Our story begins with the prisoners riding in the back of a transport vehicle. Their vision and hearing are muffled due to the black bags pulled over their heads. The sound of the Federation soldiers shuffling can be heard as the wheels of the vehicle hits the numerous potholes that plague the old roads. The asphalt’s upkeep had been abandoned years prior, before the Federation had risen to power. Now Chrysallia was a wasteland, divided by a series of these ancient roads that connected rusting cities and dying towns.
The prisoners felt a thunk as the transport hit an especially hard pothole, and suddenly the soldiers began yelling as the vehicle came to a sudden halt. The prisoners felt the hot breeze from the desert come rushing in as the back door of the transport fell open, followed closely by the heavy thud of the soldiers’ metal boots on the reinforced steel.
The scream of an RPG shook the last prisoner awake as the shrill missile collided with the transport, causing it to rock violently. Guns roared as the soldiers fired, the familiar bursts of electricity arcing through the air and causing the smell of burnt ions and ozone. Then a shrill scream was heard, and the soldiers began shouting. For the briefest of moments, the gunfire ceased, only to resume more intensely. The clang of metal resounded as another scream interrupted the gunfire. The sound of gunshots faded, until finally the prisoners could hear one of the soldiers beg, “Please, spare me, show mercy. You can take anything you want, just please don’t kill me.” A voice could be heard, a lilting tone running through the words. “There is no mercy, only Fate. Fate knows you, now it is time you know Fate. Now, draw a card.”
“I’ve heard of you, don’t, don’t make me take one – kill me!”
“No, you will draw, or Fate’s servant shall be merciless. Draw.”
Silence ensues for the next few moments. Then the strangers voice returned. “It apppears Fate has decided.”
“What does it mean?”
“You will die. It’s already begun.”
A scream most hideous escaped the soldier’s throat as he collapsed back to the ground. The sound of someone alighting the ramp into the vehicle could be heard.
“Fate has chosen you. Be prepared for the times ahead as they will be trying.”
The stranger hit the button releasing the prisoners hands.
“You can remove your hoods.”
The light is blinding as the rays of the sun enter from the west, the sun already sinking behind the mountains. As their eyes adjust, the prisoners see that the stranger is a man, dressed in a leather duster, knives running up his chest and smaller ones at his wrists. The outift had been adjusted, reinforced somehow. It was the clothing of a Peacekeeper. The Peacekeepers had supposedly all been wiped out ages ago by the Federation, but every once in a while, stories of one emerged. The Peacekeepers had been all that had stood in the way of chaos in the time preceeding the Federation as the previous government had slowly crumbled under its own weight.