Personal Story: Chapter One of The Capital Part Two: Assembly

2052

          “…And with that being said,” the masked man began to say as he was nearing the end of the Address of South and Central America, “mandatory assessments designed to measure out an individual’s potential of violent acts shall begin within the following days. This test shall be short, and simple, administered by the People’s Advanced Protection of the West over the course of the coming months. All major cities will be tested, and all villages and towns that will be undesirable and or primitive will be terminated and replaced with resource-tapping equipment and tools. Thank you for your time, and please—“

          “Have a spectacular day under the rule of the International Dominating Control.” Trechnia said the words along with the masked man as the broadcast spreading all over the countries under the influence of the International Dominating Control. These broadcasts were often, ever since March of 2018, when The Masked sent his supernatural secret police, the People’s Advanced Protection, into Europe.

Being composed of individuals who are not acceptable to society’s standards, these intelligent, mutated, or otherwise abnormal people are the force that spreads fear throughout the countries of influence. Simply, because they have powers. One, known as Gail, is said to be able to control pressure patterns and send a gust of wind directly at a point the size of a pin-head. Another, who’s called Wrecking Ball, or simply, Ball, is said to be able to turn his hands into giant, indestructible spheres of metal that can break even the toughest barricades.

          Trechnia was not one of them. He was a washed up, old war veteran from the Revolution of the ‘90s. Now suffering from severe insanity, he spends his spare time in his local bar in Moscow.

          “Screw these pigs!” He yelled as he threw his empty bottle of vodka at the TV from his barstool at the head of the bar, a good 10 meters away. “Those fascists can eat shit and die!” He yelled before he erupted in a bellowing laugh.

          The whole bar glared at him, some angry, some scared. Those that had negative criticism of the P.A.P., or the I.D.C. in general, were usually taken off, from what eyewitnesses say. Trechnia was curious, to a degree, as to where they were shipped to. Obviously, the best time to find out was heavily intoxicated with top-shelf vodka that he chugged straight from the bottle.

          Feeling the numbness from his stupor, he ran his wrinkly left hand though his white, receding hairline, his pale skin drawing all light around him. His torn suit jacket was still stained after all this time, never thinking about getting it cleaned, or even buying new attire.
          Trechnia was in the Great Revolution of the World, as it is called by the I.D.C. It was supposed to be an overthrow of the current Communist Regime that reigned over the U.S.S.R. at the time. But, there was a third party, which used the Revolutionaries’ path of destruction to fuel their own agenda.

As the final days of the Communist rule came forward, the group, ran by a mysterious fellow that was originally listed as being killed during the malfunction of the Chernobyl nuclear power plant, intervened the current battle. He quickly quelled the rebellion single-handedly, and took his own grasp of the large land mass.

Soon after, mass amounts of people began to disappear. No one knew why, or where they were taken to. Mere days after the first hundred abductions, all of which happened in a small window of days, a new kind of soldier began to appear on the streets. They wore full armor, which concealed them from the world. They were silent guardians; they never spoke and never stopped keeping watch over the people of the streets. The Masked came on the television over a mass broadcast. He announced that these individuals the people have been seeing are now the new police, the People’s Advanced Protection. He instructed the people not to approach them unless they have spotted a crime of any sort, which he then recited: murder, rape, robberies, assault, and, most importantly, insults towards The Masked, conspiracies, and questioning of his actions.

He then went on to describe that these individuals have unique skills. They are a formidable opponent: ruthless, cunning, powerful, and agile. They were the new Face of the World, quoted by him.

Over the course of ten years, they have shown their power: supernatural abilities that made them a feared force of anyone who hurt the country or its people.

It was 2016 when the United Nations waged war over these terrible foes. Almost immediately after the first wave of soldiers and armor went into Russia, they were destroyed. The P.A.P were there, and their combined power and angst to kill were no match for the U.N. The war had ended within two years, having a total body count of five-hundred thousand, with the United Nations losing five-hundred thousand and the P.A.P. losing none. That is when The Masked sent his troops into Europe, in the spring of 2018. By 2020, the countries of Eastern Europe were now under the Masked’s control. By 2027, all of Europe had been part of the now-I.D.C. And as of 2032, America and Canada were obliterated and conquered.

The only places left untouched were all of Asia, Africa, and South and Central America. For the next sixteen years, the I.D.C fortified its countries, making sure no forces would rise and try to defeat them, which the P.A.P. would make sure didn’t happen.

Trechnia fiddled with his medallion that the leader of the old rebellion wore. He kept that necklace on him since the fateful day the leader was killed, during the final march into Moscow. The Masked had swooped in, and annihilated the leader, seemingly taking control of his mind and forced him to fight for him. Their leader had his own power, and he used that to defeat the revolutionaries.

A loud bang knocked Trechnia out of his state of nostalgia. Two tall men stood in the doorway of the bar, fully clothed in a distinctive dark brown set of…

“Oh, shit.” Trechnia whispered to himself.

Two Enforcers from the P.A.P. slowly walked in through the set of Old-Western style double doors. They gazed about the room, scanning every last man that sat to enjoy their drinks.

“Which one of you is Vladimir Trechnia?” One of the Enforcers asked in a deep, metallic voice.

The Enforcers were only one branch of the P.A.P. There were three others, equally as fearsome: The Watchers, who strolled the streets, acting as policemen for those in need, the Technicians, who mostly were highly intelligent individuals who ran the tactics and supervision of most of the P.A.P.’s operations, and the Demos, who specialized in dealing with assaults on new nations and quelling the rebellions that happened every so often. The latter being the group that had little men, but the most power, and most variety between individual warriors.

Enforcers, specifically, dealt with homegrown issues, such as slanders against The Masked and the government. They were bulky, usually having super-strength and high agility.

“I will ask again,” the man said in an angrier and louder tone, “which one of you is Vladimir Trechnia!?” Upon uttering the last few words of his sentence, he swatted at a round table, which flew to the wall and splintered across the room.

The entire crowd of patrons immediately pointed to the man sitting at the head of the bar with the medallion still in his hands.

Trechnia realized that this was it. This was the moment when the P.A.P. would catch him. He has been on the run for decades, careful to not be caught. Yet, now, they have found him, and they would not be kind.

“I will fillet you like a fish, scum!” the Enforcer who destroyed the table said as he started towards Trechnia. With each step, the Enforcer’s mechanical suit let out a synthetic whirring noise that Trechnia could only compare to a hive of enraged wasps. Trechnia sat as still boulder, paralyzed with fear, his heart thumping hardly, as if desperately trying to pound its way out of his old chest.

The Enforcer grabbed Trechnia roughly by the throat and hoisted him up into the air like a feather. He tried to pry the Enforcer’s grip open, but to no avail. The Enforcer currently choking Trechnia held the old man's life in his hands, quite literally.

“After all this time, we had finally found you, scum.” The other Enforcer said, walking over to the first. The second Enforcer’s helmet began to recede at the intersection, which positioned itself at his nose. The plates that formed the face guard receded until only his face was showing. The Enforcer’s face was younger-looking, with hardly any wrinkles and a pale complexion. “I have waited so long for this moment,” he then said with a slight smirk. “Bring him out to the truck!”

The bar’s regulars looked on as Trechnia was dragged, literally screaming and begging to be saved, to the truck that the Enforcers drove. Constructed from an offset of a heavy duty vehicle used by old landscaping companies, the Minotaur was a relatively small utility vehicle, with a diesel engine, black steel frame, and gravitational strengtheners that gave the vehicle a lower center of gravity by hindering the weight of the edge of the frame, while also weakening the pull in the center. This additional technology allowed the Minotaur to reach high speeds while still taking sharp corners; perfect for hunting down revolutionary scum. It is capable of holding two men prisoner in the back, two Enforcers in the passenger and driver seats, and still able to maintain a powerful gravitational balance, thanks to Hondolian Systems. The System, as it was nicknamed, was the leading source in technological advances that were used to outfit the P.A.P.

With Trechnia still locked in his iron grip, the Enforcer opened the cage in the back oh their Minotaur, which was similar in size to a large dog cage, and hurled him in, quickly shutting and padlocking the cage before Trechnia could even gather himself after colliding headfirst with the carbon fiber-laced insides of the cage.

“Oh, boy!” The second Enforcer chanted, his face guard still retracted. “You know where you’re going?” The engine of the Enforcers’ Minotaur – which the two nicknamed Sally – roared to life with an unearthly rumble.

Trechnia already knew. The Enforcers were always hauling people away, usually for being accused of having ties to the old revolutionaries from way back. The one place these men were always sent was a dungeon so unspeakably torturous, so ungodly painful, and so horrendous, that even the Enforcers flinched to say its name. However, the Enforcer speaking to Trechnia seemed to have no difficulty with it.

“That’s right. The Cathedral of Christ our Savior.” The Enforcer said with a devilish grin, and went to join his comrade.