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WE INTERRUPT THIS PROGRAM. THIS IS A NATIONAL EMERGENCY. IMPORTANT INSTRUCTIONS WILL FOLLOW...
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The blaring sirens pierce the air, a cacophonous herald of dread. An emergency alert, a wretched refrain you'd hoped to forever avoid, now claws into your psyche.
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It implores, almost mockingly, for people to seek shelter.
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But what shelter can shield one's soul from the looming abyss?
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Anxiety, fear, and uncertainty hang like a shroud, casting a pall over existence itself.
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The end times have arrived.
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The year is 1985, history was at a crossroads.
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Witness the choking miasma of elitism that smothers the four continents, smothering our pleas for salvation. Hirikoism and Nimmah-Mimahism, those architects of division, orchestrate a tragic symphony, pitting kin against kin, sowing chaos in their relentless quest for dominion. In this desolate world, abject poverty and merciless injustice reign as sovereigns, and an unbridgeable chasm cleaves society into 'haves' and 'have-nots.' The oppressed bear the weight of ceaseless toil and unrelenting suffering, while the privileged luxuriate in unearned arrogance. Our world, perched precariously on the brink of oblivion, awaits a cataclysmic denouement, a tragedy poised to etch its indelible mark."
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The echo of that moment still resonates, etched into my memory like a searing brand. We all felt it—the Geist of History crackling like a tempest. The cosmos itself seemed to freeze, as if the long-sought answer to our prayers had finally arrived. We confronted the stark truth, a prison that had shackled and oppressed us for far too long. Our yearning for a better world, free from the yoke of rulers, was ceaseless. And so, we made our proclamation, come what may, our dreams would become reality. We could no longer remain silent. From that tumultuous sea emerged Revolutionary Petrastadt, heralding the call for a World Revolution. Pyeon Avenue, a place reclaimed by the people, marked the turning point. The oppressors, in their desperation, unleashed their armies, their bullets targeting us for the mere act of existing. Martial law descended, a cruel dagger to the heart, signaling the spark of revolution.
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Our inexorable march to freedom was no ordinary revolution. It was a seismic shift, an upheaval that not only shattered the shackles of oppression but obliterated them in a cataclysmic blaze of unapologetic revolutionary brutality.
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As the United Popular Front surged forward, the loathsome Divine Emperor, trembling in his once-secure palace, watched helplessly as the masses rallied with a ferocity he had never anticipated. Our fervor, born from years of suffering under the tyrannical theocracy, became a source of unyielding strength. Under the unflinching leadership of First Comrade Yi Jihye, we, the Revolutionary Men and Women, were an unstoppable force. The odious five-hundred-year dynasty that had ruled with an iron fist proved itself to be no match for the righteous fury of the people.
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Patriots from every corner of our beleaguered land rallied to our cause, their determination fueled by years of suffering. It was not merely a war for freedom; it was a war to redefine the very essence of our existence. It was a declaration that we would no longer be cowed, no longer be subjugated. We unleashed our revolutionary brutality, tearing through the pillars of the oppressive regime with unwavering resolve. The oppressors, who had once wielded power without remorse, now found themselves at the mercy of those they had mercilessly oppressed.
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Our victory was more than just a change in leadership; it was a complete upheaval of the old order. The United Popular Front did not merely win a war; we redefined the very fabric of our society. In every materialistic way imaginable, we broke the chains that had bound us for centuries.
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First Comrade Yi Jihye declares, 'The Korushin Socialist Republic is HERE!' and the thunderous applause of the masses marks the crescendo of our triumph. The birth of the Korushin Socialist Republic was not just the dawn of a new era; it was the birth of a new world—a world forged in the fires of our people's just war, a world where justice and equality would no longer be distant dreams but tangible realities.
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At last, we owned our destiny.
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Long live the Korushin SR!ㅤ
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Or so we thought.
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It should've ended there.
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Yet President Prasad of Bhatkhalia had other plans.
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Unwilling to sit passively while SynSoc prospered, Prasad wanted to bleed us dry. He summoned a coalition of shared interests to confront us, casting the sinister tentacles of Nimmah-Mimahism across the world. At first it came in the form of trade embargoes. But when that didn't work, the Elitist scourge trembled in fear of Syndicalist Socialism behind the Mutual Aid Coalition, and so they opted to erecting the Steel Veil.
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The Steel Veil that would isolate them while a megalomaniac Emperor were given free pass to unleash upon us a new age of warfare: bio-terrorism. From the depths of perverted ambition and the clutches of supremacist delusions, the Third War of Armageddon erupted in Erudia, casting a damning light on the unchanging nature of Erudiankind. Resolute in their goal to cleanse Erudia of the 'unworthy', the darkest hour loomed over head.
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Millions contemplate the specter of the world's demise, as missiles rain down from the heavens, the bombs of a revitalized despotic state obliterating cities and lives without mercy. Picture the very essence of human malevolence distilled into a solitary act—a malevolence so potent that it would leave even Ralk the Destroyer himself green with envy. These novel bioweapons, driven by vengeance and teeming with virulence, emerge as the nefarious offspring of a mind callous to the potentiality for self-ruin.
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The creator of this world-ending plague, his aim was to patent and profit from manipulating Erudian genes, but his misguided ambition fell into the hands of a genocidal regime. The invasion of our homeland sent hordes of Hirikonite criminals, ladden with combat-enhancing drugs, charging into battle. Over four long years, three factions clashed in cataclysmic warfare, exchanging chemical agents and engineered plagues that ravaged our land.
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Eventually, the M.A.C decided to intervene, giving us the Salamati Treaty. They genuinely believed it would bring about the end, but it only plunged us deeper into a Post-Atomic Horror. Six hundred million lives extinguished, cities reduced to rubble, warlords vying for dwindling resources, and Rieg still at large, perpetrating heinous acts. Technology and politics could not undo the devastation inflicted upon Erudians and our planet. Disease, famine, and more follow in the wake of national governments' collapse.
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The Bhatkhalian fools believed it to be the conclusion.
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It was merely the transition into our Post-Atomic nightmare.
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And survivors? What a pitiful notion. They did not survive radiation poisoning, not in any true sense. First, the wretched experienced nausea and vomiting, followed by spontaneous bleeding and unrelenting diarrhea. Their skin peeled and burned like paint stripped from a wall, a grotesque transformation into agonizing decay. Then they waited, for hours, days, or even weeks, their nerves obliterated, feeling nothing, until they lay motionless, reduced to little more than a heap of radioactive death.
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Cancer? A trifling concern amidst the torment that unfolded. The ozone layer, stripped away, exposed us to the sun's relentless fury, scorching the earth and sky alike. Forest fires raged uncontrollably, belching soot and ash skyward, rendering our world a theater of agony and despair that mocked the fires of hell.
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Winter's icy grip tightens its hold, mercilessly destroying crops, the very sustenance of our once-comfortable lives, all while global precipitation dwindles by nearly half. Can you fathom the depths of our self-inflicted suffering? Calamities fracture nation-states, creating voids eagerly seized upon by the avaricious hands of nepotistic usurpers.
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And what have we learned from this ceaseless descent into chaos?
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Our environment remains scarred, radiation festers like a cancer, and the malignant tumor of elitism continues to thrive.
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Even if science did flourish within the sterile confines of top-secret research cities, the world outside was descending further into its own self-inflicted abyss.
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The soil of Erudia, drenched in the blood of the innocent, cries out in anguish. Yet, resource conflicts persist, genocidal despots roam free, and the feeble grasp of superstition still clings to the minds of the desperate. Are we nothing more than lost souls teetering on the edge of our self-made inferno, yearning for deliverance that will never come?
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Yet in the midst of our darkest hour, a savior emerges. Yan, the Archon, arrives with her teachings of All-Unionism. A path to unity. But can she truly cleanse the soot of Elitism that has stained our very souls? Will the masses rise, or are they doomed to remain shackled by their own ignorance, a cacophony of desperation ringing in their ears? This is the chronicle of Erudia's most profound regression, a chronicle of our inherent flaws, and perhaps, our last gasp for salvation.
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Yet, Major Colonel Rieg Bolhe stands defiant. Does he represent our true nature, a relentless drive towards brutality and dominance? Advocating the purification of those afflicted by radiation through euthanasia, his radical beliefs would have led us down a path of unparalleled savagery. Summary executions become the norm, and in the darkest corners of our world, gangs and drug-addled mercenaries establish their petty fiefdoms amidst the chaos. Is this the destiny we deserve, or can the All-Unionist era truly rescue us from the precipice of our own extinction?
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The Twenty-Year Resurrection Plan of a Continent and the Socialization of Society—the seductive promises of unity and prosperity under the black-red banner. Are they merely empty words, a facade to lull us into complacency? As nations surrender their sovereignty, does the General Secretary's vision of a single land, a single people, a single glorious union offer genuine hope or merely another layer of deception?
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In the wake of the Unification Wars of Erudia, where the rogue states were crushed and the oppressed liberated, can we truly trust the newfound peace? Guided by Yan's wisdom, is Erudiankind's pursuit of boundless creativity and social welfare a genuine transformation or merely a brief respite from our inherent destructiveness? And as the post-Yan generation inherits our beleaguered world, will they carry the torch of revolution to illuminate the path ahead, or will they succumb to the same darkness that has plagued us for generations?
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What we know for certain is that ours is a world in transition—the Korushin people thrust centerstage of the circus. The narrative of our future is being written even as you read these words, and it is a story that will be shaped not just by the actions of a few but by the collective choices of many.
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So, dear readers, as we stand on this precipice, let us hold onto hope, tempered by a cautious optimism. For in the uncertain journey that lies ahead, the choices we make, both individually and collectively, will determine whether we forge a path toward lasting peace and prosperity or succumb to the familiar shadows of our past.
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May our shared journey be one of enlightenment, compassion, and resilience, for it is in these qualities that the seeds of a brighter future may find fertile ground.
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With curiosity and a touch of trepidation,
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The World Union of Unified Communist Councils.
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1,304 reads.
