NationStates Jolt Archive

OOC: The following is the start of what I hope should be a good RP. It involves the United Empire of Colerica's largest business, Niculescu Funds Ltd. and their shady business practices in dealing with other companies, both here and abroad. I don't know how it's gonna work out, but that's why it's an RP...:)......this is a non-military RP, as you can tell, and is centered around a vast web of corporate espionage and an open corporate war between Niculescu Funds and Galiet Uranium....however, I'm sure other businesses have a say in this....

IC:

Niculescu Funds Central Offices -- Zachara, Kurono, United Empire of Colerica

Monday, November 30th, 2:43 PM IST

“What do you mean you can’t do anything about it?” Niculescu roared over the phone.

“Well, sir--,” the lackey started.

”I don’t care for your excuses. I want results, not excuses. I don’t pay you to give me excuses,” he shot back.

He tried to reason with the power that was Mikhai Niculescu, but it was futile. “But, sir--.”

“Damn it, Brinkley. You either give me results or you punch out of my business for the last time.”

Brinkley hung up; a clear answer to Niculescu’s call for results. No matter, Mikhai reasoned to himself. There’s millions willing to take his spot. An attractive young blond secretary entered his office. There’s one now.

“Mr. Niculescu,” she stated.

“Ms. Harper. I trust there’s a good reason for you to interrupt me while I’m in my office, correct?” he replied.

Alexandra Harper couldn’t place Mikhai’s nationality, despite his name and his accent. She had been hired two months ago and still knew very little of her boss. Truth be known, she rarely saw him at all. All she knew about Mikhai Niculescu was that he was the richest man in the United Empire -- possibly in the entire world. His international, far-reaching banking empire had holdings in nearly every nation and he continued to gain in personal worth at what seemed to be an exponential rate. What was he worth at the time? Somewhere around four hundred billion credits, she’d heard. That was more money than some nations had in their national treasuries.

“Ms. Harper,” Niculescu said impatiently. His sharp Swiss tongue broke her train of thoughts.

“I’m sorry, sir. I was thinking about something for a moment.”

Me, of course, Mikhai mused. He had found throughout his forty-two years on this earth that most women found him irresistible. Perhaps it was his shoulder-length black hair, now in a pony tail, or his noticeable foreign accent and foreign facial features. He didn’t know nor did he quite care. He had long amused himself to see normally strong-willed women succumb to his charm and obvious good looks. Mikhai radiated an aura of money, power, confidence, and arrogance -- the latter a very palpable trait that most noticed only after a few minutes of speaking with him.

“Then, Ms. Harper, I suggest you tell me what it was that you intended to say by charging in here.”

She blinked. “Oh,” a long pause, “right. Sir, I have the report on the SanRoon account and the holdings in Galiet.”

She handed him a binder that he quickly laid on his cluttered desk and thumbed through it. Looking over the material, he commended her, “Excellent.”

“Sir, if you may permit me to comment on SanRoon, I’d like to say--,” he cut her off, too.

Niculescu’s words were sharp as a sabre. “Kanthan SanRoon is a good man, Ms. Harper. He is also a close personal friend of mine. There is little you can say about him that I don’t already know. And you know I’m never in the mood for personal objection to a close associate.”

“No, sir,” she defended. “I’d never interject personal opinions…not about Mr. SanRoon.” She noticed a picture on his wall. It was of him and Kanthan SanRoon, together at a beach. More pictures showed similar images. SanRoon and Niculescu posed together in many a photograph. “I can see that you are rather close to him.”

“Good eyes, Ms. Harper,” Niculescu said, a sense of annoyance in his tone. “In regards to Galiet, though, you may be permitted to rant all you wish. The holdings in Galiet aren’t as lost of a cause as I had thought.”

“Why is that?” questioned Alexandra, her eyes darting from her boss to his wall and back to him.

He chose his words carefully. “Certain international laws and regulations had prevented us from carrying out our intentions with the Galiet case as we had wanted. We’ve found a number of ways to circumvent these regulations, though.”

This was a side of Mikhai that had been built into long-standing rumors, but one that Alexandra, as his personal secretary, had never seen. Mikhai was not one to be afraid to exert his vast power and influence to push what he wanted. Better said, Mikhai Niculescu did not care if he broke the law to achieve what he wanted. Seemingly, he did so frequently. Many of the shadier ends of the hushed business dealings in the fringe wings of Niculescu Funds, Ltd, were teetering -- most intentionally -- dangerously close to the edge of illegal activity.

Niculescu continued: “Surely, Ms. Harper, you’re aware that with the full power of a corporate empire such as this that we tend to be above the law when it comes to bettering ourselves and the economy, at large.”

“I figured so much,” she replied, unenthused and slightly perturbed. “How is circumventing international law ethical, sir?”

Mikhai gave a mocking laugh. “Ethical?” he spat out. “Speak not of ethics to me, my dear. Ethics are a lie. No one in this whole blasted world can ever claim moral or ethical superiority over another. We’re all inherently unethical. It’s part of who we are as humans.”

More perturbed, she said slowly, “But sir, even if this was true, don’t we have to live up to some set of…” her voice trailed off and then returned from an obvious distraction that had caught her eye. “Guidelines? Rules? Something?”

“Guidelines are for unruly workers and pitiful lackeys. Don’t be a lackey, Ms. Harper. Prior to this conversation, I would have thought that you were far too intelligent to be defending the fallacy of human ethics, but here you are, doing exactly that. Astonishing,” he said as he struck his gold Zippo and lit a long, expensive cigar. “Spare me a discussion on ethics, Ms. Harper. I really don’t care to hear such pitiful blather.”

Just like that, Alexandra was defeated. Her morale plummeted. She couldn’t argue with Mikhai and he wouldn’t hear of it. She would tow the line and not question his policies. It would be in her best interest.

“Now, my dear,” he said as he walked over to the windows and drew the blinds closed. “Where were we?”

Alexandra blushed. “Galiet. We were discussing the Galiet holdings.”

Mikhai frowned. This naïve little girl didn’t even catch that. Christ, Almighty. He shook his head in disappointment and then said, “Ah, yes, the Galiet holdings. Before your tantrum on ethics, I had stated that we had found ways around certain international laws. As you saw in the transcripts of my meeting with Quieran, I have acquired the rights to yet another shipping company.”

“Yes,” she stated. “I’m familiar with the purchase of the Quieran Shipping Company that you made two weeks ago.”

He ignored her comment all-together and continued where he had left off: “I have felt for a while that Niculescu Funds needs a shot in the arm in terms of overseas expansion.”

She cut in. “You’re kidding, right? Sir, you own so much overseas that we’re having trouble keeping up with all of the business. How could you possibly think we are lacking overseas?”

“Don’t be so foolish, Alexandra,” -- she was taken aback by his use of her first name -- “we have plenty of room to expand overseas and here at home. I’ve been interested in a few things for a while. Rather minor when you think about it, though. I had Felicia draw up an idea for circular selling on shoes and firearms.”

“Circular selling?” she repeated his words. “What’s that?”

“A business practice as old as business, itself,” he answered with a slight smirk. “A company is told to produce so much of a certain product in terms of an expanded contract. The company produces the product, but at a less-than-quality condition. This allows the company to fulfill their contract, but to create the product much cheaper than the contract allotted for. This fills the company’s coffers with profits. Depending on long this lasts, there’s a considerable amount of profits to be made.”

What a dishonest thing to do, she kept her opinions to herself. Alexandra couldn’t understand why the owner of the largest bank empire in the world -- not to mention Niculescu’s ownership in industries that ranged from railroads to shipping to airlines -- would need to resort to such underhanded methods of making money. Perhaps that was the result of his extreme wealth. Her father had always told her that more money only makes you want more money. The cliché certainly seemed to apply to Mikhai.

“What does Galiet have to do with buying the Quieran Ship Company?” she questioned bluntly.

“To the unthinking plebeian’s eye: nothing. To the eyes of a trained business mastermind, such as myself, they have a great deal to do with one another. The holdings for untraced profits from the Galiet uranium mines have all been transferred to our own accounts under a no-exit contract. Without Quieran to ship uranium under the contract Galiet had with them, Galiet is forced to turn to more expensive methods of shipping: Niculescu International. If the expense becomes too much of a burden for Galiet, they’ll either have to close up and give into their chief competitor, SanRoon Mining, or they have to borrow from their holdings within our banks to pay the shipping costs. I raise their bank rates, forcing them to give in more money, and they go under. Either way, SanRoon and I win,” he lengthily informed.

“You plan to drive Galiet out of business simply to expand your monopoly?”

“As it is,” he replied slyly.

“That’s so--,”

“So what? Are you going to preach to me about the morality of business policies? Are you going to harp at me about how unethical certain business practices are? Save it. Your job is not to lecture me about unethical decisions,” he stated firmly.

She backed down. Mikhai knew it would happen. He rarely lost a confrontation with his employees. Simply being Mikhai Niculescu was usually enough to stop most from questioning his stature and authority. Hostile inter-corporation tactics were an effective weapon at Niculescu’s disposal when dealing with enemy companies in the war of business. He would see to it that Galiet would be where he wanted: right in the palm of his hand.


OOC:

© 2004, Über-L0s0r Productions. All Rights Reserved. Any reprinting of this work without the explicit permission of the author is prohibited and is punishable by persecution under the law of the United States of America.

OOC: Oye vey....no one?

(OOC) Tag for when I have a chance to type something up. I don't normally tag threads, as we have the subscripe option, but I thought you'd like to know your post hasn't fallen upon deaf ears. ;)

TAG:I am unfamiliar with economic wars but expect to see Red Tides largest corporation(Tech-Com Corp.(which also operates internationaly)) to get involved. Also, my nations corporations tend to do things that are SEVERLY illicit.

(OOC) Tag for when I have a chance to type something up. I don't normally tag threads, as we have the subscripe option, but I thought you'd like to know your post hasn't fallen upon deaf ears. ;)

OOC: *Does happy dance* :)

Tag:Sorry that you're thread has had nothing but tags, but I should post something real later tonight. I saw this and just couldn't pass it up, after all, my nation is a corporation; well a nation controlled and run by a corporation. I'm looking forward to this.

Corner office 132 of the Titro Structure

"Now that Slote is out of the way some of my practices can run a bit smoother, it's such a shame he had to go like that." Jameson paced back and forth through his office, thinking of Allan Slote's last days.

"Mr. Titro," the small voice of a small man rang over his intercom, "there's a Nigel Slote here to speak with you. Do you want me to let him in?"

At the sound of the name Slote Jameson stopped in his tracks. I thought I took care of all the Slotes'. He thought. "Yes, let him in."

A few seconds later a tall and thin man stepped into Jameson Titro's corner office.

"Ah, Mr. Slote, I'm sorry about what happened to your father, it must have been horrible for you. Believe me, I've been taking it hard too. He was a good friend and business partner." Jameson gave the half-smirk he would give when he was trying to fool someone like he was now.

"Don't give me that Jameson, you know very well what happened to my father. They still haven't found any trace of the body, they believe the explosion destroyed him completely. But I know the truth, you were behind the whole thing weren't you?" Nigel lashed this comment at Jameson, fueled on nothing but hatred for the man he suspected of murdering his father.

"Now you listen to me you little maggot, I haven't done anything to that wretched little sorry excuse for a man, but believe me, you do not want to be messing with me. I will destroy you, and everything you have. No one will know you ever existed. Or, you can work for me." This was the kicker, he'd hoped he could get Nigel to replace Kevin, his personal assistant. "Kevin is slacking again and I would like you to take his place."

Nigel was about to lash out again, but saw an oppertunity, and oppertunity to make this comany his again. "Fine, I'll take your deal because my father would want to see me progress through the company, but, I will not bear you and fond feelings."

"Fair enough." Jameson walked outside of his office for a minute, "Kevin, gather your personal belongings, you're going home."

"You're giving me the day off? But I have so many things to do today."

"No, I'm letting you go, you've been slacking lately. You have twenty minutes to be out of the building. Come back tomorrow and Davenport down on the first floor can help you find a new job." That said he went back into his office and sat at his desk.

"That's it? You just let him go like that?" Nigel spoke out in surprise.

"What were you expecting? A farewell party? Look, business isn't all fun and sunshine kid, that's what your father wanted but it couldn't be like that. There are other people out there that will eat you alive if you don't fight. Have you ever heard of Niculescu Funds? They're just like us, but with more power, and they are expanding this way. If we plan to fight them we will have to either gain power here, or befreind them somehow."

Nigel sighed and walked for the door. "I understand." Those two words were the last words Nigel spoke that day, but it was sure that he would live to speak more of the Titro practices. He left the office and made his way to his own new desk and began setting up some of his things.

back in Jameson's office he went through some files. I can't get rid of Nigel yet, I just took care of Allan last week. I'll give him a month before I shatter his little existance.

TAG. Will probably post soon.

Galiet Uranium Headquarters -- Alatsar, Nurema, United Empire of Colerica

Friday, December 3rd, 12:22 AM IWST

Gadden Galiet paced his office, his mind a blur of countless thoughts racing around. The more he thought about Mikhai Niculescu, the more he wanted to smash something with a hammer or other blunt object. He hated Niculescu with a burning passion. What had started out as a small, brewing anger had developed over time into a blazing inferno of hatred towards that man. Gadden couldn’t count how many times he had been wronged or cheated by Niculescu; a score or more of dubious bank account collapses. He had lost millions to Niculescu and his thievery.

It was no-win situation for Gadden at the moment and he realized that. He had to continue to rely on Niculescu International for shipping of his uranium or he would lose business to SanRoon -- the only other person Gadden despised as much as Mikhai. Kanthan SanRoon was just as vicious and conniving as Niculescu, which was no surprise to Gadden considering that SanRoon and Niculescu were such close of friends. The phone rang, snapping Gadden from his torn conscious.

Tiredly, he asked, “Who is it?”

“Father,” his son answered.

Gadden was pleased to hear his son’s voice. “Bandon, how are you? It’s been so long.”

“Yes it has, Father,” he began. “I’ve been keeping alive. The same old, same old. I’m sure you know how it works.”

Gadden smiled. “I was like you once, Bandon. I thought I could make it on my own in the world. I thought I could just reject my father’s offers for a job and make myself into a success. I was wrong then and you’re wrong now.”

“Whoa, whoa. Hold up. I never said anything about rejecting your offers, Dad. All I want to do is look around. I know you’d like to have me down there with you, but I’ve got a whole damn world out here to see,” Bandon stated.

“You know you’ve got a loving family back home waiting for you,” he said.

Bandon laughed. “Loving family? Spare me that, Dad. We’re the most dysfunctional family I know.”

“Now why do you say that? You know it was rough to raise you kids without your mother. You know how hard that was for me after she passed away.”

“Cut that crap, Dad. I know you loved mom and all, but I’m not a little kid anymore. I’m twenty-five, Dad. I know you’ve been involved with a few floozies here and there. I’m not blind to the fact that you’re getting some,” he replied.

“My present love life is none of your damn business, Bandon, and I’d appreciate it if you stayed out of it.”

Bandon cut in. “Okay, okay. Sorry about that. So…how’s business been?”

“Slow as hell. We’re backed up with over costs and SanRoon is breathing down our neck,” he said. “We’ll pull through just fine, though. I’m sure of that.”

“I hope so. The last thing I want to tell Zee about is how my father lost his company.”

“Zee?”

Bandon paused. “Yeah. Zee. I didn’t tell you about her.”

Gadden smiled again, a curious smirk that showed a sense of pride in his son. “Who is she?”

“I met her here in Rilos. She’s two years younger than me and she’s from Zachara,” he leaned into a lower voice, as though he were whispering. “And she’s damn good looking, too.”

Gadden gave a slight chuckle. “I’m glad to hear you’ve found someone, Bandon. What in blazes is Zee short for?”

“Zarenna,” an extended, intentional pause and then he continued, spitting out her last name very slowly, “Niculescu.”

Gadden looked sick. “Tell me that’s not what I just heard. Please, Bandon, tell me that’s not what I just heard.”

“Dad, I’m sorry. Zarenna and I are in love--,”

“She’s a Niculescu, Bandon. Bleeding Christ, you mine as well have just fallen for the devil, himself.”

“How dare you!” Bandon angrily raised his voice. “Zarenna and I love each other, regardless of our last names.”

“Of all the girls in the whole world, you had to fall in love with Mikhai Niculescu’s daughter. How could you do this to me? How could you do this to yourself? You’d degrade yourself like that? I raised you better than this--,” he began his tirade, but was interrupted by his seething son.

“You didn’t raise me at all!” Bandon shouted. “You never did. You were always gone. I raised myself, Dad. I raised Megan, too. It’s pretty sad that you couldn’t be around to raise your own son and daughter. Where the hell were you all my life, Dad? Attending some meeting? Flying to some foreign country? Having dinner with some rich executive? Well, what was it, Dad?”

Gadden was furious. “Shut your damn mouth, boy. I don’t know where I went wrong with you, but something happened down the road -- at least Megan isn’t half the pest you are.”

“That’s because you’ve turned my sweet little sister into a mindless corporate whore. She’s so brainwashed by delusions of power within your company that she’s forgot about everything I ever taught her about. I hate you for that, Father,” Bandon said.

“This conversation is over,” Gadden stated. Bandon hung up before he did.

The nerve of that little snot, he thought. I can’t believe this. He looked over at the half-bottle of five o’clock on his office bar table. I need a drink.

Bump-o.....

*Tag*

(OOC: Colerica- Welcome back. :))

*Tag*

(OOC: Colerica- Welcome back. :))

OOC: It's good to be back....:)

Bump......

Holy Paradise Oil -Holy Paradise City(City),Holy Paradise City(State), Holy Paradise
Sunday, December 5th, 7:40 PM


The shadow of the Oppression by the evil dictator Aba El-Karhi who took over through terrorism, was still not dark enough to overpower the huge, international corporation Holy Paradise Oil, which through trusts and false reports, owned all of the oil in Holy Paradise. The corporation was worth 532 billion gold coins, all gained by selling oil to their partner, HP Auto Manufacturing, which was worth 472 billion gold coins. Holy Paradise Oil's Head CEO/President Jonathan P. Lakerfield, was about to end that partnership, however. He entered the boardroom to meet with the head of HP Auto Manufacturing, James L. Emerson. "Hello, James," Lakerfield greeted.

"Hello, Jonathan. I hear you wanted to discuss something with me." Emerson replied.

"You heard correctly, James," Lakerfield answered. He threw a file across to Emerson. "This is a report on you. And don't try to rip it up, there's no point in it as security will pummel you thanks to these new cameras we've installed." Emerson took the report and opened it. It read:

Report of Criminal Behavior:
Sub:James L. Emerson

We have found out that Mr. Emerson has been extorting millions of dollars from government funds for education for his own personal gain....

OOC: No one would want to read the whole report so that's all there is.

IC:James sighed, "So it has come to this, Jon. Blackmailing me, threatening to spill the beans on my...activities.....You can buy HP Auto Manufacturing from me for 400 billion..."

Jonathan cleared his throat loudly and pointed to the report.

James slowly said, "..400 million gold coins."

Jonathan chuckled, "Deal. Oh, and Emerson, don't think of it as blackmailing," as James signed the deal, "...instead, think of it as, justice without a punishment by law."

Jonathan then bribed officials of the dictatorship to not investigate what happened before the news went public. After the news went public, Holy Paradise Oil was known as HP Oil and Auto Manufacturing, with an estimated worth of 1.004 trillion gold coins.

Jonathan P. Lakerfield, now the wealthiest man in Holy Paradise and one of the most wealthy men in the world, entered his office in his new company's headquarters in Holy Paradise City, the new Hofflemire Tower, now also known as HP Oil & Auto Corp. Headquarters. He set his cup of coffee on the desk and checked the corporation's stock prices. He searched for "HPOAM" on the stock market search website. It then read, "HPOAM, Up 2.12 points from yesterday to a total of 2567.82 gold coins." He smiled cheerfully and then began reading the business section of the newspaper. He saw something that also cheered him up: Jonathan Lakerfield, owner of HP Oil and Auto Manufacturing, is worth 398 billion gold coins, making him the richest person in the country and the region. He then spied another interesting tidbit: Corporation Wars are Brewing: Two of Colerica's largest corporations and bitter rivals are becoming more hateful of each other lately. He continued reading:

"Niculescu Funds..."

Wait a minute, he thought, Niculescu Funds was the bank he had his money stored in. It was really hard to store those gold coins in there, what with all the red tape and paperwork. I'd better call Niculescu himself and see what's going on. He dialed the number on his phone and waited patiently.

Niculescu Funds Tower -- Zachara, Kurono, United Empire of Colerica
6:03 PM, IST


"Daddy!" twenty-one year old Zarenna Niculescu exclaimed as she entered the lavish office of her father.

Mikhai stood up to take a better look at her. “It’s been so long, Sweetie. How was your vacation in Rilos?”

“Splendid. Absolutely splendid,” she started, speaking rather quickly. “I have fabulous news to tell you.”

Niculescu gave her a curious glance. Her face was beaming with excitement and held a certain look about her. Mikhai knew that look; love.

“Who’s the lucky man?”

Zarenna gave him a cocky smile. “How’d you know?”

“I can tell it just by looking at you -- you’re in love. So, tell me, who is he?” he asked.

“His name is Bandon. I met him in Rilos. Oh, Daddy, he’s the most amazing person I’ve ever met,” she answered as she wiped a few stray black hairs away from her deep green eyes. She frowned. “What’s wrong, Daddy?”

Mikhai gave a warm smile to his beautiful daughter. “I couldn’t be happier for you, Zee. I’d like to meet this Bandon, though.”

“Umm,” she started, biting her lower lip, “he lives in Rilos, but he’s staying with his family in Alatsar.”

“Embarrassed to let him meet your old man?” he questioned.

“Of course not, Daddy. It’s just,” she started, but she didn’t finish her sentence.

“It’s just…”

“I don’t know if you’d like him,” she said.

Mikhai narrowed his eyes. “Why wouldn’t I? Wait. He’s not some sort of new-age outlaw punk rocker, is he?”

She giggled. “Of course not. He’s an intelligent, educated young man with a big,” she paused, “pocketbook.”

“Then why wouldn’t I like him?”

Zarenna noticed the newspaper that was on her father’s desk. A large headline read, “Galiet Uranium Backed Into Corner.”

Hmrph, she thought. Galiet and Daddy’s company are bitter enemies.

“What’s up with Galiet?” she asked in an attempt to change the subject.

Mikhai rolled his eyes. “Galiet is going to be history in a matter of months, my dear. Moreover, I’d rather not discuss this. I’ll bore you to tears with all of this business-talk.”

She smiled. “Maybe.”

“Now tell me: what’s wrong about this boyfriend of yours? Why would I have any reason to dislike him?” Mikhai pressed on.

“His family,” she mumbled.

“His family?” Mikhai repeated her words. In a matter of seconds, his face was like stone. “Bandon Galiet?”

She sheepishly nodded her head and shyly let out, “Yeah.”

Mikhai’s eyes were fire. “What the hell are you thinking?” he shouted. “You’re in love with Bandon Galiet! My God, have you gone mad?” he could see tears forming in her eyes, but his angry tirade continued: “Damn it, Zarenna. Stop crying.”

Slowly, she choked out, “Stop yelling.”

“Why the bloody hell should I?” he said. “You’ve gone and fucked up everything. Wait a second. You two haven’t done anything, have you?”

She shook her head repeatedly. “Never, Daddy. I’m not some kind of dirty slut,” she said while wiping tears from her eyes.

“I never said you were. I’m glad you’re better than that. I raised you better than that,” an extended pause, “don’t cry.”

Tears continued to roll down her cheeks. “I’m sorry, Daddy, but I can’t just give up loving him. We are in love.”

Alexandra Harper interrupted their privacy when she entered the office. Mikhai turned on his heels to confront her.

“What the hell are you doing in here? Can’t you see this is a private moment?” he snapped.

Alexandra was stunned. She slowly fumbled out, “I’m sorry, Sir. I’ve got a phone call for you, though.”

“Who?”

“Mr. Jonathan Lakerfield of HP Oil and Auto. He has an account with his, Mr. Niculescu,” she said, still frightened by Mikhai’s anger.

“I’ll take the call here. Get out of my office, Ms. Harper,” he instructed. She obeyed. Mikhai walked to his desk and looked back at his teary-eyed daughter. “I’m sorry, Zarenna, for making you cry. But I’ll be God-damned if I’ll condone your relationship with that snake’s offspring.”

She defended, “Bandon’s not a snake, Daddy. He’s a decent, honest man and I love him with all of my heart.”

“He’s a Galiet, Zarenna. They’re dishonest creeps who will kill their own mother to get ahead in business. I know Gadden Galiet like the back of my hand. He’s a vicious little bastard.”

“I’m in love with Bandon, not his father. Bandon isn’t Gadden. He’s--,” he cut in.

“There’s no difference,” he said as he picked up the phone on his desk. “Mr. Lakerfield, I apologize for the long wait. I’ve been caught up in some personal business. You obviously must have a rather serious problem to call me personally. Normally I wouldn’t see to personally assistance of a bank patron unless it’s something serious, but you’re one of my largest and most loyal clients. How can I assist you?”

"Hello, Mr Niculescu.Oh, and its no problem at all. If you had more important things to do, I actually enjoyed waiting. Now, I don't know how the Holy Paradisian media found out, but in the newspaper, it spoke about increasing tensions in your rivalry with Galiet Uranium. It was helluva time trying to store that money, but with the present circumstances, I think I will have to withdraw some of it in order to keep finacially secure in case something happens to your huge, and may I say, quite impressive, bank. I'll help protect your financial security from anything Galiet can think of. I have my ways. Therefore, I'd like to withdraw 168 billion gold coins from your bank." Jonathan replied.

bump

Niculescu ran his left hand quickly through his long black hair while holding the cordless phone with his right. Curious, he stated, "When you get to where we are in the world, the media knows damn-near everything about you. It is true that my competition with Galiet Uranium is," a deliberate pause, "heating up. We'll gladly accept your withdrawal request -- afterall, it is your money. I thank you for the offer in regards to," another intentional pause, and then slowly, "protection," yet another brief pause, "from Galiet. In this modern business world, everyone must have friends."

Niculescu ran his left hand quickly through his long black hair while holding the cordless phone with his right. Curious, he stated, "When you get to where we are in the world, the media knows damn-near everything about you. It is true that my competition with Galiet Uranium is," a deliberate pause, "heating up. We'll gladly accept your withdrawal request -- afterall, it is your money. I thank you for the offer in regards to," another intentional pause, and then slowly, "protection," yet another brief pause, "from Galiet. In this modern business world, everyone must have friends."
"Excellent. Well, glad doing business with you. Once these tensions calm down, I'll deposit the money again in your bank. Goodbye, Mr. Niculescu. And have a good day." Jonathan replied. He put the phone back on the receiver and thought for a little while. Suddenly, an awful, but clever idea popped into Jon's brain. He picked up the phone again and called Galiet Uranium. He had a proposition for Galiet Uranium.

"I see. Good day to you, Mr. Lakerfield," Mikhai said and hung up the phone.

"What did he want?" Zarenna asked, her tears now dry.

"It's business, Sweetie. Just business."

****


Galiet Uranium Headquarters -- Alatsar, Nurema, United Empire of Colerica
Monday, December 6th, 8:03 PM IWST

Gadden Galiet ran his fingers through Alisha Carnnig’s silky brown hair as they embraced one another in a long and passionate kiss. Alisha was ten years his junior and an under-secretary to his offices. Their affair was a secret known only to them despite the fact that they met frequently. This most recent meeting saw Gadden clear his desktop and lay Alisha down atop it. While they passionately caressed each other, the phone rang.

“Damn it,” Gadden muttered.

“I think you should answer that,” she said from underneath him.

Gadden flashed a smile. “I know, I know. I just don’t want to.”

He fumbled with the phone until he picked it up. Irritated, he asked, “Who is this?”

Bump.....

"Hello, Mr. Galiet, my name is Jonathan P. Lakerfield, the richest person in Holy Paradise and the region. Thanks to the media, I know about your rising tensions with Niculescu Funds. Therefore, I have a proposition for you. You give me control of 20% of your company's uranium mines, and I'll insure you financial security. In layman's terms, give me some of your mines and I'll make sure that if Niculescu does anything to you, I'll keep you in the wealthy class. What do you think?" Jonathan replied with a smirk.

"Hello, Mr. Galiet, my name is Jonathan P. Lakerfield, the richest person in Holy Paradise and the region. Thanks to the media, I know about your rising tensions with Niculescu Funds. Therefore, I have a proposition for you. You give me control of 20% of your company's uranium mines, and I'll insure you financial security. In layman's terms, give me some of your mines and I'll make sure that if Niculescu does anything to you, I'll keep you in the wealthy class. What do you think?" Jonathan replied with a smirk.

Gadden frowned. This is odd, he thought.

Slowly, he said, "Why would I just want to hand over twenty percent of my uranium mines? That would be a lot of profits being taken away from me. Mikhai Niculescu isn't a worry to me. He's a fool."

OOC: Anyone have an idea where I could fit in? I can RP a few companies in TBD, and I've done Burnsian General Transportation before.

OOC: Anyone have an idea where I could fit in? I can RP a few companies in TBD, and I've done Burnsian General Transportation before.

OOC: Hop in where ever and however you wish to.......I'm sorry I can't be of more help than that, but hey -- this is free-form RP...:).....keep in mind that Niculescu Funds, Galiet Uranium, and HP's company have holdings all throughout the world.....so they would/could be affecting your companies, TBD......

Gadden frowned. This is odd, he thought.

Slowly, he said, "Why would I just want to hand over twenty percent of my uranium mines? That would be a lot of profits being taken away from me. Mikhai Niculescu isn't a worry to me. He's a fool."
Jonathan became fusterated, "This guy isn't as stupid as I thought he was." he thought silently. "True, 20% is a bit much. I"ll just acquire some small company then. Alright, thank you for your time, Mr. Galiet." He put the phone down. Then he hatched a new plan. "I could use Galiet's son and Niculescu's daughter as my pawns to obtain monopoly." He called Brandon Galiet's phone number. "I'm sure Brandon wouldn't mind getting back at his dad." he chuckled quietly as he waited.

OOC: Good idea. Thanks.

IC:

Burnsian General Transportation Headquarers
"The Autotower"
City of Highfather

"What?!"

"Yes, sir, if this happens, they might..."

The two men were on the top floor of the Autotower, the highest skyscraper in The Burnsian Desert, home of Burnsian General Transportation. Also known as BGT, the company has holdings in several industries, including investing, ore mining, and arms manufacturing. The company's CEO, Trey McMeth, had just recieved word of Zarenna and Bandon.

"I know just as well as you what could happen! When the two old bastards that control Niculescu Funds and Galiet Uranium die, the two lovebirds will get married! Hell, they'll merge the companies! All the funds, down the toilet," said Trey, taking a breath from his inhaler. "What are our options?"

"Well, sir," started the man nervously, "one, we could buy out one of the companies."

"Not an option. We just don't have the money right now."

"We could make an aggressive advance in the mining fields, buy some more land and bankrupt them."

"Same problem. Come up with something original!"

The man sighed. Why didn't Mr. McMeth think for himself for once? No. Let me do it...

"We could... erm... break them up."

"Are you suggesting murder?"

"Er, not-"

"I like the way you think. Make arrangements."

The man sighed again. "Yes sir."

"I see," Gadden replied.

What an odd phone call, he mused.

"What's wrong, Baby?" Alisha asked while, sitting ontop his desk.

"I just recieved the weirdest phone call I think I've had in a while," he said, taking a long drink from a new bottle of five o'clock.

"Forget it. C'mon, we still have some unfinished business," she stated with a seductive smile.

Torpa Housing; Apartment 3211B -- Alatsar, Nurema, United Empire of Colerica
Tuesday, December 7th, 6:43 PM IWST

Bandon stared into the near-empty crystal glass of Jack Daniels from his seat and shook his head. The problems with his father were frustrating. Despite the fact that Gadden had blown up at him about his relationship with Zarenna, he believed he could turn his dad’s opinion around. Gadden could hold a grudge -- as evidenced by the war with Niculescu -- but he couldn’t hold one against his own family…could he?

“Still upset about your father?” Zarenna asked as she entered the room.

Zarenna was fresh from flying west from Zachara to stay with her love and had just woken from a relaxing sleep after her flight, as shown by her messy black hair and still-tired eyes. For being the wealthy heiress she was, she dressed incredibly modestly in a simple set of pajamas. Even if the clothes she was wearing were worth more than some families saw in a month, they gave the illusion that she was modest about her private wealth.

Bandon sighed. “Of course, Zee. That damned old jerk just can’t understand that we love each other, I guess.”

“Daddy’s the same way, Sweetie,” she said while bending down to plant a brief kiss on his lips. “They’ll get over it eventually.”

“The media has gone ape-shit over this,” he remarked. “You ‘gotta wonder how those leaches found out in the first place.”

She shrugged her shoulders. “I don’t know. I don’t like it, though. I’m used to attention and all, being the daughter of Mikhai Niculescu, but this is a little insane.”

“That it is,” he replied. The phone rang. “You want to get that, Baby Girl?”

“Sure,” Zarenna said as she walked over to the telephone. She glanced down at the caller identification. Foreign Call: HP Oil and Auto.

“Hello?” she greeted after picking up the phone.

Jake Lezhatch's Apartment
9182 Yarrow Street
Highfather, The Burnsian Desert

Jake had just gotten home from the office. His job as a secretary for Trey McMeth was really taking a toll on him. In fact, Mr. McMeth had just taken something he said for a murder plot today... God save him. Sitting down, Jake started to grope for the remote to his TV. All of a sudden, his chain of thought stopped.

Holy crap, I've gotta do something.

Jake spun out of his Lazy Boy and ran to his computer. Quickly bringing up a non-BGT people search site (he didn't want Mr. McMeth to know about this), Jake typed in 'Zarenna Niculescu'.

"This will add a $30.00 fee to your credit card," prompted his computer. "Continue?"

Jake hastily clicked 'yes', and found Zarenna's public cell number, listed with the phone company.

Taking a deep breath, he put a towel over his mouth to disguise his voice and dialed the number.

Niculescu Funds Tower -- Zachara, Kurono, United Empire of Colerica
December 7th, 4:43 PM IST

The dial tone rang irritatingly in Mikhai’s ear. Pick up, damn it.

“Hello. You have reached the private line for the Magistrate of State. Please state who you are and what business you have with Ms. Thra,” a voice said.

Mikhai rolled his eyes. This is absurd. “This is Mikhai Niculescu. I trust that should suffice for any further questions you have about me or my call.”

The voice was shaky and startled. “I apologize, Mr. Niculescu. I didn’t know it was you. I’ll connect you to Ms. Thra immediately.”

Idiot, Mikhai mentally insulted.

“Mikhai?”

Niculescu smiled. It was a voice he hadn’t heard in a while. “Kressi, it’s been a while.”

“A long while,” the Magistrate of State and younger sister to the Emperor, himself, replied.

“Kressi, my time is unfortunately scarce. While I would love to chat up the past with you for hours on-end, I have some business to attend to.”

“What do you need, Mikhai?” Kressi sounded impatient.

“A favor.”

“Why is it that you only call me when you need a favor that you can’t obtain on your own?” she asked, half-jokingly.

“Now that’s not fair,” he began. “I’ve called you many times for,” a pause, “matters that don’t involve,” another pause, “favors from you.”

“I guess so. Well, with our history and all, I guess that is to be considered -- but now I’m wasting time. What kind of favor do you need, Mikhai?”

“Michael Sykes,” he said slowly.

“I’m not supposed to know who that is,” she said. Following Imperial protocol, Michael Sykes didn’t even exist. He was as much of a ghost as the infamous Mercer.

“But you do know who he is. We both do. Michael is the best I can get from you, isn’t he?”

“Well,” a drawn-out breath, “not the best, but damn close to the best.”

“I’m aware of Mercer,” he said. “And I don’t know if he even exists.”

“Between you and me, I’ll tell you this: he exists. That’s all I can say about the M-word, though,” she responded. “Now, damn it, tell me what you want with Michael Sykes. Who needs to be iced?”

“Do you know of a Bandon Galiet?” he asked.

“That’s all the CIN is covering. Your daughter and Bandon are all over the news…hell, half the world knows about it by now,” she stated. A slight gasp, as though she caught a sight of the ‘bigger picture’ that Niculescu had in mind. “Wait a second. You don’t mean--,” he cut in.

“Of course.”

“Mikhai, that’s crossing the line. Sykes has served you before in the past for icing off some of your business enemies and we’re all fine with that, but this is going too far. You can’t have Sykes knock off Gadden Galiet’s son. Don’t you realize the firestorm the media will unleash with this? You’ll be the first blamed.”

“Not if Sykes does the job he’s capable of. He makes it look like a suicide and everything works out fine,” Mikhai replied.

“But Mikhai--,” she was interrupted again; Niculescu was treating her like an employee.

“Fine, fine. I won’t have Bandon taken down,” he said. “Not yet, at least.”

“Here’s a suggestion. Can’t you just let Zarenna be in love with Bandon and leave the two in peace? It’s love, Mikhai; I know you remember what that feels like.”

Warm, soothing memories flooded into the back of Niculescu’s mind. Images of his youth, images of his late wife, images of Kressi. He cleared his throat and said, “I can’t allow that. If it were anyone else, I could, but not Gadden Galiet’s son.”

“Some more advice: sit down with your daughter and talk to her. No yelling, no shouting, no forceful father-talk. Just sit down with her and tell her how you feel about all of this. And don’t make her cry.”

“You always knew best, Kressi,” he said.

“Of course,” she replied. “You may have several years more than me on this earth--,”

“Hey now, watch it,” he interrupted playfully.

She continued where she left off, “but I still know what’s good for you.”
“That you do, Kressi. That you do.”

“So you’ll hold off on using Sykes to bump-off someone?”

“Yes. I’ll do what you suggested. I’ll have her flown back here and we’ll talk over a nice dinner,” he said. A few moments passed until he added, “you’d be more than welcome, too.”

“I think I can manage it,” she said. “Maderic’s got me busy, but not that busy.”

“Until then,” Niculescu stated.

“Until then,” she repeated.

^

Torpa Housing; Apartment 3211B -- Alatsar, Nurema, United Empire of Colerica
Tuesday, December 7th, 6:45 PM IWST

Zarenna held the phone in her hand when her cell phone suddenly rang. She rolled her eyes. Shit, where is it? She quickly found it lying on the island table that held their sink. Annoyed by the lack of answer on the other phone, she simply hung up.

“Who was that?” Bandon asked from his chair as he poured some more Daniels into his glass.

“Fucking foreigners,” she jeered. “It was some Holy Paradise company or something. There wasn’t any answer.”

Had young Zarenna known the truth, she would have known that the line was intentionally dropped. Perhaps Bandon had a guardian angel on his side. More correctly, he had the Imperial government on his side. Bandon’s father -- behind his back -- had taken the liberty of having the all of his son’s lines traced and re-routed to some nameless Imperial employee who would sift through all of his calls and patch through ones that were deemed appropriate. The Holy Paradise call was one of those that had been deemed inappropriate.

“You might want to answer your cell,” he said; her phone still ringing.

This better not be a foreign leach, she thought. “Or any damn media whores, either,” she said to herself.

“What was that, Baby Girl?” Bandon asked.

“Nothing, Sweetie,” she answered as she picked up her cell phone and asked, “Hello?”

Jake took a deep breath and covered his mouth with the towel, speaking clearly.

"Listen to me. You have to let go of Bandon. I'm not your dad, or his, or any fucking company that wants you to keep out of their profits. They're planning to kill you. For your own safety, just please leave him... they're trying to kill you... the Burnsian Tra- AAAAHH!!!" Jake screamed as a bullet pierced his neck, cutting through his windpipe and severing his communication with Zarenna. His phone dropped to the floor, hitting the talk button and ending the call.

Across the street, on a higher building, a lone sniper with BGT inscriptions on his rifle smirked. Talking into the radio fitted around his head, he simply stated, "Threat neutralized."

OOC: First casualty...

"Slow down. What do you mean? Let me speak. I don't understand," all of these phrases were what Zarenna tried to say while Jake was talking. When she heard the shot, she dropped the phone in fright and jumped away from the island table she was leaning against.

Bandon looked over at her. "What's wrong?"

"Bandon," she said, her voice trembling.

"What? Bleeding Christ, what the hell is wrong? Spit it out!" he shouted, standing from his chair.

"The person on the phone....he's....he's....dead," she said as she slumped to the floor with her back to the table.

"Who's dead? What the fuck are you talking about?" he asked, his voice still raised and alarmed.

"Someone just called. I think they were hiding their voice because it didn't sound normal. They knew who I am; who you are. He said they're trying to kill me."

Bandon grew pale. "Who?"

"I don't know."

"What do you mean you don't know? Didn't this creep tell you? What happened?" he shot off questions.

Tears began to stream from her eyes. "He didn't get time to tell me. He started to say something and then...then...there was a gunshot."

"Jesus Christ," Bandon muttered.

"I'm scared, Bandon. I'm really scared," she said, her voice shaky and her words broken.

Bandon flipped his cell phone open and dialed his father. This is nuts, he thought while the phone rang.

"Bandon?" his father's voice rang clear over the line.

"What the fuck are you trying to do, Dad? Who the hell do you think you are? I told you to leave me and Zee the hell alone, but you couldn't do that, could you? Now you've got her terrified. What kind of man threatens a girl with death?" Bandon's onslaught of questions were spoken with immense hatred.

"What the hell are you talking about?" Gadden asked. "Threaten her with death? Are you drunk?"

"You know damn-well what I'm talking about, Dad. This isn't a fucking joke, you sick bastard," he said.

"I don't know anything about what you're talking about. You've gone insane. Talk to me when you're making some damn sense," Gadden said and hung up.

Angry, Bandon threw the phone across the room and it smashed against the wall. He turned back to his love who was still sitting on the floor, knees to her chest, crying. He knelt down beside her and comforted her.

"I don't think it was your Dad, Bandon," she said between sobs.

"Who the hell else would it be?" a pause and then the lightbulb went off in his head. "Unless it's yours."

"That's what I'm thinking," she replied.

Trey was pacing in his office, the sniper in the chair in front of his desk.

"How much of the name went over the phone?" he asked, stopping and looking intently at the calm marksman.

"All I heard over the bug was 'Burnsian Tran', then I shot him," he replied.

"Do you think she heard?"

"I'm not sure."

"Very well. You are dismissed."

The sniper stood up, saluted briskly, and walked out of the room. As soon as Trey heard the door shut, he took a wheeze out of his inhaler and slammed his fist down on his desk.

"DAMN! How the hell am I supposed to run a company with all these damn leaks..." he reached over to his intercom and pressed the button to his already-hired secretary. "I want a full background check of all the higher-up employees," he said.

"Very well, sir," responded the secretary. She didn't know what had happened to her uncle Jake. It was so mysterious that he would just pack up and move out of town like that. He hadn't even packed his bags when he left, just vaccummed the carpet.

Trey, still in his office, dialed the number for the 12th Helljumpers Division, stationed in Han's.

"Hello, 12th Helljumpers, this is Colonel-"

"I know who you are. This is Trey. I need a favor. Your best man, Ultima Ratio Sniper Rifle, silenced. Fifty cal. Get him to my office."

"Yes, sir," replied the Colonel, as if the whole thing had been arranged previously. Trey smiled. It was good having the military in your back pocket.

OOC: Can I get a pic of Zarenna?

IC:

Less than ten minutes later, a man in a full armor combat suit, black, with all tags removed, was sitting in the underground parking lot of the Autotower. A few minutes had rolled by after the black van he was riding in had dropped him off, and he was instructed to wait. So he waited.

A black Rush pulled around the corner. Standing alert, the man quietly fell back into the shadows, clutching his SOCOM pistol.

"Come out, it's me," said Trey's secretary, rolling down the driver's side window. "I'm the contact. Get in, and I'll give you the mission specs."

The commando did as he was told, getting around into the passinger side seat. The secretary, a Miss Lezhatch, pressed a button on the touchscreen panel located in the center console. A picture of Zarenna Niculescu was brought up.

"Target," stated Ms. Lezhatch, who pressed another button. This was of Torpa Housing, an overhead shot. Zooming in, it highlighted a single suite. "Torpa Housing... Apartment 3211B, current location by best cellular tracer. Don't kill the guy she's with. We're trying to split these companies."

The sniper nodded, saving all the data on his onboard computer. The picture would come in handy for his HUD later.

"Orders: kill the target. Exfiltrate. DO NOT BE CAPTURED," said Ms. Lezhatch, a little more forcefully. By that time, they had arrived at Highfather International Airport.

"You will be dropped five miles from the target. Exfiltration zone is being downloaded now."

The commando nodded silently as the wireless connections in his suit recieved the file.

"Good luck."

50,000 Feet
Three Hundred Miles from Torpa Housing
Learjet-S Military Stealth Craft

The commando had spent the whole flight reading up on the Niculescu company. He knew their stock market abbreviation, motto, and most importantly, Board of Directors...

OOC: If you want to RP a detection, you can do it here, if not, well, just say so.

OOC: Can I get a pic of Zarenna?


OOC: Err....wow, I never even thought of a picture for such a minor character....but a quick GIS yielded this photo....Zarenna, dispite the fact that she's the heiress of the Niculescu fortune, has taken up a modeling career to entertain herself....here's a photo:

http://www.justjinx.com/Journal/images/me03.jpg

(Yeah, lousy excuse to use Jinx's picture, but it works out...:) )

In regards to this, you may want to consider somethings about the United Empire that'll complicate your little inflitration......namely, this (taken from the UEC world factbook on NSWiki):

The oppressive, fascist government of the UEC is omni-present. It sees all, hears all, and knows all. There are spies literally in every city, town, and village. There is little that occurs in the UEC without the government knowing it. Everyone is bar-coded to keep track of their movements at all times. An intense security network with checkpoints at every city, (no one enters or exits without the gov't knowing of it), seems to stop terrorists and foreign spies dead in their tracks.

http://ns.goobergunch.net/wiki/index.php/Colerica

You're going to have some wrangling to do if you're getting through...that is, unless there was someone on the inside.....(dun, dun, dun!)



The radar was giving off a signal. It was weak, but it was still a recognizable signal.

"What do you have?" a young Imperial Army officer asked as he scanned the moniter.

"Some sort of blip. It's a signal, I think. Can't tell of what, though. It's above Nurema," the younger private replied.

"Bah, probably just a glitch. These systems have been shitty since we transferred over. They still haven't fixed all the bugs," the officer stated.

"What do we do about the blip?" the private asked.

"Eh, it's the end of my shift. I don't feel like giving in a call to the Rethrow's* to scramble a fighter up there. Like I said, it's a glitch," the officer's ignorance could prove to be fatal.

OOC:

* = Rethrow refers to Rethrow AirForce Base, located just outside Alatsar.

Here's a map:

http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v346/maderic/Colericastatesmap.jpg

Zarenna's in Alatsar, the largest Colerican city, which is located in the state of Nurema.....which means I just noticed that I've been putting "Lisera" as the state when it's actually Nurema...damn it.....

Niculescu Funds Tower -- Zachara, Kurono, United Empire of Colerica
December 7th, 5:31 PM IST

“What in blazes are you talking about, Zarenna?” Mikhai asked over the phone.

His daughter’s voice was shaky, but firm. “Daddy, don’t be playing with me. If you know anything about this, tell me now.”

“I assure you, Sweetheart; I know nothing of what you’re talking about. Do you actually believe that I’d play a sadistic joke like that on my own daughter?” he defended.

She sighed. “I guess you’re right. I’m sorry I accused you. It’s just…well, Bandon got angry with his dad and accused him and well, I don’t know what’s going on anymore.”

“Sweetie, I promise you that no one will harm you. You have my word,” he said. “Now, I have to let you go. I’ve got an important person to call.”

“Goodbye, Daddy.”

“Goodbye, Zarenna,” he replied and hung up. Quickly, he dialed Kressi’s cell phone -- a restricted number few had access to. “Kressi,” he started.

“Mikhai? What’s wrong?” she asked.

“There’s a situation. Someone’s toying with my daughter; threatening her life.”

“Tell me you’re kidding,” she said.

“Would I joke about this? It has to be Gadden,” he responded. “I want Sykes.”

She drew a deep breath. “I’ll clear him for you. You know he’s not easy to get a hold of on such short notice,” the sound of typing, then she continued, “He just finished up a mission for us. Should be clear for you. You owe me, Mikhai.”

Niculescu smiled. “Thank you, Kressi. I’d like something else, though, too.”

“What now?”

“Imperial Royal Guards,” he stated. “Protection for my daughter.”

She hesitated. “IRG’s are security for us Imperials, only, Mikhai. I don’t know how I could get you some. Unless, I relieved a few of mine and sent them over to you.”

“Could you?” his voice hinted at desperation; Mikhai was worried about the safety of his daughter.

“Couldn’t you just bring her to your bank tower?” she asked.

“And do what? Lock her in a vault?” he answered cynically. “She’s not a little kid anymore, Kressi, I can’t just hold her under lock and key. Plus, she’s living with that damned Bandon Galiet.”

“You’re not going to have him iced, are you? What about the talk you were going to have with Zee?” Kressi pressed on.

“No, I’m not going to have Bandon iced. I’m going to use him. He’s the violin that I shall play.” And play him; I shall….right against his own father. If I can’t convince Zarenna to leave Bandon, than I’ll turn Bandon against Gadden. He smiled devilishly.

“I’ll pull some strings to get some local Alatsar IRG’s over to guard Zarenna. Two should be plenty.,” she said, somewhat reluctantly.

“Only two?”

“Imperial Royal Guards are the best of the best in the standard Imperial forces. Two is more than enough protection for just about anyone,” she explained.

“Your brother always has at least a dozen,” he pointed out.

“That’s because he’s our Emperor, Mikhai. Must I remind you of that?” she said.

“Of course not, Kressi. And, please, give His Excellency my warmest regards. I rather enjoyed having dinner with him last week. I look forward to it again,” he said. “I can’t thank you enough, Kressi.”

“You say that often.”

“It’s the truth.”

30,000 Feet
Two Hundred Miles from Alastar
Learjet-S Military Stealth Craft

A message popped up on the sniper's HUD. He looked at it and blinked his eyes. A audio icon popped up and played.

"Change of plans," said the voice. "Jump now."

The sniper was startled. Why the hell had this happened? He walked over to the door, slammed the button on the hatch, and jumped. A few minutes later, after popping his chute and swimming a bit with the aid of his suit, he spotted a few lights. Guessing it was a fishing boat, he took off his armor, placed it inside a safety tube stowed away in his pack, and floated toward the small trawler, keeping his SOCOM pistol hidden under the water.

The small fishing boat had just finished retrieving its nets and pulling in its nightly catches when the sniper approached, who remained completely unknown to anyone onboard the small boat. The four man crew of the trawler, Soco, continued about their business while this mysterious foreigner stayed hidden from their view.

The sniper considered his options. He was dressed in civilian clothes. Maybe he would be taken as a survivor of a shipwreck. No... they would be able to check that one out. His only other option was elimination. Taking his SOCOM pistol out, the sniper cautiously climbed up the stern of the Soco. Flattening his back against the rear of the pilothouse, he spotted two men just finishing a square knot on a net. He waited for them to go inside, or remove themselves from his planned path into the cabin.

"Calo," the captain called from the cabin of the Soco.

"Yeah?" answered a rough-looking young man from inside the wheelroom.

"Are they finished with the nets?" the captain asked.

Calo checked out the small circular window and spied a look at his other two crew men. "Looks like they're just about done."

"Ask Brett if he's got a lighter on him. I can't find mine to save my life," the captain replied.

"Sure," Calo said and yelled out the cabin door, "Brett, come over here for a second."

Brett, a stocky, well-built man approached. "What 'ya want?" he asked, his Russian accent blurring his words.

"Do you have a lighter?" the captain asked as he held his pipe in his hand.

"'Jah," he said and dug in his pocket to retrieve a small silver Zippo.

While Brett, Calo, and the captain were busy in the cabin, the fourth man, Horace, was left to finish up the net work on deck. By himself, he was openly vulnerable to the unknown enigma that lurked just steps away from him.

Seizing his opportunity, Lt. Col. Timor (OOC: Let's just call him that, I don't want to have to keep saying 'sniper' in case we get confused later on) deployed his combat armor and snuck up to Horace. Taking his combat knife, he quickly jabbed in an upward motion, severing Horace's brain stem and rendering his body totally helpless. Realizing that dumping Horace's body overboard would cause too large of a noise, Timor dragged Horace back behind the pilot house. Switching weapons to his MAR-13 Medium Supressed Assault Rifle, Timor ran as silently and lowly as he could until he reached the door to the pilothouse. Counting silently to three, he bashed down the wooden bulkhead with his foot, causing the door to crash to the floor with a crack.

"Everybody freeze! Hands against the wall, noses against the wall! MOVE, OR I SHOOT!"

OOC: I'm hitting the sack. Be back tomorrow... *snore*

Seizing his opportunity, Lt. Col. Timor (OOC: Let's just call him that, I don't want to have to keep saying 'sniper' in case we get confused later on) deployed his combat armor and snuck up to Horace. Taking his combat knife, he quickly jabbed in an upward motion, severing Horace's brain stem and rendering his body totally helpless. Realizing that dumping Horace's body overboard would cause too large of a noise, Timor dragged Horace back behind the pilot house. Switching weapons to his MAR-13 Medium Supressed Assault Rifle, Timor ran as silently and lowly as he could until he reached the door to the pilothouse. Counting silently to three, he bashed down the wooden bulkhead with his foot, causing the door to crash to the floor with a crack.

"Everybody freeze! Hands against the wall, noses against the wall! MOVE, OR I SHOOT!"

Calo, Brett, and Captain Wright were startled by the intruder. Calo and the captian did as they were instructed to and pressed themselves up against the wall. Acting as quickly as he could, Brett picked up a wooden chair from the room and hurled it at Timor.

The chair smashed against Timor's armor, making the soldier double up for a second. Quickly realizing his mistake, he quickly stood back up straight and shot at the man twice, . Thinking he had Brett down, not knowing he missed his shots, Timor turned toward the captain and his crewman.

The chair smashed against Timor's armor, making the soldier double up for a second. Quickly realizing his mistake, he quickly stood back up straight and shot at the man twice, . Thinking he had Brett down, not knowing he missed his shots, Timor turned toward the captain and his crewman.

Scared, Calo asked, "Who are you? What do you want?"

While Captain Wright and Calo were being held as hostages, Brett slowly crawled to where a contraband pistol was kept for emergencies. This definitely qualified as an emergency. He stretched out his arms to the box where the pistol was and opened the latch, careful not to gain the attention of Timor. Slowly, he pulled the pistol from the box. As he had priorly known, the handgun was already loaded. He slid back the action on the automatic Smith and Wesson forty caliber and spun to fire on Timor.

OOC: I'm going to sleep....I'll continue this t'morrow....it's getting good...:cool:

Timor heard the click of the weapon. Spinning around, he emptied a full clip straight into Brett, but not before three bullets slammed into his torso. Gasping from the shock, he clenched his muscles like he had been trained to. Increasing in surface area rapidly, his combat suit popped all 9mm slugs out one by one. Walking over to Brett, Timor switched mags and popped one last bullet into his adversary's head. Just to be safe.

Walking over to the communications deck, but still keeping an eye on his horrified hostages, Timor smashed every bit of electronics he could see that might alert his presence to the authorities. "Now," he said, turning to the rest of the crew, "get me to shore."

Captain Wright said, "What do you want from us? Who are you? We won't help you, whoever you are."

"You think a person who busts on to your ship, kills two of your men, and is wearing an advanced combat suit is going to tell you who they are? But just because I'm going to kill you anyways, since you aren't helping me, my name is Lt. Col. Timor, Burnsian 12th Helljumpers Division, Sniper. I'm here to kill someone's daughter. Now," he said, raising his rifle, "down to business."

"You think a person who busts on to your ship, kills two of your men, and is wearing an advanced combat suit is going to tell you who they are? But just because I'm going to kill you anyways, since you aren't helping me, my name is Lt. Col. Timor, Burnsian 12th Helljumpers Division, Sniper. I'm here to kill someone's daughter. Now," he said, raising his rifle, "down to business."

Shakily, he said, "Fine, fine."

Firmly, Calo warned, "You won't get away with this. I don't care who you think you are or what you think you're doing, if you've come from The Burnsian Desert to kill one of our citizens, you'll be caught by the Imperial authorities. They're smarter than you think. And if you expect to get anywhere, I'd suggest losing the gun. Guns are illegal here and if any security-police catch you with one, they'll shoot you on sight."

"We can take you to shore," Wright said. "But, like Calo said, you won't get away with this."

"You're pessimistic, aren't you? Anyways, both of you are loose ends. Any last requests? It's only to be honorable, you know."

"You're pessimistic, aren't you? Anyways, both of you are loose ends. Any last requests? It's only to be honorable, you know."

"Go to hell," said Calo. "You kill us, you'll only be next."

"Who the hell do you think you are?"

"Who the hell do you think you are?"

"I'm Calo Tyden, an undercover agent for the Colerican Imperial Intelligence Agency," Calo saw the astonished look on Wright's face. "I've been working undercover on this ship for the last month trying to break Mr. Wright's drug running ring. Everything you've said has been recorded," Calo reached his hand to his pants and lifted his shirt, revealing an automatic pistol tucked into his beltline. "Drop your weapon and stand against the wall. Should you care to take notice, you'll see the small circular black box attached to the wall below the table to your right. Take a good look at it. You should recognize it as an explosive," he reached into his jacket pocket and retrieved a small plastic remote. "You should also recognize this as a dead-man switch. Don't know how it works? It's simple. Once I press this button here, the explosive is primed. If I drop the switch, the bomb is triggered."

OOC: We'll make this a bit more difficult for Timor....

"I didn't go to two years of training for nothing," he said. His gun was still out and trained. "You don't threaten a man with a laser between your eyes."

POP

OOC: I'm assuming the bomb wasn't primed?

Lakerfield heard a young female's voice and was about to reply when the line was disconnected. Jonathan swore so loud that the whole tower could hear him. Well, building. He had to move his company's headquarters due to the liberation attempt, which he was all for. He decided it was time to use some trickery again.

Calo fell to the floor, dead, after the bullet struck him in the face -- all the while, still holding the dead-man switch. Wright cowered in fear, crumpling to the floor in the corner.

OOC: The bomb is only primed when the button on the dead-man switch is pressed. When the button is released, it counts to five and the bomb explodes.

Timor wheeled to face Wright. "You run a drug smuggling ring. Where are the weapons?"

Timor wheeled to face Wright. "You run a drug smuggling ring. Where are the weapons?"

"Umm...umm....the only weapons I have on board are a handful of pistols like the one Brett had before you killed him. I have a safehouse on shore," he said. "If you spare me, I'll take you there."

"I'm not stupid. If this ship is yours, and you're using it to run crack, you have weapons on board."

"I'm not stupid. If this ship is yours, and you're using it to run crack, you have weapons on board."

Wright sighed. "You are smarter than you appear. Yes, I have weapons on board. Not only do I run drugs, I also run guns. The floorboards peel up to store my products in hidden compartments. This shipment is just simple AK's; nothing special. If you spare me, I'll bring you to shore."

"Hell, if you want to do something else for me, I'll do you one better. You interested?" Timor still had his rifle trained on the man.

"Hell, if you want to do something else for me, I'll do you one better. You interested?" Timor still had his rifle trained on the man.

"What sort of 'something else' are you speaking of? What else would be better for me than sparing my life? Speak. And could you watch where you point that thing? I'm not an enemy of you here. I don't give a damn what you do so long as you don't hurt me or my business."

"On the contrary. I am prepared to offer you safe harbor in The Burnsian Desert, as well as a cut into our market. Drugs are illegal in The Burnsian Desert, and we are very strict on the rule, but I'm sure some people could look the other way. You'd have over 5 million drug users cornered. All I ask is a small favor."

"On the contrary. I am prepared to offer you safe harbor in The Burnsian Desert, as well as a cut into our market. Drugs are illegal in The Burnsian Desert, and we are very strict on the rule, but I'm sure some people could look the other way. You'd have over 5 million drug users cornered. All I ask is a small favor."

"The Imperials are tough on my business as it is and I've had to bribe my way out of a number of situations. Your offer intrigues me. What do you need from me?"

"I need a diversion. 10 men, heavily armed. Here's the address," he said, handing over Bandon's address. "Front door. I'll get my target when she comes out the back. I need this done in six hours. Get us to the safehouse."

"I don't know about getting ten men, but I can help you," Wright said. "The name is Carter Wright, by the way."

OOC: Just fast-forward and skip their travel to shore?

OOC: Sure. Good idea. Can you handle that bit? You know more about the city than I do.

IC: "You don't need to know my name. For communication purposes, call me Krom."

OOC: Sure. Good idea. Can you handle that bit? You know more about the city than I do.

IC: "You don't need to know my name. For communication purposes, call me Krom."

"Okay, Krom," Carter said. "I'll get you to shore, but I'm not going to trust you, okay? I've got a distrust of foreigners...this place does that to you after a while."

The Soco sailed through the water and sped towards the shoreline. Within a matter of minutes, they reached a set of docks. Boats were tied up all around the large marina and security-police patrolled the premises. They wouldn't bother them, Wright was sure of that. He had spent years making his fishing business a success, even if it was just a front for his smuggling.

OOC: Sorry for the lackluster post, but I'm uber-busy right now.....I'll get a longer one up t'morrow....

"Hold on," said Timor. "Lemme retract my suit so the guards don't get suspicious." Timor held a small release on the inside of his suit arm for five seconds, then let go. The space-age fibers contracted and fit into a shape that resembled a pair of black jeans. "All right, guide me through this."

Lakerfield paced his office. There were no tricks he could think of that were perfect. Each one would backfire on him. Maybe, he thought, its time that I change my ways......nah. He had to complete his monopoly. He needed either a bank or another industry. But which one was the most ripe for the taking? Niculescu Funds or Galiet Uranium. Both would be difficult to take over. He had to use some robber baron way of acquiring either. Now, Jonathan was a good man at heart. He only took over companies to aid Holy Paradise's economy. Not to say he wanted to be poor. He then thought of something. A brilliant yet legal and moral way of acquiring some companies. He would invite Niculescu and Galiet both to a conference with him and settle their feuds. He sent Niculescu and Galiet each an invitation telling them to meet with him and the other at his(Jonathan's) office.

bumpz0red

OOC: Sorry I just sort of seemed to dissappear. I wasn't getting notifications of new posts. I'm reading over the new ones but won't be able to finish until tomorrow. Is it still open? I haven't gotten to the end yet.

Torpa Housing; Apartment 3211B -- Alatsar, Nurema, United Empire of Colerica
Tuesday, December 9th, 1:35 AM IWST

Bandon couldn’t sleep. Zarenna’s constant tossing and turning coupled with the phone call they had received prevented him from catching much rest. He stood up from the bed, stirring Zarenna to awake.

She squinted in the blackness of the night. “Bandon?”

“Yeah, Zee?”

“I’m scared,” she let out softly.

“I know you are, Zee, and I am, too. I won’t let anything happen to you,” he comforted.

“I know,” she replied. “I know.”

* * * *

Niculescu Funds Tower -- Zachara, Kurono, United Empire of Colerica
December 9th, 12:21 PM IST

Mikhai reviewed the various papers that littered his desk; his mind elsewhere. His eyes caught a letter from HP Oil and Auto. Mikhai rolled his eyes as he read it.

He’s lost it, he mused. There’s no way in hell I will go along with this -- it’s ridiculous. Moreover, why does he care so blasted much about this? He should learn to keep himself out of other’s business, especially when that other is me.

Niculescu wouldn’t even bother to reply; he’d have Alexandra e-mail Lakerfield his rejection. Mikhai had far bigger things to be concerned about. His daughter’s life was in danger and he would prevent anything from harming her.

The comlink buzzed. It was Alexandra. “Sir, there’s a Mr. Rao Dallas here to see you.”

“Let him in, Ms. Harper,” Niculescu ordered.

The door clicked and hissed open. A well-built man in his mid-thirties walked through. His wavy blond hair and stubbly beard suggested he was hiding his real appearance. This was to be expected, after all. There was no Rao Dallas; it was only an alias. Niculescu knew who the man was because he had sent for him. This man was the subject of his phone conversations with Magistrate of State, Kressi Thra. This man was the infamous Michael Sykes.

Sykes was notorious to those who knew of his exploits. He was quite possibly the most famous assassin around, though few knew what he looked like and that was the way he preferred to remain. Michael was a freelancer; operating for anyone who would offer him. He never guaranteed success and he always demanded payment in advance for his work. His substantial fees were, by his orders, to be wired into an unmarked Niculescu bank account.

“How nice of you to come on such short notice Michael,” Mikhai greeted, standing up from his executive’s chair.

“Spare me,” Sykes said. “Who do you need gone now, Niculescu?”

“Gadden Galiet,” he replied sharply.

“Consider it done,” Sykes responded. “For a fee,” he added.

“Of course,” Mikhai said. “How much are we looking at here, not that money is of any concern?”

“For someone as high-stakes as Galiet, I’d have to say at least a billion,” he answered.

Mikhai hid his pained expression behind a fake smile. “One billion? Consider it done. For that kind of fee, Michael, you better get it done right.”

“When have I ever failed?” he said as he approached the door to leave.

Twenty minutes passed by after Sykes left before Niculescu got on the phone. He dialed his daughter’s cell phone and waited for her to answer.

“Daddy?” Zarenna’s voice rang clearly over the line.

“Yes, Sweetheart, it’s me. Listen, after going through some thinking, I want to fly you back here. You’ll be safer here with me,” he said.

“What about Bandon?” she asked.

Mikhai hesitated. “He can come, too. I’ll send my fastest helicopter to pick you two up personally.”

“What’s with the sudden change of heart?” she asked. “Now you can tolerate Bandon and I being together?”

“We’ll discuss all of this later, Zarenna. Be ready to leave tonight,” he stated.

“Okay,” she paused, “Daddy. We’ll pack up and get ready. I’ll see you tonight?”

“You can count on it,” he said.

OOC: Sorry ya'll, for not getting back to this sooner. I was busier than I thought -- damn writing deadlines had me bogged down for longer than I thought I would be.

TBD, is it really necessary to describe their trip to the safehouse? I know it fleshes out the RP better, but I'm not really in the mood to describe their drive across Alatsar to the drug runner's hide-out.

OOC: Sorry I just sort of seemed to dissappear. I wasn't getting notifications of new posts. I'm reading over the new ones but won't be able to finish until tomorrow. Is it still open? I haven't gotten to the end yet.

Yeah, we're still open here.

OOC: Just assume they're there. Since I've already told you about the mercs, have the dealer call them up or something. I'll post later, I have some beauty sleep to attend to. :)

Corner Office 132 of the Titro Structure

"This is unbelievable. The news is coming in faster than I can find a way to exploit it." Jameson was amazed at the news of the love between the children of the opposing business barons. "I don't know how either of those people let this information leak out, but there must be some sort of break in their chain of heirarchy for this to happen. Perfect."

He called in Nigel, and Nigel quickly made it into his office. "What is it Mr. Titro?"

"Ah, good. Much quicker than Kevin. Look, I need you to make a call for me. I have a friend, Mr. Hale. I don't know where he is, but you should able to find him. When you've found him, tell him to give me a call, he knows the number." Jameson smiled. He'd just told Nigel to kill himself. Hale was an old friend who owed Jameson a favor, and Hale would gladly off Nigel.

Nigel complied and walked back to his office to dig up Mr. Hale.

That little Slote brat is going to cause a problem if I don't do something soon. I can't let him go another month as planned. But this is perfect. With all of the assassination attpemts these days him being gunned down won't be so much of a problem. Plus, Hale is expendable anyway. I can just put the blame on the disgruntled Kevin.

Jameson picked up his phone and called Mr. Hales. He didn't need Nigel to find him, he just wanted to distract him.

"Mr. Titro, it's good to hear from you. What do you need? I thought we were even?" Mr. Hale rang over the phone.

"Now, now, Nathan. You know we'll never be even. You owe me not only your life, but everything you have. So I wouldn't dissappoint me. I need a favor from you. This will be the last, I promise. You remember Allan Slote right? Well I need you to do the same for his son Nigel. I don't care how you do it, just no bombs. And leave the body this time. We want it to be different from Allan's death.

OOC:Sorry, I just finally realized that last post of mine is cut off. I'll finish it here.

"Yes sir, when would you like it finished." Hale squeaked through the phone. He wasn't a naturally mean or bad person. He also wasn't an assassin by nature. It was just something he happened to be good at. He only did it for Mr. Titro, he owed Mr. Titro.

"Please do it immediately, today if possible. Hit him at home. I'll send him off early." Jameson commanded.

"Yes sir." And that was the end of that. Hale hung the phone up and Jameson was off to find Nigel.

He figured that Nigel was somewhere on one of the lower floors still trying to find out where he could find Mr. Hale. Jameson used the intercom he has that can be heard in every room of the building to page him. "Nigel, this is Mr. Titro. Please come see me in my office immediately."

In a matter of minutes Nigel was there and eager to hear what it was that Jameson wanted. "What is it sir?"

"Nigel, I've found Mr. Hale, you can go home early today. I don't have anything left for you to do. Thank you for helping though." Jameson was pleased with his acting. He was trying to be as nice as possible.

Nigel, a little confused just nodded and went home, and that was all. His story was over. The headlines in the next day's paper would read: "Last Member of Slote Family Dies-Tragic Car Accident." They would barely mention that the other driver died as well. At least Jameson would have to worry about Hale telling the secret.

When Nigel left Jameson's office Jameson began reading through job listings for people looking for a job, he would soon need a new personal assistant.

Wright's Hideout -- Alatsar, Nurema, United Empire of Colerica
Wednesday, December 9th, 1:05 PM IWST

Carter Wright felt at home in his beach-side hideout while Timor stood amongst a few of Carter's employees, better known as hired thugs. The group was a strong one, made of Carter and nine other men. They examined their weapons, which ranged from KE-19's to 03SI automatic pistols to the more common M-16A2's and AK-47's.

"Krom," Wright said as he turned to face his new-found ally. "We're awaiting your orders. They'll serve you on your mission. But we want details. Tell us more."

OOC: Sorry about the long delay...

"You don't need more. All I can tell you is that I have to kill this girl. None of you know her, so it doesn't matter. She is the daughter of some business tycoon," he paused, looking at his assembled group of ragtag men.

"Here's what you have to do. Get a car, a fast one. Make sure it has a hard top, no convertibles. Hook yourselves up with some automatic weapons, then cruise nice and slow towards a place called Torpa Housing. There should be an apartment in there, 3211B. When you see it, start shooting into the windows. I'll tell you to stop by throwing a red smoke grenade out in front. I will be stationed in back to hit the target as she comes out. After you see the smoke, get back into the car and get out of there," again he paused, looking at the men to make sure they understood.

"A small breifcase containing one hundred million dollars, as well as some free transit papers will be behind the house two days later. The papers can be used to smuggle your products into TBD without us complaining. Do you understand?"

Torpa Housing; Apartment 3211B -- Alatsar, Nurema, United Empire of Colerica
Tuesday, December 9th, 8:42 PM IWST

The blue and silver helicopter swooped down to the Torpa Housing apartment and landed slowly on the roof. Large gray letters reading 'Niculescu Funds' were emblazoned on the side doors of the chopper. Four armed guards exited the aircraft, their sub-machine guns clearly visible in the waning Colerican sunlight that bled across the near-night sky. Mikhai Niculescu soon exited the helicopter and stared into the dying sun, puffing a fresh cigar, as he awaited his daughter's arrival.

Suddenly, the sound of gunfire erupted from the ground floors. Niculescu snapped his head at the sound. Three or four loud pops. More gunshots. The guards grew alarmed and looked amongst each other for solutions.

Niculescu barked out, "Don't just stand there; do something!"

Tylerson, Niculescu's head personal bodyguard, waved his hand for two of the other three to follow him. One was to stay with Mikhai at all times while the other two were at the disposal of Tylerson's orders. He commanded one to follow him down the elevator and to the lower floor to secure Zarenna's location. The third bodyguard was to make his way down the shaky set of steel steps that snaked their way down the building and served as an emergency fire exit.

* * * * *

Carter Wright spun the wheel on the night-black '94 Eagle Talon and parked the car. He slung an AK-74 rifle around his shoulders and exited the vehicle; several of his cronies already in position. They did as Timor had instructed them to and fired into the windows. Not knowing exactly which apartment room 3211B was, they sprayed bullets into all the windows on two different stories of the ten story building. Wright watched as his right-hand man, Dallas Johnson, lit the oiled rag of a Molotov cocktail and hurled it through one of the windows on the fifth floor. The bottle hit the floor and shattered, igniting the carpet in one of the apartments. The fire soon spread to the window curtains and the near-by sofa. Unknowingly, Dallas had thrown the fiery weapon, by sheer coincidence, into Zarenna and Bandon's apartment window.

* * * * * *

"Holy shit!" Bandon shouted as the projectile shattered the glass window. He soon found the carpet ablaze. "Baby Girl, we have to get the hell out of here now!" he hollered.

When the gunshots had sounded off, Zarenna had crumpled to the floor, terrified to even move. The fire, however, got her moving with anewed vigor. Slowly, she climbed to her feet. She approached Bandon who was quickly fumbling through his dresser drawers, searching for something.

"Found it," he said to himself.

"Found what?" she asked.

Bandon withdrew the silvery .32 caliber automatic pistol; a contraband weapon illegal in the United Empire.

Zarenna looked surprised. "Where'd you get that?"

"Nevermind," he said shaking his head. "We don't have time to talk. Get your bag; we're going now. To the roof."

They approached the exit of the apartment room when an odd cracking sound morbidly echoed through the room. Zarenna screamed and fell to the floor, clutching her upper left arm. Blood oozed liberally from the open wound that had shredded a nasty hole in her blouse. A stray bullet from one of Wright's goons had found its mark on her arm and she shrieked in pain.

"Get up," Bandon shouted as he pulled his girlfriend to her feet.

"It hurts so much, Bandon," she cried out, still on the floor.

"That fire is going to hurt much more," he yelled. "On your feet!" he muttered as he yanked her up. "Let's go."

OOC: Sorry for the mega delay....all my fault...I hope you're still open for the RP......oh, and one hundred million bucks couldn't fit in a briefcase....unless, your nation prints million dollar bills.....;) [/reality Nazi]

OOC: Oops... lol, let's say it's a check. :)

IC:

"Fuck," said Timor. His target had just dropped out of sight. He had come that close to putting a .300 round through Zarenna's head. Thinking quickly, he put one through Bandon's instead. "Helljumper code..." he murmered, seeing his target drop like a rock, "...if you can't see your target, shoot someone else."

C'mon, he thought, crouching behind a curtain in an abandoned building. The agent he had dispatched on the boat was right; it was hard to get through this country with a gun. He'd been stopped five times on his way, and searched thuroughly (sp?). Thank God they hadn't discovered the false bottom on his violin case. Timor had lost his cigarettes and one hundred Colerican credits (provided by Wright), bribing a soldier at a checkpoint.

Stand up, girl, stand up...

Security-Police Station 3A-21 -- Alatsar, Nurema, United Empire of Colerica
Tuesday, December 9th, 8:49 PM IWST

"Mother of fucking Christ," a security-police officer said as he watched the tapes of the gun battle raging outside the Torpa Housing apartment complex. Security-police had already been dispatched to the area and would be arriving in a matter of minutes. They had explicit directions to use lethal force to neutralize all combatants in the area.

"Ravish," another officer asked. "What's the ETA on the bird?"

"The AH-64 is inbound to the location; ETA two minutes at maximum," he answered. "We're going to flood the area with our boys. Directions are to sweep the complex and the complex premises."

* * * * *

Zarenna, still sitting on the floor, watched in horror as Bandon Galiet's head violently exploded in a shower of blood. His near-decapitated body slumped to the floor next to her and she screamed in terror. The dreadful sight of seeing the savage murder of her lover right before her own eyes terrified Zarenna into a state of shock. Try as hard as she may, she couldn't lift a finger. She curled up into the protection of the fetal position and lay next to the body of the dead heir to the Galiet fortune.

One of the two Imperial Royal Guards that her father had arranged to stay with her as her personal protection rushed into the room. The two had been busy in the hallway, securing a path to the ceiling. The IRG in his imposing crimson armor was a startling sight for the young girl to see.

"Ms. Niculescu," the soldier started. "Your father is waiting on the roof. We're getting you out of here."

"I won't leave Bandon," she whimpered and threw her self onto his bloody corpse.

"Ms. Niculescu, we are instructed to bring you to your father, alive. I will not hesitate, should you not comply to go voluntarily, to incapacitate you and carry you out of here. Besides, you're injured," the faceless legionnaire said.

The second IRG entered the room. "We're going now. Imperial security-police are sweeping the area; they'll handle these thugs."

"She won't get up."

The IRG glanced down at Zarenna through his silvery visor. He raised his rifle stock and crashed it into her skull, rendering her unconscious. His extensive training on the anatomical weak spots of human beings had made him -- like all Imperial Royal Guards -- deadly knowledgeable about the proper areas on where to strike a person to incapacitate them without chance of brain damage. She slumped to the floor and he -- with his back to the window that faced Timor -- picked her up and carried her out of the burning room.

* * * * *

Bullets tore into two of Carter Wright's mercenaries and they fell to the cement dead. Another ragtag soldier collapsed from a round to the head. Niculescu bodyguards were firing at them from their locations throughout the building as thick black smoke billowed out of the apartment windows; Torpa Housing was ablaze.

"Carter, they've got a fuckin' chopper!" a merc shouted and pointed to the large black metal bird that hovered through the air, directly above the building where Timor was positioned.

Instantly, the AH-64 Apache let loose a hail of blistering gunfire that pelted the ground all around Wright and his mercenaries. Wright turned his head just in time to see his Eagle Talon erupt in a massive fireball, the result of an AGM-114 Hellfire missile released from the AH-64. Fiery debris rained down onto the heads of the mercenaries.

"Fuck!" Wright shouted as he tried to shield himself from the falling metal debris. He pulled the radio from his belt and shouted into it, "Timor, this isn't fucking worth it. I've lost half my men already. We've got Imperial forces to deal with now. They've called in the fucking military. Save yourself."

A major bump....TBD, where are you? :)

Bumpage.....

OOC: Sorry!! :( I had a good book for the past few days. ;)

IC:

"I don't give a shit, one of them is dead. That was all I needed to do," at this, Timor ripped off his battle armor, dropped his rifle, and stuffed the whole lot into a crate in a closet. His frayed and worn jeans, along with his muddy T-shirt, would help him blend into the surrounding area around the abandoned building.

Lowering his head and stuffing his hands in his pockets, Timor walked quietly down the street towards the bus station, a quarter of a mile journey. He made a point of not glancing around, and tried his best not to look suspicious. His mind, however, was working like a hamster on an exercise wheel. In about five minutes, he had transformed himself from Lt. Col. Timor, elite sniper of the Burnsian Helljumpers, to Pete Rose, a down-on-his-luck man who had just been left by his wife.

As he neared the bus station, he walked up to the window and asked, "Excuse me, where can I catch a bus to the nearest airport?"

bump

OOC: Sorry!! :( I had a good book for the past few days. ;)

IC:

"I don't give a shit, one of them is dead. That was all I needed to do," at this, Timor ripped off his battle armor, dropped his rifle, and stuffed the whole lot into a crate in a closet. His frayed and worn jeans, along with his muddy T-shirt, would help him blend into the surrounding area around the abandoned building.

Lowering his head and stuffing his hands in his pockets, Timor walked quietly down the street towards the bus station, a quarter of a mile journey. He made a point of not glancing around, and tried his best not to look suspicious. His mind, however, was working like a hamster on an exercise wheel. In about five minutes, he had transformed himself from Lt. Col. Timor, elite sniper of the Burnsian Helljumpers, to Pete Rose, a down-on-his-luck man who had just been left by his wife.

As he neared the bus station, he walked up to the window and asked, "Excuse me, where can I catch a bus to the nearest airport?"

OOC: Hah! Pete Rose. Hah! :)

IC:

Wright cursed as he heard the radio click off. "Son of a bitch. That coward has abandoned us. Fine then. Let him die."

Wright turned to face the handful of mercenaries that were still alive. A bullet from an advancing Colerican security-police officer's machine gun tore into his stomach.

"Fuck," he muttered as he glanced to the wound shredded into his vest.

Four more .223 shots ripped into his chest and stomach and he fell to the ground in a forming pool of blood. One of his mercs was struck down by a hail of heavy chaingun fire from the attacking AH-64 and he, too, fell to the ground dead. The remaining mercs fell back, scattered, and fled for their lives.

*****

A security-police officer, M-16A2 clear in view, examined the foreigner. "ID," he demanded. "No one gets anywhere without clearance."

"Right here," said Timor, producing a forged ID from Burnsian Intelligence. "Ryan Yarrow," he introduced himself, and silently prayed that he would get past this man.

OOC: Bumpage.

"Right here," said Timor, producing a forged ID from Burnsian Intelligence. "Ryan Yarrow," he introduced himself, and silently prayed that he would get past this man.

The security-police officer examined the ID he was handed. "Hmm....this appears to be legit, Mr. Yarrow. What's the tracking code on your visitor's label?* Tell me that and I'll scan you through. Then you're free to go."

OOC: * = visitor's tracking code. All citizens of the United Empire are bar-coded by the government so the State can keep track of them. They know where all citizens are at all times. When a foreigner enters the United Empire, they're given a visitor's tracking code -- a less permanant version of the bar-code. It's a ten digit code consisting of letters and numbers (make one up ;) ) that doubles as the GPS sequence code to track the individual. If they wanted to, the Colerican government could pin-point anyone in the entire nation.

"Erm, I got it here somewhere... h78q8mc781," he said, pulling a sticky note from his pocket.

"Erm, I got it here somewhere... h78q8mc781," he said, pulling a sticky note from his pocket.

The guard scanned through the number on the computer and awaited for it to display the results. While he was waiting, an officer approached. "Who is this? Does he have a sequence code?"

"Yes, he does. It's an older code, but it matches up. I was about to let him through," he stated. "Should he be prevented?"

The officer paused. "No. Wave him through."

"Yes, Sir," he said. "Mr. Yarrow, you've gained access."

"Thank you, and good afternoon to you, sir," said Timor. Walking over to the service counter, he inquired of the ticketer, "How much for a ride to the airport?"

"Thank you, and good afternoon to you, sir," said Timor. Walking over to the service counter, he inquired of the ticketer, "How much for a ride to the airport?"

"Fair to Zachara Imperial International will be ten Colerican credits," a young woman said.

"Ten credits? I thought it was fifteen credits last I was here," said Timor, producing a few credits. "Where can I board?"

"Ten credits? I thought it was fifteen credits last I was here," said Timor, producing a few credits. "Where can I board?"

"You're taking advantage of a special sale," she replied. "The next train leaves in thirteen minutes. You may board on the exit ramp to my left after being waived through security."

"Oh, a sale. What do you know..." said Timor, walking toward the security checkpoint, ready to sweat it out again.

"Oh, a sale. What do you know..." said Timor, walking toward the security checkpoint, ready to sweat it out again.

The security-police ran him through a set of pat downs and metal detectors and then began to inspect the luggage he had with him. The violin case, secretly the gun case, was the first item to be picked up by one of the security-police.

"So, you hear anything about that shoot-out across town?" the security-police officer asked nonchalantly as he continued to examine each item.

"Yeah, it's usually a lot quieter around here. I'm happy to go back to Xeraph..."

"Yeah, it's usually a lot quieter around here. I'm happy to go back to Xeraph..."

"Xeraph?" the guard questioned. "Curious."

Also quite nonchalantly, the guard moved his left hand over to a control desk and typed in the following on the keyboard: "CHK MAN = SUSP" and clicked 'enter.' The guard on the recieving end of the message would understand the short-hand message as "Checked man is suspicious."

"So," the guard asked. "Any particular reason you came here? Friends? Family? Business?"

Da'bump....

"Xeraph?" the guard questioned. "Curious."

Also quite nonchalantly, the guard moved his left hand over to a control desk and typed in the following on the keyboard: "CHK MAN = SUSP" and clicked 'enter.' The guard on the recieving end of the message would understand the short-hand message as "Checked man is suspicious."

"So," the guard asked. "Any particular reason you came here? Friends? Family? Business?"

"My friend and I meet here sometimes on business, it's usually so serene here. He's already left, I guess, because his phone's out of range."

"My friend and I meet here sometimes on business, it's usually so serene here. He's already left, I guess, because his phone's out of range."

"I see," the guard replied. "There now. All finished. Your record is clean and we've found nothing that would force us to detain you. You're free to go aboard. Have a good and safe trip."

The short-hand computer message the guard had sent had been processed and delivered to more appropriate authorities.

"Thank you," said Timor, silently exhaling a long-held breath, "I will." He then stepped on to the waiting bus, unarmed, ready to cash a nice, fat paycheck when he got home.

Zachara Imperial Hospital -- Alatsar, Nurema, United Empire of Colerica
Tuesday, December 9th, 10:19 PM IWST

Mikhai Niculsecu paced the waiting room of the Zachara Imperial Hospital while the doctors took an emergency look at his injured daughter. After several minutes past, a doctor came from the room to see Niculescu.

"Mr. Niculescu," he began but was cut off.

"Just tell me how Zee is," Mikhai ordered.

"Your daughter suffered a gunshot to the upper arm. Luckly, the injury was not too severe. It is unlikely that she will suffer any long-term damage from the wound. She's also suffered from smoke inhalation, but it was also nothing too severe to worry over. All in all, she's a very lucky girl. The man they found next to her -- her boyfriend, I assume? He was not so lucky. A rather large caliber weapon killed him with a shot to the head."

Mikhai sighed a breath of relief and dismay. He turned away from the doctor and flipped open his cellphone.

"Mikhai?" Kressi's voice sounded worried. "How is she?"

"She took a bullet to the arm, but the doctor tells me she'll live with no loss of use," he replied.

"Thank God," she said; a reference not common to slip from the lips of a Colerican governmental official.

"Bandon Galiet is dead," Mikhai said softly.

Kressi paused. "Is there a TV near you?"

"Yeah."

"Turn it on," she stated.

Mikhai walked over to a table by a green couch and picked up the remote. He flicked on the television and surfed over to CIN. The headline read: "Galiet Father and Son Dead."

"Sykes carried out the job as planned," she said.

"I see. What are they saying?"

"They believe Gadden committed suicide after he found out his son had been murdered," Kressi informed.

"All's well that ends well," Mikhai's voice carried a hint of pride in the accomplishment of Michael Sykes. "Any word on who was behind the shoot-out?"

"CIIA says a drug dealer named Carter Wright. Found his corpse at the scene. Bandon was killed by a sniper, though, from across the street. Security-police found some trace evidence that have given them a brief profile to run on. Some say a foreigner, but no word on anything yet," she said.

"Keep me informed," Mikhai said. "Oh, and Kressi."

"Yeah?"

"I love you," he stated.

Kressi was caught off guard by the comment, but conjured up a quick reply. "I love you too, Mikhai."

(tag for later post)

Zachara Imperial Hospital -- Alatsar, Nurema, United Empire of Colerica
Wednesday, December 10th, 9:17 AM IWST

Mikhai Niculescu stared into the eyes of his awakening daughter. Zee's clouded green eyes fluttered open and stared blankly at her father, if but for a moment before she registered where she was.

"Daddy," she said softly. She winced and glanced at her arm. "My arm is killing me. What happened?"

Mikhai cleared his throat. "You were shot, Zarenna."

Her eyes enlarged. "Whoa. Really?" a confused frown before she continued, "where's Bandon?"

Mikhai paused. "This is going to be hard to tell you, Zee, but Bandon....Bandon's dead."

Tears appeared to be moments from pouring from her eyes. "Dead?" the word slowly rolled off her tongue and lingered in the air.

"Yes. Dead."

"What happened? How come I don't remember any of this?" she said, trying to sit up, but failing due to her arm injury. She yelped in pain.

"You were hit by a bullet in the upper arm and blacked out. Bandon was shot in the head and died instantly," he said. "Imperial Royal Guards saved your life."

"Who shot me? Who shot Bandon? Why?" now the tears began to roll down her cheeks.

"We're not yet sure on all of the details, but it appears you were targeted for murder by an as-of-yet-unknown person. My friends in the government -- and a gut feeling -- tell me that Gadden Galiet ordered the attempt on your life. When Bandon was killed instead of you, Gadden was so overcome with grief that he committed suicide," Mikhai stated.

"This is all so much," she said, crying harder.

"Yes, it is. It's going to be a while until we have a full understanding of this, but we will find out everything, rest assured," he comforted. "You should probably get some more rest."

Bumposaurus Rex.....

Me!

By this time, Timor had made it to the airport, and walked up the terminal to the Xeraphian Air counter. "I need to talk to your manager."

More than three months had past since the death of Bandon Galiet had been slain at the hands of an still-unknown assassin. Zarenna Niculescu had been slow to pick up the shattered pieces of her life, but had, in time, come to terms with the murder of Bandon and had even started seeing a new man. As she sat on a comfortable brown chair in a waiting room at the Niculescu Funds Tower, her cellphone clammored to life. She fished it out of her purse and answered it.

"Hello?"

"Zarenna? Zarenna Niculescu?" a man's voice came on from the other line.

"This is. Who is this?"

"My time is short. I've tracked you down for a while. I know who killed your boyfriend; Galiet's boy."

Zarenna nearly dropped the phone.

"What did you say?" she managed to ask.

"I know who killed Bandon Galiet and why."

"Tell me!" she exclaimed a frantic shriek that drew the attention of every one else in the room.

"I don't know if this line is secure," he replied.

"What the hell are you talking about?"

"I need to speak with you in person. You're in a room outside one of your father's meeting rooms, waiting for him to get out of a business meeting."

Her eyes went wide. "How do you know that?"

"I have my ways. I'll meet you in the lobby in five minutes."

He hung up and she nearly collapsed to the floor in a sudden rush of emotions.

OOC: TBD, if you're still able/willing to do this RP, I've resurrected it for a reason with a new twist to the plot.

Bump: this thread is still considered active and open to all. Jump in as I've still got to wrap my end of this murder arc and this international corporate war shows no signs of slowing down. Niculescu won't stop until he owns you all. :P

Bump'd!