Thyrius
27-12-2006, 20:14
Imagine a city whose populace lives in hovels. Rental buildings crumble every week, and crime has soared. Children lay upon the sides of the street, their faces and bodies gaunt and their bones prominently seen through the skin, too weak from starvation to even play. Their mothers do everything they can to find food, but always come up short. The fathers are lacking more often then not, drug off to work for the government as free labor. The streets are filled with the smells of raw sewage, and the markets in this area of the city are filled with only rotten or prematurely plucked food.
Through this waste travels caravans of the React Peacekeeping Forces, the RPF. They move in caravans of five jeeps, the front, back and middle vehicle having a large mounted gun upon it. The other two vehicles are filled with RPF troops, all armed to the teeth with automatic rifles, machetes, and grenades. All of these men are well fed, and are willing to shoot anyone who even looks at them wrong. If a child is in the road in their path, the caravan rolls over him without hesitation, and no one objects.
In the center of the city, large well crafted buildings lie. Fat aristocrats and military officers populate this area of the city. The upper class of Cameroon lives here and talks about how good they have it, living off of the torment of their lessers. Dead center in this district is the Prime Minister of Cameroon's Palace. The Prime Minister was in truth nothing more than a high ranking military man of the Vineyardian Empire, having taken control of this nation when the Empire left the nation to rot. His palace was a large sprawling structure, guard posts at all entrances and located throughout his palace.
The Prime Minister, as he was called, seemed bored as he listened to the colonels reports of a riot that broke out yesterday in the marketplace and had come to a bloody end.
"Fifteen civilians were shot and killed and one soldier was beaten to death by..." the colonel continued despite his commanders lack of interest. After another half an hour or so the meeting had come to conclusion having accomplished nothing more than putting the Prime Minister asleep a few times and leaving him a little less sober than when he had arrived. It had gotten late so the Prime Minister stumbled back to his room.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Hot breath came from his mouth gently, freezing on the night air before dancing off past the moon. The laser flickered off of walls in the higher up room of the building across the way. Alan Kibo sat calmly, waiting. That was his job. To sit and wait for his target. He was always laid back, or, depending on who you were, he was an extremely lazy bastard. Either way, he enjoyed just sitting and watching things. With a graceful fluid motion he picked up his cigarette and took a swift drag off of it. Just then something in the scope caught his eye. He flicked the cigarette off of the building, the embers not quite burning out as it fell. The woman he had a hit on, Gloria Andrews, walked into the King's bedroom the nice red outfit complimenting her long golden hair. She was a beauty. Too bad she was with such a pig. The door floated to a close only to burst open again as the drunken Prime Minister of Cameroon stumbled in. Gloria helped him to his feet handling him rather roughly. Maybe things would work between them after all... With a gentle squeeze on the trigger....
BOOM!
A large explosion as he was squeezing. His body was thrown voluntarily to the left as a fireball came flying up from the right. His finger had firmly squeezed the trigger of the PGM Hecate II and sent the bullet flying into the window. It went through the head of the now former King of Cameroon and thudded into the wall next to Gloria. She screamed and dropped everything. Guards were skidding across the streets. It was chaos! "Damn it all to hell!" Alan shouted as he stood and looked down to see the gas and oil drums sitting outside of the warehouse he was on. "Damn cigarettes" He remarked, assuming that to be the cause. "Crap!" He said as the sirens came. He threw himself up and ran. Gloria looked up as the scene unfolded to see her attacker running off. Alan jumped up and over the side of the building. Lost to everyone.
As he fell, Alan turned and grabbed the ladder. Immediately the rust and metal bloodied his hands and caused one of his shoulders to partially dislocate. Reaching for his PGM rifle he slid it behind the ladder, grasping the barrel in one hand and the butt in the other. He slid for a ways until the rifle connected with one of the pieces holding the ladder to the building. The sudden stop forced Alan to lose his grip and fall another story to before slamming into the dirt road. Just as he was getting up the rifle hit the ground beside him, the impact on the ground caused another shell to be released the noise echoing for what seemed like miles before dissipating.
Picking up his prized rifle Alan took various back allies and streets until he reached his apartment building. As he circled around front he made sure to put the gun inside one of the many trash cans so it wouldn't be seen. He clambered up the stairs and into his apartment door, collapsing on the couch. Turning on the news to see his not-so-handy work, Alan shoved his shoulder back into socket.
Through this waste travels caravans of the React Peacekeeping Forces, the RPF. They move in caravans of five jeeps, the front, back and middle vehicle having a large mounted gun upon it. The other two vehicles are filled with RPF troops, all armed to the teeth with automatic rifles, machetes, and grenades. All of these men are well fed, and are willing to shoot anyone who even looks at them wrong. If a child is in the road in their path, the caravan rolls over him without hesitation, and no one objects.
In the center of the city, large well crafted buildings lie. Fat aristocrats and military officers populate this area of the city. The upper class of Cameroon lives here and talks about how good they have it, living off of the torment of their lessers. Dead center in this district is the Prime Minister of Cameroon's Palace. The Prime Minister was in truth nothing more than a high ranking military man of the Vineyardian Empire, having taken control of this nation when the Empire left the nation to rot. His palace was a large sprawling structure, guard posts at all entrances and located throughout his palace.
The Prime Minister, as he was called, seemed bored as he listened to the colonels reports of a riot that broke out yesterday in the marketplace and had come to a bloody end.
"Fifteen civilians were shot and killed and one soldier was beaten to death by..." the colonel continued despite his commanders lack of interest. After another half an hour or so the meeting had come to conclusion having accomplished nothing more than putting the Prime Minister asleep a few times and leaving him a little less sober than when he had arrived. It had gotten late so the Prime Minister stumbled back to his room.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Hot breath came from his mouth gently, freezing on the night air before dancing off past the moon. The laser flickered off of walls in the higher up room of the building across the way. Alan Kibo sat calmly, waiting. That was his job. To sit and wait for his target. He was always laid back, or, depending on who you were, he was an extremely lazy bastard. Either way, he enjoyed just sitting and watching things. With a graceful fluid motion he picked up his cigarette and took a swift drag off of it. Just then something in the scope caught his eye. He flicked the cigarette off of the building, the embers not quite burning out as it fell. The woman he had a hit on, Gloria Andrews, walked into the King's bedroom the nice red outfit complimenting her long golden hair. She was a beauty. Too bad she was with such a pig. The door floated to a close only to burst open again as the drunken Prime Minister of Cameroon stumbled in. Gloria helped him to his feet handling him rather roughly. Maybe things would work between them after all... With a gentle squeeze on the trigger....
BOOM!
A large explosion as he was squeezing. His body was thrown voluntarily to the left as a fireball came flying up from the right. His finger had firmly squeezed the trigger of the PGM Hecate II and sent the bullet flying into the window. It went through the head of the now former King of Cameroon and thudded into the wall next to Gloria. She screamed and dropped everything. Guards were skidding across the streets. It was chaos! "Damn it all to hell!" Alan shouted as he stood and looked down to see the gas and oil drums sitting outside of the warehouse he was on. "Damn cigarettes" He remarked, assuming that to be the cause. "Crap!" He said as the sirens came. He threw himself up and ran. Gloria looked up as the scene unfolded to see her attacker running off. Alan jumped up and over the side of the building. Lost to everyone.
As he fell, Alan turned and grabbed the ladder. Immediately the rust and metal bloodied his hands and caused one of his shoulders to partially dislocate. Reaching for his PGM rifle he slid it behind the ladder, grasping the barrel in one hand and the butt in the other. He slid for a ways until the rifle connected with one of the pieces holding the ladder to the building. The sudden stop forced Alan to lose his grip and fall another story to before slamming into the dirt road. Just as he was getting up the rifle hit the ground beside him, the impact on the ground caused another shell to be released the noise echoing for what seemed like miles before dissipating.
Picking up his prized rifle Alan took various back allies and streets until he reached his apartment building. As he circled around front he made sure to put the gun inside one of the many trash cans so it wouldn't be seen. He clambered up the stairs and into his apartment door, collapsing on the couch. Turning on the news to see his not-so-handy work, Alan shoved his shoulder back into socket.