My faction, was solely named the MLA (Malaya Liberation Army). The name itself shoots tingling irony through my veins when I first signed up to fight. There weren't much requirements. If you could speak a fair bit of English and Malay, is able to stand and to wield a rifle with both arms and able to walk, you are hired. No discrimination between men and women.

As far I remembered, I was of a Chinese-Indian descent. I am tall, average looking and just about the right size of a healthy dude thanks to my rotund visage of a stomach. Sporting faded jeans and a red shirt and a sling bag crossing my chest, I stepped up to the faction's recruitment building and waiting in line behind several men and women all apparently, looking their finest with faded, grimy attire and small carryon bags and some medium sized, bags.

The building was located in the center of the city where I used to hang out. It was probably the only place in the city at that time was lit. In front of a man made lake and across a river which is now strewn with garbage and probably, human corpses as well. Despite me couldn't see the river or the lake, the stench of rotting garbage and flesh hovered over the air in that area and it nearly made my eyes water, if it wasn't my turn to sign up as I entered the building.

I still remember the look on the recruiter's face when I requested to be hired. Just filling in the name and the age, that was all. "Danny.. that's it for your name?" the cigarette chewing mouth of a stalwart Punjab guy spoke. He gave me a rifle and a pistol and pointed out a direction, "Just go there, that's your dorm," and he winked. "And be quick about it- the beds are limited. Last one have to stand guard for the rest of the night,"

I scrabbled my things quickly and sprinted off into the direction that was pointed out. My sling bag, containing what little clothes I had, a comb, mirror and some basic washing up necessities. My bag could only fit so much. I slung the rifle onto my shoulder and stuff the pistol into my sling bag as I walked briskly towards the dorm.

Walking into the gloominess of the dimly lit dorm room from the recruiter's office, I quickly scrambled to a bed and put my stuff there. I looked at a clock hanging on the wall at the entrance of the dorm room. It was already late night, 2.30am. I must've been walking all day.

And then there was this dude, a dark Indian guy was clambering up the ladder and heaving itself onto the upper tier of the double decker bunk bed I was given. There were huge creaking sounds as he landed at the top, with me silently praying the bed's frames won't give way and me becoming the casualty of a war I haven't even fought.

Suddenly there was a loud sound, more like someone trying to blow a distorted trumpet, and then the lights were off. I heard many steps shuffling vigorously, with the rushing tap-tap of people clambering onto their upper beds and then there was a loud, piercing shout, "4am! Fighting practice!"

~End branch 1 part 1~

Like any kid before his hormones hit in, he sure was, with the influence of cartoons and video games at the time, would've thought, or more likely, imagined that he would be a warrior of some kind. Battling evil wizards and tyrant leaders with armies of diabolical numbers as well entities with a sword bigger than me and a gun that's surely screams fear in the hearts of my enemies.

I used to jump around, waving an iron ruler or hanger, anything that has long reach or simply swinging and invisible blade around my person towards my fellow imaginary unseen hordes of soldiers against me, like an invincible warlord.

As I age, the childish flame seem to burn brightly within the dark recesses of the mind which, full of new responsibilities and problems seemingly choking the very existence of that childishness itself. When I sooner believed that I would never become a demon slaying swordsman with big guns and bigger swords, that's when it happened.

I became a fighter, a warrior that fights for his country. Not politically. But rather by taking up arms against one another.

The political state of the country that I live in, in the year of 2034, has degraded to the boiling point by high records of corruption, misplaced budget funds totalling to billions, the ever growing discontent of the people and the cherry on the cake; racism. It is war by itself on the streets. Races, religions going against one another. Economy had halted to a standstill; foreign powers do not wish to invest in a country where workers turn on one another because they are not of the same colour.

The current government's methods of peacemaking, slowly moved on to the dictatorial approach of peacekeeping. Government troops and reserve armies pouring on streets, taking over unsettled areas, and backing up a certain race with eradicating others. The current monarch system has assumed full control of the government, with the dissolution of ministerial and directorial posts, monarchs imposed their own loyalists into administering their needs, as well the armed forces into their hands.

This is the country I live in at the moment. The riotous views on the streets, government troops shooting down civilians, people suiciding from tall buildings, and corpses litter the parks, streets, are just a small, tiny fraction of the things that are happening around me.

Not all is gloom however. Few resistance factions that are opposed to the current government, which is conveniently headed by the legacy of the late Prime Minister. I am a part of one of those factions, taking up arms and killing another man so as to defend my faction's ideals.