NationStates Jolt Archive

Saturday 8:00pm

As darkness and shadow came to dominate the Farminan sky, the soft warmth of violins wafted through the Grand Ballroom. Hundreds of waiters brought out dish after dish of food; extravagances from around the world; filling the Palace ballroom’s air with exotic and amazing smells. Great legs of lamb and beef and pork; seasoned and sauced in hundreds of different ways. Five hundred different salads, including twelve variations of Caesar salad alone. Steaming curries produced a wonderful scent. More trays held collections of vegetables; fried, steamed, creamed, roasted, battered, spiced or stuffed. Others had varieties of fish from all over the world; some exceptionally rare indeed. In total 10,000 different dishes had been organized.

President Grey walked amongst the racing Palace staff, taking in the feel of the room more generally, his mask resting on his forehead; his dinner suit, of such expense it would rival those worn by Justinian, sat with his tie untied and buttons unbuttoned. Against one wall was three massive stages; the central one for Farmina’s Symphony Orchestra, one for jazz musicians and the one on Grey’s right for other, newer, forms of music.

Moralist Enforcers (better known as black-shirts) looked stern and alert in their tight black uniforms, guarding the entrances to the Grand Ballroom with great caution. At every entrance black-shirt operated security devices to set up, to detect metal objects, transmissions, and potential weapons; supplementing those already established at the palace gates and the actual entrances to the White Palace. Inside the ballroom, more black-shirts paced back and forward with their rifles in hand, ready to act at the first sign of trouble.

President Grey nodded to Mr. Daniels, the Master of Ceremonies, before scurrying out a small door on his right. The huge oak doors that formed the main entrance were dragged open to allow the domestic guests to enter; allowing the ballroom to look bustling before the foreigners were allowed in.

Politicians and members of the cabinet were first inside. Labour block leader. The youngest member of the cabinet, James Sarck was the first in, simply wearing a white suit and a black eye mask. George Ravenstart, the leader of the Moralist Block, was appropriately hidden behind a clown; although a rather serious and slightly evil looking clown. Phillip Sullivan looked prim and proper wearing a dinner suit; but with no frivolous costuming. Fredrick Johnson was dressed like usual, casual suit and a dress hat. Dan Rickhart entered in a dinner suit, carrying his mask, gave everyone a wave, and shook a few hands before racing into the gents. Most members of the cabinet settled simply for a dinner suit and mask.

Prominent politicians, included James Palmer, Liberal Block leader and candidate for the presidency, in a bright cream blue suit; with a deep, dark red tie on a white shirt; his mask that of tiger. But his most distinctive feature as always was his unusually styled bright red hair; sitting up above his mask where all could identify it. The solemn Alfred Zimia, who had led the Socialist party to its recent disaster, was dressed entirely in black, his mask entirely hiding his face.

Supreme Commander Varius Aricar, recently appointed head of the Farminan military was also present (along with other ranking military officials), in dark military green and full regalia. The twelve cardinals of Farmina, in their crimson robes entered next, headed by the chief cardinal, Maxwell Tried, a man clearly showing the sign of his many years. After that the mix entrants became a blur. Representatives from powerful families, corporations, major government officials, celebrities and other moderately important people made up the rest of the massive Farminan guest list.

Wives walked glamorously in lock and step with their husbands, wearing fine cocktail dresses and extravagant ball gowns. Expensive hats, hairs and masks were a must. The Emperor’s balls; and now the President’s ball was one of the few times of year that the women of Farmina really put their front foot forwards and their faces in the camera. It wasn’t that Farmina had large legal restrictions on the women taking part in everyday society; just that they simply didn’t. All Farminans know that a woman does the greatest things when at home.

In the mash of conversations and hasty grab for beverages, President Grey, fully suited re-entered the Grand Ballroom from the opposite side, his face alight as though these had been the most joyous weeks of his life.

As the guests entered; there was more than one complaint about the strict security provisions that meant mobile phones and pagers were put in a cloak room in fear that they may be used to signal an attack during the ball.

Then as the final domestic guests entered the ballroom, Mozart began to play and the red ribbon at the far end corridor leading to the ballroom was opened. President Grey’s international guests began to enter.

And over the speakers President Grey’s prerecorded voice could be heard, “Friends from around the world, welcome to my domain.”


OOC: I am sorry if it is riddled with mistakes. I may be tired. None the less; let the twists begin.

The lights of the Farminan Palace played across the polished steel of the limousine as it made its way through the winding streets of Verica. Behind the tinted glass of the discreetly armoured vehicle, High Diplomat Hermia Sedaris examined her makeup in a mirror as the Foreign Affairs dossier concerning Farmina sat on the patent leather seat beside her. Although the diplomat took great pains to ensure that she looked her best for events such as these, no amount of cosmestics could entirely hide the scar that could be seen running along her jawline, marring her otherwise attractive face. Although its visibility was minimized by the skilled hands of a professional, the marks from her wound caused by a terrorist attack some months ago would likely stay with her for the rest of her life.

"Driver, how long until we arrive at the Palace?" asked Sedaris as she cast a bitter stare at the remains of a wound that she wished were long gone.

"We will be arriving within minutes, Madam Diplomat," came the reply.

Sedaris thanked the driver as she put her mirror down. Those who knew Hermia Sedaris would have assured her that she had lost none of her womanly radiance to the jagged line that ran across her delicate skin, especially dressed as she was that night, but lingering doubts refused to remain silent in the back of her mind.

The Department of Foreign Affairs had spared no expense in providing her with a proper diplomat's wardrobe, and thus she was dressed in some of the finest attire available on the international market. A strapless cocktail dress embraced her slim body, twinkling with the refractions of over a hundred quality diamonds. Hand sewn with the finest of materials in the Nation of Tree Hugging Lesbians, the royal purple fabric of the dress had been imbedded with a large number of tiny diamonds, making it more of a symbol of wealth then a piece of fashion. Her mask had been similarly decorated, with a pair of small jewels attached to the ends of its dark frame, while a triple strand of pearls clung tightly to her neck.

Sedaris cast her doubts aside momentarily however, as the Farminan Palace's true beauty became more apparent as the limousine arrived to deliver her at last. Emerging from within the polished silver limousine, her mask held infront of her face, Hermia Sedaris stepped with a trained confidence in her gait as she made her way towards the Grand Ballroom.

As the Democratic Colonies’ High Diplomat, Hermia Serdaris made her way to the final cordon of the Grand Ballroom, the music of the orchestra became ever louder. Black-shirts lined the wall as though the paint needed to be hidden. From the door a black-shirt who was clearly older than most of the younger men of the Moralist ranks, looked up at her and realized that she was someone the government wanted well cared for.

“Gaius,” he called out, before quickly pointing at the High Diplomat.

A young black-shirt, no older than 27 at the most raced over to the Serdaris, apparently Gaius. Muscular and slim, standard requirements for being a black-shirt; he wore the standard tight black pants and black shirt, with the Moralist emblem stitched in on both sides of the collar. His face was young and long; with light blue eyes and blonde hair (which was a much prized characteristic by Farminans).

Putting out his arm to the diplomat, Gaius asked, “Milady, shall you be requiring an escort,” using his other arm to point towards the entrance and the extensive (if not excessive) security precautions that were in place.

OOC: I'll presume that by your telegram I can throw a character in here. Let me know if I'm off base.
IC:

The typically ostentatious motorcade came to an eventual stop.

A perfect, long, slender, feminine leg glided effortlessly out of the door and was soon joined by a second.

A delicate hand outstretched was quickly met with the silk draped arm of a Praetorian Guardsmen.

Lady Nikoletta Bacchus had arrived.

The moonlight briefly caught the curve of the curve of her back as she stepped forward. Revealing her dress' back was open to just above her hips, met with a low cut v-neck and a slit that ran to her bellow her waist, the gown left little to the imagination.... Though much to the pleasure

With a flick of her hand the Praetorian Guardsmen delivered a sharp bow and beat a hasty retreat to the waiting van.

Alone, she ascended the steps of the White Palace.

Though she could have easily met her husband before her entrance, she had insisted on arriving alone.

The Militia Enforced State's execuative transport (an SUV, with armoured plating), drives down one of the major freeways towards the huge palace that they can see in the distance. Force Commander Alex Donald looks out the window at the lit up city all around him, as the SUV passes a car. Donald has had a lot to think about since he has arrived in Farmina. It seems like the Government has a secret conspiracy, a killer is loose, and the citizens of Farmina almost appear to be hyper-religious, racist biggots.

However, he still has a job to do. The MES got into this mess, and it would be bad form to leave a job undone. That was what the Militia Enforced State's newest democratic branch of government (http://forums.jolt.co.uk/showthread.php?t=445073) had told them. In fact, they said that they wanted things done right in this country. Donald is uneasy about the whole new 'democratic government' bit, as private citizens are not as well trained as the Force Commanders were in their job. He could also see Force Commander James Ackvick's uneasyness when Ackvick ordered him to assist Force Commander Dasch's operation with the Farminan situation.

"You seem lost there, Alex," Dasch said suddenly, which startles Donald from his train of thought.

"I'm just worried about tonight," Donald said. "If there is some sort of plot against the government, against us, or even anyone in general, I highly believe that whichever faction that has something planned, would plan it tonight."

Dasch nods. "Agreed."

They were dressed up in dinner suits, properly dressed for the occasion. Both of them wore gold wedding rings. However, they weren't ordinary wedding rings, but they were also health monitors, that if the user's heartrate and health were to deteriate, it would then send out a distress signal to any MES unit in a very large area. Large enough to reach the command aircraft, for sure, but not enough to reach headquarters. There are still going to be bodyguards waiting outside for them. "If only I could bring in the minicams with us..." Dasch thought. They wouldn't be able to bring them with them, because for sure they would have extreme security there. They could only possibly get away with the health monitors as they wouldn't send out a call unless their health deteriorates.

Dasch looks out his window, noting the old abandoned factories inside the large industrial district that is largely defunct as the majority of the city has shifted to the current city center. The convoy shifts over to the left lane, then pulls off the freeway, towards the palace. Any minute they would be arriving. Dasch straightens his tie, in preparation for the ball.

The limo had finally arrived to the White Palace, after having been stuck in traffic. The limo driver opened the door.

Four men came out, each dressed in the uniform of the the 39th Governor's Own Grenadiers Regiment of Defence. One of them, a sergeant stepped in front off the limo door and saluted.

The Supreme Governor of the Colonies, Jonathan O'Brien walked out and saluted back. He was wearing a military uniform, a 'Scotish' mess dress uniform, which meant he was wearing a kilt. As well as that, he was wearing a mask, with feathers stuck on it.

His wife stepped out next. Not ever being in the military, she was free to pick her own dress, and that she did. Her dress looked like it could have come out of Commedia dell'arte, well a very preety dress, and a mask to fit.

Two people then came out. They were wearing standard mess uniforms, with average masks. One of them revealed the left side of his belt. The belt had a holster on it with a gun.

"Sir, we are ready and waiting," the man said.

"Ok," replied the SGC, as he began to walk in.

The Lady Nikoletta Bacchus walked up the steps up of the White Palace in a dress that was meager, verging on obscene by Farminan standards; though not one complaint was heard from the young black-shirts as their eyes watched her move. Though she had not even reached the hall that lead to the ballroom where formal escorts were provided, an athletic young (low ranking) black-shirt walked up to her at quite a pace. The Moralist’s own skin tight full length black outfit; also limiting what was available to the imagination.

“Milady,” he began in Farminan courtesy, holding out his arm, although his eyes were certainly not looking at the right height, “May I lead you to the ballroom.”

---

As the executive transport pulled up near the White Palace in a ‘safety bay’, a black-shirt hurried over to greet the two Messians. On the palace steps, black-shirts were already whispering rumors about the Messians, but fell silent as their transport’s doors opened, no doubt ready to start again once the two men passed.

The black-shirt, Alex Jefferies, one of the White Palace’s front men greeted the Messians, “I’m sure you’re aware of the security protocol: no phones, no cameras, no watches, no bombs, no pieces of paper with corners or sharp edges, no metal objects, etcetera. If you have any of these things please deposit them at a cloaking desk on the way in. Now follow me.”

After a brief pause, Jefferies added, “And would you like this vehicle destroyed,” as a vague reference to the men not arriving in a limousine or other expensive, luxury, chauffeur driven vehicle.

---

Black-shirts on the main security cordon of the Grand Ballroom, picked the SGC and his wife instantly. Their recent presence in Farmina had attracted much attention, especially after visiting the President’s private lounge in the Casino Verica.

“Milord, milady,” said Major Steiner, his own black looser fitting than that of the low ranking, younger Moralist Enforcers, “It is a pleasure. Could I please ask you to hand over all items that are sharp, electronic, are used for time keeping, recording or communication, metallic, heavy, radioactive, any powders or liquids, weapons, items banned under Farminan law or specifically prohibited under tonight’s exceptional security measures; before you go through the scanners.”

He then with a wide movement of the arm gestured towards the small white cloaking desks manned by more of the black-shirt rank.

Putting out his arm to the diplomat, Gaius asked, “Milady, shall you be requiring an escort,” using his other arm to point towards the entrance and the extensive (if not excessive) security precautions that were in place.

"If you would be willing, I would be most appreciative of your company," replied Sedaris pleasently. She took the arm of the young man, allowing him to lead thier way.

Although Sedaris bore a bright smile on her lips, the Colonial diplomat couldn't help but notice the similarities between her male companion and another sort of blue eyed, blond male.

He looks like he just stepped out of an SS poster, Sedaris thought to herself. I'm sure he's a perfect gentlemen, but surely, the Farmians must have realized that calling the Moralist Enforcers 'blackshirts' would bring to mind negative comparisons...

Tim Eyman, the Secratary of the Treasury for the Republic of Cascadia, made up of Washington, Oregon, British Columbia and Northern California, arrived in a limo guarded by the Cascadian Special Forces and the Saquatch Militia. He noticed that security was extremely tight. "I can't even bring a watch in", he thought when he arrived at the entrance. In Cascadia, these measures would spark a revolt.

Gaius led forward the Lady Sedaris toward the security cordon around the Grand Ballroom. As they walked he said in most plain tone, “Milady, I’m sure you’re aware of tonight’s special security precautions. If you have any chemicals, weapons, heavy objects, watches, electronics, metallic objects, cameras, sharp objects and other banned items, please cloak them.”

As he finished speaking he stopped as they were in front of a cloaking desk, with an older man in looser fitting black was sitting behind the desk. Gaius without speaking, removed his rifle from its sling and placed it on the table, along with his pistol, two knives, his radio, his watch and his equipment belt. The elder black-shirt at the desk placed them all in a secure metal container marker, “Gaius Walsy,” before handing it to a lower rank black-shirt that hurried off with it. He then passed Gaius another belt (with a plastic buckle) that Gauis promptly put on.

The elder black-shirt, this markings signaling he was a Sergeant Major then asked Sedaris, “And does Milady require anything cloaked?”

As Tim Eyman approached the cordon of the Grand Ballroom, he had to pass the numerous cloaking desk’s that had been set up. The bulky, black haired, black-shirt manning the desk nearest Eyman asked the routine question, “Excuse me milord, but could you hand over hand over all items that are sharp, electronic, are used for time keeping, recording or communication, metallic, heavy, radioactive, any powders or liquids, weapons, items banned under Farminan law or specifically prohibited under tonight’s exceptional security measures; before you go through the cordon.”

The elder black-shirt, this markings signaling he was a Sergeant Major then asked Sedaris, “And does Milady require anything cloaked?”

"No, I don't believe so," said Sedaris, still with her arm intertwined with Gaius'.

"My driver and protective detail are armed, but they'll be staying with my vehicle for the duration of the President's Ball. I trust that this is alright?"

Together they walked toward the ballroom entrance. Before leaving Krioval, they had carefully divested themselves of anything metallic; even their bulletproofing was made of plasticlike polymers and would likely evade detection. They whispered to one another softly enough to avoid being overheard.

"What was the name of that American leader again?"

"That would be Nixon, Raijin."

"Right. Well, if he could go to China after their history, I can't think we'll screw this up too badly."

"Just try to behave."

"Kenji. Or should I say, Fuujin?" The larger of the two men laughed at the other's discomfort. "Don't worry. I've been doing this for long enough to not be directly insulting."

The Senate leader drew in a long breath. "Thank the Gods for that, at least."

They were nothing like the Farminans, at least that one could easily discern. Raijin was now Emperor of Krioval and leader of the ecclesiastical fighting force. That is, the polytheistic fighting force. Christianity had been all but outlawed in Krioval some years earlier, and along with other monotheistic faiths, was definitely looked down upon by the majority of the population. Kenji was the leader of the Kriovalian Senate despite his party's being a minority. He was known for his quick-hitting debate style that often left the opposition stunned, and his recent legislative efforts had made him something of a celebrity in Krioval. Of course, so did his relationship with the Emperor.

Even from a distance they stood out. There was nothing remotely Western about either of them, let alone being blond-haired and blue-eyed. Raijin's ancestry was more ambiguous, but Kenji was obviously Japanese. The Emperor was dressed for the part, though he had conceded a bit for sake of simplicity - his shirt displayed a patchwork of bright colors, the Kriovalian symbol for diversity, both theologically and among the population. His pants were black and unadorned, and his black boots were a curious hybrid of military utility and civilian comfort. Around his neck was a simple stone casting of the Kriovalian royal seal, and tied around his head was a white band that said, in Japanese script, that Raijin was Emperor and High Paladin.

Kenji went for simple business attire, as was the plan. Raijin was flashy and interesting, while Kenji was there to gather information. They were well suited to their roles, and after two years together, were capable of acting practically as one being. Now it was time.

Together, looking forward with a combination of bemusement and resolve, the two most powerful men in Krioval crossed the threshold.

“That should be no problem,” said the Sergeant Major, responding to Sedaris, “Unless they cause problems.”

Gaius turned from the Sergeant Major to the High Diplomat, putting his left hand forward to point through the security scanners, they armed black-shirts and the massive oak doors into the ballroom, “Shall we?”

Already aware of the response, he put forward his left foot a single step, along the red carpet.

The sight of Raijin Dekker in the White Palace drew the eye of nearly every Moralist, except those few that had their eyes on a pretty lady, and even then, a quick glance, if not a long stare was not uncommon. The Moralists had known Dekker was coming, but to be told something is one thing; to see it was quite another.

Behind the backs of the two Kriovalians gossiping quickly started. It had become common hearsay that Dan Rickhart had wanted Dekker forbidden to attend the ball, but President Grey would have nothing of Rickhart’s bitter desire for revenge.

At the base of the great oak doors to the Grand Ballroom, black-shirts again fell silent as they watched the two Kriovalians from cloaking rooms and scanning stations. A long time thorn in the Justinian the Mad’s side had arrived.

As Tim Eyman approached the cordon of the Grand Ballroom, he had to pass the numerous cloaking desk’s that had been set up. The bulky, black haired, black-shirt manning the desk nearest Eyman asked the routine question, “Excuse me milord, but could you hand over hand over all items that are sharp, electronic, are used for time keeping, recording or communication, metallic, heavy, radioactive, any powders or liquids, weapons, items banned under Farminan law or specifically prohibited under tonight’s exceptional security measures; before you go through the cordon.”

Tim handed over his watch and cell phone. Then he walked in, followed by his wife, Sophia, in a red dress, and Leigh Hunt, the Assistant Secratary of Health and the Environment, in a Cascadian Navy uniform, which showed his rank as Commander.

James Sarck, the cabinet member closest to the great oak doors, walked over to greet the Eyman and his delegation. Putting out his right hand, he said, “Welcome to Farmina on behalf of the entire government. I’m Chancellor Sarck and you would be Secretary Eyman, and of course this is your lovely wifely.”

Chancellor Sarck then put his left hand in the air and clicked his fingers to attract the attention of the waiters carrying around glasses of wine.

Black-shirts on the main security cordon of the Grand Ballroom, picked the SGC and his wife instantly. Their recent presence in Farmina had attracted much attention, especially after visiting the President’s private lounge in the Casino Verica.

“Milord, milady,” said Major Steiner, his own black looser fitting than that of the low ranking, younger Moralist Enforcers, “It is a pleasure. Could I please ask you to hand over all items that are sharp, electronic, are used for time keeping, recording or communication, metallic, heavy, radioactive, any powders or liquids, weapons, items banned under Farminan law or specifically prohibited under tonight’s exceptional security measures; before you go through the scanners.”

He then with a wide movement of the arm gestured towards the small white cloaking desks manned by more of the black-shirt rank.

The two men pulled their holsters off their belts.

"I'm expecting them back," sneered the two, in unison.

Meanwhile, the SGC and his wife, Marge had nothing metallic on them, so they began the walk towards the scanners.

Gaius turned from the Sergeant Major to the High Diplomat, putting his left hand forward to point through the security scanners, they armed black-shirts and the massive oak doors into the ballroom, “Shall we?”

Already aware of the response, he put forward his left foot a single step, along the red carpet.

Sedaris smiled at the Blackshirts manning the scanners as she and Gaius passed through without incident.

"Gaius," asked Sedaris, her smile still on her lips, "I would imagine that a man assigned to escort a lady such as myself would be quite proficient in the art of dance. Would I be mistaken in presuming such a thing about you, Gaius?"

The music of the ballroom grew louder and became more clear in tone as they approached its interior.

"Sometimes, I think it's a little strange how much importance the art of dance can have in the field of diplomacy - I myself took a three month course on the subject at the Colonial Academy of Diplomatic Affairs. It became surreal at times, studying dance to work in diplomacy. I suppose there always is a method to the madness though."

“Of course milady,” said Gaius, looking at Sedaris, “The government decided to ensure its security forces were perfectly equipped as an escort agency.”

He paused, listening to a large soprano belt out a number from Madam Butterfly, “Although perhaps you would prefer a bite to eat and a glass of wine. President Grey has chosen the music as to minimize dancing before his speech.”

With his free hand, he placed it in the air and clicked his fingers to get the attention of a waiter.

After Jonathon and Marge O’Brien passed through the scanners and the great oak doors of the ballroom, a waiter was already waiting there with two glasses of a sparkling white wine (commonly called champagne) on a tray. Gracefully he placed forward the tray to indicate that the wine was theirs if they so willed it.

In reply, they took the the glasses in a graceful manner and began to take a sip.

An aging, weighty man in a long crimson cloak and a silly hat, clearly a cardinal, approached the O’Briens and simply asked, “Have you enjoyed your stay in Farmina?”

James Sarck, the cabinet member closest to the great oak doors, walked over to greet the Eyman and his delegation. Putting out his right hand, he said, “Welcome to Farmina on behalf of the entire government. I’m Chancellor Sarck and you would be Secretary Eyman, and of course this is your lovely wifely.”

Chancellor Sarck then put his left hand in the air and clicked his fingers to attract the attention of the waiters carrying around glasses of wine.

"Thank you for your warm welcome, Chancellor", said Eyman as he shook hands.

"You seem to have this effect on everybody, huh?" Kenji looked at his counterpart, trying not to grin evilly.

Raijin sighed. "There are many here who wish that I had not come, I suppose. And I guess a few are rather curious. After all, to some here, I probably represent the height of immorality. I'd be curious too." He paused, looking around. "Is there somewhere we're supposed to go? I'm no good at these things at all."

"Let's keep going. We will probably run into someone shortly," the senator said, suddenly becoming concerned. "Perhaps they believe efficiency to be less important than do we. A cultural difference."

A waiter hurried over to the Eyman and his delegation carrying four glasses of champagne, to which Sarck said, “Help yourselves, would you excuse me a moment?

---

One of the black-shirts (well several to be accurate) noticed that Dekker and Kenji were looking mildly confused. Most however continued their duties of wall-hiding; but this one walked over, not weakened by the fear that Dekker would turn him into a toad, or something equally as ridiculous.

The black-shirt inclined his head slightly, before asking, “Lord Emperor, is there something you require?”

The black-shirt inclined his head slightly, before asking, “Lord Emperor, is there something you require?”

He turned deliberately and smiled. "I was unaware that the news traveled so quickly. It has been only a month since my ascension." He laughed at that, the sound reminiscent of distant thunder, yet without the accompanying threat of danger. "To answer your question, however, I have never set foot in the Democratic Republic, though I had long hoped to do so eventually." Raijin was careful to not indicate his desired role, or the mechanism that he once wished would have brought him, triumphant, to the nation of Farmina. Cooler heads had prevailed even then, and time had a way of calming even the most martial of hearts in Krioval.

"But I am being rude," the Emperor continued, turning to the shorter Kriovalian beside him. "This is Miyamoto Kenji," he said, careful to position the Japanese family name first, "leader of the Kriovalian Imperialist party and currently Speaker of the Senate. It is likely that his role will expand greatly in the coming months, with the reforms our government is pushing forth."

Kenji quickly interrupted. He knew how long Raijin could go on about the changes in Krioval. "I am pleased to meet you. I must admit, I probably know far less about this glorious nation than you do about my modest one, but we would be honored to listen to anything you consider important."

“Important,” laughed the black-shirt, “I’m just a soldier, its not my job to know important, its to know what’s to be shot and what’s to be saved, though even that’s a little confusing these days.”

The black-shirt made a quick yet clear pause, “President Grey is going to make a speech about how much better Farmina is now that he has dealt with Justinian soon.. I suggest that you make your way to the ballroom quickly. This way.”

The black-shirt paced off in a leftwards direction. In a backward facing remark he said, “If you want important, never annoy the President you will end up wearing green-sleeves.”

Raijin nodded politely, and Kenji bowed respectfully, and the two made their way toward the main ballroom. As soon as they were past the soldier, they carefully returned their focus to each other. Two years together had almost made verbal communication unnecessary between them, and while their looks might have been almost inscrutable to any casual observer, Raijin and Kenji both conveyed a single word with their gazes - Bullshit. It wasn't that either of them thought that the lies were intentional, but more that the soldier's conditioning had led him to a thought pattern that relied on, rather than dispelled, uncertainty. Raijin thought to the training regimen of Kriovalian soldiers. He mentally conceded that many soldiers specialized too readily, and that most were only equipped to deal with defensive tactics. Of course, an invasion hadn't been conducted by Krioval in over a century, and that trend was likely to continue.

What struck him was the political training of a Kriovalian soldier. To rise beyond the most basic of training, one had to really know Krioval - including the political system by which the nation was run. This almost always disqualified the hotheads and the extremists, and in turn made the armed forces more cohesive. The idea that a soldier could be confused about what should be shot versus saved left Raijin in a mood bordering on despair.

"It's difficult to know what we're fighting for, isn't it?" Kenji finally ventured. Of course, 'we' meant 'they', but that was readily understood.

"The world is complicated, that's for sure." The Emperor quickened his pace, first making sure that the Senate leader was able to match it. "Don't want to miss the big event, now do we?"

As the black-shirt lead Dekker and Miyamoto into the ballroom, he pointed to the long banquet tables on the left, “Perhaps you would consider getting a bite to eat, as these tables offer the best view of the three stages…”

Before the black-shirt could finish a larger man, tall, slim, yet clearly muscular, gave the man a thud. Wearing a tiger mask and a light blue suit, Jamie Palmer, the leader of the Liberal opposition, could only be identified by his unusual red hair, spoke before anyone else could, “Moralist, you are needed no longer, return to your duties.”

Despite the word moralist being said with a distinct sneer, the black-shirt did as Palmer told him and left. When the Moralist was gone, Palmer directly addressed the two Kriovalians, in a low, hushed voice, “You come here in such dark times. Your presence is your death.”

Tim Eyman sipped the champagne while thinking about the Farminan people. His report on Farmina given to him by the Secratary of State said that one of the main political patries was the Moralists. What a conservative country, he thought as he went over the report in his mind. Eyman was a libertarian and believed strongly in the right of people do do whatever they wanted. In fact, that was how he met his wife, Sophia. They first saw each other at a political rally. He was appointed Secratary of the Treasury because he had led a anti-tax movement in Washington state before Cascadia became independent. Meanwhile, Leigh Hunt was also thinking abut the report, although he was a liberal and a environmentalist. He supported the woman's rights movement and saw the Moralists as limiting women's rights just because of their gender. He then looked up and saw a Japanese person talking to a man with red hair. He reconized the face as the Speaker of the Senate of Krioval. He went over to say hello and ask about the new reforms in his country.

OOC: Since I am new at this and don't know much about the other nations, please correct me if got anything wrong.

Donald gives the black-shirt a fairly dirty look. "Excuse me? No, thank you. We don't have an armoured limozine in the country, and the SUV is plenty enough for the job. It's a $100,000 SUV, not an eight wheeled APC rolling down the freeway!"

Donald looks towards the door out of the carpark, and looks back at him. "Now please take me in."

The black-shirt nods with an equal dirty look, and they start heading out of the carpark, as the MES SUV pulls into a parking space and waits for them to return. Donald looks over to Dasch, as Dasch matches the same look at Donald. "When we first decided to go to the ball, I thought it would have been a nice, relaxing occasion." Dasch whispers behind the black-shirt's back.

"I wish it was that easy. And we should still take it easy here. No point causing trouble in public. That could cause problems," Donald whispers back. They glance both ways and cross the street, and they head towards a door.

OOC: I think you can take it from here.

"You come here in such dark times. Your presence is your death."

"Huh. I've heard that before, you know," Raijin said, attempting to deflect any extra attention being given to the two Asians and the red-haired "tiger".

He then looked up and saw a Japanese person talking to a man with red hair. He reconized the face as the Speaker of the Senate of Krioval. He went over to say hello and ask about the new reforms in his country.

Raijin sensed that it was time for a slight diversion. "Kenji, would you go and discuss matters with Lord Palmer for a moment? I should talk with this gentleman for a few minutes," he said, gesturing toward Tim Eyman. The Emperor turned abruptly toward the representative from Of Cascadia and greeted him rather loudly. "Nice place, huh?"

The Kriovalian Senate leader looked at Jamie Palmer as nonchalantly as he could manage. "Should buy us a couple minutes, anyway. Now then, there was something about death? Not at your hands, I should hope."

The Lady Nikoletta Bacchus walked up the steps up of the White Palace in a dress that was meager, verging on obscene by Farminan standards; though not one complaint was heard from the young black-shirts as their eyes watched her move. Though she had not even reached the hall that lead to the ballroom where formal escorts were provided, an athletic young (low ranking) black-shirt walked up to her at quite a pace. The Moralist’s own skin tight full length black outfit; also limiting what was available to the imagination.

“Milady,” he began in Farminan courtesy, holding out his arm, although his eyes were certainly not looking at the right height, “May I lead you to the ballroom.”
"That you may..." Delaying for a moment, she weighed the Rotovian traditional of not touching royalty against offending her hosts.

In all the grace she could muster in this gesture, she removed her stole, place it over the arm of the young officer and proceeded to gently slide her arm inside his.

"Lead the way..."

The helicopter landed atop the White Palace. General Maya Nizharov, the official chosen to represent Mirkana here, stepped out. She was dressed in a black dress uniform with medals on her breast and an armband with a gold crosshairs stitched on it - the insignia of an elite markswoman. She also had a Mac Ingram pistol at her side.

An aging, weighty man in a long crimson cloak and a silly hat, clearly a cardinal, approached the O’Briens and simply asked, “Have you enjoyed your stay in Farmina?”

"Yes, I have," they both said in unison. "Now where do we sit?"

Jefferies, his joke having been taken so poorly by Commander Donald dare not say another word. Leading then in silence through the palace door, through the corridor on the left, then he paused, “Please check in all contraband at one of these cloaking desks, then go straight through that door. Now I have other guests to attend to, goodbye.”

And with that the black-shirt paced back towards the entrance.

---

Jamie Palmer, surprised that Dekker actually seemed to know how he was (and more surprisingly that the foreigner could recognise him despite the mask, although the thought didn’t occur to Palmer until later), turned his attention the man called Kenji.

“Kenji,” began Palmer, in a hushed voice, “If that is what I should call you; I have no intention of killing you, in the current state of play.”

“Is there a specific reason for your presence? It does seem most extraordinary,” Palmer continued, “And I suggest don’t try your Kriovalian mind tricks with me, for your sake.”

---

The young Moralist, whose eye had been taken by Lady Bacchus, took her down the corridor on the left toward the cloaking desks. Another older, and certainly more round, black-shirt caught sight of the two and quickly began to turn a furious red. Standing up, the large man, clearly marked as a Colonel walked over to Lady Bacchus and her escort. Then he let loose at the young black-shirt in a furious rage, “PRIVATE. What the hell do you think your doing? This is Lady Bacchus of Rotovia. You were supposed to be on guard, not escorting dignitaries that took your fancy, or don’t you understand that.”

“Very sorry sir,” muttered the younger man, though he clearly didn’t sound it.

“SORRY,” continued to belt the Colonel, “If you were thinking with your brain instead of your…”

The Colonel suddenly stopped, remembering who he was in the company of, “…well, those, you would still be at your post. Now stop looking at those and get back to your post, NOW!”

In a flash the younger black-shirt scurried off as though his life depended on it. The black-shirt Colonel then turned his attention to the Lady Bacchus, “I apologise for the boy. Now firstly do you need anything cloaked and secondly, can I organise a you a proper escort?”

As the helicopter came down on the roof of the White Palace, black-shirts turned white with panic. The helipad was for emergencies only and been last used in Justinian’s miraculous escape after the rise of the Moralists. Tonight, the entire area around the Palace was declared a no fly zone and anything that entered it was supposed to be shot down. With the helicopter coming in to land, it was obviously too late for that option.

Worse was the fact that this guest was armed; in the White Palace! Very few were allowed that privilege; and at the very top, where the most secure levels of all resided!

In normal circumstances…well these weren’t normal circumstances, this was a foreign diplomat, and an unannounced one at that. A black-shirt marked as a Sergeant sheepishly stepped forward, “Milady, this is a no fly zone and a private helipad; your copter can’t stay here. And you certainly can’t bring a weapon inside. I’ll take them for cloaking if you don’t mind, along with any other contraband items, like watches.”

He then stepped back, trying to give the Mirkanan space and while considering how to explain to Chancellor Stone such a horrific security breach.

---

The cardinal responded to the O’Briens, “Anywhere, you may sit wherever you please. There is plenty of seating for everyone. Why in fact you may change seats, or not sit at all if you please? We Farminans are quite liberal about such things.”

Raijin sensed that it was time for a slight diversion. "Kenji, would you go and discuss matters with Lord Palmer for a moment? I should talk with this gentleman for a few minutes," he said, gesturing toward Tim Eyman. The Emperor turned abruptly toward the representative from Of Cascadia and greeted him rather loudly. "Nice place, huh?"

The Kriovalian Senate leader looked at Jamie Palmer as nonchalantly as he could manage. "Should buy us a couple minutes, anyway. Now then, there was something about death? Not at your hands, I should hope."

"Yes, it is. So how are you? I think Mr. Hunt here wants to talk to you.", said Eyman.
"Excuse me, but my name is Leigh Hunt. I am the Assiant Secratry of Health and the Enivroment of Cascadia. I heard you have some reforms going on in your country.'

“Kenji,” began Palmer, in a hushed voice, “If that is what I should call you; I have no intention of killing you, in the current state of play.”

“Is there a specific reason for your presence? It does seem most extraordinary,” Palmer continued, “And I suggest don’t try your Kriovalian mind tricks with me, for your sake.”

"In the current state?" The Kriovalian senator arched his eyebrows. "And I suppose 'Kenji' will do. As to why we've come, suffice it to say that we want to see your society directly, and to evaluate it. And to put your mind at ease, Lord Palmer, I possess no 'mind tricks', and I daresay that the Emperor recognized you from your hair and the way you spat the word 'Moralist'. Getting back to the 'death thing', there can't really be someone out to assassinate foreigners here, can there?"

"Yes, it is. So how are you? I think Mr. Hunt here wants to talk to you.", said Eyman.
"Excuse me, but my name is Leigh Hunt. I am the Assiant Secratry of Health and the Enivroment of Cascadia. I heard you have some reforms going on in your country.'

Raijin bowed toward the newcomer almost imperceptibly. "Assistant Secretary Hunt, please allow me to introduce myself. I am Raijin, Emperor of Krioval, Prelate of the City of Torokara, and Chief among Paladins." He said this without the slightest trace of braggery, and an astute politician would quickly realize that the titles were meant not for Of Cascadia, but for the Farminan blackshirts. "Most people simply call me Raijin. Which of our reforms would you like to discuss, our mandatory organ donation program or the gold dragon habitat reconstruction?"

As the black-shirt was giving a very strong look of uncomfort, Donald realised that he was making a joke. A bad joke when they are this nervous, but still a joke.

“Please check in all contraband at one of these cloaking desks, then go straight through that door. Now I have other guests to attend to, goodbye.”

As the black-shirt turns on his heel and starts to head out, Donald looks back at the black-shirt.

"I'm sorry, I didn't get the joke." as the black-shirt left.

He then turned back to Dasch. Donald notes the massive amounts of security, which makes him thankful that he didn't bring any gadgetry like they normally do. The only devices are in their wedding rings, which send a panic signal if the user dies or is injured, but are otherwise completely silent and unnoticable.

They then walk up to the cloaking desk, check in, giving them the forbidden items they were carrying (watches, pens, etc).

Then they walk through the door and into the large room where the ball is being held.

"In Cascadia, we have a research program going into stem cells. They could be used to grow replacement organs, making organ donations a thing of the past. is your country doing anything like that?"asked Leigh Hunt.

Palmer’s lip twisted behind his mask at Kenji’s comment. His voice remained hushed and dark, but there was an element of something unkind with in Palmer’s voice, “Most of the people are here to kill President Grey, or at least heavily humiliate him. However I’m sure Chancellor Rickhart isn’t going to give your Emperor a bunch of flowers and a kiss on the cheek. And I’m sure the remnants of Justinian’s supporters don’t have anything nice planned for you either.”

General Nizharov hesitatingly removed her pistol. She apologized for the security breach. She told the chopper pilot to head back, and to arrange an APC to pick her up when the ball was over.

DCI Sanderson observed Commander Donald and Commander Dasch enter the ballroom. He wore an ordinary black dinner suit, and a small black eye mask. At a gentle pace, he walked over to the two Messians, and placed out his hand, “Glad to see you again Lord Commanders. Last time I spoke Commander Donald, you seemed to think that you needed to solve your riddle before we got here. Have you?”

---

Meanwhile, President Grey was still wandering the ballroom floor, shaking the hands of guests from distant lands that he had not met. His face was more gaunt than in the past, his wide belly retracted, if only mildly. He seemed somehow younger. He walked up to Raijin Dekker and Assistant Secretary Hunt, who were speaking about something he did not peak up, nor really cared to try. In a simple gesture he put out his hand for shaking, the President said very little other than a mumble, “Welcome to Farmina.”

---

The black-shirt sergeant took General Nizharov’s weapon, and secured it in a box. He then said, “Follow me, milady.”

He then led the General to an elevator down to the ground floor, along a number of corridors and then they were before the large oak doors, protected by the security cordon.

“If you have no other contraband, you just go through those doors,” said the black-shirt, pointing into the ballroom.

Palmer’s lip twisted behind his mask at Kenji’s comment. His voice remained hushed and dark, but there was an element of something unkind with in Palmer’s voice, “Most of the people are here to kill President Grey, or at least heavily humiliate him. However I’m sure Chancellor Rickhart isn’t going to give your Emperor a bunch of flowers and a kiss on the cheek. And I’m sure the remnants of Justinian’s supporters don’t have anything nice planned for you either.”

"You have been almost frighteningly honest with me, Lord Palmer, and I must now repay the favor. Krioval does not stand to gain from such actions, strange as that may sound. In fact, if anything untoward does occur, the results would be decidedly negative. Are you saying that there are none here who will respect a foreign delegation visiting under flag of truce? That's the sort of thing that keeps people at war for generations. I'd rather avoid that, if you don't mind."

-------------------------------------------------------------------------
"In Cascadia, we have a research program going into stem cells. They could be used to grow replacement organs, making organ donations a thing of the past. is your country doing anything like that?"asked Leigh Hunt.

"We have made a few advances in the field of bioengineering, if that's what you're asking. At present, however, we are finding the reconstruction of organs to be a vexing challenge. It is almost as if Life resists the idea of such specialized applications of technology."

Meanwhile, President Grey was still wandering the ballroom floor, shaking the hands of guests from distant lands that he had not met. His face was more gaunt than in the past, his wide belly retracted, if only mildly. He seemed somehow younger. He walked up to Raijin Dekker and Assistant Secretary Hunt, who were speaking about something he did not peak up, nor really cared to try. In a simple gesture he put out his hand for shaking, the President said very little other than a mumble, “Welcome to Farmina.”

Raijin bowed formally to his counterpart. His voice, which had exuded playfulness earlier, became stonily serious. "Mister President, you do me great personal honor by extending to me your hospitality. Perhaps there is still hope that our nations will grow stronger together!" The Kriovalian noticed the extended hand only then, and grasped it, shaking briefly but vigorously. "I look forward to hearing you speak this evening." The mask of formality then dissipated, leaving an almost-grinning very large Raijin waiting for some form of response.

DCI Sanderson observed Commander Donald and Commander Dasch enter the ballroom. He wore an ordinary black dinner suit, and a small black eye mask. At a gentle pace, he walked over to the two Messians, and placed out his hand, “Glad to see you again Lord Commanders. Last time I spoke Commander Donald, you seemed to think that you needed to solve your riddle before we got here. Have you?”

Donald turns his head in a no. "Unfortunately, I still have yet to find out what is going on. However, we're here to both get to meet some of the world leaders as well as Farmina's leadership in an politically-informal way, and to see if our fears were correct, and to help if it does. Hope to God it doesn't."

Palmer let out a soft bitter laugh, before returning to his hushed speech, “I think most people here are well intentioned; as well intentioned as politicians can be anyway. No, but the presidency has many enemies. Old wounds haven’t healed and new ones are always forming. Out of the thousands here; there are only a hundred or so plotting murder I would think. But those are the times we live in.”

---

Not far away, President Grey briefly shook Dekker’s hand before turning it to shake Hunt’s hand. As Dekker spoke, Grey nodded slowly, although said nothing. In the corner of his eye he spotted Jamie Palmer and turned his head further around as though to avoid being seen. When Dekker finished speaking, Grey said a very quick and very mumbled, “Thank you, Emperor Raijin.”

---

When Donald finished speaking, Sanderson grabbed him by the sleeve as though to pull him away from Dasch, before moving his lips to Donald’s ear. In a whisper, the nobleman detective asked, “And our little secret?”

The cardinal responded to the O’Briens, “Anywhere, you may sit wherever you please. There is plenty of seating for everyone. Why in fact you may change seats, or not sit at all if you please? We Farminans are quite liberal about such things.”

The SGC gave a chuckle.

"Okay then," he replied. He quickly chose a sit. His wife followed him, as always. He looked to see who was sitting on his table. He decided to start a conversation

"You shouldn't look under the table," he began. "I'm not wearing any underpants." He was refering to his kilt, as he was from a Scottish origin.

At the reference to the kilt, the cardinal’s eyes turned wide and took several large steps away from the O’Briens. “You are joking of course,” he said, smiling while rolling his head backwards.

At the reference to the kilt, the cardinal’s eyes turned wide and took several large steps away from the O’Briens. “You are joking of course,” he said, smiling while rolling his head backwards.

"Well, I hope your not interested in what's down there," he retorted back. "I'm a Scottish 'an, you know."

Not far away, President Grey briefly shook Dekker’s hand before turning it to shake Hunt’s hand. As Dekker spoke, Grey nodded slowly, although said nothing. In the corner of his eye he spotted Jamie Palmer and turned his head further around as though to avoid being seen. When Dekker finished speaking, Grey said a very quick and very mumbled, “Thank you, Emperor Raijin.”


Hunt shook Grey's hand and said,"Thank you for welcoming us to your country, Mr. President. As Assistant Secratary of Health and the Environment, I hope that our two nations can work together on helping the environment."

---

Meanwhile, Eyman and his wife had gone to talk to some other people.

The cardinal decided he didn’t really want to talk to Jonathon O’Brien about his kilt and went back to discuss theology with the other cardinals.

---

President Grey released Hunt’s hand and said, in near inaudible mumbling, “I hope so. Goodbye.”

The President then hurried off to the far side of the room.

When Donald finished speaking, Sanderson grabbed him by the sleeve as though to pull him away from Dasch, before moving his lips to Donald’s ear. In a whisper, the nobleman detective asked, “And our little secret?”

Donald nods. "It's a secret," Donald said quietly, out of Dasch's range of hearing. "I wouldn't dare spread it for the sake of your life."

“Very good,” said the DCI, “I hope it stays that way.”
Then in silence he proceeded away.

But before Donald would have had a chance to move, a masked man stopped in front of him. This man’s face was obscured by a large white mask; completely plain, engulfing his entire head. He wore a plain dinner suit, identical to hundreds of other dinner suits in the room.

In a hushed voice the masked man said, “Lord Donald; my master wishes to meet you.”

He then handed Donald a small card before disappearing into the crowd. On that card was the orange semi-circle with two bars, the mark of the terrorist known only as the Shadow. Below was a message written in small text:

Tonight as people dance; grim lights hang over all. My offer is the truth, the greatest weapon known. But be warned, there is a price; your life might be forfeit, I can offer you no assurance our enemies will not use this against you. Come alone and come now, tell no one. In shadows I will meet you. Bring this card to prove yourself. Should you not meet my conditions; I shall disappear. Do not think I can’t see you. Be fore warned, murder is plotted on this dark night. Betray the world by meeting me and learn the truth or die old in ignorance, the choice is yours.

Head past the three stages, towards the small oak door. Head through and down the corridor, then left the palace rear. Through the closest gate and down road. Into the factories and down the second road on the right. The old brickworks; there we shall meet. May darkness be your friend.

The person passed by Donald so fast, that he didn't even have a chance to react. After looking at the card, his gut tensed. Donald looked back at Dasch.

"What is going on Donald?" Dasch asked.

Donald looked to the side, then back at him. "I must go somewhere. Alone."

Dasch nods. He can't figure out what Donald means, but he knew something big is up. "Go now." Dasch said.

Donald walks away towards the designated location, walking through groups of people to throw off security, while avoiding the notable Farminan heads of state.

The night sky was dark, but both cloudless and starless. The industrial zone below had been long abandoned, with only a few factories still operation, and none at this time of night. Verica’s pollution restrictions, particularly those that had been put in place around the palace after its construction, had driven them into the ground. It had been planned to turn the area into parkland, the Emperor’s private playground, but the Emperor was gone and showed no intention of returning.

As the moon hung high in the sky, it illuminated the balaclavas of men in dark black that watched the small street. The black was not the clean, well cut black of the Moralists, but dirty, torn and rough black of the streets. The street was silent as the hidden men walked in the darkness, the only noise their boots on the poorly paved road.

Then in the darkness emerged the man they had been waiting for, Force Commander Donald. They did not make any gesture to present themselves, but simply paused in the darkness, and placed their hands into the air, illuminated only by the moonlight, pointing to the great derelict brickworks, hidden in the shadow.

The brickworks, once a proud building, was now walling apart. Barely visible in the dark, the paint was worn, the windows broken and the bricks themselves crumbled. The door was missing from its frame, and standing in the darkness of the frame was instead another man in hidden black, his face hidden by his balaclava and the night; waiting for Donald to return the card.

Donald walks up to the doorframe, hidden in the darkness. All that was going through Donald's mind was how insanely dangerous doing what he was doing was. He swallowed hard, then stands in front of the door that was mentioned. He sees a dark figure inside the doorframe, and Donald hands out the card to the man. "I'm Force Commander Alex Donald. You have something to discuss with me?"

The man in the doorframe took the card, but said nothing. He stepped around Commander Donald opening the way in through the doorframe, and placing himself in the dim light of the moon. He then put out his arm, illuminated by the moon light, along with his fellow guards, pointing into the old brickworks, where Commander Donald would meet his destiny; in the darkness.

Donald walks into the very dark room. How much he wished he could have a flashlight at this moment. Am I doing the right thing? This could be suicide. This might be suicide. But we need to find more information, get more from the other side of the story...

Then in the darkness, he saw the outline of a large man, and undoubtedly, a dangerous one...

Palmer let out a soft bitter laugh, before returning to his hushed speech, “I think most people here are well intentioned; as well intentioned as politicians can be anyway. No, but the presidency has many enemies. Old wounds haven’t healed and new ones are always forming. Out of the thousands here; there are only a hundred or so plotting murder I would think. But those are the times we live in.”

Kenji went for it. "Are you among those hundred?" The question was asked in a tone of utter neutrality, as if it were about the weather. From Senator Miyamoto's point of view, it hardly mattered what the answer was, except for how it might shape Krioval's response. "Not that it matters, directly, to me, of course. I'm far more interested in why you would tell me all of this."



Not far away, President Grey briefly shook Dekker’s hand before turning it to shake Hunt’s hand. As Dekker spoke, Grey nodded slowly, although said nothing. In the corner of his eye he spotted Jamie Palmer and turned his head further around as though to avoid being seen. When Dekker finished speaking, Grey said a very quick and very mumbled, “Thank you, Emperor Raijin.”

Raijin waited until the Farminan President had passed. "Must be a very busy man," he said to nobody in particular, and went to rejoin Kenji, who was still deep in conversation with Jamie Palmer. "Anything 'interesting' going on?" he asked, knowing full well something was up.

"The usual," Kenji said, not looking up.

Palmer’s face twisted behind his mask at Kenji’s question, as he thought to himself, “Inquisitive trouble maker. Not to answer would have been a sign to concern; but to answer might give something away.”

Palmer’s thoughts were broken by Raijin Dekker’s timely approach, “News, you want news? I have every intention of being the next President of Farmina. Did you know President Grey’s wife was killed in a bomb meant for him. And that old man in the wheelchair over there, that’s Ronald Grey, the President’s father.”

The three things that Palmer had blurted out were completely unrelated; but it would surely provided the Kriovalians something to think and talk about; other than the Liberal leaders own plans. He only hoped he didn’t sound too bizarre saying them.

Rellian Peters emerged from the crowd. Unlike most guests, he wore a long black robe, with black trousers and a long sleeved black shirt. His mask was black, smallest in the centre, fanning out so that by his ears the mask reached the entire length of his face.

Quietly he sat down across from Jonathon O’Brien, grabbing a small plate of salad and roast meat on the way past the buffet table. He then looked O’Brien squarely in the eyes. His blood red lips twisted as he spoke, “It has been too long.”

"It was been," he replied, taking his hand out for a handshake. "I hope you realise that Rotovia has signed all the paperwork. I think it was a partition plan or something. The Rotovian lady is here though, so you could go and ask her."

“I’m aware,” said Peters, “It makes me out of a job. However Chancellor Rickhart has made me ambassador to Crete until he has something more useful to put my talents too. Still it was nice to be known as the Governor of Crete. As far as I’m aware I get to keep the title.”

Rellian Peters then added, “And how is your small part of the world going?”

"Oh good," he said. "It's our anniversary when we get back from here."

At the moment, Marge, his wife kissed the SGC on the cheek.

Meanwhile, Eyman had gone to the buffet and gotten some salmon. He wondered if it was from Cascadia.

--

Leigh had noticed that the Farminan President was acting not as he had expected. He wondered why. Then we went off to join Eyman and his wife at their table.

A torch flashed on as a figure pointed it at Donald. A deep voice said tonelessly, “That’s him.”

Behind the man with the torch someone else hidden by the darkness turned on a lantern. The entire room became illuminated by the dim light. The walls were aged and the tiled floor chipped and worn. Through the battered roof ran old lighting that hadn’t worked in many years. In a distant corner was a staircase that led into the floor and in the opposite corner a man in black setting up a laptop computer.

Between Donald and the light, stood not one man but two. The man on the right was the tallest; and would have been tall compared to a great number of people. He was of slim but strong build. On his left was a shorter, but by no means short, and was a far bulkier man. This second shorter man used the darkness to hide a pistol within his hand; despite the fact that the loyal henchmen openly brandished larger weapons. Both men’s faces were hidden by balaclavas and the fact that the sole lantern was behind them.

As one of the henchmen started to set up a lantern in front of the two men; the shorter man asked; in a worryingly familiar voice; a soft, low, middle aged voice, “Tell us everything you know and everything you suspect. It is then that we shall fill in the gaps.”

Donald notes the voice. It sounds familiar, but it doesn't connect.

"Whatever you do, remember that I came here for the betterment of Farmina, and in order to do so, I wish to not be killed."

He looks at the men, and then continues. "From what we know, the Farminan leadership is corrupt. There is something going on behind the scenes that I have no idea what is going on. I believe that Chancellor Rickhart has something going on, and even the President...something about him. There also seems to be corruption in the police force, since some members seem to be hiding evidence from others. And this whole military revolt, maybe we helped the wrong side? Maybe they were the sane ones?"

Rellian Peters smiled at the O’Briens, “That’s very nice. I don’t suppose you have an employment for my special skills. Diplomacy is such a boring duty.”

---

As the second light started radiating the front of the two men; their appearance became clear. The shorter mans bulk was a mix of muscle and of flesh. They wore finer more expensive black. Those trousers could have been part of a dinner suit; like those worn at the ball. “How wrong you are,” said the taller of the two men, in a voice of dark, deep, powerful voice; also so familiar.

“Learn the truth,” said the shorter of the two men, placing his hand on his balaclava, pulling it slowly off his head.

The meaty chin was first revealed, then the large cheeks, then the dark black hair. The black-shirt Captain Jamiso (often simply James) Sardo lifted off his balaclava, “Now do you have some comprehension?”

Then the second taller man began to lift his balaclava, but even before his worn face and gray hair emerged; there was only one person he could have plausibly been…

"Rickhart...how did I know." Donald said, grimly. "I suppose that was why you wished no foreign inteference in the civil war."

Dan Rickhart smiled cruelly at Donald. The faint light of the lantern highlighted the roughness of Rickhart’s skin. Rickhart put his hand into a pocket and removing his glasses, which he promptly placed over his small evil eyes. His nose and chin were sharp as though some deity had filed then to points. Despite his age, Rickhart was still a fit man, and certainly a menacing one. Moving his twisted lips, “How little you understand. My goodness where should we begin.”

He paused before continuing, “But of course you have already said where we shall begin. The civil war, as you say; but more to the point, the failed military coup. I suspect it was then that Commander Dasch first developed his mistrust of me, which quickly became his distrust of everything and everyone Farminan. Something that you have learnt from him. However my dealings were completely as I made them out to be. I wanted the coup crushed and I crushed it. I didn’t want to trust foreigners and that is the truth of it. Why would I have wanted Bashar to succeed, it would have been the death of me and everything I’ve fought for.”

"From your point of view, I understand what you mean. However, that brings me to a point. Why do you not trust foreigners, and what are your motives for all of this?"

“Why don’t I trust foreigners?” said Rickhart, his voice stern and clear, “Let us say that foreigners are in deed trustworthy; or ninety nine percent are. What about the other one percent? What happens if we let in an army belonging to that one percent of countries who should not be trusted? The answer is simple; the end of the republic. If we trust the correct nation, then everything is dandy; but we don’t get a second republic. The cost of a wrong decision far outweighs all other considerations; it becomes a gamble with Farmina itself. And that is the answer in its simplest form.”

Rellian Peters smiled at the O’Briens, “That’s very nice. I don’t suppose you have an employment for my special skills. Diplomacy is such a boring duty.”



"Not unless you want a low-life secretary job," the SGC replied. "Plus, if you do want a job in the Colonies, you need to fill quite a bit of paperwork."

After the chaos of her arrival had worn off, General Nizharov had felt more comfortable at the ball. She talked to officials both Farminan and foreign. She was getting the feeling that something was going to happen here. She wasn't sure what, but she wished the guard hadn't confiscated her pistol. Like any paranoid Mirkanan, she began creating a contingency plan for any trouble. She would hide, then escape the room and attempt to get her hands on a firearm.

Her contingency plan ready, Nizharov headed over to the buffet, helping herself to a small steak.

Donald nods to the statement. "Very true. Now tell me about the information that I do not know, or have misconceptions about. I want to know the truth, so I know who's side I should be on."

Rickhart laughed a brief, dark, hollow laugh that echoed around the room. His dry lips twisted as he began to speak, “Commander Donald, isn’t it obvious; you should be on my side, the side of Farmina, the side of righteousness, the side of almighty God.”

He then paused, before answering a small part of Donald’s actual question, “Misconceptions that need dealing with; I guess we better start with the fact that I’m not the Shadow, and I never claimed to be so. I suppose you also want to know about this.”

Rickhart gestured for an item in his pocket, grabbing it and removing it as he spoke, “After all this is why we are both here.”

He then brought the object into the streams of light from both lanterns. A great sparkling occurred, as the gold ring with a small curious gap in it, reflected the light all over the room.

Rellian Peters laughed lightly as he spoke to the O’Briens, “No that really wasn’t the type of work. I wanted something to blow up or subvert.”

Still with his soft pleasant laugh, Rellian’s soft blood red lips moved again, his necklace dancing as he spoke jokingly, “I suppose I shall just have to become an assassin and kill President Grey.”

The two Kriovalians didn't need to say a word to one another. The combined non sequiturs left little to the imagination - Jamie Palmer was hardly innocent of plotting, though whether it was the violent type or more mundane political machinations remained unclear. What was clear was that the atmosphere was far more unstable than either of the guests had anticipated. Yet leaving immediately was not an option - if nothing else, leaving suddenly would rouse suspicion.

"Anybody else I should speak to, this evening?" Raijin asked, attempting to extract himself from the increasingly bizarre conversation with Palmer.

“Well there’s the President,” said Palmer, giving Dekker a stern look behind his mask, “Dan Rickhart, actually that’s probably not such a great idea. The Cardinals love telling everyone how sinful they are. The Chief Cardinal is excellent at that, if that’s your thing. There are the Generals and Supreme Commander Aricar. I’m trying to get him to tell me what happened at the ShadowStrike; but alas. The Mes, Commander Dasch looks rather lonely now that his companion has disappeared. Lord Zimia is rather suicidal. Rellian Peters over there is one of Dan Rickhart’s favorite mercenaries; murderous but with tact. And Ronald, or was it Richard, Grey will tell you how much of a failure his son is. Take your pick.”

"Anybody else I should speak to, this evening?" Raijin asked, attempting to extract himself from the increasingly bizarre conversation with Palmer.

"Ah, greetings!" said High Diplomat Sedaris as she extended a dainty hand to the Kriovalians. "I hope I'm not intruding on your conversation - my name is Hermia Sedaris, from the Democratic Colonies. I had heard that you would be attending this function, and I must say, I'm quite glad to see you here. I do hope that you gentlemen are having a pleasent time."

Donald sees the ring, which he realised where he saw it before. "What is the significance of the ring? And how are you not the shadow? The card seems to be contradicting that fact." There were so many questions.

Nizharov noticed that a Farminan representative was not talking to anyone - or his conversation had just ended. She recognized him as the head of the Liberal faction, James Palmer. From the talk he was apparently a candidate for President.
"Greetings, Mr. Palmer. I'm General Nizharov from Mirkana."

Rickhart slipped the ring back into his shirt pocket and then gestured to the guard at the door, with his long, boney, black-gloved hand. The guard turned around slowly and then slowly walked over to Rickhart. Rickhart put out his hand, and the minion placed in it a card, before walking slowly back to the door.

Rickhart placed the card up to the light and began to read, in his cold voice, “ Tonight as people dance; grim lights hang over all. My offer is the truth, the greatest weapon known. But be warned, there is a price; your life might be forfeit, I can offer you no assurance our enemies will not use this against you. Come alone and come now, tell no one. In shadows I will meet you. Bring this card to prove yourself. Should you not meet my conditions; I shall disappear. Do not think I can’t see you. Be fore warned, murder is plotted on this dark night. Betray the world by meeting me and learn the truth or die old in ignorance, the choice is yours.

Head past the three stages, towards the small oak door. Head through and down the corridor, then left the palace rear. Through the closest gate and down road. Into the factories and down the second road on the right. The old brickworks; there we shall meet. May darkness be your friend.”

Rickhart then threw the card on the ground in front of Donald, “It uses poetic license, but it never lies. The only reference to shadow is literal and there is no reference at all to meeting a terrorist. You read what you wanted to read; but the words are plain as can be.”

He then paused, before taking out the ring again, raising it that it would shimmer in the light, “As for this ring; it is a beautiful thing, a symbolic thing; a thing to be looked at; but that is all. It is what all rings are.”

Again Rickhart used his dramatic pauses, before his voice began to sound gloating, “To answer your question, the ring is insignificant.”

---

“General Nizharov, it’s a pleasure,” said Jamie Palmer turning away from Dekker towards the general.

He was mildly surprised at how recognizable he was behind his mask, he asked, “And are you staying in Farmina long?”

"Ah, greetings!" said High Diplomat Sedaris as she extended a dainty hand to the Kriovalians. "I hope I'm not intruding on your conversation - my name is Hermia Sedaris, from the Democratic Colonies. I had heard that you would be attending this function, and I must say, I'm quite glad to see you here. I do hope that you gentlemen are having a pleasent time."

Raijin grasped the diplomat's hand as lightly as he could, and he bowed deeply to her. "I am honored to meet the representative of such a large and famous nation as yours. I am Raijin, from Krioval. And this," he said, gesturing to his left, "is Kenji Miyamoto, currently leader of the Senate of Krioval."

"You do me great honor by speaking with me, Lady Sedaris," Kenji intoned. "As to your hope, I have found this evening to be quite educational."

"Ok really," the SGC said, calmly. "Well I don't think we have any positions aviliable in that regard."

He sat there for a few moments, and then said, "Marge and I will be getting food now."

He sat up, along with his wife, and went to the buffet table. Along the way, he waved his hand in the air.

Captain John Dymocks-Smith picked up the signal. He shook his head in reply.

Leigh arrived at the table where Eyman was sitting with his wife. He asked, "How was the conversation?" "I think something is not right', said Leigh. "President Grey seems to be withdrawen. That not how I would expect him to behave at a ball. And see that red-haired man over there, talking to that woman?"

"Isn't that Jamie Palmer?" asked Sophia.

'Yes, it is", said Leigh. "Before I was speaking to Raijin, he was speaking to him about... death, I think. After I left, I noticed them speaking in hushed tones."

"Well, thats international relations for you", said Eyman.

"You do me great honor by speaking with me, Lady Sedaris," Kenji intoned. "As to your hope, I have found this evening to be quite educational."

"Oh, you flatter me so," laughed Sedaris softly. "It is I who should be honored by our meeting. You are true leaders, men amoung men, while I am simply a diplomat for my Union."

Sedaris bowed lightly, hoping to have put the Kriovalians at ease. While her bow was not deep by any measure, it was something that a DC diplomat did not do often in any case.

"It is my understanding that the relations between Krioval and Farmina had been unfriendly for quite some time," said Sedaris. "I do hope that your attending this Ball is a sign that your relations are thawing."

"A little while. I was sent to learn more about Farmina, and also to help Farmina - and other nations - learn about Mirkana. Things go easier when we know what someone else is like."

Jamie Palmer smiled at the General Nizharov before saying, “If you want to learn about Farmina, go read an encyclopedia.”

Twisting his head back towards the Kriovalians and the Lady Sedaris, he responded to the comment about poor relations, “Unfriendly; the Lord Emperor has held our current Chancellor for Foreign Affairs prisoner; which caused him great torment. And this is the best they’ve been in years.”

The black-shirt Gaius, still at the Lady Sedaris’ arm out of sight of the Lady, barred his teeth at Jamie Palmer; to which Palmer responded by poking out his tongue, though it didn’t go far due to the tiny hole in his mask.

"Thawing?" Raijin asked. "Perhaps. We try to avoid 'exploding' for the time being. Krioval is changing quickly, and our history warns us on the difficulties of keeping the peace in times like these."

"Of course," Kenji added, "we intend to invite Farmina, as well as your nation and any others willing to attend, to view an important Kriovalian ceremony and to partake in the subsequent festival. Have the Democratic Colonies gotten along well with Farmina lately?"

"Of course," Kenji added, "we intend to invite Farmina, as well as your nation and any others willing to attend, to view an important Kriovalian ceremony and to partake in the subsequent festival. Have the Democratic Colonies gotten along well with Farmina lately?"

"To be truthful," said Sedaris, "the Democratic Colonies has had barely any contact with Farmina. My attendence here, infact, is the first diplomatic meeting between DC and Farmina for over a generation."

She paused to smile at Jamie Palmer, as she pulled Gaius closer to her.

"This ball," she continued, "is hoped to be the begining of a new, peaceful relationship between DC, Farmina, and if Krioval would have it, Krioval. The Democratic Colonies is always on the search for more trading partners, specifically, nations from which the import of food and agricultural produce can be negotiated. DC is a large nation in terms of population, but small in terms of land area, and unspeakably short on land suitable for agriculture."

Cascadian Embassy

The ambassador, Banu Zareen Roberts, who was Cascadian and Iranian, was sick and coud not go to the ball. but there was a BBC news crew here filming a report on Farmina and she had an interview with them.
"Good evening, I'm Jabin Gratien Enej, here at the Cascadian Embassy in Farmina. How are you feeling today, Ambassador?"

"Not so well. I have a..."

<sneeze>

"Well, I guess you have the flu. Now, what do you think about the current Farmina government?"

A black-shirt emerged from the women’s toilet and gave a brief nod. A series of black-shirts moved in before coming out with an assortment of weapons in plastic bags. After a quick, but muffled debate they ran out of the room.

President Grey looked around before giving a small nod to someone unseen. The music fell silent; and so did the gathered. Then stepping forward on the central stage, emerged a short man with a round, though not massively so belly. His black hair was oily and styled fancily. He wore a small, black beard and mustache around his mouth. His dinner suit a dark black. He wore a long black cape, like those worn by Justinian. It fluttered as an artificial wind caught it. The lights fell dim and concentrated on this one man. He looked powerful; a purposeful act of design.

Then the man spoke in a moderately deep, “I am sorry for this deception; but a threat to my life had to be dealt with.”

As the said ‘deception’ he pointed to his double; the leaner man everyone had assumed to be President Grey.

"This ball," she continued, "is hoped to be the begining of a new, peaceful relationship between DC, Farmina, and if Krioval would have it, Krioval. The Democratic Colonies is always on the search for more trading partners, specifically, nations from which the import of food and agricultural produce can be negotiated. DC is a large nation in terms of population, but small in terms of land area, and unspeakably short on land suitable for agriculture."

"I believe something could be arranged," Kenji said carefully. "Of course, it may require a taste for the exotic from time to time."

Then the man spoke in a moderately deep, “I am sorry for this deception; but a threat to my life had to be dealt with.”

As the said ‘deception’ he pointed to his double; the leaner man everyone had assumed to be President Grey.

For the briefest moment, Raijin's eyes appeared to darken. Few would notice, though Kenji would feel the change. The Emperor whispered. "The man doesn't trust his own. Not. Good."

As he went to get his food, the SGC decided to bump into a random person, who had just happened to be Jamie Palmer, the opposition leader.

"Hello," he said, "I'm Jonathan O'Brien, Supreme Governor of the Colonies of the Northern Colonies."

He then tapped Marge's shoulder.

"Go and get some food for me, dear. I want to talk to this guy. Seems to look important," he whispered to her ear.

"Ok," she whispered back.

It was then the announcement was made. The SGC was dumbfounded.

"Could've recognised him myself," he commented.

Jamie Palmer did not respond, as his eyes had turned to the President Tobias Grey.

As the lighting continued to dim, with the exception of those that shone down on Tobias Grey. His eyes flicked across the room, his black cloak still fluttering in the artificial wind; highlighted by the lights.

Then his lips began to move, “Friends, countrymen, guests and old enemies. Today is a day to repair burnt bridges and to build new ones.

The reputation of Farmina was badly marked by the deposed Emperor Justinian’s actions at what became known as the Carnival. It became the dark face of Farmina.”

As though to underline his words, those horrifically memorable footage of the massacre of the Socialists began to emit from a series of plasma screens around the room.

“But Justinian is gone; and I lead a new government in a new era. Swept aside are ideas of nobility, royalty and church rule. Now there is democracy, pure and sweet.

In Farmina we have thrown off tyranny, but in other nations the subjugation continues. The strong rule over the weak for no good reason other than they are strong. I propose not to let this injustice stand.

I call for all nations to join me in a great alliance; a democratic crusade against injustice in this world. I call all nations to crush dictatorship beneath their heel and prevent a repeat of the horrible carnival.

The Moralists have re-invigorated Farmina. Where it was weak, it now is strong. The economy is stronger, wages growth is stronger. The people live more equitably and equally. Our people live in peace and a with a sense of personal safety. The Democratic Republic is now a nation that the world wants to espouse; not Justinian’s ultra-conservative tyranny, that the world so greatly feared.

I have created a Farmina that has silenced all Justinian’s critics; but there is still so much to do.

To all nations I offer friendship; to those who were Justinian’s friends and Justinian’s enemies. All is forgiven and all shall be refreshed.

I hereby propose a toast to a new beginning, to new friends, a new alliance and a new Farmina.”

Raising a champagne glass that had been hurried to him by a black-shirt, he declared as the lights again began to brighten, “To a new beginning.”

"Jamie Palmer? Isn't he a libertarian?" asked Eyman.

"Yes, he is", replied Leigh.

Then the annocement was made.

"He had a double here?" gasped Eyman.

OOC: MES (or anyone else); if your waiting for me on MSN, my computer isn’t working so you won’t find me there.

IC: Tobias Grey put down his glass and stepped off the stage as the Blue Danube began to play. Black-shirts huddled around him as though to provide a wall of flesh. With a quiet dignity he made his way into the crowd to meet his guests.

"He doesn't even trust his own security? If this were not an important event, I would have walked out of here", said Sophia.

'So thats why he, I mean, the doule was acting so strange", said Leigh.

"That doesn't account for Jamie Palmer", said Eyman.

OOC: MES (or anyone else); if your waiting for me on MSN, my computer isn’t working so you won’t find me there.

OOC: I've been extremely busy, which is why I haven't posted, not because I've been waiting for you. Don't worry, I'm not THAT dependant. :p

OK, to the post!

--------

Dasch sees President Grey walk up to the podium, and sees the lights dim, with a light focusing on Grey. He listens to the speech, and then a part of his speech caught his ear.

'I call for all nations to join me in a great alliance; a democratic crusade against injustice in this world. I call all nations to crush dictatorship beneath their heel and prevent a repeat of the horrible carnival.'

That made Dasch freeze. His government, although the MES has just recently created a democratic section of government, the core government is still a military dictatorship; this type of statement could be a possible warning to an invasion in the future. And even if he was democratic, he could not possibly allow this type of 'democratic cruisade', which targeted even good dictatorship such as the MES.

Dan Rickhart had expected a comment from Donald, but he remained silent. That discomforted Rickhart, if only slightly.

In the dim light Rickhart placed his other hand into the pocket, withdrawing a second ring, with the same curious slit. “But like all beautiful things, they are more beautiful in twos.”

Rickhart then held the two rings up to the light stream. Then carefully he interlocked the two rings, using the slits, “A perfect pair.”

His eyes then turned to Donald. “The rings have an inscription that few could read. You should consider yourself lucky that you are in the presence of someone who can speak High Farminite, the language of the ancient tribal inhabitants of this land.”

Then Rickhart began to speak in a deep, menacing voice, “Gurag runia toler. Duranda gurag. Gurag runia toler. ”

The tone of his translation made the message of love sound like pure evil, “A love that joins forever. A love beyond accepted limits. A love that joins forever.”

Then Rickhart’s voice normalized, a little, “Though my translation is not perfect; it certainly captures the drift of the two rings.[/I]”

Then his tone turned extremely dark, angry, and didn’t make what he was talking about entirely clear, “A love beyond usual bounds. An act of evil more like, beyond all bounds. God must be sickened to his core that such foul corruption even spreads to the shores of once pure Farmina. They did with their bodies what they were not designed to do. And they paid the ultimate price. May God have mercy on their tainted souls.”

Donald was getting more and more unconfortable by the second. At first, what he was saying made some sense, but then his almost cult-like ramblings on his religion gave him warnings of things to come. Great...now what side should I be fighting for? He had only two options left to him, if he could get out of there alive.

He could warn President Grey on the identity of Rickhart, and bring the Militia Enforce State's counter-terrorism teams to help President Grey.

He could stand neutral and let the religious fanatics take over Farmina in any way they wished, and give emergency piority to any immigrants from Farmina.

Or...

He could discuss with the other Force Commander leaders about the situation, and to give his recommendations to arrest President Grey and the rest of his government for corruption and crimes against humanity, send in the counter-terrorism team to take out the Shadow once and for all for their own crimes, rebuilding the Farminan government from scratch with a much more liberal style of thinking, and bringing religion to a much more acceptable, much less heard level of influence. In other words, war.

However, the decision was not meant for now. Right now he had to find out as much as he could about what the shadow has to say.

"Sorry...just a lot to think about. But I want to know the truth about the moralists, President Grey, and everything else that the moralists have planned to your knowledge." Donald prayed in his mind that he wasn't killed, but didn't show his nervousness to them.

Dan Rickhart sighed, there was so very much to talk about, “President Grey is going to be the last Lord Grey of the great Grey line. Richard Grey had one other son and a daughter; both dead. Tobias Grey’s wife died before any child was conceived. Tobias turned out to be exactly what his father had always called him, a ‘failure’ to the great Grey line. Once both Tobias and Richard are dead, it will be the end of the last great families of Farmina.”

“Tobias originally was a lawyer but joined the Moralists, it must be over ten years ago I suppose,” Rickhart’s eyes shifted around the room slightly, “When Justinian gave me to Raijin Dekker, the ruler of Krioval, a factional split occurred within the Moralists. That fracture, along with others, has resurfaced in the last few months. Both the far left and far right tried to gain control of the block in the ballot; but Tobias Grey of the centre-right won; a compromise candidate.”

“As I endured the horrors of Krioval, Tobias Grey saw the dark works of Justinian unfold, the sinister Carnival; unable to stop what was already in progress. I don’t deny that I am not without blame for happenings at the macabre Carnival; but it doesn’t deny the evil Justinian did.”

“Now Tobias sees his chance for that to be never repeated again. A grand coalition between a nation once considered the face of evil and a great many democracies. His primary targets are the most foul dictatorships; but his stated enemy is every dictator on the face of the Earth.”

“Since his wife’s death, Tobias has softened, weakened if you will. He is in some respects a shimmer of his former self. But Tobias will not stop until he proves to himself he is not the failure he father talks of; it is the one thing that drives him forward. To spite his father and prove his worth are the very fuels that Tobias Grey lives on. I suggest you do not stand in his way.”

Dan Rickhart stopped talking, creating as menacing silence, allowing the Mes to respond.

Rickhart's mention of the 'crusade against dictatorships', and it really caught Donald's ear. "Are you serious? As you probably already know, we are technically a military dictatorship. Does that mean we're going to be attacked by their democratic cruisade?"

“If Grey is strong enough and you are the most dangerous dictatorship on his list, do not expect to be spared,” said Dan Rickhart, his tone turning tragic, “Any dictatorship is a dangerous dictatorship. Do not fool yourself in the notion of good dictators. Look at the Cult of Justinian and his remnant conservative support of Justinian. I won’t deny he was a great man; who did many good things. And he acted in the best faith, I shall always believe that. But because he bore powers that could not be challenged, one million people died. Power corrupts, absolute power corrupts absolutely.”

Donald nods. "I totally agree with that quote, which is why we brought in a new democratic government that runs under very strict rules for corruption, and our Force Commanders are chosen under the strictest of guidelines, created by the founders of our nation from the ashes of the countries of before."

He paused before adding, "What are the chances of him attacking us in the near future?"

“The tyrant questions whether he will be saved,” mocked Rickhart, before seriously addressing the question, “But let me put your mind at ease. Mes is far down the list. Tobias Grey will be long dead before your nation is considered a priority for reform. But that doesn’t change what your nation is. It concentrates power in the hands of the military over the people as Bashar wished it concentrated in his own.”

Donald knew what he needed to know about that. Now he had some other questions to ask. "From your goals, it sounds like you want to bring religion back to Farmina. Why do you want to kill people that do not follow your faith or beliefs?"

OOC: If I misunderstood, let me know and I'll rephrase.

Rickhart back looked at Donald before laughing menacingly, “My dear Commander, it is not my intention to bring religion to Farmina. Religion never left. Through both the Conservatives and the Moralists and before them; the Church was the one thing that bound Farminans together, it always has and always will. My objective is not to send people to hell, but to save them from it.”

Donald felt that he had answered most of the answers, but he had one last nagging thought. If the rings were so insignificant, then why does he have them?

Donald looks at Rickhart. "Why do you have the rings for? What is their significance, and why have you gone through all the trouble in getting them?"

The Chancellor responded clearly and calmly; speaking in a matter-of-fact tone, though still deep and smothered in foreboding, “My dear Commander you finally cut to the chase. I said the rings were beautiful, symbolic thing. And they are. They are a reminder of the evil that two young men committed in this nation. Their rings interlocked as did their sinful bodies. These rings are evil embodied in beauty.”

Rickhart paused before continuing, “You also asked why I went to so much effort. The theft of the second ring was easy enough. Captain Sardo was going to the house, so I simply asked him to collect it and bring it to me. You saw me ask, and you saw him collect. The first ring came into my possession even easier.”

Again Rickhart paused, the room returning to silence. This one was longer and darker. Then he took a single menacing step forward, powerful and slow; as though trying to emphasis his height advantage over Commander Donald and show off his aging, yet still powerful muscles.

Then he spoke again in a truly malevolent tone, “I removed it from the hacked off hand of Paul Sanderson myself.”

President Grey walked over to Raijin Dekker and spoke in a calm tone, “Emperor Rajin I believe is the correct title. Your decision to attend surprises me. Perhaps the years of Justinian are forgotten? The new beginning I offered extends to you. A new era, what do you say?”

The SGC then decided to get a response from Jamie Palmer

"Hello," he said.

Jamie Palmer returned his attention to the man from the Northern Colonies, “Hello Lord O’Reilly, I mean O’Brien. You were the fellow that went to see the President in his casino suite. I assume that you are forming part of his democratic crusade?”

"Well err..." the SGC began, uneasily. "That's not for me to decide."

“That’s what they all say,” said Palmer, in a light but cynical tone.

"May I presume to be speaking to the actual President Grey this time?" Raijin asked, the hint of a smile at the corners of his mouth. He did not wait for a response. "In that case," he said, repeating the bow, but a but more shallow than previously, "I congratulate any democratic reforms to pass here. As for my title, it is a small thing. I believe that Miyamoto-sama holds more power than do I these days. Your family is one of great importance here, is it not?"

“Yes, I’m the real Tobias Grey,” laughed President Grey, “Either that or his evil twin.”

He paused very briefly, as though in though, before speaking in a flat tone, “The House of Grey, is the greatest of all the Farminan families. Of the five great families; it is the only one that continues.”

He paused in thought of his deceased wife, the last of the House of Bannador, the fourth of the five great families.

He then again began to speak, “My great, great grandfather was Thomas Grey, the greatest of the Greys. He founded our nation’s precious church, fracturing Farminan Catholics from the Vatican. He is probably the most revered man in Farminan history, he who shaped the nation. But every Lord Grey until myself was as accomplished man in their own right. My father…”

He paused to point at a frail old man in a wheelchair, who seemed to look rather bored and slightly annoyed. Tobias Grey then continued, “…Richard Grey is currently Lord Grey. The title was supposed to pass to my brother William, but he is with God now.”

Kenji turned to join the conversation. "I have read a bit about your nation's faith, though it is difficult for one such as myself to understand."

"Not to mention Krioval's rocky relationship with our own Christian population," Raijin added gravely. "We are unable to understand the concept of a missionary faith, ultimately to our disadvantage."

Kenji nodded in agreement. "Your family legacy must be a difficult one sometimes." His eyes appeared to focus on something far away and intangible. "I am sorry to hear about your brother. And your wife."

“That’s what they all say,” said Palmer, in a light but cynical tone.

"For a politican, your pretty cynical," he replied, catching his tone.

Tobias Grey wasn’t sure how one couldn’t understand Grey Catholicism; it was elementary, the essence of life; the truth. The President looked over at Kenji, “I thank you for your condolences; though William has been dead for several years. All the death in my family; one would think that it would have been practice for my wife’s passing. But each death; it only gets worse. More and more people live on only in my mind. How I wish to talk to them, but all they can say is what has been said.”

Grey stopped himself, and refocused his words, “But yes, my legacy is a heavy one. To compete with father is hard enough; but Thomas and Harkon Grey is quite another. But worst off all; as father has repeatedly pointed out; when he dies I shall be Lord Grey; and then there will be no one left with a strong claim to the title. I shall be the last Lord Grey.”

---

Jamie Palmer again laughed, “My dear fellow, its because I’m a politician that I am cynical.”

Eyman had finished his dinner and was coming up to Jamie Palmer.

"Hi. I'm Tim Eyman, from Cascadia. Do you mind if I join you two in your conversation?"

Palmer gave Eyman a brief glance before stating dryly, “Well I’m certainly not going to stop you.”

"I guess so," the SGC replied.

He then began to talk about the election.

"So, I'm guessing your the opposition," he said.

Jamie Palmer smiled, “The head of the opposition. The other members of the opposition like to believe they that are actually accomplishing something. So to simply answer your question, yes.”

"The problem with family lines," Raijin said, "is that they become more and more burdensome to each successive generation. Of course," he shrugged, "there are times where the old must give way to the new."

Kenji quickly added, "The end of the monarchy in Krioval was seen as a terrible force. Yet the land endures. But I fear that we are taking up too much of your time, President Grey."

Jamie Palmer smiled, “The head of the opposition. The other members of the opposition like to believe they that are actually accomplishing something. So to simply answer your question, yes.”

"So, what exactly is your strategy as your going into the election," the SGC began. "After all, your party did get a whooping in the general election."

“I have plenty of time for you Lord Dekker, said the President, “If someone else wishes to borrow me; then they may. However I do have a couple of minor things to deal with. If you want to see me; I’m sure you can find me.”

---

A few steps away Jamie Palmer responded, “To begin with; I won MY seat by a very large margin. Unfortunately many in my block failed to follow my lead. My Liberals did do better than both Labour and the Socialists; coming second only to the Moralists.”

“However the presidential race will be one on one. My plan is to point to President Grey’s weakness and ineptness. It is where he can be hurt most. A grieving man could make no president; especially one who can’t deal with a cultist rabble, a handful of terrorists and a single murderer.”

"So you are a fellow libertariani?" asked the Secratary of Fiance.

Palmer’s eyes flicked over to Eyman, “Not really a libertarian; but my views aren’t that distant from them either.”

"Ummm...," the SGC replied. "So what are your policies if you get elected."

Donald could see everything coming together. Everything was starting to make sense, yet disturbing for both sides. He had one last question on his mind, and perhaps the strongest of them all.

"Are you the psychopath?" he asked.





OOC: Answer this after answering:

Donald had heard enough to answer what he felt he needed. However, he wanted to give the ball back to Rickhart before he left.

"Is there anything else you wished to say?"

Dan Rickhart smiled grimly at Donald, “Psychopath implies unreasoned, uncalculated, axe-wielding maniac. I suggest that I am none of these things. I am reasoned, calculated, purposeful and carry no axes. In that regard I am no psychopath.”

“But I have killed three people since I left military service. Two being those young men. Now do you understand?”

---

Palmer turned his head around again and spoke, “I shall mainly be redistributing resources within defense and the police. The Moralists have overvalued certain objectives, like building up the air force and enforcing morality. However the Moralist stranglehold on the parliament will stop me doing anything drastically different.”

Donald nods. So it was true, the psychopath was him after all. He had no doubt on the Shadow. They were evil, perhaps more evil than any other terrorist faction he has ever known. They have to be taken out to save Farmina from their attempt at power. However, the moralists and most of the other parties seem to have some sort of hidden agenda, which needs to be sniffed out.

"Perhaps you could answer me this. Does Tobias Gray work just for the moralists, or does he have a secret agenda? Or does he even work for another entire group?"

Dan Rickhart was annoyed that Donald didn’t ask about the killings; why, how and the like. However he hid it well. “Tobias Grey works for no other groups that I know of. He has three simple goals: preserving morality, ensuring democracy and spiting his father. He is not a traitor and that is final.”

Meanwhile, in the main ballroom a masked man walked up to Commander Dasch, handing him directions before walking away. They described a similar path to that taken by Donald, but went the opposite direction at the t-road heading to a small shed in the middle of a park.

*bump*

Dasch sees the card, looks up around him, and looks back at it.

So that's where Donald went, or gone to... Dasch says to himself mentally. He knew that if he left, that chances are he won't be coming back to the ball, which would compromise their role inside the building. He looked around for the masked person that gave him the note for a moment, but he was already gone.

Dan Rickhart looked at the Commander Donald; who was increasing seeming more and more stupid; thinking to himself “Perhaps he wasn’t worth all this effort.”

He then spoke aloud, “Commander Donald; what do you think I am? Who do you think I am? Do you understand?”

"I see," he said. "And how exactly are you going to do that. I do remember being told that the parliament was the legisative and the President was the executive, when I was at GMC. But that was over 40 to 50 years ago, so I guess things have changed."

Palmer paused before responding, “The Parliament gives the executive the money to run its agencies how it sees fit. Sometimes it may attach strings and tell the executive how to do its job; but this is a dangerous game to play as members of the Parliament will bicker amongst themselves. The structure of the military is an executive decision; unless the Parliament decides to meddle with supply.”

Palmer paused before responding, “The Parliament gives the executive the money to run its agencies how it sees fit. Sometimes it may attach strings and tell the executive how to do its job; but this is a dangerous game to play as members of the Parliament will bicker amongst themselves. The structure of the military is an executive decision; unless the Parliament decides to meddle with supply.”

"Right," the SGC began. "So I guess Parliament is just a show thing in Farmina."

"So the President gets most of the power. Doesn't this lead to a lot of corruption? In Cascadia, we handle things at the lowest possible level of government to prevent that", said Eyman.

“The President doesn’t have great deals of power,” said Palmer, “The Parliament has the monopoly on legislation and on government moneys. The President can only affect the implementation of legislation and the running of services. And that must be done in a way not to upset a Parliamentary majority, in case they decided to block his supply.”

Palmer decided to point out a rather important fact, “However our system of government is relatively new; so we have had little chance to real test constitutional mettle of the office. So far Moralist-Labor have controlled the Parliament hand in hand with Grey’s presidency. There has been great consent between the two bodies; especially considering that our law requires the President to be a member of Parliament.”

Palmer then moved to address Eyman’s comment, “In the past we had State Councils, but they were abolished after President Grey created the Parliament, in the name of centralism and efficiency. In terms of corruption; I can’t say we have that much. Everyone is too busy watching their backs to do anything corrupt.”

"What exactly are you infering?" The SGC replied, starting to look suspciously at him.

“My words mean exactly what I said,” responded Palmer harshly.

“My words mean exactly what I said,” responded Palmer harshly.

"Oh good," replied the SGC disgustingly. "Because I want our two nations to be in an alliance. But the last thing I want is a governmental system flawed enough, that it ends up with a consitutional crisis, what 6 weeks after it's first election."

*bump*

Palmer didn’t like the little man’s tone, “Good sir; as relevant as it is to your concerns about the Farminan constitution; I don’t give two hoots about your alliance with the Moralists.”

OOC: Thumps MES with festive ham.

OOC: He 181cm tall. I wouldn't consider that short

ill think of something to reply with later.

'You know, there has been a lot of concern over the American way of ellecting their president. For example, they vote for electors, which pledge to vote for the candidate that wins in that state. However, under the consitution, the electors can vote for anyone they want to. This is just one of the many flaws, yet it still works", said Eyman.

James Palmer turned to Mr Eyman looking somewhat offended, “We don’t use such a blatantly poor system. In Farmina, whoever has a majority of votes becomes President, simple.”

Dasch reluctantly walks out of the back of the building, looks for security cameras, thenHe steps down onto the street. He re-reads the card as he walks to the sidewalk.

To the park, it read. Dasch looked both ways as he walked out towards the park. As he enters the park, he could see a person's silluette in the distance, but completely unrecognisable because of the darkness.

--------

"I appoligise, I misunderstood." Donald said, correcting himself. "Then if you aren't the shadow, then what are you? And what is your goal?"

The park was unlit. In the dark night; the figures of lovers on park benches and people walking their dogs were little more than black outlines. But in amongst a rabble of trees, stood the outline of the small cast iron gardener’s shed as described in the note. To say the park was empty would be counterfactual, however to distinguish the casual guest from the sinister onlooker was impossible.

---

“I’m glad you finally worked out who I’m not,” said Rickhart.

He paused, as thought thinking through Donald’s questions.

“Leave us,” Rickhart ordered to his companions, and they all exited, silently, if not dismayed.

Rickhart then took a cold, hushed tone, “But who am I? My dear Aunt Dorothy raised me. She refused to tell me about my parents and my family, only that they died in a car crash. She was always so sad at the first mention, I refused to ask. It was not until after her death, that I managed to find my birth certificate. My mother was listed as ‘Rickhart, Dorothy’ and no father was listed. My aunt had lied to me. She had betrayed me. I was a bastard, a child of some adulterous affair. My mother was a sinner. Worst was that she never told me. How dare the whore? I tried to find my father; but to no avail. It wasn’t until five years ago I found an old journal where my mother had signed herself Dorothy Cleats. I set about hunting out Dorothy Cleats and her family. Now after years of hunting I have found them. This very brickworks belongs to the Cleats. And just like the Cleats; the brickworks are bankrupt and dead.”

He looked back over the years with a hatred of his mother’s betrayal, “It was in the office upstairs I found a journal. My grandfather’s, Roger Cleats’, journal. Though most of the pages were beyond reading, just one reference caught my eye.”

Rickhart closed his eyes as though to visual the words, “My dearest Dorothy is now as good as dead to me. But it is better than actually being dead. Such is the price of carrying the son of the Greys.”

Rickhart again fell silent. He seemed to rub his eye before continuing, “That is who I am. I am Daniel Grey; of the great Grey line. I believe it makes me Tobias’ uncle as I am too old to be his brother or his cousin.”

He then spoke his conclusion to the first question, “I am my nephew’s loyal servant and assistant. Though I have my grievances with him, he is now family, my only family. I shall defend his line, his presidency and his life.

In a proud, triumphant tone, that contrasted to with the sad, bitter, hushed tone with which Rickhart told his tale, “I am Daniel Grey; loyal servant of the Grey presidency, of Farmina and of God Almighty.”

“Do not mention this to anyone.”

“You may return,” called out Rickhart, and his loyal men returned, though even Sardo bore a curious glance as to what was said.

Again he paused, before continuing, “To your second question, why? After the attempt on the President’s life and his wife’s death; Tobias has become so weak. Tobias could have been the greatest of the Greys; he could have spited his father, but now he is a shattered man. His legacy must be restored. Farmina must be restored.”

“When a nation is weak; when its leaders are weak, the nation falls. Evil and corruption spreads through the streets and through the government. Look at the weak willed Sarzonian government; and the evil that their own President does. If we are weak Farmina will become like so many foreign nations; perverted, corrupt and evil.”

“Even in Farmina you can feel it beginning to spread. The abomination committed by those two young men is proof of that. Morality is replaced by immorality. I was forced to act; and I was the only one who could act. President Grey is weak; the government is too busy fighting itself for power and the opposition is corrupt to the core. I believe I have uncovered evidence to connect the James Palmer to the Shadow himself!”

Rickhart remained silent on the other charges also against Palmer’s name; they were already well known and crippling his election campaign. He saw no need to point them out; even to someone as stupid as Commander Donald would be aware of them.

Rickhart realized he was getting off track, “I may be old and my body fails me; but I still have the strength of will. I found those most loyal; those most trustworthy; those most righteous to aid me in the great work. My plan was multifaceted. We had to crush the infighting within the government. We had to smash the corrupt opposition. We had to find the Shadow’s agents; especially within the government. We had to save a failing presidency and the honor of the great Grey line. But of all things we had to preserve Farmina; in the eyes of God and the world.”

“And the corruption that is when two men commit an abomination together is the as bad as any. It taints all of Farmina; but worse it condemns the individuals to death. I had to prevent the corruption spreading through fear. Do not think I wished to cause pain to these poor misguided soles; that was never my intention.”

He raised his hand as though he expected fierce rebuttal to the final comment, “You may be aware I am chemist by profession. Toxicology reports no doubt show both boys were tainted with a stimulant, so they felt every moment. I choose the most obvious stimulant; so that it had to be detected and hide other drugs. I have created a painkiller that is invisible to their tests; especially when large traces of another drug are present. It’s brilliant; I made myself appear the psychopathic pain loving killer. But the reality is that I saved them from so much suffering.”

His tone changed, tinged with regret, “But that doesn’t change the fact that I raped and killed two young men, albeit sinful ones. Thou shall not kill. The Bible is completely clear. To save the world; I condemn myself. But it is a sacrifice that must be made. I only hope that the Lord understands why. As fear spreads throughout Farmina; after the invisible killer strikes down two sodomites, killing them in the most ‘painful’ grotesque fashion; people will leave in fear. And in fear they will find God. In fear they will be prevented from sin. Thousands, perhaps millions will be redeemed by my actions. But I only ask to save one. That is all I need; just one.”

Rickhart was still intimidating, powerful and dark; but somehow sad and pitiful, “Now do you understand Commander Donald? I do murder so foul I horrify myself, but I do it to save Farmina; dare I say the entire world. Do you understand now Commander? Pray to God, young man. Beg on your knees for forgiveness. Confess your sins before the Almighty.”

Then his tone dropped to a peaceful one, most unsuited the imposing, towering man, “My solitary wish is to see one man redeemed. Give a bitter old man; one simple desire.”


OOC: I have to go away for a week. I'll try to post tommorow. But I'll be back next Sunday, with more revelations, and the ball shall finally heat up.

Donald nods, in partial shock. From what he could see, Rickhart was similar to himself, and the other Force Commanders. He wanted the best for his people. However, where they were different was how they did it, and that was why his actions were completely unacceptable. However, Rickhart did confirm what his suspicions warned him about the Moralists and opposition parties.

He would help him, but he couldn't do it for 'God'. He would have to negotiate.

"Rickhart. I cannot agree with your endgame regarding God. You should probably know this from our country's public history, and how we do not allow Religion becoming involved inside of the country politics, to remove any type of hatred that would be seen in a religiously based country. We also think that whatever people do is between them and God, as they shouldn't have to be punished twice, so in other words I completely disagree with your murder of the two boys, because God would take care of it. Why us?"

Donald paused before countinuing. "However, I agree with helping removing the corruption, and bringing Farmina's government to a streamlined, efficient system, and bringing the country back to its former glory. I will help you with all of our resources, humanitarian, medical, and military. However, you must follow a few specific guidelines if you wish to ever have the Grey line to ever come back into power again."

OOC: If you want me to completely redirect this post for whatever reason, MSN me or post here that you want the changes. Just making sure I didn't accidently hijack your intended direction.

Palmer didn’t like the little man’s tone, “Good sir; as relevant as it is to your concerns about the Farminan constitution; I don’t give two hoots about your alliance with the Moralists.”

OOC: Thumps MES with festive ham.

"It's an alliance with Farmina, you ass," he replied disgustingly. He went on his tippytoes, reinforcing his height. "And if you do intend on getting the presidency, you will be seeing more of me."

Dan Rickhart, or to be technical Dan Grey, continued his dark glare against Donald, “There is a difference between a punishment and a deterrent. It was not my intention to punish but deter. I wouldn’t have used the painkillers if I intended to punish.”

“Do you understand this vital difference? We live in a world of infinite complexity; and the slightest difference in tone can cost millions of lives if missed.”

Palmer watched as the O’Brien tried to show off his height. He smiled and said, “Dear me, isn’t it hot.”

The young political leader then removed his jacket, and flexed his arms; making sure his muscular arms were in Jonathon’s clear sight. “Lord O’Brien, if your alliance was with Farmina; surely you would have discussed it with more Farminans than just the President. Not everyone is as keen as him to bring democracy to the world in a trail of fire. Tobias Grey, not even Harkon Grey, represents all of Farmina. And if I become President, Lord O’Brien, you will be well advised not to become a menace.”

"Young one," he started. "That comes later. Since I'm not the foreign minister, nor a government minister, I can't exactly sign treaties and the like. And, please, I'm not intimidated with your muscles. Your not gonna thump me."

“But you should be intimidated. You should be afraid for your life,” said Palmer, “You are in deep and have no idea how to swim. My time shall come; perhaps not at the election, but it shall come. And when it comes you and your entire nation should have decided where they stand; for me or against me.”

The Emperor and Kenji relaxed in their chairs, casually observing the crowd. Though they did not outwardly show it, they were becoming increasingly aware of the fractious nature of the Farminan government, and how fragile the democracy truly was. The President of Farmina appeared sincere but broken. The Kriovalians quickly came to the conclusion that a lifetime of contempt from his father, coupled with the loss of his wife, had led to the man's current state.

Jamie Palmer appeared to be just as unsuitable a ruler, if only due to his naked ambition. Certainly, a degree of hunger for power was necessary for Raijin to attain his position, but the point, at least as far as he was concerned, was to check the desire to always need more. Kenji also got the impression that Palmer was hardly committed to the idea of democracy, and his position as "liberal" was further to the right than most Kriovalian conservatives.

That left Dan Rickhart. If he ascended to power, most Kriovalians would gladly support efforts to unseat him. Frosty relations would be about the best one could hope for in that case.

"I need some air," Raijin said abruptly, breaking the silence. "Come with me?"

Kenji shrugged. "Sure. No telling who we'll bump into this time, huh?" He affected a playful look, though neither man was feeling particularly cheerful.

"Whether it was a deterrant or not," Donald said somewhat sternly, but keeping note that his followers were in the room, "What you did was still wrong, and that is the bottom line."

Donald pauses, but before Rickhart could respond, he continued. "Let's leave that topic alone, and move on to a more important thing. If I am to help you, I wish to know how you wish to fix your government system, to the most explicit details?"

Chancellor Rickhart was uninterested in discussing reform; there was plenty of time for that later. Basic morality should form the basis of all partnerships.

“Commander Donald, do you not think I don’t realize I took action that was wrong. Do you not think I have nightmares about what I have done, about where it will end? And God shall judge me both on my action and my intent,” said Rickhart in his deep voice, “And it shall be God alone. You yourself said that no man should be punished twice. Do you accept my wish that my fate be placed in the hands of God.”

Rickhart was finally beginning to feel that Commander Donald might understand, “Commander Donald; repent your sins. I know you are a sinner; you read like a book. You have killed in the name of your country. Tell God how you wish you hadn’t; and how greatly you love him. Tell God you wish that man could return to his family and put his children on his knee. Commander Donald; repent all your sins before the one true Lord.”

Just down the hall from the packed ballroom Chancellor Fredrick Johnson had seemed to turn a bright red; nearly as red as the garments worn by Cardinal Borusa. The mass of black-shirts had dispersed, now in position around the White Palace and in the ballroom itself.

“Why me?” whined the left wing Moralist, renowned for his distinctive black Casino hat.

“Because you are a compassionate man,” said Cardinal Borusa.

Johnson scowled; support social security and suddenly everyone wants a favor.

“Lord Cardinal,” said Johnson, “After what you have done, I have no responsibility to help bail you out.”

“The others plan on silencing me,” warned Borusa.

Johnson flinched, but remained resolute, “I won’t help you. You have dug your own grave.”

“I was under the Chief Cardinal’s orders,” said Borusa, but knowing the tact wasn’t going to work, he added, “But I know your planning to use the President’s sudden weakness for treachery.”

Johnson froze. News of his treachery was spreading too fast, “I plan no such thing.”

Cardinal Borusa made a cruel smile, “But you do. And if you don’t help me, I’ll give this to the President.”

Johnson looked as Borusa withdrew a letter, “Look give a lawyer a complete confession. Instruct on the event of your death for it to be released.”

Borusa nodded, “That is a fine idea. I shall just give this to Lord Grey and then tell the Chief Cardinal what I have done.”

Johnson suddenly realized he had been bluffed, that wasn’t proof against him, but the Cardinal’s confession. He didn’t know whether to feel stupid or relieved.

As Borusa went back into the ballroom to talk to his noble lawyer; he noticed the two Kriovalians heading for air, but decided it was best to assume they heard nothing. Fredrick Johnson turned around to return to the ballroom; then noticed the two Kriovalians, and could only wonder if they’d been listening.

“But you should be intimidated. You should be afraid for your life,” said Palmer, “You are in deep and have no idea how to swim. My time shall come; perhaps not at the election, but it shall come. And when it comes you and your entire nation should have decided where they stand; for me or against me.”

"Hmm..," he said. "You do seemj pretty cocky for your age. Now look, I could tackle you down right now."

He pointed to the various blackshirts.

"So can those people."

Then he pointed to the various Cardinals.

"And so can him."

Then he pointed at the President.

"And even him."

He then faced back at the candidate.

"Because I know you have a secret. A VERY deadly, that would say goodbye to your chances. And so you should know, secret can get out. Now talk!" He whispered.

OOC: The black-shirts haven’t just walked in; they have been entering slowly during the night.

IC:
Palmer flicked his eyes around as though looking for something, or someone, before returning his attention to the SGC.

“No. You couldn’t,” said Jamie Palmer, then pointing at the President, “Nor could he, or any of the Cardinals. The Moralist Enforcers could prove more of a challenge.”

He again flexed his large arms, “Now Mr O’Brien, if you have finished with your pleas for info, I have business to attend to. Or if I’m feeling so cocky, perhaps you would like to step outside, where the black-shirts do not see all?”

"So I should," he started. "But there are so many people to talk to, so I bid you adieu."

Jamie Palmer gave a small bow of the head and walked off.

The SGC then returned to his table with his Marge, and began to eat the food.

Tim Eyman, after listening to all this, decided that Farmina would probably be unstable in the next few months, at least. He then walked back to his wife.

General Nizharov was concerned when she heard about Farmina's plan to bring down all dictatorships. After all, General Remmol, leader of Mirkana, was an unabashed dictator himself! Democracy was inefficient. It took days for a democracy to get things done. An efficient military dictatorship like Mirkana was much faster. Remmol and his advisors could decide policy in minutes.

Nizharov decided to wait around and acquire more information.

"I'm not the type that believes in God," Donald said, "And if that makes me a sinner, then so be it. But," he sighed, "I have killed people, and I wish I hadn't killed them. We all have our evils Dan, and honestly, if God punished all those who sinned, then he would have to take down the entire planet."

Chancellor Rickhart shook is head most disapprovingly at Donald. “God punishes those who don’t repent and don’t realize he is their one true lord and master. Do you think everything that has happened is just a coincidence?”

Rickhart was looking tired. Despite not being a young man, he kept his age hidden well. But it was clear to all in the room, that time was wearing on him. Rickhart dismissed his own thoughts of his age, cleared his throat and spoke, “It was no mere coincidence that it was a Messian aircraft that was shot at during the military coup. We are mere pawns in a greater game. Every move has infinite repercussions. If it were not for the outcome of the Sinear conflict, all those years ago; you and I would not be standing here, discussing destiny. Now do you understand Commander; can you look beyond the present and divine your fate in the great game?”

"Honestly," Donald replied, "I have no interest in discussing religion. Arguing each other's views only causes fighting between two people, or conflict, war and suffering on the large scale. That's why we banned public protrayal of religion."

------

Dasch walks up to the gardener's shed described in the note, and looks around in the park, seeing the lovers on the benches, and other people walking their dogs. He then opens the door, and walks in...

The interior of the shed was small, yet so full. The shed was illuminated by a small lantern in the corner, as though Dasch had been expected. The back wall was taken up by a workbench covered in tools and watering equipment. From the sidewalls hung more tools than some would be able to name. The corners were used to rest brooms and rakes, shovels and spades. Everything was as it should be, considering it was just a shed. The only detail amiss was that a single draw hung open; baring its contents to the world.

The draw however was empty, with a single exception. The lantern’s light illuminated it perfectly, as though that had been the intention all along; the small book that was banned in Farmina. The small book that the Messians so desired. A most elusive and dangerous of texts; The Shadow’s History of Farmina.

---

A small beep from the laptop, distracted Rickhart. He sighed and said reluctantly to the man at the computer, “Tell our man to take no action.”

Rickhart knew time was running out. He turned his attention back to Donald, “Commander Donald. You have no faith, and this makes this all the harder. I have delved into the future and seen it all. There is an overwhelming probability that next Autumn will herald a Dumpsterdamian invasion and an end to the democratic experiment. I have seen my escape. I have seen Tobias die a thousand brutal deaths. I try to advert the inevitable; but I have a growing realization that though we must try, we cannot.”

He paused his voice tinged with regret, “I know that your life is being monitored. It was a logical, safe course of action; so Messian of you. I also have only seen one outcome for this meeting. You have an overwhelming sense of secular justice, as you don’t believe in God’s justice. Thus it is inevitable that you would seek to punish me and end my work. You are an inevitable threat not just to me; I have seen your well meaning bumbling destroy everything Tobias has built.”

Rickhart’s voice was dark, sad and hesitant, “Forgive me Lord Commander, but there is no alternative. How I do not wish to send you to the hellfire. You are not an evil man; but you were warned in my note and you have refused to repent. I did try to send you to a better place. Please understand. Please forgive me.”

Then Dan Rickhart removed his pistol and hesitated before firing twice at Commander Donald, as a handful of tears ran down the cheeks of Farmina’s tough man.

The last moments that went through Donald's mind before he got shot...

Shit.

Then everything went black, and he felt excrutiating pain. His blurred eyes opened, seeing the men packing up and preparing to leave. He could see the emotional Rickhart, his shooter, looking down at him. He knew he only had seconds to live, he knew from how he was shot that it was intended for him to live long enough to know he was about to die, but severe enough to guarantee his fate.

Donald looked up at him. "That was...your worst mistake....you just....sealed....not just yours....but your entire...c...c...country's...FATE!"

He closed his eyes, as Sardo shot him again, this time in the head. Everything went blank.

-------

Dasch picks up the book, and flips through a few pages, then closes it. He then puts it into his coat pocket. He peeks out of the shed, making sure the coast was clear, and walks back onto the path.

He looks back and forth, checking to see if anyone notices, and starts walking towards the ball, completely unaware of the crisis going on on the other side of the city...

As he reaches the palace, he could see some of his bodyguards rushing around. He thought nothing of it immediately, as he walked back into the palace from the same door he left.

Grabbing his gun furiously back off Jamison Sardo, Rickhart sneered at his assistant, “At least you had the sense to use my gun, but why shoot him again.”

“Because you aren’t the shot you used to be,” sniped Captain Sardo, “Who knows how long he could have been dying for.”

“He will visit you in your dreams you fool. You shall fear sleeping,” warned Rickhart, “But worse he shall torment both of us.”

Rickhart knew he still had some time, but he didn’t like wasting it all the same, “Get all this stuff packed up, NOW.” We walked down the stairs and picked up a white hot piece of metal he had been warming on the portable stove in the cellar. Coming back upstairs he placed the hot metal into the flesh on the back of Donald’s neck, burning in the semi-circular mark, the mark of the Shadow.

“We have to leave, NOW,” said Rickhart, slipping off his black costume, to reveal a black-shirt uniform beneath.

With all the evidence in hand, those in black followed Rickhart down the stairs into the cellar. As the last man came through Rickhart locked the large metal gates and led his followers into the labyrinth. Everyone knew their role. Everyone knew their part in the foreseen path.

Sargeant John Stevens waits calmly a few blocks from the palace, leaning on the front of one of the four SUV's, and the one APC there, when he heard the vehicle's communicator-radio starts blaring the voice of one of the command plane's staff members, though it couldn't be heard from people much farther than the men as the SUV's windows were closed.

"All Angel units respond immediately! We have a code Alpha-1! I repeat, code Alpha-1! Locate and secure all level 10 personnel immediately! Force Commander Donald's health monitor has gone active!"

Stevens couldn't believe what he was hearing. He had never heard that call before, except for his well rehearsed drills. In translation, he remembers code Alpha-1 meaning that the health of a level 10 person is in danger, and there are only seven level 10 personnel in the MES: the Force Commanders.

His extensive training kicked in immediately. "All squads! We have an Alpha-1! Squad 2 [the APC], track down F.C. Donald's tracking ring, and secure him immediately! Squad 1 and 3, we're heading straight to the palace to find F.C. Dasch! [the SUV's]"

The men quickly climb into their respective vehicles, and head off in their respective directions.

--------

The APC pulls onto the freeway, as it gathers speed. The driver intentionally starts pushing the eight-wheeled vehicle over the speed limit to the location where Donald is located. He thought that any speeding ticket he would get wouldn't be a big deal compared to the Force Commander's life.

--------

The SUVs quickly pull into the front of the palace, and the men quickly leave their weapons in the vehicle, and hop out. They then rush up to the guards standing in front of the palace.

The black-shirts guarding the palace silently watched the Messians approach before raising their rifles, while one marked as a sergeant said, “I must inform you, that you are forbidden to enter without an invitation; which we know you don’t have.”

The men stop a couple of meters on front of the black-shirts, as the Sargeant looks at the head black-shirt. "We have a homeland emergency, and Force Commander Dasch's presence is immediately required!"

Dan Rickhart had split from the rest of his companions; some of whom were now disposing of the evidence in the river. Rickhart, however had a ball to attend. Walking quietly through the Palace grounds, he passed as black-shirt; the combination of make-up, the night and the fake hair making him look several years younger.

No one questioned him; no one questioned black-shirts, and most of the time that included other black-shirts. Climbing through a window, Rickhart made his way back within the security cordon. He continued onto a small unmarked bathroom, where he removed all that was not truly him. Unbuttoning his jacket, he revealed his dinner suit jacket underneath, with tie and all. Then he removed the plain white mask from the inside pocket, returning it to his face. Now he was complete. Bundling up all that he had discarded, he bagged them and lifted several tiles that formed the drainage system. Scrunching up the bag he pushed it in the drain and watched it float away.

Dan Rickhart then stood up and returned silently to the ball as though nothing had happened.

The black-shirts looked at each other puzzled and then the Sergeant said, “We shall have someone bring him here immediately.”

Taking the cue, another black-shirt mumbled the ordered into his communicator, within the second Moralist eyes were sweeping the ballroom for Commander Dasch.

*bump*

MES, your gonna respond or what?

OOC: Jolts been down a lot past few days; especially around this time each day. Understandable he hasn't posted, so I shall give it a push along.

IC: One of the black-shirts sighted Commander Dasch and walked over to him, “Lord Commander, several of your men at the front of the palace requesting immediate audience with you.”

OOC: I had a dialogue messup, but it's straightened out now, thanks Farmina.

IC:

At first, the approaching black-shirts scared him, as he was missing for a while. But when they mentioned his men, then he knew something was up, but not with the black-shirts.

"Take me to them, and let me grab my things from the cloakroom." Dasch said.

--------

As Dasch walks out of the door, his troops formed around him in apparent bodyguard style blocking as he walked out. "What the hell is going on?" Dasch said as he is escorted to one of the SUV's.

"Sir, protocol, we have an alert out from Donald's medical ring!"

Dasch's blood goes cold. "Oh no..." Dasch said as he gets in. As the SUV pulls away, he pulls down one of the rear TV's with an upfeed to the command airplane.

"Report," Dasch said to the commander aircraft officer.

"Glad to see you alive," the officer said, "But our fast response units have just arrived at Donald's location. They are currently searching for him. We have fed the co-ordinates to where he is located to your GPS."

Dasch started to feel sick to his stomach. "Driver, take me to Donald's location!"

--------

As Dasch's vehicle pulled up, he saw one of the soldiers waiting for him. He had a look of severe concern.

"Where is he, and is he OK?" Dasch said to the waiting soldier.

"He's down here..." he said passively, as he walked down towards the building where the other soldiers were waiting.

"What is his condition? Dasch persisted, as they turn towards the door.

"He's....dead, sir," the soldier said passively as Dasch saw Donald's body, surrounded by the other soldiers.

Dasch just stood there for a few moments.

"Sir? the soldier asked.

Dasch didn't say anything, and then walked up to where Donald was. He was laying on his side, with two bullet wounds in the chest, and one in his head.

"Donald, you old fool..." Dasch said emotionally, as he crouched down near him, noting his 43 years of age compared to his 25 years. He put his hand onto his head, and then got up.

"Sir, your orders?" the soldier asked quietly, afraid of his reaction. He could see Dasch's face start to turn a deep red. Dasch then yells an enranged scream, kicks a pillar, and then puts his hands and forehead onto the post.

The men just stood there, stunned at his reaction, but at the same time they knew of the strong bond between the Force Commanders. Soon Dasch slowly turns around.

"Men," he started quietly. "This...is a crime scene. I want Messian, and only Messian detectives in this area gathering evidence. I want this done within 24 hours. Make sure no one enters this area, and I want to be taken back to the command plane. I need to...break the news to the Force Commanders back home." He then stomped out of the room.

President Grey had seen Commander Donald, leave earlier in the night and now other Mes had taken Commander Dasch away. Within minutes he had even more interesting news.

“What is it Captain Stern?” Grey asked the alarmed looking black-shirt.

“Our observations of the Messian forces,” began Stern, “They are racing troops and vehicles to the old industrial estate. I don’t like it one bit.”

Grey added this to the sudden departures of Donald and Dasch. With so many national leaders in one spot he couldn’t risk Messian treachery, however probable or improbable, “Deal with it diplomatically and forcefully Captain.”

“As you wish Lord President,” responded Stern, giving a brief nod before leaving.

Tobias Grey looked back at the three stages to note Jamie Palmer clambering onto the one on the right. The President scratched his beard and thought, “What is he up to?” as the lovely tones of Jazz and Hell filled the room from the left stage.

It seemed to Tobias that Palmer was chatting with the band, so the worst he could be up to was planning karaoke; could it get any worse!

Once the jazz song stopped, the band on the right stage began to play and Jamie Palmer walked up to the microphone. Tobias Grey knew the song and it certainly didn’t sound like one he had suggested, and he had an unwelcome idea he knew what it was..

And then Palmer began to sing, in a soothing, and obviously rehearsed voice,
“Sometimes I feel I’ve got to
Run away, I've got to,
Get away.”

Tobias Grey began turning red; he knew exactly what the song was.

Palmer continued to sing, and certainly with some quality,
“This tainted love you’ve given
I give you all a boy could give you,
Take my tears and that not nearly all,

Tainted love...”

Tobias Grey could feel a vein enlarging on his forehead; unlike many people he knew the subtle, perverted, tainted meaning of this song.

“You think love is to pray,
I’m sorry, I don’t pray that way,

Tainted love.”

---

Armored black vehicles raced through the streets of Verica. The hawk insigma marked then out as the left arm of the President; Moralist Enforcers. The sound of screeching tires and running of Moralist boots echoed in the abandoned industrial estate.

The overwhelming force pf black-shirts had arrived, armed and ready.

Tim Eyman came up to Tobias Grey and said, "I didn't know that singing was one of Jamie Palmer's talents."

As soon as Dasch's motorcade arrived at the command plane, Dasch hopped out of the SUV, just before it came to a complete stop. He wasn't in the mood to be taking things slow. He quickly climbed on board, and jogged into the communications room.

"Stand aside," Dasch said forcefully to one of the men at a comminications console, but in a low voice.

The soldier in front of one of the terminals got up, and Dasch took a seat. He quickly dialed a secured link to Ackvick. It didn't take long for him to reach him.

"Hey AJ," Ackvick said with a smile on his face. Dasch looked nearly distraught. "What's wrong Dasch?" Ackvick said, his mood suddenly changing.

"Force Commander Donald, is dead," Dasch said quietly, but bluntly.

The look on Ackvick's face ranged from shock, to upset, to enraged in about ten seconds. He slammed his fists on the table.

"This isn't good, this will likely cause full scale war." Ackvick said quietly. "I shall convene an emergency of our democratic part of government to see their decision. In the meantime, I'll immediately convene with the Force Commanders with the news." He paused. "Dasch, is there anything I can do to help you?"

Dasch nods. "I'm thinking the Moralists will move to that scene very quickly, and I do not want to risk that scene, and his body, to the moralists. I need security and some politicial leverage to keep them at bay. I also want some CSI's to collect evidence within 24 hours."

"I can do it in twelve," Ackvick said. "We have CSI's already deployed in a nation nearby Farmina for some international training, and I think we can pull them into the area in about four hours, and whatever time it takes them to process it. The only question is how to get them in covertly."

"Mask it as a personnel transfer," Dasch said, "Have them wear military uniforms to prevent them from being marked as CSI's, and have their equipment in their backpacks."

"Very well. Dasch, I know how much of a friend he was to you." Ackvick said.

"I know you do. And right now it might be best to not rely on my complete judgement right now. I want to wipe every single damn Farminan off the face of this planet, and that's obviously not the right response for this situation."

Ackvick nods. "I better make those calls." he said.

--------
30 minutes later...

As the four remaining Force Commanders that were not on assignment or dead sit down around the otherwise empty situation room, Ackvick spoke.

"It has come to my attention that Force Commander Donald has been killed."

The look on the other Force Commanders showed about the same thing that Ackvick was feeling before.

"So what are we going to do?" Lance Foster asked, the calmest of the men and women.

"I want to make a more balanced decision then what the democratic government will probably want. They will want full scale war, but I don't think we know who killed him. Rushing in blindly would result in major innocent casualties. Who knows, maybe even the moralists are innocent."

"Well," Lance said, "We should forcefully impliment a large criminal investigation into Donald's death, and tell them to 'comply or be bombed', more or less. Enough sneaking around, I want results."

Ackvick nods. "I agree. Hopefully this won't turn into full scale war. By the way, bring back all active units back to the MES for rest, rearming, and refueling. We need everyone ready, as like you said, we need the political sledgehammer to make them comply. As they are in a weakened state from the civil war, we should be able to fight if it came to that, on even terms."

--------
One hour later...

"...Today, I must bring bad news to our nation, one of our Force Commanders, Alex Christopher Donald, has been killed in action in his efforts to fight corruption and infighting in the nation of Farmina..." Ackvick said in front of a camera, broadcasting to his nation, and other nations that get Messian channels..

--------
4 hours later...

On Messian TV: "In today's news, the new democratic government of Militia Enforced State has overwhelmingly voted, 321-29, to commit Messian troops to full scale war. The Force Commanders have stated they will listen to the democratic government's request, but they have said that they will use restraint on this situation as it develops. In other news, the local citizens are compassionately showing their support for the lost of Force Commander Donald. It seems like not only does the majority of the senate support the action of full scale war, but so do the people..."

--------
Moments later...

"It sounds like we have a nation wanting to wipe them off the planet, just as I figured..." Ackvick stated, noting the country's inherent patriotism towards them. "But I'm still sticking to your plan to start, Lance."

--------
Meanwhile, back in Farminan territory...

Dasch hears the radio awaken. "This is Corporal Dennings. We have a situation here. We're surrounded by the Moralist Enforcers!"

Dasch gets up, and hits the radio. "Corporal, get your troops to defend that place, and diplomatically tell them the situation, and allow one of their troops to verify, unarmed. Do not let them in the building, just let them see the body. I'll be arriving there shortly."

Dasch gets up, more cranky than he was before. "Get half of our group to move to their location, but keep the Flash UPT's back at base, unless we come under fire."

He then hops out of the airplane into a waiting APC, to meet with the Moralist Enforcers...

IC: As Jamie Palmer continued to sing, Tobias Grey had forgotten all about the minor matter of the Messians. When Timothy Eyman commented on Jamie Palmer’s singing, Tobias Grey was nearly charged with manslaughter, but resisted the temptation to strangle the Cascadian to death; although there was still the overwhelming temptation to bludgeon Palmer to death with something heavy.

Instead, Grey said, angrily but politely, “Lord Palmer is a very talented man; too talented even. Talented enough to destroy a government.”

---

Meanwhile (not four hours later) Captain Stern couldn’t possibly comprehend what the Mes wanted with an old, abandoned brickworks. Could they be launching an attack on the ball? It seemed so improbable and yet dangerously real.

The black-shirts had been clear on their posture; this was Farminan territory not Messian and they had every right to be here without aggression or defense. Black-shirts wore their arms not at the ready, but at their side as gesture of pacifism but a willingness to fight.

Stern sited Commander Dasch, head of the Messian taskforce as he began to speak, “Forces of the Militia Enforced State, Commander Dasch; if you plan treachery against the Farmina and leaders of the world you have failed, lay down your arms. If there is no malice in your inexplicable actions, put your arms to your sides and let us see your work with our own eyes.”

He fell silent to allow the Messians the right of reply. If treachery was afoot; they would all be incarcerated, tried and no doubt hung by the neck until dead.

One of the Corporals around the scene of the murder came out, unarmed. He walked up to the Captain, not that far away from him.

"It's fortunate that you are willing to listen to our reasons for our 'inexplicable' reasoning for this, as we have a very serious Messian matter here. One of our Force Commanders has been murdered. I have been given clearance for one of your men to confirm this, unarmed, and with no interference to the crime scene."

He then looks back to the rest of the group. "At ease," he said to the troops behind him. The troops then put their weapons to their sides, like the Enforcers around them.

"Force Commander Dasch is not here at the moment, but he is on his way, so if you see another Messian vehicle drive in, don't shoot, as it is him."

OOC: Just to inform you, the previous post of the meetings, press conference, yada yada yada, takes place during the events at the industrial yard, and a few hours later. I'll post when the time anomoly in posting is realigned (as in Dasch gets confirmation of Foster's plan).

When President Grey made his comment about Palmer having enough talent to destroy a government, Eyman wanted to yell at him about how his government restricts peoples' rights for no reason but "morality". Luckily, he restrained himself and didn't reply.

--

Meanwhile, Cascadian Special Forces had noticed that the MES forces were moving quickly and that Dasch had left the ball and was escorted by them. They radioed this information back to the embassy, just as the BBC reporter was finishing up the interview with the ambassador.

“I believe a murder would be a Farminan situation,” corrected the black-shirt Stern, “In Farmina there is only Farminan law; so unless you can show your Commander Donald died in a military situation, Farmina shall be taking charge of any investigation. Diplomatic niceties are not my concern, so if you want any see the President.”

Stern avoided referring to the Chancellor for Foreign Affairs; since though he was a tough, honorable man; few call him nice or one to extend niceties.

Without waiting for a response Captain Stern put his weapon down, and said, “Now show me this body. Sergeant Drisdale contact the murder squad; they will want to get their white boys down here quick smart.”

"Sir, I'm afraid I cannot let you enter except for yourself," the corporal said, as a Messian SUV pulled up. "If you have any concerns, please bring it up with Force Commander Dasch," he said, gesturing towards the man getting out of the SUV.

The Enforcers turn to look at Dasch, catching him slightly off guard at the sudden focus of attention, but then regained it, ready to recieve his answer.

Captain Stern turned to Commander Dasch, “Lord Commander, I understand this must be upsetting enough; but I must insist that the crime scene be handed over to our authorities. Only Farmina has the legal power to prosecute and only Farmina has the forensic teams on hand to deal with the situation. We cannot allow your forces to prevent us investigate happenings in our own nation. I hope you understand Lord Commander.”

Dasch gave a slightly dark look. "No offense to you Captain," he said, looking at his rank, and talking in a deeper voice than usual, "but he is one of our leaders of our nation. Not only that, he was one of my most trusted friends. And personally...I don't trust what is going on here anymore. There are people running around here in this country, up to no good from what we have seen. Others may be attempting to overthrow or kill Grey, I don't know. But I do know that there is a massive amount of corruption here, leading up from the lowest policeman, to the highest positions in your government. I do not trust your CSI's, no offense to them, and I want this done by our investigators. We will share what we find, and you can investigate the scene once we're done. You can also make the arrests as we can't do it legally, but we will not yield. Not now. This is too important of an investigation, and to say the least, this murder will probably cause tremendoes outrage in our nation."

He stopped to catch his breath, from his huge rant. "And yes, I want to talk to Grey. Or rather, another one of our leadership, as I don't think I'm in a sensible train of thought now."

Captain Stern intended to give no ground, “It will take far too long for your crime scene investigators to arrive. The scene is no doubt in prime position; we must investigate now. President Grey will ensure provisions are made for your needs tomorrow.”

Captain Stern then added with distinct distaste, “And that you ‘know’ every Farminan is corrupt is an outrage. If you have evidence of corruption you should present it. But you don’t have a single shred of evidence any Farminan is doing anything illegal or corrupt. You just fear instinctively fear democracy, don’t you Lord Commander. All your privilege and power, could be confiscated at the whim of the people. It’s too much for you to handle isn’t it.”

Then Stern returned to the point, “Now please tell your men to move aside or they shall all be arrested for perverting the course of justice. We have every right to investigate on our own soil…especially tonight.”

The BBC reporter, Jabin Gratien Enej, was an British Arab. One of the camera crew ran up to him.

"Jabin, there's something going on in the old industrial district. Military units are speeding to that area."

"Then let's go!"

Jamie Palmer uttered a final “Tainted love” and gave a brief bow as the music stopped. Half the Farminans in the room burst out in applause for a fine performance, the other half fell ghastly silent.

Tobias Grey exhaled slightly, glad that Palmer has finally finished singing. As he turned to face his guests, the room went pitch black. Furious, Tobias Grey yelled, “What is going on here?”

Noting a faint orange glow filling the room, Tobias Grey turned back towards the stage and looked at the large screen he had used to emit images of his triumph.

Now it emitted the image of his nemesis, the orange semi-circle with two lines running through it; the symbol of the terrorist known only as the Shadow. A dark music played, but it came from none of the instruments that he had organised; but some pre-recorded composition.

A digitized voice began to speak as the image changed, “Tobias Grey has deceived you all. All his grand claims of democracy are fraudulent; he murdered the Conservatives in cold blood; slaughtering them to the last man. Aston wasn’t the great battle between democracy and imperialism, it was genocide.”

The screen now showed images of Aston; Conservatives lying dead under the scorching Farminan sun in their thousands, though the corpses of both black-shirts and green-sleeves [soldiers] were among them. Images of bitter fighting, with green-sleeves and black-shirts offering the White Guard and their Conservative allies no quarter.

“[I]Turn this off,” yelled Tobias Grey, furious that security precautions had failed. He knew that the Conservatives had refused to surrender and fought to the last man. These facts were twisted lies. He hadn’t even coordinated the attack on Aston. It was all Arnold Bashar’s doing and he was dead now; his continual treachery against everyone not green-sleeved finally having caught up with him.

But the spur of lies and misplaced images continued, “Emperor Justinian’s illness was not natural but man made. He was poisoned by the President himself.”

“Lies,” yelled the President, “You murdered my wife you evil, lying, murdering bastard.”

The pre-recorded voice ignored the President, “And who murdered Justinian’s precious Lady Kerria; there can only be one suspect; the President Tobias Grey.”

Tobias Grey didn’t know why it was taking so long to turn the recording off, but he did know he didn’t kill Lady Kerria. The police had accepted his rock solid alibi; that he had been in the company of Emperor Justinian at the time. Would the international community take the word of a terrorist over accepted, even proven fact?

“And which President ordered the attack on the Quere…”

The voice cut off, as did the grim music and the images. Tobias Grey was overwhelmed by the memories; especially those of his recently deceased wife; and of the thought of reminding each individual nation of the actual series of events. One of his black-shirts came over to him and whispered, “The Shadow, he murdered everyone in the control room. He must have used Lord Palmer’s act as a distraction.”

The President hadn’t had a smoke all day, and could feel the tension build up. Grey placed a cigarette in his mouth. He pulled out his lighter and as the lights came back, gave a quick flick. He had only had the cigarette in his mouth for a few seconds when he got an untimely reminder about the fire alarm.

The sirens blazed as the sprinklers poured water into the ballroom. Luckily some one turned off the system within seconds. Unluckily, Tobias Grey was soaked in seconds.

Throwing aside his cigarette, the President wondered what else could go wrong.

---

The black-shirts had created a ring around the abandoned industrial estate; nothing was to go in or come out and less the Moralists decided so. Regular police and Murder Investigation Squad officials were pulling up outside the cordon, preparing themselves for when they were given permission; by both Mes through the black-shirts to enter. As the journalists approached; the Moralist Enforcers gave a clear signal to stop. Journalists were the last people the Moralists or the Messians would want in the cordon.

Dasch nodded, noting the Farminan's stubbornness. "I agree it must be done quickly, but at the same time, we will have our investigators here in about four hours. They are being transfered from a nation on assignment not that far from here."

Dasch took another breath, then continued, "And I know you are insulted by our claims, and I should say that I don't think that all Farminans are corrupt. But I will say that this corruption goes deep, and that we need to investigate further. You can't make a proper investigation for corruption when your investigators could possibly be one of the perpretrators."

Before the Enforcer could respond, Dasch forced in one more rebutal, "And for your information we do not fear democracy. We fear corruption. We believe in any form of government that properly serves all of the people in their nation regardless of social standing, beliefs or whatnot, let it be democracy, dictatorship, communist, hell even our own Democratic/Dictatorship hybrid! And if you think you're scaring us by threatening to arrest us if we don't move, you're not. If you arrest us, you'll risk an internation incident with us and our allies. Our nation has a populace which has us Force Commanders in high regard, and I'm sure our newly formed democracy will threaten military action when they find out about Donald's death. But imagine if they found out I was arrested, or killed? By an Moralist Enforcer? We have a camera satellite looking at this exact place where we're standing, and if you guys move to arrest us, or even shoot us, you'll be in for a war which this nation is unprepared as it is still recovering from the civil war!"

Dasch paused, trying to control the anger inside of him, which was visible to everyone around him. "Let me or some other Force Commander talk to Grey, and we can get this sorted," he muttered.

Captain Stern felt like punching the insolent trouble maker. Instead he decided to use a threat that would make most black-shirts tremor in their boots, “President Grey is busy, as you well know. Tonight is make or break for a new look Farmina, a different route from Justinian’s tyranny. If Farminan forensic investigators are not allowed in this instant, I shall request that Chancellor Rickhart come here and deal with the issue personally.”

Dasch gave a very dark look at the Farminan Captain. He could see the Captain's other men give a look of shock at the comment, obviously meaning how serious this situation was going to become. But Dasch was both pissed and stubborn, and with his daring personality, this could cause fists to fly.

Dasch thought to himself for a moment. If he refused, he could start a war, and with foreign dignataries in the area, that would cause some serious heat. If he accepted, the evidence could be tainted, and their loss would be meaningless. He kept looking straight into the Captain's eyes. He could tell that he was restraining himself from nailing him. Dasch looked to the side for a seconds, and looked back. The troops from both sides kept an eye on one another, waiting for something to happen, like a spark in the gas filled room, or in other words, a stray bullet into a group of soldiers...

Dasch sighed. "I will let in two of your investigators in, no more. You cannot bring in their kits or collect evidence until the Messian CSI's arrive, but they can look for clues. If they disobey or tamper with evidence, they will be removed from the scene."

Captain Stern felt like smiling, but didn’t; the threat of Rickhart worked every time. He cleared his throat and pressed the advantage just a little, “We need at least five investigators to make any worthy progress. Furthermore since your men are suspects, however preposterous, I request that you disperse them, however you may keep yourself and two others to oversee our investigation.”

Stern then paused, before adding, “And if you plan to bring anyone else into the country, you better go through Chancellor Rickhart. The government don’t like foreigners coming and going as they please; its bad for security.”

Nope, he thought. They won't listen...

"No, only two. And this guard is staying here. And we will be bringing in the CSI's, so I suggest you clear it with Rickhart quickly." Dasch said defiantly.

Captain Stern shook his head at Commander Dasch. “Grave mistake,” said the Captain.

He then pulled out his mobile phone and proceeded to dial, before speaking into it, “Tell Chancellor Rickhart that the Messians are blocking an investigation. They claim Commander Donald has been killed, but won’t surrender to our jurisdiction. Yes I know he’s in the ball, get him out. Contact me with any updates. Goodbye.”

The Captain then looked up at Dasch, “Chancellor Rickhart is being briefed as we speak. He should be here to take control of the situation personally in five to ten minutes.”

Dasch nodded slowly. "If you think Rickhart is going to scare me, then you yourself are gravely wrong. Now if you want to take this down a notch, we can rediscuss this. Otherwise I will have to make phone calls myself." Dasch showed a look of fierce determination at the Captain.

Meanwhile, a small object hundreds of thousands of feet up in the air, a Messian camera satellite hovers right over the spot where Dasch and the rest of them are standing. It hovers in place unemotionally, recording the motions of the men below, while mindlessly transfering the data to a transfer satellite back to Messian headquarters.

--------

Ackvick nods. "I agree. Hopefully this won't turn into full scale war. By the way, bring back all active units back to the MES for rest, rearming, and refueling. We need everyone ready, as like you said, we need the political sledgehammer to make them comply. As they are in a weakened state from the civil war, we should be able to fight if it came to that, on even terms."

Suddenly, a Messian soldier rushes into the room. "Sir, sorry to interupt, but flip on Satellite Feed 9! It's important."

A little startled, Ackvick flipped on the feed onto the large viewer on the wall beside him, and he turned his chair to face. He could see what looked like the Moralist Enforcers, and a captain of it arguing with an instantly recognisable figure.

"Dasch..." Ackvick said quietly. He could see them arguing, but because of the overhead angle, he could not see the facial emotions. But he could see the troops getting edgy.

"Thank you soldier," Ackvick said to the soldier, and then opened up his switchboard. He connected to the APC at the scene.

"Corporal," he said to the soldier picking up the other line. "Connect me to the Enforcer Captain, doubletime."

--------

An acknoledgement later, the soldier hops out of the APC with a portable communicator in his hand. He walked calmly but swiftly, to not set off the Enforcers.

He walks up next to Dasch and the Enforcer Captain.

"Sir, this is for the captain." the Corporal said.

The two men looked at the soldier in relative surprise.

Captain Stern also gave a rather surprised look, and took the phone cautiously hoping it wouldn’t explode, “Captain Lionel Stern, Moralist Enforcers, and may I ask who is speaking?”

Meanwhile Dan Rickhart had prepared his action group to take control of the situation. Though he had not foreseen this event, he couldn’t see how it would interfere with his plan. As his driver started his car, he looked both back, forward and up; to see black-shirt vehicles in every direction, filled to the ‘brim’ with black-shirts and his specially selected weapons. The helicopters he thought were a great touch; allowing the Messians to see just how serious the government was; that it would not have its sovereignty violated over an issue of pride. “The President will be impressed,” he thought.

He then pulled out his work phone, went down the menu of national leaderships. He saw the option “Mes”, and pressed dial; and prepared to wade through the long line of secretary’s many national leaders employed.

"What happened? Did a important government official get killed at the ball?" asked Jabin.

"No", repilied the cameraman, "Moralist Enforcers are arriving at the old industrial area."

'Why?"

"I don't know. But we should go. If we stay hidden mayber they won't detect us."

Jabin thought about it. He had been sent to Farmina, not to cover the ball, but to interview a boring ambassador from a relatively unimportant country. If he could get there and stay hidden, it could do wonders for his career. And besides, it was better than cutting footage of the interview.

"Okay. Let's go everyone!"

---

When the newsvan arrived at an old factory, they were stopped by Moralist Enforcers. A captain told them to turn around and they wouldn't get into any trouble.

OOC: Combined post.
IC:

“Hello Captain. This is Force Commander James Ackvick. I can see a situation brewing over the industrial area where one of my men were killed. Can you please describe the situation to me?” he said in a very menacing, but non-threatening way.

“The Murder Investigation Squad has a mandate to investigate this incident, and your Force Commander is blocking that mandate,” replied Captain Stern.

“And why would he be wanting to block this mandate?” Ackvick asked.

“May I speak frankly Lord Commander?” asked Stern.

“Granted, and you don't need to call me Lord Commander. Just call me F.C. or just Commander will do,” responded Ackvick

“As you insist Commander,” said Stern turning his back to Dasch and walking a distance away, before adding, “Force Commander Dasch is naturally stuborn and this combined with his grief and anger, has caused Commander Dasch to lose good judgement.”

“I can see multiple vehicles and helicopters with what appears to be a vehicle that your leadership would more than likely use. Again I must ask, why are these vehicles heading to the area, and why is Dasch defending the area?” he persisted.

“The vehicles are probably a show of force,” said Stern, “And Dasch is defending the area out of sheer blind anger. He can’t face the fact this is out of Messian jurisdiction; and that Farmina is in a better position to investigate.”

“Very well. What were your conditions to him?” asked Ackvick.

“The conditions I proposed were that three Messians oversee a Farminan investigation,” said Stern, “How far away is Rickhart?”

“From what I've been reported, about five minutes away." Ackvick replied.

“Commander,” said Stern, “May I request that you order Commander Dasch to stand down?”

“I will let your CSI’s in on three conditions. I wish to have our men at the site oversee the evidence collection to ensure that there is no tampering, we share our findings with one another, and that our CSI's be allowed in there upon arrival. They have no jurisdiction, but this is still a murder with a Messian involved. You may have heard this bonspiel before, but I don't want a war on my hands. We won't arrest anyone, but we want to find out who did it as much as you did. And we also have some evidence as well, although it doesn't show much from what we could tell. If you wish to have my men disarmed while monitoring the evidence gathering, then I will allow this.” said Ackvick.

Captain Stern wasn’t sure how much authority he had, as Grey’s only instruction was to take control of the situation, “I believe I can accept the first two conditions. I have no authority with regard to the third.”

“You can talk to the Chancellor about the third. And one more condition. I must ask that Rickhart’s show of force disperse. I don’t want his authority undermining my men and your CSI’s. You may leave your Enforcers in the area if you wish,” Ackick said.

“Commander,” began the Captain, “May I ask that you talk to Chancellor Rickhart? I would be an inefficient communication interchange.”

“Very well, what is his cell phone number?” asked Ackick, before adding “Actually, look here. He's trying to phone us, stay on the line Captain.”

Ackvick then picked up the phone, where he could hear Rickhart’s voice arguing with the secretary, “Chancellor Rickhart, I presume?” The two stop arguing, and the secretary hung up.

“Indeed, I assume this is Force Commander Ackvick of the Militia Enforced State,” said Rickhart, trying to sound as statesmanly, yet humbled as possible.

“That is correct,” Ackvick said, intentionally luring the Chancellor to let out the reason for him calling first.

“It seems we have a problem,” said Rickhart, “It appears Commander Dasch and one of the President’s black-shirts are trying to provoke a war. I was hoping you could speak to Commander Dasch.”

“Already on it. I have your Captain on the line, and we’ve sorted this out except for an issue that I must ask you first, said Ackvick.

“And they would be?” asked Rickhart.

“I have some CSI’s coming into Farmina to investigate with our own eyes. Your men get dibs to start, but we wish to have our own eyes into this investigation,” responded Ackvick.

“Lord Commander,” said Rickhart sternly, “The Shadow has caused an incident at the ball. As of five minutes ago, all travel in and out of the country was suspended. My aid is having a conference with inspectors from the murder squad; apparently 95% of murders are committed by friends and family; thus your men and possibly your nation as a whole are suspects to be eliminated. All Messian flights are to be suspended indefinitely.”

Rickhart paused before responding, “We shall supply your men with the essentials. Furthermore we have a provision under Farminan law to hire private investigators to work in tandem with the police. Perhaps Commander Dasch would like a brief career change, he shall be paid an amount equal to the value of the goods and services we provide to your forces.”

“If you can allow the one flight, then I will accept those terms. You may even search them,” said Commander Ackvick.

Rickhart gave a long pause, then said, “No. The situation is beyond exceptions. Our enemies are more dangerous that I predicted."

“I know they are. I saw the flashing red lights outside the ball, I assume the fire alarm system. And I know a lot of what is going on. If you let them in, I can share information with you. I know more than you would expect,” said

Rickhart wondered if Ackvick was bluffing, but wasn't prepared to give up a chance to crush the conservative resistance, “Commander Ackvick, you may land a single flight; with a single foresnic investigator. They may review our investigators findings, but may not actively investigate. The investigator will be stripped; their record checked; and all their items placed in our possession; including the plane.”

Although Ackvick surely didn't trust Rickhart, by having both his investigators and giving some information, he could see how Rickhart reacts. If he acts in an unusual way, he could find out more than just evidence. Even though it was a bluff of sorts, he was telling the truth, “Thank you, but I wish that they go to the crime scene, and that is it. After that they'll do what you said.”

“Goodbye Lord Commander,” said Rickhart, he then promptly hung up, and rang Major Hawkins to disassemble the taskforce.

Ackvick then picked up the phone connected to the Captain. "It is done, my men should be arriving shortly. You also have access as agreed."

The Captain acknoleged his remark. "But could you please give the communicator back to Dasch?

A moment later, Ackvick could hear Dasch's voice. "Jimmy boy?" he inquired, taking an educated guess at who it was.

"Hey Dasch. I'm sorry about what happened," Ackvick said, sighing. "I want you to let them in, and disarm your men if they request so. Your men will be staying around though, and our CSI's will be arriving shortly."

"Thanks," Dasch replied.

"Dasch?"

"Yes?"

"I want you to head back to the command aircraft."

Dasch paused.

"What do you mean?"

"I mean..." Ackvick said, while thinking, "You've been under a lot of stress, and I think you need to get away from this mess for awhile."

Dasch knew that this was going to come up eventually. He was expecting it too. But he felt there was so much more for him to do. But Ackvick is his most trusted friend, and Dasch knew what his friend was saying.

"Alright," Dasch said. "Any chance I can return back home?"

Ackvick sighed. "Sadly, no. All flights in and out have been suspended. There's nothing rational that I can do about it. You're stuck there until they release the hold on us. They said they would give supplies though."

Dasch nodded, even though no one was looking at him. "I better go," he said as he hung up.

Ackvick looked at the other Force Commanders. "We better inform the nation about our loss".

When the newsvan had gone a few miles, it stopped and a satelite dish turned to face the southern sky. It sent video footage of the incident with the captain that wouldn't allow them pass, plus video of Farminan and MES forces moving to the old industrial area taken from a hilltop. Jabin sliently prayed, giving thanks to Allah that he had been one of the first BBC news crews to get a special portable camara. They had used it to get the footage of the captain without him noticing.



BBC World Channel

The TV screen displayed a split screen, with a standard newsanchor's desk on both sides,with a female news anchor sitting at the left desk and a man at the right. What cought the viewer's attention, though, was a news ticker at the bootom of the screen, displaying "Military Incident in Farmina".

"This is Kathy Kay, live from Washington, D.C".

"And I'm Mike Humbry, in London. We have just received reports that military units in the Democratic Republic of Farmina are rushing to an old industrial area in the capital city, along with Militia Enforced State forces. There is currently an important diomatic event in the capitial, with many important foreign officials there."

(BBC World News Theme plays)

---

CNN Headquarters
Atlanta, Georgia, USA

A woman came rushing into the director's office.

"Turn to BBC World on your TV!" she yelled.

"But why?", he asked.

"There's something going on in Farmina that our newscrew hasn't noticed."

He did, and was shocked.

"They haven't noticed an army moving in the city? Get them on the line right away!"

---

All over the world, newsrooms were buzzing with activity. A crowd of reporters headed for the old industrial area, but they were stopped by Farminan forces. Others headed for the ball, to see if any government officials would answer their questions. The crowd milled around outside.

Captain Stern pulled over Sergeant Linar and spoke quietly, but openly to him, “Tell the forensic investigators to get in here. This is none of our business now.”
The black-shirt scurried off to inform the investigators that their time had come.

Stern now turned to the Messian forces, “I shall be taking the precaution of disarming the Messian forces. Sergeant Willis get it dealt with.”

The black-shirt Willis nodded in confirmation as Linar hurried back, “Media sir, outside the cordon. Reports their also at the palace.”

Captain Stern grimaced, then flicked his eyes between both the black-shirts and the Messians, “And between the lot of you, the cordon must be maintained. Sergeant Rider and Sergeant Barkly, bring your men back to the palace with me. Lieutenant Gregan, take charge of the cordon; protect the defectives [detectives] and keep the low lives out.”

Captain Stern then turned and left towards the outer cordon, flanked by his two sergeants and followed by their men.

---

Black-shirts had been pulled away from the ball’s inner security shell, to hold off the storm of journalists surrounding the palace. “Get back,” the Moralist Enforcers yelled, “This is government property.”

Shields and batons were at the ready, at the muscular guards pushed against the crowd trying to discourage the journalists from their foolish belief they would see anything.

As Dan Rickhart walked back towards the ball, he took a brief glance at the clock in the hall. It had gone midnight. No doubt the ball would be breaking up soon. As he entered the main ballroom, on his left President Grey seemed to have recovered some stature and was casually chatting. On his right Jamie Palmer was acting as though nothing had happened; though black-shirts were not taking their eye off him.

Not far from the President, Cardinal Borusa and Rickhart’s confidant, Rellian Peters seemed to be arguing. Rickhart paid them no heed and walked towards the President, to explain the Donald situation.

It was a flash of light that caught Rickhart’s attention; from the direction of Borusa and Peters. In an instant, Borusa’s neck was pumping blood into the air, and Peters was charging full pace at the President.

Rickhart knew there was not an instant to lose, running at full speed, jumping onto and over a buffet table, right into Rellian Peters. The younger man; half Rickhart’s age was caught off guard as the older Rickhart crashed into him. Peters slashed at Rickhart with his knife as they lay on top of each other on the floor. It torn into Rickhart’s chest, however the wound was not too deep. Rickhart put his hands around Peter’s wrists trying to restrain him; while head-butting the younger man brutally and thrice. Black-shirts watched on in disbelief, weapons ready but unable to fire in fear of hitting the chancellor.

Peters brought up a knee between Rickhart’s legs, and then again. Rickhart’s face turned to anguish and his grip loosened. Again the knee struck, and again and again. Then Peters slammed his own head into Rickhart’s, throwing the old man backwards, landing on the floor. In one swift move, Peters got up and lunged down at Rickhart, his knife reflecting light in all directions as it flew into the centre of Rickhart’s chest.

Rickhart watched helplessly as Peters fell on him, the knife tearing into his flesh. A series of gunshots rang in the air, as Peters’ eyes went wide and then lifeless. With all his strength Rickhart pushed the corpse off him, pulling the knife out of his chest before standing up in a hobbled fashion.

“Are you okay?” asked Grey, his eyes nearly as wide as dead assassin’s.

“Just a flesh wound,” said Rickhart, as blood poured out gaping hole.

“I think you should get that patched up,” said the President, leaning over the body of the long trusted Peters, “What caused him to betray us, Dan?”


President Grey continued inspecting the body of Rellian Peters. His fingers followed the gold chain around the man’s neck under his shirt to a small object. Tobias Grey grabbed it and pulled it into the light. A triunate! “Cultists,” hissed Tobias, “Is there any limit to their influence?”

Then a worse though occurred to him, “Could they be connected to the Shadow?”

Meanwhile Rickhart tore off his shirt as he used it to bandage his wounds, before walking over to the dead cardinal. He briefly searched the cardinal’s body, before finding a note, which proved to be most interesting reading. Slipping it into his trouser pocket, he decided he better go and see the palace doctor; bleeding to death would ruin his plans.

“Tobias,” said Rickhart, as he turned to leave, “Commander Donald has been killed. Commander Dasch is mentally unstable and the Messians are unpredictable to say the least.”

Tobias looked down at the two men dead on the floor. This was all too much for one day. He wanted to go to bed, to be with his wife; but he knew that he had to tell his guests about the third death, “Ladies and gentlemen; one cannot deny this hasn’t been a night of surprises. I have just been informed of the death of a third guest, Commander Donald. As of now all your national entourages may be suspects. Furthermore security breeches have caused the termination of all air and sea travel. I apologize for the inconvenience.”

President Grey left without saying another word; as black-shirts prepared the two corpses for removal as the guests stared on in disbelief.

The SGC and his wife looked with utter horror.

"Unbelievable!" They said in unison.

Sunday 9:30am

There was a silence around the long white table as another Farminan took a seat. Only one seat remained empty, and no one was sure if it would be filled. Commander Dasch had been invited to oversee the investigation, as had Moralist Enforcers; yet his presence was not expected. It did seem neither the Farminan government nor the Messian one had complete faith in the authorities to do the job.

“I think we should begin,” said Detective Inspector Jason Brand, breaking the silence, “I apologize for DCI Sanderson’s absence. As you are all aware, last night ended with three ball guests and five black-shirts dead. The nights events nearly triggered a war between Farmina and MES; not to mention causing an unparallel break down international relations.”

“Obviously I am Detective Inspector Brand, Murder Investigation Squad. I would like to note the present of the esteemed representatives of the Moralist government, who are here to overview procedure,” said Brand, gesturing to the middle-rank black-shirts, “Also present we have DCI Williams from the Terror Squad, Inspector Drake from the Cultist Control Unit and Professor Yarion from the Forensics Division. The purpose of this conference is to emphasis and discuss overlap from the early phase of our investigations.”

---

President Grey bit into his toast. No one could claim that it had been an uneventful night. Rickhart had gone to see the palace doctor, and despite the doctor’s pleas that Rickhart go to the hospital; Rickhart only went to hospital after collapsing in the palace foyer.

The night had left Grey with many questions. “Who killed Commander Donald? Is Palmer working with the Shadow? Are the cultists and the Shadow linked?”

Again Grey bit into his toast; an angry, vengeful bite. He had let the Shadow’s men into Farmina knowingly, and for no return. Now international relations would need rebuilding after such a dangerous blow; he had never expected the Shadow to try something that refined.

Perhaps he could mend the damage with another ball; if he was still president next week…

"...Take care."

Ackvick put down the communicator, just as Alana Makion walked into the room. He looks up at her, and he could see a major look of concern on her face.

"What's up?" Ackvick said quite casually to the familiar face.

"Is it true?" she asked.

Ackvick gave a confused look for a quick moment, then nods. "I'm afraid so. I assume you mean the no-fly order that Farmina has issued."

She nods, as Ackvick got up from his office desk chair. She looked quite distressed.

"Is there anything you can do?" she asked.

"Nothing that wouldn't destroy Messian-Farminan relations..." he replied. "I'm not looking forward to addressing the democratic section of the situation. It's not going to be good."

"No...it wouldn't be good. I myself want to go after the Farminans, but I know that would be imature," she said.

Ackvick slowly walked up to Alana. "I'm going to need your help though." he said.

"What exactly could I help you with?" she asked akwardly.

"Dasch...isn't in a stable mindset right now," he said. "I'm worried that he's going to snap and start a gurrella war behind both ours and the Farminan's backs, or something else drastic. He's under a lot of stress."

He paused, putting his hand onto her shoulder. "I'm really worried for him, and I'm worried for you, and I think you need the time to talk to each other." She nodded in agreement.

"Want me to set up a private line?" he asked.

"Yes, I do," she said.

--------

"Sir, we're recieving a level 10 encoded message. Probably for you Force Commander."

Dasch turned his head towards the communications desk inside the command plane. He walks up to one of the three terminals, and puts on a headset. "Put it through," he said.

The image came through.

"Alana?!" he said in joyed surprise. He looked over to the communications officer. "Patch it through to my room," he said quickly, as he told Alana to wait, and he walked to his room.

--------

"How did you get such a secured line?" he asked, as he sat down on his bed, viewscreen beside the bed.

"I have friends in high places," she said with a giggle.

"Damn you Jimmy Boy," he said in general, with a chuckle. "He's a good friend, he knows best."

"Have you been okay?" she asked in a caring tone.

"I've been alright," he said. "I..." Suddenly, his emotions rushed up into him, and the images of the mission. The war, the deception, the lies, the murders, the book, the loss of his friend, and now being cut off from his home country, as a suspect to his friends murder. He could feel tears starting to form.

"Alex?" she said, using his rarely used first name.

"I...love you." Dasch said as he cried.

"That was relieving," Dasch remarked to Alana. "That was the first time I've had video phone sex with someone," he chuckled.

Alana giggles. "Yeah...it would have been better if you were here," she said.

Dasch nodded. "Agreed."

The two of them said nothing for a little while, just thinking. "Alana?"

"Yeah AJ?"

"When I get back...IF I get back..."

She looked a little harshly at him. "Alex, you WILL make it home. I know you will. And since when has the man that I love that has the guts to stand up to the nation leaders of the world, without a sweat, have got to the point that he would give up?"

She paused, looking into the camera more. "You WILL make it home. I know you will."

"I love you," Dasch said quietly.

"I know," she replied. "Now what were you going to say about when you come back?"

"I want to marry you," he said with a nervous, but a loving smile.

Alana made a huge grin. "When you get back, I'll let you propose to me in person. I'll tell you know, but I'll make a show for the crowds!"

She kissed the camera. The camera now looks a little blurry, then she wiped it clean again, but looked close into the camera. "My answer, is yes."

Dasch grinned. "I thought you would," he said happily.

Alana then looked at the wall. "Geez, do you realise that we've been talking for six hours?"

Dasch looked up himself. "Yeah really. It's six hundred hours local time. I wouldn't be surprised if the Farminans will come looking for us at some point. I really caused a stir yesterday."

Dasch shuffled on his bed as he prepared to get dressed. "I'd love to get some sleep, but I don't have time."

Alana nodded. "To quote a famous person, 'Give 'em hell!'"

Dasch laughed. "Love you sweetie. I hope to talk to you as soon as they lift the ban!"

--------

As Dasch walked out of his room, his communicator beeped. He flips it open.

"Commander, could you please come into the communications room?"

"Look behind you."

The communications officer looks behind him to find Dasch already behind him. "I was already heading down."

"Yes, sir!" The comms officer said informally while he turns around on his chair. "Sir, the Farminans CSI's are asking for your presence. Apparently your job has started."

Dasch nodded. "Tell them I'm on my way."

--------

As Dasch's SUV pulled up to the investigations unit building, a police officer walked up to his vehicle. "Your identity?" the man said calmly, but firmly.

"Force Commander AJ Dasch of the Militia Enforced State," Dasch said as he pulled out his ID card.

"Come with me," he said. "Our CSI's are waiting for you."

After a few turns into the building, Dasch could see the investigators. Some familiar, while others were not. He walked into the room.

As Commander Dasch entered, DI Brand added, “And Commander AJ Dasch of the Militia Enforced States.”

“To summarize last nights events: at about eleven o’clock, Commander Donald was shot dead. At eleven ten, the Shadow killed three black-shirts and hijacked the screen feed, possibly with the aide of Jamie Palmer. Then at twelve o’clock, Rellian Peters a government agent turned cultist managed to kill Cardinal Samuel Barousa and wound Chancellor Daniel Rickhart, before being shot dead by black-shirts. His actual target is believed to be President Grey,” continued Brand, “Professor Yarion, could you please go over Commander Donald’s autopsy.”

The grey haired Yarion pulled out a stack of documents, passing one to each position at the table, before walking over to the conference board. “Commander Donald was shot three times, with a Reilly K16, 2mm,” said Yarion, “Although not significant in itself, this was the exact same fashion in which Adrian Turkington was killed hunting for the Shadow in Nowhere Place.”

“Then there’s this,” said Professor Yarion as he clipped a photograph onto the conference board. A picture of the Mark of the Shadow burnt into the back of Donald’s neck.

"I saw that burn," Dasch said as the image came up. "I was wondering what it meant." Of course he was lying, as he knew exactly what it meant, from both the book, and the wreckage from the submarine.

DCI Williams from the Terror Squad gave Dasch an odd look, not suspicious, but curious, “How couldn’t he recognize the Mark; the Shadow has made it internationally recognizable.”

Williams stood up and took turn to speak, “Professor Yarion informed me early this morning,” adding silently to himself, “Before there was light.”

Continuing aloud, the DCI said, “He informed me in advance of his report. I double checked with my records on the Adrian Turkington killing. Three 2mm bullets fired from a Reilly K16; just as in this case. The Mark of the Shadow provides further evidence to bolster the link.”

Williams then handed out to each person at the desk a folder; each marked with, “Terror Squad; Operation Light; Turkington Homicide.”

“Not only do we have a clear link between the two murders but also it provides good reason to consider Commander Donald in relation to this latest Shadowstrike; though gladly on the right side of it. Commander Dasch, is it possible the deceased knew or discovered something that Farmina’s enemies couldn’t allow to interfere with their plans?”

Dasch nodded. "You might think of us as snoops, but we were doing our own research on the entire situation. And from what I know, he was told to go somewhere, but who he went to meet, I have no clue."

Then Dasch made a counterpoint. "But this gun. Who exactly uses these Reilly's?"

“No military in the world uses the K16, despite being an accurate and affordable pistol,” said Williams, “They are Annorian manufacture. And typical of the Annorians everything is about profit. They sell to terrorists, governments and mercenaries in the name of the almighty Haren. This weapon is cost effective but of moderate quality. This suggests to me, that the Shadow although has plenty of resources, is at heart a conservative who scrimps and saves even when completely unnecessary. I’m also inclined to think the Shadow bought in bulk, allowing for two separate shooters.”

Williams continued since Dasch had shed no light, “Mr Turkington was sent to Nowhere Place with the approval of Chancellor Rickhart, as Mr Turkington believed he had tracked down the actual person of the Shadow. He arranged a meeting and was found dead two hours past the time of the designated meeting, at the designated sight of the meeting.”

Removing large prints from his file, Williams placed the images of the murder scene, complete with Mr Turkington on the board, “You will each find the same images within your files. Note again the choice of an abandoned location for the killing, however in this case a car park. Also noticeable is that there are more than two sets of footprints in the Turkington case. These may be from non-entities; however our intelligence indicates that the Shadow was present in person, so it also may have been his body guards. If neither of these are the case; then we have stumbled into a far more complicated net.”

DI Brand nodded slowly, but looked bored out of his mind, “Professor Yarion; could you please return us to discussing the case of Commander Donald? I think we should remember that is after all the prime reason for the government attention.”

The DI threw a dark glance at the black-shirts to underline his comment.

Professor Yarion had already placed up the rest of his prints, “I think Mr Williams has highlighted the most vital similarities. However also strongly plausible that more than one person was present in the room with Commander Donald.”

“Unfortunately despite extensive testing, we have found no DNA or fingerprints,” said the Professor, “It seems the Shadow knows what he is doing.”

Brand frowned at the reference to no DNA. DNA made cases open and shut. He had been dependent on it. When DNA testing was introduced, he made its success seem like his own. Already he could feel the hope fading. Placing his hand in the air, Brand motioned for silence, “Does anyone have any more questions? I don’t want people only saying what they want to say, they must say what others want to hear.”

---

Dan Rickhart pulled himself up. He hated hospitals. Clean and hygienic; yet Rickhart could see through all that. The cleanliness and the disinfectant were there to hide the death and decay, the weakness of the human condition.

The same human condition, that haunted him, his inevitable mortality. This was the second time he had been in hospital in as many months; the previous occasion being when his helicopter was blown out the sky. This time was just a minor stab wound; he’d had worse, especially back in his soldier days.

How he wished for a hit. That made him stronger, braver and smarter. However, he couldn’t and accepted that. He wasn’t addicted. A weaker man would be; addicted to the power granted by the drug. Not Rickhart; Rickhart had self-control, if he hadn’t he would have been long dead. Still he desired the chemical, but desire was all it was.

It was then he remembered about the letter he had taken from Barousa. He knew it was important, as he tried to recall the words. It talked about Grey and Justinian. It had talked about the Cardinals and the Church. When he had read it many of the words were blurred as were their meaning. But he saw one thing in their through all of it. Something vital. Then two words came to him, two words that explained the letter’s immense value, “…killed Kerria,” but he recalled the word before as nothing but blur.

As Rickhart pulled himself up in his bed, he knew he needed the note, the knowledge of who killed Kerria would be worth a hundred black-shirts. Quietly he thought to himself, “Now where are my trousers.”

"Well..." Dasch started. "I'd like to know more about the previous case you mentioned Professor? If we only look at Donald's case, we will lose our ability to look at the whole picture."

DCI Williams felt a knot of jealousy that the Turkington case question wasn’t referred to him; though he hid it in professional manner. Professor Yarion took leave to speak, “Again in the Turkington case the gun was not found. Further inspection of the original bullets are needed to confirm whether we are facing the exact same gun.”

DCI Williams cut off the forensic investigator, “Even if it is the same gun, which is doubtful, it doesn’t remove the possibility of two shooters. Our intelligence says the shooter in the Turkington case was the Shadow himself. Would the Shadow be bold enough to come to Farmina in person, when he could have so many willing servants?”

“Could both Turkington and Donald have been killed because they knew too much about future Shadowstrikes?” postulated Inspector Drake, from the Cultist Control Unit.

“Doubtful,” said DCI Williams, “Turkington reported directly to Chancellor Rickhart and we have no reason to believe he withheld information. The Chancellor trusted Mr Turkington along with the best.”

Williams then added silently to himself, “Along with his trusted Rellian Peters.”

“But Turkington did know where to find the Shadow,” responded Drake, “Perhaps Commander Donald knew something equally valuable?”

The hypothesis was not aimed at Williams but at Dasch; his eyes aimed at the Commander, another attempt to peel away at what Donald knew.

"Honestly, I'd love to know what he knew," Dasch said. "Ball security was so high that we couldn't even carry cell phones. What Donald knows is all in Donald's head."

He paused for a moment. "But what if there's the possibility that this isn't the work of the Shadow?" he speculated, not knowing that he was actually crossing into dangerous territory without realising it.

“It would be the greatest con of all time,” said Williams, “It means someone would have organized a fake Shadowstrike and corrupted our intelligence in Nowhere Place. It would have taken a very resourceful person to organize all that.”

Dasch nodded. "I think we need to look at both possibilities. I mean, if it's the Shadow, then we know who to look for. But if it's not, then that means something big is going on. And from what I've noticed, I think there is corruption in Farmina, and although most of the people I've talked to denied it, I strongly think that we should discount all the possibilities first. If you think about the Shadow in a tunnel-vision sort of way, then I can see how someone could get away with it."

The suggestion of corruption was generally scorned around the room. What did this foreigner think this was? Justinian’s Farmina?

“You want to talk about other possibilities,” said DI Brand, “There is a strong possibility it is one of your men. You’re the only one with a rock solid alibi that I know of. Perhaps we should investigate them.”

"I highly doubt that," Dasch said. "First of all, all of our troops are screened for criminal records when they first enter. But more importantly, our nation hasn't had any relations with your nation at all before now, and there would be no reason why our own men would cause not only his murder, but the other murder which was very similar to the other."

He paused. "As well, Donald wouldn't be stupid enough to be left open to being killed. He has the training to take down a man, even with the person having a weapon. The only way I can see him being killed, is if, like the other case pointed towards, that there was two or more shooters."

That response left the Farminans more than puzzled. DI Brand asked “If Commander Donald walked into the room, and the shooter was on the other side; how could Commander Donald avoid it, even if there was only one shooter.”

“The shooter wasn’t on the opposite side of the room,” pointed out Yarion, “But I cannot see Donald having time to escape or disarm the shooter.”

“Might it be added,” also prompted Williams, “The reference to two shooters, was that both the Turkington and Donald killings had a different, single shooter; but both seemingly the Shadow’s hand.”

Yarion again added to the conversation, “Also, tests indicate the three bullets came from the same gun.”

“So could one of your men be taking orders secretly from the Shadow,” suggested Williams, “Or more than one. It would explain why Donald was willing to meet this person.”

Dasch nodded, and thought about the comment. Could someone in the Militia Enforced State betray Donald? Then he remembered something that he hasn't told them yet.

"I remember when we were at the Ball, Donald mentioned to me that he had to go somewhere important. He wouldn't explain why, but I do know that it wouldn't be our men, as there is a protocol that the men follow. If they don't follow it, we don't listen to them. The protocol is that any request that is given to a Force Commander is automatically sent to high command, as both a security feature, and to keep track of things. And from what our analysis said, Donald was never called away by our men, and I know from knowing him that he would tell me that he was meeting one or more of our men. It wouldn't make sense to cover it up."

“What if a meeting between Donald and other Messians was purposely not recorded?” suggested Brand, “He may not have realized how deep the mess was.”

Dasch nodded. "I'll look into it, but we should also investigate all possibilities. I'm not denying the possibility that it could have been one of ours, but I'm urging that we don't just focus on one thing. This is too big to let that happen."

“Do you think we have no other courses to follow?” questioned Williams aggressively.

"No, I don't think that. I'm just making sure that all of you don't forget all the other possibilities, as I know you all have this particular thing against the Shadow...I'm just concerned that you might get tunnel visioned."

“Considering my sole duty is to investigate matters relating to the Shadow, that is hardly a surprise,” pointed out Williams.

“Gentlemen, please,” said DI Brand, “Now do we actually have any other suspects for the Donald murder other than the Shadow’s friends.”

"None as of yet," Dasch replied.

Suddenly, Dasch's cellphone rang. He quickly grabbed it. The other people in the room look at him both suspiciously and a little disgruntled.

"Dasch here," he said a little impatiently.

"Sir, Force Commander Ackvick is about to go live with the speech to our nation."

Dasch winced a little. "Thank you," he said as he hung up the phone.

"What was that in aid of?" asked Brand, curiously.

Dasch looked at him slightly akwardly, "Sorry, I don't speak french."

Brand nodded. "What was that about? he clarified.

Dasch winced again. "Ackvick is about to go live to our nation about the loss of Donald. I'm assuming he doesn't say anything specific about your nation, but if he does I appoligise in advance."

--------

Ackvick looked into the camera. He knew that his speech would cause his nation to go bezerk over the loss. He had to make sure that he balanced his decision making with the wants of the people.

"3.."

"2.."

"1.."

Ackvick looked into the speech reader.

"...Today, I must bring bad news to our nation, one of our Force Commanders, Alex Christopher Donald, has been killed in action in his efforts to fight corruption and infighting in the nation of Farmina..."

The image immediately broadcasted to his nation, and other nations that recieves Messian channels.

“So the only lead we have is the Shadow,” said Brand, rather annoyed. This meeting wasn’t going at all well, “If anyone has anything useful to say, could they please say it? It is Sunday after all, and we would all like to back home with our wives and children.”

There was a silence, Brand felt like throwing something, “Well gentlemen, I bid you good day. If you have anything useful, please present it to me.”

Brand then turned his eyes to Commander Dasch, “Do you have somewhere else to be?”

Dasch shook his head. "Not at the moment, why?"

“I was just wondering if you wanted some lunch,” said Brand, “I’ll organize you a DC to oversee you investigate your lot. I have enough on my plate with these double murder, without DCI Sanderson dumping this on me. He must think that overworking improves results. Having to come to work on a Sunday, my wife is going to kill me.”

"Alright, but perhaps I could counter propose? Dasch said to Brand as the rest of the members left the room.

"During that mishap over the murder scene, we ordered a full CSI team to the country as a precaution, and as they were already on route when you closed the borders, they had no choice but to land it anyways. A part of the conditions were that only one of our own would be allowed to investigate, and that is only in a report-reviewing role. But I wanted to let you know that they're here in the nation, and if you need the help, and you can convince the government to do so as private investigators, like what they made myself, then we can help you with this on top of it."

Dasch leaned over. "Besides, we can offer an unbiased and untainted view of the investigation, when you never know who works for the Shadow or anyone else."

“Lord Commander,” said Brand, “But I’m a lowly detective and wouldn’t be able to convince the government that the President resided in the White Palace.”

---

Dan Rickhart hadn’t found his pants or the note. But Captain Sardo and bad news found him, “He has made a terrible blunder James. You realise this ruins our plan.”

Rickhart popped a grape in his mouth as Sardo said, “I realise Dan, what shall I do.”

“Get back to him, warn him that he is going to have to be sacrificed,” said Rickhart, “I believe I may just be able to salvage everything. By the way, you haven’t seen my trousers have you?”

“Can’t say I have,” said Sardo, finding the question more than peculiar.

"By the way, DI Brant. Who exactly tried to assasinate President Grey last night?" Dasch said with curiosity.

“Rellian Peters, special assistant to Dan Rickhart. My guess is that meant he was spy,” said DI Brand, “Just proves you can’t trusts spooks; can you?

OOC: DCI is one rank up from DI.

"Special assistant? Dasch said curiously. "I wonder..."

Dasch sat silent for a short moment, looked around a bit. "I wonder if Rickhart, or others in his group have anything to do with it. I mean, it could make sense, one of his own attempting to kill the President." He paused. "I've never trusted the man, ever since I met him." he said very quietly.

“I wouldn’t think so,” said Jason Brand, “Haven’t met Rickhart or Grey, but they seem to get along, even if Rickhart is annoyed over the whole Krioval incident. Lord Sanderson has met Rickhart. He may have met Grey at the ball. You would know about these things better than me Lord Commander. You have met them all; I haven’t.”

"Hmm...alright. I think I'll take you up on your offer for lunch. I'm starving, and I need to clear my head. I think I'm missing something." Dasch said.

“There is a nice café just across the street,” said Brand grabbing his Casino (hat) and long black coat, “Its good to have a full belly when you are trying to solve three murders.”