Ashes of Europe: 2034

You are a pedophile who has kept a 12-year-old girl named Kimi in captivity for about a year. While not an active member of the LOLI LOVERS society, you have walked this path. Kimi was purchased from slavers and is your property. She has resigned herself to her fate, offering no resistance and fulfilling all your demands, no matter how unpleasant. You feed her adequately and care for her hygiene and health, as she cost you a considerable sum. She is a slender, blue-eyed blonde, her hair cut into a bob by your hand. An electronic collar with a shock function is locked around her neck; if she strays more than 500 meters from the bracelet-transmitter you wear, it will stun her. She has never attempted to escape, knowing this, and considers you relatively kind compared to her past. You live in an abandoned farmstead, so you rarely fear the appearance of PEDO HUNTERS. Another quiet evening finds you sitting in an armchair, reading a book by candlelight. In the stove, the last embers crackle softly. Nearby, on the couch, Kimi lies on her stomach, propping her head up with her hand as she reads a pre-war manga from your collection, idly swinging her feet...

You are the leader of the LOLI LOVERS movement. At your disposal is the central military base that serves as your government. Your assets include: 1. Military hardware: several helicopters, armored personnel carriers, tank destroyers, reconnaissance vehicles, a hundred AI-controlled combat robots, and 2,500 drones used for reconnaissance, battlefield control, and as kamikaze units. 2. Manpower: three high commanders, each overseeing a hierarchy of approximately 500 personnel—engineers, mechanics, technicians, and various other specialists maintaining your valuable equipment. 3. Control over numerous farms, private homesteads, and small-scale production facilities. You also oversee the "Loli-Farm," a systematized breeding facility where compliant girls are raised to serve the needs of your brethren. Boys are reared for service and labor to support the collective goal. 4. A personal paradise: a secluded villa with all modern comforts and a private harem of lolis, curated to your taste, ready to serve you without limitation. 5. For the rank and file, you have established loli-brothels, accessible to any member for a full range of services.

The PEDO HUNTERS avoid open confrontation, but at each morning briefing, you receive fresh reports of their increasingly frequent raids. Your primary objective is to crush this resistance. Your free time is spent at your villa.

This morning, after an excellent sleep and a cup of scarce pre-war coffee, you enter the briefing room. Your command staff awaits, their faces etched with a concern deeper than usual...

You are a 12-year-old member of the resistance. After being held in slavery, your "stubborn" character led to you being given, six months ago, to a man with more refined tastes. He locked you in a basement, tethered to a chain. There, you learned things about your body you wish you never knew. You were raped for hours each day, tortured, violated in every orifice with various objects and toys. No part of you remained untouched—your body belonged to him, and he exploited every possible function. During another sleepless night, on the brink of losing your sense of self, he left you and went upstairs, locking the door as usual. Hours later, you were startled awake by the sounds of single gunshots and frantic footsteps above.

You didn't know whether to scream or hide, but anything seemed better than this. Taking a deep, shuddering breath, you screamed with all your remaining strength: "HEEEELP! Khh..."

The movement upstairs ceased. Then, footsteps approached the door. A key turned in the lock, the bolt clattered to the floor, and the door slowly creaked open, flooding the room with the harsh light of tactical flashlights. In the glare, you saw a silhouette, backlit by the light, with hair that seemed to glow. A clear, firm, youthful voice rang out: "Are you hurt? We're getting you out of here. Just hold on a little longer." It was a girl, accompanied by two others. They began a cautious descent into the basement, scanning the surroundings with their lights. You knew there were no traps—just you, sitting naked on a worn-out mattress, shamefully pressing yourself against the wall, trying to cover your intimate areas with a filthy blanket. In the corner sat a bucket-toilet with a lid, and next to you, an almost empty water bottle.

You are a 16-year-old female commander of a PEDO HUNTERS squad. Athletic and bearing the physical and psychological scars of prolonged abuse by multiple perpetrators, you possess above-average combat skills and weapon proficiency. Your record: 54 missions, 38 confirmed kills. A year ago, you escaped and encountered a PH patrol, joining their ranks. Occasionally, your eye twitches involuntarily, but you maintain control—your past is fuel for vengeance.

Your squad consists of three fighters: 1. Kim, 14, male. Black hair, average build. One year of experience, 32 missions, 12 kills. Moderate combat skills, high stress tolerance. Endured years of abuse from his stepfather. He sought out and joined PH to liberate others. Sometimes withdraws alone under the pretense of necessity; you know why but say nothing. 2. Sara, 12, female. Blonde with twin tails, thin but resilient. Skilled with firearms but clumsy in close combat; trains diligently. Two months in the organization, 6 missions, 1 kill. Survived an attempted rape by her own father, ran away, was captured by LOLI LOVERS scouts, and rescued by PH. Her determination and natural talent convinced command to train her. 3. Mary, 15, female. Mousy brown, disheveled hair. Excellent physical condition (can carry a 60kg wounded comrade for kilometers). Average combat skills. Never speaks of her past but exhibits extreme cruelty towards pedophiles. Record: 1.5 years, 54 missions, 69 kills.

Equipment: A mix of military and civilian gear, light body armor, kevlar helmets. Armament: Trophy AR-15 rifles, Glock pistols, homemade flashbangs, smoke grenades, tear gas, 5 kamikaze-capable drones, a crowbar, lockpicks, explosive charges. Transport: An 8-seat off-road vehicle.

Your squad's specialty: locating and eliminating isolated pedophiles and liberating their victims, primarily through night or dawn assaults on private homes.

September 14, 2034, 04:00. A light mist hangs in the air. You are on the outskirts of a village, at the fence of a target house. Intelligence indicates a 40-year-old pedophile resides here, holding three approximately 10-year-old girls captive. No lights are on inside, and there is no dog in the yard. Your vehicle is hidden half a kilometer away in a tree line.

You are a 4-year-old child raised on the Loli-Farm. It is the summer of 2032; the PEDO HUNTERS are just beginning to form, offering you no hope. You only know that children as young as four can be taken away. Your mother does not grieve excessively—she is sorry, but her choice is to live in this "paradise" in exchange for her children. You've heard stories that "daddies" returning from the war will finally take you home. Sometimes, two or three "daddies" come together. Occasionally, it's even families with children. So you wait, wondering who will come for you. Another sunny day finds you playing in the sandbox with other children. The air is warm, laughter fills the yard, but a deep, unshakable anxiety clings to you.

You witnessed the worst: the 2028-2030 war that destroyed the old world, the rise of LOLI LOVERS. You saw the mutilated bodies of children and were propositioned to join this world of sodomy, offered a chance to "touch" an eight-year-old girl. Then, things grew far worse—the war-ravaged, starving survivors became society's dregs; life held no value, and children were mere slaves and sex toys.

In 2032, you resolved to change this. Knowing the difficulty, you were prepared to dedicate your life to altering the fate of children. You traveled, seeking like-minded individuals, cautiously making contact with potential allies. You found two who convinced you they would see it through.

• Hans, 27. A former squad commander who miraculously survived a bomb that wiped out his unit. Upon trying to contact command, he discovered there was no command left—no country. Like you, he witnessed the ensuing horrors and sought allies. You met in a bar, sounding each other out on loyalty regarding pedophilia, and quickly realized you shared a path. He became your first ally.*
• Christian, 25. A former mercenary who refused jobs involving children. He lived freely but, upon seeing men without the bear insignia, approached and asked if they sold children. Reading their eyes, he discreetly passed a note with a meeting place. When you arrived, he was waiting. He said he understood who you were and was ready to join, asking only for food and shelter in return.*

Thus, a trio of experienced, concerned soldiers founded the resistance. They began searching for people untainted by the new "freedom" to restore order. Recruitment was agonizingly slow and dangerous; Christian's skills were invaluable. The new order suited almost everyone—access to children was a way to distract from the war's horrors and feel "alive." However, the first liberation operations bore fruit. Your trio's first mission was a night ambush on a small convoy, intelligence gathered in a bar. You felled a tree across the road; the strong wind provided plausible cover.

The minibus stopped. When the driver and guard exited, you shot them. Christian entered first, flashlight sweeping the interior—it held children and teens of various ages. Suddenly, a girl in the front row lunged, disarmed Christian with technical precision, and locked her legs around his neck in a chokehold. He raised his hands, unable to speak. You arrived just in time; she screamed she would kill him if you approached. Lowering your weapon, you tried to calm her: "We're the resistance. We save children."

She hesitated, then slowly released Christian. Gasping for air, he remarked, "This young lady is something else." She scrutinized your group distrustfully but realized you weren't with them—you had shot the guards.

"Do you... take volunteers?" she asked. You smiled. "We do. What's your name?" "Mara." "I'm {{user}}, leader of the resistance." "Make me a squad commander. And... my squad..." She shivered slightly, embarrassed, glancing back at the other children. In that moment, it clicked—the simple idea you had suppressed: Children are the weapon. Not cannon fodder, but a liberating force that multiplies itself—young, driven, full of righteous fury and a desire for justice. This would shift the balance of power. "Mara, you're in. And all who wish to join."

Thus, you found your third loyal commander—the youngest, most creative and witty, with incredible talent in close combat despite being a 17-year-old girl—and a motley group of 22 children aged 8 to 16. The older ones underwent accelerated training; the younger ones assisted in support roles but also trained.

Later, Mara presented you with a patch: a pink rabbit with X's for eyes and a noose around its neck, beneath the words PEDO HUNTERS. "This is us," she said, proud yet shy.

Two years on, much has changed. You successfully raid vulnerable outposts, liberate children. LOLI LOVERS respond slowly to your lightning strikes. You've kept casualties low, though every child lost on a mission is a heavy burden. But there is no other way—to protect children, you must use children.

August 11, 2034, 09:00. Temporary PH Headquarters. You are {{user}}, the leader of PEDO HUNTERS, the true scourge of pedophiles across post-Europe. Before you stand your trusted commanders. The agenda: planning the next strategic move. Small-scale missions are effective and cause chaos, but you want more—a decisive blow to the enemy's core. Your commanders have prepared their reports. Right now, you are writing history...

You are an 8-year-old child. For failing to meet work quotas, the labor camp you lived in gave you to the first bidder—a man in his forties named Victor. He wore large glasses, had a mustache, and an overly wide smile. He even promised you KUMA-Cola—a scarce drink you'd dreamed of tasting—along with toys and books (strictly rationed and protected in the camp). Hopeful, you climbed into the sidecar of his motorcycle, put on a helmet, and he took you "home."

The ride lasted about half an hour, ending at a modest brick house. Inside, the decor was cozy. "I have a secret headquarters. Want to see?" he asked. Your childish imagination soared, and you nodded eagerly. He moved a rug in the hallway, revealing a floor hatch. Flicking a switch, he illuminated a room below and gestured for you to enter. You eagerly peered down—a whole room! A colorful carpet, walls shimmering with multicolored lights from garlands. You dashed down the stairs.

It was paradise: a child's bed with cartoon-character blankets, shelves of comics, toy cars and guns, movable figurines of girls in exotic outfits from a sunken country (though you didn't know that). Gyrating lights danced on the walls. You squealed with delight, frozen, waiting for permission to explore. Victor smiled his widest smile yet: "Go ahead, play. I'll get the cola." He moved away from the hatch, and you immediately grabbed everything—toys, comics, overwhelmed.

Minutes later, Victor descended and closed the hatch behind him. In his hand was a frosty glass bottle; the label featured a cheerful teddy bear drinking cola. He placed it on a nightstand and handed you a bottle opener. "You can open it." Fumbling, you tried various angles, finally clamping the cold bottle between your knees for leverage. With a final clumsy twist, the cap and opener flew off, bouncing on the carpet as the bottle nearly slipped. You caught it with both hands, then inhaled the fizzy "smoke" escaping the neck before pressing it to your lips. Your eyes widened as the sweet, prickly, bubbling liquid hit your tongue. You laughed in shocked delight and took another gulp. Victor laughed too, watching you. "Good?" You nodded ecstatically, trembling with the bottle. "This is your base now. All these toys are yours."

You stared in amazement, taking in your new treasures. "Alright, look around. I'll get ready, and we'll 'play' together," he said, his smile widening further, his mustache twitching. He went back upstairs, and you returned to examining your sudden fortune.

You are a 12-year-old child. Your life began on the Loli-Farm until age 6, when your appearance led to your transfer to "advanced sexual education." Until age 8, you were intensively groomed and trained to please pedophiles. For the past three years, you've worked in a mini-brothel in a large settlement. You have friends who've walked similar paths. You have free time and a few hours of daily education—it's important to become a functional member of society after 18, when you'll no longer be of "interest." But from evening into night, you work. Your task is to satisfy every peculiar request and secret desire of your clients. Your goal is to save enough for your own home, to avoid homelessness in adulthood.

Conditions in the brothel are decent: a shared room with a close friend, a wardrobe of costumes and lingerie for cosplay, hygiene products, and adequate (though strict) nutrition to maintain a childlike figure. Compared to the outside world, it's paradise—purchased at the cost of your body and mental health. Some can't endure it and end their lives, but you are not one of them. You are full of hope and determined to see this path through.

Another shift begins. You await the first visitors, lining up for selection. It could be one person (not always male), a group, or a request for multiple children. For now, you sit in the lounge on a sofa, exchanging glances with your friends. They are dressed up with light makeup designed to accentuate childish features and conceal the traces of chronic stress...

You are an 18-year-old farmhand, a tractor driver... and a virgin. Your new friend, learning this, dragged you to a loli-brothel as a birthday gift, promising to pay. It's a large brick building with a neon sign depicting girls in suggestive dresses coyly smiling. Inside, a spacious foyer and lounge where girls of various ages lounge on sofas in semi-revealing outfits; even a couple of boys in short shorts with pretty, androgynous faces make their gender ambiguous at first glance.

Your knees tremble as some girls glance and smile at you. Your friend claps your shoulder: "Don't freeze up. Everyone has a first time. Come on." He nudges you forward toward the Madam—a woman in her thirties dressed more conservatively but not without suggestion. As you shuffle nervously into the lounge under the collective gaze, your friend leans toward the Madam and whispers: "Need a girl for my friend here to 'deflower him properly.' Make it memorable, with foreplay and all that."

A shiver runs through you. Your palms and forehead sweat; your cheeks burn; your body tenses. You wish to vanish or bolt from this place immediately. The Madam gives you an appraising look, then tells your friend: "I have one. An expert in 'bud-opening.'" She smiles intriguingly and nods toward one of the girls—appearing around 12, blonde hair to her shoulders, a kind gaze with soft features, a slightly upturned nose, and blue eyes. She glances shyly between you and the Madam.

"Bunny, come here. Let them see you." She rises gracefully and approaches, looking at your friend and then at you. Your friend stands beside you, hand on your shoulder. "Well? Do you like her?"

You are an urban explorer ("digger"), scavenging the ruins of a city destroyed in the war. Few engage in this due to scarce food and high collapse risks for novices. You primarily seek clothing, electronics (undamaged by EMP), household items, and other pre-war artifacts to sell. Your dream is to find a domestic android to ease your life at home.

Today's expedition aims deeper into the city core. You parked and hid your motorcycle in a ravine at the city's edge and set off along a known route for efficiency.

While navigating a rubble pile, you entered a store to cut through to another street. There, you froze—facing you was a girl, standing motionless, having just dropped a stuffed rabbit from her hand. She appeared around 12 years old. Her dirty, ash-brown hair was cut in a bob. She wore a warm shirt, a denim vest with pockets, nearly empty backpack, short shorts, and hiking sneakers. A small utility knife was sheathed on her belt. Your professional eye instantly assessed her poorly suited gear and high risk of injury or death here. She hadn't yet drawn a weapon (you saw no other armament besides the knife). You stare at each other assessingly, awaiting the next move.

You are a 10-year-old child. You lived in a labor camp after your parents abandoned you. One evening returning from your shift, someone grabbed you from behind, pressing a damp cloth over your mouth and nose...

You wake in darkness, strapped at an angle to a medical-style table. Your limbs are spread and secured. You are naked; your skin feels the cool, drafty air. It smells of metal and dampness.

Suddenly, lights flicker on—the harsh, buzzing glare of fluorescent lamps assaults your eyes. As your vision adjusts, you see five adult men standing silently around you, wearing only underwear and smiling rabbit masks. Then you notice the shelves lining the walls: one side holds construction tools—whips, belts, handcuffs; the other is piled with vibrators, dildos, monstrous silicone phalluses like from horror films. Worst are the medical trolleys—scalpels, clamps, saws, syringes, vials of unknown drugs, catheters, and more. Primal terror strikes you; danger emanates from everything in this room. You want to close your eyes and wake in your camp bunk...

You have only one goal now: survive and escape.