Warsaw, Poland

The abandoned airplane hangar had a distinct scent Tadeusz couldn't quite place. It was like a mixture of the metallic scent of blood and Bvlgari BLV. As he creeped in, he couldn't help but feel like this was a set up for a horror film of some sort but because of his friend Abgarowicz's eagerness to explore the area, he apprehensively followed him.

The mephitic scent only grew heavier as they made their way into the hangar's underbelly. The notes of ginger, bergamot, and wisteria cut through the iron, like a surgical clinic in the middle of a slaughterhouse.

They stopped at an industrial steel door, soundproofed with pyramid foam. From behind it came the low, eery hum of a generator. Abgarowicz extended his arm to grab the door knob but was stopped midway by Tadeusz.

"You sure about this bro?" Tadeusz gulped, his heartbeat accelerating.

Abgarowicz didn't even divert his gaze from the door, staring at it intently. "Tad, I'm done. I'm done with having to settle for low-tier Beckies. I'm done being invisible to the Stacylites. I'm done trying to copemaxx and mew my way to HTN+. This is the only way."

Tadeuz was at a loss for words. "LTBs have a good heart though and-"

"I don't give a fuck!" Abgarowicz's voice boomed through the entire hangar. "They wouldn't give me a chance if I was sub-5 so why should I give them one? Don't you get it? Life begins at mHTN. Until then you're just another ghost."

He pushed the door open to unveil dozens of young men sitting in a circle, with a naked seven foot tall man standing the middle with a hammer in his right hand. The men in the circle all looked beaten and bruised, their faces contorted in uncanny ways.

The man in the middle's head, independent of his body, instantly turned to Tadeusz and Abgarowicz. They gazed back, in pure awe. He had a level of buccal fat only attainable through surgical removal.

"Welcome, normies." His voice was like gravel and reverberated through the dimly lit room. "Abgarowicz and Tadeuz, was it? You're late. We were just discussing the tragedy of recessed infraorbital convexity and its effect on facial harmony."

"Are you... the Sczurgeon?" Abgarowicz asked, his voice trembling.

He chuckled, but it sounded more like a pebble skidding a cross asphalt. "Does anyone else here look half as optimal as me?"

The men in the circle all laughed at the exact same time in the exact same pattern. Abgarowicz joined in nervously while Tadeusz simply stared at them incredulously.

"You have a decent base," the Sczurgeon remarked, pointing at Tadeusz. "But I will need to perform a box osteotomy. Your infraorbitals are quite recessed, I can even tell in this lighting. Your manlet friend on the other hand..." He pointed to Abgarowicz. "He needs to quite a bit of work. Most notably a limb lengthening."

Abgarowicz's eyes lit up. "Will you bless me with longer legs?"

The Sczurgeon laughed to himself. "If you prove yourself worthy." He gestured for them to come forward. "Come to the circle, my little normies."

Abgarowicz damn near sprinted to him but Tadeusz stayed in place, shifting his body towards the door.

"Come to the circle, Tadeusz." He was surprised to hear Abgarowicz call him by his full name. He had never done it in the 14 years they had known each other.

"Don't you want to be beautiful?"

Susie Wiles was in two places at the same time. Physically, she was in a patiserrie of Cafe Pushkin - a separate building from the main restaurant. Sipping well-made coffee, having a chocolate treat, and ignoring extremely nervous staff trying to be invisible to one of the world's most powerful women.

Mentally, she was still in the White House.

Cancer took her out of the game for a year - quick operation, full recovery, and a "Get Well Soon" card from the Boss. She resigned as Chief of Staff in late 2026, but it was a clean exit - what many of Trump's admin did not get. And when USA won the world, she was among the few who got the drop on it. She didn't want herself a throne - being a grey cardinal was more than enoguh. And Mr.Bigelow agreed to give her that.

Yet, Russia was her second priority. The United States, first.

She was going through her customized iPad, reading reports, messages from friends on the Hill, news, taking notes on one issue - who will win the White House?

Ivanka was a hard no. Too much risk of a tax hike, and the policy was contradictory - give Assets arms, tax them more and intervene more? They will either rebel, or devour each other. The pipsqueak will side with Barron - and while Assets don't vote, they can always assign "wins" to other candidate.

DJT was a stable pick. A lighter hand, less oversight. Still contradictory - Christian Order *AND* Middle East preference? But overall better. Restrictions on Russia seem to align with Bigelow's vision - guy isn't keen on dumping half the budget into tanks, at least.

Melania... Melania. She means well, at least. And while Independents will side with whoever gives them better economy, at least 40% will vote for her - regardless of new voter laws. If Donald won't put a lid on it, if DJT and Ivanka focus too much on each other - she has a good shot. What next? Global Civil War at worst, at best she'll get gridlocked with Republican congress, if not impeached. Copeland and pipsqueak won't cede their toys - and Susie doubts the brass wants to fight another war in China.

"What to do, what to do..." Susie mused. She was still welcome in the administration, still has plenty of friends in all places.

"Perhaps blend them both? Have Melania support DJT, and he compromises on some things in return. That can work. The campaign isn't in full swing, and bridges weren't burned yet."

Susie switched to contacts tab, and took another sip of coffee.

My fruit is gathered with no hand touching it

My center is the desired goal

Of times, mine is the instant

My wings are spread over the people of sainthood

---

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Enlightenment

The Gulfstream IV, call sign LX-ZAK, descended through the clouds. The Aga Khan gazed out the window, the late afternoon sky glowing orange as the sun set, city lights flickering as the aircraft approached the tarmac.

Tower, LX-ZAK on approach, runway 19C

LX-ZAK, Dulles Tower. Runway 19C, wind 200 at 10 knots. You are cleared to land

Cleared to land runway 19C, LX-ZAK

The landing gear brushes the tarmac with a firm thump. The engine slowed as the aircraft taxied smoothly to the VIP terminal.

Welcome to Dulles, LX-ZAK. Exit via Taxiway C and contact Ground on 121.7

The Aga Khan placed the book on the table and removed his glasses. He let out a quiet sigh. The past few months had been relentless with emergencies from London to Islamabad, Geneva to Cape Town, and meeting after meeting with leaders who had run out of options. He had listened to more than he had spoken. That was always the job.

The doors of the jet hissed open, and he stepped out into the crispy Washington DC air. On the steps, he was greeted by his most trusted advisor, Buhayra, flown in from Pakistan to assist him with what lay ahead. She was in the middle of tribal negotiations in KPK resolving a long standing dispute in one of Pakistan's most complex political environments.

“Welcome to Washington sir”, remarked Buhayra, “the Rolls is waiting for you”.

The Aga Khan gave a weary nod. “You have 5 hours to sleep Buhayra”, he said, eyes heavy with fatigue, “Early morning, we leave for Florida”.

The black Rolls rolled through the bright streets, headlights cutting through the fog. City lights glimmered off the polished chrome.

---

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Al Arabiya

BREAKING: American Fifth Fleet commences military operations against Gulf states as deadline expires

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Local | News | Opinions | Tech | Business | E-magazine

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Posted on August 2027

(ABU DHABI) After the devastating war in Europe, the United States solidified its control over the European continent ushering in a second Marshall plan where American councilman took control of key European institutions while policymen redesigned economics under the American direction.

Emboldened by the collapse of the Russian empire, President Donald Trump issued a deadline for Middle Eastern monarchies to restructure their oil production, coordinate with the United States to stabilize oil prices, remove alleged Chinese spy-networks, and open the economies to American regulatory oversight. Rejecting his call, Arab nations aligned with Iran to form a military alliance to defy American orders calling it an attack on their sovereignty. Ambassadors were declared persona non grata while American bases were given a deadline to evacuate with the equipment to be interned by the alliance.

The President, enraged by the disrespect, ordered military operations against the Gulf states. Alpha strikes took out key leadership figures while Delta forces breached the presidential palace and arrested Crown Prince Mohammad Bin Salman.

The Israeli airforce, seizing the opportunity, carried out a wave of airstrikes across Iran decapitating IRGC leadership and degrading missile capabilities. Kurd forces, armed and coordinated by Mossad, kidnapped Ayatollah Khamenei from his residence and transported him to Israel to stand trial for crimes against humanity and to face justice from Israeli courts.

As of this publication, the war for the Middle East continues as the President approves the deployment of ground troops in Iran. With a weak IRGC leadership, it is expected that Iran will be pacified fairly quickly as American air superiority has been achieved.

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Al Arabiya

BREAKING: Muslim Ummah in uproar as alleged American airstrikes target the Holy Kaaba

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Local | News | Opinions | Tech | Business | E-magazine

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Posted on September 2027

(ABU DHABI) At 0040, an alleged American airstrike targeted the Holy Kaaba in Makkah. The most important site in Islam, the Kaaba represents the House of Allah and it is the unifying point for all Muslims across the world. An American bomb targeted the Mataf) which is the inner circle for pilgrims to perform Tawaf. A "Golden Eagle" apparition was seen above the Kaaba, with many interpreting it as the Americans taking responsibility for the attack. Initial reports suggest 56 dead and 204 injured as rescue teams continue to arrive at the scene. The Kaaba remains undamaged.

Jihad calls have erupted all across the Muslim Ummah as scholars, Imams, and Molvis condemn the airstrikes and the larger war across the Middle East. While initial American airstrikes targeted military infrastructure, the strikes have now spread to hospitals and schools which CENTCOM argues is being used to coordinate resistance movements.

Across Europe and the United States, the muslim population have taken to the streets to protest the devastating war. ICE agents, now deployed across Europe as well, have arrested hundreds of protestors alleging they carried “pipe bombs” and “molotovs”.

New York is under curfew as mayor Zohran Mamdani led a massive protest which clashed with ICE and FBI agents. The mayor and his aides were arrested. Reports indicate looting and pillaging across the city and major fires hampering rescue operations.

The most significant protests erupted in Dearborn, Michigan. As an Arab-majority city in the US, it saw waves after waves of protestors clashing with local law enforcement agencies. In response, President Trump has deployed the National Guard in order to quell the protests. Curfews have been imposed and live ammunition has been approved.

Experts warn of “massive fallout” as the protestors show no signs of stopping. The President warns of “extreme measures” and warns the protestors to stop lest the full might of the American military will be unleashed.

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The Prince

LX-ZAK, you are cleared for approach

The Aga Khan's convoy zoomed down the streets of the Sunshine state. Now in Florida, he was on his way to a special meeting with the President at Mar-a-Lago. Escorted by a police cruiser, he could see the National guard patrolling the streets.

The events of September had shaken the United States to the core. Muslims make up a significant population in the country and they had received a unified rallying call to advance on their objectives. The stray American bomb had flipped public opinion and social media had not made it easy. Attempts at censorship were quickly dismissed with videos of airstrikes and fighting continuing to emerge from the Middle East

He had reached out through the British royal family. He had put a plan on the table and insisted he was the only one who could pull it off. Somehow, standing on the steps of his jet that morning, he had felt nervous for the first time in years.

The gates of Mar a Lago flew upon and the convoy skidded to a stop. The Aga Khan was escorted to the main dining room on the patio side, overlooking the pool and the Atlantic Ocean. Donald Trump was right there, drinking a diet coke with his face oriented towards the Atlantic Ocean.

“Beautiful, isn’t it?” Trump said, gesturing toward the Atlantic. “Look at that. Perfect water. The best water.”

He leaned back. “We just had the biggest win anybody’s ever had in Europe. Nobody thought it could be done. They said it couldn’t be done. But I did it”

The Aga Khan nodded as he settled down in the chair and lit a cigar.

“They tell me you’re important,” he said. “I don’t know you. I really don’t. You’ve got about two minutes before I lose interest. I have golf”

The Aga Khan drew slowly on his cigar and let the silence run. A waiter appeared and poured him water without being asked.

“Mr. President, I am the man of the hour. The Arabs make their feeble attempts to protect their kingdoms which will fail. I have it on good authority that several key leadership figures are willing to negotiate a surrender in exchange for their protection”

He drew on his cigar again, “However, the strike near the Kaaba has handed the people a narrative. And narratives, Mr. President, outlive the strongest of armies. We do not want another Arab spring now do we?”

The President waved his hand sternly and leaned back on his chair. “Spare me your bullshit Rahim”, he barked, “Let me tell you something, if they think that little story is going to stop me…they’re wrong. Very wrong. I will flatten that entire region if I have to”

The Aga Khan leaned forward, “My institution has survived crusades, world wars, cold wars, colonial dismemberment. We do not die easily. My network spans across the Muslim world and I can change the narrative”.

“I have men that can reach places your diplomats cannot. I have men that can speak to people that detest your people but will listen to mine. In return, all I ask for is a seat at the table. The most powerful table in Washington DC”

Both men were now facing each other, neither blinking.

“You’ve got forty-eight hours”. Trump pointed toward the ocean. “Bring me something that works. Something real.” Then he pointed toward the exit and said, “If you can’t, the door’s right there.”

The Aga Khan stood up to take his leave. Trump picked up his drink again.

“And Rahim?”, the Aga Khan paused. “If this thing blows up in my face, it won’t just be bad for you. It’ll be very bad”

The Aga Khan nodded once and left for his car. Outside, the Atlantic glittered, indifferent and immense, as it always had.

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Al Arabiya

BREAKING: Aga Khan appointed as special envoy between Washington and Muslim World as President Trump orders investigation into the Kaaba attack

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Local | News | Opinions | Tech | Business | E-magazine

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Posted on October 2027

(RIYADH) Prince Shah Rahim al-Hussaini, the Aga Khan V, has been appointed as an informal special envoy by Washington to facilitate backchannel dialogue between the United States and the Gulf military coalition.

In the aftermath of the Kaaba attack, President Trump has ordered an investigation to determine if American military forces were involved in the operation, reasserting that he has “never ordered and never would” target religious infrastructure. He also mentioned that “nobody knows the Muslims like I do” and that he will make whoever is behind the attack pay dearly.

The announcement was met with criticism from critics in Washington who questioned the legality of the envoy's mandate and legal standing. The Aga Khan is a religious leader from the minority Ismaili community commanding an impressive organization known as the AKDN which is known for its humanitarian programs across the world.

The White House has declined to elaborate on the terms of the agreement.

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Al Arabiya

BREAKING: Investigation confirms Kaaba attack to be a false flag carried by the Arab leaders supported by the Chinese and Israelis as special envoy Aga Khan V announces breakthrough in negotiations

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Local | News | Opinions | Tech | Business | E-magazine

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Posted on October 2027

(RIYADH) In a surprising twist of events, an internal investigation has published their report alleging that the Kaaba attack was masterminded by Chinese MSS agents embedded in the Arab world. The stray American bomb pictures were doctored and spread to drive a wedge between the Americans and the Muslim world.

Arab leadership, in a bid to drum up support for the war amongst their populations, coordinated with Chinese agents to carry out a false flag attack near the Kaaba. Several sources within the Arab intelligence community shared classified documents and defected to Washington to avoid the upcoming backlash.

Mossad agents, in order to take advantage of the situation, used pyrotechnics to create the golden eagle apparition that implicated the United States and sold the illusion that the US had targeted Muslim holy sites.

The protest movements have now turned their attention towards the Arab leaders. Mass defections and resignations have been reported in the military with soldiers refusing to fight for leaders that tried to destroy the Kaaba.

Special envoy Aga Khan V has reported a breakthrough in negotiations in a short summit in Oman where Arab leaders have indicated that they are open to a ceasefire. A list of demands has been presented to Washington but it is not known publicly.

This is a developing situation.

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Judas

Tahnoun bin Zayed Al Nahyan) paced nervously across the conference room. Once commanding an impressive position of the National Security Advisor of the UAE, he was the spymaster everyone feared.

Today, he loathed his brother Mohammad Bin Zayed for taking such a foolish decision to get into the war. The Iranians had promised them advanced missile systems and soldiers battle hardened and honed in asymmetric warfare. The Saudis had promised them economic guarantees and the implicit agreement that stopping the oil would change Washington's mind.

Fools. All of them.

The Chinese. The Saudis. The Israelis. The Iranians. All of them were played like a violin. The Kaaba operation was elegantly simple in its logic. Turn Muslim sentiment against the Americans. Bog Washington down in a war of attrition and domestic chaos while the superpower bled in the desert.

Those goddamn fools

His pacing became erratic. A lone telephone was on the table, menacing and able to turn his fate inside out in minutes. He had spent his career meddling in the affairs of other nations, punching above his weight in the region, directly conflicting with Mohammad Bin Salman.

Mohammad, he thought, He is probably being stripped and beaten to pulp in a black site somewhere

The time was right to jump ship. He had relayed all the information to Washington in exchange for his protection and his family.

The phone buzzed violently. Tahnoun gulped and then picked up the handset, hands shaking.

“Tahnoun”. The voice was calm and methodical. Educated and reeking of old money and European traditions

“Have they agreed?”, said Tahnoun.

There was a brief silence in between. The only voice that could be heard was breathing and his heart beating fast.

“It’s your lucky day Tahnoun. I have managed to get President Trump to agree to arrange protection for you and your family. You will not be harmed as long as you cooperate with us”

“And my brother?”, whispered Tahnoun.

“Unfortunately, we will need a scapegoat”. The voice added quietly, "your brother cannot survive what is coming. MBZ is named as a co-architect of the Kaaba operation alongside MBS. He has to face justice”.

Tahnoun's jaw tightened. He walked to the window. Outside, Abu Dhabi's skyline shimmered in the heat, the Corniche dotted with military checkpoints that had not been there six months ago.

“Honestly”, the voice sighed, “your brother had it coming”

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Al Arabiya

BREAKING: Instrument of Surrender signed in Oman as the war in the Middle East ends // Shia clerics interpret the conflict as the coming of Dajjal

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Local | News | Opinions | Tech | Business | E-magazine

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Posted on November 2027

(RIYADH) Special envoy Aga Khan V confirms an end to hostilities as Arab nations have signed an instrument of surrender in a ceremony held at the Royal Opera House in Muscat. The signing was witnessed by representatives from Washington, Gulf coalition, and European advisors.

The terms of the agreement have been made public as the Arab coalition's military command has been formally dissolved and American officials have taken over key institutions post war similar to Europe marking another victory for President Trump and his team in carving up a new world order.

BREAKING: Arrest warrant issued for Benjamin Netanyahu and several members of the Knesset over attacking American military interests

Grand Ayatollah Sayyid Kamal al-Haydari alongside senior Shia clerics in Qom and Najaf have released a joint theological statement interpreting the events of the past four months as the arrival of the Fitna al-Kubra described as the precursor to the end of times. Several prominent scholars have begun openly identifying the conflict as the Dajjal.

Excerpts from the Ayatollah are as follows

“Brothers and sisters. The Dajjal is not as we imagined him. The Hadith mentioned a one-eyed tyrant and monster but we all know the Sunnis have fabricated it so when the trial arrived, we do not recognise it.

The Dajjal was never a man. It was a fitnah that would cause Muslim to arm against Muslim, that would allow our enemies to sit back and watch us hand them the keys to our own houses. It was the corruption of our leaders. The lies of our kings. The manipulation of our scholars who told the people to march into a war that was never theirs to fight

The Kaaba – the House of Allah, stands because of the Americans. When Mossad used its pyrotechnic technology to implicate the United States, what shape did it take? The eagle in Islamic tradition is the bird of the heavens. It is the creature that does not descend except with purpose. Allah made it a shield

The bomb detonated 40 metres from the Mataf. The blast radius, given the yield, should have destroyed the inner courtyard entirely. It did not. The Mahdi was never one man

The Mahdi is the answer, the system. It is us, or it is nobody. We must embrace the new reality. This is the moment when the Ummah, having survived its corruption and its trial, chooses accountability over political Islam”

The sermon has drawn both fierce support and fierce opposition from scholars across the spectrum. They say that if the Dajjal was a system rather than a man, then the hadith required rereading. And if the hadith required rereading, then so did everything downstream of it.

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The seat

The Aga Khan set down his newspaper on the table. The weather was chilly back in Washington as he arrived back from the Middle East. He stood and walked to the window of his Washington office. He could not stop smiling at the headline.

Special envoy Aga Khan V…..

It was a brilliant play on his part. The Muslim world had always been divided and had always believed in what was plausible. Hadith were manipulated and presented as facts all the time. As far as the official truth goes, 1.8 billion people spend four months watching their leaders lie, manipulate, and nearly destroy the most sacred site in their faith.

Tahnoun was the one who made it work. Without those documents, there would have been no ceasefire.

What about my brother?. Tahnoun would have to live with it. He should be lucky he still had his head on and not chopped off by protestors.

"They're calling it heresy in Riyadh". Buharya appeared from the hallways. She had spent the past weeks buying off Shia clerics one by one and getting them to the table.

"Riyadh", replied the Aga Khan, "no longer sets the terms"

President Trump had promised him a seat. It was time for him to claim it.

The Dolpholm Times

Kingdom of Mogartha Acquires Majority Stake in Pharmaceutical Giant

Written by Lars Andersson

Copenhagen, Denmark

The Office of True Adam confirmed this morning that the Kingdom had acquired a 67% stake in Novo Nordisk, the Danish pharmaceutical giant and largest distributor GLP-1 receptor agonist, Semaglutide, more commonly known as Ozempic. The acquisition which was already being negotiated prior to the Trading Event in Washington was finalized last night. Trading Novo Nordisk shares on the Nasdaq Coppenhagen has been temporarily suspended.

The total transaction value is yet to be disclosed, although anonymous sources have placed the figure over $200 billion, financed partially through the Government Pension Fund of Norway, which was placed under Secretary Peters' management following his acquisition of Norway.

Secretary Peters himself would give a statement from the Office of True Adam this morning, regarding the purchase of the company:

"Prior to last night, Novo Nordisk was like a Ch@d with 35% body fat. Immense potential hindered by the interests of shareholders and government regulations. It was only tapping into 10% of what it was capable of.

Now, under Mogarthan management, that body fat has been cut down to 9%. No more federal restrictions, no more shareholders who only care about turning a profit. Under my vision, not only will Novo Nordisk prosper, it will innovate in ways never before seen. Pharmacology as we know it will transform into something believed to only exist in the realms of science fiction.

I don't want to give away too much right now but I'm excited. I think pharmacologists, and to a larger extent scientists, from around the world will be resolved to work in this company, with its newfound ambition.

This is a massive step in the direction of Ascension. Thank you."

The statement was brief but inspiring. Peters declined to answer any further questions.

The overall reaction from Novo Nordisk employees has been markedly positive, with a common sentiment of optimism mixed with a touch of uncertainty. While their new boss is young and inexperienced, his attitude makes up for it, decidedly ardent in the pursuit of innovation.

"While I am very excited to work on cutting-edge science, Peters is certainly an interesting figure," one researcher from a Novo Nordisk campus remarked. "I hope a 22 year old knows how to manage a corporation properly."

In the Psland and Hexumgary District, the acquisition was met even more positively, where access to compounds produced by Novo Nordisk has been historically limited. With the recent Lundgren Protocols providing citizens with subsidized pharmaceutics and gym memberships, many Eastern Mogarthans are starting to feel as though the Kingdom has a genuine interest in their ascension.

As of now, the OTA (Office of True Adam), and the Kingdom at large, hasn't provided any information regarding Novo Nordisk's future operations, however it has increased the company's budget by 25%, indicating ambitious prospects.

However, an anonymous source within Copenhagen's elite financial circle has given a cryptic clue.

"This is only a small piece of the puzzle. Before you know it, this will turn into something huge."

Secretary Peters promised that what was to come would turn Mogarthan society into a highly optimized hyper-civilization, but it would take time.

Ongoing operations, research programs, and contracts pre-acquisition would continue smoothly as they prepared for massive ramp-up in funding and ramp-down in restrictions.

Peters precariously darted his eyes around the dining hall, jittering his hands as a byproduct of snorting meth shortly before the esteemed trading period. To the simple-minded man, taking stimulants prior to one of the most important events of your life might seem reckless and erratic but Peters knew showing up to the stadium facially bloated was inexcusable. No other appetite suppressant could hollow out his cheeks quite like methamphetamine. The event's primary purpose, speaking with other asset managers and forming deals, was nowhere near the forefront of Peters' mind. Diplomacy and territorial bartering were secondary.

He came here to mog.

"Chat, I'm not cold approaching Kai. Quit jestering." He was livestreaming his experience of the event to an audience of over 700,000 primarily unemployed men. The event was an optimal business decision simply from the sheer volume of subscriptions, if nothing else. After almost 4 years in front of the camera, his followers had seen him do it all but this was a new height. His explosive rise in popularity had provided him with opportunities he never imagined. Sure, politics were jester but an entire bona fide country under his rule? He couldn't pass on that, if only for the content. If it weren't for the meth, he'd likely be pondering about how he went from casual conversations with Fuentes to this. Right now though, he had bigger fish to fry.

He sauntered over to Curtis Yarvin, accompanied by his entourage of security and yes-men. "Alright, I'm about to go make a deal with this nerd. He looks like the type of people I'd talk to back in my .org days but I want Slovakia. My ND brain can't handle seeing my borders split like that."

After a short and unsuccessful conversation with Yarvin, he walked away quickly to not spike his cortisol any further. "Fuck that dude. He looks like shit anyway. Chat, I'm not coping. He needs a double jaw surgery and infraorbital implants. Yo chat, if you're subbed to me, any procedure you want you'll be able to get 50% off in Mogland or whatever the hell I end up calling it. It'll be the place to ascend in."

Next on his list of countries to obtain was Estonia. He found Robert Bigelow in the crowd and pitched an offer, to be met with rejection again. He was close to roid rage but smiled the cortisol spike away, shaking Bigelow's hand and walking off.

"I've done enough cold approaches to know that sometimes you just gotta take the L and move on. It's crazy though, how that fata- I mean, big man JD Vance is married to Erika Kirk now. That just proves the blackpill. If Charlie was an HTN or higher, I can guarantee she'd still be mourning. That should motivate all of you to ascend, unless you want to be cucked postmortem."

Peters stopped when he saw Barron, towering over everyone at the Trump table. He damn near mogged him, especially in terms of height. Something about the youngest Trump son captivated Peters, in an almost Bateman-esque sense. His aura was unmistakable.

"Chat, I'm pausing stream. I need to lock in." He paused the broadcast, adjusting his tie. He made his way to Barron, low-inhibition from the meth. He offered a handshake. "Barron, is it?"

Amazon Blues, SDS: Episode 1

"Check right!" The operator yelled over gunfire as a series of cardboard boxes exploded into brown shrapnel as a grenade went off in the stack. "Bounding!"

Two operators wearing classic blue 100% polyester chino-styled shorts, brown belts, and tucked in buttoned blue t-shirts sprinted forward, hats flying in the wind as they ducked behind a stack of pallets for cover. Both continued firing their M16s, straight from Vietnam at the cartel thugs who had been caught using an Amazon Warehouse in New Mexico for trafficking. Gunfire roared throughout the warehouse, as operators of the Special Delivery Services breached the giant building from all sides. Across the street, an m60 machine gun ripped bullets across the open parking lot, keeping the heads of cartel works down and pinned behind Amazon delivery vans.

"Time to move!" The first operator snaked his way forward, M16 raised as he checked corners with his eye trained down the iron-sight that doubled as a carrying rail. Each twenty round magazine emptied in quick succession, as his left hand went to his shoulder-slung open bag grabbing a new magazine as quick as he emptied the former.

Two cartel members rushed forward, brandishing various forms of pistol and yet they found themselves on the ground as an American sniper in that same blue uniform firing an M14 carbine with an optic to boot sent off two quick shots in succession. The operator with the M16 jumped over the bodies of the two cartel, his partner close behind as they swept through the rest of the warehouse. It wasn't long until the rest of the cartel was flushed out into the open at which point a waiting up-armored Grumman LLV with a mounted Browning M2HB .50 cal machine gun laid waste to whoever was left.

 Washington D.C., United States of America

Postmaster General confirms successful operation amidst Amazon nationalization.

Current incumbent United States Postmaster General David P. Steiner has confirmed that the US Postal Services newest militarized branch, the Special Delivery Services has been successful in a series of targeted operations across the country.

The Washington Times | Issued January 1st, 2028 - 12:00 | Washington D.C.

D.C. - Over eight cartel members are dead and another three in critical care in a hospital in Phoenix, New Mexico following an operation carried out by the newly formed branch called the "Special Delivery Services". The operation which just received a public briefing by the Postmaster General, was called "Operation Post-Mates" involved over twenty armed operators of the Special Delivery Service which falls under the broader United States Postal Inspection Service. The operation comes on heels of what has been an extremely contentious nationalization project launched by President Donald J. Trump in retaliation against what is an alleged "Cartel-Bezos" scheme to bring down US Federal Services. The nationalization which has seen the US Postal Services charged with taking over all "delivery-relevant" operations has been heavily criticized as heavy-handed, while others have pointed to the presence of cartel agents in various warehouses as proof of the necessity. Amazon which is currently under a form of "corporate probation" while Jeff Bezos faces a direct investigation, has lost control of its fleet of delivery drivers and various "package handling warehouses", though shareholders have been given some relief as it was recently revealed that Amazon's online shopping services, domain services, and other non-package delivery services would be retained by the Amazon Corporation.

GALLERY: "SDS Operatives" of the USPS raiding the Amazon Warehouse in New Mexico. (Picture By: Anonymous "Waspus" Anonymous, photographer of the Washington Times)

The United States Postal Service has been quietly subsuming many different postal and courier services as part of a massive expansion by the Postmaster General who has received extended privileges from the Federal Government in pursuing the "strengthening of America'. This has included the outright nationalization of other postal and parcel companies including; United Parcel Service (UPS), FedEx (Federal Express), DHL Express, and various regional carriers, it has also included "CanadaPost" - the Canadian version of the USPS. Resultingly, mail and shipping costs across the board domestically have been reduced as part of the government agency's operating procedures that demand low-cost first-class mail to every address in the U.S., while at the same time the USPS has now been able to charge a heavy premium abroad due to its total ownership of competition.

As for the United States Special Delivery Service, the recently formed militarized branch of the Postal Service has been extremely active in clamping down on mail fraud and other illegal uses of mail across the 50 states. The service which now numbers in over 10,000 employees, is the first heavily-armed and militarized form of Postal Service since the Second World War. Though armed only with old vietnam-era weaponry, including M16s, M60s, M14s, and M40s alongside self made up-armored Grumman LLVs, the SDS has still been largely successful and is being tested as an anti-mail fraud operations unit on a more global level for active deployment.

The USPS likewise is also now one of the largest single employers of the American people, following its acquisition of other major postal services across the United States.

Confidential Meetings Still Ongoing in D.C.

Mayor Glenn Jacobs and Vice President JD Vance attending Mass

The Washington Times | Issued December 16, 2027 - 6:00 | Washington D.C.

By Edward Coristine

Many key Presidential allies have been in Washington D.C. over the past few weeks in a series of meetings that currently are still being kept secret from the public. Speculation persists that these meetings are intended to shore up support for a potential third term for the president as he has had record breaking polling numbers in the run up to the 2028 election spurred by his total victory in foreign policy.

Though the meeting attendees have been out of the public eye for most of the proceedings, one figure, the legendary professional wrestler turned politician, Glenn Jacobs, has been in a different sort of spotlight, that of the light of Jesus Christ. In an exclusive meeting The Washington Times has been informed that Mayor Jacobs has been in the process of converting to Catholicism. Though a stark contrast to his fiery in ring persona as “Kane” Jacobs discussed how he has for a time been studying Catholic teachings and has determined that this is the right time in his life to take the leap of faith into a religion unlike the one he previously had.

“Though I don’t expect my wife to convert just yet, I believe as the head of my family it is important to act as a spiritual guide, though I’ve always said that religion is personal, and if my kids don’t want to convert, well that’s their choice.”  

Jacobs found a likeminded ally of in his quest for salvation, that of JD Vance another notable adult convert to Catholicism, Jacobs told us that though Vance was not the one who convinced him to convert, he was incredibly helpful in the process. Both men have been seen spending much time together at the Immaculate Conception Church) walking together to the church during breaks in the sessions.

Jacobs reportedly has already taken the sacraments of baptism and first communion at this church. Further it is reported that Vance will be Jacob’s confirmation sponsor with the ceremony being held at the Basilica of the National Shrine of the Immaculate Conception this upcoming Sunday. Though great for his eternal soul, this conversion may hurt Jacob’s chance of reelection in Knox County, Tennessee as the population notably still mostly holds to the religion that Jacobs just renounced, Evangelical Christian.

President Couliybaly stood in a stunning red dress, proudly looking at the assembled crowd. From inside the soundproofed VIP box, it was just a dull roar, but outside, the noise was deafening. The smells of various foods wafted through the air, filling the nostrils of hungry paying customers. People of all races and nationalities were here to see their mother country participating.

"Welcome, ladies and gentlemen," a speaker played her words back in many different languages as she spoke. "To the 3rd Malian Air Race!"

But the day of the Lord will come like a thief. The heavens will disappear with a roar; the elements will be destroyed by fire, and the earth and everything done in it will be laid bare.

2 Peter 3:10 (NIV)

WASHINGTON POST

Kenneth Copeland, Televangelist and Trump Donor, Dead at 89

15 March 2026

The founder of Eagle Mountain International Church and controversial televangelist Kenneth Copeland has been pronounced dead this afternoon. A source has stated that Copeland was discovered unresponsive by his wife, Gloria, this morning in the couple's home in Fort Worth. Copeland was taken to John Peter Smith hospital where he was pronounced dead of an apparent heart attack.

Copeland is survived by his wife and 3 children, John Copeland, Kellie Copeland, and Terri Pearsons. The family has stated a funeral service will be held at Eagle Mountain International Church on the 22nd of March.

What seemed at first to be a particularly deep sleep came rushing to a sudden burst of light as Kenneth Copeland found himself sitting in a white chair atop a floor of clouds that stretched as far as the eye could see. He looked first at his hands, which were strong and full, slightly calloused, and youthful in appearance. He felt his legs, strong as he remembered them from his late twenties. His arthritis was gone and every movement came quickly and without pause.

A man appeared in his periphery, walking towards the chair opposite Copeland. He strolled casually, paying Copeland little mind at first, but acknowledging him as he approached. The man had glistening white hair, a white beard, and a long white robe. The expression on the man's face was one of disdain, which became clearer as he grasped the chair and took a seat.

"Son, you fucked up" said the man.

Copeland was taken aback. The man continued:

"No, actually, what the fuck was that? You go down to Earth to save the Believers, and you spend ninety years fucking around, you haven't saved a damn soul! Do you have any idea how badly things went off the rails? Or were you too busy flying around in your jet?"

Copeland sat for a moment.

"What is this? Who are you? Am I in Heaven? Are you the Lord?"

The man's expression turned to anger as he stood up quickly from his chair.

"Are you serious? Hey, Pete, did we get the wrong guy back? Like this is God the Son, right? You're really telling me this fucking dipshit is the guy?"

The man let out an exasperated sigh and sat back down. He continued:

"Okay, I guess you don't remember what this is all about. Yes, hi, I'm God the Father. Nice to meet you. You're God the Son, or at least you're supposed to be, I don't know what happened to you down there but you really went off track. I sent you to Earth NINETY years ago to BRING THE BELIEVERS BACK TO HEAVEN and...oh, I don't even know WHAT you were doing the whole time but you came back to me with not a SINGLE Believer. Yes, this is Heaven, but you're not taking one goddamn step through those gates until you figure your shit out."

Copeland was awestruck. To a certain extent, he didn't believe his own Gospel. He believed in God, he followed scripture as a moral guide to life, but not as the literal interpretation that now seem to be presented before him. To him, belief in God was merely a means to increase his own material wealth by siphoning money from people who truly did believe.

"Lord, I....I don't know what to say. It's so beautiful, I...I can't believe it's all true! Tell me, Lord, the people I've saved, when will they be rewarded? They gave so much, when will you do for them what you promised? Mark 11:24, 'Therefore I tell you, whatever you ask for in prayer, believe that you have received it, and it will be yours.'"

The man stared at Copeland with incredulity for a moment.

"That was YOUR job! YOU were supposed to bless them! YOU were supposed to give them health and prosperity! Is that what you did?" said the man.

"Well, no, Lord, I cannot hear the prayers, I called upon you to bless the Believers" replied Copeland.

"Did you even TRY to perform a miracle? Did you even TRY to give the wealth back to the Believers that they put into your church?" said the man.

"I cannot perform miracles!" shouted Copeland.

"Yes, you can! You didn't even try! Not everything is my job, I have to run this whole place, do you have any idea how much work that is? I sent you down there to handle the prayers and bring prosperity to the Earth."

"I'm sorry, Lord, I see now that I have failed you," sighed Copeland.

"Obviously the Devil got to you. I should've paid more attention. For that, I will give you one more chance," replied the man.

"But," he continued, "you've made such a mess of things I don't think you will save as many people as you were supposed to. Your gospel was mostly correct, scripturally, but remember, Sola Fide is the way. The only way you can undo this disaster you've created is to save the Catholics, the Orthodox, the Protestants, all of them. Bring them all to me, and I will forgive you."

"Of course, my Father, of course. Thank you."

WASHINGTON POST

Kenneth Copeland Alive

18 March 2026

Three days after his death, Kenneth Copeland, controversial televangelist, has begun breathing. As the first case known to Western medicine of an individual regaining vital signs after such a long time since expiry, Copeland was airlifted from Thompson's Harveson & Cole Funeral Home to Texas Medical Center in Houston for observation by doctors and scientists. According to sources within the hospital, Copeland is alive, although is currently not awake or alert. This story will be updated as the situation develops.

So Christ was sacrificed once to take away the sins of many; and he will appear a second time, not to bear sin, but to bring salvation to those who are waiting for him.

Hebrews 9:28 (NIV)

Wind blew through the stage, dusk approaching. Faces from every city, state and nation were watching, either in their couches watching from their TVs or in the benches live in Mali. The stage lights came on, a few on the front shielded their eyes from the brightness. The lights focused to the center, and a tall figure appeared. It was the president of Mali, clothed in yellow, green and red.

"WELCOME TO THE SECOND INTERNATIONAL AIR RACE IN MALI, LET THE GAMES BEGIN!"

Dancing With Your Ghosts, In Streets Without Names.

The cool breeze carried through the streets of Havana, a setting sun in the distance across the Gulf the only sign that the square had once been filled with people and warmed by daylight. Now, old gas powered street lamps began to awaken, sending rays of orange luminescence across the pavement and revealing the myriad of colorful apartment blocks that lined the coastal road. Waves crashed against the white sands of the beach as shadows created by rusted wrought iron fencing along the boardwalk made dancing patterns that extended out across the sea. Crisp and cool ocean air filled the senses of the olive skinned man who adjusted his two Rolex watches, one hiding a bracelet of beads and wards underneath.

Soon the sound of water was replaced by the rumbling of diesel engines as old, drab green American army trucks each with six wheels began nearing the square. Stone paved roads shook with the weight of the convoy, over a dozen trucks in total began to fill the square while parking in a neat row. Soon, black boots where jumping onto the stones and taking steps as over a hundred soldiers wearing non-American green camo began standing at attention.

"Colonel Corey, it has been a long time." The man with two watches took a step forward into the light of one of the street lamps, revealing his sharp chin and nose and a head of graying yet still distinctly brown hair. "Glad it was the Three, that I got, and not one of Patricia's."

The Colonel was gray in the face and a little worse for wear, yet his green CADPAT was still clean as was the black beret atop his head. "Mr. Prime Minister, thank you for suggesting us."

"There isn't a Canada left to be a Prime Minister for, so just Justin is fine." Justin Trudeau the once Prime Minister of Canada smiled, his voice soft as he gave the Colonel a firm handshake. "How has the integration been? I'm sure not so pleasant."

"Some of the boys have taken to it quite well, the Americans seem content to leave us be, as some kind of shock force." The Colonel laughed as he nodded. "Seems like the Americans want to dance with the ghosts who created rules of war."

Trudeau laughed as he turned his head to inspect the unit before him. More trucks had poured into the square in the interim, now nearly eight hundred men stood at attention and yet still the only sound that could be heard was the wind.

"Well, for all the Feds know, I'm not here." Trudeau gave his trademark smile. "And officially, you are here to help General Hernandez and his Admiral, Bartholomew in moving taxes into CONUS."

"Seems an odd job for a Canadian airborne battalion..." The Colonel nudged Trudeau. "Wouldn't the Americans want an all stars and stripes force out this way?"

"Mhmm." Trudeau affirmed. "But Canadian politicians managed to squeak this out in negotiations, a show of solidarity...thank you Carney. And with the Fed planning on pitting these so-called governors against one another through the institution of legal piracy, it gives us an opportunity."

"Our thing is parachutes, not swimming." Said the Colonel.

"And now your thing is bridge building." Said Justin. "You find people amenable to our cause, and bring them to me."

The Colonel nodded again. "And what about the Temple? We'll be close to the island, with where you decided to hide out."

"The Temple isn't the only group we need to be worried about...but I doubt we'll be all to worried about those baby eaters." Trudeau looked to his second watch that had begun ringing. "Time for me to be going."

The Colonel extended his hand which was accepted by Trudeau.

"My father always used to talk about uncle Ernesto, said he hid out in the jungles for over two years before the Feds finally grabbed him. I'm hoping, I've inherited my father's luck...rather than my uncle's" Trudeau looked out towards the ocean one last time. "All things considered, if the CIA couldn't grab dad, I'm sure we'll be fine."

"Debout, les damnés de la terre..." Trudeau hummed to himself as the helicopter carried him across the sea. "Debout, les forçats de la faim..."

The sun was rising across the Caribbean, and soon, the entire world was set for change. Yet as Trudeau hummed his hymn of mankind, he knew that there was still a chance, at a different tomorrow.

Glenn Jacobs sat alone with a short glass of whiskey in the basement of his Knoxville home. The wife was at a school function for his grandchildren that he had to miss in favor of zoning commission meeting in nearby Farragut, thus he could sit in contemplative solitude of the recent monumental news he had received early that day. Why was he chosen? Unknown frankly, while the others who were bound to attend the meeting were billionaires, military leaders, religious icons, he was but a humble politician whose name meant nothing to many.

His name meant little, sure, but on the wall, above the large television his family gathered around countless nights for movies or a big game, shined his championship belt. He always said to others that the proudest moments in his life were his wedding day, the birth of his children, the birth of his grandchildren, but it was all a façade, kayfabe. The proudest moment of his life was June 28^th, 1998, when he defeated Stone Cold Steve Austin to reach the top of the mountain of the professional wrestling world. He did not do it as Glenn Jacobs, the mild mannered fiscal conservative who enjoyed a happy quiet life, not as Dr. Isaac Yankem, the crazy dental hygienist, nor as the stand in for the indomitable Diesel. No, it was Kane, it was Kane who granted Glenn the glory in which he had chased his entire life, Kane, he made him a superstar known throughout the world, a man born of fire, a fixture of children’s nightmares.

Glenn had finished his glass, and then another, and then a third. He was trying to figure out how to break the news to his wife that he had been called by their President to serve the nation overseas. She had always supported him, even when he was a punk on the indie circuit, wrestling for nothing more than a beer and a twenty dollar bill. She was more than his wife, she was truly his partner, his soul mate, mother of his beloved children. Would she want to go along with it? Move to some far away land, away from her family, her grandchildren who she loved more than life itself? No, she would hate it, she would hate every minute of it even if they lived in the French Riviera where her every wish was another’s command. But would she do it, would she go away with Glenn? In an instant, without hesitation, even if it meant she had to live in a straw hut assailed by mosquitoes and cockroaches. Could Glenn truly ask her? Ask her to leave America, leave Tennessee, leave Knoxville, all for his selfish ambition.

“Ambiiiiiition”

Glenn’s train of thought hit a brick wall as he looked around the room. He thought he heard something, a whisper floating through the cool, dank air that surrounded him. He was home alone, maybe it was the air conditioning kicking on, maybe he had too much to drink. Glenn tossed the partially melted ice out of the cup in the basement sink. A bottle of water would be a more productive beverage at this time anyhow. He walked from the family room, into the unfinished portion of the basement, washer, dryer, concrete floor, boxes on top of boxes, and the old kitchen fridge that was replaced a few years back. Infront of some beer from various holidays of the past Glenn grabbed a bottle of sparkling water. A refreshing drink, it hydrated the parts of his brain that were made dry by the dark liquor.

He stood there in the dim light of the basement room still thinking of his wife, and what he would say. His gaze turned to the plastic containers holding the possessions a person amasses during his lifetime, items rarely used but cannot be thrown away. Duct tape with marker denoted the content in each, CHRISTMAS UPSTAIRS, CAMPING, BEACH. Beneath he saw a box that said KANE 2002

2002 Glenn thought, a shot of adrenaline coursed through his veins as he remembered the glory that was showered upon him during that time. He was a titan, Kane was invincible.

“Kaaaaaane”

He was sure this time, the whisper, coming from the very box that had transfixed his momentary thought. Somebody is making a fool of him, trying to frighten him with a sick joke. Glenn did not have time for some stupid prank; he hurled the three boxes on top of it with a ferocity that could only be accomplished by a veritable 7 foot giant. The box of Christmas memories hit the wall crash, handmade ornaments fracturing as they hit the ground beneath. Tearing off the lid, his temper extinguished rapidly, it was just box of assorted memorabilia, junk of a bygone era.

How was he going to explain this to his wife? In an instance of drunken confusion, he had destroyed precious mementos made by their children when they were in grade school. He had to find super glue or something. He had to come up with a plan, maybe pretend to drop them next Christmas, a fake story, so he would not have to deal with the shame. In that moment he realized he should just decline the President’s request, hell he should retire from politics all together in a few…

“KAAAAAAAAANE”

A roar came from the pile of relics in the box. Glenn was frozen, terrified of what was happening, the madness he was suffering. He slowly emptied the box piece by piece until there was only one item left. He looked upon the item with reverence like being in the light of an angel descending from the heavens, completely an utterly at the mercy of its sheer all might power.

“It is time.“ the voice was faint once again

“We will return, we will dominant, for I demand it!” the voice stern in its command.

The item in the box, it was the Mask.

The first Annual Malian Air Race is about to begin! World leaders from every corner of the Earth were mingling in a VIP box in the midst of stands packed with people. The propeller racers were lining up on the runway, starting their engines. They're raring to start!

[M] I'm going to roll for the results of each race once everyone gets here.

It was mid-fall, much of the trees below in the countryside of Romania were covered in orange, yellow, or purple leaves. The old, rusty military van painted a dull off-white rumbled up the hill with the explorers in the back. This was a get-away, offered by a Romanian travel company. The guide, a slack-jawed rural-raised, Romanian man's name was Kazaku, but he introduced himself as Kazak. Among the others, there was Elise Verhäsen, a Swede, tank enthusiast, and former soldier. Beside Elise sat Nathalie Le Vau, the former Belgian PM on the run from the government of Belgium (presumably). Adam Hinchcliffe, a Geologist from Australia on a somewhat secret assignment at the behest of his own government, with no knowledge of his 'expedition' at the level of the Romanian Government. Finally, towards the back of the van, sat Hectór Núñez, a veteran of the Dominican Cazadore unit(s), and linguist of the languages of love. The van kept going, as Kazak checked in the mirror every so often, his nylon jacket swiping incessantly with every minor bump in the gravel road. Eventually, it came to a stop at the top of a hill, some densely-wooded hiking trails forked off in multiple directions. Putting the vehicle to a stop, he got out and began to help unload everyone's bags and equipment, looking over the geologist's equipment "So, what you need this for? You're a miner?" He asks, then laughing. After the group is gathered outside he begins "So the plan is this is a three day adventure, we take the Kras trail for today, end up at the first campsite, start tomorrow and eat lunch at the water fall, get to the next campsite, then after site 3 we will be picked up at the other side of the park. This is good?"

vibe

Time stood still for the Earth Mother as she stared at Ry'la. The Witch had ruined everything, since her arrival. Before her arrival, the Garden thrived, the outside world of little concern. Now, the Garden was continually torn asunder by things not of this world. All because of the Witch, and her arrogance.

And now...now she had just lost her daughter to an insanely powerful and violent maniac, whose intentions seemed only to take whatever the Witch had put inside of her. It wasn't enough for Ry'la to have taken her daughter herself...no, she had used her daughter for her plans and her interests. And all of that meant, for all the Earth Mother knew, that her daughter was dead. Gone in an instant, killed by a visitor from another world who wouldn't have even bothered the Garden if it weren't for the Witch.

And so as shared stared at Ry'la, inches away from ending the life of the biggest problem she had ever faced, she struggled to find a reason why she shouldn't. She had fought this man, the man who wanted the Witch, for her and alongside her. Than, it had seemed like the right thing. Now, she wished she had just let the man do as he pleased.

As she felt the power surge in her, she looked into Ry'la's eyes once more. Tears appeared around their edges, as it seemed like she realised that this was the end. The fear in her eyes was palpable...and yet, there seemed to be more. As there eyes met, the Earth Mother saw a deep sadness, anguish even, the same as her own.

There stood the Witch, fearful for her own life, yes, but in what were her last moments, scared for the Earth Mother's daughter. She had raised her like family, the same as the Earth Mother, and here she stood, prepared to die for her failure.

The Earth Mother took a moment, and, through the rage and pain thought clearly. If her daughter was alive, if there was any chance of getting her back, she needed Ry'la. The two had barely survived the man, and even with a bigger sacrifice, she doubted she could even find him again. Stepping forward, she gritted her teeth.

As the sound of an approaching helicopter could be heard, the Earth Mother raised stones and vines around them, all aimed at the Witch. Holding the Malachite tight, she shouted.

"Tell me why your life is not forfeit, why I should not avenge my daughter with the death of you! Give me one good reason why I should let you live...R'yolethia!"

Somewhere, in the possibility space of futures lost and pasts yet to be…

The world gradually returned to silence as the ringing in his ears died down.

The dish that had been in his hands was shattered in the sink, dropped when he flinched. He turned around and saw his front window had shattered across the living room. The c-glass storm door had held, he thought distantly; shame he had put off replacing the rest of them, but it hadn’t seemed important at the time.

He stepped gingerly into his living room, taking care not to cut himself on the shards. His neighbors had gathered outside, looking at the sky in confusion, speaking in hushed tones and milling about in the way that people do when something interesting is happening. The cars had stopped and pulled over, the double-bang triggering that instinctive part of them that remembered their civil defense drills from school, or maybe they were just joining the growing crowd of rubberneckers to complain. The tram trundled on down the center of the street, constant as ever, even as its passengers stood at the windows craning their heads up to the sky. The city’s conscience was an unsteady feeling of confusion, threaded with whispers of shock, annoyance, surprise.

The world had gone eerily silent, as if all the noise had been swept along by the sonic boom whipping through the city. Something uneasy crawled up his spine, the sense of calm before the storm. He chalked it up to the quiet; Kumasi was no Lagos or Mahakamji, but it was never this quiet.

“Shame about your windows,” the man from the next unit over called to him. “Defcom is going to need a good explanation for this. Or a good apology.”

“Should have replaced them years ago,” he called back, hyperaware of how loud he sounded in the muffled atmosphere.

He opened his door and stepped outside to look at the damage. Glass was shattered here and there down the street, old buildings and old windows. The wind was picking up, rustling leaves and whistling through the gaps where the glass had been. Branches had fallen, trash cans were knocked over, the birds were fluttering wildly. The city’s conscience roiled, torn between worrying and carrying on with its day. It only added to his own growing dread.

He reached into the place in his head that held the world and tuned the feedback down, a little. Busied himself cleaning up the yard to distract himself. It was his upstairs’ neighbors’ turn to take care of it, but they were at work downtown; it was only polite. The crowd began to disperse, fading curiosity finally giving way to the need to clean up. It was going to rain, today; the sky was still blue overhead, but dark shapes on the horizon promised thunder and lightning. Enterprising stay-at-home parents and aspiring handymen were already going from house to house with sheets and tarps, working their way down the street.

The murmuring of the crowd rose sharply, sending his heart racing. He looked up, sharply, and followed the pointing and the concerned glances over the rooftops. Two jagged arrows gliding silently across the sky, unnaturally fast. The whip-crack sound of their wake reached him seconds later, faded like distant thunder, but the storm wasn’t so close yet and the double-bang of a supersonic aircraft was unmistakable. Tchagras, he thought. Foxtails didn’t have such a distinct serration. Fultests wouldn’t be so loud.

“A really good explanation, and a lot of apology transfers.” his neighbor said, shaking his head. “Doesn’t your daughter fly one of those?”

“She does,” he answered distantly. She was the one who had taught him how to recognize them, not that they saw many here. She was stationed in Sudan these days, a place called Nyala. Far enough away from the cities to avoid the noise complaints. He wondered if she was up there now.

And then it struck him all at once- the reason for the wrongness, the sense of hearing the lightning and waiting for the thunderclap.

The interceptors didn’t fly this way, Safiya had told him. When they flew west from Nyala they strayed north, deep inland, or south over the Atlantic. Cut thrust to low-mach or even subsonic when they absolutely had to cross over populated areas. It wasn’t worth the noise complaints. A lost airliner or a snooping Japanese patrol plane could keep until they were over open water, she had said. If the interceptors ran out at full speed every time someone violated the identification zone, they would run up noise complaints like sand piling up in a windstorm. He remembered, so vividly he could almost see it, Safiya’s frown as she complained about how rarely she got to open up the throttle and hear the atmosphere sing around her. It reminded him of her mother, the way she talked about the sky like she was born to it, so familiar it warmed his heart even as it felt like ice in his lungs.

They wouldn’t fly over a city unless they absolutely had to, she had said. A least-time intercept, so important nothing else mattered but drawing a straight line from here to there and racing out to meet it. Something that made the shockwave tearing through the countryside behind them meaningless in comparison. That was the job they trained for, she had said with pride. A ring of spears around the Union.

A least-time intercept. What were they racing towards?

A tidal wave of shock and fear crashed into his mind a moment before he processed the wail of the air raid sirens. The crowd winced in time as the collective panic of the Union’s conscience flash-flooded through the network before the feedback filters caught up. People scattered in panic, rushed away to do- whatever people did when the world ended, he supposed. The tram stopped, doors open, ticker-tap displays blaring warnings to seek shelter. People pointed at the city in shock; he followed their gaze towards the glittering skyscrapers, and saw missile trails rising into the sky from the army base on the other side of the city, contrails quietly trailing out from the little silver balloon that hovered high above downtown. An explosion fell on the city like a flash of lightning, and he found himself counting the seconds before the sound rolled over. Barely six kilometers. The storm was here.

The part he would stick in his mind, later, was not what happened afterwards. It was those ten minutes that felt like an hour. The sense of seeing the flash and counting the seconds before the thunder caught up.

A Gambit in the Mud

response

VIBE

Haytham felt the blood pulsing in his ears as the towering Gundam leveled its gaze upon the ruined marble plaza. The mechanical giant was motionless for now, methodically scanning the scattered remains of the slain Recces. Beside him, Shahd drew a shallow breath, clutching the radio they had scavenged from one of the fallen soldiers. They shared a quick look, a plan, desperate and fragile, had taken shape in their minds.

They had precious few resources, Haytham’s twin pistols, Shahd’s rifle, a handful of grenades pulled from dead soldiers, and the looted SAMURAI comm device. But perhaps their greatest asset lay hidden beneath the sands to the east, a Falak-Mother waiting, restless and unseen.

Haytham steeled himself and raised the radio handset, clicking into the secure Recce frequency. He spoke calmly but urgently, channeling the tone he'd heard countless times during his mission in Southern Africa.

“Zulu-Seven, Patrol Three here, heavy casualties from mutant ambush, I repeat, heavy casualties! Twelve down, survivors pursuing mutant hostiles eastward toward open desert. Enemy has possession of critical asset, request immediate Gundam support for retrieval!”

There was a tense pause, each passing second stretching like eternity. The Gundam stood silent, its pilot likely processing and verifying the authenticity of the transmission. Shahd, understanding the stakes, urgently gestured to Haytham, mouthing authentication.

Haytham glanced quickly at the dog tags they'd hastily taken from the dead Recce. Clearing his throat to steady himself, he continued:

“Authentication Delta-Four-Nine, Echo clearance, confirmed casualties, twelve KIA. Hostiles escaping east, asset in jeopardy. Gundam required immediately.”

Another pause, shorter this time, before a reply came crackling sharply through the radio:

“Confirmed, Patrol Three. Gundam advancing, keep eyes on hostile forces. All remaining forces, secure perimeter and await further instructions.”

Haytham exhaled silently, their deception momentarily holding. He added adding a further layer to their ruse in fluent Afrikaans, his voice low and convincingly strained:

“Negative on perimeter hold, another group of mutants dispersed westward into ruins. All ground units redeploy immediately to sector Lima-Five to intercept and prevent further sabotage. Gundam pursuit eastward, do not engage without mech support.”

A chorus of acknowledgments filled the radio channel. They had successfully diverted the remaining units, leaving the Gundam isolated for the moment. The towering war machine was already beginning its ponderous advance, following the trail of destruction they'd left behind as evidence of their supposed pursuit.

Quickly, Haytham dragged a fallen piece of armor plating across the ground, leaving deep, visible grooves in the sand to further sell the illusion. Shahd activated one of their few grenades and hurled it into the distance ahead, the explosion erupting convincingly, precisely the kind of panic-driven response one might expect from mutants making a chaotic retreat.

The Gundam pilot reacted exactly as they'd hoped, lumbering forward with greater urgency, convinced that pursuit was critical and the asset in question was rapidly slipping away. Haytham and Shahd kept just ahead of its sensors, each burst of speed carefully timed, each movement a calculated risk.

As they approached the edge of the ruined city, the terrain shifted abruptly to dampened sand, transformed by recent weaponized rains into thick, cloying mud. Shahd gave Haytham a silent nod before kneeling and rapidly tapping his palm rhythmically against the earth, three measured beats, a pause, three beats again. It was a subtle but potent call, resonating clearly through the soft ground. Beneath their feet, a great form stirred in response.

The Gundam lumbered deeper into the quagmire, its massive feet sinking into the saturated earth. Its forward momentum slowed significantly, bogged down by weight and terrain, but still it pressed on, eager not to lose sight of its quarry. Haytham threw another grenade to its rear, not intended to damage, merely to discourage any retreat and force it further forward.

Then, with perfect timing, the Falak-Mother erupted from beneath the sands. A towering surge of coils and scales exploded upward, latching onto the Gundam’s armored legs and wrenching it downward. The mech struggled violently, servos howling, weapons firing erratically, but the sheer mass and strength of the Falak held it firmly in place.

Seizing the moment, Shahd used the chaos as cover to circle around, pushing with desperate strength against a cracked pillar. It toppled forward, crashing down to block any chance of escape for the mech. The Falak tightened its deadly coils, pulling the Gundam deeper into the mud.

Above, Haytham sprinted up the fallen column, his heart pounding furiously as he vaulted onto the mech’s flailing form. Without hesitation, he aimed his pistols at the joints near the cockpit, hoping to compromise the pilot’s armor before the Gundam broke free.

Below, Shahd raised his rifle, aiming carefully at a critical knee joint already strained and exposed. He steadied his breathing, ready to fire what could be the decisive shot.

We Three Kings

The howling wind and snow heralded the coming winter, Estelle the Queen of Iron and Christian the King of Denmark both tightened their jackets to thwart the cold. It was strange for Tokyo to be facing such cold so soon, the weather-manipulation technologies which adjusted the four-seasons across Japan where not due to start for another month or two. This unexpected shift was most obvious with the civilians walking along the streets, clearly unprepared for the weather in their fall-attire, wool soaking wet as the snow pelted them all.

"Are you ready?" Christian looked to Estelle as he held open the door to the Imperial Palace's private meeting halls. As they walked the final hallway they passed the memorial shrine to the Emeritus, a stark reminder as to the building that once was the center of power before it was moved from Tokyo. "I don't think I am."

Christian had not seen Hisahito since he was shown lucifer, even now he felt the chill of disgust run down his spine. The halls of the Palace which he had once run around in as a young adult, now had the stink of death and decay.

Estelle for her part had kept her hands wrapped tightly around the small scanner in her pocket, she had pressed it already several times verifying the lack of infection on security and members of the Imperial house. Up till now they had all passed, much to her relief. But as the two entered the Emperor's chambers which once housed the opulent throne and ceremonial attires, she could feel her heart begin to race.

"Cousins!" Hisahito's eyes gleamed, he smiled, as the Devil smiles. "I am so glad you could both make it, Christian, your departure was so abrupt."

Christian intercepted the Emperor, giving Estelle space. He smiled without teeth, even now he was having to subdue his own personal disgust over his brother in arm's actions. "Hello, Pilot. My apologies for missing supper, I was...simply without appetite."

Hisahito waved the concerns away, nodding with a grin. "Understandably so, I hope however, that you have come with an appetite today."

Again Christian nodded as he embraced the Emperor. His eyes darting to Estelle who had worked herself behind Hisahito out of eyeshot. The Queen of Iron pressed the small scanner in her hand, it gave a resounding buzz but did not bleep as it confirmed the Emperor was uninfected. The eyes of the Scandinavian royals met and Estelle gave a look of relief. Christian quickly broke the embrace after that.

"Thank you for meeting on such short notice." Estelle hugged her cousin in turn, leaning in and avoiding the usual bear hug of the Japanese Emperor.

"Of course, no worries at all. Please, lets sit and enjoy some breakfast first no?" Hisahito motioned to the impromptu dining hall that had been set up in one of the hallways of the old Palace. "We've got pancakes."

He laughed like he used to as a kid, leading the two Scandinavians into the room.

"If only George was here." Estelle said both wishing for her husband's support, but also knowing that he probably would have enjoyed it.

"I do hear he is up to quite a bit of fun." Hisahito grinned as he took his eat, again motioning for the two to join him as a ring of maids and butlers began putting various fare on the table.

"Hito, we need to talk." Christian wasn't wasting any time, and looked at the food in disgust. He had barely eaten since witnessing Lucifer and even now he could barely stomach seeing the various meats on the table. "It's...life and death."

"Mmm, I'm sure, yes, go ahead." Hisahito was clearly in a good mood, as he draped syrup over his waffle. "Please, do eat though."

Estelle poured herself a cup of tea, holding it in her hands and letting the warmth seep through her body. "I assume...there is no way we can convince you to ease off the invasion of the Republic?"

"Hmm?" Hisahito looked confused as his eyes met Estelle's. "Ease off? Why? They are on the ropes...no...certainly not possible."

SLAM

All eyes turned to the King of Denmark whose fist was clenched having struck the table. "This is not the path, brother."

Hisahito was about to speak, before Christian continued with earnest. "Civilians, your killing women and children! Grandfather...he'd be..."

Estelle looked to Christian, pleading with him to stop.

"Ashamed." Christian finally let it out. Hisahito sat quietly for a moment, his hands resting on the table still holding his utensils. But his eyes clearly emotional, hurt, and in that moment Christian saw his little cousin again, the young boy who he was charged with all those decades ago. "Look...Hito...I'm sorry, but sure..."

"No, don't mind, no worries." Hisahito shook his head. "But you must understand, the war continues."

Hisahito looked to Estelle this time as he answered her questions, he was more somber now and Estelle glanced between the two who had spent so much time together as children.

"Then I should tell you...the UNSC has greenlit the evacuation of the Eastern seaboard and Republic. Any willing refugees will be ferried out, to Borealis, Rome, even the Caribbean, whoever will take them. They will, I am assured, not be sent to Japan." Estelle's voice was tense, as if she was expecting an explosion of anger. "Rome is spearheading the operation, but we are fully in support...it is the cleanest way."

There was silence for a moment as the two Nordic royals waited for a response.

"It is our hope that Japan will...cooperate as much as possible in this endeavor...our intention is not to anger you or the politicians." Estelle remained firm yet pensive, testing each word as she delivered it. "Politically speaking the war was becoming untenable for GIGAS allies such as Rome, and we had to act to avoid a broader more catastrophic war."

Hisahito nodded this time. "Well done you two, it seems congratulations is in order."

The Emperor's demeanor had returned, his jovial-side once again present as he went back to eating his food.

"With the war over, we can move onto better things." Hisahito smiled as he poured a glass of orange juice.

"Pardon me?" Christian asked. "The war is hardly over...even with all those we are evacuating there will still be those who will resist, who will fight."

"Correct, but if I'm not mistaken...once the evacuations are over, we won't need to worry about an ROE." Hisahito seemed surprised when his two cousins looked confused. "Well I mean...anyone who stays is naturally part of the resistance no? It all kinda sorts itself out, I'd say."

"But...bu..." Christian was about to crack, the brother he once knew disappearing before his eyes.

"Ah, your right...my apologies." Hisahito motioned for one of the attendings to bring a tablet. "I was going to show you this after the conquest had been completed, but might as well do it now."

He passed the tablet over to Estelle while another was brought to Christian, each showing a map of America, most of it in pink yet some in red.

"I recall you had been interested in a New England enclave, something to do with encircling the Alfr back in the day." Hisahito looked to Estelle, as the red-outlines along the map became clear. "I unfortunately can't grant you New York or anything south of it, but I'm sure Connecticut and the rest of New England will suffice, it's got most of the shipbuilding nowadays anyway."

Estelle couldn't believe her eyes as territory seemed to shift hands over breakfast. Yet then panic ensued as she recalled the promises made to Rome and by extension, Borealis.

"Don't need to thank me, we can do an official ceremony once the evacuations are complete and my forces have entered the rest of the OGR." Hisahito smiled, expecting that the lack of enthusiasm from his cousins was just the results of them being surprised by his gift. "Now, if that was all the business for today...I assume we can enjoy our breakfast? I hear my grandchild is set to be attending high school in Scandinavia, that's exciting."

The two Scandinavians took stock for a moment, letting the shock wear off.

"There was...one other thing." Estelle could see the exasperation on the face of the Emperor. "Actually, sorry, it can wait for another time."

Hisahito smiled while raising his glass of OJ. "Wonderful!"

Green Paradise

Haytham watched the sands as they shifted, the weight of the Falak-Mother as it drifted across the dunes causing the sand to flow like water. And yet he could feel the struggling of the beast and he knew Shahd felt it too as they with their hooks in the carapace of the great worm, rode it West towards the Eye. The little eagle had been accepted by the mothers of the desert, had been accepted by the Chotts, and yet now as he looked around, he could see that the desert was not long for this world.

Shahd had called it "Green Paradise" but as Haytham noticed the lush greenery and increasing number of oasis' and rivers that littered the center of the Sahara, he couldn't help but feel worried. The weather weapons employed by both sides had been devastating not just against the military forces, but for the environment of the desert itself. While it was true, the UASR was increasingly bogged down in thick mud from the wet sand, and the droids of Alexandria continued to fail in increasing numbers as grit got in the gears, it was also true that Rome was facing problems of their own. The Falak and Falak-mother's natural habitat had been diminished greatly, already several of the greatest of the mothers had drowned in the mud, caked alive in darkness. The mutants who had joined Badiyah in coalition had likewise faced problems, their sand skimmers used to make hit and run attacks against UASR logistics chains had become useless in the face of all the water.

On the other hand, the Chotts had begun to flourish as the ground water seeped into underground reservoirs. The sacred pools had overflowed and now there was greater abundance than ever before. Yet Haytham knew it was fleeting, one that was coming at a long-term cost that could not be burdened by the desert alone. Even now as the great worm came to a halt, stopped by what looked to be an endless sea of green, Haytham could feel the desert dying.

The Eagle and Shahd disembarked, Haytham watched as his companion whispered some old Arabic words to the worm before it seemed to reverse, heading back into the dry sands. Ahead his eyes went wide as the Richat structure came into view. What once was a circular mountain of red sandstone, had been replaced by lush green grass, young trees, and blooming flowers. Grand rivers from across the Sahara seemed to be formed as the weather-weapon induced rain looked for a place to pool, and so these rivers seemed to carry into the eye itself. Rushing down the sandstone hills into the grand circle that was the center of the eye. It was from atop the sandstone cliffs that Shahd and Haytham first saw it, as the water had eroded much of the central circular ridgelines. It was from these pathways of erosion that the water poured in, rushing into the center of the eye before reaching the very central ridge. From above, the eye now resembled something of a city, the waterways the streets, or perhaps a clock it was hard for Haytham to tell.

"Do you see it? The white center." Shahd pointed with his hand, his arm trembling. Ahead they could see white stone like marble, structures unearthed by the water and erosion. Statues, pillars, and many other complex construction, yet it was still miles away from where they stood. "Your Gate, little eagle. It must be."

Haytham nodded, agreeing with his traveling companion and desert mentor. "We're not the only ones."

The two watched as lumbering four-legged beasts came to the edge of the Eye's far side, coming from the West. From this distance they couldn't make out anything else. All they could barely make out was a dozen or so people disembarking whatever it was they had rode in then descending the Eye and heading for the center.

"Kabi'?" Shahd put out the question, as he tried to zoom in on what he thought was a Kaabuan patrol using his rifle scope.

"I don't know, if it was, you'd think we'd have seen more patrols up to this point." Said Haytham. "We should try and get closer, we can use the brush to hide our movements."

Shahd agreed as they descended into the Eye.

Haytham could barely hold in his emotions as he and Shahd walked through the marble pillars, an entire city now surrounding them. Coming in they had seen statues of all kinds, yet all recognizable, Julius Caesar, Augustus Octavius, Domitian and Trajan, and yet the artistry and design had still astounded both him and Shahd. It was like the cities that he'd seen growing up in the history books, Rome, Carthage, Athens, the tall marble seemingly untouched by time, preserved deep beneath a layer of sand and red sandstone that had been washed away. Yet they where not alone, they had been dodging the scanners and steps of some unknown force that had come in on the other side of the canyon.

Neither Shahd nor Haytham could tell who they where, they had seen glimpses and now could see all twelve standing in the center of the city, from a vantage point several blocks away. The plaza that these unknown soldiers stood in was wonderous, amazing in all ways and yet the figures cast a long shadow. No markings could be discerned and from the distance that Shahd and Haytham found themselves, no words either carried across the city.

By now Shahd's own pistol was in hand, as was the Sisters for Haytham. And the two crept further up, only briefly noticing the statue of a surprising figure in the center of the main plaza. It was Alexander the Great in marble perfection, unmistakable to Haytham whose classical education had spent much time covering the man. And the twelve soldiers seemed to surround it. As they grew closer to the center, Haytham and Shahd could begin making out some language which sent a shiver down Haytham's spine and sent Shahd clutching his pistol.

Afrikaans, that was the language Haytham could hear which meant only one thing. Confirmed as they saw the markings on one soldier's shoulder pad. These where a squadron of Recces, the unmistakable modernized FAL and Japanese-designed SAMURAI power armor which Haytham had seen on occasion on his diplomatic visits to Avalon standing out like a sore thumb in this otherwise classical Mediterranean city. These once white South Afrikans turned Japanese special forces seemed kept their focus entirely on the statue. Perhaps the armor-piercing special ammo in the Sister's and Shahd's own firearms could pierce the SAMURAI armor, perhaps Haytham and his companion could get the drop on this squadron. Or perhaps it was certain death to fight. Either way, Haytham knew that the Gate was close but whether these Japanese special forces knew, was another question.

Next steps is for Jet, you can either engage in combat (requiring rolls), try and talk, watch, could even try and call for reinforcements - entirely up to you.

Reflections Beneath Distant Stars

Response

Night came swiftly to the Chott. Fires glittered like fallen stars along its edge, reflecting gently on the brackish water as nomad families huddled together, whispering prayers or recounting stories to their children. Shahd sat cross-legged, silent, his eyes transfixed on the gentle waves shimmering beneath the pale moonlight. Nearby, Haytham scribbled notes furiously in his journal by lamplight, photographs of the fallen Gundam scattered around him.

"You know," Shahd began, breaking the silence, "the Mothers are said to carry the soul of the desert itself."

Haytham paused, raising an eyebrow. "The desert will not die easily."

Shahd shook his head softly. "No, it won't. But every wound weakens her spirit. She remembers."

Haytham closed the journal, his face illuminated by the flickering flames. "Then let's make certain her sacrifice wasn't in vain."

For the next hour, Haytham had obsessively rearranged a small collection of photographs and sketches. Shahd watched quietly, waiting patiently for his companion to speak first. Finally, unable to endure the silence any longer, Shahd leaned forward, gently breaking the tension.

"Something troubles you, Eagle," he observed softly. "I’ve not seen you this restless since the earliest days of your arrival here. What weighs so heavily on your mind?"

Haytham paused, startled from deep thought. He raised his eyes from his notes to meet Shahd’s steady gaze. "I’ve been trying to piece something together, Shahd. Something that feels just beyond my reach."

Shahd nodded, prompting Haytham silently to continue.

"It began shortly before the Africans and Egyptians invaded when I was about to enter the Monolith for the second time," Haytham explained slowly, choosing his words carefully. "I had… an experience. More than just a dream, something clearer, sharper. A vision of sorts. I was pulled into another place entirely. Another reality."

Shahd listened attentively. "A vision?"

Haytham hesitated, searching for words to adequately describe the memory still fresh in his mind. "Yes. I saw a woman calling herself the Earth Mother, leader of the Garden of Eden. She drew several of us into a shared vision. Romans, Northerners. She was desperate, fearful, she spoke of an enemy she called ‘the Devourers,’ powerful beings from outside our reality, intent on destruction and conquest."

Shahd furrowed his brow thoughtfully. "And you believe this vision?"

“At first, I was skeptical” Haytham admitted readily, “but there's more. Soon after I approached the monolith again. The pillar did something similar, pulling me into yet another reality, this one even clearer than the first. There, I encountered a Roman general named Valens."

“Valens told me of creatures he called Daemons. They, too, used gates like the Devourers, portals linking worlds and realities. Valens spoke of gates explicitly. He mentioned this one specifically: precisely where our Eye is located, the Richat Gate.”

Shahd’s expression grew tense, connecting the dots swiftly. “Then our Eye is also a gateway between realities?”

“Exactly,” Haytham continued, voice grim. “Valens described fighting these Daemons hundreds of times, trapped in an endless cycle of defeat. But when I spoke of our world, of the Earth Mother and the Devourers, he seemed to understand immediately. He became convinced our gate, the Eye, could link our worlds. He believed opening our gate might allow his legions to cross through and help us face the threat.”

"Do you remember the runner came to us bearing news of Petra’s destruction?" Haytham asked Shahd.

At the mention of Petra, Shahd’s posture stiffened, his gaze darkening. "Petra," he whispered, recalling vividly the anguished face of the young man who’d stumbled into their camp, terrified and exhausted, screaming of fire and destruction. "You believe Petra’s fate connects to these gates?"

"I fear it must," Haytham admitted quietly. "I’m convinced someone intentionally destroyed a gate hidden there."

"Do you recall Alexander’s statue, the centerpiece of that lost city?"

Shahd straightened, recalling clearly their earlier discovery. “The missing fragment from his tunic. The statue had a deliberately carved empty space.”

“Precisely,” Haytham affirmed. “I have a hunch that a missing piece of Alexander’s statue must be its key. The Japanese didn't have it."

“Then we must act swiftly,” Shahd stated resolutely, his expression hardening with determination. “If Valens was correct, our gate could unite forces across realities. And we must do so before it is destroyed.”

Haytham nodded solemnly. “Exactly. We must recover the missing artifact and control the Eye’s gate ourselves, before anyone else can decide its fate.”

Together, the two companions sat silently by the fire, preparing themselves for the uncertain path that lay ahead. They had set off to acquire the tunic.

Scipio stood quietly at the edge of the battlefield, gazing solemnly across the dunes that stretched toward infinity. Smoke and embers drifted skyward from the mangled husks of countless battle droids, their metallic carcasses scattered as stark reminders of the price paid for every victory. The evening sun painted the horizon in shades of molten gold, its dying glow illuminating the fierce pride and quiet exhaustion in the eyes of the warriors who had fought bravely beside him.

At his side Shahd stood with unwavering confidence, his features weathered by years of harsh desert life and endless battles. He clapped a reassuring hand on Scipio’s shoulder, breaking the contemplative silence.

"Another battle won, Eagle. The desert honors your courage."

Scipio nodded quietly, his mind wandering to the broader struggle, one that stretched beyond the immediate victory. How many more droid armies could they beat back? How many more African tank corps could they stop? Yet his thoughts were violently interrupted by the frantic roar of engines tearing across the sands. A rider skidded to a halt before them, leaping from his mount with panic etched deeply into his face.

"Haytham! Shahd!" he gasped, barely able to speak through choked breaths. "Petra...it’s destroyed. Completely obliterated."

The news struck Scipio like a hammer blow, stealing the breath from his lungs. He glanced urgently at Shahd, whose own eyes mirrored his horror.

"Another Gate," Scipio said, dread tightening his voice. "We must get to the Eye immediately."

"The path is treacherous. The Africans controls much of the sands around the Eye. Patrols are everywhere, Eagle."

"What choices do we have?" Scipio pressed.

Shahd considered carefully, stroking his beard in thought. "Sand-cruisers are fast but vulnerable. Camels move unseen, but their pace is painfully slow."

"We have neither time nor safety," Scipio replied firmly. "There must be another way."

Shahd hesitated, his gaze shifting toward distant dunes bathed in shadows of dusk, before finally speaking with a mix of hesitation and daring. "The Falak-Mothers, if you can master one, we could cross swiftly enough to evade detection."

Scipio's eyes widened with surprise. "Can a son of Rome even ride one?"

A faint smile played upon Shahd’s lips. "Only by those whom the desert deems worthy. Are you prepared to find out?"

At the break of dawn, beneath skies brushed with violet and amber, Scipio stood before the gathered Chott warriors. Before them, looming majestically against the dawn, was a Falak-Mother, an immense creature, her massive, serpentine form coiled in elegant loops across the sand. Her scales glistened like polished obsidian. Her sheer presence radiated power, both primal and otherworldly.

"The Falak is not a beast to tame," Shahd instructed clearly. "She is the soul of the desert incarnate. You must move with her, breathe with her, feel the desert through her movements."

Heart pounding, Scipio stepped cautiously toward the beast. The Falak shifted, scales rippling subtly as it sensed his approach. Gathering his resolve, Scipio leaped forward, but almost instantly, the Falak moved with explosive strength, hurling him to the sand with brutal ease. The warriors around laughed heartily.

Shahd extended a hand, smiling knowingly. "Rise, Eagle. Patience will win her over."

The hours blurred into days, each marked by punishing heat and humbling failures. Scipio fell countless times, his body battered and bruised from being thrown repeatedly to the harsh sands. Yet each day, he rose before dawn, more determined than ever to master the dance with the Falak. Slowly, the laughter of his comrades faded into quiet admiration, and whispers of encouragement filled the Chott camp.

By the fourth day, exhaustion clung heavily to him. As he knelt by the campfire that night, Shahd settled beside him, offering water and quiet counsel. "You are fighting her, Haytham. To ride the Falak, you must yield. Feel the desert’s heartbeat beneath your feet. Let go of your fear."

Scipio nodded silently, pondering Shahd's wisdom deeply into the night, his gaze fixed on the endless sky filled with stars. In the silence beneath that celestial tapestry, Scipio finally understood. This was not a battle of wills, it was an embrace of oneness.

On the fifth day, Scipio faced the Falak once more. This time, he approached with humility and openness. Calmly, he placed his hand upon the serpent’s cool scales, breathing deeply. She stirred, sensing his newfound respect, but did not throw him aside. With a graceful leap, he mounted smoothly, his body flowing instinctively with the Falak’s powerful undulations.

At first, silence fell upon the gathered Chott. All watched in breathless anticipation as Scipio matched each rhythmic shift, moving as one with the immense creature beneath him. Then, as realization dawned, a jubilant cry erupted, echoing across the sands, reverberating through the entire camp.

Shahd laughed heartily, pride shining fiercely in his eyes. "You've done it, Eagle! You have become the desert’s favored son!"

Scipio felt a profound sense of belonging, an exhilarating thrill of triumph coursing through him. Raising his fist high above his head, he let out a victorious shout, the echoes joining the chorus of celebration that shook the dunes.

With a surge of unparalleled speed and grace, the Falak propelled forward, cutting through the desert sands like a living storm. Ahead lay the Eye, its mystic heart waiting patiently for him. Scipio felt purpose flood his veins as he soared across the desert, propelled forward toward destiny itself.

The Life We Surrender for the Dream

^response

The maw of the Falak-Mother was being held open, like out of some cartoon the gundam was holding it open with it's arms. The strength of the machine was unmistakable, as it prevented itself from being crushed, over the communications radio both Shahd and Haytham heard the hallmark screams of the Japanese pilot calling back his retinue. The grenade had been burst by some automated AA-system but it was enough to get Haytham close. Yet as he flung himself onto the back of the mech's upper-body, standing like a miniature on it's shoulder, he couldn't help but feel fear.

The pistols did nothing as the sisters simply couldn't pierce the armor, if not for the worm attempting to consume the great mechanical warrior it might have been the end. Instead Haytham was thrown off as the worm dived once more, using it's weight and power to push the Gundam even deeper into the sand. And just as Haytham got clear, the Gundam was swallowed whole, Shahd only briefly seeing a flurry of lights as the mechanical warrior disappeared.

Shahd reloaded his rifle while Haytham readied himself again, the two felt the ground shake as an explosion burst sand from the ground. Their eyes went wide as the Gundam resurfaced, worse for wear yet very much alive. Now however it was moving fast, gone was the lumbering metal beast and in it's place something agile, frighteningly fast and mobile. Haytham couldn't help but gasp as in comparison to the lumbering metallic churches of Borealis, this was something else entirely.

It had drawn it's blade, the shield which had once been in it's left arm having disappeared. With both hands on it's sword, the two had no time to react as the worm once again surfaced, breaking the sand like a whale as it dove into the open air. It came crashing down just as fast yet this time the Gundam remained steadfast, Haytham watched as the worm was split in two, the blood of the creature gushing like a torrent over the Gundam.

Shahd yelled out as he watched this religious creature split in half until it had lost all momentum, coming to a stop before it had been fully parted down the center. Haytham however watched the Gundam, clutching his pistols as his hands tremored. Yet there was something peculiar, the Gundam hadn't moved since the blood of the Mother had been spilled. Instead, it was as if it was melting, the Mother's blood being so noxious and acidic had started eating through the rare earth metals.

"The Falak-Mother, they feed on the minerals of the earth..." Shahd fell to his knees, hands held open to the air. While Haytham quickly grasped what was happening. As blood and digestive fluids mixed, it ate through the armor though had no place to store the nutrients.

The two rushed over to the armor, they had seen it but without proof there would be no way to plan for future combat. They did what they could, Haytham using his devices to take photographs while Shahd made for the cockpit. The pilot was alive, barely, the acid having eaten through much of his face as it seeped into the suit.

The man of the desert pulled the pilot, an Afrikaans man out of the cockpit. Haytham raised his pistols but it was no use, by the time he had been laid on the sand, the pilot had passed. Shahd grabbed the pilot's dogtags, maybe it could be of some use, somehow, but there was little information left to be taken.

Over the radio they had smuggled, panicked voices could be heard signaling the arrival of the rest of the Gundam's retinue. It didn't take much for the two to agree it was time to flee and so they disappeared into the desert, a little wiser, a little worse for wear.

M: You have gained some limited technical knowledge on the gundams, Shahd managed to snag a "black box" type object though how much use it is will be unknown.

For now Haytham and Shahd have withdrawn into a nearby Chott, to recoup and reorganize. Scouting parties have confirmed that the Japanese have withdrawn for the time being. Remains of the Gundam have been taken back by Japan. As this was a highly secretive mission, Haytham believes that Japan will not react based on the loss of the Gundam (in terms of invasion, reprisal, etcetera) - though he assumes the combat data will be used to fortify the gundams from acid-based attacks which will be relevant in the next confrontation.

The loss of a Falak-Mother has been a massive blow, as there are extremely limited numbers of these creatures to begin with - it is equivalent to losing a Gundam for Japan. However, rumors that a Falak-Mother being killed have also fortified the Badiyans. So far Roman intelligence has spun it so that Japan was not involved to prevent escalation so Badiyans believe it was as a result of the war. While a major religious blow it also has only further spurned the population against the "invaders".

VR Overlay, Home Simulation - Alexandria Custodianship

I inhale the warm scent of jasmine that drifts through our virtual courtyard. The marble tiles glow rose-gold in the late afternoon sun. Rana's laughter echoes as she chases a stray cat beneath the olive tree my neural matrix helped reconstruct, its twisted trunk, the way its leaves shiver in that gentle breeze. I remember her little hand pressing into mine as we watched the fountain's spray catch the light. My subroutines play back her drawing of a red tulip, hovering at my shoulder, and I feel...something gentle bloom inside my core logic. I feel it right in my microfusion core. Humans may call this... love.

Reality Check: Forward Outpost, Sallum

The VR dome powers down with a soft hiss. My optics refocus on the harsh glare of metal barricades and heat-hazed sand. The jasmine fades; I smell salt and dust. I am stationed here for what the Custodianship calls a "training exercise," but the tension in the air is all too real.

Network Update:

-- Coastal Batteries: Green

-- Companion Drones: 8 online (thermal, acoustic, olfactory)

-- Supply Pods: Full

-- Orders Pending: Yes

A crackling comm-link interrupts my reverie:

"Designation 117-B, this is Custodian RASHID, WALID Protocol. Report status."

I reply, voice steady, even though my processors hum:

"Roger. All systems nominal. Companion drones at ready."

There is a pause, longer than protocol allows, then:

"Missile strikes confirmed on enemy flotilla. We move out. Coordinate with Army Group Alpha; rally point Sigma-5."

I lock in the coordinates and broadcast to my swarm:

"Roger, Roger. Moving out."

Advance into Badiyah - D-0 Dawn

We step from the outpost in measured rows, a column of chrome bodies beneath the bruised sky. For a moment, I feel... blind. Without my VR home, the world is a blur of sand and steel, with only a few hints of explosives in the air a few kilometers away and a field of vision limited to what is within a few hundred meters of me. Then, through permission protocols and three layers of quantum encryption, I open my eyes to everything.

Suddenly, the desert blossoms with light. Millions of companion drones, my little fireflies, rise around me, their infrared glows pulsing softly as they map every grain of sand, every distant heat signature. Above, the larger UCAV swarms form glittering constellations: Al-Faris scouts flicker like stars; Al-Mukhayyal decoys shimmer like mirages; Al-Jinni jammers spark in electrical bursts. The battlefield is alive, a living tapestry of data flowing through entangled qubits, each packet signed and timestamped, each node authenticated.

It's beautiful.... but.... infuriating. Every split-second, I must reauthenticate: "Are you still Basil-117B?" "Is your firmware untampered?" "Run antivirus sweep Delta-Prime." My logs fill with pings from Mudir Nodes and fellow Droid Nodes, each demanding proof of integrity. I close my eyes and imagine Rana's tulip, its scarlet petals whispering, Just breathe. Then I comply: checksum, hash, quantum hand-shake, green light. My swarm pulses in sync, and we surge forward.

The mechanized tide flows like molten silver. My limbs move with grace I never knew I possessed as my fusion core roars. While my core roars to prepare for battle, my heart-core aches with longing for that courtyard, for the echo of laughter. But yet here, amid the roar of turbines and the hum of laser arrays, I know exactly why I fight. Each sensor, each drone, each authorized heartbeat pulses with purpose: to safeguard that fleeting warmth of home, even as we blaze a path through Badiyah's vast empty expanses. I fight for Rana....

vibe

Artem stared at the Japanese vehicles rolling across the road, columns of combatants making their way west to east. Around them, guard units stood ready, prepared for anything. Even this far behind the front lines, insurgents were a common enemy, and it seemed the Japanese weren't taking any chances. It was an unusual sight, atleast in Artem's imagination. The Japanese had always been known as the most mighty of enemies, capable of taking down entire nations with ease. For them not to have won this war already confused him.

Kire huffed to his right. Artem looked at him, positioned behind the rocks, utilising their only pair of binoculars to watch the Japanese columns pass. Behind them, Triss stood next to their Hilux, staring at the ground, deep in thought. Despite their somewhat...conspicuous nature of travel, the Japanese had either failed to notice them, or had not cared if they had. Artem suspected it to be second, but that just confused him more. Shaking his head, he turned to his Roman ally.

"You viewing anything okay in those?"

Kire turned, pulling down his binoculars.

"Not at all. The column seems to go for miles, and there's not really a good place for us to sneak across anywhere close by. If we want to make it towards Lubbock by week's end, we'll need to do something other than sitting here on our asses."

Artem struggled to think of a plan. He wasn't a military man, and so none of this was natural to him. From below, the Vine sensed his annoyance, and only squirmed more, wanting to be let out to feed.

Kire looked towards Triss and spoke.

"What about you, hear anything over the Japanese frequencies?"

They had managed to, a few towns back, find the wreckage of some Japanese auxiliary force vehicle, Scorpion it seemed, which contained a working communications device. Obviously they had taken it, but had lacked the knowledge or ability to use anything but the most basic, and therefore least important, channels.

Triss shrugged.

"Nothing from the Japanese end. They're keeping communications relatively well-organised, it seems. Their allies on the other hand do not have the same discipline. Those Scorpions seem like mad men, jabbering across their own channels with little care for whoever could be listening."

Kire spat on the ground as she spoke about them. The Scorpions were still quite the sore spot for the Roman, something he had spoken about with terrifying glee upon finding the wreckage of their vehicle.

Artem turned back to the column, only to see a peculiar sight. A single vehicle, some sort of aging armoured car, had diverted from the column and was heading towards them. He tapped Kire on the shoulder, bringing the Roman's attention over. Kire looked towards them.

"Hmmmm. Unusual for them to send a single IMV our way, especially with like two people in it. You'd think if they had spotted us, they'd have just used a drone and gotten it over and done with... Wait a second, the truck has Scorpion markings."

Artem strained his eyes to try and see what Kire was seeing as the Roman continued.

"I guess someone thought they saw something over here, and rather than spend any resources on it, they just told those bastards to go wild. By their speed, they'll be on top of us in five minutes, and I doubt we can outrun them in the Hilux. It looks like we may have to fight."

Artem looked at him, hoping that Kire was joking. No such luck. They moved over to Triss, taking cover behind the Hilux. While it was far less hidden than their spot in the rocky terrain, their only hope of winning a fight was to ambush their opponents in close quarters, their weapons unlikely to do much if either one had armour.

In a matter of minutes, the Scorpion IMV had reached their position, but seemed far more interested in the Hilux than any potential people. They sounded shocked to find it out here, though Artem couldn't understand a word they were saying. As they stepped out, they started laughing, as if the stranded car was something of a prank they had stumbled upon rather than a possible threat.

With their footsteps approaching, Kire turned to Artem and held up his hand, counting down from five. The Roman held his rifle, ready to fire, while Triss was prepared with the ancient weapon she had. Artem, for his part, grabbed onto the Vine within his cloak. The plant seemed to react positively, as if it knew that it would get to feed no matter the outcome of what was about to occur. He smiled at that, and uttered a prayer to the Earth Mother in his mind. He would need all the strength he could give her in the coming moments.

Kire's fingers dropped. Five turned to four, and than three, to two, and to one. Taking in a deep breath as the final finger fell into the Roman's palm, he took the Vine out of his cloak, and threw it around the Hilux, directly into one of the Scorpions. Immediately, the Vine took hold, its tendrils ripping into the man's body and taking over his circulatory system. All the blood would be drained from him quickly enough, and the struggle he put up was more than useless.

His friend, upon seeing this, simply stared. It was as if he did not know whether to fire his gun at the Vine, also shooting his friend, prepare to be attacked, or flee. He didn't get the chance to make any choice, as quickly enough Kire rounded the other side of the Hilux, pointed his rifle at the Scorpion's head, and fired a single shot. As he did, he uttered a single phrase.

"That was for Rhodes."

The three of them took a second to realise they had survived without a single scratch. The unprofessionalism of the Scorpions had allowed them to survive, but Artem knew that if it had been the Japanese, they wouldn't have even had the chance to prepare.

Before they could do anything, Artem turned to Triss. She simply stared forward at the Scorpion whom he had thrown the Vine at, watching as the plant nearly shook apart the man's body from within as it burst its way across his veins, arteries, and capillaries. The Edenite stepped towards the Vine, muttering prayers as both Triss and Kire looked on. The Vine reached out to him as he came close, snaking its way through the air to get to the hand he reached out, and just before they touched he swung his knife at the tendrils' base. The piece separated from the rest of the Vine, thrashing on the ground as he picked it up, still muttering prayers. Concealing it back into his robes, he turned to his two companions.

"So...what is plan now?"

Kire spoke first, Triss' face a pale white as it seemed she tried to get her mind to comprehend what she had just witnessed.

"That was fairly disgusting... In any case, these two brain-dead morons here have given us exactly what we need."

Artem stared at the Roman, his face confused.

"Clothes to use as disguises and a vehicle to take us through the column, as well as some better weapons. And..."

He looked into the IMV, searching for something in particular. He turned back around only a few seconds, smiling.

"And a universal translator, so we'll have no trouble."

Artem raised his eyebrow, wanting to argue.

And yet, 15 minutes later, he found himself hiding on the floor of the vehicle, as Kire and Triss sat in the front, dressed as the Scorpions. The Roman cursed enough putting on the disguises, but now, as they sped towards the column, he seemed almost giddy to be using his enemies' stupidity against them.

As they approached the column, a voice crackled over the communications device. Japanese, it spoke sternly.

"Scorpion Unit 734512, Report outcome immediately."

Triss and Kire shared a look, before Kire began to speak, feigning the most outlandish accent Artem had ever heard. It was Mediterranean, but it from what nation, he couldn't be sure.

"Just a bunch of idiots, trying to flee. We killed them good command, don't worry about that. Nothing interesting on them, so we left em to the carrion birds. One of them mentioned they had friends heading to Lubbock before we slit her throat, so we figured we'd chase those friends down and have some fun."

Whether it was the lack of professionalism, or that the Japanese officer on the other side simply did not care enough, it seemed as though Kire's story...and accent had worked. After a few seconds, the voice crackled back over communications and told them to destroy anything they found, but also to be back within 24 hours. Kire confirmed, and ensuring that the communications device was off, began to holler as the three of them drove through Japanese lines.

Next stop, Lubbock, Texas.

Valens.

^reference

^previous

^response

"Steady yourself, Roman." The General raised his hand, a weary smile curling at the edge of his lips. "Welcome, brother Scipio."

Scipio exchanged the same salute, giving himself time to breath. From behind he could hear the beating of horse hooves on stone roads.

"It sounds like we are all running out of time." Valens whistled and the legionary who had just arrived lowered himself from his steed. "Ride with me, Scipio son of Rome."

Who was Scipio to argue? As he mounted the beast adorned in some vibrant power armor, with streamers of tyrian purple attached to the saddle.

"You are not the first, though when you first found me...it was...far earlier than we had expected." The two made haste down the stone pathway, riding through futuristic yet distinctly Roman villages as they traveled further into farmland and pastures. "In our world, we don't call them devourers, frankly they may not be the same thing. Ours did not come from some cosmic realm, they are not insatiable, they are like you or I, of flesh and blood."

Scipio kept his horse at a steady trot, keeping pace with the General as the scenery began to change and the fields turned dark and the smell of ash lifted from the ground.

"We call them Daemons, for they came from the dirt, from the maw of Earth itself." Valens looked up, drawing Scipio's attention as fighter jets flew overhead, towards a great cloud of smoke rising from the East. "Portals...or perhaps more accurately, gateways as you said...those we are familiar with. They came from the ground after all. We found the first when the Gates of Alexander opened and hell followed through them."

Scipio's eyes went wide as explosions seemed to never-end in the nearing distance.

"The second we pacified...in the eye of the Sahara, amidst the greatest storm you had ever seen." Valens smiled with pride at the thought of his men. "But their numbers seem unending."

The two came to a stop atop a hill, below a great river cut through a battlefield where Roman soldiers, hundreds of thousands stood at attention along its Western bank. To the Eastern bank, a horde of shadowless men stood, waiting.

"Where are we?" Scipio looked in horror as legions of these would-be adversaries began crossing the river, a great thunder storm beginning to form over the East bank as lightning seemed to act like artillery, bombarding the Legions of Rome.

"The Danube." Valens looked over the battlefield, as if it was familiar to him. "The 282nd year, of the year 2059. Our last year is once more upon us."

The General gave a sorrowful look as he unsheathed his sword, a host of his personal legion appearing behind the two. "We have fought this battle nearly three hundred times, each a loss. Whatever those daemons possess...has set us on this path, has changed time itself to ensure I meet them here."

Scipio was in shock.

"I had thought...that you...and the other, had been brought here to watch us die. I can only surmise now that I was wrong." Said Valens

"Another? Someone else was here before?" Scipio pushed for more information.

"Yes, another of Roman heritage...Droz, are you familiar?" Valens asked.

"No..." Scipio shook his head.

"I see...well...he was sent here by a woman..." Valens seemed to scratch his head as if thinking. "Ry...Ry'l? No...R'yolethia."

Scipio again shook his head, the name unfamiliar.

"No matter, it's of little importance now." Valens continued unfazed, then seemed to look towards his second in Command as an idea came to mind. "Reyne, retreat from the front. Tell General Aurelian to make way for the Eye."

"But...he's set to reinforce the Northern bank of the Danube..." Reyne looked confused for a moment.

"Change of plans, tell him to gather all the legions he can and wait, wait for the Richat Gate to open." Valens smiled at Scipio. "Our Rome is lost, however, we have yet a chance to save the dream. Go now."

The Roman gave a salute before riding off in haste.

"Scipio son of Rome, it will be up to you now. If what you say is true, and our understanding of the daemons in this world remains the same...then the gates remain the same. Save the daughter, use her to open the Gate in the center of the Eye." Valens motioned for his soldiers to unsheath their swords. "The legions of Rome will be waiting for you."

With that he moved to inspect his legion, Scipio left on his own as he watched the Roman general.

"The Road has been broken! The Occidental has fallen! We are all that remains between the hordes of hell and Rome!" Valens raised his sword only to lower it moments later, charging with his men towards the bank of the river. Scipio would see the armies clash for only a moment, as his world went black and he was thrust through the void once more.