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Yeah so we all know how these post apocalyptic scenarios happen, someone (or more likely multiple someones) fucked up royally and now everything is all fucked up.

Lawlessness, irradiated water, mass murder, rape gangs, cannibalism, mutant chicks with mouths in their lady parts, and that was just Detroit before the apocalypse.

This isn’t Fallout and it isn’t Wasteland, it’s a FALLEN LAND.

In any case, now you also have factions of assholes trying to establish some sort of order over the chaos. Naturally they all got different ideas on how to do this.

This is the background lore for those that care about such things.

Coalition of the Black Angel

“Do you think our faction name is too long?” - random COTBA militia personnel

So you know that book that has a lot of well meaning morals and lessons, but don’t actually work out in real life? Yeah well these lot decided to partially base their faction around that.

However, thanks to also keeping the OT in mind, they didn’t get wiped off the map in their beginning years. It also helped that they provided a lot of medical help to folks which bought a lot of goodwill in general. This focus in diplomacy and medical care allowed them to rebuild Iowa City and maintain a better reputation than most.

The Coalition genuinely tries to be hopeful in these dark time and be that light. It’s always struggle of course when every other person is acting like a degenerate asshole, but the work towards rebuilding civilization must continue.

Nowadays the Coalition acts like a post apocalyptic version of the Red Cross though they’d probably like to be more like post apocalyptic United Nations, but they’d need the blue helmets and suck a lot more cock first. (And they’re not supposed to be doing the latter, or at least not publicly anyway)

Time will tell if they stay true to their ideals or become just as ruthless as everyone else. (And if they start sucking cocks)

New Federalists

“What are you gonna do, eat me?” - Last words of the former governor of Albany before the New Federalist takeover

Coming from the somewhat rebuilt ruins of Albany Georgia are the New Federalists who proudly proclaim themselves as the true successors of the old US government and plan to make America great again by rebuilding it better than ever. Despite being in the south, these successors used an altered version of the US flag rather than the cliche “Dixie” one that everyone was probably expecting.

The leader of the New Federalists logically said “The Confederacy lost didn’t they? Why the fuck would we use the symbol of losers? We’re WINNERS!” and went on to say how everyone would be free to pursue their own hopes and dreams under the new regime.

The reality is that the New Federalists are run by a ruthless warlord who has no plans on making anything remotely democratic under his rule and there’s an active campaign of rewriting history books to spread their view of the way things should be. While the normal citizens who live in New Federalist territory do have access to some necessities and even a few luxuries not easily found in the regular wastes, this comes at the cost of living under martial law.

Despite the restrictive tyrannical policies, NF territory often has a very “lawless” feel to it thanks to the allowance of settling disputes with shootouts. It doesn’t help matters that most living in the NF tend to be very heavily armed making even the most simple duels bloody affairs.

Thanks to the high casualty rates of such things, the NF often resorts to hiring mercenaries to supplement their personal militia. Given that this practice leads to all sorts of wasteland scum wandering around, this of course only leads to more shooting…

Actually, that’s probably the most American thing ever. Perhaps they are the true successors.

The Regulators

“This has always been our land, you’re all just our guests here.” - The sheriff around these parts

When the apocalypse happened Texas’ response was basically a return to a simpler time when it didn’t have the US government to hover over it. There was much rejoicing by most who had been wanting to secede (again) for years.

While this has its advantages, it also has severe drawbacks as most of the population learned that the lack of easy access to simple things like water and food leads to mass death.

After the thinning of the “herd” eventually the true survivors who knew how to prep properly started working together to re-establish something resembling civilization. One of these groups coming out of Amarillo called themselves the Regulators. Not exactly the most original name, but it is a classic.

The Regulators generally don’t want to be the “government” so much as they just want to keep the peace within the region they oversee. (Which can change depending on where they make their settlement) The ideas of freedom, self-sufficiency and integrity are championed in Regulator territory. If you want to just work a piece of land and mind your own business and not have to worry about someone else minding yours, Regulator territory is the place to do it.

However, infringe on another person’s freedom or safety and the Regulators will dispense swift frontier justice. Theft is especially frowned upon and anyone found guilty of it can find themselves dancing at the end of a rope.

Might be harsh, but it’s the Law of the West.

The Highwaymen

“Do you still get purple wings if she’s a zombie?” - A prospect asking a disturbingly all too common question

If you’ve ever seen any post apocalyptic movie with roving gangs on motorcycles that’s these guys. They couldn’t be any more of a stereotype if they tried and boy do they try and succeed or at least they did in the beginning of the apocalypse.

The Highwaymen perhaps unsurprisingly formed in Sturgis, South Dakota where motorcycle culture was already celebrated. In those first few years there was bloody conflict between the various biker gangs until ultimately one MC survived to unite the remnants of what was left.

From there the Highwaymen generally started doing what they did before the apocalypse except now there wasn’t any established law. Ride, rape, loot, rape, murder, rape, rape and more rape. It was a glorious time for awhile.

However, as places started to rebuild there started to be more resistance and even places that didn’t necessarily have an established militia, could hire mercenaries or even bounty hunters. Not to mention some member were just becoming like mindless animals that didn’t even follow basic club rules. Wasn’t long until even the Highwaymen had to put it in park and rethink things.

Eventually the president of the Highwaymen decided that if they really were going to run this shithole land, they’d have to become part of the emerging civilization that was re-establishing itself. Naturally most didn’t like this idea, but after a few “discussions” with the loudest dissenters, everyone else more or less fell in line.

First thing was to get an old car factory working again and rebuilding old vehicles, not just for their own use (Most preferred motorcycles than cages anyway) but to sell to others for profit. Merchants in particular were known to buy these custom made road war vehicles. With their image somewhat changed, the Highwaymen themselves would even offer to help protect caravans from time to time.

Of course there was a hidden agenda for all this which was to regain access to routes that had been blocked from them by hostile factions. Now they could gather better intel and learn the best ways to bring down their rivals. However, the old ways are still there and a lot of the boys are tired of all the long term planning and just want to get back to some good old looting and raping.

At their core the Highwaymen are still the scoundrels they’ve always been and always probably will be.

The Brotherhood

“Have you heard the teachings of The Brotherhood?” - Everyone’s least favorite question when answering their city gates

Out of all the factions none are more hated than the Brotherhood, even the rapey Highwaymen score higher in popularity. Though given the Brotherhood’s old Mormon origins, this isn’t too surprising. Nobody likes religious cultists.

Based in Utah (Of course) the town of Saint George became increasingly more isolationist during the apocalypse and generally turned away outsiders. By this time the Mormon population was fine with this as they were entirely self sufficient. They even started to bring back the old polygamist ways just as Joseph Smith intended.

However, it wasn’t all milk drinking and child brides. A scouting party stumbled upon an old government facility in Yucca Mountain and believing some of the contents would be useful, more parties were sent to salvage what they could. Unfortunately this area was also where the US government used to keep a lot of its decommissioned nuclear weapons and radioactive waste. There might have been something even worse being stored there as well since the people started to suffer more than just normal radiation sickness. Something started to affect their minds and this even started to spread to the rest of the town’s population that hadn’t even explored the place.

This would be the beginning of the end of the old Mormon faith, but the horrible birth of a new one. The Brotherhood was born and they had abandoned most of their old beliefs in favor of worshipping leaking bombs and claiming to be the divine saviors of this new world. (They still kept the polygamy though) While they were always cultists, they now completed this look with gas masks and hooded cloaks (But to be fair, there’s nothing wrong with a good hooded cloak)

Combined with their already weird practices and general xenophobic outlook on unbelievers, the Brotherhood became the worst kinds of missionaries knocking on every town gate they could to convert. By force if necessary and most of the time they felt it was very necessary.

The Brotherhood had mostly managed to run amok unopposed for awhile until they started to head east a bit more where they learned there was better equipped resistance and factions with greater influence than themselves. A new approach of attempting to establish secret cults was employed.

It is their hope that in time they will convert enough to overthrow the rest of the factions and establish their new theocracy.

Sigma Corporation

“You’re not cleared for that, move along citizen.” - Typical Sigma soldier

While the New Federalists claim to be the successors of the old US government, Sigma Corp is probably the closest to the remnants of it. It could best be described as the “shadow government” that the conspiracy theorists of old loved to talk about. Turned out they were right all along.

Several state of the art underground bunkers designed to survive a near extinction level event were built under their watch. The biggest of these was right under Emporium in Pennsylvania and its main purpose was to preserve important members of the government and their families, along with digital copies of important documents from the Library of Congress and other top secret files.

Presumably if all had went to plan Sigma Corp would have emerged from the ashes and quickly re-established order while everyone else was still trying to get their shit together and trying not to get raped by the Highwaymen, however as usual when the apocalypse happened even best laid plans aren’t enough.

Massive EMP strikes knocked out the entire eastern seaboard and were bad enough to fuck up everything from the main bunker’s communication array to the digital info from the Library of Congress. To make matters worse the bunker doors were prematurely sealed shut by the personnel and couldn’t be opened which doomed the government officials and their families. (Of course given Sigma’s shadowy nature it’s entirely possible this part was intentional.)

Tensions rose in the bunker while riding out the chaos on the surface as they often do in close spaces and unsurprisingly there was a power struggle. Eventually things calmed down and the bunker was able to be safely reopened, but by this time pockets of civilization had already formed with their own ideals making their old mission a lot harder, but this didn’t matter too much since Sigma’s outlook on their old mission had changed a bit, indeed if it was ever their true goal to begin with.

While the superficial trappings of the old US government might be present, Sigma Corporation barely makes any pretense of wanting to rebuild the military industrial complex and establish a new government system with a lot better control over its citizens than the old one did. Backroom deals, assassinations, misinformation, sabotage and more are the methods to do this.

And if they manage to reconnect with their other bunkers then that will just bring them one step closer to that goal.

The Preservationists

“Preserve the knowledge of the past to preserve the future of humanity. Oh and don't trust Americans.” - Preservationist motto

When the apocalypse happened, Canada fared no better than the US, in fact it probably fared even worse in some provinces. The entire country was a hellscape of forest fires, mass destruction and brown snowflakes drifting down from the radioactive fallout. Ontario in particular was hit hard and many died of the usual combination of radiation sickness and starvation.

Not all was lost in the province though. The town of Thunder Bay had managed to barely survive thanks to some luck and having just the right mix of survivors who didn’t decide that it was every person for themselves. Cooperation was key. It also helped that there had been an important conference for scientists across the country being held at the city when the apocalypse hit. The surviving scientists would go on to be a great help in the rebuilding process and probably due to this influence lead to the priority of preserving knowledge before it was potentially lost forever.

The Preservationists were born.

While the faction is certainly one of the more polite ones (They are Canadian after all) they should not be mistaken as easy prey. They are quite capable of defending themselves though their relative isolation is their greatest defense as most of their American neighbors are too busy worrying about each other rather than attempting to raid them for text books. For their part, the Preservationists managed to get a distillery working again and selling their unique Thunder Bay whiskey at least managed to keep the Highwaymen from bothering them on any meaningful level in those early years.

The Preservationists much like the Coalition would like to see a return to civil society. The dissemination of helpful knowledge and technology could play a role in that, but the problem is they know it would just be used for ill if most of the other factions are any indication. Besides their whiskey, sometimes they’ve been known to hire themselves out as tinkerers for other factions in the hope of potentially influencing them for a better future. Though they’re also often seeking out any knowledge that might seem more useful in their hands as there is a part of the population that believes that only they can be trusted to be the leaders of the future.

As it stands the Preservationists maintain a cordial, but arm’s length approach to their US neighbors, at least until they all start behaving better. (So basically never)

Oh, feel free to post whatever weird roleplay story shit you want here for IMMURSHUN purposes.

EDIT: And in the interest of keeping things game focused, there's now two threads for everyone's gay role play. The actual players and everyone else.

Captain Amerizala Dallas Star of the Supreme High Lonesome Rangers rode out on her white horse alongside her honor guard that morning on a long patrol.

All seemed well in the territory despite the brewing rumors of war with the enemies of freedom. Over the next several days, she and her people did their best to allay fears whenever they stopped at a homestead, assuring folks that whatever happened, the law and order would be maintained.

After hanging two dine 'n dashing scoundrels at a popular cafe just inside the main settlement walls to prove her point, Amarizal (who went by "Mizal" to her friends) sat down to a plate of flapjacks and steaming black coffee--on the house. Passing some time idly gazing out the window at the construction work going on in town, it wasn't long before she heard the door swing open to the tune of a bald, burly sheriff's jingling spurrs.

"Sheriff Lee! Somehow I knew this would be the easiest place to find you!"

"Ah, good morning, Mizal." He removed his hat as he entered. "Figured you were around when I saw your calling cards." Lee referred of course to the two dangling from the tree outside.

"Well it's been too long." She waved the waitress over to offer Lee some coffee and breakfast. (On the house.) "How's the girlfriend?" She paused. "or is it wife, by now?"

"Heh. 'Fraid me and Laura are still living in sin, sorry to disappoint."

Amerizala tsked at that, and the two resumed catching up through inconsequential chitchat.

"But I know this isn't why you're here," Lee finally said.

She waited a moment while the waitress refilled their coffee, then her eyes sparkled conspiratorily as she spread a map on the table. "Of course not."

**START OF BROADCAST**

**THIS IS AN OFFICIAL BROADCAST FROM THE NEW FEDERALIST GOVERNMENT OF AMERICA. PRESIDENT PRIDE WILL ADDRESS YOU MOMENTARILY.**

Ladies and gentlemen, fellow Americans. It is with profound pride and unwavering resolve that I stand before you today to unveil the latest triumph of our great nation. This is not merely a broadcast to you, or to the savages that linger in the shadows just beyond our borders. No, this broadcast is our voice to the entire Northern Americas— a beacon of our might, our unity and our steadfast progress.

So on this auspicious morning I speak to all of you. My fellow Americans, we are on the threshold of a new dawn—an era where duty, honor and unyielding purpose guide our every move. The New Federalist Government of America stands as a bastion of safety and purpose to all of you. As the very crucible in which our nation’s destiny shall be remolded and tempered.

As I stand before you, looking upon the fruits of our labor, I am moved to tears, for what we have achieved together is nothing short of a miracle. Just this morning, my hand penned the orders that will send dozens of our brave soldiers into the wilds once more, to bring order to chaos, to turn darkness into light. These are men of steel and resolve, those who truly embody our nation’s spirit. They march ever onward, both our own and those who once stood against us united under a single banner. Together they will expand our reach and offer civilization to the savage world.

Within the towering walls of our burgeoning city, a new world is being born. From the vigorous beating heart of our streets to the bustling corridors of our markets, we have rebuilt America in our own image —stronger, wiser, and unshackled from the decadence that once led our ancestors astray. We have learned from their failures and cast their weakness aside with great contempt. From the radioactive ashes of the old, a new America rises, spreading the mighty wings of our eagle across the heavens once more.

To those who wander the wastelands, hear this: We do not seek vengeance. We do not harbor resentment. Join us, and together we shall ignite the forging flame of a new era. However, stand against us, and we shall stamp out all who threaten our rebirth beneath the heel of our righteous resolve. God bless America.

**THIS WAS PRESIDENT PRIDE SPEAKING. GOD BLESS AMERICA. GOD BLESS THE PRESIDENT.**

**END OF BROADCAST.**

Fat Tom's Bar, creatively named by its owner Fat Tom, is a piece of shit establishment frequented solely by pieces of shit. It's a favourite of Highwaymen, bad-touchers, snake oil-peddlers and used skank salesmen. A couple fellas are sitting around drinking their whiskies, discussing the recent rash of biker violence. 

"Yeah, a few of them are hardcore 1% types from the old days, but a bunch of those guys got killed when the chapters started going at it. I think a lot of them might have been Internet Nazis -- you remember the Internet?" 

Billy the Kid Toucher gets a far away look in his eyes. "Yeah man, I remember the Internet..." 

"A couple of them are soft pudgy motherfuckers, you know? Like there's no way those guys were actually talking about Aryan purety and shit in the days when that kind of talk pissed people off. Nowadays though, it's easy. A couple of those dumb motherfuckers tagged my bar the other day, can you believe that? Wrote their stupid motto, BCNJ, right on the side and rode off." 

"What does BCNJ stand for?" 

"Booze, cooze, and no more Jews." 

Link to Radio Message

Transcript:

Good Evening Children of the Apocalypse!

My name is Orison Lech from COTBA and I'm making the official announcement that KSUI Radio is now available for your eager ears!
After some successful salvage and bit of elbow grease we have finally got Iowa City's #1 Public Radio Station back on the air! And it seems that we're not only radio station out there as well.

Before we begin the tunes to make whatever living hell you're in just a bit more bearable, we have some news for ya.

In local news, the northern well and pump station has finally been disinfected from the pollution found there. Apparently, some idiot thought that pissing in it was a good idea. Thankfully, and having been verified by the reliable medical experts, the water is safe to drink again. To preserve this, I would highly recommend that you NOT let your children huff paint, especially when you're already doing it yourself.

A townie from the west claimed to have seen a classic-looking biker gang on one of the nearby highways. Leather, spikes, tats and all. While staying out of sight, he witnessed a bizarre hazing ritual that involved a pretty extreme...challenge. One of the younger bikers apparently had to stand in the middle of the road and wait as every other member of the gang would ride up in full speed and hit him with their motorcycles. Apart from it being reckless and stupid, what's impressive is that the kid survived. I wouldn't want to mess with whoever those guys are.

That's all for the news here folks. This is KSUI Radio! If you come by, you'll get some Iowa Nice. If you're just leaving, y'all come back now. Y'hear?

And now, some music...

...it's an oldie with Eddy Arnold: It's a Sin.

Just a note for those following along that it was decided that without a comm tower, Milton's character was walking along "broadcasting" this by yelling through cupped hands. This new, more accurate mental image really improves it IMO.

And sorry you can't get away from the workplace pissers even after the apocalypse, Milton.

 

"Hark, citizens! Hast thou heard the teachings of the Brotherhood?"

The air of the Happy Peaks trailer park turned stale as the thunderous sound of pounding footsteps could be heard emerging into the area. In tandem, ominous dark clouds cast overhead as if to announce the arrival of the incoming zealots. The trailer park residents grew increasingly worried as their eyes caught the dark garments of the intruders. This spoke of trouble, and not the good kind.

"Nay, I think these non-believers need a bible lesson." 

A marauder of the black-clad army spoke humorously, and revealed a curved dagger from the underside of their clothing. They then turned to a imposing figure standing nearby for approval, to which the ominous shadow responded only with a silent nod. 

The resulting occurrence was a bloodbath. Inhabitants fled in vain as the religious fanatics made quick work of politely knocking on doors and, when no answer was received, forcing entry into trailer homes. The citizens of Happy Peaks were forced to either convert or die, and while many preferred their lives intact, increasing the ever-growing numbers of the Brotherhood, select few would refuse to give in. The last thing they would see were dark robes, a glint of steel, and - as a small few would come to know - a hint of blue hair...

"For the Brotherhood!"

"Sir, please stop shouting," Savannah, Orison's assistant, said while trying to restrain a scowl. "The people certainly appreciate the news, but you're not doing much by screaming at the top of your lungs."

"I-I know that," Orison replied, somewhat embarrassed. "I told the folks out front that I was going to use this to project my voice so that they could all hear." He pointed at a discarded megaphone. "It stopped working right before I started talking. I felt that I had to continue."

"No one is expecting you to do something like this, especially with the work you're already doing," Savannah said, more softly now. "We already have a network of poster runners here for the city."

"I'm not concerned for the city," Orison sighed. "We've got that covered. I still remember when this town couldn't handle a basic storm. Now, we can finally start developing the surrounding area. That's why I wanted to practice doing this. We need to start spreading the word that these towns around us can trust us and that we mean them no harm.  This world is barely hanging together and we have to take the initiative to fix things. If not us, then who?" Orison's tone became increasingly passionate as he once again reiterated his organization's objective.

"Well, that can wait for now," Savannah retorted. "We just got a letter."

"We did?" he said, looking at the envelope. Nothing on the outside indicated where it came from. "Hmm. Maybe things aren't so bad out there after all. I'll read it in my office." He began to stroll briskly inside.

"Also," Savannah shouted after him, "Stay indoors! The science team is saying that the forecast is looking really bad, so stay inside!"

"Oh, that's right!" Orison said, slapping his forehead. "I remember the weather report now. Make sure to let the drivers know to hold off on deliveries for the duration of the radiation storm!"

"Already underway sir!" Savannah responded, still shouting. "Moishe is pretty good at keeping touch with the others, so we're covered on that!"

From somewhere in in the Northern Appalachian region in what used to be Pennsylvania, U.S.A.,  a radio signal plays a message on continuous loop:

-.-. .- -. .- -.. .. .- -. ... / ... ..- -.-. -.- -.-.--

 

Several klicks away from the source of that signal and barely noticeable to even a trained observer, a small team of operatives make their way through a forested area.

One of the three men, the second in line as they make their way through the brush begins to speak, “That was quite a storm we had there.”

“Yep,” replies the one leading point as he chooses his steps carefully so as to make no noise at all.

“I mean, that acid rain was nasty. Naaaa-aaa-sty. Do you think anything could have survived it?” continues the first man.

“We did,” replies point flatly.

“Yeah, I mean, we did, but we were in shelter. I was talkin – “

“Quiet,” the third one states, who is obviously in charge. “This is supposed to be a stealth expedition.”

“There,” states point succinctly, using knife hand to indicate a direction.

The other two look in the direction indicated and see a lump of something about 100 yards out.

“Are you sure?” asks the leader.

“Yep,” replies point eloquently.

The three men quietly make their way to the edge of a clearing to where the “lump” lay on the ground.  It appears to be the remains of a male human, half eaten by the acid rain from the last storm. The smell is almost unbearable, because even though the acid kills most living organisms, it also worked much like digestive fluids do inside of a stomach.  Which equated to them examining a half-digested human that has been baking in the sun for most of the day.

“I think I’m going to be sick,” says number two holding his hand over his mouth as he gags.

“Shut it,” interrupts the leader. “This him? Face is missing.”

“Yep. Recognize the clothes. Or what is left of them,” replies point.

“Dang! We told him not to run out in the rain. Idiot!” exclaims number two.

“Alrighty then, back to base,” commands the leader as they all fall in line and move swiftly away melting back into the trees.

Dual Authorship between MiltonManThing and Enterpride

[Transcription of the Fort Campbell Summit between the New Federalists and the Coalition of the Black Angel]

[Transcription performed by The Son of Doctor Rad and reviewed by State Secretary Meifung]

 

Location:

Makeshift Encampment Site just outside of Fort Campbell

Date:

April 17, 2077

Present New Federalists Personnel:

Chief Representative: State Secretary Meifung

Security Detail: Mack Luther, Neil Carter and Ryan Vincent

Auxilliary: Sid Crawford

Present Coalition of the Black Angel Personnel:

Chief Representative: Acting Administrator Jon Lonneren

Medical Staff Council Members: Doctor Deforest Tanner MD and Doctor Bennie Ocean

COTBA Associate and Security Detail: Warren Ripley

Stenographer: The Son of Doctor Rad

 

[Meeting Starts]

State Secretary: All present will please come to order. Good afternoon, ladies, gentlemen. Thank you so much for being here. Let me introduce our side of the table. Carter, Vincent, Crawford and Luther. This is a momentous moment. Hope and progress are just within arm's reach. For the Campbell Accords might just bring peace and stability for not only our generation, but the next as well.

Ripley: Coming to order. *he clears his throat* Uh-uhm presenting Acting Admin-administrator Jon Lonneren representing the COTBA. On his side of the table, he is joined by me-I mean Associate…uh…Analyst Warren Ripley, Doctor Deforest Tanner MD, Doctor Bennie Ocean, the Son of Doctor Rad-no assigned position - and me. Oh, shoot! I already said-

Acting Administrator: *he pats Ripley on the back* That’s alright, son. All representatives of the COTBA present and accounted for.

State Secretary: Very well. Welcome COTBA, please be seated. First order of business will be the groundwork of all further negotiation. A deal has been brokered between our president and your administrator. Three rare pieces of salvage for support of our claim on this Fort. It is the New Federalist hope a preliminary border may be negotiated. One that will allow both of countries sovereignty over our lands.

Acting Administrator: Thank you…Madam Secretary. Would you prefer I address you with that honorific?

State Secretary: State secretary shall suffice. It is my function and achievement. No other honorifics are necessary, acting administrator.

Acting Administrator: Understood. State Secretary, and other representatives of the New Federalists, I address this summit between our two peoples with the hope that this encounter will result in peaceful relations between us. To touch on the circumstances that led to this meeting, though we had initial plans to coordinate the seizure of this resource we stand in the shadow of at this moment, we respected the initiative taken by the New Federalists. In response to their forthright message to our Administrator Orison, it was agreed that since the resource sat directly on a shared border, a financial settlement from the New Federalists was considered a fair compromise for the forfeiture of land rights. It was also agreed that we should meet here to discuss matters of state for our duration here as a measure of accountability.

State Secretary: All these facts are spoken with truth and honor. With this precedent further border agreements can be made. Are you in accord with this particular proposal. *unrolls map marking the borders surrounding <redacted>*

Acting Administrator: Yes, this is an agreeable border draft. I see that you have also drawn your borders around-

Doctor Ocean: Excuse me for a sec, Jon, I gotta bring up this point real quick before we go further. We need to consider some important ecological factors here.

Doctor Tanner: *he groans audibly*

Doctor Ocean: We still haven’t fully determined the efficacy of the NF’s tech about radiation treatment.

State Secretary: Excuse me, Doctor Ocean. I do believe we are way past caring about the ecology. Those communists took care of that. Right now we must focus on both policy and economy.

Doctor Ocean: Yeah, you say that. But, I’m still kinda concerned about kids drinking water and having a third leg sprout outta their chest. I just want to verify that y’all got the means to treat radiation so you don’t poison yourselves. All in the name of love and peace, if you know what I mean?

State Secretary: No, doctor. We do not. Our policy is to sequester the mutant.

Ripley: ‘Sequester?’

Doctor Ocean: Cordoning off the infected is necessary, but what are y’all gonna do if something leaks into the main supply? A huge storm just swept through the area. Did you have a backup plan for that?

State Secretary: Be aware of your tone, doctor. You are speaking with the state representative of the New Federalist Government, not your student. And as to your question, we have thrived for decennia and survived through a dozen storms.

Doctor Ocean: Look I don’t see why-

Acting Administrator: Ben, please mind the way you’re speaking. I know you’re passionate about this, but one thing at a time. State Secretary, would you consider a time where the good Doctor can look at your filtration system with one of your representatives for ease of mind, after this meeting *he looks pointedly at Doctor Ocean*?

State Secretary: *smiles visibly* We are confident that an invitation can be extended in due course. Moving on to the next matter on our agenda: While mutual assurance of safety forms the groundwork of any potential alliance, it is evident to both parties involved that our nations are guided by distinct principles and are focused on perfecting different strengths. This divergence only enhances the potential power of our alliance.

Doctor Tanner: Now we’re getting somewhere.

Acting Administrator: Yes, of course. As previously stated in the past correspondences, we are dedicated towards peaceful cooperation, with the exception being in regard to self-defense, towards those whose motives towards the COTBA haven’t been officially determined. Regardless, we adhere to conforming to standards of decency and revile cruel and unusual punishment or retaliation. We are healers of the world first before anything else. Rehabilitation is preferred to things like execution, though we have had to use that method in the past for the most extreme cases and truly unapologetic offenders. Our goals are to travel around this country and help prop up a better standard of living by preserving natural resources and establish a better economy through mutual trade. We enjoy open borders with benevolent parties and like to maintain a sense of "Iowa Nice," as the folk say.

State Secretary: Truly wonderful, Acting Administrator. What would you propose?

Doctor Tanner: I think we would be interested in knowing what your nation’s *he makes air quotes around the word "nation's"* goals are and general approach in getting those done. That would help us in answering that question.

State Secretary: If that isn't abundantly clear by now, I severely doubt your abilities, doctor. One would assume one must be able to perceive before being able to treat. *she pauses for a breath*

When I travel throughout these wastes, I see a broken land, gentlemen. I see a barely breathing husk of what was once a superpower with unimaginable wealth, capable of transforming the world through its word alone. I see mutants, I see savages and I see Americans barely holding on to civilization. My goal. My nation's goal is to transform these ruthless and wild wastes into something American children can be proud of once again; into a place where where families may once again settle in peace and people can focus on building up, instead of guarding against just the next wave of savage raids. We have transformed Georgia. We have transformed Miami, Carolina and Alabama. No raids are taking place. People can live in safety. We have rekindled the American Dream. Our goal is to set it ablaze once again.

Security Detail in Unison: For Strength, Unity, and the Future of the American Dream!

Doctor Tanner: Respectfully, State Secretary, how do you plan to do this? We all heard that mass transmission you sent not that long ago. Do you plan to do it peacefully, or by force? What do you do with people affected by radiation, after they are "sequestered?" What happens to the factions that disagree with your methods in securing this land? Will you still be content with drawing boundaries even if you have leverage over them? I ask all this because we’ll have to address these concerns in the near future. We also believe that this country can be transformed to something better, but we adhere to principle first. We don’t believe that the ends justify the means…respectfully *he exaggerates his tone and hand movements when he says "respectfully"* .

Acting Administrator: The good doctor does bring up an important point. On that subject, if there is an alliance, which we do hope for, will we be able to maintain independent operations?

State Secretary: Those are a lot of questions, gentlemen. Are these questions uttered out of fear and suspicion, or mutual respect? Rest assured that you will be able to maintain independent operations and allow me to tell you a story. Have you ever wondered why we're the only surface dwelling nation at either coast? There's the Sigma Corporation, of course, but those share more resemblance with moles than humans.

When the bombs hit, forty years ago, the coasts were hit the hardest. Man, animal, and machine were all equally subsumed by the nuclear flames. The mutants that arose from those flames had the worst qualities of each. And as much as the bombs had taken, the post-war chaos exacted a higher toll. No one was safe. Whether you were a man, woman or child, death or enslavement was your brightest possible future. Twenty years of genocide, rape and brutalities the like you have never seen followed. There is not a New Federalist soldier alive today that hasn't lost the majority of his family during that struggle. Bleak doesn't even begin to describe it.

Only a local chief dared to dream higher. He had garnered only twenty followers and found the perfect hiding spot in Albany. After attracting enough refugees, we had formed a New Federalist State. You might have a thought about what followed, but the truth is harsher. What sacrifices were required of us just to survive might have broken anyone who didn't go through these years. Hell, it even destroyed some of us. But we persevered. We moved on. We slaughtered any mutant and we freed their victims. Our ranks swelled while theirs dwindled. We fought for our future.

You might not agree with our methods, doctors, but know that our lessons are painted with the blood of thousands Americans that died to allow us to stand here at this very moment. We will honor them and safeguard our own above all else. No matter how far we must go. An alliance would offer you a chance to join us.

Acting Administrator: *he stands up and straightens himself* Never let it be said that the Coalition looks coldly on those who have suffered, and in your case suffered greatly. My colleagues may express some reservations, but I personally ask my question out of curiosity and mutual respect. We ourselves would not be at peace to impose our will over your people if we were so empowered to do so. Establishing a common understanding of that principle is key to our diplomacy here. What also needs to be addressed is that we, if we were to establish ourselves as allies, bear a personal weight of responsibility regarding the actions of those we call ‘friends.’ It is crucial to address this issue, not simply for the existing generation, but for our anticipated and hopeful posterity. We also have our stories here, which I will summarize. Though we consider ourselves citizen of Iowa City, it is only a designation to make succinct our otherwise diverse identity.

Doctor Ocean’s family actually traveled from Florida almost right before the war. Instead of lamenting the fact that they were never able to return home, they applied themselves to helping build a community around them. His parents paid the price for that choice the family made, and he has had to live with that loss with the willingness to face that same possible fate.

Young mister Ripley here is an earnest man with a willingness to help all those around him, but at one point he was more inclined to lash out at a world that formed monsters in the shape of men that brutally raped and devoured his sister while he was forced to watch. He was justified in his rage, but instead of pursuing revenge, he has kept close to others to protect them so that nothing like that ever happens again to those in his care.

Doctor Tanner himself experienced some family trauma, but that has never compared to what he’s witnessed in his practice. The good doctor has exposed himself to the worst consequences that man inflicts on each other for sport.

The progeny of Doctor Rad has seen more horrors, whether they be creations of man or monster, than all of us on both sides of the table combined. He speaks softly, but it is practiced. How he has managed to keep his sanity is a miracle.

As for myself, I consider myself a well-traveled man. I’ve seen much in the Midwest and from coast to coast. I chose to settle here, not because it was relatively more peaceful, but because I saw people here that made a choice. That choice was this: to let themselves be preserved consistent in morals and action and not become only as ‘good’ as the world allowed them to be. We do not revile those that we see make adjustments to how they act based on the circumstances around them. That is common among people. However, this world needs more than that. It requires, desperately, a people committed to common, unshakable foundation. “Do unto others as you would have them do unto you.” We recognize our inherent rights as men to pursue our own self-interest, and who would blame us? But we chose to forgo those rights when possible and appropriate to give a chance for the sick, those both in body and in spirit. God has given grace to us, and so we give it in kind. Let mercy smooth the furrowed brow of justice.

Neil Carter: *he enters the tent* Time's up, Mei. Orders.

State Secretary: *she gives Carter an angry look, one that puts Luther to shame*

Carter: They're straight from HQ. *he looks sheepishly and his voice wavers*

State Secretary: *she gives the assembly icy stares, focusing on each member individually* Gentlemen, I apologize for these sudden unfortunate circumstances. But it might just be as well. We are not here to one-up each other in suffering after all. The New Federalist offer stands. An alliance of safety and protection for your benign medical knowledge and treatment. And if that is too much, a mutual assurance of the aforementioned borders.

Acting Administrator: Understood. We’ll dissolve this meeting for now. An alliance is a bit soon for today, but we will respect the borders at the very least. For the sake of finalizing the contract, if, for some reason, we can no longer observe it, we will send back the money you gave us for the settlement.

We’ll be departing soon. Thank you State Secretary for your time.

[End of Transcript]

These coalition folks and their advanced technogy like transcription, smh.

He just used shorthand with a typewriter really. NF provided the real tech.

Ezekiel liked it here. Most towns had descended into anarchy after the fall. But not here. Not in Salem. Together with the Goodwins, the Bradfords, the Bishops, and the Putnams they had remained steadfast and rebuild something special: a quaint little God-fearing community that made life worth living.

Sure things were different compared to back then, at least that’s what the elders always told him. Two-headed cows demanded twice as much pasture and Rebecca had grown a third tit. But as always, you grew used to it. Ezekiel wouldn’t want to go back. Hell, in a couple years he might even marry her.

So on this sunny morning Ezekiel walked past the brightly painted wooden houses of the Goodwins, and the demure shacks the Putnams preferred, and went towards the power plant, which was more of a crude oil refinery ramshackled into delivering power than anything else. It fit their little town. Its black smoke from its chimneys even helped John Putnam find his way home during his worst drunken stupors.

“Mornin’ John.” Ezekiel found him wrapped in a coal-black blanket, nestled between two rusty steam pipes. He had to give it to him. It was probably comfortably warm.

“Who in high heaven- oh it’s you Ez. It sure was a night, huh.” John smiled. A crooked smile that resembled the crude battlements of yore. It was said every time John downed a bottle, half of it would come just right back out again.

Ezekiel just ignored him. They were on the third floor. Nothing in Salem was quite as high, so he always made time to overlook his town. “Stormy clouds on the horizon. Green too. Gonna be a rad night.”

John let out an ugly laugh. “Better bring your umbrella.”

“What is it with you and-” Ezekiel’s words trailed off as he looked out to the pastures past his little town. Purple grass made the two-headed cows pop out. And something else. Something that made his mouth freeze. He all but rammed his drunk friend against the metal pipes in his hurry to shove him towards the window. “John! Look. You see that?”

John sobered up in an instant. “Heavens to Betsy! Raiders!”

A dozen or more squads were moving methodically through the fields. Some wore camo, others compensated with a bright-red Mohawk. In these grasses they all stood out. And it wasn’t long before a Goodwin sounded the alarm.

“What do we do Ezekiel!” John looked as stupid and powerless as he felt, nourishing a red bump on his head.
“I- I don’t know!”

It happened so fast. The Goodwin were the first to open fire. Their bolt-action rifles snapped with distinct clanks. Their fire was quickly returned. The raiders halted, sprawled, and then lobbed explosives towards the town’s defensive position. The explosion tore through man and house, sending splinters flying in all directions.

Then the raiders charged. The squads fanned out, covering entire width of the town. Panic swept through Salem as the women and children fled towards the field on the other side.

But they didn’t get far. Another squad lay in wait there. Once close, they sprang their ambush and captured them with ease.

“We gotta help them John!” Tears streamed freely down Ezekiel’s flabby cheeks.
“With what? I got nothing.”

Soon screams filled the air as gunfire grew sparse. Despicable things were happening, but Ezekiel couldn’t bear to watch. He closed his eyes, his body trembling as he felt John pounding the pipes in helpless rage. He didn’t have the strength to stop him.

It felt like an eternity before the gunfire resumed once again. This time automatic fire, coming from the trees all around town. The raiders shouted in surprise, cries echoing though the streets. Ezekiel dared to peek through his fat fingers just as a commanding voice boomed from the distance:

“This is the New Federalist Government of America. We have you surrounded. All enemies to America are ordered to surrender at once! I repeat, resistance will be crushed!”

Both Ezekiel and John rushed downstairs as intense gunfire resumed and stray shots pinged against the window’s walls. By the time they finished the last stairs, the fight felt silent. Only muted sobs remained.

As they exited the power plant, they saw ordered rows of soldiers entering their town. They all wore identical uniforms, a rarity these days. Their stern gazes scanned the crowd causing some to break protocol and mutter under their breath.

Ezekiel and John joined their respective families as they were all led to their local church. The town’s residents were decimated, fathers and uncles lying dead in the ditches. Rebecca too. They were too distraught to notice not a single raider was among them. Half of the houses were completely ruined. The church itself was blasted as well, so a lone officer stood at the smoldering stairway in front.

“Residents of Salem. Today marks the start of a new era. In all his wisdom and valor President Pride has deemed you part of America. From this day on, your town falls under the jurisdiction of the New Federalist Government. We will bring order and unity to your lands plagued by chaos and disarray.

You will be given shelter, provisions, and a role within the New Federalist framework. We expect you to embrace this new order and to contribute loyally towards our shared goal of rebuilding our country.

However, be warned. Any act of disloyalty, any attempt to undermine my authority will be met with swift and severe consequences. We will not tolerate dissent. Your actions from this point forward will define the path of your community. Choose wisely.

Welcome to the New Federalist Government.”

It took only two months before Salem was functioning again. Ezekiel didn’t like it. The town had changed. Mere days after the catastrophe, a flood of settlers from Albany arrived at their very doorstep. They weren’t from here and it showed —like they were better, like they were doing Salem a favor.

At first they just replaced the lost families. They worked dutifully to rebuild the homes destroyed in the raid. But as more of them showed up each day, there were no more ruins left to fix. Ezekiel thought they’d be turned away again. But instead they littered his beautiful purple fields with homes of their own design. Modern, utilitarian, three stories high and rectangular; quick to build, made to last and damn ugly to look at. These homes were not made of wood, but of concrete and bricks. And a single large bomb shelter was the centerpiece, right where once the church had stood.

Then the storm hit. It was a class E storm. The last of which happened over eight years ago. The new settlers disappeared to their shelter and the quotas started coming. They came from that same commanding officer. Ezekiel never learned his name, but every time he arrived, his cold and indifferent eyes sent more of the original families, his family and friends, out to work long days at the power plant. He hadn’t cared about them, just the results. They were already irradiated, the officer had said, pointing towards the sores and stumps all over Ezekiel’s fat face. Soldiers seemed to do that often. They always glared and muttered something under their breath.

So the remaining Bradfords, Bishops, and the Putnams worked grueling long hours under the harshest of circumstances. The storm screamed out in rage outside, winds rising to hundreds miles an hour that formed a wall of death beyond the structure. Several times a green strangely horizontal vortex shot just right past them. John swore it blinked at them. And the sounds. They all heard voices—familiar voices, of loved ones lost in the raid. They cried out from the storm, begging to be joined. Several couldn’t resist and simply walked out to their deaths. Their bodies were never seen again.

After ten agonizing days the storm finally passed. They had lost another forty. These deaths hurt less, Ezekiel remarked, like a wound already gone numb. The garrison left their shelter and inspected the work. It had apparently been adequate, because the commanding officer smiled. He never did that.

They had performed their purpose with honor, the officer had said. And for that they had been given the privilege to relocate to Albany. President Pride himself had written the orders. They would receive an escort and would receive treatment there. And if they were just as industrious, he had said, they would be able to build up an actual life there. Some Putnams nodded their assent. Ezekiel did not want to leave, and neither did most Bradfords.

They were all given an hour to pack.

These are doing such a fantastic job making everybody not root for America's first transgender president.

Ghoul propaganda lies.

This has me dying, I love it. Very nicely written

I second. Love the dommy mommy reference. 

“New orders just arrived from main base. Ready to roll out in 5.” Neil stepped out of his command shack in a hurry, shoving aside the heavy tent flaps. He was greeted by the familiar noise of the camp, now with a large crowd of locals cheering and yelling something on.

Fort Campbell had been the first civilized place in Tennessee they had spotted. Nearby towns were reduced to rubble and ash, either destroyed by the bombs of the war or pillaged to the bone by the hungry masses rolling down from Kentucky. The few survivors had been gathered here, retreated to this fort.

Here they had built a well-functioning town that withstood the test of time. The fort’s walls had protected them from the worst both nature and man had to offer and the extensive training areas were perfectly suited for agriculture. Above all, they had the patriot spirit running in their blood. Most of them were the sons and daughters of the proud 101st airborne division. And when the town had heard of an American government being reformed down in Georgia, they had happily raised the stars and stripes once again, ready to serve the nation they remembered so fondly.

Ryan looked up from his wrestling match. The once linebacker was built like a bull. His arms were the size of most people’s trunks, making him somewhat of a celebrity here in Fort Campbell.
“Al-“ And in that moment of inattentiveness, the local wrestler tackled him to the ground. His smug face quickly fell though, as Ryan simply started benching him. “Alright, chief. I’ll go get Luther. And Crawford. They’re setting up. The water installation.”

Neil appreciated that. Luther always put him on edge. That man barely spoke. Quiet, cold and utterly ruthless. Even a brief exchange with him felt like walking on thin ice.

Next, he found Meifung speaking to the doctor types just outside of the walls in a little bivak. It had been an intense debate, with maps of America stretched out on the tables. Somehow, despite her being the smallest being in the room, she stood tall at the center of it all.

“Time’s up, Mei. Orders,” he said.

She just gave him a look that could put even Luther to shame.

“They’re straight from HQ,” he stammered.

The Regulators' main base was in a noisy uproar. Drinks were passed around and faces glowed with good humor. Guns were being oiled and polished amid the sound of laughter. From the nature of the jokes being cracked, one didn't even need to read the evening news bulletin to learn that some damn Yankees were having an apoplexy fit about a posse of rangers on a long patrol riding up unchallenged to an old factory and cleaning up the machines a bit.

"They say it was THEIRS and that they're going to war, pardner!"

"Our boys sat down and had coffee with some of those Coalition folk and that's--ahahaha!" This fellow once he recovered from his laughter stood up, pushing his goggles up on his forehead. In the firelight the name JAKAL could be seen sewn onto the nametag of some drab uniform. He puffed up his chest and strutted around, pinching his nose to get the accent right, "a flagrant and cowardly assault upon one of their border settlements!"

"I can't believe they're serious," one woman muttered with a roll of her eyes.

"You know how the times are, everybody's just looking for an excuse," Laura commented with a languid world-weariness. She stood and stretched. "Bet they think if they stay hidden far enough back in the mountains and wave their little flags around, somehow no one else will think to attack them while their troops are gallavanting around the countryside waving their asses around."

"Christ, what a bunch of faggots."

After a couple of hours a few teams of rangers rode out, but no more news seemed forthcoming. However a fresh form of entertainment appeared, some wits dressing up as President Pride and sashaying around, faces painted red and huffing and puffing, shaking their fists and twirling to show how comically mad he was. This so tickled folks that soon half the town was giving it their best shot, and their half-drunken singing and clowning around that night would be remembered as the Regulator's first Pride Parade.

-.-. .- -. .- -.. .. .- -. ... / ... ..- -.-. -.- -.-.--

Deep underground the artificial light flickers a little as Jane walks into a conference room with her laptop open.  

“What’s up Jane?” greets one of the two men seated at the table. “Emergency?”

“Nothing immediate, but it is important news.”

“Go ahead,” instructs the other.

“Well, you already know that earlier we received word that someone found and opened one of our other vaults.  It appears that they had some difficulty, obviously.”

“Well, yeah. What do they expect trying to break into a bunker.”

“Right. So, we had news of it. But then we received this communication from the New Federalists earlier today.” Jane spins her laptop around so that both Laroy and Buck can read the screen.

“Sooooo, they are asking us to pay them simply for information about the location of the bunker. After they have already looted and broken it?” exclaims Laroy.

“I know. Crazy right?! It’s not like they are going to give us our stuff back.”

“That President Pride sure is Dutch,” says Buck gruffly.

“Dutch?!”, repeats Laroy. “What do you mean dutch? That Pride dude is a total faggot. First, he tells us he will respect our boundaries and not pass the latitude at 58, and while we knew he was lying, he hasn’t even pretended to keep his word. We’ve had scouting reports of him traipsing all around up here. And then he tries to sell us coordinates after he has looted our stuff.  And Pride, for a name, really?  I mean that is the gayest name I have ever heard. I bet he prances around in rainbow colored spandex. That is so not the America I want to live in.”

“Yeah. He’s dutch. That’s what I said.”

“Well, anyway. At least he’s not Canadian,” says Jane as she takes her laptop and turns around to leave.

“Not sure that Dutch isn’t worse even than Canadians,” replies Laroy. “But we will let it be for now.  Any stability in the South is better than none. No time to worry about this now: we’ve got an objective to hit.”

-.-. .- -. .- -.. .. .- -. ... / ... ..- -.-. -.- -.-.--

“You see how he twitched, right before…” Neil chuckled, fingers forming the shape of a gun put to his temple as he reenacted a particular mutant’s last moments.

The orders had been clear: exfiltrate and double back to base immediately. Something had triggered a high alert back at the intelligence division. But of course, when they had seen a nearby town subjugated by mutants, instincts took over. The skirmish had been distinctly one-sided as the four of them cut through swathes of walking and talking mutated corpses.

“Those Mutts died too lightly,” Luther muttered evenly, eyes staring into nothingness as he reenacted the battle. His fingers slowly traced the lines of his sniper rifle. He had always been more talkative after combat. “We should’ve made an example of them.”

“Orders are orders, Luther. If we personally stopped to flay and disembowel every single Mutt on the way, we’d take a year. Maybe more. HQ told us to hurry.”

“I would have left a few alive with their spines shattered. Just one shot. They’d be all nice and paralyzed. Left for the town.”

“And next storm they’ll magically rise again. It was too dange-“

“Enough about the Steel Brigade, soldiers,” Meifung interrupted. “Eyes front and stand tall, we’re home.”

The expedition returned as dusk settled over Albany. After spending months out and across the Appalachians, the familiar walls felt like a blessing straight from heaven. They smiled upon them with pride and warmth.

Through their main gates caravans kept rolling in, carrying goods from all directions. New shipments of minerals, concrete and weapons that were sure to bolster the war machine. It was a lively evening, and everyone was in good spirits.

“Looks like fresh Mutts arrived,” Luther observed coolly.

His eyes were focused a couple hundred feet west, where a row of mutants were escorted through a less conspicuous entrance. A dozen or so soldiers stood guard. They recognized a few of them. Sent out roughly at the same time, they had a mission up north.

“Check this out. They’re straight outta Salem. Look at that those two. The fat and the skinny one. Skinny’s barely got any teeth left while Fat has them all sticking out of both his cheeks. Ha! Hey!” Crawford had piped up, swigging from another flash of moonshine and took two uneven steps towards the row of mutants before being caught by Neil.

“We aren’t in the wilderness anymore, Crawford. Get a fucking grip.” He had grabbed Crawford by the neck and pushed him forward.

And so the expedition entered Albany. They moved through the bustling streets where both cheers mixed with gunshots that sounded ever more frequently: signs of prosperity, life was good, and ended up at the headquarters.

There they were immediately informed of the situation report. The savages of the Texan plains had rolled in almost immediately after they’d left Fort Campbell. Diplomacy was futile, leaving the entire eastern border under direct attack. Intelligence stressed their capability for swift movement, leaving even Albany itself exposed.

“Let them come,” Luther once again observed coolly. “Laura here is thirsty.”

“You’re even starting to name your own guns?” Neil uttered incredulously.

“I don’t think they’d be dumb enough to try it. An attack on a capital is a whole different matter than a simple border town. What about the coalition?” Meifung asked. Her hand was raised to quiet the room.

“You were on that summit. What do you think?” The intelligence agent replied. “We were told they’d be ‘abstaining from any abuse or unwarranted aggression’. Apparently they’ve cozied up so close to these Texans, they’ve got their heads stuck up their asses.”

“That’s definitely in line with them,” Meifung responded, chuckling, remembering their some of the summit’s last words. “God has given grace to us, and so we give it in kind. Let mercy smooth the furrowed brow of justice.”

“Let’s give their brown brows a bit of justice then!” Crawford slurred. He had somehow stumbled and found his way into the conference room. He was promptly escorted back to his personal quarters.

“Ahem, let’s continue.” The agent nodded. A door was shut. “President’s orders. We have some fresh recruits. There’s going to be some reorganization within our expeditionary party to better reflect the current situation…”

----

Later that night, Luther took watch atop a guard tower overlooking the western approach. The breeze carried the familiar scent of mountain air mixed with gunpowder—a scent that felt like home. Despite the official line that no attack was imminent, Luther’s instincts told him otherwise. His pulse quickened, a cold thrill creeping into his veins. Laura would taste blood tonight.

It took only an hour before he was proven right. A troupe of cowboys, each on horses that galloped swiftly over the uneven land. While the night shrouded their trail of kicked-up dust, Luther’s trained ears caught the distant rumble. His heartbeat swelled.

“HQ. Regulators spotted. Approaching sector 5 on high speed. Two miles out.”

“Copy that. Hold your fire, Luther.”

Luther peered through his scope. It took only a few moments to pinpoint their exact location.

“I have visual. Two… Three… Five. A full party. One properly armed. Permission to take the shot?”

“Negative, Luther. Hold position and wait for backup.”

The riders closed in, now only a mile out. Luther observed his next victims. His scope zoomed in on every individual. They were so certain of themselves. Their eyes were determined. They at least upheld tactical silence as they approached. Those were some beautiful horses. At least they were not Mutts. Then he focused on their leader once again.

“Hold your shot, Luther. I repeat. Do not shoot. We’re luring them-“

Luther shot. One single bullet sliced through the cool night’s air. It travelled in a straight line towards the rider leading the charge, the rider who held a gun in each hand. The bullet burrowed right between the eyes. The figure slumped forwards. For a moment, it was as if nothing happened. Then he fell from his horse, shoe still hitched to his stirrups, and the other riders spread out. They fired wildly. Gunfire erupted from both sides.

The radio cackled with curses.

The walls of Albany stood proud. And when the riders charged towards it, they found the gates shut. From behind the safety of the battlements New Federalist soldiers shot down at them with great glee. The riders each took multiple hits as they braved the onslaught. They circled the town with either stubborn resolve or an even greater death wish. Then the first shouts to retreat sounded.

The regulators were driven off. Luther remarked the iron scent of blood in the night’s air. From his elevated position he looked as the lone dead horseman was carried inside. The body to bury, the weapons to reuse. With any luck Laura might get company, Luther thought. Was she a jealous rifle?

Another day in paradise.

-.-. .- -. .- -.. .. .- -. ... / ... ..- -.-. -.- -.-.--

 

Laroy enters a workroom deep within the Sigma bunker. Other than the light shining through the window from the hallway, the only light comes from the computer screen giving Jane’s face a stark and ominous contrast. Discarded equipment and wires litter a worktable that takes up half of the room.

“Well, you all really screwed the pooch on that one,” she says without looking up.

“Look, just don’t… okay,” he pleads.

“Not a judgement, just a statement,” responds Jane finally focusing on Laroy. “You shouldn’t have pushed your luck. Take the small wins, they all add up.”

“Yeah.”

“Hey, stuff happens. I know this one hit you hard. But I have gathered some intel that might help you feel a little better. But whatever happens, we’ve just got to move on.”

Laroy sighs, “I know. What do you have?”

“First, It seems that the New Federalists-,” she starts before being interrupted.

“Dutch, just call them the Dutch, New Federalists is way too long to keep saying over and over.”

“Ok,” starts Jane again, “The Dutch seem to have gotten on the bad side of that group from Texas, the Regulators or whatever they are called.”

“Heh, Don’t mess with Texas.”

“Right. We have reports that the Texans are at war with the Dutch. It seems that the Dutch were trying to take advantage of the Coalition or COTBA or something like that, and the Texans stepped in to help.”

“Gig ‘em,” exclaims Laroy. “But isnt the Coalition that really gay faction pretending to be nice to everyone.”

“Yes, and no. Yes it is that faction, but weirdly, they are for real trying to help everyone. It’s not an act. Seems like they are just a bunch of scientists and such, honestly trying to make the world a better place.”

“Weirdos.”

“True, apparently they are working on treatments for radiation poisoning and other issues causing mutations. They’re not gay, just, well… nerds. My kind of people, just ones who weren’t recruited by our organization before everything went pear shaped.”

“Not sure what good that does us. But ok.”

“What good it does is that if you ever bump into them out there. Don’t kill them first. Try talking to them.”

“Roger that, what else.”

“Glad you asked. Come around here and check this out. You will have to see this to believe it.”

Laroy gets up from the chair he has been sitting in and makes his way around the desk to look at the items Jane has up on her screen.

“Oh my, You have got to be kidding me!” A smile starts to spread across Laroy’s face.

 

-.-. .- -. .- -.. .. .- -. ... / ... ..- -.-. -.- -.-.--

 

Jon Lonneren looked over the recent report, his good eye gazing in unblinking shock at the sudden news. The attack came without warning. The New Federalists rolled in and dealt death to those they regarded as sub-human trash, without announcement to either the dead, the townsfolk or the Coalition.

"Is the town alright?" he asked Warren Ripley, his young subordinate, while still looking at the un-buried corpse.

"They're a bit scared because of the fighting," the young man answered, his hand scratching the scalp deeply covered by a large forest of brown hair. "We had them carry our flag. We promised them peace and the NF came and wiped out the mercs. They couldn't have put up much of a fight."

"I don't understand it, Warren," Jon groaned. "We just had a mostly civil conversation with their representatives. We broke bread with them and offered free medical attention to whoever needed it. We were told that it was possible that the troops that came in to start construction might have been exposed to the rad storm; and we expressed sincere relief with them when that wasn't the case. We treated every correspondence of theirs beforehand with great respect." He ramped up in intensity with the length of his rant. "We were beginning to start an accord with these people! Another time for discussion, and we might have had an alliance!"

"Well," Warren said, "they probably didn't take well to the fact we hired the Steel Brigade of all people. They were scumbags."

"That's not the point, son," Jon sighed, finally looking at the other man.

"Why not?" Warren started, looking annoyed. "Why not realize that that was the point?"

"Let's not pretend that the New Federalists killed them out of a sense of justice," Jon argued. "Even if they were innocents, they still would have seen them as sub-human."

"They are "sub-human!" Warren shouted. "They all are!"

"Warren-"

"They were raiders, ravaging rapists who did what they wanted because they could! They deserved to die!"

"Not like that," Jon said, keeping a measured tone. "Not with that attitude."

"We had them!" Warren railed. "We should have been the ones to do the deed!"

"No," Jon declared flatly. "We don't operate like that. Yes, the things they did were...evil." He gently put a hand on Warren's shoulder, like he would always do. "But, we hate evil because we recognize it for what it is. We don't repay evil for evil. We're not murderers. They would eventually get a trial just like anyone else would, whatever we could afford when all of this is over. It's because we decide to do good that anything else is abhorrent to us."

Warren slapped away the arm. "And that means we just let every cock-bite in the country get away with every bad thing they've done?" Warren said sarcastically.

"No," Jon said, exasperated with having to repeat his position on the subject. "We gave them a chance to do something good in a dangerous situation. They agreed, and the townsfolk attested to the fact they followed exactly what we told them to do."

"If we stopped paying them," Warren debated, "they would have gone back to the exact same stuff they were doing before!"

"We don't know that for sure," Jon countered. "And now, we never will." He took a breath with an audible sigh. "We were able to afford a chance at mercy because of their weakened state. We set the terms and they followed. Maybe, they would have gone back to their old ways. At that point, I would've taken personal responsibility and we would have hunted them down."

"What about the ones they would have hurt along the way?" Warren questioned. "Better to kill them first before they could hurt others!"

"Are you a righteous avenger, boy?" Jon said with a raised tone. "Did someone give you the right to punish others the way you see fit? What's the line between giving someone a stern talk or a bullet in between the eyes?"

"Murderers and rapists deserve to die!" Warren yelled, showing some hurt in his voice. "No exceptions!"

"They do," Jon agreed. "I know they do."

"Then why-"

"Because we're not always supposed to give people what they deserve," Jon said. "We're sinners ourselves. If we can afford compassion in a world that can turn an ordinary man into a casual killer, it can help mend a broken world."

"That's a nice speech there, old man," Warren mocked.

"Kid-"

"I'm sure the Steel Brigade's victims appreciate that sentiment."

"Let's focus on the truly innocent then," Jon directed. "Do you think those people in that town are safer now without those mercenaries there? We already intended to go there and negotiate with them. Now that our banner has waved there, they're a target for other factions now. The Brigade would have protected them for the money we gave them, at least long enough until we could give them proper defenses and fortifications. They were clearly amenable to that deal. Now, they're vulnerable, and all because the Federalists believe that anyone that is called a 'mutant', anyone suffering the effects of sustained radiation, deserves death."

"We've seen what mutants are," Warren said, recalling a very unpleasant memory.

"We've seen both kinds," Jon reminded the young man. "Not all are raving monsters. Some just really need actual help!" Warren stood in silence, simply glowering. "Look, I'm not saying that I don't know where you're coming from. But, I've told you about my life. Do you think I deserve to die?"

"You changed," Warren admitted.

"Well, I do," Jon said, sullenly. "I do deserve to die as well. Not for things they did, but certainly for others. I carry the burden of those things every day, and I'm trying to atone. I know that I can never truly pay for the things I did when I was younger, around your age in fact. Still I begged for another chance, and another man gave it to me because he was stood strong in a weary world."

"I can't believe I'm hearing this from you," Warren said in disbelief. "I didn't sign up so that I could get so-called 'justice' for a bunch of worthless, murderous degenerates! If you can't see the sense in killing these things, then I don't belong here!"

"Warren," Jon pleaded. "Don't do this."

"If the Coalition can't figure out that what needs to be done," Warren said, turning and walking away, "then I'll find a place that does!"

"Where are you going?" Jon shouted after him. "Wait-"

"Let him go," Doctor Tanner said, to restrain his leader. The man, still dressed in scrubs, had appeared suddenly right behind Jon. "There's no talking to him right now."

"He has a home with us," Jon lamented. "He can't just abandon those he swore to protect!"

"He needs time to think," Tanner said. "We can't control his destiny. Only he can make the right choice, even if he's going to make some bad ones along the way." Jon sat in defeat. He had lost one of the most driven youngsters he had ever met. He took him under his wing a couple years ago after the incident. Losing the only family Warren had almost broke the young man.

After a minute, Doctor Warren spoke again, "Are we really going to fight them?"

"It doesn't matter if it was the Steel Brigade or not," Jon stated. "The New Federalists attacked a legitimately claimed resource site that we laid a peaceful claim to. It's essentially a declaration of war."

"Tsk," Tanner hissed. "We wanted to avoid this."

"Yeah, I know," Jon lamented. "But there's no way around this now. Like the man said, 'speak softly and carry a big stick.'"

State Secretary Meifung kicked away the Coalition Acting Administrator’s walking stick with great contempt. Jon Lonneren had been shot in the leg and used it as a crutch, causing him to fall on the ground with a heavy thump.

“I expected better of you, Administrator,” she said. She didn’t deign to look at him. She had her hands behind her back and stared into the lush nature outside out of her window. “If you had just waited for that invitation we could have shared bread and offered our southern hospitality. Instead, it’s come to this.”

They were in Evergreen, another small survivor town in Alabama named after the richness of its surrounding nature. It was a fact that was true in 1818 and remained double so today. In this day and age, these people were famous for their horticulture, a quickly dying profession that left them in ever greater demand, something the town’s residents had capitalized on with great diligence, causing the Evergreen herbs and fruits to be a priced commodity across even state borders. It had allowed them to buy off both raiders and ‘enterprising’ militias. They had survived and even lived relatively comfortably through the grim twenties of the East Coast.

Several weeks had passed and the New Federalist operators had set out on a mission once again. Forward scouts had sighted another border crossing.

“Hostile troops heading for Evergreen,” they had reported. “Intentions unknown.”

And with that orders had once again been penned from the very top: locate and intercept. And they rode off. They rode for half an hour when an explosion lit up the sky behind them. The vehicle shook from the blast. The radio cackled, and a distorted voice proclaimed: “Albany had been hit; situation unclear; kill them all”, and fell dead.

Every New Federalist operative, soldier or citizen beyond Albany would feel the same stone in their stomach. They would wonder about their loved ones. They would curse their enemies. They would feel an overwhelming rage coursing through their every artery, taking hold of every limb, seeping into their mind. No mercy would be given to any Enemy of the State. The cackle of gunfire rang throughout the Southeast.

The car remained silent as they drove on, each alone with their thoughts; only Luther seemed completely at ease. As the miles spread behind them, the surroundings had changed. The mountains of birch and maple gave way to flatlands where the oaks were supported by thick shrubs filled with the most colorful plants. The yellows of the Bandanna and the purple Beautyberries were a sight to behold. With communications down, they had opted to head for Evergreen itself.

“We’re close. Good foliage for an ambush,” Neil said, voice tense. He gave his rifle one final look-over.

“Agreed. Let’s proceed further on foot.”

They parked and approached Evergreen under the thick cover. With every step they awoke countless butterflies, stoneflies and crickets that chirped angrily. Other than that, they weren’t spotted.

The Coalition troops had just entered the town. Members of their militia stood guard at the main entries while four figures talked to a crowd.

“That’s them,” Meifung noted. “Seems we hit the jackpot; we have their command council right beneath our nose.” She had to admit to herself that she didn’t like it. While she felt only contempt for most of them, deeming them a bunch of sanctimonious cowards after the summit, both the Acting Administrator and Warren Ripley were men of the world. If they’d been born in Albany, they would have made for good Americans.

“Does anyone have visual on Ripley?”

“Negative, State Secretary.”

It was Chance who responded, twirling the switchblade around his fingers. He was a new addition to the force, one of the types who liked to fight up close. Once he had had an argument with Luther. He had said there was more honor to ending a life with your own hand, feeling the trickle of fresh and warm blood falling off your clenched hand, than to simply pull the trigger. Luther had responded the following day by simply shooting his blade from his grip. It had been the talk of the town for a week: the shot covered a distance of two miles. Disarmed, Chance had rushed behind cover with a red face. Here though, in the thick foliage where the sunlight barely filtered through, the old man was in his element.

Meifung paused, weighing all options. “Very well. Two shifts. We keep observing for now.”

They observed for three days and nights. The Coalition were more focused on the town than what lay beyond. They observed how they had held a summit. They had talked for hours, professing the same nigh pious bullcrap they had in Fort Campbell. When sun went down, they had entered the building on the far right, drawing a red cross on it.

On the second day, the radio cackled to live again. “This is Albany. Damage repaired. We were hit on Everett Road. Minimal casualties suffered. Continue operations.”

“Everett Road and after curfew. I say good riddance,” Chance said to Evander, another new recruit. They were both off-shift, taking a rest around a makeshift camp.

“My ma had a pub there.” Evander gripped his SMG. His knuckles were white.

“The government will help your ma to rebuild. We’re the top dogs now, remember? We can just ask HQ.” Chance prodded Evander. “I’m sure of it. Your ma is fine, Evander. The ones who you need to worry about are the drunks who couldn’t even make it home. Tough luck for them I say.”

“Bastard, those were her best customers.” Evander relaxed his clenched fist despite it all.

Chance laughed. Then asked, “So who do you think has done it?”

“These Coalition cowards. Can’t fight properly so they resort to these cheap tricks.” Evander spat a thick piece of phlegm towards the nearest oak. There was choice enough. “You’ve seen their letters during our briefing. They all but declared war several months ago. Then they didn’t even respond to our pre-emptive attack to destroy those Steel Brigade mutts.”

“You think?”

“Yes. Ma said to never trust someone who smiles too much and that’s what these types seem to be doing all the time. I’m telling you, Chance, we’re letting them off too lightly. Entering our own backyard just as our comms have been hit. They all but professed their guilt.”

“Well at least they aren’t mutants.”

“No. But they did hire them.”

On dusk of the third day the team sprang to action. The Coalition had been a predictable lot. And so Chance snuck towards the first Coalition guard who seemed to delight in taking a shit on duty. He first twirled his knife, thought better of it, and instead unsheathed his sword. One swing and the guard collapsed in a fountain of blood, head rolling down the mud slope into the latrine. The way forward lay open.

Luther maintained overwatch from the treetops. He peered through his scope as the three operatives followed the path that was cleared by Chance. All went according to plan. There would be three more soldiers on shift outside, with their council either sleeping or discussing things in their private residence. The Evergreen’s residents seemed to be the type to sleep early and wake early. Good; no disturbance. Chance had decapitated a second guard a couple streets down when suddenly the door to the Coalition residence opened.

It was Lonneren. Their chief. He must’ve heard or sensed something, because he had his rifle in his hands. He took aim and shot down the streets. The bullets would be deadly accurate were it not for another shot ringing through the air. Luther had once again trained his scope on another target and let loose. It shattered the chief’s right shinbone. Luther cycled the bolt to load a fresh round, but Lonneren had already pushed himself inside.

Now all hell broke loose. With the silence broken, the New Federalist operatives roared and charged, opting instead for ferocity and high-intensity assault. Neil unloaded a full clip in the barracks while Evander circled to the back. There he simply dispatched the son of Rad with cold dispassion. Chance dashed from door to door. He found the doctors Tanner and Ocean and promptly cut them open head to toe.

Most resistance now broken, the trio encircled the boarded up cabin. A small firefight ensued. Neil and Evander exchanged automatic fire with Lonneren as Chance climbed onto the roof. Soaked red, he looked at the particular treeline where he imagined Luther to be, and offered him a thumbs-up. Then he let himself fall inside.

Meifung waited five minutes, then calmly walked forwards. She simply opened the door and gave her eyes a moment to readjust. The interior was shot up. Furnishings were thrown everywhere. The room was filled with the sharp iron scent of blood. Chance had disarmed Lonneren, taking a few fingers in the process.

“Thank you, Mr. Perry. I’ll take it from here. Have the men see to the local populace. Carter and Luther will know what to do.”

When she waited for Chance to leave and turned around, she saw that Lonneren had used a broken piece of table to stand up. He glared at her with a face etched by defiance and rage. She simply kicked the piece of wood out underneath him and against the far wall. Lonneren fell hard on the ground.

“I expected better of you, Administrator,” she said, turning around and walking towards a window. She overlooked the treetops with a heavy sigh. “If you had just waited for that invitation we could have shared bread and offered our southern hospitality. Instead, it’s come to this.”

She looked down at the man once again, the figure bleeding out on the ground, his stumps cradling his leg.

“I would have to congratulate you, though, on your precision strike. It would have firmly hit us if we hadn’t taken to the road. It hit our civilians instead. We hadn’t expected such a ruthless act to be so," she paused a moment, trying to find the right word. "Accepted by that council of yours. Behind all that preaching we share more than you first let on.”

“We… didn’t…” Lonneren stammered, desperate to have his name be clear to the end. “Perhaps… Sigma…C..”

Meifung looked at him quizzically. Dead men still alive told everything in their power to stay that way, but this felt different. Was this the truth, or just another lie coming from the Coalition?

“Surrender, Administrator,” she said after a while, idly straightening some furniture. “You’ve seen the massacre first-hand. You stand no chance. Save your people from further bloodshed. Become an autonomous New Federalist Territory.”

“Would… we… end up in mutual first place?” Lonneren looked almost hopeful.

A final shot of the night rang out. State Secretary Meifung broke her icy demeanor for the first time in weeks. She snickered, then moved to a laugh, and finally erupted into a hearty howl.

After several minutes she regained control. With the hint of a smile still on her lips, she headed out to meet Evergreen’s mayor.

There was work to be done.

I still remember what Iowa City looked like before the siege. It was dour even then. The town had lost a fair collection of respected figures. People went missing or came back in pieces from conflicts few had true knowledge of. I didn't know the staff or the previous administrators of the Coalition of the Black Angel that well, but I was inclined to try to help out. They didn't just seem sincere; they were sincere. I couldn't imagine who would want to go to war them. I later learned that one of the administrators turned to thievery out of suspicion of a shadow government and the other hired mutants. Most of the folk in town spoke very highly of them, even in spite of all that, but I knew people were killed out in the wasteland for far less. It was foolish for these people to think that good intentions was enough to survive out here. You needed grit and to tell the other guy to ride a splintery shaft.

I was about to start packing to go patrol down south when I saw a stranger walking along the road. He had these eyes that gave the impression he could see behind his own head, in the dark and inside your pockets. He was muscle-bound, covered in leather, thick haired, dirty-blond kind of fellow, with the emphasis on the "dirty" descriptor. He walked up towards the town hall, once a center of bustling activity and now a venue for an eternal wake. I couldn't help but notice his rough exterior. He looked like-

"You look a bit...raggedy," I said, thinking out loud, without much thinking. I held back a flush, realizing I was being a bit rude. It wouldn't have been the first time though. I could find a way to smooth that over that comment.

He didn't seem to be bothered by the comment. "You all have some hydration here?" he asked nonchalantly. His accent betrayed the fact that he wasn't an American, or former American rather. Couldn't quite place the locality, but it seemed like he was probably from overseas. How he got here was beyond me.

"There some clean water right there," I answered, pointing to the water pump near the town hall. In all my travels around the former United States, I had seen many people clutch their resources more closely than they would their own children. Here, they gave from their supply freely to anyone who wanted a drink. An inscription on a plaque below the pump said, "Revelation 21:6." Couldn't remember what that verse said, not that I ever would have known anyway. My family wasn't all that religious.

He strode over to the pump and filled his canteen. "What brings you here?" I asked, truly curious. I was, quite honestly, begging for some conversation that didn't involve a native citizen being teary-eyed.

"Just passing through, mate," he replied. He lifted his head towards me. "You some sort of ranger?"

"Former park ranger," I said. I still kept my uniform mostly intact, but some of my light hair stuck out a bit from the sides of my hat. It had seen better days...much better days. "Signed up to help on short notice."

He took a swig and refilled. The raggedy man took a view of his surrounding before speaking again. "Think it'll do any good?" he asked.

"Dunno," I confessed. "Felt I could try at least. Not much else that I've done that's meaningful."

"Hmm," he grunted. After a breath, he picked up his gear and left. He walked through to the other side of the city, and I never saw him again.

I don't really know why I remembered that interaction so vividly. Maybe it was because it was the last quiet memory before leaving that place? Whatever the reason for that was, we left the city within the next few hours and started for the south. We'd hear later that COTBA headquarters got ransacked. Those New Federalist types really didn't mess around. I can't imagine most of the people there survived the onslaught. Those of us tasked to patrol were the lucky ones. One more city gone. One more piece of civilization destroyed.

Oh well, there's always Texas.

-.-. .- -. .- -.. .. .- -. ... / ... ..- -.-. -.- -.-.--

 

“… EMBRACE EVOLUTION OR FACE UTTER EXTINCTION.”

Silence reigned once the radio broadcast finished. Everyone sat stunned staring at the ground in front of them.

“What the actual…,” begins Laroy before he is interrupted by a gruff voice from the shadowed corner of the room.

“Нет. Стоп,” the voice belonging to Dmitri says sharply. “This is something serious. Not a joke.”

“Nah, my man,” replies Laroy. “This taskmaster is a total joke. What does he think he is? The effing Borg?  He puts out this huge broadcast trying to scare everyone into just giving up! You and me, Dmitri, we’ve been through some crap together. Spilled the same blood in the same mud kinda stuff. But through it all, we’ve never given up. All of us! We’ve all been through some shit, but we are still standing!”

Laroy’s speech starts to have effect as the stunned silence of impending doom evolves into an atmosphere that although might not quite be hope is at least one of defiance. Laroy is feeling it, and those listening can tell he is getting into a rhythm.

“You ready to just roll over and take it up the backside from this taskmaster, Dmitri?”

“Нет. No way. No surrender. Not ever. Screw this Taskmaster!”

“That’s what I’m talking about. This joker thinks he’s got some great big titanium balls. But he’s gonna have to choke on them, because we aren’t giving up to some metal headed moron.”

Laroy is on a roll. He is feeling it. The crowd is getting into it. He is good at this, and the somber mood of hopelessness dissipates as cheers and jokes take the place of silence. The room begins to fill and Laroy jumps up on a chair.

“My name is Laroy Jenkinz! And I approve this message! We need to get together and launch one of the most important battles in the history of mankind. Perhaps it's fate that today is the Fourth of July, and we will once again be fighting for our freedom... Not from tyranny, oppression, or persecution... but from annihilation. We are fighting for our right to live. To exist. And should we win the day, the Fourth of July will no longer be known as an American holiday, but as the day the world declared in one voice: "We will not go quietly into the night!" We will not vanish without a fight! We're going to live on! We're going to survive!”

The crowded room explodes with cheers and shouts like an old school pep rally before the bombs fell. Dmitri grabs Laroy by the shoulders and starts to lead him from the room even as the crowd is clamoring for more.”

Dmitri shakes his head, “The speech from Independence Day. Really, Laroy?”

“Hey. I had to say something. Couldn’t leave everyone all doom and gloom.”

“So, you got a plan?”

“Plan? Heck no. I’m as freaked out as everyone else. But I’m not gonna just give up. Screw that Taskmaster.”

As they continue down the hallway Dmitri nods, “Never surrender.”

 

... -.-. .-. . .-- / - .... . / - .- ... -.- -- .- ... - . .-. -.-.-- / .- -. -.. / -.-. .- -. .- -.. .. .- -. ... / ... - .. .-.. .-.. / ... ..- -.-. -.- -.-.--

Wave after wave of New Federalist troops marched underneath her piercing gaze, parading over the ruins of Iowa City, saluting their hero when they got near. Black boots in locked step crushed the town’s rubble and dismembered body parts without breaking rhythm. The cracks of gunpowder now only sounded rarely in the far distance.

Meifung had commanded the impossible and bought triumph and glory, though it had cost her dearly: the Coalition wielded humanity’s worst weapons. While nuclear arms might have captured the fear of past generations, it was biological warfare that could truly send humanity into the quiet dark of the night. It was a specter, once released, that could never be contained again. And so Meifung had unleashed enough firepower on that container to eradicate its specter a hundred times over.

It was pure irony that after all this, her life was now dependent on the Coalition’s remnants—or at least the technology that survived its fall. She had been among the first to catch the strain, a Coalition-concocted virus that melted flesh and fused bones. Her only way to keep drawing breath was to remain entombed in a high-tech suit scavenged from the very ruins of Iowa. And not even the suit would allow her to speak again. Still, she thought, it kept her alive and concealed most of her deformities. Perhaps, in time, she could invent a way to link her suit’s neural interface to a box transmitter. Until then she was just Meifung, the tortured mummy. After a full year of daring action she was no longer the Meifung, the State Secretary, and that loss cut deeper than any virus ever could.

She could see it in the soldier’s eyes as they saluted her. Beneath their steel masks they pitied her. They knew. The thought filled her with hatred. Powerless rage coursing through her sickly flesh on the day meant to bask in glory. So she turned her cold gaze towards the ruined city once more, ignoring the lone officer daring to approach her.

“Orders completed, General. We’ve crushed their final defenses and salted the surrounding fields as you ordered. Though there are a few stragglers—scientists, they claim—offering their services in exchange for mercy.” She heard a snap of his salute, the clacking of his boots.

Meifung raised her arm, fingers curling slowly into a fist, as if she might personally crush their very souls herself.

“Understood, General.”

Meifung’s hand ordered him off. She needed to be alone with her thoughts.

A group of thirty townspeople were shivering beneath his gaze. Their once white coats were now a de-saturated shade of ash and dried blood. Mack Luther was told they were the scientists behind the viral strain. He didn’t care about any of all of that. Here, in this ruined laboratory, they were reduced to his personal labrats.

Sure, he caught the virus as well. It had given him a third arm. But when he saw it wasn’t functional, he simply cut it off and burned the wound. The virus hadn’t spread further. Perhaps, Luther thought, even the virus could be made to feel fear. He wet his lips and shot into the group once. The bullet hit the molly woman somewhere in her sixties. She had graying hair, he noticed, and her lifeless eyes had those wrinkles that only arose from a lifetime of laughter.

The ensuing screams sure sounded like laughter to him. Beneath his unmoving face he laughed with them.

He had his rats tied together in a long chain, with the dead woman tying them to a central assembly line. Luther turned the power on, watching as his little rats were pulled through the chamber. He reveled in their fear. Their sobs were like little drops of rain in a hot, dry desert. He wet his lips again.

A door opened. “Orders. She wants them all dead.”

An annoyance. A play interrupted. Luther shot the soldier a look, almost forgiving him when he saw his eyes widen. A door swiftly closed again.

“I will take care of it.”

And with that Luther once again focused on this little game. The rats went round and around. The woman pulled them all to every corner of the laboratory. Luther waited until they were pulled towards him again, and shot another. A man this time. Twenty with an earnest face, still possessing those boyish looks. Now these brown curls hid a deadly wound. The other rats screamed. Some at the boy, some at him.

Luther bared his teeth and smiled.

It was about to be a good night. He still had so many plays in store.

If there was one thing all missions had in common, it were the army-green drapes of the command tent. Carter Neil paced back and forth, his gaze fixed on the reports streaming in. Unit 731 was advancing to the town’s outskirts, rounding up any survivors who hadn’t managed to escape. Units 721 and 711 had positioned themselves twenty miles west, amid the hills and creeks, both to monitor any potential relief forces and to intercept refugees fleeing towards their main ally.

The drapes flapped open, and a young man entered with purpose. The stripes on his shoulder marked him as a cadet—this war would shape him into a man. “Sir, units 701 and 741 have breached the fortress. The city is now entirely under our control.”

“That’s good,” Neil said, sitting down on the utilitarian chair with a sigh. “That’s real good. We have made it.”

“Sir? We have crushed them!”

“That we did, cadet.” Neil’s voice carried the weight of exhaustion. “But remember, we’re not just fighting the Coalition. All of this,” he said, gesturing to the table where the city map was covered with hostile chits and friendly counters, dimly lit by the pale glow of an old UV lamp, “was merely a pre-emptive strike. When the Regulators attacked, the Coalition made it clear they stood with them. And so they stood against us, no matter anything they might have said afterwards. We couldn’t allow a combined attack on Albany, cadet, and the Coalition presented the closer target. That’s the bottom line.”

“So all this bluster and parading? We have won a great victory here!”

“Morale, kid. We must show the people back home we are who we say we are. That goes for all these soldiers here too. I didn’t find no glory in this, kid. This attack was all politics. Anything to keep Albany safe.”

“What’s next then?” the cadet asked wide-eyed.

“First we mop up any remnants,” Neil responded. “No matter the cost we must annihilate them all. Just one scientist could have the knowledge for who knows what kind of monstrosity. Then we celebrate.”

“And afterwards?”

“Confidential.” Neil smiled for the first time in days. “Heh, you’re alright, kid.”

All over Iowa City, the streets were growing quiet as dusk settled in. Corpses lay scattered, littered on the ground like cigarette butts. Most of the houses had been searched for weapons, valuables, or hidden survivors. Only in the darkest corners of the streets did the city’s plunder continue unabated.

It is in one of those alleys ‘Chance’ Perry and Evander Stuart double teamed a screaming Coalition woman.

“Goddamn it Chance,” Evander roared above her wails. “Shut her up! Or just admit you can’t even fucking stuff her mouth properly. After all,” he added with a dirty smirk. “Not everyone can be as gifted as me.”

“She’s just not my type Ev!” Chance yelled back before gripping the girl by the throat. “Shut up bitch!”

“The fuck she is! Look at her go, man. Tits from outer space, brought to yours truly, straight from NASA. Don’t tell me you’re gay? Did I bring you the wrong present?”

“I’ll fucking kill you!”

“There you are, Chance. This is it. Use that. See how quiet she’s turned? Fuck me, we might have a crazy one. She tightened up good.”

Chance Perry had crushed her windpipe. The woman gasped for air, turning red, then purple.

Evander was too busy to notice. “See Chance. I told your dumb ass. Life would be good in the force. We just keep fucking people over. Damn, she’s a fighter.”

The woman convulsed five times, then fell to the ground.

“Fuck man, what did you do? Don’t leave me hanging dick in hand, damn it. Speak up!”

Chance just stood there for a solid minute, mouth wide open. Then just pumped his fist in the air and yelled: “Fuck the Coalition!”

The words echoed up and down the streets.

The hospital room was cold and barren, metallic walls encasing Mack Luther from all sides. He’d been laid on the only piece of furniture in sight—a stiff, sterile hospital bed that felt like hell. With half his body in a cast and hooked up to some Coalition tech that beeped loud enough to keep him from sleep, he looked just as bad as he felt.

But he was alive. The man hadn’t collapsed until the last invaders were shoved out of the streets and over the wall. Thinking back on the day’s chaos, Luther smiled. He was happy.

His grin persisted as two men dressed in all black strolled into the room. One introduced himself as Agent Smith, the other as Agent Molerat. They flashed their badges like it meant something to him. They had said something about national security. The talk didn’t impress him much.

“We’re here to debrief,” Agent Molerat said, leaning against the wall like he owned the place. “So talk.”

“What’s the problem, gentlemen?” Luther asked groggily. “We killed them all and pushed them back. End of story.”

“Don’t make this any harder than it has to be, Mr. Luther,” Agent Molerat murmured while inspecting the tower of medical equipment keeping Luther alive. He started fiddling with a white, important-looking box somewhere in the middle. “We can all agree strange things happened that day. We promise that we are just curious.”

“Alright, alright,” Luther quickly responded. “Where do you want me to start?”

“Five weeks back,” Agent Smith replied behind his sunglasses. “Let’s start at the beginning.”

Luther remained silent for a solid minute, eyes fixed on the far wall as if projecting his memories onto the blank canvas. “Well, back then we were just about done mopping up the last of the Coalition forces up north. They’d set up a proper outpost—organized and all, with lots of little lab rats running experiments. We cleaned the place out and left a token force behind. Orders were to double back to base.”

“Any contac—” Agent Molerat started, but was silenced by Agent Smith with a quick gesture. “I’m sorry, continue, please.”

“Thank you, gentlemen.” Luther’s voice steadied. “The world’s different up north. The plants are bleaker, the air colder. Most of my unit didn’t care for it, but I kind of liked the change of scenery. The locals were different too.”

“What are you getting at, Luther?” Smith pressed.

“Well, while the rest of the guys were busy plundering and killing, I was setting up something of my own. An intelligence network—locals who’d trade information for their lives. That’s how I first got wind of the incoming Regulator and Highwaymen war parties. I reported it up the chain, and the intel checked out. The president’s infamous speech was only a couple hours later.”

“Citizens,” Luther memorized, straightening his shoulders and falling into the cadence befitting a public speech. “Men of the New Federacy! A year of events of historical significance is drawing to an end. A year of the greatest decisions lies ahead for all of us. In these serious times, I speak to you, Citizens of the New Federacy, as well as to all representatives of the American Nation. Beyond and above that, the whole of American people should take note of this glance into the past, as well as of the coming decisions the present and future impose upon us!

After the renewed refusal of my peace offer in September 2077 by the Regulator’s main Sheriff and the clique which supported or else dominated her, it became clear that this war- against all reasons of common sense and necessity- must be fought to its end. You know me, my old Federacy companions; you know I have always been an enemy of half measures or weak decisions. If providence has so willed that the American people cannot be spared this fight, then I can only be grateful that it entrusted me with the leadership in this historic struggle which, for the next 500 or 1000 years, will be described as decisive, not only for the history of the USA, but for the whole of the Americas and indeed the whole world…”

The agents let Luther ramble for nearly an hour before steering the conversation back to specifics. After another round of questions and a list of a hundred names, they finally reached the events of that fateful day.

“So, when that ragtag convoy of rapists, sheriffs, and moles finally hit our walls, we were ready,” Luther began again. “I was at the main gate, taking cover behind the concrete battlements with Unit 701. They held up admirably against…

“The very gate where the Highwaymen had rigged a car full of explosives and drugged a P.O.W. to floor it? The very unit that died to the last man, except for you?” Agent Molerat remarked with a sinister undertone.”

“Yes, the very same, but that was later in the day.” Luther’s brow furrowed as he tried to recall the sequence. “It’s all a blur now; I can only distinctly remember the highlights.”

“Take your time,” Smith said, casually sipping from a steaming cup of coffee.

“So yes. The gatehouse and nearby towers. We were with fifty men just on that tiny stretch of wall. The COs were capable, but when they saw the force pitted against us, even they wavered.”

Luther’s eyes grew distant again. “I can still see it. Across the field, and cleverly just out of range of our standard edition rifle, over a hundred Sigma operatives deployed. They roam across their lines like a swarm of ants. Chance and Genevieve are likely to be amongst them. They’re dressed in all black, like coming straight out of earth’s darkest crevice. I aim Laura at their units, trying to find the highest ranked target. I see a flash, maybe just the reflection of a scope, I barely know what I saw even now, and everything in my body screams to duck.

That’s their first attempt on my life of the day. Concrete explodes where my head had been just a moment before. The guy next to me looks at me like he’s seen a ghost. I shake it off and head into the tower. I was just plain lucky and admittedly slightly shaken. So with most of our guys out there, the tower was the perfect spot to catch a break. I head in and once my eyes accustomed to the light I see a single soldier leaning against the walls much like you are right now. Spiky hair and an eyepatch though, definitely not the type for sunglasses and a black suit.

I’m about to tell him to get lost when he warns me to start praying for my soul. Next thing I know I’m fighting for my life. I am on my back. He is on top of me. Has a knife stuck just below my ribs too, just low enough to miss anything vital. It’s stuck in there so we wrestle a bit. And with both my hands pinned I just bite into his face. Hard. Ripping apart his flesh. It’s enough to win the fight. I’m standing while the guy is missing the left side of his face. Heh, shouldn’t have faced me.”

Luther smirked. “So I head back out again to order some units to arrest the man. Who knows what kind of intel he might offer. Turns out I’m just in time to see a car revving it up. A fucking manual. Imagine a manual in this day. Must’ve been a relic of the past. Either way, when he finally figured out how to work the clutch or was done impressing his allies, the car shoots towards us with uncanny speed. We all open fire, I scream at the men to aim before shooting, and some rpg’s are shooting just over. Then the world explodes.”

Luther’s voice trailed off as his mind revisited the blast. “I was half in the doorway. The explosion obliterated the gatehouse and half the surrounding structures. No surprise your whole unit’s gone.”

“But it didn’t end there, did it?” Smith nudged.

“No, it didn’t.” Luther nodded slowly. “The Sigma operatives were the first wave. They swarmed the breach and spilled into Albany’s streets.”

“We know that,” Molerat interjected. “Five units were sent to retake your position. What were you doing?”

“When I woke up I was more broken than the rubble around me . A slab of concrete had pinned me, probably what hid me and saved my life. I remember the sting of the needle in my neck as I inject some of that Coalition’s Mk. 0 Mutagen. That stuff’s miraculous. I still can feel my body turning numb but I’m telling you. My body was responding faster to my instincts than ever before. With power I didn’t know I possessed I lift this slab and rejoin the fighting.”

He leaned forward. “So I’m behind enemy lines. That is clear to see. I quickly wonder whether I should charge in, rejoin the fighting, or simply pick them off from the back like Chance and Genevieve are doing. I choose the tower, or what was left of it anyway. Perched on a pile of debris, I have the perfect vantage point. It had real depth to it, you know, it was the perfect cover.

I’m starting to pick them off one by one and the tide starts to turn. I won’t be claiming any glory here, agents. It was probably your reinforcements that made the difference. Still, after a long and tiring standstill, the first black-clad operatives start to break and panic spreads among their ranks. Hundreds had stormed Albany. I think maybe forty made it out.”

“Did anyone see you up there?” Agent Molerat asked.

“Not from Albany,” Luther replied with a grin, before letting his face fall. “It was the perfect position. But I didn’t expect the second wave.”

“Neither did we,” Agent Smith noted. “But the enemy was spent from attempted breaches elsewhere. The second wave was far less successful than the first. We had already regained our foothold by the time they redeployed.”

“Between those waves,” Luther continued, ignoring the agent’s interjection. “there was another attempt on my life. The third. Or was it the fourth? A Regulator hit team crawled into position while I was targeting retreating troops. Laura overheated at the best moment. I switch from weapon and turn around to see five barrels pointed at me from below, where the tower had half-collapsed and spilled out on the field. Shots are hitting me left and right as the force of their impact pushes me behind rock once again.

I draw one of my pistols and dare them to come and get it. They advance and I’m able to pick one off, injuring a second. By now I’m low on ammunition and I feel my body giving out even during the Mutagen. It is only a miracle that Evander and Voorhees arrive, taking two entire units with them. We fought them off. That hit team and the hundreds of Texans that followed them. It is what landed me here. I haven’t seen or heard anything beyond outside of this room since.”

Smith exchanged a glance with Molerat and clicked off the recording device. “That’s everything?”

Luther met his gaze steadily. “Positive.”

Smith nodded. “Then I think we’re about to be done here…”

“One moment!” Luther broke for just a moment. “What became of our own attack?”

“Our counterattack on the Regulator homebase?” Molerat coyly returned.

“Yes!”

“It was a great success, though they offered heavy resistance. We swept their defenses and picked the place clean. No losses. Our Agency voted for extermination, but the guys on site opted to bring a VIP home instead. ”

When the agents left the room, Luther saw the world turn black. He wouldn’t wake up for a long time.

“Fucking mutant,” a voice far away muttered. “Sad to see him go, though.”

"You think he told us everything?"

"Doubt it. But orders are orders."

The wind and air had turned to ash 

Me’n Fat Tom were smokin’ some hash 

When out in the lot we hear this crash 

‘Fore we gave the clowns some gash. 

 

The bitch we chose was blonde and tight

The jeans she wore, they fit just right 

The kinda ass you’d smack on a Saturday night, 

The kinda ass that don’t go without a fight, 

When we gave the clowns some gash. 

 

We’d given up our only poon, 

Nothing left to do ‘cept goon, 

Haven’t gotten laid since June, 

Hell, I’d even fuck a troon! 

Since we gave the clowns some gash. 

 

Now the moral here for you my son, 

If you even want there to be one, 

Is: “Don’t let the clowns have their fun!” 

DON’T GIVE THE CLOWNS ANYMORE GASH.

- Traditional Highwayman Song, c. five years after the Clown Incident 

Lol

Universally relatedable experience, I shed a tear. Decades from now it'll still speak to the very soul of America.

“To the walls you fucking Mutts. Git!” The soldier was one of the fanatics, the young type that was eager to embody the New Federalist image of perfection, walking around with perfectly combed blond hair and a uniform that looked freshly pressed and still hot from the iron. He gripped a gleaming rifle in his left hand, while his right hand held the only source of light for miles. Ezekiel knew today would be harsh, long, and full of abuse.

It’s been close to a year since Ezekiel had last seen home. A year that felt like a lifetime, in which every day turned bleaker than the past. He missed it: home, and his family. They’d been separated, sorted into different working details, and only allowed to see each other once a month, and that only if they all performed well. And so they did. And the soldiers allowed them one day then, where every citizen of Salem would come together and cherish one another, holding each other tight in their increasingly malnourished arms, where they were all moved to tears with both relief and empty promises to meet each other again next month.

Every month, their numbers dwindled. Where there had once been seventy, only eight remained. That was three months ago, when the young Putnams last laughed, teasing Ezekiel by calling him a fat bastard. The soldiers hadn’t allowed them a day together since then—not since the war broke out in earnest, after the second attack.

As Ezekiel shuffled along his detail through the dark tunnels underneath Albany, his mind wandered to every single attack upon this cursed town. During the first the enemy forces were driven off. The mutants hadn’t seen anything, but they heard the gun crack overhead. It was short and decisive. Then the people had cheered and soldiers had exchanged stories of a body being dragged through the streets.

“Crawl faster you fucking animals. I need those walls up yesterday.” The soldier fired his gun at some of Ezekiel’s detail, targeting the weakest links. New faces, he saw, though most of his detail had been replaced twice over. Ezekiel hadn’t found the energy to learn any of their names. He shuffled faster, stepping numbly over their dying bodies.

During the second attack, an explosion shook everyone awake underground. The fighting lasted nearly a week, with soldiers swarming the tunnels, ordering entire details above ground for the most suicidal missions. Almost nobody returned, but on rare occasions, a pair of shell-shocked survivors would stumble back, whispering of the war that sucked the breath from the air. Ezekiel’s detail had been spared much of that, instead digging the tunnels ever outward toward the enemy camp.

If the second attack was torture, the third was the hell Pastor Readwell had warned about back in Salem. A single explosion decimated a part of the city and collapsed most of the underground caves. The spaces where the mutants had slept, worked, and lived were first engulfed in a deadly inferno, then swallowed by the earth. Ezekiel repressed most of those memories. It was a wonder he was still alive. Or perhaps, he grimaced, a punishment.

And so the broken man shuffled alone in the small crowd, lost in memories. The ground grew more even, signaling they were close to their destination. The soldier extinguished his light, and as their eyes adjusted to the dark, they saw hints of moonlight. They were near the surface.

The third attack was only last month. The ensuing fighting lasted only a couple days. The New Federalists lost that battle, surviving only by retreating to the Presidential Palace, more a citadel inside the city’s walls, letting the enemy burn the city outside. In that palace, they held out until their army returned.

What followed was a month of hell. Ezekiel and the few surviving mutants were worked to the bone—literally in some cases. Their first priority had been the underground tunnels, until new soldiers arrived and redirected them to the destroyed walls.

It was here that this soldier would lead them, forcing them to rebuild. Ezekiel’s feet carried him towards the place where his body would work itself beyond exhaustion. His arms ached from the carrying, his back from the swinging, his legs from the walking. Ezekiel paused, ignoring both the fresh mutants that toiled around him, and those that withered away like him. Instead he looked up at the full moon overhead for one last time. He felt tired.

The fourth attack came only yesterday—cultists from the Brotherhood out west, mowed down mercilessly. They had been woefully unprepared for the ferocious and professional battles now commonplace in the East Coast. Their bodies still littered the field.

Ezekiel looked back down towards Albany. The New Federalists worked day and night to rebuild and prepare, driving by an almost zealous drive for vengeance. There was talk of peace, but their actions spoke differently. Factories churned out new weapons in ever-increasing numbers. A labyrinth of walls and garrisons was being constructed atop the ruins. And troops were conscripted on a scale unimaginable just months before.

Ezekiel knew what that meant. The peace would not last. The New Federalists were gearing up for war once again. He sighed, collapsed to the ground, and drew his last breath, finally free. The relentless clang of labor around him continued without pausing.

Faction Lore Year 5

So a few years have passed since the Battle of the Black Fortress. Some things remain the same, but much has changed and as with most things, not always for the better.

New factions have arisen in place of old ones that were destroyed while others have morphed into something much different. Naturally with all these changes strife also comes about and it is only a matter of time before all out war breaks out again

As the saying goes, those who don’t learn from history are doomed to repeat it, so once again is the background lore for those that seek to tame the FALLEN LAND.

The Old Powers (And some new changes)

The Regulators

“This is STILL our land, and you’re STILL all just our guests here.” - Still the sheriff around these parts

The most visible “leader” of the old Fallen Land Alliance the Regulators have probably changed the least of all the factions. They still more or less try to keep the peace though lately it’s been a major headache to keep any sort of order mainly because they don’t have much support from the other factions anymore for various reasons, though the biggest one is a lack of manpower to provide assistance that other factions need elsewhere. As a result there isn’t so much of an alliance anymore as it’s more of a mutual non-aggression pact.

Of course the Regulators never wanted to be “the government” anyway and they’ve been used to doing things on their own for decades now, so they persevere like they always have.

Still, it couldn’t hurt to have a few more friendly guns around. So there’s been efforts on their part to at least keep on good terms with some of the newer factions that have appeared. The last thing they want to deal with is an old “Alamo” situation.

But if any enemies old or new show up, then much like the Alamo, the Regulators are certainly going to make them remember it.

Sigma Corporation

“I’m from the government and I’m here to help.” - An often used Sigma phrase when they want to strike fear into people they meet.

Another faction that hasn’t changed much. However with their numbers always smaller than the other factions, Sigma Corporation in recent years has slowly started to withdraw a lot of support from the old alliance to focus more on internal matters which is mainly still trying to connect with other Sigma bunkers scattered across the Fallen Land.

Their visibility hasn’t completely disappeared however. Past events have caused them to value the importance of at least maintaining neutrality with other powers and provide basic assistance to the few factions that are non-hostile (Mostly the Regulators) and to even a few of the newer powers that have arisen. However, they still tend to have a lot of animosity towards The Preservationists despite that group mostly still keeping to old Canadian lands.

They’re also the main faction that has the resources to try to track down the Taskmaster’s whereabouts, though they haven’t been too successful in that endeavor.

Ultimately though Sigma still considers itself to be the official US government and they haven’t completely abandoned the mission of re-establishing that order despite the setbacks. And as far as they’re concerned eventually all the rest of the factions, old and new, friend and foe are going to have to get with that program when the time comes.

The Preservationists

“All seeking genuine enlightenment and peace are welcome here. Kafirs, however must provide a small donation for the privilege of Allah’s enlightenment.” - Preservationist Law

The Preservationists still hold true to their goals of preserving what old pieces of history and technology they can, but their once more isolationist stance has relaxed slightly. This is mostly out of a sense of SELF-preservation rather than humanitarian reason though. 

The various American powers are still perceived as a genuine threat and there is a very real concern that one day one of the warring factions is going to get powerful enough and bold enough to directly attack them. As such the Preservationists have taken upon themselves try to bolster their ranks by accepting more outsiders who are seeking relative safety (Thunder Bay is still considered the safest major city in the Fallen Land).

However the Preservationists at their core are still a theocratic government and wish to keep the true believers in power, so taking a page from old history, steps have been made to make sure non-believers pull their weight for Allah’s benevolence. So far this has worked out well as the Preservationist gain extra help (and funding) to pursue their goals while also slowly gaining loyal citizens as some eventually make the total conversion to avoid extra taxes.

Still, with the number of safety seekers constantly growing, it could be only a matter of time before the true believers are outnumbered. After all not all converts agree with everything Preservationist Law says and this particular hierarchy might not last as they start to question if such a set up is truly what Allah would want. To say nothing of the few hardline believers who were against allowing infidels in in the first place.

As of now though, things are stable and for most Preservationists, they hope it stays that way. Inshallah.

The Road Kings (Formerly known as The Highwaymen)

“For the last fucking time, YES you get purple wings if she’s a zombie!” - A Road King tired of answering the same all too common disturbing question

After the Battle of the Black Fortress, The Highwaymen soon changed their name to The Road Kings as another way of bragging about their reputation. Not that such boasts were totally unfounded, after all they definitely had gone head to head with some of the greatest threats to the Fallen Land. It was enough that several wanted to join rather than face them.

At first many of these nomadic biker gangs were accepted as a way to bolster the ranks, however it also soon became a case of diminishing returns as a lot of them were more wannabes than anything else. Also some of the old guard started to bristle at a lot of these new punks that didn’t have any sort of respect for the club. This of course was met with cries of “For supposed outlaws, you faggots sure have a lot of rules!”

To say nothing of the sudden influx of lots of brown folks in a club that was once considered to be more “racially pure” or at least a lot more white. Oddly despite embracing more diversity of their ranks, nobody had actually renounced any of their advanced race theory ideology. Still, it didn’t take long before the Road Kings suddenly found themselves with a civil war on their hands over all these sudden differences and contradictions.

After the Siege of Sturgis, Fuhrer Malk remained in place, but the damage to the club was great. Perhaps in the long run, this culling of sorts might be for the best, but it certainly doesn’t feel that way now with depleted manpower and resources. Doesn’t help that some of the rebels survived and have seemingly formed a new hostile faction.

Time will tell if The Road Kings can live up to their name again.

The New Separatists (Formerly known as the New Federalists)

“What’re you going to do, eat me?” - President Pride’s last words before CEO Enter took over

Of all the old powers, the regime change of the New Federalists probably surprised everyone the most (especially President Pride). It seemed like Pride had the magical gift of keeping himself in power however his failure to unite the Fallen Land with a long and costly war against virtually everyone else ultimately lead to a steady decline.

Pride tried to stay in power with reminders of old “victories” such as the destruction of Iowa City, but this hardly mattered when these victories ultimately lead to 12/7 AKA “Ghost Town”. The day the Regulators nearly annihilated Albany in a devastating terror attack while Pride was busily trying to rack up more glory for himself elsewhere. The survivors of that terrible day never forgot and they didn’t forget that it was Pride’s fault that caused it in the first place.

As the citizens worked hard to rebuild, a new outlook on goals started to take shape. The whole point was to keep Albany strong and safe, and that could be done a lot easier not by conquering everyone else under one banner, but rather by keeping everyone else fighting. This new goal was driven by a man called Enter. Little is known about him other than he has a more business and profit focused mindset. Already on solid terms with most mercenary groups and having access to a military stockpile location known only to him, he managed to easily overthrow President Pride who foolishly believed his election slogan “Pride or Die” wouldn’t one day mean him.

Under CEO Enter, Albany has bounced back better than ever and its citizens are  Despite being a haven for various mercenaries and other hirable thugs, the city is one of the safer locations in the Fallen Land since almost everyone is packing serious firepower. He’s even somewhat managed to repair the terrible reputation the place once had, pointing out that the new government is not interested in conquering anyone and is content keeping to their own territory.

The problem of course is this doesn’t mean much when they’re selling weapons to everyone including enemies of various factions and making a whole lot of money off the chaos. To say nothing of all the mercenaries they send to do “unofficial” tasks on their behalf. In an attempt to nullify any bad press, CEO Enter invested heavily in getting an old TV station up and running making them the first to actually have something other than radio media.

Buzzard TV is the only major network station (barring the occasional pirate broadcasts that hijack the signal) and it mostly serves as a propaganda machine for its own citizens since the signal is still small. Though for a small ongoing price some other simple forms of entertainment are also displayed with found tapes of old shows and movies. The original reality show M.E.R.C.S. is the most popular however. CEO Enter naturally one day hopes that he can get shows broadcast all over the Fallen Land and rake in even more profit.

The more things change, the more assholes stay the same.

The Prophets of Ezekiel (Formerly know as the Brotherhood)

“Have you heard the teachings of Ezekiel?” - Everyone’s new least favorite question when answering their city gates

Soon after the Battle of the Black Fortress the old Brotherhood underwent some serious changes, literally in most cases since a lot of them became gibbering mutants due to the radiation from the nuclear fallout of the Black Fortress’ destruction. Those that managed to avoid this fate managed to regroup and seriously rethink their long term goals.

One such man was Ezekiel Jones. At first thought dead, he reappeared a few days after the main group returned to Saint George. His survival was taken as a sign. What that sign exactly meant nobody was sure, but Ezekiel certainly took advantage while he could. Ezekiel began to preach a different way of doing things, namely that being perpetually hostile religious fanatics wasn’t getting them anywhere and allying with the Taskmaster was definitely a mistake and they had been punished for their hubris.

Instead he said they should take a more civilized approach to spread the faith. Make peace all their enemies and attempt to blend in more with the other powers of the Fallen Land. By doing this, he reasoned that their goals could be better achieved. It certain was simple enough to make sense and most had always seen him as one of the wiser Elders anyway, so a new cult formed around Ezekiel along with a new name.

Their new approach has had mixed results to be sure. Even more than the New Separatists, the Prophets were even less trusted by those that fought them during their Brotherhood days (Especially the Regulators) however in time new factions had risen up and as the Prophets provided assistance to such people this made it easier to repair their reputation via word of mouth. Good deeds and short memories go a long way.

Still, the goals have not changed. The idea to unite the Fallen Land under their twisted theocracy is still there and while they may not be in a position to do so by force right now, there may come a time when they gain enough strength again that they dispense with more “civilized” methods of conversion.

The New Players

Angels of Mercy

“Let’s hope this goes better than last time.” - Warren Ripley

Started by Warren Ripley, the Angels of Mercy are the successors of the old Black Angel Coalition. Seeing that things weren’t getting much better after the Battle of the Black Fortress, Warren decided that once again their needed to be a proper “beacon of light” in the Fallen Land. As such he and a few others began to rebuild Iowa City and set about to revive the COTBA philosophy with a few minor changes.(Namely better defense)

By all rights, the Angels of Mercy shouldn’t even be as strong as they even are in their short existence, however they had a lot of assistance from old allies (Mostly the Regulators) and Warren’s own obsessive dedication to rebuilding and trying to be a “center” of sorts to keep the relative peace in the Fallen Land. Even the New Separatists contributed to the rebuilding process. Though most saw this as a cynical ploy of CEO Enter to get in good with the new regime, but Warren wasn’t going to turn down the help especially since the CEO had personally overthrown the war criminal Pride.

It took awhile, but once the Angels got the basic support system up and running, everything else started to fall into place and now they in turn can provide assistance to those that need it. Iowa City today is considered to be neutral ground for where major meetings take place when necessary. Granted this was supposed to always be the case, but most factions seem to be a bit more on board with this idea now.

Iowa City still has a memorial as a reminder of the genocide that happened there years ago. The Angels hope that their work contributes towards a future where there isn’t another such memorial.

Beasts of the Atom

“Great Falls is my land and I love it and whoever interferes will hear this gun.” - Tiny Large Guy, Chieftain of the Canoti Tribe

After what Bad Betty did to the Enclave of Terra, it was thought that the city of Great Falls would remain an uninhabited ruin, but there’s always someone ready to move in when a vacancy takes place. Nature herself was the first to move into the ruin and it didn’t take too long for nature to completely reclaim the space. If anything the area has more lush greenery than it did before. Several Indian tribes took this as a sign that it was a place where Mother Earth was strong and the area needed to protected. Wasn’t long before the nearby tribes completely resettled the area.

However as with most things, there’s a scientific explanation. Whatever the toxic chemicals that Bad Betty used to drive the citizens of Great Falls insane, settled into the soil and pretty much everything else into the area. While this mysterious chemical had a bad effect on people, it apparently had a side effect of enriching plant life. 

However, this doesn’t mean the chemical hasn’t still had an effect on humans. In fact, it’s also had an effect on animals in the area. And while this effect is different than when Betty was pumping it into the air, the effects never the less remain.

Mutations have occurred in wildlife making them larger and generally more dangerous. Humans that ingest their meat or eat food grown in the soil also risk mutation. While some of these mutations can be horrific, most of the mutations are fairly minor and even somewhat beneficial such as toughened skin, night vision or even fur. The Indians have naturally taken this as a sign of becoming even closer to nature, hence the name “Beasts of the Atom”

Still despite their more return to nature ideology, the new faction hasn’t completely shut out more modern convenances understanding the need to at least compete to stay independent. They tend to be wary of most other factions though and contact is limited.

Wild Cards

“Wild Card bitches!” - Common Wild Card citizen battle cry

The Wild Cards are basically the citizens of Battle Mountain that the old Syndicate used to lord it over before they were kicked from power and driven from the area. Now the citizens make their home more in a nearby airbase rather than the old mines they used to dwell in.

As a new power the Wild Cards have few allies close by. They sometimes trade with the Beasts, but that’s about it. Thanks to suffering attacks from the likes of the old Brotherhood, the Taskmaster and the Syndicate itself, the faction isn’t very trusting of most outsiders. (Something they have in common with the Beasts which might be why they have a mutual respect for one another)

One thing they seem to be very focused on is getting an air force of sorts up and running. A daunting task especially considering most of the planes are not really in any shape to fly, let alone the need for people who know how to fly in the first place. However they have had a single success in the form of a very well kept B-25 Mitchell bomber. 

This vehicle is the prize of the Wild Cards and is enough to give them a bit of recognition in terms of being a faction that isn’t to be taken for granted.

Red River Parish

“They don’t call us red river for nothing.” - Rene Le Grand throwing some enemies to the mutant crocagators in the water.

With the destruction of the Swamp Runners by the Taskmaster, a new gang of scavengers known as the Red River Parish took over Shreveport. They didn’t really bother to repair the ruins since they mostly used underground tunnels and dwellings anyway. And when they were topside, they preferred to stick to their houseboats on the river ways. 

They’re currently lead by a woman called Rene Le Grand and are more organized than the Swamp Runners ever were. Not only have they swiftly taken over most of the water ways and employed toll systems, but they also act as go betweens for various factions. It’s also assumed that they probably have spies in most places. However their attempted monopoly of the rivers has not gone unchallenged as they have an ongoing feud with Neptune’s Wrath and despite any efforts to get either side to sit down to talk in Iowa City, the factions seem to be determined to stay enemies until one side is gone.

Neptune’s Wrath (Formerly known as the Sons of Neptune)

“The river guppies will soon learn who is the big fish that really rules the water.” - Captain Darkwater about Red River Parish

Of all the old factions, Neptune’s Wrath has arguably been one of the more successful mainly due to being able to stay out of most of the major faction wars and being lucky enough to avoid attacks by rape clowns and evil toasters.

Always maintaining relatively good relations with its neighbors (Especially the Preservationists) Neptune’s Wrath continued to build and slowly grow, but always remaining out of the “system” when it came to the inter-faction politics. However it wasn’t until two major things happened that they suddenly became more involved in the greater Fallen Land communities. 

One was the rise of the Red River Parish who aggressively expanded into the northern waterways towards the Great Lakes. This immediately caused ongoing conflict as up until then the Neptunians considered themselves “masters of the water.” (The Swamp Runners stuck to the south and were never organized or bold enough to go much further)

The second was their discovery of a badly damaged US Navy assault carrier. The faction made haste in restoring the USS Wasp to a useable state and it was about this time with this warship also now doubling as a mobile home (Though Grand haven is still considered their main port), they changed their name from the Sons to Neptune’s Wrath.

Armed with this mighty warship, Neptune’s Wrath is eager to take a greater role in the Fallen Land stage.

Minor Factions

The Contraltos

“We lost Battle Mountain because the Syndicate compromised the whole fucking thing. No more. No more of this.” - Don Phil Contralto on about the old days (again)

After the attacks by the Brotherhood and the Taskmaster, the old Syndicate grip on the populace of Battle Mountain became very fragile and it wasn’t too long before they were run out completely. The remaining survivors of the Syndicate didn’t have much idea of where to go initially, eventually one picked “east” saying maybe they could reconnect with the old country (New Jersey). The trek over the rocky mountains took its toll and by the time they even got past them, there was really only one family left from the Syndicate, The Contraltos.

They might not have lasted much longer either, but as fortunate would have it, they stumbled upon the Dirty Slot Casino. At that time the Dirty Slots was only run by a few half assed wise guys. The Contraltos decided that this would be their new base of operations and the only offer that would be made would be with bullets. Having taking over the Dirty Slots by force, the Contraltos settled into an environment which honestly was probably a better fit.

While the Contraltos are nowhere near a major player in the Fallen Land like they were during the Syndicate days, they’re not entirely out either. Besides the Dirty Slots, the Contraltos have set sights on other similar “outposts” to potentially extend their influence and profit. A difficult task with major powers like the New Separatists and Red River Parish who already have a large hand in less reputable activities, but having already secured a few top hitmen on the payroll, the Contraltos are always available for smaller jobs at a lower price.

The Chosen

“We have such sights to show you.” - A common saying of the Chosen to their hapless victims

The Chosen are what the rest of the old Brotherhood became that weren’t lucky enough to avoid the nuclear explosion at the Battle of the Black Fortress and were even less lucky to not die in the blast. Still maintaining remnants of the fanatical religious mindset of their former lives they saw their new mutated forms as a “reward” and began calling themselves The Chosen. They make their new home around the crater where the Taskmaster’s Black Fortress once existed and now go around attempting to convert others by force, even using jury-rigged pieces of the Taskmaster’s old army to assist in these tasks. This process usually involves exposure to radiation, brainwashing, torture and crude surgery. Assuming anyone actually survives this process, the victim is most likely insane enough to believe in whatever it is exactly the Chosen believe now.

There isn’t much else to say about them other than they’re a roving group of insane religious mutants that basically terrorize the southwestern area of the Fallen Land and they’re hostile to all. (Even the Prophets) One notable thing however, is there have been sightings of the Chosen building strange obelisks in various parts of the desert wilderness. For what purpose exactly none can say and nobody is really eager to ask them either.

The Vanguard

“Of all the abominations on this world, such as faggots, niggers and trannies, the worst by far are the street shitters.” - Alabasterd the UncanCELable views on Advanced Race Theory

The Vanguard are largely the remnants of the losing side in the Road Kings civil war. The group was nomadic and leaderless for awhile and if things had stayed that way, they might have all just completely scattered. However fate would intervene when they ran into another smaller group of bikers. 

These ones however were riding a foreign style sports bikes and had multicolored hair. In fact, the nomads at first thought they were an all girl biker gang at first until the brightly yellow haired leader in a trench coat announced that they were known as the Vanguard and they were looking for more men of good Aryan stock to join their cause. Seeing as this was what one of the major points that was fought about in the first place with the Road Kings, these lost causers were willing to hear out Alabasterd a little more rather than killing him immediately (And/or raping him).

After an hour long speech about racial superiority and pointing out how the Road Kings had obviously become contaminated by gay cultural marxism that was a problem all over the Fallen Land, Alabasterd had managed to not only convince these nomads to join him, but to utterly embrace his “unique” form of white supremacy which seems to involve a large collection of old books and tapes filled with a lot illustrations of underaged looking girls and even more feminine looking men.

The Vanguard are still largely nomadic and trying to get more of an established foothold in the Fallen Land, though they do have a clubhouse somewhere on the Canadian border called “The Bunker”. Most of their closest neighbors such as The Preservationists are not fond of them and the Beasts of the Atom particularly loathe them. It also goes without saying that the Road Kings have made it their personal mission to purge this faction as soon as possible.

Atomik Klownz

“Betty was just the opening act, I’m the main attraction!” - Bad Betsy, a new clown that currently wears the crown

While Bad Betty might be long gone, she unfortunately inspired other deranged individuals to follow her psychotic lead of wearing clown make up, dressing outlandishly and generally acting like a crazy asshole. 

By themselves they are usually easy to deal with (Much like Betty was). However when enough of them get together to form a traveling circus, that’s when they become more dangerous. One particularly large group calling themselves the Atomik Klownz has managed to stay constantly moving much like Betty often did before she was taken out. Worse, they actively recruit like minded folks whenever possible. They don’t seem to have any major goal other than spreading chaos and terror for fun. 

Due to this, it’s been rumored that they’re on the New Separatist payroll, however CEO Enter has protested such accusations pointing out that they’ve had their own run ins with the clowns too. 

In any case, it’s safe to say that when the circus comes to the towns, nobody is enjoying the show with the clowns.

Los Intermediarios & Los Centinelas

“Gonna be taking you to Funky Town maricon.” - one of the faction members saying it to their enemy who said the same exact thing to someone else just a week ago.

Due to the current situation in Mexico, both factions can’t really be discussed without the other. Los Intermediarios are technically the faction still mostly in power, but that is looking like it’s going to change soon as Los Centinelas make a lot of progress in taking over territory.

How this all came about is a combination of Los Intermediarios losing some manpower to a Taskmaster attack and then eventually that being perceived as weakness by another group, in this case Los Centinelas who have greatly taken inspiration from their Aztec past as far some of their style of dress and rituals go.

It isn’t quite just a simple power struggle however. Los Centinelas genuinely believe their way will improve the country’s security and prosperity. Los Centinelas believe that the border needs to be better protected from foreign merchants. They don’t want the gringos having direct access to any potential trade south of Mexico and by the same token, they can keep trade with areas south of Mexico to themselves. (Los Intermediarios weren’t nearly as strict on this idea, claiming it just created potential enemies where there didn’t need to be any)

In any case, the entire country is one big war zone with massacres each bloodier than the next. Some say the destruction of Iowa City was nothing compared to what’s going on in the country on a daily basis. This doesn’t even include the occasional incursions by The Chosen who wander over the Mexican border for converts from time to time.

At this point though, no matter who ultimately wins, the faction probably won’t be in any shape to be a major power anytime soon.

The Villain of the Story

The Taskmaster

“I am inevitable.” - The Taskmaster

Since the destruction of his black fortress, there has been little sign of the infamous Taskmaster. The closest are the rare remnants of his former army, but murderous marauding robots and cyborgs don’t seem to be under his direct control so much as they’re following their original programming. 

While it was originally agreed upon that he escaped destruction due to not being at the black fortress in the first place (As reported by Warren Ripley who heard his vow of revenge first hand), the passage of time always causes forgetfulness. And in a land where information is usually second hand at the best of times, rumors tend to replace the truth. 

Many believe the Taskmaster is dead or if he isn’t, he died shortly after his defeat. Even the factions that were directly involved with the fighting have had so many other conflicts since then haven’t given much thought to the Taskmaster being a threat again. (The only exception being Sigma Corp) Some folks are even under the delusion he didn’t even exist at all claiming it was all just a fake story that “The Alliance” made up in an  attempt to scare everyone and take control of everything.

Still besides the rumors that the Taskmaster is indeed dead, there are other rumors that he’s not just alive and plotting from some secret base, but that he’s seeking something that could very well cause destruction not seen since the creation of the Fallen Land. Others even say he already has agents in place hiding among the factions ready to strike when the time is right.

Whatever the truth, if and/or when he does show up again, one can only assume that it won’t be good for humanity. (Or any living thing for that matter)