W-Files

The sounds of click clacks of high heels could be heard down a rather futuristic, yet dark looking hallway. The lights were great at illuminating the pristine floor tiles, but not the walls. A female human was the source of the click clacks, each resounding down the hall and magnified as the sound bounced off the poorly lit cement walls. She wore a charcoal colored lab coat with orange accents and her legs were bare.

After a few more successive steps to the end of the hallway, the metal door slid open, revealing a rather expansive room. It was dark, and the entire room was tiled in some unknown yet glossy black material. In the center of the room was a figure sitting down in a chair, facing away and towards a wall of monitors. Each screen showed a cold and brutal way to test scientific theories. There were people being experimented on showing. Many of them psychologial experiments. Some were the pursuit of advancing ways to combat or even develop superbeings.

http://ak.picdn.net/shutterstock/videos/5359526/preview/stock-footage-monitors-room-background-loop.jpg
On one screen showed a person locked into a chamber, padded and colored pure white. A male lupine was banging on the walls and trying to use his magnetic powers to find an escape, but to no avail. Other screens showed methods of “Advanced” interrogation and brainwashing being put to the test using captured or kidnapped individuals across the globe.

Another screen held a more significant importance to the shadowy figure in the chair. It showed the results of a willing employee testing his magnetism to pick up and put down certain objects of varying size and weight. In the corner a fully suited scientist turned on what looked like a cube with a flip of a switch and a few button presses. The cube flashed dim lights signaling that it was on and working. The second the lights came on, the employee dropped whatever items were being help up with his powers. Experimenting some more, he tries to lift up certain objects, starting big and working his way down. Even he couldn’t manage to move the smallest test object available. Bested, he clapped his hands and other scientists began to celebrate, more walking on the screen with champagne bottles and glasses.

“Sir?” spoke the female in her lab coat. She was a little anxious, scared one could say. This was the first time she ever had a chance to meet her boss. Her legs wobbled a little in fear as the silhouetted figure raised his left paw and motioned for the woman to come forward. The steps she made were quiet, which was abnormal since the tiles on the floor looked as if it could have been ceramic or made out of rock. As she reached within distance, she gave her boss a Manila folder of papers. Papers that showed the next batch of experiments to be tried on the new refugees that were coming in.

“Rather devious plan,” said the figure in his mind. “Take only the stragglers and nobodies whom no one will miss.” It was a elaborate plan carefully thought out. No one but select groups within the company knew about what’s happening at the secure location. Even such a facility could not be kept on the islands. The only safe haven was in the continent just further south.

With a flip of a few pages, he looked over the details of the Magnetic Power Suppression. A small EMP device, tuned to the correct frequency and pulse frequency, can demagnetize objects. However the entire procedure can be manipulated to make the magnetism even stronger than before. Only problem was that they could only squeeze a EMP into a cube the size of a mobile power generator. Any smaller and it’s only capability was to jam communications and other electronics within a certain distance.

“Send these to the archives Miss Thanopolis and remember, the ends justify the means,” said the figure to the woman. With a quiet response, she took the papers and the manila folder and saw her way out. After a few minutes of contemplating the screens and watching the company make strides, he pulled a pre-cut cigar and lighter out from his jacket. A little click and the smell of nicotine leafs being burned emanated.

(OOC: For a little immersion, read a little slowly and let your imagination run while playing this song in the very background at barely audible settings. :wink: HD version of "The International" Soundtrack - "The International End Titles" by Matthew Bellamy - YouTube)

Faint footsteps of a two hundred pound steroid using body of a felidae walked down a hallway in rather clean baby seal leather business shoes and a black suit. The floors were wooden polished to a very high sheen, the walls were non-existent, instead showing a clearing of grass and further out nothing but jungle. The roof above was wooden and pitched at a low angle, offering protection against the rainstorm happening at the moment. Raid drops slamming down from the heavens and lightning every odd minute. To the right of the figure walking was the helicopter occupied by two pilots. A business helicopter from the outside and inside, capable of all-weather navigation.

Just down the wall-less hall was a structure, a one story “wing” that looks like housing for a guest, or rather two. At each side of the door stood Corsairs, heavily armed with assault rifles and decked out with the latest in self protection gear. Corsairs were considered the right hand of the company, famous for collateral damage and taking the loud option of missions when they can. The door was reinforced steel that opened by sliding apart as soon as the company man approached.

Inside the room was a rather empty concrete room save for a few lights and two figures hanging from the ceiling by their hands. A camera hung in a corner, feeding a guard live information on the prisoners. The CEO started circling around the hanging men, black sacks covering their heads. Their torsos bruised and cut badly, but only to the point of it being survivable. Painful, but survivable. They wore nothing but the same underwear that they wore when they were captured.

Val stood behind the two, outreached his arms, and pulled the sacks off with violence. Both the men were breathing heavily and grunted in pain as the hoods were off. He started clapping slowly and remarked while circling around, “Well well well, you two are still persistent aren’t yah?”

“Go piss off,” was a weakly grunt emanating from one of the men.

“And still full of fire!” the company man replied in a rather antagonistic yet humorous way. “One of the reasons why I took a liking to you!” He stood in front of them, seeing the still remaining husks of the former two presidents of Rhodesia.

“Whhyyyy?” cried Webster Jess.

“Oh please don’t get me started,” scoffed the host. “You know full well what was going on and the consequences of your actions. Everything would have went just great until you decided to use the crates as leverage against me.”

“They weren’t yours,” spat Trafford Parker.

“Oh, I see morals have still gotten ahold of your conscience,” replied the cheetah figure as he started getting closer to Trafford’s face in an antagonistic manner. “Well, you know the saying, ‘screw the system, and it screws you right back.’ A few banking institutions were not particularly happy about their investment going the high road, including my company. We had to spend quite a bit of money and time trying to convince the politicians at the parliament to go with a single president system. Easier for us to keep tabs on.”

“They will find out!” yelled Parker.

The CEO bust out laughing and pretended to wipe away a tear. “As far as everyone knows, you were impeached and punished with house arrest for the rest of your damned days at a unknown place in Rhodesia. But as we can say here,” said Saarbac, “we ain’t in Rhodesia anymore Dorthy. No one will ever know what happened to the two miserable presidents that caused the sanctions.”

Trafford spit out a stream of blood and saliva that hit the host’s suit jacket and unbuttoned shirt. The being stood there, looked down at the resulting stain, and sent a roundhouse punch across the former president’s cheek, moving a few teeth and caving in the sinus cavity. “That was a ten thousand dollar suit that you just ruined you miserable punk,” Val shouted. “Now you know what, I was just happy going with a quick bullet to the heads. Now you own me exactly ten thousand dollars, which I will get every amount from you.”

Visably pissed, Val took out his 10mm handgun and then proceeded to send a 200 grain bullet traveling at a little over 1,230 feet per second through the head of Webster Jess, the formerly weeping individual. Trafford shouted, “NOOOOooooo!” as a way of mourning for his friend.

The Felidae made a hand motion to the camera, signalling the guard. Within a minute, a six man team of medical experts wheeled in a special operating table with restraints, and a few other tables showing glass containers and surgical equipment. Two more men walked in, picked up the deposed president, and dragged him out to be disposed of.

The cheetah figure spoke as the medical experts were setting up the equipment and getting Trafford onto the operating table. “Now since you own me that ten thousand, I will be getting it this way. First I’ll have these fine gentlemen cut into you, and salvage essential organs for sale. It’ll net me around a couple hundred thousand dollars on the black market.”

“You are F—ing nuts! YOU WILL PAY!” screamed the still alive Co-President.

“I doubt that,” remarked the CEO before getting the attention of one of the medical doctors as Trafford was finally strapped in and some of the assistants were marking parts of the body with a permanent marker. “No need for the anesthesia. It’ll help cut down on costs.”

The company man then walked out, the soon to be dead man doing a blood curdling scream until it was finally silent when the doors closed behind him. The helicopter was spooling it’s rotor in the rainy weather, getting ready to take off as soon as the cheetah steps in. “God I hate being a Vice President, too much attention and not enough time taking care of the company,” complained the figure.

Val Saarbac was in the Presidential office, taking over domestic duties of the President while she was away. He kept looking through papers, recent bills that were introduced, bills to be veto’d, and who has dirt on who. He wasn’t a happy cheetah and gray was growing around his muzzle. For a felidae getting into the age of 46, he’d rather be at his personal office on the corporate islands, or shooting his machine guns off the deck of the yacht as some buxom ladies manned the target launcher.

He then looked up, laid back into the chair, and stared off into the distance. Then fond and not so fond memories began flooding his mind, taking him back 29 years ago at the youthful age of 17.

[hr]

1986, Slums of Falloch

Val walked home from school. Trying to avoid dangerous streets in the slums where he lived. The night was dark and the streets poorly lit, probably for the better since most of the filth could not be seen in the low light. The street couldn’t be called one out of pity, laid bricks and stone cracked and uneven. The young hopeful had finished his last days of school. The warm and damp air made his clothes stick as he walked across the flat tops of buildings to his house.
Falloch was just on the other side of the strait, looking directly at DuVall. The bright lights and beautiful architecture could be seen on the horizon during the night. Oh how Val had wished he could be there, on the clean streets and see all the foods through the windows. The smell of ribben and koolsla tempted him many times. When Val was younger, his father used to take him across the strait to try out the food. His father was a kind man, a military man who
This yearly endeavor lasted until Val lost his father at the age of 14. Greer Saarbac was a military man, born and raised by previous generations of military men. After the death of Greer, his mother was jobless, and resorted to prostituting herself in order to bring in money. They moved from a small suburban house to a slum house. Life in Falloch was poor, and hard. Crime was prevalent yet his mother did her damndest to keep Val out of trouble. On top of it, she was suffering from ovarian cancer.

The 17 year old young man was at a crossroads, he had the opportunity to attend the University of DuVall. It was not the most prestigious, but it was one of the top schools in the country. He was excited since the letter from the school came in, confirming his acceptance. However, money was one thing they could not spare.

When Val came home to a small two room building where he and his mother lived in. One room served as a kitchen and bathroom, the other served as a dining room and bedroom. The door leading into the house was left ajar, hanging from a hinge. An aggressive voice could be heard while a female was whimpering.
“What do you mean you cannot do your job!? I have you walking the streets to pay for shit you ungrateful B—ch!” exclaimed the dominant voice, quickly followed by a slap.

Val was scared, he slowly walked through the broken down door, through the kitchen as the sounds of flesh hitting flesh happened, the crying of the woman. He rounded the corner to see inside the bedroom. There his mother was, face all bloody mixed with tears and saliva dripping, above her with his back towards Val was the pimp. A huge male shirtless with a bloody fist and a belt in the other hand.

His mother screamed in a sobbing manner, “GO! RUN AWAY! DON’T COME BACK!”

The pimp turned around and saw the 17 year old. He started moving towards the boy, but not until Val broke into a full on sprint going through the door to the outside. Seeing this, the pimp gave chase. The young cheetah was scared beyond all life and went through several clotheslines on the roofs while running. Through some empty rooms, underneath a TV antenna, through a local run down butcher shop, and between multiple alleys. The young man didn’t stop running until he was outside of the slums. Panting, tired, and confused as to where he was. Around him were slightly better looking buildings, but still part of Falloch.

Nearby was a few military recruiting stations, buses, and empty outdoor stalls. There was a chair that he could sit on inside the recruiting stations, which he did. Walking to the station, on both sides of the door leading into the building were soldiers, armed with FALs and wearing tiger stripe camouflaged uniforms. Val opened the door and went through, seeing multiple desks with Marines, Navy, Army, and Air Force members at each. He then remembered, his father was a Marine. Which was the first station that he went to.

The two marines at the desk looked at the young cheetah who approached. “Can we help you with something?” they asked.

Val stood there for a minute before replying, “Yes, I’d like to sign up.”

“You have what it takes to be a Marine?” one of them asked.

“I think so,” he replied hesitantly.

“Well then, how long are you willing to serve?”

“I… Don’t know,” Val replied.

“How does seven years sound?” said one of the recruiters as he was starting to fill out a form.

“I’ll do seven years,” he said, this time with confidence.

[hr]

The CEO’s mouth began to smile as he resumed his work overlooking the papers and making sure everything was orderly. The memories subsided as the real world resumed it’s normal pace.

http://cdn-jpg.thedailymeal.net/sites/default/files/styles/tdm_slideshow_large/public/tdm_slides/69068.jpg?itok=BdD0Ps9J
The Very Dining Room

Val Saarbac was attending a dinner with some banking figures that came over from South Hills along with a few local industry leaders. They were in a rather respectable establishment that prided itself on fine dining featuring different cuisines across the globe. Located in one of the skyscrapers the room was rather modern, yet had a taste of the old world.

The CEO of Wey-Yu Industries looked up at the chandelier and at the windows. He never was a fan of being situated in a vulnerable location, habit of his years as a mercenary and having a price on his head until a few meals to the fish solved it. Out of the corner of his eyesight the head Chef of the place came walking towards his table of 8, followed by a string of waiters delivering the orders.

“A-ha! Mister Saarbac! It is such a pleasure to see you here again!” exclaimed the chef.

“Ah, Cobus!” said the recognized felidae, “How’s the brother?”

“He’s good! Made it as Sous Chef here! But before we get into semantics, let me present the main course for the night!”

The waiters began placing the meals in a quick yet careful manner, being sure as not to drop a single blob of the diner’s food. The head chef then spoke, “For tonight, I present a traditional favorite of the Vekaiyun Cuisine! Kikale!”

Val smiled at his former brother in arms from the days of being a Marine. He then focused on the meal before him and tears began to build up. Everything around him crawled to a near stop as the memories began to flood.

[hr]

August 23rd, 1986
Fort Anaston

The seas were broiling, waves crashing into the ship tasked with carrying new recruits for the marines to Fort Anaston. It was formerly a very large island fort now turned into a military base and boot camp. Outside the one of the portholes the roung 17 year old Val Saarbac looked. He could see the pride and joy of the Rhodesian Navy sitting at dock. None other than the Gerdi Class Battleship sat there with it’s intimidating size and turrets overlooking the harbor. Nothing but awe could be felt at the first sight.


The Big Battleship

Within a few minutes Drill Instructors stood at one end of the ship as it was docked. The sounds of tweets by whistles and yelling could be heard. They were screaming all sorts of expletives and insulting words about a person’s mother being a whore as they began forcing recruits out of the boats. DIs were outside in the rainy weather, wearing the military caps with their rank on the front, ponchos over the BDUs, and boots. They began directing recruits to each respective section, a painted orange rectangle on the blacktop with boot markings showing where each recruit should stand.

Val was scared, even more so than about his mother whom he worried constantly. He ran where drill instructors yelled and pointed to. Their faces red from yelling constant insults and called another recruit a oxygen thief and that his ass was theirs. He and the rest of the recruits wore nothing but olive drab shirts with the same colored cargo pants and issued boots. No one was given preferential treatment in terms of hair or fur. They were buzzed to standards, non-humans too.

Soon the boat was emptied of recruits save for one, who was hiding underneath a seat. Followed by a hulking DI, the lanky felidae was told to stop before the massive figure behind him yelled, “WE GOT OURSELVES A HIDER!”

Most of the drill instructor snapped their head to the cheetah recruit and started running towards him and forming a circle. Saarbac was in his assigned spot, he hadn’t dare turn his head to look at the situation or else be berated and given hell. He could hear the lines of multiple cuss words and even discovered new insults.

Soon the constant insults stopped as one DI stepped foward to the man and screamed in his face, “WELL NOW HIDEY HOLE F—TARD! SINCE YOU LIKE HIDING SO MUCH! WE WILL GIVE YOU FIVE MINUTES TO FIND A SPOT TO HIDE! IF WE FIND YOU WITHIN 24 HOURS, YOU WILL BE PT’ED SO HARD, YOUR AS----- WILL BE SUCKING BUTTERMILK!”

‘Hidey Hole,’ the aptly named recruit, stood there for 10 seconds before the DI erupted screaming, “WHAT IN GOD’S GREEN URTH ARE YOU DOING STARING AT ME LIKE I’M YOUR F—ing SISTER! GO! GO! GO!” Then Hidey broke into a full on sprint and went between multiple buildings on the dock. The other DIs were staring at their issued watches, relishing the moment that those few minutes are up.

Val gulped as he looked foward, ignoring the drill instructor pacing up and down between the recruits in his group.

Val Saarbac sat in the Presidential Chair with his forefinger and middle-finger rubbing the temples. He started thinking to himself for several minutes until he fell asleep.

In his dream he stood there, in a blank and empty landscape of nothing but white. There was no cold, no warm, or wind. He wore nothing but a white leisure suit and brown business loafers.

“Everyone is going on Alert, is this the bullcrap every president must deal with? Screw being president, I’ll just get a stooge instead to do that job . Thankfully Rhodesia is isolated until Prussia starts getting involved. Unless those kebab eaters just to the south of us decide to play with the big leauges,” he said to himself aloud.

“But what about the Pax? Why would they go on alert?” asked one voice behind him. Val looked and noticed it was himself.

“Maybe because they are acting in self defense?” questioned another. Val’s head turned around and saw himself again.

“Or are they preparing for a war? Did they do it?” arose another voice. Another version of himself showed.

“Of course not, they have no grounds of doing so unless it’s a pre-emptive strike. You said it yourself, there was no way the Elphana militia or fringe lunatics could have done it. You had men and resources on the ground in that country,” answered a rather reasonable voice. Soon the cheetah was surrounded by versions of himself.

“Could South Hills have done it? Or the Vekaiyun Union? Or even the Listonians?”

“Dear God No, listen to yourself, unless…”

“Then who? WHO?” shouted another voice.

Soon all the conversations and questions being asked began to grow out of control, a deafening noise noticeable by non other. The cheetah-like figure then yelled out in anger, “SHUT UP!”

He stood there, pissed. Then noticed that all the other versions of him were gone.Thinking that he was finally alone until another voice came from behind, “Frustrating isn’t it?”

He looked behind and saw it was himself, but he was different than the others, something felt weird in the air around the black suited figure with black shoes, black tie, and a deep red shirt that one could swear it is the color of blood.

“You again, the hell do you want?” Val remarked.

“What I always said, for you to realize what is going on. To understand why this is happening.”

“I’m not falling for your tricks again.”

“Then understand when you have that.” the manifestation of himself said, before the sounds of a hammer on a handgun cocking back could be heard behind Saarbac. The host looked behind him once more, then saw his mother, holding a revolver to his head.

“No…” whispered Val as he instinctively reached inside his jacket for the handgun and held it to the image of his mother. The two stood there, with guns in eachother’s face.

The manifestation of himself started around around into view. Walking while talking in a rather sad tone, “Shame you always keep blaming yourself for this. For your mother’s death.”

“I did not kill her! Her murderer did!” yelled the cheetah.

“And who really murdered her? You left her to die in that hole that you called home.” replied the manifestation in an antagonizing voice.

“Screw you,” said Val, as he pulled the trigger at his mom and heard a resounding boom.

With a sudden jolt, the CEO and Vice President woke up in his chair at the office, seeing that it was pouring rain outside. He was getting tired, having to battle his demons inside. With each moment, he feels that he himself might be going insane. He then started breaking out in tears, sobbing.

One day Val Saarbac was walking outside with a doctor in casual clothing. Around him were structures of ancient Felidae society in the countrysides of Rhodesia. The stone still standing after so many years, long before Humans came along. It survived blights, diseases, and mass exodus only to be a shambling heap of rock and pillars.

“… as you can see, nothing lasts forever Mr. Saarbac. Not only are you suffering from PTSD, but also minor Psychosis,” said the doctor.

“It’s not severe though, right? Just minor on both counts?” asked the anthromorphic cheetah.

“Yes, however, with the dreams and the moments of flashbacks you are having, the prognosis is that it could very well accelerate into a more severe form.”

“Ughhh…” groaned Val.

“At this rate, since we have been documenting you for the past few years, you still have plenty of time. Estimates put you at around 4-5 years until your mind breaks down completely and you become nothing more than a husk of incoherent thoughts and actions.”

“Thanks for the pep talk.”

“Hey, you wanted it straight to you.”

Val just stood there and stared off into the distance. The Doctor took this as a cue to take his leave and started walking back to where he parked his car. After what one could describe as 10 minutes of looking far into the distance at the shoreline, he sat down on a brick remnant of a building. He began pulling out a phone from a pocket and dialed a number.

“Hey, thanks for picking up, is Tina there?”

“Yes she is, I’ll put her on the phone.” replied a woman’s voice.

After a minute or two, a 6 year old girl could be heard through the phone, “Daddy, is that you?”

“Yes it is sweetie. How’d the first few weeks of school go?”

“It went awesome daddy! I can’t wait till I tell you about it when you come home!” said the daughter in a very enthusiastic tone.

At this point, Val was on the verge of breaking down in tears, knowing that he will never be able to see his daughter graduate High School, let alone Middle School. He would never see her get her driver’s permit, or own the first car. Or even get the chance to scare the crap out of her first boyfriend. He spoke into the phone as he calmly could, “Daddy will be home in a week honey. In the meantime, will you draw a picture for me?”

“Sure Daddy!”

“Thanks sweetie, listen, I gotta go. You be a big girl and take care. I love you.”

“Bye daddy! Love you lots!”

Val finally hung up the phone, and then started breaking down in tears. After a while, he held it together then picked up the phone again. This time he sent a text to a trusted friend of his.

— Begin quote from ____

Finalize preparations for Legacy. Ensure good care is available and Train her well. You are the only one I trust with this.

— End quote

Val Saar’bac finished up the presentation he spent hours prepping for the meeting with the Free Pacific State’s President. Having been tasked by Marion, he wasn’t happy and hated all the steps involved in the political world. The presentation revolved around first, the initial history between Genosha and Rhodesia, a rather toxic one at most.

As he started thinking of his initial speech on the Genoshan Bush Wars, he paused mid thought. The clouds outside the plane crawled to a stop, the waiter and other security guards tasked stopped moving mid step. And Val’s mind went back in time throughout the many memories…

[hr]

June 3rd, 1989
A few hundred miles away from the Western-most boarder of Genosha…


A very rare photo of a Rhodesian UH-1 Huey offloading Force Recon Marines during the Genoshan Bush Wars


Another rare photo of Force Recon Marines during the Genoshan Bush Wars

A lone UH-1 Huey. Saar’bac was dressed in a t-shirt covered with a chest rig, shorts that ended mid thigh, sneakers, and a boonie hat. His fellow squad mates were the same. Everyone smelled the same, like crap. Soaps were the enemy when it came to fighting deep within the land. A smell of any civilized creature would gain nothing but gunfire. The helicopter was grazing the tops of the sparse trees. Blades of grass moving as the propeller beat the air into submission, keeping the chopper afloat.

Through the chopper speakers, lyrics to a very popular rock song could be heard. The singer shouting, “Daytime nightime, anytime! Things go better with rock! I’m goin’ twenty four hours a day! I can’t seem to stop!”

Val just sat there in his seat, a FAL resting between his legs, mag in, and the barrel pointing down. Rhodesian “Baby Poop” camo was present all over the thing. He just kept bobbing his head to the beat of the rock song while awaiting for the helicopter to reach it’s destination.

The young Force Recon Marine passed boot camp with honors, and excelled the written test. But it was sheer luck that Force Recon recruiters were looking for fresh meat bags. The average boot camp took a recruit one year of harsh training to pass. Force Recon was another year of training. The past few months in the military was doing ops in and out of the Genoshan Bush Wars.

The Bush Wars started in the early 70s, with the DuVall Rugby Terror attack. In 1971, a group of radicals with connection to the upper echelons of the Genoshan government has successfully held hostage the two Rugby teams competing for the national title. Anti-Terror squads were formed but it all went wrong when the terrorists executed both teams.

The official report was that all the terrorists escaped. The unofficial truth was that a handful of the twenty or so terrorists were captured, interrogation, and then summarily executed. In light of the recovered information, the Rhodesian government has refused official action, rather opting for deniable operations within Genosha.

Force Recon was a special forces group within the Marines tasked with such a job, to hurt Genosha and teach them a lesson that justice will be done.

The Helicopter soon came to a hover, then lowering itself onto a field of high grass. The squad of special forces then disembarked. Val hit the ground on his two feet then started jogging after his mates just up ahead. Once the last man went off, the Huey gained altitude and went back in the direction it came from. All the squad members reconvened in the shade of a tree. The leader pulled out a map and set it on the low grass.

“Ok, we are here,” he said while pointing to a area just west of the border before moving the finger eastward to a village that crossed the line. “We will rendezvous with the ‘Bastards of Falloch’ there. From there on, we will come up with a plan to hit one of the local supply depots and recover what we need. Locals also confirm that a high ranking member of the GPB, Genoshan Party of Brotherhood. Same bastards that hurt us back in 1971.”

[hr]

The memory subsided and the world around Saar’bac sped up back to normal. He looked out the window and remembered, the supply depot went off without a hitch, distracting the Genoshan soldiers protecting the high ranking member of the GPB. Not only did the special forces snatch the member, but also made out with enough supplies to keep them in country continuing ops until the end of the Bush Wars in 1992. The 21 year clandestine war between Rhodesia and Genosha ended with a severe blow against the Genoshan Party of Brotherhood, effectively ending the organization.

A year after the end of the Genoshan Bush Wars, the military budget was slashed and the country enjoyed a rather peaceful long stretch of years until 2014. The death of then Secretary of Defense Ronald Sung in a bombing brought a signal back to the wars and atrocities witnessed. Someone was back, and they were ready.