NationStates Jolt Archive

Vik, Kamasha

Thousands upon thousands of Muslims, men, women, and children were all packed like cattle into the camp. Gray clad GISF guards watched the prisoners as they worked themselves to death. An old woman, working in nothing more than rags to protect her from the snow collapsed. A guard was soon upo her. "Get up!" he yelled in English. "Oriri!" He yelled again in Latin. The old woman still did not move. In anger, the guard pulled out his night stick and began to beat already unconscious woman. A nearby POW, a captured Soviet working with the Communists from the looks of his arm patch, charged at the guard, wielding a hammer he was using.

Just as he was about to connect hammer to bone, another guard on the catwalk above loosed a burst into the mans chest, and he fell backwards into the snow. As his hot blood turned the snow red, there was a moment of silence. There seemed to be no movement at all in the courtyard. Then at once, chaos erupted. The captives began to swarm their captors. The half dozen men on the ground were quickly overwhelmed by the over two hundred people working. The other prisoners, many with cells overlooking the courtyard, began cheering and banging the bars of their cages as they saw the riot begin to erupt. A few rounds were fired by the men on the ground, but they were quickly dispatched and their weapons taken. There were now twelve guns on the ground, six assault rifles and six Kraven made .50 handguns. The five mercenaries on the catwalk opened fire, not taking any form of aim as the mass off people below ensured that someone was going to be hit. Shots from the ground were returned, and a bullet smacked into on of the GISF guards, tearing open his jugular. He stumbled backwards, blood spraying from his throat, and soon fell over the railing to the mob below, yet more guns for the rioters.

By this point, however, the alarm was blaring all throughout the camp. Dozens of armed guards rushed to the courtyard with riot shields, officers carrying Leafanistani made katanas and regular soldiers with nightsticks. All of the men wore infrared goggles. Smoke grenades were thrown and the riot was quickly crushed. All the prisoners still alive were ow to be executed. Out of the original 200 men there, only 82 were still able to face the gallows. 8 of the Griffincrest guards were also killed. The Corporation did not take kindly to loosing som eof their own.

Two weeks later...

The gallows were now set. Eighty one men slowly walked to meet the hangman. One of them, knowing that he would meet death anyway, hung himself to avoid giving the hangman the pleasure of ending him. Slowly the procession went on, as man after man dangled in the noose. A few of the men did not die immediatly, giving them an agonizing death by suffocation. One captured Rustovian soldier, caught on the killing fields of TWSP, dangled for a full five minutes before finally dying. When all was done, other prisoners were ordered to clean up the mess, as a lesson to what happens when you rebel against Griffincrest.

From the window of his office, Fritz Cloudfire, Chief of Prisoners and detention for Griffincrest Oil Incorporated, as well as warden if the Vik facility, watched the men hang in sets of six. Rain just began to splatter on the window when he went back to his paperwork. The deaths of these prisoners meant nothing to him. These people were not Exponential, they were not of the Imperial race, they were of some lower class of human, the POW's no better than the Muslims. The paperwork was soon completed, and a messenger would carry the letter to Julius Stryker, the Conscript Labor Czar. They would be needing an additional 200 prisoners to replace the ones lost, and preferably POW's, as they work harder.

Johnnie was shaking. He always shook though, but this time more than usual. His tailor was late with a new hat. He didn't like it. The smell of what remains of his old hat emanated from the garbage can. It had burst into flames and he put 12 rounds into it. It smelled like death, which smells a lot like burning hair.

Johnnie touched his head; his hat had rewarded him with a new bald spot. Now he needed a new hat more than ever. He fingered his lighter, opening and closing it, each time lighting another clove cigarette until the room was filled with smoke and the smoke detector had gone off.

He called security and told them that he had done it again and to apologize to Mr. Griffencrest. He frowned at the pile of ruined cigarettes when a throughly wet man showed up at his office door. He cautiously opened it while lighting a clove cigarette and asked for whom it was.

"Mr. uh..."

"I have no last name."

"Right, um..."

"I have no first name."

"Right, your new hat is here, and it is flame retardant as usual."

"Thank you, here is a 50."

"But this is foreign currency."

"Trust me, it is worth more than the crap here."

He slammed the door sending his hat flying off his head into the garbage can. He frowned and called up the tailor, he would be needing another hat.

He moved down the alleyway slowly, a shadow amongst the shadows. He was fully aware of the dangers inherent by being out after curfew, but he had a job to do. If he were caught....he shuddered at the thought of what would be done to him.

Sleth Garang was a SpecOps officer in the service of the government of Ancient Shadows. His cover was as a trainer in stealth procedures to the Kamashans. A backwards people by Shadows standards, he was finding it a challenge teaching them that secrecy and the quick strike was sometimes more desireable than the slash-and-hack methods of the Kamashan military.

His real assignment was to locate and free a leader of the Muslim resistence, now incarcerated in one of the camps of Vik. This Barak al Des was an apparently important personage key to the rebellion in Kamasha. He held info that would cause the Kamashan government to fall, freeing the Islamic captives to form a government friendly to Ancient Shadows.

A noise caused Garang to freeze. A three-man Kamashan patrol paused at the top of the alleyway, flashing a light down the dark alley to see if there was anythig to see. Garang crouched behing a stinking barrel of garbage, his hand resting on the butt of his Glock .9mm. A tense 20 seconds later, the patrol moved on, satisfied that there was nothing dangerous down that alley. Garang slowly let his breath out and was about to continue his way down the alley, when he felt something hard and cold press against the back of his skull. "Don't even think about it, pal," said a female voice behind him. "Get up, hands where I can see 'em, and turn around."

Sleth did as he was told, and as he turned to face his enemy, he felt his shirt being grabbed by two hands and a pair of warm, moist lips pressed onto his with a surprising intensity...........................

The half rebuilt ruins of Paradise.

The graves had filled quickly, as the riots and civil strife over the first 2 years made it difficult to keep up with the ever constant flow of dead that needed burial. After 5 years of toil, he had buried his last client, but his job has only begun.

His name was Paul, but he called himself Luke... But he came to Blackhelm calling himself 'Smith'...

His job for the past 5 years has been to track down and kill the Griffencrest family and all those who got in his way...

His weapons were sparse, his service pistol was already empty, and had been ditched in a river after it had been greased, wiped, and regreased, removing any hope of fingerprinting or a viable DNA match to anybody...

His only other weapon was a ceramonial combat shovel, a sign of rank and honor among the 'old gaurd' of the PROHT elite, that was also hidden, as he got rid of it in the most obvious and simplest manner possable, by setting it by a cemetary, the very cemetary he worked in, as they needed labor to clean up the streets, and background checks were impossable, and his skills with a shovel were unmatched. He even came with his own shovel...

Having finished his work a full 5 years ahead of schedual, he decided to get an early start on his other tasks. He found a stand in, and asked him to work as a temp, he would be paid twice as much as himself, provided he worked on a commision, half the mony from the cemetary, the other half from his own pocket. This way, nobody would really notice his disapearance, at least until his payments started bouncing... But then again, he had done 10 years worth of gravedigging in 5 years... he had money left over to sustain this little vacation for about a year if he needed to. His home was in the tennements, the former 'upper class' region, before the civil war, he knew the old mansions and delapidated houses well, and which ones were yet to be demolished and when. He had been using these buildings as work areas, to make 'business deals' with the now floundering mafia, getting weapons from his enemies before their own competition wiped them out, eliminating any trace such transactions had been made. These deals allowed him to purchase 2 hand greanades, a pistol, 2 clips, and most importantly, a silencer and some night vision goggles...

This had cost him a small fortune, and yet he could carry it discretely in a briefcase he found inside the ruins...

He still had one more 'transaction' to be made, he still had 2,000 Confederate Credits left, and he knew just the man to talk to for spending it...
His client's name sounded foriegn...

Gaius sat at the cold effecient aluminium desk, it gave an air of coldness meant to stop distracting him from his task, what was his task? He always asked this because it was so difficult to tell whether he was babysitting or spying, his objectives seemed to change from week to week.

He struck a match which lit up the dark office area, the match contacted the Ciggarette in his hand which suddenly lit up, he sighed and rested his head on his hand scanning over sheets of pointless paperwork, recognising the Organisation logo within the pile his heart sank, contact with the Organisation had been less frequent recently and he knew he was begging for punishment.

Quivering he took the envelope and sliced it open with his Bronze Letter opener, a gift, the Letter was headed with the ornate symbol of the Organisation and from that moment things began to get worse, he read on, hoping for a letter telling him that the Organisation had folded in on itself, instead he instantly marked out the word Muslim and he felt the compulsion to collapse his face into his hands.

Mr Orbachev,
IndentisationI understand and recognise the fact that you have been out of contact with members of the Toopoxican Organisation, however this letter does not hold offensive blaming of any party, we accept that you require a task to keep you from your waning alleigence in the Organisation and so the following task has been proposed.

Recent information tells us of the public execution of Muslims, Communists and other Traitors, your orders have been issued to assess this situation and determine whether it is necessary for Toopoxia to be concerned over this.

Gaius could read the message but he knew that it was all just subtext, it wasn't assessment, it was Spying, he knew the Organisation just wanted to find any way of exploiting the weaknesses in the Blackhelm Confederacy, though the two nations were allies, ever since the Desert War, even Gaius knew that there was a little jealousy over the success of the Blackhelm overseas expansion and the failure of the Toopoxicans similar expansion.

Sighing Gaius grabbed a sheet of paper with the again daunting Corporate Logo, he grabbed a pen and started writing.

Dear... Anon?
IndentisationOf course, anything for the Organisation, I have a request if it is not too much trouble, I would like to be informed of my corrospondent's name, I find it rather sloppy to begin and end every letter addressed to Anon.

He got to his feet, sealed up the letter and walked off to find both a letterbox and anything he could about these public executions.

Farnsworth threw up again. He collapsed over his desk. He was sick, he needed his medicine, and he couldn't reach it. The bloody black vomit dripped over the side of the desk as Farnsworth stared at his door. He wondered what the building was doing on its side. He wondered how people were going to use the bathroom if the building was on its side.

"Sinnerman where you gunna run to?"

The radio had turned to Sinnerman. Farnsworth wanted to laugh but his lungs burned. He rolled onto his back, wondering if he was staring at the ceiling or at the wall.

"So I run to the river,"
"It was bleedin I run to the sea"

It all came back in a flood, his illness was progressing like the doctors said it would. He groped around, and knocked over his trash bin. The shredder on top fell over and shattered into a dozen pieces. Ashes fell out onto the ground. Farnsworth skeleton's were going to stay in his closet.

"So I ran to the devil,
He was waiting,
I ran to the devil he was waiting,"

He tried to climb back onto his desk, he tried to get a grip, but his fingers slipped on the vomit. He fell back over, staring at the ceiling. He closed his eyes and heard some shouting. He wondered what the first glimpse of hell would be like, he didn't do enough. He thought about how appropriate the song that was playing would be when his interns came in to ask a question and found his body.

"Sinnerman you oughta be prayin,
Oughta be prayin sinnerman,
Oughta be prayin all on that day"

He shot back into reality, he tasted chalk in his mouth, his medicine! His secretary was standing over him. Some interns were cleaning up the mess. He felt the warm embrace of the pills working. He closed his eyes again, he needed to rest.

He woke up in his fold out bed in his office when he worked late nights. An intern was asleep at the desk, a pile of letters to constituents. He stared at the ornate clock on his wall, 7:25 in the morning. The sun was beginning to poke through the curtains. He got up, he was in his sleeping clothes. The secretary must have undressed him. Or perhaps it was one of the interns. He pushed those thoughts aside, in those thin clothes, anything could just poke through.

He pushed a button on the wall and the curtains slid open with gratifying clack. The intern shot awake and began mumbling apologies for falling asleep. Farnsworth patted him on the back and told him to go home for the day. He loved how much the young cared, how much energy they had.

He quickly shut the door and changed into his white suit. He had a meeting with Mr. Griffencrest himself, to discuss what to do with the Muslims. As he removed his Walther PPK from its drawer and loaded it he stared at the ashes in his trash bin. Letters to other Muslim sympathy groups, to Muslims in hiding. Most of those who could hide were the blue-eyed white skinned variety. A token Easter and Christmas visit to a church usually kept them from suspicion.

He was hoping he could reach Mr. Griffencrest, and possibly his strange friend. He hired a detective to find out about his friend, but all he could gather was that he ordered a lot of hats, smoked far too many clove cigarettes, walked everywhere, and was perhaps named Johnnie, or Jeremy. But the most important tidbit of information was the fact that he was the Mafia or now the Red Islands liason to the Mafia. Hopefully he could reach at least one of them.

He was outside now. An epipen loaded with his 'medicine' sat in his coat pocket, above his pistol. He got into the car and was set to meet them both for breakfast.

General Julius Blackhorse sat in the old airbase. Rust decorated the metal supports and old MiG jets were sitting peacefully in their hangars. Not to far from the building he sat in were a handful of Confederate soldiers. They were being treated relativly well, not tortured or anything, Julius didn't believe in that.

He stood over a large map on a table in the middle of the airbase's main building. The lights above him glowed a dull orange just enough to illumnate the map and the immediate area around it. He put both hands over his face and breathed in heavily. As he led his hands slide back to his sides, he stared blankly at the people around him.

Several of his "officers", usually no more than villagers with a knack for organizing, were gathered around. Several of them began to express their doubts in winning the war. One man finally stepped forward.
"There is no more reason to fight here, the war is lost"

The old general looked up at him, then began to speak slowly.

"When I was a little boy, my father brought me to Paradise City to see a military parade. He said to me 'Son when you grow up, you must be the saviour of the broken, the beaten and the damned. You must do what I never could. You must make a difference for the Empire. Things have to change.' I remember not fully comprehending exactly what he meant when he said this. Years later, I went to Paradise City, after graduating from Sacrament Academy, and saw the misery and the suffering in the slums, how the rich walked all over the poor. I saw the broken faces of the house slaves as they went to market. It was then that I knew what my father had meant. I was going to make a difference. It is the thought of one day changing all of this that makes all of those bodies in the streets worth it."

Fire began to grow in the old mans eyes as he got more intent on getting the men to contiue their fight.

"Stand up fucking tall, don't let these pigs see your back and never be afraid or doubt me again. We've only got one chance to put this bloodshed to an end. We are going to do something we never tried before...."

Paradise City, Slums

A drunken businessman wandered the streets. The briefcase was badly beaten up and he was loudly singing an old spiritual song. A man with a clove cigarette came up behind him and started yelling at him. He pushed him over into an alley. And they both wandered into a cheap liquor store.

A few minutes later they both came out, looking very pleasent and rosy cheeked. They made several passes at the local riff-raff, attracting the attention of the prostitutes. They were too drunk to be of any use to them, or so it seemed. They fell over in another alley and their liquor in a brown bag went straight into a garbage can. The man with the clove cigarette knocked over the first guy's hat onto his briefcase. The hat with a jaunty pink feather came to rest on top and the two men burst into laughter.

They grabbed another paper bag and took a swig. They looked inside and found their payment 1,500 credits and they stood back up and wandered back into the street proper. No one noticed, same two guys, same brown paper bag. No one would noticed the briefcase sitting behind the garbage can with the hat on it. They walked off singing oranges and lemons at the top of their lungs much to the chagrin of the local riff-raff.

They called a taxi which pulled up very promptly and it pulled away rapidly, it was headed for the seaport where the vehicle would be driven onto a Hempstead registered freighter and it would leave the Blackhelm Confederacy.

The briefcase itself was rigged to fire two I-58s upon opening outward sending 2 5.8mm AP rounds. Inside was a pile of newspapers, some rusty bayonets, and some containers of play-doh. A single note was visible when fully opened:

"Sinnerman where you gunna run to?"

Meanwhile sitting in a garbage can in another alley was what appeared to be a broken webcam but was actually hooked up to what could have been a broken cell phone peeking through a hole in the can at the briefcase.

OOC: When Red Tides fails you, you can always count upon a Leafansi...
Paul/Luke/Smith

IC:
Luke the gravedigger had been waiting out by the old buildings of the slums, he barely noticed two men walk in, it was only when they came walking out loudly proclaiming: "When will you pay me? say the bells of Old Bailey" did he take notice of them.

He then shook his head and smiled peacefully to himself...

Inside, he promptly noticed a briefcase with a hat sitting upon it, exactly as he wanted it.

He sat down, put on the hat, and opened the briefcase, to find everything that he requested, he then closed the briefcase, and walked out, giving the hat to a pair of prostitutes.

He snickered when it caught fire atop one of their heads...
Too much hairspray...

He continue on his way back to his 'home', and sorted out the contents of the two combined briefcases...

He then allocated them as follows:
On person (concealed):
Pistol, silencer, and ammo (inner coat pockets)
2 Knives (In boots)
Cloth (in pockets)
Flak jacket under clothes (has T-shirt over and under it, and a coat over all that)
Nigh vision Goggles.

In hand:
bottle of moonshine in brown paper bag (/w/ a 500 block of C-4 shaped like a turd at bottom, making the bag appear greasy)
Shovel
Briefcase with 1.5 Kg of C-4 inside

Grand Army Plaza was packed full of hundreds, if not thousands, of spectators all eager eager to hear their new Head of Senate be inauguarated. That new Head of Senate was no other than Claudius Griffincrest, the Chief Executive Officer of the Griffincrest Oil Corporation. He won by a landslide with 64% of the votes, the next closest being Gaius Stonemason, with 13%. Bright lights illuminated the mass of people in the plaza as thousands of stars shined in the night sky overhead. People of every class, young and old, rich and poor, all gathered as equals to see the man who promised them the freedom from the Red Menace they all longed for.

As the crowd assembled in the plaza, a man checked into a room in the Coldwell Hotel, just across from the stage that had been set up. He requested a room specifically overlooking the plaza. As he entered the room, he emptied the contents of his single piece of luggage onto his bed. At first glance, it seemed to be no more than pieces of metal, but after a few minutes of assembly, it became obvious what these pieces of metal were. Before long he fitted the scope onto his small caliber rifle, and layed on the bed, waiting for his chance.

Below him, in the plaza, Claudius stepped up onto the stage, smiling and waving to the crowd. He approached the Chancellor, the only man now more powerful than him in the Confederacy, and happily shook his hand and had a few words before releasing the hand and moving towards the podium. Senator Cornelius Pureheart, the most senior and thus most influential senator, was already standing there, waiting to announce his new superior.

"Ladies and Gentlemen, tonight, things will begin to change within the Confederacy!"

As the crowd cheered, the man in the hotel room moved towards his rifle and looked through his scope towards the men on the stage.

"I present to you the newly elected head of the Confederate Senate. I give you... Claudius Griffincrest!"

The crowd erupted into applause as Claudius moved away from the Chancellor and closer to the podium and the Senator. All three men stood oblivious to the fact that one of the men were going to be struck down within minutes. The sniper above them lined up his crosshairs with the heart of his aging victim.

"Thank you! Thank you!" Claudius began as the crowd began to quiet down. "It is an honor to be here today. Today, as the good Senator already told you all, will begin a new era in the Confederacy. An era of -"

BANG!

The firing of the sniper cut him off in midsentenceas it sailed from its barrel, over the heads of the crowd below and finally embedded itself in in the heart of the aging man on the stage. Several men intantly rushed to his aide as he clutched his left breast, blood pouring from the wound that had knocked him off of his feet. Other men rushed to the room where the shot was fired, only to find the rifle and no gunman. A panic swept over the crowd as hundreds of women began screaming in fear.

Five minutes later, at 8:05 PM. Claudius Griffincrest was pronounced dead. Jack Phoenixclaw was given the temporary CEO position as people set about looking for Tiberius Griffincrest, Claudius' son

He moved down the alleyway slowly, a shadow amongst the shadows. He was fully aware of the dangers inherent by being out after curfew, but he had a job to do. If he were caught....he shuddered at the thought of what would be done to him.

Sleth Garang was a SpecOps officer in the service of the government of Ancient Shadows. His cover was as a trainer in stealth procedures to the Kamashans. A backwards people by Shadows standards, he was finding it a challenge teaching them that secrecy and the quick strike was sometimes more desireable than the slash-and-hack methods of the Kamashan military.

His real assignment was to locate and free a leader of the Muslim resistence, now incarcerated in one of the camps of Vik. This Barak al Des was an apparently important personage key to the rebellion in Kamasha. He held info that would cause the Kamashan government to fall, freeing the Islamic captives to form a government friendly to Ancient Shadows.

A noise caused Garang to freeze. A three-man Kamashan patrol paused at the top of the alleyway, flashing a light down the dark alley to see if there was anythig to see. Garang crouched behing a stinking barrel of garbage, his hand resting on the butt of his Glock .9mm. A tense 20 seconds later, the patrol moved on, satisfied that there was nothing dangerous down that alley. Garang slowly let his breath out and was about to continue his way down the alley, when he felt something hard and cold press against the back of his skull. "Don't even think about it, pal," said a female voice behind him. "Get up, hands where I can see 'em, and turn around."

Sleth did as he was told, and as he turned to face his enemy, he felt his shirt being grabbed by two hands and a pair of warm, moist lips pressed onto his with a surprising intensity...........................




Sleth grabbed the woman's arms and pushed away just so he could see who it was. "Dammit, Ophelia! What're you doing here? I told you that this was a one-man show. I don't need a woman following me around!"

Ophelia allowed a small grin before she got pissed. "I'm not just any woman", she said. "I'm your back-up, in case you fuck-up." She was doing her best to act angry, but he could see the mirth in her eyes, even in the darkened alley. "Me? Fuck up? Surely you can come up with a better reason than that." They both laughed, and as he scooped her up in his arms, momentarily forgetting the danger that they were both in, he gave her a hard squeeze and a peck on the cheek. "Is that all I get?", she whispered. "That's all there's time for, Phele. We've gotta get to al Des as quickly as possible. KASSO needs time to check out his story about high levels of Kamashan government officials secretly meeting with a major power to aid them in the invasion and conquest of the Muslim homeland."

"Which major power?", she asked.

"Don't know. But I have it on good account that it can not only wipe out the Muslims, but damn any nation that gets in their way."

She stood with her hands on her shapely hips. "So...what the hell are ya standing there for? Let's go!" She grabbed her pistol out of the shoulder holster and started up the alley towards the street...............

"Now, now, my dears, I really shouldn't be doing this..."
The girls simply laughed.
"Oh come on, Martius, we all know we love it!"
Martius did a fake sigh. He had a hard day at the Embassy, and he was enjoying the company of the ladies, whom he was always a hit with.

He sighed, and stood up, then began speaking in a horrendous imitation of an Groznyjian accent.
"Well, my ladies, is this what you wanted?"
There was laughing and cheering as Martius did a bow. However, a courier ran in.
"Mr. Martius!"
"Why, what is it, old chap? Can it be a serious deal?"
"Claudius has been shot."
The silence was stony-like, as Martius's eyes widened and the ladies gasped.
"Are you sure?"
"Very sure. And they say he's done."
"I must get back to work. Who knows how Blackhelm will react. Scipio! Narkus! Horetus!"
The three bodyguards walked out of a side door, not unlike the manner of gorillas.
"You men are to follow me back. Now."

Paul heard a distant crack of a rifle, he had many things to do yet before going to Griffencrest's speech, which was most likely a trap... He intended to strike much later...

First, he took a seat at a bench near the barbed wire, opened his briefcase, and pulls out the moonshine in a bag, and the corkscrew, he opened the bottle, and set the cork in the bag, and set the time delay.

He then closed the case, and slid it underneath the bench, as he took a deep swig of moonshine.

He nearly choked on the potency of the stuff...

Being satisfied with the equipment he purchased, he got up, and ambled away, swaying back and forth, and doing his best to ignore any attempts by the bystanders to return the briefcase...

He drowned them out by continuing his song in the form of a drunken rant...
"When I am RICH! cried the bells of Shoreditch! When will THAT be? asked the bells of Stephney. I do not know! replied the bells of Bow!"

He then came to his 'home' removed the bootle of moonshine from the bag, and stuffed a rag down it, he then turned the bottle upside down, and lit the 'fuse' and threw the bottle at the house.

He then moved on to another nearby home, which he knew was occupied by what he believed to be secret police, and set the c-4 laced bag on the front porch and lit it on fire, attempts to stamp out the fire would be met by an explosion. He then rung the doorbell and walked off.

As any prankster would, he tried to look indifferent as he took cover. This was done by acting as if he intended to save his 'home' by using his shovel, he then ran into the building, prosumably to save valuables, while he was really stoking the fire to make sure all evidence of his treachery had dissapeared.

"Here comes the candle to light you to bed..."

He escaped from the building via an unobserved backway, he then spread some dirt, and dust upon himself to cover the smell of smoke, and then casually walked away, with any luck, in 45 minutes, 'Luke' would be proclaimed to have died in an attempt to suppress a burning building with his shovel... In 15 minutes, an explosion would occur near the barricades, causing panic and dissarray, while the builduing fire and explosion would well up discontent for the Blackhelm government within the slums...

A general riot wasn't far away...

Now for one final act...
"Here comes the chopper to chop off your head..."

He had his shovel at ready... he was prepared to fight his way out of the slums if he had to, but he had other plans...

He was already at the gate, 5 minutes until the briefcase was supposed to blow up, it did, some fool had to take a look inside...

He quickly showed his work permit and ID card identifying himself as Luke- the gravedigger, reporting back for work in the city after a sick day, he explained that he was trying some local remedies since real medicine was hard to come by in the slums...

Already, a smoke plume was growing on the horizon...

OOC:
All this great goodiness on one page!

A soldier looked at Luke's card, and then handed it back to him. "Sorry buddy. Noone is gettin' in or out. Ya know how easy it is for them there assasins to hide out in the slums."

"What are there, eight million fuckers in there" a corporal a little further past the barrier said as he lit his cigarette.

The guard ignored the question and continued. "Yea, so it looks like your gunna have to sit tight. We should be opening up some time tomorrow."

Behind the men, the machine gunner of a T-308 Light Tank dozed of, arms folded across his chest and his helmet tilted alittle bit over his eyes. On his side of the line, everything was quiet and peaceful. On the other, however, it was not so. The local fire patrol was desperatly trying to douse to fires with their buckets of water filled up from nearby fountains or wells. Confederate Imperial Guard death squads assisted by GISF forces combed the slum, searching in vain for the phantom shooter.

Somewhere in the Confederacy, an old man was smiling, for he, and only he, knew what the next turn of events in the Confederacy would be.

Paul scratched his head in a hililly manner, had they already caught on? Or where they just being overly cautious?

"What do you mean 'assasins'? You mean the guys wandering the slums shooting people and making more 'cleints' for me to bury? And there are only 7 million left alive in the slums, I buried the 1 million myself." (the 7 million is more of a guess)

He noticed the hole in the barricades, about 4 blocks away...

"Um, aren't you supposed to be keeping them inside the slums?"

He points at the hole in the barbed wire, a few scruffy looking muslims could be seen wanding about the fenceline, some attempting to seek medical aid from the blast...

"Anyhow, I'm supposed to be arranging a business deal for Griffencrest, a small side job, by burying his competition before they bury him... In a manner of sorts..."

"Muslim! Subsisto!" one of the guards yelled. The man in the T-308 immediatly shot awake and began opening up with his machine gun in an overwhelming show of hatred for these people considered inferior.

The muslims all quickly scattered as two of their number were felled by the machine gun. The guard checking Luke's card gave chase while the corporal behind him along with the machine gunner in the tank continued to fire.

"Adepto lemma! Iuguolo lemma! Improbus!" an officer began shouting as he struggled with his right hand to get his boots on as he walked quickly, firing off his handgun in his left. "Velox vos duos! Secundum lemma!"

Obediently, the corporal and the other MP at the check point hustled behind the original guard, machine gun fire from the tank still blazing, although now it just seemed to be wasting ammo.

The officer than turned toward Luke or Paul or whatever his name was, and angrily ordered "Vos! Adveho in constituo."

Johnnie walked out of the hospital, his hat down, his briefcase open and spilling old newspapers, several cans of beer, and a degraded old shoe out. The Janitor grunted as the man ruined his formerly clean floor. A clove cigarette was soon shoved into his mouth and lit in a flash.

Johnnie continued stumbling his way down the street. He was crying on the inside, a good friend had died. He opened a manhole and jumped into the sewer.

Soon he ended up behind Paul and the soldiers. The soldier's expression changed into that of confusion as he blinked and suddenly a man was there shoving a clove cigarette in his mouth and lighting it.

Almost as quickly with two snaps of the lighter, another lit cigarette was in Paul's mouth. He asked, "Who wants to go drinking with me? I know a place..."

Office of Senator Farnsworth III

He lifted his head up from the toilet, the vomit filling the bowl as he flushed. He took out a handkerchief and wiped his mouth clean careful not to damage his suit. The death of Claudius Griffencrest as such a crucial time in his attempt to help the Muslims was devastating. It didn't help that his doctor told him what he never wanted to hear. He was developing resistance to the drugs he was prescribed. They would need to up his dosage up to 200 mg per day and perhaps the side effects would be even worse than it was now.

His intern moved in and out of his office. He stared at them as he returned to work. Youthful energy, full of vigor, and he would know. Another paper fell into his new incinerator and a quick buzz and the smell of ash later his innermost secrets disappeared into a black powder that lined his trash bin.

It was getting late. He called his intern Elliot over, and pushed a button lowering his pull down bed. It was going to be a long night.

OOC:
Editus!
Saved by the crazy man with cigarretts!
Sorry about the post it caught me off gaurd...

IC:
"Sure... I have my own cigaretts though..."
He pulls out a box of clove cigarrets. It was apparent that this person was having a bad day, and he smelled somewhat dirty, but still, it would get him clear of the checkpoint...

Lancaster had already had a long journey. He had been working his way from the slums to an air base that was reportedly controled by the confederacy. Lancaster had spent many of years working for Griffincrest, and fought many battles to see the Griffincrest corporations views and wealth increased. And to continue this mission he sought out confederate assets. Gun fire and the smell of death was always strong. Bands of would travel around and killed the people which lived here. Lancaster was not alone in this endeavor. Him and a small group of spec ops lead the assualt that would disable the air power of the confederate over the slums and surounding area.


" This is Lancaster, I m hearin gun fire. Whats going on?" whispered Lancaster into his throat mic.

" Lancaster, Dont worry about the gun fire its no where near you." said the small team

" Well, just make sure you warn me if they get close" replied Lancaster

" Will do." said the team as they closed the line

Lancaster rounded a corner and came up on a group muslim bandits who where planning to attack the assassins. Lancaster slowly and carefully rasied his WTI XBR-1 rifle and slowly approached the band of men.

" Hello... My names Lancaster, And I think you my be of some use for you"

The group of muslims looked over Lancaster, and decided to listen to him.....

"Sure... I have my own cigarettes though..."

He pulls out a box of clove cigarettes. It was apparent that this person was having a bad day, and he smelled somewhat dirty, but still, it would get him clear of the checkpoint...

OOC: Smell? He's a mess, well I suppose he smells like a smokehouse.

IC:

He stuck his arm up and a very old black car pulled up. It was manufactured in Nova Europe and was surprisingly comfortable. It was covered in enough leather to suppose an entire herd met their demise for this vehicle. Johnnie ushered Paul in.

"You prefer those locally made crap. These are Indonesian ones, best Kreteks you can get. Expensive though."

He opened his lighter, its gold reflecting off of the internal light and the hammer and sickle visible on the rear and front windows. The car kept driving, soon leaving the slums and going to the high class district.

They soon arrived at a good looking yet quiet bar. 'Dispensary' was the name of the bar and a bouncer stood outside the doors.

Johnnie got out and said, "This is a high class place, so you don't look too dirty, so I can get you in. We are having a drink with a really high class guy. A Senator named Cornelius Pureheart."

He walked up to the bouncer and gestured to Paul to come in.

His 'savior' seemed to be a well to do diplomat in the good graces of the Blackhelm government, it all seemed wrong -and most likely was- but there really wasn't much alternative he had; besides, maybe he knew of what the gaurds were yapping about.

"Thanks for the cig, I don't smoke much, as it can lead to some rather deadly situations. But then again, with all that seems to be going on around here for the past 8 years... Ever hear of 'the 5 points' mafia?"

He followed his new friend into the bar.

OOC: hehe, SCRUBS...

Imperial Embassy:
Martius was worried. Very worried. He had just finished a long talk with Tenarius, who was furious, if you describe it lightly. Having his little 'project' with Muslims nearly completeled in his own Empire, Tenarius had become interested in helping Blackhelm continue in a mass extermination of Muslim filth. The death of the leader of Blackhelm would put his plans on hold, and although he hated to admit it, Tenarius was growing old. He was only 58, but long years of hard work had left him exhausted- he was now smoking constantly to relieve him from stress, which did nothing good for his lungs.

Whatever. He knew he should be working, even though it was late, but the fact was, however, after that long talk, Martius was in no mood to continue working. Perhaps a night out at a club might help. Yes, perhaps the one, called, what was it? Ah yes, the Dispensary. Might as well head there.

Martius shaved and got dressed. He might as well have some fun now- tomorrow was going to be hell.

His 'savior' seemed to be a well to do diplomat in the good graces of the Blackhelm government, it all seemed wrong -and most likely was- but there really wasn't much alternative he had; besides, maybe he knew of what the gaurds were yapping about.

"Thanks for the cig, I don't smoke much, as it can lead to some rather deadly situations. But then again, with all that seems to be going on around here for the past 8 years... Ever hear of 'the 5 points' mafia?"

He followed his new friend into the bar.

OOC: hehe, SCRUBS...

"I'm the 'ambassador' for the Republic of the Red Islands. Mostly I do import, export and handle tariffs and the such. Griffy is our best customer, though I haven't heard much about his son. Nice kid, could use a haircut and a nice girl on his shoulder."

They sat down at a private booth in a quiet corner. The bar was very well ventilated and despite the large amount of smokers, the air smelled fresh, no doubt the work of the nearly metric ton of various air fresheners and air sanitizers.

An attractive asian waitress came over with a bottle of scotch and 3 cups with nice. A bowl of mixed nuts soon found its way over. A fresh ash tray also appeared as they talked.

After smoking the poor cigarette down to its very tip, Johnnie spit out a bit of ash. He lit another, leaned back and waited for his friend Senator Pureheart to arrive.

The 'ambassador' seemed to be either ignoring or avoiding his question -which involved a non-existant mafia that he just made up in the time it took for him to sit down- and he was revealing 'personal information' about himself, as if this man was trying to get him to probe deeper. He wouldn't be fooled.

He'd actively avoid whatever topics he brought up and note which ones he'd repeat, chances are, he just stumbled upon one of Griffencrest's fabled special forces on a training mission... this could get fun...*

"So, you're a trading partner with ol' Gee-crest oil corporation, eh? I assume this bar was a gift from him for your various 'favors' you gave him, discount oil and hardware I'd assume. So ambassador, what is a guy like you, doing with an average joe like me, in this custom built bar?"

*Oddly, I gave TWSP's SFs the same kind of mission... So I guess it's time I practice what I preach... And Wanderjar was snickering while he tried to think of what a 'practical application' of such 'training' in an RP format would be...
--
Also, you reffered to C. Griffy in present tense.

OOC: :headbang: it's been about five weeks since you chechked in the OOC thread and i've been waiting. if it was sonmething i typed i'm sorry but just say yes or no, if i'm in or not

OOC: Sorry for the absence, I got appendicitis and had to go to the hospital and all. And Zonon, you are in, I thought I said that

IC:

The Senator soon walked into the bar still dressed in the toga required when one enters the Senate. It was rather obvious from that piece of attire who he was. Around him were a handul of men in suits and sunglasses, all wearing earpieces. The Senator walked up to the bar, not realizing that his friend was sitting in the back.

"I'll have a red wine please. Oh yes, and a couple of stuffed dormice to please" the old man said, rather happy to finally be out of the Senate and in a bar without any press swarmed around him. He then leaned back to one of his guards and whispered "Te spectis lemma?"

The guard shook his head, and the Senator turned back to his plate of food and his glass of wine.

"My friend you think too highly of me! I just import timber from the fine Republic, mostly they are used for temporary housing and cabinetry for the Corp. Its a damn boring job and the interns around Griffencrest Corporation won't stop making wood jokes. It is torture."

Johnnie, downed another scotch and signaled for another one when the Senator walked in. Johnnie quickly put out his cigarette and shook the ash off his trenchcoat. He turned toward his new friend:

"Jesus it is him! I didn't expect him to show up in full regalia. Now I feel underdressed."

Johnnie stood up and called for the waitress. She walked up and he nodded and she nodded too. Johnnie extended his arm and they walked into a bathroom. Before the door stopped swinging Johnnie was already walking back out. His trenchcoat, fedora and his boots were gone. It was now replaced with a fine Saharistani Cotton Suit, new leather shoes, and he walked back toward his table.

The waitress also stepped out, hurriedly redressing herself, her hair ruined, one of Johnnie's cloves in her mouth as she hung the coat on a nearby coat rack. Suddenly the hat caught fire and Johnnie ran back. He grabbed it off the coat rack before it could set fire to the other coats, lit the waitresses cigarette and stomped the fire dead. He wiped his shoe clean of ash and quickly walked back to his table.

"Stay here man, I don't want to show up with you, you are kinda underdressed. The drinks are all on me, so stay there and have fun. All these suits might just make you disappear if you get too close."

Johnnie turned to walk toward the bar. He paused and turned back.

"Thanks for being there, I was having a damn terrible day, thanks for listening."

He did an odd clicking noise with his tongue and walked up to the bar. He ordered a scotch on the rocks, turned toward the Senator:

"Senator Pureheart..."

Best OOC guess:
Te specto? lemma? = You expecting them?
I'd also guess that is good 'ol Griffy back from his stunted shooting...**

*Spectis had no direct translation
**Which realy has no effect on my char, since he never knew Griffy 'died' yet...

I might be mistaken.

IC:
Paul's host was boring him on details of 'the good old days' and trying to keep track of what was being said. As he would sometimes "choke up" on certain topics, if he planned on getting any decent info from this 'spy' without blowing his own cover, and so, the imaginary and unoticed fencing match of words, phrases and ideas went on until he noticed a particular person, with armed gaurds, walk into the bar, and sit on the other end.

He was pretty sure he knew who he was looking at, having memorized the man's face, and even the faces and names of his most trusted bodygaurds, plus some of their less savory past. If it was Griffencrest [and his gaurds], pulling out his guns and letting loose would be the last thing he'd want to do...

"Isn't that old Griff sitting over there?" Paul pointed.

"Licentio" the Senator said to his guards, who proceeded to fade away into the smokey corners of the room.

"So Johnny. You were close to Claudius. Do you have any ideas who could have done this? All leads point to the CWP, but it is possible that this was an outside job, what is your suggestion here?"

After a brief pause, he slid over the plate towards the Leafanistani.

"Dormice?"

"Licentio" the Senator said to his guards, who proceeded to fade away into the smokey corners of the room.

"So Johnny. You were close to Claudius. Do you have any ideas who could have done this? All leads point to the CWP, but it is possible that this was an outside job, what is your suggestion here?"

After a brief pause, he slid over the plate towards the Leafanistani.

"Dormice?"

"Muslim separatists, sympathetics, Griffencrest 'Victims', though my higher ups all say it was Hurtful Thoughts. It is obvious why, they claim assassination of a 'democratically' elected leader and undermines them. Hell, half their merchandise are wrapped in GASN paraphernalia and stamped with 'Made in the Hurtful Thoughts'. Personally, I have my money on some lone fuckup, probably a communist infiltrator or influenced kid, when his support left he was alone, crazy maybe."

He watched as the Senator paused to take it all in. The plate was slid over and Johnnie looked down.

"I don't eat on Tuesdays when there was a full moon 5 days ago, especially after I've smoked 6 and 1/4s cloves."

Johnnie leans over the bar and asks for a scotch on the rocks.

"Though Senator, I am suspect to believe there are elements in the government no longer tolerant of the Griffencrest Corporation. I feel the"y are sponsoring 'terrorists' or the Muslims being imprisoned."

Johnnie leans in close to get his drink, at the same time he brings himself close to the Senator's ear. He whispers rapidly.

"I've got a clove smoking guy who was snooping around some tanks earlier."

He leans back into his seat.

"Don't look now, he is in my usual booth. Don't talk like someone from here, don't speak a word of the native tongue, and he dresses like a moron."

He takes down the entire cup and leans forward to pour himself a new finger of scotch when the bartender was distracted. He leans back toward the Senator's ears.

"I'm trying to get him to talk, but he is staying in character. He smells of cordite, I suspect him. Get him if they get close."

He leaned back and took another gulp. He does another lean in but the bartender slaps his hand. As he recoils in pain he whispers again.

"When he leaves, grab him as being suspicious. He is too nice to be in this bar."

Paul tried to read lips, and managed to catch enough, an assasination had occured, Griffencrest was meantioned, along with PROHT... Not a good sign, he then recalled the sound of a lonely high powered rifle as he was setting the briefcase bomb, this must've been the assasin, the meantion of PROHT involvment didn't add up, since he knew 3 of his comrads had been buried over the past 5 years, and one was unaccounted for, still, but he didn't have a high powered rifle, and he knew better than to fire an unsupresed rifle, especially at a public event...

It had the smell of a frame up...

He decided to act.

He Stood up, and calmly walked up to the group, hands in plain sight, shovel still back at the chair.

"So what those '5 pointers' said was true... Griffencrest really is dead?"

He bends down to retie his shoes and adds:
"And why you talking all hushed like when talking about nabbing me the second I leave this bar?"
(intentionally low brow and slurred)

Paul tried to read lips, and managed to catch enough, an assasination had occured, Griffencrest was meantioned, along with PROHT... Not a good sign, he then recalled the sound of a lonely high powered rifle as he was setting the briefcase bomb, this must've been the assasin, the meantion of PROHT involvment didn't add up, since he knew 3 of his comrads had been buried over the past 5 years, and one was unaccounted for, still, but he didn't have a high powered rifle, and he knew better than to fire an unsupresed rifle, especially at a public event...

It had the smell of a frame up...

He decided to act.

He Stood up, and calmly walked up to the group, hands in plain sight, shovel still back at the chair.

"So what those '5 pointers' said was true... Griffencrest really is dead?"

Johnnie turned around in horror, his scotch clattering to the floor. The bodyguards were getting closer, a speedwalk describes it best.

"What have you done?!"

"....how...how did you know what we said. Have you bugged this place. ARE YOU A SPY?!"

As the Senators voice got louder, the guards began to come closer and form a tighter circle around the PROHT man.

"....how...how did you know what we said. Have you bugged this place. ARE YOU A SPY?!"

As the Senators voice got louder, the guards began to come closer and form a tighter circle around the PROHT man.

"Nope, wandering gravedigger, finished my quota about 2 days ago... As for your questions, no, I don't know much, just that in a few minutes if they get their way, I'd be dead, and you wouldn't want that to happen. As I'm sure you have some questions for me before you'll let me go, and I might as well clear things up here and now. So are we going to discuss this here, or in the morgue?"

He took note that Griffencrest for all appearances, was already dead, and that the body gaurds, though high strung to provide utmost security to their precious officials, most likely wouldn't do anything more unless provoked further.

"As for you two, I've got a few questions of my own. Where was Griffencrest shot? Head, chest, or groin? And did you capture the shooter?"

"Does this conversation involve you young man?" the Senator said. "And he was hit in the heart."

Johnnie had did his odd juggling of hands and had lit another cigarette and it seems to have been smoked nearly half down by the time he had a way to insert himself into the increasingly dangerous conversation.

He downed another drink and stood back up, his greased back hair shining on a lamp in the otherwise dim bar.

He excused himself and took the wandering gravedigger backwards a bit.

"Jackie-Boy, where did you come from, Libertania, you can't just walk up to a government official and start asking questions."

He turned back to the Senator and issued an oddly fluent apology in Exponential.

"Get out of here before he asks more questions."

He turned back, "You know these kids, a few drinks and they are just off the handle, completely insubordinate."

He chuckled a bit, the serious looks of the guard circle, silenced him.

"Does this conversation involve you young man?" the Senator said. "And he was hit in the heart."

"Hmmm.... That shouldn't have been able to kill him... It's either the shooter was really dumb and extremely lucky, or knew more than the average hitman would have... Griffencrest was rumured to wear type IV body armor, especially after that incedent in Leafanistan with those explosive tipped bullets..."

He just smiled and slipped past the gaurds back to 'his' table, and took a drink from a mug that he found sitting there.

He knew better than to answer the ambassador's question, not yet at least, in the meantime, he was thinking of a plausable response to give to the questions he expected them to soon ask him...

"Addo hic vir ut gero." the Senator said to one of his guards, who proceeded to walk passed Paul towards the rear of the bar.

"So tell me son, where are you from?" the old man asked. Before Paul would be able to answer, however, the guard was on him, covering his mouth with a chloroform covered towel. As Paul began to collapse into the arms of the guard behind him, the bouncer, thinking that the man was passed out drunk, began walking over.

"Merces haud mens" the Senator said as the bouncer walked over. The fire in the old mans eyes along with the stares from all of the guards had stopped the large bouncer. "Meus amicus est madidus , nos vadum addo domus." The bouncer, whether not having any reason to not believe them or for fear of what would happen if he tried to stop them, moved to the side.

As soon as they got outside, the guards tossed Paul into the trunk of a waiting BMW, and tossed in his shovel on top of him. The Senator then opened up the passenger door and held it open, grinning. "Johnnie, lets take a drive."

Paul awaoke considerably later, in the trunk of... some car... he remebered little, except trying to make his way past the gaurds and being stopped...

Dang...

He checked to see if he was missing anything, but it all looked in order, they even were so kind as to throw the shovel ontop of him, the neat recessed blade along the left side of the spade mere inches from his face...

Well, at least he had time to think, so, he kept his eyes closed, tryed not to move around much, and thought of how he was going to get out of this mess...

As if the soldiers at the checkpoints weren't bad enough...

At least the trunk was comfy... He wondered if it was bulletproof...

"Addo hic vir ut gero." the Senator said to one of his guards, who proceeded to walk passed Paul towards the rear of the bar.

"So tell me son, where are you from?" the old man asked. Before Paul would be able to answer, however, the guard was on him, covering his mouth with a chloroform covered towel. As Paul began to collapse into the arms of the guard behind him, the bouncer, thinking that the man was passed out drunk, began walking over.

"Merces haud mens" the Senator said as the bouncer walked over. The fire in the old mans eyes along with the stares from all of the guards had stopped the large bouncer. "Meus amicus est madidus , nos vadum addo domus." The bouncer, whether not having any reason to not believe them or for fear of what would happen if he tried to stop them, moved to the side.

As soon as they got outside, the guards tossed Paul into the trunk of a waiting BMW, and tossed in his shovel on top of him. The Senator then opened up the passenger door and held it open, grinning. "Johnnie, lets take a drive."

Johnnie dropped another cigarette butt and had now collected an impressive series of shotglasses on the bar. He gladly obliged to get into the car, except he bent very stiffly to get inside.

He marveled at the opulence of the vehicle, the thick glass, the strong seats. He also heard sound of the motor starting, the doors closing, and the shifting of the 'cargo' in the truck. His hand ventured into his coat to presumably remove another pack of cigarettes, instead gripped his KF15C Fulcrum Carbine, flipped it to burst fire, and turned it in its holster toward his back.

He turned to the Senator and very grimly said,

"What now?"

As the car began to drive, a dark piece of glass rose up, seperating the Senator and Johnnie from the driver and the other guard in the front.

"Johnnie, do you know of the knights of Ares?"

Without waiting for a response, he continued.

"They are an ancient order. They go all the way back to ancient Greece. When the first ships crashed here to form Exponent, a number of the members were Knights. The order was heralded as heroes during the Exponential crusades, especially Hericus Redfeather and a few others. They have been the leaders, generals, thinkers, and all of the great men our nation has ever had. It has been decided that you, John, will be one of the few people outside of Exponent to become a Knight. We should be arriving shortly."

As the car began to drive, a dark piece of glass rose up, seperating the Senator and Johnnie from the driver and the other guard in the front.

"Johnnie, do you know of the knights of Ares?"

Without waiting for a response, he continued.

"They are an ancient order. They go all the way back to ancient Greece. When the first ships crashed here to form Exponent, a number of the members were Knights. The order was heralded as heroes during the Exponential crusades, especially Hericus Redfeather and a few others. They have been the leaders, generals, thinkers, and all of the great men our nation has ever had. It has been decided that you, John, will be one of the few people outside of Exponent to become a Knight. We should be arriving shortly."

Johnnie's cigarette drops from his mouth, but his hand reflexively caught the falling embers. However, his grip manages to crush the thing completely.

The only sound is the muffled noise of motors in the motorcade running. Johnnie finally responds after coughing a bit.

"You are kidding me...my superiors, they'll have to change their underpants."

His lightening fast hands went back to work, removing his lighter and lighting a cigarette. He took a long, deep suck, the ash falling on his pants.

He finally spoke:

"Except for the old guy on the board, he wears those adult diapers..."

He went back to smoking.

The Senator chuckled a bit at the diaper comment.

"Your superiors will never know. You must not tell anyone. You will recieve a ring similar to this one" he said holding up his hand to show a silver ring with a blood red ruby in the center. "You will say that you found it in the temple of Mars in Paradise City."

As he spoke, the car began to leave the city and drive along the coast line, turquoise ocean on one side and lush green jungle on the other.

"The house is quite beautiful. You will see it soon enough."

"I know. We have ways to deal with people who ask to many questions and know to much about our members."

As they spoke, the jungle to the ide of the road cleared, revealing a massive Roman villa on top of a beautiful green hill overlooking the crystal clear water. Outside were several other expensive cars, along with a handful of men. The car soon turned off the road and passed through the marble gates, driving under several statues and fountains before finally pulling up to the huge oak front doors.

"Any last questions?"

The Senator chuckled a bit at the diaper comment.

"Your superiors will never know. You must not tell anyone. You will recieve a ring similar to this one" he said holding up his hand to show a silver ring with a blood red ruby in the center. "You will say that you found it in the temple of Mars in Paradise City."

As he spoke, the car began to leave the city and drive along the coast line, turquoise ocean on one side and lush green jungle on the other.

"The house is quite beautiful. You will see it soon enough."

Johnnie smoked pretty heavily, but today was taxing even his iron lungs. Another cigarette disappeared into ash and smoke. He admired the Senator's vehicle, its ventilation system quickly removing the fragrant smoke. A long sigh was emitted.

"My superiors already don't know about many of the skeleton's in my closet. At least this one has a fancy ring."

Johnnie stared out the window, it was a wonderful view, a perfect place for such a thing. Suddenly he remembered something.

"Senator, our friend, in the trunk, how long does that stuff last? What do we do about him?"

He lit another cigarette, albeit this one was done in the slower, traditional manner.

"He knows too much..."

"I know. We have ways to deal with people who ask to many questions and know to much about our members."

As they spoke, the jungle to the ide of the road cleared, revealing a massive Roman villa on top of a beautiful green hill overlooking the crystal clear water. Outside were several other expensive cars, along with a handful of men. The car soon turned off the road and passed through the marble gates, driving under several statues and fountains before finally pulling up to the huge oak front doors.

"Any last questions?"

Johnnie took a deep puff. He contemplated the sight for a second. He finally spoke.

"Yeah, one question."

Another puff of the cigarette and it was finished; it was quickly confined to the dirt below his feet.

"Where do I get a place like this?"

OOC: I must resist ending thread with a single mag of suppressed 9 mm bullets and a hail of gunfire...

IC:
It slowly sunk in why he still had everything with him, he wasn't being brought in for questioning, rather, he was going to be driven into the middle of nowhere and shot...

Double dang...

He didn't hear much, except an interjection about a board member wearing diapers... Too much information...

The car slowed... and he waited...

The Senator chucled again and got out of the car. A man in a suit opened up Johnnie's door, and another man threw open the doors to the house. Inside, it was as if the men had stepped back in time. Slaves washed the floors of the entirely marble structure as the men walked along a red carpet to a massive dining room. Several dozen men, none of whom Johnnie was likely to recognize, unless he knew General Marcus Blueshield and Admiral Marcus Greyhammer, commanders of the Confederate army and navy respectively. Several other men began entering the room as well. From a back room came the Griffincrest Admirals Lucius Ironclaw and Valentius Redhammer. Each man took there seat around the table as a massive feast was layed out.

"I hope that you are prepared"

The Senator chucled again and got out of the car. A man in a suit opened up Johnnie's door, and another man threw open the doors to the house. Inside, it was as if the men had stepped back in time. Slaves washed the floors of the entirely marble structure as the men walked along a red carpet to a massive dining room. Several dozen men, none of whom Johnnie was likely to recognize, unless he knew General Marcus Blueshield and Admiral Marcus Greyhammer, commanders of the Confederate army and navy respectively. Several other men began entering the room as well. From a back room came the Griffincrest Admirals Lucius Ironclaw and Valentius Redhammer. Each man took there seat around the table as a massive feast was layed out.

"I hope that you are prepared"

Johnnie did the long contemplative sigh and turned back toward the men.

"Were you?"

"We didn't do what you are going to. I already knew it anyway." Lucius Ironclaw said.

"Your so fulla shit Lu" Valentius Redhammer responded. After that chatter began to break out amongst the guests. It had seemed like half of the Senate, as well as almost all of the military leaders of the Confederacy and Griffincrest were involved here, as well as a few dirty looking fellows who Johnnie would not have known.

"Well, its time to see Rex" Senator Pureheart said. "By the way, my name is Cornelius, but you can call me Charlie." With that, he walked down a long black marble hallway and motioned for Johnnie to follow.

"We didn't do what you are going to. I already knew it anyway." Lucius Ironclaw said.

"Your so fulla shit Lu" Valentius Redhammer responded. After that chatter began to break out amongst the guests. It had seemed like half of the Senate, as well as almost all of the military leaders of the Confederacy and Griffincrest were involved here, as well as a few dirty looking fellows who Johnnie would not have known.

"Well, its time to see Rex" Senator Pureheart said. "By the way, my name is Cornelius, but you can call me Charlie." With that, he walked down a long black marble hallway and motioned for Johnnie to follow.

Johnnie stared at the shiny walls, the paintings, the people, his eyes scanned everyone, taking them in, blinking rather rapidly as the lighting conditions changed.

Johnnie turned toward Charlie, "I was afraid this was going to be a classy joint, but Redhammer's comment defused that idea bomb."

Johnnie took another drag of the cigarette and seemed to be in deep thought when an errant idea threw him out of it. Johnnie stopped in the middle of the hallway and stared at the Senator.

"Do I have to give you guys my real name?"

"The Griffincrest boys are not the most eloquent of folks. And yes your name would help us, even though he already knows" Charlie said as they came to a huge jade double door, etched in with dozens of carvings of gods and heroes.

Before Johnnie would be able to ask who he was, Charlie threw the doors open, to reveal a room made almost entirely of gold. Down the center of the room was a nearly glowing red carpet, and at the end, above the ground by some four green marble steps was a solid gold thrown adorned with diamonds and jewels of all sorts. The room was like something in a dream, and the man sitting atop the thrown even more so. An ancient looking man wearing a blood red toga with an orange cape rose from the thrown, his long, slicked back white hair reflecting off the light from the torches that hung over head.

Immediatly, Charlie dropped to a knee and looked at the ground. "Johnnie, I present you Rex Mundi, leader of the Knights of Ares."

Rex continued towards the men, almost seeming to float alittle bit off of the surface of the ground rather than walk as he approached. "Johnnie, you have been chosen to be the only outsider to ever learn the secrets that are held deep within the heart of the Confederacy"

"The Griffincrest boys are not the most eloquent of folks. And yes your name would help us, even though he already knows" Charlie said as they came to a huge jade double door, etched in with dozens of carvings of gods and heroes.

Before Johnnie would be able to ask who he was, Charlie threw the doors open, to reveal a room made almost entirely of gold. Down the center of the room was a nearly glowing red carpet, and at the end, above the ground by some four green marble steps was a solid gold thrown adorned with diamonds and jewels of all sorts. The room was like something in a dream, and the man sitting atop the thrown even more so. An ancient looking man wearing a blood red toga with an orange cape rose from the thrown, his long, slicked back white hair reflecting off the light from the torches that hung over head.

Immediatly, Charlie dropped to a knee and looked at the ground. "Johnnie, I present you Rex Mundi, leader of the Knights of Ares."

Rex continued towards the men, almost seeming to float alittle bit off of the surface of the ground rather than walk as he approached. "Johnnie, you have been chosen to be the only outsider to ever learn the secrets that are held deep within the heart of the Confederacy"

Johnnie removed his hat and repeated Charlie's gesture. His hat began to smoulder but he quickly blew it out.

Johnnie with his head still facing the ground said with a voice that quivered with a mix of fear, and reverence...

"I am unimaginably honored. Thank you."

"A man once said that all the world's a stage, and all the men and women merely players. This can be no more true than in the Confederacy. Everything that you see happening in the Confederacy is all a giant play, and I am the writer. The civil war is just a ruse, made to bring foreign nations to crush themselves on our shores."

As he said this, an older man with a gray crew cut and brown military dress uniform stepped out from behind a curtain.

"Real men are dying everyday in the civil war, but it is for the good of the nation. The Griffincrest Corporation brings war after war to the Confederacy, yet people seem to think that the old Chancellor sees nothing wrong here. This, again, is wrong. The Chancellor knows quite well what is going on in his nation"

The Chancellor stepped out from a curtain on the other side of the room wearing a navy blue suit and red tie.

"And finally, the striking arm of my plan. The head of the Griffincrest corporation is not dead. He is merely resting, waiting for his time to come out again."

From behind the group, Claudius Griffincrest came from behind another curtain.

"Gentlemen, take a bow. General Julius Blackhorse, Commander of the Communist Workers Party."

The first man who appeared bowed gracefully, like an actor at the end of a play.

"Chancellor Lucius Blackhelm, Chancellor of the Blackhelm Confederacy"

The Chancellor smiled, and then bowed waved towards Johnnie and Charlie.

"And finally, CEO Claudius Griffincrest, Chief Executive Officer of the Griffincrest Oil Corporation."

Claudius then approached Johnnie and reached out his hand.

"A man once said that all the world's a stage, and all the men and women merely players. This can be no more true than in the Confederacy. Everything that you see happening in the Confederacy is all a giant play, and I am the writer. The civil war is just a ruse, made to bring foreign nations to crush themselves on our shores."

As he said this, an older man with a gray crew cut and brown military dress uniform stepped out from behind a curtain.

"Real men are dying everyday in the civil war, but it is for the good of the nation. The Griffincrest Corporation brings war after war to the Confederacy, yet people seem to think that the old Chancellor sees nothing wrong here. This, again, is wrong. The Chancellor knows quite well what is going on in his nation"

The Chancellor stepped out from a curtain on the other side of the room wearing a navy blue suit and red tie.

"And finally, the striking arm of my plan. The head of the Griffincrest corporation is not dead. He is merely resting, waiting for his time to come out again."

From behind the group, Claudius Griffincrest came from behind another curtain.

"Gentlemen, take a bow. General Julius Blackhorse, Commander of the Communist Workers Party."

The first man who appeared bowed gracefully, like an actor at the end of a play.

"Chancellor Lucius Blackhelm, Chancellor of the Blackhelm Confederacy"

The Chancellor smiled, and then bowed waved towards Johnnie and Charlie.

"And finally, CEO Claudius Griffincrest, Chief Executive Officer of the Griffincrest Oil Corporation."

Claudius then approached Johnnie and reached out his hand.

Johnnie stuck out both hands and gripped Claudius's hand firmly. He then hugged him and said,

"Dammit, you scared the fuck out of me. And I picked up a spy when I went drinking."

Johnnie took in the scene, let is crunch for a bit about the massive conspiracy that was truly controlling the country. Then he lit yet another cigarette in his usual fashion and talked again.

"Deja vu."

Charlie then rose, and the five men now stood around him. A servant approached them with a blood red pillow. On it sat a small box. Rex picked up the box and then handed it over to Johnnie. "You must never tell anyone of what you have seen and heard here today."

Claudius smiled at Johnnie and patted him on the shoulder. "Ya know friend, we are gunna be makin' alot more orders nowadays, after that asssasination attempt we are gunna be breaking isolationism." He then stopped and looked over at the Senator. "How are we gunna break it to the public?"

Charlie then looked over to the Communist general. "I believe that he and the Chancellor have worked something out."

--------------------------------------------------------------------------

All over the Confederate news that night, it was released that the Communists had not killed Claudius Griffincrest, only a body double. A source within the CWP leaked the information, and Claudius was sent into hiding until the assasination attempt was passed.

Charlie then rose, and the five men now stood around him. A servant approached them with a blood red pillow. On it sat a small box. Rex picked up the box and then handed it over to Johnnie. "You must never tell anyone of what you have seen and heard here today."

Claudius smiled at Johnnie and patted him on the shoulder. "Ya know friend, we are gunna be makin' alot more orders nowadays, after that asssasination attempt we are gunna be breaking isolationism." He then stopped and looked over at the Senator. "How are we gunna break it to the public?"

Charlie then looked over to the Communist general. "I believe that he and the Chancellor have worked something out."

--------------------------------------------------------------------------

All over the Confederate news that night, it was released that the Communists had not killed Claudius Griffincrest, only a body double. A source within the CWP leaked the information, and Claudius was sent into hiding until the assasination attempt was passed.

Johnnie removed the box slowly, his cigarette dangling sadly in his mouth. He mumbled, "Thank you" and took in how serious this was.

Johnnie then looked up, exhaled a puff of smoke, "I suppose I should tell the Mafia, because they were deeply upset about this."

"They will find out on their own soon enough"

Soon, the massive warships of Griffincrest were again setting sail. From Redemption to Vik, Egyptiansstan to Helexeo, tanks, planes, men and ships were all moving, preparing for the war that was soon to come. The Confederacy now had complete domination of their home island, and with that, more power than ever before.

In Vik, Fritz Cloudfire began readying his paper and making room for even more POW's soon to come. He looked out his rain spackled window at the perpetually gray sky and sighed, then went back to filing his papers.

Paul (The spy) fell asleep in the trunk.

The Senators car was parked off near the forest. The knight assigned to guard it gone, of smoking a cigarette near the house.

The Senators car was parked off near the forest. The knight assigned to guard it gone, of smoking a cigarette near the house.

OOC: well, besides the fact that ICly my guy wouldn't know that, and realisticly, wouldn't do anything, being he's blind of his surroundings...

And trying a one man assault/escape while blind gets rather difficult/hazardous.

Oh well, must continue the story... At least he can hear, more or less.

IC:
After waking up, still inside the stuffy large trunk for the hundreth time, the engine was clearly off, and he couldn't hear anything outside.

So he did a test, he tapped the lid of the trunk with his shovel. No response.
He then banged the trunk lid. Still no response.

After calming down, he woundered why nobody was watching the car, or if they where, why they acted deaf and blind, as he knew the car shook a little.

After a bit of thinking, he formed his escape plan(s).

Step 1: Attach silencer to pistol
Step 2: remove spare tire from compartment under carpet
Step 3: punch hole downward, where the tire was*
Step 4: look outside, get bearings

*Hole should be able to be readily concealable, and actions must appear to be that of a person lashing out in frustration and accomplishing nothing, followed by brief pauses to catch one's breath.

Resualt:
He saw he was in a forest, he noticed a single man not too far away taking a smoke.

Step 5: Use shovel or knife to tear hole through back seat
Step 6: climb through, gun at ready, check for keys in ignition and if spottedby gaurd.

No keys, no alarm raised (just assuming, otherwise it'll be solved by a single silenced 9 mm).

Step 7: Hotwire ignition (prep)
(substeps)
A: Pop ignition
B: cut wires
C: Start connecting wires, use tape as necessary

Step 8: Start car, shoot gaurd, and drive.
Repeat as necessary until escape/death.

OOC:
That's my McGeiver escape, though I did have a better one, which involved decapitation of gaurd via shovel, but eh...
I'd assume the flak vest gets a bit usefull at preventing fatal injury, since the gaurd's bullets will be disrpted by the car body/chassis before hitting the armor plating.

Inside the mansion, a massive feast was beginning. Nearly a dozen courses were prepared and slaves hurried about serving the guests. Two gladiators were preparing to fight to the death before the diners, while a full theater troupe waited behind the curtains to start their play, Oedipus Rex, after the gladiator match came to an end.

The guard outside began trying to sneak glimpses of the fight from outside, looking in through the window.

OOC:
Paul has no intention of loitering about the mansion, as he believes his mission has been compromised.
His main concern would be getting out alive.
But oh well...

I'm assuming the forest was outside of the mansion gates.

IC:
Paul noticed a man looking inside of a mansion quite intently, and was curious what had his attention.

Besides, it wouldn't be professional of him to leave without figuring out what was really going on.

He drove the car up to a 'blind' section of the fence (a section that at least tempoarilly, has no survailance), and timed his movements to get out of the car, then duck behind it, followed by getting up and vaulting over the fence.

And landed amongst some peacocks...
Their shrill cry would most certainly be heard by anyone within earshot.
Though killing them would silence the alarm, it would also intensify their search for the pet killer...

He instead, opted to leave the birds alone and they soon went quiet on their own. Paul then looked for someplace to hide.

OOC: I remembered why I captured you now!

IC:

Nearby guards came over to find out the reason for the screams of the peacocks, and noticed that one had been slightly wounded. The guards figuered that an animal had broken into the compound, and so they called up their dogs to keep a look out.

The dogs would soon find the intruder, whether it be man or animal, and alert the rest of the guards.

OOC2: I planned on interrogating you, but I kinda forgot.

OOC: I guess I landed on one of those expensive birds...

IC:
Paul had luckily managed to hide himself in the crotch of a tree before anyone arrived, and heard that soon dogs would be searching for him.

As soon as the men left to fetch the dogs, he climbed down from the tree, being extra careful not to alarm the animals, and then made his way to the mansion, where he found the gaurd he saw earlier looking through a window, apparently watching a fight.

There was no point killing this person, as a 'witness' claiming that he saw nothing would prove far more valuable than a dead body.

He continued his walk towards the front door. Then he remembered that he didn't have an invitation... looks like it wasn't that gaurd's lucky day after all...

Paul snuck up behind the gaurd and cleanly chopped off his head with his shovel. He then decided to check the corpse for any cards, keys, passes, or anything that may prove usefull.

He then took the head to the front door, set it down, and rung the doorbell folowed by running into some nearby bushes [stinging nettle, horrible luck (sort of, no sane dog would sniff around the stuff, it would be like asking the dog to eat pepper spray)].

A guard came up to answer the door, and was greeted by the sight of the head of one of his fellow knights. Immediatly, he pounded the alarm next to the door, and drew out his sword.

He cautiously stepped out onto the doorstep, sword at the ready, and looked around.

Paul was amply rewarded as another gaurd came and opened the door, even though he went and sounded the alarm, the door was still open, now all he had to do was to take care of the guard...

Then he saw the guard's choice of weaponry, a sword! Of all things...

Paul greeted this man's sword with a silenced 9 mm bullet...

He then climbed out of the bushes, and into the mansion, and promptly behind some curtains as he heard the footsteps of many more guards rushing to the door.

OOC: I guess I should start counting bullets fired...
The goal is to scare the residents/guests into showing their hand
Griffencrest is notoriously paranoid according to public sources

Looks like DMG is trying to copy your success... (http://forums.jolt.co.uk/showthread.php?t=518566)

The dead guard was soon found, and even more guards were summoned. Only a handful of them were armed with guns, most carried swords. These men were al knights, and all very well trained in sword fighting.

Meanwhile, the dinner guests were not told of the happenings in the house. Two of the armed guards were stationed near the front door, while others were stationed at any other possible exits. With all of the armed guards now manning the possible exits, the swordsmen were now ordered to scour every last inch of the sprawling marble mansion.

Paul knew people would be searching for him, even without the growing stack of dead bodies, he also was pretty sure the house was given rather sophisticated survaillence systems, meaning he wouldn't get very far before he was spotted.

One chance...

Only 2 gaurds remained at the front door, one was armed with a gun, the other with only another sword, across the hall lay a dumb waiter...

Looks easy enough...

Paul rushed to the dumb waiter (food elevator), while firing a double tap into the only slightly surprised gaurds, they appeared to be wearing armor of some sort, as he didn't notice any blood splatter this time, but no time for that now...

He dove into the tiny compartment and set it to the basement level.
To speed things up, he cut the control and lift wires, letting the entire box crash to the ground, Paul slowing himself down by pressing his hands and feet against the sides of the shaft.

The entire trip down took him 5 seconds...
(assuming only one below ground floor)

He then ducked into the boiler room, and was now in search for the fuze box...

He pulled out his Night vision goggles, because it was going to get really dark really fast down there...

The guard stumbled backwards, the bullets pinging off of his armor. The swordsman next to him pulled him back to his feet, and together they ran to the dumb waiter. The armed guard let loose a silent stream of bullets down into the darkness, while the other one ran to get help.

In less than a minute, a half dozen guards, two carrying 9mm Berretas while the other four carried their traditional gladius, where closing in on the boiler room.

From the other end of the boiler room came one of the Centaurions. He was one of the higher ups in the organization here, and was determined to throw this intruder out of the house for good.

OOC: Smashy smashy time...
No clue what I'm supposed to expect of a Griffencrest Centurion, I'll look it up.

IC:
As Paul turned on his Night Vision Goggles (courtesy of the Leafansi Mafia), he took a pipe and tore the fuze box from the wall (okay, maybe not exactly tore, so much as impaled), plunging the building into darkness, save for the dim lightning provided by the fire escape signs that ran on battery back-up.

With any luck, the elevators, and security systems would be down as well.

The phone lines weren't too hard to find either, and were promptly cut with a bayonet.

At that moment, he heard footsteps, he took a quick sweep of the area as he backed into a corner, shovel, gun, and bayonets at ready. He saw 6 people in a combat formation, he couldn't tell which one were armed through the poor quality Leafansian optics, but it was more than what they could see of him no doubt.

These guys are not Griffincrest, they are from the Knights of Ares. A centaurion would just be like a really really good knight. Also, it is still day time, remember they are still waiting for dinner, so it is like 6 o'clock, it would only be dark in the boiler room.

One of the armed men who entered the basement pulled out a small flashlight and muttered "Curtus, quis venio ut damno lux lucis?". He then placed his left hand holding the flashlight under the right hand holding the gun, and began searching, the other men following close behind.

From the other side of the room, the Centaurion moved slowly, now relying on his hearing and years of training to get through the room and find the intruder.

Johnnie was worried, he kept asking the guards questions, his hand moved to the safety on the KF15-K, toying with it. He wanted to be in it, wanted to search out the compound. Wanted to find the man he had befriended, he had betrayed and get him out.

He wanted to send the man somewhere far. The Galation, to a small house on the river, far away from all this.

He shoved his dreams away, daydreams were dangerous, he tried to enjoy the show, repress the things, continue living his life.

OOC: You have daylight at 1800 hrs?!
Over here it gets dark at 5:30 PM, and everythings turns a sick shade of grey by 3:00.
I had to use a flashlight to shovel snow at 6:30 today...

IC

Boiler Room:
One man had a flashlight, which would have ruined the natural night vision of his entire paty, limiting their entire field of view to that narrow and easy to see beam of light, now all he had to do is stay out of the light and hope they run into themselves enough to give up.

Climbing the ductwork was out of the question, as that would have caused too much noise. However, he could straddle a few overhead beams... Since they are most likely giong to check the fusebox and phone lines, setting up a position to ambush them there would be a good idea...

OOC: The daylight stays in the Confederacy until like 730 usually. lol, where do you live Alaska? it gets dark by me at around 630 or 7. Bet you don't know what that guy muttered.

IC: The men continued towards the fusebox and tried to find a way to repair it. It was evident that the intruder had done this as there was a pipe protruding from the box.

On the other side of the room, the Centaurion continued moving slowly, listening carefully for any sounds that were not from the other knights.

Above them, the dinner guests were still oblivious to the entire situation. The old stage had remained almost unchanged from when it was built almost a millenia ago, save for yearly maintenance. The guards told Johnnie to relax, that the power might have gone out, and urged him to keep paying attention to the play.

Ambushed:
Paul was ready for them, as he dropped on top of one of the knights, slicing his throat cleanly with one of the two knives he had, the man with a flashlight took a silenced pistol bullet to the head as paul crouched defensibvely, as the knights would most likely instinctivellytry and kill the intruder at the first possability, the first responder with a sword had a bayonet plunged up his jaw. Paul then turned the 1st corpse to block a sword thrust aimed at his leg/neck, slowing that person down sufficiently to allow paul to dispatch another knight.

After that, things became more difficult, as the other two had been holding back, and where outside of his reach, and he wasn't sure if either of them had a gun.

Only one way to find out...
Paul charged one of them, pistol in one hand, knife in the other, shovel slung behind his back and would act as a low quality shield to any 'sucker blows' to his back, in addition to the flak vest he was still wearing.

Both knights carried swords, and wer prepared to face the attacker in the dark. Using only the light provided by the now fallen flashlight, one of the knights threw his gladius at Paul's arm. The knights all spent years training in sword fighting, and one of the parts of their training was to be able to accurately sever the limbs of an enemy with nothing but their blade. Now would be the time to see if his years of training would prove it worth. Immediatly after loosing the sword, he drew up his dagger while his companions drew up his own sword, and both prepared for combat.

Meanwhile, from the other side of the room, the centaurion had managed to pick up a welding torch in the boiler room, and continued, torch and shield in one hand, sword in the other.

OOC:
Oxy-Fuel welding torch I presume? With the massive hand-cart that carries 2 massive tanks of volatile compressed gas?

You just threw a sword at me arm, didn't you?

IC:
The rapidly closing distance didn't allow Paul much time to react to the sword being thrown at him, on the other hand, it was fairly dark, they were throwing stuff at shadows, and Paul could see clearly whereas they couldn't.

The short sword grazed his right arm, not severing it, but still causing considerable damage. Paul then responded by instinctiely dropping his bayonet and firing a double tap from his pistol into the two remaining knights, holstering his pistol,. and pulling out his shovel/axe as he was about to finish off his enemy, though he thought he saw somthing a bit in the distance, he would deal with them soon enough.

OOC: these aren't mono-mol swords, or lightsabers, right? Otherwise I just killed myself...

OOC: The boiler runs off coal. Griffincrest is in charge of all of the natiosn oil and they know it is a scam. And the swords are good ol' fashioned gladius's.

The centaurion was now able to see the intruder and he raised his shield up to defend himself. He know slowly approached the enemy, prepared for a battle.

OOC: The boiler runs off coal. Griffincrest is in charge of all of the natiosn oil and they know it is a scam. And the swords are good ol' fashioned gladius's.

The centaurion was now able to see the intruder and he raised his shield up to defend himself. He know slowly approached the enemy, prepared for a battle.

OOC:
*I was asking what sort of welding torch you person was using
Oxy-Fuel is the only type I can think of that can run without special preparation or an electronic circut (aside from a 2 pronged carbon arc welder, but those aren't used in industry any longer).

As for the fuel being used, acetolyne either is stored at below 15 PSI to prevent spontanious combustion or diluted in a solid foam at above 15 PSI, these generally require different torches. Then there is Polypropalyne based gas, which burns slightly cooler than acetolyne but has consideraly simplified storage.

The light cast by a welding torch generally isn't extremely bright and if it is, tends to blind the operator if he isn't using shaded lenses.

Thought bubbles (***) used in this post

IC:
Having finally finished dispatching the group he had ambushed earlier, Paul resumed his attention to the figure approaching him, which was carting something behind him, and carrying a torch of some sort, rather than a flashlight.

His arm injury stung considerably, and would place him at a dissadvantage. Earlier, he had all the advantages except numbers [surprse, tactical knowledge, weapons ready to use]. No he had none of these advantages, as both of these people knew where the other was, and both could see each other with some clarity for various reasons, yet niether knew exactly what each had. Though Paul could easily tell that this one wasn't like the others, he appeared considerably more heavy set (extra body armor perhaps? Or is he just that big?), and carried with him what apeared to be a vast aray of weapons (is this guy their one-man heavy-weapons unit?).

Paul took a head from one of the knights and rolled it across the floor towards his new 'friend' and took a bow, hopefully goading him into doing something irrational.

"There's many more where that came from, so am I going to get any answers, or do I have to go through you first?"

The centaurion let out a laugh and simply kicked the head back towards Paul. "You think that will scare me? I've seen worse in my day. Come fight me like a man!" He continued to approach the intruder. The light from he torch would most likely be inhibiting his enemy's vision through the poor quality Mafia night vision, and so the centaurion would continually flare it up from behind the shield.

"Then you do kno I could blow a rather large hole in you, that gas tank you're lugging makes an awfully big target, plus, throttling the torch like that isn't good for it."

[Could go overboard with the throttle and kill the flame, then you have a volatile gas plume in front of you... which then either must be shut off, re-ignited, or let it run and build up, holding and throttling a torch is a 2 hand operation, cutting torches have a secondary oxygen 'cutting gas' throttle that can be operated while holding it with one hand though, improper use of this feature causes instant flame-out]

The flareing of the torch caused the goggles to 'white out' from time to time, being poorly manufatured by the mafia, so Paul opted to let one side of the googles be shut off, allowing one eye undistorted vision, squinting of course to prevent the torch from causing too many problems as he pulled out his 9 mm pistol and prepared to fire a suppressed 9 mm bullet either at the torch flame, his hand, his head, or one of the massive industrial size gas tanks fueling the torch.

OOC:
http://forums.jolt.co.uk/showthread.php?p=12400170#post12400170

Johnnie was antsy. The action was getting to be too much. He couldn't stand it, he couldn't just sit there. The guards wanted him to stay and watch the play but, he had to go, he had to find Paul.

He walked up to the guard and asked to leave, and to reach his luggage.

Bumpage, my IC actions still stand regardless of what torch your Cent is carrying.

The Centaurion continued towards Paul ignoring his taunts. His shield covered most of his body and face, and his sword stayed up in a striking position as he closed with his enemy.

As the Centaurion approached in what could consider a 'menacing' manner, Paul did the unthinkable, by removing the suppressor from his pistol, the enemy now well within point blank, Paul fired 3 bullets at his enemy, ejected the now empty mag, and ducked to a side hopefully before the centaurion could charge upon the muzzle flashes, which would have been considerably brighter than whatever meagher light the torch gave, and would blind anyone looking upon it like a flashbulb.*

Taking this advantage, he loaded his soare mag of AP bullets, and let loose a double tap from another direction before dodging again and finishing it off with a charge with his other bayonet, pistol still in hand.

His goal would be to find a weak spot in this man's armor and slip the knife into the soft fleshy target underneath.

*Paul avoids blinding himself by firing the gun from his hip from a crouch (1940's FBI QK method), this also allows him to hold the gun a considerable distance off boresight and off centerline, causing anyone targeting the muzzle flash location to be way off.

The flash and report of a 9 mm unsuppressed pistol would b considerable.

As the Centaurion approached in what could consider a 'menacing' manner, Paul did the unthinkable, by removing the suppressor from his pistol, the enemy now well within point blank, Paul fired 3 bullets at his enemy, ejected the now empty mag, and ducked to a side hopefully before the centaurion could charge upon the muzzle flashes, which would have been considerably brighter than whatever meagher light the torch gave, and would blind anyone looking upon it like a flashbulb.*

Taking this advantage, he loaded his soare mag of AP bullets, and let loose a double tap from another direction before dodging again and finishing it off with a charge with his other bayonet, pistol still in hand.

His goal would be to find a weak spot in this man's armor and slip the knife into the soft fleshy target underneath.

*Paul avoids blinding himself by firing the gun from his hip from a crouch (1940's FBI QK method), this also allows him to hold the gun a considerable distance off boresight and off centerline, causing anyone targeting the muzzle flash location to be way off.

The flash and report of a 9 mm unsuppressed pistol would b considerable.

The bullets pinged off of the shield and armor, only momentarily stunning the Centaurion. The shield was an inch thick steel plate backed with a quarter inch titanium plate, and was built to stop bullets. It was very heavy, however, and the centaurion was moving slowly as he continued to approach where he believed the fire came from. The sound of the gunfire had alerted even more guards to the area, and a small group of Confederate soldiers had also now converged on the house and began preparing to enter the basement.

Meanwhile, upstairs, the guests remained tottally oblivious, the sound of the play drowning out any sounds of gunfire from downstairs.

OOC:
If people outside could hear the gun, wouldn't Griffencrest?

And wouldn't Confederate troops entering the Mansion be a bad thing? With Griffencrest supposedly dead and all...

IC:
Having accomplished his goal of distracting the Centaurion (SP?) Paul attempted to circle behind the lumbering foe. He also tried to think of something that he could use to stop this person without exposing himself too much to retaliation.

Paul had seriusly underestimated the armor of his enemy, so the goal would be to either find a weapon stronger than a pistol bullet, or to demobilize him long enough to either get away or finish him off.

He then remembered the pile of dead bodies not far away (the dead knights).

Picking one up, he used it as a human shield as he charged upon the enemy, screaming, at about twice that of arm's length, he flung the body (upright) at the Centaurion, and watched as he hacked the corpse to bits with his sword.

Using this bit of time, he made use of his shovel to club the man upside the head, or rather, to attempt to get close enough to do so.

OOC:
If people outside could hear the gun, wouldn't Griffencrest?

And wouldn't Confederate troops entering the Mansion be a bad thing? With Griffencrest supposedly dead and all...


The soldiers would be told not to tell what they had seen a la Roswell, and those that do would be labeled conspiracy freaks.

And the guards would be other guards nearby, not guys like outside. The soldiers had been called.

IC:

The shovel cracked the Centaurion in the helmet, stunning him momentarily and nearly knocking him off balance.

Meanwhile, the Confederate soldiers had entered the house while a handfull of guards stood outside of the door to the boiler room. They all carried swords and followed the lead of the first guard who carried a lighter. The soldiers, however, were far more prepared and each of them had a flashlight under their gun. They would be in the basement soon.

OOC:
Was more so wondering how Griffencrest would react, along with the potential breech in secrecy... which you cleared up.

IC:
Having dazed his foe, Paul kicked the back-right kneecap, hopefully knocking him off balance as he swung the axe blade of his shovel in what he hoped would be a killing blow, as he wasn't completely sure that his neck wasn't too protected for him to crack the man's neck of split his skull.

He would know soon enough.

He was getting a bit fatigued from his previous injuries and exertions, and hoped this fight would end soon.

The Centaurion was finally defeated. His hulking mass crumbled to the floor with a thud as blood leaked from under his helmet. By now, however, the guards had taken up a defensive postion around the door and soldiers began moving down the stairs, their flashlights and laser pointers flashing every which way.

The Centaurion was dead. That was not good.

The Centaurion was finally defeated. His hulking mass crumbled to the floor with a thud as blood leaked from under his helmet. By now, however, the guards had taken up a defensive postion around the door and soldiers began moving down the stairs, their flashlights and laser pointers flashing every which way.

The Centaurion was dead. That was not good.

He could hear movement in the distance, and some streak of light, his trenchcoat was a dead givaway, but he had plenty of dead bodies and uniforms to choose from.

He dragged a knight away from the pile, and traded his trenchcoat for the man's belt, shoes, tie, gun, holster, and jacket.

He then fired a few rounds into the corpse, bathing the coat and himself with blood splatter.

He then bent down to examine the body more closely, for identification, anything he could use to take this man's identity and pass the body off as his own...

He then turned on the flashlight.

(Edited my post in CA thread)