"The devil's finest trick is to persuade you that he does not exist."
Katalaua Mountain Resort, Milzas Mountain RangeA few kilometers from the Transoxthraxian-Vioskan border
The Staat-Respubliijk of Transoxthraxia
22:57
"We've only got ten minutes!"
"I can do it in five."
The two men, despite wearing an all-white uniform with a massive red "V" painted on the front and the stenciled lettering "Vioskan Liberation Front" on the back, spoke Transoxthraxian perfectly to one another. They were dressed, head to toe, in full military gear. On their heads they wore snow-coloured balaclavas, with some of them even masking their eyes with ski goggles. They, along with the other nine in their company, wore thick military-grade snow pants, also coloured white, and the thick, fur-lined mountain climbing jackets with the embroidering on them. Two of the eleven were even equipped with high-powered rifles and snow-coloured ghille suits. The rest of them were armed with suppressed assault rifles. They had arrived in the main lodge shortly after the second dinner set had been served to the guests there. In Transoxthraxia, it was the last day of the New Years' Celebrations, which was more of a symbolic tradition among the Transoxthraxian population, as it had been found that the old Tranosoxthraxian calendar had been approximately five weeks off of the correct timing. The ceremony, which occurred over two days was termed "Karia", and places like the Katalaua Mountain Resort attracted all kinds of visitors, from families within the various regions of Transoxthraxia as well as outside tourists, most notably a large portion of Kolish guests in what was one of the biggest celebrations of the year in Transoxthraxia.
The wind howled outside as about sixty people lined the west-facing wall of the dining hall, staff included. Most of the older population visiting the resort had opted to head back to their lodges before the massive storm hit, but some of the younger guests of the resort had opted to stay for the second dinner set, which included a large amount of drinking, singing, and the finest of gamey meats from the Milzas mountain range, and were now paying for their decision dearly, having been lined up kneeling against the western wall of the resort, improvised gags in their mouths made of duct tape and dinner napkins, their hands restrained by duct tape as well. The dining hall itself was the pride and joy of the Katalaua Mountain Resort, which was renowned not only for its prime real estate in the Milzas Mountains which allowed its guests to go skiing three more months in the year than any other resort in Transoxthraxia was able to, but also for its extremely unique and delicious food, high-quality service, and the overall feel of wealth and prosperity. The hall was one hundred feet by forty feet, and the interior was done up in traditional Transoxthraxian fashion, with wooden floors and ceilings and stone walls and fire places that dotted the walls every twenty five feet on the east wall of the hall, imitating the Mountain Clansmen's fortresses of old, with portraits of famous past Transoxthraxians, including monarchs, famous generals, and the founder of the Anqhirrai faith itself. The western hall of the wall, however, was done in a more modern fashion. Made completely of sections of tempered glass that were fitted together with metal frames, during the day time it provided a view out towards the beautiful Milzas Mountains. However, a serious storm pattern had blown in, creating a massive snow squall and whiteout effects. The hall was dominated by a single, massive table that stretched from one end of the hall to the other, and it still had the remains of food and drink on it. At the southern end of the hall where the group of eleven armed men had entered, lay the remains of the first-response security team, most of them shot through the head.
The man who seemed to be in charge of the eleven men, looked at a thick Transoxthraxian survival watch, and set a timer for ten minutes on it. He announced in well-versed Transoxthraxian; "Wallets out, please. Wallets out." before switching to rougher Kolish. "I want your wallets to be taken out of your pockets". He held in his hand a handgun, his assault rifle slung over his neck around his chest. He briefly went down the line, inspecting each of the wallets that were out. Each person who had a Kolish driver's license on it were taken out of the line of guests by one of the armed men, thrown against the great table, and their hands restrained by zip ties. After pulling out two young Kolish women and one middle-aged Kolish man, however, he stopped his search, giving each person that was pulled out their wallets back, putting them in their pockets. Checking his watch, the wind howled even harder, and the lights went out in the hall for just a few seconds. "I suppose that's our queue." The leader said, before pulling out one more male and one more female, two that he had already checked that he knew to be Transoxthraxian citizens. Zip tying those two as well, he put his finger on the trigger of his unsuppressed handgun, and fired three quick rounds into the ceiling, causing a few of the prisoners to wince or let out a few sobs through their improvised gags. "Alright, my friends, I hoped you enjoyed tonight's entertainment, but unfortunately it's time for us to take our leave." the leader said, as if a stage performer, and even masked one could hear the smile behind his balaclava. "Though we aren't going alone. Some of you enjoyed us so much, that they've opted to come back to Vioska with us. Happy trails, and to all a goodnight." He turned to leave, his men dragging the five hostages behind them. As the groups' leader reached the south hall's entranceway, which led to the main reception, and past that, the vehicles that they had arrived in, he turned back to the agape, struggling guests. "Oh, and if any of you follow us through this door within the next..." the man checked his watch. "... Mm, let's say ten minutes, I'll make sure my two snowy friends here will blow your heads right off." He boasted, referring to the two ghillied men he had with him.
West of the Katalaua Mountain Resort, Milzas Mountain Range
The Safe House
A few hundred meters from the Transoxthraxian-Vioskan border
The Staat-Respubliijk of Transoxthraxia
23:39
The safe "house" was in reality, a small cabin close to the well-patrolled Transoxthraxian-Vioskan border. However, in the thick of the storm, the two all-black TVS Conquerors that lacked license plates were able to evade detection and get from the resort to the location without any issue. The five hostages, hooded with thick burlap sacks so they wouldn't be able to see where they were or the contents of most of the safe house. The eleven men alongside their five new guests got out of the large SUVs and made it into the safe house despite the fierce blowing winds and snow squalls that seem to have worsened since the group left the resort. The safe house consisted of three main rooms, a living/kitchen/dining room, as well as a bedroom that only could fit four people maximum, if they were to sleep comfortably. Without removing the bags from the hostage's heads, they led the five of them through the wooden interior of the main room and the leader forced them into the bedroom while his men took off their masks, boots, and jackets to get themselves comfortable. "Stay here. If I hear any loud noise, you're gonna be voting for which of you's getting shot." The man slammed the wooden door behind him, and padlocked it.
The bedroom itself was relatively large, but the one window that faced to the east was shuttered and boarded up from the inside. The bed was furnished, but only barely, with a mattress of straw and a quilt. The night table was plain and had no drawers, with the only source of light in the room being a small lamp by the bedside. For all intents and purposes, the room was inescapable for the group of five who had been searched and everything on them had been removed in the SUVs.
The main room of the cabin was much different, however. There was extensive furnishing, including multiple ceiling lights and corner lamps, rugs, a complete kitchen, as well as a large sofa, a few chairs, and a slightly older plasma television, as well as, perhaps most importantly, a heater. Most of the eleven men had already settled into the main room, but they wouldn't be occupying the place for too long. Most of the other guys had already flicked on "The Brash and the Backstabbing", but had played it at low volume. The group's leader walked towards the fridge. "You guys want a beer?" He asked in a nonchalant manner, greatly contrasted to his earlier sociopathic tones back at the resort. A few of the men nodded, and after retrieving four dark brown bottles for his troops, he opened each one of them off of the counter with practiced expertise, before grabbing a fifth for himself and doing the same thing. Cracking it open, he checked his watch, it read 23:43. "Two minutes early..." He muttered to himself in a smug manner, sipping the brilliant golden-brown liquid from the bottle for a minute or two, standing behind his troops. As his watch turned to 23:45, he walked away from the television screen and his men, well into the kitchen, before pulling out a satellite phone, knowing that cell reception out in the Milzas Range was poor to begin with, let alone when a huge storm was going on. He dialed a ten-digit number, before pressing the green "talk" button which began connecting his call.
Downtown Vounomethea, Capital of Transoxthraxia
The Residence of Iaason Skirivilnas
The Staat-Respubliijk of Transoxthraxia
23:45
Skirivilnas, the Honourable General who began the Spring Revolution to remove the Old Regime from power, and then served as one of the primary commanders for the Right-Wing Coalition, the VTVoA, during the Constitutional Crisis, now served as the presiding speaker over the so-called "transitional government" that the VTVoA formed in the wake of the defeat of the Leftist loyalists in 2013. He now not only ran the Transoxthraxian government what was effectively a right-wing-libertarian dictatorship, but he was also personally undertaking a massive military modernization plan helped along by their allies, the Kolish and the Graditorans. The man was frequently warned by his doctor that he'd one day work himself to death, as he was nearing his sixties. Skirivilnas dismissed the notion as unmanly, naturally, and often stayed up into the early hours of the morning working away at administrative tasks or reviewing reports on the experimental military programs that Transoxthraxia's Military-Industrial Complex was undertaking. It was midway through a report on the XM-SEM-3-MGS-II Program in which he received the call.
In Skirivilnas' office in his personal quarters, he had three phones. One, a personal one, for his family and friends, a second, for business and governmental business, and a third for operations that most of the government wasn't need-to-know on. This third phone he had set up in one of the drawers of the massive oaken desk that he had in his office. A cigarette was smouldering in an ashtray to the left of his report, and a half-finished tea was to the right. He checked the time on the analog clock that he kept on his desk, and noticed it read 11:45. The man went back to reading the report in the dimly lit office of his, but was interrupted as a sudden, shrill ring rang out from one of his drawers. Bearing his traditional scowl, he slowly and deliberately opened the drawer, and looked at the phone for a moment, examining the smooth red surface of the landline. He picked it up in a similar deliberate style, bringing the piece up to his head, before speaking. "Skirivilnas."
A brief message was spoken into the old General's ear. "The deed is done." Skirivilnas nodded, his face betraying no emotion. "Proceed to stage two." Skirivilnas hung up the phone and paused just a minute to take a sip of his tea, before going back to his report as if it was business as usual.
West of the Katalaua Mountain Resort, Milzas Mountain Range
The Safe House
A few hundred meters from the Transoxthraxian-Vioskan border
The Staat-Respubliijk of Transoxthraxia
09:58
By the morning, the only vehicles out front of the safe house that was occupied the night before were those that belonged to the Transoxthraxian Military Police, the PKA. The gas-masked men were armed to the teeth, even though the threat was long gone. Arriving on the scene in an up-armoured PKA version of the TVS Conqueror with a .50 caliber machine gun mounted on the top was Major General Zhaurgas af Ruiltas. The man was a Westerman, a Transoxthraxian from the poorer, agrarian western sections of the nation that are well-forested and have rolling flood plains perfect for farmland. The man had a stern disposition about him, having made his way through the ranks during the Transoxthraxian Civil War to depose the old regime, before going to officer's college and proving himself again during the Consitutional Crisis. His gentle face and average physicality hid the disposition, and many who were not aware of the man's reputation often mistook his physical appearance for a kindred spirit.
Dressed in his winter garb, including an insulated officer's peacoat, he stepped down from the large SUV, and was greeted by the CO of the PKA at the location. "Commander, would you mind explaining to me what events transpired here, that got me out of bed at such an hour? My wife is sick, you know."
The Commander nodded, before briefing the Major General. "The local guard station along the Vioskan border came under sniper fire at approximately oh-three-thirty. Upon firing back, the two assailants fled on foot. An hours-long chase ensued, but by oh-six-hundred, we had chased them to this cabin here. They fled in different directions, but we caught one of them. He's back at the guard post now. The second got away. What's worrying, general, is that there's not only signs of habitation in the cabin, but signs of habitation from at least seven, perhaps more people. More importantly, we recovered a man and a woman, tied in the back of the cabin who match identifications of two of the five victims from the kidnapping at the Katalaua Mountain Resort last night. The one that we captured said he wouldn't talk unless it was to someone that was, and I quote, 'on the up-and-up', so we called you." af Ruiltas nodded woefully. He had just been approved two weeks' leave, and now he had to deal with this shit.
The Milzas Mountain Range
Transoxthraxian Border Control Post #088
Overlooking the Transoxthraxian-Vioskan border
The Staat-Respubliijk of Transoxthraxia
10:31
"So, tell me what you know." were the first words that af Ruiltas uttered out of his scowling mouth. The Border Control Post was one of the many that dotted Transoxthraxia's border, and the so-called interrogation was, in reality, a re-purposed holding cell. Three of the cell walls were generic concrete, with the fourth an iron-bar sliding door. The wall opposite the door had a single barred, bullet-proof window just out of reach of an average man. If one bothered to look outside it would have provided a beautiful picture of the border of the two nations, the storm of the night before having subsided at some point in the early morning. The cell itself was well furnished as far as prison cells went. It was meant to hold two people, and had a bunk bed, a toilet, as well as a chair, a desk, and a washbasin.
af Ruiltas, upon entering the room, had turned the chair from the desk so that its front was facing the bed where the prisoner was facing. He spoke the aforementioned words, before asking the prisoner if he knew who he was. Oddly enough, the supposedly Vioskan prisoner spoke grammatically perfect Transoxthraxian. He didn't respond to the first question, but after af Ruiltas asked the man if he knew who he was the man responded simply. "No, I do not." the Major General sighed, before introducing himself. "I am Major General af Ruiltas, commander of the North-Western Detachment of the Transoxthraxian Republican Army, and an extremely busy man." He stuck a cigarette into his mouth, remembering how much it'd piss his wife off if she knew that he had begun smoking again. Lighting it up despite the fact that the cell was a no-smoking zone, he spoke again, his face warping into an ornery expression. "So, who are you, why are you here..." He turned back to the desk where the man's Vioskan identification. "... Nik... Nikyernik... Zhyei..." af Ruiltas never could properly pronounce any sort of Kolish names.
Leaning back in the chair, he tried to extract some information from the prisoner, but to no avail. He either shook his head or nodded, but never directly incriminated himself or his apparent compatriot in the acts. af Ruiltas was tiring of the endeavour, and spoke to "Nikyernik". "Look if you don't willingly tell us what you know, we're going to have to extract the information from you in other ways, and neither I nor you would want that." the Major General said in a tired voice. The prisoner, with fear in his eyes, but also to an extent devotion, looked towards the general and spoke in a quiet, defeated tone, never diverging from perfect grammatical Transoxthraxian. "The only man I will talk to is Iaason Skirivilnas.". Upon this revelation, af Ruiltas covered his face with the palm of his hand, frustrated with the situation. He'd have to call it in, he supposed.
The Milzas Mountain Range
Transoxthraxian Border Control Post #088
Overlooking the Transoxthraxian-Vioskan border
The Staat-Respubliijk of Transoxthraxia
16:02
A light, powdery snow fell around the Border Control Post as the armoured convoy rolled up. They were mostly the up-armoured TVS Conquerors used by the PKA, but one was a state car, a sedan with blacked out windows and the Transoxthraxian Republican Flag painted on the sides of the matte black car. Out ofn the back of this stepped the aging Skirivilnas, who, after speaking to af Ruiltas, had himself flown out to the desolate, snowy border. The sun was already getting low in the sky, dipping behind the western portion of the Milzas range. Stepping out of the blacked out sedan, Skirivilnas was immediately a presence among the men set out to greet him. He wore only an insulated peacoat like the man meeting him, af Ruiltas, his chiseled, old face devoid of any real emotion.
af Ruiltas was frankly surprised that the Honourable General even bothered to fly out this far, he was more of the 'hands-on' type, the Major General supposed. Nodding to welcome the guest to the border control station, he led the Honourable General and his entourage inside the Post before the harsh winds stirred up the gentle snow even worse. Once inside, Skirivilnas was briefed on who the man was and why he was there. He nodded along, pretending, effectively so, not to have any idea as to who the man was. After the briefing was finished, he was let alone with the man in the cell. The two spoke in code to one another so that no one else would understand the true nature of their conversation. "Only I can get you out of this, you know." Skirivilnas said to the man. "But you need to confess your crimes. As a Vioskan. That way I can pardon you as an active compliant in this investigation and give an argument in your favour to the Council of Five Hundred. You'll be free to go. But you need to put your confession in writing and sign it as Nikyernik Zhyei. You understand this, yes?" The man nodded, and thanked Skirivilnas. He wrote his confession at the desk as Skirivilnas loomed over him. As he put his forged signature onto the document, Skirivilnas thanked him, before turning to leave. He redressed himself in his winter clothing not twenty minutes after having arrived, and addressed the Major General. "The man has signed his confession. May it also be his death warrant. Once you retrieve the confession, bring him out back and shoot him. I have no mercy for terrorists. Bury the man shallow." With that, he donned a small but warm hat, and exited the Border Control Post.
As he reentered the sedan, he flipped open his satellite phone, and attempted to contact the foreign office of Kolintha; a meeting between the two nations was urgent to set in action the Vioskan Crisis.
North of the Milzas Mountain Range
Somewhere in Kolintha
The Konzhunate of Kolintha
Three armoured vehicles came rumbling up the road, churning the muddy sludge as they went. They were identically painted a dull light blue all over, with an elaborate crest adorning their steel flanks; Crossed swords over the throat of a black eagle, which itself rested on several concentric rings of Kolish script. The first chapter of the Kolish constitution.
The driver in the lead slowed, and the convoy stopped as a rugged, blocky shape came into view, out of the morning mist. An old mining warehouse, long abandoned, that sat at the thawing feet of the great mountains beyond. But it had not been entirely forgotten -- and now it was key to something great.
Figures spilled out from the bellies of the APCs, all in white furs, and they were followed by two women in black greatcoats and fur hats. Both talked in hushed tones, but walked slowly over the grass, as the troops marched ahead, as if they had no sense of hurry. They turned to look as the three vehicles grumbled into life once more and advanced further up the road.
"So." the more obviously senior of the two said, "Terminations practically on the border, Transoxthraxians playing fancy dress -- carrying Vioskan weapons, no less. This is an odd fucking morning." She was Detective-Colonel Urma. Just another armed bureaucrat in the ranks of the Kolish Teryusa, but a fiery one at that. She had a fearsome disposition, and her face certainly showed it. Her thin lips were locked into a bitter, permanent frown, and her green eyes darted madly around, taking in the world around her. In her department, the so-very-pleasantly-named Termination Bureau, she was known for her bullying of the younger recruits who were given to her, and for her 'hands on' approach to missions.
But the 'hands on' tasks usually didn't come up so early in the morning. Even her bosses knew not to wake her before her shift. But it was different this time. She'd got a call. Something about an execution that needed witnessing. The Teryusa was honour-bound to have a superior officer present whenever blood had to be spilt. It was meant to show the organization's dedication to the rule of law. But though she had no reason to care, Urma knew very well that the only bits of legal procedure involved in her dayjob were the parts where she had to fill in paperwork, and the times when a writhing suspect had to have their head cracked with a nice wooden mallet.
The woman next to her was slightly taller, but more youthful. Her hair was a light brown, hanging limply down to her shoulders, contrasting strongly with her superior's tight bun of grey and black, hidden under fur. She was meek but cheery, where Urma was a headstrong bully. But somehow she had made a great lieutenant to her elder, and the two were in fact fast friends. This was Detective Yoma.
"Try to look at it with some optimism, Mrs Urma." the Detective said, offering a smile, one perhaps unbefitting it's context, "These mountains are ever so lovely no?" Urma looked at her with a rare twinkle of amusement in her eyes; "That's an interesting thing to say when supervising termination, Yoma."
"You know you agree."
"Maybe so."
They entered the warehouse, and were immediately hit by the putrid stench of sulfur. It was only a trace, not dangerous, one of the men who had gone ahead with the troops assured them, but both of the officers screwed up their noses as they entered. He then explained that the Transoxthraxians had long cleared out, and here they had left the bulk of their prisoners. Kols, reportedly.
And these Kols were to be terminated, said the orders from higher up. They were lined up against the far wall of the Warehouse, but they were quickly dragged outside and bundled into the vehicles, along with their new captors.
It was a short drive, just a mile or so north, to a little clearing in the forest, far from civilization. Here they were lined up again, this time around a great pit - of which there were many around here. Urma and Yoma did the rounds, inspecting the suspects, taking their names, checking their files on a little laptop. And they ignored the sobs and terrified squeals of their victims as they poked and prodded. As they ordered the men to stand in position - to raise their rifles - to fire.
The chorus of shots rang through the undergrowth, startling several clouds of birds and prompting them to soar upwards in alarm. Then there was a perfect silence, as if nature itself stood still.
Three bodies crumpled into the pit. And Urma sighed, then gave the order.
"Bury them. They are silenced."
