Their Ideals, Their Flag - A CCRP Novel by TrianglePanBrain

''This article is a wiki backup of the WIP book itself, also available on Scratch. For the as-yet-unwritten article about the book, see Their Ideals, Their Flag.''

Synopsis
Inutillian Vuric Tanil has spent his entire life in the PRA, being born 2 years after the invasion. And now approaching college age he must gripe with seemingly impossible choices, seemingly massive pros and cons. Should he go to one of the best colleges in the region so he can progress in life, but which is the capital city of his oppressors in the core Amurrhinian region in Spirova? Should he stay home with his family and protect them against the growing tensions in PRA-owned Inutillia, but face the might of the Amurrhinians? Should he leave altogether to the Free State of Inutilia (if he can manage to get across the impossible border), but have to leave his family and everyone and everything he has ever known behind? He doesn’t know what to do, but he must eventually decide or else he will be destroyed by their ideals, and their flag...

Prologue: The Invasion
I remember what my father told me about happened that day. As he was walking home there was nothing, on the street at least. He told me that while walking home his once bustling village felt colder, as if though death himself had come through our town, if only he knew that death did not come but was on its way. When he did see someone they were families frantically running with cases and whatever they could take, going seemingly as far west as they could go. He walked a bit faster that day, I think if he didn't then maybe he wouldn't have been alive right now. By the time he came home my mother pushed him into the cellar and came down too. He and my mother all hid there for hours on end. By the time the artillery fire ended and he and my mother left the cellar our neighborhood was completely destroyed. Every building was either burnt down, collapsed, or only half-standing and ridden with bullet holes. Our house was the latter. They took whatever wasn't destroyed and walked north.

By the time it got dark they were stopped on the road by a GDC army group, my father never told me the conversation between them or what the army group's idiotic justification for it was, but they were taken into the group and forced to march south-east to a prisoner of war camp in Salsuginis. They stayed there until the war ended, and so found themselves in the PRA. They settled in Salsuginis, but this isn't their story, its mine.

Chapter One: The Benefits of Pain
1914, September. Friday.

I put my books on the table as I got home.

"How are you mom?" I asked her, ever since the riots started we've all been worried.

"Better", she said, "if you got your books off of the damn table."

"Sorry." I took my books off the table and took a look at the newspaper she was reading. "Looking for updates on dad?" My father had been arrested and detained around a month ago when the riots started to "Pre-ensure the stability of the district." Bull. All they wanted to do was to keep us in fear, to show us that they can do what they did in 1894.

"No", she sighed, I've given up on that now."

"So what are you reading then?" I inquired, still trying to get a look at the newspaper.

"ElectionWatch, actually. If I can't get your father out of jail I might as well vote for someone who can."

That was the first benefit of the PRA, democracy.

"You know mom, there's a rumor that the voting won't happen here cause of the riots."

"If that's true then I'm joining them.", snickering,

"Anyways Vuric how was school for you?"

"It was good, weekend should be better."

That was the second benefit of the PRA, education.

"Appriciate what you have Vuric, we grew up with a field of wheat and a bucket of water for school."

"Yeah yeah I know, you've told me this a million times now."

"And I'll say it a million more until you get it."

"Ok then, I'll-"

"You need to get the food shipment remember?"

That was the third and last benefit of the PRA, easy food access.

"Oh right", I angrily mumbled. The PRA had a lot of farms, but the collectivization meant that it was a 2 hour journey to and from the supply center, not usually a pain since we needed to get it only at the end of every month. Anyways it is currently the end of the month.

Chapter Two: But Pain Is Still Pain
"Come on kid! This bus doesn't have all day!" The Amurrhinian transport official shouted.

I sighed and ran to the one of the 7 busses.

The official walked to the front. "Now, although some of us are late", the official glared at me, "we will begin the trip shortly. I just have to do a couple of vehicle checks, then we and the rest will get to the food supply center. Da zdravstvuet Adrieneu!"

'Da zdravstvuet Adrieneu!' At this point a familiar sound. Barely any of us actually knew any words of Amurrhinian, but we all understood 'Long live the Amurrhine!'. How could you not understand what was said so many times to you? I began to think a lot about Amurrhinian, why is it that the word Amurrhinian refers to both the language and the ethnic group, and how the Amurrhine is both the nation and the river. And how when you think about it the PRA has only won a war against Inutilia, a nation that already had a pathetic military, Alituria, a nation that was being invaded by essentialy ever other empire already, and two wars against itself. And college, why does the best college have to be in Spirova, the most dystopian and dense and Amurrhinian majority city in the world. I'd proabably either die of the combined body heat of the millions of people there or be forced to leave because I'm Inutillia-

"HEY KID!", the official yelled at my face, "Name."

"Oh yeah, sorry. My name is Vuric Tanil."

"Alright." The official wrote my name down on a clipboard. "Mr. Tanil, could I give you a piece of advice?"

I nodded.

"Don't daydream on the bus to the supply shelter, this isn't exactly a field trip."

"Understood sir."

The official took the rest of the names and went back to the front of the bus.

"We shall now depart, we shall approach Inutillian supply shelter 4 within approximately 2 hours."

The official got into the driver's seat and, after some inaudible conversations on the radio with the 6 other busses, the caravan departed.

You can learn a lot from studying your peers. I saw that there were 18 people on the bus overall, five people on the bus were those that I'd seen around school, one looked to be an Amurrhinian police officer, another one in the back of the bus looked vaugely Fictian and was wearing a fedora and sunglasses, and another eleven were an odd batch of middle-aged Inutillians. Then I heard a loud noise outside the bus. It was artillery fire, Amurrhinian army artillery to be specific, it was training which was something they did nearly every day now since the riots. They didn't need it though, they've used the same artillery for about a decade now, every soldier even slightly qualified to operate it knew everything about it for years on end. There was a reason for the training though, to train the Amurrhinian army for its favorite pastime, fear. Fear is what it used in Inutillia since the invasion. Fear is what it tried to use against the Eleutherians when they were still an anarchist group. Fear is what it tried to invoke upon the people of Socii Mundial and Borogravia tens of times over. It reminds me of an Inutillian phrase. "An Amurrhinian may not win against you in a fight, but they will otherwise make you regret you were ever born, not now, now soon, but within time." They may not have as much strength as they'd like, but they do not forget, and they have more pride than a tiger. An Amurrhinian will have their revenge, I just hope they have already gotten it against us.

I remember when they first invaded, we all just thought they were but proud farmers. The thing is that when you go through the Amurrhine you see that belief wasn't all too wrong. Kalonip and his party might say they "modernized" the country, but all that really means is that they produced better farm equipment, because farming is the country. And on that bus ride I truly realized just how absolute farming is to the country. Every mile is either empty grassland or full farmland, and you can see how the people are tired, tired of war and tired of peace. The entire nation, at its whole, is but a powder keg. The question is, when will it explode?

Chapter Three: Aforementioned Explosion
When I was 16 my father encouraged me to go to the supply shelter, I remember that while riding the bus I imagined a giant concrete complex surrounded by massive roads and many lorries with government officials giving out food while hundreds of citizens unload the busses and get their monthly food certificate stamped. Instead there was a wooden shack that contains food certificate stamps and blueprints for the eventual giant concrete supply center, a flat space of grassland with hastily set up wooden tables, and carts pulled by horses (sometimes they were late and just pulled by people) not on asphalt or even dirt roads but on wide and straight granite pathways originally meant for the cancelled railroad project. Today it's pretty much the same, the same promised big concrete supply center is still not there, the same carts are pulled by the same people, and the same gravel pathway is still not a railroad; if it weren’t for the bus ride there and the overarching bureaucracy of the place I’d think that by the time I got there I went back 100 years to the past. I went up to the rickety wooden table and the Amurrhinian official told me “Bonvolu montri vian Oficiala Amurrhinian Atestilo por Manĝkolekto kaj Oficiala Amurrhinian Identigkarto.” ‘Please show your Official Amurrhinian Food Collection Certificate and Official Amurrhinian ID Card.’ The Food Collection Certificate is somewhat self-explanatory, it's a card to make sure you don’t get your 1/10 of a ton of food for multiple times a month, if you lose the card it means that at best you go hungry for a week and at worst you starve for a month. “Jen miaj kartoj.” I replied as I gave my identification card and food collection certificate to the official. “Ĉio ŝajnas esti en ordo,” the official stamped the food collection card for the month of Decembro, “Via manĝsako por la monato estas numero 812.”. I went over to the platform where they had the bags of food and after a few minutes of looking through the bag numbers I found bag #812, threw it onto the dolly, and brought it onto the bus. I was getting onto the bus, and then it happened. The sound of a bomb seems easy to describe, and maybe it is, but it’s tough to talk about for someone who’s experienced it first person. The bomb went off on an empty bus in the back of the caravan, thankfully no one died, but to say no one was shocked would be at best a lie. What’s important is what the bomb represents. It represents oppression, family members and friends we haven’t seen in years, tensions so high you could either cut it with a knife or start a massive fire with a bullet, the question is does it represent a sign of things to come.

Chapter Four: A Sign Of Things To Come
This chapter is yet to be released.

Chapter Five: Hope, Or Revenge?
This chapter is yet to be released.