Tennessee Forever

1298-miles West, November 1st, 7:01 a.m. CST — Chihuahuan Desert, Valentine, Texas

Three black aerial drones hovered motionlessly next to each other over the vast, undulating terrain of the Chihuahuan desert. The leftmost drone named Susanoo 9-0, was a large box-shaped drone equipped with a supercomputer and two massive propellers. The middle drone, Zeus 202, was sleek and nimble, functioning as a high-speed camera. The rightmost, Thor 44, was small and diamond-shaped, featuring a mini diamond-shaped hole in its center.

With fluid grace, Zeus 202 drifted upward and backward, its front camera lens opening to capture footage of the two drones in front of it. Moments later, a deep, commanding voice echoed from the twin speakers on its side panels.

"Howdy folks," the deep voice echoed. "I'm Texas Governor J.W. Van Horndon, and today, I'm proud to usher in a new era of technology. The great state of Texas has partnered with the U.S. Army and the National Technology & Meteorology Institute to combat global warming and the proliferation of dangerous storms. Thanks to the remarkable work of Meteorologist Dr. Francis Cline and Computer Scientist Dr. Grace Rivest, we've reached a crucial milestone. Now, I'll hand it over to Dr. Cline."

"Thank you, Governor, and greetings esteemed guests," Dr. Cline began," Today, we're here to unveil an extraordinary system known as ETi, an acronym for Extrema Tempestas Imperium, which translates from Latin to 'extreme weather control.' As we embark on this demonstration, I'll be at the helm of the camera drone, Zeus, while my esteemed colleague, Dr. Rivest, will take charge of the storm generation drone, Susanoo. We're also fortunate to have Army Warrant Officer Harold Brashaer at the controls of the target drone, Thor. Now, with all elements in place and anticipation in the air, let's proceed without further ado and officially commence our demonstration of the world's very first ETi system."

The immense propellers beneath Susanoo kicked into high gear, rapidly stirring a massive cloud of dust and gravel until there was sufficient force to launch the gigantic drone into the sky. Trailing closely behind were Thor and Zeus. After ascending to an altitude of around 1,200 feet, Susanoo came to a standstill and settled into a hovering position within the clear, cloudless sky.

"9-0, ready for phase 1," echoed Dr. Rivest's voice from Susanoo's speakers.

"Commence with phase 1," Dr. Cline commanded, as he zoomed Zeus's camera closer in on Susanoo.

"Phase 1 commencing," she replied.

Thousands of tiny holes on Susanoo's sides began to gently release a fine mist into the air and a wispy veil of smoke began to take shape around the drone. In mere moments, this wispy smoke had grown into a substantial cloud, effectively obscuring the colossal drone from sight. The lower section of the cloud darkened as it began to rotate, giving birth to a long, ominous vortex in the sky.

1,168 miles East, 7:11 a.m. CST — Capitol Hill, Nashville, Tennessee

"Well, I'll be darned," muttered Governor Beau Doxon as he rose from his chair. A tall, robust man with gray hair and piercing eyes, he cut an imposing figure. "That bastard's gone and done it. Are we recording this?"

"Indeed," replied Lieutenant Governor Cyan Carson, gesturing toward the red dot flashing in the corner of the TV screen. It broadcast live footage of a demonstration in the Chihuahuan Desert.

"Good. I've got an emergency meeting to attend. Send a copy of this to my private email. I need to see what that darned demon box is capable of."

"Certainly, sir."

Exiting the conference room, Governor Doxon entered the hallway, where two metro police officers and his secretary, Jeanette Underwood, awaited him.

"Would you like a briefing before heading in?" Jeanette whispered, her hand resting on the handle of his office door.

"No, I'm sure Nolan will give me everything I need," he replied. With a confident stride, he passed her and entered the room with a hearty, "Good afternoon."

Taking his seat behind the desk, he swiftly surveyed the two people before him. To his right sat Commissioner and Tennessee Homeland Security Advisor Nolan A. Green, an older, wiry Caucasian man in a sharp blue suit and red tie. To his left was Tennessee National Guard Adjutant General Rebecca Wainwright, a stern-faced woman with cropped blond hair, wearing her Army uniform with precision.

"It's a pleasure to see you again, Governor," Wainwright said, her tone formal.

"I wish I could say the same, General. But it seems like we only meet under crisis circumstances."

"Yes, sir, and unfortunately, today is no exception."

"Earlier this morning," Commissioner Green began, "we received word from the Department of Defense about a critical incident. A military train transporting advanced weaponry was ambushed and derailed while passing through Chattanooga. The attackers not only seized several weapons but also managed to escape with an attack helicopter."

Governor Doxon's eyes widened, his voice sharp with disbelief. "A whole helicopter? How in the hell does that happen, Nolan?"

Green sighed, his tone measured. "The attackers were highly organized, Governor. They had the knowledge and resources to execute a plan like this in broad daylight."

Doxon pinched the bridge of his nose, muttering under his breath before looking back up. "Do we know who we're dealing with here?"

"We have a lead," Green said cautiously. "Initial FBI reports suggest that witnesses identified the attackers as teenagers linked to what appears to be a street gang. However, given the level of coordination involved, we suspect this could be the work of a highly intelligent terrorist organization operating under the guise of a street gang."

Doxon froze, lowering his hand. "Teenagers?" he repeated, his voice low with disbelief. "You're telling me a bunch of kids pulled off a heist on the U.S. military? And got away with an attack helicopter?"

"It appears that way," Green said, his voice steady but grim.

"What could they possibly do with something like that?"

General Wainwright leaned forward. "Resale is the most likely motive, either to domestic or international buyers. But we can't rule out the possibility of them planning something larger—especially given the level of sophistication in the attack."

Green nodded. "The FBI has even recommended deploying military support in key areas until the stolen items are recovered."

Doxon let out a dry laugh, shaking his head. "Deploying troops? Oh, that's rich. Let's panic the entire state while we're at it, right? Have people thinking we're on the brink of World War III." He exhaled sharply, then straightened up. "No, that's not the solution—not yet. We need to keep this quiet. I want a joint task force on this immediately. FBI, Memphis PD, and anyone else who can get the job done without drawing too much attention. Track these kids down fast and discreetly. Do you understand?"

Green and Wainwright exchanged glances before nodding.

"Crystal clear, Governor," Green said.

"Good," Doxon replied, his voice firm. "Because if word gets out that teenagers are flying around with an attack helicopter, we'll have a hell of a lot more to deal with than stolen weapons. Let's get to work."

216-miles West, 7:37 a.m. CST — Arnel's Furniture Warehouse, South Memphis, Tennessee

Upon the time-worn loading docks of an abandoned warehouse, sixteen African American men stood in silence with their eyes glued to the horizon. The group was composed of a variety of tough-looking men, most of whom were covered in tattoos, balaclavas, and half-dead expressions. Despite the warehouse's dilapidated state, it boasted a massive brick structure with over 21 loading bays, two spacious parking lots, and a detached four-door garage, all surrounded by a dense thicket of trees that kept the outside world at bay.

A murmur of excitement began to spread throughout the men as they watched the headlights of four approaching semi-trucks appear down the road. One by one, the trucks rolled into the warehouse and reversed their trailers into the bays.

Woo Baby and Lul Demon hopped out of the first truck with belts of ammunition strapped around their chest like banditos. They made their way to the back of the truck and unlocked its trailer doors for all the men on the docks to see.

"They want war," Woo Baby announced, shining a flashlight inside the trailer, revealing a bladeless AH-64 Apache attack helicopter surrounded by crates of weapons and ammunition. "Let's give 'em war then!"

A sense of victory swept over the men gathered on the docks, igniting a fervor of joy that manifested into daps, hugs, and complex handshakes.

Further down the docks, Diamonte and Big Spooky stood shoulder to shoulder outside the trailer doors of the fourth semi-truck.

"It's just a truck, fam," Big Spooky whispered, nudging Diamonte's shoulder.

"Yeah, but it was my truck."

"Look, if you need some time—"

"I need some time."

"Say less fam," Big Spooky replied, before turning and joining the crowd at the other end of the dock.

Diamante entered the darkened trailer and maneuvered through a maze of crates until he was standing before the twisted remains of his cherished GMC Sierra. Closing his eyes, he drew in a deep, contemplative breath and reflected, "All in all, it was a win." Then suddenly, the image of America's deep green eyes and long black hair flashed across his mind and a faint smirk played on his lips. "A win is a win."

321-miles East, 3:21 p.m. EST — Pond of Tears and Gratitude, Elder Mountain, Tennessee

As the afternoon sun hung high in the sky, its golden rays cascaded over the tranquil scene before it—a vast pond surrounded by a towering forest. The sunbeams danced upon the water's surface, casting shimmering reflections that painted the pond in liquid light. The forest's lofty trees stood as silent guardians, their canopies forming an amber crown that seemed to touch the heavens, offering sanctuary to the secrets held within.

At the heart of this serene oasis lay a captivating surprise—a large pavilion that appeared to float upon the water's glassy expanse. Its white columns and intricate lattice work were bathed in the gentle embrace of sunlight, creating an ethereal spectacle. To the unsuspecting eye, it seemed as though this pavilion defied gravity, suspended effortlessly on the pond's surface. Yet, those who ventured closer would soon discover the pond's enchanting secret; it was so shallow that one could stroll across it as if walking on water.

Gathered within the floating structure, a group of eleven Native Americans had come together, dressed resplendently in their traditional native attire. Their garments, adorned with intricate beadwork and rich earthy tones, paid homage to their ancestral heritage. Each member of this esteemed assembly radiated a deep sense of wisdom and reverence, their eyes holding the knowledge of generations past and the promise of those yet to come.

"The Nectans have arrived," Tsistunagiska "Sky" Bylily announced to the group as she glanced over her shoulder at the distant treeline. Sky was the chief of the Hollow clan. Her hair was long and black with a solitary silver bang that hung over her left eye. Next to her sat her daughter and heir Keyki Bylily, who like her mother, had painted crisscrossing lines across her jawline in a traditional Monsoon pattern.

Ana came galloping out of the forest atop a dark brown and white American Paint horse named Yona. She was flanked by a group of skilled riders that consisted of her cousins Seneca and Taregan on two Tennessee Walking horses, the A-sig-na's reserved but observant fourth captain Unega Haize atop his elegant Akhal-Teke horse, and As-sig-na senior operative Lando Haize mounted on a noble Warmblood horse.

Holding the rear, America trotted across the bank of the pond atop her faithful steed Atohi. Riding alongside her was her cousin, Kachine Maize, mounted on a sleek Morgan horse.

Ana brought Yona to a halt before the edge of the pond, dismounted, and passed her horse's reins to Seneca.

"Are you ready?" Ana hollered back at America, as she removed her shoes and handed them over to Taregan.

"Can I go home if I say no?" America replied, ripping her shoes off and tossing them back towards the treeline, sending Kachine racing after them.

"Of course not."

"Well, I'm ready then."

Unega removed a leather garment bag from his horse's saddle and handed it to Taregan. She carried the bag over to Ana, laid it over Yona's saddle, unzipped it, and slowly removed a beautiful black fur coat. Taregan laid the coat over Ana's shoulders and took a step back to bow in unison with the rest of the group.

While America refrained from bowing, she lowered her gaze in respect. The revered garment draped across her mother's shoulders was known as Uganodaaeha Waya'tso, or simply the chief's coat. Like a royal crown, it was the physical embodiment of her clan's power and dignity. America had seen her mother wear it countless times, but it always stirred a sense of unease within her. Perhaps it was the coat's age or its inky darkness, which seemed impervious to light. She couldn't quite pinpoint the source of her unease. When she was younger, the coat had haunted her dreams, and now, the thought of one day wearing it herself, when it was her turn to lead as chief, filled her with nothing but dread.

"Shake a leg, Mare!" Ana shouted, breaking through her daughter's train of thought.

America ran down the bank and sprinted across the water. By the time she caught up with her mother, she was already halfway across the pond. A sense of anticipation hung heavy in the air as the group watched Ana and America stroll across the surface of the water hand in hand, eventually vanishing in the distance behind the sheer curtains of the floating pavilion.