))A basement in downtown Fenerio
The dusty room was filled with smoke. All the men in the room- and indeed they were all men- sat back, carrying on fairly normal discussions, while inhaling tobacco and exhaling a haze that gave the room it's mysterious, romanticized properties. On the wall was a poster, which condemned President Verdon's conservative policies.
Verdon was the reason for the meeting. One man, wearing a sharp suit and a pair of sunglasses, stood up, calling for order. His face was hard, seeming to be twisted into an eternal scowl. "Comrades," he said, in the native Tyromisi of the country. "what we discuss here is not to leave this place- if any of you know each other from your everyday lives, do not discuss it! It must be the greatest of secrets... Tell not even your families."
After a moment, and a few hesitant nods, the man continued. "My name is not important. I want neither to know your names, nor you to know mine. Pseudonyms, comrades, pseudonyms. I am Comrade Adam, for all intents and purposes. You need know me by no other name..."
He paused as a pair of young men hauled forward large crates. After prying them open, it was revealed that they contained guns and ammunition, smuggled into the country. "These are the tools of Social Change, comrades." the man said, motioning grandiosely at the box. "The Anthem says that 'Change shall not come from above.' This is true, and it must begin with us, at the bottom. We must remain true to the ideals of the Revolution. We must rise up in Protest before our Rights are all taken away, before all the Sons of Jimanistan are in thrall. We, comrades," he said, pausing, although all knew what he would say. "we must kill Aeno Verdon. And we must be sure to kill him. He is the stumbling block, which stands erect to undo all that his ancestor, Verdon the Partisan, fought so hard for."
"How, Comrade Adam?" Asked a man at the back. He was a young man, with bright red hair. "I will die for the Cause, but I must know I will not die in vain. How?"
Adam smiled wanly. He was going to explain it, in his own time, but now he had to go over the plan sooner than expected.
No matter..
"Of course," Adam began, as if no interruption had occurred. "we have planned quite thoroughly for this event, and you have no reason to worry, comrade. It shall all take place next week, during the Solidarity Day celebrations in Principore... Is there a more appropriate day for removing an opponent of the Revolution?" He asked, with a slight chuckle.
Adam, through the night, went into great detail about the plan, and, as promised, it was quite well thought out. There were no visible flaws, even when examining a map of Principore. There could be no mistaking it, the plan would go through, and Verdon would die.
The following week, on the eve of Solidarity Day
Aeno was feeling rather confident. Despite Security warning him that there would be a potential for danger, he had come, and nothing had happened.
I am a Verdon, after all...
He frowned, however, at that unintended thought. The recent history of his family was quite tragic, and fraught with woe. His grandfather was assassinated after his presidency began to resemble a dictatorial regime. He had begun to think his family was cursed to come very close to victory, only to be thrown back. His great-grandfather, Liberto, had fought against the Monarchy for years during the Revolution, and was killed only months before the Royalists surrendered to the Revolutionaries. Alexandro Verdon, his father, ran a respectable business, and was quite well off, until his wife, Aeno's mother, was killed in an automobile accident. After that, Verdon's father had spiraled into a plethora of addictions and vices. Though he eventually recovered, after several years, and moved to a commune for addicts in southern Rifirn, the man was never really the same father that Aeno knew.
Verdon sighed. These were not the most pleasant sort of thoughts to be thinking on the eve of such a joyful day.
Solidarity Day, a celebration of the fall of the Monarchy, and the institution of the Republic.
Looking out the hotel window, he could see the city of Principore in the waning daylight. It truly was a beautiful city, and easily Jimanistan's largest, with nearly thirty million people living in and around the city. He marveled at it, shaking his head. So crowded, but so very... Alive.
Walking from the hotel window to the bed, he picked up the telephone, calling his secretary. She traveled with him, unfortunately, most everywhere he went. He waited to hear the dial tone before punching in the number for her room.
"Hm?... Hullo?..." her voice called across the line, groggily.
"You weren't sleeping, were you Gladys? It's not even nightfall yet." Verdon replied, a bit sharply. She always seemed to be doing something foolish.
"Oh, uh- of course not, Liberty." She shot back defensively, trying to regain her composure. "What do you need?"
"Just wanted to ask if you wanted to hear my speech? I've revised it a bit..." Verdon said, already regretting offering to take the woman's opinion.
"Alright," she called back, after a short moment of hesitation. Truth be told, she didn't care for his speeches, but her job was constantly hanging by a thread, and so it wasn't good to push Aeno too far.
Verdon spent much of the evening with his secretary, revising his speech. He had no idea that the plotters had entered the city days earlier, waiting for their chance to strike.
Solidarity Day
Principore
Zero Hour
It was an exceptionally hot day in the desert city, and Verdon was glad his suit was light- a peculiar shade of brown. The car, a black convertible, open to the air- another thing Verdon was thankful for- drove along Revolutionary Avenue, through a cheering crowd. People had turned up despite the wind, which was kicking up little dust clouds everywhere. All Verdon could do was wave. Wave and smile. Beside him was Celistiniana Duemo, a middle-aged blonde woman from Otromo. She was the Primo Civito, a position that oversaw the Great Council of the Legislative branch, and doubled as a sort of Vice-President.
Duemo was bothered by the fact that she had to sit next to Verdon. It seemed suggestive of friendship... And she hated Verdon. She strove for years to climb to her position, while Verdon was an upstart who was elected after only a few years in the field, and then he only became president because he was from a political family. Besides that, she was a member of the Progressive Party, and Verdon was of the Aethinovaleni, a right-wing group.
Despite significant animosity, she and Verdon were quite an effective political force- when they were in agreement, which was somewhat seldom. She looked around as the car took a left turn, and waved to a child holding a sign. I believe in Verdon, it said.
If only you knew, child, if only you knew what an ass that man is.
After some while, the car eventually came to a stop in front of a huge, ancient structure, the Old Palace. This was once the home of the Princes of the Orim, and now it the Principore Museum of Natural History. It was built of massive sandstone blocks, and was restored to it's ancient glory while being converted for education purposes. Verdon quite liked it, and always had, even though he had only visited once before.
That was when my mother was still alive, wasn't it? Yes, it must have been...
A podium had been placed on a platform upon the steps, with chairs behind it for those not currently speaking. Verdon walked straight to the podium, and laid down his speech, which Duemo and a few petty officials took their seats behind him. The crowd cheered loudly. The assembled must have numbered in the tens of thousands, as the entire huge square was packed with people, some waving signs and banners. A few, towards the front, were not so receptive of Verdon. On their heads were red bandannas, which symbolized their mission.
"Alvano, comrades." Verdon begins, speaking loudly into the microphone. "I am proud to be celebrating Solidarity Day today, with my countrymen. I know that the Jimanistan we know wouldn't be possible without the sacrifices made by my great-grandfather, Liberto, and thousands of others who gave their lives for the Revolution..."
Verdon is interrupted by shouting from the crowd. "Traitor!" can be heard coming from the angry looking bunch Verdon looks over at them with concern, pausing from his speech.
"Comrades," he begins, trying to shut them up kindly. "I respec-" He stops, diving for cover behind the heavy wooden podium.
Holy Shit!
The bandanna-wearing crowd members, plotters from the week prior, had begun to open fire, wounding several security guards, and killing a few members of the audience. The crowd turned into an utter bedlam, with screams and shouts abounding, everyone scrambling to get away from the violence. Duemo had sought cover, as well. She, however, seemed transfixed on something above, and was looking the direction opposite of Verdon.
"Look out!" She yelled, pointing at the roof of a nearby office building. Several more gunshots could be heard from that direction, and Verdon felt like he had been stung by a very large bee in the back. He shouted, toppling over, while a shadowy figure atop the building disappeared from sight, after a loud shout.
"Prai Matrom! Ey Revolutiona!" the assassin yelled at the top of his lungs, and he was gone. Any that saw him would have only seen a flash of a man. His hair was short and black, a bandanna atop his head. His accent, while difficult to discern from distance and with such volume, could easily be identified as distinctly non-Jimani.
Verdon rose, with several people standing around, looking at him in horror. "Really, I'm alright..." He said, reaching out to take his speech from the podium. As he tried to move his right arm, he froze in pain.
It won't move! It's stuck!
Verdon reached his left hand around to his right shoulder blade, feeling something wet and sticky, and warm and red... He was bleeding. Profusely.
Oh, God...
He sank to his knees, fainting from loss of blood. The last thing he remembered was thinking that he never got to fire Gladys. He collapsed onto the steps of the Museum, dark to the World. Meanwhile, medical personnel were running towards him. Security was running after possible accomplices to the shooting. Everyone else was just running, kicking up a dust cloud beyond belief, which threatened to envelop the great city and suffocate all of its people.
Astrabore Wire Service
Special Bulletin
Security locks down Principore's Old City after Verdon is shot, and begins search for assassins.
Verdon gunned down!
President Verdon was shot earlier this afternoon during his speech before the Museum of Natural History, in Principore, during the Solidarity Day celebrations. He was rushed to Queen of Mercy Hospital in Southern Principore, and is said to be in stable condition, after sustaining a bullet wound to the shoulder blade, and has yet to regain consciousness. Primo Civito Duemo is currently acting Executive while Verdon in incapacitated. The assassin and his accomplices have yet to be found. Any information regarding the incident is to be reported to local officials at once.
If you believe you are dealing with the Assassin, proceed with caution. He has been described as a tall man, over six feet, with short black hair, and significant facial hair. Fair-skinned, likely not a Jimani national. Not yet identified. Armed and dangerous.
