NationStates Jolt Archive

OOC: This is a serious RP based around terrorism. Feel free to join but make sure you know what you're doing.

History of Street Island and recap on terrorist attacks (http://www.nationstates.net/forum/viewtopic.php?t=56289)

Street Island Appeals to the International Community (http://www.nationstates.net/forum/viewtopic.php?t=62244)

News Report About Street Island (http://www.nationstates.net/forum/viewtopic.php?t=63257)

IC

"What if what they really want is for us to herd children into stadiums like we're doing? And put soldiers on the street and - and have Americans looking over their shoulders? Bend the law, shred the Constitution just a little bit? Because if we torture him, General, we do that, and everything that we have bled and fought and died for is over, and they've won. They've already won!"
-----Anthony Hubbard, "The Siege"

Part I: To Die For

Street Island, North Emerald Retirement Village, 13:00 hrs

The celebration had gone rather well. Gary Smithson smiled to himself as he watched the forty or so pensioners, seated in neat rows on the garden as they watched the comedy performance on the make-shift stage. True that the comedians were absolute crap and that the pensioners were mostly ignoring them, but there was talking and laughter and a sense of satisfaction.

It had been difficult to organise. The Retirement Village's 10th birthday was definitely something to celebrate, though, so Gary, the owner, has gone to great lengths to make sure that everyone could be here to enjoy the festivities--even those who needed special medical care. There was even an ambulance waiting just in case, though he wished fervently that this wasn't necessary.

He liked the old folks. They were like children, most of them, but it was a rewarding job to organise things to look after them. Though he knew that the people he employed to do the looking after often complained rather bitterly about things... But you get that with anything. He remembered his army days, when he, with the rest of his platoon, used to give crap to the cooks and various service personnelin the Street Island National Guard.

Good times. But that was over fifteen years ago... Things had changed now. The National Guard was more like a small army, supplied by various Baron nations who were allied with the Commonwealth.

But Gary didn't have much of an opinion on that; he was content with what he did every day. It wasn't his prob--

The massive wrought iron gates, more ornate than sturdy, slammed open, cracking the brickwork on either side. Gary yelped as he and the gathered pensioners and carers rose out of their seats in panic.

The first thing Gary noted, oddly enough, was the gold glint reflecting from the BCTO agents' visors. They were dressed in their customary black suits, sporting military haircuts, their faces blank and expressionless. There were four of them, striding towards the frightened gathering. Behind them came the soldiers; CR-59 assault rifles held aloft, most of their faces and heads covered by helmets and thick sunglasses. Instantly, Gary recognised special forces; the way they moved, the way they were completely aware of everything around them.

Then reality seeped back in. Gary sprang to his feet, his face red with anger and shouted, "How dare you...?!"

One of the agents came up to him while behind him, the soldiers formed a perimeter around the terrified people.

"You are Gary Smithson?"

"Yes! I'm the owner of this place, I demand to know what the hell you're trying to pull--"

"You're under arrest."

Gary stared into the reflective visor, his face distorted in its surface. "What? What do you mean?"

He felt his arms being roughly grabbed and constraining tape being sealed around his wrists. The agents had formed a circle around him.

"Gary Smithson, you are under arrest on suspected links to terrorist units operating from Street Island against Baron and its allies. You are a prisoner of the Baron Counter Terrorist Organisation." the agent nodded at the others. "Take him."

Gary was completely unprepared for the charged shock that coursed through his body as one of the agents prodded something into his neck. His vision greyed out from the shock and the last thing he felt was the warm spread of his own urine along the leg of his trousers.

OOC: more tomorrow.

A man who watched the whole scene through binoculars lowered them and muttered into his microphone, "Ratchet Command, this is Canine. Our boy has been seized, I repeat, our boy has been seized. Over."

The call was made from one of the assistants at the Retirement Village to the Street Island Police Force, HQ 44B, Sergeant Stirling taking the call from PC Stead.

The information was instantly passed onto his superior, Chief Constable Hammond, who drove to the Capital, Townsville, to meet with his District Commander personally.

After informing the Police Minister via telephone, the District Commander and his aides tried to trace the movements of the Baron Counter Terrorist group that had arrested Gary Smithson. Meanwhile the Police Minister quickly informed Cabinet and a formal protest was issued to the BCTO and Chimaea. The arrest had taken place in the most despicable way and without any warrant. The Chimaean military and BCTO agents present in Street Island was taking the law into their own hands, with no respect for due process.

By 15:48, a police patrol car spotted two APCs and one of the BCTO's leek black cars speeding in convoy on the main freeway that linked North Emerald to Townsville, where the BCTO headquarters was located. After radioing the position and details to HQ, the patrol car activated sirens and followed the convoy, though the convoy never made any attempt to slow down or stop and the patrol car made no attempt to force it to.

The BCTO headquarters were located in a massive warehouse complex (which it shared with the Chimaean military) on the east bank of the Townsville Lake. The convoy entered the complex but the patrol car was stopped by armed guards and forced to turn around.

Events were reported immediately to the District Commander and through him, the Police Minister. By 22:15 Cabinet was recalled in the Situation Room of the Townsville Parliament, where various representatives of the Street Island National Guard and the Police Force were present and adviced of the latest arrest.

Another formal protest was issued, this time directly from Prime Minister Joan Fraser to Sir Reginald Styles, the Governor of Chimaea. By 23:00 it was answered briefly by reciept, with no proper response.

More and more reports were coming in from all over the nation of more arrests taking place. The BCTO and the Chimaean military seemed to be making a broad strike response against suspected terrorists operating in Street Island.

By last count at 24:00, those dissappeared numbered one hundred and fifty-six.

The room was lit brightly by hidden light sources; the harsh white light pervaded the entire room, giving heavy disorientation to those remaining in it for long lengths of time.

Gary Smithson had been in this room for three hours, though he had lost count of time. He was curled on the floor, his eyes tightly shut. Through two-way mirrors, visored and expressionless agents studied him, conversing amongst themselves.

Finally, two agents went into the room, hauled Smithson to his feet and dragged him out. He blinked in the sudden comparitive gloom of the coridor outside but had no time to regain his senses before he was thrown into a room with a table, four chairs (two on each side), a clock on the wall and two lights, one from a bare bulb hanging from the cieling, the other from a bright desk-spotlight.

He was deposited in one of the chairs. Facing him were two agents, who looked at him without twitching so much as a hair. Their blank expressions gave nothing away, their mirrores visors reflecting Smithson's own distorted features back at him.

For ten minutes this tabley lasted, the only sound the slow ticking of the clock (which had been set purposefully wrong).

Then finally one of the agent's leaned forward slightly. "Gary Smithson. Gary William Smithson, former Sergeant in the Street Island National Guard, donated almost two thousand five hundred dollars to charity in three and a half years, runs am exclusive retirement village in North Emerald."

The other continued, as if they shared the same thoughts. "Gary William Smithson, former member of the Street Island National Party, involved in the violent armed coup launched by the SIN and their supporters in the National Guard. Given amnesty by the Street Island government after liberation by Coalition forces, an amnesty extended to most members of National Guard and the SIN."

The first one started again. "Gary Smithson was betrayed by his own nation in that war. Looked upon as a violent criminal instead of a liberating hero, fighting for the independance of Street Island. Betrayed by the very people he was fighting for. He goes into business and is successful in the electronics industry. Upon an early retirement, he created the Retirement Village which is contained on an inordiantely large amount of land in North Emerald; land which contains a disused, unsafe factory built underground by the Chimaean military, now emptied and sealed off."

Tick, tock, tick, tock...

"We know who you are, Mr. Smithson. We know what you are and why you are. We have in our custody hundreds of your fellow plotters, Mr. Smithson. They have divulged, under an information-freedom bargain, the exact details of several terrorist cells operating from Street Island. You see Mr. Smithson, we don't quite know what to do with you."

The other came in. "We don't actually need you in any way. We have you in custody, we have every detail of your involvement from your associates. You are just a thorn in our side, of no use whatever. So the question is, what do we do with you?"

Tick, tock, tick, tock...

"We could just quietly dispose of you. We have several ways of making people dissappear in a satisfactory manner; we could send you to island prisons far out in the ocean, to keep you there for the rest of your natural life."

His head was cruelly jerked back by the hair and the spotlight was switched on directly into his eyes. Smithson screamed.

"Think about it you arrogant old fool! Think about it. We can end your life. We are not democratic Chimaea. You have no rights with us. You have nothing."

The other agent suddenly stood up and mashed a automatic pistol into Smithson's cheek. "But there might indeed be a way you can preserve your... health, Mr. Smithson. We have enough information to act on, but another source is needed for the final adjustmants and the processing of information. Tell us everything, Mr. Smithson. Otherwise you shall never see the light of day again."

OOC: I've been invited to join this RP. I was formely a december nation called Revised capitalism but got deleted, so now I'm playing an anarchy. We make no actions to discourage terrorism, so its very likely that any terrorist group could be based here.

Just for OOC info: There is a Street Island terrorist organisation called the Street Island Nationals (S.I.N.), and they've been responsible for various terrorist attacks in Baron. I'd like S.I.N. to launch more terror attacks on other nations and other terrorist organisations to maybe join with them. Look Here (http://www.nationstates.net/forum/viewtopic.php?t=56289), Here (http://www.nationstates.net/forum/viewtopic.php?t=62244), and Here (http://www.nationstates.net/forum/viewtopic.php?t=63257).

In an interrogation room in Roania, a very different meeting was taking place.

"I am your friend. I can end the pain." The Inquisitor looked at his subject. "Where are the rest of the terrorist scum hiding?"

"Don't... know" the pitiful broken man mewed.

"Wrong answer, I'm afraid." He motioned to his assistant. While most Inquisitors searched the world for evil, some stayed at home to root it out. "Give another turn."

The hellish machine bent and twisted. The prisoner screamed in agony.

_________________

"Report." The Grand Inquisitor looked over his glasses.

"The subject died before further questions could be asked."

"Very well. Tell the torturers to not try as hard.

http://www.co.uk.lspace.org/books/whos-who/images/vetinari.jpg
One of the few sketches of Grand Inquisitor Richelieu

<tag>

((OOC: Hmmm... Currently I plan to start something similar to this with Krowemoh's own little terrorist group, the Armed Democratic People of Krowemoh, or ADPK. Well, actually they're not true terrorists... The government just calls them that...))