Hey, y'all. I'm hoping this is relatively quickly put up, compared to the 1-2 gap. Because the cliffhanger is much, much more evil the next time. I hope there's someone out there reading this, at least. I can't know, because one guy has reviewed. Even if you say it sucked, I just want to know you invested five seconds to read the first few words. Thank you, Jose F. for reviewing.

Berlin, Sweat filled hell-hole, 2036

Twenty thousand men can dig. Twenty thousand men can dig a lot. But not nearly enough, as Saddam Achmed's learned, sweat pouring off his brow, shovel in hand. High command had made the decision that the enemy, if it came, was going to be trying for a frontal assault, ergo he was fortifying mainly the west side of Berlin. Earthworks, five foot below, extended a hundred foot from the trenches, themselves twenty foot deep and ten foot wide and lined with steel spokes that pointed outward. These were behind a corresponding twenty foot high wall of earth, able to be rebuilt or demolished at the drop of a hat. However, the defenses weren't complete. Why? Against orders, on his own gut, he'd ordered five thousand men to dig a ten by ten trench around the north and south of Berlin- he remembered his history lessons about the Maginot Line.

By now, the other generals were in their respective cities, enjoying their comforts. General Heinrich Merkel was at this moment in Landau in der Pfalz, and General Adalbert Braun was in Gaggenau, the two leaders of this operation.

Highway, Germany, 2036

"Heinrich Merkel. Born two-thousand, Height six feet, and weight three hundred pounds. It is rumored he bribes the physical examiner to not notice how he can barely even say the word 'push-up' let alone do one. He enjoys pastries, especially cherry pfannkuchen topped with almonds. He always has one with his morning and evening tea, and is serenaded to sleep by the sounds of Bach." He looked up from the bio he'd gotten online, from the CVB secure server, and he got off the taxi, took his motorcycle from off the top of the taxi, and tossed the man the change Ron owed him. He needed a secure place, and a taxi's one place you can encounter a man too crazy to listen to anything you're saying. Sure, you almost die every other second, but if you are trained to ignore screeching metal clashing together, then it's a good place to read classified information. He has a personal butler that goes with him everywhere he goes to prevent someone from murdering him."

Of course, the paranoid were the people who ended up dead the most.

He went after him first, because his death wouldn't be as big a surprise- they say his men have a betting pool on how long it'll take for his heart to give out. The longest time, by the optimist who honestly believed that France was just gearing up for a public works project on the border, was a year. The shortest was the twenty fourth of July, tomorrow; Ron Jr. was out to make someone a wealthy man. The military expedition was launched on the twenty second for one very good reason- then was when France surrendered in World War Two.

Before he could get his motorcycle started, his cell phone rang. A total of two people on the face of the planet knew the number for this secret, secure line. He checked the number and saw it was the one he wanted to hear from.

"Hey baby. How have you been?"

"You know well enough not to call me baby, Ronniekins."

"Ouch. Sorry Jax, sweetie. We're still on for that dinner in Rheims, right honey? You're going to get some actual champagne, from Champagne."

"Now that's the Ronnie I remember. So how's the mission going. Gone insane yet?"

"Yep. I killed three hundred and fifty two people yesterday. Boy, are my hands tired."

"Ha! But seriously, be safe. I always worry about you when you go on these missions. So much can go wrong, every minute. I mean, it's not like you have my healing mutation and can heal from multiple near-fatal bullet wounds."

"Honey, hearing that's all I need. You are my pharaoh; if you say day is night, it shall be written. If you say you need the moon five inches to the left, it shall be done. If you say you need me alive, I shall live. Thus it is written, thus shall it be done."

He paused for a minute and had a brain spark.

"Oh Jax, sweetie, you're going to be in Germany for your summer classes, right? Can you do me a favor? Take the weekend off and head up to Brussels. I'm sure His Majesty won't mind."

His Majesty was her professor for the summer course she was taking- German History. The professor also happened to be her brother- no one else wanted the job of teaching her, no matter how well she paid.

He started his motorcycle and quickly arrived at his destination. He walked to the back of the building, and started walking up the roof. He then set up his sniper's hideout in the corner- in the middle of a tribe of trash-bags, waiting for the perfect opportunity

Finally, night dropped like a hammer. He saw the sickly, tall, and obviously French butler, as was his habit, out for a walk while his master took in the sounds that gave him peace from the voices of his unstable psyche, and temporary relief from his virtually permanent sleep apnea, which woke him up several times a night.

Ron Jr. removed his Remington, made sure the silencer was as safely secure as a babe swaddled in silk, and put it up to his shoulder. He was about two-thousand meters away- roughly fifteen hundred of those straight down. He held his breath for the moment it took him to aim and get the rhythm of Pierre's step. Pierre wandered next to an alley and Ron Jr. squeezed the trigger. He pulled out a plastic glider, unfolded it, and glided over to the next rooftop. Ron then cut an angle sharply down so that he landed right next to Pierre. He took the man into the alley, and, with no small measure of disgust, stripped himself and the other man. He put on Pierre's clothes and gloves, and went in to the man's room.

Day broke, and he heard a bell, which was Pierre's signal to himself to get up. He took the extract out of the backpack he'd brought inside last night, and put it in a small teabag. It soaked in and began to turn pale pink- he covered it up with some food dye and sprinkled a concoction- cocaine and cyanide, just enough cyanide to kill, and enough cocaine for an overdose- in the pastry he baked. He didn't have anywhere near his father's talent, but he was forced to learn for himself on the days when he was out in the wilds on a mission, where you could either fricassee your comrade's remains and have a morbid supper, or die of starvation.

One way or another, Heinrich's days were numbered. The pastry and teacup were sat on a silver dish. At 8:00 exactly, the door opened, and the platter was sat down. He raced outside, picked up his gear, and ran as fast as he could. His motorcycle was the only thing anyone would ever see of him in this town again. The only thing he had to do was stop at a country gas station- Pierre's penguin suit was killing him. He found one that looked like it had been washed in the past century, and stopped. He went inside and paid the five cents to use the bathroom. The bathroom was dirty, but at least there was no visible mold. He took off the monkey suit, and lit it on fire. This was a necessary step; his DNA was plastered all over that. To be fair, the CVB did the same thing at HQ; never was a pair of clothes reused. While he was putting his own gear back on, he pondered the impact of what he'd just done.

That high-profile death would get the country's attention- and Thierry's. They'd agreed that he would pause before Aachen- which was the town he was worried about- if that happened. He'd just made the deadline. He would now race north. A thought struck him. He flipped open his cellphone, and made a call he'd hoped he could avoid making. "Melody, sis. I really need some help here. I need something..."

Reichstag, Berlin, Germany, 2036

Wiglaff Hussein walked up to the guard.

His hair was shiny, black, and slicked back with just a hint of hair gel. His skin was perfumed very lightly, and he was dressed in a tailor-made suit and the highest of high end shoes, with a suitcase to match. He introduced himself, and showed his pass and walked on by. The building was a few hundred meters away, and the board meeting was on the second floor. He chatted up the door guard and laughed at the off-color joke the officer learned from his doctor, and he was buzzed through. He received some more than cursory glances from some women, and gave them some smiles, reassuring them he would see them again soon. He finally managed to board the elevator. The German Chancellor was finally meeting with his generals to discuss the situation. Wiglaff walked in a little late.

He opened up his briefcase, and took out a slip of paper. He began his spiel.

"Hello, Gentlemen. As you may or may not know, I am here to represent the interests of the Islamic constituents in your population. I am also a representative of the People for the Imam's Return. Our primary purpose is to pave the way for his return, and I and my constituents that that can be most easily accomplished in a three phase plan. Number one: Assault China, bastion of anti-religious sentiment, and source of all corruption and inhumanity in the world, and one of the few sources of actual possible resistance to our glorious cause. The U.S. can try, of course, but its threat is virtually nil because of the fuel air bombs that took out New York- they project it shall take fifty more years to pick up the ashes.

Two: Get rid of your corrupt top officals, and support those near the bottom of your governmental structure who should be running it. For forty years now you have had all Germany, a large area, to command. And you have done nothing but try to deny that World War II never happened and let yourselves rest on your laurels during the glory days. The U.S. is not the great Satan. Europe is. It is a vast area, with vast population, and vast power. That it refuses to use. We have very little power but we leverage it ferociously. You are derelicts and shall soon be swept aside.

Three: Support Germany in the obviously impending war between Germany and France. The faction leading France is too moderate and too peaceful for our purposes. Gentlemen, there are approximately five minutes left before this nuclear bomb goes off. It will level this whole city block. I suggest you either call your families or pray. I shall be doing the latter. Good day."

The Germans didn't say a word; but one man on their whipped out his lap-top and uploaded the video to their secure server in Aachen, the only base left up. Their sacrifice wouldn't be in vain.

Winter Palace, Saint Petersburg, Germany, 2036

"The shocking scene you saw was the destruction of the German Reichstag, where the meeting was being held. There were no survivors, not even the parliament or the chancellor. And so, now, NATO has declared that it will not help the new German government, mostly Islamic, that now has withdrawn recognition from Israel. France has officially declared war on the new regime, calling it "Illegitimate and militant." Germany's response is yet to be seen. France claims no forces have yet been deployed, but buildups are apparent from most reports. The U.S. has blatantly stated it will respond to any aid to Germany with nuclear weapons." Grigor shut off his T.V. and smiled. Time for his announcement.

He walked outside, in his best suit. He was freezing cold; a small price to pay for the immense persuasive power of his literal and figurative position. There was no podium; he preferred the balcony approach.

"People of Russia, I call upon you. From the street urchin who must steal to survive to the Mafia boss whose pockets are fatter than he is, from native son to foreign Russophile, I call upon you. All who love Russia are invited; a hundred acres and a ten-year tax break, in addition to normal military pay, are to be awarded to those who answer the call. This recent atrocity is no better than the murder of the Tsar, or the installation of Communism. It is a sin more egregious than 9/11, more dastardly than Pearl Harbor. Not for a hundred years now has this been done."

"The path ahead is clear to me now! As of now, 9:35 AM, Greenwich Standard Time, I declare that the Russian Federation declares open and total war against Germany! Ware all Germans: Russia will crush those that remain in the cities, and those who stand in the way of our defense." He could hear the foundations of the world trembling under his feet.

Germany, Undisclosed Starbucks, 2036

"If you are just tuning in, a series of horrible events has occurred. Poland has just declared that it will, to any cost, resist the Russians invading, and will not allow them to march through. Ukraine has declared the same, as have most of the ex-soviet states. So Russia is about to reclaim all its posessions from the Soviet Union, and the U.S. has already declared that it will not help Germany, and Russia has control of the Soviet Union's nuclear arsenal, so help us God if our government reverses the decision."

"In other news, the Butler of Heinrich Merkel was found dead in an alley today, and Heinrich Merkel released this statement:

'I don't know what happened. I saw that he'd fixed me my morning snack- despite the fact that I'd told him the night before I was going on a diet. I thought it was sweet of him, but I found him dead in the alley minutes after I disposed of the treat.'

He later commented that he was going to be retiring, effective immediately. Adalbert Braun has taken command and stated that he is redeploying the German forces for a greater degree of flexibility of response. The more northerly positions have made our Be-Ne-Lux neighbors nervous, but he has reassured them, by making a Belgian his second in command, and by putting a mix of Netherlands and Luxembourg citizens in charge of his brigades and divisions, giving them full permission to disobey him if he orders something treacherous."

Jax was watching the news in her dark emerald robe, and it barely registered. Heh, I remember Ronnie telling me something about some general and some emergency assassination or something.

Meanwhile, she downed the last of her coffee, and went out to walk the town, killing time until she could commit grand larceny and kidnapping.

Same sweaty hell-hole, Berlin, Germany, 2036

Meanwhile, Adalbert's forces had been redeployed to the northern border of Germany, and hugging the bottom of France's point. He now could respond quicker if Command was wrong, and if they were right, a quick strategic turning movement would starve them out in the marshes of Germany.

Saddam Achmed's forces had almost completed the side trenches, and were about to resume work on the main "Maginot line." Every day, he was more optimistic, until the new orders from command: Fortify the whole city equally; the Russians are going to be attacking Poland. Also, his forces were to be reduced by ten thousand, and all his mechanized units were to be stripped from him to bolster failing Poland. He could still make this work; he was already halfway there with his 'illegal' side trenches. So long as no one reached Berlin in 2 days- a feat Stalin and Hitler combined could never have done- he would be fine.

But he still wiped sweat from his hairy brow, brushed off his small mustache, and broke into tears. His forefathers had fought and died for Germany unto three generations; he was the last at this point, he needed to survive and find a family. His brothers had given themselves to insanity and "glory."

But he and the family would survive, by the will of Allah.

Or, as he would later claim, by his malice.

Belgium, 2036

Jax was in her traditional black and dark green suit. It was what she always stole in. However, what she was stealing this time gave her a pang of conscience; a person. Filip Leopold Lodewijk Maria, no less. A.K.A. King Phillipe I of the Belgians. King Leopold III of the Belgians had died when the NYC was bombed in what is now called "The Hate of Eight."

This was a necessary step because the King could be a rallying point, and his sharp analytical mind could put together some pieces that would make things very uncomfortable for Hussein.

She left a note on the bed, and couldn't resist stripping some of the more valuable objects from the room. As she was taking him to the safehouse, a jolt hit her, why the name hit her so hard earlier. She was caught on the edge of a dilemma; should she scrap the mission and tell her boyfriend or continue on and risk his injury or death?

Highway, Germany, 2036

There was no choice. His Royal Highness, despite his advanced age, would be stripped down, tied down, and left in a ratty hotel bed until someone was scheduled to check in there a day later. Luckily he was a CVB friendly, who would hold him there until need be. She pinned a note and a twenty to his chest and wished him the best of luck.

Ronnie, however, was more clear-minded from the start. He was on the road to Gaggenau- almost there- when his motorcycle's radio blared out the same announcement as his girlfriend had heard. He almost fell off his motorcycle. This was bad. This was horrendous. This was awful. You see, Hussein was supposed to stop only if Heinrich died. He had a matter of a day, at most, to cross most of France and kill the now-ex general.

But if he did that, then Adalbert would have time to, on his own, possibly detect the army, and the stoppage of supplies to the point. He'll realize that the army is now mostly through the territory. If Berlin held on for even a week- how couldn't they? They would obviously leave their strongest force there, right- then Hussein was dead.

Never had the horns of a dilemma hit him so tightly in the ass.