by Max Barry

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The People's Federation of
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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. And so it grew and grew and grew, craving more fuel, more food to cast into the ascending inferno. 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 TOSDODA DYNASTY, puppets of foreign imperialists, decided with steel conviction that they would suffer no longer. It was under the REVOLUTIONARY FATHER KASZAR TURANISKI that our people were liberated and the reactionaries were driven north, to hide behind the mountains and cower in their false capital of Renyashika.

Many years have passed since then. 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.