The PacificBoard

A man was sitting at his desk, pen in one hand, black military cap with a skull image in another. Behind him was HIS portrait, the man who started it all, the man to blame for it all, his worst nightmare, his one true god. He got up. It was time for the daily pledge of allegiance. He had already put his gas mask and black armour on and was now ready to come out to the soldiers. As he exited the bunker, all the soldiers saluted him in a single moment, identical expressions of eternal allegiance to the nightmare on their faces. Not that any of that could be seen through the black lenses of their gas masks. It was hilarious, wasn't it? Several millimeteres of glass was all that protected their eyes from the deadly amount of the radiation that would kill all of them in an instant. It was about 4 AM, just before dawn. The man put his black cap on, came onto the stage and placed his hand on the book.

-"I, soldier of the great Novoblupolian republic, proud soldier of the global liberation front, do solemnly swear, that I shall not let the weapon out of my hand, until the very last menace to the Novoblupolian republic has been eliminated. Hail the liberation front. James Wilson is with us. There is much to be done."

All of the soldiers repeated the oath, though their voices were distorted by their masks. Each of them had heard it over a thousand times and could repeat it word-by-word had they been woken up from their nightmares in the middle of the night. They knew well that any person who wouldn't be able to give the oath properly would immediately be eliminated and erased not just from existance, but from history as well.

The man in the cap looked to the north of the military base. There, in the mountains, were the traitors of the republic. Those who refused to follow James's orders, those who betrayed him, and in doing so, doomed the chances of the Novoblupolian republic in the great trial, which had come just seconds after James gave his last breath, B]blue lightsaber piercing through his chest, the stains of his blood on the traitor's white uniform. There, in the mountains, was that traitor and his fellow traitors.

But the man knew that marching into the mountains right now was not an option, those traitors had already slaughtered hundreds of thousands of his comrades, just like they slaughtered his god figure, the only difference being that his comrades were slaughtered in the heat of the battle, while James was literally stabbed in the back in the very Senate palace.

"Pfft, not that it matters" - He thought to himself. - "They are doomed. They have no supplies, no ammunition, the only one who keeps the whole resistance alive is that White-capped traitor, whose health condition, ever since he recieved that trauma in a battle 4 months ago is getting worse with every day. Soon, he will pass away, and all of those "Sablinist" retards will soon follow."

Then he heard a voice coming from behind his back.

-"General Richard, the forces are ready for the military exercises."

He turned around. He couldn't see the face of the soldier who said it, neither could he recognize the distorted voice, but the badge on the armor had still remained somewhat visible, so Richard could tell apart the letters " H E R B E R T "

-"Good, corporal Herbert, but no exercises today. Today, I want you to fire several shells at those mountains. let's tickle their nerves a little more."

-"But sir, we are almost out of supply, and we have no way of making any more artillery she-"

*BANG!* The soldier fell dead on the ground. Richard observed the corpse violently, pure rage in his eyes.

-"Burn the body, soldiers. Corporal Herbert had never existed, you've never even heard such a name."

"Yes sir" - replied the soldiers, no emotion in their voices whatsoever. They carried the body away. The smell of the burning corpse could be felt across the entire base that day, but nobody would dare to even say a word about it. Nor would anybody wonder if there are any other liberation army bases out there. All of them knew their one purpose in life. Just one purpose - Serve the General, serve the legacy of James Wilson, carry on the liberation. Yet another day of service under the black eagle had begun...

Winds were howling in the mountains. Two slodiers in white disguise uniforms, gas masks on their faces, riffles in their hands, were observing the base from their observing point. One of them had already begun packing his stuff to not forget anything when he'll have to go down there to attend the roll call. The Marshall was about to wake up any minute now.

The Marshall was, indeed, soon woken up by his nightmares. Still in his bed, cold sweat on his forehead, he reached out for his cane. He struggled to get up, bit he managed to reach his white cap which was hanging near his bed. His sight wasn't as good as it used to be at his prime, but he didn't even need to look at his cap to feel the holes from bullets on it. He could still clearly remember the story behind each bullet hole in his cap. Every time he was an inch away from death. He put on his white uniform and his red scarf. He tied it tightly around his mouth - he couldn't let the soldiers see him cough out any blood. He knew very well that showing any sign of his worsening health condition or decrease of his enthusiasm would be a fatal blow to the entirety of what remained of Novoblupolia, the nation he had wowed to protect and serve, and loyaly did so for the last 40 years. He couldn't fail them, not again. The sight of James Wilson pressing the nuclear missle confirmation hand scanner, one with his, another with The Marshall's cut off hand had still haunted him at nights, especially ones as dark as the one when he had failed to save his nation. The one mistake James's servantsbmade that day was not go for the Marshall's head, but rather going for the chest. He still remembered standing over the still warm corpse of James, breathing heavily, when he felt a bullet go through his back, passing a few millimeters away from his heart, then collapsing on the floor. He remembered those soldiers in black gas masks put him in a body bag and throw him out of the window of the 66th floor of the senate palace. Back then, he barely managed to activate his jetpack, slowly choking from the blood flowing out of his throat. He could still remember how he desperately tried to shoot down the incoming nuclear missles from all over the world, but he and his several hundred men were powerless against several thousand nukes exploding all over the nation. The Marshall could still feel the pain he felt 37 years ago. The pain of hearing millions of voices cry out in horror, and then get silenced.
He slowly walked towards his door, trying very hard to hold back bloody coughs one after. For the last 37, he's been hiding it all inside - his fears, his pain, his despair and his worsening health conditions. The pain was slowly becoming unbearable, both physical from all the wounds, esppecially the one he got repealing the black army's assault on the base ten months ago, and mental pain, the pain of losing millions of people who he might have saved, had he been a little smarter, stronger or faster.

"...Nevermind that, none of that matters anymore." - He thought. - "It's 9 o'clock time of the morning roll call."

He slowly walked out of his bunker, holding his lightsaber with his mechanic hand. The soldiers were excited to see him, as usual. Once again, all of them were smiling once the Marshall appeared in their sight. The hero they saw within the Marshall, the hero who had saved them on numerous occasions, the hero who had protected the few thousand people - all that remained of the kind republic - that hero shined as a bright icon, and he shined far brighter than the broken veteran terrorized by nightmares, whose health had long plumeted a long time ago. He jumped onto the stage in order to look energetic, hiding the unbearable pain in his legs, and energetically gave a speech. He did his best to sound happy and confident to them, any other person would have collapsed on the floor screaming in pain had they been in his situation, but not him. He knew how high the stakes were, he knew what he had to do even if he didn't have the strength to do it. He knew who he was - despite everything, it was still him - Thomas Deffers, the supreme Marshall of the kind republic of Novoblupolia.

It was another cold and windy day in the refugee zone. Naomi was woken up by the morning alarm clock, which could always be heard across the entire base. "Thank heavens" - she thought to herself, shivering and in pain, barely holding back tears of both joy and sadness - "I'm still alive". Her morning routine had begun - Still shivering in her sleepbag, she began to clean the frost from her body. She was lucky her eyelashes didn't freeze one to another, as it happened quite often. She then proceeded to crawl to the exit from her tent, partially taking off her sleepbag. She could hear a familiar voice:

"Good Morning Novoblupolian refugee zone. I kindly request everybody alive to assemble near my tent." - That was the voice of Denis, his usual morning message. She hardly got out of her tent and slowly proceeded to Denis's. When she got there, there were about 2 thousand people standing there, cuddling close with each other for warmth. She had nearly collapsed from starvation two times while making her way from the assembly point. No surprise - best Denis could offer to the refugee camp as food was 500 gramms of bread per day if you could even call it bread- it was a mix of powder, paper, and pretty much everything the people could find in the snowy wasteland. Once they had assembled, Denis had begun his roll call. Each time Denis walked up onto the stage, Naomi wondered how this old man who ate much less than average person in the zone was still standing, let alone climbing up the stairs. You could see Denis's skull through his skin - it felt like a thin layer of leather wrapped around a solid carcass of bone. Yet, you could still see life in his eyes. You could tell that inside that graying head was determination and cognitive ability on a leader level. He could still speak, and sound convincing enough for the people enhabiting the refugee zone to not give up on their lives and give in to the embrace of death, cold but not quite as cold as the air they breathed on their daily basis. Once the roll call was over, the people who had assembled were split in groups, each had to take a separate corpse out of tents and burry them. naomi still remembered bawling her eyes out, desperately trying to wake up her parents on that cold morning 17 years ago. By now, she got used to it and considered herself insanely lucky to even wake up in the morning. She wasn't alone - everybody in the zone knew they were an inch away from death. If it weren't from Denis, they would have most likely just given up and collapsed into snow. After the bodies were taken out and burried, the refugee inhabiters proceeded to melt snow. There were no matches, no wood, absolutely nothing for the people in the refugee zone to melt the snow with - they did it with their bare hands. Many people had their arms amputated over the last 37 years. After she was done melting water, Naomi made her way back into her tent, loaf of bread placed under her sweater so it wouldn't solidify from the cold. She returned to her tent, crawled into her sleepbag and closed her eyes. There wasn't really any space for creating an entertainment structure in the camp - the people were satisfied with what they had - really, who cares about providing people with wifi when there's no water, food or fire?

Denis had also returned to his tent. His was a little bigger than some of the others, mostly because it was there that bread had been stockpiled. Throughout the last 37 years, ever since the world had fallen into radio silence, Denis had assumed the role of the leader of what remained from the civilization in the undeveloped wastelands of antartica. He was, to say the least, insanely lucky to have gone to a small undeveloped province when the nukes got launched all over the world. He sat down on his chair and opened his diary.

"Day 13651. 39 dead today, 9016 people remaining, no new refugees. People are still keeping their spirits up, even with no sign of any help coming from the outside. Tried contacting both MoA and Novoblupolia today. Radio silence, as usual."

Denis often thought about the outside world. Did the radiation wear out? Are there any survivers out there? Is everybody he knew actually dead? He didn't know and realized he would probably never know. From what he had heard from antartican refugees, Cetiri was gven the option to evacuate right away, but chose to stay behind and ensure that people would be succesfully evacuated into bunkers in safety. As for Novoblupolia, he had no clue if anything was left of it whatsoever.

Denis then checked on the food supplies. This so-called "bread" was quite difficult to produce, so Denis implemented pretty harsh distribution rules on it. He had to publically hang 2 people who tried to steal bread once. Nightmares were still hunting him. They were hunting everyone. Nevertheless, it was his job to ensure the safety of all the Novoblupolians of MoA. And as Novoblupolians, he viewed all the people who came to his camp seeking shelter from the endless blizzard which had descended on MoA 37 years ago as a result of nuclear winter.

He got up and approached the communication device. He started recording his radio message, yet again.

"Novoblupolian refugee zone in MoA, Denis Fewain speaking. If there are any nations out there please, respond. People here are starving to death and freezing to death on a daily basis, we are in desperate need of help. Please, if you're there, pespond. Please... Please... Don't let all this be for nothing."

As the great trial had concluded, the world had fallen into radio silence. Katrzynija had been reduced to a pile of rubble by missles from all over the world, but the overwhelming majority of them came from Ballistikov. You'd think that if any Katrzynijans had survived, they would make hatred for Ballistikov and all affiliated with it their legacy for all eternity... And you'd be wrong.

Anton Dirkov, a young boy from Katrzynija had often listened to tales of Katrzynijan-Ballistikovian wars. While all the other kids would either be filled with fear or hatred for Ballistikov, Anton was impressed by them. The stories he heard about an army organized to operate swiftly as a machine and execute any order given blew his mind all over again. It was something he considered unbelievably awesome. Needless to say, this attitude of his raised serious concerns among the people around him. But that did not concern Anton. he saw all the demihumans, even himself, to be a mistake of nature. As a teenager, he would often rant to his parents, stating that he'd rather had been born in Ballistikov and live a short life of an honorable soldier of the whote cross than to live a long life full of embarassing the world by the virtue of his existence itself as a discrgraceful demihuman. He oftenly threw such tantrums at school, which eventually got him expelled. The last straw however was his attempt of the princess's life when he threw a bomb filled with poisonous gas to the stage during one of her speeches. The princess had survived, but 8 other people were killed. Anton attempted to shoot himself, but was apprehended by the royal guard before he could reach his gun. In the court, he once again spoke about Ballistikovian supremacy and claimed that he was "a tool of fate to help Ballistikov in it's noble quest of wiping the discraceful mistakes of nature off the planet. The court initially planned to execute him, but decided to instead send him to asylum. The asylum was heavily guarded, over a hundred meters below the earth with walls of titanium. Anton was still in the asylum when he heard two shocked guards speak to each other about the nuclear apocalypse, having no clue what to do. It was then that he decided to act. During lunch, he took the knife he was given and stabbed one of the guards in the throat. As the guard dropped dead, Anton took the guard's gun and shot the other 9 guards dead. He then gave a speech to the other people who were with him in the canteen, and were just as, if not more insane. He rallied people to his cause to fight for eradication of the concept of the Katrzynijan nation as a whole, and as he said "Earn the ballistikovian honor through purification of the land". He took a Ballistikovian-sounding pseudonym "Adolf Metzger" and, along with his fellow "neo-Ballistikovians" exited the prison. He had 26 armed men at his disposal and 491 unarmed followers. Together, they founded what they called "The Ballistikovian brotherhood", an ultranationalist state revolving around the idea of self-eradication. They searched through the land, looking for bunkers with survivors, then they would break into those bunkers, mercilessly killing everybody except for infants under the age of 2 years. Infants were taken in by them and raised as loyal servants of the "Ballistikovian brotherhood".

In a matter of a little more than 30 years, what was once Katrzynija had turned into a nightmare in flesh. Led by their crazy self-proclaimed "Fyurer" Adolf Metzger, they turned the nation into a totalitarian cult of self destruction. Of all the nations that had fallen into radio silence, The Ballistikovian brotherhood, in fact, was glad to have no contact with the outside world. They would remain in a state of radio silence willingly. it was the end for Katrzynija. And the end was not concieved in the nation dying out, what happened to them was far worse.

The nation had lost it's sanity.

It seemed like a yet another dull morning in Taubenhügel. Gunther woke up and checked the clock. It was 4 AM. He still had an hour before the bus would come and pick him up and get him to the factory. He put on his working uniform and went to the bus stop. He still had about 20 minutes before the bus would arrive, so he decided to take a look around. It was at that moment that he noticed something - where were the patrols? Usually, at least two people in governmental black uniforms would approach him on his way to the bus stop to scan his ID, but this time...

Soon, his co-worker, Arnold, pulled up to the bus stop as well. Gunther and Arnold were pretty close friends. They never spoke to each other at work, but the long bus ride all the way from a small puny village nobody cares about to the industrial center of a region took about 5 hours and was hella dull, so the only way for the workers to entertain themselves was to either sleep, fantasize or speak to each other.

"Say, Arnold" - said Gunther, double checking there was nobody nearby. - "Where are all the patrols?"

"Wish I could tell ya, Gunther" - said Arnold, stewing his cigar - "From what I've heard, they had some kinf of emergency announced this night, so all of the forces were pulled to the center of the region."

"That would in fact make sense" - Gunther thought to himself. Given that Taubenhügel was a small and unimportant village, so small and unimportant in fact that it wasn't labeled on 90% of Ballistikovian maps, it came as no surprise that forces would get relocated to the center in a situation of emergency. Gunther didn't really wish to go far into that. "It's probably just another demonstration of force on the population again" - he thought then. - "Nothing extraordinary for our nation.". He calmed down for a while and didn't really worry about it.

When he did begin to worry was when the bus didn't show up on time. Given the iron organization of ballistikov's industrial sector, every part of it had to operate percisely. Workers who were late to work would, to say the least, get into trouble. Minutes passed, but the bus wasn't coming. Both Gunther and Arnold began to panic a little - did they miss the bus? Did their clocks havve the wrong time? If the bus was broken, government would have sent another one right away, unless... They both looked at each other.

"Gunther..." - said Arnold after taking a deep breath, - "Something is wrong." Gunther and Arnold looked at each other, confused. Hours went by, no sign of a bus in sight. Gunther and Arnold didn't leave the bus stop, both fearing to get in trouble with the government, so Gunther tried to phone his wife... there was no connection.

"Arnold, my phone has no connection, what the bloody hell is happening today? Is this some kind of a government project to check if we follow instructions against all odds? What the bloody hell are we supposed to do?"

It was at this moment that they saw a car heading their way, but it was coming from the opposite side - the side on which the returning buses came to the village. A man with a shocked expression on his face stepped out of the car, holding a camera in one hand, cane in another. He approached the two men, who had already recognized him.

"Hans!" - said Gunther in an inpatient tone - "What the bloody hell is happening today? There is no bus to pick us up, the communication is down, and patrols still haven't returned!"

Hans handed Gunther a camera, his hands shaking. "They... they won't come back... ever..." - Hans said, his voice shaking. Gunther turned on the camera, and almost dropped it from shock. In the photos in the gallery, there was a nuclear explosion mushroom cloud above the Gmundorf province capital.

Neither Gunther, nor Arnold could believe what they were seeing. The three men soon assembled the population of the entire village, about four thousand people, at the main square and told them the news. Some people were confused, some were in disbelief, many were in an internal panic. One man from the crowd shouted : "What the bloody hell are we going to do? Whose orders do we follow? We are a workforce - we need orders, dangit! If we don't recieve any orders - we'll freakin' die!"

Panic took over the crowd, many started screaming in panic, some collapsed on the ground from shock. It was in this chaos that a young man climbed up on the stage and turned on the microphone.

"If - if I may?" - he said with a shaking, unconfident voice. he adjusted his glasses and took out a napkin to clean sweat from his forehead. "My name is Wilhelm Engel and I... I actually studied at the political cafedra in the capital and I was on my second year - one year away from becoming the nationalist party recruit, I... I-I know a th-thing or two about ruling the nation..."

"Can you temporarily take on the role of the supreme leader?" - Gunther asked - "Please! Please I beg you! We can't sustain ourselves! We are no more than tools! Without orders, we'll slowly die out! Please!" Gunther kneeled in front of Wilhelm, so did the entire crowd, crying out chaotically: "Be Our Leader! Be our Leader!"

"I-I, uh..." -Wilhelm was seemingly embarassed to see the crowd kneeling in front of him like that. His whole life he was taught that he was a nobody and that his only purpose was to commit to the party and to the state. - "I... while I.. I do know the basics of running the nation, y-yes, b-but, unlike the supreme leader Samuel, who had alway known what was best for us better than we did ourselves, I... I know nothin about it... So. uhh... Maybe,.. maybe I COULD temporarily assume leadership until order is restored in the centers, but... m-m-maybe... maybe you guys could tell me what you want so I could d-do my j-job b-b-better?"

He kept speaking, stuttering almost every word, sounding extremely unconfident, but the villagers were desperate. "Ok! Good! We WILL tell you what we want, just please, please give us orders! Now!"

Wilhelm took a deep breath. He tried to focus and act as skeptical as he possibly could. "A-alright." - he said - "You all, uh... look pretty tired, right? I uh- I suppose you should all go to sleep now and uh... I dunno, get some well-needed nap, or stuff."

The villagers instantly headed home, so did Wilhelm. He felt etremely nervous and couldn't sleep all night. The next morning he assembled the people and asked them what jobs they are good at and who they would like to work as. Aware that without the federal support there would soon be no food left, Wilhelm assigned abut a hundred people to work on the farm. He soon distributed all the jobs that were necessary for the city to sustain itself, asking the villagers if he was right on doing something every step of the way, terrified at the thought of giving an order that would make things worse. The next morning he was even more tired and had almost collapsed on the stage. He then asked the villagers if they could possibly select a few people who knew things about farming, architecture and science and etc. who could help him out in ruling the city. A small vinnage-running comitee was assembled to help Wilhelm give orders to the village. The villagers referred to Wilhelm as "the supreme leader", but Wilhelm felt very awkward about it, and ordered the villagers to simply call him "Mr. Engel". He was in a position of an absolute dictator, but he couldn't do a single step in running the village confidently without the help of the village defense comitee. He soon started giving more and more power to the village-running comitee to lay off the pressure from himself, eventually leaving himself as no more that a figurehead of the village.

It was a wondeful sunny morning in Taubenhügel Gunther and his grandson were peacefully walking down the street, Gunther was telling his gandson, Wilhelm, who he had named after the supreme leader, how things used to be, and how everything changed drastically in one day. Then his Grandson said: "Grandpa, I've recentely read an old book about what other countries used to be like. Tell me - is our village what was labeled in the book as "western degeneracy"?

Gunther stayed silent for a minute, thinking about everything that had led up to this happy day when he could be simply enjoying a walk in the park with his grandson, not fearing getting arrested for a slip of a tongue, having a high enough pension to afford ice cream for himself and his son every time he would go on a walk with him.

"No, Willy." - He said, a happy smile on his face - "This, what we have right now, is not a western liberal degeneracy. This is not a fascist dictatorship, either. As far as I know...

As far as I know, this is just good ol' Taubenhügel. Simply a nice place to be."

Thomas could tell this was no usual dream that he had that night. First of all, the moment he moved his hand without feeling it, he realized he was sleeping. This wouldn't be the first lucid dream in a while, either. He woould often have dreams where he would relieve all of those bloody battles during the black league assaults, standing in the middle of the battleground, walking through piles of still warm corpses and bloodstained fresh snow on the mountain. This dream of his, however, was different. He found himself standing in one of the streets of pre-war Horsk, the once prosperous city which the nuclear war had reduced to no more than a memory. He walked down the street, as if he had feltsomeone calling out for him from far away. Eventually, he could hear that voice loud and clear, not from up aheda, but from the side. It was a gentle, composed voice of a man in his early 40s with a generous and serious official tone.

"Thomas." - the voice than said. Thomas turned his head to where the voice was. He saw a silhouette behind a white curtain of one of the windows. "Thomas, the time has come." - the voice said, as the silhouette had turned face to face with Thomas.

"What time?" - Thomas asked, both confused and curious. - "Time for mme to kick the bucket or anything?"

"No, though I'm surprised to hear you asking me of such a thing without any fear in your voice whatsoever." - responded the voice. - "I'm talking about your time. And by "your", I'm talking about not just you, but all of the people who stand with you."

"Our time? Our time for what? I kindly request you get straight to the point." - Thomas said, showing a little amount of impatience in his voice.

"The time to save the republic, just like I once did." - With that, the silhouette pulled the curtain aside, revealing itself to be none other than Douglas Edward Henrison. Douglas then stepped out of the window, passing through the glass like a ghost and walking up to Thomas. "Care to share a walk with me?" - Douglas kindly said, as he himself proceeded to walk down the street and Thomas followed.

"You will go through hell when you wake up Thomas, so consider this to be the calm before the storm. The black league os about to launch their final all-out assault on your base. This will be the battle to decide the fate of our republic, the decisive battle in the war for Novoblupolia's soul."

The two men walked down the street, both enjoying the peaceful atmosphere around them. It was a dark night, the stars were shining in the sky.

"But... aren't you just a part of my imagination? You only exist in my brain, don't you?" - Said Thomas with somewhat concern.

"Of course I am" - replied Douglas, chuckling a little. - "A part of not just you, but all the Novoblupolians out there. And this is, in fact, the way I've learned of their plans and why I've come here to alert you. Nobody is ever really gone, Thomas."

"I see..." - Said Thomas, thinking about what is to come. Douglas could see Thomas right through and responded to Thomas before he could even ask his question: "Thomas, you will win this. I know you will, even though the future is unaccesible to me. When you fend them off, don't let them run away. Chase them. Purge them from Novoblupolian land. March all the way from the northern mountains to the southern beaches, stretch the true Novoblupolian republic from north to south, and then..."

Thomas could hear his alarm clock, he knew he was about to wake up, The dream universe, his surroundings began to fade away.

"And then what?" Thomas asked while he could still figure out Douglas's silhouette.

"Break... Radio... Silence..." - those were the last words Thomas could hear before he got up from his bed. He quickly put on his military costume and ignited his lightsaber, he knew what was about to happen any minute now...

The only thing he thought to himself as he stepped out of his tent was:

"It is time."

It was late evening, horses were galloping across the wasteland. Shots could occasionally be heard from a distance far away. A group of about a hundred horsemen were riding through the praire of what once used to be the territory of the GPC, each one with a gun behind his back, bridle in one hand, curved saber in another. But that was the only similarity one could tell between them- each of them had different clothes, different haircut, different backpack, pretty much different everything. Even horses were galloping at different speed,which occasionally led to the whole group looking like a chaotic mess of horse feet and swinging sabers. Eventually, they arrived to a small partially destroyed house. One of them jumped down from his horse and smashed the door of the house open, and, after firing a shot into the air, charged inside, so did everybody else. They found the house to be completely empty on first glance.

"Oi fellas, imma freakin'.. uhh... examine that cupboard ova there!" - one of them said, as he went to the corner of the room and opened the cupboard. A grin appeared on his face as he opened it. - "Oi everyone, you ain't gonna freakin' believe this!" - With that, he took out two bottles of wine out of the cupboard and happily demonstrated it to others.

The entire crowd of the men instantly dashed towards the cupboard. The charged there so fast in fact that one guy who was running ahead of others accidentally stumbled and fell on the floor. Nobody noticed him and the stempede broke all of his ribs and crushed his skull. The men ran towards the cupboard and each took as many bottles as he possibly could. In a matter os two hours, each and every single one of them was drunk beyond the point of pink elephants. Two of them got shot by other two on accident, one of them accidentally sliced other's belly open and mistook the blood for wine, drinking as much as he could until he poisoned himself and died suffering. Five of them were dancing on the table, another six were singing soung loudly, not paying attention to the notes whatsoever. One of them tried to calm everybody else down, to which others responded by tying him to a chair and playing darts, which ended fatally for the poor guy. In two more hours, they had pretty much all fallen asleep, about ten of them were dead.

The next morning each woke up at different time, those who had woken up earlier tried to loot the dead bodies, but two of them confused living bodies with the dead ones and got shot on the spot. One of them decided to get out and breathe some fresh air, but forgot that he was on the second floor and fell down, snapping his neck.

In about 5 hours, they had all assembled and got up on their horses. They had heard from one of the guys they had captured two days ago there were ruins of a village with several survivors nearby, and for the horsemen, that phrase of his had just screamed looting. They headed to the village, not a single shred of moral doubt or fear in their eyes. The post-apocallyptic wasteland was their domain, after all. All th people who had weapons were quick to join them, eliminating any chance of resistance from other survivors. They, the black army, were the only thing you could consider a power to be reckoned with in this post-nuclear war anarchy in the GPC.

One of the horsemen took out his binoculars, He could see smoke from afar. His objective was set with that sight. His horse galloping through the endless wasteland, his only thought being: "Mother anarchy loves her sons. No gods, no masters - we ride on."

G-48 was woken up by the morning bell, the sound of which could be heard across the entire Gulag. He quickly made his bed (or whatever this sandbag the prisoners of the camp slept on could be considered) and rushed outside to make it in time for the morning roll call. He knew very well what would happen to those that would fail to shout "here!" after hearing their prisoner code during the morning routine process. After the roll call was over, the NKWD (National Komissariat of Wubdich's Defense) officer would send the prisoners on their daily labour work. G-48 had already lost count of what day it was, there were no calendars or even clocks in the Gulag. All there was were the communist propaganda posters encouraging the viewers to hunt down and destroy all the possible traitors of the revolution. G-48 himself was occasionally trained in cold-bloodness, having him strapped to a chair in such a way that the only part of his body he could move was the hand placed on the trigger of a gun pointing towards a boy of about ten to twelve years of age, who was sentenced to death for "getting into the way of our brave and courageous comrades in the NKWD at their work". Needless to say, by the whole "getting into the way" they simply avoided saying "crying and pleading the NKWD officers to not shoot their parents". This kind of psychological endurance test would happen as soon as the NKWD would discover a new bunker with survivors in the wasteland. Be it men, women, children, old people, or even infants, nobody would be spared. G-48, had he lived at least 50 years earlier, would look at all of the unfolding events in complete and utter horror and disgust for such immoral and terrible acts under the creed of "defending the revolution". But for the time preiod he happenedd to be living it, these things were perfectly normal. The very concept of sanity and feelings was withering away day by day as everybody in the camp would become less of humans and more of robots.
These attrocities wouldn't be the only concerns of the population of the camps. every once in a while, the most brainwashed and robot-like prisoners would be taken out of their cells, given an empty riffle and sent off to fight what the NKWD officers called "Traitorous revisionary liberal rebel scum", but from what G-48 would hear from the NKWD living rooms which were near his cell, these rebels were actually an organized nation called "South Wubdich revolutionary liberation front" and were also socialists. Liberal socialists, that is. In fact, he had even seen what the rebels looked like. They once had two rebels brought into the camp, tied to wooden polls as targets for shooting practice for the NKWD officers. The corpses would usually only be considered to have expired as shooting practice targets when the disgusting smell became unbearable even for the officers who were wearing masks, which were wearing masks that were upposed to neutralize the smell.
It was lunch time. G-48 was served the usual meal as everyday - sawdust porrige. There was no other food, so all the prisoners ate it up quickly. There would occasionally occur small fights for food as hunger would drive prisoners insane, with all the participants of such fights getting shot on spot by the NKWD officers.
That day, the task was pretty easy for the group to which G-48 was assigned. They simply had to polish the boots of all the NKWD officers running the camp by licking the boots with their tongues (even the lower parts).
The day ended with an evening roll call and one of the prisoners getting burnt alive in front of the others for failing to attend the roll call on time. Nothing that would cause G-48 to react in any specific way. With an expression of an absolute absence of all emotion on his face, he simply climbed onto the level on which his sleeping sandbag was located and went to sleep. It was a yet another completely ordinary day, full of things that were usual here, in the Gulag.
As G-48 went to sleep, he couldn't help but think of those rebels in the south - what even are they? What is liberty and justice, love and hope that those two rebels mentioned before they were executed? In particular, the word "hope" was what caught his attention. The way the female rebel talked about it, it seemed as if this "hope" thing was the most precious thing in the world...
"What is hope?" - G-48 thought - "And is there any hope for all of us here? Mayb-"
But at this moment, he could feel a loud "BANG!" in his left ear, as he could also feel something heavy enter his head at a lrage impact speed. In a moment, there were no more thoughts and no more feelings in G-48. It was no longer G-48. From that moment, it was simply "Prisoner corpse №49172".
Maybe there was hope, maybe there wasn't. G-48 for fact, would never know.

A female demihuman in grey armor and a mask covering her nose and mouth was riding through the wasteland on her horse, looking for anything she could put to use at her base. Her boyfriend meanwhile was staying at the base, taking a nap. He had just finished his night shift and was beyond exhausted. It was two months since the two of them woke up from their anabiosis in this postapocalyptic wasteland that was once their empire. What shocked them even more was that they were woken up not by their servants, but by seemingly insane people who immediately pointed their guns at them and attempted to shoot them dead. They would have gotten killed if Nadia hadn't used her magic on a nearly instinct level, for she was still partially unconscious moments after waking up.

They wandered through the wasteland for hours until they found an abandoned hangar of air forces, which they immediately proceeded to make into their hideout. Over the last two months, they had both been exploring the nearby lands. They learned the painful truth - the very concept of their once prosperous empire had been annihilated by a massive cultist band of psychopaths who praised Ballistikov and were now on a quest to kill everyone they considered unworthy to live.

Nadia then stumbled upon a large fenced area, which had signs prohibiting anybody to enter. Needless to say, she jumped right over the fence and began exploring the fenced area.

"Hey, look! Over there!" - someone shouted from afar. Nadia hid in the bushes the moment she heard those voices, and held her breath as two people in uniforms they seemingly desperately tried to make look at least a little bit like Ballistikov ones.

"You sure you saw something over here?" - one of them asked the other - "I mean, we ARE the blessed subtype of Katrzynijans, but even our eyes could fail us. After all, the supreme leader said that everybody is willing to destroy us, even we ourselves - that is why we must be extremely careful not to lend these pesky bodies take over our minds."

"These guys are insane" - Nadia thought to herself, once again reasserting her opinion on whatever the hell this cultist organization was. - "I wonder what are they doing here though." She took a breath as quietly as possible and continued to listen to the conversation of the guards.

"So, when will it be built?" - one of the armed people asked the other - "I'm dying to finally meet the gods, dangit!"

"Patience, buddy. The leader says we oughta be patient. Patient is part of the organization, and when it will come to meeting the gods, organization is everything." - The other responded in an insane, but also calm tone. - "The rocket will most likely be fixed in next several months, so for the time being we gotta prepare to meet the true ballistikovians, for those gods won't hesitate to vaporixe all those unworthy of their pressence."

With each word Nadia was getting more and more mad at them. When she was princess, her subjects would fight the Ballistikovian fascists bravely and swear loyalty to her. Now, all that remained of her people were these madmen. Eventually, fter several more praises of Ballistikov, she snapped. Literally. She jumped right out of the bushes, made a flip in the air, grasping on of the armed psychos' head and snapping his neck while she was still performing the spin in the air. At the same time, she kicked the other guy in the throat. After landing, she took out a knife and sliced his throat open. Alarm went off the moment she stood up. She could hear a large amount of more psychopaths heading her way. Without wasting any more time, she ran towards the fence and jumped over it. While she was jumping, she could feel one of the bullets enter her leg. Although in huge pain, she had grit her teeth and jumped back on her horse, leaving for her base.

While on her way back, she took time to get the bullet out of her leg with a knife.

"Ballistikovians, huh..." - she thought while riding. - "Those bastards better had all died in that nuclear hotmess. If not..." She stopped for a moment, a horrifying image of something no mind could possibly imagine rolled before her eyes. - "If not... then... Well, I'm afraid to even try to imagine what kind of nightmarish monster hell Ballistikov is right now."

Meanwhile, in Taubenhügel, a flower store owner was apoligizing to an old lady for not helping her cross the road any sooner.

It was getting darker. Svetlana could see the orange and red colors of sunset coming from afar. She held her riffle tightly in her hand. This could be the end. NKWD liquidation patrol was heading towards their base with an intent to once and for all wipe out all that remained of the Wubdich's former government, the last lifeboat of the true revolution was about to sink in the storm of war. For decades they had fought against those brutal and heartless Stalinists, they had fought even though there was no hope for them to win, but they wanted to believe that there was. It was that desperate belief and burning desire for freedom for the revolution that kept them going. She closed her eyes for a moment to look back at all those battles between the NKWD and the resistance - the true Wubdich, the one ran by what had remained of the council of the people. Is this how liberty will die?

"One thing's for sure" - she thought to herself, loading her riffle as she saw the group of NKWD soldiers appear on the horizon - "The torch of the revolution won't be put off until the last breath of the last resistance fighter is taken."

She could see the NKWD officers take out their megaphones to adress the resistance base.

"Fellow Wubdichans! You've fought bravely, but alas, none can stand against the Legacy of Yagoda's and Stalin's red revolution. Surrender now and you'll be trialed fairly. It would be a shame if we had to wipe the floor with all of you. Now is your last chance to save your dignity." - said the NKWD propagandist. Svetlana could hear someone shouting at the NKWD officers, telling them to "go eat s***".

"So be it" - said the propagandist, and handed over the megaphone to a man in an officer uniform. The man in the uniform then raised his hand as he moved the megaphone closer to his mouth. "On the count of three, open fire! Wipe that base of the face of the planet! For the revolution! One..."

"This is it" - Svetlana thought. She had already acceoted the fact that the hour of her demise had come. At the very least, she would die with honor, fighting side by side with her comrades in the defense of freedom and the one true revolution they all believed in.

"Two..." - The officer prepared to swing his hand down and order the atack. - "O-" - And that's when he stopped. He saw something in the sky. A huge amount of something heading his way. He used his binoculars to take a closer look. As he took a closer look however, his jaw dropped. He tried to say something, but couldn't. He was shocked by what he saw. "F-f- f! Open Fi-" - he tried to say, but he couldn't finish his sentence, as one of those objects in the sky shot a bullet that went right through his skull.

Meanwhile, the commander at the base of the resistance was just as shocked. His radio - the radio which had been silent for over 40 years, it caught a signal coming from the objects! The silence was over at last! But it was what he heard that truly shocked him. It shocked pretty much everybody who listened to the audio message in disbelief:

"Fear not, Wubdichans. The Stalinists may outnumber you, but we are on your side. This will not be the end for you, for even in the darkest times..."

The objects were getting closer and closer. Those weren't simply objects - those were military airships, and not just some random military airships. On the carcass of the planes, a flag was waving, a flag they never thought they'd see again - A red flag with half a gear and atomic orbits coming out of it.

"For even in the darkest times, when it seems that all hope is lost, the revolution endures."

Music: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Ra5ZNNTpf10