Thousands of men in varying levels of military attire gathered around the main concrete courtyard of VEZO Headquarters and Main Vessel Manufactory, all of them carried some sort of firearm, be it Chadian rifles, Tanzani sidearms, or family heirlooms that needed time in the sun. Mahafaly Mananjara stood among them, donning a jet black raffia that shaded his eyes from the sun and a three-piece suit of equal murkiness. He also held a long-barreled luger pistol in his hands, which had served as his personal firearm since his father had given it to him after the First Hova War… If only his father could see him now: a man with a home-grown army; ready to destroy tyranny at any costs.

His VEZO officers — which were dressed in much more protective armor — ordered the newly-christened soldiers of war to group up and form squads. Mananjara looked in glee as his former employees scattered to find former coworkers to group with, and then just as hastily form organized lines to indicate their preparedness; his hard work and discipline had truly paid off; his soldiers would make just as powerful an army as it did a workforce.

It barely took a day to capture Andranomavo and its surrounding suburbs; the Filozofia that were caught with their pants down were promptly executed by the professional militia, and Mahafaly knew that trouble was on its way, but that the Free VEZO Army would fight back with a force greater than that ever seen in Madagascar.

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\"And remember: die responsibly!\"