Final charge

Boom – went the street and the cloud rose to blind us. Speeding fire moved left and right, shooting randomly over the exo-soldiers hiding behind collapsed wall. They held their heads down strongly bracing their helmets and grunting while the robot courageously marched forward. From the window, one of our guys threw a molotov cocktail that shattered over already dented metal and fire bath the turquoise eye machine. It didn’t do any damage to the robotic sixbarelled machine gun that blared fire in the iron clutch of a machine, ranged with the casings on the wet pavement and whirled his legs – stomping over our dead. His friends just breached from the sides and now we were surrounded from every direction.

Corner, five guys are trying to delay their meeting in the center, but grenade launchers push them back with two instantly dead. Others ran, leaving our soldiers on the floor, dismantled, shredded by pieces of the street they protected. A man’s boot entered the crippled grey hill with sniper pulled out and stock fixed in shoulder. Hit after hit shrinked my cover with deafening blasts, when Jacob stood up and fell down knocking away his high-tech helmet drilled completely through with his back of the head blown off. Brains oozed in the paddle, while his cold eyes watched the bloomy sky. From the window, another molotov cocktail fell, but it missed the sharpshooter, when a drone showed up and slowly levitated down and opened fire at the window. The buzzing machine glided into the building, fire flashed, then the whole floor detonated with blazing fire shaking the walls, coughing black smoke that hugged the building like a lover and shrapnel rain came in slow.

– Code Purple! – I screamed at my soldiers and they all confirmed, then they went for their pockets.

Each one of them pulled out a little plastic bag with white powder in it and started staring at my anger grimaced face. Their skeletons slightly moved up from the nervous anticipation for a command. Fear was in their eyes. I could see it through their electronic visors that they are praying, but praying for life, not the one God soldiers should pray to. My stifled lip gave them everything they needed to know while my clear sight ran across them.

– Alright men, give them Hell! – I shouted and they opened the bags where noses got shoved into.

They inhaled all of it and shaked like crazy. I did the same and twitched my neck when a positive charge filled me up with a bloodlust. All of us fell in a trance, looked peacefully at the blackened sky, took a deep breath of burning building fumes when colors started to shift, transform. Everything felt super charged with electricity, even my arms shivered feeling restlessness with craving urge to plunge themselves in someone’s blood.

A nasty roar, strong shouts and flapetation of the metal we wore striked my ears like music, a favourite tune perfect by design. I felt nirvana, a godlike spiritual move to annihilate something and unleash all capabilities of my brutality. I was in bliss, a drug boosted personality that only knew to grow in me.

– Death. – I mumbled that word in a quiet deep volume that sparked the charge via comms in my sons ears.

We jumped and ran into at their lines that increased rate of fire. Men were falling down near me when lightning plasma rounds painted the air between us and metal barrier. The biggest exo-soldier have made a full stop and fired his rocket at the approaching enemy where blast gave us entrance in their ranks. One by one we mixed with them in furious dance, grabbing anything we could and throwing it maniacally at the walls. Only battle cries were dominating the field of ruins enemy held showered with fire.

My arm penetrated the robotic plating and pulled wiring out of the can that spat bullets while crumbling at his knees. His rounds happily ricocheted at the nearest enemy footman, stitching him dead. I used those wires to strangle a man that came at me with a knife, and I bit a piece of his neck off. Hot red liquid ran down my lower jaw while wide open pupils demanded another kill. My men charged frantically at the line of scared enemy in urban camo. Like a pack of wild wolfs we descended on them ripping their arms from sockets, bashing their heads to smithereens, slaying them with teeth. It all felt so natural, so divine and glorious. I was at my cusp, at the very top where valkyries proudly looked at us from the heavenly burning clouds in a red field.



I got Facebook you know. Click here DRONSTAD … or don’t, I ain’t your mother.

There is more of war here:

Bad business

Late for glory

Zarian memorial day

Valuvian Satellites

Dog Fight

Empty grave

I heard sounds in the corridor, too dark for simple walking, too wet for silent steps, too scary to walk alone. Light was coming from the only room in the hall, a fluorescent white blaze that painted the wall where shadows danced. Someone was crying, moaning and panting. A prisoner we caught last week was still holding strong against Fafnir. That man was long bearded Zarian with cannons instead of arms. I came close to the corner where relaxed Zarain soldiers stood leaned on the wall and winked when cigarette smoke stoke their eyes. Their conversation held no meaning compared with what the pale Ildocian have led with Fafnir.

– You know we will kill all of your kind, right? You think you are buying your army some time, but we are just playing with you. We are not interested in the informations you hold. – Fafnir spoke quietly in the pale man’s ear while Ildocian smiled with his bloody teeth, spitting blood and stretching his neck.

– Good, – Ildocian said, – Because I have no information to give. – he picked up his head and gave a warm smile to his executioner, but Fafnir smacked Ildocian’s back of the head and clutched his fist while drawing a curved lined under his nose.

– You will recite where are your troops positioned. – Fafnir spelled it out slowly bulging his eyes, but Ildocian bursted in laughter.

– No I will not, and there is nothing you can do to make me. – prisoner spoke in pauses of laughter where he took breath.

– I know you are a spy. Spies are people of the shadow, and we caught a shadow. We must be some sort of Aramon descendants? Why would he grant us such powers to catch a shadows? Strange. There are no graves for shadows. No grave for you. No grave for spies. – Fafnir still spoke silently and crossed his arms under the chest, staring at the prisoner’s short hair.

Ildocian looked at me, smiled as a maniac and slowly swinged his head, then he spat more of the blood.

– If there were graves for shadows, they would be hidden in darkness. – he said laughing like a mad man he was.

– True. – Fafnir had to nod at this words, ignorant of his submission to the intelligence of an animal he had under him, – Shadows do die in fire. – Fafnir added and the pale man’s face stilled to one spot, then a metal scratching lured his eyes on a blowtorch, – There couldn’t be a grave for a shadow, because those are non existing, like your army. – Fafnir now had played the Ildocian spy and gloated at the poor bastards face, – To you, we are terrorists, fighting in the name of Aramon. You of all people know what terrorism really is, so we see it as a freedom fighting, more than just “let’s blow the shit up”. You will recite me what you know. Give me at least one smaller brigade so I can show it to my Sultan. You can save your army with sacrificing just a few… – Fafnir spoke when Ildocians spat in Zarian face that turned green with rage, – Boy! – Fafnir called for me and pointed at the camera in my hands, too big for me to hold it properly, – We like movies, and movies are art of light and shadows. You will be the hero of this movie. It might air in some cinema as a true story inspired horror, win some prices, inspire some young guys to come here seeking revenge… We will be waiting for them. The hell, one even could be your son. I will personally show him your grave. – Fafnir spoke through his teeth and stopped in front of me where I heard torch burning and a man crying.

My camera recorded everything, the burnt flesh, the blood, the yelling, the noise of pale man’s legs jerking in the chair and the Fafnir’s sound of a cock skull raping the spy. Fafnir sign the track as an Ildocian recital, a show and tell type of filmed material before sending it to the Ildocian King. A week later, black Ildocian army knocked on Zarian gates.



Hey, I got Facebook page. Click here: DRONSTAD

On the run

Sun, desert, shivering horizon and heat that fumes from the dusty ground was all I could see, feel, taste. Zarain vultures circled above me, checking am I ripe for the taking. My stench drew them, following me in a cloud along with the nasty flies thirsty for my blood. I barely fought those winged beasts off last night trying to sleep. One of them stuck its beak in my leg, that’s why I limp so much. Run? Who is crazy enough to run in this heat, this golden plain with no life.

I moved my shirt I wrapped around my head and gave it a twist to squeeze out a few drops of sweat, then I put it back on the head and kept dragging my leg. I don’t know for how long am I walking in this desolated place, just what flashes tell me, and they speak volumes. A gentle breeze carries the smell of depleted plasma as my vision occasionally recognizes that pale light blue shade levitating in the distance. My Sergeant’s face screams at me when I close my eyes and a rigid smile on a dirty faces of falling Ildocians wake me up like a cold shower. Humming of my daughter is one flash that orders my legs not to stop, but the pace is slowing down so gradually that I don’t even notice I moved just few steps from my previous position.

Solitude. My only companion that plays my memories in the background, making me see the ghosts bravely charging the Zarian streets, dodging flaming bullets, screaming our maxima “Aramon wills it, death to Zaria!”. They all fall hit by comets, few even fall together, struck with the same bullet and war dust settles over their lifeless bodies, turning them into grainy statues between grey burning buildings. Chaos! That was chaos I left behind.

My eyes decided to play a game with me, showing me a battle wagon running straight at me. It passed the dune and rose a cloud of yellow dust with its tracks, then it shifted left to evade me. I couldn’t even pick my head up and look at them, but I hoped it to be the enemy and end this torment.

– A hero. – the driver said smiling, freshly shaved and fed.

– A deserter. – the other guy groaned looking down on my as he spat on the hot soil, – Ildocians never pull back, not even when they fuck! He supposed to fight the war, not flee from it! Look at him. Weak. Broken. Beaten. – he pointed at me with his black beard and moved his sight away in disgrace.

– What happened soldier? – driver asked smiling from the Sun, enjoying his time with me, searching for my two tired eyes in my shirt.

– They are all dead. – I spoke with a sore throat.

– You better be saying that about the enemy! – co-driver said it in haste and jerked in his seat, but the driver smiled again at his friend and turned at me.

– Who is dead soldier? – he asked without moving that smirk that teased me to rip it off from his face.

– ALL OF THEM!!! – I shouted and boys went silent, – Ildock is destroyed. There are not one of our soldier alive out there. Zaria is burning and I am the only one left.

– We need to get back to Ildock and warn the King. We are left without garrisons on the wall. Konia, Gratna, Matock or Petrosy mercinaries can attack us if they hear we are left defenceless. – driver spoke softly to the co-driver that held his eyebrows low and bit his lip.

– That’s why no one will know about it. – he said in an ill voice peaking at me through the gap between the driver and a wheel.

– What are we going to do with him? – driver leaned in a co-drivers shoulder when his friend leaned at him and said.

– Leave the deserter to rot in the desert. Vultures will hide the evidence. – he rose his eyes slightly upwards, when the driver pressed the paddle down and drove away rising cloud of dust for me tu suffocate in.

Solitude was my only true companion.




War colors

City under mist was still sleeping in silence of the morning. That pale haze was striped out with smell of someone’s cooking and smoke that burned in the distance, hidden behind the crippled buildings Matocians called homes. Bator Lok Shaya spat in the metal cup he drank his coffee from and whipped its bottom to a clean shine. Our pulse tank sat huge above him, resting the power rods under its caterpillars. Tank’s cannon aimed at the misty horizon, casually collecting moisture on its surface, while I poured water over ashes and got prepared to move. We had a long day ahead of us, searching for the enemy in the ruins, searching for our troops we lost two weeks ago. Bator often spoke that we are in Hell, but I thought it must be the weary nerves that spoke in his voice, tired from chasing specters in a grey battlefield we got used to.

Hinges screamed closing the gaps that hissed sealing the tanks so nothing could go trough. Bator furled his commanders cap and moved concrete dust from his untidy uniform that looked like it belonged to a taller soldier. He was my Lieutenant, the only ranking officer left in this unit. Mavat, Helor and Dvasy died yesterday collecting firewood in a broken house’s foundation, while Salack and Rajid deserted two day ago. Poor boys couldn’t handle the pressure and damn fog that followed us everywhere. Matocian guerrilla took care of our whole battery, blew us up with mines and rockets. Who could blame them, we were in their city, their country, their homes.

A gentle tap on the button and the engine roared with black smoke. Lever placed us on the move where caterpillars whistled under us while cracking the trash on the street. A very dangerous sounds for a tank crew, anybody could hear us from a mile away, but never the less we moved. Bator fought to stay in one position but terrain made it difficult for him to do it so.

– Unfurl the banner. – he said in cold, starring at ate gun sight that leveled with the thorn out shop.

– But Sir. Terrorist could be in there. – I said looking over my shoulder, when he kicked me from his higher position.

– Don’t call them that way. This is their game, we are just participating. Call them Matocians, that’s what they are. We are fighting civilian population. Our army destroyed their brave, now we fight their weak. Fly our war colors. – he continued in a same tone, then he grinned at the mist, – Damn thing. I can’t see. Does that look to you as a operational battle wagon? – he leaned forward same as me.

– No Sir. This one is broken and burnt. It’s one of ours. Matocians could be close. – I said watching our flag rising from the bunker in our back.

Power rods crackled and the engine groaned further down the street where mist really got thick. My eyes flew rapidly to the sides, while Bator kept his firm on the gun sight, concentrated on a imminent danger that might spawn from the corners.

A quick buzz passed our top and smashed over the house we couldn’t see, but could hear its crumbling down. A tremendous wrecking sound stopped when a burnt dust smell glided over the metal tank.

– Who’s firing at us?! – I jumped in my seat, looking out for another shot and the flaming trail of the projectile.

– We are in war with Matoc, so it must be Matocians that soot at us, genius. – Bator grind his teeth, angrily moving our cannon in circle, – Barrel loaded! Aim 20 degrees left, elevation 15, charge at maximum power, conditions optimal! Stand ready! – he was screaming, but I wanted to get off the street and find us some cover.

Another buzz missed us leaving the trail we so wanted. Bator clicked on a dial and the cannon nodded for an inch where power rods glowed more intense and a ear-breaking boom exited the chamber.

– Loading another! – Bator shouted his throat out kicking the console for charging when a ball of flames broke at the end of the street where mist slightly got a yellow shade in a white field, – Firing! – Lieutenant screamed again and a boom flew away, – Loading! – he kept repeating his steps like a mad man when a person emerged from the mist, slowly coming at us.

– Sir!… Sir!… SIR! A man is in front of the tank! He is wearing our uniform, SIR! – I turned and Bator then stopped his aggression.

The hatch opened and a man climbed our tank, came to the top and looked at us like a mother looks at the mess her children did.

– You poor bastards. That’s our tank you blew up. – gentleman spoke.

– It fired at us. – Bator said in a dull manner stretching his throat to see the face of a man above him.

– Yes it did, because you are the enemy. – the man said, then gunfire rained in my Lieutenant Bator Lok Shaya.

How did I suppose to know that guerrilla started taking our uniforms, fly our war colors unfurled and hunting us down unit by unit?



It wan’t my day guys. We had electricity problems and I wrote this in a hurry.

Eternal Mountains

Rocky giants attacked again. This time, a village was in their path. Who knows how did Konians revived the mountains and brought them in Ildocian plains. Zarian desert was somewhat safe, but we had clashes there too. They would rise up shaking the grainy dust, eyes glowing red, looking at us before a quick tap on the side would flip the battle wagon, killing the crew inside. Our plasma cannons did broke the rock they were made out of, but it needed a repetitive fire to stop them in tracks.

Rolling in the center of the village I could see demolished houses, dead cattle and twisted light posts. Black smoke signaled to the outskirts of the village that a grim event have happened, while crows gathered on the roofs to feast on those dead civilians, still hanging from their homes. Craters on the street gave us big problems to cross and scout the whole terrain. Drone flew over my head, mapping the trail of rocky faced horde that passed through. Like a Matocian typhoon annihilated the Matocian harbor, did Rockies set up a line of destruction where trash piles made us turn our heads from disgusting view of the dead and nasty smell slowly vaping up from the flesh.

– Sector Bravo 32 is clear. No sight of enemy forces. They must have left by now. Trajectory of their movement leads away from Ildock. Notify the defencive forces that the city is safe. – Gorid Nok Hallor spoke in the comms, covered his nose as the wave of stench reached us.

– They went north-northeast towards the Gratna. If they go there, they will actually help our war. Damn, look at that poor bastard. – I pointed at the street where a gnarly dog ate some disfigured body and Gorid lifted his gun where he disintegrated the whole meat pile along with the dog.

– Well, they are beasts without control. – he spoke in a light breath, – No brains. Even the Konians that made them can’t put a leash on them. – he fought the flies to take a gaze at the horizon where the horde went, when a house crumbled down behind us, stirring up the settled dust, throwing a grey cloud in the air, – Watch out! Watch out! – he pulled me from the street startled by a deafening noise of a breaking concrete, – That was close. To all soldiers, stay on the street. Don’t approach houses. Those are death traps. – he spoke in the comms and moved on not seeing two red pupils following him.

A growl broke behind when a crackling of a stone made fist rammed straight through the house and punched our patrol vehicle. The denting metal sound was soon plunged in flaming inferno where brief soldier cries stifled when the vehicle smashed over the other house.

– Fire! enemy at the center of the village! Fire all guns! – Gorid screamed while I boomed my rifle at the charging rocky giant.

The enormous thing turned and looked down on me, then he kicked a piece of wall at me. It went over my head, but it landed on Gorid, splatting him with the ground so neatly that even a needle couldn’t slide beneath. Ground shook at every step the enemy made, making me lose sense of my racing heartbeat. I ran like a coward, held my head down while plasma rounds washed the maroon rocky man. His skin went dark from the plasma flames, but strange symbols showed up on his grainy surface. I watched it in awe, shook my head in disbelief, listening to the wounded beast roaring, smashing drones and kicking our soldiers.

It was over soon. All of my brothers were dead and the maroon-black giant was standing, taking deep breaths like it had lungs. It was all strange to me, that colors, that behaviour, the rage in this creature we strived to destroy. He noticed me few hundred feet away and took a slow stroll towards me. My legs were somewhat like his, made of stone with iron roots deeply buried in sand. I couldn’t move, not even speak in this moment, just watching those markings on him and two big red eyes.

– I almost forgot about you. – it said in a very understandable way and a deep, deep growl.

– You can speak? – my eyebrow met each other before the giant’s fist fell on me and turned me into a mush.

– …And I make a mean Eternal Mountains specialty. A Ildocian cream soup. – he laughed as he walked away.




Liebster Award 2017


Blame this blog here Idle Brain for yet another award nomination. He wanted me to answer eleven questions and because he asked, I will grant him that wish. Idle Brain is a loyal veteran of Dronstad army that frequently participates in Daily Prompt missions like I do and gives a lot of good content, so I suggest my other brothers in quill to visit him and show some love at his site. Thank you for nominating me man. You are a really good friend.

Without stalling, let’s hit the questions.

  1. What turned you to blogging?

Well, it is a tactical move to show/share my work and attract some readers, so when I publish one of my books, I would already have made me a based readership. It is all a well devised plan to fulfil myself as a writer and achieve my goals that aren’t small. I aim towards a movie inspired by my work. Hey, if you can shoot for the stars, why holding back?

2. Do you have any writers u look up to?

I do. There are numerous writers that have done a lot of things. Many writers I like are Serbian writers, but there are few American that I come back to. I would like to mention Arthur C. Clark – a man that opened the door for me and introduced me with Sci Fi. Perfect style: Ernest Hemingway. Sometimes, I try mixing those two writers to get my own style and a familiar aroma in writing.

3. What is your favorite book and why ?

This is a tough one. To many to list and I don’t want to leave out anyone from the list. I would pass answering this question, because I feel I would modify this post more than dozen of times to get them all in.

4. What is your favorite quote?

I actually made few good ones for my novels, so I’ll say one I hold very close to me. “Wars were always led for more, never for enough.”

5. One thing you’d like to improve about your work?

My grammar and vocabulary would give me more choices in writing. Because I lack a serious amount of English for a successful writer, I need to hire a professional translator for already stated goals. I guess my current knowledge will have to be enough for blogging.

6. If you can change an incident in your life….would you…which one …why?

I would stop the Balkanization of the former Yugoslavia that still takes lives. I think that those 5 wars that broke my country into fragments was wrong from the start and that many lives were lost in vain, since the politics change very slowly. Some might blame me and my people for those horrible events, but I stand with civilians. That moment in time we call Balkanization will always be a brother killing war in my eyes.

In a very grim manner, those events that scarred my childhood, are my go to segment for inspiration. If the 12 years of war never happened to my country, I wouldn’t have started writing. I know, weird right?

7. If you were bestowed with a boon what would u ask for?

Now I am divided between personal wishes and social wishes. If I would roll with the social, I would ask for more tolerance in society and logic, since the current events in the world are making no sense to me. If I would roll with personal boons, I would ask for a feeling of bliss when I wake up in the morning, knowing I need not worry of my wallet. I don’t ask for millions of dollars, just a handful every day, just enough to obtain the normal stuff and have a few dollars left for rainy days. I must be pretty basic, but that’s 0K. Modesty is a virtue.

8. What is love to you?

Never met her. Still looking, thou.

9. How do u deal with your sorrow?

Cocain… just kidding. Total isolation, fake smiles until it passes. Aggressive stand up comedy clips on YouTube, help of a friend, introspection, talking to myself, exercise and writing.

10. How should an ideal love relationship be for you?

Team work all the way with sudden burst of emotional tide and passionate outbreaks in sheets.

11. Would you want another stint at life…..What do u want to be reborn as?

Like a reincarnation? I don’t really understand the question. If I would chose what will I be in the next life, I would go with spider, because REASONS.

How does it work?

  • Acknowledge the blogger who nominated you and link back to them.
  • Answer the 11 questions the blogger gives you
  • Nominate 11 other bloggers ( with under 200 followers)
  • Let the bloggers know you have nominated them.
  • Give them 11 questions to answer.

My questions:

  1. What turned you to blogging?
  2. Do you have any writers u look up to?
  3. What is you favorite book and why ?
  4. What is your favorite quote?
  5. One thing you’d like to improve about your work?
  6. If you can change an incident in your life….would you…which one …why?
  7. If you were bestowed with a boon what would u ask for?
  8. What is love to you?
  9. How do u deal with writers block?
  10. How should an ideal love relationship be for you?
  11. What is your key virtue?

My nominees are:

Serbia Through American Eyes

Blue Anteater


Dana Bicks

The Speaker 33

Yuvis buzz

Tanner Childs

The Meaning of Life Through My Eyes


Fused Parts

I don’t have the eleventh contestant, so please add yourself.


Ah, thanks again for nominating me, and thanks to whoever read this post. You are all my brothers in Quill. March on to glory.

Oh no, not again!

Oh my Gawd! Who is picking the prompts? What is this, huh? “PRICKLE”? Seriously? Who ever chose this word, must be a real meany. Why? You know that most people will write about scumbags, dirtbags and assholes they run into today, do you? It’s not gonna be something eye opening in botany or agriculture. “My rose has thorns.” – No shit Sherlock, IT DOES. WOW. YOU DISCOVERED A HOT WATER! Get over that crap. Yeah, I got problem with it. Some people will use this to go on and on about Trump and that shithead rally: “OMG WHITE PEOPLE ARE SO MEAN”. It’s not just whites that make problems honey. You approach them and argue them, they get publicity. It ain’t gonna solve things. Bashing them, kicking their ass, will just give them power and reason to hate even more. They can use the violence of intolerant people as a shield and do the victim card. ARE YOU BLIND? DON’T YOU SEE THEIR END GAME? CAN’T YOU SEE THAT THEY WANT THIS? Ignore those bastards, don’t listen to them. You want them out, you don’t go to them, you make system take care of them. Same shit you need to do with gangs, mafia, cartels… ALL OF THEM. If system is corrupt, bring it down. What do you do with a glitching program? You either delete it and instal a better one, or fix the old one. You don’t just run it and hope it will fix itself. It needs operator, that’s why you are here.

The only thing you need to remember is: no violence, only knowledge and logic can fix things for good. As soon the shit is in the air and flies for the fan, you should not question what will you do when the shit hits the damn thing, but question why is shit even there, why is the shit inflight, fix that shit. How’s that for a “Prickling”?





Speed is the enemy. Time runs fast, bullets also. Conquering the vast region is rather simple, but holding the huge territory from those that want it back is another ball game. Resource wars are noted as fast paced actions, unequal radius of security and dotted strongholds that will hold the enemy away until the main force sits on the reserve. A “peach” type scenario and model of warfare. The outside is soft and mobile, while the core stands strong, a rock solid problem to all attackers. Hamer can do the trick on the core – smashing it into little fragments, leaving nothing but smoke and dead bodies around it.

The idea is very interesting but nothing can be done in a jiffy. It needs time to plan out the attack, perform advanced battle tactics and cunning use of logistics, but time runs fast and speed is our enemy. Storming the gate, breaching the wall, overrunning the battlefield with tanks seems as a good tactic, a blitzkrieg maneuver to surprise the enemy and throw him of the balance, but such move needs to be planned in detail. Simo Hayha held the whole Red Army away from his home just with a simple carabine with no scope on it. He was a Finnish farmer that sniped off 505 Communist soldiers. They were in the move, losing time, and time is our enemy.

War? Blitzkrieg? Time? We all lose.




Nightmare Corporation

The whole group moved slowly behind a woman in a business uniform. Occasional chatter, coughs and photo flashes runed in the background of her speech. Long and spacious hall led us to a broad panel where the modern equipment was displayed on a rotational stands. There were a lot of high tech gadgets, combat gear, battle robots and multiple drones, completely dismantled on project phases, positioned on the perfect angles so we all could’ve see it.

“Here you can take a look of our newest project. The Nightmare Corps never stops with surprises. This is a new KOS MAR 21B modular rifle. It is equipped with a classic triggering system on a AK platform, with a double barreled options for combat purposes. The primary is chambered in 5,56×45 millimetres, perfect for brief assaults and sniping, while secondary 12 gauge is intended for more of a punch, knocking on the door and suppressive fire. It comes with integrated picatinny rails, kevlar coated body and rubber layer for much firmer grip. Grenade launcher can be added along with a reactive gunsights and infra red scope. All of our rifles are made with a solar battery embedded in the stainless steel frames which power the digital scope and monitor. Also it is used to power up the controls of the gun which makes it “one shooter rifle”. You have seen the older versions in our Special Corps, didn’t you?” – woman spoke like she knew the text by heart, and that was so interesting to me, because the whole thing sounded “plastic”, artificial and repulsive.

– Excuse me! – I shouted wanting to mess with her presentation, – When can we expect the gun to show up in the first lines?! Are those things tested? – my smile made her return in kind and nod her perfectly combed hair.

– The KOS MAR 21B is a battle tested weapon. It passed all the dirt, water, cold and heat tests with flying colors. The AK platform on which is made on is giving us a high reliability and other good qualities of the AK. The rate of fire can be adjusted to the shooters preferences, as also the size of the rifle which means – a child can use it with no problems. – she smiled and took breath to continue with her speech, but I wasn’t done yet.

– Yeah, that! Umm, a child can wield the high tech weapon such is AK? Well, we all know who likes AK’s aren’t we? How can you assure us that some African child in African Death Squad, or some Amir from the hill in Avgan won’t be using those weapons on our Marine Corps?! – I asked and many heads turned.

– As I stated before. Our weapons has an electronic safety integrated with the basic construction of the gun. A “one shooter… – she said when I barged in.

– No, you don’t listen! I am telling you that the system you are putting in those things can be hacked. All of our troops can lose the weapon in one enemy charge, where terrorist can still use theirs! Koreans broke the code when our Rangers got captured in 2019.! The design and quality of the weapon is beating its competition by 10 years of research no question about it, but the guns Koreans broke… They gave them to China and China made million more rifles like that. Now, they too have your technology, “one shooter rifle” system and many more soldiers to battle our invasion like a frog fights the fly! – now I was screaming my guts out and watched as the security guards were popping up in the corners.

– Sir. How did you get those informations? Those are classified documents from our Organization. Are you with the CIA, because if you are, we don’t want you here. – she cringed slightly deforming her baby face.

– CIA? No! CIA went dark after the revolution. They wish no part in the world we built on the ashes of the old United States. We are with another organization. – I was pointing at my chest when the security started watching me and talking into the comms.

– Excuse me. We? – now she went full cringe, – Who are WE?

– I don’t know who you are, but I… I’m with the European Defensive Forces! Strelyajte cyka! Davay! Davay! – the gunfire spreaded in the corridor, echoing so loud that the screams of the civilians gradually reverberated the room.

Five of my soldiers opened fire from the Vantablack coated submachine guns, killed the guards and took the rifle from the stand. Our research sector has a lot of work to clone this thing and give us modern weapon to defend our homes. China didn’t want to share their find with Russia, even they signed the BRICKS agreement. USA was weak for the Old Continent, but still, very innovative with weapons, so what else could we do, but to still the project?


Košmar 21


Bad business

Jessa sat in her seat, listened some summer hit and played with a lock of blond hair. Her white neck was shaded in red from the player, her eyes roaming the parking lot submerged in pitch black. I was growing nervous and restless, eager to move outside, but I had to stay inside until the bastards come.

– Don’t do that. – she said looking at my shivering knee, – Here, take a gum. It will help. Try to think of something peaceful… They smell fear, you know. – a smile lit up in red, then she turned away.

– I’ve never done this before. How can you be so calm? – my grimace met her confused gaze, then her lips opened.

– Well, I got used to this kinda people. I know more criminals than I know normal people. Living in big houses, white fence, perfect teeth… I don’t know how they can live like that. To me, it’s just a facade, a well made mask. They are more twisted than these lot, I can tell you that. – she spoke in absent search for the headlights in the dark, – Here they are. – her door opened where two blinking lights illuminated the silver sedan.

I followed her like a puppy, correcting my jacket, exhaling deep breaths. She placed her hands in pockets and moved like a model on a runway, throwing her lush blond hair left and right, slowly approaching the vehicle. The late mustang model was awaiting us with an engine roar and two hidden figures on the front seats. The cigarette flames showed her the car was packed with thugs, so she smiled and leaned over the hood, while I stopped at her side and scouted for interested bystanders on the scantily lit parking.

– Are you Sergei? The Bratwa said they’ll send some Sergei guy to deliver the goodies. – she said and the guy behind the wheel nodded, – Great. – a short word was followed by five gunshots at the mafia in the car, then she moved her weapon in the holster and opened the door.

– What are you doing?! You said we are here to bust this guys, not kill them! You dumb bitch! They are mafia, not some hoodlums from the back alley! Do you know what will they do to our district?! You just placed every cop in this town on their hit list. – I pointed my finger at her, but she just kept smiling and opened the trunk, then she slammed the door and walked to the rear end, – Are you even listening to me?! You killed off two Brigadnik, and you are smiling.

– Yeah, I’m listening, don’t you worry over this scum. They are better dead.

– Better dead?! We are going to be dead!

– Not really. Selma made me a false ID. We are going to some island for a long vacation. Police is already working for them, so there will be no dead cops… 0K, maybe a dozen, you know, those who are to greedy and suspicious. We sell this to Bloods and Crips, then we fly away. – she pulled out a bag and let it fall heavy on the floor, – I’m sick of working this job and watch as criminals walk away because they know the mayor and fill his pockets. This was supposed to be a delivery, but it turned into a robbery. Red Block thinks we are a gang, newcomers. They don’t know we are from the special units. They will be on a war foot for a while, so we will move somewhere safe. I just sparked a gang war and I don’t want to stand here when they start killing each other… You can come with me and spend your life like a king, or stay here in fear for your life whenever you lift up the curtain. – she said enough for me to bit my lip and grab the bag.

– C’mon, I know a guy with a civilian plane. – I waved my head and took off in a hurry while she followed me, walking like a model on a runway.