NationStates Jolt Archive

OOC: This will cover the annexation of Lesotho by USB forces. It will be told by an unnamed narrator whose identity will not be revealed, because we do not know who he is. We do not know his name, his age, his race, his home, anything; he is a mystery, and enigma. All that was found was his or hers diary, and this is exactly what the following story it, a diary. To understand this you must come to the realization that Lesotho is or has already been annexed into the United States of Brink. We must forewarn you, this is not for the faint of heart and the disturbing thing is, this man is a ghost, alive we do not know.

IC:

“They say that innocence is the smallest form of corruption.”

They’ll call it “Liberation” and that’s just what it is, a beautiful word. No. There is no beautiful word for imperialism; it is ugly right down to the core. They are right, however, when they came. The country was rotten, filled with utter evil masked only by daylight. Lawlessness and vigilance, two codes which know no boundaries and never will. They didn’t know it at the time, they were too far fallen into ignorance and so when they slipped, the fell hard. They weren’t ready for it by no means. What did they do, they called me a terrorist, why? Because I fight for my freedom, because I fight for my family, ha! They are absolutely right, fuck freedom for all I care, and I have no family. I am an evil man. Remorse, pity, guilt, all normal human qualities of which I posses none, plain and simple; I’m a cold-blooded killer. I enjoy it, I love watching a man’s eyes right before he dies. I am sick I know, make your judgments now because there is nothing that’s going to make you understand, I don’t even bother explaining. I am twisted, and there is not a god damn thing anyone can do.

Let me first apologize, I will try and keep my savage rants to myself. I would also like to suggest that you stop reading this now for it will only cause you nightmares but, please keep in mind this is true. I might be the reincarnation of Satan himself but I can guarantee I do not lie. Why would I lie? I have nothing to hide, I have no guilt as I have said before, is there anything left to confess? No and so this story is non-fiction, take it or leave it, it will shock you and I hope it does, it should! Back to the story.

They marched triumphantly up the streets as if they had already won. They handed out food and water and gave little girls candy. They kicked up dirt and dust as they went and they joked. I could hear them, talking about home and girls and jobs. It was pointless, all chatter, nothing of importance. I hate that, mindless chit-chat that goes nowhere. God damn pointless. At this point I had no plans, no future in mind. A small armor detachment decided to halt for a rest by the side of my residence. I walked out to them, there were two soldiers leaning against it and a little girl. She was pretty; I like little girls, not in a perverted sexual way I can assure you. Evil but not sick. We sort of struck up a conversation those arrogant bastards. The girl just stood and listened and chomped away on a small candy bar the troops had given her. I said to them “This is the beginning” and than I shot them with a Luger. I love lugers, they suck I admit but they are evil. They have poor aim and shitty stopping power but they are infamous and I love that. They crumpled to the ground, nobody had heard over the engine. The driver must have been away or in the tank I don’t know. The girl stood, shaking. She muttered some words I could not make out, I was full of adrenaline by this point. I believe it was I’m going to tell but I’m not quite sure, so I shot her too. I don’t know why. Again nobody had heard the shots. I climbed onto the tank and placed a rather large c-4 charge into an open hatch. The tank rose almost ten feet of the ground, everybody heard that. That is how it all began I guess you could say. Sorry again, I usually don’t narrate like that; I’ll try and tell more of an overview. I just wanted to point out that I am a monster. Trust me, the story is far more interesting than it may seem.

ooc: confusing. This man is from Lesotho? And the people he is killing are USB or LInebackerdude?

OOC: Where he is from nobody really knows (althought he is in Lesotho during this) and he is killing USB troops, he kinda kills anyone but thats his main target.

Ah I see you have decided to continue, unwise choice on your part, nobody likes a story without an ending. Nevertheless in order to continue you must first realize that there is practically no motive behind this, nothing religious or political, nothing. Well on second thought no motive is a lie, there is always a motive; I guess mine would be cause havoc. They would say it is to have my name go down in history infamous or not but to tell you the truth it isn’t, it isn’t at all. If it was wouldn’t I give you my name? I think I would, but I didn’t.

As I have said before they pretty much waltzed right in, bothering not to understand our people or beliefs but that didn’t matter to them. We were in that sense free but not as a nation, we were now a “state”. That didn’t bother me, or anyone else for that matter, freedom is freedom right? See you already forgot I don’t kill for those things, I kill to kill, the true sign of a killer. If you are to continue reading you have to remember things. They had South Africa; the incompetent yet highly efficient North Germanians had traded them for it and so here we were, the only nation in South Africa independent. I knew it before them, I could feel them coming. Their politician in Windhoek would smoke cigars, and talk amongst themselves and after a few nights they would stand in front of the cameras and explain the situation. “Lesotho has fallen into the hands of terrorists and therefore is a terrorist nation…” They had no idea how right they were; see for them it was just an excuse, something to feed the press while they added some more square mileage to their name. What were a few soldiers to them, ha they could care less if 5, 10, 100 people died for this little piece of crap? They would make the papers and it would go down in USB history books as the day they united South Africa. Id would make them write it in blood.

Maseru was the first to go and why not it was right on the border and it was the capitol and it just so happened to be where I called home. Some home right? Just a small little dust filled village with a couple of dust filled buildings. Smelled like shit too, rotten ass. It reminded me of the Wild West though, vigilantes ruled the day and I felt like a badass cowboy I swear I did. They played it smart at first I must hand it to them. They kept out of the major infestations of town, loitered around the main street corners. Well armed and well trained, you could tell just by how they acted. Friendly too, why I don’t know. I didn’t start the first firefights but I did end them. Maseru was a breeding ground for shootouts, I loved it. It wasn’t uncommon for a firefight to last all day, resulting in all those who started it dying that is save the USB troops. They were veteran troops, 8th Army I believe. The first week I didn’t join in, I stayed and watched and did my killing up close. The Luger couldn’t penetrate body armor so I had to aim high but when you’re the close it doesn’t matter. Trust, it’s a bitch. They all trusted me, I would walk up, talk, and than kill them. It was that easy, just like that. Those fools were doing nothing shooting it out, it was lose lose; you have to play it smart. I would just leave them there at first, slouched over in a pool of their own blood, just to show how human they were. They would look back up with their cold lifeless eyes with the look of surprise forever printed on their dead faces. It was chilling at first; as if I was not ready, but it became more natural more normal every time until the routine became imprinted into my head like ordering a pizza.

As my killing became more numerous so to did the insurgency. I shouldn’t call it that, they were not fighting the USB troops because they didn’t want them, they fought because that’s what terrorists do they fight and kill. The one problem however was that they had no goal, no real plans for the future. They were a killing machine with no purpose. I know that if I were to take control I would need to become famous. Yes I know I’m doing this not to become famous but to kill I still remember that but I needed to be known within their twisted group. The only way to could do this is to kill, and kill a lot. That’s just what I did only I broke out of my normal routine, they had caught on by now and any troops caught in the open were quick to realize their mistake or were not friendly or trusting as they once had. It seemed Zimbabwe had made them a little soft or rusty. Now I resorted to bombing, I would make them, it was quite simple. I did implore the help of a friend and together we would place bombs anywhere and everywhere. I do not know who got killed but I do know people died. I saw it on the news or heard the screams after an explosion. It was gratifying, seeing my handiwork paying off, it really was. The more I killed, the more my name spread around the dark alleys of Maseru. Yet time was running out, especially because I’m bomb making friend seemed to be losing his color. Thank god for the United States of Brink however, they officially declared Maseru and Lesotho a war zone and flung their full force onto my new terrorism. All the pieces were set, my plan could finally be put into action and a black cloud would forever fall on this fair little country.

They labeled me a terrorist, and I guess that’s just what I am. They put me on Brink’s Most Wanted and they put a bounty on my head. See, rumor got out that I was the “Angel of Death” as I was nicknamed. Yet that’s all I remained an angel, a belief, a thought, a nightmare. Nobody had a picture of me or a name or even a description, so I remained faceless and I guess that suits me well; a cold faceless killer. I almost like how that sounds and it just proves that I’m not out here to be famous. That’s the problem with today’s killers, they try and become famous but that is no efficient. Ask any world class assassin, of wait you can’t because their identity is a mystery. Even an alias is hard to come by although if you know the right people you might just come across one. I met those people and than I killed them. I was making my own little hell in that small city but it wouldn’t last forever. Its cliché but that city just wasn’t big enough for the two of us, the other being USB troops. By this time even terrorist were afraid of me so when I would walk into a little stronghold and claim who I was I’d have to kill half the people there to prove it. So than the other half would give up and join me and I went about doing this right under the United States of Brink’s nose. It was as if they let me, and for that I thank them. I’d constantly walk the streets, right by the troops, and nothing would be done. They had no idea, I was that good.

So I took my little army and before I left Maseru I want to leave a gift, something special for the capitol. I went about a campaign, a bombing campaign. I started hitting schools, bus stations, hospitals, real sick shit. It was perfect because the local troops fell right into play. They started enforcing curfews and dress codes and the people became upset with them, they couldn’t stop us and we kept getting members. I am not sure of the number but I think it was something like four thousand at this point. So what did they [USB] do about it, well they called into their best anti-terrorism unit about one hundred strong. To make a good impression they planned a raid, well better you we planned it for them. We set a trap. And being as good as this unit was, they fell right into to and we killed every last one of them. I personally tortured the leader although it wasn’t who I thought it would be but now in hindsight I’m glad it wasn’t him. That was it for Maseru we left it in ruins and Windhoek was crying its eyes out. I left a good portion in the city but it was time to move on to bigger and better things, remember this was only the beginning.

I made way south, as south as I could until I reached Quthing. Regardless of whether they found out my identity the chances of them locating me now were slim to none. Lesotho was still highly primitive, I would imagine that would change under Brink leadership but that was in the future and the times remained the same. As luck would have it there was hardly a large concentration of USB troops in the city, they were all tied up in Maseru. Maseru had become a stain on the nation and a major issue at that. The terrorism there, under my leadership, expanded and grew at an alarming rate and to top it off became extremely professional about it. They were definitely a threat to the nation and had to be dealt with, with meant more fuel for the fire. The first and main task once established was to create puppet cells within the city and have them branch out into other cities until every city in the country was brimming with raw hatred and terror. As much as I wanted too we couldn’t move outside the country, at least not yet. Crossing over the border would expose us to risk I wasn’t ready to take and regardless of that we would stick out like a sore thumb in the modernized USB. Remember when I said the country was primitive I meant the people too. Simply put, we were poor.

Taking control of the terrorism within the city was easy as up until that point there wasn’t any. It was tough, at first, to recruit people. I ended up having to bring in loyalists from Maseru to fill the ranks and threaten people to join. It is amazing how motivating someone with a gun to your head can be, especially when he gives you an example of those that disobey. In regards to rape, I didn’t mind. I’m the bloody bad guy, what else would you expect. So rape was widespread although secret. It was a highly efficient tool when in sighting anger especially when the populace doesn’t know any better and believes you when you tell them it was the soldiers that did it. I provided food, shelter, and “protection” from those ravenous troops. Cynical isn’t it? I, for one, didn’t take part in the mass rapes; no that wasn’t my style. It wasted time, time that could be better spent killing. That statement is ironic I know, don’t patronize me though. So before long I had an effective terrorist cell operating in Quthing. It wasn’t long before truckloads of soldiers were moving in next door and the city streets turned red with blood. To my surprise the battles were getting better, longer. It meant that the USB soldiers were learning and adjusting to this new combat. Never will a normal fighting force be able to completely handle and insurgency, it simply isn’t trained for it. No, it takes a special unit to bring down one, a unit that acts as a cell itself. They had tried a counter-terrorism team, and they were now dead. When would they learn this because I know they would.

It was about high time for me to leave so I did. Slowly the country was becoming a war zone. Once it got large enough the tide would turn and the terrorism would be crushed. Once the people realized they were supporting the bad guys it would end. I knew this, of course I did, and it was my plan after all. That didn’t stop me; I developed cells in every major city. The casualty list was mounting with horrific speed. It was delightful to see. There were hundreds of cold, dark basements, and sheds filled with the dead and tortured. The walls smeared with dry blood and snot. There is nothing quite like the smell of death, it seeps into every pore in your body and that smell was engulfing Lesotho. It was hell now but this was also the turning point. I had created a monster that was slowly being strangled. It would end but I still had my final plans. The hell I had created I walked away from as if I never existed, the killing on such a scale was over for me. But my time for retirement was far from over.

Lesotho had been my play ground to much success. I turned it into a killing ground of unprecedented carnage. Now, as I said before, it was my time to withdraw. There was nothing left for me here except one thing. It was my prize creation a weapon that made Mustard gas look like cigarette smoke. I had been working on it for years, since Lesotho had practically no police or security forces before USB intervention I was free to purchase all necessary components. I always laugh at myself, I guess you can add mad scientist to my ever growing resume. I called it “Quiet Sin”. I had only a limited amount, no more than that of a soda can. It was odorless, colorless, and tasteless. It wasn’t painful, or at least it didn’t appear so. This however isn’t the worst part in fact it is far from it. It takes a couple of minutes to take affect and as I said before it was painless. So for that few minutes after you have inhaled it, you don’t feel any pain. You simply being to feel sluggish as it attacks your spinal cord and brain. Than you begin a violent cough which expels the gas, that is still deadly, yet it is too late for you within minutes it’s lights out. If you were smart you picked up on my favorite part, you expel it. It can stay airborne for up to two hours in the meantime affecting anyone unlucky enough to breathe it in. This nerve gas is more like a virus yet ten times as quick and effective. I would enlighten you on how I figured this all out but it seems everyone has a soft spot, or least feels pity, for the mentally or physically handicapped. There was only one slight problem, at the time I didn’t realize it to be one but it was, I had left it back in Maseru.

I was quite sure nobody would find it; they would have to cut into some very disturbing body parts to locate it. It is amazing how much help the dead can be. Why did I leave so an important possession you might be asking? I have the answer and it is quite simple, security was too tight even for me. By this time the United States of Brink had its gloves off so to speak and wasn’t taking any shit. Traveling with anything more than what you had on was suspicious enough. Making my way back to Maseru was believe it or not very easy. That is the glamour of being a fugitive with no identity, I was free to do or go where ever I liked. As I passed through the cities I could sense to eerie stillness. The streets were quiet, the roads silent. That creaky old window shutter or door banging relentlessly against the house because of a strong gust of wind. The tide had turned, the people brightened up and the terrorist were outclassed. I would pass by and sometimes I would see the faces of people I had known looking wide eyed at the sky, the rest of their bodies covered under a long black tarp. The rows of terrorists lined up one against the other none of them aware that their cause was pointless. There life and their death based upon a falsified belief. A lie had turned into another lie and soon they were murdering in cold blood in the name of what? If you asked them they couldn’t tell you but they thought they could. And that thought kept them going, kept them killing, it was that damn simple. An idea, a belief can be your best friend or worst enemy. Here in Lesotho you could see what happens when both sides brake down into their respected extremes. What was left was blood and phone calls home.

I finally made it back to Maseru my little hell. It was quiet, even more so than the rest of the cities. The reparations had been most extreme here. I heard later that the number of murders and rapes had increased ten fold since I left. Maseru had lost its innocence and I wondered if it would ever get it back. It all seemed over now; it seemed twenty years in the past. How the cross over took place I don’t know, but for now it was still and empty. I went indirectly to my “hideout”, I feel like an asshole saying that but that’s all that it could be described as. I went into one of the basements and lone behold buried deep within rotten human flesh lay by sinister creation. I heard a small snort or grumble and flipped on a light in the next room. To my surprise, chained up in a chair with throw up and human waste, was a soldier whom I had left to rot. He looked awful and was near dead from starvation. Before leaving the basement I snapped his neck. I half felt sorry for him. Having secured what I wanted I took to walking the streets a bit, relaxing if you will. Walking along I thought of what to do with my quiet sin. I began to think about people, those who watch the news and think how horrible it is yet do nothing. They sit and say to themselves this will never happen here, and because of this they are contempt. They sit and watch the suffering of others while they enjoy a glass of soda or a slice of pizza. They call the gang rape of a wife, news, and you think I am sick. I should not disgust you, they should. I am simply showing you just how easy it is to end life, to make you realize that nobody is innocent anymore. The more I thought the angrier I became. I had to make them pay; honestly feel the suffering they have watched for years. I began to think about Bjornoya and their “cleansing”. I half admired them, killing with such ruthless efficiency. Oh, but no, you wont hear about it. In humanitarian words it was curing cancer, the elimination of those deemed “unfit”. The world did not know the full extent but the big shots in Windhoek did. But what could they do, why risk their own ass to save someone else’s? It could have been stopped but it didn’t. Who the fuck is the terrorist now?

A school. That’s what I would hit, a children’s school in the heart of the United States of Brink. I would pick some school in a nice suburban town, a little quaint town that didn’t expect anything larger than a small house fire. I would release the gas into the ventilation than as the kids became sick their worried mothers would arrive to take them home, and they would die on the way to the hospital and than as the mothers died the entire hospital would break down. Massacre that is what it would be. And no longer would anyone feel safe. Through all of this I still couldn’t shake the feeling I was being watched.

Where am I? How did I get here? What is all over me, blood? What the fuck!? Why is my breathing so heavy, my head hurt, and my hands ache? I…I can’t see, shit! This isn’t right! No!

The town was quiet, small, almost surreal. It didn’t seem as if it were in the middle of the desert it looked more like a little rural community somewhere in America. Trees lined the lush lawns of the not so tiny houses, cars raced by on the streets. I had to admit, this place was a lot better than that sandy shit hole it used to be. I caught myself looking around in awe. Such creation, such imagination. It made me feel almost sorry for what I was about to do, what I already had. I had no time to feel sorry though; I had done too much and seen too much. The Catholic Church wouldn’t even let me into heaven regardless of how many times I would repent. What a flawed system it was, religion I mean. When will people see, see how many lives were lost over such a word. Makes me wonder who is more evil, me or the pope?

The man was already dead, had been for quite some time. I’m not sure who he was, just an old cross-walk I suppose. I finished tying the rope around his neck making sure he would not slip out. He wasn’t part of the mission per say, just a symbol I guess. It was tiring work, after finishing up I sat down and fell asleep bloodied and all. It was about midday when I woke up. I didn’t eat anything, I wasn’t hungry. About 12 o clock in the afternoon I decided to act upon my intentions. All the parents were out working and the school day was hitting its zenith. Nobody would suspect anything. I went over the plan in my head. I would hang the man from a light post just outside the school with a note. It would read: Remove this man and nobody comes out alive. That would provide a nice picture for the camera crews that would soon be pouring in from every state to watch the horrific events that will be unfolding. I transferred the gas into an aerosol can, highly portable and unnoticeable. It was quite simple really; I would walk in take as many kids as I could hostage, get them into one room, and than release the gas. No negotiations, no surrender, I would die with them. There would be no way to seek revenge, no way to put at ease the minds of all the families in which I would ruin. That would send the message to the world. Hate is unconditional, fear is unavoidable, and death inevitable. There is no such thing as an immortal.

Something went wrong.

I was about 100 feet from the school. A man walked up to me, I could not see his face for it was covered. He was sinister looking, almost reminded me of death holding a large sickle. His eyes started straight into mine and there was nothing, it was cold and empty. This man was indeed dead; he was a killer as I. He stopped me dead in my tracks, I was caught off guard, how could this be? I froze up, I was done. The man raised his right arm revealing a hidden Walther. He fired only once piercing my right shoulder. The bullet struck my shoulder blade than traveled upward until it exited the back of my neck. Blood streaked down my entire body but it did not hurt. He did not fire again he turned around and simply walked away. None of this was right, he knew who I was, and he should have killed me. I stumbled away, dazed and utterly confused. I was more scared by the fact that I was beat. What had gone wrong?!

My legs carry me, yet I know not where. The lungs breathe but I feel already dead. My hands are encrusted in blood, but who’s? The warm rush of blood is streaming down by back.

The shock was still there. It had all happened so fast, I was beat through and through. Who was this man, how come I didn’t see him, hear him? Never mind that now, there were biggest fish to fry. Most importantly I had to get back to Maseru; to a place I knew I would be safe. Granted the terrorism threat down there had ended, abruptly I might add but even still it was a hotbed for low life. Sad thing is it wouldn’t be like that forever, not when this perfect world got its clean hands all over it and de-sensitize everyone. Secondly I had to dress this wound; I would have to admit it was clean as if done on purpose. This man obviously didn’t want me dead, but why fucking shoot me. I’m not saying I’m a coward, it didn’t hurt, but…well it just doesn’t make any sense or at least it didn’t. You see this story is coming to an end

The basement was damp, cold, and smelled horrible, just the way I like it. A few bodies hung along the southern wall, removed of all skin and slowly decaying. The walls a floor were covered in a mix of death and rot. The lights always flickered especially during storms just as if it were out of the movies. On the western wall devices of horrific nature hung just above a table with various poisons. It was a most hellish scene straight from a horror movie. This is what I called home, fucking sick. I felt very sick for a moment and I don’t know why. My stomach churned, my muscles tensed up and that became completely useless as they turned to jell. I crumbled to the floor in convulsions, my bottom lip shivering and than I realized it, I was scared. All of that, the reason I was on the ground, was because I was scared shitless. After everything I had down I was now huddling in the corner? What was happening to me?

That’s when I saw him, in the dank lifeless basement. A few bodies hung along the southern wall, removed of all skin and slowly decaying. The walls a floor were covered in a mix of death and rot. The lights always flickered especially during storms just as if it were out of the movies. On the western wall devices of horrific nature hung just above a table with various poisons. It was a most hellish scene straight from a horror movie. This is what I fought against, a hell not like any seen before. I had won; it would now finally come to and end. The basement was huge nonetheless yet I found my way straight to him, as if I would feel, no, sense his evil. I walked in through the north corner and at the same time the light flickered on one after the other moving south until it revealed his position standing looking directly at me sending chills down my spine.

His face was shadowed in black; I could not make it out. He wore a type of battle dress but it was unlike a regular soldier, it seemed fit for a lone soldier, Special Forces. His boots crunched against the encrusted floor as they moved nearer and nearer. He now stood only yards away moving in from the north. He moved into the shadow the last light that did not turn on now did and revealed his face. Quickly I made for his name tag but he didn’t have one, he had no dog tags. He must have seen me doing this and said simply, “There is no need to look; you already know who I am.”

“Bu…but how?” I muttered.

“It isn’t obvious, ill show you,” I replied, “The SF team without its leader, the death of the terrorist leaders, you led us straight to them, how else did we end that insurgency so fast?”

“But what about those innocent people I killed, how many?”

“We can’t tell for sure, some we know others we hope are just your mind collapsing.”

“I…I killed my team, I killed them all!” I was sick now, vomiting almost every two seconds.

“You’re losing the war, you have seen so much death, and you have killed so many that you have desensitized yourself, numbed yourself into complete lack of feeling. You simply pushed your body and mind past the limitations that made you a human. You have lost your mind.”

“Who are you?” Although I already knew the answer I needed to hear it.

“I am your last ounce of sanity, and you know why I am here.” I replied. “You know what you have to do.” I did, I knew damn sure what I had to do. I had reached my breaking point; my last ounce of sanity if you will was slipping away. I was becoming mad, a mindless killer. Nobody would be able to stop me; they hadn’t been able to stop me yet. And I was the only one who knew were quiet rage was! I knew it; this was a sign for me!

I reached into my holster, revealing my luger. The man standing across from me did the same, as if connected. I brought it up level to his skull and pulled the hammer back. “You know Ethan, its funny, the only battle you ever lost is with yourself”. His hand repeated all my steps and for once in my life I wasn’t scared.

“Who says I lost” Click


The End