A Few Rich People
29-09-2004, 05:17
Mikial waited. His recent rise to power had transitioned smoothly, no one outside the upper echelons of the corporations knew the change had occurred, but it did, oh it did.
Sitting, no, slouched in the once grand chamber of the Chairman; he looked at the now stripped walls, the cold stone and steel shinning through with their own cold beauty. Finally, the doors opened, and in filed about a dozen or so men and women, Ah, the heads of the lower councils are here. Mikial thought.
One of the men spoke, “Yes m’lord?” he inquired, the words oozing off his tongue as if distasteful.
“I will get to the point,” Mikial barked, “I cannot be tied to doing everything for this country. Therefore I am offering you a chance to pass your former heads. Form my lower council.”
“You mean like the old Board?” inquires another, this time a woman.
“Not quite, I will have the finally word on matters I deem important, but for most day-to-day things yes, it will be like the old Board,” now Mikial’s words oozed with venom. “That is all, be gone!”
They scurried out the door, bringing the door, grudgingly closed.
A cold smile sneaking across his face he presses the intercom, “Send him in.”
Once more, the doors bore their weight as they were shoved aside, this time by a single man (http://www.theforce.net/swtc/Pix/magazines/officerccity.jpg). Walking towards the desk he stops a few feet before snapping to attention, “Sir.”
“At ease, Admiral Thry. I just want to know, is Raven ready?” Mikial calmly asks.
“Yes Judicature, our carriers are in position well within international waters, awaiting go.”
“Then by all means, go.”
He snapped to a salute before crisply turning and striding out of the room.
***
International Waters
On the MCS Crucifix
Local Time: 00:05
Sir, we have ‘go’ for Raven.” Cried a Seaman.
Nodding the Captain calls out on internal comm., “Black wing go!”
Deck of the Crucifix
Twelve men, dressed in standard international uniforms and body armor, quickly boarded the two waiting, and equally unmarked, Ospreys. Their mission was simple, it was quick, and it was easy. The plane took off, quickly heading towards their target, that landmass, whose it was, they didn’t know, they really didn’t care.
After minutes and minutes of waiting flying below radar the familiar thump of it touching down resounded as it dropped its back doors. Streaming out they scanned the horizon for their objective, a small town, half a klick away. Reaching it quickly in their light loads, they broke into two man teams, kicking in doors on well-chosen houses, those with viable workers in it.
Thirty-five minutes in.
The two men, kicked down the door, its wooden frame shattering with the blow. Quickly rushing up the stairs, they do the same to the bedroom, the couple awaking in horror as the dim moonlight glittered off the leveled guns.
“Move! Move! Move!” the couple moved, scrambling out of bed, cajoled faster by the continual prod by the gun barrel.
Within eight minutes of reaching the town the twelve soldiers have rounded up a total of thirty men and women. Gathering them just outside of town, they were scared, clothed only in what they slept with, looking nervously at one another, no idea what was happening.
One soldier barked out, “Alright, that’s all we can hold, lets head back!” Once again the guns leveled, and the troop marched on, back towards the Ospreys.
Fifty-two minutes in.
The soldiers, force-marching these civilians finally reached the plane. “Alright you pipers, get on the plane!” Packing them in tight upon the seating benches, the soldiers watched with guns leveled. Seven minutes later they were all there, “Take us home flyboy!”
One hour and thirty-four minutes in.
The two Ospreys, the soldiers and their human cargo arrive back upon the Crucifix. The men and woman are there unloaded, either by their own accord or manhandled into large standard shipping crates, fitted with holes for breathing as the tops seal shut.
Dawn.
The carrier has already headed farther into international waters. Only then does the swap occur, the human laden crate is placed on a supply boat, for refueling the carrier on its tour. This boat, once only for food and fuel now carriers the prisoners back, back with it to Mikosolf, all unknown to those trapped inside.
Hours pass, days, food and drink are shoved through the holes, keeping the light starved people alive. Finally, after three days the sound of the top being removed are heard, and harsh light streams through the top, as the four metal walls clang to the side.
Their eyes, now assaulted by the noon sun, are greeted by a man, who looks at them, and says nothing more than, “Welcome to the mine.”
((OOC: There will be a sister character based RP on the other forum, called "The Mine". For now, be one of those hit, there were quite a few, and maybe have one fail (if you want to do that captured thing TG me). PS: All this is secrete, so only thing you will know is that about thirty people from a town have just disappeared and their homes with broken doors.))
Sitting, no, slouched in the once grand chamber of the Chairman; he looked at the now stripped walls, the cold stone and steel shinning through with their own cold beauty. Finally, the doors opened, and in filed about a dozen or so men and women, Ah, the heads of the lower councils are here. Mikial thought.
One of the men spoke, “Yes m’lord?” he inquired, the words oozing off his tongue as if distasteful.
“I will get to the point,” Mikial barked, “I cannot be tied to doing everything for this country. Therefore I am offering you a chance to pass your former heads. Form my lower council.”
“You mean like the old Board?” inquires another, this time a woman.
“Not quite, I will have the finally word on matters I deem important, but for most day-to-day things yes, it will be like the old Board,” now Mikial’s words oozed with venom. “That is all, be gone!”
They scurried out the door, bringing the door, grudgingly closed.
A cold smile sneaking across his face he presses the intercom, “Send him in.”
Once more, the doors bore their weight as they were shoved aside, this time by a single man (http://www.theforce.net/swtc/Pix/magazines/officerccity.jpg). Walking towards the desk he stops a few feet before snapping to attention, “Sir.”
“At ease, Admiral Thry. I just want to know, is Raven ready?” Mikial calmly asks.
“Yes Judicature, our carriers are in position well within international waters, awaiting go.”
“Then by all means, go.”
He snapped to a salute before crisply turning and striding out of the room.
***
International Waters
On the MCS Crucifix
Local Time: 00:05
Sir, we have ‘go’ for Raven.” Cried a Seaman.
Nodding the Captain calls out on internal comm., “Black wing go!”
Deck of the Crucifix
Twelve men, dressed in standard international uniforms and body armor, quickly boarded the two waiting, and equally unmarked, Ospreys. Their mission was simple, it was quick, and it was easy. The plane took off, quickly heading towards their target, that landmass, whose it was, they didn’t know, they really didn’t care.
After minutes and minutes of waiting flying below radar the familiar thump of it touching down resounded as it dropped its back doors. Streaming out they scanned the horizon for their objective, a small town, half a klick away. Reaching it quickly in their light loads, they broke into two man teams, kicking in doors on well-chosen houses, those with viable workers in it.
Thirty-five minutes in.
The two men, kicked down the door, its wooden frame shattering with the blow. Quickly rushing up the stairs, they do the same to the bedroom, the couple awaking in horror as the dim moonlight glittered off the leveled guns.
“Move! Move! Move!” the couple moved, scrambling out of bed, cajoled faster by the continual prod by the gun barrel.
Within eight minutes of reaching the town the twelve soldiers have rounded up a total of thirty men and women. Gathering them just outside of town, they were scared, clothed only in what they slept with, looking nervously at one another, no idea what was happening.
One soldier barked out, “Alright, that’s all we can hold, lets head back!” Once again the guns leveled, and the troop marched on, back towards the Ospreys.
Fifty-two minutes in.
The soldiers, force-marching these civilians finally reached the plane. “Alright you pipers, get on the plane!” Packing them in tight upon the seating benches, the soldiers watched with guns leveled. Seven minutes later they were all there, “Take us home flyboy!”
One hour and thirty-four minutes in.
The two Ospreys, the soldiers and their human cargo arrive back upon the Crucifix. The men and woman are there unloaded, either by their own accord or manhandled into large standard shipping crates, fitted with holes for breathing as the tops seal shut.
Dawn.
The carrier has already headed farther into international waters. Only then does the swap occur, the human laden crate is placed on a supply boat, for refueling the carrier on its tour. This boat, once only for food and fuel now carriers the prisoners back, back with it to Mikosolf, all unknown to those trapped inside.
Hours pass, days, food and drink are shoved through the holes, keeping the light starved people alive. Finally, after three days the sound of the top being removed are heard, and harsh light streams through the top, as the four metal walls clang to the side.
Their eyes, now assaulted by the noon sun, are greeted by a man, who looks at them, and says nothing more than, “Welcome to the mine.”
((OOC: There will be a sister character based RP on the other forum, called "The Mine". For now, be one of those hit, there were quite a few, and maybe have one fail (if you want to do that captured thing TG me). PS: All this is secrete, so only thing you will know is that about thirty people from a town have just disappeared and their homes with broken doors.))