FullMetal*Panic!

Ok, since this an art subforum, allow me to begin.

My novel is titled "An Act", and shall remain so unless I find a cooler title. It is a dystopia set in a fictional world, although some names and countries may seem rather familiar.

I shall now proceed to post the first sections. I will post about 2000 words at a time once every few days until I run out of text, and then I will keep writing.

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AN ACT OF PATRIOTISM


Thick dark clouds cover Vostkyr

Thick, iron colored clouds covered the sky above Vostkyr, capital of the Sungarian Federated Republic. So thick were the clouds that both the yellow sun and its crimson counterpart were not to be seen. At present no rain fell on the city and its surrounding region, no airstream ran the new wind power plants, only clouds dominated the cold, empty sky.

Vostkyr was a booming city, though almost all the ancient remnants of the capital had been destroyed during the last major war. The colorful architecture of the past had been replaced by more efficient, cold structures. Imposing megaliths of steel, glass, and concrete seemed to challenge even the heavens above. They made the intense, frantic streets below look like the tunnels of ants. The grand skyscrapers were, however, not that which would have first attracted the eye. Four immense ziggurat-like structures dwarfed even the tallest of the skyscrapers, rising some hundreds of meters into the air, each one positioned in a way that even a powerful thermonuclear warhead detonated at a point equidistant from each structure would not faze them. They stood out in the fast-paced calculated mayhem as if nothing else existed. These four behemoths contained all that was needed to lead, oppress, save, and, if need be, destroy.

On the ground, streets, public parks, ponds, small urban forests, and slums eroding in the shadows worked, ate, slept, and passed away under the eternal gaze of the State Ministries, as the four colossal buildings were called. They embodied what no man could hope to achieve, yet summed up the ultimate, undeniable result of humankind’s struggles.

On this day, a Monday in November, a streetcar stopped on the boulevard in front of the Ministry of Stability. Although twenty-two people exited the train into the crowed street, only one man was going into the building the platform was meant for. He stepped out of the train, his eyes darting around as if he was in fear of preying eyes. He was a handsome man, a little over six feet in height, in a dark grey government uniform. In a gloved hand he held a briefcase, which contained a silenced pistol and official state documents. These documents addressed the descriptions of eight men and their status. As of this morning, seven mentioned were dead. The description of an eighth and only survivor had been crossed out, for a reason unknown to the assassin.

As he walked the hundred or so meters across the marble-covered ground to the front entrance of the vast building, a flood of thoughts rushed through his head; how much would the general pay him in bonus? Why was the eighth man taken off the list? What if he failed for some reason? This last idea was ridiculous. Of course his mission was successful, as his preceding ones were. Every time had had completed his job without fail, yet every time he went to report to his superiors he always managed to let this last thought creep into his head. “I always get my job correctly, but my instinct insists on telling me it’s been done wrong in some twisted way.” He walked up to a large steel door and placed a hand on a palm print reader that seemed tiny in comparison to the giant door, which was about twice as high as the man himself. He stood tall as the door slid open, and walked in with elegant posture.

As Major Sven Pyotr of The State Military Police Operations strode into the main lobby through the set of steel doors, he passed through a metal detector, an X-ray machine, and the view of a dozen cameras. He did not have to enter any password, or have his I.D. ready. Even the fact that he had a weapon in his possession did not matter. If he was indeed an intruder, the army of security forces that patrolled the premise would have by this time pinned him to the ground or placed a bullet in his head. The State wasted no time in manual security checks.

As Sven entered one of the eight elevators on his side of the building, memories filled his head. “Major Pyotr, your orders are to direct the trucks to the head of the river, then have all two hundred crates dumped into the water. The area, as you know, is a major agricultural region. By dawn, all the farmland near the river will be barren, and unusable, but in the end you shall have carried out an honorable sacrifice for out nation.” Such were the words of Colonel Jukör, his boss and the commander of Special Police Operations Units 7 and 8. The Special Police Operations Units totaled ten in number, and were all headquartered on one side of the building. Now, Jukör took the title of general. He had been promoted for the completion of the mission just described, though Sven had done most of the work. The mission, by the name of “Project 2855,” was designed to wipe out the farmland of one of Sungaria’s top agricultural areas, so the propaganda sector could blame the Gavon Republic, a rival superpower to Sungaria’s east, for this action. The Gavon Republic was known to have formerly been in alliance with Sungaria, but had become “greedy and corrupt”, so said the propaganda section, “and that our peaceful government could no longer cooperate with these bandits.” For nearly fifty years, the government of the Gavon Republic was said to be the instigator of “all that is evil in this world.” Sven, as an officer, was told that all the State’s actions were in the long run good for the people of Sungaria, and were necessary for defeating the “barbaric Gavon state founded on lies and deceit.” It was commonly known that the “facts” were either made up or grossly overblown, but so long as the truth remained hidden any story would do.

His office was on the 12th floor. He was extremely lucky to have a window in his room, as most of the rooms in the Ministry of Stability were in the building’s interior, away from sunlight. Another good thing was that the elevator was located only a few meters from his door. The bad thing about his room, however, was that there was a surveillance camera looking down at the desk. In fact, there were cameras in the halls, and in most rooms of the building. They were always concealed in some way: One could be behind a mirror on a wall, placed behind a lamppost, or even looking out from between the cracks of the tiles on the ground. In his case, the camera was currently on the coat hanger. To make matters worse, their position would shift every few weeks, reminding one that he was never uncared for.

He walked in, took off his gloves and put them in his coat, which he hung up on the coat hanger, pretending to forget the electric eye while looking directly into its lens. Sven then walked over to his desk, turned on his computer, and set the briefcase on the desk. He opened it up and took out the pistol. It was a very dark grey, almost black, and very shiny. He thought about the single bullet it still contained, about what power that bullet had, the power to kill a man or animal, the power to eat through flesh and steel. He set the gun back on the table. He would need to get it reloaded. He always kept some spare clips in his desk, but he never wanted to use them. He sat down and noticed his computer was still starting up. Damn thing.

He picked up the newspaper, which the secretary put on everyone’s desk daily. The State made sure their news was read. He began to read the headline:


WORLD’S LARGEST NUCLEAR
POWER STATION COMPLETED


State workers of our beloved nation have proudly
finished the construction of the nuclear reactor in the Gratsk
Valley. Head of the Interior Ministry, Oscar (insert name here)
himself, visited the site. He was reportedly pleased
with the construction, which took only six years. The
complex, housing four reactors, is capable of producing
over 7000 megawatts. Our leader-

That was where Sven stopped. The articles got bad when they began to mention “Our leader.” He relaxed in his chair, bent backwards a little, and skillfully threw the newspaper in the recycling can behind him. There were other articles in the paper that might interest him, but he wasn’t feeling very good, and it was hurting his head to read. Five hours of sleep was never a good thing. He had to start his work writing a summary of his mission’s execution, and that was going to take a while. But first he would check his email and read the schedule, as it was a Monday. He read the schedule as he opened his email:

MONDAY, NOVEMBER 12: All officers of Unit 7 to report to Floor 12 Lecture Hall at 8:15 to address the successful execution of Project 2855 and its follow-up.
TUESDAY, NOVEMBER 13: All officers of Unit 7 to take the day off. Officers of Unit 8 must attend the Work Ethic Lecture in the Level 13 Lecture Hall
WEDSNDAY, NOVEMBER 14: All Units should be involved in their next projects.
THURSDAY, NOVEMBER 15: Today the military will hold a seminar on chemical warfare, and how to defend against these attacks.
FRIDAY, NOVEMBER 16: Normal work schedule.

His email yielded fewer results. He had only one letter, and it was from General Jukör. However, a letter from the general himself was rare for a major to receive; only when private talks were needed did they do this sort of thing. Sven hastily clicked on the “open” button. When it didn’t respond right away, he clicked it rapidly a few more times.

“Major Pyotr, come meet me in Planning Room 66, on Floor 66, fifteen minutes after the meeting. We need to talk face to face.”



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A question about illustrations: Are we allowed to post pictures at this forum? If not, I can just leave them out.

Cool, I see some topic views that I didn't cause.

Next part:

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Sven had actually never met Jukör; he had only seen his face on a screen at previous meetings. He was a bald, unscrupulous man of about fifty, with dark, deceitful eyes and eyebrows almost the size of his large moustache. He also had a beard, which he always kept very neat. He was always stroking it during the meetings, and once even tore a small piece of it out when he became angry. His small, endomorphic build somehow radiated an air of importance and arrogance. Sven disliked him. He had a habit of taking credit for other people’s work, as his colonels thought of most of the good ideas for projects. He was a dishonest, greedy man, for he was suspected on more than one occasion of siphoning money to his private account. Though it was common practice to take advantage of one’s position for personal gain, Jukör seemed covetous to the point that he was not even aware of when he had crossed paths with the regulations. However, he was always able to keep his position, and he never changed.

Sven thought about the other officers of Unit Seven. There was of course Jukör, who was often an annoyance, but there were also the colonels who carried out his work. Of the three of them, Colonel Jähn, Colonel Eukos, and Colonel Serik, Sven found that Colonel Eukos not only was the wisest of the three, but also had the best work ethic. He also was personally the most familiar with him. Colonel Eukos was a tall man with darker skin and dull brown eyes. He had come to the Special Police Operations from the Air Force, where he had also been an officer. He had an extremely practical outlook on issues, and was always quite straightforward. He always offered realistic solutions to problems, and Sven’s intuition logically figured that he and Jukör should have had opposite positions.

Sven looked at his watch. It was 8:04. He finished typing a paragraph of his write-up, and then took the newspaper out of the garbage can. There just might be something important to know. He flipped past the first page, to the International Section. There were several small articles, mainly about food shortages in the poor nations occupied by overseas Gavon forces. There was also an article concerning the recent independence of three small nations on a peninsula formerly controlled by the Zyuknoslovian Federation, an enormous ancient superpower that was now losing its power. Being the first nation on the planet to develop a democratic system, it was constantly criticized by the State as being “inefficient, weak, and unstable.” Moving on, Sven briefly looked over the other articles. Finding little of interest to him, he tossed it in the garbage again, this time for good. He didn’t turn to see if it had made its way in or not.

Sven looked at his watch again. 8:10. He went to the coat hanger, instinctively peered at the camera, and put on his coat and hat. He then took his pistol out of his briefcase and put it in his breast pocket. It made him feel truly empowered, holding the pistol in his right hand by the handle. The pistol was made to fit his hand perfectly. A colonel had noticed Sven’s deadly accuracy with handguns when he was in the army and had a pistol custom-built for him when he joined the Special Police Operations. Sven walked down the steel-grey hall and into the meeting room. The room was rather large, being a meeting room, with a screen on the biggest wall. It measured two by three meters, covering a large portion of the wall. As Sven walked in, he saw that it now presented a map of Sungaria from the cameras of many satellites. It did not show borders, only geographic formations. It was amazing. Over time, borders would change and kingdoms would fall and rise, but the geography would remain the same. He took a seat at one of the four tables, which had been turned to face the screen. A few of the officers had already taken their seats, and all the colonels had already arrived. After a minute or two, the last man had entered the room and taken his seat. When he sat, the lights dimmed a bit and the screen changed. It faded from the map the image of the face of Jukör. He waited for everyone’s attention, and then spoke.
“I believe we all know why we are here.” He spoke with an air of impunity as if he was a teacher addressing a group of children. The map of Sungaria was shown again. It was now zooming in on an area in the northeastern provinces of Sungaria. Bright yellow was appearing in places that held intense agriculture, which was centered primarily along rivers.

“Two months ago, Project 2855 was based here.” The map finally centered on a small river that Sven automatically recognized as the one he had poisoned.

“The project was planned by Colonel Serik and Major Furlich, then overviewed by Colonel Jähn and ultimately executed by Major Pyotr with absolute perfection.” As he spoke, the bright yellow areas by the river began to dissolve from the map. This sent a slight chill down Sven’s spine. He could vividly imagine the foliage in the area die off and the fertile land turning to desert. Most importantly, he envisioned the people starving without food because of him. These people would just be normal workers and farmers, not knowing that one night a man would come and take away their lives.

Once, when he was a child, his orphanage had run out of food for a week. Most of the children fell ill, including Sven. And his situation was good. He lived in the capital, where the government made sure everybody had enough of everything. What about those who lived in the countryside, and those who slept on the streets of the vast metropolises? Who cared for them? Jukör interrupted his thoughts.

“The entire area is now enraged at the Gavon dogs, thanks to all your work and the work of the Propaganda Branch.” He was smiling. “And now I shall lead the way to our next operation, Project 2880.” The map was now centering on an area that Sven was not familiar with. “Our next project” he continued, “will have the same purpose as Project 2855, but be on a larger scale. The new nuclear power plant at Gratsk, just finished yesterday, will be destroyed by agents linked to the Gavon Republic. There will be a meltdown, and the entire valley shall suffer the long-term effects of radiation damage. The Gratsk Valley also happens to point in the direction of the Gavon Republic, so they’ll also get radiation when the wind blows.” He paused. Jähn and Serik looked at each other. He continued.

“The aftermath? What a good pretext for war! We outnumber the Gavon Republic three to two in land forces, their planes are inferior to ours, and their ships that aren’t around the world are surrounded by our submarines. The army has been planning such an attack for years, and they demand that we give them a reason to fight before the enemy upgrades all their hardware. This is it.” The screen showed his enthusiastic face. Eukos quickly objected.

“Your idea is not only impractical, but simply outrageous.” Everyone in the room visibly reacted in some way. The two other colonels turned their heads simultaneously at Eukos, some of the lower officers sat a little straighter in their seats, and a few turned their heads to the screen, anticipating Jukör’s response. “Why would the military need a pretext for war? Even if a reason was needed, Project 2855 would work just as well. Furthermore, your proposition is too far-fetched. Why destroy more than ten years of labor? It would disrupt the economy of the whole region, which is poor enough as it is. In addition, about fifteen million people live in that area, which is a major industrial center. A nuclear meltdown would be a devastating blow to the nation as a whole. ” Although the newspaper said six years, ten was probably closer to the truth.

Apparently Jukör thought he was joking, because his response was idiotic.

“Oh? Let’s see your better idea then, shall we? Oh, he doesn’t have one? Lets use mine, then!” His face had become sarcastic and stupid. Eukos’s reply was not kind.

“General, you will fail this country and its people, if you carry through with your plan. It is ridiculous, and I see no reason to have it carried out. Had it not been for the support of you countrymen and fellow officers, the Commander would have demoted you long ago.” The Commander was the head of the Special Police Operations Branch. Everyone knew who he was, Helmut Yektin, but it was considered disrespectful to address him by his name. General Jukör’s face went from disdain to rage. He screamed at Eukos.

“This is MY Unit and I shall not have insubordination! Eukos, if you do not want to be sent to Perak by next week I suggest you understand who is in charge here. I have had enough of your criticism of everything!” Everyone was deathly silent. Perak was an ally of Sungaria. A desert country, it always had water shortages and oftentimes, Sungarian prisoners would be sent there to work on the irrigation systems, which never seemed to be finished. Officers often used “sending to Perak” as a threat, and sometimes it did happen. It was not until the secretary came in with the tea a moment later was the awkward silence that ensued broken. It was amazing, Sven thought, how an image on a screen could have so much control over people. Then Jukör spoke again. This time, his voice was directed at everyone.

“I want you all to get to work on Wednesday. There is also another small issue regarding 2855.” His eyes now turned towards Sven. “Just last weekend, seven men were killed, but there was also an eighth man, who had been taken off the list. Am I correct?”

“Yes, General.” Sven replied.

“I want him dead by next Monday. It was a mistake on our part to cross out his death warrant. Now that his name is unknown, it will be harder to find him. He must have concealed himself well by now. Is there anything that anyone has to say?”

A major spoke up. He was called Hischler, and his office was next to that of Sven’s. He was a good guy, but seemed to lack common sense at times. It was clear to all that his father had guaranteed his position for him.

“Where are we going to procure men who can stage a reactor meltdown?”

“You shall bribe some scientists, perhaps. The details are your jobs. I believe we are finished here. Is all clear?” Jukör’s face was stern and businesslike, directing his underlings. Sven sat there, his mind churning out all sorts of thoughts that would never make their way to his mouth, no matter how hard he wanted.

“Yes, General,” was the unanimous response, as Jukör’s face faded back into the original map of Sungaria. As he left the room along with the rest of the officers, Sven took a short but deep look at the Gratsk Valley, where the nuclear facility was located. What would happen this time? A lot more damage would be done than a few crops missing from the river. The area would be rendered nearly unlivable. What should be done? His body walked back to his office, unnerved in an eerie sort of way, as if it was rejecting his thoughts.



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Yes, I know it's a bit wordy, but just bear with me here. At least it's not as bad as those old 19th century books where each description lasts like three pages.

Pretty easy to read, even for a non English native.... I wonder, did you start the story in the 80's? ... then did a search and replace on Russia, Gulag .. etc Nice stuff .. please continue..

I wonder, did you start the story in the 80's?

You shall see. Because this takes place in a different world, there really is no "1980's" but I guess you can tell by the technological level...

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As Sven sat down at his desk, he did not immediately turn on his computer, but sat down to relax a moment. He looked out the window. He wouldn’t be surprised if it started raining soon. In fact, he wouldn’t be surprised if it already was. If it was indeed raining, the worst of it hadn’t come yet. There were storm clouds many kilometers in diameter that floated around the planet, bringing huge rain and lightening storms wherever they went. They would hang around for a few weeks, and then suddenly let out a torrent of water and electricity. The water would flood the streets and drain into the canal, which in turn led to the sea, irrigating farmland on the way. Not the river he had poisoned, though. The plants were all dead, washed into the sea by now. The area was probably suffering from erosion. And it was because of him. Sven imagined coming home one day, and his wife telling him that three was nothing to eat for dinner, no way to feed their children. Sven cringed at the thought. And yet he had caused it in countless other families, and he was responsible. He didn’t want to think about it, but it was forced into his mind, like the police chasing a criminal. And he was the criminal. He turned his head to look at the pictures of his family. There was a picture of him with his wife a month before their wedding, a picture of his three children, and a picture of him with his entire family. He would have liked to have a picture of his parents up there, but they had passed away before Sven had gotten any photographs of them. They had died when he was six, for reasons he himself were not sure about. Had they died in a train crash? A fire? Had they drowned on one of his father’s overseas trips? Sven did not want to think of his parents, either. What would his mother think of his job? Would she be proud of her son, killing people for the State? What kind of work did they do?

He looked at the picture of him and his wife, Karin. Sven joined the army at seventeen; he had met Karin while his platoon was stationed in the Northeast, when he was twenty. She was only sixteen at the time. They married two years later, when she went back to the capital with him. They had a daughter and twin sons in the next three years. At the age of twenty-five, Sven was recruited for the Special Police Operations, when the then-Major Eukos noticed his skill with handguns. He had been there ever since, for four years. Karin was probably the kindest person Sven had known. She never tried to get unreasonable bargains at the food markets like most people, and was always going out of her way to help people. Sven did not want to think about it this way, but he knew that if he did not have the sort of income that he did, Karin would be starving on the streets now because of her selfless, angelic character. It was sad, almost angering, how society rewarded only those who worked hard to take advantage of others. But it was unwise to think of such things when nothing could be done, after all. He looked at his watch. He probably should leave to go to meet Jukör now. Very well. He put on his coat and hat and turned off the light as he exited, closing the door behind him.

He started down the hall, after putting on his promotional badges and his hat. He was both nervous and excited to see the general. What was he like in person? Probably not much better than at meetings. He was intimidating. As he was just about to get to the elevator, something strange happened. Sven noticed that there was a sudden feeling of coldness in his body, starting in his head, then going down his spine and into his feet. He shivered once and went into the elevator. There. The coldness went away. It was unnatural, not like putting one’s hands in ice water. He noticed that this had also happened when he hung up his coat at the coat hanger. As the elevator went up, Sven could not restrain himself from thinking, “What sort of guy is Jukör? What if he demotes me?” As he strode out of the elevator, the intruding feeling overcame him again.

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Ok, this one is short because there is a lot of interior monologue and not much happening, so I want to put this part in it's own post so people don't get bored.

This will be the end of the part "An Act of Patriotism." It is, by no means, however, the end of novel.

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White tiles, each one lined up perfectly on the walls, filled the room, which was soundproof. Sven Pyotr walked into the room, his heart beating with excitement. What had the general called him here for? A promotion, perhaps? As he went in, the door, which was also white, closed behind him with the gushing sound of hydraulics. The time had come. Sitting at a desk of stainless steel was the general.

“Why don’t you have a seat?” he said, gesturing towards a chair sitting in the corner. His voice had an inviting feel, certainly not as intimidating as he was on the television screen. However, Sven still felt uneasy around his superior. Taking his seat, Sven took a quick glance at what was on the desk. There was a small box, that one might put jewelry in, a pen, and some official documents. There was an eerie sound in the room, like a light breeze. Although it was barely audible, its presence was undeniable, forcing its way into his ears.

As Sven sat down, the general immediately assumed a businesslike stance, taking papers carefully out of his desk, while stroking his brown beard.

“Major Pyotr,” he said, “I have decided, that due to your exemplary work habits and accomplishments, you are to be promoted to the rank of Colonel. Take that box, and the contents are yours.” Sven reached for the box and opened it. Inside was a badge, meant to pinned to one’s uniform. A shiver of greedy delight went down his spine.

“Thank, you, General,” Sven said courteously.
“Well,” the general, said in a light-hearted manner, “put it on!” He took out a rectangular mirror out from his desk and held it out in front of him as he finished putting the badge on.

“It looks good on your uniform,” the general said. His words sounded so sincere one could not help but think they were coming from his heart. “It goes well with your eyes.” He was right, Sven thought, somewhat boastfully. He looked at his reflection. His eyes were a brilliant blue, like sapphires. His face was very masculine, although it possessed a soft quality that seemed almost out of place with his line of work. The badge, being the same color of his eyes, stood out on the dark gray of his uniform. Two other badges were pinned on it, one of a lieutenant and one of his recent rank, a major. A few strands of golden hair hung out from underneath his officer’s hat, which was the same color of his uniform. He smiled faintly, and the general put away the mirror.

“However, there remain matters which must be addressed.” His words seemed threatening to Sven, as if Jukör was going to take away his newly gained position.
“What?” he said, rather loudly, forgetting to call his superior “general.”

“It is our colleague, Colonel Eukos. You know there can never be more than three colonels in a unit at once in a unit, right?” Sven did not like the sound of that, much less where he knew the conversation was directed. Colonel Eukos was a friend.

“Yes? What about him?” Sven blinked. It was then that he realized where the peculiar breezy sound was coming from. A small vent was lightly blowing air into the room. The general bent forward a little, and spoke with an almost eager voice:

“He is going to be leaving us.” His words were not unexpected, but Sven felt a sense of shock, resentment, and bewilderment nonetheless.
“Wh-why is that, General Jukör?” he stammered.
“His work ethic and habits are bad. You witnessed his actions at the meeting today, Colonel Pyotr, and I think you know what needs to be done.”

“I honestly don’t see anything wrong with him. What has to be done?” So what exactly did Jukör want? “Get rid of him, Sven. Such a threatening attitude like his cannot be tolerated.” It was the first time he had been addressed by the general as “Sven,” as if he was a close friend of his now.

“Eukos is not a threat! On the contrary, he has always served the State loyally!” His voice rose a little in volume. Jukör stared at him blankly, with a completely neutral look on face.

“You would make a much better colonel than he. If I tried to fire or demote him, Sven, you must understand that the process would be incredibly long. Eukos does not like me very much. He would disagree in the face of such an idea, and in doing so would delay your actual promotion by at least a month or two. The military wants to begin the war as soon as possible, so having such a man as Eukos remain active is simply reckless. Sven, you must understand.”

“That would be murder of our own comrade, General.” He was skating on thin ice, he knew, talking in such a manner. Every instinct of his was screaming at him to stop, but his mind thought otherwise.

“Not murder, Sven but patriotism. It will be an act of patriotism on your part. At this critical moment of history, when our glorious nation is about to destroy our enemy, you will serve the State by eliminating a troublemaker.” Sven was feeling a lump growing in his throat as he contemplated Jukör’s words. However, he only felt that because of what might happen to his friend. His instincts did nothing to show himself that he thought otherwise, and that drove him mad.

“I don’t want to kill people,” he said, in a steady manner, but only somewhat confidently. “I am a policeman, and my job is to stop criminals.” That statement made him the biggest hypocrite alive. Of course he was a killer. His job was all about assassination.

“And why not?” the general retorted. “Your last mission, Project 2855, resulted in utter catastrophe. We have the untimely deaths of 6752 people confirmed. They starved to death. Just between last Thursday and this morning at around 1 o’clock, you killed another seven people. You shot every one of them flawlessly. So that adds up to 6759 deaths accountable to you.” His words were walling him up, encasing him in a prison of famine that he could not deny, with no way out.

“But think, Sven. You did this for the State, for our country. Those seven men you killed were working for its destruction. Those who starved became martyrs who inspired millions, who will remain immortal in our hearts. Colonel Eukos is the same. He is a criminal, a man bringing about the end of the State. And if the State falls, everything is finished!”

Sven remained motionless, but his mind shook. He was not the
person he wanted to be at all. Everything about him was tainted by a grotesque, vile presence. He tried to fight against it, but in vain. Even his very instincts were not his own, but that of a murderer.

“Sven, you have helped the State. You are a great man” Jukör was showing him the door, leading him down the path of eternal darkness. Sven glared at him through unchanging eyes.

“How can you call me great!? I killed thousands of people so we could trick millions more into believing us!” He was starting to lose it. “I heard tell Colonel Jähn that the more people who died in Project 2855, the better! How does that help our country at all? How can you glorify a State that goes out of its way to slaughter its own people!?” His face contorted as he lectured his superior. He imagined Karin telling him again that there was nothing to eat, and imagined that on a larger degree, coupled with agony and death. But to think that he caused it all was too much.

“This is an order, Colonel.” Jukör commanded. „Take your pistol, and use that last you have to kill him. Make it appear as a suicide, and come up with some false charges against him. There is no issue with it. You have no other option. This is your job.” A battle was being waged, a battle between his consciousness and his sub-consciousness. It was not Jukör who he was fighting now. It was himself.

Sven wasn’t fully listening anymore. His sub-consciousness was beginning to overpower the consciousness by sheer pressure; two opposing mechanisms grinding each other into powder. No way out, no way to keep his mind in control. Jukör’s words blended themselves together, mixing themselves up as they tried to interfere with Sven’s internal strife. “Take your pistol…” “This is your job…” “You have no other option…” “It will be an act of patriotism.” The last quote completed the thought forming in his brain. All he had to do was to end it now, to take the conflict outside himself, to the source. He was State enemy, a criminal who deserved no less than death. To kill him would be an act of patriotism. As if in a dream, Sven rose. His right hand reached in his coat pocket. The weapon was withdrawn. He held an outstretched arm to his foe. A single bullet casing fell and hit the ground with a metallic strike. The bullet did what it had been made to do.

It was an act of patriotism.

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I will have a picture in this post up soon, don't worry!

Warning: To those of you who have dial-up, be prepared. This novel involves posting large illustrations.

Now for the next part. It appears that people are reading this, if not replying. That's fine.

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AN ACT OF DEFIANCE


"The village representatives tell lies to the community and the community representatives lie to the county level officials. The lies do not stop there. The lies continue from level to level, up to the Sungarian State Council. The Sungarian State Council gives directions, which will then move back, level by level, until it reaches the lowest level. Once the officials have read the directive, they will go to have dinner and the directives become empty words from their mouths."



A white, ghostly light squeezed in the barred window, making visible the fine dust particles that lingered in the air. The stone walls were tinged with such an aura that it made one shiver just to touch it. The window aside, there was in the cell no warmth, no light, no hope. A sapphire, stripped of its former splendor, now reverted to the stone it always was. A breath from a sigh ascended and disappeared in a twist and swirl. The pit-pat the dust in the air, the egalitarian cold; in such a hell there was peace, in such desperation there was tranquility.

Fingers extended and coiled around the steel bars. Their very coldness formed barriers from the window to the door, and upon contacting soft, organic skin the wintriness pushed, attacked, invaded and forced all other feeling out with its cancerous quality. The hand let go, running for warmth. A shiver ran down his spine, causing a brief but sudden shock. Sven’s coat was thin, being meant as being a uniform rather than an insulator, and staying in the basement of an unheated prison in the middle of November didn’t help much. Searching his pockets, his eyes darted around the cell. The whole place was devoid of colour, the cones in his eyes dominating the rods. Even in the face of light flowing from the window the cell was still grey. Perhaps that was the truth. Perhaps that was the truth and that was all there was to it. That he, his life, and his existence was grey, insignificant, dead. A dead man breathing, that’s what he was. Even the light negating the darkness could only bring brightness; no colour. Which side would he take; the light or the darkness? Both sides were just as drab and cold as the other. In the end, weren’t they just the same?

Sven took his hand out of his pocket, holding a match. With a swift swipe of his arm, he struck it against the wall, giving birth to a light all orange flame, a living, moving entity. His fingers curled around it, shielding it, not knowing what they were protecting it against. Was it the darkness? The colourlessness? He looked once again at the window and the flame disappeared, reverting everything to the default grey. He looked down at his hand, examining the black, dead charcoal that had burned his fingertip and slid into this palm. Quickly, he looked for another match. There was none. A sudden wave of dejection passed over him like a dark storm cloud. How much he wanted to see that colourful light again, how satisfying it was! Alas, it was dead, gone forever.

A crash, echoing through the halls. In a final effort his hands clasped the bars tightly, his blue eyes futilely trying to resist the colorlessness, his blond hair now white in a place where there were only two sides.

The future awaited.

haven't read everything yet but it sounds really cool. keep it up.
I have started working on a similar universe like yours. but it is in german

how did you start your work? did you came up with a idea and just starte writing? at the moment I'm building up the basics of my universe like timeframe, politics, technology and stuff and plan to write a few short-stories after that.

but it is in german

I can sort of read that language. In fact, my novel would be more accurate if written in German since the nation it's set in is a lot like Germany, except larger and much more powerful.

how did you start your work? did you came up with a idea and just starte writing?

I actually started this for a school project a year ago, but it got too complicated and long, not mention off the topic my teacher wanted. I forgot about it until a few months later, and then finished the first part. This is when I actually sat down to think of a plot that would last 40000 words instead of 6000.

at the moment I'm building up the basics of my universe like timeframe, politics, technology and stuff and plan to write a few short-stories after that.

That is really cool. In German, you say? seems fun to read.

EDIT: Got to post the next section


“Well, you’ve really gotten yourself into a mess, Major, or should I call you Colonel?” Eukos said, adding a slight twitch to his lips at the last few words. He filled a small shotglass with a bottle of champagne sitting on his document-covered desk and consumed it in a most elegant manner, with not even the slightest indication of gurgling or any other roughness in his throat. Sven stood in front of him, his eyes wild with the overwhelming reality that was soon to be faced.

“I need to get out. I need to get out of here and out of the country.” What was he doing here, endangering Eukos as well as himself? What was he doing, testing the response time of the security forces? He most likely wouldn’t make it out of the building alive; why was he still trying? Eukos stared at him, the distant look in his eyes indicating that he was deep in thought. What was on his mind? How would he respond? The security soldiers were certainly on their way by now; how much time did they have to talk?

“A very reckless deed on your part,” he replied, “but not unexpected. You were always idealistic, not thinking things through before you did them. I can’t say I entirely agree with what you have done, or that I will necessarily be able to help you.” Typical of Eukos, to provide a disclaimer before he said something. Up until now, Sven had always felt that Eukos was a good friend of his, but now he was cold, unwelcoming, and concerned.

“If I am arrested or killed, I want my wife and kids to have a future. Please call Karin and inform her of the situation.” He had no idea how he was supposed to survive. His thoughts began to wander into the realm of what might happen to him in the event of arrest, and a shudder overcame him. Don’t go there, his gut told him, but it was no use. His mind was free to do whatever it pleased, to follow its own course to prosper or destruction.

“That can be done. However,” he said, gravely, “There is little chance of you getting out of this building outside their custody.” He took a second shotglass out from his desk and filled it. “Would you care for a last drink?” His hazel eyes were so still, his eyelids not moving the slightest amount, that one could have mistaken him for a wax mannequin had the glass and bottle been able to hold an infinite quantity of liquid. “We may never see one another again.” Sven felt sick, starting in his stomach, coursing up his innards and into his spinal chord, flinging that very sensation straight into his nervous complex. Indeed, a nightmare alive. Still, he accepted the drink.

“My thanks,” he said, his body in an upright pose. Far from the truth. What did it matter that you could keep an act all day long, pleasing your superiors, if your mind felt like crap? What did it matter that he wore a uniform and worked for a government, if he killed for convenience? “No”, his gut instinct cried, “You’re crazy! You’re going to get us killed over those petty, useless thoughts of yours? Who the hell did you think you were, with your ‘patriotism’ bullshit? What on earth has gotten into you? Why can’t you just coexist normally with your surroundings?” Something was wrong here. Sven couldn’t tell what it was, but something was wrong with him. He was in control. His mind, his thoughts, him. He would do whatever the hell he wanted. And yet…his workings simply didn’t permit that. “What right does my gut have,” Sven’s mind raged, “what right does my instinct have to lord over my consciousness!? Why does it torment me like this!?” He wanted to spit out the champagne, that nasty fluid. But he couldn’t. It was stuck in him, just as much as he was.

“Now, Sven, I must say that, while your shooting the general was an incredibly stupid thing to do, it is not necessarily a bad thing and I am not simply trying to help you because I know you.” Sven was not sure, but he thought he saw Eukos’ eyes waver just the slightest bit. “I hate to say it, but Jukör’s demise is most convenient.” The statement’s meaning itself did not come as a shock to Sven. Of all the people in the Special Police Operations Unit 7, Colonel Josef Eukos was surely the one to receive the most out of Jukör’s death. It was obvious that the empty position would go to Eukos. But, the fact that the Colonel could say this out loud was impressive, at the least.

“Don’t be so careless in your speech! What if I am interrogated, Colonel? I could be a danger to you!” Eukos turned his head slightly, disregarding his statement.

“It would be more dangerous to yourself, Sven, in the event that you did say such a thing. They’d probably give up on you and shoot you on the spot, once you started saying those kinds of things. Here.” He opened up a drawer in his desk and handed Sven a small earpiece. “Put that in your ear. I can see all the positions of the security personnel in this area of the building from my computer, and I’ll tell you how to get out. But if you are found, get rid of it as soon as possible. You can do that for me, right?” He grinned as Sven left the room, who mistakenly turned off the light as he went, by habit. “That’s okay,” Eukos thought to himself. “I don’t need the light interfering with my screen.”, the colonel decided, his face illuminated by the white light of his monitor. He had a plan for him.


Now all he had to do was execute it.


Sven peered around the corner and quickly turned back, spotting a uniformed man with a submachinegun facing away from him, about thirty meters down the corridor. A voice crackled in his ear:

“Can you hear me? There are two guards walking around in this area, so you should go towards the sky bridge. There’s a man there as well, but you should be able to get past him.” Sven was trained in stealthy escapes, but his pulse rang like a siren, standing out so much that he was certain the men after him could hear it.

“Okay, I’ll do my best” he whispered as he began to turn away from the corner. Opening a door on the opposite side of the hall, he crept into a large room, this one used as an archiving area. He disappeared into a sea of bookcases, making his way to the other end, where the skybridge was. As he approached the other exit, Eukos spoke again:

“Stop.” The word hit him and he obeyed. He stood between two oaken bookcases, doing his best to keep his breathing quiet. Eukos continued: “The guard has been standing outside this door for some time now. The skybridge is no longer an option.”

“Perhaps I should make a run for the staircase?”
“It’s dangerous. There’s a guy monitoring these three levels as well. However…”
“What?” Footsteps. Sven spun around, just in time to see a woman walk past at the other end of the bookcases, not noticing him.
“If we can get the timing right-hey! There’s a whole gang of them coming up from the central building!”
“How many?”
“Five, no six.”
“Crap. What should I do?”

“Go to the west side of the archives, and there should be a door. Got through it, hurry!” The fire exit. Was Eukos insane? On second thoughts, no. By the time the guards got there, he would have already been on a lower level. He rushed across the caret, taking care to lessen the impact of each footstep. Coming to the western side of the library, he ducked behind the information desk just as the woman came around out from right where he had just been. Damn. What would he do now? That was when it struck him. Undoubtedly there was video surveillance of this room as well. Had the woman known he was there and had gone to check it out? The footsteps came nearer and nearer to the desk. The woman was probably the librarian, Sven deduced. That meant she wouldn’t come up on Eukos’ screen like the guards, explaining why he had said nothing.

“Why have you stopped? Five guards just went past my office. If you don’t go now you’ll be cornered!” Sven was at loss as to what to do. He wanted to strike the librarian down, but that prospect shied in the presence of the camera. Then another thought hit him. If he had already been seen, why did it matter if he was seen again?

The librarian took off a pair of spectacles and began to clean them off with a handkerchief right as she noticed a movement from underneath her desk. A man rolled out from the frontside, and, like lightening he sprang up and pulled an arm around her neck, which began to squeeze. She opened her mouth to scream, but no sound came out. Sven turned around facing his former position and dragged her backwards into the dim lighting of the bookcase area as she lost consciousness. He let the now-benign lady down beside the edge of the bookcase and made off to the fire exit. Without the slightest hesitation he broke through, seeing out of the corner of his eye two guards. Their eyes widened in surprise as they yelled ‘Stop!” at him, drawing pistols. That did not matter. Sven made a ninety degree turn, instinctually withdrawing his own weapon as his back pushed against the door handle leading to the staircase. It was so fast. Pulling the trigger, he stumbled into the stairwell as his pistol made a “click.” Such a letdown. He spun around and jumped down the stairs, going down flight after flight. The guard.

“Sven, you were too late! Quick, to the right!” Sven’s eyes darted to the side, spying a door labeled “service.” He barged into a small room with an elevator door, and he frantically pushed the button as the sound of stomping boots charged down the stairs. A muffled voice. “He went this way!” The door opened. Like a madman, he leaped in and pushed the “ground floor” button as the doors closed and the elevator began its descent. He crumpled to the side of the compartment, letting the empty pistol fall from his hand. He palms pressed against the dirty floor, perhaps trying to somehow transfer his crazy pulse into the ground, to distribute it with something other than himself…

“Sven!” Eukos said, sharply. “Where are you headed?” Sven opened his eyes.

“To the ground floor. What should I do when I’m there?” Eukos swallowed, then answered.

“Go out the back exit, to the gardens. There’s bound to be security waiting for you at the front entrance.” The colonel filled his shotglass again and chugged it down. It was time to end this part of the plan. He picked up his phone and punched in a number.

“Security. Who is this?” Eukos sat up straight.

“Colonel Eukos, Special Police Operations. Request command of security in this area to be transferred to me. I know where the perpetrator is.”

“Of course, Colonel. Do what you will.” Eukos picked up a radio from beside his computer. He pressed and held a button, and issued an order:

“All security units in Section 13, secure the stairs and elevators. Teams 7 and 16, have a van waiting at the back entrance the ground floor, and keep an eye on the service elevator. Try to take target alive.” Eukos relaxed in his chair, not looking at anything in particular. “It’ll be over soon, Sven,” he thought. “You’re going to be in a sticky situation for some time.” He took a cigarette from a package out of the drawer containing his drinks and light it, but did not bring it to his mouth. Instead, he watched it shrivel and burn itself out, like a writhing snake caught by its head. He lowered his head until his eyes watched the screen again. There would be some waiting…

Sven looked at his watch. About two minutes had gone by since he left Eukos’ office, but it felt much longer. Sven took a magazine of bullets out of his pocket and reloaded his gun. Not that he would be using it, but the act of rearming himself made him feel a little more secure. He sighed as the elevator came to a halt, and he got up slowly. He was tired of all this.

“Halt!” Three guardsmen stood directly outside the elevator, their professional combat positions turning them to statues, their automatic weapons ready to shoot at the first sign of danger. Their black uniforms made them mere silhouettes of men, servants of the State. Sven let his gun fall to the ground and a soldier picked it up, its uniform blackness fusing with the guard’s gloved hand. Sven’s teeth clenched as he realized the truth. It was a setup.

Eukos watched the icons on his screen move from the elevator to the exit, where a van waited. “Poor Sven,” he thought. “He must hate me now.” But he wasn’t finished. Not yet. If Jukör could consult help outside the law, so could he. He brushed the remains of the cigarette off the des into a waiting trash can. He picked up a phone, cycled through a list of contacts, and selected one.

“Good morning, Colonel. It’s me, Josef.” A faint smile lit up his face.

“Ah, it’s you. What do you need?” A raspy voice, ruined by combat injuries, came through. It was important to have connections.

“Do you have a squad available? I have a personal favor to ask of you. Syemska, of course” Eukos’ smile grew. It was always better to plan things out rather than let them to the dangers of chance, Sven included. He flicked a switch and the lights came back on.

actually it is still just a collection of bits and pieces, handwritten stuff, ideas, loose information, artefacts, parts of scripts and so on. nothing I can show for now, sorry
I'm working on it when I fell like it and have the time. Well, working maybe the wrong word. It is more like a pool where I throw in all my ideas, visions, inspiration from anime, movies, games, books etc.

Maybe I could give a really basic summary:
It is a cyberpunk/steampunk urban-fantasy universe. It takes place in the near future somewhere around 2100. Nations still exist but parlaments and politics are just a place for corruption and exploitation. For example, lords and noblemen reign in europe again. and political and economical power is wide spread on global corporations, political parties, sects, city councils, military leaders, terrorist, criminal groups etc.
Information technology hasn't developed like today but genetics and bionics are far more established and used.
At the moment I have three characters I am working on.
A professional freelance thief saboteur, a major of the communist party (the soviet union still exist - not like in the 80s but I don't know in which way, not yet ), who is working as a arms dealer, killer and spy, and a crew of an airship which belongs to a splinter party of the communist party

most of the action takes place in "the" city, which is kind of autonomous, like duckburg
I'm working on its layout and style. because I'm studying urban-planning and architecture in real-life, I'm doing it quite thorough

so much for now. when I have something worth showing you guys will be the first to see.

when I have something worth showing you guys will be the first to see.

yesyesyesyessssss!

I really need some inspiration to improve my German anyway, particularly if I want to skip a level of it for next year. Plaese get something posted soon.

Anyways, here's the next part to the noevl:

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A crash, metal on metal. Sven struggled against the bars with all his strength, obviously to no avail. Defeated, he dropped his knees, and lowered his head. He wrapped his arms around himself, hoping to keep at least some of the warmth that still remained in him. How many days had gone by? Two? Three? Ten? He didn’t care. Time didn’t exist here. Life didn’t exist here either, along with most other things. The running sound of boots coming closer did not concern him, nor the shouts that accompanied them. Door after door was barged down, but Sven did not take notice. A gunshot, a clank, then a voice:

“We’re good! Sergeant, cover us while we secure the hall!” The sound of boots clicking together brought Sven out of his trance. Why was the voice so familiar?

“Yes sir!” A low voice obeyed. Sven stood as four heavily armed men approached his cell. They moved carefully, aiming their weapons around, ready to fire. An infantryman wearing a balaclava moved over to his cell, and in a split second his rifle was directed at his forehead.

“I’ve found him, Captain!” The soldier lowered his weapon as another soldier, the captain, Sven assumed, walked calmly over. He took his hand off his gun and Sven noticed that it was connected to a strap on the man’s shoulder. The captain took off his helmet and balaclava, revealing his face.
Sven gasped.

“You!” A long, reddish scar ran down the side of the captain’s face. His hair, once blond in his youth, had now become a dark brown. Two lethal grey eyes stared at Sven as a grin of memory crept over his face.

“Open this excuse for a door.” The captain’s eyes turned away from Sven. A soldier saluted and another brought an axe. With one swift blow, he halved the once-invincible lock. The commandant kicked at the door, which, being made to open out and not in, did not budge. Sven did not move. All he could do was stare into the eyes of this machine of a man.

“Wilhelm?” No answer. The captain grunted and threw open the door. Sven moved back as two more men came into view. They rushed in and grabbed him by his shoulders as the man with the axe dropped the tool and picked up the captain’s balaclava. Moving with fantastic speed, he put it over Sven’s head backwards, which was in shock with surprise. No longer being able to see, he felt strong arms carry him like a sack of potatoes through the hall. He attempted to break free, but only momentarily.

“Go, go, go!” The captain barked.

“Hostiles on the loose!” yelled the sergeant as automatic fire started up.

“Take cover! Don’t let them near!” An explosion ripped through Sven’s ears as a blinding flash of light momentarily uncloaked the darkness surrounding his eyes. A flashbang grenade. The soldiers opened fire, but unlike the prison guards they fired in short, accurate bursts. Sven’s body contorted and twisted as the soldiers ran with him up the stairs, individual shots and the screams of the unfortunate guards all blurring themselves together into one sample of Hell. The captain shouted out commands the whole time, expertly leading the squad through the complex. The chaotic noise of the melee mixed to form a constant, the frantic running of boots of stone floor smoothed out, and darkness turned to light. And then it stopped. A few gunshots, followed by screams, broke the silence, and Sven felt himself put down. He wanted to get up, but his body would not allow it. The ringing noise from the grenade lingered in his ears as powerful gloved hands set him up right. More hands pulled the balaclava off his head, and the light disappeared as a door slammed. Sven’s eyes adjusted to his surroundings, and he was now sitting in a chair, in the interior of a military vehicle. Behind him, he saw two rows of soldiers sitting on steel benches, with two more jumping in, closing the door behind them as the engine started up. Sven turned his head around a second time, to see the grey eyes of the captain staring him down.

“I thought you’d left the army” said Sven. There was no mistake. This man with his dark, lethal look had to be his military comrade Wilhelm. There was no way it wasn’t him. “You’re Syemska now?” The captain nodded.

“I’m still in the army though, Sev, in the Special Forces. This is more of a part-time job, shall we say.” It was all clear now, Sven thought. Someone had hired Wilhelm to extract him.

“You still don’t make much money as a captain, I assume?” The gray
eyes narrowed slightly, and then returned to normal. He sighed.

“What made you think I was a captain? I ought to be a captain, but some rich bastard bought the position. I’m only a captain here, with my squad. God, the army these days. All honor and sense went to hell after you left, Sev. It’s messed up.” His words made Sven feel slightly guilty. He had done little to earn his position, yet his comrade who had real skill held a far inferior position. “And you, Sev? How have you been doing these days? How’d you get in there?” Sven gulped.

“Actually, I’m technically a colonel.” Wilhelm moved back in surprise, his grey eyes oscillating. Sven looked out a window as the infantry vehicle raced along the highway.

“What? A colonel? You can’t be serious.” A couple soldiers came to sit by them. All of the men had by this time removed their balaclavas, revealing their humanity. Wilhelm turned to face them. “Hey, Private, this guy calls himself a colonel!” The men laughed. Sven looked for the badge Jukör had given him, but it wasn’t on his chest anymore. Crap. He found it in his pocket, and held it up into Wilhelm’s gaze.

“Here. Colonel Pyotr, 7th Special Police Operations Unit.” Now it was his turn to laugh. He instead smiled slightly, and then put the badge back in his pocket. The men laughed again, this time at their superior. The captain shrugged his shoulders good-naturedly.

“Okay, maybe you are a colonel. But how did you manage to waste it?” Sven didn’t want to say what he had done. He didn’t want to bring the nightmare to fruition. In fact, he didn’t want to remember.

“To be frank, I haven’t even been officially promoted yet. I’m in between major and colonel, because I killed the boss.” Wilhelm and the soldiers gasped.

“What the hell? He promoted you and then you killed him!?” One of the men looked angry, one looked plain dumb with shock, and Wilhelm remained motionless, trying to keep his dignity.

“I couldn’t deal with what we did anymore. I killed a lot of people and he glorified me for and I killed him, right after he gave me the badge. I just had to.” No you didn’t, an intruding voice told him. You could have just as easily given him your thanks and left. See, you wouldn’t be in this situation. Part of him wished he had done that. But he knew that there was no way for anything to happen differently. From the very day he joined the Special Operations it was inevitable, inevitable that his consciousness would catch up with him and do what it had to.

“So you killed him? Damn, why aren’t you dead yet?” Sven looked down, then out the window again. It was raining harder now. He wondered why. Why wasn’t he dead, if Eukos had betrayed him?

“I don’t know. Hey, Wilhelm, do you have a match?” The hardened man gave him a puzzled look, and then gave his henchmen a glance.

“Huh? What do you think he wants a match for?”

“Maybe he wants to burn us all up!” The soldiers laughed; Wilhelm did not. Sven simply sat there looking at them.

“What do you want a match for?” he asked, still perplexed. “I have one here.” He took out a book of them and gave it to him.

“I want to see it burn.” He took out a match and struck it. The little cardboard stick grew a flame. The fire burned its life out, burning skin and flesh as it went, and Sven’s eyes filled with tears. The match’s purpose had been fulfilled, it’s one wish satisfied. Did the match feel conflict? What did it hope to achieve in burning his fingertips? Was the cardboard pleading to be spared from its fiery demise? With a flick of a hand the stump of charcoal was out the window, its legacy cast aside. It had made nothing, it amounted to nothing, and it left nothing. But it had done what it was made to do, what it had to do. It burned, and that was all it needed to do.

“Did you get what you wanted? Would you like a cigarette?” No, Sven thought. The match had done something. It had burned itself into him, it had fused with him, it had survived in him. Was he not thinking about it? It existed on his fingertips, in his mind. In dying it achieved immortality.

“No thank you, I’m fine.” Wilhelm stared at him again, his eyes suddenly somewhat soft.
“What’s wrong?” Sven’s head snapped upright, and faced him.
“What?” The captain looked away for just a second.
“Nothing.” Did he know what was on his mind? It must have been weird, thought Sven, seeing him light the match for no apparent reason. Nevertheless, Sven was still in need of “why’s.”
“Who sent you to get me?” Wilhelm rubbed at his scar.

“Well, I’ll just tell it to you all now, if you can’t wait. I was taking a nap after a drink when some bastard called me, the guy we work for most of the time. He said he had a sudden job for us, to raid a prison. Man, you should see this guy sometime. He’s got a birthmark covering like half his face and he talks all like this.” He put in what sounded like what a person with a sore throat might sound like at the end. “He said it was for a friend of his and that we were to bring you back safe. I gotta say, I was scared out of my wits when I found out it was you. Right before we left I got a package from a Josef Eukos, and the boss said it should be for you.” Eukos? Wasn’t he the guy who had set him up? For a second, all thoughts blurred together in Sven’s head. Then it made sense. Eukos would probably send him some sort of taunt. But through Syemska? But then a thought in his mind turned in on itself, and now things made sense. Why hadn’t he realized it sooner? That had to have been it.

“Sev, you listening?” the captain inquired. Sven’s eyes, which had drifted into thought, suddenly came back into focus. “It amazing that a guy would risk so much to keep his men safe.” Sven’s thoughts were confirmed.

“What’d he say?” Sven had blundered in his previous thought.

“Here, you take it.” He handed Sven the package. The other soldiers chatted amongst themselves, forming a chaotic static noise in the war vehicle as it sped along the road, which was in need of paving. Sven opened the package carefully. It really wasn’t too big, about the length and width of an envelope but much bulkier. The first thing visible after Sven opened it was a folded piece of paper with the national seal and the official seal of the SPO on it. He unfolded the letter and read:


“My loyal and trustworthy comrade Major, I am deeply regretful for the trouble and hardship that I have put you through, not to mention the risk I have taken with your life. As you may have deduced, it was I who holds responsibility for your being apprehended.” Aha. Sven kept reading. “Allow me to inform you that this was for your safety as well as mine. Had I simply allowed you to leave the building, there was a high probability that you would have been taken into custody anyway or killed trying to escape. Therefore I had you freed. At the time you are reading this, I shall have replaced Jukör as commander of the 7th and 6th Units. I give my thanks to you for getting rid of him for me as he was a thorn in my side, and I think we will all benefit from your sacrifice. Al ready you have been forgotten; no one says anything of you anymore. Again, I give you my thanks.”

The thought crossed Sven’s mind that Eukos didn’t care about him in the least, and that he was just glad to have become general. But that wasn’t it. If that were the case, there would have been no point in rescuing him, in spending the money to hire a Syemska team. He could feel his heart beating, even over the engine and the chaotic conversation of the hardened soldiers behind him. Why was he sitting here? It wasn’t right that a murderer like himself should be alive. Like Jukör, he thought. Like Jukör, I ought to sitting in an incinerator somewhere. I should’ve been there a long time ago. No. Jukör had probably been given the honor of being buried. Justice doesn’t’ exist anymore. He turned the paper over, to read the rest.

“Although you are now out of prison and even off the police records, you are still in grave danger. A SCIO team is already on your tail, and seeing that they are very good at their jobs, it’s only a matter of time before they catch up with you. Your only hope is to leave the country and never come back.” The SCIO, or State Counter Intelligence Operations, was probably the most mysterious organizations within the Ministry of Stability, being to nearly everyone not part of it a complete enigma. It’s size and authority were not know, although it was said by some that the group was under the direct control of the Premier himself, and that any government worker could, potentially, be an SCIO operative. Occasionally, one’s colleagues would disappear, the only traces of them left being the rumors that it was the SCIO’s doing.

“Your wife and children are already gone, they’ve flown to Zyuknoslovia. I would advise doing whatever you can to get there, and once you do, go to their government and seek asylum. That is all I have to say. Good luck to you, you are now completely free to do whatever you want.


-Regards, Your Colonel Josef Eukos.”


The rest of the trip back to Vostokyr was relatively boring. After listening to Wilhelm and his men joke and chat for a few minutes, Sven dozed off.


When he awoke half an hour later, it was raining.

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Hoped you guys liked the action sequence. there will be more...

The next part: I am sorry not to have any more illustrations up yet, but have hope! they shall be up soon.

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“We’re here! Get up!” Wilhelm shook Sven, a steel hand acting with a steel voice. Sven got up, hitting his head of the ceiling as he got out of the armored vehicle. The men were standing beside the war machine in a row under a shed, waiting for their commander. Sven got out slowly. The rain had started, and as usual, would not stop for at least three weeks. Wilhelm came out after him and stood straight. His hand went up in a salute, and his boot clicked together. The soldiers did the same. Their weapons lay in a pile on the pavement, which was now beginning to soak up the rain. Sven slowly regained his posture, his eyes moving up and down the row. There were eleven, no; fourteen in total, counting the vehicle operators that were busy filling up the gas tanks and the captain. Every man’s face displayed a lethality that would make any normal man shiver at the mere sight, a professional perfection of inhuman measurement. I’m just like them, though Sven, but I’m not like them. Where were the men that hid behind those soldiers? Where was the man that hid in himself? It existed and was nonexistent simultaneously, sometimes a roaring behemoth and at others a mere whisper reminding him. His face turned slightly, his eyes now gazing beyond, at the dark storm that told the future. Never before had he felt so flustered. Never before had he felt so conscious, so alive.

“Comrades!” the captain’s voice was like a bullet piercing a calm night sky. “In line with the perfect execution of this morning’s operation, I will be giving each and every one of you a raise in wages from my own pocket! Every man will get an extra fifteen bank credits!” A wave of euphoria swept over the troops, a smile here, a grin over there. The army must give out terrible salaries these days, Sven mused. As a worker in the Ministry of Stability, Sven earned two hundred State Bank Credits a week, as the currency was called, or roughly ten thousand credits a year. The value of money had changed since Sven left the military, but when he was in service he got perhaps eighty credits a week, give or take. How much did soldiers make now? Sixty a week, seventy? It didn’t seem much to him, but fifteen credits could make a huge difference in a soldier’s life, he realized.

“Thank you!” all the soldiers shouted out in unison, their hands rising in salutes. Wilhelm repeated the action.

“You will receive your wages at the end of the week, like normal. Dismissed!” The men turned around and began to file out of the shed into the rain. The captain turned to Sven.

“Hey, how ‘bout a quick drink? I know a great bar not too far from here.” Sven was slightly taken aback by this offer. Even though Wilhelm was definitely of a much lower status than Sven, he had been his commanding officer during his time at the border and it seemed almost awkward that the man who used to give him orders and reprimand him for clumsiness was now inviting him for a friendly occasion.

“Yeah, sure. We’ve gotta be quick though, I’ve got to get out of here as soon as possible. Where are we, anyhow?” Wilhelm took a step forward. Despite his upbeat nature, Sven saw through him, through to the tired, stressed, man that he was. For the first time, Sven noticed that his breathing was heavy and uneven. For a moment Sven felt like he was talking to an old man.

“We’re in a military surplus compound. It’s annoying. Every time I take the men on a mission, I have to buy off the gateman. I hope he gets replaced by someone less greedy soon. Come, let’s go.” The two men entered the rain together.
“What about the guns and equipment?” Sven inquired. Wilhelm shrugged a little.

“Aw, maintenance will clean it up. Why worry?” Sven glanced across the landscape. There was, save the sky, not a sign of nature anywhere. The grey smog mixed with the clouds, hanging above the military-industrial complex like a specter, just lingering there, blotting out all real colour, the kind of look that depressed, tired men always saw. That was him. That was Wilhelm, that was Eukos, Jukör, that was who just about everyone he knew was. People shouldn’t be like this. People shouldn’t be in the smog and rain, with all these troubles constantly pressed down on them. Alas, who had a choice? Life was full of problems; life was about survival and getting what you could from the system and nothing else. We are alive, and that’s good enough.

The bar was small, being right next to a factory. It was a few bocks away from the light rail platform so by the time they got there both men were fairly wet. Wilhelm now wore a dark green greatcoat with the national insignia on the left arm, and gloves. The rain was like falling ice and each one tore into Sven’s coat like a shard of glass. He shivered.

“I see you’ve gotten weak after leaving us, Sev.” Wilhelm said, jokingly. “Can’t you take a little cold?” Sven wanted to say something, but decided it wasn’t worth it.
“Well,” said the captain. “Here we are.”


The interior of the bar was typically proletarian. Powerful, muscular men- the factory workers, gathered at tables chatting loudly while the bartenders worked in the back. A voice greeted Wilhelm as they entered.

“Look who’s here! If it isn’t the captain!” A mustached man in dirty grease-covered overalls raised his hand in greeting. He sat at a table with five other men, all of them equal in dirtiness and class. Instantly Sven felt out of place, enclosed, surrounded. He was of a different group, a different category.

“Hey, Fred, how’s it been going!?” Wilhelm responded in a similar fashion.

“How’s work?” The man grinned, his mustache twitching a little as he picked up his beer.

“Just fine, as always! My pay was cut from fifty-five to forty-eight a week, but it’s fine! My boss, as usual, had a good excuse for all of us, said the money the State supplied him for us was going down due to welfare benefits but I’m sure they know what’s best! And you? Still running, I see?” Sven suddenly felt a terrible sensation come over him. It came from all the men in the room, each one of them drowned him in it. What kind of person was the factory boss? How much did he make in a week? It was obvious that these workers were being cheated, be it by the State or some factory boss. Sven was a part of the State, he was one of those leeches who helped the poor get poorer and the rich get richer. Did this Fred have children? Most certainly, at least five, for a person like him. Did they ever starve? Obviously, probably all the time. Even at Sven’s level his children sometimes did not have enough to eat. His own wife was frail from slight malnutrition because she was always giving what should’ve been her food to the kids. He was overcome by guilt, which made the dark sky outsider even darker than before. At once he wanted suddenly to leave; his intuition was almost forcing him to. But he stayed.

“All’s well for me. What’s that you’re drinking?” Fred grabbed a bottle off the table and held it up for the military man to see.

“Gin. We’re all very happy today; the bar got a special shipment from down south last week. Usually only happens on New Year’s or Independence day, but this time it happened for no reason. ” He seemed so happy, Sven thought. Yet Sven happened to know where his “special” gin really came from.

“Nice. Maybe I’ll have some” said Wilhelm. Then he and Sven walked to the bartender and got their beverages. They sat down at a table in a corner that wasn’t quite as populated as the other side.
“It’s so dark today” Sven said as they sat down. “What time is it?”
“Noon. It’s those damn storm clouds.”

“You know that guy’s probably been swindled out of his money hundreds of times, right? By the State, by his boss, everyone.” Wilhelm stared at him again. The weariness in his eyes was ever so apparent, as if trying to negate out in the cheerfulness of the bar. His stonelike fingers picked up the drink he had ordered and began to take out the cork at the neck. Sven did the same, and almost simultaneously, they poured the liquids into their glasses and toasted one another. It seemed to be such a mechanized action, so unreal, with the warm chaos in the background forming a noise that eventually became persistent, like a dull roar. It was so…dreamlike, as if he had never really woken up that morning and was still in his cell, alone and cold. They drank.

“That’s guy’s been tricked, swindled probably hundreds of times.” Sven said, quite matter-of-factly.
“Haven’t we all?”
“That gin of his doesn’t come from the South. It’s brewed near a prison I was sent to once. The brewer just puts different labels on the gin. I met him.” His words were like a breeze coming and blowing the stench away, the very action of telling someone.

“He doesn’t think so. He’s happy about it, isn’t he? Just look at him. His boss is probably corrupt, as well. If the State really needed more money for the military just last week, then where are those new sniper rifles that were supposed to have arrived at military surplus three weeks ago? If there’s one type of person I hate, it’s the greedy middleman.”

“We’re all middlemen, aren’t we?” Jukör. Eukos. The officers of the Seventh Unit. Everyone. Himself. Even the factory worker probably stole spare parts from his workplace. The whole State was one big bureaucracy of corruption; bring all hope down with it into a dark well. When would they hit the bottom?

“I think the country’s getting ready for a war. I can feel it in the atmosphere around the higher-ups. They aren’t as relaxed, they’re much more tired than before. In the last few months my commanding officer has ordered me to conduct more and more exercises with my platoon, now almost twice a week. The same thing happened when we were sent to Sekjivk. And just last week, the regional command says our entire battalion is going to be redirected to Ekator. I tell you, the army’s planning a war soon.” Wilhelm was a smart man, Sven thought. He knew what was going on.

“That makes perfect sense. On the day I shot my boss, he said the Army wanted to go to war with the Gavon Republic within the month. How interesting that nobody’s told you about anything.” Sekjivk. To Sven, perhaps just a name, the “Sekjivk Military Aid Project,” but to Wilhelm, it must’ve been very, very real. So real that now he had a scar to remind him of that experience forever. The war , or “military aid,” had been a complete disaster. Thousands of Sungarian troops had been killed or wounded defending a puppet government against pro-Gavon rebels for about eight years up until the State finally realized nothing could be gained. Now, Wilhelm looked at Sven in disappointment, and with good reason.

“What!? They told you and not me? If there’s going to be a war, I’m the one whose life is gonna be on the line, why didn’t they tell us!?” He poured himself another glass of his drink and chugged it down. He gulped, and his face reddened slightly. Then he relaxed in his chair and put his hands behind his head.


“Damn it,” he continued, “so they want a war with the Gavon Republic now?” he shook his head. “Crazy. They’ve got better planes, more nukes, better training, the whole thing is stupid. If it was coming from anyone but you I would tell him to shove that right up his ass.” Maybe he really didn’t believe there could be a war. But Sven knew it was possible. Anything was possible, as long as the State wanted it done. No standards, whether human or practical, could make the State change its mind.

“Well, we always have a three to two advantage in nukes, if that counts for anything.” Sven sipped some more of his wine. The workers continued their brawl, oblivious.

“Yeah, we make things go nuclear and hope that we have more survivors than they do? I wonder how that’ll work.” He gulped down another glassful, the liquid visibly going down his throat. All of a sudden, Sven felt extremely tired. He yawned, and without thinking, knocked his half-filled glass over. The wine stained the white tablecloth a bright red, and Sven watched as it spread closer and closer, dripping over the edge of the table and into his lap. It was so fast, happening in a little over a second. Then the reflexes kicked in and caught the glass, preventing it from running off the table to its doom.

“Damn.” The single word came out of both their mouths simultaneously, like a toast. Wilhelm began to get up.

“Here, I’ll get something to clean it up with.” He went over to the bartender. Sven lay back in his chair, put his hands behind his head, and closed his eyes. What was the SCIO team doing now? They had probably figured out by now that he wasn’t in prison anymore. Were they hacking his computers in his apartment and office? They had definitely gotten to the one in his office by now, but his apartment? If Karin and his children had been able to escape, that would mean…did the SCIO even bother going to his home?

“Here’s a towel.” Wilhelm said, interrupting his thoughts. “Be a little more careful next time.” Sven took the towel, and tried to soak up as much of the wine as he could a small puddle had formed on his coat, and he tried to clean that up too. Then he had a sudden thought.

“Wilhelm, have you gotten married yet?” The captain’s head turned slightly and his eyes wavered a little.
“Not yet. It’s embarrassing, at my age. I should probably get together with someone when I get to Ekator.” At least Wilhelm had a more guilt-free job, Sven mused.
“What about that girl you were with at the border? What happened to her?” Wilhelm shook his head.

“We never got married. She got mad when I didn’t let her have an abortion so she lefty me with the baby, a little girl. I think I must’ve ruined her life. Maybe I shouldn’t try to mess around with anyone.” For a second that seemed awkward, coming from such a man as Wilhelm. Then again, it was perfectly possible that he was distorting the truth. Did that experience bother him? What had happened in Sekjivk? Did whatever happened there bother this iron-plated man?

“Oh. I see. Hey, when are you leaving for Ekator?” Sven wanted to pour himself another glass, but decided against it. The wine wasn’t that good. It made him somewhat nauseous.

“In two days. I’m going with my official battalion, but the Colonel says he’ll make sure I get my squad back when we get there. Man, it pisses me off how they don’t even tell us what’s going on!” He hit the table with a fist, which then slowly receded as he took control of his temper.

“How’s your wife?” Sven had once told him about Karin.
“She’s in Zyuknoslovia with the kids now. I’m going to try to get there as well.”
“I thought you only had one kid.”
“Sorry, I forgot to explain. We had two sons after we came back here.”
“I’m jealous. It’s a shame; I’m already thirty-five. Maybe it’s too late now.”
“Well, you still have your daughter, don’t you?”

“Yeah, but it’s terrible. She goes hungry all the time, and to make things worse she doesn’t do well in school. I don’t know what I’ll do when I get too old to stay in active service. I fear for her. What if I get killed in battle or arrested for being a Syemska soldier? What kind of job can she get if she doesn’t get into university? She’s weak, so I don’t even think the army will be able to get her a job.” No one can get a decent job without university education, Sven thought. People who couldn’t get in simply got assigned by the State to do manual labor, such as farming or factory work. And when there were no jobs, they starved and died, while corrupt officials and anyone who could make off with the most loot got richer and richer. As long as you had money, anything could be done.

“Maybe the State can get her a job.” Sven said, futilely.

“Not a chance. Not since the so-called ‘economic reforms.’ I’m sure those were made just so the State wouldn’t have to hire so many workers.”

“But taxes haven’t gone down a bit. Every single official I know is corrupt, I’m sure. They take most of the money reserved for social services and keep it for themselves. I’ve heard them brag about how much they could get during ‘overtime.’ I didn’t think of it much before, but now it makes me sick.”

“I know. But that’s the way it works, right? Not like we can do much about the State.” He finished what was left in his bottle and stood up.

“Well, everything will work itself out somehow, I won’t worry about it too much. If you didn’t act so rashly, you wouldn’t have much of a problem, either.” A brief moment of anger came over Sven, but was gone the moment it came. How could Wilhelm judge him? Then again, how could he judge Wilhelm? He had never fought in a war. The people he killed were almost always unarmed. It was then that Sven realized that, all his life, he had had the upper hand.

“Okay, then. I really have to get going, or I’m in trouble.” Sven got up. “Let’s go.” Their eyes met briefly as they walked away from the table, and Sven took out some money and handed it to his former commanding officer. The stoic grey eyes, the scar, the weariness in his face, they had burned their way into him. From then on, they would be a part of him, undying in memory.

“Farewell.” The voice said. It lingered for awhile, disappearing into nothingness.

Wilhelm was gone, now a mere shadow in the face of the pouring rain. Sven started out the door, and his foot kicked something. It was an envelope, with a small thin object inside it, about the same shape and size of a credit card. He took it out. It was a military clearance card that one would use to open a door. Sven smiled, and pocketed it. Then he, too, disappeared into the downpour.


The street Sven lived on was overshadowed by a series of state-owned apartment complexes, of the more preferable type. An hour after noon, there was still no sign whatsoever of even the two major suns. The entire sky had been covered by the apocalyptic black clouds. Occasionally thunder could be heard, the result of lightening fighting to escape the many layers of that which brought the blessing of the crops.

As Sven waked up to his home staircase by staircase, he would look at the clouds in both scorn and admiration. He must’ve been thoroughly soaked, that was for sure. Did that annoy him? Did it matter? But the ability to almost entirely blot out three suns, he thought, fascinated him. He looked around at the metropolis. It was almost as though night had fallen. No, it wasn’t completely like that. There were still a few rays of sunlight, pitifully trying to surpass the dark façade. But what if the clouds never went away, and the crops never sprouted? Would it still be worth his admiration? He had never really thought of it that way, he realized.
Once, twenty-five years ago, the storm cleared late, about three weeks later than the normal period. Sven remembered the people all in panic, the routine military patrols around the city increasing. He remembered not knowing why he was afraid, but being afraid anyway. Later on, when he was older, he learned that there was a famine that year, and that the State finally made a decision to clear the clouds by shooting a missile armed with a tactical nuclear warhead at them, thus causing their dissipation. Sven remembered the fright in the voices of the newscasters, the images of the missile on its way, the resulting power blackout from the EMP blast, the mighty blow of the State’s victory over nature.


That was earliest memory he had remembered, Sven realized.



Sven pauses to look over the city


Lights flicked on and the apartment was made light. Sven took out the package sent by Eukos and set it on the table. The apartment had not been touched, he thought. But he still had to be cautious. Was it a trap, to make him feel secure? Possibly. He went to the wardrobe in his room and looked for the hidden supply of money that he stored for emergencies. It was gone. At first, fear gripped his heart, but logic told him that Karin had taken it. He took off his uniform, and changed into his most durable trousers and a greatcoat, given to him by the military. He took off all the badges and pins from his other coat and put then in his pocket, and then looked at his room. Everything was there, but it was somehow… empty. Then he noticed a problem. A photo, which previously hung from the wall, was gone. It was the only picture of his entire family that he had at home. Never before had he wished he could look at it as he did now. The other photo was lost forever, lost in his office deep within the Ministry.


At 1426 hours, Sven had all his necessities in a knapsack. He sat down at the dining table, and looked through the contents of Eukos’ package. He took out the opened letter, re-read it, and then burned it with a silver lighter that he had never used until now. He ripped apart the package, hastily removing the paper. A gun magazine fell out. It hit the table with a gong-like sound, and then proceeded to hit Sven’s foot. A sharp, painful sensation hit him as he recovered his weapon from the package. He found two more full clips, and loaded the gun. Twenty-four shots in all, eight in each clip. Enough to turn 6752 into 6776. Oh, right. There was Jukör as well. It would be 6777, wouldn’t it?

It was not the guilt that troubled him. It was the lack of it. No instinct, no gut feeling, to remind him that what he had done for years was wrong. He got up, went to a corner, and picked up a small laptop computer that was connected to the wall. He used the device often, a reminder that even when he was at home, that part of him belonged to the State. From here he could do almost anything he did at his office- check State records, go through archives, and order transportation… Sven, as an officer of the State, had the privilege of using his so-called “emergency-powers,” or authorization for him to do a number of things, including using pubic transit without cost. For emergencies. No, Sven thought, for anything. “Emergency” was really just an adjective, wasn’t it? Everyone Sven knew from the SPO never paid the light rail fares. It would be stupid to.

Sven logged in with his administrative account. He noticed that he had more options to choose from, beyond those of a major. So the promotion ceremony was really just ceremonial, eh? He could now give orders to those of lower rank without permission, it seemed, as well as gain access to heavy weaponry. Instinctively, he smiled slightly. What else was there… he looked… emergency use of State funds? He scrolled down to read the description:

“This power, meant for emergencies, entitles those of a Colonel Third Class rank or higher to a maximum of 7500 State credits for use. It is, however, required that any usage of these funds be reported to a superior by a time not exceeding a month after utilization, or a suspension process will follow. For more details, see the Complete Paramilitary Book of Law Version 13, Article 18 Section 3: Regarding Police Use of State Funds.”

But Sven, like everyone, knew. Only the first sentence mattered. It was nothing but an unnecessary risk for the purposely-underpowered anti-corruption police to actually track down those who disobeyed the rule. There were more important things for them to worry about. Namely, their jobs, and in some cases, their lives. The last two sentences really should’ve said something like this: “It is, however, okay for you to take as much money as you like, provided that you know a lot of high-ranking officials, and you need not give it back. Ever. What ‘Law Book?’ Oh, you mean that? How did you get this rank in the first place? Go back to your-”
Sven’s brain stopped in its tracks. He needed to concentrate. Where was the damn transit map? Stupid website. Why did they always have to change its layout? Ah, here it was! A map of all the mass transit movement in real time showed up before his eyes, every last rail car brought up on the screen. It was like being God, watching His subjects from the sky. He zoomed in on his apartment complex, and began going over all the streetcars in the vicinity. What let him do it? Was it simply a computer network hooked into all the trains? Or a satellite in the far reaches of space? Or perhaps even police officers stationed on every car, constantly putting their positions into the system? He had found it. He reserved a seat on a train, and sat back, satisfied. But he wasn’t finished. He checked the latest news from Unit Seven. What project was going on now? He clicked, and read. His eyes widened in expected shock as he whispered something to himself. But it didn’t matter. He needed to go.


Halfway across the urban expanse a screen flickered. Someone else had also found what he wanted. He clicked a mouse, typed a few words, and extended his presence across the entire city.


“Sven, your gun was meant for eight, not seven. As a State officer, you’ve failed.”

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4500 words in one post! I think that's too much, so I'll limit it next time.

Okay guys, I have an illustration for the last section "An Act of Patriotism" up. I am sorry that it has a whole lot of shading issues, and is somewhat rough. However, I do not exactly pride myself for my drawing skills, and once again, I am sorry for the unprofessional work.

Next part (there's a chase scene!)

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Run. Run. Run, the thought trying to clear itself of all obstacles in Sven’s mind as he made his way down the rusty flights of stairs, into the relentless downpour, through the narrow pathways of the residential compound. Run, for life, for security, for survival. Blood pumped through small veins, medium-sized ones, and then on to ten-lane highways, his crazy pulse an ignored traffic cop. He ran. He ran. He ran! Thunder rolled like artillery, the rain pounded him like bullets. But there was circulation, running, working, burning, replenishment. His blood moved and he was warm. It moved, and ensured that he could not be late. It reminded every inch of his body, from his toes to his ears, that it needed every once of their cooperation. The crimson flow made his body a machine, it made it alive.

One. He had made it on time. He stumbled into the first car, and plopped down on the steel seat. Perspiration and heat dominated him, his blood pushed him, pushed him to keep working, to keep running. The liquid forced its way through him, pushing his shoulders up and down, already angered by his unmoving state. His temples burned. Looking around, he saw no one else, just him. Relax. Rest. Be at peace-

Jump, run, flee! The camera had already gotten some three hundred
photos of him, most of them with his face in view. Blood burst their chokepoints and began to flow faster than before. Up, forward, sprint! Next car! Vital liquid took his legs by sudden force, and they stood, moved, proceeded in automated fashion.

His mind had done little to nothing. It had been gripped, taken over by the crimson force. The doors burst open and he was in the next car, the other side of the hill. Huh? Camera! Sven stopped. The blood stopped. His legs stopped. Everything stopped. Everything ground to a halt. Rain pounded against the windows like arrows, as if trying to force themselves in, to engulf everything, to drown every life. But it didn’t.


The camera was facing the other direction. Elsewhere, a man in black waited.


Blood raced through a hand and grabbed, severed, punched, mutilated the enemy. Lens, aperture, and circuitry spilled over the floor, and were flattened by unforgiving, steel-soled boots. Crush, smash, trample the enemy! Kill, destroy, eliminate him! Sven stood, a life of stone. He waited for what came next. The man in black did not hesitate. He moved. He sought. He preyed. He had a want in mind, and knew where to find it. He entered.


But Sven was not there. He was out.


Hurry, hurry, hurry. Into the underground. So this was where all the people were now! Huge swaths of people proceeded on their set courses, entering, exiting, switching, watching, paying, running. Sven merged with the crowd, and he pushed, fought, and ran his way through. People rushed by him, a child here, a man here, a woman there, a soldier right in front-He no longer ran. He turned. The man in black was there again. He reached out and touched him. Then they ran, they chased, they fled.

Like a magical charm, a gunshot sounded. It rippled through the air, creating instant pandemonium. More soldiers, more police, all directed by the man in black. They pried, they searched, they gave chase. Sven forced his way through the now unpredictable masses. Yells, screams, terror filled the air. The man in black held out his arm once more and fired again. He held down on the trigger, spitting bullet after bullet out of the steel mouth. The soldiers and police lined up in a row and followed suit. Everything was very real, more real than anything than had ever happened at the Ministry, more tangible than anything he had ever experienced. He lived.

The bullets swooped past and did what bullets do. But Sven was down the stairs, hurtling past the ticket barriers, at the platform. Another crowd, another sanctuary. The man in black was down the stairs. He reached out again, and sprayed lethality from the gun again, spreading more panic. But Sven was in the crowd, he was in the car. The soldiers ran after him but stopped as the man in black held up a hand.


“Two.” The word came out of his mouth and into the receiver. On the other end, a chain of events unfolded.


Dim lights lit the car. At least twenty other people were crammed into its interior, all looking around frightfully. But Sven didn’t notice any of this. It wasn’t important. All that mattered was the on-board security guard, his menacing glare scanning the area. Sven calmed down, his brain forcing his blood to a standstill. He looked about, and tried to be like the others. Just act like everyone else and he’d be fine. His mouth exhaled, and it was as if an unimaginable burden was let go in that one breath. He closed his eyes, and there, in his thoughts, was the flash, the dissipation of the clouds, the missile climbing to its intended doom.


The man in the cape waited at the entrance.


Three. Blood re-routed to the brain. Two. An act in unison. One. Direction. Out. Sven proceeded; like a knight of old he charged out, out into the hall of danger. They yelled, they directed, they attempted. He fired. Like a dream, the gun was withdrawn and utilized. Again. Chaos. Erupted. People ran, they screamed, they obscured. Sven joined in on it. He sensed, he dodged, he evaded. Like a phantom he disappeared. The soldiers fired. They missed. Sven charged. Up the stairs, into the rain again. Another shot. The crowd of the stairs went wild. The man in the cape threw a punch, every finger a bullet. Blood spurted from a cheek. Sven ran into him, his gun blazing. The man in the cape twirled around and a hole appeared in his cape. He turned a split second later, crouched, and fired twice. Sven jumped out of the way and ran along the street, to the left, putting as many things as possible between the two of them. Full-market was in session, selling, buying, trading, everything following set patterns, uninterrupted even by the onslaught of rain, ignoring the heavens.

Then, everything took on new meanings. Selling to ducking. Buying to running, Bargaining to yelling. For a moment, Sven stood in the middle of it all, suspended between people upon people, as if on an entirely different plane, with the soldiers and the man in the cape at his heels. Machines of men brought weapons to their hips and erratic bursts of gunfire erupted around him. A produce rack exploded and flung its organic contents everywhere, a stand eaten away by machine guns; their endless appetites asking for more. Metal, wood, vegetables, fruit, meat, man, they consumed it all, digesting them with their own distinctiveness.

However, Sven had disappeared. The soldiers stopped, the pursuer stopped. His cape waved around in the wind and rain, as if intending the chaotic confusion as a prelude to his entrance. Half a dozen empty clips fell to the ground with the rain.

Recede. A heart beating to the limit pounded in a torso of a man, neither live nor dead. Sven backed into the iron wall of the warehouse. He looked up at the ceiling, collapsed to his knees, and then all else followed to the cold, hard ground. Hell, if such a place existed, was here. Here, in a prison of concrete and iron and steel plating, here among all the rusting industrial trash left in this archaic structure. The blood receded, and all went black.

“Where is the target? Have you apprehended him?” The iron voiced projected itself from the receiver like a microphone.

“Hard tactics ineffectual. Proceeding with execution of Preparation 4.” He spoke, and it started. Across the city, a fingertip tapped a mouse, a sentence exited a mouth, and a mobilization began it’s one-way course.

Sven jogged through the alley, his legs cramping up from his sudden relaxation in movement. He turned a corner, and a gutter dumped cold wet drops down his shirt, embracing his spine. He approached the end of the alley with caution, the rain rolling along his eyebrows and down his symmetrical nose. He peered out at the street, and saw a six-lane highway, with towering buildings on the opposite side. A military convoy came down the road, their engines hammering the ground as the monstrous vehicles paraded by. Sven glanced at his watch. Damn. He was late.

A hand reached to the ground and picked up an empty pistol clip. A cape fluttered, a pair of eyes peered.

“That way,” a clear-cut voice commanded. “Split up after the warehouse.” Metal-studded boots clanked along cement as weapons were reloaded. It was time to eat again.

Sven’s heart beat frantically, although this time his blood did not act, only his brain. He had timed it perfectly, but he was too late. He slumped against the wall in defeat, his hand dropping into his pocket, clutching the pistol that lay within. That was it, that was his power. A renewed sense of fearlessness overtook him, and he ran.

The driver smoked a poorly-made cigarette that began to fall apart as it burned. He drove his truck in thought, wondering what kind of cargo the vehicle was carrying that needed to be delivered on this day where there was even darkness at noon. He had just enough time to see the man in the military greatcoat walk into the road and turn around and he frantically slammed on the brakes as a bullet destroyed his windshield. The truck skidded to a halt and the man sprinted to the driver’s door. He pointed his gun at the window, and screamed.

“Open the door and get out!” The driver, slowly coming to his wits, then horror, slowly raised his hands in the truck, trembling.

“Goddamn it, open the f---king door, NOW!!!” He yelled as he fired, and the side window shattered. He charged up to the door as the panicking driver opened it. Sven hastily pushed him aside and jumped in, his pistol put away in a split second and his hands on the steering wheel. Sven knew how to drive, but having never owned a vehicle was not familiar with the action. With some initial delay, he started up the engine again and put his foot on the gas. The wheels rumbled on the road as the engine growled and lurched. A unique sense of power flushed through his brain, and he went along with it.

“Attention. Target is on the move,” The iron voice broadcasted itself to the personnel. “Has acquired a high-speed vehicle. Requesting mobilization of motorized infantry and helicopter gunships.” He spoke and it became reality. Three armoured infantry vehicles revved up their engines, their cargoes ready to spring out at any moment to engage the lone enemy. An attack helicopter rose into the rainy sky, the massive steel object impossibly airbourne. Rockets, bombs, and countless armour-piercing depleted uranium rounds were but a few of the weapons in this behemoth’s overwhelming arsenal. A voice beckoned, and it obeyed its master and flew over the city in pursuit.



An attack helicopter rises into the air

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Next part of the chase scene. I'll try to make some pictures when I get more free time.

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Sven’s heart beat as never before, his hairs on end as he drove the delivery truck at top speed down the road. All of a sudden there came a sharp corner. Sven frantically spun the steering wheel as far as it would go, and the truck responded in kind, spinning around and skidding on the wet pavement. Sven got control of the wheel again, but it was too late. A tooth chipped in his mouth as the truck rammed in the siding of the highway, shattering all the side windows and throwing Sven into the door. He held onto the steering wheel with all his might, and in a fierce struggle finally got the truck back in control.

Driving across the bridge, Sven glanced down at the highway below. Even in the absence of many vehicles, the sheer magnificence of the asphalt river astounded him, capturing his mind for a second that lasted a minute.

The Ministry of Defense loomed in the distance, its colossal proportions of a completely different plane in comparison to the apartments, shops, and offices that paid homage to it. The immense hexagonal pyramid topped with its majestic dome oversaw all, thus granting a symbiosis of master and servant, a sort of superiority provided by the masses and bestowed upon an imposing entity that worked in its own right.

“IFV 58 in position” a voice cracked through to a headset. “Do you copy?”

“IFV 121 en route to destination, speed 45 kilometers per hour, over” reported a second.

“IFV 179 crossing Express Highway 32, moving to intersect point. Target sighted at 200 meters, approximate speed 80 kilometers per hour.” The three units worked in unanimity, in transit, in wait, in pursuit. They received commands and continued.

Sven whipped his head sharply to the right, just in time to spot the oversized gray vehicle start crossing the highway bridge. With a flick of the wheel, the truck turned into a side road, in between two upper-class apartment complexes. Sven stamped down on the gas pedal, persevering with mind and body to evade. The truck burst into a square, enclosed by similar apartments on all sides. A small island of vegetation held out in the middle, a bare deciduous tree on a plot of dirt made gray by the breath of fall. Sven exhaled, slowing his vehicle down a bit. There was a strange sense of calm, a familiar sense of danger…

“Target sighted at Stekel Residential Complex, range 80 meters. Fire at will.” The entity spoke and it happened. The fearsome attack helicopter rose up from behind the residences capturing the truck, the fugitive, the enemy in its unthinking sights of destruction. Rocket after rocket streaked out from under the metal beast’s wings, which were only there to accommodate such tools of the State. They chased with incredible speed to rip, burn, and obliterate whatever it was that went out of line, that was anywhere near the wrong thought.

But Sven understood. He had learned. That was how it worked, and, all he had to do was step out of line… the truck veered unexpectedly to the left, the rockets slamming in the middle of the square. The single barren tree was no more, lost in the resulting fireball that singed the truck as it darted through an exit. Sven felt a wave of heat and shock penetrate his body, striking at the weak, carbon-based object. The prey being obscured by smoke and fire, the helicopter withdrew, an intangible mind suffering in frustration.

Sven laughed, the wind and rain blowing in his face. He shot out into a main street and his rejoice turned to horror. The monstrous vehicle of the State sat in the middle of the road, an invisible grin forming on its non-existent face as the prey turned onto the road, reacting in shock and dismay.

A twenty-five millimeter semi-automatic cannon opened fire as the meager truck desperately turned into reverse. The gunner laughed with all the vitality of the State, repeating the cry for destruction again and again. Sven cursed with all that was humanly possible as he reversed the vehicle as fast as it would go, not putting the slightest bit of consideration into anything else, just the one thought, the one act of reversing. Two shells hit the truck as it disappeared down an offramp to the highway, taking off the windshield’s frame and the hood of the engine.

A shard of steel gouged into Sven’s leg, and he screamed with pain as the cold metal took off a section of skin. But aside from the cosmetic effect nothing had changed, as his mind remained solid, devoting everything to one goal. Another shock came as the truck crashed into the siding of the ramp and ejected itself into the expanse of the highway. It spun around and Sven drove the damaged vehicle to his destination.

“Target is making escape on Express Highway. Pursue and eliminate.” All four hands acted as one, and they streaked along the highway. Sven looked to the left, and through a side mirror impossibly holding onto the side, saw two IFVs a few hundred meters down the road. Blood rushed through his brain as they opened fire, relentlessly seeking to put him to an end. Eighty. Eighty-five. Ninety, ninety-five, one hundred kilometers per hour! He moved the truck in a zigzag pattern, changing lane after lane, leaving the pursuers behind.

Again. The State summoned and the helicopter rose, determined for the kill. It dominated the highway, the rocket pods, bombs, cannons, and heavy machine guns automatically examining everything that moved. Burning prodigious amounts of fuel every second, the gunship tilted forward and began the flight to the killzone.

Turning a bend in the freeway, the airbourne menace made its appearance in Sven’s rear-view mirror. For a second, Sven’s brain lost control. He shook. He yelled. He kicked the gas pedal so hard that he must’ve broken his foot. The helicopter pilot smiled to himself again as the gunner discharged shell after shell, bomb after bomb, rocket after rocket at the high-speed target.

But Sven was no longer a high-speed target. His mind had taken control and spied the offramp leading to the train station. His eyes, acting as tools of intelligence rather than instinct, had saved him. As the truck veered sharply off the highway, hundreds of kilograms of munitions smashed and buried themselves into the ground, displacing their respective amounts of asphalt, dirt, rock, and concrete with a deafening roar of anguish.

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The conclusion to An Act of Defiance will be posted soon! (probably Friday)

Okay, it's Saturday, but w/e.

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The truck sped up the offramp and under a covered area between two produce warehouses, where the afternoon market was in full bloom. For what seemed like the first time in years, Sven slowed down. The helicopter made a full circle in the rain-filled sky, silently admitted that it had lost, and returned to base.

Sven felt strangely safe, away from the rain, under this area where people went about their business. He felt like the State couldn’t touch him, couldn’t detect him under this haven. The satellites, sending feedback through the Link, couldn’t see him. The State was blind now. Sven smiled at this thought, as he continued to drive through the marketplace. Small groups of people stood at the truck’s sides, staring at the heavily damaged vehicle and its bloodied occupant.

That was it. It was the Link; it was the sensory organ of the State. It floated in the radio waves, in the surveillance cameras, in the computer screens, up in space in the satellites, encasing the entire country and beyond with the never closing electric eyes. Sven had not looked at the city with his eyes, it was the State. But it was him. He had done it for himself, by his own orders, in other terms. But that was the power of the State. We are the State, Sven knew. The State exists because we exist, because we act together to be the State, Sven thought, the words on the tip of his tongue.

“Attention to all criminal pursuit units in the State Defense District, this an emergency.” The steel voice broadcasted itself again, this time with just the slightest amount of dissatisfaction, reflecting the stance of a greater force on a higher plane. “Be on watch for fugitive in damaged white delivery vehicle. Target name: Sven Pyotr. Blond hair, last seen wearing standard issue military jacket, believed to be attempting passage to 7th Vostkyr Rail Depot. If sighted proceed with apprehension or elimination.” The cogs and wheels turned, the wires transmitted, and everything was set into place to ferret him out. Men, once passing the time in dry places chatting with their colleagues, now stood steadfast in the relentless downpour, their barrels and bullets waiting, each one of them acting his part in the system that fulfilled its agenda for continued existence. Bits of electric signals darted through the Link-filled sky, from word to radio to word, one voice providing the impetus for action.

Even in escape, he was still just part of it all, he was just the occasional cog slipping out of the machine, only to be caught by the back-up mechanism during the predicted fall and replaced by a fresh instantly popped in the empty place, straight out of the factory. Individual men would tire in pursuit and labor but the State would endure forever, Sven knew, the State would last no matter how many cogs wore out or fell out of place, so long as they were always caught in time and the factory kept turning out new to replace the old.

Even in escape, he was still just part of it all, he was just the occasional cog slipping out of the machine, only to be caught by the back-up mechanism during the predicted fall and replaced by a fresh instantly popped in the empty place, straight out of the factory. Individual men would tire in pursuit and labor but the State would endure forever, Sven knew, the State would last no matter how many cogs wore out or fell out of place, so long as they were always caught in time and the factory kept turning out new to replace the old.

As he drove furiously through the streets, the rain came in through what should’ve been the windshield. But he persevered, pressing down on the gas pedal, as the cog falling to the catcher to take him to the scrap metal…but yet….

Sign, wall, pedestrian and street blended together into a huge pile of irrelevance that swept past, bowing in to the simple procedure of repair. Dozens of pairs of black boots took up positions around the escape point, like adhesive glue blocking up a leak in a pipe. Dozens of black gloves brought dozens of weapons of black steel to dozens of hips in steel gray uniform. The steel voices vibrated in the airwaves, said as a human’s and ended as a machine’s. The keystones were set in place, moved by a thousand cogs, eased along by the conveyor belts in the motorized ecology. Was there not a person in each one of them? Where were the men, each one treading along in his part?

A million ways, and a million ends to each one. Which one will it be, Sven? What was the path in this system of delusions? A street here, a security team there. As Sven ran, the bottom of the funnel approached with lightening speed. Every time a foot stomped down on the rain-dominated cement, a heartbeat resounded in the world, like a train clanking steadily along the tracks, with the metal structures and overarching clouds betting silently on the odds of either fate.

And then it happened. The reaction came, dozens of lines and factors converging at the vertex point. Every exit, every entrance, nothing escaped the equation of apprehension. Nothing had been missed, every component of the formula checked and verified. The black boots stopped, the weapons loaded and ready to fire, the receivers on and operational. They waited.

Sven understood. Sven knew. He sprinted, crossing rail after rail, track over track, as if competing against time itself. Then they came, and he turned and moved as needed. The soldiers charged trough the field of transport, each man an automaton moving in for the target, each one ready to grind the falling cog into liquid metal before it passed out the funnel. But they had gone off the equation, defied the formula.

Then everything went askew. The airwaves faltered, the soldiers halted, the cycle discontinued, suddenly interrupted by a moving wall of freight that burst its way into the middle of everything. Eighty tons of steel, locomotive, and bulk materials forced its way in between the two contestants, blotting out everything with its deafening screech. Then, two legs, a heart, and a brain took the initiative. They forced themselves into transfer, entrance, and finally exodus.


The man with an iron voice and a steel will awaited him. Sven charged up to the train, slid open the door, and jumped in. The man opened the door, just in time to see a string of cars embark on their journey to the north.

It was an act of defiance.

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Yeah I know it's rather confusing... But I'll fix it when I'm done with the whole thing.

The end?

You got a knack for scenery how did you make the illustrations?
Kinda checked out your gallery nice stuff in there.