NationStates Jolt Archive

OOC: This was started in the Desolation of Wolfish RP. It was a highly promising RP, in which my Chancellor fell into senillity, and then was eventually deposed by the ISA. However, the RP was cancelled, and I was left with a changed gov't for no reason. So, here's the series of posts that occurred, followed with new info that never occurred, but might have. I will end the Wolfish crisis in a fizzle, to not break continuity, but this is the end of the reign of Chancellor Fenris, and is canon regarding my nation. This occurred a year before "now" in NS time, and is already done, so please don't intervene.

And now, without further adieu...

Part One: The Wolfish Thread Posts

ISA Report 835K43
Wolfish/Hatchibombitar War Games

Fleets from Wolfish and Hatchibombitar gathering for declared wargames near Niue. Several fleets inbound. Satellites have confimed the ships, and everything seems in order. However, recent economic turns in Wolfish indicate that this is a political move, perhaps by President Todler to show that Wolfish is still strong. Although it is unlikely that these are more than mere war games, additional surveillance is requested, as is Standard Operating Procedure.

In other aspects, sales of grains are going well, and we appear to be gaining some ground in the Wolfish economy. Nothing dominant, but we are being seen and heard. Exports to other nations have risen accordingly. Gen-En crops have gained respect from former skeptic nations. This is proving a very profitable venture for us, and may yield closer ties with the North Atlantic Markets.

Also, attempts to export othergoods toWolfish proven valuable, and they are buying much....

Sub-Director Allens turned to his analyst board, his lips pursed in thought. "So, " he started. "Wolfish purchased all of these supplies from us?"

"Yes, sir. Mostly from Sorobade and Corsis firms, plus some Artems and Valen combines." One of the Section Chiefs responded.

Allens reviewed the list again. "Jesus." He turned his head slightly. "This list just bellows 'War Material'. There's two options here, people, two ideas. Anyone tell me what I'm thinking?"

A Section Chief from Corsis replied, "Well, Sir. Either it's a continued bluff, to go along with the games, to show that their economy is recovering, and to not mess with them. Or... the hammer's about to fall. Most likely, first option."

"Very good. However, we're paid to worry about the Second Option. Probable targets if it is?" Allens was pacing.

"Not the Directorate, sir. We've been on good terms with Wolfish for years, and the only time we came close to bad was in that Rebeland fiasco. We're trading partners, mutually respected, and have several treaties on the boards. Now, they're buying from our nation. It's a safe bet that we're not the targets for the hypothetical strike."

Someone commented, "It isn't Roania. No one wants to stick their head in the hornet's nest."

"I think we can rule out all the larger nations, actually. What would make sense would be for Wolfish to strike a smaller nation that had given it some sliver of a reason, to show the world it can still bite. This is acutally parallel to the war game idea, just larger." Another Section Head pointed out.

Allens nodded. "Very well, then. We keep selling. Wolfish is not threatening us, nor our allies. If some little nation in the Pacific gets reamed, we sell Wolfish the supplies to do it, then sell the little nation the supplies to rebuild from it, maybe offer a treaty or something. Double your profit, cut your losses. This is the worst case scenario, boys and girls, but we'd better be ready to move on it, just in case." He paused. "This is all postulating, though. Our dossiers on Todler don't suggest anything of this sort. Unless he's had a massive change of heart, this is just a front, designed to strengthen his nation while not doing any outside damage. I say we operate under this assumption until contradicted."

The meeting continued.

"Bloody hell." Chancellor Fenris stated, resting his head in his hands as he read the report Director Kerrik had given him. "Well, this pretty much explains it, doesn't it? The purchases, the games... tied to Empassioned Peoples' grain attacks. Christ, they could have been more subtle." Fenris paused. "Speaking of... you did something, didn't you, Director."

Kerrik narrowed his eyes in very well feigned surprise. "Never, sir!"

"Then how do you explain the movements of our goods into Wolfish, the purchases of stock, the lowering of threat reports. In fact, I'm willing to bet that you were backing these movements, weren't you, Director?" The old man coughed a little, but then his arrogant tone resumed, "Don't think me stupid, Director. I know what you want. You want to be on top. You want to maneuver into positions that put you ahead!"

You want my seat. Was the unspoken statement.

"Never, sir." Kerrik declared, and he was honest. All I do, I do for my nation. But you're to short sighted to see that, Chancellor. You've grown petty with age. That is why I work in shadows now. I care nothing for my own fate, only this nation. But despite the vitriol in his mind, his words were calm as always, "Sir, the ISA was aware of the developements, but we did not intervene, because the different Section Chiefs felt that our nation would benefit. Imagine, in the aftermath, once Wolfish has recovered. We will have helped them through the dark times, and we would have gained market access, gained prestige. Only good could come of our aide. However, with the recent unpredictable moves from the Wolfish government, we are worried that-"

"This mere saber rattling." Fenris wheezed confidently.

"Likely, sir. If Wolfish moves, they will win, and we could then aide in the rebuilding of that nation. We help the victor, we help the loser. More likely, as you stated, is that they will pressure Empassioned Peoples into rescinding and compensating." Kerrik paused, "There is one danger, of a runaway scenario, in which-"

Fenris coughed again, stopping Kerrik, "Do not bother me with theories, Director. From now on, you will allow me to make every top-level decision of your agency. I'm sick of the ISA shadow-puppetteering this nation."

"Sir, we would never-"

"Quiet, Director, or I will demand your resignation." The man coughed. "Now, since we are involved, we have no choice. Sell your petty wares in your petty plans, Director. You are dismissed."

Kerrik stepped free from the room, and closed the doors behind him. A scowl crawled onto his face. General Cross was waiting outside. "You got picked apart, too?" The portly general asked.

"Of course. The Chancellor has grown bitter, and we are his easiest targets."

"Anderas, I think there's a danger here." Cross stated quietly.

"I concur, Aaron. This could very well cascade. I believe we can ride the tides, but the Chancellor is putting himself in the way of the very gears he forged." Kerrik tasted his teeth. "General, get a Bird ready for flight at a moment's notice. We may need to get a realtime intelligence coup on these "games". Don't move until I give the word."

"Agreed, Director. And, thank you for the intelligence on the fleet make ups. We've pinned down most of the ships now, based on previous records, photos, and reports." Cross glanced at the closed door. "You think this could go bad?"

"Yes." Kerrik stated, glancing at the doors as well. "Certain people will make sure of it."

Neither man stated a name, but both glanced at the closed doors.

"Well, shit." Sub-Director Phaellan stated as he faced Director Kerrik. "We've been gutted? By the State Department?"

Kerrik twirled the pen through his hand. "Unfortunately, Chancellor Fenris feels we've been too "free" with our movements, and that he should be the proud and righteous Defender of the People." Kerrik stopped the pen's motion with sudden ferocity, levelling it like a pistol. "And that means we're stuck behind red tape, when fiasco's like this happen..." he slid a paper to Phaellan. "Allens' agents pulled that about half an hour ago."

Phaellan glanced at the paper, and his face contorted into a grimace. "Lovely. The Queen of Hatchibombitar was galivanting about with an elephant troup? And got blasted?" He raised an eyebrow. "We don't get this stuff in DARPA. I've got to trade posts with Allens..."

"Keep reading. It get's better." Kerrik snorted. "We don't know the Queen's status, but keep reading."

"I don't get it." Phaellan shrugged. "Hattian customs, Empassioned Peoples cigarettes on the scene, dropped by the boys who pulled this... Was this a communist hit?"

Kerrik kicked back. "It would appear so, would it not? Our agent on the ground heard the shooting, and got himself onto the scene to see the local police cleaning up EP cigarrette packs. In the confusion, the agent trailed a suspicious man... and found a local drug ring instead of hitmen."

"Professional job?"

"Hell, yes. The place was clean, except for those cigs they found. That bothered Allens, and it bothers me. It was a perfect hit, they shot clean... but the cigarrettes... not professional at all." He shuffled his papers. "And you'll love this part. Checking files, guess who trained Empassioned Peoples's Special Forces? Hattia. Hattian was distinctly pointed out by several of the travelling troupe our agent checked with, posing as a police officer."

"Sounds like pretty circumstantial evidence." Phaellan stated.

"It is. But it's what I like to call the "Anglerfish" syndrome. You know how an Anglerfish hunts, Phaellan?"

"No, sir."

"It has a little pole, a projection from it's top, and it dangles a little bioluminecent bulb in the water in front of itself. It dangles this light out there, waving it around... other fish see this, and assume that it's small prey, and they attack it. You know what happens? The Anglerfish eats the would be hunter. It let's them convince themselves that this is prey with it's subtle but deliberate moves." Kerrik pointed the pen accusingly at the paper. "You watch, and I guarantee you we'll get more evidence like this."

"So, you think it's a lie?"

Kerrik snorted, "You've spent to much time in the lab, Phaellan. This reeks. It's the incongruity of it. How is one part of the op so perfect, the other so bungled. Generally, it's about the same level of correctness or mistake over the whole op, not the flare between perfect and idiocy. If I were doing this, I'd have corraborating incidents. However, Fenris will not listen to me, and I dare not argue, unless I want to see the ISA reduced to a mere puppet agency. We've worked too hard for this."

Phaellan scratched his hair. "You know, I hate this political shit, Director. My question is, who would benefit from EP being to blame? This would seem to feed into the Wolfish intimidation episodes we've been witnessing lately, as Hatchibombitar is an ally..." Phaellan thought hard. "It doesn't make sense! If EP and it's allies aren't trying to commit suicide, and you're certain they're not, then that leaves the neutral nations, or the Wolfish side. Wolfish does not need help to smash EP flat, and has plenty of reason already! Why would they move on this, and risk shattering a close alliance?"

Kerrik grinned darkly. "That leaves the neutral parties. But who, in this world, would benefit from a growing war? The more irate the Wolfish side becomes, the less profitable rebuilding EP will be, and that rules that out. In effect, we have an assassination attempt with no direct benefit. David, that worries me, it worries me a lot, and with these handcuffs Fenris has slapped on us... I need your people on alert. And get me Darius. I need to speak to him."

"I will, Director." Phaellan excused himself from the room.

Kerrik turned the TV back on, watching the growing news as he filed his report. This cannot end well.

Corsingard
Ridgeview Plaza
63 Vernon Avenue

The home of ISA Director Kerrik was lavish, but it not was by choice. A well manicured lawn was the first thing noticed, and several fine and exotic plants dotting the gardens, while a single fountain sat in the yard. Two limousines were parked in the cobblestone circle drive, while series of sedans waiting in the garage. Three guards patrolled the roof, and more were certainly in the shadows. Several lights shown from inside the columned mansion, but they were clustered in the east wing.

Inside that ring, Director Kerrik sat in his “conference room”. This large room was finished with oak, and had a deep, rich texture accentuated by the rows of books, the fireplace, and the fine leather chair he sat in, facing a high tech plasma screen, partaking in a secure video conference. This was the most ornate room of Kerrik’s house, and there was a reason. Just as with the lawn, this room was for others. The only point to these trappings held was to make others comfortable, to make them feel at home inside of the “symbols” of power.

Kerrik’s true stylings were much more Spartan. Simple rooms, and functional, were his motto. The only rooms to receive more than the cursory “what is needed” functions were the living room, with its gathering table and artwork, and the library, his pride and joy. It was said that Kerrik owned every book worth owning, as his private library spanned a cylindrical chamber four stories tall and nearly a hundred feet in diameter. Other than that, the rooms were simple living quarters, situation rooms, and other function rooms, like the kitchen or the bathroom.

But as Kerrik watched the man in the upper-left screen, he felt a sudden urge to reach up and pluck the antique eight gauge shotgun from the mantle, and calmly unload it into the screen. In that loathed screen, Chancellor Fenris was speaking. “…we will simply continue on as before. We will sell to both sides, and offer our medical facilities to all. With being situated in the mid-Pacific, we could be in quite a beneficial location. We could sell supplies, medicine, and repairs to all sides under neutral flags.”

Kerrik really wanted to grab the eight gauge by now, but he held his tongue, even as Jonathon Maddox, the State Security Agency Chief began to speak. Maddox was Fenris’s personal lapdog, and was a simple yes-man. But, to the aging and ailing Chancellor, that “yes-man” had come to mean “only loyal man”. “The esteemed Chancellor is right. Director Kerrik, you opened these relationships with Wolfish in hopes of gaining a foothold, and it seems that you were right beyond your aim! Now we can profit even more, by playing both sides. We will gain allies from both pools!”

Kerrik considered shooting both screens. Cute tactic, Maddie. Give me a compliment that binds my moves, so I appear to slander my own judgment. Fine. You want to play like this- Another voice, one of reason, sprung into his head. Don’t fire back. The ISA is in a tenuous position at best right now. You don’t need to be picking fights with Fenris’s runner-boy. Kerrik followed the voice of reason, and he simply let the topic continue, hoping someone else would pick up his train of thought.

Someone did, and General Cross spoke up. “Gentlemen, this very well might play out as you suggest, but we also must consider the possibility of a worst-case scenario.” More like a “likely scenario”. Kerrik thought, but Cross continued, “If we are playing both sides, what happens when they play on the middle? What if one side decides it can function without us, while it figures the other could not? We could be seen as a detriment to their war, and be the recipient of a very nasty surprise.”

Maddox laughed at the General. “Hardly, Aaron.” he made the first name an insult. “These are civilized nations, and they would not dare attack a neutral nation!”

Kerrik now began to consider shooting himself, too. But still he remained silent, even as he looked at the situational map. Hello! They’re shooting each other and jumping in the dog-pile. I don’t think they care about neutrality.

Again, Cross spoke for Kerrik. “With the amount of firepower being leveled over there, I don’t think they’re really looking for the “reasonable” thing to do. If we step into the line of fire, we may get blasted too.”

Fenris waved him off. “Nonsense. There is a poker term for this. Wolfish has simply over-played its hand. Soon, they will pull back and consolidate. Nothing will come of this, unless we can seize this opportunity.”

Kerrik wanted something more than a shotgun, and he finally burst out. “Sir, there’s an intelligence term for this, too. It’s called a cluster fu<k. Look at the facts, sir! You have riots in Wolfish, marshal law clamping down, a General in command, after an economic collapse, and a building war not that far from our borders. Add this to the amount of “pile-on”, entangling alliances, vengeance warfare, and the God-forsaken assassination attempt on Hatchibombitar – all too convenient, that one – and you have a recipe for disaster of mammoth proportions! This has "massive catastrophe" written all over it! We should stay clear, at all costs!”

Fenris was visibly fuming at Kerrik’s insubordination, while Maddox was glaring, and Cross was nodding silent agreement. Maddox fired off a reply for his master, the Chancellor. “Director, it is hardly your place-“

“Hardly my place? I’m the Intelligence Director! This is my life, the study of international relations and the betterment of this nation!” Kerrik declared exasperatedly.

Fenris broke in. “And it is your duty to obey me. Director, this is not the time and place for your Machiavellian schemes. Be silent, or-“

“Or what, sir? You’ll remove me from my office? Go ahead, sir, that is your right. But, I must speak my mind. My duty is to protect this nation, and there is a coming threat! Imagine, the reaction when the nations aligned against Wolfish find out that we sold him all the supplies he needed to go on this warpath, and that our creditors are buying his bonds. We’re greasing his wheels, and if we start playing both sides, someone is going to get angry. We need to pull back safely-“

“I will not tolerate this insubordination!” Fenris boomed. Maddox grinned. Cross stared. Kerrik simply sat there, amazed by the arrogance. “Director, you are hereby relieved of duty! I will not take your power-hungry ways any further! You will remain out of any government building until this crisis is over, and you are not to be seen with any of the ISA’s agents. Maddox, you have control of the ISA now.” The screens went black, and Kerrik knew he was out of the loop, virtual and real.

Kerrik snarled and grabbed his telephone, hurling it into the fireplace. “That fool!” He turned to glare at the embers, his momentary rage fading into cold venom. All that I do, I do for this nation. All that I am, I am for this nation. What am I without this nation? What will this nation become? Kerrik had always been a patriotic man, and that had not changed. Even without my post, I can still serve. Damn the Chancellor and his senile schemes. I must protect this nation.

Kerrik’s pulled a small cell phone from his suit jacket, and flipped it open, his eyes locked onto the shotgun over the mantle. A call was made. All is for this nation.

Sorobade
Karton Shipyards

The Kaukolastani Dominion centered around the four islands of Artems (Northwest), Valen (East), Sorobade (South), and Corsis, which rested in the center. Throughout these and beyond these were scattered islands and atolls, all under the Dominion’s control. In the large, rich island of Sorobade, at the southern sea, was the port of Karton. Amid the ragged cliff faces and coastal guns, this was the one good port for miles. To either side, the cliffs rose against the steel water and the rugged terrain.

Karton served as one of the rare “external” ports that allowed Kaukolastan to face the open ocean, instead of into the Channels between the islands. As such, it had prospered, and served as the second most important port to the Sorobade mining industries, as well as one of the main shipyards, and one of only three capable of producing the Dominator-Class Dreadnoughts.

Row after row of ships, ranging from cutters and tugs to supertankers, filled the berths. Seven keels were being laid, including three for supertankers. Of the yards in the world, this was one of the few that had the size and capability to construct the great ships in one pass, rather than piece by piece. But this was to be expected, as these docks had produced the Dominators. Removed from the bustle of the port, there were more docks, these guarded by Marines. In the largest of the two dozen berths, there was a series of three hulls being set. It was not three ships, but rather a single Dominator, the trimaran overlord of the seas.

In the harbor, cutters and gunboats escorted ships to and from the perimeter, lest some unwanted guests pass too near the Dreadnought. Not that the navy hid the great ship. In fact, they had made sure that the vessel was visible to all, to showcase their newest powerhouse. It was to be commissioned the DB-12, the Imperator, and it was twelfth such vessel produced for Kaukolastan, with two more for Transnapastain and one for Armed Lumberjacks, respectively.

What made these vessels so devastating was not in their ability to level triple the firepower, nor in their inherent stability and armor, but in their computerized and optimized systems. With the extra space, Kaukolastan had not just slammed more ammo into place, but added redundant systems and powerful fire-control and direction computers, as well as the first generation BattleNet, although all were easily converted to generation two, already in planning.

As such, this trimaran was protected by layered security, torpedo nets, and constant guards that watched even, especially, the workers welding the superstructure. Of these guards, many were ISA agents and operatives, who watched the watchers. One of these was Darius Jensen, and the young agent stood on the uppermost dock arm over the growing ship.

Darius was a completely average man in appearance, which was good in his profession, where being invisible was a necessity. Standing at six feet tall, weighing two hundred and ten pounds (muscle only), he was of a wiry build. Straight, dark brown hair was tucked under and fell over a dark blue bandana, a trophy of his combat in Geridan, and one that still had the coppery taste of blood as his sweat fell through it. Glossy black jackboots rose to his calves, and his uniform pants were tucked into them. The black leather belt and chest strap gleamed in the sun, as did the rank emblems on his high collar, and the ISA seal on his hawk-billed cap that mostly hid the bandana. Below that emblem, the silver chain marked his position as an Operative, resting over the black bill of the cap. The modern fabrics breathed fine, letting the heat escape, even in the glaring sun at the seaport. Darius stood with catlike balance on the docking arm, watching down into the construction.

He glanced away from the glimmering water and hard work below, looking inland, towards Terenaus. The brilliant sunlight flashed for a second from his premium sunglasses, and they reflected in a full prism as the light bounced across. Darius’s eyes narrowed behind the lenses, and he observed the silent silhouettes of skyscrapers and refineries with cool appreciation. All of Sorobade revolved around the mining and production industries, so far as that cities were called “Hubs”, towns “Outposts”, and settlements “Stations”. Everything fed back into larger and larger circles, before being shipped in a finished package, sent to Corsis, or consumed there. Of all of the Hubs, Terenaus, the Provincial Capital, was the most important and glamorous.

It was the only Hub in this land that could claim to be a “cultural center”, as it was the favorite of the CEOs and Presidents, as well as the seat of government. Like most of Sorobade, it functioned from eight to six, then clocked out and went home. At night, the culture took over, and concerts and sports became concerns. But even those went out at ten. After all, everyone would be working again tomorrow. Darius smiled softly, thinking of his home in the city. To most people, that kind of life would be crushing, but to Darius, the industrious, efficient Hub was a perfect match.

He turned away from the distant outlines and shimmering glass to return his attention to the work below. The Imperator would be finished within a month now, if this pace continued. And it would. The Karton Dockworks were among the best. To the harsh people of this place, there was nothing more fulfilling than good, hard work, and that was evident in every project.

From behind him, there was a call. “Sir!” Darius turned slowly on the beam where he stood, as there was only a three foot width, and a hundred foot drop below. At the end of the beam, a similarly dressed, if simpler, ISA agent was standing. “The Section Chief wants to see you.”

Darius nodded and began to walk across the beam with graceful confidence. Years of combat training had given him extraordinary balance and self-confidence, or perhaps simply, a refusal to believe anything could hurt him. He hopped from the end of the beam and turned to the junior officer. “Thank you, agent.”

Darius strode through the yards, and upon entering the dock’s ISA office, he removed his hat. The bandana, however, remained in place. “Operative Darius Jensen, reporting.” He declared to the receptionist, a mouse-like analyst who nevertheless appeared dangerous.

The analyst glanced up. “Please proceed to the conference room.” There was a buzz, and the door past the desk swung open.

“Thank you.” Darius stated as he head into the next hall and down the stairs. He approached the third door, tucking his hat under his arm and composing his face to greet a superior. He opened the door.

“Ah, hello, Operative.” A smooth voice floated from the room. Darius almost halted his stride, but his training carried him through without break. At the table, Section Chief Keller sat with three other Section Chiefs, as well as Sub-Director Allens, Operations Director.

Darius saluted and shot to attention, keeping the hat pinned. “Sir!”

Allens sighed and returned the salute. “It’s alright, Darius, I’m not pushing military discipline here.” Allens' history was in Special Forces, and that attitude was sometimes more than a little evident in his leadership. “Please, have a seat.” He motioned to an empty chair. “Now, how much do you know about the current situation?”

Darius need not ask what that situation was, for it had plagued his mind all day. “Well, there’s a war being based from under a thousand clicks from here, and patrols are stepped up accordingly. We’ve been putting through a lot of shipments lately. Lots of medical supplies and raw material bound for the North. I’d assume polar route to Wolfish? Then, we’ve got more waiting to go south, probably to EP. I’d say, we’re selling to both sides with gleeful abandon.” He couldn’t hide his frown.

Allens nodded, accepting these facts. “And you don’t like this?”

Darius paused for a moment. “Sir, permission to speak freely?”

“That’s why we’re here.” Allens motioned for him to continue.

“It worries me. Number one, the run up to this war stinks to high heaven, if the reports we’re seeing are accurate. We shipped a lot of war materials before this even began, so I think this was inevitable. Now, Wolfish has waltzed deeper into the pit than they expected, and things are going to get uglier… fast.” He paused. “Now, what we’re doing is getting us a lot of money, but we can’t sustain this. All we need is something to go bad, anything, really, and we’re in the middle of this, too.” He paused again, weighing his words. “I think Fenris wants a legacy, but why is the Director not protesting?”

Allens grimaced. “Actually, Director Kerrik is currently suspended.”

“What?” Darius almost yelled. “In a time like this, the Chancellor removed the Director?” He was almost too stunned to speak, which was good, for his next words were sure to be treasonous.

As it happened, Allens spoke for him. “The Chancellor is a senile old fool, and now we’re silently answering to SSA pencil necks. Maddox is in charge of us, but not in public.”

Darius glanced around, but the others simply watched him. They had already heard the news. “We have to answer to the SSA? I thought they were just a holdover of the previous administrations.”

“They were, and they still function as a rubber stamp for Fenris’s plans. Unfortunately, we can’t change his mind. Kerrik was relieved for being reasonable and recommending caution.”

“What are we going to do?”

“Well, if we protest, we’ll be gutted into the Internal Stamping Agency, so we have to try to work things for the best, inside of this plan the Chancellor has. The military is doing likewise, and has put in place defensive measures, as well as beginning a small mobilization, just in case.”

At this, there were several snorts. Section Chief Keller spoke first. “Let me guess. Baby-sitting.” At Darius’s confused glance, Keller clarified. “The Chancellor is not only selling material, but offering to allow use of our external archipelago shipyards for limited purposes, and to take in injured from both sides for treatment. Which means, we have to be careful not to let them steal our equipment, sabotage each other, or, God help us, start shootouts in the hospitals.”

Darius suddenly had an image of a Wolfish sailor with one arm tackling an EP Marine with no legs, and both of them spilling into the isle of a hospital mess hall, sending IV bags skittering. “I trust we’re being cautious?”

Allens nodded grimly. “As much as we can, with the SSA pricks all over the place, talking about political correctness and courtesy to other nations. As is, we are interdicting and escorting ships in and out, and keeping the crews under friendly “protection”. And, we are stealing DNA samples under the guise of health checks, just in case some ass hat tries to bring a disease into the Dominion.”

“When does this start?”

“It began at noon.” Allens shifted bitterly. “Be careful out there, Operative. And use every bit of force you need. Don’t worry about the SSA if it comes to that.”

Darius shook his head. “This is stupidly risky.”

”Agreed, but we follow orders.” Allens said no more, but there was an unspoken end to that sentence that everyone there felt. For now…

OOC: As of this point, this is new material. I will attempt to close out the Wolfish situation, while keeping the tension high on myself. From here on out, this is new material.


Part Two: Seizure of Power

(READ THIS!)

((Ack! Yessir! *tags for future reading goodness*))

“…the fires are still burning at the hospital, and we’re seeing casualties pile higher by the minute-“

CLICK

“-some sort of homemade explosive-“

CLICK

“-a patient inside the hospital set the explosive-“

CLICK

“-perhaps a political cause, as only the wing containing-“

CLICK

“-response from the government-“

CLICK The television winked off, and Director Anderas Kerrik of the ISA dropped the remote onto the glass coffee table. Even off duty, he wore his suit, but kept it pressed and clean as he sat in his easy chair, staring at the blank screen. He lowered his head into his hands, his face contorted into sadness and anger. How has it come to this? He looked up, through blurry eyes, glancing at the flag in the corner, over the mantle.

I am a servant of the state. I must serve the state, no matter what difficulty that may be. Kerrik stood, with one last glance at the screen, then to the paper, with more bad news. He bit his lip, straightened his tie, and grabbed his cell phone. His decision was made, and he must act upon it. He closed the door behind him, and stepped into the future.

Wingtips on marble floor was a very distinctive sound, Darius realized. His shined shoes clicked from the stone of the museum floor with registered precision. Each little clap of the shoe on the stone sent a striking echo through the pillars and columns. Clack, clack, clack, the rythm of my path.. Each minor thunderclap bounced back from the walls, striking his ears with martial accuracy and crystal resonance. His step never wavered, never varied. The sound clicked at forty second intervals, and his long stride covered two tiles per step. With each snap on the floor, people tensed and glanced furtively. The ISA is here.

Darius could hear that statement, never spoken, always thought, shouted out in the silence between his measured steps. Men stepped back, women shied. Children stared at him as he passed between the pillars, his black suit cast on the white marble. A small boy held a sucker mere inches from his face, but would not lick it, for his eyes were locked onto the piece of silver beneath Darius's foot, and his wide eyes blinked with the report of it striking down. Darius offered neither smile nor frown, his attention was fixed. The rythm continued, his coat swished over the Beretta under his arm, the cap pulled onto his head.

The sunglasses perched onto his nose as the light filtered from the skylights above, casting into the museum, and he moved through these shafts of light and bursts of darkness with equal countenance. His darkn brown hair, almost black, emerged from beneath his hawk-billed cap, and he could feel the weight of the small metal ISA symbol emblazoned on the front. Director Kerrik is waiting. Darius turned another corner, entered the History Museum from the Art Museum. He passed between the displays, and the throngs parted for him and his warning step, set in mark time. He moved as the breeze, his appearance washed away beneath the presence of the uniform. He left a room, and his presence was only remembered as ISA, not as Darius. Such was his creed, his profession. All was washed away beneath the Agency, and only the Agency remained. A ghost, he left the room with the fading taps, and the people resumed their lives.

But Darius pursued his goal in his own inevitable fashion. Clack, clack, clack, and the Director waits for me. Darius pressed open the door to the mural room, and the great oak swung to reveal a large rotunda. At his entering, another faceless agent was waiting. The waiting agent touched his earpiece, and stepped past Darius with a nod. Darius stepped forward, three more clicks into the room, and the door closed behind him. He did not look, but he knew he was now alone with the Director.

Light streamed from the oculus on the ceiling, the light cast through the bent lense to fill the room with natural light. Starting by the door opposite him, there was a mural that wrapped around the walls, circling one third of the room before abruptly terminating. The other two-thirds of the room were still pure white, interrupted only by the oaken doors. The mural began with the paintings of Michael Geraldi, the great painter in the year 1264. On that wall, he had painted a representation of daily life in Kaukolastan at the time, with an Imperial Court, Lords, Knights, and Servants. This met with fields full of peasants working under a golden sun, and the great markets of Corsis. His painting, wrapping five feet of wall, was a grand depiction of the nation in his day. His painting blended with the next five foot section, completed in 1314, which likewise was a depiction of that time's life. For the remaining wall, various painters had taken the brush, filling in their sections at the five foot intervals and fifty year periods. The last section was completed only two years ago, and showed the glittering skyscrapers and the bustling ports, while aircraft flew overhead and a Dominator cut the sea before it....

"This is the history of our nation, cast in oils and stone." A voice broke Darius's thoughts. In the center of the room, bathed in the pure light of the oculus on one side and cast in shadow on the other, Director Kerrik stood, studying the mural before him. His back was turned to Darius, but his voice was clear. Darius did not close with the great man, but hung to his side of the room. Kerrik did not turn, either, but continued to ponder the wall. Dust descended slightly from the ceiling, swirling around the Director in the white light and inky blackness. Kerrik's hair remained jet black, combed back with precision, and it shined in the glow. His shoulders were square, his stature perfect. He wore no glasses, and his earplug was removed.

Darius bowed his head slightly, addressing the head of his organization. "I have arrived, Director." Darius stated in a low tone, as not to disturb Kerrik's thoughts too greatly.

Kerrik still did not move, but motion to the mural before them with his right hand. "Do you see this mural, Darius? Do you understand it?" The Director's voice resonated through the room, hitting Darius with controlled speech from all sides. It was as if the room was talking to him, echoing from the paintings, descending from the skylight.

"It's our history, sir. Every fifty years, a new artist is contracted to paint another segment. This is our history, from the eleventh century to today." Darius answered, his voice bouncing from the walls and ceiling in hollow tones.

"More than that, Darius. It is us. This mural, this history, is the soul of our nation. You give me a person from these pictures, and I can give you a name. You point to a location, and there is a story. This is life, frozen into a mantle of art. We are all bound to this painting, did you know that? Our every action can be related to this work in some fashion."

"Sir?" Darius tipped his head, glancing at the images, who looked back at him in turn.

"Take, for example, the military. They are the security guards in this museum. They protect this painting from exterior harm. They keep the vandals away, and hold the robbers at a safe distance. They protect this painting, and they protect the life that it is. Now, look to the civilian government. They are the groundskeepers, the maintanence workers. They keep the building strong, to support this mural, to foster it. They keep the ceiling secure from rain, and the light from going out on this work. The people are the visitors. They observe this mural, they watch it, they mimic it, and in time they become it. In this way, the cycle is returned. Look at this mural, Darius, and tell me what you do not see embodied. I can show you the people, the military, the government. There are great works of Chuch and State and neither... but what is missing here? What is deliberately not seen?" The question rounded the room, echoeing itself and then focusing in on Darius.

Darius pondered for a moment, but dared not move, to disturb the sacred silence of this room. "Sir, we are not in this image." Surely the Director is not implying that we are finished! Despite the Chancellor's recent moves, I never thought-

Kerrik halted Darius's thoughts with one declaration. "Stop." Kerrik glanced up, to the light streaming from above. "You are correct, we are not in this image. But we are very much a part of this mirror cycle. Everyone has a role. Some must protect the mural, others guard it, others view it... and that leaves one role to us, yet." The silence hung heavy as Kerrik waited for the revelation to burst in his Agent's brain. "We are the artists, Darius. We mold this society to a prosperous end, we protect it from failure. It is our duty to protect the order which our nation needs, it is our job to craft the meticulous image of civility our people demand. And in turn, we must protect them from themselves. When this mural decays, we must retouch it. When it is cracked, we must repaint it. When neglect threatens to destroy it, we must stop that neglect, and restore this great art."

There was a rush in the chamber, the fading sounds of Kerrik's words mingling with a breeze from above. Rain was striking the oculus from the heavens, and the streaks were cast onto the floor. Darius watched the dark streaks move from his chest to his shoes, and he glanced at the raindrop casting the shadow. Above, water was pooling on the lens, making the room waver. From a slight crack in the ceiling, a single drop fell. This drop moved gracefully through the room like a tear, a small mirrored bulb, reflecting the two men and the mural. It struck the ground, exploding into a smaller shower of droplets. Kerrik's hand flashed out, sheilding the wall from even the slightest drop. He spoke again. "Darius, can you see it? The ceiling is cracked. There are those that neglect their duty to this mural, who do not fulfill their obligations. This rain will wash our mural away, and destroy a millenium of work and grandeur. But, we cannot be lax in our task. We must protect this mural from this neglect, and restore the damage dealt by the negligent ..."

Darius stepped forward now, under the oculus, moving to catch the next drop. "I understand, sir." He clenched his hand on the traitorous drop. "It must be done."

Kerrik nodded slowly, gratefully. "You understand our burden. The people demand a masterpiece, a perfect work. You bear this burden now, Darius. Carry it well. Make this mural perfect again."

Darius nodded curtly. "Yes, sir. After all, I am an artist." He turned, and with one last glance at the mural, he headed for the door. Darius opened it, and as he passed into the museum again, he glanced back once more. Kerrik stood in the center of the chamber, beneath the lens. The Director remained still, simply studying the work before him. Darius gave this great man a silent nod of admiration and closed the door. He turned, and began to walk, his steps as measured as always. However, the clicks snapped even louder, even bolder on the surroundings. The cap was heavy as always, but Darius hardly noticed. His pace quickened into double time, and with supreme dedication the artist went to fetch his tools. The clicks of his steps echoed to the rotunda, circling Kerrik and the mural, ascending to the wavering light.

*edit*

El TaGo

*something postage this way comes*

"We've got the prisoner held in a safe house in Corsingard." Allens reported to Kerrik, handing over the PDA. "The SSA tracked the explosives used in the bombing to the Karton Port, but they couldn't penetrate the dockworker culture enough to root out the suspects."

"And we did, then?"

"We were tipped off by a friend in the SSA. We tracked the explosives back to an old warehouse, and in the ensuing Espo raid, we managed to sideline some of the explosives and two of the cell operating there." Allens pointed to the PDA. "You were right, Director. It was Geridan seperationalists, attempting to frame Wolfish and EP and launch us into the war."

Kerrik nodded, folding his hands. "Then everything is in place. We have two suspects from the first bombing, the same explosive batch of Semtex they used, and their motivation. Tell Darius to begin, and get the pieces into position for Chancellor Fenris's propoganda tour. Set one of the terrorists as the rabbit, and the other... have him get caught in an escape van. Get Darius the Semtex. It's time that this Seperationalist movement had a sudden bout of success..."

"Aye, sir."

"It's art, Allens. It's the purest art." He paused, "And make sure that SSA agent wins the lottery someday soon."

The squad car rolled through the empty streets of the Terenaus warehouse district. In the rear of the vehicle, shackled and secured, was Timen Frebeck, one of the two Geridan separationalists that had been captured in the Espo raid. Frebeck had overheard the guards talking as they loaded him into the car from the safe house, and he knew he was a dead man. Straight to the Hole, to be tortured unto death. So be it, I will have died for my people. Frebeck glared at the police officers, who said nothing to him.

From the radio, the news blared. “…Chancellor Fenris is visiting Terenaus today, to bolster support for his handling of the bombing…”

Frebeck spat in the back of the car, and the officers ignored him again, remaining unnaturally calm. Frebeck smirked to himself. The guards hadn’t secured his cuffs very well. When they went to take him from the vehicle, he would take their guns, and kill many before they could take him down. He tested the loose handcuffs again, and smiled to himself. Kaukolastani fools.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Darius lay on the roof of a warehouse, watching the Chancellor’s car through a pair of field glasses. His leather gloved hands tensed and released as he picked up a small microwave transmitter. He flipped the switch, and the light on the handset turned green. Darius held the transmitter in his left hand, his finger over the transmit button, and he held up his field glasses with his right hand. Through his zoomed view, he watched the motorcade move slowly through the streets of Terenaus.

He panned the binoculars over the street, bringing them to bear on a light post. When the parts align on that post… Darius swept back to the motorcade. His cool green eyes narrowed, and a bead of sweat stuck into his headband. Below his building, he heard a car roll to a stop, and with a quick glance, he spotted the squad car carrying Frebeck. One stroke of the brush, one more splash of paint. I am the artist of this work, commissioned by the Master to work the magic of my art. Darius raised the glasses again, and he waited.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Inside the armored limousine, Chancellor Fenris sipped on a fine wine, glancing over to SSA Director Maddox. “As I have said, there is no problem. Kerrik knows he is beaten, and I shall usher in a new era of peace.”

”Of course, Chancellor. It’s about time those scum in the ISA got their comeuppance.” Maddox raised his glass. “Another fine speech today, sir.”

”Of course, Maddox. Did you expect any less?” Fenris waved to the crowds gathered outside the motorcade. “Please, wave to the slobs. They want our attention, so that they feel a little less inferior.”

”They’re all disgusting, these working class.”

”If only we didn’t need to see them. I miss the gardens of Corsingard already.”

Fenris waved halfheartedly through the tinted windows. To the right of Fenris, a light post rolled past, inconsequential in its function.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Darius watched the limousine pass the post next to last post, and he closed his eyes for a second. Almost to the point of no return. He crossed himself. Forgive me. His eyes flashed open, callous and harsh. The limousine aligned to the last light post, and every piece came into alignment. Darius caressed the transmit button with a delicate touch, and the act was done.

Below the limousine, a simple manhole was situated. Below that manhole cover was enough Semtex to flatten a city block. Every piece of Semtex was aligned in a perfect position, forming a semi-sphere of plastique around the copper manhole cover. Over those explosives was a dome of forged steel. A box near the explosives flicked red as a microwave signal arrived and a series of signals were sent to the Semtex detonators. In a split instant, the dome of explosive detonated, directed by the parabolic steel. The force struck the copper cover, heating and liquefying the manhole cover. In that instant, the manhole cover became a forged copper plasma sheath, an anti-tank round created from the sewers. The molten copper surged upward as the parabolic steel gave away to the force, its purpose complete.

Inside the limousine, Fenris turned to wave to the right, and Maddox raised his glass. The wave never began, the glass never tipped. For in that moment, a sheet of pure metal fire tore into the compartment, a wall of hellfire that pierced the skin of the vehicle. Both men were vaporized before the blast could clear the roof. The limousine rode the biblical column of fire, flipping end over end, the entire rear missing and the cabin burning. The flaming wreck plunged into the canal next to the street, sending up a billow of steam.

The thunderclap shook the city, smacking Darius in the face even on his rooftop. Glass shattered from the city center to the suburbs, and civilians were hurled to the ground. The screams and sirens began almost instantly, and chaos reigned as police, Espos, SSA, ISA, and military members tried to secure the streets.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

In the squad car with Frebeck, the explosion rocked the ground, and blew the windows from the squad car. The two officers bolted from the vehicle, running towards the sound of the blast, abandoning Frebeck in the chaos of the moment.

Frebeck laughed aloud, stunned by his turn of fortune. He pulled his hands from the broken cuffs and reached out the broken window. He pulled the exterior handle to release himself, and stepped from the car. He ran for the nearest alley, trying to escape the squad car vicinity.

As he ran, he heard a bellow. “Stop!” someone commanded, but Frebeck continued to run.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

On top of an old warehouse, ISA sniper Kelly Asinth watched Frebeck through her scope. The Sag 34 ACR rested on the ledge. She knew her mission. When the bomb went off, she was to assume a defensive position on the roof. A man would run by. When he ran by, she was to call for him to stop. Whether or not he stopped, she was to drop him.

Sure enough, Frebeck entered her target zone. “Stop!” Asinth called, bringing the ACR to bear on his chest.

Frebeck ignored her call and continued to run. Asinth breathed in, then out, then in, holding her breath. She squeezed the trigger, and the ACR bucked. Inside, the molded explosive propelled a sabot charge down the bullpupped barrel. The sabot spun to the end, where it shattered, flinging a 7.92mm tungsten carbide dart onto a ballistic course. The dart spun cleanly in the air, flying a perfect trajectory.

The ACR was designed to penetrate heavy body armor. When the dart struck Frebeck, it barely even slowed down. The dart entered his back just below his neck, shattering his spine, tearing the brainstem free, and pulverizing the heart and lungs before ripping free in a spray of blood and bone. The dart embedded a foot into the concrete below. The spray of blood, bone, and organs that burst from Frebeck’s chest sprayed in a tremendous cone as his torso disintegrated. His legs struck the ground, and his head fell a moment later, rolling into the street. The walls around his shattered body were painted red, and chunks slid down windows.

“Shots fired.” Asinth reported on the police channel.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Director Kerrik sat in his home, staring at a chess board. He reached across the board and flicked the white king to the ground. “Mate.” He stated, his fist clenching over the piece. He raised the fallen king to his eye level, and then glanced to the fireplace. With a burst of movement, he hurled the piece into the flames. The stone king shattered into the coals, and Kerrik turned from the fire to the flag. It is done.

KNN Reports
“This is Amy Deseret, with KNN. Today is the fifth day of mourning for Chancellor Fenris. Today, it was confirmed that the man killed in Terenaus by an unnamed police sniper was indeed the man behind the bombing. Traces of Semtex were found in his clothes, and his presence was traced to the bomb gear found in a warehouse nearby. He was linked to a Geridan seperationalist group by another one of his cell-mates, currently in ISA custody. We now go live to ISA Director Kerrik, acting Chancellor.”

The scene cut to a new conference room, where the Director stood in front of the Seal of the Republic. “Citizens of Kaukolastan, today I come before you to state that the perpetrators have been killed. The men who killed Chancellor Fenris have been correlated by the Terenaus Police and the Espos. The last of the Geridan cells was broken earlier today, and they now rest for eternity.”

He paused. “But I did not come before you to talk of death. Fenris would not want that. I have come to speak of the future. I tell you, Fenris did not die in vain. His death will mark the completion of the vision he held for this nation. We are entering a new era, and we should do it in his memory. We will be holding elections within the month, and we will move boldly forward.”

He paused again, his gaze softening. “It has been a pleasure serving this state, and was a pleasure under Fenris. I pledge to serve whoever takes the Chancellorship in his wake, and I am grateful for the opportunity to carry his torch. Thank you.” The camera cut away.

CLICK

The television cut out, and Darius took another drink from his beer. He kicked back in his chair, and he closed his eyes. Across from him, the Director spoke. “You did well, Darius. I’m quite impressed.”

”Thank you, sir.”

”Thank you, agent.” Kerrik sat down, “May I?” he pointed to the cooler.

“Sure, help yourself, Director.” Darius shrugged. “Never thought I’d have a beer with the Director.”

”Why not? Am I that different?” Kerrik took a swig. “Good stuff. I don’t get the chance to kick back anymore.”

”You won’t, for a while, if the news is true.”

”Meaning?” Kerrik raised an eyebrow, taking another drink.

“Come on, sir, you’ve been the voice of wisdom and strength through this. They want to coronate you, if they could.”

Kerrik shrugged. “I live to serve, and have no use for titles.”

”But you’d take the Chancellorship?”

”It’s role, yes. But not the title. I am the Director, not the Chancellor. I could never be Chancellor.” Kerrik glanced to Darius. “You’re the most trusted agent I have. You’ll bear this burden some day.”

”Sir?” Darius asked.

But, Kerrik was already standing. “Thanks for the beer, Agent. I have to get back to the affairs of state. Enjoy your rest, and come see me when you’re ready. I have a nation to run.” The Director vanished, and Darius drained his beer. He leaned back on the couch, letting his cold water soaked bandana ease his eyes.

In the museum, the workers were patching the leaking ceiling, and an apprentice was retouching a faded portion of the art.

OOC: And with that, the ISA now runs my nation. The second piece of the end is set. The first is Proteus, the second is the rule of the ISA. The third will come.

To Be Continued