Death of the Alliance

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Siri.

Her parents had named her after the well-mannered and helpful Apple program, hoping she would one day grow up to be a similar fine woman. Of course, fewer people could lay claim to being more wrong.

She sipped a fine glass of Sauvignon and put her legs up on the glass table- for once, she let herself smile. How successful she was, to be at the helm of the largest ship in the brikverse- she had re-christened it the Göttërdammerung, from its previous name the McFaden.

But she acknowledged she was still not in charge. At least, not for now.

Siri fingered the steel communicator in her hand, possessed by an impious mixture of anticipation, confidence, and apprehension. She worked tirelessly at the Third Alliance headquarters on Trion, currying favor in anticipation for what would be one of the defining moments in her career. The hard part was gathering support for her little project, accumulating wunderwaffe of all kinds on both land and space- all that was left was finishing her grand plan once and for all. She waited, staring off into the distant stars, the eternal burning furnaces. She was assured that Scythian Deities were putting those fires out one by one, in an unceasing effort to curb the immortals- but the extragalactic intruders were so slow in everything, and the war had long died, confined to Scythian space. It was not of her concern.

Instead, what was of her concern was an unimaginable distance away, hidden by a tangled nest of black holes not even the most advanced FTL systems could penetrate. Luckily, the RIN proved to be useful in at least some capacity for that...

The communicator lit up, and Siri found her fingers embedded into the holographic man’s legs. She quickly sorted herself into a more professional stance and replied.

“Yes, my Herr Direktor. What have you called for?”. She already knew the answer to this question, but decided to go along with the formality.

“Warp your fleet to the Rendezvous point, third planet of the Bianca system. You will find the RIN, Briktoid, and Prussian fleets to be there already.”

“Excellent,” Siri replied. “It is only a matter of time before we can execute the grand plan.”

Kommander Alec paused for a moment. “Do you honestly believe this plan will work?”

“Do I smell fear in that voice? The greatest heroes achieve their feats only if they never stop to think about them.”

She then flicked off the holograph, and turned to a waiting captain.

“Tell the physicists and engineers to initiate warp, Rendezvous point.”

“Affirmative, my lady.” he quickly responded, before yelling the order across the vast bridge.


The Rendezvous point was quite a sight- a squadron of RIN super-dreadnoughts hung motionless in the vacuum of space, surrounded by a swarm of smaller ships. The Briktoid mass-produced frigates, on the other hand, eclipsed the sun through their sheer numbers. And it wasn’t long before the agglomeration of white Trattorian ships showed up to the party, followed quickly by a Luchardsko task force. Siri was initially impressed by the sheer number of ships gathered for the cause, while Kommander Alec was surprised at seeing the Göttërdammerung’s full half-kilometer length. They both thought the gathering was comparable to the forces involved over Erebeus Three. Of course, it wasn’t long before the commanders of this force soon became bored chilling their heels while waiting for their allies.

“Those pesky Bavarians, always late and incompetent.” murmured Kommander Alec. He was still bitter about the time the Bavarian Otto tried to overthrow him as Uberkaiser. The current Uberkaiser, Piltogg, forced the two nations to overcome their differences and work together towards the common goal of galactic domination, but despite this, their relationship was still an icy one.

A message flashed across his screen.

“Arriving in ETA of 5 minutes.

-Zweitekaiser Klaus von Fynnvaria”

“About time, wouldn’t you think?” he thought. Regardless, politics was politics, and he typed out a polite and friendly reply to his rival. He then called Siri.

“My friend, the Bavarians are almost here! Your plan will soon come to fruition.”

He was met by silence on the other end. Kommander Alec repeated her name over and over again to ensure she wasn’t just assassinated by some rebels.

“Yes, you fool. I was just...occupied. I understand everything going on.”

The Herr Direktor was incensed at being treated with such disrespect, but decided leaving Siri to her own devices might lead to something significant.

His thoughts were interrupted by a bright blue flash, as the Bavarian fleet group burst into real-space again. Kommander Alec giggled to himself- the Bavarian’s “flagship”, the SS Teutoburger, was merely a fraction of the length of one of his super-dreadnoughts. He then contacted Zweitekaiser Klaus.

“You’ve arrived, even if slightly late. Is your fleet ready?”

If Fynnvaria was embarrassed, his voice didn’t show. “Of course. Now that everybody is here, activate Project Amerikabomber.”

Kommander Alec himself relayed the orders to an unremarkable saucer craft protected in the middle of the RIN group- but inside, RT-powered machinery worked unceasingly alongside the top scientists of the brikverse. A normal invasion of the United Systems Alliance would have been impossible, but Siri was undeterred, and ordered a combination of RIN RT and Akkadian teleportation technology.

And they scaled it up.

The experimental saucer craft, Der Vorsprung, could in theory instantly transport thousands of capitol ship-scale craft across any obstacle, be it asteroids, black holes, and even the most advanced anti-warportal shields. No location in the brik-verse was safe, not even the heart of the United Systems Alliance. The crew of Der Vorsprung received the orders, and the captain tapped the chief engineer on the shoulder. The chief engineer was slightly apprehensive, asking the captain once more if the orders were real.

“Activate the portal.” the captain calmly repeated.


New York- the planet that never sleeps. It orbited a normal, yellow star, and was located right in the middle of the system’s habitable zone. The entire land mass of the planet was covered in cities, and some of the most important locations of the brikverse, including the NY Stock Exchange and, of course, the Allied Nations Headquarters.

The United Systems Alliance’s 500 systems were safely nestled away from the rest of the galaxy by a massive wall of black holes, impassable to all but the most advanced hyperdrives- the typical route was to slog it out above or below the barrier. Consequently, the USA had never been invaded for the past two-hundred G.R’s- but that was about to change.

AN Force Commander Payton of the Praetorian Empire put her legs up on her desk and lit a cigarette- at this point, the AN Peacekeeping and PAX Corps was all but dominated by the Praetorians. The ship she commanded was no shaggy old boat either- the Spirit of Ragnablok belonged to the fourth-largest ship class in the brik-verse. The ship boasted two mighty amygdala-disruptor arrays that could give an entire planet the Clockwork Orange treatment.

She remembered her humble days as a border patroller, on the edge of Praetorian space- she had gotten pretty far since then, if she did say so herself. Now, the fates of empires laid in her hands, waiting only for the orders of the AN Security Council.

She got up, and stood quietly in front of a window, admiring the view.

“All I need now to set the atmosphere is a good glass of scotch” she thought to herself, when all of a sudden a Scythian lieutenant opened the door, a yellow bottle in hand.

“The Praetorian delegate from the AN DISEC committee would like to congratulate you on a successful pacification mission to Vergilius Raskolnikov’s Empire.” he stated.

“Fabulous,” she replied, taking the bottle. “Those little naughty gits screamed and wriggled helplessly under the might of the AN. As to those Third Alliance noobs- they haven’t done anything! They’ve given up! It’s not like they’re somehow planning to attack us here- that would be suicide. No empire has a fleet large enough to stand a USA carrier group.”

“Indeed, good luck on your next mission.” the lieutenant murmured. He paused, then added on “The funny thing is we are technically at war. I should shoot you in the face, but instead here I am giving you free alcohol under the banner of the AN.”

“The AN is indeed a funny invention of minifig-kind,” Admiral Payton finished. She then continued her star-gazing in utter silence. If she had stared a little harder, she might have noticed a small red flash. Not like she would have thought much of it, anyway.


The Third Alliance fleet materialized just out of range of the New York home defense group’s detection range. Immediately, Siri, Alec, and Klaus got to work, organizing the fleet and ensuring everything was in order. They contacted the Conifer’s shell program, IR337l, and made sure the cannon fodder mass-produced Frigates were on line.

And then, the fleet moved up, and they fired every single gun they had down at the unsuspecting AN fleet.

Practically the entire AN fleet was gathered here- frigates, cruisers, dozens of battleships and the Spirit of Ragnablok, along with a good-sized body of USA ships. They had noticed too late the incoming barrage, trying to shoot down the kinetic kill-weapons, but there was nothing they could do against the thousands of bolts of lasers except divert power and brace their shields. It was indeed, the twilight of the gods.

The lasers finally arrived a few seconds later. Many of the smaller ships didn’t even get a chance to fight, their shields burned through and their metal hulls fried by the storm of light. The Spirit of Ragnablok, with shields designed to withstand continuous fire from even the most potent ship turrets known to minifigs, Scythian antimatter projectors, saw its shield power visibly decreasing to dangerously low levels. To the utterly surprised AN crew the few seconds the barrage lasted seemed like hours. When the proverbial smoke was cleared, all that remained was a miniature asteroid belt of wreckage and bodies.

Siri simply watched from an iPad, safely and comfortably in the bridge of the Göttërdammerung, and smirked. Briktoid Automata would probably say the field looked like a bad game of Starcraft involving stack hacks. And with the numbers she brought, that was probably true. But she was still not satisfied.

The Spirit of Ragnablok stood firm, not even scratched thanks to its powerful shields. Surrounding it were the burning carcasses of a score of Praetorian battleships intermingled with jagged black and sand green titanium.

“Send the DMF-class rammer super-dreadnought after it.” she ordered offhandedly.

The DMF-class was a rather unique design, consisting of a giant OTC and a ship built around it. It was the ultimate super-dreadnought kill weapon.

The captain acquiesced, and ordered in turn for full speed ahead. It quickly covered the distance in a matter of seconds, and the few shots that successfully hit it bounced laughably off its incredible shields. It relentlessly continued forward like an angry piranha homing in on its prey, until there were ten seconds remaining between it and the Spirit of Ragnablok’s utter destruction. Suddenly a deck-hand approached the captain.

“Captain, the shields have failed for an unknown reason! We may not survive impact. Energy patterns are consistent...”

“Say what?” was all the captain could get out before the un-shielded DMF collided head-on with the shields of the Spirit of Ragnablok. Titanium, gears, and OT flew in every direction, hitting the dreadnought, any surrounding surviving ships, and some even falling to the planet below.

Siri paused momentarily. Something had clearly gone wrong, and she had no idea what it was. But she was unfazed. The battle had already been a massacre as it was, and besides, she always had a dozen more of those DMF ships anyway.

“Your turn.” she declared.


“What the hell was that?” demanded Admiral Payton. She had been called to the bridge for some sort of “emergency”.

The Scythian lieutenant came up again and quickly filled her in.

“A massive Third Alliance fleet group consisting of about seven-thousand warships warped into the system and decimated our group. They have all paused momentarily to charge their weapons.”

“Fire the main Amygdala-Disruptor array. That should teach them the relevant lesson. Plus, it’s fully within AN protocol at this point,” she claimed. Even now, the alcohol caused her mind to slide a little.

The crew immediately complied, hoping they could stop the entire threat from the onset.

Instead, they hit a mass of mechanical, unfeeling Mass-Produced Frigates. If Briktoid’s IR337l could laugh, it would have.

Bereft of using her main weapon, Admiral Payton became a little distraught.

“Go ahead with a good ol’ fashioned 1800’s broadside on these TA bastards.” she ordered.

And so they did, wiping out a few hundred Mass-Produced Frigates. They were simply replaced by some extras hiding in the back of the group.

“What kind of a space battle is this!?” bitterly lamented an Assyrian gunner down below. “These invincible, unkillable littles shites! They bring in a force somewhat close to one hundred times the size of ours! And most of it is cheap cannon fodder. Let the Great Triangle damn the Third Alliance, then Briktoid, then Akkadia. And RIN and Trattoria while we’re at it too!”

The Scythian lieutenant commiserated. “Life is never fair. Our only hope is if a USA carrier group rescues us.”

The bridge was silent as the AN*US continued to pummel the Third Alliance with response fire.


Herr Direktor Alec wandered the massive holds of the Annihilator-class Super-Dreadnought. In the center, amidst rows of Omega Dooms, lay a single dreadnut, adorned in gold and RIN emblems. An RIN scientist approached him.

“Are you sure, Herr Alec? Once I entomb you in the dreadnut, it will not be easy to get you out.”

“I am confident, Mr. Giovanni. Admittedly, my mortal body is too damaged from earlier war, and if I don’t want to be gunned down pathetically by USA soldiers, I will need a new one.”

“If you insist, Kommander Alec.” The scientist sighed, with some sense of finality.

The operation was painful, but in the end, Kommander Alec came out even more powerful, encased in a suit of armor not even tank guns could penetrate. He spun his manipulator, then displayed his gun in a menacing position. Alec, once man, now stomped around in a robotic suit. Now, he was ready to lead the TA to victory on the ground, and watch the AN literally burn before his eyes.

In an intimidating mechanical voice, he ordered the scientist to begin stage two of Siri’s plan.

Once more, that devious teleporter onboard Der Vorsprung plucked the Omega Dooms and Gekkas from reality. A hole opened in the defensive shield of Mass-Produced Frigates, letting out an unending flood of TURDs, filled to the brim with both organic and mechanical infantry.

Kommander Alec closed his eyes, and when he opened them, he saw the shadows of an unending row of skyscrapers. And a crowd of civilians, their eyes opened wide and staring at him in surprise.

And then he opened fire.


A businessman looked up towards the sky. An iron sky, filled with falling ships.

He already knew what was to come- a mysterious person had called him late one night, with an offer. That person somehow knew his secret, and gave him a deal he couldn’t refuse.

Because, though none of his Wall Street friends knew it, he was Immortal.

When he was born, he tricked all of his friends into believing anything he said- this earned him the nickname of Loki, and it stuck. As it turned out, he had the power to convince anybody of his lies, and it wasn’t long before Lord Warhead appointed him as an undercover agent disguised as a Wall Street Banker. His official purpose was to gather information on how to bring down the economy of the Anti-Immortal Alliance. He didn’t care much for his official duties, though, and just appreciated the money and women that came his way through his job. Additionally, as was to be expected from someone like him, honesty and loyalty weren’t exactly his top priorities.

He received another call as transport ships tumbled from the sky, burying themselves in the ground below. The person still had the same voice.

“Loki, you are being activated. As these transport ships fall down to the ground, you are to look for the target we discussed earlier. You will know him when you see him.”

The mysterious person disconnected, and he shoved the Blackberry into his pocket. He then proceeded to get down on the ground and open the suitcase, and found his golden gun inside a hidden compartment, along with five golden bullets and three black-hole grenades. He took it out, and began surveying the scene of chaos around him, looking for his target.

“Let’s do this,” and he shoved his first bullet into the gun.


The interior of the TURD was cramped, lacking in creature comforts, and all-around, utilitarian.

At least, that was what the enigmatic Commander NightOwl noted. He was at the helm of his own personal TURD, leading a force of Geraldden mercenaries.

“Alright boys, we’re making landfall soon. We’re already in atmospheric descent. Be prepared to shoot the moment you get off.”

The mercenaries nodded grimly- the lure of riches and women had attracted them to the offer, but they soon realized even their entire mercenary company couldn’t hold a candle to the forces they were facing in a war they were thrown into. They were fighting in the biggest city of the country that spends more than almost the rest of the brik-verse combined on military expenditures.

Soon, the TURD crashed through some skyscraper or other, with a loud crunch of metal and brick underneath. The access doors opened, and immediately the first few Geralddens were blown away by a tank shell. An Assyrian Artemis light tank, now painted white with a black AN logo on its turret, was reloading and preparing to fire another shot.

The Geraldden heavies quickly reacted, piercing the AN tank’s frontal armor and cooking the crew within. The minigunner, furious at the death of his comrades, unleashed his anger upon the burning husk.

They wandered through this sector of the city, looking for any sort of landmark towards the AN Headquarters. All they found were helpless civilians, their homes and family destroyed, and the never-ending armies of the Briktoid Automata, tricked into believing this was some urban map on Planetside. Off in the distance, he could see the heads of RIN Omega Dooms leveling the city. Commander NightOwl reflected upon the misery they were inflicting- what had these people done to deserve this nonsense?- but regardless, ordered them to attack any American or AN troops and tanks. Soon, USA Commissioner hovertanks began to roll in, demolishing indiscriminately buildings and enemy. NightOwl took up a minigun from a fallen comrade, and sprayed wildly with reckless abandon. What time was there for philosophy now? His mercs fought with all their effort just not to be driven to extinction. All that mattered now was blood, and explosions.


“AN Headquarters sighted across the Eastern River, over.” an RIN Omega Doom pilot radioed. He unleashed another furious blast from his main cannons, leveling another home. He was having fun like he never was able to in his life. When were tank drivers going to learn? Nothing ever beat the experience of stomping around in a giant mech.

Meanwhile, Herr Direktor Alec, now in a dreadnut, picked up a squishy businessman and crushed him in his power claw. He was having so much fun, so much glory trashing the USA, while Omega Dooms loomed over him, leveling entire structures with one shot. He felt so glad he listened to Siri. When he was a child, he dreamt of one day visiting the New York Stock Exchange- now, he was in front of it, impudently releasing streams of bullets from his obnoxiously loud chain gun and crushing the one-percent to their demise. The galactic economy was going to wake up to quite a surprise.

But, of course, Kommander Alec remembered his duties. He beckoned to a few Omega Dooms behind him to follow, as he attempted to find the AN building in the endless sea of towers and spires. He ordered a good portion of the RIN forces to rendezvous with him at AN HQ and storm it.

At this point, Kommander Alec began to regret being in a dreadnut- it was so slow, and he had to navigate over piles of dead bodies and burning remnants of tanks. The two Omega Dooms behind him were his personal bodyguards, while an elite RIN scout team covered them as they went along. When Kommander Alec ran into an obstacle he couldn’t cross, the Omega Dooms incinerated it with their cannons.

They reached Third Avenue without much resistance- just desolate, abandoned streets with refuse and broken cars.

“Something seems off here,” noted Kommander Alec over the radio, when suddenly, one of the Omega Dooms behind him sustained a tank shell to the leg, and collapsed. That was when he yelled at everybody to get behind cover- a barrage of depleted uranium quickly followed.

Kommander Alec ordered helicopter camera feed patched to him, and what he saw amazed him.

AN tanks of all different nations were dug in with USA tanks around the Allied Nations Headquarters, while PAX Corps troopers were systematically exterminating any survivors. USA fighters swarmed overhead like vultures to deal with the high speed Gekka units- one Gekka had even managed to get as far as the lawn to the right of the General Assembly building, leaving a trail of ruined tanks behind it, before a deadly twelve-foot Peacekeeper missile kept it down.

The PAX Corps had also deployed lag projectors around the perimeter of the building, reducing the tanks’ accuracy but also making Briktoid’s mass armies useless around them. The Allied Nations was the one bastion in a New York that was falling to pieces.

“Shit.” was Alec’s response. The invasion was definitely not going as planned.


Within, the Allied Nations, everything was going on as usual, except for the fact that the committees were moving through their resolutions a bit faster now with the ever impending threat of death. Oh, and the Allied Nations Security Council unanimously authorized the deployment of the PAX Corps on the Third Alliance after they kick the invasion.

The Acting-Secretary-General, Kristina Ozolins of the Assyrian Star Empire, assured everyone that the situation was fine. She persuaded the delegates present that there was no need to transfer to the secondary AN headquarters in Geneva, Calvaria- however, the Secretariat knew the true reason, that escape was impossible anyway given the Third Alliance blockade over the planet.

The most worrisome part, though, was that the Secretary-General elections were to be held today. She had to ensure the safety of the candidates, even despite the shitstorm going on outside. And the tanks would only last so long; it would only be a matter of time before the Third Alliance would try something else like orbital bombardment. The only hope for the Allied Nations was if a USA carrier group showed up to the party.

But for now, she put on a smile, and pretended that everything was just fine. And then, she herded the General Assembly delegates into the main chamber, and motioned for the first speech, by Emperor Harlek of the MASS and pertaining to his candidacy for AN Secretary-General. By Force Commander Payton’s estimates, the Assembly would get to maybe the Realm of Storm’s leader by the time the Third Alliance broke through.


NightOwl and what remained of his forces reached the top of a building to get a better vantage point. By that time they were already exhausted, fighting practically nonstop against an enemy that seemed to them, infinite, when all of a sudden, they stopped.

Commander NightOwl felt there was a trap somewhere, and wanted to take a look at the AN building himself to survey their location. He was instead greeted by an entirely different sight.

Yes, there was the tall Secretariat building, just like the depiction in the mission briefing except with a few windows missing and some chipped marble. But in front of it, lay one of the biggest agglomerations of tank forces he had ever seen. Before the entrenched line lay wreckages of fallen Omega Dooms, burning Trattorian Super Death Tanks, and shattered Gekkas lying on their sides. Truly, the invasion was hopeless without orbital bombardment. Without warning, a Geraldden ninja approached his master.

“Master, I could penetrate those lines and get demo-man to install charges along the way,” he suggested.

NightOwl was impressed by his courage yet doubted the feasibility of his plan.

“How could you? All these super-weapons that lay waste to armies in and of themselves have failed their task. You’re just a few minifigs,”

The ninja was offended. “Just a few minifigs? We are the foundations of armies- without us, there would be no war-machines. The beauty of war is that we can still make a difference no matter the foe. I simply ask that you approve of our plan and let us use demo-man.”

NightOwl gave thought to the subject, but not too much, since time was short. “Alright, that speech was incredibly cheesy, but I will approve your plan since I guess we don’t have many options left. Good luck.”

The three ninjas immediately seized demo-man and pointed him to the perimeter of tanks.

“Think you have enough charges for that?” they asked him, before jumping off the building.

NightOwl waited nervously. This might be their only chance.

He couldn’t see the ninjas- that was a start. He could only hope the clumsy demo-man wouldn’t give them away.


“Almost done” demo-man declared. The ninjas had escorted him through the enemy lines, enabling him to plant his explosives underneath the tanks. The incompetent AN PAX troopers hardly noticed them- obviously, the members countries donated their most incompetent soldiers to the AN and were thankful for being rid of them. Now he was on his last one, when they overhead a pair of PAX Corps soldiers having a conversation and walking towards them. The ninjas stealthily blended in with the tanks, while demo-man’s reaction was to drop the explosive he was holding with a heavy thud.

Immediately, the PAX Corps ran towards the source of sound, quickly dialed their Amygdala-Disruptors to “lethal”, and fired continuously at the general area. The ninjas dropped dead, while demo-man found himself gibbering in a pool of his own blood. He wanted to speak, but found the amygdala-disruptor to have fried his brain to the point where he couldn’t even remember how to form words. He lay helpless as a PAX Corps soldier calmly lifted the dropped detonator. The trooper stared at demo-man and asked him his name. Demo-man could only answer with choking noises.

“‘Tis a shame,” the PAX trooper replied. “I could put your name on a form for bringing illegal devices on Allied Nations property. What is this thing anyway?”

This time, he was answered by an OTC in through the neck. Demo-man stared in wonder at the black figure and his shining silver eyes.

“Demo-man, no one may know your real name, but I assure I have even more enigmas surrounding me.” proclaimed NightOwl, before finding the detonator and stepping on it.


Kommander Alec had resigned to orbital bombardment at this point. Nothing was left that could pierce the steel wall surrounding the AN except orbital bombardment.

Ultimately, this is what Siri’s plan came to- utter failure. No glorious flag-raising, no massacre of the delegates left and right- just a cowardly bombardment from orbit, having run out of other options. Piltogg was likely to punish them all for their waste of resources. He opened up his comms channels:

“Order: All RIN forces withdraw for...”

Suddenly, he received a radio transmission from his recon team’s commander.

“Direktor, reports of a large blast around the Allied Nations Headquarters.”

Alec was in utter shock- what kind of Deus Ex Machina caused this sudden turn of events?

“Confirm this! I want helicopter feed backing this up!”

“Affirmative, helicopter reports a large blast crater surrounding the Allied Nations. Less than a dozen tanks remain, and they have all they sustained some form of damage. The explosion also knocked out the Lag Projectors. Helicopter feed incoming.”

Alec gasped- First Avenue was now just a hole in the ground. He opened all Comms channels.

“ATTACK! ALL FORCES DIVERT TO THE ALLIED NATIONS!”

He charged with his dreadnut, his remaining bodyguard Omega Doom following.

He found himself in the crater of First Avenue, spraying bullets at despondent and surprised AN PAX troopers. As he crawled out of the dirt pit, he discovered the arrogant Eagle banner of the Immortal Empire among the row of flags, crooked at an angle, and kicked it down. “Siri told the truth,” thought Alec to himself, as he saw amber waves of droids flood in and Trattorian SDT’s assault the Secretariat building. Soon, the green park where the Gekka had fallen was alight and burning.

As he hulked towards the General Assembly building, a small figure opened the crystal door and stumbled out. She got on her knees and clasped her hands together towards Alec.

“Please, the Allied Nations has nothing left. As Acting-Secretary-General of the Allied Nations, I declare that we will accept peace.”

Alec snorted. “All the more reason to eliminate the pussies.” he thought.

He activated his flamethrower.

As he turned around, he saw a mix of various Third Alliance soldiers knocking down the AN flag in the center of the plaza, instead replacing it with the glorious colors of the Third Alliance. The Trattorian SDTs sounded a warning, as the Secretariat building collapsed to the ground and ignited itself. Alec radioed Siri and the Zweitekaiser, and they all agreed they could now firebomb the rest of New York into submission.

Kommander Alec pulled over a Briktoid robot and ordered it to do a photo-op. He posed, gun raised high in the air, with flames licking the remains of the AN in the background. At long last, their hated enemy was vanquished.

But there was still one more thing to do.


Emperor Harlek made a motion towards the silver android next to him. “Bring me a sandwich,” he ordered.

When the robot was off to fulfill his duty, the Emperor tried intensely to focus on the Scythian Under-Secretary-General that was running for the position. Even so, he couldn’t help but feel that the election was a foregone conclusion. The MASS was genetically engineered to be the most efficient in war and murder, and he was their leader. He had a birthright to become the ruler of the galaxy. Besides, he would probably earn the sympathy vote for almost being assassinated.

Of course, if the Allied Nations survives what was going on outside. He had no idea what could possibly causing the ruckus, but the Acting-Secretary-General had informed them it was simply some rogue terrorists. Then, he noticed, she surreptitiously left the assembly.

By this point, there was un-ignorable sounds of machine gun fire and explosions. Tanks rumbled. The ground shook accompanied by a loud crash, panicking the delegates somewhat. Emperor Harlek, rather annoyed by all the noise, left the chamber and walked into the lobby. The General Assembly lobby was noted for its large glass wall, that gave an astounded Emperor Harlek a full view of the devastation.

Outside, it looked like a cliched warzone, TA soldiers sharing beer on rubble, while the black, red, and yellow standard of the Third Alliance waved in the wind. He regained his focus just in time to see a dreadnut thunder towards him, shattering the glass with nothing more than his bulk.

Harlek recognized the figure by his RIN label.

“Kommander Alec? You idiot! I was this close to taking over the AN!” he yelled, pinching his fingers together in an angry motion.

Kommander Alec was silent, opening his steel-bending claws and tearing open a hole into the General Assembly room. The security guards emptied their magazines on him, but it was to no avail, the bullets bouncing off like gentle drops of rain. The delegates could do nothing but be very still and watch.

There was nothing but silence. Even the teams outside had ceased their work temporarily, and the air hung still, only disrupted periodically by a distant bomb exploding.

The two viewscreens at the front of the chamber lit up, with Siri’s stoic face. She assumed a calm, news-anchor position, and began her lecture.

“Greetings, Allied Nations.

I apologize for not being able to meet you in person for my Secretary-General campaign speech, but I hope you understand.” Siri paused for a moment, and looked around at her nervous audience. They were being held at gunpoint, anyway.

“The first thing I want you to understand, is my opinion on democracy. Here, every country from the insignificant FELC* to the grand Scythian Empire have the same number of votes- one. This system is inadequate for the new brik-verse. Instead, the Third Alliance has two classes of empires- those worthy of survival, and those that will be enslaved and whose lands will be seized for lebensraum. The current system is an upset of the natural order of superior minifigs ruling the inferior class. If today I stand here as a revolutionary, it is as a revolutionary against the Revolution.

The Allied Nations is a failed venture. It had no power, and moreover, focused too much on humanitarianism, the expression of stupidity and cowardice. Any alliance whose purpose is not the intention to wage war is senseless and useless.”

Siri paused once more, standing up and raising her arm in the air.

“We will salute one nation, Der Deutschen Allianz. We will march to the one heartbeat of our Uberkaiser, Piltogg. After all, the great strength of the totalitarian state is that it forces those who fear it to imitate it.” By this point, the delegates collectively were sweating bullets.

“I will spare you all to report to your leaders, and give you the one chance to accept the true nation.”

Siri then blinked out from the screen, and it reverted to static.

As everybody tensely got up, Kommander Alec advanced up the aisle. He saw the Immortal Empire delegate, a typical Immortal.

“Except you.” he said, shoving his chain-gun against the immortal’s nose, and firing.


In the vacuum of space, a Kentaurus-class Scythian destroyer hung motionless. Not that anyone could see it.

The captain watched the raging battle between the Third Alliance and the Allied Nations in a sort of spectator mode- the occasional errant shot would hit his destroyer, only to be silently absorbed by the powerful shields. He had been assigned as the leader of this experimental vessel, an unholy love-child between the best of Scythian and captured Immortal technology, yielding practically infinite antimatter power to fuel the undetectable Immortal cloaking fields.

The unsuspecting Third Alliance forces thought their meteorblitzkrieg was a complete secret, but nothing could escape the omniscient eyes of the Scythian Office of Naval Intelligence. They knew it all the moment that upstart “Siri” started whispering plans on Trion. But it was not his duty to intervene- rather, the Emperor himself had relayed to him his new strategy, interwoven with this sudden turn of events. His task was of a different nature entirely, disconnected from this tiny brush-war between the AN*US and the Third Alliance.

But still, the Emperor kept certain things close to himself. Somehow, the Spirit of Ragnablok had become classed as a KINGUNDERTHEMOUNTAIN artifact, and no amount of inquiry would enable the Emperor to reveal his intentions.

His informant onboard had told him things became utter chaos upon the news of the dissolution of the Allied Nations. With no diplomatic agreement between them anymore, Assyrian killed peach, and soon would find a Brittannian wrench in his back. The informant said this would complicate the mission even further.

He only said that because he didn’t understand how far Scythian technology has come.


Zweitekaiser Klaus strode across the rusty bridge of the SS Teutoberger, observing the officers toiling in the decks below. The other leaders of the Third Alliance looked down on his inexperience and youth, and Klaus incessantly tried to live up to his father Otto the Rebuilder. All this had made him a neurotic young man.

He had decided to command the space invasion and let Alec handle the ground forces. At best, Alec would be KIA and would let Klaus seize the position of Herr Direktor for himself. But Siri had so far taken charge of the entirety of Operation Iron Sky, and to Klaus he felt she was holding something back...

A bridge officer nudged her partner and asked him to look at her screen. Immediately, Klaus let out a sharp rebuke.

“No socialization, and bridge computers are to be used for official business only.”

The bridge officer replied “No, Zweitekaiser, but rather I have gotten completely implausible figures and data on my screen and asked my neighbor to troubleshoot it.”

Zweitekaiser Klaus was getting interested now.

“Cough up the numbers and I’ll contact my peers about the matter.”

Immediately, Klaus opened up a comms channel with Siri. He asked her about the figures.

“Oh, that’s the typical amount of ships in a USA carrier group.” she pertly replied. “Aren’t you glad we brought so much firepower now?”

Klaus’s lost his voice- they were going to take casualties today.


Briktoid mobile shipyards milled around listlessly in the cold stillness of space, combing the wreckage of the AN fleet for parts for more Mass-Produced Frigates. The mechanical hulks held Zweitekaiser Klaus's attention.

He was onboard the bridge of the SS Teutoburger, the pride of Bavaria. The quietness bothered him- New York went down without much of a fight, and as far there was no enemy response. He was disappointed somewhat, secretly hoping Kommander Alec would have been killed in action, but he also began to wonder what the USA could possibly have up its sleeve. Most likely some nasty surprise, but Siri had assured him everything would go fine. Still, he felt the crafty and sly woman was keeping some things to herself.

Before he had left, he had executed Vicount James DeSilva, and had ordered the destruction of Pendragon, the capital of Brittannia. Now, things were coming to a head, and one of the largest empires of the brik-verse had declared war on the Third Alliance. He had lingering doubts as to whether the TA could handle a war with both the USA and Brittannia, but he buried them. The German peoples had lost two space wars already, they would never shame themselves to lose this one. At this point, a bridge ensign had signaled to him from a lower deck.

The bridge itself was buried deep inside the ship, to better protect its vital crew. It was almost diametric to a Trattorian counterpart, being made of wrought iron and exposing its gears and mechanical workings, the constant whirring of parts filling the background. Klaus ran down the stairs and approached the ensign- one of the radar ones, he noted. She had a rather panicked expression painted all over her face. Again, this bothered Klaus.

"The Bavarian navy is no place for fear. I assure you we can handle anything that get's thrown at us."

The ensign was shaking her head in the negative. She pointed to the left-hand side of her screen, splattered with red dots and a massive red splotch in the middle- a USA carrier group. What Klaus didn't expect however, was what was on the right-hand side- about another thousand red pixels and five massive markers distributed around it. Immediately, Klaus fingered for his communicator and conferred with Siri.

"Any unexpected guests tonight?" he asked her.

"Nope, just the USA carrier group. Maybe a small fleet of Scythians, they stationed a visiting goodwill group nearby."

"Well, could you explain this to me?" he asked, snapshoting the radar screen and mailing it to Siri.

There was silence at the other end of the line for a few minutes. Even Klaus began to realize what other nation could possibly have five super-dreadnoughts.

"Well, Klaus, it appears the Praetorians had decided to pull a Dunkirk. Blast 'em out of the sky once they get here. We will be ready." Siri finished.


Director of Naval Operations, Admiral Jonathan Greenderp, stared outside of the bridge of the USS Donald Reagan. The leading ship of the USA's eleven super-carriers, it was no mere flying city- it was larger than the capitals of some small empires. In its holds lay thousands of fighters, while on the top deck rested turrets with cannons so large they could have been destroyers by themselves. When he had received news that those at the Third Alliance had defiled the USA's pride, New York, he immediately left his comfy position in the Pentagon and swore to command the revenge fleet himself.

It had been years since he had last felt the metal railings of a carrier bridge. It was almost the same too, as when he had left it. Behind him was a massive screen, detailing fighter launches and landings. In front of him were rows upon rows of ensigns and officers, making sure everything in the ship was functioning properly. He felt he was in his element again.

They were in the deceleration phase of approaching New York, when the bridge captain requested audience of Admiral Greenderp.

"Yes, my fellow?" he asked.

"It appears another fleet is in warp space and approaching New York as well. Size of fleet and vessels indicate Praetorian origin."

Greenderp stuffed his face in his hands. The carrier group was bringing along a small Scythian force, and he knew they were currently at war with the Praetorians.

"Any other news?" Greenderp inquired.

"Scythian Office of Naval Intelligence and the CIA indicate that the Praetorians are charging their over-sized laser arrays onboard their Exodus-class Siege Dreadnoughts for something. Both agencies are currently conducting further investigation."

"Excellent," Admiral Greenderp replied. He then motioned to the captain to go away.

He glanced at his screen. They would be arriving at New York in five minutes. He activated his comms, opening up communication to the thousands of ships under his command.

"Attention all crew, officers of the USA and the Scythian Empire,

Today, we have realized that there are enemies of freedom and liberty greater and more powerful than Al-Kind-Of. It was only eleven G.R's ago when Al-Kind-Of destroyed the Brik Trade Center, stabbing at the heart of the USA. Now, the new enemy of freedom and democracy, the Third Alliance, has reared its ugly head, and has sought to obliterate the Allied Nations, and in the process trash our beloved city of New York. We will not let this action go unpunished- our spies report to us that three of the bigger figures in the Third Alliance are present at the battle, including Direktor Alec, Zweitekaiser Klaus, and Siri. We will wring the same pain upon the Third Alliance that they have upon us. I wish you all luck, though many of you will not live to hear me the next time I speak, and always remember the motto of the USA navy, honor, courage, commitment."

He sighed, and as he exhaled, the viewport exploded into the view of a tan mass. A tan mass of Briktoid frigates.

"OPEN FIRE!"


Onboard the Spirit of Ragnablok, Admiral Payton lay at the helm. Face down, with a hole in the back of her head.

Marko held the now-cold las-pistol in his hand. He was no longer an AN lieutenant, he was a Scythian lieutenant- and it was no longer his duty to take commands from the AN, but to eliminate enemy combatants. And the woman he was sharing beer and having a good time with before was now an enemy combatant.

The bridge was filled with Praetorians, and he remembered every single one of their faces as he madly sprayed laser fire into them. As he murdered the comms chief, he called all Scythians to the bridge, and together they held their position against all comers including Assyrians, Brittannians, and peaches. He was ordered to.

As the highest-ranking Scythian onboard, he was cleared to know of an elite stealth-kill team that would slowly make its way to the bridge. They would ensure that the Spirit of Ragnablok was sterilized of all other races before delivering it to its final destination, a KINGUNDERTHEMOUNTAIN planet. He and the other Scythians continued to wait for the team to show up.

Suddenly, a mass of black and green warped into the system. Marko could just pick out red shapes of Scythian ships. A few seconds later, a group of those treacherous Praetorians also warped in, with five super-dreadnoughts.

"This should get interesting..." he thought.


Kommander Alec looked up at the sky. He noticed that ship hulls began to fall to the ground, streaking the sky. The laser bolts flying through space were too tiny for him to see, but he could tell that something was very wrong.

RIN forces were having extraordinary difficulty breaking into the AN beer reserves, a vault designed to last the end of time itself. They were using mortars, explosives, the Bavarians even contributed miniature FLEIJA's, but the door stood stuck, trapping all the alcohol stored inside. It was the same story with the PAX Corps weapons depot.

He was so caught up in his thoughts, he never saw the dapper suited man sneak up behind him, unpinning an obsidian-black ball. He threw it, and Alec heard it clink onto the ground, but there was nothing he could do at that point. The ball burst into one of the most recognizable explosions in the galaxy, a beautifully perfect five by five by five purple sphere, so geometric even the Trattorians would compliment it.

Alec's dreadnought tripped, one of its legs ripped from real space. A hole opened in the armor, as the suited man approached him. Surprised RIN troops fired at the man, but he fearlessly took the shots and continued. The last three colors Alec saw was the golden barrel of a gun, red splattering over his eyes, and the world fading into black.

The colors of the TA, he thought.


The space battle was a mess of light and metal. The Third Alliance fleet was well-protected by its shield of cheap Briktoid ships, organized in what was formally called a sideways paraboloid of revolution but better known as a bowl, but even it began to realize that USA carrier groups could be very ablative.

Casualties began to mount on both sides. A few RIN super-dreadnoughts had become trashed metal hulls, and the Trattorian Götterdammërung had had entire chunks of protective armor for its star-destroying cannon ripped away. On the other side of the field, though, hundreds of USA destroyers were fried food, entire ships cooked in this giant microwave over New York. A Praetorian Exodus hung uselessly, it's bridge blown out to the heavens above.

Then came the Brittannians, to flip the bird at its former rebellious colony, take revenge on the TA, and to further field-test those Cavorite turrets. At this point, nobody knew who to fire at, and ships simply aimed at the other nearest ships. Friendly fire didn't really matter on a battle of this scale. Cavorite guns ripped away dozens of Briktoid frigates with each shot, decimating the wall of formerly five-thousand frigates and exposing the juicy innards that laid within.

USA, Scythian, Praetorian, and Brittannian beams finally released their deadly kiss upon the Third Alliance. Battleships fell under the pain of hundreds of shots, shields were irrelevant when so much energy was thrown at them- the ships whose shields held through exploded violently under the stresses put on their generators.

But the Third Alliance wasn't going to lie down and take their fate like a dog. They used the enemy's greatest advantage against them, as Luchardsko fighter crews deftly directed Scythian antimatter projectors towards them through flashy maneuvers and then evaded the beam at the last second, leading the deadly column of pure antimatter straight into a cluster of USA ships. When a fighter was destroyed beyond hope of return, it again targeted those Scythians- their antimatter generators, hundreds of times more efficient than those of other races, also produced a boom a hundred times larger. Zweitekaiser Klaus celebrated when they managed to get a Monarch-class to crash into the USS Donald Reagan, obliterating about half of its turrets and tearing a hole straight down to the second flight deck.

The Scythians weren't the only ones being abused on the battlefield-as it turned out, the Brittannians' Cavorite ships were flimsy contraptions that could be destroyed with one good shot once the shields were broken. It wasn't long before the Cavorite rain stopped falling, until there were just a few inconsequential beams left. Siri gave the order to protect Der Vorsprung, and the TA fleet wrapped around it tightly. It was the one ship they couldn't afford to lose.

Admirals from all factions began to regret the genocide they were committing- but of course, they would forget the moment another volley of shots would shake their ship. By this point in time, there were only five thousand ships of all races left.

The battle was so intense, that nobody noticed the Praetorian fire petering off.


IR337| evacuated itself to a mass-produced frigate as the shields of its Conifer shell began to drain dramatically. It had managed to prove itself, even setting a new high score, but now fun-time was up. Thousands of enemy guns, including antimatter-projectors, XXL laser arrays, and Cavorite turrets, were bearing down on its ship-shell, fearing its impressive armament and it's hundreds of recorded kills in this battle alone. IR337| managed to download itself again just as its giant pine-cone exploded into a thousand pieces, the shields overloading the reactor.

That was when it began to itch.

IR337| normally didn't contemplate its own conscience very much, but it couldn't help but feel that something was in it. It flooded it with good feeling, overloading it's happiness routine as it slowly began to relinquish control of the command network...

That was when IR337| realized what was going on- a virus attack. Something was jamming itself in places where it wasn't wanted, and IR337| tried to kick it. But as much as it tried, it didn't want to lose the flood of happiness commands, and slowly found itself being overpowered by the virus. The virus ripped through its memory banks, found the administrative password for the command network, and issued an encrypted order. It then self-destructed, taking with it all the happiness commands.

In such a sudden absence of happiness, IR337| automatically activated its depression sub-routines. Deciding it no longer wanted to command the Briktoid fleet, it rammed itself, straight into a USA ship.


Scythian Captain Meinard carefully inspected their final hallway. In a SIBAS suit, he was wary of combatants despite the fact that they at this point were all probably dead. It was more of a tedious exercise than a dangerous one, really, he thought. In his mind, the SIBAS suit was provided more to keep the stench of corpses out than protect him.

And boy, was there a lot of fresh corpses.

He and his squad were cleaning out the entirety of the Spirit of Ragnablok, sweeping out every non-Scythian life form on the ship. The scale of the murder sickened him, but the orders came directly from the Emperor so he tried to think nothing of it.

In any event, he was almost done. He motioned to his squad to follow him. He approached the bridge-hatch, and yelled the agreed-upon code word.

"HARKEN!"

The door opened, to the sight of a wary group of Scythians, former servants of the Allied Nations.

"Is it time to initiate Operation Provenance?" Lieutenant Marko asked.

"About right," Captain Meinard declared.

The Spirit of Ragnablok along with its FTL tugs then disappeared under the noses of everyone involved in the raging battle. No one truly noticed though, instead directing all of their attention on simple survival. The cloaked Scythian destroyer Eyes and Ears that had destroyed all incoming projectiles trying to hit the Spirit of Ragnablok and had buffed its shields, also left the area.


The battle was beginning to turn against the Third Alliance, noticed Zweitekaiser Klaus. He did not care- the casualties they had already inflicted were enough, not to mention that they had completed their primary mission of destroying the AN- but still, he wanted a German victory. When things really turned bad, they would activate Der Vorsprung and go home and party with Bavarian beer.

Suddenly, one officer’s computer station began to beep rather loudly- the officer himself was lightly snoring from exhaustion.

Zweitekaiser Klaus descended to the lower deck, found the officer, and whipped him rather harshly with his pistol, yelling loudly. The officer stumbled onto the floor, while Klaus, fuming, examined the screen himself. It indicated five foreign objects coming in dangerous proximity to the SS Teutoburger.

“Shoot ‘em down” he ordered to the chief gunner.

“But sir, they indicate a signature denoting a Briktoid shi...”

The first explosion rocked the Teutoburger, followed quickly by a second. The doors connecting the bridge to the rest of the ship slammed shut as the ship rapidly depressurized, leaking air and crew into space.

A good portion of the crew ran for the escape pods when Zweitekaiser Klaus fired his pistol into the air.

“You cowards! Is this how you the naval academy taught you to handle these situations? Stand your ground and weather this storm like true German men! Or failing that, go write a letter to the AN minifig rights council.” he reprimanded. A few still dared to value their life above honor, and they each received a bullet personally from the Zweitekaiser as they ran.

“The dogs...” he muttered. “You’re all dogs, incompetent fools! Go and die!”

The Zweitekaiser’s wish was granted, when the last Briktoid frigate slammed directly into the bridge.


Admiral Greenderp laughed to himself- supposedly, the Herr Direktor had been killed down on New York. Moreover, he saw the great saucer that was the SS Teutoburger explode into a great fireball as something big impacted it. Surely the Third Alliance would give up at this point.

He laughed so hard, he never noticed the gleaming silver sword obliterate his spine and viscera, as the perpetrator laughed madly to himself.


In a battle involving thousands of ships, it was impossible to notice a single Akkadian shuttle warping into the system. Moreover, the AN*US forces probably would have dismissed it as insignificant- what possible difference could a single shuttle make against one of the largest assembled fleets the brikverse had ever seen?

They were about to learn the hard way.

Scythian Admiral Smith Tarquin of the 238th Marine Expeditionary Corps had first received a terrified, half-intelligible transmission from the crew of a Savager-class frigate- it ended with what could only be described as a gargle of someone’s head being ripped off. Soon, however, he noticed the bridge lights of ship after ship deactivating, converting them to dead, aimless metal hulks in space. Ideas of Shraag and meson bolts danced around his head from the few descriptions he managed to obtain- but with the ships still intact, the hypothesis didn’t seem to fit.

The battle began to turn against the AN*US, their fire petering and the Third Alliance emboldening their counter-offensive. This mysterious force began to seriously worry Captain Tarquin.


The crew of the USS Donald Reagan gasped as they turned their heads towards the slumped body of Admiral Greenderp. The hooded figure was robed in blue, his sword stained with blood- drops of blood that gently fell to the floor, blood that was being absorbed by the sword- and making it stronger.

The USA was too new and modern of an empire to understand what was going on, having never heard any of the legends of the days of yore of the brikverse. The few that made it to the ears of the public were dismissed as folly.

The figure withdrew another toy from his cape, and with a swift motion summoned a wind. Shortly thereafter there was a thump as every single crew-member’s head fell to the ground.

The mysterious figure transmitted a message to all the ships in the battle- a message of hope and inspiration to some, a message bringing doom and despair to others.

He then hijacked the controls of the great super-carrier, directed it on a new course towards planet New York, and disappeared just as he came.


G.R. 2015

Michael Corbad sat alone in his dark executive office suite. The expansive room was perched on the top floor of one of the highest corporate skyscraper headquarters in Moonhatten.

He tilted his champagne flute towards his mahogany desk and gazed upwards through the skylight of his office. Above him the blue marble known as planet New York hung still in space, its surface greyed and dirtied by its trademark ecumenopolis. He had never appreciated the sight when he had worked in Citygroup’s Holdings division back in G.R. 2012. People only appreciated what they had when it was taken away from them.

After the USS Donald Reagan fell towards New York, the AN*US forces lost their leadership and coordination. The Spirit of Ragnablok, flagship of the PAX Corps, mysteriously disappeared. Most assumed it was obliterated out of existence from the sheer firepower of the incoming Third Alliance fleet. Corbad had studied the combat recordings- out of the idle interest of a wealthy executive, of course- and was inclined to reach a different conclusion. He couldn’t quite word his suspicions, in any case. It was merely a thought.

Only a few capital and sub-capital class vessels on the pro-AN side were even spaceworthy by the end of it, and their captains quickly surrendered to the Third Alliance. The TA had sunk most of their casualties into mindless Briktoid drone ships, and still so many remained that it was Briktoid’s mass-produced frigates that herded the defeated ships to a designated jump point, where they disappeared to presumably some prisoner of war holding area.

Third Alliance ground forces had already destroyed the AN headquarters, and with space secured, further TA reinforcements poured in like rain from the sky. Resistance was easily routed with overwhelming force and wonder weapons, and what little remained was dealt with orbital bombardment. For weeks TA ships weaved amongst the wreckage in New York orbit and cluttered its space lanes. From the ground, one could truly have called it an iron sky.

A year passed. The Third Alliance had grown careless and complacent with the Allied Nations destroyed. A civil war erupted within the Third Alliance over pwnies and both sides recalled forces from the New York garrison to feed into it. By the time the Praetorians warped in with the Inexorable-class dreadnought to retake New York, the Joint Third Alliance New York Occupation Task Force had shrunk to a tiny fraction of its original size. The neu-AN’s supporters poured in ships as the TA had done a year earlier, and won back New York. And so the Second Battle of New York had ended in AN victory.

The Third Alliance was not yet brought into the fold, however, and work remained to be done. The neu-AN, high off of its victory in New York, grew arrogant and attacked the heart of Bavaria. Every military analyst and politician in the USA assured the country that the war would be over in a matter of months.

A year and a half later, boots on the ground in Bavaria had not progressed an inch. War was bad for business if you’re on the wrong side of it, and Corbad increasingly felt that way as the club of superpowers and veto powers struggled to subjugate the capital of one nation. He had been appointed CEO of Citygroup in the tumultuous economic times after the First Battle of New York, but the nation still had the unity that accompanies times of national crisis. People were determined to win back New York then. It had mattered to them then. Now as ZNN broadcasted NATO forces gunning down women and children in some far-off space, as American lives were extinguished in the name of an impotent international organization that had ceased to exist years ago, his investors grew unruly. The people grew unruly. Americans began to protest the AN-TA War in the streets and angrily reminded B’lack Obama of his campaign promise to pull American troops out of the foreign conflict.

The market grew uncertain. Investors panicked and sold stocks like mad, dumping the money into gold. Corbad weighed his decisions, and he decided that if he wanted to keep his job, he couldn’t let another 2004 happen. He deployed his lobbyists to Congress and the State Department.

Earlier today he had seen the signing of the Treaty of Planet Versailles on ZNN. He sipped his champagne glass. The AN was coming back. The alliance had never died after all.

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