NationStates Jolt Archive

"...led us to this perfect day."

The thread

Many of us run them. The festering sores of Nationstates Earth, steeped in crime and murder and suffering and atrocity. Generally, our nations churm out mindless drones, laboring ceaselessly to make the warmachine and more drones. And they keep on doing it...

Here we can write little tales of why our monstrosities persist. If you run a maggoty sore of a country, or at least there are parts of it that make the late Thirty Years War seem like a picnic, and you feel like justifying it, this is the thread.

Ground rules It should be about life in your nation.
It should be unpleasant, at least to the writer.
It should be cloyingly self-righteous.
This is not an interaction thread. Just short stories, but feel free to edit in links if stuff spins off.And so, gentle reader... we head off to the Holy Empire of Infinite Loving.

Where Men are Men, where Men are brainwashed to serve God, and women are lobotomized, mutilated drones.

Where the word of God, the Sword of God and the Führer is Law, as seen by maniacs bred for some ideal of Adamic perfection for well over 600 years...

Where the main products are incoherent ramblings and overmuscled prettyboys with a fascination for liberating the souls of the unclean with fire, explosives and bulldozers.

Unless I go to sleep and one of you people beat me to the first post that is.

[tag- for maximum posting later]

((Hey, cool, a chance to work on my writing and a chance to show off the Kabal. I'll have to think of something appropriate. Tag for later posting.))

General Tagge was here.

“Eventually, everyone talks…

It’s only a matter of when, to whom, and the effort required to induce it.

It’s my job to induce it. I don’t particularly like what I do, its often physically demanding, and the stench some people can produce is very off-putting. There’s an art to the questioning as well, you’ve always got to trust that the field agents have acquired the right subject, or you’re wasting your time. No leading questions, it’s difficult, but false answers are dangerous, so it’s worth the effort.

The pleading, yeah, you just don’t hear it after a bit, besides, when they do talk, you inevitably realise that what you’ve done to them was necessary for society.

What’s the most distasteful part? Well, I suppose when it’s necessary to use lovers, or children, that really bugs me, but again, it’s necessary, besides, my job’s not the worst… Let’s just say, we’re very proud of our record on preventing re-offences.”

- James Brown
Confederate Internal Security Agency, Level Two Operative, Interrogation Specialist, status deceased.
Edited transcript of a recording used in internal cancellation tribunal, taken at a bar in Steel Street, Ravencroft, one witness still not cancelled.

A hundred thousand years ago:

A new threat loomed in the Minotaur Theocracy. Jaar would have to deal
with it soon, but he hesitated. It was after all one of his own
relatives.

"Ferdinand"; the name made Jaar snort derisively. What kind of name
was that for a Minotaur? Proud warriors, strong workers, wise priests,
the Minotaurs were it all. But philosophers!? That was no bovine thing
to do!

This "Ferdinand", once named Thorgror until he thought that was too
aggressive, was Jaars second sisters calf. And a philosopher!

Jaar banged his head against a pillar in frustration. It wasn't enough
for the youngster to go around disgracing the family. No, he had to
spread sedition among the troops. Talking about peace, sitting around
smelling the flowers and generally poisoning the young with speaches
against trampling and stomping ones enemy.

There was nothing to do about it, he had to go. Jaar would have done it
himself but it would have made his sister most upset and she had quite
an impressive voice. Better if "Ferdinand" was quietly disposed off.

Minotaurs are generally not the most subtle assassins, the favored
weapon for assassination in the Minotaur Theocracy is the double-handed
axe or a very large rock, possibly painted black if the assassin is
feeling unusually sneaky. Jaar already had some bad experiences of earlier
projects including undercover missions, luckily the influx of workers for the new
buildings had enabled Jaar to find some oriental mercenaries and hire them to train
some kobolds in exotic assassination techniques.

This was an excellent time for them to prove themselves. It was a philosopher and pacifist. What could go wrong?

A simple scrying-spell made it possible for Jaar to see what happened.
"Ferdinand" was sitting with his back against his favorite cork-oak and
meditated upon a large amount of flowers surrounding him.

Slowly a movement could be discerned in the grass. Three small furry
humanoids, covered totally in tight black clothing was creeping up on
the unsuspecting Minotaur. They were quite visible against the bright
green grass and if that wasn't enough their high-pitched whispering
cut through the silence :

"Was "Secret Death-strike! Haaaii!" or was "Haaaiii! Secret Death-strike!"?
Me no remember."

"Me cut finger on pointy star. Me not feel well ..."

"Shh! We quiet Shadows of Death! Shh! Shhh! Prepare to stab back."

"He have back against tree."

<Hnnnf!> <Hnnf!>

"Me no can move him. Stab him front?"

"No! We Shadows of Death! Always stab in back!"

"Guys, me finger start to swell. Start feel woozy ..."

"Shh!"

"Shh!"

"Me climb tree. Drip poison in ear."

"Good, me put poisonous spider on his knee."

"Guys ..."

"Shh!"

<Gurgel.>

"Nice spider. Now bite! Kill! Sting! Attack!"

...

"Bite I say!"

...

"Bite or I'll poke you!"

<Poke!>

"Ouch! Bad spider! Bite him, not me. Oh, shit ..."

<Urkl!>

"Oops. Slippery bark. Better ..."

<Thump!>

"Hey! What are you doing on my head, Little One?"

"Ehh. Me drip poison in ear? No? Then taste secret Jump-kick
of Horrifying Death! Haaaaaai ..."

<Crack!>

Jaar closed his eyes the second he saw his Kobold Assassin
jump up in the air and crack its head open on a low branch.
If he ever saw those humans again ...

Ok, Plan B.

...

"Hear Ye! Hear Ye! Oh, members of the Great Herd! Todays
news : Awful Hobbit-Thrower Accident Kills Philosopher!
'I didn't know it was loaded' says Kobold mechanic. In other
news ..."

It said on his pay slip that he was a recycling technician, and that was pretty much true...After all, it was his job to turn useless things into useful ones again, for the glory of the people of Eurusea. Generally a delivery of 'material' came in every week, from Fort Stalin or one of the other camps, and it took them until the next one to process everything that came in and assign it to the various areas of the plant, making shoes, jackets, bone meal and so on, and get it ready for shipping out.

A truck would arrive and take the finished materials away, another would come in with more of the plant's raw materials and the whole process would begin again. He'd felt a bit queasy when the first truck had come in and dumped its load on the factory floor, but now he was used to it.

And it made perfect sense...After all, it wasn't like traitors and criminals were really people.

It is the year 2003 A.D..

She awakes, it´s a lovely day, snow falling from the sky, the streets are covered with it.

She quickly dresses herself. Impossible to come late. She would loose her ration for today, and that would be... bad.

In the last days, she felt hungry, no matter how much she ate... no idea why, though.

She left the little house she lived in. Being called for higher services, being allowed to actually serve the Seraphim, the angels sent from heaven to lead them to paradise... It was an honour, and it was quite strenuous work... but it included some good things as well.

She quickly crossed the street, heading towards the Seraphim complex...

Alongside, she could occasionally see the cross, with the convicted nailed on them.

Sinners. God, i hate it. They die so quickly in winter...

She stops, makes a snowball, makes sure a sharp stone is inside it, and throws it on one of the freshly- nailed, still living victims. Satisfied, she notices her victim bleeding.

Reaching the seraphim complex, she can enjoy a beautiful day. Nothing worrying happens, and after her twelve hours of work, she can return, although the security takes ages.

Finally, finally at home...

"There you are! Oh, i missed you so much!"

Manuel.

It doesn`t take long, and they lie together, in bed.

"You know... sometimes i think about it... Isn`t this a sin? Aren`t we sinners?"
She rests on his strong body, enjoying herself touching him. "No. Uriel... you know, the Seraphim i`m working for... He did the same t me. They never fail. They are always right."
"Well... Yes, you´re right. They never fail, they`re always right.

She falls asleep, with him. She doesn`t notice the steps in the floor, doesn´t notice the heavy boots hitting the ground, does not hear the weapons, not see the lights...

Until it´s too late.

Hours later, she sits in the interrogation room. She is bleeding... her lips are bleeding, and she can`t see on her right eye. The pain is horrible.

It takes several minutes until she realises that she is uncovvered. Naked. She watches down, notices red streams on her breats... her vulva is bleeding, as well.

What...

"We have the evidence." A man in front of her. Clothed in black, two white wings on his back. One of the higher castes. An angel. "We found you in explicit position with your accomplice. WE FOUND EVIDENCE OF YOUR SIN!" He slaps her, hard, and she, in her weakened state, falls on the ground. Two of her teeth are gone. She wants to hold it, but can`t, and starts crying. "But... but... Uriel did the sa..."
"LIES! YOU WHORE!" He kicks her, and for a moment, she can`t speak, can´t even breath. She feels her rips cracking. "LOOK AT THIS!" He shows her a small glass tube. Inside of it, something swims. It looks strange.
"This is the product of your sin! We found it inside you! The devils whore, you are, and you shall be punished!"
She can`t believe it. This can`t... this can´t be... She falls silent, can`t believe what she sees. She stays silent, unable to speak, silently accepting the man ruthlessly hitting her.
She remembers it. She had been conscious when they used this... thing on her, and took it out of her... Remembering it, she cries, screams, in pain, desperate, only wanting to die, knowing that she lost her innocence, knowing her sin, knowing that she will never regain innocence, that she will end in hell, never to return...

Hours later, she can be seen, nailed on a cross, naked, to expose her sin.
A few schoolchildren pass by, watching her. One of them makes a small snowball, it even spends a few minutes finding a stone sharp, and big enough...

"Whore!"

[ooc: Yes. Sex is illegal in EC. And no. No exceptions. And yes, i will explain how they breed.]

OOC: Ho Ho Ho! Merry Christmas! And now for an old testamential little story.

IC:
Once upon a time, thousands of years ago, Jaar walked the earth like a mortal man; strong, powerful, beloved by his subjects, but still mortal. Feeling his existence blessed Jaar spoke to God :
"Lord, how can I repay the favours Thou have bestowed upon me?"

And God answered:
"Jaar, most beloved of my servants, go forth to the City of Ivory. There We will speak again."

So Jaar travelled to the City of Ivory. The journey was long and arduous, and Jaar encountered many dangers upon his path. But he overcame them all, and finally he arrived at his destination.

When he drew near the city gates he was met by the sight of a large crowd. It was filled with starving men, women and children. Jaar turned to a gaunt man and asked him:
"Why do you gather here?"

The man answered:
"We starve and so we gather here in hope of gifts of food from the City Regents."

Jaar asked him:
"But I have seen many green forests and lush meadows as I came near the City. Why do you not hunt there and turn the meadows into fertile fields?"

The man told Jaar:
"We cannot do that. The City Regents have forbidden the use of the green lands. They do not want its beauty to be disturbed by our hands."

Jaar shook his head at this foolishness and went into the City. As he walked through the gates he was met by the thick sickly sweet smell of peaches. But he could see no fruits. So he turned to one of the guards and asked :
"Where does this strong smell come from?"

The guard coughed and pointed to a row of corpses swinging from gibbets:
"The City Regents did not want the stench of those executed for speaking out against them to drift inside their palace-gardens. So they ordered us to drench the bodies in perfume."

Once again Jaar shook his head and continued into the City. As he turned around a corner he heard a cry :
"Make way for the City Regent Haldirion!"

Jaar saw that all of the people on the street had abased themselves. Only Jaar remained standing. A gilded carriage moved through the prostate masses and Jaar could see an androgynous golden-haired humanoid with a pale beautiful face and pointy ears being carried inside. As they drew near to Jaar the humanoid pointed at Jaar and spoke in a soft melodious voice:
"Guards. Take that irreverent piece of shaved monkey, whip him and
throw him on the refuse pile outside the City where he belongs."

Jaar fought the guards with the righteous anger of a servant of God attacked by the minions of Darkness. But eventually he was overpowered, whipped and thrown outside the City.

As Jaar stood bleeding and whipped outside the City of Ivory he asked God :
"My Lord, I have seen the evil that resides in the City. Tell me what Thou want me to do."

And the Lord answered :
"Jaar, my most faithful of champions, you have seen the creatures that
dwell within the City and their rule of tyranny. They are known as the Nephilim. They are a long lived race, protected against sickness and defects of the flesh by ancient pacts with their progenitor, the Evil One."

"This has made them arrogant beyond measurement, and their
condescension against other,”lesser”, races know no bounds. At best they
treat them as pets, at worst like pests."

"Jaar, I want you to be my scourge against these creatures of Evil.
Through you they will once again feel the burden of the world that they too long have escaped. I want you to hound them down, slay them, punish them for their millennia of tyranny and arrogance. Teach them about pain!"

Jaar bowed his head and said:
"My God, I will do as Thou wills. I will turn my anger against these foul creatures, these Nephilim, and I will make them pay for their obscene crimes against Thine faithful.

A soft light spread across the stony ground where Jaar stood.

"Jaar, my strongest of children, I see I have made a good choice in
you. I will look favourably upon thy quest and for each of thine victories I will make thy stronger and more powerful. Now, lead this host of mine into the city and start thy mission."

As Jaar heard this, the field around him was filled with translucent winged warriors.

Jaar led them into the City of Ivory and razed it to the ground. The Nephilim were impaled alive outside the city so that they would have ample time to regret their unnatural resistance, and their enslaved subjects were marched into the woods to build a new and God-fearing City from the ancient trees.

And God looked favourably upon this first of Jaars victories and Jaar became even more powerful. Jaar looked upon his many children and vowed that the great crusade would never end..

Many years ago, the provinces of Kryozerkia were small states unto themselves. Side by side, they lived in peace and prosperity, at least many did, except for Kirtry (now modern-day Kerzokoia and Farflorin, which spent every waking moment at war and focusing on the destruction of the enemy state. They stopped at nothing. Villages were pillaged, women and children slaughtered in throes, and men, thousands upon thousands sent to an early death.

No one was spared... Death took every last one of their lives. They all died most horrible and cruel deaths at the hands of heir enemy, putting a whole new meaning toward: war isn't about winning or losingm, its about being the last man standing.

None of the other states stopped it, for they wanted nothing to do with the two rogue nations. They were fine on their own. But, they too weren't immune to war. Instead, the had their own problems. Slowing rising to power was a young girl, whose only motive was her insatiable desire for power. It had always been in her sights and she would stop at nothing.

With the help of her paramilitia, she annexed state after stae forming into what would become modern day Kryozerkia. As she took over, citizens were stripped of their most fundamental rights and political freedoms. They were tagged and forced to carry security ID, and expect random searches without warning, as she checked for dissents.

For centuries this went on; all her successors were female and they all had the same intent in mind. Each regime was crueller than the last, more rights were stripped away, and people lived in perpetual fear of what could possibly come if they incurred the wrath of the Chikita - the one that ruled the annexed states of Kryozerkia.

In the night, many people were pulled from their homes and taken away, if they were suspected to even have the slightest bit of what might be a thought of dissent. This totalitarian tactics came into play under the regime of the last Chikita. She tolerated nothing. She expected full compliance with her rule. There was no opposition whatsoever... Not even with her own armed forces.

They all took a vow of loyalty to her and if it was so much as breached if someone breathed the wrong way, not only would they be taken to the torture chambers and have their bodies subject to the pleasures of the assortment of the Chikita's medieval torture tools, but, before they were killed, their families would be rounded up, and brought before them. They would then before to witness the mass execution of their families, as they were left to die, slowly and painfully.

There were others who dreamed aout it, but kept it to themselves, for they feared what would come of it...

They knew they government presented a false sense of peace to the world. The Chikita made it seem like the state was gun-free and that there was a smaller military, just enough for land security, but, kept a secret, much larger army. They also never unarmed themselves. She said that there democracy, but, that was also a lie. It was all lies to pervent the UN from wanting to send inspectors.

...only one person would stop it eventually...

fyi -- much later in history, Zekia Kelleigh and her forces overthrow the Kryozerkian government, but without the loss of many lives and the spilling of blood... But... was the country any better off with her in power? TBC...

Rudolph the rednosed reindeer gave the thread A friendly bump before he was sent to the slaughterhouse to be made into dogfood because Santa had switched the reindeers for Grav ships.

Merry Christmas all you GMT+>4!!

Of Punishment

It burned, oh God did it burn. He had seen cows branded hundreds of times in the past yet he couldnt imagine the pain of it, until now. They didn't even need to press the iron rod to his back to make his body involintarily shake with pain, and that made them smile. The glowing rod pressed into his back modling with his skin and fat until nearly being entirely engulfed into his body. Slight puffs of smoke escaped from the folds in his back, folds that had kept him warm in the chilly night but now added to the torture. One could barely count to one after placing the branding rod to his back before the unfortunate soul cried out like a child, only serving to further the delight of the men who did this for a living.

They now openly laughed and took to jabbing and prodding his layers of skin with the scalding piece of metal, until his entire back was blistered. To them there was nothing funnier than a blubbering fat man, and they would have continued in their little pleasures if not for their supervisor interviening.

"Enough, he has paid for his offense according to the law." Standing in the corner the famous Vladislov The Hun Minch, removed his wire framed glasses and waved the torturers away. It wasnt that he felt sympathy for the load of blubber lying on the table, the man had commited a crime and he was punished acording to the articles, it was just his job to make sure they didnt go too far on any one individual. Vladislov the Hun now leaned over and dangled a roast turkey leg in front of the crying man: "Have you learned your lesson now? This was your second offense and you have gotten off easy, stealing food from the mouths of your bretheren is your sin, the third time will be the last time so hope that there isnt a third time." Vladislov stood up and dropped the turkey leg to the floor, and before leaving he turned his head slightly for one last glimps at the pathetic wad of a human still quivering and weeping. In contempt his eyes squinted and the end of his mouth turned up into a sneer.

-----------------------

Shane McFarlan sat on the hard ground, legs tucked hard against his chest and head placed firmly down against his knees. The boy cried and the rest of the world went on, oblivious to his presence next to the stall. The tears soon soaked the leathery pants that had been pieced together from every bit of scrap that he could find.

Past him they walked, the privilaged and unprivilaged alike, none stopping to see why the thirteen year old boy was crying on the sidewalk; they knew him and knew what he was, and therefore didnt care for him. They would look at his face and not cringe in disgust or pity, but they would smile and know that he got his just rewards.

Shane couldn't smell, he couldn't take a deep breath and smell the aroma of the fresh baked pies in the stall next to him, nor the roasting nuts across the street, nor the flowers on his other side. He loosened his legs from his body and quickly wipped the tears away, and felt his nose. Or the bandaged stump where his nose used to be, the pain that erupted from the casual graze told him that it wasnt healed and Shane quickly moved his hand away and stood up. He couln't help it that he was a thief, that he had to steal in order to survive with his only home being the street.

Sure he was aware of the consequences of his actions, stealing from the community of their brotherhood was strickly forbidden and this time he had gotten caught. He was a well known multiple offender and as the articles decreed he was to have an ear or his nose cut off. The more benevolent prison keepers would see mercy and go for an ear however, he lived in Capitol City and that meant he was under the jurisdiction of Vladislov the hun Minch who always went for the nose. Pride and arrogance again swirled in his stomach and Shane put on his usual fearfull face and went back to his trade.

-----------------

"As you can see Captiol City is a thriving hotbed of our society Mr. Minister. Six point two million all living together as one community, certianly the largest city in all of Jiggady. And in Jiggady each city has something completly different to offer, owning to the freedoms we have and the completly different societies from island to island." jiggady smiled proudly as he lead the foriegn minister down the street. As they walked by everyone stopped to wave and wish good morning to the supreme chief of state, their unanimously elected leader.

"I must say jiggady, that I was first comming here with a great deal of aprehension on my shoulders. I know the old history of your islands, being a haven for pirates in the heyday of their existance. And I knew that when you rose up, being the desendant of such a famous pirate lord, the people would embrace this herratige. Yet what you have shown me proves the multiculturism of your nation, I mean the people varry from city to city as much as the architecture varies from Roman, to Renecansse to Arabian."

They walked down the street, a part of the tour that jiggady had been taking the minister on since his arrival. "Yes, we do embrace our past as can be seen in some of the manner of dress and speach, and our national flag. Yet piracy is such a crude form of behaviour in the present day that we know better than to indulge in; lest we loose face in the international community. Which I am hopping that we can open up to with your presence here, we can certianly benefit from the trade and the tourism. Jiggady is truly a beatiful tropical nation, free from the pride that many other nations have in wanting to exert force in war and in politics. We on the other hand take pride in peace, and preserving our nation and her laws."

As they walked through the crowded streets without care, the minister felt a slight brush over his backside. He was sure that it was just a bumb from a passerby in this tight and narrow street, yet he unconciously reached for his back pocket to pat his wallet.

Shane giggled in delight as he hunched over his findings, barely even two steps away from the mark. This foriegner had a fat wad of a wallet, certianly the biggest score ever for the street urchin. Who cared if there were strict laws against such behaviour, it paid off so well.

His hands touched fabric, and as they press harder to feel for the hard wallet they felt nothing more than the skin of his rear. Turning to his host quizically he said casually, "Huh, I seem to have misplaced my wallet oh well."

cont...

...cont Of Punishment

jiggady halted their movement right there and scaned the sea of people they had waded through, with the flick of a hand their guard escort fanned out searching the crowd. "Probably nothing, yet like our pirate ancestors of old we dont take kindly to theft amongst our bretheren. And since you are a guest in our nation, this protection encompases you as well." jiggady turned to adress his friend, who was obvioulsy impressed with this fact.

They brought him forward, kicking and squirming as they always did when they knew they were caught. Shane struggled uselessly against the grip of the men who tossed him down without care in front of the foriegner whose wallet he knew gripped, he knew it was useless to run so he sat there contemplating his fate.

"Ahh, it appears we have a celebrity in our presence." Mocked jiggady as he instantly recognized the well known theif. "Young Mr. McFarlan, who never learns his lesson and has his nose to prove of that. You should by know be well aware of the punishment process boy, and know that you are caught as a multiple offendor; there shall be no light sentances for you this time. Vladislov Minch will have fun with you." jiggady nodded his head and the guards dragged him off to some private quarters where he would be dealt with.

"Thankyou my friend, I am indebted for your aid. What is to become of the thief?"

"No thanks are needed, we are merely trying to preserve our great nation from such uglyness as crime. Mr. McFarlan has been caught stealing multiple times, he was put in jail, he had his nose removed, but this time he will recieve no light punishment. His hands shall be removed, well depending on the mood of prison warden he will either have one or both removed. But surely you can see how we have cut down on crime through our punishment, and I assure you that any other citizens in Jiggady from your nation will be protected under the same laws, and will have nothing to fear from Shane McFarlan."

"Well, I'm happy about that Mr. Chief of State."

---------------

The water dripped in the room, he was sure that it was done on purpose to annoy the prisoners. Yet that was the last thing on his mind, as the young eyes of Shane McFarlan looked at Vladislov the Hun with total fear.

The tall dark man stood above him, his face expressionless as he waved the knife about. Mocking words were not necessary, these two knew each other well enough.

"You know the laws, they served our ancestors well and they serve us well. You were in and out of jail many times, as per the hummanitarian clauses, you had your nose or ear cut off as the law states; and now that you persist in breaking it you will have your hand removed. And I shall only take one because I want you to steal again, because the next time I get to hang you."

One fluid motion was all it took for the knife heated in the kiln. Vladislov enjoyed the screams, and smiled as he bent down to pick up the hand and add it to the wall.

Punishment was punishment.

Saya Nahagi sat back in her chair and smiled a venomous smile. Her subordinates hated that smile, and she loved it. They all knew why. Saya pressed a button with a thin reptillian finger on a flat metallic device and leaned over it so the intercom-like device would pick up her voice.

"Urrahi, please come into my office." She said with a silky hiss.

Saya's kind was a rare sight in the Cabal. She was of Yuan-Ti blood, unlike the phantoms that dominated the gigantic tower that made up the "nation" of The Apocryphal Cabal. Most of the phantoms hated the reptillian Yuan-Ti, but didn't fear them because they were not immortal. The ghost-like Apocryphi especially hated Saya because she was the Head Interdictor, the one who organized torture, executions, and midnight disappearances. There were rumors about, however, that a Yuan-Ti revolution was being planned.

"Yes, madame?" The flitting shade that entered the lavishly decorated office.

"Urrahi, I was thinking..." Saya said in a low voice as she got up and walked over to a cabnet of fine wood. "About your performance."

The phantom opposite her nodded, a bit nervous. Saya had started smiling again.

"It is not as good as it could be, you know this, right?" The slim Yuan-Ti continued, turning to face the shade.

"Yes..." Urrahi responded, his bright red eyes looking to the floor.

"Unfortunately, we can make no quarter in these matters. You understand, right?" Saya hissed, taking a step closer.

"No, no, I...I can do better, really, really I can! Not that, anything but that..." The shade pleaded, falling to his knees.

"You know the protocol, efficiency above all." Saya said, grinning evilly and taking a pistol from it's thigh holster.

Urrahi said no more, only looking somberly into the barrel of the pistol.

Click-click
BANG!

A green bolt shot out and impacted into the phantom's head, knocking him onto the floor. A dimly glowing green wound was evident in his head. The remaining red eye still flitted around, but slowed their motion and came to rest on the barrel again. Urrahi's eye linked with Saya's scarlet eyes, totally impassionate.

Click-Click
BANG!

Another green wound appeared in the phantom's forehead, and he moved no more. Saya walked out of her office, a venomous smile on her thin lips. She loved to kill.

((A tiny look into the ruthlessness of my nation.))

------------------------------------------------------
The last day
Dutch Democratic Republic of Knootoss
------------------------------------------------------

Live and let die

That was the motto of the Central Academic Hospital in Knootcap. And the hospital management tried to live up to that motto with uncanny efficiency. With Christmas about to start, the year was almost over, and the hospital had almost reached it’s government quota of putting 35.000 people to death through ‘voluntary euthanasia’.

34.814 people had filled in the form for euthanasia, or had close relatives who had done it for them in that hospital alone. But the management has a bit worried: with the year almost over there were targets to be met: if the hospital wanted to retain it’s government subsidy, in any case. With the government seeking to lower spending, cuts were inevitable. And on the other side there were the medi-corporations and insurance organisations exerting pressure on the hospitals for more efficiency.

The old year was coming to an end, and hospital director Schaatsema knew that there would still be plenty of cases to be ‘treated’ when the fireworks went off, but still. Schaatsema left his office and went downstairs, to one of the wards. He had been a nurse, decades ago, and still was allowed to perform those duties in emergencies. "and heck, this was an emergency", he thought.

The director wandered through the hospital at a leisurely pace, watching the personnel do their jobs dedicatedly. He stopped for a moment as he passed the ‘euthanasia room’

A middle-aged woman, barely in her forties, lay there in a brightly decorated room. Instead of the uncaring hospital white, this room had been painted in soothing colours. A heavenly blue, with flying cherubim’s playing on clouds, as a preparation of what might come perhaps– a promise perhaps.

A man, of about the same age “probably the husband” sat next to her. He was obviously very emotional. The women’s face, however, had an expression of endless bliss. With a smile on her face, she stared into infinity. Obviously the overdoses of morphine and other drugs had already kicked in. “She seems very happy", Schaatsema thought, "RecDrug is getting better at this all the time” , he was amazed. Without the drugs, the woman would probably have been in great pain. But not here – in his hospital there was no pain. Pain had been eradicated.

He noticed that the man was watching him, a tear rolling down his face and an accusing look. "Oops, this one doesn’t want to be disturbed", he thought. He gave a professional nod and walked on to the wards.

The wards in this section were mostly filled with elderly people who had all kinds of little problems that come with age. The directors eye fell on an old lady with thin white hair who was lying in a hospital bed. Her wrinkled face was in a painful grimace. His caring heart started to pound, and he sat down next to the old woman: “can I help you?”, he asked.

“Oh, mr. I just want it all to end – the pain. It’s just too much for me to handle,” she said with a crackling voice.

“That can be arranged.”, the Director replied. He got out a small console lying next to the bed and pressed a few buttons. The drugs started to work fast – and the granny became relaxed.

“Are you sure you want this?”, he asked. The woman nodded, and Schaatsema got out the pre-prepared standard euthanasia form. He wanted to hand it over, but then he noticed that the woman’s hands, which were shaking first, were now completely calm. Obviously she was in no state to fill in the form herself.

“I can fill in the form for you,” he eagerly said as he pulled it up and got out his pen. The woman nodded again, a smile on her face. Quickly and professionally, the Director filled in the form using the information on the patient sheet. He handed the old woman, ms. Berry, the pen and with a little assistance she put down her signature.

Without any protest, she would receive the deadly injection three days later.

Satisfied with his little trip, the Director went back to his office to finish his essay for hospital directors abroad.

Knootian hospitals, instead of being places of needless suffering, are places were patients can find relief. They are fortresses of freedom. We do not patronise our patients, we give them a choice. The ultimate choice.

I do not share the concerns that outsiders have voiced about euthanasia practices in Knootoss. After all, if people are able to decide how they live, why should they not decide how they die? Is that not, ultimately, what freedom is?

((OOC: Written esp. for Sys and to a lesser extend DA))

Kommisaar Antic looked at the cargo with a little shiver. eightyfour new addicts and 4 ton of Knootian drugs. Since Vegana had started it's antidrug campaign drug users and drug related crimes were practically unheard of. It was quite simple, and Kommisaar Antic liked the law. Everyone had the right of three detoxications and after they had had their three rehabilitation attempts they were sent to the Lidingö island. An island completely secured from the rest of Vegana, at this time there should be thousands of junkies on that island. Antic looked out into the mist, the island should be just a few miles away, he could almost hear the music and the screams over the water. He shuddered, the cargo hovercraft was quite capable of moving at a speed of 30 mph so they would arrive in just a few minutes. He walked out from his cabin and ordered the marines to stand ready. He knew they never ever had been assaulted before, quite the contrary, but regulations were regulations.

They could see the island now, bonfires were lit on both sides of a natural harbour, not that the harbour was needed but it was nice to see so many happy faces. Sometimes a junkie tried to sneak aboard and get back to their so called family but after a few months they generally forgot all about their "family" and spent their time with their "friends" and their "candy" instead. Antic ordered a turnaround move and started to roder the 84 junkies onto land. They cried and asked for new chances but Antic knew that they would soon find new friends that shared their hobbies on this island. After they had shoved out the junkies he started to shove out the dope. All drugs that were confiscated within Vegana was placed on this island, just to keep the junkies happy. Antic wondered how many lived on the island and what their society was like, he had seen statistics that sats had scanned the area for between 5000 and 6000 living bodies, a number that seemed to be almost constant since most of the junkies died from their habits after about a year or two. Antic saw the helicopter coming with food, fropping the boxes over the island, he saw the junkies, some didn't cared but ran for the drugs instead, others, almost skeleton didn't even look up as boxes crashed down only a few meters from them. After unloading the drugs, Antic ordered the boat to turnaround and head for home. He looked at the freaks with their needles in their arms, the drugdealers with small piles of Cocaine in front of them. This was the party island, this was the end station.

Agent Calico and the Attack of the Homosexual Monkeys

Everything had been going smoothly. The jungle was rather nice, some erie foliage and rough paths but nothing these men weren't used to. The only major problem was that one of the atv's got a little too off the path and hit a massive hole, pitching its rider over the front and into a mud pack. While looking the machine over they discovered a broken axel and rather than wait hours to fix it they abandon the machine and the rider joined in one of the hummers.

Everything had been going smoothly, Calico kept saying this to himself as the pack of homosexual monkeys appeared from no where to wreak havok on their little band. He saw Brock gun it, putting distance between his vehicle and the hummer; so Calico easily decided to give his vehicle some more gas and mow down the monkey that had unfortunately hopped down in front of them. He immediatly slammed the breaks and readied his two pistols.

The rest of the group had faired more or less the same, each hummer had a few extra passengers on their roof's and those on the atv's were fighting for their lives. One poor son of a gun didnt even know what had happened to them before a monkey desended onto his back driving its fangs deep inside his flesh. He was dead before he could stop his vehicle and it crashed into the rear of the hummer in front of him.

The others had faired a bit better. Most had jumped off of their atv's with relative speed and now had their assault rifles out and firing wildly about with varrying accuracy.

It quickly became clear that he needed to take charge of the situation, Brock was handling himself well and in aiding with the monkeys on their hummers. In one quick motion Calico flipped open his door and rolled out onto the ground both pistols pointing in the air seeking targets. In moments he found them and started ringing lead throughout the trees, not waiting to see what he hit rather constantly looking for new targets. The passenger leaned out of the window with his ak-47 firing wildly around the jungle, not hitting anything. He was taken in a flash, four greedy paws grabbed him by the head and yanked him up into the tree's, but he had apparently wanted to join his comrades back on the earth as his body toumbled fifty feet down back to the earth. Needless to say he was dead.

The men laced fire through the jungle brush with their assault rifles, mostly to the effect of scaring off more of the monkeys and keeping them from attacking. One unfortunate was stradeling his atv, using his rifle more effectively at popping monkeys in the head; he wasnt able to see the one jumping down from above. The homosexual monkey dug its claws deep into his shoulders, tearing tissue, cutting cartialege, and breaking bone. Lucky for him one of his compatriates saw the scene out of the corner of his eye and dropped his spent rifle and pulled up the pistol he had at his side. Two quick taps and the monkey fell to the earth dead, the man that it was attacking lying on the ground next to it screams of pain echoing out of his mouth and pools of blood streaming from his wounds.

The chaos didnt last much longer than that, the surviving monkeys decided that the men werent worth the fight, at least not yet. Eventually the gunfire died out as the rest of the men realized the threat was over, and they went about seeing to the damage. They were now down to two atv's with one dead rider and another wounded and needing to be transported in a hummer. The trucks were spared with damage as were those that were ridding in them. Once everything was settled to, they reconviened with Brock to get back on their way, most of them rather unsettled from the sudden attack and realization of the dangers of the jungle.


They all sat about the campsight in a rather disolusioned state. They had known that this trip would be dangerous however, they werent exactly prepared to the ferocity of the jungles. Some sat in silence staring into the fire as it crackled and released smoke into the air, their thoughts resting on their fallen comrades. Others huddled together in small groups, whispers of conversation rising up over the crackling of the fire, Calico kept his distance but could still get the general jist of what they were saying. It was clear that they were not too happy with their new guide, whether they blamed it on his abilities or superstitons about luck.

Calico shifted his eyes to their trucks where the wounded man lie in a comotose state from the drugs they had given him. His screams would have only attracted more predators so they took the chances of putting him under. Now the question was what to do with him, several of his closer friends in the group vehemently argued for going back to the city instead of pushing on. Some thought that they could still make the fort, but the guide was quite adement about the pressing situation. Finally after eating their meager dinner a couple grudgingly got up and walked off with Brock to burry their dead friends.

Picking through the canned beans Calico looked at their current situation in disgust, diamonds or no diamonds this jungle was bloody terrible. Two dead and one seriously injured out of the dozen of them. I dont care how pure these diamonds are, I've had enough of Oompa Loompa.

"Hurry up with those god damned bodies, dump em and lets get out of here before more of mother nature decides that we are dinner." He stood up and tossed the can away into the brush, several others stood up with looks of relief and it was a few short minutes until the bodies were dumped in a creek and they were off.

*bump* because I think that this thread is a good idea and I hate to see it die out. Let your creative juices flow and make short stories about your nations.

Citizen's Discourse

Once there was a man, who lives in an unknown place. Cold and unforgiving is the climate, as it with his face. He could worship none, nor could he have fun, because there was rarely a sun. The ice has taught many, that only you should carry, grim determination to pass all that is folly. Though with all this grief, no seedy man can be up to mischief, as there was never a thief who has not seen the police chief. Tens of thousands upon thousands of flying machinations, unchallenged by most nations, blanket the sky in darkness, though the people could care less. 'Tis the nation's military doctrine, to make it's airforce akin, to nations several times it's size and devotion to airpower without compromise. Though I may probably be witty, you should be wary, when rowing a dingy, you might find your grave to be icy.

And thus I proclaim, this nation without a name, to be Zvarinograd, the country of the sad.

- Anonymous, the writer, apparently was found beneath ten feet of snow and ice when an avalanche buried his entire cabin.

Bump

http://members.cox.net/davage/images/Slobodan.jpg

Slobodan smiled at himself as he leaned back in the seat of his aircraft. The meeting in Arda has been extremely interesting and he hadn’t left it empty handed. Lord Melkor was indeed a generous host. He hadn’t been sure if his wish should be granted as he asked Lord Alkanphel, but his answer had been a smile and the gift had surpassed his wildest imagination. He wanted to look at it now but he had been taught patience, he had been taught it the hard way but it had been taught to him very well indeed. He wouldn’t spoil his surprise, he wouldn’t look until he got home. He leaned back and tried to get some sleep, he felt like a little kid the day before Christmas. He took a sip of his favorite whisky let the taste roll around in his mouth as he savored the taste of honey, of smoke and of tar.

----------

As his aides helped by putting his equipment in order, he stood in front of the mirror. Singing a happy little song and washing his hands thoroughly as he looked at his face in the mirror. Thoughts flew through his head; he could feel a little tickling feeling in his gut as he put on his green surgery clothes. He grinned and looked at his perfect white teeth, noone could believe he was 85 years old. He leapt down the stairs and stopped by his bench, looking down on it to choose the right tool. Slobodan checked a peang, he felt a little on the scalpel checking its sharpness. He picked three different knives, all enourmously sharp, and clapped his hands. ”Music!” he said and the tunes of Vivaldi started to fill the large well lit white room. In the middle of the room were two benches, Slobodan moved with an agile grace to one of them and looked down on the terrified face of the elf lying strapped to the bench.

”Hello little one” Slobodan smiled as he spoke the words and the elf shivered. ”You see, I’ve heard that you are immune to disease so I wont need any disinfectants, and Anesthetics are soo expensive. This is a great day for you and for God.” Slobodan caressed the shivering elfs pointy ear. ”I will find out more about you, and you will have a chance to make amends for your sins, bringing more knowledge to humanity. Well, we better get started, can’t chat all day long.” Slobodan swirled around to the music as it drowned by the screams of the elves with a happy little smile on his face.

bump

OOC: I was going to tag for my Reich nation, Objectivist Insurgents. Seems that I can only post on my computer as this country. Oh well.

tag anyway. :D

God bless,

The Republic of Syskeyia

http://members.cox.net/davage/images/Slobodan.jpg

The big limosine glided its way along the onelane road that crossed the Herbert island. Fog lay thick in the marshes an hollows, obscuring the surrounding river and the ramparts of the city that lay beyond. The headlights slid past a row of ancient, long-dead chestnut trees, then striped their way across heavy wrought iron gates. As the car stopped, the lights came to rest on a bronze Plate. St. Sigfrid Hospital for the Criminally Insane
A security guard stepped out of a booth into the glare and approached the car. Slobodan lowered the rear window and the man leaned inside.
”Visiting hours are over,” he said
Slobodan reached into his jacket and showed his ID for the guard. The man gave it a long look, and then nodded. ”And how may we help you mr. Jovanovic?”
”I’m here to see a patient.”
”And the name of the patient?”
”Jovanovic. Melka Jovanovic.”
There was a short uncomfortable silence.
”Is this official business?” The guard didn’t sound quite so friendly anymore.
”it is.”
”Ok, I’ll call up to the big house. Dr. Åström is on duty tonight. You can park your car in the official slot to the left of the main door. They’ll be waiting for you in the reception.”
Within a few minutes Slobodan followed the well-groomed Dr. Åström down a long, echoing corridor. Two guards walked in front, and two behind. Fancy wainscoting and decorative molding could still be glimpsed along the corridor, hidden beneath innumerable layers of institutional paint. A century before, St. Sigfrid Hospital had been a grand sanatorium, catering to the tubercular offspring of the rich. Now, thanks in part to its insular location, it had become a high-security facility for people who had commited heinous crimes but were found not guilty by reason of insanity and good connections.
"How is she?" Slobodan asked.
There was a slight hesitation in the doctor´s answer. "About the same" he said.
They stopped in front of a thick steel door, a single barred window sunk into its face. One of the forward guards unlocked the door, then stood outside with his partner while the other two guards followed Slobodan within.

They were standing in a small "quiet room" almost devoid of decoration. No pictures hung on the lightly padded walls. There was a plastic sofa, a pair of plastic chairs, a single table. Everything was bolted to the floor. There was no clock and the sole fluoroscent ceiling light was hidden behind heavy wire mesh. There was nothing that could be used as a weapon, or to assist a suicide. In the far wall stood another steel door, even thicker, without a window. Warning: Risk of elopement was posted above it in large letters.

Slobodan took a seat in one of the plastic chairs, and crossed his legs.


To be continued....

http://members.cox.net/davage/images/Slobodan.jpg

The door on the other side of the room was opened and a small blue haired lady was led in by two wardens. The two burly men looked very attentive and when the old lady sat down you could see obvious relief in the faces of the wardens.

"Hello Slobodan" She said. He nodded to her and answered in a low voice "Hello mother"

She looked around in the room fixing her gaze on each and everyone, one of the wardens flinched when her gaze reached him, she smiled a gentle smile.

"Dulce et Decorum est Pro Patria mori"

The words hacked into the lintel never failed to move Amadeus as he passed through the archway into the House. They were the purest embodiment of National Socialist thought he'd ever seen. He rubbed at his eyes, emotion causing them to well up. He loved those words. It's why he'd had them carved there.
He walked quietly through the old building, boots echoing on the cold floors. He could remember the Great Sacrifice like it was yesterday, even though decades had passed it felt. He looked out a glassless window at the harbour, sun glinting off the sea. Truly, we are God's Own country. he thought to himself as he walked.
This was almost a pilgrimage for him. Every year on the anniversary. Elsewhere in the nation solemn ceremonies marked what had been the end of the old ways, and the birth of the new. But Amadeus was always happy, happy with the fervency of a man who's faith had been rewarded on this day, so long ago.
He reached the end of his journey and looked down through a hole in the floor into a ravaged chamber. Rows of seats arced around a central few, one with a mouldering woolsack still vaguely attached. The benches and seating were scorched and gouged, like a bomb had gone off in the centre of the room. Which it had.
A tear rolled slowly down Amadeus's check, and this time he did not wipe it away, but savoured it. After all, the sacrifices made by the people who'd been in this room deserved mourning. He stood there a long time, soundlessly rocking on the edge of the gaping hole, green cloak tightly gripped around him.
"My Fuhrer?" A questioning voice came from the floors below. Amadeus shook back to wakefulness, checking the time, sighing as his time with the honoured dead came to an end for an other year. He headed towards the voice, silently farwelling the hundred and twenty MPs who'd been in Parliament the day sepratist terrorists had detonated a powerful explosive in their midst. Killing them all.
And starting the war which had allowed Amadeus, with the help of God, to remove their foul presence from the green and beautiful land God's Own was.
It was known as the Day of Sacrifice throughout God's Own, which had been called an other name once in a different world.

A world where a young man had looked at what was happening to his beautiful, beloved homeland, and decided to act. A sacrifice had been necessary.
And the sacrifice had been made, and the young man's homeland had been saved.
And only he knew truly who had sacrificed and how. He remembered the arc of his throw. The dull crunch as the package landed, and the bemused looks most of the MPs had worn. And the young man had truly died that day, in the fire and the glory. He'd died and been reborn for his country.
So he remembered.

"Dulce et Decorum est Pro Patria mori"

The small blue house was set in the middle of the suburb, in a neighborhood swarming with similar houses painted in all the colors of the rainbow. It had a small yard dominated by a big chestnut tree with leaves in different nuances of red and yellow, making it look like a huge bonfire with flames falling now and then, gently being rocked by the wind all the way to the ground where the red fiery color quickly turned brown and then slowly black. The sun smiled warmly at the small town this fine autumn day, the last few days had brought frost during the night and it was obvious to anyone that winter was coming.

She was tidying up in the living room, the kids always left a mess and she had had visitors, her in-laws, and the kids always got excited when their grand-parents came along and spoiled them. She smiled at the memory of her youngest kid trying to keep up with her older siblings and toting along until her oldest son started to carry his baby sister so she wouldn't miss out on all the wonders of the toys their grand parents had brought. She was truly blessed with wonderful kids and even if her husband always tried to keep discipline the little trollops had him wrapped around their little fingers. She moved the sofa and removed the toys that had been stuck their, putting them in the big box where they belonged. She smiled at the thought of telling her husband of the development of their little family, he had been gone for six months now, leaving when Emily, the youngest, only was one. He was due back in a month, the last time he had been forced to stay but this time he had promised he would be back in time for Jack, his second sons, ninth birthday. She felt her stomach grow warm with excitement, it had been too long since he had hold her in his arms, since he took her by her shoulders and led her into a room the way that made her feel so safe. She longed for his embrace and the little talks they had before they went to sleep. Those talks about everything and nothing, just to share each others opinions about the ordinairy things of life, about what they had encountered during the day and how they felt about it. Only a month left! She thought, Thirty more days until he saw his face again, the smile, those wonderful warm brown eyes that looked at her as if she was the most beautiful woman in the world! She looked down upon her ring, playing with it on her finger, it shone in pure silver blended with gold in an oak leaf shape. She still remembered the day they met and the day they wed as it was yesterday. She sighed and continued to move the coffee table to make enough room for her vacuum cleaner, she almost didn't hear the doorbell over the noice.

-"Mother! Its for you!" Her oldest son Timmy yelled for her, wonder who it could be? She wasn't expecting anyone she thought as she turned off the vacuum cleaner and walked towards the door. There were two strange men and a woman in the hallway, after a second she recognised father O'Sullivan as one of the men.
-"Father! How nice of you to drop by...." She started until she saw the grim faces of the men and the woman in the room a cold feeling begun to spread throughout her body .
-"I'm sorry to bring you the news" It was the woman that talked "Your husband was killed heroically defending the emperors peace against insurgents outside Bendecitia early yesterday morning"

She felt dizzy; her legs felt weak and the womans voice distant. What did she know!? Surely they must be wrong, she had talked with him just the other day. They had discussed Jacks birthday and he had been afraid that Emily wouldn’t recognize him when he came back. They must have mistaken identity! Hundreds of thoughts flew through her head until she was interrupted by a wailing pitched noise, it was her own voice. Twisting the ring on her finger she felt the tears well up, she felt as if her chest was completely numb, total emptiness combined with a pain she couldn't locate, everywhere in her body but at the same time nowhere. She felt the hands of the Father on her shoulder, giving in to her grief she put her face into her hands and felt her tears burning down the cheeks. She was left hugging her children close to her body, convulsing in tears. Outside the window another leave slowly started its descent to the ground.