Final Draft - 2023, Year of Fascists
Chapter 1
Nuclear War has destroyed most of the world as we know it. The remains of the frozen, hellish landscape are controlled by Right-Wing Fascists who wish to see only the glorious people of Old Britain dead. The Right-Wing Fascists are called The Extremist Protection Party.
They originated from the depths of sewers and subway systems in 2020 after the Nukes fell upon the world. Survivalist by nature, the Fascists grew in power and soon enough conquered all of Old Britain. Now, 3 years later, people grow tired of the iron fisted dictatorship they live under.
Police Officer Sir Christian Jolie is one of those who has had enough of the Extremist Party, now renamed The British Union. He worked hard everyday for a very small pay of food and clean water, arresting trespassers in the dozens in the city of Cornwall. Today was no different.
Christian walked down the main road, his black baton slapping his leg with every step. He wore a red and gold uniform with a black rank attached to his right shoulder. A gold cap sat on his bundle of black hair and danced about as he patrolled the streets of Cornwall.
The city of Cornwall was a very dangerous place for those that did not know self-defence. Criminals controlled nearly every nook and cranny of the city and Officers were found dead on the daily. This is what happened when the Union neglected cities that it had no need for, the people living there were left to die.
Christian pulled up his battered baton, the cries of somebody coming from a nearby run down apartment. With a heavy breath of air, He sprinted off towards the sounds. Ready for a nasty rumble with some thugs, or his death at the hands of a Mob Family.
Once he reached the crumbling limestone building, the cries stopped. Faintly, Christian could hear footsteps from the broken out windows. He busted out the scattered shards of glass and threw himself inside, landing on his knees. He got up quickly and spun to the right, where a busted door frame blocked the way into a bedroom. There, he heard the footsteps closer and mumbling as well.
As he approached the doorway, the doorframe exploded forth and out rushed a burly man with a meat cleaver. The baton came down fast and hard, smacking the man in the head and throwing him backwards. The huge man stumbled backwards, mumbled several slurred words and then slumped against the wall, blood dripping from his skull.
Christian went to put the man in zip-ties when out stepped another figure. This one was slim and carried a small makeshift explosive. The grin on the women’s face as she brought up a zippo lighter and moved to light the fuse on the pipe bomb. Christian let go of the man and leapt at the woman, smacking the lighter from her hand and driving his other hand into her face.
With the second suspect down, Christian continued with zip-ting both of them up and dragging them to the curb. He then grabbed up his radio and spoke into it. “Uh...Dispatch, I’ve got two 459 suspects out here on East Seventh Street. Requesting a squad car to bring them back to The Alcatraz.”
“Copy that Phi-23, A21 is heading your way now. Hold tight. Dispatch out.”
Christian sighed and put the radio back, kneeling beside the burly man who seemed to high on some sort of stimulant. He snapped his figures twice and the dirty, drugged up suspect snapped his head up to stare him in the eyes.
“You work for those corrupt swine! You would put away your own people! Just so you can live!” The man yelled, spittle meshing with his words. “When the revolution happens I hope they hang you like the dog you are!”
Christian smiled sharply and stood up, whistling and pushing the threats back into his mind. He stopped when A21 arrived and shoved the two suspects into the small police squad car. Christian opened up his notepad and began scribbling down a brief report for Sector Command.
Once finished he put it away and started on his patrol route again, it was only another 20 minutes of his shift when the comments made by the suspect flashed back into his brain, thriving. Maybe the man was right, maybe Christian was the bad guy and deserved to be executed when the Subjects of The Union rebelled.
Everybody knew a rebellion was coming against the Union. Dozens of Anti-Union groups had sprouted up in a matter of days after the Massacre of London Square, where 200 protesters were gunned down by the Union Military. The Union leaders knew it as well, deploying entire regiments of the Army into major cities to quash any and all opposition.
Christian himself had gotten an extra hour added onto his shift due to this, and he hated it. Even more chances he’d be killed now. The chance at throwing off the shackles of the Union grew ever deeper of a thought into his mind all of a sudden.
He could bring several criminal’s into an organization and start a well armed and fed group of rebels. He’d be part of the solution instead of part of the problem. Yea...That’s exactly what he’d do.
Christian scratched his head and finished off his route quickly. Once done he headed back to the massive Sector Command station in order to turn in for the day.
The building was massive, standing 8 stories tall and flashing blinding neon lights that read quotes from Officers and the Union leaders. The parking lot was enormous, with well over 300 vehicles parked in the slots and 150 more waiting to be filled. It looked great on the outside to everybody passing by.
The inside however was trashy. Christian opened the glass front door with force and took one step into a massive puddle of flood water that the janitors had refused to clean. Of course, nobody ever saw the janitors again after the refusal. All around him, Officers read dirty, torn and water soaked books while waiting for their shifts to begin.
The dank hallways of the place smelt like garbage from a landfill, the stench of possible corpses also filled Christian’s nostrils once more. The result of complete neglect for Cornwall in general. The whole place could quite literally be one massive group of slum projects.
He nodded his head as he passed by several other ‘Officers’ and continued his way toward the massive locker room. Once there, he found his locker, unlocked it and put his baton and radio inside. He then walked outside once again, got into his small 2 door car and drove off down the pothole filled road.
Christian stared out the orange tinted window of his car, taking in the sights of the run-down city of Cornwall. The drunks and druggies sleeping on the cold concrete streets and in the dark, dank alley ways.
How a once entire county of people was turned into one massive mega-city of slum districts, neglected by the ruling Union. That had turned the place into a mega-city in the first place. It shocked Christian, who had survived the nuclear war when hiding in the basement of his country home.
Thankfully, he had stockpiled a years worth of food and water after tensions rose between The U.N and the rising African Superpower of Storsut near Namibia. The Storsutian’s had somehow acquired a dozen nuclear weapons from an unknown country, though it was suspected Pakistan had something to do with it.
Christian pulled into the small garage of his apartment and got out. He went inside and sat down on the bedbug infested couch he had snatched up from a upcoming Furniture store. The Tv from the 90’s sat on a half cracked glass table and played the state issued news on it. More propaganda from The Union. He grabbed out from his pocket the snackbar he had bought at the beginning of his shift and unwrapped it, biting into the salty granola bar and chewing it quickly.
He finished the ‘snack’ and continued to watch the news. Listening in to the reports of protests all over Cornwall and Old Britain. It was old news to Christian, he knew that if he joined up the rebels would gain some information that was useful. He stood up and walked over to his room, pushed open the door and moved over to an unopened box near his bed.
He ripped the box open with force and threw old junk items out. A dead camera, baseball glove, baseball. Then he saw it, a dusty ole’ latex Tiger mask with the right eye torn out. It’d be useful for concealing his identity when he fought against The Union. He slid the mask on and breathed the air in through it. It felt right.
He wore it for a few seconds and then ripped it off, tossing it back into the box of goods. He would collect it tomorrow morning and go and speak with the rebels at a confirmed outpost within the mega-city. He was going to make The Union pay for everything they had done to good old Britain in a matter of 3 years.

Chapter 2

With each footfall the tile floor snapped under the weight of Christian and his switchblade. The crumbling townhome felt empty, yet the quiet muffled whispers of rebel fighters echoed from below and above Christian.
They knew he was there, but they were afraid he was part of The Union’s Kill-teams. Unafraid though was Christian, ready to slice up anybody who attacked him with weapons. He knew full well how dangerous rebels to The Union could actually be, and he was prepared to fight back if needed. 

There one came, from a small ladder leading into the townhouse basement a rebel in a red coat leapt out. He carried a spiked baseball bat and snarled like a wild beast at Christian, huffing out breath from his nose. Christian, didn’t back down. He instead took up a defensive pose and spoke.

“I did not come here to harm you. However, if you harm me, or attempt to; I’ll be forced to stop you with force”

The wild beast like rebel snarled once more and smacked the tile floor with the bat, shattering the tile with the weight.

“You don’t understand! We know who you are! They track everyone of your movements! You lead them to us” The rebel screamed, gargling on his own saliva and striking the walls and ground with the bat. “I’ll kill you myself if we survive the onslaught you brought upon our home!”

Christian threw his knife up and stepped forward, catching the blade edge with his left hand. The rebel leapt forward again and swung the bat fast, sweeping by Christian’s 1000 yard stare face by mere inches.

Christian in return thrusted the knife into the attackers stomach, then followed up with two punches. The rebel collapsed from both blood loss and the punches that seemed to have broken his nose. As the man crumpled beneath the blows, the front door to the townhouse was kicked in.

Christian sprinted into a home, ducking behind a flipped over couch. He peeked over the destroyed couch when a Cornwall officer ran in, shotgun in hand loaded with beanbags. They wouldn’t kill him, yet. They wanted information out of him and they would get it out of him with brutal means if he was caught.

The officer stepped toward the couch and was met with a fast haymaker, knocking his teeth out and throwing him to the ground in shock. Christian grabbed the falling shotgun mid-air and fired the beanbag into the Officers chest, taking him out for good. Two other Officers with batons swarmed the room, only to find that the suspect wasn’t there.

They searched for a good 10 minutes, waking up the other badly wounded officer and calling for a medevac for him. Just as they set the officer up in a chair, Christian came out from a hiding hole that looked like the tile ground. He tripped the first officer and then stomped on his head before grabbing the baton and cracking it against the other officers skull.

With all three Union officers wounded badly, possibly even dying, Christian left, dropping the baton behind him. He was compromised, both the rebels and the Union hated his guts and he would have to start his own group of rebels against both parties. He’d name em, The Blessings

He knew how he would get operations done against both sides. He’d rewire all the Union phone lines and make calls to people who could do the job, and send em to addresses of The Union or rebels and have them deal with the rebels or Union. Nothing would leak back to him ever, that was if his friends didn’t fail in hiding where the phone calls were coming from. This would be the best plan to fight the Union without putting himself right in the middle of a conflict, alone and without the training some of his ‘agents’ would have.

Yea, that’d have to do. Christian moved out of the building quickly, hearing the noise of more police sirens coming towards the home. If they caught him now, it’d be torture and death without a second thought. Especially when it was discovered he had beaten 3 Officers into unconsciousness and then fled the scene. He’d be considered a rebel like everybody else who opposed the Union in their expansionism ideas.

He knew that this would work, he’d stop this oppressive group of survivalist before they spread outside of the Isles of Britain. He’d make sure that it’d work his way and that nothing would stop him.

Christian sprinted away, down an alley until he reached a street where a group of huddled people were, sticking needles into their arms and drinking concoctions of different drugs. He pushed through them and found himself across the roadway in a mere second. The police cars sped by, sirens blaring and the men driving clad in pre-war swat team armor with rifles in laps.

The Uprising was beginning, and it would begin here. In Cornwall. Sporadic gunfire danced up within a few minutes and Christian felt sick to his stomach knowing some innocent was just executed by the Union. Many more would follow with this death sentence, even if they had taken no part in rebelling against the Union. 
With this in mind, Christian continued through several alleyways, his face pale like he had seen a ghost. More and more as he went through, the gunfire picked up and the chants of protesters in the street chased after him. The megacity was erupting now in the fires of war and Christian would be caught up in it, as well as his operators if he even could set up the operations.

Just as he was running through an alley he heard the loud screech of brakes and the sirens of at least 2 dozen patrol cars nearby, blaring. He must’ve been caught. He picked up his pace only to run out onto the warzone of a street. Protesters held the left side, throwing rocks at the Union police on the right side, hoisting signs with “No war!”, “ Corruption must stop!” above their heads.

Christian ran over to the protesters side, trying to slip through the massive crowd of Cornwallian’s who were upset with the Union and had joined the rebel ranks. That’s when the shooting started, and protesters screamed in agony and fear. The bullets flew both ways however, as armed rebels in buildings fired back at the police, killing several in a bloody battle. By the time Christian had reached the 3rd row of protesters, he’d been shot over a dozen times, yet adrenaline had prevented him from noticing it.

When he got out of the crowd of people, he finally noticed the massive gunshot holes in his shoulder, arm and chest and began to crumple in pain. Christian began to whisper to himself in panic, covering one hole with his hand to apply pressure. However, too much blood was flowing from the wounds and Christian knew it, he knew he’d die here on the street alongside so many other protesters. He collapsed and felt the tugging hands of a protester on him, thinking Christian was one of them. The protester in futileness attempted to drag Christian away from the gunfire and violence on the street. It was useless however as by the time Christian was in an alley he had already fallen unconscious due to blood loss and the rebel doctor refused to operate on him and waste resources on a already dead man.

Christian died there in a damp alleyway, a degraded man who had joined the wrong side in his life and was too far gone when trying to join the right side. Life, death what difference it made to his fellow police officers, made him think and made him a rebel hero who had gave his life for the cause. In the end, it was discovered that Christian had unintentionally taken those rounds for the Rebel leader within the protester crowd and had saved the rebellion from crumbling.

When the Union finally fell due to 5 years of war, from 2023 to 2028 the survivors of it all rebuilt Britain back into a friendly nation. They built a statue in honor of Christian and those who died in the fighting. Later on, the drugged up man Christian had listened to visited Christian’s grave and paid his respects. The man had started the rebellion, yet hadn’t even survived an hour of it. He might have been an Officer before, but he had changed in a short amount of time. The Union had fallen, and that’s all Christian and the rebels wanted, was to be free from the shackles of the corrupt Dictatorship.