March 16, 2015
The machine was death incarnate, and it was glorious.
Katarina Petrova had spent years building it, burning away its every flaw.
Her dream demanded nothing less than perfection.
For Katarina dreamed of a new Russia -- a Russia free of corruption and tyranny.
Her father, unjustly taken by the state she once loved, would be proud.
As she stood in the shadow of the machine, Katarina felt her dream clawing at the walls of the world.
The rulers of Russia now knew nothing was beneath her. Katarina had slaughtered innocents, torched forests, ravaged cities all in the name of freedom.
She knew her dream was worth it. Her dream was perfect.
Her soldiers brought her respect, her money brought her power, but it was the machine, her glorious machine, that brought victory.
The machine had pushed the motherland to the precipice of anarchy, and one more victory would tip the nation over the edge. In the chaos, Katarina would seize power and start everything anew.
In the government she would forge, there would be justice and understanding. Her sacrifices would be rewarded. Her crimes would be understood, forgiven, honored.
But the machine was silent now. Its mind had fled, like a coward, like a child.
Katarina would find it.
Then her dream, her new Russia, would finally tear through the walls of the world and become reality.