NationStates Jolt Archive

OOC: For now, this RP is closed to TWSP and myself.

Johnathan Miyamoto felt... something that was like the stiffness you got from sleeping on a concrete floor when you weren't used to it in the same way that a truly swelteringly hot day was like having a finger burned off.

His back was stiff and sore, his limbs were all asleep, their numbness a heavenly relief after the irritation and pain he'd felt in them before, as they'd pressed into the uncomfortably cold metal sides of the crate. He was soaked in urin, and there were wet, bloody, open sores on his body. He had spent the last three days in the fetal position in a crate meant to hold, apparently, a machine used in the manufacture of textiles. He had had no food in that entire time, and only one half-liter bottle of water that he had managed to smuggle into the shipping plant where he worked, and then to pack into the crate. The water was long gone - he had had the last of it on the second day. Now he was thirsty and hungry and miserable... he hoped something would happen soon, or if it didn't then he was sure he would go mad.

He had not adjusted well to Undershi rule, he reflected as he lay in his box, limbs that had barely moved in three days twitching. He had not been able to adjust to living in a nation where he was not free. In the end, he had been too much of a Paxtonite to acknowledge that his country was vanished forever, that his people would either accept that they had been forever reduced to the proverbial hewers of wood and carriers of water or die... so he had fled. It hadn't been an easy choice, he'd known there was a better than even chance that he would die... but he'd acted, he'd managed to destroy one of the machines he'd been supposed to package, had hidden the pieces so it would not be found until either he was dead or safely outside of the Undershi Empire... and then he'd stowed away in the box. An act of desperation to be sure... but he could not endure any more of his life as it had been. It had been... something worse than hell, being a slave, watching his people reduced to slavery from their prior existence as free citizens of a liberal social democracy... it had been more than he could endure. So he'd fled...

He hadn't known where the shipment was going, it could be to some nation on the other side of the planet, it could be to somewhere nearby... all he knew was that those machines were being made for export. And not just for export, where he would inevitably have ended up in some slave state that would either just shoot him or would send him back, where the IIS would nail him to a cross or impale him on a stake... no, this shipment was a covert one, loaded onto ships from some nation that was vaguely trusted in the international sphere, then sent to nations which would otherwise have nothing to do with Undershi... an interesting way to acrue foreign exchange to be sure... but he didn't know when the cargo would arrive. It could be months...

Suddenly, he felt movement - the crate was moving... then he was... somewhere else... and he could hear people talking, some accent or language he had not heard before. He began to scream, quietly at first with his dry mouth, then louder and louder and louder... surely someone would come to save him, surely someone...

OOC: For now, this RP is closed to TWSP and myself.

Johnathan Miyamoto felt... something that was like the stiffness you got from sleeping on a concrete floor when you weren't used to it in the same way that a truly swelteringly hot day was like having a finger burned off.

His back was stiff and sore, his limbs were all asleep, their numbness a heavenly relief after the irritation and pain he'd felt in them before, as they'd pressed into the uncomfortably cold metal sides of the crate. He was soaked in urin, and there were wet, bloody, open sores on his body. He had spent the last three days in the fetal position in a crate meant to hold, apparently, a machine used in the manufacture of textiles. He had had no food in that entire time, and only one half-liter bottle of water that he had managed to smuggle into the shipping plant where he worked, and then to pack into the crate. The water was long gone - he had had the last of it on the second day. Now he was thirsty and hungry and miserable... he hoped something would happen soon, or if it didn't then he was sure he would go mad.

He had not adjusted well to Undershi rule, he reflected as he lay in his box, limbs that had barely moved in three days twitching. He had not been able to adjust to living in a nation where he was not free. In the end, he had been too much of a Paxtonite to acknowledge that his country was vanished forever, that his people would either accept that they had been forever reduced to the proverbial hewers of wood and carriers of water or die... so he had fled. It hadn't been an easy choice, he'd known there was a better than even chance that he would die... but he'd acted, he'd managed to destroy one of the machines he'd been supposed to package, had hidden the pieces so it would not be found until either he was dead or safely outside of the Undershi Empire... and then he'd stowed away in the box. An act of desperation to be sure... but he could not endure any more of his life as it had been. It had been... something worse than hell, being a slave, watching his people reduced to slavery from their prior existence as free citizens of a liberal social democracy... it had been more than he could endure. So he'd fled...

He hadn't known where the shipment was going, it could be to some nation on the other side of the planet, it could be to somewhere nearby... all he knew was that those machines were being made for export. And not just for export, where he would inevitably have ended up in some slave state that would either just shoot him or would send him back, where the IIS would nail him to a cross or impale him on a stake... no, this shipment was a covert one, loaded onto ships from some nation that was vaguely trusted in the international sphere, then sent to nations which would otherwise have nothing to do with Undershi... an interesting way to acrue foreign exchange to be sure... but he didn't know when the cargo would arrive. It could be months...

Suddenly, he felt movement - the crate was moving... then he was... somewhere else... and he could hear people talking, some accent or language he had not heard before. He began to scream, quietly at first with his dry mouth, then louder and louder and louder... surely someone would come to save him, surely someone...

OOC: Wow, what a great starting post.

IC:

St. John Du Caen's International Port,
The World Soviet Party

The port crew had been very confused when they were ordered to unload a ship coming from Undershi, one would question what a merchant vessel from a nation hostile to their country would be doing there, sitting in their own ports, and apparently carrying some sort of machinery.

However, orders were still orders, so men got to work with their lifters, cranes and assorted tools, container after container came down from the ship, and a few hours passed before every box marked "To The World Soviet Party, Fragile, PU EDIS SIHT PEEK" was taken down and lay to rest on the hard concrete floor of the docks.

Having finished their duties, the ground crew stopped for a refreshment, near the recently unloaded containers. This usually came in the form of some beers, the every-now-and-then bottle of Vodka and maybe a few cigarettes (there werent many smokers left in TWSP). Men relaxed, chatting happily about their wive's or girlfriend's "assets", the latest football game or maybe the one topic each and every Soviet enjoyed discussing the most, politics.

In fact, most of them were already discussing their newest subject, Undershi. Indeed, a rather large man started the topic by looking at one of the boxes, carefully reading the label, glancing at his mates and stating:

"I dont like these Undershi folks, I heard they impale people in their so-called Slave States just for, well thinking freely."

This quickly caught interest and the conversation devolved into the worst methods of being killed each man knew, that is, until they heard the scream. It was almost inhuman, like the sound of a griefing parent when their sons and daughters are killed, a scream filled with pain and sorrow, but also stained with the longing for said person to come back to life.

The crew stopped dead in it's tracks.

"Did you just hear that?" was the silent question shared among them, without further comments, they ran to crates and started prying them open, trying to find the source of such a surprising sound.

It was not long before they found Johnathan, passed out inside a tiny box, soaked in his own fluids and emaciated like he hadnt eaten in weeks-time. Two of the strongest workers took him out, and into the nearest house while the rest of them went to inform of their discovery, and get a doctor...

OOC: Wow, what a great starting post.

IC:

St. John Du Caen's International Port,
The World Soviet Party

The port crew had been very confused when they were ordered to unload a ship coming from Undershi, one would question what a merchant vessel from a nation hostile to their country would be doing there, sitting in their own ports, and apparently carrying some sort of machinery.

However, orders were still orders, so men got to work with their lifters, cranes and assorted tools, container after container came down from the ship, and a few hours passed before every box marked "To The World Soviet Party, Fragile, PU EDIS SIHT PEEK" was taken down and lay to rest on the hard concrete floor of the docks.

Having finished their duties, the ground crew stopped for a refreshment, near the recently unloaded containers. This usually came in the form of some beers, the every-now-and-then bottle of Vodka and maybe a few cigarettes (there werent many smokers left in TWSP). Men relaxed, chatting happily about their wive's or girlfriend's "assets", the latest football game or maybe the one topic each and every Soviet enjoyed discussing the most, politics.

In fact, most of them were already discussing their newest subject, Undershi. Indeed, a rather large man started the topic by looking at one of the boxes, carefully reading the label, glancing at his mates and stating:

"I dont like these Undershi folks, I heard they impale people in their so-called Slave States just for, well thinking freely."

This quickly caught interest and the conversation devolved into the worst methods of being killed each man knew, that is, until they heard the scream. It was almost inhuman, like the sound of a griefing parent when their sons and daughters are killed, a scream filled with pain and sorrow, but also stained with the longing for said person to come back to life.

The crew stopped dead in it's tracks.

"Did you just hear that?" was the silent question shared among them, without further comments, they ran to crates and started prying them open, trying to find the source of such a surprising sound.

It was not long before they found Johnathan, passed out inside a tiny box, soaked in his own fluids and emaciated like he hadnt eaten in weeks-time. Two of the strongest workers took him out, and into the nearest house while the rest of them went to inform of their discovery, and get a doctor...

OOC: I had thought to get over the issue of why you would be importing stuff from Undershi by having the stuff marked as being from another country, and then marketed to TWSP by an Undershi front company. Nice post on your part too.

ICly:

He was... free. It was an interesting thought, one that took some time to get used to. The workers helped him, and it was easy - he was light, emaciated would be a better word. It was only when they got him out of the crate that he began to realize how much he stank... but by that time he had more pressing concerns.

It hurt to bend his limbs - that was one of the first things he noticed. It hurt to move at all, and when the circulation returned to his arms and legs he began to whimper - the sores on his limbs were huge and wet, weeping watery blood... they ached, in fact his entire body ached.

The first thing he did when they had him free was to beg, in a weak voice, for water. He had never been so thirsty before, even when the Undershi troops had taken Paxton, and he'd hid in a drain for two days while their Janissaries went wild in the city, a sack loosed upon a defenseless population by the Undershi when the Paxtonites had tried peacful protests... he remembered how it had felt when he'd stumbled out of the drain after the second day, hungry and thirsty and tired, he hadn't been able to sleep because he'd heard the sounds of screams and shooting.

He remembered standing in line for registry and innoculations with other Paxtonites, all of them dead eyed, hungry and tired and scared, afraid of the Janissary guards with their big automatic shot-guns and their dogs. He remembered crying as he'd been put in chains for the first time, chained into a coffle, a line of prisoners, after they'd sorted out all of the professors at the university. He'd been a history professor, so they'd let him live to work. He remembered the grinning Janissaries and the faceless True Undershis as they'd lead away those they'd chosen to let live. Remembered the sound of the Janissary firing squads from behind as they shot those other men, those who they'd deemed unworthy of life. Social scientists mostly. They didn't want anyone left who had made the study of human societies their lifes work... so they'd shot them. And he'd walked away...

His mind returned to the present - he was lying down on clean sheets, better than anything he'd had since before the war. His entire body felt full of pain, aching and burning. He felt sure he had a fever, perhaps his open sores had become infected...

His mind wandered again, to the days just after the war, how he'd been assigned to a working gang at the Paxtonite National Galleries, where he'd smashed abstract sculptures with a sledge hammer while impassive guards watched. He'd never understood why they'd hated modern art so much...

A flash of vision in the present, a doctor leaning in, looking concerned at what he saw...

Then he was back in the past once more, walking through streets that had once been tree lined, but were now empty and bare. A street market, which had once been a farmer's market, which had once sold organic produce to those with the extra money to spend... which now sold nothing but a few pieces of third hand clothing, ragged but the only stuff that was to be found, that and half-rotted potatoes...

He was free now. It would take some getting used to.

OOC: I had thought to get over the issue of why you would be importing stuff from Undershi by having the stuff marked as being from another country, and then marketed to TWSP by an Undershi front company. Nice post on your part too.

ICly:

He was... free. It was an interesting thought, one that took some time to get used to. The workers helped him, and it was easy - he was light, emaciated would be a better word. It was only when they got him out of the crate that he began to realize how much he stank... but by that time he had more pressing concerns.

It hurt to bend his limbs - that was one of the first things he noticed. It hurt to move at all, and when the circulation returned to his arms and legs he began to whimper - the sores on his limbs were huge and wet, weeping watery blood... they ached, in fact his entire body ached.

The first thing he did when they had him free was to beg, in a weak voice, for water. He had never been so thirsty before, even when the Undershi troops had taken Paxton, and he'd hid in a drain for two days while their Janissaries went wild in the city, a sack loosed upon a defenseless population by the Undershi when the Paxtonites had tried peacful protests... he remembered how it had felt when he'd stumbled out of the drain after the second day, hungry and thirsty and tired, he hadn't been able to sleep because he'd heard the sounds of screams and shooting.

He remembered standing in line for registry and innoculations with other Paxtonites, all of them dead eyed, hungry and tired and scared, afraid of the Janissary guards with their big automatic shot-guns and their dogs. He remembered crying as he'd been put in chains for the first time, chained into a coffle, a line of prisoners, after they'd sorted out all of the professors at the university. He'd been a history professor, so they'd let him live to work. He remembered the grinning Janissaries and the faceless True Undershis as they'd lead away those they'd chosen to let live. Remembered the sound of the Janissary firing squads from behind as they shot those other men, those who they'd deemed unworthy of life. Social scientists mostly. They didn't want anyone left who had made the study of human societies their lifes work... so they'd shot them. And he'd walked away...

His mind returned to the present - he was lying down on clean sheets, better than anything he'd had since before the war. His entire body felt full of pain, aching and burning. He felt sure he had a fever, perhaps his open sores had become infected...

His mind wandered again, to the days just after the war, how he'd been assigned to a working gang at the Paxtonite National Galleries, where he'd smashed abstract sculptures with a sledge hammer while impassive guards watched. He'd never understood why they'd hated modern art so much...

A flash of vision in the present, a doctor leaning in, looking concerned at what he saw...

Then he was back in the past once more, walking through streets that had once been tree lined, but were now empty and bare. A street market, which had once been a farmer's market, which had once sold organic produce to those with the extra money to spend... which now sold nothing but a few pieces of third hand clothing, ragged but the only stuff that was to be found, that and half-rotted potatoes...

He was free now. It would take some getting used to.

Dr. Breen (OOC: XD) was getting intimate with his secretary when he got the call, annoyed, he had picked the phone expecting to hear some story about "My baby has hiccups, is that bad?", but instead he had gotten a frantic voice telling him to pack his "stuff" and come down the harbours, apparently, someone had been found there.

Rather shocked, he had grabbed his pack and made his way downtown, and into the docks, where he was promptly lead into a bedroom.

The first thing he noticed was the smell, the stink of person, if the thing before him could be called that, was horrible. The next thing he noticed was the man's state of being, pale, bloody, cracked lips, thin, extremely thin.

He took a step forward, a glass of water someone had handed him his hand, he approached the man before him and raised his head, examining the throat which he would need to open before giving him any water. Fortunately, he had learnt some tricks from a beduin during one of his travels, and he asked for a feather, which he used to caress the man's throat, opening it. Only then, he put the glass against the man's lips and let him drink.

He turned to face the workers looking at him from the door, and signaled the phone.

"Call an ambulance."

Dr. Breen (OOC: XD) was getting intimate with his secretary when he got the call, annoyed, he had picked the phone expecting to hear some story about "My baby has hiccups, is that bad?", but instead he had gotten a frantic voice telling him to pack his "stuff" and come down the harbours, apparently, someone had been found there.

Rather shocked, he had grabbed his pack and made his way downtown, and into the docks, where he was promptly lead into a bedroom.

The first thing he noticed was the smell, the stink of person, if the thing before him could be called that, was horrible. The next thing he noticed was the man's state of being, pale, bloody, cracked lips, thin, extremely thin.

He took a step forward, a glass of water someone had handed him his hand, he approached the man before him and raised his head, examining the throat which he would need to open before giving him any water. Fortunately, he had learnt some tricks from a beduin during one of his travels, and he asked for a feather, which he used to caress the man's throat, opening it. Only then, he put the glass against the man's lips and let him drink.

He turned to face the workers looking at him from the door, and signaled the phone.

"Call an ambulance."

The care they showed him was suprising. The fact that they'd help him at all... it was reassuring, to find himself somewhere where people cared for one another, where altruism wasn't dead. It was... nice. Like being free, it was a state of things he could get used to.

The water felt good as he drank it. It was like... well, he'd never been a heavy drinker, but if he had, then he supposed he could then have compared the water he'd been given to the finest of wines. It was good.

When the ambulence came, he let them carry him away. He was tired, and now... now he could sleep, even with the stiffness in his limbs and the pain and the fever... now he could sleep.

He closed his eyes. He smilled, in spite of the pain that that movement brought to his cracked lips. It was good to be free. It was good to be safe. He fell into sleep, and for the first time in years he did not dream of the terror he had known during the occupation. He did not dream of the horrors he had seen. He did not, in fact, dream at all, so much as drift off into the blackness. Still, even that was an improvement.

OOC: Nice HL2 reference!

Once the man was left in the hospital, under the care of experts, the goverment was properly informed of this "arrival". Soon enough, a car containing agents rom the CSI (Central Soviet Intelligence) and the Ministry for Foreign Affairs arrived at the place, to interview anyone who had come into contact with the visitor.

After all, mass infections created by a "defector" had been common lately in the world, and the Goverment saw no need to place their populace in danger.

Thus, it was decided to place the stranger in quarantine for at least a week, to check out his developments, for the moment, he would be allowed to rest, feed and clean, all with the help of the hospital staff, of course.

The first week passed in a blur. He recovered quickly enough, when they started feeding him properly. He ate well, the food was much better than anything a norm could get in Undershi - there they had meat only twice a week, on Friday and Monday.

He was happy. It was not a state of mind he was used to. His injuries healed quickly enough - with a treatment of anti-biotics, his infections and fever went away. He needed physical therapy to regain full use of his limbs, but that worked out fairly well too. Although his sores would leave scaring in some cases, it was nothing major, and by most measures he would be back to full physical health in another week.

Mentally, though... well, he was quiet, and withdrawn. A few times he'd woken up screaming and crying, and when they'd asked why, he'd said he'd dreamed that his time in TWSP was all a dream, and that he'd been back in the Undershi Empire.

He didn't vollenteer much information about how his life had been - a few times, when something happened that made him act strangely, then he'd give a quick answer. Like when a car outside backfired, and he let out a yelp. He'd explained his cry as being because that sound had reminded him of the noise an Undershi pistol made when fired. He hadn't said anything more that time. He'd mention little details for the strangest reasons - like how he'd eaten his meal more quickly than anyone there had ever seen anyone eat a tray of hospial food, and had then commented, as he licked the chocolate pudding from his spoon, about an Undershi soldier who'd given a little girl a chocolate bar from his rations, and how a gang of older boys had beaten her to death so they could steal it, and how they'd done it in the middle of a street, but how no one had done anything, and a Janissary patrol had watched and laughed...

Most of his stories were depressing. He seemed depressed himself, as though all the happiness in the world was drained out, until the world was reduced to the grey of concrete or of an Undershi Army uniform.

He improved, though... and he began to smile occassionally, at little stupid things. It seemed he was recovering.

Indeed, by now, Johnathan Miyamoto (the hospital had managed to obtain the name from him, somehow) had recovered greatly from his trip's side-effects, and after the week-long quarantine finished, he was allowed to take walks through the park or meet with the other patients to play a few games of chess or checkers.

Still, he was always accompanied by a nurse, as well as CSI agent, the goverment didnt want to lose such an important source of information, and it only was a matter of time until the hospital cleared the CSI to meet Mr. Miyamoto.

For the time being, they were only allowed to talk to him briefly and limiting themselves to questions like where was he born, how old was he or the likes, always with a nurse or doctor present to make sure they didnt put any unnecessary pressure on him.

Johnathan seemed eager to answer any questions he was asked. Over the course of the next week, they came to learn his name, the fact that he was thirty eight, and that he had been born in the city of Paxton, back before it had been the Undershi Province of Paxton. When it came to family, he explained that he thought his sister might still be alive, but that he hadn't seen or heard from her since the invasion. For all he knew, she might be dead. Apparently, the Undershi do not allow much time off, nor do they encourage their norms to form social networks.

Other than that information, the only facts about himself that he revealed were those relating to his jobs - that he had been a professor of history before the war, just out of graduate school, not yet tenured... and, that when the Undershi had come, he had been reassigned to a variety of other jobs - smashing modern art in one case, then sorting through the rotting bodies of the Paxtonite dead from the invasion, moving them from a pile to a mass grave, but going through their pockets, knocking out any gold teeth and removing any useable clothes first. And then... well, then he'd ended up working in a packaging plant where he'd packaged crates of industrial machinery which were then sold overseas through Undershi front corporations, which made it seem that the products concerned were not from a nation like Undershi where the people were oppressed, but were rather from other nations. All done so Undershi could trade with nations which would otherwise have banned their products.

Then he'd escaped. He'd broken apart some sort of automatic weaving machine, and over the course of a few weeks when he should have been packaging hundreds of such machines, he'd thrown the parts into the river, until he'd had one more crate than he'd had machines, and he'd been able to sneak into the crate and escape, and then he'd wound up in TWSP.

He was steadily healing, and becoming more open and upbeat. He rarely woke up screaming any more, although he still seemed nervous most of the time, and perhaps a little bit withdrawn.

OOC: Sorry for taking so long to answer.

IC:

The CSI men quickly wrote down anything Miyamoto told them, for them, he was a gold mine waiting to be exploited, full to the brim with valuable information.

Soon, the medics would give them cleareance to have a good conversation with him, following the rules of course, Soviets were not known for mistreating foreigners, even ones coming from hostile nations.

OOC: Sorry for taking so long to answer.

IC:

The CSI men quickly wrote down anything Miyamoto told them, for them, he was a gold mine waiting to be exploited, full to the brim with valuable information.

Soon, the medics would give them cleareance to have a good conversation with him, following the rules of course, Soviets were not known for mistreating foreigners, even ones coming from hostile nations.

OOC: No problem.

There would have been no need for harsh interogation techniques even if that possibility had been on the table. Johnathan Miyamoto was not holding anything back - he was eager to answer any and all questions he was asked.

Unfortunately, the only technical information he was aware of related not to tanks or airplanes... but only to industrial machinery used in the manufacture of textiles and to the machinery used to package such machinery for transport.

However, in terms of non-technical information, information relating to the life of the average "norm" within the Undershi Empire, he was indeed a gold mine... a gold mine that gave out very disturbing answers.

Finally, the time came when the hospital staff allowed Miyamoto to be questioned by the CSI, thus, he was lead into a wide room, whose furniture consisted of a table and four chairs, as well as recorder and a camera.

He was asked to sit down, and if he wanted anything to eat or drink.

Finally, the time came when the hospital staff allowed Miyamoto to be questioned by the CSI, thus, he was lead into a wide room, whose furniture consisted of a table and four chairs, as well as recorder and a camera.

He was asked to sit down, and if he wanted anything to eat or drink.

When they came for him, he seemed calm enough. He smilled, and said that he was fine, and that the only thing he would like would be some water, please.

Once that had been dealt with, he seemed quite eager to talk, even when he saw the cameras. In fact, once he had seen the cameras, he became even more eager to speak. He wanted to be heard. He wanted to tell the truth about Undershi. He wanted the world to know, to know and be shocked and perhaps even take action. He was not afraid.

Finally, three men wearing suits entered the room and shook Miyamoto's hands, the, they turned the camera and recorder on, and finally, sat down in front of Johnathan.

The tallest from the lot took out a folder containing some documents and proceeded to read them silently, meanwhile, the second in command addressed the "norm" in front of him.

"Would you be as kind as to state name, age, condition and birthplace?" he signaled at the cameras "It's for the archives, Professor Miyamoto."

Finally, three men wearing suits entered the room and shook Miyamoto's hands, the, they turned the camera and recorder on, and finally, sat down in front of Johnathan.

The tallest from the lot took out a folder containing some documents and proceeded to read them silently, meanwhile, the second in command addressed the "norm" in front of him.

"Would you be as kind as to state name, age, condition and birthplace?" he signaled at the cameras "It's for the archives, Professor Miyamoto."

He nodded, and began to speak:

"My name is Johnathan Miyamoto. I am currently nearly fully recovered from the injuries I sustained escaping from slavery within the Undershi Empire. I am thirty eight. Before the Undershi invasion, which occured entierly without provocation, I taught history at the University of Paxton. After the invasion, the University was shut down. I was assigned to perform manual labor - this included removing modern art from the Paxtonite National Galleries, then smashing the sculptures, and after that, sorting through Paxtonite dead and stripping the dead of any intact clothing and possessions before tossing them into mass graves. There I dealt with the Paxtonite soldiers who fought against the invasion - almost fourty percent of the dead soldiers I dealt with had been shot in the back of the head, while nearly one in five was dressed in a grey Undershi prison uniform, was a much newer corpse than the others, and had been killed by hanging. No member of our military survived the Undershi occupation - they all either died fighting or were hunted down and murdered. The civilians such as myself were reduced to slavery or a state close to it - to the Undershi, we were 'norms,' a term which is an insult and a reference to the fact that unlike True Undershis, we are no more than normal humans, and are therefore inferior." he hesitated for a moment, then continued:

"As for where I was born, I was born in the Republic of Paxton, which is now Paxton Province of the Undershi Empire." he hesitated for another second, then asked:

"Any other questions?"

The agents nodded and continued:

"May we ask you how you managed to escape?"

He nodded in reply, and explained:

"I was working in a packing plant - I was packing machines used in the manufacture of textiles into crates, and I disassembled one so that I could hide in the crate. I destroyed he bits of the machine, and threw them into the river - I was supposed to spend three days packing hundreds of these machines, and I did - I dissassembled one, and removed the pieces over the course of the three days, and then had all of the machines packed, so I hid in the last crate and hoped for the best. They weren't watching closely, you see." he seems eager to continue at this point, as he asks:

"Any other questions?"

"Well, actually we do." the Agent skipped a few pages "What's your opinion on the current political and social situation in Undershi? Do you think a revolt is at hand, is there civil unrest?"

Johnathan nodded as they asked, then explained:

"There are actually two different large-scale resistance movements within the Undershi Empire - one in Southland Province, which is made up of the remnants of the original Maoist government that ran the territory that is now Southland Province before the Undershi took it. They've been fighting on for almost fourty years now, and have cost the Undershi thousands of lives and millions of dollars. They are also responsible for the decision about five years ago to round up the entire native population of Southland Province into camps. Many people were killed during the round-up, and almost thirty percent of the total population has been deported so far, dispersed to the other provinces. The guerillas are still fighting on, but it seems as though they're on their last legs - they're starving in the hills, and the Undershi Air Force regularly bombs huge areas of the jungle with napalm and cluster bombs for target practice, and the Army is rotating huge numbers of troops through on guerilla hunting duty as a sort of jungle warfare school. The other main resistance group is in Saint Rynald Province. It's an alliance of die-hards from the old government and religious fundamentalists - before the Undershi showed up, Saint Rynald was a nasty little country with an honest-to-god inquisition. The Rynaldis have only been fighting the Undershi since their country was invaded, so that's only about six years now. The Undershi deported about ten percent of their populace to other parts of the empire, and sent in an equal number of people from other provinces. The Rynaldi resistance tried a mass-revolt a few years back, when NSAA and Hataria invaded, but NSAA and Hataria were thrown back into the sea, and the Rynaldis got slaughtered. Saint Rynald City, which used to be the capital, was entierly leveled, a third of its population was crucified and the rest were deported. Since then the resistance movement has been seriously weakened, although it still manages a suicide bombing almost weekly. Whenever they manage to kill an Undershi soldier, the Undershi have one thousand randomly chosen civilians from the area the attack occured in crucified, as well as the entire extended family of the bomber if they figure out who he was. There used to be a resistance movement in Northland Province, but Northland Province has been occupied since the late 1940s, and its resistance movement was crushed in the sixties. My own province, Paxton, used to have a resistance movement, but it got crushed fairly quickly. Some idiots tried to use non-violent methods, and that only got a bunch of people killed - when they lay on the roads, the Undershi drove tanks over them, or machinegunned them... if they tried strikes, then they shot a few of the workers, then impaled or crucified the ring-leaders and repeated until the strikes were broken. If we rioted..." he paused, seemingly remembering something:

"If we rioted, then they machinegunned us, and ran us over with tanks and so on... they flushed the sewers with nerve gas when some of us hid there. They could be as brutal as they liked, and they got results."

He seemed finished. If one looked closely, they could see tears begining to form in his eyes. He asked:

"Anything else?"

He seemed finished. If one looked closely, they could see tears begining to form in his eyes. He asked:

"Anything else?"

The agents were very moved by this last answer, but they showed no feelings.

"I understand, Mr. Miyamoto, would you like to take a moment or shall we go on with the rest of the questions? There are only two or three left"

The agents were very moved by this last answer, but they showed no feelings.

"I understand, Mr. Miyamoto, would you like to take a moment or shall we go on with the rest of the questions? There are only two or three left"

He blinked a couple of times in rapid succession, then spoke:

"No. I'm ready to go on. It's just... I was remembering. I lived through a lot of horrors. When they won, when they invaded us and took Paxton... I was there, and we tried non-violence against them, and for three days we gave them all sorts of trouble while they struggled to figure out how to deal with us. Then they apparently got tired of trying to be nice - they let their Janissaries sack the place. They pulled out all of the Military and Occupation Police units, then assembled their Janissaries, gave them their weapons, and told them to go loot and rape, then report back to base in two days. I spent that time hiding in a storm drain, listening to a city die. When I went out to look for food, I saw... all sorts of things. That was why I... showed emotion." he took another pause, rapidly blinked again, then spoke again:

"I'm ready to continue."

"Do you have any living relatives in Undershi or any of it's provinces that could get, well, punished were you to publicly denounce the Undershi regime?"

"Do you have any living relatives in Undershi or any of it's provinces that could get, well, punished were you to publicly denounce the Undershi regime?"

He paused when asked that question, then answered:

"My parents are both dead, but I might still have a live sister in Paxton - I don't know - I haven't heard from her since the invasion, so she might have died then, or since then, or she could still be alive, conceivably. I don't know. However... if she is alive, then she is living under the Undershi yoke, nothing more than an animal as far as her masters are concerned. If she is alive, then that fact is for me more of a reason to speak out than to remain silent. I will continue answering your questions. And I do denounce Undershi - it is a brutal monstrosity of a regime, one that deserves to be ground down into the dust." he smilled at that, even as his eyes glistened with moisture from unshed tears. He was finally free to say what he wanted... it was a good feeling.

"Okay, now, this is the last question, and then we'll let you rest, some guys from the Soviet News Network want to talk to you about an interview.

Our goverment has allowed us to give you several options regarding yourself, which are detailed in the paper we will hand you now"

The agents extended one sheets of paper for the Johnatan to read, it contained the following list:


Stay at TWSP and keep Undershi Citizenship
Stay at the TWSP and get Soviet Citizenship
Go back to Undershi
Go to any other country of your choice (with travel paid for by TWSP goverment)
Get Soviet Citizenship and leave a la option number #4

Johnathan spent about thirty seconds looking at the sheet before making his decision:

"I would like to remain in TWSP with TWSP citizenship. However... would it be possible that I be marked as being a dual citizen with the Republic of Paxton, even though it no longer exists as a free nation? I mean to say, a citizen of the free nation that existed before the Undershi came. As for an interview, I will answer any questions that they have."

Johnathan spent about thirty seconds looking at the sheet before making his decision:

"I would like to remain in TWSP with TWSP citizenship. However... would it be possible that I be marked as being a dual citizen with the Republic of Paxton, even though it no longer exists as a free nation? I mean to say, a citizen of the free nation that existed before the Undershi came. As for an interview, I will answer any questions that they have."

"Of course, we'll let the people over at the Registry now, in fact, I'll go make the call now"

With that, Agent 2 rose and left the room, meanwhile, Agent 1 stood up and offered his hand to Miyamoto.

"Welcome to The World Soviet Party"

"Of course, we'll let the people over at the Registry now, in fact, I'll go make the call now"

With that, Agent 2 rose and left the room, meanwhile, Agent 1 stood up and offered his hand to Miyamoto.

"Welcome to The World Soviet Party"

At this point, Johnathan actually did begin to cry. As his tears flowed, he managed to stammer out:

"Thank you. It means a lot to me to finally have reached a nation where the people are treated with respect and are free."

OOC: I guess this thread ends here?

OOC: I guess this thread ends here?

OOC: Unless you have further questions, then yeah, it ends here. I look forward to seeing the SNN story on this...