Remember all of my past BBS stories? The ones I never finished? I might get to those, but certainly not soon.

The reason was that while I was writing all those stories, I had been working on a universe for a series of stories. All those other stories were drained of their creative blood and blanded by the work I was putting into this other one.

The reason this will be finished, and in my opinion, will be much better, is because this story takes place in the same universe I have been working on.

Please continue to read my story.

Prologue- Twisted Point, Ess Aech Eye Tee of Florida University.

In a world parallel to ours, perhaps existent in another dimensions, time and or place, there was a war going on.
Only this war had been going on far too long. It was a war waged between two sides of equal numbers, locked in eternal stalemate for half a century since the war began. Technological advances had done nothing to tilt favor to one side, and no holy power was helping either side. This war was killing dozens by the week, but there were still many, many more.

About nine years into the war, the government and military of both sides realized that people weren't going to volunteer in numbers large enough to maintain large armies. So, to prevent their enemy from gaining the numerical advantage, they began to forcefully draft the firstborn of each family, male or female, on their 17th birthday. Morale dropped heavily among troops, but the war maintained its deathly stalemate. Neither power gained much land that was taken back within the month.

Nineteen years in, the first major riot broke out. The entire city of Raisen, in the southern country of Querea broke into revolt, and the city was bombed by a rogue government agent. Not realizing that the nuke had been launched unauthorized, the citizens were traumatized, not even badmouthing a cop, to prevent their destruction.

Twenty four years. The small northern country of Wedran began to break apart. It's allies could not prevent the tiny country's massive nuclear powerplant from melting down, as the engineers broke into protest. The irradiated countryside bore no life, and immigrants with severe radiation sickness came into the other countries and all died within a week. The low-population country did not slow the flow of recruits with its demise, however.

Forty five years, about five years before the current date. The southern countries have issued an act that requires that if a family's firstborn soldier dies in combat or is rendered unsuitable for combat, then they must send their next child, if any, to take the other's place. This caused a public outrage, and an armed rebellion captured a military supply depot. The act was quickly withdrawn, but the Rebellion was formed. The Rebellion spread internationally, fighting the police forces whenever the people were violated of their rights. Even though they are in small numbers, they are still there...

The Present Date.

Chapter One

Snipe was rudely awakened by the butt of a rifle.
"Get the fuck up, shithead!" said sarge. "And take a shower, you smell shittier than the fucking shit fountain itself!" The sarge jammed his carbine into Snipe's lower back once more, forcing a fart from Snipe's guts. The sarge stood speechless, then swung his gun in a wide arc and smashed one of the legs of Snipe's cheap bed. Snipe tumbled out of the broken bed, fully awake.

"Take a damn shower!" the sargeant barked, before walking away. Snipe sniffed his arm, and quickly recoiled. Sargeant Janus was right- he DID smell really bad. As much as he hated taking showers in the crappiest shower on any military base, the water, however dirty, would make Snipe cleaner than he was. He snatched his cleanest battle uniform from the depths of his laundry sack and lazily trudged off to the shower, clothed only in his breifs under his sheets.

"Snipe" wasn't Snipe's real name. Nobody alive knew his real name, since his great uncle had never told it to him, only telling the repeated story of Snipe coming from a town full of people who's hair was a strange, dark shade of green. This town had been recently obliterated by the opposing military, and Snipe was rendered an orphan until his spared great uncle found him under a collapsed house. Snipe was simply his nickname, due to his marksmanship with any firearm with a fairly long barrel.
He felt rather filthy still, as the cold, brackish water splattered over his head and over his shoulders. He had walked in on a couple in the shower, the guy performing rough anal sex on the girl. Many fellow soldiers had also reported walking in on shower sex, but the truth was ofen mixed, as Snipe was often accused of pleasuring the random woman in the shower. Or man, if the person telling the tale was a complete asshole. Snipe noted the handprints and occaisonal milky stain on the wall for future discussion.
Snipe turned off the shit shower and got dressed. The salty water quickly hardened his all of his hair into lumps of salty strands, but at least Snipe didn't smell of anything other than salt.
He saw other sleeping soldiers on his way out of the shower, and thought vaguely of doing the Sarge performance to make himself feel a little better. Sarge would laugh if he saw it, and Snipe was feeling rather grumpy that day. He advanced towards the first mildly attractive woman he saw, and reached towards her buttocks. Snipe rubbed them slowly and firmly, and she began to stir. Only then, did he spank her hard with the back of his hand. She only snorted and rolled over. Sighing, Snipe decided not to risk any further soiling of his reputation as a well-behaved person.

Snipe saw a few other drowsy warriors in the coffee room, Sargeant Janus sitting on a table fiddling with his gun's safety mechanism. Another person was struggling to extract coffee from the ancient coffee machine, only managing to get a tenth of a cup so far.
Janus looked up at Snipe. "Any other shitheads up, yet?"
Snipe shook his head. Sarge heaved himself up and flicked the safey of his gun. Marching out the door, one of the people reclining on the couch rushed over to the security station and motioned for everybody to come over. Snipe got himslef a first-row seat, feeling pity for the people behind him who wouldn't get a full view of Sarge's wakeup call. The sarge came into view on the first camera in the bedroom, and he pointed his gun towards the ceiling and fired off several rounds. The squad jumped out of their beds. Most of them jumped out of their sheets, scared shitless. The hilarious few flipped over their beds and hid behind them, and Snipe laughed to himself, loudly. The rest of the audience was cheering, chuckling, or otherwise holding their sides in laughter as Sarge began belching out swears not even known to them, swears not known to them in a different language, walked up to people, held them by their necks and gave the unlucky grunt a frank, negative summary on their bad qualities. As Sargeant Janus lifted a short guy two feet into the air and began yelling in his face, he suddenly disappeared, leaving the shorty to slam into the floor, facefirst. Snipe was suddenly pushed out of the way, and Sarge simply appeared in front of him, standing straight, looking down at the guy operating the cameras, who was still giggling.
"So!" said Sarge, "Was that recorded?"
The guy looked up at him, suddenly worried. "Er-er...."
Sarge grabbed him and slammed him through the ceiling, and the others began to laugh as they saw the unfortunate operator's squirming legs sticking through the hole.
"Ten-SHUN!" bellowed Sarge. The rest of the squad burst through the door, hastily pulling on their uniforms or strapping on their armor. The squad stood at attention, except for those still struggling to get their shirts on.
"You ready to go back out to that barren shithole!?" yelled Seargant Janus, recharging the clip of his carbine. Snipe was not ready to go, but he had to. Hey- maybe he would get lucky and see a hot nude rider from the hotter part of the desert.

Chapter One and a half

NFA- THe previous version of this chapter was gay, so I revised it.

In this land, there is a special breed of fighter, a two-in-one combat team that reigns supreme even over modern weaponry. These fighters are puppet masters, and use, command, and fight beside their semi-living puppets, animated by the very life force of the master him/herself.

Excerpt from Pone Rae City author Teo von McGeharth's Principles of Life Energy

Snipe felt the sting of the dead, non-condtioned air in his nostrils as soon as Sergeant Janus DeMelay opened the door. The very air of the Moush Desert was barren, so much shit blew in from the industry up north, and radioactive shit from the meltdown in Wedran.
Snipe's unit, the 52nd Dreaguars, was stationed in a cluster of several small towns twenty miles south of the current line of fire. They were supposed to be the second line of defense in case the first line was broken.
Today, however, they were supposed to reinforce the line.
"It's been getting heavy on the action up there," said Sarge, "There's less of a bigass stalemate there as there is everywhere else. If they break through, you might as well shoot yourself in the head, because I'd kill you anyway!"
The entire unit straightened and loaded into the APC, a small skiff. Skiffs were generally gigantic battle platforms mounted on skis, but it's word had spread to any land transportion that slid. The old engine putted to a grumbling start, and the paddle wheels began to plow away through the white sand. Soon, the machine was churning through the sand, Snipe could feel the wind blowing through his hair at ninety miles an hour. The town disappeared in the course of minutes.

The scene of fighting became visible. Snipe saw a rocket vanish into the sand beside the steamer (model of skiff).
"Nothing to worry abut!" yelled the navigator at the wheel. "Only danger is when we get there in a few seconds. Ho ho ho!"
The crude fortifications became visible. Snipe was floored by a mortar blowing up behind him.
"Daveed, slow down the ship." said Sergeant Janus. The ship did not slow down at all. "Daveed!"
Janus bashed open the door, and suddenly stepped back a few feet.
"Shit!"
Snipe ran over to the scene, did a few others. The Navigator was slumped over the wheel, a fragment of a shell embedded in the back of his neck. Sarge instinctively ran over and began pullin levers. The steamer jolted and turned ninety degrees, then started to roll. At about 100 miles per hur, with a vehicle that big, Snipe was launched ass-over-teakettle into a tree. Snipe felt blood rush up his throat and spurt onto his combat jacket. Just when he thought the worst had passed, he got an upside-down view of the steamer rolling towards him at an unreal speed. The steamer skipped on a small hill and soared over Snipe, slamming into the thicket behind him. Snipe heaved out a tremendous sigh of relief, and looked back towards the wreckage. A few people left intact, who hadn't jumped clear were left defending the hulk. Snipe heard rustling next to him and saw a squadmate suat down next to him.
"I'll look around. Keep your head down!" she assured him. Sniope's mate stood up, and a bronze slug caved in her face. A shower of blood and other fluid rained on Snipe's head, dripping onto his shoulders.
"Damn...such a nice ass, too...." muttered Snipe. A small group of the enemy ran out of the brush and cornered Snipe against the tree. Four people against him, he remained slumped against the tree.
"Do you want to come quietly?" said the biggest one.
"I don't want to be the one, the battles always choose..." Snipe said in a melodic tone.
"What the hell are you saying, dog?" an other soldier said.
"Cause inside I realize, that I'm the one confused..." Snipe continued.
"He's crazy. Put him out" said the same soldier. Snipe withdrew his rifle from its holder on his back slowly and silently.
"Shoot'im!" yelled another one. Snipe swung his rifle like an aze and clobbered him. He was on the ground before he could say "Linkin Park".
"I don't know what's worth fighting for!" yelled Snipe, turning his rifle and shooting another guy in the gut. He crumpled and fell back, the .78 caliber slug knocking him on his ass. "Or why I have to scream!" Snipe grabbed the biggest guy's shotgun and forced it upwards, to his chin, cocking it.
"I don't know why I instigate, and say what I don't mean!" Snipe pulled the trigger while he sang "mean". His head exploded as brains cascaded onto the tree. THe final guy raised his sidearm and shot three times. "I don't know how I got this way," Snipe span and kicked the guy in his knee pits, forcing him to kneel. "I know it's not alright!"
"What the hell are you!?" demanded the soldier, still parylized with shock.
"So I'm breaaaaakiiing the haaaabit," Snipe cocked his rifle, "Tonight!!" Snipe blew the enemy's heart out, the sheer impact of the slug sending him back ten feet. Snipe blew the smoke from his gun, smiled, and sat back down, planning what to do next.

Chapter frickin' Two

Snipe could hear the rattle of automatic weapons nearby. He had to move. Four recruits, maybe, but Snipe could not go up against a trained Assualt specialist right now, let alone more than one.
The assualt specialists had parked themselves and their vehicles in a ring around the wrecked steamer. Snipe was saddened to know that several of his fellow squadmates woul undoubtedly perish in the ensuing onslaught.
Snipe hacked up more blood, loudly. He guessed his injuries were worse than he thought.
The average soldier in this war is trained to hear any signs of human activity over the artificial noise of explosions, gunshots and engines. Snipe coughed several more times, and noticed that the machine gun fire had quieted. One Assualt gunman turned his SAW and fired off a burst. Snipe hit the dirt and narrowly avoided having his head split open. Snipe rolled backwards and proceeded to do what is insructed to do in boot camp if you're outgunned- run like hell. .32 caliber bullets sawed apart a tree where Snipe had been. The Assualtman was weighed down with the heavy machine gun and all of its ammo, but bullets traveled hundreds of times faster than he needed to go. Snipe saw bullets rip apart plants, wood, and the very dirt he was walking on.

Snipe considered himself lucky that none of the rounds had hit him. Tha feeling vanished in an instant. A rogue bullet blew through a space in Snipe's body armor and into his hip. Snipe slipped and fell on his face, his face abrazed by the sandy soil. Snipe rolled over to face his assailant, and waited for the end to arrive.
Shockingly to Snipe, there was no assailant chasing him.the last several shots had all hit Snipe, but they had all hit his shoulder armor, and the bruises were nowhere near as painful as his shattered hip. Snipe looked towards his wound. It was bleeding in short bursts, an arterial wound. Snipe apparently couldn't effectively treat his hip wound. The severe bleeding bandages he had would chemically fuse his wound, and he would be effectively put out of action.

Fortunately, Snipe didn't have to wait too long before three friendly heads popped through the brush. The medic of the group hissed at a fellow grunt, and crawled out to retrieve Snipe. The two grunts held their rifles at ready, watching for any sign of an enemy soldier that would ruin the rescue.
"Nice time to show up, Steven." mumbled Snipe.
"Save it for the bushes," replied Steven, the unit medic.
Snipe felt soft leaves brush his face as he went back into cover. He saw a fourth ally, wielding an assualt rifle with a grenade launching attatchment, covering the rear.
"So where's Lydia?" he asked. "Sis went out to find our missing people."
"She's FUBAR (Fucked up beyond all recognition)," Snipe answered, trying not to remember the nauseating sight of his fellow squad member's splattered face.
The assualt rifle dude went silent for a while, but Steven breifed Snipe. "We're about a quarter mile behind enemy lines. Everybody who jumped is there, or close, to our lines. Everybody in the ship is fucked- we can't help them."
"That isn't true!" the assualt rifler, Macbeth, burst out. A grenade flew over their heads and blew apart a tree. Snipe felt several daggers of wood flatten themselves against his armor.
"...well I'm not going to risk my ass. By the way, nice fucking going there, getting a nade tossed at us."
"You shut the hell up." responded Macbeth. "I just lost my baby sister, I'm not gonna lose my brother, too."
Steven shrugged. "As soon as I patch up Snipe, we're going back. I can't get shot out here. Yet."
Steve gave Snipe a stick to chew on, then reached into the wound with his forceps. It burned, and Snipe nearly bit the stick in half, but the bullet was out of the bone. Steven tightly tied a bandage around it and said, "You should be able to at last move on your own, now. Let's go back."
"No," said Snipe, "I have friends on that wreck, too." He looked over to Macbeth. "I'm coming with you."
Steven glared at them. "Fine, get fucked, but don't cry to me if you die."
Steven and the two other people vanished past a line of trees.

Snipe and Macbeth walked the other direction, towards the Last Stand in the crashed ship. The terrifying sounds of the assualt weapons were still there. The only positive thought going through Snipe's mind was that there was at least one person to rescue. He was about to go out when Macbeth held him back.
"Wait. There's something big coming." he whispered, groping for an imaginary grenade. A tank rumbled into the clearing.
"Shit..." Snipe said to himself. Neither of them had any heavy weapons, save maybe two grenades Macbeth had left, but tanks that could be destroyd by that number of grenades barely existed anymore. Most of the ones in service were heavily armored for battles against fortresses and other tanks. Antipersonnel grenades would hardly scratch the paint job. Macbeth blasted off a grenade towards the tank.
"What the hell are you doing!?" Snipe screamed, slowly watching the ghastly turret revolve towards their position.
"Don't just stand there," Macbeth yelled back, "Fucking run!!"
The tank fired. The ground exploded behind the pair, rocks bouncing everywhere. Off of trees and into people and their armor. One hit Snipe in the back of the knee. Flitting thoughts of his own grisly murder flitted through his confused and praying mind. Curled in the fetal position, Snipe waited for the assualt weapon fire to punch through his head, or a tank shell blast to vaporize his body.
"No." Snipe thought. He wasn't going to jus give up this time. He rolled, and was launched into the air by the explosion of a shell. Snipe twirled over the battlefield and over, on top of the wrecked ship.

Snipe fell through two ceilings and onto a wounded man. The wounded hurled blood and vomit all over Snipe, dousing his jacket, then lay still. The huddled, hiding survivors didn't even look at Snipe, for the most part. It was absolutely silent in the room.
"What the fuck?" Snipe thought, "I come crashing through the god damned ceiling, and nobody gives a shit..?"
Snipe looked around again. THe people weren't hiding, or huddled. Snipe could feel his ass beginning to absorb blood off of the floor. He leapt up in disgust. Everybody in this room was dead or dying. According to the number of people here, there was alot more people who didn't jump when the steamer was hit. Snipe could easily recognize five members of his squad here. However, Only one seemed to have been hit by gunfire. Everybody else had jagged slash and stab wounds. All were either dead or seemingly in a trance. No swordsman could have done this; they'd have to be of legendary strangth, agility, and skill. Not even Sergeant Janus could stand up to an experienced gunman with a blade, face to face; and Janus was the greatest soldier Snipe knew.

GREXXWERAR!!

Following the oddest natural noise Snipe had heard, a massive, sleek, leopard shape pounced in front of Snipe and split his jacket horizontally. Snipe jerked in reaction, and pulled the trigger of his rifle. The ensuing report caused dozens of bullets to fly into the room and tear apart the bodies of Snipe's fellow soldiers. The flash of light revealed tiny strings connected to the Leopard in many different places. The leopard, in this light, was also very different. It had stitched lines covering its body where patches of fur didn't exist. Teeth pointed like daggers in front of its mouth. Also, unlike a leopard, this peculiar creature was black.

"Mercedes, tank!" commanded an unknown, slightly softer voice. The leopard turned and jumped away towards the battlefield. Snipe crept out of the half-blown apart room, and was immediately impaled by a curved sword and lifted into the air. Snipe's vision blurred with pain as he slid down the blade, widening the wound. He could see the magnum places in front of his heart, and knew he was dead anyways.

"A brother?" spoke the same, soft voice, before letting Snipe fall to the deck.
Snipe's tears of agony cleared, and he could now see a dark, faded green haired person, slightly younger than him, kneeling on his face. He looked up to see Snipe's face, and his gaze hardened.
"I am Michael Reter'Erd. You come from the same place as I, and share my pain of having no true homeland or relatives. My purpose here is to end this bloody war, with the blood of both North and South, so no more people suffer as we have."
Michael yanked on a small wooden cross he was carrying in his hand, and the black leopard flew over. "With my sword, my sidearm, and Mercedes," Michael rubbed the head of his odd pet. It growled in a friendly way. "...I will end this conflict. Now begone, before you are sacrificed too."
Michael turned to leave. Snipe cocked his rifle, quickly, and fired a high-powered slug at the back of his former assailant. Michael flicked his wooden cross, and the leopard's strings shone in the sunlight. It sprang behind him and absorbed the bullet, but did not recoil at all. Michael whipped around and gripped Snipe by the throat.

"I said..." he snarled, "Begone!"
Michael turned and threw Snipe over the trees. Snipe slammed into a trench and saw Sarge, looking bewildered into his face.

Snipe smiled, and said "Heh, reporting for duty, sir."

Chapter Three- Silence

"Regus," Janus said quickly. "Fuse that hole right there."

Regus, the Medic other than Steven, knelt down and pulled a small pen-shaped thing out of his pocket protector.

"Make sure you sit still." Regus said, "'Cause this is going to fucking hurt."

Regus switched on the laser. Snipe could see the orange beam burning the air around it, and only half a second later, intense pain coursed through Snipe's abdomen. He struggled with himself, but he couldn't keep himself from jolting upward. The laser charred flesh that did not need to be cauterized, and Snipe was breathless from agony.

"Sarge! I need help!" screamed Regus, trying to hold down Snipe with one hand while holding the laser in the other. Sgt. Janus put his knee on Snipe's chest while holding down his legs.
Snipe's vision was clouded with translucent patterns that all meant pain. Snipe observed the kaleidoscope, and was beginning to think about how beautiful it was, when a massive shock ran through his body. Snipe felt his face, numb and drained of blood. A vein in his eye had popped, bt that did not obscure Snipe's view of Regus standing above him with a scratched, stained panel.

"You ready for duty now?" inquired Sarge.

Snipe inhaled deeply, "Yeah."

"Good. Regus, tell him about this colassal fuckup of a fight we're having."
Sarge climbed out of the trench, blade in hand. Snipe stood weakly, turning to Regus.

"Yeah?"

"About half our unit is back here. According to the guy who says he jumped last, about a third of the unit was in the steamer when it finally stopped. Were you in it?"

"Nah," said Snipe. "I fell out, but I got inside it."

"And?"

Snipe paused, quickly deciding the truth was better than nothing for an answer. "Everybody I saw in there was dead or comatose. About a dozen and a couple people."

"Then a few got away." concluded Regus. Death wasn't exactly something that saddened him after his years of service. "The only question is where they are."

"I think I battled their killer," said Snipe. Seeing Regus's eyebrow rise, he continued, "After I entered the steamer, a large cat attacked me. It was being manipulated by this crazy rebel motherfucker who called himself Michael Reter'Erd."

"Just Michael? Not 'Michael the Magnificent' or 'Mike, savior of the people'?"

"Nope. He didn't seem to be the whacko kind. Just the motherfucker kind."

"Hmm. Did he give you that one in the gut?"

"Yeah. I shot his cat, but it didn't fucking care. It absorbed the fucking slug like it was a fucking marshmallow! That's almost as fucked up as Michael hurling me all the way over here."

"Well, that's...get the fuck down!!" Regus suddenly yelled, pushing Snipe over and then curling up. The blinding flash and heat of a napalm blazed overhead.
"Motherfucker!" swore Regus, covering his eyes. Snipe rolled over, blinded. His eyes were open, and the black ground beneath him was colored a dirty white. As his vision darkened, a rough hand grabbed him from behind. Snipe instinctively took a deep breath, feeling the hand tighten around his neck. Regus hobbled up, holding his sidearm with a shaky hand.

"Release him!" he commanded, "Now!" Regus's trigger finger squeezed involuntarily and shot a round into the side of the trench.
Snipe's captor laughed, and further tightened his grip. Snipe could no longer breathe.

"How about this, pansy?" he taunted Regus, "I hold your friend here for sixminutes, and then I release him, kay?" he said, attaching a timed explosive to his hand. "This is so I keep my promise," he chuckled.

Four minutes and a half passed, and Snipe wasn't even fazed. His assailant began to sweat. How could anybody not be able to breath for this long and not be harmed? He panicked, and glanced at the time explosive he had fit on his own palm.

"Big mistake, motherfucker!" screamed Regus. He dashed forward with his shock paddles and placed them on the enemy's stomach and chest. "CLEAR!!" he commanded to the device. The powerful shock blew the enemy back, releasing Snipe, who didn't even breathe after being suddenly released. Their foe writhed on the ground, twitching from shock as foam streamed from his mouth. His eyes focused on Snipe, torn with confusion.

"I'm from a clan of mountain people." Snipe said, flipping his foe on his back and tying his hands with steel cable. "My people were naturally adapted through years of hardship to have almost twice the lung capacity any normal person has. My lungs' air sacs are compressed, yet can fill every bit of themselves with precious air." He finished. Snipe then chopped his prisoner on the temple, knocking him unconcious.

Chopper catre

Another bomb hit, shaking the ground.

"We're boned." said Regus. "We don't have any air support. We can't get out of this godforsaken trench unless we want to get chopped in two by machine gun fire. Stupid-"

Regus didn't finish his next negative comment. The churning tune of a steamer skiff suddenly became very loud and clear. A large wheel paddle dug into the trench and excised the entire thing from the ground. The sensation of flying through the air was quickly replaced by the feeling of doing a bellyflop on a steel-plastic plate, which was then quickly replaced by more flying. The combined feelings were quite a pisser to Snipe, who was now perfrming his one hundred and eigth midair somersault into a paddle.
Regus, on the other hand, could not care less about the predicament. They had been saved from certain death, in a rather random manner, but still. Regus would always choose slamming facefirst into the ground every one point five seconds than die.

After a minute and a half of torture, the steamer finally grinded to a halt in front of a sandy hill. Regus crawled out from between the paddles, quite satisfied to be alive, while Snipe fell unceremoniously from the top of the paddle wheel, quite fed up with what life was giving him. Life had squeezed its lemons into Snipe's eyes, and was laughing at Snipe while he rolled on the ground.

"What the hell were you doing in there?" called Sarge.

"I'm a masochist. I'm in love with my pain." yelled Snipe back, in a sarcastic "no fucking shit" tone.

"Shut the hell up and thank me for saving your ass," snapped Sergeant Janus. "We're about a mile or two away from the combat. Any closer and we'd be getting bombed right now."

"How did you get the steamer back?" Regus asked, climbing up the ladder. Sgt. Janus ignored the question, and moved back to the pilothouse.
When Snipe had hoisted himself up, he was shocked at how many of his mates had been gathered.

"So that's what Sarge was doing while he was gone." thought Snipe. How had Sergeant Janus gotten so much of the unit in such a short time? Furthermore, Michael would have probably been at the steamer, so how did Sarge retrieve it?

Snipe stopped thinking about it before his head hurt.

Communication Log Squad Leader Janus DeSolonal no.94

<Reporting in, Headquarters. Total head count is fifty one. We have twenty causalties, and nine MIA.>

<Sergeant Janus, what is the status of your transport?>

<We have lost ourkrrrzzzzzzzzzz>

<Sergeant?>

<zzzorry, our radio is crap. The tower is near the Zone, so it doesn't get mOOOOOOOOZZZZIIIck, sorry again.>

<Don't you have internet connection?>

<No. There aren't many computers in this town, and there's no internet connection. Christ, there isn't even a RZZZevision network. The sticks don't have craZZZZZZm breakZZZZZZreZZZZZout.>

<Sergeant?>

<EEEEEEEEEEEEE>

end of communication log/

Read only for sense-making purposes.

In this alternate world, time, dimension, or whatever it may have, is, or will be, there are things from our world. This is because all sorts of things migrate to parallel worlds or dimensions. The Cheetah was blended over here from the other world, for example. Being parallel worlds, our world and theirs are very different, but also have many things in exact.

"Hell," Janus muttered, ceasing his efforts to make the radio work. The tower itself had been erected before the war had begun, and out here, the only people who stayed for a while were nomads. The nomads had no interest in public entertainment technology.

"Hey, Sarge," called Snipe, looking from the top of the steamer. "If you're done screwing around with the brass, come here and look at this."

Janus jumped up to Snipe's vantage point.

"See the cheetahs, Sarge?" Snipe said, "They're all the way up here, near the Zone. A whole bunch of them."

Snipe pointed to a group of roughly a dozen cheetahs trotting through the long grass. Occasionally, one would wander through a crater of blackened land, giving an excellent view of the beautiful animal.

"Huh." huffed Sarge.

"I've never really seen one before."

"See those patterns below their eyes?" Sarge asked, pointing out the dark stripes below the Cheetah's eyes. "They say those are the tears shed by all the cheetahs when people started taking their skin and destroying their habitat."

"No, Sarge. That isn't true." Snipe said stiffly.

"Why else would they be sad?"

"Sarge, we're in the middle of a war. One that's been going on for about half a century. The cheetahs don't mind that we're taking all their land, or how we used to skin them for stylish clothes. The reason they're crying is because we're all killing each other, and we don't even have a good reason why. The cheetahs feel sad for us, we were so great and we've turned into this; killing each other by the millions for no reason that we know."

Sarge and Snipe were silent for a while.

"Where did you hear that, Snipe?"

"My Uncle told it to me. It was about the only thing he told me that I thought so much about." Snipe said finally. "And I still don't really understand it.

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