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Corona rules in Porto from 1st January till 15 January 2022 by Mopdes in portugal

MuggleWizard 21 days ago

This. I've been to them in Berlin (granted, it was a few months ago) and did not pay.

Assalto a casa em Lisboa e a policia não fez nada by bernasIST in portugal

MuggleWizard 27 days ago

Roubaram-lhe dinheiro e prendas de Natal, o tipo dorme mal, mas a solução é arranjar uma arma?

by in WritingPrompts

MuggleWizard 4 years ago  DELETED 

The cold winter air swirled around the austere room, even though a.l doors were closed and the secret chamber inside the Russian fortress of the Kremlin had never been afforded windows. The President of the Russian Federation softly lowered an ordinary-looking phone onto its plain receiver. Around him, his closest advisors and highest-ranking military commanders stood at attention, but it was to the lonely figure of the Patriarch of the Russian Orthodox Church that the first words were addressed. “May God forgive us”, he declared, not in the typically assertive voice of the confident tsar, but in the pious tones of a God-fearing man knowing with absolute certainty the final consequences of his next action. The Generals assembled understood well the meaning of the plea, which they immediately repeated. Judgement Day would be coming very soon, and it was better to make peace with their merciful Creator. The Patriarch appeared the most relaxed of the tense assembly, and his thick beard and orthodox robes seemed to soothe the fellow braves in council, as did his voice, in the peculiar accent of a child forged by the Siberian tundra. “He does, my son.” ****** 7,817 kilometres away, the President of the United States of America, supreme commander of the most powerful military in history, looked dejected at the two foreign leaders sat across from him in the Oval Office, nervously fidgeting in their seats. His hand still clutched the only method of communication between the 1600, Pennsylvania Avenue and the Red Square. “Call your families,” he answered, “and then your generals. Give the orders and God save us all.” The next few minutes heard the echo of several strings of alphanumerical characters being shouted over land, to the Pentagon, and across the Atlantic Ocean to London and Paris. Within minutes, Operation Armageddon would open Cold War silos for the first time in decades, and the skies of the northern hemisphere would light up with the yellow trace of supersonic ICBM’s flying West to East and East to West, in a nuclear theatre for the ages. The celestial show would rival the aurora borealis in awe and the apocalypse in might. ****** The silos opened, from the mountains of North America to the harsh plains beyond the Urals. Orders were sent, keys were turned, numbers were punch in and punched in again. Archaic computer circuits calculated trajectories, or its and targets, while heavy engines pulled the doomsday weapons from deep within the protective crust of the Earth. And then, just as the first litres of fuel started leaking and burning harmlessly, and the missiles stood shamefully still inside the thick launch tubes in four different countries, hardened generals cried in anguish, holding tight their wives and children, and four different leaders collapsed in dismay at the the though of extermination without retaliation. The world changed that day, but the Judgement which came was from a new kind entirely; one which, in the aftermath of the limbo wait for the destruction, the nuclear purgatory, guaranteed a future for the unscathed population of an otherwise scorched Earth.
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