“My name is David Harding, I’m the president of the Zivaland Federation.”
For the past five years did this single man lead his nation into prosperity. He had taken the mantle from the previous president and found that his nation was under constant assault not only from enemies abroad, but from within as well. Though the civil war had ended nearly seventy-two years ago, he could still recall the blood and grime that was his childhood.
He was once called a partisan fighter, fighting for the wrong side, fighting for Zivaland. Those times had past and now his history was long forgotten as he was turned into nothing but a naive man from the countryside that somehow entered politics, and somehow obtained the seat of president in this very federation that he once gave his life to protect.
Simply known as “David”, he was the only president to reconnect to once distant allies in the east, create new technologies with the increase of manufacturing jobs, and give protection to his nation through the strength of the common people. It wasn’t perfect, but he had risen the Federation to its max power.
The only problem was that such power was limited due to the isolation his nation had been under since the great war more than two hundred years ago…
The Kingdom of Yondel, a long-forgotten enemy, was knocking on Zivaland’s territory and was engaging in light skirmishes within the Frontier. He had been alerted of the first border violation almost a year ago; operatives from the kingdom, under unknown orders and circumstances had wondered beyond the border and engaged in conflict with border guards. The soldiers from the kingdom would dearly pay for their crimes, but oddly enough the Office of Military and Federal Security had been able to swoop them up and incorporate them into their ranks. It made David question if the OMFS was compromised, but he held his pen as he opted to use the NIA to monitor what these individuals were doing.
Eventually he stopped taking any reports from the NIA as the problems on the border were more pressing than the monitoring of individuals that were loyal to the cause the Federation had. Ever move the Kingdom of Yondel made, war grew closer. He was beyond a reasonable doubt that the kingdom knew of his nation’s existence beyond the Frontier, thus such a once wonderful and mysterious place turned into nothing but an uncontrolled dark zone directly on his southern border.
He had spent the last five years fighting to control the already insatiable demons and monsters. His methods of extermination were more than effective, but it left a clearing for the kingdom to interfere with the Federation’s growth and influence over the Frontier.
Only now did an organization within the Kingdom of Yondel come forward during all this tyranny and terrorism. The Volunteer Corps, an odd organization that had been compared to the scattered militias throughout Zivaland. He was here to parlay with these mercenaries.
“President Harding, you can call me Mr. Que.”
Compared to the warm environment both parties were enveloped in, the old frail man in front of the president was wearing simple brown garbs and black robes. He was a far cry from the other mercenaries that were taken into custody by Border Guards. Mr. Que stared directly at Harding. He held his wooden cane just in front of him and his eyes were hidden behind the small circle glasses on his face. Que’s gaze was sharp and calculating. Such an old, experienced man was perfect for leading his Volunteer Corps. Based on the testimony provided by the foreign agents working under the OMFS, Mr. Que had dedicated his Corps to protecting his fellow humans within the Frontier, and though they were under the jurisdiction of Yondel, it was clear their motivations laid outside of the kingdom’s goal for the dark zone.
Harding was no different. Though a soft look was commonly found, the president used everything and anything to protect his people. He had spent his time as a Marine. An old organization of the previous nation the Federation used to be. Being the Federation’s prior sword and shield, he and his brothers were able to eliminate any threat with tenacity unlike any foe had ever seen. Unfortunately, those days were gone.
“Mr. Que.” President Harding spoke in a slow and calm voice as he set himself down in the only other chair on the other side of the old man. “I don’t make time for one-on-one interviews, so consider yourself lucky to meet me.”
There was a sarcastic undertone to Harding’s voice. Mr. Que took note of this and leaned his head to the right seeming amused.
“Oh, I don’t like the press either. I think we can agree that we’re not here for some interview.”
Both cracked a tiny smile. Their accompanying guards seemed to look at each other with varying looks of concern. It was almost if they were communicating their concerns, but no words were shed as the two leaders finished up their pleasantries through mere body language alone.
Maintaining a stoic face as he reached into the briefcase, he had brought along with him, President Harding withdrew a sheet of paper. Mr. Que remained curious of what the leader of the Federation was about to pull out. He wasn’t scared of it being a weapon. The old man had spent enough time in this place, and he would welcome a bullet placed between his eyes if it meant he was finally able to rest.
It seemed the elder’s expectations were tampered as the president withdrew nothing, but a single piece of paper and a black pen rimmed with silver outlines.
Placing the paper on the small coffee table separating him from the Corps CEO, he slid it over in one motion but still held the pen in his hand as he leaned back into his seat in such a casual manner. Mr. Que studied how the president acted towards him. He was too relaxed to even consider putting his full focus into this meeting. It was clear that the Volunteer Corps and Mr. Que provided no threat to the president nor his federation. Even if he was killed now, Harding’s country would not only raze the Frontier to ashes, but very well eviscerate the kingdom in a bloodthirsty massacre.
Harding held the pen in his calloused hands as he showed it off to Mr. Que. He let the man get an in-dept view of the perfect silver lines that ran across the black surface. Only the finest ink was ever allowed to be used with this seemingly mergerless object, but to Harding, it was an heirloom.
“This is my great grandfather’s pen. He used this while he was an office worker long ago. So long ago, that this very federation was still an empire.”
Placing the pen on the table and then sliding it over, the president was confident.
“When something threatens society there are fail-safes in place to preserve and protect what remains. The men and women of this country will give everything to survive.”
Mr. Que hummed.
“The nations of the world have destroyed Zivaland twice. They say the third time is the charm…”
“To fully wipe out a people. Isn’t that right.”
“No.”
Harding gently closed his mouth as he slowly began to unravel the mystery that was Mr. Que.
“You want something. What is it.”
Harding remained silently as his eyes drifted off past his elder.
“Mr. President.”
No words were returned.
“Are you listening to me?”
Harding’s lips separated as a small breath escaped.
“David!”
An agent walked forward but was stopped by the outstretched arm of the president. He had regained consciousness and he looked directly into Mr. Ques eyes with a distant and tired expression. What Harding wanted; he could never give. What he could give the Federation, that was worth more than a whole army base of steel.
Not giving another chance for his elder to speak, Harding retrieved the paper on the desk and crumpled it in his hands. He needn’t not for the authorization of the Senate, and he was going to play by the rulebook each president had carefully crafted before he took office.
Was it a breach of power, that much should have been obvious. In defense of his nation, of his people—he needed to take charge of his post.
This was going to be his final watch.
“Mr. President. Agent under your command, your authority have either gone missing in action or rouge.” Mr. Que began after he confirmed that he had Harding’s attention.
“Rouge? Tell me more.” The president knew of agents under the NIA and the OHFI that disavowed their oaths and completely dropped off the grid when on missions within the Frontier. Every time he had sent an MP unit to investigate where theses agents went, all they found were the bodies of the deceased agents. If there was something the Volunteer Corps had discovered, he wanted to know.
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“Can you truly trust the people that work under you? Can you trust that they are following their directives? There aren’t many people you can trust in the line of intelligence.”
“Enough dancing around.” Harding ordered calmly.
“There are hidden cells within the Federation. They have unknown objectives, unknown goals. We don’t know who they are, no where they work.” Mr. Que said slowly taking his time looking at each security agent directly. “What I need you to do is open your mind, Mr. President. My corps have intelligence on a possible final solution. This goes beyond Zivaland and Yondel.”
“We are aware of this. My cabinet informed me some time ago; thus, countermeasures have been created.”
“Countermeasures?”
“What you want is to protect the Frontier. I know you could give a rat’s ass about Zivaland and your kingdom, but this is something that needs to be taken care of. You came to me to find a solution to this, now, tell me what you want.”
The golden, comforting light from above shined upon the darkened interior of the meeting room. Heating the entire area, the central heating unit made the area a bit too warm for comfort. Mr. Que found the environment quite stuffy. He had adjusted his robes to make himself more comfortable, but it seemed that as time went on as he remained in silence, the room just got warmer and warmer.
What did he want?
This was an unprecedented turn in the conversation. His mission was to gain support from the Federation to secure the Frontier and potentially stop the war. But this was different. Revealing the existence of rouge agents in the Federation was supposed to be his golden ticket to gain the president’s trust, but it seemed Harding was well informed of the situation well before he himself received the any information.
A simple miscalculation. That’s all it was. It was time to adjust the strategy and finally negotiate for a plan of action and a call to arms. Support was secured, now it was just down to getting the proper supplies to ensure the next mission’s completion without fail.
If he could take advantage of the president’s kindness and generosity, though it may come with a catch, now was the time to exploit it.
“Mr. President, I would be a fool to request something selfish, so I will request something that will benefit my men.”
“Ask.”
“Weapons. Goods. Materials.” Mr. Que said each word with emphasis.
“A trifecta.” Harding surmised.
Mr. Que grinned behind his glasses, “We need to make money somehow.”
“And yet, you’ve sacrificed so much for the Frontier.”
“The Frontier needs to make money somehow.”
“Naturally. We’ll provide what’s necessary, but in turn I want your corps to help manage control.” It was now or never to gain an ally within the kingdom. It was not only critical for national defense, having someone close to your enemy provided an early warning in the case of sabotage or invasion, but having your enemy close invited plenty of opportunity for surveillance and intelligence gathering capabilities.
It was time for Harding to exploit the ability of the Volunteer Corps. They had the manpower and the insight on how to operate within the Frontier. They would serve as local guides and provide protection for the populace in the dark zone; thus, the needed Federation presence would be minimal and wouldn’t risk agitating the kingdom.
“I want your people to work with mine. I don’t need to deploy troops, and I’m sure as hell you don’t want us there in the first place. So, let’s come to an agreement, we provide what you need, and you keep the kingdom and our enemies on that side away.”
“You mean to involve us in your “business”, Mr. President.” Looking at Harding with a sharp glare in his eye, Mr. Que tightened his hands on the top of his cane. He did not like the idea of being under the thumb of the Federation. He had longed been judged and ordered by his home kingdom and now it was leading to war. What good would come from forming an alliance with his nation’s enemy? This parlay was more than enough to set off an international incident, but he needed to do this for his people in the Frontier. To ensure their survival.
“I understand you have your hands tied at home, but this will prevent the war.” President Harding argued with a positive assurance, “We have trampled upon your lands. I will not deny that. But this is beyond simple border disputes, in fact the whole world could be at stake, and we don’t even know it yet.”
Resting in his seat, Mr. Que fell to silence.
“We caught wind of something called, Project Forerunner a while back.”
President Harding reached into his pocket and took out a flask. He uncorked the top and took a swig.
Que turned his head away. The seat he was at was close enough to a window and now he was staring at the darkened, winter sky. He remembered this type of weather during his tenure within the Frontier. Under the gargantuan canopies, the snow would coat the ground in a gentle white and was perfectly, imperfectly spread around the untouched ecosystem. He shook his head. Being battle hardened and now at the head of a corps made his wonder for the world, his love for the world fade away. Combat missions were meant for the young men under his command. He was well over sixty years old and by this point he had stopped counting. Being asked to fight even more at his old age was a death sentence.
And now the president was asking him about the Forerunners.
They were nothing but a myth. A group of humans, or Demi-Gods that had access to an ancient technology found somewhere in between the federation and kingdom’s borders. There, a portal of some kind was supposed to be found. Anyone who had tried to uncover this secret, this grand prize always ended up dead or damned for eternity. Was it that someone was watching their movements and took appropriate action to protect the ancient ruins, no one would ever know. The name “Forerunner” only came around after the great war with the ancient Ziviland Empire. There had been rumors that an expedition had found evidence, but at that same time the very same unit was wiped out by a horde of Demons that had been released by the Empire.
There was little need to speculate what President Harding wanted from this so called “Project Forerunner”. He wanted his nation to make a grab for the ancient ruins and whatever power was held within, that or completely destroy it to prevent anyone from gaining access. Prior military organizations had tried to make similar bids, but they were always killed and removed from the board. Haring must’ve had a plan to bypass the security wall that protected what the Forerunner’s wished to hide. And if it was to be a trial by fire and blood, then he had no doubt that the man sitting before him would authorize it killing an unknown number of men and women to get what he wanted. Only God could prevent him from doing anything drastic, but the situation at hand was already robbing hundreds if not thousands of their lives.
His crops had every reason to hate the Federation. Hundreds of families in the Frontier were killed or displaced. There had been a fine line between the magical wonder of the unending forests and the militaristic and steel might of the Federation expeditionary bases. Due to be “primitive”, hundreds of his men died in conflicts with the Federation’s military forces. It was like an undeclared war, yet no side ever tried to, or meant to encroach on their respective territories. Thankfully the two groups had seen the reality of both their action, and only the minor scrimmages happened due to miscommunication or accidently hostile intent.
“President Harding. My people have long been at odds with your men within the Frontier. We only wish that you would respect our borders and assist us in development of our Frontier. This war between you and the kingdom needn’t to be escalated.”
“That’s all we’re asking for. Scratch our back, we scratch yours.”
“Of course. Consider us a new ally Mr. President. Naturally that means to halt all operations in the Frontier.”
A smile formed on Harding’s face.
“All day.”
Mr. Que, the leader of the Corps tried to tell himself that this was going to be the best option. Even with the cloudy skies and the weather making him want to recount his luck for this decision, this was best to be made away from the public eye and in the middle of the storm. If his people were to ever prosper and make progress in this unforgiving world, they would have to be caught in the middle of both Federation and kingdom territory to get anywhere.
“Magic is just one means to an end, Mr. President.” Que warned as he stood up and slowly walked towards the exit closest to him.
“May God help you if you can’t harness the power thrown into your lap.” He said before walking out of the room, his agents slamming the door behind him.
Retrieving his flask once more, President Harding spent his new time in silence slowly drinking the potent alcohol. He had always had an unusually high resistance to alcohol. Many scientists suspected that it was a natural immunity from the sigil he was granted upon birth, the one that helped him nurture his dark magic. It was so capable, that he survived an attempted assassination attempt by enemy saboteurs when he was a Marine. He along with fifteen others were the only survivors of a poison that was purposely leaked into the water supply way back during the civil war.
He took a deep breath as he corked the flask.
“David!” A sweet voice called out to him.
Turning around, President Harding turned to the woman who called out to him, his wife Amanda Harding. She stepped through and slowly her and his escort began to exit the room giving the two some much needed alone time. Amanda stripped off her heavy winter parka revealing her form fitting, white blouse, and long, black skirt. David had considered himself lucky to snag the maiden. He met her when he was just a boot in the Marines. After three years of off and on courting that was continuously interrupted due to the civil war, they finally tied the knot and continued their hectic lives all up until now.
Standing up, David hugged his wife and gently pressed his lips into hers making her huff in excitement as she melted in his firm grasp. Upon separating, she held a gentle blush as she forced herself into his arms once more resting her head upon his chest.
“What brings you around here?”
Taking his head and stroking the soft blonde hair, his wife purred as she buried herself deeper into his chest.
“I just wanted to see you. I know the job has been quite stressful lately.”
“Something like that. I’ve just completed my meeting with the head of the Volunteer Corps, and we’ve arrived on a deal.”
“Will it stop all this violence?” Gently raising her head, Amanda looked directly at David with her brilliant purple eyes.
“I can’t say. It’s not something I can control.” David wearily said, “Though it should provide an opportunity to stop this war before it begins.”
“You know that the MSF needs to be activated.”
“I know. We just need to worry about ourselves, not them, nor target Raven.”
David didn’t let her say another word as he pulled his wife further into his arms and with a gentle hand, he directed his lips back to hers. Growing closer together, Amanda wrestled with her husband’s suit jacket as she made her blouse disheveled.
Publicly Available Information: Rouge Agents — High Level Threats:
Officially classified as intelligence and military personnel that have disavowed their oath to the Federation of Zivaland, Rouge Agents are the most common to leave behind what they once stood for, often standing against their former country and organization they hailed from.
With the very best technology and training the Federation has to offer, agents in the field are the deadliest person in the immediate area of operations. To disavow their oath puts not only any Federation personal at risk, but also any innocent civilians caught in the crossfire.
For an agent, turning their decision on the oath they made is to commit treason against the Federation of Zivaland. Reports show that hunter-killer teams comprised of a joint cooperation between the OMFS, and NIA are tasked with hunting down rouge agents before their renegade actions turn into a catastrophe and a critical intelligence and national defense failure.
Additionally, more classified reports have shown that an unknown third party has partaken in the hunting of rouge agents, though sightings of such individuals have been disproven as mere hearsay.