/lit/ - Literature

So long as the Suzerainty needed ultranationals dead without so-called journalists catching wind of it, he would retain a livelihood. It seemed these days the entire world was pockmarked with new DMZs and no-go zones; the global order had missed only one step and had landed on its ass. The spirit of internationalism was reduced to a pantomime as leaders signed cease fire documents with the NGOs without ever suspending fire missions even for a day. The new Peninsular “Region of Compromise”, the Khananese Zone of (Nominal) International Occupation, the Perifallian Cease Fire Line, the Occident-backed New People’s National Republic of Suzuland. He had been in all of them. He was there when the Philagaen People’s Army had retaken the oilfields of Kur from terrorists on behalf of the Global Banking Organization, and he had been there in the backstreets of New Rattendam helping the Coalition of Nations to coverup the loss of an RADATOM-TOPSECRET dataset. They gave him AEROTEK ceramic armor and FFAMPYRE infrared night vision. They gave him a rifle made in a laboratory with ammunition that cost 200 Krona a round. If he asked for it, they provided. White phosphorus grenades. Cannisters of nerve agents created in underground laboratories unknown to the Suzerain. Before one job in Camilta he had the Coalition Warship JTF-Longsword launch a PRKSET missile at the public housing tower next door to his mark. 546 dead in a smoking crater. They had the balls to claim it was a gas leak. The noise of every emergency responder in the city arriving on the scene masked the sound of his team’s fully automatic room clearing next door. 13 dead Communards who had been organizing the province’s general strike. Their deaths made only the fifth page of the news. The new world.