All ends are beginnings [Closed]

[Allied Connurist States]

Captain Reynolds was a man on a mission. He walked with purpose, although not overtly as to avoid arousing suspicion from any of his colleagues. He could not trust them. Well, perhaps one or two, but this matter did not concern even them yet. He knew that when the time came, it was not something to be done on his own, but at the current moment he needn’t take the risk. The threat was too great. Gently, he smoothed his uniform as to remove any little tiny bits of fluff and such, and brought his hair out of his eyes with a hand, which reminded him that he could really do with a haircut at some point. Deliberately neglecting to knock on the closed door and stealthily inserting the key he had been given into it, one last shifty glance over each shoulder to make sure nobody else was really around or watching him, he entered the master bedroom of the residence and walked in on a scene he really shouldn’t have, making little effort to conceal the embarrassment and mostly surprise at the notion that the lithe frame of the Empress could literally have just propelled her husband against the wall with such ferocity as he silently shut the door. This look of embarrassment and surprise was mirrored by both members of the Imperial Couple who thought it was rather amusing.

“I wasn’t aware we’d left the door unlocked.” said Connor, his tone of voice remaining deadpan and doing what his facial expression could not ; winking as the Captain flashed a key momentarily and politely asked “Shall I come back in a minute or so?”

“If you’re only going to be a couple of seconds then just go for it now.” Alice told him, turning her head over her exposed shoulder, for her dress was halfway down her back already.

“I’m simply here to report to you that the message you wished to be delivered has been done so.” came the answer from Reynolds, deliberately vague so that anything or anyone listening aside from the ears it was meant to fall upon would find it innocuous and unsuspicious. And the trio of people in the bedroom had very good reason to speak in riddles and code.

Because, you see, whilst the common man or woman in the Empire of Allied Connurist States saw war as something which happened in far off lands and being of little concern, or more recently being a bit closer to home, such as bombings and shootings in allied nations and the war of ‘08 and ‘09 that few people still spoke of. But the common denominator in these two situations were that it occurred overtly, with gunfire, explosions and all. However, to the upper echelons of governance, the remaining nobility and the filthy rich business moguls it took on a different meaning ; they were no common people. To this handful of men and women it came down to a covert and corrupt internal diplomatic struggle - a cold civil war, as one could not so erroneously put it. A power struggle involving camera and audio surveillance so that one could never knew whether their conversation was being tapped or bugged. It involved coercion and full on threats. And for the dual heads of state it was already seemingly lost on their part. They simply hadn’t known how to fight an enemy set on infiltration instead of invasion ; on subversion instead of election and intimidation in place of free choice, and hadn’t known the war was even going on before it was too late and had already reached a decisive conclusion. But whilst the result of the war could have already been decided, there remained the final battles to be fought. Mistakes from the past could not be undone, but they could certainly be learnt from.

Emperor Connor I and Empress Alice I had already tolerated months of puppetry and staring down the barrel of a gun, the latter not always so figuratively. But enough was enough. These were indisputably desperate times and thus called for desperate measures. It was not as if their fears lay upon baseless rumour. As an ancient philosopher from the lands of Auchoi once said, “Appear weak when you are strong, and strong when you are weak.” To use and re-engineer similar logic to conclude ‘appear dead when you are not’ sounded absurd, and rightly so. But there was a chance that such a measure, if pulled off correctly, would be so unexpected it might work. As far as intelligence was concerned the two of them would never jeopardise their relationship, and therefore by extension, their lives. And it had rang true for a while now, but no longer. They’d pretty much made the point of no return, with the faithful and trusted Reynolds having made contact with none other than R-DARK. The Captain had been in the employment of His Imperial Majesty from the start and not only that, but he was a friend and a trusted confidant. And the Brytisc were his closest allies.

[Brytene]

Lundene International Airport, Brytene

Skeppere Avery Jomsburg was willing herself into a state of calm. She had spent the summer running rings around a band of reactionary amateurs, but since then she had been mostly on the sidelines, as she had not been assigned to the Al-Qaria situation despite repeated requests to her superiors.

Instead, she had been contacted by an old friend, Skeppere James Salary of the Rangers, who had asked a favour of her. Discreet meetings and quiet memos had flown back and forth and suddenly here she was, with a support officer and two pilots, heading for the Allied Connurist States. The task up ahead was...bizarre, no doubt about that, but there was no time to think about it. She had been given a fake cover as a member of senior management from the BaconBarn Brytene subdivision of the ACS-based BaconBarn multinational, visiting Connorville for a strategy meeting, but in reality things were going to get quite a lot trickier, by the sounds of the message she had received.

Apparently one Captain Reynold of the Allied Connurist military had reported that the Emperor and Empress were in desperate need of assistance, from a domestic threat. Brytene couldn't openly move, as to do so would be to encroach on Connurist authority and tip off any enemy as to their involvement, so instead this small team had been put together to slip in quietly and find out what was going on. With her soft, non-threatening looks and bushy red hair, Avery looked more like a desk jockey than a trained agent, and she planned to use that to her advantage.

The plane's engines whirred into life as the pilots received the go-ahead from the air traffic controllers. Taxiing out onto the runway, the small business jet lifted off into the grey skies, the land below almost instantly obscured thanks to the rain and fog hanging over the wintry city. Jostling against the turbulence, Avery brought up the data file once again to review what was going on, as the plane headed towards the ACS...

[Allied Connurist States]

It was no pleasant feeling to be worried that one’s minutes and hours, let alone days, could be numbered. Of course, from a functional and pessimistic standpoint, everyone's hours and days were numbered technically because no-one had lived forever yet, even if some people couldn’t resist treating Cane Flute Man as an immortal musical genius of a God. But to be fearful that you may not see next week was an entirely different affair, as surely a line had been crossed. That was not to say that the Emperor and Empress had not been viewed as potentially expendable for some time by their puppeteering overlords ; scapegoats for if ever shit would hit the fan within the country, but if their latest risky play in this high stakes card game of diplomacy did not remain hidden from prying eyes, the game would be up. Even Reynolds, supposedly a fearless specimen of one of the most elite units in the country, was unnerved, but not as much as the heads of state. His wager was slightly less in comparison, but still an all-in sort of deal.

On the other hand, however, it offered the sensation of relief that one way or another, for better or for worse, it would all be over soon. Connor and Alice didn’t lack any qualms about readjusting in the event of success but that did not necessarily suggest that the two of them were clueless. Names would be changed (although identities could hopefully be conjured up by R-DARK) and so could exterior appearances to an extent. New hairstyles and hair colours ; a put on accent and not drawing any sort of attention to themselves would perhaps do the trick. Maybe they would need to work and find gainful employment, although witness protection schemes tended to provide financially if anything of that sort was on the proverbial bargaining table. They had a fair share of government secrets to spill if need be in exchange for this (because nothing was ever really free, was it?) and generally the Brytisc who could be working with them very soon would already have advanced warning that the ACS was about to be not the same as it used to be.

But, oh, the tension was still agonising. It was like when one’s friend or family member had arranged to come around but you didn’t know exactly when they would arrive and lacked a means of contacting them ; or worse, when you were on a date and your prospective partner wasn’t on time and you thought they might just be a no-show. The desire to distract their minds by making the most of what they surely had, the very present itself, was strong, but acting out of character by maximising the most of every action and thought was the type of thing to attract unwanted attention. Behavioural changes would suggest to any surveillance that the game might have changed and make them more observant and perceptive looking for a needle in a haystack and potentially tip them off that against all odds and in defiance of logic, another battle could be being fought.

They all had a date with destiny and it was just a matter of how she'd inevitably turn up.

[Brytene]

Private airstrip, Allied Connurist States

Coming down through the clouds, the light jet came to a bumpy stop amidst mild turbulence, taxiing directly into a private hangar as directed by ground control. The hangar itself was emblazoned with the logo of some private business or other, a holding company for BaconBarn Ltd, and as the hangar doors shut, Jomsburg stepped down the rolling staircase, her eyes scanning the stark hangar flooded with fluorescent light.

She looked every bit a businesswoman, dressed in a navy pencil skirt, faded ice-blue blouse, and a navy blazer. Her hair had been dyed a pale brown and was held up in a bun, and she moved in a sharp, clipped manner, a contrast to her usual languid stroll.

Despite her air of confidence, she genuinely had little idea what her mission here was. It had all been very clandestine, and she had only Truck's word that the contact was reliable, but she trusted Truck and so she would have to trust this Connurist captain. What was of more interest was what exactly he was going to ask of her...

[Allied Connurist States]

This was not exactly the contact that Captain Reynolds had been expecting from R-DARK, although in truth he hadn’t really known what to expect at all. Stereotypes dictated that a suave and sophisticated ice cold killer in a tuxedo could turn up, or perhaps an army of one type person built like a brick shithouse if a man were to turn up at all. It could always have been a woman who gave off the impression of a femme fatale who could kick your arse before one was finished thinking about how damn attractive they were, or, crikey, he wouldn’t have been too surprised if Aoife herself had turned up ready to fuck some shit up. The Jarl of Dyflin had had one hell of a year in 2015, that was for sure, cementing her as one of the most well liked people in the country. The majority of them had supported her throughout her numerous escapades, efforts led by the Port Prosperity Panthers baseball team that she had played for back in 2004 for a season. They were undoubtedly the nation’s favourite baseball team. Long before they had lifted the 2015 Atlas Major League Baseball All Stars Trophy, they were vastly popular for their past successes and being founded by the eccentric survivalist and explorer Wolf Roast just over a half century ago. But enough on baseball and first impressions. This contact didn’t give the slightest whiff of being part of an elite intelligence organisation, which was clearly a good thing. This operation was one in which suspicions had to remain as low as humanly possible.

Reynolds, who had left his own driver's side door open as he’d be back in it within a minute or so, made sure to carefully and politely open the door to the black executive saloon for her. It wasn’t often that he got the opportunity to be a gentleman, what with being a career soldier and such, but it was a behaviour ingrained into practically all men in the country. If you were an adult male who didn’t subconsciously hold the belief that all women were superior and therefore deserved extra respect and other such things then you weren’t the norm here.

With tinted windows, it was the sort of car that the average businessman dreamed of having so he could compensate for something whilst taking it down the highway at 130 miles per hour in the comfort of leather seats, and often driven by the same kind of man who would tailgate you at every opportunity because only he is the best driver in the world despite having six points on his license because of pesky government speed cameras and such things. It was what Reynolds personally called a perk of the job as he contented himself listening to the low growl of the idle engine. It was still the same beautiful piece of engineering that he’d passed his course in combat driving all those years ago. A skill he’d never had to practically use, and one that he didn’t want to start using today, but a skill nonetheless that was one of many needed to serve in the Imperial Vanguard.

“Captain Reynolds of His Imperial Majesty’s Vanguard.” he introduced himself, momentarily torn between offering his hand and courteously bowing, before ultimately deciding on the former. So much for what was officially classed as a day off by his employers.

[Brytene]

"Skeppare Catamount," replied Avery as she took the proferred hand and shook it, her grip firm but by no means strong. Slipping into the car, she noted that it was a fine model, a powerful town car with all the little luxuries and an engine that practically purred. Captain Reynolds himself took the drivers seat, a sensible precaution - too many people high-up in the intelligence world forgot about their drivers, and deigned personal comfort more important than operational security.

Once the doors were shut and they were on their way, she turned her sparkling green eyes on the Captain. They were matching ranks at OF-2 equivalent - the single rank structure of the Brytisc Fleet meant that 'Captain' had to be reserved solely for OF-5 officers in charge of their own major surface combatant. The man seemed confident, but a tiny hint of anxiety was leaking through. She doubted that this was from any lack of resolve or courage, but rather to do with the import of the mission they had ahead of them. A mission she was still largely in the dark about.

"Well Captain Reynolds, Truck says you're a good contact. Apparently you worked with us on SOLO ENDEAVOUR, helped make sure those nukes went nowhere, right? If he trusts you, that's good enough for me, so what is it Brytene can do for you?"

[Allied Connurist States]

It was not that Reynolds anticipated any sort of danger as he lightly put his foot down on the accelerator. It was just that he wished not for any potential driver to hear anything of the highly classified situation that was to be discussed. He’d even gone to the painstaking lengths of spending a couple of hours scouring his own vehicle for any bugs or infiltration devices capable of transmitting location or recording audio or taking video footage. Only when he personally was 100% comfortable and satisfied could he do this sort of thing. Although driving oneself was standard procedure he was the first to admit that it was a little inconvenient to have to keep one’s eyes on the road as opposed to one’s conversational partner (a shame given those particular and remarkable set of eyes) and to always focus on driving as well as what had to be said. Multitasking was something carried out better by women, he thought. Although pretty much everything was something carried out better by women.

“I’d like to imagine that if the Emperor and Empress themselves of this country can place such trust in me, then you can do the same.” he noted, neglecting to confirm or mention his previous antics with the organization this woman represented. It was a question she already full well knew the answer to, of that much he was sure and confident.

“You’ll have fun believing this.” he sighed, suppressing a small chuckle under his breath at the absurdity of it all. “To be very concise and brief, pseudocide. It requires a long explanation from me, I know, and you shall get it soon.” How he wished he could avert his eyes from the road before him so he could gauge her reaction.

He’d already mulled over and heavily considered several places as to where they could talk further where it was solely the two of them and no other distractions. “I know a place.” he told her a few minutes later, not elaborating on it as he pulled up and brought the vehicle to a stop around the back of a small homely looking restaurant in a sleepy market town, if it could be called that instead of a village. Not only was it a safe and clandestine location to properly talk over things but he imagined that his new colleague might be hungry after a flight and such. He was even peckish himself.

[Brytene]

Avery's interest was piqued by his evasive answer, but then again there was no point rushing such clandestine operations unless time genuinely was of the essence, and besides, Brytons were raised never to decline a good-hearted offer, especially not of food.

'Sounds ideal. We'll grab pizza and discuss how to fake deaths. It's not my first time at either, but it's the first time I've done either in the ACS.' she said with a smile, leaning back in the seat as the towncar powered through the darkening streets, letting her gaze wander over the scenery outside. It was a case of the uncanny valley - the ACS was similar enough to Brytene to feel familiar, but at the same time there were enough differences between the Celts of ACS and the Saxons of Brytene to remind her that she was a foreigner.

[Allied Connurist States]

Pizza. He had admittedly expected something a bit classier maybe, but it was no bad thing to defy his predictions in these particular circumstances. It was always pleasant to deal with someone who didn’t have too high an opinion of themselves ; someone who was grounded firmly in reality. For reality was what their jobs dealt with. The media liked to paint subterfuge and intelligence as glamorous and sexy, but as it often was with these sorts of mass media institutions, it couldn’t be further from the truth. It was common sense to know that news was manufactured as popular entertainment rather than being objectively informed about what was really going on.

“There’s a first time for everything.” remarked Reynolds in response to her comment. He was pleased and somewhat relieved that she’d had experience in this specific field before as he imagined it was no common assignment, and unless she was far older than her youthful appearance let on he imagined that she was not the most experienced operative either.

Casually, he got out of the vehicle and locked with the press of a key. He was well aware that leaving it unattended left it open to theft or tampering but as it was not your average government issue vehicle, it had countermeasures for that sort of thing that civilian cars lacked. His choice of apparel gave no indication as to what his occupation could be and to the typical random eye it would look like two normal people getting something to eat. The only thing out of the ordinary was really that there were visually some years between them.

He walked in like any commoner would, until the point where he was loudly greeted by the owner of the establishment, an older tanned man who was rather short and possessed a belly like a tyre. “Jonathan!” he shouted, enough to garner the attention of the few other diners present. “It is so good to finally see you again. Are you after the room upstairs?” he asked, now quieter as the distance between the two men had been closed.

“I am, yes. It has indeed been a long time, Sergio.” he replied, displaying less enthusiasm than his friend, although it was far from absent. “My… err… companion and I shall show ourselves up.” he decided aloud. He hoped that she was not offended by his choice of noun as he led the way and walked up a narrow staircase off to the side, the wall decorated with classic artworks clearly foreign in nature.

“I shall be up there to take your order in a minute.” Sergio declared. When he said a minute, he literally meant sixty seconds, no more, no less. Times like these when unexpected friends turned up was why he always kept the room upstairs clean. Normally it was only ever used on several nights of the year, mostly special occasions. New Year and Valentine’s Day especially always attracted the most customers to his establishment. Normally it was a casual restaurant, but what he kept upstairs was a room that was essentially first class. The tables and seats, for it was not truly fit to call them chairs, were befitting of royalty. And tonight it was now reserved for the two of them.

“I have known Sergio for several years.” he explained to his Brytisc counterpart, taking a seat after pulling one out for her. He spoke normally ; there was no need to hush his tone as they were well out of earshot of anyone else unless they were to yell. “We met when I was involved in a standard operation of hostage rescue, long before I got into the Vanguard proper. Some sort of Mafia had kidnapped his daughter and were trying to ransom her off, I can’t really delve into specifics. I was the lucky bastard that got to escort her all the way back to her father, and ever since he’s been of the mindset that he must repay me at every opportunity. He will give you and I complete privacy after we order and actually get our meal, of course.” he finished. The sound of footsteps could be heard and the man was not late if he were to arrive at the top of the staircase in about five or so seconds. It was clear from the way that Reynolds spoke that he trusted this man entirely, and whilst he was acutely aware that Sergio knew what he did, he was convinced that Sergio would not think too strongly upon the whole reason he was here. Sergio was not the brightest button in the box even though he had made himself a decent living, and would merely assume that his friend was innocently taking someone out for the evening.

[Brytene]

Avery had, in truth, no experience in pseudocide per se, but she had been instrumental in organising the assassination of the former President Bataya of Pepper Atoll, the incompetent and corrupt old man whose bungling had almost let the Manaagnwe Militia seize the tropical archipelago.

The place Reynolds had taken her to seemed to be a quiet, mom-and-pop type place, which usually spoke of quality food, especially when it came to italiano cuisine. He explained to her just why this Sergio was so accommodating - apparently Reynolds had played a part in rescuing his daughter from the local crime syndicates, and true to his word, after Sergio had smiled and flattered them both with flowery compliments and taken their orders (she had opted for a quattro stagioni), he had shuffled straight back downstairs, his footsteps loud on the quaint wooden staircase.

Once the click of shoes on baked tiles indicated that Sergio was back on the ground floor, she took a sip of water and looked the older Captain in the eye, leaning forwards to murmur quietly, old habits dying hard. Her accent was faintly sing-song, suggesting she was from one of the more remote parts of Brytene, although her diction and fluency was flawless.
"So what exactly is it you need? Pseudocide sounds...well, complicated, and pretty heavy-duty. I assume you're referring to Connor and Alice?"

[Allied Connurist States]

“Aye miss, I am referring to the two of them.” Reynolds confirmed, his word choice potentially betraying from which parts exactly in this country he was from. He had been caught in a moment of indecision earlier between a pepperoni pizza or some sort of calzone, but opted for the former, as well as the obligatory glass of coke. Clearly alcohol would have been a poor choice for both the purposes of remaining professional and actually driving afterwards so he picked the next best thing. It was like being a young lad before one had ID or the appearance and general confidence needed to try and get served properly, he remarked.

“So, how much do you know about the general political climate in this country?” he queried, probing as to how much he’d have to explain. If she grasped the political system, who was in power and who the opposition were, it would be a shorter affair to explain what was going on as opposed to starting at square one. But it was not as if truly he was pressed for time as he (well, they) patiently waited for food. Discussion and occupation of the mind would probably make it feel like the meal was coming faster than it was - you couldn’t make and then cook proper stuff like this in the space of five minutes. It was worth the wait in his previous experiences, however, and gave him something in the near future to look forward to. He also knew that if he really did know Sergio at all ; their food was the order being dealt with first and foremost in the kitchen.

[Brytene]

Avery thought back to her briefings. She had never been assigned to the ACS as a case worker, but then again there was little need for the Brytisc intelligence agency to keep an eye on such a close ally. They were liberal, free-market, democratic, and loved baseball - that was about enough for her. In her time as a desk jockey she had seen a few reports, and naturally as an informed citizen she was moderately aware of the political climate of the ACS, but she was by no means an expert, and she answered as such to Reynolds.

"Other than that it's a modern democracy leaning towards the liberal side of things, I couldn't comment much. Your Emperor is elected, like the Bretwalda, right?"

[Allied Connurist States]

“Elected for life, yeah.” he conceded, pausing to sip his drink, before digressing slightly. “I mean there are legitimate political methods with which that’s not necessarily the case but that’s not what we’re discussing. You’re correct to say that we’re pretty liberal, which makes the opposition in the council conservative.” he explained, concentrating his efforts on making sure he spoke clearly. He had a habit of talking quite fast and leaving people behind, especially when speaking at length like he would be doing with this explanation of affairs. He considered that if roles were reversed and that she were explaining the entire Brytisc system, he would not want or wish for a rapid and pacy description that he would end up not quite catching the entirety of.

“Now in of itself, that means very little. But the issue here in this country that even if they could depose the Emperor, who is quite the liberal man, they don’t have popular support and they know it. They are faced with a situation in which they cannot obtain power legitimately any time in the near future. And thus they have turned to illegitimate means in order to accomplish their goals. Your whole standard subversion and infiltration tactics ; threats and intimidation and coercion.”

He laughed nervously, recalling the exact words he’d once heard the whole situation so eloquently described as. “It’s like a cold civil war.” he summarised. He was not finished. They had not even discussed the tip of the iceberg or even truly began to. There was the specifics of this struggle to delve into and go through ; how his superiors wished to react and why, how they would potentially accomplish such a task and then onto how the Brytisc organisation of Skeppare Catamount here represented and was a part of could be of assistance both in the present and in the future.

[Brytene]

Avery kept a poker face as she listened, but in truth she was surprised. R-DARK were aware that there was, indeed had always been a reactionary conservative element within the ACS, but it had never been rated as anything other than a minor security concern by R-DARK. Now this Captain Reynolds was telling her that the establishment was under threat by an aggressive group intent on using illegal and underhanded methods to bring down the democratically elected government.

"Well I can tell you now that Brytene stands by the government of the Allied Connurist States. What's the game plan?"

[Allied Connurist States]

“Oh, miss.” he began, making no effort to pretend it was not an instance that neither he nor those on his side who he represented weren’t ashamed. “The game has already long been played. The umpire has ended it after 9 innings and it’s not good news for the home team.” he said, hoping the baseball analogy made it across. Surely everyone loved the All Star league or at least knew enough to know the basic functions - it was a most popular sport in both nations. “It was no gradual process. The first the establishment knew of it was when they themselves intentionally revealed what they’d done and told us to coerce and threaten. Mark my words, almost everything the Imperial Family does or says is monitored. Every political vote or speech is orchestrated by them now. We’ve already been infiltrated and puppeted, and they’re waiting for the perfect moment to dispose of them.” he clarified, not specifying whether they would be made scapegoats of if shit hit the fan or whether an ‘accident’ could possibly befall them. If this was subversion that had occurred before they were under the thumb of reactionaries ; the Brytisc would have been involved long ago. The media could whirl up a storm of popular support and they could have all been arrested for high treason. But that was not the case. Nonetheless, he was thankful that at least in principle they would have had assistance should they have needed it.

“Pseudocide is an extreme measure. It would not be their port of call if any reasonable option still lay on the table, that much I assure you. If they felt like anything could be done to bring back the way things were without major bloodshed, it would be a cause they would commit their lives to.” he promised. He was of the impression that this was no cowardly plan on part of his superiors. They had endured long enough ; it was a question now of solely would they make it out dead or alive. And he felt it was almost brave and courageous to dare try, instead of resigning themselves to a fate. Leaking the truth to media outlets had been seriously considered, but it was thought likely to end up plunging the country into full blown warfare - a thing best avoided.

Besides, police states never lasted forever, did they? To Reynolds, they were a concept that belonged in dystopian fiction - that was where it worked best. Real life was not so deterministic.

[Brytene]

Avery took this all in. The Captain wasn't an intelligence officer, not as such, but he probably had access to the inner works of the Allied Connurist States, to reports and intel from people who were, and in her experience it was always safest to trust the knowledge of the locals. If this was true, it was a colossal problem for the Confederacy, and represented a serious concern for R-DARK. Questions would also be raised as to how the diplomatic services hadn't picked up on any of this, and she made a mental note to advise screening against all FO personnel stationed in the ACS over the past eighteen months...

For now, they had a more immediate problem to deal with. If the Emperor and his allies weren't ready to spill blood just yet, then they had to move quickly or else lose their own. Although she appreciated the concept of pacifism from a logical and humanitarian standpoint, as an R-DARK officer she had been trained to rationalise the death of pretty much anyone who stood in her organisations' way. She couldn't sympathise with Reynold's position, but she did understand it and so she got straight down to business.
"If that's how it is, that's how it is," she said, her voice low "so tell me what ideas you have already. What do you need from us?"

[Allied Connurist States]

“We have a conceptual plan.” Reynolds admitted to her ; wishing he had so much more to offer her. He was just supposed a veteran soldier able to shoot anything and everything with a bit of extra training on the side, but none had really covered the murky shadowy depths of military intelligence. The Emperor - although Supreme Commander of the Armed Forces - had no formal military training or history of direct strategic command, and certainly not a specialist field like intelligence. He had long ago vowed to swear off warfare. He had seen his country torn apart violently once before and couldn’t bear the thought of a similar repeat on his shores. Alice was naturally a bit more feisty and believed that sometimes it needed to be done, but in a toss up between siding with her spouse or trying to convince him that an effort should be made to win it back she picked the first. Politics was a dreadful game and the mere opportunity to play it had cost her a heavy toll. There was no point fighting for an idealist principle, she persuaded herself. If the opposition had done this any armed nationwide resistance would be mercilessly crushed. It was funny, she’d never thought herself the type to surrender even in the face of overwhelming odds.

“Bear in mind that I am the only person to currently be working with them. I feel it would be unwise to trust other colleagues ; and besides they, like me, if they really were on my side, would have no true knowledge of how these things work. If anyone is the professional here, it is you or someone within your organisation and so I’m happy to run with anything you come up with. Now, I better cut to the chase…”

His words were cut off by the faint sound of footsteps and the unmistakeable and tantalising aroma of piping hot food just prepared. He sat up in his chair straight and adopted a facial expression that appeared to indicate he was enjoying himself. Yes, Sergio did know his line of work, but Sergio did not need to necessarily know he was discussing it by observing an appearance of professional emotionlessness. If anything, it was a cue for his counterpart to do the same, if the quick gesture behind him towards the stairwell didn't spell it out.

[Brytene]

The news that she was to be the lead was a little worrying, as it mean responsibility for this operation fell squarely at her feet and any wrong move would be her fault, and hers alone. On the other hand, pulling it off would establish her as a bloody heroine back at the office, and it would certainly wrong-foot the enemy. Avery went quiet as Sergio entered, offering him a winning smile and thanking him as he set the plate down in front of her with a flourish, making a great deal of fuss before finally retreating back down the stairs. The pizza looked delicious and smelled even better, and a single bite of the 'summer' section confirmed that - thick cheese, piquant tomato and aromatic olives blending together to make an amazing flavour.

Chewing delicately, she waited for Reynolds to continue where he'd left off.

[Allied Connurist States]

Reynolds wanted little more than to tuck in to the food set before him, but if he did that, he reckoned it’d all be scoffed before he spoke again - it was impolite to speak with your mouth full. So, for now, he let it cool down a bit, or at least it was his excuse, although he really was no fan of burning his tongue or his palate. He’d stopped on a cliffhanger and had a duty to fill her in.

“As you may expect, pseudocide is no simple matter, especially if you’re classified as an important figure and normally have at least a squad of guards with you at all times ; the loyalty of whom cannot be guaranteed. There’s cameras everywhere in the society of today which can in theory at least all be accessed by intelligence. This is compounded by the fact we’re dealing with two people instead of one.”

By the Gods, he was being really shit at being direct and explaining the point. But at the same time this background was necessary. He thought back all the way to his school days. If in mathematics he was asked a complex sum, he was expected to show his working out and not just give the answer. Likewise in history he had to give a chain of reasoning as to how and why events had occurred in such a fashion. In the same sense, he had to explain the parameters he was working with before moving on to how he’d adapted to them.

Seeing as he was already being a bit useless at his explanation, he felt as if a quick and cheeky bite out of his pizza could not make things worse. It was good stuff, but he’d already known that from prior experience.

“Also working against us is that Her Imperial Majesty found herself in the direct employment of the palace and by extension His Majesty himself in her teenage years. Now when you have bunch of teenagers working in a palace, you don’t want them to be messing about. It was and still is standard policy to have these secretaries and stuff consent to microchipping - it may sound like an extreme measure but when you’re promised there’s only a small team of people who have access and only when you’re actually working most don’t complain given the pay. I know it monitors movement and vital signs. For all intents and purposes though these can be looked at at all times so we’d have to deal with that somehow in order to even have the opportunity to play her off as dead. Now that you got that much understood ; I’ll tell you how I think it can all be dealt with in one single plan after I eat my food.”

She could consider it something to look forward to. He’d finished the prologue had an idea for chapter one. But the true author here for the rest of this story was R-DARK.

[Allied Connurist States]

Reynolds stretched and relaxed. He felt as if here he were before a counsellor or psychologist or psychiatrist (what the fuck was the difference, he wondered? He couldn’t remember.) and didn’t really wish to talk but knew that the only way things would be better was if he did. The things that one wants to leave unsaid are more often than not the things that it’s important for one to actually say. But it seemed as if for a moment, he was unsure of his decision to outsource this Imperial issue to this woman. But he damn well knew that he’d gone across the point of no return already.

“The story we sell is that the Empress breaks something in like some activity related incident, say skiing for argument’s sake. Somehow this injury would require surgery in one way or another. In the operating theatre she would have an unforeseen allergic reaction to general anaesthesia…”

He suddenly paused to click his fingers.

“…and like that she’s dead. As soon as the Emperor would hear of it he’d have damn good reason to blow his brains out. And like that you’ve got what sounds to me like a plausible version of events to tell everyone.”

He briefly shut up for a second, to see if she had any input or insight. Presumably she did not, which either meant that it was fine thus far or that she was withholding judgement until he made it clear what would happen in reality.

“So really what could happen is that we move them both to a hospital environment to begin with. Therefore there’s no issue of selling a story that involves transport to such a medical institution. Alice could have such a chip either surgically removed which may be safer in the long run or some sort of signal jammer would likely do the trick. Both of them can be placed in bodybags pretty damn quick and with a bit of jiggery-pokery you’ve got two empty coffins for a nation to bury. What’s more is that due to the setting and routine mundane nature of it all, guard numbers will be very low - like it might just be a lone guard, preferably me. Their causes of death would require no further investigation and no-one is implicated on charges of misconduct or murder. If I may speak further, I suggest that if a chip is removed from the Empress, it can be buried to give the illusion to any prying authorities that the final resting place of the chip would be her final resting place. It is well known that Connor is far from the most mentally stable individual and anaphylactic shock which would be the official cause of death for Her Majesty is not too far fetched as it kills 15 people annually in this country. Naturally the main issues with executing such a plan, if you would think it to be fit for use, is ensuring the co-operation of medical professionals and then transporting them out of the country and setting up new identities and such in another country. Naturally as few people as possible should be implicated as it is then more difficult to find out about.”

[Brytene]

Avery raised an eyebrow. The plan was an audacious one, and a risky one, but if they could pull it off it might just work. The trickiest part would be finding medical staff willing to play their part, but there was a solid chance of finding a loyalist or two at the hospital, especially the preferred hospital of the Imperial couple.

She wondered whether Arminius would approve of this, but hesitation was the worst crime possible in war and, if Reynolds was right, this was all-out war. R-DARK had the infrastructure necessary to make Connor and Alice disappear, re-emerging as just another couple of young Brytons amongst millions, though they may find the change in pace and status a little uncomfortable. In fact, she knew of just the project, something that might well appeal to the young pair...but getting them out first was the key.

The story overall seemed plausible. It was a theme repeated often throughout history, and people loved to see what they expected to see. The tragic tale of the young princess taken too soon, her distraught prince killing himself in despair...it fit the narrative, and for the Emperor's enemies it would be a godsend. They would be too relieved to question events thoroughly, especially since they believed the Emperor to be down and out already.

"That actually isn't as insane as it sounds." she said, nibbling on a pizza crust. "Your biggest problem is getting the medical staff on board. The team I have with me now are reliable, so if you can get them into a car and get us a clear route back to this airplane, we can get them safely to Brytene. I'll need to make a few calls, but I assume it'll take you a bit of time to find the right medical staff and get everything in place."

[Allied Connurist States]

Reynolds, whilst relieved that the idea he had proposed could actually work in her opinion, couldn’t resist raising an eyebrow at her expectations of him to simply find ‘the right medical staff’ and ‘get everything in place’. A factor of getting the Brytisc involved was that they may have assisted him in this endeavour - a methodical approach was surely the only appropriate one with such a sensitive issue of national security like this one. How could he find out who had loyalist sympathies and how far they stretched? How could he deceive any potential systems of surveillance? And in fact, to get everything in place, he needed more trustworthy pairs of hands, and that was what R-DARK were for. The Captain could only assume that she meant to say that he get everything in place that he humanly could do without help from the outside, but assumptions had no place in covert operations.

”You do understand that for me solely to get everything in place is a task that I am not qualified for, and I dare say a task not feasible for a single person at all?”

There was also the issue that although he could get everything that he could do in place very quickly, actual execution was entirely based upon knowing the Brytisc were ready to play their part immediately afterwards.

[Brytene]

"Well what do you have to work with?" she asked, finishing the last piece of crust from what had been an outstandingly delicious pizza. "I'm guessing they have a personal doctor, right, some high-flying type with a dozen abbreviations clustered around their name? The most obvious thing to do would be to arrange a relocation for them too, perhaps a cushy job in a nice Brytisc hospital or something, along with a complimentary country estate to keep them quiet and protected."

She leaned back. "We need a pretext for you to talk to any candidates as well. Do you have to go to the hospital for security reasons without the Emperor and Empress, perhaps to sweep it prior to visits or anything like that?"

[Allied Connurist States]

“Sure, they have some sort of personal doctor type of lass…” conceded Reynolds, his face contorting in consideration of his options. “But she isn’t a surgeon or anything like that, at least to my knowledge. And honestly, I haven’t the slightest clue as to her trustworthiness.” he said. Frankly, the fewer people were involved in the mission, the less risky it became and by extension the chances of success theoretically remained higher. Keep it simple, and keep it safe. That was a mantra he heard often when it came to security plans, and he was already severely pushing the bounds and limits of simplicity with the plan restricted to two. And if he wanted to get extra people out of the country, he’d be starting with family and friends long before doctors came on the list.

He liked her next idea more, but couldn’t help but think that he would need some sort of initial pretext for why the Emperor and Empress would need to go to a hospital in the first place. Going to hospital was not something in a lot of circumstances that people planned to do - if Connor or Alice needed anything short of A&E, that was what their personal doctor was for. Unless it was something specialist… like an MRI scan or anything like that. He could get one of them booked in for it and use that as reason to be checking the place out.

And then his mind flashed back to first question she’d just asked of him that he’d ignored until now. What did he have to work with? He could, feasibly, as long as he had access to at least one other pair of hands, do the entire job of getting them to a plane. “Would you happen to know how one obtains diplomatic bags? As in human sized ones?”

[Brytene]

"Human sized ones?" asked Avery in surprise, but almost instantly she got the gist. "Not with me, but I can get some sent over from the Brytisc embassy easily enough. In fact, give me a day and I'm pretty sure I can get the ambassador to make an unscheduled trip to the hospital."

She shrugged as she thought for a moment, and then began to muse aloud. A broken bone worked well, because it was serious enough to warrant a trip to a hospital, but could be treated by a single doctor, perhaps with a nurse. It could be claimed that Alice had had a bad reaction to the local anaesthetic or to something else used during the treatment, and then, visiting her dead body, Connor could tragically 'take his own life'. The only problem was the investigation - the police would, under due process, want to investigate, which would make bundling the 'bodies' away and explaining the lack of, for example, brains all over the wall very difficult. Not only that, but relatives and friends would be expecting funerals, autopsy reports, police files, all of which would be hard to falsify without expanding the loop of people in the know.