One year later.

Galvan Raza had fought in one of the original mercenary brigades during the Reversal Wars. Though a tender age twenty at the time, he was had already seen combat since his teens when his native Columbia-Zuela sought to break its chains from the United States. But the corruption at home paled in comparison to the corruption of the U.S. and a lucrative deal offered to him led him and his loyalty to serve the mega-nation into the Reversal Wars. The peace his country had earned for itself was a financial burden for his division. At a time when stemming international scorn with multi-national mercenary brigades was the politician’s answer to seeking alliance with the United Nations, his skills and loyalty to his country where equally in demand. And his were for sale.

As part of the South American Representation Army, Galvan rose quickly through the ranks. Halfway through the Reversal Wars, he was given the chance to gain U.S. citizenship in exchange for the position to lead one of the most secretive special forces squads, developed to assassinate the leaders of rogue nations. Their methods where unspeakable, but the Scarred Eagles never faltered, and had the world been able to see all that ever was in those days, they would have been shocked at how much the Eagles did to stem the tide of overnight revolutions powered by blackmarket weapons. But when the bloodmist lifted, these patriotic shades faded, and the Reversal Wars would render the meaning of war archaic.

When the light of day broke across a peaceful earth on September 23rd, 2043, the leaders of the world shuddered at what had crept up behind them in the darkness of their own creation. Countless bands of educated, pioneering entrepreneurs had toppled the system of corporate-fed politics, and weren’t about to take that throne. Quickly, an “open-sourced government” was established that ignored the incumbents, and reformed the globe together with communication and technology as their messiah. The mercenaries of the Reversal Wars saw dark days, as “multi-national” became a curse word hissing of scorn at the concept of affirmative action warfare. And then war became something new. It became mandate.

The night flight over the Carribean Sea was thoroughly drained of any warmth or rhythm it might have had some other time of day. But for Galvan, returning to the sun-drenched home he remembered left him in a pleasant sweat. He would see jungles and muddy roads soon, and have the cover of the humidity he had missed from being estranged from the Equator. The jungle rumbled deeper and lower than the copter blades could, and pulsed in the dark. The moonlit shore of Columbia-Zuela swept beneath them as they entered Los Olvidados Airforce Base, a disheveled looking installation that had once been a rival village of Galvan’s hometown. His thoughts wandered to saner days and time passed quickly.

Stepping off the chopper, Galvan was greeted by the General Prime, an honor rare for mere soldiers. The General Prime was almost an archetype; strong jaw, burnt skin, and commanding presence. He wore his uniform like skin and despite Galvan’s disillusionment with military, the pose and the gaze stirred him briefly. He saluted sharply, and began with “General Prime, sir.”

“Galvan. Welcome back. How was the flight?”

“It is good, Trent. To touch Zuela soil again. Everything else changes but these jungles.”

“Then I’m sorry to say that these jungles are going to be very foreign to you this time around. Follow close, briefing is soon. You’re here to make up time long wasted.”

When the Reversal Wars ended, and the new power came into being, life revolved around the new concept of “governmentation.” The N.E.C, New Earth Council, formed of guilds of technological gatekeepers and entrepreneurs, quickly zoned the world into subsets of policies. Deciding on how you wished to live was as simple as moving to the zone you preferred. Communism. Oligarchy. Democracy. Even feudalism. And every denomination and variation in between. Its implementation, credit due to the N.E.C, was surprisingly smooth, and few lives were lost. Of course, people were ready for almost anything after years of global bloodshed.

Galvan, however, wasn’t ready for his first job interview that required suit and tie. The N.E.C. mandated that all wars must be conducted on sanctioned battlefields, and simulations of the participants’ economy, territory, and fighting forces were pitted against each other. With all the zones as the audience, any emerging nation-states earned their status by the skill and patriotism they demonstrated in the sims. The world would continue to evolve, but now under the clinical eye of a fledgling meritocracy that ruled the Earth. For the veterans, this gladiatorial show lacked some of the primal lust of real warfare, but it paid the bills. For Galvan, that was enough.

He fought well. The earnings were meager, but being a designated warrior made him privy to a wealth of benefits that kept life comfortable. Though real lives were rarely in danger in the sims, he still fought for his clients valiantly, and had a flawless record of missions completed, and only three career deaths in his personal file. Someone from his past noticed. A nation in fact.

“We special requested you for reasons you already know, but our official memo to the N.E.C. stated that we wanted you for your valor and skill in battle, as well as your familiarity of the zone in question.” The General Prime circled to the back of the conference room, eyes focused at the other person in there with them, a blond, hawk-faced man in a sharp blue uniform. He flicked off the light switch as Galvan and the man seated themselves, and a holo-chart crackled to life between them. A map of northern Peru.

“Your experience in your native strike squads as well as our famed and forgotten Scarred Eagles is something we’ve thought about every single day since this mission fell into our laps. I’m going to be straight with you. Your desirability will be compensated adequately, the details of which we will discuss soon after this briefing. But we need to give you the whole picture first before we get your assessment of this mission’s value, and success rate. Should you accept our scenario, your insertion will be Boa Vista south of the Guiana Mountain Range. You will make your way there to our hidden base in what used to Manaus before the epidemic. Our agents there will ship you down the Rio Madeira through the Amazonian Basin to as close to Peruvia as we can. Further details will await you there as we continue to adjust our logistics. Any questions.”

“Yes, Trent. You haven’t told me my mission yet.” Galvan smirked sideways.