NationStates Jolt Archive

(OOC: This is the beggining of a series of terrorist attacks I have talked to Amazonian Beasts about. The idea behind it is that an ethnic minority in his nation, the Ithics, have been opressed and now 'The 7000', a terrorist organization, whose name comes from a tale from Ithic culture, have begun to strike back, beggining with an assasination attempt.)

Just outside Necropolis, Amazonia-8:26 PM

Enthen Tiaech glanced at his watch, somewhat difficult in the growing darkness, especially in Necropolis of all places. It was almost time. Monthes of planning had gone into this, and soon it would begin. In just a few minutes, the whole world will know that the Ithics will not stand for their treatment and the control of their homeland.

Zhaen Tiaech, Enthen's brother, climbed into the passenger seat of the truck. He had ragged looks and long, uncut greying hair, despite being only in his mid-forties. Enthen himself was several years younger and had dirty black hair and a growing beard.

"Ready, brother?" Zhaen asked.

"See you in Hell." Enthen replied, with a little smile. They revved up the truck and drove towards the bridge that led to the inner city. They were stopped at a checkpoint by armed military guards.

"What is your business here?" They questioned.

"Delivery. We have papers." Enthen spoke, as his older brother refused to learn any other language then Ithican. Still, Enthen had a heavy accent. He handed over the papers. They were very good forgeries, having been taken a few days ago and painstakenly copied over with a changed date.

"Fine. But we shall inspect your truck to see that you are carrying what you must carry."

The guards walked around to the back of the truck and opened it up. Inside there were dozens of crates. Choosing one at random, the guards cracked it open. Inside were piles and piles of business paper. One of them checked the papers the drivers had given him. It said it was to go to one of the big offices in the city.

"Continue."

The back of the truck was shut again and Enthen continued to drive while Zhaen stood up and pulled off the covering of the seat he was on. The seat had been hollowed out and inside were several cans of alcohol. He opened the crates in back and began to spread it over the paper. There were special chemicals inside that once exposed to flames would explode brilliantly. This was of course in addition to the plastic explosives set inside the walls and floor of the truck. All that was left was for the truck to get in range of their target.

About twenty minutes later, they were there. They were near a central plaza with a tall office building standing at the end. Undoubtably there were multiple snipers and security personnel watching for any attempted shooters. After all, the target was pretty high-class. It's not every day that one of the Emperor's apprentices was out in public like this.

They parked the truck near the building. A patrol from the blockade around the plaza met them.

"We're here with a delivery of paper. We can wait." Enthen said. Too busy to be bothered further, the patrol nodded and returned to their business.

Zhaen then pulled out two pistols from the dashboard. He handed one to Enthen and kept the other.

"Dead men don't need guns." Enthen joked. Zhaen gave a rough chuckled. They waited. Enthen watched the time tick away on his watch. Finally, their target showed himself.

Ludo Kressh, one of the Emperor's five apprentices, walked out of the building flanked by his guard and accompanied by his own apprentice. Enthen nodded to his brother. Kressh was walking quickly across the plaza. It was time. Enthen hit the gas and the truck, with a reenforced metal bumper, pushed through the cars that had blocked off the road. Immediately, everyone knew something was wrong.

Enthen drove with rough determination. He headed up the stairs, the truck bouncing as it went, and drove across the plaza headed straight towards Kressh. Suddenly, Zhaen pushed him out of the way and grabbed the wheel. Just as Enthen slipped out of the truck, his brother said,

"You do not meet the Devil today, little brother!"

Enthen fell out and rolled. He looked up and felt his head. He was bleeding, but then what happened struck him. He stood up and ran, ignorant of the blood poring from his forehead. He watched as Zhaen drove right towards Kressh and his entourage, pictured him taking out the detonator, and then was witness to the massive explosion that ensued.

Enthen was suddenly aware that he needed to get out of view. He turned and headed towards one of the dark alleyways, not even watching to see if Kressh was dead, just aware that his brother had given him a chance for survival and a chance to strike again.

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Timed to coincide with the blast, all the TV's in Necropolis were interrupted by a highjacked broadcast. A figure wearing a fisherman's cap and jacket, with the darkness of the room obscuring his face, spoke to the audience throughout the city.

"By the time you see this broadcast, your beloved Emperor's Apprentice Ludo Kressh will be dead. This is only the first of many more events to come. We, the 7000, have banded together and decided to strike back. The Ithic people's have long been opressed and the time has come to remedy this policy, and we have seen the necessity for violence. This is only the beggining. Live in fear, Amazonians, and we Ithics have lived in fear."

The team sent to the location of where the broadcast originated discovered a small shack about 5 miles outside of the city. Inside was a small laptop hooked up to a portable broadcast antenna. The second they entered the shack a series of explosives rigged with a wire trigger took both them and the machine out.

OOC: I'll get more up when I get back from practice...

IC:

The blast was fiery hot, a searing white blowing away the vision of the dark, drizzle-worn streets of Necropolis into a sea of orange and red before the keen eyes of Ludo Kressh. A momentary blur shot out his way, and darkness enveloped him momentarily. The apprentice had been trained better; this was a bluster he should've avoided. Thoughts swam in his head as he felt the light rain patter down from the darkening, clouded skies, shrouded lightly by the towering buildings above. Today just wasn't one of those good days, apparently.

Kressh came to after a half-minute on the asphalt avenue that lay before the Imperial Convocation Center, the colder atmosphere and hard rain clearing his vision. Kressh sat up abruptly-too abruptly-and dizziness overcame his senses. He spat out a mouthfull of blood, hatred overtaking his mind. Heathens, his mind thought, the blade has not struck me down yet. Kressh was the oldest of the apprentices-over thirty years in age-but he was the smartest, and the quickest reaction on his behalf-even a small step to the side-had blown him off course from what was likely death.

Bodies were spattered about on the steps to the ICC, several Sovereign Guards that had been accompanying him bleeding profusely from numerous punctures in their battle armor. The blast had been quite a number, more on the par of something military-grade, rather than a basic homemade bomb of the type the Federal scum could probaly get from its civilian supporters. Still glancing about the casulty line that provided a grim backdrop, the bodyguards drew no feelings from Kressh...but one lying on the pavement did.

Carnor Jax was twenty-one, younger than any of the apprentices, but eager in the darker views of society and politics held by the Imperial regime. Kressh had found him locked away in one of Necropolis's ghettos, one who had taken rule over the local neighborhood and begun taking from others. Impressed by his cunning, Kressh had taken him under his wing...away from the eyes of some of the more poisonous apprentices. He had promise, and to potentially suceed Kressh-as Ludo knew he was destined to succeed Emperor Droma in the line of succession.

Apparently, that dream for Carnor Jax was over. A piece of shrapnel had lodged itself in Jax's larynx, blood pouring out from the pierced carotid artery in the deep wound. It was already over, and Kressh-a hardened veteran-could already see that. Angered, the apprentice punched into one of the still corpses of a Sovereign Guardsman in anger, the pliable corpse giving in to the stiff swipe.

From above the carnage below as Imperial emergency teams arrived on scene, Naga Sadow-another of the apprentices-sighed in disgruntlement. The stupid terrorists could have at least taken out Kressh while they were at it-but no, they had wasted the lives of several guardsmen and left the fool still alive. Sadow considered himself Kressh's direct rival in the numerous feuds between the apprentices, and even their styles were contrasting-to Kressh's cunning and behind-the-back moves, Sadow was directly confrontational and brash. They'd clashed numerous times before, and Sadow had hoped the terrorists had accomplished his goal for him.

It seemed that Sadow would still have to do the dirty work, as Kressh was moving around and apparently only ephemerally wounded. A shame, of course-but Sadow had other ideas. He embraced the pain of others, enjoyed the feeling of their suffering-and what better way to bring that across than to get rid of two enemies at once? Kressh was mourning many stories below at the death of Jax, while Sadow wanted these terrorists dead before they could do further damage. How convenient it was that a TV broadcast, several minutes after his musing, gave him all the information he needed...Ithics.

They were a small minority, comparitively small to some of the others, and barely a nuiscance compared to the federals in the city of Amazonia, the pain they were (and a gnat that couldn't be swiped at, unless provoke civil war!) But exterminating minorities was nothing new-and Sadow had a visceral feeling for it. There were nations out there that could probaly go overboard-or underestimate-on such a problem, but with all the infighting between government styles that regularly plagued Amazonia's nationhood, such a problem could likely be gauged and erased within the course of plan.

The Imperial Palace itself-less a palace than a gargantuan fortress-spire that tunneled deep underground-had information aplenty within its deep, heavily guarded underground section. Being an apprentice, Sadow had near-complete access to the spire's vaults and chambers, able to search to his heart's desire. The elevator reached the bottom-most vaults quickly, giving Sadow enough time to search at his leisure.

Greeting him was the extensive information network on Amazonia, completely dominating the bottom-most floor. Very few ever saw eyes in here, and there wasn't much to see-it was a vast computer network, backed up in multiple areas where Sadow himself didn't even know. This would suffice for his knowledge, and quickly accessing a computer terminal, Sadow tapped into the network.

Amazonia itself was guided much by a central network of computers and electronics, guarded carefully against EMP attacks or other electronic warfare means. It was one of the prizes of the society that few new about, and in the heavily guarded buildings, such as the Palace, the network came together to link and give continuous updates. The underground vaults were virtually unassailable from outside attack-potentially one could slip in and assault, but defeating security would be difficult, at least-and even a collapse by the spire itself would do little damage to the underground section as long as the rubble was cleared for access.

The computer terminals linked up to the network, giving Sadow some-not enough, in his mind-information about such "Ithics". In a nation guarded by inconspicuous security cameras capable of tracking movement and finding identities, drawing up Ithics would not be difficult once a feed was acquired. However, none yet was, for the time they had been an overlooked people for the most part. Sadow was able to draw up a likely location for their hotbed-indeed, their largest concentration of Ithics-in the Eastern-most dual islands of New Zealand, one of the corners of the Dominion.

That was enough for Sadow-he knew what else he would do. Rising from the bottom vaults, a plan of action-of counter-terror through terror-was rising through his minds. Soon, he could galvanize the people of Amazonia to do some of his work for him...and if they didn't, they would pay in blood and tears.

The information came soon enough. Kressh had survived. That didn't please the man who had spoken in the broadcast. Nothing much these days pleased Burald Omaran, but this really struck home. Their target was alive and the government was now aware of their existance. It wouldn't be long before the reprisals came. Still, it had done some good. The government would now think that they had much greater capabilities then they did. It was unlikely that they knew it had actually taken monthes of planning for the attack.

Omaran sighed and was at least pleased that he had sent his son overseas before this all began. He was safe in a school in a far foreign land. He knew his wife was grateful that despite young Corin's objections he insisted on sending him away. Yes, his wife, dear Irir. She had been blinded by the Amazonian Police in a show of senseless brutality. Vengeance for what happened to her was his real drive. Yes, he believed his people had been mistreated but that didn't matter as much. What did was the vengeance he would wreak.

Burald sighed again and returned to his work on the fishing trawl. He already had the makings of the next attack in mind. He would have his revenge.

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Enthen had managed to clean himself off and was already headed back for the docks. The fishing ship that had brought him there had not left yet, thankfully. Undoubtably they were waiting to hear the results of what had happened. For once he was nice that news traveled slow until it reached the ears of the Ithic community. He walked towards it casually. He smiled inwardly as he thought about what they would say when they realized he was still alive. The shock of his brother's death had yet to hit him. He was willing to kill himself. His life was terrible, with all his family but his brother having been taken from him. To see that he had survived yet again was almost worst then death.

Enthen jumped onto the deck of the ship. Immediately the crew looked up at him. They were all astonished. The captain, an elderly man by the name of Rovban, walked up on deck and rubbed his eyes.

"How did you survive?" he asked Enthen, amazed.

"My brother threw me away at the last second, so I could live to strike again at our oppressors." Enthen replied.

Rovban still looked shocked, but recovered quickly.

"We better pull out of port before its too late now." he said, and began giving the orders to his crew.

Enthen returned to his position below deck where he had ridden the journey here in. He sat down and pulled out the gun his brother had handed him before he drove to his death. Enthen wondered whether he had been planning to save him all along. It would fit his older brother to not them die together, with honor. But he had given him a chance to fight again. He swore then and there that he would use that for all it was worth.

The Emperor himself, Kyp Droma, was an aging man. At 53, he was still middle-aged for the average Amazonian, but locked in a dark struggle against the Federalists, vigorously circled by five apprentices, Droma had less and less time on this Earth before the next would beckon his arrival. No stone of immortality, no elixer of life had crossed his path, and Droma, for all entents and purposes, was ready at any time to embrace death. It was not a thing to be feared, and for one who had sent so many to its stony sepulcher, he was ready when the time called to join the heathens he had struck down with his own hand.

However, while life still flowed through his blood, Droma would continue to pick his targets and slice them down with his own scimitars. His five apprentices, constantly awaiting his death, made him proud of his own existence-he felt he had created a good future for Amazonian imperialism. He had no favorites amongst the five-the cunning Kressh, the brash Sadow, cold and calculating Ragnos, power-hungry Nihilis, and passionate Sion. Rather, he let the strongest survive-and already alliances were forming up within the ranks of the apprentices. Sadow on Kressh, Sion on Nihilis-and Ragnos behind the scene manipulating strings like a marionnette player.

But in life, Kyp Droma controlled power. He enjoyed it, and power coursed through his veins hand in hand with the blood and plasma that ran the liquid of life itself. He had had plenty of times to flex power-and occassionally had failed. The Kraven attack on Pythogoria had been the most catastrophic of such failiures, pictures on the wall commemorating the thousands of lives and dozens of vessels destroyed in the naval battle against the Corporation and its Whyatican allies alone. Since then, Amazonia had grown a better relationship with both nations...but the memorials still went back to the day when Droma had met his greatest defeat.

Since then, he had nearly been undefeated. Rising in power, Droma had executed one of his best moves in the recent war in Shalrirorchia, emerging with few casulties and having inflicted far, far more. Things had been riding high-even the NPE war with the CA had barely even affected the loosely-aligned Amazonian nation, and the Vetalian war had yet to reach the Pacific shores of the Southeast. The Dominion, externally, was on a high.

Internally, things were different. With the apprentices feuding and the Federalists groping for more power in their feeble democratic hands, an ethnic war breaking out was simply icing on a collapsing cake. A civil war seemed near inevitable at this point...though it would be most of a question of what the Federals could scrounge up to defeat the Imperial war machine. Even Dominion law enforcement was stringent and tough. The Sentinels, the police of the Dominion, were less of standard police officers and more of watching eyes, disappearing for the most part until a crime of any type were committed. Then they would reach out from their enclaves to sweep away the wrongdoer-often never to be heard again. Where they went was where the Emperor was now.

The Imperial Detention Facilities had an amiable-sounding name, but its truth was far from pretty. Inside, the tortured writhing and screaming of "inmates" filled the halls, others simply executed in gruesome and bloody ways once their sperm had been collected for Imperial breeding programs to develop the Shock Troopers and Imperial Commandoes. The bodies were disposed and recycled into a mismash of protein, carbohydrates, and fat-used for fodder for animals.

Nearby, the Imperial Breeding Laboritories-no inhumane center of lobotomized women, but rather a giant research center of genetic engineering, cell and gene manipulation, and artificial procreating using "donated" egg and sperm cells. It was high-tech, but it was no beneficial system designed to help the public. Rather, it reached similarity here with other programs by evil regimes-designed to create the hardened-from-birth soldiers that formed the elite of the Dominion military-the Elites, Shock Troopers, Commandoes, and Sovereign Guard.

It was quite a successful program-while the grunts of the military, volunteers and conscripts, were tougher than many national armies, the elite soldiers of the Dominion military were the stand-outs who were rarely beaten by any other than opposing soldiers of the same mold, ala the Capital Police (a superior force to the Dominion elite, but a similar mold). The Sentinels were inferior, yet superior to the common soldier in many ways-they were simply trained in different areas, an urban force that dealt with sustaining peace and combatting different types of threats.

And so the Ithics were bringing on the Sentinels-several of whom patrolled the Detention Facility as Droma revelled in the dank air of torture and pain, one of suffering that his evil soul loved. Droma himself didn't get out too much beyond the buildings which made up the nexus of the Imperial regime, but he had enough at his hands to direct his bidding...

Araye Tinet was overjoyed. The news was that Enthen had survived somehow. At first many were worried that it was cowardice that let him survive what should've been a suicide mission, but it was really his brother's heroism. He had pushed Enthen out so that he could fight another day. Araye had always liked Enthen and was secretly heartbroken when she learned he had been picked for the suicide mission. Now that he was alive and well she swore that she would pursue him.

But that wasn't important right now. One of the leader's liasons to the rest of the 7000 said that he was pleased with her work on the truck, and now she was working on a new project. Explosives were always her strong point. Now she was working on another way to conceal them for the next attack, which would come in about a week. She knew what she had to do, she just had to finish it. It helped that they had a sympathizer in a military base who had funneled equipment before being shot for treason for doing something else. It gave her plenty to work with.

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Phierach Ildale was double checking the weapons in their armory. They were stored inside a secret basement in one of the Ithic fishing huts. He had formerly worked as a commando and then a mercenary, but returned to his homeland only to find that no one would pay him to do any but the most meager jobs. Thus, he joined up with the 7000. Now he was doing a job for a reason and was paid back in the vengeance against the prejiduces the nation held against his people.

The weapons they were going to use were mostly AK-47's. It didn't surprise him that this was all that their leader wanted them to use for this mission. They had some better guns in store, but those were to be used on later missions. Best to give the image of weakness so that they were underestimated, for now. Still, he had done his best to optimize the rifles to their best. They would serve well for this mission.

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Enthen jumped quickly off the ship onto dock. They were on a small island right off the coast of New Zealand. Someone could easily cross the distance by swimming. The island was simply a small village that was currently being used as one of the bases of operations. There were others so that they weren't an easy target, but this was still a rather important one. Rumor had it that the leader of the organization was a fishermen here, but that was just a rumor.

Enthen headed up to the small house he had shared with his brother before they started their mission. There was very little there, as they had always been poor and had left what was left to the neighbors once their death was confirmed. Enthen was happy that they had waited for the news before taking what had been left to them. That just went to show the honor of the Ithics.

Enthen entered the house and sat down on his sofa. He expected he would be getting a visit from his contact soon enough to give an explanation for his survival. Until then, he took out one of the few beers there was in the only half working fridge and opened it up. Better enjoy what was left of his life while it lasted.

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Dreuth Draomos looked around nervously. If the 7000 caught him, well, he was going to ignore the nagging doubt that was screaming about what they would do to him if they found out what he was doing. It was easy to ignore that though, when he took into consideration what he would surely gain through what he was about to do.

Dreuth, like most Ithics in Amazonian Beasts, was unable to afford anything other than incredibly filthy clothing. His hair was black, like all Ithic men, and his skin was semi-tanned, semi-pale. To most Ithic women, he would probably be seen as mildly attractive, but in his current state, he would probably be seen as repulsive by anyone else. That didn't matter to him. His wife was long dead, and he had no interest in getting rebonded.

He walked through the streets of Necropolis cautiously until he reached one of the 'Police' stations, and, after some dirty looks from the guards outside, entered. He immediately walked up to the front desk, and said,

"How would you like to be the ones to catch the guys who nearly killed Ludo Kressh?"

Sympathy was one thing that could not be tolerated when dealing with localized insurrection-and those known-much less suspected-had to be dealt with accordingly, no matter their status. The Sentinels had a job to do-and they were following Imperial instructions to make some examples of whoever they could find, let them be guilty or not guilty, as long as it took place in the New Zealand chain. The messier, the better-provocative incidents would likely draw out the rebels to do some sort of "freedom movement" or act of terror...and this time the Dominion would be more prepared.

The suburbs of the New Zealand city of Nova Oceana, the second-largest Dominion city at a population of over 17 million, were expansive and populous. Nova Oceana was a gleaming city, more refined than the dark fortress-capital of Necropolis or the giant sprawl of Amazonia. Thousands from the suburbs commuted to the high-tech metropolis to work in the towering spire of ArcLine Defense Industries's headquarters or the factories of Waverunner shipbuilding. It was a standard megacity of the type that sprawled across the planet, the home to millions.

The suburbs were vulnerable targets, therefore, to be the prey of the Sentinels. Some in particular, the more run-down suburbs out in the more rural districts that still lay within the city lines, were especially good-bait-home to the lower-wage workers who would not be missed and would be good targets to pose as "rebel sympathizers." It would only require a little brutality by the Sentinels to engage and dispose of said targets, and very little emotion.

The suburb in particular was home to low-income families and several apartment low-rises, a perfect setting to make some examples and to slaughter some who likely were collaborating with the rebels. There was bound to be a few Ithics, especially since they were not of the higher-class in the Dominion. Why not sacrifice some of the useless workers along with it and clean out the gene pool? It was a plan that would either force them to do something, or to let the Ithics keep back on their haunches as the Dominion slowly rooted them out to destruction.

The Sentinels, for being a "policing force", used some high-tech equipment in the form of armor and weaponry. Half of it was intimidation, but they were more than well-versed in utilizing such equipment in times such as the one faced. Exterminating the enemy was key, especially before they could go and do something rash...like forming a behind-the-back alliance with the Federalists. Rather squash their hopes now, or at least show them that the situation was entirely hopeless.

It was early morning or the mid-summer day, the sun creeping up above the horizon, casting down its warming golden rays upon the homes and buildings. Some cars were out on the road, but unlike the torrent of vehicles that dominated the inner city and rich, close-in suburbs, the outer batches as this had fewer vehicles and more walking and buses. The Sentinels, working this time with a branch of Shock Troopers, had done a good job covertly blocking off the suburb, roughly containing four hundred people. Bound to be an Ithic or two-maybe more-inside.

The woody hills around the suburb, shrouding it from the larger community to the other side, provided no barrier to the light Merkava tanks-an older design, but still more than capable of doing the job-that descended in the light of dawn. Merkava Mk. IVs were a defensive tank, supplanted more by the standard Scorpian and Jaguar tanks in the mainstay army. However, as a policing force, teaming with the Lynx battle platform, they did a nice number in doing the job.

The sleepy suburb was barely even awake, a single car going down the main road that led over the hills that surrounded the small town. The man in the car was a factory worker at Waverunner like others, a wife, two kids, modest income that was enough for him. He was barely awake at a long night, and never saw the three Sentinels on the side of the road watching him. He flew right past at 45 mph, never noticing what one of the Sentinels had in his hand. As soon as the car passed, one of the Sentinels made a short wave of the hand-and he caught this in the mirror. A smoke blast accompanied the wave, and he barely had enough time to blink.

He never saw those children or that wife again as the Predator rocket slammed into the car, spewing fire and shrapnel all over. The man pitched forward, over the wheel and out the front windshield, thrown in front of the car as a piece of metal shrapnel from the car's belly tore through his chest and into his lung, another piercing his neck and driving into the spinal cord. The man was dead instantly.

For the Sentinels, it was picture perfect. The surrounding woods had muffled some of the noise, and apparently the rest of the town had considered it minor, as no reactions were coming. Easy as pie-and the tallest building in the town, the apartment rise containing about a hundred, was dead in the sights of three Merkavas. With a crack from the hill, three kinetic rounds slammed forth from the light tanks into the apartment. Cement blew outwards, stone, wood, and pieces of the building blowing outwards with a smoke cloud.

That brought screams. By now, it was far too late. Lynx APCs were charging down the other side, and Shock Troopers and Sentinels were disembarking from the vehicles. A man came out of one building in loose clothes-the 30mm secondary cannon on the Lynx blasted through his body, lighting the house up in a fire. One of the Shock Troopers grabbed a megaphone, making an announcement.

"Attention...you have been found guilty of conspiring with the Ithic rebel movement. Punishment will be swift and sure."

The Sentinels and Shock Troopers weren't the type to go around raping and pillaging...rather, they simply killed. Finding a married couple in one home, the Sentinels did not try and make any sort of overt moves of forcing a surrender-rather, their XM8 carbines cracked with bullet fire, laying out both stone dead. Civilians-women, men, and children-left their homes into the streets, trying to see what was going on-and they were left dead by the bullets of soldiers and rounds of vehicles.

Bodies dotted the streets as buildings were afire, others running to death as they tried to avoid the hail of fire, simply running into the fatal embrace of Shock Troopers and Sentinels. It was all over in less than twenty minutes, every last one of the residents of the town dead in the rubble or in the streets, buildings burning, and the soldiers and policing forces victorious once more over the enemy who would be punished for their deeds...

Burald Omaran was shocked when the news reached his ears. The normal news stations had reported a 'Rebel Compound' being destroyed, but Burald's contacts informed him of the true story. An entire suburb destroyed to send a message to his organization. Burald cared less that the victims weren't Ithics. After all, even many of the poor looked down on his people, but he did care that the government still showed this kind of brutality to its people. The kind of brutality that took away his wife's sight.

Burald picked up a phone and called his second-in-command.

"I don't have to say anything, do I?"

"No."

"We're going to push ahead with the operation now. Get as many extra men as you can and prepare. Give the word to 'Forge'. Get the 'Keys' from them and move out."

"Yes, sir."

With that Burald put down the phone and waited. Pretty soon he would know the results of the operation. He would either see propaganda about something on the news, showing that it had been successful, propaganda about his operation being crushed, or soldiers bursting into his home and putting a bullet into his head, if his men betrayed him. He sighed and returned to work. He was expecting one of the latter two.

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Phierach took a look at the weapons. His orders had come and he was now retrieving the more military grade ones. There were a few XM8's, and there were a lot of M16's. Additionally, there was a lot of ammunition and grenades of various types. Unfortunately, they didn't have much body armor or anything that could take down vehicles, but with what they had in mind they wouldn't have to worry about that.

Phierach checked everything over. Pretty soon, they would have more funds, more supplies, and a better base of operations for the next attack, which was already being planned. He thought back to his little brother, who would soon be the key part of the next attack. He hoped he survived. It wasn't outwardly a suicide mission, but there was a good chance he wouldn't come out alive. But he had hope. He had heard of 'Enthen', who survived what was supposed to be a suicide bombing, and he hoped sincerely that the same would happen to his brother.

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Enthen had already recieved his orders. Barely three days after returning safely home he was being sent out again, though this time he was being given a better chance for survival. His contact had ordered him to go to the mainland of New Zealand. While on the boat, with Rovban again, he was given orders to head to a van that would be waiting, which was part of several disguised as fishery vans. It made sense. This allowed them to travel from the boat to the van to parts of the city fairly easily without worrying about further cover. He was going to be in one of five such vans.

Enthen was instructed to carry one of several crates onboard to the van. Once inside, he found himself with several other men. One of the others cracked open the cases they were carrying. Inside was dozens of fish, and ice. Enthen was curious why they were carrying fish until the man dug inside and pulled out an M16 rifle from inside. He instructed the others to do the same. Pretty soon, they were all armed with either AK-47s or M16s.

"Listen up," said the man who had removed the rifles, "We're going to get some cover for this operation through an assasination of a local political figure. That will take most of the opposition we may face initially away. From there, we can get what we need with less difficulty."

"What exactly are we doing?" one of the men asked.

The head of the operation simply smiled and said, "You'll find out soon enough. Now put your masks on."

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Letonas Ildale bid his guests goodbye. It had been clever, one had to admit, to use a party as a cover for smuggling the materials he would need to him. Making sure he was a safe distance away from any windows, he began to open the 'gifts' he had been given. Inside each one was a piece of a rifle, and soon, under his expert hands, it was fitted together. However, he couldn't exactly carry it around freely, so he took it apart and put the various pieces into his jacket, his bag, and various parts of his clothing. He then left his apartment and began to walk down the streets of Nova Oceana. He was thankful that he did live in the city and that prior to the 7000 he was in good favor and had plenty of money, thus meaning he wasn't got in the suburb that the Imperial Sentinels had destroyed, though many of his friends were.

Nova Oceana was, besides the paradise-city of Rydoni, the most openly free city in the Dominion. Sure, it was home to a substantial naval base complete with a full division of Imperial Marines, and was still home to plenty of Sentinels, but far from the mainland, it was free from the watchful eyes of the imperial government for the most part. Even light dissenting opinions on the government could be uttered and not be punished, as the Sentinels were on the lookout for more insidious threats; minor offenses were below their concern.

It was with this free-bearing spirit that Nova Oceana was, beneath the exterior, darker and more insidious than such cities as Kuram and Amazonia. The citizens of Nova Oceana, unlike those of the former, did not see most of what went on-the Sentinels were smarter and concealed themselves better, preferring to leave up illusions rather than inspire intimidation. What moves were made-such as the recent sting operation on the rebel stronghold in the suburban region-were covered up with precision and quickness. The media had been quickly informed with coverage that delighted them-footage of the destruction of the "insurgent operations block", digitally remastered to put the edge to the Dominion and knocking out the whole slaughter of women and children for the most part, except for a scene where a young boy "shot" a "peaceful, friendly police officer" at point-blank range-and was shot back as a consequence. The abilities of revision were excellent, indeed.

The underground complexes were standard in many of the larger cities, and Nova Oceana's-in the second-largest Dominion city-were somewhat expansive. Today dozens of Sentinels practiced in indoor facilities, SCAR-H heavy rifles and XM8 modular carbines cracking ammunition at digital figures, dummies, and prisoners who needed the death penalty...which was a good number. It wasn't as if the small Glock pistols the prisoners recieved to defend themselves could do much to the full body armor of the Sentinels, anyway...and the weapons of the Dominion police were far better.

In other simulation centers underground, Sentinels and Shock Troopers praciticed a joint operation in armor combat, using several Lynx APCs to blast Javelin missiles and 88mm KE rounds into prisoner-manned vehicles. It was either this death-fairly quick from explosion-or a long and messy one through Amazonian execution for the prisoners...and this way, they at least believed that the outdated M113 APCs and BMP-1s they were in could do damage to the Lynx battle platforms. Their delusion, their fate.

On the streets of Nova Oceana, the Sentinel presence was far smaller, and their vehicles far fewer in number, rather driving modified civilian vehicles and the occassional armored and armed truck-disguised as cargo haulers-around, yet still equipped with XM312 and XM320 weapons to engage potential wrongdoers with if need be. It was a well-run organization that could more than hold its own-even against invasion, if need be, until the Marines and navy could arrive with the real weapons.

Letonas Ildale, his face now obscured by a ski mask and wearing gloves as not to leave his fingerprints. He had moved securely across the rooftops, having taken care to note the positions of cameras and such during previous dry runs. He made his way to the proper position and set up.

The target was a rather important business man, who was meeting with the Mayor of Nova Oceana. His orders were to take out the business man, though there were no objections to eliminating the Mayor as well, though that would be tougher. Letonas was the one actually taking the shot, while another sniper would use a special round to shatter the glass before Letonas fired.

After a short wait, Letonas got his single. A banging on the pipe near him. It was time. He took his aim, and waited. This all depended on him being able to hit the trigger fast enough so that the bullet reached the man before he got down. He had trained for this, but he hoped it would be enough.

The seconds past by agonizingly, and then suddenly it happened. A fast banging, and then the window seemed to just explode. Letonas fired immediately, and then swiveled quickly, hoping to be able to get a shot off. Seeing what looked like a body, he fired at it, not caring whether he had the right target, and then pulled back behind his cover. He immediately started dismanteling the parts and storing them back into his clothes.

After waiting for several seconds, Letonas took off running. He clambered down a fire escape and switched the sides of his coat, then put his mask, gloves, and the pieces of the rifle into the dumpster. An Ithic who was part of the organization was the garbage man, and he would take care of them.

OOC: My bad, didn't see this

IC:

Letonas got his kill-unfortunately, he got the wrong target, though no less important. The mayor himself was the one who had walked up before entrepaneur Kyle Jenkins of Waverunner naval industries, talking about refurbishing the naval docks of Nova Oceana using Waverunner technology and labor. As the two had walked with several guards down the hall of the City Center. The glass veranda was a sweeping entrance adorned by a bright facade and marble backdrop-and such marble, easily stained, was a fitting white.

The first round slashed into the glass of the veranda, bursting open a two-meter diameter gash in the massive pane. The two barely had a moment's reaction time before the second bullet came in. Jenkins was a former naval sailor in the Federation navy before the Federation collapsed to become the Dominion, and hence had begun to drop to the floor when he-facing the wall-had seen the glass split in an unnatural fashion. The mayor didn't have as much of a reaction or instinct in him-and the bullet slammed straight into his neck vertebrae. Bone and nerve spit out the front of the mayor's neck, shrapnel of the spine slashing his carotid artery as other pieces lodged in the mayor's larynx.

One of the guards, not diving because of the full-body armor suits of the Sentinels, caught a flash of movement through the shatter of the window pane. His critical mistake, however, was to level his SCAR-H and rip open a three-bullet burst, rather than to try and direct moves towards the flash of movement. The bullets clearly were too late-and the mayor's corpse on the floor was bleeding profusely as visceral carnage lay around his stiffening body.

Within ninety seconds of the shot, three Ocelot fast attack vehicles were on-site, seven others patrolling the local area with their 30mm turret cannons. Shock Troopers were already coming in to take over from the Sentinels, with heavier equipment and tougher armor and abilities. Nova Oceana was a bit too open to the military's eyes...perhaps the big city of New Zealand needed a crackdown. The little insurgents were popping up across the board on the island, and while delivery to the mainland or the other two islands would be at the very least suicidal (though somehow they had made it to Necropolis...but with the Emperor, that would never happen again), New Zealand was the second largest land mass of the Dominion and home to nearly four hundred million people. That had a fairly wide impact from these insurgents.

New Zealand was quite a bit more rural from the other land areas, but it had three primary cities-Nova Oceana as its biggest, along with the slightly smaller Korrtiron and the frigid Setin to the far south of the New Zealand region. However, even though it was the second-least populated of the regions (Tasmania was the smallest at just under a hundred million-it was dense there), New Zealand was a progressive place. It was likely this spirit that had festered into an interolerable resistance movement-one that had to be stamped out like a mosquito.

Provincial governor Tyson Thompson, who essentially ruled with a mostly free hand over the New Zealand province (with enough oversight by the Imperial government to ensure that certain plans were carried out), had plenty of ideas to exert influence over Nova Oceana. However, the Emperor back in Necropolis had wanted Nova Oceana as the international port, at least dealing with more of the Pacific groups. With that in mind, Nova Oceana had remained somewhat free. Now, however, Thompson had all the motivation he needed to impose what he actually wanted for Nova Oceana-an autocratic city to rival the militarily-zealous city of Necropolis on the continent-island. With an enormous military base, Nova Oceana had all the potential to do it-and Thompson wanted to see it so.

It started subtly that day as the sun started to die down. Central Plaza before the City Center had barely seen observable Sentinel presence except in the Center itself; now...a Jaguar tank was parked squarely next to the plaza's main fountain. Careful observation showed several Ocelots in and around the Plaza. Rather than just Sentinels, a squad of Shock Troops, barely visable in the setting sun with their grey-and-red armor scheme, were around the Center itself.

Inside the city, things weren't as calm. The streets weren't just relegated to cars and pedestrians now-a Lynx APC rolled down the streets, patrolling, as a squad of Sentinels went down the street on foot the other direction, only a small slice of the upcoming repressions to come to Nova Oceana and the other two big cities of New Zealand.

Meanwhile, as Letonas took his ironically fated shot, the vans full of armed men from the port headed to multiple places around the city. They entered with their weapons hidden but their masks on. Then they set off the 'Keys'. These turned out to be high-explosives that allowed entry into multiple secure areas. They also activated devices that would put out powerful signals on multiple frequencies as a sort of jamming and released several different powerful nerve agents, which while non-lethal would paralyze for several hours.

The targets were two banks, and two companies, and one government office. The banks were accessed and at gunpoint tens of millions were stolen to finance the operations further. At the companies, money was also stolen and so were hostages. At the government office, a skilled hacker came out and attempted to access the computers to locate something.

The first two operations succeeded, but the last failed, and all were interrupted by Sentinels. Gunfire cracked in the buildings as the two groups exchanged fire. Special armor piercing rounds that the Ithics wielded allowed them to take down a few, but for the most part they took heavy losses. As the alarm was raised and focus shifted to them, the groups took what they could get, including hostages and money, and they headed back to the trucks, firing along the way.

Enthen was with the office strike team. He fired off several rounds from his XM8 at the Sentinels. He got one and blood streamed from his neck. Another fired and it went flying by him, striking the abdomen of the man behind him and splattering his intestines all over the wall. He watched as they ran towards the trucks and as a man began tossing out makeshift explosives. They would wreck the road behind them and prevent followers. The group made it back to the port mostly unharassed. However, they had only a fraction of the men they had come in with.

They loaded up onto the boats quickly and set off with the evening fishing fleet. By the time that the Sentinels would be able to react to both threats fully, it would be too late. Letonas would have taken his shot and they would be mixed up and undetectable. Or so he hoped.

Nova Oceana had been hit, but it wasn't even close to being wounded. A vibrant city, a few million had been stolen-not enough to support the rebels for long, a few who could be spared had left...but nothing spectacular. Sentinel life had been lost by the hundreds, but the Dominion machine churned on in turning out the soldier-police. The positive stat was more telling-not one Shock Trooper (a minority, to be sure, in the operation) had lost a life today, and they were the elite soldiers of the Dominion-not quite the best of the best (that was reserved for the Imperial Commandos and the Sovereign Guard), but just one rung down the ladder.

The boats of the rebels had for the most part been lost to detection-but one that had left at the tail end of the formation had had convening forces at the docks able to convey information on to higher chains of command rather quickly. Satellite imagery locked down the detailed images of the ship, which was sent off to the local fleet at port in Nova Oceana. It wouldn't take much to bring in a full load of information...

Two PCFGs raced off from the docks to corrall the wayward vessel, tight in the fishing corridors but now a marked vessel. Cruising at 35 knots, it took less than a half hour from first chase for the two fast attack boats, armed with missile weaponry and light guns, to catch up. Doubtless as the two vessels approached the ship they were spotted...however, the weaponry of the military vessels had a considerably better range.

An Elite Trooper got on a fore-mounted Grenade Machine Gun on the lead PCFG as the vessel closed to a kilometer for ease of fire and accuracy...even though the soldier now crewing the weapon had a good eye. He was a member of one of the stronger soldier classes, as it was. The PCFG's main gun turned on the boat, final identification being done-satellite imagery being confirmed. One mistake was all it took for things to be revealed. Now it was time to bring in the bait.

The PCFG opened fire first-its 76mm main gun ripping off a blast overhead of all the vessels. That'd be enough for the other ships to initiate normal procedure-stopping immediately, as all ship captains commercially knew. The hostile-controlled could also stop, if it so chose, but if so...it'd be an even easier target, especially since the winds were blowing very lightly today and away from the fleet at large.

The man at the GMG now opened fire. Inside the machine gun, container grenades-filled with Kolokol-1 incapacitating agent-were loaded up as the soldier opened fire from behind the surrounding deck of the PCFG directly at the forecastle of the hostile-controlled "fishing boat". If some commercial citizens got knocked out, so be it...they would be incapacitated, temporarily, for the state's success. As the deluge from the GMG increased, the second PCFG began proceding up from behind the first, primary gun directed right at the vessel. If so much as a single shot came out, the second PCFG would ensure that the boat wouldn't last too long. Captives could always be plucked from the water, as well.

The crew of the targeted fishing vessel was rocked as explosions started in the nearby water. It was easy to tell where they came from. The captain ordered his men to grab the few weapons they had aboard and prepare to counterattack. A hidden turret was pulled out from behind boxes and opened with machine gun fire. It would hardly do anything, but at least they could try.

However, the explosions got closer and closer and the men aboard realized that they were filled with gas. The group from aboard the truck headed below decks where they stored their gas masks from the operation. They put them on and armed themselves, hiding below deck ready to take down any boarders. Meanwhile, the crew up top continued to do what they could.

It was too little too late, unfortunately, and without getting a single shot to hit the approaching vessel, the ship was slowly filled with the agent and the men succumbed to it. In the bowels of the ship however, the few men they had waited and securely aimed from their hiding places. They hoped they would be able to take out the first few men at least, but that didn't seem likely.