O hai I can has application pl0x?

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T-S
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O hai I can has application pl0x?

Post by T-S »

Hello, I was wondering if I could be administered the test for application into the ESUS.
Hurtful Thoughts wrote:So most likely it would be used to suppress peasant-uprisings against your totaltarian government and their punative taxes.
Feazanthia wrote:Help! Help! I'm being repressed by 40mm autocannons!
Balrogga
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Re: O hai I can has application pl0x?

Post by Balrogga »

A tester will be along shortly but while you wait, can you please tell us more about yourself, it would allow the tester to make the application process customized to your nation.
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Re: O hai I can has application pl0x?

Post by T-S »

Euh...

My nation, in a nutshell:

The Technocratic Confederation, as it's officially known, is a conglomeration of various entities, ranging from corporations, to governments, to private individuals and groups (read: pirates) allied together in a mutual defence pact for no other reason besides defending against foreign aggression so they can keep squabbling amongst themselves for control over a small region of space spanning between twenty and ninety systems on the border between the Gamma and Delta quadrants of the Milky Way Galaxy(depending on who you ask).

It is, despite consisting of over ten sapient races, a very xenophobic and isolationist society. Beyond this, there is almost nothing in common between one system and the next, indeed nearly every planet is different in it's own unique way (my IC reason for being to spout out any ridiculous combination of planet and people I can think of). Currently, the most powerful groups in the Technocratic Confederation (a misnomer, as only a small portion of the confederation is technocratic) are the Soviet Technocracy (NOT a misnomer) and the Anglo Empire (composed of stereotypical pip pip and monocles).

The Soviet Technocracy is by far and large the biggest of all the squabblers, being the original nation that founded the Confederation (and the state that balkanised into what is currently the largest national clusterfuck in the Milky Way Galaxy, second only to maybe Franberry), taking up a full twenty systems (the original twenty colonised by them, also known as "the core".) The Anglo Empire comes up short with twelve systems, however, the total controlled systems by the Confederation rounds to about ninety, including all the corporations and various pirate/mercenary groups.

Often, corporations will lease or buy large, military-class vessels to protect against pirates (known to be quite nasty around Soviet space) who often raid abandoned, forgotten military shipyards and foundries for new shinies. While the Confederation is trying to make progress to heal the fractured nation, it so far is making little progress beyond "we'll help out if we get invaded" and wars between the micro-states is quite common (all part of the "Great Game" between the Technocracy and Empire, often these wars are proxy in nature).

The single most despised group in the Confederation, however, is that of the communist. The communist (and by definition, anarcho-communist and any other sort of communist), is hated for one reason and one reason only. They almost killed everyone. Centuries before the founding of the Technocratic Confederation (and decades after founding of the Technocratic Soviet Union of States), a massive nuclear war embroiled the planet of Illesia (the Soviet Technocracy's homeworld and current shitpile of radiation and shiny ruins), caused by communists (It was really caused by corporations wanting to provoke more war profiteering by starting a small proxy war between the anarcho-capitalist South and communist North, but it obviously went south pretty fast). While they're not as crazy about communist hate as fascists, the average citizens of the Soviet Technocracy often blame their problems on communism or anarchy (or socialism if they're feeling particularly down), much like how a Christian fundamentalist would denounce "Satan" or "the devil" (not saying my citizens hate communists religiously, but its close).

Steps, however, are being taken to open up the nation to the outside world, starting with economic expansion (indeed a few microstates, primarily megacorporations, have traded with the outside galaxy), then moving on the military and industrial expansion and finally, possibly, colonisation of outside star systems.
Hurtful Thoughts wrote:So most likely it would be used to suppress peasant-uprisings against your totaltarian government and their punative taxes.
Feazanthia wrote:Help! Help! I'm being repressed by 40mm autocannons!
Hyperspatial Travel
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Re: O hai I can has application pl0x?

Post by Hyperspatial Travel »

Okay, so, given I haven't tested anyone in awhile, but since everyone else seems to be off captured in one of Mekanta's raeptraps, I'll step up and give you some tests if you're still around. Note that these tests are not canon for your nation, (for instance, there's no ambassador for the entire ESUS), and are graded based on coherency of plot, spelling and grammar, and characterization. There's no penalty for making it short, provided you manage to have both a coherent plot and strong characterization.

Test #1: The ESUS ambassador has been horrendously offended by something one of your nationals did or said, and now threatens to return home, and bring a warfleet with him. RP your attempt to use diplomacy, espionage, or bribery (any means that aren't pure force) to ensure that he goes back to the Senate with a good report of your nation. You may RP success or failure, the outcome of the RP will not impact on your grade.

Test #2: A massive alien warfleet descends upon your nation, obliterating all spacefaring vessels, and taking a peverse pleasure in slowly eradicating your entire nation by hand. RP the last survivors in their final hours. RP this to the death of your nation, which must be the outcome of the RP test. Strong focus on characterization here.

Test #3: Your nation is in a state of civil war following a catastrophic set of negotiations, and the rebellion is losing rather bitterly. RP the winning side as it completely obliterates the losing one, along with all the moral baggage that comes with genocide.

- - - - -

Again, points for coherent plot, strong characters, and good description. Take as much time as you feel you need - the average length from tests being given to admission being granted tends to be about a month. If you feel some of your tests are inadequate, feel free to rewrite them - I won't be grading anything until you complete all three.
It's amazing how a family can be torn apart by something as simple as a pack of hungry wolves.
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Re: O hai I can has application pl0x?

Post by T-S »

SCENARIO TWO: FIN

-Prologue-

No one knew who they were, what they looked like, where they came from. First, it was a few of the outer colonies, no one was worried, those places get sandblasted or swamped all the time. Most people assumed it was a piece of faulty equipment. A few corporations sent out some repair crews, but they didn't hear anything back. 'Probably pirates', everyone said, shrugging when asked. Pirates used to be a problem. People started getting worried when the corporations sent several more ships, these were military-grade. Heavily armed and armoured, or so we thought they were. Again, nothing. Pirates, no matter how tough, couldn't take an entire military cruiser, could they?

A few more weeks passed, quietly, quickly. Most people continued living their lives as if nothing had happened, disregarding the news reports of missing ships and lost colonies. Then, they appeared. They struck hard, and fast, attacking the biggest planet within reach. An entire flotilla of alien warships, capable of annihilating smaller vessels without so much as batting an eyelash; even the biggest ships of the planetary defence forces were unable to overcome them, unable to damage them. Within a few hours, all but the smallest of craft were destroyed by the interlopers, who were standing victorious over their newly claimed world. Missiles, rockets, fighters, all were useless against their ships, standing in orbit. All were destroyed. And then they landed...

What surviving reports that managed to get sent back to the rest of the Technocracy was shocking. Horrifying, even. Massive creatures, almost all over seven feet tall, their forearms as big as a man's thigh; muscular, powerful beasts. Weilding assault rifles the size of light machine guns, tossing men and machine aside with their burly physiques. No matter what weapons the soldiers sent after them, be they tanks or troops, all were useless against their slow, deliberate, and unstoppable march. It only took them a few months to overrun the first continent of the planet, slowly exterminating the vermin of Humanity.

It took them a bit longer to get through the second continent's defences. Staunch resistance from the local Marine garrison, about two-thousand men, had managed to slow an enemy that outnumbered them forty to one. This gave troops in the capital time to set up fortifications, send a message to the rest of the Technocracy, but it was all for vain. The enemy warfleet had all but destroyed the FTL communications in the system, their ships intercepted all transmissions and their soldiers seemed never-ending.

They had total dominance of air, not through air power, but anti-air. Their ground-based missile nad aircraft defences were impenetrable by even the most advanced, stealthiest Soviet fighters. Men and xeno alike had been reduced to waging a trench warfare campaign, using massed artillery barrages and infantry charges. Armour and APCs were all but useless on this almost static battlefield, save for assaulting enemy ranks and spearheading attacks against trenches.

The fortress capital of Praxis Prime: Serenity, with its particle beam turrets, nuclear artillery and massive walls had managed to hold out for some time. For a moment, it seemed that the enemy would almost be worn down by attrition, but, like the other cities before it; Serenity fell. It was bloody, costly and deadly, the entire campaign lasting a little over six months. It was hoped that the massive losses incurred by the Soviet Army (at last estimated to be around 1-1.5 million enemy casualties) would turn the enemy away from the rest of the human worlds.

Unfortunately, no such luxury was afforded to the citizens of the Soviet Technocracy. They came, as usual, and the deadly cycle repeated itself. Fleets were bolstered with new weapons, even with prototype “energy shields�, captured from enemy fortress bunkers and small ships, working on an unknown scientific principle. While these new defences vastly increased the combat survivability of most Soviet ships and fortresses, it was all for naught. The enemy adapted, and overcame these new technologies. New weapons were used by the hostiles, their ships were more heavily guarded, it became increasingly harder to acquire technology for Soviet special forces teams. Eventually, they stopped trying altogether.

Flash-forward several years, and the Technocracy has been slowly worn down by the unrelenting enemy assault. Few things are known about the enemy, but what is known is surprising. The enemy ships are not of their own creation, but appeared to be some kind of ships created by a long-dead race, far beyond the enemy's technological capability. Intelligence from captured enemy officers revealed that, before they had found the first of these ancient warships beneath the sands of their homeworld, they were even less technologically advanced than the Technocracy. Funny how that is, we could have stomped them under our heel, had we been looking in the right direction, twenty years ago. We could have been doing this to them, rather than the other way around...

The familiar sight of the alien vessels appearing in the night sky. Everyone hoped, prayed, that the ships would be able to turn back the enemy armada now. Already, nearly a quarter of their fleet had been destroyed, almost half had some form of damage. Unluckily, the Soviet Navy had a one-hundred and ten to one kill ratio against the enemy fleet. People still hoped, however, still prayed, that some divine light would shine down and obliterate the enemy warships.

When all was said and done, the last, tattered remnants of the once proud, powerful Soviet fleet had tossed about like toys, the last of the mighty battleships, blown in half, stricken destroyers and other capitals floating in ruins around them. The battle was long, well planned on the Soviet Navy's part, but it was all for naught, it was hopeless. A suicide mission, they knew it, we all knew it. Nothing could stop them now, all that we could hope to do was hold out long enough, maybe they would decide we were a worthy opponent, maybe they would spare us.

Here, on the backwater, mountainous planet of Ragnor VII, the ragtag remains of the Soviet Army and Marine Corps, and what little aircraft that the Aerospace Forces had left, would make their final stand. Civilians had all but become non-existent. If you could carry a gun, you were conscripted, all civilians were armed, even before the invasion. Gun laws were also non-existent in the pre-invasion Technocracy, a measure to form militia, fight invading forces. Civilian irregulars that could blend into occupation crowds and strike at enemy leaders, trained by special forces and Army troops.

All of that was also well-planned and thought out, provided the enemy wanted to occupy your worlds, pacify the population, rather than outright extermination. Funny how it turned out, actually, most civilians never even got to pick up their weapons, their houses simply bombarded by enemy artillery fire, or overrun by enemy soldiers, even bombed by their own, fellow humans in an attempt to slow down the enemy. No one stood a chance. It was madness. It was complete genocide...no, it was xenocide.

Engineer troops were already setting up defences. Trenches, minefields, dragon's teeth, razor wire. It was all being dragged out of pre-stocked armouries, set up according to plan. Nano-foundries, massive refineries and automated production centres once used on fleet tenders, were now being used to churn out ammunition and small arms. Replacement parts and gasoline was high on the list of things needed, higher than all other needs, and several of the foundries had been dedicated to the production of spare parts. The latter was another thing entirely, rationing of hydrogen and diesel fuels had been in effect since year one; but there was only enough for two, maybe three if we pushed it, counter-offensives or attacks. Not much, but it was all we had managed to save from the enemy attacks.

The few ships that had brought us here, the ones that hadn't been used to try, in vain, to hold off the enemy attack; they'd been stripped and torn down, their weapons mounts used as defensive batteries and their armour for the fortresses. The fusion and fission reactors from the vessels were used to power prototype planetary shields that would protect many the fortresses and power generator stations for the weapons turrets. Several million soldiers, many of them veteran Army and Marines, were lined up at the frontlines. A reserve force of four million men manned the bunkers, fortresses and underground caverns; while the remaining civilian militias were trained. In total, over three hundred million armed soldiers and civilians were preparing for the ensuing onslaught. The enemy was approaching, soon, darkness would fall upon Ragnor VII; soon the human race would be extinguished...

-Chapter 1-

It was dark. It's always dark. Always cold. The ground was sopping wet, muddy. Rain seeped into the smallest cracks and tiniest holes, infiltrating every single fucking crevice of this godforsaken land. Always raining, why was it always raining. This swampy, cold, dead rock was the last place he wanted to be, sitting outside in the freezing sleet and chilled air. The overcast rarely let up, and when it did, it was always nighttime. Sometimes, I'd look up, occasionally seeing a shooting star or what looked like a comet. Of course I knew, intellectually, what it was; but my mind couldn't fathom that there were actually aliens...aliens, invading my home nation. It was all but impossible, aliens were the realm of science fiction novella, not reality.

So, like everyone else, I shoved the reality to the back of my mind, pretending that it was a shooting star.

You had to. Man cannot live knowing that he is doomed to die, that all his defences are futile. It is impossible, there has to be some sliver of hope. So, they stood here, on a wall, clinging to that last bit of hope; the hope that maybe someone, somewhere has taken pity to Humanity's plight and decides to intervene.

A rustling sound to my right, somewhere behind me, startled me out of my half-asleep daze.

“Scheisse, this water is everywhere! I think its getting in my boots.� My watchmate said, stomping around the concrete room, trying to get some warmth into his legs again. “Its as cold as your dead sister's tits out here, Dietrich!�

Hans was right about one thing, it was cold, it was absolutely frigid. Even in their insulated suits and supposedly watertight boots, the cold and the rain somehow managed to penetrate. I shivered, shuddered, and checked the thermometre. Two-hundred seventy one. 'Shit, its not that cold.' I thought, as I mindlessly began rubbing my hands together, attempting to salvage any sort of warmth. I exhaled heavily, lifting my helmet's visor and breathing onto my hands, the warm air heating them for a few fleeting seconds, then it was cold again.

“Hans,� I put down the binoculars, and using my rifle as a cane to balance myself, slouched onto the floor. “What time is it?� I asked, too lazy to check my own watch.

The large German grunted, clicking a small dial on his wrist. “Six forty eight, why? Does the time actually matter?� He asked, I imagined the confusion on his face, masked behind his visored helmet's tint.

I ignored it. “AM or PM?�

He stared at me. For a brief moment, I could almost see a smile forming on his unseen lips. Then, he started giggling like a schoolgirl. I could tell he was trying to suppress it, trying to shut the fuck up. But he couldn't, he'd kept it in so long. Those feelings, he hadn't laughed in...Jesus, how long had it been. Before I knew it, I was laughing too. Uncontrollably. We both were heckling like hyenas in this freezing bunker outpost, laughing our asses off over something pointless.

We rolled around on the ground, almost unable to breathe before we finally settled down. A few chuckles, here and there, but in a few minutes we'd mostly stopped, maybe a giggle or a snicker. Those last few laughs leaving our bodies. I wiped the tears off my face, Hans was on the ground, sighing, hands on his stomach.

“Christ I haven't laughed like that in years...� He said, flipping his visor up. “What about you, Dee?�

“Same here, mate...same here. Ah shit, Hans, that was great.� I muttered, helping my comrade up off the ground. He dusted himself off, cursing under his breath about the water. “Hey, Dietrich, look tired, man.�

I hadn't thought about sleep in hours, maybe days. I don't know, I'd lost track of time since getting stationed up here. Time...why was time so important to me, before all this. Before they came, before they started killing us off, like some kind of pests. Before I had the chance to ponder this philisophical question further, Hans snapped his fingers in front of my face, pulling me back to reality.

“Hey, Dee, how long has it been since you've slept?� He asked, taking his hand off my shoulder.

“I—uh, I haven't slept in...ah fuck, I don't know how long. Hours.�

Hans clapped me on the back, laughing again. “Alright, alright. I'll take over for you. Tell you if I see anything bad coming our way. Hah, maybe we'll be able to get the fuck out of here before the monsters come and kill us. Get some shut eye, then we'll switch in about six hours.�

I lowered my visor again, turning the tint all the way up and set my clock for the six-hour mark. Neat thing about these suits we had, you could do anything with them. You could rearrange the body armour plates, carry more or less, you could move around mag pouches and shit like that. You could change different aspects of the HUD, making it different colours and such and such. My HUD was personally a dark blue, with the words and numbers appearing in an almost white, light blue. I know Hans had his pink, for some god-awful reason, maybe he thought it was funny.

I sat down on the small, steel bench, in the back of the bunker. This one was a bit warmer than the one Hans had been sitting on, mostly because I had an electric heater above it, warming the seat for me. Of course, I didn't dare put any pillows, quilts or anything that luxurious on the cold cot. Anything that would make me feel comfortable, I was afraid, would also let me slip into a sleep that I would never awake from. I was scared, partially of that, and partially because I would sleep through the fight.

So, like most soldiers who were lining the myriad fortifications of these vast concrete and steel cities, I didn't sleep. I laid, half-awake, in a daze, waiting for the inevitable. No one could sleep in these cold conditions anyway, it gnawed at you, got into you, under your skin. The water, the cold, the dark grey, my god it was terrible out there, the waiting. They say that war is ninety percent boring, ten percent terrifying. By god, they were right, when those first shells started landing, when I saw the silhouettes of the enemy infantry...when I fired off those few couple rounds from gauss, it was terrifying...

-Chapter 2-

Johannes Dietrich. That name, that god-awful name put hope in our hearts. Christ. That man, without him, the Technocracy would have fallen within months, maybe weeks, instead of the many years it took. The man was a master when it came to combat. A legend. They said that he never slept, he never ate. He just sat in his command centre, plotting, scheming, trying to buy time for a hopeless cause. That man was a soldier's soldier, a real badass, even the guys who hated the brass for everything, blaming them for all their problems; hell, they didn't dare say a word about Dietrich. No one did, because they knew if you did, you'd have anyone in earshot beating the shit out of you before you could finish your thought.

General Dietrich was the supreme commander of the Soviet Army, after the sacking of Ilysium. The Soviet homeworld had managed to hold out longer than all the other planets of the Technocracy, except Dylar IV. Dietrich was the commander of the Marine garrison at Dylar. Battle-hardened, experienced, dogged Marines, most of whom were now entrenched on Ragnor. The elite 11th Marines were some of the toughest sonuvabitches I ever saw. These guys, every step they took, they walked with such pride and purpose, even in these bleak days. They were true warriors, we were Army infantry, but the Marines were the real soldiers, the real deal. Dietrich managed to hold out for almost eighteen months, before the Navy won its first victory against the aliens, the first and only recapture of a beseiged planet, partly because the planet never fell.

The General had a lot of firsts in his life, first enlisted man to be promoted to Lieutenant General, first quadringenti General of the Soviet Army, first tricenti General of the Marine Corps. Hell, the guy was nicknamed “The Tin Chest� because he had so many medals. Everyone joked that if the aliens attacked us, Dietrich could just stand out in front, deflecting bullets and lasers with however many medals he had, and lead us to victory.

Everyone looked up to him, like a son looks up to his father. We all considered Dietrich our “old man� and he called us his “damn kids� in return, and we shared a few laughs with each other. Funny how war changes attitudes like that. A couple years ago, it would have been almost impossible for your average NCO to get an audience with a man like that, nowadays, Dietrich would wander around the fortifications, occasionally popping in to check up on us. We treated him like he was just another guy, just another enlisted man; and he did the same. We'd gather around, play a game of cards, share our war stories, talk about our families...or, rather, our former families.

I remember, when I was walking along the Wall, I saw an enlisted man talking with the General. At first, I just assumed they were laughing, telling jokes. We usually did that, it was the only way to keep from breaking down, to keep the reality of the situation from getting at you, shutting you down; but no, this guy, he was a Corporal. Maybe about early twenties, around twenty two or twenty three. I got a bit closer, curious, and saw him holding onto the General. I don't mean a clap on the back, hand on the shoulder buddy-buddy kind of thing, but actually holding him. Like a child would hold onto his mother or father, the full embrace, head on the shoulder kind of shit. I could hear him muttering about his family, his dad, his mum, sister, cousins. They were all dead. He was telling the General how he felt so alone, so empty, shaking with each breath. Then, the kid collapsed into sobs, and the General was standing there, holding him, rubbing his back, telling him it'll be alright and all that bullshit you tell someone when they're down. That was the last I saw of that kid, probably got sent to the back, back with the civvies. He'd broke, let the reality get to him. I almost felt like crying when I saw that, when I heard the General comforting him, breaking down too, just like that kid.

I didn't. I couldn't. I wouldn't let that suck itself into me, I didn't fail, not like he did. After that, I never looked at the General the same way again. I never looked at him like he was my commander, and I was his obedient underling; no, I looked at him like my father. He looked at me like his son. I never brought that up to him, either, afraid I'd break him, as tough as that guy was, everyone had their limits. I didn't want to test his. The last thing we needed was an incompetent general leading our soldiers to what would be the last fight of their lives...

*-*

Lieutenant General Dietrich was sitting in the underground control centre of his primary fortress city, Ragnor Prime. It was more commonly known to the enlisted and NCOs as “Steelville�, due to the massive amount of fortification. More than ten times the defences that guarded the vast gates of the Serentity, more than two years ago. Already, the enemy had advanced upon the outskirts of his fortified mega-cities. Small skirmishes between special forces units and the enemy were becoming increasingly common, scouts were reporting that the enemy concentration was nearly four times that of the other landings. They knew what kind of fortress he'd built, he knew how long he could hold out. 'A month, maybe, if we tried hard', most of the men had said. However, most of his estimates were more pessimistic. He didn't measure the survival of his troops in weeks, not even days. He measured it in hours. Seventy-two was the number he'd decided on.

Depressing, really; all of mankind's most advanced technology, our most powerful weapons, our greatest minds, it was all useless against the invaders. Sure, they had similar ground technology, their assault rifles and tanks weren't much different than ours, but they had shields, they had man-portable laser rifles. They had all we had, and it was better, too. More importantly, they had more of it. While we were haggard and pressed for even the most meagre of resources, the enemy was nearly limitless. Their massive warships housed entire production centres, cloning bays. We knew this, we'd managed to capture some of their landing ships, their officers told us this. They knew we knew, but they didn't make any attempt to hide anything. No matter our best tactics, our most skilled warriors, we were superior to them in only one regard.

Our bodies died faster and easier...

Dietrich was surrounded by aides, most of them officers or other general staff. His HQ, most of the officers in it, except for a few like Sasaki Mye and his personal bodyguard, had all been but destroyed during the invasion of Dylar IV, but he'd held out. Him and his Marines, all of them did, until the Navy came and relieved them. He expected no less than the same from the Army and other troops stationed here on Ragnor. Except this time, there wouldn't be a Navy, there wouldn't be any help coming.They were stuck here...on their own, alone. That thought alone was depressing enough, knowing that you literally had only hours to live really took its toll. His dark brown facial hair poked through his skin, his hair was unkempt. He didn't know when he'd last slept. Days, maybe, no one could sleep. No one had slept. He'd made sure of that, with the constant training and watches. Working in shifts of two men each, his soldiers had gotten maybe two hours of sleep a day. Still, two hours a day was better than the two hours a week most had trained for.

For the moment, nothing much was happening. Not even the enemy movements near their lines had worried Dietrich too much, he had a large armoured force in reserve, and kept the mechanised infantry in fortified positions, behind the main “wall� of Army and conscripts. He had at least thirty division-sized elements, just inside one small twenty-by-twenty kilometre square. The enemy was packing at least forty million soldiers and at least four times as many support personnel, all in all the invasion force was maybe eight times the size of his entire population. The outcome was dim, barely enough troops to keep the enemy back, much less launch an effective counterattack.

The map in the middle of the room showed the entire defensive line, all the divisions and forces were shown as far back as two-hundred kilometres, to the walls of the first mega-fortresses. The enemy knew these super forts were in their way, they had the capability to destroy them from orbit. Their massive spires and guns were probably the most conspicuous things on this rock. Yet, they never targeted them, at all. Why? What the hell was the reason for such operational stupidity? These questions pestered the General as he plotted his next move, occasionally shifting forces around, needlessly, having additional, redundant fortifications put in place.

Then, it happened. In an instant, the moment he'd been waiting for. The moment he'd been dreading had come.

Small blips on the screen disappeared, as outposts and scout units were overrun, literally, within seconds. The attack had begun. Initial reports stood at forty million combat troops...these were wrong, all wrong. The aliens had over four-hundred million, and more were coming. Dietrich said nothing, but merely watched, wondering what all the men were doing. All his soldiers, the men he'd treated like his very own sons. The men he'd talked with, joked with, shared stories and laughed with. He knew what they were doing...they were dying.

A sea of red blips and squares, pressing itself against a rapidly faltering defensive line composed of a few green recruits and armed children running around in body armour, pretending to be soldiers.

He had precious little time to think. Draw up his reserves now, or fall back to the fortresses? He thought of the latter, a wise decision. His armoured and mechanised troops would hold the line for the retreating infantry soldiers, then pull back themselves into pre-planned defensive positions. It was simple enough, to the untrained eye, but keeping an orderly retreat was difficult. Constant artillery barrages and the massive wave of enemy infantry had nearly wiped all hope of keeping it from becoming a rout. He'd decided.

The infantry would hold their lines, while the reserve troops pulled back to the megafortresses, then, massed artillery from the second line of the Wall would cover the infantry divisions as they retreated. It would keep going like this, the men leap-frogging over each other, pulling back to the fortress. It seemed like a good plan, but every good soldier knows: No plan survives contact with the enemy.

-Chapter 3-

I dropped to the prone position, shells bursting around the small bunker. I could hear shrapnel and other oddities smacking against the concrete and metal, through the clamor of explosions and gunfire. Hans was nowhere to be seen. He must have ran off when he saw them coming, without even waking me. “Bastard.� I muttered, climbing up to my feet to mount the GPMG on the pintle mount and firing off rounds into the advancing enemy infantry. A few of them dropped, but the rest of 'em turned their attention on me. Apparently I was the only active pillbox on the entire fucking line. Shit. Not good, not good at all.

I dived to the ground again, just as several metal slugs flew into the slit of the bunker, tearing through concrete and rebar alike. I reached out and grabbed my rifle, sealing my ballistic visor. The HUD came on again, synching with my gun. Two hundred rounds in this magazine. I had six more on my vest. Twelve-hundred total. Not much.

I crawled out of the small bunker, which was beginning to resemble a block of swiss cheese underneath all the shell fire. I wondered if these rounds were from our side, or the enemy. I didn't take too much time to think it through, most of the rounds seemed to be landing ahead of the pillboxes, so I assumed they were from the second line. I poked my head out of the pillboxes entrance, no one. “Shit,� I muttered, swinging around to the right corridor, then the left. “This is not good, where the fuck did everyone go...�

As if on que, several soldiers burst out from another corridor, guns pointing right at my head, where the chest would be on one of the aliens. “Ho-lee shit, we thought we were the only ones left back here.� One of them said, as they all lowered their guns in unison. I looked over their shoulders, seeing a couple more small groups of soldiers running back through the trenches.

“Hey! You listening?� The apparent leader of the group asked, snapping his fingers. “You're a Gefreiter, right?�

“Yes,� I replied, nodding. It was still raining. “That I am.�

“Good, me and you'll cover the rest of the guys while they fall back, alright. I'll tap you on the shoulder when we're moving.� I couldn't see his face underneath his visor, as rain covered as it was, I had no chance in this dark overcast. I simply nodded again and took up a defensive position against another one of the corridor's corners. In the distance, I could hear more explosions, gunfire. I thought I'd heard a scream, once or twice, but it was probably the wind.

It seemed like hours, I was sitting there. In the cold, damp mud and metal of the trench. Sitting on my ass, rifle against my shoulder. I had thoughts that maybe the man behind me had ran off with his buddies, but a small tap on my shoulder jolted me out of my thoughts. I jumped a little, turning around and lowering my rifle instinctively.

“Alright, they're good. C'mon.� He said, standing up and running the way his unit had went, towards the second line. I followed closely behind, checking over my shoulder with every step. The enemy could be around every corner, waiting. Images of a giant, hulking brute standing before me, or chasing after me, flooded my mind. I started to sweat, but quickly flushed them to the back of my mind. After what seemed like an eternity, we finally stopped running and headed into a large bunker doorway. Inside were at least two-hundred soldiers. On the wall, were several radios, sealed hatches, fire extinguishers, such and such like that. One thing caught my attention however...a sign. Not just an ordinary sign, but it was dark yellow, almost dandilion; with a black trefoil on it. Underneath were the words: “Schutzraum vor radioaktiver Niederschlag | Kapazitaet: 300�. Fallout shelter, capacity: 300.

Then, I knew. Everyone knew it would have happend, eventually. We'd never actually used them before, thinking we'd be able to turn back the enemy through conventional means, and so far, the enemy didn't seem to have an counterpart. The closest we came was on Dylar IV, but the Navy bailed Dietrich out in time before he glassed the planet. Now, we were going to do the same he almost did, right? Glass this rock, and make these bastards wish they hadn't pushed us against a wall. Go down in a blaze of glory.

A couple soldiers must have gotten up earlier and sealed the large blast doors, removing the large lock on the front. The door was a one-way entrance, we knew that. Underneath these trenches were several miles of tunnels, all of them leading into the fortress city. We were going to make our way through the tunnels, blowing entrances and side passages as we went. It was simple, really.

As the voice over the radio droned constantly through its automated strike warning, I laid my head down on my rifle. I was safe, most of us were in this concrete tomb. With the warning message acting as a sort of macabre lullaby to many of us, we slept through the blasts and shockwaves. We were only awoken when the radio began screeching loudly again, another warning. It was time to move out again...

*-*
“Hermann!� The kanonier looked up, rubbing his eyes. It was dark, raining, cold, he hadn't slept in hours. “Was?!� He yelled out, looking around to see who called him. “What the hell is it?!�

Another man, shorter than Hermann, but stouter, wearing the insignia of a Feldwebel, appeared out of the smoke and dust surrounding the guns. Hermann felt his blood run cold, talking like that to a superior, which he'd assumed that it was another enlisted cannonier, like himself. Shit. Not good.

“Shells need loading.� Was all the Sergeant said, thumbing back towards several crates near a powered exoskeleton, darkened with the slate gray and brown camouflage of the Soviet Army. He was glad, for one, that the Sergeant hadn't chewed him out. Hermann nervously took to his feet, his carbine slung across his chest, snapping a hasty salute.

“Jawohl, Kommandeur. It will be done.� He said, then scurried away before the Sergeant could peg him for insubordination.

He straddled into the cockpit of the large, man shaped suit. Flicking a few switches here and there, the massive beast roared to life, yellow emergency lights flaring up on top. Hermann slowly settled into the familiar seat, buckling the safety straps and sliding his legs and hands into the locomotors. Finally, he clamped down the roll-cage and locked it in.

He took a step, the suit responded in a slightly delayed fashion, but Hermann was ready. He moved his leg slower than normal, it was a common mistake for a rookie to sprain his ankle or pull a muscle by pulling his leg up too fast. Most people wouldn't be used to driving an exoskeleton, you had to be deliberate, cautious with every step, every movement had to be planned and thought ahead.

The shell crate that the Feldwebel had pointed at. Olive drab, rain soaked, watertight. Tough as nails, these crates were, they had to be when transporting rounds filled with acid-like nanites and ultra-deadly neurotoxins. Hermann stopped as soon as he picked the crate up, examining it. He noticed various trefoils and symbols on it:

'255Mm-Kanone; Thermonuklear; Ertrag: 45 Kilotonnen. Griff mit der äußersten Verwarnung!'

“255mm cannon; Thermonuclear; Yield: 45 kilotons. Handle with extreme caution!�

Now he wasn't all that surprised that the Feldwebel had ordered him to lift it. Nuclear artillery shells are heavy fuckers, that's for sure.

As was the usual, men cleared out of the massive suit's path, the battery's Kommandant personally guiding Hermann into position with hand signals. All across the artillery battery line, this scene repeated itself. Nuclear shell cases were moved into position, the rounds loaded and sighted in.

When the last gun had been loaded, the Kommandant gave the order. Those non-essential personnel had ducked down into the trenches, underneath culverts, inside foxholes, behind sandbags; it didn't matter where they went, so long as they weren't exposed when the shells went off. The guns fired, almost simultaneously, a single volley. Over five-hundred shells, moving at several times the speed of sound. The deafening roar echoed over the entire valley where the trenches had been dug.

That roar, however, was dwarfed by the sound, shock and light to come only five seconds later. Beyond the horizon, as men dived to the ground inside their artillery pits and covered their eyes, a blinding light swept over the entire battlefield.

Smoke. Confusion. Chaos. Light engulfed over forty miles of land, blinding all who had the poor luck to be looking towards its direction. Nuclear fires swept west, the wind blowing towards the invaders. The mushroom clouds that formed minutes later were skewed, the high winds caused by the shockwave pushing them over the enemy. Hundreds of thousands of enemy soldiers were vaporised, millions blinded. The massive bottleneck caused by the narrow valley entrance, and the gigantic tactical errors of the enemy working right into the hands of General Dietrich...

-Chapter 4-

“General, report from the main frontline. The attack has managed to slow the enemy down enough, I think we'll be able to get nearly all our men into the fortress before they regain their combat strength! Radio intereception reports that the invaders are completely taken aback, they're at a loss for words, sir,� The communications officer said, listening to the reports. Everyone remained silent for now, waiting with bated breath for the next series of reports.

“...they have no idea what the hell we just did, right now their ships are, as we speak, falling back. They must think we have a few cruisers in orbit or something. Their command staff is assuming that we 've used some kind of ultra-powered kinetic weapons. Their main line is in disarray and the brunt of their assault has been destroyed.�

The last of the transmission came in, everyone held their breath, waiting to see what Intelligence thought about the situation.

“No word on enemy casualties so far, but IntOps suspects that their wounded, dead and combat ineffective number in the high millions.�

Cheers went up around the command centre, high fives were exchanged. Men clapped each other on the back, fistbumped and all were generally were merry and happy. They'd done it, they'd bought enough time for the infantry troops to retreat. God knows how long it'd take the enemy to reorganise, but Dietrich didn't take any chances on that. He waited for the cheers and laughter to subside, before speaking. Best to keep morale up, especially in these dark times.

“I want this order issued, immediately,� Dietrich said, his voice was raspy, and hoarse, not from thirst but from stress. “Get all those men back to the artillery positions, get the artillery to move back. All of it. Pull back to the second line, we'll continue this until all men have retreated into the fortress. Do you understand me.�

No one answered, they merely scrambled to their stations and started working. When Dietrich said 'do this', no one dared question him...

*-*

Something stank. Not like...wet stink...it was wet, but it wasn't water. It was sticky. Whatever the hell it was, it stank though. It stank like rotting meat or shit. Christ, what the hell happened? Last thing I knew, I was asleep, then I awoke. Darkness all around me. The lights must have gone out. How long was I asleep? The lights were out. Not even the radio was working. Sonuvabitch.

Thank god, my suit had a light on it, built into the helmet. I flicked it on and panned around a bit. It was still dark as hell. Rubble blocked the main door entrance. In the back, there was an open tunnel. Shit, they left without me, didn't they. Fuckers. I kept looking around, and found what was stinking so badly. A corporal, probably his late teens or, had a huge piece of rebar sticking out of his chest. Blood...not dried, thank god, but sticky and coagulated, was pooled up around the corpse. So that's the wet stuff my hand was in. He must have died recently. The rebar had torn open his intestines. Shit, pus, bile and all that garbage was exposed to open air. No wonder it stank. Disgusting.

I sealed my helmet, filtering the air through its NBC system. The stench of dead air, the taste of rotting flesh. It still filled my senses. The soldiers' eyes were still closed. Poor fucker never saw it coming. Actually, I'm kind of glad, means he had a better fate than half the bastards who'll fight today. Our shelter must have taken a direct hit from of the nuclear rounds. Not good. That meant the enemy could be in these corridors, right as I sat there, in darkness; they could be coming up behind me. My rifle was cocked, locked and ready to rock and I still had my magazines on me, too.

Instinctively, I whirled around, opening up a full nine-round burst into the corridor. Nothing was there.

“Shit!� I said, crawling to my feet, trying to get the blood off my hand. My mind was playing tricks, telling me things that weren't true. Paranoia, fear, seeing things that aren't there. I had to calm down, breathe easy, deep. This ain't good, but that blood is sticky, not dried. They couldn't have left that long ago, I might be able to catch them.

Another rustling from the tunnel, I raised my rifle again. A dark figure appeared, a bright light shining into my face. “Fuck!� I yelled, my carefully aimed burst going off to one side, the fucker was blinding me. I shook my head and raised my rifle again.

“Shit! Dietrich! You fucker, don't shoot!� It yelled. That voice sounded familiar...

“Who the fuck is it?! Get that light outta my eyes, I can't see shit with it!� I yelled back, lowering my rifle slightly. In my mind's eye, I could just see it. Snarling, with big, black, featureless eyes. That empty face. Huge muscles, a ten foot giant. A hulking monstrosity, like some kind of wicked beast from Hell. Ready to tear my body limb from limb.

“Hans! Its Johann! Dietrich, you alright?!� Hans said, flicking his light off. I could see him now, dust covered, his suit was stained with blue blood. A couple flecks of green, too.

“Shit, are they in the tunnels?� I asked, looking over Hans' shoulder. He nodded slowly. “Ja, most of the guys got out in time, though. Me, and a couple others didn't...�

“Where are the others?� I asked, although I already knew the answer. Hans was holding it in his hands. A blood-stained sub-machinegun, his rifle was slung to the side. He didn't reply. It was an awkward silence, broken by him a few seconds later.

“Here,� He said, tossing me another submachine gun and a satchel. Inside were several grenades and some magazines for the gun. “Take that, the rifles are too bulky to use in these corridors. Don't ask any questions until we're topside and behind the rest of the infantry teams. Those shells they launched, they punched a huge hole in the enemy lines, it'll take them a while to regroup. Don't worry, most of the guys in here are blind stragglers.�

It was then that I noticed Hans had his visor up. He was smirking, motioning for me to follow. “C'mon, Dee.� He said, poking his head out into the corridor. “Follow right behind me, I know the corridors that haven't been blown.�

I did so, checking to make sure my light was tuned down enough so that I wouldn't blind Hans if he turned around. “How?� I asked, looking around at the amounts of damage that had been inflicted. More than one of the bunkers we passed was a tomb for its occupants. I still regarded those men as having had a better fate than Hans did, the poor bastard.

“I've already been out, Dietrich. I asked around, someone mentioned there might be guys left in the tunnels. So, I took some men with me, we headed down here and scouted out as many bunkers as we could.�

“Did you find anyone else, besides me?�

“Nope.�

As I pondered this thought, taking in more of the horrors around me, I came to realise something. Hans actually gave a shit about something, er...someone. Despite all the running off he'd done, hell, even a few hours ago, when he ran off into that little bunker with all his buddies without even telling me. I could have died because of him, but I didn't. Yet, here I was, I would have wandered these labyrinthine tunnels for the rest of what would probably have been my mortal life if it weren't for him.

A few uneventful, quiet minutes later and we came to what looked like the entrance...or was it exit...to a cellar door. Except the cellar was a massive steel and concrete contraption, that looked horrible complex. Slapped onto the side of the door was the nuclear trefoil. Fallout shelter.

“Here we are, home sweet home...� Hans said, unlatching the massive blast door. He looked up, smiling, expecting to see some kind of hope. A friend maybe. What he saw was something more horrifying than even in his wildest dreams. That poor, damned bastard. I saw it too. A massive, grey monster. Muscles the size of a man's chest, a huge rifle in its hands. Behind it, several other of its kind, smashing through my fellows. Screams and gunshots filled the air.

Hans tried to scream, I could see it in his face. He was screaming, not at the monster, but at me. I couldn't move. I couldn't. I was paralysed with fear. Its dark, round eyes, featureless face. It was...the most inhuman thing I had ever seen. I stared at it for what seemed like hours, and it stared back. The world seemed to slow down. The monster raised its gun, as did I, firing several bursts from my SMG into its chest. It tumbled a little, taken aback, an energy pulse rippling from its comically oversized gun.

Hans' body fell limp, blood splattered across my visor and suit. His chest...it just disintegrated before my eyes. Exploding into thousands of droplets of blood and gore, not even his bones were left. Before I knew it, I had already grabbed the door, wrenching it shut with a loud clank. The monster beat against it on the outside, roaring in its alien language. I could hear it, I could hear them. The screams, the gunfire. None of it mattered.

“Hans...shit...Hans, you stupid fuck...� I said, staring down at the destroyed, no, eviserated, corpse. “Why the fuck did you have to open the goddamned door? What the fuck is wrong with you?� I asked, almost half expecting him to start laughing that laugh again. For a moment, I thought he did, it took me a minute, but I finally realised that I was laughing. Jesus, I hadn't laughed like this...since me and Hans were sitting in the bunker.

I sat down on the step, laughing almost uncontrollably. I couldn't suppress it, no matter how hard I tried. I thought about the look on his face, when he opened that door, when he saw the monster. I laughed louder, harder. Choking, suffocating. I flipped my visor up, dropped my rifle and laughed heartily. The air around me stank like death. It always did. I knew it. All along, this tomb, I knew it would be mine. All mine, to share with Hans, and all his little friends.

It wouldn't be long now, nope. I was on the ground now, rolling around. “Hans! Hans! Oh god, you should have seen your face when you opened that door!� I said, looking at his now decapitated head, the scream still frozen upon his face. “Do—do you remember when you last laughed like this, Hans? Do you!?� I asked it, wiping tears from my eyes. “Oh god, it was over the stupidest thing...what the hell was it?�

I tried to remember what exactly had happened, but I couldn't. It was all a blur. Then, it came to me, the six-hour alarm went off. It beeped loudly, the clock showing the time. 3:52 PM.

I howled with a fresh round of laughter, echoing down the empty hallways of the bunker. “Oh god, it was that! AM...AM or PM? Hans, Hans, it was AM!� I yelled, tears falling down my cheeks and landing in Hans' blood. I could see my reflection in it. My 'baby face', Hans always called it that, I knew why now. I did have a cute face. Green eyes, thin, brown eyebrows. I thought of myself as rather cute, while Hans' face was covered in that unkempt mess of hair.

It was always funny, how I used to joke about his beard. Then he'd call me 'flat, man chest' or some similar, childish insult. We'd laugh for a while, then get back to whatever we had to do. “Hans, Hans!� I said, smiling. “Remember when...when we were sitting around the barrack, yesterday, and you were talking about seeing a shooting star? Remember?�

Hans didn't respond, obviously.

“And...and I said make a wish, and then you said 'I wish...Dee would let me in her pants already and stop turning me down every time I try and hit on her' and how we laughed about that? Remember?!� I said, laughing like a hyena again. “Oh god, that was great.� When I finally calmed down this time, I paused, thinking through my situation. God, I didn't want to stop laughing. I just wanted to sit here, laughing and joking with Hans, my best buddy. We were like...two peas in a pod. Inseparable. Almost like brother and sister. Christ, I don't think I ever had someone get so close to me without getting a black eye or a bloody nose.

I crawled over to Hans' lifeless body, smiling down at him. “Hans,� I said, chuckling. “You—you don't know just how much this--� I pointed to the SMG. “--helped you. If I had my rifle...hah, you might still be here, with me.�

The realisation of what I'd said didn't fully impact me until about a minute later, but I could already feel it coming just after I'd said that. Tears welled up in my eyes, falling onto Hans' body. My chuckles and giggles turned to choked sobs and gasps. By the time the door had finally been wretched open by that hideous monster, I was kneeling over Hans' corpse like a child, bawling.

I kept saying his name, in some vain hope that he'd spring back to life. That he'd pop back up and say “Hey Dee, sorry about that, I was just joking' or some equally corny line. Then, he'd start snickering, it'd start out like a snicker, then a giggle, then it'd turn into a chuckle. By that time, we'd both start laughing, rolling on the ground, tears falling down our faces. But no, Hans didn't spring back to life. He didn't laugh. He didn't do anything. He was dead...

Of course, when I heard that metal lock snap. When I saw the light out of the corner of my eyes. I looked up. It was that thing. That monster. The hideous, grey, alien beast. Its rifle in hand. It levelled it towards my chest. I made no attempt to go for my gun, no attempts to move out its way. No, nothing. It was all useless now. I simply stared back, and it stared at me; I could see my reflection in its empty eyes. My face was beet red, snot, spit, tears and all sorts of icky things were dribbling down it. My green eyes were muddled by the tears.

We stared at each other for what seemed like hours, each one of us silently acknowledging, somewhere, deep down in our hearts...if these things even had hearts...that we meant no personal prejudice. Both of us were soldiers. We were just doing our job. We were just killing, nothing enjoyable about it. I knew that...I could only hope, with what little hope I had, that it knew that.

The last thing I saw, the last thing I felt, was a bright light. Then, a searing pain, my organs being torn asunder by the powerful energy blast. My chest disintegrating underneath me, I could feel my bones wrenching and tearing themselves apart. My body was being thrown backwards...or maybe that was just my head.

Soon the light faded...and there was nothing but darkness.

-Epilogue-

After the disastrous rout caused by the alien invaders, what few Marine armoured units had made it into the city sealed themselves in. Massive gates closed down, the few soldiers who had made it inside buttoned up and prepared for the worst. Particle beam turrets, nuclear artillery rounds and whatever the hell else had been stockpiled inside roared on for over twelve hours. Eventually, however, the shells began to run low. Even the mighty nano-foundries couldn't keep up with the need for ammunition now.

Eventually, the enemy had brought in heavier guns, capable of penetrating even the mega-fortresses' walls; with which they did. Holes were blown into the gate, enemy infantry stormed the streets. Women, children, all were slaughtered. Soldiers who were armed, and militia units, managed to secure a few buildings. A couple street corners, maybe, but they were annihilated within short order. Dietrich's plan had failed, as bold as it was. There was no way he could have known just how effective the enemy would be at urban warfare.

Soon, as the last few battalions of Marines were pushed back to the command centre's entrance, as General Dietrich prepared himself for the worst; the actual enemy came. Monsters not much different than the grey beasts they had fought before, but these had some kind of symbols on their bodies; they were blue. Their fighting skills put even the Soviet Marines to shame, and now Dietrich knew why the enemy had been so tactically flawed.

They weren't stupid, no, they just rushed their militias, their conscripts, against his soldiers. Massed attacks of infantry and light armoured cars. It was effective, that's for damn sure. Within twenty hours of landing, the enemy had already penetrated the fortress command bunker. The vast underground city, defended by the last vestiges of the Soviet people, of Humanity, was toppled.

Dietrich, his command staff, and several Marine platoons had held out for over an hour, by themselves. Barricaded within the fortified command room, lined with sandbags, modular armour, firing ports. The room itself was another bunker. Huddled inside, the last of Humanity.

Eventually, the aliens managed to get close enough to plant a few explosive charges on the door. A few seconds later, they went off. These weren't breaching charges, however, not even cutting charges. The room was bathed in a white light, screams from the Marines, various officers and others could be heard. After that, smashing, more guns. Dietrich couldn't see, no one could. The soldiers lied on the ground, writhing in agony, most had severe burns on their bodies, some had their skin completely burnt off. Others just blinded. It didn't matter to the invaders. They were all slaughtered the same.

Dietrich was the only one standing, once they had all been killed. His vision slowly returned, surrounding him, four of the alien warriors. One of them, wearing an ornate uniform. Gold trimmings, what looked like medals on his chest. It took him a minute of thinking to realise that this, this monster; this was his counterpart. This was the creature who had pitted wits with him, playing the Great Game, on Dylar IV, on Ragnor VII. Wherever Dietrich went, this was the monster who faced him.

Johannes smirked, waiting for the beast to say something along the lines of 'You are a worthy opponent' or some bullshit like that. He didn't. He merely grunted, an almost contemptuous grunt, and waved his hand as if he were saying 'Get this vermin out of my sight'.

The last General Dietrich saw was the alien monster, turning away. The last he felt, his body being horribly ripped apart, crackling lightning exploding out from under him.

The next thing he knew...darkness. Pitch black, cold, empty darkness.
Last edited by T-S on Tue May 11, 2010 12:33 pm, edited 11 times in total.
Hurtful Thoughts wrote:So most likely it would be used to suppress peasant-uprisings against your totaltarian government and their punative taxes.
Feazanthia wrote:Help! Help! I'm being repressed by 40mm autocannons!
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T-S
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Re: O hai I can has application pl0x?

Post by T-S »

SCENARIO ONE:
Hurtful Thoughts wrote:So most likely it would be used to suppress peasant-uprisings against your totaltarian government and their punative taxes.
Feazanthia wrote:Help! Help! I'm being repressed by 40mm autocannons!
User avatar
T-S
The Mindset's Bitch
Posts: 5
Joined: Thu Feb 04, 2010 8:46 am
Prefix: The Technocratic Confederation of
Name: the Techno-Soviet

Re: O hai I can has application pl0x?

Post by T-S »

SCENARIO THREE:
Hurtful Thoughts wrote:So most likely it would be used to suppress peasant-uprisings against your totaltarian government and their punative taxes.
Feazanthia wrote:Help! Help! I'm being repressed by 40mm autocannons!
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