The emperor of The Blazing Empire, the governor of the Order of the Quppis; General Owen Sawer in all his actions thrived to make something crystal clear to all the citizens of Dexter: that there was no soft side to the present situation and that no one was spared and that the fact that they were Dexterrans was a huge grievance that they were going to pay for brutally and painfully. He reminded himself every day of what he should be: a pernicious, ferocious beast who was completely devoid of emotions and whose place in the ecosystem was to tear people apart. Every day, he got closer to becoming that person and farther from the person he used to be: a soldier, still fierce and deadly but willing to sacrifice himself for his nation. And he was on the brink of doing that in the Pelican war.He had two bullets in his chest but he kept shooting because he knew that if he stopped, Dexter would officially be defeated and handed over to their neighbours, the Norton Islands (The Pelicans). Onl

'Del, set the lines straight’, Astor yelled from the other side of the rail. Dale had spent little to no time in understanding how to be a railway construction worker as specialised as that sounds, or at least be useful with some of the work that required less skill. Just as he had spent little time getting his feet back on ground and learning to survive again in the new town of Santa Fe, New Mexico. He had dumped the gloomy extradition clothes into a refuse bin and the only clothes he had were the two dirty, always-unwashed work clothes. He lived in a tavern; a tiny room that was only a bit larger than the prison he had once stayed, it had a stacked bed that he shared with one of the workmen, his two work clothes hanging from the wall facing the bed and his only footwear - brown muddy work boots – laying beneath the bed. There was little or no space to walk around in the room. For Dale, ahead of the claustrophobic restraints of the room, there was the bigger problem of nostalgia that

Philip Hundred straightened up his blazers and placed his forehead on the wall staining it with his sweat. He had always been a coward, that kind of man who wore his emotions on his capes and didn’t exactly know how to say no. Him not saying no to Sawer seven years ago was one mistake that he knew that he was never going to forgive himself of and even bigger, a mistake Dexter would not forget.People had turned out at his campaigns, ecstatic and trusting him to the point of holding on to his every word and he let everything go down the drain when someone finally came and offered him a juicy offer, too juicy he forgot it was a poison. He who had thought himself a great strong pillar of society was now sitting one of the chairs, having a conclave with the other members of The Blazing empire. He groaned and hit his forehead against the wall numerous times, it was unreal and now it was a nightmare for him.In the next ten hours, he would be leaving the presidential home, having resigned a

Dale sniffed beneath his mask. He tried to walk as confidently as he could and with the long strides that those rifle-men usually walked, not forgetting the slant way he was meant to hold his rifle with both hands. Humphrey carried the weapon bag at the side of his leg where it could stay undetected.There were two men dressed the same as Dale waiting at the gate of the prison, and Dale didn’t take a stop before walking through the open gates. Humphrey rushed along, so scared that the men at the gate had recognised him and were going to kill him the brutal way The Death Toast victims were killed.‘What do we do now?’, Humphrey whispered to Dale.‘Do you know the way?’, Dale asked as they walked through a lighted hallway.‘No. How am I supposed to know?’‘How are you not?! You left this place only few hours ago’, Dale protested. There were two doors to the sides of the alleyway and one at the entrance.They were in one of the four buildings guarded around the first ward, that was the l

The diamond on Sawer’s ring made scraping sounds as he brushed his palm over the wall. It was the Colour Room and he came here frequently for celebration. Little wonder why he had come that day. Why shouldn’t he celebrate? The president was killed, all the other governors and politicians who had thought they were partners realised they had been disposable pawns seconds before their heads were blown off, Reckdetteans who had thought they were invincible from the terrorists had now being invaded three times and the butchering was going to continue – only few of them who had private jets escaped the country. The apocalypse was on, everywhere was agog and the pressure was mounting on for everyone just the way he wanted it. The more chaos he saw and caused, the more internal calm he felt. That was why he was here to do the exact same thing as celebration. The Colour Room was in reality, torture rooms with each colour representing different forms of punishment and also different heights of