Whoa...What a wait! Sorry I was on holiday to the United States...And my usual backup was busy and unable to pick it up. So that explains it. And if any of you care, your Uncle JJZ did have a marvelous time! Why thank you for asking. Anyway, let's get this story rolling again! It hasn't just been my fault, where the hell've you all been? Anyway, to give it a nice healthy kickstart I gave it some classic JJZ (Stylized violence and action) Also there's a bit of an insight as to what the Prideland Civil War was like. With a bit of a Tarantino flavor.

Lord of Beef Dip: Cheers m8, and yeah I really tried with the history. Helps with realism. Yep, you're right, it was him:)

Haradion: History should make you shudder then too, because this is tamer, and its also fictitious as opposed to real events.

Scbenson: Wait...and read.

Avery: Of course, but I'd rather not list them all here. Michael Mando for Kovu, Cristoph Waltz for Heckler, to name a couple.

Cheers: JJZ-109

CHAPTER 35. THE SHADOWLANDS

Rural Pridelands, 37 Miles Northwest of Prideland City

Time: 0338

Year: Mid 2015

Six dark silhouettes slowly moved through the moonlight. There was one small vehicle, rolling effortlessly with a quiet hum, and behind it, five male human figures plodded along, one step at a time, shuddering, with the vapors of their breath in the cold Winter air steaming out of their faces. They were all shackled at the feet, and the chains linked up to the tow bar on the rear of the vehicle they tailed. They were prisoners, wearing a thin jumpsuit only in the -2 degree weather. They didn't even have footwear, trudging through the mud and rare snow barefoot. Meanwhile, their captors rode in the comfort of their vehicle.

Through the cold and barren land they trod, surrounded by leafless trees, boulders and dirt. There wasn't even proper snow this year to pretty it up. It seemed everything was making the Pridelands become uglier and uglier. The once-prosperous Capital city looked like a post-apocalyptic Detroit. The deteriorated economy had seen several shops go out of business, and several others were forced out once their owners were imprisoned; leaving their stores and lots all boarded up and deserted. Blood soaked the streets from the violence. First from the riots and their over-brutal control, but then from conflict. Roadside bombs started detonating. Defiance from locals then started to bubble, with random unprovoked shootings against SRP officials taking place. The City had become more dangerous then East Side ever was, and looked in just a bad a state.

If the street violence was enough of a task for Scar's Privateers to contain, then they were even more shocked once the attacks started to show signs of organization. Weapon and supply convoys started to be intercepted, and the efficiency of attacks greatly increased, leaving whole platoons and battle groups decimated. One group had no issue letting Scar's government know about their defiance. They started as a small band of ex-military thugs, calling themselves 'Delta-Four', but again it escalated. A whole faction arose, in defiance to Scar. It was the 'Prideland Resistance Front'. Their goal was to restore the country to its previous state. But as noble and peaceful as that sounded, they were violent. They left no survivors in attacks, and if by some chance they took one prisoner, they would brand and release him.

In 2013 it escalated from uprising to full-scale warfare, with the first set-piece battle taking place between the PRF and Scar's army, and it ended a decisive victory for the Rebels. They were armed unusually well, with American weapons. And for some reason they could seem to read Scar's every move. With a little help from the inside, of course. The battle left the Borderlands (An old, cultural area that used to beautiful) scarred permanently, and over 500 dead on Scar's side. The TIME photo of the year also came from that fight, with a group of PRF rebels raising the old Pridelander flag over a mound while battle raged behind them. It was almost identical to the Iwo-Jima flag-raising picture from 70 years before.

The image truly opened the eyes of the world to the horrors the country was experiencing, and soon the UN and NATO started proposing interventions. Scar did every possible thing he could to prevent that, copping international sanction after sanction. It may be too late to stop the Americans from standing against him, but the world was the last thing he needed. He had enough things to worry about as it was. His ridiculous military spending (unfortunately the only way to defeat the PRF) was causing famine, and severe economic recession. Even freeing up the Camps wasn't helping.

More and more prisoners were flowing in. And a Prison Camp is where our Five prisoners are headed. They carried on throughout the night, slowly and painfully.

Suddenly the vehicle in front of them pulled to a halt. The action shocked the prisoners back to a fully conscious state, as before, they had dazed. All they knew for the past few hours was 'Left foot...right foot...left...right...left...' - the only thing they need worry about. It had become more than a pattern...a reflex. They couldn't stop walking if they wanted to. Now they had.

One prisoner leant to the side a little to see what the hold up was, peering around the edge of the vehicle. Two SRP officers in standard black uniform stood firmly in front of the vehicle, with a hand raised, signaling for them to halt.

"What the hell's going on?" The driver of the vehicle shouted to them. "Identify yourselves!" He called again.

The prisoner rolled his eyes as he watched the confusion Typical SRP military disorganization. The Prideland Military was something to be proud of when he was in service. Nothing could have prepared him for what happened next, though.

The two officers exchanged glances, and suddenly drew UZIs. RATATATATATANG! They spayed the windshield of the vehicle, killing both the driver and the soldier beside him, sending blood splattering across the hole-riddled glass. Soon the next two SRP soldiers jumped out of the vehicle, weapons bared.

It dawned on the prisoner what was going on. It was an ambush. He couldn't help but smile. He loved watching those bastards die. But the fight was on now, the two supporting SRP soldiers had rifles. But not for long.

BANG, BANG! Two pistol shots rang out, and both of them dropped to the floor, clutching their shoulders. Before they had time to even think about getting to their feet again, the convoy was surrounded. The soldiers didn't even consider reaching for their guns again.

The prisoner wasn't sure to be scared or impressed. Another, quieter sound echoed throughout the dead forest. It was the sound of hands being clapped. A figure then stepped out of the shadows, holding a doughnut in his mouth, and clapping his hands slowly. He casually stepped over, taking the snack with his right hand, while chewing normally. Once the moonlight revealed his face, the prisoner couldn't help but beam happiness. He was in the presence of a rebel icon.

"Round 'em up boys." He ordered, his sapphire eyes looking over the remnants. On cue, one of the SRP uniformed rebels grabbed both wounded Privateers and forced them to their knees before his leader.

"Good work lads. Couldn't have done it better myself. And for fuck's sake Rex, lose the damn uniform. You're making me feel like a bad guy." Matthew 'Mheetu' Weaver said loudly. He then looked down to face his two captives. Tears streamed down their face as they shuddered in fear. He couldn't help but chortle.

"Hang on fellas, I'll be with ya in minute." Weaver called down to the shackled prisoners, who just stood on the spot, frozen in shock.

"Alright my good men, I'm afraid we haven't met before. Do you know my name?" He said to the two Privateers. They both nodded quickly. He was the most feared man in Scar's ranks.

" C-cowboy Matt Weaver..." One stuttered. The whole group of rebels laughed.

"Cowboy? Now that's a new one. But you guys can call me Matt...Pleasure to meet you gentlemen." Weaver said, and shook both of their hands, making sure it was the one of the wounded side, and grinned when he saw the pain he inflicted.

"Alright fellas I got a real treat for you. I'm offering you a special deal, and it's something like this. There's a convoy of trucks scheduled to leave East Side tomorrow night, and I wanna know where's a good place to throw them a surprise party, capiche? You give me that and you can walk home tonight. Sound good?" Weaver proposed optimistically, looking at each of them, to see their reaction.

The first, younger soldier shuddered into a nod, while the other made no motion, just kneeling there with eyes bulging.

"Alright so one of ya are in the deal. What about you Chief?" Weaver stared the older Privateer down.

He composed himself, taking a gulp, before clearing his throat and speaking.

"I cannot betray my country like that...And put my brothers' lives in danger. I respectfully refuse sir...I mean...Matt." The Privateer Sergeant said unusually firmly, given how frightened he was.

Mheetu Weaver's casual expression faded. He sighed, nodding slowly.

"Your country...Where you born, man?" Weaver asked.

"Northam City, Pridelands." The Sergeant responded.

"Right...right. Nice town. And where did you attend school?" Weaver continued.

"Prideland City Modern School."

"Ooh, fortunate bastard. And when was all this?"

"I was born in '79 and graduated in '97." The sergeant told him.

"Right...So you were born in The Prideland Kingdom, and went to school in it, lived in it, so that makes you a Pridelander. You see this?" Weaver gestured to the patch on his jacket. It was the old blue, green and white Pridelander flag. The sergeant nodded.

"Okay. That is the flag of the Pridelands. Your country. However...the uniform you wear...Belongs to The Socialist Republic of the Pridelands. Known to the rest of the world as 'Shadowlands'. The country that killed your homeland. The one that broke centuries of tradition and prosperity, the one thats killing itself slowly. The one I'm giving you the opportunity to restore back. Now forget the benefits of giving me a hand, you heard of The Swift Yank?"

"Yes...he's an American dissident that beats SRP soldiers with a Cricket bat, then feeds them to his Rottweiler" The sergeant responded, filtering the fear out of his voice.

"Okay. And you see that little hill there, opposite the trail?" Weaver gestured behind him with a gentle flick of the head.

"Yes."

"The Swift Yank is on other side of that, and if you still 'respectfully refuse'...I'm calling him over. Capiche?" Weaver said threateningly.

The Privateer sergeant cleared his throat.

"A true patriot sticks by his country through the good and bad times, through King or Republic. So here's my answer...Fuck you." Weaver recoiled in surprise at the burst of courage.

"...And your band of cowboys!" The soldier said, looking around. Weaver nodded to himself, before taking another bite of his doughnut.

The D4/PRF boys jeered in response.

"...You know I was kinda hoping you would say that. Watching Swifty beat you bastards is the closest we ever get to watching un-government censored movies." Weaver said, swallowing another bite.

"SWIFTY!"

"Yeah?" An American accented voice called out from behind the small hill.

"I got Patriotic son a' bitch here that wants to die for his country. Oblige him." Weaver said, dusting off his hands and taking a seat on a small boulder on the side of the road.

A D4 rebel shoved the Privateer sergeant forward into the middle of the road. He then knelt upright and braced himself, staring at that hill blankly.

Tap...

Tap...

Tap...

He heard the sound of skin lightly hitting against wood, then slowly the crunching of footsteps on fallen leaves...His stomach churned violently.

(Rabbia E Tarantella Theme)

The footsteps and tapping became louder and louder, and soon a head appeared over the small rise. Followed by a scowling face, and a extremely broad and muscular pair of shoulders, tattooed on both sides. The Privateers' hearts sank.

More and more of his body kept appearing. Shit, the man was at least seven feet tall! Held over his shoulder was an old and stained cricket bat, probably stolen before Scar banned the game in the Pridelands. And in his left hand, was a thick metal chain...tied around an equally intimidating Rottweiler, with its teeth bared and drool sliding down its chin.

(Rabbia E Tarantella)

The D4 rebels cheered loudly, whistling. Even Weaver managed a few claps between bites of his snack.

He was an African-American by birth, one of the few of his nationality to escape Scar's government. The Sergeant was so used to looking down on Americans and transporting them to Camps, and now here was, completely belittled by the mere presence of one.

Using the cricket bat, he pointed out the SRP armband on the Sergeant.

"Get the color from all the blood you've soaked up?" Swifty asked in a raspy voice.

"It represents the power of a nation." The Sergeant whispered, not making eye contact.

Swifty then brushed the bat against his cheek, lining up for the strike. The Privateer closed his eyes. He pulled the bat back behind his shoulder, and gritted his teeth...Before swinging the weapon across him at full power.

WHACK!

The bat shattered under the power, sending shards of wood and drops of blood flying everywhere.

A crunching of some sorts was heard, as the bloodied soldier flopped back onto the ground.

"Ooh!" The rebels exclaimed cheerfully.

Swifty held the remains of the bat into the air and cheered.

"TIMMY FUCKIN' SWAFORD HITS IT FOR SIX!" He screamed out, and the D4 boys cheered ruthlessly.

He then dropped the broken bat and looked over the body of the Privateer, shaking his head. What a mess...He then unchained the dog.

"Go on boy...Mangia mangia." The dog then sprung forward and finished him off.

The other Privateer's eyes bulged. He felt like vomiting.

"What about you, you still up for the deal?" Weaver turned to him.

He wasted no time in nodding. The group laughed at such a fearful reaction.

"Good, good. So you're helping us. But there's a catch. You walk home free tonight...We have to give you something to take home." Weaver said and pulled out a small penknife. "Once a Shadowlander, Forever a Shadowlander. Hold 'em down boys." Weaver said, as the Privateer was forced onto his back. A hand was clapped onto his mouth to stop him from screaming.

Slowly but surely, Weaver carved the words onto his forehead. Tears streamed down the Privateer's face as he did so.

SHADOWLANDS

FREEDOM, FOREVER!

Scar examined the scars on the young Privateer's face, much worse than his own. The site of it made his blood boil. Weaver and his PRF were going too far. They had already torn his country into two, and his hit and run tactics were driving his military insane. Now he was attempting to get at the hearts of all loyalists, and send figurative middle fingers to Scar himself.

"...And they told me, once a Shadowlander always a Shadowlander." The Privateer repeated the words from several nights ago.

Tojo raised his eyebrows. He hoped that he wouldn't ever run into the likes of D4 or the PRF. He had been relatively sheltered throughout the instability.

Scar sighed loudly, stopping himself from punching the wall.

"Why did they let you go?" He finally asked.

"They said I was a message to the rest of the country, and I would better spread it alive." The Privateer lied. He knew why he was let go. Luckily Weaver had been 'kind enough' to supply him a cover story for his assistance.

I thought so. Scar thought and nodded.

"You spread one word of detail I'll have you shot myself. Your group was ambushed, you got away. That's the end of it. Wear headwear at all times, understand? Hide those marks." Scar instructed him.

"Yes sir." The Privateer responded.

"Good, you're dismissed." Scar finished his interview and the soldier got to his feet, before saluting. Scar didn't even bother returning it. He just slumped down onto his office chair, and put his head in his hands.

Soon, the door opened again, and Marcus Imani stepped through.

"My leader...we have something important to discuss. We have found away of drawing the money to end this war. And...solving a few other problems." Imani got straight to the point. He wanted this war, oppression induced madness to cease as much as anyone else. And maybe setting the country stable again could do that.

Scar didn't need to be told twice, he stood up and followed him straight to the Omega One command room. Many of Scar's top people were gathered there, waiting for him. He studied them, but was suddenly interrupted.

"Your coffee, sir." A young female voice said softly. Scar turned to see Nala, wearing her usual skimpy maid's uniform.

She had grown up fast. From a little girl when he first took power, she was now a young woman. A great looking one at that, Scar couldn't help subtly looking her over as he took the drink and plate. Her golden hair burned against the relatively dim background of the Command Room, and her exposed legs gleamed. There was something funny about her though. Those sapphire eyes held so many secrets, and something else...That Scar couldn't put a finger on. The gaze felt sinisterly familiar, and it wasn't the 'Sarafina era' sort of familiar. Something a bit more recent.

"Thank you." He said quickly and shooed her away.

He heard the door open and close behind him, and Tojo walked in to join the meeting. He assumed Nala left when he heard the door shut again.

He was wrong.

Woohoo that was some fun to write. There's a lot going on here, so I hope you caught it all. Many of you will guess what will result of that last part...And I want to see it! A lot of movies were referenced in this chapter, let's see if you can spot any. And take a guess who that mysterious prisoner at the start is? Anyway I hope you enjoyed Matthew Weaver's first appearance since TLK1, and D4's first since TLK2. Shone a bit of light on their history...Anyway don't forget to leave a review! They're motivation.

This has been JJZ-109, and as always...Have a nice day.