Defese
09-03-2009, 18:12
While tensions in the young republic of Defese have eased substantially in the last several months, following the elections, the first in the nations history, and the appointment of Gore Tenrik to the office of President, the nation had soon began to forget the horrors of the National Reformation which had lead them to where they are today. People returned to their homes, leaving behind the squalor of the refugee camps forever, they hoped. Work started to return to Defese and the people could soon begin the hard task of rebuilding their lives, educating their children and becoming a real nation again.
Reagan DeBruyn, a former factory worker from Baku's suburbs, returned to his home to find it pocked with gunfire and its roof collapsed by an artillery shell. Like many who hoped to have a home to come back to, Reagan had only the shocking images of his former life, destroyed, to greet him when he came home. And like many unfortunates who had come before him, he had to contend with the many natural and unnatural obstacles to his new life.
'Hey there Mr. DeBruyn.' said a genial old man that Reagan had spoken to earlier that day. 'Remember how I told you that this was the best way into Baku? I was wrong.' said the old man, gesturing to a sign that read "Minefield, do not enter." Menacingly. Reagan grimaced upon glancing at the black skull that was so ominously sprayed onto a white sheet of particle board. 'Well I can't go through highway one, I heard there was a pack of dogs attacking anyone that tried to go that way.' Lamented DeBruyn, kicking an empty beer bottle that just happened to be near by. 'Well, Mr. DeBruyn, I'd say we either contend with mines or run the gauntlet of ravenous canines, because I'll tell you right now. I'm done with letting fate run my life.' Said the old man, pulling a branch off a low lying tree. Without another word, the old timer walked down the road, apparently choosing the risk the dogs over the landmines. DeBruyn watched the old man with some fascination for a moment, before his better judgement kicked in. 'Hey Gramps, I can't let you go alone, wait for me!' Called Reagan, grabbing a large rock off of the ground before chasing after the determined geezer.
Reagan DeBruyn, a former factory worker from Baku's suburbs, returned to his home to find it pocked with gunfire and its roof collapsed by an artillery shell. Like many who hoped to have a home to come back to, Reagan had only the shocking images of his former life, destroyed, to greet him when he came home. And like many unfortunates who had come before him, he had to contend with the many natural and unnatural obstacles to his new life.
'Hey there Mr. DeBruyn.' said a genial old man that Reagan had spoken to earlier that day. 'Remember how I told you that this was the best way into Baku? I was wrong.' said the old man, gesturing to a sign that read "Minefield, do not enter." Menacingly. Reagan grimaced upon glancing at the black skull that was so ominously sprayed onto a white sheet of particle board. 'Well I can't go through highway one, I heard there was a pack of dogs attacking anyone that tried to go that way.' Lamented DeBruyn, kicking an empty beer bottle that just happened to be near by. 'Well, Mr. DeBruyn, I'd say we either contend with mines or run the gauntlet of ravenous canines, because I'll tell you right now. I'm done with letting fate run my life.' Said the old man, pulling a branch off a low lying tree. Without another word, the old timer walked down the road, apparently choosing the risk the dogs over the landmines. DeBruyn watched the old man with some fascination for a moment, before his better judgement kicked in. 'Hey Gramps, I can't let you go alone, wait for me!' Called Reagan, grabbing a large rock off of the ground before chasing after the determined geezer.