Chapter 2: War

One Day at a Time (Andrew)

Thursday, January 15, 2253; 10:00 A.M.

Camp Recovery, OS; 50W, 50S

It was just another average day. At 8:00 I woke up, got breakfast ready, ate, went to the toilet, and got ready for work. No sooner had I put up my sign than an old man stopped by to get his toaster fixed. It had an old spring that needed replacement, so all I had to do was find one among my stockpile of various metal parts. There was a whole bunch in a box, but only one that fit. I made a mental note to stop by the hardware store on Sunday. Quickly popping out the old spring and replacing it with the working one took about ten minutes. The old man sure was happy. He said that the toaster had been acting strangely for a week now, but today the toaster just didn't work. As he left, he dropped five dollars in my hand. I said that it was free, but he insisted. He chuckled and said that money wasn't useful where he was going. I kind of frowned and smiled at the same time. That old man sure had a sense of humor about death.

But he was the only customer so far. I languished on my front step, tinkering with some spare parts. I was trying to make a working radio, but I was missing the wires that received the radio waves. I didn't have any of those in my spare parts bin. That's when Ms. Hakari stopped by. She smiled brightly and asked if I wasn't too busy. Of course, I was never too busy for her…Anyway; she asked me to help her repair her radio, which was on the fritz again. Like I said, I'm never too busy to help her…

First Strike

Thursday, January 15, 2253; 10:05 A.M.

OS-RS border; 100W, 50S

A young guard sat quietly at his little guard station. He intently analyzed the daily paper. There was nothing better to do anyway. The young man came from the OS Border Patrol camp, 60 miles east of his location. His eye saw something flash red in the distance. He turned his head to look at the sight. What he saw made his eyes bug and he fell backwards on his chair, falling to the ground. He grasped his radio and frantically fumbled with the frequency. He stammered and bubbled with fear as the approaching tank filled his vision. The Red Star tank fired.

Shattered Peace (Andrew)

Ms. Hakari's radio is an antique. She got it from one of the rummage sales Recovery holds often. It's about 6" by 4", and about 3" tall. Not very big and contained simple wiring. I couldn't see anything wrong on the outside, and on the inside, everything appeared to be fine. I took it outside to my porch to fiddle around with it. It took me about five minutes to figure out the speakers were busted and rust had inhabited most of the metal parts. But the wires that received the radio signals were pretty intact. I thought for a bit, pondering whether to replace the damaged parts or take the wires and use them on my radio. I asked Ms. Hakari if it was okay to use the wires on my radio and give that one to her. She nodded, her bright green eyes filled with curiosity. I carefully removed the wires and hooked them up to the patchwork radio I had made. Instantly music from the nearby city station came clearly out of the radio. I smiled, realizing that I should've saved the batteries for last. I picked up my little contraption, which turned out to be a little larger than her old one, and handed it to her. She would've taken it, if not for what came out of the box next.

"This is reporter Daniel Walsh, reporting live for OSNC! We are under attack! I repeat we are under attack! Red Star tanks and planes have attacked our outlying bases and!"

The man's desperate voice was silenced by a deafening explosion. Static filled the air.

"…No way…That's not possible!" I stammered, carefully setting down the radio. I shook at the thought of a tank shell ripping that poor reporter to pieces. I saw it so vividly this time—I thought I had purged my memory of my nightmares. S.

Shattered Peace (Hakari)

Mr. Andrew quietly set down the radio. He shook and rocked back and forth on the lawn.

"Um…Mr. Andrew? Are you going to be okay?" He seemed to not hear me. I spoke a little louder, tapping his shoulder. "Mr. Andrew?"

He looked up at me as I said that. His face was contorted, almost inhuman as he tried to stop tears and a scream from exploding from his body. I saw in his eyes that something was hidden deep in his soul—something that should be let free. He pointed, and covered his mouth. I saw only a house where his finger was pointing to, but I smelled the fresh vomit on the lawn. My house had a phone. I ran inside and called the police.

10:30 A.M.

Recovery Hospital

Mr. Andrew lay in a sterile spring bed. There was a needle in his arm attached to a bag of fluid. The nurse said that it was called an IV, which would send nutrients directly to his bloodstream. The nurse said it would be okay for me to watch him for about five more minutes, but then I would have to leave so the doctor could check up on him. Currently the doctor was checking on an old man who was having heart attack.

"Hakari…?" Andrew's eyes opened slowly. His voice indicated he was tired. He rasped out another word, then two more short ones: "Where…am…I?"

"You're in the hospital. You collapsed and threw up. I was worried." Somehow that last part came out funny. It was odd, like something you say reflexively. It had no meaning at all.

"Ugh…I…What…" He struggled to get up, but I restrained him. "Weak…can't…move…" He opened and closed his eyes, his breathing heavy. "Fire…Boomboom…Mommy…Daddy…they're…"

He grasped by sleeve, bringing me closer. I felt uncomfortable; his eyes had a glazed, scared look.

"Andrew…" He let go of my sleeve and drifted off to sleep. I gently slipped his arm over his chest, and left as the doctor entered.

Home felt cold. I picked up my book next to the picture of my family. I flipped through the familiar pages, hoping to find some of the warmth that the book once gave me. The story unfolded in my mind as the pages flipped by.

"Upon a plain, surrounded by bountiful farmland and a quiet forest, there was a splendid and majestic city. The people in the city were of all different shapes, sizes, and had many different cultures. They would gather together in the market or the city square and be merry.

But the world they lived in would not be as joyous as they were. A dark cloud of destruction broiled outside, created by one of the great demons of the time: The Demon Azrael. The demon Azrael sent the cloud everywhere, and it caused great despair and pain to those it touched.

The demon Azrael then set its sights upon the majestic city. But he saw the different peoples in the city. He decided that he would have some fun with these different people. He took a piece of his existing cloud and shaped it together with the despair, pain, and suspicion from the things he had destroyed. He then blew the puff of cloud over the city.

The people never noticed the dark cloud arrive. They still chatted jovially and simply wondered if it would rain. After all, the outside world had never before contacted such an isolated city. They never knew of the dangers the cloud possessed.

Over time, the cloud grew very little, feeding off of small incidents that were quickly resolved. A bit of anger there, a dash of sadness here, in one month the cloud had grown about one millimeter all around. Too slow for Azrael.

Azrael stirred his deepest, darkest powers and poured his malice into his new dark cloud. Lightning and thunder and rain and cold were poured down upon the majestic city. People fled in fear. They would cower and cry and pray and despair. The Azrael smiled and laughed at their hopelessness.

But then a ray of light pierced the cloud. The Azrael was shocked that such a preposterous thing could happen. What was this amazing miracle?"

I stopped there. The rest of the pages were faded or gone. But I could see part of the next picture. Two people stood beside each other, as the light surrounded them. I sat quietly, wondering how the story would end. The noon sun shone brightly overhead. But I felt as if the sun would never rise again.

The next day, the President of Orange Star declared war upon the nation of Red Star.