NationStates Jolt Archive

Paul X, late of the [deleted for security reasons] Spetznaz commandos, and veteran of 13 combat jumps, 20 helicopter insertions, 3 fastropings under fire, two crashes, a glider attack gone horribly wrong, and 1 failed parachute landing, hated airports. He hated Airports, and airplanes and helicopters, even balloon. Anything that flew, he hated.

But of course none of that showed as he walked up to the ticket counter at Zaventem Airport in Brussels. He smiled at the young lady working the counter. "Bonjour Mademoiselle, my name is Pierre Audenaert. I am flying to Rose, today. In The Island of Rose"

"Eh bien, monsieur, may I have your ticket and passport please?"

Paul passed over his passport and ticket. The passport had been stolen in Antwerp the week before. Paul didn't know who had stolen it, and didn't really care. He had bought it from a Belgian three days ago. The Belgian had taken a picture of Paul, peeled apart the laminate of the first page after freezing it in a fridge for a couple of hours, and replaced the real Pierre Audenaert's photo with the new one of Paul. A spare sticker had been placed over the corner of the picture, entirely hiding the damage done to the page, and the laminate had been stuck back together. The only way you could tell it was a fake was with a magnifying glass. It had cost 8000 American dollars, and was worth every penny. There wasn't really any chance that it had been reported yet either. Even if Audenaert had noticed the passport was missing and had reported it, it was unlikely it would show up in the database yet. Often, it took months for a stolen passport to show up on the screen.

'Would you like a window seat?"

"Yes please"

"Would you like to check any bags?"

"Just one thank you. I can bring my briefcase on the plane?" Paul had one suitcase, a small one, and a briefcase. The briefcase had a laptop in it, a novel (The Day of the Jackal... Paul always had a sense of irony), and some papers and his medicine bag. The suitcase had several suits and some casual wear, along with 4 other passports and matching identity papers. No explosives, no guns, no knives. Why carry them with you when you can buy them on arrival, or have them shipped? Explosives were very easily to find. Assault rifles were more difficult, but a Columbian drug lord had been contracted to ship out 20 AK 74s with his next shipment of cocaine, for $2000, a horrible markup from the market price of $15 a gun (ooc, a researched price... I've seen AK 47s go for $7...), but the reliability of transportation was worth it. Leave smuggling to the smugglers, and burglary to the burglars. Paul was a planner and a killer.

"Of course monsieur. You will be sitting in seat 27 A. Please go down the hall to your right. Have a nice flight!"

"Thank you Mademoiselle."

((OOC: Might as well RP my pilot eh? And sorry if my posts aren't long and up to your standards ;) ))

"This is your captain speaking. We're heading to Roska City, the Island of Rose's second largest cities and famous port city. If we happen to crash on the way, we're not responsible, good day."

Click.

The airplane started speeding off the runway. Ejjjjjjjjjjjj was the sound of the airplane if typed. A few minutes later, the plane was up. It was a 747 Government owned plane. Everything was Government owned, well major industries anyway. If you got too big you were stopped. Tis the life of a Rosian.

The man sitting next to Pete X. A British Rosian man, Matthew Mark, a strange name but tis his name. Rosians are of European decent, with 25% being hispanic, but they consider themselves Rosians all the same. He took out a book, it was labeled Capitalism, is it modern?. It was a common book, written by a Marxist, but it was read among some socialist circles.

Matthew looked over at the man sitting next to him. "Not Rosian aren't ya mate?"

A young, brown-haired, Avadrian man just forced a large bag into the overhead compartment. He sighed as he setteled into the aisle seat next to the Rosian and the other man.

The Avadrian glanced over at the man's book and curled his lip and gently shook his head. He listened on there conversation, waiting his turn to speak up.

((OOC: Mind if I join in for a tick?))

((EDIT: OOC: I am terribly sorry I didn't see the invite only, disregard this post. Again I am terribly sorry.))

"Non.... No, I am Belgian. Je m'app... My name is Pierre. I work for an import-export company in Brussels. We are looking to open relations in Rose. I see you are reading une livre on economics, you would not happen to be in the business would you?"

OOC: this is a terrorist RP with TIOR and I... it all depends on what you plan to do =) I personally don't have any problems with you playing someone on the plane... this part won't take very long after all.

"Non.... No, I am Belgian. Je m'app... My name is Pierre. I work for an import-export company in Brussels. We are looking to open relations in Rose. I see you are reading une livre on economics, you would not happen to be in the business would you?"

Matthew chuckles. "Oh? A diplomat? Hm, this plane is heading to Roska City, not the City of Rose. You're going to have to wait a few days..."

He pulls some shifty eyes and leans towards Pierre. He starts whispering. "I don't tell everybody this, but you look trustworthy. Roska's run by the Mob, not the Government. If you want more cash then the Government can give, use this card."

He slips a card to Pierre, it reads.


Providing the best beer since 1950. We never lack in quality and if we do, your next drink is free! Plus our museum of weapons always gives the kids something to do! So come!

1047 Rosa Avenue
Owned by Enrich von Gostan

He pulls some shifty eyes and whispers. "Say Mr. M sent you. I'll see you there."

He leans towards his chair and starts looking at his book. "Yes I am a master of economics. It explains how capitalism is the best, it uses its title as bait. Clever eh? It works sometimes."

He chuckles.

((OOC: At least you have a starting point :P ))

"No, not a diplomat.. a businessman... pardon my english. Not open relations, try to make relations with businesses, yes?" He glanced at the card. "Thank you for the card... they may be interested in our business?"

Matthew chuckles. "They're interested in any business."

"Bon." Paul settled back in his chair, smiling complacently as he pretended to go to sleep. He didn't need to fake the smile, but he did need to tone down the razor sharp quality that would have been there normally. He had a target.

[OOC: You can land the plane any time you like]

"Bon." Paul settled back in his chair, smiling complacently as he pretended to go to sleep. He didn't need to fake the smile, but he did need to tone down the razor sharp quality that would have been there normally. He had a target.

[OOC: You can land the plane any time you like]

The plane arrived at Roska City.

"This is your captain speaking. You're not dead, therefore we're here. Prepare for landing and have fun."

Roska City was a beautiful sight. A thriving metropolis, a large city, mixed with apartments, shops and things. The port was busy. Many types of ships were there. From cruisers to yatchs, they were all there. There was no pollution, it was powered by nuclear energy which was disposed in a poor country, I think. It was always sunny, rarely rained, full of tropical plants and a large river cut through it. All and all, a good city.

The airplane landed, taking a few minutes to stop. The stairs dropped, blom. People started walking out...

((OOC: You handle the checkout and driving to the bar, we have a taxi service ya know...))

((OOC: Up ya go))

((OOC: He's online, yay!))

OOC Terribly sorry, must off to class again.

IC

Paul quietly collected his things and trotted out of the plane. He made his way through the crowds towards the immigration desk. There, he picked up a small immigration form, filled it out, and went to wait in line. As usual, he chose the wrong line and waited for half an hour as the agent chatted with someone... apparently a long lost brother.

Finally, it was his turn.

"Passport and immigration card please... Interesting. Belgian?"
"Yes"
"What brings you to The Island of Rose?"
"Business mostly."
"What kind of business?"
"I am a representative of an international corporation looking to develop trading relations with your nation."
"Corporations eh... big business is frowned upon here."
"Which is one of the reasons I have been sent. To guage the political and ecomonic climate, whether it would be receptive to our offer or not."
"Interesting... what corporation did you say again?"
"Novaya Tech Industries."
"Are you travelling alone?"
"No. Well, yes. The rest of my party will be following tomorrow. I am the... how do you say?.. Advance guard?"
*laughter*
"Very good! Your english is quite excelent. Anything to declare?"
"No."
"Great!" THe agent stamped the passport and signed the card, then motioned him through, favoring him with a brilliant smile. "Enjoy your time here."

HE collected his baggage, gave the card to a guard waiting at the exit, and walked out into the street to hail a cab.

"Villineuve Hotel."

The taxi driver hit the petal. "Welcome to Roska City, try not to get killed eh?" He chuckled.

The taxi took a turn, speeding up as bumps occasionally made it jump. The taxi driver chuckled, the roads were dangerous.

"These roads are killers." He said. "Oh, here comes the SUVs."

Two SUVs go next to the taxi, they have an M60 mounted on the roof. Women pop out and start manning the M60s. "Get outta the way!" One says as the shootout starts. One of the SUVs pass, the women going back inside.

"Must be their time. Oh we're here." The taxi stops as the door magically opens. "It's on the house."

[OOC: People just start shooting for no reason? That's insaine!]

"Merde, people, they open fire for no reason? C'est Fou!"

He stepped out of the taxi, then paused as a thought occured to him, and doubled back to the taxi driver with twenty euros in his hand.

"Mon ami, I feel very vulnerable after that display. Do you think you could direct me to a place where I could pick up a weapon? That is discrete? Guns are not covered in business expences, usually."

The taxi driver points to the hotel. "There's a gun shop inside. Get yourself a Berreta if you want discretion. Just don't try to leave to leave the country..."

He closes the door, steps on the pedal, and speeds off leaving the poor man behind... alone... with crazy people around him.

((OOC: That's how road rage is shown :P))

OOC: Ah. :p

Paul turned about, then walked into the hotel. First stop, the Concierge.

"Hello, I need a block of rooms for myself and some associates. There are twenty of us, but we're willing to go three to a room if nessisary. Aditionally, I will need to change money here."

He passed over a thick wad of Euro's... several thousand.

The concierge merely raised one eyebrow. "Indeed, I think we can work something out. Boy! Where are you. Give me the keys to rooms 1003 to 1013." He scooped up the money. "How will you be paying?"

"En Liquide. Cash. Take it out of the bundle."

The eyebrow rose a little further. "But of course. If you will sign here... and here... It is done." He passed pack a considerably thinner stack of Roses. Without even looking at the denomination, Paul peeled one off the bottom and passed it back.

"Thank you sir. I hope you enjoy your stay."

Paul wandered off, and saw a sign that said Freddy's Arms Emporium. Smiling somewhat, he stepped in.

(OOC: describe the merchindice)

The emporium was huge. RPG-7s, AKs, M-16s, any gun that you can think of were on a rack, and then some. It had a shooting range too, though, it was only for rifles and not for explosive weapons. The walls were made of wood, the floor, really the entire store so it had that 1800s feel. The counterperson was a man, a Englishman, he looked at Pete X enter and chuckled. Yes. He thought. Another sale.

He ran up to him. "Sir! What are you looking for!" He shouted as he looked all nice and important.

"I and some friends are visiting, for the first time, and we, well, we don't feel very comfortable with everyone having weapons... so we want some for ourselves. Do you have any MP5-SDs and MP5/10s? CS grenades and launchers? Ingram machine pistols? I suppose a Barret .50 sniper rifle would be out of the question..."

The counterperson tsked. "Tsk, you're a tourist, not a Rosian. All you can have is a pistol. I recommend the Berreta 9mm, a classic."

He walked over to the counter and bent over. A few seconds later he's holding the 9mm in his hand. "It'll be 50 Roses." He shouted.

Paul smiled slightly and pulled out a 1000 rose bill. "Are you sure we can't work something out? Otherwise, I'll need change."

The counterperson chuckled. "Well... I can give you can UZI with silencer, and maybe 3 frag grenades, but that's it, I don't want to get in trouble..." He subtlely pointed to a door near the counter. "Pay there, the man inside will provide, but don't come back this way." He whispered to him.

Paul thanked the storekeeper and strode through the door. "Hello, I was told you could provide me with certain peices of equipment.

Paul thanked the storekeeper and strode through the door. "Hello, I was told you could provide me with certain peices of equipment.

The room was small, heavy weaponry scattered about. Though it was bright and hot, the man was wearing a sweater. He looked up, all you could see was his eyes, nothing else. "Get what you want and leave the cash here."

"How will I know how much to leave? And I'm not buying the guns sight unseen... I'll have to break them down first."

The man narrowed his eyes and growled. "You're getting them fresh, you're not going to test them. If you touch one without permission, I'll see your ass in jail." He chuckled. "1,000 Roses eh? Since this is the black market if you see, you can buy an UZI with silencer, 3 frags, and a 9mm. And I'm being generous. Now pick up the stuff and drop the cash."

"Why on earth did you think I only have one thousand?" He began peeling off bill after bill. "And it's a little ironic that you're threatening me with jail...being a racketeer and all.

"Why on earth did you think I only have one thousand?" He began peeling off bill after bill. "And it's a little ironic that you're threatening me with jail...being a racketeer and all.

The man scoffed. "Damn tourists. Don't know about the mob..." He mumbled, he shook his head when he saw the multiple Roses. "Umm, get anything you want. Just don't get caught." He chuckled. "Or you might be killed, tourists like you shouldn't have those guns."

"Right." He picked up 5 MP5s, stuffed them in a duffle bag, selected several boxes of 9mm ball ammo, and a 9mm barretta. He dropped the bills on the counter. "Keep the change, and don't talk." He pulled out another 500 rose bill. "Can you put me in touch with someone who might have a van or two for sale?"

"Right." He picked up 5 MP5s, stuffed them in a duffle bag, selected several boxes of 9mm ball ammo, and a 9mm barretta. He dropped the bills on the counter. "Keep the change, and don't talk." He pulled out another 500 rose bill. "Can you put me in touch with someone who might have a van or two for sale?"

The man chuckled. "I deal with guns. Try a bar... I only know about the gun market. See ya."

Paul too the elevator up to his room, and began writing a detailed description of both men, or as detailed as could be. It might be nessisary to eliminate them later. Then, he looked up a car rental service.

"Hello? My name is Pierre, I'm a visiting businessman, and I need to rent some vehicles for my entourage.... Five minivans... A week should be long enough... No, color is irrelevent.... No, not quite that irrelevant, we don't want puice... Yes, white, black, green, blue, and green are fine. I'm staying with friends, but you can reach me at this number: 902 485 5885... I'll be by with my assistants to pick them up in about a day... Cash... Yes, cash... All in advance is fine... Zero deductable please... terrific. I'll see you tomorrow. Goodbye."

He walked over to his bed and slept for 6 hours.

bump

((OOC: Don's routine eh?))

The day of a Don Nikolas Ilyanov, is a bit, interesting. But maybe not to you.

"Yawn!" He said as he woke up. "Another day to run a mob..."

He lived in a huge Villa out side Roska City. It was heavily guarded. And full of sexy female slaves, but that's besides the point. The surprise is that the guards didn't touch these slaves. Why? Hell, the Don had a gang too you know, no blood on his hand. Anyway, he woke up.

He put on his normal clothes, which was strange for the Island. You see, mafiosos usually wore a suit, and a hat, you know those nice hats that Indiana Jones wore? Those. He put on his suit, a nice black suit, covered by a teflon coat.

He walked downstairs down a winding red staircase. Not needed, but it just showed off his wealth. Wealth in a socialist nation, how ironic. He went downstairs, sitting on his favorite chair working with his favorite table. He pulled out the laptop underneath the table, which was inside a drawer.

He flipped it open, it was already on. There were numbers, figures, and fancy math stuff. "Hm, no debts." He said. "Marie!"

An hispanic women, about 26, approached him. "Yes master." She said.

Don yawned. "Get me the usual."

Marie nodded, not looking up.

After a few minutes, she brought over a tray, filled with exotic food. She knelt, putting the tray up high. "Your food master."

Nikolas chuckled as he brought over the tray to his table. "You are dismissed." Marie nodded and left. "Time to eat..."

40 Minutes later he was done, he spent the rest of the morning checking up on things... but who knows what'd happen in the afternoon.

((OOC: TAB, do your attack thing now....))

9 PM, Red Light District, outside a crack house.

A small, sporty red car pulls up. A tall, severe looking young man in a dark grey trench coat and a short, gorgeous woman with a small red purse climb out and saunter up to the door.

A van pulls in behind a truck on the street on the opposite side of the crack house.

The attractive woman smiles rakishly at the door guard and saunters up, swinging her hips. The man follows at a respectful distance.

A green van pulls into a driveway across the street.

The attractive woman says with a blinding smile “My name is Ginny… Can my friend and I come in?” She fans bills from her handbag.

A black van pulls up in front of the red car.

The guard, dazzled by Ginny, opened the door and said, “Of course lady, please come in. Oh, what is your friend’s name?” He tore his eyes away Ginny towards the young man. He was struck by expression on the man’s face. Hard. Unyielding. Ageless. Like granite. And the eyes, the eyes were as blank and dark as the silenced 9mm pistol the young man pulled from his jacket pocket.

“My name,” he said clearly as he raised the gun, “Is Victor X.” He fired. The doors of the vans burst open and 12 people in dark civilian clothes, cradling silenced MP5 submachine guns, exploded out. Four stood around with the vans, four stood waiting at the back of the crack house. The other four went in.

bump

Of course the man responded. "Fuck! Police!" He drew out a Colt .45 but it was too late, he was dead.

The crack house was lightly defended, just three men. "Hey man!" one of the guards said. "Let's go!" The other guard just overheard him and rushed out.

They were wearing a red t-shirt and jeans, standard colors for Don's minions. They were armed with MAC-10s, there were better guns, but why bother heavily arming a minion right?

They arrived at where the four "soldiers" were rushing. They ducked, they started firing. One even threw a grenade, though, they'd be dead before you know it.

((OOC: I'm tired. You can post casualties if you want. Sorry for crap post.))

OOC I'm assuming it's a frag grenade as opposed to a concussion or anti tank grenade.

"GRENADE!" Victor shouted, pushing Ginny off the front steps into a bush and kicking the grenade past the four men storming up to the front door. The grenade rolled off the sidewalk into the street, and came to rest underneath the expencive red car, It detonated a few seconds later, after all of the terrorists had hit the ground. Shrapnel shredded the light car with high velocity shrapnel, and the gas tank began to burn, but it didn't fly sky high like it would have in a bad hollywood action flick.

"Dammit Victor, I liked that car," snarled a muffled soprano voice from the bushes. "Everything nice I get, you always blow up."

Victor ignored her. Already, the four MP5-SD toting terrorists were back on their feet, sprinting up to the door. Some fire spat out, but it wasn't of consiquence. Far too inaccurate and sporadic to worry about. "So much for being quiet," Victor muttered under his breath, and made a quick hand signal to the lead terrorist.

She nodded sharply, and pulled a flashbang out of her pocket. She tossed it into the house, bouncing it off the corridor walls, and shouted, "Feuer in der Bohrung." It detonated with a sharp report and a bright burst of light. A larger terrorist wearing bulletproof armor stepped into the doorway and advanced, spitting bullets.

OOC note - My people want prisoners, so don't feel that all your boys need to go down in sprays of bullets. Also, considering it's 12 on 3, my guys are trained commandos, and mine are wearing body armor... I doubt any of my people will get killed... though you can try to kill them =)

OOC note - My people want prisoners, so don't feel that all your boys need to go down in sprays of bullets. Also, considering it's 12 on 3, my guys are trained commandos, and mine are wearing body armor... I doubt any of my people will get killed... though you can try to kill them =)

((OOC: I'll leave one alive ;) Mind if the police come?))

Two of the men went down, one remained. "Oh fuck!" He said. He pointed his Mac at the lady. "Die bitch!" A hail of bullets flew at her, but it was too late, he was shot... but not dead. He just got shot in the leg, but it stopped him from shooting that's for sure.

"Gah!" He grabbed onto his bleeding leg, trying to contain the bleeding so he dosen't die. He looked at his dead comrades in horror. All drowned in a pool of blood, one even had his head severed from the amount of bullets. He looked up at the commandoes going towards him. He groaned. "Fuck..." He mumbled.

Which is when the police started to arrive...

OOC That's pretty fast for the police to arrive... this only took about thirty seconds... Give me at least another minute and a half before they get here. Two minutes is a DAMN good reaction time.

IC

Sonya X grunted as two of the gangster's bullets slammed into her chest. The body armor, military grade made from spun spider silk with ceramic inserts and a gel membraine, stopped the bullets, but she still felt like she had been kicked by a mule.

"Bastard," she snarled as the gangster went down. "I'm going to need to replace this breastplate now. She moved to kick him in his wounded leg, but Victor stopped her.

"Not now." While Sonya covered him, he knelt down and began frisking the wounded man. He confiscated the wallet and sidearm, along with the ammunition. By then, three more Ballroom members had reached the hallway. One was carrying two bodybags. Quickly, they bagged the bodies and carried them out to a van, and carried the wounded man out to a different van.

Victor turned to one of the Ballroomists waiting outside. "You have the caltrops deployed?"

The man simply gestured at the road, and the crossroads, which were liberally sprinkled with four pointed spikes designed so one two inch long spike would always be pointing up.

"Then let's go." Victor placed a envelope in the house, then jogged out to the vans. Ginny gave a little sniff of sadness as she passed the blown up convertable. The vans took off at a fairly steady speed, not wanting to attract attention. The driver pushed a button, and a peice of electronic paper that replaced the licence plate switched codes. They drove on, out to the dockyards.

((OOC: Well they should be there now...))

The police cars, two of them, sped like crazy, unbeknownst to them, they were about to crash. They hit the caltrops, spinning out of control, the drivers pathetically tried to control the vehicle. Unfortunately, they crashed into one of the buildings.

They arrived (though with flats) where the shootout occured, inside were four men. They rushed out, going to their respective trunks they pulled out RAR-1Ks, a new rifle issued to all the armed forces and police in TIOR. There were 8 men, in red uniforms and wearing a beret and badge, walking with assualt rifles with their hands. It might've been too much, but shootouters usually have more then a pistol.

They examined their cars, most thought Fuck.... Simple eh? They rush towards the crack house, it was empty. Blood everywhere. They looked in disgust, crack, in their Island. They knew something bad has gone down, the Mafia probably involved. One policeman spotted the letter, they read it, it said:

((What it said?))

Meanwhile in the Van:

"Gah! Fuck! This fucking hurts! Let me out! Nikolas will have your ass!" The gangster stubbornly kept on ranting...

The Letter

Law enforcement agents of The Island of Rose. It is with a heavy heart that I bring to you this news. One of your crime bosses, a certain fellow related to the president, has been dabbling in the slave trade. We have no interest in your domestic crime squabbles, though we ridded you of these vermin as a gesture of goodwill, but we are devoted to bringing down Don Nikolas. He has a large number of female sex slaves in his mansion. I am aware that my statement does not count as evidence... but evidence will reveal itself to you in time.

Please do not interfere with our mission. We wouldn't want to accidently tred on each other toes. I don't think you're up to being our dance partners.

Jeremy X
Leader of the Audubon Ballroom

An empty warehouse

Uncerimoniously, the Ballroomists dropped the gangster onto the hard cement floor. Then, one by one, they dumped the corpses of the dead men beside him. The rank smell of shit and blood mingled with the sharp salty scent of the sea (ooc: hehe... alliteration).

The Ballroom terrorists surrounded the wounded man, standing back impassively. Victor came forwards. Slowly, methodically, he put on a pair of black gloves and pulled out a silenced pistol and a tape recorder. He thumbed on the tape recorder, and flicked off the safety of the gun. "If there is one thing that you must understand right now, it is that I have absolutely no respect for your life. None. Nore do I care if you feel pain. Pain may become useful, but not nessisary. It is not my will to punish you. I simply require information. This information will help me with a plan I have, but it is not nessisary. I can always make a different plan. Still... it would be simpler with the information. So I will start with a simple question. Who do you work for?"

OOC Appologies for the spelling... I'm not at home and don't have access to Word, but I'm still a little dysgraphic, so...

The policeman looked at the letter. His eyes widened. "There's been rumors... but not like this."

The lead policemen took the letter from him and read it as lightning speed. You could almost say he browsed it. "Hm. A terrorist group calling themselves with a pretty name. Well, they helped shut down a crack house so they ain't that bad." He shrugged. "Still... we should be careful. Come on let's go."

Outside the alley a yellow "Do not cross" tape seperated it from the street. Obviously Rosians gathered to see what happened, but were eventually dispersed. As for the policemen? They were picked up by a passing jail van that was empty....

"Well." The lead said inside the van. "If we do get more, Sergei's gonna freak. First time we might see some authotarian laws... in 70 years..."

The policemen nodded sagely.

In the warehouse:

The gangster smelled himself. "Shit I stink..." He mumbled. He looked up at the man, his eyes showed fear. He was just a man in the lower ranks, nothing important. So he just spoke. "I work for Don Nikolas Ilyanov, you know damn well. Just tell me what you want and let me go..."

"What are your duities? Where are the drugs stored? How is the mansion guarded?"

"What are your duities? Where are the drugs stored? How is the mansion guarded?"

The gangster shrugged. "I'm just a low-ranker. I don't know nothing about the mansion. I don't know about the drugs either, I'm just a guard..."

((OOC: Actually, he knows about the drugs, so just beat it out of him :P )))

"Interesting," Victor murmored. "You are one of three men running a distrobution node, and you have no idea where it's stored? That seems highly unlikely. I don't think you're telling the entire truth." He raised the gun, and shot the man in the foot of his wounded leg.

The gangster yelled. "Gah! Bastard!" He groaned, trying to hold the pain so he doesn't show weakness. "I already told you, I'm a guard. I don't know about where it's stored!"

Victor's eyebrow rose a fraction of an inch, but he looked vaguely amused rather than actually impressed. "Interesting. We'll come back to that. But who is your direct superior?"

Victor's eyebrow rose a fraction of an inch, but he looked vaguely amused rather than actually impressed. "Interesting. We'll come back to that. But who is your direct superior?"

The gangster chuckled as he winced from the pain. "You killed him."

"I don't think you're taking this quite seriously enough. Take his arms and legs."

Four large men grabbed him by the arms and legs and tied him spread eagle on the ground.

"Sonya... you may begin."

With an smile of true pleasure, knelt beside him and jabbed a needle into his shoulder. "THat'll keep you from going into shock." SHe then stood up and began kicking him in his wounded leg.

"I don't think you're taking this quite seriously enough. Take his arms and legs."

Four large men grabbed him by the arms and legs and tied him spread eagle on the ground.

"Sonya... you may begin."

With an smile of true pleasure, knelt beside him and jabbed a needle into his shoulder. "THat'll keep you from going into shock." SHe then stood up and began kicking him in his wounded leg.

The gangster began screaming. "Ah shit! Damn it stop! What the fuck?! Stop!"

Tears began to go down his eyes. "Ah!!" He turned his face, trying not to show weakness. "Stop it damn it! Stop it!"

The gangster couldn't take it anymore. "Ah! Okay! I'm the boss! Most of the drugs are in the Villa! It's on the river for easy smuggling! I was guarding some crack for a deal!"

He began sobbing. "Please stop! I'm sorry!"

Victor held up his hand an Sonya reluctantly stopped. "If you had told us that before, it would have saved you a great deal of pain and us a great deal of time. Now, details about the slaves. And quickly."

OOC: we have a woman inside, remember. We will know if he is lying... this is a test to see if he's going to try to lie to us again. Do you really want to go through this, or can we go onto the next attack?

OOC: we have a woman inside, remember. We will know if he is lying... this is a test to see if he's going to try to lie to us again. Do you really want to go through this, or can we go onto the next attack?

((OOC: Go to the next attack...))

Anne X sat on the roof of an appartment building 1.5km away from the Don's residence. Softly, she whistled as she deployed the tirpod on her R-81 sniper rifle as her partner, Charles X, scanned the villa with binoculars for signs of movement.

Vassily X and Fiona X did the same on a different building on the other side of the villa.

In a parking lot, three vans sat. The tinted glass made it impossible to see who was in them, but their engines were off, so it was likely they were empy.

In a park, three people dressed in coveralls and hard hats burried three tubes in a small pond. Obscured by the reeds, the tubes pointed towards the villa.

E-mail to the Commissioner of Police

To: Comissioner of police
From:Terrorist@Ballroom.org
Re: Babababoooom =) =) =)

Dear sir. THought you might be interested that there is a bombshell in the home of Nikolas Ilyanov... yes, the Nikolas Ilyanov. It's there, and if you don't get to it soon... read as one hour... things will start to explode. Suggest you get there post-haste =)

Oh, and drop by the waterfront... there's three bodies for you to pick up.

Jeremy X

Shall... weee.... dance? Shall we glide?

(OOC: the wording is very specific. We haven't placed a bomb inside the building... but there is a bombshell waiting for the police... namely, the cocaine and the slaves. And if they don't move fast enough, we'll begin sniping, mortaring, and driving remote controlled vans filled with explosives into things. Oh... and the mortars are automatic metalstorm mortars... so we don't need to sit by them.

The Police Commisioner looked at the e-mail with puzzlement. "Bombshell? Explosions? Hmm..."

He picked up a phone, holding it to his ear. "Hello? Send Unit 413, 546, and 781. Thank you."

* * *

(5 Minutes later after violating traffic laws that don't exist)

The Villa was not really surrounded by police, but it wasn't empty either. Of course the bodyguards hid, it was illegal to have bodyguards. The Don looked at the three police cars from his bedroom window.

"What do they want?" He said to himself. "Hmm..."

The thing is, there was also three slavewomen inside his room. Now, the police obviously arrived to check up on the Villa. What about warrents? The police had a permanent warrent on the Don's Villa. Very efficient.

He growled and looked at the slaves. "Hide." He said. The slaves ran out of the room, they were naked by the way. They were by now in different areas of the Villa...

* * *

Four policemen, armed only with a .45 and standard uniform, knocked on the door. "Nikolas!" The leader said. "Open up! Standard routine, nothing unusual!"

The door mysteriously opened...

((OOC: You can either control both the police and guards, or start an attack.))

*Ring ring ring*

Police Commisioner snorted irritably and picked up the phone. "Yes?"

he heard the strains of a Strauss waltz playing in the background.

A woman's voice.

"Ticky Ticky Ticky, boom boom boom! It's hidden REAL well, you'll have to look harder. Oh... and you ought to give those police some real guns, pistols won't do ANYTHING against the Godfather's bodyguards. OOPs, i forgot, he doesn't have any, which is why they've all ran away and hid. Oh... and the blond cop is hot, but the others need to eat fewer donuts... they're in no condition to DANCE!"

*click*

The policemen started walking around the Villa, pistols and all. "Damn... what are we looking for?" said one random policeman.

The leader shrugged. "I d-"

Mumbling can be heard, it sounded like it was a woman. But she couldn't talk, maybe because she was taped up. "What's that?" another policeman said.

The leader followed the voice, and the policemen followed the leader. After a few minutes, they came up to a door on the small. It must lead to a basement.

The leader opened the door, it was dark inside, smelly, and the voice got louder. "Shut up!" A mannish voice said from the basement. A smack and a thud could be heard. And the woman's voice could be heard no more.

The policemen, being the protectors of the people, heard this. They slowly went down, but they couldn't see though. The guard could though...

"Die!" He said. 10 gunshots could be heard, it sounded like a MAC 10. Three policemen fell to the floor, now only five were left. "Damn, it's stuck!" The guard said.

The police answered as they fired blindly in the night. Finally they heard a man groan, he was dead.

One of the policemen turned on the light, it was a horrid scene. A dead body, five naked women held down by rope and tape, and a huge quantity of drugs.

"My God..." The lead policeman said. He took out the tape from one of the women. The women began sobbing.

"Don't hurt me! I'm sorry!" She said. The policeman tried to calm her.

"I'm the police, why are you here?" He kept telling her.

The girl started to stop crying, though she was still stuff. The other policemen started to untie the women and interviewing them also, but most of them were like this.

"Well, I was captured from _______________ and sent here. I was inside a big boat. I was handcuffed and barely fed. The Don used us as our sex slaves. Everytime police came we tried to call out, but we were hit. Luckily I/Lindy was able to scream before the guard noticed, he has bad hearing. There's more slaves and drugs around the Villa, I'll help you find them... can you find me clothes?"

The police complied. They sent in more men, more guns, more armor. They found most of the drugs and all of the slaves. But it wasn't that easy now. 20 loyal guards and the Don were stuck in his bedroom. Now it was an issue. It was all over RNN news.

* * *

This is an RNN News Alert:

Don Nikolas Ilyanov, boss of the largest crime family in the Island of Rose, has been charged of slavery and possession of heavy drugs. He is now under surrounded by heavy armor. A shot has not been fired yet, and now it is a federal issue.... wait, I have a new story, the President has ordered the armor not to fire until they are fired upon. More as it develops.

* * *

The Presidential Villa:

"Damn you brother..." Sergei said. "Surrender already... crap..."

* * *

The Former Don's Villa:

The scene is insane. T-90 tanks have their barrels pointed at the Villa. An entire battalion is ready to fire upon the Villa. Helicopters, news and army, are ready to attack and record what happens...

((OOC: Have fun with that.))

OOC Given the way the situation has developed, my people are actually just going to sit back and watch... of course, we'll act if anyone makes a deal that doesn't end up with Nicholai getting exicuted.

OOC... or not.

Anne X took the gun back from Charles... no gunner stayed on the weapon for more than half an hour. Things had really heated up! But they weren't going to leave until the Don left surrounded by an armed guard. THey weren't going to let their target escape.