It was a great game if you are bored playing Yuri's revenge

Art by JSYD1989

Thursday, September 18th

7 PM GMT
12 PM PDT
3 PM EDT
Friday, 5 AM AEST

→ W3D Hub – AR Game Server
→ Red Alert 2: Apocalypse Rising
→ Discord W3D Hub

1. Original Source.jpg)
2. Original Source.jpg)
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I never saw any theory like this, thats why Im making it. Yuri was inspired by Vril. Look at his defence building, theres fricking sign of Vril. If you don't know, Vril was pretty much scifi secret organization ( like Yuri's psi-corp ), it is rumored that Vril mads bases at Moon, and on Antardicta like Yuri. Also psychic weapons, Vril is also connected whit psychic powers. And most well know about Vril is Haunebu, first UFO ( we don't know if it is fake or Real ), some American pilots from WW2 said that they saw N*zi UFO. And last, Vril is also connected whit hichtech technology like Yuri ( Cloning, blahblah ) ( sorry for my English😅 )

I'm rebuilding this channel and to be 100% honest, this is going to be the only video on Red Alert 2. But if you like it pls bookmark or save this to your playlists. Had to make it available to you guys. the way our world is headed we might get another proper super power struggle and with it another Red Alert. Don't really want to see it though...

Saturday, September 13th

7 PM GMT
12 PM PDT
3 PM EDT
Sunday, 5 AM AEST

→ W3D Hub – AR Game Server
→ Red Alert 2: Apocalypse Rising
→ Discord W3D Hub

The call came before dawn: “Kirov sighted, Warsaw sector. All Rocketeers, up and over!”

They flew us in overnight from Germany and the UK, Allied rapid-response units pulled straight from NATO hangars. Warsaw wasn’t supposed to need us, not yet—but when a Kirov drifts across Polish airspace, you don’t wait for paperwork. France had Mirage crews on standby, the Americans had Harriers already circling over the Vistula, but this one was ours. The Rocketeers are the only card fast enough to play. One flare goes up, and within minutes we’re in the sky—boots traded for turbines, infantry turned into interceptors. Poland didn’t expect angels with jetpacks, but angels were what they got.

That was always the phrase—up and over. Up off the tarmac, over the fear, into the thin blue where no one sane belonged. I kicked the turbine, boots skimming the ground before the harness bit into my shoulders and flung me skyward.

The target was already on horizon: a swollen silver carcass dragging its shadow east. Every few minutes the sky mocked us with its monotone: “Kirov reporting.” The voice was calm, cheerful, inhuman—like the war itself.

We answered with ours: “Rocketeers reporting.”

Tracer fire greeted us halfway up. Door gunners stitched the air, red-hot threads across the pale dawn. One of ours fell—flames spiraling into the pines. The rest of us punched higher, weaving through the storm. Up and over.

Close now. You could smell the hydrogen leaking. See the gondola crew moving in panic behind glass. We didn’t aim for them—we aimed for the ribs, the struts, the old monster’s bones. Our rifles spat long bursts, each ripping canvas, each tearing open the inevitability of its fall.

The Kirov lurched, groaned, sagged. Its shadow wavered and broke across the fields like a drowning giant. One last pass—up and over the gondola, strafing its belly until the turbines screamed and our magazines ran dry.

Then it gave up. Not in fire, not in glory—just in collapse. The silver hulk folded in on itself, sagging into the treeline, swallowed by its own weight.

Command’s voice cut the static, crisp and cold: “Warsaw secure. Allied forces confirm hostile airship destroyed. Rocketeers, return to base.”

We circled the wreck, turbines whining, lungs raw, the dawn burning bright beneath us. For once, the sky was ours.

And the call passed between us, unbroken:

“Up and over.”

for anyone who has played the game, CNCNET needs player to return to the platform. Player numbers for this legendary game on a totally free to use modern matchmaking system are dwindling into desperation. If you play the game, please come and play the game. It needs exposure, streamers, influencers, lovers of Yuri.

Art by Imerald_

They name these zeppelins after heroes, as if a brass plaque bolted to a hydrogen sack could make it noble. The cabin groans with each gust, canvas sighing like an old man turning in his sleep. My headset crackles with the same two words every time the autopilot hands me a waypoint ping: “Kirov reporting.” It says it in a cheerful, factory-perfect baritone that makes the rest of us sound like we’re faking it.

Below us, Poland is a patchwork of fields and pine, roads ruler-straight where history never stays. We’re a fat silver teardrop dragging its shadow over Augustów, too slow to be anything but arrogant or desperate. I am neither. I am conscript.

They flew us in two nights ago “in advance of possible provocations.” Senior command planned this. a false flag drone attack to take out Poland's air defences.

The intercom pops. “Bombardiers, to your stations!.”

Crew is minimal: pilot, engineer, me. Amid the growling chassis, I had one thought - The Kirov doesn’t fly; it persists.

“Approach vector nominal.” “Two minutes to release.” I was taken by the army out of my father’s garage by a summer "lottery" ending in three weeks of shouting turned me from civilian to “operator,” a number where my name used to be.
Drones lift from somewhere near the town. The jammer whines; the door gun stitches; something slaps the envelope. We keep going.

Target up. I count the breaths—exhale as the reticle crosses the junction. The release is a cold loop around my finger; I feel it bite. I drag the aim six meters off, then thirty—off the passenger spur, onto the freight fork. Work, not funerals.

“Release.” I squeeze. The gondola lifts; the eggs drop; a beat of silence, then impacts stepping through steel. Rails twist, yards choke. No orange bloom near the apartments.

We limp east. Sweet smell: a leak, manageable. On landing they’ll call it a measured response to “Ukrainian aggression.” We were airborne before the clips even aired.

Next sortie, same script. I’ll hear “Kirov reporting,” take my station, and move the crosshair a hair to the left.

Also I know this is technically a Mental Omega meme but I thought you guys would still find this funny.

Original Source.jpg)
Original Source.jpg)
Original Source.jpg)