The Guarded
03-10-2004, 06:11
OOC: This thread is for The Empire of The Guarded stating how they have claimed the Dominican Republic & Haiti, according to the RL nation equivalancy list.
For this thread, the two nations are treated as one and a fake government is set up.
No replys are in order, thats its only use.
No nationstate nations should be offended or attacked in any way by this post, unless they are on the [RL] equivalency list as Haiti or the Dominican Republic (of which at the time of writing they are not), not even if thats there NS name.
Tech Disclamer: My nation has had some dealings aquiring various materials, and conducting various activities including but not restricted to: Mass reserves of Uranium, abducting and training children as supersoldiers, development of starwars-esque weaponry, Weapons Manufacture, gross military spending (recently a big dip in economy and military spending, but only for the past week or so). Anyways, explanations of tech and better examples of that within will likely show up in the future. Trade partners may also be noted (for aquiring money and Uranium). Onto the meat!
---------------------------------
The soldier walked along the concrete walkway, sea boiling below him as it slammed into the cliffs. It was a cool night, and his wide-brimmed hat, like what you would see on a Safari, waved in the wind and pulled taught the twenty-something mans chin-strap. He yawned, stretching his arms above his head, lifting his Kalishnakov to the sky. In the distance, searchlights from the military base dug swathes of light through the clouds. With a sudden meaty crack, the Kalishnakov clattered to the ground.
Inside the Com room at the base, a operator tapped his headset.
"Yo, Sancho. Hows the water look?"
He tapped the headset, and took a long drink from his mug.
"'hey? comin, man. What are you doing up there? busy taking a leak?"
The operator took another long drink. He swiveled around in his chair, and leaned back. He cursed loudly.
The monkey slowly scaled a titanic tree limb outside of the walls of the virtual fortress. It squeaked loudly and made a jump at the next branch before continuing to climb. This continued for several minutes, squeaking and jumping. That was all the monkey really did in life besides sleeping. It was a simple creature, not capable of understanding why its larger cousins would squabble and fight over simple things. Yes, inside the fortress the iron-fisted, lead-legged dictator ruling over the island sat holding a video conference, but that did not mean anything to the small creature. When the fireball roared from the gates of the complex and the tree was flattened, that worried the monkey. It screeched loudly, and rushed into the underbrush.
A view of a hallway with green walling and marble flooring, or likely fake marble flooring, viewed through a faint yellow filter, and cut out through a visor. Breathing slightly accelerated. Turning a corner. Continuing down the corridor. Spotting a figure dressed in military jungle camoflauge fatigues. A burst of light and sound erupting from below the visors field of vision. A dead man in jungle fatigues.
An Ace of Spades, Three of Clubs, and Jack of Hearts. Bad hand. Wilks sighed, showing off his ineptitude at the game as his bunk mates laughed and quickly took another ten dollars from his measly salary. The four friends had a rapid exchange ridiculing Wilks, and proceeded to start another hand. The door opened opposite Wilks, the others were not facing it. The image would forever be burned into his mind, how he had started to yell, but there was not enough time. Not enough time.
"Gre-"
A muffled explosion rocked the operators room. The monitors flashed, and some did not come back on. He cursed again, and began working the comms.
The yellow filter again. This time, the breathing is hurried, and the visor bobs as the wearer runs. He turns almost a dozen times, before stopping before stopping just before a corner.
Beyond the corner, what must be over a dozen men wait. Some wear fatigues, outfitted with assorted weapons and armor. Others dont. Several wear suits, and there demeanor obviously mimics that of American Secret Service agents. They have arrayed themselves behind doors, sandbags, and stacked file folders.
The visor. A gruff voice, strong. Solemn.
Jaded.
"Laz's. Bore."
One of the officers cleared his throat. He waited. Almost a minute, time ticks by. Slow. Slow. Slow.
"Alright, I cant stand this."
He gets out from behind his file-cover, and walks to the end of the hall. Turning the corner, a glowing red outline marks where a section of the concrete wall used to be, a hole burn clean through the room and past the blockade of soldiers. His face suddenly darkens, and he rushes through, yelling for backup.
A old man. Grey haired. He talks calmly, speaking to several video screens. The screens and the lights suddenly go dark. He stops, confused. A shape moves behind him, and he curses his decision to have a room without any windows, in the middle of a concrete walled complex, behind a solid steel fifteen bolt locked door.
The door!
he hears it unlock cleanly.
"who's there!?"
Silence.
He is sweating heavily now.
"This is Director Hornlock of the Republica Dominicana! Explain Yourselves Immediately or I shall be forc-"
A single pistol shot rings out across the complex.
-----------------------------------------------------
"Shit happens people. This assassination was just another example of shit happening. I will not allow this shit to happen anymore!"
A roar of approval.
"This can be stopped by spreading our arms internationally. An offer for aid in this area has been offered by our neighbor, The Empire of The Guarded. All they ask is a moderate control of the country! As acting Director, I have agreed to this demand, to prevent future shit from happening!"
In under a month, a new office was formed. Diplomatic Representative of the Free Empire of The Guarded. This office ranked immediately below Subdirector (equivalent to a vice president).
“Congratulations on your recent employment” the acting Director addressed the Representative.
“We shall see.” was all that the reply consisted of.
------------------------------------------------------------------
The acting Director sat in his La-Z-Boy, its heavily cushioned leather forming around him. He was red faced, and a set of weights by the chair provided evidence to why. His leaders chin and black hair created a impressive silloutte against the artsy lamps around his home. “Honey? Can you bring me a beer?” he called out.
She exited the pool in the adjacent room, and sighed. Obeying his every whim was what she did best. A trophy wife. She knew this, and was bitter about it.
The fridge was a Walk-In. Cases of exotic beverages, and fixings for the aforementioned exotic beverages, filled one wall, taking as much room as food. She grabbed a bottle out of the room, and exited, slamming the door. Grabbing a glass and shoving some ice into it, she gritted her teeth. Reaching for the cold bottle, her hand hit something else on the counter. It was her purse, which tumbled over the side of the island bar. Out spilled its contents, covering several feet. She quickly began shoveling them back in, until only one item remained. Not even looking, she grabbed it. A bottle of Aspirin. She smiled.
The glass was slightly more foamy than usual as she entered the room to give it to the acting dictator. He thanked her in a cursory manner as she handed it to him, not even averting his eyes from the ceiling he was blankly staring at. He took the glass, and downed it quickly. With a grin, she left the room.
--------------------------------------------------------------
The next day, the Dominican Republic was under the rule of The Empire of The Guarded.
For this thread, the two nations are treated as one and a fake government is set up.
No replys are in order, thats its only use.
No nationstate nations should be offended or attacked in any way by this post, unless they are on the [RL] equivalency list as Haiti or the Dominican Republic (of which at the time of writing they are not), not even if thats there NS name.
Tech Disclamer: My nation has had some dealings aquiring various materials, and conducting various activities including but not restricted to: Mass reserves of Uranium, abducting and training children as supersoldiers, development of starwars-esque weaponry, Weapons Manufacture, gross military spending (recently a big dip in economy and military spending, but only for the past week or so). Anyways, explanations of tech and better examples of that within will likely show up in the future. Trade partners may also be noted (for aquiring money and Uranium). Onto the meat!
---------------------------------
The soldier walked along the concrete walkway, sea boiling below him as it slammed into the cliffs. It was a cool night, and his wide-brimmed hat, like what you would see on a Safari, waved in the wind and pulled taught the twenty-something mans chin-strap. He yawned, stretching his arms above his head, lifting his Kalishnakov to the sky. In the distance, searchlights from the military base dug swathes of light through the clouds. With a sudden meaty crack, the Kalishnakov clattered to the ground.
Inside the Com room at the base, a operator tapped his headset.
"Yo, Sancho. Hows the water look?"
He tapped the headset, and took a long drink from his mug.
"'hey? comin, man. What are you doing up there? busy taking a leak?"
The operator took another long drink. He swiveled around in his chair, and leaned back. He cursed loudly.
The monkey slowly scaled a titanic tree limb outside of the walls of the virtual fortress. It squeaked loudly and made a jump at the next branch before continuing to climb. This continued for several minutes, squeaking and jumping. That was all the monkey really did in life besides sleeping. It was a simple creature, not capable of understanding why its larger cousins would squabble and fight over simple things. Yes, inside the fortress the iron-fisted, lead-legged dictator ruling over the island sat holding a video conference, but that did not mean anything to the small creature. When the fireball roared from the gates of the complex and the tree was flattened, that worried the monkey. It screeched loudly, and rushed into the underbrush.
A view of a hallway with green walling and marble flooring, or likely fake marble flooring, viewed through a faint yellow filter, and cut out through a visor. Breathing slightly accelerated. Turning a corner. Continuing down the corridor. Spotting a figure dressed in military jungle camoflauge fatigues. A burst of light and sound erupting from below the visors field of vision. A dead man in jungle fatigues.
An Ace of Spades, Three of Clubs, and Jack of Hearts. Bad hand. Wilks sighed, showing off his ineptitude at the game as his bunk mates laughed and quickly took another ten dollars from his measly salary. The four friends had a rapid exchange ridiculing Wilks, and proceeded to start another hand. The door opened opposite Wilks, the others were not facing it. The image would forever be burned into his mind, how he had started to yell, but there was not enough time. Not enough time.
"Gre-"
A muffled explosion rocked the operators room. The monitors flashed, and some did not come back on. He cursed again, and began working the comms.
The yellow filter again. This time, the breathing is hurried, and the visor bobs as the wearer runs. He turns almost a dozen times, before stopping before stopping just before a corner.
Beyond the corner, what must be over a dozen men wait. Some wear fatigues, outfitted with assorted weapons and armor. Others dont. Several wear suits, and there demeanor obviously mimics that of American Secret Service agents. They have arrayed themselves behind doors, sandbags, and stacked file folders.
The visor. A gruff voice, strong. Solemn.
Jaded.
"Laz's. Bore."
One of the officers cleared his throat. He waited. Almost a minute, time ticks by. Slow. Slow. Slow.
"Alright, I cant stand this."
He gets out from behind his file-cover, and walks to the end of the hall. Turning the corner, a glowing red outline marks where a section of the concrete wall used to be, a hole burn clean through the room and past the blockade of soldiers. His face suddenly darkens, and he rushes through, yelling for backup.
A old man. Grey haired. He talks calmly, speaking to several video screens. The screens and the lights suddenly go dark. He stops, confused. A shape moves behind him, and he curses his decision to have a room without any windows, in the middle of a concrete walled complex, behind a solid steel fifteen bolt locked door.
The door!
he hears it unlock cleanly.
"who's there!?"
Silence.
He is sweating heavily now.
"This is Director Hornlock of the Republica Dominicana! Explain Yourselves Immediately or I shall be forc-"
A single pistol shot rings out across the complex.
-----------------------------------------------------
"Shit happens people. This assassination was just another example of shit happening. I will not allow this shit to happen anymore!"
A roar of approval.
"This can be stopped by spreading our arms internationally. An offer for aid in this area has been offered by our neighbor, The Empire of The Guarded. All they ask is a moderate control of the country! As acting Director, I have agreed to this demand, to prevent future shit from happening!"
In under a month, a new office was formed. Diplomatic Representative of the Free Empire of The Guarded. This office ranked immediately below Subdirector (equivalent to a vice president).
“Congratulations on your recent employment” the acting Director addressed the Representative.
“We shall see.” was all that the reply consisted of.
------------------------------------------------------------------
The acting Director sat in his La-Z-Boy, its heavily cushioned leather forming around him. He was red faced, and a set of weights by the chair provided evidence to why. His leaders chin and black hair created a impressive silloutte against the artsy lamps around his home. “Honey? Can you bring me a beer?” he called out.
She exited the pool in the adjacent room, and sighed. Obeying his every whim was what she did best. A trophy wife. She knew this, and was bitter about it.
The fridge was a Walk-In. Cases of exotic beverages, and fixings for the aforementioned exotic beverages, filled one wall, taking as much room as food. She grabbed a bottle out of the room, and exited, slamming the door. Grabbing a glass and shoving some ice into it, she gritted her teeth. Reaching for the cold bottle, her hand hit something else on the counter. It was her purse, which tumbled over the side of the island bar. Out spilled its contents, covering several feet. She quickly began shoveling them back in, until only one item remained. Not even looking, she grabbed it. A bottle of Aspirin. She smiled.
The glass was slightly more foamy than usual as she entered the room to give it to the acting dictator. He thanked her in a cursory manner as she handed it to him, not even averting his eyes from the ceiling he was blankly staring at. He took the glass, and downed it quickly. With a grin, she left the room.
--------------------------------------------------------------
The next day, the Dominican Republic was under the rule of The Empire of The Guarded.