NationStates Jolt Archive

OOC: This is the IC: Thread of the Secret Agent Exchange.
If you have not been cleared through that thread, you will be ignored here.
If you have read the other thread, you know what this is about, play nice.

IC:
New Dublin
The Capitol Building.
Acting President Thomas O'Donnely walked out to the podium.
Cameras flashed micro phones crowded him in.
"Efforts in gaining the return of President Boru are at a stand still. All contact with the Ferrussians has been cut off. I will remain acting President until we manage to negotiate the return of President Boru, or such time as we can quell the turmoil in our nation and hold true elections. President Boru, was dear friend to me, I despise this title, and holding this office while he should be here instead of me.
He was the unifing force of our people, now with him gone....
To do his dream for Skibereen justice I implore every man women and child of Skibereen to lay down their arms for a single day. One day that we can again see what good might come from peace, and if that day proves to be a fruitful one, then try again the peace for another. I am no politician, no public speaker, I am simple man. Those who know me, know I want for Skibereen what Boru wanted, one way or another, we will have it."

Hive Missile ships begin refit in the Skib port in Romania.
Sailors mention Beaufort....cold weather gear.

Hamptonshire
RAIS operatives:
Daniel Cocharan(real Name unknown).
Daniel relocated to SKibereen seeking what he had heard was a militant Catholic group(OSP) who was seeking to establish a true Catholic Theocracy.
A genuine Mother Church.
This is the Cover used by Operative Daniel Cocharan, he has slowly joined the ranks of the OSP in Skibereen-to that end he has killed government forces, used car bombs, participated in kidnappings, and narrowly escaped death more times in this sad little country then he would care to remember.
He has been forced to dirty hands so much it blurrrs the line from brutallity to insanity. The Skibereenians(not just the OSP) value autonomy, they are masters of "cell" mentality. The OSP like many of the other are a loosely linked confederation of many Cells, sometimes he will learn entire Parishes, support the movement other times a single man in a village of Loyalists.
The only thing keeping Daniel in place, is the very real fact that he believes the OSP to be dangerous enough to seize the government if given an inkling of a chance, and Hamptonshire must know before they do, not after.
Jacob Greene(Real Name Unknown)
Jacob immigrated to the O'Omurchadha area after the fall of the Government.
The O'Murchadha Clan has seemed to be sensitive to Jewish needs, and anonimity was something Jacob wished for, so the "Murphys" as the O'Murchadha are commonly called in the City of O'Murchadha.
Allowed him entry, he has worked around them as a labourer, on occassion he has help fight off gangs from his section of the city. JAcob has noticed an interesting smuggling trade, in weapons,information and most abundantly narcotics and bootleg whiskey. The MUrphys are prolific smugglers and it is more amazing that in a City centered in the country they manage to move about the nation with relative ease.
Jacob has also discovered that the Murphys go out of their way to disguise their numbers even to people in the city, and they all insist some kind of relation.
New Dunblin may be the Official Capital, but O'Muchadha City is the trade Capital.
CSD Operatives:
Kelly Sanchez works at Hibernian Trust.
Were it not for the extensive work of the CSD in creating a background for Kelly she would be deported by now.
Supplied werefamily to interveiw, home town, grade school records, pediactrics reports. The whole enchalada.
Kelly is mortgage manager(Hibernian Trust has several) giving her immediate access to who actually owns what (legally)all over Skibereen.
Gregorio Heidenriech lives in Tiraspol, he commutes to Cahul, and sometimes to other Cities.
Gregorio has been in place for less then 4 months(he is certain he will die in this hell hole), He is amazed at the resources to which these "Militias" can make available.
Many times they offer weapons in trade for weapons.
The People of the Dana, the Murphys(O'Murchadha Clan), even BlackEyes who support the GOvernment and are supported by the Government come looking to every arms dealer in the countryside as best as he can tell.
Robbery however is a problem, and murder is exchanged in this country as often as currency, were not for the prolific nature of these people surely this ntion would be waste land in a year.
Thefirst day in country Gregorio was forced to murder a taxi driver who had attempted to rob him, not because he was in immediate danger, but because his guide informed him he would marked a target if he did not make an example-now it has recently been brought to Gregorio's attention that the Taxi drivers wife has been hunting him, along with her 12 year old son-his guide who now is a regular employee says that he will eventual have to kill her and the boy.
Gregorio has learned that from other dealers the amount and type of weapons these people can obtain is literally limitless- there is mention of chemical weapons for sale on the market here-Gregorio is investigating.
Section Forty-Two Operatives:
Gisela Nachtjager works at SBCI the largest cable outlet in the nation.
At her hands is the update information of hundreds of field reports dailey.

IC:
Bruce McKinnly pulled into the underground parking lot of the local law enforcement branch. Putting the hummer into park he sigh a breath of mild relief. After almost a year in Skibereen his nerves still tugged at him when he drove that stretch of town. Though New Dublin was safer than other areas it had its bad parts too. Reaching under the seat he pulled his cigarettes out and tapped one into his palm. Rolling it about he contemplated his orders.

Earlier that morning Skibereen Relations Director Stephen Cobb had contacted him about the slaying of an embassy worker. He’d of course heard about the poor girl but not a lot of effort was put into the investigation, she wandered into a proverbial war zone, it wasn’t difficult to surmise what had happened. However the higher ups back home had decided that they wanted to take a more active role in Skibereen affairs and as such couldn’t let something like that go unanswered, it showed weakness. Bruce shook his head at that. For almost fifteen months the Noviet embassy in Skibereen had been bereft of any activity. They sat behind their fifteen foot high seven foot deep reinforced concrete wall with their choppers grounded and their gun emplacements on full alert. Staff barely ever left the grounds and when this girl got killed it didn’t improve the moods of the Noviets there for strolling. Now for reasons Bruce wasn’t privy to the company and the government wanted to take an active roll in this place. Placing the cigarette in his mouth he flipped the silver lighter out and raked the fire into the tobacco with a tired breath. His only consolation was that this was a legit op, or as legit as the NNAO got, so he could wear his ID and badge. Thank god for small mercies

It took a little bit of work to get to the proper department, quite frankly no one had done this before. Originally seen as a waster of time the only reason the NNAO was here was at the behest of congress. Bruce puffed about the cigarette in his mouth, not relishing that he was to be the one who had to forge these new connections, break the ice and generally stick his neck out and hope his head didn’t get shot off. And in this country they do it literally.

Coming to the person he finally wanted to see he smiled, reaching his hand out for a firm greeting he spoke, the cigarette tucked to the side of his mouth in a practiced mannerism.
“Hello. I’m Agent Bruce McKinnley, I believe my boss called you earlier today. Mr. Cobb said you had the file on our staff member who was killed last month.” Bruce tried not to grimace at that. While a haphazard official inquiry was done nothing came of it. Conducted purely via correspondence it was merely to make the family feel better. Hoping that the lack of promptness wouldn’t sour the relation Bruce held his smile, waiting for whatever response he got.

OOC:
This will leave it up to you to give me what ever the Red Hand might have on the incident, it’ll also point me to a starting line. Really this is just setting the intention and you’re free to put down the details.

IC:
Capt.DeGuarre was a tall man, one the Skibereens of Nigerian heritage.
McKinnly had gotten used to seeing men black as night speaking with the Irish accent or in Gaelic itself. Though what amazed him more was how prolific the Blacks were in the RedHand. They were the elite of the elite, the rare formally trained soldier. Fanatical in their loyalty to the former president.
Things had been considerably better here when Boru was not a prisoner of war, if it could really be called that.
"Mr.Mckinnly, a pleasure." DeGuarre hated smoking. It was of course for the practical reasons a soldier hates smoking and not for why any normal person has a distaste for it.
"I was going to ask you to excuse my tardiness, however I see we both need excusing." Capt.DeGuarre's thick lips on that blue-black face parted to a wide smile of glimmering whte teeth. The hardness of the man made it some how predetory, though anyone could see his sincerity.
"I have the file, though there are some things I am curious about. The incident occured in the vicinity of an area known to be traveled by smugglers in and out of the safe areas to cities outside government control.
Given the age of the girl I am fairly certain she would not have been an intelligence agent for your government. I am also fairly certain that she would have been turned away befoer she got that deep into...shall we say...less then hospitable territory. The other thing is it simply desnt fit the actions of the O'Muchadhas or The Order or the People of Dana.
A random killing perhaps, though as much as seems random here, little of it truly is."
Deguarre handed McKinnly the file---

Bruce took in the ebony Adonis as he relayed the information pertinent to the case. No not Adonis, too predatory, more savage. Blowing a hard stream of smoke from his nostrils he noticed the eyes of the other man twitch, only slightly.
“Ah, sorry.” Pulling out the silver lighter he opened the clasp and brought it down on the cigarette, using the sharpened edge to effectively remove the cherry from the still viable tobacco. Leafing through the report he looked up at the imposing man at the mention of their mutual lapses in promptness.
“Think nothing of it. I wasn’t kept waiting at all and as for the company’s tardiness,… well think of it as bureaucratic oversight.” Bruce smiled sheepishly, hoping that the man wouldn’t think unkindly of the company. The company does care for Noviets, but there was no real gain here from investigating, until now.

Continuing leafing through Bruce looked up hopeful that the good captain would have some insight for him. Well time to be upfront.
“Captain, the NNAO is looking to run its own investigation of the matter, you can understand our desire to be thorough. And to be quite frank on the subject, we could never hope to operate with the respect of the other factions if we let this slide. I’m sure as it is our late response has raised some eyebrow in your department here. What I was hoping you could tell me is where to start looking. You yourself said that coincidence is rare, perhaps there’s a witness about.” Smiling at the daunting task Bruce chuckled, “If I’m lucky the murderer is unpopular and it won’t take much to get some one to roll over on him.”

-----

Looking at his unlikely charge Agent Razan Matsumoto shook his head with a disbelieving chuckle. Walking towards the eighteen wheeler and hummers he looked over his men. All in the standard Noviet power armor they were an intimidating group to behold. Black and form fitting the armor didn’t glint in the sun or make the slightest of noise. Completely self contained standard communication was done over microwaves, which Razan was now listening in on.
“All I’m saying is that dropping from eight thousand feet in a cargo plane doesn’t make for a good omen.”
“It’s the countryside there’s no way we can fly in here normally. That cargo plane is a special design, four of a kind.”
“I don’t even know why we bother, this place is a war zone. Can’t we just be friendly once people put their guns down?” Razan chuckled over the airwaves at that one.
“Son these people are more disarmed then they have been in a century.”
“Sir, why are we even bothering shipping this junk down there, cigarettes, alcohol and magazines, what is this?”
“Agent your asking too many questions.”
“Yes sir.” With that the conversation was ended and he began to move towards his assigned position in Hummer three. Razan could almost see his sulking through the armor, almost.
The question is a valid one Agent I asked too. Luckily my superiors were nicer than I’m allowed to be.

Thinking back Razan recalled the entire reason for the shipment, ‘to be friendly.’ With the usual blending of fact and fiction the NNAO had concocted their official motivation. Officially the NNAO were seeking to establish a consulate in O’Murchada City to oversee the trade that was apparently banging on the door. The eighteen wheeler, loaded to the nines, was a sampler of the products of the company who wanted to begin operations here. Wine, absinthe, whiskey, bourbon, cigarrete’s, cigars and magazines ranging from raunchy smut to the NWN Periodical* were the wares. Shaking his head Razan pulled himself into the back of the hummer, taking up the machine gun position. Double checking that he had a white flag Razan waved the convoy into the street from the walled in embassy. Attracting more than a few glances from the locals the convoy of four Hummers, an eighteen wheeler, and a black sedan make its way towards the freeway on ramp, enroute to O’Murchada city.


*Think TIME or national geographic but from Nova Hope.

IC:Capt.DeGuarre removed his cover and ran his hand across the top of his shaved head.
"Your Embassy and your people have been here, for long enough to have a taste of the culture. These Factions which are so large to seek to impeach the Government," McKinnly saw the irony in that The O'Muchadha and The People of Dana aided the Red Hand into power. "These factions, contain themselves factions within. As well there are...shadows, nameless shapless groups. Start with one and pick your way around, The matter of the girl is not for me, if in my duties I see a connection, I will inform you. If it happens in your duty you see that the death of the Girl is connected to more then just a coincidence, Itrust you will do me the same favor.
I have the distinct impression our pahs will cross again." DeGuarre started to walk away, when he turned ans as an after thought said softly, just barely ,without turning " I found the toxicology report interesting." and with that he walk off.

Toxicology Report Highlights:
On seen observations.
Site medical examiner: Noted: acute miosis in the subject.
Nominal traces of :
methylphosphinic acid: Epidermus
sodium hydroxide:Epidermus
Sodium Hypochlorite:Epidermus
diethyl methylphosphonate:Blood
ethanol:Blood

OOC:I will get to the Semi.

Skib general map.
http://67.18.37.18/1017/113/upload/p1522081.gif

Bruce had left the office after that meeting, he’d been a bit unnerved by what he saw in the report. If this is what I think it is perhaps the embassy needs to review its chemical incidence procedures. Slipping on what appeared to be pair of dark glasses he continued his way towards the hummer. Activating the OS of the P-HUDD* he began connecting to the embassy. After a moment he was routed to Stephen Cobb’s office.
“Hello?”
“Afternoon sir. This is agent McKinnly reporting in.”
“And?”
“I talked to Captain DeGuarre, good man.” Bruce side stepped a bewildered onlooker as he walked down the hallway talking to himself. Continuing on his train of thought Bruce began to bring Director Cobb up to speed. Finishing off as he got to the hummer he concluded with a lament on the situation.
“He seemed generally good natured and he wanted to help, I just got the impression that officially he has better things to tend to. Stretched budget, political pressure or both, who knows.”
“So what’s your next step?”
“Well I need to swing by the embassy to drop off the report I picked up but,”
“Don’t bother.”
“Oh?”
“I sent in an official request for a full electronic volume, our boys are climbing over it now.” Bruce cocked his head at that a bit, pausing at the door to his hummer. So does he know?
“What do the lab boys make of it” Bruce placed his thumb on the hummer where the keyhole should be. With a quiet whirr the door unlocked its quadruple deadbolts. They were as much about structural integrity as they where about security. With this vehicle serving the armed forces, the black thrones and the NNAO it was built rugged. Stepping up into the comfortable interior, a perk of the NNAO model, Bruce listened to Director Cobb slowly exhale, aligning his next words.
“You’ve seen the toxicology report?”
“Yea.”
“Then you should be aware that the suspected murder implement is a lethal dosage of VX gas.”
“Uh-huh.” Bruce had already guessed this but he always preferred to have his hunches confirmed. Besides advanced organic chemistry wasn’t something his job required on a daily basis.
“It also looks like someone made an attempt to clean the body up afterwards, someone experience they’re guessing.” Bruce chortled at that. Knowing that this person had killed in the past might help them if they were back in Nova Hope where everything was on record but here, people killed like it was going out of style.
“Then I guess my first option is to buy some VX gas.”
“Umm, what?” Bruce chuckled at that again.
“Didn’t you know? It’s the in gift this season.”
“Agent,” came the stern warning telling Bruce he was fast approaching that line.
“Sorry sir.” The hummer roared to life as he fingered the ignition. Pulling the vehicle about he idled towards the street, still engrossed in the conversation.
“Well sir, VX isn’t your run of the mill nerve toxin, so there has to be a network to bring the stuff in. While the civil tension is heating up here its not boiling over yet so I doubt there’s a lot of demand for the stuff.
“So you want to run down some dealers and see if you can’t figure out who bought it.”
“Exactly, I figure some one has to have heard something about that moving through.”
“Watch yourself Bruce you might be getting into something deep here.”
“Aren’t we always sir?”


*P-HUDD: Personal Heads Up Display Device. Very common in the Noviet echelons of government with lesser technical models circulating in the elites. Styled after a pair of trendy sun glasses it allows a completely hands free interface as the visual is projected into your retina via laser. The laser responds to calibrated eye movements.

[tag for RPing]

IC:
Nova Hope Convoy
The Semi with its small escort rumbled along the freeway.
Amazingly well kept, it seemed to Noviets.
To the strategically minded this seemed a weakness, one major freeway between cities, it would hinder massive armour movements the limit of passable road ways is what helped keep Skibereen fighters on foot.
To the Skibereenian Strategist, it was simple, the freeway was one long shooting gallery. No mechanized force could move in any deployable fashion along it, one long column.
The Noviets had a Skibreenian guide (a definate requirement when going cross country- if only to speak the languages). He was a Bedou who had moved to Skibereen to sell illegal software(all private ventures were illegal among Bedou, rarely enforced however, they like the Skibereenians seemed to adore the black market).
Abdul-Hassem (Abe) told the history of certain parts of the country.
How particular customs developed.
When asked why he was so versed, he explained that Bedou education requires the extensive study of three other cultures-he choose allies to Bedou.
He explained the O'Murchadhas would have a plainly visible check point on the freeway. It would more then likly be manned by children(12-16 years of age).
Abe was very clear not to under estimate them, quite often there inexperiance made them more dangerous then older 'Murphys'.

As the convoy rolled along they passed a section of freeway that had been painted bright red there were two large signs on either side of the freeway that read: All Hope Abandon Ye Who Enter Here.
With that Abe proclaimed they had entered O'Murchadha controlled territory.
That the Check point before the city was about an hour away.

Elle Claely rubbed her eyes and waited for her man to finish flirting with the help. To her mind, this was a welcome break – moving cases of liquor and kegs of beer from her armored semi into the bar was a pain in the back, though half the pain was in getting the bill settled. Not that this was ever really in doubt – Solar Spices and Liquors was one of the few companies one could depend on for deliveries, even during the skirmishes that qualified as Saturday entertainment.

At a cost, true, but there was profit in booze. So much profit, in fact, that Solar Spices and Liquors – SSL as it was known by the locals – now had warehouses and offices from New Dana to Cahul. There were rumors these warehouses were used to run guns. There were rumors these warehouses were used to run drugs.

These rumors were all true. Not that anyone really cared – SSL catered to people with money, any color, any denomination. You wanted a Stinger? Buy some vermouth for a few weeks; find a nice package in your shipment once the last payment clears. Need some MP-5 SMGs to deal with those pesky kids and their loud music? Well, how do you feel about Chellaean Vodka and German pretzels?

Cocaine moved Crème de Cacao, heroin made your sake go down easier, and enough pot had changed hands to make Charmin happy.

SSL was one of the nations “dirty little secrets” that was about as secret as dirt. Every side knew about SSL and its two policies.

Policy One: Cash, up front, and cleared before delivery.
Policy Two: Don’t even think about making us talk.

SSL didn’t choose sides, didn’t believe in morality, and didn’t care about causes. The corporation had existed through everything from civil conflicts to the Ferussian war simply because it didn’t care. Not one bit. This made it the perfect tool for everyone – tight lips and transported arms, drugs, food, bibles. Shipping that last one around the country had put SSL on the good side of The Order, a position it strove to keep. Then again, the BlackEyes also occasionally used SSL to get those “special somethings” to special places… The Dana were better armed then some knew… and there were more then a few surprises in New Dublin for the wavering government to use if things went really unstable.

It was a cheap balancing act, but it worked.

Elle had arrived thirteen years ago, a blood-level “black Irish” as more then a few had jested to their noses displeasure. She mixed the grace of North Africa with an Irish temper and a hair color that defied description, particularly when she had time and interest in adding more colors. Some mistook her for Arabian, some for Romanian, once in awhile she heard a comment wondering about her Ferussian bloodline.

She was the quintessential mail-order bride, accepting a plane ticket and a chance to get out of Copenhagen ahead of a few indiscretions. Twelve days later Danielle Lefse was married to Pierce Claely. Fifteen days later she was riding along on SSL deliveries. And now, thirteen years gone by, and here she was: a driver, a widow, three sons (one who was still vertical) and one living daughter.

“Quinn! Stop necking with the help and get yer fat arse back in the cab! We have eight more deliveries today, an’ it a long road to Boruglen!”
“Ah, stop yer yammerin, Elle! We’re an ‘our or suh ahead o’ things.”
“Aye, an’ an ‘our or more arrived early, an ‘our more bonus in our pants. Now zip up an’ get yer cloggy arse movin’ or I’ll leave yuh here an’ git me a rider that do more then a fifth o’ the work!”
Quinn Brechen stopped long enough to give the barmaid one more long kiss before running to the passenger door. “Ach, Elle, ye be crampin’ me style.”
“Faith, the only crampin’ you’ll be doin’ is if ye doan feed the snake before nightfall. An’ there be plenty o’ opportunity tween New Dublin and Boruglen, so take ‘eed.”
“We could use the sleeper…”
She belted his arm.
“Ah, that ‘urt!”
“Coun’ yer blessin’s I be drivin, Quinn, or I’d work on aimin’ lower, and no relief to the barmaids ye keep twixt dither an’ non.”
“Now, Elle, tha’ be unmaidenly.”
She coughed a laugh. “An’ doan ye knows, I been unmaidened fer years. Firs’ thing ‘alf right you’ve said in a week, Quinn Brechen. Now do mes a favor and check yer piece afore the checkpoints, I doan care t’ leave the city with ye shootin’ more blanks.”
“Sain’s preserve, you’ve a tongue on ye, lass.”
“Ayes an’ I do, but you’ll ne’er know the flavor o’ it.”

She pulled the 18 wheeler through five more deliveries, each time growling under her breath about the waste of minutes Quinn caused, making time with the drabble of waitresses and cooks while Elle waited in the cab, restless. She wished for a bit that Tamara and Patrick had stayed a few days longer before heading off to Romania on their honeymoon – but then again, she wished them safe return. If all went well, they’d pick up the rest of their crew just before the leg from Cahul to BarryCastle with a load of Irish whiskey for the warehouse there, ten days hence.

She spat as the waitress Quinn was flirting with giggled. Ten days, feh. A fortnight if I let that besotted wenchtiddler ‘ave ‘is way. She punched down an urge to bite his head off again, settled for accepting a handful of mixed notes in return for her last bagful of mixed nuts.

“When ye be back through, Elle?”
She smiled at Charles, all white teeth and charm. “Ach, the trail takes us t’ Boruglen then Eire by boat, a bit to the west,” – with that wink that meant O’Murchadha – “then strait’ through BarryCastle and New Dublin again. Call it eight days, seven if Quinn gets ‘is dose o’ salt peter this week.”
The bar owner laughed, rich and fertile. “Ah, lass, dinna grief th’ young their pleasures. Twasn’ all tha’ long ago ye kept them close, nay?”
“True, true, but still. These ol’ bones ain’ fer all this haulin’ when a big strong man is abou’.”
Charles’ laughter echoed in the truck. “Faith, I been bewitched! Sure, an’ I’ll carry this last case through if you’ll take this sack?”
“Done, an’ done. An’ ye buggered yersel’ on this deal, Charles. Ye gets a used mule, nae a spring filly.”
“Aye, lass, but still, I gets the full view o’ yer best end, nae?”
“Old pecker.”
“Aye, an’ bes’ kind, ol’ and stiff from the rigors o’ mortis.”
This time she laughed, and not unkindly.

Two vans and a pickup - all dusty and a bit dented - sat on the side of the road under a simple white pavillion, most of their occupants busily selling oranges and mellons from piled crates.

The Noviet convoy blew past without braking once, tossing more road dust onto their wares.

Neither the sellers nor buyers noticed, nor much cared. It simply made the haggling that much more animated.

On the other side of the vans - the sides that couldn't be seen from the road - money changed hands, and two cases of good Irish whiskey found a new owner, the entire trade taking place under several watchful and well armed eyes.

In the pickup, a very bored young man spoke rythmicly into his cell-phone's headset, one hand tapping counterpoint on the steering wheel, the other wrapped comfortably around the pistol grip of his Ingram.

The O'Murchadhas checkpoint would be well and early informed of the new arrivals - several minutes, in fact, before the nearest HSI operations base received word.

***

OOC: Please note a convoy was reported, not the specific owner. The person in the pickup is acting as a lookout. Unless Noviet ops are wearing something obvious, what was reported was what was seen as "out of the ordinary".

OOC: Vastiva I would venture to say that even though the Skib government would want ot know what a semi with Noviets was doing leaving the city.
It would be unmarked so please make sure you have Novas permission-or have something worked out before you spot and mark him for what he is.
I just dont want anyone argueing about secret IC or this or that.
I have to work will be back tonight to catch up.
It seems many who signed, declinied.

Traffic on the Highway was mostly commercial vehicles.
Few people needed or wanted to travel between the major cities between the factions.
More for fear of mistaken identity then direct threat.

In the oncoming side the Noviets saw a RedHand Government Convoy coming from O'Murchadha City.
15 Tractor trailers in a tight train, headed back towars New Dublin.
The O'Murchadhas and the RedHAnd Government had agrred to terms to allow the maintaining of essential services.

Just as Abe had predicted there was section of Highway blocked by three trucks and behind them it was and bagged down to an area only big enough for vehicles to pass through single file, for about a hundred feet then it opened back up so travel would only be slowed slightly.
At once it noticable that several of the guards had weapons nearly as long as they were tall, AK-47s, a few rifles.
There were a dozen boys(to call them young men would be far too generous).
A top the Sand bag guantlet sat to three boys with RPGs and a forth who who stood upon a pile of bags to man 12.7mm machinegun.
It was comical, up until the boy walking towards the slowing convoy fied into the air and held up has hand to direct the trucks over to the side.
He did not fall over from the recoil, he did not grimace or close his eyes as the weapon burst, he did not react as child did.
The boy standing next to him served even further to end the humor of these "Soldier Boys" as he joined his companion waving the rucks to the side of the road it could be plainly seen that he was missing his left arm from the elbow down. He held a radio, the submachine gun(which seemed much larger against his small body) was hung from a sling on his right side(handicap accessable firepower).
There were three vans on the side of Sandbag guantlet, that however seemed like a world away as they would not be on the other side until these diminutive security personal were satisfied with them.
Abe:"Dont be disrespectful because they are boys remember. It is Skibereenian custom to be as friendly and accomadating to foreigners as possible, as possible as the foreigners make it. Dont worry about concealing weapons, if want you to put your weapons down they will ask, and they will not be insulted by you being armed."

Razan raised an eyebrow at the whole situation. He’d been prepared for a check point of some sort, though not one run by military midgets. Hopping off the back off the hummer’s machine gun he walked beside the vehicle. Dislodging a solid metal case from the tightly packed cargo area he started walking towards the children. I feel kind of bad giving our ‘gift’ to children. Coming abreast to the one who’d waved them down he reached to his helmet, ignoring the SMG strapped to his own torso, to detached the helmet with the standard *whrr* of the servos, *hiss* of the breaking seal and the *click* as the servos finally released from each other. Pulling off the helmet he was no longer an imposing soldier in full powered armor but a smiling Noviet of Japanese decent.
“Heya guys, I brought a gift for who ever’s in charge of the checkpoint.” Bringing the length of the case parallel to the ground he flipped the clasps up and opened the gift. Inside on a bed of foam were five custom made Noviet side arms. Each pistol had an extended barrel made of titanium to allow for proper balancing along with a small thumb slider on the stock to allow an easy switch from semi-auto to full auto. Still smiling he watched the kids for reactions. I figure they should like it, the gangs back home love it. All the benefits of an SMG with the concealed carry of a pistol.
“I need to know who to talk to about doing some business with the O'Murchadha. I want everything to be on the up and up if you know what I mean.”

OOC: If your wondering why extended barrel, you need it if your going to have any accuracy at all in an automatic firing mod. And titanium because the barrel can be extended without weight gain as apposed to steel.

The guide Abe did not get to the Noviet in time.
He had taken to many Skibereenian traits-taking ones time- being one of those traits.

The boy with sub slug over his shoulder and the missing hand looked to the other boy, they looked at each other.
The words crossed the air hurridly, the Noviet heard Gaelic and what sounded like an African dialect, and Arabic, a little english.

The boy with both arms and the AK, spoke:
"What are you wearing?"
The other piped up:
"Yeah, you dont look like..." he looked around as if that was finish enough for his statement.
"like you belong here."
The other finished for him.
Abe walked up,
"Pardon, pardon. These men are the Representatives of the Nova Hope Government. The kind gentleman here should speak to your commander at the least."
The one armed boy held up a finger, then pressed a button on his radio.
He relayed a messege.
The response come quickly and breifly.
"Search them and then let them in."

The boy looked at Razan.
"Sir, you want ot have your men and vehicles pull down that side of the road.
We will search your persons and vehicles. It will take only a short time."

Razan could see where he pointed held two trucks that looked like Government trucks and the men near them looked like RedHand soldiers, perhaps waiting for more trucks befoe leaving out.
He wasnt assked to disarm, or anything of the sort.
"Oh, sir. We dont accept gifts, that is for the men in the charge but thank you."
The boy truned to walk towards where the main group of the children were posted.
Abe said"They will be abrupt in their search we should go sir."

As the one boy walked away the other went ot head towards where Razan had been told to pull the truck.

As Razan turned to head back to the Hummer, the thuds of flesh being heavily hit caught his attention.
He instinctually looked back, and saw the red blossoming on the back of the boy with AK-47.
Auomatic fire-silenced.
As the he saw it he heard the one armed boy scream
"Sniper!! Sniper in the trees!"

Abe hit the ground immediately.

The whoosh of a rocket roared past as one of the boys atop the Sandbag guantlet fired his RPG.

The one armed boy pointed towards the Noviets
"Watch them!! you fecking watch them.
Get on the fecking ground!!!" fired over Razan's head.

The other boy with an RPG turned towards the Noviets and stared down his weapon at them.

The boy manning the 12mmMG was peppering the tree line.

The shot boy lated in the middle of road motionless.

Unbelievably the reaction of these children was very professional, they quickly laid fire down in the area of the sniper, rather then seeking defensive positions four of the them rushed the tree line all the while the heavy machine gun fired over their heads.
Hunckered down the boys the boys produced a very small shot op.

At he tree line another fell to automatic weapon fire(silenced).

Razan was certain it was not a sniper, rather more appropiatly an ambush.

The boy with one arm screamed into his radio.

The sound of engines could be heard down the road more towards the city, this was obviously the support the boy had been screaming for.

He stopped, and order his "Men" back to cover.

"I know you can hear me" he screamed.

"I have a suprise for you."

He then pointed towards another boy further down the line who di the smae up the sand bags, the van doors were heard to open been Razan.

There was strange sound...

The boy stood up exposing himself to the possible shooter or shooters.
He gripped the SMG he carried and fired into the tree line, the rest of the boys stood up and started swapping suppression fire, as they did, no less then a dozen bushy hounds, truly some of the largest dogs Razan has ever seen. At least 180 pounds, their shoulders wouldve been up to his naval.
As the dogs rushed into the the stand of trees eight of the boys rushed in with them, bouyed by the hounds.
The one armed boy spun and looked towrds the Noviets,
"Pray to God, the cousins dont find you part of this."

OOC: Sorry for the spelling errors, I was holding my baby.

Two vans and a pickup - all dusty and a bit dented - sat on the side of the road under a simple white pavillion, most of their occupants busily selling oranges and mellons from piled crates.

The Noviet convoy blew past without braking once, tossing more road dust onto their wares.

Neither the sellers nor buyers noticed, nor much cared. It simply made the haggling that much more animated.

On the other side of the vans - the sides that couldn't be seen from the road - money changed hands, and two cases of good Irish whiskey found a new owner, the entire trade taking place under several watchful and well armed eyes.

In the pickup, a very bored young man spoke rythmicly into his cell-phone's headset, one hand tapping counterpoint on the steering wheel, the other wrapped comfortably around the pistol grip of his Ingram.

The O'Murchadhas checkpoint would be well and early informed of the new arrivals - several minutes, in fact, before the nearest HSI operations base received word.

***

OOC: Please note a convoy was reported, not the specific owner. The person in the pickup is acting as a lookout. Unless Noviet ops are wearing something obvious, what was reported was what was seen as "out of the ordinary".

A short time after, the patrons and the merchants heard the familiar pop pop pop of automatic fire, then the sound of an explosion. Apperantly the passing convoy had not been large enough, or fast enough.

It was just a bottle of Red Band Beer. A domestic brew, it was not entirely up to the standards of international trade, though it would do well against Jamaican beers, or Icelandic beers, or Chilean beers.

It was cheap, it was filling, it was tasty, it was good. Red Band covered all of its bases without pausing on any.

A cold beer on a hot day.

It was a twelve ounce bottle, unopened, the misty chill of refrigeration having passed to the sweaty promises of cold beer in warm car.

The beer had traveled from the north in a pickup truck. This in and of itself was not impressive – beer traveled all over Skibereen daily, being one of the few “essentials” allowed to travel without much interference. That is, if you consider the occasional firefight and land mine “not too much interference”.

Still, the bottle sat, chilled, cool, sweating, its belly alive with liquid promises, label swaying in the heat.

A cold beer on a hot day.

The beer sat through a traffic jam while others of its brethren emerged from a small cooler by the side of the drivers seat and were honorably discharged, their contents adding to the pleasure of the imbiber – and the action of his kidneys.

Still the bottle sat, perspiration tumbling down its sides, outlining its curves, caressing the sleek figure promising cool refreshment.

A cold beer on a hot day.

A plane passed overhead, one of the few which could pass over and through Skibereen daily without worrying about being shot down overmuch. Portugal, Brazil, Russia, Egypt. Planes and travelers took their chances coming to Skibereen; some risked their lives, some lost. Such were the wagers of sin, such were the wagers of the desperate and the pursued, such were the wagers of hunters and the innocently naïve.

The pickup circled the airport, passing through without much notice, not nearing any of the secure areas, not pausing long enough to be looking for the unwary, not going slow enough to be lining up that final retort of RPG on unarmored vehicle.

A small puddle had formed under the beer; accidental, perhaps. Perhaps a silent pout had gone out of the beer and formed this liquidic argument, this silent plea, this promise of cool refreshment.

A cold beer on a hot day.

The driver pulled into “Arrivals A”, passed his identification to the hot, bored guards in their sweaty uniforms. Some words were spoken, some gentle chuckles passed from guard to driver and back, some words reminding one of the other and of times gone past.

Two beers emerged from the cooler, vanished into sweaty fatigues.

Nothing like a cold beer on a hot day.

OOC:I enjoy the verbosity.
I also want a Red Stripe(a very accurate description of it I might add, exactly how I would have described it. well maybe not so pretty, but the same idea.)
Tag-For the Evil Coporation. I was invited.

Razan hit the deck in a roll at that first flash of red. Flipping the helmet into place the suit gave its whrr, hiss, click signifying the activation. Now in direct contact with his men Razan could see through the HUD and link ups that no fire was being directed towards the caravan. Climbing back into the machine gun post he barked orders onto the microwave.
“Do not fire unless fired upon, I repeat hold fire. See if you can’t get an image captured.” The Noviets where tense but held their disciple, trying their best to use their suits magnification, heat, or what ever other filters to make out their possible assailants. Looking to Abe Razan activated his suit’s external mic, making him sound like a detached monster, by design.
“What’s going on? Did you know about this?”

Abe was flat on his belly, his quick reaction to gun fire could be a result of foreknowledge or of simply living here long enough.
He replied: "I dont even have a gun on me, more importantly I dont have a vest on. If I knew about an ambush, I would at the very least wear a vest.
You will note Mr.Razan that the boy told his compatriot to watch us, but he did not tell us we could not attempt to return to the truck.
Question my loyalties when we are not being shot at."

In short order of the hounds being loosed there began an exchange of gunfire in the woods.
Also with his helmut back on Razan could see up the road that trucks were coming from behind the guantlet, and a tank, a very big tank.

....

Minutes later.

...
The gunfire ceased.
Now one lone voice was heard screaming over the sound of barking hounds.

From the trucks came, men, not more boys.

They moved with snap, they ignored the screams from the woods and seemed to ignore the fact that less then 10 mins ago there had been a sniper.

Several men went straight to the fallen boy at the tree line, while several others went straight to the young man who had been hit first.

One man walked towards Razan and Abe, he motioned for the boy atopp the guantlet to lower the his weapon.

Then he motioned for Razan and Abe to stand.

"He's dead." A tall man with dark hair and what was clearly an overly young appearing face proclaimed as he rose from the body of the young man nearest Razan.

The other boy was already being carried to a truck, apparently alive.

"Noviets."
The man spoke as he approached Razan.
"I apologize."
He took a deep breath, and looked around.
He seemed almost confused, like a man just realizing where he was.
The remaining men entered the woods.

"Please hold your positions just a moment longer, we are aware you have no reason to have played a role in this."

Razan looked about the scene. The devastation was quick and merciless. Razan had been in combat before, he’d been apart of several peacekeeping missions that most of the general public wasn’t aware of but this was a little different. He was more mechanical again, his humanity shying away from this as the soldier in him took over. Stepping from the hummer he moved to Abe, who was dusting himself off. Coming up beside him as not to be over heard the mechanical voice was less harsh now, though no emotion traversed the synthesizer.
“Sorry.” Razan looked Abe up and down deciding if he did look guilty.
“Let me get you a side arm and a vest, then we need to talk.” Turning sharply on his heel Razan strode over to the back of semi, speaking into the microwaves as he did.
“Richard.”
“Oui sir?” The French man’s response was quick, the entire team was moving with renewed vigor.
“Richard get out the med kits and get over there, offer your services. We want to be on good terms with these people.”
“Ah Oui.”
“And take your helmet off, chat them up a bit. I want to know more about this attack.” Razan could almost feel the Frenchie’s smile, he loved to talk to people.
“D’accord.” Hopping off the truck Agent Gerald Richard* made his way towards the Skib camp. The O'Murchadha were to be offered the talents of a very skillful, very charismatic medic.

*Pronunciation: Jea’rar(d) Reashar’d

OOC:DUH!!! WHat language is common in Nova, French (true) or a BAstardized version. I should have thought to ask.
I realize your men would have some training to speak to my people, however I know what language was common in Nova would help me to knwo if my people would speak anything near yours.
State language is a NEat Mix of Gaelic,English,German. however do to the heavy immigrant population growing over the years more then a dozen languages create a "BladeRunner" like informal speak, that varies from region to region city to city, even family to family.

IC: Gerard paused for only a moment at the boy on the ground, he was most assuradly dead.
The only other one hit was the boy taken to the truck.
The fact that the boys knew enough to attack in the face of an ambush instead of attempting to defend is more then likly what kept the number from being higher.
As Gerard approached with the medical kit and explained he was a trained medic coices came to an end for him.
He was helped into the truck and it sped off towards the city, for the Hospital.
"Your commander will have to understand Jerry. If you can keep him stable for 15 mins he will be right as rain, so that means you are coming with us."
The man who spoke smiled a tenetive smile, the look in his eyes was clear that he was not certain he could keep the boy stable.
The other two men looked at Gerard and then towards the city, the truck was moving before GHerard could answer one way or another-He thought this would at least give him a chance to "chat up" the locals.
Gerard watched the boy, then looked up towards the city, these O'Murchadha were not a resistance group, they could not be, they had to be an army.
The city was monstrous, he remembered in a briefing someone said at one time it was home to 35 million people, he didnt believe that possible here in this country. Seeing the villiage thatthey were speeding through to get to Megatropolis befoer him, he had no doubts about the massive populace they must lay ahead.


"My name is Thomas Moore, the boys call me Mama Tom."
The man who seemedto be in charge said to Razan.
He truned quickly and yelled towards the others
"Get on this boys brothers here to do what needs to be done!!"

Then he turned his attention beack to Razan.
"I apologize again. I also want to make something very clear. This point, this position is one of the safest in Skibereen, it iswhere many young men get trained in day to duties. Never has a faction attacked this check point, there is no reason to, when it is so easily cercumvented on foot. I cant tell you what happened but I will find out, death is common here, but not like this."

Razan could understand whatthe man was saying and after spending some time in this country he had become aware that Skibereenians had a ver complex veiw of death, and who is a target and not and for what reasons.
Rarely did being armed automatically make a legitamit target.

The man began to speak again when from the woods came a voice, the voice of one of he children "We have a live one!!!"
Marching out of the tree line came at first, dogs, then came a man dressed in black BDUs, no marks or insignias(though agian this was common here).
Yet Razan could immediately tell this man was from an organized military.
His walk, his hair cut, the leaness of his face, the way his boots were tied.

The boys and the men came out behind him.

They marched him over to MamaTom.
"Excuse me."Said Tom as heturned towrds the man.
He looked the man up and down, he circled him, sniffed him like dog.
"What is your name?"
No answer, the man just stared straight ahead.
"Why did you ambush a check point guarded by children?"
The same.
"Do you honestly believe that not talking ot me is going to save you?"
The man seemed a little less like stone.
"Do you honestly believe that by not talking I am going to kill you quicker?"
The man in black set his jaw and stood at attention.
"Well let me tell what it does mean, right now one of that boys brothers is coming, with a doctor. the doctor is not for his brother, the doctor is for you, you see in cases like this, we turn the murderer over to the victims family, and supply a Doctor so that may keep him alive to suffer as long as possible.
Since you are of no use to me, I see no reason not to do this. I see no reason not to let a coward die a tortured cowards death."
Mama turned his back to the boy and began to twist a hand rolled cigarette.
"I am no coward. You do not frighten me, pig."
Mama smiled as he put the cigarette in his mouth.
Oneof the other Skib men who standing there spat as the shooter spoke.
" You are a Ninin, a dirty fecking Ninin."
Mama truned and punched the man square in his chest.
He dropped like a sack of flour.
"Pick him up, or will stand on your own Ninin?"

The young man pulled himself up again.
"You do not frighten me pig."

The blow came hard from behind, one of the other men had struck the "Ninin" in the Kidney. He again fell to the ground.
"Stop!!"The young boy missing his arm yelled and pushed at the grown men surrounding the shooter.
"He aint for you, no decsion has been made by the family, let him be."
Mama, smiled again, and roughed the boys hair.
"You are right michael, you are right."
At the that the look on the shooters face grayed.
"Thats right boyo, I wasnt bluffing. The decsion on what happens to is up to the family. For the moment I am done with you."

His attention was back on Razan.
"I am sorry for the delay, one of my men will ride tih you to the innner villiage just before the city so you can meet with someone who is in charge. I must wait for the family member here.

OOC: What are the injuries on my new ward?

He pulled the truck up to the baggage and cargo claim area. The door opened, closed.

The beer was left behind to sweat it out in the hot afternoon sun.

Inside, a conversation was made. A few forms were shown back and forth. A dolly was procured, and a set of boxes were trucked into the back of the pickup.

The springs sagged. The beer dribbled in sympathy.

The driver slid wetly back into the seat, the heat of the day causing sweat to saturate his clothing. He reached into the cooler – two beers left.

He grumbled, but opened no beer.

The beer before him all but whined, pleading with him, silently standing ever straighter in an attempt to gain his attention…

But all for naught.

He drove forwards, stopping at Departures C. Pulling casually into a “For Official Use Only” slot as if he belonged there, he hopped out and lit up a cigarette. A casual flick put the match into the garbage can nearby.

This, of course, got the attention of a nearby soldier on watch.

“Hey, bub. This is a restricted area. No smoking. And you can get that pickup out of that slot.”
“Relax, corporal. I’m supposed to be here. Smoke?”
“No, thanks. And what do you mean you’re supposed to be here?”
“See those crates? They’re headed over to QM. And I’m supposed to pick up their owner.”
“This is Departures, not Arrivals.”
The driver looked up, shocked. “It’s not? Oh hell. Thanks, bub, I owe you one.”
“Whatever. Just get your…”

The garbage caught fire.

“Holy crap! Water! Get some water!” The driver jumped up and down like a man insane.
The soldier, on the other hand, responded with trained reflexes. It was a short jog to a fire extinguisher.

Just long enough, in fact, for the driver to reach in, grab the bottle, pop the cap and pour beer over the fire.

“What the hell are you doing?” Foam sprayed over the fire, quickly putting it out.

The driver twisted the cap back onto the bottle and tossed it into the foam. “Gah. Sorry, man. I guess I wasn’t thinking.”
“I’d say you weren’t.”
“Yeh. Sorry.” He took a breath. “Alright, let me get out of your hair.”

He gave a conspiratorial look around. “You want a beer? Just so this didn’t happen?”
The soldier gave another look about, sweat rolling down his nose. “Sure.”
The driver picked up his cooler and looked in. “Two left. So you’re not taking my last.”
The soldier grinned, helped himself to one, placing in his pocket. “For later. Now get out of my area.”
“Sure thing, bub.” He hopped in, started the engine, pulled away.

It was nearly twenty minutes later one of the janitors stopped by to remove the charred, burned mass. Unable to remove the fused plastic from the tin, she put the whole thing into a plastic bag, replacing it with a new tin barrel and plastic cap.

And then, she slowly pushed her cart away, headed towards the next source of trash.

OOC: What are the injuries on my new ward?
OOC: I assume the man is a well trained or experienced or both, combat medic. The boy was struck in the back up by the shoulder, there is blood pooring into the brachials and the lung is collapsing. He is in poor condition, but since it is said you headed to hospital your man shouldnt have too much trouble keeping him alive. Though an ametuer could kill if he improperly cared for him-you suspect the wound is "sucking" as well.
IC: The truck sped toward the city, Gerald could hear the engine rev as they rushed along the highway. It was only as they entered the villiage outside the city the the scope of what was coming was clear.
The Skibereenians seemed to have accomplished a great deal even in their strange condition of turmoil.
The boy was awake he was still, there was fear in his eyes but it was obvious he had been drilled on being shot, or perhaps had seen it before--of course he had seen it before.
The man who had been speaking before spoke up again "Jerry, hold on we are leaving the highway and getting on to surface streets."
Right on que, the crew the driver turned a a screaming siren on, and the other two men laid themselves across the boys body.
One across the legs the other across the stomach, they wedged themselves against the sides of the rear of the truck as it screamed around a corner.
Gerald was certain he never heard the driver take his foot off the accelerator.
He did however feel and hear the sounds of small civilian vehicles bounce off the truck as it blasted its way through the city.
Gerald thought to himself if all ambulances were this efficient no one would die for lack of trying.

He pulled the truck up to the baggage and cargo claim area. The door opened, closed.....GOOD WRITING

.....of trash.

Um, I am with you.
You are going to have to lead a little a farther though.

He pulled the truck up to the baggage and cargo claim area. The door opened, closed.....GOOD WRITING

.....of trash.

Um, I am with you.
You are going to have to lead a little a farther though.

OOC: I hope that wasn't a sidelong slam of my writing. ;) bump

The keys jingled in the door; she always gave any uninvited inhabitants a chance to scuttle or run for cover before she entered. It was her way of playing fair.

Her home wasn’t much – she rented at first, finally convincing the owner to accept her offer to buy. That the house was within walking distance of the airport was to her a selling point, to the prior owner a sore point.

She had never had a problem sleeping near airports. Or railroads.

Her cap she hung on the post by the door; her work clothes had puddled their way to the floor; her boots she removed last of all, stepping into the conveniently placed bunny slippers. Two bags of her purchases on the way home sat easily on the low shelf – made of cinderblocks under two good boards – watching carefully as she took the twenty steps from door to bathroom.

She flung panties and bra into the living room with practiced ease. The slippers would stay within, to become part of her evening ensemble of bathrobe and bunny slippers.

Her hair went from mousy brownette to mousy almost-blonde after the soot and dirt of the day twirled its way down the drain. Loofah and soap worked their magic over her muscles, washing away the cares of the day.

Wrapped now in her favorite pink bathrobe, her steps gingerly traced back to the two observant sacks.

The slippers had no comment, even during the walk to the kitchen.

Eggs, butter, milk, bread. Flour for cooking later. A chicken, butchered and wrapped, the blood not yet having worked its way through the tight white paper.

A six pack of beer made its way into the refrigerator. A carton of orange juice moved into the neighboring slot. A can of coffee sat on the counter, wondering as to its final destination.

Four bottles of nail polish remover, one bottle of hot pink nail polish, one emory board, twelve greeting cards, one roll of stamps.

One empty bottle of beer, bits of foam and soot still clinging to the sides.

Convoy

Razan watched the display of savagery through the impassive visage of the armored helmet. Perhaps it was situation like this that the imposing profile was selected as Razan rubbed his tongue in his mouth trying to remove the foul metallic tang, to any onlookers though he stood uncompromisingly, his black silhouette out of place in the greenery of the mostly unspoiled landscape. Once Mama Tom had dispatched one of his men to the convoy Razan motioned over Abe.
“Do you recognize the uniforms of the attackers?” At the same time he was querying Abe he was using the HUD in his helmet to interface with an overhead satellite hoping to spot anyone else in the immediate vicinity.

Gerald

Tending to his patient diligently Gerald barely noticed the first turn coming. Bracing himself better for the subsequent ones he looked up to one of his fellow passengers.
“Mon Deus monsieur, Where est l’hopital? This boy needs more attention den ma field kit.”

OOC:Vastiva, no slam on your writting-but well I work like 50 hours a week, have 4 kids, so I read your posts and they are so well written I have trouble thinking of a response. I think however I have it worked out.
To both of you thnks for the wait I was without Internet Se4rvice for about the last six days.

Vastiva IC: She pondered for a moment what she had learned today.
Several of the locals near the City of O'Murchadha said that 'soldiers' were in and about the area control bythe O'Murchadha Clan-'soldiers' dressed in black, doing a piss poor job of not being noticed. One man had recounted that he had seen over a dozen moving just along the edge of his property.
Since the Red Hand(Skibereenian Official Governent) Operated trade and 'cool' though not completely unfriendly negotiations with the O'Murchadhas it seemed unlikly that they would move against them in some military fashion. Though, getting a peek at what their actual numbers might be has to be a priority for the Government.
She had also noticed trucks, well large vans to be more precise being placed about the city (New Dublin) they went un-noticed for the most part by people given the large military presence in the city already, haowever there seemed to be little activity from the trucks, and the standard surveilence arrays were not what bristled on these vehicles.
There would be more time to see more tommorow.

Nova Hope IC:
Abe looked towards the man in black, then back towards Razan.
"The one called him a Ninnin, it is what the Skibs call Erininians.
They are the founding nation of the Alliance that unifies my people and the Skibereenians, as well as FallschrimmJager, Temujinn, and MetroDetroit.
You see before the Skibereen joined the AOH alliance, Erinin still had histtory with this country. An officer in the Erinin military cannot advance past a specific rank without combat experience.
SO they used the turmoil in Skibereen to gain combat experience for their men.
When Skibereen joined the alliance that practice was supposed to be stopped. It appears to have not. You can tell a difference in the way the Erininian speaks Gaelic, and the way the Skibs do, the Erininian speaks proper Gaelic, while the Skibs speak there own bastardized version. Since the disappearence of Brian Boru and the steady collapse of unity the influx of Erinin military must be increasing. I mean after all as long as they arent caught by the official military nothing can be proven.
He will not die well."
Razan listened as he scrolled the country side, however it was very similar to finding a needle in a haystack. What he did find were what appeared to be fire bases, yes, definately firebases moving in concentric rings out from the City. Mobile Artillery, and he was cetain that a spot down along the west of the city was tanks, lots of tanks. The O'Murchadhas were definately not what one would call typical geurillas.

The chicken sat in pieces on clean paper towels; piece by piece, each went into an egg dip, then flour and spices, then back and forth over and over. A sprinkling of spice over the top, and she set the tray of chicken to the side, throwing away the paper towels and scrubbing off the top of the counter with a bleached sponge.

A deep pan was kept in the drawer under the stove; this was considered, found acceptable, filled with oil and set to heat.

She got herself a bottle of beer from the fridge and popped the top. Into the other bottle, she upended a bottle of nail polish remover and set it aside.

For a moment she considered steamed vegetables, but decided instead to slice them long ways and grill over a low flame, painted with olive oil and spices. The merry spattering and lovely scent filled the kitchen.

Behind her, the rice cooker popped, its cycle complete.

When the vegetables steamed under a hot lamp, she lifted the burned beer bottle and swished it around – it made no sound but slosh, she set it down again, out of her reach and away from her cooking area.

The chicken spat and gurgled as the hot oil met the coating. She set in four pieces – no less, no more – to deep fry, and drank from her beer as she waited for them to cook completely.

Turn.
Wait.
Turn.
Wait.
Remove, set aside, put on more.

slosh slosh slosh clink!

She finished the chicken and set it under the other hot lamp. From a cabinet came a fine wire mesh strainer.

And through the strainer went the nail polish remover, out of the beer bottle.

A quick rinse with cold water, and there in the strainer were three thin chips. She picked one out and considered it for a moment, before setting the beer bottle in the sink and the chips on paper towels to dry.

With her fried chicken, grilled vegetables and warm rice with butter and seasonings, she sat in front of the television and took notes from the news while she dined.

Razan was not overly surprised at the amount of hardware, though it still made him nervous as he wasn’t able to call for backup in this mission. He’d seen it before, in fact before being sent on this mission he was given more info on the terrain and force projection abilities of the natives than he could care to recall.

Turning back to Abe the helmet looked dull in the bright sun. So clear yet giving no reflection, it was eerie to say the least.
“Then this was unfortunate but not something we need to concern ourselves with.” Double checking the vitals of his medic via the uplink he made his way back to the hummer. Waving a goodbye to Mama Tom he approached the Skib who was coming along for the ride.
“I guess we leave by your mark.” His suit synthesized, free from inflection or variance. Razan listen only half heartedly as his team chattered on the microwave, some concerned but all edgy.

Razan saw MamaTom talking to some of the other Murphys, then they walked over .
"We are to escort you into the city, so that the Gift from your Government can be properly accepted."
The man who was speaking looked Razan up and down, the Average height of the Caucasian population was around 5'9" this man was perhaps 5'10", he had a flat nose and no front teeth(certain Skibs remove their front teeth to the incissors and canines to give an animal appearance). He looked Abe over then smiled and grabbed Abe's hand.
"Cousin, it is good to see you, and be seen."
Abe stoob stiff for a moment.
"Yes, Cousin, it is good to see you and to finally be seen as well." Abe replied, the accent that the arab had was thick with many languages.

"Follow us."
The two hopped into a small truck and squelled towards the City.
Gerald
There was a massive crash as the truck barreled across a parking lot to avoid a crowed intersection, bouncing parked cars like spit ball off a tank(the number one sold vehicle sold in Skibereen is the ferretxl 3cylinder electric hybrid).
The truck stopped and Gerald saw they were at the Hospital, it was however only three stories tall.
As he was wondering how it served a city so large--Hospital staff was already rushing the boy in.
One of the the men who had helped hold the boy still spoke:
"Down, the hospital is built down for tempeture and airflow control, plus it reduces the chances of stray fire further endangering lives."

As the convoy pulled out of the check point Razan leaned close to Abe.
“What was that about?”



As the hospital attendants arrived Gerald called out the patients vitals and told them he was afraid the wound was sucking. With all relevant information given he stopped at the door of the hospital, letting the Skibs take care of their own. Putting his helmet back on he up linked to the convoy to speak directly to Razan.
“You coming into the city yet?
“Working on it now. Status?”
“The kid is away and now I get to see what the guards want.”
“Watch yourself.” Looking up to see the gaurds Gerald’s helmet synthesized in a mildly warmer intonation than Razan’s
“So. What now?”

With the Convoy
The Skibs had a SwitcherHorse move the trailer of the Semi to a drop line.
The Noviets climb into the HummVs to follow the truck.
These people could really be annoying, a thank you and messege for the brass would do, but no.

The truck rolled into a large village outside the city, it seemed to ring the city.
which was every bit as large as the capital city(perhaps larger).
As Razan looked around he saw the camo netting strung all over the streets across the roofs of homes over one avenue from another.
From above no one would have any idea of the amount of people who be able to live here- Thinking back about airial photos, satellite images, this place was simply not there. The O'Murchadhas took keeping there numbers very secret indeed.
If the viliage did ring the city, and was constant in this basic design hundreds of thousands of people could easily be here, and never enter the city.
Abe answered Razans question:
"I think I have seen him before, I think he maybe he is one of my wifes cousins. I am a man after all, I married a local woman. She doesnt hold being Arab against me, i dont hold being Catholic against her." He chuckled.
"The woman has family everywhere."
The answer Abe gave seemed reasonble enough, and he really did not seem to be deceiving, however one thing these people in this country like more beating the piss out of each other, is tricking each other. It is always worth noting that as far respected attributes the Skibs hold cunning on an equal plane as honesty and just a hair below loyalty. If you can manage to be all three, you are considered a wealthy man.
Razan wondered for a moment how wealthy Abe was.
They moved towards the city then turned abruptly deep into a lateral part of the surrounding village.

They reached a large church which Razan did remember from photos as point of reference.
the photos didnt show the houses, only hills and a road. Cheeky bastards.
The two men in the truck that led them here got out.
"There is food waiting inside for you and your men and the company of our uncles, and fathers." One man said as made towars the church doors he placed a hand on the handle of one of the large doors.
He did not open it, rather he waiting for his compatriot to flank the other door.
"We cant go in, we are not allowed."

Abe looked at him, then looked at Razan.
"They call the council that leads them their 'uncles', I dont know their 'fathers' are not a reference I am familiar with, sorry." With that last word he shrugged his shoulders and turned towards the doors, Razan caught the Arab make a slight motion with his as if to say 'After You'.
He hoped Abe was cunning, because he certainly wasnt brave.

Gerald

Gerald listened to the man explain the appearence of the hospital.
The men who were with him spoke to each other for a moment.
A flurry of wors and sounds that Gerald was unclear about, one them however favored German, much of what he said was in poor German.
(going out on limb that Gerald knows German)
Sounded like they argueing about what to do with him!!??
The medic said a word he was unsure of and then snapped his fingers.
"Come on jerry." he said to Gerald.
"I have to get you to your compatriots, well I have to find out where they are first. Then I have to get you to them."
"Bye, Jerry"
"Seien Sie sicheres Gerald, kan die Hieligen hinter Ihnen sein, weil es immer Teufel vor Ihnen gibt."
"Bah"
Replied the medic.
The helpers walked off, as the Medic got into the truck.
"Hop in Gerald, it is time to go."

Nova Hope City
Professor Erik Wintergard was a large man, his girth was not freakish but it was by any account his most striking feature.
At five foot seven inches weighing in at 235lbs gave Erik the appearance of barrel when he wore his tweed brown suit.
His rosey cheeks and reddened nose gave his plump face a perpetual look jollines to it.
His hands were like hams, he had in his younger days been a soldier, not like the regular Skibereenian citizen who usually ended being a soldier out of need, no, not like that at all.
He had been a professional soldier, and excellent soldier, so excellent that he was removed from combat, and educated, and when he was done, he was educated some more. He ended his carreer in military intelligence and began teaching, it had been going on fifteen years that he had been teaching.
The front line of lingustic algorythmic research at New Dublin University.
An expert military historian as it applied to the theory of war.
His disertations on Clauswitz's actual meanings made him world renouned, and infamous in the circles of academic military theory-though that was the problem, most of his peers globally had only theory to base their understandings on.
Now he was back in trenches, so to speak.
The Noviets were not enemies, however many important officials had noted that there laid cultural similiarities that could be exploted, should that need arise, and with them noticing that-they began to wonder if the Noviets themselves had not noticed the same thing.

He had arrived in NHC just before the begining of the winter semester.
It had given him the chance to familiarize himself with his surroundings.

The grocery store,the pool, most importantly a pub, well the nightclub was a far cry from that, but it would suffice for now.

He left his appartment to go to the University and familiarize himself with the staff and review the school records of his up coming students-no reason to do a piss poor job of teaching simply because that was not his only job.

OOC: Language knowledge is a big thing in NH, not just in the NNAO but in the general populace. Everyone in Skib knows Gaelic and is familiar with a lot of other languages. Razan would be lacking in European languages though. (Its encouraged from an early age for people to learn the language of their people. For Gerald it would be French, and surrounding countries. For Razan it would be Japanese and surrounding) *the more you know* ;)

P.S. are these camo nets IR transparent? Would I be able to see through now that I know its here (with the appropriate satellite)
IC:

Razan exhaled to clear his mind. The gesture was lost in his helmet, Striding confidently with a suitcase in his left hand and the gift in his right he walked to the door. Hopping on the microwaves he spoke to his team.
“Don’t bother flanking me. There’s no point if these people want us dead we’re gone.”
“Sir Gerald is reporting in, he’s coming back towards us.”
“Good, keep me apprised.” Gerald had of course contacted the team using the uplink. Telling the Skib where his team was he waited to see what instruction he was given, though a walk would be annoying it wouldn’t kill him.
*****************************************
Bruce McKinley idled the hummer to a stop near the bar. Turning off the powerful engines (ooc: yep two) he exhaled. Checking the dashboard screens he saw through the cameras that he was perfectly parked. He knew he was but checking was just one more thing he could do to delay this experience. He’d changed on his way here but that was a necessity rather than a dalliance. Taking out the cigarette he had snubbed earlier he lit it again with his silver Patriot brand lighter. Dragging hard, another short delay, he savored the taste. It was funny, he had never smoked in Nova Hope. It had seemed redundant considering the air pollution. But now that he was in the cleaner air of Skibereen he found that he craved the chemical taste of home. Though a pour substitute for the airborne toxins back in Titanous he found the cigarettes gave him a fond reminder of home. Finally deciding he’d wasted enough time in the car he pulled the door release and stepped out. Closing it behind him he listened to the whirr click of the deadbolts.

Walking to the bar Bruce imagined he must’ve been quite the sight. Obviously foreign, obviously government and chances are anyone who was anyone knew that he was Noviet. His P-HUDD giving him a professional look, darkened they looked like the glasses you might find on any rookie CIA agent. The black trench coat had vertical white pin strips, though faint, and complimented his navy blue turtleneck nicely. The dark BDU pants were suspended by a plain black leather belt and gave way to combat boots. A heavy leather looking material it was eerie to see those heavy boots coming down soundlessly on the pavement. Bruce brought up a smile, his bright white teeth contrast to his dark outfit and tan skin. Sauntering towards the door it was obvious by his stride that the trench coat concealed weapons, though not surprisingly so. Pulling open the door to the bar he looked around to see what an arms dealer hang out looked like.

(OOC: Sorry about being so long in getting back to him.)

NOVA HOPE OOC: Dont apologize about taking your time, I work during the week and take care of my kids-ergo all my RPs are long and slow.
The Camo Netting in relation to IR...Razan would need to examine, as that is unlikly to happen his only point of reference is what he has against what might and that covers only a very limited area ;) .

IC:
The man holding the door raised his hand to his head and point, then shook his head the universal 'No' sign.
Then he said:"No helmuts, it is disrepectful, when you enter take them off. Leave your guns outside with us. If we wanted you dead you would be, it is a church, no guns in church. Your gift...well that is different I suppose."
He then pulled open the doors, his man on the other door opened as well.

It was immediately obvious that the pews had been moved to the walls, where they had been was great table. Perhaps a 100 feet in length.
Men sat at the table, in between each man was an empty chair it would seem a spot for the Noviet Party.

Abe walked at Razan's heel.
"Some of those men are the part of the uncle's, however the man at the head of the table is from an old Skib Cabal called the Black Hand."

Razan looked towards the man at the head of the table-he was not all the through the door so the helmut was still on.
He was tatooed all about his face in fine black line work, he similar to a Maori, though from what Razan could see the design were most assuradly Skibereen in origin.
"Enter, and be welcomed." came a voice from around the corner, then right behind it came the man who had spoke.
An elderly priest, who bore the tunic that is worn to denote a Member The Order of Saint Patrick.
Now he saw what he supposed to see.
He saw several men sitting at the table who were hooded, but their uniforms were most definately of the Red Hand(official Government).
As well as some he did not recognize.
Why did they want him and his men here.
Almost in answer to what he was thinking Abe spoke again.
"The O'Murchadha take their secrets very seriously,"
"Yes we do." said the priest.
Abe looked at him as if he was looking at an annoying woman.
"You have not been shown anything they did not want you to see, not if the Black are here. Remember that Mr. Razan, nothing you were not meant to see."
"Arab, you are mistaken, you all have seen one thing you were not meant to see. That little boy get killed was not on our designs for the day." The priest then turned towards Razan's men and welcomed them in.
"This is a House of G-d, there will be no harm brought to anyone here."
Razan had been briefed that the OSP were infamous in Skibereen for thier brutality, on and off the battle field.
Abe looked at Razan one last time
"I will not die in a church."
He then walked towards where they were being directed to be seated.

Gerald
Gerald road shotgun along side the medic, Thom he believed the man's name was.
Thom spoke "Well, Jerry I am going to run you over to your brothers."
He squirmed in his seat a little.
"You are dining with what you might call our president, genralisimo, Czar, and Pope all rolled into one. I suppose a better way of putting is your about to have dinner with the Devil.
Dont worry though.." He paused and took a deep breath. "We really appreciate you helping out, seeing as how according to international law we are kind of terrorists. Nice to hold that against us." Thom slipped a cigarette out from behind his ear and pushed in the truck lighter.
--------------------------------------------------------------------------
Bruce
Bruce walked in...it was...unexpected.
The walls were dark polished oak, as was the floor. Though the patrons looked rough, then were by no means the riffraff that was outside(not the best neighborhood).
The bar maid was a pretty woman in her 40s or perhaps 20s depending on what light she was in, or possibly what drink you were on.
There was also a Bartender he was about the most Irish looking man Bruce had seen since he had been in Skibereen(stereotypical Irish that is) he was in a white button up shirt with the sleeves rooled up to expose too large forearms, his nose was rosey red from drink and flat from years of being held down by fists. The man had almost no neck, his face was at once warm and barbaric. He looked to be between fiftyfive and sixty and Bruce imagined he was quite fit, white hair and alcoholic nose aside.
Luckily the music did not stop when he walked in, the bar did not turn to face everyone to a man, some did look, and some looks did linger but no more then could be expected in a place like this in a country like this.
"Hey, you, Spitshine."
The Bartender was obviously addressing Bruce.
"I am the only one doing any killing in here, give over your pistols and you'll keep your pecker."
Now the bar looked.
Most just laughed and went back to billiards, or darts, or snorting some white powder off the small of some young ladies back.
The music was loud old Irish music, that had been layed over trip hop and punk beats.
There seemed to be an abundance of activities with in, surprising this place was not listed in a brochure.
"What are you drinking Spitshine?"

"James Numie" and "Connor Veldt" had been living in this apartment for a month now. It was a dump with a capital D, but their cover persona's could certainly not afford better, especially since it had been proclaimed that Connor Veldt had been suffering from chronic writers block for as long as they had been there and James was earning most of their income through weekly horoscopes for various newspapers, as well as the occasional job for some magazine or other.

James wandered in and threw a pamphlet down on Connor's bed.

"What's this?" Connor asked, glancing up from his manuscript, which was covered in crossed out lines, random doodles and splotches of ink.

"Restaurant a few blocks down," James replied. "They're advertising for a waiter. If you can't get the ol' muse flowing, you'll have to try something else. Not much market for poetry around here, and horoscopes don't pay much."

"Yeah?" Connor said, grabbing the leaflet. "Well, now... waiter, huh? Don't s'pose anyone important ever comes into THAT hole, but I guess I can work m'way up. How's the lack of drug habit goin'?"

James rolled his eyes. "Nothing suitable in this place. It's all either too obvious or too discreet, and the effects are bad for the job. I am known to a few drug dealers as a hesitater, though. Should be enough if we have a few vodka binges."

"Right then," Connor turned back to his work. "'s not like they're gonna be checkin' up yet, but better safe than sorry, eh?"

ooc: have taken that into account - I'm still gonna put the agents onto my People File along with their cover characters, but assume your people have no knowledge of them, or if they do they don't have anything that connects them with their covers.

(OOC: I forgot to mention there is the requirement of being implanted to be a Noviet citizen. It’s a chip that is undetectable to you, requires a local anesthetic to insert and leaves no scar. They then place a small barcode over this. It goes on your left hand. The chip is GPS compatible and keeps a record of your life, or at least the secure code to access your file on the government server. This keeps your medical/legal/personal/et cetera/financial information intact and easily accessible to you (and the government should the need arise.) The barcode is for access to your account. There is no longer a physical currency in Nova Hope, so the clerk at the store scans your hand and deducts the money that way. Scan and PIN and voilia.

Hope this isn’t too bad for Erik, the tattoo is removable (laser surgery [free]) as is the chip. But all Noviet citizens are required to have this. (Excluding NNAO field operatives)

Erik
(OOC: Belt speed: 40kmph>20kmph>10kmph)

Stepping off the moving sidewalk was always a treat, especially for someone of Erik’s mass. The moving sidewalk was a conveyor belt really, and it perforated the traffic patterns of the busiest areas in the city. As the conveyor belt came to an embarkation station it was a process of three steps. Step one was a straight step to avoid the gap. Though there was no perceivable gap the difference in speed was obvious. The conveyor belt moved onto gears of a slower speed, with the slack being taken in at the bottom. The second step was a diagonal one, left if you were passing by, right if you were disembarking. Stepping right took you to a whole new system, a smallish (comparatively) belt that allowed for slower on and off stepping. This off step was the third and final, now you stood on solid ground.

Being careful with his embarkation he was shot dirty looks by several natives as they stepped from the speedy belts onto the concrete with no variance in stride. It came from living here for a few years but now Noviet, specifically NHCers, strode on moving sidewalks as if they were natural occurrences. Looking around Erik was asked to move from the embarkation station by a man in uniform, who referred to it as an em-stat. Stepping into the sea of people, most of whom were students, Erik would’ve been assaulted by several sensations at once;

The vertigo of walking at only 4kmph as apposed to 40;

The sensory overload of seeing every spot on the wall in full animation actively trying to sell him something, some in 2D and some in three.

The olfactory offence of several narcotics, this is a university campus in a country with no illegal drugs;

The double take of seeing the occasional naked person in the crowd;

The triple take of seeing some people walking others on a leather leash;

The eye roll at the fact that everyone seemed to be speaking on a cell phone, or text messaging or, engaging the internet via wi fi. After all mobile technology has reached 98% penetration in NHC;

The ear perk of hearing that most of the people on the cell phones were talking about the market in some way;

The surprise to notice that the ear perk referred to students as well;

And of course the shudder as he could see several groups of people, separated and distant, circle around two combatants as they dueled. In the station there were only two, but one was occurring in the street as well. The one in the street was a fist fight, the one in the lobby was a rapier duel and the last was two men with a red light, off, between them. They stood about fifty paces apart and a small wire ran to each of their legs from the small device in the middle. The both stared at each other while waiting for the light to flash red so they could blow each other away.

Shaking off the interesting initial impression Erik made his way to the elevators marked on his interactive map. Glancing at the university provided PDA and where he was going Erik was glad for the quiet of the elevators when he got there. Perhaps he’d become accustomed to the noise level but apparently the din was deafening, but only now that he had the quiet elevator to compare it too. Coming out of the elevator on the thirty second floor Erik made his way towards the pedway. Walking out a few steps he was surprised to see the em-stat provided service here too. Referring to his PDA he could see that it was easier to walk from here rather than try to take the speedbelt to the next em-stat and walk back. Again focused on reaching the pedway he began walking taking in the sights as he went. The University was slightly less busy up here than it was on the ground floor. Rather than a bustling crowd there was merely a fair flow. Following the sea of Asian faces he was making good time until he got to the pedway. There he had to stop and take stock of the view. Not yet above the smog cloud the thirty second floor pedway above Dominion Boulevard, between the main university building and the Finger of God (OCC: There are a fair number of religious institutions in this building if you didn’t guess by the name)gave a spectacular view. Looking down you could see the small cars, glinting as the cruised down the bumper to bumper boulevard. The median offered the only trace of green in sight as it sported several tall palm trees. Though from this pedway they looked like vibrant shrubbery. As your eyes shifted up you were met with advertisements, neon lighting and art. With the government subsidizing the local culture creators it would seem not all applications of colour were advertisements. Perhaps the truly incredible thing about this sight was that said art disappeared behind the low hanging sulphur clouds, proceeding to god know how high. Looking up Erik could see that he didn’t have much further to go before he was in the pollution clouds. Breathing deep he tasted the artificial air. Though not as nice as the air back in Skib he had to wonder what the air out side tasted like, it had coated his tongue fist time off the plane.

Another few minutes and he was in his office. Expansive as it was if offered no window seat, though other amenities were offered in its stead. The entire wall across from his door was a touch screen plasma monitor. This allowed him to use his finger to drag out a box and activate several windows of random operations. With the set up the way it was Erik could simultaneously run the Microsoft™ OS, the Linux OS, the Apple™ OS, the Regal™ OS. Though a note was left up and running that only the Regal OS would be compatible with most Noviet computers. Later in the note it gave the name of a member of the staff and a request to be seen ASAP.

Another interesting feature was that in the five minutes it took Erik to take stock of his new very spacious office and private bathroom the wall screen had gone into power conservation mode and began to project a picture of a wall that matched the wood paneling of the other three.


(OOC: There hopefully that should give you the picture a very crowded, almost anarchistic society that seems to be very focused on its money making. That was pretty much a welcome to the neighbourhood here’s your office. Yell if I went to far and ask for questions or comments.)

Gerald

Gerald cocked his head at that. No Noviet was fond of the United Nations. In fact the house of commons was dominated by a nationalist party that would never allow a Noviet Un association, but he decided to play dumb.
“Terrorists eh? What got you that rep?”

Razan

Razan dropped off his weapons and spoke to his team before entering.
“It would appear we’re all ‘invited’. We’re going to disarm and take out helmets off, so the is the end of the microwave chatter.” Before Razan took off the helmet he requisitioned a satellite from HQ. With the knowledge of what was under the camo netting the NNAO could now hope to find a spectrum that the nets were transparent on.

Taking off the helmet Razan left it outside as well. Following Abe Razan and his men would take their cues from the Skibs and the Arab, for now.

Bruce

Bruce smiled at the atmosphere. He felt more at home here than he’d care to admit to his superiors. A rough crowd Bruce could handle, he was used to rough. Crazies bothered him though. Growing up in an industry town Bruce had learned to avoid the crazies. He’d scrapped with the best of them, being tossed in the drunk tank many a times as a child, but his worst memories were of the crazies. He couldn’t forget this one time, a hobo messed up on PCP came at him with a knife,… he shook his head clearing his thoughts. It is not like that anymore. Nationalized healthcare and better police funding, that’s not a common occurrence anymore.

Scanning the room quickly Bruce’s P-HUDD picked up the geometric points on everyone’s face. Submitting them back to HQ he started running back ground checks, see if their pictures were on file. Chances are they’re all minor files on the Skib government computer, but no big flags.

Straddling the stool he sat down, still smiling.
“I’m looking for food, not a fun fight.” He spoke jovially as he surrendered two silenced Noviet pistols.

OOC: One quick tip-if they are to have real names as opposed to their skib names, do not tell me what they are unless you plan on me figuring it out.
I would take it as sign you want me to(eventually) if they are deep cover agents they would never under any circumstance use their real names in public or private.
Looks good.

Fixed - they weren't going to call each other by their names anyway, I was just putting it for clarity, but it doesn't really make much difference. You will find the real and fake bios on my embassy page or something within a few days (cos I hate it when people don't give specs and then pull out miraculous abilities at the last moment)

HSI Headquarters, Sisu Kaada, Vastiva

The day’s mail was poured onto his desk, a colorful collage of stamps and envelopes of many shapes and sizes.

None of it was from Skibereen.

An hour before he arrived, it was sorted into piles by a helpful secretary. Half an hour before he arrived, the coffeepot was set to brew.

Five minutes before her boss was set to arrive, pencils were sharpened, a letter opener was set out, and all the doors were closed, the windows still shuttered.

Nasiri Yassasin had never been seen in the halls of government. He had never been seen by his secretary, his staff, or – it is rumored – by his Sultan.

However he was good at what he did.

Very, very good.

The letter opener cut open several cards from several nations, chosen seemingly at random, addressed to various people who did not exist at addresses which did. A few of the names were of those who did exist, though the locale they had received the mail at might not have been one they were acquainted with.

In a few cases, the address and the person were quite real. The mail had simply been… misdirected.

The cards were much like any you could find at any corner shop. They variously declared “Greetings!”, “Happy Birthday”, “With Sympathy”, “Happy Mothers Day!” - they were written in a few dozen languages, they were colored, uncolored, inked, deeply inked, pressed, glued…

There was, in fact, only one commonality to all the cards.

When you opened them, they made noise.

Each cards singsong was ignored; the card was gutted, the chip caused to drop onto the simple green blotter. An observer might have noted how ipon each chip had been placed a second, very thin chip of plastic, held in place by a coating of clear nail polish or a slight drop of glue.

But then again, there was no observer, only Nasiri.

Each was separated, and the singing piece discarded, a remnant for the round file. Each bit of plastic was set aside, one after another. When a gathering of plastic had been realized, they were each placed meticulously in some sort of order.

When that was done, he looked to the stack of letters. To the untrained, they ranged from childish scrawl to business documents to romantic pleadings.

In a few hours time, the last one struck the brimming round file.

Nasiri considered for a time before setting pen to paper. Of all the workers beneath the Sultan, Nasiri was the one who never used a computer in his office.

Then again, Nasiri had never needed one.

He prepared his report. Troop movements. Buildups. Deliveries. Parts were added noting the Noviet presence, along with the size and shape of bribery used, some notations on their armored suits. Cold weather gear, Beaufort, Hive missile ships.

The O'Muchadhas using children. The ineffective response. Questions about players.

And lastly, Nasiri’s recommendations.

This document was carefully folded, placed in an opaque envelope, sealed, left carelessly on the top of the desk.

When all was said and done, it would be the only thing out of place in the room, the only evidence Nasiri had ever been here.

Everything else... smoke, ash, memory.

Vastiva

Sisu Vaari-
Proffessor Daniel Moore,
He was a slight man, 5'7", perhaps 115lbs.
His dark(occasionally greasy) hair was combed striaght back, not thin enough to call him balding, but far from a mane.
It was cut neat, his thin mustache made sharp strip across his feral face.
He stood outside the airport with the many cases of equipment he brought for his work.
Siesmic reading devices, air samplers, radiological analyzer for air and water.
A variety of devices, not to mention the list of equipment he hoped would be made availble to him at the university.
Daniel Moore, lit a cigarette...Was smoking legal here?
Of course Daniel had been briefed on this sort of thing, and following briefings is what gets people killed. Tourists dont know a foreign nations penal code.
Daniel Moore, had been raised in Cahul, like all skib boys he was a boxer.
Daniel however was one of the rare Skibs who managed to sharpen his mind faster then his jab/cross/cut.
He was a bonified professor ecology and head of enviormental studies at New Dublin University.
He studied in FallschrimmJager, then later did research in Sweden with the Bedou.
It was the Study with the Bedou that got him this mission.
He could read, write, and speak fluent flawless Farsi, and could manage himself with Hausa.
He had been told that dueling was legal.
He would need to discuss obtaining a pistol.
Perhaps a knife.
Daniel did not come armed in anyway, he did not believe that made sense either.
The wind whipped around him, he couldnt imagine how long he would have to be here. But, it could be worse, he could be in England.
He waited for the University car and smoked.
He needed a drink, yes, that is what he needed.

(OOC: I forgot to mention there is the requirement of being implanted to be a Noviet citizen. It’s a chip that is undetectable to you, requires a local anesthetic to insert and leaves no scar. They then place a small barcode over this. It goes on your left hand. The chip is GPS compatible and keeps a record of your life, or at least the secure code to access your file on the government server. This keeps your medical/legal/personal/et cetera/financial information intact and easily accessible to you (and the government should the need arise.) The barcode is for access to your account. There is no longer a physical currency in Nova Hope, so the clerk at the store scans your hand and deducts the money that way. Scan and PIN and voilia.

Hope this isn’t too bad for Erik, the tattoo is removable (laser surgery [free]) as is the chip. But all Noviet citizens are required to have this. (Excluding NNAO field operatives)
(OOC: There hopefully that should give you the picture a very crowded, almost anarchistic society that seems to be very focused on its money making. That was pretty much a welcome to the neighbourhood here’s your office. Yell if I went to far and ask for questions or comments.)
Erik
Erik liked having the screen, he had a regular television in his home, this was fancy.
He was a little put off by the air, worse then Skibereen's(a fact he was not certain was possible).
The bustle was nice, crowds were anonomous places. He would have to get used to those rediculous sidewalks if he was to go unnoticed, that would not be too difficult though. It was like 'ghostriding' a motorcycle.
He stared at the tattoo on his left hand.
This was, and interesting complication, he could neutralize it if he had to, but that would draw attention, so he could only do it once, maybe twice.
INteresting though, very interesting idea.
He prepared his first lecture "Your Struggle is Our Struggle" and how the Irish IRA and the PLO of the palestianians over the years began to share resources as members saw that their ideologies and propblems were similar.
He pointed to similar happenings in gloabal groups and the groups currently in operation in Skibereen.
He pointed to the Affiliation growing between the Soldiers of the Cross(Bedou)
And the Order of Saint Patrick.
He eluded to the covert operation preformed by Erinin, seem to coincide with attacks by internal groups, even though Erinin is an allied state.
The fact that even the most free society there is a resistance to the slightest perceived authoritarian actions of the government, it is in escapable.
Now given the global community, the interconnectivity of the modern society it has become to spread the discord from one nation to another.

His first class should address the Latin languages, the bridge in most western languages.



(
Gerald

Gerald cocked his head at that. No Noviet was fond of the United Nations. In fact the house of commons was dominated by a nationalist party that would never allow a Noviet Un association, but he decided to play dumb.
“Terrorists eh? What got you that rep?”

Thom looked at Gerald, looked back at the road. He smiled breifly.
"Not really sure, thoug I think it might be the use of military coersion to force the legally recognized government to bend to our collective will."
He smiled again, and shook his head.
They drove through a villiage that seemed to surround the city, at least from this perspective. The cities were not so different from the Noviet metropolis's or as the Skibs call them 'Maxitrops', though Noviets tend to build a bit higher, quite a bit higher.
The Skibs countered by having cities that sprawled miles of packed neighborhoods and concrete, a forest of hundred story buildings at the center then as the city spread out the building seemed to decline at directly related rate--there was a purpose to that.
He arrived at church, Thom told him good luck, he didnt smile.
(
Razan
Razan dropped off his weapons and spoke to his team before entering.
“It would appear we’re all ‘invited’. We’re going to disarm and take out helmets off, so the is the end of the microwave chatter.” Before Razan took off the helmet he requisitioned a satellite from HQ. With the knowledge of what was under the camo netting the NNAO could now hope to find a spectrum that the nets were transparent on.
Taking off the helmet Razan left it outside as well. Following Abe Razan and his men would take their cues from the Skibs and the Arab, for now.

OOC: FallschrimmJager is going to address your imaging issue.
IC: The priest stood at the doors till all the men were inside, then taking the doors from the men outside he clsed them, and slide an impossibly large plank across their breadth.
The tattooed man at the head of the table stood up, after the noviets and Abe had been seated, one after the other.
The recent arrival Gerald looked completely baffled.
"Welcome, I hope you enjoy this bit of our hospitality.
I realize you are not diplomats, that is specifically why you are here.
I do not trust men whose only job is to talk."
The man reached down and picked up his glass "I dont trust anyone actually, but if I have to make nice with anyone it will be men who must get blood on their own hands, and not merely order another to do so."
Abe whispered "Drink."
Though he did not. Then Razan remembered, Muslims dont drink.
Abe whispered while the glasses went up "The Black Hand is from when Skibereen operated its own prisons before outsourcing, by his marks he is a leader, he is a killer," abe paused "He is a killer of killers."

The man lowered his glass and looked toward Abe.
"Please rise up, and speak aloud what it is you would whisper at my table.
You, are the one who gives answers to these men on the state of affairs here in my house. Then tell us all what you and be thorough."

Abe did not hesitate, Razan was almost shocked that the man did not flinch or balk at all to the challenge.
"I was explaining to my employer here that The Black Hand was formed in the old prisons of Skibereen, before the out sourcing to FallschirmmJager.
I explained that by your tattoos you are definately a killier, then I clearified by calling a 'killer of killers'-" The man interupted Abe
"INdeed."

Connor walked into the restaurant looking like he was trying to look businesslike. "I hear you have a position vacant?" He said to the manager. "I'd like to apply."

Meanwhile James picked up Connor's paperst and checked them over. Then he fed it into their shredder, which completely failed to beep suspiciously. He sighed and sat down to write yet another horoscope column. Upon informing his adoring viewers that this was a good month for reconciliation (unless you were extremely well off in which case you should just throw big parties and bitch at everyone), he thought for a moment and then sent a letter to an annoying tabloid newspaper known for publishing useless exposes about politicians, who generally ignored them. That should be a pretty legitimate excuse...

The customs officials at Gardemeister Aeroport had been very nice, moreso - if that was possible - when she learned he was a professor.
"How delightful to have knowledgeable people come to Vastiva! Here are some visitor’s chits, present them at any restaurant you wish to sample, Professor. Skibereen? It does roll off the tongue. We haven’t seen many from there.”

She stamped his passport and smiled. “Nothing to declare?” His cases had been “suitably checked” by the several red coated attendants near the counter, mostly looking for explosives and ‘contraband’.

“Though in Vastiva, that would probably mean a bazooka.” He thought to himself some time later. Most of the citizenry was armed, with the AK-47 and AKM the most common rifle though there were a few he couldn’t place. Melee weapons were just as represented.

Weird place.

A cab – a PolarBear painted neon pink with lime green checking – pulled up. “Where to?”
“Tibiak University in Kjik'Kjak,” he said, getting in. The inside was spacious, almost a full van even with the rear area cordoned off as cargo, and separated by insulation.
The driver was still laughing even after putting the professor’s gear in back. “Well, I don’t drive that far normally. Though you could get off at the train station, take it down there. It would be an hour or so, but the trip would be worth it. Good scenery too.”
“I… see. Where can I get a pistol? Or a knife?”
The driver chuckled again, pulling on to the snow-free roads. “Any bazaar should carry whatever you want. Though I should warn you, if you carry, you should be sure you can use.”
“Ah. Ok. The train station then.”
“Sure thing. Hey, where are you from?... Skibereen? Never heard of it. Is it warm there?”
“Warmer then here.”
“Ah, now that, I can cure. Open the doors behind my seat.”
The small cabinet proves to hold an emplaced samovar, holding coffee at just the right temperature. Small flasks of milk (several kinds) and packeted sugars (if you can dream of it, it’s in a packet) are beneath, along with some long twisted papers.
“It’s on the house, part of the package. So are the dopesticks, so feel free. The banded ones are hemp, the unbanded ones cloves. If you want more smokes, we sell them too… other side has some donuts and sandwiches. You like music?”

The ride was beyond comfortable; a short stop at a “Librations Shoppe” seemed to be part of the package too – Daniel was utterly floored by the size of the “shoppe” and the selection; even the presence of a smiling and overhelpful clerk was stunning. This wasn’t a high-school student earning money, but a careered individual, far more interested that Daniel got just what he wanted then in selling him the most expensive anything.

It got more interesting when he let slip he was a professor visiting Vastiva.

“A visiting teacher? Really? Here. These are imported Jamaican rums… here, have one of the sample bottles, no, I insist, and here is a taste of Chellian cognac, and the ’56 Cornet Blush; a personal favorite, though some find it a bit strong for some dishes. And a pear brandy, perfect for those cold nights. No, no charge, I won’t hear of it. Now, lets see… your bottle is normally twelve polar crowns, minus teacher’s discount, that comes to eleven crowns four bits. We do take credit cards?”

The cab driver stored his purchases carefully, taking him through the short remaining drive to the train station – to the passenger entrance – even carrying his bag to the ticket station.

“I hope you’re not expecting a big tip.”
Another laugh. “No sir, all part of the service. Good day, and have a good trip.”
“I haven’t paid you yet!”
“No, sir, I’m paid by the aeroport. All part of the service!” and he disappears into the crowd.

The ticket costs an inexpensive 25 PC for a two-hour trip (citizens train) to Kjik’Kjak at the far southern part of the coast, and the furthest southern city of Vastiva. The train itself is marvelously well-kept, and not crowded. Once it jarringly accelerates, the car rises to nearly fifty feet above the ground, on a series of T-tracks.

The scenery is beautiful, if sparse, and most of the people speak in a flurry of languages. Now and again a word is somewhat familiar, but for the most part what is familiar is boring.

There is one slowing of the train near a switchover – the conductor announces a government train has priority, which most of the citizens ignore – but no major stalling or problems.

Dominating the city are two huge towers, each one a mountain in and of itself. Between them are gates easily seven football fields in height and two across each, currently open and framing the sun (which will not set until February). The briefing gives you some information, as does the tourist pamphlet –

Kjik’Kjak is a port, mostly commercial though the Coast Guard does maintain a presence. It is also the bottleneck to some of our newly created agricultural regions. Its position on the southernmost end of the coast allows for limited shipping ability, as in winter it occasionally ices over, but the connection to Vastiva’s mag-lev network prevents isolation.

Kjik’Kjak is mostly involved with food production and distribution, as well as serving as the main fishing port. You might expect Nassanuella to be such, or one of the minor ports, but Kjik’Kjak’s lake region allows for year round fishing. There are also the subsea fish farms – currently little more then ideas and initial designs, but perhaps one day they will allow Vastiva’s domestic production to increase at no land cost.

Stepping off the monorail, Kjik is to your left, Kjak to your right. Also known as the “Southern Gates”, they took nearly two hundred years to complete, from external carvings to internal passages. They have been used alternatively as fortresses and prisons; these days, they are primarily a tourist attraction, though some use the upper floors for observation of the southern realms, including Tibiak University. The top floor itself is held by the VAS (Vastivan Armed Service), but the roof is open to researchers.

The city here is not mostly domed, but cylinders and “square cylinders”, set up to ten stories high on pillars and strut supports. Lower “lego blocks” make up factories, canneries, warehouses, and the like near the water, where can be seen an extensive port facility. From your perspective (three stories up), activity can be seen at the port - ships coming in and leaving, the occasional movement of Vastivan Coast Guard cutters. Above, a variety of helicopters and autogyros flit about in the cold air - most are civilian of an astounding number of designs; the police use a dark black finish, with a stylized band. And no other copter is armed.

The university itself is the complex towards Kjik, sheltered by the mountain range.

Stadt der Jäger
FallCorp Betriebe Zentrale-Strategischer Befehl.

The building spiraled impossibly high above Jagland.
The exterior smooth and unbroken appearing to be one single piece of glass.
Smoke black its glossy exterior rose into the sky like the blade of black dagger jutting towards the sky.
No building like the Schwarzer Aufsatz existed anywhere in he world.

ComCenterPrimary.
The room was four stories tall, it laid in the center of the tower.
One large catwalk extended a few desks over the work stations which spiraled down the wall as hundreds of computer terminals flashed information across screen.
On the top Cat walk was John Richter, Chief of Officer of client Surveillence and Communications.
A dozen terminals sorrounded him with the best of the best in analysts that FallCorp could provide in the field. Him along with his 'Apostles' controlled the constant monitoring of over 700 workers constantly monitorig communications/ signal activity/ anything electronic.

It was the middle of the day in FallschrimmJager.
However it was always daytime in one of the client nations and daytime meant signal clutter.

It began on Level four. (2secs)
"We have an anomaly." Operator 434 flashed across John's control Com.
Quickly the large screens before him showed what was already on the operators screen.(7secs.)

John stared at the signal.

"I want clearification of this signal five minutes ago!!"(13secs)
John Richter's voice boomed throughout the room over the sound of clicking keyboards.
The 'Apostles' screens all clicked to operators 434's screen and then to 12 different analyzers.
"Hast hast"(17secs)
John Richter was already fairly certain what he was looking at, it wondered why, however 'why' was not his job.
"I have confirmation we active radar imaging." OPerator 333.
"I want it stopped!!!"
"Whose bird has its eyes on my preis!!" richter would not allow a Security failure on his watch.(22secs)
"I cant crack the signal, it is not a familiar bird--we need physical termination" Apostle 4
"Do we have any hawks at that time."Richter(24secs)
"Negative" Apostle 1(25sec)
26secs
27secs
28secs
They stared at their screens.
29secs
"I have a comsat right there sir."Operator 122
"MIcro?"
"Not enough output."Apostle3
31secs
Uranium core propulsion.
32secs
"Blow the dish-destroy the bird-someone give me a...firing solution"35secs Richter said without passion though anyone looking at his face would be hard pressed not see his concern.
37secs
38secs
"Solution entered"Operator 22
39secs
"INitiating Destruct, blowing dish......now"44secsApostle9
.
.
.
.
.
.
The Noviet sattlelite had activated an active radar imaging device as previous passive imaging had failed, 47secs into begining the imaging cycle the sattellite was struck by unknown debris-damaged but intact, the radar imager which had been operating at the time was now not responding--all indication demonstrate electromagnetic interference or radiological damage.
.
.
.
.
.
John Richter couldnt imagine who would bring a spy sat to bear on Skibereen but it wasnt his job to understand why, it was his job to stop it and find out who so he could stop it again.

The latter was still undone.

Big evil coporation out.

(held for long post)

Bruce

Bruce smiled at the atmosphere. He felt more at home here than he’d care to admit to his superiors. A rough crowd Bruce could handle, he was used to rough. Crazies bothered him though. Growing up in an industry town Bruce had learned to avoid the crazies. He’d scrapped with the best of them, being tossed in the drunk tank many a times as a child, but his worst memories were of the crazies. He couldn’t forget this one time, a hobo messed up on PCP came at him with a knife,… he shook his head clearing his thoughts. It is not like that anymore. Nationalized healthcare and better police funding, that’s not a common occurrence anymore.

Scanning the room quickly Bruce’s P-HUDD picked up the geometric points on everyone’s face. Submitting them back to HQ he started running back ground checks, see if their pictures were on file. Chances are they’re all minor files on the Skib government computer, but no big flags.

Straddling the stool he sat down, still smiling.
“I’m looking for food, not a fun fight.” He spoke jovially as he surrendered two silenced Noviet pistols.

The Bartender gave the slightest motion and the Barmaid took the guns.
She looked them over, glanced at the Bartender who looked atthem and gave a small snort.
She open a large cabinet behind the bar, it was full of small cubby holes, she removed a tag from a hole and handed back to bruce.
"Food, food I can do.
I get some mackerel rolls, bangers and rarebit, or maybe you want something to stick to you like Lamb Stew or some Spiced Beef, maybe my famous Beef With Guinness."
The large man seemed very happy to offer some food.
"Here boy," the man hand over a plate of pigs feet "my Crubeens to tide you over till you decide. I boned them and deep fried em, best with way with drink.'
With that he produced some brown soda bread and a bottle of Stout.

However Bruce notice a disappointing thing.
His was not getting a signal inside this place.

Then he noticed that none of the people were on cell phones, or had phones set on the tables or bar.

He also noticed that he phone behind the bar was a rotary phone, corded to the wall and the base.

No television either.

Vastiva
"Kjik here I come."
He wondered what the preoccupation with teachers was.
An over blown cultural characture of the Islamic respect for scholars perhaps.
Similar to some of the oddities of home.
"Excuse me, I hate to bother." Daniel attempted to get the attention of someone who appeared to be a local.
He had been told that that Muslim indeginous languages would be important, here, so he tried Farsi first.
"I am a Professor from the University of New Dublin in Skibereen.
I have noticed an amazing amout of accmodation paid to me when I mention being a Professor. Why is this?"

Connor walked into the restaurant looking like he was trying to look businesslike. "I hear you have a position vacant?" He said to the manager. "I'd like to apply."

Meanwhile James picked up Connor's paperst and checked them over. Then he fed it into their shredder, which completely failed to beep suspiciously. He sighed and sat down to write yet another horoscope column. Upon informing his adoring viewers that this was a good month for reconciliation (unless you were extremely well off in which case you should just throw big parties and bitch at everyone), he thought for a moment and then sent a letter to an annoying tabloid newspaper known for publishing useless exposes about politicians, who generally ignored them. That should be a pretty legitimate excuse...
More.

More.

Er... I was under the assumption you would write for the manager of the restaurant...

Connor

"You ever wait tables?
Tend bar?
Crack heads? No more then likly not eh.
Cook?
I can find work for someone who can."
The man was smiling and seemed friendly, yet irratated all at once.
He was epitome of a boss.
It was amazing how no matter how large the city was in this country people retained such a rural feel, or perhaps the rural regions were a matter that needed closer inspection.
What could Connor Do?

Connor nodded to each question. "I'm a writer, actually, but I can do anything - I'm just looking for work until the creativity kicks in."

James sent off the letter, knowing people were always getting sacked around there and he'd probably have a job by tomorrow, and then set out to meet his new druggie contacts.

He locked the door (Connor had a key) and set off for one of the known hang outs of "unsavoury types", which was a short walk away.

Vastiva
"Kjik here I come."
He wondered what the preoccupation with teachers was.
An over blown cultural characture of the Islamic respect for scholars perhaps.
Similar to some of the oddities of home.
"Excuse me, I hate to bother." Daniel attempted to get the attention of someone who appeared to be a local.
He had been told that that Muslim indeginous languages would be important, here, so he tried Farsi first.
"I am a Professor from the University of New Dublin in Skibereen.
I have noticed an amazing amout of accmodation paid to me when I mention being a Professor. Why is this?"

[(A) reply in Farsi]
"A Professor! How nice! And where is New Dublin?"
[(B) Welsh Gaelic]
"In Ireland."
[(C) Farsi again]
"Can't be in Ireland, it's 'NEW'."
[(B) English]
"Many pardons, Eminence. Geography is not my strong suit..."
[(A) Farsi]
"Perhaps it would be worthwhile to study more of the world. We have important visitors here now."
[(B) Farsi]
"Assuredly, it would, as has become evident. It shall indeed become a great pleasure in my life to acquaint myself with more of the world. Perhaps a globe would be of use?"
[(C) Welsh Gaelic]
"Most certainly. There was a well-priced one in the western bazaar; not two hours ago I did perceive it there, still for sale at Abdul Rakhmar's, for less then the cost of a ticket to Nassanuella."
[(B) English]
"Your kindness shall not be forgotten, indeed it shall be written on the heavens. You have my most heartfelt appreciation."
[(C) English]
"It is but a small thing, apologies for your discomfort." ~bows~
[(B)]
~returns the short bow, heads into the mass of people~
[(A) Farsi]
"Apologies, Eminence, for the actions of my impolite bretheren. Would that there were hours enough for a complete explanation; alas, my wife is completing a supper, and it would not be right to have her wait. Perhaps, if a long and in depth explanation would be wished, it would be possible to join us at our table?"
[(C) Farsi]
"It would not be right to hold such from his journey, if such he needs complete, and soon."
[(A) Farsi]
"Indeed not, but what to do, if the complexity is wished, yet the distance needs be covered, and soon?"
[(C) Farsi]
"The simplest to do, would be to leave it to his Eminence, whether it would be a better thing to walk with a simple engineer, or to dine with..."
[(A) Farsi]
"Many pardons, my trade is within the Hammam."
[(C) Farsi]
"Indeed! How wonderful! Then it would be true his Eminence could discover your whereabouts, and perhaps to accept the invitation at a later time, thereby accepting both without preference?"
[(A) Farsi]
"Most true, most true, indeed, we must leave the question within his power, and seek to know which path he wishes to tread first - or if both, in what order."
[(C) Farsi]
"Indeed."

~they both look at you expectantly~


(OOC: Well, actually just about everything except the Asian languages is common in Vastiva, with English being the trade tongue and "Vastivan" the native tongue - don't bother, it's a pidgin of every language and a metaphoric tongue to boot, making it a nightmare to understand)

"No need to apologize for the other gentlemen. I would be happy to dine with you, but I must first change my attire it is not suitable, so I would have to take a rain check, or be late. I do however currently have no difficulties talking and walking."
Daniel, hoped he caught the drift what ever the hell that was that just happened, and all that talking without actually getting an answer.

[(C) Farsi]
"True, true, very true."
[(A) Farsi]
"Alas, we would need to know whence he goes, and at what speed this travelling is desired."
[(C) Farsi]
"Most assuredly."
[(A) Farsi]
"Perhaps, Eminence, you would grace us with the knowledge of whence you wish to travel, the better to understand your needs?"

"As soon as possible."

Erik

OOC: Good but I don’t know what you wanted me to respond to, he’s still in his office doing up lectures,..

NNAO Team

Gerald merely nodded to the man as he exited, thanking him for the lift. Coming to the church doors he removed his helmet as instructed and strode in confidently. The rest of the team turned to see him enter. Razan smiled that his man was still alive. Motioning for Gerald to sit Razan still waited for the man in charge to continue.

Bruce

“Beef with Guinness eh? It’s the beer that drinks like a meal so why not?” Bruce smiled and munched on the appetizer. It’d taken some time to get use to the local food but Bruce had managed, it’d been easier for him than some. A lot of the Skib meals reminded him of the cooking his father did of the old country, the highlands still permeated his upbringing. Once the bartender seemed placated by his answer he turned his attention to his more immediate problem. The building isn’t microwave transparent, I can’t get a satellite lock. I’ll just have to keep the faces on file and run comparisons once I’m online again. Unless,.. Activating the P-HUDD once again he linked up with his PDA, still beneath his coat. Accessing it via the WI-FI port he entered the system and set the timer to go off in forty seconds.

Munching intently on the pigs feet he looked genuinely surprised when his PDA gave a soft beep. Flipping the device out in front of him he produced the stylus and began to try and access the WI-FI, knowing full well there was no signal. Looking slightly confused he looked up at the bartender.
“You must not get very good reception in here. I have to message an associate of mine, is there anywhere in the building that gets a signal or should I step outside?”

Stephen Cobb’s office

Stephen read the report again, his irritation growing.

Unknown interference of a suspicious nature has disabled active scanning capabilities on satellite designated Briar Patch Bird 2c (BPB2c). While possibly mundane circumstances recommendations remain to retrieve the satellite for retrieval of black box and further investigation. Next available shuttle will be launched, ETA 2 weeks.

In the mean time a replacement satellite will be prepped for deployment over Skibereen. A secondary satellite will be redirected to facilitate the observation of the primary satellite, this will confirm or deny the theories currently held by command.

Other options are being considered for aerial surveillance, though options seem limited due to the amount of ground based anti-air ordinance. Suggestions from the think tank include building a dish on the embassy and bouncing imaging off cloud cover to a passive orbital observer. [This method is deemed inefficient due to the necessity of weather to make any amount of decent surveillance.]

The consideration of launching probes to test the air defence susceptibility to stealth infiltration is being considered, though unlikely as the probes would arouse suspicion.

They look at each other.

[(A) Farsi]
"But of course."
[(C) Farsi]
"The answer is clear. You shall take him to the Hammam, and once refreshed, then to wherever else, and when done, he shall dine with me."
[(A) Farsi]
"Assuredly, that does sound most fair."
[(C) Farsi]
"Indeed it does, does it not?" He removes a business card and, bowing, presents it to Daniel. "Go in Peace."
[(A) Farsi]
~bows to C ~ "Namaste, May the Prophet guide your steps."
~looks at Daniel~
"Indeed. To the Hammam then, to refresh yourself and your garb?"
~he gestures~

Erik

OOC: Good but I don’t know what you wanted me to respond to, he’s still in his office doing up lectures,..

OOC: What I am doing is establishing Eriks dialogue with the Students, he intends on lecturing first on the pro-revolutionary ideals common to most if not all para-political military groups.
He wants to see who is interested in what.
I explained the lectures so at any point you wish to use him you may-Erik is a passive agent-newspapaers, television, social movement, and waits for contact, he does not seek them. After all We are nt at war and your nation is a bit more stable then mine-no need for me to be activily digging, yet.
Slow and boring.


NNAO Team
Gerald merely nodded to the man as he exited, thanking him for the lift. Coming to the church doors he removed his helmet as instructed and strode in confidently. The rest of the team turned to see him enter. Razan smiled that his man was still alive. Motioning for Gerald to sit Razan still waited for the man in charge to continue.

Abe took his seat, The tattoed man looked at the weapons Razan had brought as a gift, he remained silent.
He then handed the pistols to men on either side of him.
"It has been a pleasure." with that he turned and walked out towards what must be a rear exit in the back of the church.
As well without speaking the Man with mask in the Red Hand uniform rose and walked right behind the tattooed man.

The man who had been sitting to the right of 'Tattoo' rose, and extended his hand towards Razan.
"Hello, please excuse Finn, he and his are of odd ways. My name is David Callahan, this is Michael Murphy."
The man who had been sitting to the left of Finn(tattoo) rose and extended his hand to Razan.
"Pleased to meet you."
David spoke again "The reason you are here-"he realized he was still holding the pistol, and was forced to lay it on his bare plate. "-is because we find that meeting soldiers to be much more telling about the character of a people then meeting professional delegates. We would simply wish to enjoy a meal with you and your men and talk about our respective nations and wishes for them."
Michael interjected "It may be unorthodox but the tradition has kept us alive for a long time."
"Now, please eat, and tell us about your selves, around the table you will find what amounts to the top leadership of the OMurchadha Clan-we are called the Uncles-A comparitive term for you would be General, or perhaps Grand Marshal."

Bruce
“You must not get very good reception in here. I have to message an associate of mine, is there anywhere in the building that gets a signal or should I step outside?”

"I get great reception here", he lifts the reciever on the rotary phone behind the bar. "Or how about television?" he opens another large cupboard behind the bar and large television inside he reaches behind it and raise a hard lined antenna wire, more thoroughly insulated then one would expect from a TV Cable. "As for anything I dont own, every wall and ceiling is crossed with rolled copper wire with a microvolt current for a low grade electromagnetic disruption, the paint is mixxed with a reflect carbon fiber compound to break up infrared, micro, and milli wave transmissions/emmissions, I have a handy device in the building meant for subs, makes an ELF field I have tuned way down so that even acoustic resonance listening/imaging devices are failed.
So depending on what you got there depends on how far down the street you will need to walk. Anything else?"


Stephen Cobb’s office

Stephen read the report again, his irritation growing.

In the mean time a replacement satellite will be prepped for deployment over Skibereen. A secondary satellite will be redirected to facilitate the observation of the primary satellite, this will confirm or deny the theories currently held by command.

OOC:Falls?

They look at each other.

[(A) Farsi]
"But of course."
[(C) Farsi]
"The answer is clear. You shall take him to the Hammam, and once refreshed, then to wherever else, and when done, he shall dine with me."
[(A) Farsi]
"Assuredly, that does sound most fair."
[(C) Farsi]
"Indeed it does, does it not?" He removes a business card and, bowing, presents it to Daniel. "Go in Peace."
[(A) Farsi]
~bows to C ~ "Namaste, May the Prophet guide your steps."
~looks at Daniel~
"Indeed. To the Hammam then, to refresh yourself and your garb?"
~he gestures~

"Excellent, he takes the business card and places it in his breast pocket.
Go in Peace." He preforms the formal gesticulation. Daniel wondered if this man was Muslim or a Hindi, Namaste?
Must be a mixing of Indian culture as well.

He starts walking and talking
"Again, sir
Why the deference to educators?
Though I admit it is a refreshing change."
Have to read those damned briefings

The man smiles and gives a slight bow. "Those who educate are held in regard in Vastiva. There are not many who can manage that path for long; though its rewards are certainly many, its demands as well are many. Long before the years of service, many have chosen another path - though of course, there is no truly lesser choice, only different ones. Still, those who know and can share their knowledge... since the time of Eola Sinitii al-Din, they are held high in our hearts and minds."

The walk through snow is made somewhat easier when you reach the sidewalks, where the snow melts off and a neonish green shows the easy path. A moment of inspection shows this to be a sidewalk of sorts, slightly canted and heated enough to melt the snow on it, which then runs off into drains on the side. A moment of touch tells you the sidewalk itself is completely dry.

(OOC: Referring to the satellite what did you mean by falls?)

Erik

(OOC: Slaps forehead duh, my bad.)

ARTS-1600

The students seem generally interested in Skibereen. The class demographic ranges from 19 and up as you’re considered an expert and the class is new. All very bright students these people are the crème de la crème when it comes to GPAs and the sort. (There was a high demand for this class but the administration only allowed a certain amount of spots.) These students hang off your every word and actively ask about your personal experiences, though it is hard to tell whether their interest lies with you or the idea of rebellion.

ARTS-3060

These are mostly upper level students, most of whom are taking a degree in some language, most of which are 21ish. The class seems mostly concentrated on the linguistic aspects and while some jaunts into side issues are seen as interesting eyes glass over quickly when you do it, they see this as a language class (as they should).

GAEL-1103

This class is almost exclusively made up of first year students (19ish). A lot of these students look confused when you make any forays off Gaelic and into other subject matter. While intrigued about your circumstances and Skibereen in general some seem genuinely annoyed when you move off of the topic of Gaelic.

MIL-2153

This class has a good mix of third and fourth year students. All most exclusively young people this class offers a mixed demographic and a host of reasons for taking the class. This class seems highly charged and a debate broke out when the existing guerilla groups where brought up. Far from being what you’d expect both sides of the debate seemed to take for granted that the rebel groups where in the right and the debate fell to the ethics of their tactics. You had to wade into the debate twice to restore order as the conversation left productive ground and entered into a ‘neener-neener-neener’ form of debate that was too fast paced for the class translator.

The class translator is apparently a very necessary device in this class as the debate raged in Japanese, English, Mandarin and Cantonese, while sometimes pouring into Dutch. The students seemed to seamlessly switch between the languages, for the most part, though there was one or two who franticly dialed up the volume on their translators. All the while stabbing their earpieces deeper in to try and hear.

Local media-

Most of the local media is releasing reports on the shooting down of several defecting Transnapastaini (the neighbour to the north) officers. Images of what the others looked like were being released and people were being asked to call local authorities or the NNAO if they saw these people.

Secondary reports on;

-The Noviet colonies are entering into negotiations about maritime claims
-Prostitutes are making another appeal to the Supreme Court that their income should not be taxed as personal income, despite running their services as a sole proprietorship
-Several People in New Kyoto were soaked in monkey blood as protesters made their case heard about deforestation in the jungles.
-A new dance craze is sweeping the nation. The origins of which seem clouded but the move involves ripping off all of your clothing and performing moves on the floor that mimic seizures.
-Another survey team has been launched into the pristine jungles to assess mineral wealth of a recently discovered vein.

Team

Razan smiled. Chuckling he shook hands with the man as the atmosphere seemed to lighten greatly in the last few seconds.
“Well I appreciate the chance but to be fair though we’re not soldiers. Not in the traditional sense. We’re more servants of the Dominion and best suited to deal with hostile situations.” Razan paused for a moment thinking about what he’d just said.
“But I suppose soldiers can do for now. My team,” pointing to each one he called off their name and rank. Which seemed to get repetitive, “Agent Gerald Richard, Agent Darren MacDonald, Agent Aya Hiro (female), Agent Yodo Itoh (female), Agent Samba Kaza, Agent Derrick Nash, Agent Abbaris Usher, Agent Hyun Cho (female) and myself Agent Razan Matsumoto.”

Settling down to eat Razan figured now was just as good a time as any to start in on his mission.
“Well the whole reason we came is this. We want to trade with you.” Razan looked about to check for negative reactions before continuing.
“The semi we hauled here is a bunch of sample products but they’re not all we’re willing to trade. You see several corporate interests have made mention of the Skibereen market and are willing to hire your people. So we’re here to open negotiations with the O'Murchadha.”

Bruce

Bruce looked surprised that there was so much jamming equipment, though truthfully it was to be expected. Turning his hands over to show the small PDA Bruce looked innocent enough.
“Just a PDA, the embassy has a tower I can link up to.” Flipping the small device back into the inside pocket of his coat he shrugged nonchalantly.
“I guess work can wait until after dinner.” Smiling Bruce watched the man work for a moment.
“Hey what’s your name?”
“*name*”
“Well *name* mind if I smoke in here?” he said as he removed a cigarette from his pocket without showing the brand on the case.

(OOC: Still working on my professor.)

I need to FallschrimmJager to respond regarding those kind of things-as ICly Fallcorp is contracted to handle SATCOM, Serveilance , blablah-it is just easier to type Falls.

Erik

(OOC: Slaps forehead duh, my bad.)

ARTS-1600
(There was a high demand for this class but the administration only allowed a certain amount of spots.) These students hang off your every word and actively ask about your personal experiences, though it is hard to tell whether their interest lies with you or the idea of rebellion.
ARTS-3060
, they see this as a language class (as they should).
GAEL-1103
annoyed, off of the topic of Gaelic.
MIL-2153
This class has a good mix of third and fourth year students. All most exclusively young people this class offers a mixed demographic and a host of reasons for taking the class. .
The class translator is apparently a very necessary device in this class as the debate raged in Japanese, English, Mandarin and Cantonese, while sometimes pouring into Dutch.
Local media-

Most of the local media is releasing reports on the shooting down of several defecting Transnapastaini (the neighbour to the north) officers. Images of what the others looked like were being released and people were being asked to call local authorities or the NNAO if they saw these people.

Secondary reports on;

-The Noviet colonies are entering into negotiations about maritime claims
-Prostitutes are making another appeal to the Supreme Court that their income should not be taxed as personal income, despite running their services as a sole proprietorship
-Several People in New Kyoto were soaked in monkey blood as protesters made their case heard about deforestation in the jungles.
-A new dance craze is sweeping the nation. The origins of which seem clouded but the move involves ripping off all of your clothing and performing moves on the floor that mimic seizures.
-Another survey team has been launched into the pristine jungles to assess mineral wealth of a recently discovered vein.

StraightyEighty
[
Team
Razan smiled. Chuckling he shook hands with the man as the atmosphere seemed to lighten greatly in the last few seconds.
“Well I appreciate the chance but to be fair though we’re not soldiers. Not in the traditional sense. We’re more servants of the Dominion and best suited to deal with hostile situations.” Razan paused for a moment thinking about what he’d just said.
“But I suppose soldiers can do for now. My team,” pointing to each one he called off their name and rank. Which seemed to get repetitive, “Agent Gerald Richard, Agent Darren MacDonald, Agent Aya Hiro (female), Agent Yodo Itoh (female), Agent Samba Kaza, Agent Derrick Nash, Agent Abbaris Usher, Agent Hyun Cho (female) and myself Agent Razan Matsumoto.”

Settling down to eat Razan figured now was just as good a time as any to start in on his mission.
“Well the whole reason we came is this. We want to trade with you.” Razan looked about to check for negative reactions before continuing.
“The semi we hauled here is a bunch of sample products but they’re not all we’re willing to trade. You see several corporate interests have made mention of the Skibereen market and are willing to hire your people. So we’re here to open negotiations with the O'Murchadha.”

The man named Michael began , he introduced several of the other men, minor underlings in the grand scheme of things , these two were essentially the Leadership of the OMurchadha, then at the last he said "...and you have already met our Intelligence Director, Abe."
Abe looked at Razan and lifted an Eyebrow with a slight grin.
"Forgive the deception Mr.Razan, I felt watching you and your men alone would be a fair way to gauge your true intentions." Abe said.
"I felt the need to do so was over."Murphy replied
"As to the matter of trade, you have already seen that the RedHand sends their own trucks with shipments. You see, we pay our taxes, it affords us a respect the other Factions do not recieve, we make an earnest attemptto operate as close to a city/state as we can.
As long as the RedHand has no objections, we arecertain that trade would at the very least benefit us, and hopefully you as well."


Bruce
“I guess work can wait until after dinner.” Smiling Bruce watched the man work for a moment.
“Hey what’s your name?”
“*name*”
“Well *name* mind if I smoke in here?” he said as he removed a cigarette from his pocket without showing the brand on the case.

"Mcallister, and please smoke away, it is a pub.
The jamming equipment is for the boxing, I dont like people thinking they can beat my makers, you know. It cuts into my profit, and then I have to cut into them. Seeing as you are not from around here I will let into the veiwing area with no cover, but you cant bet, wouldnt be fair to all the pricks who had to pay to get in." He continued working with the food.

I need to FallschrimmJager to respond regarding those kind of things-as ICly Fallcorp is contracted to handle SATCOM, Serveilance , blablah-it is just easier to type Falls.

Well nothing to read yet, as over bloated as my intel agency is they don't have sat up their arse. Give me a couple days IC and then there'll be something there for him

The man smiles and gives a slight bow. "Those who educate are held in regard in Vastiva. There are not many who can manage that path for long; though its rewards are certainly many, its demands as well are many. Long before the years of service, many have chosen another path - though of course, there is no truly lesser choice, only different ones. Still, those who know and can share their knowledge... since the time of Eola Sinitii al-Din, they are held high in our hearts and minds."

The walk through snow is made somewhat easier when you reach the sidewalks, where the snow melts off and a neonish green shows the easy path. A moment of inspection shows this to be a sidewalk of sorts, slightly canted and heated enough to melt the snow on it, which then runs off into drains on the side. A moment of touch tells you the sidewalk itself is completely dry.
"Well, how very refreshing. If the students are as accepting as the rest of society this must be a teachers paradise. In any event it is most certainly a peasure to meet you, and I am very greatful for your hospitality. Nice side walks.

"Well, how very refreshing. If the students are as accepting as the rest of society this must be a teachers paradise. In any event it is most certainly a peasure to meet you, and I am very greatful for your hospitality. Nice side walks.

He smiles at this. "They do work, though - apologies - I am not aware of how they function.

"Yes, true," he steps down a street, talking half turned, "our students are there to learn. It would be a rarity to have a student in a class, particularly in the years before Service, who was not deeply interested in the subject. Even more rare would be one in the time of Service who was not interested, save perhaps as a form of correction, or a Challenge."

The Hammam proves to be a "dome in a column" set up - the column being transparent, the dome being opaque. Steam is inside the column, blowing out of the dome. This in turn makes a fog - of which none sticks to the column, no condensation inside or out - which puddles at the base and drains. All of this takes place inside the column, occasionally in colors, which entertains some with the colored rains.

Inside, your guide steps to the front desk, the clerk at which "sits up and takes notice" on hearing your guide say "Eminence" and gesture with a toss of the head towards you. A short whispered conversation - terse, jumbled to the untrained ear*, but melodical - takes place before your guide turns back to you.

"Eminence, if you will leave your gear here, your things will be attended to. A small changing room is available, please avail yourself of any of the fixtures. You are a guest of Hasid Iqbal al-Shaer, of the Kjik'Kjak Hammam."

This last statement gives his posture a bit of 'puff'.

The Hammam proves to be a large spa - a mixture of gymnasium, pools, hot and cold rooms, massage areas, steam rooms. Changing into a robe and bathing suit appears to be the norm, and no one here takes any notice of those deciding to run around naked.

One gentleman walks by in swim fins and a full dive suit. He's paid equally no mind.

In general, the Hammam is divided into three areas. Two are segregated by sex, the third - and larger - is "common" to both.

A fantastic number of penguins are present in the common areas - and it takes some getting used to when some begin to chat with other citizens.**
Still, they too are treated with the "so?" attitude most seem to have.

A conversation draws your attention, mostly as its the only one where anyone raises a voice. It is also in English.

"Hans, you are still incorrect and uninformed! There is no call for any assessment, there is no need to... inconvenience the people."
"Nonsense, Farouq. This may be the beginning of summer, but there is no reason not to think of winter! In the span of a few weeks, we lose our workforce in pieces. True, for a time, but that time is too long!"

Several people look over at this last. "Hans" nods slightly and the attention moves away from him.

"Hans, there are the people to think of, their time is coming."
"It is the people I am thinking of, Farouq. As such, I shall be moving forth with the request for funding."
"Ah, alas, you assume the VRA will approve this... fantasy."
"The VRA will listen to the PHA or the OPW."
"Perhaps."
"Perhaps the sky will open and rain cheese."
"May the Prophets indeed grant us such a miracle."
This earns a look. "Be careful what you wish for, Farouq. Wishes have a strange way of becoming truth, and consequence."
"Indeed. It would be a great thing to explore further this truth with you."



*Vastivan being spoken.
** Regional member "the Militant Pingweeners" is a penguin nation. Eh. Think of them as Opus.

ooc: sorry about the lack of action, I was waiting for a reply, but I either missed it or you felt it was unneccesary.

ic:

Connor was pacing around trying to find his official restaurant apron when James awoke. He was to get his first journalistic assignment today, hopefully investigating some political "scandal" (or rather, snooping around and making things up) so he could get some info on the side. He made a mental note to get back to his druggie contacts at some point - they'd probably know a thing or two about corrupt politicians.

Connor finally pulled out the apron from wherever he'd thrown it and stormed out, muttering to himself. James glanced at his watch and set off for the office (a seedy bunch of rooms with some old computers).

He arrived a short time later...

ooc: sorry about the lack of action, I was waiting for a reply, but I either missed it or you felt it was unneccesary.

ic:

Connor was pacing around trying to find his official restaurant apron when James awoke. He was to get his first journalistic assignment today, hopefully investigating some political "scandal" (or rather, snooping around and making things up) so he could get some info on the side. He made a mental note to get back to his druggie contacts at some point - they'd probably know a thing or two about corrupt politicians.

Connor finally pulled out the apron from wherever he'd thrown it and stormed out, muttering to himself. James glanced at his watch and set off for the office (a seedy bunch of rooms with some old computers).

He arrived a short time later...
OOC:Resquide, totally my fault i had thought about your post at work so many times I tricked my self into believing I had replied. I am very sorry, you were not being ignored.

IC:
James Got his first story, he was to drive up to the Southern Check point just outside of OMurchadha City and get some interveiws with people who might have witnessed the murder of a child up that way.

Connor was walking to work(easier then driving, and arguably safer)
He was still a little amazed about the underground in this country-It was not uncommon to see young boys of no more then ten or eleven out in public drunk, it was of course illegal, but common none the less.
People really thought nothing of it, everyone here drank.
However when it came to drugs, local selling or taking of drugs was a very serious matter-not that it attracted much attention from the patrols, but it attracte the neighborhood watch(a kind name for vigilantes), it seems that few people here have any sympathy or respect for drug users, and none for people who sell it, now trafficing abroad is considered a business venture.
Connor had seen the glaze in the eyes, or the sweat, or that sweet scent of the skin that people who use downers get, people did still use and sell here--they were just much more hidden then he was used to or expected.

(Daniel's Observations)
These events (http://forums2.jolt.co.uk/showthread.php?t=376509) are going to be overheard in the Hammam, in various conversations. As a result, it can be pieced together.

ooc: The drugs are relevant to james, not Connor, but that's irrelevant.

ic:
James arrived at the checkpoint, looking around curiously, and memorising details, just in case. He hadn't yet decided whether to be disappointed at the lack of political assignments or happy because he was on the right track - murder was, after all, pretty big.

Connor ran into the restaurant just in time, but unfortunately not exactly looking where he wa going, so he ran straight into someone...

ooc: The drugs are relevant to james, not Connor, but that's irrelevant.

ic:
James arrived at the checkpoint, looking around curiously, and memorising details, just in case. He hadn't yet decided whether to be disappointed at the lack of political assignments or happy because he was on the right track - murder was, after all, pretty big.

Connor ran into the restaurant just in time, but unfortunately not exactly looking where he wa going, so he ran straight into someone...
OOC: Sorry about the drug mistake.
You are in the middle of a political story--O'MUrchadha City is Controled by the O'Murchadha Clan a rival Faction to the Current Official government of Skibereen-there are over half a dozen of these factions.

IC: James arrived at the check point with guide that had been provided by the paper.
In the short James had been in Skibereen he had learned to hate straight roads and wide open spaces.
While what was lurking around the next corner might be a worry-spread out for a sniper to pick you to pieces was an even less attractive offer.

"Okaaay, then" he muttered, turning to the guide with raised eyebrows. "Who am I supposed to be interviewing here?"

"Okaaay, then" he muttered, turning to the guide with raised eyebrows. "Who am I supposed to be interviewing here?"

James and his small car reached the check point just in sight of O'Murchadha City, he saw that the freeway had been blockaded, an off ramp had been laid open with a large lot for the parking and searching of many vehicles or Tractor Trailers.
The pass through the blockade was a guantlet of sand baged fortifications that were obviously enough to stop any civilian vehicle, includiing a Semi.
their vehicles was politely flagged to the side of the road by a man with an AK-47, anotherr man atop the opening to the sand bag blockade trained a very large machine gun on their vehicles.

James carefully got out of the car, mentally checking over the defensiveness of his situation. Of course he hadn't brought concealed weapons to a place with security guards (well, not counting the extra-sharp needle in his hat... oh, and the poisoned spike that would separate from his pen if necesary), and he could rely on his hand to hand combat skills in a pinch, but that would involve revealing them to th general public, which wasn't a good idea...

James became suddenly aware that there were several dozen men all around the checkpoint.
The Machine gunner trained on the car was using a 12.7mm AA gun.
More then sufficient ot stop any lightly armoured vehicle.
The men were dressed plainly-though was very common in Skibereen-as far as James knew the RedHand(Official Skibereenian Government) were the only foces with an actual uniform, though the Loyalist faction that supported the RedHand -the BlackEyes always wore some type of black face cover be it a strip of cloth covering the lower portion of the face, or a complete ski-mask.
James's guide explained everyone was stopped this way, "it is common, dont be short with him, but dont be too chumy, it offends them. Oh, and I dont know much about you as man personally, but dont act like a fecking poof or we will both likly catch a beating."
The man with the AK-47 walked up to the car-about 15ft from it.
"Step out."
He said just, his voice just audible.
He did not bother leveling the AK on the car as any need to kill the occupants would dealt out more effectivly by the 12.7.

The Guide got out first.

"EEs a journalist looking to discuss that boy being murdered up this way."

The Guard's reply was short "Yeah we been expecting you. Couple of the boys who were out here that day will be coming down in a minute.
So will the dead boys brother." That he spoke to the guide.

He turned to James "You take good care what you say about the dead. Or you might find yourself making explaination to them in person."

He continued "Should be about fifteen minutes, I was one of the first responders so was a few of the fellows over there. Anything I might be able to answer for you?"

Erik

n/a (no time has passed)

Team

Razan masked he dislike of being lied to. He completely understood the reasoning but that did not curb his distain for being out maneuvered. His mission report would include recommendations for the embassy to review their private partners with more scrutiny. Razan, when asked for an apology let out something that sounded slightly guttural, though not harsh.
“Mmm.” Turing his attention again to Michael Razan proceeded as if the information changed nothing. And really it doesn’t, we’ve not incriminated ourselves in front of this man.
“Actually that’s something I’d like to discuss more in depth. While the government may run trucks we, if you agree, still one up them. You see we’d like to put an international airport in the city, preferably in the centre, because we think that you might offer a more stable area; meaning we might be able to offer bother passenger and freight service if you can prevent the 747s from taking AA fire.” Razan let his point roll around in their minds before trying to explain himself again.
“The city here is huge. If the runways were in its centre and you could offer security in your city than we could limit the 747’s danger they’d only be low enough for personal arms strike while above your city. O'Murchadha City would become a hub as the Murphies distributed goods the other factions couldn’t bring in cheaply because of your country’s, unique position.” Razan stopped there, holding in the other selling points he’d been briefed on. He knew them very well, but they’d be worthless if he couldn’t get the uncles to see the benefit.

Bruce

Bruce shook his head.
“Nah, asking for special treatment in a betting parlor has never won anyone friends.” With a shrug he tucked the PDA back into his coat and smiled.
“Besides I’m not in that much of a hurry to push more paper.” Blowing a solid stream of smoke from his lips Bruce looked around the bar again.
“Jeez, your guys’ country is sure something. I mean here you are running decent business in the middle of might be a war zone.” Smiling he spun his stool back around to the bar.
“How’d you get use to it Mcallister?”

He continued "Should be about fifteen minutes, I was one of the first responders so was a few of the fellows over there. Anything I might be able to answer for you?"

James nodded, relaxing. Regular check, nothing to worry about. "Well, that depends on what you know. Were you there when it happened? Do you know anyone involved?"

ooc: what happens to connor? I believe I left him bumping into someone...

I have been running very short on time.
I apologize as I started this.
However this was the entire point of my Idea.

I would repectfully ask that while I am unable to be online on a regular basis.
Nova Hope takes charge of the threads.

I will be able to occasionally pop in and add my spin to what you are doing.

However I will abide by what you RP-I trust you not to abuse my badly abused nation.

Since your primary(me) is not going to be around you might want to ask others if they would also enjoy character RPing in the clandestine area and send them here to join the thread--no where in the title does it say only me.

My time will free up after the end od Dec(I have kids and need work and play through the christmas season with them as much as possible. leaving me less free time-less free time means less computer brain rot time)

After Jan 2 I should be back on , on a regular basis-however by then I hope the thread has taken a life of its own.

Res, RP it, and I will abide by it.
Try to get spies in other peoples nations and bring it here.
I really think this is good IDea I just cant run it alone so having multiple nations running will keep it from getting slow.

I finally read to post my first RP post in here...

Is there a new thread or something now, because there hasn't been any recent posts...

OOC/GSR, Skib is rockin family stuff.
He asked one of the others to handle the thread.
Most posting has slowed down.

However since him and I rp certain interests in each others respective nations.
Post, and I will respond with out shyten all over his deal.

James nodded, relaxing. Regular check, nothing to worry about. "Well, that depends on what you know. Were you there when it happened? Do you know anyone involved?"
.
ooc: That's James talkin to the guide, who skib was rping and therefore you presumably are now. Connors last appearance was a while ago - do you want to rp the guy he's crashing into, or just give me a springboard and I'll do it?

OOC: Make your own springboard and "work it baby"

ooc: but you're still the guide. Also any random Skibby events that happen. I quote: "If I wanted to rp by myself, I'd write a book".

ic:

Connor looked up at the guy he'd walked into. His heart sank: it was the manager. "Uh... sorry, sir." He mumbled. "I'm... uh, here for my first day at work."

The amanger just rolled his eyes and waved him on. Connor got to the kitchen, which was full of screaming people, who immediately began screaming at him. He soon worked out that these were the waiters, and he had orders to fill. He sighed and got to work.

(OOC: Right. First and foremost I must apologize to everyone in this thread who is not Skib. When he left suddenly he plopped something into my lap I wasn’t prepared to deal with. Now I am better prepared, though my presence will be spotty due to the holidays.

Secondly I must apologize to Skib as I don’t believe it was your intention for stagnation and lethargy to dominate this thread, especially as it is a fundamentally good idea.

Third this post may not be as moment to moment based as my others because I’m going to try and advance the timeline a bit so I might keep on going. Also expediency blurs the details, which is preferred in this instance as it affords me less opportunity to bungle.)

Erik

Erik had noticed a changing in the opinions of Noviets lately. They were becoming more defiant of authority, more petulant in their attitudes towards government and more violent. Crime has taken an obvious up spike as commercially afforded security litters the street. Whether in the form of camera mounted weapons or simply a man in a private security uniform the amount of ordinance in the hands of the private citizen has easily doubled.

Perhaps closer to home is the new Noviet war effort. Fighting against Zarbia and SafeHaven2 in colonial Africa has the country’s academics up in arms.

To exacerbate this is the recent problems in the colonies which have been dominating the news. There is now speculation of an instruction there.

Team

The team had successfully negotiated a trade agreement of sorts with the Murphys. Now back in the protection of the embassy they were left with the task of clearing the arrangement with the official government. This left some dickering to the diplomats. The Noviets now prepared their lists. These were lists of what was and was not acceptable concessions. Working none stop the embassy’s comm traffic has increased nearly five fold with secure transmissions making up the good majority of the increase.

Bruce

Every day for about two weeks Bruce came in for lunch. Eating what Mcallister recommended. The two men bonded. Perhaps it was more Bruce’s imagination than a true friendship but Mcallister seemed genuinely interested in what Bruce had to say. It seemed as if the two were constantly sizing each other up, Mcallister played at being an uneducated slower sort, while more than once Bruce had caught a wash in his eyes. That was how he knew, he knew Mcallister had something more than what he portrayed. He couldn’t blame the man though. It was more than obvious Bruce was not a paper pushing errand boy.

Despite the obvious bold face lies there was a camaraderie building. They enjoyed each others company; two intelligent men, in situations that warranted a bit of deception, but who were both generally good souls. It was this veiled banter that Bruce hoped would lead him where he wanted.

“So Mcallister, what else do you sell here?” the gruff barkeep tossed a menu at the man without turning to look at him.
“Learn to read.” Mcallister chuckled at his own little joke. Bruce put the menu on the bar and shook his head.
“No seriously. I notice those guys in the corner are here just about as much as I am, yet they don’t eat much and aren’t here for the gambling or drugs. So I’m just wondering, Mcallister are you passing out blow jobs on the side?” Mcallister shot him a dirty look for that one. No gay jokes in a catholic country dumbass. Bruce mental scolded himself. Mcallister took a moment before answer, whether to formulate an answer or to encourage his persona Bruce couldn’t tell. Maybe both
“Mebe they like the atmosphere.”
“Mcallister.”
“…”
“Mcall..”
“You know what they’re here for.”
“I can guess.”
“Then why ask?”
“Well. It might concern my work.” At that comment Mcallister turned about slowly, his eyes taking in the other patrons; then coming to rest on Bruce in an intimidating glower.
“What work?” Bruce took a file from his jacket.
“My government is opening up a new lab to create vaccinations for bio and chemical weapons. We need a source of some of the newest stuff in use. It got forwarded to the embassy because they thought that we might be able to get our ear to the ground so to speak. Now am I right?” Mcallister looked at Bruce and the money that was clipped to the inside of the file; which read like a terrorists wet dream. Everything from Anthrax to Zona.
“I’ll have something for you tomorrow.”
“Thanks.”

OOC:I must apologize to NOva-- I only dropped it in your lap because I know you better then anyone else.
However I am almost done with Holiday and will be back in two to more regular posting.
I want to thank you Nova for your consideration, and everyone else for their patience.

Mike Eisenstein was a young Jewish spy, who had been "unoffically" working for The Great Sixth Reich since Jew Power Land's collapse. He was told via RIA contact in Northern Iraq to travel to a certain address in southern Germany. When he arrived in Germany on a Lufthansa flight to Munich, the closest airport, he rented a car, prearranged by the RIA.

http://www.europcar.com/assets/513e5ea0d17beb79b9937afa19b42db2.jpg

Inside the glove-compartment he found a hidden CZ-TT pistol. He was very pleased, as he hated to travel unarmed. In the back, he found varies weapons that surpised him: Three G36Es, Six G36Cs, Six HK CAWSs, One HK MG-43, One RT-20, and to his delight, a Walther P99 complete with a silencer.

He traveled down the minor roads that lead him to the Zugspitze Mountain Range. Just outside a major mountain, he saw a little sign that read the address he was assigned to. He was a little confused, but followed the road down a long tunnel. Ahead he saw a roadblock consisting of large trucks and several guards armed with military issued GSR36-A1s. He stopped infront of the roadblock. The guards ordered him out of the car, with his hands in the air. A CAT-scanner in a nearby room deteched that his truck contained weapons, so the guards exercised caution. He was forced to take a fingerprint test, a quick DNA test, and a full face scan. Since they were expecting his arrival, they let him through after the tests came back. He continued down the tunnel, and parked in what appeared to be a parking garage. Suddenly, twenty RIA agents came from behind, and walked him blindfolded into a briefing room.

[More to come later!]

A couple photos made their way to HSI HQ, family gatherings, nothing special.

Having a good look into the eyes of the cat in the corner, a technician removed the microdot there. Blown up, it showed a picture of a certain someone coming through Skibereen, through the airport, a someone travelling under an assumed name.

A note was made in a file. And an order was passed to "pursue interest".

Overview

Speaking with the official government was slow going. As the diplomats became more and more familiar with what was apropos and what was considered unacceptable they began to see motion in the wheels of the beleaguered bureaucracy. Perhaps it was simply skill on the Noviet orators or the fact that the wheels received more grease than they had in a long time but the wheels began to move.

The bribes were not grand or excessive; most of the time they were to be placed on the top of a list of consideration, not necessarily to be given a favorable hearing. As each of the offices gave their stamp, or referred it another office for their stamp, the Noviet total ‘donation’ to the government grew. Perhaps the most obscure was when one of the Noviet diplomats bribed a mail room clerk to not send any mail to a particular technocrat’s office, save that of Noviet origin, for almost a week. While it can be assumed that the young man lost his job he succeeded in making three years of pay in a week.

While a final decision had not been reached almost every person along the appropriate chain of command knew about the proposal. Needing only the rubber stamp from the administration the Noviets were salivating to bring the airport online, construction equipment was already piling up at the embassy.

Bruce

Coming in the day after the file drop Bruce should’ve been anxious. He wasn’t really. The nagging thought that he might be killed today was of course there, but it hadn’t really left since the first day he got here.

Sitting down at his stool he knew something was different. Mcallister didn’t pour him the usual no salty appetizers were offered. If he didn’t expect something like this he would’ve crapped his pants when the cold gun barrel pressed into his back.
“Come with me lad.” Mcallister merely nodded as Bruce was lead off towards the door.

OOC:--Nova Get it where you want it, I just started college I will post daily- and follow your lead.(I am 29) so starting college is a scary thing for me.
BY the by-I nice posts. I am not going to post because I want ot see what you are doing instead of fucking you up.

(ooc: I have to apologize Resquide. While I do enjoy RPing I also write for a past time so while it might be a form of literary masturbation, yea…

But here’s the guide post, sorry.

Skib. I figured you can take everything back as you want to, the only thing I might hesitate giving back to you is the interactions with Bruce. Hit me up on an instant messenger and we can talk. Yea, message me. We will work the details :D )

James

The man shook his head. He seemed annoyed that yet another foreigner was at his check point today. Turning to one of his fellow soldier he shouted something in a language that James did not quite catch. When James looked inquisitively at his guide the man whispered back,
“You’re the second foreigner they’ve had here in relation to this incident.” The Murphy soldier turned back to James.
“Ninnin cock suckers. They were the ones who hit the checkpoint, but our boys handled themselves well.” The man punched the air as if to exclaim the implied violence in what handling themselves meant.

Conner

Falling into a rapid paced routine Conner found his mind wandering as his body learned the trade. The orders flew from his grill quickly enough to keep most of the waiter’s happy. There were of course some pretentious lifers that no one would please, but this was part and parcel of the job.

Watching who came in the door Conner noticed that many of the customer’s seem to sport black facial coverings, and assault weapons.

Connor amused himself by identifying the weapons people carried, concealed or not. He whistled as one black-masked man came in - now THAT was an ASSAULT weapon. He said as much to a waiter he'd been getting friendly with - "Man, that's not just an assault weapon, that's battery, murder and mutilation all in one."

The other guy chuckled. "Yeah, he comes in here quite often..."




James eyed the guard, and wondered how long this would take. Things were looking unfriendly. Then he remembered that he was supposed to be a journalist, and cautiously took out his notebook. "Excuse me, you never answered my question. Were you there when it happened? Do you know anyone involved?"

Connor

“Yeah he comes in here quite often, a real bad ass enforcer type, if you know what I mean.” Motioning with a jerk of his nose towards the VIP enclosure he spoke, slightly quieter. “His boss is black-eyes liaison to the Red hand, though judging by the money his little posse is tossing around they’re using their connections to do some insider trading.” When he got a blank look from Connor the man elaborated. “Being a liaison to the Red Hand gets you access to certain information venues that are not open to other Black-eyes’ members. So this lot of them can respond faster, pick up more contracts. Hey you got my mutton and dough balls order or what?”

James

The guard looked up, his contemptuous gaze broken. Stuttering for a moment as if weighing the consequences of his answer he appraised James as he permitted himself a reserved tone.
“I was one of the first responders. I didn’t get here until the shooting had started. The boys took care of em pretty good. As for knowing the involved *scratch* doesn’t everybody?”

OOC: I knew, you were the best person to ask to handle this.
Keep what you wish--It frees me up more with my studies.
Tag me with your AIM again as I have forgotten which one is you.
Unless you remember mine-- I am usually on 21:00-01:00 hours(-5 hours GMT).

Connor

“Yeah he comes in here quite often, a real bad ass enforcer type, if you know what I mean.” Motioning with a jerk of his nose towards the VIP enclosure he spoke, slightly quieter. “His boss is black-eyes liaison to the Red hand, though judging by the money his little posse is tossing around they’re using their connections to do some insider trading.” When he got a blank look from Connor the man elaborated. “Being a liaison to the Red Hand gets you access to certain information venues that are not open to other Black-eyes’ members. So this lot of them can respond faster, pick up more contracts. Hey you got my mutton and dough balls order or what?”

James

The guard looked up, his contemptuous gaze broken. Stuttering for a moment as if weighing the consequences of his answer he appraised James as he permitted himself a reserved tone.
“I was one of the first responders. I didn’t get here until the shooting had started. The boys took care of em pretty good. As for knowing the involved *scratch* doesn’t everybody?”

Connor handed over the alleged meal, memorising the details for report and future reference. "I'm a bit confused about the whole black-eyes/red hand thing, though." He said when the waiter got back. "How does this place work?"


James shrugged. "Well, obviously not. What did you see when you arrived? As much detail as you can correctly, please."

Connor

“Hmm, how can I best explain this? The red hand is the ruling faction. They make up the legitimate government and are generally power brokers. They have their own muscle no question, but to be an effective broker you have to show your hand every once and awhile, if you’ve got dirty palms it don’t look so good. So the black eyes take care of some of their palm stains, since they don’t present their hand as much. Think the KGB and the bloods combined. Yo! My order man!”

James

“Well coming in there was a foreign semi at the stop. They boys had charged the tree line and managed to repel the Ninnin bastards, fought right good they did. One of the foreigners offered assistance to the boy.
“Oh, and they took a prisoner, but he’s been taken to the city for the family to do with as they please. Hopefully that fucker will burn. If I was the family, well. I’m not so,…
“What more were you looking for again?”

*bump* for character copy

Bruce

Lead outside Bruce was placed in a tinted SUV. With the driver and passenger areas separated he could not tell where he was, only that the vehicle was navigating the city streets. It was quite some time before Bruce saw anything, he figured he very removed from the central part of the city where the safer area laid.

When the door opened Bruce stepped out, his coat swirling about him. Hoping that he could give of an air of puissance Bruce strode with his captors, checking any physical signs of outward nervousness.

Without rubbernecking Bruce took in his surroundings, which appeared to be an industrial warehouse. Coming up the stairs to the office that over looked the main floor he wonder if he was to be killed for his nosiness or made an offer.

(OOC: I’m hoping that this isn’t dieing off. I know I’ve been remiss with my own contributions but surely the interest still exists.)

OOC: Interest does surely still exist.
I will be back to RP characters again--but sparingly.
Erinin has given me control of his nation so there will be an international conflict, I however intend to keep it a slow moving character RP.
Erinin has retired to Macabees "World at War" completely.
Though he warned he may "interfere" with one of his puppets.
But my time constraints will limit me to about 5 posts a week.

BRUCE(Nova is running his show i am just throwing in a little color)

Mickey sat in the upper stairwell of a unused factory a Mosin-Nagat rifle craddled in his arms.
He watched an undiscript SUV approach.

sinister cat eyes and little freckles on her complexion

He gripped the rifle without thinking, he mubbled lyrics and swayed to an unheard melody.

you got a minute to pray and a second to die

The SUV slowed and stopped and he watched as a man was led out

you can see the devil in her eyes.

His fists clenched for the few seconds it took the men to reach their destination.

He prepared himself to kill the man, or anyone else.

A new song had begun in Mickey's mind.
He was not a BlackEye, he was one of many men who had a distaste for killing at a distance.

as I step in the door we cause panic, yup the usual suspects we at it

Brandish your weapon or get dropped to the canvas

He wasnt brandishing his weapon, he was hiding like a rat.

put on my gasoline boots and walk through hell

He hated contract work, hired guns were supposed to be a show of force not hidden away.
He hated contract work.

(OOC: I assume this what you’re getting at, if not correct me.)

Bruce watched the man Shoving him forward go down. Well, not so much watched him as felt him be thrown to the ground by the Mosin-Nagat’s heavy bullet. Shit just what I need, a rival hitter. Bruce started to run for where he thought was cover, based on how the man went down. Leaping off the metal stair case he could here the boom again as his other escort went down.

The third boom caught him in the torso. The pain was unbearable he felt the heat sear his flesh as his ribs broke inwards from the fat projectile. Dropping to the dirty cement floor Bruce could barely catch the retaliation as a heavy machine gun opened up from the office he was being lead to. He didn’t figure that they’d hit anything with that erratic of firing but maybe it was just his dizziness.

Bruce began to black out as he contemplated calling for a retrieval team.

(OOC: Not dead, just ended there to get the nod or head shake from you.)