NationStates Jolt Archive

Animarnian Presidential Palace; Lilica City, Animarnia

Stewardess of the Revolution Christine Friedrich tossed and turned unusually fitfully for her usual self while in slumber. Yes, even for her usual self after a torrid night of passion with her newest and dearest lover (equal in all respects to her husband Charles, who for himself still shared her bed and the privileges thereof whenever she was home in Wagdog): Animarnian President Molly DeLéan, who was already lolled asleep contentedly (and somewhat messily) right beside Christine. Their evolved habit of Molly taking a host’s pride-of-place whenever Christine was visiting Animarnia on either business or (increasingly) personal interest, as was the case now, had only contributed to the present fact of the younger woman’s deep and easy slumber no doubt.

But alas, that woman was the cause of Christine’s disquiet sleep in a way neither would’ve preferred tonight if only both knew. Thunder rolled outside the Animarnian Presidential Palace’s master bedroom window, in Molly’s subconscious state not even registering at all, and perhaps seeming to echo across the universe whole in Christine’s more fitful stage of sleep as yet. Rain caressed the roof with its’ soft fall the way Molly always wished it would upon Christine’s fields in their letters to each other, paper or electronic both; the way Molly had caressed Christine herself for hours on end that night more importantly. They’d made love to the sweet rhythm of that rain until they could no longer and dropped to sleep together once spent; now, however, it was raining on Christine alone in shame as far as her minds-eye was concerned. Raining hard upon everything she held close and sacred within the catacombs of her soul; raining down in supertankers’ worth without end, without pity, without escape from the nightmare visions dancing to the torrent’s seductive beat as they lashed her mind with the barbed whips of imagined calamities while desire and attachment themselves held her chained, dressed as if for wartime command in her various modern facilities and ceremonial accoutrements but suspended upright as though strappadoed to receive the illusions’ cutting blows from all imagined sides.

It was said once that Athena, goddess of war alongside Ares according to the ancient Olympian mythos, a duality best perhaps enshrined in the form of a contradiction between the rival conceptions of war as organized strategy in civil society’s defense on the one hand versus war as brute atavistic aggression for collective spite’s satiation on the other, once loved a nymph named Chariclo to distraction. This nymph, mother of the prophet Tiresias later struck blind by the same Athena when he caught her bathing one fateful day, was said to have pleaded with her mistress to rescind the punishment for this mistake. But equally as much as Pallas Athena granted him compensation in the form of his unerring foresight despite blindness, she as much showed neither mercy for poor Tiresias’ eyes nor for Chariclo’s pleas for more direct redress to her stricken son. So the greatest prophet of the Heroic Age had emerged; out of ire, and only imperfect mercy once wrath had been dispensed.

So the deadly war raging as perceived in the bowels of Christine’s own mind was equally unbending as Athena’s judgment, verily; it being almost a lucid dream she was begging for it to stop but it would not. Ares could be said to hold the proverbial gossamer chain from whence the Wagdian leader’s astral form metaphorically dangled in the void between the sleeping and waking worlds, and Athena equally to have watched this allegorical scene with a morbid satisfaction Christine could only recognize as her own when she was in more evil moods; watched and cackled whilst the imagined demons Christine herself had spawned came to life and alternately flogged or flayed or burnt or stretched her dream self to the limits of will as all her darkest schemes came to life to haunt her as she tossed asleep in half-mumbled agony. Those most necessary but contemptible of plots with her generals, her diplomats, her spies, and her people even all took part inflicting the torture at once in shockingly coherent concert; the sort of plans that every nation had yes but would be committing diplomatic suicide in the most graphic fashion imaginable if they were ever found out having them. Now these plans were playing out before Christine’s sleeping experience, in a grim and apocalyptic fantasy seemingly without escape or hope either way.

As was known far beyond this bedroom, but most especially within, Molly’s election had been a close affair; and the likely loss (had it occurred) would’ve been to a certain Edward Benton whom Christine could’ve worked with well she suspected. She and the man who instead became Molly’s Vice-President had their differences yes, including on some key alliance issues between the Fortress State and Revolutionary Commonwealth both, but they were in the end professional politicians and could have stowed them by and large she felt. But if it happened instead that the victor of the election so long past had been… yes, that other woman; that Miriam Godwinson? Oh no, no that would’ve been a disaster quite simply; Miriam’s politics were plain as day and trouble wasn’t even the half of the description necessary for what lurked under her turquoise eyes as pitiless as the farthest roiling sea. And were the dreams of Christine Lind Friedrich, by the Grace of Progress Stewardess of the Revolution for the Revolutionary Commonwealth of Wagdog and its’ Dominions, troubled tonight indeed…

OOC: This thread is to be invite-only aside from myself and Animarnia; also, most of these events are generally non-canonical as they would otherwise interfere with far too many in-progress plotlines and ICly solid alliances of mine anyway. This intro post, however, begins within a dream state so the occurrence of the dream itself for my present leader could be said to have occurred within my canon timeline.

(OOC: This is a bit long; do bare with it though and this is a shorter version than what I had orignially but much better writen IMO so er..yay )

Act 1: Objects in Motion
Theme: Conan Sound Track, Ending Theme
Miriam Godwinson sat in her study; the roaring wood fire radiating its heat as she read her book; A copy of Dickens Christmas Carroll her glasses adored her face as her eyes devoured the pages. One of her passions was reading; she could sit for hours devouring books; as was evident by the large shelf behind her crammed with books. In the corner of the room was an oak desk where she did her writing and in front of the real wood fire was her favourite chair; an old leather sitter; even she couldn't calculate just how much time she had spent in this chair over the years. She had fond memories of sitting on her fathers knee reading she smiled at the smell of a lit pipe while he enjoyed his nightly brandy; one glass to keep the wolf happy; and fine nips for each of her cubs. Closing her eyes she could almost swear that she could smell that now the Smokey odder; that and her mothers baked Apple pie made with fresh bramleys from the garden. Or hear the laughter of her younger sister running and playing; of course all that was gone now; wiped away in a white flash and death. The image of the fireball and mushroom cloud forever burned into her eyes. She signed to herself she would make them pay; all of them, Rene had been a good woman she understood the dangers but even her security crackdown did no go far enough in her eyes; now this…new comer this harlot not only compromises our security by sleeping with that whore in the Commonwealth but by relaxing the security that has prevented major terrorist attacks on our soil for years. Of course Miriam was of the opinion that the armed forces should be fighting the enemies on their soil rather than ours.

Her Door rang and she beckoned the man enter; a dark skinned gentleman with a shaven head entered her study. Standing stiffly; Miriam put her book down on the side table and adjusted her glasses; “Yes Daniel?” she said looking at him directly.

“Your Deciples are ready; everything is in position” he said with a smile; it had taken months, nay years of planning; but they would correct the mistakes of this new upstart; tonight the revolution began.

Victory Road (Presidential Drive)
Things that had previously moved slowly were now moving very quickly; in the dead of night trucks and hummers were moving all over the capital city. This in of itself was nothing unusual however the fact they were painted black and were running with no lights was very unusual, the fact that these vehicles had not been challenged by a single law enforcement vehicle was even curiouser. Outside the Presidential palace; things were even stranger; the gate guard was gone; abandoned his post or it seemed as at least five Hummers with Big-Fifty gunners on top pulled up outside taking up flanking positions; the top gunners wasn’t dressed in standard armour either. He had black body armour with a Red Cross on the front that may have seem more use during the crusades era than modern day. Then everything went to hell as a large twelve-wheel truck rammed the gates pulling up outside the main door; Secret Service responded but the two agents on the door were cut down by two hummers following with Fifty Cal fire. The sound of gunfire ringing out into the early morning sky; like an exclamation point with a bullet. Men in the same black crusader armour started disembarking in rapid pace. They were carrying black market issue DAR-83 assault riffles the quickly blew the door to the palace open with a 40mm grenade, overkill for sure the wooden door stood up about as well as toilet paper against a waterfall. shrapnel splinters flew though the air as men filed in. In the confusion, Secret Service bodies litter the hall having obviously responded to the Fifty cal fire the elite shock troops quickly started to clear the palace of Secret Service. Whom returned fire with Mp5’s and P90’s, they put up a brave fight and several firefights erupted in the hallways but the agents though brave were simply outclassed by the firepower of the revolutionaries who took no prisoners.

Molly DeLean’s Room, Presidential Palace
Molly woke up to the hurried tussles of a Secret Service, Kieren agent prodding her; “ma’am we need to leave now quickly” he said still aiming his MP5 at the door. Molly Sat up looking around then heard the sound of automatic weapon fire; her mind ‘switched’ almost instantly; she pulled on a pair of pants as fast as she could and was hurried though a back door by another agent as Crusaders blew the door open clear off its hinges. Kieren fired his MP5 at the first thing that came though; and kept firing until his magazine went dry; trying to buy as much time as he could for his colleague to get the President to safety it was his finest moment. His life flashed before his eyes: - his firth birthday, passing his exams, buying his first car, joining the army, the face of his wife, his two beautiful daughters and the family dog. A Shot rang out then blackness.

A Crusader; face hidden by gas mask stood over the body of Kieran and put three more rounds into his corpse. And stepped over him; in an inhuman manner; “Clean this mess up, Don’t let that bitch get away” came a gruff voice as his five man team moved on to follow the President quickly. In the Presidential catacombs Molly was running, followed by Jake; the clattering of his shoes a sharp contrast to her barefoot, the Catacombs were built by the first President as an emergency escape; the Shock Troops were hot on her heels gun fire rang out. As Jake; her last line of defence went down with a thud taking several rounds to the chest; Molly turned slowly to face her future tormentors.

“Miss DeLèan” Said a male voice; unidentifiable in tone; “By Order of the new government of Animarnia; you are hereby placed under arrest” he said levelling his weapon at her; she struggled back against the cold rock wall trying to run but the two soldiers quickly closed the gap; then there was blackness as the butt of his rifle struck her in the face knocking her unconscious; that would be the last time anyone would set eyes upon Molly DeLèan for some time.

After the storming of the palace; everything happening in a blur as Shock Troops started popping up all over the capital; Media buildings; even those belonging to foreign powers were quickly but quietly occupied and there staff arrested; Law Enforcement were quickly overwhelmed all over the country; cities were placed under strict curfews and citizens were told to stay in there homes. The Military for its part had no true indication of just what was happening and was itself caught up in beurocracy; pouring treacle into an engine.

Back in the Palace
The Vice President was on his knee’s as Miriam walked in; she looked down at him with a distasteful eye; “I won’t beg for my life” he said simply.

“I know” she said her head turned slightly; for a moment truly betraying the psychosis that lay beneath the civil façade as she pressed a pistol clean against his forehead and executed him; turning to leave before his body had even finished hitting the floor.

“Clean that mess up”, she said walking away; to make use of her new office, Objects were in motions

Director’s Office, Committee of Public Safety Headquarters; Tailville DR, Wagdog

Director Dwayne Michaels was feeling unusually accomplished for the end of another day. So far, Her Excellency his boss had been able to go a full week back home from Animarnia without any of the usual idiocy going any further than his desk he was momentarily lounging at for a lark watching the old talking heads on the so-aptly-named these days “boob tube”. Yes, there were still pointless wars and massacres and betrayals enough that Wagdian International Broadcast Corporation was thinking of opening yet another specialist news channel; though the proposed name ‘The Crisis Channel’ was having the Wagdian Psychiatric Association in a blue fit with WIBC management over the usual utterly unlikely contingencies they fretted about such as who might mistakenly tune into the broadcast thinking it would provide help and somehow end up offing themselves once a worse crash hit on seeing that yes the world was indeed out to get them. Them and everybody else too, moreover; Director Michaels’ had made quite a good career out of not only assuming this but also putting it to his advantage most of the time. Why they don’t object more to the brain bugs spouted by Channel Two now that it’s effectively become the ‘Juche Jamboree’ after Sakura TV started airing segments, I have no clue, he thought acidly. He’d personally preferred the Socialist Realist style test-patterns they’d ran during the years prior to picking up the Tokyonian segments to be quite honest, given the drop in channel ratings and programming after the failed Stalinist-Maoist joint coup attempt seven years back which the fallout from landed him in this desk to start with; but then again everyone had their tastes even if perhaps ones he found stupid. Even Comrade Longstocking, or rather Francine Godot the Maoist anchorwoman who just wouldn’t go away despite being asked numerous times both proverbially and literally, had to earn a living he supposed; now if only he could somehow get Larry down in SIGINT to stop creeping him out by talking about this Premier Yagami’s exploits like he was the next incarnation of Lenin or something.

The knock on his door came as Michaels was himself flipping to catch a Sakura segment on WIBC2 for a few moments. Seeing through the Plexiglas door that it was Valerie MacRaesa, his deputy for Animarnian operations and liaison to their own Central Intelligence Service, he waved her in not at all knowing what was about to drop in his lap and bust his on a lark. “Why the long face Val, you look like your grandmother just dropped dead at the baby shower or something?” Valerie was pale as a corpse and it was making her cropped red hair still crazier looking than even normal, which in her case meant dyed fire-engine-red style for giggles; not ideal discipline but Dwayne wasn’t an ass about that when he could be one about much more worthwhile things instead.

Valerie eyed him with the gravest of looks first; as if someone who knew she’d just lost a family member was being incredibly dense as part of some gauche, vulgar way to make her buck up despite the tragedy. “You going to listen to those idolaters ranting about their god-Premier all day or are you going to click back to Channel One, sit down and go over this with me?” She refrained from exclamation; but the combination of tears and a smoky tone that in better circumstances Michaels would’ve taken as something he may or may not have to report to Internal Affairs on conduct grounds, however flattering, wrenched him away from the broadcast and made him switch to Channel One after her prompting. “Turn that on, now,” she distraughtly hissed. “Not only have pigs just flown in Animarnia; they have built up their own massive porcine aerospace infrastructure, developed precision munitions, and are officially taking aim at all our collective arses as of not much more than an hour ago.” She cast grey eyes Director Michaels’ way with the gravity of an invisible wrecking ball to the back of his skull as he changed the channel accordingly. Sometimes, ignorance is indeed not merely bliss but also sanity.

As he watched, word of the developments in Lilica City had already been running at least one… no, two full half-hour repetitions by now. Seeing the coup unfold, Michaels could only think of one word. Shit. He equally knew only one Animarnian politician who was likely to try pulling this sort of thing, and that was just the start of the problem even if it wasn’t yet confirmed. This is enough flavors of bad for ‘Satan & Peter’s Ice Cream’ to set up shop with. He’d thought that Miriam Godwinson’s defeat during the election not two years ago meant that the nation’s various other extremists too would know when to take the hint that the Animarnian people weren’t buying their zealotry; and he’d known moreover that Stewardess Christine’s flaunting of her intimacy with President DeLéan was going to have at least some repercussions yes, it couldn't but among so nationalist a people as Animarnians usually were after seeing their president openly bedding a foreign head of state like it was somehow common anymore. But this bad a set of consequences, and this soon, if the coincidence of this with her return from her latest ‘vacation’ there were not in-fact a coincidence; assuming as Dwayne was that the connection he suspected was in fact there? Could you even call plans the various mad scribbles he and his direct bosses, Stewardess Christine and Defense Secretary Millenhaus and the others, all had covering the idea, in what amounted to scarce more than a professionally molded spit wad passed through class to enlarge and then thrown towards the general direction of the Odd’s-Bodkins event should it actually materialize as seemed to be doing now? “I see Val; well enough, I probably wasn’t going to sleep after getting home anyway. Best to bust my own butt myself, I suppose.”

She shrugged nonchalantly at his tawdry self-deprecation as he got up; after seven years’ working for him, she’d come to expect it. Knowing for sure that she was prettier than any of the Smithy’s girls he frequented helped Valerie in that immensely. “Anticipating as much, I prepared our list of assets presently in Animarnia; assume burn protocols are in effect and act accordingly?”

“You shouldn’t even have to ask that by now.” She was a good assistant, but in Michaels’ mind still too rigid and formal at times. “Also, you hear about this from O’Shaughnessy at the embassy? Never mind, tell them to go to full security and await instructions on possible evacuation.” Thank Heaven for diplomatic immunity. It was sometimes all that kept even international affairs as minimally-sane as they were. When of course the concept wasn’t driving them over the edge for somebody being careless about it instead; rarer, but it did happen from time to time.

“Already been done, sir; what if some try to come in?” She didn’t have to specify what that meant at all.

“Simple, let them come in; but we can’t go looking Val.” He sighed out with far more fatigue than he’d expected this soon into his latest all-nighter, and leant against the smoked glass window many stories up the building where he kept his mean mark upon this crazy world as it existed yet. “If whom I suspect is in charge now over there, is in fact in charge, then we can’t give her excuses to do things before we’re ready to play ball back as hard.”

“Sir, you mean… what exactly; whom do you think is behind this?” Valerie had an idea of what Director Michaels was getting at, but her grey eyes had that look now of someone decidedly not steely at heart. Someone who was very much staring something in the eye, and simply did not want to call it by its name; maybe it would just go away if she didn’t?

His face still looked young in the mirror; too young for this job, by far. But he was whom Her Excellency had tapped for it, and so he would discharge until she saw fit to relieve him of the now-dubious distinction. Which she might well before this night is over, actually; if his luck failed him consistently enough anyway. “I think you understand Val; you’re smart enough, and you’re sweet enough not to want to. I’ve got someone nowhere near as sweet to try to talk out of smacking me fit to bleed tonight now.” The jaundiced look on him as he gathered both briefcase and the papers Valerie had dumped on his desk earlier, only the minimum needed regarding the Animarnian situation since he didn’t know much as yet anyway, stayed on as he walked past Valerie with the look of a man possibly going to his own untimely demise; professional or personal either way.

***

The Stewardship’s Residence; Palace of the Revolution, Tailville DR

The elevator ride was tense surely, but the walk to Christine’s suite’s exquisitely carved-and-gilt mahogany front door was worse. Director Michaels kept going to his neck to loosen his tie; the block of imagined ice in his gut was by now as massive as the door itself, easily. Playing hangman wasn’t so fun when a) it was for real, and b) it was your neck likely to be in the proverbial noose; even if perhaps only professionally. Which proviso was small comfort to Michaels, considering that with what he knew he’d hardly be able to work in this town again if fired; not without being at least quietly followed for the rest of his days courtesy of the agency he’d led just before Lady Luck decided to dump him cold turkey.

After his knock on the door, only a muted and hoarse “Come in,” from Christine answered Michaels. Moving to see her perched at the edge of the elaborate red-orange-green-and-gold embroidered sheets of the bed she shared with her common-law husband the Vice-Steward-Consort, Director Michaels mutely hovered over the scene as Stewardess of the Revolution Christine Friedrich sat glued to the WIBC Channel One broadcast covering what little was known of the coup in Lilica City. She turned to him after some five minutes of the anchorwoman droning on, saying only, “Please tell me you’re at work on this.” Her tone was about even parts despair and rage; indeed, no telling how she could react if Michaels put the next sentence the wrong way.

“Already so, Your Excellency.” Dwayne didn’t have to lie, which was good because despite being himself in the deception business he had managed to keep at least what he thought were some moral scruples. Infiltration, sabotage, reconnaissance, subversion; none of these he had a problem with insofar as jobs to be done in other lands to people he didn’t know, or at least legally-suspect strangers at home if nothing else more palatable. But having to dissemble before your own boss simply because you’d been caught flatfooted by the sudden emergence, in full worst-case-scenario intensity as if just to give you specifically the worst day imaginable, of something you’d honestly foreseen before-the-fact long ago? No he was too professional for that, whatever the grind of his black-world job did to his faith in Man which by now had to at least rate ‘agnostic’ on the proverbial grand scheme thereof. “Our agents in the Fortress state are going to assume their burn identities and go as underground as can on short notice; then, try to make way to our embassy for later exfiltration in the midst of the inevitable outflow of our residents and tourists over there. Those who can keep cover, will remain; but as of yet until we know more about the rebels’ precise support from Animarnian Central Intelligence Service we must assume complete compromise of our entire network and act accordingly.”

“I see.” Christine fiddled with her bathrobe nervously, face down to the floor now; clearly she hadn’t put on her nightclothes amid the shock of first hearing the news after her last shower. The lack of makeup hid the tear trails surprisingly well; or would’ve, had the light from the television not given them away via the reflections now visible playing streams of spectra down Christine’s cheeks if one looked closely enough. “Dwayne…” She fiddled with what she wanted to say; between pleading, threatening, and demanding, all of which wanted to come out of her mouth next. She settled with just saying it already. “I need her out of there Director; alive, with no more hurt done to her than what these sons of bitches do before she’s rescued.” There was no need to ask whom Christine meant by that, and the restraint that had kept her from adding that she’d needed Molly three whole hours ago was spent in keeping that phrase from coming out that moment. “I need her Dwayne.” The most powerful woman in the Commonwealth stared Director Dwayne Michaels straight in the eye as she turned from the television for sure this time; ironically looking all the more like some scared and confused teenager caught at the moment she heard of her secret first girlfriend being kidnapped by someone, dumbstruck as the investigating police started to ask her some potentially-invasive questions about their relationship which she’d rather not deal with. “If Molly dies, by the hand of whomever it was that authorized this travesty, my life will officially be a failure; I’d be a laughingstock of a mother and a lover both! I’d have failed Harry and Molly both; and I would deserve everything Miriam Godwinson and Francine Godot and all the rest of the naysayers twitter for the merest sight of me, me simply trying to do the goddamned job our people charged me to do in that referendum after my husband stepped down!” The stillbirth of her only child, the would’ve-been son Harold, was as well known among the general Wagdian public as Christine’s two-year affair with the now-imperiled Animarnian President; what was not as well known was just how heavily his loss still weighed on Christine’s psyche even close to three decades after the fact and precisely how much Molly’s love had done to fill the emotional void in Christine her son’s death had left. “Do we know who has decided to… wrong me, this night Director Michaels; does whom I shall revenge myself upon yet have a name?” The sadness was turning… no, had already long turned to mostly rage by now.

“There’s been no official statement from the plotters as yet, Excellency,” Michaels kept his soft tone salted with his doubts all the same though. “Nonetheless, we at the Committee of Public Safety feel that of the various parties who would have any of the motive, resources, and opportunity necessary to engineer a coup-d’état of the sheer scale and facility as the one now occurring in Lilica City, there are few that have all three; Miriam Godwinson the foremost among them. The others being Dudley and Squat by comparison with her; Hell, Dudley’s probably arrested and already on the midnight flight to Davy Jones’ by now.” Christine’s face looked like it would both sick up and explode at once when Michaels’ dropped that woman’s name so jokingly; a real feat, if understandable given the emotional Iron Maiden she was doubtless in by now. He continued anyway, professionalism overcoming empathy and curiosity both, “Miriam’s known for her belief that the present government is being irresponsibly lax dealing with any number of threats to their nation’s survival, Muslim ‘terrorists’ and an expanding list of ‘degenerate cultural imports’ chief among them; a stunt like this would be in character for her according to our file. If you believe some of the wilder local press’ assertions even, she may have tried it before the Solomon terrorist attacks provided her both deniability at the time and/or excuse to try again later.” Committee of Public Safety easily had a five-inch-thick file on Miriam Godwinson after the years of monitoring her, her connections within the Animarnian military and intelligence communities, and her roles both known and suspected in the turmoil that had followed terrorist nuclear attacks on several cities in the Fortress State; the suspected data as-usual and alas far outweighing the known. “And knowing what I know of her rhetoric in particular, I can guess whom she’s going to be citing as pretext for this ma’am.” A flick of the eyes over his wire-rimmed glasses into Christine’s own drove that point home without need for more.

Christine sat silently, returning his milky-blue stare with her own stony-hazel. Petrified even, one could say of its’ hardness; the sadness was almost visibly flowing out of her bearing like the drops of water from her red-silk-swaddled skin had soaked into the bed hours ago. The robe concealed what needed to be, physically; but there was no concealing the hardened hatred that now flashed in those hazel eyes behind the brass wire rims of Christine Friedrich’s glasses at the thought of Miriam Godwinson being behind this latest sour turn in Christine’s career as a politician. At the merest suggestion of her being behind the greatest personal loss Christine had suffered since the death of her own only child. “I hope you’ve gone farther than to just arrive at that for your work as yet, Dwayne; I pondered it myself three hours before you walked in. If it is her, she can say what she wants about me and whom I love.” Christine clenched fists, pulling the red silk up and exposing more of her thighs than might perhaps be deemed proper under other circumstances. “Whoever it is changes nothing in regards to Molly and your directive to find her; my feelings aside, just find her for me while I wade through the muck our relations with the Fortress State will likely become under whoever this proverbial ‘new management’ turns out to be.” She sighed, releasing a rasp that could perhaps be said to be her bottled hatred; if hate could indeed be compared to the rasp of a hissing snake about to strike after some further pondering over the matter. “Just get her out of there and any others loyal to her whom you can find alive; but her above all else Director Michaels, or…” Christine caught herself short of a threat to make it so Dwayne could never show his face in this town again should he fail. She just stared mute at him as the tears welled again.

After a moment’s silent pause in hearing what needed not be said, Director Michaels nodded. “Understood, Your Excellency.” He only gulped as he left with Christine’s absentminded dismissal; unlike her sobs, which could be heard outside if one listened carefully enough even after she closed the door behind him. Hardly a state for a leader to be in; or for her designated-fixer to leave her in if he could help it, which in Dwayne Michaels’ case he very well could…

Presidential Palace
Miriam Godwinson sat in her new office; looking around at the pleasantly decorated area that contained some flowers; a few photographs and personal items of Molly DeLéan; she smiled and angrily slapped down one of the photos of Molly and Christine looking happy at a lake side “Harlots she said when an aid came in; the dark skinned man from earlier with the shaven head bowed in respect as the nine generals left her office, these were the men responsible for keeping the military at bay for the moment to give her time to justify her position; some of them supported Miriam; others were simply detractors of Molly; and some simply saw which way the wind was blowing or were doing so to protect there loved ones/

“Madam, the Senate has been called for emergency session and we are ready to take you to the capital building, Secret Service resistance has been eliminated or suppressed to non critical areas, it seems some of our information was out of date as there are a number of former spec ops soldiers who are still actively resisting us we lost thirty good men trying to take them out. ” he explained and Miriam stood from the leather chair; oddly she considered getting a cat for a reason she truly did not understand. She was escorted out to the main courtyard by two armed guards in full body armour and gas masks that hid there faces she was walked past several bodies of men and women that had fallen in combat in the initial fighting; some of the halls still had the blood trails that would require industrial cleaning to get out. She sat in the armoured Limo with her guards following in a trailing black hummer. It was a short trip to the capital building but she knew that the news would soon be hitting the network on the change of power despite her efforts to keep things quiet at least temporarily and she knew that some of the regions lager powers would react badly to the hand over; people would have to be dealt with soon. Her motorcade arrived during her musings of what to do when that time came but for now she would have to consolidate her position at home which was why she had called for this emergency meeting of the congressional body; Miriam walked in flanked by armed guards and entered the large senate room; the seating was arranged like a half circle with rows pushing forward and down from the back of the room to a central point like a large lecture hall. The seats were currently full with senators of all ages and genders and parties; from the main stream to the more obscure; she would need at least a majority of these to support her for her ‘coup’ to be considered ‘legal’ she knew she would have support from the right and hard right; but she would also need to sway the neutrals or at least some of them since she knew the left would not sway to her position far to blinded by the name ‘DeLéan’ and the reverence it inspired. Miriam stood at the centre front of the room; behind the wooden podium, her guards waiting at the wooden doors in the back. She took in a deep breath.

“My Fellow Animarnians, some of you will no doubt be wondered what is going on; and why you have been called here so late; I am here to inform you of a change over in power; at approximately 2:37AM local time; President Molly DeLéan was relieved of her position and detained under executive authority” Miriam said; in a way that was not so much a request but a statement.

“This is treason!” a senator yelled, Miriam did not know him but his name plate read James I O’Brien; he was an old man; she smiled thinking perhaps he was older than this actual building.

“This is not treason, Mr O’Brien, I assure you that I weighed my options heavily before committing to this action; however under the Succession Act 1156AD I am able to in the event that the President has become either corrupted, unstable, unattainable or is otherwise able to fulfil his or her dutys to the people; sieze power from the elected leader of a period of time undetermined” Miriam said simply. “As Many of you know; Our leader has recently been carrying on a very public affair with the leader of one of our neighbours Wagdog, This relationship with the Wagdoggie leader has I believe compromised her position and our national security turning our great nation into nothing but a lap dog to Christine Friedrich and her foreign policy” Miriam said with firm conviction; “Since her election we have done nothing but follow Miss Friedrich into every foolhardy and paranoid situation she has got herself into including the Deliean League. An organisation that exists purely to covertly subjugate its member states to Damerian police; You as sure as I have questioned the leagues motives for certain actions; not least the recent ‘Novan defence pact’ that could very easily be twisted into a hammer and used to ‘liberate’ nations that do not tow the league line”

“Madam, I dare say that while your quotation of the law is perfect you are in blatant violation of its spirit; the Succession Act has not been used since the end of the last Civil war! Surely you can not expect us to follow you in this?” O’Brien said in response standing and placing his palms on the table in protest.

“I don’t know James, I think she has a point here I mean; how much of our infrastructure has been compromised because of the Presidents love life?” another senator, a woman from the southern city of Cambridge spoke up; “I mean can we truly expect an independent government when our leader is shagging the leader of another country?” she added.

“Irrelevant; Molly DeLéan has done a good job in the last two years without any serious repercussions and shown a independent stance” a man from the north countered

“Crap; name one time where we haven’t offered support or military force for one of Miss Friedrich goody goody power trips?” a fourth said he was from one of the eastern Islands;

The Debate raged for some time; with verbal shots fired back and forth like a political battleground with many of the left defending Molly’s Record as Miriam expected while most of the right and hard right particularly the anti-gay movement supporting Miriam many of the neutrals straddled the fence but a large number were also convinced by Miriam and her technical interpretations of the law mean they had to agree to side with her even if they also thought she had just bent its spirit over a barrel and told it to assume the position; in the end by a vote of 260-255 in favour of Miriam’s action was accepted and she was; at least Temporarily instated as President mostly by the Hard Right and its supporters but that suited her just fine. Miriam smiled as news reached her of the final vote, now she could focus on slowly pushing down resistance from the left and other ‘malcontents’ the announcement was made in a brief statement that was broadcast on all media stations including TV, Direct TV and Radio. The statement was short and to the point, detailing the details of he power change over for ‘reasons of national security’, called for national unity and understanding and glossed over very quickly the detainment of Molly DeLèan and heightened security across the country but especially the capital; she also heavily glossed over the actual laws allowing her to do this but said that she was in legal president

Classified Location: Codename; ICEBOX
The Island off the coast of Animarnia, was one that would not be found on any maps and any passing satellites made by the most advanced of nations using the most expensive sensors would not find any sigh of habitation apart from native life; however to the east side there was now activity; unseen, unheard and unobserved by outsiders; the Type 209 Submarine; a hydrogen fuel cell powered submersible and one clearly not used by the Animarnian Royal Navy pulled into the gaping mouth cave still under the waters surface only breaking the surface with its Conning tower once under the cover of the mountains above passing IR and Sonar sensors that checked its credentials as it went to the docking platform pulling up to a slow stop; the facility ICEBOX was one of many in the Fortress state built for various reasons some were converted to storage, others were converted to research bases and some like this one were cold war era bunkers to be used in case of a catastrophic emergency but above all; they were secret, there names and locations stored only in the Presidents Office on a stand alone machine making them easy to hide things at places like these to conduct projects in secret; the area that the Submarine docked at showed its unique age; built in the 30’s it still bared a lot of that eras nuances but a lot of the underlying technology had been upgraded but the basic frame work was 30’s down to the large steel grey blast doors; antiquated lights and all around 30’s steam punk feel. An automated ramp activated from one of the docking stations and came up along side the submarine as its hatch opened two armed men dressed in black BDU’s with black cap and holding a knock off DAC-83 slung under arm emerged and strolled down the ramp; there they were met by more men dressed and armed in similar fashion; more men disembarked followed by a prisoner, clearly female and naked except for a urine soaked bag over her head, leash around her neck and hands tied behind her back. she was led down the gang plank; almost as if she was being paraded for all prying eyes and every time it looked like she tried to slow down the guard behind her would prod her in the back with the barrel of his gun; jerking her forward; if you could see her face she would surely be blushing in shame; with her hands tied she couldn’t even attempt to cover her modesty a number of guards smiled at the view of this young woman; who; until a few hours ago was the most powerful in the fortress state, now being led around like a dog on a leash; she could hear the large steel doors open as the aged hydraulics kicked in she walked or more stumbled in the dark as her captors prodded and yanked her in the direction they her wanted to go. Eventually after what seemed like forever she heard the hissing over yet another door then she was suddenly pushed inside a cold room; or what seemed like a cold room as one can picture it with a bag over your head. She was forced against a wall standing palms flat; legs apart; she flinched preparing herself for the worst for what seemed like eternity but never came; the bag was untied and taken off her head; her vision was blurred as it tried to adjust to the artificial light’ “Eyes forward” came the order from her captor; a female voice clearly, rather gravely; Molly dared not turn for fear of what they may to do her if she did; they may beat her or worse; the bag was taken; and a large potato sack was thrown into the room with arm holes cut in it; “You can put that on” said the same female voice; the tone of utter disgust was almost palpable like it had taken on form and inhabited the room with her. The two guards backed out slowly as the door hissed shut leaving her in her own company; with only the artificial light for company, Molly DeLéan dropped to her knees; slowly crawling over to the sack pulling it over her body, the sack only partial covering her even when she pulled it down as far as she could. She began hugging herself close as she sobbed.

Outer suburbs of Ashton, Southen Animarnia
Graveyards were a place not many were fond of in the first place but se absolutely hated them. There were nothing wrong with wanting to remember the departed but this was never a place for the dead. This was solely for those left behind. This was a garden of angst, a place where sorrow grew next to the weeds. George Black was one person who couldn’t stand the thought of being attached to the past and a graveyard couldn’t have been a more graphic representation of people looking back. With that in mind, it was no wonder why he found himself hating the entire week. There were so many funerals, too many people he knew being buried. Thankfully, today would be the last day services would be held and everyone would be able to get their lives back on track. In a few more minutes the last funeral would be taking place but people were already leaving. because of the dark clouds gathering above It wasn’t surprising that no one wanted to be at the service As he predicted by the MET Office, it started to drizzle and no one else was present, he motioned to head back to his car until he caught something out the corner of his eye. he turned around and was mildly surprised to see someone. Despite the rain somewhat clouding his vision, it wasn’t hard to make out the figure of his Driver.

It was fair to think she was the only person who would come but, at the same time, it would make sense if she didn’t considering the rocky relationship he had with her. No matter what he or she thought of the people buried here. it wouldn’t be too far off to say he had killed a lot of people. Recalling the images of people he had ended; the faces burnt into his mind of all the things he had seen. His Driver brandished her umbrella before she moved closer to the him, Dressed formally, She and Black watched as the gravedigger deposited the remains the last in the ground. He finished his task and, like the others, scampered away as the spring shower started to become a storm, as if all the angels in heaven had decided to take a piss at the same time.

Seemingly unaffected by the rain, Black, stared at the grave before him as Clara approached. Neither said anything as she positioned the umbrella so the rain wouldn’t drench him, the gesture being the least she could do for the grief-stricken man. Silently, they both looked down at all that was left here, a concrete head stone.

He paused before saying after a few minutes passed, “I don’t feel that sad.”

Clara was never a sentimental person. She always dealt with people like she had to and nothing more but an idle glance at his eyes forced her to say something, “He’s not someone you have to cry for.”

She didn’t know she said the wrong thing until she turned to Black who looked more troubled than he did before, “He was supposed to be.” The rain continued to fall relentlessly as they stood under the umbrella, the small talk coming to an end with his words but their thoughts cantered on the man that wronged them.

Clara, Black decided, was right. the man buried here was supposed to be a lot of things.

“Yeah…” She muttered, if only to say something. Black stared at his hands, the hopelessness that came with knowing he could do nothing for her something that continued to ebb away at his soul as he thought of Molly, regret washing over him like the falling rain, if only he'd paid more attention. he blamed himself. she sighed before tilting her umbrella to cover him as the wind changed direction. He couldn’t describe how he felt even if he wanted to. The only description that could come close was hollow, the dull feeling that he was filled with nothing... He couldn’t cry anymore and he wouldn’t find any relief in tears even if he did.

How did things turn out like this? How did someone who was scared to think about tomorrow managed to make it there while so many people who looked forward to the next day died before seeing it? What happened to the faith they invested in him? Where did it go after he failed them?

They were questions a person wasn’t supposed to answer, especially a murderer like him.

The only thing he even came close to doing right was killing… He couldn’t save Molly but he could easily dispatch a division of troops with nothing more than a knife. He couldn’t save Marcus but he’d be damned if he couldn’t turn the people responsible into fish food. Black sighed as he remembered there was a time when he completely forgot he was supposed to be protecting people but his unintentional contact with the woman beside him roused him from his ominous thoughts.

Her arm brushing against his almost made him jump but he managed to restrain himself when he noticed she was simply trying to keep both of them dry. Deciding to think nothing of it, he looked over at her. she was drenched too her blond hair coming down just past her ears Unlike Molly though Clara's beauty came not only from her looks but the air of class that surrounded her. Though she was kind of cold at times, she exuded professionalism on a scale that made her so hard to approach that he never spoke to her unless she spoke to him first unusual for a man in his position.

“George” His sight lingered on her just long enough for her to notice, “What are you staring at?”

His head snapped in the other direction like a 14 year old with his hand caught in the cookie jar, “Uh… the rain.”

Even though he was pretty much a veteran given his line of work, he was still a terrible liar at times. Thankfully, she allowed it to slide seeing that she had something else to ask him, “What are you going to do now?”

“What am I going to do now?” Black echoed. He looked down at his shoes as he realized that he honestly never thought about it til now; it had been one thing after another, one crisis after another the last few days “I… I don’t know.”

Clara nodded before switching the umbrella to her other hand.

“I’m going back-” he said, as if deciding something in his head

“You are seriously thinking of going back to Lilica after this?”

“Well-“

“Forget it,” Clara cut him off again, “Come on. We don’t have a reason to stay here anymore.” She voiced as the rain continued to steady fall.

He Let her have her win, but knew in his own mind that objects were in motion; that he would need to begin a plan soon to restore his beloved Fortress state: that meant signaling the Dead Six in Vetaka, Many would say that he died that day; and that may god have mercy on the men he would take to hell with him.

Black took a quick look at the graves of his friends; people had had known, trusted and on some level even loved before he rushed off to follow the her “Where are we going?” he asked.

“A Safe House, We need to regroup, The door is already open. I left it unlocked” she said pointing at the Austin Martin DBRS9

The Katrina Fielding Conference Centre, Campus of International Relations and Strategic Studies, University of New Theeb, University Quarter, Southern New Theeb, City of New Theeb, Vetaka, Nova:

The Katrina Fielding Conference building lay in New Theeb Universities International Relations and Strategic Studies campus directly opposite the Roxanne Wright College of Politics and to the east of the Jason Barber College of Modern Warfare it was grand building that had only been built 4 years ago to mark the 1st anniversary of the assassination of the Vetakan Hero by Stratorian Security Operatives. It was an impressive marble encrusted building that combined typical Vetakan and New Theebian Architecture its grand doors protected some say mystically by the fallen heros of Vetaka the words “Protected by the Honoured, Respected and the Loyal” which hung neatly above the doors the building housed the latest in energy saving and building techniques, the building housed the grand lecture hall, conference facilities and the universities greatest and most prized treasures. It was where the students graduated and received their honours before family and friends it was also where the various international speakers and prominent guest lectures would make their first and last lectures from each semester. The Grand Lecture Hall which was as grand and affluent as the Room of Snakes within the Palace of Freedom was dominated by its massive circular glass roof. Today the hall played host to the President Daniel Pearce, whom now acted jointly as Vetaka's President and the Tribes Chieftain, today he spoke to the students, lectures and guests on the subject of Vetakan Policies and their future:

“That’s why ladies and gentleman that even in the aftermath of the Lansing Virus this nation will continue to call for an end to international slavery and inequality in all its forms” thundered President Pearce across the sombre room.

As his audience broke into an extremely euphoric standing ovation an extremely broad black suited man whom was clearly a bodyguard or official of the Presidents Staff crossed the stage at pace and whispered into Pearces ear. The Presidents rather pleasant expression seemed to dry up quickly to be replaced a look of anxiety potentially even fear. Hathorne looked at the man slightly dumbstruck before nodding and whispering back, the gent nodded and turned to speak into his lapel as he did so the various VSIS Presidential Guardsman whom had been standing around in very tactical positions seemed to burst into life moving quickly the President looked at the now crowd all of them looking confused with applause fading, Pearce now spoke rather sheepishly:

“Excuse me, my apologies but duty calls”

Without another word and now surrounded by black suited bodyguards whom had flooded the stage the President made his way to a side door, as the crowd now broke into a murmured conversation that was etched with anxiety the noise was drowned out by the roar of an extremely low PWI MK II Merlin Helicopter that flew over the glass roof. It was soon followed by the appearance of two PWI MK II Apache Attack Helicopters that sped overhead, Clearly something was very very wrong.

Operations Room 1, Vetakan Defence Force Operational High Command (VDFOHC), Central New Theeb, Old City, Vetaka, Nova:

“Sir” whispered the Colonel Michael Andrews as he poked his head around the door.

Supreme Operational Commander Jonathon Stone blinked as he looked up from his HD Monitor he smiled warmly at Colonel Andrews whom was looking unusually grave and troubled. Stone slowly looked Andrews up and down before quietly enquiring:

“Yes Michael?”

Colonel Andrews now fully entered the small office that served as the personal ready room and office of the High Commander on call. The Colonel straightened up cleared his throat and began Stone whom had been a good friends with him for years instantly braced himself for bad news. Whatever it was that Andrews was about to reveal clearly was bad and wasn’t expected or even on the radar of Vetakan Security and Intelligence Service:

“Sir we have a situation, Animarnian President Molly DeLéan has been by all accounts illegally relieved of her office and command by Miriam Godwinson.”

Supreme Operational Commander Jonathon Stone sat their rather stunned nobody would of seen this coming not even the elite ultra classified VSIS political analysts paid to think out of the box and advise to combat threats to Vetaka nobody could perceive. Eventually after a few seconds of silence Stone closed his eyes and inhaled deeply before forcing the exhale as quickly as he could. Rising to his feet Stone brushed past Colonel Andrews and strode into the large Operations Room coming to a halt before the large HD Ops Screen at the head of the room. Stone observed the various screen which were slowly beginning to reflect the developing situation after a few seconds Colonel Andrews spoke up:

“Sir I have the President on the line”

Stone nodded and cleared his throat before announcing:

“Sir, Quite a situation, Where are you?”

President Pearces voice now filled the Operations Room through the various different high definition speakers mounted on the walls. The various Command Staff working away seemed to tense up slightly upon hearing it:

“Quite Commander, I have just boarded Marine One ill be their within 30 minutes”

Stone nodded before making his reply:

“Orders Sir?”

What sounded like the rustling of a packet of some sort could be heard before Hathornes voice filled the room again:

“Damn turbulence my wine gums went everywhere, Apologies. Firstly go to Defensive Condition 3 and Convey the High Command Secondly deploy the 1st Army on mass to the border. They are under no circumstances authorised to engage any forces Animarnian until prior authorization has been given, ill brief General Sharpe myself. Thirdly have Director Campbell do what he can to acquire just what the hell is going in Lilicia if possible id quite like to know where Molly and Christine are in essence I want a full briefing on the state of Animarinia as it stands now including just who the hell the Animarinian Military is swearing loyalty to.”

“Aye Sir, See you soon” replied Stone sternly

“Roger Roger, Delta 365 OUT” replied Pearce as the line went dead.

Stone inhaled deeply whilst closing his eyes before exhaling briskly opening his eyes he burst into life:

“Ok people as you can see we have one hell of a situation here, as a result I need the following. Colonel Andrews I need the First Army to be moblised along the border now with the Second and Third Armies called up and mobilised to the south of the nation. Lieutenant Colonel Rafiq convey the High Command for an emergency meeting and direct Defence Director Wainwright to be the Sole Survivor at OBSAT Space Command also if possible see if Ambassador Lady Uthiria Tóriel Lathíriel nós Farlond can join us via video conference if not personally. Major Kealsall consult with OBSAT Space Command and VSIS, I want a picture of Animarina’s Military Capacity and ideally whom they are swearing loyalty to and their operational intent”.

Stone stopped again and sighed:

“Get me either the newly elected President of Animarina or one of her underlings?”

A few “Sir’s” could be heard but the staff within room mainly just burst into life executing their various orders swiftly.

Southern Vetakan border with Novan Nature Reserve:

It wasn’t long before it became painfully clear what the Vetakan Reaction was to the potential coup d’état in its southern neighbour and one of its closest ally. The 1st Vetakan Defence Force Battle-Group often referred to as the “Homeland Protectors” was quick to deploy its forces to the border of the nature reserve its Air Superiority Fighters, AWAC Aircraft (http://forums.jolt.co.uk/showpost.php?p=12941773&postcount=131)and Air Interdiction Aircraft were quick to begin mounting patrols it was only a matter of hours before advanced ground forces of such units as 101 Commando Regiment, 22 SAS Regiment, 101st Airborne Assualt Division and 15th Special Engineers Service began to secure airfields and other strategically identified potential Forward Operations Bases (FOBS) within the deep south. It would only take a few hours before the mainstream infantry, armour and artillery divisions began to arrive in police escorted convoys from the north, heck it only took the PWI MK II C-5 Galaxies 45 minutes to deploy the Hamilyan designed and produced M11 “Cossack” Airborne Fighting Vehicles (http://forums.jolt.co.uk/showpost.php?p=13779786&postcount=7).

In all it would only take 12-24 hours for the Vetakan Defence Forces to deploy considerable force to its southern border a force that was more deployed as a symbolic protest to the situation as opposed to posing a serious security threat to Animarina, something the Vetakan Army would never do even if ordered by its Commander in Chief. This was a doctrine and policy backed up by the fact that all transport and communucation links between the two nations remained as they normally did and President Pearce made an extremely concerned yet ironically supportive international address live from Office within the Palace of Peace:

“Ladies and Gentleman I speak to you today a deeply troubled and concerned man, I speak to you today representing a government, a nation, a people deeply concerned for the safety, security and well being of a dear friend. At approximately 2:37am Lilica City Local Time the democratically elected Animarinan President Molly DeLéan was removed from office by the now newly elected President Miriam Goodswin under supposed executive authority provided to her under the Succession Act of 1156 Anno Domino within the Animarinian Constitution. Whilst the Vetakan Government and People hold a deep sense of respect for one of their closest neighbours and allies and their subsequent domestic governance we are deeply concerned by this development, A development that at this time I and the Vetakan Government consider a potential coup d’état. Currently I, the Vetakan Government and its people are deeply concerned for the political stability and the extent of democratic freedom within Animarinia furthermore we are deeply concerned for the personal safety of the now removed President DeLéan, Vice President Benton and other elements of the Animarian Political Cabinet and Senior Military Staff.”

Pearce paused and allowed his words to register before clearing his throat and continuing:

“The Vetakan Government is not into the business of lying, dishonour and deception it is not in our nature as such I will not cover up or gloss over this situation, as you are all probably aware the 1st Vetakan Defence Force Battle Group has begun to be deployed on mass to our Southern Border with the Novan Nature Reserve they will soon be joined by the 2nd Vetakan Defence Force Battle Group a decision that I as the Supreme Commanding Admiral in Chief made not as a show of aggression to Animarina as the True Animarinan People know that their northern brethren pose no threat but as a symbolic show of protest to Miriam Goodswin and her political administration that could potentially be based on lies, deception, dishonour and the destruction of Animarinan and its heritage. I and the Vetakan Government urgently call upon Miriam Goodswin and her Political Administration to do the right thing for Animarina and call a Transparent Independently verified General Election as it always has been to ensure the proud heritage of Animarina and its people are promoted and protected.”

Pearce again paused and allowed his words to register before he cleared his throat and continued this time however he seemed to take on a slightly more darker and aggressive tone:

“I would like to take this opportunity to deliver a message directly to President Goodswin, Vetaka will always render whatever aid it can to the true Animarinan People. Vetaka will always do whatever it can to protect, promote and support the True Animarinan People they know that they will never be abandoned by their Northern Brethren help will always be rendered to the Spirit of Animarina for as long as it is needed and required. For what I am saying Madame President is that I am a Vetakan and True Animarina has my and peoples Loyalty a blood oath as such if deception and foul play have played a part in your ascent to political leadership then it will be revealed and you will have a very very bad day as you will not only have to contend with the stubbornness and pride of true Animarina but also the Full Force of the Forces of Loyalty and the Northern Brethren.”

Katsuragi Residence, Little Tokyo; Lilica City, Animarnia

The cicadas were chirping away already, an appropriately foreboding dawn to what would be a morning where much began; and arguably much more ended. The mist still hung, streaked a bloody crimson in the dawn of what would be a cloudless morning to follow quite some day and night of rain prior. The bloody rays splayed across the pebbles of the family rock garden, playing savage shapes like rose blades clashing against fiery stone shields. Augury would hold this scene an omen; and indeed, it was to be.

Mrs. Ayumu Katsuragi still gripped the receiver even some five whole minutes after finishing the international call to her cousin: Field Marshal in the Wagdian Revolutionary Guard and commander of Sixth Host (Prussians), Shoko Katsuragi, Ayumu alerting her to news of what was about to go down to challenge that which had just gone on in Lilica City twelve days past. She’d wasted no time in preparing her part of the demonstration to be held at the Senate building by whom would number easily into the millions before it was done; despite being into her early fifties and already graying, Ayumu could pull all-nighters fit to beat any of the cram-school crowd if she felt she had to. She recalled the conversation raggedly even as she finished her preparations for what was to come this twelfth day under what Ayumu was darkly calling “The New Order.”

“Shoko-chan this is bad; really, really bad!” Ayumu had voted for Benton so it wasn’t as if she were some fan of that Molly woman or something; that was simply unbecoming, as indeed (in her opinion like many others’) was what the ultimate victor in that election had been carrying on so blithely for two years’ after starting months before the polls had opened even. But there were ways these sorts of things were done; had to be done, if they were to be legal even much less ethical. If even half what she suspected were as true as all that she saw and heard, whatever Mrs. Godwinson had pulled was neither regardless of what she said; Ayumu wouldn’t stoop to call that woman ‘President’ if resisting the pressure and temptation to were the last thing she did.

“Calm down cousin, I’ve been watching whenever I’ve been conferring with my G2 or else catching a break where the TV’s on to WIBC1 News.” Shoko sighed; her headquarters wasn’t necessarily in pandemonium or anything, all told this meant little for the daily routine of administering a large military formation maintaining wartime readiness in light of any number of regional or global threats salient lately. Alas it seemed Animarnia was determined to add itself onto that list now, if what looked to be happening was in fact happening; her intelligence deputy was as flabbergasted as she.

“I’m sure you’ve been seeing the news, but Miriam’s damned spin-doctors are already getting to their work and I don’t know what they’re censoring yet so exactly but I know they’re doing it; cousin, they stormed the Palace and as close as I live to the place I’m certain that I heard gunfire that night.” Wetness, was it dripping down her cheek? Yes indeed she was crying, sight to see; and just the day prior to the putsch she’d been cursing out the Senate and Molly both when the neighbors were indoors not to hear such language unbefitting a lady even by accident. It was some or another foreign crisis involving the Wagdians that Molly somehow felt she’d had to pry the Fortress State as well into as a ‘good ally’, not that it mattered now. “Don’t let what you see in recordings of our Senate’s ‘vote’ endorsing Miriam fool you or your staff; this was a coup Shoko, as plainly and simply as if someone over there bagged Stewardess Christine’s head and hauled her off in chains to the memory hole after putting tanks on Tailville’s streets instead.” Ayumu didn’t comment on the Animarnian Tank Police of course; Wagdog had similar in its own Committee of Public Safety’s garrisoned units so there was no point. One could still tell the difference between routine ‘presence’ patrols by vehicles of the former two, on the one hand, and something as irregular and bold as what had happened over here twelve nights back was.

Best to have out with it then, if things were that far gone. “I’m joining a protest cousin, today. In a few hours we’ll see if shooting up a few guards is all Miriam has the roots for or…” Ayumu stopped short of ‘or else.’ Too hard a topic it was by far, even between cousins both long adults by now.

“Ayu-chan!...” Shoko lapsed into the familiar turn of phrase as Ayumu had with her before remembering to cover her hand over the speaker and try to remain discreet. This might not be exactly sensitive as far as information went, but still hardly something to share with all and sundry; especially the woman’s turn of language! “What are you saying!? No you won’t be killed cousin, that’s just stupid! Miriam’s not that far gone whatever I and most here that even know of her at all probably think of her.” Wasn’t she?

Ayumu chuckled darkly for a few seconds. “Then you still know nothing, Shoko-chan.” She sighed as she couldn’t really explain to a Wagdian what had gone on during the Solomon crises; the very real fear that Miriam had preyed on for what power she’d both exercised and hoped to, and which fear even to this day led to standards of rights for the local Muslim population far below what other nations would usually consider acceptable. “That woman… you don’t understand the Church of Fire, let’s just say that; Mrs. Godwinson is dangerous to us all and I will be damned either way if I let her just take that office without a stink and/or a fight depending on how she plays ball with us.” If one read some of Miriam’s pronouncements both during the Solomon attacks and up until now correctly, and Ayumu figured she had but was now starting to doubt Shoko there, the woman in question had no less than called for the genocide of Animarnia’s Muslim minority and probably other “infidels” beyond them in time. So she was unlikely to play softly; no, Miriam Godwinson only knew the game of hardball and she relished it.

Marshal Shoko Katsuragi sighed. Yup, Ayumu was being as stubborn as ever; and still hogging the seniority her age compared to Shoko’s entitled her to. “Knock one out of the park for me, cousin.” Ayumu was being a pride-addled fool again, like she always was; but she was family and that was that.

The goodbye had been curt, but not cold; each knew the other loved them and it didn't need saying in this life or the next. Ayumu had been shocked the day in 1996 that the ex-Atrean islands northward in the Eastern Star Sea had suddenly become accessible to the world again, once some metaphysical calamity had lapsed; and the Animarnian branch of the Katsuragi family had consequently learned their cadet branch in the area affected not only still lived but even had just given birth to whom would’ve been Ayumu’s cousin of only a few years’ junior if time hadn't cursed her home, rather than twenty-plus as Fate would have it. Fortunately the then- "United Socialist States of Wagdog" had opened itself up fairly rapidly, and a surprisingly-easy reunion between the two sides of the clan saw the two cousins swiftly get acquainted as lifelong friends despite one being already an eligible young woman and the other a toddler. Shoko had indeed spent much of her childhood visiting Lilica, and all but grown up around her ‘big cousin’; a woman helping the girl she almost never knew to herself become the woman she could. Which as a Field Marshal in the WRG, as it turned out, Shoko indeed had quite well. Word of the deployments she'd had to endure, particularly the years in Calizorinstan under constant threat from the former British Londinium, had been hard to bear for both ends but they'd borne it with dignity and in time like all threats it had passed with the rising mists of a new day; only to equally-certainly be replaced by another in turn.

Now Ayumu was sitting here alone, phone handset replaced with a regretful breath as it clicked down, and she putting the finishing touches on the signs she and her neighborhood women’s circle had agreed on while discussing their part of the march. “We voted for Benton, and we get yet another redhead who answers to a foreigner with a Messiah Complex!?” It was cruel to talk about Christ that way, perhaps; certainly insensitive even not counting the picture equation on the sign scandalously asserting that Miriam might merely equal another Molly term with a different personal dependency of the President’s involved. But many who opposed Miriam still managed to agree that Molly’s affair with the Wagdian leader had been improper of her, even if perhaps not ipso facto illegal or a danger to the Fortress State as Miriam alleged it had been; indeed that agreement was their particular weapon because they held Miriam to the same principle equally. As for the characterization of Christine well, that was almost purely a matter of opinion; Ayumu at least didn’t comprehend Molly’s attraction to the (in Ayumu’s assessment of her anyway) narcissistic, overbearing, populist busybody who ruled the Wagdian nation. To her mind, such women as whom clearly thought it was all about them were but one thing to men or women when it came to emotional entanglements: trouble; why play the moth to the flame when you surely have the smarts to know fairly well you’re going to get burned eventually?

Another sign read: “Fire the Church, impeach the bitch; follow the laws you claim to scratch!” Ayumu was proud of that last one, aimed very directly at all of Miriam’s organization the Church of Fire, Molly herself, and the Senate now placing said Church in the role of some sort of political party once again after the election of two years’ back; again particularly emphasizing how Miriam’s application of the law was stretching credibility fit to breaking and (even if perhaps legitimate) there were regardless better means available than those she’d chosen to pursue and a craven, divided Senate chose to let her get away with for now. It was sickening, but it was equally politics as usual; cowards voting to replace a corrupt leader with a psychotic one to save themselves for fear of above all having nothing better to do with themselves either way.

Not all of the placards were anti-Molly DeLéan however; not least since whatever many thought of the woman herself, the surname still carried weight in Animarnian culture that could not be underestimated. One read, “A DeLéan helped us keep these rights; we owe it to keep hers.” Another, “TRIAL: Molly deserves it, it’s Godwinson’s job to give it!” Similarly a companion read, "INVESTIGATION: Molly deserves this, Benton deserves this; WE DEMAND THIS!" Again Little Tokyo had mostly pulled for Benton two years ago so where one found the few outright pro-Molly signs among its’ local crowd of protesters, such as ones bearing Molly’s picture at her desk on a photo-op and the text: “I voted for her, you could’ve waited for her; down with legislative nullification!” they were mostly of individuals’ own makes rather than part of the neighborhood effort Ayumu had organized with help from many others. She smiled; all-in-all, she hoped to demonstrate well today that the Animarnian nation answered to nobody but themselves in these sorts of matters. And that applied equally to Stewardess Friedrich, or the Vetakans (if least to these given their status as the Northern Brethren), or even God Almighty Himself as Miriam was proving might merely (by proxy of her Church’s interpretation of Him) replace Stewardess’ Friedrich as the outside influence steadily eroding Animarnian sovereignty proper.

***
Völles Residence and Publishing Enterprises Incorporated; Lilica City, Animarnia

One of the other organizers, a woman answering to Kelly Völles and long a distinguished resident of the district just bordering Little Tokyo indeed within a long but clear line of sight to the Katsuragi residence, huddled in her shower with the water still coming down. The lights were off, her shadowed nudity quite matching her dour, vulnerable inner state presently. They’ll find me soon; no, I cannot hide once this starts. Her thoughts couldn’t but drive home the point that, on the odds, she was a dead woman already.

Kelly Völles; or rather, Kelly Vales of the Wagdian Committee of Public Safety on deep-cover assignment in Animarnia for easily ten years now, knew she was almost certainly burned. Why Miriam’s goons hadn’t busted her yet, she didn’t know; but she knew it would not be a matter of accident when they did finally. In fact, part of why she cowered in her shower drip today was her increasing certainty of one probable answer to that question: Miriam, damned bitch but oh so clever a one, was probably quite well aware of what was going on in this neighborhood for the protest; aware and relishing every sign passed out made by Kelly’s hand or bearing a slogan of her devising as but another way to discredit the protesters as dupes in collusion with foreign degenerates towards the wost of all possible purposes, just like Miriam already alleged the twelve-days’-former President Molly DeLéan had been. Nationalism; like the revolutions it and its offspring ideologies inspire, it eats everything it can get its’ bloody hands on but most especially so its own children. She felt she was going to sick up just imagining the thought of being a patsy for that Rexist mother-dearest to start gobbling down upon her own with.

As a deep-cover agent in an allied state, Kelly’s default mission hadn’t been terribly sexy by the standards of popular imagination about spycraft, or even really much more than that of a… covert anchorwoman you might say. She was simply to keep the home office up to speed on the overall domestic situation in her part of Lilica City near the government complex, via summaries of her own from local Animarnians she mostly hadn’t even ‘picked up’ so much as simply chatted with even if some were kept as sources proper yes, with their own dead-drop times and sites Kelly herself never knew nor touched; other agents entirely from herself or her own picked up all these assorted reports for secure transmission home by both diplomatic and direct-CPS channels. Naturally these reports included the local affairs’ possible implications for Animarnian national policy if and as she saw them, but apart from these and also foremost Kelly was mandated to simply keep smoothly running the small at-home publishing business CPS had provided her the startup capital for, so she could maintain herself and by extension her ring long-term without suspicion. She was sure there were not only others with her exact mission profile elsewhere across both Lilica in particular and Animarnia generally, but also Animarnian counterparts likewise in Tailville DR in particular and Wagdog generally too. It was how these things went, even between allies; in fact the alliance status merely changed the missions from provocative ones to supportive, such as ferreting out each nations’ opposition’s intentions and working to assure the other friendly nation indeed stayed that way rather than trying to pry out military secrets or political blackmail for the dirty-tricks squad’s later use as the hostile states' cases needed. Two spy agencies keeping each other on-game by occasionally knocking each other around gently, basically, rather than trying to throw the other off with harder measures; though now with Miriam in power that would surely begin soon and the good times would no longer roll for some time yet if ever again.

And for twelve days now, Kelly had been trapped in a position where to report home what had gone on since she’d been blindsided by the proverbial putschist’s tank the morning after the coup would mean certain, swift arrest followed equally swiftly by brutal torture and summary execution once whatever could be ‘extracted’ from her by Miriam’s cronies had been. Occupational hazards these things were; and a funny thing was, her business was almost profitable enough to double the hazard pay for such that the home office gave by proxy of a fictitious Wagdian branch of her company. But no employer could overlook the simple fact that Kelly had failed her mission in one of the most fundamental ways possible; she’d known of the Church of Fire’s militancy for years, even been one of the most alarmist of the sources CPS had in this town about its’ potential for extra-electoral action if it felt frustrated enough by President DeLéan’s policies.

But for all her supposed caution, supposed focus on Miriam like a flashlight to a snake’s den, even Kelly still couldn’t see the serpent’s strike coming until fangs had already met flesh and the venom set to its’ work. Some snake huntress she was not, indeed. Now there was nothing for it but to arm the people she’d worked with these past ten years, whether they were aware of it or not, with the weapons of reason and justice; then hope that these could prevail against superstition and tyranny yet again. So far though, as she set for another long cry in the dark with her curly black hair plastered to her olive skin by the falling droplets, the odds for Miriam’s proverbial Church of Fire Seminary (of Tyranny’s) visiting team against Molly’s own proverbial Sommeton University home team in the Great Scrimmage for Animarnia’s Soul were looking all too good for one to be happy or even sane watching too long.

Well then, best to get on with it while insane if must. Kelly would duly dress, and show at the rally; and probably do something such that would take care of any possibility Miriam’s hatchet men could get anything from her before she died. As was she’d make sure to destroy what documents she had to before leaving, so whatever information ACIS had would be deprived of any on-site corroboration at least. There’d probably be no denying any number of Wagdian agents both including and besides her had been heavily involved in the protests, indeed the state media would surely claim they’d authored them which was always preferable to admitting one had sufficiently angered their own citizenry not two weeks into power. But she could limit the quality of that claim, make it even a bit less absolutely certain and more “merely likely”; and if she could then it was her job to. As was, she had nothing else to do with it now; not fired nor even laid off so she might as well freelance it while the fun still lasted.

Designated Safe house, ZX48, 23 Ashford Road, St Hillary, Animarnian
The Car pulled up outside the house, a nice suburban setting, complete with garden and white picket fence, the picturesque setting however was nothing but a front for a Section E safe house, formally under the IED before Rene Shondels restructuring of the Intelligence Department, the two occupants got out of the DBRS9 Coupe and walked to the front door, Clara inserted a normal looking key and turned, the computer terminal on the other side validated the key, and the door lock clicked open as the two went inside, Black walked to the living room looking at the sparse decoration, lots of wood, oak and teak with a large painting hanging over an old fireplace of someone he probably should have recognised but didn’t, Clara returned a few minutes late with two mugs and handed him one which he took gingerly sipping the black liquid she called coffee as she reached up to the fireplace and pressed a hidden switch and a book case in the corner pushed open slightly with a click, Clara walked over to it and pushed it open the rest of the way to reveal a hidden office that doubled as a panic room; inside were some monitors, a computer and large racks of files and rolled up paper tubes, she took one out marked SX-29D and unrolled it. It was an overlay map of Lilica City.

“So, what are we doing Sir?” Clara asked putting her mug on the table next to the map.

“We?” Black replied with a raise of one eyebrow, that had by now become his trademark.

“You have one of those, ‘I’m about to do something stupid’ looks sir, so can’t let you go it alone” Clara replied and he rolled his eyes; “.

“We need to find where they’ve taken President DeLéan, that means getting into Centrals Archive Room” he said.

“Can’t we just use the computer?” she said pointing at the terminal that was hardwired into the central database.

“Something’s we’re never transferred from the paper records Clara” he said sipping his mug.

“Like what?” she asked.

“Relics” he said.

“We also need to contact the Six, ready for a rescue when we discover the presidents location” he said opening his jacket pocket and taking out a cell-phone, dialling a Section E Radio station…

Classified Location, Southern Vetaka,
The sun was beating down on them as the five men and two women of the Dead Six 7th Special forces regiment trekked though the forest area on an inclines, dressed in plane greens and camouflage browns they were equally as caked in mud as there clothing; with there faces covered in camouflage war paint making them virtually indistinguishable from the surrounding Forrest, there weapons, hung low on there waists from shoulder straps, a variety of P90’s M4,s R1’s, M240’s and E-57 pistols all stolen or as they liked to say ‘liberated’ from rebels, the pristine Animarnian CR-20’s having been buried in drop bags months ago on ammo requirements, the team had, gone native, operating for the last eight months in the south in a counter Insurgency role, they were essentially here to lend a hand to Vetakan Special Forces, though they much preferred to work alone however.

“Damn it, I miss home” Sakura said trudging forward though the mud, it had been raining the night before her hair was wrapped up in a plain green bandana.

“You just miss your shower, Sak” replied another member of the team from the back as he chucked back some water, though faced no reprimand for using her first name; the Six unit were a tight knit group and informality had taken over from strict military discipline

“Damn right I do, Mac” she said with a grin; “Shower, Air conditioning, the simple pleasures or a cooked breakfast that isn’t Lamb or an MRE” she said as Nick put his fist up all went deathly quiet, the laughing and joking replaced with a serious atmosphere the teams lax weapons now in hand and ready as they filed up one at a time silently to the tree line, communicating in hand signals, they had found what they were looking for, a Rebel stronghold.

Nick ‘Havoc’ Parker was looking though the binoculars, eying the base below, a expansive complex of hangers, and bunkers evidently a former air base for the Vetakan defence forces. ‘Deadeye’ Macinnis moved up and set up his rifle, a long range M200 Sniper Rifle, with a specialist scope and suppressor. He raked over the base below picking our an mentally prioritising targets. Havoc gave a serious if hand signals and the team went into action splitting into two teams, of three, leaving Deadeye on the high ground, the team snuck down though the trees into the base, cutting though the fence, Havoc snapping the neck of an unlucky guard on the way and Sakura using her knives to drop a patrolman.. Giving yet more hand signals to the team acting separately but in perfect unison they started to disseminate explosive through the base, C4 Mostly on the bunkers; a guard spotted Hotwire but before he could raise his weapon to shoot Deadeye dropped him with a silenced shot from two thousand yards out, his body hit the roof with a gentle thud, and Hotwire set her C4 pack then met up with the others as they retreated back to a tree line on the west side of the base, they laid Claymores. Setting up behind the cover of a fallen tree, Havoc pressed the button on the detonator, and there was an explosion, followed by another, and another, and another, in all there were fifteen or so as men were dying left right and centre, body parts flying with spurts of blood and screams of men who had lost those limbs, the survivors were running around not sure what was happening, some were picked off by Deadeye, as the explosions herded them towards the line claymores a group of 30 rebels were coming in there direction when Havoc pressed the button again setting off the claymores. The shaped charges throwing out hundreds of ball bearings that ripped though human flesh, Havocs team firing into the survivors before the dust had even settled with a blistering hail of deadly fire as they moved back down into the base picking off guards as they ran around trying to understand what was going on, there midday lunch ruined many, trying to mount sporadic resistance others were more concerned with trying to put out the fires, they were cut down with weapons fire non the less, Havoc fired 40mm Grenades at a group of rebels who were trying to organise into a counter attack blowing them to bits. Hotwire and Gunner meanwhile were busy tossing Fragmentation Grenades into the barracks though the windows and doors; the loud bangs and screams filling the air. Wolf meanwhile was using a custom grenade launcher fired into a fuel stockpile detonating it and throwing more rebels into the air; the fire fight lasted, a few minutes but when it was over one hundred enemy rebels had been killed, many, many more wounded or maimed and none taken prisoner. Havoc lit up a cigar and held his M4 over his shoulder with a smile, obviously pleased as he inhaled the smell of burning flesh and gasoline. “the only way to start a day” he said.

“Syd, get on the RF, find out what our next target is” he ordered dusting off a box and sitting down. Sydney moved into one of the Communication stations and sat at the desk, putting one headphone to her ear and dialled it in. it squeaked briefly before being replaced by a male voice, that sounded aged.

“And Today’s lottery numbers are, 10, 23, 43, 39, 38, 16, and the Bonus is 11, the winning football pools are, Ashton St Chad, 2, Hillary Wonders 0” and so the voice went on for a clear five minutes, Sydney noting it all down on paper and running the cipher though her head, the information itself was meaningless, broadcast on a public frequency. it was indeed the lotto numbers and the football pools but it was also a complex cipher where the order of the numbers and the results given had meaning, if you had the correct decryption method, tuning the radio back out she ran out to Havoc with her paper and handed him the properly decrypted message. As he read it, his eyes widened in shock; Havoc had seen a lot of things, many believed him truly unflappable but this was surprising to see.


Lilica City, 12 Days After Formal Power Transfer
People had gathered from far and wide all over the country to march though the capital in protest at Miriam’s actions; close to a million people waving placards with slogans such as ‘GET OUT MIRIAM’ and ‘WE WANT MOLLY BACK’ and ‘BEHEAD THOSE THAT SAY ISLAM IS VIOLENT’ as well as various peace symbols and rainbow banners others clearly supporting the Vice President Ed Benton some were just slandering Miriam. Some say that the protest march just sprang up others may correctly say it was organised by the governmental left and what remained of Molly’s Former Cabinet, Foreign nations operating inside the county and even some of Molly’s Opponents who were no fans of the ‘New Order‘

Local Law Enforcement had been informed of the protest, and Riot Police were out in force clad in what many called the black storm trooper armour complete with Kevlar Vests, Helmets with Gas Masks that hid the faces and armoured blast shields. They were set up in rank and file blocking the entrance way to the Capital Building, behind the rank and file were dedicated water cannons, Heat and sound suppression vehicles as well as Riot Vans and Squad Cars with armed police holding G36 Rifles as well as Snipers on the Roofs of buildings all along the street and on the Capital Building. Even the Tank Police had been called in with M1’s in Black and White Lievre with Blues and Twos going, Tank Police Officers watching from the turret hatch leaning back. All this was here just in case, no one expected any trouble, Animarnia had handled such large scale protests before, there were several after Former President Shondel signed on to the Deleian league and those had gone off without a hitch, spirited certainly but peaceful. Animarnians liked making there voices heard but would not scupper there own point of view by resorting to violence of course tempers were running much higher than usual, the true effects of the ‘new order’ effecting Lilica City primarily for now but even in the outer more rural areas outside the metropolis like cities were starting to show signs of the ‘New Order’ Police Presence had more than doubled in rural areas and quadrupled in cities with officers loyal to Miriam permeating the ranks enough to keep people in line, so no one truly knew where others loyalties lied and that was enough to make people paranoid enough to obey; of course Miriam had also signed into Law the Ministry of Truth which ran counter line to CIS, as a political tool Ministry Agents would now operate as ‘liaisons’ to department heads, they had no true authority but everyone knew that anyone that crossed them could and undoubtedly would disappear.

Today though, unfortunately for many, historians would look back on this day and perhaps see where it all went wrong, but then Hindsight is always twenty twenty. Hard right activists had infiltrated the protest march and here the would be using it as a vessel for the next stage in Miriam’s Grand plan as it was being called, of course none of them truly knew what was about to happen if they had, there actions may be differing; Historians may even say that Miriam herself did no truly anticipate the coming storm.

Several men and women had concealed bottles of Vodka under long coats and inside jackets; these ’protestors’ filed in the crowd blending in but always moving forwards though the march towards the front and nearest the police line set up onside the capital building at the edge of what everyone called “the protest zone” that had been allocated for as much there safety as any other reason. They waited the first two hours, for the protest to get in full swing, songs were sung, chants were chanting and spirits were at there highest, then these trouble makers made there move.

It Started innocently enough, throwing Bricks at Cars and smashing windows with baseball bats, to provoke a police response, several had even smuggled in weapons such as pistols or the odd MP5 or Black Market DAC-99 Riot Police moved forward to quell the localised violence and arrest the suspects identified then it kicked off, others who had been waiting, lit there Molotov cocktails and lobbed them at the police moving in.

The falling bottles of flaming booze looked somewhat pretty at least until they exploded; several officers were showered with flaming alcohol which rained down over them, other Police mainly the once inside the crowd were hit more directly and ignited running around on fire causing others to catch alight causing mass panic, as yet more Molotov’s were thrown at the police line, because the sun was starting to go down in the early twilight it looked like a scene from an ancient movie with a settlement being bombarded with artillery.

Everything fell into chaos as more officers peeled off on fire dropping to the ground and rolling to try and put themselves out, other officers charged forward with batons and shields to try and quell the raising violence before it escalated further. The crowed pushed back as Officers lost it some beating protestors with batons and punches, a full scale riot then ensured with police violently beating protestors openly and indiscriminately.

The Water cannons were called forwards to try and stem the violence with high pressure hoses fired into the protest lines pushing them back this had some limited success with the water strafing back and forth over the narrow street pass; Tank Police hunkered down inside there M1’s and started up there loud speakers; “This is the Police, Cease your actions immediately!” the warning said

This only seemed to aggravate many protestors further ending with them hurling rocks and missiles at police as well as now lighting up cars or buildings in the street and burning them to charred cinders protestors also vandalised property and smashed office windows to loot goods or mark them with Anti-Miriam Graphite

“This is Control! Pull back, all units pull back, Reform the lines” came a radio message as the riot officers hopelessly outmanned tried to control the crowd; Officers made a fighting retreat to reform control lines with more units being called in from local precincts the wail of police sirens, the carnage on the streets and the smell of burning gasoline filled the night.

Elsewhere, Lilica City Factory District
In the edges of Lilica was what was often called the Factory district, the large industrial complex where products were churned out nearly 24 hours a day seven days a week by shift workers and robots. Some of the District though was much older and slated to be torn down for new buildings to be put up. In one of these condemned buildings with a disused basement level several men sat on computers running off a portable generator, so they did not have to tap into the national grid they were busy typing on there keyboards almost oblivious to the outside world as code scrolled on there large HD displays; the centre piece of this was a Vex Corp Server Station that featured by itself nearly 100Thz and seven displays

“Are we ready?” a man in a suit said looking at the display over the six people working. He had grey hair, cut short with a only a slight Barnet he was tall at Six Foot his voice was soft and almost gentle and never betrayed a more darker colder nature.

“We’re Ready, Sir” said a dark skinned woman with wavy hair typing at her screen, she was much younger than her superior with green eyes but was dressed equally smartly she had a pair of thin gold rimmed glasses.

“Initiate Operation” the suited man said, Clearly in charge of whatever this Facility was.

“Patching into police com chatter now…” said the Dark skinned woman while running her program with her fellow hackers her typing picking up as even more code scrolled downwards in green like Matrix Style.,

“Patch Complete” She nodded to the suited man who picked up a head set he took a deep breath and spoke into the microphone which automatically changed his voice.

“This is control; Code Blue, Code Blue This is not a drill; there is a suicide bomber in the crowd trying to reach the capital building; Armed Response is Authorised, That Bomber is not to reach the Capital Building” he said.

Lilica City Capital Building, Riot in progress
The Crowed seemed to only get more violent at the police pull back like throwing gasoline on a fire the water cannons were doing a decent job of stinting progress forward but that was it, the Riot had become a self sustaining storm for now starting to spread out into the rest of Lilica with the cannons only able to stop one side at a time the other would then surge forward again into police lines the just did not have enough Cannons currently deployed to deal with this kind of situation though more were responding in other areas to control the crowd..

then the message came into the police headsets “This is control; Code Blue, Code Blue This is not a drill; there is a suicide bomber in the crowd trying to reach the capital building; Armed Response is Authorised”

The police response was near instant as the mood completely changed from crowd control to something much darker. As the armed counter Terror unit moved forward rifles raised; formed in the wake of the Nuclear Attack on Solomon and after a wave of Suicide Bomb attacks by Muslim Radicals in opposition to the new security measures. Standing orders for the CT Unit were to not let any terrorist near the capital building; they were independent of Police Control and answered to Miriam, They had no idea that there own communications had been compromised.

As the crowd surged forward again to try and break the line, A CT office spotted what he thought was a suicide vest on one of the Protestors and opened fire, Sending a Woman who would later be Identified as of Wagdogian decent to the ground dead, this sent many of the hardliners reaching for there own guns and a full on battle erupted. The automatic fire between the police and rioters rained for what seemed like hours but in actuality was only half a minute with CT units panicked firing into the crowd indiscriminately. Bullets flying like a deadly hail as bodies flailed down dead; The Gunfire though seemed to snap people out of that red mist that descended on them hours earlier, there was a stampede as people tried to run for there lives; trampling others under foot; in short history would regard it as a massacre as close to 30,000 people died.

Within an hour the street was eerily quiet the protest dispersed and the Riot ended, bodies were strewn over many closest to the police line were shot most though shown signs of being trampled in the ensuing panic; the street was coated in blood; it was a grim sight to anyone and one that would surely burn into the eyes of everyone that saw it, a TV news Chopper flew overhead having caught the thing on video for broadcast…

Elsewhere, Factory District, Lilica City
The men and women in the basement command centre watched the TV news showing the slaughter on national and likely International TV of many tens of thousands of innocent people. The suited man smiled his work was complete.

“Operation Complete, pack everything we need to leave here immediately” he said turning to leave the room. Before he even finished reaching the Door the team were already packing away there equipment; and unplugged devices in record time, you could tell this had been practiced with Military Precision anything that couldn’t’t be taken was shredded, then burnt Less than two hours later any trace of them ever being there was gone.

Presidential Palace
“Ma’am, we have distressing news; a protest that had been taking place near the capital has….well perhaps you best put on the TV” the dark skinned man, Daniel said with a heavy sigh. Miriam turned and clicked on the TV which was showing the Protest as its top story; things started peacefully then turned into the riot followed by the massacre. “My God” she said watching; Miriam surely knew that she was not the most popular person in the country at present but for the left to sacrifice so many of there own starting a riot was unfathomable; of course this required action, action that she would take.

“Do we know why the police opened fire?” she said turning off the TV.

“Preliminary Interviews suggest that they were told a suicide bomber was in the crowd” he said

“Was there?” Miriam asked.

“Not as far as we can tell; it looks like someone patched into the police communication channel CIS is investigating”

“That has to be the work of Foreign agents, they are trying to discredit us and make us out to be monsters!” she yelled throwing her hands down in anger! “GET ME CIS Section D!” she yelled angrily; “I want every foreign agent rounded up and deported so fast it will make there head spin! Call in the fucking army if you have to and start making planes to take the embassies” she said fuming Daniel nodded turned and left closing the door behind him.

She picked up the phone in her office; and pressed the button for a secured line out to a number in an outer suburb; a man picked up the voice came down the line in soothing hushed English tone not hiding the true darker, colder nature. “I thought I told you never to call this number” he said; his voice was cool, calm, calculating but not angry, firm definitely but not angry.

“This line is Secured” She Replied; “I Saw your work on Television”

“You did say you wanted something…public” he replied; oozing slick cynicism so much so that you could feel his smile down the phone line.

“I did not say I wanted Thirty Thousand people dead” She replied.

“What you want, Miriam is Irrelevant, never forget who you answer to. you have your Casus Bali, I suggest you make use of it before more have to die” The Man replied, in a far more threatening tone that made even Miriam flinch slightly. There was a click, and the line was dead.

“You unbelievable bastard” she said resting the phone in its cradle, now was time to draft up some new Executive Orders.

Approaching Classified Location, “Target: Mike Juliet Five Zero”, Southern Vetaka:

Southern Vetaka by its very nature was extremely un commercialised in co-ordination with the Allied Administered Novan Nature Reserve. Building regulations were extremely tight within the south with much of the deep south been given “National Park” status. As a result it was natural paradise with much of the landscape nothing but long rolling meadows, hills and the odd mountain extremely picturesque reminiscent of the Lake District National Park in England. It was here unfortunately that the last pockets of the Swanist Rebels had fled to and it was here where the combined efforts of the White Phoenix Tribe, Vetakan Special Ops, Wagdian Special Ops and Animarnian Special Ops were working to remove them. The White Phoenix’s most elite warriors the legendary White Phoenix Protectors whom originally were charged with the Chieftains protection had initially been pursuing the suspected Commander in Chief of the Rebels on the Chieftains orders when they had been recalled. Somewhat annoyed and confused by this the Warriors soon accepted when briefed on the wider international rapidly deteriorating situation. Tasked with travelling further south to either link up with or neutralise an equally famous unit from Animarina that could not be allowed to return home if they had the intention of supporting the new political regime.

The warriors like all missions they had been tasked with the homeland thundered towards Dead Six’s location on horseback the main team in a scattered like formation with a scouting man up a head and trailing man bringing up the rear, countering any potential ambushes. Whilst their was no real rank structure within the team their self elected leader a burly grey bearded man by the name of “Many Wounds” eagerly looked ahead they were extremely close to Dead Six’s position it was a mere two kilometres or so the to abandoned airbase. Many Wounds knew that the Dead Six were probably already taking defensive positions and he knew that as soon as his team thundered through approaching tree line they would be within the line of fire. Yet he also knew that Dead Six were as honourable and as loyal to their homeland as Many Wounds was to his as a resulted it didn’t matter, still the air of doubt sat at the deepest part of his mind. Personally Many Wounds and his men knew the score their was an unspoken bond of Loyalty amongst the Allied Special Forces it was however and order from the Chieftain.

As the main team approached the tree line they regrouped with the lead scout and slowed to allow the trail scout to form up into their full strength. Moving at a steady canter through the trees Many Wounds withdrew a flare gun that was initially for signally aircraft from his belt raised it into the air and fired sending the red flare shooting into the sky where it exploded. After all even tho he had his orders these people were still friends and it was never nice to sneak up on friends, after a few seconds they exploded through the trees and galloped across the flat deserted runways of the base towards the main compound, where HQ had tracked the Dead Six to be.

As they came within 25 meters or so of the compound Many Wounds ordered his team to slow and eventually stop before the building. Where Many Wounds smiled and roared at the top of his voice. His bellowing roar cutting through the deep silence:

“Major Parker…………. Major Nick “Havoc” Parker of the Animarinan Dead Six, Reveal yourself Sir. I request your audience I am Many Wounds of the Tribe”

Many Wounds deliberately allowed the silence to return before again booming:

“I bow to no man but I bow to you”

Briefing Room within Operations Room 1, Vetakan Defence Force Operational High Command (VDFOHC), Central New Theeb, Old City, Vetaka, Nova:

The Vetakan Defence Force High Command along with the Vetakan Presidential Cabinet with the exception of the designated survivor whom today was Defence Director Sarah Wainwright whom instead provided her input through a secured video linkup from OBSAT Space Command, had been in emergency meeting for around 45 minutes regarding the present state of Animarnia when the news of the massacre within the Animarnian Capital City broke. President Pearce was in the process of been briefed on Miriam Godwinson’s background, political history and psychological state when the meeting had been interrupted by one of the VSIS Attaché’s whom merely said whilst flicking a HD Television on:

“Apologies Sir, but you will want to see this”

As the TV flickered into life its displayed a live report from the Vetaka Today News Channel the pretty female reporter whom was in lose fitting clothing, blue combat helmet and blue flak jacket both encrusted with the thick yellow stitched words “PRESS” stood amongst a scene of pure carnage and chaos she shouted over the death around her to be heard, it was clear that she was clearly out of her depth as the screen flickered the News Channels satellite clearly struggling with the signal:

“Kent I am here live from the grounds……. Of the Lilica City Capital Building where what was a peaceful protest to the current political events has turned into a bloody massacre. Whilst exact details are unclear what is clear is that Anirmarnian Law Enforcement have opened fire upon a seemingly civilian crowd in response to intense rioting”

Before the Reporter could go on a bloodied Animarnian Police Officer appeared and ordered the camera to be switched off as the signal died the channel cut back to a stunned anchorman whom merely mumbled:

“My God

Before regaining his composure and summing up the situation at that moment President Pearce muted the TV before quietly whispering:

“May the Spirits guide and protect them, this has gone on long enough Get me the Wagdian President on the Line”

Largest Protest in Vetakan History, Over 750,000 People Descend Upon New Theeb,
“President Pearce: The People Have Spoken, We Must Listen”

The largest peace protest in Vetakan History today passed off without much trouble or incident the Protest which was organised dually by the Student Union of New Theeb and the Civil Pressure Group “VetAn” which campaigns for greater ties between Vetaka and Animarina. The Protest which began around midday this afternoon was attended by some 750,000 to 1 Million people from up to 12 countries and started in New Theeb Central Park. The Protest which initially gathered within the park turned to a march as protestors brought the streets of New Theeb to a grid lock as the made their way from the park towards the Animarinan Embassy. Singing the national anthems of Animarina, Vetaka, Wagdog and other notable songs such as the popular Journey Song “Don’t Stop Believing”, the U2 song “Peace on Earth” and “May it Be” by popular classicalist Enya. the crowd made its way towards the Embassy and proceeded to pass it, no longer singing however the protestors fell into a eerie silence with heads bowed.

One police officer at the embassy said it was “incredible and almost scary” and reported that the leading procession of protestors which were led by a single white horse and a band of bag pipes carried the flags of various nations to the embassy and bowed them respectfully whilst moving past in silence. Another Officer reported that as the protestors moved past the Flag Bearers and the Big Pipes remained at the Embassy. With the bearers bowing the flags towards the embassy building the bag pipe players proceeded to take it in turn to play a variety of songs to the pipes.


The protest brought New Theeb to a halt for several hours and prompted a massive response from the New Theeb Police Department whom were forced to urgently request National Guard support in order to provide suitable security for the event. Vetakan Police Department Chief of Staff Andrew Garland said in comments earlier “In total we detained 13 people on minor offences all of which were alcohol related incidents as such we give a big thanks to the Protestors and the City for an historic event one that I am sure will sway public opinion across Nova”. Strangely none of the Organisers were available for comment but President Pearce in a statement to the nation earlier responded to the protest gallantly: “Today the people spoke, today they rose up in defiance of recent events, in defiance of scare tactics, today in one united and glorious voice they spoke and today I will listen. As such I have scheduled an urgent meeting with the Wagdian Leadership and instructed my cabinet to seek audiences with our strategic partners across the Novan Region in response to the current Animarian crisis”

Helipad A1, Palace of the Revolution; Tailville DR, Revolutionary Commonwealth of Wagdog
Hope cut. The falling drops from the oppressive sky even of the late morning shone with the reflected lights of the massive edifice that was Wagdog’s capital upon the slick, chrome-shaded shaft of steel that was perhaps the one ‘masculine’ feature of what her owner insisted was a female sword to the last despite its’ characteristics seeming the opposite in straight tsurugi-style. The air rushed around the mystically-crafted shank as furiously as the wielder worked it in today’s’ practice; practice driven by boredom, by rage, by fear… and yes by hope itself however irrational that seemed at the moment.

Hope stabbed, truly that it did; even into that which was immaterial as the foggy air this high up. As immaterial as Stewardess Christine Friedrich’s soul itself; imagine Miriam on the point of the blade as she might, as arguably as not it was truly her own worst self that was being imaginatively gored and hacked and quartered this day with scarlet blood staining her imagined black sleeveless tee identically styled (and rain soaked) as the one she wore in reality. Swordsmanship required discipline after all, not traditionally one of Christine’s strong points even though she’d improved much with the passing years compared to what she’d been first starting this journey in power and love five (five?) decades back; and there were two meanings to that word which were arguably both being applied now: training on the one hand, and punishment on the other.

I should have been there! Christine imagined taking her own… no, Miriam’s head damn it (!), in another swooping riposte once she’d recovered Hope into a classical high-guard stance if perhaps one more suited to a katana rather than the straighter form of Christine’s own precious sword bearing the name; Miriam wouldn’t have been so haughty at least if she’d captured both of them somehow. Never mind of course that Christine’s departure from that so seemingly innocuous lover’s visit to Molly’s Presidential home had been a week gone before the coup even started; nineteen days now, but to Christine it seemed closer to nineteen weeks even or more, and the weaknesses of her thoughts being valid didn’t help her mood any to be sure.

I should have listened to Dwayne when he suggested we put surveillance on Miriam; damn me, but every time I try to show fair play to my mere-opponents why do they always have to immediately backstab me for thanks and become enemies-proper!? Another stab punctuated that form before she retreated again to the middle-guard default stance; she was repeating but one of many forms, not particularly named in this case, for either decapitating a foe or (if that failed) stabbing them through the heart before they could even register another parry or dodge. This time, for an eye’s batting reflex, she’d seen herself in her flight gear for when she’d taken Molly up in her own private FA-15E Cardinal; nothing like pushing Mach 3 simulating an interceptor’s pursuit dash to lob a long-range missile against a ‘fast mover’ supersonic bomber target speeding away towards some city or other to get a two women worked up in any number of ways. Now however the whole memory was just another cruel joke as far as Christine was concerned; again, she mentally forced a phantom Miriam onto the imagined foe now bleeding out upon the helipad tarmac before pausing at the middle-guard position and breathing hard.

She couldn’t take more than two… three further minutes of trying to hold focus under the juvenile staccato taunts from the accusing rain, the thrice-damned and a hundred times so damnable beyond weather mirroring the torrential tears within; sapping all that was warrior and lover and stateswoman about her without a care for how doubly unfair it all was. Unfair beyond surreality that Molly was doubtless cast now into oblation’s shadow as the one paying the price for what was at heart Christine’s political oversight; unfair fit to maddening that she, who had made the error, was still safe in her bed and home and clothes with sword by her side while one whom she loved to completion suffered likely torture or worse. She had long since learned the bitter lesson to assume the worst evil possible of evil men (and women); but even Christine’s own dark as midnight imagination hadn’t anticipated this, so some warrior she was indeed. The inner opprobrium fueling an animal scream not heard for some three (or five, technically) decades since the last time the then-insurgent had used it, in discharge of her rage upon those who had attempted execution of her which scars were still playfully referred to by Molly before as the roots of proverbial bloody “wings” of Christine’s, as she charged down an imaginary Miriam with intent to make the figment wish it would only get the Blood Eagle by the time Christine was but half over and done with how utterly she’d destroy in unseen effigy the forsaken bitch whom had wronged her!

“Dear?” So great had been her concentration through some more seconds of frenzied hacking that she hadn’t noticed the thoroughly sodden-suited husband of hers who had apparently been standing at the door to the stairwell leading down from the helipad for quite some minutes now, easily. She arrested her slip, a comfortable five meters or so from the pad’s railing; not that the low barrier would’ve stopped her had she hit it with enough momentum to topple over and down the three-hundred meters to the Palace of the Revolution Plaza below. Not even someone whose age was altered and slowed magically to the point the unfamiliar could mistake them for an immortal could survive that; fortunately, it was a hypothetical and Vice-Steward-Consort Charles Lind stared steely blue eyes toward his common-law spouse’s stony hazel as she panted from her exertion. Damn but she is most beautiful when she’s angry. Ordinarily a stony hazel, in the right light or when in just the proper mood her eyes could appear to take on the shade of fools’ gold; and for this woman one would gladly make oneself a fool too. For the sex, for the companionship, for the adventure; there was worse madness out there than to give oneself over to Christine Friedrich and in fact Charles still reckoned it actually one of the sanest choices he’d ever made as a young man so long ago. Had he gone on without her? He’d probably have ended up yet another of those radicalized too far, beyond ability to care for man or woman outside the bounds of ideology; never a good end awaited those and he still wasn’t betting on himself with the entire pot there yet even as things were now. “You do realize that if you keep this up you’ll either catch your death of cold or else of a fall, honey?”

“Fuck you.” Oh he was asking for it he was! Whatever it was she did to him tonight when they were alone together again she would make him beg for mercy before she gave any; which once she did, but of course, would be properly sweet and divine as to the one she loved most among men. “If my worst imagination is right I’d be with Molly soon enough anyway then had I fallen.” She knew he consented to the two women’s affair; in fact, even approved of it with the fewest reservations among them perhaps, the bastard him! Not that she regretted theirs being an open relationship since the beginning whatever the legal technicalities so long a cohabitation imposed, of course. “You’ve run all this before, and I’m lately thinking you ran it better too.” Despite the reactive bitterness, Christine started to recover what of her dignity she’d lost while arresting a nasty slip onto the tarmac and would surely walk over to speak with her first love among men in a more civilized (and probably equally sexually charged) fashion.

As she picked herself up, Charles retorted faux-mockingly, “I’m into many things dear, but that? Sorry.” She challenged him; she flaunted herself before men and women alike, with only a vague restraint in that Christine rarely maintained more than one serious partner of any gender at any given time, and defied every bit of convention between housemates even though Charles was never a stickler for tradition himself either … And yet all of that was precisely why he loved her. Without challenge, what was any of it for; you could be conqueror of infinite spaces beyond even Creation itself and yet of how great a measure without anyone to share it with? Without someone to remind you of the all-important why behind it all, why then should one even bother if it was just some nightmare in a nutshell you would end up ruling? No Christine had demanded the best of him so long ago when the night that had defined their future together played out; demanded that he accept her for the woman she was and would remain even decades later, or else just go off and play his silly game of rebellion and war in the shadows without her. So he’d taken that last chance she’d offered him, with tears in her eyes on a similarly rainy night as this afternoon’s backdrop was so long after. And for that decision, he was very likely here at all at this moment; best to be thankful for simple and just mysteries lest their answering turn one’s treasure to dross at the touch. “My love, seriously…”

Christine interrupted him with a proper wifely embrace and kiss before again showing the steel within, putting her left index finger to his lips and silencing him momentarily. “Don’t start; ‘tis my penance, and mine how to make it.” Some more sweetness was in that now, if still more sadness yet, but she remained annoyed and was letting it out. “I feel like a failure… I should’ve seen it Charles; with the sources we had in their government, Hell the information shared even without accounting for those? Molly deserves better of me, as a lover and an ally; or ‘deserved’…” Christine couldn’t finish that; no! She would not admit to herself that most horrible of possibilities yet. She would not!

“She’s alive.” Charles let the hot tears of his distraught, overexerted, shivering wife fall where they would on his suit and shirt. “Molly has stone in her, has fire; Miriam won’t crack her lest she blow up and muss her Sunday style too close to services to put up again.” Over the past two years he’d come to appreciate his wife’s girlfriend in his own right; he had few friends anywhere, and especially few among women since he generally kept to Christine faithfully for his own part.

Christine couldn’t reply. She was awash in memories equal to the torrent from both clouds and eyes now, exhaustion combining with regret to trigger guilty reflection. Hope’s blade kept tip-down on the tarmac was probably all that kept her standing, honestly. She remembered the time the two had been boating on Lake Lilica; even within sight of the Presidential Palace Molly had just recently moved into which occasion they’d been celebrating. Sugar aggravated wounds as much as salt apparently.

They’d spent the afternoon there, Christine taking the boat’s rowing and the lunch’s preparation and hauling as per their custom when she was the visitor of the two; whoever was visiting the other’s homeland was the submissive one of the pair for the duration of the trip. It was relaxing for Christine, in many ways; and Molly said as much that it was thrilling for her and not merely on the raw sexual level even if that was of course still a factor. Both felt what they needed from it; Molly that she was valued and growing in the love they shared, and Christine that she had someone she could actually trust among women sufficiently to open herself to that degree again and not have to be constantly battling for control always and everywhere like she usually was inside. When alone, guilt and responsibility and even no small amount of paranoia ruled her world; only in Charles’ or Molly’s arms did she feel completely safe, if while when among her still comparatively few ‘mere’ close friends also ‘safe-enough’ too.

The still waters of the great lake had by a more subtle version of that habit drained the anxieties of power from both women for a time at least on that hazy yet sunny day; the scarcely a meter distant but nonetheless shared warmth of their presence had filled their thoughts with a different and altogether sweeter sort of tension instead, the blue surface seeming to impose another Great Ban to the outside world from infringing on the peace they shared rather like that the Valar had supposedly demanded of the storied Númenoreans regarding the Undying Lands during days of legend set millennia ago. How many hesitant yet determined lovers had this lake known in its’ centuries of sitting here, motionless yet capable of resisting greater forces than most could imagine with a will almost equal to a personality and more frightening in fact for the so very Kantian lack thereof on its’ part, unless one wished to invoke animist theology like the Shinto a minority of Animarnians and Wagdians both practiced per their Japanese ancestry.

When they’d returned to the shore, to eat and lie down (chastely here of course, this being public) and generally just enjoy the hours left before sunset, Molly had surprised Christine with what was still the dearest present yet from the woman to her. It had been an old newspaper from 1971 or so, something Molly had found preserved by accident in her grandmother Alexia’s files going through them one day. In an editorial on the fighting in the Prestonian Maasailand between various neo-Marxist insurgent groups and the Royal authorities, a photo showed a young blonde Prestonian woman helping to care for some of the casualties after an attack on one of the local Maasai villages by rival insurgents from the Kujawa tribe; answering to one of the homeland’s charities as part of her gap year after graduating from high school. That woman, though unnamed in the photograph, was very familiar to Christine; over fifty years’ separation hadn’t changed enough of the wiry build or the honey-blonde hair or the stone-hazel eyes (both grayed-out in the paper’s black-and-white printing) or the bookish glasses to render the younger Christine hard to spot for those who could make the connection. Much of why her particular case was especially similar to that was hardly natural to say the least; having the body of a woman in her mid-thirties though, while technically in one’s seventies by calendrical reckoning and one’s fifties by lived memory, was sufficiently good a ‘curse’ to almost overlook the horrible price it had exacted upon the would’ve-been son caught up in the curse’s cause before birth. Almost…

Christine didn’t belabor that; what was done was done, and whom was lost would be mourned when could be. She’d simply embraced Molly after considering the gift wordlessly a few moments and shared the gently dwindling sunlight that day with her in a caring silence seeing that their late lunch was done. Now it was almost two years later and all she had at the moment were the remnants; the clipping now framed on Christine’s desk alongside a copy of the same photograph from that day which Miriam had (unbeknownst to Christine or Molly) slapped down spitefully on the stolen desk she now occupied, or the flight plan of that one time she’d taken them both up in her personal Cardinal-class fighter, or any of the rest of those simple yet vital pieces that individually meant nothing perhaps to anyone else. To her though, each triggered a memory; and those memories together were the thread of which the comfortable blanket shared between her and Molly that was their love was yet woven. Whether it would be still… yes, Christine was able to staunch the tears and look her husband in the eye and carry on now. This is not over, Miriam; I will find a way to free the woman I love and when I do you shall pay for what you’ve done to all whom you’ve hurt besides us! Following this thought, she frankly asked with as intense an effort to sound her usual businesslike self at such times as the thought had anger behind it, “So, Directory meets in…?”

“Technically,” Charles chuckled to his wife; jostling her lovingly now that his mission to shake her out of at least this particular funk was completed, “you all were to meet five minutes ago.” He’d been out of the ‘official’ power structure for seven years now, no longer being ‘General Secretary of the Revolutionary Command Council of the United Socialist States’ anymore for obvious constitutional reasons even aside from being now merely Vice-Steward Consort instead. “But I informed them a delay would be needed on your behalf, so you have some time yes.” Loaded language, but he would be doing her no favors by dishonesty now.

“I see.” That came out much more sheepishly than she cared for these days, Christine wanting to appear strong precisely because the woman who’s love gave her much of her strength was missing under dire circumstances; Molly deserved for her to be the driven and unstoppable Amazon she was doubtlessly praying for wherever she was and ‘I see’ was the best that Christine could say under far less trying circumstances than Molly’s own presently (whatever they were)? She’d have to be almost militarily swift showering and dressing then to smack herself into shape. No cabinet ever liked being kept by their presiding officer, and they deserved better of her even if perhaps it was oh so morbidly inconvenient in her present scarcely-improved emotional state. Could she never be alone with her self-pity long enough to even stun it properly even if not perhaps kill it in truth? “I want to hear what Eileen and Dwayne have by now anyway.” Probably not; pity, but indeed perhaps it was not all about her after all.

Another kiss passed before Christine sheathed Hope and let Charles shield her from the rain with his suit jacket as she entered the service stairwell door leading into the Palace tower. The door swung shut behind them as much on the wind’s push as the spring’s pull, and the pad was once again alone with the wind and the rain; as before Christine’s penitent exertions the past hours. As ever, arguably…

***

Some Hours Prior, Fortress State of Animarnia Embassy; 1936 Aurora Avenue, Tailville DR, Wagdog
The rain equally pelted the crowd gathered outside what had to be the single unluckiest legation in Nova by now. Rather, several crowds perhaps; they were hardly unified in any particular aspect save one and that motivated by several disparate causes…

Namely, they shared the same outrage at the goings on in the Fortress State the past two weeks. Slogans aloft upon sheets and placards and more besides denounced the recent coup and change of leadership about equally vociferously. Alas, that again was about the one unifying factor; and even it was starting to erode by now as the differing motivations proceeded to turn the groups against each other as much as those within the embassy.

Agent Maia Ariona watched from among the anti-Molly-yet-anti-Miriam crowd; she didn’t particularly care about the issue in general, but monitoring Animarnian Embassy security was part of her present assignment for this protest and that side was the closest to her own opinion that she could easily simulate being of it sincerely. So far, so orderly; the crowd was chanting slogans much like (unbeknownst to her) the ones heard in Lilica earlier if from the other ‘end of the barrel’ so to speak. Now if only she could get off before her sun tolerance was overused; unlike ‘normal’ humans, vampires like Maia had such a susceptibility to sunstroke (even if not so bad as the myths usually portrayed either) that more than hours which could be counted on one hand was fatal and even as long as the eight-to-twelve common among human work schedules was pushing the matter for the strong among them.

She got her wish, in a roundabout way though, shortly after quietly so wondering. She overheard from about twenty… twenty-five meters away, no more; something about one protester hinting none too discreetly to the whole crowd the wish that, “Now if only we could get the other bratty power-whore out of the office she’s so abused for the past seven years’ as easily as they got out the other one over there following two years of suffering her own equal travesties!” Probably Wagdian National-Democratic Party she was, aka one of the two groups of fascists in this nation insofar as allowed; and as usual they just barely avoided going into the realm of sedition with many such as this one all-too-willingly crossing that line to save others among them for the mainstream political arena. Maia noted down the infraction for dealing with via proper legal channels later, “presumption of innocence” or “due process” and all; but what followed fit neither instance and she should’ve seen it coming.

Another protester swiftly challenged the woman responsible, a trashy and pale brunette, to retract her statement; when she refused the challenger tried to invoke a citizen’s arrest upon her for blatant sedition in the sense of publicly advocating the armed overthrow of the present Stewardess of the Revolution. Whether in jest or not (and thus “not guilty” or “guilty” respectively) was to be determined by a jury as part of the process due the woman or anyone else charged; and given the conditional nature of the statement what was said it likely wouldn’t go farther than an acquittal, or at worst a plea bargain to a lesser charge such as ‘disorderly conduct’ for but one possibility if tried by a particularly loosely-inclined jury. But the woman entered into a scuffle with the dark man trying to arrest her almost on the instant, and before long two shots rang out.

Shit! From there, ‘twas all Maia could do to raise the office on her emergency two-way and duck behind nearby shrubbery for concealment. As a hardened field agent of easily a decade’s plus service now, she could only guess how the Animarnian guards clearly visible with their Cravanian-made rifles at near-ready positions on the embassy wall felt; likely worse variations of her own silent reaction. As the mêlée proceeded to worsen with more shots and general uproar, she had to simply wait for the other end to pick up her report of just how far down the drain a simple and legal protest was going, how fast.

***

Director’s Office, Committee of Public Safety Headquarters
“Excuse me?” Dwayne Michaels hated playing the last to know; it was the very antithesis of his job, and happening too often lately besides.
“As I said sir,” Valerie MacRaesa was used to his playing-dumb routine so she simply repeated her earlier summary of Agent Ariona’s report as her way of poking the Director absent surprise. “A full-fledged riot has broken out in front of the Animarnian Embassy; local garrison has it contained together with deputies, but it’s not fully controlled yet and the embassy’s guards are reported by local deputies as looking mighty fidgety.”

Of course they are. He knew that they knew that many in the crowd would be packing per Wagdog’s extremely loose gun laws, and they weren’t stupid. How exactly would he feel if a full-scale irregular battle were going on at the curb below? Not to mention that he had a meeting with Stewardess Christine and the full Directory in a few hours’ time either; yes, indeed twelve days after having to tell her and he was still behind the Eight Ball. That anonymous cabin in exile was looking more attractive already.

“Alright Val, get on the horn to the embassy and tell them up front that I am ordering the local garrison commanders of both nearby districts to personally lead additional riot units in to lock the place down; then I am going there to meet Ambassador Davenport himself once you have civilization remotely restored there.” He didn’t need to add any snarky ‘understood?’ or ‘clear?’ after that; Valerie was his point woman on Animarnia and affairs-relevant-to, and part of how he’d survived seven years’ in this job promoted straight from a field operative was trusting her to do the really hard work for him as best she could so his load could get marginally less-insane on rare occasion.

“I'm already doing it all sir.” She was such a sweetie that Valerie; cherry-haired head topping a creamy pallid, leggy yet sassy body. Likewise equally cherry lips giving voice to that comforting Celtic handmaiden’s accent, but also with just the right odd Japanese touch to it in places that characterized many Animarnian-blooded women; even among those born outside the Fortress State. If he had as casual a sense of professional ethics as his boss the Stewardess of the Revolution, he’d have slept with Valerie long ago for sure. But he sensed that Valerie would in fact object to any attempted pass, for the same reasons besides; so for respect’s sake alas that simply would not be. Dwayne Michaels might yet serve Christine Friedrich, but that didn’t mean he had to emulate her.

“You’re beautiful Val.” Didn’t mean either that he was somehow forbidden to complement her for what was the truth after all, professionally as well as more merely personally. “I wouldn’t survive without you there.” Now just to keep Ambassador Davenport from losing his and ordering the guards to join in the firefight, turning a riot into just the sort of diplomatic incident with Miriam’s Fortress State that the Commonwealth could not afford this early in the game.

“I know sir. Get out there, whip the riot coppers into shape such to calm that crowd; maybe you’ll find an impressionable lass willing to bed you for it even. Find her early enough, and she might even wed your sorry arse for the honours.” They were close enough after the past years though to talk like this though; she just prayed that he wouldn’t end up hurt, as she always did when he went out where he had no technical business as Director being but insisted anyway. His curt, sub-vocalized acknowledgement cut the link and as he walked out she sat in continued silent prayer for him; someone had to in this damning line of work and prayer was one of the few gifts that multiplied with the giving besides. They would all need it in time, oh but so little time.

University of Damirez, Mithra, Damirez
Rene Shondel stood behind the podium at the centre of the large theatre hall, it was rounded in a semi-circle shape like some grand old senate building but these were no senators or Congressmen these were her students. Rene was giving a lecture on Politics when she asked for questions several students raised there hands, it was…. Different she had to admit, that looking around at them, teaching instead of leading, living in a small suburb of the Damirian Capital, white picket fence, loving partner and a faithful canine.

“Miss, How do you feel about the current News in your home country” a student asked, Tom she remembered his name was, a rather tall fellow with short blond curly hair and an election winning smile. Rene frowned, it had been 2 years now since she left office and she had grown to think of Damirez as ‘Home’ more than Animarnia, still the boys’ question had merit.

“I’m not involved in Animarnian Politics Tom”, she said putting on a disarming smile; old habits. “Plus its not relevant to our current topic” she said attempting to change the subject.

“But you must have an opinion Miss” he persisted.

“I do, but my opinions are my own”, Rene countered.

“Awww Come on Miss, you been teaching us for six months, now we actually have something to apply what we’ve learned to in a real life scenario” he replied. Rene wondered for a moment if she had taught them too well.

“Ok, I think Miriam Godwinson is misguided and that she has used the letter of the law to ass-rape its spirit” she said using language that was uncommon for her. “She could not win an outright election and so she found a loop hole and exploited it. All this talk of moral indignation is a smoke screen to persue her puritan agenda” Rene said.

“But the law was a real law wasn’t it? She didn’t just I dunno Make it up” asked another student, Miranda, dark hair; glasses, blue eyes, and gigantic breasts.

“The Law she used while still active has never been used in 500 years, and was only written in the first place to appease separatists that wanted the ability to remove a corrupt government after the civil war. The Succession Act itself was superseded 60 years later by the Impeachment Act, which has more due process attached; Miriam Chose the Succession act as her crutch so she could launch a military coup then just claim its all good after the fact” Rene explained.

“But doesn’t she have…a moral point, I mean I’m no bigot or anything Miss but should one head of state really be sleeping with another regardless of gender? Doesn’t it at the very least show a conflict of interest” a shot chubby girl asked for the back.

“I think President DeLéan’s personal life is irrelevant to her political life, who she takes to her bed is her choice” Rene said.

Animarnian Embassy, Talivile, Wagdog
Everything was in chaos, the Ambassador, Mr Davenport a rather upstanding portly man in his early forties with greying hair stood in his fine suit taking a shot of scotch from a old looking bottle when two guards, dressed in full military grade body army and helmet entered

“Yes? “ He Said

“Sir, We need you to follow us, stop whatever your doing, collect what you can and come with us right now, we need to get you to the Bubble, Sir” The second army man said. A Major from his rank designation and named ‘Cole’ according to the tag on his left breast pocket.

He was given just a few moments to collect some documents, Mostly Blue Folders, a few Red Ones and several Gold Folders too. Then he was rushed from his office, down the extraordinarily ornate wooden covered corridors to what they called “The Bubble”. The Bubble was actually a secured panic room deep inside the Embassy Subbasement for use in emergencies as he was placed inside, his wife and two sons joined him having been escorted separately by other teams. The Door to the bubble was then sealed, all communication now had to be done using the Two way Video Link, the Bubble was also equipped with a bank of CCTV Monitors plugged into the closed network so that they could monitor the outside world. Having been informed of the full scale Riot going on just outside the embassy he was watching it all on the CCTV Monitors.

Major Cole, along with Eight more guards, in full armour and holding their rifles in the ready position arrived in Black Embassy Humvee’s that pulled up by the gates. Mounted on the roof were Fifty Cal’s, that had been hastily added. The orders to the guards were clear, Shoot anything that tried to charge the gate, otherwise stay out of it, but still the guards some as young as 18 on the first tour were nervous worried about picking up stray bullets

Classified Facility Codename ICEBOX
"Gold is for the mistress -- silver for the maid --
Copper for the craftsman cunning at his trade."
"Good!" said the Baron, sitting in his hall,
"But Iron -- Cold Iron -- is master of them all." - Rudyard Kipling

"Embrace democracy or be annihilated. Death is a preferable alternative to Communism. Communism is the very definition of failure. Democracy is non-negotiable. Democracy will never be defeated, Freedom is the sovereign right of every Animarnian. Communism is a lie; Communism is a temporary setback on the road to freedom. Embrace democracy or you will be eradicated." The Robotic female voice droned on, over and over again in Molly’s Cell, as it had for the last several days, Molly knew it was near morning when the voice stopped, learning that she usually had two hours to sleep before another day of ‘Interrogation”.

Two Guards came into her cell, Molly still dressed in her potato sack that just barely covered her modesty was pushed into the steel chair that was brought inside her cell.
Then she had promptly been roughly handcuffed to said chair with her hands behind her back by two soldiers in Black BDU and Ski-masks, one was tall and well built the other was slimmer and Molly thought female. The Doomani Weapons did make her wonder if Doomingland was behind this whole thing, though that was unlikely, at this point Molly had to consider all things.

Molly had been ‘questioned repeatedly’ since her capture, some may say kidnapping. After a week they had at least started to provide her with a dog bowl for her food, instead of making her eat it off the floor as they had when she first arrived and a bucket that doubled as a wash basin and the toilet. Molly was observant however and noticed how two guards stood on the door at all times, that much she knew from the banter behind the heavy steel door. Right now though there were four, two on the door and two in the cell with her, one of which was stood in the corner, the male looked like a rather large man under his battle dress uniform, definitely well built like a Soviet Tank. The other, The One Molly thought was female stood over her with intimidating blue eyes that seemed to stare at her with a look that ranged between disgust and pity.

The Female guard began questioning Molly again, when Molly failed to answer ‘correctly’ the woman punched her in the face. Molly’ lip was bleeding again, this was nothing new she had multiple bruises and a black eye, where she had been struck multiple times during ‘interrogation’ which involved very little questioning and more violence usually from the large fellows fist but some times from the woman. The female soldier pulled her fist back and punched Molly again, and again, and again until blood poured down her chin. She was preparing herself for another round of smack the Molly when another man walked in; a tall dark skinned gentleman in a grey suit and shaven head, he looked over at Molly and shook his head. Snapping his fingers two guards brought in a foldable stainless steel table and set it up in the centre of the room, just in front of Molly. He sat down and opened up his Silver Brief case. He had soft hands, obviously not a soldier or someone that did manual work.

“I’m Luther”, he said, taking out some files from his suitcase and a sandwich wrapped in Clingfilm, he smiled a toothy grin, baring slightly yellow teeth. A smoker, Molly deducted. “Your Name is Molly Elizabeth DeLèan” he said. She looked at the two guards who were stood in the far corner, waiting for them to hit her.

She waited; instinctively flinching when no blow came she looked genuinely surprised. “I Abhor Violence, the sight of blood is rather repulsive to me Miss”, Luther said, Molly could tell by reading his facial expression that he really did not enjoy doing this to her but that he would follow orders.

“Would you confirm your name, For the Record” he said unwrapping his Sandwiches; “I missed Lunch” he explained as he took a bite; “Corn-beef with mustard, My wife makes the best corn-beef sandwiches” He added. He watched her carefully as she licked her lips; they must not have fed her for some time.

“Yes” she said. “My Name is Molly DeLéan” she said looking away.

“Excellent!” he said through a mouth full of bread and beef; “Would you like something to eat?” he said pushing one of the sandwiches across the small table. Molly eyed it suspiciously. “I assure you its safe; I ate some of it myself” he said. Molly however saw it as some cruel joke given that her arms were currently cuffed behind her back, Luther seemed to notice this and called for them to un-handcuff her; “We’re not animals Molly”

Molly took the sandwich and ate it as if she’d been starved for days, which considering she probably had been wasn’t too much of an overstatement demolishing the sandwich in just a few minutes. It really didn’t matter she didn’t like corn beef or mustard, it was a step up from the food she had been getting, when she had been getting it at least.

He took out another file and pushed it across the small table opening it for her, since her hands were now untied she placed them on the cold steel table. “What is it?” she said; the print too small to read without her glasses, being long sighted.

“It’s your confession, a formality really” he said, “Admitting charges of Sedition, Treason, Espionage, Compromising National Security, Misappropriation of Funds, Miss-use of government property using Airforce One as a ‘love nest’ and the Embarrassment of Public heads of state” he said. “A Few other things but that covers most of it”, he added.

“I won’t Sign it” Molly said defiantly

“You will, it’s simply a question of how much you want it to hurt”, Luther added.

“I thought you said you hate blood and violence” Molly asked, narrowing her eyes.

“Oh I do, I am however a little more vague on pain” he said; “You see that sandwich you ate contained a small amount of toxin; nothing deadly but you will have a rather unpleasant night. My wife puts it in all my food, helps build up the tolerance you see”, he said as she stood up instructing the guards to clear the table and place a fresh bucket in her cell; “Good Night Molly” he said exiting. The Cell door closed with a heavy iron ‘clank’ leaving her in darkness again as the monotone speaker started sprouting its anti-Communist propaganda once more…

Presidential Palace, Press Room
Miriam walked out in her dark blue suit, her curly orange-red hair coming down in ringlets well past her shoulders she stood behind the wooden podium as the press filed in. Bloodstains were still visible on the royal blue curtain behind her if one looked hard enough and the podium itself had a number if bullet holes. Evidently the room had been the scene of an intense firefight. Miriam waited for all to be seated before she began, as they were not only being broadcast on TV to every home, on every Domestic Channel and Internationally but there was a crowd of nearly one hundred and fifty thousand gathered outside watching this speech on the big screen live.

“We lost many today, most of you would have seen the news of the riots on the news networks, however I ask for your calm and patience. It is a tragedy, a horrible event, a nightmare but not one created by our police forces but one created by Foreigners. Riots organised by Foreigners sitting in Taliville and Mithra, Animarnian Freedom was earned and paid for in blood, blood, principles and morals that our former leader has disregarded in her petty purist of a foreign whore. Some would say I have a problem with this simply because it is two women in a relationship; this is not true, Jesus told us that we must accept everyone for whom they are and forgive them. I do not condone them but I accept that they are imperfect because God and His Creation are Imperfect. A Perfect God would have no need to create a universe at all. So This is not about her lesbianism, that I forgive her for, what I cannot forgive her for is the Blatant violation of our rights, while Animarnian citizens are blindly following our President who is Blindly following her little Self Declared Stewardess on her Self Appointed Throne.” She Began, her voice low and gruff without being intimidating

“This marks a new beginning, its been 25 years since the Elite of Wagdog, Then the RCW took control of our government away from our people, Animarnian’s have not had a Government since Friedman! Friedman was the only one to stand up for us all. We Want our Freedom, never forget how the Wagdoggie have Trampled us led us into war with people we had no reason to fight just to bail them out of trouble or because it was the ‘allied’ thing to do!” She said her voice raising and getting a rousing applause from outside.

“We had our own long and arduous struggle to achieve freedom for all citizens, paid for in the blood of our young men’s lives. Our Goals are Righteous, our Purpose is Divine, our Fight is Sacred Too many of our young service men have been sacrificed for the whimsical reasons of Christine Friedrich. We became complacent, we became deluded that our glorious leader would change, that we would be free with a new leader, but all we got was more of the same. It got even worse once we became part of the self styled Delian League they have twisted our cherished nation for there own greed!” she continued moving her arms around to effectively emote her words. For some reason Miriam had a gift, she could get people to follow and agree with her without them truly knowing why. Many simply called it people power or charisma, but all great dictators in history had it, Napoleon, Hitler, Mao Se Tsung, Stalin, all of them were great public speakers.

“Some Say that I should try to work out our nations differences with words, we have wasted too much time with words! We need Actions now! The Wagdoggie Elite must be taught a strong lesson for their insolence and evil corruption. I am declaring the Delian League Treaty Null and void effective immediately, we will no longer have that shackle around our ankles, holding us back from our glorious destiny. This is only the beginning in steps to guaranty our security, we will emerge from this Dark Age stronger than ever, many of your fallen brothers and sisters have perished valiantly in face of a contemptible enemy!” She said adding again with her hand movements to raise the crowd outside.

“I have been called a Virus, a Disease, a Cancer, I started as none of these things, but perhaps it is what I have become. What I have had to become because I could no longer stand by and watch as our great nation was destroyed if I am a virus then I now exist to spread the infection to every single one of you!”

“We must never forget what Christine Friedrich and the Wagdoggie have done to our people. No one has ever asked more sacrifice of a people, but by focusing our anger and sorrow victory is in our grasp and with Victory our cherished nation will flourish, victory is the greatest tribute we can give to those who have already fallen and sacrificed there lives for us. Rise my people, take your sorrow and turn it into anger Animarnia Thirsts for the Strength of its people!” she finished, to a rapturous applause and cheering that could be heard many miles away.

While this was going on and in the days that followed a number of things was happening across the country, police forces and SWAT teams were starting to raid houses belonging to known ‘People likely to insight political based riots’ who were mostly of Wagdoggie or Arabian decent and CIS were starting to detain 'Enemy Agents'. They would be detained for an undetermined period without trail under anti-terror and immigration law before being ‘deported’ in some cases or formally charged in others. The Detention camps while not in the middle of no-where, were not-near large population centres, and many “Prisoners” would be brought in on large trucks though the facilities were always heavily guarded with guard towers. Surrounded by mine fields and large grey posts with red strobe lights on the top of them but no conventional fences. A large building the size of an aircraft hanger was stood on the West Side of the camp; closed off and whatever was inside was guarded around the clock. a large flat bed approached the latest of such camps, Officially called Camp “Delta” or “D” though often colloquially referred to as “Death Camp D” the Prisoners were herded off by Miriam’s personnel Gestapo goons in the all black uniforms and using Black Market Doomani Weapons. The Prisoners most of them Wagdoggie were led to a main door where they were brought through into a secondary secured area and had collars placed around there neck which had a glowing Yellow LED on it.

The Camp Warden, a Main only known as the Overseer to pretty much everyone but his own higher ups stood waiting; “This is your Behaviour Enhancement Collar or BEC, you misbehave…” he paused and pressed a button on a remote. Immediately the LED changed to RED sending an electric shock directly into the spine temporally paralysing and making them writhe on the ground in extreme agony. “You Get The Idea, You try to escape” He said as he nodded towards two guards who grabbed a Muslim Prisoner at random and dragged him kicking and screaming to wards the strange grey posts around the camp that seemed to hum. He, had no idea what was going to happen to him but knew it couldn’t be good as they threw him outside the posts, there was a loud hum, then an alarm, then his collar turned blue. The Muslim man scrambled to try to get back inside the perimeter but failed to reach it before his collar and by extension his head exploded.

“Clear?” The Warden said simply. It was not a question.

Smithy’s Wine bar, Downtown Lilica City, Animarnia
George Black walked down the street slowly keeping to the shadows, he was tailing a man, a tall man in a long beige coat and dark hair, the man was good, but Black was better as he entered Smithy’s Black Followed. The Man had picked a Seat near the back but where he had a view of the door to observe people coming in and out; a good spot. Black picked a seat opposite him so he could watch him and the door unobserved. He watched the man call over a waiter and asked for a menu the waiter disappeared. Black Called over his own waiter, one on the payroll of the Section E. the woman, a short raven haired girl no older than 27 came over in her Smithy’s uniform and smiled at him acting like a normal waitress.

“Can I take your order sir?” she said.

“Actually I think I’d like to see the special Menu” he said handing her the Red leather bound menu that he had slipped a file into; “I think the Gentleman on Table twelve would like to see this one instead” he said and she nodded, understanding. The Waitress took the menu over to the gentleman on table twelve, who was the same one Black had been tailing and handed him the Menu.

“I’d like to offer you our Special Menu Service” she said placing it on the desk; “I think you will find some dishes you’ll like sir” she added walking off before he could refuse; hoping that he would find whatever her Employer had placed inside. The Manila file contained a list stolen from CIS Archives, which were never transferred to the computer of cold war era facilities still operational. Most had been converted to ammo depots but others were more elaborate, also contained were details of several prison camps being set up by CIS to deal with the recent ‘immigration problem’ along with several hand written notes stolen by one of his contacts on the current real situation in Animarnia. Black hoped that this Vetakan Agent would help and get the information required to their common friends.

Undisclosed Location, Vetaka
The Dead Six watched the various Vetakan scouts from a distance though optics of there weapons and though binoculars, Observing there movements; as some of them stayed back in the shadows while others moved forward into the open. In one movement showing an open hand but in the other a closed fist should it be required. A classic tactic, one taught to all Special Forces recruits. Havoc made several hand movements to his team, not willing to risk talking for fear of giving away his own position instead opting to sign out orders. Deadeye would stay put with his rifle along with hotwire as a spotter where Gunner would move down to the tree line quietly with his Chop-60 Machinegun to give him a clear line of sight on all the Vetakans. While Patch would move into a secondary fire position with his MGL and Havoc with Sakura in tow would circle around and come down from a different position, Havoc in the lead, Sakura in tow providing cover fire should he need it. As they approached the position of the Scouts Sakura dropped to her prone position with her assault rifle lining up the horseback scouts in her reflex sight happy to light him up if they screwed them.

Havoc meanwhile walked forward as if he had no care in the world; lit up a Cigar with his one hand, other hand loosely on his weapon walking in a confident way that only the best trained really can. Putting his lighter in his pocket. The symbol etched into it of a hammer and sickle obviously a memento bought or stolen from a mission to a Communist country he reached out with his free hand to the Bowing Vetakan, “My Friends, Equals don’t bow” he said; “what the heck are you guys doing out here?”