Momanguise
20-06-2004, 21:19
Budapest, Easter Border
Yuri Franklin was a tired man, a man on the run. For five days he had hiden inside a lugage compartment inside a grotty train heading for Russia. His part in this war was over.
Suddenly the train slowed, then stopped. Franklin streached, stiffling a yawn. Within a week he would be in for a long, slow retirment in Moscow.
The door exploded. A foot appeared in the light, striking Franklin in the face. Coughing blood, he was roughly pulled to his feet by soldiers bearing the Sword and Mace of the MPSA*.
'Comrade Franklin, you are under arrest for war crimes and for traitourous crimes against the revolution.'
The speach ended, and Franklin felt a sharp pain in his forearm. Staggering, he collapsed as the sedatives had their effects. The man was dragged roughly, his head banging against walls. Once the most powerful man in Dr_Twist, he had been reduced to a mere unwanted baggage.
MPSA Headquarters, Sangrad
Franklin was dazed, his vision falling in and out of focus. He was vaugely aware of two figures. One of them spoke, a booming noise which seemed to come from very far away.
Can you hear me Franklin?
Franklin drooled, making an inaudible sound. A fist flew out of the haze and smashed into his face, his head exploding with pain.
I said, can you hear me you bastard?
Franklin nodded painfully, before uttering.
Yes.....yes I can comrade
The man laughed, before stepping forward. This time the blow came to the stomach. Franklin retched, coughing up blood and flem. He also became aware that he was chained to a chair, and that he had been stripped naked.
Comrade.....you know what makes that word? People are comrades. Ordinary people. They do not even have to be communist. Just ordinary, good, people. The people you killed were real, breathing comrades. You are not a comrade. You do not exist.
Franklin awaited the next blow with baited breath. It did not come. Instead the chains fell away. The second figure stepped out of the darkness, revealing himself for the first time. It was Ernesto Sanchez, Premier of Momanguise. The two men had once been friends.
Get up Franklin
Franklin stood, painfully. He ached all over, he was not the man he once was and the beatings had taken their toll. Sanchez walked over, before castrating Franklin with a single shot. Franklin howled with pain, as he collapsed onto the floor. Paralised with agony, he withered like a beast. Two ordelys ran from the darkness, taking him by the arms.
Take him away
Franklin was dragged into a long, narrow corridor. He had resended into tunnel vision, but could just see a dark, seemingly endless tunnel. Five or six figures stood at the end.
You see these men Franklin? They are your former allies. Now you will face the justice which you deserve. Prepare to die Franklin.
The volley of shots seemed to travel in slow motion. Their impact was simultanious, Franklin felt them enter his crippled body. Beyond pain, he slumped back onto the wall, gasping. Finally his breath left his body in a painfull gasp, before he relasped into spasms and finally rigor mortis. The tyrant was dead.
Yuri Franklin was a tired man, a man on the run. For five days he had hiden inside a lugage compartment inside a grotty train heading for Russia. His part in this war was over.
Suddenly the train slowed, then stopped. Franklin streached, stiffling a yawn. Within a week he would be in for a long, slow retirment in Moscow.
The door exploded. A foot appeared in the light, striking Franklin in the face. Coughing blood, he was roughly pulled to his feet by soldiers bearing the Sword and Mace of the MPSA*.
'Comrade Franklin, you are under arrest for war crimes and for traitourous crimes against the revolution.'
The speach ended, and Franklin felt a sharp pain in his forearm. Staggering, he collapsed as the sedatives had their effects. The man was dragged roughly, his head banging against walls. Once the most powerful man in Dr_Twist, he had been reduced to a mere unwanted baggage.
MPSA Headquarters, Sangrad
Franklin was dazed, his vision falling in and out of focus. He was vaugely aware of two figures. One of them spoke, a booming noise which seemed to come from very far away.
Can you hear me Franklin?
Franklin drooled, making an inaudible sound. A fist flew out of the haze and smashed into his face, his head exploding with pain.
I said, can you hear me you bastard?
Franklin nodded painfully, before uttering.
Yes.....yes I can comrade
The man laughed, before stepping forward. This time the blow came to the stomach. Franklin retched, coughing up blood and flem. He also became aware that he was chained to a chair, and that he had been stripped naked.
Comrade.....you know what makes that word? People are comrades. Ordinary people. They do not even have to be communist. Just ordinary, good, people. The people you killed were real, breathing comrades. You are not a comrade. You do not exist.
Franklin awaited the next blow with baited breath. It did not come. Instead the chains fell away. The second figure stepped out of the darkness, revealing himself for the first time. It was Ernesto Sanchez, Premier of Momanguise. The two men had once been friends.
Get up Franklin
Franklin stood, painfully. He ached all over, he was not the man he once was and the beatings had taken their toll. Sanchez walked over, before castrating Franklin with a single shot. Franklin howled with pain, as he collapsed onto the floor. Paralised with agony, he withered like a beast. Two ordelys ran from the darkness, taking him by the arms.
Take him away
Franklin was dragged into a long, narrow corridor. He had resended into tunnel vision, but could just see a dark, seemingly endless tunnel. Five or six figures stood at the end.
You see these men Franklin? They are your former allies. Now you will face the justice which you deserve. Prepare to die Franklin.
The volley of shots seemed to travel in slow motion. Their impact was simultanious, Franklin felt them enter his crippled body. Beyond pain, he slumped back onto the wall, gasping. Finally his breath left his body in a painfull gasp, before he relasped into spasms and finally rigor mortis. The tyrant was dead.