Athens – Greece
Two days later.

The security forces guided General Officer Feodor Anastasios to the podium throughout the labyrinth of the former parliament building where he would eventually wind up outside to the main platform that rested both the corpse and casket of the former leader. As he turned towards the exit and down the corridor, familiar voice spoke out in a gruff tone and Slavic accent.

“General Anus…” the voice jokingly spoke behind him. “I hope you are enjoying your place… but I suspect that you are enjoying it more than I am…” General Feodor stopped as he turned around to see a familiar face. An old friend by the name of Lt. General Dragomir “The Dagger” Damir stood behind him as Feodor smirked out a smile and understood the title, which stuck to him during his time in the army.

“Lt. General Dagger! I thought you were busy back in Serbia dealing with rebels in Sarajevo. Perhaps you are here to pay respects, or you wish to be in my shoes instead to prove to me how envious you are?”

“Perhaps the latter…” joked Dragomir, “… but I do wish to pay my respects and congratulate you on becoming his successor.” He started to walk beside him as they continued along the path to the outside. “But one question I must ask. How did such a great man put someone like you in power as his successor? I mean, after all you did not earn such title on the battlefield, so I’m guessing a bit of favoritism played his decision in his selection.”

“Possibly that is the case, but, it seems that as he saw the end of his reign, he knew what we did what most thought impossible.” Said the General as both he and Dragomir walked together with the guards. “Unifying the Balkans under the Confederacy was a daring move, and the civil war was a test of that alliance. I believe he chose me in order to keep us strong and not waste any more lives. I also know that the men are exhausted from the war and wish to be with their families. He saw that I could bring sanity and peace to the Confederacy.”

Dragomir rolled his eyes, believing what Feodor was doing was a fool’s errand with the Oculi possibly supplying the rebels and anarchists under their noses. “Perhaps it is wise to know that we can crush our enemies first, and once and for all in the region before we can have peace.”

“I do not think that is wise. There will always be enemies in our mist, whether from the people or from within. Now, I wish to regain our strength and make alliances for trade and deal with them when the time comes.”

Dragomir chuckled as he pat on Feodor’s shoulder heavily. “Perhaps that is why they call you an ass, because you’ll eventually make an ass out of yourself.”

Feodor moved on ahead as Dragmir stood behind him as he headed outside and started to go onto the platform. “You forget that Christ rode into Jerusalem on an ass.” He retorted with a smile on his face before he started to walk up on the stairs onto the platform and to the podium where he stood in front of the massive crowd with roars and chants of praise.

His head lifted up to the crowd in slight shock, with the hundreds of thousands of people stood in front of him. Bulgarian, Greek, and Serbian flags waved in in the air as signs in bold letters in languages common to the Balkans all in praise for him. His picture held high on in admiration for the handsome dictator, making him a bit embarrassed as he though himself as a mere figure of the Confederacy. Nevertheless, he had a speech to make before the nation could say their final goodbyes to the corpse former leader.

“My countrymen… My allies... and my friends.

Today is a final day of mourning for our former leader, Nikolaos Michaloliakos. For after this day, I believe, is the beginning of a new era. Perhaps, he was a prideful man, no doubt. But let us not forget that he has accomplished what most people would had thought impossible. We today, stand as evidence that it was not impossible. Our faith, pride, and history united us during the darkness in standing strong against the anarchist threat, against the greatest conflict mankind has ever known, and will continue to hold us against our enemies whether within or mists, or beyond the borders of our countries. Challenges await us within the future that will continue to test our resolve.
Let us not wallow in sadness for the end of our leader, but let us celebrate the legacy that build this opportunity!

Let us forever honor him not by worshiping the end of his reign, but let us honor him by establishing that fact for once, the nations of the Balkans are finally masters of their own destiny! We will not subjugated by aloof and naïve liberals with their Marxist plans, or undermined by anarchists who wish to destroy the dream we have made a reality! A new dawn awaits us, not just for Greece, or Serbia, or even Bulgaria alone! But a new dawn rises on all of the Confederacy that united this land under one banner against our enemies and we will outlast them, as God will be with us as we not only regain our strength, but come out stronger than we could ever thought possible!

Heil Byzantium!”

“Heil Byzantium! Heil Byzantium!” the chants of the crowd in front of him rallied in unison. Feodor felt a rush of hope flow though him, and he believed that he was the one to help forge that legacy. He stood there for a moment taking in the praise and chants of the rallied crowd before he stepped down and back into the corridor where Dragmir clapped slowly with a happy smirk on his face.

“Impressive, but you still haven’t shown yourself to have the will of a leader…” he spoke to him as he looked at the newly established head of the Byzantine Confederacy.

“In due time…” replied Feodor as he walked passed him. “…In due time.”

Buganda, Uganda

A dry sun loomed over head, shining off the expansive waters of Lake Victoria as riders in the back of a rusty twenty year old pick up truck road along in its bed. The dry dusty wind buffeted past their face as the vehicle merged gracefully in and out and through the traffic along the road. The road was one of a view paved roads in the whole of the country. But the dusty

Cutting through hamlets and open fields the truck kept moving. Shacks built up from plywood and corrugated steel sat alongside bungalows of white plaster and red shingles. Expansive fields stretched out to towering dry trees. All along the edge foot traffic and animal traffic moved along at their own pace, independent of the driving speed of the automobiles that lazed along the road.

“I can't say I'm surprised on the intelligence on this chap.” John said over the open air whipping past them as they rode Taxi, Uganda style. The flaked black coating of the truck bed was heating up something painful, even with the air rushing over to cool it. The man shifted constantly as the bumps shot up through his ass. A wide brimmed and torn cowboy had flapped in the wind atop his face in a vein attempt to guard against the harsh equatorial sun.

“He got plendy'a investigadive reports.” Emmanuel shouted back. A tired baseball hat crowned the dark-skinned Haitian. Wrapped down the back of his wide ovular head a rag protected the back of his neck. “Charges for goun posession. Charges on religioous violence. He a real characder. Buo'd none of id made it do court, mon.”

“What 'appened to all of that?” John asked. A semi trailer carrying bales of hat wrapped in linked chains of bungee rushed by alongside them. A trail of grass whipped through the air and danced to the bed of the truck before being re-captured and whipped high and away.

“Look like id wos all dropped in dh' courts. D' investigative reports gid up dere and de shood'em down.”

“Bloody 'ell, ya think they got someone' in the courts?”

“Probably.”

The truck jostled, bringing the two's attention up as they rose up over the surrounding terrain. Along their side Lake Victoria shone like a bright turquoise jewel as they rose up over the Katonga river. Inundated with early-summer rains, the tributary was a sword of muddy brown across the swollen green, swampy shores of Lake Victoria. The river shimmered as it flowed into the Lake through its wide mouth, one of many uncountable water ways that entered into the great African lake.

The bridge rose over the water and the swampy weeds and clumps of resilient green life whose roots dug deep into the mucky riverbed under them. Also lost in the overgrowth was the forgotten ruins of the old bridge that has cut over the inundated river below. The original bridge having been lost in the war by the parties the agents hunted had only highlighted the compromised condition of the water way. Earthquakes in the years preceding the war had softened the soil, and rose Lake George enough that the water from it often flowed faster and heavier.

Its destruction was inevitable, whether it was to sever advances from the south or a wash out of spring and summer rains. But as the war cooled, a new bridge was erected over the old. Rising to show the Great Lake in its full glory, and all the countryside before dipping down.

“We'll be getting' close”. Emmanuel said, “We ready?”

“As I ever been.” John smiled, “So what's the plan?”

“I'm dh' only black brothe' dhey'll likely led in to dere' group.” Emmanuel laughed, “We'll need t' drop you off somewhere outside.”

“I can deal with that.” John smiled, “If any blokes ask me what I'm doing, I guess I can get off saying I'm studying birds.”

“Dhen you god your equipment?”

“Yeah, give me a call when you're in.”

New York City, North American Federation
Despite the best efforts of many within the NAF, the growing Poor and Rich divide could be seen nowhere better then in New York. Towering Penthouses reached into the skies, while on the outskirts of New York there were only shacks, thrown together from what ever materials they could find laying around.

The slums of New York smelled of sewage, disease, and death. The shacks that had been thrown together lacked any plumbing or electricity. The only plumbing was in the form of old blue porta-potties, which overflowed with the waste of others. The only electricity was streetlights that only ran at night, and sometimes not even then. There was no sounds of a typical busy community, only crying and coughing. Kids did not run about and play, they scavenged for what little food was available. Life in the slums usually meant death at a early age.

It was here that the New Age Reactionary movement was prevalent within the NAF. The newly formed Old Age Party was pushing for laws requiring factories to switch back to more traditional methods of production, including the old assembly lines, rather then 3-D Printers and robots. Members of the Old Age Party would go door to door, if the people there could even read, and hand them fliers. They promised that what they were doing would lift them from poverty, bring food to the table, make them have luxeries again. They said they would have proper housing once again, instead of living in shacks made of rusting metal and rotting wood.

However while the reactionaries tried to claim that nobody was working to help the slums but them, as to gather more support for there cause, it wasn't true. Scattered amongst the ruined shacks and smell of sickness and death was the Red Cross. Mobile buildings had been setup by the Government and other organzations in a attempt to bring aid to those living in the slums. Cots were setup about, nursing go around and bring aid to those who had fallen ill. These shelters also provided food, even if it was only watery soup with bread crusts, or a small hunk of meat. Those living in the slums, or as those who had avoided the hell holes called them, slummies, were grateful to have something to put in there belly all the same.

New York City was not the only city with these outer slums anyways, they were scattered across the US and next to major cities. Austin, San Fransico, Chicago, and even Washington D.C all had these. The world also was in a similiar situation, having slums or something akin to them.

These slums represented one of the many problems of the world as of late, along with many other things. The growing rarity of resources, political and ideological questions, amongst other things.

Gateway California, Mojave Desert
Fergus' feet slowly trudged through the garden on its gravel trail, biting his lip nervously. Every step he took was filled with fear, fear of what would come. There were so many things that could go wrong, and if any of them did go wrong, well... there goes the funding. Sure, Fergus was rich, but not nearly rich enough to accomplish his goals, so he had approached David Wilson and asked for funding. He promised great rewards, beamed solar power, Helium-3, orbital weaponry, and the extension of NAF rule of course. He accepted, but he certainly didn't know that Fergus didn't actually care about any of that. To him, the entire corporation was nothing more than a means to an end. The oil was nothing more than a kick-start, the natural gas there to build up capital. Solar power a good image, medical businesses to help people along the way. The war was perfect as well, giving him a chance to improve relations with the government. Everyone thought KTCI existed to make money, but on this day that interpretation would be challenged by KTCI itself.

Looking around him, Fergus saw a sight much different from most towns in the NAF. Other places were mostly slums, the middle class had all but disappeared despite all the government efforts against it, and the upper class was just as small as before. In Gateway, however, the standard of living was much higher. Houses might all look the same, but all of them had two stories and ten rooms, running water, electricity, and multi-gigabyte internet connections. Food was clean, and the water was cleaner. Even the work week was better, with a whole day taken off (Wednesday to be exact). It was unfortunate that this standard was not the norm elsewhere, but one step at a time. Can't change the whole world overnight.

But you can inspire it Fergus thought, feeling the ground tremble beneath his feet. He looked up at the sky, the shining stars calling out to him. Their calls wouldn't last, because they were soon obscured by a rising cylinder riding on a tail of fire into the night sky. The Starfire mission, first space launch since the war. Everybody thought that there was no chance of returning to space, with the global economy in shambles and so many dead. Of course, somebody had to prove them wrong. And proving people wrong was Fergus' specialty. They said he'd never become anything, then "Fergus McClain" became a household name. They said he'd never be loved, then he got married. They said he'd never be able to pay off his family's debt, then he became a billionaire. Now he just sent six people up into the very place that nobody thought humans would return to within the century.

KTCI Broadcast to All Governments/Organizations
"This is CEO Fergus McClain of KeyTech Combined Industries. The citizens of the NAF already know this, but none of you do. At eleven-hundred hours PTZ yesterday, a ballistic device was launched from a secret KTCI facility in the Mojave Desert. This is not a missile, it is a chemical rocket that is part of the KTCI Planetes program. It is carrying a capsule containing six astronauts into low Earth orbit, in which they will remain for two days before returning. This is the first manned spaceflight since the ISS was brought down in 2016, and believe it when I say that there's a lot more coming!"