice.
After he had eaten he straightened his clothes and headed out into the everyday cold of Uldarious.

(Will post more at a later date)

Dr Wang Dan adjusted his coat as he stepped out of the door to his appartment. The light in the lift blinked as it went down the 30 floors to the lobby.

Moments later it was the light of the sun that was blinking over the half-asleep communters, through the trees outside the train car. Xiang Gang's trains actually worked, which was quite something, because little else seemed to.

"BEIYUAN! Change here for Beiyuan Hospital, Beiyuan Park and Yongjing University Engineering School!"

Dr Wang got off the train and stepped out into the outskirts of Yongjing, the country's largest city. From the top of Beiyuan, which was a hill, he could see the gleaming skyscrapers of the Central District and Dayi City. Rather dated high-rises began to obscure his view during his walk to the hospital.

When he entered the large lobby he was only a cup of green tea and a lift journey away from the start of the day. Four women were due today, and one birth was going to be complex, so it was lucky that he met another obstetrician when he was buying his tea, so that he could discuss it.

Lo Ti Finh City…
Han Chu District…
August 12th…
08:35…

Yu Chao flailed his arm about wildly searching for the alarm clock on his bedside table. His fingers brushed against it, disturbing its precarious position atop a pile of study books. While Yu's hand continued it's search in vain, the madly beeping alarm clock fell oblivious to the floor where the old, brittle, sun baked ductape holding the batteries in place, gave way and the loud beeping stopped.

Exhausted from this ordeal Yu slumped back in his bed, but was almost immediately aware of the blinding rays of sunlight pouring in through the window and the loud noises of the bustling streets below. Summoning all his strength Yu dragged himself out of bed and slouched over to the window and threw it open, allowing the cool sea air to flood from over the delta.
Now suitably invigorated by this Yu quickly threw his clothes on before glancing at his digital wristwatch and realizing that if not a lot, he was at least a little late.
Grabbing his keys and helmet from their disorganized resting places on the floor he rushed out of the door before locking the newly installed lock behind it and throwing himself down the creaking stairs and out of the door.

Once outside and at ground level his senses were assaulted by early morning Han Chu, street vendors lined the sidewalk shouting about their wares, heavy traffic rumbled along the road adding to the stifling heat with the fumes, tourists wandered up and down buying things that no sane Ato-Saran would ever eat or use, and fellow students walked purposefully to their jobs and lectures.
Pausing for a moment Yu bought a pot of spicy noodles from a vendor and unlocked his cream coloured scooter from its accompanying bollard. Throwing the pot of noodles in his bag he started the engine and tore down the streets, threading in between the slow moving traffic.
Eventually the bustling streets of Han Chu gave way to the clear openness of the Jin 'ang docklands, swerving round a heavy goods vehicle Yu rode his scooter through a junction and onto the Kaiyo bridge.
The pale green suspension bridge named for Rei Kaiyo its great architect was the last bridge to straddle the mighty Kojong River before it emptied it surging waters into the Rongjin channel.
As Yu flew across the bridge he saw large flat-bottomed barges laden with goods from Wu Lao upriver, Small River taxis and cruise boats darted to and fro beneath the looming shadows of container ships bound for distant ports and out into the bay the sleek silhouette of a navy frigate marked the horizon.
From the elevated position of the bridge the gleaming skyscrapers of the Dan To business district rose into view, there rich business mean and women made and lost fortunes in everything from high-tech industry to rice shipping.
Turning at another junction Yu rode deep into the heart of Dan To, neon signs advertising pharmacies, Buddhist shrines, gaming shops and grocery stores shined weakly in the morning sun.
Yu skidded to an unsteady halt outside a small cyber cafe nestled in between two high rise office blocks, dismounting he wheeled the battered scooter down a side alley and locked it in a corrugated iron shed.
Taking his helmet off he walked through an open door into the back room of the cyber cafe where his co-worker, a thin, wiry student with large glasses and brown eyes called Chen Wei, was busily tinkering with a computer. Slinging his bag onto a shelf, Yu turned around to Che.
"Hi Chen," No answer, Yu tried again but louder. " I said, hi Chen." Chen grunted and looked up from the mess of parts strewn across a mat on the floor.
"Wah? ... Oh uh, yeah hi Yu." Yu grinned and walked on through another door that led to behind the counter in the front room. The manager Jin Kirchiro was waiting.
"Late again Yu? That’s the third time this week." Yu sighed.
"Yes Mr Kirchiro, sorry Mr Kirchiro. It won't happen again Mr Kirchiro."Jin Kirchiro chuckled.
"That was what you said last time. Anyway I'm paying you, get to work!" With that the boss went through the door and up the stairs to his office, leaving Yu to serve a customer.
The girl asked if she could print something off, Yu answered that she could but it cost two Atons per sheet. The girl thanked and returned to her computer. At this point Yu realized he had barely eaten at all and reached for his bag containing the spicy noodles. Yu then remembered that he had left it in the back room on the shelf. He went and got it and on returning dealt with two more customers before slouching down in his chair and enjoying his breakfast.
The rest of the day went uneventfully with Mr Kirchiro closing early at 16:30.
Yu remounted his scooter and began the journey home, while passing through the Jin 'ang docklands he was pulled over by a youth wearing a green bandana, which identified him as a member of the Jade Guard Cadets.
Jao Benh was a friend of Yu's since high school, tall ad strong he had enrolled in the Jade Guard Cadets in anticipation of joining properly next year after his studies were finished.
"Hey Yu, where are you going?" Yu cut the engine on his scooter and removed his helmet.
"Ah… Just home, I've got a lecture tomorrow." Jao laughed.
"Aww, come on. Stop being boring, some guys and me are going down to Lin's in Tei 'Po district, you wanna come? Tei' Po district was famous (or Infamous) in Ato-Sara for its clubs and bars; a lot of murky deals in seedy back rooms took place there. Lin's was probably the most prominent of Tei' Po's nightclubs, drawing huge crowds each night. Yu looked thoughtful for a moment before looking up from his scooter.
"Yeah, sure why not? I'll come." Jao laughed again.
"Great seeya there Yu." Yu grinned, put his helmet back on and gunned the scooter's engine before tearing off down the street and into the glorious red afternoon sunlight.

Oldina 24th - Christmas Eve.

Colara woke up and checked the room she had been sleeping in. She was still on the 12th floor of the Residential Sector, and still in the communal apartment she shared with her friends and workmates. Communal apartments like this one were pretty spacious, providing that up to eight people share a kitchen, two bathrooms and the same view of the central tower. Ah, the central tower. On the highest floor, Colara assured herself, the Representative was busy watching her toil on with her life.

She got her lycra jumpsuit out of the wardrobe and picked up her orcacard; her only friend in the world, the small lump of plastic and metal that bore her identification and a link to her Acoria Union bank account. Her career was that of a monorail buffet attendant; a lowly McJob where the only perk was that she could see the whole of Acoria from the window opposite her bar. She also got free travel, of course.

She picked up the monorail timetable beside her bed and found that the monorail would pass her block in ten minutes. She hurried out of the door, rushed down the inner lobby, and practically flung herself out of the 12th floor exit.

The blue locomotive blasted down the monorail, sounding a cacophony of electronic bells and whistles. Meanwhile, Colara pushed in her identification number at the terminal and prepared for a five-hour shift. Climbing the stairs to the top of the buffet car "bump", she walked into the staff changing room and added a blue ribbon to her head. Looking out of the small slit for a window she saw the citizens walking on the walkways above, the river water flowing in the fountains below.

Christmas shopping, she told herself, would come later. The Commercial District was the last stop on the daily monorail before her shift ended.

Dowland City, Capital of the Grand Republic

The roar of helicopter blades as they beat against the sky as a flight of Apache Helicopter Gunships flew past his highrise apartment awoke Shaun Frappart; he rubbed the sleep out of his eyes and grimaced at another early morning. Stil, at least the Apaches mean he never needed an alarm clock; they flew past at the same time every day, even weekends, though he was sure they were different pilots or machines. He arose from the luxury matress, ensuring that the covers were put in order and that the bedspread was smoothed over, before hitting the shower.

He emerged cleansed and awakened by the steamy hot water from the powerful showerhead, and changed into his work clothes; a dark grey suit and trousers combination with a navy blue tie and tiepin exactly two-thirds of the way down the edge of the tie, left hand side, as it should be. Pausing only to pick up a copy of the Republican Times, he left his apartment and walked the three streets to the train station. Coming to an intersection he stopped with a small crowd of other commuters as several armed traffic police officers raised their hands. The intersection was cleared of traffic within a minute or so, and after a few seconds more there came a dull rumbling.

Moving down the hardened street was a convoy of military vehicles, numbering more than two dozen. Two Bradley IFVs formed began the convoy, and were cloely followed by more than twenty lorries carrying Republican Guardsmen, legs swinging off of the sides in a relaxed pose. Bringing up the rear was another Bradley IFV and a Humvee carrying several flag officers;like many of his flying from the rear of the vehicle. The convoy sped through and the police officers signalled again; traffic continued on as usual with little fuss; after all, it was only a military convoy, and what nation didn't have those moving through the city every day?

Arriving at the Station he moved through the barrier, not being charged as usual, and jumped into a spare carriage that was unoccupied. He placed his briefcase onto an unoccupied seat and removed the Times. He noted with satisfaction that the Grey House was nearly finished being rebuilt, and that the monument to the dead of the Civil War had been finished this very morning. He looked forward to the opening ceremony in Dowland City; he had fought in the conflict on the side of Parliament, and it was something that should never be forgotten. With a hiss the train arrived in Victoria Station and he alighted, leaving the paper for someone else to use.

He then took the brisk walk through Liberty Fields, avoiding the barricades denoting an unexploded minefield, erected by the Loyalist defenders of the city during the last attack. Finally, some ten minutes later he pushed open the door to his office in the Ministry of Defence, after going through the usual rigamorale of securty checks and DNA testing, which had arrived only a few months before. He turned on his computer and awaited it to boot up, then looked out of his window, observing the Grey House in all its restored Glory. Only the West Wing remained a shattered reminder of the Civil War, and within a few weeks that too would be repaired. He nodded his head gently; another mornings work started.

Will insert name, location and story here at a later time later.

Kampfenburg, PROHT
Another day in the life of officer Frumpky.

He woke up, faced his three wives and told them that he loved each and every one of them, mostly to prevent being fined and discharged from the police force, he just couldn't say 'no' to women, perhaps that is how he got where he was...

He then got dressed and ate, allthe time listening to the Speakerphones blaring today's headlines and exact time, every so often with music from local bands. Apparently another wave of riots broke out over New Roanoke Island. He was thankful he wasn't based over on that ocursed island, no matter what the pay raise would be, also, he was never asked to go there.

He snapped up his blue greatcoat, put on his blue metal helmet and slung his CM-16 over his shoulder, then put on his belt and made sure everything was within easy reach. He then kissed his wives goodbye and dropped the kids off for pre-CDF training, a small government quirck that employees get, better than daycare.

He then finished riding the bus to what looked like an manhole cover, flashed his badge, and paid a tip, though he didn't have to, it was a custom he learned overseas, and it seemed to work very well.

After the bus left, he pulled up the manhole cover and climbed down, inside was the tunnel systems, to be used in the event of a war, he settled down in his foxhole between the tracks and made himself as comfortable as he could; he usually failed though.

Every so often a hippie would try taking refuge or an illegal immigrant would try sneaking into the city, either case his job was to make sure they would never be found in the tunnels again. One had to keep the tracks clear in case of a war... He often found the dreary tunnels as a place of solitude, for it was the ony place that did not have a speaker system pumping noise, except for his personal radio. Which today decided to wake him in the middle of a rather entertaining dream.

Apparently, up on the surface, riots have broken out again, people where flinging melted cheese at government employees again. A train pased over him and stoopped, let off a CDF troop, his son, and picked Frumpky up to help end the riot in Hurtful square.

At this point he thanked a few select individuals that
1> PROHT has an extensive public transportation network which shuts down to the public during a riot
2> The public don't have cars
3> The public don't have guns
4> The police where recently issued surplus Army M-113s and M-998s

The riot was quickly dispersed without having to fire a shot, 150 rioters died, 2 police casualties. The riot was for more political freedom, which has been ever mounting since PROHT allowd people to talk against the government in designated areas, these places where under survailence of course, but over the years the people learned to trick the cameras and befudle the spies. And since the government does not wish to increase funding to the police, it has become an ever growing concern to law enforcement.

Doom City, Doomingsland

The alarm shrieked promptly at 5:30 AM sharp, causing the big, burly Doomingslander to stir in his sleep. The shrill tone of that incompetent...machine began to infuriate the man, who finally came to and slammed his first down on the alarm clock, causing it to die down. Marcus Junius Quintus sat up in bed, grabbing a glass of water and taking a sip. His wife Atia stirred in her sleep next to him. He didn't want to bother her.

Wearily, he made his was across the bedroom into the bathroom, quickly brushing his teeth. As he brushed, he looked into his mirror upon which was displayed the morning news,

"Communist heathen army of Otagia crushed by the righteous Imperial Legions," proclaimed the mirror.

Marcus smiled as a small blank display was projected onto the screen, telling Marcus to tap it. He tapped on the mirror, causing it to play a short clip. Suddenly his reflection disappeared, being replaced with the image of a squadron of F-78H fighter-bombers swooping in over an enemy city and releasing their deadly payload. The subsequent explosion created by the fuel air bombs caused Marcus to chuckle to himself.

"This message has been sponsered by DoomCorp. DoomCorp: The Machines of Tommorow, Today."

This was why he awoke every morning.

As the image faded and was replaced with his own reflection, he noticed a small figure behind him,

"Little Gaius, getting ready for school?" he asked his six year old son happily, clad in his black and green Imperial Youth Guard uniform.

"Oh, yes, father," replied the young boy, clutching his DR-78 battle rifle in his small hands, staring at his father in awe. "Well, do well today, my son. I'm off to work," he said to his son, turning around and giving the lad a hug, strolling off towards the door.

He proceeded roboticly from his bathroom to his dresser, putting on a clean t-shirt. Over that he put on his flak vest, putting a fresh white shirt and tie on over that. From within his closet he grabbed his DAC-91K machine pistol, pulling back on the bolt and observing the chambed. A fresh 4.8x33mm hollowpoint round currently occupied that place.

Placing his sidearm into his holster, he proceeded out of his apartment. Stepping outside stretching, a heavily armored Imperial Guardsman in his dark blue uniform and sinister-looking gasmask nodded to Marcus,

"Salve, brother," said the man pleasently, not taking his hand off of the DAC-91 submachinegun he brandished,

"Salve to you, brother," replied Marcus with a weary smile,

"And where are you off to, Brother Citizen Marcus?" asked the Guardsman, who was informed of Marcus' identity via the subdermal microchip embedded in the citizen’s scalp, the information being projected on the Guardsman’s heads up display system.

”Off to morning Mass, brother, and then to work.” replied Marcus calmly,

”Very well, have a pleasant day, brother. Oh, there's a sand storm out there, you'd best be wary.”

Marcus nodded in acknowledgement of the warning and proceeded down the bright, sleek hallway towards the elevator. As he stepped inside the sleek, glass structure, he was greeted by his brothers and sisters who normally took the elevator at this time. No one felt like talking, someone may have mentioned something about the sand storm, by Marcus' mind was in a far off place.

He was interrupted when the elevator's doors slammed shut, sealing them in. The glass of the elevator came to life, blasting countless advertisements.

"Imperial Graneries. True bread for true believers," proclaimed one of the advertisements, causing Marcus to let out a chuckle.

It was amazing some of the things the corporations would say just to sell a little more. Well, it was good bread, Marcus had to admit.

Stepping off the elevator, Marcus stared across his aparment's spacious lobby towards the exit. The wall was of glass, so Marcus could see that the storm was quite bad, indeed. Taking a black shmagh out of his pocket, he covered his face, slapping on a pair of goggles to shield his eyes. He proceeded towards the entrance as if nothing were unusual.

Sand storms really weren't that uncommon that time of year.

Approaching the automated revolving doors, Marcus braced himself. The sound of rushing air filled the chamber as it inched open, spraying the occupants with a jet stream of sand. Shielding himself, Marcus forced his way out, onto the sidewalk.

You keep posting(by the way, you posted a double thread, might want to take care of that) about waleruses. What the hell is a walerus? A walrus/wale hybrid?:confused:
lmao..."a walerus eats her!"

Mac Anu-Dawn

The alarm clock struck 6:00 A.M. The radio. A tan woman named Mariko in her late 20's is awoken by the radio.

Good morning folks, rise and shine. Starting off with todays forcast, dress light, and break out the raincoats because we have hot temperatures along with heavy thunder showers at 80%

She yawns, and grabes a bra. To dress. (Hot nights in Aqua Anu)

She puts on a white tank, and shorts, and brushes her silky brown hair. It's humid but the humidy doesn't bother a native Aqua Anuien. It was going to be a busy work day, but that is what she loved. Stormy weather ment opening the fish gates, and the only way to do that was mannually, on the rough seas. She looked out side, the sky was already beging to look stormy. She grabed an umbrella, and headead out the door. The streets are full of pedestirens, bicyclest and boaters, as their are no cars. Their is no need to pollute the sky and water. She raised her hand for a water taxi. One stopped, for her. Later that day, at the Water Plant the work day seems a typical, people work on desalization, others on sewage, other look at fishing boats locations, and others look at the weather. The daily bulliten from the Queen chimes in

"Good morning Aqua Anu. I hope today you all have a good day, and do your work properly. In national news the levy project in the coastal city Ordyh is nearing complition. They still could use more volunteers, any one whishing, may do so. It pays AQC50 (aqua coins) an hour. Please note a hurricane warning is in effect for the west shore of Aquatica (one of the islands that makes up Aqua Anu) all should take percautions. That is all, have a good day."

"This has been the Queens Daily Announcements."

Mariko and her co worker Maggie, work to open the valves in the water storage room. Because of the intense water that comes out from every driection, both are dressed in heavy rain coats. "ready?" Thousands of gallons pour out from the toobs, additonal small waterfalls pour down on the two women. "Done." Said Mariko.

the PA system rings in: "Mariko, Maggie, you have been assigned to gate opening in the south east quadrent. Please proceed." This was Markio's favorite job. Outside the sky has turned black, and the rain falls. Lightning and thunder crash along side ocean waves. Up on the platform decks, Mariko and Maggie proceed to do a drop. It's exciting, but tricky and dangerous. "Ready, one two theree." The platform drops down to the waves bellow. Both Mariko and Maggie have to shout to hear. Both struggle to pattel twoards the gates, the only spot with bubmpers. If they crash against any other wall, the makeshift raft will be destroyed. "East Maggie, easy!" Their makeshift raft nearly drifts off course. Thunder booms, and lighitng bolts streak. They row their way to the gates. Now they could get off the platform, but they still have to deal with towering waves. "The switch is broken, we'll have to lift them by hand." Maggie shouted. Both Girls start to lift the gates. Fish pour in. "We've hit the jackpot!" Mariko shouted. A lot of fish ment more for the economy, and a pay raise. "Mariko, this gate won't stay open!"

"We'll need to tie the gears together."

"With what, we have no rope?" Mariko shedded her raincoat, and her tank, and tied up the gear tracks with both. But the gate still slowly moves down. "That's the best I can do, with out stripping nude." (Although public nudity was allowed) Maggie did the same, raincoat, followed by blouse. Now the gate stayed open. "Yes!" Both give their "fives" to each other, and walk down the narrow gate line, and into the door. (It's an Annex, with no connections to the main building, they'll have to wait for the storm to pass, to be picked up)

"OH I love storms." Mariko said.

"You really are going to stay on this job?"

"Sure. I know you are just trying to make your way through high-school (Maggie is actually 17) but this is my lively hood. Unless I meet a fisherman and marry him, where we would work at sea for days, I'm sticking with this job."

Doom City, Doomingsland"Communist heathen army of Otagia crushed by the righteous Imperial Legions," proclaimed the mirror.
I know it's propaganda, but could you at least TRY to make it semi accurate? Communism REALLY doesn't describe Otagia in the slightest, we're a capitalist's wet dream! Oh, and working on a post right now. Should be up by tommorrow at the latest.

Henry Wallpole was awoken by the buzz of his alarm clock. He turned it off, pushed the sheets off his bed and began to get washed and dressed. He was middle class - very aflluent by any standards - but did not have a Roman name as was the fashion in the upper classes of Praetonian society.

He put his toothbrush back into its pot and went down the stairs to eat breakfast. He poured himself some porridge. He hated porridge, but his sons liked it so he bought it and ate it anyway.

"Did you sleep well, George?" He asked his eldest son. He had four sons - two were young and at boarding school, one was an officer in the Navy and the third - George - had just finished an apprentiship at an engineering firm and lived with his father in the Capital.

"Very well thankyou," he said between mouthfuls, "and you?" His father nodded.

"It'll be a busy day at the bank, Im afraid. I may be back later." He was often back late and his son didnt mind much in any case.

"Oh really? Why is that?" He asked, with casual interest.

"We're expecting to place a bid for Imperial Oil & Gas. Very hush-hush, but it'll probably be all over the papers tomorrow so I dont mind telling you." Imperial Oil & Gas was one of the largest manufactures in the country. They drilled most of the oil in Praetonian and Commonwealth territory and exported oil rigs world wide. Henry's son's own firm made Fuel Injection Regulators for their engines division as a partially-owned subsidiary.

George look at his father for a few seconds and then shrugged. "Have fun." His father smilied. He finished his breakfast, picked up his bowler hat and briefcase, said goodbye to his son and left the house. It was a terrace, but terraces in most nations didn't have eight bedrooms and marble facings. The entire street did, and numerous other streets besides that.

Henry walked down the pavement, smiling amicably at passing men and women like himself with jobs like his own and they smiled amicably back. At the end of the street he turned into the tube station, put his card into the slot in the barrier and walked through as it opened for him. The walls of the tube station were marbled faced with LCD screens impressed in them at intervals showing advertising for Royal Metropolitan Transport, Plc. as well as other companies which had bought space. The new contrasted with the old beautifully.

He progressed down three flights of huge escalators before reaching the train on the platform below. It was a maglev and extremely fast, compared to many tubes. This section of the line, as one of the newest, had been one of the first to receive the new trains. He stepped on board and made his way to the First Class compartment at the front. Far from the comfortable but nonetheless crampt carriages behind, he reclined in an armchair with a table. He purchased a newspaper from a machine to the side of the table and sat back to read.

Nothing much was going on in the world. The King had a cold, Parliament was debating a bill that would ban whaling with explosives within 5 miles of a city and the navy had accidently sunk a fishing trawler. He flicked to the World News section and read briefly about the war between Doomingsland and Otagia. He shook his head at the unfairness of the contest, before turning to the business section.

Seven stops later, he arrived at his station - Royal Bank - which backed onto the Praeton Flumens river. Ascending this time in a lift, he had disposed of his paper in a recycling bin. Walking out into the street, he unfurled his umbrella, for it was raining. "It's always bloody raining," he mumbled to himself. The skyscape was quite impressive. He was in the very centre of the city and the buildings were only about ten stories high, but faced with intricate classical designs in marble. All around the little depression that was the historical Royal Centre of the city, skyscrapers punctured the inky gloom above.

A battalion of cavalry - horseguards - clip-clopped ceremonially past him on a specially designated lane. Even the dull sunlight that was penetrating the murky clouds made their swords and breastplates sparkle with polish. He ignored them. It was too early for most of the tourists and so he managed to avoid most of the crowds whilst walking to his place of work - the Royal & National Bank - a building equally spectacular to its neighbours. He walked past a bronze statue of some Prime Minister or other and a golden spire topped with an eagle wearing a bejewelled crown - a memorial bought by the Bank to comemorate those customers and former employees who died in the Battle of the Cariya Islands.

He did not glance at it. He had seen it enough times not to be impressed anymore by any of the trappings of the great financial centre of the Capital. Instead, he turned right and entered the bank, walked along its great marble entrance hall and disappeared up a flight of stairs to the bank offices above.

[OOC: This is the kind of lifestyle that maybe 5% - 10% of the population would be reasonably familiar with. The top 2% or so live a better lifestyle than this, but most of the population live comfortable lives in moderately sized houses (3 - 5 bedrooms) and have quite good jobs. The bottom 15% - 20% have rather unpleasant or low paid jobs - mining or unskilled manufacturing, for example, but their lives are not bad.

PS. I didnt mention guns once. Yey. ]

As she galloped through the Lorainian countryside, Priscilla couldn't help but marvel at the events of the past few months.

As Duchess of Elyria-Lorain, she had brokered the union of her nation, Alsace-Lorain, and St. Germain Lorain into a new region, one that had arisen out of the chaos and anarchy of the lands of Verboten Luftewaffe. On top of that, she had formed solid alliances with thirty-seven other nations, most with some sort of reciprocating trade policies.

Most of the Lorainian out-islands were now occupied by these new allies, who had built embassies and military bases on them, and naval bases in the waters of the islands.

A shout snapped her out of her reveries, and she looked in the direction that the voice had come from. About 200 feet away a farmer was waving at her, a big smile on his face. She turned the sleek Arabian towards him, and was there in an instant.

" How goes it, m'lady? Long time since I've had a word with you." He was a plump, pleasant looking man, full beard trimmed long, no mustache. He was holding a scythe, and it looked as if he had put in a days work already.

" It goes well, Master William. And yes, it has been a while since we last had a chat. I see youv'e been working rather hard this morning."

He glared at her. " What's with the 'Master William' young lady? Gettin' kinda big for your britches, 'aintcha girl? The name's Bill....don't forget it!"

Priscilla grinned, then laughed out loud. " Forgive me, Bill. Attending to the affairs of state have left me a bit stuffy these days. Gone, I'm afraid, are the days of easy living and runnng free."

Bill pointed a finger at her. " And gone are the days of being afraid of every shadow, wondering where our next meal was comin' from. You got us out of there, Prissy, and none of us will ever forget it."

Priscilla was so touched by his words, she started to cry. Not that anything was wrong, she was just so happy that the people were behind her.

" You all helped, Bill...every one of you." You wouldn't know it to look at him, but Bill was one of the Royal Advisors of the Grand Duchy of Elyria-Lorain. There were three of them, but things had been going so well that their advise had not been needed, and therefore not sought.

Avignon's government was a little different than most. It was a constitutional tetrarchy, which meant that the three nations within the region ruled co-equally under a constitution that was based on the American one of some centuries ago. The tetrarchs had adopted most of the American Constitution as it was, with a few Articles and Amendments made clearer and unambiguous. The result was a nation that was prospering, and at peace.

Bill grinned at her again, and said, " If your grandfather could see you now, he'd be so proud. Youv'e certainly got the Valtane blood running through you. Just don't let it all go to your head."

Priscilla bowed in her saddle, raised her hand in salute, and wheeled the horse around, heading back to her stable. She purposely hadn't said anything about the state of affairs in the Dominion of the Grey Legions. They were one of her allies, and she had just found out that they had switched their region to the new one created by Automagfreek.

What in hell were they up to, she wondered........

bump

<TAG> Will respond later.

Driggle, Halfling Minority, Spootopolis

Driggle walked with his fellow Halflings down the thin pavement, on his right was a large goverment building, on his left a 6 laned road carrying large tank-like vechiles, a Purple Monkey bounced across the road and Driggle immediately thought "roadkill", the Halfling population was strong in Spooty, they were quite intelligent and barring the discomfort of having the Fascist community breathing down their necks life was good, the group closed in together as they slunked past a group of Lemonaders smoking weed, amongst them was a member of the Ringleader Guard, it was perfectly legal but still made the Spootian wonder if the Guardsman would do anything if one of the Lemonaders stole somthing from him.

Hank and Larry, War Tourists, Off the Coast of Freak Show

Larry helped himself to another beer from the cooler, it was a hot day and there was little to do, the two grown men had decided to go through the "who had the biggest scar" contest, Hank always won, he had a scar from the Caudillo war which had produced a long white slash across his back, Larry could only ever retort with his meager scratch gained from watching some minor conflict in a far-off land.

Eric Dutch, International Drug Dealer, Candyland

Eric wiped his nose clean, the cocaine began to seep into effect causing the world to blur and haze into some altered reality which he could always escape to, he dreamed of the days that he had been in command of some of the largest riots in Spooty, this fact made him smile as he then took out a taylor made spliff, his lighter at first refused to work but some jiggling caused the flame to pop out the top.

Fritz Schmeil, Weapons Expert, Mount Spooteh

Fritz scrumpled up the sheet of paper, he threw it over his shoulder and began to sketch another shuttle, it was similar to his other designs, he needed to work out how to get Spooty into space at last, so far his plans had taken him only half-way, thank god they wern't manned shuttles, he thought to himself as another sheet landed neatly in the basket.

Amazonia, 0800

Time to go to work.
Bertrand Berrian woke from his air-bed, as the sound of a mortar round striking a house next door slammed through his home. Those drug addicts, that'll show 'em. The neighbors had been wierd anyway...especially after they'd tried to rape his girl in public. Thank God the police were reasonable about such matters.
He quickly got dressed, said goodbye to his wife and two girls for the day, and left his home. On the street the police who had destroyed the house next door were publically assaulting a Muslim. Another passing civilian finished him with a round from an assault rifle.
Berrian hopped into his car and drove off to work. He hit several things on the way, just assuming they were poor homeless people or something to that sort. He arrived to work to find that someone had already taken his space. Bastard. Berrian parked his car a good deal away and pulled a package of C4 out of his trunk. He set the timer under the other car and walked slowly away as the car exploded violently. He saw a bicyclist on the street, and this offended him. He took out a dart gun and shot out the wheel, laughing as the bicyclist fell into the street and got hit by a passing car. The driver honked and gave him a thumbs-up sign.

((Oh heres the life of the daily Antanjyl commoner before the blockade of our nation took place.))

Antalia Capital City; 0800 Hours

The highrise apartment building was not very fancy, and had almost no cosmetic value with the exception of numerous gothic statues of demons jutting out of it at irregular levels. Within this rather bleak building, on the third floor and behind the door marked C-18 lives the twenty year old Koryu and his wife and child...

"Honey! You're late for work again! Do you want to wind up jobless?" An angry, albeit attractive dark haired woman shouted as she walked into the small bedroom, which was painted a dark black and had numerous red demons embroidered across the walls, "Well do you?! Gah! For the love of Galf I should have listened to my mother and stayed with the Agency!"

"Augh... Sorry dear..." Koryu said sadly as he rolled out of bed in a pair of boxer shorts, walking over to the window and opening the blinds. It was snowing, but then again it was snowing in Antanjyl almost eight months out of the year, "I guess the weathers alright, has Karias dressed for school yet?"

"He left an hour ago, since he manages to wake up on time..." The black haired began to say more, but the sad expression that Koryu showed her seemed to make her cave, "Well in anycase I made breakfast for you, but its cold so you may need to use the microwave."

"Awww... You're the best Sasha. I'll get right to it. Have a nice day sweety." He said with an almost innocent smile as he slowly changed into his work uniform, which was a white long coat, as he was an imperial officer of the Agency, "Oh and by the way, I got those tickets you wanted..."

"Oh honey! The tickets to the arena?! Kavax versus the champion Exmus in a battle to the death?!" She said excitedly as she ran over and pounced, knocking him back onto the bed.

"Yep! So find a sitter for Karias next week! Well anyways I shouldn't be anymore late to work than I have to." He quickly moved her aside, giving her a quick kiss on the lips before leaving the room, and ultimately the apartment building.

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

The streets were covered in dense sheets of snow, and the plows were on full alert. Koryu was relieved though that today the Agency simply assigned him guard duty for one of the subway stations, and as he watched all of the varied people marching down the steps, he couldn't help letting off a low yawn. If it weren't for the heat radiating from the ground where he was standing, he probably would have suffered frost bite hours ago.

"So Koryu... I hear you gave her the tickets, I guess you can expect something special tonight eh?" An Agent said calmly as he walked forward in a black longcoat, his AK-109 handing at his side. It took a moment to clearly tell who it was from the roar of the snow, "Heh heh heh..."

"Yeah Darius, you can count on it. So you get any tickets?"

"Naw man, I guess I'll have to watch the fights on television... Gahhhh the arena will be so great for you two. I'll just have to catch tickets for the next one some time later, or maybe I'll be lucky and a criminal will have some on him that I can get."

"Haha... That'd be pretty ironic, but good luck anyways... Damn cold... Psh, too bad the Cathedral is packed, I could take my break in there..."

"Yeah, today's sermon is on The Pits and Galf."

"Cool."

Life in Nuralla

Hal Courson looked out of his window.. The buzzling streets of Utaw streched as far as the eye chould see. People bicycling. The street-trains occational pickup of hordes of peoples.
Hal sighed. He knew that even though it looked peaceful, crime was to be fought. He donned his granite-hard police suit and picked up his AK-47.
"Another day at work," he mumbled and walked out of the apartment.

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

He caught up with his unit, who were patrolling Fedrol Street.
"You're late," lietenant Epstein said as Hal came running.
"I'm sorry, sir."
"Of course you are. But that won't fight the gangs that haunts our city. Let's move on!"

The unit moved on towards Zenhed Steet. Most civilians hadn't got up yet, so only few bicycles were moving around and few stood at the street-train's stops. Because the machines known as "cars" were banned, people had get around otherwhise. Hence the street-train.
It seemed this would be a quiet day for Hal. Nothing seemed to happen. They passed some bookstores selling the lastest Harry Potter book. Hal didn't have the time to read those books, as his job required him to much more awake then the average citizen.

As everything seemed to be quite fine, something happened. A man had grapped the suitcase of a woman and now, she was screaming at the unit.
"Stop him! I've got my values there!"
Hal sighed, raised his gun, and fired.

Carmina Gadalica 7:00 A.M.

The Western/Japanese Themed City was already alive with bustling activitey. Government officals making their way to the Parliment, the stock market, while heavily restricted, was bustling with commerce. Jermiah "Jeremy" Ito woke up at the sound of his alarm. "Monday." He got out of bed, to wake up his twin sis, and his little brothers and sisters. He put on his school uniform, it was black for all guys, with black pants. "Tohru, 7:05." His twin sister poped out of bed, and put on her uniform, a dark blue blouse with skirt (not plad) Their two younger siblings also came out of the room, rubbing their eyes sleeply. Their mother also came out of her bedroom. "My alarm must have not gone off again."

"Don't worry ma," Jeremy said "I got everyone up."

"Thank you Jeremy, thank you. Oh it will be nice when your father get's back from Business. And once I can get over my writers block, I can get my novel published, and we can get back on our feet."

"Just keep trying ma, you'll get some ideas soon."

Tohru came out into the kitchen. "Morning mama, over sleep again?"

"I'm afraid so dear. Please eat something, you looked starved."

"Yes mama."

"Mommy," Said the little girl Molly. "When is daddy comming home?"

"A few more days honey. It's amazing he made it their saftly, thoese 10000 Islands are rough."

Thoru implied "Not as rough as the Xanadouen Sea. I learned that in Geography."

"Very good honey, see I told you could pull up your grades despite your learning disability."

Tohru gulped down her orange juice. "Bye mom"

"Take your umbrellas you two, it looks like it might rain."

"My coat is at school!" Tohru shouted back.

12:00

The lunch bell rang, the students sat down to lunch. For some at frist glance it would like a private school, but it was 100% public.

A young boy anxiously ran to the table where his freinds, including Jeremy we're sitting.

"Did you hear, Mia Sanjiro is pregnate."

Thoru looked shocked. "Mia, my god, we've known her since kidigarten, she's pregnate?"

"Yeah, now she'll have to quit school, and maybe get married."

"She's 17."

"Still, you know she could have gotten an abortion, if only it wasn't outlawed. I heard she's searching for the "X Clinic"

Jeremy said "That shaddy backstreat clinic? I've heard for every 10 abortions 3 of the girls die."

"Well then why doesn't the Government just legalize it?"

Another young lady just sat down

"Maybe because it's murder." Anya Rothrock a strait A honor student, with a fierce LDS loyalty. "Scientifically speaking, the unborn fetus at an X amount of time, you can look it up, is a living breathing thing, and can feel pain. Religiously speaking, you are killing God's unborn children, and violating the covenate that says to "Replenich the Earth. If she didn't want to have a baby, maybe she shouldn't have had sex before getting married."

Everyone was blown back. Anya was kind of shy, but Jeremy knew once you get her started, there was no stop."

Largent

Scott Pearse listened to the motor of his '68 Shelby roar. It was one hell of a loud car, and thats an understatement. His morning commute from his quite suburb to the financial district took him through some of the rougher parts of the city. The places people tried to keep secret from the international community. You were either one loaded mother fucker or you didn't have a dime to your name. Thats how it worked in this part of the world. Scott was one of the lucky ones. He owned a Venture Capitalist firm in the hart of the financial district and had managed to buy a beautiful home for his family just outside the city. He flipped through the channels on his radio but there wasn't much other than the regular talk radio that he often found himself listening to rather than the crap they had on other stations at six-thirthy in the morning.

He was getting closer the housing projects and it started to show. He passed a road sign reading: 'Welcom To Hell'. It was written is spray paint over the speed limit. Pearse shook his head. Maybe if the government gave a damn this place wouldn't be such a hellhole. One wouldn't be surprised to find that that was the general consensus around the natio but few of the rich would risk everything to stand up to a totalitariansit regime and none of the poor had enough say, or rather any say, as they simply fell through the cracks in society. Scott hit the accelerator and five minutes later the sirens faded and that part of town was out of sight and out of mine.

It took him only a few minutes to pick up his morning coffe and get to the office. He climbed back into the Shelby and headed into the parking garage spilling some of the hot contents of the cup onto his lap. Cursing he dabbed his lap and headed for the elevator. His office was on the fourtieth floor, high enough to see the entire city. He was walking into his office when he glanced at his secretaries desk. He then glanced at the clock. It read 8:30. Susan was never late. He shook his head as he turned to one of his co-workers. "Was Susan a liberal."

The other man smiled grimly, "Yeah. She was a great lady to. All she ever did was give back to the community. Then, one day, shes decides shes fed up with the way things are around these parts and she slaps on her anti-government overalls and the next day this."

Scott shook his head. Sighing, he knew there was nothing he could do. He went into his office but couldn't get his mind off of Susan. "He looked out at the city. He stood and when over to his large window, gazing at the ground beneath him. Even though it was four-hundred feet below he could have sworn that in the course of twenty minutes he saw at least twenty pedestrians taken away in the black cars all Largentians knew too well. Their families would never see them again, actually no one would. Again, all Scott Pearse could do was sigh. There was little else anyone could do other than sigh, shake their head, and mumble about what a shame it was that all this had to happen.

Once he managed to pull himself back to his work he started to open his mail. Bills, bills, bills. And next he had to do his taxes. This time of year was the worst, although, Largentian taxes were quite simple. All you have to do is calculate how much your income is and then give it all to the government. "Ass holes", he muttered under his breath afraid to say it any louder.

After the work day was over ten hours later he went back into the parking garage. He pressed the button to automatically unlock his car but he heard nothing, not good. Before he could run he heard the tires screech as the black car flew towards him. It came to a sudden halt as two men dressed in all black jumped out and threw Scott Pearse to the floor of the parking garage. Two of his co-workers walked by. He would have called to them but he knew for a fact they would pretent as though they had never seen him before. People had to survive in this damned place after all. He was then pulled into the car and the doors were slammed shut. He arms and legs were tied up and he was laid down in the back seat as the two men sat in the front of the vehicle. Still dazed he still managed to ask, "What did I do."

"Mr. Pearse, I am assuming you are aware that it is a federal crime to have access to radio stations not authorized by the Largentian government." All Pearse could do was lay back and hope that it would all end much faster and less painfully than the last fourty years in this country had gone by.

The sea was dark, and rough. Waves crashed all over the place, a tiny sail boat was being tossed in the storm. Rosette Christopher shot up from her bed, it was another dream. Nothing had been quite the same since that night. It was amazing her family made it out alive. But of course she wasn't at sea now, she in her bed, in her quite farm house. Her little brother and sister in the rooms next to her, both slept soundly. As well as her parents. Rosette lied back down, attempting to go to sleep. The next morning she dressed in a pair of overalls, along with some other work clothes. People in West Kurona dressed pretty diffrently than thoes folks in the east. She made her blond hair nice and neat, long with two stubby pigtails. She rarely wore her hair down a lot.

Molly Christopher (the mother) made breakfast for the whole family, at the same time prepared a bottle for the baby who was fastly approaching two. Pretty soon it would be time to wing her. Rosette, Joshua, (brother) Paul (the father) all sat down, followed by Molly. All had Blond hair, Rosette had blue eyes, Joshua had brown (his fathers) As for Madaline (the baybe) She had almost amber eyes.

Paul spoke "Well today is the day we finish up, and cash in."

"I hope we don't get short changed again." Rosette spoke out.

"I don't know honey, with the economy the way it is, the Goverment has no choice but to seize most for taxes. If we don't pay we don't live here."

Rosette didn't need to hear anymore, she had heard of the ghastly prisons Kurona had. Now they even started deporting criminals to deserted isalnds. A long horendus sea trip.

Molly reassured Rosette "Don't worry babe, we'll be all right. "

Joshua implies "Yeah, you know Caley's family did extreemly well once the weather got better. The flood actually made their fields more fertal."

"It made all our feilds fertal Joshua." Paul said. "This turned out to be an excellent year. So let's get eating then get to work."

The family ate, but not in silence. Soon later it was mid noon, scoarching. Roestte wipped her forehead, and breathed out a big breath. That was the last bunch. Now all the corn was freshly loaded onto the tiny wagon.

Paul asked "Is that all."

Rosette looke about "Yes papa."

They all hopped onto their wagon, and hauled the load off. Although it was sunny, there was a slight menacing darkining in the sky.

In town, Molly and Paul did business selling of their crops, while Rosette, Madaline, and Joshua waited for them. Rosette was just down to a tank, with her overalls barely holding above her waist. "If I had know it would be this hot" She said "I would have dressed lighter. Your lucky Joshua, you can take your shirt off anytime, I can't."

"Oh Rosie."

She smiled, and rubbed his hair. Both stood as their church officals Mother Superior, and Father McKnight came.

"Oh hello Rosette." Said the Nun

"Mother Superiro, and Father McKnight, how are you, hot today isn't it?"

The father spoke in a Scottish Accent "That it is."

"Rosette, I'm afraid Choir Practice has been cancled tonight. Judging by the sky, it looks like it's going to storm soon, and we don't want our students, especially you getting caught in it."

"Understood ma'am." They walked on. Rosette fell back to her knees. "Ahh I love going to Choire."

"Ah don't get so down Rosette. Remeber what happend last time, you got lost, in the Woods."

"Well I wouldn't this time."

Paul and Molly came out content, but not as happy as either we're expecting.

Molly turned to them and said "Well we got plenty, it was good enough."

As their wagon pulled up to their farm, the dark clouds began to gather. Rosette helpe her father get everything into the Barn. Joshua helped take down the laundry.

Rosette shut all windows in the barn, her father came back in, the wind was already rushing.

Rosette asked "Is it going to be bad Pa?"

"I don't know sweetie. It isn't going to be a nice one though I can tell you that. Lucky we got all our crops in."

Thunder crashed.

Her father beckond her to him. The rain had already begun falling, and both ran to the shelter of the house. Rosette let her hair flow free all the way loose.

"I think I'll go take a bath." Relaxing in hot water seemd to calm her nerves

Later that evening everyone had gone off the bed a little early. The storm was still in full force, and seemd to be getting worse. Paul woke up, and took a look. "Molly, Molly I think we better grab the kids and go to the storm cellar. I don't like this at all."

Molly got up to get Madaline, Paul would get Joshua. Rosette was sound asleep, the lightning flashing brightly through her window, bathing the room in blue. The door opend rapidly, as Molly ran in. Madaline was getting fussy. "Rosette, wake up honey, come on."

"Mama what is it?"

"We've got to go for shelter honey, let's go."

Rosette didn't have to ask anything more. She's been through a few tornados in her life, and was told time and time again, if one we're to come in the night she wouldn't be left behind. The house already began to shake lightly, glass started shattering. Paul cut off Molly to stop them from going further. "We can't get out it's way to bad out there. We'll have to take cover in the hall."

"Oh dear God." Molly said, with a plea in her voice. (As you can tell they are devout Catholic)

"Everyone get down." Joshua and Rosette got down on their knees first. Madaline was put beside them. Molly and Paul got down last, and coverd up their children, and braced for the worst.

Hours later they all had fallen asleep amazingly. Then most woke up.

Molly asked "Is it over?"

Paul "I don't know. It's too soon to tell. But we should take advantage of this moment. Rosette Joshua go get a blanket and matress from our bedroom, be very careful to not cut your feet on any glass."

The two obeyed, and dragged it out. Paul almost made it look like a tent. They all huddled under it, each under their parents arm. They we're all scared, but to Rosette and Joshua, their parents we're perfectlly brave, and calm, and content.

By the next morning the clouds broke up. Everyone staggered out of the house to see what the damage was. Nothing to terrible.

"I guess it was a small tornado." Paul concluded.

"Well thank God it wasn't any worse."


Their neighbors we're spared the damage and wrath of the the twister, but we're more than willing to help. Christina, and her two children (Their neighbors) loant them her shoes and socks untill they could get theirs back. Overall not a horrific disaster, and things would turn out fine

Bob walked through the streets. He saw a group of Kippl Corporate Officials. Now Sal walked up from the other side of the street. Sal was working for an anti Kippl organization. Sal clicked a button and killed the Corporate Officials. Bob pulled his KK-87 machine gun and riddled Sal now deemed a traitor. The moral, Kippl is either a paradise of oppratunity or a Hellish prison for those who have anti-Kippl ideas. . .

"Sophia Hayes, you had a question?" Ms. Lansing, the teacher of 21 first grade students at Stone Hill Elementary School, Dover, The Beltway, asked. She loved her job, and she loved the $100,000 Beltway a year she got for it just as much. Ms. Lansing had been teaching at Stone Hill for eight years, and she still loved every second of it. She got the chance to train the minds of the next generation of The Beltway's citizens, and, besides, she enjoyed working with children. Their innocence, their naïve questions, their general sweetness, all combined to put a smile on her face whenever she was in school.

"Yes. Why do we have to make both flags?" the young girl sang out. Sophia Hayes, who would be turning seven on June 17, was the daughter of a police officer. She had a great time on Take Your Daughter to Work Day, sitting in the squad car next to her mom.

"Can anyone answer Sophia? No?" Ms. Lansing asked, then, after getting no response, said, "All right, I will. We have to make two flags because we don't just live in The Beltway; we also live in the United States of America."

"Oh, like how I live in Sussex County and in The Beltway?" asked six-year-old Miguel Gutierrez, fourth child of MP Carlos M. Gutierrez (R-Sussex). Miguel was the smartest kid in the class; the standardized test they had taken in January told him that. He was a bit weak on history, however.

"Not exactly. You see, the USA no longer exists as a nation. But it still exists within the hearts of each and every one of you. Who knows? Maybe, one day, you'll grow up to bring back the USA," Ms. Lansing answered, then said, "Okay. Students, you'll need red, white, and blue construction paper, scissors, and tape. Everyone knows how to cut out a star, right?"

Valos rose before dawn, as was his custom. He knelt before the black draped altar and lit the black candles. The skull on the altar had very little flesh still clinging to it. What was still there was rotted. After several minutes of venerating the altar, Valos stood and blew out the candles. Daily devotion to an altar of death was a normal feature of life in Mortuarium. Death was worshipped as god. He pulled on a black hooded robe and left his home.

Reaching his workplace, Valos laid out a collection of sacrificial knives. He was a Death Knight. His position was one of great respect in Mortuarium, for his was the task of ritual sacrifice. Those who were selected were sacrificed by a Death Knight. The dead were then venerated as "Enlightened Ones". It was believed they went to serve the god Death in his Shadow Court.

OOC: The following is a story I wrote a while back. It's actually set some 20-25 years ago, when Ecopoeia was a fairly conventional 'green' socialist democracy, rather than the, er, eccentric pseudo-anarchy it is now. The story is a good example of the idealised perception of life in a small coastal community; not everyone has it this good.

* * *

Enough is as good as a feast

Valamo, south-west Hellas, early 1980s*

Tepi Raatikainen heaved at the netting, his calloused fingers slick with oil and blood. He and his fellow fishermen dragged the fresh catch to the collection area and, with a flourish, emptied the haul from the net. Many of the fish were still alive and squirmed and writhed, glistening in the late afternoon sun. Tepi helped return the net to the small fishing vessel and then he and his colleagues returned to help allocate the catch.

He exchanged grins with a local woman, Henna, and saw his weary pleasure reflected in her tired, greasy face. It was a good catch, as had been the case all summer. Tanking snapper stocks were thriving while red sea bass and pygmy shark were also plentiful. The strict new regulations enacted by the first ecopoet government had seen foreign vessels turned away and a resurgence in the dolphin and porpoise populations. There was even talk of lifting the ban on consuming dolphin meat if the trend continued.

The sun was very low in the sky when the last fish was allocated. Few had stayed this late, anxious to return home and prepare evening meals. Tepi sat with his back against the harbourmaster’s hut swigging beer, aching legs splayed out in front of him. Mixu, the aging captain of another vessel, sauntered over, also carrying a beer. He sat down next to Tepi, groaning at his joints. Both remained silent a while, watching the western sun pierce clouds that hugged the horizon and leave a trail of fire on the quiescent sea. Mixu belched contentedly.

“Some sight, eh, Tepi?”

“Humbling.”

“My favourite part of the day. Job done, nothing to do but watch the sun disappear before going home to the wife and getting a good feeding.”

“Heh. Not so peaceful round my way, mate.”

“You and your deviant ways… I don’t know how you cope in that madhouse.”

“Me neither, to be honest. Wouldn’t have it any other way though.”

“Ha! Lunatic.”

Tepi smiled and drained the bottle of its last foamy dregs. He sighed and stood, limbs protesting.

“Better head off. Paavo’s in charge of cooking tonight and he’s obsessive about people being on time for tea.”

He waved goodbye and set off for home, a journey of some twenty minutes along the coast. He barely sensed the sun on his left cheek as he walked, already brown and leathered from years of sun and sea wind.

He arrived home. The final calm before the storm.

The children saw him. He was assailed by demands for piggy-back rides and wrestles. He fought back fatigue to placate them and eventually made his way into the house, wriggling kids under both arms. The kitchen was a hive of activity, with sisters, brothers, lovers and siblings-in-law rushing around, preparing dinner, attending to mewling babes, flirting and God only knew what else. Tepi fought his way to a chair and slumped in it with boundless relief. He felt fingers touch his head then run through his matted hair. He looked around to see Rauni, mother of two of his three children, looking at him in an appraising manner, head tilted to one side.

“Let’s get you cleaned up,” she said, and smiled.

Later, cleaned up and soothed thanks to Rauni’s close attentions, he joined his family at the huge dinner table, the pungent scents of spices and fish combining with dense chatter to thicken the room’s atmosphere. Paavo, his younger brother, was needling him over the family’s share of the catch.

“You’re too good a commie, Tep. So busy ensuring everyone gets a share, you leave us with scraps.”

Paavo was grinning all the same, happy that his meal was going down so well. Tepi shrugged helplessly and looked around at his lovers and his children and his sisters and his brothers and his parents and his friends and felt his heart swell and burst through the fatigue.

“It’s enough.”

* * *

*The Community of Ecopoeia was formed in 1979, following the Second (‘Ecopoesis’) Revolution. Its UN Category at the time of the events detailed here was ‘Democratic Socialists’ (Very Good civil rights, Fragile economy, Good political freedoms). Valamo remains a very small coastal settlement today – with perhaps two thousand residents – and is still home to the Raatikainen family-community.

life in the sephrion empire
life was hard for those with no affilations to the armeed forces
xander was a pacfist when ever he saw a soldier from the armmy he would run and hide
pacfiests were cowards and as such were shown no mercy by the supriour class the warrior class

Nevadski, 9:27

John slowly walked down the street, looking for the place that would be his new career. As he walked along he saw men in HASDAM suits, hurrying people wearing gas masks out of a familiar building. Paradyne Industries. That place may have provided Nevadski with 69 percent of their technology and industry, but it leaked like broken glass. Local people have even started blaming it for their gardens wilting, saying the government should close it down. Fat chance. Whatever guy was Prime Minister now he certainly loved his science. Loved it so much that he didn't mind two flats getting demolished for it to be made. Finally, he reached the Parliament building, or what it was suppose to be called. It was generally just a place where members of different parties yelled at each other over their Television Transmitters all day while sitting in the safety in their own home. John approached the receptionist.
"Yes?" she said dully. John put the letter on the table.

"I'm here to takeover as Chancellor of International Affairs" he replied sternly. Immediately the receptionist straightened up.

"The Cabinet are waiting for you in the Chamber" she said quickly, trying to look proffesional. She handed him the key pass before pointing to a large, bleak door at the very back. John straightened his tie and walked up to the door. This was life in Nevadski.......you either get it made or don't get paid. And now he was going to go to one of the most important roles in the country. Well, he thought to himself cheerfully, thats life. He opened the door....

After finishing his morning routine of showing his thanks to his beloved leader with 500 chants of "Oh hail the chosen one - if only I was more like unto him, maybe I could feel worthy', our subject walks out of his humble abode to the Bus stop where within 2 minutes one of the highly efficient stae run buses whisks him quickly off to work. He sits and thinks 'How wonderful it is not to have a traffic problem' He arrives in good time and works hard pleased to do his bit for the nation, after all he knows the Emporer personally appreciates all his beloved minions.

As he works, our subjects inwardly Thanks the Emporer for the fact that the school his children attend is actually teaching his children respect and discipline as well as the highest standards possible in all the subject areas.

He boards the state-run never delayed train home for a change he once again thinks how wise it was to otherthrow the previously corrupt so-called 'Democratic' government there was before.

After a simple tea, he gathers his family around him and they spontaneously burst into an impromptu rendering of the National Anthem, to which his neighbours join in, and he retires safe in the knowledge that the crime rate is zero thanks to the massive and expertly trained and utterly trustworthy Police Force.

Life's a peach in the Holy Empire of Al the Benevolent.

Mathieu wakes up at 7 o'clock, as the clock tower ring in the city, to tell them when to wake up. He puts it's clothe on, making sure they do not represent violence, religious, political, or rebellious sign.

Bob the cat is watching him and he wanna go outside. So Mathieu takes Bob out for a walk. On his way, he cross a young boy being arrested for excahning lemonade against services. the air is so fresh, the only vehicule allowed do not pollute oo much and are public transport, and smoking is banned. He's going to work the required 6 hours on the governement office, as everybody do. Bob s allowed in, since cats are sacred. The job is boring, but this is necessary for the good of the nation. His radio pocket remember him that violence and religion are not allowed in this country.

After the 5 hours, he get a job ticket. 4 more of these and he's gonna be ok for work control police and he'll be allowed to get food and necessary things, and if he's lucky, maybe a new computer. The job is over. He takes bob home and go see some friends.
suzie and Anna are their, but not Claude. He was caught with only 3 work ticket, so he have to work 2 extra shift. The can do whatever they want, as long as they do not make too much noise. Sadly for them, alcool was banned recently, so they decide to play starcraft (warcraft 3 cos too much) in multiplayer.

2 hours later, a police officer come to see Anna. She forgot to bring back the movie at 8, it's now 9.

Mathieur think about his life, and he cnnot complain about it, even though it's missing some bigger excitement. He knows the gopvernement make it only to clean the mind of the people, because recently they allowed people to vote again.

Darwinnaria
UN Category: Corrupt Dictatorship
Civil Rights: Good
Economy: Struggling
Political Freedoms: Few

Life in Agonnoga

Ibram was waken up by Achmed.

There was no sound made as they got up from their rolls.

It was time for morning prayer. Imam Ahmet was there, with his white turban, and looking towards the direction of the Holy City. The only sound present was the wind.

Ibram unrolled his mat. The ground was not as comfortable as the regs they had passed some days ago - too hot - with their camp embedded in the shadow of the mount to evade the heat. His watch glowed in the blue light of the morning, being a second star, and bound to his wrist.

Imam Ahmet started the prayers.

Gentquiel Washington woke up at four am. He had been in the army since he was five, he didn't remember anything different. After having a quick breakfeast, he attended the morning chapel and then begun training to become one of the feared Keyi ninjas.

Meanwhile his parents slept until seven. They had a decent breakfast. His mother headed of to work. His father stayed home, he had to. Today the was the day Gentquiel's younger brother (who was only three) was to be taken to begin military training. Will he be a ninja like his brother, or will he one day opperate the high tech laser guns? Maybe, maybe not, only training will tell. But one thing is for certant he will one day become a brillant warrior.

Kyoko woke up, and caught slight of the clock. It was time for school. She quickly dressed in her mage clothes and grabbed her staff, brushed her long emerald colored hair.

"Bye Ma, by Pa."

She ran barley making the bell. The school was pretty old fassiond, although mostly modern.

"Today is the day when we begin flying. Now in the past many used brooms. But now many will use a Wings Charm."

Her freind Molly whispered. "What's the point with all the missles today, no one dares to fly."

"Ahem!"

"Sorry sir."

"Now continuing on, try sprout wings, and take flight."

The students all attempted, many unsucessfull. People rarely used magical flight. Most set sail on the harsh seas, due to increased in air defenses. It was difficult and energy consuming to fly, and cloak your self.

Pythogrian Normal Life

Carl Ithrii woke up at the sound of his alarm clock. He looked at it. It read, 7:00 AM, June 10, 2006.

He looked around his Living Unit. "Breakfast..." he thought.

After a meal of some corn flakes, he took out a blob of goop from a drawer. He opened a door in the wall, put the goop in, closed the door, pressed a button, opened the door, and took out various parts of a tuxedo. (OOC: "memory" substances. They go to certain positions when faced with certain electric shocks. Cool, eh?[/OOC])

After preparing, he opened the door, climbed onto the elevator, walked outside, and breathed in the refreshing, morning air. He walked on a footpath, out of his neighbourhood (named "New Uzervik") and stepped onto the "Fast Track", a conveyor belt. Sighting his stop, he stepped of and walked into his workplace-- a Pythogrian bank.

Working there, he managed his own funds a little. He had a balance of 1700 e-Credits for the time being. Good.

A long day of work gone, Carl went home, when he noticed something- he had forgotten to go to the Commercial Sector. He needed to buy supplies for Supreme General's Day, only ten days away.

Taking the conveyor belts to the Commercial Sector, he found the place out of stock. Thus, he needed to go to Arzuk, the next town.

To get there, he'd have to take the bullet train.

At the station, sitting, reading a copy of the Pythogrian WOrld News Network paper, reading the article about the war in SAD, he felt the train rise due to magnetics. They then began to accellerate. The trip would only take two minutes.

The train stopped on a dime. Once in the city, Carl passed a police officer. Standing six feet tall, wearing body armor, carrying a truncheon, he was watching for any law violations. This area had some crime, but it was being squashed.

Carl made his purchase after an iris scan and fingerprint scan.

Once home, after a supper of salmon, mashed potatoes, and steamed broccoli, he went to bed. Tomorrow was Friday, the start of the weekend!

This is a cool post. Others will probably like it too.

Hmm No one else want's to contribute? *bump*

i had an idea of this ages ago so...

Alexei Federov climbed out of the damp bed. The cheap mattress had held in most of the sweat. He looked around the small apartment, everything was where it should be.
The room, one of hundreds in the communal block, was barely 15 feet wide, it's single window and door dominated the otherwsie bare room. The desk and cupboard were the only other major objects in the room, apart from the posters and lamp. Alexei stumbled out of bed and nearly tripped over a pile of clothes and bottles on the floor.
He began his usual morning routine. He checked the distiler in the cupboard, his home made vodka was much better than any of the rationed crap. He turned up the gas and left it bubbling away.

Alexei picked up the towel and soap tin along with the toothpaste tube and brush. He unpadlocked the door and joined the line for the bathroom. The other residents were there already. It would be a wait for the warm shower.
Finally Alexei reached the bathroom, he slammed the cheap door and locked it from the inside. The shower was still running, nobody turned it off once it started, otherwise the water pressure would stop. The old brass knobs and handles of the bathroom were wet and cold. The mirror, cracked and stained. He set his toiletries down and got into the shower.

~~~~~ time shift

Alexei returned to his room, he picked up a pile of clothes and threw them on. The clock said the time was half seven, it was probably twenty to though.
He took his overalls out of the cupboard, these were his most prized clothes, If he lost them then he would be fined rationing tabs and have to work night shift.
The drab grey trousers and straps of the overalls were worn and many stiches had been sewn into it with great care. The white thread used was stained with boot polish to hide it. His boots were behind the door as usual. He slipped them on and started running down the flight of stairs.

When he reached the bottom he signed out of the building and walked across the rather contrasting grand looking reception towards the thick oak doors onto the street. As he stepped outside he took a breath of fresh air. The city was such a place to live in. The sights, sounds and atmosphere was so much better than the countryside.

He ran across the wide main street taking care to avoid trucks and trams. The tall buildings that lined the street were stone fronted and very old. But the new services that occupied the ground floor were glass fronted with large well painted signs.
The smooth grey concrete was in contrast to the 3 inch pile of snow that covered where ever people hadn't stepped. As Alexei reached the Pharmacy he waved to a fellow comrade down the road. He opened the door and greeted Comrade Chemist Zikan. Alexei was hard of hearing after working in the ball bearing factory, he used his medicinal card to order some headache pills and ear plugs.
As he stepped out onto the road, holding his receipt and glass bottle, he noticed the tram coming towards him and flagged it down. After climbing aboard, the conducter stamped his daily transport card.

Alexei stayed near the front of the tram, it was not too far to the factory and he might need to get off incase he needed something else.

~~~~~~~

The factory was situated alongside the railway, near the dockyards. The vast chimneys of the steam engines stood up overlooking the shorter warehouses. Only the cranes rivaled them in size.

Alexei walked towards the gate, here, the guards stamped his work permit and allowed him into the facotry grounds. The large compound was cobbled and surrounded by a high brick wall, topped with barbed wire.


ARGH NEIN going to stop, its 5 to tommrow in england. Im so angry with not finishing this. Will alexei get to work, will the ball bearing production requirements be completed, will alexei return home for the montonous life of a facotry worker in Kroblexskij?

I hope it gives you an idea of the backwards Soviet State I made up.

It was a dark stormy night in the country. The type of night most farmers dread. The power was out, leaving nothing but old lanterns to light. In a quaint and small country house, Maria Camdem a 25 year old Obstetrician (She aced her way through Med School, after being a midwife for years)
Was doing some paper work by lantern light. Her Cell phone close in hand, although she doubt she would be called in with this weather. She was wearing cut off jeans and a tank top, what she almost always wore off duty. Thunder crashed startling her. Her cell phone rang. "Hello? You're kidding. Well how far aprat are they? Shoot. Oh, can you call for an ambulance? Okay, okay, be calm Mr. Perkins. Sir I don't know this weather is really bad, the roads are probably washed out. You know what to do, I'm on my way."

She put her phone down, and grabbed her stephascope and threw on her yellow slicker. She jummped in her jeep, and spead off. Rain batterd the soft top, and the wipers furiously moved at full speed. Lighting flased often. Maria wasn't usually frightend, but between the storm, and her patient already going into leighbor, she was. Not to mention she had to make sure she made her turn, otherwise she would be lost, and putting her patient at risk. She nearly missed it in the dark, doing a sharp turn right off the road, she got stuck. She put it in 4low, and managed to speed out. Then she realized she forgot her cell phone. "Not good." She utterd. She saw the outline of the farm house, and pulled up. She got out, the harsh rain batterin her shoulders, and grabbed her portable oxygen tank, and barged right in. Mr. Perkins frowned at the sight of her appearnce. Wet, and not dressed very doctor like.

"All right, Mr. Perkins out."

She forced him out, now it was just her and Mrs. Perkins.

Maria bent low by her side and listend with her stephascope. "Hey Molly, you doin' all right?"

"Yeah."

"Okay, I'm going to put you on Oxygen as a percaustion. Your breathing seems low. It's like being back in the middle of the 19th century, no power, no hospital."

Thunder crashed. "Okay, you are likely nearing close to delivery. You ready?"

She noded. "Josh must have been suprised by your appearnce."

"I don't make a lot of house calls. Yes he was. I love the Cut-off's and tank."

Hourse past and finally a child emerged. It was crying heavilly.

"And it's a baby girl."

"That's great."

Josh came into the room, a "girl?" He jummped with excitement hitting the door frame.

"What will you name her?"

"Well I think we should name her Maria. After all you drove like a bat out of hell I'm sure to get to us."

"Maria. Nice."

"This is Party 104.9, all hip-hop all the time, good morning New Fukuoka!"
Miguela Perez rubbed the sleep out of her eyes as her alarm clock/radio came on. It read 6:30 AM.
"How the hell is it this early?!" she groaned, rolling off her bed. She worked in a weapons factory outside of New Fukuoka, putting together Type 43 assault rifles (AKM clones). From 7:00 AM to 3:30 PM, she put together guns so Tejano soldiers could go fight the fascist resistance fighters in the Exclave.
She stood up and opened her bathroom door.
"Sewer didn't back up," she remarked, "I guess today might actually be good."
She took a shower, threw on a stained white tanktop and a pair of jeans, brushed her teeth, shoved a piece of toast in her mouth, and was out the door. She didn't own a car; while most things were handed out by the government, a car wasn't one of them and public transportation could get you most places. And H-Town Tejas was polluted enough.
She sat down at the bus stop, eating the toast. The bus stop was adorned with graffiti and Tejano Worker's Party propaganda posters, put up by the overzealous mayor of New Fukuoka.
Her bus arrived.
"Hey, Miguela-san," Goro, the bus driver who always drove the bus to her factory said.
"Hola," she replied, dropping a coin into the slot.
She held onto one of the poles coming up from the floor and watched as the bus began moving along the street. As it moved, she saw a large propaganda poster that had just been put up. It read, "At least you don't live in Roach-Busters!"

John Smith was leaving the house for another day at the office. He thought about driving to work, but then remembered that the gas prices had gone up again. He passed someone on the way to the bus stop who had a sign saying "Will work for food", and thought "what a loser". The bus came promptly, as usual, and made good time until it got near the nuclear plant and had to slow because of the crowd of protesters. John thought they were a bunch of idiots. With the gas shortages, most of Romanar's power now came from nuclear plants, but the protesters kept griping about long-term waste. John knew the government would have a solution before it became a serious problem.

After working his 8-10 hours, he waited for the bus home. While he was waiting, a Bigtopian panhandler approached, but John made it clear he wasn't going to give him anything. Then John got home to his nice house and thought about how good it was to be a Romanarian.

Rob Halestin woke at about 6:30 h.c. He sat up and rubbed his eyes. He stepped out of bed. "Good morning, sir. I presume you would like toast and coffe today?" "As always, Doris. Warm up my shower for me." Rob said. His apartment had it's own built in AI. Rob sighed and walked over to the doorway. Walking. Huh. Walking is for the poor. Rob yawned, but didn't need to stretch, as the bed did that for him. He pressed a series of buttons on his doorway. The doorway accepted the code, but it was mainly looking for his fingerprints. Rob walked into the bathroom. The shower ws warming up, and when it was ready Rob stepped into the shower. He enjoyed a long, hot bath. He stepped out, completely dry. He pushed a button on his sink, activating mouth scrubbers that had been built into his chacks. He pushed another button on the back of his neck. His right eye light up with information regarding today. He walked to his holo room. His eye didn't glow anymore, so he hooked up to the Holo Net. His job was to control the AI's all around the Empire.

Life in Asgarnieu
By: Jerry Zimmerman (Citizen)


It was 7:00 a.m. I woke to my alarm, which was set to my favorite radio station: 192.3 NVAZ-FM. The particular song playing on the all-classic rock station was Double Vision by Foriegner.

My morning rituals were repeated, as they always were. I had to check the weather, first. The forecast was abnormal. Light rain with the possibility of dime-sized hail. Next, I had to jump in the shower. I had recently bought a large drop-in shower unit, and was enjoying it thus far. I shaved once I finished showering. My next task was to feed the dog. I had a large German Shepard named Nellie. She was old, and slightly obese. After that, I realized that I needed to go to the Balkan City Transportation Bureau to renew my Motor Vehicle Operator's Permit. I drove down to 172nd Avenue, and was slightly displeased to see a nearly overflowing parking lot. I eased my 2000 Verras "Opulent" into an empty parking space. I didn't see that is was marked for handicapped citizens. That would cost me.

I entered the facility, and saw at least 350 people sitting on their bums. I took a number and waited over 2 hours to be called. When they called my number--10025V--I was drained, both mentally and physically. I renewed my Permit, and left the complex. As I approched my vehicle, I saw a large rectangular piece of paper that was marked with "Balkan City Police Department-Traffic and Parking Division". I removed the bright orange slip and noticed that it was marked up for a "Handicap Space Violation". Handicap space? I'm not parked in a handicap space!

I was wrong.

The mistake cost me §225.50 Gold Points. I was livid.

I had to get my skinny self to work, I thought. My office was at 21379 Mundelin Place. I am at the BCTB. Wow. 22 miles of driving. Man, this is gonna blow...

When I got to work, I was "greeted" by my boss, Jerome. He was a real prick. He began to chew me out royally. I accepted my punishment--5 days in the mail room.

When I arrived home, there was a letter in my postal box. I opened it. Another bit of wonderful news. I was being called to Jury Duty. It was an extremely high-profile case. Great, just great.

Another great day in the life of an Asgarnian Citizen...

Santa Eulalia, N Y C

Sanjay Sultan woke up to the blaring of his clock radio. Silencing it with the remote on his bedstand, he got out of his memory foam bed, being careful not to wake his sleeping wife, Sarah Rodriguez, and walked into the bathroom.

The motion sensing lights came onand as he began brushing his teeth the video display in the mirror came on, playing the news. The stock market was down slightly, President Azullias had signed a law reducing taxes for the poor, the navy had begun joint training exercises with other GAPTS nations off the coast of Isla del Bosque Grande and protestors had gathered outside the capital building in the state of Kaldani, where the governor was accused of taking bribes from corperations.

Fully dressed in a suit, tie and carrying the flash drive that contained most of his work, Sanjay kissed his now awake wife goodbye before taking the elevator 40 floors down to the lobby. He inhaled deeply the salt air as he walked outside along Avenida Azul, the grand avenue that stretched along part of the coast of N Y C's most popular vacation spot and one of it's business capitals.

In a few moments he was at the light rail stop on Calle del Sol, one of the 10 streets in the city reserved for pedestrians but with a light rail system providing rapid transport. [OCC: This is actually being proposed where I live (http://www.vision42.org/index.php)] The shiny, bullet-shaped train glided silently into the station. Sanjay used public transport most of the time, as did most people in the country with one of the best public transport systems in the world.

As the train made its way down the street, Sanjay looked out the window at the incredibly diverse populace. In its history, N Y C had been settled in by people from the Middle East, India, the Iberian Peninsula, Greece and Eastern Europe, and the fact they had all blended together to form an incredibly eclectic culture was a testament to the cultural tolerance that was inseperable from the N Y Cian culture.

When he arrived at his office, near the center of the city, he took another elevator ride to the 52nd floor and, after a fifteen minute commute, had arrived at his workplace, 3 miles from home.

bump

~*Tag... thread tools aren't working!*~

Life in No Taxes

Anton Maximilian woke up early, at 6:00 A.M., to his alarm clock telling him to go out and buy new appliances. Every day some different company paid his alarm clock company to let them blare out an advertisement for the alarm. There were alarm clocks that didn’t shout out advertisements, but these were free. He got dressed and headed downstairs for breakfast. He never had time to make anything, so he just heated up the pre-packaged cheap breakfasts in the microwave.

He turned on the television to check the latest news. Nothing much had happened lately. Term limits had been enforced on legislators, so they wouldn’t stay in power for decades. Also, a bill putting convicted felons into slavery for their crimes had been passed again. How else would all the menial jobs be filled? No good citizen had to worry about doing minimum wage jobs, when felons could do them for free. He read all this from the news ticker, the majority of the screen was taken up by continuous advertisements. He had learned to ignore them, you had to unless you wanted to go crazy.

After his wonderful artificial, pesticide and hormone packed breakfast, he went out to his garage to pick the car he would drive today. He could go with the heavy duty SUV, fully equipped with bulletproof windows and a 50 caliber automated machine gun on top, but that was only necessary in bad neighborhoods. Today he would drive his supercharged sports car, which with no speed limits, was always fun to drive. It wasn’t armed except for a small personal machine gun, but he could outrun just about anything.

The drive to work was nice and relaxing. He took the longer, more expensive, less crowded route, since he felt like seeing what his sports car could do. He didn’t even run over any beggars, normally a daily occurrence. They were learning not to get in the way of cars to beg, since no one cared about those losers who were too lazy to go get a job. Sooner or later they would all starve or find a job. He arrived to work in less than 30 minutes, arriving early like always.

He worked at an arms manufacturing factory like lots of people on the research and development team. Lately he had been working on a new assault rifle. It was planned to be both accurate and be able to fire hundreds of rounds per minute. The only problem they were having so far was how to make it lighter. They couldn’t decide what part to take out. That afternoon there seemed to be a minor disturbance on the factory floor. A couple of workers were complaining about the unsafe conditions. They would be dealt with accordingly. The company would throw them out on the street and hire some beggars who would be very obedient, being ecstatic to have any job at all. The protesting former-workers would not be able to get another job for a long time, since all companies would hear about their “disobedience”. They would just become more beggars, but it was what they deserved, thought Anton.

He left work at 7:00 and headed home on a cheaper highway. There was lots of traffic and Anton finally got past it and saw that it was some protestors outside a nuclear plant holding things up. Since the government wouldn’t do anything about them, the company would take things into its own hands, using its squad of riot police to break the crowd up. They could do anything they wanted to the protestors except for killing, harming, or holding them. Anton wondered why they protested. There was plenty of uranium in No Taxes and nuclear power made energy very cheap. He fired a couple of rounds into the crowd in frustration. No one would report him, since they didn’t really care about the crowd’s welfare. The police might protest, running some commercials, asking people to stop the killing of beggars and such, but they couldn’t really do anything. Private security forces were more than a match for the government’s police.

He arrived home frustrated, at the traffic and tired. He ate another pre-packaged meal and then smoked some marijuana to calm himself down. Normally he tried to avoid smoking pot the night before work, but he was still angry over the traffic. Too bad he hadn’t been in his SUV. He quickly fell asleep dreaming of winning big at the casinos this weekend.

Thread tools are not working, many epic posts coming soon.

Tagging for future post later, since my thread tools button also isn't working.

Typical PROHT military daily routine on:
New Roanoke Island Proving Grounds, PROHT
Morning:
Platoon 2C3D4 (http://forums.jolt.co.uk/showthread.php?t=485649) readied themselves for another perimiter patrol after a hardy breakfast of soylent green stew.

Ever since some international terrorists broke into the compound and infected almost half the Island with a compound that caused people to go crazy and try and bludgeon anything that moves (the media calls them zombies), the military has had a large prescence in the area.

The platoon then equiped themselves in full combat gear, their sharpened shovels laden with blood in mute testimony to the savageness of "basic training" on New Roanoke Island, which involved a 20 mile hike through infected territory while your comrads ran a search and destroy mission, armed only with a shovel.

The rest of their gear was rather primitive, a smoothbore assault rifle that had screw on rifled tubes attached at the end (or another barrel to make a sniper rifle), and similarily designed machine guns, cannons, and mortars. They had little or no armor, save their helmet, since it was generally percieved that almost any bullet would kill you at the close ranges involved in the dense mountainous jungle swamp from hell. What was deemed more important was to issue 3 grades of painkillers - one that would allow you to fight even after taking a serious injury (though the drug has been proven to cause brain damage), another designed to sedate, and yet another that made you die happy - and instruct you how to fight well enough that you don't need armor (though they sometimes would "capture" enemy armor in the field). Their load carrying equipment was equally simple, a series of shoulder bags, and a belt Y-type suspender harnes that could fit an additional bag as a pack and support the greatcoat, bedroll, tent, sleeping bag, and belt. The Belt itself was rather simple clip box design, additional gear was in their clothing pockets.

The men of the 2nd division didn't see their family much, and had little contact with the outside world save for PROHT's ever frequent aid missions to 3rd world countries. They've seen it all, corrupt nations being toppled by the little guy, and sometimes the other way around, their job was to make sure every civil war ran their course in PROHT's favor.

They crammed themselves on/in their HT-101 IFVs and their many variants, siome even carried a 36" mortar instead of the infantry, the marines didn't really care for these much on little anti-personel missions, as they forced them to squeeze ever tighter into their IFVs (40 troops each into/onto a vehicle roughly the size of an M-113) Many preffered to walk or ride on top in order to get more legroom although it afforded less protection from a "zombush" which theiy could expect one on every patrol.

Ambush
Came with little warning, as usual, the AFVs stopped and fired, the troops dismounted, the AFVs run the 'zombie' over with their tracks, infantry mops up and picks the zombies off their metal steads, load up, resume. Such combat had become monotonous, a few of the other platoons set up bait and switch style ambushes, normally selecting the least liked members as bait and watch them do a "dance of death" and then bail them out at the last second rather than go on another dull predictable patrol. Every so ofetn an MMP-1 UAV or some yahoo in a UL-2000 Minion would spot a massive concentration of zombies and call in some air strikes or let the railguns have a little target practice, then let fly a few of their own weapons and then direct a mop up patrol to get "ambushed" by what was left.

True, New Roanoke Island was a dangerous place to be, in fact, voted the most dangerous place in the world, but the marines stationed there would say that boredom was their biggest enemy.

After the Patrol
They unloaded their gear and ate supper, more Soylent Green stew, one unit complaine about the food, the next day it was extra rations all around, nobody complained since.

As they prepared to call it a night, a mid ranking officer in a class A uniform stomps in, delivers a message to the leutenant, who then greet the rest of the platoon with some good news and bad news:

"The good news is: we get out of this stink hole, we are to assist another revolution"

[Cheers]

"The bad news is, we will be under the leadership of James "Overkill" O'Brian, and so that means no sleep tonight"

[Groans]

They then start repacking their things as they prepare for another deployment.

One of the grunts grumbles:
"No rest for the best, so hurt them plenty for me!"
The rest of the Barracks respond (loudly):
"CROATOAN!"

Day in the Life of an infomation anylist in Kampfenburg

Marvin, woke up, fired up his computer, turned on the TV, went to the bathroom, and prepared his food, in that order.

By the time he finished heating up his coffee his computer was fired up and running, he was a work at home government defense anylist, and perhaps the most lazy one at that, though he thought highly of himself for being one of the few people who would be able to report in on time and not have to strain himself on the Public transportation system. Although it also meant he wasn't allowed anywhere that didn't have a landline to PROHT's defense network, which was pretty much just his home, so no real vacations for him.

The defense analyst groaned [something he often did but would never admit to]. On the news was another uprising/civil war. He went over the sheets to check what counter insergency units remained in resserve...

None, save but a few troopers from a recent uprising, it was led by Jamison 'Overkill' O'Brian at that too... Another groan...

"Could there be a worse candidate to send on this mission?"

[He considered even himself a better candidate, if only they would let him he always thought in his deluded mind]

He almost felt sorry for the people who would be under O'Brian's command as he typed up what they would get for supplies and wrote their briefing plan.

The true power belonged to him, and not to the government, for the government (due to polotics) wouldn't even know of this opration until it was over (if even).

Day in the life of an Arms manufacturer on New Roanoke Island's Joycamp 262
-Wake up, sun still below the horizon, but the grounds are well lit by the constant glimmer of the halogen security lights, as they offered some measure of security to both the outside from the convicts who might try and escape, and from outside attempts to break in and steal Hurtian technology and skilled labor. You are already dressed, since you eats, drink, bath and sleep in the single issue of clothes you recieved upon arrival to JC262; your arm is branded JC-262-786456185, an identification mark, each three digit code denoted a specific crime, it wasn't so much for identification, but as an irreversable mark for your crimes.

-Eat, you march into the central dining hall, you hear some light gunfire outside, you no longer wonder if it was enemy comnbatants or executions, for you already can tell it is an execution by how fast the shooting stops, save but a very sparrodic single shots as they find living among the dead.

-Work, the quality of the equipment is top notch, and their state of repair is rather good, since quality control and regular inspections are done not only by senior inmates, but the gaurds. The inmates, if they found a propblem, and you didn't correct it, don't bother coming to breakfast, as you will meet the 'firing squad'. The gaurds will always take the senoir inmates word over yours... you hear more firing, but you don't notice.

-Lunch, you can't hear anything anymore, the machinery is now moving at full capacity as you eat, you see one man get 'careless' and wind up in between the gears of a high spee drill press. His cries for help go almst unoticed in the noise.

-Work, same as before

-Supper, same as breakfast

-'lights out' you are shown your cells, work is continued by the night shift as you try and get some sleep.

Day in the life of a "zombie"/revolutionary on New Roanoke Island

A Day in the Life of a Free Tulsan

Rusty Barnes awoke to his alarm clock radio blaring commercials at 5:45 a.m (unfortunately, there is not yet a radio station in exisistance that plays music all the time). He turned it off, and, like most people, lay in bed for another fifteen minutes before actually getting up (he had deliberately set his alarm clock fifteen minutes early to allow for this). He levered himself out of bed and padded his way across his bedroom. He opened the windowshades on the massive, floor-length window that dominated one whole wall of his bedroom, letting in what little natural light there is at six in the morning and treating him to a wonderful view of the vast Pacific. He selected the outfit for the day - a plain black t-shirt and jeans - and made his way to the kitchen to eat breakfast. He poured a bowl of cereal. Upon going to get milk, he discovered that he had apparently drank all of it last night. He made a mental note to get some on the way home from his morning activities, and microwaved himself a sausage biscuit. After quickly wolfing down the piping-hot biscuit, he went back to his room and picked up his baby - an R7A1 7.62mm assault rifle, freshly cleaned and oiled. This rifle had gotten him out of a lot of tough situations, back when he was in the resistance. He remembered holding it close to his body in the California redwood forests while the government troops marched by less than a dozen feet away, remembered putting three rounds into the chest of the government bastard who had just murdered his parents. He slapped a clip into place, chambered a round, and slung the rifle over his shoulder. He also slipped three extra clips into his belt. It never occurred to him or anyone else that most people in the world didn't go through a normal day with an assault rifle on their back. It was the way it had always been done. When Free Tulsa had first seceded, it had been a deadly necessity; now, it was merely an accepted tradition, and it certainly deterred crime. With his rifle on his shoulder, he strolled out to the garage, and entered his vehicle - a genuine antique 1976 Volkswagen Beetle, almost twenty years older than he was, and painted pure white. He started it up, and listened happily to the engine purr. He pressed the button on the automatic garage door opener he had attached to the rearview mirror, and executed an elegant three-point turn out of the garage, closing the garage door as he went. He sped along the nearly empty road towards his destination - his housing edition's rec center. He arrived, and headed to the shooting range. He met up with some of his old resistance buddies, and they discussed life in general, the current political situation (namely, the recent massive tax cut and the civil war in Zukariaa), and various humorous stories. After talking for nearly two hours, they got down to business. Rusty's entire circle of friends was fiercely competitive, and they would meet at the shooting range every Thursday morning to see who among them was the better shot this week, the winner being entitled to a case of the beverage of his choice and bragging rights for the next seven days. The proceedings for this competition (consisting of practicing, the actual shooting, and the arguing and debating over who had the better shot grouping and whether or not this person or that one was cheating) took two hours, with Rusty eventually being declared as this week's winner. He went home at 10:15 with a smug look on his face and a case of IBC. He stopped by a local market and spent about ten minutes haggling, and finally exchanged a couple of old movies and two D$ for five gallons of milk, which may have seemed like a bit much until you saw just how much milk he was capable of consuming. Upon placing the milk in the refrigerator, Rusty changed into more work-appropriate clothes (boots instead of sneakers) and headed for his job at the nearby Little Guthrie Seaport, where he captained a harbor tug. His work day was mostly uneventful. Ocean traffic was very slow today, which was why he didn't bother to come to work until 10:30. Most of the day was spent maintaining the boat. He went home at 6:45 PM, and upon arriving returned his rifle to its rack above his bed. He cooked a bowl of ramen noodles and turned on the television, flipping channels until he found something interesting - a pre-season rugby game between Little Guthrie University and New Bixby College. As he expected, LGU pummelled New Bixby, and he went to bed with high expectations for this year's college rugby season.

[OOC: Ooh, nice views people...I'll be getting a post up as soon as I can.]

There were, Mikal reflected as he leaned on his mop and watched the brothel's night-shift girls filing down the stairs, some small compensations for being a jizz-mopper at a goverment brothel. Disgusting work? Yes. Weird hours? Oh yeah. Employee discount? Not under this regime. But while the pay may not be great, it was a steady paycheck and you got to stare at women without them drawing a piece on you, so Mikal thanked whatever powers-might-be that his cousin Nicos had gotten him this job. He smiled at the unresponsive whores and took a Really Lucky Strikes joint from his breast pocket and lit it, taking a deep hit. The brothel's manager wouldn't approve, but Nicos was in the ministry, so the manager could suck Mikal's member.

"Hey, Mik, hey, man." It took a few moments before Mikal caught on that it was his name being whispered furtively from the shadows. A little annoyed, he turned and saw Vanya, looking more then a little strung out. Gods-be-damned speed freak.

"Yes, Vanya? How the hell did you get in here, anyhow?" Mikal raised a skeptical eyebrow at his perpetually broke friend.

"Just told the doorman I'd forgotten my work-card" Vanya smiled and shrugged. The skinny little freak was just pretty enough to pass as a whore if he didn't smile and the light was dim. "I got in some foreign cigarettes..."

"And you want me to drive you around to try to sell them, right?"

"Well... I... yeah." Vanya equivocated, "Your usual cut, though. When do you get off?"

"Here?" Mik laughed, "Here I'm the only one not getting off!" He tried to look sternly at his friend but couldn't manage it. Then he rolled his eyes resignedly and punched Vanya in the shoulder. "C'mon, then, let's go."

He payed off old Oleg at the time-clock to punch out for him (after all, it was only a government job, how were they going to check up on him? a Parsennan didn't have much, but he had his privacy) picked up his own sidearm at the front and they went out into the parking lot, where Mikal's car was, a sporty little coup by Parsenna standards, not enough armor to make a real dent in performance and sporting only a light machine-gun mount on the passanger's side. It was only good for in-town driving, Mikal reflected, but then, who'd want to leave the capital anyway? It was dirty, smelly and coated in competing layers of graffitti, but at least it was never dull. He started his gas-guzzling baby up and turned the radio to the news as Vanya loaded the cigarette cases into the trunk. Mikal always thought the news had the funniest jokes. He was thinking of having a TV installed, then he could watch the animated news as he drove around and sparked up.

Vanya finished loading up the back and climbed in the passanger side, his big I'm-so-very-full-of-bull-cookies smile on his face. "These are good smokes, very foreign, very smooth, cut the taste of city air. We shouldn't have any trouble moving these."

"Feh!" Mikal snorted as he exhaled a long, blue trailer of pot smoke, "Filthy habit, tabacco. Still, if there's a market..." He pulled cautiously out of the brothel's parking lot. "So what, were you thinking of doing something after?"

"Yeah, we get done, we'll have money, I know these honeys downtown..." Vanya's grin was rich with liscentiousness.

"Fair enough. I think there's a showing of Orpheus and Eurydice at the Falco theather downtown. Pick up these honeys of yours, then take in an opera?"

"Yeah," Vanya nodded amiably, "That sounds good, I hear Licutio's got a decent contralto..."

"Eh," Mikal shrugged with the pot-head's natural snobbishness, as they merged into the main line of traffic "he's no Guadagni, but the role plays to his strengths..."

John woke to the artificial sunrise, but it was short-lived, as the weather generator machines controlled by the government decided it was time for some rain. He walked over to his couch and turned on the T.V. Most people owned a holo-projector for its clarity, but he was satisfied with his T.V. Reruns of "Who Want's to be an Immigrant" were on right then. He got ready for his job in his cubicle in a government controlled facility. He turned off his T.V. and got into the hover Taxi which waited outside at the same time every weekday morning. Because it was automated, he had noone to talk to. The hover taxi flew higher as it got onto the skyway. He looked out the window and gazed at the city for a few minutes, when the taxi lowered out of the skyway and into the drop off area of the Mag-Lev train. He flashed his pass at the scanner on the door and got on. He sat by the window and looked outside at the three police officers talking to each other. All three of them quickly turned around and one drew his blaster and shot a suspicious looking man square in the back. They picked up his unconcious body and placed him in the back of the police speeder. That was the most exiting thing that had happened on his commute in 2 months. The Mag-Lev suddenly shot off, and everything out the window turned into a blur. The emotionless voice rang through the train, "70th Street Next." John stood up and walked over to the door. Everything quickly went back to normal as the train stopped. He stepped off and walked over to the door. He flashed his ID and walked across the lobby. He antered the turbolift and pressed the button for floor 86. It shot upwards and stopped at floor 86. John turned left and got some coffee, turned around and went to his cube. He worked his boring job until noon, when he left through the back entrance and got a hamburger, quickly ate it and went back to work. He hoped to get off early so he could spend as much of his weekend as possible having fun. The supervisor approached him and told him he could leave an hour early because of his high conduct recently. When the time arrived, he got up, left, and went a different way than usual. He dacidad to take a leisurely trip home on the Luxury shuttle. He laid and looked at the city shrink below him and looked up at the vast emptiness of space. once he got home, he prepared himself a long, stiff drink. He finished his drink, picked up a wad of cash he was saving, and set off for a night of not working. He headed for the nearest bar and ordered the hardest drink they had. Suddenly, two dozen policemen burst in and inspected everyone. They took about ten people out. The leader of the squad told us that those men were under arrest for conspiracy against the Dictator. Most people just lived their lives, but some were not happy with the government. He wondered why people just didn't leave the nation.

Teddy Pinkerton woke up from bed, his loyalty mark still sore. He looked at his forehead and there was a 216 tattooed on it. He went to work at the local Global Community H.Q and he worshiped the image of the risen potentate, Nicolae Samar

"Hejida, mi'aru horu sa! Radijo tajane.." The newsspeaker could not repeat any more as Syku Kansu bashed the snooze button. He then slowly pondered getting up and when Radijo Tajanesalike blared on the second time, he left the bed, went to the bathroom to shower, dressed, and then he went to the kitchen to make breakfast. On the way to the kitchen, he looked into a mirror. His trousers were black and his shirt dark gray with a yellow word on it in an alphabet, he could not read, in seleken. However he knew what this word says: "Xkora!" This is of course a reference to his favorite soccer club. His hair was kempt and reached him to the shoulders. Later his wife Inkil would help him to make the hairdo. And he would help her with hers.

Daughter Xiaelu was already awake and without much hunger ate something. She remembered to switch on the coffee machine so Syku was able to directly have a cup of coffee. Xiaelu told him that she had incoherent dreams and asked for his help to make head or tail of them. Syku of course tries to, but must admit that it might really be, well, incoherent.
Later Inkil came from showering. She always stays in bed 15 minutes longer because she needs to leave for work later.

Syku leaves for work at 8 am and takes the etju (public transport), in his case the bus to the factory he works in. Inkil works as accountant. Xiealu goes to the nearest Exkola Side (High school).

During the pauses, Syku and his co-workers talk about the next match against Sike Veran. Syku notes how they think the match will end. It's not that there is actual betting, they just guess for the fun of it (and at the end of the season, the one who has fewest points loses and has to do some weird thing, the winner proposes).

When Syku returns home, Xiaelu already left to meet her friends. She finished homework already or claimed to, at least. In the evening, Syku and Inkil meet two friends from the same kalesa and decide to cook and eat together.

The alarm clock buzzed. 30 year old Lilly Whiteman hit the clock wich turned on the radio. The D.J. entusastically. Of course Lilly hardly looked 30, she looked 19, which caused some odd looks for the single mother. She left her abusive husband for her and the sake of her 15 year old daughter.

"Madison, honey come on wake up."


The D.J. contiued Okay on with the weather it's hot hot hot, afternoon temps are expected to reach around 100 today, with a 30% of thunder storms, so becareful if you are fishing or heading to the other islands.

Madison came out still in her night gown.

"Do I have to go fishing today? It's Saturday."

"Yes babe I need your help. Besides once we make our quota you'll have plenty of Saturday's off. "

"Oh it's hot."

"Yeah it is."

Both girls ate their breakfast, chatting about day-to-day life, and fishing.
Then both retreated to their rooms and changed into bikinis.

"Come on honey I want to go while the weather is still fair."

"Comming." She ran out of her room and out the door. It was another day in Aqua Anu, the cannals we're busy, people we'er going about half-dressed. Lilly and Madison came to the dock to their boat, and shipped out. The sea was fairly bouncy. "We have a hit mom!" Madison shouted. Lilly raised the net up it was full of fish.

"Yes."

They we're now well into open water far from mainland Mac Anu and any of the islands. Hours past and the sky was darkening.

"Ah storm's brewing hon."

"Maybe we should head in."

"Right, I'll pull the net up for our last catch, becareful."

Madison proceeded aft the wind was starting to gust, she looked at the stormy sky. "Okay mom pull it up!" The net rose slowly, but suddenly the boat listed, with the net flying off, and what worse than a shark washing up.

"SHARK!!!"

Lilly grabbed the shot gun and blasted the shark. She ran to Madison, and held her. "You all right?"

"I'm okay, just a small bite."

"Come on, stay on the bridge with me."

The boat had to struggle through the rough storm and dock up Azure Island to see a doctor. But soon later the storm cleard and the boat docked up back in Mac Anu. Lilly helped Madison off. Madison was all right, her leg was bandaged up, but non the less okay.

The Howard family had recently moved to west Kurona to farm and hopefully keep practicing their religion with out persecution. Thomas, Megan, Brooke, Jessica, and Marie all settled down on a small farm it was a ways away from the closet LDS Church, but home is home. Brooke and her sisters we're home alone. They we're ready for bed, the young ones in night gowns Brooke in a tank-top and pajama pants. They we're just around the fire talking, Brook was reading. Their parents we're out for the night in the next town, ideally they should be home just a little later, but it seemed like nature may not let them.

Little Marie asked "Will Mama and papa be home soon?"

Brooke looked at the door and up at the celing with nervousness. Light thunder was rumbling.

"I don't know, sounds like a storm's comming. Come on, let's say our prayers and get into bed."

They put their books down and walked over to their one bed that they all shared.

Jessica started outloud "Heavenly father, we thank you for our blessings, and we thank you for all we have. Please bless Mama and Papa, that they'll come home safe, bless our family, I say these things in the name of Jesus Christ amen."

Marie asked "Can I try Brooke?"

"Well okay."

"Heavenly father, we thank you for this day, we thank you for everything we have. Please bless mama, papa, Brooke, and Jessica. I say these things in the name of Jesus Christ amen and awomen."

Brooke chuckled. "Just amen Marie"

Thunder crashed loudly and lighting flashed. All the girls jumped and looked up nervously. Brooke urged Marie and Jessica into bed.

"Come on come on." All three cuddled up together.

"I guess mama and papa won't be home tonight."

Thunder contiuned. Just another stormy night in Kurona. but the next day it was sunny and bright. Thomas and Megan came inside, early that morning shaking off the umbrella. "I feel bad having to leave the girls home last night."

"I'm sure they we're all right. See they are still sound asleep."

Brooke woke up with a yawn.

"Hey."

"Hey sweetheart, did you all do all right last night?"

"Yeah we we're okay. The storm hit before bed. Marie tried to even say a prayer."

The others woke up happy to see their parents.

"Come on let's get dressed, maybe we can make an early meeting, spend more time at home and relax today."

They dressed up in their church clothes. A sunny sunday, the family was all safe, what could be better?

As sun started rising along the white coast and palms whistled in the win the orange halo was all but unseen except by the night watch via remote camera. The control room panned out to reveil countless other vidscreens flipping between veiws as a low hum and muffled air venting could be heard within the control room. There on one of the screens was Alias son of a researcher working for the state, like over 90% of the populatioin, working for the state.

Alias was 20, however he lived on a barraks half of his time, in various locations, or in the field or was in a dorm room when his unit was doing lab work or otherwise. Occasionally he would be sent on patrols, however he had little time to pursue anything of his own and it was driving him mad.

"There inside his dream he was walking on the sky down a road, then all to persistently the lights when on and a low persisten buzz went on."

Artificial light he was accustomed to. Most of the population lived atleast 20 ft underground this an evolving custom for living quarters due to the persisten threat of bombing or invasion, it was a persistent trend to build underground, and with that people spent more time underground.

He looked around to see himself in a room with 3 other young men and two women. Everything was co-ed in the Empire, there was no sexism, and sex was degraded to a casual act, women however were mostly sterilized, especially those assigned. When they left the service or entered special military programs their systems would be once again made active, however too much estrogen was seen as a bad thing for the service times.

Alias was already dressed. The slept dressed, in case of emergency. THe room was naturally cooled, he thought of the beach, he loved seeing the beach, Jaina wasn't a bad looker either, the person one bed over. She was up as well, but bald women had a peculiar sense.

"Morning all" beunes dias Said the unit commander and Imperial Gaurd, as he strolled into the barraks. It was interesting to here the Latin and Franglais for foreigners however for them it was a break from the Pan Asiatic, they all had to know the three distinct native languages of ICCD. Report to Airduct 12 at t800, you and four squads are being assigned beach cleaning duty and to do some shoreline defence training. There will be a gaurdsman waiting there for you.

So Alias went about some morning exercises with his squad ate some nutrition bars and drank water and some juice. By 7 he was chatting with Entearias and Jaina and Lian about yesterdays Urban Brawl, Styco Diavan had thrown someone from a second floor window nearly breaking the competitors legs. It was being questioned if physical attacks such as throwing people off of buildings was still "fair play" and should be allowed in the non lethal version of the sport. None the less the morning talk news channels had it as a top story. That and the impending nuclear fall out of world war 993838 or something of the sort.

"What," Jaina spurted as part of a papya nearly dropped out of her mouth. She saw the emperor say it.. we will support our ally...... 'even if we go down with them'. "That is madness, we're at war again? We didn't even finish our last one."

"It's doubtful anyone will attack the west coast, we arn't even near industry around here.. we have some beaches a bunch of fruit trees and underground manufacturing and naval facilities. We make Jiffy pop as a major export for cripes sake," Lian said. I think we'll be fine. Ohw, did you see that replay, that is better then durby, the guy got up and walked away... only to be tackled by someone walking around the corner, hilarius!"

.....
It cuts out.. they soon found themselves patrolling the beaches armed with 30 year old IMP's. There were people on the beaches, some had handguns or even archaic machettes next to them.. on the beaches of all places.

No dead bodies today it was a victory Alias thought. With the rising population strangely there hadn't been rising internal violence and Alias had only been in two gun battles since joining the forces both of which the instigator of the fued was shot dead. It always happened over stupid things, or due to drugs. mmmmhhhh drugs Alias thought. There were three people sitting on a beach towel huffing from a bong the size of a guitar. Alias missed that, while on service duty he couldn't do drugs but he missed that.

Soon he was on a secluded beach area learning how to place mines and clear mines. They even set off a few just to show them what it looked like, not with people though, with a remote. It was freaky, although he'd seen his share of grenades before and even the occasional shoulder launched ATM, this was the first mine he go to see. ouch he thought.

So the day went on and nothing conclusive a lunch of a basket of fruit and a protien bar, and more water. It was hot, his uniform was thermal, however his face was being beated on, another 30+ celsius day. He loved the tropic and loathed the idea of a transfer to North Xian, Or worse North Ira. Or worse a colony, but that wouldn't even be polisble unless a real war happened or he stayed on for atleast another two years.

The local legion training commander met with them after lunch and told the squad they were going out for some coastal training, then back for evening classes.. they had no free time. The found time to chat but little else, day in and day out.. it was driving Alias past mad. He counted the days until his break... but he enjoyed it, and he got payed for it and it was his foot in the door for his job as a computer technician, his backup to actually attempting to meet the physical testing. After evening classes Alias was thouroughly tired, they had a 5 k run, and then it was time for an hour of freetime before bed perhaps.. that was a touchy subject. 9 oclock was bedtime for the unit that was generally agreed unless they were on continental duty or otherwise.

All in all for an average 20 year old the day was ok, he got in a chance to go to the beach, a spin on the lake and got to see some fireworks. The veiw from the outside was good, if it wasn't for his training, he might never get out, for a fist year trainee he might get some lowly position as a clerk, however if he stayed till the end of the year or longer, it made it much easier. So he held on. Two of the unit was watching the news Jaina was in the corner listening to music and browsing the web, so he walked over and started to watch the display screen while doing some more exercise, he might make it, year three, but I have to keep going. There was more going on there, there was more happening today, people were dying somewhere, treaties were being written, trade was happening.. and there Alias was... doing crunches so he could pass a fitnes test that pretty much gaurentied him 5% on his technical entrance exam, it was weird but that was how the State ran thing, that is how the state made them, save dwellers. It was a nice night outside the stars in a clear sky, the waves lapping on the sand. THere they were underground hering that level 3 alert had the government out of ceremonial function. War again? Was he going to die? What did it mean. He stopped, sweathing and tired. He got up for some water, took his IMP in his hand, it was empty but he felt secure holding it. He felt a sense of peace. One day I can put this down and hold a prismpalm instead.. 3 more months, the empire protects me so I protect the empire.

"I'm off I'll be back in a few, cleaned up...he was back a couple of his mates in bed already it was 5 to... tommorow was another day.. he was in a cave but maybe he'd be back out.. atleast he wasn't in an urban barraks.

Then the day was over.

OOC: Never saw this thread. Interesting stuff, I'll post tomorrow.

Liberty-City Suburb

William ended typing and pressed the Compile button. The open-source compiler whirred into action and very soon the program was ready for a test-run. He tested it under S.u.S.E. and Ubuntu and then emailed the sourcecode to his boss. That was it for today. He looked in the corner of his screen for the clock and realized he finished four hours early. This was good – as now he had more time for the more important things today. Ah, the joys of working for home.

He opened the door of his room and down. His house was designed around an atrium-like opening, so even standing on the third story, he could look into the living room. In that room, his son Robert was typing furiously at a laptop. For a few minutes, the father stood there, looking at the fourteen-year-hold with a smile. Only after the younger McMahon appeared done with it did William call at him.

-“Are you done with your History assignment, son?”

-”Just saved the last part, sir.”

-”Good, now email it to me. And not in dot-doc, like your mother uses. Word sucks. Do it in oh-dee-tee will ya?”

-“Sure, dad.”

-”By the way, did you get your poem memorized today, Bobby?”

-”Sure.”

-”Well don't just stand there, recite it to me!”

And so as the older man walked down the stairs, he enjoyed the sound of fine poetry.

“Ille mi par esse deo videtur
ille, si fas est, superare divos...”

By the time William was in the living room, the poem had ended – mostly because the head of the McMahon household was intentionally slow at it – he intended the sound of the son's voice to distract certain other family members from what was about to take place. He bent to his son's ear and whispered.

“Have you bought your sister's birthday present yet, son?”

“Sure, Dad. It's a Warhound Titan, with all the paints and stuff.”

“Wow. Cost you a few weeks' wage at that Bunny Shack, didn't it? You didn't assemble it, did you?”

“No, Dad. I know Mandy likes painting her stuff herself, don't worry. Besides, I don't even know how to paint the Imperial stuff right, you know I play Chaos.”

On the second story of the house, a door opened, and a red-haired, tall woman appeared.

“Gooooood morning conspirators. Let me guess, you're talking about Mandy's birthday. You don't need to whisper. Mandy took my car keys an hour ago, she's probably somewhere in the hills with that Stevens boy. A good day for this stuff, isn't it?”

“Indeed. Hopefully she'll be back soon. By the way, what did you buy for her?”

“I've ordered up a car of her own, but the people at the shop need to do some modifications first. I'll just give her the keys today.”

“What model is it?”

“It used to be a Jeep Liberty, but the people at Nukem's Skunkworks need some... adjustments to do. I think she'll need a wider back seat.”

All three laughed.

“What's your gift for Mandy, Dad?” - asked Robert.

“Well, let's see. I have a new computer packaged for her in her room, she'll see it when she's back home. I also paid to have her room renovated like she wanted, and the people will come and do it soon. But the best gift is something else. It's a surprise.”

He winked at his wife. Robert looked a bit sad. “I hate surprises.”

“Well it's not for you, so you shouldn't be sad, Bobby, should you? When it's your birthday in a few months, I'll keep that in mind, okay?”

Bobby perked up, as if he heard a noise. “I think there's a fox in our back yard again.”

“Well go and take care of it, son.”

Bobby disappear in his room. Seconds later, there was a sound of the room window opening, and then, two short bursts of assault rifle fire. “Got it, Dad!”

“Good boy. Though do try and use single shots next time I didn't raise you to spray 'n' pray, did I? I raised you up right, to make every shot count! Now go and do something about the body, don't be all lazy.”

“But Dad! I moved out the dead fox last time. Let Mandy do it.”

“No. It's her birthday, now go get the shovel.”

In the meanwhile, he turned to his wife. “Sunrise, what are Mandy and the Stevens boy doing there – apart from the obvious?”

“Well, nothing much,” -said Sunrise. -”She told me she thought her birthday would be a wonderful time for the first time she ever took a boy's virginity. I think it's sweet, isn't it?”

“Well yeah. I'd like her to be done with it sooner, though.”

“It's his virginity that's being lost, you know, not hers.”

“Yeah, but I want her to be back before say three o'clock.”

As he said that, he raised his cellphone to his ear.

“Hi honey, it's Dad. Where are you?”

“I'm on Madison Highway, heading home. It's all jammed up, though, I can't go any faster then two hundred, Dad. It pisses me right off.”

“That's okay, honeybars, just drive safely and you'll get home eventually, me and Mom are right here waiting for you.”

Madison Highway

The modified DeLorean DMC-12 blasted out onto the high-speed lane as Amanda tore out onto the highway as Amanda McMahon literally stood on the gas pedal. But before her was a last obstacle – a police car crawling at a puny one hundred ninety miles per hour. Amanda hit the horn- and the cops moved out of the way politely.

Minutes later she was off the highway and moving towards home – at a much slower speed, mind.

Her father was already waiting for her at the entrance.

“Hey Mandy. I see you didn't take your rifle with you.”

“No, Dad. Should I have?”

“I think the pistols were enough – you did use a contraceptive did you? Oh, don't blush, you're an adult now.”

Mandy was almost the shade of her two dark red Teen Dream autopistols. “Anyway, go grab your ay-bee-arr from the bedroom, tag along with me. We're going in my car.”

Minutes later, the F-350 (http://www.allcarpictures.com/pictures/ford/f-350/ford-f-350.jpg) was out of the garage, roaring towards, and down, the Madisson Highway. It was immense and bright red. Behind Mandy and William, five guns were kept in a gun rack – William's M700, Mandy's ABR-8, and two shotguns and a .50-caliber rifle some other family member had left there.

“Do you know where we are going, Mandy?”

“Not a clue, Dad.”

“Well, I've bought us a few tags...”

“Tags?”

“We're going hunting, Mandy.”

“But Dad... what are we going to be hunting?”

“A deer. From a stand. I already paid for the stand and everything.”

“Woah. This is so cool.”

“Wait for it till you see that stand.”

* * * *

The stand was splendingly chosen. It stood on a high hill-side, and you could not only see the small creek, where the deer would come to drink, uphill from the stand, but also – far away, downhill – a side of the Madison Interstate Highway. With her binoculars, Mandy could make out the models of the cars out there – and as there were no deer in sight, she proceeded to chat with her father.

“So, Mandy. Today you're going to kill an animal your own size for the first time.” - smiled William - “You don't feel disgusted?”

“No, Dad. I feel rather good about it – I've wanted to go deer hunting for a while, remember?”

“Do you know why you don't, Mandy?”

“This is important lesson time again, Dad?” - Amanda looked, and sounded bored.

“What's a better time for an important lesson then your birthday?”

“Riiight.” - Mandy pretended to yawn.

“Well, Mandy, here's your lesson. You enjoy killing rabbits, playing violent computer games, and so forth. Not because you're evil because you're not. But because you're a predator.”

“Huh?”

“A predator. Remember your biology lessons? The earlier ascendants of the homo sapiens – nevermind if we developed or where created from them – were hunting apes. They went after mammoths, hyenas, and so forth, and they hunted them down and killed them and feasted on their flesh.”

“And?”

“And so mother nature – or God, whatever – put the killing instinct in us so we could hunt, and protect ourselves and our families, just so they put the sexual instinct in us so we could reproduce. Neither of those are bad in themselves – they could be bad or good. If your boyfriend didn't put on a condom, it could be very bad. If you went out and killed Aunt Sherlita, that wouldn't be too nice, either. But playing Warhammer or enjoying life with that Stevens boy, that's perfectly fine and healthy.”

Mandy laughed.

“I know this stuff, Dad.”

“The big part is, Mandy, is that you should fear – more then these instincts themselves – being ashamed of them. Being ashamed of enjoying sex makes you a sick, guilt-ridden person. So does being ashamed of your killer instinct. And trying to use the existance of these instincts as an excuse to deprive people of their liberty makes you a sick, guilt-ridden, fascist scum.”

“Like that Amestrian person, de Villepin?”

“Just like that, yeah. Anyway, where was I? Ah, yes. You should instead take pride in them – and respect others as fellow predators - fellow humans, that is..”

“Shh Dad. Speaking of predators...”

It was beautiful buck. Sporting an immense crown of horns, he stopped for a second – perhaps scared by the noise – and as many deer do when scared, he turned one hundred and eighty degrees – showing Mandy a perfect target profile.

It took only one shot.

The deer slid to the ground, it's neck broken by the .308 hollow point, and William was already descending off the tree.

“Come Mandy. Hope you've got your knife and cup ready. Got to butcher your deer.”

“And the cup? We're going to do that drink-the-deer-blood stuff, Dad?”

“Yeah. You know, they say you're never going to be the same after you drink the blood of your first big animal.”

* * *

Amanda smiled as she raised the large steel cup to her lips, blood streaking from the corner of her mouth as she downed it all.

“Wow. That's pretty cool.”

“Happy birthday, Mandy.”

This is a wonderful thread long overdue on NS. I enjoyed the work by Allanea who portrayed an insight to a kind of suburban fascism. Bland, affluent and threatening with violent explosion. I wonder however what life would be like for the very rich or the unemployed?

bloodly war, are we going live, well the war end ,food gone up 50 cents bull shit well thats all in a day of a isan life just living as a war that go on for sixs years of they live go on all there was a month whan the war stop but then the helghans attack and the war was back on

OOC sorry if its not good its all i can think of at this time

Eduardo woke up. Still here, he thought. Still in this damned hellhole of a room. And that was what his living space consisted of; kitchen and bedroom. He got somewhat dressed and left to use the public bathroom.

"Dammit," Eduardo muttered under his breathe. "Someone's already in." Every hallway was like this. 15 rooms in the hallway yet only one bathroom with only one toilet and one shower.

Eduardo left the slum building and entered the streets, greeted by the orchestra of San Acero's San Juanito district. It was the only real safe place for him in this city of racism and violence, and even then he had a chance that his own gang members would betray him for their own greed. Las Arañas Negras, the most powerful gang in this city. They controled almost everything, from cops to drug trade to arms dealership to slavery for other countries. And Eduardo was a part of it. Not out of want, but out of need.

Eduardo walked past the liqour store and towards the apartment of a good friend of his, Xaljuano. Xaljuano wasn't part of Las Arañas Negras, but of the Vatos in the nearby Texcoco district. The Vatos are smaller and were mostly of Mexican descent, while the Arañas were Puerto Rican and usually run their operations. Xaljuano owned a garage in Texcoco where he'd fix up most of the gang members cars for a discounted price. He knew his stuff when it came to cars.

Eduardo passed the billboard of Congressman Juan Chavez which marked the border of the Texcoco district. That man was nothing more than a drunk and a pawn of the Arañas. He turned left and stopped dead in his footsteps. Ahead of him, the apartment building was on fire. People were locked inside the building trying to leave. The firemen weren't anywhere around and the police were keeping people from rescuing the people.

"Xaljuano!" Eduardo yelled as he ran towards the burning building. A nearby police officer took out his nightstick and smash Eduardo across the face.

"Listen here boy," the officer said condensendedly, "You aint interfering with police business today punk." Eduardo looked on the neck of the officer to see the Swastika tattooed on the side.. Hand of the Aryan God. Out of all the redneck gangs I had to run into, it had to be a Aryan cop.

"Should we kill him?" ask one of the cops.

The other looked on the arm of Eduardo to see the black spider symbol on his shoulder. "No, we aint. He's an Arañas. They might want some payback against us." Eduardo sighed with relief, until the boot of the cop struck him in the chest. "Still, we'll teach him a lesson in the art of law enforcement." The cop ganged up around Eduardo and began beating him as the building continued to burn down in the background.

The building had stopped and in its place was the Aryan flag, marking off new territory for them. This was the city of San Acero, home to more gangs than countries in the world, from Triads and Yakuza in Asiaton, to the Russians and Aryans in the New Soho and Moscow districts. This was San Acero. This is hell.

This is a wonderful thread long overdue on NS. I enjoyed the work by Allanea who portrayed an insight to a kind of suburban fascism. Bland, affluent and threatening with violent explosion. I wonder however what life would be like for the very rich or the unemployed?


Fascism? WTSH?

Dawn. A meaningless word in a land covered constantly by broiling, oozing cloud. For years beyond count the sun been revered there; but now a new generation was growing up: one that seldom saw the sun’s full glare, to whom a clear day and a bright sky and the sizzling dry heat of unfiltered sunlight was, for the greater part of them, something unusual. Dawn was meaningless; more so on a Monday, when hearts and minds became dulled by the knowledge of another week’s work in office, forge and foundry and all the warmth of the hot, humid night had been driven away by the driving rain pouring down from those hovering airborne masses of furious grey, perforated periodically by unseen, distorted flashes of lightning within.

Dawn was meaningless in Ashdown Road. The river wound sluggishly past at the roadside, the brightly-painted railings glittering, moist and inviting, in the pounding downpour, concealing the ten-foot drop encrusted with dead algae that led into the dark, foam-capped torrent, always being added to be the simple drainpipes running from the gutters and speeding the rain back whence it came. The houses remained darkened, the windows closed, the small, fastidiously-kept windows held firmly shut, to rattle in cracking protest as the 05.36 plunged headlong across the viaduct above in a cacophony of squealing metal and shrieking whistle and hammering, thundering pistons and exhaust, to leave a haze of smoke and steam drifting down over the huddled terraces below.

The shrilling of his alarm clock’s round brass bells was what woke him; when he had first moved into the house, the rumble of nocturnal goods runs had kept him awake for hours on end until exhaustion compelled him to sleep, but now it was mere background noise, filtered out; indeed, Melanie complained that she could not sleep properly on Sundays, when the freights stopped early. Something felt wrong, she said, without the presence of that reassuringly measured, steady clanking overhead. Blinking blearily and rubbing the sleep from his eyes, he stumbled from his bed and half-felt, half-glimpsed his way to the bathroom. No need for the light; the dirty yellow of the 60-watt bulb would still be more agony than his eyes could bear. He preferred to let the city’s sooty light ease him into action. A quick shower in lukewarm water from a sputtering head, a desultory scrub round the teeth and a change of clothes, and he was as human as he was going to look for the day. He shrugged on the blue overalls with a strange energy, pausing to scrub a small patch of muck from his name-tag: “Matsua”, a guttural grunt of a name. Still, he liked it. It sufficed for the purpose, much like his home and his clothes; of course, these clothes were exceptional. Melanie had spent half the previous day scrubbing out the stains of a week’s work, so that the embroidered letters on the collar looked almost new: “N.I.R. Engineman” stood out in little silvered type around his neck, while his right breast pocket displayed the proud, blood-red emblem of the National Imperial Railway Company Limited, a single great wheel surrounded by that grand and dignified title. He leaned over and kissed her his gratitude; he would not see her again until Wednesday. Their anniversary, he remembered, smiling.

Gently closing the door behind him, Matsua joined the vast, lowly-humming throng of men and women parading solemnly the two miles down the road towards the hunched and forbidding form of the Vulcan Engine Works. His leather bag’s tattered handles groaned slightly under the abuse of having to carry an extra set of overalls, a heavy jacket, his hat, a billy can and a pack of sandwiches, but held firm, as though out of sheer bloodymindedness. Already his overalls were getting a little blacker, as the combined factory and MPD slid closer with each step, raining down torrents of soot from hundreds of green fires and warming boilers by way of greeting. Proceeding in a kind of hypnosis, Matsua repeated the routine of hundreds of days and clocked in, the aging mechanical punch-clock recording, to its overseer’s disappointment, that he had once again come in five minutes early. He read the notices plastered haphazardly across the wall as usual, seeking any last-minute notifications of route changes, changed engines or crews; to his relief there were none. For the first time that day, Matsua began to relax.

The shed yard was bustling. Scattered along the lines radiating from the great central turntable, the hulking, hissing forms of engines lurked in the early morning light, low shafts sparking off lamps and windows and rebounding into his eyes. As they took in the tableau, framed and scaled well by the towering brick columns of factory chimneys the rose on every side, pouring sulphurous clouds of dark coal smoke into the grey air and blackening the skies, the buildings and the trees; not to mention, of course, the men below them, the men toiling in the hellish heat and glow of great boiler-houses to feed the insatiable raging of the fires, most of them stripped to the waist rather than suffer the torment of soaking in their own sweat and the humid fug. Shielding them, Matsua searched for his own machine and strode briskly over upon spotting it, careful to avoid impeding the cleaners labouring in the ashpit vacated moments before by a 2-10-0 freight engine, and gave a probing shout of “Ai up!”

“Mornin’!” came back as a staccato series of harsh shouts from various positions around the engine, an imposingly-proportioned GA class Garratt whose surprisingly clean cabside bore the number 471145. Matsua leaned beneath the boiler framing, and caught sight of his grinning mate’s face just poking from behind the rear pony truck.

“Y’all right?” the fireman asked, as though this was the most normal way in the world to conduct a conversation.

“No! Life’s fuckin’ awful!” Matsua grinned back. “She all right?” he asked, jerking a thumb at the engine’s cab.

“Yeah, fire’s nice in there. Good cleaner. Yer oil cans are on your seat.”

“Cheers.” Matsua clambered up the steel steps, his gloveless hands surprised by the sudden shock of gripping the cold, wet steel handrail. The cab was a haven, and he stood in it gratefully, opening the battered firehole doors and letting the rushing heat dry out some of the water from his sodden clothes and warm his cold hands. But in time, he had to go back out again; he dropped back onto the floor, filler can in hand, and set about the morning routine of oiling the engine up, carefully topping off the two hundred or so shining brass oil pots that had to be filled to overflowing, or so The Book said. Not that they all paid attention to The Book. And then there were the mechanical lubricators to fill, and the axleboxes too. 471145 would be some time at the shed yet, with the ant-like forms of men climbing around her stately frame as she hissed herself full of heat, building the pressure in her humming, round boiler.

On ten road, another GA moved off. Number largely invisible under a layer of grime, shed plate barely distinguishable from the black, the huge machine picked her way almost falteringly through the vast, barren yard, her deep whistle shrieking a warning to any soul unfortunate enough to block her path, her cylinder drain pipes and dully-gleaming brass safety valves roaring a deafening bellow of surging power and readiness for action Quite dwarfing the diminutive men in charge of her, the GA negotiated the groaning points out of the yard, leaving behind her a slow-dispersing cloud of steam through which matchstick men fumbled with blind urgency.

In time, 471145’s turn arrived. Matsua quickly changed into his “proper” overalls, a particularly well-kept set of engineman’s blues bearing the NIR emblem on the collar, and carefully positioned his greasetop so that the shining NIR badge was dead centred on his forehead. No sense in looking scruffy. The fireman climbed aboard.

“Ready?” The question was simple, and in its way courteous; there was no need for officious pleasantry here.

“All set,” his fireman replied simply. Leaning out of the window, he announced simply: “clear!”

“Right.” Matsua held down the whistle lever, sending a column of steam rocketing upward in defiance of the pounding rain, and wound the polished-worn reverser into full back gear. Then, gripping the bar ever so gently, he nudged the great regulator open. The regulator bar hesitated, stiff and unyielding, for just a fraction of a second, as 471145 demanded just a moment longer of basking in the downpour.

And then it moved. And with it, the whole world melted away. No crisis in any land, near or far mattered; no wailing children or nagging wives could infuriate here. The world melted away, leaving the three of them alone to navigate the only thing that mattered, the smooth, glowing steel ribbons that snaked out of the yard before them. 471145 rolled slowly up the incline that lead onto the main line, the signalman waving brightly from beneath his tiled roof as the great machine clanked and clattered her way across the web of pointwork at the depot’s mouth and onto the main line, shrouded almost wholly in her own steam and smoke, her crew half-deaf with the scream of steam from her cylinder drains. They were across, now; the points swung around already, to discharge another engine to another day’s duty, as 471145 hovered, as if unsure of what to do next, on the Down Slow line. The die-blocks oozed their way down the expansion links on her four sets of valve gear, incomprehensible artistry to outsiders; and, still enveloped in her own steam and smoke, 471145 disappeared into the smoky gloom of Hammer Tunnel’s north portal.

Above the portal, a well-known journalist looked down from her office at the hazy scene below, idly fingering the crumpled railway ticket in her hand as she scratched her leg and read the morning’s business letters, and sniffed with disdain. She turned to her colleague.

“They’re so damn dirty, trains,” she said, lighting her cigarette, failing entirely to notice the weather-beaten train of tobacco thumping its way west below. The man nodded unthinking, routine agreement. “My suit got filthy the other day,” he added, showing her a few spots of soot on its pinstripe surface.

Liberty-City Suburb


This line is good
" Mandy could make out the models of the cars out there – and as there were no deer in sight, "

Everday, at 7hrs in the morning, Elizabeth wakes up to a beautiful, unspoilt green-belt - one of the thousands that pervade the country. It may be a lovely view, but its dammned inconvinient for her to travel to Chegezerch Island, on the W side of the city of Toranbourg.
She then brushes her teeth (with environmentally friendly toothpaste, of course, and making sure to recycle it afterwards).
Its then a cycle down Ctan Avenue, named for the nation of Ctan, who now care for the beloved, yet exiled, Hereditary Grand Duchess Alexandra. The street is one of the new ones, which are made much thinner, as cars are banned, and it doesn't destroy Zebra Habitats.
At the end of the avenue, and over the Goza ferry, then the Rezbourg ferry, and finally the Maria Lines ferry (Torembourg is a city of over one thousand tiny islands) to Torem Square, THE place to be if you're a diplomat. She is the liason with the Khorvanians, and deals mostly with the oil trade deals, as in Toremal oil, being found only offshore, is hugely expensive.
During lunch hour, she attends the Church - skipping lunch to join in with thousands of others - Toremal is one of the most devout nations on the planet.
She then goes back to the office to try and kick out foreign investors - Toremal has a 'protect our jobs' policy - even foreign reps must be Tormalin.
Having finished that, it's off to the conffessional, and then back home to listen to the Ctani radio, to find out what's happened to Hereditary Grand Duchess Alexandra. Then she watches the nations favourite program, on Channel Zebra - Our Environment: It matters more than we do! it'll then be the Tormalin news, to see if any more children ahev been arrested for owning mobile phones, or to see if any more hunters hahve lost limbs while trying to give a ceromonial, and much less harming than shooting, 'tap' on the head of a Zebra, our national animal.

His Excellency, Constantine, By the Grace of the Grand Duchess and God, Count of Yepstein, Margrave of Letzxebourg, and Mayor of Torembourg, wakes up at five in the morning, every day. It is still dark as he cycles his TW1,00,898 bicycle to the office - it will take three hours to cycle across Torambourg, which is easily as large as Lightning Star's Neo-Carthage/CarZar.
It is then to work, doing absolutely nothing, except waiting for orders from the Grand Duchess Maria, the 'powerless' monarch of Toremal, who has the Government in the palm of her hand - due to the fact that she personally owns most of the land in the country, and her land, as is all royal land, is above the law - so they can't tell her what to do.
She has become increasingly dictatorial since the departure of her sister, Alexandra to the Ctan.
OOC:To be continued, I've got to go...

Richardson Street

'What time is it?'

'Tis five thirty n' not a minute later, you know that you bugger. Cmon lad, get yer bloody socks on.'

'But school ain't til seven. S'till got another hour yet!'

'Shut it you fuckin' twat, I don't work bloody sundays fer you t'whine about goin t' school!'

Jim grumbled to himself, knocking his legs out of bed first before pulling his body out of the rough material, unnoticably shaking the 'Made in Her Majesty's Mills' tag. The bedcloth was years old - it had been Jim's brothers before him, and that was many years ago. The bed rattled as he shoved the thin cover over the rusting iron carcass, and Jim took the few feet neccessary to get from his bed to the door. He winced as his father shouted again.

'Oi! Get outta fuckin' bed you lazy bugger!'

The door in front of Jim swung open fiercely as his older brother stomped out. Jim had grown up to fear his brother, although only when his father wasn't around - if his father ever caught the older beating on the younger, there'd be hell to pay. 'You don't smack those littler' than you. Stickin' up for those who can't is all what this countries about. Whydy'a think we fought the fuckin' war?' was what he'd always say. It wasn't exactly true, but nevertheless it was widely believed. He also never mentioned which war. Jim's brother was sixteen - and as such, eligible to join the Navy, although he could have done several years ago if he was tall enough. Short and stocky as most Questarian working class were, Jim oddly enough had never had to worry about kids bullying him at school. Echoing his father, Jim's brother had
always been around to help him out.

Trotting downstairs, over the creaky floorboards, Jim wondered whether the thirty year old decor would ever get replaced. When his parents had first purchased the house it had come with the decoration, and although much of it had been peeled off revealing bare plaster, the general theme was still there. He had little time to wonder this each morning, however, as he was quickly ushered into the kitchen-living room by his mother. His mother. She had once, judging from the photos hung up around the wall, been a young, lively woman. If she was, there was certainly no trace of it anymore. Bags around her eyes as deep as the draught of a battleship and that tired but loving voice coupled with the grey hair proved so. Jim took his place at the breakfast table, looking ahead as he did every morning at the rifle in the corner. His father had been a member of the neighbourhood watch, Quester's defacto police force. He had shot his fair shair of criminals in his time, from rapists to petty robbers escaping down the street. The rifle was old and rarely used; his father had given up neighbourhood watch; working sundays to pay for his children's education meant very little time for anything else.

His father rushed downstairs, quickly popping into the room to say goodbye to the assembled masses of the family. Four children wasn't so unusual. He ruffled hairs and slapped on the backs, and kissed his wife.

'You remember what day it is tommorow?'

'Of course I bloody well do!' He grinned. 'Don't worry luv, I've got somm'et planned!'

Jim's mother smiled at him. 'You stay safe at work, alright?'

'Yeah, yeah.'

Jims dad, a miner in the local pits, left as quickly as he arrived to work his fourteen hour shift. Seven days a week. It was rare - his colleagues, who only did then hours and six days, did not quite understand why he valued education so much. For them, life was the pits. The future was the pits. Their children, and their children before them, would work their fourty years service in the pits before coughing out their last days at the ripe old age of sixty, lungs infested with the dark, black dust that caused so many 'early' deaths. But Jim's dad didn't want this. He was an idealist in some ways - he watched the news, unlike most Questarians, and he read the papers. He read and listened about other countries, and he had plans. He didn't want his children to live in this hellhole of a nation, he wanted them to move overseas, to places of opportunity - Praetonia, Allanea, Space Union, for example.

But for that, he had to work 105 hours a week.

Several hours later

The street was full. Cars, milk vans, and various pedestrians going to and fro. Jim looked up above him - the dark sky, clogged by two hundred years of heavy industry, bore little resemblance to the 'green and pleasant land' so often used in propaganda and patriotic poems. As far as the eye could see, smoke was already drifting into the sky from a hundred thousand funnels. As far as the eye could see, terraced roofs puffed their smoke from fireplaces and stoves into the atmosphere. For all the work of the environmentalists, nothing was gained, for nothing would shift and nothing would change. Occasionally, Jim could hardly hear himself think for the roar of prop engines overhead, fighter planes zooming around over the city. He wondered how they could see for all the smoke.

'Milk! Pints o' milk!' was the first thing he could hear. Looking to his left, the local milkman was clanging a bell for fresh milk, although he would leave a pair of bottles on the doorstep of each of his respective subscribers. 'Questarian milk, from the finest cows in all the land!' A little Union Jack adorned each bottle. From almost every other house, a Union Jack or Empire Flag flapped from a pole suspended out from a window. Jim's house had two. Patriotism was not an option in Questers. How patriotic you were defined how the community treated you. By law you were always free to say whatever you liked, even if it did piss 6.5 billion people off - and again, by law, the government protected you. This usually worked, for example racism/anti racism, or religion/anti religion, abortion/anti abortion, but when it came down to such things as wars it was very rarely tolerated by the community who had a fine sense of jingoism.

He looked once more up into the sky, thinking that one of the little clouds of smoke could have been caused by his father.

'Oi! Get out the bloody way lad!'

No time to stand still. Life continues.

[CyberTag]

Sladder woke up at 3:00am like always. He had to be at the station in three hours and hit the streets at 6:30pm. Jack lived in a four-bedroom apartment in the city of Xharnia. Jack started to eat his breakfast some eggs and bacon. The salary of a Military Police Officer was far better than any civilian salary and Sladder lived in luxury compared to the average Joe in the Regime.

Sladder quickly took a shower and got dressed quickly into his military uniform. The Military Police wore a military style uniform with a red wolf shaped badge on their chest. There was also an armband with the Wolf's head on the right arm of the uniform to give people the message he was a member of the police and the military a dangerous combination.

Jack quickly ran to his personal car and drove to the station it was fairly quick since the mass implantation of Regime regulated Buses and Subways. People who worked for the government or were affiliated with a local corporation were the only ones that could afford a car. This had significantly reduced traffic on the street and made it easier for the Military Police to enforce speed limits especially with GPS systems that monitored all the vehicle speeds on the road.

Sladder quickly went inside his Station and reported to his Major. The Major looked up from his desk and gave Sladder his marching orders to patrol the seedy district 14. This place had a reputation that would make Hell's Kitchen look like a trip to the circus.

Jack smiled and mobilized his Lt.'s and their units to begin the patrol to district 14.Their patrol consisted of several patrol vehicles and even an APC. They all had battle gear armed and ready and they all stayed together like a pack of predators. This place was terrible at night and it was full of hookers and hoars. The district was also considered to be under the control of the Mafia run by the local Tortali Family.

Jack took note of the working girls and ordered his boys to "ruff them up". The Military Police charged in with their M-16 rifles and 9mm pistols. The officers started to beat up on the girls that resisted and those that were smart just gave up. They were all being hauled into the APC for transport back to station for questioning and most likely sentencing. One of the local Pimps tried to save his girl this lead to him being shot right in the street.

Jack smiled and started to hunt for other known criminals and drug dealers and prostitutes. The patrol ended after a few hours and they moved back to the station. The girls and other prisoners would be questioned and forced to sign confessions. They would most likely be executed or sentenced to service in the Northern mountains for slave labor in the camps.


Jack looked and noticed that all his boys survived that was unusual considering the nature of the place they patrolled everyday at the same time but at least he would not have to attend another comrades funereal.

It was mid-day, school was dragging on. Emily looked at the clock with long anticipation. She wanted to go home and sleep. (As all teenagers do)

Finally the school bell rang, and she dashed out of the class room. A flood of uniforms filled the hallways. Emily went to her locker. Her best freind Jessie came to her side.

"Hey Emily."

"Hey Jessie. I can't stay and talk, me and my mom are going shopping today. My dad is comming home tomorrow, and were throwing him a big party."

"Ah yeah, now that Hanover is finally over. Must have been scary to have go to both Princstable and Hanover."

"I know, I get scared everytime."

A boy jeered out "Hey war monger! How many civilans did you dad shoot?"
people ooed out. "Well how are you going to handel that one?"

"Good question Aguado, first I establishe a counter argument." Emily said "When you got a load of the size of your ding, you became extremly insecure, about your manhood." Everyone ooed again "Then you spend 30 days, going through enlargments."


Why you little he charged her, but she punched him in the stomach.

"See you around."

She ran out to her mom's car.

"Hey honey. Have a good day?"

"Yeah it was good."

"Good."

The mom and daughter spent the day shopping, and having dinner together, preparing for the homecomming. It began to rain that night.

The radio was going softly.

Moderate to Sever thunderstorms are expected through the night.

"Hmm sounds like were in for a stormy night."

Lighting streaked down in the distance.

"You know mom, in Kurona they don't have cars. They just go out on wagons, or bikes. Even if it's stormy. I learned that in Geography class today."

"Intresting. What else have you learned?"

Emily ranted on, Geogrpahy was Emily's favorite subject. They pulled into their driveway, and ran inside. They turned on the lights to find the house ransacked.

"We were robbed."

Hours passed the police took their report, and left.

The mother chatted on the phone with her husband

"I love you. Yeah we're all right. Love you see you tomorrow bye."

Thunder rumbled, as Emily crept into the room.

"Mom, I had a bad dream."

She crept into bed with her. Her mother held her close and stroked her hair.

"Well I'm just glad you weren't home alone. Things can be replaced."

She closed her eyes and drifted off to sleep. Her mother just kept stroking her daughters hair. The next day Emily and her mother gave Tommy (father/husband) a big welcome home. Everyone hearing of them being robbed poured out with symapthy. It was good to be back together again safe and sound

Jacob stared at the clock, still blinking 7:00am as it blared out the klaxon he used as an alarm. "I'm up, I'm up..." but he wasn't, not for another 3 minutes. He slammed of the alarm and climbed out of bed. Jacob walked down to the bathroom, leaving the bed unmade, sheets on the floor. He'd get to it eventually.

The water was cold, again. He'd have to talk to the building owner about that. He showered quickly, getting out from under the stream of ice and drying off as quickly as possible.

His breakfast consisted of Frosted Flakes, which was now celebrating their 500th anniversery, or so the box claimed. Jacob flipped on the Holo Set and was greeted by footage of some war zone.

Seems like we're always at war with somebody... he thought. Jacob finished his breakfast and headed out to his car, not really ready for another 12 hour day at the office. A large military APC passed by the front of his house as he walked to his car. Then it slowed, and stopped.

No, please, not me... The APC backed up, and pulled into his driveway. A soldier in full battle armor climbed out of the back and faced him.

"Are you Jacob Sterling, Citizen ID 46001826513673?"

Jacob swore under his breath. "Yes, thats me," he sighed.

The soldier pulled a plastic card out of a pocket and handed it to Jacob. " Your country needs you. Get into the carrier."

Jacob sighed. and hung his head in resignation. He climbed into the back of the APC. As the door closed, and the vehicle rumbled down the street to find its next victim, all Jacob could think was Well, at least I won't have to worry about work...

bump

Life in A Black Hand Base

Josef woke up at 4:30 in the morning, along with the rest of those in his bunk area, soon after, he took his required 10 minute shower then dressed in the standard uniform of those following the brother hood, at 5:15 the morning the prayers to Kane started, being late was considered Heresy and the punishments were severe, after a 45 minute session, Josef and the other followers went to the meeting room to be addressed by a large screen television> From 6 till 7 the daily briefing gave the day to day news of Nod, as well as important goals that they were working towards. To Josef it was mostly boring but still everyone always looked forward to the end of the briefing, which ended with the daily execution, in which a spy, prisoner, or traitor was executed in a different way, those who wondered on how many ways to kill a man, would learn from this show.

Their briefing finished each began to walk to their different tasks, Josef had duty shipping crates to the transports at the Naval docks. (To be continued)

Gooooooooood morning, Cravna! And what a beautiful morning it is! Two feet of snow and counting in this winter storm, and there's no sign of it stopp-

Steve Linguardi's fist silenced his radio alarm clock with force as he rose from his bed at six. Scratching his buttocks, he slowly crept to the bathroom to begin his morning routine, stopping off at the window to see outside his apartment. A light blanket of white covered the streets below as he could hear the snow plow rumbling down the road.

Lovely. he thought to himself. I'm going to be stuck in snow.

He entered the bathroom, and looked in the mirror hanging over the sink. Scratching the stubble on his chin, he unhooked the electric razor from its recharging stand and slowly went to work, the small blades constantly spinning in their housings as they laid waste to Steve's excess facial hair. Upon finishing up shaving, he quickly splashed his face with cold water to make sure he was completely awake.

Soon enough he was sitting in the kitchen area of his modest apartment, downing a bowl of cereal and watching the GTNN morning newscast. He slowly picked himself up from his chair and set the empty bowl by the sink on the counter, leaving the television on as he went to get dressed. He donned his bussiness suit slowly, occasionally sitting on his bed wishing he could blow off work and return to his blissful night's rest. But this was sadly impossible.

Turning off the TV and locking his doors, Steve made his way to his car sitting on the side of the road outside. He was the only resident of his building with their own car, which had its upsides and downsides. He mainly drove to work as a sort of social status, since almost everyone else in the city took the subway or the bus. This was something Steve wasn't exactly willing to do, having been raised in the suburbs and seperated from mass transit. With a quick chirping his black Lincoln Town Car was unlocked, and he gave his car a quick wiping down to clear off the snow from the windows. Soon enough he was on his way to work, his papers and files sitting in the passenger seat next to him. The ride was fairly enjoyable, and he finally pulled up to the parking garage for the office building where the law firm which employed him was located.

Another day, another crave. he thought as he hit the up button on the elevator.

Life in Edland Heights, United Ed States National Capital.


Richard Browning woke up in his small apartment. This small living space cost about as much as a small mansion in other parts of the country, as is typical for most of the high cost apartments in the Ed States capital. Mr. Browning yawned and hit his alarm clock. He reached for the remote around his wife, Danielle. He turned the television power on, and it tuned into the most popular channel in the UES, Ed States Broadcasting Corporation. The familiar face on the news greeted his viewers across the nation, "Good morning Ed States. It is 6:00, and time for our pre-work commuting news, but first, with live coverage of a very recent terrorist bombing, here's Christine Franco."
Mr. Browning sighed. Another terrorist bombing? That puts it up to 3 a month. Christine began, "Thank you, Thomas. It appears on the King Toad II bordertown of Rolling Hills, a bomb went off in a local police station. The authorities have yet to comment on casulties. And... oh, what's this? It appears... hmmm... ok... It appears ladies and gentlemen that we have just recieved confirmation that Free the Allied States rebels have claimed responsibility for the attack..."
Mr. Browning got disgusted and turned the channel to the nation's second most popular channel, Our World. Today, a Roman Catholic preist was speaking about keeping faith and god in our hearts and not committing adultry, the nation's two favorite pasttimes. Mr. Browning thought of his work day yesturday, a long and hard one, as usual. One good thing about the United Ed States, he thought, I work my butt off now, but get rewarded when it comes to retirement.
He leaned over, kissed his wife, and got ready for work. Finally, when it came time to leave, he gathered his belongings, said bye to his wife and kids, and walked out the door. He got into his car, a small but economically efficient car. On his way to work (a 20 minute drive), he saw about 4 police cars and 2 NBD cars. Typical.
Right before he turned into his office parking lot, he drove into the local diner. He got out of his car, walked into the diner, and considered the menu. As usual, the meat, although of the finest quality, was quite expensive. He considered a vegetable and dairy platter, but finally decided upon a breakfast fish delight. He got his food and finally made his way to work, and just in time. Life was good for Mr. Browning. It was tough, slightly oppressive, and not truly good all the time, but overall good.

At 6am, speakers began to play all over Skgorria:
Arise, ye people, to the fight! was one of the many slogans that would be heard in "The Patriotic Hour", an entire hour of popular propaganda and news that was played on every radio, every television and every public announcement system. Also in "The Patriotic Hour", compulsory viewing for all households with televisions and compulsory hearing for all with radios, would be shows such as "Thoughts Of The Fuhrer", films and interviews with successful and meritous citizens and some footage of parades. Often the material would be recycled from previous shows, but if anyone did not watch it, the Committee For Skgorrian Security would be on them like a rifle-butt on a Jew.

Welcome to Skgorria, where brutality is commonplace and hidden beneath a veneer of patriotism and duty. Welcome to Skgorria, the last remaining bastion of National Socialism in Europe and probably the world.

We shall follow the daily life of a State Policeman as he goes about his business.

7am - after "The Patriotic Hour", Officer Servchenko leaves his residence and heads off to work at his Section Headquarters.
7:15 am - arrives at work, assembles gear and is briefed on today's tasks.
8 am - departs in patrol car with partner for the morning patrol. Today, he will be driving through Ghetto #5 - the Gypsy Quarter
8:27 am - passes through the security checkpoint manned by the SS and enters the Ghetto. Witnesses a small child attempting to leave the Ghetto, but before he can take postiive action, the SS bludgeon the child and giggle. Officer Servchenko continues.
8:28 am - Officer Servchenko hits a gypsy with his bull-bars on the front of his car because he can.
8:54 am - after cruising the Ghetto, Officer Servchenko responds to a call from one of the Ghetto's newest inhabitants that someone has stolen his food ration.
9:06 am - Officer Servchenko arrives on the scene and assesses the situation. He then proceeds to beat the caller with his nightstick for wasting police time, and asks why he should bother with such inhuman filth.
11:56 am - after an uneventful patrol, Officer Servchenko returns to the station and files his report which consists of "One dead, two wounded." He is commended, and sent off to lunch.
12:15 - Officer Servchenko returns home to have lunch with his wife.
13:15 - Officer Servchenko returns to duty and patrols his neighbourhood
13:27 - Officer Servchenko helps a little girl get her cat down from a tree
13:54 - Officer Servchenko destroys an illegal lemonade stand. Un-State enterprises are not permitted.
14:43 - Officer Servchenko arrests a graffiti artist
14:44 - Graffiti artist is shot
14:45 - Body-wagon is called for, Officer Servchenko removes all valuable from the corpse and pockets them on his person. He confiscates money, keys, phone and ID card.
15:06 - Officer Servchenko gets in his car and drives to the residence of the now-deceased graffiti artist
15:29 - Officer Servhcenko proceeds to remove valuables from the house of the graffiti artist, ignoring the pleas of the criminal's elderly mother and wife.
16:00 - After a good half hour of valuable confiscation, Officer Servchenko returns home with his new good and calls it a day.
17:30 - Servchenko, his wife and three children sit down to dinner.
18:00 - The family watches the News, including "Reports From The Front" and "Die Sturmer"
19:00 - Leisure time! Servchenko and his wife enjoy vigorous sex, whilst the children play Aryans and Jews. Of course, no-one wants to be the Jew.
20:30 - Family retires for bed and reading. Sex continues
21:30 - Lights out! Sleep time. Rest well Officer, it's another hard day tomorrow!

A day in the life of D5A74 No.0578:

D5A74 No.0578 (his Community industrial co-workers called him 0578) woke up every morning to the loud sound of the wake up Sirens at 4:30 AM. He had 15 minutes to get ready for work at 4:45, he hurried as he usually did then walked out of his sleeping cubicle into the large manufactoring rooms. When he first started working at age 6 he used to find this institution a wonder of monder technology, it could churn out 10,000 food packets a day and in a state of war up to 25,000. He moved over to his work station. His job was making sure that all of the food packets weighed under 350g, You could never be too sure and this was not a charity. He made sure that all of them were weighed, yesterday another weight checker was executed because he missed one. What was the mans name again? No.0435? It didn't matter, executions happened at least once a month in D5A74 sector. He sometimes wondered what it would be like in a different sector, with a different job. He remembered those tests he took when he was young which determined what kind of education and job he would get, which sector he would move to, and pretty much everything. He quickly snapped back into work as he realised he almost missed one. He then saw the inspector coming, better work extra hard now.

"Hello there No.0578, what is it that you are doing here?"

"Package weight checking, sir"

"Ah, I see, what might that include?"

"well you see sir, I need to check the weight of all the food packages that come through here, before they get to here"

"Very well, carry on"

With that the Inspector walked away. They didn't seem to pay much attentiont o what you were doing, they just looked you in the eye and asked you a bunch of random questions and read your name off a peice of paper. Already it was 12 noon and it was almost time for him to have meal A. He thought it was quite ironic that he worked in a food manufacturing industry and he was almost always hungry, but then he only got three spoons of gruel and a small peice of bread to go with his vitamin suplements. As the bell rang he jumped up and walked over to the long line that had already formed in the food store, he was not that good at math but from what he worked out, the amount he payed for food and living quarters was around 95% of his salary. The company payed for most of his taxes but he still had to spend 3% more on taxes. He had worked out that since he was payed 100 pebbles a month he only had 2 pebbles a month to spend on other things. After a long time it finally came to 9 PM and he could now go and socialise with his co-workers in the social room. He met with No.1038 and No.607 and started to talk, according to them, there was a female who was going to join the company. He had never met a female before, he wondered what they looked like, but for some reason he really wanted to meet her. They had said that she was going to replace the doctor who had been sent of to be a slave, because he drew a moustache on a picture of the CEO. She would not be allowed to socialise with the men, she could only treat any injuries they sustained. It was now 9:15 and he had to go to Meal B then return to work until 10:45. At the end of this long day he finally went to sleep, ready to repeat this repetative cycle.

A day in the life of Jason Manahan

He woke up with a beam of sun hitting him in the eye. He lived on the twentieth floor of a glass apartment building, he looked to his left, his wife was still asleep, so he got out of his bed as quietly as possible as to not wake her.

He took a short shower before combing his hair and putting on his armor. Heavy, black kevlar surrounded most of his body and was the bulk of his uniform, encased in black ceramic. The black cloth that covered the umarmored areas was soft kevlar, and had pockets for whatever it was he would need. Before putting on his helmet and taking his rifle out of the closet, he made well to kiss his wife goodbye. He stalked up to her and kissed her on the lips, before putting his helmet on, and concealing his face behind reflective glass.

It was a usual commute to work. A Vuhifellian Protection Agency APC would pick him up on the street, people would give their usual stares. Children admired him, adults had mixed feelings for him, and the elderly adored him.

It was a wonderful life.

He worked at VPA Interrogation Center 01, just outside of Klius Air Base in Farbanti. He picked up a clipboard from one of the doctors in a white labcoat. Today's assignment for him was a 31 year old male who was suspected for spreading false information about the Great Families.

He headed into the interrogation room, guarded by an 8 inch thick steel blast door.

The man he was interrogating had fear in his eyes, and was sitting at the opposite end of the interrogation table, Jason grabbed a seat.

"So, why are you here?" he asked calmly.

"The Great Families are sucking up our resources! They live lavishly, hae palaces everywhere, and earn trillions tax free! Al the while, children are starving in Golden Skies City and the economy is in recession!"

"You are mistaken, sir. The Great Families are great for a reason. They are our national identity, hell, they are our nation."

"I won't bow allegience to those false Gods!"

"Sir...everything they say is true, and will forever be true. If you don't like that...you're going to have to cut the bullshit and accept it."

"Two words for you. Fuck. You."

"That's it! I've had it with you!" Jason screamed through his helmet, he got up from his chair, and punched the man in the face, blood started dripping from his nose.

"You believe what we want you to believe, you hear!"

"No."

Another punch. The man was tied to the chair he was sitting in, Jason threw the chair on the floor, and started kicking the man in the sides.

"All you have to do is say: I was wrong, the government is right. You'll be free to go and recieve compensation for this little visit of yours."

"Go to hell."

More kicks, before Jason just got out his pistol and shot the man in the foot. He was screaming. But through those screams, Jason could make out: "Never."

He had had enough, Jason simply left the room, before being confronted by a doctor in a white lab coat.

"Jason. Jason. What was that in there? In the last six months, you haven't performed any executions, what's wrong?"

"Nothing, sir."

"Well, that's good Jason. That's good to know. But still, this man is dangerous to our way of life. He's a traitor. I want you to personally perform his execution."

"You've already ordered his death, sir?"

"Oh, absolutely. People like him can never be converted to our way of thinking, and they must be eradicated, Jason. Now, nothing elaborate. We'll take him to a holding cell for now. Just shoot him in the head in one week, will you? Nothing fancy. None of your youthful pranks like shoving a grenade in his mouth. It's too messy. The janitorial staff kept complaining about those kinds of executions."

"Yes sir."

Just another normal day.

September 24th, 2021
Astana, capital of Labhekistan

Alexandr Laptev awoke as his alarm beeped quietly. The volume was low because his wife would not get up for another hour. He sat on the edge of his bed and turned off the alarm. It was 6:00 am. He had to get up early for his morning commute. At this hour, the city was still silent. Except for the home guardsmen like himself, most people would still be asleep.

Laptev stood and walked through the door into the bathroom. He showered, shaved, and combed his hair. Then he wrapped himself in a towel and went down the hall into his kitchen, to make some coffee and put a bagel in the toaster. While the bagel was toasting Alexandr went back to his room and pulled on his uniform. It was the new light green camouflage and it fit him well. It was much better than the old reserve uniforms, which he still had. He reminded himself to take his old uniform back to the supply office.

After donning his uniform and beret, Alexandr went back to the kitchen and poured himself a mug of coffee and ate his bagel. He turned on his radio and listened to the news for a moment. All was calm in Labhekistan.

Alexandr went back to his bedroom one last time and retrieved a small key from a drawer in his closet. On the way out, he kissed his wife on the cheek. As he walked down the hall, he looked into his children's bedrooms. His son and daughter were still asleep too, they would get up at 7:00 for school. Alexandr went into his basement and walked over to a large cabinet. He unlocked it with the key, and put the key in his pocket. In the cabinet was an old AKMS assault rifle, with the folding stock. He didn't like keeping it at home, but it was mandatory for all home guardsmen.

Alexandr then walked back upstairs and pulled on his boots, gloves, and warm hat. He tucked his beret into his pocket and walked out the door. It was a frigid -15 degrees Celcius, cool for a Labehkistan winter. He walked to his garage and started his car. The base was a half-hour drive from his home, outside the city. He drove out of the driveway and headed for work.

5:30am
A Great trumpeting upbeat melody sprang up from the national megaphones, located in every household and every street, loud enough to wake up all, without causing excessive hearing damage. An overly enthusiastic voice of a gruff, masculine sounding man then roared out.

"Arise, Arise Great Citizens of Nicksyllvania! Today is yet another day of life in the Greatest nation that ever existed. Another Wonderous day of exitement and self-fulfillment under the Great, Glorious and Mighty Banner of the Imperial Socialism. Arise for your patriotic duty to sing our National Anthem and then we'll continue to our Morning Excerise Routine."

Hardtman Inoue grudgingly awoke, almost mumbling a curse. He quickly slipped on his work uniform, his armband that proved his identity to the Imperial Socialist party and stood up solidly in front of a large poster on his bedroom wall. The poster depicted the Emperor/Supreme Comrade Generalissmo's face, with a firm, determined expression, with his arms outstreched forward, below a farm yielded massive fields of rice, a factory belched smoke, and an army of tanks and soldiers charging forth. Along with 4 person's, all with hearty smiles, a farmer, a factory worker, a bureacrat, and a scientist. At the Bottom, in Bold Red letter's wrote, "Strength, Discipline, Prosperity. May the Empire be Eternal"

The megaphone, quiet for a short 20 seconds, then blared out a loud, martial song, with a heavy drum beat. With no delay Inoue sang along, mising not a word nor stuttering, considering everday of his life since he could speak, did he sing the National Anthem.

After the final verse, the excersive program began, this time a woman's voice instructed on the various streches and counted.
1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, to your left
1, 2, 3 ...

At 5:50 The morning program was done, and it was time to go to work, going out of his apartment and going to the closest elevator, 3 stories up to go to the nearest Community kitchen, although there were plenty of more appetizing privately owned places to eat, the Kitchen was simply the cheapest and quickest meal available, after eating a simple breakfast sandwich and a cup of tea, he went back to the elevator, 8 stories up, then going to a nearby subway station, the train arrived shortly, even if he missed it, another train was due in 2 minutes. After the short, uneventful ride in the subway, he got off, took the elevevator 3 stories down and arrived at the Imperial State Corporation's IM-342DR44 Industrial Machinary Factory. Taking position on the assembly line, as he had been doing since he was assigned the job when he was 12 years old, he started daydreaming as his hands moved automatically.

The Lunch bell whistled, bringing Inoue back to reality. Although normally work ended at 6:00 pm, his work for today was over as it was the last 2 days of the month, and time to train in his Reserve Division, to ensure premium fighting fitness as is essential for all proud Nicksyllvanian Citizens. Lunch was a short 20 minutes long, consisting of a Bowl of Rice, Sausages, Scarmbled eggs, a plain loaf of bread, vitamin supplements, and a cup of tea.

Moving back home to dress in his Military Uniform and grab his NAR-4 Assault Rifle, and put on his filtering mask, then up the elevator again, to the very top floor. The Elevator Door opened and Inoue was greeted with a thick smog and a heavy chemical taste, he ran quickly to his Transport to escape the toxic cloud that polluted the large city. Soon everyone in the Division was loaded up and they started towards the training camp, far enough from the city to be reletively safe from the pollution, although acid rain was still a danger.

Training was rather normal, a simple drill, marching practice, Bayonet dueling, shooting practice, and running through the obstacle course while the Officers fire at you with Rubber bullets. Fortunately no one died today, but 3 were knocked unconsious. Then around 8:00pm, they set out into the wilderness for a bit of survival training, dinner consisted of MRE's. After a few more hours of training, and shooting at local wildlife whenever spotted, at 11:00pm the Officers declared it was time to sleep. Sentries were chosen, as occassionally Squads from other Regiments would visit at night in a simulated night attack. Failure for a sentry to be alert meant a long and brutal flogging for everyone in his platoon, and monetary rewards for the assaulting squad.

Fortunately Inoue wasn't chosen to be a sentry for any shift today. ALthough today was tough, and as will be tommorrow, it will soon be his day off for him to see his children and have some time to see his 2 wives for once. Before submitting to the warmth of their sleeping bags, the Squad gave their final thanks to one one that made their Great life possible, Comrade Nick.

We are a chill ass nation, full of hashish, psychadelics, big women and booze. If you'd like to vacation in a spot where anything and everything happens, feel free to visit nevillonia. Everyone does receive complimentary hookers upon first visit, courtesy of the ministry of travel. 7'8 Nevillonian Basketball center Tim 'twin' Towers is our minister of defense. But if you still 'hatin' prepare for the pimp squad and the cadillac cavalry.

A Vespertilian's Day Like Any Other- this is, in fact, a bit exaggerated... But only a bit.

"This is Radio Maryja - a Hard Rock Station!", roared radio alarm clock standing on a shelf just next to Satanislav's bed, heavy metal tune waking Satanislav form his sleep. He slowly got up, taking a short glance of his wife. "One day I'll kill the bitch", he remarked just like he did any other morning, unaware of the fact that his wife thought just the same about her husband. He hated his job, his life, his wife - generally almost everything. He hated waking up in time to go to work, taking short shower, dressing up and eating sandwich with his favourite (or, rather, least hated) brand of human meat, "Volunteer's Best". Then he proceeded to one of his scarce pleasures - fixing and cleaning his own home-modified Massacrator Impaler. The radio stopped playing after being pierced by wooden stake delivered accurately by Satanislav. "Shut. Up.", he murmured through clenched teeth to the second radio he sent to Valhalla in this month, then slowly took his leave.

Fortunately, his way to workplace was quite smooth, only he had to open embrasures and pack full broadside into certain other guy, who was trying to smash him out of the road by means of his panzerbulldozer. It, however, distracted him enough for bunch of angry pedestrians to rip his car's armour with landmines placed on the asphalt. Only because of trebled driving system, of which he was very proud as he did it himself in his garage using spare parts from dishwasher, was Satanislav able to maneuver after sustaining such damage. He managed just in time to fend the pedestrians off with machinegun, as they were loading their grenade launchers. When he reached the Vespertilia Software building, he parked on the SAME. SITE. AS. EVER. Never mind the fact he had to smash another car to pieces. It was HIS. PLACE.

"Hi, Boss", Satanislav murmured when he met his superior in the office, simultaneuously imagining the scene of his impalement. Murmuring complaints, he proceeded to his job - he was recently working on a project of a new operations system. Most of the time from 8 AM to 4 PM, he spent fixing bugs hidden in fixes of earlier bugs, only when a group of anarchists tried to blow up the builting he left his workplace, instead shooting down wearing fashionable brand rags youngsters trying to incinerate him with Molotov Cocktails.

While driving home, Satanislav kept in mind what his car had suffered as he lost his focus, so he switched off radio and didn't drink anything this time. It turned out to be a good strategy, when he managed to avoid barricades set by demonstration of angry workers, being at the same time under fire from one of local gangs and answering to it.

Finally, he reached home, and, as ever, he hoped in vain for his wife to greet him with warm dinner. This time she wasn't even home, so he had to warm up some canned food in the microwave oven. This sparked an unusual idea inside his mind.

"Hello?" said Jeanne, coming back after some additional hours in work. She presumed her husband would be inside, but there was no reply to knocks at the door. Then she heard buzz of a fly somewhere in kitchen. "Weird", she thought, as rarely it was so silent in this part of the city. This unusual silence was then broken by a couple of mafia mobsters engaging in shooting under her window. She proceeded to the kitchen, expecting to discover at least some information scribbled on a Post-It with characteristic handwriting of her husband. Instead, she found him himself, lying on ground with his head ripped apart with parts of metal can. The remains microwave oven would be nigh impossible to identify if she hadn't known what to expect. In the middle of them lied the bottom of the can with what delicious "Yum Yum Chinese Canned Dinner" wasn't sprayed everywhere else inside.

"Should have done it before you, asshole", she said to the corpse, making herself a cup of tea.

This family has had enough of modern living. Pollution, noise, traffic, crime, imorality it's too much they've decided to return to their roots. Koji and his wife Yuki have decided to return to their birth place. But their daughter Michiko wasn't thrilled. Being 11 she was leaving everything she knew behind all her freinds the lovely mountain city, her school all to become a farmer in a country that was way behind the time. She knew her parents were born there and lived there till they were four-five years old but Michiko wasn't. "My devoutly Catholic family was getting fed up with everything, it seemes." She contiusly thought to her self. Imorality was a big problem where they lived before they decided to move. She protested but she could do nothing. They flew on an airplane for what would be the last time, they put everything in a storage unit which would be sold at auction. Her and her young sister who was only 6 all landed in a country nowhere close to Kurona. Apparently the weather was bad over Xanadou which had all airports shut down. But there was one isolated port to Kurona, which held only Kuronan ships, it would take several days of sailing to get there.

[i]The ship were preparing to sail on looks like something out of an old paitning. Hardly looks sea worthy for us to sail on. Kaoru is excited of course, but she's too young to understand anything that's going on. The Xanadou Sea is notoriously rough as I've been told, so I have to keep my close eye on Karou to make sure she doesn't fall off. No more time to write, must get on!

The sails unfoiled and the ship was released from port. It was a much older Kuronan ship, one with sails still. Bound for Kurona. The family had a small cabin with a lone lantern for light. It swon wildly every stormy day and night of the trip. It was going to be a long trip

Life in the Republic of Czechalrus


Mikihal Vidjouslavic wakes up at exactly 5:30AM in his grey colored 4 room apartment building. He gazes on the window to see gloomy grey clouds and frost forming on the window. He quickly starts to boil his water for his government issue oatmeal, he dresses himself for work at the ammunition factory. He camly walks down the creaky over tarnished stairs and walks out side into the freezing moring of Kiev. He opens the door to his white Lada and starts the vehicle and continues on his way to work. He stops at a red light as a Soviet Green UAZ-469 and Ural-4320 loaded with Czechalrussian soldiers passes in front of him. Water sprays up from the wet streets as cars drive about. He finally arrives and the State Ammunition Factory. The huge red brick building jutting into the sky is a awesome demonstration of Czechalrus' Military Might. A guard wearing a great coat with a AKS-74U slung across his cest checks Mikihal's papers and allows him to proceed. Another day of work in life of a Czechalrussian citizen.

Just a story of one guy from Adamta who had a bad day.

"Wake up daddy. Wake up"

"Yeah, I'm up....I'm awake. What are you doing up so early?"

"The phone rang and woke me and mommy up, didn't you hear it?"

"No, I guess I didn't."

"Mommy made breakfast."

"Good I'll be down in a minute."

He gets dressed and goes downstairs, his wife is at the table drinking coffee.

"Nice of you to wake up before 5:00pm."

"Nice of you to stop being a bitch long enough to help your daughter. I'm sorry if I have a job. I provide for this family. What do you do?"

"WHAT DON'T I DO?"

"Work."

"Fuck you get the fuck out of here."

"Here we go again, go ahead make a show for everyone."

"There is no one here."

"Whatever, I'm going to work."

"Thats right you just work, work, work. Don't pay attention to your problems."

He goes back upstairs and gets ready to go to work as a manager of a three man accountant team. As he leaves, he hears his wife still cursing him out. He walks out to his car and notices a parking ticket on the windshield.

"Great, thats just fucking great."

He drives off and gets on the highway. The traffic is terrible just like always, and the lines at the toll both weren't helping. Then he noticed he left his speed-pass at his house.

"Oh my god, your not serious? Dammit!"

Now he would have to wait in a long line of cars, and probably be late for work. He had to wait for one and a half hours to get through the tolls. As he made it to work, he went into the garage to find that his parking spot was taken by a police car. He then had to park on the top floor of the garage.

He went into his office, but was interrupted by his boss.

"Late again?"

"Yes, sorry sir, there was traffic and some cop parked in my space........"

"I don't want excuses, you already are behind in your work. You have till five to get all work in your office done. So get moving."

He went back to his office, it really wasn't his fault that the work was not done. One of his guys didn't show up for work because he was "sick" for a week. As he entered the office he noticed that the same guy was still out.

"Hey, whats going on?"

"A crappy day is what is going on. Listen the boss said that we have to get all this done by five today."

"What thats impossible."

"Just try."

The team had to work all day even through their lunch break but it was obvious that they weren't going to finish.

"I said that it was impossible."

"I'll go tell the boss, and get yelled at."

"Good luck."

He walks into the much bigger office of his boss.

"Sir, it doesn't look like we are going to finish today."

"What did you say? You can't finish today, well than you and your team are finished. Get all your crap out of here by five."

"But sir we have caught up on a lot of work."

"Not good enough, you and your team is fired, because of you."

Thats when it happened. He snapped, he couldn't take it anymore. He made a fist and swung at his boss's face. But the boss grabbed his fist and threw him down on the floor. The boss went above him and was about to punch him.

Then a shot rang out. One of the accountants had a gun and shot the boss.

"What the hell did you do?"

"I heard the whole thing, this is my life, my life at home is terrible. I'm getting a devoice, my kids hate me. This is the only thing I do."

"Me too, my life is crappy too, but shit. I wouldn't kill someone."

Everyone in the building heard the gun shot, a message came over the intercom telling everyone to stay in their office and security is on its way.

"Here they come....I don't want to go to jail."

"I'm the one who shot him." He raises the gun to his own head.

"No,nooooo!"

He goes to grab the gun away from the accountant.........the gun goes off. It shoots him right in the throat. He lays on the ground dead. The accountant just sits there shaking. Security enters the office, along with a cop, who was just there to see his friend.

"Put the weapon down! Put it down!"

The accountant tries to stand up, and is shot over seven times.

An investigation was launched into this. This was the boss's last day, he was fired before he fired them. The manager was going to get his job, and the accountant was going to be the manager.

6am A weary Ed Tilling awakens from a nervous sleep a photo of the former president sit's next to his bed Ed prepares for another days hard work in the weapons factory, eating a quick breakfast he grabs his ID he enters the streets of pavia.....he doesn't get far a group of soldiers rush him putting a black bag over his head......he's thrown into a van......never to be seen again


The last thing he hears is the crack of an ak74


Ed's fate is the fate of all citizens who do not put there faith in god and the emperor

James gets up at 6, a habit he learned whilst a rifleman in the military. He walks on the large sidewalk, safe in the knowledge that there are no cars to kill him. He passes numerous demonstrations against the government on his way to work,
and upon arriving gets to work writing software for the automated golf carts that are getting more and more popular.
After work, he goes to one of the local bazaars, and gets some mushrooms from Danzi, a good friend of his. He invites some friends over and they get high and play video games till 4 the next morning. He really loves Fridays.

This family has had enough of modern living. Pollution, noise, traffic, crime, imorality it's too much they've decided to return to their roots. Koji and his wife Yuki have decided to return to their birth place. But their daughter Michiko wasn't thrilled. Being 15 she was leaving everything she knew behind all her freinds the lovely mountain city, her school all to become a farmer in a country that was way behind the time. She knew her parents were born there and lived there till they were four-five years old but Michiko wasn't. "My devoutly Catholic family was getting fed up with everything, it seemes." She contiusly thought to her self. Imorality was a big problem where they lived before they decided to move. She protested but she could do nothing. They flew on an airplane for what would be the last time, they put everything in a storage unit which would be sold at auction. Her and her young sister who was only 6 all landed in a country nowhere close to Kurona. Apparently the weather was bad over Xanadou which had all airports shut down. But there was one isolated port to Kurona, which held only Kuronan ships, it would take several days of sailing to get there.



The sails unfoiled and the ship was released from port. It was a much older Kuronan ship, one with sails still. Bound for Kurona. The family had a small cabin with a lone lantern for light. It swon wildly every stormy day and night of the trip. It was going to be a long trip



The boat had been out to sea under mostly calm situations. Onboard the family usually remained confined to their cabin quarters, as it still wasn't the best of situations to be going up on deck . In order to maintain their keep on the ship the family had to do frequent cleanings of the ship, it was hot tiring work but they didn't have a choice. They had to conserve. Michiko and her mother were both swabing the deck together, both were half-dressed and sweating bullets. "I know this is tough babe but don't worry, soon we'll have our time to rest."

"I can't belive this Mama, sheesh!"

"Please, honey."

Michiko threw the broom down. "It's clean enough isn't it?" Thunder began to rumble lightly. Michiko walked angerly back to the cabin. "Michiko..." More thunder. Michiko need to have a shower. She was soaked with sweat, she simply stood under the cold water without undressing, her mother soon joined after. Michiko said nothing. The porthole was growing darker as the storm began, the ship slowly began to list, Michik fell but her mother caught her, soon Thunder (http://www.hollywoodlostandfound.net/sound/castlethunder.html) crashed with it's partner in crime lighting. Now the family was all huddled together under one blanket listing to the storm rage. Michiko felt like writing more

Dear Diary,
It's our 5th day at sea and the weather is turning rough. I am pretty scared but what can I do? I keep having these hissy fits with my parents *sigh* oh well. The ship rocks pretty badly almost feels like it's going to tip over. Karou is very scared naturally, but hopefully once we get our feet on solid ground again we'll be all right. she shut her diary and leaned against her mother to sleep.

Cookesland is just like America except for a few differences, more to come later ;)

(I know I already posted here, but I've been occupied by the Doomies.)

Abdul got out of bed at 6:00 in the morning. He turned on the lights, went to the bathroom and shaved his beard. He rubbed his scalp where the Doomies had put a bug in him. It let the Doomies track him wherever he went or identify him on a Doomie soldier's HUD unit.

Since the Doomies had broken Najaster, the former capital of Kahanistan, into dozens of ghettoes, Abdul was unable to go to his job as a clock repairman. Having seen his share of crucifixions, he was also too cowardly to join the insurgency. He went to morning Mass, concealing the fact that he was in fact an atheist from the Doomies.

Crime was down, despite the fact that those Doomie bastards had confiscated all of Abdul's guns. Not only his guns, but his cell phone and his laptop that had most of his business information on it. He could walk down the streets without fear of being harassed by maniacal criminal gangs.

On the way to church, he saw two Doomies grab a man off the street, beat the crap out of him, and call him a heretic before cramming him into their CMPL and driving off. Abdul avoided talking to the Doomies he passed on his way to church, so the insurgents wouldn't kill him as a collaborator. The insurgents were killing lots of people these days. Just a few days earlier he had heard a report of Doomies protecting people from those nasty insurgents. He figured if the Doomies risked their lives to protect his people, they must have been collaborators.

In the church, he sat down and listened to the priest say Mass and preach hate, violence, and terror against nonbelievers. It made him sick to his stomach to hear good people mercilessly bashed and portrayed as infidel barbarians.

After an hour or so when the priest was done and he had had Communion, Abdul went to his new crappy job in the ghettoes cleaning trucks. It was boring menial labor and he hated seeing these jack-booted thugs with DR-83's every minute he was on the job, and it paid less than a quarter of what he had made as a clock repairman.

When he got home to his wife and children, they mostly played Scrabble. The Doomies had taken his radio and TV set, so he couldn't even watch the big football game he'd heard was going to take place. It was a shame; he hoped the Doomies got their butts kicked.

At 10:00 PM he went to bed to sleep and prepare for another boring day under the jackboot.

(Character From post 80 on page 6)

Roestte was no longer a little girl. She was now 22 married with twins. Of course her twins were special her twins had Kurona hit the 3 billion mark of population. But that really didn't matter. She ran through a heavy downpour of relentles rain. Her farm house which was much bigger than the one she lived in stood solid in it. Of course the possiblity of a flood was on her mind. Her husband was off tending the levys with others she was left with just her two girl. She took off her raincoat and her rain soaked blouse. Her blond hair was also very wet. "Girls!" she called out. She walked upstairs and into the bathroom, both were taking a bath. "Hey what are you two doing?"

"we were cold," Said Bella one of the twins "So were taking a hot bath." Thunder rumbled. "Mind if I join you?"

"Not at all Mama." Said Holly the second twin. Rosette undressed and enterd with her daughters the tub was large enough for the four of them in the family but of course the old house was tiny one room and flooded half way during heavy storms like this. They since moved out and into a brand new house after earning their wages to buy the land. The girls were still babies by that point, thank goodness. "Is papa going to be home tonight?"

"I don't think so hon. It's still raning hard and they need him on the levys."

"Why is it raning so much?"

"Well it's spring time. It rains a lot in spring."

"Why?"

Rosette sighed it was very complicated to explain how Xanadou's climate worked in the diffrent seasons. Sure it rained mostly in spring but Summer through Autumn was the stormiest time on the seas. "Well honey it's real hard to explain, and you will understand when you get to highschool. Come on now it's getting late and it's time for bed."

The girls awwed Thunder was crashing hard now. The girls all crept into one bed for company.

(Next time Becoming Kuronan's pt3)

Jane woke up in 5 am in the morning.Her job would start in an hour and she needed to get her kids up and ready.United Kingdom2 was a quiet place even Scotland where she was living was quiet.her husband got up and went down stairs to make breakfast.Jane went into her children's rooms.She had four girls and one boy.She gathered them up and dressed them and sent them downstairs for breakfast.Jane was staring out the window;she was upset her husband was a soldier and was called last night by the UK2 military saying he was going to put in Northern Ireland to fight the IRA.It was heart breaking and just couldn't handle it.After a few minutes getting dressed Jane went down stairs.The children turned on the tele and started watching BBC kids.She went made herself some coffee and ate a piece of leftover pizza from lastnight.It was 6 am and she saw the school bus coming up the hill;Jane quickly got the children ready and walked them to the bus stop and waited until all five of them got on the bus.Jane walked back inside and saw her husband watching BBC.She knew he was mad and didn't want to talk.She got her her bag,today she was going to see her boss at the law firm.Jane was a lawyer a very famous lawyer and had won 123 cases.She hoped she would become deputy partner of the law firm.Jane graped her car keys and sliped out the house and locked the door.She got into her car and turned on her car and started to drive.It was just to much for her;she was the mother of five children and her husband was going to Northern Ireland to fight the IRA.Jane's law firm was just 36 minutes away from her home so she was never late for work.Jane got out her car and locked the cars and walked inside the law firm.In a few hours she would be home with her husband and their family sharing all their love for each other until it was time for her husband to leave.

Vetakan City of Theeb, Suburbs:

The Alarm Radio burst into life as the digital display turned to 7:00 am precisely. Daniel and Tasha Kingston stirred and eventually woke another day in family paradise. They exchanged a romantic kiss and Daniel got up using his en-suite bathroom to go to the toilet he put on his dressing gown and left the bedroom as he walked past the other rooms he shouted his children. Roxanne and Dominic to get up. From now till 8 the kids had to be dressed, fed and watered and ready to make the hell on earth school run.

Dan made breakfast. Vetakan Oatcakes when he was almost finished his wife swopped in and being a perfect women stole an Oatcake. Dan chuckled and they again exchanged a quick peck on the lips. The kids began their usual acted vomiting motion whenever their parents showed their affection for eachother. Eventually 8 came and Dan commanded everybody to the car it was time for the Kids to go to school and the adults to go to work. Natasha was a teacher and Dan a police officer. They where the typical Vetakan Family.

10 Downing Street,London,UK2

Deputy Prime Minister Tony Blair was eating breakfast with his family.Being the second head of government was a hard job.He was the Prime Minister of UK2 in the 80's.It was a laughing breakfast.Everyone was laughing and eating it was the best breakfast he had.Tony and his wife washed up the dishes as the children were being sent to school with police.Tony thought his children needed the best protection.After washing the dishes Tony and his wife Cherie blair went to their room to get ready for the day.Tony's staff were around in 10 Downing Street waiting for him.He was the father of five children,Annie, Bobby,Tony and Leo.

As Tony put on his suit and tie,Cherie was looking after their new baby Leo.Tony had a meeting with the defence minister at 9:00am and a meeting with the Prime Minister at 10:00am.Being the Deputy Prime Minister he got 56 thousand letters each day by the people.After kissing his wife good bye and kissing the baby he left 10 Downing Street and got in a car that would take him to Parliament. In the car Tony was drinking his morning coffee and reading the Daily Mail reading about football, rugby and cricket.Tony would rather be playing Football(Soccer) then politics and debating.After a fwe minutes the car door opened and tony saw a guard helping him get out.Tony walked in the Parliament buildings to talk with the Defence Minister and after the Prime Minister.Tony just wanted to play football instead.

Slanchz woke up in his public housing unit. He was prepared for work in no time. He quickly left home and took the bus to the factory. His manager gave him his assignment and he did it. Slanchz was disciplined and was in full cooperation with the government. Lately, Tidhypjoe was showing signs of early stalinism, the result of too much proletarian dictatorship. It was for this reason that Slanchz was afraid of crossing the line.

Strangely, for a country becoming less and less idealistic, Slanchz had complete freedom of expression and speech. Slanchz had only recently quit the right social revolutionary party; the only opposition still adamint against the command-style governing that was surfacing.

His manager complemented him on his work and gave him a lunch break. Exhausted, Slanchz made his way to the nearby cafe. As he walked, he considered emigrating. Of course this was extremely dangerous. He had long heard of the barbarity of the nations surrounding Tidhypjoe. He would have to make it through these nations and more to reach a place where one might even consider calling life "good." Whatever that meant. His options were becoming more and more unfeasible.

At the cafe, Slanchz pulled out a copy of the Tidhypjoe Times and glanced at the first page. Meknem, currently the "president," was initiating a new economic policy, and called it Proletarian Economics. The plan was an attempt to put the dissolved economy back on track through intensive planning. Slanchz was cynical; his mood unchanged he put the paper back on the table.

Once he had finished his sandwhich, he headed back the the factory. Again he was assigned a job and again he completed it. Every second of labor became exponentially more and more dull. He was not allowed to have friends, he was not allowed a second break, he was not allowed to eat and worst, he was not offered water. Finally, at the late hour of 2 AM, he fell asleep on the workbench. The question for Slanchz was: was all of this what it takes to reach true communism? And, would we reach true communism, or would the Stalinists take power?

Liz Sternberg rolled over in bed, hitting the button to silence the alarm as she got up, hopping into the shower for a quick rinse before getting dressed and going downstairs, so her and her husband could enjoy a quick cup of coffee before they both headed off to work, her to Narsia High School and he to the Midnight Order Headquarters on Bowers Drive. She didn't mind that he was a member of the state's secret police, as it was one of the best-paying jobs in the country, though he often didn't make it home until late at night.

It was a nice day out, so after saying goodbye to her husband, she headed out the door and decided to walk, since they didn't live that far from Narsia High School. The air was weighed heavy with the dissent of the people. Members of the Midnight Order were standing every few feet, their revolvers more than likely fully loaded, ready for any trouble. Few were pleased with their current head of state, and there were rumors going around that a coup was imminent, though the press, controlled by the regime of Kim Bowers, hasn't even seemed to notice that the people were fed up.

Teaching, anymore, seemed to her to be a tiring job at best. The school was old and overcrowded, and about to fall down, and besides that, it paid rather poorly. The kids had recently been affected by the atmosphere that was outside the classroom, and that in turn affected their performance in the classroom. Liz had long since given up trying to keep order as a message came through the loudspeaker that school was going to get out early, again. It was the fourth message of its kind in this week alone. Liz sighed as the students ran out of the classroom, yelling like the banshees they had become, at least recently. After the halls cleared, she stopped and talked to the school administrator, Marisa Howard, whose husband was the Minister of Law, to catch up on the latest gossip. However, Marisa knew about as much as Liz did. They walked out of the building together before saying goodbye.

Liz walked home, as she had nothing better to do. It was only 10:30, way too early to go anywhere for lunch, so she just decided to have it at home. Riotors were in the park across the street, protesting the banning of hunting. The air hung heavier and heavier. She hurried home, for although crime was unknown in their wonderful country, it was getting to the place where she didn't feel safe outside by herself. It had been like this for about a month, and Liz knew that sooner or later, something would have to give. She just hoped it would be sooner rather than later, as she picked up a thick, many-paged volume and started reading, hoping for the day to end.

I'm sure I could come up with more if I really wanted to, but right now, I don't.:)

The tranquil country side of Kanami in the southwest still riddled with farms and the occasional towns. It was another bueatiful afternoon and spring was in full swing. Meleanie drove the planter through the large sums of acers. The rest of her family were off doing other things around the farm, she usually took the field work. Their farm had some struggling times with the LifeWyze bioengenering program nearly ran them into the ground. Years of tradition were nearly lost but thank fully the Prime Minister and a documenty film really helped rally support for farmers everywhere. She shut off the machine and enjoyed the gental breeze. "Mama!" it was her youngest daughter Hannah. "Hi sweetheart!"

"I taught Shep a new trick, now he sits untill he fetches."

Shep was their sheep dog. He was very handy when they needed heard the sheep into the barn on an approaching storm.

"Good job dear I told you would get him."

Melanie lifte Hanah onto her lap.

"Can I drive ma'ma?"

"When your older sweetheart."

"Lexy get's to drive!"

"Lexy is older than you, when your 10 you will get to learn, when your 13 you will be abel to drive. All your siblings went through this you're no diffrent baby girl."

"Yes ma'ma."

She resumed the planting operations with her daughter on her lap. Later that evening the family of seven was gatherd around the dinner tabel all turned down for the night. "I think it will be a good season this year. We were able to actually get planting done earlier."

"Well the weather isn't looking good." Said Jim the father

"Sure the one Sunny day all Spring and we were stuck working." The words came from the eldest daughter Rachel.

"Sucks." said the oldest son Billy.

"You kids have it easy when I was your age I had to work every day of the year." Melanie said. The typical parental response to a complaint of work. "Now Rachel, Tom, Billy it's your turn to do the dishes. Don't go to bed too late I don't want you falling asleep in church again."

"Yes ma'am."

10 Downing Street,London,UK2

Tony arrived back from two meetings.He was tired and wanted to rest,so he sat down in one of the sitting chairs.He saw Cherie feeding Leo some baby formula and he went over to help.After helping he went into the kitchen and made some lunch for him and Cherie.Tony sat down and started eating his lunch and looking at the clock.The children would be home at 3:30 after playing football at school.

After having a good lunch Tony went into his office where his advisors where planning meetings,speechs and visits for him.Tony walked in and started filling out forms and signing letters that his advisors gave to him.He was in office for another five years and it would be hard and long.He wrote two speechs and gave them to some advisors to edit or fix things up.Tony phoned staff and schools and fundraisers for two hours.He had just hired a nanny and two cooks in the staff of 56.Tony put aside his work and read a book for an hour and when he heard the children come in he put down his book and went down stairs to the living room.

Tony saw his kids and they started hugging each other.He was a good father and he loved his wife and kids.

"Annie, Bobby,Tony do you guys want to go play some football outside while dinner is being cooked".

"Sure dad lets get the football".

"And remember kids tomorrow we're going to church since it's going to be good friday so don't stay up late."

"Ok dad."

Tony got the football and went outside his family were going to church tomorrow and the Prime Minister's family and the Queen's family would be their.the family dog, brono a norwich terrier came outside with them.Tony patted brono and started to play football with his children.People are the media were watching from the gates of Downing Street.Tony was happy that two police officers were guarding outside.Tony wished his wife was outside playing with them.She was the best football player that Tony knew but she had to take care of the Leo.After two games Tony was winning all of them.He knew the kids wanted to go inside and watch the tele.

"Dad i'm going in ,me to, Me three."

"Ok kids but do you homework first before you watch the tele".

"Alright dad".

Tony watched the children go inside.He picked up the football ball and called brono to follow him.Tony opened the door and let him in first and Tony walked in behind him.he was planning a trip for the family to go to Harrington Lake, a official residence of the Deputy Prime Minister.Tony drank some coffee and went to look after the baby.

The alarm beeped, growing louder and louder in the most annoying possible tone, and Darius Macassa, groaning, slapped the top of the clock until the din stopped, and groggily rose from his bed. He looked at himself in the mirror, seeing the same tired face, with eyes aged by care, and as always didn't see the anguish lying beneath those eyes. Gray light filtered in through the window, beyond which lay a universe of wealth, despair, power, and possibility.

Another day in Korronis.

Twenty minutes later, Darius was driving down the crowded streets towards the Sacred Precinct; in the distance loomed the colossal shadow of the Palace, its central pyramid rising to pierce the sun. Respectfully, Darius bowed his head and murmured a few words of prayer for Sacred Emperor Lucifer (may the gods defend him), looking away out of piety.

This was the nice part of the city. One of them. After all, he was just a few blocks away from the Sacred Precinct, the nexus of Imperial power. In the north, there was the Financial District, and on the other side of the Strait there were suburbs as well as the necropolises. Nice places, all of them. On the other hand, in the west and the south were the massive docklands that straddled the entrance to the Gold Sea...and that was an area that no sane man went into without protection. Until it had been purged by the order of the Emperor, Southport had been one of the most dangerous places in Kregaia, and that was just blocks away from Darius's apartment.

Darius stopped in the Temple of the Victorious Destroyer; the assimilation of New Borneria (now the Imperial province of Tiraeum) was still going on, and so he bought a lamb for sacrifice and offered the beast's blood to the Destroyer, accompanied by prayers for the Legionaries in Tiraeum, as well as Decevus Ctani, the general leading the assimilation. Darius considered himself a pious man; he paid rapt attention in services, he regularly sacrificed to the gods; a model Imperial citizen, in short, and a direct employee of the Imperium, no less.

More than anything, the Imperium relied upon faithful, obedient, intelligent workers like Darius to maintain its stranglehold on the souls of billions of Imperial citizens...but the day would never come when that thought occurred to him.

Indeed, Darius spent the entire day (save for an hour and a half of a tasty lunch at a popular Parthian-food restaurant). The day brightened, but never got lighter; the sky was a bleak, steely gray much of the time in Korronis, and clear days were rare. Despite the work, the discipline, and the weather, though, Darius was happy. Why wouldn't he be? He was paid well. There was a clean and elegant brothel down the street. He had a tidy, new, well-decorated apartment...why shouldn't he be happy? Again, he gave thanks to the gods and to the Sacred Emperor for providing such a life for him. He didn't really see what he was doing as he drafted a request for three hundred newly enslaved Bornerians to be sent to a lifetime of hard labor in the Almoth Mountains. He didn't pay attention as he glanced at the television mounted on the wall, displaying scenes of the carnage from the Doomani-Freekish War. For him, it was a good life...but the torment deep below the surface would continue to make itself felt.

Darius decided to stop by the Great Forum after work. There was a public sacrifice of sixty prisoners scheduled tonight. It'd do him good to see it.

He was starting to feel a little...antsy.

Buckingham Palace,London,UK2

Elizabeth drank her tea while reading the newspaper.Today was going to be a busy one.She had just gotten back from good friday mass and was going to meet with the public.She was going to open a brand new church since she was the Supreme Governor of the Church of England.Elizabeth walked to the Palace gardens and walked her dogs.She had ten of them.She later have to meet with the Prime Minister and have another meeting with the defence minister.All she wanted to do was lay down in her bed and sleep.

Kuo Lihua awoke at 05:30 to the sound of Chang Xue (http://ns.goobergunch.net/wiki/index.php/Chang_Xue)'s song Lac d’automne playing on the radio. She sighed, yawned, stretched, and got out of bed reluctantly, leaving the radio on as she made her way into the bathroom for a shower.

Hers was a small student flat located on the third floor of a residential building near the centre of Rêvane (http://ns.goobergunch.net/wiki/index.php/R%C3%AAvane). It had, at least, a nice view out onto a small park, which she found relaxing when she was working; she had moved her desk close to the window.

She showered, then had a quick breakfast of grapefruit juice, bread and jam, and soy cocoa.

Her first class at uni this morning was not until ten o'clock, which gave her time to go out and do some community work, making herself useful to the neighbourhood. Like all Ariddians, she was expected to do her bit for the local community. Now that it was autumn, the street's residents were taking it in turns to sweep the leaves in public areas; it would be Lihua's turn five days from now.

For now, she was working as the neighbourhood's waterwoman (http://ns.goobergunch.net/wiki/index.php/Waterman). She went down into the cellar, and loaded bottles of fresh water into the large cart-on-wheels attached to her bicycle. Then she began her rounds, whistling the tune to Lac d’automne and breathing in the fresh morning air. Despite this being the heart of the city, the air always felt so clean. No doubt because few people used cars, and those who did used electric ones - produced in a large workers' cooperative out in the suburbs.

After her rounds, she returned home to pick up her bag for uni, and caught the metro to the University of Rêvane (http://ns.goobergunch.net/wiki/index.php/University_of_R%C3%AAvane), where she was studying medicine. The course was in French, which was not her native language, but she was virtually fluent. The government had provided language courses when she had first moved to Ariddia with her parents and brother.

At lunchtime, she grabbed a sandwich from the local Santé! (http://ns.goobergunch.net/wiki/index.php/Sant%C3%A9%21), and went to eat it with friends in a nearby park - one of the many parks in Rêvane. They talked about anything and nothing - a novel Jacques was reading, Luke's alleged crush on Lihua, and whether they would all be going to their next community discussion centre meeting. Now that decentralisation had been implemented, they all had far more of a say in creating local legislation, something that Lihua was still trying to get used to. There was nothing really she wanted to change, so she had skipped several meetings. Jacques had seen an online video of Kennyite President Fernanda's antics the day before, and told them about it for a good laugh.

In the evening, after uni, Lihua picked up a newspaper (La Voix du Peuple) on her way home. With some interest, she read an article about social and political reform in neighbouring West Ariddia. Once back home, she logged onto the Internet, checked her e-mails, and accessed the PINA (http://ns.goobergunch.net/wiki/index.php/PINA) website, idly watching a random documentary while she read through her course notes for the day. An e-mail came in from a webfriend in Kelssek; she replied. They had met online, and he kept saying she should visit his country. Which was a nice idea, but, like all Ariddians, she had no money, and she was not certain she wanted to ask the government to pay for such a trip.

She met up with friends round at Lucy's for part of the evening, chatting and relaxing, before returning home, cooking herself dinner, and crashing into bed. She had got up early, and she was tired. Tomorrow, she had another early round as waterwoman. She needed sleep...

Life in Alfegos - Polinapolis

As the warm sun broke over the hundreds of miles of fields, Lea Kilo'dai opened the window on the side of her house, and breathed in the cool morning air. A commodity to be relished, as by 9 am, it would already be getting hot.

She dressed, had a breakfast of cereal, before getting her packed suitcase and maglev pass. She locked up the foor on her house: as with many, the house was in a dome-like shape, the interior and exterior cut out from a solid block of granite.

She walked to her local maglev station, and passed her card over the scanner on the barrier, walking thorugh onto the already crowded platform.

Amongst the many posters advertsiing the men who were running for consulship this year, she saw the large electronic map of the maglev/gyrorail network that conntected the stations of this large city, with the track to her destination, The Polinapolis Interchange, highlighted green: no delays.

The maglev pulled in, slowing down quickly, yet not so that the passengers onboard were thrown about. She got into the front carriage, and waited for the doors to close. The interior was remarkably clean, due to the recent Public Defacement Act: anyone found leaving chewing gum or graffit in the trains could now be dealt with however the companies wished, exluding the highest of penalties. A guard stood at the door, watching everyone intently.

Soon, after a high speed journey through the suburbs and then into the towering heights of the city proper, the train coasted to a halt on platform 9 of the Polinapolis interchange. There were trains to all parts of the country here.

She scanned again as she left, then walked onto the nearest bus, headed for her office in the Financial Centre. The bus made hardly any sound as it moved off, powered by an onboard fuel cell.

She soon was at her destination, and walked the few metres into the Polinapolis Headquarters of "Airfegos", a small company up and coming in the business, selling budget flights to many destinations in the Nova region.

She took the lift to the 42nd floor, where she went to her desk by the window. A massive wad of papers were already there, and the light glaring thorugh was not very bearable. She hit a wall switch, activating the electro-chromic glass, which turned opaque quickly.

She borwsed through the various forms, which she soon had finished, then started on the real work: the massive lists of scribbled down data that needed to be typed into the database she had designed.

There was a hum as her computer started up, followed by the short electric chime of the onboard Ticho'nai Nevla, which had soon loaded the beautifully designed interface.

She quickly accessed Ticho'nai Database '07, and began to type in the massive list of numerals and pictograms. She found them difficult: with a very variable phonetic translation, the pictograms were nigh impossible to place in the database. She instead translated to english, which she was more comfortable with than looking up the long string of digits for the corresponding symbol.

Julie Lane (http://ns.goobergunch.net/wiki/index.php/Julie_Lane) woke up in her rented appartment in the small town of Newcove, on the ground floor of a bloc of flats. The early morning sunlight peeped through a crack in the curtains. Obviously she had forgotten to close the secure metal shutters. She sighed, as she got out of bed. She never forgot to close the shutters. Although the safety situation in West Ariddia was getting better, there were still a lot of armed break-ins reported at the police station where she worked. I must have been particularly tired last night...

She made her bed neatly, then went for a shower to wake herself up. She flicked idly through yesterday's newspaper over breakfast. She generally got her news from TV or from the Internet, but she didn't like to stare at a screen first thing in the morning. The newspaper was local, the Newcove Today. She preferred it to the big national papers for two reasons: it was cheap, and all the big papers were heavily biased towards one of the two major parties. Besides, most national papers (http://ns.goobergunch.net/wiki/index.php/West_Ariddia#Written_press) were in French, and she was an anglophone.

She skimmed through a few short articles while eating her cereals and drinking her orange juice, then grew tired of it and turned to one of those free, advertisement-funded gossip magazines instead.

She left her home and walked to work. Living in a small town meant that it was only a short distance. Despite the onset of winter, the air was still reasonably warm, even in the morning.

Advertisement boards were everywhere, even in a rather small down such as Newcove. At night, they would light up the streets with bright neon lights. She paid them little active attention, but noticed an ad for a brand of toothpaste, and absently thought to herself that she might want to try it out one day.

She arrived at the police station, where she worked at the public help desk. Since the communists had come to power, the private police company she worked for had accepted nationalisation, which changed fairly little to her every day work. Crime was still a problem, as it had been under the capitalists. The only mild improvement in her life was that she now had access to publicly-funded healthcare, if ever she faced a medical crisis that she could not pay for.

Relics of the police station's recent corporate days could still be seen in their sponsors' adverts in the entrance way and waiting room.

Fairly early in the morning, a young woman came in looking scared, and reported that she was being stalked. Julie listened to her, and logged her complaint, while two officers went out to find the alleged stalker. Later, a man walked in to report that his car had been vandalised. A routine day at the police station.

She had a sandwich and salad for lunch, watching the news on TV. The FDP Opposition was still furious about the creation of an Indigenous Parliament. Some of her colleagues discussed it briefly. Julie stayed quiet. Talking about politics at work was never a good idea. The entire country was split down the middle between two completely opposed factions, and arguments were quick to flare up.

Even eating a nutribar these days was sometimes interpreted as a political statement (http://ns.goobergunch.net/wiki/index.php/Liang_Jui-te).

She was sick of politics.

In the evening, she met up with female friends and they wandered towards the local shopping centre, stopping at the CBBC (http://ns.goobergunch.net/wiki/index.php/CBBC) for a fast-food dinner. She tried to stay off junk food as much as possible, but, like the local paper, it had the advantage of being cheap, and she had little money to spare. They went for a walk down to the harbour after that, enjoying the evening air and chatting.

She went home, and sorted through all the unsollicited junkmail in her letterbox. She kept an advert for clothes, and put the rest into her recycling bin. One of the letters was from a man who had seen her name in the national book of records (http://ns.goobergunch.net/wiki/index.php/Julie_Lane), found her address somehow, and sent her a marriage proposal. She put it with the others in a file. Her address was supposed to be private, but in this country you could find out anything.

She switched on the news, noted that the headlines were mostly about violent crime in Aqeyr (http://ns.goobergunch.net/wiki/index.php/Aqeyr), and switched it off again. She had heard it too many times already. And besides, the tv news was even more biased (towards one side or the other) than the written press. She joked about it with her friends sometimes. Those she knew wouldn't start an argument about it.

As she got into bed -an oversized bed due to her height, which had cost her a ridiculously big chunk of her salary-, a police siren wailed down the street. She ignored it. Not her problem. She would see enough of those tomorrow, when she was back at work.

I'll try to do a few from several perspectives. But this one is the interesting one for now.

Young Puabi, second wife of Ekur, from the city of Lagash

Will someone shut that damn thing off. Puabi thought to herself, still half asleep as the alarm kept buzzing into here ears. It took her a few minutes, and the stirring of her husband who lied beside her, to realize she was the one on the side of the bed with the alarm clock. It didn't take much for her to roll over, still yet to open here tired eyes, and smack the clock. It took one or two hits but she finally hit the snooze button and rolled back over to her side, pushing up against her husband laying on his back. She smiled as she began to wake up, trailing her hand over her husband's chest, thinking she should wake him up. She slid her hand up his chest, intending to slap him gently on the cheek, when she brushed against fingers. Her eyes opened and she gazed across her husband's chest at the other woman, his other wife, laying there. She always forgot he was the second of two this early, but she smiled and reached up, gently waking her husband.

"Time to get up sleepy head," She then reached over and did the same to the other woman, Arwia, "You too, I'm not waking you guys up again." With that she rolled back over, slipping from under her blankets and stood up. The hard wood floor was warm under her feet and she knew already it would be another clear day, even though the light of the sun was just barely appearing over the horizon from her window. She quietly stretched, reaching back to tie her hair into a bun, and then walked to the shower room to wash up before breakfast.

She was still drying her hair when she left the shower room, and still the two were in bed, although now waking up. The sun was now peaking over the horizon, so she opened the curtain door that separated their bedroom from the main room wide to let the sun in and then set the automatic tint to the large bay window which made up half of each side of the eastern-most walls to her building. Twenty-three floors up in a building on the eastern edge of the city made for some beautiful mornings. In the distance she could see the peaks of the Zargos mountains as the sun came over them, bathing the vast sea of low yellow grass that covered much of the country in light. It was a beautiful sight indeed, one that has pushed the design of housing in Sumer for centuries. Her own home, like most others in the nation, was a two-floor element of a larger building. The first floor was a full floor, with various rooms such as the kitchen, hall closet, washroom and lavatory, all on the lower level, which opened up into main area. The walls of the main area which held the curtain doors to the rooms flanked the giant two-story glass walls which came to a point where the building's corner was, allowing a very open feel to the place and a very large amount of natural light. The second floor was simply a balcony hall, which she stood on now, with more rooms, mostly bed rooms and studies, again all with curtain doors as was the norm there. She smiled, today would be a good day for her, as she finished drying her hair and walked into the women's room next to her bedroom to get dressed.

Puabi could smell the bread, the dates, the other tasty things that were cooking downstairs by now. She had taken her time picking her clothes, and had taken her time to make sure she was dry before she put them on. But now her hunger was in full swing as she walked down to the main area and the open kitchen to find her food. She gave her husband, now dressed and almost ready to leave, a kiss while he complimented her on her well picked short skirt and cropped top, perfect clothes for the hot and dry weather of the country, and the normal dress for young women. She took a seat at the small table beside her husband, watching Arwia, having yet to shower or dress, and thus only in her robe, prepare breakfast.

"Don't you have to be in early today Arwia?" Puabi asked, rather curious why she had not dressed yet.

"No." Arwia responded, not looking up from the food she was finishing, "I'm off duty today so I'm going to put some time in around here."

"Ah, well don't worry too much over it. I'll be glad to give you a hand when I get back later." Puabi responded as her breakfast was put in front of her now. She knew Arwia was in the army, she just never knew when she was off for the day. Her husband of course was never off, he worked as a teacher at the community school. As if almost on cue he got up, stuffing the rest of his breakfast into his mouth and grabbing a handful of dates to carry with him.

"See you two later on." He said while kissing both of them goodbye before grabbing his bag and leaving. Soon after he left Arwia sat down with a cup of tea to chat with Puabi. The strong scent of peppermint and vanilla filled the air. The two women were very close friends, they had to be as they shared a husband, and Puabi loved that. She loved how she had this older woman with whom she could be so close and seek advice, being only twenty she was a good fifteen years younger then either her husband or his first wife. But love was love, and she enjoyed it.

It wasn't long then before the sun was fully up from the horizon and she realized she better head out. Soon the sun would be at it's hottest, and she hated to travel when it was that warm out. She said her goodbyes to Arwia, promising to be back that evening early to help out, gave her a kiss after putting on her scarf, sunglasses and light over shirt, and headed out. It would only be a quick walk to the transit station and she would enjoy the brief ride into the old city. She was in her third year of university, finishing up her degree in Arabic translation, and the university was situated in a small corner of the old city. The old city was a wonderful place to go for her, it's thick ancient walls gave it a sense of security, the narrow dirt roads seemed to be more comfortable on her sandal laden feet then the concrete paths between the housing blocks, and she just loved how many of the buildings were thousands of years old, yet still in active use. Her day would be quick, after she put her over shirt and scarf away in her locker she would go to her two classes this morning, they would be quick because she loved the subject. By shortly after noon she would be out, but the sun would be at it's peak and she preferred to stay in doors, spending a few hours in the library.

When the sun had finally gone down enough to cool off Puabi took her over shirt and scarf from her looker, putting them on carefully, and left her school campus to head back to the transit station. She still had other things to do as she boarded the train which would take her across town to her doctor's office. She got off her train early though, in no rush and wanting to enjoy the warm clean air that was usually much more lively in this part of the city. She would walk down the street, passing others, saying hello to whomever smiled at her, and likewise those she smiled at would do the same. She stopped to chat with a soldier, a young man of the Territorial Guard who was doing civil patrol, and lightly flirting with her. She didn't stay long however, idle chit chat and all, as she returned to her journey to see her doctor.

The disinfectant cleaner smell permeated the air of her doctor's office today, but none of the other women waiting around seemed to mind. Her wait wasn't long though, her appointment was brief as she walked into her doctor's office, her over shirt and scarf draped over one arm. "So Doctor, how does it look for me?" She said, sitting down in the chair she was motioned to.

Looking up from the clip board she was looking at, Puabi's doctor, and old wise looking woman with light gray hair by now, smiled. "Good news, you're cleared."

"Really? They approved me?" Puabi responded, amazed that her health tests had allowed her to be approved now to conceive a child. She had thought for sure the cold she had just a week before her test that would have ruined it for her.

"Yep, you are good to go. You just need to sign here," The doctor said, pointing to a line on the clipboard for a signature as she handed it to Puabi, "to declare your intent to try to have a child. Otherwise, there's nothing else you need to do legally. They cleared you for one successful pregnancy-to-birth, good luck."

Puabi signed quickly, making sure it was clearly read though, as excitement filled her body. She was going to be a mother, she hoped, and this made her very happy. Barely able to talk she handed the clipboard back to her doctor and left, heading hope with a huge smile on her face. She took the next transit to her community and made quick way to the elevator before she realized it was almost dinner time. She stopped herself, taking out her phone and dialing her home number, quickly getting Arwia.

"Hey, Arwia" she spoke into her phone, barely able to contain her excitement, "I have great news. We should celebrate! I'll bring dinner up so you don't have to do anything, alright? Great! Give Ekur a call and ask him to come home early, I have a surprise for him. Great, see you soon. Love you!" After hanging up she turned back, heading to the community market at the main floor of her building, like most residential buildings. She quickly bought the few things she needed to cook a wonderful dinner, and headed back to the elevator, and back up to her home. As she walked in the door she hugged Arwia tight, kissing her and then handing her the bags while she went to put her things away.

"So what's got you so happy now?" Arwia called from the kitchen as she unpacked the food, and Puabi bounded up the stairs to the women's room.

"I'm cleared." Came back Puabi's shouted reply as she put her stuff away, taking out her package of contraceptive pills instinctively, she had been doing it now for ten years, and then putting it back without taking one. She no longer needed them.

"You're, oh, cleared! You're cleared girl, great news! You're ahead of me now." Arwia called back, Puabi now coming back down to start preparing dinner, as they both giggled at the little inside joke.

"Yep, and I want to surprise Ekur with a nice dinner tonight to kick things off." Puabi smiled as she walked over and started preparing the fresh fruits and vegetables she had bought. Awria's hands sliding around her waist and her breath on her neck didn't distract her from the careful use of her knife."So how come you never tried for it?" She asked.

"Well, I just never felt I had the time. The army keeps me busy most of the time, and I'm not sure I'd be the greatest mother." Arwia said, watching over Puabi's shoulder as she finished cutting the fresh fruits for dinner and began putting the pre-made lamb roast into the oven.

"You'll make a great mother." Puabi said, turning to kiss Arwia as they stood there smiled.

"Well now I have no choice!" She said in a half jokingly manner.

The rest of the evening went well, the three of them each their dinner at the window, enjoying the sunset, then went to bed early. They had a news aspect in their life, and young Puabi especially was excited.

bump

bump

OOC: "You have two cows. The government siezes both and drafts you.":p

IC:

James Robertson, age sixteen, walks along the pristine, clean streets of the Durian capital of Orogoth. His eyes casually dart to the police surveillance cameras that line the buildings and street lights at regular fifty meter intervals, and then risks a glance at the police checkpoint nearby, and then the other approximately one hundred meters ahead.

James spies a young boy of maybe twelve years, spraying graffiti on a wall down a deserted, garbage-strewn side street that leads into one of the three sizeable slum areas of the capital. Almost immediately, "Civil Service" police officers melt out of the darkness of a nearby alley, quickly chasing down the startled boy. James quickly power walks out of eyeshot, but hears thumping noises and moans until he is out of earshot as well.

James, on his way to the Military Registration Center at the entrance of the sprawling Durian Military Garrison Complex, is careful not to attract attention from the police, or the passing citizens, no doubt carrying concealed "Self-Defense" pistols issued by the Military Police. James does not want to be late to Draft Registration, as the MPs and Drill Sergeants take no excuses for not being prompt to military activities.

Irena was a single mother of 3 children and was 47 years old. She lived in a small 2 bedroom flat in Central Creçea living in a very old apartment block.

Irena was like most Bulgislavians in that she didnt own a car, phone and was in a hard state. Being a single mother and having to learn and income and raise 3 children was no easy task. The youngest child was 12 the other 2 were 23 and 25 and the two oldest had bothed moved to the Capital City of Terevesti where they had thier own wifes. (All 3 children were male's)
Irena lost her husband in 1997 in the harsh Famine during the 90's after the collapse of Bulgislavia's biggest donor, the USSR

"Vaslav have you got your things together?" Said Irena in a comforting motherly tone
"Yes Moma" The boy was dressed in the typical uniform of a red scarf, white top and black tousers. The two were leaving the apartment block

"Now dress up warmly ok? its very cold today" Said Irena passing her son a jacket. A city wide powercut occured the night before resulting in the coldest night for most Creçean citizens

The two stepped out onto the street. Out of all the 30 familieis of the apartment block only 1 family owned a car and that was currently parked in the lone car part with shredded tyers making it useless to anyone
Vehicles in Bulgislavia are extremely rare. during the period of the late 80's and 90's vehicles were banned as the nation faced many shortages and Bulgislavian tyres are of extrfemely poor quality that they rip and burst within weeks of installing them in the car.

Irena walked 3 blocks down and waved off her son at the school. He joined his school friends all dressed in the same uniform.

Walking down more blocks Irena reached her textiles factory that she worked at. While entering the entrance lobby was a large board with small arrows stuck on it a group of workers in red coats the factory uniform were gathered around the board all chattering

"Look my arrow has gone up lots!" said one enthusiastically
Irena walked over "hey my arrows gone up too!" said another

The women filed into the main room where all the sewing machines were and they sat at each sewing machine
a Factory director stepped out holding a clip board and he began speaking

"I have the orders from the city leadership, we are to produce 150 coats today, yesterday we made less then 100! so we are all going to have to work harder and faster, we must give 100%!" with that the sewing machines started and the room was buzing with activity. The factory director put a tape in a sterio and it played out Bulgislavian music and propaganda songs

Within 2 hours another powercut occured resulting in a largely useless factory as all the equipment went dead. the room once again erupted in the woman chattering to themsleves. This would be the routine in most facotires as powercuts in Communist Bulgislavia were extremely common due to the energy crisis.

hours passed. The woman were ordered to do thier exercises in the entrance car park which was largely empty to pass the time. Finally at 3 in the afternoon the power came back on and the woman were once again herded into the sewing room. the director spoke

"Right comrades that powercut lasted longer then yesterdays so we must use the rest of the day to catch up so work very hard now"

The day finished the factory director moved up the red arrows on the board to show the total amount of jackets produced for each worker then he addressed the woman

"Good work everyone, you worked very well today, Todays best workers were Elena Rianu and Druska Miro, may they be an inspiration to you all. With that the workers put on thier normal clothes and walked home.

School had also finished and once again the boy and his mother were back in thier flat. They ended the day with a small ration of food, a peice of bread and pumpkin soup and then watched the last hour of the 2 hours restricted TV a day. it was just fotage of Provoçe in the 1960's showing him inspect steel mills, giving speeches and him walking thorugh a garden

They then retreated to thier beds. They would not have much longer to live here as they were in the path of the new construction of Creçea's new city center. they had till the end of the week to evacuate where they would relocate to some baracks in the countryside

(OOC: You have two cows: One is carrying a machinegun on her back and the other is chewing coca leaves)

One day in the life of a typical citizen of Tucker

8:00 AM - I again wake up to send them another proposal to open our coop only at 1:00 PM, they refuse and here I go again there to do my job as a member. I take my pistol and load it as I go to the garage to drive my hydrogen-guzzling armored technical. My wife already went to work earlier, or maybe she is bored from me and is looking for others to have her fun. I shouldn't blame her as I do the same. She doesn't want to have a son, she wants us to "design" our future son in a special eugenics service.

8:15 AM - Damn robber! I wasted five mutualist credits with the bullet I used to shoot against his head when he tried to point a gun at me! Are these guys reproducing like rabbits or bugs? This is the seventh this week. I cannot even look at the arcologies anymore because of them. Capitalist pigs wanting to steal the wealth of those who deserve it.

8:30 AM - I arrive at the cooperative and open it with my keys. Nobody is there yet as I head to the meeting room. Some of them are nudists and arrived there wearing nothing at all.

9:00 AM - Everybody arrives. Time to make the "sorting" of who will be the unlucky ones to get in the assembly line today.

9:05 AM - I wasn't among the unlucky as I wasn't sorted to the assembly line, but to do what I'm best with. I wasn't graduated in Management for nothing.

12:00 AM - We hired a buffet today for our lunch to celebrate the increase in income for all. The turkey is delicious and that paella even better.

1:00 PM - Back to work... at least I am not the only manager but the discussions tend to get heated and reaching consensus isn't common.

6:00 PM - I leave the coop, instead of going home I am on the mood for going on the "House of Sodom"... I became surprised to find my wife there as well... it will be a fun night for us both. Like those metal bands say: Sex, Drugs and Rock n' Roll.

1:00 AM - We arrive at home after having to shoot on another criminal that tried to rob us on the way... I am exhausted, at least today is Saturday. But damn... the militia will make a Paintball match today and I have to go there because it's fun. Well... good night.

I woke up in Magna Polis at about 8 o'clock. As usual, the skies were dark and depressing, even in Summer. There was a lightning storm going through, but most of the buildings were tall enough to shelter the city's citizens from lightning bolts.

I quickly got dressed for work. My job is to produce firearms for the military. Luckily, Convicts work in their prisons, so I don't have to deal with them. I walked over to my dresser and grabbed my USP and switchblade. Most people just own a Glock and leave it be, but those don't have Safety Switches. The factory is in a rundown area, so there's a small threat of meeting with a Grup, or a person infected by one (Making them zombie-like. Infected humans don't last long in cities before the government or an armed citizen kills them). Slimy, deadly things. I'd much rather die then let one of those things control me.

So then I stepped out of my front door. I live in a government-ordered Project, like most people in Magna Polis. They were cozy, clean, and organized, not like your average Projects. They were ordered by the government, but they sold rights to adminstration. Keep in mind administration is not ownership.

I went to the Lobby via elevator, where I exited via the security locked doors, much like condiminiums in other countries. I ventured onto the streets, wet with rainwater. Even during the day it was extraordinarily dark, as if during the early morning hours where the sun is barely coming out, or during a really thick snowstorm. A Magna Polis Civilian Control (MPCCU) BMW motorcycle came down the street, the soldier in the sidecar keeping his hand on the MG3 machine gun mounted on it. I had a car, but there's not particular reason to use it when the monorail station is only a few blocks away. It helps me stay in shape, like most people, and saves me money.

I arrived at the station, then showed my pass to the CCU Lieutenant managing the ticket box that day. His unit was all over the station, their MP7s clearly visible in their holsters. One Sergeant had an MP5A4, while the other one I saw had an FSARS semi-automatic twin barrel shotgun. They usually don't give you trouble if you don't look at them or acknowledge them (Unless they talk to you, then you'd rather listen than not). I boarded the monorail, like I do most days, and took a seat. The monorail nearly silently began moving to the next station. Another CCU officer, a Corporal, came through the aisle, checking people's tickets. He had two Privates with him. I knew the routine for presenting tickets, and the Corporal stamped it and said, "Enjoy your ride, citizen." His gas mask blocked out his voice. But, the vocoder, which looks like a center filter on the gas mask, retransmitted it in a strange, gargling inhuman sort of way. He continued off, checking people's tickets. Through the windows I could see the massive buildings, as if they were battling the sky. The monorail went through several holes in massive walls, signifying that we were going through a sector.

The monorail stopped at my station. I made my way off, went down the stairs, and continued on. I was now in a bad neighborhood. Chainlink fences with barbed wire criss-crossed the terrain, and the dirt ground had a lighter, bright brown look to it, instead of a clean blue-black sort of color, as seen on the standard sectors of the city. Richer communities have white streets and sidewalks that are constantly cleaned to keep shining. I passed a gang standing on their front area. They eyed me, wearing hoodies and doo-rags. A CCU Patrol Car passed by, the passenger officer looking out towards the sidewalk. The gang quickly started darting in all directions, several shouts of "Oh shit!" audible. I kept walking to the manufacturing plant. A CCU foot patrol bumped into me, somewhat by accident, yet somewhat on purpose. "What where you're going, citizen! You need an etiquette lesson!" he said, his gas mask doing the whole voice alteration thing again. He quickly slid his electronic baton out, turned it on, and held it up, ready to strike. I could hear the crackle of electricity as it turned on. He hit me five times with it, then walked off, laughing to himself.

Then I made it to the manufacturing plant, where I had a boring day of making MI-8 Carbines for the military. The trip back home wasn't at all odd in any sense, other than I saw an obese black woman holding a dead Grup and praising her son for killing it.

Date: October 30, 2990

James Jackson, who turns fourteen today, is walking down the tree-lined Main Street of New Brisbane. Like so many others, he is a teenager in a comfortably-off family.

The tests he's taken at North New Brisbane State High School show he has a high level of intelligence. His eyesight is sharp, and he keeps in excellent condition. Considering nobody ever sees him exercising, this is quite an achievement.

He's not really doing anything at the moment - just walking down the tree-lined, extremely-almost-painfully modern street. A flock of black-and-gold hovercars whoosh by overhead.

He spots a nice shop on the corner. He knows the owner, and so decides to drop in for a free drink, some food and a chat. Just another day for this young man.

Jack could hear thethe thunder hit down as rain poured on to the small town in Scotland. The weather was getting worser and worser and it seemed like te government wasn't doing anything about it. Jack had a small family, his wife and their two children.

They ran the dairy farm but bills continued to pile up and hey where now being forced to sell the farm. If only he had sixty-five thousand pounds he could save it but who would give it to him?

He thought about it only for a second and sat back down eating some apple pie his wife had baked a few hours ago. He worried what his family was going to do......

Ivan walked down the street. He looked to his left and saw a Middle Aged man spraying Graffiti onto a building. It was a picture of the last dicatator. Three viglantes sneaked up behind him. They knocked him to the ground and started beating him. Ivan quickly walked away.

"Hey, stop!" Yelled a Police officer. He pulled out his standard issue Glock 9mm and shot above the Viglantes. Ivan sighed.

He looked to his right. He saw Militia training in a live fire excercise. It was a commong sight. He turned and approached the weapon stand.

"Hello Ivan. Usual item?" The man asked.

"Hey. I think I will take the new AY-142. It seems much better than the usual AK-47." He replied.

"Theres a class tonight on Guerilla warfare. Seems we might be invaded." He said as he handed him the weapon.

OOC: This post is the average life of a family in Tzargrad; from the eyes of a young woman.

It was a sunny day in the city of Tzargrad; the streets of this Ixanian metropolis were filled with businessmen heading to work, schoolgirls gossiping about the boys, and elderly people reminiscing about the good old days. In one of the high rise apartment complexes, fourteen year old Svetlana wakes up to see her parents in the kitchen. As an only child, she is showered with all the benefits given to Ixanian children which include having plenty of gifts at Christmas time. "How was your night, Svet?" Constantine, Svetlana's father, was a middle aged businessman who always tried to make enough money for his family. "It was good; I watched Street Stories last night. The host was talking to people in a town and showing how they work and play."

Alexandra, Svetlana's mother, raised her head from the fridge with a bottle of milk in her hands. She was dressed in her light blue nightgown, embroidered at the edges with pink lace. It did make her appealing in her husband's eyes; though she could prove to be a distraction from the daily routine without it. Svetlana takes a glass of milk and sits at the table while Alexandra turns on the nearby radio; listening to a radio host talk about the hotel massacre. "It is saddening to have to hear about that massacre every minute of the day." Alexandra said with a sigh while Constantine began eating his breakfast. "You know; I hear that the hotel is completely gutted; the only people who go there now are investigators and people who know the victims. I hear that the hotel owner is considering rebuilding it."

Svetlana looked at her father with an inquisitive look. "Rebuild? Why would he rebuild it? Does he think people will go there again? Some people will probably not want to." Constantine patted her head and smiled. "That is possible. I was thinking to ask for a room for all three of us....but we were saved from our demise by my procrastination." Svetlana began to imagine herself in the hotel during the massacre but she shed it off when Alexandra served her breakfast. After eating, Constantine went to work and left his two favorite ladies at home in Saturday morning. "Do you want to go out with me, Svet?"

Svetlana nodded her head in approval and ran to her room to get dressed. Her room was filled with posters of characters from movies, pictures of family and friends and a jar of coins. Finding a nice dress to wear, she quickly changes and runs downstairs. Alexandra is dressed in one of her own dresses; the skirt covering some of her long legs. She decides to take her purse with her and she leads Svetlana through the halls until they find themselves outside; joining the multitudes of people on the streets. "I think we can go to the market and then a cafe, Svetlana."

They go to one of Tzargrad's supermarkets; filled with all sorts of goods from fresh fruits and vegetables to magazines and comics. A little niche in the side had a memorial to the victims of the massacre; many stores were in solidarity when it came to remembering the dead. Alexandra took Svetlana through the aisles with their grocery basket; filling it to the brim with food and other items; Svetlana was busy examining the candy aisle, she had a sweet tooth which was easily restrainable. "Mother! Can you buy me some toffee?!"

Alexandra smiles and purchases a bag of toffees for her daughter before they walk out of the store; bringing the food and other items home. Carrying her bag of toffee, Svetlana walks down the street with Alexandra; looking at all the people walking down the streets. They found the cafe, one of many, and took their seats. The waiter brought them their food and walked back inside to find the whereabouts of the next order.

You know, when they say, "don't look down", there's usually some sort of reasoning behind it. Perhaps Randall should have taken the old adage to heart. Incidentally, this was the same heart that was now audibly thumping away deep in his chest.

One thousand meters all the way down...

He gulped. His hands were slick with perspiration as he griped a nearby girder. Nothing but an empty nothingness to deliver him from a rather messy end on the distant pavement, should he lose his footing. Well, that and the safety net twenty feet below him. Thank the Lord for that.

"Hey, lughead, you workin' here or not?"

Randall slowly turned towards the voice, careful to keep his boots securely on the half completed flooring. Jim had a harsh, albeit quaint, Bozwick accent. That accent soon filled the air with equally harsh (although decidedly not quaint) language.

Randall couldn't help but smile. Discreetly, of course. His foreman would probably throw him past the safety net if he caught a glimpse of his subordinate's facial expression. Steadily and cautiously, Randall yelled something to the affirmative as he navigated his way towards Jim. Beside the stout Bozwickian towered one of the massive cranes used for heavy lifting at the summit of the steel mountain. His ears were soon assaulted a third time, this time by a chastisement involving his work gloves and ending up as a puddle of goo on the busy streets below. Randall almost imperceptibly shook his head as he slid the rugged gauntlets over his sweaty hands.

His first step up the crane's entry ladder was less than certain. He always shook at first, but, somehow, he always managed to carry on. His helmeted visage turned to take in the view.

Stunning, simply stunning. Despite his ever present anxiety, Randall's first week on the job had afforded at least one perk. The entire metropolis of Oured lay before him. A literal jungle of skyscrapers, tenements, and office buildings stretched out to the foggy horizon. In between these metaphorical trees darted the insects of this wilderness, an infinite number of cars, trucks, and locomotives of every shade and size, zipping about the city like drones in a hive. The air was faint with horns, music, and, suddenly, the most awful and ear-shattering din Randall had ever experienced.

Two blue blurs streaked by the tower, emitting a roar characteristic of only one of man's creations: the fighter aircraft. With twin low bypass turbofans screaming bloody murder and spitting out distorted plumes of heat, these two artificial seraphim proudly announced their presence to the millions of Aurelians below. For once in his short career at Horton High Altitude Engineering, Randall Parks shared a fierce sentiment with his irate superior.

Goddamned zoomies.

Sighing in passive acceptance, Randall once again shook his head as he clambered up the rungs of the endless ladder.

Just another day in the Velkyan Federation.

(OOC: A democracy can be as bad as a police State)

A blast... the thumping roar of a 12 ga. shell coming out from a SPAS-12 shotgun announced the end for that decaying and abandoned place which secretly served as a house of sodomy and paganism of the satanic New Age movement. A short-haired and spartan woman dashed through the destroyed door and immediately shot against the dirty receptionist, which was nothing but a begging for her life, decadent prostitute, strayed much beyond salvation, spraying blood over her fishnet stockings and indecent clothing as her chest was punctured by several fragments of the shot and the old desk ahead of her flayed as well. This woman who came in wore an urban camouflaged Type III Kevlar vest with a large, dark yellow, rippled and chamfered "I" stamped on her left shoulder, which had the Spear of Destiny chamfered over it, and a belt filled with 12 ga. rounds... the Inquisition has arrived and behind her three others, two men and another woman came blazing through the place, one of them with a new, safe operation flamethrower which lacked the vulnerable backpack of ancient weaponry but instead had a double-sheet reinforced, detachable compressed tube of flammable liquid linked to the weapon from below its barrel. The flames came through a myriad of pagan and new age symbols that were in that place, burning everything into nothing as the other three Inquisition operatives came upstairs, the leader, ahead of all of them shouting, in Russian, as they stormed the rotting wooden floor of the building:

"Death to the False Prophets! Death to Scientology! Death to Satanism! Death to New Age! Death to Sodomy!", as another of them claimed with a voice as loud as the crack of a shotgun the motto of Prazinia, while his fanatical eyes stared ahead at the impending encounter with the degenerate:

"Zashtitim mir ot Apokalipsisa!" (We must protect the world from Apocalypse!)

A spray of shotgun shells and submachinegun bullets massacred dozens of people who were, due to the visible signs obviously having a huge orgy before hell break loose. Among them there were Wiccans, New Agers, Scientologists and Neopagans who soon would feel the fanatical wrath of a people who have chosen to create an Inquisition, through democratic means. A bloody mess was what remained coupled with all forms of filth and sweat as the fourth arrived with the flamethrower and set everything on fire. They left the house, which was presumed to be abandoned before, and the flamethrower finished the job of consuming everything in flames as the leader of the group, Natasha Moldova, looked at the other three of that team. She was apparently an adult woman on her thirties, with a short hair wish was of a reddish brown color, and steel blue eyes which stared at another tainted house being burnt lighting the long night as she spoke:

"Is everyone fine?"

"I am thankful that the Lord has protected me from harm so far", one of the men spoke as he unloaded the magazine from his submachinegun.

"Yes, Natasha, we are truly blessed for having to do the least pleasant of the struggles against the come of the Antichrist.", the other woman replied

"No harm done, this was a long but fruitful day of investigation and action", the strong man wielding the flamethrower replied.

"All set then, let's get back to our Holy Nexus brothers and sisters! The struggle is eternal"

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

Waking up at early morning, Yevgeni Tokarev dressed up in his white suit, black shoes and ties and turned on his computer to check the news on a .tv website before going to the mass.

"A burning which happened at about two o' clock has destroyed an old and abandoned house prior to its demolition which was planned by the infrastructure commissariat for today, several unknown carbonized bodies were misteriously located inside such house. Evidences indicated that it served as a secret place for satanic worship and signs of a black mass involving human sacrifices were found as well. It seems that divine justice has again came against those who seek to empower the tyranny of the Antichrist last night, stay tuned for more details as the investigations continue"

He then went to his son bed to wake him up for the mass as well. His wife already was awake and all of them have went to the mass, taking the monorail which station was only a block away from their humble but comfortable home, equal to all other homes in their neighborhood in essence, as housing was considered a collective ownership.

An humble white brick building housed the church where a hundred of people have entered. It lacked any symbols of worship or statues, or art. Instead people simply reunited around a large table, and shifts happened as people were randomly sorted to help preparing the communitarian breakfast for everyone. A dozen of families had their breakfast together, a tradition which exists since the foundation of Prazinia.

Soon after the breakfast each of them did their own prayers mentally rather than vocally, and after five minutes, the children and young headed together to their schools and universities, while the adult together walked towards the same local industrial communitarian unit where they worked together, talking to themselves on the way. There was very little of individualism in Prazinia. The collective lifestyle was commonplace and people only used their homes to sleep, having most of their activities together with the community, and working according to their capabilities while receiving according to their needs. Such is the life of a Prazinian.

OOC: How'd I miss this one?!?!? I was thinking of doing a whole thread like this a la the Nat Geo series.

Sr. Cpl. Hans Daek's internal clock "chimed" 0330 hours, signaling the end of his two-hours of "refreshment-meditation". He slowly and carefully unfolded from his full lotus, careful not to disturb those around him in the barracks room, especially the non-genie "baselines" who needed a couple of hours of full sleep, so they didn't spend their whole tour popping wake suppliments.

He picked up his rifle, and headed out to relieve the sentry. This may have been the last night of the Fifty-Seventh Light Militia Division's yearly two week training and readiness cycle, but the training Cadres had pulled nasty tricks on previous tours even at this late into the tour.
Sure enough, about an hour into his stint they tried something. Fortunately he was alert, and spotted the Cephy dropping of the roof in time to dodge the attack. In the split-second before the Octosapien could recover, Hans tagged it with a foam shot shell from the rifle's underslung grenade launcher, immobilising the intelligent octopus-based being. He now recognised the Cephy as Sr. Sgt. Azure-Spots-on-Crimson, and congratulated himself. The Sr. Sgt. had served in the Jagerkommandos before becomeing a Milita Cadre, and was famous for taking sentries unawares. Hans would be reaping the congratutions of his platoon for months after this!

After the excitment was over, it was time for the platoon to attend to morning chores, mess, and out processing. After a quick but nice session in the hygiene chambers, the double timed it over to the mess hall. Mmmmm! Today's breakfast was the traditional end of tourt breakfast for militiamen doing their tour - chili egg pie.

After mess and out-processing, Hans and a couple of his buddies headed for the mag-lev tube station. Hans had three days before reporting back to the bank where he worked, and he and his friends planned to make the best of it by hitting the best entertainment district in Ti City, Low-side. Low-side was best described as a Pat Pong, Las Vegas, Rio at Carnival, Amsterdam, and Hong Kong on all rolled into one, but with fewer restrictions...

(More to come later...)

Year 82 of URSCOL Rule (Urstania Collectivism) FT

hundreds of years ago humans colonized a large rocky planet called Urstania run by a colonial government. It evetually gained independence later someitme around 2500 AD and for a couple of hundred of years it was run by some authoritarian technocracy.
Then it was about the year 2840 AD the military and secret police staged a coup seizing power. A year later the military declared it had been a popular Revolution that brought them to power not a coup and then another year after that the seneior Generals formed the Party of URSCOL (Urstania Collectivism)
They abadoned the old calendar and adopted a new calendar counting every year the party ruled the planet. They declared URSCOL had been around sooner then the revolution. History was re-written. literature was destoryed and re-written anybody who disogreed with the parties facts were executed and then declared those people never existsed and that URSCOL had 100% support. Its been like this for 82 years now.

A12X was only 24 years old. She was an attractive woman with long brown hair and an hourglass figure. The Party eliminated names 50 years ago declaring they promoted an "awful" thing called individualism. Instead babies were born taken to a compound raised by the government and given a code. People didnt use names except thier code or simply all called each other Brother or Sister or husband, wife (expresing words like "love, dear, darling etc were forbidden and such words were destoryed and no longer existed).

All citizens were required to wake at 6 am where alarms set in the walls of ever flat blared until a sensor detected the person had awoken where the alarm would stop. They were given 30 minutes to prepare themselves where they would all file down into small squares where the entire residents of a neighborhood would meet, line up and do exercises for another 15 minutes.
The party promoted good fitness and declared laziness a crime against the state.

A12X was efficient at all of her task. she was quick to get ready. held a cheerful smile, was always enthusiastic and she was extremely enthusiastic at exercising which she thought it was her duty to keep fit for the planet and she encouraged others to always "try harder" and "put more effort in!"

Then at quarter to 7 long trucks and busses would come to pick up the groups of citizens where they would then be herded into large factories or departments and businesses.

A12X worked full time in all the youth and volunteer organizations but she was paid as she was the most enthusiastic volunteer and she was always the best at it they gave her a position and made it her job.

She was a teacher in the
"Young Patriotic Brigade" where for the first 6 hours of the day would take children (5-12 yearolds) out of the government compound to take them on hikes, post propaganda posters around the community, form processions and parades involving the young children and other government orders handed down

At 1:30 she began her next job which is the Organization called the
"Loyalty Squad". She teaches the Junior squad which are children ages 12 to 18 in the art of spying on members of the community. how to catch out anti loyal and government tendencies in people. she did this for 4 hours

At 5:30 she participates in the "Purity Legue" she wasnt paid for this position but it was about promoting abstenence in both sex's. These were volunteers who declared themselves "pure for life" in which they refuse to have any sexual interaction between eachother. The party recognizes the pure ones and are given the best jobs for thier purity and moral views. This work includes parades, poster creating, sloganaring at government speeches, lecturing children in the government compounds. it last till 8:30

Curfew begins at 9:30pm where the people are to go back to thier flats.
From the hour which work ends and curfew begins the people use this time to go to the Ration Depots and stores to buy food and supplies for the week.

A12X's flat was a small oblong shape. It contained a small bathroom with a shower (These were restricted to every 2nd day) a toilet and sink and mirror.

The bedroom was small. only small enough for a double bed and a small chest of draws and the loung had a 2 person sofa where it faced a clear wall. On the wall was some kind of projection of regular TV broadcasts which somehow appeared on the entire face of that one wall and covered the whole space of that wall. It was done by some kind of machine which was atached on the roof. The roof also contained the Alarm and Detector to wake the people up. Some "Problem Flats" that is the flats where potential dissidents lived contained bug's and camera's.

TV usually contained URSCOL messages, values, showed parades, government songs, more propaganda then you can imagine.

A12X always went to bed at 9:30 ready to wake up at 6 the next day.

There were no week days, no months, no holidays. All that was taught was that there were 365 days in a year (487 days for the planet of Urstania to rotate around its sun but the standard earth year was always used)
They were also told that it was that it was year 82 of the party's rule and that every day of your life was to be dedictad to URSCOL and the party.

The sound of an explosion ripped through the room. Julius Kladius Explodem grumbled and picked his head up. He looked around the dark room sleepily before flopping back down on the pillow. There was another explosion, cannon fire, and then bells and more explosions. Vaguely under the cacophany of cannons and bells music could be barely heard. None of it phased the sleeper, and the 'music' went on. It wasn't a whole song, just a part of one looped to infinity.

It wasn't until the door was thrown open and a female stalked in, grumbling under breath. She stopped and the fit of the bed and threw a bucket of water at the sleeper. Explodem was now awake and drenched as he tumbled off the side of the bed entangled in his sheets.

The female moved over and turned off Explodem's alarm clock, silencing the cannons and bells. "I swear to Manda herself, you wake up when your alarm goes off by the second loop of the '1812 Overture,' or I'll gut you in your sleep." The female's lips rolled back in snarl, exposing shining white teeth.

Explodem freed himself from his bedclothes and looked at the dark shape in the room. There were no lights on, not even the hall. The female didn't need them to get around, even to find a bucket, fill it, and throw right on him. "They won't let me set up small explosives on timers to wake me up anymore, Gold. How do expect a recorded explosion to wake me up?"

Gold snorted in the darkness. "I don't care, JK. I really don't. Me and the others are just getting to sleep. We're nocturnal, dammit!"

"And have great hearing." Explodem supplied.

"Yes, which is why denying real explosions is the only reason you're still alive, ner vod. Now get up, and don't blow up the House, eh?" Gold turned and walked out. Her footfalls were nearly silent except for the sound of claws clicking against the wooden floors.

Explodem got up and stumbled over to the light switch. A stubbed toe and a flipped switch later, the room was bathed in light. He reached down and picked up what he'd stubbed his toe on. It was a 20mm grenade shell, a live round of course. He cocked his head to side, trying to remember when he dropped it last night. He shrugged and placed it on his desk. He looked up and around at the grenades, shells, shaped charges, plastique blocks, sticks of TNT, and other explosives that graced his room like trophies. He smiled and got around to getting ready for the day.

The room was decorated in a Baroque style, and not just decorated in Baroque, it was Baroque. Explodem lived in a room in the East Wing of the People's House. The building had been the Togovian Viceroy's palace before the Revolution and now served as the Miraade's residence and the center of executive power for the nation. However that was all in the West Wing of the House. The expansive People's House was really more than the Miraade required at the moment, needing only that one wing. The other wing was largely empty except for the housing of 'wards of the Miraade.'

Wards of the Miraade were people that the Miraade had invited to live inside the secure People's House for the protection of the ward from the public or the public from the ward. In some case it was both. Explodem was one of those cases. If not already apparent, his love for explosives was the main reasoning for his lovely, explosive filled room in the People's House. He wasn't a criminally insane pyromaniac who blow up things for kicks. He was actually a good, upstanding insane pyromaniac who blew up things for the greater good of Catawaba.

He finished buttoning up his white, starched shirt and made sure his pocket projector was securely in place. He pulled his khaki slacks up to 'high water' position, and slipped on a slightly scorched, mostly singed white labcoat. He smiled at himself in the mirror, pushing his thin glasses back up his nose, slicking his short blonde hair back. He grabbed the 20mm grenade shell and slipped it into a coat pocket before leaving the room.

He whistled the "1812 Overture," very quietly so as not to bring down Gold's partially asleep wrath. He walked down the hallway where he met a couple of Marines in the black uniform of the Miraade's Guard. He smiled, "Corporal Salva, it's so nice to see you! Did the Illudium Q-34 delta modification I made to your high explosive shells meet with your approval?"

The stout, Latin woman looked at Explodem and then at the grenade attachment of her MORG, Modular Offensive Rifle Grenadier. "Well, Doctor Explodem, I think we can still tone it down a bit. We're really running through wrecked cars to test'em on."

"They were vaporized?"

"No, but near enough, Doc."

Explodem sighed dramatically. "So close and yet so far, Corporal. Total vaporization would be prefered..."

Cpl. Salva glanced over at her fellow Marine who was starting to shy away from Explodem. Poor private, it was harsh guarding an Egghead the first week on the job. Eggheads were some of the wards staying at the People's House. They were brilliant scientists who were all exceedingly mad. The Togovians, the past colonial power in Catawaba, had experimented on their genetic code, boosting their intelligence to incredibly heights but also shattered their sanity in the process. The genetic program had been codenamed "Project Egghead," hence the nickname for Explodem and his fellow scientists. "No, Doc, as much as you'd like total vaporization...that's still not within the parameters of the MORG's HE rounds. We'd like to blow up a vehicle enough to disable it...not leave a smoking crater."

Explodem nodded. "Yes, Corporal, I see what I can do to...to...minimize the explosive force." That took a lot to say. Minimize an explosion? Now that was madness! They just didn't understand his work.

Salva smiled and turned to lead the way to the HMMWV that would carry them to Bard Gun Company's Cruel and Unusual Detonations Annex which was safely situationed in the middle of nowhere. As Explodem settled into the HMMWV, mind far away, his body on automatic, he sighed. Why couldn't the world understand the beauty of an implosion device that craved out a perfect cube in the middle of solid rock? Or a device that directed its explosive force in a corkscrew? Where was the appreciation or pat on the back for vaporizing a car with small grenade round?

Explodem did not usually dwell on the life the Togovians had forced on him. He'd been a lab assistance before Egghead. The Change had been painful, but then he'd truly known beauty, the wonder of an explosion. He reflected as he fingered the grenade round in his pocket that the worst pain ever wrought on him by the Togovians was allowing him the chance to know True Beauty but not express it to anyone else. His Beauty was Terror to everyone else...

OOC:

This following piece shows the average citizen's reaction upon reaching the surface of the earth.

IC:

A man stares at the natural light. It was a frightening feeling as the light hit his face, and made him feel inadequate, tiny, insignificant to the grand scheme of things. It blistered his eyes and burned his skin. He had gone his entire life without ever once seeing the surface. Again, I say, he had never once been to the surface, but he felt that it was the best opinion, as he was heavily in debt from gambling, and Jaik had offered him 9,102 oildrums if he did. He took a large gulp of the sooty air, and stepped out into the open air. He looked at the sky and fell down trying to hug the earth. He was frightened, afraid he would fly off the surface into the great unknown. He screamed in fear, and the fear amassed off this scream, causing him to panic indefinitely. Near him was a giant geometric thing, with slanted tops, and a cube on it, emitting smoke. There was a large board with a knob on it. He kept screaming, staring at the monstrosity. He scrambled back to the mine, and rolled down the entrance. He fell in a mine cart, and his breath slowed very gradually. Jaik walked up to him.

"59 seconds. Take the money, Will."

"Let me live. Please. I want to see that place every day."

OOC2:

That bit of dialogue is in the regional form of English found in the Mines. It translates roughly to:

"59 seconds. Gimme the money, Will."

"Kill me. Please. I never want to see that place again."

OOC3:

The following pieces of writing show the average day at mining, in three pieces. A coal miner, an oil miner, and a gold miner. This will not be the most realistic representation of mining.

IC2:

He slammed the pickaxe into the wall, sparks flying off. He had done the job long enough to know that when the wall caught fire, he had struck gold. Well, not really. It was really coal, but that doesn't matter. It was a dangerous job, but there was more money here than in gold or oil. Gold might have been worth more, but it was much more rare in the Mines than Coal, and more physically straining to remove. He was the only one in his squad that had not yet caught fire. He continues hacking at the wall, and it catches fire, as does his pick, his grandfather's pick. He presses his pager, and a team of fire marshals runs to the scene. They manage to save the wall, but the man is crouched over the precious heirloom. His face is openly exposed to the fire, but he doesn't care. The only thing he is thinking about is the pickaxe. He is weeping, but no sound escapes his lips. He is immediately picked up by the fire marshals, and taken to be hospitalised. The beloved pickaxe is tossed in a bin to be used as scrap metal.

IC3:

The woman sits, with her shovel resting on her head. Her watch beeps, and she sighs, realising she didn't eat her lunch. Not that it mattered. Not many people on the Digging Squad made all that much money, as it was a commission unit. If they were one of the lucky few to find a patch of oil, the cave was under his or her control. They became and stayed rich as long as the cave continued to bleed oil. Most people found oil at least once before they died, but the discoveries were far apart, and the fortune did not last long. She dug slowly into the ground, tired of the monotony. She leaned on to her shovel after a while, and it dug into the ground at an odd angle. A strange black fluid shot out, and darkened the room as it hit the light bulbs. She stares at it unemphatically for some time, and then she yells in shock and amazement. She dials her cell and the cave is quickly blocked off, and pipes are siphoned into it.

OOC4:

The next selection will elaborate further on the previous, showing how the Oil Squad deals with their part of mining.

IC4:

He walked around, staining a perfectly good pair of boots. This was the tenth stain on them. They were now considered used. He scooped a bucket around the oil, trying to separate the mud and the oil. Third day on the job, and the well had already been sucked dry. Figures. Well, at least he got paid this time. The last four had been accidental pipe busts. He went home, to his loving wife, and beautiful family, and sat down on a couch, wondering about his completely unremarkable life.

OOC5:

I'll write the gold miner's story later. I'm tired.

Nolan Torus woke up a few minutes before his 5:30 alarm as always. His home was still cold, as his heating system in his appartment was not expecting him to be awake for another 4 minutes. He stumbled through his appartment to his living room. Picking up his remote, the television flashed to life, and Emperor Mundus's face appeared, the young man smiling as he greeted his empire, a daily ritual prerecorded at the Imperial Palace and played as the television tapped into the Imperial Cable Network. Nolan waved at the Emperor, a private ritual he had been doing since childhood. He dropped to the floor and began his morning excersize regimine. 15 minutes and 400 calories later, he stepped into his shower, brushed his teeth, ate breakfast and prepared for work.
Dressed in his suit and tie, he walked calmly to the bus stop, breathing in the chilled winter air of Belkar. The smell of a sleepy city filled his nostrils, coffee brewing and pastries rising. A young man delivered the morning paper via pedicart, leaving bundles at the news stands he passed. The Kroenecker bus arrived 1 minute behind scheduel, and Nolan stepped onto it, arriving at his office in the mass marketing complex. He was working with his team on creating an image for a new series of soylent skin care products. If he could successfully market this revolting concept, he would undoubtedly recieve a promotion to the Imperial Propaganda Ministry, a promotion that would mean a 5,000 Credit raise.
The day was uneventful, his usuall morning flirt with his secretary, the woman with whom he was very much in love, was slightly more successful than usual, and Nolan was hopeful that a lunch date was in his future. His team had nearly completed the posters, radio ads and television commercials, but the internet component was not yet ready. Lucily, the team still had a week to figure it out. The day ended at 5:00 PM and Nolan headed to the Imperial Arcade to meet his friends for their usual Friday night festivities.
James and Martin both worked in different departments of Nolan's corperation in different departments. The Arcade was their usual meeting place, as it contained several sports centers, a few bars and a game hall. Tonight, the trio opted for the bar, as James was struggling with the task of marketing jello molds for a private company. Such was life. Drinks were ordered and dancing partners were found. Martin took to his immediatley, his dark, handsome features attracting a rather striking woman, who he left with two hours later. James's partner had to leave and Nolan, remembering his beautiful secretary, bid adeu to his date. The duo parted at the bus station, and Nolan returned home.
After eating a snack, he watched some television and prepared for bed. He checked his email. Overjoyed to see his secretary's name in the sender box, he opened an invitation to go ice-skating the next day. He prayed in front of a small crucifix for a moment, then went to bed, content. Life for Nolan was not extravagant, but he was happy, and optimistic as to what tomorrow would bring.

OOC: Wow, there are some great posts in this thread. I was amused to find I'd posted on here when I was a Nazi nation, so this post will be pretty much the polar opposite of that one.

IC:

Like so many people throughout the world, Franz's day began with the beeping of an alarm clock.

Buger this, he thought as he lashed out with his fist and smashed the flimsly-made clock to the floor of his room, silencing it forever as it broke.

Unlike many others, he had the option of turning it off.

Eventually he woke a couple of hours later and threw off the thin covers, letting his bare feet touch the thin carpet. Student accomodation was not particularly glamorous or high quality, but it served its purpose.

Quickly throwing on some clothes, he genuflected to the Wolf idol on his desk before heading downstairs to the kitchen he shared with the two other guys who he also shared the house with. Both of them would have left for class by now as they were science students - Franz was a final year history student and as such had a lot more free time.

"Man, I really need to go food shopping," he yawned as he opened the fridge and saw that he only had a can of beer, three slices of ham, an egg and a watermelon. Not wanting to go to his class hungry, Franz searched for a clean cooking pot or pan, eventually settling on a wok that really needed a good clean but would suffice. He chucked everything in, including the beer, turned on the electric hob after clearing away a few items of cutlery that really needed washing up, and hoped for the best. Whistling jauntily as he stirred the contents of the wok, he thought about what his class would be on today.

Development of economic resources in seventh and eight century Anglo-Saxon England...let's see...charters...growing continental links with Frankish Europe... Franz's thoughts were disrupted by the sound of feet on the stairs and a girl came down wearing one of his housemate's shirts, sheepishly poking her

Igor, you dog chuckled Franz as he smiled at the girl. Clearly Igor had been successful in his quest last night.
"Good morning," he greeted her in a friendly manner. "I'm Franz, can I tempt you with some breakfast?"

"Ivana," the girl said by way of introduction, "and only if what you're cooking doesn't taste as foul as it smells. What is it?" She came further into the kitchen and peered into the wok, her nose wrinkling in disgust.

"I think it's best if I don't tell you," joked Franz, turning the hob off and scooping the slop onto a plate. Picking up two forks, he carried the plate over to the small table and set it down. He pulled back a chair and motioned for her to sit.

"A true gentleman in this day and age? Such a rare thing!" Ivana exclaimed jokingly as she sat.

"My kind is dying but not dead yet," he winked, bringing over two glasses of tap water. Franz didn't like bottled water but from time to time would indulge in it. It was a comparitive rarity in the Empire, even though the reconstruction of Atopiana was proceeding well according to the government reports. At least the food shortages had stopped. "Do dig in," he invited, tentatively poking his fork into the gloop. Ivana and Franz both took a mouthful, it was surprisingly tasty.

"My compliments to the chef," offered Ivana. "This should do until I can get some real food. No offense."

"Oh, none taken," replied Franz, waving his work in dismissal. "I need to go shopping anyway. You a student here as well?"

"Yup," nodded Ivana, "I'm studying Ballistics. Got on the Post-Party scholarship as my father was a Gauleiter. Seems that the God-Wolf really wants us ex-Nazis back in the regime at last, and about time. We ran things pretty well until the One-Day war, and we'll gladly help the God-Wolf lead our peoples into the future." Her eyes burned with the conviction of a fanatic, her voice determined and proud.

"I have a friend, Ivan Servchenko, his father was a Gauleiter as well," Franz remembered. "He's studying abroad now, but he has very similar views to yours."

"And what are your views?" Ivana asked sharply.

"Come with me," Franz smiled, heading upstairs to his room. Ivana followed, and her jaws dropped as she entered. Inside Franz's room was unremarkable in that it had a bed, desk and a wardrobe but what made it stand out was the mannequin with a full SS combat uniform right from the helmet to the belt buckle which gleamed and had the infamous motto 'Meine Ehre Heisst Treue' stamped on it. In the mannequin's hands was a rifle, which Ivana immediately leapt forward and touched.

"Is this really..." her voice sounded in disbelief.

"Mauser Ka98K, 1944 pattern," beamed Franz as he took the rifle and showed her the stamp on the breech. "The rifle, bayonet and helmet are original, though I've had to repaint the helmet. Look at this as well," he moved to his desk and opened the drawer, unfurling a poster (http://forums.jolt.co.uk/showpost.php?p=13338074&postcount=4) and showing it to Ivana.

"Come the day, come the hour, we will rise again," Franz promised. "With the God-Wolf's leadership, our race and nation will endure. Crap!" Burst Franz, glancing at his watch. "I have a class that I need to go to now, but I don't suppose you want to hang around and discuss this more. Unless you think Igor would mind..."

Ivana cut him off. "Igor was about last night and some fun, I'm over that. On the other hand, I am very interested in getting to know you more. I don't suppose you've heard of the phrase..."

It was Franz's turn to cut her off. "Blood and soil, a Wolf's howl by moonlight leading the way?" He said with a wry grin, uttering the code of the Wolf's Blood, a secret coven of students, intellectuals and others who wished for not a return to the old ways but their incorporation into the new order. "Listen, I really have to get to class or it's 5% off my module mark for this one" he said as he grabbed his bag. "I have plenty of books and stuff to do, I gotta run. See you in an hour and a half?" He said hopefully as Ivana sat on the bed, pulling her knees up to her chest and showing her bare legs.

"Can't wait," she grinned. "Now scoot." Their eyes met momentarily, and with a brief smile Franz left.

It was the longest hour and a half in his life. The heavy traffic, heavily armed and ominpresent police and the security checkpoints didn't bother him today.

OOC: You have two cows. The Londinians come take your cows and throw you in a giant blender :P

Alec looked outside as a CZ1 Tank passed down the street. He closed the blinds and yawned, throwing his arms high into the air. He dressed himself and walked outside. He looked to the left where four Marines had arrested a man who had been found raping a woman "I swear! It wasn't me! Please don't hurt me!" The leader of the group, a Commissar withdrew his pistol from it's black leather holder and dragged the man out into the street by his collar "This man has committed the worst of crimes! Rape! Therefore, I will have him castrated myself!" The man began to cry. The sleek USP match pressed against the man's crotch "Kiss your balls goodbye asshat!" Yelled one of the Commissar's men. Click. Clack. Pow. The man cringed over and whimpered as the commissar sheathed his pistol and walked away. Alec closed his eyes and walked away. He walked into the corner store for a moment and looked around. A Kal'Har of about 12 years of age standing behind the counter looked at Alec "Can I help you mister?" "Yeah, How much for the Slurpee?"
"Three Marks"
"That much nowadays?"
"Yup."
Alec searched through his wallet and fished out a five dollar bill "Here you go. Keep the change kid" He ruffled the Kal'Har's head fur and walked out the store. As he entered his house, the man was still lying there whimpering as the marines and their officer enjoyed some Cuban cigars and tried to comfort the rape victim. As he entered his apt. room, he heard the roar of aircraft outside. He saw four Cazelian B-52's fly low-level over his house. They had Greal campaign markings on them. It had something to do with the Greal coup going on. He went onto his computer and played BF2 for a little while before getting off and reading.
It was 11:00 Before he stopped reading. He took a long bath and jumped into bed.

That was the somewhat average day of Alec Bombnik.

OOC: continued from above.

IC:

After a bit more than an hour, the mag-veve tube car pulled into Low-side station. Hans grumbled a bit about how slow the five hundred klicks had passed. His buddy Paet mentioned that he'd heard that the AI might have be on a "go slow" strike.

After clearing the station, they jumped on the slidewalk to the hotel where they'd planned to spend the weekend.

Once at the hotel, they checked into their rooms. Hans showered, changed into his Aloha shirt, ands stowed his gear. He decided to leave his rifle behind - it'd be safe nomatter what, the ubiqutous firearms saftey training ensured that - and simply carry his PDW submachine gun.

Hans and Paet met up in the lobby and headed out for lunch. Paet suggested a hawker court nearby. Hans was in the mood for a good crowd, and enjoyed the wild variety of food one found at such places, and so agreed.

They hopped another slidewalk and made their way to the hawker court. Among the interesting foods they sampled was a hot and spicy dish the hawkers were calling "Scrab Stew". It seems it was being made with one of the delicacies the Skar Forscher I expedition had brought back from the newly discovered planet, which local crab farms had taken up. It was quite nice, and went down well with a bottle of smokey highland red wine.

After lunch, Paet, a sleeper, headed back to the hotel for a nap. Hans on the otherhand, headed to his favorite "book club" - Black Jacks. The Rats were playing the Cats in the All Daistallia Ice Hockey League semi-finals, and he wanted to get in in time to get good odds for his bets.

OOC:

Meh, I'm not gonna do the gold miner one yet.

OOC2:

The following was written to show the dissatisfaction with the gov't's new laws.

IC:

Sheila groaned, as she looked at the newspaper. What was once an upright dictatorship with strong moral backing was slowly disintegrating into an upright dictatorship with strong hate for morality. The Nation section clearly stated that her thirteen-year-old was legally allowed to be married, with or without parental consent. Add that to the fact that divorce was illegal, and you find that arranging marriages at birth would be better for the populace. She flipped a page, and kept reading the article. That was complex. There was also a new age of sexual consensus. Three different ones, in fact. She kept reading, summing up what she thought it should say in her head.

'12 year olds are allowed to have sex with 12 year olds. 13 year olds are allowed to **** 13 and 14 year olds. 14 year olds can screw 13, 14, 15, and 16 year olds. 15 year olds can bang 14, 16, 17, 18, 19, and 20 year olds. 16 year olds can do anyone 14 or older.'

She went on, thinking this was the stupidest thing to come from the cabinet since Zerdoff took over. The Minister of Sex and Education, Connor Dome, was quoted as saying, "It has been proven by science that a healthy, regular, consensual relationship is very beneficial, the more so the younger you are. Of course, if the relationship starts before you turn twelve, it is inherently wrong, unethical, and unhealthy, as well as illegal."

'Way to go, ConDome,' she thought, derogatorily, 'great job for a ****head like you. Really kept all the bad stuff in.' As she thought this last bit, she chuckled softly.

She turned to another page, and read a different article, which, incidentally, was based off the same thing. It was titled: "Pedo's Everywhere Are Delighted."

She turned to another, disgusted, and read, "Chastity Level Increased Dramatically Last Week."

She laughed hard at the irony, and closed the paper, dreading the moment when her daughter would walk in the door, sit down, and read the paper. But, of course, she might already know. Because, obviously, she wasn't here. Public schooling had been outlawed a month ago. She had gone to 'go get the groceries' six hours ago, and she was not yet back.

'Go***mn ****head gov't.'

Jordan picked up the paper and sighed. "This nation is still relatively small and yet the Government is making so many changes and re-changes" He flipped to the law section of the paper and saw an article that pointed out that children as young as 14 could now lawfully gamble. "God, they're going to corrupt our youth and crime rates will go up again. If I catch my daughter gambling, I'll kill her." He read on, 'Organ donations are at a low' "That's not good." 'Capital Punishment has been reinstated' "That IS good." 'Crime is at a low' and 'The Nation is becoming safer.' Overall, the citizens of the beautiful and artistic nation of Living-Colour have a bright future to look forward to.

(yeah another life with farmers lol, they are the average citizens of Kurona)

It was another dark and stormy night in the spring time of Kurona. Charlotte was busy haning up a new cross in their house. The family hadn't been very active but now they were "born-again-Christians" having a newly restored faith. They were also poor farmers, they didn't have much but they had two wonderful children, and for Charlotte it was well enough. Thunder crashed as Charlotte's little girl Maize ran into her embrace. "Oh sweetheart, are you scared? I thought you were sleeping."

"The thunder and lighting woke me up." Charlotte hugged Maize as she held her. "Shh it's okay baby."

"Where's papa?"

"He and Alex are working out in the barn. Wood working, Alex is learning how to start building."

"Can we go and see?"

"Of course. I'm sure they could use the company." Charlotte set Maize down. "Go get your raingear and we'll go out." Maize ran off to put on her coat, hat and boots. Char put on her own. Both had yellow coats and boots. Char picked Maize up and kissed her as they went out into the storm several yards to their barn.

"Ooh what weather."

"Hey Mama." Alex said. "Look, I've made four picture frames and a new spice rack."

"Very good sweetheart." Charlotte praised.

"This boy is a natural." Her husband Steven said.

"Well don't you think you've done enough for the night? The children should get to bed."

"You're right, let's wrap it up Alex." Steven rubbed his head affectionatly as they put the tools away.

After that they went back inside. Maize was already bathed but Alex still needed his. Following his bath he climbed into bed that he shared with his sister. Charlotte bid them goodnight and turned out the lantern.

The night wasn't finished yet, Charlotte and Steven decided to have some time to tell just how much they love each other. "You're as active as you were on our wedding day." Charlotte said.

"So are you Char."

He resumed kissing her and she kissed back. "Still, maybe we should stop, the children could come in."

"Nah they're both sleeping they'll be okay. Alex isn't scared and as long as Alex is with Maize she's fine."

They finished through the night, and awoke to the sound of birds chirping. Charlotte dressed and fixed her family breakfast. Yep just another day for some farmers in Kurona.

Life In The Republic of Razorl


Alan Stewart woke up like every morning, Cautious and Ready. He had Served In The First Civil War and In the Civil war in Revolutionary Esparada and He took Alto's Side in the Second Civil War of Razorl. He was Getting quite old and resigned from military duty last year. He Went to his apartment door and went downstairs to the dining room in the apartment complex. After Eating a bit of bread and drink and getting refreshed in the washroom (Yeah Razorl is Diffrent!) he got in his car parked outside and drove off to his job as an adminstration of foreign deals for the Biggest Corporation in Razorl, Razorlian Enterprizes. After A Long and Boring day he decided to take a break of the day and visit relatives in the countryland off to the west of the Capital.

Arriving there 3 days later he was welcomed by his grandkids and his son.
Alan's Daughter in Law died a year back in the Second Civil War. After Refreshing in the Washroom and Reading the Evening Paper. (Two issue a day!) He Went to bed in the Guest room. When he woke up it was maddness to dress for church and refresh and eat bread and drink (The only Food for Breakfeast is break and drink so they call it such). He Drove His Family to the church. "Father, Do you attend church back in the Capital?" Spoke his Son as they were on the way. "No, We just visit the Tower and Pray for an hour or two." Spoke Alan. "Must miss the old days in the country... Father Your Right eye!" Spoke His son as he was frightened by the eyepatch over his right eye.
"It's a Souveniur from the War" Alan finally spoke up. They arrived at THe church and listende to the preacher speaking the daily sermon and praying for two hours (Which is customary in The Razorlian Religion). They went home and ate Supper and went on to bed. Except for Alan, who sat in the study (Every Razorlian Home comes with a study furnished with several bookcases) and Smoked his pipe whilst reading "From the Ashes of Shilar", A Book based of the First Razorlian Civil war.

Alan eventually left when he finished the book which was about sun-up. It took another 3 days to get back and just in time for his vacation days to end.

Kostya walked to the water truck at around 6 a.m.. Around this time of morning she would normally be getting ready for school, but at the present time all the cities were evacuated due to hostile nations invading. She hoped the bastards would be wiped out, as they had no justified reason for invasion. Not too far from the water truck, a recruitment post was set up by the military, attracting many disgruntled citizens. It said they would be station in their home towns; a quite genius idea considering she knew Pripyat like the back of her hand..I think I'll sign up later today. The new government had he decency to evacuate the cities before conflict, so they must care about us more then the old one.. "Besides, it would probably be better then sitting in a refugee camp for months on end."

On a normal day under normal circumstances, Kostya would have been on the metro rail heading to school. Pripyat was a relatively small city by comparison, as it only had about 100,000 residents. The city is mostly industrial-commercial, with large apartment blocks taking up the center of the city, surrounded by the commercial areas. Less then a mile away, the old Chernobyl Nuclear Power Station decayed as a monument. Kids would often break in on dares to stay the night on the grounds, s it was supposedly haunted by ghosts. She didn't exactly believe in this kind of stuff, but she had stayed there anyway a few times. The grounds near the old reactor often produced strange objects, some of which had nice shapes and had positive qualities. Kostya had a fairly large collection of these at her apartment, like most people her age. Elders often referred to them as junk, not knowing what they do.

Martin, a fourteen year old boy living on the family farm just off the massive Lake Victoria - the largest lake in Africa - awoke to his duties at five in the morning on Saturday. He needed to shower. Brush his teeth and comb his hair. Get into his jean shorts and white A-shirt, he made his way down the stairs to the kitchen of the farm house. His two brothers, three sister, and parents were already there.

"Morning." he said. "Morning." his siblings replied. "You're late, dish up." said Tom, his father. He quickly scooped up his eyes, hashbrowns, toast and grabbed his bowl of freshly picked fruit. After a prayer, this morning lead by his younger brother, they ate before the boys and their father made their way out to the dusty fields in the scorching heat of the morning sun. And it would only be getting hotter as time moved past 6:15 AM.

Tending the crops, feeding the animals, washing the families fleet of old flatbed pickups. Such is the life of a ViZionarian farmboy when not at school, church, or doing his homework. Of course, he would have a couple of hours per day to spend with friends - however he was allowed no more than 30 minutes per day of television or computer time when it did not have to do with education, church, or the news.

-------

Just fifteen miles away in the suburbs of Oreton, fourteen year old Justin was still sleeping. He lived in a beautiful condominium along the beach of Lake Victoria. Coming from a wealthy family, whose father is the third generation owner of the largest private investment firm in eastern ViZion, life was quite good for young Justin.

He got the clothing he wanted. He got the latest and greatest technology without even having to ask for it. And, of course with his short sandy blond hair, dashing good looks, and nicely toned body, he had no problems getting the dates he desired. Waking up at 11 AM, the quickly jumped into the shower and then prepared for the day ahead.

Let's see...
Hanging out with Curtis and Tom in half an hour...
Mandy and Malisa want to go to the lake with a few of their friends at four...
Then going to see The Great Bonderman at 8:45 tonight with Michelle.

He went through his mental checklist of his things to do today as he got into his clothing - boarding shorts, a grey muscle shirt, and flipflops. Grabbing his wallet, he left the house - he was an only child and both his parents were out doing their own things. He went over to Curtis' house a few blocks away. They would be going out and eating at one of the many fine and hip restaurants along the beach with Tom.

Such is the life of a ViZionarian boy raised in the good life - wealth, parties, getting what you want.

OOC: I'll probably get another post up tonight or tomorrow going more into detail with them or some other people in ViZion...

Martin, a fourteen year old boy living on the family corrugated tin shack just off the massive Lake Victoria - the largest lake in Africa - awoke to his duties at five in the morning on Saturday. He needed to roll in the mud. Scrape the fungi off his teeth and cut his greasy, matted hair with a hatchet. Get into his overalls and floppy boots, he made his way down the stairs to the hole in the wall of the farm house. His eight brothers, five sister, aunts, uncles, nieces, nephews, cousins, second cousins, assorted inbred relatives, and parents were already there, scrabbling in the dirt for the last piece of cockroach.

"Morning." he said. "Morning." his siblings replied. "You're late, dish up." said Tom, his father, uncle, and second cousin. He quickly scooped up his eyes, rotting flesh, fragments of broken bone and grabbed his bowl of freshly picked chicken feathers. After a three-hour chant to the Mawu the Creator, this morning lead by his younger brother, they ate before the boys and their father made their way out to the dusty, hard-packed and hopelessly infertile fields in the scorching heat of the morning sun. And it would only be getting hotter as time moved past 6:15 AM.

Feeding the crops, growing the animals, bathing the families fleet of old rusted technicals. Such is the life of a ViZionarian prole when not at the street corner, gutter, or begging for handouts. Of course, he would have a couple of hours per day to be the whipping boy for a rich Doomani family - however he was allowed no more than 30 minutes per day of flea baths or rape time when it did not have to do with propaganda, witchdoctors, or the scraps of information flung into trashcans.

-------

Just fifteen miles away in the slightly less densely-packed area of tin shacks of Oreton, fourteen year old Justin was awake, wide-eyed in terror from the man who was ravaging his mother three feet away. He lived in a disgusting run-down hole in the dirt along the beach of Lake Victoria, along with hundreds of thousands of others in the same square foot. Coming from an extremely poor family, whose father is the third generation owner of the largest private investment firm in eastern ViZion, life was horrifyingly terrible for young Justin.

He got the muddy rags he wanted. He got the latest and greatest ViZionian technology without even having to ask for it (it was mostly free for anyone who crawled along the streets' piles of refuse). And, of course with his short sandy blond hair, scarred and pitted face, and wasting body, he had no problems getting the dates he desired—they looked the same. Waking up at 11 AM, the quickly jumped into the polluted lake and then prepared for the day ahead.

Let's see...
Stealing food with Curtis and Tom in half an hour...
Mandy and Malisa want to go to the lake with a few of their friends at four...
Then going to see ViZion Is Greatest Country In All Of World All Other Countries Are Run By Little Girls at 8:45 tonight with Michelle.

He went through his mental checklist of his things to do today as he got into his filthy outfit - hastily patched and stitched slacks salvaged from a dead ViZionian soldier's grave, a brown-grey tank top, and makeshift cloth-and-string sandals. Grabbing his club, he left the house - he was an only child and both his parents were dead. He went over to Curtis' house a few blocks away. They would be going out and scrounging for scraps of slime-covered garbage that might taste like food if you thought about it long enough along the beach with Tom.

Such is the life of a ViZionarian boy raised in the rotten prole life - extreme poverty, rapes, begging for necessities from Doomani and Praetonian overlords.

OOC: I'll probably get another post up tonight or tomorrow going more into detail with them or some other people in ViZion...

Got it.

Mark awoke with a jump, alarm beeping like crazy. Quickly getting up, he shoved on the spiffy buisness suit he had laid out in his dresser. The only place untouched by last nights party. He thought, a smile appearing on his face. Running over to his freezer, he grabbed two waffles, and ran outside of his door. "Hey Mark, what's the hurry?" His half-crazy, half-friendly, full hippie neighbor Lionel yelled over to him. "I'll explain later!" Mark yelled, running out the apartment door. Ten minutes... Crap! I'll have to run to the trolley! Sticking his tongue out to the police who eyed him suspiciously, he ran up onto the trolley. "Hey Mark. You know the fare." The trolley operator smiled at him. Mark was a regular on this trolley. "Yeah,yeah, and you know the route." Mark smiled back, and tossed him five tiosles.

Brushing back his dark brown hair, he stared at the masses of people walking along the side of the road. A beggar, looking for money, a hooker, with no problems with showing her job clearly. A soldier, in regular yellow trenchcoat. Popping a mint into his mouth, he sat down quietly as a man left the trolley car.At least it isn't raining today...

Arriving at his office, he quickly rushed in. "Sam! Is the meeting started yet?" He yelled to the beautiful young secretary. Her yellow hair blocking her face, she looked up and said "If you run, you can still make it. Room 12B!" Running down the hall, he slowed down, and calmly opened the door. "Ah, just in time Marcus, we were just starting, please, sit down."

Four hours later
"And in conclusion, We could triple our cost-profit ratio by carefully appropriating worker term agreements. Any questions?" Marcus stretched out his arms. A few more minutes and he'd been sleeping. "Well it's been a pleasure gentlemen, I hope you all took something from this meeting. Good day to you all." Gosh, I love meeting day. Don't have to do anything but look interested for a few hours, and get payed as if you WORKED all eight hours. Walking out the door, he walked directly across the street. "Hey Gaius, bring the Vodka?" Marcus walked up to Gaius, and looked into the bag. "Yeah, but I got the weak stuff this time. had to call in sick this morning because I spent it on the good stuff. No regrets!" Marcus smiled. "No regrets, and no hangover for me!" Walking over to the trolley, Gaius muttered, half under his breath "You lucky dog, you."

Stepping off the Trolley carefully, Gaius continued. "But if you cast Tri-curse on a Demon-tamer, it'll reverse the deflect magic skin effect." "Are you sure about that? I mean, it IS a infinity deflect attribute." Marcus said. "No, I'm sure. I've read the rulebook several times this morning, I'm sure of it." Gaius said "Oh look, there's the guys!"

"State your name and right to be here." Gaius said darkly, hood covering his face. "I'm am Grabnar, level thirty wanderer, beserker level six. I have come to excercise my right to rid the world of the Luxyin."

"I am Bit-Tor, level eighty druid. I have came to rid the world of these pitiful humans and their 'technology'."

" I am Signet, level eight Shadow member. I have came to fight the forces of darkness, and destroy all of the great ones in hope of restroing peace to this shattered world..."

Marcus collapsed on the couch. That was one wild night. Live action roleplaying and a equal amount of men and women in a game of Age Of Dreams... Well, let's just say the rulebook is VERY detailed. Marcus smiled as he drifted off to sleep...

*Marked for Interest*

Anika awoke early to make it to school on time. Getting ready was a long process between breakfast washing, and putting on her uniform. It was worse when it was raining because the dirt roads would become mudy and slick. Alborio was mixed of modern and unmodern, and Anika lived in the half-modern small town.

"Anika, come sit now." Her father said, the family engaged in their morning Prayer asking for safety and love through the day. When Anika arrived at school the first thing they did was pray. Prayer was mandated in all schools in Alborio. Each school day began the same, kids gathered in the rooms and chatted, the teacher came and brought them to attention, they prayed and began with the religious lesson, then they would go onto acedemics of math, reading, writing, computers etc. Science was strictly taught to the religious curiculum psychology was not taught.

"Today's lesson will be a film."

The teacher hit the lights and reved up the old projector.

"Good morning boys and Girls, I'm Dr/Pastor Graves, and my film presented to you is one of part of my collections of other Scriptural teachings. My teaching today is the great sin of Homosexuality." HOMOSEXUALITY!!!!! flashed on the screen in bright red letters with exclamation marks. Homosexuality is the unnatrual attraction between a couple of the same gender. "

Anika looked away uneased. She her self was a closted Lesbian, too frightend to tell anyone, if she did it would cause her great retribution. The film ended after a while with the closing words: "Remeber, fags are the abomination of this earth. If you know someone who is or is considering going homo, save them, pray for them and get them council, before it's too late. Do not belive the liberal nonsense that one is born with Homosexuality for Adam and Eve were not homosexuals. All beings from heaven come down with the choice of life and some throw that away."

The film ended Anika came to attention once again, she wanted to put on her bonnnet and sink low into her seat but she couldn't.

This kind of propaganda was always used day after day after day in Alborio.

The Life of an Average Farflorinian
St. Florence, Farflorin

Alarm clocks were far from plain and ordinary in the nation of Farflorin. Once a year, a large segment of Farflorin would be issued an experimental alarm clock, and they were under obligation to report back to the government on their experience with the alarm clock assigned to them. In fact, the heavily socialist government of Farflorin believed in proving its people with the latest in strange and utterly absurd technology.

The government believed in unusual and unconventional technology, which normally didn't bother Phoebe Jervais because until just two days ago, she had been one of the few people with a previous generation alarm clock that was known to hop around the room singing "Pop Goes the Weasel" until the person got out of bed and chased the alarm clock once around the bed. This alarm clock had a built in sensor that would ensure at least a single lap around the bed or room before it stopped and allowed the owner to switch off the tune.

This morning however was another story. When the researcher came to her door last night, she had to surrender her Weasel clock in favour of a Leopard Gecko Clock that would jumped off the night table and bury itself under her pillow and blare out random mating calls from different animals of Farflorin. She learned that morning that in order to shut it off, she had to repeat back one of the mating calls it played, and she had to do it several times.

Once she was up, she walked to the bathroom.

She was lucky enough to have one of the older bathrooms for the government hadn't issued her a notice telling her that renovations would be done some time in the near future. She still had a bathroom that looked like it was from her parents' generation. It was large and had a single droid on hand to aid with her morning preparations.

She had heard stories from her friends about their nightmare bathrooms. Everything from toilets that talked to you while you took a shit, to a mirror that tried to give you 'helpful' body image advice.

She only had a bathroom that took care of her basic functions. She just needed to stand in the shower while the droid washed her then brushed her teeth. The system she had installed was bug-free unlike those belonging to her friends. This she was thankful for.

"Ms Phoebe, what will you be wearing today?" the droid followed her into her room after it tried her off and helped her prepared her appearance for the day.

The droid reached into the automated closet and pulled out a simple business suit. "Analysis says that this would be ideal as the temperature will be relative stable today. May I also recommend that you wear those stilettos you bought yesterday, Ms Phoebe?"

She thanked it for its help and proceeded to dress, while the droid stood, watching. It had been issued to her when she had turned 14 years old. The intent of the government had been to give each of its citizens a personal attendant so no human would ever have to be reduced to slavery.

For the early years, the younger citizens were served by their parents' droid. There was only one droid issued per household, or one droid per every five citizens. Droids with only one master were often programmed to do tasks to improve the neighbourhood or were tasked with accompanying their masters.

Droids were able to perform menial tasks, calculate and memorise material. The droids were deliberately programmed so that they couldn't plagiarise any homework or work done by their human master. The droids however could be requested to check for factual errors.

Their capacity to hold intellectual conversation was limited with a Council House Bill over a hundred years ago to ensure that the line between man and droid was never breached.

The droid followed Phoebe into the kitchen.

It turned on the stove and took eggs out of the fridge. It had nothing to say about breakfast. It was just food.

Her kitchen was fairly modern, though once again, it hadn't been subject to a random experimental upgrade. She was secretly thankful for that. She could still find her way around the kitchen without something short circuiting or going haywire on her.

While she ate breakfast, there was a knock on the door.

The droid went to answer and returned shortly followed by a man who identified himself as a member of the Research Council of Farflorin. He had a notice for Phoebe. As of today, she was to report to the Council for random skill upgrading. It had been decided that her job wasn't needed for the future of Farflorin.

She had once been on the Smoking Bee project, which was to design Hornets who could release a special kind of smoke. Her job was to test the bees and hornets.

She sighed and took a bite of the eggs as she read the directive received.

"You honestly expect me to do this?"

"I'm sorry, Ms Jevais, but we need you to relocate to a new project. They need more QA agents over in the telecom sector. You're going to be testing out new phones that... well, you'll find out when you get there."

She crumpled up the page and threw it at the agent. "Beat it!"

"Just report for duty." He replied stoically as the waded up ball of paper bounced off his forehead.

ooc - Farflorin is a former province of Kryozerkia. It has no military, no police force and its technology while being FT is literally out of this world.

A day in the life of….. a Belschaft Citizen


David Kent was woken at 6am by his alarm, as he was every day. Sighing he dragged himself into the kitchen, where the television came on automatically as it’s timer said it was 6:03 am. He made himself his daily cup of morning coffee while the TV, automatically selecting NSTV- News 24, told him of yet more terrible world events – war over oil supplies, terrorist strikes, brutal genocides – reaffirming every citizens belief that life in Belschaft was better than everywhere else. Sighing he trudged out of his apartment on the 30th floor and got the lift down. Looking around his dismal surroundings he thought it could be worse – he could have been sentenced to penal duty in one of the correctional facilities in the wastelands, or been born in one of those unstable dictatorships which was on the news this morning.

He had a car in the underground lot, but what with the traffic he wouldn’t use it – over 30 million people commuted into Katara City each morning. Instead he’d get one of the privately run bus services, which could use the new blue routes, reserved for the corporation’s use. As he walked he noticed a CCTV camera following him. He paid it no real notice – it was for his protection. He had done nothing wrong, and therefore had nothing to fear, while he knew that crime was non-existence as their facial scanning technology identified each citizen and checked their files, to look for any criminal or dissident history.

While on the bus the public communication system seized telling him he was a happy person, and that the corporation was watching over him, to state that due to an increased security threat level random searches would be being conducted, and that the corporation apologised for any inconvenience. As the bus whisked along the road he saw another one just like it, with the two hundred or so citizens who had been on board lined up outside, being searched by NSE troops. As they cruised out of view he saw a pair of criminals pulled out of the line and thrown in a truck. He did not know what they had done, but their arrest would protect the majority. The minority was irrelevant – their needs would give way for ours.

When the bus pulled up outside his workplace, a large engineering firm’s headquarters, he got of, swiping his ID card to register his position. How could the authorities protect the people if they did not know where they were? He got the buildings lift to the 7th floor where he proceeded to his cubicle, where he worked from his 8:03 arrival to his half hour break at 12:30. He then continued his dull, monotonous yet still, according to his monthly reviews and daily progress reports vital. The feedback from the 12th floor was always clinical, almost like it was written by a compute – ‘good work David, your doing well’ or maybe ‘ I’m concerned Mr. Kent. Your not meeting your quota.’ He always sent a response if asked though, and worked harder. He didn’t know who he was corresponding with, but there must be someone at the other end. At 7pm his shift ended and he went home by bus. The journey was dull, with the only excitement being when the latest TV show to hit the nation, Numberwang, was interrupted to tell how the miner strike in the north had ended, with the once defiant miners agreeing unanimously to a 2% pay increase instead of the 12% they’d demanded, and claimed to need.

Eventually, at about 8pm he got of the bus and went home. As he entered he looked at his watch – he was a few minutes late, and the TV had already switched on. It was the government hour and all channels were locked in as the Grand Councils latest decisions were announced on TV, and government officials quizzed. There had been a seize fire with Bardar, and now the price of oil would be dropping as cheap supplies came in. As well as that there was a tax cut. And yet again his loyalty was affirmed as he was told how only through the corporation could Belschaft do so, and their superior lifestyle maintained. The government acknowledged that some freedoms had been sacrificed, but the stability that they had gained was worth so much more according to the friendly faces on TV.

The next day passed much the same. And the next. And the one after that, and after that…. Slowly the citizens were accepting the prison they had built for themselves more and more, as they grew used to it’s comforts. Freedom was a scary, random thing. Control was much better. As for the few who disagreed – what could they do? Perhaps there was someone watching the CCTV monitors, and the ID card trackers. Perhaps not. You could never know when you were being watched, and therefore had no choice but to assume you always were. The very few who could not adapt, who would not accept the truths before them, or still broke the law, or spoke when they should not, where dealt with. The wastelands were big enough to hold ten times the number they did, churning out consumer goods from the huge forced labour camps.

All was normal in Belschaft. All was well.

The midmorning sun glared through the window of the bedroom and spilled across the bed, awakening the 19yo who lay sleeping. Bleary-eyed, the blond headed, athletic built man got out of bed and walked into the bathroom to begin his morning routine. Conner Phillips was about to enjoy his day off from Kinstantia Motor Works.

After finishing his routine, he unplugged his cell phone from the charger and went into the kitchen. Breakfast was already prepared and waiting for him when he entered the room. Sausage, eggs, pancakes, cereal, orange juice and coffee already to go. He sat down in his usual chair, the one that faced the living room window.

"Morning sunshine!" beamed a male voice from the living room.

"Morning Rob!" replied Conner.

"You passed out when we got home from the club last night." stated Rob.

"After two jager bombs, and a Kinstantia Hooker shot, I was wasted!" admitted a somewhat hung-over Conner.

Rob walked over to Conner and kissed him, then proceeded to sit down next to him at the table. Conner smiled at him as he began to drink his coffee. The pair were going to be married in 3 weeks at Keilvarga Metropolitan Community Church in Downtown Keilvarga. The Federal Government had passed a law allowing gay marriage and they were thrilled.

"KBS said that Jennifer Hudson was elected President yesterday." Rob stated.

"Oh great," bemoaned Conner, "a conservative who wants to take away our civil rights can be President. Is this what our parents fought for 15 years ago?"

"Well, at least we have elections, and not a monarchy like we used to." Rob said, "your father gave his life so that you could sit here and witch about elected officials without having to worry about your head being chopped off."

"I guess." said a slightly mournful Conner. Because of the War of Independence, Conner knew that life was great in Kinstantia. He knew his freedoms, both civil and political, were being protected and held sacrosanct.

"You going skateboarding today?" asked Rob.

"Yeah, I'm gonna meet Kiki and Andrew downtown and then we're off to Memorial Park." stated Conner.

"I gotta work today, I don't get my 3 days off until Saturday." Rob said with a grin. Most Kinstantians worked 4 days a week.

Conner finished his breakfast and walked over to his pile, grabbed his backpack and skateboard, kissed Rob goodbye and walked outside of thier single-story home in their middle-class neighborhood. He hoped on his board, and skated down tree-lined Kensington Avenue, on his way to Downtown Keilvarga.

Life was happy in Kinstantia. A free, and independent Kinstantia. The economy is strong, and the environment was beautiful.

Morning in the Life of a 19 year-old Mioyan Girl and her Mother.

Funaki Natsumi woke in the morning, as usual, to a blaring alarm clock. She slammed the large snooze button atop the machine, and sat up in her bed. Blinking sleepily, she rubbed her eyes and brushed her long, black hair from her face.

“Natsumi,” Her mother’s voice drifted up from downstairs. “Are you awake, honey?”

“I’m awake, Mom!” Natsumi called back. She looked around her room. It was small with little in the way of luxuries. Shaped like a large rectangle with one side taken up by a bed in which she had slept nearly every night of the past eighteen years. At the foot of the bed her clothes were kept in a wood plank chest. By the bed’s head end, opposite the door, sat her desk, where she kept her clock radio, her journal, and until recently, did her school work.

“Breakfast is almost ready.” Mother’s voice again. “I’ll see you at the table.”

Natsumi got up from bed, wearing nothing but panties and a long shirt. Opening the chest in which she kept all her clothes she removed a full outfit, and then left the room, heading in the direction of the small upstairs bathroom.

Following a quick shower, Natsumi, now fully dressed in jeans, t-shirt and sweater, heads into the downstairs level and then makes her way to the kitchen.

“Good morning, Natsumi.” Her mother, Akemi smiled from the stove where she was now in the process of making…scrambled eggs, looked like.

“Good morning,” Natsumi answered. “I’ll get the plates and things down.”

“Thank you, dear,” Akemi said, and went back to cooking. Natsumi walked to the cabinet holding the plates.

“We only need two this morning, sweetheart,” Akemi said. Looking at her hand, Natsumi had three plates. Her father, Noboru would normally eat with them in the morning, but he had been called up recently, sent to Myakka with his company.

“Sorry, Mom,” she muttered, putting one plate back. Akemi shook her head.

“Don’t worry, Natsumi. He’ll probably be back soon enough.”

“Yeah,” was all Natsumi said in reply.

“Hey,” said Akemi, following a moment’s silence. “Why don’t we eat in the living room, maybe watch some television?”

“Sure!” Natsumi smiled at that. Television in Mioya was quite primitive and some people had yet to get it. Those who did had two national stations, and perhaps one County station if they were lucky. It happened the Funaki household was lucky. MNTV-1, MNTV-2 and LBCS-1 all came in clearly. That first one was largely official news, so they left it be, and looked instead at the others, eventually focusing on a local morning comedy show.

******

“Thanks for breakfast, Mom,” Natsumi said as she rinsed the plate she had been using.

“You’re welcome, sweetheart. Are you going to work now?”

“Yeah,” Natsumi nodded as she moved to the coat cabinet by the front door, pulling out a light jacket…and a gun belt. Recently, the Republic had authorized the common citizenry in the country to go about with concealed firearms. Her father, always concerned with his loveable young daughter’s safety, had insisted she begin ‘wearing’ as soon as she was the legally required age, and learn how to shoot effectively. The belt held a FNP-45 pistol, an impressive weapon which Natsumi had come to really enjoy. She strapped the belt on and her jacket on top of the belt.

“See you later, Mom!” she called as she headed into the house’s attached garage. Minutes later, she rode out to work on a bicycle.

OOC:

I was going to start a 'day in the life' thread, until my friend Romandeos pointed out this one. I figured it might be a good idea to just post here instead.

A Morning in the Life of Josef Vieskov

Mornes, Porinn, 7:21 AM


Josef rose up, the sun shone through his window and onto his crisp, white sheets. He clambered out of bed and into the bathroom, turning the shower on. The cold water was a sudden wake-up call for Josef, as it was every morning. He shrieked as he usually does and jumped out of the shower, immediately turning the temperature up. He climbed back in and began to relax, washing his body. About 7 minutes passed and he was out of the shower, he carefully brushed his teeth and stumbled out of the bathroom.
"Ugh, good morning Katherine" he mumbled as he walked past his cat, standing by the food bowl awaiting the morning kibble.

Josef slipped into a pair of trousers and looked out the window at the city streets below, yawning loudly at the sight of the usual 19th century architecture across the street from him. "That place would make a great...Um...Coffee shop." he proclaimed, and stepped away from the window, he walked into his kitchen and slammed some bread in the toaster, flicking down the switch, he took a seat at the table and rested his head on his hands. The sudden 'Poing!' noise the toaster made as the toast popped up made Josef jump, as it did every morning, he grabbed the toast, plopped it onto a plate and spread butter on it, taking a munch, and chewing almost robotically.

He stepped into the living room, switching on the TV. "The terrorist situation in Falkasia continu-" Josef switched the channel, interrupting the news-reader's sentence, "Not that boring shit again, what's on 24?". "Fourteen dead in yet another chemical attack on public transit", Josef leaned forward, eager to hear more. "What do you have to say on the subject, Mrs. Brehsmer?", "Well, the white supremacist group 'New Beginning' are still at large, our law enforc-" *Click*, Josef turned the TV off, slipping into a shirt. He marched into the bedroom, and poured the cat's kibble into the bowl, he gave her a quick pat on the head and got into his shoes, tightening the laces.

Once he was prepared, he quickly straightened his tie and stepped out of the door, closing it and locking it. He walked over to the elevator, calling it, when it came, he stepped in and went to the bottom floor.

Josef stepped out onto the busy city streets, taking a deep breath and coughing shortly afterwards. He strode confidently towards his place of work, passing an AFV, he continued to walk but was interested by the AFV, "Must be those new embassies, nothing but trouble..." he thought. Josef opened the door of his workplace, "Good morning Josef!" announced the receptionist as Josef entered, "Morning." he replied, just as he stepped into the elevator.


OOC: As you can see, my citizens are pretty much average Joes, or average Josefs, in this case. Nothing special. I still enjoyed writing this though.

Rural life:
Quoted from:
Requiem of Fear: Primeval (http://forums.jolt.co.uk/showthread.php?t=555276)

""For the want of a nail, the shoe was lost
for the want of a shoe the horse was lost
and for the want of a horse the rider was lost
being overtaken and slain by the enemy, all for the want of care about a horseshoe nail."

Those words haunted a man by the name of Barney K. Fife...
For because of his want of a few minutes of pleasure, he had let his gaurd down.

Due to lack of anything better to do in this almost featureless cell, he recounted how he came to be here... The memory still fresh in his mind.

--------
Some considerable time ago:
People's Republic Of Hurtful Thoughts

The day began like any other on his rural farm.
Wake up early in the night, get dressed, milk the goats, etc etc etc.

He noted a hole in his fence, it wasn't big, must have been a dog, as it dug under rather than cut through, he made a note to try capturing and domesticating one of them some day...

He went out to the stills for some 'happy hour'. The upside of being territorial police in a rural district is that not many people ask too many questions on what everyone does in their free time.

Supposedly he sat within spitting distance of the armory, a sad excuse of a shack loaded with relics and rotting ammunition to help the people defend themselves in the event of invasion, but in his mind, the bigger threat was from within, in the past 30 years, he saw a private industry ominously named "Hurtful Outcomes Incorporated" had grown from a minor consulting firm and privatized military training facility into a private army that outnumbered the conventional military by more than 10:1.

Recently however, a small faction of disillusioned Marine Raiders went rogue and declared war upon HOI, and in return have been branded traitors. It didn't take too many braincells to figure out who really ran this country now. Leader Milo is a nice guy and all, but he's just a puppet, and as much as he'd like to believe HOI's CEO, a legless cripple by the name of Mendez (ironicly a former Marine Raider of the same unit that went rogue), he didn't seem to be the brightest bulb in the house of cards either...

Anyways, walking to an illegal still isn't something you want too many witnesses to, so he brought his issue firearm, a replacement, a cheap lil bullpup called the LAR-655. It was lighter than the CM series, and was a bit more versitile, so he didn't mind the fact it wasn't as expensive or comfortable, it was durable as lump of solid steel to boot.

He also had the habit of carrying both issued bayonets, a hatchet and a shovel. The knife bayonet was a good utility knife, kinda poor for a fight except in torture, not that he was into that kinda stuff. The spike bayonet was built like a sai, apparently to be used to punch through body armor and to defend against blunt and edged weapons with, he wasn't terrific with it, but he took some classes, and was certain to catch a hoodlum or two off-gaurd with it, if given the chance. The hatchet was his other utility tool, capable of splitting light firewood. The shovel was for cleaning up after the mess.

The trail really didn't exist except in the man's mind, only hinted at by the pressence of marked trees that he'd loosely follow from compass bearings, it was easy to get lost this way, but after many years of doing this, he perfected a way of compensating for magnetic deviations from day to day by sighting from one known location to another, in a known direction, and then comparing that to the headings for the trail.

Before setting out, he hopped atop his house, and scanned the horizon for anything funny, helicopters, ultralights, UAVs, or other hints of a surprise paramilitary patrol courtessy of HOI. Nobody would say aloud, but they seemed to be rounding up Five-Points Militia sympathisers and... well... as said earlier, nobody talks about it, and he was pretty sure he was going to find out.

Though Fife wasn't really a sympathiser with those hippy 'terrorists' in the FPM, he also didn't care much for HOI, or the overall state of affairs in the world in general.

Ah well, back to the trail, it was rather unevetful, he thought he saw a dodo, the national animal/delicacy that happens to be extinct in the rest of the world for no apparent reason, but couldn't get off a clean shot. After aggressively hunting these creatures they've learned some tricks of their own. Others say these 'dodo-dogs' are actually what they've been hunting, a deer sized flightless bird with keen eyesight and a great sense of hearing and smell, plus they can run the the devil himself...

He considered chasing after it, but thought better not to, as hunting one solo required a death-wish. Maybe they weren't true dodoes, but whatever they were, they travel in packs large enough to peck, tear and bite a man apart before he could spit three times. At least they can't climb or fly...

The more he thought of it, the less he'd actually known about these animals, as most of it was from idle gossip around a magnum of moonshine while toking a roach...

Still, he had better, more profitable, things to be doing...

He checked the stills, set them on low, he didn't much care to tend to these too much and didn't want them exploding while he was off in town, thus drawing unwanted attention and authorities. Particilarily those from the private sector that were paid on a commission basis of how many people they had arrested and convicted.

As he left, he heard a restling behind him, he spun around and blindfired a 12 gauge volley of death, hoping to drop a dodo...

He forgot to look up...
And it dropped him.

Paul looked blearily across at the digital alarm that read 4:58am.

He squeezed his bloodshot eyes shut and blubbered at the thought that he had just 120 seconds left before he had to get up for work.
The silence outside was once again broken by the bass "whoosh" of the immense wind turbine prop passing only a meter from his aparment window, the entire building shuddered as the blade passed. The wind was up again last night, and that bloody thing outside had kept him awake. The second blade scythed past the window, and he winced in expectation as the turbine rotated to the point where the unmaintained ball-bearings inside the giant structure began to grate like giant nails across an immense blackboard.

WHOOSH.WHOOSH-GRAAAATE. WHOOSH. WHOOSH-GRAAATE.

Why can't we use nuclear power like every other sane country? He thought.

The alarm thundered to life, the morning radio show hosts happily chirped in a way that nobody should be happy at this time in the morning. The news started, the headlines once again started with the story of Jakob Wilkes, the environmentalist murderer getting away with yet another killing by pleading an honour killing. The guy had killed at least 14 people in the most violent way possible, but had done only 52 hours community service for it. Meanwhile, barefoot single mothers and foreigners were being deported for having more than 2 children.

Paul fell out of bed and started to put his socks on over his head. He immediately gagged, grabbed some fresh ones out of his sock draw. After a further minute of waking up, he decided that they fitted better over his feet.
Walking into the kitchen, he opened the cupboard and perused what cereal he had left. "Kibbly Corn. Now with 80% less scorpion genes!"
He had some toast, and grabbed his scarf, sure that it would be a bit chilly outside.

Locking the door to his apartment, he ran into old Mrs Guther in the stairwell. She stared in shock at him wearing only his socks and a fur-lined scarf. He smiled as she walked past. He was always amused at the old lady and her aversion to his alternative view on life. Who understood these oldies? There was a time when wearing socks was a social no-no, but not now, these puritan nudist were living in the past.

He jogged to the monorail station and ran his forehead-card through the security station computer. Despite the crowded train, he was at his stop within a couple of hours, and clocked on at the school just in time for a coffee with the other staff before his classes started.
His class of 358 noisy grade-eighters were just as noisy as ever, but he never had much trouble from them, seeing that most of them were kept in line by his 42 youth officers who watched in anticipation for someone to play up. They were recruiting again for the "War against Terror" he had heard. Despite the huge gains of "Requisitioned Neighbouring State Lands" it was still difficult getting by in the overpopulated island nations of Revanati.

Come lunchtime, the principal's secretary arrived with the payslips, handing out the useless papers to the grumbling staff, most of who threw them immediatly in the bin. Of course, Mr Brians the metal shop teacher kept his to use as cigarette paper to smoke his home grown pot.
Paul opened his only out of boredom. 100% tax meant no personal income. Everything was obviously provided by the state, but it would be nice to be able to have cash for once. He considered keeping his paypackets and bartering them with Mr Brian for something he could trade at the markets. It could have been worse he supposed, he could be rich and pay more than 100% tax.

After work he waited in line for his ration of water and food coupons, just avoiding a Jackboot Patrol searching for "Foreign Insurgents" in the district. He made it home in time to watch some of the only decent TV show on at that time of the night before the early evening smutty porn movies started. With a sigh he stumbled off to bed, hoping that the wind would drop to nothing tonight...