Cascados
20-11-2005, 05:37
It is easy to go unnoticed in this world. Epic alliances all maneuver around each other, and some countries have super soldiers. Fleets of unimaginable size regularly conduct blockades, and covert operations are almost expected.
It is easy to be ignored in this world. A nation that is merely pleasant, that merely succeeds, that merely provides for its population does not play in the same arena as the greater nations.
This, of course, makes it the perfect location to commit an international crime.
Cascados, pleasant tropical get-away and producer of fine coffee beans. A colorful population of birds and citizens, it's a nice enough place.
The President of Cascados is a lively Democratic Socialist named Ana Jummi, and she enjoys popular support. But this is not a story about her.
To begin the story, we go to Cidado Arana, the capital of Cascados. In the capital, there is an international airport.
There, a man steps off the plane. This is where one should provide the description, and the exposition, and set up the main character and the plot.
But there is no description for this man, he isn't even the main character. He has black hair, was dressed in a used and old suit, and carried a thick suitcase. His eyes are wrinkled, but his mouth is smoothed by years of an unsmiling profession.
But that's all irrelevant. Because the man steps off the plane, takes a taxi to a cheap cafe, and sits down to order beef, with lime and a tequila. In the middle of eating his meal, as he is admiring the short skirt of the waitress and her long slender legs, another man sits down across from him. In contradiction to the first man's wide, portly build, this other man can only be described as sleek.
And across the red and white checkered table cloth, the sleek man shoots the fat man. There are shouts and gasps through the cafe, but the sleek man stands up and calmly grabs the suitcase of the dead, fat man.
He walks out of the restaurant casually, and tucks his gun into his pocket. With a smooth motion he opens his car and slides in, throwing the blood-stained suitcase into the passenger seat. A rough growl starts the blue sedan, and with a grinding of tires against dirt the man drives away.
The fat man's name was Carlos; the sleek man's name was Obero.
It is easy to be ignored in this world. A nation that is merely pleasant, that merely succeeds, that merely provides for its population does not play in the same arena as the greater nations.
This, of course, makes it the perfect location to commit an international crime.
Cascados, pleasant tropical get-away and producer of fine coffee beans. A colorful population of birds and citizens, it's a nice enough place.
The President of Cascados is a lively Democratic Socialist named Ana Jummi, and she enjoys popular support. But this is not a story about her.
To begin the story, we go to Cidado Arana, the capital of Cascados. In the capital, there is an international airport.
There, a man steps off the plane. This is where one should provide the description, and the exposition, and set up the main character and the plot.
But there is no description for this man, he isn't even the main character. He has black hair, was dressed in a used and old suit, and carried a thick suitcase. His eyes are wrinkled, but his mouth is smoothed by years of an unsmiling profession.
But that's all irrelevant. Because the man steps off the plane, takes a taxi to a cheap cafe, and sits down to order beef, with lime and a tequila. In the middle of eating his meal, as he is admiring the short skirt of the waitress and her long slender legs, another man sits down across from him. In contradiction to the first man's wide, portly build, this other man can only be described as sleek.
And across the red and white checkered table cloth, the sleek man shoots the fat man. There are shouts and gasps through the cafe, but the sleek man stands up and calmly grabs the suitcase of the dead, fat man.
He walks out of the restaurant casually, and tucks his gun into his pocket. With a smooth motion he opens his car and slides in, throwing the blood-stained suitcase into the passenger seat. A rough growl starts the blue sedan, and with a grinding of tires against dirt the man drives away.
The fat man's name was Carlos; the sleek man's name was Obero.