Fascist Confederacy
29-01-2006, 07:43
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Two days ago Mrs. Natalya Troskina and Leon Troskin (wife and son of Premier Troskin) went missing when their plane crashed over the Swiss Alps en route to southern Spain. Both are suspected dead and all rescue missions have been called back.
Troskin attending funeral today; mourning is expected by the whole of the Soviet Union
By Nikolai Dresky, Moscow
News reached the Kremlin two days ago that wife and son of Premier Troskin have died in a plane accident over the Swiss Alps. Rescue operations began last evening before ending. A federative official stated that ‘Troskin called off the search in the early evening hours.’
It is not known the cause of the accident as of yet. Researchers say that it may be loss of cabin pressure or disorientation amongst the mountains - they just don’t know. Foul play is not expected not under any terms.
The Premier stated today while speaking at a press conference in Leningrad that ‘the search for my wife and son has grown futile. I will not spend Soviet rubles on such a search. I will not risk the economic stability of this country to keep searching when men and women in other countries starve. They are gone now, and I must accept that fact.’
New flame?
The Premier was seen at the funeral of his wife and daughter with a Miss. Selene Seagrove (non-related image of Seagrove found here (http://www.itsvery.net/kate-beckinsale/kate-beckinsale-0021.jpg)), a former officer in the Revolutionary Armed Forces Abroad and now a political secretary for Premier Troskin’s administration.
Premier Troskin met Miss. Seagrove at a RAFA-Soviet Military gala in London after the Spectre War. She was accepted into the Federative Central Government after extensive career background searches and testing. She has proven to be an asset within the Soviet Union and is a personal friend of Comrade Troskin.
Speculation from abroad
International theorists have speculated that Mr. Troskin and Miss. Seagrove have been having intimate relations since before the untimely death of Mrs. Troskina. These have all been denied by both Troskin and Seagrove. No investigation by the Political Bureau into the speculated affair is expected.
Some have begun to speculate that Mrs. Troskina was in fact pregnant at the time of the accident. This has yet to be confirmed or denied by the Kremlin. Considering the lack of evidence and no public ‘showing’, most of these theories have been simply as stated - speculation.
A theory from renowned conspiracy theorist Jack Abraham (Mississippian SSR) has stated that while in Spain he gathered evidence of a conspiracy to kidnap Mrs. Troskina and Leon while landing in Mandrid. This is unproven and has been completely ignored by most government officials. It has, however, gained support from other countries.
The homely funeral
Mrs. Troskina was buried (empty casket, memorial burial) in her home village of Sovbreski, Russian SFSR along with Leon Troskin. The end of the ceremony was open to reporters with a maximum of two pictures per journalist. No Soviet Broadcasting Syndicate journalist took images out of respect.
International support from allied countries has been pushed inward. Yet, from hostile and some non-allied countries, parades in the streets of towns and cities have occurred - with much disgraced push on them from the Soviet populace.
Exert from Novy Mir (New World).
_______________________________
WARNING: The following contains explicit content including rape. I would like to note I do not condone rape of violent acts against women. I simply feel the act is necessary to convey the new level of brutality of the Troskin regime. If you feel uncomfortable seeing a mildly descriptive rape scene, please do not read.
_______________________________
Madrid Airspace
Madrid, Spanish SSR
Two days ago; Secret occurrence
Natalya sat in her seat. Her son was across from her playing with his toys. He didn’t know what she did. He didn’t know the secrets within the walls of the Kremlin. He’d be coming down from his ‘Dystorian Plateau’ (the feeling felt when taking Dystorium) soon. She did know. She knew of the WISEMEN, of the Trillenium Committee (at least some of it), she knew of the truth behind the Presidian Guards. She had begun to learn many of the secrets about the Soviet Union.
She had had an argument with her husband - the Premier - yesterday evening. She confronted him about the truth. She - after hours of fighting - decided to run while Troskin was speaking with a certain political secretary. She had successfully made a flight out of the country. Little did she know she was in for a rude awakening just this side of the Iron Curtain.
Natalya awoke suddenly. She was shook by a man in black military garb. Her son was held by one of the four men wearing the uniforms - he was sedated. She screamed before being jerked from her seat and brutally smacked. Her eyes burst with a sudden gush of tears as she was dragged from the aircraft onto the landing strip of a rural Spanish airport (undoubtably owned exclusively by the Soviet military or Interior Commissariat).
She was taken to a small shack just off the main complex while her son was taken away on a gurney to an unknown portion of the airport. She only saw him one last time before she was muffled into the small building. Natalya was panicking; not for herself, but for her son. What would they do with him? Would they kill him? No one knew.
She was jerked from her distorted thought by one of the men. There were around ten in the small room - amazing considering its size. She was able to see them surrounding a middle table of aluminum or steel. The man who smacked her was beginning to unbutton his fatigues as those holding her arms strapped her face down to the small table.
She knew what was going to happen; she only hoped she fell unconscious as it occurred. She felt the brute lift her skirt and complete their vile, forced intercourse. She didn’t scream, only wept. She was officially knocked unconscious around the fourth soldier, but she was knocked awake by the fifth. This brutality continued for hours as they raped the former wife of the Premier. They would ‘go a round’ then start over. The first rays of sunlight were creeping in threw the windows of the shack before they finished.
“Heh, fucking bitch,” announced one of the soldiers, smacking her across her face.
“Incorrect, Stagrin,” said what appeared to be the presiding soldier, “a raped and beaten fucking bitch.”
The men got a small chuckle out of the large man’s correction. She noticed he was the one who had used the barrel of his 9mm pistol to defile her at least once during the evening. “This whore’s not worthy to be on her back in the bed of Father.”
The presiding official did it again - she no longer felt it. She only felt the butt of one of the other men’s assault rifle across her face as he shouted, “Enjoy it you fucking whore!”
She didn’t move. Only laid there, letting the brutal rapists do whatever hey chose. She didn’t care; she knew her fate.
“Ah, all right, enough. Time to get this over with,” said the official as he zipped up his fatigues. “We’ve followed Father’s orders to the ‘T’.”
They unshackled her and threw her onto the floor of the shack. She fell to her hands and knees. Her blouse and skirt were torn; her undergarments were non-existent. Her cheeks were stained with salty streams of tears, and her lip blooded from the butts of guns and the knuckles of fists.
“Beg for mercy, pig,” ordered the only remaining soldier (the others had left to smoke cigarettes and prepare the pit) - the presiding official.
She kept her head low, looking to the concrete floor.
“Beg for fucking mercy!” shouted the man as he aimed his gun toward her head, kicking her in her side causing her to writhe in agony.
“Don’t... kill...m -“ her voice was cut off as she fell to the floor. A 9mm round flew through the rear of her skull removing the dermal and skeletal tissue. “Son...” was her last whisper as the officer emptied his clip into her face, splattering the floor and his jackboots with crimson fluids and gray matter.
He exited after whipping his boots off on the remains of her skirt. He ordered the soldiers to grab her body - they did without hesitation. They carried it to a prepared pit before tossing her inside. The soldiers poured two fifty gallon drums of gasoline on her corpse before setting her ablaze and riding off into the distance in their military transport.
Later that evening, a plane from Madrid would arrive in central Russia carrying an unnamed, sedated child. Later that day, a crew would return to the real grave of the late Natalya Troskina to cover the corpse with the pile of dirt before disposing off the fifty gallon drums. All flight records were destroyed by the Records Bureau. Natalya’s existence started down the road of the non-existent.
Two days ago Mrs. Natalya Troskina and Leon Troskin (wife and son of Premier Troskin) went missing when their plane crashed over the Swiss Alps en route to southern Spain. Both are suspected dead and all rescue missions have been called back.
Troskin attending funeral today; mourning is expected by the whole of the Soviet Union
By Nikolai Dresky, Moscow
News reached the Kremlin two days ago that wife and son of Premier Troskin have died in a plane accident over the Swiss Alps. Rescue operations began last evening before ending. A federative official stated that ‘Troskin called off the search in the early evening hours.’
It is not known the cause of the accident as of yet. Researchers say that it may be loss of cabin pressure or disorientation amongst the mountains - they just don’t know. Foul play is not expected not under any terms.
The Premier stated today while speaking at a press conference in Leningrad that ‘the search for my wife and son has grown futile. I will not spend Soviet rubles on such a search. I will not risk the economic stability of this country to keep searching when men and women in other countries starve. They are gone now, and I must accept that fact.’
New flame?
The Premier was seen at the funeral of his wife and daughter with a Miss. Selene Seagrove (non-related image of Seagrove found here (http://www.itsvery.net/kate-beckinsale/kate-beckinsale-0021.jpg)), a former officer in the Revolutionary Armed Forces Abroad and now a political secretary for Premier Troskin’s administration.
Premier Troskin met Miss. Seagrove at a RAFA-Soviet Military gala in London after the Spectre War. She was accepted into the Federative Central Government after extensive career background searches and testing. She has proven to be an asset within the Soviet Union and is a personal friend of Comrade Troskin.
Speculation from abroad
International theorists have speculated that Mr. Troskin and Miss. Seagrove have been having intimate relations since before the untimely death of Mrs. Troskina. These have all been denied by both Troskin and Seagrove. No investigation by the Political Bureau into the speculated affair is expected.
Some have begun to speculate that Mrs. Troskina was in fact pregnant at the time of the accident. This has yet to be confirmed or denied by the Kremlin. Considering the lack of evidence and no public ‘showing’, most of these theories have been simply as stated - speculation.
A theory from renowned conspiracy theorist Jack Abraham (Mississippian SSR) has stated that while in Spain he gathered evidence of a conspiracy to kidnap Mrs. Troskina and Leon while landing in Mandrid. This is unproven and has been completely ignored by most government officials. It has, however, gained support from other countries.
The homely funeral
Mrs. Troskina was buried (empty casket, memorial burial) in her home village of Sovbreski, Russian SFSR along with Leon Troskin. The end of the ceremony was open to reporters with a maximum of two pictures per journalist. No Soviet Broadcasting Syndicate journalist took images out of respect.
International support from allied countries has been pushed inward. Yet, from hostile and some non-allied countries, parades in the streets of towns and cities have occurred - with much disgraced push on them from the Soviet populace.
Exert from Novy Mir (New World).
_______________________________
WARNING: The following contains explicit content including rape. I would like to note I do not condone rape of violent acts against women. I simply feel the act is necessary to convey the new level of brutality of the Troskin regime. If you feel uncomfortable seeing a mildly descriptive rape scene, please do not read.
_______________________________
Madrid Airspace
Madrid, Spanish SSR
Two days ago; Secret occurrence
Natalya sat in her seat. Her son was across from her playing with his toys. He didn’t know what she did. He didn’t know the secrets within the walls of the Kremlin. He’d be coming down from his ‘Dystorian Plateau’ (the feeling felt when taking Dystorium) soon. She did know. She knew of the WISEMEN, of the Trillenium Committee (at least some of it), she knew of the truth behind the Presidian Guards. She had begun to learn many of the secrets about the Soviet Union.
She had had an argument with her husband - the Premier - yesterday evening. She confronted him about the truth. She - after hours of fighting - decided to run while Troskin was speaking with a certain political secretary. She had successfully made a flight out of the country. Little did she know she was in for a rude awakening just this side of the Iron Curtain.
Natalya awoke suddenly. She was shook by a man in black military garb. Her son was held by one of the four men wearing the uniforms - he was sedated. She screamed before being jerked from her seat and brutally smacked. Her eyes burst with a sudden gush of tears as she was dragged from the aircraft onto the landing strip of a rural Spanish airport (undoubtably owned exclusively by the Soviet military or Interior Commissariat).
She was taken to a small shack just off the main complex while her son was taken away on a gurney to an unknown portion of the airport. She only saw him one last time before she was muffled into the small building. Natalya was panicking; not for herself, but for her son. What would they do with him? Would they kill him? No one knew.
She was jerked from her distorted thought by one of the men. There were around ten in the small room - amazing considering its size. She was able to see them surrounding a middle table of aluminum or steel. The man who smacked her was beginning to unbutton his fatigues as those holding her arms strapped her face down to the small table.
She knew what was going to happen; she only hoped she fell unconscious as it occurred. She felt the brute lift her skirt and complete their vile, forced intercourse. She didn’t scream, only wept. She was officially knocked unconscious around the fourth soldier, but she was knocked awake by the fifth. This brutality continued for hours as they raped the former wife of the Premier. They would ‘go a round’ then start over. The first rays of sunlight were creeping in threw the windows of the shack before they finished.
“Heh, fucking bitch,” announced one of the soldiers, smacking her across her face.
“Incorrect, Stagrin,” said what appeared to be the presiding soldier, “a raped and beaten fucking bitch.”
The men got a small chuckle out of the large man’s correction. She noticed he was the one who had used the barrel of his 9mm pistol to defile her at least once during the evening. “This whore’s not worthy to be on her back in the bed of Father.”
The presiding official did it again - she no longer felt it. She only felt the butt of one of the other men’s assault rifle across her face as he shouted, “Enjoy it you fucking whore!”
She didn’t move. Only laid there, letting the brutal rapists do whatever hey chose. She didn’t care; she knew her fate.
“Ah, all right, enough. Time to get this over with,” said the official as he zipped up his fatigues. “We’ve followed Father’s orders to the ‘T’.”
They unshackled her and threw her onto the floor of the shack. She fell to her hands and knees. Her blouse and skirt were torn; her undergarments were non-existent. Her cheeks were stained with salty streams of tears, and her lip blooded from the butts of guns and the knuckles of fists.
“Beg for mercy, pig,” ordered the only remaining soldier (the others had left to smoke cigarettes and prepare the pit) - the presiding official.
She kept her head low, looking to the concrete floor.
“Beg for fucking mercy!” shouted the man as he aimed his gun toward her head, kicking her in her side causing her to writhe in agony.
“Don’t... kill...m -“ her voice was cut off as she fell to the floor. A 9mm round flew through the rear of her skull removing the dermal and skeletal tissue. “Son...” was her last whisper as the officer emptied his clip into her face, splattering the floor and his jackboots with crimson fluids and gray matter.
He exited after whipping his boots off on the remains of her skirt. He ordered the soldiers to grab her body - they did without hesitation. They carried it to a prepared pit before tossing her inside. The soldiers poured two fifty gallon drums of gasoline on her corpse before setting her ablaze and riding off into the distance in their military transport.
Later that evening, a plane from Madrid would arrive in central Russia carrying an unnamed, sedated child. Later that day, a crew would return to the real grave of the late Natalya Troskina to cover the corpse with the pile of dirt before disposing off the fifty gallon drums. All flight records were destroyed by the Records Bureau. Natalya’s existence started down the road of the non-existent.