Summoning A Fallen America

Prologue: America Goes Blind

August 7th, 2066. Boston, New England.

A man sat down on a chair in a balcony that gave a good view of the city. Right next to him on the table is a glass of wine and the bottle that accompanied it as well as a M9 pistol for personal protection against home invaders. The man had a noble glow to him as his family generation had worked their asses off, including the man, and it paid off. Now he could live without needing to work a day in his life. But, he needed to, after all he was a person who wouldn't be the one to destroy their family's dreams.

"Adam Wright, correct?" A man in a military uniform, presumably a recruiter, asks. "Yes. If you plan to re-enlist me into the military then you could tell the brass to screw off. I'm not planning to die in a war now after my 8 year service, especially one that involves the entire world." The military recruiter sighs as he can just get to the point. "Well Adam. I hate to say this to you but we are afraid we cant let you off, especially since you were the best preforming volunteer to the Texan-Midwestern war. We couldn't let a fine soldier like you to die as a civilian." Adam chuckles at the statement.

"I hate to let you go on about your authoritarian tirade but you kinda sound like a general visiting a war veterans home to get them reinstated into the military like in those movies. You probably don't get what I mean, but go to any movie theater presenting 20th century movies and half the time, you have an example right there." Adam stands up and puts his M9 pistol in a holster in his belt. "Me personally however, I wont be going anywhere. So leave, and send a message to them; I'm not gonna fucking join the military and die for some debate whether Africa should be lead by a bunch of jungle nerds or a group of sandy skinheads."

Adam sat down on his chair. "I'm not going to join because some bitch-boy who miraculously had the same rank as me for doing FUCKING NOTHING, wanted me to. And I am especially not going to be the one of the ones to rip this continent to fucking shreds by war, I've seen shit in Huston when the Midwestern Union and their allies started to gang up on Texas like it was 'the hood' and shelled the country to tears, metaphorically and literally. I could go on a tangent about why I am not going to join but I assume you aren't a fan of TED-talks. Understood-"

Adam took a look at the recruiters rank to add emphasis on his argument. "-First Sergeant?" The recruiter took a second before responding with a emphasis of his own. "Yes First Lieutenant Adam." The recruiter left the balcony and left Adam alone. Once Adam saw the recruiter completely exit his property on home security, that's when he started talking. "Fuckers really want me to join the army huh? Jesus Christ. I've had enough of war and I am not going back into it, for the record!" Adam slumped down on his chair.

"But seriously. I'm not going to join the army ever again, the only way I would join back in is if, say. The entire country gets sent to Narnia or something, but hey. That'll never happen right?" Adam laughs to himself and drinks the wine glass he had on hand. Suddenly he feels a vibration in the air, a very small one but noticeable. He is left confused for 5 seconds and gets up from his seat but unfortunately, it happens.

A light brighter than a atomic bomb but cant physically blind anyone appears in the New England sky and metaphorically blinds everyone in Boston. "JESUS FUCKING CHRIST!" Adam tried to get a grip on the balcony railing but was soon pushed back from a shockwave that blasted him to the other side of the entire balcony and broke his glass, luckily the rail guard caught him. From there he saw the chaos unfolding in Boston, seeing glass buildings break and some collapsing on themselves entirely. He was lucky he was outside Boston though, very.

ANS Juneau, 5th PCI Naval Group, New Canterian-Alaskan Sea Border.

The ANS (Alaskan Navy Ship) Juneau was patrolling the Bering Sea with several other ships all belonging to allied nations in the Pacific-Canterian International, or PCI. "A beautiful day isn't it, Captain Jackson?" The quartermaster said while taking a sip of her coffee. A man by the name of Jackson E. Grant stared back at the quartermaster. "I guess it is, for us anyways. But across the sea there is a full scale conflict happening. Dead bodies piling up, blood and organs everywhere, soldiers knowing that their last day on this planet might be approaching, the whole 9 miles. Or 14km's for you."