The Atnaian Succession Crisis (TWI ONLY | CLOSED | TG)

[Atnaia]

"I'm honoured, your highness," Arthur Colt said, "if a bit surprised. I'm not exactly at the forefront of military command."

"I need people with vision in my cabinet," Henry explained.

"Then i have a short list of another bunch of people you can dismiss," Arthur deadpanned.

Henry chuckled. "We can discuss that. Honestly though, Arthur, I think this country needs smarter people at the helm, younger people, people with ideals."

"I think that that is a little idealistic, sir," Arthur replied. "What you need is people with experience."

"Are you declining the position?"

Arthur held up his hand. "Let's not go too far. I'm simply trying to determine your thought process. The position of Minister of Defense...it's a weighty responsibility I don't take lightly."

"That's quite fair," Henry said. "Let me ask you something. What is your view on the current situation?"

Arthur shut his eyes for a moment and crossed his hands in his lap. When he opened his eyes, he had a queer, thoughtful look that Henry found somewhat disconcerting. "I think you should be careful about the people close to you. If I were in Wessich's shoes, I'd already be plotting. I'd have been plotting treason for months. Years."

"And what about the Asorists?"

"For now, a distraction," Arthur replied. "Smoke and mirrors. Now if they were to become armed..."

"But that would require outside influence," Henry frowned.

"Yes," Arthur replied. "I think that that is likely."

"Who?" Henry said. "Who would arm rebels like that? We don't have any major foreign enemies..."

"Any number of anti-monarchy or democratic nations could see the benefit in arming them," Arthur answered. "Or anyone who wanted to spread a bit more chaos in Atnaia, to weaken our international position."

"More chaos?" Henry laughed. He waved a hand at the files on his desk. "These are the numbers for damages, healthcare costs for the injured, damages, possible prevention plans...nation-wide, emergency service calls have doubled. We're stretched thin. What more chaos do they need?"

"War in the streets could do it," Arthur replied.

The silence hung heavy between them. "So, do you accept the position?" Henry said.

Arthur sighed. "I don't have much choice, your highness. Duty calls. I'll be your Minister of Defense."

---

"ARTHUR COLT?" Augustus Blaine shouted. "He chose Arthur Colt?"

Thomas shrugged. "I'm sorry, Augustus," he said. "It is as I warned you."

"The man is a spy, a slug," Blaine roared. "Not a minister. Certainly not a cabinet minister. I deserved that position!"

"Yes," Thomas agreed. He leaned forward. "What if I told you that could be...fixed?"

"Fixed how?" Blaine asked, suddenly intrigued.

"I won't beat around the bush," Thomas said. Augustus Blaine was not the most cunning man in the world, subtlety was useless here. "Henry is not fit to be Prince. We must remove that burden from his shoulders."

"How?" Blaine asked, suddenly calming.

"I need you to promise that Promethean will support me," Thomas said.

"Done," Blaine said without a second thought. "How?"

"We need the military to be called in," Thomas said. "We need the government to look away from us. I have a friend who is staging an...event. It will look like the work of the Asorists. We will use it to justify military action. No one in Parliament will argue. We will bypass the Prince's shortsightedness, get our troops in the street...and when we have them there..."

"They don't leave," Augustus grinned.

Thomas nodded. He checked his watch. "Two hours. It starts in two hours."

[Atnaia]

"The movement will be put to a vote at our next gathering," said the Speaker. "Next on the agenda, Coldwater's request for budget restructuring vis a vis the new train line..."

It was strange, thought Thomas, that such a hum-drum moment of bureaucratic nonsense could continue in the wake of the continued disobedience outside. It was proof, so he thought, of the rot that was creeping through the government of his beloved country. That so many could turn a blind eye to the destruction of their values was horrifying. And where was the Prince? In meetings with a bunch of yes-men? It was enough to make Thomas sick.

He checked his watch and sighed. Some lowly lord from the north drowned on about government lending programs. It was easy enough for Thomas to tune out. He dreamed of a day when all the needless voices were tossed into the wild. He had remarked many times to his closest confidantes that he believed that Parliament had grown bloated. "Too many cooks in the kitchen," Yorke agreed. That was back when they were in college, many years ago, before Thomas had begun making plans to fix the broken machine. He was so close now he could taste it, and it made every long, drawn out moment all the worse.

Suddenly, the voice stopped. "I'm sorry," said the lord, a Benedict Cross. "But does anyone else hear that?"

"I ask that Lord Cross keeps to the topic at hand," droned the Speaker.

"No, I am quite serious," said Cross. "Does anyone else hear that incessant buzzing? It is asked that all members of this committee turn off their communications in the House, no? Whose damn phone is that?"

The members of the Committee on Federal City Budgets and Spending glanced about and started murmuring. The Speaker sighed. "Are we honestly going to derail the conversation on the matter of a cell phone, Benedict?"

"I am quite serious," Cross replied. "More than a matter of etiquette, it is a matter of security for discussions in the House. If recordings of these conversations are presented to outside sources, particularly rags like the Tribune...ah, it stopped. Thank you."

"May we continue?" the Speaker asked.

"Of course," said Cross, clearing his throat. "As I was saying..."

Suddenly there was a crack, and then a boom, and the left side of the House of Nobles Committee Meeting Room exploded. Flames spread across the side of the room and the conference table was half engulfed in flames. A shockwave kicked across the room and the committee members were sent sprawling. An alarm started blaring as smoke and debris filled the room. Thomas felt his ribs strike the wall and crack, and the remnants of the conference table flipped over and slammed into his leg. He groaned and looked about. Through the smoke and ash, he could see only four other members of the committee, picking themselves up. His ears rang from the concussion of the blast.

Nearby, he could see the charred hand of a committee member jutting out from behind a chunk of stone and debris. He crawled over and pushed the rocks away, revealing the crushed form of Benedict Cross. "God, no," he said. He looked around in shock, just in time to see the conference room doors swing open and guards come rushing in.

"What happened here?" one of the guards asked as the rest went to work trying to help the members of the committee.

"We've been attacked," said Thomas, just in time to slip into unconsciousness.

---

"An attack in the House of Nobles," Bronte exclaimed. "A bombing! It's impossible! Unfeasible!"

"And yet it happened," Henry said.

"God, what do we do?" Bronte asked.

"Calm yourself," said Arthur Colt.

"Calm myself? Calm myself?" Bronte yelled. "Dear friends of mine perished or are in hospital! By God, how did this happen? Has anyone taken responsibility?"

"We have only two options," said Duke Jaden Pryce. "Either it was SOAR, or the Asorists are escalating."

"This is a disaster," said Duchess Sunderman. "A travesty. Wessich was right. We let things go too far, we let the reins go too much."

"You can't be suggesting what I think you are," the Prince said.

"Martial law is the only way," Sunderman said. "They've escalated to terrorist action!"

"No one has claimed responsibility yet," Henry said.

"It was them," Bronte replied. "Of course it was them."

"And how did they place a bomb in the House of Nobles, then?" Henry asked.

"We have dozens of guards and workers in the buildings," said Duchess Locke-Haster. "Many possible sympathizers. We should have converted our security to Stone Wall. No Asorists amongst them..."

"And trade away our dignity?" Bronte exclaimed.

A wall of argument arose. Henry felt sick. Nothing like this had happened since the 80s. His throat felt tight. His mouth was dry. Eight MPs dead in the blink of an eye. He looked at Arthur. "What do you suggest?"

"We have no more options available," he said. "We have to call in the military to keep the streets safe."

Henry's head pounded. He reached for the chip in ihs pocket and squeezed it so hard his hand bruised. "Do it."

[Atnaia]

THE STORY SO FAR...

During an Asorist march on Parliament, protesting government corruption
and the privatisation of the military, HENRY LUCER, grandson of Prince James Lucer,
announces his grandfather's death on a live TV and radio broadcast. The already
tense atmosphere ignites and protest turns violent, leading to riots. STONE WALL
SECURITY SOLUTIONS police officers fight back, attempting to stop the rioters to
little avail.

The new Prince's Minister of Defense, DUKE THOMAS WESSICH, head of SWSS,
calls for martial law, but in a fit of anger the Prince dismisses the duke from cabinet,
claiming to be rooting out corruption. Wessich, having predicted this move, begins
solidifying his supporters among the dukes and duchesses, looking to leverage his
wife's position as cousin of the former Prince to topple Henry's new rule.

Meanwhile, the Asorist group TAKEHOLD calls a secret meeting of its four leaders
to discuss next moves. When they decide that the time is ripe for a rebellion, one of
the leaders leaves in disgust while the others seek a way to acquire weapons for their
revolt. Contacted by a mysterious spy from VENTLIMER, they arrange a weapon
shipment from the foreign government.

Prince Henry discusses replacements for Wessich's position in cabinet, finally landing
on ARTHUR COLT, head of the Atnaian National Intelligence Agency. Wessich plans a big
move with his old friend and partner, BARTIMAEUS YORKE, the head of SWSS's Special
Projects Division.

An explosion rocks the House of Nobles, killing several MP's and injuring others, including
Wessich. Believing the act to be a terrorist attack, Henry Lucer decides he can no longer
hold of on calling in the military to the capital to help quell the situation...

[Atnaia]

"Where the hell is my book?" Ian Goyle roared.

He stormed around the barracks, getting into the faces of every merc he could see. "One of you assholes took my book and I'm gonna beat the shit out of everyone until I know who."

"Hey man, fuck off," said the merc called Shark. Ian was inches from his face. "Maybe if you didn't quote that bullshit like gospel someone wouldn't have tried to take away your safety blanket."

"Fuck you," Ian replied. "Where is it?"

"Chalke took it," Shark chuckled. "Found the photo tucked inside too. Does command know how much dick you suck?"

"Woah," rich stepped between them before Goyle could throw a punch. "Ian, go find your book."

Ian turned and stormed for the barrack's door, turning as he left to flip off the Stone Wall troops within. Shark laughed. "What, Worthington? Does Goyle gobble your nads too?"

"Fuck off, Dickie," Rich said, following after Ian to make sure he didn't get shot.

"It's Shark," Mike Dickie called after him. "Call me Dickie again and I'll fuck you up!"

Outside the barracks, Rich could see Ian zeroing in on Jules Chalke. "Ah shit," Rich said, an bolted over. He was too late. Just as he reached his Asorist bunkmate, Ian was rearing back and throwing a punch into the back of Chalke's square head. Chalke went sprawling in the dirt and rolled to his feet.

"What the shit?" he swore, then caught sight of Ian. "Oh, it's just you," he laughed. "Thought it was someone worthwhile for a second."

"Where the hell is my manifesto?" Ian seethed.

"Do you want the manifesto or the picture of your boy back home," Chalke asked. "Either way, I got rid of that Asorist trash."

Ian screamed and leaped forward before rich could stop him. The pair of soldiers rolled on the ground for a moment, but Chalke soon got the upper hand. He punched once, then twice, turning Ian's nose into a pulp.

There was a sudden voice from nearby. It was quiet, but cut through the cheers of Chalke's nearby friends. "What the hell is going on here?"

The mercs stopped and Chalke shot to his feet. "Just defending myself, Mr. Fox," he replied.

Mr. Fox stepped forward and looked at the scene. "What the fuck, Chalke," he said. He kneeled down and checked on Ian. "Shit, this is bad. Hornet, take him to the medic, now."

A big, Atnaian-Indian guy darted forward and helped Ian to his feet, dragging him towards the medic. Meanwhile, Mr. Fox turned to Chalke. "What the hell are you thinking?"

"He hit me first, sir," Chalke said.

"You are a fucking child, soldier, giving me that 'he started it' bullshit," Mr. Fox said. "We are supposed to be integrating here, asshole. These are our comrades. They work for the company, same as you. You will live and you will die by these men. Fucking act like it."

"Yes, Mr. Fox," Chalke said like a reprimanded child.

"I'll be filing this with the CO," Mr. Fox said. "Doubt he'll be happy. He'll tell the District Manager, and chances are you'll be unemployed by morning."

"Sir," Chalke said.

"I would do that," Mr. Fox said, "but we just got called into Port Gray. Alright you assholes, get your soles on the ground. We're heading into the city!"

[Atnaia]

APCs and IFVs rolled down the streets. Around the city, speakers announced the presence of the military and warned protesters to cease their activities. In a matter of hours, Port Gray was filled with troops.

Thomas Wessich watched all this on the television screen in his private hospital bed with a small grin on his face. It was all he could do to contain his excitement, seeing the blue battlement logos on the side of the vehicles in the background of the newscasts. He took a sip of sparkling water and leaned back. It was all going according to plan.

There was a small knock on the door and it cracked open. Mary poked in her head, a concerned look on her face. "Come in, dear," Thomas said. She entered and shut the door behind her.

"How are you?" she said. "Is everything alright?"

"Everything is fine dear," he smiled. "You must stop worrying."

"How can I stop worrying?" she said. "Somebody tried to kill you, Tommy."

"No," he said. "I just happened to be there. I assure you, I am quite safe. No one was targeting me. This hospital is guarded by my men, and the city streets are being secured by the army as we speak."

"Are you sure?"

"I am certain, dear," he said. "I promise you, there is nothing to worry about."

There never had been, he thought. Not when you are prepared.

---

"What do we do?" Jeremy said. "This ruins everything."

"No it doesn't," said Nadia. "It just speeds things up. We can't target cops. We'll need to target the mercs."

"We should call off the meeting," Jeremy replied.

"My men are ready to go," Nadia said.

Danielle pinched the bridge of her nose. This was crunch time, the crossroads. If she chose to back out now, the revolt was over for good. If she moved forward, there would be war. She looked up. The crossroads was where you sold your soul to the devil for power, she thought. "We go ahead with the plan. Let's go to the warehouse."

[Ventlimer]

Kriselli sat back in a rolling office chair at the warehouse, watching the news on the Tablet. "This makes things interesting," He thought.

In front of the laptop, Johnathan Kosick and Jennifer Cilent watched nervously. Both were agents masquerading as a couple on vacation in Port Gray. Secretly, they might actually be a couple, but who knew?

"It doesn't look good, Alex," Johnathan said into a phone. "This is going to speed things up a whole lot faster than we intended. Damnit, I told you we needed to make contact earlier... I know we didn't know, but-... Yes, sir. yes sir. Ok." He hung up. "Dammit, Kriselli, why didn't you take the initiative and make contact earlier?"

Kriselli shrugged. "They weren't ready yet," Kriselli said. "You can't push people into a revolution, you simply have to give them the options they didn't think they had. They never would have gone for it if they didn't already want it. Without cooperation, there's no point in trying."

"We should call it off," Jennifer said. "There has to be something bigger going on here and I don't like it."

"Of course something is going on," Kriselli said casually. "The one guy we absolutely do not want on the throne is trying to take it. Wessich is probably laughing in the hospital. His buddies in Parliament and Stone Wall set this up so nicely for him he couldn't refuse the offer. Even if Henry was more like James, we would see him trying to do this." Kriselli watched as an APV pushed through a crowd, dispersing them. "We can't back out now. If nothing else, we have to help these people who are dying for their cause. Besides, the Asorists will be here soon."

"He's right," Johnathan muttered. "Turn that damned computer off. Jen, start unpacking the the sample crate. Kriselli, make sure the place isn't bugged with anything again." John looked out the window as the sound of sporadic gunfire rang through the city. Hopefully, just rubber bullets. "I hope these guys can pull this off. For their sake."

[Atnaia]

Nadia, Jeremy and Danielle arrived at the location they had been given. It seemed to be just another warehouse in Harbour Mills, an old, red-brick building on the docks with nothing to identify it as any different from the other warehouses nearby. A cold wind blew in off of the sea. A buzz of nervous exitement ran up Danielle's spine.

"Do we just knock?" she asked.

"If they're as good as they'll have to be, they already know we're here," Nadia replied.

[San Eulogio]

“…So, shall we finally start this meeting?”

The president stared at the participants at the table. The streets outside of the Palace of the Republic are awfully quiet, perhaps the population sensed that none of the higher government and army officials have been seen for several hours. While most of the ministers already left, a few of the most important members are left at the table: President Enrique Brabandera, Chairwoman Catalina Viglis, Generalissimo Federico Malagon, Gabriel Monzon of the national Intelligence Service, aswell as Alberto Viglis, undoubtedly as powerful as the president himself.

Gabriel clears his throat, before opening his mouth with that infamous silver tongue of his. “Yes, Presidente, with the approval of the other ministers, we can finally decide upon the matter.”

The head of intelligence opens a file, and passes it on to the participants of the conversation. From a distance, the president can clearly see the map of Atnaia, aswell as circled words, most likely the few names the intelligence service was able to uncover from the chaos.
Alberto Viglis stands up, staring at the president. “If I may speak, dear friend, I have already discussed this situation with Mr. Monzon and Generalissimo Malagon, and we have already come to a conclusion awaiting your approval.”

The three men nod, while Alberto’s daughter, the chairwoman of the Council of Ministers, glares back at her father. “You mean you want the presidente to support Wessich.”

“And why not? Wessich is known to be a calm and strong man, seemingly with a passion for his homeland and undoubtedly knows more about leading a country than the current government.”

Gabriel nods. “And besides that, Wessich would form an entirely new government at the head of a strong country in a strategically important position across the canal. New governments always lack allies but one at the head of Atnaia would quickly gain allies. If we aid Wessich and ensure he becomes the next leader of that country, we will undoubtedly become one of his most important allies – both militarily and economical.”

The president also nods in agreement. “Then this discussion needs to be no more than a thing of a past. Wessich will be aided by our government…” The president looks at Gabriel. “… Mr. Monzon, I want you to prepare two good men from your office to rendezvous with one of our diplomats already on the spot there, and then you will make sure we can become establish ties with Wessich.” He then turns to the Generalissimo. “Federico, I expect you will be able to have your best military experts at the ready whenever they are needed in Atnaia, and I expect Mr. Viglis to provide us with the weaponry from his acquaintances.”

Alberto Viglis starts lighting up a cigarette. “Consider it done already. I also have a container ship filled with both sugar and another white substance of greater importance ready to leave tomorrow. We can drop our agents off in another country and have them travel to Atnaia from there, to leave behind any direct traces that point at both San Eulogio and my businesses.

The presidents stands up, staring once more at the officials. “Then it is decided. I expect an answer from our agents anytime soon. Untill then, goodnight compatriotas.”

[Ventlimer]

Jennifer opened the door when she saw the three on the cameras outside, then ushered them inside.

"My name is Jennifer, and this is Johnathan." She said quickly. "We are here to aid you in the building of your revolution if you so require it. However, we are also mainly here for the guns at the moment." She pointed to a stack of crates in the center of the warehouse. "This is hardly the most secure set up, but we plan to get these out of here and into the people's hands as quickly as possible." She motioned over to Kriselli by the computer. "You've met Chris, of course."

Kriselli raised a cup of coffee. "Slow down Jennifer. You're so fidgety." He motioned the three over to him. "Coffee if you need it, we have a lot to talk about," he said as the computer played the news. "With things unfolding as they are, it is only a matter of time before Wessich gets foreign aid and firm control of the government, but that is all to be discussed in a moment. Until then, please follow John to look at the weapons."

Johnathan shook their hands firmly, then pulled the tarp off of the displayed weapons. All were small arms, ranging from AK-47s to M90s in rifles, as well as a few handguns. "We have heavier stuff, but that will not be necessary until things get bad. Your best bet right now is to use RPGs only if you have to. Best not to let them know just how funded you are."

"So," Jen said casually, leaned up against a crate of grenades. "Whatcha think?"

[Atnaia]

The presidents stands up, staring once more at the officials. “Then it is decided. I expect an answer from our agents anytime soon. Untill then, goodnight compatriotas.”

Thomas looked at the report in his hands. "And this is accurate?"

"As accurate as possible, given the circumstances," replied Yorke. "If we had your resources as Minister of Defense..."

"We don't," said Wessich. "Do not linger on what could have been. Live in reality. Your suggestion? If we make contact and we are wrong, it could cause...problems."

Yorke tapped the top of the list. "San Eulogio seems to be our best option right now, if my analysts are right. And they are usually very, very good."

"No embassy," Thomas said.

"There are other ways of making contact," Yorke replied. "That phone number and your name should be good enough to set-up a meeting."

Thomas nodded. "Make the call."

Yorke leaned over and picked up the phone off of Thomas' desk and tapped in a number. A moment later, he spoke. "Hello, this is Bartimaeus Yorke with Duke Thomas Wessich's office. I am looking to set up a telephone call with a representative of your foreign office..."

---

"So," Jen said casually, leaned up against a crate of grenades. "Whatcha think?"

Nadia picked up a handgun and looked it over with military precision. She nodded, and looked at Jeremy, who was doing the same with an AK-47. "They're legit," she said, and he nodded.

Danielle squirmed uncomfortably. "I think that we have a deal here. Nadia?"

"My men are ready," she said, and pulled out a print-off. "These locations are...let's think of them as safehouses. Back rooms of businesses, basements, that sort of thing. We'll be storing the weapons and operating out of them until we can establish a more defensible foothold."

[Ventlimer]

"Alright," Johnathan said. "Have your men pick them up, disperse them. Now, lets talk next move. Where do you plan to hit?"

[Atnaia]

"We should hit their convoys," Nadia said immediately. "Take out the men with blue battlement patches. They're Stone Wall, and they're the enemy."

"Slow down there," Jeremy said. "We don't yet have the manpower to take on military targets, and not all those men are Stone Wall. Most of them are good soldiers in a bad position. Like you and me. I have a better plan."

Nadia sneered. "Really? What is it, oh brilliant professor?"

"Peter LaSalle," he said. "The former police commissioner. He is the perfect symbol of aristocratic corruption. He accepted a payout to turn this city into Wessich's army's personal playground. The worst sort of police bribe, and he acts like he's a hero. We take him hostage and show the world the sort of man he really is: a worm in human's clothing. It doesn't overplay our hand, it gives us leverage, and we show the aristocrats what sort of people they really are."

Danielle nodded. "It'll get the right sort of attention too. Even non-Asorists have called for a look into LaSalle's corruption over the past few years, to know avail. It let's people know that we listen to them. That we are their voice."

Nadia licked her lips. "I like it. It gives us a bargaining chip too, if this all goes south."

[Ventlimer]

Johnathan thought for a moment. "That could work, especially since attacking convoys just makes you look like terrorists instead of freedom fighters."

"That would only be good with the right propaganda circulating after you take him or even a couple hours before," Kriselli said. "The people don't easily see the justice in violence when it is done be non-government agents. They need to be made aware of it. To be educated."

"We don't have that kind of time," Jen said impatiently.

[Atnaia]

"We can have websites and pamphlets circulated within the day," Nadia said.

"Uh, no, we can't" said Danielled. "Websites, of course. But without Flannery, our printing capabilities are cut in half. She owns the publishing house we used for most of our books and pamphlets."

[Ventlimer]

"Then get Flannery back on our side," Johnathan said. "If you can't print, you can't fight."

"I don't think that's possible," Kriselli said. "Maybe when the first bit of blood is spilled at the right time, but pacifists never hold to their convictions to long. Flannery would just be a liability."

Jennifer thought for a moment. "We could buy it from her, or any other one here in Atnaia."

"That's one hell of a paper trail, Jen," Johnathan said.

"Yeah," Kriselli said. "Dustin would never go for that."

The agents thought for a moment. "What do you guys think?"

[Atnaia]

"We have other means of communication," Danielle thought. "Radio, for instance. We have friends in a few radio stations that would be willing to send out a message from us. The only problem is many of them are localized. We don't have a lot of national radio stations that would be willing to work with us. The big national media outlets are all in the pockets of the aristocracy."

Jeremy ran a hand through his hair. "My kids may not be able to fight, but they can write and publish. We could make use of some the university printing stations and have my students distribute literature. Redouble our efforts in prep. Only the best of them though. Chandra. Robert. A few others. They could do it for us."

"Are you willing to take that risk?" Nadia asked.

"The question is if they are," Jeremy said. "And they wouldn't question it for a second."

[Ventlimer]

"I told you Johnathan," Kriselli said. "These guys know what they are doing. We don't need to prop them up, just give advice and means to do what they need to do."

John nodded. "Well, you have what you need," he said to Danielle. "Should we expect your people here soon to pick this stuff up?"

[Atnaia]

"We can have the supplies picked up by the end of the night," Nadia replied.

[Ventlimer]

"That will do," Johnathan said.

[Atnaia]

Over the next few hours, a number of trucks pulled in and picked up the shipments. They drove to various safe locations around the city, where military vets who were members of Takehold met and began discussing plans, all under the central command of Nadia and Jeremy. It was shocking how efficient it all was, and Danielle became aware rapidly that Nadia hadn't been toying with this idea for a few months, like Danielle had, but had been actively discussing it for years. Nadia, who could never be accused of having a feminine personality, was suddenly bubbly, almost girlish, in her excitement. It was a fascinating transformation to watch: hand the woman a rifle and she was suddenly a cheerleader in high school.

Danielle stayed out of the way for the most part, and let Jeremy and Nadia plan. By the time the sun rose, they had a plan, and were ready to act.

[Atnaia]

Peter LaSalle, former police commissioner for Port Gray, turned his car up his driveway. It was a still night and somewhat chill with the breeze coming off of the nearby Mesder Sea. The house on the water had been one of his first purchases after receiving his settlement from Thomas Wessich, and he hadn't thought about how cold it could be in the winter. Still, as the gate of his driveway clanked open mechanically, he smiled. It was his dream home, with a boathouse on the water and the fruit trees out front. The fact that he had paid cash for it was also a sort of perverse thrill. It made him feel like a mobster.

He pulled his car up the driveway, hearing the gate clatter behind him. He tapped the switch for the garage door and it swung open smoothly. LaSalle pulled the car forward and parked the car. He stepped out, hearing his back crack. He was getting old. He sighed and went to the door into the house. Stepping into the clean, white kitchen, with its wide windows overlooking the sea, he felt something was off. There was no barking, his dogs, Mott and Cherry, didn't come running to greet him. He glanced around.

"Mott? Cherry?" he called, inching his way into the house.

A single bark answered in the dining room. LaSalle went to a drawer and pulled out a knife, then slinked over to the entrance to his dining room. There, at the end of the table, was Cherry, staring at an open window and growling. Cherry was a toy poodle, and the growl was more adorable than threatening. LaSalle sighed and went over to the window, shutting it. He kneeled down next to Cherry. "Where's your brother at?"

Suddenly he heard an unmistakable click behind him, the sound of a gun being cocked. "Stand up," said a woman;s voice.

Before becoming police commissioner, LaSalle had thirty-five years of experience on the force. He swung about and knocked the handgun from the back of his head with an arm and swung his knife at the intruder. He was old though, and slow, and she caught his wrist with casual ease. She was a tall, strong woman, with her head shaved and a series of scars on her face, like some sort of soldier. She frowned at him and squeezed his wrist so hard he could feel the bones scraping together. He yelled and dropped the knife.

"You're coming with us," she said.

Suddenly, there was a low growl and a bark, and in his confused state LaSalle wondered how Cherry had gotten so big. A mass of muscles and teeth exploded from the kitchen and wrapped it's muzzle around the intruder's leg, dragging her down and LaSalle with her.

Mott was a a one-hundred pound Staffordshire-Bull Mastiff cross-breed, a ball of brindle fur and muscle that stood as tall as a small horse. LaSalle felt the hand on his wrist let go, as the woman struggled against the massive dog. Blood splashed across the parquet floor. Her gun skittered away. LaSalle crawled across the floor, grabbing for the knife, the gun, anything. His hand wrapped around the handle of the knife, and suddenly there was the boom of a gunshot and the moan of a dog in pain. LaSalle swung around and saw two more intruders. One was holding a still-smoking gun, and the other one was moving forward to grab LaSalle. LaSalle swung his blade wildly twice, but the new intruder knocked it aside and grabbed LaSalle by the collar, dragging him past the dead bulk of his dog. LaSalle roared in pain.

"Mott! Mott!" he cried. "You killed my dog!"

Meanwhile, the intruder who had shot the mastiff was helping the woman to her feet. Her leg was a mess where Mott had ravaged her and she swore. "Shit," said the shooter. "Nadia, your leg is messed up!"

"I thought you had the dog handled," she hissed.

"Did you see that thing? Might as well have been corralling a goddamn bear."

She limped over to her gun and picked it up. "Just get us to the safehouse. I need my leg patched."

---

It was all over the news the next morning. Ex-police commissioner Peter LaSalle had been kidnapped by the Asorist group Takehold, and they had sent a message:

"We are Takehold, and we are not going to take the invasion of our liberties and rights lying down. Peter LaSalle is a symbol of the corruption of the aristocracy. For years, he accepted bribes, he turned a blind eye, he helped oppress the masses. And when it boiled down to a decision to maintain the law, or to accept a payout from a corrupt system, he chose the latter.

"This is not a ransom situation. This is a warning. We will not accept this sort of corruption any longer. The people will not accept it. The system requires rebuilding, but to do that, we must demolish what stands there now. This is war.

Take hold of your destiny."

[Ventlimer]

"Are you FUCKING kidding me, Alex?", the President said angrily as he slammed the TV remote on the desk. "You're kidding me, right? There's no way we just gave weapons to these people!"

Alex stood at attention, letting the President blow off his steam. It was understandable, the anger. But, by God, he was the president. It was a wonder that he dealt with situations so professionally when his anger was more frightening than Wirthland's. "No, sir," Alex finally said. "These guys are doing what they need to do. My agents have full confidence in Nadia and Jeremy, and expect Danielle will always be the cool, diplomatic source of reason. They will succeed, sir."

"Yeah, and if they don't?" The president had calmed down a little, but not much. "What happens to our plausible deniability, Alex?"

"Plausible deniability, sir? You are funding rebels in an allied nation. You lost 'Plausible Deniability' when you gave me those weapons, sir." Alex tensed up, slightly angry. "Which I would not have requested if I didn't think this was the best path for us, sir. With a more friendly Atnaian government, so many doors would be opened for us and-"

"'And would be and excellent source of aid in times of trouble with other nations, especially in the Coalition.' Yes, Alex, you've said all this before." Sebastian sighed and looked at the map on his wall again. "What else do you think they will need?"

"Nothing at the moment, sir. We need to wait and see how Stone Wall acts, and if Henry decides to do something as well."

"Very well." He stared at Atnaia on the map. "You're dismissed."

With that, Alex turned and left.

[Atnaia]

Henry hung up the phone and rubbed his temples. The pounding hadn't left for the past ten hours, and his discussion with the Prime Minister hadn't helped. Lovesmythe was livid, the whole House of Commons was livid. They were calling for a withdrawal of troops, calling for an investigation into the city police, calling into anything that would give the Asorists ground. What they were asking for was for Henry to cede to demands that didn't exist. His hands shook. How had it gotten so bad so quickly? Where had he gone wrong?

There was a knock at his office door and his secretary, Juliet, poked her head in. "Arthur Colt and Joseph Blythe are here, your highness," she said.

"Send them in, Juliet," Henry replied. "Maybe they have good news."

A moment later Colt walked in, followed by a broad-shouldered man in a black suit. Joe Blythe was the head of LISA, ANIA's sister agency. He was a man in his early 40s, with a non-descript face but a build that suggested years of weight training. At first glance, Joe Blythe came across as dull, uninteresting and unintelligent, more bull than man, and that was the way he liked it.

"Your highness," Colt said.

"Arthur," Henry replied. "Hello, Mr. Blythe."

Blythe held out a hand. "Joe is fine, your highness."

Henry stood and shook the hand. "Joe, then."

The pair of agents at down. "I hope you have good news," Henry replied.

"I suppose that depends on your definition of good," Blythe replied.

"We've been trying to find the Asorist hideout, wherever they are keeping LaSalle," Colt said. "We've had no luck at this time. But that's not why we're here."

"What is it?" Henry asked.

"My men have been investigating the bombing," Blythe said. "And thing's just don't add up."

"How so?" Henry asked.

"Well, firstly," Colt replied, "why would the Asorists start with a bombing in Parliament and then reverse gears and kidnap an unguarded, unimportant ex-public figure. If they had access to areas with the highest degrees of security, surely they would have leveraged that and taken somebody of importance."

Blythe nodded. "It got me wondering, to be sure. Then chemical analysis on the explosive came in. It was military grade stuff. Atnaian military grade. No chance that Takehold had managed to get a hold of that without us knowing."

"Clearly they are armed," Henry pointed out. "How do we know they don't have our hardware?"

"We're looking in to how they got armed," Colt said. "To the best of our knowledge, it must be an operation of a foreign power."

"Who would be arming terrorists like that?" Henry asked.

"At this point, we don't know," Blythe reported. "We're doing our best to figure it out."

"I'm sure you are," Henry said. "So you are suggesting that the Asorists weren't involved in the bombing. Who then?"

Blythe and Colt looked at each other. "Well, we can't be certain," said Colt. "It's just a theory..."

"it could be Wessich, sir," Blythe said.

"Wessich? He was in the room," Henry replied. "He was almost killed."

"Almost, but not quite," Blythe said. "Maybe he knew it was coming. He had access to the hardware, the location. He could have had agents from Stone Wall place the bomb..."

"But to what end?" Henry asked.

"Escalating the war with the Asorists so we had to call in the troops?" Colt replied. "Giving himself plausible deniability? Like we said, it is a theory. We have no proof."

"Yet," Blythe said.

Henry felt an anger well up in his chest, white-hot and violent. He gritted his teeth. "Continue this line of investigation. But don't let anyone know."

"Secrets are our stock and trade," said Colt. "We won't fail you."

Henry shifted in his seat. "What is your suggestion regarding the LaSalle situation?"

"I say we begin raids of known Takehold meeting places," Blythe said. "We shut down their communication lines by preventing them from meeting."

"I doubt most of Takehold is involved directly," Colt said. "However, we do need to break them up if we are to prevent further bloodshed."

"Make it so," Henry said. The two spies left. Henry felt the pain in his forehead, just behind the eyes.

God he wanted a drink.

[Atnaia]

"Breaching!"

The door exploded inwards as the explosive charge went off. Rich followed the rest of his squad into the abandoned factor, his rifle racked and ready. The factory was dark, the power having been cut in prep for their breach. The entire building was bathed in a green glow by the night-vision that he had pulled over his eyes. He swung right with his fire team and slipped past rows of stacked cargo crates marked with a duck-shaped logo. Apparently, this building was one of many possible hideouts the Asorists might have been hiding in. A tip had been called into a help line, and recon had confirmed some strange trucks and personnel moving into and out of the building. The Stone Wall troops in the city had organized with the police, and the raid had been set.

It was strange, though. Sweeping through conveyor-belt manufacturing lines and rusted machinery, there didn't seem to be anybody in the place. No response came to the intrusion. Over his comms, Rich could hear others confirming the same thought.

"No one here," someone said.

"Clear on the north," said another.

"Who do we have in the living quarters?" Mr. Fox's voice came over the comms.

"We're on it, Mr. Fox," said one of Rich's squad. The factory was an old workhouse in the north of the city, mostly shut down as all the manufacturing shifted over to Coldwater. It still worked at minimum capacity, but the workhouse portion had been closed, and all of the live-in workers had been moved either to new factories in Coldwater, dumped into debtors prisons or sent back into the streets. The living quarters were now a dilapidated side building, falling swiftly into disrepair. They were also the perfect place for a whole bunch of revolutionaries to hide out without being noticed.

Rich and his team reached the double doors that linked the main factory building to the living quarters. They opened them, revealing a long, windowed hall that bridged the entrance to the loading bay. On the far side, another set of double doors opened into the living quarters. The squad moved swiftly across. The steel flooring clanged as they moved. Reaching the far side, the squad spread out, covering windows and keeping an eye behind them. O'Doyle, an older soldier on the verge of leaving the unit approached the doors, placed his shoulder against them, and pushed.

There was an audible tick as a pin hit the ground. O'Doyle looked up in shock at a grenade that had been connected to the frame of the door, it's pin linked to the door itself. There was a momentary pause, and then a boom as the grenade detonated. O'Doyle was blasted into the ground and the rest of the squad was thrown backwards as the doors blew out of their frames and pressure shattered the window.

Rich expected gunfire to follow, but as he picked himself off the ground, ears ringing, and looked around at the rest of the squad, there was no further immediate danger. "What the hell was that?" Mr. Fox's voice came over comms.

"The Asorists booby-trapped the doors to the living quarters," Rich replied. "No additional contact. O'Doyle's down."

"They're in the building," Mr. Fox said. "They're going to try picking you off. Secure your position and wait for reinforcements."

Suddenly, there was a cracking noise, and next to Rich a soldier's head exploded. The body crumpled downwards. "Shit," Nathans yelled, "they've got eyes on us. Sniper outside!"

Everyone in the squad dove for the limited cover below the windows. "They've got men outside and we have no cover here!" Rich called. There was another crack, and a hole exploded in the corrugated metal wall. No one was hit, but it became abundantly clear that wherever the sniper was outside, these walls were no cover for bullets.

"Shit," Mr. Fox said. "Head into the living quarters and take cover. We have men heading out to find their shooters."

A second bullet came from the opposite side of the walkway. It ripped a chunk out of the window frame and hit Nathans in the leg. He swore and crawled backwards, bumping into Shark. "On it, sir," Shark replied, grabbing Nathan's by the edges of his pack and dragging the wounded soldier into the living quarters, through the blasted out door. The rest of the squad followed, into a large, dark room, filled with bunk beds, like a military barracks. Down the center of the room, a series of long mess tables ran. At the back end of the room, stairs rose and descended onto different floors. There was no cover for troops, but plenty of ways the place could be rigged. Rich pulled himself in just as the sound of gunfire rose up outside.

"Fuck," Shark said. "It was a goddamn trap! They're better than we thought!"

"Of course they are," Ian replied, rushing over to check on Nathans. Ian was the squad medic. "They're all ex-soldiers. You Stone Wall assholes keep forgetting that Asorism is for the military."

"Shut the fuck up, Goyles," Shark responded.

Ian ignored him, to the amazement of Rich, and bandaged Nathans' leg. The cracks of sniper fire outside had turned into the spray of automatic weaponry. The walkway they had just escaped from became a hell of ripped metal and bullets as the Asorists outside opened fire on it. The sounds of combat followed, as military infantry went to counteract the surprise attack.

"We can't just sit here like cowards," said Oshi, looking around at the group of eleven.

"There's fire coming from above..." Nathans responded through gritted teeth.

"Men on the roof," Rich said.

"We were told to stay here," said Shark.

"If we can clear out those men on the roof, the others will have a better chance," Rich replied.

Shark nodded. He looked around. "Fire Team One, stay here," he said. "Fire Teams Two and Three, on me."

Shark turned without waiting for confirmation and headed to the back. He moved slowly, eyes down for any tripwires or other traps. Sure enough, Rich found that he had to pick his way over a series of thin lines. They carefully made their way to the rear stairs. Shark took out a flash grenade, pulled the pin, and lobbed it up the stairs. There was a dull thud, and the fire teams shot up.

The next story up was almost identical to the one below. It had been a waste of a flash grenade, but Shark didn't seem to care. He moved swiftly up the next flight of stairs to the door to the roof. Rich and the others followed. At the top of the stairs, Shark stopped and made an effort of inspecting the edges of the door. Then, he lifted his foot and booted it in.

On the roof of the building, six Asorists had set up a makeshift gun emplacement and were firing down into the fray below. How they had gotten the weapons was thought that momentarily slipped into Rich's mind, but he didn't have time to dwell as he and his fellow soldiers opened fire. The Asorists swung around, surprised for only a second, and took cover behind the series of air conditioning units and piping on the roof. Their gun emplacement fell silent, but the roof became a combat zone. Rich swung left as a hail of bullets slammed into the doorframe near him. Oshi went down with a scream a moment later. Rich saw the shoulder of an Asorist poking out behind an AC unit, aimed and fired. There was a spray of bullets as the man's trigger finger tightened instinctively, and he twisted to the ground. The Asorist's head was now in Rich's line of sight, and Rich squeezed the trigger once, ending the enemy's life.

On the far side of the roof, Shark leaped a pipe, his boot meeting an Asorist's face. He aimed down and killed the man. Another Asorist stepped out to take down the merc, but was cutdown by Rudolph. In the next few moments, the Asorists on the roof were dead, and only five minutes after that, the combat below was over.

The military had won this fight, but their losses had been surprisingly high given the surprise, and around the city, they had not fared so well. The Asorists were better equipped than their intelligence had suggested, and had all of the same training as the soldiers fighting them, but their numbers were fewer. On the first night of combat, the battles ended in what could only be called a stalemate.

[Ruetha]

Royal Palace, Private Office of Prince Henry

Ambassador Daniels walked in front of the woman behind him with a quick pace. Daniels was a man in his fifties, a veteran of the Sovereignty War. Daniels was sent by Queen Annalise and Chancellor Weaver to discover if entering on the side of the Royalists was truly the right thing to do. Ruetha had been disturbed by the sudden violance in Atnaia and were concerned with protecting the comman citizen.

"Deniva, are you ready to enter the meeting?" Daniels asked the woman behind him.

Lieutenant Deniva was a young woman of 24 years old, fit and at the top of her class in the Army. Deniva had short blonde hair that came just to her earlobes and eyes of such a light blue, they looked almost silver. Deniva nodded "Sure, I don't see why not."

Daniels answered "Very good, Deniva. Now remember, you're acting as a secretary so...smile a little." Deniva's lips twitched a few times before she pulled them back into a decent looking smile. Deniva rarely smiled, she had pushed aside the woman she used to be, strained every inch of her being into becoming a soldier. It was the only way to become the best. Her time at the Academy had been awful for her, her studying always came before anything else, including friends. Deniva's mission was simple, to see if a war, supporting the Royalists, could be won. Daniels was sent to look into the morals of the problem.

Daniels pushed open the door to the meeting room and greeted Prince Henry with a handshake "Hello, Prince Henry. I'm Ambassador Daniels, this is my secretary, Deniva. She's merely going to write down important details I need to remember. Don't even mind her, she's very quite." The attractive blonde smiled at the Prince and gave a shy little wave. God, how she hated playing a timid beauty.

Daniels sat down across from Prince Henry and looked the young man right in the eyes with his piercing brown ones. "Now before I discuss anything you must tell me truthfully, are you, Prince Henry, willing to protect the innocents of Atnaia and to keep a Constitutional Monarchy? "