NationStates Jolt Archive

OOC:

If you are interested in signing up to play in this RP, please sign up here (http://forums.jolt.co.uk/showthread.php?t=476070) and wait for approval.

__________________________________________________________
IC:

It looked like something out of a Myst book. In fact, if someone had found a linking book to Preoc, it would have been a beautiful sight. The picture is there. A boy steps up to the book and grips the cover. He slides his hand upward, and the cover slips open (http://home.att.net/~katydiddd4/walkthru14/sw02LinkBook.jpg). The first page (http://www.dichtung-digital.com/2002/02/25-kocher/pict/riven_linking-book.jpg)reveals a picture of a swirling cylcone of water and water, and the picture soars around the beachhead of Preoc. Beautiful.

As the reader digs deeper into the book, he discovers a plot. A plot so ruthless and so powerful, that the moment he places his hand on the page, he himself becomes part of the story. Or so he thinks. It is his imagniation. In fact, he doesn't really exist. There is only Preoc.

The picture blows past the beachhed and reveals a small country with vast natural resources. A life of properity and hapiness can be seen on the faces of each citizen. The picture moves on, and enters the military distrcit, where tanks, aircraft, and soldiers can be seen gearing up for a mission.

The picture moves on and arrives at an airbase, showing the carriers and crusiers preparing to leave port, to escort a group of oil ships. The picture moves on, and shows an industrial district, where mining and building can be found. Steam rises from the factories, and inside workers can be seen operating the machines. The technology is modern and dirty. A paer and steel mill, and pen manufacturing plant, a uranium mine. The picture moves on...

It arrives in the main city of Preoc, the capital called "Ego". Within this highly populized city, hundreds can be seen roaming the streets, going about their business. Workers, recreationalists, and businessmen walk around, consumed by their own lives. Consumed. The best way to explain this small country. Conusmed. Preoc, with a population of 50 millin, was consumed. With itself.

The picture moves on to reveal the urband part of the city. Here, gangs and mafia groups can be seen battling and exchanging money for drugs. Children can be seen fighting over a pack of cigarettes or a bottle of beer, cursing violently as they battle. One will get the goods, the other will lay uncousnsciense or crawl home witha bloody lip and broken limbs. Is the worst part of the city? No, but it is consumed with itself. Everyone from the businessmen to the druggies are consumed with themsleves. Whether they use drugs or stocks, they are all high on something. They are all selfish.

Is there any goodness within Preoc?

The picture moves on, and a monestary can be seen. Inside a priest and a female can be seen counting money. They greedily gatehr up the week's offering and stuff it into a black pouch. then, they return to the back room, where they enjoy pleasure for a season. Even within the holiest of spots, evil exist. Consumed with itself. Selfishness.

The picture moves on, and the government district of the city can be seen. This is where it is all summed up. If ever there was a bad part of the city, this was it. Although it looks pretty on the outside, it is a living hell within. Evil and deception are everywhere. From here, the nation is run. From here, the nation is taught to be evil. From here, selfishness overflows onto the population.

The picture centers on a circular tower. The senate room. From this place the 12 leaders of this nation conduct their business and make thier decision. From here, evil is maintained, even encouraged. Consumption. the picture begins to swirl around the building. It starts off slowly, and spins around the circular structure in a counter-clokwise direction. Then it gets faster. And faster. And spins faster. And faster.

Suddenly there is a flash of light. The picture is gone, and the truth is known. This is a land of obsession and consumption. With itself. This government is a government of obsession and consumption. With power.

---

Senator Gregory Jacobs sits in a plush chair. His arms hang losely at his side. His hands are folded neatly in his lap. He legs relax in a chair and his feet relax on the floor. A smile plays across his face. Genuine. But evil none the less. He stares accross the room at the 11 senators in the room with him. Each sits at his or her own chair and smiles. Most genuine, all evil.

Gregory licks his lips loudly and views the girl accross from him. Only a girl, but yet a senator of Preoc. He glares over at the military leader. An idiot to be sure. His thoughts flashed through his mind faster than the speed of light. or so it seemed.

Why am I really happy?

Power...

The word infiltrated Greg's brain and swept through his skull. It dripped down his spine and flew through his upper body. He could feel the word inside him. Power... It continued downward through his lower body and into his legs, dropping into his feet. Power... It consumed him.

The game. He loved the game. The game was Greg. Greg was the game. The game was what his was all about. Without the game, Greg would not, and could not exist. The game was power, to an extent. And power was the game, to an extent. Of course, it was far more complicated than that.

The game...

Greg continued to smile. Time to get this ball rolling...

"I'd like to call this meeting to order now." he waited for the senators to come to silence, glaring at the ones who made noise. "Quiet down."

"Now, as you all know, today is the day we elect our president. The winner needs at least seven votes to win the position, and once he has those seven, he is the new leader effective immediately."

Greg licked his lips again.

"Who wishes to take the floor to speak about this matter?"

Power...

General Maximus Tyrus Grandielon IV [Ret.], a senator elected by the military advocates of the Preoc, sat stoutly in his senatorial chair. No doubt it was plush and quite comfortable, but he would not slouch or lean back - he sat upright with a straight back at all times. It was how he was born and raised; in the military.

He certainly was in the running for power, but not because he was greedy. It was because he truly felt he would be the best person to wield the power of the presidency.

Everyone else is weak...

They don't know the meaning of a hard day's work.

I'd like to call this meeting to order now," called Senator Jacobs. "Quiet down." Though of course, the General was already quiet and at attention.

"Now, as you all know, today is the day we elect our president. The winner needs at least seven votes to win the position, and once he has those seven, he is the new leader effective immediately," Jacobs continued.

"Who wishes to take the floor to speak about this matter?"

Seeing that none of the other senators had enough balls to stand up first, the General decided to seize the opportunity.

"In my eyes, it is clear who the next president should be. Me," he said forwardly as he stood up to address the others. "These are the same eyes that have watched over this nation for over forty years of dedicated public service. The same eyes that have witnessed the tragedy of life and the brutality of war. And through it all, I have stood tall and proud."

"This nation needs a strong leader," The General continued. "And who better than one who knows how to lead and give orders in the thick of battle as all seems lost and bullets are whizzing by your head. Artillery crashing into the landscape behind you, deafening explosions rocking the frontier and your best mate lying in the dirt next to you, bleeding to death as he stares you in the eye... That is the kind of experience you need. And that is the kind of experience I have," he concluded strongly with he powerful imagery of battle ringing through the council chambers. He remained standing for a moment as silence overtook the room - the words he had just said setting in on the other senators - before returning to his seat.

Senator Michael Stufamo, first immigrant senator in Preocu, sat on his chair near the left edge of the circular room, smiling. Caroline Plassey, his confidante and best advisor, stood behind him silently. The divorceé and the single mother listened quietly, waiting to see what would happen.

Neither Stufamo nor Plassey were unsurprised at the General's speech. What to do about it, however, seemed uncertain. Grandielon would be unlikely to support immigration - after all, the General was eighteenth-generation Preoc. Besides, Stufamo could almost certainly be guaranteed a drop in prestige and funding under Grandielon. But who else?

There was Greg Jacobs, but Greg had quietly released dirty (and false) information about Stufamo and Plassey during the divorce proceedings. It had to have been him; who else would have been interested in gaining Stufamo's post in Health and Welfare?

The woman? Maybe; she was left-leaning, but, as an eighth-generation Preoc, there was little chance of her backing immigration. Worse, she was visibly in labor's pocket; labor would always be a huge stumbling block for increased immigration.

Nobody really struck him as appealing at the moment. "Should I nominate myself?" he whispered to Caroline Plassey.

"Wait and see. Nobody else has spoken, after all," Plassey replied, just as quietly. Stufamo nodded in agreement.

Alexander Wilberforce Finisterre stifled a yawn as he tugged the wrinkles out of his tailored Armani suit. He cast a quick glance around the table, noting the somewhat hesitant look on Stufamo's face. His aide was whispering in the man's ear. Whether she was informing him of all the dirt she'd dredged up about Grandielon or telling Stufamo where to meet her for a late night tryst was open to debate.

Greg Jacobs, the current chair of the senate, was busy eyeing that senator, whatsername. Well. She was cute enough, Alex thought. Frigid as the north pole, but pretty.

Grandielon himself was settling back into his chair, looking self-important and making small huffing noises to himself. Alex hated him, although he always took the trouble to be polite. It was hardly expedient to piss off a senator, even if it was the General. Alex cast a glance around the room. The dust motes caught in the sunlight danced around, sparkling in the afternoon sunlight. The silence in the room was hard, the kind that didn't invite breaking. Screw that.

"I completely agree," Alex said supercilliously. "We do need a strong leader. However, I would submit that Senator Grandielon is not he. With respect for the good senator's honourable service to Preoc, our nation is in crisis. The streets of our cities are filled with the homeless and the destitute. Our children are forming street gangs, rather than attending school. Our workers often don't even show up for the day. Preoc simply does not need, at this time, a military man. It's a great country, and we are a great people. But what we need is a plan. Not words of battlefields long past.

"Therefore, I nominate myself. I intend to drastically increase education and welfare, and cut money to bloated budgets like defense, the space program and law enforcement. We need more children in school, gaining vital knowledge about maths and science. We need a higher minimum wage, so our worst off people have a chance to improve their lot. I vow, if elected, to do as much as I am humanly able to further this goal. If you value the future of this great nation, put your faith in it. Support its children and its workers, not its special interests. Put your faith in me."

The General stood up enraged and ready for an argument. "We have been doing it your way for years - with your little reforms and incentive programs, trying to fix the world through your little pussy ways because you don't have the balls to do what needs to be done. And has your way worked for the past [x] years? NO! And it won't work now..."

"You are right in that our nation has fallen into a dismal state of despair and poverty, but your crap hasn't been able to fix it and it still won't. We need someone who is willing to do what needs to be done. Someone who will use the military to stop crime, to force people to go to school, and to ensure that people attend their jobs..." he continued, his passion growing with every word.

"It may seem harsh. It may seem drastic. But my fellow senators... the time for drastic measures... has come!"

The military? To stop crime? Didn't somebody remember the Ego riot ten years ago? The riot had gone on for a month when the army got called in; eight hundred, including three hundred innocent immigrant workers who happened to be in the path of the army, were killed. Two soldiers were wounded in the 'battle.' Stufamo could not possibly support Grandielon now...

"Funny how people show themselves when they get mad..." Plassey whispered to Stufamo.

"Yeah, the General showed himself to be a dictator-in-waiting," Stufamo whispered back. He then stood up.

"Senators, what we need is a better police force, with officers more representative of their communities. What we need are better teachers and safer schools for our communities. What we need are better welfare programs - ones that encourage people to get jobs, but that still help those who cannot find jobs. What we need, in short, isn't necessarily larger government, but rather smarter government," Stufamo said. He left it at that, without nominating himself, intentionally. If someone else nominated him, it would look better; if not, at least he got his points across. Finisterre was a possible candidate, but the 'special interests' talk concerned Michael Stufamo. After all, couldn't immigrants be seen as 'special interests?'

Alex inclined his head towards Senator Stufamo. A possible ally, he noted drily. In this company, you needed whomever you could get; even if he did have an accent so bad you could hardly understand a word he said. As for the General, the man brought up a good point while shooting himself in the foot. The policies hadn't worked very well. Never mind that; attack!

"I am deeply troubled by your words, Senator Grandielon," he said. He even sounded troubled. Acting class in high school had done him well. "Our nation is based upon the idea of freedom from dictatorship. It is based upon representative government wielding limited power over a populace upon whom the decisions of the nation truly rest." He swept his gaze across the entire table.

"Senators, it is in us few that the people have placed their trust. Unlike Senator Grandielon, I maintain that we should hold in high regard that trust. We must do so because it is our mandate by the people. That, above all else, is our most important charge. To impose martial law upon these people would be the deepest betrayal. As a military man, Senator Grandielon proved himself to be cast in the highest traditions of Preoc. A president, I fear, he is not."

Stufamo noted Finisterre's glance, and his words. Apparently, Finisterre had missed Stufamo's attempt to move the debate a bit to the center; Finisterre had badly misjudged the electorate recently, as Grandielon's continued presence showed. Still, at least Stufamo could be getting more funding if Finisterre were president. Stufamo sat and brooded. He had nothing to add - not yet, anyway...

"Most of your probably remember the Ego riot of ten years ago - in fact it is probably on your mind right now. Well I remember it too," Grandielon stated as he had now become one of the main focuses of the discussion - just as he had planned. "And while most of you probably choose to selectively remember the disaster of a loss of so much life due to the military's action, I remember everything. I remember what caused the riot - a education reform bill passed by this senate only two years earlier. While we spent a lot of money attempting to increase the education budget, the rate of dropouts increased and the rate of graduation decreased... again. The same thing happened to our nation's average intelligence against the world's average... it dropped. The reform did nothing and the people chose to show us they were disappointed, so they protested. However, the protest escalated, buildings were torched, cars turned over, property destroyed, and people injured. The police forces and the pleas of this senate were not enough to stop the continuing violence... nothing was... except the military. While you cowered in your houses, protected by ten foot walls, the military was out there protecting our nation," Grandielon stated, impassioned by the memory of how it all unfolded. "Those people escalating were not innocent..." he said in disgust. "They attacked first. Rule's of Engagement dictate that our military wouldn't and didn't fire until it was fired upon. They were in danger and they took the necessary measures... case closed!"

"Yes, we do need all of that... but in time," Grandielon responded to Stufamo as he remained standing. "We have tried to achieve that in the past... countless time. And every time it has failed. I say it is time we take a hard stance... sometimes you can take the parched horse to water and make it drink, and then it will realize it wants to drink... it hungers for the water. We must lead our people to the water... and go one step further..."

"I am deeply troubled by your words, Senator Grandielon. Our nation is based upon the idea of freedom from dictatorship. It is based upon representative government wielding limited power over a populace upon whom the decisions of the nation truly rest. Senators, it is in us few that the people have placed their trust. Unlike Senator Grandielon, I maintain that we should hold in high regard that trust. We must do so because it is our mandate by the people. That, above all else, is our most important charge. To impose martial law upon these people would be the deepest betrayal. As a military man, Senator Grandielon proved himself to be cast in the highest traditions of Preoc. A president, I fear, he is not," Senator Finisterre said.

Now Grandielon was ready to pounce on him for his blatant attack and accusation. "You would accuse me of attempting to be a dictator!? I am a patriot, first and foremost, and I will not stand for this type of attack on my character. I have never said, intended or even thought that this great nation should be a dictatorship. I hold their trust in extreme reverence and high regard. Higher than you, I think. Whilst you would sit here and speak of noble causes and tell us all of the trust you value, I will do something with their trust. They have trusted us to make this nation a glorious one - Filled with opportunity, education, health, and the Preocian dream for all. We don't deserve their trust... we have failed them. That is why I want... no... need to set things right for this nation. We have all failed to do our jobs to the fullest as evident by the state of the union and now we have our chance to set things right... by any means necessary."

"Senator, I remember the Ego riot differently. I remember the slums, full of immigrants who couldn't get jobs, who weren't being educated properly, who were simply ignored. I remember the riots starting as protests against a harsh anti-immigrant law and ending in the horrible massacre. I remember my countrymen, my neighbors and friends, all innocents, dying before me, killed by people like you. That is why I cannot support martial law."

That is what Stufamo wanted to say. That is what Stufamo felt he could not say, or his origins would come into play and he'd get nothing done. That is what Stufamo had to say to represent his people. That is what Stufamo, in the end, said.

Plassey blanched; it was a highly impolitic comment, worse than Finisterre's allegation that Grandielon was planning to be a dictator. It was effectively an accusation that Grandielon and the military were murderers, and, if it leaked, had the potential to start another, worse riot.

Tricky, tricky. Alex saw where this was going. Grandielon hadn't shot himself in the foot at all, he'd goaded Alex to the attack where a simple silence would have done. Only one way to save it. Wow the other senators and discredit the stocky general. Now for impassioned anger, he thought. He sprang to his feet, face etched in a righteous but controlled fury.

"Senator Grandielon," he replied coldly. "You claim to 'do something with their trust'. What you do, sir, is reccomend that our military be used not to defend our nation, but to oppress our people. You say that we need the military to, and I quote, 'stop crime, to force people to go to school, and to ensure that people attend their jobs.'" He let that sentance hang in the air for a moment.

"What you propose, senator, is the misuse of the military. You would have our loyal sons, who vowed to protect our nation from outside aggressors, instead become the tools of your autocracy." Alex began pacing around the senate table, producing an aura of laboured calm. "They would threaten at gunpoint any man or woman who did not go to work. They would point the same guns at our children if they did not go to school. What if a child got sick? Would a parent be shot for staying at home to care for him?" Alex gave the senators just enough time to comprehend the idea, but not quite enough to let Grandielon formulate a response.

"You, sir," he pointed at Grandielon, "blame an education bill for the riots. I would submit that a populace that by your own admission is apathetic, undereducated, and largely poor would not mount a riot of those proportions over an education budget. I would instead submit that they are crying out for help because they have been systematically brutalized by the police. Because their welfare was slashed three years ago to construct that superdreadnaught that you claim our navy so needs. Education budgets, the shuffling of textbooks and teachers, those things people don't feel. Not really. But when you reduce government welfare by ten dollars per month, people feel that. They fight that. And they will riot over that."

"It was you, sir, that deprived them of their bread. Of their clothing. That's why they rioted. And after that, your army deprived them of their very lives. Eight hundred, general." Alex took a deep breath. A half-second pause. He leaned down and looked the General in the eyes.

"The army was doing it's duty. It was the commanders who killed those people. It is the commanders," he seemed to indicate Grandielon with his whole being, "who must bear the price. You call yourself a patriot, sir. I ask you, senators, what kind of patriot orders the killing of eight hundred civilians? What kind of patriot advocates martial law over our children? No patriot at all."

"And whose fault is that Senator Stufamo?" Grandielon replied as he informed the senate that the immigrants were angered. "Certainly it was the military who was taking the jobs from immigrants. Certainly the military who prevented them from becoming educated. Certainly the military who ignored them," he said sarcastically. "NO! It was you... all lof you, and me a like, that passed the anti-immigrant bill, that had ignored them for so long, and had pushed them aside as a non-issue. Do not blame the military for your mistakes!"

"What better way to defend our nation than by defending our people from ignorance, poverty and crime. You would let all of those continue..." The General said in response to Senator Finisterre. "Our loyal sons... - and don't you think you can call them that without a slap to your own integrity as your own son sleeps in your plush house while many others, including my own, serve nobly in our military - Our loyal sons vowed to protect this nation from aggressors, foreign and domestic; against all forms of terrorism, criminal and edictorial."

"I can recite the military's pledge... I doubt you can," The General said. "Again you accuse me of becoming a dictator! You want to make a formal accusation rather than dance around it with words... then do it!

"Do you know why this nation is so sick and in despair," he asked of the entire senate before turning back to Senator Finisterre. "Because we sit here in this room and say stupid shit like, 'They would point the same guns at our children if they did not go to school. What if a child got sick? Would a parent be shot for staying at home to care for him?' Are you really so ignorant and illogical that you think they would be ordered to shoot a parent for taking care of their children? No wonder how nation is in such a state... we have people ruling like this illogical idiot here," he said indicating Senator Finisterre.

"You can submit whatever the hell you want to this senate, but when the de facto leader of the rioters stands up on a podium and starts screaming how the education bill only helps the rich... I find the cause of the riot pretty clear," The General rebuked. "I slashed no welfare budget at all... if it was anyone it was this senate. The military budget already had enough to manufacture a superdreadnaught as we have not acquired new military technology or products in five years. And you know what? The UNS Frontier, the superdreadnaught that you speak of so disgustedly, has already proved its use only nine months ago. When a rival nation from across the seas threatened our neighbor, Simpleton, by moving their navy into striking distance, the UNS Frontier was there, ready to defend - its mere presence scared off the enemy, back far across the ocean."

"You say I was the reason they rioted? And then they just decided to vote me senator three more elections in a row with a 67% majority..." The General let it sink it, showing them the support he and his ideas had.

"You want to call me a murderer... then CALL ME A FUCKING MURDERER!" he screamed, leaning heavily over the table as his aide, Sandra, scribbled notes furiously in the background.

Alex made a steeple of his fingers as he leaned forward at the table. He looked about the room once again, trying to gauge the responses of the other senators. Stufamo was fuming in his seat, trying to salvage something of the remarks made by the general. The others were conferring with aides, looking troubled or, in one case, twiddling his thumbs and sucking a cigarette. Too early to decide, as of yet.

Never mind, attack.

"Senator Grandielon accuses me of a lack of patriotism. I take issue with that statement. It is true, I have never served in the armed forces. This is a personal choice, and one which I am free to make. I am, as I am sure you are all aware, a pacifist. I seek peaceful solutions, rather than turning our loyal military into a secret police.

"The senator makes reference to the Simpletonian situation of nine months ago. It is a perfect example of the responsible use of military forces as a deterrant. Preoc is committed to the defense of freedom in the world, be that through diplomacy or force of arms. But we cannot defend freedom abroad by deserting it at home. The use of our military forces to enforce martial law on our population flies in the face of the entire basis of our democracy. It robs the people of self determination. It would be the beginning of a chain of events which can have no possible outcome other than dictatorship.

"I do not accuse you of murder, senator. I do not accuse you of a desire to become a dictator. What I do say is that the result of your policies would be a dictatorship. We must jealously guard our freedoms not only with force of arms, but with the responsible use of our judicial system. We must educate our children, support rather than oppress our workers, and help rather than threaten our poorest people. Simply because one education bill failed does not mean that it is time to sacrifice freedom in the name of order.

"We must not be driven by our fear and our hate into an age of unreason. We must instead seek to help those who need it most, not slaughter them when their actions become inconvenient. Damage can be repaired, murder cannot be undone.

"What I recall of the Ego riot was this. While I watched from the steps of the capitol, three regiments formed a cordon around the protesters. They set up heavy machine gun emplacements on nearby roofs, and blocked off the streets with battle tanks. When the protesters, understandably terrified, rushed the cordon-" he paused for a moment, swallowed and continued. "Someone gave the order to fire. The machine guns started it, shooting straight into the faces of the protesters. They stopped moving, but the military wasn't finished. The infantrymen started shooting too, and in a minute or two it was all over, and all the protesters were dead.

"That is why I feel compelled to oppose the instatement of martial law. The military is trained to kill. It is taught how to do so very, very well. When faced with difficult situations, it falls back on training, and starts to kill people. That is why I say that the military must not be put in control of civilian affairs."

Greg smiled as the screaming continued. Here they sat, arguing about a riot years ago, while hundreds starved in the streets and shot each other. Power...

It was time to end this charade. Greg stood calmly.

"Enough."

As the acting President until the new one could be elected, he certainly had the authority to gage how the discussion... no.... argument, would go. You are all little pawns in this game... although, that is only because the game is so huge. You will all lose. You will all grope for nothing. You will beg for my mercy. You will all eventually die. By my hand if needed...

"We will conduct this meeting as orderly as possible." Greg continued to smile. From his standing position he stared accross the room, specifically at Senator Hawklin. Rosa Hawklin was liberal female with drastic ideas on how the country would be run. But a good pawn... of mine. Greg Jacobs had no shame in staring at her as she leaned over to adjust one of her shoes. His eyes focused on every inch of her body. A pawn...

"From now on, please try not to scream or curse in this... er... discussion."

Greg sat back down, but retained the floor.

"I think we have all seen the truth of what Preoc is. It is a hell hole with no hope unless something is done, and fast. The main need in this nation, quite frankly, is understanding. Peace. We need each citizen to learn that he or she can have an impact in their nation. We need each one to rediscover who they are, deep inside."

And who are you, Mr. Jacobs? Evil... pure evil... just like the rest. But... the difference is that I realize it, and I'm content with it... and I AM it...

I am the player... I am the game... you are the pawns... I will have the power...

Obsession with power...

"Now, we will continue this talk later..." Greg spoke as he glanced at his watch. "Please be back here tomorrow morning. You may talk among yourselves until then. I, for one, will be found in my house, getting plenty of sleep. I hope. Goodnight."

Jacobs stood, signifying the meeting was over. He waited for the others to leave. He would talk with Mrs. Rosa Hawklin before he left.

"What's with Greg and Virginia?" Plassey asked Stufamo as the two walked out. "They dating?"

"Nah. Just two liberals talking with each other. Too bad there aren't really many moderates..." Stufamo replied.

"Hey, not everyone's as perfect as us," Plassey said jokingly. "Tough luck with the trial balloon..."

"True. At least Grandielon mentioned the anti-immigrant bill as a problem, although only in passing," Stufamo replied. "Perhaps we can make some sort of unholy alliance..."

"Maybe, but I wouldn't trust the General in anything but a tank," Plassey replied. The two stepped out of the gleaming white Tower of the Senate and walked towards a coffeehouse in the government district. It was almost, but not quite, impossible to hear the distant gunfire endemic to the capital of Preocu in the government district...

Alex hid a grin as he stepped away from the table. Not bad, for a day's work. He at least knew where Grandielon and Stufamo stood on things. The rest were more of an enigma. There was Stufamo, talking to his aide. Jacobs was gathering papers in a self-satisfied manner, preparing to leave. He'd remained silent throughout the entire debate, watching.

The afternoon sunlight was rapidly giving way to a cool evening. Bodyguards flanked him and his aides as they made their way to Alex's armoured limousine. Grandielon was no great threat, so long as he was handled correctly. The man's sense of personal honour would prevent any double-dealing. Stufamo was, for the moment, a potential ally. Also of little danger. He bore watching, though, for his influence with the immigrant group. Perhaps a little catering to them was in order? Jacobs was the one to watch. He'd gained his office through a mixture of keen political sense and ruthless ambition. He was also a veteran, and a known face in the way that Alex himself wasn't.

The trip back to the Imperial Hotel was quick enough. He strode into the lobby, unconsciously dictating a memo of some kind to a junior aide. Alex lived at the Imperial; it was actually cheaper than owning a nice home in Preocu. The room service was excellent. He took the elevator up to the sixtieth floor, an enormous penthouse suite in which he lived quite alone. His wife and son were back in Ego, where he had his constituency.

He'd officially separated from his wife a year ago, the official reason being that she'd been seeing someone else. In truth, neither had been faithful since almost the beginning of the marriage-- he'd had to demand a blood test to ensure that his son was actually his.

There were certain perks to that. After all, there's a type of young woman who is madly attracted to powerful men. Alex knew most of the ones that lived in Ego, and several in Preocu.

In the biblical sense, too.

There had been so many hypocritical, self-defeating, oxymoronic, self-rebuking statements in Senator Finisterre's argument that The General did not know where to begin. Luckily, he was saved from repeating himself as he attempted to drill into these moron's heads that the time for half measures was long passed by Senator Gregory Jacobs as he drew the meeting to a close.

Perhaps I need to take hard-line measures sooner than later...

After the meeting Grandielon left the senate conference room with his senior aide, Sandra, and returned to his large office in the [insert building here]. There was still much work to be done before dawn came...

Greg smiled as the rest of the council members slowly left the room. He himself stayed behind, and gently tapped Rosa on the shoulder to indicate he wished to speak to her before she also left. One by one they filed out, and finally Greg and Rosa were alone.

Let's get the ball rolling Greg...

"Mrs. Hawklin, I wish to speak to you on some important matters." he said in a hushed tone. "I can assure you that this will be worth every bit of your time."

He smiled politely. Trying to win her over. Win. Game. Obsession. Power.

She shrugged off his gaze and backed up a bit. When she spoke she did so quietly, "What do you want Jacobs?"

Greg approached her again and laid a hand on her shoulder. It was warm and inviting. Not a bad looking girl... not bad at all... we will deal with that later. Greg kept smiling and stared her deep in the eyes. "I want to know if we can make a deal. I have a proposition for you."

She shook off his grasp and backed away some more. "And that would be?"

Greg chuckled lowly... "Always to the point Rosa? Seriously. You need to relax a little." His voice fell an octave along with his volume again, "I know what your deepest desire is... and I can give it to you..."

She looked back with a petrified, yet composed, yet inquisitive look on her face. "What are you saying Greg Jacobs?"

"Don't play dumb Rosa. I know all about you and Mr. Yokely." he smiled wickedly.

Her face had suddenly went pale. Perfect... I hit a nerve. Now she has to play along.

"Would you like everyone else to know as well?"

She stammered out her next words. "Why..why... why.. th-that-tt's blackmail!"

Greg laughed a little louder now. "Of course it is. Now Mrs. Hawklin, either you help me get what I want, and I'll give you exactly what you want, OR I reveal to the media, as well as your husband, the truth behind your relationships. Especially your affair with Roger."

"You can't do this!" She said louder. Shocked that the truth was known.

"Of course I can. Do you doubt me?" His face went from evil and kind to sour and angry fast. "You will do as I say from now ON!" he screamed the last word. "Or... your game is over."

She fell to her seat and sat there timidly. Contemplating.

Perfect... pawn.

She finally looked up at the senator watching her. "What do you want me to do?"

Greg chuckled.

Everything is going as planned...

The General sat in the plush chair of his lavish office reading through a couple of pages he had sitting on his desk. Occasionally his computer it would beep and he would type in a quick message, but for the most part it was silent as he contemplated on what his next move was.

That is until there came a knock at the door.

*Knock Knock*

"Yeah, come in..." he said with a wave of his hand without looking up to see who it was. After years with Sandra he had learned to know the sound of her knock.

"Sir, what you did in there probably wasn't that smart," she said in a concerned voice as she walked over. She was dressed in a short skirt, high heels, a blouse with the top button undone, and was carrying a file in her hands. Not bad looking at all...

"Just testing the waters..." the General replied still without looking up.

"Maybe, but now the others are on high guard."

Now he looked up. A term like 'high guard' always got his attention because of its dual use in both of his services. "Yes, but perhaps it has also loosened the floor boards a little."

"Sir?"

"See if you can find anyone who wants to talk turkey... dig up some stuff..."

Alex leaned back in the plush leather chair that dominated his office. There was a great deal of mahogany here, the real kind. He'd had it brought into the penthouse suite at moderate personal expense, but he enjoyed the finer points to life too much to leave the dreadful metal and glass square that passed for a desk at the Imperial. He took a sip of wine from his glass before calling in his chief aide, a man named Jenkins.

He appeared, holding a folder and stuffing his cell phone into his pocket. Greg Jenkins wasn't a tall man, nor was he short. He had thinning brown hair and a pinched, somewhat rodentine face. Jenkins didn't have the eye candy effect of Grandielon's woman, nor did he have the somewhat regal dignity of Stufamo's aide-- what was her name?

But he was competent. Ruthlessly so. It was rumoured that he had once been a highly placed member of one of Preoc's street gangs, although Alex had never found proof of it. In any case, the man got the job done.

"Greg, I'm going to need you to contact the offices of Senator Stufamo. He and I will need to speak about the upcoming presidential campaign. In addition, I want you to dig up all of the nasty, questionable and unpopular military decisions and campaigns in which Senator Grandielon was involved." Jenkins nodded once before turning to leave. "Oh, and Greg?" Jenkins raised his eyebrows.

"Yes, sir?"

"Excellent wine. You have excellent taste." Jenkins smiled a rare smile.

"I try, Senator."

Sandra was working in her office that was located nearby to the General's own luxurious office. Hers was very organized and Spartan, much more so the Grandielon's was. It had shelves of books, though all of them were of some importance rather than those that were fiction. Other than the bookshelves that lined the walls there were numerous file cabinets of an untold number of documents, all of which were locked away under a sophisticated retina scan. In the center was Sandra's TrimDesk and on top of it sat her supercomputer. The TrimDesk was a special, customized desk with a few built in features for security (such as a titanium fold away lock box for the computer) and its compartments were always kept under lock and key (though it was more of retina scans and fingerprints) as Sandra was quite neurotic about security.

At present she was sitting behind the desk typing away as she ran a couple of hidden programs on the network. She was reaching out, reaching for information; anything at all that may be of use...

Jenkins, a cigarrette clamped between his teeth, slumped into his chair and grabbed the phone that lounged in the corner of his desk. He tapped out a series of numbers and listened to the ringing for a moment.

"Yes, Miss Plassey, isn't it?...I'm Greg Jenkins, Senator Finisterre's aide. Yes. Thank you, I'll be sure to pass that on to him. In any case, It seems that Senators Finisterre and Stufamo share certain concerns with Senator Grandielon's opinions... Yes, of course. Senator Finisterre was interested in meeting with Senator Stufamo to discuss certain issues... Of course. Whenever you're able. Thank you, Miss Plassey... Good night to you too."

He leaned back in his chair, wincing at the squeak of the hinges. They'll be needing oil soon. He opened the laptop computer that vied for space with a pile of folders for the center of the desk and started looking for that dirt Alex had mentioned.

Greg leaned back in his plush chair in the office and grinned. Almost childishly. Things were going very well. He was winning the game. Naturally. I wouldn't expect anything else.

Rosa had played right into his hands, just as he had expected. It seemed that things would go very well. Then again, there was the ceremony tonight which would confirm the deal, that had to go well. Jacobs was sure it would.

He tapped his fingers slowly on the desk and peered at the phone. He reached for it slowly with his other hand, then stopped himself. Was it too soon to bring some of the other senators into this plot?

The General certainly wouldn't play ball, neither would a few others. He only needed 7 votes. He would get them. Rosa would get them. Rosa would work with him. Rosa would play the game.

The Game.

Greg looked up at the clock as he rolled a wad of spittle beneath his tounge. Only 3 more hours... He giggled a little.

Amazing... thank goodness no one wants to speak with me. I can't take hassle.

Then again, hassle could be part of the game...

The General stood up heavily from his leather chair and walked around his desk towards the door that sat on the side of his office. It was the door that connected his office with Sandra's and it could only be opened from his side (from her side it just looked like the wall).

"Sandra," he said in his normal voice, though somewhat more wearily than normal, as he entered her office. "I am going home to get some sleep. It's late, you should go home soon too," he commented. Despite his rough exterior and the heart of a lion, The General could still be kind at times.

"I will..." Sandra said lightly as she continued to type away at the computer.

Grandielon looked at her crookedly as he raised an eyebrow in doubt. "I mean it. Don't wear yourself out."

When she didn't respond, Grandielon slowly left the room and made his way to the Garage where a car and escort waited to drive him to his home...

OOC:... Beltway?

IC:
Alex rubbed his eyes blearily in the morning sunlight. He stood up from his bed, stretched and peered out the floor-to-ceiling window of his suite. Preocu was spread out before him, gleaming towers and low, grey buildings melding into a living, breathing whole. He rolled his neck from side to side, relishing the popping noises of his spine.

Best get to the senate building soon, lots to do today before the afternoon meeting. The senator opened his wardrobe, stripped out of his sleepwear and pulled a dark grey suit, mustard yellow shirt and brown tie off of a hanger. He checked the clock on his wall and cursed. He'd slept through the morning alarm. It was already 8:32, and he had a meeting with some committee or other in about... twenty minutes. Damn, no time for breakfast. He lunged for the phone, hopping on one leg as he tugged his trousers on.

"Morning, Jenkins? Right. I'll need a car out front in... ten minutes? ... Sounds fine. Right. And start canvassing the senate, see if anyone else wants to meet with me to discuss the upcoming election. Right. Yes... I know we should have done that a month ago. Who are you, my mother? Right. Fine, Jenkins. Just do it, why won't you."

Alex sighed. Jenkins was invaluble, certainly. He was also a nagging arse sometimes. Shirt on, belt buckled. Coat. Tie. He hurried into the bathroom and grabbed for his toothbrush. Toothpaste on the brush. So... scrub. Mornings...

At 9:27 Greg Jacobs awoke from his slumber. The night had been long, but it had been worth it. After all... he had got what he had wanted. Power... more of it.

Greg's headed bolted up from his pillow. Today would be another important day at the senate, another day in which to play the game. The Game...

Greg took a quick shower and brushed his teeth to improve his breath. He needed to look his best this morning, so he pulled on a black suit and pants over his bright pink button up shirt and black tie. Today was important.

Greg hurried to his garage and pulled the Mercedes out of the driveway, heading down the road. He pulled up to Rosa's house and waited patiently for her to come out. Suddenly her weary form appeared. She looked frazzled, and well she should. Her hair was a mess and her clothes seemed hastily prepared. Naturally...

Greg waited for her to get in and then pulled out, heading for the Senate building. He didn't say a word to her quiet body. He didn't need to. Everything to be said had been said last night.

The General had slept decently throughout the night. It would have been a better slumber if it were not for his distracted brain being caught up in the hypocritical game of politics that was being played in the Senate. However, when he woke up the next morning, he was feeling slightly more relaxed and rested.

He had a couple pieces of toast and eggs for breakfast before heading out the door to the awaiting car. After hopping in, Grandielon turned on his earpiece and began receiving the updates and news that had been prepared for him - he would listen to them on the ride to the senate building.

It had been a relatively quiet night - quiet as it could be nearing the presidential election.

"Good morning Sandra," The General greeted as he walked towards his office and looked through the door next to his to see the attractive woman working at her desk - the same position she was in when he had left the night before. "I trust you got some sleep..."

"Some..."

Grandielon frowned at her less than enthusiastic response, not that she normally was, but she had been working for him long enough that he could tell when she was not being sincere. "Some as in more than six hours?"

Sandra stopped typing and looked up. "No..." she admitted.

"Five?" he asked, to which she shook her head in response.

"Four?" Same response.

"Three...?"

She was about to answer when she paused and looked down at her clock. "Two seventeen to five thirty-two... so, yeah."

Grandielon frowned, "That isn't healthy for you." It was a very un-Grandielon like phrase or attitude to be forwardly and openly caring for the health of his aides, and to rectify it he added a slightly serious statement, "And I need you working at one hundred percent effectiveness... scratch that... one hundred and twenty percent..."

ooc: Dead Again?

OOC: I hope not. Beltway has been gone for a while... maybe he'll be back soon. If not, I will continue this thread sometime next week.

OOC: I hope not. Beltway has been gone for a while... maybe he'll be back soon. If not, I will continue this thread sometime next week.

[ooc: I am leaving at the end of next week.]