NationStates Jolt Archive

Sunday 8:00pm

The autumn wind howled outside as stars shimmered in the Sunday night sky. In one small house in the outer suburbs of Verica, all the windows and doors were shut, all the lights were out, the curtains pulled and a single television blared news of the election.

“…we have polling results coming in from eastern Verica, with the Liberal Block polling poorly. These seats were considered vital if the Liberals wanted to be in a dominating position in the new Parliament. With current voting trends we can expected the Moralists to pick up a healthy share…”

In the front room of the house was the only occupant, a teenage boy named Paul his eyes aimed at the television.

“…With the first polling stations in Ricco closing, President Grey’s Moralists have already shown a clear fall in votes; however it isn’t expected to be enough to cost the Moralists the Parliament…”

Paul’s parents had been out for the day, campaigning at the polling stations, urging people to vote Liberal against the Moralists. Now that darkness had fallen over Verica, they had a victory or perhaps a defeat party to attend. Nothing that would interest a teenager.

“…The Labour Block has already lost several lower-middle class seats to their own Moralist allies who are really taking no prisoners this election. The new single member constituency election system could really harm the Liberal and especially the Socialist Block, who just don’t have the voter concentration to hold seats…”

In the darkness Paul’s head moved left to right, and then left again, as the television spoke of growing evidence of a Moralist victory.

“ …So John, how do your models show the seats falling…Well, Tony if voting trends continue like this the Moralists will have a majority in their own right picking up between forty five and fifty five percent of the seats. Their Labour allies will probably take another twenty to twenty five percent of the seats, their share from more working class areas…

The only light was supplied by the television; illuminating Paul’s body with its mild light.

“…We now have word the Liberal’s James Palmer has accepted that his party has lost the fight to control the new Parliament. We shall cross live to him now…Fellow Liberals, Farminans, Socialists who fight to keep the Moralists from power; the Moralists will have control of the new Parliament as they controlled the old Elected Councils. We shall have to go twice as hard over the next two weeks. We shall win the Presidential Election. We shall remind this nation of Tobias Grey’s mistakes and his massive abuses of power. We shall make the people listen…”

Paul’s eyes were a deep blue, his hair blond. He was reasonable build, even though he was a boy of just sixteen.

“…This could be a fatal mistake by James Palmer. President Grey’s wife has only been dead six weeks and the President himself has been clearly shaken by this. Tomorrow will be his first day back on the job. Attacking a grieving man will prove to be a severe blunder, what do you say Tony…”

To anyone who could see Paul would be able to tell he clearly had no interest in this.

“…It seems to me that Palmer is really fighting an uphill battle. With the President’s ball; we can expect to see leaders and dignitaries coming from all over the world, shaking President Grey’s hand and telling the public that the Moralists are doing a good job. Sympathy votes are going to make it even harder for Mr Palmer to lead the Socialist-Liberal alliance to presidential victory…”

Despite no longer having an interest in the election results; Paul did not move, he didn’t even blink, as the carpet turned crimson in the darkness. He had no eye lids. He had no choice but to watch.

As small gusts of wind blew in under through cracks under the window, pushing the corpse gently from left to right as he hung from the ceiling by his neck. The flesh where the rope had been tied was red, clearly torn and damaged.

“…The results now look very clear, the model predicting the following results: the Moralists will win 492 seats, Labour should win 218, the Liberals 271 and the Socialists will be badly stung with only 11 seats. Minor blocks will probably be completely eliminated. President Grey will be celebrating, I mean will be less mournful tonight…”

He hung naked, his clothes forcefully removed before he had been raped repeatedly. His hands had been hacked off and placed in plastic containers inside the fridge. The boy’s genital had been burnt beyond recognition, beyond any description of ever being flesh. His face had been slashed repeatedly and furiously. His back was badly burnt and he stank of mentholated spirits. His tongue cut out and placed in a water glass on the coffee table. Worst of all these horrors had been endured while Paul was alive and well; the killer had ensured it. When the boy’s parents returned home from celebrating a victory in the local electorate they would discover their worst nightmare.

A psychopath was loose in Farmina.

---

Monday 8:50am

Dan Rickhart watched the mirror as he removed the syringe from the top of his neck, before placing it in the bathroom bin. He then returned the small black bag into his briefcase resting on the bathroom vanity. In his shirt he could feel the weight of the bronze ring. Slipping his hand inside his jacket, and into his shirt pocket, he felt the ring before firmly grasping it. He removed his hand bringing the small bronze ring into view of the mirror. There was nothing note about the ring, except a small inscription. Nonetheless, Rickhart lifted up the base of the briefcase, revealing a small compartment, where he hide the ring. He then sealed the compartment and the case; before heading to see President Tobias Grey.

As he pushed through the final oak doors the President Grey was reading a paper, a cigarette resting in his mouth. “Congratulations Dan, on winning your seat in the Parliament,” said Grey, removing the cigarette briefly from his mouth before returning it.

“Same to you Tobias,” responded Chancellor Rickhart, “And smoking is still bad for your health.”

In truth no congratulations were earned, both had been parachuted into safe seats to ensure they won. President Grey had barely left the White Palace during the election campaign, albeit with good reason.

The President then folded the paper open before passing it over to Rickhart, “Another murder last night. It is probably the gruesome since the days of Justinian. No doubt Mr Palmer will use it as dirt in our faces.”

“I doubt a Liberal will ever convince the public he is tough on crime,” said Rickhart, giving the article a brief look, before turning towards the front of the paper to read the election analysis.

“True,” said Tobias Grey, stubbing out his cigarette, “Still this latest murder disturbs me. Whoever did it was ruthless and calculating. Great care was taken to eliminate evidence. You don’t suppose he killed the boy. Its clear we won’t make his deadline.”

By he, the President meant the Shadow, the terrorist who had killed Elaine Grey. Rickhart decided the Shadow was a topic best skipped, “Everything is prepared for the ball. The invitations were made clearly open to the leaders and representatives of all nations, with the exception of Dumpsterdam.”

“A vital exception,” commented Grey, “But you side stepped this business with the Shadow. Tomorrow his deadline expires and he promised to spill more blood.”

“Attacking during the election might damage his in goals, look at the results in the Parliamentary election,” said Rickhart, “I think he may hold off until after the ball. Furthermore, murders seem somehow out of his league. I have however ensured that security is more than suitable for the representatives that will be staying here for the next two weeks.”

“Is there nothing else?” asked Grey, “You have been acting President for some time now.”

Rickhart gave quick pause before saying, “We believe that Mes have stolen evidence relating to enquires into the Shadow. Oh, and Commander Dasch still wants to meet you.

“I suppose I better organize a meeting with some Mr Dasch,” said Grey, “And you Dan get back to, well whatever it is you do.”

“I have a few official protests to prepare,” said Rickhart calmly, “Then I have to greet our first guests this afternoon.”

Rickhart folded up the paper and passed it back to President Grey. “And I suppose I should be doing just that,” said Rickhart as he stood up and walked out.

OOC: I think that sets the scene. This is a character RP (if there are any nations left to RP). To give some timeframe of the RP time; the Parliamentary election was one Sunday. This post occurs on Monday morning. The first guests arrive on Monday afternoon. The highlight, the President’s ball is on the Saturday night. Then on the following Saturday is the Presidential election. The two week period is essentially a huge schmooze and negotiate session; or at least what it is supposed to be.

The twists and turns however shall remain secret for now.

The SGC of Northern Colonies, Col. Jonathan O'Brien fixed his tie, and then he took it off and fixed it again. He suffered from a mild case of Obessive Compulsive Disorder, which nowadays, did not affect his routine.

He walked out after fixing his tie 5 times. An aide walked past to give him some files. He went back to his room and dumped the files on the table. He then walked out and went into the diner. His wife, Marge O'Brien, joined with him on the table.

"Hi, honey," she said.
"Hi," replied the SGC, giving her a slight kiss on the cheek. "How's it going."
"Yea, good," came the reply. "You know it's our 40th anniversary when we get back from Farmina."
"Yea I know," the SGC said. "Let's make it special."
"What, you mean like sex?" She giggled.

______________________
The trip to Farmina took at least 29 hours, and they had at least 4 hours to go. The SGC used the time wisely to finish his work. He then red the newspaper. The major headline, was the Moralist's Party landslide victory over the Socalists.

"Good on them," he replied. "It reminded him of his own election, although elections for Governors and SGCs prohibited political parties from being invovled.

________________________
The plane was nearing landing, and the captain of the aircraft began his radio call

"Farmina ATC, this is Colonial One, inbound from Freedom City, requesting permission to enter base for landing, full stop."

It has been a couple of weeks since the battle between the two factions occured. His command base is still located at the airport with about 2,000 troops standing guard in the area. The rest of the forces have been withdrawn to the carriers sitting in international waters. But they have been given orders to hold position, because Dasch knew something is bound to happen, but what it was he didn't know yet, but he still wanted to keep his hand, instead of folding like the rest of the assisting nations.

The parts of the submarine had been recovered from the wreckage, along with a few documents in a case that somehow were saved from destruction. It said a lot of information that would be very important to Farmina, and revealed important information about the Shadow, yet shopping short of who they were. It did tell them who manufactured the particular submarine, which he would give President Gray as soon as he met with him.

He knew that they probably already knew that they hid the evidence from them, but in order to get a step closer to understanding the whole scheme of things, he knew it was a risk he had to take.

"What are you thinking about Dasch?"

Force Commander Alex Donald's voice startled Dasch from his train of thought. "I'm just distracted...this whole war, we could have been fighting for the wrong team."

"Let me remind you," Alex says, "That this war seemed to have two bad sides. If either or won, it would be just as bad as the other."

"...You're right," Dasch says quietly. "At least the country seems relatively stable at the moment."

An ensign walks up to the two Force Commanders. "Sir, I have a message. They are holding a ball at the palace, and they have an open invitation to us."

Dasch looks up. "Excellent, thank your ensign." The ensign salutes, and walks away.

"Are you going to go?" Alex says to Dasch.

"Of course I am. Perhaps I could meet President Grey there, and ask him some serious quesitons." Dasch pauses. "Could you tag along, and have some of our defensive contingent wait near the palace in case something happens to us?"

"Sounds good." Alex replies. "I'll also send two of our bodyguards along just in case..."

Monday 12:30pm

The wind was blowing harshly in the small city of Sandrias, a couple of hundred kilometers south of Verica, the capital of Farmina. Jamie Palmer walked across the empty road taking a secret lunch break, thinking “It will be a cruel winter; typical of life under the Moralists.”. He wore a casual black suit, buried under a long grey coat. His distinctive red hair was purposely hidden within a grey beanie. His eyes sat behind the protective black glass of his sunglasses. A long red scarf wrapped around his neck; removing it from view.

The door of the internet café chimed; as the Liberal Block leader pushed open the door. “By God, may I not be recognized,” he prayed silently; rubbing a gloved hand across his face, which had been subject to highlighters and other light cosmetics to distort his distinctive features.

Quickly he proceeded over to a computer unimpeded and began feeding coins into machine. Within the minute he was online and typing in the web address. A mouse click brought him to the log on screen; where he entered the chat room with the screen name “hat”.

Within minutes the secure chat room became alive:

Hat has signed in.

Hat:
The defeat was shocking.
Puppeteer:
Glad you could make it.
Hat:
Did I risk my life to here that?
Puppeteer:
You do overstate the case. The Moralists don’t even know who I am.
Hat:
But if they do find out, and then discover our connection, I will be strung up.
Puppeteer:
There’s no crime against knowing lecturers.
Hat:
Its not your lecturing career that worries me. Are you sure this room is secure?
Puppeteer:
As secure as possible.
Hat:
Will there be a ‘shadow’ tomorrow?
Puppeteer:
The next ‘shadow’ will not be of fire; it will aide our grab at the Presidency. And there shall be a ball involved.
Hat:
We are still going after the Presidency? Even after the Parliamentary disaster.
Puppeteer:
Of course, and this time Socialists and Labour won’t get in our way. We need to stick to our plan. Fear will be our weapon. An all-powerful Moralist government will worry the people. They just need all the right prodding and probing; and before long they will be hunting for an alternative to Tobias Grey. Mr Palmer will just have to be conservative enough to convince the public he is one of them.
Hat:
Yes Mr Palmer will have to continue to show off his conservative credentials. But are you sure this will be enough. So continue with the plan, no new instructions?
Puppeteer:
None, the Parliamentary loss was expected. I shall be watching you at the President’s ball.
Hat:
Send the virus.

Receiving file…100%

Hat has signed off.

With that Jamie Palmer closed the window, stood up and left; as the entire computer’s hard drive was quickly wiped; leaving no evidence what the leader of the opposition had been doing.

Monday 1:10pm
To Commander Dasch

President Grey understands that you have be insistent to meet him. A meeting tomorrow at ten o’clock has been arranged. You shall meet the President in the secondary conference room. The Lord President insists on your presence.

Office of the President
The White Palace

Monday 1:22pm

“Colonial One, this is Verica Control,” said the officer in control tower, “You have permission to land on runway three. And Chancellor Rickhart here sends his personal welcome.”

Dasch lies down on his bed inside his cabin in the large command aircraft. He holds onto a v-fold screen, which has the latest news, and secret MES transmissions viewable through it. It's held like a book, so to the average person, it would look almost like he was enjoying a novel.

Bzzt.

A sudden doorchime startles Dasch. He looks up towards the door. "Enter."

An ensign walks in. "Sir, President Grey has a meeting set up with you for 10:00 hours tomorrow. He is insistive that you come."

Dasch swivels so his feet sit on the floor, and he sits up. "Well it's about time!" Dasch says in minor irritation. "He's insistive? I'm probably more insistive than he is..."

The soldier stands there. "Will you be attending?"

Dasch smirks back. "If this weren't the military, and your question wasn't protocol, I'd call you a moron. Yes I will be attending."

The soldier grins. "Yes, sir!" He walks out of the room.

Dasch lies back down. I will finally meet the SOB. Hopefully he is as good as he is on camera; otherwise this trip was for nothing. If he has any sense of intelligence, then he should be more easier to talk to than Rickhart. He mutters at the thought of Rickhart. I still think he's a traitor.

--------

The next morning, Dasch climbs out of bed. He stands up, changes, and walks out of his cabin. He walks right into Alex, who was just walking out of his cabin. "Sleep well? he asks.

"Not at all. Dasch says quietly. "This whole situation is making me nauseous. I have a bad feeling about this meeting, but it has to be done."

Alex puts his hand onto Dasch's shoulder. "Don't worry, I'll go with you Dasch. If anything happens, I'll be there to back you up. Besides, I'll have our bodyguards with us."

"Thanks," Dasch replies. "Alright, let's get moving. Bring the evidence with us, and store it in one of our APC's. We can bring the paper evidence with us inside to the meeting. Perhaps this can be both a gesture of goodwill and a way to find out what the hell is going on."

OOC: I have you on my MSN, at thelegacy@gmail.com. Add me if you haven't Farmina. I want to get the meeting RP'd, as I expect it to be complex to do otherwise.

The plane landed without a hitch. The SGC, and his wife walked out of the aircraft, with his bodyguards (the 39th Governor's Own Grenadiers Regiment of Defence) in a line around the SGC. The Commander of his security team, Captain Mark Whitely, saluted him, as per tradition. The SGC walked back as his marched forward towards the waiting Farminan dignitaries.

Dan Rickhart flanked by a handful of black-shirts approached the landed plane. His gray hair was combed back; his eyes hidden by a pair of small sun glasses. He wore a deep black suit, clearly expensive; covered by large, long black coat. The only colour to the tall aging man, was the small portion of his blue shirt that was showing, and the even smaller portion of his red tie.

“Colonel O’Brien,” said Chancellor Rickhart, in a mood that verged on cheerful, moving forward with his hand out for the shaking, “We have a limousine waiting to take you to your quarters, just this way. I personally oversaw that you would be staying in it the White Palace itself.”

The SGC returned the handshake, quite firmly.

"Actually, my title is just 'Your Most Excellence'. I haven't worn a army uniform, for, what 20-odd years," he replied, cursing at Alexander Peters for not sending in the right title. "I have a longer, more formal title as well, be I won't tell you for now."

The SGC and his wife walked to the awaitng limousine and went in.

"I trust that my security detail would be allowed to tag along?"

OOC: My MSN is david8590@hotmail.com, if you need me.

“There will be certain constraints placed on your detail once you reach the palace,” said Rickhart, “All your luggage will be sent there. I suggest once you arrive you rest up. Many activities are planned, and some unplanned for the coming days.”

The Chancellor nodded to one of his black-shirt guards who opened the door on the waiting limo, “I believe you have met Rellian Peters; he shall be attending the ball.”

OOC: I'll be waiting on MSN for you for the character RP meeting.

OOC: Ok.

IC: The SGC, and his wife sat on the chair of the limo. "Yes, I have," he replied to that question. "Good chap too," he added.

The limo started moving towards the white palace.

OOC: I'll be waiting on MSN for you for the character RP meeting.

I will be on MSN till I go to bed; and on again at 23:30GMT.

The SGC, and his wife sat on the chair of the limo. "Yes, I have," he replied to that question. "Good chap too," he added.

The limo started moving towards the white palace.

Dan Rickhart had an overwhelming temptation to ask if they were talking about the same Rellian Peters; but decided against it.

The limo stopped at the White Palace. Jonathan got out of the door and was amazed at it's beauty.

"Looks pretty good, Dan,' he said.

“The very finest,” said Rickhart, stepping out of the limo, “Built under the tyrant Justinian. He ordered the most massive amount of marble to build this palace. Hundreds of billions of dollars spent. We are still trying to pay off the bill. Your quarters are on the third floor, Jefferies here will show you the way; I have other business to attend to, I suggest you rest. Tomorrow, a trip to Casino Farmina is planned for you, and perhaps a tour of Verica. Anyway, goodbye sir; if there is anything just call.”

"Ah, Ok," said the SGC. He got into the room and unpacked his gear.

Tuesday 9:00am
The faint smell of burnt flesh wafted through the East Verica house. Farmina’s psychopath had struck again…

---

The black-shirt by the name of Alex Jefferies, gave the SGC’s door a brief knock. “Your excellence, I must inform you the Chancellor Rickhart won’t be available for breakfast; he left early this morning. President Grey ate rather early as well I’m afraid. Perhaps you could order something up? After that I can take you around the palace, or perhaps into Verica.”

---

Jamie Palmer adjusted his tie ever so slightly, waiting for the last stragglers to gather. “Just go with the plan,” he thought to himself, “Its not like the Puppeteer has miscalculated before.”

He tried to exclude the one fateful exception from that. Not the Parliamentary election; the Puppeteer had known full well that bitter divisions within the Liberals and the unstable alliance with the Socialists would be destructive. No this wasn’t the horrid miscalculation Jamie Palmer was trying to forget. “How could anyone of foreseen what Tobias Grey did to Justinian? Drugging an emperor is exceptional, unprecedented. Such outliers are once off.” Despite telling himself all that; he still lacked confidence in the plan, especially considering it meant trusting a man with connections to the Shadow. “I’m working with a terrorist,” thought Jamie Palmer, “Now that’s one to ruin the election.”

Nonetheless, he knew he had to proceed, regardless of the Puppeteer’s previous miscalculations and his terrorist connections. More than enough time had been spent on stragglers; he stepped up to the podium.

As usual the family value groups had turned up with big placards to heckle him again. “Can’t I give one blasted speech without one of these Moralist stooges not yelling ‘Think about the children.’”
That however was the problem with mud it stuck badly. Jamie Palmer was now going to throw around some of his own.

“Fellow Farminans; the Parliamentary defeat came as a shock, but not a set back. The Farminan people are now faced with a simple choice: an aging president, who fumbles, miscalculates, and is responsible for the deaths of millions or a younger more dynamic leader, who will end the atrocities once and for all, a leader who won’t abuse his position, but use it for the good of the people.”

“PERVERT,” yelled someone in the crowd.

“I should point out, this is not a battle over legislative agendas. The Moralists have control of the Parliament, and I accept this to be the end of the story. It is now how the law is executed that is up for debate. Clearly current policy is ineffective. On Sunday, the most gruesome murder I can recall was committed, and what have the Moralists done, nothing!”

There was mild nodding in the crowd to that. “Instead of catching the monster that perpetrated these crimes, the Moralists are to busy pulling FAGS out of their beds and showing off how they are routing out sinners. I say to President Grey, its about time he catch some murders, rather than wasting time on minor violations of the law.” He tried to say fags in the most hateful way; sounding conservative was all part of the plan.

“The country spent two weeks in complete lockdown and still the Moralists provide no coherent explanation. Apparently a terrorist, tried to kill Mister Rickhart and Mister Grey, failing to kill either; but somehow ten thousand other people end up dead.”

“President Grey, could you please tell us why there seemed to be gun battles in the streets. Surely this wasn’t terrorism. Furthermore, would President Grey like to explain to the Farminan public, what are you doing to ensure these terrorists; who apparently had submarines of all things, don’t strike again.”

“President Grey,” said Jamie Palmer reaching his conclusion, in his most certain voice, “Are you actually doing anything honestly or competently?”

With that there was cheering, applauding and more yelling of “Pervert” and “Think about the children.”

"Yes, I would like a bacon and egg Mcmuffin, thanks," said the SGC. His wife nodded contently.
"Oh, and yes, we would want to go around, this palace," said his wife

"Yes, I would like a bacon and egg Mcmuffin, thanks," said the SGC. His wife nodded contently.

"Phowar, what in the hell is that smell?" asked his wife as he took a blanket to cover her nose. "Oh, and yes, we would want to go around, this palace. Just get rid of that smell!"

OOC: The palace isn't in east Verica.

“Mcmuffin?” said the Jefferies a little confused.

Another black-shirt standing guard outside could be heard to say, “Isn’t he Commander Dasch’s right hand man?”

OOC: Joint post by MES and Farmina.

Tuesday 10:00am

The small convoy of a few Flash UAV's, an APC and a few armoured cars rolled up to the palace front gates. Dasch and Alex hopped out of a vehicle and proceed up the stairs.

“I hope this works out," Dasch said in a somewhat nervous tone.

Alex turned his head to Dasch as they walked past a few guarding black-shirts, “It should be fine.”

“No escorts inside,” said one of black-shirts eying the Messians in a cautious but relaxed fashion.

Dasch nodded and told his two escorting guards to leave. They nodded in return and walked back down the stairs.

“This way,” responded the black-shirt. After going through one of the palace’s many metal detectors, he then guided the two men up a flight of the palaces giant stairs, before knocking on a large oak door on the left.

A faint “enter” could be heard, at which the black-shirt opened the door, and waved the two Mes into the room with his gun. Inside, revealed the room to be long, with a long glass table resting in the middle. Around the room stood black-shirts, each armed with their eyes forever watching. At the far end of the table, sat President Tobias Grey typing furiously at his laptop.

President Grey wasn’t a particularly tall man and was beginning to gain weight around the mid-section. He dressed in dark colours and had a small black beard and mustache; that joined to form a circle around his mouth. His face was marked by sadness; to be expected after such recent tragedy. His black hair was greasy. He certainly looked powerful, even commanding; but he did not have the discomforting, dominating presence that Rickhart could bring to a room.

“Commander Dasch and Commander McDonald, finally I get the pleasure,” said Grey standing up; putting out his hand for the shaking; although his face was not one of pleasure.

Dasch walked up and shook Grey's hand. “It's also a pleasure,” he responded, with a similar look, “But we have some major dealings to deal with.”

The three men proceeded to sit, before Grey asked, “Now what has brought you here.”

“A few things,” began Dasch, as he put his briefcase on the desk, “First of all, I assume you already have heard rumors that we took evidence from the Shadow submarines that were sunk in Ricco harbour.”

“Yes, I was curious when we could have that,” responded Grey, a tad dryly.

“Right now,” said Dasch as he opened up the briefcase. Inside sat a bundle of documents, that may have at one point in time been rather wet, “And let me explain why we did so.”

After a brief pause, Grey insisted rather aggressively, “Well be on with it.”

Dasch took a breath before speaking, “Since we started this operation to help you maintain your government's control and fought your enemies, I have dealt with Chancellor Rickhart a lot. And for some reason, he has no trust for us. And something about him...I could almost feel it when talking to him. I felt that he should not be trusted, and that is why I wanted to speak with you instead. Especially since you were the one who was being lined up to be assassinated. And from how it happened, I could almost call it an inside job. I felt that you were the most trusted person I could speak with in your government.”

“May I point out the Shadow tried to kill Chancellor Rickhart,” said Grey, harshly rejecting the implication that his top lieutenant was a traitor.

“Very true,” Dasch said, “But of course in every terrorist organization, whoever falls out of favor inside the Shadow could always be killed off. But even if he's not a part of the Shadow, I don't know, I just don't trust him. And we need someone to tell us without being hateful of foreigners to tell us what you do and do not want done.”

“I will consider what you have had to say,” said Grey, highly unconvinced, “But Dan was the force behind the Moralist rebirth; and it will take more than vibes to convince me he is a traitor.”

“Completely understandable, and I'm not going to say he's guilty or not. I'm just needed to let you know this because my gut says something, and how he wanted foreigners to stay out of it seemed very dangerous,” responded Dasch, “Isn't it a co-incidence that he was trying to keep our military out of Farmina when your black-shirts were outnumbered by the rebellious military?”

“Do you think we wanted the world to see us on our knees? Don't forget Rickhart lead the final attack, putting the leash back on the military,” pointed out Grey.

“True. I'm just warning you to keep an eye open,” said Dasch, now opening a flap on the suitcase, and takes out a few colour photos. “These are sections from the hull of the sub, with various markings and writing.”

Grey went to grab the photos, but was disrupted by a distinctive rap on the door, to which he said, “Enter Chancellor Rickhart, you were supposed to see me an hour ago.”

Dasch froze, while Alex looks towards the door.

“Mr Dasch,” said Rickhart entering the room, dropping the usual ‘Commander’, “How many times have I asked you to move your forces out of this country? I assumed you were going to do it the first time.”
The taller, thinner, older man took his seat beside Grey, looming over the President and the proceedings generally.

Dasch remains frozen for a split second, then his mind kicks back into gear. “Only 1% of our original force is left in the country, and that's 2,000 troops, us, and the command plane. We wanted to stay here until our business here is done.”

“Cut it down to one hundred by Friday,” responded Rickhart, the sharp lines of his face, distinct and somehow cold, “We can't allow a large foreign presence during the President’s ball.”

“A perfectly reasonable response,” said Dasch, “But I should remind you that there is a psychopath loose, not to mention terrorists. I have an alternative if you wish to listen.”

“Speak,” ordered Grey, looking up from the photos of the submarine.

“We could supply a police force to help you out, and to keep your country's dignity, we can have our officers wear your uniforms, but modified with a red band around one of the arms, so that way you know who’s working with who, and no one's the wiser,” explained Dasch.

“We have plenty of resources,” said Rickhart, “Certainly another 2,000 men will barely help. Its just a matter of catching them when they least expect it; isn't it Tobias.”

“I suppose,” said President Grey, handing Rickhart the photos, “Tell me Dan, is this what I think it is?”

“It does appear to be,” responded Rickhart, realising what Grey meant as soon as he saw the pictures, “That submarine is of Farminan design.”

“What?” Dasch exclaimed in surprise..

“It can't be Farminan make,” said Rickhart, “We accounted for every submarine made in the last twenty years. But it is certainly one of our designs; if with some variation.”

“Perhaps,” Dasch suggested, “That there is an underground arms industry in Farmina, perhaps run by the conservatives?”

“The conservatives are little more than ragtag rebels running from cave to cave in the desert. They would have great difficulty in building a submarine,” said Rickhart.
Grey nodded before adding, “The other submarine we sunk was of Rotovian design; however their government also denies all knowledge.”

“OK. Then they're obviously capturing submarines. That's the only other possibility,” said Dasch.

“And we have managed to keep this a secret from ourselves?” said Grey, “It makes me wonder what the third submarine was. We were working under the assumption that the Rotovians were working with the Shadow; but now that seems less plausible.”

“Back to my original point,” said Rickhart, “Mr Dasch if your troops don't leave Farmina; I shall have them removed by force.”

Dasch gives a dark look to Chancellor Rickhart, “Remember Lord Chancellor, if it weren't for us, you probably wouldn't have recovered the documents in time before they rotted away, you probably wouldn't have had the thrust to the enemy quarters.”

He then looked at President Grey, “And if it weren't for us, there probably wouldn't even be a moralist government.”

Dasch paused before continuing “Now that's been said, yes they will be taken out by the time allotted.”

There is another knocking at the door. “Enter captain,” said the President.
“Lord President,” said Captain Sardo, a black-shirt, “There has been another murder, like the first. I have been sent to oversee the investigation in the name of the government.”

“Thank you for informing me of that,” said Grey, “This brutality may hurt so close to the polls. Thank goodness Jamie Palmer isn’t using this to his advantage yet.”

Captain Sardo was tempted to tell President Grey about Palmer’s last speech; but them remembered the old expression, ‘shoot the messenger.’

“Well I hope you catch the psychopath before much worse happens,” said Dasch.

Grey turned his attention back to the Messians. “I think that’s everything,” said Grey, having accomplished his mission of getting the evidence about the submarine off Dasch.

Meanwhile Rickhart, who was already standing, walked over to Captain Sardo and began a very hushed conversation. Grey flicks eyes over to Rickhart and Sardo, then back to Dasch and then back to the two men. Dasch’s concerns ran were brought to the fore of Grey’s mind.

“By the way Mr. President, the debris recovered is inside our APC outside. One fragment is too large to move on anything except a flatbed, so it is at the airport for your troops to pick up,” said Dasch to the President.

Dasch then leant towards Alex, “How do you think it went?” Dasch asks quietly.

Alex looks towards the men, and looks back at Dasch, “I really don't know.”

The two Messians stand up to leave, as Dasch grabs the suitcase, minus documents.
Rickhart and Sardo finish speaking, as the two Messians approach them.

Grey flicked his eyes to all four men before saying, “Commander Dasch, since your so interested in our investigation, why don't you accompany Captain Sardo to see how we Farminans do things?”

“Sounds like a plan,” Dasch said, walking right up to Rickhart and Sardo.

Sardo gave a displeased look, but simply said, “This way,” and led the Messians away.

Rickhart was quietly furious.

OOC: The palace isn't in east Verica.

“Mcmuffin?” said the Jefferies a little confused.

Another black-shirt standing guard outside could be heard to say, “Isn’t he Commander Dasch’s right hand man?”

"You know, its got bacon and egg in a miffin type bread thing.." siad the SGC, trying to explain a McDonalds term to someone, who had no clue.

Jefferies scurried off and returned half an hour later with eggs, bacon, English muffins and a large jug of orange juice. He entered quietly placing the food on the small table near the door, before scurrying off again.

The SGC took a bite. It wasn't that good, but filled up well. His wife also ate the bacon and egg muffin.

"So when does the tour start?" Asked the SGC's wife.

“Whenever you are ready milady,” said Jefferies, “I live to serve. I suggest we avoid the Palace however. Commander Dasch is coming in sometime today, and that could cause feathers to fly. How about the National History Museum as a good start?”

Tuesday 11:12am

Captain Sardo’s transport pulled up outside what could pass as a regular suburban house; with the exception that blue uniformed police officers were scouring the place and stripped tape restricting entry. The black-shirt Captain opened his door and got out and then opened Dasch’s door, “Lord Commander, I believe we are in for something unpleasant.”

Dasch and Alex nodded. “Believe me,” Alex responded, “Being the head of the army, I have seen it all.”

Captain Sardo then gave his driver a nod to stay where he was and then led the two Messians towards the house, pulling out a card incase anyone dare question him; but few would have the guts to trouble a Moralist black-shirt.

Entering through the open door, Sardo nods at a man in a suit, “Detective Inspector Jason Brand, the investigation head; this is Commanders Donald and Dasch from the Mes.”

Detective Inspector Brand put out his hand to shake those of the Messians, “Lord Commanders, a pleasure under such unpleasant circumstances.”

“A tragedy indeed,” nodded Dasch, “A young child...”

“Thomas Reynolds, a teenager, one year older than the previous victim,” began Brand, “The body was found by the boy’s mother at about nine. She is very upset as you can imagine, a family liaison officer is currently comforting her in her room. She came home from work when she realized she forgot something and found an unusual smell and the back door forced open. She proceeded to the dining room and found the body, after which she called for help. The killer must have struck after the mother left work; and considering our man does a complete job, I’d say he may have known an exact timeframe. The surprise arrival of the mother may have interrupted him.”

“Can we see the body?” asked Captain Sardo.

“I’d rather we didn't,” said Brand, “The forensic investigators say he is a big mess.”

“Now,” said Sardo.

Reluctantly Brand said, “This way.”

“Coming?” Sardo asked the two commanders.

“Yes we will,” Dasch replied.

Inspector Brand abruptly pulled a handkerchief out of his pocket and placed it over his face. Captain Sardo took cue and did the same.

Dasch noticed them do this. “Any reason for this?” he asked, wondering if he should do the same.

“The smell” responded Brand, “I could smell it from out here before they set up all the air-fresheners. Won't do much good in there though.”

Dasch nodded and both Force Commanders covered their noses. Brand walked through the kitchen and then hesitantly opened the final door before stepping through. Sardo quickly followed him in. Dasch walked into the room next and could see the corpse. The bulky corpse of a once muscular lad reeked of its own burnt flesh. The corpse lay flat on its back on the dining table, its legs the held in the air by ropes tied to the light fitting. More ropes, some more burnt than others, once bound the boy in place, to hold him still during the suffering. Other ropes held the arms, stretched across the table. The once white skin bore huge patches of black. More patches of skin had been carved off with a knife and placed in a vase, sitting next to the boy’s head. His face was torn apart, eyes, ears, the tongue and the hair all missing. The belly also bore a large slash, where organs sat in the open. The insides had been clearly hacked at, with malicious intent. Dasch had seen such brutality before, but it was on the battlefield, not in someone's home.

Doctor Peters, chief of the many forensic staff scouring the room walked over and gave a brief bow, “Someone has made a mess.”

Brand took several seconds to stare at the body before running out the room; to be heard vomiting in the kitchen. Dasch felt sick, but Donald seemed to have no problem, perhaps because of his decades of battlefield experience. “That's disgusting,” Dasch muttered.

Alex nodded in agreement, “When you constantly see bodies split in half by an artillery shell, you've almost seen it all.”

He paused, before continuing, “...Almost. Now...I have.”

“Actually we haven't seen it all,” said Doctor Peters, “We are still looking for several organs, including the kidneys and the eyes.”

Donald blinked. “Do you have any clues yet to who may have done this?” Dasch asked.

“A man,” said Doctor Peters, “That’s obvious.”

Brand returning to the room; now trying to cover his nose with a thick wash cloth, asked, “Why tie his feet to the light fitting?”

Dasch looked at the lifeless body, and thinks about life back in Militia Enforced State. He was glad that the military and the police, as well as well-designed social system keep his nation safe. “The kid can't be more than 18 years old,” he said, “I want that bastard to pay for this, and I'm saying this as a bystander.”

“The guilty always pay,” responded Sardo, “And in Farmina they pay more.”

“I'm glad,” Dasch says. “Is your criminal system here similar to ours, with the major crimes 'equal punishment' punal system? Because if not, I have no problem injecting this kind of pain into this son of a bitch.”

“In Farmina the guilty pay, the punishment more than compensates the crime,” said Sardo dispassionately, “We make sure the guilty feel the evil of sins many times over.”

“Mr Brand, you were asking about why tie the legs up,” said Doctor Peters, trying to change the subject.

Doctor Peters walked up to the body on the dining table, “Notice the raising of the legs, puts the body at a strong bend, I can now stand here and have easy access to the body, if you wish to put it that way.”

“Oh...” said Brand.

Dasch shuddered at the thought.

“Thats not nearly the worst of it,” said the white covered man, picking up a small device in an evidence bag.

Dasch turns his head towards the white covered man, “What's the worst?”

“His organs were probably removed while he was still conscious, and this didn't help,” he said, passing the four men the device.

“What is this device?” Dasch asked, as the device is placed into his hand.
“Pain amplifier,” said Captain Sardo, “Small one though. Big ones cover the entire body; this one is small enough just to insert. They generate a fluctuating electric current, purely to cause pain.”

“Where was it found?” asked DI Brand.

Doctor Peters responded, “You don't want to know.”

“Oh...” said Brand, “I must stop asking these questions.

“That's disgusting,” Dasch added.

Dasch looked to the side in disgust. “How I would LOVE to torture the bastard,” he muttered.

“I think I've seen enough torture,” said Brand, looking a little faint again.

Alex noticed the look on Brand's face, “You should take a moment outside. You look incredibly pale.”

“I'll be fine,” he said weakly, “The only way to stop seeing these corpses is to find the monster doing this.”

Dasch looked back, “Is there anything we can do to help?”

“You guys might want to see this,” yelled out one of the other forensic investigators kneeling over the body.

“What?” asked Doctor Peters.

“I found an irregularity in the throat,” said the forensic investigator, “I’ve managed to remove it.”

He held up a small bag containing a pair of mildly damaged eyes, “It seems our killer has a sense of creativity, making the victim swallow his own eyes.”

“Lovely,” said Brand, “Excuse me for a moment.”

He walked backed into the kitchen; and again began to vomit, before returning shortly. “Well I think we can just wait for the forensic report. Captain, perhaps you would like to search the victim’s room?”

Brand then left the room in a hurry.

“I suppose you two would like to have a hunt and gather,” muttered Sardo, “Heh, I don’t know the way however. Perhaps we should call Mr Brand back in here.”

“Will do,” Dasch responded, “However, we aren't trained for major forensics work, so if you wish, we can send some of our own forensics teams to help you.”

“DI Brand,” called Sardo, “Could you come in here?”

Brand sluggishly returned to the dining room, “What?”

Captain Sardo asked, “Which way to the boy’s room?”

“Through the kitchen, into the living room, upstairs, second door on the left,” said Brand, “No sign our killer went up stairs; so we don’t need a white coat search.”

“I suggest we go,” said Sardo, “No matter how much forensics interests me, it can be harsh on the belly.”

To this comment, Brand hurried back to the kitchen. Sardo followed after him in a more leisurely pace. Dasch nodded to Alex and then followed Sardo first into the kitchen, then past Brand up the stairs and through the second door on the left as required. Inside was a very standard teenager’s room: desk on one side, bed on the other, a TV, some shelving and a wardrobe, not to mention a general mess. Sardo realised he no longer needed the handkerchief and removed it from over his nose. He then reached into his black jacket and pulled out two rubber gloves which he put on his hands.

“Gloves Commanders,” he said, pulling out a small box of once use plastic gloves

Dasch nodded in affirmative, “Thank you”.

As he grabed a pair, and puts them on, Donald followed suit.

“Do you know anything about searches?” asked Sardo.

“Some,” Dasch responded, “I know about checking for fingerprints, and looking for any types of evidence that may be hidden inside of things.”

“Checking for finger prints is more what the labcoats are doing down stairs,” said Sardo, “Since there is no sign the murderer came up here they aren’t really needed, there shouldn’t be any forensic evidence to find. But be careful, all the same.”

“We are looking for connections or similarities between the victims,” added Sardo, clarifying the objective.

Dasch checked on top of the desk and noting a large book on it. He looks closely at it, but dismisses, “What notable traits did the last victim have?” he asked.

Sardo looks puzzled, “I don't actually know. DI Brand will but. No doubt he shall check up on us shortly. Young, err, male, appearance conscious.”

Sardo then walked over to the bookshelf, and moving quickly to what appeared to be a diary. “These are always a good start,” said Sardo, “Do you have a guess what to check next?”

Dasch thought for a moment, “First...are there any similarities at all? Such as age, athletic ability, interests, social status, ethnicity?”

“Well I don't now about interests,” said Sardo, “Although I shall soon,” giving the diary a little wave, “Both Paul Sanderson and Thomas Reynolds were middle class, similar aged Farminans. Now Commander Dasch, show us how clever you are, where should we be searching next?”

“Check the desk,” he said. “I'm acting on a hunch.”

“That would be my third place,” said Sardo, “But if we are missing something, it is being hidden; where? Now if a teenage boy had something secret, where would be hide it?”

Dasch grins, “I remember those days. I hid a girl magazine under the bed, in between the mattresses. That way my mom would never find it, unless of course she was changing the actual mattress.”

“Try looking under the mattress,” said Sardo, who was beginning to look into the papery mess on the desk.

Dasch lifted up the mattress, and takes a look. Nothing was between the mattress and the bed frame; however there was something under the bed.

“Found something,” Dasch said.

Sardo walks over, kneels over and looks under the bed, “As usual the victim has something to hide.” He proceeded to pull a out a video camera and a moderate sized white box, with a big pink heart squiggled on it.

After a brief inspection of the video camera, Sardo muttered, “No film.”

“I wonder what it was used for?” he responded, “That’s weird in its own right.”

“Taking video footage,” said Sardo, pointing out the obvious, as he proceeded to open the box, revealing several videos within.

“Put one on,” said Brand entering the room, “I've just had a worrying thought. What if this is all a diversion.”

“A diversion from what?” asked Dasch in curiosity, as he took one a video, looked inside the video recorder to ensure nothing could happen, and puts it into the video recorder.

“The President’s ball,” said Brand, taking a seat on the bed, Sardo joining him there.

“You mean something is planned for the Ball?” Dasch said, “Now I’m really considering that there’s a traitor inside Farmina’s ranks. How else would they even be able to do something there?”

“Interesting point,” said Brand, although Sardo looked far more uncomfortable at the idea.

“I shall suggest to President Grey, that we step up security, again,” said Sardo; although his lack of concern was clear in his voice, “Perhaps we should start the tape.”

Dasch turned on the TV, set the channel to 3, then presses the play button. Vague voices can be heard, but the footage isn't high quality. The video camera appeared to be set on the desk on the other side of the room. Thomas Reynolds can be partly seen. Then another boy enters the scene.

“That’s the other victim,” said Brand, “He certainly looked better before someone slashed up his face.”

“And that’s the connection,” Dasch said.

“The connection,” said Sardo, “Seems to suggest that this isn’t just a diversion.”

The two boys are in and out of frame, returning in frame at one stage, stark naked before beginning to copulate on the bed, albeit very badly framed.

“That’s this bed,” said Sardo, becoming fully conscious of what he was sitting on, stood up and began wiping himself furiously as though he was dirty, “I think, we’ve seen enough of that.”

Brand stood up looking both disgusted and faint.

“This tells me something,” Dasch said, turning off the video, “Obviously this guy greatly believe that that type of thing is very wrong.”

“Assumptions are a folly,” warned Sardo, “Don’t forget that our murderer did the same thing, albeit non-consensual.”

“Very true,” Dasch responded, “Then we should look for other kids who have done such things as this. That way you can protect the public.”

“I shall look into it,” said Captain Sardo, “Although Farmina’s policy on sodomy is very clear. It is a jail-able offense and I’m too young doesn’t cut the mustard in Farminan law.”

“Then although it’s awkward to say so, as I don’t agree with what I’m saying, then you need to crack down on Sodomy with young people, to protect the public from this madman,” said Dasch.

“It would seem so,” said Sardo, “Although the Palmer bastard is causing enough trouble over enforcement of sodomy laws.”

“Then maybe a public announcement?” suggested Dasch.

“Like what? Excuse us but we have a psychopathic murderer on the loose who is killing people we barely admit have a right to exist?” asked Brand.

“Don't be a fool,” said Sardo, “Public policy isn't even your area. We should give all our people this warning; that they could meet grim ends if they continue their perverted ways.”

“Exactly what I was thinking Captain Sardo” said Dasch, “Although I disagree with your wording.”

“We should destroy this here and now,” responded Brand, “Think of the shame we will throw on the suffering families.”

“Hold that thought,” Dasch said, “Evidence? Destroy it later, but not now. It's an important piece of the puzzle, even if it's one we won't look at again.”

“This is a red herring,” insisted Brand, “Allowing this to exist is just to shame the grieving families. This is a decoy from other events.”

“Then we should do one thing first and flip through the other videos. What if the other videos had other kids in them? We could have more victims, or most possible victims that haven't been killed yet?,” said Dasch.

“Good idea,” said Sardo, searching through the wardrobe.

“I think it can wait,” said Brand, flicking through the diary, “I'll have some DCs check these when I get back to the office.”

“Send all potential victims you find to my office,” said Captain Sardo, pulling out a pair of jeans from the wardrobe and holding them up as he inspects them.

“I don't think those will fit you,” pointed out Brand, “And tight pants are just not my thing.”

Sardo chucked the jeans at Brand in a fashion that seemed a strange mixture of annoyance and playfulness. Sardo returned to scouring the wardrobe, when he felt a pair of jeans fall on him.

“So gentlemen,” said Brand, Would you like to enlighten me to your theories? Mastermind or madmen?”

“Do you need foreigners to do you job for you DI Brand?” asked Sardo, returning the jeans to the wardrobe and turning his attention back to the white box.

“I have two theories,” Donald said, “Either it's a psychopath who is a sick pervert who aims for other perverted people to molest and injure, or...”

“Or?” asked Brand.

“...Or maybe I watch too much CSI and I'm paranoid, or it could be a conspiracy plot, a hired torture expert who is killing people to invoke fear to those who break the sodomy laws,” finished Donald.

“That strikes me as plausible,” said Sardo, his attention focused on the bottom of the box, “Much better than Mr Brand's theory.”

“What theory? Donald asked, “The psychopath, or the hired torture expert?”

“Well both are better, than Mr Brand’s,” sniped Sardo.

Brand tried to ignore the comment, looking down into the words of Thomas Reynold’s diary. Sardo quickly slipped his hand into the video box, grabbing a small item hidden within the box’s floor; then turning around to use his body to shield his find. Donald crouched down and looks quietly. Dasch looks towards Brand, keeping the attention away from Donald, as he could tell something was up.

Sardo slipped the object into his shirt pocket before turning around. “I think everywhere has been reasonably searched,” the Captain said, “Perhaps Mr Brand you should send up a few DCs to do a final toothcomb.”

Donand turns his head towards Sardo, and mouths out “We need to talk, outside.”

Sardo gives a small affirmative nod and walks outside. As Dasch watched them leave, Donald showed a small hand gesture; informing Dasch to keep busy. Dasch nodded, and continued to converse with Brand.

Donald walks outside. He says quietly, “What did you grab from the box?”

“Nothing to concern you,” responded Sardo, quietly but harshly.

“But why keep it a secret?” he said back quietly “What is so important that you keep it from your superiors? You can trust me, I'm not working for anyone.”

“It is to preserve a man’s dignity,” said Sardo, “Can we leave it at that?”

Donald nodded, understanding what it probably was, “That's all I need to know.”

As Sardo turned to reenter the room, Doctor Peters emerged at the bottom of the stair well, “Captain, you and the DI better see what we found on the body.”

“Mr Brand,” called out Sardo, “We are wanted in the dining room.”

All four men again proceeded down the stairs and through the kitchen, following Doctor Peter’s to the cadaver.

“Its not the kidneys?” asked Sardo.

“Oh no,” said Doctor Peters, “Our killer feed them to the dog.”

“I won't be having lunch today,” muttered Brand.

Donald almost felt sick, and that was saying a lot. Upon reaching the dining room; Brand and Sardo quickly remembered their handkerchiefs and covered their noses.

“This is what you will want to see,” said Doctor Peters. Gently he lifted the back of the head and pointed to needle marks on the boy’s neck, “We can't tell what’s been injected yet; he could have even done it with a friend or possibly by himself. Just worthy of note. Drugs aren't unknown to teenagers, even in Farmina.”

“Then that’s probably it then,” Donald said quietly, “Even in the MES, we still have it too.”

“We have nearly stamped them out,” said Brand indignantly, “If President Grey hadn’t legalised smoking, I'd be smashing tobacco rings as well. Besides, there was no sign of any drugs in either victim’s room.”

“Well, DI Brand, tomorrow I'll check up on how your going,” said Sardo, “One screw up in this investigation and I'll finish you.”

There was a brief silence. “Well I must be off,” said Sardo, feeling the weight of the object in his pocket, “Do you two want a lift back to the palace?”

“Yes, please,” said Donald.

“If you think of anything, don’t hesitate to visit me gentlemen,” said Brand, “I can always do with some help.”

Captain Sardo glared at the who he considered to be weak DI.

Dasch took one last look at the body, then followed Sardo back to the car.

On the way back, Donald kept wondering what the object that Sardo was carrying was. Sardo said dignity, but it could be a cover-up inside of a cover-up. If something big was happening, Donald hoped he could crack it before the whole situation explodes. The real question was: would it explode in his face?

Upon returning to the White Palace, Sardo got out opened Commander Dasch’s door. “Well I hope you have got some insight,” he said.
A waiting black-shirt hurried over and said to Sardo, “Captain Sardo, Chancellor Rickhart was called away to urgent business in Ricco. He told me to personally inform you he shall see you at the casino tomorrow night so you can conduct your business.”

Sardo gave a small affirmative nod and said nothing more. Donald opened his door, and climbs out. “Yes, it was very insightful,” Donald responding to Sardo’s comment.

But the insight was not positive. He learned enough: he thought the investigator’s were corrupt. Not all of them, but the higher-ups. In any investigation, no matter the dignity, all has to be investigated, yet they choose to destroy evidence, and hide things from others. He had been the only witness to the object that Sardo stole.

And because of that, Donald learned something that Dasch knew all along: some of the high-ups in Farmina were corrupt and something was going to blow up, locally and possibly internationally.

Something was truly wrong.

OOC: Part one of a joint post by Farmina and Northern Colonies.

Tuesday 11:30am

“Welcome to the National History Museum, your Excellency,” said Jefferies, opening the front door; as black-shirt guards swarmed around the SGC and his wife to protect them from anyone wishing them harm.

“Thank you very much,” replied the SGC.

He looked around, and was largely impressed.

“Would you like to see the new established exhibit on the tyrant Justinian? asked Jefferies.

It had only been six months since Justinian's fall, and the rise of the Moralists. No time had been wasted in adding the latest chapter of Farmina’s history to the museum.

“Certainly,” said the SGC, “I'm pretty interested in history. I'm part of the NC History Association, back at home.”

“This way then,” said the black-shirt Jefferies, who took a corridor to the left; more black-shirts rushing forward to push civilians out of the exhibit to make way for the SGC and his wife.

The SGC followed Jefferies the door the corridor into a large white room, anticipating what could the Farminans set up in less than 6 months. Jefferies quickly led the dignitaries to the first exhibit right after the corridor, a golden necklace with a beautiful jewel encrusted pendant on the end, resting in a glass case, “This is...err...Exhibit Master, could you come here?”

“Exhibit Master?” asked the SGC.

An aging overweight man waddled over, “Mr Moralist, sir. Who do you bring?”

Jefferies whispered quietly in the man's ear. The overweight man then looked at the SGC, “Oh, your Excellency, I didn't recognise you. Have you lost weight?”

The person who was apparently the Exhibit Master put out his hand for the shaking.

“No…” replied the SGC. He shook hands with the exhibit master, in his typical firm manner.

“Let me introduce myself, your Excellency, your Ladyship,” said the Exhibit Master, “My name is Samuel Dobberson; this is my exhibit. I was commissioned by the Moralists to build this display you see here and the connecting rooms.”

“I see,” said the SGC, “Go on.”

“Well this here is a necklace,” said the Exhibit Master explaining the case that had quickly stumped Jefferies.

“Even I could tell that, snapped Jefferies.

The SGC had a small giggle, “So what does this necklace do?”

“You wear it,” said the Exhibit Master, “Well actually you look at it; the Lady Kerria wore it before her unfortunate end. And Mr Jefferies could have told that if he read the sign.”

“Lady Kerria?” questioned the SGC, cursing the fact he had not looked up anything about Farminan history before coming.

“The Lady Kerria,” said the Exhibit Master, “If you will follow me.”

Dobberson started walking along the wall to the left, before stopping. The SGC followed him, intrigued.

“This is the Lady Kerria,” Dobberson said, throwing his hands up into the air, stepping backwards, to reveal the massive portrait spanning a huge part of the wall. The picture was of a young woman in her teens, with flowing medium length blond hair. Her body was slim and lacking in curves. She wore a long flowing crimson dress and a necklace, that necklace. Her lips were a luscious red, her eyes a deep blue. Her bust was of health portion, neither large nor small. “She is so very beautiful, isn't she.”

“Yes,” the SGC replied.

“Lady Kerria died at the age of just 16,” said Dobberson, walking over to a cabinet displaying some tattered rope, “She was found bound in these; naked and dead. Her body washed up on the shores of the River Verica. The only identification on her was the necklace, which by some miracle didn’t dislodge from around her neck.”

“I see,” the SGC said.

“A tragic end to such a young life,” said Dobberson, “It is in many ways a reflection of Justinian's own tale. So much promise, so much tragedy.”

“Yea,” replied the SGC. He looked at the portrait again. “Quite the tragedy,” he thought, “Kind of like Queen Anne.”

“Perhaps you should actually tell his Excellency who Kerria actually was,” suggested Jefferies to Dobberson.

“What do you mean?” asked the confused SGC

“Her role in history, in the story of the fallen Justinian,” explained Jefferies.

“This way,” said the Exhibit Master, leading the guests to the next wall, cover in a long collection of photos.

Beginning at the left, he said, “These are the earliest pictures of Kerria we have, aged six. You will notice even in these earlier pictures the presence of a young boy. We were to later come to know him as Justinian.”

“They were friends clearly from an early age,” said the Exhibit Master, stepping to the right, flashing an odd look at the SGC, “As they grew up together, they became closer and closer. The photos show that clearly. They fell in love.”

Moving right the pictures reached the early teens. Justinian and Kerria could be seen regularly hugging, dancing, and kissing.

“If we move further along,” said Dobberson, “We can see Kerria gain the necklace, a present from her Justinian, although no picture of he gift giving is recorded.”

“I see,” said the SGC.

Dobberson walked further to the right, reaching the end of the wall, “These final pictures are Kerria in death. Her tattered corpse and then her funeral.”

“They were to marry, once both came of age,” said Dobberson, “It was truly a great love. They preserved themselves for their wedding night in good Catholic fashion; it never came. The tale of Justinian and Kerria is a Shakespearean tragedy, Farmina's Romeo and Juliet.”

The SGC’s wife, who had remained silent during the tour decided to butt in, “It's a very tragic story. I'm actually an English teacher by profession and I used to teach Romeo and Juliet. This is pretty much a Real-life version.”

Leading to the next wall, Dobberson began to speak again, “To this day, Kerria's killer has never been found.”

He then pointed to a series of frames on the wall, “These are the photos of the most likely suspects; and facts relating to them and their story.”

The SGC pointed to one of them, “Tell me about this guy.”

“That is Chancellor Daniel Rickhart,” said Dobberson, “He was the only suspect without someone to substantiate his alibi. Ironically, he claimed to be home alone reading Hamlet. I’m sure you know, he is currently in charge of foreign affairs, and wasn’t considered a strong candidate. Other suspects include President Grey, Aden Sinders, Maxwell Tried, the serial killer Gabriel Vaughn and Justinian himself. Of course there are the occasional crackpot conspiracies; but these things happen.”

“Someone without an alibi, considered not a strong candidate?” thought the SGC, “Someone must’ve fucked up.”

“President Grey was the main suspect amongst the Moralists,” said Dobberson, “He had the most to gain from destabilising Justinian.”

“Cardinal Tried’s DNA was found under Kerria's finger nails. However he was one of Kerria’s personal tutors,” said Dobberson, “However he had most of the Council of Cardinals support his alibi.”

“Hmm.. the SGC said.

“Gabriel Vaughn actually confessed,” added Dobberson, “But he confessed to every murder ever committed.”

“Go on,” the SGC said encouragingly.

Dobberson pointed the picture of Vaughn, a rather ugly fellow, not to mention unclean, “He hated women. He raped and murdered them. His mother was discovered to be a harlot and him an accident. He believed all women were like his mother. She was in fact his first victim; a messy murder too. Tortured beyond belief. Soon women were turning up all over the place dead. In the end he was caught, and chucked in a vat of acid; but not before he confessed. Not that the DNA evidence wasn’t enough. However Kerria was different as there was no sign of rape. Plus he was busy murdering someone else at the time. He claimed to be at four murders at once.”

“That leaves Justinian,” the SGC replied. “What about him?”

“Justinian,” began Dobberson, “He loved her too much, I believe. His alibi was that he was that he was in a meeting with Mr Brand at the time. Mr Brand verified this.”

“Should we be getting on?” asked Jefferies.

“Yea, yea,” the SGC replied, “So tell me, Mr. Dobberson, how did this affect Farmina?”

Dobberson walked back to where the SGC had entered the room, and stood next to Kerria's necklace. “When this was found, it was Justinian that identified it as the necklace he gave Kerria,” said Dobberson, “Her death destroyed him.”

“Ok…” the SGC said, “Go on.”

“Upon becoming aware of Kerria's death, Justinian had a mental breakdown,” said Dobberson, “Some say this was a trigger for wider pressures to crush him. Whatever the truth; in the end is that Justinian never ruled again.”

“I see,” the SGC said, “We should move on.”

“This way,” said the Exhibit Master, leading his guests away from the fateful necklace and through an archway near the giant portrait of Kerria, into a blue room.

“This room relates to what little we know of Justinian's education,” said Dobberson.

The SGC followed on, with his wife in tow.

“The Grey Catholic Church refuses to release the records relating to where Justinian came from,” said Dobberson, “We no neither his full name or his correct date of birth and neither did he.”

Dobberson walked along the wall, “No matter how the Grey Catholic Church came to possess Justinian, they brought his to this building,” pointing to a series of photos of a massive complex.

“Ok, go on,” said the SGC was definitely intrigued.

“This complex is the Institute for Gifted Children, near Grey Spire, up north along the River Verica,” said Dobberson.
He then pointed to several of the pictures showing the long thin tower in the background, which was apparently the Grey Spire.

“I see,” he said

“This is where Justinian met Kerria,” said Dobberson, “However she was permitted to maintain contact with her past; unlike Justinian who was never allowed to know who he really was.”

“Umm…sounds depressing,” said the SGC.

“Both lived full time in the Institute, where their education and training was pushed beyond all comprehensible limit. However not only were they trained; they were disciplined to obey the will of the Church,” said Dobberson, “It is rumoured that Richard Grey, Tobias’s father was furious when his son; a member of the great Grey line was not allowed in, and yet many lower class citizens were.”

To that comment, the black-shirt Jefferies cast Dobberson a nasty look.

“Yep, go on,” said the SGC.

“The Grey Catholic Church is very secretive about what goes on inside the Institute; it is the source of many conspiracy theories; but evidence just points to a tough program of discipline, mental and physical education,” said Dobberson, walking slowly around the small room; the walls littered with pictures of a young Justinian and the Institute.

“Does this institute still exist?” the SGC asked.

“Indeed it does,” said Dobberson, “Its a few hours up the river; with the big ugly spire looming over it.”

“I see,” said the SGC.

“Now if you look at this,” said Dobberson, “I found this article in old records. 'Justin Simpson wins Gold in Young Olympians'. Look at him, it has to be a young Justinian.”

“So it seems,” the SGC said, after taking a glancing look at the article.

“He would have been about ten at the time,” said Dobberson, “Clearly whatever the Church was doing to toughen him up; it worked.”

“Yep,” the SGC said.

“Do you have anything particular you would like to know?” asked Dobberson, “I am the leading expert on Justinian so ask away.”

“Oh, yes,” he said, almost like a kid wanting lollies, “What happened to him.”

“Now days,” said Dobberson, “He is in Dumpsterdam, after being rescued from his imprisonment. By now he must be 18 and is a ruined shell; a former person; or so reports say.”

“I meant him being removed from rule,” he replied
“His mental breakdown made him completely unfit,” said Dobberson, “This will be seen in coming rooms.”

“I think one of the most important facts here,” said Dobberson walking past a variety of objects, “Is that the special way Justinian was treated: hiding his true identity, the use of an alias in public, the great Professor Walter as personal tutor; it seems the Church always knew that one day he would lead Farmina.”

“Hmm…” said the SGC, “Let's move on.”

“This way,” said Dobberson walking through an archway, “This room relates to the Farmina-Marine war; a result of Operation Brimestone.”

“What was Operation Brimestone?” the SGC asked

“Three, going on four years ago,” began Dobberson, “AMF and its NATO allies launched a massive assault trying to wipe out several RWC nations, including Dumpsterdam.”

“Farmina felt itself in Dumpsterdam’s debt and offered to send military aid,” said the Exhibit Master, walking over to a map of Dumpsterdam, “Not that it was much use. A single shot was never fired on Dumpsterdamian soil. Instead, the Crazed Marines, a NATO ally, set about launching an aerial offensive on Farmina. The Farmina-Marine war.”

“I think the biggest question is, who won?” said the SGC.

“It was a draw,” said Dobberson, walking around the relics of the war, “But that’s not the correct question. What does this have to do with Justinian?”

He then walked up to one illuminated wall, covered entirely in a massive photograph of burning rubble, “This is what. This large structure is the Golden Abbey; these smaller buildings to the east is Abbey village," said Dobberson, "This is the ruins of the first Marine attack. At the time the Golden Abbey was the heart of Farmina, it was from where the Church ruled; this little village the nation's capital. Completely wiped off the map.”

“Ok…” said the SGC.

Dobberson walked further along the wall, to another massive photo, “This charred, shattered wheelchair was all that was left of Farmina’s leader of the era. It was time for Justinian's ascendancy.”

“Ascendancy?” asked the SGC.

“At the age of 15, or there about,” said Dobberson, “With his predecessor’s death, Justinian took control of the Church and Farmina. This was far sooner than planned; but they believed the combination of the institutes training and the guidance and dominance of the Cardinals would see Justinian through.’

“But it didn't?” asked the SGC.

“In many ways Justinian was more of a success than the Cardinals planned,” said Dobberson, “Very quickly he struck the Marine nation badly and brought the war to an end. The Grey Spire became the new center of the Church’s operations, although this was originally planned to be a temporary arrangement.”

“He became celebrated,” continued the Exhibit Master, walking over to photos of celebrations, “And he who responsible for Farmina’s greatest sufferings meet unfortunate end, by Justinian’s word.”

More photos showed the brutal execution of the Crazed Marine, General Blivx.
He walked away from the walls, and pointed to several glass cases containing burnt body parts, “General Blivx, rests here, in pieces.”

“Jesus Christ, don't you guys bury those things,” the SGC’s wife said.

The SGC continued as normal, “Who was General Blivx?”

“A Crazed Marine General, who ordered the attack that killed Justinian’s predecessor; then tried to use Ebola and herbicide, on Farmina’s people and her crops,” said Dobberson, “A man unworthy of our soil. And ma-am, could I ask you mind your language; we have public decency laws here, you know.”

“My apologies,” the SGC said, “I'm assuming we have diplomatic immunity.”

Jefferies gave a small affirmative nod.

The SGC continued, “He must be a horrible man.”

“He’s not any trouble these days,” said Dobberson.

“Obviously” responded the SGC.

“Shall we continue, or does the war particularly interest you?” asked Dobberson.

“Yes, of course continue,” he started. “I'm just ex-military, so still have that thing.”

“The next room,” said Dobberson walking along, black-shirts scurrying after him, “Relates to Justinian great reforms. Or rollbacks, depending on your view point.”

Ok, said the SGC.

This room was smaller than the previous, “This is when Justinian to came to his prime,” began Dobberson, “And created the Farmina seen today. Within six months of taking lead of the Church, he fractured the current system and declared himself Emperor. The Cardinal’s had lost control of him; and he ensured they wouldn’t again. His popularity after the victory in the war made him untouchable to the Church. What caused those with unchallenged power for generations to be trumped by a boy is unknown? The observers knew that this was one special boy.”

Dobberson now walked nowhere in particular, “Justinian began a massive campaign of economic liberalisation; Farmina's Margaret Thatcher. Unions were brought to heel, industry deregulated and trade barriers abolished. Debate still continues to this day on his actions.”
“Ok,” he said, “Sounds like where we are heading. Still, did this do something to Farmina?”

“Massive economic growth,” said Dobberson, “Here we have graphs showing improving production, trade and income. But on these graphs here you can see the other effect massive wealth disparity. The poor were getting left behind.”

“I see,” he replied, “I believe we are a heavily socialist century, so I don't think it will happen to us.”

“Unless you get your own Justinian who wants to go around changing things,” said Dobberson, “But this wasn't the end. Drinking and gambling were both legalized on small scales. But change had to be the transferal of real legislative power to the Elected Councils; which were massively simplified.” Dobberson moved towards a document labeled, ‘Council Reconstruction Declaration.’

“[I]The Declaration basically covers the hundreds of Councils that existed in Farmina into two Councils, the Grand Council and the Council of Provinces. Obviously the Provincial Councils were kept in place; but that’s a different story.”

“That usually cuts the bureaucracy out,” the SGC noted.

“Part of Justinian’s plan,” said Dobberson, “But all his changes put a lot of noses out of joint. Complaints came from the left and right. His advisors suggested he hold back; but he would have none of it. He went ahead full speed; and his fall was as sudden as his rise.”

“The next part of the story is in here,” said Dobberson, entering the next room.

“Welcome to the most important election in Farminan history,” said Dobberson.

Throughout the walls sat TVs displaying new feeds from that one fateful election.

“With so many noses Justinian and his Conservatives had disjointed; the election result saw the Parliament split; with the Socialists and Moralists ripping huge chucks out of the former Conservative majority,” explained Dobberson, pointing to diagrams showing the shifting balance of power.

“I see…” he said.

“Justinian formed a new government,” the Exhibit Master continued, “The Moralist-Conservative Coalition. On this wall you can see the pictures of major government officials; including Daniel Rickhart; Chancellor for Foreign Affairs. It was a time of great disturbance; with the sitting Grand Chancellor Peter Vernis, being dismissed and replaced by Thomas Goth.”

“Within weeks, Dan Rickhart would be sent to his short lived exile in Krioval and Tobias Grey would become the new leader of the Moralists. He quickly moved to force Justinian to form a new coalition; with Grand Chancellor Grey at the helm,” said

“I see,” the SGC said, “I'm going to assume something went sour with this coalition.”

“After Justinian fell ill,” said Dobberson, “Chancellor Goth continued to tow the Conservative line; however the Grand Chancellor, our great President, felt this wasn't government policy. Justinian was in no fit state to make a ruling as head of the executive. Grey claimed that made him in charge. Goth argued that Grey was limited to the powers the Emperor had explicitly granted.”

“And a Constitutional crisis was insured,” said the SGC.

‘Exactly,” said Dobberson, “First, the Conservative-Moralist Coalition collapsed. The matter was brought before the Grand Court; which is responsible for all matters of constitutional law. The Grand Court ruled in favour of Grey, stating that he was the Emperor in Temporal; the Emperor for the Emperor; and thus he was given the power he required. Within a day, every Conservative Chancellor was sacked.”

“I see,” the SGC said again.

“You tend to see a lot,” said Dobberson, walking across the room, “This was the new government; a three way coalition; Moralist-Labour-Militarist. The era of Farmina's long reigning Conservatives had finally come to an end.”

“What happened to the conservatives?” asked the SGC.

Jefferies gave a worried look; but was distracted by his phone ringing.

“Shall we come to that later?” asked Dobberson.

“Alright…” he replied, concerned there might have been something they were not giving away.

“Shall we continue to examine the time of the rebalancing?” asked Dobberson, “Or would you like to see more about Justinian the person.”

“Let’s move on.”

Dobberson lead the delegates into the next room, which at first sight appeared to be a throne room.

“A throne, what is this exhibit about?” asked the SGC.

“This is about Justinian himself, the room modeled on Justinian’s throne room,” said Dobberson, “[I]No element of history; its just about a young boy, albeit a young boy who ruled Farmina for less than three years."

“Ok,” he said, “Go on.”

“This throne is Justinian’s throne, the very same one that Justinian sat upon in the White Palace,” said Dobberson, “I’m assuming you have visited the White Palace.”

“His Excellency is staying at the White Palace,” said Jefferies, putting away his mobile.

“Yes, I am,” confirmed the SGC, “However, we haven't had a tour of the Palace yet.”

“Well most of the old throne room is here,” said Dobberson, “And I shalln't bother telling you all about the White Palace itself; other than like so many things; Justinian over saw its construction.”

Dobberson walked over to one of the walls, where a large painting of Justinian hung, "This is the Emperor in his prime. Fit, well groomed, intelligent and properly suited. Very fine white dinner suit. In that suit is an exhibit here; as is nearly his entire wardrobe.”

“Nice,” replied the SGC.

“You notice here that there are many paintings and photos of Justinian,” said Dobberson, walking slowly around the “throne” room’s walls, many of the pictures having Justinian only half dressed, “He was in the public eye, and in that eye as many things, as a politician, a role model, a state’s men, a sportsman, an orator, a man of God and a passing fancy for young women. Such a healthy young man, such tragic tale.”

“Of course,” added Dobberson, “We are all much happier under the Moralists and their more equitable policies; but it is a tale of a young life being destroyed. Actually it is the tale of thousands of lives being destroyed.”

“As I said, Justinian was a student of the finer things,” said Dobberson, walking amongst a collection of Justinian's personal belongings, “A fine palace, fine suits, fine wine, fine music, even fine underwear. He even had an orchestra, so he could listen to classical music before bed.”

“He did!” the SGC cried out in exclamation, “Rich Bastard.”

“Nothing was too good for Justinian; he lived as good as any Emperor,” said Dobberson.

“More like a rich snob,” he spat out. Returning to his calm attitude, he began to speak, “Go on…”

“He also made jazz popular in Farmina,” said Dobberson, “You no doubt will here it at the President's ball.”

“I love jazz,” replied the SGC, “Got a soft tone to it.”

“And White,” said Dobberson, “He immersed himself in White.”

“White?” he asked, confused, “I don't get what you mean.”

“His suits, his Palace, the Imperial Guard were called the White Guard,” said Dobberson, “White was the banner of the Emperor. A colour of purity and hope.”

“And I guess the black shirts are a complete opposite,” said the SGC.

Jefferies gave a cruel look to that comment. Dobberson however answered, “In many ways; the fall of the Conservatives and rise of the Moralists; did see black and white clash. But once they were allied colours.”

“As in?”

“After the collapse of the Conservative-Moralist coalition, when the Conservatives realised the game was up, they, the Dumpsterdamians and the White Guard resolved to go down fighting; one last time.”

“I see,” he said, “Go on.”

“The Conservatives made their stand in the city of Aston. The military, supported by Moralist enforcers moved on the city. It was a massacre, even after the Dumpsterdamians and the White Guard through their weight into the fight. The city itself is merely a pile of rubble. Now where was I,” said Dobberson, before changing the topic, “Shall we go onto the Carnival.”

Dobberson proceed through one archway and then another, into a room filled with imagery of horrific deaths. “Welcome to the Carnival.”

“Some Carnival,” he said, shocked. He wife, gave a shrieked look, but did not say anything.

“This is the moment that Justinian is always associated with; Farmina’s great Carnival,” said Dobberson, “The brutal massacre of about 700,000 Socialists; men, women and children alike.”

“What was this carnival, celebrating?” asked the SGC.

“The death of 700,000 Socialists,” said Dobberson, now clearly moving fast, brushing over vital facts, especially the Moralist involvement in the Carnival, “It was a mass application of the death penalty; so Justinian decided to make a show of it. One thing I say for the boy; he never did things by halves, even though most of the time he should.”

Dobberson pointed to one wall; showing Socialists having to box professional boxers to death. Others showed other creative variations on the death penalty, for public entertainment.

“Barbarians!” the SGC’s wife exclaimed in shock.

“You are not the first to say,” said Dobberson, “It was something that never left Justinian. This event would forever be his burden; and no doubt a factor in his eventual downfall. International condemnation and war. That’s what Justinian brought. The nations of the world moved against us.”

“And surely, you were smacked to bits,” predicted the SGC.

“Thankfully no,” said Dobberson, “We had friends, we had aggression and had the sharp tongues of Justinian and Thomas Goth. Many nations chose not to fight. The remainder were beaten by our forces. But Justinian made the solemn oath to never allow this to happen again while his empire stood. If fact the whole situation allowed one of the aggressor nations to be made a democracy.”

“New Kingdom,” said Dobberson, “The dictatorship was crushed by Farmina and Wolfish and an elected government was installed. Justinian claimed that his democratic intentions proved his value.”

“Yet he slaughtered 700,000 people…” said the SGC, “So when did the coup d'état happen.”

“Over half a year later,” said Dobberson, “When the light of his life, Kerria, turned up dead. Of all the things that destroyed him, it was love.”

“How many died?”

“None,” said Dobberson, “Other than Kerria that is. Justinian would spend the next four months under house arrest for Crimes against Farmina.”

“None?” asked the SGC.

“None,” said Dobberson, “Justinian was confined without resistance. His mental state meant that confinement was required, and left him isolated from his former allies; time was up.”

“Was he diagnosed with any diseases? Schizophrenia perhaps?” suggested the SGC.

“Nothing,” responded Dobberson, “Except depression, understandably.”

“Perhaps you would like to hear the tale’s final chapter,” said Dobberson.

“Sure,” confirmed the SGC.

“This way,” said Dobberson leading on, “Here is the conclusion. Justinian’s great escape.”

Dobberson walked up to a model of the White Palace, “Justinian was confined here. Then on one warm summer’s day, the Dumpsterdamians decided to break him out. Hundreds were left dead on both sides, as brutal battles were fought along here and here. In the end, they escaped with the failed emperor; but never managed to rescue his hope or his soul.”

“So where is he now,” asked the SGC.

“Dumpsterdam,” said Dobberson, “Or so they would have us believe. Its plausible that they are telling untruths.”

“And that’s what this room tells the tale of,” concluded Dobberson, “How Dumpsterdam managed to outsmart mighty Farmina. The end to a tragic tale, perhaps time will write us another chapter. Any questions; on anything.”

“No,” the SGC said, “Not at the moment, anyway.”

“Well I think that’s all the rooms of interest,” said Dobberson, “It is getting late; and I have a delivery from the Farmina wars I need put into an exhibit.”

“Ok,” he said, “Well, I must say, thank you Mr. Dobberson, for a very interesting tour.”

“My pleasure,” responded the overweight Exhibit Master, who then scurried off to look at his new treasurers.

“Ok, so when do we get back home,” asked the SGC.

“Now if you want,” said Jefferies.

“Ok, now please,” responded the SGC.

“This way,” said Jefferies, leading the two Colonists to a waiting limo.

Wednesday 9:00am

The sound of Mozart quietly wafted through the wood paneled office. President Tobias Grey sat in front of his laptop, reading the email from Rickhart silently, cigarette in mouth. A rap at the door disturbed him and he simply said, “Enter.”

The door opened and Grey looked up to see William Stone, Chancellor for Internal Affairs enter.

“Chancellor Stone,” said Tobias Grey, clearly in a bad mood, stubbing out his cigarette in a pot plant, “Have you seen this morning’s papers.”

“No, Tobias,” said William Stone, walking up to the President’s desk, “Are the polls giving Palmer the lead?”

“No, not that,” said Grey, who then threw a paper in front of William Stone, “‘Government warns of Sodomite killer’. Could you tell me what this is about?”

“Captain Sardo reported to me that the two victims were homosexual lovers,” said Stone, “There is an ongoing debate within my department whether to publicise this information, weighing up concerns about confidences and public safety.”

“And no one thought to tell me, even though you told the daily rag,” said Grey.

“No decision was reached,” said Stone, “There must have been a leak.”

“No decision reached and a leak, this just gets better,” said Grey cynically, “So I guess I can’t blame you for this.”

Grey threw over a copy one of the nation’s less reputable papers, opened at page 3. And on page 3 was a still shot of the two victims in a difficult looking sexual position, “Do we normally hand out evidence from sensitive investigations to the press?”

“As I said, it must be a leak,” said William Stone, now looking highly embarrassed, “And they can’t publish that, it violates decency laws.”

“Or perhaps this one will be of more interest,” said Grey, passing yet another paper, “‘Grey leaves sodomite killer to run free: Palmer.’ That’s a good one.”

“Or this one,” said Grey passing over one of the far right religious papers, “‘Fags get what they deserve.’ I bet the international community will be to quick to think that’s government policy.”

“Surely there must be something good in the papers,” said Stone hopingly.

“Well there is this one,” said Grey, pulling out a pro-Moralist paper; albeit one that even the Moralists disrespected, “Palmer admits to foul threesome with Nozick and Hayek.”

“Two dead philosophers,” mused Stone, “I say, the Daily makes up weirder rubbish every year.”

“Indeed,” nodded Grey in a suddenly comforting mood, before rapidly turning stormy, throwing the paper at Stone and yelling, “Get out of my sight until you find a leak and a murderer, or I shall set Chancellor Rickhart on you when he returns.”

“As you say, Lord President,” said Stone, a mild fear sweeping over his; a fear of Grey’s aggressive right hand man. With that Stone stood up and hurried off without another word.
---

Wednesday 10:00pm

Chancellor Dan Rickhart entered the high roller room toilets of the Casino Verica. “Soon I will have it,” Rickhart thought to himself, “Soon.” As the door closed behind him, he put his briefcase down on the vanity; quickly flicking his eyes around the room to ensure he was alone. Once Rickhart was certain he was alone, he opened his briefcase and removed the small black bag, next to the casino chips he had collected on the way in. Unzipping the bag, he removed a clean syringe and a small vial of a clear substance and proceeded to prepare his shot, in the knowledge that Captain Sardo would be waiting for him at a table outside.

Dasch waits at the airstrip for the latest supply aircraft, carring a couple of weeks of fuel and ammunition. He stands just outside the command aircraft.

"Morning," Donald says as he walks out of the aircraft.

"Morning," Dasch responds in kind. "Today we're getting the shipment for the 100 troops here. Ackvick is also expecting me to be returning for 12 hours to meet with him personally. He said he couldn't risk transmitting what he wanted to talk about, even over a secured channel."

"That's unusual, even for Ackvick," Donald says. Then a plane's drone can be heard in the distance. A twin-propped aircraft starts to line up to land, and slowly comes closer. Dasch can tell by the markings that it was a MES 'charter' plane, but of course that is usually cover for the MES's Force COmmanders if they don't want to make an audience.

"That would be my plane," Dasch says, as he walks towards the tarmac, as the plane touches down, and taxis down towards the tarmac.

"What do you want me to say if they ask for you?"

Dasch turns around, while walking backwards towards the plane, which has pulled up, making a very loud noise as the engines were still engaged. "Tell them that I'm ill, and I don't want visitors!" he yells over the drone of the engines. "That should hold them up until I return!"

---------

"I'm glad to see you back," Ackvick says as he sees him walk out of his car back at Militia Enforced State.

"You're glad, Jimmy boy?" Dasch says, "I'm glad! I'm getting neurotic being in that country! Something's up, and I don't know what the hell it is!"

Ackvick nods, and motions him to follow into the main building. "Let's talk about this inside."

They walk in, and just as they enter the main doors, Dasch could see someone who he recognised in a heartbeat. "Alana! What are you doing here?!"

Alana Makion runs up, and gives Dasch a big hug. "I've missed you so much. I've been so worried, after watching the news and reading the reports!"

Ackvick grins. "I've been trying to keep her unsprung since you left. She's been trying to leak information out of me."

Dasch laughs, as he holds onto Alana. "I hope you aren't going back to that hellhole, Aaron."

Dasch frowns. "I'm sorry, but I have a responsibility down there, and as soon and I'm done with James, I have to go back."

Alana frowns, and looks sad. "Be strong," Dasch says. "After all, you are in the military!"

Dasch gives her a kiss, lets go, and starts to walk away with Ackvick. "Alana," Dasch says as he walks away. "I'll have a few minutes before I head back to spend some 'quality time' with you, so don't take off too quickly!"

Alana grins, and Dasch smiles as the elevator doors shut, and take the two men to the upper level.

---------

"From what you've told me, I can't give much faith to the Farmians" Ackvick said disapointingly.

"Agreed," Dasch says. "Which is why we need to do some additional research, and secretly arrange interviews with people who have fallen out of favor with them, and maybe perhaps, find where the Shadow are located so we can deal with them personally."

"Unfortunately," Ackvick says, while sighing, and putting his feet up, "Our forces are very stretched thin at the moment. 90% of our force is in the middle of defusing a war in Kahanistan, we have two million troops and a good chunk of our police forces in Darvania, our intelligence services are overworked with the two crisises, and a few of our orbital satellites have been destroyed by collateral damage, not counting the ones already in use. Even three of our array satellites are in use, so what you already have standing by is what you'll get until these two battles are done."

Dasch curses. "I have complete faith in your ability to defuse this situation, and with Alex, it should be even easier."

Dasch mutters. "Right now, what we need is a government anti-corruption team. If you can deploy one, I would be forever in your debt."

Ackvick nods. "I'll see what I can do. In the meantime, try to keep getting more information. And do not leave their country, even if they ask. I know something's up, and if that something happens, that country will be taken over by madmen."

Dasch looks at the live satellite imagery of Farmina, and then looks back at Ackvick. "And what if they try to remove me by force?"

Ackvick looks grimly, yet firmly. "Give 'em hell. Remind them that we've done everything that they asked, and if words don't give you enough barganing power, then use actions. And I know from experience that you are good in that regard."

Dasch nods with a weak smile. "So basically if they require action, that we go underground, and start doing things behind their back?"

Ackvick nods. [i]"You got it, bucko."

---------

Dasch walks out of the elevator, and sees Alana waiting by the door. He walks up and holds her. "Let's go. I have a promise to keep." Alana giggles as they walk out of the building.


OOC: He'll be back by the end of the day, so if there's anything planned dealing with him, hold on until then.

Wednesday 10:05pm

Dan Rickhart walked out of the men’s room head held high and briefcase in hand. His head was alive; he was alive. Despite having gone twenty four hours without sleep; he didn’t need any. Rickhart could feel the power pumping through his veins. Now he was invincible.

Captain James Sardo sat bored, before the crimson felt of the gaming table. For two hours he had been waiting for the chancellor, for two hours the chancellor hadn’t shown. “Are you sure your friend is coming Lord Captain?” asked the attractive female dealer.

“I’m beginning to wonder that myself,” said Sardo, feeling the wait of the object inside his jacket, “Deal another hand, love.”

“Count me in,” said Rickhart, taking his seat next to Sardo, opening up his briefcase, placing his large collection counters on the table, before putting forward a single thousand haren chip.

The dealer dealt out six cards, two to each the men and two to herself. “Eight,” she said to Captain Sardo before turning to Rickhart, “Sixteen, Lord Chancellor.”

“Hit,” said Sardo.

“The Messians are up to something,” he said to Rickhart quietly, as a two of spades was placed in front of him, “Chancellor Stone has found a contradiction. Commander Dasch is alleged to be sick, but we have satellite feed of him leaving the country.”

“Ten,” said the dealer.

“Hit,” responded Sardo.

“Why would they do that?” pondered Rickhart aloud, as a queen of spades was placed in front of Sardo, “Have they realised what is going on?”

“Twenty,” called out the dealer.

“Stand,” said Sardo to the dealer, before turning back to Rickhart, not willing to reveal that the Messians, had heard about the meeting, “We hold all the cards Lord Chancellor. Their base is surrounded by anti-aircraft weapons. Should they make one wrong move we can starve them out.”

“Stand,” said Rickhart reluctantly, and concerned by the Captain’s new found aggression, “Is there something you aren’t telling me Captain Sardo?”

“Commander Donald suspects I took something from the scene,” said Sardo, “But I sense weakness in him.”

“Thirteen, fourteen, twenty four, banker is bust,” said the dealer, rolling off cards, before paying Sardo two hundred harens and Rickhart one thousand.

Rickhart gave Sardo a dark look, “Well we shall just have to deal with Commander Donald.”

The twin prop aircraft flies towards the Farminian airstrip where the command aircraft is located. Dasch sits in his seat, patiently waiting for the plane to arrive back in Farmina. He however has a lot going through his mind.

He knows that something is going to happen soon, but what is going to happen he still doesn't know, and this worries him even more. With only 100 troops in Farmina, it is entirely possible that if they want to take him hostage, that they could deploy their army and take over the airstrip with a twitch of a finger. And if they get captured, then the Farminian situation will be blown into a whole new level. And if one of them died...

...I could smell a massacre, he thought grimly. The citizens of the MES almost fanatically love and trust the leadership of the country, and if one were to die, he could see the biggest war that Militia Enforced State will have ever seen. It would be hard to surpress any kind of protests from the death of one of their leaders, and they would be forced to engage in full scale war.

Hopefully, there would be no incident, and that nothing bad will happen. The war will never happen. The Farmians will live in prosperity and freedom from the Shadow and the conservatives. And they could all go home.

But if life were that easy, there wouldn't be such a thing as a military then, Dasch thinks to himself. He was feeling very uneasy, and almost even scared. At least the good sex calmed him down before now, because otherwise he would be a basketcase.

He can feel the big thud and rumble as the wheels touch down on the ground, and the plane slows down. He can feel his body being forced forward by the momentum being stopped by the brakes. And as the plane comes to a stop, he unbuckles his seatbelt, and walks towards the door.

"How are things back at home?"

Donald is standing just outside the plane. Dasch climbs out of the plane. "As good as it's always been. A few international incidences so far, but so far, so good."

Donald nods, and walks with Dasch back to the command plane.

Wednesday 10:15pm

Tobias Grey waited for hush. Attending his dinner were the elite, and more importantly the media.

“Gentlemen and ladies. These past weeks have been harsh I shall not deny it. But despite Mr Palmer’s criticism, the government still runs. We hunt the psychopath on our streets. He is within our smell. We hunt the Shadow and his Conservative allies, they are within our grasp. The buildings destroyed by the hand of terror will be reconstructed. Wage growth is strong. By Moralist guidance Farmina will rebuild.”

Grey was tired and wasn’t prepared to make a large speech. He just wanted to go home, to his wife…

---

“I assume you were responsible for that information relating to public safety reaching the media,” said Rickhart, placing down his bet.

“As you requested,” said Sardo, “The people have been told what they have a right to know.”

“Good,” said Rickhart, his long fingers tapping his cards, “That shall show the do-gooders in the government how to protect the national interest. Now about that item.”

Sardo nodded and pulled out a brass ring, with a small cut; contained in a plastic bag. “This is what you want.”

“Exactly,” said Rickhart, grabbing the ring, before holding it up to the casino’s light.

The SGC, and his wife Marge had decided not to go out today. Instead, it was all checking news.

"2 Murders," said the SGC.

"Ouch," she said.

Thursday 9:00am

Through the long corridors, Alexander Jefferies walked silently, message in hand. Upon taking the second left, he stood before a small oak door, leading to the quarters of the Colonial SGC. After a small knock he spoke, “Your Excellency, it is my pleasure to inform you, that President Grey requests for your wife and yourself to be his personal guests at the Casino Verica at eight tonight in the high rollers’ lounge.”
Jefferies then paused before pushing the handwritten invitation under the very expensive door.

---

The five men in the dark blue and black uniforms of the Farminan police approached the remnants of the Messian encampment, as though uncaring that the foreigners were still armed and numerous. Their stroll was swift, and the five bore arm, openly holding their rifles in clear sight of the Messians. Then without appartent reason their long strides halted and a single man stepped forward, and declared in a voice, bold and loud, “By the request of DCI Sanderson of the Murder Investigation Squad, the immediate presence of Commander Aaron Dasch and Commander Alex Donald are requested.”

Then there was silence, but the sun in the east, glared off the gently resting rifles of the police officers.

"Oh, neat," said the SGC. "Thank you."

The SGC sat there for a few moments, then said, "Hope your good at poker, my dear.

"Oh, yes," she replied.

A knock is heard through Dasch's cabin door. "Enter," Dasch says as he lies on his bed reading.

A corporal opens the door, and looks inside. "Sir, the Murder Investigation Squad wishes you and Force Commander Donald's presence. They're armed with rifles, and don't seem to be in the most hospitable of moods."

Dasch sits up on his bed. "This can't be good," he mutters loudly. "Tell them that we will be right out. Tell our area patrols to be on the alert, I know something's up."

"Yes, sir." The corporal says, as he heads out. Dasch gets up, and walks out of the aircraft.

When he walks out, he sees Donald already with them, talking to them. He walks up to meet them, followed by a few bodyguards.

The MIS officers waited patiently as first Commander Donald and then Commander Dasch approached the squad. “DCI Sanderson and DI Brand wants a brief chat,” said the policeman to the fore, Sgt Ryan Trigg, “Our van is waiting to transport us over thers.”

Dasch nods. "Very well, however I need a few minutes to prepare, and we will go only by our own transportation. We will go with you, and follow you, but I would rather drive myself." Dasch has a feeling that if he were to get in with them, then if something was planned, it would be the perfect place for them to be kidnapped. And that was the last thing he wanted to have happen. He knows that he still has an advantage of the situation, having a hundred men deployed in the country to protect him, and he was free from them. But he knew if he was separated, and captured by whatever force is against the moralist government, then it would be over, and a rage-induced war of revenge inevitable.

“Very well,” said Sergeant Trigg, moving his rifle, just slightly, but just noticeably, “Should you try anything clever, we shall have grounds to arrest you.”

He then lowered his rifle and walked away, followed quickly by his companions, but eyes were ever watching.

The two Force Commanders walk into the command plane's small medical center. The medical center is meant for small-scale duties, but for what they were there for, it was completely adequate.

The chief medical officer salutes the two Force Commanders, as he walks in. Dasch salutes him back.

"We need the RecCam's installed, and we need it double-timed."

The chief medical officer nods, and motions them to two of the beds. "Very well, what is the occasion?" he asks as he goes to a cabinet, and opens it up.

"We are at risk of being captured or whatnot, and I want to make sure that if something happens to us, everyone will know the truth."

The chief medical officer pulls out two very small, plastic ovals, about five centimeters in width, and half a centimeter thick in size, puts them inside a bag, and walks towards the two men.

"This is the latest model. It is 99% plastic and sillicone, and it is undetectable to everything except perhaps X-Ray's." In the middle, there is a small hole, where a camera with microphone would show through. "Lie down," the officer says, as he ises a nerve-freezing agent on the top of Dasch's forehead, makes a small incision, opens the bag, and carefully places the recorder into his forehead. He puts it into position, being careful of visibility. He then sticks a thin needle, covered in dye except for the tip, into the small camera lens. He then uses a prototype skin-solderer to seal the skin back together, without a scar. He then removes the tiny needle. When he removed it, it was invisible to anything, unless someone were to literally scan his forehead, which was incredibly unlikely. He puts the tools into the sterilizer, and then moves to Donald.

"Does this thing still transmit through the encoded signal to our orbiting satellite, and send the video to MES headquarters?" Dasch asks as he sits up.

"This is correct, the doctor says as he cuts into Donald's forehead. "It will also transmit your position to us, and using the latest RecCam software on both satellite and RecCam, it can penetrate jamming signals."

"Thank god, Dasch says. "That was my biggest fear."

A few moments later, Donald's small incision is shut, and the needle removed. He gets up, and looks at Donald. "Let's get going."

Sergeant Trigg was quickly getting impatient. Watching from his transport, he waited with weapon in hand for the two commanders. For a moment he thought he would have to call for assistance to help secure Donald and Dasch. But then finally they came within his view.

“Lets go,” he said to his driver harshly, and with that the key turned in the ignition.

The transport pulled up in front of the MIS headquarters, turning calmly into an allocated parking bay. Silently, Sergeant Trigg stepped out, stood up and watched the following Messian vehicle, his rifle close at hand as always.
---

DI Jason Brand watched the tape, quietly and disgusted. He knew there was something he was missing. Then as the light shone through the bedroom window, the two copulating youths reflected for a brief instant, more light. This wasn’t the act of the sun reflecting off their sweat drenched bodies. Brand paused the footage and noted the small ring on the hand of Paul Sanderson. It had an unclear inscription and an unusual gap. He flicked his eyes to the hands of Thomas Reynold, but they weren’t clearly in view. Brand began the tape again, then he saw it, a second identical ring.

Brand ejected the tape and placed in another one. Within seconds, again he had found the two rings, perched on the copulating boys’ fingers. He could now picture them on other tapes as well. Suddenly it all seemed so clear, “So our killer has been taking trophies.”

Sergeant Trigg watched as the Messians pulled in to park, when his radio buzzed.

“New orders. Send one Commander to Brand and one to Sanderson.”

Trigg then responded, “Received,” before returning his attention to the Messians.

Dasch hops out of his vehicle, with Donald right behind him. He sees the large MIS headquarters building right in front of him. He then notices some armed guards waiting at the entrance.

"Force Commander Dasch, we request your presence with officer Brand, and FC Donald's presence with officer Sanderson."

Dasch looks back sharply, and stops while doing so. "This can't be good," Dasch whispers back. Donald nods while Dasch looks back. "Why can't we all meet together?" he asks.




OOC: Add this after your reply: Against his better judgement, he agrees.

The sargeant escorts Dasch to Brand, leaving Donald to another guard. Dasch hopes he didn't make a huge mistake.

If I have the two people mixed up, then let me know and I'll fix it.

“I suspect that the detectives want to give you two a formal interview. DCI Sanderson wasn’t happy when he heard unregistered foreigners walked into the middle of a police investigation,” said Sergeant Trigg.

He then led Commander Dasch up to DI Brand, and a constable led Donald up to DCI Sanderson.

“Enter,” said Brand, who then nodded to Trigg to leave, before speaking directly to Dasch, “This is DC Decosta. I’m afraid we are going to have a formal interview about what happened on Tuesday. Would you like a solicitor present?”

In the office down the corridor, “Commander Donald, I am DCI Sanderson. This is DS Rickman. If you want lawyer present, now is the time to tell.”


OOC: Sorry for the dodgy post.

OOC: I'm confused. Is Brand pretending to be someone else? If so, that's impossible, as he's already met him in person.

OOC: I'm confused. Is Brand pretending to be someone else? If so, that's impossible, as he's already met him in person.
OOC: No Brand is identifying a third person in the room. by the name of Decosta. Formal interviews require two ranking officers; which happens in both of the rooms.

"A lawyer?" Donald booms. "Am I under arrest or something?"

OOC: Can you talk to me on MSN?

“Not under arrest,” said Sanderson, “Its just witnesses often implicate themselves so we have improved our legal system by reminding everyone we talk to they are entitled to a lawyer.”

Smoke gently caressed the leaves of a nearby orchard. The delicate perfume of a summer rain against the sweet necter gently filling the air, was mixed with the musty aroma of pure tobacco.

Mist filling the air and with noticably damp clothing, President Baccheus enjoyed a quite vice in Palace Gardens.

This was his place, noone dared enter the gated gardens, which had been build by his great-great grandfather to -ironically- entertain guests.

With a gentle overcast and warm fine rain gently touching the ground with perfect silence, it was a typical Athenian summer day. With the exception of the letter he carefully opened with one hand.

The other, of course, was busy placing a cigarette butt into the small, golden, pot placed there spefically for this purpose. By a gardener none to impressed with the idea of the 150 year old garden being used as and ash tray.

The envelope fell to the floor.

Watermarked beneath the address line was a single pentagonal star, with the letter IHS - the mark of the Watchers Council.

Reading the single line of the letter, Dion removed a lighter form his pocket and diposed of the document.

His tranquility was over, Farmina would need to be dealt with...

OOC: Change of time plans. I've been busy lately; and I will be going to Sydney in a couple of weeks. What I plan on doing is splitting this RP in to; the first part up to the ball (with a twist coming); then the actual ball will be RPed when get back from Sydney (and have my spare time back).

OOC: Okay, roger, when should we start..

I'll be waiting until you return. ;)

By the way, if you have time to make a post, feel free to act out my side of the conversation, unless of course you have time to make a proper dual post. :)

“Why would I need a solicitor? Am I charged with anything?” asked Dasch.

“No,” responded Brand, “But we have to offer one, in case you do something that could incriminate yourself. You wouldn't be the first witness to start talking about criminals in the first person.”

Dasch chuckled, “I understand what you mean. I see it on TV occasionally. Understood.”

He paused, “I do not think it would be necessary. As well, it would delay this very important meeting that you wish to discuss.”

“I'm sure you are aware of this,” said Brand, passing Dasch a copy of the previous day's newspaper with 'Murder slays Sodomite Lovers' as the head line.

“Actually, I am. I saw the news as it broke out,” responded Dasch, “Our command plane automatically tunes it into local TV networks.”

“You supported us making this information public, didn't you?” asked Brand, “Along with Commander Sardo and his supporters.”

“Supporters?,” Dasch asked, “I had no idea he had supporters. However, I did have another one of those 'feelings' about him. What is he supported for?”

“He is an advocate for freedom of information within government circles. For example he wanted it released why the two boys were killed. He fails to realise the human consequences of the truth. Two families now face complete humiliation now that the truth is out,” said Brand, “Now my recollection is that you agreed with him.”

Dasch looked to the side, and then back at Brand.

“Alright, if I recall correctly, I said something along the lines of agreeing with him, but disagreeing with his wording. And let me continue,” Dasch said preventing Brand from replying to his statement, “I know what you're thinking. I disagree with what Sardo did completely. What I intended to have said, was to say on the news that 'the murderer is targeting perverts and sexually active homosexuals', not putting their names on the news! And I regret what has happened if it is because of what I said.”

“What Captain Sardo did?” asked Brand, “What are you talking about?”

He didn’t even bother mentioning that the victims’ names had been made public before the leak of that they were homosexual lovers.

Dasch looks rather confused at Brand, “If I recall, Sardo said something along the lines of 'we should give all Farminans the warning about what the murderer is targeting’. I assumed, sorry.”

“Yes he expressed that opinion, but debate within the government was suppressed and Sardo like a good little black-shirt fell into line,” said Brand, giving a sideways glance as DC Decosta.

Dasch leans forward., “How trustworthy do you think he is?”

“I am interviewing you here Commander Dasch,” said Brand, “And although I have my personal distaste for the Captain's directness; there is no reason to suspect disloyalty. Now, why did you jump to the assumption we were here to talk about the leak?”

Dasch looked oddly at Brand for a second, “Because you started this conversation talking about the media leak.”

“No we were discussing your personal opinions regarding the freedom of information and Captain Sardo. No mention of a leak was made,” said Brand trying to hide his suspiscion, “You brought up the leak, just at the sight of a newspaper.”

Dasch nodded, “OK, I apologise for jumping to conclusions about your intended topic,” he paused, swallowing lightly, though not nervously, “However, I do have something to bring up about Sardo, if you wish to hear it, unless you had something else to talk about first.”

“But why did you jump to conclusions?” asked Brand, “Why did you feel that we wanted to here your conspiracy theories about a leak?”

Brand was one to talk about conspiracy theories; after all he believed the murders were cover for a evil plot at the President's Ball.

“I didn’t,” responded Dasch, “I felt that you should know, because I know as this being so soon after the war against the military, the Shadow's submarines, the killings. I feel that all of these are connected. The killings, not so much, but the Shadow and the military. The Shadow's shore bombardment was rather...coincidentally timed? And thus, I have a feeling that some new major disaster is going to happen soon, and I assume that it's within the Farmina's own government.”

“Yes, that’s all very well,” said Brand, “But my concern is that two young boys were murdered.”

“And it is my concern too. But I feel that more people will die than just two boys…but we should get back to the boys,” said Dasch.

“You don’t possibly have any insights into the murder?” said Brand, throwing out a fishing line question.

“All I know is that this guy knows what he is doing. Chances are, he is not only doing it to kill people to feed his sick fantasies, but he's also doing it to play a very sick game with you and the rest of your force,” said Dasch, “He feels that if he can leave clues, yet be unfound, then he is winning the game.”

“And is he winning?” asked Brand.

“Until you catch him, he's always winning. In this sense, it’s black and white.”

“Does our killer work alone?” asked Brand.

“I'm not sure, our forensics team wasn't there, and I didn't have the equipment to find out. I'm a leader, and a special forces commander, not a forensics person,” said Dasch.

He paused. “However,” countering his question, “What clues did your team find out?”

“We have had more confidentiality gags thrown on us since the leak,” said Brand, “The government is convince the leak came from this office.”

Dasch leant forwards, “Can you do me a favor and take me off the record for a few moments?”

Brand looked suspiciously, before saying Interview suspended at 11;15”, pressing a button to end the recording and allowing DC Decosta to leave the room.

When DC Decosta left the room and the door was shut, Dasch turned back towards Brand, “Alright. The reason why I asked to be off of the recording is because I have information that could put my men, and your men in danger. To start, the reason why I am feeling suspicious of Sardo is because Force Commander Donald witnessed Sardo take a piece of evidence from the crime scene, without your knowledge. His excuse was that it was ‘to spare their dignity,’ but from what Donald told me, it couldn't have been something that would be indecent. And this act is making me wonder if something is going on behind our backs.”

“So you didn't see the theft or something to spare dignity that wasn’t indecent?” asked Brand.

“Not personally, I was with you. But Donald saw it, and I trust that man more than everyone save Ackvick.”

“I'll consider what you have said,” commented Brand, “You can show yourself out.”

“I'm not finished yet,” said Dasch.

“Well hurry up,” snapped Brand, “I have murders to solve, not to mention a leak to find.”

“This may not have to do with you, but I find that you are the most trustworthy person I've found yet with some say in Farmina,” said Dasch.

He paused, “You might think of me as crazy, but I also have a feeling that Chancellor Rickhart is a figure in this possible disaster that is coming up.”

“I haven’t had a say since my brother was killed,” said Brand, talking over the top of the comment about Rickhart

Dasch pauses, “Sorry to sound rude, but who killed your brother?”

“Unclear,” said Brand, “But he was Justinian’s personal aide. Moralist reports say he was probably killed by the Dumpsterdamian troops in the final day of Justinian’s reign.”

“I’m sorry to hear that. It would sound almost like your family is ‘disgraced’ to the Farminan people, though I personally disagree with that logic, said Dasch.

“My family is disgraced for other reasons,” said Brand, “And my brother didn’t die fighting the Moralists, he died fighting for the Moralists, the most well placed agent of the times. That is why the Dumpies killed him.”

Dasch responded, “Anyway, Rickhart...he has treated us like criminals since we have come here, and even though we offered help for the murders, and military help to help restore order, and to help investigate the Shadow, they want us out of here. Even when things seems like they were falling apart. I know it's dignity for your country, but something about him even with dignity going through my mind, really scared me about him.”

“Consider yourself lucky to have met him,” said Brand, “He has been relatively secret until he suddenly took control of the Moralists three years ago. Even then his past remained shrouded in secrecy. Tobias Grey kept his as a chancellor, simply because he is scary. The President needs an attack dog, someone to keep everybody in line. That’s what my brother claimed anyway.”

“Well from what I can tell, he's a person to watch,” said Dasch, before leaning forward and adding, “I have a proposal for you.”

“Can’t hurt to hear it,” said Brand.

“I am willing to send over my best forensics teams to help in your case, and to deploy our elite police teams to catch the criminal,” proposed Dasch.

“The word 'no' comes to mind,” said Brand, “The last thing we need is more foreigners stumbling around when our teams are perfectly equipped.”

“However,” Dasch responded, “The faster the investigation goes, the faster this is resolved, and the people of Farmina can breathe easier.”

“I think you will find that they are not as much benefit as you think, we are not building a house here,” said Brand, “Now is that quite all?”

“I was going to say though, that we need your help, to investigate what is going on, both inside and outside your country’s government, and in your country’s other services. If nothing comes up, perfect, we all go home resting easily,” said Dasch, “But if something does come up, then we all need to act fast before something happens.”

“I have noted your concern,” said Brand, “But we need solid evidence if we want to pursue a threat. Is that all?”

“Yes, thank you. Is there anything else you wish to speak about, on or off the record?” asked Dasch.

“Nothing,” said Brand, “I assume you will be attending the President's Ball?”

“That is correct. Force Commander Donald and I will be there.”

“Well I hope you enjoy it,” said Brand, “If the world ends, please tell me.”

Dasch chuckled, “I believe you think of me as paranoid.”

“Goodbye Commander Dasch,” said Brand indicating that it was time for him to use the door.

And once Dasch had left, Brand placed his hand under the desk, removing a second, secret tape recorder.

“Simply put,” said DCI Sanderson to Commander Donald, “We have concerns about Commander Dasch, as both he and Captain Sardo expressed interests in seeing certain details made public.”

“Understandable,” Donald said with a minor glance, “However, his intent was not to humiliate the families, but to rather, warn the public, without explicitly detailing the victims.”

“It is very hard to hide the identity of a murder victim,” said Sanderson, “But you do confirm Commander Dasch’s expressed intent to release the information regarding the connection between the victims?”

“As I said before, his intent was to inform the public to encourage homosexuals who are sexually active to keep themselves private, to keep them from being targeted. It was never the intent to shame the families of the murder victims, and if what he said had anything to do with the leak, then I apologise for both myself and my colleague.”

“Is it possible Commander Dasch himself, was or conspired with the leak?” asked Sanderson.

“It’s more likely to win the lottery twice, and then get struck by lightning, and see Elvis drive by, than for him to commit such an atrocity. I trust him more than anyone, and I would give my life to him,” spoke Donald, “And I will say this. We would never go to the media about this investigation without contacting your organization first.”

“Very well,” said Sanderson, “Can you give your complete assurance that there is nothing ‘dodgy’ about your companion, that would threaten this investigation or Farmina more widely.”

“Absolutely,” Donald responded, “However, if I may ask, what is your opinion on Captain Sardo?”

“One of the finest men I know,” said Sanderson, “Never does anything without good reason. I first met him when we were conscripted into the military together. Tough bastard, but his heart is in the right place.”

“I was wondering if you thought he was responsible, as you did mention his name?” asked Donald.

“I suppose he could have been tempted,” said Sanderson, “He did believe it was the right thing to do; even if elements within the government had him gagged. He generally follows orders; until he is absolutely convinced he’s right. Damn the bureaucrats that want to pretend these murders never happened. All in all, I doubt he would have broken the gag.”
“True, however, I'm worried about this whole situation. It seems like something bigger than a serial killer is going on out there right now,” said Donald.

“Interview suspended,” Sanderson declared abruptly, before halting the tape. Then just as abruptly he waved DS Rickman out of the room.

“Very observant,” said Sanderson, “Factions within the Moralist government, and also their Labour allies are now turning on each other. While President Grey was away, the warlords came out to play, and now they won’t go back in their box. People in high places are tying us up; placing gags on everything.”

“That explains a lot,” Donald said. “Well, since you’ve noticed these things, I can offer you some non-gagged assistance in catching this killer, if you wish.”

“There are people who would become vengeful if we became to close to foreign threats,” said Sanderson, “Though I am more than happy for the occasional foreign oversight, certain elements must not be agitated.”

“Loan us some uniforms, and our CSI’s and police forces can work with yours, undercover. Otherwise, I could send a few people to help with oversight,” suggested Donald.

“Out of the question,” said Sanderson, “Although you are more than welcome to conduct a private investigation.”

“Very well, I'll get our investigation started as soon as possible. Now,” Donald said, as he settled into his seat a bit, “Taking of oversight, I did see something personally that Sardo did behind DI Brand’s back.”

“Nothing to concern you I’m sure,” said Sanderson.

“Still, I should inform you. He took a piece of evidence from the crime scene, and hid it from everyone,” said Donald

“Could he just have dropped something?” suggested Sanderson.

“I’m sure he didn’t. He was looking for something, then he took it and hid it,” said Donald “It was inside the box of videos recovered.”

“But it wasn’t a video,” supposed Sanderson.

“No it wasn’t, and that’s what bothers me,” responded Donald, “I’m not sure what it was, but I can tell you it wasn't a video. It wasn’t nearly as big. But as I said, what it was I’m not sure, and probably never know.”

“Mr Donald,” said Sanderson, “I have told you things I shouldn’t about the government. However I want you to forget all about this small item and put Dasch’s mind at ease if you told him too. It was my wedding ring. I took it off during an unfortunate and illegal fling. The ring never existed, understand.”

“So it was a ring?” Donald said.

Donald felt he now knew what the object was, as it seemed to fit the size of object that Sardo found, yet he what he didn’t know was if the ring was really what he said it was.

“Is there anything else?” Donald said, “I have one last topic to ask you about.”

“You may ask,” said Sanderson, “But my condition is your silence. I could face a firing squad if my mistake becomes public.”

“Don’t worry, I will be completely silent. And I promise you that if something were to happen, I promise you and your family a home in our nation if your life is in danger,” said Donald, before swallowing and continuing, “I have felt very nervous about a certain, Chancellor Rickhart.”

“It’s his job to make people nervous,” said Sanderson, “He is responsible for making other nations and members of his own government wet their pants.”

Donald responded, “Well, it’s not that type of nervousness. I know that type of nervousness, and I’m not feeling it. What nervousness I’m talking about is the type that you know something is going on out of the public eye, and will cause a disaster. As well, it's suspicious that he is so adamant about keeping foreigners outside of the country, even during and after a civil war, a murderer gone loose, and the terrorist organization the Shadow firing missiles from submarines! I mean, with this type of trouble, even we would be willing to have international assistance if that happened to us.”

“Didn’t Chancellor Rickhart allow you to bring thousands of troops to our land, as well as letting them spear attacks in Farminan territory?” said Sanderson, “I think your mind is to suspicious of an old man wanting to secure his nation.”

“He did, but I don’t think you realise how many teeth we had to pull to do it. In fact, we were told to, then we fired on an assisting nation’s forces!” exclaimed Donald.

“You know as well as I, that the Querens couldn’t and never will be considered trustworthy sorts,” said Sanderson.

“Actually, we didn't exactly know,” Donald said distantly. He then regained composure, “Anyways, I was hoping you could do me a favor and keep an eye on Chancellor Rickhart. It couldn’t hurt, and it might find out something that’s going on.”

“I won't spy on members of the government for a foreign agency,” said Sanderson, quite angrily, although he quickly calmed.

“I’m sorry,” Donald said, surprised by the reaction, “Of course. I was actually hoping you would do it for yourselves, not for just us.”

Donald asked, “Is there anything else you wished to talk about?”

“No,” said Sanderson, “Although remember that everything mentioned here is our little secret.”

“Don't worry. We never had this conversation. We were discussing the leak,” reassured Donald.

“Even to Commander Dasch,” warned Sanderson, “He just needs to know that it was nothing to worry about.”

“Very well,” Donald said, though he knew he would inform just those with Level 10 security clearance - the Force Commanders. He knew that he could trust them. He would hate to break Sanderson's request of silence, but the situation required joint thinking.

“Now, what do you want me to send to assist your investigation?”

“We are without leads,” said Sanderson, “Unless you’re into radical theories.”

“Do you have any?” Donald asked Sanderson.

“Have you ever heard of a man called James or Jamie Palmer?” asked Sanderson, “Odd fellow, red hair.”

“I don’t recall, no,” Donald said.

“He is the leader of the Liberal Block and the squabbling Liberal-Socialist opposition. The Liberals are infighting more than the government. Both parties were flogged in the Parliamentary election, oddly enough the day of the first murder. Since then, Mr Palmer has used the murders as political mileage and has had a massive gain in approval; despite all the allegations that pursue him,” explained Sanderson.

“So you’re thinking he did it, just to gain popularity?” asked Donald.

“Well it seems more likely that a conspiracy to cover up an evil, end of the world event planned for the President’s ball,” said Sanderson, “Although it sounds more like a smear campaign than a lead.”

“End of the world?” Donald asked.

“At one stage, Brand thought evil elements within the government were planning of destroying the presidency and then conquering the world,” said Sanderson, “That’s how he explains continual gag orders. More likely they are to stop Mr Palmer getting more political mileage; and allows him to distract people from his own dodgy past.”

“Hmm...” muttered Donald “Whether it’s one or the other, we better find out before the ball.”

“With no clues,” supposed Sanderson, “Well I bid you good day and good luck. I have several investigations to oversee.”

“Very well,” Donald said, getting up, “If you need any of our help, let us know, in any secure way you can. And as for the unbiased investigating, just tell me what you need.”

“What I need,” laughed Sanderson, “What I need is a name and a motive, which I doubt you have.”

---

Meanwhile in Verica Gardens

Jamie Palmer waited silently for the blur of noise to lull before beginning, “May I begin by reiterating that Nozick and Hayek are my pet cats; not sexual partners. Any absurd lies by the Daily are just that.

But this is not what I ask for today. I ask that every Farminan does their part to remove the looming threat of the Shadow. You ask what you can do? I’ll tell you what you can do. You can vote President Grey out of office. President Grey is hungry for revenge, a man in mourning after his wife’s death, not a leader of a great nation against the threat of terrorists.”

The comment struck Palmer as mildly ironic, considering his own, albeit indirect connection through their join master the ‘Puppeteer’ to the Shadow. Still he puzzled over their end game; knowing only that currently their wills overlapped.

“In the White Palace, President Grey presides. No longer does he rule; nor do Moralists seek him removed. It is up to the nation to replace a figurehead with a ruler. An old man with a younger. The mournful with the energetic. The vengeful with the inspired.

It is time for Farmina to rise from the ashes of Justinian’s reign and that cannot be done under incompetents who allow murderers to run free and think there is no crime more serious than sodomy.”

And proceeded to rant; but silence in his own mind as he wondered what the Shadow was planning…

OOC: Happy birthday to MES (I hope).

OOC: Thanks. You were correct. :)

Donald walks out of the building, and sees Dasch waiting outside of the building.

"How did it go?" Donald asked, as he and Dasch start moving to their car.

"Not that well," Dasch said, with a chuckle. "I think he thinks I'm crazy and paranoid."

Donald sighs. "At least mine went well." They climb into the waiting vehicle, and shut the door. The vehicle starts to pull out, as they buckle in.

"I was told to not say anything to you, but I did get some important information," Donald said.

Dasch looked at him with interest. [i]"Normally I would respect people's wishes," Donald said, "But it's important that we share as much information with the high command to ensure that if something happens to one of us, it won't be forgotten."

Dasch nods. "I'll make sure that the video feed is classed as level 10, to ensure no one else watches it."

The car pulls into the airport, where the command aircraft is sitting.

“Come in,” responded DCI Sanderson to the knocking at his door, “Ah, its you Jason.”

Jason Brand walked through the door quietly, before closing it.

“I think you were correct to be suspicious of Commander Dasch. He certainly seemed to be hiding something,” said DI Brand, handing his master the cassette tape, “I think we should watch him closely.”

“We don’t have the resources and it would risk an international incident,” warned Sanderson, “Perhaps best if you leave this lead with me.”

“Very well sir,” said DI Brand, who promptly turned and exited.

As soon as his adjutant was gone, DCI Sanderson pulled out his phone and quickly dialed, “I think we may have a problem.”

Thursday 9:30pm

Tobias Grey was already waiting at his private table, playing blackjack, with a scotch and dry beside him and a cigarette in hand, when Jonathan O'Brien, walked into the casino, with his wife.
Several black-shirts notice them and lead them through the high rollers lounge to the table, one asking, “What shall you be doing for finance, your Lordship?”

“Well, I have quite a bit of money,” he replied, bringing out his briefcase, which he had carried, “How does 1 Million NC Dollars sound?”

“I think that will do,” said the black-shirt, “Unless NC dollars aren't worth the paper they are printed on.”

“I think it is,” responded O’Brien, “The exchange rates I think are pretty good.”

“Shall I get you some chips then,” said the black-shirt, as he gesture for O'Brien and his wife to sit at Grey’s private table.

“Yes, of course,” responded O’Brien, releasing the brief case.

“And drinks?” asked the black-shirt.

“Some vodka, please,” said O’Brien.

“And a cocktail for me,” replied Marge

“Very well,” said the black-shirt, taking the briefcase.

“Ah, Lord and Lady O'Brien,” said Tobias Grey, “Do you know how to play poker?”

“Yes,” they both said in unison, before Jonathon added, “Texas or normal style?”

“Texas, of course,” said Grey, “No limits Texas Hold’em.”

“Right, game on, then,” Marge replied.

“Very well. Ten thousand chips each, small blind is 100 chips, large blind is 200 chips,” said Tobias, before looking at the dealer, “You know what to do.”

The black-shirt returned with a marked value of twenty thousand chips, and handed half to the SGC and half to his wife. A waitress also brought out the two drinks.

“Oh, nice,” said Jonathon. He took a slip of the vodka, and placed it back on the table.

“Lord President, the small blind is with you, milady the big blind is with you,” said the dealer.

President Grey put out a 100 in chips as each player’s cards were dealt out. Marge took the cards. She looked anxious as she looked at the cards. The SGC on the other, maintained a smooth composure; a poker face.

The dealer spoke to the SGC, “You have to at least meet the big blind.”

“I guess so,” he replied. He threw in 200 in chips, “Match me.”

President Grey threw in another hundred to match the big blind, “Lord O'Brien, I’m sure you aware I didn't call you here to play poker.”

The dealer interrupted asking, “Milady, do you wish to raise?”

She chucked her cards down, “No, I'll fold.”

Meanwhile the SGC began, “So why am I really here?”

The dealer laid down the flop: eight of spades, eight of heart and a ten of spades.

President Grey hastily pushed forward another 200 in chips before saying, “I want to expand our friendship.”

The SGC looked at his cards, he was on to something. “I see,” he replied, pushing forward the extra counters.

The dealer placed out the turn card, the three of clubs.

Grey gestured that he would not raise, “I propose a grand alliance.”

“An alliance,” he replied, “What do you mean?”

“Our nations shall unify under a single black banner,” said Grey, “We shall rinse the world clean. There are more coming; but I offer you the rank of my second. You shall be my First Chancellor.”

“Rinse the world clean?” inquired Jonathon.

“Of evil,” said President Grey, “We shall hunt those who do harm to each other; those they are designated to protect and throw them into the fires of hell. Imagine it. If you do it for greed, glory or good doesn't matter. The outcome will be the same. Imagine.”

“Lord O’Brien are you raising?” asked the dealer interrupting the conversation to which feigned deafness.

“Yes,” O’Brien replied, trying to remain cool, calm and collected. He wasn’t happy he was interrupted. He then faced back to Grey. “Do you know that he role of the SGC is?”

“Generally telling people what to do,” said Grey, assumingly, “Including your Prime Minister.”

“I seem like it, don’t I,” replied the SGC, “One of my titles, bestowed on me, is Guardian of the Constitution. However, my role is purely ceremonial, nowadays. The real guardians are the lawyers, and judge, who actually judge on the constitution.”

“Judges are a waste of space,” muttered Grey, matching the SGC’s bet, “Propped up old leafy academics who rule from text books; thinking they take precedence over the Councils.”

The dealer placed down the river card, the seven of clubs.

“Um,” he said, “Where I live, that does happen.”

“Someone needs to put them in their place,” said Grey, “In Farmina I did just that.”

“No bets?” asked the dealer.

“Nope,” he said, “Different people have different thoughts, Lord President.”

“But its the people’s will that should triumph,” said Grey, “Unless there is a violation of legal process. Obviously we can't go making laws against certain people. None the less, I am offering the Northern Colonies a new start. I am offering you power beyond your wildest dreams.”

“What kind of power?” asked the SGC.

“The power to build worlds and destroy them. The power to right wrongs. The power to give your wife everything she ever dreamed of. The power to bring your enemies to heel. The power to help people. The power to dominate. The power to conquer,” said President Grey, boastfully.

“It’s all nice saying stuff,” commented the SGC, “But, how?”

“By fusing our nations, along with others,” said Grey, “More will join us as allies. Businesses around the world will secretly contribute to our cause, in both fear and hope of the day our movement reaches their lands. And we are constructing a weapon...”

Looking at the dealer President Grey fell silent; realising it was time to show their hands, “Pair of eights.”

“2 Pair, mate,” responded the SGC, showing his cards, “A ten and a 3.”

Tobias Grey smiled at the small loss.

The dealer dealt out three new hands, “Her Ladyship has the small blind, Lord O’Brien has the large blind.”

Tobias immediately put out 200 in chips to match the big blind.

He ignored the cards for a few seconds, “Weapon?”

“Beyond your imagination,” said Grey, "Imagine the ability to launch nuclear scale strikes completely undetected. Complete cities vaporized for no apparent reason.[/I]”

“Hmm…” said O’Brien quietly..

“Milady,” asked the dealer, “What are you doing? Its 100 chips to remain in the game.”

“Oh yes,” she said, as she chucked in a further 100 chips.

The dealer placed out the flop: seven of diamonds, three of clubs and two of hearts.

Marge looked at her cards, then promptly put 2000 chips in. Meanwhile, John looked hat his cards. They looked like crap, but he had his poker face. He then chucked in 1000 chips.

“Sir, you need to place in another 1000 chips to match your wife’s bet,” said the dealer.

Tobias, meanwhile, threw in his cards fearing the two O’Briens.

“Oh really,” he said, “Then I’ll raise.”

He promptly put in an extra 5000 chips in.

“Milady,” said the dealer, “You need to place in another 4000 chips.”

She, sighed, then dropped her cards down. With that, John had the woot expression on his face. He chucked his cards down., “Ha, a king and queen.”

The dealer pushed the pot to O'Brien and began another deal.

“Lord O'Brien puts in the small blind and the Lord...” before she could say President, had seen that Grey had put down the big blind.

“So anyway, go on,” said the SGC

“So do I have a First Chancellor?” asked Grey, waiting for the two Colonists have their turns.

“Maybe,” he said, “I need to consult with parliament beforehand.”

“I am sure you can twist their arm,” said Grey, “I have many agents who are good at twisting if you need them.”

“Milady, you need to put in 200 chips to stay in the game,” warned the dealer.

The SGC’s wife chucked the chips in.

“And Lord O’Brien, 100 chips,” said the dealer.

He chucked the chips in.

Grey smiled, stubbing out his cigarette, “Raise 500 chips. How difficult will your constitution be to overcome?”

“What do you mean?” replied Jonathon.

“Well does it stop our unison,” asked Grey.

“An alliance would be fine,” Jonathon started, “But one might be careful of a foreign influence.”

“One influence,” said Grey, “Over time, one nation. We start small, and slowly become one force.”

The dealer again looked Lady O'Brien, “Milady, will you be putting in the 500 chips to continue playing.”

“Yes,” said the SGC’s wife.

“And your Lordship?” asked the dealer.

“Yes, me too,” said O’Brien, as they both put in their chips in unison

The dealer then placed out the turn card, the Queen of Clubs.

President Grey eyed it before placing forward one thousand in chips, “Lets see if you have the balls Lord O’Brien.”

O’Brien chucked the chips in, “And for you, I’ll put in an extra 500,”

He then proceeded for chuck in the additional.

“And her ladyship?” asked the dealer, unconcerned everyone was having their turns in the wrong order.

“You men bet too big,” replied Lady O’Brien, chucking he cards on the table.

President Grey looked clearly disconcerted at O’Brien’s bet, so much so, that he took out a pair of sunglasses to cover his eyes. “You think your clever Lord O'Brien,” he said, “But I shall not cower.”

The President then pushed forward the additional 500 in chips.

The dealer then placed down the river card, the three of diamonds.

President Grey, quickly pushed forward another 2000 in chips, “Well, Lord O'Brien, will you risk it?”

“You don’t think I have balls, eh?” he retorted, pushing in an extra 500 chips.

President Grey also threw in an extra 500 chips. “Show your cards,” instructed the dealer.

President Grey revealed a 2 of clubs and a 5 of clubs, giving him a flush.

“Flush, eh,” the SGC said, chucking in a Queen and a Five unsuited.

President Grey put his hands around the pot of 10100 chips and pulled them all in, “Winning is my game Lord O'Brien and I am inviting you to share the winnings.”

He left out 100 chips, knowing he was to pay the small blind. “Milady,” instructed the dealer, “The big blind is with you.”

The SGC’s wife pushed forward the 200 chips.

The dealer dealt out two cards to each person.

The SGC ignored the cards for a second, “So what’s in it for my nation?”

“As with the Crete situation,” said Grey, “A share of the wealth. But more, to be part of something greater. And to be on the side that will win.”

“The last time you guys got into an alliance, your side got blown off. Why do you seem so willing to get into another alliance?” questioned the SGC.

“Oh, and by the way, what’s with the Crete situation?” added the SGC.

Answering the questions in reverse order, “Farminan governership is continuing under Relllian Peters, although he is taking guidance from the elected body, whatever it what was calling itself. The alliance with Dumpsterdam was a foolish mistake by earlier governments,” said Grey, “We shalln't make Justinian’s mistakes, and we certainly aren’t planning anymore regime change.”

“I don't think Justinian was planning one either,” replied the SGC.

“But I’m older and wiser than the kid emperor,” said Grey, “And I haven't committed mass genocide.”

“So shall we play on?” asked Grey, patting his own pile of chips.

“Of course,” said the SGC patting his pile of chips. He finally looked at his hand, to see what he had received.

“Its 200 chips to remain in the game,” advised the dealer.

Jonathon threw the chips in.

Grey also put in 100 chips, adding to his previous 100 in the small blind.

The dealer laid out the flop: seven of clubs, ace of clubs and four of spades.

Marge, who suddenly had the impulse action to spend, threw in 1000 chips.

“Lord O’Brien?” asked the dealer.

Looking surprised, he proceeded to add the required chips.

Tobias Grey folded, openly content with his lead.

The dealer placed out the turn card, the Queen of Clubs.

“Milady?” asked the dealer.

Grey meanwhile carefully studied his two opponents.

Marge threw in an extra 200 chips. The SGC also placed down a further 200 chips. He soon noticed Grey staring at him, and using his knowledge, began to move his eyelids to psyche him out.

The dealer placed out of the seven of spades, which stole Grey’s eyes.

At the sight, the SGC shoved in a further 1000 chips. His face still had the trademark poker face. Marge however, came in to match him.

“Lets see your cards,” said the dealer.

Marge showed a 7 and a Queen. The SGC had also had a 7 and an Ace.

“Full house each way,” said the dealer, “Ace beats queen. His Lordship wins.”

“Her Ladyship has the small blind, his lordship the large,” said the dealer, while passing out new hands.

Tobias Grey checked his hand, before putting out 200 chips to match the big blind. The O’Brien’s both chucked the chips in unison. The dealer then placed down the flop: two of hearts, three of spades, queen of hearts. Tobias Grey pushed forward 500 chips. The two O’Briens matched the bet. The dealer placed down the turn card, the seven of spades.

Tobias Grey announced, “Check,” as though it was a great feat.

The SGC smiled. He then chucked in 500 chips. Marge decided to chuck her cards down. Tobias shuffled forward 500 chips to match the SGC. The dealer placed down the river card, the nine of spades.

“What you got?” the SGC asked.

“Not telling,” said the President, shuffling forward another 500 chips, “Not till you place your final bet.”

The SGC proceeded to match the President. Tobias then showed his hand, to reveal a queen and a ten, giving him a pair of Queens.

“And what do you astound us with?” asked the President.

The SGC chucked down his cards, a four and a five.

“Pair beats high card,” said the dealer, pushing the pot to President Grey.

“Her Ladyship has the small blind, his Lordship the large blind,” said the dealer, passing out another set of cards to each player.

They took the cards. The SGC stopped and asked, “So about this murderer, that is out. What is going on?”

“Not much,” said President Grey, “We don’t have any leads and James Palmer is rubbing our faces in it.”

“He is playing a game of political point scoring is he?” asked the SGC

“Well it is election season,” said Grey, who then held up his empty scotch glass, which a waitress hastily took away.

“Milady, my lord; are you placing down the blinds?” asked the dealer.

They chucked the binds down. President Grey looked at his cards, before passing them back the dealer.

“Milady,” instructed the dealer, “It 100 chips to match your husband’s big blind.”

Marge then chucked the extra 100 chips. The dealer placed down yet another flop: three of diamonds, king of clubs and five of clubs. President Grey’s face became the picture annoyance. Marge decided to throw down another 200 chips. The SGC came in to match. The dealer placed down the turn card, four of clubs. The SGC felt a will to get chips. He put down 2000 chips. Marge surprisingly matched him. The dealer placed down the river card, two of spades. The two O’Briens then simply showed their cards; John had a 5 and 6, whilst Marge had an Ace and 2

“Pair of fives beats a pair of twos,” announced the dealer, pushing the pot over to Jonathon O’Brien.

President Grey looked at extremely annoyed at missing out on a chance of over 2000 chips.

“Lord President has the large blind, Lord O’Brien has the small blind,” said the dealer, passing out six new cards.

The two O’Briens however decide to equalize their chips; leaving them both significantly behind the President.

A waitress returned with a fresh glass of scotch for the President. The President promptly grabbed it and took a sip. Once every one had put in 200 chips, the dealer placed down the flop: King of Heart, Nine of Hearts and Seven of Clubs.

“Any bets?” asked the dealer.

Marge chucked in 200 chips. The SGC went to match. President Grey looked at them before throwing in 500 chips, not a huge amount but enough to fatten the pot. Marge sighed, and chucked the additional 300 chips. The SGC also chucked in required chips in. The dealer placed down the turn card, the Seven of Hearts. Marge, put a sizeable about of chips, 5000 in all into the pot.

“Lord O'Brien,” asked the dealer, “What are you doing?”

“Well, I'm gonna fold,” he said.

“Same,” declared Grey, throwing in his cards.

“Her ladyship wins the pot,” said the dealer, pushing over the large pot, although most of it was Marge’s money to begin with, “The Lord President has the small blind. Her ladyship has the large blind.”

The dealer then proceeded, to deal out new hands as Grey promptly put down the small blind.

Marge threw in the big blind. The SGC threw 200 chips to match it; and Grey also met it.

“So, I have your full support,” said Grey, as the dealer placed down the flop: seven of clubs, eight of clubs and nine of spades.

“I suppose, but you will have to talk to our Foreign Minister about it,” said the SGC.

“Should you come across any resistance,” said Grey, “I can organise for it to be eliminated.”

“Oh please, no,” replied Jonathon.

“I ‘can’,” said Grey, “‘Will’ is a very a different matter. But great things require great acts.”

He pushed forward a thousand chips as though to underline his statement. Jonathon matched the bet. Marge also equaled the bet.

The dealer placed down the ten of hearts. President Grey placed down another 1000 chips.

“To great things,” said President Grey, raising his glass.

The SGC, and Marge followed, “To great things.”

The SGC also added, “And I fold,” chucking his cards away.

“And you milady?” asked Grey.

“Same,” she said, chucking her cards onto the table.

“Well,” he said putting his arm around the pile of money, “I must get home to my wife,” pausing before correcting himself, “I must get home to my empty bed. I doubt your money will offer me little comfort.”

One of the President’s many black-shirts took his chips and put them in a large briefcase marked, “Grey.”

“I see,” he said, aware of the circumstances, of the man. He stood up, with his wife, and asked to get his chips changed to money.

The same black-shirt took the O’Briens’ chips, leaving with Grey (who said a very mumbled “Goodbye” as they were both going back to the same house) before returning alone with about two thirds of the money they brought into the casino, “This is what’s left.”

The black-shirt also provided them with a large armful of souvenirs ranging from packs of cards, mugs and poker guides to a pair of shirts with “I went to Verica Casino; Largest Casino in the Southern Hemisphere,” written on.
The black-shirt apologetically added, “I’d didn't know what size shirts to get.”

“Oh right,” he said. He tried it on and it fitted quite perfectly, “Thanks.”

Marge’s shirt also fitted.

“Your limo is waiting,” added the black-shirt, wearing an oversized novelty hat that had also been given to the couple by the casino, “President Grey would offer you a lift, but desires to go home by himself.”

“Ok,” they both said, in unison. They hopped on the limo, and started to fall asleep; unaware that since arriving in Farmina; a psychopath, a brutal murderer had been watching them…

Dasch wakes up to the voice on the plane's intercom.

"Please buckle your seatbelts, we are preparing to land."

He can remember clearly when he was discussing with Donald about the information they have collected thus far. He knew that Farmina could possibly hack into the secure comlink to MES headquarters, and so he is taking a second flight back home. As risky as it was to fly back under the flag 'family emergency', it was safer than possibly letting such information free.

The plane touches down, and taxis to the secured important-persons hangar. Dasch looks out the window to see Ackvick waiting for him. He gets up and walks out of the plane.

"Yet again, it's good to be back home," Dasch said.

"Yes it is," Ackvick says with a grin. He gives him a pat on the back, as they walk to the waiting armoured car.

------

"We got your videos," Ackvick said to Dasch, as they sit in a meeting room. "We have them safely locked up to level 10. But I must ask, why were they secured as such?"

Dasch takes a gulp of water from his glass, and puts it down. "According to Donald, Sanderson wanted to be kept safe from being assasinated from giving out critical information. Donald told me because of protocol..."

Dasch paused, which peaked Ackvick's attention. "I can see an 'and' to this sentence," Ackvick said.

Dasch nods. "He is concerned about the situation in Farmina. He thinks that our lives are in danger."

Ackvick nods. "You two don't have to be there you know. We could even completely withdrawl, and never talk about them again."

"But...I feel...we feel that we need to stay there. I know something's going to happen. You know my intuition, Jimmy boy."

Ackvick nods. "I'll be asking our medical center to give you two some of our latest health-stat rings for you. We'll have to take your wedding ring, so it won't bring about suspicion."

"Ackvick, I need a favor. I need you to get our team to look on every source on the Shadow, and any other parts of Farmina's history, so I can find out as much as I can."

Ackvick nods. "I'll see what I can do."

EPILOGUE


Friday 2:00am

The young boy scurried through the dark thick shrub. The detective man had promised him a whole hundred haren. His torch swung wildly as he moved. Then he could tell he was near. He turned off his flash light, not wanting to be caught by the Messians. So many things had been rumoured about their nation; he dared not think. With quiet haste, he threw the package onto the main dirt truck in and out of the Messian encampment, close to the Messians but far enough away that he didn’t fear getting caught. And with that the lad darted back through the thick scrub to the waiting car.

The package read, “Once before death and politics were intertwined. Murder and victory was one and the same.”

Within the yellow paper; police documents on the death of Justinian’s precious Kerria.

---

Friday 10:00am

Fredrick Johnson stirred his coffee for no other reason than to consume time. “Are you sure he is coming?” asked the mildly left wing Moralist chancellor.

“Of course,” James Sarck said, “He seemed intrigued why you called all three of us here in secret.”

“As are you, no doubt,” said Johnson, to the younger Moralist chancellor.

Sarck responded, “A secret meeting between two Moralist chancellors and a Labourist one is to…”

“Ahh, Fred,” said George Ravenstart, approaching the table in the slightly hidden café off a back road in Verica, “I like the new hat.”

“Thank you,” said Fredrick Johnson, wearing his usual hat, “But I call you here not to talk about my hat.”

“I am aware of that,” said the elderly Ravenstart, “I hope it is important, I still haven’t bought a costume for the President’s ball.”

“Its fancy dress!” exclaimed Sarck, “I was just going to wear a dinner suit.”

“I haven’t called you here to talk about clothes either,” instructed Johnson, in a tone sharper than his usual calm self, “But as I understand, its suits and cocktail dresses; but with costume masks.”

“I don’t look good in a cocktail dress,” said James Sarck, light heartedly.

“I think your wrong,” said Ravenstart, at Johnson; convinced it was fancy dress.

“You mean I would look good in a cocktail dress,” said Sarck, purposely misinterpreting Chancellor Ravenstart’s comments, “Problem with wearing a dress is that, Mr Palmer would probably start hitting onto me.”

Johnson couldn’t help but resist making his usual light hearted comments, and began singing, “James and Jamie sitting the tree, K-I-S-S-I-N…”

“That’s quiet enough,” declared Ravenstart, once again to his usual socially conservative, grumpy old man nature, “Now I have a costume to buy, so please tell us why we are here.”

Johnson adopted a purposely sorrowful tone, “The President’s wife is dead.”

“You’ve only just worked that out!” exclaimed Ravenstart sarcastically.

“Let me finished,” interrupted Chancellor Johnson, “He is still in mourning; and that’s only if he actually comprehends his wife’s death. Yesterday he returned to the Palace with half a million Haren after going to the casino.”

“Not nearly enough,” suggested Sarck, who took the final sip of his own coffee.

“Be quiet,” warned Johnson, “Its not only he’s gambling for huge amounts, always set by his guests’ pockets; but he is smoking and drinking a lot as well.”

“That describes President Grey before his wife died,” said Sarck, must unsure of a problem.

Johnson added a final proviso, “Also concerning is that President Grey has been having secret video conferences with someone outside our borders. So secret he won’t admit to having them; not even to Chancellor Rickhart.”

“I see the problem,” said Ravenstart, contradicting Sarck, “But we can’t remove him from the Presidency. Candidacy for the next election and hence the presidency is completely bolted; unless we want Palmer as a President.”

The three men shuddered at the thought of President Palmer. Johnson brought his now cold coffee up to his lips before putting it down, “As leader of the Labour block, George I hoped you; and Chancellor Sarck, would help secure me votes within the Parliament. We need to use legislative power to put President Grey on a leash.”

“I ensure the entire Labour block’s support,” said Ravenstart, “But I can’t see us pulling it off. The Presidency will be safe and secure from the Parliament.”

“And you certainly won’t have my faction’s support,” said Sarck, “This isn’t about concern over Tobias’ mental state; this is about a power shift in the government. You two can’t stand it that Rickhart and Sullivan have the president in their corner and not yours.”

“As though you haven’t been throwing your weight around when it suited you,” noted Ravenstart.

“I’ve heard enough,” said Sarck, standing up and walking off without another word.

Ravenstart looked over at Johnson, “Looks like there is going to be a definite shortage of votes. We certainly aren’t going to get help from the Liberals; and the Socialists don’t have many votes to give. That’s if a legislative collar is even possible; which I doubt; especially knowing Grey reserves the right to veto.”

Johnson stood up, “None the less; shall we be agreed that we are in alliance to create more agreeable policy; gathering support across factional bosses; and waiting till we can find the leash.”

Ravenstart knew that by agreeable, Johnson meant left wing, “Yes, we shall work to the one cause.”

With that two of the most powerful political warlords within the government cemented an alliance. The warlord problem that had been destabilizing the government was about to severely worsen.

---

Friday 2:00pm

Jamie Palmer paced back and forward along his wardrobe; so many possible combinations of suits, shirts and ties. Tomorrow the Shadow would strike and Palmer would be there, he would see it all. As he gently sung to himself he could hear Puppeteer’s orders rolling through his head. In the simplest form they were, “Destroy the President.”

Then he spotted a blood red tie, perfect for the occasion “Fabulous.”

---

Friday 5:10pm

Dan Rickhart removed the needle from his neck, throwing it in the bin beside him. His enemies were moving fast now. Degenerates, socialists, foreigners and power brokers. So many enemies of the righteous.

Captain Sardo knocked on the door. His knock was a distinctive one. “Enter,” declared Rickhart, and Sardo did just that.

“Dan, I have checked. Everything is as you planned,” said Sardo.

“Good,” said Rickhart, feeling the drug pumping through his vein, “Then we cannot fail.”

“Can’t we?” asked Sardo, more cautiously.

“We can’t,” said Rickhart with full conviction, “This plan is inspired God. Tomorrow we do his work.”

---

Friday 10:00pm

The telescreen lit up; the distinctive orange semi-circle with two lines passing through it appeared; the mark of the Shadow.

“I have been waiting for you. I am not a man to keep waiting,” said the man, alone in the dark room.

The digitized voice of the Shadow responded sharply, “Dare you threaten me. I am the Shadow, my word is death.”

The Shadow’s electronically distorted voice then lulled, “Have you done as I asked?”

The man responded, “Yes. I have overridden the relevant departments and rushed permission for travel approval for your agents, just as you instructed. They will be in Farmina tomorrow morning traveling on Messian passports. I assume you will keep your side of the bargain.”

“To the word; I shall keep my promise, rest assured,” responded to the Shadow, “But no further than those words.”

“To be expected,” said the man quietly, “I have informed you of my progress. Now I have a ball to prepare for. Goodbye.”

The telescreen flashed off.

And in the loneliness of the dark, the man lit up a cigarette. The glowing orange illuminated his greasy black hair and his small beard.

President Grey placed the cigarette in his mouth and closed his eyes; imagining tomorrow, when everything would play out.


OOC: MES look after my new thread please. This ball needs more than three guests.