WARNING: This book contains graphic descriptions of violence and gore.
Reader discretion is advised.
Part 1
WAR
Sometimes peace can only be attained through acts of aggression. When two sides have debated and yelled at one another till they are blue in the face, the realness that the other side is just stupid or incapable of hearing the truth may begin to seep into one’s thinking mechanism. Unchecked this begins perviating their thought process, poisoning all logic and reason. When this happens one side or another may begin to see the other as the very antithesis of what is rooted in them, that which is permeating every fiber of their very self. Their honor and beliefs. Sometimes this is the cause of the violence that brings peace.
Other times, though less often and less frequently, peace is attained through violence because resistance is no longer an option but a means for survival such as when a small animal manages to kill a much larger predator while trying to protect itself. And when the aforementioned smaller prey is fighting the larger predator, it loses all concept of WHAT it is fighting. It's only focus is that it is just fighting and to lose would be a costly sin. Oftentimes when either of these instances occurs, the cause or motivation for the disagreement of the sides is an afterthought, and the narrative becomes lost in the fray of violence and ever growing hate. In the aftermath of the malice, only continuing and escalating malice emerges.
This may go on until eventually one side abdicates to the other or in the latter of the scenarios one side is dead. Either way, no matter the time elapsed, both sides are ultimately convinced untill the end, that victory, the devestation of the other through genocide, murder and carnage or whatever means necessary, PEACE will be had. So maybe the word peace isn't appropriate when engaging in war with another? The thought that something so beautiful and tantalizing as peace is regularly attained through such barbaric and primitive minded means is ironic. The word peace is dubious at best. Perhaps maybe the victor achieves the "trophy" or the "prize" instead of peace? Seems like a more tightly fitting description given the level of fought competition to achieve it.
Maybe this writer is just a softy or too heady. A hipster hell bent on bringing trendy coffee shops and skinny jeans into your present entity. Maybe this writer is a Former U.S. Marine Machine Gunner who has witnessed carnage and participated in the carnage himself. Perspective is all relative so I suppose the reader will just have to judge this writer's theory based on what WAR and PEACE means to you...Peace.
August 20th 2096 - Earth
It's been three years since the planet arrived in our solar system. The red world just appeared one morning, bursting into existence through a giant ball of fire and ore, emerging from the explosion as if it teleported. The red mystery stationed itself in our orbit, offset slightly between Earth and the moon.
It is noticeably red, very similar to the red burnt surface of Mars. From the Earth it appears huge and looming given how much closer it is than the moon, prompting the occasional inquisitive child to try to reach up and touch it. But in actuality the planet is small, perhaps not even ¼ the size of Earth.
Many attempts by many nations have been made to send envoys and welcoming committees to the small planet but all have failed by way of forcefield. Visible from just about all of earth it is a constant conduit of curiosity doubling as a billboard in the sky, advertising a gloom and uncertainty. It's very arrival, inactivity, and silence make the planet appear to be all the more dark and maligned. Every conspiracy theory and potential explanation has been explored but none validated. The U.N. and world peace organizations are at a loss. They have no answer for Earth as to what the planet is or why it’s here. The only certainty to be had, is that we are uncertain and cannot attack this planet, as it has not yet attacked us.
August 22nd 2096 - The Red Planet
A boy kneels atop a rigid, red mountain beside a wreckage bearing the serial number 813. He is approximately sixteen years old, and is tall and grizzly. His hair is red, bushy, long, and unkept. His eyes are round and glowing, giving more fear to his appearance. He sports a terrifying grimace on his face, showing his sharp, jagged, teeth.
The boy's nails are long and dirty, caked underneath with dried blood just as the corners of his mouth are. He is a feral looking thing, well built but lanky. He wears no shirt, no shoes, only pants torn at the calves. His world is cold and dusty, much quieter than the busy Earth. Frosty winds swirl all around him, winds cold enough to stifle a normal boy. But this boy is not normal.
He stares off in the direction of Earth, his gaze focused and fixed as if he was intensely searching for one particular needle amongst an ocean of them. The corners of his mouth crack into a grin as he puts his hand on his knee and rises. He is ready, he thinks to himself, walking over to the wreckage that lay broken, old, and useless beside him. The boy’s hands are not large or extraordinary in any way, but they are big enough for him to, without any complication, grasp the nose of the craft and raise it with ease above his head. “I’m definitely ready,” he vociferates excitedly. The boy winds his arm back at a 45-degree angle and in almost the same motion, thrusts his hand forward hurling the craft towards Earth with the precision of a well aimed dart.
At precisely 4 am Eastern time, a beam of light is seen entering the Earth's atmosphere via German satellite imagery. At 4:01 am, the beam strikes the White House, killing the president and his wife. The world is baffled by this occurrence. Global stock markets decline and the world economy is thrust into an economical tailspin overnight. In the ensuing chaos it is found that 26 people were murdered including the president and first lady. Furthermore in the aftermath of the wreckage, remains of humans who did not die in the White House are discovered.
Their bodies are old and parts of them skeletonized. Skulls of some of the bodies still dawn tight skin and show looks as if screaming their last breaths instead of taking them. Their toes and fingers curl, suggesting they endured prolonged unenviable and torturous deaths. Those present in the aftermath of the crash wonder how the wreckage is so intact. How could these bodies have all stayed preserved through such a harrowing journey into the White House? The night continues to bring more questions than answers when a discovery is made by one of the F.B.I crime scene investigators. Flight 813 was a space expedition enroute to Mars that disappeared in space ten years prior. Whats even more alarming is that all the bodies of the wreckage bare signs of torture and mutilation, pre and post death.
August 23rd 2096 - World U.N. council meeting
Representative Carl Mansley is a short, stocky man. He is unremarkable in appearance with an odd disposition for rubbing his left temple while speaking to crowds. He addresses the U.N. council sounding serious and on edge.
“Council members, yesterday's attack on the White House cannot go unresponded to,” his voice projects loudly through the floor of the U.N. building. “The speed and force with which that spacecraft smashed into the White House was no coincidence or accident. This was an intentional attack on the U.S. resulting in an assassination of the highest power in the world. We must organize a response, a global one or next it will be China or perhaps Canada who will be attacked!”
He slams his fist on the podium, his voice is shaking now, enraged. “To do nothing will make us look weak!” He surveys the room looking for a hint of support across the old hardened faces of the Final Twelve.
A computerized voice rings out, “Representative as you know, this panel of twelve was assembled after Thailand bombed South Korea in an attempt to assist North Korea, back in 2075. This effort resulted in the decimation of the entire country North and South using the equalizer.” The equalizer is a biological bomb capable of wiping out an entire continent in the right conditions, and Mansley dreads hearing the council recite this story every time the Red Planet is brought up to them. "We were assembled to vote on if ANY country may aggress another in an act of war to ensure this will never occur again." Mansley breathes an annoyed sigh through his nose and crosses his arms. He is sure he will not gain this panel members’ unanimous vote after this lecture.
"And as you know, any country that attacks another will draw the ire of every nation in this world per the Treaty of Continents. This thing, this planet, has a forcefield surrounding it. We sent hundreds of space fighter pilots on numerous occasions to engage this thing and they all crashed back to the earth.“ The councilman’s translator box around his neck brightens to a fluorescent red every time he elevates his voice.
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“You need a unanimous vote of twelve from this council to gain permission to war with another, and I can definitively tell you that this is one vote you will not get. We will not jeopardize the fate of the world against an enemy we know nothing of." The councilman stops and removes his glasses. "Furthermore, if that planet did send the craft here do you understand the power of the technology that would be capable of creating such havoc?” The Councilmen looks left and right at his colleagues. “Anything else representative?” Manley runs his tongue across his dry, chap lips and swallows hard while simultaneously rubbing his left temple.
“Yes, sir, The Treaty of Continents prohibits war against another country. This planet is not of our world and therefore we should be allowed as a sovereign nation to attack without reprisal from the U.N.”
The councilman raises his hand to press the button that will ready his translator box. “Representative, if the U.S. decides to attack this planet and jeopardize the world's safety, EVERY NATION will attack you in a coordinated effort, as per the Treaty of Continents. You do not have a unanimous vote nor permission to proceed with an attack. No vote shall be taken as I, the ranking member of this council, have already voiced my vote as no. Anything ELSE, representative?"
Mansley rolls his eyes at the councilman and drops his head. He knows he will not win the support needed to retaliate. He knows that when he returns to the United States he will be relieved of his duties and regarded as a political pariah, a national failure for failing to do so. He swallows hard again, “No, your honorable councilman, thank you for your time." Mansley removes his translator box from around his throat and places it gently on the podium. He stands for a second or two in place, and then about faces, walking off the floor looking dejected. He is sure this is not the last time the U.N. will see an argument for war with the Red Planet. He along with all twelve councilmen in that hall knows it was a preemptive attack on not just America, but the world, a declaration of war. If Earth doesn't attempt an assault, then soon they may very well keep attacking until we are no more.
September 12th 2096 - Tokyo Japan
It’s hot as fuck for October, thinks Chin as he walks along Rujin Boulevard in Toyko. It's usually 23 Celsius degrees around the middle of October, but this year it's gotta be 30 degrees out. This is his first year as a police officer so he hasn't quite gotten used to walking and patrolling for hours at a time. The academy could not perfectly replicate the physical grind of a patrol beat. Nothing really happens on his route so he has to constantly be on guard from complacency. It is around 12 am when Chin reaches the Kao Zhu district. The Kao Zhu district is a tourist attraction. A pop cultural haven of vending machines featuring everything from used panties scrunched up in tiny plastic lidded containers to mind-numbing family activity Mcdonalds, complete with playgrounds for the kiddies….right next to the vending machines with used panties.
Chin strolls along and takes in the mixture of bright lights fusing in a colorful harmony as the gentle sounds of the bands serenading the streets carry him along. A chorus of strangers’ conversations echo incoherently in the background. There goes that complacency sneaking in again, he thinks as he passes an inebriated man and woman propping one another up as they make their way past him. It's almost lunchtime and Chin readies to call in to command. “Command post, command post this is 3112. I'm going to lunch, do you copy?" Chin begins to visualize that Ramen that he is going to inhale for lunch. Mr. Cho's has the best Ramen in Tokyo, no Japan, no THE WORLD. You see, Chin’s a daydreamer, and this dream is the kind that puts you in a booth, lingering over a hot steaming bowl of some pork ramen at Mr. Cho’s. “Command post copy,” blasts his handset.
"Sweet, now I can go live the dream," he says to himself. Chin floats towards Mr. Chos’s. “Man, so good it lifts you off ya feet,” whispers Chin, nearing closer to his destination. But this dream is premature, because Chin is being lifted off his feet too soon; he is literally being lifted! Chin can peripherally see that colorful harmony of bright neon lights begin to disappear and blend into a hot orange, peppered with grey silhouettes of boulder and metal.
His dream has transformed into a nightmare. The serenade of bands is morphing into the sounds of screams and explosions. And then those horrific sounds turn to nothing but an inaudible blankness followed by a piercing long and distant beep ringing in his head.
His world is dizzying and transforming all around him, it is disassembled in slow motion. Chin can feel bits of concrete and debris patting his face. He can feel the vibration from the impacts of the giant this or that falling all around him smashing into the Earth after he hits the ground.
An explosion has rocked Tokyo. Chin is on his back now; he can see the people all around him scurrying, panicking. Someone runs past him, then another and another. He steadies himself to get up, rolling to his side onto his elbow. In an instant he is off-balance again.
He is being shoved on his left shoulder. Chin is somewhat baffled to see a stranger, a woman, kneeling down next to him yelling something.
He tries to mouth that he can't hear her when his front teeth and part of his tongue fall onto his stomach, rolling down onto his left thigh. This ball of muck, blood, and flesh soaked in his own crimson colored saliva brings home a reality, his reality. In an instant his senses are rushing back to him like a long forgotten memory.
He suddenly can hear the woman screaming. “HEY, HEY! You have to get up!” The expression the woman wears is one of fear and anxiousness. She pulls on Chin but he does not budge. He is still lost somewhere between the dream and the nightmare. Even though he has gained back his sensibilities he is still dazed. He focuses for a second in a moment of clarity thinking about how he just wants to go back to living the dream. His clarity is suddenly interrupted by his radio.
“All units all units! Converge on downtown Kao Zau District! Tokyo is being attacked by something. Reports are saying it's…. It's some kind of creature or alien." The daze is beaten off by the sense of obligation and duty. Before he can fully process what has happened Chin jumps to his feet. “Get outta here how!" he barks at the lady who is slightly bewildered by Chin's sudden reanimation. She is still knelt beneath him when Chin turns and sprints towards downtown.
His mind is a speedway racing with thoughts as he runs towards the still ongoing explosions. Hundreds of people run opposite of him. He is being bumped, elbowed, grabbed and pushed as he makes his way downtown with his Nambu model 60 service weapon drawn and ready in his right hand.
This is it, he thinks to himself pushing past the crowd. This is the action he has been waiting on. Chin can feel himself sweating, can feel the sweat of others as they rub against him, shuffling sideways and spinning. Despite his heart beating so loudly he can hear it, he is only concerned with making it to the action. This is what he signed up for, and no matter what he encounters, he has resolved himself to fight.
The screams and yells are getting quieter and quieter as the explosions get more violent and brighter as Chin nears downtown. It has only been a minute or so of running before Chin suddenly realizes…he is all alone. It is quiet aside from the occasional moans of the wounded, and there are not many, just a lot of dead laid all about the silent park.
A little more apprehensive now, he fixes himself to cross this park that will lead him right into the heart of the action. Silencing his handset, he draws both hands around his service pistol and begins to slowly step into the park. The sky is pseudo-bright, artificially illuminated with explosions and fire. Smoke and large fires rise high from what seems to be every building downtown. The booms are deafening to Chin, making his way across the grass trying not to make a sound giving away his position. He jogs lightly through the sprawling park, when he is halted in his tracks.
He raises his head to the starless night sky surveying the massive blue and black tinted space. He can hear something, something like a siren; no, it’s yelling. It's far but quickly becoming close and he is sure it's in the sky. His eyes search upward horizontally, and then he sees it. Something cartwheeling, someone cartwheeling, and that someone is screaming.
Before Chin can fully register what is happening, the cartwheeled man is over his head and then past him, screaming akin to a woman in a horror film as he whizzes by. Chin’s head is tilted up and his mouth agape. What the hell did he just see? How or what could throw a man through the air that way?
Chin steadies himself, looking down at the pistol in his shaking hands. “I have to do this, I HAVE TO DO THIS!" Chin chants to himself, voicing these words against the unvoiced opposition in his head. He turns towards downtown and steadies himself for a second, then charges through the park. He is sprinting with tears streaming down his cheeks.
He is amped and charged up, running AWAY from downtown! “FFFFFUUCCCCCCKKKKK THIS! I signed up to protect and serve, not to die! This is a job for the military!," he exclaims loudly. As Chin sprints towards the evacuating crowd another explosion occurs followed by a distinct POOF! Chin pauses and turns to see what looks like a whirlwind tunnel trailing a flying man?
This is impossible, he thinks to himself as he stands paralyzed. He is not alone. Other fleeing people have stopped running for their mad dash to cover. They are statues paralyzed by what they have witnessed too. They stand with their heads all tilted upwards to the sky, mouths fixed open. The explosions have stopped, replaced by a litany of sorrowful cries, followed with the bravado of celebratory cheers. It is over at least for now and people are grateful to have survived. Chin has been spared. He falls to his knees, exhaling.
His teeth are partly gone and he has lost part of his tongue, but he is alive. With his arms and head drooped, hands dangling on his inner thighs he begins to cry. “Hey, sir, are you okay? Let me help you. Everything is going to be fine,” yells a paramedic. Carefully, Chin is helped to his feet by the man, still thinking of what he just saw in the park. He wonders if the man who is helping him up could possibly say that after what he just saw. “No,” replies Chin, rising. “It's not okay, and we are not going to be fine either."
By the end of the second day of the attacks, the being, later known as a ”Hero” has secured all of Japan’s airspace defeating the Japanese Air Force effortlessly. Within three days he has established his base in Okinawa Japan, ordering all military personnel out of Japan within 48 hours. The Japanese military refused and was nearly obliterated within a week.
The Hero enslaved Japan, and all of its inhabitants, securing them in a forcefield around the island. The forcefield effectively has cut the island off from the rest of the world. As a result, Japan has now come to be referred to as a dark spot. This would continue for the next three years.