Introduction Part 1
Reflections From The Future


"My name is Hans Venechenko. You don't know me, but you know our story. You know her legacy.

It's a story of love, hate, friendship, betrayal, courage, and sacrifice. All the hallmarks of a good story. It's about rebellion, men and women taking a stand to defend their land and people before there was nothing left to fight for. It's the journey of how one girl from the slums of Zenobia inspired the world to form a revolution, to take our freedom by force, although at a grave, and unforgettable cost.

This is her story, but it's my story too, and I'm about to share it with you."




Introduction Part 2
Desert Rose


Ana Maria Grace rolled over in her comfy bed of soft, warm, purple sheets in her cosy room. She was sound asleep, dreaming of some better time and place. A land of innocence, love, and peace. Angelo slept comfortably beside her. He was her large, furry brown dog. Her beautiful blonde hair rested over her forehead, covering her left eye. Her eyes were shut as she slept the morning away against her fluffy purple pillow.

The buzzer inside of her old mechanical clock clang it's usual dull, metallic, insistent racket. New clocks had something called a chip that was made from data or something. Here in the slums of Zenobia, there was no fancy, fussy technology. Bikes that ride themselves, you just sit and stare at people passing by. Neat little boxes that show moving pictures. Nothing so sophisticated.

The inner city was like something from a comic book or fiction novel. Some futuristic metropolis turning time like the inside of a clock. Late at night you can look out your bedroom window, peer north into the night sky, and see it's lights glowing, flashing and blinking like stars hung just above and below the horizon.

She opened her sparkling green eyes quickly, smiling wide. She smacked the plated spring on the clock, silencing it for another twenty-four hours, and leapt from her bed, startling Angelo as she did so. He slowly got up off the bed, jumping to the hardwood floor with a surge of energy that would last for the next 12 hours.

"Can't come today, Angelo. I'm goin' to the inner districts," Ana said, leaning over in the doorway. She shut the door on him, and he tilted his head with a whimper.

She jogged down the stairs of her tiny home, running into the kitchen where her mother was sitting, reading the Zenobian Times over a cup of tea. It was a shabby little home nestled into a nook of Zenobia's slums, but it was cosy, warm, neat and welcoming.

"I made breakfast," her mother said lovingly, eyes fixed on the article still, no doubt retaining the words as she spoke to her daughter.

"Not hungry mom," Ana replied, kissing her on the cheek, heading for the door.

Ana's mother looked over her shoulder at her oldest daughter as she grabbed her coat from the rack. "Stay away from those left-wing, hooligan friends of yours!" her mother yelled out to her as she dashed out the door.


The streets of Zenobia were bustling that particular morning. Buildings, trees, structures and rooftops towered over power lines and into the sky. Bikes, strangely built cars and trucks filled the busy streets. Some were paved or stone, others were run down dirt roads, usually in a series of gritty backstreets networking the outermost corners and reaches of the slums.

Far beyond the cluttered, towering groupings of buildings, the massive structures and sky scrappers of the inner core of Zenobia loomed on the horizon like pillars of the heavens, watching over the poverty, despair and corruption that ensued every day amidst the outer slums...



OutlawTorn
Presents...




Inspired by Squaresoft's Body of Work From 1987-1999
Created by Michael J. Saulnier (OutlawTorn)

Dedicated to Hironobu Sakaguchi, and Final Fantasy fans everywhere

~ AUTO-MERGED POSTS ~

Chapter 1
Sands of Zenobia


Ana dashed through the crowded, busy streets. Posters, banners, post-it adds and flyers were pasted, hung and tacked all over the city. In windows, on walls, utility poles, news stands, hanging from wires and cables strung from building to building, and on billboards laid out everywhere. People in fancy, new world cloths walked or drove vehicles around town, shopping and going about their business. The inner slums were booming on that sunny Saturday morning.

She stopped as she passed a television set in the window of an upscale home electronics shop, just outside the core of the city. She leaned against the glass, listening to the sound of the picture machine. It was a simple recording of a woman giving a news update. News feeds were the only thing you could get in the slums, and the news was filtered propaganda.

"Efforts continue today in the signing of energy contracts that will allow Zenobia Prime to construct reactors and generators, virtually over the houses of land owners in the slums. Dozens of city blocks have had to make way for the massive project, forcing thousands of residents out of their homes if these contracts are signed. Why should people give up their homes for these new reactors, Mr. Ducrinus?"

"Excellent question. One year from now if those very same people didn't have power to cook, or listen to their radios, they would be crying, asking why we didn't build enough reactors to meet the energy demand in the slums."

Sarovoc Ducrinus, brother of Lucious Durcinus, the Emperor of Zenobia. Sarovoc was the President of Zenobia Prime, an umbrella corporation inside the framework of the Zenobian Government housing MiraTech, the corporation that controls all of Zenobia's energy supply. They are a big time technology powerhouse that is responsible for everything technologically advanced in Zenobia, and the majority of the continent.

"Shouldn't believe what you hear on the news."

Ana turned around, smiling. "Jin!"

Jin was her best friend, and ally in the resistance. He stood 5'9", a few inches taller than her. He had a lean build, brown eyes, and scruffy black hair coming down to his eyes. He wore a black and red leather coat, just like hers over a simple white shirt and jeans with scruffy white shoes. They both wore buttons and patches clipped onto and sown into the thick leather fabric. They were a variety of rebellious and anti-government slogans, resistance logos, and a few Rebel Radio patches. On the back and shoulders, was a homemade crest hand woven into the fabric. It was their resistance patch, their symbol of freedom, and justice, a depiction of Zenobia's core, as seen from the reaches of the slums, and a white dove flying free in the sky around it.

"The others are waiting," he said, "let's not keep them."

She nodded, walking with him under the far peeks of Zenobia's core.