House of Sosta


Our story begins with a relationship that, at first glance, seemed perfect, promising, epic, and far deeper than anyone could have predicted.

Passionce, Empress of Poland, carried a secret from her past. A memory blurred by pain and smoke. A moment where her life had almost ended… and someone had saved it.

That someone was Sosa Sosta, the infamous American warlord, the blonde, and, white anomaly born from Colombian slaves, feared and loved in equal measure.

First Meeting 
It was a cold night in Lviv.
Bombs screamed overhead, bullets stitched through the air, and the bodies of NPC soldiers lay scattered across the plazas. On one side of the city, Kisuke clashed with Aduch in yet another legendary duel.

On the other, the Chilean and American brigades were being stalled by a sniper team entrenched in a ruined block.

Despite warnings of an unsafe airspace, Sosa ignored them. He trusted his skill. He knew what he was doing.

He dove in, unleashing an airstrike with Godma’s newest bombing models, powerful, devastating, but heavy and lacking stealth. The block vanished under fire and debris.

Then the sky answered back.

A phantom missile, (crafted by the Ghost of Forest), tore through the night and struck Sosa’s aircraft. The tanky Godma model held for a moment, then failed.

Sosa ejected.

As he parachuted down, the burning city below reflecting in his visor, he saw her:
A girl with purple hair, lying unconscious, a faint smile somehow still on her face. A steel rod pierced her leg.

He landed hard but alive.
He approached her.

He didn’t know her name.
He didn’t know her future.
He just saw someone who wasn’t supposed to die that night.

Sosa pulled the metal from her leg, bandaged her wound, and tried to stabilize her breathing. All around them, Polish voices grew louder, rescue teams or recovery squads.

A retreat order hit his walkie talkie.

He looked at the girl one last time, the only spark of beauty and hope in a land stripped of both, then forced himself to leave.

Devine intervention 
Passionce awoke hours later among rubble and dust.
The last thing she remembered was the metal ripping through her leg and the world fading into white pain.

Her wound was wrapped.
The bleeding had stopped.
Someone had saved her.

But she had no idea who.

Months passed.
And the identity of her savior blurred into mystery.

Revelation 
Against all odds, Passionce rose to power.
She became the first female President of Poland, the second female president in the entire history of the game (after Marina of the USA.)

When Sosa saw her appear on television, delivering hope to a nation that had forgotten what hope felt like, he froze.
The same smile.
The same face he had seen under the burning sky of Lviv.

He had saved her.

And she didn’t know.

Passionce herself wondered every night who had bandaged her, who had dragged her back from death’s door. She never expected the truth to come from the other side of the world.

The Truth Comes forward 
It happened at an international summit months later.

Polish officials gathered in a glass hall filled with diplomats, cameras, and layered tensions. Passionce moved with calm elegance, unaware of the storm approaching her.

Sosa Sosta arrived last.
The Americans tried to hide him in the background, but Sosa was a presence that couldn’t be hidden, broad, shouldered, battle-scarred, and unapologetically himself.

When Passionce saw him, something flickered in her memory.
A shape.
A voice.
A shadow leaning over her in the rubble.

She approached him.

“You look familiar,” she said politely.

Sosa hesitated. For the first time in years, he wasn’t sure of his words.

“It was Lviv,” he finally said. “The night of the phantom missile.”

Her breath caught.

Sosa continued, voice lower:

“You were on the ground. Steel in your leg. You were bleeding out.”
I pulled it out. I bandaged you.
“But the Polish teams were closing in, so I had to leave.”

The hall fell silent around them.

Passionce’s eyes widened, not in fear, but in something soft, something warm.

“You…” She stepped closer. “You saved me.”

Sosa didn’t answer, but his silence was confirmation.

Passionce exhaled, a tremor running through her.

“All this time,” she whispered, “I thought God spared me. But it was you.”

He shrugged slightly, awkward, almost embarrassed.

“Maybe both,” he said.

For the first time since becoming President, Passionce allowed herself a genuine, unguarded smile.

“Thank you, Sosa Sosta,” she said softly. “For giving me a future.”

And as the summit continued around them, the warlord and the empress stood in a moment of truth that neither had expected, but both felt destined for.

Sinking Polish Pride
Poland’s war against APP was brutal, victorious in the end, but not without scars.
And among those scars, one wound stood out like a national humiliation:

The Venice Disaster.

It was supposed to be simple.

A quiet landing.
A stealth operation.
A Polish amphibious unit slipping into Venice at dawn to open a southern corridor.

Passionce approved it reluctantly, 
she trusted her admirals, and the plan was flawless on paper.

But Venice…
was waiting.

The landing that became a hell
At 04:12, Polish landing crafts cut through the mist, heading toward the canals.

Everything was silent.

Too silent.

As the first Polish boots touched the stone, the city awakened like a trap:

• Snipers on rooftops
• Mines hidden beneath the shallow waters
• Croatian-commanded drones circling the skies
• Bosnian commandos inside the tight alleys

Within seven minutes, the “silent insertion” became a slaughterhouse.

Bullets ricocheted off ancient walls.
Polish squads were pinned between bridges and canals with no room to maneuver.
Boats caught fire.
Bodies fell into the water, drifting like broken flags.

The worst came when Hungarian artillery, from the mainland, precisely struck the harbor entrances, sealing all exits.

Venice turned into a bowl of fire.

By sunrise, the Polish landing team was shattered.

The entire operation, planned for stealth, became a global meme within hours.

APP soldiers mockingly named it:

“The Venice Aquarium” because every Polish soldier ended up swimming.

It was the most embarrassing defeat of the war.

And Passionce felt it like a blade.


APP celebrated the victory as a turning point.
Poland called it “a necessary sacrifice.”

But everyone knew the truth:
Venice had nearly broken a nation’s confidence.

Even Sosa commented on it privately:

“You walked into a trap made of water and pride.”

Passionce didn’t reply.

Not because she disagreed, 
but because she hated that he was right again.

The Venice defeat hardened her.
It made her reckless, colder, more determined to prove Poland’s strength.

And ironically…

That same stubbornness eventually led her into the second great war.


The War on the America begins.
After defeating APP—but at the cost of Venice, thousands of soldiers, and Europe’s trust—Passionce felt cornered.

Rumors spread that the U.S. had leaked intelligence to APP.
That Sosa had sabotaged the Venice landing.

There was no proof.

But pride doesn’t wait for proof.

And so Poland declared war on the United States.

The world gasped.

Sosa sighed.

He knew exactly why she did it.

Washington Stand Alone

The war was devastating, chaotic, and deeply personal.

Poland pushed hard, using all surviving veterans from the APP war.
America resisted, but Sosa refused to unleash his full strength.

Every time Passionce advanced, Sosa countered with precision, never cruelty.

Washington became the final stronghold.

And in the ruins outside the capital, Passionce asked for something unexpected.

The Forbidden Invitation 
Smoke drifted around them on the broken bridge.

Passionce stood before Sosa, her uniform torn from battle, her face tired, her pride wounded deeper than any scar.

“Sosa…” she whispered,
“Before the end… one night. One date.”

He looked at her 
remembering the girl he once saved,
the leader who defied empires,
the rival who conquered APP but drowned in Venice.

And he answered quietly:

“I can’t.”

She froze.

He added:

“Not after everything we’ve burned.”

A tear slid down her cheek.

She straightened herself, voice cold and shaking:

“Then we finish this as enemies.”

And walked away.


Washington DC | Day 420

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