Fradenia
21-02-2009, 23:30
Somewhere in the Red Sea.
Aliyah Benziri’s long knife slid across the Jewish National Front soldier’s neck, slitting his throat and causing his blood to rush out of his neck faster than a cheetah chasing prey. It hit the metal of the deck slightly, before Aliyah covered the wound – and the soldier’s mouth and nose – with her hands, ushering the lone guard ever so closer to the Gates of Hell. After a minute, her right hand’s glove was covered in blood, but she had ushered the ‘Jenate’ – the nickname in the Fradenian Intelligence and Security Agency for JNF soldiers – to death. That made her kills tonight half a century, 50.
She had, by herself, stormed this cargo ship while still maintaining her cover, unnoticed by the JNF leaders just about to start their meeting in the Captain’s Cabin. Aliyah pulled herself onto a crate easily, meaning she could just about see the Captain’s Cabin windows, which one of the JNF’s leaders was sipping a glass of water right in front of. The idiotic acts of the JNF leaders were rather entertaining to her. Like sheep, they were, just drunk.
She reloaded her FR F2 sniper rifle, a weapon widely used by the Fradenian Armed Forces. FISA, the Fradenian version of an intelligence agency and a Special Forces group joined together, had placed her on this mission to – once and for all – destroy the JNF, a terrorist group which had caused Fradenia many troubles recently, such as crashing an airplane into a hotel.
She wouldn’t miss the State’s Birth though. Fradenia was a French colony in the Middle-East, whose eastern half was on the Red Sea. It had been granted autonomy status at the beginning of the century, but that wasn’t enough for the people. They wanted a nation. They wanted the State of Fradenia.
And tonight, they would be getting it. The soon-to-be President, Ahmed Al-Assad, would begin the State’s official existence as son as he uttered three words; ‘Let it begin’. That would come at the beginning of the speech, with Aliyah herself being Junior Intelligence Minister, ending her 3-year service in the FISA, the most legendary career in the Agency. She would now join the world of politics, in all of its lack of any honour at all, unlike the military. In the Fradenian military, you had to pray for every dead man or woman, even enemies.
After reloading, she stared down the scope. She brought the rifle up, bringing the scope in line with the JNF leader’s head. She couldn’t be seen, in her pure black gear. She brought her index finger to the trigger and –
The window’s glass spilled off, and several bodies rushed out of the window, hitting either the sea – to join the Pharaoh’s soldiers, she believed – or the ship’s floor. Suicide bombing. So, the terrorists were fighting each other now, were they?
Aliyah sighed. She would be getting wet now. She could just make out the shape of the submarine she would be boarding in a moment, in order to celebrate the beginning of her country, her home. Her Motherland.
*
The NDF Aden.
Aliyah could hear the National Anthem playing loudly as she walked throughout the submarine. Her comrades were singing as well, no matter their singing voice. They were heading straight towards Aden City, the capital city of the country, along with being one of the busiest ports in the country and the region. She was being taken back to Aden City aboard the Aden, named after the city itself. They would arrive in about twenty-five minutes, after – of course – the cargo ship she had attacked was torpedoed. Couldn’t leave any evidence around, could we?
*
The Fradenian Parliament Buildings.
“Here we go,” muttered Ahmed Al-Assad.
He had to feed the people on what they already knew. In front of him stood the nation’s government – from soon-to-be ministers to bureaucrats – and several journalists from across the country and the world, awaiting his three special words, the words that would start a state, a country, a Motherland.
He took centre stage, awaiting the over excessive amounts of clapping to end. Some even whistled, bringing a smile to the 60-year-old’s face, laughter lines showing. Then he began to speak.
“Firstly, let it begin.”
The people were overjoyed at that.
“Secondly, let me thank all of you. The politicians, the French, the journalists and you, my fellow citizen. It is because of you all that this nation has begun here tonight. You all will experience great prosperity as our nation grows, no matter what happens. As long as we all are alive, Fradenia will endure!”
As Al-Assad finished his last word, one of his personal security guards jumped onto him, throwing them both onto the ground. The guard swore, before a massive eruption of fire happened instantly, collapsing the entire building in a matter of seconds. Along with killing 4000 people. The lucky ones died instantly, their bodies evaporating in the hail of fire and dust.
The unluckier ones burned alive, dying slowly. Only 200 people were lucky. Al-Assad wasn’t one of them.
*
The NDF Aden.
Aboard the Aden, looks of joy disappeared from the faces of the young men – there were no women aboard, except Aliyah – to be replaced by sheer terror and confusion. They had been listening to the radio, playing Al-Assad’s speech, but it had just turned static.
“What the hell just happened?” Aliyah demanded of Captain Franco Jean.
He didn’t reply. The radio told it all.
“It appears an airplane has just crashed into the Parliament Buildings. Four thousand people are dead, and the government is destroyed. The emergency services have begun attempting to rescue civilians and ending the flames. It appears that our new President is 23-year-old FISA officer Aliyah Benziri, who was supposed to be made the position of Junior Intelligence Minister in the government of Ahmed Al-Assad. This is Barak Hussein reporting live from the ruins of Parliament.”
Aliyah paled. “Shit.”
*
Aden City Port.
Jean-Pierre stared at the crates of monkeys being loaded into the truck. They were from Africa, and it was known only to him and a few others that all of the monkeys were infected with a new, secret strain of the world’s deadliest disease, which was the nightmare of every single government on Earth.
He smiled. He didn’t care, as long as he got his $50,000 USD.
After ten minutes, the rain started pouring, but the monkeys were gone by then. It would begin now, thanks to it being almost certain that all of his workers would have touched the monkeys. They would then go home, thinking they were coming down with the flu, transporting the disease. It would spread fast, destroying the country quicker than a thermonuclear weapon would destroy a small village. The disease would destroy the country.
The disease of Airborne Ebola, that is.
Nobody knew about it. Except him and the Supremacy. The Supremacy was what governments would call a ‘terrorist organization’. They were wrong. The Supremacy’s correct title was either a freedom fighting group against the evils of government or a ‘superterrorist organization’.
Aliyah Benziri’s long knife slid across the Jewish National Front soldier’s neck, slitting his throat and causing his blood to rush out of his neck faster than a cheetah chasing prey. It hit the metal of the deck slightly, before Aliyah covered the wound – and the soldier’s mouth and nose – with her hands, ushering the lone guard ever so closer to the Gates of Hell. After a minute, her right hand’s glove was covered in blood, but she had ushered the ‘Jenate’ – the nickname in the Fradenian Intelligence and Security Agency for JNF soldiers – to death. That made her kills tonight half a century, 50.
She had, by herself, stormed this cargo ship while still maintaining her cover, unnoticed by the JNF leaders just about to start their meeting in the Captain’s Cabin. Aliyah pulled herself onto a crate easily, meaning she could just about see the Captain’s Cabin windows, which one of the JNF’s leaders was sipping a glass of water right in front of. The idiotic acts of the JNF leaders were rather entertaining to her. Like sheep, they were, just drunk.
She reloaded her FR F2 sniper rifle, a weapon widely used by the Fradenian Armed Forces. FISA, the Fradenian version of an intelligence agency and a Special Forces group joined together, had placed her on this mission to – once and for all – destroy the JNF, a terrorist group which had caused Fradenia many troubles recently, such as crashing an airplane into a hotel.
She wouldn’t miss the State’s Birth though. Fradenia was a French colony in the Middle-East, whose eastern half was on the Red Sea. It had been granted autonomy status at the beginning of the century, but that wasn’t enough for the people. They wanted a nation. They wanted the State of Fradenia.
And tonight, they would be getting it. The soon-to-be President, Ahmed Al-Assad, would begin the State’s official existence as son as he uttered three words; ‘Let it begin’. That would come at the beginning of the speech, with Aliyah herself being Junior Intelligence Minister, ending her 3-year service in the FISA, the most legendary career in the Agency. She would now join the world of politics, in all of its lack of any honour at all, unlike the military. In the Fradenian military, you had to pray for every dead man or woman, even enemies.
After reloading, she stared down the scope. She brought the rifle up, bringing the scope in line with the JNF leader’s head. She couldn’t be seen, in her pure black gear. She brought her index finger to the trigger and –
The window’s glass spilled off, and several bodies rushed out of the window, hitting either the sea – to join the Pharaoh’s soldiers, she believed – or the ship’s floor. Suicide bombing. So, the terrorists were fighting each other now, were they?
Aliyah sighed. She would be getting wet now. She could just make out the shape of the submarine she would be boarding in a moment, in order to celebrate the beginning of her country, her home. Her Motherland.
*
The NDF Aden.
Aliyah could hear the National Anthem playing loudly as she walked throughout the submarine. Her comrades were singing as well, no matter their singing voice. They were heading straight towards Aden City, the capital city of the country, along with being one of the busiest ports in the country and the region. She was being taken back to Aden City aboard the Aden, named after the city itself. They would arrive in about twenty-five minutes, after – of course – the cargo ship she had attacked was torpedoed. Couldn’t leave any evidence around, could we?
*
The Fradenian Parliament Buildings.
“Here we go,” muttered Ahmed Al-Assad.
He had to feed the people on what they already knew. In front of him stood the nation’s government – from soon-to-be ministers to bureaucrats – and several journalists from across the country and the world, awaiting his three special words, the words that would start a state, a country, a Motherland.
He took centre stage, awaiting the over excessive amounts of clapping to end. Some even whistled, bringing a smile to the 60-year-old’s face, laughter lines showing. Then he began to speak.
“Firstly, let it begin.”
The people were overjoyed at that.
“Secondly, let me thank all of you. The politicians, the French, the journalists and you, my fellow citizen. It is because of you all that this nation has begun here tonight. You all will experience great prosperity as our nation grows, no matter what happens. As long as we all are alive, Fradenia will endure!”
As Al-Assad finished his last word, one of his personal security guards jumped onto him, throwing them both onto the ground. The guard swore, before a massive eruption of fire happened instantly, collapsing the entire building in a matter of seconds. Along with killing 4000 people. The lucky ones died instantly, their bodies evaporating in the hail of fire and dust.
The unluckier ones burned alive, dying slowly. Only 200 people were lucky. Al-Assad wasn’t one of them.
*
The NDF Aden.
Aboard the Aden, looks of joy disappeared from the faces of the young men – there were no women aboard, except Aliyah – to be replaced by sheer terror and confusion. They had been listening to the radio, playing Al-Assad’s speech, but it had just turned static.
“What the hell just happened?” Aliyah demanded of Captain Franco Jean.
He didn’t reply. The radio told it all.
“It appears an airplane has just crashed into the Parliament Buildings. Four thousand people are dead, and the government is destroyed. The emergency services have begun attempting to rescue civilians and ending the flames. It appears that our new President is 23-year-old FISA officer Aliyah Benziri, who was supposed to be made the position of Junior Intelligence Minister in the government of Ahmed Al-Assad. This is Barak Hussein reporting live from the ruins of Parliament.”
Aliyah paled. “Shit.”
*
Aden City Port.
Jean-Pierre stared at the crates of monkeys being loaded into the truck. They were from Africa, and it was known only to him and a few others that all of the monkeys were infected with a new, secret strain of the world’s deadliest disease, which was the nightmare of every single government on Earth.
He smiled. He didn’t care, as long as he got his $50,000 USD.
After ten minutes, the rain started pouring, but the monkeys were gone by then. It would begin now, thanks to it being almost certain that all of his workers would have touched the monkeys. They would then go home, thinking they were coming down with the flu, transporting the disease. It would spread fast, destroying the country quicker than a thermonuclear weapon would destroy a small village. The disease would destroy the country.
The disease of Airborne Ebola, that is.
Nobody knew about it. Except him and the Supremacy. The Supremacy was what governments would call a ‘terrorist organization’. They were wrong. The Supremacy’s correct title was either a freedom fighting group against the evils of government or a ‘superterrorist organization’.