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The Native Story Index [Open; All Techs]

A staging-point for declarations of war and other major diplomatic events. [In character]
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East Klent
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Founded: Jan 12, 2010
Civil Rights Lovefest

The Native Story Index [Open; All Techs]

Postby East Klent » Mon Aug 01, 2016 4:09 pm

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The Native Story Index


The name's Klent, East Klent. With permission from the original creator of this index, Jenrak, I am restarting it. I am fairly active and I shall endeavor to keep this index updated. I hope to continue this project with the same creative spirit it started with. So, without further ado, the introduction...

This here is the Native Story Index, which is a collection of short stories written in, about, around or focusing on the nations of those who are interested in writing short stories about their nations. Themes, scale, scope, narration, technique in addition to tech levels and technology are no worries, and I won't be scanning for quality. Therefore, it is your own responsibility and freedom to write a story as you want. This thread is a continuation of the original Native Story Index, as well as Taurenor's Native Story Index that followed and the third incarnation by the Roleplaying Mentors. If I fail to update regularly, feel free to telegram me at any time.

The main requirement to writing in this thread is simply that you keep each story that you write to one post, and the rule vice versa when posting. Keep posts limited to one story, so make a new one if you want to post a new story. If you are spamming stories quite frivolously, I will ask that you take a breather before posting up any more.

Length is not a problem, so whether you are a Victorian imagist or a Flash Fiction micro-writer, we won't argue against it, so no worries. You may write about anything, as long as it is about your NS nation, whether PT, PMT, MT or FT, so no worries about that. That said, we do ask that you have one of these handy tags at the beginning:

[ PT ] * [ MT ] * [ PMT ] * [ FT ]


To tell us which tech level it is as well as provide your readers as to some indication as to what tech level they're going to read about. The code is here:

Code: Select all
[align=right][size=150][b][[color=#BF0000] INSERT TECH LEVEL HERE [/color]][/b][/size][/align]


That said, if you're writing a mature story (carrying sex, strong or gratuitous violence, gore, or extremely questionable moral themes [abortion, rape, etc.]), please add a mature tag as well:

[ Mature ]

Code: Select all
[align=right][size=150][b][[color=#BF0000] Mature [/color]][/b][/size][/align]


Ultimately, what you write about is your own idea, but this is just to let RPers let their creative juices flow without having to work on a long RP project or have to find people to read their things. It also provides RPers with a good reference thread to get acclimated to another RPer's style of writing without having to fish through their posts, and can work as a reference for organisations and players alike.

Provided will be a Table of Contents, and as often as I can I will add stories as they appear in the thread.

Happy Writing.
IC: The United Republic of Klent, URK, or the United Klentian Republic. Canon Project
Defcon:1 2 3 4 (On Alert) 5

TNN: 6/30/15
The CKDA goes to Congress for ratification and the administration prepares for talks in Batavia.

NEKSE ▲39.63 |NKTSE ▲25.03|GDIE ▲8.45


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East Klent
Minister
 
Posts: 3002
Founded: Jan 12, 2010
Civil Rights Lovefest

Postby East Klent » Mon Aug 01, 2016 4:10 pm

Table of Contents

0-9

A

B

C

D

E

F

G

H

I

J

K

L

M

N

O

P

Q

R

S

T

U

V

W

X

Y

Z
Last edited by East Klent on Thu Dec 01, 2016 1:24 pm, edited 5 times in total.
IC: The United Republic of Klent, URK, or the United Klentian Republic. Canon Project
Defcon:1 2 3 4 (On Alert) 5

TNN: 6/30/15
The CKDA goes to Congress for ratification and the administration prepares for talks in Batavia.

NEKSE ▲39.63 |NKTSE ▲25.03|GDIE ▲8.45


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New Freedomstan
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Posts: 2817
Founded: Dec 19, 2009
Ex-Nation

Postby New Freedomstan » Wed Aug 31, 2016 3:27 pm

[ Mixed Tech ]



Recruitment

Rural Collective #103, Region #5, Socialist Worker's Republic of New Freedomstan

Five years after the war


"That is all well and good," the haggard Commissar said, eyeing foreman 285-656 "But the fact remains that we need more soldiers for the front. Orders from the Central Committee, comrade."

Rural Collective #103 was a small collection of villages and farmland in northern Region #5, not far away from rebel-held territories. 999-537 had grown up in, and remained in, the collective all her life and was tasked with the maintenance of the tractors. Of course, after the petrol stopped coming in, the tractors were useless and these days she mostly did whatever minor repairs and technical tasks came up. They had lost electricity three years ago, and the plumbing system had broken down before that.

999-537, like most Redlanders, was darker of skin than the northern Commissar, not that it mattered in the Nefreedian Socialist Republic. As long as you were human, further distinctions were irrelevant. She kept her hair short, and like everyone else she was dressed in loose, beige clothing, mass-produced for the rural Redlander population at Collective #5, since the standard citizen's uniform would be unlivable in the temperatures they were used to. Blue eyes, dubbed icy by some, set her somewhat apart from the rest in the collective, barring the woman who had given birth to her and comrade 294-111, as the majority of Redlanders had brown or green eyes.

"We barely have enough healthy people to keep up the quota," foreman 285-656, the leader of RuColl103, a middle-aged man and hardline adherent of the principles of Nefreedian Socialism, said "But if it is the Will of the Party, we can round up maybe ten."

"Try fifty," the Military Commissar responded, his grey uniform partially in tatters, and 999-537 noticed he was missing several fingers. The troops accompanying him was in similar bad shape, with their once proud uniforms patched up and one of them had replaced the standard issue boot with a high-heeled shoe "The rebels, the bourgie scum of the earth that they are, are giving many of our troops the gift of martyrdom."

"Fifty?" the foreman said, and wiped his brow. The harsh Redland sun was particularly brutal this summer, and the lack of breeze accentuated the heat of the 45 degree rays "I'll try."

The Commissar nodded "Good man. We'll be staying here until we got the soldiers, which I expect by tomorrow. Come on, comrades."

"Of course, of course," the foreman said, and guided the soldiers to one of the buildings that now laid barren. The past few years had been harsh, especially since veterinarian 582-371 committed suicide, leaving the community with no-one with adequate medical training. It seemed as if half the collective had showed up to greet the tired soldiers.

After showing the soldiers inside to the old rationing warehouse, now unused as supplies had drained up. The Luxury Ration Vouchers had become all but worthless, but they persevered as well as they could, 999-537 figured. All things considered they might be lucky, she figured as she saw the foreman return to the crowd, seemingly making a headcount. The rural collective barely had five hundred people in total, and now a tenth of those would have to go. Being only seventeen years since her birth, 999-537 had yet to do any sort of military service to the state, but considering the rest of the collective...

"First," the foreman said "We can try for volunteers. Who among you want to serve the Sacred Republic? No-one is too young and no-one is too old, I've been informed."

It always went automatically. 999-537 stepped ahead, as did two dozen more. Old 364-673, who had served in the Revolution, not to mention 462-574 who probably only wanted to avoid the harvest. 999-537 didn't much want to, but she was relatively useless to the collective. In the military she might be of service to the state and the party, which she wasn't know, and was told as much with regularity.

The foreman did a quick count. "Thirty-eight... good, thats... good. Well, then we need to draft some. 741-485! Inform the housing units each must provide one soldier, barring the units that already have someone brave enough to give their lives for us all!"

999-537 felt like a rock dropped in her stomach, and the rest of the day seemed to go by in a blur. 281-475, who had given birth to her and was incidentally in the same housing unit, helped her pack for the day. 835-673, another in her housing unit, gave her a knife and a small bottle of #13ite Vodka he'd been saving up. It was all very touching, but 999-537 could only mutter a thanks.

Highland Zone #3, Region #5, Socialist Worker's Republic of New Freedomstan

It had been a harsh week. Fifty, exactly, of the RuColl103ites had been marching north by foot, led by the soldiers and Commissar. The Commissar's number was 522-555, but he went by a name, which 999-537 had difficulty remembering. Ulo? Ole? Something like that. She always had difficulty with the ones who clinged to names, but evidently he was from Region #2 which made it understandable, if strange.

They passed by as far from the Collective than 999-537 had ever been, and on the third day she realized they had been lucky... People's Collective #9, a city that 999-537 had been to four times in her life, had once been in a valley they were now looking down at. Were...

The Commissar called for a stop, and pointed at the ruins of the city. The centre of it was just... gone... and 999-537 realized it hurt her eyes just to look at it. It seemed to be a... swirling something, there, dark but also extremely light. On the outskirts it was more clear, with abandoned streets, and one remaining high-rise building 999-537 recognized as the former district headquarters of the People's Civilian Commissariat.

"See, comrades, if you haven't already," the Commissar said with a somber tone "This is what the rebels have done. The Sacred Republic has lost a billion souls. Your duty is to repay this treachery on the filthy rebels who survived our righteous retribution."

They continued even moreso in silence. Earlier they had been silent from order, but now no-one had anything they wanted to say. 999-537 remembered visiting a friend of hers, 563-574 who had moved to People's Collective #9 to study... It was... She was... She knew she was dead, but seeing it... She shook her head and continued onwards.

The first day away from the collective had gone to drills. They were to march in formation. 999-537 had no idea how the Commissar managed to keep pace, let alone lead the formation, in that heavy coat of his. But he did so, and after nine hours of marching, there were further drills. Formation, order, how to move under fire... 999-537 had never been so exhausted in her life, but the Commissar seemed like a reasonable enough man.

Then 462-574 broke formation...

The man who had been born twenty years prior spotted something along the abandoned road, by a small cluster of bushes, and had run to pick it up. 999-537 was next to him in the three-man wide formation, and for a moment hesitated if he had seen something and she should run away too.

"Halt!" the Commissar roared from the front, and 999-537 stopped. Like any good Redlander girl, she had been raised to obey authority.

The Commissar stampeded back, and 462-574 looked back confused, an Ilin mushroom in his right hand, and 999-537 understood. The pale red mushroom could be amusing at times, and it could seemingly grow everywhere, but even then it was rare to find a mature one. 992-572 had taught her how to extract its juices, which when put into vodka gave it... interesting effects.

"What the fuck are you doing?" the Commissar said, and 999-537 now noticed he had his pistol out.

"I.. saw this..." 462-574 said and held up the mushroom "Its... good eating?"

The Commissar looked dumbfounded on 462-574, then at 999-537.

"Comrade-Conscript, do you think its hard to keep in formation?"

"No, Comrade-Commissar." 999-537 answered, which in hindsight she somewhat regretted.

The Commissar grabbed 462-574 with his left hand, the one lacking two fingers, and somehow managed to lift the heavyset farmer in one move, before barking into his face:

"See, Comrade-Idiot? Its not that bloody hard to keep in a damn formation, even for a little girl! Is picking up a mushroom worth the destruction of Nefreedian Socialism, Comrade-Imbecile?"

"N-no..."

"What do you think we are doing here, Comrade-Titsforbrains?" the Commissar continued "We are fighting a battle against barbarism, subhumanism and capitalism! We are the only bulwark of civilization and progress in this Marxforsaken land, and you decide to go for a picnic?" the Commissar threw 462-574 on the ground, then aimed his pistol at him "The only reason you are alive, Comrade-Moron, is that you are of use to our Republic and our people! If you stop being of use and stop obeying, you are of no use to anyone, except as emergency rations!" he fired a shot, next to 462-574's head, who whimpered "Have I made myself clear, comrades? Keep the damned formation!"

The rest of the march went by without incident, but with far less comments directed at the Commissar.


Military Outpost #2, Region #5, Socialist Worker's Republic of New Freedomstan

Finally, they reached their destination. 999-537 was certain her legs were already dead, and she would soon follow, if they were to march for one more mile. They reached Military Outpost #2 by midday on the eight day, having went slower than expected due to 364-673 spraining his foot as they marched along the rocky hills.

"Well done," the Commissar said and gave a quick salute "You'll be left in the hands of C-2 573-598 from here on out, who will hopefully make soldiers out of most of you." he glared at 462-574 as he said it "Remember comrades, you are soldiers of New Freedomstan. Serve with glory, and your memory is eternal." he saluted, and stepped off, the woman he referred to as C-2 573-598 approaching them. She was a short woman, a Redlander, and unlike the Commissar and the soldiers that had come for them, hers was well-kept and whole.

"You've had a long way to walk, I've heard comrades," she said with a smile, and there were some nods from the gathering of farmers "You'll be happy to hear you won't be starting your training until tomorrow. Uniforms will be assigned at the quartermaster's office," she pointed "And you have been assigned beds 23 through 59 of Barracks #3. I'm afraid some of you will have to share beds, but I'm sure that is no problem for stout #5ites such as yourselves. Now, how many of you have served in our glorious military forces already?"

364-673 and fifteen others raised their hands, and the officer nodded "Good. You'll be heading straight to the frontlines after one week. The rest of you, I welcome you to MilSov #4 of the 7th Battalion of the 2nd Brigade. Dismissed."

Time went by fast. 999-537 got a... used uniform, and spent the evening cleaning out the blood and trying to sew up the holes. It was a bit too large for her, but she shouldn't complain after seeing 462-574 in a uniform three or so sizes too small. If he hadn't picked on her throughout their childhood she might have been inclined to offer to switch. The training was harsh, but better than marching in the Redland sun. 999-537 excelled in the shooting aspect, to the extent she was made the marksman of her submilsov of ten individuals. On the second day, they were joined by another group from Rural Collective #87 and some from #143, all of them making up MilSov #4.

"That is kinda unusual," 364-673 commented one evening, him, 999-537 and three others from #103 sitting around trying to heat up their rationpaste, mixing in a bit of vodka to give it a bit of flavour.

"What is?" 102-102 asked, one of the others as young as 999-537

"Forming a MilSov with just recruits," 364-673 said, scratching his greying hair "Normally its a mixture of veterans and conscripts in any given MilSov... Unless the former MilSov #4 got wiped out to the man."

"Is... that normal?" 999-537 asked

364-673 shook his head "Not in any of the wars I was in. But... Well, this war is unusual. I've heard on the radio that most of the country is even worse off than we are. Region #4 is just gone, as is the capital." he whispered now, talk like this being borderline treasonous "They also mentions deadzones, abberation zones, chaos zones..." he coughed "I listened in on broadcasting from the, ahem, midlands," he said and looked around "The traitor broadcasts. They called it chaos zones, before the broadcasting, well, died out. From what I heard, it wasn't pretty. And we haven't heard anything from #4 in years."

The others looked at each other. They knew 364-673 liked to tinker with radios, but listening to unorthodox broadcasts made 999-537 uncomfortable. It was against the law.

"Not that I pay it any head, but since they stopped tv broadcasts I wanted to know what happened," 364-673 continued, defending himself, and eyeing the ones sitting around the small fire of twigs they had made on the outskirts of the outpost "There's no harm in that, right?"

"I guess not..." 102-102 said "What else did you learn?"

"Well, they used some of those new fangled bombs. The ones they used up in #20, but now they used them everywhere. Might be why the weather has been so strange... From what I hear, the #20ites have to deal with firestorms and blizzards, sometimes right after another. But... no-one has heard from #20 in years either. It seems to be just #5 and #6 left."

"Just #5 and #6?" 102-102 asked "But I thought half of the country remained loyal?"

"From what I can gather, they are loyal... and dead." 364-673 said, and prodded his bowl of rationpaste with a stick "It seems almost ready, yeah?"

The next day, 364-673 was gone. 999-537 hadn't said anything, but remembered how 102-102 had seemingly noted everything he had been saying... Well, she wouldn't ask about it. The next weeks went to further drills, firing exercises, marksmanship training, learning how to use all their equipment inside and out... How to disable vehicles that could be in use among the rebels, driving for some. Then there were the lectured by Commissar 563-754, giving them a deeper understanding of Nefreedian Socialism and of Communism, and of the patriotic ideals of the union of SWRNF. The outpost had half-a-dozen tanks and IFVs, with about fifteen trucks, but they saved the gasoline like it was liquid gold. They were going to be marching by foot to wherever, from what 999-537 could gather, but it was apparently not many days away.

On the final day of training, the C-2 and Commissar 563-754 who had overseen their morale and ideological purity, had assembled them. They were eighty-four in total, somewhat understrength for a MilSov, but 999-537 felt ready.

"Comrades," C-2 573-598 began as they stood in formation inside the outpost. The staffers and other soldiers were mainly involved with their own jobs and training, but some were looking on "Today I am proud to call you Soldiers. Soldiers of Region #5, most honoured member of the union of the Socialist Worker's Republic of New Freedomstan! Your enemy awaits your bullet, your shovel and your bayonet, and with your training, discipline and zeal, none can stand in your way. Your task is to reinforce our position in #4 against the subhuman scourge that is threatening our sibling-region of #6, and maintain the Nefreedian Union. You will be transported by trucks, rather than march, as your aid is essential."

Commissar 563-754 stepped forwards now, taking the word "Comrade-Soldiers! What awaits you is grim and bloody, and most of you will not survive this war. Most of you will perish in the fight against the subhuman, the traitor and the bourgeois. But know this. Each and every one of you will be remembered for Millennia. Your names are recorded, and the honoured dead will be written in fire on the Wall of the Martyrs. Millions of martyrs have perished for the cause, for you, and now Socialism and New Freedom demands your sacrifice. Comrades, do not despair! History is with us, and for each of us who fall, the closer we are to ridding our sacred lands of the traitors that have defiled it!"

"Err, thank you Commissar," C-2 573-598 continued "Comrade-Soldiers, it is true that death is a part of war, but your goal isn't to die. Your goal is to win the war, and once more usher peace and socialism across the land. We are experiencing victory after victory, and have regained hundreds of kilometers of lost land in the past years. Those of you who do commit the ultimate sacrifice for the fatherlands will be honoured on the Wall of Martyrs, and those who survive will be honoured with peace, glory and honour! Now, let us sing the Anthem of #5!"

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East Klent
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Posts: 3002
Founded: Jan 12, 2010
Civil Rights Lovefest

Postby East Klent » Thu Sep 01, 2016 1:24 am

Thank you for your submission, New Freedomstan, and congratulations on entering the first submission. The list has been updated.
IC: The United Republic of Klent, URK, or the United Klentian Republic. Canon Project
Defcon:1 2 3 4 (On Alert) 5

TNN: 6/30/15
The CKDA goes to Congress for ratification and the administration prepares for talks in Batavia.

NEKSE ▲39.63 |NKTSE ▲25.03|GDIE ▲8.45


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Bulanesia
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Posts: 224
Founded: Mar 02, 2016
Ex-Nation

A New Democracy

Postby Bulanesia » Thu Sep 01, 2016 3:32 am

[ MT ]

A New Democracy

Salleh arrived at the voting booth. He was nervous. He had read in the newspaper about the kind of powers that the new Parliament would hold. It felt unbelievable that he had a say on who would hold such authority. On his ballot were just three options, the Malay Patriots Party, the Islamic Party, or the Craft Party. His decision would affect the future of Bulanesia, a country rising from the ashes of its predecessor, the Bulan Islands.

He wanted to pick the Craft Party but he was afraid. On one hand, the Craft Party's founder, H. W. Craft, did depose the old government and restore the monarchy, and things have been better ever since. Schools, roads, and many other basic infrastructure were built since the former government was overthrown. On the other hand, the Craft Party's top leadership were Brits. What if when they take power, they just hand over the Bulanesia to Britain and make it a colony. Salleh had heard about all the trickery the British used in taking over Malaya. It wasn't out of the question if they would do the same to Bulanesia.

In the end, he stuck with his gut. He walked out of the booth, threw in his ballot, and went home. As soon as he woke up the next day, he head to the local newspaper stall and looked at the headlines. The Craft Party won. Salleh had voted for the Malay Patriots Party. Yet, he cheered and celebrated. Not for the election's outcome, but for the election itself. He cheered for democracy.
  • Malaysian
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Kingdom of Bulanesia | Kerajaan Bulanesia | كراجأن بولنيسيا
A constitutional monarchy with parliamentary democracy located in Southeast Asia, southwest of Indonesia.

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East Klent
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Founded: Jan 12, 2010
Civil Rights Lovefest

Postby East Klent » Thu Sep 01, 2016 3:55 pm

Thank you for your submission, Bulanesia. The list has been updated.
IC: The United Republic of Klent, URK, or the United Klentian Republic. Canon Project
Defcon:1 2 3 4 (On Alert) 5

TNN: 6/30/15
The CKDA goes to Congress for ratification and the administration prepares for talks in Batavia.

NEKSE ▲39.63 |NKTSE ▲25.03|GDIE ▲8.45


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East Klent
Minister
 
Posts: 3002
Founded: Jan 12, 2010
Civil Rights Lovefest

Postby East Klent » Sun Oct 16, 2016 12:50 am

[ MT ]


Winds of Change: Nothing but the Truth

Chapter One



"...the truth is never simple."



July 1, 2015
KBI Headquarters
Williamsburg, D.K.


Image
Wilson Perry
Agent Wilson Perry sat at his desk staring at the wall in front of him, wondering what to do. He had completed all the tasks his supervisor had laid out for him that day, and it wasn't even time for lunch yet. He yearned to be out in the field, to do his real job, but ever since the investigation in New Edom went sideways, he had to lay low.

He had yet to get his new orders from his real job and so he was left patiently - or impatiently, in this case - waiting, sitting behind his desk in his small little cubicle. His cover didn't even entitle him to an office. He despised his cover, being the brown-nosing, overzealous little agent that could. It was so far off of his actual personality that he had almost broken character so he wouldn't embarrass himself any further. However, he knew it was all for the greater good; at least that's what the higher-ups at the Agency kept telling him.

His thoughts were distracted as one of the interns dumped the day's paper on his desk, "Good morning to you too," he muttered as he unfolded the paper.

The kid took an earbud out, "Huh?"

Perry rolled his eyes, "Nothing."

The intern put the earbud back in and rolled off. Perry read the headline and saw that it was an editorial about the deaths of Ben and Matilda Mason. Perry had served under Mason's boss at the WA, Jarred Stevens, during the Independence War and an operation in Noravea. He was sad to hear about the diplomats' passing and had planned on calling his former commanding officer later that day.

He wasn't surprised to learn that the editor himself was a friend of the Masons; they were influential people, probably had friends from all walks of life. He was surprised, however, to read that the plane they had been on belonged to the editor, that he had loaned it to them for their holiday to Grays Harbor. The editor wrote that the cause of the fatal crash was engine malfunction as the news networks had reported.

Perry felt empathy for the poor man, who appeared to blame himself for the crash, He was riddled with guilt over not having had the engines checked before he gave the Masons the plane, Odd, Perry thought, The engines would have been checked before take off, as per regulations, he didn't have to do anything...

Curious, he logged back into his desktop and searched for the incident report. It had a statement from the captain of the UKS Duka, the ship that first responded to the crash site. In the statement, the captain reported that they had received a weak transmission calling out "Mayday," followed by the sound of a distant explosion. He ordered the ship to change course to the direction of the explosion. A few moments later they were greeted by a harrowing scene; heaps of flaming metal floating, along with the gnarled corpses of the passengers and pilots. The bodies were unrecognizable, but when they entered the still legible tail number into their on board computers, they were able to identify the flight and thus the bodies as well.

Autopsies had yet to be completed so there were no reports from the medical examiner, Makes sense.

He found that they had noted the model of the jet, a Qua Aeronautics JX900. He looked it up to find that it was the company's newest model, that it had just come off the line in January, No way it was poor maintenance then; the engines would've been brand new.

He looked to see if the JX900 had had any other crashes or instances of engine failure. He could not find a single case, So whatever the problem was, it was with that one plane.

He returned to the original report and noticed that some statements from the crew of the Duka contradicted the captain's. Some of the sailors said they had actually witnessed the crash and that the explosion had happened in midair, It was cloudy, how could they have seen the jet if it was at cruising altitude? Unless it wasn't...

He read on; other crew members insisted that the explosion happened when the plane hit the water, but they had still witnessed the accident in person. The captain's statement, which was the only one given to the media, made it seem as though the crash occurred far off from their position, and that they had not witnessed the crash. This discrepancy was not addressed anywhere else in the report.

Also, Perry noted that it was quite a coincidence that the crash happened so close to a Klentian naval ship - the only naval ship in the area at the time - doing routine maneuvers. Actually, he noticed that the 'exercises' the crew were reportedly doing were not mentioned by wither the captain or the crew, Very odd.

Something was amiss, that much he could tell. What it was exactly, he didn't know, which was enough for him to abandon his boredom. He checked to see where the wreckage was going to be stored once it had collected, What?

According the to report, all the debris had been collected, One damn day!? That's the fastest clean-up I've ever heard of, and he had been in charge of a few himself.

A famous couple borrowed a friend's brand new plane that managed to avoid a mandatory inspection, blew up at some point after take off and happened to crash right where a Klentian vessel was. The crew couldn't agree on the sequence of events or get their stories straight. The wreckage was cleared in record time and the cause of the crash was deduced within hours, apparently. Something was definitely wrong, and he had to find out what.

Image
Marissa Kay
He saw that it was stored in a government facility in Nu’enii Mountains. The shut down the computer, got up from his desk and went to get a requisition order for a car. As he was handing over the form, his supervisor, Agent Marissa Kay, called from the doorway of her office, "Wilson, a word?"

"Yes Ma'am," he walked over and entered her office.

"May I ask where you plan on going?" she asked as she sat back down.

"Going to see the wreckage from the Mason crash. Something just doesn't sit right."

"The Mason crash? I don't recall assigning you that."

"You didn't, Ma'am, but I have completed all the other tasks you assigned me."

She raised her brow; impressed, she decided to amuse him, "What is there to not sit right? It was a couple of faulty engines, open and shut."

"Ma'am, if this job has ever taught me anything, it's that the truth is never simple."

She pondered a moment before responding. Wilson's former superiors at the Presidential Guard had not given him rave reviews, so she was annoyed when he was placed in her lap for no apparent reason, and that annoyance showed in the assignment she gave him. Yet, to her astonishment, he completed every single task brilliantly and faster than anyone. It was clear that he was tremendously overqualified for this job and that his placement there was either punishment or atonement, she wasn't sure. She was certain, though, that he was bored to tears, so perhaps letting out into the field for a bit wouldn't hurt, "Just bring the car back with a full tank."

He smiled, "Thank you Ma'am."

He sort of trotted out the door, Giddy as a schoolgirl, Kay mused.


To Be Continued...
Last edited by East Klent on Sun Oct 16, 2016 12:57 am, edited 1 time in total.
IC: The United Republic of Klent, URK, or the United Klentian Republic. Canon Project
Defcon:1 2 3 4 (On Alert) 5

TNN: 6/30/15
The CKDA goes to Congress for ratification and the administration prepares for talks in Batavia.

NEKSE ▲39.63 |NKTSE ▲25.03|GDIE ▲8.45


User avatar
East Klent
Minister
 
Posts: 3002
Founded: Jan 12, 2010
Civil Rights Lovefest

Postby East Klent » Sun Nov 20, 2016 6:00 pm

[ MT ]


Winds of Change: Nothing but the Truth

Chapter Two



"...the truth is never simple."



One Hour Later
Fabrik des Wahnsinns Facility
Kent, Kent


Perry was riding shotgun in a humvee up a mountain road to the facility where the wreckage was being stored and investigated. He had heard the rumors like everyone else. "The facility used to house black-ops projects,"; "They were doing experiments on soldiers,"; "Hiding UFOs there,"; or, Perry's personal favorite, the government had been hiding 'zombies' of all things within the facility.

"If they only knew how close they were..." he chuckled.

"Beg pardon, Sir?" the corporal driving the humvee asked.

"Sorry, thinking out loud," Perry covered.

The corporal nodded. Been on your own too long, Wilson, starting to talk to yourself, Perry thought.

They pulled up to the entrance, which appeared to be newly repainted, "Here you go, Sir; just show your I.D. to the guards and they'll let you in."

"You're not coming in?"

"Uh, no, Sir, I... uh... need to do... finish a report back at base," the corporal's hesitation meant that he too knew of the rumors surrounding the facility, and believed them.

Perry gave a knowing nod and stepped out. The corporal did a quick u-turn and sped down the road, "Like a bat outta Hell," one of the armed guards commented as Perry walked towards them.

"Most of them react like that?"

"Usually just the kids, newbies. They hear all the conspiracies and that strong Marine nerve they got from boot camp just evaporates," the other guard mused.

"So you Army guys are made of sterner stuff, I guess," Perry chimed in as he showed them his credentials.

"Hey, you said it Sir, not us; you're clear," he leaned into the radio on his shoulder, "Chuck, open the doors, he's good."

A few moments later the massive doors rolled open, as they do for an airplane hanger. Inside the wreckage was splayed out on a massive grid. There was barely anything there that even remotely resembled a plane. Though Perry had seen many a horrific sight in his career, the thought that people were in a plane that was obliterated into hundreds of pieces of debris gave him cause to pause.

After a while, he focused on the swarm of officials roaming around the wreckage. They all looked to be military. Perry furrowed his brow, The military? NATI investigates plane accidents, not the military.

NATI, or the National Agency for Transportation Incidents was usually the agency in charge of investigating plane accidents such as the Masons'. Yet, to Perry's astonishment, everyone here was in either military dress or utilities; not a suit in sight, except for him.

"Agent Wilson Perry, I presume?" a booming voice interrupted Perry's perplexity.

He turned to find a tall man in naval utilities, with the rank of captain.

Image
Arnold Bennington
"Captain Arnold Bennington at your service, Sir, pleasure to meet you."

As they shook hands, Perry could see from the look in the Captain's eyes that it was anything but a pleasure for him, "Likewise Captain Bennington."

"You seem befuddled, Sir, if you don't mind me saying; what's on your mind?"

"Oh, I just find it a bit odd that the military is investigating the incident instead of NATI."

"Ah yes, well, since it was my ship that first came upon the accident, I felt a personal obligation to see it through," Perry noticed the Captain's emphasis on 'accident', "The Masons were national heroes after all; I wanted to make sure that the investigation was done right, so I pulled a few strings at the DODS and got put in charge."

"I see," Perry made a mental note to look into those 'strings' within the Department of Defense & Security that Bennington was talking about.

"May I interest you in a cup of coffee in my office, Agent Perry?" the Captain motioned upward to an office space overlooking the grid.

"You have an office here?"

"Well of course, if a man's going to be in charge of something, he's gotta have a command center," the Captain's southeastern drawl had a disarming effect.

Perry followed him up the stairs to the office. Once inside, Bennington went over to the coffee machine in the corner, "Have a seat, Agent Perry; now, how do you like your coffee?"

"Black."

"Good man; I never understood why someone would want to dilute their coffee with cream or sugar. I need a good kick in the teeth to get me going in morning, you know?" he prattled on as he handed Perry his cup.

"Yes, Captain, I think I do."

Perry scanned the office and found it barren save for the coffee maker, a desk, a phone, a laptop and a few filing cabinets. After Bennington sat down, the annoyance that Perry had seen earlier in his eyes, he could now detect in his voice, "Maybe you could enlighten me as to the reason for your visit, Agent Perry?"

"Oh, some analysts at the Bureau were looking through the reports of the incident and noticed a few discrepancies, I'm just here to clear a few things up."

The Captain brought his hands together as he spoke, "Discrepancies?"

"Yes, Sir, just in that the statements from some of your crew don't match up with your official report," Perry elaborated.

"Well, Agent Perry, the Duka is a pretty big ship, lots of people running around, not a lot of chances to be seen by their superiors; my crew are good sailors, but I wouldn't put it past some of them to make up grandiose stories just to get some attention," Bennington put on smile, but Perry could tell he was perturbed by his inquiry.

"So you're saying some of your crew were lying?"

"No, no. I'm saying that some of them may have stretched the truth to get some attention. Haven't we all done that from time to time, Agent Perry?" Bennington's tone became more aggressive as he shifted his chair closer to the desk.

"Not when people have died, Captain, no," Perry's affable demeanor suddenly became serious.

"Now just hold on a minute, Agent Perry, no one, and I mean no one, on my crew would do anything to disrespect the fallen, especially heroes such as the Masons. I also resent any accusation that they would."

"I wasn't accusing your crew of anything, Captain Bennington, merely trying to make sense of things."

The Captain had abandoned any friendly facade he may have once had, "What is there to make sense of? It was a plane accident, a tragic accident but an accident nonetheless."

"I don't dispute that, Captain. I only want a clear understanding of what happened yesterday and of how the salvage and investigation have proceeded so quickly."

"I believe I provided a clear understanding of events in my report and I believe I attributed the speed of this investigation to my oversight."

"Why did some of your crew report witnessing the incident when you reported that you all had only heard an explosion before coming upon the debris?"

"Why do you feel the need to ask all these redundant questions, Mister Perry?" Bennington was now smirking.

"Agent."

"I beg your pardon?" Bennington snarled.

"It's Agent Perry, Sir."

"I don't appreciate your tone, Agent Perry."

"I don't appreciate being lied to, Captain Bennington."

"Neither do I, Agent."

"Sir?"

"I know the Bureau's analysts didn't find a damn thing in the reports, because the Bureau isn't investigating the accident. It was you, Agent Perry, that found these so-called 'discrepancies' because you were trying to find something that would impress your boss, Agent Marissa Kay isn't it? Now she's a sight to behold," he turned the laptop so Perry could see the screen, on which was his file.

Perry was silent.

Bennington rose and walked toward the door, "You see, Mister Perry, I know all about your brown-nosing, about the failures in New Edom. You've hit a dead-end in your career and now you're grasping at straws to build yourself back up again, but I won't be a part of your pathetic little games; Chuck, get this piece of shit out of my facility!"

An armed soldier came into the office, grabbed Perry by the arm and 'escorted' him down the stairs and out the hangar doors. He let him go at the spot the humvee had dropped him off, "I don't get a ride back?"

"Walk," Chuck told him gruffly before heading back inside.

"That went well," Perry let out sigh, gazed down the road, put on his sunglasses, then started to make his way down the mountain.


To Be Continued...
IC: The United Republic of Klent, URK, or the United Klentian Republic. Canon Project
Defcon:1 2 3 4 (On Alert) 5

TNN: 6/30/15
The CKDA goes to Congress for ratification and the administration prepares for talks in Batavia.

NEKSE ▲39.63 |NKTSE ▲25.03|GDIE ▲8.45


User avatar
East Klent
Minister
 
Posts: 3002
Founded: Jan 12, 2010
Civil Rights Lovefest

Postby East Klent » Thu Dec 01, 2016 1:10 pm

[ MT ]


Winds of Change: Nothing but the Truth

Chapter Three



"...the truth is never simple."



Half an Hour Later
Mount Ellia Trail
Kent, Kent


Perry had been hiking down the main trail for a while when his phone rang, "Didn't know I could get reception here, huh."

The caller I.D. listed the caller as Agent Kay, "This'll be fun," he grimaced.

"Perry," he answered.

"Agent Perry, I just received a call from a very peeved Captain Arnold Bennington."

"Yes Ma'am."

"May I ask why?"

"He didn't tell you, Ma'am?"

"Oh, he did, between expletives; but I would like to hear your side of things."

"Before?"

"Before I take any action on the Captain's behalf."

"Ah," he knew he was in trouble.

"Yes, so I suggest you explain yourself now, Agent Perry."

"Well, Ma'am, there were discrepancies between some of the crew's reports and the Captain's."

"That's expected when you have a lot of witnesses."

"Or none for that matter," he murmured.

She heard, "Speaking of which, the Captain implied that your questioning of him was an attempt to make up for the failures in Raith Immel; is that true?"

"Of course not," He was a little too short for her liking.

"Watch your tone, Agent Perry; I realize your are new to the Bureau, but that doesn't mean your exempt from respecting your superiors."

He took a moment to calm down, "I understand, Ma'am, and I apologize, but I still stand by my questioning. There are valid issues here, even beyond the discrepancies, that need to be investigated."

"Such as?"

He stopped walking when he replied, "The fact that they were able to salvage and transport the wreckage so quickly; it usually takes weeks or months to coordinate such efforts. Also, the plane was brand new, meaning the possibility of engine failure was unlikely, not to mention the fact that the mandatory check before take-off was somehow bypassed. Then there's the fact the the military is handling the investigation and not the NATI. And why would a navy captain get so easily irritated by a few questions?"

A few moments of silence on the other end passed, "Ma'am?"

"Those are some interesting points you have raised, Agent Perry; however, I cannot officially allow you to continue this investigation of yours."

"But Ma'am..."

"It's nothing more than a nuisance to the military and as such I must order you to cease and desist, officially."


He finally took the hint, "Officially?"

"I think you get my meaning, Agent Perry."

"Yes Ma'am, I think I do."

"Very good, I'll see you when you return," she hung up.

Agent Kay knew Perry was on to something. Everything about the crash seemed too easily tied up. An a veteran such as Captain Bennington would not have gotten so angry so quickly over a few innocent questions about paperwork. She was beginning to realize that this case, like Agent Perry, was not at all what it seemed.


Same Time
Bennington's Office
Fabrik des Wahnsinns Facility


Bennington pulled out a bottle of scotch from the desk drawer and poured himself a glass. Chuck came into the office, "Sir-"

"Close the door," the Captain grumbled.

Image
Chuck
"Sir?"

"I said close the damn door Lieutenant! God, don't you Erainians have ears‽"

"Sorry, Sir-"

"Don't apologize, it's a sign of weakness," he interrupted Chuck as he closed the door.

Chuck was beginning to be fed up with Bennington's demands and drunkenness, but he knew he did not have a choice, "Sir, permission to speak freely?"

"Ooh boy, this oughtta be good. Go ahead."

"Sir, don't you think you were wrong to throw him out like that?"

Bennington glared at the Lieutenant, "How so?"

"Well, Sir, getting all hot and bothered over a few questions might make you look like you were hiding something."

Bennington slowly raised himself up from his chair and leaned over the desk with a smirk on his face, "Do you think I'm hiding something, Lieutenant?"

Chuck rolled his eyes, "Of course not, Sir, I wouldn't think anything of the sort. I was just thinkin-"

"You shouldn't think Chuck, it might hurt you," the Captain joked, thinly veiling a threat, as he sat back down.

He was used to the Captain's threats by now, and largely ignored them, "I thought that maybe if the guy was suspicious, throwing him out like that might make him look into things more," Chuck finally got to the point.

"Oh, don't worry 'bout a thing, Chuck; I've made a few calls, and soon that igit'll be outta our hair," Bennington paused to refill his glass, "Anything else, Lieutenant?"

"Romero found a flash drive."

This caught the Captain's attention, "A flash drive you say?"

"Yes, Sir."

"Is it the..."

"I don't know, Sir."

"Well find out, stupid! We need to make sure we have everything tied up by the Fifth; get out there and do you friggin' job!"

"Yes, Sir," Chuck mumbled as he went out the office door.

As he descended down the stairwell, part of him hoped the Bureau Agent would come knocking again, and maybe even find out everything. He needed to get out of this situation, he just did not know how.


To Be Continued...
IC: The United Republic of Klent, URK, or the United Klentian Republic. Canon Project
Defcon:1 2 3 4 (On Alert) 5

TNN: 6/30/15
The CKDA goes to Congress for ratification and the administration prepares for talks in Batavia.

NEKSE ▲39.63 |NKTSE ▲25.03|GDIE ▲8.45


User avatar
East Klent
Minister
 
Posts: 3002
Founded: Jan 12, 2010
Civil Rights Lovefest

Postby East Klent » Mon Dec 12, 2016 1:39 pm

[ MT ]


Winds of Change: Nothing but the Truth

Chapter Four



"...the truth is never simple."



Base Camp
Mount Ellia


Perry eventually made it down to the base of the mountain where he was greeted with a peculiar sight. The two guards at the front gate of the trail, whom he fully expected to swiftly escort him off the premises, were busy arguing with someone; someone who looked familiar. It took a moment for it to click, but he realized that the man gesticulating wildly in front of the soldiers was the writer of the article about the Masons that he had read that morning.

What is he... oh, Perry knew why Willard Games would be here. The wreckage in the facility belonged to him. It was his plane that had crashed, and it was his friends that he had lent that same plane.

He walked over to the confrontation, "Sir, you cannot come in," one of the troops loudly told Games.

Image
Willard Games
"That's my plane you have in there, they are... were my friends! I have the right to know what's going on!" Games shouted back, towering over the guards.

"You are not authorized, Sir, please step back, now!" The other guard raised his rifle.

"What? You're going to shoot me? Is the army shooting Klentian citizens now? The very people they've sworn to protect‽" Games exclaimed.

"When they pose a possible threat, yes," the trooper replied with an eerie resolve.

Perry spoke up, "I don't see a threat here, Sergeant, just a man in grief over the loss off his friend," he made a show of putting a comforting hand on Games' arm, giving him a look to tell him to go along with what he was doing.

Games appeared to understand, "We've all suffered loss in our time, haven't we Sergeant? And it effects us all in different ways," Perry looked to the sergeant, staring him down.

Reluctantly, he lowered his rifle and nodded, "Take him with you Agent Perry, you're both not authorized to be here. Get in your car an leave."
"Will do, Sergeant," Perry started heading toward his car, but Games stood still, staring up the mountain.

"Sir," the Sergeant growled.

Perry turned around, "Mr. Games, we have to see Peter, remember?"

The mention of the Masons' son was enough to snap Games back into reality, "Yes, let's."

They got into the car, drove through the gate and headed onto the highway. After some time had passed, Perry spoke, "I read your piece, about the Masons? It was beautiful."

"Thanks," Games barley uttered.

"I can tell you cared for them very much."

"They were like a second set of parents to me..."

He turned to Perry and finally asked, "Who are you?"

"Special Agent Wilson Perry, KBI."

"KBI? You're investigating the crash?"

"No."

"What do you mean no? You were there at the facility. I saw you come down the mountain!"

"If you recall, I wasn't authorized to be there."

"Then what the Hell were you doing there?"

"Interviewing Captain Bennington."

"Bennington. Arnold Bennington?"

"Know any other Captain Benningtons?"

"Well, no, but... Wait; if you weren't authorized to be there, how were you able to see him?"

"Because I was."

"Was what?"

"Authorized."

"But you just said-"

"I was authorized to interview the Captain on the basis of checking on the progress of the military's investigation. He got pissed off when I asked him about some minor discrepancies in the reports, and that's when I was unceremoniously 'deauthorized'."

"Discrepancies. You mean the ones between the crew's statements and Bennington's official report?"

"Ye... how do you know about that? The crew's statements weren't made available to the public or the press."

"I'm the editor of one of Klent's foremost newspapers, I have my sources."

Perry gave Games a studying glare before moving on, "And then there's the inspection, which should have happened whether or not you asked for one."

"Yeah, I figured that out this morning..."

"And? You kinda trailed off there."

"You sound like you're not going to leave this alone."

"Shortly after having me booted from the meeting, Bennington called my supervisor who told me I could no longer officially investigate."

"Officially."

"Exactly."

"Do you government types always talk in code?"

"Whenever we can, actually."

"That explains some things."

Perry gave him a questioning glance, but decided not to ask as he continued driving. Games noticed that the exit they were taking was to the airport, "Where are you taking us?"

"I know someone who can help us, but he's sorta out-of-town. How many miles you got?"

"A lot, saved up from being a foreign correspondent."

"Good, we're gonna need them; I managed to leave my wallet somewhere."


Fabrik des Wahnsinns Facility

Chuck decided to put off getting the flash drive for a bit. Bennington was too drunk to realize how long he was taking anyway. So, he chose instead to go to the impromptu mess hall in the back of the facility. He swung his rifle over his shoulder to grab a tray and went down the serving line. To call it 'slop' would be charitable; what was supposed meatloaf and cornbread with cream of onion soup on the side in reality looked like cream of refuse, all blended together.

But at least it's food, Chuck psyched himself up in order to be able to consume the wretched excuse for lunch.

When he sat down, he felt like he was sitting on something. Got up, looked at his seat, nothing. He then felt his back pocket and found a wallet, The Hell?

Sitting back down, he opened it, revealing a badge and identification card belonging to one Agent Wilson Perry. A tad shocked, Chuck tried to deduce how the wallet got in his pocket. He remembered when he first grabbed Perry out of the Captain's office that he held him fairly close. Perry must have taken the opportunity to put in his pocket then, But why? he thought.

Inside, behind the cash, he found Perry's business card. On the back, something was written,

Image

Though hastily drawn, he knew what it meant, he just could not believe it, "There's no way he knows about..." he shuttered, just above a whisper.

"What was that, Sir?"

"Huh?" he looked up to see Ensign Romero seated in front of him.

"You say something, Lieutenant?"

"Uh," he quickly hid the wallet and card in the breast pocket of his uniform, "Nah, just thinking out loud."

"Ah, though you might've been praying."

"Praying?"

"Yeah, praying you don't get the shits from this crap," Romero pointed at the food.

"Oh, right, probably should do that," he nervously chuckled.

They went on eating, but in the back of his mind, the drawing on the card embedded itself, How does he know about Omega?


To Be Continued...
IC: The United Republic of Klent, URK, or the United Klentian Republic. Canon Project
Defcon:1 2 3 4 (On Alert) 5

TNN: 6/30/15
The CKDA goes to Congress for ratification and the administration prepares for talks in Batavia.

NEKSE ▲39.63 |NKTSE ▲25.03|GDIE ▲8.45



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