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The Lasting


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May 16, 2036

 

"Good evening. I speak to you tonight as a dearly depressed citizen of the United States of America. Our country, our planet has been faced with a dreadful conflict. World War III, as it would be named, has torn this world apart. And so, I come asking for your support in this critical battle, which will claim a victor and a loser. Shall the battle be lost, the United States will begin immediate evacuation to the temporary comfort of our moon. Shall the battle be won, we shall exterminate the Litier Powers from existance." The President pauses, staring at his Resolute Desk. He takes a deep breath and lifts his chin, once again locking eyes with millions of viewers. "Many have called these times the Apocalypse. Many refuse to believe mankind will survive through this war. As the leader of this country, I promise you we shall not perish. The four million soldiers remaining in America will divide into three armies, the first strictly defending our borders from any outsiders who pose a threat, the second sacking Ottowa, and the third bombing Mexico City. We wish the best of luck to the men and women defending our country, and the best of luck to all of you. One can only hope... one can only hope."

 

The President fades out, and a middle-aged woman takes over, standing in front of the remains of the White House. "Eleven million people wait outside the Kennedy Space Center today, in hopes of boarding one of the 200 superships to the moon. Tension is high as the combined forces of our military branches head to the twin capitals. Our remaining allies pack in Great Britain and Japan; they wait for the President's order to attack the remaining twin cities, Madrid, Paris, Hong Kong, and Pyongyang. Reports speculate the attack should be ordered within the hour, but no official word on the planned time has been released."

 

With that, the giant screen within Times Square shuts down, leaving the thousands of viewers alone, leaving them with only each other to rely on.

Edited by saltinespike
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August 24, 2014

 

Helicopters hover above the intense battle, shooting rounds quickly and viciously at those who appear Arab. Tanks surround everything, ensuring the standoff stays confined. Within a military tent, a French soldier enters. "18, sir. 18 missiles have been fired, 10 hitting land, 2 hitting sea, and 6 shot down. All connecting ICBMs hit London directly; they do not appear to be running out."

 

The General the soldier addressed sighs in disgust. He pounds the table with his fist. "Saving the hostages is a lost cause. I'll arrange an air strike on the silo; withdraw all of our machines and soldiers, Officer. The air strike will happen very soon." The soldier exits the tent to give orders.

 

"What of it? What is happening?" a terrorist asks his colleague irritably.

 

"They are falling back. This is the big moment, brother. Hold your breath, Paradise is waiting. Grab your gun, we shall make a grand finale. Finish the hostages." The other man executes the hostages and peers through a crack, into the sky; nothing but the moon peeking through the clouds. They hear fighter jets pass overhead. They fire a celebratory round into the air as the foundation is blown to bits.

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