Group 214 (Klent Canon)

by **East Klent** » Tue Apr 19, 2016 11:34 pm

"Nothing is certain; question everything."

"Once you eliminate the impossible, whatever remains, no matter how improbable, must be the truth." - Sir Arthur Conan Doyle

by **East Klent** » Tue Apr 19, 2016 11:35 pm

1

November 17, 2011
World Assembly Stranger’s Bar
World Assembly Headquarters
11:35 P.M.

Jarred Michael Stevens, East Klentian delegate to the World Assembly, had just left a late and infuriating floor ‘discussion’ on a proposal brought forward by the Ambassador from Tweegee, whose ignorance, it seemed to Stevens, had no bounds. He had actually threatened to break the ambassador’s legs with a baseball bat and then defenestrate him through a window. Fortunately for the imbecile of an ambassador, General Assembly Resolution Twenty-Two, the Diplomat Protection Act, prohibited Stevens from following through on those threats; that, and the fact that at the time, he did not happen to have a baseball bat on his person.

He and several of his fellow intelligent delegates retreated to the Stranger’s Bar to recover from their migraine-inducing colleague. The Stranger’s Bar came about as the successor to the similar institution within the WA’s predecessor, the predecessor that shall remain nameless for various legal reasons. Located on the fifth floor of the WA Headquarters, it served as the local watering hole and refuge for the various ambassadors, delegates and their staffs from which they affectionately dubbed as ‘the festering snake pit’. They also sought the friendship and calmness of the bartender Neville, a native of Ardchoille. He was a quiet man, but he stepped in whenever he had to, and always had an ear out for gossip. It was often said that more work was done in a few hours in his bar over drinks than days in the chambers. As such the bar had become the stage for many an international incident and strange, seemingly impossible happenings; however, anything is possible in a world so seriously strange.

This night would prove to be no exception.

After the group had sat down at the bar and ordered their drinks, Princess Feyalisa Zerleen, ambassador of the Dizyntk Imperium, was the first to speak, "To be rid of that precocious boil of an excuse for an ambassador, I will risk upsetting the universe," she smiled to herself over the thought of his demise.

"We ought to get Mister Flibble and Miss Harper on board as well. Have a nice, big united front. And has anyone seen the delegation from Three Weasels recently? And you know what, if we want to give the universe a hangover, get the delegation from Free Pangea involved," Dr. Giovanni Romero of Astrolinium proposed.

Bob Flibble himself walked over and offered up his assistance "I'd be willing to help, heck I just had the Building Management tweak the settings on my Universal Translator so I no longer have to hear that pinhead anymore."

"How much would it cost us to get the moderators to ban Tweegee on the grounds of preserving our mental health?" the princess asked.

The moderators were those employed by the WA to ensure that proceedings went smoothly, for the most part anyway. They booted anyone whose behavior they deemed improper and prevented all out fist fights from occurring within the chambers. Conveniently, their jurisdiction did not extend to the Stranger’s Bar.

"When it comes to bribes, the almighty mods are untouchable, but on the other hand, they do good deeds for free, so I guess we could always ask them ourselves," Stevens winced at his own suggestion.

Stevens

Some of Stevens’ debating strategies had given him a bit of a reputation amongst the moderators and while he had not done anything that was outright in violation of the rules, they were not exactly fond of him to say the least.

"Who said we ever needed to pay off the mods?" said Ambassador Dugan of Post-Apocaliptia, casually sliding up to the bar, "I know a couple of guys who can – ahem – 'take care' of your little 'problem' for half the price it would take to bribe anyone!"

"Oy, I've already met a delegate involved in a criminal conspiracy and I do not want to bump that up to two, so let's drop the subject and get back to our proposal," Stevens insisted as he received his scotch.

"Ah, well, good to know I don't have to take you in. Had you said yes to that, I would have caught it all on this baby," Dugan opened his coat to reveal the wire he was wearing, "Well, time to slip that idea by other delegates and hope to catch a dirty politician! Ta ta!" he said, getting up and walking out the door.

Feyalisa thought about which proposal was being discussed, "Are you referring to the Ban Tweegee proposal or the earlier chemical weapons proposal we were kicking around?"

After watching the delegate turned private-eye leave – whom he had been told to keep an eye on by Director Hawthorne of Interpol – Stevens answered, "Uh, the Tweegee ban, of course," a bit dazed by the previous encounter with Dugan, he turned toward Neville, "What in God's name did you put in this?"

“What you ordered.”

“Of course you did,” Stevens did not entirely trust the answer.

“I heard he used to paint for a living,” another ambassador scoffed, referring to the Tweegan ambassador.

Giovanni blinked, "I'm guessing he used Paint by Numbers?"

"More like a blank canvas," Bob quipped as the Yuktovan WA Representative entered the bar.

He wore an ushanka and a heavy coat with a Yuktovan flag on the arm patch. It also had two red stars on the shoulder patches, symbolizing the Democratic Communist Party of Yuktova. The Representative sat down next to Dr. Forshaw and spoke in a deep Yuktovan accent*, "How are you today comrade?"

Forshaw patted the ambassador on the back, "It's a pleasure seeing you here. I'm normally used to seeing you at the regional assembly.”

Member nations of the WA grouped themselves into ‘regions’, appointing the one nation as the regional delegate. This gave the smaller nations more of a voice in the legislative process, and the larger ones even more influence. Connopolis, Yuktova and Post-Apocaliptia were members of the region Antarctic Alliance. East Klent belonged to the region called The Heartland.

"I know comrade. I was listening to some Monty Python on the National Yuktovan Radio when I left to go here. It's nice seeing you around mate. I hope there are no stonings in our region, but you can never be sure these days..."

The Yuktovans were known for their eccentric and random speaking style. He took out a little pocket radio, and it played Celtish drinking song, "I challenge ye to a drinking contest. Do you accept?"

"One tankard of whiskey, Neville. You're on."

Dugan walked back into the bar, grabbed a seat and slumped over on the bar, all the while muttering to himself, "Impound my car, will they? When I get my hands on them I'm gonna-" he stopped suddenly, possibly remembering the wire.

He glanced over to see Forshaw and the Yuktovan delegate, whose name he could never remember, chatting a little way’s down. He overheard the words 'drinking contest' and got up to see what was going on.

Forshaw shook hands with him, "It seems as if this bar's been invaded by the Antarctic Alliance."

"That it does, friend; that it does. Now, what's this about a drinking contest?”

“Nikolai here has challenged me,” Forshaw explained, “You game?”

“Count me in! I'm Celtish, after all. I'd be disgracing my heritage if I didn't!" Dugan ordered a tankard for himself, "Besides, it's not like I'm driving home."

Feyalisa looked up at the clock and smiled, "Well as much as I hate to leave you all, my Mates should be home by now and waiting for me, and with all this talk of gratuitous drinking, a princess such as I should excuse herself,” she said cheekily, “See you all tomorrow."

She finished her drink and paid her tab for the day. She then turned and gave a slight bow to her esteemed colleagues and walked, with only minor swerving, out the door.

Stevens stood as Her Highness left, and then walked back over to the bar, “I tell you Neville, if I wasn’t already paying a woman to leave me alone, I might just…” he trailed off, trying to forget his failed marriage.

He saw the Doctor being egged on by his regional friends, so he turned back to Neville, "In this line of work, it's hard to stay sane," he chuckled while ordering another scotch.

"Stevens, care to join in on our drinking contest?" Dr. Forshaw invited.

Stevens walked over to the soon to be drunk delegates, "Don't mind if I do; after all, Klentians are descended from the Britannics, I just can't allow this opportunity to put an Celtishman to shame go to waste, now can I?" he ordered a keg of scotch.

"Okay comrade. But remember what Marx says, we are all equals. Now, let us drink!" Yuktovan Representative Nikolai picked up a large shot of vodka, and began to drink it.

"Stuff Marx; you're on, then, Stevens. After all, I can't allow myself to lose at a drinking game against a limey."

The ambassador raised his glass to toast, "To... aw, fuck it. Let's just get wasted," he started downing his whiskey.

Stevens knocked back his head, letting the stream of scotch flow down his throat, Like stealing candy from a Celtish, he thought to himself.

Nikolai finished his third large shot of vodka, "Okay comrade.... just,” he belched, “be careful."

He looked at the bartender and gave him a cold stare, "I wish to register complete! I mean complaint! About this parrot! And I'll tell you wants wrong with that parrot, it's stone dead!" he slammed his fists on the table, and then shouted about having another shot.

At this point all other patrons not involved in the contest had left to avoid the inevitable catastrophe. Dugan finished his eighth shot. By then, he was beginning to feel a little tipsy. He momentarily passed out. He was conscious the moment his head hit the bar.

"Huh, what?" he said looking left and right rapidly.

He shrugged, "Whatever," he said as he took another shot.

Downing his tenth shot, Stevens began to get cocky, "C'mon fellas, you're letting a capitalist Britannic beat ya!" he downed another.

Dugan was downing his eleventh shot just as Stevens downed his. He looked around; Dr. Forshaw was out cold after his sixth shot, and Nikolai was well into his ninth shot, "Oy," he said, "I'm not about to lose to the Whovian over here."

"Well I'm not about to lose to ‘Taffin’ over here either; Neville, one keg of Vodka Martini, shaken not stirred," Stevens ordered smugly, still going strong.

Senator Sulla of the Palentine Lands walked into the bar and noticed the drinking contest going on. He made a face, sniffed and muttered, "Amateurs!"

Walking up to the bar he said to Neville's assistant Jimmy, "Jimmy old bean! I'll take a Wild Turkey Rare Breed on the rocks, with a chaser of a mason jar of some genuine snakebite remedy. I've just left the festering snake-pit and feel I need a booster inoculation."

Carefully carrying his drinks to a table, he sat down. Then he reached into his jacket pocket and removed a fine Yeldan cigar and a fine Yeldan lighter, and began to contentedly smoke.

Nikolai sighed, and started to sing a song. He did not know if the people knew it or not, but he was going sing it anyway;

"Workin' on a laptop, close to the end.
Of a job I've been doin' since half past ten.
I don't believe that it's frozen again.
The system has gone down-o, down-o, down-o, I don't believe that it's frozen again; the system has gone down-o.
So I took it down to the help desk guy.
I said, ‘Make it better, or I'm gonna cry’
He said, ‘I'm sorry, your computer has died. The data can no longer be found-o, found-o, found-o’
He said, ‘I'm sorry, your computer has died, the data can no longer be found-o’!”

Nikolai then passed out on the floor, and hit his head on an inconveniently placed garden gnome. His final count was twelve shots, but it felt more like over nine thousand.

Finishing his thirteenth shot, Dugan glanced at hdoor-frame"Is it that late al… ready? I gotta run to... to... that place with the... thing."

He tossed his wallet on the counter, "There you go… and I'm off!" he stumbled out the door, but not before walking into the door-frame a few times.

Stevens watched as the ambassador made his hysterical exit, and began laughing, "That must mean that I won… ha-ha..."

He then proceeded to fall backwards; he tried to regain balance but failed and hit the floor.

As he drifted off into unconsciousness, he could still hear the Celtish drinking music, "Lousy… Celtishhh..." he hiccupped just before he fell asleep, right in front of the bar. His final count was fifteen shots.

Dugan started walking back to his apartment, though, for the life of him, he had no clue where the Hell that was. His phone rang, so he haphazardly took it out of his pocket and answered, “Dugan.”

“It’s Petri, we got a meet; get over to the hotel,” the line went dead.

“Fuck,” Dugan moaned.

Now he had to go in the opposite direction, “Alcohol… life’s bro – hic – ken compass…”

*Slavic

by **East Klent** » Tue Apr 19, 2016 11:35 pm

2

November 18, 2011
Hotel Internazionale, WAHQ Vicinity
3:15 A.M.

Marc Petri sat on the staircase of the art deco styled hotel as he waited for Ambassador Dugan to walk in through the main entrance. The Don had ordered him to 'escort' the now former Mob Lieutenant to the river to have a 'discussion'; in other words, he was supposed to kill him.

Gram Conner, however, was ordered by the Klentian Interpol Bureau Director James Hawthorne to apprehend and interrogate the WA ambassador. He had personally chosen this undercover assignment in order to avoid Klent. Ever since he was involved in Operation Monte Cristo with the Presidential Guard in September, when his good friend Ethan Jones was killed, he wanted to stay as far away from Williamsburg, D.K. as possible. So, he accepted Hawthorne's offer to become an Interpol agent. At least here he would only shoot criminals not assassinate officials, and he had no one left to lose.

Dugan slammed into the revolving door and fell into the lobby. Marc snickered as he stood up, "Long night again, Dugan?"

Dugan glared up at Marc from the floor, "Drinking contest against... Klentian... Stevens," he sputtered.

Marc grabbed Dugan's arms and lifted him up into a standing position; he recoiled as soon as he got a whiff of the alcohol, "I take it you lost."

"Limey bastard out drank... me."

"Relax, it's just your ego that's damaged, otherwise you're fine."

Dugan drunkenly raised his brow, "Me fine... that's... hilarious; I've got the WA breathing... down my neck, the Don is getting fed up with... me, I'm in debt all the way... to the ceiling, and now to add... to the shit storm, I've been beaten by a bloody Britannic descendant in a drinking contest; I'm far from fine!"

"Look, you've had a bad week, but we've got go see a dealer, you and me, understand?"

Dugan smirked, "Petri, I know what you mean; Don's ordered me put down, hasn't he?"

Marc nodded reluctantly, "Afraid so, but-"

"Ah, Marc, there's been a change of plans, I'm taking Dugan to the meeting, you're going to track his dame," Vick, the other lieutenant, interrupted.

Conner was running out options. He had to arrest Dugan to get the intel he needed, yet he absolutely could not blow his cover, "You sure, Vick, 'cause I can handle th-"

"Yes, Petri, I'm sure, now shut up and give me the drunken idiot."

Marc hesitated for moment but eventually handed the now unconscious Dugan over to Vick, "There, now, you said something about his girl?"

"Yeah, find her," Vick told him as he left the lobby, with Dugan over his shoulder.

Conner had to think fast. His asset would soon be dead and permanently silenced if he did not act soon. He sprinted out into the back alley and jumped into his car; he was going to follow Vick.

"What's going on Conner?" Director Hawthorne's strained voice emanated from the radio's speakers.

"Vick's got Dugan, I'm tailing," Conner answered as he drove out of the alley and onto the main road.

"Attempt to recover, but if you can't, it's fine, we've found that the guy's a bit of a psychopath anyway."

Conner squinted, “I thought you said to get info from him, no matter what…”

“Yeah, but above all else keep your cover, in the current situation it seems that’ll be rather impossible, just tail ‘em and see what happens.”

"Understood."

Conner made sure to stay far enough behind Vick's car so as to not arouse suspicion. Vick turned onto an abandoned road that led to the river; Conner followed halfway down the road and then removed the key from the ignition, blending in with the night's darkness. From his position he could see Vick shuffling about in the driver's seat, as Dugan sat motionless. Vick then stepped out of the car, walked over to the passenger's seat and carried Dugan over into the driver's seat.

Conner opened the glove compartment and grabbed his Glock Seventeen and earpiece, just to be safe, and opened his door.

He could now see Vick was messing with the seat belt, "What are you doing?" he whispered to himself.

Conner got his answer when Vick pushed the car into the river, "Damn!"

Vick pulled out his cell phone and dialed. Conner quickly answered his cell to prevent it from ringing, "Petri," he answered.

"I'm done with Dugan; you got anything on the girl?" Vick inquired.

"So far nothing; you sure he had a girlfriend?"

"Girlfriend, boyfriend, faience, wife, something he wouldn't shut up about the other day."

"I'll keep looking."

"Do," Vick hung up and trotted away.

Conner waited for few more minutes and then rushed down to the river. The rear lights glowed red under the still surface of the water. Dugan was dead, that was for certain, what with the amount of alcohol he had that night, and how tightly Vick had strapped him in.

"Oh well, day late and a klento short," Conner started to head back toward his car when he heard a gurgling sound.

He turned to see bubbles rising from the sinking vehicle, "What the-"

Dugan erupted from the water and pulled his gun on Conner, "Petri, you did this!"

"No, no, Vick took you before I could do anything; Vick's the one who drove you into the river," Marc defended himself, aiming his gun at Dugan.

Dugan

Dugan's facial expression changed from pure rage to sudden tranquility, "I see," he threw his gun into the river, "Well then."

"Well then, what?"

"Well then I'm off!" Dugan declared with slight hilarity and he trudged onto the concrete shore.

"Off to where?"

"The Stranger's Bar of course; Christ Petri, no need for the third degree," Dugan wobbled away in his wet and ruffled clothing.

"Let him go; Delegate Stevens might be interested in taking him down later," Hawthorne told Conner through his earpiece.

"He's... alive; that's impossible," Conner stuttered.

"Gram, there's one thing I've learned from my career and I suggest you take it to heart."

"What’d that be, Director?"

"Once you eliminate the impossible, whatever remains, no matter how improbable, must be the truth."

“How poetic.”

by **East Klent** » Wed Apr 20, 2016 12:01 am

3

Stranger’s Bar
8:32 A.M.

Stevens put his hands to his head and moaned. After a few minutes of this, he decided to sit up, realizing that he was still on the floor of the bar. He then attempted to stand up, but careened back down to the floor. On the second attempt, he did manage to stand and walked precariously toward the bar, then looked up at the clock, "It would appear that I've been here all night," he announced to no one in particular.

He then turned to see that Dr. Forshaw was still passed out on the bar-top, and Nikolai in the same state on the floor, "It would also appear that I wasn't the only one. Neville give me the strongest caffeinated drink here."

Forshaw jumped up, his whiskey flying through the air. He looked around to see that it was morning, and noticed his Yuktovan colleague was unconscious, and that Stevens was still at the bar. He stumbled over to Stevens, "One glass of water Neville; and an ibuprofen."

Feyalisa appeared at the doorway with another Dizyntk. The two of them said something in their language and exchanged a kiss. The other Dizyntk left and Feyalisa walked into the room. She then stopped as she looked around the room with disbelief, "You all are still here?"

Forshaw stooped up, and greeted Feyalisa.

Stevens also stood to greet her, "I apologize about this; it's a very long and complex story, that even we are having trouble contemplating," he mumbled as he reached for what appeared to be a mixture of coffee and cola.

Feyalisa shook her head in amusement at the ambassadors’ antics. She walked to the bar and handed a slip of paper to Neville, "Here you are Neville. The Temple should be able to ship as much as you would like to order."

Ambassador Dugan walked into the bar, his clothes torn and his face bloodied. He stumbled past Feyalisa and sat next to Forshaw, "Neville, I'll have what he's having."

He slumped on the counter, "So, how was your night?"

Stevens glared at Dugan, "What do you think?"

Dugan returned his glare, "Well, my night went well, considering the mob now has me marked for death, I'm up to my eyeballs in gambling debt, my car is at the bottom of a river, I'm now at the mercy of the WA, my suit is ruined, and I have one-" the ambassador felt his stomach, "-make that two broken ribs. Things are lookin' up for me."

Dr. Forshaw proceeded to drag Nikolai into the corner, where he would be out of the way, "Well Ambassador Dugan, I drank six shots of vodka and was out cold for the night. Perhaps I should leave the drinking contests to you and the Yuktovan."

As he walked toward the exit, he waved goodbye to the residents of the bar, "Well, I have to get going. Much to do regarding my resolution today."

Stevens stared as the doctor left, "A little water and some painkillers and he's good as new. What does that bugger know that I don't?"

He then returned to his stool and faced Dugan, "I once had a contact in the mob..."

Dugan snorted, "Oh, a contact in the mob, big whoop. Believe me, if I want something done, I know a few guys I can call. Private contractors, you know. Little cash under the table and a name, and they'll mail you his head. That sort of thing. Besides, not as if you of all people could convince them to call off the hit."

Stevens raised his brow, "Me of all people? I suggest you keep your mouth shut, kid, before you lose the ability to open it."

He noticed his stray twenty-two caliber pistol on the floor, picked it up and put it back in his briefcase, then returned to bar. Being a military man, and former secret agent, Stevens carried an assortment of weapons with him throughout his life. Due to the restrictions of the WA, he had to conceal his single gun so as to avoid the wrath of the moderators, and security, of course.

Ignoring the gun, Dugan continued, "Well, unless you and the don are old drinking buddies, I doubt you could convince that guy to forgive the man who killed his chief lieutenant."

"The don, man, I haven't thought about 'm in years; how's that limp of his doing?" Stevens asked, eyeing Dugan, just now remembering the wire.

He noticed a bit of concern in Steven's eyes, "I'm not wearing the wire. Hell, I just admitted to killing a man. The WA is investigating me. I don't want to be like that one president and record my own confession. As for the don, he's not doing so well these days. The stress is killing him. Well, that and the rival mobs. They're doing a number on the old guy."

He realized what Stevens was saying, "Wait, you know the don? I need you to do me a favor. Try and talk him out of the hit. I can make it well worth your while."

"Well, the reason I asked about the limp was because I was the one who gave it to him, but I do know of a few skeletons he'd prefer to keep in his closet, so I'm sure I could do that for you; no payment needed," Stevens began to smile remembering his days in the Secret Service, a specialized branch of the Eastern Intelligence Agency.

"Wait a minute; did you say the WA's investigating you?" Stevens already knew the answer, he had been informed days earlier that the WA had Interpol investigate Dugan, and now they wanted him to get the crazed ambassador to turn himself in.

The ambassador nervously tugged at what was left of his shirt collar, "Well, remember how I mentioned the gambling debts? Not all of those were from... legal, let's call them… casinos. A few backroom high-stakes poker deals gone wrong, a few bets on races, nothing serious..." he began to laugh nervously, as if he was hiding something.

Stevens sighed and looked Dugan in the eye, "Kid, I've interrogated war criminals, I know when someone's lying to me."

"Alright, I may have used some, shall we say, illicit methods to try and pay back the money I owed. I somehow managed to keep my vices on the down low until I got into this office. I started… exploiting my position to make back the money I owed. That's all you're going to get out of me."

Stevens looked around the pub for a moment, "Why don't we continue this conversation over in the corner booth; these walls have ears," he motioned toward Neville.

Dugan and Stevens walked over into the corner booth of the bar, where he continued, "Let's just say that some funds went missing, okay? Maybe a few weapons went missing as well, and a few suspicious cars were allowed past checkpoints. All that went on for a while, but, eventually, the WA caught on to me. They sort of put me in a no-win situation. If I could get close to the Don, or one of his advisors, and catch them on the wire talking about their operations I'd be off the hook.”

Stevens stared at him with a blank expression, This guy…

“That's why I was in the car with Vick last night. He caught on to me, and drove the car off a bridge into a river. I was lucky to get out. Unfortunately, I lost the wire, and now the WA has called off the deal. I'm a dead man, no matter how you look at it. Even if I make it out of here intact, they've already contacted President Alburn. My political career is over. Then who'll protect me from those thugs I owe money to back home? No one. I'm dead, unless I can disappear."

Stevens contemplated Dugan's words for a moment, "One minute," he said as pulled his phone from his pocket and dialed, "Gram, it's me, Stevens, how soon can you get to the bar? There's something you should hear. Good, see you then."

He turned back to Dugan, "That was a 'friend' of mine, I'm sure he can help. When he gets here, you might recognize him; just tell him what you told me, okay?"

"Alright, just let me make a phone call first," he said, removing his cell phone from his pocket and dialing a number, "This is Dugan. Do it," with that, he hung up.

A man in a black suit and sunglasses entered the bar; Stevens waved him over, "Dugan, allow me to introduce Special Agent Gram Conner, he's been deep undercover in the Don's group for a while now."

"We've met," Conner smirked as he sat down.

“Petri? That… kind of makes sense, now that I think about it…”

Conner could not care less about Dugan’s epiphany, "Let's make this quick, I’ve got to get back before they miss me."

Stevens looked over at Dugan, "Well, kid, don't keep the man waiting."

"Thanks, but I don't need your help. Remember that phone call I made? I've had a contingency in place for a while now. I hoped I wouldn't have to use it, but they drove me to it. Now, if you'll excuse me, gentlemen, I have a plane to catch. Oh, and watch out anything interesting on the news in the next hour or so. It'll all make sense," he got up, walked out the door, and stepped into a waiting humvee.

“The Hell?” Dugan’s sudden change in demeanor and strategy took Stevens by surprise.

“The guy’s crazy, like Hawthorne told you; we’ve been onto him for a while now,” Conner explained, “What do you want me to do?”

"Follow him," Stevens ordered.

Conner left the bar and got into his car and did as he was ordered. Back at the bar, Stevens found the remote and turned on the television, "This has got to be one of the weirdest times in my life," he grumbled.

***

The humvee raced down the streets. Dugan’s excitement was so intense that one could say it even bordered on psychosis. He received a text message:

The guy is having you followed, as you predicted.

He texted back:

You know the plan. Take care of him. Make it look accidental.

Fifty feet behind the humvee, at a busy intersection, two cars collided. There was one casualty intended, one Gram Conner. The other driver sped off down the road.

by **East Klent** » Wed Apr 20, 2016 12:51 am

4

International Highway
2:00 P.M.

The scene at the intersection was chaotic; people screaming, yelling and running everywhere; sirens blasting. Amidst all this chaos, an anonymous man in a black suit walked up to an empty fire engine and started zooming after the ambassador, "Having that decoy was a good call Stevens," the man said into his phone.

"Thanks, just try avoiding the news this time, Gram," Stevens said and hung up, "Another coffee, Neville."

Nikolai finally awoke. He had a dream where he was fighting zombies with a volt driver, revolver and his ninja moves. He got up and turned to whom he thought was Dr. Forshaw, "I am never doing that again. The Premier would laugh if he knew about the Stranger's Bar. Nowadays Yuktova is doing good. Most radiation is gone, except in a few places. Like Tsu Crater, the Devil's Throat, they have over one thousand rads in some areas. The record was three thousand two-hundred and fifty rads per second!"

Half confused, half amused, Stevens raised his cup to Nikolai, "Welcome back to the land of living, Ambassador."

International Highway
2:09 P.M.

Sirens blasting, Agent Conner floored the gas pedal of the fire engine, gained on Ambassador Dugan's humvee, zoomed down the congested highway and pulled out his Glock, just in case his targets decided to get cute, "This guy better be worth all this," he mumbled to himself.

"My, my, this guy just doesn't give up," said Ambassador Dugan.

"Mind stepping on it? We do have a plane to catch, after all," he grabbed a box of nails from the back seat, "Oh, action movie cliché, don't fail me now!"

He poured the nails out the passenger window, intending to blow out Connor's tires. Conner came to a screeching halt, "Damn!" he growled as he hit the steering wheel.

He jumped out of the engine and ran into oncoming traffic, stopping one of cars, "Sorry Sir, I need this car for confidential services; I'll have to ask you to step out," Conner ordered the driver, holding both his gun and his badge.

"Y... ye... yes, okay," the terrified man sputtered as he stepped out of his brand new car.

Conner immediately headed off, full speed, desperately trying to catch up to the wanted ambassador.

Every time I think I've gotten rid of this guy, he comes back full force, thought the ambassador, how in the Hell do I – ooh I know.

He reached for something in the trunk. The humvee was rapidly approaching a highway overpass. Right before they went under it, the ambassador leaned out of his window toting a rocket launcher. The second they were clear of the overpass, he fired the rocket. It collided with the support beams of the overpass, destroying them. The overpass collapsed onto the road below, blocking both lanes.

"See ya, sucker!" he screamed at the top of his lungs.

World Assembly Stranger's Bar
2:10 P.M.

Stevens stared at the television, which was still showing coverage of the accident, "Neville, here's my tab," he put the owed cash on the counter and left the pub.

Walking into his office, he dialed the Klentian Interpol Bureau, "Yes, hello, this is Delegate Stevens over at the WA, can you put Director Hawthorne on the line please."

"Hawthorne, I hope you don't mind that I borrowed one of your agents for a while.”

“I’m aware, as is pretty much anyone else with a television. What exactly are you two up to?”

“Oh, nothing, just a little information gathering, nothing dangerous.”

“Dugan, I take it.”

“Yeah.”

“Go ahead, like I said, we want the crazy bastard.”

“Excellent, thanks," he hung up, and dialed another number, "Don, it’s Stevens.”

Silence was all that came through, “Yes, that Stevens.”

“Didn’t I tell you never to talk to me again?”

“That was before I saved your life, and mistress, and stash-”

“Fine, what do you want?”

“I'm having a little trouble with one of your people; mind calling him?"

“Dugan I presume.”

“Guy’s that popular, huh?”

“I have my own reasons of going after him, where is he?”

“Now, now, I want you to call him, not kill him.”

“I won’t kill ‘m, just catch him for you and maybe rough him up a little.”

Stevens mulled for a few seconds before reluctantly replying, “Deal.”

International Highway
2:16 PM

Conner barely had enough time to react, jumping out the car just before it smashed into the rubble. Lifting his sore body up off the gravel, he made sure his phone was still intact and then dialed Stevens, "He got away."

"Don't worry Gram, I've set the contingency plan in motion, but do call some back up just in case," Stevens informed him.

***

A convoy of black SUVs sped toward the ambassador's humvee head on, "Is the Don sure about this?" one of the drivers asked, "Don't question the boss," someone said in response while loading his rifle.

The convoy was closing in on the humvee; This is bad, so very bad! thought the ambassador as he worriedly looked at the skyline around him, I'm dead if that idiot doesn't sho – there he is!

From above, a small, black helicopter descended toward the humvee. The ambassador kicked open his door and climbed on top of the vehicle. He had trouble maintaining his balance, given that the humvee was moving so fast, so he would have to make this quick. He grabbed onto the chopper's landing skid. A dark suited man helped him into the chopper. When he was seated, the dark clad man grabbed an RPG and began firing at the convoy below. He managed to take out several of the vehicles before they reached a safe altitude.

Next stop, the airport, and freedom.

Two Sikorsky UH-Sixty Blackhawk helicopters began their pursuit of the ambassador. Onboard were Interpol agents from the WAHQ Bureau armed with M-Sixteen rifles. Onboard the lead copter was Agent Conner, "Let's see you get away from this, Dugan."

World Assembly Drive Way
2:25 P.M.

A diplomatic sedan pulled up in front of the WA building, which Stevens stepped into, "High-tail it to the airport, and I don't care if you have to break a few traffic laws to get there," he ordered the driver.

"Yes, Mr. Stevens," the driver obeyed.

"This is going to be quite the intervention," Stevens remarked to himself.

***

"Well, I don't see any way out of this," the man in black stared at Dugan disbelievingly.

The ambassador burst out into laughter, "Oh, I really had you going there for a second, didn't I?"

He grabbed his cell phone, "Initiate phase four!" he ordered.

With that, two refitted Huey gunships flew in to take out the Blackhawks. The two groups of gunships began engaging each other while the ambassador's chopper continued its course.

"Adieu, gentlemen!" said the ambassador, "And now, I gloat," he dialed the number for Steven's phone.

While looking out the window of the car, noticing that they ran a red light for the tenth time, Stevens picked up his phone, "I wished this thing came with caller ID," and answered "Stevens."

"Hello Stevens, I do believe that I've won. As I speak, I am above the airport where a private jet is waiting to take me to safety. Once I reach that jet, I'm untouchable."

Stevens smirked, "I wouldn't celebrate just yet if I were you, kid."

International Airspace
2:28 P.M.

Falcon X-22 Fighter

Three East Klent Air Force Falcon X-Twenty-Two fighter jets, from the aircraft carrier EKS Terris, caught Dugan's copter on radar, "This is Terra-One; I've detected the bogey."

"This is Terra-Three, so have I, Captain; are we permitted to engage this close to the World Assembly?"

"Delegate Stevens said that we had the airspace, let's hope he was right," they continued toward their target.

***

"Who said I was celebrating? I'm not. Not yet anyways. I'm aware that your men have secured the airspace over the airport, so I have a proposition for you. We have sent explosive charges to various medical facilities located throughout the city. Which ones, you may ask? I'm not telling! If you kill me, they will go off. If you allow me safe passage onto my jet and out of the area, I will remotely deactivate the charges. So, which is it? Call of the search and let a dangerous man live another day, or take me out and kill so many innocents that you could have saved? The choice is yours," with that, he hung up.

"If I'm right, he'll take the bait. He's not the coldblooded killer type. Oh, I love being so openly evil for once! Before, I always had to kill hookers in truck-stop bathrooms to get my thrills, but this? I could get used to this!" he proceeded to laugh hysterically, "I like how that felt. Laugh with me minions!”

Silence.

“Oh, come on. You’re no fun."

“We’re not your minions.”

“Oh, whatever.”

Stevens put down his phone, with a stony expression on his face, "He's joking, there's not a single way he would have enough time to orchestrate all this, it's impossible."

He was right, it would have been impossible for Dugan to arrange the weapons, manpower and vehicles to pull this scheme off. This had been months in planning, and Dugan was not the only one behind it.

Still keeping his foot down on the pedal and his eyes on the road, the driver advised Stevens, "Our victory over the monarchists was also 'impossible', Sir, if you remember. If this ambassador is as crazy as he sounds, I wouldn't underestimate him."

Stevens debated with himself about what to decide. His phone notified him that he had a text. The text showed a woman tied to a chair with a gun aimed at her head. The message read;

Dugan’s Sister

“The things we tolerate…” Stevens grumbled and then called Dugan, "I have a proposition for you; I'll call off the fighters and Interpol, you call off the bombings, leaving us to race to the airport. If I get there first, you will turn yourself over, or if you get there first, I'll let you get away scot-free. Also, just to make sure you didn't try anything, while I was talking with Don a few minutes ago, he said he ran into a family member of yours; he even sent me a picture, here it is," Stevens texted the picture to Dugan.

"So what do you say Dugan, you up to the challenge?"

"Interesting proposition. I'll take it. It sounds like it'll make this whole deal much more interesting. Also, do what you want with my sister. She and I never liked each other much, anyways! The race is on Stevens; can you make it before I do?" he hung up.

"I planned to make a landing but, it seems I'll be taking alternate transport down," he said, putting on a parachute.

"Radio the ground crew, tell them to spin up the engines," the ambassador jumped out of the helicopter, freefalling toward the ground below.

This is either going to be very fun, very painful, or both, he thought as he plummeted.

Stevens called Conner and radioed the fighters, calling them off, "Stop the car, I'll drive the rest of way," he told the driver.

Once Stevens had buckled himself into the driver’s seat, the driver asked through the window, "Are you sure you can drive that quickly, Sir?"

"Pete, I am no stranger when it comes to driving vehicles at unsafe velocities," Stevens assured him, before he screeched off toward the hospital at top speed.

After three minutes of freefall, Dugan pulled his chute. He also pulled out his cell phone, "I'm almost there!" he said in a singsong tone of voice, "Oh, and silly me, I forgot to mention. I wouldn't tamper with those charges if I were you. I paid top-dollar to ensure that those charges couldn't be disarmed by anyone but myself. Shake them around too much, or even attempt to cut a wire and kablewy! You and everyone else in the vicinity will be nice and dead. So don't get any ideas," he hung up.

He was fast approaching the gangway of his jet, I win. You lose. Someone's ego has a very big bruise!

Stevens left his phone on speaker, even after Dugan hung up. He could see the gates marking the end of the runway grow larger in size as he got closer; he could also see Dugan's parachute in the air, "C'mon, you've got five-hundred thirty-five horsepower, can't you go any faster!" he yelled at the car.

The car burst through the gate, and zoomed down the runway. It seemed to Stevens that if they keep their timing, he might actually hit Dugan when he landed, "It'd be almost too good to be true," he slightly chuckled.

Seeing Stevens’ car speeding toward the jet, Dugan leaned all his weight forward to gain as much speed as possible. He managed to land on the left wing of the jet. Seeing that he had landed, the crew brought up the gangway. Stevens’ car came to a stop in front of the jet.

Goody, he thought, I get to gloat face to face before I claim my victory! This is every villain’s dream!

Stevens got out of the car smiling, "You really think you've won, don't you?" he chuckled at Dugan.

He pulled out his pistol and shot Dugan in his left knee making him fall to the ground, and then shot the jet's tires. Stevens then walked over to Dugan and knelt beside him, "I'd like to see how you propose to get out of this one, especially since you've lost the ability to walk, and that your men won't kill me, seeing as how they don't have a getaway."

Stevens smirked as Interpol vans and humvees make their way down the runway, "Why Dugan, I do believe that I've won."

As Dugan lay on the ground, all he could do was laugh. It was not the usual kind of laughter, but an insane, twisted sort of laughter only uttered by the most insane of the insane. Eventually, he found the strength to stand.

Still laughing, he said, "I thought I was the treacherous one. You care little for the countless innocent lives you just doomed, don't you? You and I, we aren't so different. We are both untrustworthy. For, you see, I too have been a very bad boy," he held up a detonator, "When I activate this, not only will the hospital bombs go off, but so will this plane, along with several hundred gallons of jet fuel. Once I hit this switch you will have twenty seconds to get out of here before we all die! Goodbye, Stevens, thanks for playing!" and then, with one last roar of twisted laughter, he pressed the switch on the detonator before falling over, unconscious from the blood loss.

Stevens stood there for the twenty seconds, as did the Interpol personnel, "I'm sorry, was he expecting something to happen when he pushed that button?" Conner asked sarcastically.

"I take it you were able to block the electromagnetic reception around the airport, then?" Stevens asked.

"Yes Sir."

The Interpol agents picked Dugan up, and shook him awake, "Anything you'd like to say before we put you in a maximum-security prison for the rest of your natural life?" Conner asked.

Dugan quickly crushed down on his bottom left molar, breaking open a cyanide capsule he had put there. As he stood there, the poison working its course, he just kept laughing. He continued laughing right up until his eyes rolled back in his head.

"He has about five minutes to live, where's the nearest hospital?" Conner asked Stevens.

"About seven minutes away."

"Agent Reese get this man in the van now!" Conner ordered as he jumped into the driver's seat, "Time to break some traffic laws."

The van launched onto the main road and toward the hospital, while Agents Todd Reese and Jaiu Delores tried to resuscitate Dugan.

As the agents continued to attempt to prolong his life, one thought continually pulsed through his mind, Why aren't I dead? I've failed. I can't even be allowed to die with dignity. Stevens... So long as we both live, I will find a way to make your life a living Hell for defeating me.

Unbeknownst to all of them, a man had been watching them on the other side of the fence. He pulled out a phone and called someone, “Mr. Run, they’ve taken Dugan into custody, I couldn’t tell if he mentioned them or not.”

“We’ll see in due time, I think I’ll make my way over to the Assembly next week, and hopefully we’ll get what we want. Come back for now, and see what other information you can gather,” the voice on the other end ordered.

“Understood,” the man hung up, got into his car and drove off.

***

The agents managed to get him to a hospital. Miraculously, the cyanide merely burned the interior of his mouth, and did not kill him. He spent the next five days there undergoing facial reconstruction surgery, all the while under heavy guard, before – at the request of President Alburn – he was sent to Daemonheim Maximum Security Prison in Post-Apocaliptia, where he was to await trial. Dugan’s sister was released by the mob, but after supposedly going back to Post-Apocaliptia to visit Dugan in prison, she disappeared without a trace.

by **East Klent** » Wed Apr 20, 2016 12:55 am

5

November 28, 2011
World Assembly

After one of the most hectic weeks in his life, Stevens returned to the World Assembly, half-expecting the delegates to heckle or congratulate him, but neither happened, "All in a day’s work, I guess," he sighed to himself as he entered his office.

He turned on the television in his office and tuned into the news, which was still covering the last fragments of the scandal. Then the coverage was interrupted by breaking news, "We are getting word that two prisoners escaped early this morning from Daemonheim Maximum Security Prison in the nation of Post-Apocaliptia, we don't have the identities of the prisoners as of yet, but..."

Stevens zoned out the rest of the broadcast; he just stared at his phone, "Don't, just don't..."

Location Unknown

Dugan was making a call via a payphone. There was only one person he would wish to call; his old pal Stevens.

He heard the line click on, "Why hello Stevens. They let me out early. Good behavior, and all that. I just want you to know that I'm not coming for you right now. Oh no, I have bigger fish to fry before we meet again. You denied me victory. I will take everything that is precious to you in this life... but all in due time. For now, Stevens, goodbye," he hung up the phone, and walked away.

by **East Klent** » Wed Apr 20, 2016 8:10 pm

6

Stranger’s Bar
WAHQ
6:20 P.M.

Stevens walked cautiously into the bar, wearing a bulletproof vest, "I'll have a, um, water," he ordered while looking over his shoulder.

He decided to err on the side of caution since the call he had received that morning.

Feyalisa walked in shaking her head in disbelief, "Can you believe anyone would post something so ludicrous? I don't suppose I could invite a couple of the ambassadors to visit Dizyn, could I?"

Stevens was at first confused as to what she was referring, until he remembered the proposal brought forth by the ambassador from Gbacn, wherein they suggested that those below the poverty line who commit crimes should be put to death. This, of course caused tremendous outrage within the chamber. To make matters worse, the notorious delegate from Tweegee endorsed it, which prompted the Harberian ambassador, Jeremy Lansdowne, to utter the following remark, “Splendid for you. Of course, the rest of us have already worked out that your opinion is fair well a barometer for what should be opposed immediately and with extreme prejudice."

Having remembered this, Stevens commented, “I thought I'd seen some pretty stupid things in my life, but that just takes the cake. Invitation?" he inquired.

She smiled wickedly, “Yes. Both the fool who posted that and the Tweegan. I could take them hunting. It is the Dizyntk national pastime after all.”

Stevens smirked, "Oh really? Hunting for what exactly?"

"It all depends on the hunters. Generally, the more experienced hunters go after the more dangerous herbivores and even the occasional predator."

"How experienced are you? After all, the safety of the fools would be paramount, I should think," Stevens said, further exercising his mastery of sarcasm.

She smiled sweetly, "I have been hunting since I was six of your years old. The really fun part is that we do not believe in using weapons when hunting."

"Well, it would almost have to be," Stevens chuckled, but then stopped, "Wait; you've been hunting since you were six?"

"Of course I have. It is considered a normal part of childhood among the Dizyntk. You start hunting at six or seven under the guidance of your parents. We believe in remembering our predatory roots."

"We Klentians tend to forget that, so you have us at somewhat of a disadvantage. So I think bringing along the fools would be perfect," he joked, rubbing the part of his neck that the Kevlar vest had been scratching.

"Wouldn't it though. I could show them the beautiful forests of Dizyn. Take them on a hunt. Every precaution would be taken of course," she winked and snickered, "but of course accidents do happen. Hunting is dangerous after all."

"Yes, accidents do happen, Mother Nature is unpredictable, after all," Stevens winked back.

He turned and noticed the absence of a certain barkeeper, "This place is getting so hectic that even Neville's hiding now,” he laughed.

Feyalisa looked around for Neville, "Speaking of our indomitable barkeep, does that man ever take a day off?"

"Not a day since I've been here. I don't think he's ever taken a sick day either," Stevens said as he walked behind the bar and poured himself a scotch, "May I get Your Highness a drink?"

She looked at the huge assortment of bottles arrayed behind the bar, "Hmm… let me try the one called cognac. I understand it is supposed to be good."

"One cognac coming up," Stevens filled the glass and handed it to her.

She took a sip and smiled, "Oh, that is a very smooth drink,” she noticed Stevens’ vest, “I did not know that diplomats were permitted to carry weapons."

"Well, we're not exactly permitted, per se, but a few of us feel the need to have them for various reasons. I mean, look at Dugan, he was a psychopath even without a weapon; of course there's the Diplomat Protection Act, so that's why I have my gun," Stevens explained as he sipped his scotch.

She thought the matter over as she sipped at her drink, "Perhaps I should bring a pistol. No, that is a silly idea. Who would want to clean up the mess if I used it?"

"Trust me, the janitors here have had to clean worse," Stevens remarked.

"I suppose you are right. But still, as much fun as it may be to blow somebody up, I am sure that my grandmother and the Empress would disapprove. Not to mention what Velakari would say when I got home."

"Velakari?" Stevens had all but forgotten the potential danger he was in, for now he was beginning on a hunt of his own kind.

"One of my Bonded Mates, what you outsiders call a spouse. If she heard I lost my temper and killed someone...." she looked down and to the left as she thought about the consequences, "At the very least she would lecture me every day for a week, and deservedly so I must admit."

Stevens raised his brow, "Have a bit of history in that field, do we?"

"Killing someone no, losing my temper, yes. And seeing as she is a Priestess of the Temple, she is well versed in making you feel like punishing yourself just by lecturing you."

Stevens smirked "My ex did the same thing; boy was she a force to be reckoned with." He walked back behind the bar to refill his glass.

She held out her glass, "Let me try some from the next bottle over," her smile returned, "The funny thing is, she never raises her voice, never does anything but talk to you gently. But she still manages to make you feel very bad about what you did."

"The 'it's the quiet ones that no one wants make angry' rule seems to be universal."

She nodded in acknowledgement.

Stevens looked at the bottle and found that its label had been removed, "Good luck," he warned her as he poured.

"That usually means that is very cheap or very expensive," she noted as she took a sip.

She made a face and pushed glass away, "Very cheap, appalling really.”

Herbet of New Meorn had stood up as Stevens was about to pour the drink, but he was too late. Thankfully the Dizyntk had spat out what she had drunk.

"Thank god," he said and looked at Stevens, "Never, ever touch that bottle," he warned, "it's a highly toxic substance; I honestly have no idea why Neville even keeps it there, though I guess Eduard has something to do with it..." he referred to Eduard Heir, the highly abnormal ambassador from Unibot.

"More than likely," Stevens agreed.

“I have not yet tried this scotch that you seem so fond of. Let me try the best variety of it that is back there," Feyalisa requested.

Stevens scanned the plethora of beverages, "Ah, Johnnie Walker Blue, mysteriously aged scotch, one of the best drinks the human race has to offer," he rambled on as he poured.

She looked at her new drink with curiosity, "Why is it called blue? It is not blue," she took a tentative sip and smiled lightly, "However it is very smooth and has a pleasant flavor. I think I understand your fondness for this," she took another sip.

"It's called blue because it’s blended to recreate the character and taste of some of the earliest scotches from the nineteenth century,” Stevens started, “Bottles are numbered serially and sold in a blue silk-lined box and even come with a certificate of authenticity,” he was beginning to enjoy his lecture, “The best part is that the age isn’t labeled, leaving it a mystery. It’s one of the most expensive on the market, and it’s extremely rare. I personally haven’t seen it for sale, and even Neville swears the bottles just appear on the doorstep. Yet the best scotch is Glen Meringue Single-Malt, and that just seems to appear here once a decade, most recently last year."

"Speaking of appearing on the doorstep, I cannot wait for the shipment he ordered from Dizyn to arrive."

"What's in the shipment?" Stevens asked while pouring himself another scotch, I'm going to have to look for the other bottle in the basement at this rate, he thought to himself.

"As I recall several varieties of Dizyntk liquors as well as the dried leaves of a plant we use to make a beverage called Ystlim. I believe it is similar to your tea but the stimulant in it is two or three times more potent than your caffeine."

Dr. Forshaw walked into the bar, and took a seat, "A scotch Neville…” he noticed that Stevens was behind the bar instead.

"Actually, Neville is AWOL, which we find quite odd. Stevens is acting bartender. It looks like smooth sailing for your proposal, Dr. Forshaw. Congratulations," Feyalisa explained.

"Oh, and congrats on the bill from me, too," Stevens said while pouring the doctor his drink.

"Yes comrade, good job on your proposal,” Nikolai sighed; the WA had lessened his lifespan by a decent five years with all the stress it placed on him: approving proposals, resubmitting the same, repealing them over and over until it reached enough Approvals, etcetera and etcetera.

"Want a drink, Nikolai?"

He nodded.

"Thank you very much your Excellency and thank you all for the congratulations; I'm flattered. Although I must give you some credit, Princess; you did do a substantial amount of debating in favor of it. I find it difficult to believe that your delegation is so new; you fit in well with the GA regulars," the doctor praised.

"Agreed; to new friends and promising careers," Stevens held his glass up in response to the doctor's words.

"Cheers!” the doctor raised his glass in response to Stevens.

She blushed a bit, "Well, I didn't do that much. I was not even involved until the proposal was fully crafted."

"You contributed to the bill, Feyalisa, and that does deserve at least a bit of recognition, wouldn't you agree, Doctor?"

"Of course. I agree one-hundred percent, don’t be so modest Ambassador. You've done a lot for the resolution, and as such, deserve recognition."

"Well, I would never be so ungracious as to not accept the thanks of my colleagues," she raised her glass, “Cheers.”

"Cheers!" Stevens exclaimed.

After taking a gulp, Forshaw glanced at Stevens, noticing his Kevlar vest, "That's why you should never talk to a native of my home region, the Antarctic Alliance. You'll either wake up with a hangover, or you'll go on some convoluted spy mission. Although I must admit, Dugan does tell a decent story when all's said and done."

"Do many of his stories end with him breaking out of a maximum security prison and promising to murder the person who put him there?" he asked while pouring the doctor another drink.

"All of them end with him breaking out of some prison or another. He gets around a lot for an ambassador."

Forshaw then glanced over at Nikolai noticing his melancholy demeanor, "Your delegation has done an outstanding job as delegate of our region. I would be shocked if you weren't reelected by a wide margin."

"Thank you Doctor, you are such a good friend; why, I wouldn't know what to do without you..." Nikolai then looked directly at Forshaw, "Hmm. This WA business is not easy when your nation is a Delegate of a region, I'll tell you that much."

"You're a good friend as well, and I must say that I am glad you’re our delegate," Forshaw returned his comrade’s good will as he patted him on the back.

The doctor played some Beatles on the bar's loudspeaker system, "You mind the Beatles?"

Stevens shook his head to say that he did not mind but then looked at his watch, "Oh, man did I lose track of time, I've got to be up in three and a half hours."

The WA had an unusual policy of advising the representatives to keep to the routines of their native time zones, which often caused a great deal of confusion.

He picked up his briefcase and headed toward the door, "See you all tomorrow."

Feyalisa looked up at clock, "Dear Goddess, it is getting late," but shrugged and took a sip of her drink, "Oh well, neither of my Mates are home tonight."

She sighed, however, "Well. Mates or no Mates, I am getting rather tired and would much prefer to sleep in my own bed than pass out here in the bar."

She looked around at various unconscious representatives, "No disrespect intended to those who enjoy such things of course."

She got up, turned and bowed slightly to her colleagues. She walked out of the room, swaying lazily from side to side.

by **East Klent** » Wed Apr 20, 2016 8:22 pm

7

2337 International Road
8:13 P.M.

Marc Petri stepped out of his car, into the rain and trotted to an old hotel. Once inside, he was met by a large-built man in a striped suit, "What's going on, Vick?" he asked.

"Don wants to see us," he answered flatly.

Marc gave him a questioning look as they started walking to the private dining room. Two suited guards frisked them then opened the door.

Marc gave one of them his overcoat and then he and Vick walked in, "Marc, Vick, come sit with me, the fettuccini alfredo is terrific!" a seated, smiling man called them over in a booming voice.

"Vick said you wanted to see us?" Marc asked as they sat down.

The Don

The man's smile disappeared, "Yes. Marc, Vick, I've never been so angered in my life than when Dugan betrayed me then went on such a public crime spree, starting with the murder of a good friend of mine. So imagine my surprise when I got a call from him earlier today," the man told them in a cynical tone, "What did he say, you ask? He said I had a mole in my organization."

Marc swallowed, "Did he say who?"

"No, but he told me what to check in order to find the mole before he hung up," the man answered as he stood and started pacing with a characteristic limp, "So I did a little searching and discovered what he was talking about."

Vick swallowed this time, to Marc's surprise.

"According to one car's GPS, and some receipts, someone was having lunch in the West Sector, the territory of one of my rivals. I only let my lieutenants use my cars and since Mitch is dead and Dugan is now a fugitive, that leaves you two."

Both Vick and Marc swallowed.

The two guards entered the room, "One of you is leaving this room with these gentlemen and to your grave, and the other will be leaving as my new chief-lieutenant."

He walked and stood behind the two of them and placed his hands on their chairs, then nodded to the guards. They grabbed Vick out of his seat and dragged him through the door screaming, "Boss, it wasn't me! Boss, please!"

The man then whispered in Marc's ear, "Congratulations, you've just been promoted," and then walked out of the dining room.

***

After stepping back into his car, Agent Gram Conner sighed with relief, "That was too close."

His agency-issued phone started vibrating, and without thinking, he answered, "Conner."

by **East Klent** » Wed Apr 20, 2016 9:42 pm

8

November 29, 2011
Stranger’s Bar
9:56 A.M.

Stevens entered with his suit wrinkled, tie untied, and shoes scuffed, mumbling something incoherently. He walked over to the bar to discover an apparently still absent Neville, "If I'm going to continue to be the substitute barkeep, they should at least pay me overtime," he complained as he stepped behind the bar.

"Where's the coffee maker in this place?" he asked the empty room.

Vasily Gorchakov of Kruchevnia entered the bar, removed his ushanka and overcoat, and found a seat at the bar, "Excuse me barkeep, a shot Kruschvi Puur Royale Wodka if you have it in stock," Vasily requested of the man standing behind the bar.

Stevens looked up and glared at Gorchakov, "I'm Jarred Stevens, Delegate to the World Assembly for the Constitutional Republic of East Klent, I am not the barkeep, the real barkeep has been AWOL since last night," Stevens sighed, "But it would appear that I've unintentionally have taken over for now, so what is it you wanted again?"

"My apologies Ambassador Stevens, this is my first visit to the bar. If it's back there Kruschvi Puur Royale Wodka and a round for you, on me, if you'd like," Gorchakov offered.

"Thanks," Stevens accepted as he looked around for the bottle, "Well, can't find it here, but it might be in the basement, I'll look."

He walked to the back wall and opened the door to the basement, "You wouldn't happen to have a flashlight handy, would you?"

"Actually," Gorchakov said as he opened his briefcase, "I have one. One click is a strobe and two clicks is a steady light."

“Thanks again.”

Feyalisa walked into the bar and saw Stevens standing near an open door. She took a whiff of an odd odor, "So that is where you people keep your predators. Are they normally underground creatures or do you just contain them in there? Are you going hunting down there, Ambassador?"

Stevens took a sniff himself, "Well, you're right about one thing, it does stink, but I didn't know Neville kept food down here," Stevens said as he turned on the flashlight.

He then started laughing, "I think I know where Neville is," he pointed the light at a snoring body.

The others started chuckling until they realized that the body in question was in fact not Neville, but just the lost, hungover observer delegate from Luxiai, “I regret to say that I have been that drunk before, with similar results,” Stevens admitted.

He closed the door and they returned to their seats. Stevens grabbed a newspaper and started to read, when he noticed the headline,

The picture showed Feyalisa throwing the ambassador from Gbacn out of the aforementioned window, “Care to comment?” he asked showing her the headline.

She gave a slight laugh, "That relieved a lot of tension. By the way, how far is it from that window down to where he landed?"

"At least a good four stories, I think; the GA needed a skylight anyway."

He then listened, "Yep, that guy's still snoring away."

She thought about the length of the fall, "Wow, which was impressive aim on my part to get him into the pool,” she winked, “Assuming I was aiming for the pool of course."

"Especially remarkable aim, considering the fountain was surrounded by a field of rose bushes," Stevens remarked, straightening his tie and suit.

“The particularly repulsive ambassador wouldn't be me, would it?” Gorchakov inquired.

“No, no; the ambassador from Gbacn, not to mention the other idiot from Tweegee,” Stevens answered.

“Have you done something recently that would warrant your being thrown out of a window?” the Princess asked.

“I was the very vocal ambassador opposing the forced marriage ban, I wouldn't say it warrants being thrown out the window but could see some distaste of sorts.”

"I opposed it too because it would let fathers get out of marriages that were brought upon by the birth of a child, leaving the mother out to dry; or, very rarely, vice versa," Stevens stated his position on the bill.

"That is what you all get for letting your citizens procreate out of a Bonding Group. Such a thing is almost unheard of among the Dizyntk."

"Well, that's a minority of relationships. The majority of them are actually nice, and sometimes a bit..." Stevens thought over his next words, "...eccentric."

"It's terrible to think an individual could do that, thankfully we addressed our concern with adjusting local law to allow for any grey areas made by the resolution. I hope the legal advisers in East Klent can do the same for your nation," Gorchakov said to Stevens.

"And believe me, we have tried," Stevens said, back behind the bar, pouring himself an afternoon scotch.

Gorchakov turned to the Dizyntk ambassador and said "I wholeheartedly agree we should procreate only after marriages, sadly our youth is too... curious... about the experience and we can't effectively stop them.”

Feyalisa burst out laughing, "Why would you stop them? We encourage our youth to have fun before they get Bonded. We also have highly effective contraceptive devices that are free to the general populace. Oh and sexual education that is started about the age of eight."

Stevens looked up and raised his brow, “East Klent has liberal policies towards sexuality and sexual education, but we normally start teaching them at about age eleven."

"What's wrong with sexuality? I've met plenty of gays, bi's, and omnisexuals. Nothing’s wrong with it," said Dr. Forshaw.

"Whoa there, Doc, who said anything about it being bad. I'm all for it," Stevens paused for moment, remembering why his ex is his ex, "Um, what I mean is that I don't necessarily believe that people have to wait until they get married, I'm just saying they should take the proper precautions before they do so."

“What the Devil is an omnisexual?” someone asked.

Stevens began to answer, “I'm guessing somebody who has romantic attraction for anyth…” he stopped once he realized who the source of the question was: the ambassador from Tweegee, “What in the Hell are you doing here?”

The imbecile ignored Stevens’ anger and commented, “Weird stuff! It’s like Taboo on that one nature channel.”

"You believe in killing the poor; rape as a small crime; rape being legal; you have no right to call anything ‘taboo’!” Stevens started to rub his head, “They really don't pay me enough to endure this job."

“None of us do,” Bob commented.

Stevens walked back behind the bar, "I'm sorry, what were we talking about?"

Feyalisa shook her head, "Maybe I should bring a weapon after all."

"Yes, please do," Stevens pleaded semi-sarcastically.

The Tweegan reared his ugly head yet again, but before he could spew out any more absurdity, Feyalisa spun around, grabbed him by the back of his neck, dragged him to the window then threw him through it and into the windshield of a car parked outside.

"Thanks," Stevens tipped his glass in gratitude.

“You’re more than welcome.”

Theta Run, leader of Lesser Naboo, walked into the Stranger’s Bar. He knew that the leader of a nation normally would not be at a place like this, but was in the area after requesting WA membership, and decided to try to make friends, however painful that might be. He asked who he thought was the bartender for an ice water.

Stevens gave him the water, "Just so you know I’m not the bartender, the real one's missing at the moment."

Theta considered what the man said, and noticed the person juggling in a booth, "They get some strange types in the WA, don't they?"

"To say the least; Jarred Stevens, Delegate to the World Assembly for East Klent," Stevens introduced himself, extending his hand.

"Theta Run, leader of Lesser Naboo, WA applicant," he said, shaking Stevens’ hand, "By the way, my right hand is a metal prosthetic."

Stevens rubbed his sore hand, “I noticed.”

Dr. Forshaw walked back in after taking a particularly long phone call, and sat at the bar, "Is Neville back yet, or are you still manning the bar Stevens? I'm beginning to miss him; who else will I inadvertently injure when I'm glad, angry, depressed, or shocked?"

"Nope, Neville is still disposed," Stevens replied.

Forshaw looked over at the new patron, "Welcome Ambassador Run, it's a pleasure to meet you."

"It is nice to meet you to. I'm not an ambassador; I'm a national leader, actually. I am in this area because I am requesting WA membership for my country. Do you have any WA advice you'd like to give?" Theta said scooting slightly away from Forshaw.

"Well for one, avoid the delegates from Tweegee and Gbacn, unless you're prepared to throw them out a window and hit their knees with a baseball bat," Stevens advised.

"That annoying, huh? And my prosthetic hand is metal, so the bat becomes less necessary. And don't get me started about places with metal detectors."

“Advice for a rookie WA member state? Leave your national sovereignty by the door and accept the complimentary bottle of NSAIDs when you intend to address the Assembly," Gorchakov mused, "In all seriousness though, as an ambassador from a recently admitted member state, I do have to advise in patience and confidence. A politician that is timid or unsure is surely a sheep among wolves."

“I am known to project self-confidence. I assume because I wear a black trench coat, black boots, black sunglasses, and a black fedora all the time. And my metal hand has claws on the fingers. Also, my fedora helps conceal ear buds, and through a highly advanced system hidden in my trench coat that allows me to watch movies on my sunglasses. And it helps conceal a straw that leads to a container of root beer in a cold pack also hidden in my trench coat. I am well prepared."

"That sounds like a good friend of mine, Special Agent Gram Conner of Interpol, man have we had good times together," Stevens chuckled for a moment, “Root beer? To each his own, I guess."

“I would disagree with the national sovereignty part. We do score our victories. But I would heartily agree with needing something for the headaches…” Feyalisa countered.

Forshaw laughed, "National Sovereignty? Who needs it? The WA normally knows what's best, given anything that passes is in demand by the majority. Unfortunately, the IntFed base isn't as strong as the NatSov."

"No kidding," Stevens agreed

Forshaw looked over at Theta, "You might need these. I've taken at least three a day ever since I got here," he handed him a container of ibuprofen.

"And with any luck at all, the NatSov base will continue to grow," Feyalisa raised glass in salute to Forshaw.

Gorchakov raised a vodka triple shot to the ambassador from Dizyntk, "Budem zdorovy*! Yes, with luck the NatSov base will grow Ambassador."

Stevens pulled out his tablet to check the current vote tallies, "'Medical Standards in Prisons'; votes for: six-thousand nine-hundred seventy-five; votes against: three-thousand nine-hundred and ten. Dr. Forshaw, by the end of the day, you'll be an official lawmaker, congratulations," Stevens said, holding up his glass.

“Perhaps not. Things can change very quickly. And if it gets made into law – which it probably will – it can still be repealed,” Theta warned.

“It doesn’t matter if it gets repealed. Once you get a proposal passed, it is forever in your résumé,” Feyalisa informed the newcomer.

Theta chose to ignore her and not to toast Forshaw, "I don't cheer. Excuse me, I have to go to, um, uh, a top-secret thing I can't tell you about."

"Top secret?" Stevens' interest was piqued due to recent goings on.

Gorchakov put a hand to his ear and nodded, "It seems I must leave for a diplomatic mission back in my region, I hope to be back here in the WAHQ shortly. If not for luxurious accommodations, then surely for the fine company in the Stranger’s Bar. Farewell comrades."

The ambassador put his ushanka and overcoat back on and walked out of the bar and into a waiting diplomatic vehicle.

***

Theta made his way over to the row of payphones near the entrance to the WA. He looked around to make sure no one was watching and then put in a coin and dialed, “Code Five-Charlie-Hotel-Four-Alpha.”

It rang for moment until a man answered, “Have you made contact, Sir?”

“Affirmative, I have made contact with Stevens. He did not mention Dugan.”

“We have word that the new ambassador will be arriving shortly, and that he has a file for Stevens. The analysts think it could involve the Wolves.”

“Good, I’ll make sure to be around when he arrives then.”

“Good luck, Sir.”

Theta hung up and walked away.

***

"This place empties as fast as it fills," Stevens noted. He turned toward the basement door and heard the snoring.

"The Assembly hall is the same way. It was very busy earlier, now…" Feyalisa listened toward the door with one ear, "You can barely hear a thing in there."

Stevens stared at the basement doors, "Any ideas on how to wake the Luxiaian?"

"Throw a bucket of ice water on him?"

"Fresh out of buckets."

"Then I am unsure unless you have a hose of some sort," she sniffed toward the door again, "but I really wouldn't actually go down there. There is... something else down there… besides him."

“Well, the Mob has been known to come here, so who knows," Stevens shrugged as he sipped the last of his scotch.

He then looked at the unlabeled substance, "We could always pour this on him," he smirked, holding the bottle.

Forshaw had been watching the vote on the television and scoffed, "Tweegee's delegation has to go. I can't stand it any longer. If I hear ‘Medical Standards in Prisons doesn't actually set up standards because all nations are different’ one more time, I'll throw Neville out the window!"

"Just stop answering him. He is either playing you for attention or he is a moron. If the former, quit playing and he will get bored. If the latter well, then it is like trying to explain calculus to a three-year-old. A waste of time," the Dizyntk sagely advised.

"Neville's still out, but there’s a Luxiaian out cold down there if you want to throw him out of the window," Stevens pointed to the basement door, "but what is this Tweegee you speak of?" Stevens had decided to ignore Tweegee’s entire existence for the sake of his sanity.

"I say pour a glass full of the contents of the unlabeled bottle and splash it on his face," Feyalisa proposed referring to the unconscious patron in the basement.

"Done," Stevens poured the clear liquid in a large glass and opened the basement door, covering his nose, and walked down the stairs.

Upon reaching the still unconscious man, he poured the drink on his head. After witnessing the reaction, Stevens zoomed up the stairs and slammed the door behind him, "It's probably best if we just let him be for the next little while," he suggested, hyperventilating.

“Probably for the best.”

Feyalisa then turned the channel and listened for a minute to the heated debate in the bio-weapons chamber, "I think that ambassadors Koopman and Castro will argue until the end of days. And even that might not stop them."

"I tend to make sure I'm not within a fifty-mile radius of them when they're at it," Stevens quipped as he returned to his stool.

"They seem to have stopped. For now," said Theta as he walked back in, "Can someone get me an ice water? I need to wash down this ibuprofen and I ran out of root beer two hours ago."

"It is like the calm in the eye of a storm. They are simply catching their breath for the next round, I fear," Feyalisa commented.

Stevens gave him the water, "Would either of you be offended if I started asking for tips?" he asked jokingly, holding Neville's tip jar.

"Here's a tip,” said Theta, holding out some money, only to suddenly pull back, "Don't drink and drive. Or better yet, don't drink at all."

"I tend to end up either sleeping in my office or here when I've drank too much, so there's no need to worry," Stevens assured him, reaching out for the cash.

“You shouldn't drink. It has many harmful effects. Oh, and that's monopoly money. And I still just doubled your salary."

"I'll let you get away with the monopoly trick, but no one, and I mean no one, tells me to drink or to not to. I like my scotch, but I know my limits, is that good enough for you?" Stevens asked returning Theta his play money.

"Fine. To each his own. Do you know how long it takes for a WA application to be accepted?"

"About twenty-four hours. You'll get a diplomatic e-mail, and all you have to do is accept it and you're in," Stevens informed him, pouring himself another scotch.

"E-mail? I remember when there was a big ceremony when three nations formed an alliance. Dear me, I feel old. My nation isn't even that big. What kind of food do you have here?"

"That's just the WA, East Klent still celebrates other alliances. I seem to remember having a sandwich here a while back," Stevens said as he began searching the various drawers and cupboards.

"Uh, I wouldn't go looking for it if I were you. Why don't you just have Dazza make you a new one?" Giovanni suggested.

Theta looked around and thought, Wait, I just asked for food at a place like this? "Um, I have to go. I'll return here later. It was nice meeting you, I hope I can see you later."

Stevens returned to his stool, "Okay… see you later," he said in slight confusion.

Stevens precariously walked over to the basement door and knocked, "Hey stranger, you ready to come out yet?"

He leapt back at the reaction, "Guess not."

Giovanni raised his eyebrows, "What was it you dumped on him again?"

"That unmarked bottle of clear liquid, you know, the one Neville's kept back here for years." Stevens answered, back behind the bar.

Giovanni's eyes were as wide as dishes, "Not... not one of the one Eduard has had him keep there?"

"Yep," Stevens replied, and then realized the gravity of the situation, "Oh God, what have I done?"

Giovanni sighed, "You've just woken someone up with Eduard Heir's aged urine. I don't think you'll be wanting to order drinks here again for a good, long while; Neville, if not Eduard, are going to kill you."

"I know what Eduard gave him, but I thought he stored it in the upper left-hand cabinet, not the lower right-hand one,"

A monstrous growl emanated from the basement, "I think I'll keep the door locked for the next couple of ...weeks."

"Did he... did he see your face? You might be able to convince him it was someone else. Like the ambassador from Mahaj."

"Or the ambassador from Tweegee," the princess eagerly pointed out.

“That's just what I was thinking, let's give Neville that same satisfaction of throwing that imbecile through a window that we all had," Stevens suggested with a slight grin on his face.

Stevens walked over to the door and opened it, "Hey friend, before you go and have Neville murder any innocents the one who poured Eduard’s 'storage' on you was that new delegate from Tweegee."

He backed away and grimaced as the Luxiaian came up the stairs with red eyes and a maroon face, picked up an empty bottle, smashed it against the bar top and took it with him as he left,

"You think we should stop him?"

Giovanni shrugged, "I've decided to ignore the ambassador from Tweegee. I think that means I'm contractually obligated to do nothing if anyone wants to kill him."

“Me too, quite convenient, isn't it?" Stevens chuckled and shrugged it off.

He walked back behind the bar and poured himself another glass of... you guessed it, scotch.

Theta Run walked in with surprisingly, Neville, of all people, "Hello all. I decided to make a quick stop here. Neville seemed interested to hear about you splashing a liquid from an unmarked bottle on a customer."

Stevens glared at Theta, "Giovanni, do you still have that bust of Marx handy?"

"Are you going to use it to hit Theta or Neville? You only get it if you're hitting Theta."

“Theta, of course, I'm going to hide from Nevi..." Stevens looked at Neville, "I mean, I'm going to use the bust on Theta, for he is lying, in fact, he just told me he was taking pain medication; you can't believe a word he said."

Giovanni chewed the inside of his cheek for a moment, thinking. Then, he handed Stevens his spear, "Here, use this instead."

Stevens took the spear and slammed it on Theta's head, hopefully knocking him out cold for the next few hours, "Now, Neville, the Tweegan delegate is the one who poured that god awful liquid on the poor guy; you’ll probably find him beneath a broken window somewhere."

He held his breath as Neville left.

Theta stood up, "Did I forget that my hat has shock absorbers built in? I am very prepared. For example, I know exactly how to incapacitate both of you in under five seconds," Theta grabbed the spear tip with his prosthetic hand and ripped it off the spear, and squeezed it to an unrecognizable pulp. He then dropped it and grabbed the spear itself and snapped it in two using just the prosthetic hand.

Giovanni watched Theta snap the spear, "See, that's why I gave you the spear and not the Bust."

Stevens did not pay any attention to Giovanni, "Yeah? Well me too," he said as he pulled out his twenty-two and aimed it at Theta's head, "Did I forget to mention that I've been in three wars as an Army sniper in Spec. Ops., oh, and I've had lots of practice throwing people out of windows lately?"

Giovanni blinked, "So, I haven't heard Doctors Castro and Koopman yelling at each other for a couple of hours now," he said, trying to change the subject.

"Nice try," Stevens kept his aim.

"I am afraid I will have to take that. It could make people nervous, you having a loaded gun," Theta reached for the gun.

Stevens shot Theta's good hand. Theta moved his left hand so that, when the bullet hit, the wound would not result in an amputation. He used the distraction to simultaneously drive his knee hard into Steven's groin and hit him with a left hook from his metal hand.

Stevens was moved back a little but was otherwise unaffected, "Sorry, didn't feel that, I've been wearing a Kevlar vest for confidential reasons."

"I'm afraid I have to leave, for now. I really should go to a hospital," Theta said, looking directly at Stevens, "but don't worry, I'll be back."

As Theta jogged to the hospital, he considered what happened, So that's how he wants to play it? Fine. I tell Neville what happened and I get turned into a scapegoat. Well. You know what they say, 'When your opponent has a weapon, get a bigger one'.

*Cheers!

by **East Klent** » Wed Apr 20, 2016 9:54 pm

9

International Medical Center
WAHQ Vicinity
Moments Later

Theta was being attended to by a nurse when his cell rang, “Could you excuse me for a moment?” he asked of the nurse.

“Sir, your wounds must be cared for, whatever other business you may have can wait,” she gave him a stern look.

Slightly irritated, he pressed, “Ma’am, I am in the midst of an investigation that has international consequences and as such any wound of the flesh can wait, now go outside and wait until I say to come back in,” and with that, he answered the phone, “Theta.”

The nurse left in a huff; he did not notice.

“Sir, we have your location as at a hospital, did something happen?”

“Yeah, that asshole Stevens shot me, and I’m going to go back there and…”

“Sir, may I remind you that we need him alive to accomplish what is needed.”

Theta was silent for a moment, “But…”

“Sir…”

He let out a sigh, “Fine, I’ll let him live… for now.”

“Thank you Sir.”

He hung up and tossed the phone onto the side table next to his gurney. The nurse, with her arms crossed, reentered the room, along with two rather large, muscular orderlies, “Oh brother,” he muttered.

by **East Klent** » Wed Apr 20, 2016 10:31 pm

10

Stranger’s Bar
Later that Evening

Having filed a report of the events regarding the shooting with the building’s security, Stevens returned to the other delegates, "Hi all."

“Ah, I see you are back, Neville. Two glasses of the finest alcohol you have. One for me and one for Dr. Forshaw," Feyalisa requested.

Forshaw walked into the bar, and greeted Feyalisa, who promised him a drink, "Resolutions about prostitution are impossible to debate. It's entirely based on morals, which is normally very difficult to alter in an individual. Thanks for the drink; always a good way to end the day."

He downed the glass in one gulp.

“Very true. I can only imagine how bad it must be over something like abortion," she pondered.

At the sound of the word, Forshaw broke his glass, and held it as a dagger as he took cover under the bar. He quickly got up, and resumed his original composure, "Sorry, force of habit. The ‘A’ word is taboo around here. The one time Koopman and Castro agreed. It was horrific."

"From what I have heard of their arguments over the bio-weapons proposals I can only imagine the shock that such an agreement between them must have cause," she signaled for two more drinks.

"Have you not seen anything about it? Any of the historic bickering regarding abortion? I was Deputy Minister of Foreign Affairs when it happened, and every day I got a call from Ambassador Lewis on the verge of tears," Alexandra Kerrigan, Ambassador to the World Assembly from the Republic of Quadrimmina, cut in.

"I still have nightmares of the Great Abortion Debate, so the next person who brings it up, I will shoot," Stevens joked, who secretly wanted to avoid a similar incident that had transpired with Theta.

The princess waved her hand in a dismissive gesture, "Enough of these morality topics. Neville! A round of the… Jonnie Walker Blue? Is that what it was called? Yes, a round of that one, on me," she looked around at her fellow ambassadors, "It is sometimes nice to be able to splurge."

Giovanni nodded, "Especially when your tab is a part of your government's budget, filed neatly away under 'Miscellaneous WA Fees'."

She pretended to take offense, "I am a Crown Princess, I am the government in the absence of the Empress and she is not here."

Giovanni shrugged, "I'm merely Ambassador Plenipotentiary, so I have to sneak it in," he went to pick up a glass of something, only to find it shattered from a bullet that went through it, "Excuse me just a moment."

He stood up, pulled out an Uzi, "Alright, who broke my shot glass!?"

Feyalisa stood up and turned around, letting out an eardrum piercing shriek. After she had everyone’s attention, she announced, "I am buying everyone a shot of very expensive liquor. Please refrain from fighting until after we have finished drinking it," she bowed lightly to the ambassadors.

Stevens checked if he still had the ability to hear, "Remind me never to upset you again."

The shriek had Giovanni on the floor. His head then popped up, and he wrenched an extra shot glass out of the bottom of the bust before hopping back onto his stool.

Moments later, Theta walked into the bar. Surprisingly, he looked much like he did earlier, except with a black glove over his left hand, "Neville, could you get me an ice water, please?"

Feyalisa raised her glass in a toast, "Here is to all of my fellow ambassadors. To those I usually agree with and those that I usually do not. We may not always see eye to eye, but let us be honest, if we did always agree there would be no need for the WA. To all the good we do. May it outweigh the occasional harm we inflict," she downed her shot in one gulp.

Theta smiled, "Occasional?"

"And that was fortuitously just in time. Dr. Forshaw's bill has officially passed."

"Here, here," Stevens cheered.

"Thank you, your Excellency," Forshaw raised his glass, "Cheers!"

"Congratulations Doctor. I would have supported it, but I am still just a WA applicant," Theta explained.

Giovanni also raised his glass, "Yes, congratulations, Doctor!"

He downed its contents, and took on a grave tone, "However, this does mean the bioweapons proposal is now at vote. We can prepare for the next few days to be grim indeed, I'm sure."

Feyalisa looked up at the submitted proposals screen behind the bar. Sure enough the bio-weapons proposal was up for vote, "Oh dear Goddess, it is up."

"It would seem the nays have an early lead. But that can change any time," Theta forecasted.

"It is still very early and the majority of the lead seems to be from a couple of large Delegate votes," she noted.

"Does anyone else wonder why WA votes are on TV? Doesn't that seem like the most boring channel ever?" Kerrigan asked.

"Ever seen the sports network they have here?" Theta joked.

"Normally, it would be somewhat boring. However, watching Castro and Koopman fight to the death on live television is not something I'll pass up," Forshaw replied, "it looks like Dr. Castro will be getting his way after all," he predicted.

Giovanni nodded in agreement, "Anyone wanna take bets on who'll throw the first punch?"

"Fortunately I believe it is CCTV. If this stuff was broadcast to our homelands I doubt our people would be pleased at paying us to be here. Well, I am not technically being paid, but you understand what I am saying," the princess put in her two cents.

“You do realize we're all on reality TV most of the time thanks to the Kennyites?" Giovanni pointed out.

"Humph. Not in my nation, ambassador. Not after the brib… er... donation we made to them," Feyalisa responded.

Stevens walked behind the bar, "Sorry Neville, I've gotten used to this. Your Highness, did I forget to mention that we have here a bottle of eighty-year old scotch?"

"Did someone say scotch?" Herbet's head shot up, "I'll have some!" he cried, "Favorite drink, although it's not so popular in my homeland."

Feyalisa looked at the bottle, "Well then what are you waiting for, pour us all a glass. I think we may need it."

"Well. It would seem that I am the only prohibitionist here. Not surprising, though, considering this is a bar," Theta chortled.

Stevens popped open the bottle and poured everyone a glass, including Theta, "We will turn you," he joked.

Theta smiled as, suddenly, his glass shattered. Waving his left hand over the shards, the glass seemed to be magically reassembled, including the scotch, "I've always had a love for stage magic."

Stevens rolled his eyes at the gimmick, “One drink won’t hurt…”

Theta just continued to smile.

Letting the subject go, Stevens tapped his glass with a spoon, "Can everyone be quite for a moment, as senior delegate I have something to say."

Theta looked at Stevens, subtly getting into a better defensive posture. Feyalisa turned toward Stevens. Giovanni turned to Stevens, knocking over a bottle of wine in the process, "Oh, shit," Fortunately, it did not shatter. He then passed out on the bar counter.

Stevens stood, visibly intoxicated, and began to speak, "In all my tenure here at the W… A, I don't think I've met a more intelli… gent and somewhat eccentric group of people," Stevens hiccuped as he held up the scotch bottle, "To everyone in this fine establishment!"

Theta pretended to raise a glass, "Hear, hear!"

Feyalisa raised her glass to Stevens, "Hear, hear!"

"Hear, hear Stevens!" Herbet cried and downed his scotch, slowly though so as to avoid the special place in Hell reserved for people who waste it.

Stevens knocked his head back and glugged the second third of the bottle, "Th… at pro… bably wasn't the be… st thing to do."

Stevens lost his balance, but saved it and returned to his stool.

"Silly man, you are not supposed to get that drunk. It inhibits your ability to have sex," she paused a moment and thought on what she just said, "I must be getting tipsy to talk about that so openly around men. I know you get embarrassed easily by that subject."

"Ab, ebb, uh, wait, who said that?" Stevens asked, "I've never been embarrassed by the subject," he had no idea what he just said.

The veteran ambassador from Silentvoice entered the bar, “Hi guys and gals, so I was wondering what happened to the NatSov movement? Back in the UN days, they were pretty big around here. Now I'm seeing a lot of resolutions in the queue that would… can only be described as a move towards world government. Is there no one to oppose them?”

Forshaw greeted the ambassador, and replied, "Ambassador, NatSov is dying off. IntFed is the new thing."

"Opposing them and having enough votes to defeat them are two entirely different things," Feyalisa answered, “We are not dying off, Doctor. The pendulum always swings. It will swing back our way eventually. Then it will swing back yours. And so on and so forth.”

"To be frank, I'm rather neutral. I believe that the WA should be able to intervene when it is necessary, but I'm against invasive resolutions, like some of the proposals being drafted lately," Forshaw declared his position.

Herbet turned to face the newly arrived ambassador from Silentvoice, "Bah, who cares? In this pub there's one rule, we don't talk shop," Herbet looked back up at the television, "Makes me wonder why we even have that in here, though."

Walking into the bar, Ambassador Julien Roberts noticed a lot of smashed glass on the ground, a girl covered in royal regalia, and a few dozen bullet holes in the ceiling. Taking a seat at the bar, he thought, Meh, I've had weirder starts to a night at the bar.

Stevens glanced at the newcomer, and then turned back to the others.

Julien Roberts

Taking off his shades, Julien turned toward the doctor, "So, you're the esteemed Dr. Forshaw. Congratulations on that resolution getting passed. I'm Julien Roberts, Post-Apocaliptia's replacement delegate. You've caused quite a stir. They're even talking about you in the PAIA*. For more reasons than your recent success."

Feyalisa glanced up at the proposals screen and almost dropped her glass, "Would you look at that. There is a Security Council resolution up for vote. That's the first one I have seen since I arrived," she bounced up and down on her barstool, "I am so excited!" she then took another sip of her drink which had managed to stay intact.

Stevens had a confused smile, "You're excitable. Now getting back to my question,” he realized that he was able to complete a sentence without hiccupping.

She turned and looked at Stevens, "Question? What question? I do not recall you asking anything. You said something about not being embarrassed."

"Ah..." Stevens paused for a moment, "To tell you the truth, I don't recall either."

"Now the real question is, should I go with the crowd on the SC proposal and vote yes? Or, should I be honest to my contrary nature and vote no?" she sipped at her drink as she pondered this decision.

“Always vote for what you feel. What you feel is right, right? Forget the masses,” the normally quiet Agent Zed of Speculine drunkenly told her.

Stevens eyed the swaying man, "You okay buddy?"

“Me? Oh, I'm jusst fine. Jussst trying to forget about the two shootings and maimings on the floorrr today. Should be better in an hour or ssso,” he carried on, “The Security Counci... Let's hear it for the Complaints Department! Hip hip, hooray, I neeeed another whiskey and water. Therrre's only one good thing about the Security Councilll.”

He then looked very aware, in that moment of clarity, he looked around quickly then slowly pulled a large gold filigree flask from his inside suit jacket pocket and refilled the glass and returned the flask to its original position of safety, “What we realllly need is,” he took a gulp, “is a band. For the bar, you know?”

Pushing the quarter of a glass of whiskey away from him toward the back of the bar, he said “Maybe I... don't need that after all…”

"Speaking of not needing anymore to drink," she finished off last of her scotch, "It again is getting late. I must be off home before one of my Mates comes looking for me," she stood, just a bit unsteadily.

She turned and lightly bowed to her colleagues, "I shall see you all tomorrow. Have a pleasant evening," she then sauntered out of the room.

After waiting for the intoxicants to wear off slightly, Zed stood, “Sorry about that, gentlemen. Every once in a while I do overindulge. The shootings were fine; sometimes what must be done is what must be done. But I too must be leaving. Good evening to all,” and after a short bow he quietly left the bar.

Julien turned to Stevens, "You're the Ambassador from East Klent, correct? I was told that I could find you here. Here's my card. Call me as soon as you can. There's business that needs to be discussed in a more, shall we say, private location."

Stevens took the card, "Yes, yes there is."

"That line's good any hour of the day. When you call, however, be ready to accept what happens after."

“How's my office in three hours sound?"

"As I said, call me. Time and details will be given then. This is a highly sensitive matter. As safe as your office may seem, if I wanted the meeting to be there, I may as well have briefed you in the bar."

"Yes, you're probably right. I'll call in about three hours."

"One more thing, take this," Julien handed Stevens a file, "Read it, then destroy its contents," he then walked off.

Stevens placed the folder in his briefcase, nodded farewell to Neville and the remaining delegates and headed off to his office, where he planned to get about an hour’s sleep, hopefully to ware off the effects of the alcohol.

*Politique Antarctique International Assemblage

by **East Klent** » Wed May 25, 2016 11:14 am

11

November 30, 2011
World Assembly, East Klentian Office
4:31 A.M.

Stevens laid there on the couch in his office, trying to get some amount of rest, but he could not, for he was still thinking about the conversation he had with Ambassador Julien Roberts, Dugan's replacement, about an hour earlier. So he decided to abandon his plan to rest and got up, turned his desk light on, and got out the file Julien had given him.

Inside were documents on Dugan's whereabouts for the past six months, memos about his suspected whereabouts, crime scene photos, receipts, a few pages from his personal ledger showing pay-offs he made while in office and a call log of his various phones including a notation of that last one he made to Stevens since his escape. The mysterious thing was that there wasn't anything in the file since that call, until Stevens looked down to the bottom of the log and saw one call had been made to Agent Conner's cell just the day before, made from a disposable cell. It was marked as a suspected call, not a confirmed one, "Interesting," he mumbled under his breath.

After looking back through the file a few times, Stevens opened his drawer and pulled out his lighter, "Never thought I'd have to do this again," he said in a grim tone as he lit the corner of the file and dropped it into his waste basket, letting it burn, Good thing I decided not to install that smoke alarm, he thought.

Stevens took Julien's card out from his jacket pocket and dialed the number, "Julien, it’s Stevens, where's meeting?"

"The meeting is at Two-fifty-one Fifth Street, at a nightclub called Maisonnette Ten. Once there, go to the bar, order a drink, and tell the barkeep to put it on Maka's tab. He'll know what that means."

"I know the place, see you there," Stevens confirmed.

Stranger’s Bar
4:35 A.M.

The Smullanian ambassador meandered in, clutching his aching head and trying to forget the debates. Even though he had been on vacation for a while they still were there, The debates are in everything, he thought with horror.

“Neville, Everclear, twelve glasses. Now, before common sense reminds me of what I am doing,” he dragged himself onto a stool and moaned softly, then downed them and asked for another round.

A man who looked remarkably like Stevens walked in and sat on Stevens' normal stool, "'Just pretend to be Stevens for the day, and you'll get paid,' that's what they said, and that's what I'll do," he whispered to himself.

"I'll have a whiskey please, Neville,” he ordered, thinking that was what they told him what Stevens' normal drink was.

The Smullian looked at him strangely, “Maybe I was wrong, but on TV you always liked scotch? Change of heart?” he asked, tapping his talon-like fingernails on the table and whistling Death to the Non-Smullanian, the national anthem, under his breath.

'Stevens' looked at the other delegate, "Wait, did I order whiskey, I meant scotch, sorry Neville," he said with a nervous chuckle, "I've been out of it since last night."

Theta walked into the bar with blood on his prosthetic hand and right sleeve, "Hello all. Could you direct me to the washroom? I need to wash this off before it stains."

Already on his third Everclear, the Smullanian pointed toward the fountain, “Just get defenestrated.”

'Stevens' pointed out the door, "Second room on your left."

“Why did you tell him? He needed some activity, so I promised he could defenestrate someone,” the Smullanian complained.

'Stevens' turned, "I'm still recovering from last night. I tend to be nice during my hangovers," he said with incorrect notions once again.

Maisonnette Ten
4:54 A.M.

Stevens walked into the club; through the black lighting he could see the bar on the other end. He made his way through the horde of gyrating people and got the barkeeper's attention, "A scotch on the rocks, and put it on Maka's tab."

The barkeeper nodded, "Follow me."

Stevens followed him in to the back, where they stopped in front of a door. The barkeeper reached for what Stevens thought was the doorknob, but was actually a fingerprint scanner. The door opened and revealed an elevator, "Press six," he instructed him as he motioned for him to walk inside.

Stevens did as such and when the elevator reached its destination, it opened into a command center. A man seated at the center table looked like Julien, "I've been here hundreds of times; I never realized this place was here," he remarked.

"That's what makes this such a good place to gather intel. No one would suspect us to set up in a nightclub of all places. We've gotten some juicy bits of information from a couple of delegates who've had a few too many. The kind of things people will inadvertently say when under the influence," explained Julien.

Maka Alburn

"Now, on to business, but first, allow me to introduce the President of Post-Apocaliptia, Maka Alburn," he then turned toward a rather large black leather chair that was facing away from the table. The chair spun around to reveal none other than the president herself.

"Madam President," Stevens nodded his acknowledgement, "I understand that you believe Dugan's about to make his move?"

Before the president could answer, Stevens saw a monitor showing the Stranger's Bar with someone who looked exactly like him on his stool, "Who is that?"

President Alburn spoke, "That is your body double. You wouldn't believe how hard we had to look to find someone that looked exactly like you. He'll carry out your regular duties while you’re on assignment. Now, on to more pressing matters," she said, tossing him a file marked 'Classified'.

“Ah,” Stevens said as Agent Conner entered the room, "Here's the file you wanted, Ma’am,” who then turned to Stevens, "It looks like we're going to be partners on this one."

“And here I was hoping to be rid of you,” Stevens said with a sarcastic grin.

"Shall we cut the small talk and get along with the briefing then?" Julien suggested.

Violet Wolves' Logo

"Indeed we shall," said the president, picking up a remote control, "As you are no doubt aware, Dugan had some impressive military support during the chase. We did some digging and found several phone calls he made to one 'Loin Solutions Incorporated' during his tenure as our delegate. After raiding their offices to find them completely torched, we were able to find some evidence tying Loin Solutions to the Violet Wolves, a well-known private military corporation, and a suspected terror cell."

Agent Conner nodded, "I looked into them, they've been involved in five separate wars across the globe, normally framing the opposition for acts of genocide," he said as he handed Stevens reconnaissance pictures taken of the war zones, "They were also the people who provided Dugan with the jet."

“Weren’t they responsible for the bombing in Western Cuba in 2000?” asked Stevens.

“Yes,” Julien responded.

"What about his phone call to you?" Stevens asked Conner.

"Well, we're not entirely sure it was him, because I just heard breathing on the other end of the line, but Dugan did call the Don and exposed the other lieutenant as a mole from a rival gang."

"He was probably trying to prove that he could blow your cover at any minute; did we trace the call?" Stevens inquired.

"If we had, you wouldn't be here. The guy's smart. He knows just how long to keep a call going before we get the chance to trace it. In any event, we have no clue as to his exact location. But, if we can manage to get a few of the Wolves into custody, they might be able to tell us something. And, before you ask, the members on the plane all committed suicide before we were able to question them. Dugan's got them on a very tight leash, apparently. He's got them scared into following his every order. And, seeing as a good number of their ranks are androids, that's not too hard to pull off. Speaking of androids, I should probably clue the both of you in on Julien over there. He's not quite what he seems, you see."

Stevens and Conner both took a step back as Julien revealed his true identity, "I was not expecting that," Stevens murmured.

Stranger’s Bar
5:00 A.M.

Theta returned from the bathroom, "Thank you, Stevens. By the way, you don't seem to be affected much by your hangover."

'Stevens' thought for a moment, "Well, I've gotten used to them over the years," he said, looking to the side.

"I'm sure you have," He paused, Theta thought, He didn't look directly at me. That's odd. Even for Stevens. And, according to Dad, a way to tell when someone is lying.

'Stevens' eyed Theta, "Sorry about shooting you the other day, though I'm sure you deserved it at the time," he joked, trying to distract Theta's attention.

Theta's eyes appeared to narrow, though his hat and coat cast shadows on his face, "Don't worry, I've made a full recovery. And I've still got the metal hand to rip out your throat with. And I've told you, drink less. Alcohol can make you forgetful."

Feyalisa walked, almost skipped, into the bar, "Neville. Give me something light and sparkly and… hm... mint flavored," she sort of hopped up onto the barstool.

"What was that all about?" 'Stevens' asked.

She turned and looked at the man calling himself Stevens, and sniffed, "You are not Stevens. Why do you look like Stevens?” she grabbed a knife and slowly pointed it at him, “…and I had better like what I hear."

Theta looked at the man, "You've been acting very odd, 'Stevens'. Care to explain why?"

“Alright, I was mugged when I went home last night, they took my wallet, watch, brief case, everything and then pushed me into the rain," 'Stevens' fibbed.

"You were mugged? The three war veteran sniper from Special Operations?"

Feyalisa quickly took ‘Stevens’ by the throat and slowly pushed the knife against his neck, "I do not like what I just heard. Such an explanation would not change your basic scent.”

The Dizyn had developed a uniquely sensitive sense of smell, most likely due to their long isolation. It was so acute that they could distinguish the individual scents of different people.

She pressed a little harder, "Now since you are not Stevens you are not protected by the laws of this place. You have one last chance to explain yourself or I will tear your throat out."

"Hold on. Let me put a tablecloth over my trench coat. That gets messy and these coats cost a fortune."

“Wait, wait, I can make a phone call and everything can be explained!" the man choked, pulling out his phone.

"Let him go. But feel free to kill him by any means if he flees or pulls out a weapon. I want to hear what he says. If he dies, we won't know why he did this or where the real Stevens is."

She released her grip slightly, "This had better be good. I would almost hate to splatter Neville's pretty bar with your blood… almost," she took her hand off of his throat.

Giovanni's head shot up from where he had been passed out on the counter, "You could always take him to the Floor to do it. I imagine the Kennyites would love to capture violent death on their TV show."

“Ok, who are these Kennyites everyone keeps talking about?" Theta asked.

“The delegation from Omiodtekilekenny. They're not technically members, but they have a film crew running around, taping the debates as bread and circuses for their masses. They're also, as I understand, quite infamous," Giovanni explained.

“Ah,” Theta turned his attention back to the imposter, "You have twelve seconds to start explaining yourself, or I let my friend here slit your throat."

***

“Uh, it would appear we have a more urgent matter," Conner alerted the others, pointing to the monitor.

"It appears we do. Julien, I want you at the bar ASAP."

The president’s phone began to ring, "Alburn. What's that? Put her on the line!" she covered the speaker to say, "This'll just be a minute."

Stevens and Conner watched the monitor, "That Feyalisa is really-" Conner began.

"Aware?" Stevens finished.

"Yeah; hopefully Julien can get there in time."

"We can only hope," said the President after her call was over, "but if worst comes to worst, Julien is programmed with the know how to kill just about anything that breathes. With everything from an AK-Forty-Seven to a spork, I might add."

Stevens looked at president blankly, "Agent Conner and I are going to the bar; we'll be right back."

The two men rushed through the club and started sprinting to the WA.

***

"Get ready. Trouble may be coming. We could use the pretender as a hostage, if worse comes to worse," Theta prepared for the worst.

Julien kicked open the door to the bar. He walked over to ‘Stevens’, "I suggest you leave this man alone. There could be very dire consequences if you kill him," he said, eyes cold as ice.

"Thank you God!" the man exclaimed in relief.

"Hello there. We'd like an explanation about what's going on, guy-who-had-a-secretive-meeting-with-Stevens."

"It seems the cat's out of the bag. Stevens is currently in a top-secret meeting. This man is his body double, as you may or may not have guessed. Mess with him, and the last thing going through your mind will be my fist. Understood?"

"Body double? Surely you could have found someone who was better under pressure? And I for one would appreciate a more informative explanation."

Two men charged into the bar, "Everyone leave that man alone, I'm fine," Stevens announced.

Conner walked to Julien, "Now, now Julien, don't go killing diplomats," he said, grabbing his arm.

"I wasn't planning on killing anyone I didn't have to. I planned to scare them out of harming your double, lightly maiming or incapacitating them was Plan B."

He turned to Feyalisa, "Do you realize what you have done? This is a matter of international security. Not only did you force us to blow our cover, but you also put our key investigators out in the open."

He then turned to Theta, "If I told you any more than that, I'd have to involve you as well. As it is, you know too much. Not enough that I'll have to eliminate you, but enough that you are a possible threat."

"Why should we trust anything you say? I know Stevens has connections to, err, less than legal organizations."

“Theta, it's me, I'm fine, he's telling the truth," Stevens said, walking up to the bar.

Conner let go of Julien, "Everything's confidential, need to know."

“I have to leave now. We will see each other again," Theta left the bar.

"Indeed. Now, I suggest you all forget what happened here, and pretend that this man is really Stevens," he then grabbed the double by the collar,

"As for you, we'll talk later about your performance. Stevens, Connor, back to base," he walked out the door. Stevens and Conner followed Julien.

The man rubbed his neck and turned, "I'll have that whiskey now, Neville."

"I would suggest that the next time you attempt something like this that you do not forget there are people here that can differentiate by scent," Feyalisa advised before turning back to the bar and taking a sip of the drink Neville had just made for her.

"Well, I'll leave that organization tomorrow," the man mumbled.

Maisonnette Ten
5:05 A.M.

The three entered command again, "Sorry Madam President, we've dealt with the problem," Conner informed her.

"Quite a show you boys put on back there," said the President, somewhat perturbed, "Now, where was I? Ah yes, the Violet Wolves. The three of you will be overseeing a weapons deal between the Wolves and a gang of gunrunners. Your mission, should you choose to accept it, is to take out the runners and attempt to bring in one of the Wolves. You'll have whatever you need to complete the investigation at your disposal. Any questions?"

Conner shook his head, but Stevens did have one question, "What was that phone call about?"

“Nothing to worry about. Just a little trouble on the home front. In any event, the deal's in two hours. Get ready."

***

Theta rang up his source again, “Roberts confirmed the mission, anything on your end?”

“Yes, Sir, we have confirmed that they will be intervening in a deal with the Wolves and the runners.”

“Excellent, keep me updated on their progress.”

“Will do, Sir.”

by **East Klent** » Wed May 25, 2016 12:05 pm

12

Stranger’s Bar
5:30 A.M.

A man in a black fedora, sunglasses, suit and overcoat entered the room and walked over to the double. He whispered something in his ear and gave him cash. The double left and the mysterious man just stood there, with his hands behind his back.

Theta walked into the bar, "Hello all. An ice water please."

He sat down when his phone rang, "Really? Our mutual friend guarantees it? I didn't expect him to be doing that... That's what they say? Make sure they keep an eye on them. All of them," he hung up.

The mysterious figure turned his head and stared at Theta.

Theta looked at the man, "Hello there. My name is Theta Run. What is yours?"

He thought, I'll bet a thousand drachmas he already knew that.

The man put on a smile and shook Theta's hand, "I'm Mister Smith," and then lost the smile and continued his previous posture.

Mister Smith. Nice and generic. "What do you do for a living?"

"I'm in the import-export business," Smith answered dryly.

Theta's phone rang again, "Excuse me for a moment," he answered his phone, "They're what? Really? Well, I'm sure Julien will enjoy that. Call me back later."

He looked to ‘Smith’, "Sorry about that. Part of the job, I suppose."

Smith raised his brow, "Who was that?"

"Oh, just a friend from Lesser Naboo, telling me what my crazy uncle is doing. Do you have any close relatives? What country are you from anyway?"

"I'm from around here," Smith replied, straightening his watch.

"Around here? You live in the gutter?" Theta said with a smile, That's it, be nice and vague.

“No, I have a residence," Smith answered, adjusting something beneath the shoulder of his overcoat.

Giovanni's head shot back up, "Perhaps he's a stateless foundling born on WA sovereign territory?"

He looked at the man again, "Or rather, the sovereign territory of that organization that came before the WA."

"That might be," Smith neither confirmed nor denied.

The Smullanian drummed his talon-like fingers against the bar, then hefted the bottle of Everclear and turned toward the mysterious loon, "Please tell me what is going on. Those weapons neutralizers tend not to work on bottles. Funny, eh?”

"Nothing is going on, Sir. I'm just an ordinary citizen watching television at a bar."

"This is the festering snake-pit. This is the universal cesspool; nothing here is even remotely normal or non-sinister.”

"Then I would say that you have a very pessimistic view of the world, Sir."

“I have spent what seems like the last five hundred years killing people as my job. Pessimism is my life.”

"Now, now, everyone, I'm sure he has a good reason for being here. He'd probably have to kill us if he told it to us, but that's no reason to vet him in such a manner. I highly doubt that when he walked in he expected this Spanish Inquisition you're giving him," Forshaw remarked.

The patrons gave the door a quick glance, as if they were expecting someone to come bursting in at that moment. No one did.

“Mister Smith, please come this way," the Smullanian requested.

"I think I'll stay put if you don't mind, Sir," Smith said, adjusting something else.

"Now, now, no need to be violent. Unless you're ticked at the Inquisition. The purpose of the WA is to promote peace," Theta professed.

“No, the WA is the equivalent of a pool filter, catching the worst of life,” the Smullanian growled.

“I resent that remark.”

He looked over at Theta, "But I notice that you did not deny it.”

“That is correct.”

Smith's phone vibrated, "Excuse me for one moment," he pressed talk, "Yes Sir. Yes. Okay. Understood," he hung up, and placed it back into his pocket.

"Who was that? Someone with a governmental tie?" Theta subtly shifted to a better defensive posture.

"That was a... 'friend' of mine," Smith answered, standing still, then shifted in position slightly.

Angelo Gervoski, Minister of WA Affairs for Morlago, then shouted, “You must be a spy! Kill him! Kill him!”

Dr. Forshaw jumped, "Spies? Where's Julien?"

After realizing he was nowhere to be found, he fell back asleep in the corner.

Feyalisa fell off her stool from laughing so hard, "Spy?" she got back up on her barstool and wiped tears of laughter from her eyes, "Sorry, but really, this is the WA. The place is absolutely lousy with spies."

"I wouldn't say much on that subject, Ma'am, it might make some people... uncomfortable," Smith suggested.

Agent Zed trudged none too cheerily into the bar. It was obvious that last night's drinking had affected his health this day. He offered a brief but professional bow to the patrons and quietly walked to an almost always-empty table in a dark corner of the bar. After a slight kick to the booth seat there was a faint grinding noise as it slid forward, revealing a staircase behind it.

“No time for pleasantries today folks. There are many debates to be had and many snakes to uncoil. This leads to just outside the WA chamber if anybody is coming, otherwise this will close in a minute or so. I'll see you all on the floor.”

With that, he ran both hands over his short slicked back hair, adjusted his overly jet tinted glasses, threw a wide smile to the representative of Morlago, and headed down the stairs.

by **East Klent** » Fri Jul 08, 2016 9:03 pm

13

EKS Williams
International Waters
5:34 A.M. Local Time

Stevens sat in the mess of the Klentian aircraft carrier wearing nighttime camouflage, twirling a spoon between his fingers, when Conner walked in, "What's wrong with you?"

"Nothing, I've always been impatient just before a mission."

"I normally meditate before a mission."

Stevens gave Conner an odd look and then glanced at his watch, "The chopper should be ready, Julien's meeting us there," he said as he stood up and grabbed his sunglasses.

***

The two men stepped off the cargo lift and started jogging toward the Liberty stealth chopper, where Julien was waiting, holding a black duffel bag, "Equipment?" Conner asked, pointing to the bag.

Without saying a word, Julien tossed both of the men sub-machine guns and fragmentation grenades. The helicopter's blades started to spin. He climbed in and motioned for Conner and Stevens to do the same.

Liberty
International Airspace
5:40 A.M.

The pilot, Lieutenant Commander Alexander Garrison, turned on the intercom, “Good morning gentlemen, I’ll be your pilot for this wonderful voyage; ETA is eleven minutes, when we're about two minutes out, you'll jump out into the ocean; hope you guys brought a big enough boat," he turned the intercom off.

"I knew there was a reason I didn't join the Navy," Stevens grimaced at the pilot’s humor.

The rest of the flight was dead silent.

***

When they reached the drop-off point, Garrison came on the intercom again, "When you see the green light, jump; Roberts has the inflatable raft, release it as soon as you hit the water. Good luck."

As they stood up, preparing for the jump, Stevens was counting down from ten in his mind. The first two lights came on red, then the third came on green; the next thing he knew, he was in free fall.

International Waters
5:50 A.M.

Stevens grabbed a hold of the raft and climbed in, as did Conner. Stevens checked to make sure the guns were still operable while Conner and Julien rowed, "You think you could lend a hand?" a slightly perturbed Conner asked.

"Sure, right after I check the rest of the supplies."

Conner let out an angry sigh as they continued rowing toward their destination.

Privately Held Island
5:56 A.M.

When they landed, they hid the boat with nearby vegetation. Conner checked the miniature GPS strapped to his wrist, "The site of the deal is twenty-five yards to the north."

"We don't have much time, Julien, are you certain of the source of the information?" Stevens whispered.

"In all honesty, no. But, this is our only lead. It's also an order from my President, which this damned protocol cannot let me ignore. Now, let's find a hiding spot, shall we? Remember, kill the runners, and capture at least one of the Wolves. Try to get the highest ranking member you can."

Conner and Stevens nodded, "You ready, Sniper?" Conner asked Stevens.

"I was born ready," he responded.

They headed off, trudging through the dense jungle. Once they arrived at the site, Stevens set up his perch up in the canopy of a low grown tree, while the others took cover in the foliage, "Now all we do is sit here and wait," Stevens whispered to himself.

***

Two black SUVs with tinted windows drove into the clearing, followed by two pick-ups soon after; the gun-runners stepped out of the latter and the Wolves, the former. They met in the center of the clearing, "You're making this too easy," Stevens whispered as he lined his scope up with the head runner, and pulled the trigger.

In the seconds after, Stevens took out the other four runners, leaving the Wolves for the others, "That's or cue," Conner told Julien and then jumped toward the Wolves.

"Remember, shoot to incapacitate, not to kill!" Julien ordered, grabbing his submachine gun and shooting two of the Wolves in their kneecaps.

Gram Conner

One fell down and did not get back up, while the other tried to pull his pistol to defend himself. Julien shot him in the hand. The other three Wolves were behind cover, attempting to suppress him. He grabbed a flash grenade he had on him and tossed it just behind where two of the Wolves were hiding. The blinding light staggered them long enough for Julien to run up to them and gave them both a few rounds to the knees.

The final Wolf began to run for his life. Julien began securing the others, "Connor, mind getting him?"

"Not at all," Conner said as he started chasing him through the undergrowth.

The Wolf fired at Conner, causing him the fall into a natural ditch, "Didn't see that one coming did you?" Conner taunted him as he aimed.

“Piss off!” the mercenary fumed as he held up his gun.

Conner fired first.

***

Conner strode out of the jungle with the last Wolf, whose hands were bound together with zip ties and had bullet holes through his thighs, "This is cruel and unusual punishment!" the Wolf cried.

"Quit your whining, you have no right to speak," Conner growled as he pushed him up against a boulder along the rest of the Wolves.

Stevens started pacing in front of them, "Now we're going to play a little game called 'Answer Our Questions, and We Might Let You Live.' Julien, first round goes to you."

"Much as I'd enjoy subjecting them to the most cruel and unusual forms of torture that are in my databanks – and believe me, there's some pretty sick stuff in there – I think this is a job better left to the pros back at HQ. We've got one guy in the Intelligence Bureau whose stare alone has made internationally wanted terrorists break down and beg for mercy. Give him a day with these guys, and they'll be singing like caged canaries."

One of the Wolves spoke up, "You bastards will never break us! We'd rather die!"

Julien leaned next to the man, "Oh believe me, by the time the guys back home are done with you, you'll be begging for Death to claim your miserable hide," he pulled his pistol and shot the man in the leg. The mercenary cried out in agony.

Conner's radio came on, "This is Lieutenant Garrison, I'm about four minutes out, and don't worry, I've brought a bigger chopper."

"Copy that," Conner responded.

Stevens walked over to Julien, "I think we should search the vehicles, might be something interesting waiting to be found," as he spoke, he noticed that one of the Wolves blinked at the mention of the search.

"I've seen that face before. This is going to be good," Julien smirked.

He opened the door to the SUV to find a rather large attaché case. He opened it up to find it was packed with money, "Seeing as this was a weapons deal, I'm not surprised to find money."

He kept looking around the interior. In the trunk, he found a bulletproof laptop computer, and let out a chuckle. He walked back to the group,
"Guys, these sons of bitches were dumb enough to bring along their computer. This baby's probably got a decent amount of intel on it, though odds are the things password locked and the data's encrypted."

Stevens laughed, "That sort of thing is one of Conner's specialties; you hand that over to him at HQ, and we'll have all the intel from that tin can."

The sound of the helicopter's blades came from overhead as it began to hover to a landing. They dragged the mercenaries up onto the chopper and signaled for Garrison to lift off, "You boys been busy," he joked over the intercom.

The chopper lifted off and headed back to the Williams.

by **East Klent** » Sat Jul 09, 2016 12:16 am

14

Stranger’s Bar
8:00 A.M.

Yet another anonymous man walked in to the bar, and Smith stood to greet him, "Everyone, this is Benjamin Thomas Mason, former ambassador to the G-Twenty for East Klent, he's much more talkative than I am, and is most definitely not in the import-export business," he introduced the newcomer and then left.

Benjamin Thomas Mason

"Good day, I've never understood Stevens' flare for the dramatic with all this cloak and dagger business, but he's certainly an accomplished diplomat," Mason rattled in a southern Klentian accent*, and then noticed Neville, "Ah, Gerald, I'll have that 1921 single-malt scotch that Stevens' always raving about."

Mason then turned to Feyalisa and bowed, "Your Majesty," and then nodded his acknowledgement to the other delegates.

The princess bowed her head slightly at Mason, "Ambassador Mason. And please, Majesty is my grandmother's title, Highness is more appropriate or you will have me blushing frequently I am afraid."

"Your Highness it is then," Mason nodded and held his glass up.

"You know, I'm getting sick and tired of all this bloody running around like headless chicks you Klentians are doing," Herbet said somewhat pissed off, "It's getting nigh impossible to keep up with you lot."

"I completely understand, Ambassador, but you see, Stevens has always been like this; scurrying off to God knows where, keeping secrets, it's just his way of doing things. He's annoyed me with his actions as well, but I know that he's always doing it for a reason, confidential or not," Mason paused for one moment, "That and we Klentians tend to drink a lot of scotch."

"Will you be replacing Ambassador Stevens in the Assembly during his absence?" Feyalisa asked.

"That is what I'm told, yes, and by what I've already seen, I can tell it will be a pleasurable experience," Mason smiled at her, taking a sip from his glass, "I see what Stevens was on about, this scotch is magnificent."

"Oh yes, a really marvelous time. Why, just look at the submitted proposals board. Mind you, I would not be too upset at a couple of them passing. I have already figured out how to loophole them into virtual non-existence," she said as she sipped at her mojito.

"Yes, look at the submitted proposals. A subtle attempt to undermine governments by advocating the chaos of democracy. Something like that passing, that'd be the day!" Sir Augustus, the Ambassador for Southern Patriots, chimed in.

Feyalisa chuckled lightly, "Yes, I know the one you mean. But seriously there is a very nice legal flaw in that one as well."

The door flew open, and Giovanni stalked in, smiling triumphantly. He hung up his hat, and sat down at his usual seat. He announced, "The gnomes have given me a bigger office. Neville, give everyone a round of whiskey, on me," he laughed, and pulled out his shot glass, putting it down on the bar counter so Neville could fill it up.

‘Gnomes’ was the affectionate nickname given to the maintenance staff of the WAHQ. They also served as security, tour guides and even orderlies from time to time.

"Congratulations, Ambassador…" she frowned, "My office is an old storage closet, I think. Big enough just for my secretary's desk and a filing cabinet. That is why I am always in here,” she thought on the matter, "You do not suppose that Neville here bribes the gnomes to do such things to help increase his business, do you?"

Smiling, Giovanni said, "I don't know, but if he is, it's working. By the way, if you ever need to defenestrate someone, feel free to stop by to do it. The view of the Memorial Reflecting Pool is quite breathtaking from the three-hundred and seventh floor."

The princess thought on that for a bit, "Three hundred and seven? How tall is this building and does it have a landing pad on the roof?"

"Yes it does, in fact, that is where my transport dropped me off when I arrived," Mason told.

"Oh good! I can take my shuttle to work now instead of riding in a car through that atrocious traffic. That should make my head of security happier."

"Yes, I imagine it shall," Mason remarked, then started looking around the pub, "Where the Devil do they keep the dartboard around here?"

* English

by **East Klent** » Sat Jul 09, 2016 12:45 am

15

Command
8:33 A.M.

Once they had returned, Conner began to break the pass-code and decrypt the Wolves' laptop, while Stevens and Julien handed the mercenaries themselves over to the interrogators. They then watched their progress on the monitors. Stevens glanced over at the WA monitor, They replaced him with Ben Mason, eh? He's certain to distract everyone, he thought.

"I've broken through the second level of encryption, the third shouldn't take long," Conner announced.

"Good, the sooner we have that information, the sooner we can start confirming their stories," Stevens said.

A few moments had passed when Stevens noticed something not quite right on the monitor showing the club, "I'll be right back," he said as he picked up a Glock from the end of the table and placed it in the small of his back.

When he was up in the club, Stevens confirmed what he thought he had seen; the barkeeper was missing, "Hey, did you see where the barkeep went?" he asked someone nearby, who shrugged, "Of course you didn't," he sighed.

He decided to check the restrooms, but the barkeeper was not there either. When he walked up to the door that led out into the back alley, he saw a pool of blood emanating from the other side. He pulled out the Glock with his right hand, and slowly opened the door with his left. He could see the barkeeper on the ground with a bullet hole through his head. Yet, he noticed something else and walked out to get a better look.

The first shot grazed passed his left ear. The second his right hand. Stevens ducked for cover in the inlet for a door and started firing back. When he turned from the inlet for a second round of shooting, he heard the sound of a car screeching its wheels, then speeding away.

After making sure the coast was clear, Stevens knelt down next to the barkeeper and examined his hands. Someone, presumably the shooter, had very meticulously sliced off the pads, thus the prints of each of the barkeeper's fingers, "Oh no."

Suit and shoes caked with blood, Stevens quickly made his way through the club and back down to command.

"What the Hell?" Stevens heard Conner exclaim.

"We have a bit of a problem," he explained.

As Julien listened to the story and thought of possible solutions to this problem, "The shooter was careless. Out in the open? Very unprofessional. I would have at least dumped his body in a dumpster or something. We can remove the barkeep's fingerprints from the system, but that's not the real problem here. No, the real problem is that they know we're here, which isn't all that surprising, seeing as our enemy did have access to this place at one point. Regardless, I put the guards in the club on high alert.”

“Shouldn’t we evacuate?” Stevens suggested.

“No, this way we can control the information they get.”

“How? They know that we know.”

“Do they? They could think that we think it was a mugging gone wrong. No, we stay here and go on as normal,” Julien decided.

“Whatever you say, boss,” Stevens reluctantly agreed.

“Now, if you'll excuse me, I believe I'll be removing that set of prints from the system," Julien walked off to the security center, where he sat down at a terminal and began his work.

***

Having changed his suit and shoes, Stevens checked Conner's progress, "How's it coming along?"

"Two more minutes," Conner answered.

Stevens nodded and then began to check the monitors for a camera angle showing the alley. After a few rotations, he found an angle, then went back a few frames, "Gotcha."

The frame showed a black sedan, with the license plate visible. Stevens closed in on the plate and refined the picture,

He then printed out the crop. He also searched and cross-referenced the plate number with the case files. The same number appeared at the prison break, four homicides, and two thefts, yet the identity of the owner was never discovered. Stevens decided to go back to the monitor and search a few more frames back, finding the shooter; a white woman, probably in her thirties, with brownish hair, and probably was no more than a bit over five feet tall, but she kept her face hidden.

Stevens printed out the frame when Conner exclaimed, “I'm in!”

“I'll get Julien,” Stevens said.

***

President Alburn walked into the room, accompanied by Julien, "Excellent work!" she said, “I'll get the technical division to start compiling the data. Meanwhile, you three can return to your regular duties. Julien will receive a call when we have Dugan's location. In the meantime, stay cautious, watch each other's backs and Stevens; try not to get in any bar fights. Otherwise Julien might have to step in, and I doubt Neville wants to clean up that mess."

Stevens smiled, "Understood."

Taking her seat at the head of the table, she said, "Dismissed!" and waved them off.

Stevens and Conner hesitated; Why is the President being so abrupt?

“Something the matter?” she asked them, raising her brow.

"No, Ma’am,” Stevens answered.

“Then I repeat, dismissed.”

“Thank you Madam President," Conner and Stevens replied in unison.

Before he left, Stevens checked the WA monitor to catch up on some of the conversation, Interesting, he thought, then left Command and the club.

Conner stepped into his car and drove toward the hotel.

by **East Klent** » Sat Jul 09, 2016 12:41 pm

16

Stranger’s Bar
9:15 A.M.

Mason walked back in after having sat in several debates, "I could never understand why Stevens' was always on about how the General Assembly was driving him to the brink of insanity, now I do," he said, letting out a long breath, and turned to Neville, "One scotch, Gerald."

"I see the current bio-weapons proposal is sinking fast. Do you think Dr. Castro's version will fare any better?" Feyalisa asked the group’s opinion.

“Okay, I have to ask, who is Dr. Castro? Remember, I haven't been here long," Theta inquired.

Forshaw took out a large dusty book from the cabinet above the booth in the far right corner, and opened it upon one of the booths, "In the International Federalist Guide, Dr. Castro is a guru of the political movement. He's probably the most prominent IntFed author in the WA. He represents Glen-Rhodes."

"I am new. That tells me absolutely nothing. I don't know what the International Federalist movement is."

"My mistake. International Federalism is the belief that the WA knows what's best, and should act like a World Government. The other major movement, National Sovereignty, believes that individual nations should have the final say. Personally, I'm an IntFed."

"Thank you. I was not aware of different political movements," Theta appreciated, "In any case, I did not realize that he had one. Honestly, I voted for the current one. An ice water please, Neville."

"I'm guessing you're Theta, the only head-of-state shot by Jarred Stevens; I'm Benjamin Mason, his temporary replacement."

"You've heard of me? I'm flattered. I am not so sure I am the only one. He is aggressive from time to time, isn't he?"

"He does tend to be a bit combative, yes, but I think you will find that he is one of the more level-headed members of the Klentian government, believe it or not," Mason smirked as he finished his scotch, "One more, Gerald."

“He is not that bad. I find him to be rather dashing. But then, we Dizyntk have a much higher tolerance for violence, being predators and all," Feyalisa commented.

"Being in the military either makes you significantly less tolerant of violence, or more tolerant. Though, I suppose you don't have too much of that kind of violence in the Air Force," Theta reminisced.

"Perhaps violence was the wrong word. Maybe aggression is more fitting? Yes, I think it is. Dizyntk are not all that violent. Unless you count the way we hunt, then sometimes we are."

"Beg pardon, but in what way do you find Stevens dashing did you say, exactly?" Mason asked, suddenly becoming very interested in the subject matter.

"The coming in with his coat in tatters, scrapes and cuts and whatnot. All the signs that he is doing something dangerous and getting out of it alive. Such things are very attractive qualities among my people. One of the reasons we still choose to hunt using nothing but our natural teeth and hands in spite of our technology,” she explained as she took a long sip of her drink, "I do so miss hunting."

"I do believe I remember Stevens saying once that while at university, and incredibly intoxicated, actually attempted to hunt without a weapon," he chortled, "Also, excuse me a minute," Mason left.

A few moments later, he returned with a black eye, torn suit jacket and a cut on his left hand, "Now, what were we talking about?"

Feyalisa giggled, "Very amusing, Ambassador. I was merely speaking in an admiration sense you understand. I am what you would call married," she held up left arm and tapped the four-inch wide silver bracelet on her wrist, "But it is flattering for you to try."

"As am I, I just act this way in my spare time," Mason chirped, showing his ring, "Klentian men are, shall we say..." Mason had trouble finding a suitable description.

"Flirtatious?"

"To say the least," Mason paused for moment, thinking, then looked for Neville, not seeing him, "You know, during the few times I have been here, Gerald has never mentioned having a significant other, don't you find that odd?"

"Not as odd as the fact that I have heard that he has never had a day off. Are we sure that he is not a construct of some sort made by the gnomes?"

Mason lowered his voice to a whisper, "We could always splash a drink on him and see what happens."

"I really would not if I were you. Stevens did something similar to another ambassador and it only seemed to make Neville irate. But to another subject, have you thrown your two cents worth into the proposed repeal of GAR Number Ten?"

"I'd prefer to keep my two cents. A repeal of NAPA would have about the same amount of success as the pipe dream of a nuclear defense shield our military concocted a year or so back. Besides, if NAPA was repealed, the WA would lose half of its membership."

She nodded in agreement, "I think you may be right. I do not like the weapons but then, all weapons of war kill. If one is so determined to repeal NAPA, then you may as well attempt to make all arms illegal."

Bob walked over, "I wouldn't worry too much about those misguided individuals who think repealing NAPA is a good idea. The next time someone starts in on that subject, just mention that I've already got a replacement written up that not only protects a nation's right to possess nukes, it also protects their right to use them. That usually shuts them up."

"Indeed to the both of you. Also, if I were to put my two cents in, I would have to do so very cautiously, for a majority of Klentians believe that we must have nuclear weaponry in order to prevent nations such as Western Cuba and Mostrov from invading again. Though our armed forces are formidable enough to do the job, but it's not my place to argue with the people; I am but their humble servant, after all."

Sir Augustus entered the bar holding a mug of coffee, which he promptly reinforced with a bit of whiskey, "A proposal regarding nuclear weapons that doesn't ban them. How far that will go, I wonder."

Professor Constantine of Bizantinea put his brandy down and turned to those in the conversation and asked, "So tell me do the majority of your nations have titles of nobility; I’m asking because I’ve noticed that many of you seem to be of that ilk."

Mason turned to answer, "As Klent is a republic, I think you'll find that we don't," and then he finished his drink.

"The majority of our population, Professor? No, but a large minority does. Well, it also depends on what you mean by 'title', since hereditary titles are inherited by primogeniture, that is, by the first-born child. Younger children are also considered nobility but do not hold any title of nobility, other than as a courtesy, unless given a title in their own right by Her Majesty. And of course any statistics on title holders would be different depending on whether those who are married and therefore share their titles in marriage are counted once as a whole or each of the spouses are counted as a title holder," Lord Raekevik of the Queendom of Alqania described, walking over to the bar.

Professor Constantine ordered another brandy before responding, "I see, similar to how it is done in my nation although we also give out petty titles to doctors, professors, lawyers, as well as certain military ranks."

"Alqanian duchies, marches and counties are actual estates, so their number is not unlimited. Viscounties and baronies on the other hand can be created more easily by Her Majesty and are often awarded for outstanding achievements. There is one order of chivalry in existence, the Highest Order of the Panther, of which the Monarch is the Sovereign ex officio. Membership in the Order is not considered a title of nobility per se, but it is a rather moot point as all members do hold another title anyway. It should be noted that some of the most influential Alqanian officials are commoners, such as Her Majesty's Chancellor."

"We in the Confederate Dominion of Separatist Peoples never had much use for titles of nobility... elected positions seem so much more fair. Then again, I suppose it certainly cuts down on bureaucracy..." said Ambassador Sa'Diablo, taking a drink.

"Alqanians tend to think of democracy as a popularity contest and not very fair at all. But it has been decided that the Queendom will have a popularly elected advisory parliament; it will most definitely increase bureaucracy. There was a lot of debate on whether to describe the process of appointing the members of parliament as 'fair elections' as many Alqanians feel that it is an oxymoron. In the end the word 'fair' was not included in the Parliament Act; hopefully the elections will meet international standards anyway."

"Surely a majority-based decision is better than the opinion of one person, in terms of ruling the populace?” Sa’Diablo regretted his tone, “Bah, forgive me. We Confederates tend to take the concepts of autonomy and freedom very far. There was once serious debate over the establishment of a police force immediately after our revolution. The thought was that such an organization might encroach on our freedoms. Since throwing off the chains of the Greater Montanan Union, we have found ourselves rather polarized against authoritative rule."

"The thing is though, the Monarch is not really considered 'one person', she is seen as much more and the majority of Alqanians would not want the majority to decide. Hm, perhaps that is rather ironic. But many people have been asking for an advisory body elected by the people, so now Her Majesty has decided to create such an assembly.

People do not really expect it to make decisions though, the reason for its conception is mainly that as it is now, the individual has to petition Her Majesty to give input to the Government and many people are not interested in spending time doing so. So a body of representatives with a party system, also something new to us, is seen as more efficient and having a stronger mandate than individually based petitions. Though the constitutional right for anyone to petition Her Majesty will remain.

So some people view this change as a move towards democracy while others don't consider the new system any more or less democratic than the current one, but simply as a move from a direct system to a more indirect, representative one. Either way, it is a rather historical event and it will be most interesting to see how it all turns out."

"After our revolution against the Badinian Monarchy, there were many Klentians who felt the same way about authority as you, Sa’Diablo," Mason rejoined the conversation.

"Thankfully, none of them wrote the Charter that founded the Klentian Republic, yet they did sign it. Today that group has evolved into the Party of Klentian Anarchism; thankfully, there is not a single elected official of that party," Mason continued as his drink was refilled.

"I feel that if President Morris Williams, General Andrew Terris, and the other founding fathers had not instilled a democratic government, Klent would simply have plunged into chaos and we would have ended up under another absolute monarchy, but that is just my personal opinion."

"It should be remembered that any republic with a democratically elected president may be as oppressive as the most absolute of monarchies and perhaps it is not of much consolation to the oppressed that they voted their oppressor into office. Some of the worst leaders in history have been elected by their people, so democracy is obviously no guarantee for freedom."

"Ah, but you see, Your Lordship, a people may always ensure that their president is kept in check by their legislature and in turn their judiciary. However, in the sad event that each have been corrupted, a people have the right, neigh, the obligation to overthrow such despotism and restore order," Mason argued.

"And as such, these 'checks and balances', if you will, in turn ensure that the word of the president is not law, as it is with absolute monarchies where the monarch's whims are doctrine. I do concede that there have been sham democracies where the executive ruled as a dictator, and that there are still such governments in the world today, but I promise you that one would find that their constitutions, if they even have them, do not lay down this safety net in words," he continued.

"Let me ask you a question, Your Lordship; if the Queen where to directly order that every second citizen shall be summarily executed, would there be any legal standpoint to oppose her?"

"An interesting question. While Her Majesty's word is indeed law, for she is the supreme executive, legislature and judiciary, Her Majesty's mandate to rule comes from the Houses, that is, the Ducal families who elected Her Majesty's ancestor as the first King of Alqania, and from the Gods, who have put her in this world as the heir to the throne. At least in theory, either the Houses or the Gods could rescind the mandate at any time. Granted, that is very unlikely to happen, but one could also say it is very unlikely that Her Majesty would issue such an order.

A slightly more likely scenario would be rebellion. If some but not enough Houses opposed Her Majesty and they were joined by the religious leaders, they would be likely to gain a lot of popular support against such an order. Of course, Her Majesty would do well to realize this and immediately cancel the order threatening her position, but if not, a coup d'état would be attempted.

This is of course very hypothetical. Nothing coming close to this has ever happened. The sovereign dukes and duchesses prior to the unification were overturned all the time, but since Alqania was united under one King, the Monarch's rule has been stable and Alqania has been stable. The very stability of the system is what makes it popular. Peace, security and the pursuit of happiness have meant that there has never been much discontent with the Crown."

"Fascinating," Sa’Diablo said, waving for another drink, "So, given this as the case, I would suppose that Alqania then has a somewhat higher level of armed citizenry as an effective check to the possibility, however rare, of a ‘monarch gone wild’, or would your ducal opponents be forced to raise such armies out of their own pockets?"

"Any noble person or civil servant is required by custom to have a sword, though one does not need to carry it around on one's person. Many others have swords as well, even though they do not have to. Hunting is a common hobby, so many people have weapons for that. They are all licensed and registered though and to get a license for hunting weapons one needs to be a trained hunter. But most of us are trained hunters from a young age and a hunting license is much like a driver's license may be in other countries.

In addition to regular military personnel, the Home Guard makes up a voluntary, unpaid part of the Royal Army. Its tasks include protecting infrastructure, installations, ammunition storages, supply depots, being prepared for incidents, civilian disasters and rescue and surveying territory. Members are required to keep their personal equipment, including weapons and ammunition, in their home or in close proximity of their home. The Queendom offers voluntary, paid military training to young people and those who do train generally become either employed by Her Majesty's Armed Forces or a part of the Home Guard while having other employment. So most people with military training also have military equipment.

We do have complete registration and licensing however, strict regulations on storage of weapons and ammunitions and concealed carry is illegal."

"Tea please, Neville," Feyalisa ordered as she listened to the discussion between Lord Raekevik and Ambassador Sa'Diablo.

"The Dizyntk are able to avoid some of these potential problems. The Empress is the head of government and state and her word is technically law. She has no judiciary power however. That lies in the hands of the Temple. The Priestesses possess all authority to try and punish criminal acts. They may also refuse to recognize a new law from the Empress if they deem it an overstep of her authority. They may even bring charges against the Empress as she is not immune to their jurisdiction.

The majority of the Dizyntk are also fairly devout. It would not be difficult at all for the Temple to instigate a revolt if the major Orders agreed that the Empress needed removing. The Imperial family knows all of this of course, so they do a very good job of policing the Empress on their own."

"As with my question about the Queen of Alqania, would there be any legal standpoint to prevent the Temple from taking total control?" Mason queried.

"The simple fact that the Empress does control most of the Military and the teachings of the Temple urge self-reliance, not blind faith in the Temple. The Dizyntk do not really attend services as such. The Temple is there merely to resolve disputes, enforce social and legal standards and to perform religious ceremonies such as Bonding Rites, funerals and the like. There have been swings in power between the Royalty and the Temple down the centuries, but for the past hundred and fifty years or so it has been remarkably balanced and stable."

"And the non-devout, what keeps them in line? Or are they tried with the same moral code of the Temple?" Sa’Diablo inquired.

"The Temple is given the power to enforce the civil laws as well. So yes, as they are the only court in the Imperium, all Dizyntk are under their jurisdiction. I would imagine that simply not recognizing an authority is not sufficient reason to not be bound by it even in your nation, Ambassador."

Weebam-Na of the New Argonian Homeland of Black Marne, gaining interest from the conversation, sat at the bar, waved Neville to bring a whiskey, and joined in, "Madame Feyalisa, your nation never seems to stop fascinating me. But, I do have a question. What about fugitives? Does the Temple have an enforcement unit of Dizyntk under its command or are they under the Empress's command?" he asked as he sipped the drink.

"Cities and towns have local law enforcement, as do rural areas. Full national police are those belonging to the Duchesses that rule each province. If a fugitive makes it out of the province they committed their crime in, they would then be pursued by the Imperial forces such as the Fleet’s anti-piracy units. Only at that last level are the Empress' forces involved.

So I suppose that the answer is that the Temple does not maintain any law enforcement units. It would be hard for them to do so. Priestesses have been forbidden from carrying weapons since the end of our last civil war. Actually the current system of the Temple having all judiciary authority dates from the end of that war as well. So we have had this particular setup for only ninety-seven cyankas now."

"One cyanka is about one and a half years, no?”

She nodded.

“Interesting. So, this civil war was not too long ago, though admittedly before the civil war Black Marne experienced when it was still the nation of Black Marsh. This interests me. I don't suppose you have a copy of a book I could read on it? Unless you wish to tell me about it yourself, lady Feyalisa?" asked Weebam-Na.

"Well I do know the highlights, but perhaps it would be better to just give you the pamphlet version. This way I do not bore the other ambassadors with a Dizyntk history lesson."

"I don't believe it is. But, this is a fascinating history! Brilliant, that's what it is. Much better story than the Revolution of Black Marne. Lady Feyalisa, your country is truly a marvel," Weebam-Na then signaled for a simple tea, which he then began to drink.

"I doubt that with you reciting it, Your Highness, we would not be bored, granted it is hard to be bored at the WA with the constant, repetitive chaos..." Mason commented.

He looked at his empty glass and then the absence of life behind the bar, "I guess it is a tradition now for the Klentian delegate to man the bar at least once," he sighed as he walked behind the bar.

Stevens walked in, slightly loosening his tie, "That position suits you well, Mason."

"Ah, Jarred, good to see you in one..." Mason noticed the partial burns on Stevens' face, "Well, at least partially in one piece. I haven't the foggiest idea where Gerald ran off to."

"You should really stop calling everyone who you think is the butler Gerald," Stevens teased his former mentor, "It took me my first two years of law school to stop this guy from calling me that," Stevens smirked as he turned to Feyalisa.

“Welcome back, Ambassador Stevens,” Feyalisa greeted him

"Do you desire a scotch, by chance?" Mason asked, already knowing the answer.

"What do you think?" Stevens replied in the same manner.

Mason handed Stevens his drink and then grabbed his overcoat, "I'll be in Calridge if you're ever on an espionage escapade again," he then turned and bowed, "Farewell, Your Highness," and then exclaimed as he moved through the doorway, passing Neville, "I'm off!"

Stevens laughed when he saw Neville's reaction then turns back, "Sometimes I don't even think the accent's real," he sipped his scotch as he poked fun at Mason.

“Oh, I have some business to attend to, excuse me a moment,” the princess excused herself.

by **East Klent** » Sat Jul 09, 2016 12:53 pm

17

Hotel Internazionale
12:35 P.M.

Marc Petri was having lunch with the Don when he asked a question, "Don, can I ask you a favor?"

"Sure Marc, what do you need?"

Marc pulled out a picture from a security camera of a woman, "This broad robbed my brother, Giuseppe, of his car and I've been trying get it back."

The Don looked at the picture, "And how was she able to rob him?"

"I didn't ask."

The Don burst into to laughter, "I bet you didn't. That's Grace O'Neil, the top hit man, so to speak, for the South Sector. Your brother's lucky he didn't wake up dead; he's never seeing that car again."

"What if I was compelled to find her?"

"Hey, Marc, I don't mind you doing some side jobs here and there, but this one won't go down without a fight; she was Dugan's girlfriend for Christ's sake," the Don warned Marc, but saw that it would do no good, "You have a death wish Petri. She lives in apartment Thirty-Four-A in the complex on Fourteenth Street."

“Thanks.”

by **East Klent** » Sat Jul 09, 2016 1:28 pm

18

Stranger’s Bar
1:03 P.M.

Julien walked through the door, took off his sunglasses, and took a seat at the bar, keeping careful watch on Stevens all the while.

Stevens eyed Julien, “You certainly don't trust people very easily,” he mouthed.

“I have orders,” Julien mouthed back at him.

"The bar is a no-espionage area," the Smullanian ambassador grumbled.

"My friend, espionage is a central part of 'civilized' politics," Theta quipped as he sat down.

Stevens turned, "I don't know what you're talking about."

"Neither do I. Stevens and I are not involved in any kind of international espionage. We are our nation’s representatives to the World Assembly, nothing more."

"That's about as likely as me not ordering someone's painful death today. Tight-lipped men in suits, really?"

"You mean that Smith guy? I heard about him. He was in the import-export business, wasn't he Julien?"

“Yeah, I think he was.”

"Look, I have been in counter-espionage for about five decades. Tell me what is going on."

"You've heard the old cliché about how curiosity killed the cat, haven't you?" Julien’s sarcasm was replaced with slight hostility.

"I lived for six and a half decades, five rebellions, politics, the festering snake-pit, kidnapping the president of Goldsaver, and forty thousand attempts on my life, including one in which an army group attacked me. I'll be fine."

"Fine, if it'll make you feel better, I'll tell you what happened," Stevens paused for dramatic effect, "The first man was obviously an escaped insane asylum detainee; Mr. Smith was just passing by because of his import-export business, and Benjamin Mason's an old friend of mine who just wanted to chat,” he took a swig of scotch, “Feel any better?"

"Do you want to have my hand remove your eyeball?"

Stevens looked at Julien, "How are your orders looking now?"

"May I recommend that you refrain from threatening either of us? There could be dire consequences if you continue."

"Well, someone's not very friendly. That would be quite rude. Stevens, good to see you back only slightly maimed. Have you kept up with the news? I read an interesting article about wolves. Do you like wolves?" Theta asked, a little too inquisitively.

Stevens raised his brow, "We don't have many wolves in East Klent, so I've never really given it much thought. What did you say the article was called again?"

“I didn’t,” Theta evaded.

The Smullanian grabbed a mysterious looking bottle and stepped toward the two annoying bar patrons. He licked his fang-like incisors and his bloodshot, black eyes seemed to burn a hole through the Klentian Ambassador.

"I do have a Glock with me, you know," Stevens warned, sipping his scotch with his left hand and resting his right on the gun.

Feyalisa trotted happily back into the bar and noticed Stevens with his hand on his gun. She reached behind her back and pulled out an odd two-barreled pistol that had a silvery sheen to it and pointed it at the floor, "Who are we shooting? Please say it is the Tweegan delegate."

Stevens shook his head, "The Smullanian here," who, Stevens now realized, had disappeared. He dismissed it and let go of the Glock.

Dr. Forshaw walked into the bar, his face gloomy, seemingly unaware of the stand-off that had taken place, "Election time in my region. The two same candidates run each time, and each time, one of them is sent to the ICU. While I like my region, the delegate elections are unbearable..."

He glanced over at Stevens, "Welcome back! Julien keeping you on your toes?"

Stevens smirked, “No, he’s babysitting me.”

“Ah.”

Feyalisa frowned and, with a disappointed look, put her weapon away, "Oh well. Anything new on the floor today?"

Forshaw looked depressed, "Universal Education Standards. An unintentional duplication of Promotion of Basic Education,” he stopped, looked down, and then continued, “Where's Sionis Prioratus when you need him?”

"I think I heard something about a Celtish Wake*," Stevens recalled as he noted the irony of his statement, given recent events.

Feyalisa shook her head in disbelief, "I simply do not understand. It is not as if you have to read every proposal that has already passed, but at least read the titles and see if something is already covering what you want to propose. Especially before posting it. I swear the poster of this particular proposal is in non-compliance with his own suggestion."

Giovanni stalked back into the bar. He sat down and ordered a beer. He looked around at the other ambassadors in the bar and said, "You know, it's a funny thing. The further my politics drift towards International Federalism, the less I find myself agreeing with Dr. Castro, and the more I find myself agreeing with Dr. Koopman. How very odd."

The princess scoffed in disapproval at the mention of the names, "Personally, I do not care for either of them. I find Ambassador Koopman to be irritating. Dr. Castro I find to be irritating and offensive. I could honestly do without having to listen to either of them."

"Isn't Castro the all mighty father of International Federalists? Koopman is pretty IntFed too, however. I personally tend to agree with Castro more often; not sure why," Forshaw said.

"Politics, the joy of civilization," Stevens remarked, sipping his scotch.

Feyalisa laughed loudly at the remark, "This is so very true. On the other hand, without politics would we have much of a civilization?"

"That, Your Highness, is the very point that caused the downfall of the Badinian Empire," Stevens said.

"This may be true, Ambassador. However, it was mainly political maneuvering that ended the Dizyntk's last civil war. Granted it a hand in starting it."

"Oh, I wasn't criticizing politics for ending the Badinian Empire; if it weren't for that, the Constitutional Republic of East Klent wouldn't exist," Stevens elaborated, tapping one of the burns on his face.

"Well then, we both owe our current position to politics, both past and current," she raised her glass in a toast, “To politics."

Stevens raised his glass in return, "In fact, Mason was one of the rebel leaders. By the way, he wasn't too much of an annoyance, was he?"

"Annoyance? I do not believe so. Why, does he have a reputation of being such?" She ordered a Dizyntk Tea from Neville.

"Not entirely, though he can be sometimes overbearing and eccentric. Speaking of which, how'd he get the black eye?"

She laughed lightly, "To be honest he did it to himself. I think he was trying to flirt with me. It was very sweet of him, if a bit funny. And, no, I do plan on elaborating any further," she stirred honey into her tea and took a sip.

"Okay then, elaborate," Stevens leaned in, becoming suddenly more interested.

"Ah, I believe I misspoke. Let us just say it was over a remark on my part about Dizyntk views on violence and attraction. Ask him if you wish to know more," she sipped her tea again.

Stevens stopped himself from smirking, but did raise his brow, "Will do."

"I didn't find him annoying. Especially not compared to a certain gun-toting scotch lover whose name I will not mention. Oh, an ice water, Neville," Theta mentioned cheekily.

"Oy… he's the one who introduced me to scotch."

"From what I've heard from Mason ‘gun-toting scotch lover’ describes most of East Klent. And who are you to talk about a black eye? You look like you've done something really stupid, like interrupt an arms deal or something."

"I don't know what you're talking about."

* OOC: Refrences an NSBall cartoon involving Sionis Prioratus and an Irish wake done by AMOM. Link to original picture is broken.

by **East Klent** » Sat Jul 09, 2016 1:34 pm

19

Apartment Complex
Fourteenth Street
9:00 P.M.

Agent Conner sat in the car and ate blueberry yogurt while he staked out the complex. Nothing interesting occurred until nine o’ clock, when a familiar humvee pulled up on the side of the road. He got out his digital camera and starting clicking.

O'Neil stepped out and blew the driver a kiss, then walked inside the complex. The humvee idled until the lights in apartment Thirty-Four-a were turned off, then drove away. Conner started his car with a sigh of worry, "Don't have a decoy this time," and then started following.

The possibility of a repeat of the episode on the highway was not the only thing bothering him, though. O’Neil reminded him greatly of a woman from his past, Jessica Carmine. She was an agent in Stoniaso’s Servizio Federale Investigativo (SFI) and they were partners on a mission – codenamed the Millennium Project – in Western Cuba in 2000 when she went missing. He spent several of the following years trying to find her to no avail.

Another agent involved with Millennium, Ethan Jones, had been killed in Mostrov during Operation Monte Cristo earlier that year. He did not find those responsible for his death either.

He had essentially given up, but there was just something about this whole thing with Dugan and O’Neil that reminded him. He could not shake the feeling.

by **East Klent** » Sun Jul 10, 2016 7:05 pm

20

Stranger’s Bar
One Hour Earlier

Lord Raekevik entered and went straight for the bar, ordering an Irish coffee, "I have a dream", he blurted out to whomever was present, "A dream that each and every ambassador to the World Assembly would have received basic education and learnt to behave themselves."

Princess Feyalisa bowed her head slightly at the Marquis, "I agree, Lord Raekevik. Unfortunately, it is about as likely as a dream of Dr. Castro joining the NatSov bloc."

“I'm sure he'd enjoy it really. You know, all that not having to care that other people are drowning in their own shit,” Mister Newman of Johz walked out of the corner of the bar, nursing his aqueous aspirin, “or in their own lack of education for that matter. I mean, we might have to repeal the Education Act and replace it with something forcing people to read the old GA list. Want a quality proposal? Think zany. I've got one that I'm working on suggesting the banning of catching fish that can talk. No one can have a problem with that, can they?”

"You might be surprised. Some will argue what the definition of ‘talk’ is and that this would be too vague and would impact their fishing industry which feeds large numbers of their citizens. Should I go on?" Feyalisa gave an example of the obsessive detail that certain delegates demand from proposals.

“No need,” replied Mr. Newman, starting to feel slightly inebriated, “If you make the title sound pleasant enough, like 'Prevention of Cruelty to Pretty Fishes Act', all the lemming nations will vote for it.”

"A good part of this assembly would vote for anything, and getting back to the earlier point, even the educated ambassadors don't always behave themselves," Stevens observed.

Feyalisa chuckled to herself a little, "I assume the Marquis is currently referring to the Azarathan representative. I got out of that debate some time ago, but I have been monitoring its progress."

"Your Royal Highness is both correct and fortunate for getting out of that earlier. Prostitution, really? It is such a non-issue in the Queendom with our, shall we say, liberal view on sex and with the charity of the Sisterhood, there is no real market for it."

"I agree completely. The Imperium needs no such things either, and for similar reasons. However, it would not be too disappointing to see this resolution pass, although given its current number of endorsements I do not think it will reach quorum. The reason for our lack of opposition is because the loopholes in the current proposal are so large that, to quote the Creative Solutions Agency, ‘You can drive a Big Rig through them bad boys!’”

In order for a proposal to come to a vote, a quorum of regional delegates had to approve it, and the quorum required was directly proportional to the number of regional delegates in total there were in the WA at that moment in time.

"Well, prostitution is already legal in the Queendom because apparently, unlike some nations, we are not exploiting any loophole in the Sexual Privacy Act to criminalize it. Although it is a crime at home to profit from someone else's prostitution, which I am sure the extremist libertarians find an appalling breach of natural rights or something."

"It's a non-issue in East Klent because it's lega-" Stevens was distracted as a certain familiar figure arrived, "Mason? What are you doing here?"

"Oh I've decided to stay here instead, just in case your import-export travels call upon you once more. Plus, the company here is much more pleasurable than the hotel those people have 'stationed' me," the former ambassador answered as he sat down on a nearby stool.

"How are things doing between you two?" Mason asked, motioning between Stevens and Feyalisa.

"What do you mean?" Stevens asked in reply.

"Oh; pay it no mind then," he turned to Neville, "Scotch please, Gerald."

"I believe that the delegate from Azarath should propose a bill discussing a different subject, such as legalizing murder. There would be more discussion on the topic than 'Please do legalize prostitution' and 'Are you mad, that is the most perverted thing I have ever heard,’” Mason suggested.

"Truthfully, we did not really understand what was meant by the term until we arrived here and it was explained to us. Of course we found the idea slightly… strange? Repugnant? …I am not sure any word properly conveys it. We just do not like the idea of reducing intimacy to a business proposition. But I suppose that maybe that is our cultural bias speaking," Feyalisa made a point.

"Another human tradition, reducing things to business; unless, of course, you're communist, but then you have other things to worry about." Stevens commented.

"Speaking of Communism, Gerald, replace this with vodka," Mason attempted to lighten the mood.

The Smullanian reappeared from the hall, then slugged the Klentian with enough force to send him through a wall, which probably would have happened had he not bowled into several other ambassadors.

The princess vaulted gracefully over the bar and slid down behind it, not spilling so much as a drop of her tea, "I really dislike violence when I am enjoying my tea," she complained as she took a long sip and gestured to Neville for a refill.

“Then why the Hell did you join the WA? The only reason they won't let us have an army is because the last time they gave us industrial equipment we managed to smash over fourteen buildings and kill a stray cat. We never did find that tail,” Mr. Newman was continuing to be affected by the alcohol.

"Those were the times," Mason smirked, making no attempt to help his colleague who was lying dazed on the floor.

"Hm… to get away from the tedium of the royal court, to have an excuse to go on a long holiday, to show my daughter how less advanced peoples live, to laugh at outsiders. Take your pick," Feyalisa answered Newman’s question.

After several moments, Stevens got back up, "What is your problem? There is honestly nothing secret going on here!" he yelled at the Smullanian.
"Calm down Stevens, just ignore him and he'll go away," Mason suggested in a stern tone.

Julien stood up and walked over to the Smullanian. Suddenly he roundhouse-kicked him square in the face with a force that could crush bones into dust, following his opening attack with a swipe to the legs, and a few hooks to the stomach, "I warned you," he growled.

He put his sunglasses on and walked out of the bar.

Feyalisa hopped back over the bar and onto her seat, still not spilling any of her tea, "I swear that you people cannot go for more than two days without messing up the bar. Fights are supposed to be outside. Bars are for recuperating after a fight."

Stevens and Mason gave each other a look, then turned to Feyalisa, "How long have you been here?" they asked in unison.

Feyalisa looked blankly at the two of them, "In the bar? Since just before the fight started. On this supposedly earth-like place where the WA is located? About a month."

"Why is everyone so rude here? I thought the WA was for discussion, negotiation, and peace. And I'm just going to go on record saying that at least forty percent of the WA probably has an espionage program," Theta calculated.

Dr. Forshaw wiped his eyes after he finished laughing, "There's a reason it's called ‘The Festering Snake-pit’; The WA's always been about killing each other – the debates are just on the side."

"The funny thing is that it took him until even after I shot him to figure it out," Stevens rumbled with laughter.

"Now, now, you shouldn't make fun of the newbies. Particularly the ones with a mechanical hand that can crush your skull," Theta warned, “As for you Stevens, I just thought you were a whacko, and I was right," Theta said with a smirk.

Mason smirked in return, "Stevens may be eccentric, granted, but he is most certainly not a 'whacko.' Someone who is is that Dug..." Mason did not finish speaking after Stevens glared at him, "Well, suffice it to say there are crazier people in the world than Stevens."

Theta scoffed, "Crazy? You know, I was doing research on the WAHQ and found out about a night where a vast number of traffic laws were broken, a man was rushed to the hospital due to cyanide poisoning, and fighter craft were reportedly seen. There are certainly whackos somewhere around here."

He was then reminded of something, "You know, the LN ambassador is arriving soon. I recently realized her birthday is coming up, and I was thinking about throwing her a party here at the bar."

"Can't wait to meet her. By the way, what were you talking about just now, with the fighter jets and traffic laws?" Stevens asked, sipping his scotch and raising his brow.

"Oh, earlier, back when I was an applicant, I was doing a lot of research on the area. I happened to come upon some stories of weird stuff going on. Could just be drunk people but there were quite a few reports..."

"Odd, I never heard a thing about it," Stevens replied, narrowing his eyes.

"Then you should fire your intelligence agents. It's strange, no one else seems to be talking about it... Well, I have to leave. The ambassador will arrive soon. Goodbye, all," Theta left.

Julien had been monitoring the conversation from afar via a miniature microphone he had attached to Stevens’ back. He was well aware of what Theta knew. He decided that he should observe further from inside the bar. He entered just as Theta was leaving. Cursing himself for missing an opportunity to find out the full extent of Theta's knowledge, he took a seat at the bar.

Mason looked around, "Where does Gerald keep disappearing off to?" he asked and then turned to Stevens expectantly, "Someone has to man the bar in his absence."

"Do you have be so much like... you?" Stevens asked sarcastically.

"Why yes, yes I do," Mason responded in kind.

Stevens stood hesitantly and walked behind the bar, "I've been back here so many times, I've actually memorized the locations of every bottle."

Mason noticed Julien’s brooding, "What is the matter?"

Julien just glared at Mason, "The usual," he said, maintaining his glare all the while.

Stevens phone buzzed, "Excuse me; Stevens, Conner... you have? Got it," he hung up and walked over to Julien.

"That was Conner, he said he called you, something about a tracker," Stevens whispered to him.

Julien checked his phone and at that moment, received a call, "Julien," he answered, "Understood, I'll be there as soon as possible."

He stood up, "Well, an old friend of mine just asked me to go clubbing with her. I'm afraid I must leave you now," he said as he walked out the door; Stevens soon followed.

"Well, it would appear Stevens has important import-export business to attend to at the moment, I guess I'm in charge again,” Mason sighed, as he watched Stevens and Julien walk out the door

***

“Sir, they’ve located O’Neil and know of her connection to Dugan,” Theta’s source told him.

“I thought they might; I just saw the two of them leave; hopefully they’ll get the guy before the week’s up. Do they know of Alburn’s true identity yet?”

“No, Sir, they don’t, but if they’re tracking O’Neil, then it should only be a matter of time.”

“Good.”

“We have also sent word to Speculine about recent events, they should recall Agent Zed soon.”

“Also good; if Stevens can’t get the job done, they should. I’ll also update Sue when she arrives.”

“Sir, we also know that Roberts is on to you.”

“Well of course he is, I’ve been dropping hints to the both of them that only a deaf man could miss,” Theta chuckled.

“Maybe you shouldn’t hint, Sir, it could jeopardize us.”

“Please, if they don’t already know about us, then it’s their own damn fault, besides, the hinting game is half the fun,” he hung up and walked off.

by **East Klent** » Sun Jul 10, 2016 7:15 pm

21

Maisonnette Ten
Command Center
9:35 PM

Julien had called Conner back on his way to the club, "I wouldn't recommend acting on his location from that tracker. He's not a fool; he wouldn't just start using a known vehicle of his to visit a well-known ex of his. It's just too suspicious. Odds are, he's using a decoy in order to lure us into his web, most likely to kill us off and remove the competition. On a side note, they've finished compiling the data from the bust. We've located the Wolves’ ‘den’, so to speak. Odds are higher he's there. If he's not, we'll at least be able to topple his pawns. Return to HQ for now."

“Understood,” Conner acknowledged. He hung up and started to drive over to the Command Center.

***

Conner walked in from the elevator and saw that Stevens and Julien were looking at one of the monitors, "Something up?"

"Just checking the WA; this guy named Theta keeps hinting that he knows of our little adventure," Stevens answered.

“Do we know for sure?”

“His hints are way too obvious, but we can’t get anything solid on him.”

"Ah; Julien said the data had been compiled?"

"Yes," Julien said, grabbing a remote control and pointing it at the wall.

He pressed a button and the wall retracted to reveal a large monitor. He pushed another button; a large map of Post-Apocaliptia appeared onscreen, "We have determined that the Wolves’ main stronghold is here," he said, pushing another button to reveal a close up of a mountain, "It is a rather large complex, built into the side of a mountain in Southern Post-Apocaliptia. We have been able to identify a hanger bay, a few missile silos, and a main entrance to the complex. Our mission is to go in, determine if Dugan is in the complex, and if so eliminate him. We will have the full support of the Post-Apocaliptian Armed Forces. We're hitting 'em hard first thing, boys, so prepare yourselves. Any questions?"

Stevens stepped closer to the screen then turned, "I recommend that we bring along some of our people; we have fought four jungle wars after all."

"They can either be agents from our Interpol Bureau or a squad of our Marines, it's your choice," Conner added.

"I'd prefer Marines in a straight fight over a bunch of over-glorified cops," he turned to Conner, "No offense.”

“None taken; I started in the Marines, I understand.”

“Oh, and one more thing. Remember how I mentioned missile silos? We are unsure as to their exact contents, but some of the intel off that laptop suggests possible weapons of mass destruction, though their exact payload is unknown. Best to stay alert, gentlemen."

by **East Klent** » Sun Jul 10, 2016 9:33 pm

22

December 1, 2011
Stranger’s Bar
12:35 A.M.

Herbet was sitting in the corner trying to ignore everything going on when Rebecca, Giovanni’s assistant, stormed into the room flustered, "Has anyone seen Melvin?!" she frantically called out, drawing the crowd’s attention.

"Uh no, why?" Herbet asked.

"I've lost him, he was with me until we got into the chamber, now I have no clue where he is!" Rebecca wailed, "Oh Gods, Giovanni is going to be pissed!"

Giovanni stood straight up and whipped off his sunglasses. He turned to Rebecca, and just stared. He was livid with anger. He shouted, "You lost my son!? In the Festering Snake-pit!?"

"I would be happy to loan Your Excellency a few of my security staff to help locate the boy. Does he have anything traceable on him? A modern cell phone perhaps?" Raekevik offered.

Mason walked in, "I think I just saw a youth nearby the debating chamber; does anyone kno..." Mason saw the look on Giovanni's face, "Oh."

Giovanni pointed an accusing finger at Rebecca, and said, "If he's drunk or has an STD when I find him, I'm blaming you," then he grabbed his hat and ran out of the bar.

Feyalisa appeared at the entrance to the bar accompanied by a man. They talked for a minute and they kiss each other before she came in and the man left, "Coffee please, Neville. With a touch of brandy in it. Good morning all," she said cheekily, knowing very well the time.

Agent Zed pulled open his thin briefcase and rifled through some paperwork while asking the room, "Did the ‘Model of World Assembly’ proposal pass already?"

He also looked up and noticed the princess' companion, "Interracial eh? I would have never expected that. Congrats!" he then closed the briefcase.

Feyalisa laughed as she got her coffee, "Neither did my family. But that was years ago. Michael has been my Mate for almost sixteen of your years now."

"I see. I was not aware that there were foreigners in the Grand Imperium," he then pulled out a shiny platinum and alabaster pen and small notepad from his inside suit jacket pocket and scribbled something down before replacing it and returning to his vodka.

"There are not, except for my Mate. Unless one counts our children who are, of course, only half-Dizyntk."

"I see, interesting. Well, I do apologize to rush off, but in light of certain recent events it's time for me to get back to Speculine. The Council is going to want an… update. Good day," with that, Agent Zed gave the princess and Mason a low bow and headed out the front door of the bar.

Feyalisa sipped her coffee, "Neville always has the best drinks; even his coffee is excellent."

"Gerald’s coffee has been known to wake even the worst of morning people, I am told," Mason said as he sat down at the bar, "A foreign mate, I see. How did you meet?"

Feyalisa's smile rapidly vanished, "In a most unpleasant circumstance. It is a long story involving a battle, ships crashing on uncharted land and
Michael pulling me out of one of those crashed ships. I lost my parents that day, so it is really not something I prefer to delve into you understand."

"I do so apologize, I had no idea," Mason changed the subject, "It seems that the 'Bio-weapons Accord' will be defeated by a landslide."

Feyalisa looked up at the tally board, "And quite properly too, in my opinion. If you are going to bother legislating against the vile things, at least have the courage to get rid of them all together. On another note, it is good to see the number of submitted proposals pruned back to a manageable number."

"Indeed, I cannot imagine what the proposal queue looked like when the World Assembly was first formed from the ashes of the Unite-" Mason paused as he received several glares from other patrons, "I mean the organization that shall not be named."

"Hell, back in the UN days, it was common to see fifteen to twenty pages of proposals seeking approvals at any time," Bob remembered, "And you needed about twice as many approvals back then too."

"Ah yes, the UN-named organization. I have heard many references."

"That was before Klent joined the WA, so Stevens, on his first day, made the slip-up and the other delegates held it over him, until he started bringing his gun, of course."

"I can understand that. From what I hear, the old organization was razed due to threats from the only thing in the known galaxy worse than politicians. Lawyers."

"Yes they are, and I should know; I was one," Mason quipped, "One coffee, Neville."

***

Mason walked back in after participating in his first late-night vote, "Well that was certainly anti-climactic, all one does is push a button 'For' or 'Against'. I yearn for the good old days when you stood and voiced your standing, now the whole process is computerized seven ways to Sunday."

Feyalisa walked back into the bar laughing and shaking her head, "I cannot believe that the Azarathan delegation is trying to run that prostitution proposal by again. It has a few changes but the gist is the same. I will give them credit for stubbornness, but you would think the fact that it did not even reach quorum the first time would be a hint."

"He's not stubborn. He's persistent. Ah, who am I kidding? He's stubborn. And his bill has a gaping loophole," Theta relented.

Lord Raekevik grinned, "Are you sure you want to be talking about gaping holes when discussing prostitution?"

"You have a sick mind, my friend. Okay, rephrase; it is easy to obey the resolution while simultaneously rendering it inert."

"Greetings Theta, and how are you this fine night?" Mason asked, extending his hand.

"I am doing just fine. How are you Mason?" Theta's shoulders were noticeably slumped since he came into the bar.

"I'm doing quite well, thank you," Mason said, eyeing Theta, thinking that he might be able to learn what he knew, "Care for a drink?"

"Thank you, I'll have coffee. I just had a big argument with some Senate leaders and I'm a bit tired," Theta yawned, "Potential understatement."

"Ah, President Jupoi often argues with our Senate. Will Bailey's coffee do?"

"Sure, as long as Stevens hasn't been near it," Theta offered a tired grin.

"Oh, you needn’t worry," Mason said as he ordered, then grinned as Neville handed the mug to Theta.

“That doesn't tell me whether or not Stevens has been near it," Theta noted as he took a sip.

"He has never drunk Bailey's in his life."

"Really? So it has to be good," he drank some more of it, "So, Mason, how did you get your position?"

Mason never missed an opportunity to talk about himself, in fact it was one of his favorite topics, “Well, after University and a stint in the army during the Overthrow, I decided try my hand at law. So I took then passed the Bar in the state of Calridge with a score of one eighty-two in 1981, and went to work for the Grant & Stawling Law Firm for fourteen years, eventually becoming a partner in 1993.

Then after retiring in Ninety-Five, a friend of mine from university, then President Henry McCurter, decided to bring me into his administration as Domestic Policy Advisor in Ninety-Six. I remained in that position until 2000 when I was nominated and then subsequently confirmed as Treasury Secretary, having acquired a PhD in Economics from the Henderson Economic Institute in 1980. I held the cabinet position until 2004, when I decided to resign in order to run for Senator for the state of Williamsburg and won the election.”

He paused a moment before telling of his defeat, “I was a Senator for one term of seven years before being voted out of office.

Then President Ramon Jupoi appointed me to be East Klent's Permanent Representative to the G-Twenty and I was again confirmed; however, the G-Twenty disbanded and formed into another entity that Klent has yet to join, thus I was a promising candidate to serve as Acting Delegate to the World Assembly for East Klent while Stevens is off having problems with green wolves… violet wolves… I can never remember which color they are."

Mason then took a sip of scotch, "Why do you ask?"

“Oh, just curious,” Theta answered, taking a sip of his Bailey’s.

Lord Raekevik took out his phone and spent a few minutes using it, seemingly reading something. Then, with a look of frustration upon his face, he put the phone away and turned back to the drink in front of him, while speaking out loud to whomever was at the bar, "Now this ambassador from Great Azarath surely must be delusional. My office just received a message asking me to support his proposal on prostitution, even though I have clearly stated already that the Queendom will not support it and the reasons therefore. He must be getting desperate, campaigning to ambassadors to vote yes on the informal poll. I'm not even a Delegate."

"Quando gli dei vogliono punirci, rispondono alle nostre preghiere. So just be patient, or, if worse comes to worst, just ignore the Azarathan delegate, Your Lordship," Mason advised.

"I suppose Your Excellency is right. I can just feel my naivety slipping away further and further; I guess it does not take long to become bitter and cynical in this most august Assembly."

Feyalisa walked into the bar, "Tea please Neville.”

She then looked over to Raekevik, "There is no need to become bitter, Marquis. Just allow yourself a moment’s amusement at the ineptitude of others. And then enjoy finding the loopholes in their proposals that will let you totally ignore them even if they are passed."

She took her tea, added some honey and took a sip, "I believe the expression I heard was, ‘Exploiting loopholes for fun and profit’."

"Sfruttando le scappatoie per divertimento e profitto; the secret motto of the Grant & Stawling Firm," Mason joked.

He paused for a moment, checking the WA database, "I do not understand how the Balaerican delegate can honestly believe that his proposal will be approved; madness."

Feyalisa almost choked on her tea from laughing "That Greenery nonsense? I am utterly amazed at it. Remarkably, however, it seems to have been constructed legally as the Mods have not pulled it. Of course it has not loopholes but wide open doors in it."

"Oh, I have already sent a report to the Chancery back home on how to completely avoid any consequences of the proposal currently at vote, should that come to pass. Plenty of exploitable loopholes in that one too. It is not so much the obvious short-comings of proposals that would make me bitter, not even the persistence or stubbornness of ambassadors, but I fear that the simple barbarism and incompetence will destroy any hope I have for mankind and all other forms of allegedly intelligent life."

"Apparently the Azarathan delegation sent one of those telegrams to Dr. Koopman as well, Marquis. He just called them out on it in the discussion. Not the best idea in the world to irritate that particular Ambassador," Feyalisa pointed to the television coverage.

She took a drink, "Being able to have a calming drink while having to deal with some of those… ambassadors… is the only thing that keeps this place from devolving into bloodshed."

"Yes, it is quite an intriguing 'perk', as it were," Mason paused to sip, "One of the most eventful of those incidences, according to Stevens, involved baseball bats, knees and windows."

"It is fortunate that none of us is a mean drunk,” Lord Raekevik said, but then looked around the bar a bit nervously.

The princess nodded in agreement, "There are not many mean drunks among my people. The punishments for such behavior tend to discourage it."

"Oh?"

“Well it depends on exactly what you do when you are drunk obviously. But we do not accept being drunk as a legal excuse for criminal activity. If you assault someone while drunk you will receive the same punishment that you would have if you had assaulted someone while sober. Which is public service in the Temple for two weeks while wearing embarrassing clothing and a sign stating your crime, for the first offense."

"I'll remind Stevens not to go on that hunting trip of yours with the ambassador from, Tweegee was it?" Mason ordered another drink, "The treatment of crimes committed while under the influence of alcohol is similar to that of the Dizyntk, but the public service is normally collecting garbage on our more congested highways, wearing a fluorescent vest. You also lose the vehicle you were driving at the time."

"Drunkenness while operating a vehicle is a more serious crime. The exact punishment would be up to the Priestess judging the case, but it might include corporal punishment in addition to the community service."

Mason looked up the list of proposals to find one having a complete misunderstanding of climate science, and began to have a surge of pain in his temple, "Now I understand why Stevens was such an avid drinker."

Feyalisa ordered a shot of scotch and threw it back, "Yes, I think we all understand why."

"We need to write a proposal on an age limit for submitting proposals, he couldn't have been more than six could he, with that atrocious spelling and imagining global problems," Mason voiced while still holding his head in his hands.

She pushed a glass of scotch over to Mason, "Look at the bright side; idiots like that keep it from getting too boring around here."

"You're not kidding," Mason said just before he had a short break with reality, "They all need to be killed…"

"What did I just say?"

"I think you were suggesting that we kill all the screaming lunatics in the WA. But if we did that, how many ambassadors would we have left?"
Mason computed for a second, "Good point; Gerald, two more, on me."

"I do believe, however, that one of these days I will scratch the eyes out of one these bigoted, banal ambassadors."

"Be glad that not all of us are bigoted like that."

The television broadcasted the debate over the proposal, and to the detriment of the mental health of everyone involved, the delegate kept defending his bill, “Between watching his meltdown and the Azarathan delegate making himself look like a fool, I haven't had this much entertainment in quite some time," the princess remarked.

"You should have seen the debates of this year’s presidential election," Mason laughed.

One of the sane ambassadors, Jeremy Lansdowne from Grays Harbor, involved in the debate proposed the removal of the proposal,

“You obviously did not read the rules yourself, or you lacked the comprehension to understand them. But that will become apparent when our most kind overseers, the mods, remove your ill written proposal."

The imbecilic delegate then had the gall to shoot back,

“The moderators would have to be stupid to remove it, stupid like you.”

Mason thumped his head against the counter a few times.

“Wow. I can't believe someone actually said that. I, on the other hand, know that the mods are wise, kind, and highly intelligent people that are also extremely attractive," Theta brown-nosed.

Fortunately, The Secretary-General of the WA, Catherine Gratwick, herself entered the chamber and formally removed the proposal. The delegate cursed profusely and then stormed out of the chamber. The patrons of the bar looked on as he passed the doors and walked downstairs out of the building, "Thank the Lord, he has gone home for the night. He was worse than the Tweegan and the Gbacn delegates combined; at least they had the good sense not to mess with the higher-ups," Mason let out a sigh of relief.

"One round of whatever anybody wants, on my tab, Neville. We need it after that insanity." Feyalisa ordered.

"Vodka," Mason moaned from laying his head down in his arms on the bar top, "Everclear, rum, bleach..."

"Brandy please, Neville. I swear it was funny for the first few minutes, then it just got annoying. Had he never heard of the concept of listen and learn?"

"I think he never heard, period," Mason raised his head, "What did I order?"

Feyalisa looked at Neville, who was eyeing Mason worriedly, "Just bring him a good vodka, Neville. It was one of those nights."

"Merci, mademoiselle," Mason said and then dropped his head back into his arms.

"Not at all, Ambassador. At least I was able to have some satisfaction in helping to pin the Azarathan Ambassador into a corner over the fallacy of his arguments. That was quite fun I must say,” she remarked, remembering the earlier debate.

"Quando gli dei vogliono punirci, rispondono alle nostre preghiere. Merci, Uno, dos..." Mason looked up at Neville then took the vodka and swallowed, “Goooaaalll!”

Mason blinked for a few minutes then cleared his throat, "My pardon, Your Highness, I tend to act oddly when I have migraines, and vodka, so the two make quite the potent mix, you see."

"You think it's hard to be in here? I'm a prohibitionist," Theta bemoaned.

Mason walked over to the recently returned Giovanni, "So, I have heard you have been having troubles with your teenage son. I have raised two sons myself, one of whom now has his own child. Grueling task, being a father, but I find it rather rewarding overall, don't you?”

“I must admit, besides the heart-attack inducing moments, it can be quite fun.”

Feyalisa perked up at the mention of children, "Is it not wonderful raising children? I have two of my own. My daughter is ten cyanka... I mean fifteen years old and my son is... seven years old. Velakari's daughter is... six years old."

"Ah, my son Peter's daughter, Julia, is seven. My other son, Craig, has yet to produce offspring, but he is married to a lovely woman named Angelica, so it is only a matter of time. I have been to countless nations, met both presidents and royalty, but none of that can hold a candle to the privilege I have had of being a parent and grandparent," Mason said with a proud glint in his eye.

"Truly, it is for them that we put up with being in this snake-pit. Trying to change things with words instead of weapons."

"Here, here!" Mason exclaimed, holding up his glass, then took a sip, "If we three are here because of our children and children's children, more or less, I wonder why Stevens is here, not having children and all, or Gerald for that matter."

Feyalisa grinned at the thought, "That we are aware of anyway."

"Good point," Masons chuckled.

Mason blinked a few times, for it seemed that Neville had just materialized behind the bar, "How in God's name does he do that?"

"I do not think he is fully human.”

“Maybe he was conceived by the gnomes after all," Mason wryly suggested as he saw Neville look up at them, "He also seems to have inhuman hearing," he lowered to a whisper.

He glanced at his watch, "Good God, look at the time, I best be going."

Mason bowed and nodded farewell, put his glass down on a nearby table and left.

by **East Klent** » Sun Jul 10, 2016 10:01 pm

23

Post-Apocaliptian Waters
3:21 A.M. Local Time

The waters reflected the moon's light as three Marine landing craft bobbed over the miniature waves. Stevens, Conner and Julien were crouched on the lead craft with Sergeant Michael Donner and three of his men, "All of the men would've been able to fit into one of these, Sir," he told Stevens.

"We decided we could cover the most ground with three separate groups, plus if we're ambushed, we all won't be in one place," Stevens explained.

"I'm also a bit worried about not having radio communication, Sir," Donner added.

"We couldn't run the risk of them tapping into our channel; don't worry, your men are the best at what they do, aren't they?" Conner attempted to quell the sergeant’s fears.

"Yes they are, Sir."

“Then there’s no need to worry.”

***

As they landed, Donner motioned for his men to head off northwest and northeast, then for Stevens, Conner and Julien to follow him and the other three Marines to the North. They nodded and started treading on the sand lightly.

A few seconds later, a hail of bullets came upon them.

"Get to cover!" Donner ordered at the top of his lungs as he hit the ground and rolled behind a boulder. Stevens and Conner ducked into the foliage and began firing at the invisible enemy.

While reloading, Stevens saw one of the Marines fall to the ground and bleed out through a hole in his esophagus, "I was a fool to think I wouldn't have to see that again," Stevens cringed, remembering the battles and bloodshed of his past, and then turned to start firing again.

Conner's cap was blown off as a bullet just slightly missed his forehead, "Why is it every time I'm near you, I end up getting shot at?" he asked as he ducked behind a nearby tree.

"Guess I'm just funny like that," Stevens responded as he continued to fire.

Conner looked around as he reloaded, "Where's Julien?" he yelled over the gunfire.

"I saw him run up ahead through the forest, hopefully he got through," Stevens answered as he shot an enemy gunman down from a tree.

Having run ahead of his team, Julien found himself alone in the dense jungle. He heard rustling noises all around him. Keeping his wits about him, he drew his knife and pistol and continued forward. A few minutes later, he came upon a clearing.

Grabbing his radio, he said, "All forces, this is Ambassador Julien. Begin the full assault now!"

Twenty Blackhawk helicopters came over the horizon, accompanied by several Cobra gunships, each loaded with battle-hardened Post-Apocaliptian soldiers. Grabbing a red smoke grenade from his belt, he pulled its pin and tossed it on the ground near him. He put out another call over the radio, "I've marked my position with a smoke grenade. The Klent Marines are pinned down on the shore due southwest of my current position, send a gunship and some reinforcements to assist them. The rest of you, on me!"

Stevens could hear the familiar sound of Blackhawks closing in on their position, "Here comes the cavalry," he yelled to the men and kept firing.

"Guess Roberts didn't get the memo on radio silence," Donner yelled back.

"Good thing, too."

When one landed, Stevens, Conner, Donner, and the two surviving Marines jumped aboard while still being shot at. Once they had lifted off, Donner asked, "Where's Ambassador Roberts?"

"He's on his way to the compound on foot," the pilot answered.

"Androids, just don't know when to stop," Stevens chortled. He did not receive the laughter he wanted.

The chopper landed a few feet in front of Julien; the men hopped off and shuffled toward him, "We got away, but they're still following," Conner informed him, then turned to what seemed to be a dirt road, "It wouldn't happen to be this easy, would it?" he asked in a drab tone.

"Yes, it would," was Julien's reply, "It will be even easier in three, two, one..." Just as he finished counting down, two O-Three Stealth Bombers flew overhead, dropping their deadly cargo onto the entrance of the compound.

"And just to be sure..." he said, looking to his left. Suddenly, a heavy rumble started coming from that direction. A minute later, an M-Sixty-Five heavy tank broke through the trees, "We decided to roll out the big guns. Now, let's move out!"

***

A camouflaged man had been following the action as he hid in the brush. He got out his sat-phone and made a call, “Sir, they have begun the main phase of the attack.”

“Very good, keep me updated,” Theta ordered.

“Yes, Sir.”

The woman sitting next to Theta in the car asked, “You’re Klentian friend?”

He nodded, “Yes, and it appears they’ll soon deal with our problem for us.”

***

The rest of the Marines regrouped with them and then entered first; the rest soon followed. They were greeted by an empty passage way, "No one's here," one of the Marines whispered and walked further in, "No, wai-"

Before Donner could order his subordinate down, the Marine was pelted by bullets rocketing from the walls, with alarms soon following.

"Fool!" Donner yelled to no avail, as the Violet Wolves started firing from the other end of the passage way; Stevens threw his fragmentation grenade at them, with the shooting ending with the explosion, which also disabled the security system, "Forward," Stevens ordered.

As they made their way through the compound with Stevens in the lead, they found nothing more than hallway after hallway, "The Wolves really know how to make a maze," Conner noted.

As they started to pass another hallway, Stevens saw out the side of his eye a figure dash into a doorway, "Halt!" he shouted as he fired in that direction.

He motioned for the others to follow him through the door, which opened out into an empty hanger, "We know you're here, show yourself!" Conner bellowed; a psychotic laughter replied.

A rumbling echoed through the compound, accompanied by a warning alarm. Julien received a call over his radio, "Sir, we have a code black! They launched the missiles!"

Turning to Stevens and Connor, he said, "It seems they have launched the miss-" he was cut off by a voice on the compounds PA.

"Why hello, gentlemen, so nice to see you again. Especially you, Stevens.”

Stevens’ sarcasm got the best of him, “Wish I could say the feeling’s mutual. Why don’t you come out so we can catch up?”

“I would love to, Stevens, but I’m afraid there are other things to attend to at the moment.”

“Such as?”

“Now, I'm sure you've heard that rumbling. That was the sound of three nuclear missiles launching. In fifteen minutes’ time, they will enter Klentian airspace. What happens then, you may ask? The missiles will break apart into fifteen separate warheads, each targeting a different major population area. One minute later, each will impact and go boom, leaving a nice, radioactive wasteland behind. Now, how do you stop this little catastrophe? Well, you simply have to make it to the missile control bunker, and disarm the missiles with the deactivation code. Now, what is that deactivation code? I'll tell you if Stevens and Julien come to Hanger Three. Oh, and as for your little armies, I'd suggest you call them off. Otherwise, I won't tell you a thing. Well, fifteen minutes left 'til the fall of Klent."

by **East Klent** » Sun Jul 10, 2016 10:19 pm

24

Executive House
Williamsburg D. K., East Klent
4:06 A.M.

President Ramon Jupoi was awakened by his Chief of Staff, Tobias Frester, "Sir, there are fifteen nuclear warheads headed for our major cities."

The president stared at Frester for a few moments, “I beg your pardon.”

“As we speak, there are fifteen nuclear missiles headed for our cities.”

Ramon Jupoi

"That’s what I thought you said,” Jupoi sighed as he sat up, “I guess I'm expected in the Sit Room?" the President asked, still half asleep.

"Yeah," the Chief respond solemnly.

He was surprised that the president seemed unphased by the news, We’re about to have a nuclear holocaust on our hands and he’s grumpy about waking up?

As he got dressed, Jupoi noticed Frester’s wary gaze, “Tobias, after dealing with the Cubans and the Mostrovites, nothing surprises me anymore.”

While not completely satisfied with the explanation Frester accepted it for the time being, “Yes, Sir.”

***

President Jupoi and Frester entered as the many officers and Cabinet members stood, "How far are they out?" Jupoi asked as he motioned them to sit.

"Fifteen minutes, Sir," the Secretary of Defense & Security, Franklin Gerald, answered.

The President's heart skipped a beat, "Fifteen minutes?"

"Yes, Sir."

"Is this related to Operation Wolf's Den?"

"Yes, Mr. President. The missiles came from the compound," General Hugh Masters answered.

"Get the Post-Apocaliptian president on the line, now," Jupoi ordered.

"Yes, Sir," Major Daniel Westen obeyed.

"Are Stevens and Conner on the ground?" the President inquired.

"Yes, Mr. President; they began the assault on the compound a few minutes ago," Secretary Gerald responded.

"Sir, the President of Post-Apocaliptia is on the line."

President Jupoi picked up the phone, "Madam President, we have a bit of a problem."

"I'm well aware of the situation, Mr. President. We've scrambled several jump-jets in an attempt to take care of the nukes in orbit, but, if our
analysts are right, they won't be able to catch up to the missiles before impact. And that's if they go into scramble mode when we're predicting they do. For the moment, our only hope is the ground team. Let's hope they put an end to this terror once and for all."

The Wolves Compound
Post-Apocaliptia
4:11 A.M.

Stevens and Julien made their way to Hanger Three. There was no resistance on the way. Upon arriving, they found a large private airliner prepping for takeoff, "Well done," came a voice over the intercom, "As promised, I will give you the disarm code. The code is V-J-Five-Nine-Eight. Now, it's only a matter of entering it before the nukes explode, isn't it? Well, the nukes… and the base, that is."

Julien looked worried, "Don't tell me he means-" he was cut off by a blaring message put out over the PA,

"The self-destruct system has been activated. All personnel evacuate immediately."

Julien gripped his pistol, "Could you be anymore clichéd?!" he shouted.

The doors slammed shut behind them, "And now, gentlemen, I must bid you a fond farewell."

His plane began to taxi. Running full speed, Julien followed after the plane. Stevens ran after Julien, "It's no use, the son of a bitch wants to distract you from the missiles; you won't catch up to him, even if you're android."

He grabbed Julien's arm, "Look, no one wants him dead more than I do, he's threatened my home for Christ's sake. Let's get back to the controls, stop the missiles, and then I'll persuade President Jupoi to send our entire military after him, you and I in the lead, but let's focus on the more imminent danger of billions of people being incinerated."

Group 214 (Klent Canon)

Group 214 (Klent Canon)

Part One: Last Call

Part Two: To the Ends of the Earth

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