NationStates Jolt Archive

Two men sit in a beautiful house. The walls are white, and you can see the large pool and hot tub through the glass window in the kitchen. The men sit in the living room, while they watch the news in silence. One man sits upright on a couch, and the other on the loveseat opposite that of the couch.

The big screen television, currently showing World News, Channel Eighteen, is on mute. The beautiful young reporter moves her mouth, yet only text shows.

"So...do we have a deal Mister...I'm sorry, I am terrible with names." says the man on the couch as he rubs his black beard, which is the only hair visible on his face.

The other man, quite younger, possibly in his late twenties, stands. He scratches his blond hair.

"It's Connors. Jack Connors.” replies the young man.

“Right…right…” replies the older man.
“Can I expect the weapons by noon tomorrow, Mister Yusep?” asks Jack.
“Noon? Not possible.” replies Yusep.
“Then when will I see these weapons? I paid good money for a good product, Mister Yusep. You do understand who you are dealing with here.” replies Jack.
“Please, call me Matthew. And yes, I know who I am dealing with. Noon is just not reasonable. Perhaps six in the evening?” says Yusep.

Jack looks at Mister Yusep with distrust. He does not know this man well enough. What if he tells the Polizei? The Neo Gestapo? Jack rubs his left eye and sits back down on the loveseat.

“Six? Six you say?” asks Jack.
“Yes. Is that fine with you?” asks Matthew.
“Hmm…I suppose…if that is the earliest you can have them by…” says Jack.
“The absolute earliest.”
“Are you sure you cannot have the arms by noon? I need these as soon as I can get my hands on them.”
“I am positive.”
“Then six will have to do…”

Jack scratches his blonde hair and Matthew stands. He walks into the kitchen and grabs two glasses and a bottle of brandy. Jack waves off the glass and Matthew puts the two on the table. He puts a little in one.

“Are you sure? It is the finest brandy in all of the world.” asks Matthew.
“I do not drink over business.” replies Jack.
“Do you ever drink?”
“No.”

A large black van and two white pickup trucks pull into the parking lot of Aris Corporation. Two men exit each pickup, each carrying M4s. A man opens up the driver side door of the van and steps out. He keeps the van running and walks around to the back of the van. The four men walk and stand behind him, watching the man pull out ten large crates and drop them on the floor.

The man slides each crate over to the men, who proceed to open them, look inside, and then shut and load the crates into their trucks.

After the man is done and all crates are packed, the driver of the van looks at the four men.

"So....who get's to pay me?" he asks.

One of the men step forward and walk over to the man from his truck.

"I guess that's me. How much does it cost?" asks the man.
"Four hundred grand...your boss should've given you the case." replies the van driver.

The man from the truck looks back at the other men. They all shrug their shoulders. The truck driver faces the van driver and fires four rounds from a concealed silenced M9 into the man's chest. He then loads the dead driver into the back of the van and shuts the doors. He leaves the van on as the two trucks drive off with their cargo.

+tag+

{OOC: I do not believe in Nazism/Facism etc., or the hatred of any ethnic group. This is a RP, not real life. Do not "condemn me" for this RP.}


Four men sit at a bar drinking scotch. Each men wears an expensive, custom-tailored suit. The bar is empty except for these four men. Even the bartender has left.

"So...let's discuss this 'theory' of Connors." says one of the men, who has black hair and a beard.

One of the four men rests his head on the bar.

"Theory? It isn't a damn theory, Thomas." says one of the other men, who is completely hairless on his face.
"Then what is it, Nick? If you're so fucking smart, what the hell is it?" asks Thomas as he drinks from his glass.

The hairless man, Nick, looks at Thomas and puts his glass on the bar. He stands up and walks behind the bar and begins looking for more scotch. He finds a bottle and begins pouring everyone a refill.

"It's an idea." replies Nick.
"There's a difference?" asks the man whose head is on the bar.
"Shut the fuck up John." says Nick.
"Whatever...." replies the man whose head is on the bar as he lifts it and takes a drink.

Nick walks back around the bar and sits on the stool with his 'friends'.

"Explain his 'idea' Nick. I need to hear this again in order to fully digest this bullshit 'idea'." says Thomas.

Nick smiles.

"His 'idea' is that we have the right. Christians are the rightful owners of this land. The Jews of Witzgall think they have what it takes to run a nation? I spit at them! They have no knowledge of the responsibility of power! They sit back sipping their mother fucking wine every day saying "bella gerant alii" like they don't give a shit who dies in war, as long as it aint a damn Jew.

They don't give a rats ass if it's a man or a woman, a white or a black. Jews deserve this, Jews deserve that. Why? Because of the damn holocaust? Hitler was a fucking saint! He rid Germany of the poverty that those assholes caused and created in their filth!" exclaims Nick.

Thomas and the other three men look at Nick like he is insane. They know that Connors' idea included Nazism, but not to such a degree of murdering and of such hatred. Connors himself is a Jewish man! What Nick discusses is suicide, holy war all over again!

"What the fuck is wrong with you!?" shouts Thomas.
"What do you mean?" questions Nick.
"Connors is a Jew, you fucking fuck up!" replies Thomas.
"Don't give me that bullshit. We all know he was lying so he cannot possibly be responsible when his plan goes into action."
"Why do you sound like a Gestapo? What the hell is wrong, Nick? I don't like this attitude?"

Nick pulls out a Mk23SD and fires two rounds into Thomas' head.

"I don't like you period. Mother fucking jew sympathizers."

John jumps up from his reposed position on the bar and stares at Thomas' dead body on the floor surrounded in a pool of red blood.

"What the fuck did you do?! What the fuck man?!" shouts John.
"I killed the damn Jew lover." replies Nick.
"OH MY LORD! WHAT THE HELL HAS GOTTEN INTO YOU!!" exclaims John.

John turns and tries to run, but is so drunk he stumbles over the first chair he comes into contact with. Nick fires four rounds into his body, and then executes the other man at the bar.

Nick walks calmly, as if nothing happened, out of the bar. He holsters his pistol and walks down the night-stricken sidewalk.

{ooc: "bella gerant alii" means let others wage war in Latin, just to let you know.}

A man in military dress walks over to Connors from a chair. Connors is leaning over a pool table with black felt and crystal see-through pool balls. He quickly shoots the cue at the seven, which is lined up at an odd angle to the corner. It ricochets off of the left barrier and knocks in the four ball.

“Marvelous shot, comrade.” says the man with utmost sincerity.
“Thank you Colonel Viez.” replies Connors.
“Please, please. Call me Frederick.” says the Colonel.
“Well thank you, Frederick.” says Connors.
“You are very welcome, Jack.”

Connors walks around the pool table and shoots the seven in with ease.

“You are very well at this game. Do you play often?” asks Frederick.
“I have my own table…however, it is not as nice as this marvelous one of yours. How much did it sell for?”
“Free.” replies Frederick with a smile on his face.
“Where did you get it built?” asks Connors.
“It is custom. Built by my very own soldiers to show their gratitude towards me, as both a commanding officer and as a friend.”
“They must have respected you greatly.”
“I think they feared me more than respected me.”
“Why do you think such a thing?”
“Because they did not like the idea of me carrying an assault rifle with me at all times.”
“Ha!”
“So…onto this idea of yours. When does it start?”
“As soon as all members of The Brotherhood of Haven are assembled for a meeting.”
“This involves the Brotherhood?! The Fuhrer himself is in The Brotherhood of Haven! You cannot be serious Jack!”
“I am dead serious, Colonel. The Brotherhood of Haven’s current director, “Euphoria”, has given me strict instructions on how to do this without the Fuhrer or the Counsel of Generals having the slightest clue!” exclaims Jack with excitement.
“And how exactly do you plan to do such a damned thing as steer a nation into a new age of beliefs and social ideas without influencing the most powerful beings in that nation?!”
“You will find out in the meeting, Colonel.”
“When is this meeting? I wish to hear more.” says the Colonel while he enters deep thought.
“I will tell you tomorrow, I promise.”

There is a large cement-walled room underground. Above is an ordinary-looking house. There are about 80 men in the room. These are the high-ranking officers of The Brotherhood of Haven.

Connors, who sits at the head of a large and long oak table of which all 80 of the men sit around, listens to the gentlemen's conversations about his idea to take control of the Empire.

"Meeting in session, all please stick to the topic." says Connors.

Everyone stops talking and chit chatting to each other and look at Connors. All 80 of these men wear green clothing and have black berets with red stars on their berets. Some have mustaches, some have beards. Some are bald. Some short, some tall.

"Greetings gentlemen. Welcome to the fifty seventh Counsel meeting. Today, we will be discussing my plan for this year. I am sure almost all of you are familiar with it." says Connors as he monitors his peers.

"This year, just recently, Hamptonshire's Crown Prince was murdered, along with Tenarius' queen. We must take advantage of the weakness of Witzgall in its state of depression and fear of the Fuhrer's life. We must give the citizens of Witzgall and all empirate states a reason to fear for his life. The Fuhrer must die, and he must die soon." says Connors sincerely.

"The current Fuhrer, Fritz Viechal, is in a state of depression and will most likely not have a damn clue as to what is going on in the Brotherhood. I personally have told him that many of us are planning new laws to be inscribed into the laws of the Brotherhood for next year's General Appointment Ceremony. He has absolutely no idea what we are doing as of now...he does not know of this meeting." says Connors.

One of the Brotherhood members coughs, and then gestures his hand to continue with the speach. Everyone listens carefully for details.

"Right...well, the Fuhrer must never learn of our meeting." continues Jack, "We must keep him ignorant on this. My plan, for those of you who do not know, is to assasinate the Fuhrer soon, and take his place as Emperor of Witzgall. He may have taken the throne as a member of the Brotherhood, but once he got a taste of that power he became a forgetful bastard. He left us in the dust!"

Everyone nods.

"The assasination will take place soon, but the date has yet to be determined. We will lead our motherland into victory and a new age of imperialism! We must take the land that is ours back from those bastards who declared independence!" exclaims Connors.

The speech continues for another hour, and after the speech, all of the members begin discussing a date for the plot.

{ooc: http://forums2.jolt.co.uk/showthread.php?t=369000 is a post running off of this}

Connors walks into a dimly lit room with dark red walls. He sees two men lounging in stained wooden chairs. He walks over to each, who sit in opposite corners of the large room, and shakes their hands hello.

"Greetings Herr Lockhardt and Herr Hur. Welcome to my office." says Connors as he walks over to a desk in front of the large window and tells the men to sit in the chairs before him.

The two men move, each who is wearing a military uniform of a Five Star General of the Witzgallian Army.

"Mister Connors...I am not pleased about the recent newsof your comrades' deaths." says one of the men as he sits down.
"I assure you everything is fine. The Fuhrer may have his suspicions, but he does not know the plan that will unfold soon." replies Connors.

The two men sit down and look at each other. The both nod oddly, and then look at Connors in the eyes. The other man speaks.

"When exactly will the 'climax' per se of this 'plan' go into action? Can we expect it to happen soon, Mister Connors?" he asks.
"Of course. Within the next week, my comrades will have hired a few dozen mercenaries to carry out Phase One of our plan. Phase Two may, however, take roughly...I'd say three months." replies Connors.
"This is acceptable, yet barely." replies both of the men simultaneously.

The two gentlemen stand and shake hands with Connors again. They then walk out of the door, leaving it open behind them. Connors procedes to check his email after the men leave his office.

tag
Are you going to kill people off with the fletchette pistols and such I sold you a while back?

yeah you did. I think you used it to kill off your premier. It was a few months back.

oh...sorry, you want some cheese?

No thanks.

Connors sits at his desk in his office and opens up the right draw. He pulls out a wooden box of Phorian Cigars, the best cigars of Witzgall. He pulls one out and clips off the end before lighting up.

Connors faces his Dell computer and logs on. He goes to Witzgall's national Military website, and logs into the AirForce database under the false alias "Joeseph Repest." He begins a search.

Connors' search for "B-11 Lacken II" brings up two pages. He clicks on the second one, which is an unofficial site for the Lacken Bomber. After logging in under his real name, he checks his email.

He has one new message. It reads as follows:

To: Connors, Jack
From: Sermen, William
CC To: N/A
Subject: TBOH

Greetings Jack. As you know, this message pertains to
The Brotherhood of Haven's current 'project'. I was
wondering...exactly how many Brothers and Generals
do you have supporting your mission?

I am sad to say, Jack, that this idea of yours has no
possibility. C'mon Jack...see your idea for what it is!
A big bullshit idea to bring down the government of
Witzgall? We know this isn't possible with the small
amount of members in The Brotherhood, especially
compared to the nation's military forces! We will be
slaughtered on Day 2, and this is only because on
Day 1 we won't be taken seriously.

Jack, I'm afraid I cannot support you financially or
with my life. Your mission is just not realistic.

I hope you understand my reasons and maybe you
will even take this message for what it is, a plea for
everyone's sake and life. Jack, have a great life. You
may not live long with this suicidal plan of yours.

And one more thing. Isn't it enough that the Fuhrer
himself knows of your intentions? He killed two men
because of you! Now magnify that by one hundred
fold! Do you see the destruction? The Mayhem? It
is not what God put us on this earth for, Jack.

Best Wishes,
Will.


Jack stares at this email of his for a good twenty minutes before his cigar becomes void. He smiles, and promptly deletes the email.

_------------------------------------------------_

In the Fuhrer's office, the phone rings. Fritz Viechal, The Fuhrer Himself, picks up the black corded phone.

"Hello?" he says.
"Sir! My Lord! We have just received confirmation of an email sent, containing the specified filter "TBOH" and "The Brotherhood". We have only one email, and we saved it before it was deleted. Do you wish me to forward it?"
"Of course, General Smerky!"
"How did you know..."
"I memorize my generals' voices."
"I will forward it now."
"Good!."