NationStates Jolt Archive

The Ante Primal Triad which is NOT-GOD
Nothing is.
Nothing becomes.
Nothing is not.

The First Triad which is GOD
I AM.
I utter the Word.
I hear the Word.

The Abyss
The Word is broken up.
There is knowledge.
Knowledge is Relation.
These fragments are Creation.
The broken manifests Light.

The Dark Man slouched in the driver's seat of his rented black luxury Sedan. Outside, a cool misted had descended over the deserted, tree-lined street. Raindrops pattered a soothing rythm against the car'sroof and windows. The small, yellow flames of the neighborhood's gas streetlamps flickered weakly against the gloom. Waiting patiently, the man welcomed the inclement weather like an old friend who'd showed up unexpectedly on his doorstep. In his business, bad weather was an ally.

He checked his watch, a simple Swiss Army oficer's model. It was time to move. He'd dressed appropriately for tonight's occasion in a lightweight black wool suit, a black turtleneck and hand sewn black leather lace-up shoes with rubber soles. His powerful hands were encased in a pair of thin, black leather shooting gloves. In his right coat pocket there was a tight-fitting Nomex black balaclava. The mask would hide his most noticeable feature, a nasty scar running dead center across his forehead.

There was no one in sight on the street as he slid from the cozy armth of the Sedan. He softly closed and locked the door behind him and began the walk through the damp night air to the Nazguulian Attorney General's residence. Strolling casually along the wet sidewalk he keyed a pre-programmed number for the man's private line into his cell phone. After several rings, he answered.

"Yes?"

"Samuel? Bob Cory here. Still okay to drop by?"

"Bob!" exclaimed Kittrich. "Wonderful of you to call. Yes, yes of course. You're close?"

Closer than you think, you idiot, the approaching gunman thought jovially to himself. "Yes Samuel, just around the corner. Home alone?"

"Yes. My bodyguard is off tonight. Screwing some sweet little thing barely over the legal age, or so I'm told."

The Dark Man smiled. "Some guys have all the fun. See you soon."

"I'll deactivate the security gate," he said. "Come straight up to the front door and I'll let you in."

"Shouldn't be but a minute."

He didn't wait for a response, but punched the END button on the phone, and placed it back in his pocket.

Reaching the outer perimeter, he withdrew the balaclava from his pocket and placed it over his head, adjusting it slightly. He pushed open the wrought iron gate just wide enough to slip through. He stopped, listening for any foreign sounds and once it sounded clear he continued up the drive towards the homestead. He eased a big Magnum revolver free of it's holster inside his coat and rapped it's heavy 3" barrel against the door. Moments later he heard te deadlock turning from the inside. His every muscle prepared to strike.
As soon as he felt the door open, his whole body sprang forward hard. His left hand violently pushed the door aside as he exploded into the foyer. The astonished Kittrich stumbled backward as the inside doorknob flew from his grasp and the masked intruder exploded into his home. The man smashed the butt of the revolver into Kittrich's face, crushing his nose and producing a spray of broken cartilage and rich red blood. As the Attorney General's hands instinctively flew upward to protect his now ruined nose, the gunman faised his revolver with Kittrich's gleaming forehead and pulled it's custom trigger. No explanation, no hesitation.

Kittrich's face caved in as the lead wadcutter burrowed it's way through his forehead and into the cranium. It proceeded to punch a massive chunk of bone out of the back of the skull and sloppy, pinkish-red gobs of pulped brain matter were sucked through the jagged hole as the lead chunk exited, landing with a satisfying splatter on the foyer's walls and floor.
Kittrich never knew what-or who-hit him.

Holstering the revolver, the killer slipped a microcassette tape from his front pants pocket and placed it next to the dead man's shattered skull. As he rose, the hollow chime of an antique wall clock began to toll mindight. He stepped over the dead attorney like he was stepping over a piece of rotten meat and silently padded through the foyer to a large doorway. Opening the front and leaving the door open, he quietly exited the property and retrived his vehicle, slipping into the night and slipping away from prosecutuion........

The Doomsday Clock had begun it's countdown.

Bump

OOC:
Is it that bad??????

bumpitty bump

(OOC: Its not bad at all... How do you want people to join though?)

OOC: Anyway they'd like to, I guess.

THE BATTLE OF THE ANTS

That is not which is.
The only Word is Silence.
The only Meaning of that Word is not.
Thoughts are false.
Fatherhood is unity disguised as duality.
Peace implies war.
Power implies war.
Harmony implies war.
Victory implies war.
Glory implies war.
Foundation implies war.
Alas! for the Kingdom wherein all these are at war.


A hundred miles outside of New Prague, Nazguul, the glare from the hot early morning sun was already intense enough to turn the infrequently traveled stretch of highway into a shimmering river of black and silver. The black-clad figure in the middle of the road completed his task quickly and then gave a quick thumbs-up to te unseen shooter he knew was covering his back. He trotted away from the spike strip he'd positioned across the two-lane blacktop and scrambled back up to the firing position where he'd left his RPG and it's two olive drab-colored high explosive grenades.

Glancing towards a newarby shallow rise in the road, he slid the first rocket-propelled grenade into the launcher's tube. Within just a few moments he heard te sound he'd been anticipating - the hum of the engines of an approaching convoy. Lowering himself into the gritty sand of his makeshift shooting platform he flicked the launcher's safety to the OFF position but kept his right index finger well away from the weapon's trigger.
Three hundred meters to his south and one hundred feet higher on the crest of a small hill, the team's hard-target interdiction specialist could also hear the telltale rumble of the approaching target. Snuggled comfortably into his right shoulder was a .50-caliber Barrett M82A1 rifle. It's 10X Leupold and Stevens scope easily allowed him to track the progress of the two Nazguulian government vans as the traveled at a steady seventy five kilometers an hour. The lead van topped the gentle rise and began picking up speed as it headed down toward the nearly invisible spike strib, but it was the fate of the second van that was his personal responsibility this morning. Taking into consideration both the environmental and meterological factors for the morning's shoot, he'd chosen his firing position with enormous care.

Despite the lead van driver's sunglasses, the dazzling morning sun prevented him from noticing the slender strip of razor sharp spikes spanning the highway until his van was nearly on top of it. Swearing loudly, he'd hardly even begun to brake when he felt the vehicle's two front tires exploding. Punching the acelerator, he grimaced as the rear tires were damaged. Holding onto the steering wheel for dear life, the driver tried to maintain as much speed as he could as the van rumbled clumsily down the road. The van three lengths back had an extra half second of reaction time. Shouting a warning to the heavily armed operators riding with him, he slammed on his brakes to avoid the strip. He was able to bring the van to a complete stop without damaging the tires.

The feelings of relief were cut short when a .50 Caliber round exploded through the driver's side windshield and blew a gaping hole though the driver's soft body armor and chest. He was already dead when a second slug slammed into his bodyt an inch below the first. Almost simultaneously, two more gaping holes appeared in the passenger side of the windshield and the team leader riding shotgun on this morning's run. Six uniformed men desperately struggled to disengage themselves from their safety belts.

The Sniper had done his job perfectly and now it was up to rocket man. The shouts of the men could be heard by him as he knelt in a good firing position, the RPG resting firmly in his hands, it's dull gunmetal black launch tuing atop his right shoulder. He'd carefully computed the necessary standoff distance between where he estimated the van would come to a stop and his position. Pressing the launcher's thick trigger he felt his body jerk back as the fin-stabilazed grenade swooshed toward the van's open side door. A great belch of smoke and flame erupted from the rear end of the van. He could hear the dull craaack-THUD sound of a firing .50 Cal rolling through the mountains.
Raising the launcher up a second time, rocket man took an extra moment to carefully fix his sight on the burning van. Nothing. Satisfied that all targets within were terminated, he turned his attention to the second van. He released the second grenade. It slammed into the passenger side and ripped the entire front end off the vehicle and scattering body parts from two corpses out into the mountainside.

Setting down the launcher, rocket man swung his black Colt M4 across his chest and moved the rifle's barrel up and down the kill zone. WIth a light wave he signaled the "All Clear" to his teammate. He strolled toward the second van - the half that remained - and crouched slightly inside. He retrieved a metal-clad, medium sized suitcase. He grasped the handle and tugged the 30-pound case up and out of the van. They headed towards a black SUV that looked broken down on the side of the road. They closed the hood and climbed inside and started the vehicle up.

It was an odd sort of prize they'd killed so many men to obtain, one whose true power could only be released in the course of it's own destruction.

This message is to the Leader of the free nation known as Nazguul. In the name of the Almighty Yahweh we have executed the race traitor and Jew, Samuel Kittrich. Your friend, the Jewish Communist Kittrich was killed as a direct consequence of his efforts to destroy the foundation of the promised White Isreal, the Unholy States Of Nazguul. We defy the cursed multiracial and godless society that is sucking the life out of Nazguul. We are patriots. Patriots whose hate for domestic traitors like Kittrich resulted in his death and will soon result in the deaths of all others like him.
As of this moment we are in control of a Nazguulian made Special Atomic Demolition Munition. We will detonate the device in a major Nazguulian city of our choosing. The detonation of our SADM will ignite the race war in this country that must take place if all good and holy White Men are to again reclaim their original birthright and Nation. Make no mistake, Lazlo, we know who is at the root of our country's moral destruction. Their wicked presence is no longer tolerable to us. It is their destruction we commit ourselves to with this act!"

http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v62/Nazguul101/Ayur%20Stuff/AyurLeader1.jpg
[i]SyXX
Leader of the CCSA

(OOC: Nazguul, is Ayur your puppet or no?)

Das Furer has heard of the actions in Nazguul, and we seek to aid our ally against these terrorist in any way we can. If you require our assistance, we shall send a company of our Blitzscherwt commandos to deal with the matter.

We send our hopes that the threat is erradicated soon.

-Reichfuhrer Wulf

(OOC: Nazguul, is Ayur your puppet or no?)

OOC: Yeah, Ayur is my puppet. I created it six months ago, and am testing it out.

IC:
The Unholy Republic thanks Das Furer for their act of kindness. It will not go unnoticed. However, we require no assistance at this time, as there are several ongoing investigations going on.

The Archbishop has received news of this terrible attack, and offers you the use of one of our newly established special units... If interested, please contact us privately.