Operation Black Dawn, 1995

Mission 24 - Sunrise over Chernobog

October 1995/December 1096

Beginning of Operation Chernobog Shield

"Thomas Paine wrote many years ago: "These are the times that try men's souls.'' Those well-known words are so very true today. But even as soldiers of the United nations descend on Chernobog, I prefer to think of peace, not war. I am convinced not only that we will prevail but that out of the horror of combat will come the recognition that no evil can stand against a world united, no person will be subjected to tyranny."

- International Security Agency Director/United Nations Acting Secretary-General George H.W. Bush, 1995/1096

Captain Roberto Nascimento [Organization of American States - Brigada de Infantaria Paraquedista ] - C-5 Galaxy - Dated December, 1096

"Thirty seconds to jump!" I shouted over the radio as the ramp to the C-5 Galaxy transporting my tank opened up. "Are the parachutes ready?!" I shouted once again, receiving a grunt of affirmation from the driver, one Corporal Neto. The gunner, Lieutenant Matias, moved the tank gun up and down. Nodding as well, I spoke on the radio to address the pilot. "Are we over the drop point?!"

"Yes!" He shouted, the light turning from red to green at that instant. I sealed up my hatch and locked it tight as soon as I saw that. On the inside, I turned to my driver, tapping him. "We're over the drop point! Drop!"

"You heard the man!" My driver shouted to the pilot over the radio as I looked through the optics of my commander's position. "Drop!" Almost immediately, the large pallet holding us detached, and our tank was sent flying out of the C-5 cargo plane. I vaguely saw the other cargo planes as I dropped, with two C-130s to the left and the right of the C-5 planes.

Following us from the C-5 was an M113 APC alongside two Humvees, uncrewed and not filled with any passengers. And then following that was an American Abrams tank, arguably the heaviest. Then, following those was the Paratrooper Infantry Brigade, who jumped from the right C-130. The last unit to start their parachute drop was the 1st Arkansas Airborne Brigade.

I looked at my gunner, who gave me a thumbs-up in response.

I needed some answers to a question I had. Turning on the radio, I spoke to the rest of my crew.

"Have the jumpjet troopers cleared out that sector yet?!" I asked. My driver gave me a negative through the radio, before answering back with his shout.

"Not yet!" Neto responded. "They're still clearing out the weak link in Reunion's operation!" At that answer, I felt myself grasping my face in embarrassment. These were supposed to be the Allied Nations' finest, yet they couldn't even clear out the first layer of defense. Grunting in frustration—something I found myself doing more these days—I rubbed my hands down my face.

"Damnit!" I shouted in mild irritation. Looks like weren't going to be having a load of fun today-

While lamenting my circumstances, my radio opened to a communications officer, who addressed me directly. "Is this Captain Nascimento of, uh, Bravo 1?" He asked, voice dripping with a thick, Texan drawl. Sighing at the fact that this person was the officer passing orders to me, I responded, mildly frustrated at dealing with the Yankees.

"Indeed, this is Captain Nascimento, Bravo 1," I replied with a slight grumble. I couldn't help it. Yankees—especially Texans—tended to annoy me. The fact that I was working with the 1st Arkansas Airborne only exacerbated that... and then comes this fuckwit ruining it. "Who is this, if I may ask?" I questioned. If I was going to work with this Yankee, I at least had to learn his name. Basic decency came first, after all. That was one of the few things I could afford the Yankees.

"Hang on, new orders from the commander are as follows;" He commented, much to my annoyance. I rolled my eyes and clenched my fist as he coughed and then spoke again. "Spearhead the assault and protect the airborne infantry. Link up with the other tank, 1st platoon, and two Humvees to form a reconnaissance force," He listed. "That's all from Command- Oh, right! I forgot about your question, sorry about that-" He coughed once more, before putting on a formal voice even if it had that accursed Texan drawl.

"I'm Communications Officer Burton, you can call me Papa Bear," He said. "I will be the communications officer for forces in Chernobog currently." In the background of his speaking, the Communications Center bustled with life as the incomprehensible cacophony of men and women working made themselves heard. I scoffed a little. The fact that a Yankee chump like him could serve on this operation? What a joke.

Regardless, I nodded. "I understand. We'll get the drop on 'em," I smirked. That ought to show the Yankee bastards that we mean business. "A pleasure to work with you, Burton." My tongue recoiled as I twisted it for the sake of a lie—a white lie, to be fair, I couldn't bring myself to be honest—with the American none the wiser. He chuckled.

"Shucks. Thanks, Bravo 1. I'll keep you posted."

"No problem."

Okay, he was slightly tolerable.

I can give him that as well.

Still, what took the rest of them so long? They had to clear the defenses by now, God...

I checked my watch. It was 3 minutes since we made the drop.

They better have cleared up the damn place by the time I make this drop. I'd throw a punch to their face if they didn't.

Sergeant Jack Cooper [Allied Nations - 3rd Jumpjet Regiment, Jumpteam 'Camelot', British Republican Air Force] - Skies of Chernobog - Dated December, 1096

I swerved left as an arrow narrowly missed the fuel tank on my back, scraping the paint and cutting through a little chunk of my uniform. Frowning in irritation that a goddamn underdeveloped quip could somehow almost hit, I leaned forward in a diving position, speeding through the skies of Chernobog with the jumpjet-integrated machine gun in hand. Upon the first sighting of a Reunion sniper, as I began my second sweep, I let loose the trigger and opened fire with the machine gun. The sniper didn't go down fast enough, only being knocked down on his back. Damnit! Irritated, I pulled back up and did a barrel roll.

These jumpjets were wonderful to fly in, but damn were they hell to fly while imitating a fighter! I almost pinched myself in frustration as my half-arsed idea of flying like a fighter with a VTOL jumpjet turned out to bear more risks than necessary. But who was I to care? I swerved left once again, throwing myself off-balance as my helmet HUD went haywire before recalibrating. Beelining towards the Reunion sniper I knocked down, I quickly then pulled back, braked, and landed on my two feet just next to the man I shot. On the rooftop, two other active snipers turned their eyes to me after trying to shoot down the rest of Camelot.

"C'mon, you apes!" I shouted, aiming the 5.56mm machine gun at the man I knocked down. As disoriented as I was, I could still fight. "Fight me like a real goddamn man!" I shouted as I let out another burst of machine pistol rounds loose, this time aimed towards his chest. The other two snipers quickly tried to open up with crossbows, but I jumped just as the jumpjets reactivated, giving me air superiority once again.

"How's this for fair, huh?!"

I pulled back and let the machine gun loose on them, I felt no recoil as the stabilization afforded by the jump-jet gave me some breathing room. The two other snipers fell shortly as the machine gun pelted their position, with no available cover to run to, and jumping off was suicide anyway. As the machine gun stopped, I pulled myself back up to the sky and stabilized myself, head aching from the spinning and the maneuvers I committed my poor body to. This would have killed any normal man, that's what the Regiment's instructions say.

But not good old Sergeant Cooper! I gave a hearty chuckle as the systems finally registered a stable flying maneuver. Do not attempt again, say Regiment instructions? Bull-shit!

An irritated sigh cutting through the radio interrupted what I was about to think of next, coming from the second-highest-ranked trooper in the Jumpteam. "Sergeant, what the HELL were you doing when we split up?" That was Lance Corporal Thomas Washington, the second-in-command of Jumpteam Camelot. Officially, his callsign was Kay, of Arthurian legend.

And mine was s'posed to be Palamedes. But within the Jumpteam, we didn't care. We preferred how the Yanks handled addressing their officers. Made us feel less like shitters.

"Well, y'see, Lance Corporal," I spoke up. "I was havin' a little fun with those goddamn runnies-"

"Runnies? That what we're calling Reunion now?"

"-Yes. Now anyways, I was havin' a little fun with those runnies. Just a shame that one of them almost got the drop on me. Chipped the paint on the fuel tank and ripped a hole in the shoulder."

"So," He sighed. "What does this have to do with the lack of radio communications for three minutes past the scheduled squadron radio check?"

"Oh, I just had to, uh, focus on tearing them bit from bit."

"...With a machine gun? That's for crowd control, Sarge."

"'Twas a crowd, Lance Corporal. Three snipers on a rooftop, with anti-materiel crossbows."

"...I assume they were clustered, right?"

An awkward silence permeated the environment, with my hesitance to answer earning an irritated sigh from the Lance Corporal. I could feel him pinching his noise in sheer disappointment at his squad leader. "You're a maverick, you know that, right?" He muttered in irritation.

"I get that a lot."

"Whatever," Thomas grumbled. "I'll be meeting you at the U-shaped building. Y'see the building with the imperial eagle on top of it?"

"Oh yeah. That one?"

"Yes. Meet you there, Sergeant."

"You got it."

Caporal Jean-Louis Marie [Allied Nations - Sniper Fireteam "Charlemagne", French Royal Army] - Chernobog Apartment Rooftops - Dated December, 1096

After an exhausting thirty flights of stairs and almost tripping on a piece of rock, I pulled myself up by my legs to the rooftop of the building. At last, I was at my destination; a sniper's nest that Jumpteam Camelot had declared cleared after I called them in to take them out. As I climbed onto the rooftops, I glanced back at the rest of the fireteam getting through the same method I had used—simply climbing up the stairs. Of course, we were in a building when we spotted the opposing sniper team. Hence, we avoided their fire.

But what does it matter now reminiscing about the past when the pressing matter is what goes on now?

I moved to the ledge of the rooftop, unfolding the bipod and setting it atop the safety railing of the building. To my right, my spotter, Recrue Louis Camus, setting up the tripod rangefinder we'd have to use.

"Is the IR laser confirmed to be working?"

"Oui, Caporal. The laser's set up. Expect me to zero in on targets when necessary."

"Thanks," I nodded as I racked the bolt on my sniper rifle. FR-F2, it was called. 7.62x51mm. An older model of sniper rifle that didn't necessarily have the modernity of something like the British Republican AWM, but it had class. That was all I needed, really. I peered through the scope and twisted the knob on the scope. "Recrue. See anything on the rangefinder?" I asked, peering out of the scope to look at Louis.

"So far? Non, I see nothing at all," He said. "You could ask the other sniper team if they're seeing anything, though."

Nodding, I looked over to my right, seeing the other sniper team set up their position. "Oi!" I shouted, putting my hands around my mouth in a conical formation. "Do you see anything down there?"

"Non!" I heard the other sniper shout. "We've got nothing yet!"

I turned back to Camus. "Team 2 reports nothing. I assume we're supposed to wait for target designations, then?" I muttered, getting back on the sniper rifle to zoom in. "Ack. Hold on," I said as I peered into the scope, swinging the rifle right. "Recrue. Look over there," I noted, closing the eye outside of my scope. "We've got mortars setting themselves up."

"Oui," He nodded. "Seeing. Give me a minute." I nodded in response, racking the bolt of my sniper rifle as I took aim at the mortar team. According to the AAR of the VDV team, these people had man-portable artillery. A nuisance, but nothing that we couldn't take care of. If they had spotters instead of carrying them to the battlefield though. "Distance to target, recrue?" I asked as I put my thumb and pointing finger on the knob.

"Rangefinder says..." He paused. "About 250 meters away from us."

"Wind speed?"

"A calm 3 kilometers per hour."

"Direction?"

"Smoke's drifting... Compass says north."

"Copy that," I turned the zoom knob on the scope. "Any units near that sector?"

"Ah, hang on," He commented. "Okay... BLUFOR tracker says that we have at least two tanks, two Humvees, and a platoon entering their area of fire."

"This the assault force spearheaded by the Brazilians?"

"Oui."

"Noted," I turned on the radio. "What's the unit designation?"

"Bravo 1's the tank unit, Caporal."

"Roger," I said as I turned my radio on. "Bravo 1, do you copy? I say again, do you copy?" A grumble was all I heard from the radio before a gruff, aggressive voice returned back my calls. "No time for bullshit. You've got an enemy mortar team in the area you're advancing to. Alert the other units with you—tanks, cars, or hell, infantry—to pull back from assaulting that sector you're headed to until we radio back about terminating the mortar team located there, over."

"...Shit," The voice replied, a sigh escaping his lips. "Thank you for the heads-up. I'll be alerting the other units. Bravo 1 out."

I nodded. "Alright. Recrue!" I shouted, zeroing the scope onto the mortar team. "I need a bead on the loader!" I said as I aimed the sniper rifle at the Reunion soldier loading each shell individually. "Distance?!"

"259 meters away."

"Wind speed?!"

"2 kilometers per hour."

"Direction?!"

"Northeast."

I adjusted my rifle to the left in response to Recrue's instructions, with the sight reticle of the scope just pointed to the bottom-left of the loader. In an instant, I pulled the trigger back and the shot rang out. Almost immediately, the shot zipped through the air, and the wind adjusted it accordingly. In a split-second, the loader had a bullet enter their brain, the blood splattering the ammo crates. I was skeptical. Were they actually dead? Immediately, I racked the bolt and prepared another shot from the sniper rifle, shooting at them a second time to make sure. Just as the second shot zipped out, their head exploded. That was what confirmed it for me.

Switching targets, I shifted my sniper rifle to the left to put the ammo bearer—at least I think that's an ammo bearer—into my sights instead. "Distance?" I got 255 meters away in response. "Wind speed?" The same as the last shot. "Direction?" Same as last shot. Nodding, I shifted accordingly, and pulled the trigger without a second thought. Almost immediately, the bullet hit them—not in the head, this time—but rather impacted them directly in the chest, collapsing at least their lung, if my estimates were correct.

"Target incapacitated." I muttered. I aimed at the last one this time, who panicked as soon as they saw their two comrades being eviscerated by sniper fire. Distance was 261 meters away. Wind speed was 4 kilometers per hour. This time, It was directed to the west. Shifting my rifle rightward so that the crosshair aimed at the bottom right of the panicking gunner, I opened fire. In a flash, a bullet lodged it self in their head and exploded, sending blood and brain matter spilling.

"Bravo 1," I radioed in, smirking as the mortar team couldn't harm the soldiers anymore. "Mortar's down. You're free to continue on with your assault." A gruff chuckle escaped Bravo 1's radio, earning a smarmy half-hearted smug grin on my end. "By the way. You hitting something else yet, or?"

"We're heading to this apartment building that's attempting to hit us with anti-vehicle munitions, but uh, the vehicles have got us covered. The platoon is sticking to the vehicles for cover against Reunion. So far, nothing's going wrong with the assault, though we might need your support later." I nodded in response as I removed the magazine on the FR-F2 to check the remaining ammunition, smiling in satisfaction when I got my answer, before paying attention to Bravo 1.

"Call us in when you need more sniper support," I intoned into the radio as the other forces moved in to assault a fortified apartment building. "I'd appreciate if you put in a good word to Command on behalf of us, after all, I've been itching for a pay-raise and a stimpack stipend. Out."

Melee Soldier Volodymyr Karamazov [Reunion Movement – Chernobog Satellite City Garrison] - Chernobog Satellite City, Hell - Dated December, 1096

"Firebomb out!" One of Karamazov's teammates shouted as he attempted to toss a firebomb at the warpath of the death machine that seemed to be tearing apart Reunion forces. First, Rhodes Island was disrupting their operations in both Chernobog proper and in Lungmen. Now this? Karamazov sneered before shutting that expression down as his firebombing teammate went down, body riddled with bullets.

This would not be the first time he saw someone go down in front of him. But where it was his first time, however, was fighting these heavily armed people- They always seemed to be clad in different uniforms, yet they all shared one similar characteristic. They always had guns. And an unlimited amount of ammunition.

Something that was not easy to fight against, he mused as he narrowly avoided a bullet that almost hit his head, instead penetrating a wall like a boulder that refused to change its direction. He cursed at fate, having forced him to fight these people.

Madness. Just. Madness.

All of this was madness.

"How the hell are we supposed to fight off that thing?!" Karamazov's close partner—Anastasia Smirnova—shouted in near-terror, firing her crossbow uselessly before ducking down in the same barricade that Karamazov had taken cover behind. "Fuck- What the hell even is that thing?!"

"Some kind of armored vehicle!" Karamazov shouted before he grabbed one of his teammates' firebombs and threw it at the road blindly, cursing as he nearly got his arm torn off by machine gun fire. "And clearly these people have a lot of Originium to burn through!"

"Think these might've been the same people that disrupted our operations in Chernobog and Lungmen? The one that isn't Rhodes Island?" Smirnova asked as she fumbled with her crossbow, hoping to take another shot. "Actually, yes- They're the same people!" She shouted as she dropped the arrow, only seconds away from missing death via bullet to the head. "I heard they're called- "

"United Nations? Yeah, heard that name-" He winced as an explosion sounded atop the ruined apartment they had attempted to use as an anti-vehicle killzone. Only for it to fail spectacularly with machine gun fire and cannon fire meeting them. "How in the hell did we even know that anyway?"

"Surviving Reunion members from the last raid they did on us, back in Chernobog," Smirnova replied. "Come on-! Karamazov! Let's get out of here before we get reduced into paste!"

"What makes you think tha-"

He was silenced by one of the frontal parts of the building simply falling apart and causing the building to lean sideways. Oops. Karamazov simply looked back at Smirnova and nodded. "On second thought, I agree," A beat, as Karamazov pulled himself. "Run!"

Smirnova turned her head and followed suit, joining Karamazov in a pure panicked frenzy of attempting to run before the building collapsed on them. The moment they saw an open part of the building—one that had previously been a wall, before a hole was torn in it during the Chernobog Uprising—they jumped out of it as fast as they could, curling into balls.

They caught their breaths as soon as they laid flat on the ground, with Karamazov breathing heavily as he pushed himself up and pulled himself forward. Smirnova, meanwhile, turned around to look at the building that they had evacuated from. Their unit's failed attempt at an anti-death-machine killzone.

Look. In hindsight, attempting to take on an armored vehicle with a big cannon was a bad idea. Okay, no need to shout at him for not realizing that now. Karamazov's musing was shut up when Smirnova smacked him in the head. "Look! The building's falling to the right!"

"And taking out the other anti-vehicle teams that we were told to set up..."

"Damn United Nations... Pieces of shit," Smirnova growled as she pulled herselves up. "Animals. All of them. Doing nothing but massacring us. Keeping us down like we're some sort of peasantry. Fuck them and the system they stand for."

"Fuck imperialism," Karamazov said, dusting himself off. "Actually- How in the hell did we know that their organization's name is the 'United Nations'? You mentioned the last Chernobog raid- but never really elaborated on it-"

"-Because we were trying not to die of rubble?"

"Precisely because of that, yes," Karamazov waved off Smirnova as she just glared at him with the piercing stare of a thousand knives. Perhaps her Arts talent was summoning shards of originium and refashioning them into shivs. "But I want a continuation of that story. How the hell did we know that they're... well. Yeah."

Smirnova sighed as she tugged Karamazov's arms, looking at him longingly. In return, Karamazov smiled. She always looked so fluffy. With her slick, black hair and beautiful fit form, she was the perfect fit for him. They were always meant to be together. He let his hand feel her chin, with her giving back a warm smile.

Yet, as soon as he glanced at her shoulders, he was inflicted a terrible reminder. Of why they were here in the first place. He winced before flashing back to the incident that got them infected in the first place.

And the Empire.. Oh, how he wanted to see the Empire burn so badly. He balled his fist.

It would be a service to him. Especially after... After what happened to him during one unfortunate night- No. It was no unfortunate night. It was the knight. It wasjust the night when the Imperial Army thought that it was fun to use artillery against dissidents. It was the night of his honeymoon.

He remembered what happened to Ana. Very clearly.

He fought back tears as his brain replayed the memories. Over and over and over again.

"Ana!"

"Help me! Please! I'm trapped under this- Damn cabinet!"

"Ana! Please!"

"Volya! Hurry up! I can feel something- No! No! Get off me! Get off-!"

"No! Ana!"

He remembered. The rubble falling underneath her. The slugs that stabbed into her while she was trapped underneath a cabinet. The piece of shit Imperial soldiers that forced him to eat Originium while they... They... Ana...

They were doomed to never have kids ever since then... Karamazov mused as he looked away from Ana. She knew what was going on, and faced forward, preparing to distract him from this conversation at all. "Anyway," She awkwardly stated, getting Karamazov to cease brooding. "I was a part of the sniper team during the last op."

"Oh, I heard. Didn't you nearly die after being shot by that crazed man in a suit? The one with some sort of- hand-cannon pistol thing?"

"Oh yes. That one. He spoke old Victorian, so I couldn't glimpse what he was saying. But, I did survive a gunshot from him that... Blew off the heads of my other snipers."

Karamazov winced. He remembered how Ana described it to him when she returned to base.

"Anyway. I'm surviving after that shot because he missed my head and instead hit my leg. Guy thinks I've fractured my head or something, because he didn't double-tap. I survive, recover, and see everyone's dead-" She waved her arms around as the two of them walked around, uncaring about their objective to defend anymore.

It was just hightime to survive and move away from all this madness.

"-So I trail the guys behind it all, at least until they get cornered and move to the middle school where... That rat bastard kept every student of the city..." She growled furiously. Not that Karamazov would blame her. She used to be a schoolteacher once.

And her desires to return to being one were the main reason she despised Mephisto. And unfortunately with him still around... Neither of them had the desire to stay with Reunion any longer. Them narrowly avoiding death just reinforced that desire.

"I'm perched up on a roof, observing everything- Some guy sticks his arm out. Looked important and mad," She said, moving her arms around to symbolize what she had been doing. "I shoot an arrow at it. He pulls it down and rips his hand apart."

"Oh goodness." Karamazov muttered. "And this was a member of the United Nations?" He shuddered. If these men were willing to do that to themselves and still fight... Then perhaps abandoning Reunion—even for moral reasons—was the right choice. If only because it accidentally coincided with not dying to them.

"Oh yes. Later, when the dust's settled, I find out from one of Mephisto's personal assistants that the man whose arm I ruined charged at the Reunion lines with nothing but a pistol, going down after spitting in Mephisto's face and calling him a dickhead," She sniggered and shook her head, grinning. "I wish I could be him."

"Oh, I understand. Too bad you were the one who ultimately harmed him instead, though..."

"He died honorably, he died for a cause," She mused. "He died protecting children for his United Nations... Which baffles me. Everyday."

"Well... Yeah. That's... that's always what gets me-" Karamazov wince as I trip my foot, spraining my ankle at an uncomfortable angle. "Fuck- Ankle's split- I don't think I can walk for much longer..." He said as he put his hand down on his ankle. Smirnova, looking concerned, stopped for him.

"Want to sit down?"

"Are you sure it's safe?"

"I'm sur-"

The sound of gunfire interrupted him as he stumbled around, falling flat on his back as Smirnova looked at the direction of the gunfire, attempting to catch a glance at what exactly- Smirnova's eyes widened as she recognized it as one of the United Nations jetpack soldiers who had taken out the sniper nests.

During the initial panic caused by the United Nations assault, there were shouts of jetpack soldiers that had reusable jetpacks which they used not to drop off melee soldiers to rapidly assault enemy lines, but instead they used them as airmobile machine gun platforms. Almost like human versions of the assault drone- Now, Smirnova didn't believe them.

But now that she stared one in the eye, she had to believe the frantic screaming on the radio earlier- Panicked, Smirnova raised her arms, hoping they'd understand surrender. It had to be for Karamazov-!

Karamazov's eyes widened as Smirnova raised her hands, hoping to surrender. Not wanting to be misinterpreted as resisting, Karamazov did the same, raising his hands as he laid flat on the ground, feet sprained by a misstep and back impacting the cold atmosphere of the ruined Chernobog satellite city.

The jetpack soldiers, rather thankfully, held their fire and instead chose to touch down on the ground next to them. Now that he had a clear vision, Karamazov could see what they looked like. The leader wore a red beret, combined with a communications headset and goggles that he presumed were used to deal with the wind and gust. His uniform was a mix of green splotches and black, presumably mimicking a forest.

And on his shoulders were pads that were colored tan, with a symbol of a multi-layered circle surrounded by wreaths, and in Victorian, were imprinted the letters 'UN.' Of course, the only reason Karamazov knew this was because Smirnova had told him about how it was spelled in Ursine. That being 'ООН.'Beside him were two other soldiers, except wearing a regular black beret instead of a red beret. That must have been their team leader.

"This is Jumpteam Camelot to Command, come in Command. Yeah, we come in as well, Commander Jean. We've got a peculiar find here. Two Reunion nuts who've apparently ran away from the assault... Saw them wandering elsewhere before one of them got strained and we strafed them. Yes, I understand. We'll be calling in evac."

The team leader finished speaking on his radio before he turned to his other soldiers. "Oi. You lot. Keep them secure."

"Roger that."

The team leader moved backwards as the other soldiers marched forward instead, getting close to Smirnova and Karamazov. With a proper look, he could see that their weapons were integrated into their jetpacks, which seemed to surround them almost like an exoskeleton.

Rather alarmingly, these guns looked to be high-capacity, with multiple rounds in them. Smirnova looked at Karamazov, both of their hands still raised as the soldiers eyed them with suspicion. "I was not expecting to be taken in peacefully by the United Nations..."

"Hah... Let's pray that they find us useful enough before they execute us like Ursus does."

Oh, how he knew that he was going to die. Perhaps dying in the apartment complex would have been a better option. But, again, with the United Nations launching an assault on the city...

Maybe he'd end up luckier. If only by the margin of being kept alive long enough instead of summarily executed.

Such was life in Reunion.

Author's Notes:

i got nothing else to say other than "man life hits hard at the worst possible chances" and i got delayed multiple times. i picked up writing another story on AO3 to flex my writing skills again and i think i got my groove back fully now after multiple technical difficulties so uh welcome back me to the world of writing this. anyway i hope that the next chapter is less rushed than this one. i apologize for my absensce and this being rushed but it is what it is.

im gonna see if i can also port the other story i took up to this site. then ill look into uploading more chapters to my other stories n shit, and porting them over to ao3 too.

anyway. uh.

See y'all next time.

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