by Max Barry

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The People's Federation of Reinkalistan

The world is ours to shape.

The New World began with a flame.

It was a soft flame, at first. It burned quietly, in the minds of a handful of men. A mere candle flickering dimly in what seemed an all-permeating darkness of stagnation and decay. And so it burned through the decades. At any moment, it could have been snuffed out. But it still persisted nonetheless; that determination, as it were, to stand defiant in the face of annihilation. A will which would not die nor surrender.

And then, there came a point that the flame met kindling. Individual men, aware of their own oppression, of their own spiritual deprivation, of the cruel neglect and callous manipulation their masters bore, began to champion it. Through these flames there began to march an entire generation of the oppressed, those who bore the iron-clad persistence to upturn their servitude; to cast off their chains and assume the mastery of their own destiny. And so the flame grew and grew, craving more fuel, more food to cast into the ascending inferno. Forests of knowledge were felled, the timber of labour feeding a growing wildfire to consume the whole Earth. It began to grow of its own accord-- and on the fateful day of April 12th, 1964, the fury borne by the fires of VANGUARDISM was shown for the whole world to see.

The reactionaries and the oppressors stared on, horrified. Their meticulously planned hegemony was, in a single strike, torn into pieces by the REINKALISTANI REVOLUTION. The millions of workers lying beneath the boot of the HOROSHOSKI DYNASTY, puppets of foreign imperialists, decided with steel conviction that they would suffer no longer. It was beneath the infinite wisdom of the REVOLUTIONARY FATHER KASZAR TURANISKI that our people took up arms, emancipated themselves, and drove the wicked clients of reaction northward, so that they could hide behind the KASKIAN MOUNTAINS and cower in their false capital of RENYASHIKA.

We emerged, heralds of a new age, one not defined by man's exploitation of man, but the ever-forward march of millions, hand-in-hand and side-by-side. Our spirits are free. We are not bound by soulless atheism, nor are we pressed beneath the bone-crushing heel of capital. Our radical experiment shall, harnessing our total unity of thought, bring man to his utmost zenith. We are unburdened as we paint the future, the dreams of a nation outlined in crimson red. No price is too great for the revolution's success, no sacrifice too dire. We submit our very selves to the future, knowing that we are all the freer for it.

Many years have passed since our victory, and our achievements have only grown. The Revolutionary Father has died, but he lives on in the soul of every emancipated worker. Together we form a mighty chorus, the backbone of a New World free of decadent exploitation. Vanguardism has advanced far since the days of the revolution. Nation after nation has bowed to the RED ARMY as it marches across the war-torn continent of ASKANDER. The imperialists recoil in horror while the terrified northern traitors stare defeat in the face. It is no longer a question of "if" we win, Comrades -- it is a question of "when".

The imperial hold cracks and breaks as the fire continues to roar. The workers march towards total victory.