NationStates Jolt Archive

OOC: this is open for RS nations

IC:
Gewalt Industries National Headquarters, Enkavia:

Alojz Kazimier sat in a large, opulent office, slowly sipping from a glass of champagne. The room was on the top floor of a one-hundred and fourteen story skyscraper overlooking the capitol city of the Dominion of Enkavia. The once free nation had for nearly a decade now been ruled with an iron fist by the Gewalt Industries Corporation, and had been slowly transformed into a smog-filled corporate machine. Skyscrapers gleamed in the perpetual twilight, reflecting the few rays of sunlight that broke through the smog that filled the city. It was a cutthroat businessman's paradise.

Kazimier was the president of the arms manufacturing branch of Gewalt Industries. Like most of the corporation's executives, he had attained this position through assassinating his competitors and managing to thwart the numerous attempts made on his own life. Still, he was very good at his job, weapons and war being two things that Kazimiers had great fondness for.

In front of him sat the corporation's CEO, John Greyson, surrounded by four guards. An incompetent manager, Greyson had come to his position only through maintaining the best private security force within the corporation, and using it liberally to eliminate any threats within Gewalt Industies. Kazimier was the only man within the corporation that he trusted at all. After all the men had been friends since both were mere low-ranking secretaries, with nothing more than dreams of grandeur and a ruthless will to achieve their ends. The two had been talking for nearly an hour of various matters concerning the nation and the corporation.

"So, I see you've been doing quite well with your department." Greyson said, drinking from a small bottle of brandy in front of him.

"Yes indeed." Kazimier replied, and drained his glass. "Profits are up nearly ten percent this quarter. This is mostly due to our buying out of Enakavian Arms Incorporated, which as you know was our only real domestic competitor in the industry. Now, if anyone wants to overthrow us, they will have to buy our guns first." He chuckled. "This is excellent champagne, by the way. I hear Shafer was killed, fool of a man didn't have his security check for poison in his food." Kazimier continued, still smiling as he poured himself another glass. "I can't understand how an idiot such as him ever got to be vice-president of the steel manufacture branch."

"He was a fool." Greyson agreed. "Just didn't take security seriously enough, I'm afraid." He smiled. "Neither of use have made the same mistake, have we, Alojz?"

"Oh, not at all, sir." Kazimier replied. "On another note, I hear your security forces broke up another gathering. How many protesters were there?"

"Only a few hundred." Greyson replied. "The body count was relatively low, they were merely students and fled after the first few shots were fired."

"Oh, so your men did not pursue?" Kazimier's eyebrows raised as he swirled the drink in his glass. "You usually aren't one to leave dissenters alive."

"Oh, they haven't escaped." Greyson replied smugly. "I had men follow them, and agents are infiltrating their group as we speak. Soon they will discover what happens to those who dare to oppose the corporation."

"Amen to that." Kazimier said, raising his glass and draining it once again. "Well, I must get back to my duties, there is much work to be done." hye stood up, looking around at the guards. "I see you have increased your personal security."

"Yes, I have." Greyson replied. "I heard tell of a plot upon my life, and felt that a little extra secuirty wouldn't hurt."

"I see." Kazimier said, and walked to the door. As he opened it, he turned back to face the CEO. "I think there is a question you should be asking yourself though: Who is guarding the guards?" He paused, enjoying the moment as Greyson's eyes widened in realization and shock, before continuing out of the office. As he closed the door, several shots rang out.

Alojz Kazimier smiled.

OOC: bump, follow up post coming later today.

“There is a tide component to the affairs of men, which ebbs and flows about the central ideal; an ideal based off and concordant to the universal desire. Not of power, or wealth, or status but inherent of all of those things; the rights of the tyrant to rule without question, to deign without thought or commence without consent. The rights of the tyrant are the fundamental and natural guidelines for all administration, and the bases if human civilization. For what is the rule of law but the abrogation of an individual’s right for the betterment and continuation of society as a whole? Murderers shall be incarcerated or if the society be not so candid shot. to the grieving widow it is justice served, it is the righteous hammer of the law. To those wronged however it is the most severe breech of the civil contract; the contract made between the ruler and the ruled, to forever protect in body and in right.

When the Tyrant flows, though it no longer need be but a single man, but an entity of many, a rule of majority, he betters the entire organism by the pruning of several nonessential and indeed debilitating abnormalities. When however the Tyrant must ebb he no longer fulfills his position, when the Tyrant must direct his policy and office to the will of those who put him in power the effect and necessity of the Tyrant is no longer an able and functioning portion of society and must, like the classes of the masses, be trimmed to fit and compliment the need of whole.

It is however the right of the Tyrant to cease such actions, to preserve himself for his own good. However by the appointing and legitimizing of a Tyrant, one does receive their own rights, and while the contract between giver and taker is made null by the inaction of the administration to protect and enhance the union of the ruling and the ruled, the ruled must therefore take their own rights, and fulfill their compromises. Then there is but anarchy.” The paper was put down, and the fussy spectacles lowered over the nose.

“Yes? I was occupied.” Atillo Orsini put down his sheaf; he had been working on the thesis since the fall of the Second Empire, since due to a little fling in international politics the old empire, a conglomeration of almost five billion had fallen in a few weeks. From that moment the great state had risen on the money, the bundles of money, which the Regency Council had raised in the last days of empire. Billions upon billions, mostly in hard currency had come flowing into the vaults at Paloni. More recently it had slowly flowed out, as the Republican Army, who so recently had begun routing the old Imperial and now feudal armies from the field.

Vast tracks of land which the Regency Council had sold to foreign nobles, which in turn had provided troops to fight off the advancing liberal movement which had after quite a few years of warfare lead to a this last city. The reign of the Auschbach’s had seen the domains of the empire whittle to nothing, half the empire had been turned over to foreigners who ruled it with varying degrees of efficiency, and the other was in a permanent state of warfare with the Third Imperial Field Army which just wouldn’t take the hint. At least it had, for the last two years prevented the fall of Royal Paloni.

There was a point when the city had a population of only a million people and then immigration had hit home, with millions of royalists fleeing various parts of the country to find that last shred of their former life. Housing had become appalling after the first two months, and a slum city of nearly thirty million had sprung to life, which was being improved block by block via the efforts of the Civil Reconstruction Authority which itself was tainted by a corruption so brutally obvious the Chief Financier could be seen shaking down old women on street corners for lose change.

“Sir,” a burly grey suited secretary shoved papers on the desk as he spoke, “Tax money is coming in sir from the May 26th collection.”

“Oh,” Atillo perked up; it was like Christmas every four months, “where is it?”

The secretary patted down his pockets, “I must have left it in the other suit sir.”

“Is our situation so precarious?”

“Not quite that bad sir, but is it any surprise the great families didn’t pay anything? And we didn’t even bother hitting the slums per your orders; it simply is not worth losing the men. According to the Office of Financial Affairs is reporting a deficit of,” a piece of paper was checked, “forty eight billion this trimester alone. With reconstruction of the third ward down to standstill and at last estimate, only forty percent complete. According to the same report we will be bankrupt, and here’s the happy news, three years after the city is finished. That is provided of course the population stays exactly the same and barring and set backs, and of course if police only turn right when responding to calls.”

Atillo stood for the first time and nodded as the last of the papers were piled loosely on his desk, “So they CRA wishes me to go into the Council of Burghers and tell them we have no hope in this whole matter?”

“Sir it is not my place to suggest, it is merely my place to file, and dust, but only by appointment.”

With a lazy hand the Chief Burgher sent the clerk from his office; it had been some considerable time since the Council had even bothered to meet, there was so little that could be done. With so little land the city could build no industry, no farms, beyond a certain and already explored extent. Eminent domain could of course be used to seize a few acres and pull down the slums to build cheap and producing factories but it was entirely upon the good graces of the people that a representative government survived. In government the only currency is apathy and it’s various bastards sympathy, empathy, distrust, dislike, it was only in human feeling that any democracy could be run. And though most would not call Paloni a democracy, it’s margrave still in theory ruled with an iron fist, it had adapted to the situation. From that adaptation it had survived; against the families of the mafia, the great noble lords surrounding the tiny city state, and the mountains of poor within her own gates amounted to the only survival trait within a politician that mattered, loose pockets.

Within the walls of the city, there was technically the wealthiest population in the world, however that wealth was sitting in vaults under the city guarded by, admittedly some of the most brilliant systems man could create, and it remained there. It could not be moved without something to purchase, some commodity, and though food was imported in the thousands of tons daily, it could not be released to the public without risking terrible inflation.

Two doors opened quietly into the hub bug of the Council Chamber where the burghers spoke in hushed whispers; it was speculated this was done so as not to draw attention to their ridiculous wear, which would have made the most crusty alderman break down and cry. And to the left, on a central dais was the official portrait of the margrave. After the war the man had become a recluse appearing only one in public in the last three years. There were many stories that circulated, some that he was a Republican spy and had been captured, or that the Council was holding him hostage in the hopes of preventing the rise of the Third Empire with the coronation. The truth, as it always is was so much simpler.

“Gentlemen, I hereby bring this seventeenth meeting of the Council of Burghers of the Empire and Margravate of Paloni to order. We have before us today,” and so the meeting went, as always, the protracted speeches on the well being of the city were drown out with rhetoric and bathed in a liberal dosage of simply lies. It was hardly noticed when Atillo slipped out after the first recess, and met with his staff behind closed doors.

“Lucien, be so good at to as to present my compliments to the Seventh Prescient Office and inform them they will be quelling a bread riot at around, say lunch time? There is a by-election in a week, and Mr. Pullman has most unfortunately resigned, the CRA had cut support to his district.” A grey suited clerk nodded and turned on his heel gathering a small entourage of similarly suited clerks as he gathered speed down the hall.

It was a most unfortunate situation Atillo noted as he pushed back into the council chambers; there most unfortunately he had contributed to the problem and the social order had only propagated the matter. Those who attempted to change the city were either killed or resigned in failure disgust, or both. Orsini had no intent of do either, so he had slowly come to accept reality.

“Gentlemen, please gentlemen silence again.” Atillo took the stand in and ended the recess with a bang of the gavial, “It has become apparent, with the resignation of Mr. Pullman, that our city, our home is terribly flawed. There is only so much that can be done, there is only so much with what we have to continue to extend and better the city. As I am sure you have read, we will be bankrupt within a few years, or dead within a few months. We are damned. We are damned and cursed and reluctant of an unsure future, one where we must either prepare and steel ourselves for a caliginous future, or where we must wait for an eventual destruction. I cannot propose, for the good of the empire of the city, that we take such a passive course of actions. We will not huddle in fear of this Republican threat any longer; we will no longer be subject to fear in a corner of our old domains.

A feel more confident than ever that something must be done; a future must be secured that can perpetuate our children’s generations and provide for us one last solace. We must at long last make peace with our destiny. The torment of precautions often exceeds the dangers to be avoided. It is sometimes better to abandon one's self to destiny. I can no longer sit alone with apathy; in a moment we will vote to open the borders; we will vote to allow foreign interests access to the city, and we will vote to preserve ourselves.”

One Month Later, Gealt Industries National, Headquarters, CEO's Office:

Alojz Kazimier sat in a chair behind a huge desk, reading a stock report and smiling to himself. He was now the CEO of Gewalt Industries, and in his time in this position had already begun mving to ensure the loyalty of the corporation's security force. Each "security officer" was now undergoing extensive brainwashing, and would soon be his unquestioning servants. Until tha tprocess was complete, he was forced to make do with his private security, who were far less resistant to bribery. He looked up and smiled as a young secretary entered the room, carrying a tray on which was a mug of coffee and a plate of breakfast. "Thank you my dear, just set it on the desk." Kazimier said, not trying to hide that he was looking her over. She did as he asked, and Kazimier noticed something glint in her jacket as the light caught it. he casually stood up, and in one fluid motion plucked the knife from her jacket, grabbed her by the neck, and drove the knife into her throat. The woman tried to scream, but was unable due to the blood now filling her windpipe. Kazimier pulled the knife out, stabbing her chest several more times, a smile of sadistic pleasure on his face as he watched the young woman die. "Really," He said softly as she began to sink to the floor. "if whoever hired you wanted me dead, they should have sent a proffesional."

He watched as she shuddered for a few moments on the floor before her body went limp. After she had ceased breathing he walked over to his intercom and pressed a button. "Will the guard who is on duty outside my office please step inside?" He said into it as blood dripped off of the sleeves of his suit. A moment later the guard stepped inside the office, closing the door. Kazimier calmly drew a handgun from his jacket and fired two rounds into the man's stomach. As the guard doubled over Kazimier approached him. "How much were you paid?" He asked, kicking the man over.

"Two..milion.." The guard gasped, clutching his abdomen.

"Hmm, that not very much, I expected you to have a higher price." Alojz replied, smiling. "And who was it who paid you?"

"It..was..Jehnsons men." The guard said, he knew that not co-operating at this point would only make his death more painful.

"That fool? No wonder it was so sloppy." Kazimier smiled. "Well, I'm afraid that this sort of thing just can't be encouraged among my guards. You will have to be made an example of."

He grabbed the guard by the neck, and beagn dragging him towards one of the windows that made up the east wall. Kazimier fired four shots through the glass, and a large portion of it shattered, creating a hole through which several men could walk through. "Quite a lovely view." He said, dragging the bleeding man to the edge. "I do hope you take time to enjoy it on your way down." He smiled viciously and threw the guard out of the window. He then stood, watching happily as the man fell one-hundred and fourteen stories to the street below.

Kazimier walked slowly and calmly to a closet on the other side of the office, he selected an elegant and opulent suit, and stepped into the closet to change. He pressed an intercom button on the wall. "Jackson?"

"Yes sir?" the voice of the man who was his cheif secretary responded.

"I feel that we should start looking into any open foreign markets, I think it is time our corporation expanded beyond the confines of this nation."

"I will get on that right away sir." The secretary replied. "A report should be on your desk within a few hours."

"Exellent." Kazimier said, taking off his shirt. "I need also need someone in here to clean up a dead body and some blood, and get a replacement window, one of them has broken."

"Yes sir." The secretary said, entirely unphased by what his employer had said. "A crew will be up momentarily."

OOc: bump for interest.

OOC: We're going to need guest workers for service in the General Government's occupied territories, so IC post inbound.

OOC: We're going to need guest workers for service in the General Government's occupied territories, so IC post inbound.

OOC: good, good...

New Sevastopol, General Government of Western Vetalia

The Subministry for Western Vetalian Armaments Production was a massive, stern edifice meant to demonstrate the absolute control held by the General Government, and by extension its superior Empire of Vetalia, over the Polish territories annexed by the nation during the Revanchist War. Inside, it was far more comfortable and lavishly furnished, with abundant staff on hand to meet the needs of the 377 Vetalian citizens and 75 soldiers that inhabited the building.

On this particular day a parade of the local military and police forces, the 153rd Infantry Division and the Metropolitian Police Force, marched through the center of the city in commemoration of the 9th anniversary of the annexation. The sound of cheerful music and crowds of cheering ethnic Vetalians, the only enthusiastic supporters of the annexation, was audible even through the thick walls of the ministry, where the Proconsul of the WVAP and his aides were seated around a large oak table.

Leaning over a map of the region laid out on the table, Proconsul Dmitri Sechin motioned with his pen to various regions. "The economic plans outlined in the Governor-General's May 19th memo for the regions outlined here, here, and...here have been exceeded by between ten and fifteen percent. That being said, we are still seeing problems in the southwestern region under the command of General Korolev and in the areas along the border. Contraband flows are definitely an issue as is the ongoing 'passive resistance' from local workers."

Pausing to take a draw from his cigar, the Special Procurator for Machine Tools Production, Viktor Gudonov added to his superior's assessment. "Yes, I've heard of these problems in meetings with officials from our state security detail. Sabotage, malicious compliance, outright desertion and truancy...straight from the passive-aggressive playbook that has characterized the resistance since the beginning. Similar things happened in Moravia before Abelev tightened things up. As usual, they are suggesting we tighten our internment policies and begin bringing in more ethnic Vetalians from our territories in the Protectorate..."

The Proconsul replied, voice carrying a subtle note of exasperation at the pigheaded and predictable response from the SSD. "You know we can't do that, though. Our manpower in these areas is stretched enough as it is, both thanks to the MED's successes and the ongoing military expansion program. The shipyards at Danzig are costing us 50,000 guest workers alone, let alone the ones employed at synthetic fuels plants in Oppeln...I swear they're producing that oil by hand. And there's no way in hell we're using detainment camp workers; they are just not reliable enough to do the kind of work..."

Smiling, the Procurator tapped his ashes in to a glass ashtray and motioned for an aide before continuing. "Of course, we could try to entice more immigration here, but right now it's just not worth paying 50,000 rubles to bring in a Vetalian janitor."

"Yes, and most of the immigrants that arrive are settling along the inner border, not the central regions where we need them most...it's a real problem. " The aide returned with a tray of drinks and light refreshments, setting it down silently before returning to his place at the edge of the room. If this annexation provided anything, it provided plenty of Polish servants and laborers for mundane tasks...the average entry-level civil servant here lived a life most middle-class Vetalians envied.

"Frankly, I think it may be time to finally discuss with the MED the possibility of bringing in guest workers from other nations to meet our labor needs. We've been kowtowing on the issue for the past year and it's costing us...I know the government is big on this whole 'purity' thing but the fact is we can't do a thing without more manpower. The Praetor's aims of making this region the secure economic heartland for our military is simply not going to be possible unless we get more manpower...at least 500,000 or so, mostly unskilled labor for work in our plants."

General Government of Western Vetalia

By order of the Governor-General of Western Vetalia, the Subministry of Western Vetalian Armaments Production is hereby authorized to issue a formal statement of interest in regard to the construction of a new guest worker program in our region.

All interest parties are encouraged to contact the Proconsul for Armaments Production Dmitri Sechin in order to begin preliminary negotiations on the matter. Once we have determined whether applicants are suitable for this tasks required of them, their appointed delegations will be issued proper visas for entry in to General Government territories for on-site inspection.

OOC: will have a post up tomorrow.

I really want to get this moving, so bump.