And So It Begins [AMW]

[Chrinthania]

Norfolk, Icarie
Old Dominion University
12:25 PM 21 May 2013

The crowd gathered on Hampton BLVD in the moderately-sized city of Norfolk. The warm spring day lent itself to the purposes of the gathering as the azure sky sprawled in all directions. In the midst of the crowd, a small platform had been erected upon which a single microphone stood, with speakers dispersed frugally throughout. A young brunette haired woman with black-rimmed glasses stood there, barely taller than the microphone stand with a sheet of paper in her hand, from which she was reading as she spoke. The crowd itself was full of students and younger people from the surrounding area. Reports indicated that as many as five thousand had gathered. The group had placards reading various slogans aimed at freeing the people of Icarie and such.

Police were lining Hampton BLVD, all dressed in riot gear. The main thoroughfare had been shut, it's lanes closed by police order causing traffic chaos elsewhere in the city. Hovering above the crowd, three helicopters were present: two police helicopters emblazoned with the Norfolk Police Department logo and a single state-news helicopter covering the event. The police were under strict orders from the mayor, Anthony Simpson, to keep the meeting peaceful.

At the podium, the young woman finished her speech and relinquished the podium to her contemporary, a young man known very well to the crowd. They roared as he approached the microphone.

"Thank you," Jake Landon said as he motioned with his hands for the crowd to calm down, "Thank you very much!" The crowd roared again, then, as the cheering died down, he began, "For far too long we've been subjected to the whims and machinations of the Government. Recently, the so-called People's Congress, defeated a motion to free the national ballot box. They fear that if the will of the people is followed, that they'll be out of a job. You know what? They're right. The People's Congress has been, for far too long, a rubber-stamp for the whims of Michael Featherstone and his cronies. The time for change has come, and by God, we will have our change. Today, as we stand here, hundreds of groups like ours are holding similar protests across the nation. We are here today to petition our government to free the ballot box. To give back to the people the rights they stole almost 70 years ago when they came to power."

He continued, "The election of 1945 was rigged. You know it, I know it, and, most of all, they know it. Chairman Featherstone was not elected to his position. No, he was hand-picked by the late Chairman Trenton to take over when he died. We were promised by this very Chairman Featherstone that he would hold, as he described, fair and honest elections to fill the void. He promised us that we would have our say at the ballot box. He lied."

"Did he not, on the day of the election, decide to cancel the election due to some national security threat he dreamed up? Where were these men and women who were 'threatening the very values we as a nation hold dear'? Where are these militant groups who supposedly were influencing the decision of the people? He claims to have had them all arrested. But there are no credible reports from any citizen that such actions took place. There is no concrete evidence that a single Icarian was threatened by the barrel of a gun to vote against Featherstone. There was no fraud on the part of 'terrorist organizations' as he claimed."

"The only terrorist organization was Featherstone and his cronies! We have proof that Featherstone used the militia to influence votes. And we have concrete evidence that Featherstone's henchmen kept him well informed when he had enough votes to win, through intimidation, that he declared the election over. And it was his men who counted the votes, mind you. Now, three years later, we stand here demanding that he make good on his promise. We're tired of waiting. Our father's waited, our grandfather's waited. We're not going to wait anymore! We want our election and we want it now!"

The crowd erupted in cheer as he continued, "We will not back down now. Even as he threatens us with the police." Jake raised his voice louder, "You hear me, police, don't you! You can't intimidate us any longer! We will have our say!"

As Jake continued, the police began to worry. Mayor Simpson sat in a command unit a few blocks away watching the proceedings on the television. He shook his head in disbelief, "I can't understand why these kids want to do this now. Now when the People's Congress has already settled this matter." He picked up a walkie talkie on his desk and radioed his commander, "Chief Preston, how's the crowd?"

The crackly voice came across the radio, "Rowdy, sir. At the moment, we've a few who've spat on police officers."

"How are the men handling it so far?"

"With brave and steely determination, Your Honor. But, at the same time, you can see that the crowd isn't going to stop. Sir, every moment we wait, the more abuse is hurled at our officers."

"Well, we must follow the laws of the land here, Preston. Have the officers begin to arrest those who've been spitting at the police. Show these kids that we're not going to simply allow them to break the law because they feel like it. We gave them a chance to have their say, and they're having it. I'm not going to allow my officers to suffer the abuse of college kids."

"Ten-four, sir."

After the order had been given, the police began arresting a few people on the fringes of the group. The people refused to budge. Several men resisted fiercely to the police advancement to arrest those harassing the them.

"And you see!" Jake screamed into the microphone, "Featherstone is worried! Now he send his police to arrest us!" He pointed over the crowd at the police, who were now encircling the group.

From a bullhorn, Chief Preston spoke, "Alright, folks. Your little meeting here is over. You have five minutes to clear the street or you will be arrested. Time to go home."

Then a shot came from the direction of the police. A young woman slumped to the ground as blood poured from her chest. Members of the group started to approach the police in anger.

"What the hell was that!" screamed Preston over the police radio, "Who the fuck fired?"

Then a few more shots came from the police as the group crossed the barricades separating them from the police.

"HOLD YOU FIRE!" Preston screamed, but, in the commotion, few officers even heard. Students dropped to the ground with every fired shot. The entire affair took fifteen minutes to calm down. When all was said and done, thirty-four students were dead, dozens more went to hospital with wounds of varying degrees of severity including Jake Landon, who suffered a bullet grazing to the right shoulder. Preston had gained control of his officers, but the damage was done.

From his Presidential Mansion in Raleigh, Chairman Michael Featherstone watched as the carnage took place live on television. His advisors began to spin the event before the shots even stopped firing. He stood from his desk and calmed down his advisors.

"The official story is that these student attacked the police. The police acted in self defense," said Featherstone as he began to call his advisors.

[Nova Gaul]

(Hey Chrin, I don’t really have anything substantive to add, but one new nation to another…)

Raleigh, Democratic Republic of Icarie

The consulate of Sa Majesté Très Chrétienne in Raleigh-Durham, Icarie, was an unimpressive affair. It was a bleak neo-classical mansion in a neighborhood of even more dour Icarian constructs, notable only for a its white, gold-emblazoned flag of the royal fleurs-de-lis and a respectable classical garden ‘out back’. The lot of the French envoy to the Democratic Republic (that title alone made the wig of most French aristocrats itch) was not an envious one for any self-respecting Frank. Indeed, it was, as a friend of the consul M. le vicomte de Saint Sauveur Henri Louis had put it: “A joke. And not a good one, either.”

Nonetheless Henri Louis had done his best to make the best of the situation, doing his best to hawk French trade goods and give a positive, dignified image of the Kingdom of France. But, the international scene (compared to cosmopolitan Europe, at least) in Raleigh was ‘Raeligh-dull’ as M. le vicomte’s wife constantly reminded him. Still Henri-Louis put in his time, dreaming of a more exotic post in Steyr, Rome, Riga…even Munstra would do, at this point.

So, bored and deep in his cups, news of riots in Norfolk—by rebellious students, Henri Louis cringed—promptly being gunned down by the ‘servants of law and order—Henri Louis grinned as he watched the footage—completely overshadowed his plans for a garden party at La Grande République’s embassy next week (for all their sins, at least they remember how to cook). No doubt the international condemnations would soon pour in from the beldames in Munstra and heretics up north, probably calling for outright Choaism in Icarie before the week was through. Well, one nation that would not condemn even an admittedly Democratic Republic for stopping anarchy was le Royaume de France.

M. le victome quickly sent off an email to the Presidential Mansion assuring Chairman Michael Featherstone that, as France had dealt with rioting scum before, it was most sympathetic to the tragedy in Norfolk. He added a PS – would his excellency care for a dish of Raclette before the weather got too hot?

[Chrinthania]

Office of the Chairman
Presidential Mansion
Raleigh, New Anglia
7:49PM IDT

Chairman Michael Featherstone appeared before the media. Camera's flashed in his general direction as he stood on a podium at the forefront of a room filled with reporters. It would be a noticeable pool of selected reporters, of course. No one from so-called free presses--deemed less free owing to their corporate owners--were present. It was the usual throng of sympathetic reporters sitting calmly and patiently as the Chairman opened his monologue.

"The events in Norfolk today were an act of terrorism, plain and simple. The Icarian government, notably the actions undertaken by Norfolk Mayor Simpson and his police, were part of the National Terrorism Mitigation Procedures as set forth by the People's Supreme Court back in 2005. Seventeen police officers were treated for minor injuries after what was supposed to be their right to peaceably assemble. Their actions were appalling to say the least. It's a shame that these youngsters forced the Norfolk Police Department to resort to live fire for self preservation. It is regretable that, at this moment, thirty-seven persons, ranging in age from 19 to 29, remain in the hospital."

He continued, "These student protesters had, for a time, been requesting from the government here in Raleigh to offer opposing views to that of the duly-elected government of Icarie. They were granted that time to address their concerns. Similar events took place in fourteen other Icarian cities without the tragic events that unfolded in Norfolk. Due to the events in Norfolk, I have placed the city under a mandatory curfew beginning at sundown and lasting until sunrise. At this time, further riots have broken out in the city and the emergency services are being stretched to the limit. The Icarian People's National Guard has been dispatched to assist."

"Let me be frank. Any citizen caught outside during the curfew will be detained by police until the curfew is lifted. We will bring order back to Norfolk. Thank you for your time." Michael then stepped away from the podium and did not give reporters--even those trusted to always paint him and the government in a good light--a chance to ask the questions they were told they would be allowed to ask.

Chairman Featherstone returned to his office to see the e-mail awaiting him from M. le victome. The offer of Raclette was accepted with pleasure while the sympathy of the French--the European French, that was--was taken with a grain of salt.

Apartment of Jake Landon
Norfolk, Virginia, Icarie
9:31PM IDT

Jake's apartment was the kind of place often associated with post-graduates who hadn't given up the college lifestyle. Jake often described the style as slap-dash mixed with economical eccentrism when, in reality far exceeding his grasp of international style, one could simply conclude that it was a step up from squatting. The walls were not barren, as one might conclude. They were sparsely decorated with poster prints thumb-tacked to the walls. On the far side from the door was a poster of a painting of Thomas Jefferson. Residing next to that was a half-finished painting of George Washington. Scattered throughout the apartment were similar styled poster prints of famous persons from years past.

He sat in the old recliner--a relic found abandoned amongst some trash three years prior--as he tended to his wound. He received some stitches from the local hospital, but was otherwise fine to return to his previously-interrupted life. Following the event, he spent four hours in the hospital followed by three hours being questioned by police. This was evidenced by several bruises to his torso, one of which looked like a decaying strawberry.

As he tended his wounds, the television flashed in the otherwise-darkened room. Views from around Norfolk showed burning cars, police in riot gear breaking up mobs of college students--the word mob being used by the state-run media, and snip-its of Featherstone's speech decry this event as an act of terror. This wasn't what he wanted. He wanted a peaceful, open forum in which to express his views, and the views of the youth of Icarie. He knew there was a reason that the police were called in to monitor the situation. It wasn't to keep the assembled young persons from rioting, it was to cause a riot--at least that was his opinion. Considering the reaction from the crowd until the police attacked, it seemed the dream of a peaceful demonstration was becoming reality.

He stood up from the chair and walked into the kitchen, which was separated from the living room by an island which jetted out from the wall. The kitchen itself was barely large enough to be considered fully-functional in spite of the range, the sink, and small refrigerator. He reached into the fridge and pulled out a bottle of water and uncapped it. As he did, a knock came at his front door.

He froze. He put the bottle of water down on the island and moved towards the window, covered only with a fully-closed venetian blind. He peered between the slats and saw Stephanie, his neighbor. He walked over to the door, unlocked it, and quickly opened the door and pulled her in with a jerk and closed the door behind him.

"Jake, I was coming to.. oh god!" she said as he averted her gaze from Jake--clothed only in a pair of boxer shorts.

He laughed slightly, nervously walking to the recliner and yanking a pair of gym shorts that were left hanging off of the back of top of the chair. As he dressed, he said, "Sorry, wasn't expecting company. What are you doing out right now?"

"Well, Jake, I came to talk to you about Andrew."

"Andrew? What's wrong with him?"

"The police took him away over two hours ago and I haven't heard from him since. I... I don't know what's going on!"

"Steph," Jake said as he walked over to her and hugged her in comfort, "those police are trying to intimidate us into submission. They're going through the list, one by one, and trying to beat out of us a false confession so that they can just blame us for everything."

"Yeah, but, Jake, what if he doesn't come back like the others?"

"Steph, I don't even want to think of that right now. Andrew," he sighed, "will come back. He's a soldier for the cause. He'll never break." He cleared his throat as she finally let go of him.

"Jake, I have to get back. I left Mitch by himself."

Jake smiled, "How is the little guy?"

"He's good. He keeps asking for daddy, and I keep telling him that daddy had to go away for work. But, I really don't know what I will tell him if Andrew doesn't come back."

"Cross that bridge when you come to it. Right now, you should get back before the Guard returns. They make the rounds every two hours, and they're due in a few minutes."

Stephanie nodded and gave Jake a quick hug, "you should come down when the coast is clear. Mitch keeps waiting for Uncle Jake to come down and play with him."

"I'll get down there tomorrow, after the troops are gone. You better get now while the getting is good," Jake said as he peered out of the blinds. Stephanie slipped out the door. He watched her race down the stairs of his apartment to the first floor and waited until he hear her door close before he walked away.

He walked over to the small table next to his recliner and looked at the picture that stood there. It was a picture of him on his graduation day. Jake had a large smile on his face as he held his diploma opened. Standing next to him was Andrew and Stephanie who, at the time, was six-months pregnant with Mitch. He shook his head as he hoped that, one day, he would hear about the whereabouts of his brother.

[Chrinthania]

New Anglia State Penitentiary
Zebulon, New Anglia

The dull, dirty hallways of the state pen offered first-time visitors--what the inmates called new residents--to New Anglia State Penitentiary a glimpse into the life they were about to lead. It maintained the basic, barest minimum of international guidelines in order to keep the intrusive and pesky Nibs at bay while offering only gloom to those forced to endure its hospitality.

Inmates here were no better than pets in the homes of the free citizen. They were caged, feed several times daily, given sufficient water, and a place to clean. Each cell was 9 feet by 9 feet, just large enough for two inmates to share--at least that's what prison officials though, anyway. Unlike modern prisons in more affluent nations, Icarie prisons lacked the usual options of a few hours of television time, or outdoor activities. There was only the cell, and the library with its periodicals--the most recent of which indicated that the Geletians had just invaded the north of Italy and the Great War in Europe was in full swing.

Inmates were left to their own devices to entertain themselves. They invented games like Pitch, where a balled up piece of paper was used like a baseball and inmates batted the waded paper with their hands. If it passed the pitcher, it was a homerun. Then there was Crack, a game similar to Pitch, only using the arm pointed down to the ground like a Cricket bat. If the waded paper passed the bowler (often times the same guy who was the pitcher in Pitch), it was a 6.

They wore simple black uniforms that were akin to hospital scrubs, only less comfortable and more cheaply made. They were not allowed to wear shoes. They were issued cheap pairs of flip-flops to protect their feet from the less-than-sanitary condition of the floor.

Since there were no outsiders permitted to visit, inmates often maintained close relationships while on the inside. Modesty prevents descriptions of such relationships, but, it is generally known what is meant. The State Pen was, after all, an all male affair.

That was life for inmates in general population--known to insiders as being part of the gang. Then there were those who required more special attention. Such attention was often dictated by the crime committed or by the judge or by a politician of significance (often the Chairman himself if the prisoner was of a political nature). These inmates were put in solitary confinement. It was an sentence that was, even to those already trapped inside the walls, a frightening experience.

Solitary wasn't the place to which anyone aspired. No, these cells were the usual 9 by 9, but without a roommate. They also lacked bunks. There was just a blanket and pillow left on the floor. Like other cells, there were no windows, but in solitary, there were doors with no windows to the hallway either. There was just a slot about two feet long and 6 inches high where food trays were pushed through with only the barest of essentials: a slice of bread, a think slice of what appeared to be meat, and a bottle of water. Those in solitary knew when it was dinner time because an apple would be present on the tray--a treat indeed (particularly if it contained a worm, a great source of protein).

Unlike the hospital scrub uniforms of general population, prisoners in solitary were given a paper tunic that was dubbed sack owing to its resemblance of an over-sized paper bag. There were slits in the side for arms. There were no flip-flops issued here, no was underwear allowed--for fear of inmates attempting to strangle themselves. In the far left corner sat a single toilet for obvious reasons and above it a small sink at which captives in solitary could give themselves a rinse off of essential areas. The only time these inmates saw a shower was on Sunday mornings before chapel. Inmates who were atheists were still given a shower, then thrown back into their cell.

If prisoners had extremely limited rights inside the pen, those in solitary had next to none. They never left their cell apart from the shower or to meet with prison officials. They were not allowed to read, they were not allowed to play any sort of games, nor were there prison guards to check on them at random times. Men often went insane in these parts of the prison. It was the place a person was sent if the State wanted to never see them again.

One such inmate was Andrew Landon. By all accounts a model inmate, Andrew never complained. He never spoke. To anyone. He found his life easier that way. All he did was sit in his cell and think. When he was bored with that, he would do sit-ups, push-ups, and jumping jacks. Twice a day, he jogged around his cell twenty times.

His only thoughts were of his girlfriend and their child, and his brother. His only desire was to see them again. Yet, because he stood up to the government, he was forced to live the remainder of his life inside this small cell with nothing to look at, or forward to.

His crime was deemed Treason, though he will always maintain that he was innocent of the crime. He simply needed to get to the store to get food for his then-pregnant girlfriend. He didn't realize that the store would be so crowded that he would break curfew. When he was confronted by police, he resisted and explained that the revolution would come swiftly and shortly. Two hours later, he was in front of a judge being sentenced to 120 years for Treason with no possibility of parole. He was whisked away in cuffs, beaten upon entry into the prison, and thrown naked in his cell after a delousing. His family was never contacted, no lawyers were brought to defend him, only a prosecutor and the police officers who were there on the scene.

Now, all he wanted was the revolutionary spark to strike again. He wanted people to rise up and fight back against the tyranny of the Featherstone regime, as he called it. He wanted people to realize that the Jeffersonian Democracy that was no more could be rekindled. He wanted his girlfriend and his child to grow up without fear of their government. He hoped that the revolutionary spirit would again save these states from tyranny.

Yet, with each passing day he died a little more inside. His view of the world in particular became cynical. It was okay for the Nibs to liberate small specks of natives, but if people in a supposed first-world nation were under the boot of oppression, they were left to fend for themselves. Where was the Pope? Where were the devout Catholics who chastised the Communists when they took over in 1945? And what of the English, who ruled the waves? Surely Icarie was a strategic enough location to want in their own sphere of influence. But, such aide never came. The Icarians were left on their own to figure it all out.

Hopefully, one day, the revolution would begin and Andrew would be freed and he would be allowed to pass judgement on those who slung him into this cell to rot away forever.