Averencia

Nations

Averencia is a modest and accepting region. It is home mostly to republics or dictatorships, though other government types are certainly not forbidden. The one common denominator seems to be an emphasis on a strong military.

Ericrea

The Autocratic Republic of Ericrea is a small, safe, environmentally stunning nation, remarkable for its compulsory military service. Its hard-nosed, hard-working, intelligent population of several million have good civil rights, enjoy the freedom to spend their money however they like, and have a modest amount of political freedom.

Nyja Lagid

The Republic of Nyja Lagid is a huge, environmentally stunning nation, remarkable for its punitive income tax rates. A National Academy regulates grammar and usage, Nyja Lagid's educational system is the envy of many and regarded as a pinnacle of educational achievement, and criminals are executed and their property seized. Crime -- especially youth-related -- is totally unknown, thanks to the all-pervasive police force and progressive social policies in education and welfare. Nyja Lagid's national animal is the Snake, which frolics freely in the nation's many lush forests, and its currency is the Lagidian Credit.

Partron

The Anti-Democracy of Partron (pronounced par-tohn) is a massive, safe nation, remarkable for its strenght in the sciences and millitary. Its hard-nosed, hard-working, cynical population is ruled with an iron fist by the corrupt, dictatorship government, the Council of 13. Large corporations tend to be above the law, and use their financial clout to gain ever-increasing government benefits at the expense of the poor and unemployed. The nation has a huge standing army, with every able citizen serving a minimum of 3 years.

SG-617

The Colony of SG-617 is a colony of Partron. Established so Partron has a center for trade and diplomacy, it has flurshed so far. Following many of the same rules as Partron, its immigration office is handled by Sheriff Spine Snapper, and Deputy Brain Smasher. They are most friendly, indeed.

Njosnavelin

The Empire of Njosnavelin is a large, environmentally stunning nation, renowned for its compulsory military service. Its hard-nosed, cynical population is ruled by a mostly-benevolent dictator, who grants the populace the freedom to live their own lives but watches carefully for anyone to slip up.

The Jilos

The Community of The Jilos is a huge, economically powerful nation, remarkable for its complete absence of social welfare. Its hard-nosed population has some civil rights, but not too many, enjoy the freedom to spend their money however they like, to a point, and take part in free and open elections, although not too often.

History

Introduction

Following are the farciful roleplaying stories created by our member nations. They are transferred here from our regional messageboard. Only member nations (or non-members with special permission) are allowed to contribute.

The Evil Baron Peabody

The Republic of Ericrea - Ericrea's penchant for biotechnology has shown its ugly side, and now we must ask for aid from our fellow nations. A scientist, now known as the evil Baron Peabody, has created hordes of minion peas to do his bidding! They are flooding the streets of Ericrea in swarms, and our conventional projectile weapons are useless against them. We desperately seek the aid of the other Averencian nations!

The Republic of Ericrea - They have attacked us at our weakest points: they quickly took the butter farms and added slipperiness to their already powerful attributes. The Ericrean people remain strong, but I don't know if any of us can take seeing the sight of another innocent being engulfed in green death...

The Holy Empire of Partron -We will be sending our elite troops to assist. Take note, however, that Partron has a zero tolerance for foreign refugees. Any attempts to cross our borders shall be quickly ended by our trained marksmen. Inform your people of this warning.

The transport choppers will arrive in 2 days. We request that you evacuate any "infected" city. Our troopers have been order to kill anything that moves, no matter the target. If they feel the need, artillery support will be leant. Your city and any foolish civilians remaining could be smashed asunder, but I hope you can understand the cost per threat ratio here.

Peas burn. That is all that is needed. Revenge will be swift, decisive, and brutal. We will give no quarter, nor ask for any. We fight for Partron, and our enemies shall fall before our might!

Any maps and information that can be provided will reduce collateral damage. We suggest you oblige. For Partron, for glory!

The Republic of Ericrea - I am sending you all the logistics and information possible, and I hope you can make good use of them. Ericrea has a very apt satellite network, which should be useful.

As you know, due to compulsory service, all Ericreans above age 18 have been trained in the use of military firearms. Even though our infrastructure and chain of command have been ravaged by the "Green Death," I am sure we will be able to lend you a good deal of support. I have allowed my men to take orders from your officers. We are ready to learn from your experience.

What sort of ordinance do you suggest be used? These peas are not easily killed!

The Holy Empire of Partron - Well, we will start off with a bombardment of napalm rounds, cooking the peas beyond recognition. After the fires are out, we shall send in the infantry to mop up with hand held flamers. We plan to use your depleted forces as scouts and recon, for they are not equipped for combat, and know the terrain. Once the enemy is located, we shall fall upon them like locust. We suggest you assign your medics to pour combat units. Their knowledge of terrain and medical skills will be useful. We request you send all non essential aircraft within 100 miles of the combat zone to sector 6. We need all the room to land forces, and evacuate the wounded.

If worst comes to worst, we will fall back. We will send in our Phoenix bombers from our +INFORMATION CLASSIFIED+ facilities. They will bombard the entire zone. The will be dropping +INFORMATION CLASSIFIED+. This is a last resort, leaving the area barren. We hope it does not resort to this.

The Republic of Ericrea - Nor we. Perhaps requesting your aid was not the best decision, as your... "thorough"... strategies may leave us worse off than the peas would.

Your napalms strikes will end up damaging something to Ericrea, be it a city or part of our beautiful landscape. This is indeed a difficult position I am put into.

We have evacuated most of the pea-infested areas, though the number of areas that can be classified as such continually dwindles, and they are safe for bombardment, though the Ericrean people implore you to devise a less destructive method of cleansing, perhaps not instead of your current plan, but to complement it, and reduce the amount of Ericrean property collaterally damaged.

The Holy Empire of Partron - Well, our strategies are sound. If you wish our help, you need to recognize the threat. What is the point of a city if your people have been slaughter by peas? Cities can rebuilt, lives cannot.

Containing the peas is in the best interest of Partron, and the entire world. Concerning yourself over some pieces of concrete is selfish when looking at the large picture. Imagine if the infestation spread? Imagine the carnage. We await your decision.

The Republic of Ericrea - *The President, unshaven and unkempt, paces back and forth as his advisors eagerly await his decision. He pauses, places his hand thoughtfully over his mouth, and turns his eyes wearily towards them.* "Do it. Call in the Partronians. And may God have mercy on our souls." "Sir, Ericrea downplays religion." "Oh, right. Uh... good luck, I guess..."

The Holy Empire of Partron - *Major Ivan drank another cup of recaf as he stared at the maps on his desk. The maps show the area around the Partron-Ericrea border, along with the locations of the infected cities. His current position is marked by a blood red star.

Tired of all the sitting, he decides to get up and inspect his units. He grabs his black trench coat and heads to the door.

He leaves the main compound and heads towards his artillery batteries. His men are sitting around their howitzers, playing cards, smoking, and drinking. It has been days since they set up, waiting for Ericrea's decision.

As the Major rounded the last cannon, Millers, his Staff Srgt, ran towards him with a clipboard. This can't be good, thought Ivan.

Millers saluted sharply, and Ivan simply dismissed it. "As you were. What is the hurry about?" Millers, still panting from his jog replied, "Sir, orders from command. We are good to go. Coordinates are attached here." Before Millers finished, Ivan snatched the clipboard away. We walked over to the bulky intercom unit, and turned it on.

"Morning boys. Get of your ass and on your feat. Ericrea finally got their collective heads together, and want our help. Prepare the guns. Coordinates are, 123, 12, 3, 508. Load Napalm rounds. May God have mercy on our enemy, 'cause we sure won't. Give them hell boys, Fire For Effect!" The moment he finished, the first cannons went off, sending 500lbs of fiery death towards the infested cities. Who would have thought that Ericrea would want to be shelled, thought Ivan. Oh well, makes no difference to me.

Ivan walked over to the edge of camp, and took out his mono-scope. The first rounds were hitting, and he could see the towering explosions. "God, I love my job."*

The Republic of Ericrea - *Deep in the jungles of Ericrea, an elite Ericrean Army commando team treks silently toward their objective. Suddenly they find themselves in front of a large clearing: their objective. The squad leader orders his men through hand signals to take up their positions along the perimeter. Sitting at a camp fire, surrounded by pea minions, is the evil Baron Peabody. The squad leader took a breath, remembered his family, and shouted, "Now!"

His men lob incindiary grenades borrowed from the Partronians, as well as improvised napalm bombs. The pea minions that don't instantly go up in smoke form a protective barrier around the evil Baron Peabody. It is then that the squad leader decides to employ the secret weapon Ericrean scientists were working on since the beginning of the invasion.

"Mount, Fork-onets!" he commands. All his commandos retrieve the spined melee weapons that closely resemble their silverware counterparts and snap them into place on the barrels of their rifles. "Charge!" the squad leader shouts, and the soldiers swarm the encampment. They hack and slash at the cloud of peas around the evil Baron Peabody until he stands alone, surrounded by the green mush that was once his grand army. A coward, he surrenders immediately. Finally, it is over.

"We have him! Call off the Partronian strikes! For the love of God, call them off!" the squad leader yells into his radio. He only hopes there is something of Ericrea left un-naped.*

The Holy Empire of Partron - * Captain Hailey had been in a lot of scruffs, but this one tops it all. Deep in the burnt out remains of an Ericrean city, whose name is no longer important, hunting down peas. The "liberation" of the San Juan nation years earlier was bad. The rebels used frag weapons in great abundance. The good Captain lost his arm in that battle, but thanks to Partron's mastery of the sciences, a replacement limb was soon manufactured. That was bad. This is hell.

The sound of a Thunderbolt Attack Plane flying overhead caused Hailey to return to hell. He had to stay focused, these damn peas could be anywhere. Looking around, he determined that he and his squad where in an old school. Burnt out papers lined the floor, with an old chalk board hanging on the wall.

It was dark, but he didn't care. He liked the dark. He liked fighting dirty. He liked stabbing a sentry in the back, and watching him bleed out. But, peas are different. They don't need to see.

"IR scopes on," is all he says through the squads vox net. Faint red glows appeared in the darkness, revealing the position of his men, but only a trained soldier might even notice.

'Thats better. I can see,' thought the good captain. What’s that, movement? "Squad, I have movement, on the other side of the door. I'm going to check it out. Cover me."

He walked quietly towards the door. 'I don't know if the enemy can hear, but I don't want to find out the hard way.' As he was about to turn the handle, his vox chimed in with a message, "Now hear this, return to the evacuation point, I repeat, return to the evac point."

Hailey let out a sigh, "Damn, we were having so much fun. Lets check out this door first, though." Hailey kicked the door in, expecting enemy, to only realize fractions of a second before he lit the room ablaze that there were none. The movement was survivors. Children, to be specific.

"We got kids men, grab them and head out. Ignore previous orders, do not head to evac zones. I'm calling in a dust off." Captain Hailey changed channels on his vox unit, "Airborne, this is squad sigma 12. We need dust off, now!. 12 marines, and 21 children. Sector 55-6A."

After a brief moment of static, a reply cam through, "Captain, you know the rules, no refugees."

"I don't give a frack about rules, soldier. Get me dust off, NOW!"

"Captain, my hands are tied."

"What’s your name?"

"Corporal Malagar, sir."

"Well corporal, If I don't get dust off, me and my squad here will pay a visit to you, and give you a grenade enema, am I clear?" "Um, well, yes sir. The VTOL's are inbound."

Hailey turned to his squad, "Lets get these kids out of here."*

The Republic of Ericrea - *The Ericrean President stands at a podium, making a televised speech to his entire nation. "...Throughout this ordeal, we Ericreans have remained strong. Loved ones were lost and possessions destroyed, yes, but there is one thing that no vegetable could ever destroy: our resolve. We will rebuild. We as a people are young yet, and as such have great resilience. Every Ericrean will do their part to rebuild, and in no time at all it will seem as his this horror had never happened..."

After his speech, the President was flown in his presidential jet to the nation's secret military facility, Area 34. There he was brought face to face with the mastermind of the pea invasion, the evil Baron Peabody. Chained to a wall and behind protective glass, the evil Baron Peabody struggled at his fetters as he saw the President approach. "You bastard! You should be dead!" the mad scientist spat.

"Have we figured out what made him do this?" asked the President.

"No, sir," his Minister of Defense advised him. Then the head scientist at Area 34 chimed in, "Our tests and interrogations are ongoing, Mr. President, but so far he has revealed nothing of his motives... we suspect he may be a rabid vegan..."

"Right, right," the President replied, "Now what about HOW?"

The scientist fielded this one again: "No, sir, Mr. President. We suspect he fused the genomes of peas with that of some sort of vicious animal -- absurd sounding, I know -- but we don't know how. We may be able to figure out the animal, but that would be of little use."

"And him? What's wrong with him?" asked the President, pointing at the evil Baron Peabody.

His Defense Minister replied, "He's more pea than man now, sir. Everyday his mind degrades a little further. Luckily, despite his aggressiveness towards you, he seems to have lost all hope. There may have been a telepathic connection between himself and the peas, but it's gone now. They're just peas again... a little meaty-flavored, but just peas."

"So they're edible? Good, that should aid in the recovery effort, if anyone can stomach it." The President turned to his advisors. "I trust you will be able to explain this is... in terms the public can understand?"

"Of course, sir. All the gaps will be filled or erased, and the populous should be quite content with the explanation."

"Good." The President began walking toward the elevator, followed by his bodyguards. Once in, he turned to his staff and said, "Veritas Vos Liberabit, ladies and gentlemen. I want us to know everything about this, and I never want anything like it to happen again." He pushed the button on the elevator for the ground floor.

"Sir!" the Defense Minister called after him, "what of the evil Baron Peabody?"

With a dark smile he explained, "In the final hours of his exploit, he crossed over into Partronian territory. Hand him over to them, with our thanks. They may do with him as they wish."*

H.A.M.

The Community of Jilos - You should send some people to the party. Meet the Jilos, have some drinks, and a samurai sandwhich, join the UN, endorse the Jilos, and inspect the [toxic waste] pump station!

The Republic of Ericrea - Ericrea shall send some envoys to your picnic, and we shall have some drinks, but there is no guarantee they will try the samurai sandwiches...

The Anti-Democracy of Partron - We have met our part of the deal, Jilos, we expect you to meet yours.

These Samurai Sandwiches are very delightful. We shall begin reverse engineering them immediately.

The Anti-Democracy of Partron - *+Research Log, Doctor Bill+ These samurai sandwiches are most interesting. They are most delicous, but there are draw backs. Their heavy armor, and sharp katanas, make devouring the meals hazardous. We belive that by cracking their genetic code, it may be possible to reproduce the sandwich, and remove the hazards. We have gone about this in several ways.

-Trial 1- We began by taking Mostang Huni, our local samurai, and getting a blood sample. We extracted some genetic material from 200 diffrent sandwiches, with varying amounts of ham, cheese, turkey, ham, etc.

These samples are being genetically combined in our labs, and results should arrive soon.

-Trial 2- With a sample of the samurai sandwich, we have put its genetic material into an embryo, and had it implanted in sheep. We hope the embryo will grow, and be born as normal, healthy sandwiches. These clones will put us closer to unlocking the secret.

-Trial 3- Several civilian chefs have "volunteered," and are currently sampling these meals. They shall use their culinary expertise to determine the origin of the flavors.

-Summary- We are very close to unlocking the secret of the sandwiches. Results can be at your desks within the month, assuming all goes well. In my own, professional opinion, this research will make Partron better, stronger, faster than ever before. We have the technology.

The Community of The Jilos - Hmm, remove the heavy armor and sharp katanas? Ridiculous! Removing the sharp katanas would cause the tomato-lettuce structure of the sandwhich to collapse, resulting in a large sandwhich failure that would make it no longer eatable. But, if Partron wants to waste 20 billion in a deadend project, so be it.

However, The Pump Station has been constructed, and is open to inspection by any nation that wishes it. There will also be a power-point presentation about the Pump Station along with a gourmet meal prepared by Alejandro.

Detailed blue prints, schematics, and employment records will be made available, when we the Jilos actually get our hands on them. Sim McStills left them in his car..................

The Anti-Democracy of Partron - *Research results have..... varied levels of results. The cloning operation was mildly successful, although exact clones were not made. We did, however, get sandwiches which grow wool, so we shave them, and eat them.

The chef theory failed, due to someone forgetting to unlock the doors to the builidng. Thousands of chefs perished, as they could not escape. Their failure shall be remembered.

The genetic engineering of the sandwich and the samurai have produced... something intresting. We do have a sandwich, but all similarities end there. It has legs, arms, and even a head, made out of meats, condiments, and bread. Its eyes are made of olives. It has a suit of samurai armor, and a katana, permanently fused with its body.

It gets even more intresting. It is growing. It started as a small finger sandwich, but is now as large as 3 submarine sandwiches. It may also be self-aware. It is very perceptive, and responds to changes in light and noise. It has tried, on several occasions, to interact with the scientists.

He have dumbed it H.A.M., Heavily Armored Meal. We do not know when it will stop growing, or if it will remain passive, but we have it contained. Clean-up is ready at a moments notice. We don't know what we did, but we hope it will lead to development of our own sandwiches.

~Doctor Bill*

The Community of The Jilos - The Jilos do not know if we like the sound of this H.A.M.

But the issue at hand is the Pump Station, which is ready for operation and does not have a name.

The Republic of Ericrea - Ericrea cannot help but wonder if these two occurences are not entirely conincidental...

The Anti-Democracy of Partron - *+Begin Transmission+ Help! the H.A....... gone craz..... Need... elp.... (Static continues for several moments) It has grown to large! it is agres..... kill it..... Use project Atlas........ DIE HUMAN! No, don.... arghhh...........hhhhgyh........

+End Transmission+ +Have A Nice Day+*

The Autocratic Republic of Ericrea - Partron? Patron!?

Ericrea was based on isolationism, but our people feel a debt to Partron for their aid in the Pea Invasion, and so our forces have been mobilized.

Do any of you have any information on this... "Project Atlas"?

Jilos, I am immediately sending over specialists to inspect your Pump Station, as well as any sites associated with your damned sandwiches.

Ericrean troops are massing on the Partronian border.

We have just gotten delivery of our first batches of the assault rifle Ericrea contracted Farbrique Nationale, the FN-AR101, and it seems we will have ample opportunity for field testing.

We will be back in contact shortly.

The Community of The Jilos - The Jilos have consulted Doctor Harrington on this matter. The FN-AR101, though a formidable weapon, may not be enough to destroy this H.A.M. Especially if there is more then one of them. Doctor Harrinton bleives though, that it may be enough to weaken the H.A.M and keep it at bay. If the facility were nuked, it is beleived the H.A.M will burrow to safety. This is all based on our computer models, which in turn are based off of absolutly nothing.

Chef Matsumoto Arutsogut, a Japanese Jilo, came up with the original recipee. He may have knowledge of what Partron has unleashed. We are currently forming a group of stalwart, lawfull good adventurers to travel up into the Great Mountains of Foo Man Chu and locate this elder chef. We will report our findings as soon as possible.

The Anti-Democracy of Partron - *The Council of 13 sat around the round tbale in the center of the confrence room. It was not much of a confrence room, seeing how the Council were the only ones allowed in. The room was dark, with a display screen in the center of the table producing the only light in the room. The 13 figures were all shrouded in darkness, all but their silotes lost to the darkness.

"The foolish doctor has gone to far."

"Indeed. The other countries now know of the H.A.M. If he kept his mouth shut, and followed proper procedure, they would be none the wiser."

"Now, we have to deal with them, their questions. What shall we do?"

"We all agree that the threat must be dealt with. Any opposition can and will be silenced."

"Indeed. Project Atlas must be used. The time to unvail its might is now. Doctor, you may enter."

A rectangle of light appeared on a wall, as a door slid open. A tall, skinny man walked through. it was obvious he was as nervous if the devil himself was after him. His hands were shaking as we carried his heavy breif case towards a podium.

The door slid shut, sealing the room in darkness again, until a spot light shined upon the podium from the ceiling. "Members of the council, I have the final report from Project: Atlas. The units are finished, and are ready for launch. The facility in the Northern Yunan Mountains has 12 units ready for launch, all we need is your permission. The team is lead by Captain Uziel, and his reports are that all pilots are ready."

"Good. Procede with the plan. All information has been sent to Captain Uziel."

"Doctor, you were never here. We never spoke."

The doctor went wide eyed as two Partronian soldiers, in jet black assult armor appeared beside him. They made no sound, and gave no indication they were there until the each grasped one of his shoulders.

"Dispose of him. He is no londer useful. As his brother, Doctor Bill showed, those with information can not be trusted."

"No, no, nnnoooooo!" yelled the doctor has the two soldiers dragged him out the door to his doom. The door slammed shut, leaving the council in the dark again.

A face appeared on the screen. It was a woman, around the age of 32. "Dcotor Marks, you have been put in charge of Project: Atlas. You, aswell as the Captain, have been sent your mission specs. We know you will not... disipoint us."

Doctor Marks smirked and said, "Of course not. The operation will go without a hitch. Failure is not an option."

"Good."*

The Autocratic Republic of Ericrea - *The Ericrean President sits at his desk, mulling isolationism and owed debts. As he does, he looks over the most recent messages from his Averencian neighbors.

"Damn that Jilos! They know damn well what we're implying!" He cursed them and Partron under his breath. Why hadn't Partron learned from Ericrea's mistakes? Why couldn't they see the blatant connection?

An underling quivered by the door of the minimally lit office. "What are your orders, Mr. President?"

"Get the helicopters airborne. I want the inspectors and hazmat teams in Jilos by tonight. I want to know if my suspicions are right before I send our men against that... thing. Has there been any word from Partron?"

"Not yet, Mr. President..."

The Anti-Democracy of Partron - *Captain Uziel walked into the briefing hall in a hurry, quickly mkaing note that his entire squad was there. 'Good,' he though, 'We can get this mission going.' He breathed in, than began. "Pay attention troops. Project Atlas is over. We are now Operation: Atlas. Our objective is simple, destroy H.A.M. Our tactics and stratergies have no limit, and all civiliian life is deemed expendable." This statement caught the attention of Shiv. Shiv once was a convicted murderer, with a polished millitary record. The only reason he was not broken down into his base atoms was because the council saw a use for him. His minde was wiped, and re-programmed. Even with his re-education, he still had genocidal tendincies. Uziel looked at Shiv, "However, this does NOT mean we will intentiolly attack civilian targets. The squad shall be divided into 2 groups, one led by myself, and one led by Chef. We are to sweap the city of Mutu-Poochu."

Chef had a good record. Comindations all around, and a medal for valor during the Battle of Peabody. He is what some shrinks would call a "pyromaniac". He liked fire. He liked it alot. The only thing he liked more than watching fires, was lighting them.

"Squad one shall be me, Gear, Destroyer, Junior, Bolt, and Scope. Squad two is Chef, Spook, Rex, Doc, Whiskey, and Flower. Get to your units, we move out in 30 minutes. Dismissed."

The soldiers left the breifing room, and walked down the hall to the hangar. The hangar was huge. It had enough room for 20 Phoenix Bombers, and a mechanic crew for each. The only vechiles stood in their alcoves, awating their pilots.

They stood 18 feet tall, with fairly humonoid features. Two arms, two legs, and a head were where the similarities ended. Eyes were video cameras, and hearts were fusion generators. These machines were their suits of shining armor. These were their P-12 Mechanized Combat Units. These were their mechs.

The troops jumped into their mechs, having their repair teams run over the las system checks. Spook and Bolt were both jacked into their sockets. Uziel never got used to seeing the two psycics getting plugged into a machine. 'Thank god i'm not them.'

"Uziel to squad, begin activation. Turn on all systems, and retrive your weapons." The captain began flicking swithces, turning on lights, and checking dials. All systems green. He pulled back on his right joystick, causing his arm to reach out to the weapon rack that stood before him. 'Hmm... what shall I use today? The Vulcan Cannon? No. Napalm Gun? No. Ah yes, the Dual Thunder Rifle. That will do.'

Glancing out at his squad, he observed them do the same. Gear and Junior both held the Dual Thunder. Scope had his prefered Long Rifle, and Destroyer had his baby, the MIA Anti-Matter Rifle. Bolt had noting. He didn't need anything. The other squad was outfitted pretty much the same. Rex and Doc with Duals, Whiskey with Dub-Dub Grenade Launcher, and Spook, complty "unarmed".

Flower had two Vulcan Guns. Not one, but two. His handle was more of an ironic statement than anything. If he was a flower, he was a venus fly trap with a tatse for blood. Chef, due to his nature, had a Napalm Unit. All the mechs were also outfitted with buikt in knives and a small supply of rockets and grenades. They were going in well equiped.

"Allright men," Uziel preaches, "Today, we go to war. Not against the Jilos, or the Ericreans, but a sandwich. An evil, giant, man eating sandwich. We are the elite, we are the 145th. We are Atlas. Some may fall, but we shall never flee. Death by enemy, or death by self, those are our options. We ride to war!"

The hangar doors slid open, letting the cold Yunan air in. The mechs began the treck to destroy H.A.M.

The Community of The Jilos - "Hmm, well this cannot be good for the community". CEO Zim Zooflowski sat at the center of the table as he looked over the reports. To his left sat 5 Jilos, to his right sat another 5 Jilos. Together they formed the Board of Directors, and head governing body of the Jilos. Before them was an amphitheatre of seats. 500 Jilos, representing the Jilo Houses, major corporations, clubs, and organizations sat there, ready to discuss the issue at hand.

CEO Zooflowski paused for a moment. He overlooked the crowd and saw House Leader Dominic Quaid, leader of the Quaid Household and his political rival. Today’s meeting would have to be handled carefully, lest Dominic Quaid gain even more influence and support.

That would definitely be bad for the community, Zooflowski thought to himself.

CEO Zooflowski spoke again. “The Board will now recognize Doctor Harrington. Please present your research”

Doctor Harrington rose in his seat and began to speak. “Thank you. As some of you may already know, the H.A.M is believed to have been derived from Partron’s experiments with the Samurai Sandwich. My team has been looking into this and we have determined that Partron most likely activated some genetic code that already existed within the Sandwich.

“With some extrapolation we were able to construct several computer models. We have determined that the H.A.M will have immense regenerative capabilities, be immune to most small arms fire, be able to project its own force field, is capable of burrowing tunnels at the rate of your standard mole, albeit much larger. The H.A.M will also have basic algebra skills and a detachable beak that is most likely used as a floatation device and for nurturing young. We are unsure of what other abilities it has. Killing it with conventional weaponry will be impossible. That is all”

Dominic Quaid rose and began talking almost immediately, disregarding the Jilo Rules of Conference. It did not matter though, many respected Quaid for his expansionist and warlike ideals. “Then we must use the Neutronium bomb. It is the most potent weapon we have ever developed. It would vaporize the damned sandwich and the research that created the beast!”

This created stir in the crowd. Use the Neutronium bomb? It shocked many, but also seemed like a logical idea.

“We cannot resort to that. The Neutronium bomb is drastically unreliable and unpredictable. Its blast radius and yield is impossible to predict, not to mention the cost and effort required to construct the weapon itself”, CEO Zooflowski was drowned out by shouts of agreement to use the bomb.

He called for order, and after some effort he was able to speak again. “We must wait for our team to return from the mountains. We must learn what the Elder Chef Matsumoto Arutsogut, the creator of the Samurai Sandwich recipe, has to say about the situation”

Dominic Quaid began again. “You would have us wait while the HAM destroys Partron? And then us? And then the rest of the world? Me and my peers will only wait so long before our patience run out.” This created an uproar. Those loyal to Quaid cheered, and those loyal to the community tried desperately to counter argue Quaid’s little speech.

Zooflowski could only hope that the team they sent out would return soon. If it is voted that the bomb be used, and Quaid proven right, nothing will stop him from becoming the CEO of the Board of Directors. And that would be the end of peace in the Jilo world.

The Autocratic Republic of Ericrea - *Coporal Richard Riley was not a very smart man; in Ericrea that was practically a sin. He had almost flunked out of high school, and had flunked out of college. He had only attended college because the Ericrean government wanted all its citizens to do so. So he had fallen back on the Army; he served more than the compulsory service, and enjoyed every moment of it. And so while he did not know a lot about many things, he did know about rifles. And the new rifle he was holding in his hands was a very nice one, indeed. He looked and felt it over as he kept an eye on the other men.

One of the other men was Dr. Jack Cameron, and was very nearly the Corporals exact opposite. He had deplored his compulsory service, and as soon as he had finished, he had propelled himself to the top of his chosen field, environmental biology. He was one of the most obvious choices for an environmental inspector for the Ericrean government.

Cameron scanned the alien Jilosian landscape, then knelt down and removed the delicate meter from the ground. As he expected, the reading was inconclusive. All the readings had been inconclusive. There may or may not have been something wrong with the soil. As a scientist, he wanted something, anything, that could tell him something definite. As a man greatly opposed to the Jilosian's environmental practices, he wanted something, anything, incriminating. But no luck so far.

Riley aimed at a rock and thumbed the fire select back and forth. He looked through the scope and admired the general feel of the weapon. He much preferred it over the submachine gun he had been formerly issued; what an ugly weapon it had been, he thought to himself. All of a sudden the rock in his scope moved. He quickly lowered the gun and tried to focus his eyes on it. It moved again. No, it hadn't. The whole ground had moved! It shook again. What was it? The Pump Station? The H.A.M.? More than one H.A.M.? He was not about to stick around and find out. He grabbed Cameron, yelled to the other scientists and soldiers, and called in for a dust off.*

The Anti-Democracy of Partron - *"Tab, what is this thing!" Junior ran. He ran as fast as he could. They were everywhere. There was only supposed to one. There were atleast five. And they were fast.

Junior jumped behind a building, and reloaded his rifle. His P-12 has was not in bad shape, a scratch here, a ding there. It was his nerves that were damaged. They came from no where. His squad was patrolling due east of the goverment district, when the attack happend.

As they were rounding a corner, shots were fired. Not by a trooper, but a bandit. "Atlas Team, I have a conntact. Position 3-4-12. Unknown enemy," Chef reported in.

Juniors head raced, 'It can't be H.A.M., it has no guns. What is it?' His question was soon answerd.

Chef's voice boomed over the vox net, "Squad, Grenades, the engage!" The suits readyied the bombs and hurled them around the corner. The sharp pops of the explosions signaled the attack.

Chef led the way, his napalm gun blazing, burning anything in the street. The reflection of the fire glistend in the windows of the office buildings, giving off a beutiful show of light. Ashes flew around, creating a black blizzard. All that was heard was Chef, laughing over the vox network. This was his life. This was his family; mother, father, wife, child. This was his only purpose.

His fire was snuffed out by a single shot. It rang out louder than the laughter. The explosion of Chef's fuel tanks, as the round punched through, was louder. The flame that was his life ripped through his suit, burning his flesh and soul. The laughter never ended until the reactor went, atomizing the suit.

As the fire died, a shape was seen, walking foward trough the flames. It was as tall as the suit, but was slimmer, having an apperance of speed. As it approced. the squad relized what it was.

"Oh my god, is that H.A.M.? When did it change? Where did the gun come from?" Doc was the only one that spoke.

Indeed, it was H.A.M. But, it was diffrent. Its origanal samuri armor was replaced with heavy plates. It had what appeared to be a tank cannon grafted to its arm. The local garrison must have been wiped out, giving the thing a supply to armor and weapons. But, how was it smart enough to use it?

"I don't care what it is, lets kill it!" Whiskey shouted, as he fired Dub-Dubs into its chest. The shrapnel did make an impact. Metal and bread were blasted from the thing's chest. But, as soon as it left, the hole had filled in again.

Uziel yeeled across the line, "Chef, report! Is contact down, Chef?"

Rex replied to his unaswerd calls, "Captain, Chef is dead. the H.A.M. has guns. Licked him good. We are engaging it as we spe......" His report was cut off as something smashed through the streets, through his armor, and trough his chest, sending a blood red spray into the air.

As qucikly as the talon killed him, it tossed the suit like it was a ragdoll. A figure emerged from the ground. "Frack," was the only sound from the squad, and it came from the quite Spook. Another H.A.M. has appeared.

The Captain's voice shriled across the line, "FALL BACK! FALL BACK! Regroup at point Aplha!"

The four remaining suits began to flee, dodging the recently emerged H.A.M. Shots ran out from the two enemies, having many near misses. One lucky shot hit hit Flower, severing his left leg unit. His suit hit the ground hard, damaging several systems, including locamotion and guidance. "Go, leave me! I can take them!" FLower was able to flip the mech around, and raise the Vulcans to firing position.

The squad, not even considering saving him, had no objections. They fled for their lives.

Flower waited. He loved this. The enemy were stronger, faster, and probably smarter than him. He was wounded. His odds. He gazed down the streat, waiting for a contact. He found it.

They were moving fast, not even slowing down as they rounded the corner. 1000m, The lead beast fired several shots, all missing Flower, prpbably due to the speed. 800m, Flower could make out more details of the creatures. The armor platyed still featured the badge of the 670th Garrison. 600m, in range. Flower held down the triggers, sending hail after hail of shot into the beasts. Limbs were blown off, holes the size of beach balls dotting the frames. They were dying.

The lead suit managed one last shot before it became a mist of bread crumbs. The shot blew off the left Vulcan. No matter, he still had the right. As the H.A.M.s fell, he noticed he was almost out of ammo. good thing they were dead.

"Hey Cap, they are dead. Spalaterrd across the streat. Not to tough... wait. I have another contact. This one is new. It is almost on top of me!" He looked around. Nothing. the streats were empty. Wait, the roof top, what is that?

A silloute blocked out the sun, as it gazed down at the downed mech. It fired a shot down at him, blowing his other cannon away. It the jumped down, and gazed at the suit. Another H.A.M. appeared from behind him, and walked over. They just stood over him, and looked over it. Flower couldnot make it out, but it sounded lkie they were talking. Perhaps deciding what they were going to do with him. He was not going to wait and find out.

He pressed a button on his console, triggering a voice to turn on. "Please enter code." Flower typed in 67M8Q. His screen went blank, as all power was deverted to the reactor. It would take a moment for the power to build.

As the seconds passed like years, a larger, broader H.A.M. appeared. It walked over to one of the damaged cannons, and picked it up. Its flesh oozed over it, making it part of its self. Happy with the new weapon, he pointed it at Flower. As the barrel began to turn, a red button in Flower's P-12 lit up.

Before the first shot l;eft the barrel, Flower pressed it. This bgean a reactor core overload. The power flowed out of the exaust vents, liquidating the armor. As the core went critical, a beutiful flash of light appeared in the sky. It removed all he shadows that blotted the city. The temperature in Flower's suit was roughly equal to the surface of the sun, but Flower didn't care. He was nothing. Nothing in life, nothing in death.

The flash caught Junior's attention. Looks like Flower did his job. He held them off. As per usual, Spook ruined a perfectly happy moment, "There are more. I can feel them. We need to regroup. We cannot handel them."

Doc agreed, "Yeah. Stop starring at the light show, Junior. This ain't the 13th of March. We got a war to fight." With that, they continued to run to point Alpha.*

The Community of The Jilos - +++++++++++++++++++++++++=_++++++++++++++++++++++ Earlier today, there was a giant explosion at the pump station. The explosion carved out a crater 13 miles in diameter, and has created cloud of toxic dirt and dust that is rapidly expanding in all directions. The cause of this explosion is as of yet unknown, but Jilo Experts are working on it. 43 Jilos have already lost their lives, and more are expected as the cloud expands. END +++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

• House Leader Quaid sat in his office. The walls were of solid oak and the edges were lined with elegant trim. A massive fish tank was embedded in one of the walls. It stretched almost the entire length of the room. It must have contained a swarm if Neon Tetra, the most popular fish.

Quaid had heard the news of the Pump Station explosion. It made him happy. It was just one part of his plan. This disaster would make the Jilo population even more skeptical of Zooflowski’s leadership abilities. It would make it all the more easier for Quaid to take power.

“Sir, our insider in Partron has been killed”, said the figure on the vid-screen.

Quaid seemed to be preoccupied with constructing a model ship in a bottle. “A minor detail, the good Doctor Bill has already unleashed the H.A.M genes within the Samurai Sandwich. Now all we have to do is sit back and use our arsenal of Neutronium bombs. This military victory will ensure my election, and that we will be unhindered with our plans.”

“Sir, need I remind you that I do not have authorization to order use of the Neutronium bomb? It is strictly illegal.”

“Do not concern yourself with that General. I will have control of enough votes soon enough to repeal those laws. I also know several top people who have access to the labs to construct the bombs.”

“One more thing, sir. Scans of the blast crater have revealed several ‘things’ moving beneath the surface. It is clear to us that the H.A.M may have been responsible for the explos-“

“I am well aware of this General. I and my associates have been working on this plan for some times now. You only need to concern yourself with the loyalty of your troops, incase we need to resort to military force when it comes to dealing with Zooflowski. That will be all”

The vid screen flicked off.

Quaid opened his desk draw. He pulled out a plate, and on that plate was a Samurai Sandwich. The sandwich seemed to have been prepared with utmost care.

Quaid whispered to the sandwich. “It will not be long now, my lord.”

The sandwich seemed to shift ever so slightly on the plate, as if it was in agreement.*

The Autocratic Republic of Ericrea - *The helicopter took off right before the explosion tore apart the Jilosian landscape. Riley had screamed at the top of his lungs when the chopper came down for their dustoff. Some of the soldiers and scientists, however, were simply too far away to reach it in time. He had seen the jets of green escaping gas from the Pump Station explode from the ground and hurl the men and women into the air like ragdolls. The Sergeant was among them. The jets had paused as the chopper took off; the whole thing exploded soon after they were airborn. Too soon.

The survivors looked out in awe from the helicopter as it flew away; all but two. Cameron was staring at the Corporal, who was in turn staring at the back wall of the chopper. The Doctor could not understand what had just happened. With all his scientific knowledge, he had been powerless and pathetic in what had just happened. The soldier, however, with no hard facts, had made a decision that saved probably a dozen lives, on no more than a gut feeling. The Doctor felt as though several holes within himself were suddenly revealing themselves, and he needed the soldier to fill them. "How did you know that was going to happen?" he shouted over the roar of the rotors.

"I didn't," was the Corporal's grave reply.

The Doctor was not content with the answer, though he didn't know what, if anything, would be able to satiate him. "What do you think caused it?" he implored.

The Corporal said nothing, but the door gunner had heard the question. He tapped the Doctor on the shoulder and motioned down to the giant crater. Despite the distance and the vibration of the helicopter, the Doctor was eventually able to see what to which the gunner had motioned. The ground below was moving. Not from after shocks, not from settling. The motion was organic and delibrate. Something was tunnelling beneath the earth near the crater. The gunner snapped his fingers in front of the Doctor's fixed eyes, and made a broad gesture. Cameron suddenly saw that there were several of these... whatever they were... steadily pushing up earth as they burrowed underneath. "What are those?" he screamed.

"My guess," said the Corporal slowly, "is they're part of a very angry sandwich." The soldier looked at the smarter man and gave him a sickly grin. He realized that despite this man's knowledge, he would be of little help now. Riley had seen the Sergeant thrown upwards with the others, her body instantly broken, the prolonged descent back down to Earth too much for him to watch. She was dead; he was in charge. He had no idea what to do.

"But there's only one H.A.M.!" protested the Doctor.

The Corporal shifted his weight, and the Doctor lurched back as the muzzle of the gun on Riley's lap pointed at his chest. Riley looked down to see what had happened, then gave another grim smile. He pushed aside the muzzle and said to Cameron, "Doctor, I know you had a lot of schoolin'. And I know you're just about the smartest man in the world, at least in that envir'mental stuff you do. But right now, I want you to shut the hell up." Satisfied with the Doctor's shocked reaction, Riley turned to the pilot. "Where you gonna put us down?"

"Wherever you want, Corporal."

Riley thought. Damn, he wished the Sergeant was here. She'd know what to do; probably pull a nuke out of her friggin' pocket and be done with the beasts like that.

Riley made his decision. "Take us to LZ Gamma. Let them out and refuel. Then take me to the Jilosian capital. I have a few words for them, and even more questions."

"Corporal, we couldn't possibly --"

"Then give me the bird. I'll fly there myself," Riley offered, bringing his rifle up from his lap.

The pilot looked at his beloved chopper, back at the gruff soldier behind him, and down to his rifle. "Alright," he said, "we'll take you. But what exactly are you planning to do?"

"I don't know," Riley replied, and he once again smiled strangely. Across from him, Cameron said nothing.*