NationStates Jolt Archive

"Comrade Jacobs!"

"Yes, my Leader?"

"I grow tired of the capitalists leading this alliance. It is time we ended it. There is no reason for this Regional Alliance." His tone made the last words a curse. "The Imperial President forced this alliance down our throats, hoping to steal our resources and use them to enhance his imperialistic capitalist policies. We must put a stop to it."

"But how, my Leader? Withdrawing from the Alliance won't accomplish anything, we hardly give them any resources at all as it is. The capitalists also control all the military power. We could do nothing to stop them."

"We have some of the greatest minds in Dor Lomin here in our great nation. Certainly we can discover a way to beat them."

"Of course, my Leader."

"We shall use the tactics of the terrorist. I joined the Alliance, hoping I could stem some of the imperialistic tendencies of the capitalist dogs, but I have seen that my vision was incomplete. I alone cannot hope to stop them, even through debate and councils. Stronger actions are now required. See if you can find ways to send this message to our friends in, hmmm, Area Fifty-One. They produce many of the technological weapons of the Combined Military. Go now, and let our message not go unheard."

"At once, my Leader."

A phone rang on the desk of the General's secretary. She picked it up.

"Office of General Thomas Johnson. How may I help you?"

A raspy voice came over the line, "Transfer me to the General."

"May I inform him as to who is calling?"

"No. Transfer me now, you capitalist whore."

"What?"

"Transfer me to the General. NOW!" The evil that came over the line was a presence in the room, and the secretary hurried to obey. But she followed procedure. She placed the voice on hold, and transfered him to the Johnson, announcing everything she knew, and then as Johnson picked up the phone, she ran a trace program on the call.

Johnson picked up the phone, after switching on a call recorder.

"General Johnson, here. To whom am I speaking?"

"I am of no importance, Johnson."

"Very well. What is it you wished to speak with me about?"

"You will withdraw from the Dor Lomin Regional Alliance."

"I see." Silence for a moment. "May I ask why?"

"Because if you do not, millions will suffer, perhaps?" A quiet, evil chuckle. "Or perhaps you should fear for your own safety. Why ever you choose to withdraw, it must be done within twelve hours."

"WHAT?! Have you lost your f---ing mind? I can't withdraw from a treaty that deep in less than twelve hours even if I was going to withdraw."

"I suggest you find a way, Johnson, or the piper will be paid, and you shall not like the price, no, you shall not like it all."

The line went dead. Johnson shook in fury. He ordered his secretary to get the other national leaders of Dor Lomin on the line, especially after he discovered that the call had been untracable.

Two hours later, and all that resulted from a hurried holo-conference was confusion. No one knew anything, nor had anyone received any similar threats. Nothing further could be gained, but the general consensus was "The Regional Alliance does not negociate with terrorists." They opted to wait, but to send the military to a higher alert status. Home based units went to Alert Condition Red-Two, the level below open combat operations.

"My Leader?"

"Yes, Comrade Jacobs?"

"Our plan has been initiated."

"I had figured as much. There was just a holo-conference of the national leaders. How long do they have?"

"Five hours."

Twelve hours exactly from the time Johnson had hung up the phone, it rung again.

He answered directly, seeing as his secretary had gone home, "Yes?" His voice was raspy, tired, and revealed his high stress level.

"Have you done it?" It was the same voice.

"I've started the process," Johnson lied.

"Now, now, Thomas, don't lie to me. I know you and the other national leaders decided on nothing at your holo-conference, except to wait and see. Well, you've waited, and for your patience, I shall reward you by letting you see."

"What do you mean?"

"Go to the window at the north end of your office and look to the northwest." Johnson did so.

And there he saw the last thing he would ever see, a glaring flash in the night, a flash the general in him knew and feared.

"No." It was a whisper, a plea.

"I'm afraid so, Johnson. Say goodbye, now."

An equally horrible nuclear explosion tore through Gulf Breeze, vaporizing the capital. It was followed in seconds by eight more, destroying every major population center in the country. The nukes were clean, though, and gave off little radiation, and so the killing did not extend much beyond the immediate blast radius. But if General Johnson's death was a tragedy, what had just occured in the Borderlands of Area Fifty-One was a statistic, one of the most horrible of all.

300 million dead in under thirty seconds.

It was not a lesson that would be forgotten.

Communists suck!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

May communism spread throughout the world!

The Bridge of the D.L.S. Dragonstar:

The Admiral watched as the fireballs shredded the night through out the Borderlands of Area Fifty-One. But his shock was carefully hidden made a face trained over the decades to say exactly what he wanted it to.

His flag captain was not as well versed in hiding his emotions. "What happened?" The question was asked with a pronounced tremor in his voice.

The executive officer reported, formally. "Sir, I regret to inform you that multiple nuclear events have been witnessed in the primary population centers of the Borderlands of Area Fifty-One." The executive officer lived in Gulf Breeze, with his wife and two children. Though he had used the most formal of wording in his report, his voice had trembled with barely supressed rage, fear, and pain.

The Admiral continued to watch in silence as the columns of superheated air began to disperse with the violent winds. Nothing could be done to help those in the remains of those cities, for none would still live. There had been no warning of this. No missile traces, no unidentified aircraft, not even any unexplainable disruptions in the atmosphere. The immense size of the weapons argued towards a very sophisticated opponent indeed. Scanners indicated that the one which had destroyed Gulf Breeze had been on the order of 500 megatons. But scanners had not picked up a single trace of the weapons before the explosions. Internally he grimaced, the Combined Military had failed in its primary mission, that of protecting Dor Lomin's civilian population from harm.

Failure, that was what, even more so than the horror, that drove the crew to want to know what had happened. The senior officers of course knew of the threat that had been received by General Johnson, but not one of them had imagined this.

OOC:

<-- Wonders if anyone willl contribute anything useful to his thread...

"My Leader, it has gone better than we could hope. Initial reports indicate 300 million dead."

"Yes, I know."

"We have destroyed the abilty of Area Fifty-One to support the Aliiance."

"Yes, I know."

"We've accomplished the goal we set out to do."

"No."

"Sir?"

"Ideally, we should never have had to kill a single person."

"Of course not, sir, but when they refused to see reason..."

"No. It was wrong. But now we must continue."

"Continue, my Leader?"

"Yes, continue. Plan the next attack. Go!"

How, with an imploded economy, do you have nukes?

Yes, this gets to the goal nicely.

Multiples are removed in one easy swish.

We applaud you.

OOC: Wonderful how people who have no knowledge of the situation contribute meaningless nothings.

Statement from the Office of the Prime Minister, Johnathan Currey

Upon the agreement of the Council of the Regional Alliance, the Dominion of Vanderhill will be taking over temporary management of the Borderlands of Area Fifty-One, in an attempt to stabilize the remains of the country. Once the stiuation has been resolved and the government stablized, control will be returned to the people of Area Fifty-One.

"They must be joking, my Leader."

"They are not, Comrade."

"But, ..., um, but, they are allowing Vanderhill to basically annex Area Fifty-One."

"No. It is a temporary stewardship. It makes a certain amount of sense though. Area Fifty-One did come from Vanderhill originally, but that history is forgotten mostly, except by books."

"Of course, my Leader."

"Well, how are the next set of plans developing?"

"We have planned the next two strikes. The first will be in Why War. We should be able to convince them to withdraw from the Regional Alliance without resorting to violence, now that they have seen what we can do. The second plan is nearly a direct attack on the Imperial President of Sentient Peoples. We're going to kidnap his younger sister, assuming we can work out the details."

"Excellent, Comrade Jacobs. Continue your work."

May I ask what Area Fifty-One did to provoke this war?

May I ask what Area Fifty-One did to provoke this war?

OOC: No. It's explained in the first post. This is somewhat of a story. But other nations can interact, but only ICly. So try to refrain from comments in the thread, send me a TM if you want an explanation.

Cortana frowned. Something was not right about this whole situation.

She began to explore what was left of the Area Fifty-One Network. Cortana found some very interesting things in her investigation of the "Incident."

First, when backtracking the call log to General Johnson's office, she discovered that both calls apparently orginated in the office. That explained the failure of the trace program. Upon further investigation, she discovered that the phones which placed the call were public access phones in the looby of the government executive building. Based on the information she did have, Cortana reasoned that the phones had probably been hacked to produce the calls, but without the phones themselves, there was no way to make sure.

Second, the day before the attack, ten indentical hovervans had entered Area Fifty-One from Vanderhill within minutes of each other. Each of these vans had traveled to one of Area Fifty-One's major urban centers. The vans had not been seen again. Tracing the vans, it was revealed that they were rental vans, and the account which paid for them was an off-shore numbered account. This account had had the funds transferred to it from yet another numbered account in another off-shore bank.

Someone had gone to alot of trouble. Terrorists were not usually this through. Which was why they usually got caught.

A phone rang. Director Abboti lifted the phone from its cradle and placed to his ear. "Hello? Director Nathaniel Abboti here."

"Hello, Director. I'm sure your friends in Area Fifty-One told you about me."

"Huh?"

"Johnson received a phone call, Abboti, before he died. I am the one who called him."

"You?! What do you want?" Abboti reached out with a trembling finger and activated the line trace.

"What do I want? The same thing I wanted from Johnson. Withdraw from the Dor Lomin Regional Alliance or face the consequences, Director. You know what we can do. You have the same twelve hours that Johnson had."

The call terminated. Abboti looked at the handset in horror for just a moment, then consulted the trace program. Nothing. He hung the phone up. And reached for a dedicated line phone, hitting the first of twenty buttons.

Once Cortana had confirmed the presence of similar trucks in Why War as she believed to be related to the Area Fifty-One incident, orders were sent out to begin the evacuation of the 200 million people believed to be within the blast radius of the weapons. Fortunately, Why War contained many smaller towns and cities, with proportionally smaller major population centers.

One hour into the evacuation, three hours since the phone call, the phone rang again in the Director's office.

Abboti picked up the phone.

"You stupid fool. Did you think we wouldn't know?"

He looked at the big situation board, currently on transportation and watched his people flee.

"What choice did you give me?"

"I gave you a choice!" the voice screamed. "You chose the wrong option! Now you will pay."

As Abboti watched, the primary mag-lev train lines to Sentient Peoples went down, except the trains were still moving. That shouldn't be happening! A small PiP popped up, showing the gaps in the lines, and the trains speeding towards them. The first train hit the gap at three hundred kilometers per hour. Abboti closed his eyes. Fortunately there was no sound.

"For your foolishness, you lose three hours from your deadline. Six hours from now, you must be withdrawn from the Dor Lomin Regional Alliance."

The call terminated. Abboti looked in horror as rescue vehicles began to respond to the train wreck. Without the mag-lev, there would be no way to evacuate in time. He dropped his head.

Just then, Cortana's hologram appeared. "I've found one of the trucks. It's here in New Babylon. I've dispatched a team to disarm it, assuming it is what we believe it to be."

The team arrives at the location of the hovervan, and begins to investigate around the edges. It was definitely radioactive, but very mildly.

Then they check the doors. All the doors had some odd looking wires on them, so it was decided to avoid the doors. These odd wires ran throughout the whole computer system as well, so moving the vehicle was out of the question.

So it was decided to go in through the top of the vehicle. A small cutting laser was produced and a small notch began to be cut.

Inside the hovervan, a computer detected the change in both the van's internal temperature, and the loss of structual integrity. An electrical signal flashed along a series of wires, ending in a transmitter. A brief burst of transmission flashed out, a signal to something.

Within the husk that formally held Gulf Breeze, among the great wreckage, lay the embassy to Dor Lomin of the Dalek empire of Skaro, now little more then melted refuge. Not even the daleks, a race created by nuclear technology, could withstand such a direct and unsuspecting attack.

Meanwhile, out in space co-ordinates delta 57698032, the former ambassador to Dor Lomin, the black dalek unit C whose name was once, in its time of kaled life, Sinnu, moved on towards the beacon sound, located (unknownst to the dalek) within the nation Rhaken Kull. Communications checks were in order, so the black dalek lifted its eye stalk, and utilised a communicater for long distance communication with its 'hand appendage'.
"EM-BASS-EY TO DOR LO-MIN
EM-BASS-EY TO DOR LO-MIN
THIS IS FOR-MER AM-BASS-AD-OR UNIT C 1-9-5-6-0-2
CO-OR-DIN-ATES DEL-TA 5-7-6-9-8-0-3-2
"
No reply sounded. The dalek tried again.
"EM-BASS-EY TO DOR LO-MIN
EM-BASS-EY TO DOR LO-MIN
CAN YOU COM-MUN-I-CATE-?"
The dalek that was once known as Sinnu the kaled began utilising its cybernetic mind. If something had happened to the embassy, surely the empire of Skaro would have been informed, or this act could easily be taken for an act of war...But what act was it, or was it simply bad frequency? Somewhere in the back of its cybernetic mind, a word formed that had been forbidden since Sinnu became a dalek. As soon as it appeared, it again disappeared, and was replaced by rational thoughts. 'Lucky' had come into its mind, as it now continued on its journey to Rhaken Kull.

Meanwhile, in Chrysaestos, Capital of Aquilla:

"It's outrageous, sir!"

"I know."

"It's an act of mass murder!"

"I know."

"It would make a cannibal blush!"

"I know."

"And now they're going to attack Why War!"

"I know."

"What can we do?"

"I know."

"What? You know what we can do?"

"I kn -- um er what were you saying?"

"What can we do?"

"I don't know."

"Sir, we can't just let them get away with this!"

"That's just it, Lucien, we have to. Have you looked at Palpastine's stats?"

"No..."

--The President of Aquilla looked at the information/TV screen in his office, said a few words, and Palpastine's profile appeared on the screen.--

"Look, Lucien, they have 577 million people in their country. We only have 23 million. They are more than 20 times as large as us. Granted, they have a basket case economy..."

"I can't figure out for the life of me how they got that nuke!"

[ooc: This is the same Colonel Lucien Green who commanded Aquilla's army in the Norse War. After his participation there, he was promoted to general, and then to chief of the armed forces.]

"Neither can I."

"But surely you can think of something!"

"We do have powerful allies, Lucien. Allied with them, we could wipe out this communist rogue. But they might not assent. And even then, other communists would come to Palpastine's aid. It's a long shot if we want to destroy them, it might possibly end in the destruction of us."

"But, sir..."

"No more buts. Discussion is closed. We might do something. We might not."

"Yes, sir."

OOC: I'm wondering how the hell you found out it was Palpastine committing the attacks. No one knows that.

Though no one knows it yet, the nukes came from the DLRA arsenals in a multitude of countries.

The transmission was omnidirectional, a trigger for an event.

In nine other places throughout Why War, that event occurred. A circuit closed and a signal flowed through it.

Two seconds after the transmission, a tech on the bomb team realized what happened. "Shit!"

Three seconds later, he was dead.

A five-hundred megaton nuclear fireball ripped through the Why War capital of New Babylon. 20 million dead.

It was followed in less that a second by nine others in Why War's remaining large cities. 160 million more dead.

180 million sentients dead. Elves, Humans, Dwarves, Catpeople, A multitude of other races, from both Earth and beyond, in much smaller numbers. Area Fifty-One had been mostly homogeneous with humans. Why War was not.

160 million Humans.
12 million Elves.
4 million dwarves
2 million Catpeople.
2 million others.

Like Area Fifty-One, this would not be soon forgotten either.

Hours later, the exhuasted national leaders of Dor Lomin, now missing two from their number met.

"We must do something."

"But what? We don't know anything."

"Not true." Cortana countered. "We know a number of things, most of which are either bad or not at all helpful. One, the person or group committing these attacks has a high degree of technical skill. Two, they have access to extremely large nuclear weapons, that signature analysis reveals are produced from local Uranium. Three, they cover every contingency that they can think of with careful planning."

"I think we should ask for external assitance." Heads nod all around. "Also, we better let the government of Sentient Peoples assume a protectorship over the remains of Why War, like Vanderhill in Area Fifty-One." Heads nod again.

The Emperor scowled. Nay, He had the countenance of one who looked ready to rip off the hand that had handed him the flexy-sheet that contained the report; nuclear weapons. Used. Virtually on the backdoor step, as it were; Dor-lomin was hardly far removed.

"Inform the Queen. Have RISE root out those responsible, and execute them. Not in a pleasant fashion, either. No harm to the faces, however; I want the heads intact. We'll send them back to Dor-lomin, for their inspection."

The IDF Guard blinked. "I don't think that will be as easy as you put it, Sire."

Si Ling frowned. "Do We look as if We care for 'easy', Colonel?"

"No, Sire!"

The Guard turned on his heel, smartly. Click-click go his heels against the polished floor as he heads off on his little 'errand'.

Si Ling's scowl deepened. He knew there were no RISE agents in Dor-lomin; someone would have to make an insertion. Someone would have to get in, without tipping off anyone. And not get killed. Getting killed was bad for RISE; it tended to spread those rumours - those rumours that suggested that RISE was fallible. And that would not do.

* * *

The Empire offers whatever support it can provide to its Dor-lomin allies.

~ Ambassador Dejure

[OOC: Could the relevant person please telegram me the info I need to get a RISE agent in and out and so on, please.]

<Ma-tek, TG>

<Ma-tek, TG>

[OOC: Thanks! Will post tomorrow; considering options right now.]

"Well, Comrade Jacobs? What went wrong? I thought you said that Why War would yield with a minimum of bloodshed, yet another 180 million are dead."

"It would appear that the gamma contingency was activated, my Leader."

"Hmmm?"

"They found one of the bombs. And went they tried to disarm it, it signaled the others, and they all blew."

"Well then. That is unfortunate. Are you ready to proceed with the next step?"

"Nearly. We're still working on acquiring the sister's schedule, but all the other elements are in place and ready to go."

"Very well. Be about it."

Jessica Smith.
Sex: Female
Race: Human
Age: 17
Hair Color: Dark Brown
Eyes: Blue
Self-Defense Training: First Degree Black Belt in two unarmed combat styles. Expert knife and swordswoman. Qualified Marksman with laser pistol and carbine.
Notes: Younger sister of the Imperial President, D'ron Smith. Parents died in hovercar accident when she was five. Attends Vanderbilt Academy in Griffin. Excellent Student. Highly Intelligent. Athletic, loves the outdoors. Considered to be fairly attractive.

The man looked up and began watching the door of the Vanderbilt Academy. With the information he had just read, she should be easy to spot.

Jessica walked to the door of her school, and hugged her friend Jenn. "I'll see you bright and early tomorrow, and I'll call you tonight."

"Okay, talk to ya lata!"

As Jessica walked outside, she was thinking. They still haven't announced the Spring Formal. I wonder what the dress code is. I hope they don't make us wear uniforms. That was always a threat over everyone's head. The uniforms were nice but traditional. Maroon and gold skirt, black sweater vest, white shirt, tie, black shoes. I don't have too much homework, tonight, maybe D'ron will have some time to shoot with me, or maybe I can ride. While she walked, a man walked up behind her, and she didn't notice, feeling safe and secure on the school grounds. But her guards, carefully positioned to be invisible, noticed. One shifted his gun slightly to cover the man.

That was all the sniper needed. He sighted in on the movement, then, once he had a clean shot, fired once. The guard dropped dead. The other guard reacted by moving, and within seconds was down as well.

Jessica, who kept half attention on the guards, immediately knew what had happened. A second after she hit the ground, the man she hadn't noticed until that instant tackled her. He pressed a needle to her neck, plunging it into the vein, and she passed out within seconds. The man stood and picked her up, as a hovervan pulled up. He loaded her in the back and got in. The van whirred away.

The RISE agent sighed as he was 'fitted' into the pressure-suit. Liquid-pressure-suit, to be precise; the suit was a simple anti-g suit, really, that applied pressure to the body in order to maintain blood-flow: but with a difference to less advanced versions. Rather than filling the inner-suit with air, and then wrapping a normal bodice around the suit, the system used per-fluoro-carbon; this was rumoured to be far more efficient than the H20 versions that some other nations used. Whether it was or not remained to be seen; G# pilots still used the H20 variant, as did M# pilots... but the X# required a little more. In theory, the new pressure-suit would allow g-stress as much as 6gs above the norm for an X#; that meant an upper g-limit of 30gs, as opposed to the 24gs the M# had been capable of bearing.

Naturally, the X# was a touch stronger, structurally; lessons had been learned. She was a mesh-fighter, or so-called; she was built from thousands of mono-molecular strands of dozens of high-tensile materials; composed of three hulls, in fact. Primary, secondary, and tertiary; the first was entirely thermal-resistant-material-based. The second was a composite of high-tensile strength metals - and fabrics. Interwoven - seamlessly - the second hull added strength to the first, supporting it; and the third? The third was liquid; contained in a 'bubble', as it were, and held in place by the MI core itself, the tertiary hull was designed to limit internal stresses as much as possible. The liquid deployed inside the tertiary hull was utterly classified; even the RISE agent had no idea what it was, exactly. But he suspected per-fluoro-carbon was the substance. Then again, he thought wryly, it might not.

Sighing again, the ground crew hauled him up and into the cockpit - this would have to be improved, the slowness of deployment was extreme so far - and down into the very uncomfortable metal 'seat' inside. Moments later, the HUD system was hooked up; a laser played on his right eye, feeding image data directly onto his retina: perfect for dogfighting, sure, but a little headache-heavy.

The cockpit slid shut, and the small aircraft - just five metres in length - began to purr with energy as the MI core kicked up a gear into 'Motive Mode'; it was always-on, as required by the tertiary hull bubble.

Moments later, the X# silently - or near-silently - vaults into the sky with none of the clumsiness of a K# or M#: it does not wobble in the wind as those aircraft were wont to do.

Accelerating quickly, the X# sped over Turath, and out into the Bay.

Unheard in the cockpit, a booom rattles across the Bay as it accelerates beyond the speed of sound and kicks up into hypersonic.

If this baby doesn't perform as well as they say, S-2 thought, then... well... I'm dead.

He scowled. One minute thirty to contact with Dor-lomin airspace. "Joy," he muttered, checking his instruments, and tapping the 'high-readiness' system online: maybe, if he was lucky, the sensor suite would see the energy spike of an incoming missile and shift his lithe aircraft out of the way of said missile.

If he was unlucky... well, that didn't need explaining.

He went back to scowling. And waiting.

On board the D.L.S. Vingolot, a scan tech muttered curses under his breath and tapped his display. After a second, "Sir, I'm picking up something witchy on radar."

"Hmm.." The OD came over.

"Yessir, it is moving really fast, faster even than an EOTED M#. Radar is having touble holding it."

"Odd. Have you tried lidar?"

The scan tech made a few taps at his keyboard, and after another second, "No joy, sir."

"Hmmm, must be an error. Even if it is something, its too small to be a threat, unless it hits something, I guess."

*****

Flight Officer Thomas glanced around, and he saw something speeding towards him. He turned the Peregrine towards it, and tried to pick it up on his radar. Nothing. It was growing really big, really fast. Then the Peregrine shook and spun violently a a column of superheated air flashed mere meters from his plane. As he recoverd, he thought What the f--- was that? He didn't report it, thinking that they'd think him delusional, forgetting the flight recorder camera mounted on the front of his plane.

OOC: Don't worry, the camera only has the flash of air. It didn't see anything.

S-2 tensed as he approached the Peregrine, moving far too fast to change course... and live, that is. "Don't see me, don't see me, don't see me," he muttered in mantra-style... although it was doubtful that it helped.

The Peregrine shot past.

S-2 sighed in relief. And hoped it wasn't premature. Next comes the hard part, he thought silently.

Everything was silent at this speed. It was unnerving, actually. The silence was almost deafening; no sound of the wind; no engine noise - what little there was was swallowed by the air rushing over the little centimetres-only-thick vacuum that the MI core generated to prevent the aircraft being ripped apart. And the vacuum tended to prevent external sounds from being heard, anyway. The hypersonic speed, naturally, would have taken care of that on its own; but nontheless, it was... strange. A soundless world.

S-2 began closing contacts on the small panel that controlled AI-controlled motion; outside...

* * *

The super-hot object rapidly decelerates, dispelling the myth of its non-existance. Anything tracking it would sharply notice the parabolic arc that it now takes; spinning downards as fast as possible, in line with centrifugal forces, the X# drops like a stone to the ground over Sentient Peoples...

...and hopefully, pulls off a rather breathtaking landing.

If it isn't shot down first, that is. The spinning required by a fall at this velocity unfortunatley swells the radar silhoutte; the X# is all-too-visible in the last few moments of its flight...

...hence, the 'hard part'.

But as the object is unable to be confirmed as friendly, point defense and anti-aircraft ground based lasers begin to engage. They swivel to track the target and let loose a barrage of shots into the night, but as there are Peregrines everywhere, and no human has seen or tracked the object, manual overrides go into effect, silencing the lasers after only a few shots.

OOC: PD Lasers are three cm, Anti-aircraft are 6. About 70 shots, as many as 10 of which might be on target.

"My Leader, we have her."

"You do? Good."

"The sniper we hired performed admirably as well. Two shots, two kills on her guards. The girl is unharmed."

"Excellent. Do you have any plans for another country at this time?"

"No, my Leader. But President Trei of Lost Americans may be convincable. We have heard that he was severly shaken by the death toll."

"Excellent. We shall continue as planned. Destroy this alliance. Also, do not forget to hit this country. We wouldn't want anyone to get suspisious, now would we?"

"Of course not, me Leader."

"Go."

D'ron paced down the hall of the Imperial House. Such a stupid name this place has. Oh well, it's been that way forever. I wonder where Little J is. Little J was his diminutive for his sister. I wonder if she wants to practice her shooting before dinner. He spotted one of the hired help (read: servants) in the hall. "Catherine, have you seen my sister?"

"No, Mr. President, I haven't. Not since this morning."

"Okay, thanks." D'ron walked down to the front desk and asked the guard, "Did my sister come home yet?"

The guard bent down and checked his log. He flipped back a page. He frowned, then checked the computer log. He looked up, somewhat surprised. Jessica was usually home within two hours on school nights. "No, sir. She hasn't come home yet."

"Thanks, Larry." D'ron walked to the communications office and upto a comm tech. "Call Vanderbilt Academy. Find out if Jessica is still there."

The tech put on a headset and punched in the comm code for the school. She talked for a few seconds and then listened, then talked some more. She removed the headset and look at D'ron. "No, Mr. President. Your sister left about ten minutes after school let out."

D'ron frowned. "Raise her guards. Find out why they didn't report a change of movement schedule."

The tech put the headset back on and dialed up the head guard's comm. There was no response. The tech began to look frightened. D'ron's frowned deepened. The head guard was an elf. D'ron knew he could have taken the guard in one on one, but he wouldn't have wanted to try. So surely nothing could have happened to her, could it?

"Griffin!" he called out.

"Yes, Mr. President?"

"Find my sisiter."

"Hmmmm.... " After a second or two, "I do not know where your sister is, nor can any of my tracking systems find her." Griffin knew exactly where everyone within a twenty km radius of the city and all those in the city was at any given moment, excepting the visitors and tourists, of course. But he could track any citizen of Sentient Peoples within his reach. He could contact the other city AI as well, and could pretty much find anyone in the country within a few seconds. But he could not find Jessica Smith.

"What do you mean?"

"Mr. President, neither I nor any other City AI in Sentient Peoples has a location fix on your sister."

Suddenly the comm tech stiffened in her chair. "Uh, Mr. President?"

"Yes?"

"Phone for you, sir." D'ron blinked, but took the headset from the tech. Not exactly protocol, but he didn't care. He was a little distracted.

"Hello?"

"Hello, D'ron."

"Okay, you have me at a disadvantage. You know who I am, but I don't know who you are."

"True, true. You may call me, um, the Voice."

"The Voice?"

"Yes, the Voice."

'What do you want, Voice?"

"Want? A couple things actually. One, I wish you to know that whatever your alliance has undergone these last few days, it is nothing compared to the horror to come."

"Really?" D'ron reached down calmly and flipped the switch marked
"Trace Call."

"Yes. Your alliance shall fall, for it is too greedy for its own good."

"Ah." D'ron paused for a second, think there was more. When there wasn't, he prompted it, "And the second thing?"

"Oh, yes. There is someone else here who would like to talk to you, but she can't."

"Why not?"

"Well, we gave her Kalniptran F when she wouldn't stop fighting us, and she's tied up and gagged anyway."

"You son of a bitch." D'ron's voice was cold as ice. "She hasn't done anything to deserve this."

"But she is your sister, Mr. President, and that's all that matters. Seeing as you have slightly more power than the other leaders we've contacted, Dissolve the Regional Alliance. Disband the Combined Military. Sit peacefully and do nothing on the international stage except trade. And trade only that which can support no war-like cause."

"No."

"Then your sister will suffer greatly. And then, we will tell her why she suffers, because you didn't love her enough to save her. And then, we she is broken beyond repair, then and only then, will we kill her."

"And the flames of Hell shall engulf you and I swear upon everything holy that you shall pay with your lives."

"I think not, D'ron. You have one week."

The line went dead. D'ron looked murderously at the trace program display. The map was familiar. He realized after a second what it was showing him. The headset next to the one he was using. He spun on his heel, tossing the headset to the desk, and called for his guard.

Jessica awoke, looking at an unfamiliar ceiling. As her senses came to life, she realized that she was gagged and tightly bound. She was laying on a cot. Her uniform had been removed, and she was lying there in her underwear. It was cold in the room, wherever she was. She tried to move, but only felt pain. Then there was voice.

"I wouldn't move, if I were you. Or even try to. The blades embedded in the bindings will just cut you apart."

A shadow moved into the edge of her field of vision, and she tried to turn her head, but was unable to. The cot sank as whoever it was sat down on it. A hand on her stomach. She tried to move away, but couldn't move at all. Her mind was beginning to function in overdrive.

"Heh. You can't move, or shouldn't be able to move much. We had to give you Kalniptran F."

Had she been able to, her eyes would have widened. But she couldn't and her thoughts came rapid fire. Kalmiptran F was an immobilizin drug. It completely relaxed every voluntary muscle in the body so that you couldn't move.

"You might not, remember, seeing as how hard your head hit the ground when we finally overpowered you, but you managed to kill one of the guards assigned to you and disable a second when we started to unload you from the hovervan. You faked still being unconcious."

She didn't remember. All she remembered was seeing her guards dropping dead and a heavy weight upon her. The voice was continuing.

"Such a pretty girl. It really is a shame we'll have to kill you when this is over. If you get lonely, I'll be here." The last statement was very clear, as she felt the hand on her stomach slide its way upward, carressing her, and a second hand on her shoulder, sliding the strap off. "Well, on second thought, since you haven't said no, maybe I'll just go ahead." The weight left the bed. No, No No NO NONONONONONO NO! Jessica thought. She wanted to close her eyes. She heard clothing being undone. Then,

"WHAT THE HELL ARE YOU DOING?"

"Ah, nothing, sir."

"Don't give me that bullshit. Zip your pants up, you f---ing pervert. She's to be left alone, at least, for now."

To: Sentient Peoples, and all DLRA nations.
From: Menelmacar.

We are engaging the process by which SATO intervention in this matter may commence. We'll need as much information as you've got if we are to be most effective.

~Lord Turelio nos Fingolfin
Prefect of State, Menelmacar

Information Known to the DLRA Executive Council.

The hovervans used in the initial attacks have been traced to a rental company in the Dominion of Vanderhill, where they were rented by an elf, Lólindir of Dorthonion. This elf cannot be found within Dor Lomin. His further role in the attacks is unclear. He may be dead. His family also cannot be located at this time.

Three hours before the transaction for the hovervans, the exact amount to rent twenty hovervans was added to his account.

The technical capabilities of the organization running this operation are undeniable, as they are able to block all forms of comm trace, by redirecting the trace to a local phone. The phone is always under direct observation and is not being used at the time of the call.

The nuclear weapons used in the attacks appear to have been stolen from local arsenals, as five are missing from Vanderhill, two from Palpastine, six from Peitha, ten from Enyalius, four from One without Self, and one from Sentient Peoples. An unknown number could be missing from the arsenals destroyed in Area Fifty-One and Why War. All the weapons that are missing are in the 500 megaton range.

The terrorist organization behind the attacks appears to know what it is doing, and has a high degree of 'cover-your-ass-thinking,' as evidenced by the destruction in Why War.

Jessica Smith's guards were shot with a military-issue, gauss sniper rifle. The hovervan used in that attack cannot be found.

There is no voiceprint identification on the person know as "The Voice of Terror."

Current number of Dead and missing/presumed dead from attacks attributed to terror organization: 479, 988, 853.

Time since first warning: 103 hours. (OOC: Game Time)

But as the object is unable to be confirmed as friendly, point defense and anti-aircraft ground based lasers begin to engage. They swivel to track the target and let loose a barrage of shots into the night, but as there are Peregrines everywhere, and no human has seen or tracked the object, manual overrides go into effect, silencing the lasers after only a few shots.

OOC: PD Lasers are three cm, Anti-aircraft are 6. About 70 shots, as many as 10 of which might be on target.

Alarms sound near-instantly inside the X#; the pilot slaps closed a contact directly to the front and the right of him...

"There goes the-"

The cockpit desegments from the X#, taking the MI core with it, and the pilots breath catches in his throat as his two middle vertibrae crunch closer together with a rather nasty sounding <snick>-

-and the remnant of the X# begins to tumble-

-and is dissected by the anti-air fire.

"-landing," S-2 finishes in a rasping breath as gravity resumes normality.

The cockpit spirals downwards, a tiny speck in the sky; a smaller radar signal than the entire X#: around the same size as a normal fighter craft.

"You killed me, you killed me, you killed me," murmours S-2 through pinched-tight lips, his hopeful mantra doubtless having zero effect...

Fortunately for the pilot, the lasers remain silent. A team is dispatched to figure out what it was the lasers had been engaging. A quick squadron check revealed that it had not been any of the Peregrines.

OOC: Damn, 500 megatons? :shock:

Who builds a nuke that big? That's a continent-killer, me boyo.

~Siri

OOC: We made about 50, designed to be loaded into penatrators and fired into Angband. I'm not real clear on the actual destructive power of nukes vs. yield, so I wanted a number big enough to wipe out massive cities. Cities reenforced against heavy attacks and such. Maybe 500 was too big. But we're talking about nukes that can wipe out a city the size of Mexico, D.F. and then some.

S-2 staggered out of the cockpit, falling to his knees and running a hand up and down his spine...

...and then coming to the realisation that if any real damage had been done, he wouldn't be able to do the above.

"Damn," he murmours, taking to his feet again and reaching inside the listing-cockpit to slap a contact...

...before running full tilt away from the slowly-beginning-to-glow former aircraft.

As he runs, he dissolves into a mere shadowy figure; concentration sets in, and the RISE agent swiftly Draws The Shadows about his figure: only a precise eye upon him should reveal his presence. And hopefully... the melted hulk of metal that will be left behind by the overloaded MI core should leave no doubt in any potential pursuers minds that he is well and truly dead.

Hopefully.

[OOC: SP, you decide where he came down, as you shot him down, and I can't think of a particuarly choice spot right now. Heh. ;)]

OOC: Dor Lomin is SW of Lodoss, I imagine he came down in either Peitha or Palpastine. But if you want him in SP, fine by me. Probably a landing in the mountains, whereever he came down, because we won't look for him. If we happen to figure out that it was an MI core, EOTED might get a sharp question or two directed at it. There's a map on the home page of the region. (In the factbook entry) It's alot out of date, but whatever. The countries that still exist haven't moved. The black dot in each nation is the capital city. The island that we rented out earlier is about thirty klicks to the east of the mainland, Siri. I don't plan on following the RISE agent around. I've got enough to keep track of in this thread.

OOC: We made about 50, designed to be loaded into penatrators and fired into Angband. I'm not real clear on the actual destructive power of nukes vs. yield, so I wanted a number big enough to wipe out massive cities. Cities reenforced against heavy attacks and such. Maybe 500 was too big. But we're talking about nukes that can wipe out a city the size of Mexico, D.F. and then some.

OOC: 50 MTs should be enough.

Captain Chelle Vargas thoughtfully tapped her fingers on the console.

Boy, I just have to love the idea of trying to sneak a carrier group this close to Dor Lomin regional waters to take a look at things. I can't get over the fact that I get to command one, either, even if the whole group displaces less than an old Tenteacle cruiser. These Porpoise* class stealth carriers are going to take some getting used to. I think HQ got some wires crossed sending me here.

"Any orders from HQ yet?"

A pause as her comm officer relayed something into her headset.

"Really? That's odd..."

The oh-so convienent fog bank covering the four small stealthy ships making up Captain Vargas's "carrier group" filled with tension...

*Displacement 2700 tons. Really. And it is stealthy. And has a few aircraft even, altthough not so many and the type is severely limited due to runway space. See my thread for details... I think I may TM you about a tempting op i'm thinking about if I decide I ICly want to risk it.

OOC: Decides all references to 500 megatons are high by an order of magnitude, and should be read as fifty megatons. Thx TJ.

BTW, how close to Dor Lomin are these carriers? Cause there are one hundred and fifty warships in home waters right now? (30 mi limit)

<boink>

OOC: Decides all references to 500 megatons are high by an order of magnitude, and should be read as fifty megatons. Thx TJ.

BTW, how close to Dor Lomin are these carriers? Cause there are one hundred and fifty warships in home waters right now? (30 mi limit)

OOC:
The carrier (only the one) would probably be holding around 50-100 miles away, and the group will "ping" like a couple fishing boats, really. I'm going to TM you an idea I have for a rather comic spec op now...

"Alright, Mr. President, here's what we know. The van involved in your sister's kidnapping entered this," a hologram appeared, "public parking garage in Manticore two hours after the event, based on time of death of the guards. Within the next three hours one hundred and fifty vehicles left. We tracked all but two down to their final locations in Manticore and the surrounding area. These two," the holo changed, "left the Federation tracking ability at 1823 hours. They then entered the no-mans land between us and Ameranada, not on any registered roadway."

"So what you are saying is that you have no idea where they are?"

"Not at this time. We're currently using obs sats to look for them though, and the First Space Battle Group is assisting."

"Keep me informed."

"Well, sir, we've found them." The hologram popped to life again. It showed what appeared to be a combat scene. A dead body lay near the vehicles obviously moved from a shallow grave nearby. The vehicles were neatly almost hidden by some rocks. "The man shown here is dead from four shattered vertebre, a masive trauma to both the right kidney and diaphram, and finally a hit to the solar plexus. Five different blood samples were recovered at the scene. None match your sister's. One of the samples matched the dead man. Your sister's hair was found in the back of the blue hovercar."

"Hmmm...what do we know about the man that's dead?"

"Resigned from the Palpastine Palace guard three weeks ago. Highly trained and middle level in rank."

"Odd. To leave that for a life of terrorism?"

"Yessir, it is odd. So we queried Palpastine further, and got the same information again, but signed by a different person, from the next level up in the administrative support structure."

"What? I want everything they have on this guy, and I want it yesterday!"

"Yessir. We've tried everything we can think of to get them to release the information, but so far, no joy."

"Alright. Begin a concentric search from the vehicles, maybe they went to ground nearby. That'd be my guess since those vehicles aren't designed for mountains. So they had to be close, at least, that's my guess. And if you have to, acquire the information from Palpastine in a less than legal manner."

"Yes, Mr. President."

The RISE agent stumbled - although not on a twig, which would have been terribly cliche.

No, he stumbled over his own feet - in surprise. A craft of some sort was sitting, as cool as you like, before a door set into a sheer cliff face. He wouldn't have spotted the door except for the vehicle parked not-so-far from it; it wasn't exactly glaringly obvious, but...

...curiousity began to set in. S-2 had always been curious - it was a prime reason why he had been recruited, actually. He had stumbled into a RISE building, intent on discovering why the air shimmered in that curious manner - and smacked into a wall that shouldn't have been there. His eyes adjusted quickly, however; and the wall was most clearly there. Not an apparition. Not possible, either.

But it had been; inside he had been informed that he would be... removed... in a rather terrifying manner. But he had held firm; he had courage.

Another reason for his recruitment.

He blinked rapidly, slipping out of his momentary reverie of thought, and ducking down into a scant piece of cover - a piece of conveniant brush - and set about watching with growing curiousity; he had a vague feeling that something wasn't quite right, here. Although he didn't know what... but the Stars had a tendency to bring you along the Path to the places you were meant to see, he knew.

And so he watched, intent on staying to find out something, if he could by merely watching... but only for a little while.

Maybe.

[OOC: Will edit if this doesn't quite make sense, SP.]

Little did S-2 know though, he was not the only one watching the doorway. An officer from the Sentient Peoples National Police force was also watching the entrance, though he was not as well hidden.

Of course, he was further away watching through a field scope.

But....It can't be much longer. he thought, looking at his chronometer. I don't know if this is what we are looking for, but that combat vehicle shouldn't be out here. He had called for backup as soon as he had spotted the hovercraft. Then, all of a sudden...

"Report."

The voice came from nowhere. He looked around, but couldn't find a speaker. His comm was off, too.

"I don't have all day, talk to me." Still no one could be seen.

"Um, where are you?"

"Next to you." A semblance of a humanoid flashed before his eyes, in less than a second. S.P.A.R.T.A.N.'s! Maybe this is what we're looking for...

"I haven't seen any movement since I arrived. As far as I've been able to determine, that door is the only entrance and exit to whatever structure is there."

"Thank you. I'm leaving two men here with you." A crunch and then no sounds, except the wind.

"Hello?" the police officer asked tentatively.

******************

The S.P.A.R.T.A.N. team covered the kilometer of rough terrain in less than five minutes, moving slowly to probe for traps.

They investigated the door, checking for traps, and finding none. (OOC: S-2 can probably see them now, assuming he is Nenyan. They won't see him, as long as he doesn't move.)

Then they carefully moved inside, combat rifles readied. The first guard they found was knocked out with a simple punch, though for a S.P.A.R.T.A.N. not hitting hard enough to kill was a problem. (OOC: If the RISE agent moves slowly enough, he could follow them.)

The team found itself in a room, brightly lit, with a large amount of communications equipment. Suddenly, visible gas began to fill the room. The gas, if nothing else would reveal where the team was. They began to move, but not before the first bullets whined off their shields. The team became fully visible under the fusilade of fire, but tried to concentrate on disabling shots only. It was difficult as S.P.A.R.T.A.N.'s were trained to kill. In three or four seconds, though, ten enemies were down, but only one was dead, the others were disable, shot through the hands and arms, from behind the walls, which were covered with bullet holes. The S.P.A.R.T.A.N. combat rifle had enough of a punch to blast through those walls, while most weapons did not.

Outside, as soon as the team reported all clear, a person was seen running for the vehicle, but the sniper left on the hill had no shot. So the rocketeer, left there for this very reason, fired.

The huge fire-ball would have blinded anyone looking directly at it, at least for a moment. But not the sniper, he had looked away, as his scope was on thermal vision, and he did not wish to go blind.

And as he was looking away, a lone figure ran out into the mountains, intent on escaping the S.P.A.R.T.A.N. strike team.

Back inside, the S.P.A.R.T.A.N.'s switched to stunners, taking hostile fire, so they could take prisoners. Their shields had little time while they were not under fire, and slowly began to lose charge.

But then...there was no one left to fight. Except one.

The one holding a gun to the head of the girl the S.P.A.R.T.A.N.'s had come to save. He was the one who had been there when she woke up.

Yes, that one. The psycho.

"Stop!" he yelled. "Stop or I'll kill her."

The S.P.A.R.T.A.N's cloak had to recharge, as did their shields, so they were visible, and not as well protected as usual.

The S.P.A.R.T.A.N's stopped moving. Hands at their sides, stunners hanging losely.

The man started to back away, dragging the girl infront of him as a shield.

Then he stopped.

The sound was deafening in the small room.

The leader's stunner hit the floor.

He stood there, pistol smoking, in a combat stance.

The man's headless body hit the floor.

Jessica fell after him, unable to support herself. She was covered in blood and gore.

The S.P.A.R.T.A.N. leader walked over, picked her up, and they began to walk out.

<<Mission Accomplished>>

Sirens wailed in the night as the police and medical personnel came screaming in at Mach 6. Of course, those personnel could not hear their own sirens. Two minutes later, the flyers grounded, disgorging fifty police officers and ten medics, just as the S.P.A.R.T.A.N.'s came out the door in the cliff face, behind the still smoking wreck of the combat hovercraft.

Little did S-2 know though, he was not the only one watching the doorway. An officer from the Sentient Peoples National Police force was also watching the entrance, though he was not as well hidden.

Of course, he was further away watching through a field scope.

But....It can't be much longer. he thought, looking at his chronometer. I don't know if this is what we are looking for, but that combat vehicle shouldn't be out here. He had called for backup as soon as he had spotted the hovercraft. Then, all of a sudden...

"Report."

The voice came from nowhere. He looked around, but couldn't find a speaker. His comm was off, too.

"I don't have all day, talk to me." Still no one could be seen.

"Um, where are you?"

"Next to you." A semblance of a humanoid flashed before his eyes, in less than a second. S.P.A.R.T.A.N.'s! Maybe this is what we're looking for...

"I haven't seen any movement since I arrived. As far as I've been able to determine, that door is the only entrance and exit to whatever structure is there."

"Thank you. I'm leaving two men here with you." A crunch and then no sounds, except the wind.

"Hello?" the police officer asked tentatively.

******************

The S.P.A.R.T.A.N. team covered the kilometer of rough terrain in less than five minutes, moving slowly to probe for traps.

They investigated the door, checking for traps, and finding none. (OOC: S-2 can probably see them now, assuming he is Nenyan. They won't see him, as long as he doesn't move.)

Then they carefully moved inside, combat rifles readied. The first guard they found was knocked out with a simple punch, though for a S.P.A.R.T.A.N. not hitting hard enough to kill was a problem. (OOC: If the RISE agent moves slowly enough, he could follow them.)

The team found itself in a room, brightly lit, with a large amount of communications equipment. Suddenly, visible gas began to fill the room. The gas, if nothing else would reveal where the team was. They began to move, but not before the first bullets whined off their shields. The team became fully visible under the fusilade of fire, but tried to concentrate on disabling shots only. It was difficult as S.P.A.R.T.A.N.'s were trained to kill. In three or four seconds, though, ten enemies were down, but only one was dead, the others were disable, shot through the hands and arms, from behind the walls, which were covered with bullet holes. The S.P.A.R.T.A.N. combat rifle had enough of a punch to blast through those walls, while most weapons did not.

Outside, as soon as the team reported all clear, a person was seen running for the vehicle, but the sniper left on the hill had no shot. So the rocketeer, left there for this very reason, fired.

The huge fire-ball would have blinded anyone looking directly at it, at least for a moment. But not the sniper, he had looked away, as his scope was on thermal vision, and he did not wish to go blind.

And as he was looking away, a lone figure ran out into the mountains, intent on escaping the S.P.A.R.T.A.N. strike team.

Back inside, the S.P.A.R.T.A.N.'s switched to stunners, taking hostile fire, so they could take prisoners. Their shields had little time while they were not under fire, and slowly began to lose charge.

But then...there was no one left to fight. Except one.

The one holding a gun to the head of the girl the S.P.A.R.T.A.N.'s had come to save. He was the one who had been there when she woke up.

Yes, that one. The psycho.

"Stop!" he yelled. "Stop or I'll kill her."

The S.P.A.R.T.A.N's cloak had to recharge, as did their shields, so they were visible, and not as well protected as usual.

The S.P.A.R.T.A.N's stopped moving. Hands at their sides, stunners hanging losely.

The man started to back away, dragging the girl infront of him as a shield.

Then he stopped.

The sound was deafening in the small room.

The leader's stunner hit the floor.

He stood there, pistol smoking, in a combat stance.

The man's headless body hit the floor.

Jessica fell after him, unable to support herself. She was covered in blood and gore.

The S.P.A.R.T.A.N. leader walked over, picked her up, and they began to walk out.

<<Mission Accomplished>>

Sirens wailed in the night as the police and medical personnel came screaming in at Mach 6. Of course, those personnel could not hear their own sirens. Two minutes later, the flyers grounded, disgorging fifty police officers and ten medics, just as the S.P.A.R.T.A.N.'s came out the door in the cliff face, behind the still smoking wreck of the combat hovercraft.

S-2 remained chock-still, eyeing the S.P.A.R.T.A.N.'s with contempt. RISE had a low opinion of them; although nobody was quite sure why.

It might be that invisibility trick. Probably was. But nontheless, they didn't like them.

S-2 pondered doing something. Anything. Inactivity was certainly dull; often necessary... but still dull.

However...

...he decided to wait things out. Discipline wins the day.

Hopefully the people would go away eventually; and then he might be able to get a look inside that... installation. If not... he might have to risk it.

Deep down, he relished that idea. Alot.

[EDIT: misread.]

OOC: I was hoping he'd chase the guy that got away. That's what he was for, so S-2 could get some information. There ain't gonna be much left of the installation when the police are through with it.

A plane pulled in at Dor Lomin International Airport. Out stepped Joe Ritleheid, Aquillan Secretary of state.

He was here to speak to the Grand Shogun of Dor Lomin. He had a mission, to report back to the Aquillan President just what was going on in Dor Lomin. Joe got into a taxi, and ordered it to the Grand Shogun's palace. He had an appointment to make...

OOC:

1. Dor Lomin is a region, and is therefore not governed by anyone. It's governed by a council.

2. The airports are all closed due to the increase in EM radiation and security precuations. Pullling in unaanounced gets you shot dead right now. Ask first.

3. If you want to talk to someone about what's going on, either 1) see a single national leader, or 2) talk to the Security Commission Grand Council.

Joe Ritleheid stopped. A radio message said that he had actually arrived on a private helicopter instead of a plane. It also said there was no Grand Shogun of Dor Lomin.

"Oh well," he said. Pulling out his cell phone, he made a call to the Grand Shogun of Sentient Peoples. Maybe he could help.

The phone rang in the comm center of the Imperial House.

"Hello? Office of the Imperial President."

<Pause>

"Ah, okay, Secretary Ritleheid. What can I do for you?"

<Pause>

"You'd like to schedule an appointment with the Imperial President? I'm sure we can work you into the schedule somehow. What exactly did you wish to meet with him about?"

<Longer Pause>

"The current state of affairs in Dor Lomin. Hmm....How about tomorrow at 10:00 in the morning?"

(OOC: That's game time, not IRL. Go ahead and post.)

OOC: I was hoping he'd chase the guy that got away. That's what he was for, so S-2 could get some information. There ain't gonna be much left of the installation when the police are through with it.

[OOC: Oh well. Missed that.]

The police conducted a survey, mapping the facility room by room, recording everything, creating a holographic blueprint.

They copied everything out of the computers they could.

But before they started, Jessica was loaded into a flyer and sent back to Griffin. She would go St. Austin's Medical Center. D'ron would meet them there. Other than being traumatised, she was physically unharmed.

The prisoners would be interrogated, those who were wounded would only be treated enough so that their lives would not be threated for now. Kidnapping was a capital crime in the Federation.

When the police pulled out, they left one officer on duty, guarding the facility.

But he was very tired.

And again, someone other than S-2 was watching.

When the officer finally drifted off to sleep, the man who had escaped approached the facility.

If anyone was watching, it was quite clear that he intended to slay the police officer and reenter the facility, though for what purpose, one could not tell.

He crept closer and drew his knife...

The police conducted a survey, mapping the facility room by room, recording everything, creating a holographic blueprint.

They copied everything out of the computers they could.

But before they started, Jessica was loaded into a flyer and sent back to Griffin. She would go St. Austin's Medical Center. D'ron would meet them there. Other than being traumatised, she was physically unharmed.

The prisoners would be interrogated, those who were wounded would only be treated enough so that their lives would not be threated for now. Kidnapping was a capital crime in the Federation.

When the police pulled out, they left one officer on duty, guarding the facility.

But he was very tired.

And again, someone other than S-2 was watching.

When the officer finally drifted off to sleep, the man who had escaped approached the facility.

If anyone was watching, it was quite clear that he intended to slay the police officer and reenter the facility, though for what purpose, one could not tell.

He crept closer and drew his knife...

S-2 seethed as the man drew the knife.

He had himself drawn slowly closer to the installation, but his eyes and ears had not paid due attention: he had missed the man entirely.

Now, however, he did not. A hand snaked out, catching up his US wand from his belt...

...and firmly placing it against the mans temple, from one side.

The RISE agent becomes all-too-visible as he murmours, "I would not do that, if I were you. This is set to a lethal setting. - And don't even think about using that knife on me - I'd gut you as soon as look at you, scra-filnari."

The last two words are quite clearly insulting.

"So it's an Imperial President."

Joe put down his phone.

"10 AM. Great."
-----------------------
In an Aquilla Motorworks IBC-2 Bulletproof Car he had rented for his stay, Joe drove to the Imperial Palace. He noticed that the citizens that were outdoors had a sort of a scared expression on their faces. He entered the Imperial Palace, and with the help and baggage checks of numerous guards, he found the President's office.

"So, Mr. President, I've come to report back to my superiors. What I want to know is: Do you know who's doing this? Why? Do you need disaster relief? Would you like to buy a bulletproof car? :P What is the state of affairs in Dor Lomin?"

"Whoa," said the president "Too many questions at once. Have a seat, and I'll try my best to answer some of them.

"So it's an Imperial President."

Joe put down his phone.

"10 AM. Great."
-----------------------
In an Aquilla Motorworks IBC-2 Bulletproof Car he had rented for his stay, Joe drove to the Imperial Palace. He noticed that the citizens that were outdoors had a sort of a scared expression on their faces. He entered the Imperial Palace, and with the help and baggage checks of numerous guards, he found the President's office.

"So, Mr. President, I've come to report back to my superiors. What I want to know is: Do you know who's doing this? Why? Do you need disaster relief? Would you like to buy a bulletproof car? :P What is the state of affairs in Dor Lomin?"

"Whoa," said the president "Too many questions at once. Have a seat, and I'll try my best to answer some of them.

"First of all, we don't know anything about who is doing this. We are in the process of interrogating some suspects we believe to be involved though. When we have more information, we'll put out an international bulletin.

Secondly, the why seems some what clear. Whoever is behind these attacks seems to believe that the Dor Lomin Regional Alliance must cease to exist, at least in its current form and policies.

As to disaser relief, no, not really. There are no injured to take care of after these attacks. 50 megaton nukes don't leave much behind.

I've got a bulletproof vehicle. In fact, it is considerbly safer than one of your IBC-2's, but that's from the difference in our primary tech levels, I imagine. the IBC-2's are very nice vehicles.

The State of Affairs of Dor Lomin? The Combined Military is on a full alert, curfews are imposed in most countries. The Federation has assumed control of Why War, and Vanderhill, of Area Fifty-One, at least for the time being.

Any specific questions?" D'ron spread his hands in a gesture of openness.

S-2 seethed as the man drew the knife.

He had himself drawn slowly closer to the installation, but his eyes and ears had not paid due attention: he had missed the man entirely.

Now, however, he did not. A hand snaked out, catching up his US wand from his belt...

...and firmly placing it against the mans temple, from one side.

The RISE agent becomes all-too-visible as he murmours, "I would not do that, if I were you. This is set to a lethal setting. - And don't even think about using that knife on me - I'd gut you as soon as look at you, scra-filnari."

The last two words are quite clearly insulting.

The man froze for an instant.

He had counted all the police, he knew all but one had left.

A S.P.A.R.T.A.N.? No. He would just be dead.

Who ever this was, he was being too quiet and secretive to be with Dor Lomin or Federation Security. Therefore, he was not personally involved and was less of a threat, if he could be made to see reason.

But with whatever it was pressed to his head, reason was not available.

So, he must convince the man to remove it.

That required trust.

So the hand that held the knife relaxed, for an instant, before reversing the knife, placing the blade in his hand. The action was faster than an unaided human eye could have followed, and his whole body relaxed.

The police officer grumbled, and rolled over in his sleep. His uniform was getting quite dirty.

*wonders what happened to SATO?*

As a result of the Regional Alliance's proven inability to defend itself against terrorist attacks, and the reason for those attack being that the Regional Alliance does exist, the Disputed Territories of Lost Americans formally announces its withdrawl from the Alliance and all treaty obligations thereof.

Furthermore, all citizens of the Disputed Territories are hereby requested to withdraw from service of the Regional Alliance, whether it be in the adminstration, support structure, or the Combined Military. If these individuals chose not to return, it is their choice, and they will be welcomed home whenever they choose to come.

President Albert Trei
The Disputed Territories of Lost Americans
Member of Nothing

"Do you need any military troops anywhere?"

"At this time, we currently are not in need of foreign military aid in Dor Lomin. Should you have an embassy in the Regional Headquarters of New Rivendell, I would suggest that you take safety precautions and evacuate it."

S-2 seethed as the man drew the knife.

He had himself drawn slowly closer to the installation, but his eyes and ears had not paid due attention: he had missed the man entirely.

Now, however, he did not. A hand snaked out, catching up his US wand from his belt...

...and firmly placing it against the mans temple, from one side.

The RISE agent becomes all-too-visible as he murmours, "I would not do that, if I were you. This is set to a lethal setting. - And don't even think about using that knife on me - I'd gut you as soon as look at you, scra-filnari."

The last two words are quite clearly insulting.

The man froze for an instant.

He had counted all the police, he knew all but one had left.

A S.P.A.R.T.A.N.? No. He would just be dead.

Who ever this was, he was being too quiet and secretive to be with Dor Lomin or Federation Security. Therefore, he was not personally involved and was less of a threat, if he could be made to see reason.

But with whatever it was pressed to his head, reason was not available.

So, he must convince the man to remove it.

That required trust.

So the hand that held the knife relaxed, for an instant, before reversing the knife, placing the blade in his hand. The action was faster than an unaided human eye could have followed, and his whole body relaxed.

The police officer grumbled, and rolled over in his sleep. His uniform was getting quite dirty.

S-2's attention is diverted for a moment to the police officer; but only for a split-instant. And the hand never waivers. The man might well get the impression that a move would still result in whatever the end of the weapon might produce; but S-2's attention returns almost instantly.

"Now," he murmours, "who are you?"

To the point.

S-2 makes no move to take the man elsewhere; nor does he attempt to extract himself from the position he is in. The police officer is either largely irrelevant... or he feels that staying here gives him some form of advantage.

S-2's attention is diverted for a moment to the police officer; but only for a split-instant. And the hand never waivers. The man might well get the impression that a move would still result in whatever the end of the weapon might produce; but S-2's attention returns almost instantly.

"Now," he murmours, "who are you?"

To the point.

S-2 makes no move to take the man elsewhere; nor does he attempt to extract himself from the position he is in. The police officer is either largely irrelevant... or he feels that staying here gives him some form of advantage.

"Pavel Yerensky."

[OOC: Still writing... *mops brow* Will post soon. Probably later today.*

(OOC: *Looks at watch. Notes date. Looks at Ma-tek's post. Sighs.* Post when you are ready. Now I've got figure out what to do next. Oh right, the Security Forces will soon have all the information S-2 is getting. After all, they got about 30 prisoners. S-2's only got one.)

"Well, Comrade Jacobs?"

"Not all is proceeding as planned, my Leader."

"So I gathered. What went wrong?"

"I assume that the base was spotted from orbit, but I do not know."

"Hmmm. Can we still proceed?"

"I believe so. The situation did have one advantage, though, the withdrawl of Lost American."

"Yes. Definitely a good thing for the cause. Now go convince someone else to withdraw. Who haven't we hit yet?"

"Enyalius, One without Self, The Halo, Vanderhill, Peitha and ourselves."

"The Halo is too well covered by Cortana to sneak anything in there, not counting the fact that it is on an island. Vanderhill is watching over Area Fifty-One for the Alliance, we know hitting them won't do anything. Peitha, nothing good would come of that, plus they are too close to home, for now. That leaves One without Self and Enyalius. Frank won't listen to reason, he's to war-mongering, but Harrington is crazy. We might do something there. See about it, and set up a hit on Enyalius as well."

"Of course, my Leader."

S-2's attention is diverted for a moment to the police officer; but only for a split-instant. And the hand never waivers. The man might well get the impression that a move would still result in whatever the end of the weapon might produce; but S-2's attention returns almost instantly.

"Now," he murmours, "who are you?"

To the point.

S-2 makes no move to take the man elsewhere; nor does he attempt to extract himself from the position he is in. The police officer is either largely irrelevant... or he feels that staying here gives him some form of advantage.

"Pavel Yerensky."

[OOC: Some of this might seem a little godmoddy, but I thought it would aid the story. And aiding the story is good. Yes. Good. Mmm. Story. I especially refer to the fact that the document arrives on the desk, and nobody quite knows why or how.

Anyway, SP, if any of this doesn't meet your approval, I'll willingly (and gladly) edit it.

Lastly, I'd like to note that all the information in the document at the end was provided by SP OOCly via telegram. I didn't make anything up. I even actually used his exact words, with a few additions to add S-2s character into the information.

Enjoy. Or whatever.]

IC:

S-2 took his time. He slowly weaved a web; and the web suggested slyly that sanctuary might be granted if the right information was given; and the information proved true. He never said so in so many words; but that was the underlying message.

Yerensky slowly grew anxious. The police officer, after all, might awake at any time; and he would be revealed to the authorities. It was by no means certain that this man whom desired the information would lift a finger to protect him; he might escape...

...but then he might not. And the offer of sanctuary seemed appealing.

And so the information spilled.

Once S-2 decided he could not discern any further information, he sighed quietly. Tiredness gleamed gently in his eyes; yet his posture belied none of it. The police man would never have awakened; S-2 was concentrating hard on preventing just that, directing gentle waves of relaxation at him; indeed, some of that had spilled over onto Yerensky... but that had merely made his job that little bit easier.

Quietly, he states to Yerensky, "You have done well. But I must say this: I am sorry."

The US wand fires; Yerensky crumples to the ground, blood seeping from his ears and nose.

S-2 sighs again, a sigh filled with sorrow. "I am sorry," he repeats, "but I cannot allow you to reveal my existance. And better that you die without pain than be executed without any honour. Or worse."

With that... and a sorrowful glance back... S-2 vanishes from the scene.

* * *

A document arrives on the desk of the presiding DLSS officer in the investigation into the recent incidents:

EYES ONLY

This document is most likely something of a surprise. I will not descry whom I am, or whom I work for, or where I come from; suffice to say that I am a friend.

The information contained herein was procured from an interrogation of one Pavel Yerensky; it took quite a bit of my time, and I trust that it will be considered with the utmost importance. Mr. Yerensky is currently lying about five feet in front of a police officer whom was given the task of guarding the site of a recent raid against a terrorist element whom were holding a certain young girl against her will; I watched the raid. Your S.P.A.R.T.A.Ns ought to be chastised. They failed to note my presence. Mr. Yerensky is, unfortunatley, dead. I fear I had to do do that. I express my sorrow at such an act; but I could not risk giving myself away. My condolences to his family; he was a good man, after a fashion. After a fashion. At any rate, the data procured during the investigation follows.

And one more thing: do not chastise the police officer in question; for it was I whom made he sleep. It is not his fault he missed me; although perhaps you might consider training your police force in the art of greater mental discipline.

The Information Gathered in the Interrogation of One Mr. Pavel Yerensky

Mr. Yerensky and his two brothers, Louis and Edward, were approached by a David Fuchien with a job offer. The brothers were well connected in what remains of the Dor Lomin Underworld. Mr. Yerensky did not appear to know to whom they posessed these connections.

Fuchien wanted them to do a few things. First, they were to get 40 drivers, who would deliver hovervans to certain places, for money, no questions asked. Second, they were to acquire a sniper on retainer. Third, they were to kidnap Jessica Smith. They were also placed on retainer for any other actions that might be required. The size of the retainer was not discussed. I felt it of little importance.

Pavel is the oldest brother, in charge of the other two. Edward was in charge of he kidnapping operation, while Louis was in charge of getting the drivers. None of the brothers, like the drivers, asked what they would be delivering. I presume the other two perished in the raid, although, from my information alone, this is not at all certain.

The drivers were sent to an address in Beruitis, the capital of Palpastine to pick up their trucks. I could not extract the address, and did not wish to waste time doing so, and so I moved on.

Pavel was visiting the kidnapping operation when the S.P.A.R.T.A.N.'s attacked. He'd actually been getting ready to leave, but that is of no consequence.

Document Ends

Senior Officer James Franconne, of DLSS, read the document on his desk twice. Then he called his secretary in. "Who delivered this?" he asked, indicating the document.

"I don't know, sir. I've never seen it before."

"Okay." Franconne motioned for her to leave. The scary thing was, this matched the information he and others had managed to extract from the other prisoners. But it lacked some details. Like the fact that Louis had survived, as had Edward. Louis had in fact never been to that base before, but Edward had been captured. Also, he had the address in Beruitis to work with. It was under surveillence, but some far, nothing had been reported.

The disgusted tone when refering to the S.P.A.R.T.A.N's was a surprise, but he knew that the team had messed up pretty badly. It had been their first mission. Of course, its only objective had been the successful rescue of Jessica Smith, so if they had missed anyone it was of no importance. He knew the S.P.A.R.T.A.N.'s had a tendency to rely on thier highly sensitive motion trackers, rather than anything else, which if the man wasn't moving, or they'd been surrounded by lots of point sources for motion, they could had probably missed him.

Franconne wondered who could have sent the message. Federation Security was always trying to show the DLSS up, mainly cause they were just as good. Both sets of officers had interrogated the prisoners, and they were sharing all the information they had. Once they had everything that they could get, the prisoners had been turned over to Federatin State Security, for trial and execution. They were all given a fair trial. But the evidence was damning. 1 count Capital Kiddnapping, multiple counts of Treason, for firing on members of the Combined Military in the course of their duties. Each one had received a sentence of death, by firing squad or hanging, depending on level of involvement in the incidents.

So, of course, it was not Federation Security. It had to be someone outside the loop. Military Intelligence? No. Not with the attitude towards the S.P.A.R.T.A.N.'s. An outsider then, but a helpful one. A securty agent from ToY, or Menelmacar? Maybe. Suddenly a connection was made in his mind. He called up the report on the UFO engaged by the automated defenses. Some kind of transport then? That got who ever this was in country? It had been fast, the defenses had been lucky to bring it down at all. The parts that had hit the ground had been melted slag, unfortunately, so there was nothing to go on. He looked at the speed of the object again. For some reason it screamed EOTED to him. Perhaps Imperial Security or IDF Intelligence? Or whatever they had over there? He'd submit a question through the IRD and see if that got him anywhere....

S-2 allowed himself a grin as he stood, unseen, in a train station. He was taking a rather strange around-a-bout route to Beruitis - and wasn't quite sure what would befall him once he got there. Nor did he quite know what he would do once he arrived.

But he supposed that the Path would show itself. It usually did.

And so, he grinned. He knew that, by now, the DLSS officer in question would have probably begun - at the least - linking the threads together. He actually revelled in the idea, somewhat. It didn't matter, as far as he was concerned, whether his existance was discovered - that had been allowed for already, in his plans. As far as those extended, at any rate. And they didn't extend as far as he'd like.

But he knew that the source of the information would be discovered, eventually: there were few, if any, nations which could match an EOTED aircraft for speed inside an atmosphere. And there were few organisations that could elude detection by a group of S.P.A.R.T.A.N.'s during a raid. And even fewer that could do both of those, and extract information from a terrorist - right in front of a police officer.

A small part of him warned that his confidence would be his downfall; Semi Ran's doctrine taught that.

Yet he ignored it...

...no doubt at great peril.

(OOC: I'll assume from your last post, that S-2 intended to board a train)

The mag-lev train soared along the coastine, northward at first. It passed out of the cities, and began its journey through fertile fields of crops. The spine of a mountain range could be seen far to the west. Smaller towns could be seen flashing by; they were not important enough for this train. After a few hours, the train slowed as it approached mountain. It was entering one of the most spectacular parts of Dor Lomin.

It would make the entire journey through the Dwarven Kingdom of Corti underground. Great columns and tunnels flashed by, as the train moved at a slow pace of 150 kilometers per hour.

Soon it left Corti, after stopping once, and entered JHVH, where it would not stop at all.

And then, the Kingdom of One without Self. Ruled by a senile old man, too stubborn to die or step down. The train would stop in Glas-glown.

And so it did. But not at the station.

Oh, no.

For it too was the victim of a terrorist strike.

Terrorists, had, in secret, boarded the train in Corti, and proceeded to hijack it, once it had entered One without Self. But they couldn't stop the train before it reached the city. And so, on the outskirts of the capital, the train sat.

Terrorists, or hijackers, or whatever they were, moved through every car, taking valuables, and hurting people for fun. Those who resisted were brutally beaten, and left for dead.

And then, an explosion shook the train as the engine erupted in flame.

DLSS was retaking the train.

Soon, those on the train were safely evacuated, and the hijackers rounded up. It would turn out that they had nothing to do with the terrorists, but had thought that if so many police forces were dealing with said terrorists they could get away with taking the train.

They had been wrong.

All the passengers were loaded onto a new train, and sent a long their journey. It travelled around the Lake of Kings and accelerated to the northeast, towards Palpastine. It passed through the mountains and entered the massive forests of Palpastine. Tree, 150 meters tall, and twenty at the base. These were ancient trees.

All too soon, though not for some, the train passed out of the forest and entered Beruitis.

The journey had taken twelve hours, including the time for the DLSS to retake the train. A clock would say, on the other hand, that fourteen hours had passed.

(OOC: I'll assume from your last post, that S-2 intended to board a train)

The mag-lev train soared along the coastine, northward at first. It passed out of the cities, and began its journey through fertile fields of crops. The spine of a mountain range could be seen far to the west. Smaller towns could be seen flashing by; they were not important enough for this train. After a few hours, the train slowed as it approached mountain. It was entering one of the most spectacular parts of Dor Lomin.

It would make the entire journey through the Dwarven Kingdom of Corti underground. Great columns and tunnels flashed by, as the train moved at a slow pace of 150 kilometers per hour.

Soon it left Corti, after stopping once, and entered JHVH, where it would not stop at all.

And then, the Kingdom of One without Self. Ruled by a senile old man, too stubborn to die or step down. The train would stop in Glas-glown.

And so it did. But not at the station.

Oh, no.

For it too was the victim of a terrorist strike.

Terrorists, had, in secret, boarded the train in Corti, and proceeded to hijack it, once it had entered One without Self. But they couldn't stop the train before it reached the city. And so, on the outskirts of the capital, the train sat.

Terrorists, or hijackers, or whatever they were, moved through every car, taking valuables, and hurting people for fun. Those who resisted were brutally beaten, and left for dead.

And then, an explosion shook the train as the engine erupted in flame.

DLSS was retaking the train.

Unfortunatley for the terrorists, they don't reckon with the slight-looking - but quite muscular, under his entire-body-covering clothing - man seated silently near the rear of his cabin.

Oh, no. Indeed, they reckon so little with him, that they try the whole 'hurting him for fun' business.

It doesn't go well for them.

The RISE man ignores the activity, at first, deciding that silence might well keep him from the fore; but as things don't quite turn out that way - and a kick aimed at his chest is quite clearly threatening - his tact rapidly shifts. A hand, cloaked in his clothing, flashes out, catching the foot and snapping the ankle like a twig; lifting the leg, the RISE man turns and hurls him against the carriage wall.

At this point, the RISE man Draws the Shadows. A nearby terrorist who had been in the process of aiming his gun at him emits a sharp sound of surprise; but opens fire anyway. Several innocent bystanders are cut down; but the RISE agent is no longer where he was. Ducking low and under the range of fire, the shadowy agent snaps a kick into the mans shin; his hand opens his cloak in the same motion, drawing out his US wand and aiming upwards from the hip in the general direction of the terrorists chin. Blank expression, he presses the trigger; the man falls silently to the floor - mostly due to the sharp kick - and breathes no longer. Cold fury surged through every synapse of S-2's mind, bubbling outwards without his bidding; this buys him a small amount of grace time.

Now, the disappearing act surprises the terrorists somewhat, no doubt...

...but the problem is as follows: S-2 is, obviously, in a train. Trains are not known for their wide spaces or open nature. That presents a problem. Despite the toughness of finding where to look, and thus seeing S-2, there really aren't all that many places to look...

[OOC: Consider the double-whammy to be a whopping initiative bonus for the high-ranking RISE agent.


Latent note: ARGH. I didn't see the above post, somehow. Want me to edit this into oblivion, or not?]

And as the hijackers stoop to look around for the funny man, laser fire rips down the cabin, bisecting the hijackers, sending body parts all over the cabin. DLSS had arrived.

Everyone was safe now. The evacuation could begin.

[OOC: And now my post before yours. I'll repost it for the sake of ease.]

Soon, those on the train were safely evacuated, and the hijackers rounded up. It would turn out that they had nothing to do with the terrorists, but had thought that if so many police forces were dealing with said terrorists they could get away with taking the train.

They had been wrong.

All the passengers were loaded onto a new train, and sent a long their journey. It travelled around the Lake of Kings and accelerated to the northeast, towards Palpastine. It passed through the mountains and entered the massive forests of Palpastine. Tree, 150 meters tall, and twenty at the base. These were ancient trees.

All too soon, though not for some, the train passed out of the forest and entered Beruitis.

The journey had taken twelve hours, including the time for the DLSS to retake the train. A clock would say, on the other hand, that fourteen hours had passed.

S-2 had been surprised that he hadn't been killed, to be truthful. Perhaps he ought to have taken the kick to the chest; perhaps not. Either way, things had turned out well in the end.

Well for him, anyway. Not so for the hijackers.

However... he scowled as he disembarked from the train. He had a feeling that he only had a small grace period before 1 and 1 was added together, and it was realised that two men suffering massive brain haemorhrages in a short space of time - both shortly after attacks of a terrorist nature or against terrorists by the authorities, one of an man interrogated, one of a man on a train en route to a town mentioned in said interrogation - just had to be linked.

There couldn't be any other interpretation, as far as S-2 was concerned. So he made haste; he aimed to find the lowest, seediest bar he could; and find the most depressed people possible.

He reasoned that only that sort of person would even consider terrorist action; or even involvement with said terrorist action. And perhaps that would in turn yield information.

OOC: I'll post later. I've got to go. We need to figure out a time when we can both be on for a while, and knock some of this out of the way, cause my preparations for the surprise at the end are going very well.

Franconne looked at the report on his computer terminal. Why did I get this? He began to read. It was a report on the train hijacking in One without Self. Down near the bottom there was a list of the hijackers killed when the train was retaken..


...killed by laser pistol....killed by laser pistol...killed by laser pistol...cause of death massive hemoraging of the brain, suspected cause ultra-sonic bombardment.

The same way Pavel Yerensky had ended up dead.

That tied into his thoughts about EOTED earlier. They were the only ones who used US weaponry to a great extent. But the response to his question from the Empire seemed to contradict this evidence.

"In response to your enquiry, we deny the presence and/or operation of an operative of the aforementioned agencies in Dor Lomin."

*************************************************

Louis Yerensky sat at the bar, in the Boar's Head, staring into his beer. It was dark and dank, fitting his mood. He had just learned both of his brothers were dead. This was his eigth beer, he thought, but he was too drunk to drink it.

Things had been going so well. Just as Fuchien had wanted. It hadn't taken him long to figure out his drivers were delivering the bombs that kept exploding.

He had a powerful mind. He could sense things about people, perhaps low grade telepathy, even. He had kept the brothers out of tight spots before, but this time, he hadn't been able to stop it. They were dead. He knew, intellectually, that it wasn't his fault, but his heart couldn't except that.

And so he had continued with his work. Fuchien had wanted a delivery in One without Self, but Louis had objected, saying the borders were too tight and controlled. They had come up with a plan.

He had acquired the hijackers to hit the train. He had convinced the leader to take the risk, though it had taken all of his oratorial skills and his other talents to do so.

While the Royal Police Force and the DLSS had been retaking the train, his drivers had snuck in, while security was distracted.

He didn't care about the millions who had died, or probably would die as a result of his actions.

His brothers were gone. And Dor Lomin had taken them from him. The Federation of Sentient Peoples had taken them from him. They would all pay, if it was the last thing he ever did.

Seeing as how Louis was too drunk to go anywhere, one of the barmaids took him upstairs to her room.

He was in such a state, he told her everything, rambling it out, on and on. They fell asleep in the bed when he finished, and when she awoke the next morning, he was gone, never to be seen again.

King Harrington sighed as he slipped the last document into the outgoing file.

He was glancing towards the clock, when the phone on his desk rang.

He picked it up.

"'ello?"

"Greetings, Pepe."

"Do I know you?" He didn't recognize the voice, but it was late and he was tired.

"Know me? No. But I am sure you know of me?"

"What?"

"Don't bother trying to trace this call. The attempt will fail. I thought you should know."

"YOU!"

"Yes, me."

"Then that means..." Harrington's voice trailed off as comprehension hit him.

"Yes, it does. Twelve hours, Pepe. Twelve hour."

The line went dead. It was midnight.

Louis Yerensky was very good at whatever he did. And now, he was seeking revenge.

But first he needed information. Information to find the people he wanted to kill.

But to get this information, he went straight to the source.

He found Fuchien. At his house, during the night.

And with his pistol pressed to the head on Fuchien's fifteen year-old daughter, he got the information he needed for the next link in the chain.

Comrade Emil Jacobs.

Jacobs tried to play Yerensky. And Yerensky let him think he had.

Jacobs wanted Louis to think he was running the show, but Louis, his ESP perhaps strengthened by his loss, found in Jacobs mind the man that was truly running the show.

But he gained the information he wanted as well. How to kill the leaders of Dor Lomin. D'ron Smith. Lesley Collins. Johnathan Currey. John 117.

In less than a week, they would be dead. And he'd be back for Jacobs and Popil.

**********************************

Jacobs wanted to scream. It had all been going so well. He'd been delighted when he'd convinced Yerensky to kill the four most annoying leaders in Dor Lomin.

But now this!

The report on his desk told of Carlos Harrington returning to the Palace.

He should have been gone, at the mountain home, until after the attacks were carried out.

The whole point of the attack was incapacitate the Kingdom's government, not decapitate it. If Carlos went up with the bombs as well, Vanderhill would likely have to take over the running of One without Self, as there would be no government. And it was too late to stop the bombs from going off.

Should be any second now....

Five.....

Four....

Three...

Two..

One.

And the flames of hell erupted throughout the major cities in One without Self, of which there were only five.

The air itself was on fire as buildings vaporized and civilain personal computer systems crashed as far away as two hundred kilometers.

Hardened, re-enforced bunkers could not withstand the fury.

The air was gone in a superheated wave, as the fury of terror wiped another 400 million sentient beings from existence.

For as hydrogen met hydrogen, the Lake of Kings shown brighter than any star.

The Dominion of Vanderhill, with the consent of the Grand Council of the Dor Lomin Regional Allaince, will be assuming a protectorship over the Kingdom of One without Self until such time as the Kingdom can be returned to self rule.

Office of the Prime Minister
Dominion of Vanderhill

<Secure Line Conversation>
<Sentient Peoples - Peitha>

"Lesley, do you think we should cancel the little get together on Saturday?"

"No. We need to remain as normal as we can, to show these terrorist they aren't getting to us."

"Are you sure? Dinner, a movie and a walk in the park will be really exposed."

"It'll be okay, D'ron."

"Alright. Goodnight. I love you."

"Goodnight. Love you, too."

<End Communication>

"Well, Jacobs?"

"Things appear to be going as well as could be expected. Murphy has made his appearance a number of time. But overall, the plan is roughly succeeding."

"Succeeding? SUCCEEDING?! Are you blind? We've killed nearly a billion people."

"Ah, yes, my Leader."

"That is not success. These dogs are proving that they stick together more in time of trouble, rather than it pull them apart."

"Yes, my Leader."

"I want the regional headquarters destroyed. Cleanse that island of every living and non-living thing. It should be a glass parking lot when you are done."

"Yes, my Leader. At once."

OOC: Ma-tek assume S-2 can find out anything the barmaid may know, which is basically the monologue that runs in Yerensky's head in that whole post. I work all day on Saturday, but if there is nothing from you, I'm going on with my part of the story, when I get home.

[sorry it took me so long to get back]

"Well, goodbye, D'Ron. One last thing - I'd like to let you know that the citizens of Aquilla are very upset about this. We are very pro-capitalism, you know. That is why I came. For the safety of the Capitalistic World, get this over soon."

Ritleheid left the palace. He hadn't gotten all the information he had wanted, but it would do. He would email the President about what he had learned. Ritleheid returned to his hotel.

Franconne looked at the report on his computer terminal. Why did I get this? He began to read. It was a report on the train hijacking in One without Self. Down near the bottom there was a list of the hijackers killed when the train was retaken..


...killed by laser pistol....killed by laser pistol...killed by laser pistol...cause of death massive hemoraging of the brain, suspected cause ultra-sonic bombardment.

The same way Pavel Yerensky had ended up dead.

That tied into his thoughts about EOTED earlier. They were the only ones who used US weaponry to a great extent. But the response to his question from the Empire seemed to contradict this evidence.

"In response to your enquiry, we deny the presence and/or operation of an operative of the aforementioned agencies in Dor Lomin."

*************************************************

Louis Yerensky sat at the bar, in the Boar's Head, staring into his beer. It was dark and dank, fitting his mood. He had just learned both of his brothers were dead. This was his eigth beer, he thought, but he was too drunk to drink it.

Things had been going so well. Just as Fuchien had wanted. It hadn't taken him long to figure out his drivers were delivering the bombs that kept exploding.

He had a powerful mind. He could sense things about people, perhaps low grade telepathy, even. He had kept the brothers out of tight spots before, but this time, he hadn't been able to stop it. They were dead. He knew, intellectually, that it wasn't his fault, but his heart couldn't except that.

And so he had continued with his work. Fuchien had wanted a delivery in One without Self, but Louis had objected, saying the borders were too tight and controlled. They had come up with a plan.

He had acquired the hijackers to hit the train. He had convinced the leader to take the risk, though it had taken all of his oratorial skills and his other talents to do so.

While the Royal Police Force and the DLSS had been retaking the train, his drivers had snuck in, while security was distracted.

He didn't care about the millions who had died, or probably would die as a result of his actions.

His brothers were gone. And Dor Lomin had taken them from him. The Federation of Sentient Peoples had taken them from him. They would all pay, if it was the last thing he ever did.

Seeing as how Louis was too drunk to go anywhere, one of the barmaids took him upstairs to her room.

He was in such a state, he told her everything, rambling it out, on and on. They fell asleep in the bed when he finished, and when she awoke the next morning, he was gone, never to be seen again.

The Queen scowled. As head of all EOTED Intelligence Services, she had had to give authorisation for the response to Dor Lomin.

She didn't like lying. She didn't like the fact that she had a man in Dor Lomin, either. She didn't like the fact that he probably would never come back, either. And lastly... she didn't like the fact that EOTED was only taking a covert role in the events.

She thought that there must be something - anything, actually - that EOTED could do.

But the Executive Council disagreed. Three votes to one.

There was nothing more to do... but wait.

And hope.

*************************************************************

S-2 had been lucky. He had been in the very bar that Yerensky had been drinking in; he had even sensed the mans presence. Or not-presence, to be precise. For some reason, that had decided things. He would not act. Besides: there were too many innocents present. Things might turn nasty, some part of his mind had whispered...

...and on top of that, he had a feeling that the man would sense hostility like a beacon. So... he kept his thoughts neutral. On normal bar-type feelings; distress, anxiety... fear.

And so, unseen, unnoticed, he had watched Yerensky drink. He had not known whom he was, exactly, of course; but the few times he had glimpsed the mans face, he was almost certain of a resemblance to the man he had... regret welled up briefly... killed just a little while before.

And so, he had watched Yerenksy drink. He had watched him leave with the barmaid. And had waited patiently, until the bar closed, and there was no sign of Yerenksy or the barmaid.

And then waited outside. When Yerensky had left the bar, something - he didn't know what, although perhaps it had been regret for killing his brother, and an unwillingness to kill yet another person - kept him from following.

Reluctance set it. And by the time it had passed, Yerensky was gone.

The bar opened once again. And he went inside, waiting for the barmaids shift to begin. And when it did, he sidled up to the bar with a sorrowful smile, and began to talk to her in a saddened tone. He spoke of experiences he had never had; of having a family, of having closeness with people; and then of experiences he had had, of losing a family, of losing the closeness. To be fair, he'd almost never had the closeness; he had been brought up for most of his youth in a RISE building, trained and educated in all that he would need to know.

That sadness served him well. Slowly, over a relativley short period of time - and in no small part due to his own low-level psionic tinkering (a push here, a push there, and trust that was already building grew) - he gained her trust.

He, too, drank copiously. He, however, did not get intoxicated. Unlike humans, Nenyans have the relevant complete set of instructions in their DNA to produce enough vitamin c to render alcohol rather useless; they simply do not get intoxicated. Of course, there are other methods of intoxication... but not via alcohol.

He feigned well, however.

And she, being the pleasant and kind woman that she so obviously was - his heart panged sadly that he would never be able to love a woman, to be close to a woman, and a part of him yearned for the woman he would never love to be this one - she listened. She took him upstairs, in much the same way that she had Yerensky. And he then broke that trust.

He pushed her, psionically, urging her in a silent voice to spill the words that Yerensky had spoken; and she did. She had little choice, really; caught between a rock and a hard place. It wasn't difficult; he sowed the seed that perhaps he was a Dor Lomin intelligence officer - not with words, as that would never have worked - but with actions, with speach of a great patriotic duty; and her own patriotism reared its head. However little or large it was, coupled with the deaths in recent times, she spilled.

As he left the bar that night, he sagged against its wall; he cried. Slowly, the tears spilled down his face; his heart beat hard. Sorrow filled him. Regret. Fear. He did not know it - not in so many words - but he loved that woman. He loved her; and he had never known he could.

And he would never know he did, either.

The burst of emotional discontent did not last. It was brief, mercifully so. His control reasserted itself. And, quietly, calmly, he left the city.

But not before making sure - through a bit of 'nifty' computer work - that a short message would appear on the screen of the man whoms desk had held the report he had placed there so short a time before:

Danger in Beruitis. Terrorist attack likely imminent.

A Friend.

OOC: Holy crap. That was good. You nearly made me cry along with S-2.

IC:

Franconne looked up as a message blinked onto his terminal.

Danger in Beruitis. Terrorist attack likely imminent.

A Friend

He had just finished compiling the information from the attacks in One without Self. Could this be the same person who had delivered the earlier message? And to what might they be refering?

He had returned to his main office, in the Regional Alliance Headquarters. But the message had found him here.

He was convinced it was EOTED. Those people seemed to have a way with things. But he had no proof. He would have perfered to have someone half this effective working for him. As far as he could determine, this agent was alone, with no support base. Nothing he could track.

Monday. He would consider this more on Monday. Tonight he would go home and sleep, before going to church in the morning.

But Franconne didn't know the church wouldn't be there in the morning. Nor his home, nor office, nor his family.

He proceeded to dump everything he had into the Security Network, that shared information between the National Police Forces and the Regional Security Service.

It was the last action his desk terminal would ever complete.

"Goodbye, Officer Franconne," was the last thing he would ever hear.

Franconne stood to leave as his computer powered down. He reached for his coat...

But he didn't complete the action.

His coat was gone. So was the wall. And so was Franconne.

For hundreds of kilometers, in every direction, a flash was seen. A terrible, eye-searing flash.

Except in the Holy Empire of Enyalius. There the flash was not seen, for the sequenced detenation of three fifty-megaton nuclear devices was nothing compared to the fireball which seared the night sky in that Country.

A small child had been playing near a dumpster, and had bumped into it on his bicycle. That had set off a motion detector, rigged to the fail-safe device on one of the stolen nuclear weapons.

Hydrogen met Hydrogen. Helium formed. Energy was release. A second pairing occured.

A small star was born in Sparta, capital of Enyalius. A dragon of fire, and radiation consumed all in its path, starting with the dumpster, then the child. He never had the chance to know he had just caused four hundred million lives to end a day early.

And the dawn of a new star awakened those who had not died from its birth pangs, for the heat and light of its passage was fit to the very heart of Hell itself, and so became Enyalius, Pillar of Faith in the Dor Lomin region.

S-2 tried to remain objective.

He tried hard. Yet he still ended up snarling, "Bastards," with great feeling; this whole situation had become very personal.

He didn't quite know why, really. But he had decided one thing: every last individual involved in this... this... disgusting act of violence... would die.

Preferably by his hands. Bare hands would be even better.

His - now very personal - search for Fuchien began in earnest.

But one thing nagged at him: regret. He wished he had thought to take the woman with him; he wished very hard that he had. Yet he hadn't. His training had prevailed.

Fury boiled up within him again; yes, Fuchien would die. Slowly. Very, very, very slowly.

He would know this... this... agony of loss that S-2 didn't even realise he felt fully... to as great a degree that S-2 could produce.

And that, S-2 thought angrily to himself, is a very great degree indeed...

[OOC: A great many thanks for the compliment, SP. I rather liked that post too, if I may so myself. ;)]

The explosions that had wracked both the Regional Headquarters and Enyalius delayed "National Leaders Night Out," but only by a day.

And so Yerensky had stayed, hidden in the Griffin Central Park. His pistol was ready, and his combat knife. He would wait until Hell itself froze over, but those he had come to kill would die, if it were the last thing he ever did.

Griffin Central Park was deserted, as usual, when D'ron, Lesley, Prime Minister Currey, his wife, John 117 and the Cortana avatar went walking through it.

James Bond: The Iron Fortress had been a good movie, if a little formulaic by now. Dinner at Billy Bob's Seafood had been excellent.

And now a walk in the park. It had been exhuastively swept by security teams before hand, but Yerensky had figured out how to hide days before.

He had been missed. In addition, he had a military issue EMP mine positioned in their path, as he had expected the Cortana avatar.

Then he saw them. Walking along, talking, having fun. Friends. Fury boiled within him. And that fury, as he aimed, betrayed him. His aim was off ever so slightly as he fired.

D'ron heard the shot and spun in the direction it came from. Beside him, a 15 mm slug slammed John 117 into the ground, shot in the gut. While he had once been a S.P.A.R.T.A.N. he was much older now, and it had been a long time since he had faced combat. The shock disabled him much more than the wound.

As he pulled the trigger, Yerensky leapt into motion. He ran towards his targets, and triggered the EMP mine. The Cortana avatar collasped to the ground.

Cortana, having local facilities, had not been contained in the avatar, and so had not been damaged, but she was removed from the situation.

Yerensky fired again, striking Mrs. Currey on the right side of her chest.

By this time, guards near the outer edge of the park were in motion.

The three still standing before Yerensky's gun were in motion as well.

D'ron shoved Lesley out of the next shot, taking it as a graze to his left arm. He drew his sword quickly, being slightly eccentric, he had of course brought it with him.

Prime Minister Currey fell with the next two shots, one through his leg and one through his neck. Neither was immediately lethal.

Lesley tried to pick herself up off the ground where D'ron had shoved her, and caught a bullet in her side for her trouble. Her blood began to mingle with that of those already on the ground.

But one more person's blood would still be shed tonight.

Yerensky aimed at D'ron as he ran towards him. Poor stupid fool, he thought.


But D'ron was ready for him. At the last second he sidestepped as Yerensky pulled the trigger. Seven shots fired. Yerensky was out. D'ron had identified the weapon with the first shot. The Federated Arms YP-11, Civilian Model. Seven shot magazine.

As Yerensky threw down his pistol in disgust, he drew his combat knife with his free hand. He was dead, he knew that already, as D'ron was too good with the blade he now carried. His knife's 19 cm blade was nothing to the 1.1 meter blade D'ron could wield as easily as a knife.

It was over in less than forty seconds. By the time the first guard arrived on the scene, D'ron had Yerensky on the ground, slowly applying pressure from the blade to his stomach.

"Who sent you?" D'ron snarled, more furious than anyone there had ever seen him. Yerensky shook his head.

D'ron whipped the blade about faster than could be followed, but the results were obvious. Yerensky was bleeding from his left ear to his chin, and from his shoulder to his groin, where the tip of the sword now rested.

"Who. Sent. You?" With each word, D'ron pushed the sword a little harder into Yerensky. Yerensky again shook his head.

D'ron pushed the sword through, into the soft ground beneath Yerensky. Yerensky screamed in pain, drowning out the sirens even now approaching. Less than two minutes had passed since the first shot.

Yerensky told everything he knew. And once he finished, D'ron left him, bleeding into the ground, for the guards.

D'ron headed to St. Austin's Medical Center, where he awaited the surgeries that would hopefully save the lives of his friends to finish.

Hours passed, and then more hours. Another Cortana avatar joined him after the first hour.

And after eight hours of surgeries, the doctors, looking harried, and exhuasted came out within minutes of each other. All four patients had survived, but they would be unable to do anything for an extended period of time.

D'ron, as a primary representative of the Regional Alliance, both internationally and domestically, was now left with the most horrible decision he had ever faced. What to do about Hammad Popil, Leader of the Rogue Nation of Palpastine....

"Well, my Leader, Yerensky has failed us."

"Yes, he has."

"My Leader, might now be the time to back away from our course of action, before we are discovered?"

"Yes, it might just be that. We have dealt what may yet be a mortal blow to the Alliance. Perhaps if at this point we were to withdraw, others might follow our example. It bears thinking upon. Let us wait until the public reaction from the assassination attempt is clear, at least. Oh, and increase my security presence."

"At once, my Leader."

"And Jacobs, you've done an excellent job so far. Be ready for anything at this point."

"Of course, my Leader."

As a result of Saturday's terrorist attack in the Holy Empire of Enyalius, the Grand Council of the Dor Lomin Regional Alliance, that of it which remains, sees no choice but to grant guardianship of the aforementioned nation to another for the time being. Seeing as how the most convient nation, the Dominion of Vanderhill, is currently administering two other nations following similar attacks, the Dominion of the Halo will be assignned the task of administering and rebuilding the Holy Empire of Enyalius.

Official Press Release, Office of Chief of Staff.

D'ron stepped into a dark chamber in the heart of the Imperial House. The door whispered shut behind him. He consulted the status board mounted on the wall near the door. Seven green lights, ten red ones. As he watched, two of the lights went green. Palpastine and The Halo.

Nine lights, that was what he was waiting for.

He pressed a button on the panel and heard the faint noises of the recorders and hologram projectors coming to life.

He stepped to the center of the room as the lights came up, and he spoke.

"Go active."

The lights flashed once, and then nine figures appeared around him. Cortana, Popil, Reardon, Richman, whoever was representing JHVH, Regis, Unoc, Mouse, and Tian-zhong. That was everyone.

"Friends, allies, greetings. I come before you bearing the gravest news that has ever been released upon this alliance. As you are all no doubt aware, on Sunday night, myself and Empress Collins, Prime Minister Currey, his wife, Master Chief John 117, and a Cortana avatar came under attack. This attack was done in opposition to this alliance, and for the purpose of destroying it. Friends, we have been betrayed. One whom we trusted has brought all this upon us, the slaughter of the past few weeks. One man masterminded the entire plot. I have here the signed confession of Louis Alan Yerensky, given freely under Federation and Dor Lomin law, with that he on the express orders of one man, did conceive and carry out those plans which have cuased this alliance so much loss of life."

"Comrades, I come before you for justice." D'ron's voice was a thing of space hardened steel, and pain hovered just below the surface. "By my oath to you, I call upon yours to me. As I swore to protect and guard our people, so I now require your aid to that end, for he who has killed and maimed so many carries the title of Leader, and I may not touch him while he shelters behind its protection."

The plea to the council was ancient, from before the formation of any of their nations, but it was no less valid for that fact.

While most of the Council was in too much shock upon hearing the Formal Appeal for Justice, Cortana replied, "By our oath to you, we honor your demand for justice. If any man in this Chamber has offended against you or yours, name him and present your proof of his crimes, then Leader or no, he shall answer for them as the law decrees."

D'ron smiled slightly and fixed his stare on Popil's hologram, as he pressed the transmit key on his datapad. Based on Yerensky's confession, the Federation National Police and the DLSS had been able to quickly confirm the treachery of Popil. The information appeared both holographically and on screens before each leader, but even before the they could read it, D'ron spoke. "I name our enemy Hammad William Yassar Popil, Leader of the Rogue Nation of Palpastine. I accuse him of murder, conspiracy, kidnapping, treason and crimes against the People." Every leaders' eyes shot to Popil, as the jaws of a trap. "You see in front of you the proof of his crimes. That Hammad Popil personally ordered my death, the deaths of Lesley Collins, Johnathan Currey, John 117, that Hammad Popil, Emil Jacobs, in his employ, David Fuchien, also in his employ, and Louis, Pavel, Edward Yerensky, also in his employ, along with a large number of others, did conspire to kidnap Jessica Smith, and also to murder 1,401,002,678 citizens of the Dor Lomin Regional Alliance, and doing so knowingly commited treason against the Regional Alliance and Acts of War against its member states."

"Comrades, by your oath to me, and the proofs I have offered, I claim the position and title of Hammad Popil forfeit for his crimes, his cruelty, and his violation of his oath to this Council, and that he stand forth before a trial of his peers, to recieve his punishment as the laws of those nations offended and this Alliance require."

Once again the majority of the Council members were too stunned to speak, but Cortana's peircing soprano cut the silence, "Mr. President, by our oath to you, you shall have it."

[OOC: Stolen nearly word for word from Honor Harrington: Flag in Exile by David Weber, Chapter 29.

Joe Ritleheid waited impatiently in Waiting Room of the Imperial House. He had been about to take off in his helicopter to leave when the assassination attempt had occured. and then, of course, all ways out of the country were closed.

So he had returned to the Imperial Palace, to see if D'ron was all right. He had been recognized by the guards. The Imperial President was "busy". Oh well, he could wait. Good thing he brought his Pocket Tetris game. He wondered if this had been drawing to a close. Supposedly, the man who almost assassinated D'ron had written a confession. "I hope it's over. This has been terrible." Joe thought as he manipulated the Tetris pieces. "So much loss of life. So many countries destroyed." Double Tetris! "And they had to be capitalists, too. If they were communists, I wouldn't mind." Joe played, and waited...

D'ron swept into the waiting room, cape billowing behind him. Two guards in bidy armor followed him, carrying heavy weapons. He came to a stop before Minister Ritleheid.

"Minister, I heard you were delayed in leaving. I can assure you, it is now safe and permitted to do so. Your helicopter will be escorted out of our airspace by two fighters. I do not suggest deviation from your profile. You may return home and tell your government that this will be ended soon. Now, I have much to do, good day and a safe journey."

D'ron continued onward, sweeping out of the waiting room, and back through the door he had come in through. The 'Council' Chamber also doubled as the War Room.

<All Palpastine Evening News>
"Without A PEN, how would reporters work?"

Our top story tonight is the accusation by the Imperial President of Federation of Sentient Peoples, D'ron Smith, that our beloved Leader, Hammad Popil, is behind the recent rash of terrorist activities seen in what appears to be protest of the Dor Lomin Regional Alliance.

In a press conference following the Federation News Release, the Minister of Information denied the accusations, and hinted at evidence that instead, D'ron was behind the attacks.

Citizens across the country reacted with disbelief of Smith's accusations, and polls show that nearly 85% of the nation believes that our beloved Leader had absolutely nothing to do with the attacks, while an additional 10% find it doubtful. On the other hand, 37% of those interviewed believed that D'ron could have something to do with the attacks.

After our beloved Leader's refusal to give into Diplomatic Pressure and the falsified evidence brought to bear, it is reported by sources that elements of the Imperialistic Army of Dor Lomin have received orders to 'extract' our beloved Leader from his rightful position if he does not comply by midnight with D'ron's demands. In response, security at the Leader's Residence was doubled, and the Minister of Social Protection asked citizens to be ready to defend themselves against incursions of the Imperialistic Army.

In sports news.....

<Broadcast Terminated>>>>

S-2 was getting nowhere fast.

And he wasn't dead yet. Nor had he completed his mission; namely, the collection of the heads of those responsible - for presentation to the Dor Lomin government.

That was unacceptable. He knew this. He also knew that his emotions had long since clouded his judgement.

That, too, was unacceptable. Yet he had no choice left but to search; he cringed inwardly, hoping for a swift, honourable death...

...or a succesful, completed mission. Either or. He no longer cared which; the only important thing was that honour was fulfilled.

He stood, running his fingers back through his crisp hair; his eyes narrowed quietly as he strode to the door of his hotel room, and quietly exited - once paying the bill. His cash reserves were also beginning to become a little short; but he did not care.

He was as driven as clean snow; as ready as he would ever be.

If he did not find his target soon...

...he drove the thought away, cursing under his breath. Doubt breeds defeat, his mind muttered over and over as he walked.

His search resumed; his heart set; he would kill the man responsible. Swiftly or slowly, it no longer mattered.

So long as he was dead.

OOC: You want me to TG you something to help out?

IC:

Major Randolf switched off the HD in disgust. Those units alluded to in the APEN broadcast included his, as it was positioned within Palpastine, less than twenty kilometers from the capital, at Fort Hemingway. He was supposed to move his units in tonight... and he was.

But not to get Popil. To protect him.

Randolf would never turn his back on his native country.....

The 987th Armored Regiment of the Dor Lomin Regional Alliance Combined Military Ground Forces would defend Popil with their lives, whether they knew it or not. And very few would know the truth....

OOC: You want me to TG you something to help out?
...


[OOC: If ye could, please. Wouldn't want to get something wrong... :lol: ]

OOC: Done. TG sent. Ask if you need specifics.

Major Kowalski, CO of the 988th Armor Regiment watched as his tanks moved towards Beruitis.

Asshole. I plan to piss on your grave.... Over one billion people. My country. Your oath. I hope they kill hi...

An explosion in front of him interrupts his thought about Popil. His driver swerves narrowly missing the smoking hulk that had been a Patriot Main Battle Tank.

His Tac-map flashed to life and his face paled as he saw what had fired. Destruction pattern consistant with full main battery blast from a Patriot Main Battle Tank. He was under attack by his own forces!

He uplinked to Central Command, and as the data feed established, and began to transfer, he died, as did the uplink.

But enough got through....

**************************************

"Grand Marshall?"

"Yes, Captain?"

"The 988th Armor reports they are under fire from friendly units."

"Show me."

"Aye, sir." The main HD blazed to life in a flame of color, showing three regiments arrayed against the 988th, which was fighting back as well as possible, but it was only a matter of time.

Marshall Adams stared on in horror.

"Show me all of Palpastine." The map zoomed out, showing movements through out the entire country. Nearly an entire Army was moving, and none of it appeared to be taking orders from Central Command. As he watched, the last green ground unit in Palpastine blinked, and disappeared. An entire army, give or take, plus a full air force had switched sides.

The problem of stationing units in their homelands...

"Get me the Grand Council. We have a problem."

S-2 had been working hard. Of course, when it involves gaining information on one you desire to kill more than you desire to keep living yourself, it might well not be termed 'work'.

But it was hardly 'play' either.

It hadn't taken as long as he had suspected to extract the pertinent information from the correct people - not as long as he had thought it would. Oh, no. In fact, they had been easy to mislead - S-2 had very little experience with criminals, and so hadn't realised how... malleable... they were.

And those in Dor Lomin were, to all intents and purposes, no different to anywhere else.

Except the Empire, and a few other places - where, of course, there is no crime. Except thieves. And attempts every now and then to bring weapons across the border. One gets rehabilitation; the other gets a headache from which they never recover. A headache that truly is a killer.

S-2 had found Fuchien. At least, he had found where the... thing... lived. He knew that Fuchien had a family - and that, to be honest about S-2, did not sit well with him. Somehow, he considered, he had to get them away.

No daughter should watch her father die; and nor should any wife. S-2 could handle most things on his consciounse; but not that. That would not do.

In fact, he had not only found where the... thing... lived... but was standing not fifty feet from the house in question. An affluent place, it was, too. Disgusting. Even the Emperor did not have too much; affluence is ignoble to a Nenyan.

The last Empire fell because of affluence; because of corruption; because of debauchery. The same, after all, could not be allowed to happen again. Things were different in the Empire today - or so S-2 hoped, at the very least.

S-2 stood, a mere shadow, gazing in full-blown hatred at the house in which lived not a man - not to S-2 - but a monster. But even monsters have families, apparently.

The key, S-2 believed, was to convince Fuchien that things had become dangerous enough for his family to be sent away - but for him to stay. That meant Fuchien had to be confident; S-2 had no idea whether he was a brave man, or a coward... but he suspected the latter. Strongly.

Which left him a problem: just how in the name of the Three Star Sigil was he going to draw the bastard into sending his family away, but not leaving himself?

And so the council had decided. D'ron would be civilian head of running the campaign to remove Popil from power. Adams would of course be his military subordinate.

The problem was thus... nearly 200,000 men had rallied to the support of their country, Palpastine, and its leader, Popil. It was, for all intents and purposes, an intact Army Group. And an intact Air Force Group.

This would not do.

Now they Council had nine more army groups, and 19 other air force groups, in addition to all the Naval Groups and the Space Battle Groups. They could easily destroy the nation of Palpastine, but that wasn't the idea.

Security was too tight for Special Forces, as well.

D'ron and Adams agreed. The only way to pry him out was to peel him out the hard way, and that would mean lots of good people dead.

But they gave the orders.

The 1st, 3rd, and 8th armies began moving into position to invade Palpastine.

Carrier Battle Groups sailed to positions off the coast of Palpastine and Peitha, from where they could strike easily.

Planes gathered and space ships waited silently.

The armies would have to go in over the mountains, it was the only way. Routing them around would take far too long.

Slowly, but surely, every unit in position reported in. And soon all would be in position.

Fuchien watched the APEN with growing horror.

He knew exactly the events leading up to, and hated his own role in them...but he knew that he was a dead man when the Combined Military arrived in Beriutis. It was only a matter of time.

But he would send his family away, so they could be safe, and not have to see him die.

They would go to his mother's, first thing in the morning.

And it was so.

Fuchien watched the APEN with growing horror.

He knew exactly the events leading up to, and hated his own role in them...but he knew that he was a dead man when the Combined Military arrived in Beriutis. It was only a matter of time.

But he would send his family away, so they could be safe, and not have to see him die.

They would go to his mother's, first thing in the morning.

And it was so.

S-2 awoke with an inaudible mental snort, shaking himself - and wondering a) why he had been asleep, and b) what the heck had dared to wake him at home in his-

-ah. Yes. Not at home.

S-2 rubbed his eyes slowly, careful not to make sudden movements that would diminish the effect of his 'invisibility' of sorts; and then observed. And listened. It was just about dawn...

...and there were the sounds of... something... happening.

Minutes passed. Then an hour.

And S-2 could not believe his eyes and ears; Fuchien, had, apparently, fixed his problem for him. By sending his family away. S-2 smiled coldly, remembering an earlier day...

"You do not find the Path; the Path will find you. Even if you stray from it, it wanders back to the fore of your walking at some stage; life dictates it, for there is no escaping our Path. Unless we are incredibly stupid, of course, and keep wandering away from it even though it returns to us again and again," Semi Ran had told him in a kindly - but harsh, training - tone.

"Yes, Master," he had replied; he had not, of course, understood.

He wasn't actually supposed to. That would be no fun, now, would it?

But now he did.

S-2 rose from his position, eyeing possible routes to the house; he had actually already ascertained the best route - but now was affirming that it was, in fact, the best route. Such things could be decieving. Usually were. That's what life was: decieving. Unless, of course, you keep on the Path. And S-2 felt strongly that he was on it right this very instant.

Actually, he wasn't. But that's irrelevant to the whole issue, really.

He started towards the house slowly, but carefully, eyes about him and watching for such nasties as laser scanners, EM emittors - he didn't know if Dor Lomin had those, but there was no excuse for not being thorough - and ultrasonic scanners, amongst other such items...

Fuchien was watching the HD.

He had stopped going to work, stopped speaking with people.

His comm set rang and rang, and he just ignored it.

He watched the news with a growing awareness of his own mortality.

It couldn't be long now he reasoned.

They had to strike soon.

So he sat in his house, his expensive security going to waste, not activated, for it would do nothing to stop that which he feared...

Fuchien was watching the HD.

He had stopped going to work, stopped speaking with people.

His comm set rang and rang, and he just ignored it.

He watched the news with a growing awareness of his own mortality.

It couldn't be long now he reasoned.

They had to strike soon.

So he sat in his house, his expensive security going to waste, not activated, for it would do nothing to stop that which he feared...

S-2 had a feeling the security systems were down. He had no idea where it came from; it was just a feeling. Yet he took precautions, nontheless. And that took time...

...but he arrived, in the end, at his goal...

* * *

Fuchien feels the cold end of a US wand pressed against the back of his head in an extremely unfriendly fashion, as a voice intones simply, "Hello... Mr. Fuchien, I presume."

Just then, sensative ears might have noticed a slight change in air pressure.

D'ron had ordered the elmination of the Free Palpastine Air Force, as it had come to call itself by a tactical strike from the Space Forces.

Ninety percent of the traitor air force was destroyed on the ground by HVM's from orbit.

Were one lookin ghte right direction, it might even appear to be raining fire from the heavens.

****************

None of this mattered inside Fuchien's living room though.

"You presume correctly. Your weapon. It isn't DLSS or Military Standard Issue. I can tell from the way it feels. So might I ask who you are?"

Just then, sensative ears might have noticed a slight change in air pressure.

D'ron had ordered the elmination of the Free Palpastine Air Force, as it had come to call itself by a tactical strike from the Space Forces.

Ninety percent of the traitor air force was destroyed on the ground by HVM's from orbit.

Were one lookin ghte right direction, it might even appear to be raining fire from the heavens.

****************

None of this mattered inside Fuchien's living room though.

"You presume correctly. Your weapon. It isn't DLSS or Military Standard Issue. I can tell from the way it feels. So might I ask who you are?"

The voice snorts quietly, and replies equally quietly, in what might be termed either a dangerous or a deadly tone:

"You also presume correctly. Who am I? To be terribly cliche, I am Death. I am the end of your life. I am the last voice you will ever hear. I am possibly the last face you will ever see, if I allow you that dignity. I am, to be less cliche, known as S-2. - Now. Give me one good reason why I shouldn't give you a great deal of internal bleeding in your cranium, Mr. Fuchien."

Well. Fair is fair.

S-2? Some sort of codename? Dor Lomin Intelligence?

Internal bleeding in my cranium? A US wand? EOTED?!

"I assume that I am still alive because you need some information from me. But what information could I have that is of use to the Empire?"

All units were finally in position.

The all units signal was broadcast, but to the new enemy.

"Attention. Those of you who are protecting Hammad Popil. Surrender now and admit your mistake, and your punishment will be light. If you do not, you will die."

A minute passed.

Then two.

Then...

"Very well. You have made your decision. May your god have mercy on your soul."

Five hundred Peregrines swept across the border, configured for Ground Assault.

But as they did so, the Space Battle Groups fired. HE and HV missiles tore into the defenses that had been hastily erected. 90% of the fixed defenses were destroyed in less than thrity seconds.

Then the Peregrines roared over and unleashed a different kind of Hell. Napalm and cluster bombs fell among the defensive installations already in chaos.

GPS guided missiles struck command vehicles and scouts.

Then the naval forces launched.

1500 Peregrines roared in, all configured for ground attack, accompanied by some 1000 cruise missiles.

A wall of flame walked through the deployed infantry ranks..

The cruise missiles were also configured for Ground Attack.

They flew to precise spots over armor concentrations and exploded, sending molten spears of copper throughout the ranks.

The insides of the tanks turned to a living hell as the copper burned through.

Ten minutes had passed since the offer to surrender that had been refused.

150,000 were dead or dying.

The comm channels were flooded with offers to surrender. These offers were met with cold silence.

S-2? Some sort of codename? Dor Lomin Intelligence?

Internal bleeding in my cranium? A US wand? EOTED?!

"I assume that I am still alive because you need some information from me. But what information could I have that is of use to the Empire?"

S-2 actually smiled - it is seriously unpleasant, however. His cold voice replies, "No... you have no information that is of use to us."

He takes care not to actually confirm which Empire. After all... there are quite a few Empires in the world. And any one of them might have developed US weapons...

The smile waivered for a moment.

Except... only we have US weapons that can fit in your pocket, it occurred to S-2. No matter, he decided. When you're dead... you can't talk.

"No, you are still alive... because I wish to hear you beg. Or squirm. Or be terrified. Any one of those will do. So... we have some good times ahead of us, don't we? - Good for me, that is. Not so good for you, my murderous friend."

"Why should you care how I die? I've been expecting it for some time now. Once I figured out that my drivers that I got hired were actually delivering nuclear weapons. But this is an internal affair, why should EOTED care what happens here? Oh, of course, your anti-lethal arms policy... Of course, if you kill me, you'll never know whom I'm working for."

Fuchien displayed no trace of fear, as he had already prepared himself to die, and so the idea did not bother him.

*******

As soon as the phased bombings were complete, the Armored Spearheads rumbled forward. A three pronged assualt, led by 1485 tanks at the head of every column.

Peregrine quickly took to the sky, those adapted for the close air support role.

"Why should you care how I die? I've been expecting it for some time now. Once I figured out that my drivers that I got hired were actually delivering nuclear weapons. But this is an internal affair, why should EOTED care what happens here? Oh, of course, your anti-lethal arms policy... Of course, if you kill me, you'll never know whom I'm working for."

Fuchien displayed no trace of fear, as he had already prepared himself to die, and so the idea did not bother him.

...


The voice becomes sharper; thicker; more... edgy. Like a dagger sharpened to a well-honed keen edge that could slice a hair that so much as brushed against it in two.... yet it has an underlying, angry hiss. "You killed someone dear to me. My mission is unimportant, in the face of that," and S-2's words surprise even him - dear? She was dear to me?

S-2 doesn't waiver for an instant, despite the personal revelation. "But... I suppose you have a right to know, eh? Fair is fair. You, my friend, are an exercise in diplomatic ties. You will die to cement the Empire's friendship with Dor Lomin. Your severed head will be presented to the leadership of Dor Lomin on a gilded-golden platter. You will be our gift; a gift from the Emperor. If you choose to inform me of other matters before you die, then so be it. But... I found you. If I found you, what makes you think I couldn't find who gave you the orders?"

S-2 chuckles. "Small-minded, petty little creature: I could find anyone whom I wished to find. And I could force the secrets out of your mind, quite easily. - But that... that would be too kind."

S-2 unleashes his own personal hell upon Fuchien; all his pent-up age-old rage wells out, washing over Fuchien like a tsunami against a fishing boat; his pain at the - presumed, at the least - death of a woman he did not even know he loved; the pain of the loss of his family, the pain of the loss of a life he never knew he wanted - the pain of the loss of a world he never experienced; and Fuchien recieves nothing but pain and anger and relentless, unending fear...

...and all of it emanates from S-2, as he lets down barriers he never quite knew he had constructed; wave after wave of agonizing emotions wash over the room, filling it with a mix of emotions that are almost tangible, almost cuttable with a proverbial knife...

And Fuchien screams, the raw agonizing scream of total rage and horror.

Adrenaline floods his system and he shoots upright in the chair pulling away from the US wand.

By thos point he is beyond caring about the wand.

As the rage suffuses his system, he stands and whirls looking blankly at S-2.

And then the fear hits him.

He drops to the ground gibbering. The fear manifested itself as his family laying dead before him, his own most personal fear. His daughters, the young forms bloodied and broken, their faces accusing.

Why Daddy? Why? Why? Why? Why? The chorus was unending in his head. And he screamed again and again until his throat was raw, and he could make no sound, as he lay on the ground, exhuasted, and to weak to be afraid any longer.

His eyes closed and he slept the eternal sleep of the damned.

And were S-2 sensative enough, he might just feel heat as Fuchien's soul left him and was yanked down to Hell.

And Fuchien screams, the raw agonizing scream of total rage and horror.

Adrenaline floods his system and he shoots upright in the chair pulling away from the US wand.

By thos point he is beyond caring about the wand.

As the rage suffuses his system, he stands and whirls looking blankly at S-2.

And then the fear hits him.

He drops to the ground gibbering. The fear manifested itself as his family laying dead before him, his own most personal fear. His daughters, the young forms bloodied and broken, their faces accusing.

Why Daddy? Why? Why? Why? Why? The chorus was unending in his head. And he screamed again and again until his throat was raw, and he could make no sound, as he lay on the ground, exhuasted, and to weak to be afraid any longer.

His eyes closed and he slept the eternal sleep of the damned.

And were S-2 sensative enough, he might just feel heat as Fuchien's soul left him and was yanked down to Hell.

S-2 knelt, and, with more of a gentle nature than one might suspect, cradled Fuchien's head. He sighed silently. With his emanation of his grief/fear/loathing - and a multitude of other emotions - he had lost some of his... anger. It was largely gone. And regret began to settle in - not a great deal of regret, mind... but regret nontheless. "My apologies, Mr. Fuchien. I did not intend for you to die that way. I intended to give you a clean, honourable death by my sword. But that, I see, was not to be."

He draws his sword, concealed under his clothing; it is a grand sword, to be true. Great Stars adorn the hilt, amidst swirling clouds and the letters 'R I S E', in Nenyan script. Odd. Nenyan script, but the words that RISE stands for are in fact Quenya.

S-2 holds Fuchien by the hair, and shutting his eyes and drawing a deep breath, divides Fuchien's head from his neck; taking the head - and eyeing the body, and deeply hoping that Fuchien's family do not find it thus...

...he vanishes out of the house, and into the world once again.

Fuchien's family will not find it, for minutes after S-2 departs...

...the D.L.S. Dragonstar fires yet another salvo at ground targets outside Beruitis.

Twenty HVM's streak downward at 10 percent of light speed...

...but in the upper atmosphere, there is a slight variation, not noticed before firing...

One missile shifts slightly as it passes.

It is a small error, but enough.

Instead of hitting an anti-tank battery, this one missile smashes down in a populated neighborhood.

Fuchien's house, where the missile hits, is instantly destroyed.

Thermal bloom rushes outward.

Those houses not destroyed by the impact are shot through with flame, and nearly fifty people die, the first Palpastinian civilians to die in this conflict, but they shall not be the last...

S-2 hired a room in a nearby hotel, and, setting up his US-wand - he had a backup in his trouser-holster, anyway - to fire on anyone who tried to open the closet, placed the head in said closet.

That done, he set out for Beirutius. He had to know for certain whether or not... she... had survived.

And he hoped and prayed his superiors would never know.

But the Space forces are running low on HVM's. And so they stop the engagement.

Now it is, as the motto of the Ground Forces claims, "Our troops. Your dirt. We win."

For to win this conflict, the ground forces must engage. The three armored spearheads rush towards Beruitis though, for little but wreckage stands in their way.

49,000 broken traitors stand between 600,000 battle-ready soldiers and their goal.

150,000 men of the armor divisions are in the front wave.

It is less than an battle, or even a fight. It is a massacre. As the tanks open fire, infantry dies in the thousands, while the little armor remaining stands together, where is dies in hopeless counterpoint.

As the tanks continue on towards Beruitis, they leave behind 48,000 traitors, passing with less than 2,000 of their own.

Now it is only a matter of time before these forces arrive in the capital of Palpastine, to remove the arch-traitor, Hammad Popil, from power.

[OOC: Ma-tek, is this the barmaid? 'Cause right now she shouldn't be dead. Yet. After all, the troops haven't even gotten to Beruitis. If S-2 has her leave Beruitis she'll be fine. I'd have given her name if I'd known she would reoccur in the story. Were it me, I'd have him get her out, and then go after Jacobs, cause this is fast drawing to a climax.]

[OOC: Ma-tek, is this the barmaid? 'Cause right now she shouldn't be dead. Yet. After all, the troops haven't even gotten to Beruitis. If S-2 has her leave Beruitis she'll be fine. I'd have given her name if I'd known she would reoccur in the story. Were it me, I'd have him get her out, and then go after Jacobs, cause this is fast drawing to a climax.]

[OOC: Aye, the barmaid. S-2 thought a terrorist attack on Beiruitis was imminent, remember? So he thinks she's probably already dead: he hasn't seen any newscasts for a while, now. Would there be any rapid method of getting S-2 into Beiruitis remaining, though?]

[OOC: You're a bright guy, so figure one point is all I need, in case you missed it in my TG's.

1. Fuchien works in the Palpastine Civil Service. He lives in Beruitis' suburbs. If a similar terrorist attack had occured to Beruitis as all the other cities, S-2 would, um, know.]

[OOC: You're a bright guy, so figure one point is all I need, in case you missed it in my TG's.

1. Fuchien works in the Palpastine Civil Service. He lives in Beruitis' suburbs. If a similar terrorist attack had occured to Beruitis as all the other cities, S-2 would, um, know.]

[OOC: :facepalms: Let's just say that I'm crazy, eh? Pretend S-2 thought that Fuchien was going to be responsible for her death. Blahdiblah.]

S-2 ran through the streets, adrenaline pumping through his body, his amazingly slow heartbeat, breathing and his footsteps all seemingly one in his own mind - the Tibetan's call it 'lung-gom-pa', the Nenyan's call it 'ux-rahma-silfa', or 'second moment living' - as he dashed to the bar where his search for Fuchien had begun.

He didn't know if she would listen; he didn't know if she actually even cared what he thought; but he knew he had to find her before it was too late...

...and he didn't even quite know what 'too late' meant.

Yet he ran. Therefore, he was.

Explosions came and went, all around the Patriot MBT, and then one caught it.

Four more young men wiped from existence by the cold hand of fate.

Plasma cannons and lasers fired back and forth across the open spaces as missiles and rockets flew more slowly. Fires blazed where bombs ignited the ground.

A second Patriot, flanked by a Marauder Light Tank, crunched through the wreckage of the first tank. They both fired at the defenses, and they hit, destroying them.

But not before one last shot when off.

Two men, one woman, and the Marauder were gone in an eyeblink.

But this was just tiny piece of a much larger battle, as the Army Groups closed in on Beruitis, smashing through hastily erected defences.

But as hasty as the defense was, it was still deadly to far too many young people.

Lead elements began to report themselves at the edge of Beruitis, and were told to hold.

They would wait until everything was ready. There had been enough death, and civilians did not need to be added to it.

S-2 skidded to a halt as he burst through the doors to the bar, and...

"Echo Bravo, this is Echo Charlie. We are at Point Luck. Again, we are at Point Luck."

"Roger, Echo Charlie. Hold Position for a moment."

Within minutes, though, the last of the fighting had died away.

A last gauss cannon fired.

But there was nothing left to destroy.

Beruitis, to the west and south, was ringed in flame.

And inside that ring, sat the remains of three army group. 590,000 soldiers, ready and waiting for one word.

The plan was set to memory. Infantry would advance first into the city, followed by the IFV's and Marauders. The Patriots, in most cases too large to go down streets, would protect the artillery, also not going any where.

But they still needed one word. And soon it came.

"Go."

450,000 men and women sprung into motion once again, advancing towards the city center.

[OOC: I'd get S-2 out of there in your next post, unless you want him dead.]

...the bar was empty. At least, mostly so. The barmaid was, however, present - something for which S-2 thanked the Stars for a thousand times over.

"Hurry," he called to her, moving only a few feet inside the bar. "You have to get out... please hurry!"

She looks at him bemusedly. "Hurry!" he shouts, pushing at her with his - largely tired - mind.

She does so, though not because of the push, which was too weak. She hears the booms, and has heard the booms - she isn't deaf. She merely... lacked the will to leave. Nobody would care, she thought - and she realizes that maybe this man would. Did. Whichever.

She races to the door, and, to her suprise, S-2 catches her up in her arms and kisses her soundly; she doesn't have time to kiss back, or not kiss back, or whichever, as he releases her almost before their lips meet; but her eyes widen nontheless, and she looks at him with more than a little surprise.

He leads her out, hands interlinked and fingers grasping in a lock-hold that neither fully understands; together, they dash towards the northern side of the city - there don't seem to be any loud battle-sounds coming from that direction - and hopefully, safety....

Where they see a carrier on the horizon launch yet another flight of Peregrines to rocket over Beruitis.

There doesn't appear to be any way out, but yet....

...a small boat is floating nearby. One could see the obviously outsized engine, and know only one thing...

This craft was built for speed.

[OOC: I forgot you didn't know that Beruitis is surrounded to the north and east by water. It isn't on the map you saw.]

***********************

Troops began to advance more quickly now, as there was no resistance.

The heads of six columns were within two kilometers of the city center, and still had found nothing....

Peregrines roared overhead.

Where they see a carrier on the horizon launch yet another flight of Peregrines to rocket over Beruitis.

There doesn't appear to be any way out, but yet....

...a small boat is floating nearby. One could see the obviously outsized engine, and know only one thing...

This craft was built for speed.

[OOC: I forgot you didn't know that Beruitis is surrounded to the north and east by water. It isn't on the map you saw.]

***********************

Troops began to advance more quickly now, as there was no resistance.

The heads of six columns were within two kilometers of the city center, and still had found nothing....

Peregrines roared overhead.

S-2 skidded to halt when he saw the boat. The lady had seen the boat also (OOC: You want to give her a name? I don't know your naming conventions, if you have em...), and halted a few feet ahead of S-2 and turned back. She blinked, puzzled, caught between this man and the planes roaring overhead. "What?"

"I... I'm afraid of water," he admitted.

This was, admittedly, a problem.

"What?" she repeated. Still puzzled. Afraid of water?

S-2 shook himself a little. Okay. So. It was a boat. So what? He'd flown at ultrasonic speed, for pities sakes. A boat wasn't going to daunt him.

And yet...

"Okay," he stated flatly, resuming the dash to the boat. Naturally, so does she.

Once in the boat, however, the mildly frightened S-2 reveals another problem: "I don't know how to use a boat," he notes, looking like a trapped rabbit as he speaks.

She looks at him. "Uhm. I do. But I don't have the key..."

(OOC: Danielle Pariskova. I just make up names as I go along. You're intent on making this difficult, aren't you? Well, S-2, being an intel operative, has to be able to hotwire engines, doesn't he?)

Peregrines roar overhead, at a low altitude, shaking the boat in its moorings.

A slight jingle is heard, and then keys fall to the deck of the craft.

Danielle snatched them up and started the boat's engine, and then looked at man, whose name she knew not, but for some reason, oddly trusted...

She glanced at the morring lines, and went to untie them, but S-2 was in the way.

******************

The DLRA Ground Force continued to advance towards the city center.

(OOC: The boat can hit a top speed of 90 kph. GF is twenty minutes out from the city center. You have that long, IC.)

(OOC: Danielle Pariskova. I just make up names as I go along. You're intent on making this difficult, aren't you? Well, S-2, being an intel operative, has to be able to hotwire engines, doesn't he?)

Peregrines roar overhead, at a low altitude, shaking the boat in its moorings.

A slight jingle is heard, and then keys fall to the deck of the craft.

Danielle snatched them up and started the boat's engine, and then looked at man, whose name she knew not, but for some reason, oddly trusted...

She glanced at the morring lines, and went to untie them, but S-2 was in the way.

******************

The DLRA Ground Force continued to advance towards the city center.

(OOC: The boat can hit a top speed of 90 kph. GF is twenty minutes out from the city center. You have that long, IC.)

At the sound of the jangle, it occurred to S-2 that actually, the keys weren't required. Fat lot of good it did now to realize it. But to a certain extent, that realization reasserted his training; the fear subsided under a tide of rising discipline.

Danielle's attempt to cut the mooring lines at first confused S-2, but after a moment he nodded, and, in one slick motion, drew his sword and cut them in a quick, effective movement. Faster than simply untying, essentially. And more efficient. The rope will hardly be needed anymore...

...which made S-2 hurry to untie the piece still attatched to the boat, however small it may be. Rope is always needed.

That done, he lifted his eyes to Danielle again. That face... he found her intoxicating. Supporting. Felt like he didn't need his training any more, because the fear just... evaporated to be replaced by happy buzz that seemed to start somewhere around his spine and slowly ripple outwards in tiny but powerful happy-waves.

He shivered at the power of his emotions, pushing them down... for now. But his slightly lop-sided smile remained.

"Quickly," he urges her, trying to sound hurried... but it comes out softly. Damnit, man... control yourself, some part of him asserted.

Danielle pushed the boat into gear, and it pulsed into motion.

It shot forth from the moorings like a bullet from a gun, and quickly hit its top speed.

Inertia pressed both occupants backwards violently.

As it hit small waves, it bounced almost violently, but the prow sliced through them just enough.

And then a big wave. The boat went airborne for just a second, before crashing down in a spray of salt water.

It sped outward, zooming toward the battle group on the horizon, the only way out of the harbor.

A few minutes passed in silence before Danielle said anything, and then, over the roar of the engine and the sea, "Who are you?"

*******

The lead IFV's ground to a stop in the Plaza of Peace, just outside the Leader's Palace.

Troops in combat armor debarked and set a perimeter around the building.

One began to creep towards a side entrance.

Motion sensors showed that nothing was moving in the Palace, and so, the trooper's squad leader waved him forward.

***

Danielle without knowing why exactly looked back towards the city, nearly twenty-five klicks distant.

***

The trooper took nearly five minutes to complete the approach, having a full sweep done with every step.

***

For some reason, Danielle knew to look away, and it was well she did.

***

The trooper reached out and twisted the door knob, and feeling the door give, he pushed lightly.

The door gave, just the slightest bit, but enough to seperate a contact.

A signal raced outward, down a wire, for a kilometer, then two, and into another building. The signal hit a router, and split into a number of signals, each traveling to an identical, but seperate destination. The signals flashed, wires crisped behind them. An explosion pulsed, compressing matter together, evenly, and then,

A fury of nuclear flame expanded outward. Consuming everything in its path.

Nearly all of Palpastine's population lived in Beruitis, excepting the farmers, of course.

Ground Zero had been placed in the area, where as to the explosion would cause the most damage and loss of life.

500,000 Dor Lomin Military Personnel Died in the blast. But they were a small portion of the total casualities. 600 million civilians lived in the blast radius.

They died without knowing how or why.

***

The heat of the explosion pressed against the backs of Danielle and S-2 as their boat sped outward, and nuclear spawned winds tried to tug the small boat off course, but Danielle held firm.

They had survived...

As had Popil and Jacobs, fleeing well beforehand.

Popil ordered a broadcast from a remote transmitter.

"Those who tempt my wrath shall fall upon their own swords.

Do not press the hand of God, for it shall smite you."

Popil had quite clearly gone insane.

D'ron heard the news while visiting the hospital, to see his friends, who were still recovering from the attack, though most of them were eating solid food now.

But no one knew where the transmission came from, so it was nearly back to square one.

They had no idea where to look, but at least, now, they knew who they were looking for.

*********************

Soon, D'ron received a message, indicating that the Council was being summoned.

The Topic:

Dissolving the Regional Alliance.

D'ron was throughly dismayed, seeing as how the Alliance had been his idea in the first place.

But he saw the reasoning behind it.

Half the nations were destroyed or gone, and it hadn't helped solve any problems in the end, instead it had even created the problem that was its downfall.

And so it was done. Popil and his cohorts would be located, but that would be the last act of the alliance.

The Commonwealth of Peitha shall, from this time forward, be absorbing the remains of the Rogue Nation of Palpastine and incorporating them into itself.

The Voice of the Government, Press Agent for the Empress.

[OOC: About 650 million of Palpastine Citizens lived in the capital, Beruitis. 600 million of them died. S-2's hotel was not destroyed though.]

Danielle pushed the boat into gear, and it pulsed into motion.

It shot forth from the moorings like a bullet from a gun, and quickly hit its top speed.

Inertia pressed both occupants backwards violently.

As it hit small waves, it bounced almost violently, but the prow sliced through them just enough.

And then a big wave. The boat went airborne for just a second, before crashing down in a spray of salt water.

It sped outward, zooming toward the battle group on the horizon, the only way out of the harbor.

A few minutes passed in silence before Danielle said anything, and then, over the roar of the engine and the sea, "Who are you?"


S-2 didn't reply at first.


Motion sensors showed that nothing was moving in the Palace, and so, the trooper's squad leader waved him forward.

***

Danielle without knowing why exactly looked back towards the city, nearly twenty-five klicks distant.



S-2 didn't look. He had a feeling that he really didn't want to. Instead... he took the oppurtunity to study Danielle's features. Hoping she wouldn't actually notice too much. And not quite sure why that mattered, exactly.


For some reason, Danielle knew to look away, and it was well she did.

...

***

The heat of the explosion pressed against the backs of Danielle and S-2 as their boat sped outward, and nuclear spawned winds tried to tug the small boat off course, but Danielle held firm.

They had survived...

S-2 cursed. Fluently. In Nenyan, of course. "There goes the escape route," he murmoured, probably referring to the X#. Which, considering the number of nuclear blasts recently, wasn't going anywhere. He removed a small electronic device and clicked a contact.

* * *

The X# promptly melts itself. Or, to be more precise, melts itself down to an unrecognizable heap of junk metal and smouldering plastic. The MI core in particular is... gone. There is no shred of it's former purpose; clearly, it was designed to do this.

* * *

"I hope that worked," he added to his previous statement.

His eyes returned to Danielle. "You asked me who I am, didn't you?"

He carefully made certain not to look back. That was never good; especially considering that, from the intensity of the flash that he hadn't directly seen, and the sound of the blast that he was glad he hadn't been in, a nuclear blast had just occurred. Tends to - to put it bluntly - shit one up, a little.

S-2 doesn't wait for a response. "It's a tough question to answer, I'm afraid. Let's just say... let's just say that I'm a foreigner. A foreigner who is a good friend to Dor Lomin. - And... call me..."

His voice breaks off as he tries to decide... tell her your name... don't tell her your name... make up a name...

The length of his pause becomes, by virtue, a silence.

Danielle, after the silence begins to drag out, slewed the boat around, pointing it back toward the coastline, now a smudge on the horizon.

The engine puttered down to an idle.

She said, "We're not going anywhere else until I get some answers from you."

That wasn't really true, even if S-2 couldn't figure out how to operate the boat's controls.

With the engine idling, the current was pushing the boat ever closer to the massive aircraft carrier and its battlegroup, the nearest ship was only a kilometer away, but they were safe where they were for now, as the fiberglass racing craft wouldn't be picked up on radar.

Danielle, after the silence begins to drag out, slewed the boat around, pointing it back toward the coastline, now a smudge on the horizon.

The engine puttered down to an idle.

She said, "We're not going anywhere else until I get some answers from you."

That wasn't really true, even if S-2 couldn't figure out how to operate the boat's controls.

With the engine idling, the current was pushing the boat ever closer to the massive aircraft carrier and its battlegroup, the nearest ship was only a kilometer away, but they were safe where they were for now, as the fiberglass racing craft wouldn't be picked up on radar.

S-2's sarcastic nature reared it's head for a moment. He almost noted the fact that, actually, they were going somewhere. There was no helping going somewhere. And there was not a thing she could do about it.

Thankfully - in his mind, at any rate - he didn't say those things. Instead, he sighed loudly. Semi Ran's words echoed in his head: "When in doubt... tell the truth. And make it so convincing... so real... that it simply has to be a lie."

He tilted his head forwards, and, lifting a hand to his eyes, apparently poked himself in the eyes. Actually, he was switching off the small corneal implants that kept his eyes normal looking. He had no idea, exactly, why he did it... but it was a little late to alter the action, now.

He looked Danielle squarely in the eyes. She finds bright, unusually-bright, and most definitley blazing amber eyes gazing at her.

"Fine. I'm a Nenyan, or an Arhildaquendi, if you prefer the Quenya name for us, with orders to kill those responsible for the recent bombings in Dor Lomin... and bring their heads back to the Emperor of the Empire of The Eternal Dawn. Once they are returned, and inspected for authenticity, I am to take them back to Dor Lomin, and present them to the appropriate authorities as a present from the Empire. I am of the Ruthiantserkesgal, or RISE, and my real name..."

He falters. "My real name is Aglar Elgondil-Rihad, and I was born in Northern Tek, Ma-tek."

He scowls slightly, but his eyes smile - he feels a surprising amount of relief at having told the truth for once. Of course... that smile might easily be misconstrued. "Suitable detail, hmm?"

"Really." Her voice is dry and it is difficult to tell from her voice whether or not she believes him, or how much she believes. Her face betrays her though, she believes every word he said, as it written on her face. As is her fear.

"So what do you want with me? I've had nothing to do with the bombings."

*****************

D'ron approached each of the leaders in the hospital seperately, and broached the topic of a plebeiscite on joining together. Something clearly had to be done with the remains of One without Self, Enyalius, Area Fifty-One and Why War.

They agreed.

Currey went one step further, though.

He came up with something D'ron would never have thought up.

In a second plebeiscite, consult the populus on whether or not the countries of Sentient Peoples, Peitha, Vanderhill, and The Halo should join as one, a Federation of Sentient Peoples, he called it. Combining the resources of their four nations, the ones most committed to the Regional Alliance, would make them stronger. D'ron had to agree. 90% of the funding and personnel for the Combined Military came from these nations as well.

It was decided - these things would be put to a vote of all the citizens affected.

"Really." Her voice is dry and it is difficult to tell from her voice whether or not she believes him, or how much she believes. Her face betrays her though, she believes every word he said, as it written on her face. As is her fear.

"So what do you want with me? I've had nothing to do with the bombings."

...

Aglar sighs again, in a faintly irritated manner. Actually, the events of the last... however long it's been... have begun to catch up with him. He doesn't show it... but he's actually quite frightened himself.

"I don't want anything with... well, that's not strictly accurate," he moves on swiftly,"-In case you didn't notice the flash, good lady, I just saved your life. You don't think it was mere coincidence that I happened to come charging into your bar, and haul you out here just in time to survive a nuclear blast, do you? No, it wasn't. I knew it was coming. And I could quite easily have left, without coming back to save you and only you. And, actually, I'm risking my life for you at this moment. Telling someone what I've told you is quite usually punishable by death in the Empire. A 'thank-you' would be most polite."

He doesn't pause, however; instead, he adds, "Sorry. I'm a little... edgy. Nuclear blasts tend to do that to one, you know. Look," he looks down - and not without a modicum of guilt, "I'm not a particuarly pleasant person. I'm well aware of that. But - I don't know if you are the same or not - but I love my country. I love it more than I could ever fairly describe. But, you know what?"

Again, he doesn't pause. He doesn't wait for an answer. "It's been a long time since I ever felt anything. Ever cared for anyone, except my colleagues - and I rarely see them. They rarely see me, for that matter. But... I cared enough to come back. For you. I hope that means something. Truly. Because if it doesn't, I might as well have died back there," he chucks a hand over his shoulder, "and have done myself a favour, rather than sentencing myself to death when I go home, because it is quite considered treasonous to reveal the fact that I, a person who technically does not exist, works for an agency that does not exist. You see my line of reasoning? So. I hope you see exactly what this all means."

Yes. He was most definitley waffling. And didn't exactly come to a conclusion.

But let's cut the guy some slack, considering, hmmm?

And so began the absurdly slow process of tracking down all vehicular traffic out of the Leader's Palace in the days leading upto the final assualt.

They had set time frame to work with, as they knew Popil had to have been in the Palace during the fateful Grand Council meeting. The Council Communications System could only connect from there.

So that was the time frame.

All vehicular traffic in three days.

Anytime one of those vehicle met up with another vehicle, that also had to be tracked down.

All locations caught in the blast of the final vengeful nuclear weapon, were, of course, eliminated by computer.

Assault teams, some composed of security personnel, some of S.P.A.R.T.A.N.'s, some of regular military, some of a mixture, raided every spot a vehicle went. They would find him soon. And then Popil would be tried for crimes against 'humanity' for lack of a more accurate term.

Danielle knew what the man meant. Which scared her even more.

"I believe that I do see what you mean, Comrade Rihad. (OOC: She's from Palpastine, Comrade is the usual form of address there.) And I can't say I regret your actions, except that I would not wish to see you hurt on my account." The last is said softly.

"That being the case, then. Where should we go?"

[OOC: DLRA Nuclear Weapons are extremely clean, so within a day, Beruitis will be safe again, as long as you aren't there very long. Gametime, it'll take a week to find Popil again, by which point Beruitis will be entirely safe for extended periods of time, as long as you ain't gonna live there.]

Danielle knew what the man meant. Which scared her even more.

"I believe that I do see what you mean, Comrade Rihad. (OOC: She's from Palpastine, Comrade is the usual form of address there.) And I can't say I regret your actions, except that I would not wish to see you hurt on my account." The last is said softly.

"That being the case, then. Where should we go?"

[OOC: DLRA Nuclear Weapons are extremely clean, so within a day, Beruitis will be safe again, as long as you aren't there very long. Gametime, it'll take a week to find Popil again, by which point Beruitis will be entirely safe for extended periods of time, as long as you ain't gonna live there.]

Aglar sighed again. A Nenyan trait, definitley. It must be; they do it so damned often.

[OOC: Actually, it's a player-of-EOTED-writing trait. Ah well.]

IC:

Aglar kept his eyes averted from Danielle, now. Somehow, he got the impression that he would only make her uncomfortable.

"Please," he began softly, however, "please call me Aglar. Nobody ever does. And..."

His voice trails away. "And I'd just prefer it," he finishes. Although it's quite clear that that wasn't what he was originally intending to say. Still, he does reply to her question, "As for where should we go... I wish I knew. I don't think I could call in any help, somehow. Although... I don't know exactly what differences there are between... that," he chucks a thumb over his shoulder vaguely, "and the bombs I've been taught about... but there'll probably (if I'm right) be quite a storm soon. So it might be a good idea to just find cover, for now." Silently, he adds, And get off of this damned contraption...

"Very well, Aglar." She has some difficulty with the foreign name, but she speaks equally softly.

She turns back to the controls and brings the engine back to life.

Within ten minutes, details of the shore can be made out, but she is obviously not headed towards the remains of Beruitis. Instead, after a few more minutes, a small cabin can be seen, in a cove. A small sail-boat could be seen beached on the shore.

"My father's cabin," she says without preamble.

"Very well, Aglar." She has some difficulty with the foreign name, but she speaks equally softly.

She turns back to the controls and brings the engine back to life.

Within ten minutes, details of the shore can be made out, but she is obviously not headed towards the remains of Beruitis. Instead, after a few more minutes, a small cabin can be seen, in a cove. A small sail-boat could be seen beached on the shore.

"My father's cabin," she says without preamble.

Aglar smiles slightly. "Reminds me of a place I knew in my youth," he explains, adding, "and my name... it means 'beloved brilliant star', in case you were curious. It's Quenya. My family were traditionalists." As if that explains it all.

Danielle chuckles. We'll see if it still reminds him of his youth when we get closer.

The boat enters the cove in the growing darkness, an unnatural echoing darkness, that of a hell-spawned storm.

Sharp eyes might pick up motion along the shoreline. Sharper eyes still might identify security auto-cannons, tracking the boat's every move.

Once the boat is beached, Danielle quickly climbs out, and as Aglar follows her, walks to up the steps of the porch to the front door.

Which is a blast door of 3 cm of Dor Lomin Battlesteel. In fact, behind the wood of the cabin is a wall of battlesteel, revealing the place to be a fortress.

Danielle quickly keys in a 10 digit combination on the pad next to the door, which causes retinal and hand print scanners to unfold from the wall.

After they scan her, the door slides open.

The room inside is comfortably appointed, but more technically advanced than any room Aglar has seen in Dor Lomin.

"My father worked for the Military, in computer sciences."

A complex security array blinks to life, showing everything within a kilometer. Computers spin up, waking and blinking to life.

A hologram appears.

"Greetings, Ms. Pariskova. It has been a long time. It is goo...." The AI breaks off and frowns. "Who is that?"

"This is Aglar, Gerald. He is a friend of mine. He's good people."

"Good People" is obviously a code word, as the expression on Gerald's face shifts instantly to a smile.

"Well, in that case, welcome Mr. Aglar. If you two need anything, just call." He vanishes

From the main room, five doors can be seen. Three are open. One leads into a bedroom, a second, the kitchen, and the third into a workshop of some sort. One of the doors is obviously a closet. (OOC: The fifth door leads to a bathroom.) A Net-jack chair sits in one corner of the main room. A large bank of computers sits along another wall. A comfortable looking couch and armchair face an HD mounted in a coffee table.

"Gerald!" He reappears. "Status report."

The HD flickers to life. Danielle moves to sit on the couch and motions for Aglar to sit down next to her.

As the AI narrates, Danielle and S-2 are brought completely up to date on the current disaster.

The AI falls silent and the picture freezes with the current political map of the region.

"Thank you, Gerald. Anything else?"

"Yes, ma'am. 34.7 hours ago, the security screen was violated by this man." The display changes to reveal Emil Jacobs. "I tracked him until he left the perimeter but saw no reason to persue further action. I further tracked him to this location using my Obs Sat uplink." A map appears with a blinking star nearby. "As far as I can determine he is still there. I have reported his location through proper channels but I am unclear as to the current situation involving him, for I know not the decision that has been made because of my report."

"Thank you, Gerald. That's all for now." The HD dies and Gerald disappears again. She looks at S-2, who characteristically had been quiet the whole time, to see his reaction to the information.

Meanwhile, the storm lashed at the cabin, blocking the views from the windows completely, by way of rain and darkness.

<flicky bumpity, uppity?>

Danielle chuckles. We'll see if it still reminds him of his youth when we get closer.

The boat enters the cove in the growing darkness, an unnatural echoing darkness, that of a hell-spawned storm.

Sharp eyes might pick up motion along the shoreline. Sharper eyes still might identify security auto-cannons, tracking the boat's every move.

Once the boat is beached, Danielle quickly climbs out, and as Aglar follows her, walks to up the steps of the porch to the front door.

Which is a blast door of 3 cm of Dor Lomin Battlesteel. In fact, behind the wood of the cabin is a wall of battlesteel, revealing the place to be a fortress.

Danielle quickly keys in a 10 digit combination on the pad next to the door, which causes retinal and hand print scanners to unfold from the wall.

After they scan her, the door slides open.

The room inside is comfortably appointed, but more technically advanced than any room Aglar has seen in Dor Lomin.

"My father worked for the Military, in computer sciences."

A complex security array blinks to life, showing everything within a kilometer. Computers spin up, waking and blinking to life.

A hologram appears.

"Greetings, Ms. Pariskova. It has been a long time. It is goo...." The AI breaks off and frowns. "Who is that?"

"This is Aglar, Gerald. He is a friend of mine. He's good people."

"Good People" is obviously a code word, as the expression on Gerald's face shifts instantly to a smile.

"Well, in that case, welcome Mr. Aglar. If you two need anything, just call." He vanishes

From the main room, five doors can be seen. Three are open. One leads into a bedroom, a second, the kitchen, and the third into a workshop of some sort. One of the doors is obviously a closet. (OOC: The fifth door leads to a bathroom.) A Net-jack chair sits in one corner of the main room. A large bank of computers sits along another wall. A comfortable looking couch and armchair face an HD mounted in a coffee table.

"Gerald!" He reappears. "Status report."

The HD flickers to life. Danielle moves to sit on the couch and motions for Aglar to sit down next to her.

As the AI narrates, Danielle and S-2 are brought completely up to date on the current disaster.

The AI falls silent and the picture freezes with the current political map of the region.

"Thank you, Gerald. Anything else?"

"Yes, ma'am. 34.7 hours ago, the security screen was violated by this man." The display changes to reveal Emil Jacobs. "I tracked him until he left the perimeter but saw no reason to persue further action. I further tracked him to this location using my Obs Sat uplink." A map appears with a blinking star nearby. "As far as I can determine he is still there. I have reported his location through proper channels but I am unclear as to the current situation involving him, for I know not the decision that has been made because of my report."

"Thank you, Gerald. That's all for now." The HD dies and Gerald disappears again. She looks at S-2, who characteristically had been quiet the whole time, to see his reaction to the information.

Meanwhile, the storm lashed at the cabin, blocking the views from the windows completely, by way of rain and darkness.

Aglar had remained silent. In fact, the place did still remind him of his youth; but a different part of it. A very different part of it. Memories rose of the incident when he had been inducted into RISE; not, actually, a very pleasant memory.

It had been very exciting, of course, to the boy. Very exciting, and very, very frightening.

He had been, as we know, curious. Had bumped into a wall that wasn't there. Had entered a door he hadn't know was there shortly after.

Had been dragged, kicking and not a little bit screaming, to a darkened room. Had been interrogated - quite non-violently, it should be added - in order that it could be ascertained that he hadn't been subjected to programming of some kind.

And then... in had marched Semi Ran. He had given the boy an appraising look; and then merely flicked a finger at him, and left.

Aglar stood still at the time, unsure of what to do; but after a minute or two, it sunk in that he was supposed to follow. He had. He had walked through the RISE facility, had walked through it and seen the laser scanners on the walls; and he knew exactly what it all meant.

He was never going to leave that place, he had felt sure. And he had begun to cry. Sobs had wracked his body; it was, he was sure now, the last time he could remember ever having cried; and it was, actually, a good memory. Semi Ran had, you see, halted. He had turned, stooped, and gathered the boy - who was actually pushing fifteen - into his arms, and patted his head. Soothing words had followed. But the boy had betrayed himself; Semi Ran had intended to let him go, following a small piece of... rewriting... to his memory. A replacement memory would be supplied, and that would be that.

But Aglar had pushed at Semi Ran. With his mind. He had pushed, instinctivley, for the first time he had ever known; and Semi Ran had gasped with shock. Semi Ran rarely gasped. In fact, when he gasped, others trembled in fear - because the man simply did not seem to know what fear was. And this was a gasp that sounded very much like one of fear, to the boy.

It wasn't. It was shock, and suprise - and sorrow. "I"m sorry, son... but you'll have to say with us," he had informed Aglar.

And that was how it had begun.

Now, back in the present, Aglar had simply stared as he walked through this place. It wasn't actually very similar; but yet it still triggered those memories.

He sighed quietly at the report that had played. And an internal debate began - between S-2 and Aglar... Aglar the emotional... S-2 the warrior... Aglar the Nenyan... S-2 the machine-like intelligence agent facade that covered Aglar like a protective security blanket:

S-2 murmoured in Aglar's mind, We have to go. Now.

No... if we go now, then we won't achieve anything. I'm sure the DL security forces will manage, S-2.

Why?

If we don't go, we'll fail the mission. The mission is all we have. There is nothing else, Aglar.

Aglar protested. We already failed the mission. We breached the rules. We have nothing left, S-2. Nothing. We're alone. Forever. Alone... or dead if we return to the Empire. You know what happens to traitors, S-2. And we're a traitor.

Aglar's face contorted slightly.

S-2 retorted, Better a patriotic traitor - a dead traitor - than a hunted one.

This did have a certain amount of merit. But Aglar lifted his eyes and gazed at Danielle; and his mind was made up. Screw the Empire; they would kill him anyway, he was sure.

Actually, Semi Ran had long ago chosen him to lead up the organisation - when he was ready. Little did he know that this transgression was one that Semi Ran would not frown upon - indeed, he would smile at it. There were few things that Semi Ran considered holy; love was one of them. Especially when it was such that one of his agents potentially attempted to kill himself to do it.

But Aglar knew none of this. He only knew his orders; his rules; his regulations.

"Let's hope they find him," he whispered.

He didn't know why he whispered it; but something inside him broke. And a slow, lazy tear rolled down his cheek.

Aglar conquered S-2. He crushed him beneath his boot - because the truth was, Aglar was S-2. There was no S-2 apart from Aglar; and Aglar knew this. Finally. His training was not gone; he was still the man he always had been. But now... now he was a different version, as it were. He hoped... he hoped a better version.

The tear reached his lower cheek, and Aglar sighed to his own mind, Goodbye, my home... my chosen life... my chosen future...

He lifted his eyes to gaze at Danielle; and, perhaps to her suprise, all she will find there is fear. Fear... and a tenderness that few would ever have guessed that Aglar could even feel - let alone show.

And that's when the tears; the sobs, the body wracking sobs, came in earnest.

Aglar would never quite know what happened; but his body slid to the ground, and he curled in a childish ball... and cried.

Whatever Danielle had been expecting, that reaction was not it.

In fact she had expected him to jump up, to press on with his mission, the mission which seemed to be a burning fire in his heart, a fire next to hers.

She had watched as the memories and emotions played out across his formerly emotionless face, and then, the tear.

And so in shock, she had watched him crumple to the floor. And so she sat motionless for a second, while he cried.

And then she sank to the floor, and gathered him in her arms, and held him.

I must convince him to go on, to finish his mission. But not tonight. And when I do, I must convince him to return.

Whatever Danielle had been expecting, that reaction was not it.

In fact she had expected him to jump up, to press on with his mission, the mission which seemed to be a burning fire in his heart, a fire next to hers.

She had watched as the memories and emotions played out across his formerly emotionless face, and then, the tear.

And so in shock, she had watched him crumple to the floor. And so she sat motionless for a second, while he cried.

And then she sank to the floor, and gathered him in her arms, and held him.

I must convince him to go on, to finish his mission. But not tonight. And when I do, I must convince him to return.

Aglar burrowed his tear-stained face against Danielle's shoulder for several long minutes; and then he attempted to pull his face away. This, of course, succeeds. Yet as he tries to talk, all that he can say is utter gibberish. Not a single coherant stream of words will pass his lips.

"I.. what I... well I... who can..." is all he manages. Yes, definitley gibberish.

What he had meant to say was, "I love you, thats what I feel. - Well, I am just a man, after all. Who can tell, though?"

Which, really, isn't all that better, but still.

He goes back to sobbing against her shoulder, his body heaving in great, wracking sobs. He isn't even sure why. But the tears come, and, for once, he will not repress them. He won't ignore them, the way he had when so many had died by his hand; the grief hits him like a rock propelled by an MI core, slamming against him in wave after wave of heart-rending sobs; now he does manage to speak, but it is muffled, "So many... so much blood... too much..."

RISE, it would seem, does an excellent job of training its agents in how to repress their emotions.

Unfortunatley... it does not teach them how to actually deal with them.

[EDIT- Missed words out.]

Danielle doesn't know what to do. She's a barmaid, not a psychiatrist. So she sits for a moment, then acts. She pushes him away slightly.

She slaps him.

Hard. But not too hard. Just enough to break through.

And then, "Aglar, there has been much blood, true. But there must be blood spilled for the majority to live in peace."

"Aglar, dear, sweet Aglar. You can end the cycle of violence. You must end it. To do that you must complete your mission. You have a great power Aglar. You must use your power for good, and not let it go to waste."

Danielle doesn't know what to do. She's a barmaid, not a psychiatrist. So she sits for a moment, then acts. She pushes him away slightly.

She slaps him.

Hard. But not too hard. Just enough to break through.

And then, "Aglar, there has been much blood, true. But there must be blood spilled for the majority to live in peace."

"Aglar, dear, sweet Aglar. You can end the cycle of violence. You must end it. To do that you must complete your mission. You have a great power Aglar. You must use your power for good, and not let it go to waste."

Despite the fact that he loves this woman - and the fact that she is a woman - Aglar almost rolls away, drawing his sword with a flash.

He doesn't, however. It takes effort; his training was, after all, very comprehensive. He is trained to react on instinct, without thought or other reason-based determining factors. Yet he doesn't. It takes great effort.

Instead, he simply shudders slightly - with the effort - stares at Danielle. The stare rapidly becomes something more of a tender gaze, and he smiles slightly through his tears. "Thanks. Definitley needed that," he notes through a slight tremble in his voice. He draws a hand across his face, to wipe his tears away.

And that's when it sinks in that she didn't say 'Aglar'. She said 'Dear, sweet Aglar'. He grins, lopsidedly, and... actually, it's hard to believe that he was crying a few moments ago. He cocks his head slightly. "Did you..."

He cuts off that. Sniffs. Now it's not so hard to believe again. He sighs deeply, again wiping his eyes - there really isn't much to wipe away, though, as he got most of the wetness with the one swipe.

"You're right, of course," he admits.

Beat.

"But I'd rather stay here. With you," he finishes. And simply gazes at her.

Duty? What is duty, compared with real, true, absolutely honest love?

Aglar had believed that he 'loved his country'. He now has found that, really, that wasn't love. It was patriotism. The two, he has discovered, are not the same. They aren't at all the same. Your country doesn't make you want to weep for joy when it smiles at you. Your country doesn't make your heart pound in your chest when it calls you 'Dear, sweet Aglar'. Why?

Because it cannot do those things. A country is, after all, a thing. Not a person. A person... a lady... can do those things. And Aglar... poor, traumatized Aglar... had no idea.

All this passes through his mind in a mere instant. And in a mashed-on, slapped-on conclusion to his previous statement, he adds - with a great deal of trepidation: "I love you too much to leave, Danielle."

His voice is too soft for words. And his eyes... his eyes seem to positivley glow for a moment as he speaks.

But he still isn't finished. "Unless... unless you want me to," he adds. Not sadly. It hasn't occurred to him that maybe she doesn't feel the same way; no, he's talking about finishing his mission. Unless she wants him to finish his mission. And, really, she just said that. But he wants... confirmation.

Assurance. Or maybe... maybe he wants reassurance.

[OOC: I figured the slap was dangerous, but I also figured love would prevail.}

IC:

"Of course I don't want you to go! You could get hurt or even..." Her voice dies away, with a slight tremble.

"But,...but for the good of everyone, your mission must be finished."

She glances at the windows, still being lashed by the storm. She turns back to Aglar.

"How long has it been since you've slept? I mean really slept, peacefully? Cause you shall tonight; it's safe here. You can resume your mission in the morning. Tonight, you'll sleep."

She stands, and pulls him up after her. She pushes him towards the bedroom. "Sleep," she orders with a smile. "I'll be out here if you need anything." She pushes him again towards the door.

"Gerald, the couch, if you don't mind."

"Of course, Miss," returns the disembodied voice.

And Aglar, if he's watching would see the couch and coffee table change, and fold, into a very comfortable looking bed.

Danielle looks at Aglar again, and kisses his forehead lightly. "Goodnight, my wathrandir." Clearly she knows some elvish.

OOC: Shadow-Wanderer

"Mr. President?"

"Yes, Major?"

"We've found Emil Jacobs."

"How? I mean, so fast?"

"Well, it wasn't us, really. A military AI in Palpastine, a Gerald, reported having Jacobs cross through its security zone. If I may, sir?"

D'ron nodded. The major placed a disc in the reader and the holoprojector sprung to life.

"The AI tracked him though its security zone to here." A star blinked on the display. "Obs sats confirm that there is definitely someone there. In fact a lot of someones. We've got about two hundred point sources hot enough to be humans."

"Two hundred? That many, eh? Well, organize a strike. I want Jacobs alive. The others, I don't care what happens."

"Aye aye, sir."

D'ron smiled. This was the best news he gotten in two weeks. A S.P.A.R.T.A.N. team would take that place apart with no problem.

[OOC: I figured the slap was dangerous, but I also figured love would prevail.}

IC:

"Of course I don't want you to go! You could get hurt or even..." Her voice dies away, with a slight tremble.

"But,...but for the good of everyone, your mission must be finished."

She glances at the windows, still being lashed by the storm. She turns back to Aglar.

"How long has it been since you've slept? I mean really slept, peacefully? Cause you shall tonight; it's safe here. You can resume your mission in the morning. Tonight, you'll sleep."

She stands, and pulls him up after her. She pushes him towards the bedroom. "Sleep," she orders with a smile. "I'll be out here if you need anything." She pushes him again towards the door.

"Gerald, the couch, if you don't mind."

"Of course, Miss," returns the disembodied voice.

And Aglar, if he's watching would see the couch and coffee table change, and fold, into a very comfortable looking bed.

Danielle looks at Aglar again, and kisses his forehead lightly. "Goodnight, my wathrandir." Clearly she knows some elvish.

OOC: Shadow-Wanderer

Aglar smiles lopsidedly at the kissing of his forehead; he eyes the couch with a modicum of suspicion, it should be noted. Couches oughtn't to just decide to be beds, like that. It isn't... natural. The suspicion soon vanishes, however.

"Three days, seven hours, and something-something minutes... since a good nights sleep, that is," he replies finally. Someone has definitley been keeping count of how long it's been since a good nights sleep.

He smiles at the use of an Elven tongue, which he recognizes instantly. He appears to think for a moment, his brow furrowing; then he speaks - uncommonly slowly, as it is considered to be more skilful to speak quickly when one is speaking in Quenya:

"Vendë vanya, lómimára Danielle."

[OOC: DTL: 'Maiden beautiful, night-good Danielle.' PTL: 'Good-night, beautiful Lady Danielle."

Whew. And with the correct word-order, I'm 99% sure. Fear my mad-dog Quenya skillz. ;)]

OOC: *Shakes in fear* Looks right to me, but I've got enough trouble understanding my English grammar book, let alone my Elvish one.

IC: When Aglar awakes the next morning, he'll smell breakfast cooking, eggs, sausage and toast. Coffee.

OOC: All my humans are American in essence, no matter how weird they seem otherwise. No hot tea with breakfast. Coffee and Milk. OJ.

OOC: *Shakes in fear* Looks right to me, but I've got enough trouble understanding my English grammar book, let alone my Elvish one.

IC: When Aglar awakes the next morning, he'll smell breakfast cooking, eggs, sausage and toast. Coffee.

OOC: All my humans are American in essence, no matter how weird they seem otherwise. No hot tea with breakfast. Coffee and Milk. OJ.

Aglar sniffed. Vague smells were drifting under his nose; he couldn't quite grasp what they were.

But he knew he was comfortable. Until, that is, he opens his eyes.

He starts. "By the Stars, where-"

He blinks the sleep away. "Oh," he murmours. He remembers. Vague memories of a dream drift through his thoughts; golden leaves, falling, but the warmth of the Sun on his back; Her rays shining brightly through the canopy of a glorious wood...

The images slip away, silently, like thieves in an all-too-quickly vanishing act. He snorts at the simile, which brings the smells back to the fore...

"Mmm. Sausages."

He gets out of bed, glancing down and scowling as he realises that he slept in his clothes. Old habits...

Rubbing at his eyes, he pads towards the source of the smells...

OOC: Crap. I'm going to have to RP breakfast? Oh, well.

IC:

Where he sees Danielle, hovering over the stove, her hair gathered into a ponytail, wearing pajamas and pink bunny slippers.

She turns around with a plate in each hand, and in her surprise at seeing him, almost drops them. The plates are steaming, obviously the source of the smells. They are also close to overflowing with food.

"Hungry?" she asks cheerfully.

OOC: Crap. I'm going to have to RP breakfast? Oh, well.

IC:

Where he sees Danielle, hovering over the stove, her hair gathered into a ponytail, wearing pajamas and pink bunny slippers.

She turns around with a plate in each hand, and in her surprise at seeing him, almost drops them. The plates are steaming, obviously the source of the smells. They are also close to overflowing with food.

"Hungry?" she asks cheerfully.

Aglar nods. Quite vigourously. "Definitley. I'm 'gifted' with a veracious apetite. Which was always an annoyance to my mother, if I recall. 'You aren't going to eat all that, are you, Aglar?'"

He grins.

Aglar is clearly a morning person.

She hands him a plate as he responds and sets hers on the coffee table, which has returned since last night, as has the couch.

Danielle motions for Aglar to sit down on the couch.

She returns to the kitchen and calls out "What would you like to drink?'

{Omnidirectional Transmission}
{Un-encrypted}

D'ron, my friend? What have I done to you? But I shall end this conflict now. As you invoked the old law to come after me, I invoke it in my defense. I claim challenge right. Meet me at <coordinates> in two days, at noon.

{End Transmission}

"Mr. President? Can he do that?" The aide is refering to the invocation of challenge right.

"Yes, I'm afraid he can."

"So what does it mean?" The aide is very young, and has not studied the old law.

"Well, it means I have to fight him. Now that he has invoked challenge right, he is under its protection and cannot be touched."

"How will you fight?"

"With swords. We'll each have one, and a knife."

"He doesn't stand a chance, Mr. President."

"He's a good as I am, Ken."

"Oh."

She hands him a plate as he responds and sets hers on the coffee table, which has returned since last night, as has the couch.

Danielle motions for Aglar to sit down on the couch.

She returns to the kitchen and calls out "What would you like to drink?'

Aglar speaks softly in Nenyan before... doing nothing.

"Water, please," he calls out, before adding, "have you eaten yet?"

OOC: Read more carefully please, unless Aglar is still not awake at all.

'sets hers on the coffee table'

She hands him a plate as he responds and sets hers on the coffee table, which has returned since last night, as has the couch.

Danielle motions for Aglar to sit down on the couch.

She returns to the kitchen and calls out "What would you like to drink?'

Aglar speaks softly in Nenyan before... doing nothing.

"Water, please," he calls out, before adding, "have you eaten yet?"

Aglar groans quietly as the Relhame drops: she set her food on the table just a few moments ago. He calls out, not without embarrasment, "Uhhh. Forget I asked that."

He waits.

"Comrade Jacobs!"

"Yes, my Leader?"

"I grow tired of the capitalists leading this alliance. It is time we ended it. There is no reason for this Regional Alliance." His tone made the last words a curse. "The Imperial President forced this alliance down our throats, hoping to steal our resources and use them to enhance his imperialistic capitalist policies. We must put a stop to it."

"But how, my Leader? Withdrawing from the Alliance won't accomplish anything, we hardly give them any resources at all as it is. The capitalists also control all the military power. We could do nothing to stop them."

"We have some of the greatest minds in Dor Lomin here in our great nation. Certainly we can discover a way to beat them."

"Of course, my Leader."

"We shall use the tactics of the terrorist. I joined the Alliance, hoping I could stem some of the imperialistic tendencies of the capitalist dogs, but I have seen that my vision was incomplete. I alone cannot hope to stop them, even through debate and councils. Stronger actions are now required. See if you can find ways to send this message to our friends in, hmmm, Area Fifty-One. They produce many of the technological weapons of the Combined Military. Go now, and let our message not go unheard."

"At once, my Leader."
Things are looking pretty bad here eh?

She hands him a plate as he responds and sets hers on the coffee table, which has returned since last night, as has the couch.

Danielle motions for Aglar to sit down on the couch.

She returns to the kitchen and calls out "What would you like to drink?'

Aglar speaks softly in Nenyan before... doing nothing.

"Water, please," he calls out, before adding, "have you eaten yet?"

Aglar groans quietly as the Relhame drops: she set her food on the table just a few moments ago. He calls out, not without embarrasment, "Uhhh. Forget I asked that."

He waits.

Danielle comes out of the kitchen with a glass of orange juice and a glass of water.

She hands him the glass of water and sits.

"Gerald, anything happen over night?"

The AI appears again, wearing different, but similar 'clothing' to the day before.

"Yes, ma'am. Hammad Popil invoked the challenge right. He cannot be touched until he faces President Smith in single combat. If he wins, he gets away, under the old law."

Danielle's fork stopped halfway to her mouth as she looked up in surprise.

OOC: We can do this right now, if you want Ma-tek, cause I don't have to go to work today. YEAH!

beautiful story

[OOC: Uhm. SP. Which way do you want to do it now? Sorry, I would've posted last night, but I was preparing an uber-post. Now I'm not sure whether said uber-post would be appropriate; dyou want to do it piece by piece, or shall I lump the whole Danielle-convinces-Aglar-to-go-kill-geezer thing together in said uber-post?]

[OOC: uber-post. I'm not really a good person for conversation, written or IRL. If there's anything I object to, I'll let you know, but probably not - considering how well you write. Kinda a quiet guy, myself.. I'll be on, off and on, until 4:30 EST, when I go to work, so maybe we can knock it out today. Cause there are quite a number of people following the story - I've gotten TG with complements and stuff...]

[OOC: uber-post. I'm not really a good person for conversation, written or IRL. If there's anything I object to, I'll let you know, but probably not - considering how well you write. Kinda a quiet guy, myself.. I'll be on, off and on, until 4:30 EST, when I go to work, so maybe we can knock it out today. Cause there are quite a number of people following the story - I've gotten TG with complements and stuff...]

[OOC: Fan-mail is always cool. ;) I'll just adapt my uber-post a little before posting (damned perfectionist is what I am); basically, an outline

1. Aglar doesn't eat until Danielle begins to. Nenyan custom: they who cook, eat first.
2. Once food is eaten (random type discussion might ensue during), Aglar tells Danielle that although he will complete his mission, he'll be back. (Not in Arnie style, though. That'd be corny.)
3. Aglar departs, accepting those clothes/weapons/etc for low-visibility purposes, as you suggested in TG.
4. Aglar begins to hunt our nasty friend.

Cue you, I believe.]

[OOC: Okay. Make sure it links with my last IC post....]

<uberBump?>

She hands him a plate as he responds and sets hers on the coffee table, which has returned since last night, as has the couch.

Danielle motions for Aglar to sit down on the couch.

She returns to the kitchen and calls out "What would you like to drink?'

Aglar speaks softly in Nenyan before... doing nothing.

"Water, please," he calls out, before adding, "have you eaten yet?"

Aglar groans quietly as the Relhame drops: she set her food on the table just a few moments ago. He calls out, not without embarrasment, "Uhhh. Forget I asked that."

He waits.

Danielle comes out of the kitchen with a glass of orange juice and a glass of water.

She hands him the glass of water and sits.

"Gerald, anything happen over night?"

The AI appears again, wearing different, but similar 'clothing' to the day before.

"Yes, ma'am. Hammad Popil invoked the challenge right. He cannot be touched until he faces President Smith in single combat. If he wins, he gets away, under the old law."

Danielle's fork stopped halfway to her mouth as she looked up in surprise.

Aglar had been about to pick up his fork, but... puts it down again.

"Ahhh. The good old 'fight me to the death so I can attempt to evade justice' call," Aglar comments sardonically.

[OOC: I realise I'm going to need at least one reply from you, SP. Or a wad of info on the laws covering this action and so on.]

Danielle's fork resumes it journey, and when she finishes her first bite, she asks Gerald, "Do you think Popil stands a chance against D'ron?"

"Yes, he does. They are both excellent swordsmen, and Popil will be fighting for his life."

"D'ron will as well, won't he? I mean, such duels are to the death, after all."

"True. D'ron may be more influenced by emotion though, considering the number of attacks on him and his family."

"President Smith, influenced by emotion? That's a good one, Gerald. Tell me another one."

"I don't understand."

"Nevermind, Gerald."

She continues to eat.

[OOC: What do you need? Jacobs is not covered by the challenge protection. If Popil wins the duel, killing him will be as illegal for S-2 as anyone else, not that seems to bother him. Go ahead and post, and I'll see to a suitable reply.]

Danielle's fork resumes it journey, and when she finishes her first bite, she asks Gerald, "Do you think Popil stands a chance against D'ron?"

"Yes, he does. They are both excellent swordsmen, and Popil will be fighting for his life."

"D'ron will as well, won't he? I mean, such duels are to the death, after all."

"True. D'ron may be more influenced by emotion though, considering the number of attacks on him and his family."

"President Smith, influenced by emotion? That's a good one, Gerald. Tell me another one."

"I don't understand."

"Nevermind, Gerald."

She continues to eat.

[OOC: What do you need? Jacobs is not covered by the challenge protection. If Popil wins the duel, killing him will be as illegal for S-2 as anyone else, not that seems to bother him. Go ahead and post, and I'll see to a suitable reply.]

Once Danielle begins to eat, Aglar begins to eat: in a small-piece-at-a-time, dainty and very 'proper' manner. And not a moment before. Quietly, he comments, "Back in the Empire, we abandoned the old laws. We used to have the Right of Challenge, but it got a little... gory. And frequent. The Emperor (may He live forever!) issued a Decree shortly after He came to power to that effect; although... I suspect that if someone challenged Him, He'd fight them anyway." He thinks for a moment.

Equally quietly - and only when his mouth is briefly vacant of food, Aglar asks, "Why wouldn't this President Smith be influenced by emotion?"

"Seeing as how, during the last internal war, Smith ordered an entire division into a trap, knowing they would all die, just to break the trap... He's somewhat cold-hearted. One of his best friends was the commander of that Division.

Also, his parents were higher up government officials. When they were murdered, the state funeral was broadcast on the HD. While his sister sat next to him crying, he just tried to get her to be quiet, sitting there, dry-eyed. There was an utter lack of emotion in his eyes, same when he watched the executions of their murders.

The same thing at the former Imperial President's funeral.

It is rumored he cannot feel anything, but I doubt that is true. He is a man, after all, not a robot."

"Seeing as how, during the last internal war, Smith ordered an entire division into a trap, knowing they would all die, just to break the trap... He's somewhat cold-hearted. One of his best friends was the commander of that Division.

Also, his parents were higher up government officials. When they were murdered, the state funeral was broadcast on the HD. While his sister sat next to him crying, he just tried to get her to be quiet, sitting there, dry-eyed. There was an utter lack of emotion in his eyes, same when he watched the executions of their murders.

The same thing at the former Imperial President's funeral.

It is rumored he cannot feel anything, but I doubt that is true. He is a man, after all, not a robot."

Aglar nods as he chews. Swallows. "I can sympathize with that. Everybody deals with emotions differently."

Danielle takes the last bite of her breakfast, and after she finishes, "Yes, they certainly do."

She smiles at Aglar. And looks at his clothes, still rumpled from sleeping in them, "Do you want something else to wear?"

[OOC: And now I leave it to you, Ma-tek...Go uberpost!]

The phone rang in the office of the Imperial President. The secretary picked it up.

"Hello?"

"Hello, I'm Secretary Ritlheid, I was here a week or two ago."

"Ah, I remember you."

"I'd like you to convey my best wishes to D'ron in this upcoming duel. Also, do you think it would be possible for me to come?"

"I think so. I'll call you back if you can't."

"All right."

{Diplomatic Communication}
{Third Level D Encryption}
{Aquilla, Secretary Ritheid}
{Office of the Imperial President}

Secretary - you are welcome to attend the duel, but only seconds are allowed on the field of combat. You will not be permitted any form of weapon while attending the duel. Your helicopter will be escorted to the field of combat by two Peregrines, so please inform us of your arrival time.

Also, the Imperial President would like to know if the nation of Aquilla would be interested in an exchange of Embassies when this unpleasant business is over.

{End}

Danielle takes the last bite of her breakfast, and after she finishes, "Yes, they certainly do."

She smiles at Aglar. And looks at his clothes, still rumpled from sleeping in them, "Do you want something else to wear?"

[OOC: And now I leave it to you, Ma-tek...Go uberpost!]

Aglar nods curtly. "Definitley. These clothes are... a bit grotty. A bit. - I have this habit of sleeping in them," he waffles slightly, "and I can't seem to shake it. I did have a change of clothes... but unfortunatley, they're back at the X#. Which is somewhat melted, now."

Danielle smiled slightly at that. "Well, we'll get that sorted once you've eaten - and showered?"

Aglar shakes his head, swallowing a piece of sausage a bit faster than he ought to, and having just a little trouble making the bit go down. His throat bobs. After, he smiles - possibly more due to Danielle's smile than anything she said - and notes, "I may smell a touch nasty, but shower stuff reeks. Can smell a clean man coming a mile off, you know. - Well. I'm sure you know," he adds.

They finish eating in silence; neither seems to be able to find much to say. Aglar's thoughts centre on the fact that, after finding this wonderful lady, he might not get to return to her. He sighs - internally. Also internally, he swears to return. No need to say it out loud, really - he thinks that it's a given that he will try, at least.

And besides... it's not seemly to make promises one might not be able to keep.

Soon they finish, and the plates are cleared away - something which Aglar insists on helping with, no matter what Danielle's opinion on the matter may be...

[OOC: After thinking a touch (I have the rest of the post worked out), I think it might be best if you did the 'special closet' part for continuity reasons, SP. After all... Danielle has spoken to Gerald in a very specific way, and also... I wouldn't know how to describe the stuff in the special closet accuratley. Even though you told me what it was. Consistency, eh?]

As the two emerge from the kitchen, Danielle calls out. "Gerald? Would you show Aglar father's special closet?"

"Ma'am? That's against the Law."

"What's your point? Do it anyway."

"Yes, ma'am. Passcode?

"Angelina Wallace." A brief look of remorse crosses Danielle's face, but quickly passes.

The hologram 'walks' to a blank space on the wall, and 'places' his hand against it. As a crack appears, where their had been none, Danielle says to Aglar, "Help yourself to anything in there, while I take a shower and get dressed."

Before he can say a word, she disappears into the bathroom. Apparently she already had clothes inside.

The wall finishes sliding aside, and the hologram steps back, revealing the contents of the 'special' closet. What it really amounted to was an equipment room.

On a shelf, about 1.5 meters from the floor, were four sets of standard Dor Lomin Jungle Camo. The single piece jumpsuits, strengthed with carbon-nanotubules, had a control pad on the right arm, with readouts displaying the position of the wearer by both GPS and Inertial reckoning. They also controlled the active camoflague features of the jumpsuits.

Four pairs of combat boots sat on the floor below the jumpsuits.

And then there was the arsenal.

Two plasma rifles were racked above the jumpsuits, and a gauss-powered sniper rifle stood on its stock in the corner. A standard Assault Rifle sat in a similar position, opposite it.

On the right wall, two pistol belts were racked, each with two pistols. One obviously contained standard chemical-powered pistols, the other, laser pistols.

Below the pistols were a series of drawers, that when opened would reveal ammunition and power packs for all the weapons.

On the left wall, two bandoliers hung, one full of grenades, both plasma and HE fragmentation. Plasma grenades would stick to any surface before exploding, whether it be man, machine or wall. The other was full of knives, which appeared to be perfectly balanced for throwing.

Three combat knives hung below the bandoliers, one to put in a boot, another for the waist, and another for around the neck. In special racks, under the combat knives, lay silencers for each of the conventional firearms.

Then of course, the flashlights, the flares, the light-amplification and IR headset, all the other fun things that special forces might have.

It was a standard Dor Lomin special forces trooper's personal equipment list. But what Aglar would take, considering EOTED's general dislike of lethal arms, was up to him.

As the two emerge from the kitchen, Danielle calls out. "Gerald? Would you show Aglar father's special closet?"

"Ma'am? That's against the Law."

"What's your point? Do it anyway."

"Yes, ma'am. Passcode?

"Angelina Wallace." A brief look of remorse crosses Danielle's face, but quickly passes.

The hologram 'walks' to a blank space on the wall, and 'places' his hand against it. As a crack appears, where their had been none, Danielle says to Aglar, "Help yourself to anything in there, while I take a shower and get dressed."

Before he can say a word, she disappears into the bathroom. Apparently she already had clothes inside.

The wall finishes sliding aside, and the hologram steps back, revealing the contents of the 'special' closet. What it really amounted to was an equipment room.

On a shelf, about 1.5 meters from the floor, were four sets of standard Dor Lomin Jungle Camo. The single piece jumpsuits, strengthed with carbon-nanotubules, had a control pad on the right arm, with readouts displaying the position of the wearer by both GPS and Inertial reckoning. They also controlled the active camoflague features of the jumpsuits.

Four pairs of combat boots sat on the floor below the jumpsuits.

And then there was the arsenal.

Two plasma rifles were racked above the jumpsuits, and a gauss-powered sniper rifle stood on its stock in the corner. A standard Assault Rifle sat in a similar position, opposite it.

On the right wall, two pistol belts were racked, each with two pistols. One obviously contained standard chemical-powered pistols, the other, laser pistols.

Below the pistols were a series of drawers, that when opened would reveal ammunition and power packs for all the weapons.

On the left wall, two bandoliers hung, one full of grenades, both plasma and HE fragmentation. Plasma grenades would stick to any surface before exploding, whether it be man, machine or wall. The other was full of knives, which appeared to be perfectly balanced for throwing.

Three combat knives hung below the bandoliers, one to put in a boot, another for the waist, and another for around the neck. In special racks, under the combat knives, lay silencers for each of the conventional firearms.

Then of course, the flashlights, the flares, the light-amplification and IR headset, all the other fun things that special forces might have.

It was a standard Dor Lomin special forces trooper's personal equipment list. But what Aglar would take, considering EOTED's general dislike of lethal arms, was up to him.

EOTED may dislike lethal arms, but Aglar is practical. He rapidly strips, getting into the camouflage gear rapidly.

That done, he eyes the assortment of arms. And scowls at the knives. Even Aglar, somewhat unconventional for an EOTED national, doesn't like knives. Representative of thieves and all.

He swipes one of the plasma rifles, quickly going over it and examining it. He thinks he understands how it works, but that doesn't always necessarily mean he does. He flips out his US wand, and, checking the power level, frowns. Eight shots. Should be enough, he pondered internally. He ignores the grenades, but takes the IR headset and examines it, slipping it into an equipment pouch (which I assume the jumpsuits have). He also stocks up on ammo, naturally. Plenty of ammo.

He moves experimentally, stretching and performing several punches at the air; he swishes his sword out of it's scabbard - the belt didn't exactly fit the jumpsuit all that well, but beggars can't be choosers - and slipped through a simple preperation routine; the sword flashes left, right, and then spins through the air...

...landing neatly back in his hand. "Nice balanced weight," he comments, referring to the gear. He eyes the grenades again, then shakes his head. No need, I think, he considers. And that might just be overkill, he adds to the thought after eyeing the plasma rifle. He doesn't check the camoflauge systems, deciding that they're rather redundant when you happen to be a highly trained Nenyan.

The whole exercise must have taken a little longer than he thought, because Danielle emerges from the bathroom, clad in fresh clothes and slightly damp hair.

Aglar smiles. Then the smile falls away; he remembers - actually, he hadn't quite forgotten, but rather was distracted for a moment - that he is off to potentially get himself killed. And equally potentially (goes with the whole being killed thing, really) not return. His hands flex slightly, nervously.

"Hi," he states lamely. Doesn't know quite why. But there wasn't anything else that sprung to mind, so why not?

"You're leaving, aren't you," Danielle intoned softly, her eyes saying much, much more, but nothing determine; just...

Aglar nodded, eyes fixed on Danielle's eyes, locked in a gentle - regretful - gaze. "I'd... I'd better, yes. Or I..." his voice trails away, his own thoughts finishing the rather obvious sentence: Or I never will.

[OOC: More to come. Hit a damned block, rewritten this fifty times or more, so it seems, so taking a short break.]

<moreBUMP>

[OOC: As pertaining to your telegram, SP, I'd rather go back and forth. I'm stuck. Totally.

I suspect I have too many characters/plotlines running at once, and Danielle is just one too many.

Note: I currently have some eight characters on the go here and elsewhere. And that's not even going into current-thread-involvement-count. Eep.]

OOC: Okay. I'll have to do it later....

I'm only in three story arcs right now, so it's a bit easier...

This one, war with IF, and Barry/SHODAN wedding.....

OOC: Okay. I'll have to do it later....

I'm only in three story arcs right now, so it's a bit easier...

This one, war with IF, and Barry/SHODAN wedding.....

[OOC: Ah, okay. :)]

{Diplomatic Communication}
{Third Level D Encryption}
{Office of the Imperial President}
{Aquilla, Secretary Ritheid}


Do not worry, I am not bringing a weapon. I am currently in my helicopter, and should be over the main SP airport within the hour. We would be glad to exchange Embassies when this is done.


{End}

Danielle watches Aglar closely, with sympathy in her eyes.

"You don't have to go. I've just met you, but I feel like I've known you forever. I don't want to lose you Aglar, beloved."

Tears form in her eyes. "Promise...Promise me you'll come back. Promise!" The last is shouted.

"You have to come back to me," she whispers. "Please don't go."

She is obviously not thinking with logic, but with love, hence the incoherency of her speech....

Danielle watches Aglar closely, with sympathy in her eyes.

"You don't have to go. I've just met you, but I feel like I've known you forever. I don't want to lose you Aglar, beloved."

Tears form in her eyes. "Promise...Promise me you'll come back. Promise!" The last is shouted.

"You have to come back to me," she whispers. "Please don't go."

She is obviously not thinking with logic, but with love, hence the incoherency of her speech....

Aglar winces. Not your average flinch; but a shudder. He fights internally, emotions boiling up and being battered back down again. Yet...

...he doesn't entirely win the conflict. He'd run through this in his mind. He was going to say something like, "I have to go." And go. And that would be that. To hell with softness, he had decided; it would only bring greater pain if he didn't return.

Oh, how odd that when we plan personal lives, things never quite go as we plan...

Aglar walks to her - strides broad, but faltering - and kneels before her. He gazes up at her, and, drawing his fingers around one of her hands - her right - he draws her knuckles to his lips and kisses them tenderly.

He nestles his cheek against her hand, ignorant of the fact that tears - slow-flowing ones, this time - moisten her fingers. Quietly, without daring look up at her, he murmours in a waivering, emotive voice, "Not all the fires of all the stars could keep me from you, my love. I... I must go. If I do not, my mission will be failed... and they might well seek for me. And I would not endanger you for all the world. - But I will return. Thrice said, I will return. For... Meltye inyë, anta hendcalanya. 'I love you, great light of my eye.'"

[OOC: NOTE: The word herein used for 'love', 'mel-', is not actually correct. It is the word for platonic love. However, as I cannot find the word for romantic love anywhere, it will have to do.]

[OOC: It's okay to use it in that manner. Aragorn uses it to describe Arwen...]

Danielle began to cry now, no longer able to hold back the tears, and lifting her hand, pulled Aglar to his feet.

In a broken voice she said, "Go quickly, so that you may return ever quickly."

She takes her hand back, and turns away from him, crying, great heaving breaths, and shuddered moans.

[OOC: It's okay to use it in that manner. Aragorn uses it to describe Arwen...]

Danielle began to cry now, no longer able to hold back the tears, and lifting her hand, pulled Aglar to his feet.

In a broken voice she said, "Go quickly, so that you may return ever quickly."

She takes her hand back, and turns away from him, crying, great heaving breaths, and shuddered moans.

Aglar heaves a great sigh, finding himself caught between duty and love. He finds that he doesn't wish to go at all, now.

All the more reason to kill that terrorist idiot all the faster, he pondered.

"I'll not be long," he murmours... even if it isn't true, it's comforting. Somehow.

And he departs. Each step is a dragging effort, however. Until he leaves the compound. At which point... every step becomes all the faster. Every step, after all, is a step closer to a finished mission... well, finished as much as possible... and a step closer to a return to Danielle.

[OOC: Are you going to RP wandering through the woods or is he just going to show up at the other end?]

[OOC: Are you going to RP wandering through the woods or is he just going to show up at the other end?]

[OOC: For rapidity purposes it might be prudent to take the 'just... show up at the other end' route. :)]

[OOC: Good. Off-topic: *Wonders how invisible Aglar would be if he Drew the Shadows after activating the Active Camo Systems*]

High over the jungle, a 'Buffalo' dropship circled, getting a final read on the target for the S.P.A.R.T.A.N.'s inside.

<<Confirmed 207 heat point sources....

<<Energy weapons confirmed....

<<No Dor Lomin Military Personnel Signatures observed....

The compound was in the middle of a large clearing, surrounded on all sides by large trees of the jungle.

Except the ocean side, where a dock jutted out, with a mean looking powerboat docked.

Heavy gun emplacements had clear fields of fire out to the jungle and over the ocean.

"Cheif," called the pilot. "Intel has confirmed the ground forces. They're mercs. And outfit called the Falkenberg Legion. Well trained. This is only a small part of their force. Looks like Jacobs hired them on his own as defense."

The chied nodded. "Put us down here," he told the pilot, pointing to a map and a small clearing about five clicks away.

The heavily stealthed and camoflagued dropship floated down through the atmosphere, drifting to a stop in the clearing.

The entire movement was no louder than the wind.

"Wait here." It was an order. The pilot nodded.

5 S.P.A.R.T.A.N.'s set out at a run. It should take about thirty minutes to cover the distance to the compound.

[SP - about when will the duel take place? And should we RP the escort to the duelground?]

OOC: The duel will take place when we get to it. Got to take out Jacobs first. Then a few filler posts. Then the duel...

As for RPing the escort - no. Ritlheid will have landed at the Capital Airport, and then be transported out with the rest of th VIP's going to observe the duel.

OK.

[OOC: Since the forum was down yesterday, along with the entire site, I'll assume S-2 has arrived at Jacobs' compound for this post.]

Corporal Jackson walked along his patrol path, and as he rounded a corner, he stopped dead. There was a body of one of his PFC's laying in the grass, neck twisted at a very unnatural angle. Thomas was obviously dead. He drew in breath to cry out, but was drowned out by a nearby explosion.

At least, that's what Jackson thought it was.

As he fell towards the ground, he realized the explosion was the top of his head being blown off.

An invisible S.P.A.R.T.A.N. had fired his pistol into Jackson's open mouth.

As soon as the first pistol fired, the S.P.A.R.T.A.N's sprang into motion.

Once shots had been fired, they were compromised.

4 pistols and one sniper rifle sounded as one.

The guards on the weapons turrets fell to the ground.

7 down. 199 to go.

The four pistol armed S.P.A.R.T.A.N's began to run forward, picking off people as they ran.

They killed twenty-six more guards before their clips were out.

They switched to rifles.

Meanwhile the sniper picked off eleven men before having to change clips.

54 down. 152 to go.

Now the guards were beginning to respond in armor, as opposed to just BDU's.

But it didn't matter.

A triple burst to the face would put anyone down.

By now the S.P.A.R.T.A.N's active camo had too much to disguise. They were moving and firing too fast for the system to keep up.

Bullets occasionally whined off their shields, but they were nearly as fast as the bullets. The mercenaries couldn't get more than one clean shot.

And then they died.

82 more guards were dead by the time the Assualt Rifles ran dry.

136 down. 70 to go.

A squad of mercenaries ran out of the compound while the S.P.A.R.T.A.N.'s were reloading.

The leader of the S.P.A.R.T.A.N. ran towards them as weapons fire tore at his shields.

He exploded like the face of the Demon into them. He struck with the butt of the rifle, and where he struck, bodies flew away, broken and bloodied.

By the time the others had reloaded, all ten of the mercs were dead. It had taken him less than a second.

S-2 could now see why S.P.A.R.T.A.N.'s were highly regarded.

They were not special forces, or secret agents.

They were soldiers. Perfect soldiers.

They were a weapon unleashed when the target was perfectly defined and in sight.

Three people ran out the back of the compound, towards the dock.

The S.P.A.R.T.A.N.'s ignored them for now. The navy would stop the boat if it left.

There were still 58 more targets in the compound.

It took another minute and a half, but then they were done.

204 dead bodies lay in their wake.

The boat had not yet moved.

They moved towards it.

The attack had only lasted three minutes from the time of the first shot.

[OOC: Cue for S-2 to go after Jacobs, who is running towards the boat, with two guards. S-2 has about two minutes from the time the three head towards the boat.]

As soon as the first pistol fired, the S.P.A.R.T.A.N's sprang into motion.

Once shots had been fired, they were compromised.

4 pistols and one sniper rifle sounded as one.

The guards on the weapons turrets fell to the ground.

7 down. 199 to go.

The four pistol armed S.P.A.R.T.A.N's began to run forward, picking off people as they ran.

They killed twenty-six more guards before their clips were out.

They switched to rifles.

Meanwhile the sniper picked off eleven men before having to change clips.

54 down. 152 to go.

Now the guards were beginning to respond in armor, as opposed to just BDU's.

But it didn't matter.

A triple burst to the face would put anyone down.

By now the S.P.A.R.T.A.N's active camo had too much to disguise. They were moving and firing too fast for the system to keep up.

Bullets occasionally whined off their shields, but they were nearly as fast as the bullets. The mercenaries couldn't get more than one clean shot.

And then they died.

82 more guards were dead by the time the Assualt Rifles ran dry.

136 down. 70 to go.

A squad of mercenaries ran out of the compound while the S.P.A.R.T.A.N.'s were reloading.

The leader of the S.P.A.R.T.A.N. ran towards them as weapons fire tore at his shields.

He exploded like the face of the Demon into them. He struck with the butt of the rifle, and where he struck, bodies flew away, broken and bloodied.

By the time the others had reloaded, all ten of the mercs were dead. It had taken him less than a second.

S-2 could now see why S.P.A.R.T.A.N.'s were highly regarded.

They were not special forces, or secret agents.

They were soldiers. Perfect soldiers.

They were a weapon unleashed when the target was perfectly defined and in sight.

Three people ran out the back of the compound, towards the dock.

The S.P.A.R.T.A.N.'s ignored them for now. The navy would stop the boat if it left.

There were still 58 more targets in the compound.

It took another minute and a half, but then they were done.

204 dead bodies lay in their wake.

The boat had not yet moved.

They moved towards it.

The attack had only lasted three minutes from the time of the first shot.

[OOC: Cue for S-2 to go after Jacobs, who is running towards the boat, with two guards. S-2 has about two minutes from the time the three head towards the boat.]

S-2 eyed the S.P.A.R.T.A.Ns as they worked. And was, to tell the truth, mildly impressed.

He would, actually, have been far more impressed if they'd seen him. Not so, however. Of course, they had a natural disadvantage...

...they weren't Nenyan.

But S-2 was. And he held it against them. A common Nenyan trait: superiority complex. Generally only extends to military matters, though.

S-2 watched the three men run towards the boat.

No point entering the compound, he decided. That fight wouldn't last long anyway; besides: unecessary risk.

S-2 sprang to his feet, dashing towards the boat, and whipping his US wand out into one hand. Hopefully... hopefully he could fire the plasma rifle one-handed, if required...

[OOC: S-2 probably could fire it one handed, if he tried. But it probably won't be very accurate, unless he is a lot stronger than a human. A regular human soldier has about 25% accuracy when firing the standard plasma rifle one handed. That is, a human-size target he'll hit some part of it 25% of the time.]

[OOC: S-2 probably could fire it one handed, if he tried. But it probably won't be very accurate, unless he is a lot stronger than a human. A regular human soldier has about 25% accuracy when firing the standard plasma rifle one handed. That is, a human-size target he'll hit some part of it 25% of the time.]

[OOC: Heard and witnessed.]

Jacobs turned and looked back as the S.P.A.R.T.A.N.'s finished off the rest of the guards.

He shook his head.

"It seemed like a good idea, when we started."

The higher ranking mercenary interrupted him, saying, "Sir, we're being paid to keep you alive. If you don't get on the boat, I'm not sure we can."

Jacobs looked at him angrily, but nodded, he began to move up the small boarding ramp, as the two guards covered the metal dock behind them, facing towards land.

Jacobs turned and looked back as the S.P.A.R.T.A.N.'s finished off the rest of the guards.

He shook his head.

"It seemed like a good idea, when we started."

The higher ranking mercenary interrupted him, saying, "Sir, we're being paid to keep you alive. If you don't get on the boat, I'm not sure we can."

Jacobs looked at him angrily, but nodded, he began to move up the small boarding ramp, as the two guards covered the metal dock behind them, facing towards land.

Aglar drew closer. He knew his next move was critical; he considered ripping a hole in the boat via plasma fire in order to prevent escape...

...but decided that was, perhaps, a little over the top. Instead, he simply ducked low and ran full-tilt - which, considering his muscular build, was really quite fast indeed. The men guarding the boat might well see a slight blur moving towards them as he draws within about ten metres range, and everything depends on their reaction to that...

The guards do not see Aglar, but one of them tosses what appear to be explosives towards the landward side of the dock, intending to seal off approach by the S.P.A.R.T.A.N.'s. As one of the explosives arcs through the air, it is intercepted by the S.P.A.R.T.A.N's sniper's fire.

Exploding violently just two meters above the end of the dock, it twists the metal out of shape, making footing dangerous. The other S.P.A.R.T.A.N's begin to run towards the dock at nearly their top speed.

The sniper can't see well enough to tell who the guards are, and does not fire again.

The guards bring up their weapons to fire at the S.P.A.R.T.A.N.'s, but hold their fire, as they begin to back up the boarding ramp.

Jacobs starts the boat, but the S.P.A.R.T.A.N.'s are too far away to stop it.

The guards do not see Aglar, but one of them tosses what appear to be explosives towards the landward side of the dock, intending to seal off approach by the S.P.A.R.T.A.N.'s. As one of the explosives arcs through the air, it is intercepted by the S.P.A.R.T.A.N's sniper's fire.

Exploding violently just two meters above the end of the dock, it twists the metal out of shape, making footing dangerous. The other S.P.A.R.T.A.N's begin to run towards the dock at nearly their top speed.

The sniper can't see well enough to tell who the guards are, and does not fire again.

The guards bring up their weapons to fire at the S.P.A.R.T.A.N.'s, but hold their fire, as they begin to back up the boarding ramp.

Jacobs starts the boat, but the S.P.A.R.T.A.N.'s are too far away to stop it.

Aglar scowled as the dock was hit by the flash, and, for a moment, cowers back, halting and hitting the deck. Barely a second later Aglar is in a crouching-fire position, plasma rifle brought up and US wand extended...

An inaudible high-pitched whine fills the air between Aglar and the two guards; two shots in rapid succession, followed by a rapid-fire burst of the plasma rifle in the other hand - aimed at knocking out a segment of the keel of the boat.

The S.P.A.R.T.A.N.'s watched as the mercs inexplicably began to slump forward, and then fell into the water as the boat suddenly sank on one side.

But the blue plasma signature of Dor Lomin weaponry was obvious, and they slowed, switching their displays to IR, trying to spot the one who had fired.

They saw nothing, but their motions trackers told them someone was there.

They slowed to a quick jog, thinking they had backup they had not known of.

Aglar is now left with a dilemma; how to get to the damnable boat.

Furthermore, how to get Jacobs away from the boat - and the SPARTANs - without being discovered. And either getting killed - Danielle would be angry at me if that happens, is the ridiculous thought that crosses his mind - or at least facing some very (for the Empire) embarressing questions.

He spends - or wastes - valuable seconds attempting to resolve this problem, remaining still as he does so.

The edge of the disabled boat drops lower as it takes on water, until it slams into the dock with a resounding clang.

The S.P.A.R.T.A.N.'s stop moving forward, and begin to spread out, surrounding the boat from the landward side.

Jacobs attempts to restart the boat, but a good portion of the engine is melted metal, and it's not going anywhere.

<flickbump>

Water. It all comes down to water.

Any human - or most - could quite easily just swim, in all likelihood.

But Aglar... Aglar is Nenyan. And Nenyans fear bodies of water. And boats. And they rarely swim, except in Lake Nenya. Which is altogether different - although if pressed, no Nenyan could quite explain why. Cultural matters, if anything, mean that Lake Nenya just doesn't... count. They don't like the water still - but Lake Nenya is sacred. And any Nenyan would give their right foot to swim in Lake Nenya.

But this isn't Lake Nenya.

Yet...

...Aglar decides. Exact mission priority appears insoluble; next best thing required.

Aglar aims his US wand carefully, and ramps up the setting to full power. Should be suitably messy, and distracting enough to give the SPARTANs pause for thought...

...and Aglar time to get away. Seems like one head might just have to do, after all...

...and the Empire could always just inform Dor Lomin - the Federation - whatever - that it had 'leant a hand' in other matters in this whole terrible, disgusting mess, anyway.

Aglar fired.

The S.P.A.R.T.A.N.'s augmentation once again allows them to 'hear' the US wand fire.

Jacobs though, cannot.

But unlike the S.P.A.R.T.A.N.'s, he isn't protected by armor.

The US waves crash through his skull, cuasing blood vessels to crack as the blood adjusts radically to the waveform.

The same thing happens in his braincells.

And his eyes. The retinal fluid cracks them, spilling outward.

Jacobs suffers an instant of searing pain, then nothing.

His brain, quite literally, explodes inside his skull.

He falls to the deck of the boat, skull cracking open.

Blood runs through his eye sockets, around his deflated eyes, and out his nose, his ears and the back of his skull.

Grey matter leaks out slowly as well.

The sight is probably the most horrifying thing the S.P.A.R.T.A.N.'s have ever seen...

or it will be, when the see it.

But not yet.

Their active camoflague, no longer under constant assault, returns them to invisibility as they walk onto the edge of the dock, visual sensors peircing the smoke as if it were not even there.

With their sensors fully active, not even a Nenyan could hide.

They see Aglar quite easily.

But are drawn up short....

...by the colonel's insignia on the jumpsuit he wears.

They pause, only briefly, before moving forward.

He may be an unconsidered element, but he was obviously friendly.

They run forward to assist.....

The S.P.A.R.T.A.N.'s augmentation once again allows them to 'hear' the US wand fire.

Jacobs though, cannot.

But unlike the S.P.A.R.T.A.N.'s, he isn't protected by armor.

The US waves crash through his skull, cuasing blood vessels to crack as the blood adjusts radically to the waveform.

The same thing happens in his braincells.

And his eyes. The retinal fluid cracks them, spilling outward.

Jacobs suffers an instant of searing pain, then nothing.

His brain, quite literally, explodes inside his skull.

He falls to the deck of the boat, skull cracking open.

Blood runs through his eye sockets, around his deflated eyes, and out his nose, his ears and the back of his skull.

Grey matter leaks out slowly as well.

The sight is probably the most horrifying thing the S.P.A.R.T.A.N.'s have ever seen...

or it will be, when the see it.

But not yet.

Their active camoflague, no longer under constant assault, returns them to invisibility as they walk onto the edge of the dock, visual sensors peircing the smoke as if it were not even there.

With their sensors fully active, not even a Nenyan could hide.

They see Aglar quite easily.

But are drawn up short....

...by the colonel's insignia on the jumpsuit he wears.

They pause, only briefly, before moving forward.

He may be an unconsidered element, but he was obviously friendly.

They run forward to assist.....

Aglar notes the attention - however momentary - that he recieved. And he calculates. For an instant.

However, as once before occurred, instinct takes over. He is not aware of it - at first - but his Nenyan brain 'flexes', exerting it's will upon the surrounding area.

Waves of bewilderment rustle through the air like a cold wind on a hot summers night; he probably appears to blur, somewhat curiously, despite the technology augmented senses of the SPARTANs. Technology, after all, is technology. And the mind is the mind. And the mind only sees what the mind is capable of seeing.

Aglar exerts himself, non-instinctivley - and the effect promptly doubles. It won't last long, but confusion should reign long enough for him to just... walk away.

Hopefully, some part of Aglar's mind breathed into his thoughts silently...

The S.P.A.R.T.A.N.'s are fairly strong minded, but watch as Aglar simply walks away.

The lead S.P.A.R.T.A.N. thinks that if the colonel is walking away, the mission is over, and so salutes Aglar as he leaves.

The other S.P.A.R.T.A.N.'s, just as confused, which isn't much, but just enough, follow their leader's example.

As Aglar walks away, they proceed onto the boat and discover what is left of Jacobs....

They run off the boat, wondering what happened and seeking an explanation, but Aglar is gone.....

D'ron and the other leaders were in his office.

The topic of discussion was the recent votes.

All the nations placed as protectorates had decided to join with the country protecting them.

"Well, it seems to be working."

"Yes, it does, D'ron, but we need to be careful. We should delay the vote on the second proposal for a few days at least."

"Three days. It will all be over then."

"True. You and Lesley have a good time tonight."

D'ron smiled at John. "We will."

[OOC: What happens that night.... http://www.nationstates.net/forum/viewtopic.php?t=54315 ]

As Aglar made his way back to Danielle, he slipped a small, round disc-shaped object out of his pocket. Pausing a moment, he flicked his finger against three contacts; and then pointed the disc skywards. Hopefully, the microwave beam would find its way to the MISAT that sat in a nearby orbit.

The message was simple. "The cake has been baked."

Aglar resumed walking.

[OOC: I'll get an IC post in later tonight, but a question...Do you want any help on the Drum Gods thing? I will if you want it, but it probably wouldn't be all that realistic coming out of this thread....]

Once Aglar had left the compound, Danielle had settled onto the couch and watched the sensor grid, until Aglar had left the perimeter.

And then she still sat on the couch.

And sat....

Until he reentered the perimeter, near nightfall.

And when he did, she moved outside onto the porch of the cabin, staring into the trees in his direction.

And she waited....

Once Aglar had left the compound, Danielle had settled onto the couch and watched the sensor grid, until Aglar had left the perimeter.

And then she still sat on the couch.

And sat....

Until he reentered the perimeter, near nightfall.

And when he did, she moved outside onto the porch of the cabin, staring into the trees in his direction.

And she waited....

Aglar espies Danielle slightly (probably) before she does; his Nenyan eyes are akin to Elven ones, after all. Bless the Elves, he considers, as he drinks in her visage for an instant before calling out, "Vanya caliman va'endënya melelvë, roitelin."

[OOC: YAY! NENYAN! Ahem. (Note: I wrote slightly more than this originally, but the clipboard ate my post. And so did the forum.)

[OOC: Damn the Forum!! :wink: ]

And when Danielle heard Aglar's voice, for she did not see him in the gathering darkness, she erupted from her perch and ran towards his voice.

When she reached him, she threw her arms around him and cried "You have returned my sweet one. Thank the powers that be that you have returned."

And then, as she slowly drew away, dragging him back towards the house, she said, more softly, "Did you finish it?"

[OOC: And while I realize the story is incomplete, I wish to draw the main arc to a close. Admittedly, nearly a month after I intended to, but whatever....]

A new day dawned.

Red. The color of blood, filled the sky. All over Dor Lomin, mornings had been hazy recently.

But today was different. The haze was thick, and nearly cuttable.

In a few hours time, it would all be over.

Even if D'ron won the duel, he had still lost. His dream, the Dor Lomin Regional Alliance, was no more.

But he had a new dream now.

Lesley. Family.

And so it would be.

But he had to win the day first.

11 aircars grounded as one at the appointed coordinates.

11 leaders disembarked.

Only D'ron was armed, with Kánomegil, The Sword of the Commander.

And the aircars lifted off, drifting away, as the ten leaders other than D'ron formed a circle, with him inside.

Four aircars grounded outside the circle.

Popil exited from the third one, armed with a sword as well.

The circle parted as he stepped inside to face D'ron.

His aircars lifted off and joined the others near the edge of the field.

Over by the reporters. And the dignataries. Like Secretary Ritlheid of Aquilla.

They were all watching.

D'ron was ready. He spoke the formal words, "Hammad Popil, I have claimed your position as forfeit for your crimes, by the proofs I have presented."

Popil responded. "I challenge your right to condemn me, and demand that you stand forth and end your dishonor upon my name by trial of blood."

"I accept your challenge, and may honor be upheld."

D'ron drew his sword with a flash in the red sunlight. It appeared to have blood already upon it.

Popil drew his blade with a flourish, and executed a brief execise to limber himself before the combat.

They walked forward, until they were about two meters apart, then bowed, keeping their eyes on the other the whole time.

They each took one step forward as they completed the bow.

D'ron lowered his sword, hilt at waist level, point at knee level, while Popil raised his to eye level, parallel to the ground.

Popil curled his lips in a silent snarl. D'ron simple looked back.

Popil attempted to make D'ron mad, to distract him, anything....

But the emotion simply sank into D'ron's cold eyes, uncaring.

D'ron waited for the right moment. The perfect moment.

Popil wanted D'ron to attack. Why wasn't he attacking? He should be. He should want to prove himself right.

Popil felt protected by his own insanity, though he did not think of it thus.

D'ron sensed it. The perfect moment. And he moved. Blindingly fast, for it was a place he'd been before, where life and death, not simply skill and ranking, depended on the precision of one's blade.

The perfect moment. The moment Popil had committed his entire being to attack. His sword flashed downward.

But its arc was never completed, for Kánomegil flashed upward, razor-sharp spine spliting Popil from his groin to left shoulder, and as Popil doubled over and began to scream, D'ron reversed the sword and brought it back around, slashing through Popil again, and Popil's head erupted from his neck in a fountain of blood.

The body hit the ground, but D'ron's back was already turned.

He knelt and wiped his blade in the grass, sheathed it, and turned, with a solemn smile upon his face to Lesley.

[OOC: Damn the Forum!! :wink: ]

And when Danielle heard Aglar's voice, for she did not see him in the gathering darkness, she erupted from her perch and ran towards his voice.

When she reached him, she threw her arms around him and cried "You have returned my sweet one. Thank the powers that be that you have returned."

And then, as she slowly drew away, dragging him back towards the house, she said, more softly, "Did you finish it?"

Aglar let out a solid, happy breath as Danielle held him; grinned as he was willingly hauled back towards the house. Quietly, he nods, despite a distinct lack of balance, and replies in a waivering, delighted voice, "Yes, yes I did... not quite how I was supposed to... but it's done. Definitley done. I sent the confirmation code. And... it's done. I don't know what comes next, exactly, besides what I was told... but well..."

His voice trails off.

* * *

[OOC: I'm assuming a certain individual is back from Menelmacar in time for this.]

An M# interceptor roared through the air, on a rapid course directly into the newly founded Federation of Sentient Peoples. It's influential pilot, grinning at the freedom of flying, as always, pecked at the comms relay control panel and called out, "This is the EOTED M# interceptor Glorious, requesting permission to enter Sentient Peoples airspace. Please respond. Repeat, this is the EOTED M# interceptor Glorious..."

Perhaps, or perhaps not, the person listening - assuming, of course, that he got the frequency right - might well recognize the voice as none other than the illustrious new CINCAIR for SATO, and CinC of the IDF AF, High Lord CINCAIR Commodore Semi Ran.

[OOC: Note: CINCAIR status not yet confirmed. But he won the vote, so. I'm assuming that's that.]

Danielle does not, of course, want to think on such much, and so asks, "Are you hungry? Of course you are." She pushes the still off balance Aglar onto the couch and bustles of to the kitchen to make something to eat.

Gerald appears before Aglar. "Perhaps you should know, Master Aglar, I am detecting an approaching EOTED aircraft at high Mach numbers."


******

"Approaching EOTED aircraft, please state your purpose and pilot for entering Federation airspace. Things are still a little hectic down here."

The comm tech wondered why EOTED was sending a single fighter, but he was just paid to answer the phone, so to say. So the wonder only lasted until he got a response..... In the meantime, he called over his section chief, seeing as how he couldn't actually give permission to enter the airspace under the current alert status.

*******

Near the coastline, defensive installations powered up and began to track the M#.

Aboard one of the carrier groups, a flight of 6 Peregrines, armed with HVM's, leaped from the deck onto an intercept course.

While EOTED was friendly, no one was taking chances tonight.

Danielle does not, of course, want to think on such much, and so asks, "Are you hungry? Of course you are." She pushes the still off balance Aglar onto the couch and bustles of to the kitchen to make something to eat.

Gerald appears before Aglar. "Perhaps you should know, Master Aglar, I am detecting an approaching EOTED aircraft at high Mach numbers."


******

"Approaching EOTED aircraft, please state your purpose and pilot for entering Federation airspace. Things are still a little hectic down here."

The comm tech wondered why EOTED was sending a single fighter, but he was just paid to answer the phone, so to say. So the wonder only lasted until he got a response..... In the meantime, he called over his section chief, seeing as how he couldn't actually give permission to enter the airspace under the current alert status.

*******

Near the coastline, defensive installations powered up and began to track the M#.

Aboard one of the carrier groups, a flight of 6 Peregrines, armed with HVM's, leaped from the deck onto an intercept course.

While EOTED was friendly, no one was taking chances tonight.

Aglar nods to empty space. He most definitley is hungry.

He blinks rapidly at Gerald's proclamation. Somewhat stupidly, he says aloud, "Are you sure?"

This, clearly, is unexpected.

* * *

A clear sigh of irritation can be heard over the comm. "I'll answer, but only out of respect for the Federation. - This is High Lord Commodore Semi Ran, on a mission of gratitude. I need to pick some things up - and I trust you'll not ask about such a personal endeavour - and then I'll be delivering a present to your newly-engaged government officials."

Semi Ran grunts at the HUD readout, mildly insulted at the attention, but not about to show it beyond the grunt.

He adds calmly, "And kindly stand down those Peregrines, please. I have no desire to cause an international incident."

Gerald blinks at Aglar. "Yes. It is an M# identified as the Glorious."

Danielle returns carrying steaming plates - obviously turbo-chefed. (OOC: Think mircowave dinner.) She smiles as she sits next to Aglar.

After she finishes her first bite, she asks him, "Is everything alright?"


*********

"Understood, Commodore." He glanced at his section chief, who nodded and held up one finger. "You have permission to land Griffin International Transportation Hub. (OOC: Combined Air\Starport.) You will be met on the ground."

The comm tech switched frequencies. "FSPCAC to Romeo Flight. Return to base. I say again. Return to base."

*********

As the M# changes from the red-tinged green of an ally to the green of friendly on threat boards, the Peregrines peel off, returning to the carrier.

The land based defenses stand down, reverting to passive scanning only.

Aglar looks, quite frankly, amazed. Utterly. He blinks rapidly. "Glorious? That can't be right."

He gazes at Danielle for a few seconds, distracted slightly by her before adding in an explanatory fashion, "Only High Nobility name their aircraft, if they're ex-IDF AF birds. And only one person has a bird called 'Glorious', to my knowledge. And they'd only be coming here for one reason."

Aglar looks at the food, and sits, realizing he had been standing still. He takes a bite, slowly chewing it before finishing, "Semi Ran," somewhat crypitcally, probably.

* * *

Semi Ran allows a small degree of disappointment enter his tone, but he remains rock-solid calm, despite the small level of irritation he feels. "Your calling off the Peregrines is appreciated. No chance of a less... official landing? I was rather hoping to surprise the happy couple. At least a little, you understand. Surprise presents are always more... delightful."

Gerald pipes up again, "Semi Ran? The commander of the IDF? Why would he be coming here?"

Danielle just looks slightly confused, and at the slight worry in Aglar's voice, wonders, "Is his being here a bad thing?"

*******

"I'm sorry, sir. Security proced...." The comm tech is interrupted by a female voice. "That will be all, FSPCAC. I'll handle it from here."

If he has a good memory, Semi Ran would recognize Cortana's voice.

"Lord Commodore, where would you like to land? And do you need any guide?"

Gerald pipes up again, "Semi Ran? The commander of the IDF? Why would he be coming here?"

Danielle just looks slightly confused, and at the slight worry in Aglar's voice, wonders, "Is his being here a bad thing?"

*******

"I'm sorry, sir. Security proced...." The comm tech is interrupted by a female voice. "That will be all, FSPCAC. I'll handle it from here."

If he has a good memory, Semi Ran would recognize Cortana's voice.

"Lord Commodore, where would you like to land? And do you need any guide?"

Aglar shakes his head with mild confusion. "I really, really don't know. It could be good... or it could be very, very bad. The High Lord Commodore is a... deep... man. He has the Emperor's ear, and generally does whatever he wants to do. If he's here... it must be important. Maybe he's come to take me back. Maybe he's come to kill me for breaking orders... though that's doubtful. He wouldn't do that."

Aglar blinks rapidly. "I hope not, at any rate. I may be good with a sword... but nobody defeats him. Except the Emperor," he adds belatedly.

And this is when the disc shaped communication device in his pocket begins to beep quietly, but insistently.

* * *

As Semi Ran responded, he pecked at the comms relay system panel in the cockpit... and noted the co-ordinates that flashed up on his screen briefly. Still calmly quiet - and no longer anywhere near as irritated as he previously was - and in a softly spoken and respectful tone, he replies into his audio system, "I intend to visit a friend who has something stored for me. At co-ordinates <co-ords go here>. Would that be... acceptable, Lady Cortana?"

Clearly, Semi Ran has a good memory. In point of fact... he has an often impeccable memory - which is not to say that he doesn't make mistakes.

They're just exceedingly rare.

Danielle makes a small jump when she hears the comm device start to beep, but settles down when she realizes what it must be.

********

"Of course, Lord Commodore. I assume we shall speak again before you depart...."

Danielle makes a small jump when she hears the comm device start to beep, but settles down when she realizes what it must be.

********

"Of course, Lord Commodore. I assume we shall speak again before you depart...."

Aglar looks a little bemused. He takes the disc out of his pocket, and views it with suspicion, before pecking a flashing contact with his index finger. "Huh," he emits.

"That never happened before."

* * *

Semi Ran had, of course, throttled back considerably, his lithe aircraft dropping well below sonic levels of speed as he enters the usual 'no supersonic fly zone' that virtually every nation in existance insists on. He cruises now at a cool 80knots, spiralling in on his final landing site - even though he hasn't actually chosen the exact landing spot just yet (as he can't actually see the ground properly from this height/distance).

"My thanks. And - of course, Lady Cortana. I think I'll be 'in the neighbourhood' for a little while, so to speak. I may even 'drop by', if that's quite alright."

"Oh." Danielle laughs lightly.

Gerald pipes up, again. "The M# is circling near here. Perhaps he wishes to speak with you, Mr. Aglar."

**************

"Of course, friend. I look forward to seeing you again."

"Oh." Danielle laughs lightly.


Aglar smiles reassuringly at Danielle. "He's a good man," he informs her quietly, and... really, he's reassuring himself also.


Gerald pipes up, again. "The M# is circling near here. Perhaps he wishes to speak with you, Mr. Aglar."


"That," Aglar notes, "would probably be an excellent guess, Gerald." Aglar resumes looking rather nervous.

"Semi Ran was-" Aglar cuts himself off. "Never mind," he finishes, deciding that revealing that would probably add insult to injury. Or insult to treason, as the case may well be.

* * *


"Of course, friend. I look forward to seeing you again."

"And I, you," Semi Ran returns, before finishing with a crisp, "Glorious out."

He brings the lithe interceptor down rapidly - as rapidly as he can, without causing sonic boomage, that is - having singled out a fairly decent spot. Still, the roar of air is quite audible, and not entirely different to a helicopter - except much, much briefer, and slightly more intense. Alot of air, is, after all, being displaced.

'Unbuckling' and vaulting out of the aircraft, Semi Ran takes several paces away from the M# - and then turns back, patting her on the side, ignoring the faint heat that emanates from the bird.

"Good girl," he informs the plane. And then he sets about looking about himself.

[OOC: I'm assuming that he homed in on the comm device Aglar is carrying...]

As the roar of the M# became heavily audible inside the cabin, Danielle looks sharply at Gerald. "Have you turned off the defense grid?"

"Of course, ma'am." Gerald sounds slightly insulted that Danielle thought he'd be careless enough to blowup an allied leader.

As the heat of the M# dissapates into the night (OOC: Or is it day? I'm friggin' confused.), Semi Ran would see autocannon and SAMs folding back into artfully disguised bushs, trees, and rocks, all along the shoreline and the edge of the clearing.

The cabin that is not a cabin huddles edge between sand and grass. The door faces the M#, and opens, revealing a portal of light (OOC: Assuming it is night.)

[OOC: Let us say, for the sake of argument, that is the night after Aglar returns to the 'cabin.' Cause the duel happened the next day... And techinically, in this thread - the vote to form the Federation hasn't happened yet. Talk about a time - placement nightmare....]

[OOC: I'm assuming that he homed in on the comm device Aglar is carrying...]

As the roar of the M# became heavily audible inside the cabin, Danielle looks sharply at Gerald. "Have you turned off the defense grid?"

"Of course, ma'am." Gerald sounds slightly insulted that Danielle thought he'd be careless enough to blowup an allied leader.

As the heat of the M# dissapates into the night (OOC: Or is it day? I'm friggin' confused.), Semi Ran would see autocannon and SAMs folding back into artfully disguised bushs, trees, and rocks, all along the shoreline and the edge of the clearing.

The cabin that is not a cabin huddles edge between sand and grass. The door faces the M#, and opens, revealing a portal of light (OOC: Assuming it is night.)

[OOC: Let us say, for the sake of argument, that is the night after Aglar returns to the 'cabin.' Cause the duel happened the next day... And techinically, in this thread - the vote to form the Federation hasn't happened yet. Talk about a time - placement nightmare....]

Semi Ran did indeed note the autocannon and SAMs folding back into said foliage. And nodded. Approving. This seemed like as good a place as any for a RISE agent to be, to the High Lord.

But when the door opens, he eyes it with some suspicion. Then he shrugs. He knew the transponder signal was beyond the door; the co-ordinates indicated that much, assuming he was reading them right. And if he was reading them wrong...

...well. The universe had just gone crazy, and a portal of light was really the least of his worries.

He stepped towards, then into the light, taking on a brisk and long stride; but his hand slips to his waist, fingers twining around the hilt of his mighty (and Empire-wide renowned) blade, Náralcarëlma...

[OOC: EDIT: Formerly stated 'Olamacil' - 'Dream-sword'; but that's Si Ling's blade. Appropriately changed to 'Náralcarëlma' - 'glorious fire-brand', as it correctly ought to be.]