NationStates Jolt Archive

(ooc)
I am finally giving my region-mates a kick in the pants and starting a thread here for the various events going on in 'The Amazing Land of W00t'. To my region-mates, c'mon, let's do this thang...

To anyone else that would like to join in the clash of capitalism and communism, temperance and fundamentalism, a region with interesting plots developing, feel free to join the region and get involved... Please, though, serious rpers only...

Now, on to the actual story...

The black limousine cruised away from the border. A quick ID check, a half-hearted visual scan of the car by customs officials, and the would-be terrorists had easily crossed the border into the Commonwealth of Pearsonovia.

'It was so simple it's scary,' mumbled Mikhail to himself. The Pearsonovians have been our hated rivals for centuries, and these days we all act as if nothing is wrong'. He fingered the cross hanging around his neck, then felt at his waist for the familiar butt of his semi-automatic pistol.

The Pearsonovians, with their unreasoning obsession with profit, were only concerned that the three men in the car had declared everything that their insurance covered - anything else wasn't important.

'I don't think that our insurance covers an act of God,' he snickered, his mind drifting to the contents of the boot. 'And they will certainly fear Doreyvania, his instrument of vengeance, when we have finished what we came for'.

Mikhail saw blue and red lights flashing in his rear-vision mirror - police from the border? He swore under his breath and began to pull off to the side of the road.

'What's the matter?' his associate, Dmitri gasped, pulling himself out of a doze. He nudged Gregori in the seat beside him.

'Sshhh' Mikhail whispered, his hand drifting to his weapon. 'We cannot get found out now...'

The highway patrol officer strutted to the drivers side door, smiling smarmily at the obviously Doreytopian foreigners.

'Good evening, sir. It seems you've got a broken taillight. You know that's a hefty fine in our country, right..?'

Mikhail shot him a look that could wither an oak tree. 'Money is all you care about in Pearsonovia, isn't it, swine? Well, in Doreytopia we value something else - justice.'

The gunshot was silent and deadly. The policeman slumped over the roof of the car, his uniform quickly staining crimson. Mikhail simply pushed him off the car, and turned to his comrades.

'Take him into the woods and dump him, now!'

The plan will proceed as planned, Mikhail announced. Nothing would stop them, not police, not a dead body, no-one. As long as the Fundamentalist Reformation Organisation still held firm, as long as Mikhail still had breath in his body, the peace talks would never go ahead.

The car sped off into the night, and its final destination, the capital of Pearsonovia.

(an hour later, at the border)

The young constable, James Fredrick, wakes his slumbering superior. "Hey Franky, where's Charlie gone..?". "I dunno he went to check out that doreyvanian limo that cruised through here...". James thinks for a moment. "When was that??".
"10:30 - something"
"Hey sarge it's 11:43, shouldn't he have been back ages ago?"
"Hahah, that Charlie he probably got his fishing rod out and done some fishing in that new artificial lake by the forest". James stares at Frank, not satisfied with his answer.
Frank sighs.."Look if you're that worried about him! Try him on the radio"

The radio crackles from Charlie's empty patrol car... "Unit 91 this is border HQ do you copy? over"
*no response*
"Charlie this is Jimmy, are you there..."
*silence*
James slams down the radio..."That's it sarge i'm going out there to see what's goin on!"

Frank chuckles and tries to return to his sleep... "Suit yourself boy-wonder, nothing ever happens on this job".

Premier Doreyev knew that these talks would cost him. Doreyvania was a nation of strong religious beliefs, and they were becoming more and more intertwined with a national conviction that capitalism was 'the devil'.

In truth, such strong sentiment was only held by a minority. The Fundamentalist Reformation Organisation, or FRO, was still a minority, but it was a loud, aggressive and extremely persuasive minority.

In his private plane, awaiting the flight that would take him out of his beloved country and into the Commonwealth of Pearsonovia, a centuries-old rival that may now become a trading partner and ally, the Premier flicked on the television.

The face of his arch-rival, Nicolae Doreyetska, governor of the Fiefdom of Doreytopia, the largest state in Doreyvania, and the fiery leader of the FRO, appeared on the screen.

'Oskar Doreyev has obviously forgotten the will of the people that he claims to serve!' shouted the angry, pixelated face. 'The public that placed his government in power not one year ago did so because we could no longer stomach the petty corruption and greed that a nation built on capitalism creates! And now our "beloved Premier" seeks to ally Doreyvania with Pearsonovia - the posterchild for capitalist greed!'

Anna Doreykova, the Minister for Foreign Affairs, crept into the room and silenced the television.

'Just ingnore him, Oskar,' she cooed, sitting next to him and taking his hand in hers. 'No one will believe his half-truths. Everyone knows that he is just another fanatic who believes that he is the only one that knows how to run the country. Everyone knows that.'

'Do they?' he angrily thought to himself. 'Do they know that the economy needs this boost, and that it was one of the hardest things that I have ever had to do, to turn to the capitalists that we rail against? Do they know that if a madman like Doreyetska ever became Premier, a dictator that backs up his anger and intolerance with religious zeal, the entire country would fall apart faster than a house of cards?

Oskar Doreyev wondered whether the country that he had cried for, bled for, and even almost died for, would forget him. Would they run straight into the arms of a man that promised change, no matter how bloody it may be? But even more terrifying, he wondered if he was just about to push them to it.

The plane began to move forward, then to slowly pick up speed. The Premier pulled his tie off and undid his top shirt button. He bowed his head between his legs and started to pray.

Nicolae Doreyetska was not a bad man. At least, his actions have always been justifiable to him, and that was all that he cared about.

As the outspoken leader of the Fundamentalist Reformation Organisation, and now the new governor of the state of Doreytopia, Doreyetska has spent the last three years trying to lead Doreyvania into the bright future that he has dreamed of. If, as Doreyetska's thinking went, some fringe groups - gays, pagans, capitalists - don't want Doreyvania's success, they would have to deal with him.

That was why Doreyetska was sitting at a park bench at five minutes to midnight on one of the coldest nights of Doreyvanian winter. He blew on his hands and rubbed them together - they were so cold, despite the black leather gloves he wore.

'My good old leather gloves,' he mused, staring at his hands. 'No fingerprints...' He smiled sinisterly in the moonlight.

Another man hurried to meet him - Artur Doregeanis, one of the most famous political reporters of the 'Doreyvanian Pravda'.

'It is so good to meet you,' huffed the overweight reporter. 'I need you to know what one of the highest Doreyvanian officials has been party to.'

Doreyetska nodded to him to continue, stroking his black goatee. His deep, dark eyes shone with feigned interest.

'I have proof right here that General Fanaticoff, Minister for Defence in the Doreyvanian federal parliament, has been secretly procuring nuclear weapons, and has now obtained the technical knowledge and equipment to create his own nuclear weapons program.' Hoisting a large briefcase onto the park bench, Doregeanis opened it and began rifling through dozens of papers.

'I am a Doreytopian, and a committed member of the Reformed Church of Doreytopia,' he continued. 'I believe in your vision for our nation, Governor. And I know that with this sort of dirt on the Doreyvanian government, you could easily get Doreyev indicted.'

Doreyetska simply stared at him. 'Where did you get this information?'

'I, uh, I have some contacts in the import / export industry. I believe that Fanaticoff may have obtained the weapons from the rogue nation of Psychojuice, and that they were smuggled through the Dominion of Freethgard.' The reporter stared at his Governor, hoping for some sign of approval.

Doreyetska silently closed the briefcase, and picked it up. He turned to walk away, then glanced back at Doregeanis.

'Thank you, Artur,' he smiled. 'But there is only one thing - what makes you think that General Fanaticoff began this secret weapons program at the behest of Premier Doreyev?' With this he pulled out a snub-nosed revolver, silenced, and shot Artur Doregeanis in the forehead.

Nicolae Doreyetska pocketed the weapon, explaining to no-one in particular. 'The Premier would never sanction such weapons. He is too much of a pacifist, content to toady up to all the bigger fish in the sea instead of making a stand for his people or his faith.'

His face hardened into a mask of dogged determination, already planning the elimination of potential leaks in the import / export industry, and a way to show his displeasure to his contacts in Freethgard for their oversights.

'I won't make the same mistake'.

Oskar Doreyev stepped out of the private plane. A courageous, strong and smiling face was plastered over the mess of nerves that was the Premier. Today he was to meet the President of the Commonwealth of Pearsonovia. Today he was to try to negotiate for peace and trading rights with the nation that his people feared and distrusted. Today would be a deciding day for Doreyvania, and for Oskar.

Doreyev looked out at his reception - a mess of people, some protesting, some cheering, others simply watching to see how this momentous occasion would unfold. Oskar was so scared of messing this up.

'Oh Lord', he prayed, whispering under his breath. 'Please give me the strength to endure today.' With that, he beamed a huge smile to the people and the cameras, and set his foot down on Pearsonovian soil.

Walking to the podium set for him, he took the microphone and began his address. 'People of Pearsonovian, and brothers in my beloved Doreyvania, I come to you today to sue for peace. To reach out a hand in friendship and unity with our neighbour, in what will hopefully be the first step in a peaceful co-existence, and even harmony, with our brothers and sisters over the world. Thank you for your trusting me to begin this peace process.'

With that, most of the crowd cheered, the rest jeered or eyed him silently, and the Premier strode to his car. As he approached, his personal driver and friend, Vassily Doreyradicowitska, turned the ignition key and waited for the engine to roar into life.

Instead, the detonator attached to the ignition sent a signal to the four packets of C4 beneath the car, and they exploded. A huge ball of flame ingulfed the car in an inferno of heat, and instantly killed Vassily Doreyradicowitska.

The Premier flew six feet backwards, the intense heat burning his hair and eyebrows, blinding him instantly. White hot shards of metal pierced skin and punctured major organs. The blackened figure that only moments ago was the Premier, hit the asphalt of Pearsonovian Central Airport, weakly clinging to life.

As the Premier lay there dying, the only thought crawling through his fevered mind was:

'What have I done, what have I done, what have I done..?'

The time had finally come. The people of Doreyvania had suffered for decades under the yoke of corporate capitalism, the decline of social welfare, the unbearable taxes, the corruption of the once glorious Doreyvanian government. The people were bitter and angry.

Not one year ago it looked like it had all changed. A new government was in power, the Socialist Alliance of Doreyvania, and the country had begun to head in a new, fairer direction. It had been hailed as 'The New Socialist Society', 'The Realisation of a Dream', and 'Doreyvania's Jubilee'. But the great dream was about to go down in flames.

When the silent revolution, sparked by the unfair imprisonment of political activist and now-Premier Oskar Doreyev and driven by nation-wide passive protests and strikes, placed the SAD in power 11 months ago, the country closed its borders. Doreyvania had a lot of cleaning up to do, and the people feared the outside influences of more capitalist countries. Sheltered by the frozen, almost unpassable peaks of the Doreytopian mountain range, Doreyvania had clawed its way back to health.

Two months ago Doreyvania reopened its borders to the outside world. Rejoining the world stage, its pursuance of a peaceful trading relationship with the capitalist paradise of Pearsonovia was a point of contention to the socialist democracy. But fueled by the angry Fundamentalist Reformation Organisation, and its fiery leader Nicolae Doreyetska, the issue was about to let loose a fire that would not soon be quenched.

Nicolae Doreyetska's stern face appeared on every television in Doreyvania, replacing programs on every station.

'Countrymen, brothers, Comrades, I am Nicolae Doreyetska, governor of the state of Doreytopia and your fellow soldier in the war for peace and justice in our great land. Forgive me for interrupting your viewing, but I have an urgent message for you all...' His face set in a mask of determination, strength, and almost malice.

'Premier Doreyev is dead! While on his foolish quest to try to solicit funds from that corrupt nation, he was reportedly killed in some sort of terrorist bomb.' Footage of Premier Doreyev, his silhouetted form thrown back by a raging inferno that moments ago was his limousine, filled every television in the nation.

'For the last two months I have repeatedly warned the Premier, the nation, not to trust the greedy and power-hungry Pearsonovians - and now my warnings have ringed true.' For the first time his face showed a slight sign of mirth, only to be quickly replaced by a solemn frown.

'It is now that I must regretfully declare my vote of no-confidence in the government of Doreyvania. The SAD has for the last year promised us the glory of peace and justice, and never once delivered - and now their failures, and the failures of our late and once-great Premier, have come back to haunt them.

'I now hereby renounce my allegiance to the government of Doreyvania. For too long they have pursued moderation and inaction when what this nation needs to get back on its feet is quick and decisive action. Now, without the charms of the late-Premier Doreyev to hold everything together, I know that Doreyvania will have no chance.

The camera panned out to reveal a throng of supporters behind the Premier. Many of them were in army uniform, many wore the robes of the Reformed Church of Doreytopia.

'That is,' announced the governor, 'unless you place your faith in me. I swear that if you will now elect me to instantly take Premiership from the weak sycophant, Vice-Premier Karl Doreyanokov, I will unite all of Doreyvania in the vision of hope, peace and justice that we all dream of.

'Tonight I shall march onto the capital of New Dorholme. Tonight I shall make my declaration to the Parliament - that tomorrow the sun must dawn on a new, reformed Doreyvania. Please join me, for peace, for justice, for the good of the nation! God bless Doreyvania!'

A cheer rose up from the crowd behind the Governor, a cheer that was echoed in millions of homes and streets and clubs and pubs all across the nation.

Tonight, the revolution would begin, and it would be televised.

*Moments earlier*

Wil Robinson, sits down at his hand carved mahogony dining table, for his afternoon meal. But is rudely interrupted, by a close friend and advisor.

"Mr President! Sir! I must speak with you!"
"Jeez Louise, Barry!" he says coughing, "You almost made me choke on my McLunch... What's the bloody problem?"

Barry hands Wil a small report, and explains, "There has been an act of terrorism on Pearsonovian soil, Sir.
"Premier Doreyev of Doreyvania has been involved in an asassination attempt."

President Robinson's face grows stern, "Is he alive!?"
"We can't confirm that at this time sir."
"What do you mean you can't confirm it!? Does he or does he not have a pulse!?"
"No sir, he doesn't, but our medical experts are trying to ressusitate him as we speak, What shall we do sir?"

Robinson leans back looking at his hand carved mahogony ceiling, and runs his hand through his chestnut brown hair.
"Shut down all airports. Double, no triple the security at all border stations. These bastards must still be here! And we're gonna get them Barry. Pour as much medical resources into the revival of Doreyev, i don't care if our doctors do a frankenstein on him, we cannot have a Doreyev dying, not after all we've done to try and get him here. We're must catch these terrorists Barry!" Robinson slams his fist on the table. "Ouch! damn this mahogony table sure is sturdy"

"And Barry, Set up a meeting with the head of security and General Bubkis, and get the secretary to address the media on this"

"Right away Mr President"

All across Doreyvania, people took to the streets. Outlawed guns were removed from their secret hiding places by angry protesters, and waved high above peoples' heads. Bands of shouting youths smashed through the windows of stock exchanges, business and insurance company offices, chanting 'death to capitalism'. They would burn every element of capitalism to the ground, and they would leave a trail of destruction and mob justice in its wake.

High above, Doreyvanian police helicopters circled the skies, splaying dark streets with the bright arcs of roaming searchlights and ordering people back to their homes. Patrol cars rushed to and fro through the streets, trying vainly to stem the tide of corruption sweeping the nation.

In one of the few intact electronics stores dotting the capital of New Dorholm, a television showed the face of a brave news reporter. The handsome blonde woman spoke quickly and tensely, her fear showing through her beautiful blue eyes.

'-government is still in control. I repeat, despite the carnage wrought by angry mobs in every city of our nation, our government has maintained authority. Please, return to your homes and wait there until peace has been restored in your city.'

The screen cut to Vice-Premier and Minister for the Interior, Karl Doreyanovich, standing behind a pulpit bearing the Phoenix emblem of the USSD, and in mid-sentence. He seemed to be holding himself together, barely.

'-must regretfully announce that Parliament House has been destroyed by the rebels. The government headquarters has been moved to a confidential location, from where we will continue to ensure that our nation does not fall into the fires of anarchy and destruction.

His long, handsome face showed his nervousness, his obvious fear trepidation at what he was about to say. He fiddled with his glasses.

'Please have faith in us. I have called the military in to New Dorholm, and we shall shortly have peace again. I repeat, martial law has been insituted, and we shall very soon see the end to this attempted coup.'

However, the violence on the streets only intensified after the Vice-Premier's announcement. Fast food restaurants, police stations and government offices were now the targets of the vengeful mobs.

A crowd of over 70 people, armed with an assortment of melee weapons, as well as small arms and hastily-made molotov cocktails, surrounded the Pearsonovian Embassy in Dorezvhad, the capital of Doreytopia. Shouting chants of 'Death to Capitalism!' and 'Down with Pearsonovia!', they threw rocks through windows and hurled abuse at Pearsonovian soldiers.

A crack rang throughout the loud, angry night. A Pearsonovian guard, still clutching his rifle, suddenly fell back into the arms of his compatriot, a huge hole in his head showing how he instantly died. His commander, shocked at the new escalation, wondered what to do.

What would they do now?

OOC: My region has no pants, so I can't really give it a kick there...

Embassy Commander Trikkson gazed in horror elevated on the top floor of the Pearsonovian Embassy, he watched as the vile mob set his vintage 1973 PearsonAuto on fire. Black smoke billowed from the embassy car park and surrounding buildings. Hey yelled into his com, "Are those gates closed yet!??"
A scared corporal sounds back, "Yes sir, it's holding for now... but i don't know for how long, how long until the airlift sir?"
"I'm working on it corporal, now that the Doreyvanian leaders have moved... even we're having trouble getting in contact with their officials. We may have to wait for our own boys to pull us out, we'll have to hold out for a lot longer. Prepare yourself corporal. Don't let anything through those gates!!"

As Trikkson holstered his radio, he caught glimpse of a high flying molotov cocktail flying towards the window. He quickly dived to his right, as the molotov crashed through the window. Flames quickly crawled up a wall and his hand carved mahongony desk. "NOOOOO...!!"

Trikkson dashed outside and grabbed fire extinguisher, he tried desperately to put to quench the flames but wasn't able save the desk, as the desk was recently varnished thus being very flammable. He dropped to his knees, a quiet sob left his lips. Then a scowl crept across his face, he grabbed his radio. "Johnson!! I want 3 snipers :sniper: on the roof, marines take up your positions, use lethal force on anyone carrying a weapon! Am I understood!!??"

"Yes Commander"

Trikkson threw the radio to the floor and grabbed his small arm from it's holster. He carefully levelled it at a rioters head, and sent him flying back into the crowd of his filthy companions. Screaming, he emptied the rest of his clip into the mob. He reached down retrieve his last clip, unaware of the thrown molotov just inches away from his face.

This region is kewl babey!

The twilight of dawn spilled over the Doreytopian ranges in the distant east, giving an ethereal glow to the carnage filling the streets of New Dorholm. The government had survived the night, though almost half of cabinet were MIA or dead, murdered by the rebellion.

Vice-Premier Karl Doreanovich wiped sweat and blood from his forehead. A large gash ran down the right side of his face, shrapnel from the mortar blast that had destroyed Parliament House. He had fled in a humvee, dragged by the marines of the Doreyvanian Guard, and sobbing that he had seen so many of his closest friends eviscerated by the horrible explosion.

'Where the hell did they get mortars?' he mumbled to himself, sitting in the front pew of St. Dorey's Cathedral, a once-beautiful old church that had been turned into the new base of operations for the remains of the Doreyvanian government. The beautiful old stained glass was hidden by wooden boards nailed over every window, snipers were perched in the grand old bell-tower, and the refectory had been turned into a makeshift communications room.

'...and how can I find anything about Premier Doreyev..?' Oskar Doreyev was like a father to the almost-thirty year old Vice-Premier. He loved him like a father, and he wasn't sure whether anyone but he could pull the country through the hell that it was going through now.

'Colonel Dorscek, please try to get through to Pearsonovia again. We need to get through to the Premier, now!' He didn't want to add what everyone else was thinking. 'If he's still alive...'

####

Half a nation away, dozens of dead bodies lay strewn on the streets outside the Pearsonovian Embassy in Dorezvhad. Fedor Dorebachev, a chaplain in the Doreyvanian military, crouched behind a blasted wall and whispered orders to a sniper.

'Good work, Vassily. God has blessed you with amazing aim. You must use it to drive the Pearsonovians from our holy nation. I think there may be Pearsonovian snipers in the embassy. You must take them out before they end the resistance as quickly as it started.'

Suddenly, the priest jumped three feet backwards, a snipers bullet silently driving through his right shoulder.

'Don't worry, my son. I'm okay. It is not fatal.' He mumbled. He struggled to sit up, but the 50 year old man was nothing if not determined.

'Just shoot, shoot!' He yelled hoarsely, clutching his wounded arm. Fedor was not about to die yet - without his spiritual leadership the rioting crowd would undoubtedly let the vile Pearsonovians escape, and by God, he was not going to let that happen.

####

Not ten miles away, a column of tanks and APCs entered Dorezvhad. Across all of the state of Doreytopia other battalions had already surrounded major cities, and were heading straight for the city centres. They glistened menacingly in the half-light, and both rioters and fearful public looked to them in the distance with trepidation. No one seemed to know who the army was for, and who they were against.

An attack helicopter quickly sped to the embassy, soldiers peering down at the amazing destruction below them. The Pearsonovian soldiers and civilians huddling inside the compound stared in wonder - their ride had come!

How were they to know that most of the military, including their supposed saviours, had fallen behind Nicolae Doreyetska's rebellion?

OOC:

Ceydlon>> Feel free to join in if you want... The Region is 'Amazing Land of W00t'. The more the merrier, and its only us two right now...

Pearsonovia>> That is great stuff! Just so you know, as of now the Doreyvanian government is contactable, as is the Doreytopian revolutionary government if you want to go that way... I'm thinking that Doreyvania may be asking you for a little help, as now that I look at it I don't see how they can possibly survive...

I'm also going to get back to the three guys that entered Pearsonovia pretty soon too, so get ready...

Half a world away, in an undisclosed medical facility in Pearsonovia, surgeons desperately operated on a broken Oskar Doreyev.

Quickly, almost too quickly, they set limbs, stitched up organs and injected very liberal doses of painkillers.

'The punctured lung can be saved, I believe', whispered the head doctor. 'But I think that the main issue is his heart. The trauma, the damage, is unbelievable.'

Suddenly, a screeching siren went off, as the heart monitor flatlined.

'Oh God!' cried one of the nurses. 'We can't lose the Premier! It'll be all our careers, gone!'

'Shut up!' yelled the head doctor. 'Clear!' He slammed the defibrulator onto the man's wounded chest, and the power was set so high that the body leapt an inch off the table.

'Clear! ...Clear! ...Clear!'

The siren disappeared, replaced by the rhythm of Oskar Doreyev's weak heartbeat.

'I think he's going to be alright, doctors. Not stable by a long shot, but alright.' Beamed the head doctor.

'I think we should inform the President.'

Vassily crouched behind the blasted, bullet riddled wall. Peering over the top, he took stock of the warzone surrounding the Pearsonovian embassy. Dozens, maybe even a hundred, of his brothers in arms were dead, mowed down by Pearsonovian guards. He would exact his revenge, one head at a time.

A guard stumbled into his line of sight, avoiding a molotov cocktail that exploded behind him, sillhouetting him perfectly. With lightning fast reflexes Vassily took aim, said a silent prayer, and shot. Vassily's sniper rifle let out a loud crack, barely even heard over the noise of war, and the guard's head exploded in a mess of blood.

Taking out another three soldiers in less than 5 seconds, he was almost caught unaware by the Pearsonovian sniper lining him up.

The concrete next to him exploded as a bullet slammed into it just above his head, sending shards of concrete dust into his eyes. Blindly, he dropped to his hands and knees and darted to cover. 'Where did he come from?!'

####

Oskar Doreyev lay in a secret Pearsonovian hospital facility, attached to various life-support machines and constantly monitored. There was no telling when he may come out of his coma, if ever.

Somehow though, all the medical staff that attended him knew that the fate of his country would rest on his survival. They had sent word to President Robinson, and now waited for him to act on the news.

####

Alice Dorensenn, reporter and one of the only people still on air in the nation, wiped sweat off her brow and continued her 'round the clock coverage of the revolution. She was on every working television in Doreyvania, or what was left of it.

'I have word that tank regiments have been mobilised nation-wide over the last few hours, and should be restoring peace in major cities any moment now. I believe that this attemped coup is now--'

The image on every working television screen in Doreyvania lurched to the left as the man behind the camera crumpled to the floor, shot in the back. Alice's face paled as she stared beyond the camera, and masked men in military uniform entered the frame.

'You can't do this!' she screamed at the revolutionaries. 'Freedom of speech! Freedom of the press!' The lead soldier pulled a pistol out and shot her, non-chalantly, on national television.

Another man stepped into the frame, and the new cameraman zoomed into his face - Nicolae Doreyetska. He was wearing his trademark leather jacket, leather gloves and polar-neck shirt, only this time, he was in all black.

'Good evening, comrades. As I said late last night, the previous government has fallen. Doreyvania as you know it is no more.

'The military has seen which way the winds of change are blowing, and turned to me to lead our once-great country into the glory of tomorrow. I promise you that I will lead our nation with justice, honour and strength. I will not slink back from my duty, no matter how grim or ghastly it may seem at the moment. I, and I trust you will all help me, will make our nation great again, no matter what it takes.

The camera zoomed in more, and Nicolae showed a strangely charming, compelling and fearsome smile. 'You will no doubt have noticed that I have repeatedly said "this country". That is because the title 'Doreyvania' is old, tired, and carries the weight of past failure. Our nation, new, revitalised, and now truly risen from the ashes, shall now and forever be known as The Dominion of Doreytopia.

A chant rose up from every one in the room.

'Long live the Dominion!'

Mikhail Doreysevic looked out at the hand-crafted mahogany desk factory, and smiled. The explosives had been planted, the local supporters have rallied behind their Doreytopian counterparts, and over in Mikhail's homeland, the revolution had almost reached its objective. It had been a good night, breaking out into a great morning.

He addressed the 50-strong crowd gathering in the early morning light, in the centre of the Pearsonovian city, in his loud, hoarse voice.

'Today, my comrades, the revolution shall begin in Pearsonovia as it did last night in Doreytopia. Today we shall attack what the Pearsonovian capitalists love most, hand-crafted mahogany desks!'

A loud cry, and maniacal laughter, filled the carpark. Mikhail quickly quieted them, fearing that they would attract too much attention BEFORE the terrorist attack.

'Brothers, be quiet! Be silent, and watch, as this blast signals the coming of a new day for Pearsonovia! A day of justice, of vengeance, JUDGEMENT DAY!'

As he yelled the last word of his speech, the crowd roared, and he pressed the ignition button. The crowd was sillhouetted by a huge fireball, the explosion incinerating dozens and dozens of beautiful, hand-crafted mahogany desks.

Next, they would be on to the capital, where they would carry out their final mission. Mikhail doubted they would survive this next attack, but he was determined that neither would half of the Commonwealth. He checked once again on the small thermo-nuclear device smuggled in the boot of the limousine, and smiled.

'Judgement Day has come to your doorstep today, Pearsonovia.'