wulfle
Junior Member
POV: Logan Frost.
It was had been a while since the slaughter. The soldiers from the Empire of Texas had been carrying a disease within themselves. Luckily, one of our medical professionals found the sickness before it could be a threat. Then we slaughtered them and destroyed their airship. We scavenged what we could but most of it was inferior technologies that we could easily replicate. Then we tried to make contact with our southern friends. When they didn't respond, we sent scouts, only for them to come back with chilling tails of cannibalism, flesh falling off walking corpses and blood-soaked streets.
I mused this as I was sipping a can of water in my office. I had scavenged a desk from an old bombed-out house, an office chair from another and assembled a meager office on the surface. Of course, parliament, recommended that I not but I countered by saying that it would be easier to be in contact with neighboring countries.
My silence was interrupted by a tall, lanky man with milk-chocolate skin in a ragged suit knocking on the door-frame. I spun in my chair, hand resting on my helmet in my lap, right next to my handgun.
“Yes?” I grumbled.
“Mr. Prime Minister, I'm Jordan... J-Jordan Fitts.”
I stood up, plonking my huge head-covering on the desk. “Yep. Something you need, Mr. Fitts?”
“No sir. I just came to tell you that the factories that were discovered recently are now operational and running at full tilt.”
“Good. Anything else?”
“No Mr. Prime Minister.”
“ALright. Oh, and could you find me a runner.”
“Yes sir.” He turned and very nearly ran out of the building.
I sat down again and resumed drinking my water.
Research:
Project Lightning Strike - 20%
Project Armored Fist - 40%
Project Baskerville - 10%
Project Patriot - 5%
It was had been a while since the slaughter. The soldiers from the Empire of Texas had been carrying a disease within themselves. Luckily, one of our medical professionals found the sickness before it could be a threat. Then we slaughtered them and destroyed their airship. We scavenged what we could but most of it was inferior technologies that we could easily replicate. Then we tried to make contact with our southern friends. When they didn't respond, we sent scouts, only for them to come back with chilling tails of cannibalism, flesh falling off walking corpses and blood-soaked streets.
I mused this as I was sipping a can of water in my office. I had scavenged a desk from an old bombed-out house, an office chair from another and assembled a meager office on the surface. Of course, parliament, recommended that I not but I countered by saying that it would be easier to be in contact with neighboring countries.
My silence was interrupted by a tall, lanky man with milk-chocolate skin in a ragged suit knocking on the door-frame. I spun in my chair, hand resting on my helmet in my lap, right next to my handgun.
“Yes?” I grumbled.
“Mr. Prime Minister, I'm Jordan... J-Jordan Fitts.”
I stood up, plonking my huge head-covering on the desk. “Yep. Something you need, Mr. Fitts?”
“No sir. I just came to tell you that the factories that were discovered recently are now operational and running at full tilt.”
“Good. Anything else?”
“No Mr. Prime Minister.”
“ALright. Oh, and could you find me a runner.”
“Yes sir.” He turned and very nearly ran out of the building.
I sat down again and resumed drinking my water.
Research:
Project Lightning Strike - 20%
Project Armored Fist - 40%
Project Baskerville - 10%
Project Patriot - 5%
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