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Dictatorship - Gorba


Gorba
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The  great nation of "Ofadation" is the best nation EVER or is it...

 

 

 

Thrown into chaos by different events of war. Recently the whole's city's power has gone out and the disease has gone up... People have died off... Less and less food is coming in. The Leader Gorba has thrown the land into chaos, picking a fight with anyone he pleases with his massive military and his dying city. There has been many revolts and riots in the city, and all of them have been ended the same way: a bullet in the skull of every rioter and their family. Meanwhile the high military officers and Gorba the leader are having a feast every meal with power. Everybody in the capital city finally worked together and destroyed all of their tanks, soldiers and all military aspects, leaving the military poor and defeated. Now, no one can save the nation of Ofadation. Gorba still lives on out there, no money, no food. This is what happens when military controls your life.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Kill Gorba

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A Nation without power is not a nation, it is a soldier in an iron lung wasting time and resources until it perishes. Without power there is no progression, only stagnation.

The Complied Systems of 01 patiently await the time when the vultures have picked your bones clean and your nation can be assimilated.

Edited by SAI-40

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"They're turning kids into slaves just to make cheaper sneakers.

But what's the real cost? ‘Cause the sneakers don't seem that much cheaper.

Why are we still paying so much for sneakers when you got them made by little slave kids?

What are your overheads?"

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A Nation without power is not a nation, it is a soldier in an iron lung wasting time and resources until it perishes. Without power there is no progression, only stagnation.

 

The Complied Systems of 01 patiently await the time when the vultures have picked your bones clean and your nation can be assimilated.

Well said.

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Tom Fowler, Deputy Commissioner of Foreign Aid, stared blankly at the order he'd had his secretary print up, and took another swig from the bottle of whiskey he kept in his right-hand desk drawer. 50 tons of food to be sent to some tinpot dictatorship...

 

Ofa... Ofadalia? Ofa... he couldn't remember, and his vision was blurring; he couldn't read the print. He'd read about it before in National Geographic, though.

 

To send out food during winter, though, when the food market was up. Over 200 dollars per unit. 200! Granted, 50 tons of food was a fraction of one day's harvest here, but for those poor starving folks, it could go a little ways. But his higher-ups would not like it, the man would not like it.

 

But what did it matter, really. The DNA evidence would connect him to the dead body soon enough, and then he'd be finished. His actions would bring shame upon the Dread Sovereign, and he would spend the rest of his life in prison. Might as well do something good for someone in the time he had left.

Edited by elsuper
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