A Battle Unseen

[Mbites]

July 5612
Former Territory of Beiteynu
Somewhere near Yishelem

A scarred looking teenager enters the station of the military police captain Harald Shekelberg and immediately approaches the front desk.
"I'd like to report information regarding the location of a wanted criminal." said the boy to the clerk of the station.
The uninterested desk clerk tried to shoo the boy away, his rugged appearance made him look like one of the beggars. 
"Please, Sir, It is regarding a Kadiyot." argued the teenager.

Shekelberg who was sitting at his desk only heard the name Kadiyot and jumped up. He shoved the clerk aside.
"Tell me BOY, where is this filfth?" asked the captain
An insidious smile was hidden by the teenager and he continued to feed information to the officer. 
After the exchange he left the office heading off to a backalley bar. While the destruction of the Holy Land was minimal at worst, there was a sharp increase in poverty struck folk lounging around and the underground was thriving. And individuals like the boy were profiting.

In that bar, he went to his contact in one of the separated 'boxes' of the establishment. "Did you feed the intel to them?"
He nodded. "Good, here's your price." The shadowy contact handed over a card with a list of phone-numbers, a burner and a small bundle of cash.
"Listen here now, you call that number at the top first, thats a good start, I cant really say if its still there but I know that it certainly was at some point."
The 'It' he was talking about was an object only rumored to exist in intelligence circles. It's mythical title being the "Millenium of Crimes." Whats with the ominous title? No one really knows, but it is rumored to have very fatal information that should not be available to the public.
"Thank you." the boy smirked.
"And Herr Lakkaí... be careful. You should get out of here quickly now else your kinsmen might find you."
Adlé left the bar.

[Mbites]

August 5613
International Waters
Close to Utari Mosir

Lakkaí stood on the vessel aimed at bringing him to Utari Mosir.
Unfortunately he had to make a detour before being able finally go to Dovani.
His kinsmen were never happy with his trajectory, they think he is wasting his time and making empty threats.
"For empty threats, they've been throwing quite a lot of contract-murderers at me" thought Lakkaí when a crewman approached him.

"You there! Go back you muppet! You're not supposed to be here!" shouted the sailor.

"Right.. right." mumbled Lakkaí

"I dont know why you are here or why the company decided to smuggle you to Utari Mosir, but you gotta be careful, actions like this put everyone of us at risk. There are people really out for you, just be happy that the K-Connection came through for you."

Lakkaí slapped the sailor on the back and nodded.

"Their time will come."

[Dredd]

[Kasaema, Presidents Office, July 8th, 5612]

Sladek had his face in his hands, he turned 78 just months ago and his age was catching up to him. His joints ached, he'd been passing blood in his stool for nearly a year, and the situation in Kundrati was only getting worse. The entire navy had been martyred in the Artanian sea, the only consolation being that they took thousands of the bastards with them, his men had died loyally and fought with fanatical resolve, and he expected the men in Extea to do the same.

All the moves pointed to a joint invasion of the Island, and possibly beyond if it didn't hold. Luthori, the satantic bootlicks they are had declared war preying on the vulnerability of the legion, and possibly because of the satellite photos of the Silos coming from Kalistan which had undoubtedly been distributed to neighboring powers. No, they would never stop developing, harnessing the atom. It was the only thing that could protect what he had spent a lifetime building, all the monuments to his glory and resolve, the thundering mines and never ending labor camps, they would be sealed for eternity in a bunker of plutonium in just a few short years. He needed, no, he must complete this holy project, only then can Kundrati live for eternity.

The economy and population was restless, they had been on wartime economy and embargo for many months now, and even the severe rationing and restless efforts of the commissariat were stretched to their limit in preventing public dissent. The prisons were full to burst, the mass graves becoming harder to hide, they didn't even bother doing it under cover of bad weather and night anymore, let the foreign powers prattle of the so called "crimes" against humanity, it was their fault so many traitors had come to defy the war, and in a way it was a benefit, better to cut out the tumors now than later.

He opened the document before him, progress was continuing in the Silos, it wouldn't be long now, all other finances and efforts diverted to focus upon it. All the magnificent chemical concoctions and human experimentation would pale in comparison to this new weapon. He continued, reading reports of fortification efforts of Extea. If they wanted to take the largest city in Kundrati, it would be nothing short of a blood bath. Sladek had organized 400,000 men to garrison the leviathan city of 12 million people, and spared no expense in manning it or keeping on the nearby coast every artillery gun, tank, and rocket battery loaded with chemical weapons of the entire arsenal not needed elsewhere. Machine gun nests, barbed wire barricades, trench networks, enfiladed defense positions, the reports went on and on. The island had to hold...it had to; Sladek began a coughing fit into his handkerchief, he lifted it and saw it stained with bright red blood as he wiped his mouth and lit another cigarette. Above all of this, he knew he likely wouldn't last much longer, there was one last issue to address before he died, but first the war had to be won. Sladek knew that soon,

He would appoint a successor.

[Dredd]

[Likatonian Countryside, August 9th, 5612]

Borovich and his crew checked the systems a last time. Coordinates locked in, Kaliburg, Port Swede, missile diagnostics all check out, preliminary launch sequences verified and prepared. He radioed in "All systems battery 1 are go"...seconds later replies came in; "Battery 2 ready", "Battery 3 confirmed", however battery 4 didnt reply. "Battery 4 do you copy, are systems go?"

The radio crackled back, "we're uh, having some issues here. The diagnostics report improper loading sequencing, we're not sure if its safe for launch." God damn, this was not the time. "Battery 4 i've checked your system thrice over, its probably the banged up computer again, if hitting it with the crowbar didn't work its just bugging out, proceed with your launch, thats an order.", "Battery 4...copy...preparing"

Borovich gulped, he knew full well what toxic payload was loaded in these rockets of liquid death, whoever the victims were would burn in 3000 degrees of white hellfire. There could be kids there, families...He shook his head. He had to fire, if it wasn't them it'd be his own head, and likely life sentences of penal labor for his own family. Borovich took a slow breath and hovered his hand over the launch key. "All crews prepare for launch." The missile creaked and metal gears whined as the 3,500 kg rocket slowly arched upward till upright. Borovich held his radio palms sweating..."battery 1.....launching!" He turned the key, and immediately plugged his ears as a roar that threatened to deafen him emerged, and after a 20 seconds passed, he looked up and saw the rocket hurling into the sky.

Suddenly he jolted his head to the right as he heard a loud boom. 800 meters off a huge plume of white burning phosphorous and gas coated the field battery 4 had been in and it began drifting yellow smoke towards him. "Gas!!" The crew immediately sealed themselves in the vehicle and placed their rubber masks on without a hitch. The radio was a garbled mess of static and blood curdling screaming. Borovich was sweating bullets, thank god his own rocket hadn't imploded on itself, he knew they were volatile but this...his thoughts drifted to the civilians that were bound to suffer the same fate, and he crossed himself praying god would forgive him for this.

[Mbites]

July 5615
Ostland
Unknown Homestead

Two rough looking Jelbic mercenaries kick down the door of the old farm house.
The resistance of the hired guns guarding Lakkai's mother was futile, they had no chance against the surprise attack.
"Peter, would you mind stepping out?"

The merc obliged and nodded.
Lakkaí shot the lock of the bedroom his mother was in and stepped inside.
Instead of the warm embrace of Theodora only a letter adressed to him was on the small nightstand.
Enraged he stormed towards it and opened the letter.

"Dear Cousin,

It has come to my attention that you are seeking things... and people you should not be seeking.
Unfortunately for you the government we - as you probably know, control - has decided to shift its attention toward Dovani with the whole channel mess, hence the potency of our reach has now doubled and with it our power to get you. We knew you'd come, we're always one step ahead of you dear cousin, and I'll meet you soon to end this pathetic revenge conquest you're on. 

J. T.-"

[Dredd]

[Likatonian Mountains Eastern Border, October 9th, 5612]

Sgt. Vulkavic finished cleaning his rifle and began reading the report on stockpiles for the 9th Brigade of the K-Division. Tandem warheads, 7.76 FMJ, hand grenades, medical supplies, and many other necessities. The Likatonians had padded out what they were lacking in, but the last Kundrati shipment hadn't been for 6 months since the battle in the Artanian sea.

Across the border the coalition forces gathered, a hurricane would arrive on them any day now, a hurricane of shells, rockets, and bombs. Soon the tsunami of soldiers would follow, and he knew they were angry, many of them lost family or friends in the chemical attacks that Vulkavic knew full well his comrades had fired, and everyone in the K-Division understood what fate awaited them, they even painted skulls on their helmets to represent their expectation of death, and the merciless death they would deliver in kind. But it didn't bother him. The KPP had shelled his house in the civil war after he joined the Legion, they had killed his wife and 2 daughters, they had overthrown the president he democratically elected, and Kalistan funded it all. Vulkavic had lost everything, sometimes when dozing off to sleep he would hear laughter, awaking sweating in the night looking frantically for little Anya and Nadia. But they were gone, and his heart had turned black, filled only with hatred for those who had funded the destruction of his life and future. But Sladek gave him a second chance, an opportunity to wring the hearts of his enemies with the same grief he felt, and that had come just weeks earlier in the form of 3000 degree hellfire on Kaliburg. He knew none of them would be spared, but he didn't care. His men all understood they would be tortured, mutilated, and executed if captured, and all had agreed to save the last grenade or bullet for themselves, take as many of the enemy as they could. He thought some may have reservations of this being their final resting place, but he came to find dozens of men with similar stories, stories of hate and vengeance. He lit a cigarette and picked up the report, and found instead of fear of death, he was surprisingly sanguine. Soon, he would be reunited with his family in heaven, soon all the pain and tears he shed every night for the future he wanted would dry up. Soon, he would go to his real home, but first he would make the Kalistanis pay one last time.

[Doc]

Kalistani Detention Camp, east of North Bend, Likatonia

January 20, 5613

Sergeant William Robert Michaelson sat under his tarp in the makeshift leanto the Kalistanis had provided.  Like several hundred other Likatonian Prisoners in this camp, he had fought against the invaders in the battle of North Bend.  Like several hundred others in this camp, he had been spared death in the battle, only to realize that he was going to die a slower, more miserable death here in the hills along the Likatonian side of the border.

Where was the counter attack that his troops were promised?  This was something that he had practiced with the Kundrati advisors time and time again.  The Kalistanis hit the front troop, and then the Kundratis rush to their assistance.  But that counter attack never came.  Instead, the town was overrun in two and a half days, and the Kalistanis said surrender or die.  When they got there, the Kalistanis disarmed his platoon, who were defending a weapons' supply point.  They thought they could have held out, but their platoon was facing at least a company of Kalistani Infantry flying a black flag.  The sight of the firepower was enough to make several members of the platoon throw their weapons at their feet.  One twitchy Kalistani saw the movement, and open fired, and at least three members of the platoon were killed instantly, and three others were wounded before some Kalistani Lieutenant got the Kali Soldiers back under control and got them to cease fire.

Now Sgt Michaelson sat in this shabby leanto, which barely kept the cold rain off him.  It kept none of the cold air out.  The Kalistanis gave him some paper and a small pencil that looks like the kind people use to keep score on the golf course, and was told to write a letter to his "loved ones."  This likely meant that he would be killed later in the day.  Maybe, he could use the pencil as a shiv of some sort.  Maybe to take one of them down before they got him.  He wrote a letter, a defiant letter, to his mother.  Telling her that she was wrong when she begged him not to enlist.  He was a Warrior, and would be a warrior to his dying moment.  If the Kalistanis didn't kill him, he'd find a way to make his way back to his division and would take up the fight again.

As he finished this last sentence, a Kalistani soldier appeared in front of him.  He had his gun trained on the demobilized prisoner.

"You misspelled 'warrior'," said the Kalistani in a strange accent.  Sgt Michaelson looked down at the paper.  Huh... he thought.  What is this guy talking about.  "Get up., leave the paper.  We'll get it to your mom."  Sgt Michaelson stood, pencil still in his hand.  "Drop the pencil." said the Kalistani.  Michaelson thought about it for a moment, and then, almost involuntarily, complied.  "We're moving out soon." the soldier said, and motioned for the soldier to start walking.  The Kalistanis had taken his right boot when he was captured, and he was forced to walk across the cold ground covered in sharp tree debris in this largely pine forest.  Luckily, much of the ground had been cleared, but every once in a while, a sharp point of a twig caught the bottom of his bare foot, and at the pace he was walking, he couldn't exactly walk carefully.

When they had walked about 200 feet through the woods, the soldier stopped Sergeant Michaelson.  He kept his rifle trained on the Likatonian, as two individuals stepped up, grabbed the Sergeant's hands and tied them roughly behind his back.  The bonds cut into his wrists and hurt.  The individuals then stepped away, and the Kalistani ordered Michaelson into a pit.  Michaelson looked over and saw the pit.  It looked like it was cut out of the soil with a post hole digger, and was about 3 feet around.  Michaelson then looked around and saw several other individuals screaming out as people were shoveling dirt into several similar holes.  Some people had their head just barely sticking out above the surface.  Some others, the shorter victims, didn't even have that luxury.

Michaelson, in a final act of defiance realized what this was, and refused.  The Kalistanis were burying them alive in the forest.  The soldier ordered him into the hole once more.  Michaelson said "No." once again.  The Soldier, without another word or moment's pause, shot Michaelson through the foot.  The two other individuals then stepped up, lifted Michaelson up and lowered him into the pit.  Before Michaelson could do anything, they then turned around and began shovelling dirt into the pit with him.  Soon his legs were covered by heavy dirt and he was immobilized as the hole in his foot burned and bled profusely.  As the dirt got deeper and deeper, there were similar shots heard from behind him, and lots of cussing from the Likatonians against the inhumane treatment the Kalistanis were showing them.

Within minutes, the pit was filled.  Michaelson was tall enough that his chin sat just above the ground level of the dirt.  He was already beginning to feel light heated, and then he realized the insidiousness of this particular method of killing.  It was getting very difficult for him to get full breaths:  the pressure of the soil on his chest cavity prevented him from expanding his lungs.  This death is death by suffocation.  With luck, he would bleed out before that happened.  But this would certainly be his grave.

As the Kalistani walked on, and the two grim gravediggers moved on to dig the next pit, Michaelson noticed one thing:  They both only had one boot on.

[Elena1012]

A Vision of No More Tears.
Xsampa, Metz-Leonid, New Hope District
October 10th, 5617
------------------------

Bhutia was exhausted. Another day, another headache. Reforming Xsampa was easier said that done. While he was done with work for the day, the stress was still there. He figured a stroll in the streets of Metz-Leonid would alleviate that stress. It was late evening, and the sun was setting. A nice orange hue in the sky. It almost made him forget what day today was. October 10th. It didn't help that the 20th anniversary of the Bargas Chenpo was 2 years away. As he walked, he thought to himself on what he's done to heal Xsampa. Whether he was living up to Comrade Aurousseau's vision of a gentler, kinder, hopeful Xsampa. It all felt surreal. It felt like weeks ago, he was just being sworn in during a national calamity and now? He was walking the streets of Metz-Leonid. It was hard to believe that it's been 17 years since the Bargas Chenpo. It wasn't even dealing with the Party that had him stressed. Every October 10th felt more difficult then the last. Families grieving, children grieving for their parents, now all grown up and traumatized. 

As he walked, he ended up finding himself at the epitome of October 10th. The Memorial to the Victims of Nuclear War. It was tranquil. Most Xsampans paid their respects during the day, so only a handful of grieving families were left. The memorial made him feel disconnected from the world. Seeing all the names engraved on the black stone. The gentle sounds of muttering, the wind and the reflection pools. So many lives. So many hopes, snuffed out in an instant. Bhutia's heart started to ache. It was clear that despite his best efforts, Xsampa wasn't healing. Sure, a handful were looking to the future and believing him. But he was no Aurousseau. He couldn't give the people hope. He couldn't restore their sense of optimism. He did his best and that wasn't enough. His reforms weren't enough to inspire the people. He could feel tears forming at the edge of his eyes. He was failing Xsampa. He couldn't honour the dead.

That was when a middle aged Xsampan approached him, his voice rough but genuine. Still looking at the reflection pool, Bhutia remained silent.
"Comrade. I share your grief. Everyone does. My sister.." he paused, seemingly choking on his own words full of grief before continuing. "My sister was apart of those who died in the Bargas Chenpo. She was just accepted into MLSU. She was ecstatic, it was something she dedicated her entire life towards. Then the Bargas Chenpo happened. And before I knew it, that happy girl I knew was gone. Torn away from life in an instant. Every day, I kept asking myself if there was something I could've done. Anything to have kept her home that day. After the 10th, I couldn't do anything. I mean, my own sister was taken away in the blink of an eye. It was bad." He hesitated to continue, the pain in his voice only growing. "It didn't help that Comrade Aurousseau was killed in it. I remember her rallies, her daring optimism. The future seemed bright. And then it was snuffed out. Like a candle. I genuinely believed she would create a better future. When the Bargas Chenpo happened, it felt like the world was falling apart. The hope of the nation was strangled, my own sister taken away. But then I remember your words comrade. You did everything you could to help heal Xsampa. You did everything you could to heal the wounds, and care for every Xsampan hurt. You gave hope to the hopeless." He seemed genuine, as Bhutia silently listened.

"I know that every October 10th isn't easy. Believe me comrade. It's painful remembering what we lost. What I lost. But I see Xsampans starting to hope again. Daring to believe in a future. A future you are providing. I'll admit, at first I was skeptical of you. What could some Party bureaucrat do that Aurousseau couldn't? Then you proved me wrong, again and again. You gave medicine to the ill, food to the hungry, houses for the homeless. I know it doesn't seem like Xsampans are healing. But you've given many Xsampans, myself included, a hope for the future again. You've inspired me to try to do what my sister would've wanted. Make Xsampa a better place for all. Now look at me here, rambling on like an old man. Comrade, I just want to thank you for everything. You've given this old bitter man hope for the future again. I hope you know that." 

Bhutia remained silent. Paralyzed by the story he was told. Had he actually given hope to Xsampa? Before he could ask, let alone turn around, the man walked away. Bhutia turned back to the reflection pool, seeing his own reflection. He was responsible for one person being hopeful. Or maybe even more. Maybe he couldn't capture Aurousseau's hope, but maybe he could capture something close. Just knowing that he had helped even one Xsampan was enough. He couldn't give up, not yet. Xsampa needed him. It needed his reforms. A new vision. As the sun gradually continued to set, he found himself reinvigorated. He had to continue on. For Xsampa. For the future. He didn't know whether his reforms would work, or whether he could heal all of Xsampa. But he knew one thing was certain. No more tears.

[Doc]

Royal Suite, Hotel Imperial, Aikums, Dolgava
October 5, 5614, 9:30pm

"Our first day in Dolgava, what do you think of it, Mon Cherie?" asked Fredrick, employing a frequent pet name which is also play on Canrillaise, for his wife's name.

Monica, who was combing her long hair out preparing to braid it before bed, smiled and turned to her husband so he could see her mouth move as she spoke.  "I think these people are very nice.  They seem to have good hearts."

Fredrick smiled.  It seemed his wife was agreeing with him.  "Yes, they are.  Their King seems like a very down to earth kind of guy.  It was actually kind of refreshing talking to him."

"And the Crown Princess," said Monica.  "She's very smart and she definitely has some interesting ideas about how to advance the country.  I am looking forward to meeting her again someday when she is the Queen.  I think our countries can do a lot of good work together."

"I am sure too," said Fredrick with a smile.  He enjoyed seeing his wife take some interest in the future.  She used to be so vibrant and energetic.  But it seems that these last few years have been very hard for her, and it was rare that Fredrick saw her smile anymore.  "Are you happy my dear?"

The question provoked a faint but vacant smile in the Empress-Consort, and she moved toward the bed where her husband was reclining.  "It has been so long since we've had any peace.  But I think at this moment, here, yeah, I guess I should be happy."  She gave her husband a small kiss.

"Should be, but..." he said with a smile.  "Say: Did you hear the one about the three crazy Hosian Nuns and the Blind Priest?"

Monica smiled. "Really? A joke?"

Fredrick smiled again. " Yeah. Did you hear that one?"

"No, love, I have never heard that one..."

"Hah ha. Neither have I. Because, you know..."

Monica rolled her eyes at his droll and predictable delivery. "... because you're deaf..." She shook her head, finding little humor in his attempt. "You know, Fredrick, you shouldn't make fun of deaf people... You're probably going to hell."

The Emperor laughed at his own joke, but then he noticed that his wife wasn't joining him as enthusiastically as he would have liked. He sat up next to her. "I don't believe in hell. Unless you mean Baltusia. I believe in that." He paused, his effort to lift his wife's spirits failed. "You know, things really have been very hard.  It's been four years of hell.  We haven't had to write any letters to any parents for a while now, though.  Someday maybe we can go back to Wilson Hill.  Who knows?  Maybe next summer?"

The Empress Consort ran her gentle hand over her husband's hair, instinctively trying to soothe him, but maybe also soothing herself.  "It's not that...  It's..."  she paused as if she was thinking of what she wanted to really say. She thought she would get his focus onto something else.  "Your mother.  She spends a lot of time in her garden.  I go out there and sometimes see her crying."

"Well," said Fredrick.  "She does cry sometimes.  That's what people do..."

"I mean...  Fredrick, I talk to her sometimes.  She seems very distant and kind of in her own mind an awful lot. I hope you don't ever end up like that, we end up like that..."

"My mother," said Fredrick, "she-- well, I'll tell you kind of a story.  I was maybe 10 or something, just a real idiot. I could still hear a lot back then...  But I was screwing around, you know...  just being kind of wild, and I must have really got on her nerves.  She was telling me to stop running around and jumping off things, and yelling, and joking and everything, and I really wouldn't. And I was just going crazy and I ran into the back of her chair where she was working and I think I made her mess up some letter she was trying to write. She turned on me.  And I saw her raise her hand, like she was going to slap me.  And I never ever saw that look on her face before.  Her eyes grew very dark: She has green eyes, and the green sort of disappeared, and she became, I'm not joking, like she became almost like a dark... I don't know, like the lights in the room dimmed or flickered, it was really weird..."

"Oh my god, Fredrick, you must have been terrified!"

"Well, not so much, I think.  Because I saw this horrific vision, in front of me, and then, like I could see the future, like I could see her bringing her hand down against my face, and then me spinning back two or three times and falling into this big glass coffee table behind me and shattering it, and then it cutting me up, like really bad. There was a ton of blood and in this vision, I just laid there. It didn't actually happen, you know--I mean, it was a premonition I had:  She didn't actually hit me.  Instead, I only heard a voice that said 'Can't you give me one moment of peace?!'"

"How scary!" said Monica.

"Except, the strange thing is, I didn't see her mouth move.  I only, just...  heard her voice, or a voice.  And it wasn't really to me, like it wasn't me she was really talking to.  She was talking to someone else... or maybe thinking it?  She then blinked once or twice, and I saw her physically shrink.  Not so much shrink, as like the darkness left her and she returned to herself, as I knew her on any normal day.  And she immediately cried and grabbed me and hugged me so tight I thought she would crush me, and she said she was sorry and would never never do that again.  And I could feel it, she felt so guilty, though she hadn't done anything, or said anything, or really even moved at all.  We never talked about that day after that.  But the next day, I noticed that that glass coffee table was gone from the house.  So weird."

"Fredrick, what a crazy story!  You've never mentioned any of that."

"I think I better understand it now.  My mother was always a little strange.  She was far stronger than anyone ever knew.  Maybe my father knows it.  I am sure anyone who has ever gotten on her bad side has felt something like this.  She was weird.  But this job, this life, it really got to her.  She did not like being Empress.  It really took a toll on her, like her constitution- She said once it was killing her soul.  My mother was a simple woman:  She really is probably the most devout Brethrenist I have ever met.  There's a tension between that way and this life.  I think she would have preferred to spend her time in the Meeting.

"She didn't always used to be that way: She was once happy and cheery and all that too...  But people kept f--king with her, all the time, they never let her alone, never let her just live.  And I think she felt kind of guilty that she was raising me just so I could take that burden from her so she could be free of it. She tried to hang on until she was sure I knew everything that she knew, like she knew the future, and was trying to make me as ready for it as possible, but it was so hard for her just to hang in there and not give up before she thought I was ready."

"Do you think that's why she cries?"

"Maybe," said Fredrick.  "Her mother was really sad too, like clinically depressed after her husband died.  She was the Black Empress. I would imagine that my mom carried a lot of that sadness with her too. She went through a lot of that too.  It was a real tragedy what happened to both of those two ladies here in Kalistan, and the fact that my mom was able to make it this long really shows how strong she is even today."

"I guess I feel sorry for your mother then.  Our life together so far has been hard, but not as hard as what your mother went through."

Fredrick shrugged.  "We're different people.  I spend my life trying to put the problems we face in a comedy light.  Some things I can't obviously.  But most of these things we face, like having to live in a wing in my mom's castle while our neighborhood is not habitable...  these things could be way worse.  The war was hard, but now its over.  And here we are in this beautiful city, and our neighbors are so kind and welcoming that I feel more at liberty here than I do at home.  We have two great kids who won't remember the war when they get older, and I have you, the world's most beautiful woman, sitting here in my bed with me.  Right now, its just you and me.  I really have nothing to complain about."

Monica smiled at the very unsubtle compliment.  "I suppose I am not unhappy either..."

"What was that?  I didn't hear you..."  Fredrick smiled.

"I am content," said Monica with a slightly bigger smile as she stared into Fredrick's eyes.

"Oh, you're gonna have to speak up a little more.  I'm kind of deaf..." he said, with his hand to his ear.

Monica knew what Fredrick was getting at.  "I am very happy," she whispered.  Fredrick saw the words forming on her mouth and he leaned in and kissed her.

"That's what I thought you said," he said back.

[Rogue]

Bannerhafen, Triad Republic, 20th of Februari 5622

Two men, sitting in their car outside the residence of Joachim von Thaller. They observe, they wait. After days of surveilance and preparation, the two were ready to act. Normally, Joachim would come out of the building at around 9 in the morning.

This day was no different. At 9:00 AM, the von Thaller opened the large doors of his residence in downtown Bannerhafen. His glasses on, his coffee in one of his hands and a newspaper in the other. As he closed the door and turned around the car with the two men accelerated down the street. The moment the car drove past Joachim the flashes and pops of gunshots could be seen and heard. The moment he turned, he was shot multiple times and fell down on the pavement shortly after. His coffee spilling over his paper and his blood covering the entire street. Joachim was no more. 

When police arrived, they could only find a phone in the alleyway where the car was waiting. The phone containing countless of political statements, largely condemning the Thaller family and praising socialism and left-wing politics. Who was behind this deadly attack?