{In the depths of Heck, had I found Heaven. In the clouds of Heaven, Heck. A million candles burned for the help that never came, thus the everlasting power of hopes and prayers. However ‘tis still encouraged by those that have everything to lose; as to organize the sufferers against the Root Cause of their suffering is a sin in spite of it being the beginning of a remedy! To the ruling class, those that educate the have-nots and know-nothing: are criminal; yet to the Great Socrates Ignorance is evil and to misinform is to be such! Worse yet, to agitate the crowds to fight and have self-dignity through self-defense is to maim their rule! Yet “we have no compassion and we ask no compassion from you. When our turn comes, we shall not make excuses for the Terror” is the motto of the defenseless, those that have no other recourse, ones that exhausted all options and yet know their actions and what they do. And so, this post had been written while real Detroiters took the time to organize and agitate to other Detroiters real concerns and solidarity to the problems they face.... This post is split with @jayna’s 50-word contest and an extension of my entry of @dirge’s prompt for this week’s @bananafish’s ”Finish The Story” contest... Today’s music aides: "Blow me away instrumental" [1.] and "One Final Effort" [2.] (Halo 2 and 3 OST).}

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- Books of old -

“Son! I hast to give thee something.”

“Father?”

“Come here, Son. I may be a preacher-”

“Of course. So?”

“Why, the books of old.”

“Father!”

“Worry not. But thou expects me to live longer?”

“Father~”

“Heh, I understand.”

Image Source Here.

- Appalachian grave -

Ashing my cigar, I took a look at the nature outside and puffed my last smoke. Certainly beats staring and understanding the chokepoints of this worn and torn warehouse. Everyday, I think I understand what the ancients and pre-blackout folk were uttering. Heh, but I must give my thanks to an old radical preacher. Without him, I wouldn’t had have these; oh I remembered how it went:

“Son! I hast to give thee something.”

“Father?”

“Come here, Son. I may be a preacher-”

“Of course. So?”

“Why, the books of old.”

“Father!”

“Worry not. But thou expects me to live longer?”

“Father~”

“Heh, I understand.”

Yet that time is far gone, but forever I have his memory in this knapsack of the books of old. I certainly would list them off, yet for sure my most boredom was squashed with works like Guerilla Warfare by the influential three: Che, Mao and Marighella. And so far, I now see the practicality of such; but my daydreaming was caught by my robo-friend:

“Indeed, the forestry be beautiful. So whatever happen’d to the rad preacher?”

“We’ll know when we go back. That’ll be apart of our trip to Cali.”

“Understood, still with the mission to meet up and acquire contacts with the Afro-Eurasians?”

“Indeed, hast thee caught on radar any transmission from them?”

“From the Sino-Koreans? Nie. But from the Old Society agents I hear their beepin’ chatter and had to mute it because of the constant buzzing.”

“How long ago and how intense?”

“A mike ago, and they doubled the intensity by then.”

“They’re close, station thyself on the MG placement and ready thy charges.”

“And to thee, prepare thy steel gloves and seal thy gas-mask. For today, thou shall snipe and cleanse the Earth of this sin!”

“Czerwony salut!”

“Czerwony salut! Śmierć do Korupcji!”

Indeed we rang our silent chant to these corrupting pecknecks. If I wasn’t drinking moonshine and rum, I’d probably snapped and been one of the suicidals that was neither a multi-party raider nor a petty raider. But those freaks that go out and slaughter what they see as already a walking dead. Thankfully, they screwed over the Old Society agents a whole lot more than others... Magazines upon magazines, I had enough to off an company’s worth. If I wasn’t in the zone they declared to be under order “11-99,” I would’ve dropped these mags off to a safe spot for others to use. But scoping in, today I had to make use of previous charitable dumps and make each one count. ‘Tis the least I can do as some drunken lad pushing his luck and way past the expiration date.

[1.]

The first wave came by, I rose my finger to flick the camera on. Soon beeping, the robot chimed to the tune and suggested:

“Ten paces and thou shall shoot if no other threats appear; otherwise, take care of that MAG agent over there.”

I saw that horrible excuse for an abomination, tall and armored up. Thing had their face thankfully covered with a faceplate and stahlhelm on top, their torso with camoflagued leather and armed only with a cannon. Peckneck stood as tall as those autumn trees; yet thankfully it did as I had planted some ‘splosives for this occasion. The robo-pirate saw me shoulder my rifle and aiming right at the MAG, and so flew brass from a gunpowder burst. I shouted:

“Ten paces, now!”

The brass in that time found a new home in where the nose would’ve been. As I opened and closed the bolt, I couldn’t find any empathy to those grey-skinned MAG freaks whose entire face, except their crooked mouth, was replaced with a black cross on pale skin. Scoping in again, the explosions blew and soon a holy rain of blood, dirt, wood and lead escaping the Earth. But I gave the sitrep:

“MAG agent struck and collapsing with the trees. Other tangos either routing or dead, first wave collapsed on my front.”

“Understood, meatbag. I’m scannin’ with infrared, detectin’ none approachin’ the warehouse gate door.”

“Want me to confirm?”

“Negative, hold thy position.”

“Roger, understood.”

As I rogered, the second wave were ignoring the fallen and marching on carefully. Peck, both were once living, but one I thought they ought to care was ruthlessly stomped on or used as a meat shield. The robo-pirate winced and cocked their rifle back there. I scanned the front, ‘twas more of these son of the buns; but scanning harder, I saw the grass move and for sure the wind wasn’t present today. Seeing them halt, I steadied my breath and slowly squeezed the trigger.

By chance the grass bled and those grass-tricksters prided themselves that they weren’t the first shot; oh how I rewarded their sinful pride by giving the same lead present to them. And for those brave to not hide in grass, I saw how they squirmed and sprayed the entire warehouse with lead. To hit by chance the person picking them off and cease the sniper’s powerful lead hex that made the lawn red. If it weren’t for my suppressor, I probably be as smoked as these fools now; yet I have to remind myself that suppressors don’t silence sound, but sincerely make impossible the source while being tender to the shooter’s ears.

Yet with every time I rack the bolt back, another body replaces the fallen enemy. And a reload from my nagant is one inch they gain, yet I wished for them to advance. As with the fifth reload, they finally had reached the second ring and so soon that ring lit up to the World herself. With those surviving, I picked clean the unharmed as they refused to recover the stragglers who truly deserved mercy. And for those I had seen attempt recovery of their fallen, I touched not; I hadn’t a heart to kick an injured personal when the injuries enough would seal their fate. As such, they had been in complete shambles and the second wave couldn’t secure any serious ground. My robo-friend screamed:

“Ha hargh! The noise alone scar’d those readi’d at oure repair’d gate-door. Say, I must commend the vampires, for they hath this much dynamite and C4 in their armory. Clearly they were good smithies o’ war along with the stealin’ o’ red rum!”

How could I but not chuckle, the Old Society were known to be fierce lest their enemies be ghosts. And so far, we had two other lines of ‘splosives and internal bombs to collapse parts of the warehouse. All so we can funnel them to one hallway that acts as the ultimate chokepoint. And so our wish was granted, as a long clink echoed throughout. I shouldered the rifle and immediately moved to the other sniper hole; my robo-friend spoke:

"Hurry, tangos sharp approachin'! They seem to wise up to yer front bein' a killin' field."

"Got that when the pecknecks hammered in on the gate. Prepare to smite them, śmierć im!"

"Blow me away!"

Yet soon the skies blurted out and the Heavens made clear their intentions. I gleed:

[2.]

“Oh! The Appalachians are coming! Ha hargh!”

“Oure day be sav’d truly?”

“Aye! With horns like that, a multi-party raider crew shall come. Not only do we have a victory by stratagem and numbers, but a psychological one as well. Now, let’s suffer a lil’ more so that they can focus on wiping the enemy away.”

“Yargh!”

The gate continually got pounded, not with the firmness of the previous bash. Nie. This was the bashing of a frightened mouse in a dark maze. I look at my belt of grenades, so easily can I drop this on their position and they be none the wiser. Yet I pulled out my ppsh-41, charging it as soon as I unsheathed it. With the racking of my gun, the gate busted open and they poured in like a horde. Yet nothing the MG placement was made to combat, as they met their timely demise with our extra dosage of lethal lead. End product: a gibfest not meant for the old or young.

And I would've enjoyed the show if it weren't for the cement screaming in pain, I edged my head out to see and saw a few climbers. Laying myself against the wall, I took a spare grenade from my pouch and chcuked it lightly. Hearing the intelligently unwise climbers get closer, I pulled the pin and chucked it out the window; a thud I heard as 'twas followed by four more thuds and a kaboom. Checking through the floor crack, this wave's numbers were certainly thinning out and heck I even some brave souls became cowards today. Slowly returning back to my original post, I still held tightly the ppsh-41 and approached the barricade where the MG placement was.

With my grouping with them, they ceased firing and commented:

"Aye, that's the last o' them for now. Think a fourth and last wave shall happen?"

"If they are pincered, expect them to pincer us. If they squeezed through a hole to escape, then consider desperation their main emotion. In any other case, we shall hunker down 'til the Appalachian arrive."

"Aye."

And the long quiet happened, though one, in a peaceful state, would consider gunfire in the background trouble and our position in the epicenter of such. Yet, I pulled another cigar out; 'twas a Cubano and I was surprised to hear even one from those Caribbean islands still kicking. To them, they fared better and had the breathing space to exist for once. Peck, a Cubano some moons ago I spoke to had laughed at me saying:

"¡Jajajaja! Tú polaco, tú polaco... But no, we needn't resort to such efforts; yet I guess you have to deal with the remnants of Capitalism in America."

"Indeed, towarzysz. It's hard to do any serious organizing except with the towns and micro-societies that formed about. Yet the PRF shall do the job as we originally were formed to do."

"¡Muy revolucionario! ¡Jaja! ¿Pero verdad? You're a PSF agent?"

"Well a trainee of the PRF branch in America, I'm surprised they still functioned despite loosing comms with Europe. Funny how the ML state of Poland wanted to relive the glory days of revolutionary poles helping other revolutions when there's failed."

"¡Sí! I've seen many PRF in Haiti, especialmente en las communidades de Poloné."

"Heh, why not bring them here? Wide country to expand operations for the Polish Revolutionary Forces."

"¡Ja! Indeed, camarada. De todos modos, aquí es tu cigarro cubano."

"Dziekuje. Lo siento, gracias."

"¡Jaja! Tú polaco, de nada. ¡Ah! Przepraszam, proschaw towarzysz."

Getting half-way through and spotting not one soul, I returned to my robo-friend. Nothing on their end, yet approaching calm bodies. They're here, finally. I simply patted them on the back and smiled; though they lacked a human head (really 'twas like seeing a CCTV camera attached to a human-sized marionette), I knew that they smiled back as they patted me on the back. The robot asked where I had acquired such a lovely death stick, I merely mentioned the Cubans and they inquired further; I said they were lodging in a post in Florida and I had a nice conversation with one of such. Before they inquired on the talk I merely stated 'twas silly talk, but only one brief section of being connections with outside American nations; the talk thankfully went well and I was the delegate for the PRF. Now the Amero PRF branch was united with the Caribbean Islands. And with such reputation, I planned to use that to further reconnect the World militarily when we traveled to California. The robot stared at me and gripped my hand, uttering:

"I might have, in any other galaxy, be a mere convenient ally 'til this whole Worldwide apocalypse blew'd o'er. Yet, with the conversations we had and the fact thee hast some gravitas, methinks I made a good choice to stick with thee and not run for the hills. Anyways, meatbag, thy other kin shall arrive soon."

"Per aspera ad astra."

And a flare sparked out, I simply pulled out my flare and approached the flare-barer. Our bodies had gotten closer, and so our flares slowly declined from being pointed up. Then both had dropped, and for the next few minutes me and my lost towarzysz hugged it out. My other comrades came out as well and we were finally united, the original trio; soon my robo-friend came and now we constituted a new powerful mass. We were a gang of four, yet I had my attention focused on the Appalachian elder who approached me with her elder smile. She shouldered her Springfield rifle and reached her elderly arms, I knew better than to ignore this ritual and so I hugged her.

She then extends out and takes a good look at me, she phrases in the Appalachian tongue if I had been near vampires or the "blood suckers." I simply nodded, and she inquired whether they were of the captors or Old Society kind to which I uttered the former. She then grasped me harder to where I felt her lungs decompress upon her exhale. Upon feeling the tears, I uttered of their kind hostility despite the harshness of their mannerisms; she chuckled but reaffirmed these were the good ones then, their vampires. At that revelation, we kept quiet and simply retreated from the area whence the last shot rang. Upon a buggy with my gang of four, I drank some good polish moonshine and took nature again in my hazy view. Nothing can beat the beauty of a tipsy soldier winning a fight that was only commonplace to them.

In the depths of Heck, had I found Heaven. In the clouds of Heaven, Heck.

Other parts in RN-1199:

@theironfelix - Eleven-ninety-nine

@theironfelix - RN Dash

@theironfelix - Incident 099a

@theironfelix - Boarding Party

Cited posts:

@jayna - "50-word tasker"

@theironfelix - "My Entry"

@bananafish - "FinishTheStory"

Cited images

"Vatican Library"

"WW1 Camo Sniper"