'Sir! Sir! It's. it's an invasion! They. they're crossing the border! SIR! An invasion!'

The man sighed, looking at the trembling yet excited man before him; his helmet askew, his body armour seeming to be rattling as if it was being commanded to do so. 'Who. is 'they'?'

'They. the. the. Sarians.'

Colonel Hasbury snorted, then did his best to keep a straight face and ask the next question civilly. He failed. 'And they crossed into where?'

'To here, sir. To Saria. I. I. They.'

Hasbury attempted to let the man finish why he thought it was an invasion, but again he failed. He exploded at the legionary, making him shrink back in fear. 'CURTIS! That is not an invasion! An invasion is where the Carnians come over here! Okay, I could understand if you thought that Sarians crossing into the territory of the Carnians was an invasion; it is to the Carnians, but this? How can Sarians invade their own country? Don't be an idiot, boy!'

'But. I thought. Well, I'm sorry sir.'

'And so you should be! You're confined to Barracks! Now get OUT!'

'Yessir.'

* * * * *

In The Jolly Mug a woman sat at a barstool, laughing cheerily, tears streaming down her cheeks. 'Hahaha. Another beer please, Randy?' The bartender gave her a cheery grin, and handed her another. 'Thanks, luv.' She handed over a few coins from her pocket, and 'Randy' walked off to speak to someone else whilst Adele, the woman, turned back to Barbara, the woman she'd been talking to.

'Well, me 'usband was a great guy. 'e was in the army, ya know? Did such a lot fer his country, ya know. He was a great guy.'

Barbara inwardly rolled her eyes. She considered telling the woman that she had an odd habit of unnecessarily repeating things, but decided it would seem too rude. 'Was? Why the past tense?' She decided on, but hoped this question didn't seem too pushy. Besides, she was interested in knowing why, and the story was being told to her, so why not ask?

Adele's face creased and her smile faded, her laughter completely halting. 'He. DIED!' She called out dramatically, putting forth her hands in an odd gesture and spilling beer all over herself. She took a swig of beer at this, then laughed loudly again, quite over her husbands death, apparently.

'Erm, I'm sorry about that.'

'Oh, that's quite alright dear. 'e died fer 'is country. 'e was in the army. he fought fer 'em 'n' that's all yeh can ask fer. It's 'ow 'e died, them bloody idiots killing 'im 'n' all. I couldn' believe it when I 'eard. 'twas 'orrible. I was all fer goin' 'n' rippin' the blokes guts out, but the colonel told me not to so I didn'. shoulda ripped 'is throat out though, the.'

A string of very rude words followed this, and Barbara felt quite un- nerved. She found it silly that her husband was away and killing other men and she saw no danger to his life. She also found it very stupid that she wanted to rip the men apart, for her husband had done exactly the same barring they weren't related to her. 'Erm. Yes. Those cruel, cruel men.' She felt like barfing at her own words, but it was about all that sounded remotely pleasant that she felt she could say.

Adele took another swig of beer, but still succeeded in pouring quite a bit of it down her dress. She hadn't noticed when she'd done so before, but this time she did. She swore loudly, and stood up shakily. 'Goin' on a trip to the ladies, hun.' She announced loudly to anyone who had ears, but in particular, Barbara and staggered into the womens door. Barbara was quite glad of this opening, grabbed her coat and left the pub as quickly as her legs could carry her.

* * * * *

'Gimme it. Now. I want it. You know I'll get it anyway. It'll just spare me the trouble if you just GAVE it to me.'

'Can't. I'm sorry. But you have to pay. You know how much this costs.' He didn't know what to else to say, so added in a sly, sarcastic comment, secretly hoping that she'd take it seriously. 'You know sugar is cheaper and a good thing to replace it with, so why don't you use that?'

'I don't WANT it. You know who I am: Lilian Berry. You know what I can do! I HAVE POWER! POWER I TELL YOU! POWER!' She tossed her hair over her shoulders in a dignified manner. 'I can get you down to a pulp.'

The man talking to her nearly fell over laughing at this action combined with her speech. She seriously sounded like a madwoman. 'Lilian, I know perfectly well who you are, as well you know. But you also know I can't bend the rules. As for getting me down. Naturally, I know of your position. But if someone was to tip them off with a bit of your private life. Well, I'm sure they'd be very interested, don't you think so?'

The woman spat at his feet, and gave out a snort, making her sound very much like a pig, and, with her features, it wasn't that hard to imagine the woman as one. The man had to hold in his laughter, which was very hard for him. 'You wouldn't dare, Michael. you wouldn't dare. You deal. You get it hella harder, man. Capuche?'

'Whatever,' the man sighed tiredly. 'But you still get it bad. You know that. Besides, that would be acknowledging you know me. Wouldn't be the best for your reputation as such a popular MP, would it?'

'SHUT UP!' She roared, her face growing red with rage. 'Now, cut the crap and give me what I want. GIVE IT TO ME. You drag me down, you're coming down with me! So, just fuckin' give it to me! NOW!'

The man shook his head again. 'Michael' was getting impatient at Lilian's orders. He took orders from no one, and he was in charge. He needed her to know that. 'Lilian, quit being a bitch and go home. I have other customers, and those guys actually pay! Besides, you have plenty of money from your position in the government and well you know it. I have poor people here; using their last pennies to buy this stuff. you know I have to make them pay, even though they have no money. You have no chance of getting off without paying. I don't want to do this, but get out or I'll call the cops.'

* * * * *

Wiltonshire, South Saria - Well, this is hard to say but I've got to say this is the worst place I've ever been to, and there's been some bad ones. Plenty of nice, rich, neat families keep their homes tidy, and their kids out of trouble. Then there's the West of Wiltonshire. Hoods. That's what they are. Hoods. Out for trouble. Poor people, poor background. Fights all the time. Naturally, the 'hoods' cause them, and the richer people want nothing to do with it, but are forced to.

The eighteen year old threw down the newspaper, and spat on the floor, turning to his friend. 'Look, mate. This is fuckin' stupid, this is. We get blamed for everything 'round here. I mean. half the fuckin' time it's them who starts it, and they're saying it's all us. I've never heard such shit in my life, even off them richies. Fuckin' idiots never get anythin' right.'

'That they don't,' muttered his companion. 'Probably because they've grew up like the richies and think they do nuttin wrong. If so, they really are idiots. Takes a lot for self defence anyway. what are ya meant to be able to do without havin' to take summat around to protect yourself? Then get blamed for taking them around to be aggressive and attack them? It really is idiotic.'

The lad, Larry, nodded his head. 'I carry my switchblade, but there's often stuff around. Glass bottles. anything glass really. We can trash 'em anyday.'

'Yeah, well, that's besides the point. They're pointing out it's only us startin' off all this fightin'. Hell, you know it's not. Don't matter if we can trash 'em or not, really. We don't usually start it and you know that. You know.'

'Maybe, this,' Larry picked up the newspaper and looked once more at the article on 'Places in Saria'. He looked, then saw what he wanted; 'By Robert Nickle'. 'This Nicklehead needs the facts hammered into his head.' He chuckled, eyes twinkling in such a furious, crafty manner that his companion was quite scared. 'Yup. Hammered into his head.'

* * * * *

'Laundry fatigue.' grumbled Curtis. 'I'm not THAT bad on the outposts am I?'

Colonel Hasbury opened his mouth to reply, but Curtis thought better of it. He was stupid thinking that he could get the upper hand on his colonel by making him say he wasn't too bad.

'No, I don't even want to know!' he growled, and turned out of the room with a pile of dirty laundry. 'ARGH!'

They really needed to sort out the kitchen, the colonel decided as he walked in to see what had happened to the young legionary. He had to bite his lips to prevent himself from laughing.

On the lunch menu that day, there had been pancakes. Pancakes were not usual, but seeing as it was the sergeant's birthday, they were being cooked. The menu was apparent to anyone who looked at Curtis.

Someone, somehow (no doubt one of the other 'useless lumps' dumped on cooking fatigue, thought Hasbury) had managed to drop milk on the floor, and absolutely drench it whilst mopping up. Curtis, whose vision wasn't too good due to the pile of clothes in his arms evading his view of the floor, had slipped on it, gone slap bang into the cooker, and knocked the chef who had been tossing a pancake, watching numerous others on the hob and panicking. The pancake in question had shot up, and stuck to the ceiling, but, as it slowly unpeeled, it landed ungracefully on Curtis' head.

'And to think I joined to not look stupid, and to look smart in the uniform.' he muttered, looking down at his drenched uniform, seeming quite surprised to see a pancake slide off his head. He put his hand up to his hair, and flinched. 'ARGH!' he screamed for the second time in a few minutes, feeling all the grease and fat, and took to his heels, heading for an immediate shower.

His colonel didn't stop him.

* * * * *

Adele knew that before she had managed to get out of the ladies room, although she'd always fell over a fair few times. Not many women went to bars, particularly this one, anyway, but nobody went when she was there if she could help it, although Adele had no idea why.

She was about to reach out to the door, before falling flat on her face again. She crawled along the floor, to the sinks, ruining her new clothes, and pulled herself up, before promptly being sick for the sixth time since her visit no less than ten minutes ago.

She turned the tap on and promptly fell on the sink, glad that the majority of her sick had been washed up. She didn't want to walk out with that down her face. she had no idea how she'd live like that, having disgraced her husband.

She got up again, and tried to look dignified, for her husbands sake. However, she should have known, she thought as she fell to the ground. Again she snaked back to the sink, this time to splash water on her face to make her a little more sober. and able to drink more beer, she thought with a grin.

She looked down at her feet, to see what was wrong, then gave a groan. If it was anyone else she would have laughed, but not herself. she couldn't keep falling over because her pants kept falling down, it was just immoral, she huffed. She pulled them up, pulled together her pride and stomped out of the room, to see an alcoholic beverage. She was too drunk to see anything other than that.

'Ooh, Randy, that's for me is it?' She chuckled, and before he could protest she'd drained the glass. 'Oh, sorry, I didn't pay! Silly me!'

The men stared at her; they could see just how giddy and drunk she already was. Randy looked very uncomfortable, but pulled himself together and tapped her on the soldier. 'Um... Adele. that's.'

'That's what?' She asked, raising an eyebrow. She was in a dangerously drunk mood.

'That's the. it's um. something the professor here is experimenting with.' An old man sitting in front of where it had been, stared at her bitterly, and added an 'aye'. 'It's. well. it's.'

The professor sighed, and announced it himself. He'd heard of the loud Adele and her passion for alcohol, and he was glad to be able to take her down a peg or two. 'It's my experiment, made from boars milk and rabbit droppings. And of course, urine samples from numerous of my test subjects.'

Adele shot him a 'you are joking' look, and looked around but everyone was looking deadly serious. She promptly turned green, and ran back into the ladies bathroom.

The professor laughed loudly, and handed a five-pound note to the bartender. 'Didn't think you had it in you,' he chuckled.

'Well, I do!' laughed the bartender. 'Feel a little sorry for take advantage of her though, but ah well. Are you ever going to tell her that it wasn't real?'

'Nah, it'll do her good,' chuckled the professor.

'Yeah,' agreed Randy, trying to shut out the sound of his best customer puking in the ladies toilets. 'Now, for you! Truth or dare?'

* * * * *

Lilian was pacing around a room in her mansion, wondering how to screw Michael out of his drugs. She really had no idea what to do, then she had her idea. She could tie her hobby in with this. Lilian was a transvestite, and ran upstairs to get herself changed into her best manly clothing, before applying a fake beard and moustache. She grinned at herself in the mirror. Perfect.

She walked along gruffly, hands not only in her pockets, but gloved to. He couldn't see the nails or he'd know. Well, not that it was necessarily her, but a woman nonetheless.. And she was the most desperate.

She walked along, and when she reached the corner where she knew that she would find Michael, she stopped. She had no money with her. she needed a plan. She quickly endoused herself in aftershave, to get rid of her perfumey scent that remained, then hid it back in her pocket and tried to look. natural.

She walked out in front of him, and Michael came up to her almost immediately. She had to hide her grin as her disguise worked.

'Hello,' he said, and soon she found herself being talked into a deal with him. She told him about the no money thing, and he gave it to her for free, but he warned her that if she wanted some more she'd need to pay.

She walked away, thinking that she'd got away with the deed, but tripped and fell, giving her usual immediate response. 'Fuck!' Unfortunately, she forgot her new voice and Michael glared in her general direction.

'LILIAN?!' He glowered, towering above her.

'Oh fuck,' she said angrily, before getting up and running as far away from Michael as she could.

* * * * *

Larry was loitering around outside 'this Robert Nickle's house, holding his switchblade out threateningly, although there appeared to be no threat. However, he didn't know how good this man's security was.

'He's just a journalist,' he reminded himself. 'What harm did they ever do, other than trash us?' He snarled, spitting on the gate of his house. Also, the boy held a gun. Well, not exactly HELD. it was in his backpocket. He slipped his hand in, withdrawing it.

At that point, a man walked out of the house. He looked like he was in his late twenties, brown haired and looking very angry at something-or-other. Larry got his aim, before pressing his finger on the trigger.

'AGH!'

He smiled in a satisfactory way. 'I'M IN AGONY! THERE'S A BULLET IN MY BUTT! I'M DYING! AGH!'

Larry growled. He hated attention seekers, and people, who over-reacted. 'Watch it,' he snarled, but very quietly, so that no one could hear and draw attention to him. 'Or the next one might just land itself in your head.'

He didn't actually plan to fire a second bullet. but he couldn't resist. A woman ran out of the kitchen. 'CHRISTOPHER! Robert told you to get out, so stop faking it!' Dirty dish-water descended over the boy, who began choking on his screams.

Larry's second bullet hit his eye. 'AGH!' Blood splattered in front of the woman, who turned slowly.

'CHRISTOPHER! ROBERT, ROBERT COME AND HELP! HE'S BEEN SHOT! AGH!' She was screaming herself, tears falling on him.

Larry turned, until something triggered in his mind. Christopher. not Robert. 'Fuck,' he muttered, getting out his gun, aiming, and pulling the trigger at the man who ran out of the house. There was a sad little clicking noise. Robert and the woman turned to face him, and the look on their faces knew that he had further dented the reputation of himself and his friends, and anyone else known as a 'hood'.

'Shit!' he yelled, and ran as security dogs were released, and snarled as he knew they were after his hide. 'I'LL GET YOU FOR THIS, NICKLEHEAD!' He screamed, as he ran off to save himself from an embarrassing death of 'consumption by dog'.