Cynapsia
14-10-2007, 16:06
Silence.
The smooth, calm flow of the ocean, glistening a tropical blue in the light of the sun, broken occasionally by the breaking surf of aquatic life as they sought air from the warm, fresh air in the midday tropical climate. In the distance, the semi-tropical island once known in its native tongue as Modashu, but in modernity proudly labelled Cynapsia. Barely a shape of the horizon, the technologies and influences of man seemed non-existent in this peaceful scene of natural, blissful harmony.
“Doghouse, this is Wolfhound One, we are at fail-safe, awaiting permission to drop.”
High above, tracing a slender finger across the light blue canvas beneath the diluting rays of the sun, a single white line stroked from an invisible pen, carefully and accurately separating the sky into two sections along its path. A distant, faint roar, echoing with the distant tides of Cynapsian beaches with a steady, comfortable note, just upon the edges of hearing’s palate.
“Wolfhound One, this is Doghouse, standby.”
The lapping of small waves against the edges of dull black metal, gently swaying the Romeo Class Submarine at anchor in an endless carpet of turquoise, metal plates creaking and moaning quietly as rust makes its eternally slow way across the darkened hull. A seagull upon the conning tower, wrestling with a captured fish within its beak, excretes down the side of steel and smearing a faded, five-pointed crimson star with unknowing and ironic sentiments for the achievements of humankind. Frustrated by his catch, the bird flaps its wings and takes flight, crying like a small child into the air at a lack of success.
“Wolfhound One, this is Doghouse, you are cleared for drop, go to weapons free. I repeat, cleared to go weapons free.”
Nature. Harmony. Peace.
“Doghouse, Wolfhound One, copy message weapons free. Little Bitch is armed, I repeat, Little Bitch is armed.”
Rusting. Quiet Dilapidation. Natural consuming artificial.
“…one, weapon away.”
The slender finger of white takes a sudden detour, arcing away from the sun as if falling from the stars like Lucifer thrown from heaven. A whale breaches surface unexpectedly, blowing vast clouds of spray into the sky, sucking its last breath from the crisp, midday heat before taking back to the watery depths, tail held high in an unintended gesture of defiance. A faint whistling sound. A growing shape trailing a large, white halo of canvas behind it.
Blinding Light. Time slows. A demon sucks in its only living breath.
An explosive roar of sound, louder than the hounds of hell, as fierce as the hand of God, a solid wall of destructive power makes its way outwards, tearing, destroying, melting, rending. Metal plates twisting, rending, dissolving against unholy heat and fire, water boiling in a biblical plague of terror and pain. From the shores of Cynapsia, a graceful, beautiful cloud billowing into the sky, turning majestically, constantly into itself as it asserts its strength of the sea, a show of force and determination. Artificial consuming natural.
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http://i197.photobucket.com/albums/aa229/we_are_kommissar/USSC.png
Official Diplomatic Message
At precisely 1202 hours today, in accordance with funding for military defence and furthering the National Security Strategy of this administration, the United Socialist States of Cynapsia detonated its first atomic weapon approximately one hundred miles south of the Cynapsian mainland over international waters, successfully destroying a target vessel. The weapon, codenamed “Little Bitch”, was a gun-type implosion device built domestically with sourced uranium from the allied nation of Noveta. The explosion registered a 300 kiloton detonation. The area of sea was cleared before the test to ensure the safety of any vessels within the blast radius.
Kommissariat of Foreign Affairs
The smooth, calm flow of the ocean, glistening a tropical blue in the light of the sun, broken occasionally by the breaking surf of aquatic life as they sought air from the warm, fresh air in the midday tropical climate. In the distance, the semi-tropical island once known in its native tongue as Modashu, but in modernity proudly labelled Cynapsia. Barely a shape of the horizon, the technologies and influences of man seemed non-existent in this peaceful scene of natural, blissful harmony.
“Doghouse, this is Wolfhound One, we are at fail-safe, awaiting permission to drop.”
High above, tracing a slender finger across the light blue canvas beneath the diluting rays of the sun, a single white line stroked from an invisible pen, carefully and accurately separating the sky into two sections along its path. A distant, faint roar, echoing with the distant tides of Cynapsian beaches with a steady, comfortable note, just upon the edges of hearing’s palate.
“Wolfhound One, this is Doghouse, standby.”
The lapping of small waves against the edges of dull black metal, gently swaying the Romeo Class Submarine at anchor in an endless carpet of turquoise, metal plates creaking and moaning quietly as rust makes its eternally slow way across the darkened hull. A seagull upon the conning tower, wrestling with a captured fish within its beak, excretes down the side of steel and smearing a faded, five-pointed crimson star with unknowing and ironic sentiments for the achievements of humankind. Frustrated by his catch, the bird flaps its wings and takes flight, crying like a small child into the air at a lack of success.
“Wolfhound One, this is Doghouse, you are cleared for drop, go to weapons free. I repeat, cleared to go weapons free.”
Nature. Harmony. Peace.
“Doghouse, Wolfhound One, copy message weapons free. Little Bitch is armed, I repeat, Little Bitch is armed.”
Rusting. Quiet Dilapidation. Natural consuming artificial.
“…one, weapon away.”
The slender finger of white takes a sudden detour, arcing away from the sun as if falling from the stars like Lucifer thrown from heaven. A whale breaches surface unexpectedly, blowing vast clouds of spray into the sky, sucking its last breath from the crisp, midday heat before taking back to the watery depths, tail held high in an unintended gesture of defiance. A faint whistling sound. A growing shape trailing a large, white halo of canvas behind it.
Blinding Light. Time slows. A demon sucks in its only living breath.
An explosive roar of sound, louder than the hounds of hell, as fierce as the hand of God, a solid wall of destructive power makes its way outwards, tearing, destroying, melting, rending. Metal plates twisting, rending, dissolving against unholy heat and fire, water boiling in a biblical plague of terror and pain. From the shores of Cynapsia, a graceful, beautiful cloud billowing into the sky, turning majestically, constantly into itself as it asserts its strength of the sea, a show of force and determination. Artificial consuming natural.
---
http://i197.photobucket.com/albums/aa229/we_are_kommissar/USSC.png
Official Diplomatic Message
At precisely 1202 hours today, in accordance with funding for military defence and furthering the National Security Strategy of this administration, the United Socialist States of Cynapsia detonated its first atomic weapon approximately one hundred miles south of the Cynapsian mainland over international waters, successfully destroying a target vessel. The weapon, codenamed “Little Bitch”, was a gun-type implosion device built domestically with sourced uranium from the allied nation of Noveta. The explosion registered a 300 kiloton detonation. The area of sea was cleared before the test to ensure the safety of any vessels within the blast radius.
Kommissariat of Foreign Affairs