May 2036. The Second American Civil War has been ongoing for months and the United States as you know it is crumbling. The fascist and totalitarian New American Federation (NAF) has risen and taken over much of the country, whilst the former governm...
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As the now familiar sound of air-raids sirens blared out around him, Daniel Sampson trudged his way through the streets of downtown Baltimore. Throughout the almost eight months of war, the residents had come to learn that the wail of the alarms would almost always come to nothing. The city's air defences were essentially impenetrable. Only a handful of missiles launched by the U.S actually made their way to the city limits of Baltimore- and even then only military targets were attacked. The city centre was totally free of any bomb or missile damage and only the haunting sound of the near continuous sirens was the only evidence of conflict going on.
None of this masked the clear aftereffects of the economic depression, however. Homelessness, which had increased tenfold over the past couple of years, was now rife and dozens of people sat on the streets in their makeshift shelters spaced only several metres apart, including women with young children. The local authorities had long lost the ability to relocate people who had lost their homes and the new fascist state had yet to form competent regional administrations, focusing all of their attention on the war effort. To a large extent, it was every person for themselves and everyday was an immense challenge.
Turning left at the end of the block, Daniel guiltily ignored the pleas of the beggars and the other people in need on the cold, litter strewn ground around him. Before the economic crisis and the outbreak of civil war, the 23-year-old man would have been only too happy to give a spare couple of dollars, but the dire situation in the country had hardened him and taught him, perhaps wrongly, to be more selfish. He had his reasons, though they didn't help him feel any less bad. It wasn't as if money was a pressing issue for Daniel, but he didn't feel the need to share it out and therefore he was quite frugal in his expenditure. He knew deep down he would help people another way.
Another commodity Daniel had no problem using sparingly was his clothing. He scarcely wore anything other than his accustomed dark purple hoodie complete with streaks of both black and light pink etched into the stencilled design. Out in public however, his striking pullover was hidden underneath a black windbreaker. He had the drawstrings hanging low as a result of having the hood wrapped tightly over his head, forever conscious that everyone in the new New American Federation was perennially being watched. Daniel thought it best to constantly shield himself from the plethora of security cameras that lined the streets. After all, when you are actively working against the state and a fascist state at that, remaining subtle and discreet was the primary tactic.
Around a hundred metres in front of him and on the other side of the road, Daniel watched intently as an Enzian van quickly screeched to a halt. The sound of the tyres skidding on the tarmac was enough to attract the attention of all the bystanders milling around on the avenue. The van was decked out in Enzian's trusted yet terrifying colour scheme used for both vehicles and uniforms. The main bodywork was painted a deep and dark black with a matte finish so impossibly intense that no reflection would ever show from it. Along the bottom third of the van ran a thick red strip. The colours were designed to instil fear in civilians before the Enzian officers even dealt with them. On the most part they did, but not Daniel who instead felt a burning anger at the sight of Kaufman's officers at work.
