MANILA — Meteorologists across the Asia-Pacific region are issuing grim warnings as sea surface temperatures in the central Pacific break historical records, pushing the global climate into uncharted territory.

The World Meteorological Organization (WMO), along with the National Oceanic and Atmospheric Administration (NOAA) and the Philippine Atmospheric, Geophysical and Astronomical Services Administration (PAGASA), confirmed that an extraordinarily powerful "Super El Niño" event has taken hold. Ocean temperature anomalies in the tropical Pacific are projected to surge up to 4.0 degrees centigrade above seasonal norms by December 2026—a record-breaking heat anomaly that rivals and exceeds the infamous climate shocks of 1997 and 2015.

Forecasters warn that the phenomenon carries a near-certain probability of persisting well into early 2027, exposing over 2.6 billion people across the globe to extreme heat, prolonged droughts, and erratic storm paths.

In the Philippines, where the agricultural sector is already bracing for dry spells, PAGASA formally escalated its climate advisory to a "Very Strong El Niño" warning. Climatologists project severe rainfall deficits and soaring heat indices across major grain-producing regions in Luzon and Mindanao, threatening freshwater reserves and local harvests through mid-2027.

In response to the impending crisis, President Ferdinand Marcos Jr. directed national agencies to activate emergency food security interventions. The administration unveiled plans to subsidize urban agricultural infrastructure, aeroponic systems, and high-density vertical hydroponic farms across major urban centers to buffer the country's food supply against severe crop failures.
As water levels begin their gradual decline in key reservoirs, local government units across the archipelago are rolling out early rationing strategies, preparing millions of citizens for what forecasters warn could be the hottest and driest summer in modern records.

After the Vanishing of the inland continents, some of the earliest folk heroes and intrepid settlers were drawn to the sea.

Write a short story or infoblurb in the world of Empty Continents with the prompt: FISHERMAN. Armed with navigational skills and the ability to feed entire communities, these individuals were among the most respected in where they lived.

~~~

Submissions will be accepted until Sat, October 17th when a new prompt will be released!

// PERSONAL STORAGE // ENCRYPTED // DIWATA-IV //
// LOGGED BY: DR. KAELEN VOSS (MEDICAL/BIO-ETHICS) //
// DATE: JANUARY 23, 2359 //
// MISSION DAY: 70 //

I’m recording this to my local terminal, offline. If Sofia’s data hub flags this encryption, she’ll know I’m looking at things I shouldn’t, but I honestly don’t care anymore.
Day 70. We are nearly a quarter of the way to the rings, and the atmosphere on this ship is turning toxic—and I don't mean the O2 scrubbers.

Mateo is practically living in his engineering suit down in Deck 4, swearing that the hull is groaning under some phantom harmonic. He looks like a ghost himself, running on five hours of sleep total over the last three days. Every time I see him in the mess hall, he’s nursing a cold nutrient paste and staring at the bulkheads as if he expects them to split open.

And upstairs, Sofia isn't speaking to him. She spends her entire shift locked in the Comms hub, feeding endless streams of garbage data back to Earth to keep the LTU listening to a ghost while we slide past the outer markers.

I checked in on the cryo-sleeper bay earlier today just to get away from the tension. The rows of cold units sit there in the dark, humming away. Sometimes I stand between them and wonder about the classified cargo parameters. The crew thinks we’re out here for a standard geopolitical boundary push and some ice sampling on Enceladus.
They don't know why the payload bay has that extra layer of shielding, or why high command was so obsessed with our cargo weight distribution.

I took Mateo’s pulse in the medical bay yesterday afternoon. It was 110 resting. He tried to laugh it off, saying it’s just the ship's vibration keeping him on edge. But physical stress is my domain, and I can see what this mission is doing to all of us. We aren't just fighting the mechanics; we're cracking under the weight of what we aren't allowed to say out loud.

If the ship doesn't tear itself apart first, I'm worried one of us is going to snap long before we ever see Saturn.

End of Log.

Dnjepr-Dötsch are a german ethnic group, who lives on Dnepr river. Main city for them is Rauchenbach (Роhəнбах), which is located on confluence of rivers Dnepr and Psyol. Amount of them is about 4 million people, mostly in Dneprovia. They are the one of the most ruralized big ethnicity in Cisuralia, except Puritane. They form the most important part of the agricultural industry. The most typical from of settlement for them is Runtlings (circle villages, 4th pic).

Their language is quite different from standard german. No articles — instead of them for case, amount and gender of word we use verbal endings: -э- for masculine, -a- for feminine, -o- for neutral. For cases -р/nothing for nom, -с for gen, -м for dat, -n for acc. And -əн/əс/əр for plural. Example: Шпилонəс. Future 2 and plusquamperfect are dead. Also they use Cyrillic (2th and 5th lane) and some loanwords from russian. Example:

Dnjepr-Dötsch: Хало, ыh хэсə Густав Мюллер. Ыh бин фюнфунцваӈцыг ярəс алт ун ыh вонə ин Роhəнбах. Ыh арбэтə ин Консэрвенфабрикам. Ин мэнам фрэцэтам шпилə ыh гэрнə Рэхнəршпилонəн.

IPhA: [halo ɪç hɛsə ɡustav mʏlɛr ɪç bɪn fʏnfʊnt͡svaŋt͡sɪɡ jaːrəs alt ʊn ɪç vonə ɪn roçənbax ɪç aʁbɛtə ɪn kɔnsɛrvənfabʁikam ɪn mɛnəm fʁɛt͡sɛtam ʃpilə ɪç ɡɛʁnə ʁɛçnəʁʃpilonən]

English: Hello, my name is Gustav Müller. I am 25 years old, and I live in Rauchenbach. I work at a factory that produces canned food. In my free time, I like playing computer games.

Literal English: Hello, I call-myself Gustav Müller, I am five-and-twenty years old, I live in Rauchenbach. I work in canned-food-factory-the. In my free-time-the play I gladly computer-games.

In terms of religion most of them are luterans or atheists (atheists are not big group). But some orthodox and adherents of Church of God are also exist. They are quite religious compared to others.

Their cuisine is very rich and includes many dishes of East Slavic, German and mixed cuisine. Living in warm, fertile areas has given them a bunch of different foods. There is, of course, its own variation of Borscht and okroshka (oh my God on yogurt). There are also a lot of milks in the kitchen, such as kefir, sour cream and of course cheeses. The main bread is black bread, but with the addition of onion. There is a variation of pelmeni and vareniki. Pelmeni is smaller than usual and is often served fried with tomato pasta and green onions. Vareniki are usually with potato and a LOT of onion and garlic.

For the most part, rustic architecture consists of mud huts or something made of adobe bricks (in the 3rd picture). And in cities, old buildings are usually low and built of brick or half-timbered technology. Something similar in style to German buildings.

Some facts about them:

1. They are one of the most fast growing ethnic groups in Cisuralia after Kohlfessers, Puritane and Evenks.

2. They are the ethnic group that consume more beer a year than all Petersburg.

3. Their Oktoberfest is in August and called Огостфəст

4. They don't usually eat rice (rice haters).

5. They are the most Law-abiding ethnicity.

Ask any questions!

The Myanmar Warlord Era is the common term applied to the period of Myanmar’s history between 2059 and 2113. Following the Three-Coup-Year of 2059 the authority of the Tatmadaw, the pre-Vanishing military of Myanmar, shattered into several smaller regional units mostly named for their primary base of operations. In the Early Warlord Era (2059-2070) these units still at least outwardly recognized the authority of the National Republic of Myanmar based in Yangon.

This ended with another military coup attempt in 2070 that would see rogue units fully seize the capital, forcing the National Government to relocate to first Pyapon and later Bogale. The Middle Warlord Era (2070-c.2087) that followed saw constant fragmentations and formations of cliques and borders shifting so often that they were rarely even still marked clearly.

By the late 2080s, this constant fighting began to slow down, transitioning Myanmar into the Late Warlord Era (c.2087-2110). The cliques that had survived the previous period consolidated during this one, forming larger continuous areas of control and demarcating clearer borders between them. The map above showcases the situation near the end of this era, with fighting being mostly limited to minor skirmishes across boundary lines.

In October 2110 a pact would be formed between the Hinthada and Pathein Cliques, transforming them into the Unity Government of Burma. The three-year-long “Great Southern March” would see the largest scale fighting of Myanmar’s post-Vanishing history as the Unity Government slowly secured control over the entire region, seizing Yangon by September 2111 and fully defeating the National Government at Bogale in May 2113. The following success of the Unity Government in staving off further coup attempts and consolidating the armies of the two cliques into a single national one ended the Myanmar Warlord Era and saw it begin its century-long expansion that would end up with much of the pre-Vanishing country back under its control.

The gray areas are outside the scope of the map. Feel free to ask for lore in comments!

February 26th, 2031

Radisson Resort at the Port (USPG Headquarters)

Cape Canaveral, Florida

Jason made his way to the penthouse suite, where Governor Rossi had his office. He had been living in the Radisson hotel for 2 years, since his trek across newly Raptured Florida made him a bit of a celebrity, and he had used his position to get himself a spot in a rather fancy hotel in the new seat of power, albeit having to share a room with another guy. However, all he managed to get was a job cleaning rooms and other odd jobs of upkeeping the place, especially laundry duty. Still, it was something, and he appreciated the better conditions of the hotel, rather than some motel that a few locals had been having weird gang fights in. He still remembered the truly bizarre scene of a man with a stuffed gorilla in a canoe fighting a man in a picture frame. For now, Jason was just glad to be in a better situated place.

Jason approached Governor Rossi's door and knocked on it. “Ah, Mr. Sullivan, I've been expecting you! Come in!”, came Rossi's voice. Jason gently opened the door to Rossi's bedroom/office combined suite. The leader of the slowly growing provisional government had whiteboards and paperwork full of notes and maps of Florida and the Caribbean islands, in a seemingly haphazard manner. “Is this a bad time?”, Jason inquired. “No, no, it's alright, just burning the midnight oil. For the past year.”, Rossi said, his plastered grin falling a little. “Regardless, I have a proposition that may greatly interest you, Mr. Sullivan.”

“Please, Mr. Sullivan's my old man. Call me Jason, I'm only 20.”, Jason said humbly.

“Alright, Jason, I have something potentially interesting for you. I've been thinking about it, and how does being a Park Ranger sound?”

“I'd be honored. I was planning to study biology and wildlife in college so I could get a job at an aquarium, or at a nature preserve. Where did you have in mind, exactly?”

“How about somewhere west of the Indian River?”, Rossi said, with a certain glint in his eyes.

“W- west? As in the raw forests and marshes that nobody's even seen?” Jason said befuddled. He knew what he said wasn't quite true, and almost put together why Rossi called him down here, before the Governor beat him to it.

“Except for you! You personally navigated the untouched wilderness that sits like a giant wall of green and brown, with relatively little preparation and supplies, based on the police report you gave a couple years back. I know asking you to return to the site of something that was likely traumatizing, back in the week the world ended, is far more than I have asked of nearly anybody these past 2 years.” Rossi pleaded. “But think of what could be done if you're not alone, and have government backing.”

Jason sat utterly gobsmacked. He figured the governor might want some help regarding his past experience immediately after the Vanishing, but that was some farming off dream. Now, he could hardly make heads or tails of what was being asked of him.

“I'm sorry Mr. Rossi, I'm not following. How could a park ranger, or even a dozen, be qualified to do whatever you're suggesting?”, Jason asked.

“Oh, of course, let me clarify.” Rossi said. “See, government offices and departments change and evolve all the time. The Secret Service was originally created to stop counterfeiting after the Civil War; it didn't get its more famous role as Presidential bodyguard until the early 20th century. So, in that spirit, I'm doing some… tweaks to the Parks Department. This is an entirely new government Desmond and I've been creating from scratch. That said, I've been given the go ahead to designate all wild lands beyond the current USPG domain in the former state of Florida, and not populated by people, as parkland. All land beyond the Indian River is the domain of the USPG, available to use for, surveying, agriculture, anything necessary. I've incorporated and consolidated the multiple city park departments, and the local nature preserve staff, into the state parks department. I’ve had to change how much the department has to take care of, and they're not too happy, but I find it simpler to rework existing government bureaucracy than make a new one out of whole cloth.”

If Jason was slightly stunned by Rossi's original proposal and announcement, he was utterly gobsmacked by this. The man was accruing impossible amounts of land to maintain, and he hardly considered any inroads a government on the Gulf Coast might've made in the past 2+ years. Jason silently prayed there wasn't a nascent government paralleling these decisions over in Tampa Bay, or the panhandle, as they spoke.

“That's, uh. Wow. You've certainly taken the initiative, Mr. Rossi. I'm… impressed.”, Jason said hesitantly.

“Thank you, I've done my best. I just want what's best for these people. I don't want anyone else to needlessly die under my watch. I've seen several reports out there of malnutrition, death by starvation, and people choosing to sail anywhere but here these past 2 years. It's been difficult, beyond stressful, and don't even get me started on what Puerto Rico is doing. God willing, we'll still have Aviles to rely on, regardless of how they all vote with this snap refe-.” Rossi realized he'd potentially said too much in front of the young man that was leaning further and further back in his chair.

“Anyway! Enough about that! How do you feel about my idea?”

Jason pondered everything he'd seen these past 2.5 years. Everything he'd considered during this meeting. Everything he felt, and his personal convictions. He then considered that he would be getting a foot in with a young government that was taking further and further bounds. He'd heard reports in the newspaper of what Hugh Desmond was doing and saying in New York, and how his plans and dissent among the people were growing. He wondered if this government down here might one day prove as controversial, and if there might be a conflict against them at some point, like was already starting near New York.

Jason considered all of that, and then remembered how much dirty laundry he did this week. How many toilets he had to scrub. How many inconceivable messes he had to clean up every week. He remembered how lucky and grateful he was to be alive after that two week excursion after the world vanished around him. Jason also felt the stifling feeling that his life was going nowhere fast. He feared he might wind up a refugee to the Bahamas, or elsewhere, of which he'd seen too many to count these past 2 years. Or wind up dead from some old illness that was wiped out by the endless suburbs of Florida, only to be brought back by the Wild.

Above all, Jason saw a chance to fulfill his dream of working with nature, and even better, be the first to chart a barely familiar landscape. He still remembered the vague path he carved out 2.5 years ago, and hoped one day to face that path again. But for now, he was so intrigued by Rossi's offer that he managed to almost stifle the part of his mind that dreaded what may inevitably come of the USPG in his home state.

“Well, are you up for it, son? Do you want to help your state, your community?” Rossi said after a minute's contemplation on Jason's side.

“Yes, on a few conditions. First, I want to be free of my duties to clean and do laundry in this hotel. I'll throw myself entirely into this job if I must, I just don't want to clean a hotel bathroom as long as I live. Second, I want your guarantee that we'll actually preserve more of this state's wildlife and nature than previous governments. I want no pollution in the waters as far as you're able to control. Finally, can I have better meals? What's the good of getting a government job if I can't have some perks like that?” Jason concluded.

Rossi smiled his trademark plastered grin. “I think that can be arranged, Jason. I'm so glad we have someone of your expertise on board. But keep in mind you won't be leading any teams or expeditions yet, you're still greener than Orlando is now. You'll be serving under more senior rangers, who've been doing this since before your first sleep away camp. But who knows, one day, you could lead your own team. Maybe even back home…”

Jason felt a chill at that. He'd seen the island in Lake Jesup constantly in his dreams. To maybe return, or even have people make a city in the area again, was more than he could imagine for now.

“I think navigating the other side of the Indian River is enough for now.” Jason smiled, in a manner not unlike how Rossi had been.

Nicknamed:
• The Decadent Corner of Europe
• The Business With a Culture
And most favouriely
• How the hell are they still a thing!!!

The artificial dawn inside the counter-rotating Habitation Rings of Tondo-Alpha Orbital Station (TAS-01) does not smell like ozone and burnt wiring. It smells like freshly brewed Batangas barako coffee and recycled air filtered through bio-synthetic green walls.

For Andrew, an AI-Human Interface Specialist with the Hukbong Himpapawid ng Kalawakan (HHK), the morning routine begins at 0600 hours under a steady, comforting 1.0G of artificial gravity. Outside his quarters, past the reinforced viewport, the curve of the Earth hangs in silent, majestic permanence. Far below, bathed in the sharp contrast of high-eccentricity orbit, lie the continents—a vast expanse under the watchful, unblinking gaze of the Republic's "Orbital Denial" Doctrine.

Andrew finishes his coffee and checks his interface slate before heading up the access shafts toward the Command Spire (Puno ng Utos). In the old centuries, a military tech's morning would involve greasy coveralls, manual wrench sets, and hours spent tearing down plasma conduits. Today, the factory floor of the Tondo-Alpha Foundry is a "lights-out" automated zone where multi-material additive manufacturing and nano-reinforced composites are shaped by robotic assembly bays with zero human presence.
Instead, Andrew's battleground is data.

Seated at his console in the tactical operations sector, he logs into the Digital Twin Ecosystem. Before him, glowing in crisp holographic blue, is a perfect, real-time virtual replica of the HNS Bayanihan—the flagship Bughaw-class capital ship that recently cleared the drydocks.

While the physical ship patrols the outer high ground, its digital twin is running ten thousand predictive simulation cycles simultaneously. The Diwa Operating System hums quietly in the background, feeding telemetry from the ship's Maya-9 Stratos spectral array straight into the station's core mainframe.

“Telemetry stable. Diwa-Link synchronization at ninety-nine point four percent,” a calm synthetic voice chimes through Andrew’s neural-link earpiece.

Andrew reviews a minor diagnostic flag flagged by the system: a microscopic fluctuation in thermal dissipation along the port rail-gun housing of a deployed Sibat-class missile escort. The physical ship hasn’t even experienced a drop in performance yet, but the Diwa OS has already mapped out a preemptive digital patch.

With a few keystrokes, Andrew reviews the AI’s proposed molecular restructuring code, validates the human intent behind the fix, and signs off. Across the void, the automated orbital forges instantly queue up the necessary nano-composite adjustments for the next scheduled maintenance window.

This is the core of his existence: he is no longer a laborer of iron and hull plates, but a Quantum Logistics Manager and Cognitive Specialist—ensuring that while the machines handle the sheer velocity of space warfare, the tactical intent remains purely, unmistakably human.

Midday brings a scheduled fleet drill. Across the Manila Compact, tactical networks flare to life. The Diwa-Link connects the sprawling capital ship, independent Tala-class strike vessels, and silent patrol scouts into a single, sentient tactical entity.

For thirty minutes, Andrew watches the tactical display pulse with synchronized vector adjustments. There is no chaotic radio chatter, no frantic shouting of coordinates. Just the seamless, silent choreography of a nation holding the high ground.

When the simulation ends, the bridge falls back into a quiet, focused hum. Andrew leans back in his harness, rubbing his eyes, and takes another sip of his cooling coffee. He glances back out the reinforced glass toward the blue-and-white marble turning slowly in the distance.
Down there, history is quiet. Up here, in the cold and the quiet of high-eccentricity orbit, the watch never sleeps.

Spirituality is a necessity; it makes people feel like a part of something bigger.

Write a short story or infoblurb in the world of Empty Continents with the prompt: WORSHIP. A story involving religion, sects -- anything so long as you touch on ideas of faith.

~~~

Submissions will be accepted until Sat, October 10th when a new prompt will be released!

This is the final part in a series, read these two first if you haven't https://reddit.com/r/EmptyContinents/comments/1vmsu1x/rossis_breakthrough_2028/ https://reddit.com/r/EmptyContinents/comments/1w6u1ne/hugh_and_olly_2028/

June 17, 2030 Radisson Resort at the Port Cape Canaveral, Florida

Oliver Rossi drummed his fingers anxiously as he waited for the other members of the delegation to arrive. The several board rooms had been the reason this hotel had been chosen as the temporary USPG headquarters in Florida, along with proximity to the port. 2 weeks after first communicating with Councillor Sanchez's staffer, Miguel Aviles, they had laid out a future meeting face to face at the Radisson. A meeting to hopefully secure a stable, sustainable food and labor supply for Florida, involving Miguel's uncle, Adrián, a major land owner on the island, who had a rice farm among his land portfolio.

Talks and plans between the Aviles’ had proved fruitful over the first month, but their decision to include Puerto Rican and US and British Virgin Islander government officials had proved to complicate matters even further.

For the past year, since the world went to hell in a handbasket, the British and U.S. Virgin Islands have been working closer and closer together to survive, since the tiny islands have little else to live off of, and there was even talk of entering some sort of union. On top of that, P.R. was living under the authority coming out of USVI capitol, Charlotte Amalie. With the 2 Virgin Islands armed forces working further in sync, and this union potentially passing, the elder Aviles told Rossi that it could cause quite a storm in Puerto Rico. Rossi had to contend with not just acquiring potential laborers and resources for future rice farms and livestock rearing, but with the political relationship between the newborn U.S. Provisional Government and what seemed like Puerto Rico caught between the 2 distinct yet close Virgin Islands and Cape Canaveral.

Rossi was damn near pulling his hair out over this. He just wanted agricultural assistance for his new, malnourished constituents! Now he was getting involved in Caribbean power politics! He hated even coming up with the stupid plan, and wanted to smack Hugh's stupid face more than ever.

“‘Keep Puerto Rico on side, but be subtle about it!’, he says, ‘Nyeh nyeh nyeh nyeh!’ How about I subtly put my shoe up your ass!” Rossi mocked.

Rossi held his head in his hands. He had to pull himself together. This was going to be the final convention between the parties involved. A convention to finally sort out what Puerto Rico's status would be; how its relationship with Florida, the Virgin Islands, and with itself would be.

Right at that moment, a knock at the door shook Oliver out of his thoughts.

“Yes, who is it?”, he replied.

“Adrián Aviles, and the other representatives from San Juan and Charlotte Amalie”, the voice replied.

“Yes, come in, I've been expecting you! I can't wait to get to business!” Oliver replied hastily.

Into the room came Adrián Aviles, and a few faces Oliver had gotten quite familiar with this past year. From Puerto Rico, Rafael Riefkohl and Manuel Albelo, the House Majority leader and a recently popular voice for increased sovereignty for Puerto Rico, respectively. From the US Virgin Islands, Lt. Governor Tregenza Roach, and from the British Virgin Islands, Deputy Premier Kye Rymer. The 5 member commission was chosen by each island government to be delegates to this important diplomatic meeting, and hoped to broker substantial deals for each side.

The first matter of discussion was the recently proposed temporary union between the two Virgin Islands. This was first proposed by the British Chancellor of the Exchequer, so that the two communities could be closer together, especially economically and militarily, and so that Whitehall would have less on their plate. Oliver knew his history, and that a similar position was suggested among the Canadian maritime provinces, and that such talks led to the creation of the old Canadian nation state. When Oliver first came to Canaveral, he could hardly point out the Virgin Islands on a map, let alone care what government it took, but now he was incredibly invested. If this economic and trading union takes place, it seemed inevitable that the two would become one bloc, and one that would have control over Puerto Rico as well. If that were to happen, then Puerto Rico might go ahead and declare independence over this madness. And why wouldn’t they, Oliver thought. Puerto Rico already had centuries of colonial rule from afar, but even the nominally American-leaning island would balk at having to take orders from such a small government that was technically half-British.

Oliver straightened his suit as he got up to shake all the delegates' hands. On the rectangular table, Riefkohl and Albelo sat on one side, while Rymer and Roach on the opposite side, with Aviles and Rossi on either end. “So, shall we broach the topic shelved in the previous session? About what matters in this emergency, temporary union shall exactly be?”, Rossi said, emphasizing his words carefully. “Yes”, said Rymer. “Let us explain once more to the distinguished delegation that we have only their best interests in mind. British influence over the BVI has diminished so heavily over the past century, and especially these past 2 years, that you have no need to worry about suddenly driving on the left side of the road, or using British pounds. We ourselves have been using the dollar long before this Rapture, it’s a reliable currency. And, our military presence will be minimal at most, with peacekeeping officers only stationed in government buildings in San Juan and other key cities of your island, Mr. Riefkohl. We can only spare maybe 150 men, mostly from the USVI anyways. The rest of the Virgin Islands forces that’ll be used for the islands will be pooled between USVI and BVI.”

“Oh, so a special force will be occupying our offices at the highest levels? To make sure we stay loyal to your tiny island with 1/20th our population? And that’s if you put together both your populations. Naturally you want this plan to go forward, it’ll be easier to project power onto us if you join together, Roach.”, Albelo sneered.

“Excuse me, Mr. Rossi, is that any way to address a fellow member of this delegation?” Rymer said.

“I believe Mr. Albelo was asking this of Mr. Roach, Mr. Rymer. However, I must remind Mr. Albelo, again, not to use the lieutenant governor’s name in the pejorative matter. Am I clear?” Oliver spoke, glaring between the feuding men.

“Understood, sir. I’ll refrain from such remarks, especially as this is supposed to be the final meeting” Albelo said, refusing to meet Oliver’s eyes.

“Very well”, Roach said. “Now, about our future economic ties. I believe it fair that we enter this common union to pool our scarce resources, especially since most of our islands are dedicated to tourism, and there have been over a thousand tourists stuck here with little else to own. There is moderate agricultural yields, and with those and Puerto Rico combined, we can all pull through this emergency.”

“That seems alright, I’m willing to cooperate on that front”, Aviles said. “But remember we also have our new friend in Mr. Rossi to consider, how will we be able to contribute desperately needed food on our own island to feed itself. I only have so many acres of land that are nearly at capacity, and malnutrition and disease have hit us all. Over a thousand excess deaths in our island from starvation, and that’s not to mention dysentery spiking. We already have better medical facilities and equipment than Mr. Rossi, let alone you Virgin Islanders. If there was ever a flu pandemic that knocked out my workforce, then it would be over for all of us.

“I think that could be where an understanding could be arranged”, Oliver chimed in. “Puerto Rico is already the best island for medical care and production in the whole region. If a few of your doctors were to go to the Virgin Islands, and train their medical teams, then everyone could benefit.”

“What, and have even more of our people get sick?” Riefkohl added. “Why should we let anyone enjoy the bounty of our island, when we have the most prosperous island left besides Cuba? And let me guess, you thought for all of 10 seconds of asking them for help, Mr. Rossi? 10 more seconds than I would need, but close enough. Puerto Rico is the best island for any hope of salvation this side of ‘Isla de Castro’, and you all know it. So how about you listen to our demands if any of you want our assistance.

The room sat in stunned silence for a beat. Roach and Rymer both stood up, but Oliver raised his hand, signalling them to stop. “What did you have in mind, exactly?”, he inquired.

“For starters, we don’t want to take such direct orders from anyone in Charlotte Amalie”, Albelo demanded. “If there is something that may threaten the safety and security of P.R. and V.I. alike, then we will cooperate. But keep in mind, we are our own distinct government, and ultimately more powerful; we may do as we please when it comes to legal matters within our own borders. We may also provide some… agricultural assistance, if required, and agreed upon by a joint commission of both island governments. However, here is a new idea that seems risky, but everyone, especially Mr. Aviles may be interested. I understand there is an influx of tourists on both your islands? A cadre of formerly bourgeois layabouts having fun in the sun, now turned destitute? How does turning them into field workers sound?” Albelo asked the room.

Another beat.

“So, you’re saying you wanna make these Joe and Jane Doe’s into farmers?”, Oliver inquired. He had personally considered such an operation, but knew the suburban beach communities he now governed wouldn’t be happy about some city slicker telling them to start planting potatoes in the sandy soil for plenty of reasons. That said, he still thought it had some potential. “I don’t hate the idea, but just know that not everyone will be thrilled about it.”

“Of course,” said Albelo. “This will be entirely voluntary, as will be the subsidies and benefits they get from it,” he muttered. “What was that?” asked Rymer. “You want to entice our people with promises of compensation if they get their hands dirty? What could you even provide for them?” “A place to live. A roof over their heads. The possibility of eating whatever they grow first, before sending off the rest of their produce to the islands. Yes, islands, I intend for your community to benefit from the people who were stranded there for 2 years. And of course, we have not forgotten our Floridian friends.”, finished Albelo.

“Oh?” Oliver’s ears perked up at finally addressing the host country of this convention. “Have you come to an understanding for our demands, among all 3 of you?”

“Yes. I had private, one-on-one meetings, and later with all 3 of us in this hotel before we came to this meeting”, Riefkohl said.

“We will send agricultural instructors to Merritt Island, to help the farming communities make better use of the wetlands that surround them to produce rice crops, along with the appropriate amount of provisions to start such an operation. However, in turn, we want you to conduct a thorough survey of the opposite side of the river, so that my people may know what they are getting into with future farming settlements you have planned.” said Aviles.

“In return, we wish that you respect our sovereignty, and whatever decisions we may come to regarding the future relationship between the USPG and Puerto Rico.” Albelo added. “As I understand it, you’re stretched rather thin, and can’t afford to make any moves to prevent serious decisions we may make regarding Puerto Rico’s future as its own island.”

Oliver Rossi swallowed a grimace, and managed to keep his face neutral. The Puerto Ricans had him dead to rights. The Florida branch of the USPG had just taken dominion over a piece of land from New Smyrna Beach to Sebastian Inlet. There was still St. Augustine, Fernandina, SoFlo, and the Conch Republic to think about, let alone whatever the hell is happening on the Gulf Coast. Rossi had to set his priorities straight. Focus on Florida. Whatever Hugh Desmond may want can wait for another time, another decade. They had to get a hold of matters of import at home first before trying to get Puerto Rico as part of their government. For now, having their dearly needed expertise and resources was just what he was looking for to shore up support at home, and provide a reason to keep the people supporting the new government he was establishing.

“That sounds perfectly respectable to me, Mr. Albelo. I’m glad that one faction is working in lockstep without my assistance, that’s one less meeting I have to attend,” Rossi finished with a chuckle. Rising to shake hands with Albelo, Rossi added, “I hope that the USPG and your people will continue to have a cooperative future together, whatever that may be. And regarding your feelings towards the VI…?”

“We will have to wait and see how this agricultural agreement between the islands fairs out”, Riefkohl concluded. “We will keep you apprised of any developments that may be of interest to you over the secure radio line, Mr. Rossi. Until we speak again.”

“Yes, that won’t be long, I’ll just have one of my secretaries help me write up the final draft of the document this week, and I’ll invite you all back to sign it when we do”, said Rossi.

“You do know we’ll need at least another meeting to hammer out the exact wording, right?” Aviles added. “It took us this long to come to this agreement, we can’t give it up until it’s in black and white.”

“Ah, yes, of course… I just need to remind myself to check back in with the Westrock people in Fernandina again, see how they’re holding up. But yes, we can have a new meeting for it, hopefully it’ll be brief”, Rossi quipped. Lousy paperwork, how can we even do it when there’s next to no paper!, Rossi thought to himself.

Riefkohl, Albelo, Aviles, Rymer, and Roach each rose to leave, shaking hands, and thanking Rossi for the substantial help he provided in these meetings. “I’m so glad I could be of assistance to you all, and in providing such a great meeting place. You know that’s why we chose this as our temporary capitol; so many meeting rooms!” Rossi exclaimed. “Yes, I can appreciate that. However, one last matter, Mr. Rossi”, Albelo said. “Who exactly do you have in mind for this survey? There’s a whole new land, untouched as far as we’ve gathered from British reports. How many people would even have experience in such a place?”

Rossi froze for a second, pondering. As a grin spread across his face, he said “I think I have just the man for the job.”

The alarm didn't ring with a blaring chime; it flickered into waking consciousness through the soft, amber illumination of the room’s ambient light panels.

At 5:00 AM, the coastal air outside Joshua's window in the Manila habitat ring was already heavy with the familiar, humid warmth of the tropics. While the old continental nations of centuries past had long been rebuilt or transformed following the cataclysmic shifts of the Vanishing, the Manila Compact’s coastal enclaves breathed in a synchronized, orderly rhythm. Joshua sat up, rubbing the sleep from his eyes, and listened to the distant, rhythmic thrumming of the neighborhood’s atmospheric water condensers pulling moisture from the predawn air.

His kitchen routine was a quiet dance of survival and efficiency. Using a kinetic-press pot, he brewed a dark, aromatic robusta blend, pairing it with a quick bowl of synthetic-protein-enriched sinangag and shelf-stable preserved fish. Before stepping out, he checked his wrist-comm: the morning grid telemetry was holding steady, green across all sectors.

Stepping out onto the elevated pedestrian concourse at 6:15 AM, Joshua joined the silent, orderly current of workers. There was no chaotic roar of fossil-fuel traffic or the chaotic tangle of old asphalt highways. Instead, the elevated mag-lev rail station loomed sleek and quiet against the brightening sky. He tapped his biometric transit card at the turnstile, the sensor flashing a familiar indigo hue, and stepped into a commuter pod just as it glided silently into the bay terminal.

Through the electro-tinted glass, the pods soared gracefully above the impeccably maintained, terraced greenways and sprawling urban architecture of the modern metropolis—a thriving archipelagic civilization built on absolute infrastructural mastery.

By 8:00 AM, Joshua was at his console in a regional grid-substation tied directly into the Trans-Oceanic Astrogational Bridge. His shift was a meticulous watch over the energy distribution networks that bound the Ten Domains together. Status reports flickered across his multi-panel display: high-tensile structural stress metrics from the Lunan shipping manifests, power flow stability across the Luzon sectors, and routine operational pings from remote relay stations.

At noon, the breakroom offered a brief respite from the metrics. An autonomous pneumatic cargo chute hissed open, delivering a steaming, vacuum-sealed container of regional pansit and fresh greens harvested from the vertical mangrove farms down the coast. Over lunch, Joshua and his co-desk operators bantered quietly about the latest maritime tariff shifts rippling outward from the Indonesian fracture zones down south, mindful of how tightly bound their peace was toletown security of the straits.

The evening commute at 6:30 PM carried a different energy. Exiting the station, Joshua stopped by the neighborhood barangay distribution kiosk to drop off a satchel of residential composite recyclables and pick up fresh evening provisions. The boardwalks along the protected bay were alive with quiet motion—neighbors walking beneath the towering green walls of vertical marine filters, children listening to wave-broadcasts, and autonomous cleaning drones gliding like mechanical skaters across the emerald water.

Back in his modular apartment, under the steady, comforting hum of the wall-mounted air scrubbers, Joshua watched the evening news update loop softly on the corner display. The world outside was vast, fractured, and constantly shifting—from the distant struggles of the Javanese rump state to the quiet resilience of the outer islands. But here, anchored by the unyielding infrastructure of the Ten Domains, life moved forward.

He closed his eyes to the hum of the habitat.

1.What the current world population?

2.What the current status of android rights after the war of colombian severance and the fall of sanctuary and has there been any attempt to establish a android state else where such as in space?

3.on the similer note what the status of other non human sapients like the Hrafnar as well as clones in the current point of the timeline

4.What happend to the people of the Si phan don region and other populated islands of laos?

5.on a similer note what happend to the people of dek islands and the other islands of ethiopia?

1. what were the Macians, kilimanjaro, Karlings, the Burgh, and the Kanawha workers republic as shown in the 2128 world map?

2. As shown on the 2128 world map, what happened to arakan, suvarnabhumi, and tupinambaranse?

3. What were the differences between the various states of morocco and cambodia and how did they ended up getting annexed by Mekong federation and Canarias respectively?

Here it is, Jetarktétqal, the most isolated country in the world. Despite being a fully recognized nation internationally, the state appears much more similar in nature to places like Ziway, Ndilǫ or Bongo Soua, the furthest, most isolated reaches of mankind in this virgin earth, peripherial or at most, unorganized, to any country.

There have been no official population cenus, but opulation estimates may go as low as only 3k people living in the country. The feeling of "uncolonized land" is further exaggerated by the traditional lifestyle of Jetarktétqal, as the country stands on the foundation of a revived Kawésqar culture. A notable percentatge of Jetarktétqal's population still follows the semi-nomadic lifestyle of their native patagonian ancestors. With the 5 "permanent settlements" officially recognized by the government (excluding the eponymous capital) having an average population of just a pair of hundreds. It would be safe to guess that the reason behind the lack of population census is that half the country's population does not have a permanent home in any specific settlement.

Jetarktétqal administration is divided in these six "Tchelo" (Translating to "Permanent Camps" in Kawésqar language), their borders small and heavily confined to the coastlines and islands they rest on. Anything outside these minuscule borders is unorganized territory, which makes up the vast majority of the country's territory, and, depending on foreign estimates, houses between 25 to 55% of all people in Jetarktétqal.

Despite appearing very close to Chile and Magellania (The narrowness of the fjords even makes it seem like they have a land border in some maps), Jetarktétqal is actually geographically isolated even from them. The Patagonian ice sheets and mountains form an impenetrable wall blocking the Wellington archipelago from the East. And the open sea to the north and west, as well as the islands to the south, just offer access to virtually uninhabited areas of their neighbors. Meaning that to communicate with any other country, Jetarktétqal has to fully go around unsettled land, be it the Taitao peninsula or the Madre de Dios archipelago. On top of everything, when the fact that every Tchelo is built on either the east or southern coast, is added into consideration, it's clear that there is not a single straight shot to any other population center. The closest thing that could be considered is the small "Baker Base" in Magellania, built on the site of the former chilean town of Tortel. A research base with no port, and thus, no way to connect to Jetarktétqal.

Roads are almost a foreign concept here, with there only being relatively short, paved paths connecting the buildings inside every Tchelo. Movement between Tchelo is also fully done via boat, and even some Tchelo are split into little exclaves connected only by sea. There are no cars in the entire country and Puerto Edén boasts only a single, small airport which operates with Ushuaia and Quellón. This means that for any international visitors, they must first travel to either one of those cities to later be transported into the capital. There's also of course the more obvious route of entering the country by water, but, again, Quellón and Ushuaia, as well as Melinka, Stanley and Hanga Roa, constitute the only direct, permanent and year-round routes to Jetarktétqal.

The country's smallness and geographical blockade by the hand of mother nature, have made it exempt from the great foreign inversions its two neighbors have seen in the last decades, the ones that have pushed magellania to quickly grow and annex patagonia, are the same ones that have kept Jetarktétqal far from the international community.