It's good to be back writing again. I don't own Advance Wars, yadda yadda yadda. It's a prologue, it doesn't reveal much and it might leave you wondering what's going on or what will happen, but I hope you enjoy it anyway. Remember to review, or ninjas will rip off your arms and laugh at you! And believe me, that isn't fun!

KOTS

In a darkened cell a man was sitting silently. Well... it was probably a man. Sergeant Smith of the Allied Nations Military Police Force was never truly sure. He would watch as the wretched creature would sit, immobile, for hours at a time – posture nonexistent, limbs thrown out in awkward positions – before bursting out in maniacal and throaty laughter accompanied by short staccato mumblings: "Insignificant... Mine... Everything... Take!" The loss of the man's mythic throne had wreaked havoc upon his body, and the subsequent incarceration had apparently affected his mind on a similar scale. Even if he had started out as a human, he no longer had any vestige of humanity about him.

Von Bolt.

Smith brought up the power on the lights to check on his high-profile prisoner, and watched as the ancient warrior lifted a spoonful of soup to his wrinkled lips and slurped noisily. A red trail dribbled out of the corner of the misshapen mouth, and although Smith could reason with himself and know that it was only tomato soup, it was hard to resist the mental image of blood dripping from the mouth of the man who had nearly devoured all of Wars World. He shuddered, and shook his head to try and think more clearly. Turning back down the lights, Smith convinced himself that Von Bolt posed no threat to anyone, anymore, and that the deterioration of his body would soon cause his final exit from the world. Smith kicked back in the plush leather chair (amazing, how the soldiers' quality of life improved when no funds had to be diverted to the construction of bombers and megatanks!) and prepared himself for a long night of viewing security monitors.

Von Bolt chuckled softly to himself, knowing that his feebleness was precisely what the guard had been ruminating on at that particular moment. It had been a difficult task to fake his own insanity for so long, and he could feel the physical toll that time was taking on his body now that the Black Crystals could no longer combat its endless forward march. Even if his body was weak, his mind was still strong, he gloated to himself. Soon, he would have a second chance to show the world what the Bolt Guard and their omnipotent leader were capable of.

As they had so many times over the last few days, his eyes wandered over to the only item on the small table provided inside of his cell. The piece of paper had the five hundred and forty-eight tally marks that he had daily scratched out upon it in a pencil borrowed from the guard: one and a half years, to the day, of isolation and imprisonment in this hellhole after the destruction of the Grand Bolt. It was joined by his soup spoon, which glinted as it caught the low-power fluorescent lights that illuminated the isolation ward of the prison. Von Bolt idly rotated the spoon, allowing the light to play over all of its surface. He stopped as the spoon reached the precise angle to the light to highlight the letters laser-etched subtly into its surface. "Retrieval at D+3, 0000 hours. Glory to Bolt! – K." It would only be three days more before he would leave the allied fools behind and lead a new army to reconquest and succeed where his subordinates had previously failed. Kindle had failed him in the past, but this prison was hardly a major army base. She would be well prepared for any pitiful defense the guards might muster.

Bolt grinned a demon's grin in the darkness.

In a darkened room a man was crouching silently. Quite a few men, in fact, and a few women as well. The leader, a thick and muscular behemoth hardened by years of combat, glanced down at his digital watch, the only light source visible to the hidden soldiers. He fingered the compact metallic cylinder in his left hand impatiently before glancing again at the wristwatch. The sound of footsteps outside made its way muffled through the closed door to the room, and the leader tensed up slightly. It was followed by the click of a door's unlocking. The leader nodded to his compatriots in the faint glow of the watch display, and prepared to depress the button on the cylinder, aiming towards the even now opening door.

Two dark silhouettes were framed in the doorway, unwittingly entering the trap. As the leader leaped out from behind his piece of furniture and fired, the lights came on and the previously silent room was full of screaming and pandemonium.

The lights illuminated, in addition to the two victims, the banner hanging across the chamber, reading "HAPPY ANNIVERSARY EAGLE AND SAMI," (the former of whom was now covered in a nearly-fatal quantity of silly string, the latter racked with laughter at his appearance while still shaking off the shock of the ambush) and also the well-wishers who under Max's direction had planned and waited for this moment for hours.

"Surprise!" Andy shouted as he bounded forward to give Sami a hug and shake hands with his former arch-rival. Max ambled forward as well, grinning, to help Eagle remove the mess that Max had so recently created from his face and clothing. The others made small talk among themselves as they waited for their chance to migrate through the crowd and issue their congratulations to the happy couple.

"Married a whole year... An' I thought Eagle'd never last a month o' Sundays with any landlubber lass, not to mention a Yank."

"What's a Yank, dude?"

"Somewhat derogatory term for an Orange Star citizen. Analogous to 'redneck,' but with different regional connotations."

"Ah object t'the use of 'redneck,' Your Highness. We've got a long 'n' honorable history of farmin' in Orange Star, and the sunburns ain't made a lick of difference in our intelligence."

"Orange Star? B-b-but I thought you were always a loyal son of Blue Moon!"

"Brother, you need to study your military history more. We're the only two COs that are actually from Blue Moon."

"S-s-sorry, Sis. I've still got a lot to learn."

"Where's the cake at? I created the candles for it myself! Tee hee!"

"I have a bad feeling about anything that combines Lash and fire..." Rachel said playfully while smiling at Jess. Jess nodded back with a slightly more frightened smile; the two had become roommates after Jess began Lash's lessons in etiquette, and Jess had remained with Lash since, dealing with the messes of many of Lash's... unique... military applications. Before she could continue her conversation with Jess, Rachel felt a tap on her shoulder and turned to see her older sister had been standing behind her. Nell leaned in close to whisper, and Rachel's merry demeanor became serious as she realized something was up.

"I don't want to spoil the party, Sis, but we finally have information on the position of what Intel believes is the Bolt Guard's stronghold. It looks like they have significant defenses set up, and we can't rule out the possibility that they still possess Black Crystal or Oozium technology. Tomorrow morning, I want you to begin coordinating troop movements to surround their base and put us in a better bargaining position, so maybe we can force them to surrender without fighting them at all."

"Tomorrow? Why not tonight, since it's such an important mission?"

"Because the troops are already in the landers, but won't be across the sea for at least another 24 hours. Besides..."- and now Nell smirked- "Tonight you have a chance to spend some relaxed time with a certain handsome young commander," she said with a wink.

"Jake and I aren't..." Rachel blushed. "We don't... I mean... you know..."

"Who said anything about Jake?" Nell asked with a knowing smile. "I sure didn't say who it was." Rachel blushed more, but Nell was looking serious again.

"Rachel, I'm going to be honest with you. You've got to get love while you can, seize the day, things like that. I focused on my job, and I'm happpy with what I've accomplished, but there isn't a single day that I don't wonder how things might have turned out differently..." Nell trailed off. A moment later, though, a twinkle was back in her eye. "Anyway, hodie, carpe amorem. Cras, carpe Kindlem."

"What's that supposed to mean?"
"It means you should pay more attention in Latin, and go talk to Jake. I'll talk to you tomorrow about the logistics for the operation, Rach!"

Nell gave her a brief hug and artfully slipped out of the room, leaving Rachel to stew in her own conflicting emotions. She saw Jake crossing the room to talk to Eagle, and swiftly intercepted him.

"Hey Jake, let's find the sound controls and really get some good music going!"

"Rock!"

In a darkened glade of a forest a man knelt silently. His broad, scarred shoulders were hunched together as he clasped his hands in some sort of prayer or meditation. He wore the rough homespun robe of the religious monks common in those parts, but rather than rocking back and forth in frenzied prayer as they were wont to do, he stayed as still as stone.

The man remained motionless for several hours, contemplating, moving only his lips occasionally, though no sound came out. Even the rise and fall of his muscular chest seemed to have stopped. The sun had set long ago, and the moonlight caught his cleanly shaved head with a smooth glow. The moon continued its slow rise, remaining the only actor in the scene to budge even an inch. Finally, he got to his feet and began the arduous trek through the thick forest back towards the only slightly more civilized Green Earth trading post from which he had fled to find some true peace and solitude. His right eye, brown, scanned the trees for any possible pitfalls as he carefully picked his way across the fallen logs. His left eye, glass, remained fixed straight ahead with its implacable and icy stare. He reached a well-beaten trail and was able to concentrate back on his own thoughts rather than pathfinding.

"Dear, why do you have to pace so much? You're nervous enough for the both of us."

"I am not nervous. I simply do not like entrusting your life to these surgeons, even if they come highly recommended. Risk aversion is a natural quality in decision making."

"I'll be fine. Besides, highly recommended is an understatement. They're the team that worked on Father last year, and that was a much more delicate procedure."

"Hmm."

The soft hoot of a horned owl sounded from somewhere above. It would have been a welcome respite from the nearly constant and monotonous drone of cicadas that pounded through the night air, but this wanderer was too lost in his own thoughts to notice. The early morning hours ticked away as he followed the path back towards civilization.

The surgeons were whispering among themselves, but the conversation was still clearly audible to the observers at the outer edge of the surgical theater.

"Heartrate dropping. She's having an adverse reaction to the implants."

"How could the implants be harmful? Get thirty cc's of diazepam in her, now."

"We've only done the procedure once successfully, and had two failures. I don't think it's wholly unrealistic for there to be unforeseen effects with such a small data sample to work with, and..."

"Less talking, more cutting! Get the implants out, we have to abort this."

"EKG flatlined! I don't think she's going to..."

"We can still save her. Start CPR and get the defibrillator ready."

"But in her state... the shock..."

"She's a strong woman, she can take it."

The midnight blue of the sky, unspoiled by the light pollution of any large cities, was starting to give way to the lighter pastel blue of pre-dawn. No birds were chirping yet, but at least the cicadas seemed to have stopped. His left leg was in agony by now; the break hadn't been clean, and it had never been given a chance to heal properly. The traveler ignored the pain through sheer force of will and continued his silent march down both the forest path and the halls of his own memory.

"No! Please show mercy, my lord!"

"Mercy? Your incompetence has resulted in nothing short of murder."

"We did our best, but it was highly experimental and..."

"No more excuses. You have failed, and the price of your failure will be great."

"I beg your forgiveness, my lord! I'll do anything! I'll..."

The voice cut off and the speaker's face twisted in pain as a powerful hand grasped his throat then shoved him roughly to the floor.

"Take him to the Beta Sector detention center. I never want to see this man's wretched face again."

The man shook his head wistfully as he neared the outskirts of the trading post, the sun peeking up over the roof of the blacksmith's hut. He never did see that man again, but his face still haunted his musings tonight, just as they had every night for the last twenty years. He watched the sun for a few moments as it cleared the blacksmith's and broke free from the horizon to continue its ascent. The cheerful scene before him—villagers getting ready for another day, dogs running about, chickens squawking, children chasing each other, mothers scolding and fathers laughing—contrasted with the pain still in his heart. Last night's meditative sojourn had been the conclusion of twenty years of mourning, and now another twenty could begin.

Review! Fill the form full of flaming fury, or friendly fluff! Do it for the children:)